Ascension (War of the Seraphs): Book One

by Dan Bilodeau

  When he opened his eyes, the weaves were already forming, with Dal envisioning what he was creating before it appeared. A red dragon formed from his weaves, fiery lines emanating from the creature. Its teeth blood-red and sharp, it crackled and simmered as sparks flew off it. The dragon roared and looked directly at Dal. “Go,” he said as he pointed at the approaching Andals. It spread its wings and roared, leaving a trail of scorched earth in its wake, its head aflame as it flew toward the enemy. Men screamed and the lines broke in disarray as the dragon sped toward them. Or, rather, some of the riders broke away. The Weepers continued on, firing their arrows toward their targets as fast as they could nock their arrows.

  The creature dived and hit the ground, where it lost its form and waves of flames shot out from the spot where it hit. Men boiled and screamed as they were cooked alive. Dal watched in horror as one man’s armor melted to his skin and collapsed in on itself. He screamed as his chest was crushed before he burned to death.

  But too many soldiers were left to fight, and they would soon be close enough for hand-to-hand combat and certain death for Dal and his friends.

  “Run!” Hadrian yelled, but no one moved. Dal’s breathing matched his mentor’s; he was growing tired. The riders bore down on them and arrows filled the air. To his horror, he saw Deidre get hit in the stomach with one. She cried out as she fell. Dal raged as he ran to her. He stood over her, facing the riders. An Andal took aim at Dal and fired. He lifted his hand and felt something hot in his palm as the arrow disintegrated before it hit him.

  Dal looked down at his hand. He had created a sword made of fire, and it shimmered. He could feel its intense heat, yet he wasn’t burned by it. White-hot flames danced around the edges of the sword, as if greedy for blood.

  Dal counted 30 men still on horseback, and these would now be his responsibility or he and his friends would all be dead in minutes.

  He swung his fiery sword in front of the lead riders, and the horses fell. It wasn’t enough however, as a Weeper lowered his long lance at Dal and charged. He saw the gleam of the well-honed metal tip aiming for his chest. He swung upward and struck, cutting the lance in two and catching the horse in midsection, slicing down its body as the animal continued running. Nearly cut in half, the horse collapsed, crushing the Weeper. Blood splattered everywhere, and Dal felt a warm sensation on his face.

  While Dal was disposing of the Weeper, Pad and Curran were fighting for their lives, attempting to dodge the riders. Pad had a bad gash in his shoulder, but both his buddies had been lucky, as this final group of Andals and Weepers had missed their chance to take them out on the first pass. Well, mostly. Dal looked on helplessly as Hadrian lay on the ground, not moving. He had a wound on his head and blood was dripping down his face. And Deidre lay nearby, her hair hiding her face.

  The remaining riders formed up and charged again. Dal lifted his sword, bracing himself. The riders raced forward, lances and pikes lowered. Time slowed, and this was it. The rider leading this pack wasn’t wearing a helmet, nor was he dressed in black. All he wore was a vicious grin on his face that sent chills down Dal’s spine. That bastard was enjoying this.

  “Come and get me, you bloody sod!” Dal yelled. He pointed his flaming weapon at the man, who held his grin for a moment longer before replacing it with a look of anger and spurring his steed.

  The evil Andal was almost upon Dal when a lightning bolt hit in front of him and his horse. But there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The soldiers around him yelled as bolt after bolt rained down on them until every Andal and Weeper was dead. Everyone that is, except the rider. The soldier surveyed what had happened, his countenance depicting not fear but confusion, but he did holler a quick “No!” as a bolt struck him directly and waves of current flowed through him and his horse. Both jerked around on the ground for a moment until the Andal’s head exploded. Gore rained down upon Dal and his band, and the smell of burning flesh was overwhelming.

  Dal lowered his sword. It vanished and soon everything became still and quiet. He had to go to Deidre, but he became dizzy and fell to one knee. He vomited and collapsed to the ground. He saw a man’s boots approaching, and his vision blurred. No! We’ve won! It can’t end like this!

