Akiri
The Scepter of Xarbaal
Brian D. Anderson & Steven Savile
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Published Longfire Press, NOVEMBER 2016
Cover Illustration Gene Mollica Studios
Copyright © 2016 Brian D. Anderson & Steven Savile
All rights reserved.
Brian wishes to dedicate this book to his wonderful son, Jonathan and his loving wife Eleni.
Steve wishes to dedicate this book to the memories of the writers who made him fall in love with the genre, David Gemmell, David Eddings and Hugh Cook, and to his partner in crime, Brian, King of Skype...
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Prologue
Serhan closed his eyes and took a long cleansing breath. Drawing deep into his mind, he touched his center – his merkesh. He felt it rising within him, but after only a moment of bathing in its awesome power, he allowed the vibrations to subside. It was not time. Not yet. Soon, though; very soon. And when it arrived, all his many years of training and discipline would be tested to the full. As would his courage and resolve.
The steady thumping of Ragnir’s huge wings fell into rhythm with the beating of his own heart. He ran a hand over her muscular shoulders. Her awesome power never failed to send a chill down his spine. Her flesh – hard as iron, yet still pleasing to the touch – rippled and tensed. She was ready. Ready for battle. Ready to kill. And ready to die if needs be. Without opening his eyes, he leaned forward and placed an ear against the base of her neck.
“Once more, my love,” he whispered. “Then it will finally be over.”
In response, Ragnir’s rumbling growl resonated through his entire body. Yes. Once more. I am ready, the dragon told him, though not in words that anyone save Serhan could comprehend.
He sighed, allowing his mind to fully absorb the peace of the moment: his oneness with Ragnir; the breeze against his flesh while riding high above the ravages of the world where only the Tul’Zahar dared to climb; and finally, the incredible sense of freedom. Up here, he was truly his own master.
The distant clamor of steel and fire dragged him away from the perfection of the moment. He opened his eyes to see the glow of flames reflecting off Ragnir’s deep blue scales, making her appear as if she was wrapped in a cloak of cloudless night sky. He cast his gaze downward. Such a spectacle had not been seen by human eyes in more than three hundred years. Vast oceans of warriors were pitted against one another. More than three hundred thousand of them was his guess. Five mighty nations had sent their best and bravest to do battle.
He tried to make out the individual armies, but after six straight days of fighting, it was impossible to distinguish one from another. By now, the alliance had merged into one massive force pressing forward against the power of King Zemel the Conqueror, ruler of Acharia.
Rings of fire erupted as the battle mages went about their deadly work. Serhan sneered contemptuously. Battle mages. Bah! Half-wit weaklings unfit for the Tul’Zahar, that’s all they were. Even so, King Zemel had found a use for them where other kings had not. But of course, unlike Zemel, other kings were fearful of magic. King Zemel feared absolutely nothing. Not even the Tul’Zahar.
His desire to press Ragnir into a dive and dispatch these pathetic battle mages was strong. The thought of the terror they would know when faced with genuine power almost elicited a laugh. But Serhan knew it would have to wait. The task he was about to undertake was far more important. The battle mages would taste justice soon enough.
He placed the tip of his finger to the large gem set in the pommel of his sword and smiled. The sword had been forged for him, perfectly weighted and balanced for his hand. It had taken a month to fashion, tempered in the crucible of Tul’Zahar’s greatest smiths, and given in exchange for the oath of loyalty he swore to the order. The jewel itself, though, that was a gift from his wife, given when she first discovered that she was carrying his child. Fondly remembering Leona’s aspect, he allowed a small piece of his essence to leave him to create a faint impression of her within its facets.
Ragnir let out a booming huff and shook her head.
“I know, my love,” Serhan said. “I must keep my focus. But this may be our final battle, and I would have her with me.” He patted the dragon’s neck. “After this, we’ll find somewhere far away from the madness. Somewhere my son can grow up in safety without being surrounded by fields of blood.” When Ragnir hissed and whined, he smiled and then added: “Yes. I’m sure there will be plenty of sheep and wild pigs to feast on, too.”
Serhan shifted his eyes to gaze north. There, less than twenty miles away, loomed the ominous black spires of Gol’Naruth – King Zemel’s stronghold. Should the vast forces of the five nations manage to advance that far, that would be the absolute limit of their achievement. They could lay siege for a hundred years and never so much as scratch a single stone of the city walls. These were protected by the magic of the Sulmarian Guild. Not even the mighty fires of the legendary elder dragons – were there any still alive to try – would be able to make the slightest blemish on them. Serhan smiled briefly. It was just as well for him that he would not need to test his strength against such an indestructible defense.
A blast of heat rose up from the battlefield. A small group of battle mages had joined together to form a protective wall of fire around themselves, but inch by inch they were being pressed back by the determination of an enraged foe. Serhan’s keen eyesight could see that bowmen had already decimated the battle mages’ shield bearers, leaving them exposed and vulnerable. Fire could roast a man and was a highly effective defense against advancing soldiers, but it was next to useless against arrows and bolts. Little by little the flames diminished as the archers continued to send forth their deadly attack. Serhan smiled. Good riddance.
