Dragon Jade Chronicle: The Warlock And The Warrior

by Jamie MacFrey

  Kiera headed up the stairs, slicing at the bare foot that appeared just as she took her first step up. A raider howled, tumbling down the stone steps. Kiera leapt over her, raining short quick blows against the first of her new adversaries, responding to the noise and chaos of the fight.

  The warrior who had fallen regained her feet, landing an ineffectual blow on Kiera’s plated back, and Kiera spun, sending a slash at her face then parrying a blow from a new attacker ahead of her on the stairs. The warrior below her struck her in the stomach with her blade, making no cut, but knocking the air out of Kiera. She grabbed the warrior in front of her by a single long braid, and tossed her down the stairs into the first woman, sending both of them tumbling backwards.

  A screaming warrior came flying down the stairs at her, swinging her blade in wild arcs, sparks flying from the walls where her jade sword struck the stone. Kiera parried blow after blow, then launched her own counterattack, driving the woman back up the stairs. A well-aimed blow slashed along the raider's feet, causing her to fall to her knees, and another strike putting her down for good.

  Kiera stumbled out into the hall, panting hard and sweating inside her armor.

  “As they say here, ‘end of the road,’ Easterner,” said a voice. Kiera looked up.

  Four women stood in front of her, each of them wearing a not inconsiderate amount of jade. Scars decorated their body where their jewelry didn’t.

  “I’m guessing you’re their best,” said Kiera.

  “We’re your death.”

  Kiera shook her head.

  “Not today you’re not,” she said. She pressed her blade into the crook of her elbow, drawing it through the mail to clean away the blood.

  “Today I’m yours.”

  * * * * *

  “Wake up, Sorcerer,” hissed a female voice.

  Olene shook Pol back to the land of the living by his chin. He tried to move his hands, but they were tied to the arms of the throne, as was his chest. His head was ringing, and his clothes and armor were gone.

  “Jorga, he’s awake,” said Olene, standing up.

  Beyond her, where the dias opened onto a balcony to allow the Princess of Tia Joi to address her subjects, stood Jorga, staring down through the maelstrom. He reached up, and lightning coiled around his fist, then he gestured downwards, sending an arc firing below.

  Jorga turned away from the window, joining Olene next to Pol.

  “Ah, Sorcerer Pol, I’m gratified to meet you,” he said. His eyes flashed, and Pol saw that it was as if a swirling red storm had clouded them.

  “What happened to you?” he asked.

  “An unfortunate side effect of exploring the limits of our power,” said Jorga. “Or fortunate, perhaps. I haven’t decided whether I prefer it or not.”

  “I like it,” said Olene. “They are how I imagine the eyes of a dragon might be.”

  “Thank you, my dear,” Jorga chuckled. “I’m afraid not, but I appreciate the sentiment. What do you think, Sorcerer Pol?”

  “I think that you’re a mad necromancer and that it looks like you’ve lost the battle.”

  “Possibly, possibly,” conceded Jorga. “Possibly not, though.”

  “I smashed your weak little Clans with mud,” said Pol.

  “You did nothing,” snarled Olene. “My people were defeated by traitors and cowards in the Sea Clan.”

  “Pol contributed,” said Jorga. “I thought it was quite fascinating, actually. How did you do that? I have not seen such magic for quite some time.”

  “Like I’d tell you,” said Pol.

  Jorga lifted his hand palm up and closed a fist. The air around Pol grew thick and heavy and he felt some unseen force begin to compress his chest. He tried to shout but no sound come out. The pain became unbearable, and he desperately tried to writhe his way free.

  Jorga flattened his hand and Pol gasped for air.

  “Feel inclined to share?” asked Jorga.

  “Heldi taught me,” said Pol, cursing himself silently. Kiera would’ve said something pithy. Or she would’ve spat in Jorga’s face.

  “Heldi couldn’t raise one man out of the earth, let alone a small army,” said Jorga.

  “She told me how to do it, all the same.”

  “You didn’t learn it in a book?”

  “I can barely read,” said Pol. That wasn’t true, but it was the sort of lie that smacked of truth.

