by Riley Keene
Ermolt’s experience fighting spell casters of any variety—it didn’t matter if they were living or undead—was always to close the distance and don’t let up on them. So he focused his charge on them. Denying them the opportunity to plan the use of their spells was key.
The average spell caster could only accomplish five or six spells in a short period of time before fatigue became a factor. Even Athala, who was particularly gifted, looked ready to collapse after nine spells back-to-back with no rest in between. Forcing them to waste even a single spell was fatigue that would place them at a severe disadvantage, and pressing that advantage could cause them to panic and wear themselves out. But with undead spell casters, he wasn’t sure if they would feel the same level of burnout or panic.
Ermolt still knew he had a significant advantage regardless of spell casting capacity or tactics.
They were just bones. Maybe. Probably.
His hammer likely weighed more than twice what they did, and it was designed to smash and crush. While the weapon was most optimal against heavily armored targets, Ermolt had never been disappointed by its performance on unarmored enemies. And skeletons didn’t even have flesh to absorb some damage before the hammer could reach their bones.
He climbed up onto the platform the skeletons waited on. The three of them stared at each other for a moment before Ermolt took a giant step forward and brought his hammer around to smash the purple-clad skeleton’s arms off its body before it could defend itself.
With surprising deftness, the skeleton darted away from his blow. Its bony hands flashed in a series of motions that looked quite foreign to Ermolt. As the hammer passed next to it, the skeleton reached out and grabbed the head of the weapon.
There was a rumbling boom, and Ermolt’s vision went white, his nostrils filling with the smell of ozone and burning hair. The force pushed him away.
When his vision cleared, Ermolt was falling from the platform. His hammer sailed over his head, little arcs of electricity jumping between the head and handle.
Movement caught his eye as the other skeleton made a series of gestures, punctuated by a sweep of the hand. A gust of wind, flecked with flakes of snow and ice, caught hold of his hammer. It was carried off to the side, despite the weapon’s impressive weight.
Ermolt hit the ground and his hammer landed soon after nearly halfway across the giant room. He frowned at the distant weapon as he pulled himself to his feet. “I knew I should have talked Danchmer into selling me a length of chain,” he mumbled under his breath. He turned his glare to the skeletons as they clambered down off the platform to approach him.
“Still have all that under control?” Elise called out.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Ermolt said, shouting over his shoulder as he sized up his opponents. “I’ve got them right where I want them now.”
The purple-clad skeleton still had arcs of electricity running between its fingers, so Ermolt oriented on it first. The one in white circled around, forcing Ermolt to shift his stance to prevent it from getting behind him. He began towards the purple-wearing skeleton, and it raised its arms as though ready to strike with whatever lightning it still held in its hands. Ermolt decided to humor it and charged in at it.
It brought its hands down towards him, but despite his size, Ermolt was faster. His hands came up and caught the skeleton’s thin arm bones. The undead’s physical strength was almost non-existent compared to Ermolt’s muscles, and he turned the hands away from himself, planting them on the skeleton’s own chest. There was a flare of electricity and the purple cloth draped across its rib cage caught fire.
Ermolt shoved the skeleton away. As soon as it had control again it fruitlessly pounded its bony fingers against its smoldering chest.
An icy gust of wind buffeted Ermolt as soon as the purple-draped and now aflame skeleton was out of the way. Ermolt only turned to face it.
The skeleton in white was directing a stream of wind at him that was as icy cold as those in the mountain peaks. The same weather famed for its ability to freeze an unprepared man’s blood in his veins.
Ermolt only spread his arms, leaning into the wind as it pushed against him.
“What are you even doing?” he yelled over the howling wind directed into his face. “Are you trying to hurt me? With cold winds?” He barked laughter as he began to advance into the wind, approaching the skeletal mage head on. “I am of the northern tribes! A barbarian of the ice and snow! All you’re doing is making me homesick.”
As soon as he came into range he slapped the skeleton’s hands away and leaned down to stare into its confused eye sockets as it gave up on the spell. “Get back to me when you can make a wind half as cold as my homeland.”
Bony hands slapped to his shoulders from behind, and an electric current ripped through his torso, nearly sending him to his knees. He whirled with an enraged backhand, but the scorched purple-dressed skeleton danced back out of reach. The white-clad skeleton planted its hands on the small of his back, releasing another more concentrated blast of cold wind into him. His hide armor protected him from the worst of it, but his innate resistance to the cold could only go so far. He hissed at the sensation he could only equate with snow being dumped down the back of his armor.
This game was getting old.
Ermolt whirled again and the white-clad skeleton tried to dance away. It was a little slower than the other, however. Ermolt thrust his hand into the rib cage of the undead, getting a firm grip and yanking it from its feet. The skeleton was extremely light, and he turned his hip and hurled it away from himself easily, sending it sailing across the room.
The skeleton landed poorly, the joint of one knee separating. The bottom half of that leg was sent flying. Ermolt charged after it, planting one boot on the floor before it and sending the other crashing into its rib cage.