Again he cast his eyes toward Gol’Naruth. The heat rising from the battlefield distorted the light, giving the fortress an even more forbidding appearance.
It was time.
Reaching to his belt, he withdrew a small silver horn, the rhylatite infused within making it glow in his hand. He raised it to his lips and blew three times.
The pure, clear call pierced the air in every direction, making all other sounds dull and distant by comparison. He chuckled softly. The king would have undoubtedly heard it too. He would know they were coming.
Three specks approached rapidly from the west. It took only a matter of seconds for him to recognize Drewin, Sadich, and Thradus. Astride their dragons,
they drew their blades and held them high in salute. Serhan raised the horn aloft in reply.
Both Sadich’s and Thradus’s mounts were lean, their heads covered in razor sharp spikes, but Drewin’s dragon was broad and powerful – just like Ragnir. Also like Ragnir, it had shed most of its spikes long ago.
They brought the dragons to a halt only a dozen yards away, coming into position in front of Serhan, their immense bodies rising and falling as they trod air to hold their position. The red flame crest was splashed magnificently across their polished black armor. Drewin – second only to Serhan himself in rank – boasted the red sash of the Tul’Zahar. Removing his helm, he shook loose his shoulder-length brown curls, dark eyes fixed on his commander.
Serhan noted the blood soaking Drewin’s arm and spattered on his face. This had obviously been a hard-fought day. “Are you injured badly?” he asked.
He glanced down at his arm and spat. “Goddamn battle mages had me distracted for a moment. I took a crossbow bolt as a reward for my stupidity.”
“Can you continue?”
Drewin threw his head back, laughing. “Are you joking? You think I’d miss my chance of glory over such a small matter?”
Serhan nodded approvingly. He was strong. Almost as strong as himself. In fact, were it not that he had taken the oath two years earlier than Drewin, his subordinate would now be the one leading the Tul’Zahar.
He shifted his attention to Sadich and Thradus. “And how are you two faring? Finding enough mischief?” The pair were brothers, inducted into the order only days apart. Still young, they were known for their practical jokes and spirited nature.
“Enough blood for everyone, for a change,” Sadich replied with a sinister smirk.
“I think the steel in my blade has grown wearier than my sword arm,” added Thradus.
Serhan frowned. “So you left your mounts and fought on foot?”
The pair looked to one another, then back to their commander. It was Thradus who spoke. “Only for a short time. We just couldn’t stand seeing the soldiers have all the fun.”
Serhan shook his head. “The soldiers are here to fight and die. The two of you have far more important duties. Too important to risk your lives over a bit of sport.”
“I apologize,” they replied in unison. But the smiles that lingered on their faces cast doubts on the strength of their sincerity.
Serhan grunted and turned to Drewin. “Have you seen the others?”
He shook his head. “I’m sure they’ll be along shortly.”
“They had better be.” He looked to the battle far below. “Each moment’s delay costs more lives.”
As his eyes rose again, Serhan was just in time to catch the brothers exchanging what appeared to be a furtive glance. He also noticed their hands drifting ever closer to their blades. He furrowed his brow, wondering what was going on. Were they really acting suspiciously?
He dismissed such thoughts as nothing more than pre-battle nerves. Where were the others? He strained his eyes in every direction, but after more than five minutes there was still no sign of anyone else arriving. He blew his horn once again, but the skies around them remained stubbornly empty.
It was then that he noticed Drewin gradually positioning his dragon to the left – away from his commander’s sword arm. The brothers had also moved and were now sitting slightly above him. His senses instantly sharpened and he allowed the magic dwelling within his merkesh to flow into his hands. Drewin immediately picked up on this.
“Is something wrong, Commander?” he asked, his own hand resting on the pommel of his sword.
“I don’t know,” Serhan replied darkly. “Is there?”
Drewin locked eyes with him for a long moment. Slowly, his mouth twisted into a smile and he gave a mirthless chuckle. “Always the perceptive one.”
Serhan’s jaw tightened. So his mind had not been playing tricks. Something was indeed seriously wrong. Treachery was in the air. “Where are the others?” he demanded.
“Dead,” Drewin replied matter-of-factly. He pointed at his commander. “You are the last.”
Serhan’s eyes shot from Drewin to the brothers and back again. Ragnir, sensing her master’s anxiety, was tensing uneasily beneath him.
“Why have you done this?”
His second-in-command raised an eyebrow. “You ask why? Surely you can’t be serious. You have led us to ruin. You defied our king, stole his property, and have instigated a war that you must have known we could never win.”
“King Zemel is a madman and you know it,” he shot back. “The Scepter should never have been in his possession. It was not meant to be wielded by mortal man. I only did what I had to do.”
