Blood Immortal

by Paul Centeno

  “Prince Aarian!” bellowed Dargain, alarmed.

  He froze, watching the prince unconsciously fall into the murky water. Not a moment later, Dargain dived in and pulled Aarian to safety. In the meantime, Frostwarm enchanted Parla’vasa’s arrows, allowing her to launch fiery bodkins at the dragon. At first they tickled the creature. After one piercing its teal chest, however, it screeched and gave out a thunderous roar, fixing its eyes on her.

  “Get behind me, princess,” said Frostwarm frailly, raising his staff at the approaching dragon that hurled a sphere of frost at him. “Tei’ven’dis mor’de’kalas!” he firmly announced to the air, a wall of flame manifesting in front of him and melting the icy orb. His wrinkled face grew paler than ever as he slammed his staff on the concrete and continued, “Wy’deh heimei la’kala dus!”

  At that precise moment, a powerful gust of wind brought the dragon to the ground. It gave out a deafening bawl as it crashed down, its body crushing a part of the mossy bridge. As soon as it landed, Olwe emerged from the shadows, unsheathed his spare axe, and plunged it into the dragon’s tail. Parla’vasa continued to shoot arrows at it while Xel’vakora leapt onto its back, slicing one of its wings with his double-bladed scimitar. Dargain, meanwhile, laid the prince in a corner inside a shrine. After doing so, he unsheathed his swords and joined the battle, striking the beast’s icy scales on which magical glyphs of rime shone.

  “Return to the depths from which you came, dragon!” commanded Frostwarm, his eyes seething with fire as a red aura enveloped him. “Jihhen fra—”

  Before the wizard could finish casting an incineration spell, the beast rose on its feet and struck him with its giant claws. Silence fell for a moment, punctured only by a whispering croak from the wizard whose flesh gushed open with blood. Then he became soundless, his split body sliding apart.

  “Spirits!” gasped Parla’vasa, feeling the urge to vomit after seeing what had become of Frostwarm.

  “Brother!” cried out Dargain.

  In the blink of an eye, the dragon swiped its tail at Dargain, fracturing his breastplate. Groaning in tremendous pain, he flew into the tower and smashed through a wall. Dust and crumbled moonstone littered his body as he lay unconscious on the remaining staircase of the toppled tower. After dealing with him, the vehement dragon performed a movement akin to bucking until Xel’vakora lost his grip, thrown into the cold water. It then spread its wings and, despite one of them being torn, soared back in the air.

  Olwe and the princess hid when the dragon repeatedly whacked the jagged ceiling with its wounded tail, stalactite falling. Then the beast swiftly descended, breathing frost at the dark elf. Grumbling with hatred, Xel’vakora climbed up a vine just before the icy breath reached him. A chill ran up his spine when he saw that a portion of the water had froze beneath him. Realizing that he’d narrowly escaped death, he wheezed and joined Olwe and Parla’vasa in hiding.

  The dragon took off, roaring. Its ear-piercing bellow awoke Aarian who found himself alone in a roofless shrine. Fortunately for him, the dragon hadn’t spotted him yet, otherwise he would’ve been dead already. He got to his feet and peeked out of the doorway, trying to locate the beast and his comrades. By chance he saw Frostwarm’s remains.

  “Impossible,” he muttered, his face as pale as the lich inside Jerelaith’s crypt.

  Never did he think Frostwarm could be killed. Such a gruesome death prevented him to mourn. He instinctively stepped back. Yet he stopped short of it, aware of his fear. This parasite would always latch onto him if he didn’t do something about it now. Too many people had died because of his dread. But no longer would he allow fear to relentlessly consume him. It was time for him to be a prince and protect his people, including elves and dwarves.

  He peeked out again, hearing only the dragon’s continuous roar. Leaving the shrine, he sprinted across one of the few bridges that remained intact and entered what appeared to be an armory. Many of the weapons here had grown dull over time, and most of the armor either had cracks or looked as though they would disintegrate upon being touched. There was one set of equipment, however, that glinted anew—a hunter-green moonstone suit of armor, accompanied by a shield of the same material and a crystal sword.