Bones shattered under the blow, bits of ribs and vertebrae flying as it crumbled. A strip of white cloth tangled around Ermolt’s foot, binding the shoulders and skull of the skeleton to his boot. He reached down, grabbing the skull, feeling a sense of vague unease as his thumbs entered the eye sockets with no resistance. With a twist and a yank the skeleton fell limp, and he kicked free of the tangled mess of bones and white cloth.
The victory was short lived as he turned to find that the skeleton in purple had been trying to creep up behind him while he dealt with its companion.
Its hands were raised again, crackling with electrical energy. Ermolt grinned and it hesitated on its approach. He planted his feet and flung the still-animated skull in his hands directly at its companion. The skeleton flinched, instincts causing it to raise its hands to intercept the missile instead of dodging.
Ermolt’s grin only grew wider. The skeleton’s hands touched the skull and the shock spell discharged into it, instantly blackening the bone with the fury of a lightning bolt. Ermolt followed up the charge, grabbing the purple-clad skeleton with both hands. One hand caught a bony wrist while the other tangled in the rags beneath its rib cage.
The skeleton began to twist its fingers, trying to form the spell again.
“Oh no you don’t,” Ermolt said, shaking the undead as he began to run. The spell fizzled with the harsh jerking motion.
It tried to free itself by clawing at the fingers wrapped around its rib cage, but when that failed it lashed out at his face. Ermolt snarled at the creature, turning his head aside to protect his eyes as he began to climb up onto the dais with the skeleton in hand. Its bony feet pounded on his thighs fruitlessly, unable to muster enough force to actually impede his progress.
Ermolt bellowed as he reached the top of the dais and stood before the altar. Elise stepped slightly to the side as Ermolt brought his arms up. He raised the struggling skeleton above his head and then slammed it down onto the stone altar with all his strength.
It landed head first. The skull shattered on impact. Fragments were pounded to powder by the rain of bones that followed, each part of the skeleton snapping, fragmenting, and scatter
ing across the altar and dais.
Ermolt took two labored breaths, feeling the rage of battle receding from his mind as he looked around.
Elise smiled and gave a polite applause. In the corner, Athala was still carefully picking over the book she’d pulled from the shelf, oblivious to what had happened in the rest of the room. He almost wanted to tease her about it, but it wouldn’t make a difference.
His victory was still sweet regardless. And it worked. Ermolt watched with a pleased grin as the slightly darker tone rushed to envelop the surface of the altar and dais.
Chapter Ten
While Ermolt had been dealing with the skeletons, Elise had spent time inspecting the dais and altar. At first she thought that perhaps the white had been some sort of paint on the stone, but there was no layer that she should tell. The white didn’t flake or peel, and it was flush with the darker stone as if they were the same material.
This was only more obvious after the skeleton had been shattered and the bone dust spread around. The darkened spots were very obviously not a different stone as Elise had originally expected, and it became very clear that it wasn’t a layer of paint or even dye. Instead the spreading darkness was the stone becoming translucent, like glass, showcasing the darkness and shadow below.
As they watched, the darkness spread of its own accord, even to places where powdered stone and bone hadn’t been layered.
After barely a breath the altar itself became like a thick pane of glass, and Ermolt quickly backed down the stairs off the dais as it spread across the structure. Elise wondered for a moment if they might need to fetch the scattered bones of the other skeleton, but when the clarity began to spread up the pillars around the dais, she figured one entire skeleton had supplied enough for whatever was going to happen.
Elise knelt on the translucent stone, trying to make out whatever was underneath. She could see something down there, but it was so dark. She thought about grabbing a torch, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind, a soft golden glow began to rise up from the center of the darkness.
Elise hadn’t really considered how deep down the darkness spread until this moment. The glowing light seemed to travel forever before it got close enough for Elise to see what it was. Three slowly-turning rings of floating white-gold runes came into view.
“Athala, you might want to come look at this. We’ve found something. Beneath the altar—”
She hesitated as the clarity and glow spread down beyond the runes, revealing something else.
Something big.
Each dream is the same.
She waits on the edge of a cliff for it to arrive. A forest is spread out behind her. Though Elise does not recognize this location, it feels more like home than any place she’s been before.
The creature does not fly up, though she knows it is capable of it. Instead a giant three-clawed limb reaches up over the edge of the cliff, and it pulls itself up with claws as long as her torso that sink into the stone. Its great scaled and spiked head comes into view, with glowing golden eyes and a maw of enormous fangs.
She does not panic, or try to run, or even prepare to fight. Though this beast could eat a score of her and consider it a snack, she feels calm in its presence. She even feels a vague sense of loyalty and love for it that grows as it pulls its enormous bulk onto the cliff before her.
The dragon looks down at her, and though its face is pale, scaled, and perhaps as large as her home, it reminds Elise of her mother.
“The Age of Gods,” it says, its voice smooth and feminine, not the callous rumble she would expect from such a massive beast, “is coming to an end. Their time is passing, as the long peace has proven them irrelevant. There is no need for the miracles of the Divine when the miracles of mortal beings are so plentiful and grow by the day. The Gods do not need to bring the rains with mortal-designed irrigation systems. The Gods do not need to provide beasts for food with mortal-designed farming techniques. The Gods do not need to provide protection from enemy nations with the weapons of mortal soldiers, and not just that, but the philosophy of mortal diplomats.
