The Titan's Tome

by M. B. Schroeder

  “I think… yes,” Morkleb finally answered.

  The man nodded, stood, and picked up the bucket of bloody water. He reached down and helped the icren up. Morkleb had been on his knees all day and doubted he could have gotten to his feet unassisted. The man picked up Morkleb’s bag, with some difficulty, but managed to shoulder it. As they walked to the temple doors, the man introduced himself. “My name is Len.”

  “Morkleb.”

  “Is there anything I can get for you? Some food, water?”

  Morkleb nodded, his eyes still lost, only seeing dark figures rip Jarah apart over and over. Her scream and the sudden stop made him shudder.

  “And in the morning?” Len guided Morkleb down a hall from the main chamber of the temple. He stopped at a black door.

  “I want to learn to be a cleric.”

  “Becoming a cleric isn’t simply learning how. It isn’t a trade. It’s a calling. You have to hear Thesda’s voice.” Len opened the door and brought him inside. The room was plain, much like the one where Kal had tried to heal Jarah. It was larger and the table with the mat was missing. Instead, a bed was against the right wall.

  “Thesda’s voice,” Morkleb murmured. He sat on the bed Len directed him to. Len eased the heavy bag off his shoulder and left the pail of bloody water outside the door before shutting it.

  “Why don’t you stay here for a while? Get to know the people. Learn about Thesda and our ways. Then decide if you want to listen for Thesda’s voice.”

  “I heard a voice last night. She screamed.” Morkleb looked into Len’s eyes. “She screamed, and I couldn’t help her.”

  Len sat on the bed next to him, he didn’t offer any apologetic or remorseful platitudes, but wrapped an arm around Morkleb’s shoulders.

  Morkleb took a shuddering breath. “That was Thesda’s voice. I’ll learn to heal. She won’t need to scream anymore.”

  “All right, my boy.” Len rubbed at Morkleb’s wing covered shoulder. “I’ll bring you some food and water. In the morning, we’ll get you a brown cassock.”

  Chapter 16

  310 Br. fall

  “Magic is a force that infuses everything in the world. Mages are the few beings capable of drawing in that power and shaping it by their will. No different than a sunflower tracking the sun and using what it absorbs for its own purposes. But just as a sunflower can absorb only so much sunlight, the same is true of mages and magic.”

  -Theory of Magic – Master of Mages Jorel Dirk of King Ferick’s court

  N ervous agitation made DraKar pace. The missive Armagon had sent him, had their secret mark on it, a downward facing triangle with a jagged line for what would normally be the base. It was a symbol only used between them, so there could be no mistake the message came from their own hands.

  A simple thing scrawled between words, or in a margin, a minor doodle on the fringe of a letter. If anyone else were able to get the message, the mark would likely be overlooked. No magic or special elixirs were needed to see the symbol, making it more innocuous. They didn’t use it often, so if someone did intercept multiple correspondences, it would not be commonplace.

  His yellow eyes skimmed over the words again, written in the tall, narrow style of his brother’s hand.

  We will have a home again.

  So much said in that single line.

  Armagon planned to rebuild, the devils be damned. It was the signal for the attack, meaning Armagon had finalized the plant of false orders. There wouldn’t be enough time for Tiamat to get word to her brood, but the signs would be there when she went looking for a reason why her children were slaughtered. Once their assault on the dragons was finished, he would meet DraKar at the ruins of Meerwood.

  The letter had been brought by a human concubine of a member of the assassin’s guild. The girl sat on the bed in the corner of the room, her back pressed firmly against it, trying to keep as much distance between her and the restless sarpand. She shook and sniveled whenever DraKar glanced at her, tears and snot smeared her face.

  She had been sent to his room in the inn and hadn’t known who she was bringing the note to, but when DraKar opened the door, she had screeched and tried to run. He had caught her before she was able to take two steps and dragged her into the room as she screamed. It had taken some menacing to get her to be quiet, but once she had settled into whimpers, she had enough sense to hand him the note.

