I was young, but I was there. I remembered. And I vowed, on that day, that if I had to give my life to ensure it, the Shongtal would never see the light of day again.
~ooo000ooo~
I swooped in low, opening my jaws, and delivered a massive fireball straight to the gates of the Ice Castle. The wood and steel, weakened by the barrage of our combined forces – Fire and Sand – shattered. The gates exploded, sending shrapnel into the sky.
The way was open.
For having had such a depleted army, the Ice Clan had put up a fierce resistance. But they were overwhelmed by the combined strength we threw at them. With battles between dragonborn still raging in the sky, I landed before the ruined gate – half a dozen of my warriors behind me. Uldor and his small contingent landed twenty yards away and we all shifted back into our human forms.
Our supply dragons, backs loaded with massive packs, landed on the field of ice, allowing my men and I to armor ourselves and claim our weapons. We could not go into the depths of the castle in our dragon forms – we had to go in our human skins.
Armored and ready, our supply dragons lifted off and flew away to their place of cover to wait for us to need them again.
“Are you ready?” Uldor called out to me.
I nodded grimly. “Let us be done with this.”
Uldor and I led our men into the castle, all Clan loyalties temporarily set aside. If we were successful in defeating Wotul and keeping the Shongtal sealed within their prison, there was going to be much work to do to rebuild Chondelai.
I had spoken with the King of the Sands and he had assured me that once this was over and Wotul was deposed, we would work hard to restore Chondelai to its former splendor. That we would end the war and find a way back to the peace and harmony that had ruled our world for millennia. Then find a way to deal with the greed and unchecked aggression of those like Wotul.
But first, we needed to end the threat to our world. Decisively. For, if we failed in that endeavor, everything else was moot.
Perhaps it was a sign of just how depleted Wotul's forces were that we encountered very little resistance as we strode through the castle. In fact, we hadn't seen a single soldier after we'd set foot within the stone and ice walls.
Tapestries depicting great victories and scenes of battles hung upon the walls. I had never been inside the Ice Castle and found it to be quite a beautiful place. The ice blocks within the walls glowed with an inner light that shone blue. It was elegant without being overdone.
The Ice Castle emitted a soothing quality, its vibration within the air one of tranquility – which was so at odds with the reason we were there. The Fire Clan was known for its hot temper and intense passions. The Ice Clan was supposedly the Clan of intellect and reason, the Clan who were more deliberate and thoughtful.
Waging a destructive war for personal gain seemed so out of character for the King Wotul I'd known long ago. I had to wonder what it was that had driven him to the precipice we found ourselves standing upon. What had changed within him?
At the end of a long corridor stood four armed and armored soldiers. Seeing us coming, the drew their swords and walked toward us. The soldiers who'd accompanied Uldor and I rushed past, the metallic sound of them drawing their own blades echoing in the empty corridor.
As the battle was engaged in front of us, I sensed the movement behind. Moving in unison, Uldor and I spun around, drawing our blades in one smooth motion. Four of Wotul's soldiers moved in, blades at the ready. Uldor and I separated, to give ourselves space to move as well as to split up the soldiers. Two followed him and two followed me.
I could see that they were young. Probably not very well trained yet. But I could see that maniacal zeal in their eyes that said they would lay down their life for their king in a heartbeat – which was about as much time as they had left in our world.
As the two soldiers rushed at me, I pointed at the torch on the wall and then at the soldier rushing at me, his sword raised high over his head. A fireball erupted from the torch, catching the soldier square in the chest, igniting him instantly. His sword fell to the stone floor with a clatter as the flames consumed his body, his agonized screams echoing up and down the corridor.
The second soldier, with an angry scream, brought his sword down in a murderous arc. I got my own blade up at the very last instant, barely avoiding having my skull split open, steel meeting steel with a high-pitched ring. The soldier foolishly tried to press his advantage, tried to drive the edge of his blade into my face – and left himself completely vulnerable to attack.
