Conqueror

by Isaac Hooke

  “You always did have a flair for the melodramatic,” Rashan commented dryly.

  “I have been known for flowery speeches,” Fields admitted.

  Rashan sighed. “I haven’t yet decided whether I will withdraw.”

  “The king has ordered you to, hasn’t he?” Malem said.

  All eyes turned toward him. Many regarded him with open contempt. Some even scowled. He was the upstart who stood high in the favor of the Metals, after all, a man who had subdued one of their greatest foes and impelled her dark army to fight at their side. A man who could break monsters from the Midweald and send them forth to battle the enemy at will. He wasn’t surprised these individuals didn’t trust him, or even like him.

  Rashan inclined his head. “Very astute, Breaker. Goldenthall has in fact ordered me to return with the entire Mulhadden army. But as I said, I haven’t decided whether I’m going to obey that order or not.”

  “Maybe you don’t have to,” Fields said, leaning back to stroke his mustache. “What if we sent in a surgical strike force to Tartan?”

  Rashan raised an eyebrow. “A surgical strike force?”

  “Yes,” Fields said. “A force tasked with taking out the head of the Eldritch army. Queen Mauritania herself. It would have to be a small group, one that could infiltrate her ranks unnoticed.”

  Rashan rubbed his lips. “Who would lead such a strike force?”

  Fields glanced at Malem. “The Breaker can claim the minds of monsters… this time, if he actually succeeds in conquering the will of the Black Sword, her entire army would be his. He could turn it away from Tartan, and march it back to the front lines to fight on our side. Who knows, it might even be enough to turn the tide in this war.”

  “You said that about the Metals,” Nefeyus spat. “And about the oraks and dragons the other fallen Black Sword brought us. But the tide hasn’t changed. Their presence has only allowed us to claw our way back to the precipice above the abyss and hang by our fingernails just a little longer.” He glanced at Abigail. “Not that I’m disrespecting the Metals. You are powerful dragons. It’s just not enough. The tide, unfortunately, is still stacked very much against us.”

  “Even so, anything that will help maintain our fragile alliance is a chance worth taking.” Rashan looked at Malem. “Would you accept such a mission?”

  “Of course he will,” Eralas interrupted. “He accepted the hill giant task, didn’t he?”

  Malem gave the mage an irritated look.

  “Careful, Eralas,” Nefeyus said. “I have a feeling the Breaker’s loyalty to us hangs by a thread. Offend him, and he might not come back.”

  Malem inclined his head in appreciation at the man’s words. He wouldn’t be forgetting his name again. Anyone who would support, or at least respect him on this council, was worth remembering. Here, he needed all the allies he could get.

  He leaned back and scratched his chin. “If I were to do this, I’d have to have full say over who was coming with me. I don’t want any Alliance soldiers along, for example.”

  Rashan raised an eyebrow. “But an Alliance soldier, particularly one hailing from Tartan, could offer you tactical advice once you reached the vale.”

  “I know the vale well enough,” Abigail said. “I’ve served as advisor to King Goldenthall since well before you were confirmed as general.” She glanced at Malem. “Assuming you’d want me to come with you.”

  “You’re my top pick,” Malem said.

  “All right, I agree.” Rashan waved a dismissive hand. “You can take whoever you wish, as far as I’m concerned.”

  The council held a vote on the mission, and they all agreed that Malem was the best fit for the job. They also consented to his terms.

  “Send news of your success, or lack thereof, within a fortnight,” Rashan said before he left. “If I don’t hear from you by then, I’ll have to assume you failed.” The admiral ran his gaze across his fellow council members. “If he fails, most likely I’ll withdraw the Mulhadden army to fight for Tartan.”

  “You have two weeks,” Eralas told Malem. “Don’t fail.”

  “I don’t intend to,” Malem said.

  “No one ever intends to fail,” Eralas said. “But in your case, the fate of the entire world rests upon your shoulders. So I say again, do not fail.”

  “His mission is important, but not that important,” Fields said. “Try not to inflate his sense of self worth.”