  EIGHTEEN

  Dal was fishing in the lake that he with Pad and Curran used to go to all the time. It was a beautiful day, with the sun beating down on him and a cooling breeze. Am I dead? Maybe death wasn’t so bad. Maybe he could stay here forever and just fish. That sounded nice.

  Dal heard footsteps. He turned and was blinded. Walking up to him was Hadrian, garbed magnificently in reds, blues, and greens. His skin was shining even brighter than normal, twinkling in the sun, like the sun’s rays. Dal felt warmth coming from the old man.

  “Hello, young Dalziel,” Hadrian said as he sat down next to him on a log. “How are you?”

  He stared at Hadrian for a moment before speaking. “Are…are we dead?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, lad, but it certainly is a nice day.” Hadrian closed his eyes and lifted his face, taking in the sun. He let out a sigh of pleasure. “Yes, it certainly is. You know, I did ask you a question, young man. I’m fairly certain your mother taught you better manners than that.”

  “I’m fine, Hade, thanks,” he said, slightly annoyed. It truth, he didn’t feel fine.

  “Good, I was worried there for a moment. Any bites so far?”

  "No, not yet.” Dal reeled in his line and sighed. "Nothing.”

  “Well, keep trying. There’s something to be said for perseverance. I believe that’s one of the strengths of you farmers. One that the Andals have sorely overlooked.”

  “I’m not like them, Hade, meaning farmers. I’ve never much cared for being a farmer. I’ve spent my life wanting to be something else, and now that I am all I want to do is go back to farming. I just can’t be happy. But I know there’s no going back. Ever since…ever since Soren. It just wouldn’t be the same. I don’t know what to do.” He sighed in frustration.

  Hadrian squared his eyes up with Dal’s. “It seems to me you’re worried about things outside of your control, my boy. All you can do is what you’ve been doing, keeping on. If you keep putting one foot in front of the other, I suspect you’ll go far. It’s when you worry about the big picture that you get tripped up. What is the big picture if not all the little ones put together? My mother was a weaver, so it’s second nature for me to see it this way. I suspect if you watched her make a blanket, you’d understand what I’m talking about. Although unlike the blanket, none of us are finished products. Dio continues weaving us into greater and greater strands. That is, if we let Him. I still sense a warring inside of you, boy. You are going to have to accept a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the fact that your brother’s death was not your fault. And that your friends look up to you. Whether you want to accept it or not, you’re a leader, young man. Soon you will understand what that means.”

  “And?”

  “And…and the rest you are not ready yet. You will be, once you continue down the path you’ve started. I have faith in you, Dalziel, even if you don’t have faith in yourself. But more important than what I believe, Dio believes in you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “You farmers are daft, I tell you. I still can’t make up my mind about you lot. Do you really think you could have come this far on your own?”

  Dal looked down. He didn’t have an answer.

  “It’s all right. You will understand everything in due time.”

  Something was in the corner of his mind, eating at him. “Hade, what is this? Is this a dream?”

  “It appears to be a lake.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  “Yes, you are correct. Unfortunately, that’s the only answer I have for you. I’ve accepted that we are where we are. I cannot change it any more than you. If it’s a dream, then you’ll wake up. If we’re dead, we may stay here for ete
rnity.” Hadrian wrinkled his nose. “Although I hope this is not the case. I get tired of seafood easily.” As if on cue, Dal’s line began to wriggle.

  “Pull it up!” Hadrian cried with excitement.

  Dal fought; this was a big one. His wrists began to cramp and the line tugged harder. Whatever was on the other end threatened to pull Dal into the lake.

  “Fight it!” Hadrian urged.

  Dal pulled with all his might and began to reel in his line. He was just about to get a look at the fish when--

  Dal opened his eyes. It was dark and he could barely see, but from what he could make out, he thought he was in a cavern of some sort. Drip. A drop of water hit his forehead. He sat up and grabbed his head. Waves of pain shot through his body, and his skull felt as if someone had used it as an anvil. A very large anvil. He had no idea how long he had been out, but judging by the way his body felt, it had been at least a full day.

