The boy was so much like his mother. Her death had cut them both to the core. They had hunted down the Rakasa that had ended her life and tortured it for days. But in spite of their efforts, the creature had never made a sound – fueling their rage to an even greater pitch. For a short time, Renald had wanted to charge off to do battle with Shinzan as well. But destroying one of the Emperor’s emotionless fiends – a thing unable to experience any kind of real suffering – was no salve at all for the intense pain he was carrying. Only the death of Shinzan could remedy the hole in his heart.
But all those thoughts ended the instant he looked at his son and saw his wife’s eyes staring back at him. At that precise moment, he knew what had to be done. Lynial was all that was left of her. And in spite of his rage, should he face Shinzan, he would surely perish. The possibility of seeing this happen with his own eyes was too much to bear. Imprisoning Lynial was the only answer. Praxis had claimed to understand, though his real judgment was clear in his expression. Betrayed. That’s what he really thought. But then, hadn’t he done all he could to ensure his own son’s safety? He had seen to it that the dwarves would take Lady Illyrian and their child in – even if they never actually did make it that far in the end.
By the time Renald returned to the cabin, it was fully dark. The scent of a fire told him that Lynial had found the stew he was planning to heat up for supper.
His son was sitting at the table with hands folded. “I won’t be staying long,” he said.
Renald sat across from him, searching for the words he wanted…needed to say. “Yes. I understand. That I am able to see you one final time is more than I should have hoped for.”
Lynial cocked his head. “Final time? So you still think Shinzan will defeat us?”
“I don’t know. I hope not. Ethan is strong. If anyone can save Lumnia, he can. But I will never live to see it.”
“What are you talking about? Of course you will.”
Renald gave him a thin smile. “My time is at an end, son. I’ve only held out this long in the hope of seeing you again. Now that I have, there is a debt that must be paid. Besides, every day I remain alive, I am drawing from what little strength the dragons still possess.”
Lynial was visibly shaken. “There must be a way to save you.”
“I am not in need of saving. I have lived for over five hundred years, and I have become old and weary. Now that you are with me, I am ready to rest at last.”
Lynial threw back his chair. “No! I do not accept this. You can’t just decide to die. Not after everything that has happened. I won’t allow it.”
“Please. Calm yourself. I don’t want our last hours to be filled with anger and sorrow. For the first time in five centuries, I am truly happy.”
With a growl of frustration, Lynial turned away. “So this is it? You waited around just so I could watch you die?” He flashed a furious glance over his shoulder. “Still a selfish bastard.”
With knees cracking, Renald rose from his seat and moved closer, but Lynial refused to face him. “Yes, it’s true. I am selfish. I should have ended it the moment Ethan and the others left. But I had to see you one more time. Please forgive me.”
Renald had only seen his son weep once before; the day his mother died. The stifled sobs he could now hear coming from Lynial tore at his heart. Yes, he had been selfish. There was no doubt about that. He had allowed Maytra to remain cursed simply to stave off his own loneliness, and now he had brought Lynial here to watch his father die. Why? The answer was obvious, and it made him deeply ashamed: He was afraid to do it alone.
“I should not have waited for you to come,” he said. “You must leave in the morning.”
More than a minute passed, during which Lynial’s sobs gradually subsided. Eventually, he turned back toward his father. Any trace of anger or sorrow on his face was now gone, replaced by an expression full of determination and resolve. “Whatever you are about to face, I am your son,” he said. “And I will stand at your side.”
Although unaware of it, Renald had been holding his breath for at least thirty seconds. It now escaped in a long sigh. “Thank you,” he said, retaking his seat. “But before I say more, please tell me what has been happening with the others.”
Lynial recounted the events as told to him by Ethan. At first, Renald was overjoyed at the news that Lady Illyrian still lived, and that Praxis’ spirit had not been destroyed after all. But his joy quickly turned to anxiety on realizing the danger Lady Illyrian was facing, now that Praxis was no longer able to influence Shinzan’s emotions.
