"When I first saw them, they were in the hands of two Alvar boys," Erenoth said.
They were. In those days the Alvar served Gaia and myself. I bade their smiths to forge me these blades, and until you were born they would be carried by a number of different Alvar warriors for safekeeping. They were asked not to use them, but to carry them always, so that their divine spirits could bless them with the purity of the Alvar.
Erenoth lowered his head. He had killed many of the Alvar in the past, and now that he knew the truth about the blades, the guilt began to build up inside him, making his stomach turn and his throat tighten. A tear formed in his right eye, and he reached up to wipe it away as he closed his eyes.
Your past is your past, Erenoth. I have forgiven you for your deeds, but you still need to forgive yourself. Only then can you move forward and be what you were meant to be.
"But they will hate me," Erenoth said.
No. They are not capable of hatred. Not in that way. They will befriend anyone who serves the Firstborn, regardless of their past—or their future.
"What do you mean?"
I see great turmoil and agony for the Alvar. They will pass into shadow, and fade from this world for a time. But this will not happen for many years. There are those who exist today that will make this so, but it is not in the nature of the Alvar to hate them.
"If this will not happen for such a great length of time, then how could the perpetrators be alive today?"
There are those who are not bound to human lifespans, Erenoth. T'kar himself is one of those beings. Despite being well over one hundred years of age, he is still as strong and virile as a young human.
"And there are others?"
Yes. But you need not concern yourself with that now. Your task is clear. You will aid in the downfall of T'kar, and assist the Onyx Dragon in raising his army.
Erenoth bowed. "Then what shall I do first?"
Take the blades. They are yours. Take them and go to the great hall. Practice with them, and we will speak soon.
Erenoth looked at the blades again. Despite his odd feeling, he still wanted them. They still appealed to every part of his being. They were not only beautiful, but looked as if they were forged by the fires of the Dragon himself. Surely such craftsmanship could not have come from any flesh and blood being.
Or could they?
He reached out with both hands, grasping the blades and pulling them free. He immediately felt their divine power course through him, strengthening and quickening every scrap of flesh in his body. They felt like a part of him, extensions of his own arms, fast and deadly. They could feel the very air around him, every tiny movement in the shadows, and every speck of dust in the air.
They were alive. And they were his.
T'kar stood atop his fortress at the edge of the gaping hole that once served as the entrance to the home of the wyverns. Now, bereft of his winged warriors, he glared at the perpetrator of this vile deed; the Dragon. The vague form floated there in the clouds, just as it had done on the night of his victory over the Northmen—and the birth of that wretched spawn, Daegoth.
He scowled as the clouds began to disperse. He knew that form had materialized and remained there just long enough for him to see it. It formed there to mock him, to taunt him, and to throw him off his guard.
But it would not work.
He would dispatch a large force, and march upon the allied scum once again. This time he would not hesitate to charge forth and break through their defenses. But first, all remaining villages in the area must be cleared of potential recruits. With no one to seduce to their cause, the allies would be too weak to fight back. He would be victorious yet again, and would hold this Daegoth's head high in the air for his friends to see.
"I will destroy you and your kin," he growled. "All of them—men, women and children alike. And then I will gloat over the ruins of your temple. Kathorgo has seen it."
Even as he spoke the name, he doubted that. Kathorgo had done little of late. It was as if his power were waning. Or perhaps as Malthor had said, he had no power to begin with.
It didn't matter. He needed no one's help. He was king. He was the destroyer. He was the Beast. It was he who had slain King Daegoth and defeated the greatest gathering of Northmen the world had ever seen. And it was he who now sat upon the throne of the Dragon. Not Daegoth. Not Daegoth's grandson. T'kar, the rightful king of Eirenoch.
He would be victorious either way.
Skulgrid and Wulfgar had seen the dragon overhead, both during its departure from the tower and its return. Wulfgar was amazed to see it, as was the Riverman, and they both remained silent both times they saw it. Neither of them said a word to the other. They simply watched it and glanced at each other nervously.
Until now.
The two men leaned against the railing at the eastern end of the lake town, sighing uncomfortably as each of them sought the words for such an occasion. Wulfgar decided to speak first.
"What do you think it means?"
