Dragonvein Book Five

by Brian D. Anderson

  “Promise me you’ll be careful,” she said.

  Lynial smiled. “I will. Now hurry. We are likely already engaged with Shinzan’s forces. I will join you as soon as I am able.”

  Kat glanced over to Illyrian. The fury she was experiencing was written clearly in her expression. Could that really be all that remained inside her? Nothing but anger, hatred, and spite? What sort of power could do this to a person? Yes. She needed to die. But everything Kat had heard from Renald about Ethan’s mother told her that the woman deserved to be avenged as well.

  With a sigh, Kat turned north and walked deeper into the woods until finding a place where Maytra could land comfortably. The dragon soon appeared without having to be summoned, landing with a deep thud and fanning clouds of dust and leaves with her great wings.

  As Kat climbed atop the dragon’s back, she looked to where the two powerful mages were about to do battle. For a moment she struggled against the impulse to ignore Lynial’s request and go to his aid anyway. But he was right. The army would be needing her. And in truth, she was relieved not to have to tell Ethan that she had killed his mother.

  * * * * *

  Lynial locked eyes with Illyrian across the clearing. “I wish I could say that I am pleased to see you, aunt. And if there is any shred of who you once were left within, know that I dearly wish this was not necessary. But you cannot be allowed to continue as you are.”

  “Save your words, whelp,” she spat back almost before he had finished speaking. “I do not desire your pity.”

  “You have it, nonetheless. You were beloved among the Dragonvein family. If there was another way to…”

  Illyrian’s arm shot out, sending a spear of white-hot flame streaking in his direction. It was an attack meant to silence him rather than do any actual damage, one made from irritation more than anything else. With hardly a thought, he deflected it to the ground.

  “So you wish to get on with it, I see,” he remarked. “Very well.”

  Black smoke rose from the earth around Illyrian’s feet as she snarled back at him. “Before you die, nephew, I thought you should know something. Praxis never did like you very much. He thought you weak, just like your father. He knew Renald planned to lure you into that cave and trap you there. He told me so. He also said that it was of little concern. That you would be of no help to him anyway.”

  Lynial laughed. “I’m sure that’s true. It was foolish of me to ask to go with him in the first place. However, since we are sharing, you should know the very last thing he said to me. He thought it very likely that he might die fighting Shinzan. He made me promise that if he did perish, and I by chance were to survive, I should tell you how much he loved you. Oh, yes, and that he was sorry for his lack of wisdom. At the time, I didn’t understand any of this. Surely if he died, I would die along with him. But of course, he was already aware of my father’s plot. He knew he would never see you again.”

  Illyrian’s face twisted into an even more vicious mask. “Enough. You can die knowing that you delivered your message. And that it fell on uncaring ears.”

  As she finished speaking, the smoke around her feet began to swirl, causing flashes of green light to spark from within. Recognizing the danger this posed, Lynial quickly cast a protection charm ahead of him, at the same time whispering a spell that brought a lone wolf into existence just to his right. Illyrian ignored the creature. With the smoke swirling ever faster around her body, within just a few seconds she was no longer visible.

  In response to this, the wolf opened its maw to release a most terrifying sound. Far louder and deeper than any true wolf’s cry and equally as powerful as the mightiest dragon’s roar, the shock waves from this tore across the space separating the pair. The swirling of the smoke ceased almost instantly, then drifted away completely, once more exposing a bewildered-looking Illyrian.

  Now was the time for Lynial to press home his advantage. He let fly a series of raw magical bursts, but even in her confused state, Illyrian’s wards were strong enough to provide her with a measure of protection. Nevertheless, she was forced to back away several paces and was clearly on the defensive for a few moments.

  She was far from beaten, though. Recovering some of her composure, a wave of her arm produced a pool of black ooze bubbling up midway between them. From out of this slime climbed three massive creatures. Large as trolls, they had no facial features whatsoever. With their flesh still dripping goo, they made straight toward Lynial.