  “No, you’re wrong,” Eralas told Fields. “If this Alliance falls apart, there is no one else who will protect the lands beyond.” His eyes drilled into Malem, and he shook his head. “What has the world come to, when we must rely upon a Breaker to save it?”

  Fields nodded in agreement. “What we really need right now is another hero like the legendary Nailcrom, the lone ice mage who stood against Banvil twenty years ago and banished the Balor back to its realm. If only there were another like him to stand before Vorgon.”

  “Many have tried,” Eralas said. “But Vorgon is ten times more powerful than Banvil ever was.”

  “Maybe you should try, Mage,” Nefeyus said.

  “Ha,” Eralas said. “You would be rid of me so soon, Warrior General?”

  I wonder what they would say if they knew Nailcrom’s very son resided in their midst, Abigail sent. And it was he they had chosen to lead this mission.

  It’s probably better they don’t know, Malem replied. They already expect too much of me. I’m but one man.

  More than a man… she insisted.

  She was right. He was more. And yet it was that very thinking which might lead to his downfall. It would only fuel his thirst for power.

  He sensed the eyes of Eralas upon him. “Well then, what are you waiting for, Breaker? Time’s a-wasting. Go and prepare your team. You leave with the dawn.”

  6

  At dawn Malem stood impatiently next to Abigail and Prince Jayden on the outskirts of camp. Behind him waited Gwen, Xaxia, Ziatrice, and Rathamias, a powerful orak mage from the night elf’s ranks. Ordinarily, Rathamias would have worn a black robe to denote his discipline as that of dark practitioner, but the orak was adhering to the rule of hiding one’s rank and stature behind the garb of a normal soldier, and thus he wore bronze mail, and held a long pike in one hand.

  “So where are they?” Malem asked Abigail.

  In addition to herself and the four standing behind him, Abigail had convinced him to bring along another two Metals. The first, a female, had a particular bent for ice magic, with some healing ability to boot. The second, a male, had strong earth magic. Abigail told him it was in their best interest to diversify the types of magic the team was capable of. Malem had agreed, not because of the magic, but because extra mounts were always welcome—the others couldn’t all fit on Abigail’s back, after all…

  Before she could answer, he saw the pair in question striding between the white tents. They stood out readily from the humans around them: they were taller and far more beautiful than any human could ever be. The woman especially drew Malem’s eye, for her tanned skin, eyes bluer than the ocean, and long, flowing dark hair. Her face was so flawless it could have belonged to a goddess.

  She wore a white dress whose skirt reached to her ankles. The top only teased a small amount of bosom. She wore a loose shawl underneath her hair and over her shoulders, its long ends swaying as she walked. Like her hips. It was hard to find a woman who was both beautiful and yet oozed sheer sexuality in the same package. Most women possessed only one or the other. But not this one.

  She spotted a small robin perched incongruously on a tent nearby, and paused to look at it, turning her back on Malem. The rear portion of her dress ended just above the buttocks—her long hair covered the exposed areas of her back just enough to tantalize. When the bird took flight, she turned away with a sigh and rejoined the waiting male.

  “I’m Weyanna, Abigail’s cousin,” the young woman said when she reached Malem. Even her voice exuded sexiness. When she smiled, her teeth
seemed the purest white he’d ever seen against that tanned skin.

  Malem pretended he was unimpressed by everything about her as he took her hand and squeezed. Meanwhile, he couldn’t help the sudden spike in his heart rate.

  Someone’s excited, Ziatrice commented in his head. I can feel the throbbing of his pulse from here.

  That’s not his pulse, Gwen quipped.

  Malem released her hand a bit too fast; Weyanna seemed offended, and also slightly puzzled, as if she couldn’t fathom why he wouldn’t be attracted to her. But then her expression set in a grim, determined smile that was almost smug, as if she planned to remedy that later.

  The male half dragon stepped forward. He was dressed in a white vest and leggings; the former was open down the middle, leaving his tanned, muscular chest completely bare.

