Cathadeus_Book One of the Walking Gates

by Jeff J. Peters

The wyvern called again, and Braxton looked up, catching a brief glimpse of the creature in the moonlight. Its impenetrable blackness seemed unnatural, blocking out the stars. A hairless, almost shapeless form, it was as long as a dozen men, propelled by two broad, leathery wings with sharp hooks at either end and powerful back legs that ended in curved talons. As it flew, it whipped the barbed tip of its sinuous tail about with an unearthly wail, as if searching the air.

  It was the creature’s elongated head, however, that captured Brax’s attention, sitting atop a serpentine neck with slanted, coal-black eyes that reflected a menacing hatred for all normal life. Its snout angled downward, giving the beast an almost gargoyle-like appearance, and its pointed, razor-sharp teeth protruded haphazardly from snarled black lips. This was a creature designed to hunt and built to kill, with no regard for the natural world. It would track its prey relentlessly.

  The wyvern moved past, and Brax followed its trajectory toward Breem. It dove quickly, a silent wraith closing in on its unsuspecting victim. Braxton barely had time to act. He reached over his shoulder and grabbed the Unicorn Blade, simultaneously summoning up the spirit magic. Remembering his experience with Zacharias in Falderon, he released a blast of energy into Breem. It hit the surprised commander with a solid blow, knocking him off his feet and onto a nearby tent, collapsing it. The wyvern gave a haunting scream as it flew by. Unaccustomed to missing its prey, its outstretched claws clutched at the air where Breem had stood a moment earlier. It smashed into a small makeshift structure, sending timbers flying in every direction. The creature was barely a dozen feet above the ground, dragging a ripped canopy that had become entwined around one of its legs, when Breem untangled himself from the tent and jumped to his feet quicker than his large frame would have suggested possible. He drew his sword with an angry, determined look on his face, ready to fight whatever had thrown him, when he saw the wyvern lifting away. He turned back toward Brax and slowly seemed to recognize what had occurred. The veteran soldier relaxed his stance and raised a hand of acknowledgment.

  Braxton stabbed at the air with his finger. Breem nodded and gripped the horn strapped to his belt but hesitated, as though deciding whether to trust what he’d seen. Then with one swift motion, the Empire commander pulled the horn free and blew a single long note followed by two pairs of shorter tones. He glanced at Brax, turned, and disappeared among the tents.

  As if in response to Breem’s call, the sky lit up with flaming pitch cast high above the encampment. But this time, it came from the allied side, near Arbor Loren. Brax looked back at the forest and, in the light of the projectiles, saw that the dwarves had taken over the giant catapults left behind from the previous day’s fighting and turned them against the Mins. The clever mountain engineers had modified the siege weapons throughout the night and were using them both to assault their foe and illuminate the Dunes for their human allies. Now the sky blazed with fire.

  Braxton wasn’t the only one who’d seen them. A dark shadow moved toward the trees, flying high above the flaming shot. He ran, watching the creature as it glided ahead. He didn’t notice Phinlera and the others coming toward him until Penton grabbed him.

  “We need to get to the front!” his brother yelled above the growing commotion in the camps and the sound of the burning pitch flying overhead.

  “No. I need to get to those catapults!” Brax pointed at the wyvern.

  His brother nodded without looking up. “We’ll meet back at the main pavilion,” he shouted, then darted off toward the Dunes with Gavin and Bear.

  Braxton watched them go. A strange feeling awoke in the pit of his stomach at seeing them leave.

  “Come on.” Phinlera pulled at his arm. “It’s almost there.” She pointed to the wyvern descending upon the closest catapult.

  Braxton looked in the direction she indicated. The beast dove from above and hit the side of the war machine with a thunderous blow. Grabbing the crossbeam with its powerful talons, it smashed the rigging and supports with its tail and snout, sending the surprised dwarves diving for cover. It lifted the contraption into the air, dragging with it an unfortunate engineer who’d become trapped in the cords. The creature flew to the next catapult and dropped the remains of the giant war machine onto the second contraption, shattering both structures and killing most of the unsuspecting dwarves. The wyvern gave a resounding scream as if delighting in its attack. Phinlera covered her ears and bent over. Braxton swore under his breath for not getting there in time. Then he sprinted toward the camp’s outer perimeter.