  Springing to its creator’s defense, the wolf raced forward and leapt up at the nearest attacker, only to be effortlessly swatted away. Still snarling, the airborne wolf faded into nothing the very moment it fell to the ground. Ignoring for a moment the still advancing danger, Lynial responded by sending a rapid series of increasingly powerful magical assaults at Illyrian. This had her scrambling to erect new wards, and for a few seconds the march of the creatures slowed almost to nothing.

  This was exactly what Lynial had wanted. He spread his arms wide. “Imolia Den!”

  A blast of air descended upon the faceless ones, freezing them in place. A flick of his wrist then caused an explosion of earth and rock to erupt beneath them, tearing at their flesh and limbs from every conceivable angle. Within seconds, the trio of faceless ones were reduced to armless, legless, and completely lifeless ones. Satisfied, Lynial turned his attention back to Illyrian, who by now had recovered and was waving her arms around in an exaggerated circular pattern.

  A ball of blue flames appeared above her head, pulsing as if in rhythm with some sinister heartbeat. Wisps of black smoke could be seen dancing within these flames, which were becoming ever brighter by the second. Lynial cast a protection spell and braced himself for whatever was to follow. This was unfamiliar magic. Shinzan’s magic.

  Illyrian flashed him a malevolent smile. For an ominous moment, both the air and the flames above her grew completely still. Then, with a bone-jarring thud, the fireball dived into the ground a few feet in front of her, producing a mighty explosion. However, rather than spreading out in all directions, the resulting maelstrom of heat funneled into a straight line that raced directly toward Lynial.

  His protection spell instantly disintegrated and his wards shattered. Pain enveloped his entire body as fire licked at the exposed flesh of his face and hands. Had this been Lynial’s first battle, it might well have been the end for him. As it was, experience came to his aid. Steeling his mind against the rapidly increasing agony, he concentrated with all his might. The reward came quickly. A shield of green light encased him, cooling his skin and completely deadening the pain.

  Illyrian grimaced and let out a raged-filled hiss. “How did you do that?”

  He smoothed his robe. It was completely unmarked and glowing softly from the infused magic. “A gift from my father.”

  She lowered her blazing eyes. “Siminia!”

  In a flash of red light, two identical replicas of herself appeared, one on either side of her. Lynial knew this meant she was about to flee. He could not let that happen. If allowed to continue unchecked, she was sure to kill hundreds of innocent people. Hastily, he cast a wall of energy a few feet behind her. Illyrian responded by sending attacks from all three of her doppelgängers. Black flames smashed into Lynial’s hurriedly cast protection spell. She had not given him sufficient time to renew his wards, and for a desperate few minutes all his energies were channeled into staving off this triple-pronged assault.

  Again, she let loose her magic. And again, he was just able to deflect it. The barrier at her back would still slow down her escape, but there was no hope of it stopping her completely.

  “Alevi Drago!” His voice thundered out like a thousand trumpets.

  Six fiery dragons, each the size of a stallion, appeared. Splitting into pairs, two of them charged at each of Illyrian’s forms. The downdraft as they flew low across the clearing caused havoc below, churning up bits of earth and throwing them a hundred feet or more into the air.

  For a short
time, Illyrian’s end of the clearing became one huge conflagration impossible to see through, though from out of which emitted an almost constant stream of vile curses. At first there was a babble of these raging voices, but very quickly it became only one. As the attacking fires faded and the earth became still, just a solitary figure remained. Illyrian was still trying her best to look defiant, even though it was obvious she had nothing left with which to fight. She staggered back twice before finally dropping to one knee.

  “You think this will make the slightest difference?” she snarled, spite dripping from each word. “Shinzan will still consume this world. And there is nothing you can do to stop it.”

  “Perhaps not,” Lynial agreed. “But then stopping Shinzan is not my task.”

  She spat on the ground. “You really believe Ethan Dragonvein can defeat him? If you do, then you are nothing but a fool.”