  Xaxia whistled. “Well hello.”

  “I’m Thrawn, of the Chrysalis clan,” the half dragon said.

  Malem shook Thrawn’s hand. The grip was firm, unyielding. There was also a steely glint to his eyes, as if Thrawn was angry he had to leave his people for what to him must have seemed a meaningless side quest. But that was all speculation on Malem’s part, of course.

  He tried to release him, but the half dragon refused to let go, so Malem squeezed harder. When they were still engaged in the handshake ten seconds later, the chatter resumed in his head.

  Maybe it’s the man who’s got our Breaker excited, Abigail joked.

  Wouldn’t surprise me, Ziatrice sent.

  Finally Thrawn released him and took his place next to the other women, as did Weyanna. They all kept a good distance away from Rathamias. Gwen was the farthest. He could tell from her energy bundle that she wasn’t all that happy to have an orak coming with them, but she held her tongue.

  Ziatrice, meanwhile, was the closest to the orak, but even her nose wrinkled slightly whenever she glanced toward the black mage.

  “You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you, Sister?” Jayden asked Abigail.

  “We can do this on our own,” Abigail said. “The Alliance needs you. Without you to act as liaison between the humans and my father, calming the burning embers of his rage, the Metals would be long gone.”

  “I suppose they would, at that,” Jayden said.

  “Any problems with Gran?” Ziatrice asked.

  “None,” the prince replied.

  The night elf had left her dark army under the command of Prince Jayden. She wasn’t able to transfer her mental link, but the oraks and dragons—including Hastor—had sworn to obey whatever verbal commands the prince might give them. A big orak named Gran acted as Jayden’s liaison.

  “So I guess this is farewell,” Jayden told his sister.

  Abigail stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the forehead in a gesture Malem found strangely touching.

  “I better see you soon,” Jayden said when she pulled away.

  “And I better see you as well,” she said, accusingly. Her voice was breaking.

  He nodded, blinking rapidly, and then turned away to retreat through the tents.

  “Farewell, my brother,” Abigail said softly when he vanished from view. She wiped away a tear and glanced at Malem. “That was a hard goodbye.”

  Malem didn’t know what to say. It was possible she wouldn’t see her brother again, or he her. He knew no words that could bring comfort at a time like this, and if he spoke, he risked sounding like a charlatan.

  But then Abigail turned east, toward the forest, and her eyes filled with purpose. “All right, it’s time to transform.”

  She became a silver dragon immediately, while Thrawn changed into a big bronze.

  Weyanna, however, remained in human form. She began to slowly undress, removing first the shawl, and then lowering the shoulder straps of her dress one by one.

  “What are you doing?” Xaxia asked her.

  Weyanna shrugged. “Didn’t you see what happened to their clothes?” She nodded at the tattered fabrics on the ground. “Why waste a perfectly good dress on a transformation? I paid good coin for this in Craternia. I won’t see it go to waste.” She turned toward Malem. “You will carry it for me.”

  He shrugged. “Pack’s full. The orak has room, I believe.”

  She glanced at Rathamias, who flashed a toothy grin, and her nose wrinkled.

  She returned her gaze to Malem, and smiled slyly. She lifted her arms above her head and reached behind her back to grab the loose straps, and then she tugged upward, lifting the dress over her head. She moved luridly, well aware of her captive audience.

  He looked away, glancing instead at the other male members of the party to gauge their reactions. He noticed that Thrawn was completely entranced; the half dragon even licked his lips. Rathamias, meanwhile, seemed more amused than anything else.

  “It’s looks like you found a whore even sluttier than these two,” Xaxia commented with a nod at Gwen and Ziatrice. She turned toward Abigail: “Why’d you have to pick someone so brazenly wanton?”

  The princess shrugged. “Most dragon women like to tease: we know our beauty ranks far above that of ordinary human women, so I can’t fault her that. But she won’t touch him, rest assured. She won’t dare disobey the king’s direct command.” The latter seemed spoken more as a warning to Weyanna than anything else.