  In a little while his eyes became more acclimated to the dim light. He was lying on a cot in a dark corner of what he was now certain was part of a cave, rectangular in shape, and with a natural corridor leading through it. Water was steadily dripping around him, and orbs of unnatural light glowed from above, tracing a path up and down the center of the cavern. Magic, no doubt. The air was damp and cool, and he heard the faint sound of voices. Where am I? He got up and began walking toward the voices.

  The pathway split in two directions, to his left descending and to his right ascending. Dal went right. After a short distance he came to the room where the voices were coming from and looked inside.

  Two men were standing over Pad, chanting a language Dal had never heard before. Pad was unconscious, with many visible wounds, including a wide, festering gash in his side. The men were sending weaves, but the shapes of these were different in that they were more like ripples in the air. Dal watched in amazement as Pad’s wound began to heal. The pus soon disappeared and Pad moaned in his sleep, turned slightly, and his breathing sounded normal.

  The men were wearing robes similar to Hadrian’s, with the same mysterious runes on them. That was where the similarities stopped however, as both were young and clean-shaven, and not much older than Dal. One robe was a gray like an overcast sky, and the other was brown and appeared to be made of the earth itself.

  Each man turned to Dal, as if they knew he’d been watching all along. “Hello,” the one in the gray robe said. “I am Liam. This is Sean.” He motioned to the second man.

  “Welcome to the Brotherhood,” Sean said.

  “Thank you. Where am I exactly?”

  “We’re not allowed to tell you where this is exactly. You’re in what we call the Enclave.”

  “I have to guess Pad is going to be okay, but what about everyone else?”

  “All your young friends will be fine,” Liam said.

  Dal breathed a huge sigh of relief, as this meant that Deidre had also made it. Then it hit him: young friends. “What about Hade?” he asked, fearing the answer.

  “As for Hadrian, only time will tell. But don’t fret, Dalziel, we’re doing all we can, and now he’s resting before we use a fresh set of weaves on him.” The three left Pad’s room and ambled down the pathway.

  “How do you know my name?” Dal asked.

  “How does a bird know how to fly?” Liam said. “We know many things, Dalziel of Quork. We know that you are a magic-user, a powerful one. We also know that you have not yet harnessed your power. We will teach you to do so.”

  “Can I see Deidre and Curran?”

  Sean pointed down the pathway. “Third chamber on the left.”

  Dal broke into a run. How could she be okay? He'd seen that arrow hit her squarely in the chest. Hadrian’s healing? He’d just witnessed what had occurred with Pad a few minutes earlier. These Druids were powerful indeed. He had no idea how healing was done, but he was grateful and blessed Dio, reflecting on Hadrian’s words during his most recent dream: I still don’t know if you’re there, but you certainly know I’m here.

  When Dal rushed into the room, Deidre was sitting on a bed, waxing her bow. She looked up at him as her eyes widened. “Dal!” she yelled. The two ran to embrace one another. She smelled of sweet earth and lavender and held on to him as if for dear life. Her face was shiny and clean and her hair was everywhere. She was beautiful.

  He cupped her cheek in his hand. “I can’t believe you’re alive!” he said, his eyes welling up.

  “I am, thanks to these Druids…and you.” She kissed him. “Dal, you were amazing. The last thing I remember before I blacked out was a flaming sword and you standing over me. Did that really happen?”

  “Yeah. For good or for bad, it did.”

  “You mean Pad or Hadrian?

  “I guess you heard about them. Pad is supposed to be fine, but Hade might have some problems, according to Liam and Sean, whom I assume you’ve met.”

  “Yes, they healed me. Got rid of the scars on my legs too.” She stepped back, spun around in a circle, and came back to him. A man could drown in the eyes he was now staring into. She came closer, and he felt her breath hot against his face.