  In return, DraKar had dropped several coins into her empty hand. She had stared at the gold, more money than her master had, more money than she had ever thought could be gathered in a lifetime. If she could get away from the inn with her life.

  DraKar blocked her path to the door and growled a single command, “Stay.” If he were to keep up the appearance he’d ordered for the whore, then she would need to stay the night. In the morning, he would take her from the inn fully shrouded, as though to cover wounds from pleasuring a sarpand.

  He sneered as she flinched away from him. So long as she followed his commands, he wouldn’t have to touch her again. Humans were such fragile creatures, and yet when they worked together, they could wreak havoc.

  DraKar turned away from the girl but didn’t fully put her out of his mind. Any living creature in the same room could be a possible hazard, and he wouldn’t be caught unaware if her timidity proved to be an act. It was a common ploy of the Hells and it wouldn’t surprise him one of their agents was working for a member of the assassin’s guild.

  The only person he fully trusted was Armagon.

  As the sun rose, DraKar woke the girl. “Get up.”

  She startled awake and wiped at the crust in her green eyes. Her brown hair was knotted at the back of her head from where she had leaned against the rough wood wall.

  DraKar unfolded a blanket from a chair and beckoned her over. He patiently waited for her to uncurl from the corner of the bed and slowly walk toward him, her sandals scuffing on the floor. He flipped the blanket around her, settling it over her scantily clad form, making sure to cover her head as well.

  “Not a word.” DraKar placed his large heavy hand on her shoulder, feeling her tremble under it. It would better serve his purpose to have her fearful as they left the inn.

  He guided her out of the room to the long hall of the single story building. He pressed the girl ahead of him, having her open the door and he ducked through it, annoyed his wings brushed uncomfortably against the frame.

  They walked through the mud of the street, ignoring the few people already awake. A dog barked at them, as though to run them from its town, but DraKar ignored it, keeping a firm hand on the girl’s shoulder. Once they left the village and were amongst the trees surrounding it, DraKar removed his hand.

  “Go.”

  The girl spun to face him, fresh tears on her face. “Go? Go where?”

  DraKar only gave her a glance, but didn’t answer. She had enough money to live the rest of her life comfortably, wherever she wanted to go. He stepped far enough away from her that his wings wouldn’t hit her, and took to the air.

  Today was about revenge for Drunah, for Meerwood, and to hopefully occupy Mammon and Tiamat with war. Today he would meet with Armagon in the skies over the Dragon Isles and rain death upon the chromatic dragons.

  It was late evening when DraKar reached the western coast of the northern continent, and fully night when he was over the Dragon Isles. Finding Armagon in the inky heavens of a new moon would be near impossible. Even if DraKar used his magic to seek his brother out, the augmentations the Hells had forced on him would conceal the black sarpand.

  Armagon saw his brother’s approach but waited to make sure nothing else had. After a short time, he flew to where DraKar had been idly circling on the air currents over the isles. Once DraKar acknowledged him, they separated again and began their two-pronged attack.

  DraKar began his magical strike on the aeries, the tall spires and wide caves in the rocky cliffs where many of the dragons made their homes. He concentrated on the clusters on the
main islands, crafting multiple destructive orbs, the spells woven instinctively, and cast them down on the sleeping populace. He was to be the distraction, the one the dragons would chase and fight; while Armagon went to the egg chambers.

  Armagon swooped down to the isles and found the first cavern. The red guardian for the eggs was in a frenzy as she watched DraKar’s attacks, though she wasn’t so foolish as to leave her post. But her attention was drawn to the distraction, and Armagon easily slipped along the shadows and gained entrance to the craggy tunnel.

  Inside, over twenty large leathery eggs encircled an underground lava pool. The warmth was oppressive, and the eggs topped him in height, but all he had to do was stab each once. The unborn dragons made no noise as his sword sliced through their immature bodies, and the viscous fluids drooled out. He hurried to slip away before the scent of the leaking albumen reached the dragoness who was hissing her curses at DraKar.

