Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1)

by Roberto Vecchi

  As he lept off the solid ground of knowing and into the unbounded flight of faith, he grabbed onto the existence of Esthinor and pulled him over the edge to plummet with the crashing water into the deep pool below. Esthinor heard himself grunt as Eriboth grabbed hold of him, and try as he might to dislodge the spell and retrieve his consciousness, there was something holding him fixed into the essence of the warrior. Though they both fell toward the pool, their falls could not have been more different. Esthinor's mind was thrashing desperately in his attempt to find some magical basis for his escape, but there was no knowledge within him regarding his current situation, thus he was left to fall in a fear driven plummet. Eriboth, though just as anxious, found a confidence in his free fall and streaked toward the pool below with the driven intent of an arrow expertly shot at a target. Hands straight over his head, streamlined and focused, he pierced the water at the same time as the wizard. Just as their dives were vastly different, so were their splashes; one impossibly small, and one equally large. At the end of their respective liquid displacements, everything was revealed, and everything changed.

  Both men were aware they were within the depth of Eriboth's identity. Esthinor had enough experience with men, having researched the psyches for the better part of his long life, to know that no man was able to face the truth of himself without a requisite breaking. But Eriboth showed no signs of this. All that radiated from the warrior was a complete confidence rooted in who he was. But this confidence was not based upon the deluded, self-constructed identity most mortals need to cover existing in the deepest reaches of themselves; rather it was firmly fixed in a singular truth, a truth Esthinor hated. A truth Esthinor despised, and a truth he rejected. Eriboth, himself, within himself, and with only himself, in spite of all the pain he caused and all the death he created, was enough. In all his inadequate and mortal flaws, he was defined by something greater. And the greatness that rested within him was greater than anything existing outside.

  Esthinor felt a power begin to rise within Eriboth from the revelation that the Man, the God, who loved him unconditionally and irrevocably, had provided him with a portion of His own objective image. As he allowed the momentum from his dive to propel him further down into the pool of himself, he remembered everything. He became everything he was meant to be in the eyes of the Man. As he continued to descend he saw something rising up to meet him. And Esthinor saw it too. At first, it was nothing more than a small, dark shadow rising from the depths of Eriboth’s objective identity, but as it continued its ascension, it began to shimmer. The form, changing from a diffuse black shadow to a more clearly defined shape of golden luster, was growing in size.

  The closer it came to the men, the more Esthinor was unable to process his growing hatred. He had no reason to hate anything. Wizards are known for the tempered nature of their emotions, an effect of living a life, or many lifetimes, devoted to the study of knowledge. However, he could not deny that which was growing inside him in response to the growing entity within Eriboth. It was pressing against him, his consciousness, and was beginning to threaten the stability of his spell. To have it end now, this deep within another, without the proper time needed for his return could have catastrophic consequences to not just his subject, but himself as well. And while he held no particular affinity for the condition of Eriboth, he did for himself. But he could still not remove himself. That which held him as Eriboth jumped was still holding him now.

  Though the size and power of the presence, accelerating directly toward him, was unfathomable in its totality, Eriboth feared not, for he knew it was the greater portion of himself. The greater portion he had denied for his entire life had finally come into its maturity brought about by the Man and God responsible for saving him from himself. In the seconds before they collided, he understood this spirit, entirely holy in its entity, had been granted him by His Savior. And when they met, he was unmade, only to be born again as the perfected entity and complete image of those who allowed him to breathe.

  At the moment Eriboth and this Spirit collided, Esthinor was torn apart by the insurgence of his awful hate. Had his continued existence been allowed, he would have remembered the sensation of falling down an impossibly dark hole at the end of which everything he knew about himself was shredded apart. And although his body remained, still seated across from the body of Eriboth, the substance of his existence was dissolved away. Replacing it was an entity of such an unholy nature, that it was in direct opposition to that which resided inside Eriboth. And it made its presence known.

  Regardless of your imperative and affinity for this mortal, you are too late. For I am here.

  Eriboth, turning to face this unholy being, eyes glowing with a golden iridescence, confronted it, "Such is not your nature to achieve victory. You can reside here no longer."

  The end has not yet been written. Remember, I have him.

  "The end was always written. Your acceptance of it is not a requisite for its manifestation."

  You cannot assert any aspect of yourself. As such, you have no power to command me within this mortal.

  "Still you see not. Still you resist. So be it. Now, witness my power." As Eriboth ended his words, from the melding of his objective identity and subjectively constructed mortality, a power to end all powers rose from within. It grew to encompass all aspects of his humanity and coalesced into the shape of a great beast, a Golden Dragon.

  "Get thee out, Satan, You have no endeavors here."

  Hissing through clenched teeth, Esthinor spoke again, You will not stop me this time

  "Your defeat has been sealed."

  Straining to stay, Satan spoke as he was being expelled from Eriboth, Then I will unseal it.