  The wyvern was circling again when Brax reached the closest of the three remaining catapults. He pulled the Unicorn Blade free and called aloud to Serene.

  “How do I defeat this thing?”

  There are few who possess the means to penetrate its hide, and most are too far away now. You will need to cripple its flight before you can hope to stop its breath. I will show you.

  His vision vanished as if he had shut his eyes, although his head still tilted toward the sky. All sound faded away, drowned out by the high-pitched ringing in his ears. Then a single image flashed through his mind, and with it came the comprehension of how to form the spirit magic. It was complex in its application and yet so simple in its making, as though something he’d always known how to do but never considered somehow. He saw it completely, felt it within every part of his being. All he was seemed filled by this one vision, this one task. The energy surged through him, awakened to its full potential by his understanding of its intent. When the image cleared, he stood in the Breaker Dunes looking up at the sky, the sounds of the surrounding camp flooding back into his senses. The wyvern was exactly where it had been before. It turned toward him and began to dive.

  Come, Braxton thought as he watched it charge. I am ready.

  Chapter 40

  The wyvern came for him at an incredible speed. Its giant black wings folded back and its legs tucked under its shadowy form, an evil projectile that cut through the air with ease.

  Now!

  Braxton released the energy. He hadn’t held onto the vision quite as completely as he’d have liked but hoped it was enough. The net of the spirit magic spread open and snared the wyvern, wrapping its ethereal tendrils around the creature’s body. The beast struggled to break free from the invisible web, then let out a loud scream. Unable to control its dive, it fell the remaining distance toward Brax. He watched it come, frozen in the path of unavoidable death hurtling toward him.

  Something smashed into his side, knocking him to the ground and out of the way. An instant later, the wyvern hit the Dunes with a force that reverberated across the plains, covering everything in a layer of dirt.

  Brax lay stunned under someone else’s weight. Nobody stirred, and the Breaker Dunes seemed surprisingly quiet.

  Phinlera groaned. “You could have moved, you know.” She got up, stretched, and wiped a hand across her lip, smearing a trickle of blood.

  Brax grinned. His left side ached from taking the brunt of their combined weight. When he tried to stand, a sharp pain shot down his leg.

  A massive explosion erupted right behind them, knocking Brax and Phin back to the ground and sending the Unicorn Blade flying from his hand. Braxton lay facedown, dazed by the impact, his head buzzing and a deafening sound ringing in his ears, trying to understand what had happened.

  A loud and terrifying scream rang out. Brax curled into a tight ball, burying his face and covering his ears.

  “How can it be alive?” Phinlera yelled as they both squirmed about, Braxton no longer protected from the creature’s horrific calls.

  The sounds stopped, and he turned to look back at what he feared. A dozen yards away, the wyvern reared up on its powerful back legs, towering above them. It flapped its outstretched wings, lifting its long head skyward and tasting the air, its tail whipping about.

  It was not the wyvern, however, that caused Braxton to freeze in fear, but the two hooded figures that stood in front of it, one of them stroking the c
reature affectionately. He recognized them instantly from his visions—pale skin and dark, thin lips hidden beneath cowled hoods from which greasy black hair hung down in loose strands.

  The Witch Sisters of Dahgmor.

  How can this be? He seemed unable to move. Serene, help us!

  The closest figure chuckled as she gazed at him from within her dark covering. “Serene cannot help you now,” she spat out, her voice filled with malice.

  The other sister turned toward the catapults and raised a bony hand. Braxton shivered as an evil magical energy surged from inside her and shot out toward the closest war machine, engulfing it in a bright green fire, destroying it in seconds. She flicked her hand, here and there, incinerating tents with the same unnatural flame. Brax jolted with each strike, somehow connected to the source from which she drew her magical power, a strange ripple from the other side of some dark, invisible lake. Within minutes, the allied camps were ablaze in green flame, illuminating the predawn sky with an eerie glow. A group of dwarves and men ran toward the sisters, their weapons drawn. But the witch just spread her fingers in their direction encasing each victim in magical fire, laughing maliciously as she watched them burn.