  “I--” he began, but he never got the chance to finish. She kissed him, her mouth wet against his. Dal was floating.

  Dal wasn’t sure how long they had been kissing when he heard, “Er-hmmm,” and turned to see Curran.

  “How long you been standing there?” Dal asked.

  “Long enough to notice that poor girl turning blue from loss of oxygen.” Curran chuckled.

  “You sod.” Dal had turned red, but Deidre pulled his face back.

  “Who cares?” she said. “Let him watch.” She gave him another kiss, caressing his mouth with hers. She looked into his eyes and then released him.

  “Don’t stop now, I am enjoying the show.”

  “I liked you better when you didn’t talk.” Dal punched him in the arm.

  “With Pad hurt, someone’s got to supply the humor around here.” A worried look crossed his features. “Pad’s okay, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, I just saw him. Liam and Sean said all he needs now is rest.”

  “What about Hade? Nobody will tell us anything.”

  “Me either,” Dal said, nodding thoughtfully. “But I promise I’ll find out.”

  Wulf looked at the battlefield, awestruck. The devastation was so complete, it was almost beautiful. If they weren’t his men and animals lying everywhere, he might even have smiled. Of the additional men he’d sent Mulbar, including 20 Weepers, it appeared that not one of the one-hundred strong had survived, including his lieutenant. Wulf found Mulbar’s body easily because even minus its head, the corpse’s physique and lack of armor was unique to his Second in Command. Wulf put a handkerchief to his nose to block the putrid, charred smell, as smoke was still rising from the ground around the body.

  Wulf didn’t have a firm idea of what he would have done with Mulbar had he survived. Knowing he would have to face the scrutiny of the Emperor, at the last minute he’d decided to send a contingent of Weepers. How many of those damned Druids did it take to do this? Certainly this time more than one Druid and his “Fire Angel.” But now he was getting close to their den. He flushes them out, they will be his. He turned and looked at what he had on the hills behind him.

  Two thousand Andal soldiers and the rest of his Weeper force were formed up in ranks, awaiting orders.

  Lothar, who was seated on a horse next to Wulf’s, asked nervously, “Shall we move out, m’lord?”

  “Not yet, I want our men to have ample time to take all of this in. I want there be no doubt that this enemy is not to be underestimated.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” Lothar said and gulped. The man was spineless, having come only at Wulf’s express order. Wulf couldn’t stand magistrates who hid behind their positions. Such men were weak and didn’t have the stomach to properly serve the Empire. To the opposite end of things, Mulbar had demonstrated competence, but the man could never see past his own selfish desire to inflic
t pain on others. Simply, no one in the Andal Empire possessed Wulf’s overall skills, and Lothar’s presence made it clear just how far advanced he was beyond the rest of those who were left to challenge him.

  Just as palpably as if he’d experienced it firsthand, Wulf could smell the flesh searing and feel it charring to a hard, burnt leather as he rode through the field of death. Mulbar had clearly rushed in, smelling fresh meat. He must have known that charging a large group of Druids would be suicide, but the man had always been reckless. Mulbar had paid for that flaw, and so had the men he had taken with him. Pity. Wulf could have used the men that Mulbar had gotten killed, especially the Weepers. No matter. His force would be enough to overwhelm the Druids and rid the Andal Empire of them forever.

  Wulf observed his men closely. Many of them shifted uneasily as they looked at their fallen brethren. Maybe having them linger was not such a good idea after all? “Move out,” Wulf said. Lothar tensed at the order, as did the troops closest to him. With precision, the men hoisted their weapons and in short order straightened their lines. Yes, discipline and good soldiering would win this war, not magic, yet Wulf was also looking forward to fighting fire with a little fire of his own. He laughed fiendishly at the surprise he had in store for the Druids and their “Fire Angel.”

  At least the rebels had been considerate enough to leave a trail, since several sets of footprints led from the field. They were headed due north, and this would all be over soon. Wulf knew how it would end, and the rebels should too. But if they didn’t, he’d certainly correct their oversight.