  The Holy visage of the great Golden Dragon now encompassing the entirely of Eriboth’s identity let loose a blast of divine breath as a golden beam of light streaked toward the unholy spirit of Satan. It’s impact was final and expelled Satan through the entire distance of Eriboth’s subconscious and back into the body of Esthinor.

  As the spirit of Satan was returned to its host, it spoke, "Well, now I know how you are able to see without eyes."

  "And I now know the depth of your treachery, Wizard," Eriboth said confidently.

  "It runs much more deeply than you can understand. Regardless of what you believe, it has just begun. Your arrogance prevents your vision from seeing anything beyond your will," said Satan, with a small grin upon his face. "I have plans for you."

  Looking to Bengrako with his pure white eyes, "You have finished your examination, hence I will take my leave of this place," turning back to Esthinor he added, "Though I am quite certain we will meet again."

  As both wizards watched Eriboth stand, turn, and exit, Bengrako asked, "I would have liked to see inside that one's subconscious. I am sure it held much more than he has shared. What did you find?"

  "Nothing of consequence, at least nothing you need worry about, my friend," Esthinor said dismissively.

  Taken by surprise at Esthinor's boldness in denying him a response to his question, he asserted his authority as Grand Wizard, "Esthinor, although I have allowed you to take the lead with his examination because of your unique skills in this particular area of study, do not forget that lead has not extended into the decision making responsibilities of the office I now hold. Now, what is it that you have found that has increased your understanding of our friend?"

  Ignoring his assertion, Esthinor stood, "He is not our friend, and I have not forgotten about the title you hold. But you are wrong to assume it holds any authority over me. Now, we have work to complete; work that is essential for the continuance of knowledge as presumptive supremacy in Avendia."

  "How dare you?" Bengrako said as he rose to meet Esthinor.

  "How dare I? How dare I?" Esthinor repeated the question twice with greater emphasis the second time. He’s gaze met the Grand Wizard's. "I dare because of this."

  Quicker than lightning, Esthinor engaged
his dark liquid and introduced Bengrako to its fullness. Becoming Grand Wizard now would cause too many questions and threaten his insurgence. So he would allow the current Grand Wizard to continue living, but not before he implanted part of himself within his mind. For the mind of mortals were suggestively weak and open to all forms of justifications. One need only know how to manipulate it, and that was his greatest ability, the manipulation of mortals. Through it he has caused and endless stream of pain and agony, doubt and deception, death and destruction. Sure, there were periods of time where mortality stood together and thwarted his endeavor’s continuance, but immortal as he was, he need only wait for the memories to subside. And they always did. But the time for waiting was over. The time for action had come.

  Solin’dra (Dragon Fire).

  "I know you loved him, Lady Soliana," the new Queen and former Princess's voice broke her mental soliloquy the way an icy cold bath would break the dream fevers, abruptly and shockingly.

  "What?" she replied, and then continued with verbiage much more appropriate when addressing the queen, "Forgive me, Your Grace, I was yet deep in thought and did not realize to whom I was responding. By your pardon, would you please repeat your last statement?"

  "I am not sure it need be repeated, for I am certain it was upon him where your thoughts and heart were focused," Queen Glinovia stated tenderly.

  Soliana seemed to drift further inside. She was clearly somewhere else, and while he did occupy several aspects of her thoughts, he did not claim ownership of the lands her mind currently dwelt. Her life hand been long, longer than her years and mortal age indicated, for her pain ran deep. She had left to travel to the Elves with such promise and purpose, intimately aware of all she had become only to have her identity and purpose challenged to the point of breaking once again. But much the same as the last time she was confronted by a shattering of her soul, she picked herself up, demanded herself to place one foot in front of the other, and continue on. There was one difference this time though. Her heading had a solidified and real intent. She was to lead the Red Legion and half of its force to join with the Army of the Stone Keep.

  She was not sure why it was easier to put events behind her, but she felt it was perhaps because she had done so before, with much less direction and much less provision. She remembered how each step she took seemed to reverberate with a chronic aching seated deep in her apprehensions. She knew she had to leave, so she did. She knew she could not provide for her son on her journey, so she did not. And she knew she had to continue, but the how's and why's that would normally need answering prior to her journey's beginning became much less than necessary when set against the risk of her staying. But what was the risk now? Would the Elves indeed be threatened as the Queen seemed to believe, or were the rumors simply exaggerated the way rumors often were? The Queen was correct about one thing, there was only one way to find out, and not finding out did present a future deemed unacceptable by all Elves.

  "The Queen does possess a sight beyond what her young eyes would suggest," she said slowly, making sure not to meet the younger woman's eyes. Yet by younger, it was only in appearance, because even though her appearance was that of one just beginning to ascend from youth to adult, the queen had been living for many years beyond. Indeed, Soliana would have to focus her understanding of the Elves through this new dynamic.

  "It is not so much what I see within you, Lady Soliana, but more of what I saw in him. Tell me, how did you best him with the blade? He was," she paused as she considered the change in tense in his reference, "unequalled."

