Key of Living Fire (The Sword of the Dragon)

by Appleton, Scott

  Ribbons of current lashed out of the ring into its center, forming a six-pointed star that began spreading, filling the ring with a purplish transparent window. Beyond the window a desert rose into view. Wind swept the sand in clouds toward a natural wall of stone rising from the desert floor. The wall stretched to the horizon beneath the blinding sunlight.

  Ilfedo furrowed his brow. The prophet released the sword, and it resumed its orbit around them. The flames and the white washed away the window. “Resgeria,” Ilfedo said.

  “Indeed.” The prophet stepped back, and the wall of flames and white changed him into a phantom. Pointing at him with a long smoking finger, the prophet continued. “Within their subterranean realm, the Megatraths unwittingly guard a portal to the Hidden Realm, and there you must go. Go to your ally Vectra; seek entrance to the Tomb of the Ancients, for therein lies the Key of Living Fire. Once the key is secured, give it into a prophet’s safekeeping.” The prophet began to recede from sight, growing more and more distant.

  Holding up his hand, Ilfedo said, “Wait! Surely you don’t mean to leave me with so little information? Am I to undertake this task alone? Come with me if you deem it so urgent.”

  “I cannot, Lord Ilfedo. Yet take comfort that another will join you in this task, once you reach the Hidden Realm.”

  “But how will I know this individual?”

  The old man vanished. The wall of flames expanded outward. His fiery universe grew, and the albino dragon loomed through the flames; its boned face glowed so that he could not see its features, and its scales radiated pure energy. An onslaught of wind made him raise his arm to shield his eyes. When the wind ceased, he looked about to find himself standing on the path again with the sword sheathed at his side.

  Light from the gibbous moon covered the grassy path in silver, but a shadow fell over him. Windswept dirt rushed into his eyes, and his hood blew off his head. He shielded his eyes again and reached to his side with his free hand. His fingers slid over the crystalline pommel of his sword, and he drew it from its sheath. The wind ceased as he dropped his other arm and held the weapon with both hands, angling it ahead of him.

  The vision he’d just received played out in his mind. Or had he dreamed the whole thing?

  Flames leaped from the base of his blade and streamed over it. They spread, passing over his hands like a shield of comfort until they covered his entire body. Receding with great rapidity, they returned into the sword’s blade, leaving him dressed in a suit of armor unlike any other. He flexed his arms with ease and smote his chest, hearing it clink but feeling nothing. Good, the armor was real. This was no dream. The shiny breastplate glowed white, and flames danced inside it.

  The ground vibrated, and the tremendous dragon stepped into view. Moonlight outlined its retracting wings in silver and illuminated the veins. Large pink eyes glowed beneath the twin horns twisting over the back of its head. By the light of the sword he could see the white dragon scales, though the face took on a glow, obscuring its features. Gradually the glow spread from the dragon’s face, enveloping its entire body.

  Immediately he sheathed his weapon. As the flames receded from his body, peeling off the armor before flashing into the sword’s blade, he bowed. “It has been a long time, mighty one.”

  “Indeed, to you, I suppose it has,” the dragon rumbled. “Almost eighteen years.”

  Ilfedo stood straight and looked up, keeping his eyes on the pink ones that seemed to float above him like luminous jewels. The creature’s huge body glowed white and shone silvery in the moonlight, reminiscent of clouds on calm-weather days.

  “You have done well, lord of the Hemmed Land, and the offspring of my blood is growing into a potent, pure maiden. The people of this land are now strong. Their homes are safe, and thou hast vanquished your enemies. The wizard in the north would have eventually launched an invasion of the Hemmed Land and likely would have destroyed you—had you given him time to prepare—but you went to where he was, interceded to save thy daughter’s life, and destroyed him. You have done well.”

  Ilfedo bowed. “I was given to understand that you healed Oganna of her wounds—for that I am eternally indebted to you.”

  The dragon lowered his head closer to Ilfedo’s face. “She is my blood, the child of my child. I did what I must do for those I love. Just as you do no less for those you care for.” It pulled its head high again and growled. Smoke wafted from its nostrils. “She must live, Ilfedo. She must not fall. And only you have the power to protect her.”