“No Gods have fought each other openly in decades, and even their political machinations have become cursory tradition rather than the enthralling game they had been before.
“Ydia has set things in motion to prepare for the end of the Age of Gods.” The dragon leans in towards her, the shadow of its giant head looming, blotting out whatever source of illumination hangs over such dreams. There’s no sun, but instead a gentle golden glow that fills the entire sky. “She is summoning her most capable, her most dependable, and most powerful servants to pave the way for the Age of Mortals.
“She counts you among them.
“You have the potential to play midwife for a new world, ruled by humans and humans alone. You can help Ydia ensure that it does not fail.”
“But why me?” Elise asks and the creature fills its massive lungs again to continue speaking. But the breath instead comes as an exhalation of white fire, engulfing her. She is blinded by the white flames. Deafened by their roar. They do not touch her skin or hair and they do no harm. But her silence is gained as she clams up with instinctive panic.
“This is not the time for questions, child of Ydia,” the creature admonishes, its words harsh, but its tone still motherly.
“To ensure that mortals have what they need to survive, the scaled-ones must be dealt with. Ydia’s plans demand that we be restored or destroyed, giving power to the Gods who side with her, and removing it from those who might seek to prevent or sabotage the Age of Mortals.
“You must remember this,” it says, spreading enormous wings that are large enough to give flight to a creature the size of a Temple. Elise is surprised to see they are free of the spikes that coat the rest of its scaled hide. “You will know when you are called on to act on Ydia’s behalf. You will know what tasks need to be done. Failure is not an option. Failure leads to doom.
“Ydia has no better reward to offer you than the safety and security of every mortal life that will have mastery of their own fate in the Age of Mortals in a way impossible under the rule of Gods.”
It leaned toward her again, speaking in a voice that had the tone of a more personal sentiment after conveying an official message. “Good luck, child of Ydia.”
The beast leaps into the air, and its wings beat once.
Twice.
Three times.
Elise is surrounded by a whirlwind of dirt and dust kicked up by the dragon’s takeoff. She always awakens before the dust settles.
“A-Athala,” Elise said after a moment. She swallowed hard and her throat clicked dry. Her skin felt so cold. Elise looked up to Ermolt, but he didn’t seem too affected by the sight. Had he not noticed or had she not told him of her dreams? Her thoughts were so muddled, she could barely remember. “A-Athala,” she repeated, a little more urgently. “P-Please come over and take a look at this.”
Elise tried not to let her hand shake too much as she pointed down into the translucent stone. Ermolt leaned forward to follow her quivering finger, and now he gasped audibly.
Beneath the rotating runes of the spell an impossibly familiar dragon was encased as though frozen in time.
Chapter Eleven
The fear in Elise’s voice cut through Athala’s distracted mind. The book she’d been reading—a fascinating journal following a pair of wizards tasked with casting nearly impossible deific magic—was returned to the shelf and promptly forgotten about. She spun around quickly with the intent of sprinting across the room, but she paused.
The room was trashed.
Stone and bone littered the floor and the dais that Elise and Ermolt stood on was now completely transparent—for stone, anyway—near the top half of the dais itself.
Athala crossed the room, trying to look everywhere at once. “What happened,” she said breathlessly. There was so much destruction. Although, once she saw the lines of rotating runes beneath the surface of the translucent stone, nothing
else could catch her attention and she didn’t notice if they responded.
With a tentative tap of her foot, Athala tested the stone of the dais before scrambling out onto it.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The runes were white, illuminated from behind by a golden glow. They were slowly rising to the surface of the transparent stone now that the translucence had finished spreading. As they came closer and clearer, Athala’s excitement grew and she began to murmur some of the runes under her breath.
“This is it,” she said, finally releasing the breath she’d been holding. She knelt down and reached into her pack to dig out some pages to make notes on without looking. “This is the spell! We’ve got it. I just need some time to examine it before we begin.” She spread some pages out on the stone in front of her, and set her spellbook within reach for good measure. “Elise, if you could help me out, I’m going to try and transcribe a few of these. Can you just—” She looked over at the Conscript, who was on the dais a few fen away. Staring.
“Athala,” Elise said breathlessly, staring at the floor of the dais. “I think I need a minute here first.”
“What are you looking at?” Athala peered down into the stone. She only had eyes for the spell upon climbing the dais. As soon Athala she saw the dragon, she leapt to her feet, scrambling back until she nearly fell down the stairs. “What is that?”
“I may not be an expert,” Elise said, her tone surprisingly even, “but I’m pretty sure it’s a dragon.” The Conscript looked up, her eyes wide. “I thought you said they were all gone!”
“In my defense, it doesn’t look very lively to me.” Athala crept forward again, recovering a few bits of notes that she had scattered. “Are, hm, are you sure it’s not dead?”
