The dragon landed near him and craned its neck, its large black eyes piercing him, yet Alwroth could feel a struggle going on inside the dragon, as if it was fighting itself for control.
On the back of the dragon sat the Wizard Sulrad. He held his staff aloft and screamed. "Kill him!"
Alwroth recalled the shield Moright had used. He poured what little reserves he had into the spell and raised a fireball of his own. He guided it around the dragon and towards the Wizard.
Sulrad raised his staff to deflect the attack, but was not fast enough. The fireball seared his arm as it passed and he cried out in pain.
Alwroth felt the control on the dragon lighten ever so slightly as Sulrad was distracted by his attack.
The dragon reared back and Alwroth cringed, waiting for the breath of fire that would overcome his shields.
It never came.
The dragon stepped back and stretched out its mighty wings. The horns on its head gleamed in the early dawn light, but it was the figure behind that massive head that Alwroth watched. The Wizard that sat astride that mighty beast cradled his burned arm clumsily as the dragon launched itself into the sky.
Alwroth breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the dragons flew off. He turned his attention to Uskin. She was still alive, but her breathing was shallow. She gasped in pain as he touched her face and spoke to her.
"I am going to see who survived the attack and get you some help. We may be able to travel back to Amedon if I can find enough Wizards left alive."
She opened her eyes weakly and just blinked at him. He heard her voice in his head telling him not to worry. It was just like her, to tell him not to worry while she lay there in agony.
Alwroth walked between the charred remains of tents. Here and there, were piles of ash atop a circle of charred ground that he knew were the remnants of Wizards who had joined the fight at his behest. His breath caught in his throat as he trod the quiet aisles finding no one alive.
There was not a soul left alive, save for himself and Uskin. Out of a hundred Wizards who had made the trek from Amedon, there were but two left. He hung his head and cried.
As he made his way back to Uskin, Alwroth felt the contact of Rotiaqua. "Alwroth. What happened?"
"We were attacked by dragons. Two of them. They came at us just before dawn." Alwroth sat down on the dirt, and cradled his head in his hands. "They're all dead."
"Who's all dead?" Rotiaqua cried.
"Everyone. Everyone but Uskin, and she's badly burned. I don't think she's going to make it."
"Guide me there. I want to help," Rotiaqua said.
"No. I have to get back to Uskin. She needs me."
Alwroth cut Rotiaqua off and lurched towards the threes where he'd left Uskin. He stumbled along the way, picking himself up and vowing to crawl to her on his hands and knees if it came to that.
He reached Uskin and sat down beside her on the grass. He touched her face, caressing the skin that the fire had spared, infusing her with what little power remained in his reserves.
Uskin opened her eyes and looked up at him. Alwroth could hear her voice in his head, weak and distant.
"It's too late. I'm sorry," she said. Alwroth felt the sadness in her voice.
"No. You're not going to die."
Alwroth delved deep in himself for all the power he could find. He was connected to the Sorceress, their magic was intertwined and linked. As long as he was alive, he could send her power. She would live.
"Our time is at an end," Uskin said softly. She smiled at him through cracked and bleeding lips, her eyes full of sadness. "There is a new pair now. They can carry on where we cannot."
"Don't say that. You're going to be all right. I can lend you the power you need to heal." He pressed his power into her, but he feared that it wasn't enough. She was fading, and so was he.
The magical reserves in his body drained away. Soon, there was nothing left. He was no longer a Wizard; he was just an old man. He had no more magic to sustain him, and none to save Uskin.
Her breathing stopped.
Alwroth's heart beat became erratic, then stilled. His magic was gone, his partner was gone.
He stroked Uskin's face one last time as the darkness took him.
Mistwind
High up in the mountains, Zhimosom watched as the dragon disappeared into the sky. The sound of a bell pierced the air, once, twice, three times. It paused, then rung again, three more times.
