Dragon Jade Chronicle: The Warlock And The Warrior

by Jamie MacFrey

  Fione was screaming without words as she rained blows down on the Dragon Clan chieftain. Caught off guard by the princess’ fury and disoriented by the headbutt, Olene struggled just to defend herself, screaming to all the hells as loud as she could.

  “We’re leaving now, you idiot!” Kiera shouted at Pol. She pushed Pol back out of the door, then grabbed Fione around the waist, pulling the princess to her feet. Fione’s foot lashed out, catching Olene one final strike across the face, and the Dragon Clan chieftain lay clutching at her head.

  Tau came bounding out behind them.

  “This way!” he shouted. He turned a corner, then stopped, hurrying back the way he’d came.

  “Other way! Other way!” he shouted. In a moment, it was clear why.

  Turning the corner in front of them was a beast of a man. Taller even than Tau, he’d tied his hair into a thick black tail, with bands of jade holding it together as it ran down almost to the back of his knees. His body was decorated with tattoos, scars dotting his chest and arms. Unlike many of the warriors, he wore only a smattering of jade jewelry, thick bands around his biceps and ankles, a heavy collar, and a simple chain belt hanging just above his large, thick cock. It was immediately apparent why: in his hand he held a massive dragon jade cleaver, the blade three times the length of a large man’s hand.

  Both Tau and Kiera raised the swords they’d acquired from the guards. Olene appeared from the doorway of the princess’ chambers, her face bloodied, and tried to grab Kiera’s armp. Kiera dodged away from her attempt at prying the hilt from grasp, rapping the hilt of her sword across Olene’s face, and sending the Dragon Clan woman thudding to the ground.

  Varomar advanced to help his sister, but Tau intercepted him, making a slicing cut towards Varomar’s head. The big Clan warrior dodged it deftly, sliding out of the way as if on a rail. Tau caught the blade of the cleaver, only to find it coming down on him again. Varomar hammered away at Tau, who gave his ground slowly, bitterly, backing towards Kiera, Pol, and Fione.

  “Go, go,” shouted Tau. Behind Varomar, more warriors were responding to the shouts and sounds of fighting.

  “Run!” Kiera shouted, throwing Fione ahead of her. Tau dropped and rolled along the floor away from Varomar, then sprang to his feet. He shoved Pol after the princess and Kiera, taking off himself while Varomar knelt to check on Olene.

  They fled as fast as they could, Fione recovering enough of her senses to guide them through the twisting halls and narrow stairs of the Tower of Joi. Whenever they came upon warriors of the Dragon Clan, they avoided them when they could, or Kiera and Tau fought them, each combat costing them precious time.

  At the entrance hall, a narrow corridor whose ceiling was dotted with murder holes, Varomar and his warriors caught up to them.

  The giant Warmaster came hurtling down the corridor as they turned into it, his weapon raised over his head. Kiera turned and caught his blow, her wrist twisting awkwardly as Varomar’s speed kept him bearing down on her, until they tumbled into a heap.

  Unable to deliver a strike without risking harm to Kiera, Tau grabbed Varomar around the shoulders, pulling him up and away from the scrum. But Varomar was far too strong an opponent, breaking Tau’s hold almost instantly, then spinning on his heel to send his cleaver smashing into Tau’s blade as the blond man scrambled to defend against it just in time.

  Another slice from Varomar’s cleaver sent Tau stumbling backwards to avoid finding the blade embedded in his ribs. He tumbled to the ground, rolling away as a another hard blow came to follow on the other’s heels, sending a shower of sparks rising into the air when it clashed against the stone floor where his head had been.

  Kiera had recovered, moving towards the Warmaster with a surefooted and steady purpose as he was distracted by Tau. She raised her sword for a killing blow.

  Varomar spun again, catching the blade on his cleaver, sending it glancing off to the floor. His long braid whipped through the air, the jade bands clattering against the wall. As Kiera’s guard fell, Varomar balled his free hand into a fist, sending one massive paw colliding with her jaw. Kiera stumbled and tottered over.

