by S. G. Rogers
She landed Adam and Eve on a knoll in the middle of the Nomad encampment some distance from the castle. Adam flicked his tail at anyone who dared approach. Eve picked her toenails with her teeth and periodically shot flames into the sky as a casual warning.
“I must speak to Rampen Szul,” Kira called out to the surrounding warriors.
Almost before she had finished speaking, a path was cleared. Rampen Szul strode toward her, his expression unreadable. He stared at Adam and Eve. “So the dragons were not an illusion. Mandral is a liar.”
Kira dismounted. She drew her blade as her father approached.
“Why do you show your weapon to me, child?” he demanded, taken aback.
“According to your law, I have disgraced you,” she replied, lifting her chin in defiance. “But I am unwilling to answer for it.”
“No, Kira, I’ve disgraced myself.” Szul pulled his daughter into an embrace. “I have seen Mandral's perversions. I should never have agreed to the match.”
Kira blinked away tears. “It’s my fault, Father. I convinced you to let me marry, intending to dispatch the warlord personally. Unfortunately, he anticipated me.”
“I should have known you could never care for Mandral,” Szul said.
“Let us put this matter in the past. The Dragon Clan has returned,” she said, sheathing her sword. “The young wizard Jon Hansen bids us to sever our alliance with Mandral.”
“Done. We shall withdraw to the mountains and regroup.”
“No, Father, we must press forward into the castle and unseat the warlord.”
Before Rampen Szul could answer, Warlord Gnoam appeared, surrounded by his most elite guards. He gawked at Adam and Eve. “My eyes did not deceive me!”
“The Nomads have made an alliance with the Dragon Clan,” Szul told him. “I invite you to join us.”
Kira gave Gnoam an icy glare. “Why do you seek to involve Gnoam, Father?” she asked. “I’ve spent a considerable amount of time fleeing his wretched Imps.”
“Warlord Gnoam and I have become friends in the short time we’ve spent here,” Szul replied. “If he chooses to defend Mandral, it would grieve me deeply to engage him in battle.”
“I will not defend Mandral,” Gnoam said. “And I haven’t authorized any attacks by my Imps. I suspect my wizard, Aeltin, has secretly been in Mandral's service.”
From the outside edges of the Nomad encampment, the sound of swordplay reached their ears. Kira saw Mandral watching them from the uppermost tower of his castle.
“I believe my erstwhile bridegroom has made a preemptive strike. The time for discussion has ended,” she said.
Kira mounted Adam and they launched themselves into the sky. Her heart sank when she saw Mandral's cygards and their enormous mounts had the Nomad encampment surrounded. The metal-clad hulks were using large scythes to hold the Nomads at bay. Kira flinched when the cygards began to mow Nomad warriors down as if they were cutting wheat. Grief filled her heart. She’d arrived to lead her people into battle, not to set them up for slaughter.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Battle on Dragon Isle
As Quixoran gave Dorsit a tour of his garden, he openly admired the Dragon Clan wizard's handiwork. “Perhaps if I get more strength back, I'll conjure a dragon fountain for you. I do enjoy a nice fountain,” Dorsit said.
Nearby, Jon and his friends gathered around the dragon sculpture. They listened for a few soothing minutes to the musical flowers before anyone spoke.
“I feel like I’m about to take an exam,” Casey announced.
“Huh?” Fred replied.
“You know the feeling when you’re looking down at a blue book and it’s seconds before the teacher tells you to pick up your pencil and begin?” Casey asked.
“No, not so much,” Fred said.
“I understand what you mean, Casey. You always wonder whether you’ve studied the right things,” Brett said.
“Or whether you’re going to choke,” Jon added.
“Or whether or not there’s pizza for lunch,” Fred said. He shrugged when they stared at him. “What?”
Suddenly a black tsunami of flying death swept over Dragon Isle. Brett saw it first. “Imps!” she yelled.