  A knot formed in Ilfedo’s stomach. The dragon punched the ground, forming a mini crater. “Always I protect her. She is my only child and”—Ilfedo swallowed—“she is all I have left of her mother. Her smile, her laugh . . . Oganna inherited those, and I see her mother in her—”

  “Ilfedo.” The dragon sighed and gazed down upon him. “Your child is only alive today because your wife sacrificed her own life to bring her into the world. Because Oganna has the power of my blood flowing through her veins—” With a growl the creature gazed skyward, and flames roiled from its maw. A ground-quaking growl erupted from its throat that turned into a roar. Unseen woodland creatures scattered through the underbrush with frightened cries.

  Ilfedo cringed and fell to the ground.

  The dragon’s body trembled as it stepped back. “Visions of the future haunt me, Lord Ilfedo. I would that I could reveal them to you, if only to stop them from coming true. But my Master, the Creator of all, does not permit it. I can see it all. You, thy child, my daughters—your fates are clear to me, yet I cannot reveal them. All I may say is stand strong and let nothing that opposes you for evil remain. This may be the last time, I fear, that you will see me. For I can foresee—” Again the dragon roared and shot flames heavenward.

  It looked into his eyes in that instant, and Ilfedo feared the knowledge that burned in the creature’s gaze. It said, “I see a battle waging in a distant land. It is you on the field with the dragon Venom-fier, that mightiest of Etina’s legions. Letrias does not deign to show himself but sends Scourge to do his will. The blood-red dragon’s army clashes with your own, and heroes fail, some fall. The onslaught reaches its pinnacle and—” Tears formed in the dragon’s eyes. “She has come; she has come for you at the end. Faithful and single-minded, she takes the sword, and sends it through the heavens to the place Letrias knows nothing of. She sends it to the hero born of the traitor and the witch. A pool of blood, Ilfedo. I see fields soaked in the blood of dragons and humans. Thousands clash and Scourge draws near . . . for you.”

  A beam of blinding light split the sky. It shone upon the albino dragon, and he roared with such power that Ilfedo covered his ears. All around him the tall trees splintered and fell away from the dragon. It crouched, spread its wings over the trees, and sprang into the sky. When Ilfedo stood, the creature roared again. Its glowing form grew smaller in the western sky until he could no longer see it.

  Fear filled him. The encounter had only served to add to his confusion and trepidation.

  “Do not fear, lord of the Hemmed Land.” The shepherd from the vision stepped onto the moonlit path. Ilfedo felt lightheaded. His feet hovered inches above the ground. The grass and trees, the stars in the sky, all began to whirl around him until they were only a blur. The shepherd and he floated in a universe to themselves.

  “What are you?” he asked as the universe continued its dizzying spin.

  “A messenger. A prophet of the most high God. I am Patient the shepherd, and I bring you instruction you would be wise to heed.”

  Ilfedo nodded. “Speak, then, and I will listen.”

  The shepherd frowned and pointed at him. “Heed the words of the vision that was delivered to thee. Go to the Tomb of the Ancients. Find the Key of Living Fire and secure it, for without it your daughter’s future crumbles into the ruins of lost history. Tonight you may rest with thy loved ones, but in the morning depart for Resgeria—alone. Upon this mission rests the entire future of your race and that of
the dragons.”

  The shepherd stepped close, as if looking into Ilfedo’s very soul and probing for something. A patch of grass appeared beneath the shepherd’s feet. The old man removed a golden scroll from his robes, took one step forward, and laid it in Ilfedo’s hand. And then he vanished.

  Ilfedo rubbed his hands together against the sudden night chill and ran his fingers along the white-gold seal in the form of a dragon on the scroll. As his skin brushed the seal, the scroll unraveled to reveal a letter written on a green parchment. The smooth and sweeping characters written thereon merged with one another in an artistic fashion, and he had little doubt that a woman had written it.

  The letter was short and to the point, giving him the information he required.

  Lord Ilfedo,

  Some doors have been closed that were intended to remain so. They conceal secrets either too evil or too great to be revealed. One such door has been opened—the door that holds the secret of Living Fire, which power runs through the sword that you bear.

