The Kakos Realm Collection

by Christopher D Schmitz

  Freeing the great dragon would prove little problem for even an initiate mage; had only its true location been known it might have been released centuries ago. But without desperate purpose The Dragon Impervious remained too great and powerful of a creature to roam free and uncontrolled.

  While the releasing spell took little skill, controlling such a beast was another matter entirely. The ritual and rites that Prock performed would gather enough power to amply subjugate the creature’s mind. Such a task surpassed the ability of most mages and if he had not already been versed in the method whereby he enthralled his wyverns, he might not have proved capable.

  The chill of thin mountain air bit at his exposed skin, but the loyal acolyte continued his ritual chant, undeterred. His focus intensified as the rite neared completion. He twirled a mystic’s dance; ignoring the cries of the far-off rukhs and spinning around the final sigil he etched one last mark in the stone underfoot.

  He shed the last of his clothes, laid the ineffable rune talisman, and halted his mantra. Prock stood barefoot atop the magic sign and painted his skin with the freshly shed blood of ceremonial animals. Prock shouted the sacred words of magic and they echoed beyond the mountaintops; the sounds swirled and reverberated as snow blew down the slope in wild eddies. They danced around his naked, bloody form. Rusty ichor pooled and caked around the odd birthmark between his shoulders, drying in a flaky and macabre, artistic pattern.

  He stepped forward, bare feet leaving tainted footprints upon the cold stone. He confidently strode toward the stone beast, walking towards the monster’s head. Only the ridge of its brow was visible; the rest had sunken below the surface, encased within a metamorphic prison. The Acolyte smeared blood across the sigils and letters engraved upon the scales of the dragon’s crest. The cooling, vermillion sludge pooled within the etchings.

  The sigils activated, emblazoned with the nephesh energy of the blood. They hummed and shone with a sorcerous, black light as they sucked in supernatural vitality. Prock smeared more blood across the beast’s exposed hieroglyphics, activating all of the marks which had long sealed the beast within its stone shackles.

  The seals glowed with energy, charged with enough power to potentially unfetter the monster. The mountain vibrated underfoot, trembling below the warrior mage. Grinning with accomplishment, the confidant enchanter touched his palm to the precise sigils in a specified order; the pattern was the key provided by the dread lord beh’-tsah.

  Behind him, Prock’s wyvern snorted loudly as the tremors shook the thin air. The dragon’s stone skin cracked and the beast molted rock as if it were a silken cocoon. With a mighty roar it shook free from the mountainside scattering jagged shards for hundreds of feet.

  Cooing with terror, the black reptile whined for comfort. It trembled as it sensed the palpable danger that rolled off of the emerging mountain of terrible flesh. After millennia, the Dragon Impervious’s bonds splintered and fell impotently to the cracked earth.

  The awakened behemoth chuffed deafeningly, triumphantly, and spread its massive wings—each larger than a ship’s sails. The dragon’s loud, reptilian baying finally broke the resolve of Prock’s wyvern which took to the sky.

  Roaring, the Dragon Impervious reveled in its first moments of freedom and sprang into the air, pursuing the startled mount. The wyvern, only about one-sixth the predator’s size, turned to face the creature which boasted surprising speed.

  Claws unsheathed and the beasts bared their teeth as they danced in the sky. The black-scaled wyvern dodged in and out of the Dragon Impervious’ claws and tail. After several loops and turns, the silver, iridescent dragon blew a hot blast of molten chemicals. They ate through the wyvern’s left wing and it plummeted to the mountain peak below, where Prock stood and cast the final enchantment which would bind the Dragon Impervious to his will.

  The dragon streaked toward its injured target and seized the wyvern by the neck just before it impacted with the ground. Half the wyvern’s body slammed to the ground—the vicious dragon twisted and wrenched its prey’s neck, snapped the serpentine spinal column. As the crippled, black beast shrieked with pain and defiance the immense drake locked jaws upon its midsection, twisted, and eviscerated the once powerful aerial steed.