“Pick up your pencils and flee!” Fred shouted.
They sprinted toward Dorsit and Quixoran.
“Get to the tree house, all of you,” Quixoran instructed. “The trap door in the center will lead you to safety.”
Fred hustled Brett toward the tree house, while Casey helped Dorsit walk as quickly as he could.
“No way I'm leaving you, Grandfather,” Jon said, standing fast. “You'll be cut to pieces.”
“I will join you momentarily, I promise,” Quixoran said.
“You'd better.”
Jon’s grandfather had a faraway look in his eyes, and his ring shone with an intense light. A distant rumbling began and then the ground started to shake.
“The volcano is going to erupt in about ten seconds,” Quixoran said. “If you don't want to be cremated, Jon, run!”
With obvious reluctance, Jon tore himself away from his grandfather and sprinted for safety. A throbbing blue vein became visible on the right side of Quixoran’s forehead as he focused his energy. Meanwhile, the Imps sped toward the wizard in an arrow formation. When the volcano erupted, bright blue lava shot a mile into the sky and came raining down onto the island. Multitudes of Imps were vaporized in hot gas, and the spewing lava incinerated even more. The Imps kept coming, however, and before long, they were on him.
****
Aeltin huddled in one of Mandral's dungeons, bitterness oozing from every pore. The sound of fighting was audible through the long, narrow window at the top of his prison, but the Falcon Clan wizard paid no attention. Depressed, he did not even respond when a key rasped in the lock of his cell. Moments later, Mozer knelt at his feet. The boy pressed a transporter cuff into the wizard’s hands. “Master, I stole this back for you. I’m sorry, but I don’t know where your amulet is,” he whispered. “Let’s transport away from here.”
“Save yourself, boy,” Aeltin replied. “Go home to your parents. I am undone.”
“Come, Master. There are warlords to the north who may require the services of a wizard. Let us seek them out.”
“Mandral has ruined my reputation. I shall never work magic again.”
“Yden is desperately lacking in magic,” Mozer replied. “People need you, however you might feel about it right now. And there’s something else.”
He dug a handful of gold coins out of his pocket. When Aeltin saw the gold, a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. “Where did you get that?”
“Don’t ask,” Mozer said. “Come.”
Aeltin allowed his servant to coax him to his feet. “Let us leave this place, Mozer. But there’s something I must do first.”
****
As Kira and Adam swooped down on the massing cygards, Adam spurted a deadly finger of flame. The cygards scattered and Eve roasted at least a dozen. The Nomads had been caught unprepared, but Kira hoped the dragons would distract the cygards long enough for her people to regroup. Fortunately, Gnoam's army had joined forces with the Nomads and was attacking the cygards’ flank.
From the air, the castle appeared to be sparsely defended. Kira directed Adam to land on the central tower. She dismounted and drew her sword from its scabbard. “You and Eve keep burning cygards,” Kira told the dragon. “I’ll take Mandral.”
She entered the parapet and stomped her foot into the chest of the first cygard she met. He clattered down the circular staircase, taking out two more cygards as he fell. Kira leaped over their prone bodies, her eyes shining with excitement. She was just getting started.
Minutes later, Kira kicked a cygard through the double doors of the throne room. The cygard skidded on his back across the floor. Hampered by his heavy armor, he was unable to get up. Mandral was lounging on his throne, as if he’d been waiting for Kira all along.
“I’m truly touched,” he said. “Even in the midst of battle, my betrothed has arrived to be at my side.”
Kira advanced on the warlord. “What you need in your side is my blade.”
“You've disabled my cygards,” Mandral pouted. He loosened his dagger from its sheath. “I'm afraid I’m quite defenseless.”
“You've always got your body odor and foul language.”
“Ever the delicate flower,” he sighed. “I'd say the engagement is off.”
Mandral eased himself out of his throne with catlike grace. In one hand, he wielded his dagger. With the other, he drew a sword from a sheath concealed in the armrest of his throne.