  “That’s more like it,” he said to himself.

  Feeling a spark of hope, he replaced his cracked Vlydyonian armor with the elven one and brandished his new glossy sword and embossed shield that depicted the gorgeous, immortal face of Daela’han. He then exited the armory and, upon seeing the enraged dragon flying near the spire of another tower, charged toward it. Entering the dilapidated structure, he scaled the spiral staircase.

  Upon traveling midway up, he found a doorway leading outside. Aarian caught his breath and went through. Stepping onto a balcony, he approached its balustrade while trying to spot the water dragon. Instead he noticed that the ceiling wasn’t completely concealed; he saw a ravine. It was far too narrow for the beast to escape but had just enough space for him and his comrades to climb. When he realized this, however, a massive shadow appeared over his. Gulping heavily, he raised his shield and turned around, at which point the vehement dragon swooped down, blasting him with its icy breath.

  Rolling aside while shielding himself, Aarian promptly got to his feet and sliced one of its scaly limbs with his crystal sword. The beast gave out a yelp as it landed sidelong, crushing a part of the balustrade. Aarian stood opposite it, his shield lifted high. By chance Parla’vasa saw Aarian confronting the dragon, her eyes widening in disbelief, and nudged Olwe, pointing at the five-hundred-feet high balcony.

  “I’ll be da’mned,” said Olwe, clutching his battleaxe. “The hu’myn prin’ce is wor’th some’thin’ after all.”

  “We need to do something,” she said.

  “Leave it to me,” said the dark elf, appearing from the shadows. He unsheathed a dagger, etching a magical rune into his scrawny chest. The blood dripping from his self-inflicted wound glowed as he commanded, “Rise up and defend your princess, Quel’de’nai!”

  Scouting the area frantically, Parla’vasa sulked and asked, “What kind of heinous spell have you cast now?”

  “One that may very well save our lives,” he said callously.

  In the meantime, Aarian continued to swipe his sword at the dragon. It attempted to sink its razor-sharp teeth into him; however, with the blade piercing its scaly jaws, it withdrew by two feet and yelped. Aarian advanced, keeping his guard up. When he was ready to strike again, the dragon walloped the tower’s wall with its tail. Pieces of moonstone crumpled down, some falling toward Aarian who raised his shield high. One of the larger bricks smashed against his embossed shield, not only damaging the design but forcing him to the floor. Struggling to get on his feet, he saw it reaching out with its claw, ready to split him in half as it did with Frostwarm.

  Two inches away from tearing Aarian apart, arrows pierced its scales. The dragon roared monstrously, turning its horned head and glaring at dozens of undead Quel’de’nai archers. They were scattered throughout the sunken kingdom, some on towers’ balconies and others along the silvery walkways and mossy bridges. While a few of them still had rotten flesh attached to their bones, the majority of them were simply skeletons in armor. While exhaling hoarfrost-colored fire from its mouth and blasting undead archers apart, Aarian managed to stand up and charged toward the beast. From the corner of its eye, it saw him approach and spread its wings, trying to whack him off the terrace.

  Ducking past the tattered wing, he grimaced and stood up, sinking his sword into the dragon’s throat.

  “This is for Magi Frostwarm!” he bellowed.

  Ice-cold blood poured down its chest as it screeched and yelped in agony. Twisting and turning in frenzy and swiping its giant claws blindly at the prince, it toppled over the remaining balustrade and fell to its death. Aarian heard a tremendous splash and gazed down, watching the dragon sink into the forgotten depths of Tor’kales.

  Breathing with relief, he turned away from the ic
y water and spotted a few Quel’de’nai archers standing still. Shortly after, they crumbled apart. Aarian realized that those undead elves must have been conjured by Xel’vakora’s magic. The dark arts, he thought, weren’t so bad after all. Like all things in life, the danger lied with extremes, he conceded. About to leave the ruined balcony, he unexpectedly heard the princess shouting.

  “Aarian!” she said excitedly, waving her hands at him. “You did it! You actually killed the dragon!”

  “With my help, of course,” the dark elf said to her.