  “You didn’t really think we’d continue to ignore your meddling without retribution,” the first witch hissed, and she raised her hand toward Braxton. A freezing cold energy surged through him, and he convulsed violently, ignited by an icy fire deep within. He screamed in pain, terrified by the strength of the power that now coursed through his body, enveloping him in a cold, malevolent hatred.

  The energy subsided, and the witch let him squirm for a moment, just long enough for a quick reprieve, like a cat toying with its prey. He tried desperately to regain control of his scattered senses, to call upon the energy to protect him. But it was no use. The horrific pain returned, and his terror at the witch’s magical ability held him firmly in its grasp.

  Through his fear and agony, he noticed a blur of movement at his side.

  “Oh, no you don’t, girly,” the witch hissed.

  Phinlera stopped in midstride, the Leaf held aloft. Her body convulsed, then she screamed.

  “Phin!” he called, but there was no response.

  “Listen to her scream,” the witch yelled.

  Phinlera’s voice echoed inside his head, terrified, crying, pleading for the energy to stop. Help me! she called. Braxton, somebody, please!

  “No!” He leaped to his feet, ignoring his own pain. But he too stood paralyzed, held fast by the witch’s dark magic. The agony seared through him again. Brax screamed in his mind, and the witch’s laughter resounded in his ears.

  “So predictable,” she said, “so humanly predictable. Now, boy, watch her die.”

  The pain in his body subsided as she raised her hand. The wyvern leaped forward, awaiting the signal.

  “The speed of that accursed sword cannot save you now,” the witch spat. In one terrifyingly fluid motion, the wyvern whipped its sinuous tail high above its head and plunged the barbed tip deep into Phinlera’s side.

  No! Braxton cried, still unable to move. Phinlera had a look of anguish as the color drained from her face. The wyvern pulled its tail free, leaped up into the air, and screeched that same self-satisfied call.

  Braxton’s heart dropped like the tears from his face. Phinlera’s body went limp, slumping over yet still held aloft by the witch’s magic. He felt as if his heart had been ripped out by the wyvern. The witch’s spiteful laughter continued, her magic holding him frozen as he watched Phinlera’s breathing slow.

  A startling blue light flashed at his side, illuminating the western edge of the Dunes, and Brax turned instinctively. There was Bendarren, cloaked in the same blue robe he remembered from before, holding a thick wooden branch that had been broken off from some old white tree. A calm washed over Brax, and his pain dissipated.

  “You! You cannot be here!” the first witch shrieked, pointing a long, bony finger at the elf.

  “You swore an oath never to leave the forest,” the second witch added with loathing, finishing her sister’s statement.

  “You broke nature’s law today, Malicine,” Bendarren said calmly to the first hooded figure. “My coming here is nothing more than the natural consequence of that action.”

  “You dare speak my name?” she said in disgust.

  “Your names do not hold power over me. Surely you remember that.”

  The sisters glanced at each other. Then, in an action faster than Braxton would have imagined possible, they stretched out their hands toward the elf and engulfed him in a ball of blazing green fire, obscuring him from view. Phinlera’s body dropped to the ground, the invisible hand that held her in place suddenly letting go.

  Phin! Brax called out in his mind, hoping somehow she would hear him, that he could provide some comfort to her even now. But there was no reply. He watched helplessly as the girl he loved lay dying in the Breaker Dunes. Her skin was utterly white from the wyvern’s venomous sting. Small beads of sweat formed on her brow and her breathing was slow and ragged. She was going to die, he realized, and there was nothing he could do to save her. Tears ran down his face. His worst fear had come to pass.

  Braxton watched her fade away, a silent statue in the Dunes of central Andorah, under the dawning sky. A quiet tribute to a beautiful passing.

  * * *

  The inevitable confrontation between the Mins and the allied western nations had finally come to the Breaker Dunes, Braxton realized. Horns blew in the distance, and the battle cries of armies bent on destroying one another crept into his senses as morning broke over the horizon. Was Phinlera’s death the beginning of what was to come for the western world, he wondered?