  Jorga seemed to buy it.

  “Well, it’s an interesting trick, Pol, one that I would love to learn. Perhaps you will teach it to me?”

  “You just tried to crush me to death. Why would I possibly do that?”

  “I wasn’t ever going to kill you, Pol. I was just...trying to give you some encouragement to cooperate. I think you and I could learn a lot from each other.”

  “I don’t want to learn anything from you.”

  “No?” Jorga seemed a little hurt for a moment, but then he grinned. “What did the Guild promise you when you joined?”

  “Nothing. To teach me how to use my magic. That it’d be hard.”

  “They didn’t promise you anything you wanted?”

  Margase’s words to Pol during his test flitted back to him. “Or anyone,” she’d said. He didn’t say anything.

  Jorga’s grin grew wider.

  “And have you, Pol? Have you received everything you ever wanted?”

  Again Pol said nothing. He looked away from Jorga.

  “That’s their trick, Pol. The spell only the Guild knows. They take all your power, and they harness it to their own ends. Take today. They could not have triumphed against the Dragon Clans without your help. I’d wager every ounce of gold I ever touched that you’re responsible for the sudden flow of magic back into the East. They performed the Rite of Renewal with you, didn’t they?”

  “Yes…” said Pol.

  “Were you even a Sorcerer when they made you perform the Rite? Did they explain any of it to you before they forced you to participate in it?”

  “I volunteered,” said Pol.

  “I’m sure you believe that,” said Jorga. “We all tell ourselves as many lies as necessary to convince us of the righteousness of our own actions.”

  “Like using death magic,” said Pol.

  “Oh, no,” said Jorga. “No, I know what I am. I am not a good man anymore, Pol. The Guild taught me not to be. I was once where you were, a knave raised up to king. I was a Master in the Guild, all the Vashili knelt to me, and the Joians and Coulainians quaked in my presence. And then the Guild took everything from me. That is their way.”

  “You chose to seek out evil,” said Pol. “Heldi told me. You began researching blood magic and death magic.”

  “Yes, that’s true, I did. I have ever since,” said Jorga. “But did Heldi tell you why?”

  “You became mad with ambition.”

  Jorga laughed, a hard rueful thing that grated in Pol’s ears.

  “Well before you were born, Pol, there was a riot. At the time, I thought nothing of it’s reflection on the Guild, except that the Vashili were impertinent and it was our fault. We had given them so much, and they rejected it. They rose in rebellion, and they stormed the Guild Rock, let in by traitors in the staff.

  “A number of my friends died in that riot,” said Jorga. “Some in their beds, some dragged out into the streets of the city to be lynched for the enjoyment of the mob. It took three days before we had restored order. There were nobles among them. The vai Ullans, the vai Auins, a vai Keller or two, though their Head at the time was Exarch. Given how disastrous their conniving had been, I thought they would be punished. Instead they were granted amnesty. The Guild pursued reconciliation.”

  “You turned against the Guild for their mercy?”

  “No, I turned against the Guild for their incompetence!” thundered Jorga. “No other people in the entire world have been given such power since the end of the dragons, such a clear sign from Vash that we were meant to rule, and rule in her image. And the
Guild has squandered this mandate from the high heavens. They have allowed dissent to fester, and to go unchallenged even when it drags them from their beds at night.”

  “That’s a lot of high talk for a necromancer,” said Pol. He was still struggling against his bonds. It felt like his left wrist was loosening, but with both Jorga and Olene watching him, he couldn’t exploit it as much as he might have liked.

  “I turned to necromancy and blood magic in order to rectify the wrong the Guild created. To restore my friends when the Guild refused to do them justice. They exiled me rather than face their own embarrassment.”

  “Well, I’ll be happy to pass it along to them,” said Pol. “Just untie me and I’ll go.”

  “Ha!” laughed Jorga. “Are you sure you won’t teach me how to raise men from mud? I’ll gladly teach you how to raise the dead.”

  “Even if I could, I wouldn’t,” said Pol.

  “A shame, Pol,” said Jorga. “Between the two of us, we might have done quite a few wonders.”