  If she’d been a less experienced or less nimble fighter, she might very well have died, but as it was her blade raised just in time to stop Varomar’s cleaver from connecting with her face. Another lighting quick blow fell, and again she caught it, though his strength clearly outmatched hers. She was scooting along the floor, attempting to withdraw as Varomar rained his strikes down on her.

  Tau came charging back in to help, screaming unintelligibly as he did, but Varomar, dark and silent, caught his sword on one of his own blows, setting it vibrating in Tau’s hands so hard he fumbled the grip.

  Varomar kicked him square in the chest, sending the big blond man sliding along the smooth marble floors. The Dragon Clan warrior turned his attention back to Kiera. She was trying to stand back up, but he was nearly upon her, his cleaver raising to cut across her neck.

  Kiera glanced up at him, her face freezing.

  The cleaver exploded into green dust, disintegrating as he swung. Kiera’s blade did the same as, too late, she tried to raise it in response. She dropped the hilt, catching Varomar’s hand in hers, then wrenched him off balance, sending a leg out to finish knocking him to the ground. He landed hard, the rough clap of his bare skin on the marble echoing down the hall.

  The jade jewelry on their bodies was slipping away, pouring into the air like sand caught in a windstorm. Kiera turned around to look at Pol. His arms were raised, his fingers appearing to lift some unseen object. Varomar’s necklaces and belts, the jade charms in his hair, were clattering to the floor, as was Kiera’s harness and band, as the thin links of jade that held them together disintegrated first as they yielded to Pol’s magic.

  “Kiera, get back!” Pol screamed.

  She leapt away from Varomar, throwing herself, now completely unadorned, to the ground near Tau.

  Flames roared, filling the corridor with heat. Varomar scrambled away from the inferno, pulling a jade necklace off one his fallen companions to shield himself against the magefire with. More warriors were slipping into the hallway behind him, each covered in their own jade.

  “Time to go,” said Pol. Kiera grabbed his wrist.

  “Right,” she said. “We’re already leaving. The princess says there should be good horses in the stables.”

  Pol raised his free hand and flicked his fingers, sending a blast of fire down the corridor, setting tapestries and rugs alight, then turned and ran after Kiera.

  Outside a bell was ringing, a pleasant discordant sound that Pol thought was the Temple of Vash’s wedding bells. It seemed less alarm than celebration, and Pol almost laughed at the thrill of it, as though Vash herself were blessing their passage. He followed Kiera as she ran after the princess and Tau, leaping to mount a horse was pointed out to him.

  They burst out into the courtyard, wheeling their mounts as Dragon Clan warriors poured out of the keep. Pol threw up another wall of fire, startling his horse and nearly sending him tumbling to the ground, but Kiera grabbed him by the collar and he kept his seat. She grabbed his reins, turning his horse after her.

  They rode past startled guards, who lowered their spears a hair too late. The Clans were mustering to the bell, but without knowledge of why, they were unprepared to intercept the four riders. The few who tried to block their path crumpled as Kiera and Tau charged towards to them. Once Pol sent a fireball roaring out towards a crowd of hastily assembling warriors. Even with their jade to protect them from harm, they still fled in terror as the street filled with fire hurtling towards them.

  They dashed across the bridge towards the River Gate. The gate was closed, lowered by the guards. Tau leapt from his horse, landing with a rough roll before springing to his feet and running towards the gatehouse.

  Pol drew up his horse, then dismounted from the saddle. He’d fallen off Brady a few times when he’d started, and this steed was a lot less docile than the
old plow horse. But he made it safely to the ground. He began to walk back towards the bridge.

  Kiera drew up behind him.

  “What fool thing are you doing?”

  “Kiera, you need to help Tau at the gate.”

  “We’re not going anywhere without you, Pol.”

  “I’m going to hold the bridge with magic. It’s not going to be safe. And it’ll buy you some time to escape with the princess.”

  “Pol, you’re facing down the Dragon Clans. You’re barely trained as a Sorcerer. You can’t take on their jade.”

  Pol shook his head, slipping from his saddle. “You’ve seen what I’ve done so far. And besides, Mistress Heldi says I’m the most powerful Sorcerer of the age.”