  Time does not permit me to go into great detail on this matter. Suffice it to say that the greatest of God’s prophets once saw fit to lock all his powers within a Hold of fire that could be opened by a single key. The location of the key has hitherto been a carefully guarded secret known only to a few individuals.

  Though it is unknown how, an enemy has learned of the key and has sent one of his agents to obtain it. If his agent succeeds in taking the key, the powers of Living Fire will no longer be at your command—instead they will be at his. Ilfedo, this must not be allowed to happen.

  Come alone to the Tomb of the Ancients in the Megatrath realm, one day hence. I will await you on the other side of the portal (your doorway to an ancient realm). When we meet, your dragon ring will prove that I am the one the great albino dragon has sent. Together, we must find the Key of Living Fire and give it to the prophet for safekeeping.

  Scrawled at the end was a name unfamiliar to him: Starfire. The green parchment suddenly flamed, burning his hands before he could drop it. The parchment was consumed, and the golden scroll glowed. He started to set it on the ground, wary of what it might do. But he hesitated. The white-gold dragon on the seal grew outward, growling as it gripped his right-hand pointer finger gently with its metallic claws and wrapped its wings around his finger. Detaching itself from the scroll, the dragon solidified, and the scroll vanished with a soft “pop!”

  He felt the dragon ring’s cooled surface and glanced over its open maw. Its twin amethysts stared up at him from miniature eye sockets.

  “So, little ring, I am supposed to bring you to the Tomb of the Ancients?” He pulled at the ring, intending to pocket it, but the claws reanimated themselves and dug into his skin until he let go. “Very well, stay there.”

  Gazing around, he saw blackness deep and unyielding. It enveloped him. The ring dug into his finger, and he bit his lip. The metallic creature would stay there, for now. His feet sank into a current that swept him through lukewarm darkness.

  He didn’t know how long he drifted. His mind seemed to wander from distant vague corner to distant vague corner until it settled in an eddy of tranquil thought. His beloved young wife laughed, and then his child cried. He heard himself comforting Oganna and chuckling. “You hurt your finger, my little one?” Darkness weighed in on him, yet without menace. In its unseen depths, Oganna, the young woman, laughed, and her cheer swam through the darkness in beams of soft light. He breathed a contented sigh and closed his eyes.

  As he rested, a woman’s voice broke the silence. “Ombre! Look it’s—”

  “Stay here,” Ombre replied. “Let me check him first.”

  A hand shook Ilfedo’s shoulder, and he squinted up into his friend’s pale face. “When did you get here?” He rolled onto his side and jumped to his feet. A breeze whisked the treetops, and beyond his friend Ilfedo saw a woman standing in the shadows. “Caritha, is that you?”

  Ombre scowled. “What in Subterran were you doing lying in the middle of the path? And—” His face stretched into a frown as his gaze swept the area. He drew his sword and ran past Ilfedo, kneeling beside a large, clear impression of a clawed foot. He ran his fingers along the claw marks and whistled. “Heaven help us.”

  “What is it?” Caritha asked, taking one step out of the shadows and pulling a pastel yellow shawl around her shoulders. She was wearing a beautiful pink dress embroidered in gold-and black lacing around the cuffs and neckline. A golden band held her thickly braided hair away from her forehead and behind her ears.

  Ilfedo greeted her with a smile, then slapped the dust from his trousers. As he turned to greet Ombre, his friend stood from the dragon’s footprint, raised his eyebrows at Ilfedo, and beckoned with a hand for Caritha to approach. She did so in an almost-dainty fashion, lightly placing each foot on the ground. The hint of a smile graced her lips as Ombre took her hand.

  With a huff, Ombre shook his head at Ilfedo. “Well? Aren’t you going to offer an explanation? Or have you, without our knowledge, made a habit of lying in the middle of well-traveled paths?” He looked around at the forest. “And why are all the trees splintered and fallen?

  Ilfedo strode to the dragon’s footprint and closed his eyes. “I had a vision—”

  “A vision?” Ombre’s eyes flooded with skepticism. “Visions don’t break trees like twigs. And what of this print? It looks, well, real. If I were a child, I would swear this is a dragon’s footprint. But being a man I must confess that sounds crazy. After all, a dragon has never been seen in these parts, and no one, save for you, has ever seen one.”