People came running from between the buildings, men and boys in orange robes. They flooded the square and bowed their faces to the ground. The all muttered something. It sounded like they were chanting the same thing, but Zhimosom was not familiar with the language.
He stood dumbfounded as the orange-robed men filled the square. Zhimosom thought that the entire town must have turned out for the occasion. Finally, the bell rang out four more times and stopped. At the final stroke, the men stood, their heads still bowed in reverence. One man separated himself from the crowd and approached Zhimosom.
"Dragon Lord," he said.
"Not me." Zhimosom was shocked. They thought he commanded the dragon. "I do not command the dragons; I was brought here against my will. The dragon attacked my friend near Ryden. He killed him and carried me here."
Zhimosom looked at the man. He was old and bald, but stood straight and tall as if he were a young man with an ancient face.
"It spoke to you." The man said, tilting his head to one side.
"Where am I?" Zhimosom looked around nervously.
"What did it say?" The man's dark eyes were penetrating, the kind that demanded an answer.
"It asked me to save it ... What is this place?"
"You are going to save the race of dragons?" The man smiled, his eyes sparkled, and the wrinkles radiating from them piled up even deeper.
"One of them attacked us. It was in Ryden where it killed my friend and carried me away." Zhimosom pointed to the sky where the dragon had flown off. "I need to get back to Ryden. The Wizards are counting on me." Zhimosom turned and started from the square.
The old man grabbed his arm and pulled him up short. "What did the dragon say to you?"
Zhimosom pulled his arm free of the old man's grip. "Sulrad, the Wizard, has discovered a way to summon and command the dragons. I saw him kill one of them to power his spells. He is going to trap and bend the rest of the dragons to his will. They will all be killed or turned into his slaves."
"And what are you going to do about it?" the old man asked.
"I don't know yet." Zhimosom leaned down and looked into the old man's eyes. He tried to appear as menacing as he could. "Where am I and who are you?"
"My name is Danirus. Would you be so kind as to accompany me back to the temple? We can be comfortable there while we talk." The old man held out his hand to Zhimosom. It was bony and weathered, but his grip was strong.
Danirus led Zhimosom to the temple. It was constructed of stone hewn from the mountains and decorated with red and gold hangings. They entered a large room with pillars supporting the roof, but Danirus gestured to a smaller side room.
There was no furniture, save a low table, in the small room. Danirus retrieved a pair of thick pillows from the corner and slid them towards the table. He crossed his legs and lowered his ancient form onto the pillow, sliding himself up to the table.
Zhimosom did the same, wishing he were as limber as the old man.
Another man came in wearing the same universal attire, an orange robe, tied in the middle with a rope. He carried a tray laden with a small brazier, a pot, and several small cups. He placed the brazier on the table and lifted the pot onto it, centering it above the coals. Zhimosom fidgeted while the man set a cup before him and then another before Danirus. He bowed his head and backed out of the room.
"So tell me. Do you think you can defeat this Wizard?"
Zhimosom held back, uncertain that he could trust the monks. "I'm not sure."
"Sulrad commands the dragons?"
"Yes, he does. The Wizards from Amedon have gone to make war on him. I need to get back to them."
"If he commands the dragons, then is it not he who is the Dragon Lord?"
"I suppose so, but they do not serve him of their own volition. He commands them by magic." Zhimosom was getting angry at their evasiveness. "Where am I? Who are you, people?"
"You are in Mistwind," Danirus said. "We are the last of the brotherhood of the dragons. We served them when they were in this world and we have waited for their return these many summers."
"You served the dragons?" Zhimosom asked. How could they serve the dragons when the dragons had left so long ago?
"Yes, we served them. We have preserved their lore and history, waiting for them to appear once more."
"What happened to the dragons?" Zhimosom wanted to learn as much as he could, and Danirus sounded like he knew a lot about dragons.
Danirus spoke to someone off to the side and soon a monk in orange robes entered carrying a thick book. He set the book on the table and slid next to Zhimosom on the floor.