  Armagon didn’t relish the grizzly work of killing the un-hatched, but every one of the chromatic dragons had a tie to Tiamat and would serve her. Just as the metallic dragons served their deific ‘father’, Bahamut. While sarpand were scaled with the same metallic and chromatic colors as dragons, their souls were not tied to the deities who held sway over the dragons.

  He was in the air and had put some distance between himself and the guardian of the red’s eggs before he heard her screech. The sound was almost deafening, even with the distance from her. She howled into the night, calling out to the other reds that a murderer was amongst them.

  A rumbling and spray of lava lit the sky and Armagon dipped low into a valley to avoid the light. He grinned as he wove between trees; apparently, DraKar had gotten tired of the female’s shrieks and had forced an eruption of lava from the egg chamber.

  The waterfall at the end of the valley hid the entrance to the white dragons’ eggs. The cold spring water misted into the cavern and cooled it. He saw no sign of a white dragon guard as he dove into the waters near the falls. The splashing of cascading water masked his entrance, as he skimmed under the surface of the water.

  Armagon’s armor weighed him down, trying to drag him to the bottom of the pool, but he used his wings, tail, and legs to propel him to the waterfall. In the dizzying force of the roiling water, he dragged himself along the bottom as the roar of it momentarily deafened him. He kicked up from the rocks after negotiating the tumultuous water and pulled his way to the surface.

  He gasped for air and searched the darkness of the cave at the same time, but didn’t see or hear a dragon. White eggs lined the walls of the shallow cavern, the spray from the falls coating each with a fine sheen. There were only ten eggs from the white dragons, and he ripped them open. The blood and fluids spread out onto the floor and coated his blade.

  Armagon didn’t stay longer than it took to clean the gore off his weapon; there were other nests to assault. As he climbed along the rocks to escape the falls, the calls of alarm echoed through the valley. He flew away, keeping to the trees along the stream, a shadow flickering between trunks. The trees swayed as heavy wings of dragons passed overhead. The sky was being lit by spells careening off shields and shattering bodies. DraKar was finally able to vent some of his anger and the toll would be catastrophic.

  The green dragons kept their clutch of eggs in swamps at the end of the stream; a large moss covered bog surrounded by thick trees. A large green male stalked around the landmass, his track kept a moat of water around the nesting site. The male was on guard, focused on his surroundings and not the fight above.

  Armagon flew over the trees and circled above the pacing dragon. He calculated the green’s track and tilted into a dive, drawing his wings close to his body so the membranes wouldn’t make a sound. His sword was in hand, and he landed roughly on the dragon’s scaled and frilled head, the skull twice as long as he was tall, and he buried his blade, fully to the hilt, in the dragon’s head. The hell-forged sword slid freely through the bone and scales, as the male floundered and fell.

  The dozen slimy eggs were another easy target for Armagon, and he wiped the viscera from his sword onto the moss. He sheathed his weapon and flew away, listening to the cacophony of dragon cries in the distance as DraKar continued his attacks. His brother was easy to pick out now in the night sky. The shield around him radiated as the spells and attacks of the dragon’s reflected off it. Armagon recognized the spell DraKar was crafting, only because he had seen the multicolored spheres before. It would be a chaotic blow to the dragons, but his brother resorted to that spell only when his power was waning.

  A new desperation urged Armagon to fly faster to the next clutch. Their escape depended on the magic DraKar reserved. The black dragons kept their eggs deep in a sinkhole to the west. It was on the far side of the isle and would take the longest to reach, so Armagon kept low to the shadows to stay concealed.

  The screams of warning carried faster on the winds than Armagon could fly. When he reached the cavernous sinkhole, five dragons were circling it, on the ground and above. He cursed inwardly and landed in the thick forest that surrounded the gaping maw of the black dragons’ rookery. He let the darkness of the night wrap around him, as he edged closer to the massive opening in the earth.