My breathing was labored and I gritted my teeth – the young dragonborn was strong – as I tried to fend off his attack. Using my free hand, I grabbed the long, curved dagger that hung at my belt and drove it upward, the point of my blade slicing through his armor like it was nothing. The young man's eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open – the strength in his sword arm vanishing instantly.
Blood streamed from his mouth, spilling upon my armor as his body grew limp, his lifeforce leaving him. I pushed his lifeless husk backwards, where he fell upon the burning corpse of his companion. I looked at the two bodies, said a silent word for each of them, and then turned at the sound of ringing steel.
Uldor had already dispatched one of the Ice warriors, his body lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. But the second soldier was proving more difficult. Blood streamed down Uldor's cheek from a gash that had been inflicted during the course of his fight.
The Ice warrior hacked and slashed, pressed his advantage, and had Uldor backing up, giving up ground. But he looked determined. Had that glint in his eye that marked him as a true warrior – he was enjoying the challenge this young dragonborn was giving him.
I considered stepping in and ending the fight, but knew that Uldor would see it as a sign of disrespect. He was a warrior. A fighter. If he was going to die, he wanted to do it with a blade in his hand or on the field of battle somewhere. He would not take kindly to my interfering with his fight.
Our other soldiers had concluded their skirmish and a quick count showed me that two Sand fighters had been lost as well as one of my own. They stood gathered around the steel doors, waiting for us. I could see they were enjoying the spectacle of Uldor and the Ice warrior locked in mortal combat.
The Ice soldier hacked at Uldor's blade again and again, driving the man to his knees. I feared that he was about to lose his fight when he looked up at me, shooting me a wink. A ruse, then. With the younger soldier continuing to wail on the blade Uldor kept above his head for protection, he slipped a dagger off his belt and drove it straight through the younger warrior's foot. The Ice warrior threw his head back and howled in pain, ceasing his attack.
Getting back to his feet, Uldor drove the point of his sword into the other man's throat, cutting off his screaming with a wet, gurgling sound. Blood came rushing out of the wound like a river and he fell to his knees before pitching forward onto his face, the pool of blood spreading out beneath him. It was over.
His breathing labored, Uldor looked at me and grinned. “Tough little bugger, that one.”
I nodded. “Well done,” I said. “You're a crafty fighter. I'll have to keep that in mind.”
He shrugged. “Hope you'll never have to use that bit of knowledge.”
“Me too.”
We strode up the corridor and our men pushed open the steel doors, leading us into a large, circular stone chamber. In the center stood one of the Dragon Doors – a magical doorway that connected Chondelai to another world, allowing us to move back and forth freely.
Though, I had never set foot into that other world in my lifetime – nor had anybody else I knew. They were antiquated and the feeling I got was that there was little of interest on the other side. Why the Doors had been constructed – or how – I never knew. They were just a relic. A historical artifact. A mystery from our past that would forever remain unsolved.
The doorway pulsed with bright, swirling colors, hovering sever
al inches off the ground. Off to the side of the large chamber stood King Wotul within a circle of symbols that had been carved into the stone floor. On a table before him stood a box – the box. It was known as the Blychora and was the prison for the Shongtal.
“Wotul,” I intoned, my voice echoing around the stone chamber. “Cease what you are doing.”
He looked up at me, a predatory grin upon his face. “And why would I do that?” he asked. “Everything I want and desire is right here before me in the Blychora.”
“The destruction of our entire world is there in the Blychora.”
He shrugged. “Might it be the same thing?”
I took a step forward and froze in my tracks. My eyes widened and I felt my heart racing when I saw what lurked in the shadows behind the madman. There was no mistaking it. It's tall, slender frame, it looked like a shadow – a shadow with the substance of a man. Its silver eyes sparkled and glowed with an inner fire. And when it looked at me, I could feel the intense hatred coming off it like heat off a fire.
There was no question at all. It was one of the Shongtal.