The two warriors circled one another.
“I don't know which would have been worse,” Kira said. “Dying at the hands of my father or dying of boredom as your wife.”
“If you’re so intent on dying, you’ve come to the right man.”
The conflict was short and pitched.
Mandral lunged, but Kira was ready for him. An expert swordswoman, she defended herself against his attack effortlessly. The warlord was a formidable opponent who had a well-deserved reputation as a vicious, unbeatable foe. Years of self-indulgence, however, had dulled his reflexes and softened his physique. In addition, his complete and utter belief in his own superiority left no margin for error. Kira was not his equal in strength, but she had lethal speed and accuracy. When he paused to regroup, his smirk had faded. Shallow cuts on his hand and wrist were bleeding. His eyes darted around the room as he sought another weapon—something to give him an advantage.
The long dining hall table was within reach. Mandral scooped up a bowl of salt and flung it toward Kira’s face. Although she turned her head, some of the salt found its mark. As she fought to clear her vision, Mandral moved in. With a cry of victory, he disarmed her. Kira’s sword flew from her hand and she was defenseless. Mandral laughed.
“The kitten has lost her claws,” he snarled. “I want to hear you beg for your life.”
“Never.”
Vaulting over the table, Kira snatched an ordinary table knife by the blade. In the next instant, she hurled it at the warlord. The knife embedded itself deeply into Mandral's upper thigh. As his leg gave way, he staggered sideways, knocking over a chair.
“You witch!” he cursed.
Tossing his sword and dagger to the ground, the warlord wrenched the knife from his flesh and tried to stanch the heavy flow of blood. A look of relief came over his face when he glanced toward the back of the throne room.
“Aeltin, thank Solegra you're here. Shoot her,” Mandral gasped.
Kira armed herself with another table knife, not bothering to turn. “Can’t you think of a better trick?” she scoffed.
“Shoot, Aeltin!” Mandral cried.
“Yes, Warlord,” Aeltin replied.
Startled, Kira dove to the ground as the Falcon Clan wizard took aim with his crossbow. The dart pierced Mandral in the shoulder. With a soft moan, the warlord slipped to his knees.
“You missed,” Mandral murmured.
“That’s peculiar,” Aeltin replied. “I’ve always been a crack shot with these things.”
As the warlord shrank and sprouted long, wooly hair, Aeltin tossed the crossbow aside. “You'll be happy to know the dart was tipped with poison number four, Mandral. I know it’s your favorite.”
The warlord screamed, although it sounded more like a bray than a human cry. Mozer dashed toward the newly formed hairy beast. He administered a swift kick in the vicinity of its hindquarters.
****
When the volcano erupted, the vanyean tree shook so violently Jon lost his grip on the ladder. He fell onto Fred at the bottom of the storm cellar. “Oops, sorry, Fred.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks for dropping in,” Fred replied, rubbing the new knot on his head.
Dorsit fashioned a small everlasting orb to light the cellar, which held a table, some chairs, and a few gourds of water. Unable to sit still, Jon gritted his teeth and paced from worry.
“Where is Mr. Q?” Fred asked finally.
Jon strode toward the ladder. “That’s it—I'm going to look for him.”
“You can't leave!” Brett exclaimed. “There are flesh-eating Imps out there.”
“Not to mention flesh-peeling lava,” Casey added.
“This is Quixoran's island, young wizard. I suspect he’s extremely resourceful,” Dorsit said.
“Even so, I have to make sure he's okay,” Jon insisted.
“I'll go with ya. You might need some muscle,” Fred said.
Brett, Casey, and Jon stared at Fred in surprise.
“What? Can't I make like a good guy?” Fred asked.
A few moments later, Fred and Jon emerged from the storm cellar. Everything in the tree house was coated with gray ash. So much of it permeated the air that Fred and Jon found it difficult to breathe. Small sections of the roof had been blown off, and the vanyean tree was stripped of leaves in some spots. Jon peered through the windows.