  Wary dragons were difficult to slip past, and he had to wait until one walked away to hide in her shadow. He leaped from the crumbling edge of the pit and his swirling black eyes were able to pick out all thirteen eggs. Still little more than a shadow, he passed through the moonlight and dropped into the wide sinkhole.

  Another dragon had been lying in wait, and caught the unnatural shadow move in the light. The black dragon lunged out from his hideaway and struck Armagon with a spell that threatened to bury him in the dirt wall. The blow knocked the air from his lungs and he lost his concentration on his shadowy form. He fought to breathe as the black dragon approached; the spell made his chest ache and his ribs creak.

  The dragon spat curses at Armagon, but didn’t dare get nearer to the infamous devil-son. Even with the spell holding the sarpand firmly in place, the black beast was cautious. He called up to his brethren, and several began a spiraling descent to see the famed assassin.

  Armagon pushed back against the earth he was held to, trying to give himself room to breathe and find a way to fight back. His lungs wheezed as he grunted from the effort. The force of the blow that had landed him against the wall, had compacted the dirt and allowed for no extra movement.

  “Armagon,” a female hissed as she landed in front of him. “We should slaughter you.” Her ebony tongue licked across her fangs as she regarded him.

  “Save him for Tiamat!” called one of the males. “She’ll reward us.”

  “Better to kill him so he can never attack us again,” argued another female from the far wall.

  “His brother would drown this island and the rest of us in the ocean if we did,” the female in front of Armagon answered with a slight backward glance. She looked back at the captured sarpand. “Better to use him to bring DraKar to heel.”

  Armagon groaned and his eyes rolled, the lack of air was becoming a strain. He almost wished they would try to stop the other dragons from attacking DraKar. That might cause enough in-fighting to let his brother know he’d been captured.

  Instead, he closed his eyes and ceased breathing, his muscles slackened, but the spell kept him upright against the wall.

  The female tilted her head at the motionless sarpand. “Let him breathe.”

  “Not wise,” answered the male who controlled the spell.

  She spun around to face him, and swiped her claws against his face. “Do not disobey me!”

  The male snarled through the blood dripping past his lips and snapped at the air, but did as she commanded.

  Armagon held deathly still, in a deep meditative state he’d practiced in the Hells. Sometimes the best way to lure in prey was to feign weakness.

  “Seven Hells,” the female cursed. “If you killed him before we could send word to the queen…�
� she trailed off and waited for any sign of the sarpand’s lungs moving.

  Armagon’s ribs ached; it was possible they were cracked from the spell’s pressure. His chest burned, desperate for air, but he let the pain sink him further into the tranquility of his mind. Like a pond before sunrise, he held his consciousness under the glassy surface. Whatever happened above, whatever pain or chaos or sounds, it could not reach him.

  The female cursed again, louder and angrier. “Release the hold on him.”

  The male grumbled, but did as he was told, backing away from the sarpand. The pit was crowded now with dragons. The reluctant male positioned many of them between him and Armagon.

  Armagon’s body slid down the wall, his wings and tail scraping against the earth until he collapsed at the bottom of the pit. He started to let his senses wake again, but still kept his muscles limp and his lungs empty. Heavy footfalls sent little tremors through the soft earth at the bottom of the pit as the female moved closer. Her large head snaked forward and the heat of her breath washed over him like a burst of air from a forge. Armagon slipped free of his trance, inhaling a deep breath, as he lunged up and pulled his sword free from its sheath. It took several beats of his wings to get to the height he needed for the attack.

  The female startled at the movement and drew back, but not before Armagon had sliced open her skull between her eyes. The sword split bone as her head continued its upward climb, the muscles still working after her skull and gray matter had been sundered. She dragged him further into the air before her body began its lifeless descent, her eyes vacant with blood oozing from the wound. He ripped his blade free as she fell, and leaped back into the shadows, disappearing into the darkness of the pit. From there, he watched as the other dragons raged and searched for him, their bulks twisting and banging against the earthen sides of the sinkhole.