It all made sense to me now. Why Wotul was acting so out of character. Why he'd waged a pointless war. With the Shongtal whispering poison into his ear, of course Wotul had gone mad.
But how? How had it escaped the Blychora?
“You are not yourself, my lord,” Uldor called, noticing what I had. “This – creature – is making you do things you would not normally do.”
Wotul shrugged. “Or perhaps it has helped me become who I was truly meant to be.”
The Shongtal looked at me, daring me to attack. Though they were shadow-men, they could be killed like any other man – so long as your blade was silver.
“Wotul, do not do this,” I said. “If you release the Shongtal, you are going to bring about the destruction of Chondelai. You know this.”
“Yes, that is the point,” he said. “For once Chondelai is destroyed, it can be rebuilt in my image. It can be built in a way that pleases me. And you will all serve me. You will all worship me and call me the Great King.”
I looked at Uldor and could see that he was tense. Nervous. Of course, he would have been a fool not to be. The Shongtal were nightmares. They were stories told to unruly children to keep them in line. But they were also very real. The stench of evil emanating from the shadow-man standing behind Wotul was powerful. Overwhelming.
“Do you really think the Shongtal are going to let that happen, Wotul?” I asked. “They nearly destroyed Chondelai once – what makes you think that by setting them free, you are going to have the chance to rebuild our world?”
“Because we want no part of your world any longer,” the Shongtal said. “Chondelai has run its course for us. There is nothing for us here any longer.”
“They will move on to another world,” Wotul said, glee in his voice. “And leave me this one to do with as I please. After they wipe out the rest of the Clans, of course.”
“You can't believe that, Wotul,” I said.
“Of course I do,” he replied.
Gripping my sword, I stepped toward him, Uldor at my side. But the Shongtal raised its hand and the carved symbols in the floor started to glow white. Then when we reached the edge of the circle, it was like we ran into a wall – a wall we could not see. I banged the hilt of my sword against the invisible barrier and it sounded solid enough – but there was nothing that could be seen with the naked eye.
Uldor and I exchanged a look, panic beginning to creep across both of our faces as the reality of the situation began to hit us. If we couldn't get to Wotul, we couldn't stop him. He was going to be free to release the Shongtal.
The dark creature seemed to intuit our thoughts as it stared at us, its silvery eyes sparkling in the darkness, and it laughed.
“Finish it,” the Shongtal said. “Finish the ritual. Free my brothers and sisters and this world will be yours for the taking, Wotul.”
Uldor and I banged on the invisible wall, shouting to Wotul, begging him to stop what he was doing. To consider the consequences of his actions. But he looked up at us, a fever in his eyes, and the lust for power and control etched into ever feature on his face.
Wotul began to chant in a tongue I did not recognize – it had to be the old tongue, a language that had long been dead. But he seemed to speak it like it was his native tongue – no doubt, a “gift” from the Shongtal.
His voice began to rise as a wind came out of nowhere, swirling around the chamber. The light from the markings on the ground glowed brighter, more intense. I squinted my eyes and stared through it, looking at the Shongtal and noticed that the light didn't seem to touch it. The creature remained blacker than midnight even though the light from its carvings on the ground were as bright as the sun at noon. And the Shongtal stared back at me – seemed to be staring through me – and it sent a chill to the very core of my being.
“It's opening!” Uldor shouted to be heard above the keening wind.
I shifted my attention to the Blychora and saw that it was shaking. Quivering. In the seams of the box, I could see it glowing. It glowed with the light of a star, bright and intense. The box seemed to be shaking and rattling harder on the table as Wotul's voice grew in volume and intensity.
As I watched, the lid of the Blychora didn't just open, it blew of its hinges. As the lid sailed upward, it seemed to disintegrate, falling back down to the ground as nothing more than a pile of dust. A moment later, a column of what looked like thick, black smoke, shot out of the open box. The cloud pooled at the ceiling of the chamber, swirling around like a thunderhead about to break and lash the world beneath it with lightning and rain.