  He sighed, then looked at Olene.

  “Cut his heart out. We can use it to escape this tower.”

  Olene drew a dagger from her belt, the blade curved and thick, made of dragon jade. As she stepped to Pol, he struggled a little harder against the ropes holding him to the throne, trying to press himself off with his feet, the bonds constricting his wrists, making his hands turn white.

  One of the massive doors to the great hall thundered across the room as it was torn open, revealing a green knight, splattered in blood.

  “Kiera!” Pol shouted, the relief in his voice palpable.

  Jorga and Olene spun on their heels.

  “Give my sword!” Olene shouted at Uli. The little thrall ran forward, carrying a jade broadsword, trading Olene for the dagger. The Dragon Clan chief descended the stairs of the dias, blade held at the ready, as Kiera made her way up the center of the throne room floor.

  “You’ve no escape, and no hope,” said Kiera. “Give me Pol.”

  “I’ll never yield to an Easterner,” said Olene. “And as long as any in the Dragon Clans hold a weapon, they have hope.”

  “As you wish,” said Kiera.

  The two women closed, each just out of the reach of the other. Olene shifted left and Kiera moved to meet her, but Olene fell back on her foot, changing to the right in an instant, Kiera’s guard moving to the other side, just a hair slower than Olene’s shift.

  Olene feinted, then flew forward, a flurry of strikes hammering down on Kiera, who was caught off guard by the sudden change in movement, her limbs already sore from fighting a battle and then her way through the tower. She blocked most of them, but a few blows still slipped by her blade, making her grunt and curse as they rattled against her armor. A hard enough strike and she wasn’t sure if her armor, weakened from passing through the maelstrom, would be able to hold up.

  As if on cue, Jorga stepped up to the end of the dias, the air ahead of him catching on fire.

  “No!” cried Pol. He stared down at his bonds, gesturing to the right hand as best he could with the loosened left hand, his arm going numb as the familiar sensation of magic slipped through his body. The air just below his right arm shimmered, the arm of the throne twisting, and there was the slurp of air being sucked into a vortex.

  Pol tore his right arm away, dropping the spell. The arm of the throne was missing, as was the bottom half of the ropes that had bound him. There were dots of blood forming on the underside of his wrist, as if it had been scraped, but other than that, he’d managed to control the destruction.

  Still tied by his left hand to the throne, Pol flung fire at Jorga, as massive a ball as he could summon, flames belching out as the air between the two men ignited.

  Jorga’s own fire dropped, gasping out of life as he raised a shielding spell out of the air, sending the fire bursting around him.

  The heat of the flames roaring over Olene’s head drew her attention and Kiera seized her advantage, slashing hard at the Dragon Clan chieftain. At the last possible minute before the first blow struck, Olene dodged away, Kiera’s blade hissing through empty air. Kiera struck again, then again, hard blows meant to batter through the smaller woman’s defences. Olene blocked them as best she was able, but one stroke of Kiera’s blade cut her just on the side of her belly. Olene screamed, lashing out at Kiera with a foot, pushing her away.

  Kiera stumbled back, almost losing balance and tottering over onto her back, but she managed to regain her balance. Just in time. Olene came screaming, delivering a leaping blow meant to slash through her armor. Kiera caught it, the two women crumpling to the ground.

  Water sprayed over them, and both Kiera and Olene blinked, glancing up at the two Sorcerers on the dias. Pol was still tied to the throne, using his bound hand to defend with a shielding spell, his free hand pulling ice out of the water vapor in the air and throwing it at Jorga. Flames leapt up, each icicle devoured by the fire in turn, spewing out water as it passed through.

  Kiera remembered herself first, and threw the chief off her. She rolled onto her knees, bringing a crushing blow down where Olene’s head would have been, had the chief not rolled away herself, flipping onto her feet.

  Olene rained blows down on Kiera’s head, the helmet echoing with each strike. Kiera struck out wildly trying to fend them off, and Olene danced around to her side, hammering at her with the sword, trying to hack her head off.