  Flinging wyvern bowels and entrails about the mountaintop in a wild frenzy, the Dragon Impervious sensed another heartbeat nearby and turned towards Prock. It charged upon the man who’d freed him. The dragon reared, intending to bring its horned head crashing down upon the man in a display of dominance but before it could strike, the Acolyte proclaimed his word of power. The word echoed off the cliff faces and bound the beast’s will to his, completely dominating its mind.

  The Dragon Impervious shook its head violently; it tried to shake off the stranglehold the enchanter held on its consciousness. A creature of magical origins, it maintained certain defenses and resistances against such enthrallment, but the mage’s spell proved too strong as he plied more power from his master’s supernatural reservoir. The dragon shuddered, relaxed, and became compliant.

  Prock confidently approached the enslaved creature. With contracted, dulled eyes the dragon still remained poised to strike. The acolyte struck the dragon in the snout, a teasing punishment for its hostile posturing towards its new master.

  Recoiling, the Dragon Impervious snorted like a chastised dog. Prock grinned wickedly and dressed himself. The dragon was now his. He approached the busted body of his previous mount and unbundled the new barding which he had made at Absinthium’s instruction prior to the search for proper reagents. It had not been unduly damaged by the thrashing the wyvern had taken. He mounted it to the great beast, lowered his glassine riding goggles, and took to the sky.

  The rukhs immediately screeched at the invasion of their airspace and descended towards the beast en masse. The acolyte welcomed the challenge with a manic laugh.

  Rolling through the swarm of massive raptors, the avian predators clawed and slashed at the dragon’s hide. Their metallic blades scraped with an ugly sound, scattering sparks which harmlessly bouncing off the impenetrable skin. Several of the ancient blades snapped or bent upon the hardened scales.

  Shrieking with hate, they turned and charged. They streaked towards the dragon with primal rage as the monster, more than twice their size, turned to greet them.

  The Dragon Impervious inhaled a deep breath and bellowed, first with sound, and secondly with a vicious spray of enzymatic fire. The first rukh evaporated in a cloud of dripping gore. Trying to scatter, the rest began to burn as the chemical flame splattered them to various degrees, immolating feathers and plunging them towards the craggy depths below.

  Three more rukhs slashed at the dragon.

  Snapping the first in its mighty jaws, the Dragon Impervious rolled over, smashing another one. It snatched the other in a sinewy claw and squeezed violently, breaking bones and crushing organs which burst through a rupture in the raptor’s midsection.

  Roaring victoriously, the remaining rukhs turned and fled for their aerie. Prock could feel the dragon’s mind and impulses coursing through his body. It wanted to pursue them, to kill them all, to exterminate the entire rukh race. Such violent euphoria threatened to overwhelm the pleasure centers in the acolyte’s mind.

  Prock pushed back with his own mind. Asserting the will of a master, the Dragon Impervious flapped its wings and turned back south, towards Grinden. The rider greedily licked his lips against the thin, cold air. Now, these heretic krist-chins will know real power.

  ***

  Evening drew deep near Grinden. The first of the smaller pyres were lit to provide the anxious Christians with enough light to watch their perimeter. Most of the warriors stood guard near the bottom of the hill. Rashnir stayed, for the time being, near the top with Kevin and Shinna; as the tension mounted Jibbin grew excessively clingy.

  Zeh-Ahbe’ also stayed with Rashnir and Kevin hoping that he could be of some further use before the war broke out. The rest of
the werewolves stood in homid form alongside men filling in the gaps of the Christians’ ranks. A line of prepared warriors encircled the base of the hill. When the opportunity was right, they would shapeshift and charge into battle. Tribe Say-awr’ hoped they could surprise the first wave of attackers. In such a bleak situation, the element of surprise could be an invaluable secret weapon.

  As daylight shifted to starlight, Kyrius watched a group of nearly ninety humans break away from the Grinden militia. The band headed down the side of the quarry; the militiamen cheered and hollered, but did not follow. It seemed an overzealous lot disobeyed the orders to hold position and charged ahead; one group of locals had gotten so riled up that they threw themselves into battle and the other locals cheered them enthusiastically.