Once his son was finished, Renald sat quietly for some time, absorbing what he had been told. That Ethan had fought Shinzan, and like Praxis, had been able to destroy his physical form was encouraging. But they still needed more. Without discovering the vital key of how to destroy the Emperor’s source of power, any further attempts would ultimately fail.
“Don’t trouble yourself over it,” Lynial said, seeing the deep furrows in his father’s brow. Reaching over, he squeezed the old man’s hand. “There is nothing more you can do. And I do not want what time we have left together spent worrying over things beyond your control. I would rather hear about you…and your time here.”
As they ate, Renald spoke of his arrival and early days in the Dragon Wastes. They continued talking after their meal, leaving the cabin and strolling at a leisurely pace through the meadows. Eventually, they ended up back at the shore. Renald told the dwarves who were waiting aboard the vessel that they were welcome to gather as much fresh fruits as they could carry – an offer they eagerly accepted.
By the time the sun was sinking over the horizon, they found themselves on the banks of the lake. Renald did his best not to show the fear that was steadily building inside. Only his son’s presence prevented him from falling into absolute despair.
“When I am gone, you must not tarry here long,” he said. “My wards will no longer protect this place, and the foul beasts marred by Shinzan’s magic will have nothing to keep them at bay.”
“You still haven’t told me why you must die,” Lynial pressed. Tears were now welling in his eyes. “I understand that the dragons have sustained you. But surely there is some magic that could give you the strength you need.”
Renald shook his head sadly. “Many mages have wasted their lives searching for such knowledge.” He took a seat on the ground and waited for Lynial to join him. “There is a natural order to things, son. Nothing is meant to endure forever. Not even the dragons can boast immortality. And even if such a power did exist, I would refuse it. Not that it would make a difference. As I said before, I owe a debt. One that I must pay.”
“A debt to who?”
There was no point in evading the question. Renald told him of the sirean and their encounter with Lylinora. “I had no choice,” he concluded. “They demanded payment.”
As he finished, tears were once again running down Lynial’s face. But this time his expression was not one of pain or anger, but of deep pride. “I’m sorry,” he began. “I’m so sorry that I said you are selfish.”
Renald chuckled softly. “Why? You were right. Believe me, if it was possible to back out of my bargain now, I quite likely would. The thought of giving myself to the sirean…” He shuddered. “I have always feared the ocean.”
“Are you certain there is no other way?”
“I gave the Oath of Incatinio. There is no way back.”
A lengthy silence followed, during which Renald felt Lynial’s arm wrap around his shoulder. It gave him courage. He looked up at the half-moon peeking out from behind the clouds. It was cool, and the breeze pleasant. A good night. The best he could remember.
A nod to his son signaled that it was time to begin the inevitable. The pair of them rose together and started back toward the shore. Yes, a perfect night, Renald considered. To wait any longer would invite indecision and crippling fear to return.
With each step he took, regret filled his heart. How much time had he
wasted on frivolous pursuits? Time that would have been far better spent with Lynial. Never before had he regretted being born a mage. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Had he been just a normal human...yes...his life would have been greatly shortened. But it would have been a short life dedicated to loving his family. Not even immortality could be worth more than that. Aside from all the heavy responsibilities, a mage’s life was a constant search for acquiring more personal power. Now, it all seemed so petty and sad.
As they crested the rise, the gentle lapping of the waves upon the shore reached his ears. The dwarves had returned from the orchard and were lazing on the dock, passing around a bottle of wine. While descending, his eyes remained firmly fixed on the ocean. He could already see the head and torso of a sirean silhouetted in the dim moonlight.
“Remember what I told you, son,” he said. “Do not linger.”
Lynial simply nodded.
As soon as they arrived on the beach, the young man positioned himself defensively in front of his father and faced the waiting sirean. By now, six more had appeared. Their expressions were unreadable.