"The dragons of old were never plentiful. At most, there were only a hundred of them spread across the whole of the land, but even those few made a big impression. They were the mentors of men. They brought wisdom and knowledge. It is said that they made man what he is today, that, before the dragons, man was no more than a beast of the field.
"No matter the beginning, they were the mentors of the wise and the terror of the foolish. They guided kings and punished the wicked, until one day a Wizard learned how to command them to his will. He never was able to command more than one or two, but he made them commit acts of unimaginable atrocities.
"The dragons decided that it was no longer safe for them here. They had taught all that man was capable of learning. It was time to leave. So they opened the veil and crossed the void, pulling the curtain shut behind them.
"They left our world long ago, but we have waited. We knew that when the time was right, they would return."
"They have not returned. They did not want to come. They were brought here by a Wizard," Zhimosom explained.
"And they brought you here? At the behest of this Wizard Sulrad?" Danirus asked. He nodded his head to the unseen monks once again.
"Yes."
"How do we know you speak the truth?" Danirus became agitated. "How do we know you are a friend of the dragons? Is it not true that the dragon breathed fire on you?"
"Yes, but why would I lie to you?"
"Why did the dragon leave you here?"
"He was under Sulrad's command. Sulrad wanted me out of the way while he attacked Amedon. You have to help me get back to Amedon."
"How do we know you are not working against the dragons? If they brought you here, they must have had a reason. We must see who you really are. We must expose your soul."
Someone grabbed Zhimosom from behind. The monks that held him were strong. Too strong. He tried to free himself, but he could not break their grasp.
"What are you doing?" Zhimosom yelled.
"We have only your word that you are a friend of the dragons and that Sulrad is their enemy. Is there any evidence you can offer to prove you are who you say you are?"
"I am not your enemy. I am trying to help the dragons."
"Yet one of them has delivered you into our hands. You must be put to the test." Danirus waved his arm and the monks hauled Zhimosom from the room.
They dragged Zhimosom back to the square where the dragon had deposited him. The orange-robed monks had assembled a wooden platform with a solid post sticking up through the middle. It was piled with branches and brambles and smelled of oil.
"What is the meaning of this?" Zhimosom demanded.
"Trial by fire," one of the monks said.
"What for?"
"You said you were a friend of the dragons', but they abandoned you here. You admitted to fighting the Wizard whom they serve. We don't know what to believe, so we're going to find out."
Zhimosom squirmed and eyed the pile of branches. "How does this prove anything?"
"If you are a friend of the dragons', they will save you. If you are their enemy, the fire will consume you."
Zhimosom struggled as they hauled him to the platform, drew his arms around the post, and bound his hands together, leaving him free to move about, but secured to the post. The smell of the oil was strong.
"The most holy of creatures has borne you into our midst and handed you over to our trial. You have admitted to working magic against the holy master of the dragons and threatening him with death, should it come to that.
"To prove yourself, you will undergo the ancient trial by dragon fire. The fire symbolizes the cleansing magic of the dragon. If you can bring it forth, you are a friend of the dragons' and speak the truth."
Danirus nodded to the men holding torches. "If you cannot call forth fire, you are guilty and you will be burned at the stake."
"I told you I am trying to save them." Zhimosom struggled against the bonds. He tried to raise magic, but the dragon had depleted him. He knew he would not be able to withstand the fire long enough for it to burn itself out.
Zhimosom tugged on the ropes, but he could not get his hands free. He did not have enough magic to call forth fire. He was depleted. He panicked and twisted his body around trying to get free as the three monks with torches slowly stepped forward.
Zhimosom felt the bump in his pocket and recalled the vials Alwroth had given him. He pulled and tugged to get his hands into the shallow pocket and extract the vials as the monks approached. He managed to free and opened the vials, spilling their contents onto the platform. Zhimosom hoped it would work.
"I am a friend of the dragons."Zhimosom shouted. "I can call forth fire."