  Lynial nodded. “I certainly am that. A fool with a soft heart.”

  He approached, stopping a few feet in front of his vanquished foe. Illyrian refused to look him in the eye.

  “Finish this,” she told him. “I tire of your presence.”

  In a final show of fury, she produced a small dagger and leapt to her feet. It was a futile gesture. Lynial was not to be caught off guard. Taking a quick step back, he caught her wrist and held onto it firmly.

  “Contentis Nio,” he muttered. His hands began emitting a soft green glow.

  Illyrian’s eyes shot wide. “What are you doing?”

  “I thought I could kill you,” he replied. “But I suppose I have too much of my father in me.”

  Sensing what was coming gave Illyrian renewed strength. She thrashed about wildly until at last managing to wrench herself free. With the sheer force of her sudden release sending her staggering several yards away, she paused for an instant to catch her breath. Then, with unfathomable malice carved into every inch of her face, she charged back at Lynial with the dagger raised high.

  It was too late. Lynial’s spell had already taken effect. After covering only half the distance separating them, both her legs suddenly became as stiff and unbending as the stoutest iron bars. Devoid of all balance, she plunged face first into the ground. Almost instantly, green crystals began encasing first her ankles, and then all the way up her legs. A torrent of feral screams and obscene curses poured from her mouth as she struggled pointlessly against the spell.

  In less than a minute, it was over. Lady Illyrian was completely encased in unbreakable crystal. Her aspect was frozen in a permanent snarl, and her right hand even now was still resolutely clutching the dagger.

  He knelt beside her and ran his fingers over the cold surface of the crystal. Perhaps she could still be saved once Ethan had slain Shinzan, he told himself. A sigh quickly followed. The reality was that she would likely never be Lady Illyrian again. Without Shinzan’s power to sustain her, she would be little better than a wild beast. And in the end, a beast always needed to be put down.

  “But not today,” he whispered.

  By now Kat would be well on her way to joining the battle. As for himself, even a traveling spell would not get him there before the fighting was over. And fighting was about all he had to offer them. His ability as a healer was limited, to say the least, so he would be of little value on that score. In fact, from what his father had taught him about the elves, their healing skills were probably superior to his own – though the idea of salves and potions was unsettling and barbaric to his mind.

  He levitated Illyrian to a secluded spot and buried her there. After leaving a magical marker in case he should perish and his aunt be lost, he took a moment to recover his strength. The forest was peaceful, the song of the birds a cutting reminder of the times he had spent with his father. Back then he had hated their outings, preferring to spend his time in study under the tutelage of his uncle Praxis. Now he would give anything to have that time again.

  Sadly, he shook his head. The past did not exist for the young. Only when the most precious of moments were irretrievably lost was it possible to understand their true worth.

  He took a final look at where he had placed Illyrian and gave a respectful bow. The air stirred as he began chanting the traveling spell. He pushed aside all thoughts of his father. Now was not the time for reflection. Now was the time for war.

  Chapter Eleven

  “They are breaking through, Your Highness.”

  The young dwarf standing before King Halvar was covered in the blood of his comrades. With his armor split and torn, there were several deep gashes on his arms and face.

  Halvar did not need to be told; he could see for himself that their lines were collapsing. The enemy was fearless and brutally efficient. Though they’d been able to push them back for a short time, it soon became clear that this was a false dawn. What appeared to be a slow and reluctant retreat from the fury of a combined dwarf, elf, and human assault had in reality been nothing more than a lure. The moment their left flank was exposed, the Imperials had redoubled their efforts, creating a gap and cutting off a third of their forces.

  The thump of an arrow landing just a few feet away caught Halvar’s attention. Before he could so much as take a step back, his guards were moving in to surround him.

  “See if the right flank can spare enough swords to reinforce the center,” he ordered.