  “Ne’ver knew th’ose buggers still ex’isted in Vlydyn,” said Olwe, scrubbing his massive beard with one hand while leaning an axe on his shoulder with the other.

  Ignoring his comment, Parla’vasa rushed over to the prince when he descended down the tower. Aarian, fatigued, exited the building, finding himself embraced by the princess. This was the first time she’d ever shown him affection. Though an uplifting feeling, his heart raced while looking ahead, only spotting the dark elf and dwarf.

  “Where is Master Dargain?” he asked direly.

  Backing away, Parla’vasa glanced at a partially destroyed tower. Her pink eyes downcast, she didn’t say anything. But her silence was enough. Without hesitation, Aarian ran to the ruined building and scaled the stairs until he located his mentor.

  “Master Dargain!” he called out, pulling bricks away. “Master Dargain!”

  His mentor did not reply. Frightened, he continued to lift and throw aside every splintered stone and wiped as much dust off him as he could. Olwe and Xel’vakora eventually approached and helped him. Finally clearing all the debris off him, Aarian shook him and called out once more:

  “Master Dargain!”

  “It’s no use, laddie,” said Olwe. “The dra’gon hit ‘im har’d wi’th its t’ail. If he’s st’ill ali’ve, it’ll at leas’t ta’ke a d’ay or t’wo fer ‘im ta wa’ke up.”

  Aarian groaned, struggling to carry Dargain down the steps.

  “Please,” began Xel’vakora, “allow me to help.” He lifted Dargain over his shoulders and went down the stairs. “I’ll make sure he lives.”

  “Thank you,” responded Aarian, following him. “By the way…I noticed a ravine above the elven spire across from us. If we can somehow reach the stalactite, we may be able to climb through the gorge and get to the surface.”

  “I’m afraid that wouldn’t help,” said Xel’vakora, exiting the building and passing by the worried princess without so much as a glimpse. “You see, centuries ago this kingdom had been built within nature. When the Quel’de’nai abandoned Grisfall, my people took possession of the forest. Saldovin, loathing high elves, cursed this city, making sure it would never rise again and see daylight. It was then struck by a landslide from the southern mountains.” He entered an elven shrine and laid Dargain down as he went on, “Apparently, the city was devoured by rocks until it became a mountain of its own.”

  “And what does this have to do with us escaping above?” asked Aarian, an incredulous expression forming on his face.

  The dark elf exhaled deeply and said, “If we even managed to somehow climb up through that ravine, we’d only end up on the peak of the mountain. The point of entering Tor’kales was to pass through it, not climb it.”

  “But it’s been completely flooded,” said Parla’vasa angrily. “Where else are we supposed to go?”

  “If the mountain was completely flooded, we’d have already drowned by now,” answered the dark elf, cutting his palm with a dagger. “Now that we are already on higher ground, we need only pass through this kingdom and keep traveling through the mountain’s cave till we reach the other side.”

  Parla’vasa snorted, leaving the shrine.

  In the meantime, Aarian and Olwe watched Xel’vakora etch a glyph into the palm of his hand, which was a serrated circle with an upside-down triangle inside. When seeing the elf start to mimic the glyph on Dargain’s palm, however, Aarian aggressively approached.

  “What in Khordalam’s name are you doing?” he asked.

  “Sacrifices are always needed in order to use black magic,” said Xel’vakora. “Watch and learn, and perhaps one day such power can help you defend those whom you love.”

  Trying to compose himself, Aarian continued to watch the dark elf work his magic. When the rune was fully etched on Dargain’s hand, Xel’vakora joined palms with him, and their blood glowed. Shortly after, Xel’vakora gasped in pain while some of his life-force transferred over to Dargain who still lay unconscious. The two observers witnessed Xel’vakora grow pale, his body becoming a bit gaunt as Dargain’s bruises vanished.

  “Some’times I bloody h’ate ma’gic,” said Olwe, his grimy face aghast.

  Aarian agreed, watching his mentor’s hand heal. “What was the point of harming Master Dargain if in the end you wanted to restore his health?” he asked, astounded.

  “I already told you,” began Xel’vakora, “sacrifices are always needed when using black magic.” He wheezed until his skin darkened to its natural pigment, his body no longer looking malnourished. “I advise us to rest until he awakens.”