He heard the sizzle as the powder ignited and felt the flames warm his legs.
The monks holding torches backed off. Zhimosom looked up as the fire started to spread. "Well. Let me go!"
Danirus smiled. "If you are innocent, the fire will not harm you." He started to chant a short phrase that was quickly picked up by the others. "Sit spiritus eius reveletur," they chanted in unison, over and over again.
Zhimosom recognized their chant. It asked that his spirit be revealed. He tried to reach Rotiaqua and draw on her magic. The connection was weak, he saw her face dimly before him, but he could not hear her words. He tried to shout. "Please help me. I am in Mistwind."
The oil soaked wood caught fire immediately with a loud whoosh. It felt as if a hot wind had blown in off the desert.
An acrid stench clutched at him as the flames billowed into the air. The smoke curled around him, making its way into the clear sky. Zhimosom felt the heat, but he noticed that it was swirling around him, maintaining its distance from his body.
Zhimosom thought back to the burning fields and how he had absorbed and channeled the power of the fire. He reached out for the fire, pulling its energy into his drained and depleted body. He didn't know if he could absorb it before he succumbed to the smoke and flames.
The smoke swirled faster and faster, twisting around Zhimosom, wrapping him in a protective cocoon before wafting into the air overhead. Zhimosom breathed easier. It was hot, but not too hot. The flames guided by the smoke swirled past him. Zhimosom had hope that he might yet survive the ordeal.
Zhimosom reached for the power in the flames and drew it to himself, infusing his body with it. His magic returned, more powerful than before. He reached out, and touched the magic of the pools in Rohir and drew on them, joining his own magic with that of the fire and the water. The flames leaped higher into the sky and with one mighty whoosh, the entire pile of wood and brush was consumed. The fire died out and all that was left of the brush was ashes and wisps of smoke.
Zhimosom stood in the middle of it all, still tied to the post, but untouched. He focused his magic on the bindings and spelled them away.
The monks bowed their heads to the ground, silent as Zhimosom climbed down from the remnants of
the platform and strode through the ashen remains of the fire. He walked over to where Danirus lay prostrate.
"Do you believe me now?" Zhimosom tried to control his anger. He was tempted to reach out and give the monks a taste of fire.
"You have spoken truth. The dragon's fire has blessed you," Danirus said. "Please accept our help and hospitality."
Zhimosom scowled at the monk, but decided Danirus was still his best hope of finding out more about the dragons. He allowed the monk to lead him back to the temple.
Zhimosom was guarded at first, but as Danirus spun tales of the dragons and their ancient wisdom, he was drawn in.
He listened to the monk until he could stay awake no longer. The monks showed him to the inn where he could rest up and recover. Zhimosom was glad for the day to end. He fell asleep and dreamed of dragons and dragon fire.
Zhimosom awoke the next morning and returned to the temple to break his fast with Danirus. He was still slightly wary of the monk, but he had no choice other than to accept his hospitality and roof. Zhimosom needed their help to understand the dragons.
He had contacted Rotiaqua to learn that the Wizards in Ryden had been killed to the last man. He could hardly keep his mind on the task at hand. His anger gnawed at him.
"We need to free the dragons from Sulrad's spell," Zhimosom said. "I need to know as much as you can tell me, that might help me do that." Zhimosom looked at the old monk, hoping he had something that would truly help.
"You have met one of the dragons. It came to you, it spoke to you, and it cleansed you in its fire. You may be able to summon it to you if you concentrate."
"And then what?" What would Zhimosom do if the dragon came? Would it have answers?
"Then ask it how we may free it and its kind."
"The dragon never told me much before, why would it answer me now?" Zhimosom picked at this food.
"You may have formed a bond with the dragon that will allow it to come to you when it is not being actively commanded by Sulrad. Do you recall what the dragon looked like? Did it give you its name?"
Wizard Pair (Book 3) Page 28