  In desperation, Kiera reached out with her left hand to shield her face, her fingers spread wide. She felt Olene’s blade bite into the jade, and reflexively she closed her hand around it. Olene struggled to pull it free, but Kiera heaved at it with all her might, wrenching it out of Olene’s hands, and sending it tottering across the floor.

  Kiera lumbered to her feet. Olene made a feint, as though she would charge her, then tried to slip around Kiera’s side, attempting to retrieve her sword.

  Kiera was tired, exhausted, every muscle crying out for rest, but she was still faster than Olene.

  Her sword whispered as it swung through the air, slicing across Olene’s back as the chief ran from her. Olene screamed, a bloody red line opening up from her shoulder to her waist, and she stumbled across the floor, landing hard on the stone.

  She didn’t move, but Kiera could see she was still breathing. She advanced, as carefully as possible, given how many tricks the Dragon Clans had pulled.

  The throne of the princes and princesses of Tia Joi went shuddering into her back, driving her forward as it bent and broke, a solid gold chair leg skittering across the stone. Kiera landed on the floor, no time to catch herself, her own head smashing against the floor, bouncing against the helmet. The world fluttered into darkness.

  “Kiera!” screamed Pol from the dias. Jorga had pulled the throne into the air, trying to smash Pol against the marble floor with it, but had only managed to snap the last of Pol’s bindings.

  Jorga ripped at the stone shield Pol had made of the dias, the marble flying apart in pieces, showering the throne room in shards of rock. Pol’s feet flew out from under him, and he began to get dragged across the ruined floor, the jagged rock tearing at his skin. He threw a burst of fire at Jorga, who turned instinctively, raising another shield.

  Pol regained his feet, and he reached out, summoning the rock back toward Jorga. The shards of stone began to bind together, stacking on top of each other, until the rough approximation of man made of a cairn was visible. The stone creature took a step towards Jorga.

  Fire burst around the stone, the rock beginning to glow red and then white, and then losing shape. The molten rock fell to the floor, hissing as it cooled.

  Pol tried to pull it back up into a ball, to hurl towards Jorga, but a burst of air from Jorga sent if flying out of his grasp. The other Sorcerer reached out, sending a new shuddering blast of wind against Pol. He threw up a shield, managing to hold his feet.

  Jorga sent a new blow into him from behind, sending Pol tripping head over heels. Jorga gestured once in a come-hi
ther motion, pulling Pol to him, then lifted a shield to hold Pol in place, floating in the air just in front of him.

  Jorga reached out towards Pol's chest, and made a pulling motion.

  Pol screamed as his ribs seemed to flex, his heart thumping in his chest. A small cut opened just over his breastbone.

  “This is a fascinating trick I learned in one of the old tomes in the Guild archives. I can’t think of how it was developed, but given the old wisdom that the heart holds the most magic, I have some guesses,” said Jorga. He pulled again, and Pol’s scream became louder.

  “What it allows you to do, if you can get the heart out in time, is travel along what Master Keelon called the ‘heartline’. In other words, anywhere of emotional significance to them. Where will your heartline lead me, do you think, Pol? Straight into the Guild Rock, maybe?”

  He pulled a third time, and the cut in Pol’s chest widened into a gash, one of his ribs breaking, his heart beating out a staccato rhythm in his chest loud enough to wake the dead.

  A large, round green object smashed against Jorga’s head. The spell shattered. Jorga fell roughly to the floor, and Pol fell to the ground against the dias, losing consciousness as the pain receded.

  Jorga climbed to his feet and looked at the missile that had hit him. It was a helmet, the visor intact, cast in dragon jade. He looked down across the throne room.

  Kiera stood at the foot of the dias. Her nose was bleeding, her eyebrow had split open just above her left eye, and her hair had matted to her head with sweat.

  Jorga turned and threw a bolt of lightning at her.

  Kiera raised her sword in reflex. The lightning flickered out of existence as it made contact with the blade.

  “Fucking jade,” hissed Jorga. Another bolt launched from his hands, dying as it approached Kiera. She stepped forward, moving up the dias. Uli ran from her, slipping down to Olene.