  They ran through the brilliant moonlight and closed the gap where the tense Christians planted at the ready. Just as they came to the edges of flame light they halted and spoke with a nearby Christian.

  The band did no harm and put away their weapons and the cheers of the militiamen subsided, replaced by growls of confusion. As the group below waited, the fire-starter returned and led them up the hill and amongst the Christians. The confused outbursts of the militia turned to bitter howling as they recognized that they’d just allowed some of the Christians’ allies to pass through their ranks and join with the other side.

  Rashnir smiled as he watched the chicanery from the hilltop. Jaker led a group of battle-ready dissidents; he’d brought many of the Rogis’ Rangers roster over with him. Also among them was Bomarr. Rashnir scooped up Jibbin and went down to meet the group that ascended the hill.

  He was well met by the group and introductions were made all around, though everyone already knew of Rashnir. Bomarr was somber, and yet a spark of light shone in his eyes; the former flames of hatred and bitterness had been extinguished.

  The young man spoke apologetically to Rashnir, “Missa, my mother, has died.”

  Rashnir nodded his head sadly and comforted him. It was a foregone conclusion that she might die on any day; she’d lived long past anyone’s’ expectation.

  “I wanted to thank you, Rashnir, and I want to thank Kevin. You showed me a way to communicate with my mother again and gave me back a little part of her, even if it was only for a short while. She told me so many things, one of those being what she’d come to believe after listening to Kevin.”

  Rashnir embraced his would-be brother as they ascended the hill with the others; they would likely meet with Kevin and the other leaders. On the way, Bomarr explained how his mother continually urged him to embrace forgiveness and how she had been completely at peace when she passed away. She instructed him not to mourn for her because she would be in a far better place. Her steadfastness had convinced and encouraged him to become a Christian, too.

  At the summit, Jibbin led Rashnir by the hand until he found Shinna. The little boy frequently engineered it so that he could sit between the elderly woman and his guardian; she was the boy’s second favorite person. Shinna smiled warmly as they sat next to her with Jibbin sandwiched in the middle. Her kindly way appealed to all people, but especially to children.

  The group of warriors met with Kevin and the rest. Jaker spoke for the group, “We are here to aid you Christians,” the Ranger said. “Many of my companions joined me when I hinted I might care enough to actually cross the demarcation line, almost a third of our numbers agreed with me. There are still some in Grinden who watched recent events take place but would rather have our city remain neutral.

  “These Luciferians are saying things that seem utterly wrong. They control and manipulate, they even lie directly to their own people and too few see through their deceptions. It appears like the church is making a bid for political power, accumulating land and wealth, subjugating kings and rulers. This is not a type of rulership that we are comfortable living under.”

  Jaker hedged. “Of course, we do not believe in your doctrines, either. There are very few amongst us that are inclined to any religious faith. We do, though, have certain principles and ethics, one of which is to stand up for what we know is true. You might have truth, you might not, but the Luciferians are certainly deceptive and would enslave us all if nobody rises up against them. That is why we must fight: to protect our own freedoms, to pursue our own truths—before that opportunity is taken from us.” He paused introspectively.

  “Perhaps what truly spurred us to action, though, was when we saw you herded like sheep by the royal guard. It became evident that not only did they lie about your ‘terrible band of brigands and wizards’ as the Luciferians have purported you to be, but that they don’t even see you as humans. I think you are a noble people being backed into a corner by a national bully, and that’s never sat well with me.” Jaker traded a knowing look with Rashnir, conjuring up memories of Mind.

  “We are grateful for your assistance,” Kevin replied. “Had this encounter come sooner, I might have told you to remain in Grinden for your own safety. I believe that my God will deliver us; I truly do, though I am not guaranteed it. I know that he has the power to deliver us. There is the chance, though, that our lives will be forfeit and I do hate to endanger your lives as well.

  “But, we do appreciate knowing that there are others who have not been so duped by the Luciferian deceptions and we will accept your offer of help. There is no turning back now; you cannot return and live.”

  “There is no sense to living in a world controlled by such a corrupt religious institution. They seek control of even the minds and thoughts of mankind,” Jaker said disdainfully.