“Do not blame them for this,” Renald told him. “It was my choice. And frankly, it is a better death than slowly withering away to nothing.” He closed his eyes and was immediately able to hear the whisper of their voices beckoning. There was no malice in their call. In fact, as he allowed the enticing sound to pass through him, he found that any remaining fear was gently being eased away. Legends of the sireans’ song luring sailors to their deaths had been told for thousands of years. Now he fully understood from where they had sprung. With each passing second, he felt an increasing excitement to follow them into the depths – the ocean had now become a place of eternal rest rather than something to be feared.
“Father.”
Lynial’s voice brought him back into the moment. He touched his cheek and smiled. “Farewell, son.”
Without another word, Lynial threw both arms around him, holding him close in a lengthy embrace. At long last, Renald felt complete. All of his past sins were now unimportant. Come. Rest with us. It is time. The voice of the sirean was like a tender song coming from a mother’s lips.
Backing away from the embrace, he took hold of Lynial’s hands. “I wish I had something to say...some advice...or something to give that would help you in the times ahead. But I don’t. All I can offer you is my love. It’s all I have left.”
Lynial swallowed hard. “I love you too, father.”
His response drew a warm smile from Renald. “Don’t worry. Ethan will arise victorious. I was never sure of this before, but somehow I now know it to be true. Just promise me one thing: Live to see his victory. Your ancestors await, but there is no hurry for you to see them…or me.”
“I promise.”
After kissing his son’s tear-soaked cheek, Renald turned toward the waiting sirean. Yet again their song filtered its way into his mind. Welcome. Come to us and rest.
“I’m coming,” he responded almost silently.
The water was warm and soothing as he waded in. Once it was up to his chest, two of the sirean eased up beside him, each one placing a hand on his shoulder. Peace. The reassuring voice was joined by the sound of tiny bells and gentle laughter.
As the water finally covered his head, he could feel his spirit beginning to drift. Little by little, the ocean faded away, as did his sirean escorts. It was now the welcoming call of his ancestors surrounding him. He glanced down at his hands. They were no longer wrinkled and scarred. Once again, they were hands of a young man. Renewed strength and vigor flowed through his limbs.
Far ahead, Renald could see a lone figure standing beside a massive oak tree. He was smiling and waving enthusiastically. Despite the distance between them, Renald recognized him instantly. It was Praxis. His voice carried clearly on a warm breeze.
“Welcome home, brother.”
A rush of emotion surged through Renald. Yes, he suddenly realized. That’s where he was. Home. All the troubles of his life had been left in the past where they belonged. A mist formed behind Praxis. A few seconds later a long line of smiling faces emerged from this to greet him. His thoughts turned to the dragons. It was because of them that this was possible.
“Thank you,” he whispered, then hurried forward to join his kin, reveling in their love and acceptance.
* * * * *
Still weeping, Lynial fell to his knees. He cursed himself for being angry. He’d had no right to question his father. Guilt stabbed spitefully into the pit of his stomach for all the times he had wished for Praxis to have sired him. Praxis had never loved him the way his father did. Yet for years, he had never realized this. Now…it was too late.
He looked up toward the dock. The dwarves were all staring in wide-eyed amazement at what they had just witnessed.
After calling for them to make ready to depart, Lynial set off toward the cabin. His tears were dry by the time he stepped inside, though the intense pain of his loss was something he knew would not ease for a long time still. Straight away he set about searching through the old man’s belongings, placing aside a few odds and ends he remembered seeing in his study when he was a child. When he came upon the sketchbook, he ran his hands carefully over the worn leather cover for several seconds before taking it over to the table and opening it.
Each page brought long forgotten memories flooding back, along with deep emotions. His father had taken great pleasure in capturing the likeness of family members and places he was fond of visiting. Lynial had once thought it a ridiculous way to spend one’s time; an opinion he no longer held. Most of the drawings were of himself and his mother. Several were of the places his father had taken them when he was still a small boy. That was the time before Lynial had begun refusing to join him on these outings, choosing instead to spend time in study or with his uncle.