  The young dwarf saluted and raced away. It was a useless command; in his heart, Halvar already knew this. Their right flank was on the brink of collapse. The clamor of steel was growing ever closer, bringing with it the familiar screams of the dying to tear at his ears.

  “We should move away, Your Highness,” suggested one of his guards.

  He gave a cheerless laugh. “And where should we go? There is naught but open ground at our backs. No, lad. Better to die here than run like cowards.” He absolutely refused to meet his end hiding among the wagons.

  Keira had already entered into the fray. So too had King Yularian, who could be seen near the left flank directing the battle atop his steed. The dwarf king would have willingly joined them had his escort not prevented it. Even so, from the dire look of things, he would have his chance to fight soon enough regardless.

  From his vantage point, Halvar could see that their own lines had been driven nearly halfway back up the rise. Just beyond them, what looked like a vast ocean of enemy soldiers pressed relentlessly in. By this stage they were close enough for him to clearly make out the markings on their Imperial banners.

  A bulge in the exact center caught his attention. It was there that his commanders had concentrated the stoutest of their dwarf axemen. But fierce and formidable as these fighters undeniably were, they were now falling apart before his very eyes. It was as if the enemy swords had somehow cut through an invisible stitching holding them together. Halvar looked on in horror as this elite section of his kinsmen was hacked to bits.

  With the breach made, numerous enemy soldiers began pouring through – some pressing the gap wider, others moving straight through to attack the line from the rear. With a guard of only ten dwarves for protection, Halvar was fully expecting them to send a squadron up to dispatch him. Surprisingly though, they had so far ignored him completely, focusing their efforts instead entirely on decimating the front lines and splitting the allied army in two.

  Unslinging the axe from his back, he let out a roar of defiance. “I guess this is it, lads,” he told those around him. “It’s time for us to join the fray.”

  This time there was no argument or complaint from the guards about the king putting himself at risk. They simply formed a line on either side of him, axes in one hand and dwarf rods in the other.

  “We’re ready, Your Highness,” said the guard to his left. “At your command.”

  Halvar raised his axe. “Elyfoss!”

  With no thought of survival, they surged forward, every dwarf determined to bring as much death to their enemy as possible before falling.

  * * * * *

  Spinning and ducking
with incredible speed, Keira thrust out hard with both blades, each one piercing the gullet of her foe just as he was raising his sword for a fatal strike. He died like all the previous ‘silent ones’ she had slain – without a trace of expression. She found this strangely unsettling. While planting her boot in his chest and jerking her weapons free, she could see that the soldier’s eyes betrayed nothing – no pain, no fear, nothing at all.

  From the right side, two more Imperials were already bearing down on her.

  “Damn!” she muttered. They had to close the breach faster. More and more of the enemy was filtering through, wreaking havoc.

  As she turned to face this new threat, a flash of white light struck one of her attackers full in the face, sending him crumbling to the ground. Glancing to her left, Keira saw an older dwarf lying on the blood-soaked earth a few feet away. He was clutching a still-smoking rod. With his breastplate shattered and two arrows protruding from his legs, he met Keira’s eyes for only a moment before going limp. Just the smallest hint of a smile lingered on his face.

  With no time for reflection, Keira turned her attention to the second foe. Another silent one. They never ran, she noted. Yet their gait was as swift and relentless as the tide, and their movements always precise and calculated.

  She threw herself forward, the full force of her body weight colliding into the shoulder of the soldier’s sword arm just as the weapon was raised at its highest point before striking. Before he could counter, she twisted to his rear and slashed hard with both of her own blades, her steel cutting satisfyingly deep into his mostly unprotected back. But it was as expected. After having fought so many of these silent ones, she was now well aware of how hard they were to kill. Her foe’s only reaction to these injuries was to turn and bring his own sword down in a tight arc. Sidestepping this deadly sweep, Keira let loose a flurry of strikes aimed at his neck and head. The tip of one of her blades pierced his right eye, while the other opened up several fresh wounds. None, though, were lethal.