  Another burst of blue light drew his attention from his grief. The evil green fire around Bendarren seemed somewhat diminished, and he could see the elf inside the witches’ unnatural flame, sending out waves of his own energy to weaken the green barrier. A column of azure light erupted from the ground beneath each witch, encasing them in a brilliant magical energy that extended up into the morning sky. The green fire around Bendarren evaporated, and a moment later, the two sisters extinguished the elf’s light as well, each neutralizing the other’s magical power. They faced each other.

  “The strength of the White Wood has grown weak, old man,” the second witch spat out.

  “The endless power beneath Arbor Loren is beyond your comprehension, Belladora,” Bendarren replied. “You cannot hope to hold back its strength with the small vessel you now carry.”

  Bendarren raised his arms, one hand holding the thick white staff aloft. Large roots erupted from the Breaker Dunes and began entangling themselves around the witches’ legs and up their torsos. The sisters struggled to get free, igniting the cords with green fire. But the roots seemed unstoppable, and within seconds, they completely encased the hooded figures. In their place stood two giant oaks, their topmost leaves catching the morning sun.

  The paralyzing grip on Braxton’s body began to wane as the power of the magic that held him, faded. He struggled with renewed strength to get free.

  Concentrate. Serene’s single word sounded quietly in the far reaches of his mind, no more than an echo of a voice he once knew. But he understood her message and stopped fighting the evil energy, calming his emotions and calling upon the spirit magic he’d neglected deep within him, hidden away in what seemed like a lifetime ago. He took several breaths, allowing the cool morning air to relax his mind. Slowly, deliberately, he searched for the energy’s unknown source, willing it to connect with him. He called out to it with a peaceful longing, like a songbird searching for its mate, knowing it would eventually come.

  But there was no response.

  He probed the depths of his mind, lost in a maze of thoughts and emotions that kept resurfacing, reminding him of his fragile human existence. Painfully he passed through each one, struggling through the cobwebs of his past that sought to weigh him down. He clung to the dwindling memory of his connection
to the spirit world and the wondrous sensation of joining with the energy. Forcing himself to continue, he searched for it, not wanting to give up. Gradually the magic began to stir, rising from some long, distant sleep in the catacombs of his mind, listening to the call that had awoken it. A brief wave of exhilaration washed over him as the energy resurfaced, like glimpsing first light at the end of some long, dark tunnel. Brax moved his fingers, realizing that freedom was slowly returning.

  A loud creak pulled him back into awareness, and his body jerked. The two large oaks stood rooted in the plains, their trunks shaking as if held by gigantic invisible hands. The sounds emanating from the trees grew louder, and the motion intensified. A moment later, the trees burst apart, sending wood and branches flying in every direction. One bough barely missed Brax’s head as he ducked, realizing only then that he could move his neck and shoulders. His elation at gaining some additional movement shattered, though, at the sight of the two Witch Sisters standing in the plains. Their evil laughter sounded from the depths of their cowls.

  “Your failure is complete!” Malicine shouted at Bendarren.

  “Your magic is weak, and you cannot stop our armies,” Belladora added. “Your forest will burn.”

  “I do not think so,” Bendarren replied.

  The elf cried out and plunged his wooden staff deep into the dirt before him, his quick movement in vivid contrast to his normally calm demeanor. The ground shook, and Brax could feel the witches’ power faltering around him as they fought to keep their balance.

  Concentrate. Serene’s voice was closer this time. He focused on summoning the spirit magic, closing his eyes and blocking out all sounds of the fight, listening instead for the ringing that always preceded the energy’s return. Its power coursed through him, momentarily touching his consciousness. He moved his arms and chest feeling the grip of the sisters’ energy diminishing as his own strength grew. But it was difficult focusing on just one thought for more than a few seconds, and images both real and imagined flashed through his mind. Faces of people he once knew appeared, and his emotions faltered, breaking the wall behind which he’d hidden his memories, overwhelming him in their return. Brax struggled to keep them at bay, fighting to rebuild the barrier between his past experiences and present surroundings, pushing behind it the images that assaulted him as he tried to connect with the energy. But it was no use; there was something missing. The sounds of the war to the east flooded into his ears, and the ground moved beneath his feet, throwing him off balance.