  “Ombre, please be quiet for a moment. I fully intend to tell you what happened.” Ilfedo then launched into an account of all that had happened that night, beginning with his departure from the city of Gwensin and ending with the moment Ombre awoke him. When he had finished, his friend remained silent, but Caritha released Ombre’s hand and marched down the path. She murmured, “He has the dragon ring.”

  The men followed. “Great,” Ombre whispered under his breath so only Ilfedo could hear. “The past couple of days she’s really softened toward me; now you have reminded her of her heritage and the mysteries of the future.” Then he slapped him on the shoulder and sighed. “Forgive me, I do not blame you.”

  For the next half hour they walked, drawing ever closer to home.

  Then Caritha cleared her throat. “You will, of course, do as the prophet instructed?”

  He let her question remain unanswered, knowing his silence was an answer in itself. What choice did he have? The sword of the dragon was the key to their future. Without it—without it the next encounter with an enemy like Razes would be the death of him. Though he longed for peace and a rest from the troubled world, there was no respite. Not yet, anyway. “I had not anticipated leaving again so soon.”

  “Why must you go alone?” Ombre glanced at the stars. “If this key is so important, shouldn’t we marshal an army and invite the Megatraths to come along?” He pumped his arm and smiled. “I can picture it now! The dragon’s agent is waiting for you on the other side of that portal. It opens with a whoosh, and, expecting to see you, he steps forward. Instead the five thousand Elite march into the Hidden Realm. The light of their armor reveals every shadow and, behind them thunder the Megatraths. Immediately the wizard’s minion screams. She runs, but trips and falls just as you catch her and hand her off to your warriors. Mission accomplished, you lead your army back through the portal, waving to the agent of the dragon, and all in time for dinner with Vectra!”

  “And”—Ilfedo shook his head—“because I never obtained the Key of Living Fire, a wizard hunts me down. Having stolen the power from the Hold, the sword is now useless to me, and he slays me in cold blood.” He let the scenario rest in the air for several minutes before drawing his sword. The Living Fire leaped from the blade, engulfing him, and he held it forth. “Now is not the time to make light of these things, my friend. Now is the time to steel myself for the struggle I will surely
face—and I will face it alone.”

  “Oganna will not be pleased with that,” Ombre said.

  “Yet she will obey.” Ilfedo sped his pace, catching up to Caritha and walking beside her. “In my absence I would like you to include her in the business of being a Warrioress. She has proved to be more than your equal, and I will no longer hold her back.”

  Caritha dipped a slow nod. “Then she will accompany me wherever I go. You have my word, my brother.”

  Ombre caught up and kept pace on Caritha’s opposite arm. He smiled down at her, and she nodded back at him before setting her face forward. He frowned and Ilfedo caught his eye. “Give it time,” Ilfedo mouthed.

  “I have” Ombre lipped back. And his countenance hardened as he, too, locked his gaze on the path ahead.

  6

  HOME AND GONE AGAIN

  Beneath the moon-washed expanse of the night sky, Ilfedo’s house took on a dreamlike quality. He hung back when Ombre and Caritha opened the front door, choosing to remain in the open lawn. Except for the night that the specter of Death had appeared on his doorstep, this place brought good, tender memories. Even Dantress’s death bore an element of joy for the child she’d delivered.

  Laughter floated through the open doorway, and warm lamplight played on the patio stones. Ombre and Caritha exchanged hugs with the remaining sisters and with Oganna, their forms muted by the flashing firelight.

  “Father!” Her form, so like her mother’s, stepped into the door frame and onto the patio. She held her skirt above the wet evening grass as she walked across the yard, and they wrapped each other in their arms, her head nestled against his chest.

  He kissed her hair. The troubled kingdom he ruled and the cares of Subterran . . . faded into the night’s whispering breezes. Seivar and Hasselpatch screeched, shooting out the open door. Their white wings flew them behind his back. Flapping their wings, the birds gripped his shoulders in their silvery talons. There they perched, cooing and rubbing his cheeks with their soft, fluffy heads. It was good to be back.