  “Here?” asked Aarian, taken aback.

  “The dragon is dead,” said Xel’vakora. “There is no harm taking refuge in this shrine. If we progress, we might be attacked by something else lurking within Tor’kales and risk Dargain being harmed.”

  “Aye,” said Olwe, settling down in a corner.

  For reasons unknown, Aarian wanted to attack the dark elf and leave this wretched place with Dargain on his back even if it meant him traveling slowly. Breathing heavily, he knew deep down inside that anger had gotten the better of him. Listening to reason, Aarian nodded and left the shrine.

  He wanted to bury Frostwarm but noticed that the bridge where his remains were on had apparently crumbled into the water when the dragon fell—it was no longer there. Frustrated, the prince stood by the edge of a walkway, teary eyed, staring at the blue depths. Somewhere in the flooded kingdom drifted the remains of the greatest wizard he’d ever known. It was thanks to Frostwarm that he’d been given a narll, his best friend. Now he had no idea if that narll was even alive. Scar was probably dead too, he miserably concluded. Then the only warm thought he had since the demonic attack crossed his mind: at least Scar wouldn’t have to suffer like him. Being alive became a nightmare to Aarian; but he wasn’t about to give up.

  “No,” he muttered to himself, tightening his fists. “By the Nine, I won’t go down without a fight.”

  “Are you all right?” asked Parla’vasa, approaching him.

  “Huh?” responded Aarian, startled. He faced the princess and said, “Sorry, I was just thinking aloud.”

  “Thinking about what?”

  Turning back to the water, he answered, “Saldovin isn’t getting away with this. Even if it is my destiny to die, I’ll make sure he never forgets me.”

  “I see,” she said. “What do you intend to do now?”

  “We desperately need to get some rest,” he said. “But our quest remains the same: to put a swift end to Keldoran’s lunacy. As soon as Master Dargain recovers, we’ll leave this place and continue making our way to Fal’shar.”

  “I’m proud of you,” she said abruptly.

  “Don’t be proud of me yet,” he said, trying his best not to blush. “Please get some sleep, Princess Parla’vasa. This may be the only chance we have to rest.”

  “Agreed,” she said, finding a place to sit.

  Returning to the ramshackle shrine where the others were, Aarian decided to stay beside his mentor. Checking on Dargain and not finding any signs of wounds, he felt relieved. Then he found himself drained, his body ready to collapse. So much had happened in a week, he thought to himself. Yet despite the horrible tragedies he experienced earlier, he felt that he’d finally made a difference fighting the water dragon. He was still so far from gaining a soul, if ever, but before closing his eyes to sleep, he vowed to do his best to redeem himself and his fallen kingdom unti
l his death.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MASTER AND APPRENTICE

  After several hours of sleep, Aarian awoke feeling rejuvenated. Though achy, he didn’t feel the need to continue resting. Clearing the gunk around his eyes, he got to his feet and realized he stood alone in the shrine. He left and saw his companions gathered by a withered garden, his mentor included. His face lit up, running to them.

  “Master Dargain!”

  Dargain, his face somber, embraced the prince. He never looked so miserable before. Yet, to Aarian, he appeared to be healthy.

  “I’m so glad you’re safe, Master,” said Aarian.

  “Please don’t call me that anymore,” said Dargain despondently. “I’m no longer worthy of that title.”

  “What?” said Aarian. “How could you say such a thing?”

  He glanced at the others and, to his surprise, noticed that they, with the exception of the dark elf, looked as melancholy as Dargain.

  “Tell ‘im al’ready,” said Olwe.

  “Our objective has changed,” said Dargain. “We are now to escort you safely to one of the many Mor’vyi’dou ships moored at the southern coast of Vlydyn, not too far from Fal’shar. Xel’vakora will allow us to board one. From there we’ll bring you to Lar’a’dos where you will take refuge until the demons are somehow defeated.”

  “Over my dead body!” bellowed Aarian, his voice echoing throughout the cavernous chamber.

  “Please listen to him,” said Parla’vasa softly.

  Dargain continued, “I can no longer protect—”