  He couldn’t resist showing off, pulling moisture out of the air to create a ball of water that hovered over his hand.

  Kiera heeled her horse over to him, then smacked the ball of water out of his hand sending it splattering onto the cobblestones.

  “Whatever happened to the Lowvale bumpkin cutpurse I knew?”

  “He’s still here,” said Pol, stepping towards her to rest a hand on her leg. She grabbed it, then leaned down from her saddle, cupping Pol’s cheek in her hand.

  “Good. Promise me I’ll see him again.”

  “I promise.”

  “Promise me you’ll—,” she paused, and Pol was shocked to see her cheeks were wet. He’d never even imagined she could cry.

  “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

  “Too late for that, I already got off the horse,” said Pol. He’d tried to throw a nonchalant shrug in there, but his voice choked and he realized he was tearing up too.

  She kissed him then, hard and hungry, her nose bending from the pressure as it bit into his cheek, but still all too brief.

  “Fuck you, Pol,” she said, rising back upright and wheeling her horse around.

  “That a promise?”

  “Make it back to me and it will be,” she called, her voice near to cracking but soldiering on. She gave him one last look and then directed her horse into a gallop.

  Pol suddenly felt very alone on the long bridge that connected the River Gate to the rest of Tia Joi. The River Joi roared under him as it tumbled down its waterfall, and he wondered idly if he’d be able to toss a stick off the upstream side and reach the downstream side in time to see it like he had as a child when they’d crossed footbridges in the river.

  “Readied yourself to die, Sorcerer?” asked Olene, breaking his reverie.

  She and Varomar were standing on the far end of the bridge, a coterie of warriors at their backs. They’d found new jade ornamentation and weapons. In fact, they were so heavily draped in the stuff they almost appeared to be clothed. Drying blood streaked Olene’s face from where Fione had battered her.

  “You don’t know when it’s better to stay down, do you?” asked Pol. He made a series of dismissive hand waves. The first wave washed over the warriors, rending the smaller pieces of jade from their bodies and scattering it into dust. The second broke larger pendants apart. On the third wave, one poor unlucky warrior was carried along into the air as his jewelry was completely stripped from his body and hurled into the second story wall of a nearby building.

  Olene’s face twisted into a snarl.

  “The warriors of the Dragon Clans do not yield, sneakthief,” she spat at him. “Not to the doomed.”

  Pol laughed. “Doomed, am I? Where I’m standing, it looks a bit like the other way.”

  Olene grinned at him, her mouth moving but Pol heard no sound. Though it had been a sunny day, the light of the sun was fading. A faint fog was seeping down the river, streams of it climbing the bridge and running across Pol’s feet. He took a step towards the warriors, who retreated slightly. By his next step, he was wading up to his waist in the fog, and in a moment he was encased in the stuff, the sight and noise of the world shut out.

  “Sorcerer Pol Burr,” came a rumbling masculine voice. “I’ve never heard of you. You must have been after my time.”

  “Who are you?” called out Pol. The voice had seemed to come behind him, and he turned to look at it.

  “I am the Unyielding Will, the one who makes the Dragon Clans dance, the Tower of Joi sorrowful, and the Guild Rock crack and crumble,” answered the voice, now coming from where Pol thought the river might be.

  “Riddles!” he cried. “You’re a Sorcerer then? You’re all so full of riddles!”

  “Then here’s another for you, Pol Burr,” the voice chuckled, once again from a new direction.

  “What do you desire?”

  “Why should I answer that?”

  “Why not?”

  Pol shook his head, and then said the first thing that came to his mind.

  “What everyone desires: love.”

  The voice laughed again, roaring its amusement.

  “Then what do you desire, O haughty one?” asked Pol.

  The voice seemed to be everywhere now, whispering, muttering, singing, and shouting from a thousand mouths.

  “What everyone fears: death.”

  A burst of wind so strong it almost knocked Pol from his feet ripped through the fog, pulling it apart like stage curtains.

  In front of him was the River Gate, and Pol saw with satisfaction that the gate was rising, and knew his friends were about to escape with the princess. All he had to do was hold against... whoever was talking to him. He turned around.