“Looks like the forest around the volcano was flattened from the blast,” he said.
“Man! I'm glad I wasn't outside when the volcano hurled,” Fred said. He gave Jon a guilty glance as he remembered Quixoran had been. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay. If the tree house is still here, maybe Quixoran found a way to survive,” Jon said. “Cressidia, are you all right?”
The tree shook itself in response.
Jon and Fred climbed down the floating stairs and picked their way toward the garden, skirting a few puddles of steaming blue lava. The silence seemed ominous. When Fred stepped on a dry twig, Jon flinched.
“Got the willies?” Fred asked.
“I get the feeling we're being watched.”
Three stray Imps appeared from nowhere. Grabbing a severed tree branch, Fred clubbed an Imp as if he were swinging for the bleachers. Jon seared a second Imp with a fireball, but the third dug its teeth into his forearm. Hearing Jon cry out, Fred rushed over to pry the Imp off. When he hurled the creature into a deadly pool of lava, it vaporized.
“Thanks,” Jon gasped, cradling his injury. “Ouch.”
“Smarts a bit, don't it?”
“Yeah, maybe a little.”
In the garden, Fred finally spied a figure barely visible through the falling ash. “There he is!” he exclaimed, pointing.
Scrambling over a downed tree, Fred reached him first. “Mr. Q, we thought you were toast for sure!”
Standing motionless in the ruins of his garden, Quixoran said nothing. Jon put a hand on his shoulder, confused. “Grandfather?”
The warmth of Jon’s fingertips left green imprints on the cold, hard rock. “I don't understand,” he said, staring into Quixoran’s face. “He’s turned to stone.”
“At least he's okay,” Fred said.
“What do you mean, he's okay? He's a statue!”
“Being turned into stone for a little while never killed anyone. I oughta know.”
“Yeah, but who's around to change him back?”
“You got me there,” Fred admitted.
“Efysian must’ve done this,” Jon said, clenching his fists in anger.
Suddenly Ophelia began to sting. Efysian appeared, leaning up against a whimsical sculpture of a sea snail. “I wish I could take the credit, Jon Hansen, but I’ll have to settle for the benefits.”
The surrounding bushes and trees rustled with movement. Scores of beautiful women emerged, their hair and skin tinged with a shimmering emerald color. Fred broke out into a delighted grin. “Green babes.”
His grin faded when the nymphs brandished seaweed nets and trident spears at him.
“You've a knack for getting women to do your dirty work, Efysian,” Jon said.
“Come with me, young wizard,” Efysian replied with a beckoning gesture. “I'll take you to your father.”
“Jon's not stupid. He knows you've got his old man on ice,” Fred said.
“Astonishin
g logic for an American cowboy and a jester bodyguard,” Efysian sneered.
“Oh, yeah?” Fred said with a belligerent swagger. “I may be a clown, but at least my dog's still alive.”
Fred barked and howled as if in pain, and Efysian's expression darkened. Jon grimaced, and even the sea nymphs recoiled in horror.
“Stop baiting him,” Jon whispered to Fred, too late.
Efysian's hands began to move and crackle. “Conundrum was a wolf, you imbecile!”
Jon grabbed Fred and they transported to safety moments after Quixoran's statue shattered with the force of Efysian's anger.
****
Jon and Fred sped toward the tree house, branches whipping at their arms and legs.
“Thanks for cheesing Efysian off so royally,” Jon said through clenched teeth.
“Sorry. I didn't know the dude was so sensitive.”
They skidded to a halt when a band of nymphs closed off their route. Fred lowered his chin and put up his fists. “I don't wanna punch out a bunch of girls, but I will if I have to.”
When Ophelia flared, Jon realized the alluring guise of the nymphs was an illusion. He saw pincers where their mouths should be and gills on the sides of their necks.