  Until this moment, the questions regarding the King's death had focused on the actions of Eriboth, and not upon how Soliana was able to dispatch Elven justice. All they knew was that she had given him the choice to submit, he refused, and she returned with the fallen King. Perhaps the revelation of the King's death was so enormous, that its understanding rendered all subsequent details, except those intimate to his death, as obsolete; thus saving her the retelling. Regardless of the cause, she was fortunate enough to avoid all details until now.

  "I did not. He relented," she said after a pause in the flow or their conversation.

  "He did not resist? Then how did he come to die upon your blades?" The Queen asked, absent of accusation.

  Again, Soliana was forced to pause. This was the question she had been avoiding herself. She did not wish to understand why Eriboth made the choice he did, because in her heart, she knew. In the depth of her, she knew he loved her and she knew his love for her was the single reason he chose to lose the only battle he had ever lost. And it cost him his life. He died, so that she could live. But she could not focus upon him or his choice. It would dull and quite possibly remove her anger altogether, and anger was what kept her focus upon the task, the mission, and the present. It had been, and continued to be, all that held her justification together for the events leading up to leaving her son. Should that unravel, she knew her soul would soon follow, and her life would be next.

  She called upon this anger to steel her enough to respond, "I cannot speak to Lord Eriboth's motivations, My Queen. I can only speak to what I know. One moment we were battling, and the next, my blades were resting against his neck. He spoke with such insolence toward the offer I had given him. There was no remorse within the man. And without remorse, there can be no clemency. Fret not, I know he was your Uncle, and you held him with affection. His justice was swift and, for the most part, painless. He did not suffer."

  "Perhaps he did not suffer mortal pain as we understand it. But, and I can assure you of this, Lady Soliana, his suffering was ultimate. Because as he died, he knew he would not be with you," stated Queen Glinovia with the unwavering authority of her yet young mantle.

  "My I speak freely, Your Grace?" asked Soliana, in a rare moment of emotions.

  "I would have nothing less from my most trusted personal guard."

  "What is his suffering when compared to the suffering of Elvendom at the losing of one of its greatest Kings? What does his suffering amount to when compared to the thousands of sufferings his existence has caused? I know the legends. I cannot possibly fathom the amount of death his blades, and pen, are responsible for. What right has he to be allowed to continue this passage of suffering onto another innocent? What right does he have to make his fortune based upon death and its propagation? For that is all that he is, the proprietor of destruction. I beg your forgiveness for speaking so openly against him, but the world is much better, and will experience much less pain, now that he is gone," said Soliana, fully giving herself to the protection she needed.

  "Besides possessing the skill to emerge the winner of the competition my father held, I can see why he enlisted your services as head of his personal guard. Your focus is singularly driven, Lady Soliana. Yet its passion toward the execution of Eriboth indicates a deeper betrayal. Perhaps, once we have progressed in our trust, you would favor me the story."

  "My Queen, Glinovia, should we all survive the threat to our current way of life, I am sure we will have that opportunity. And if this Army of Dread, as it has been named, possesses half of the threat indicated by all reported rumors, then I feel we will all be changed by it. Now, as much as I have enjoyed our discourse, I must beg your leave. There are matters and attentions I must divert my focus upon to ensure our forces are at their very best. We cannot afford to lose focus."

  "Your leave is granted, My Lady. Go and see to it. We will have ample time to converse over the course of our travel. The journey is yet long."

  Nodding and smiling briefly, Soliana spurred her horse forward to the front of the battle column. She had a firm understanding of the treacherous nature of a large forced battle march, not the least of which was fatigue of the various divisions of infantries. Such was the nature of all militaries that the subservient positons were focused solely upon the progression toward the goals of those holding authority above them. As such, the completion of those goals and execution of orders took prece
dence above all else. But, as head of the army, her task was not to ensure the arrival of the Red Legion on time, but to ensure their ability to engage in combat upon their timely arrival. She knew most of her time would be spent following up with her officers, whom she barely knew, regarding the proper execution of her orders. Yet to lead meant more than to simply dictate a series of commandments. And she was thankful for her time with the renowned Battle Dancers of the south and The Order of Chaos, for their education focused upon not only the skills of individual techniques and formal, large scale battle practices, but also upon the merit of a leader's character; for it is the character that galvanizes respect and consolidates intents into a sole action of fluid grace and execution.

  As Ninidras trotted beside the mixed colors assembled by all of the noble houses in Meckthenial, she could not help but reflect upon her colorless life only a few short months ago. It was a very long time since she had seen colors as clearly as she had when in her youth. She had lived, for the better part of her life, in a search to remove color from all aspects of her identity. Such was the requirement of the Battle Dancers of the South. She could still hear the words of her mentor and eventual companion echo in resistance to all that she currently observed, "One must remove all substance from oneself to become truly formless. And it is only when we are formless that we can accept a greater form, our form."