  We’ll see about that, Malem thought gleefully.

  Weyanna finished removing her dress, along with the bra and panties underneath, and walked stark naked toward the orak.

  Malem pretended to sip from his canteen, but instead was mostly using its bulk to hide his face, which allowed him to surreptitiously observe Weyanna.

  She swayed her hips with each step, somehow managing to look both sexual and imperious at the same time.

  “You’re a fine specimen,” Rathamias commented as she grew near.

  An ice shard materialized from nowhere and slammed into his boot, pinning the orak to the ground. He yowled in pain.

  “Give me your pack,” she commanded.

  Rathamias scowled at her before glancing at Ziatrice. “Permission to cut her down?” he hissed.

  But the night elf was doubled over in laughter.

  Rathamias, flinching in agony, reached behind his back and retrieved his pack.

  Weyanna casually folded her dress inside.

  Still pretending to drink, Malem continued to furtively glance her way; his eyes couldn’t help but follow the pleasant bounce of her breasts as she pressed the dress into the rucksack.

  “You’re sure taking a good long sip there,” Gwen commented. “Thirsty?”

  When he met the half gobling’s gaze, she raised her eyebrows mockingly. He lowered the canteen, feeling chastened, but his eyes couldn’t help drifting toward Weyanna’s naked form again. His eyes lingered between her legs…

  The naked half dragon suddenly glanced toward him.

  He dropped his gaze.

  Shit! Caught in the act.

  He risked another glance at her and saw she was smiling widely.

  He turned around completely.

  He heard rapid footfalls, as of someone dashing away across the grass.

  A shadow blotted out the sun behind him, and when he glanced over his shoulder again, a majestic white dragon towered above him.

  “You’re not a Metal,” he said in shock.

  “My dad was a Metal, my mom a Khroma,” she said. Though her voice was mostly the same, except louder, all seductiveness had left her tone. “So I guess that makes me only a quarter Metal.”

  Malem had learned a lot about dragons from hanging out with Abigail. Khromas were the colored variants: the blues, reds, grays, whites, blacks, and so forth. They were also true dragons, in that they couldn’t shift into human form. Most were Night Dragons because the majority had affinities to dark magic. The whites and blues were considered Day Dragons, like the Metals, since they often wielded other magics, with healing being a specialty of the whites and ice magic innate to the blues. Weyanna was apparently an aber
ration of sorts among the whites, given her propensity toward ice magic. It probably came from her mixed breeding.

  He glanced at Rathamias, who was still pinned to the ground by the ice stake. “Would you mind releasing him?”

  The ice melted instantly and Rathamias was freed. The orak limped about, leaving a trail of blood on the grass.

  Tendrils of white light emerged from Weyanna and enveloped the orak’s injured foot, flowing into the hole the ice had formed. The bleeding promptly stopped, but the gaps remained in the boot.

  “You healed my foot, but who’s going to mend my boot?” Rathamias said in outrage.

  The white dragon shrugged. “Buy a sewing kit?” She swirled her large neck around so that she was no longer regarding the orak.

  Xaxia snickered. “You know, I kind of like her.”

  Malem approached Abigail. “Who rides with me?”

  “I do,” Gwen said.

  “No, I,” Ziatrice insisted.

  “I already called dibs,” Xaxia said.

  He thought it cute, yet flattering, that they were fighting over the chance to ride with him.

  “You’re going to have to draw lots,” he told them.

  “Wipe that smile off your face, Breaker,” Xaxia said. “It’s Abigail we’re hoping to ride with, not you.” She shrugged, glancing at the bronze dragon beside her. “In fact, I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll fly with Thrawn. Hey, you big bad boy you.” She approached the dragon, but then paused to peer between the dragon’s legs. “My, my, it’s bigger than I ever imagined. You put stallions to shame!”

  “Hello!” Rathamias said, stepping onto Thrawn’s back and waving at Xaxia. The orak mage had apparently been climbing the opposite wing all this time, and had only just reached the top.