Drewin nodded. “Yes. He is a madman. But a powerful one. Even without the Scepter, he would have destroyed us. At least now the Tul’Zahar will endure.”
“And how exactly does killing your brothers do anything to save the Tul’Zahar?”
Drewin’s face hardened and his eyes burned. “It is your fault they had to die. I tried to spare them. But such was their blind loyalty to you and to your folly that they would not see reason.”
“Save your lies,” Serhan spat at him. “You made a bargain with Zemel. And the price was the Tul’Zahar. You are without honor. The only thing that comforts me is knowing that in the end, Zemel will betray you, too.”
“Enough of this talk,” shouted Sadich. “I have listened to this self-righteous bastard for far too long. Let’s just kill him and be done with it.” The song of steel rang out as he drew his sword.
Drewin raised a hand in an attempt to stop the inexperienced youth, but it was too late. Serhan was already reacting. Thrusting his left hand out, a bolt of blue lightning sprang forth from his fingertips, striking Sadich squarely in the chest. With his right hand, he freed his own sword and leashed the bolt to the tip of the blade. Sadich’s eyes shot wide. Before he could make any kind of defensive move, the lightning exploded, shredding his breastplate and throwing him completely from his mount. As he plummeted toward the distant ground, Thradus cried out his name. Both he and the riderless dragon then went into steep dives in pursuit his brother.
Serhan unleashed another bolt, this one aimed at Drewin. But his treacherous second-in-command would not be taken off guard so easily. He had already raised a defensive ward. Only a few tiny sparks made it through the shimmering disk of light – not nearly enough to cause any real injury.
Serhan urged Ragnir to dive hard left. As they dropped, he drew in more power, casting ward upon ward around both himself and his dragon. Blasts of fire and lightning at his back told him that Drewin was close behind. Faster and faster they swooped. The battlefield below was now coming up fast. With the wind roaring in his ears, he was forced to grip the saddle horn tightly to remain mounted.
When they were a mere fifty feet from the earth, Ragnir let out a thunderous roar and leveled off. With the enemy army directly below them, Serhan felt two more waves of magic attacking him from above, though this time they were not coming from Drewin’s direction. He looked up and to his left. Sadich’s dragon had apparently caught up with him in time because he was now back in its saddle, his face contorted with fury. Both he and Thradus were sending multiple spears of silver light raining down at Serhan. But it was an undisciplined, hit-or-miss assault fueled largely by their anger, and his wards were more than adequate to protect him from the few that did find their target. Those that missed, however, were causing chaos on the field below. Spear after spear of light shot past him to strike unsuspecting soldiers, ripping their bodies apart like wet parchment.
“Climb!” Serhan shouted.
Ragnir’s wings pounded with unimaginable strength, lifting them well above the battlefield again in no time at all. But rapid as their ascent was, more attacks from the brothers continued to pepper him. Their dragons may not have been anywhere near as powerful as Ragnir, but they were far quicker and more agile. In mere moments they had managed to circle around to be positioned abo
ve and to his front, all the while continuing their seemingly useless assault against his wards.
They’re trying to keep my attention, Serhan realized. His eyes desperately searched for Drewin, eventually spotting him only fifty or so feet above and to his back. As fast as he could, he sheathed his sword and began drawing in yet more power. Wards against magic were a simple thing for someone of his experience, and Drewin understood this as well as anyone. Serhan concentrated on shaping the more complicated wards that would counter physical attacks. One minute. That was as fast as he had ever created one. Would he be granted that long this time?
The ominous thudding of large wings approaching quickly spelled out the futility of such a hope. Ragnir let out a roar of agony as talons sank into her tail. Serhan drew his sword again and took a swipe at Drewin’s mount. His blade found flesh, though only enough to cause a minor wound. Ragnir spun sharply, ripping her tail free from the other dragon’s grip and almost throwing Serhan from the saddle in the process.
He knew he needed to get higher. But the brothers had ceased their magical attack and were concentrating on closing in. Growling with anger, Ragnir flew straight at them. Unwilling to face the enraged dragon head on, the pair split left and right, allowing Serhan to pass straight between them. For a moment he thought he might be able to get high enough to manage an escape, but then another cry of agony came from deep within Ragnir’s throat. Twisting around, he saw that Drewin’s dragon had one of his mount’s rear legs clenched tightly in its maw. Held back by an almost equal weight, their ascent immediately slowed to virtually nothing. The two smaller dragons had been given the opportunity they needed. They dived in from either side to grab a wing each of Ragnir’s firmly in their claws, twisting hard to inflict maximum injury.
Serhan rose from the saddle and prepared to charge at Thradus, but it was too late. Their deadly work already done, all three attacking dragons simultaneously released Ragnir. Desperately she pounded the air, but her wings were now too badly damaged for any chance of flight. Clutching at the saddle horn as they dropped, Serhan braced himself for the moment they struck ground.
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