And perhaps, we were about to face a storm. Perchance, Chondelai, as we knew it, was about to be wiped out of existence. As I continued looking at the cloud above our heads, I could feel the hatred and malevolence that radiated from it. It was a deep, ominous feeling that hovered over our heads and one that just made me feel – greasy. Slicked with a greasy sweat. Everything about that cloud just felt – off. Wrong. Evil.
After what seemed like an eternity, the column of darkness stopped coming out of the box and it all hovered above us, swirling like a maelstrom, flashes of red and white appearing like lightning behind the clouds. I looked to Wotul who stared at it admiringly, like it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life.
The Shongtal behind him stepped forward and though there was no expression on his blank face, it seemed amused by something.
“My brothers and sisters are free,” it said. “And we have you to thank for that, King Wotul. Great King.”
The sound of sarcasm in its voice was unmistakable – but Wotul didn't seem to hear it. Didn't seem to notice it. He was too engrossed in the swirling darkness above us. Something bad was about to happen – I just didn't know what.
“We leave Chondelai to your stewardship,” the creature said. “Make of it what you will. And do with its – people – as you see fit.”
Slowly, as if waking from a dream, Wotul looked at the Shongtal and cocked his head. “We have work to do yet,” he said. “You promised –”
“I promised you the world,” the creature laughed. “And so, it is yours. Enjoy your new world.”
One moment, the creature was there. The next, it had turned into a cloud of smoke and had shot up to join the swirling mass on the ceiling. Without warning, that swirling, malevolent mass of smoke shot forward and disappeared through the Dragon Door, gone to whatever world lay beyond.
Wotul fell to his knees, absolutely stricken. He looked at the Door as if he expected the Shongtal to come roaring back through to fulfill their promise to him – but deep down, knowing that it wasn't going to happen. He'd been double-crossed and he finally knew it.
With a body that was trembling and naked fear in his eyes, Wotul turned to us.
“Mercy,” he said softly, his eyes shining with tears. “I beg of you. I knew not –”
“You knew exactly what
you were doing,” Uldor said.
I looked at the Doorway, wondering what was on the other side. Wondering what world the Shongtal had gone to pollute. To infect. And what the ramifications for us – for Chondelai – would be.
I turned back to Wotul and looked at him with undisguised contempt and disgust. I looked to Uldor and nodded.
“This ends now,” I said.
We both stepped forward as Wotul screamed in both rage and helplessness. Our blades pierced his body, snuffing out his life force in a wave of blood. I had no idea what was going to happen with the Shongtal loose, but our part seemed to be over. At least, for now.
Chapter One
Ozaryan
Twenty-Three Years Ago...
The night was dark and the storm outside was fierce. Lightning lit up the night sky and rain came down in sheets. It was an ominous night. A deadly night. Deadly, because I knew they were out there. They were coming, for me, for Jessica, and for our child. If I hadn’t killed that Shongtal out in the open in L.A., we could have still been there. Still been protected by the warding spell. There was no such protection here in Chicago.
Jessica's screams of agony were pure torment for me. She was in pain and there was nothing I could do about it. Running back to the bedroom, I stood in the open doorway as Jessica gritted her teeth and screamed again. Chelsea sat at the edge of the bed, watching Jessica, encouraging her, and doing everything she could to make my wife comfortable.
Which, given the fact that she was birthing our child, wasn't easy.
And Jessica was having a hard time with this birth. Unions that produced offspring between Dragonborn and humans were extremely rare. Human bodies were not equipped to deal with birthing a Dragonborn child.
Noticing me standing in the doorway, Chelsea gave Jessica's hand a squeeze before coming out to join me in the hallway. She was a talented doctor and one of Jessica's closest friends. I trusted her with my wife's life.
Saved by a Dragon (No Such Things as Dragons Book 1) Page 2