The distant howls coming from outside made him realize that he had been sitting there for longer than he should. The wards protecting this place were now gone. And if what his father had said was true, this would be an open invitation to the creatures who dwelt beyond. As quickly as he could, he gathered together the few items he wanted to take with him and found a cloth sack in which to put them.
On leaving the cabin, he immediately spotted more than twenty deformed, hound-like beasts stalking toward him from the direction of the lake. The large creatures halted in a group only a short distance away, teeth bared and jaws dripping saliva. A sudden rage filled Lynial’s chest. Placing the sack of his father’s possessions on the ground, he spread his arms wide as if in invitation.
The creatures rushed in, their hideous blood-red eyes all fixed firmly on their prey. But Lynial was no ordinary victim – a lesson he fully intended to teach these beasts. He raised an arm. With an ear-shattering crack, spears of blue flame appeared overhead and began raining down upon the charging pack, bringing it to a sudden halt. The hounds scattered, but there was no escape. Each time one was struck, it was instantly consumed. Within seconds, only a few remained. Lynial made quick work of these, lifting them into the air inside a massive whirlwind and then crushing them with a coil of green magical energy.
He wished there had been more. The fury building inside him needed to destroy anything Shinzan had touched. The pity somewhere deep within his heart he knew he should be feeling for these wretched beasts was overcome by his blind hatred for the one who had created them.
As he bent down to retrieve the sack, a series of howls had him jerking upright again. He grinned viciously. “Come on then,” he whispered. “I have more.”
Ready as he imagined himself to be, he was totally unprepared for what came into view a moment later. From over the next rise, literally a thousand or more of the creatures appeared. Like a vast swarm of ants, they streamed their way down, their intent clear as they turned toward the cabin. There were too many. Far too many for him to have a hope of overcoming.
Letting out a feral scream, he began shooting bursts of flame and daggers of ice indis
criminately into the approaching hoard. It was a futile gesture. Not even his rage could stop the massive tide of beasts speeding toward him. In moments, he would be overrun.
Seizing up his precious sack, he cast a short traveling spell. A full-fledged spell would have taken him much too long, but thankfully he only needed to get as far as the shore. Just in time, he was airborne, though only high enough to avoid being torn to bits. The foul creatures leapt repeatedly, their massive jaws snapping mere inches below the soles of his boots.
Fortunately, the spell carried him far faster than his pursuers. In less than a minute he was standing at the end of the dock. The dwarves were already on their feet with weapons out.
“What’s all the commotion?” demanded one.
“Cast off now,” ordered Lynial. The dwarves hesitated. “I said now!”
His urgent tone was enough to jerk them into action. And not a second too soon. The engines had only just fired and the ropes dragged aboard when the beasts crested the rise. Forgetting all caution, the pilot slammed the vessel into reverse, very nearly causing three other dwarfs to tumble over the rail. But haste was most certainly necessary. They were barely twenty yards out to sea when the beasts surged onto the dock. Any closer and they might well have been able to leap across the gap.
By now the pilot had turned the craft toward the eastern horizon, but there was no need for haste any longer. None of the would-be killers appeared to be interested in entering the water. Instead, they settled for howling and snarling hatefully at the escaping group.
Lynial glared back at them with equal hate until the coast was barely visible. The dwarves were on deck as well. Finally, one came up and asked: “What were those things?”
He regarded the dwarf silently and then turned toward the cabin door, shaking his head. His anger was too great for speech at the moment, as was the pain of losing his father. The thought of such disgusting demons desecrating the home of Renald Dragonvein was almost enough to make him turn back. Given a little time, he knew he could conjure spells of such ferocity as to obliterate them all. Praxis had taught him well.
Dragonvein Book Five Page 7