  “Very true. What else can you tell us about our enemies, Jaker?”

  “We know that they are waiting for the one that they call the Wyvern-Rider before they attack. He is Absinthium’s most powerful acolyte, some kind of assassin. The battle is set to begin once he arrives. Rutheir and Absinthium have already assembled the remaining armies just beyond the ridge. Everything is set.”

  Jhonnic asked hopefully, “Are there more of you to come? Will more help arrive?”

  “There are no more of us that will come. The others in Grinden certainly feel bad—but won’t throw their lives away for your cause.

  “In fact, several of those who haven’t pledged loyalty to the Order have been incarcerated. Rutheir’s goon, Dyule, has been rounding up all dissenters lately. Harboring sympathies towards Christians has gotten them locked away in the prison near the monastery. The dungeon is packed with people who have neither accepted your beliefs, nor cowed in the face of Luciferian power. If you’re hoping for any more help to come, it won’t come from any sources I know of.”

  The ranger shared other details like estimated numbers he’d heard regarding the size of their army and how the goblins had been using a new excavation, called Under-Grinden, as a staging point for an army of over four thousand ekthro which tunneled to the quarry and plains thereby cutting off any escape route. Much of the opposition was invisible, waiting in reserve beneath the surface.

  Rutheir’s royal army supplied two thousand mounted soldiers plus other footsoldiers; the Grinden militiamen boasted over three thousand. The ekthroic numbers far exceeded four thousand. On top of those numbers were Luciferian combat monks from the monastery and several mercenary groups hired by the crown.

  As conversations ensued on a variety of levels, Shinna pulled Jaker aside to speak with him. She wore a pained look as her compassion threatened to overwhelm her senses. Jibbin sat on Rashnir’s lap and he could not hear their conversation but could see how something had moved her to tears; heartbreak was written across her face.

  Jaker gave her some kind of advice to which she shook her head in disagreement. Shinna’s convictions often overruled her common sense. The pained look remained affixed on the frail-looking woman who left in search of Kyrius.

  Kevin knew he had to try and boost morale as news of the overwhelming force rippled through the community. It was not hard to gain their attention as the pe
ople looked to him for support.

  The preacher’s voice echoed down the hillock and through the quarry. No person had any problems hearing him. Kevin spoke passionately of the impending battle and about the rewards that awaited them in heaven, should any of them fall. He encouraged any of those who had not yet sought the face of Christ to accept His call and anointing for service. A handful of those who broke through the enemy lines with Jaker accepted Christ’s gift of salvation.

  “I know one thing for sure,” the preacher announced. “Even if we all die here today, we will have given our lives in service to our Lord, not to ourselves and not to some phony pretender. The Lord is pleased with our actions and with our hearts.

  “I might not survive this night, but know that I willingly came here to give my life in service to my God; He gave His life up for me so that I would not suffer for eternity. I gladly serve my King, and will follow Him even to the end of my life, should He bid it.

  “We have something that the rest of mankind does not. We have the hope and assurance of eternal life, a life that will make this one pale in comparison. I believed this even before I came to this realm. Before my journey here, I actually saw a glimpse of Heaven, but even that glorious place is dimmed in contrast to the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ. The Heavens are dark without Him.

  “We need not fear anything. God is in control and He will work all things together for his glory. The warrior king, David, wrote: ‘Yahweh is my light and my salvation. Whom shall I fear? Yahweh is the strength of my life. Of whom shall I be afraid? When evildoers came at me to eat up my flesh, even my adversaries and my foes, they stumbled and fell. Though an army should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear. Though war should rise against me, even then I will be confident. One thing I have asked of Yahweh, that I will seek after, that I may dwell in the house of Yahweh all the days of my life, to see Yahweh's beauty, and to inquire in his temple. For in the day of trouble he will keep me secretly in his pavilion. In the covert of his tabernacle he will hide me. He will lift me up on a rock. Now my head will be lifted up above my enemies around me. I will offer sacrifices of joy in his tent. I will sing, yes, I will sing praises to Yahweh.’