  At the far end of the bridge, the Clan warriors had retreated up the streets and alleys, blocking them off, but staying as far away as possible while still keeping the bridge in sight.

  Standing in their stead was a man. He was not so tall as Pol, though not so short as to be remarkable. Wild brown hair danced in the wind on his head, and a heavy but well-groomed beard ran up his cheeks. He wore clothes, not jade, and they were of the finest quality Pol had ever seen, of a fashion he’d never encountered, although that was not surprising, given that Pol had not encountered much fashion. He seemed not so sinister at all.

  Except for his eyes. Instead of whites, his eyes were red.

  “Who are—” Pol started to ask, but before he could finish, the man raised his hand.

  A spout of fire came bursting at Pol, and he reacted without thinking, twisting the air so that it funneled the fire away from him, setting alight a house further along the river bank.

  As quickly as he had sent the fire towards Pol, the other man dropped his spell, then cast another one, trying to grab Pol and drag him to the other side of the bridge.

  Pol closed his fist, pulling a handful of cobblestones from the street and hurling them ahead of them as he slid across the bridge. The other Sorcerer was forced to release Pol in order to deflect the missiles hurtling through the air towards him.

  “These are jokes, Pol Burr. You are fighting for your life, and all you have are party tricks!” he laughed.

  The red-eyed man threw both his hands forward. A ball of fire, larger than Pol had ever made, ran down the bridge, setting it afire as it passed.

  Pol pulled on the water of the river, and the river bucked up, sending a huge deluge over the bridge then arranging itself in a thick barrier in front of Pol.

  Steam rose as Pol’s wall of water blocked the fire the other Sorcerer had sent roaring towards him. There was still space to make a run for the River Gate, and Pol could bring it crashing down behind him, if he needed. At least, he thought he could. In theory, he could.

  The steam cleared, pulled away by a sudden wind, and through his wall of water he could see the other Sorcerer standing there, not moving.

  There was a loud banging noise behind him, and pebbles and shards of rock rained down over his head. He turned to look, just in time to catch sight of another cobblestone exploding, sending its fragments rocketing up in a shower of detritus.

  Too late, Pol realized he’d fallen for the other Sorcerer’s trick. He spun, trying to hold out his hands to shield himself, as he’d seen Heldi do ag
ainst the fire in the courtyard during their lesson, but a tendril of ice wrapped itself around his hands and pulled, stretching his arms up over his head as more ice enveloped him, squeezing around his neck, midsection and legs, holding him confined as each tendril coiled to form a wide base that grew and raised him into the air until he was lying on his back.

  His opponent’s hand was raised in front of him, the fingers curled as though to grip something tightly. The ice compressed against Pol’s chest, he could hear it breaking, and he groaned. The column was shifting, pulling him towards the River Joi. It broke through the railing, sending him toppling over the edge to the water below.

  Once he’d fallen five stories out of a window. He’d been pushed, actually. When he told the story, it was a comical tale, a jilted lover finding him in bed with a woman, attacking him as he tried to put on his trousers, a hilarious fall out of the window in his attempts to both get dressed and avoid a beating. The same story he’d told Kiera just before the Canians had come upon them.

  But the truth was he’d been thrown out of the window by the jilted lover. An act of maliciousness, an attempted murder for which, as a known thief in the house of what passed for Lowvale’s upper-class, there’d been no retribution.

  It hadn’t been fun, almost falling to his death. His whole life didn’t go flashing before his eyes. Just his failures and disappointments. How’d he come to be a thief, anyhow? He’d almost been an apprentice butcher. He could be married, he could have had a family. Instead, he’d been almost dying, saved by a lucky cart of dung.

  When Pol’s mother had died, he’d let the Temple of Vash handle the ceremony. He hadn’t wanted to face it, to see her lying there. He didn’t even sit guard by her body to keep Kili away, letting the priestesses take care of that, too.

  He wondered if Kiera would guard his body after his funeral. His world was going black, the sounds muffling as the hand of ice grew tighter around his body and he thought he could hear her shouting his name, off in the distance.

  And then the waters of the River Joi swallowed him up.