Skulgrid shook his head, grunting. "I've no idea, lad," he said. "I've never seen a dragon before. Not a real one anyway. I can't be entirely certain it wasn't a wyvern, though; albeit a strange one."
"No," Wulfgar said. "It was a dragon. It came from the tower itself. No wyvern would ever venture anywhere near that tower. Hell, I would never venture anywhere near it."
"Well then, I think we have a dilemma. It's either Dearg, transformed into a dragon, or something else. Mayhap the Dragon himself, but I doubt it. Something else, I suppose."
"Should we tell the others?"
Skulgrid shrugged. "I've no idea. If what we saw was real, then I'm sure someone else saw it too."
"I saw it," came a rough and whispery voice behind them.
They turned, and Wulfgar's hand immediately went to his weapon. There was a creature there; pale, larger than a man, and bearing a wide, fanged maw that looked like it could bite the head off of a horse.
"Easy, lad," Skulgrid said, putting a hand on Wulfgar's arm. "He won't hurt us. It's the Bodach."
"What in the name of…" Wulfgar stuttered, his heart racing and his mind swirling. "What is that?"
The Bodach smiled, it seemed, and settled down on the slope in front of them. Though strange and frightening, it appeared to be peaceful. Nevertheless, its appearance made Wulfgar nervous.
"Why are you here, Bodach?" Skulgrid asked.
"I decide to come and join you in your fight. Dearg has told me that our previous quarrels were simply misunderstandings due to my appearance."
"Aye," Skulgrid said. "We can't be sorry enough. We've no quarrel with you now."
The Bodach nodded. "I thank you."
"Why do you wish to join us?" Wulfgar asked.
"This is my home, as well," the Bodach said. "If T'kar wins this battle, then my home is in danger as well as yours. I cannot live under his rule any longer. His soldiers have come far too close to my lair on many occasions. It was only when I saw those men of yours traveling toward the shore that I decided enough was enough."
"Men?" Skulgrid asked. "Five of them on horseback?"
"Yes," the Bodach replied. "But one of them was a young girl with a bow and hair of golden silk."
Wulfgar chuckled. "That would be Freyja," he said. "Pretty little lass, and a stinger with that bow of hers."
"So what can you offer in the way of help?" Skulgrid asked. "We cannot allow you to mingle among the folk. You may scare them."
"That is not a problem. I am skilled in battling Fomorians and other creatures. I am also skilled in tracking and spying, much like your rangers."
Skulgrid nodded. "That sounds good," he said. "Find out what you can and report directly to me. I will return to this spot every night to hear you."
"Very well," the Bodach said.
"What about the dragon?" Wulfgar asked. "You said you saw it. What do you think it means?"
"I've seen dragons before," the Bodach said. "Many of them in the past have flown th
ese skies. They were avatars of the Dragon himself; little pieces of his being in the form of dragons. But this was real. Something is happening in the tower, and I feel the power of the Dragon growing with every passing day. You will meet this dragon soon, I'll wager."
Wulfgar looked at Skulgrid for answers, but the Riverman was speechless as well.
"Trust in your instincts," the Bodach said. "The dragon is your friend. It will not harm you. I suspect this is something new that benefits us all. When it comes to you, welcome it."
With that, the creature turned and climbed over the ridge, leaving Wulfgar somewhat speechless.
"That was the strangest meeting I've ever had," he said. "I can't even describe how strange it was."
"I'm with you there, lad," Skulgrid said, chuckling. "I nearly messed myself when it spoke."
Tel Drakkar seemed half-built, Igraina noticed. The Druaga had led her into a large throne room, where an empty throne sat upon a black dais. The platform was inlaid with gold and black onyx designs, and supported a throne with a back and arms carved into the wings and claws of a dragon. Behind it was a great mirror, framed in black onyx, which was set into the stone wall.
She was bade to make herself at home until Dearg arrived, but the small creatures had given her no indication of when that would occur. As of yet, the throne was still empty, and that was where the Druaga had said the Onyx Dragon would appear. For now, he was somewhere in the ether, traveling through the void as his body was rebuilt and strengthened.
So the Druaga said.
Once Dearg arrived, she would be free to ask him for some small part of the Dragon's essence; his very spirit. With it, she would bear her own offspring, several of them, and give them to the good people of the Southern Reaches—if she could find any. Those offspring would give rise to a new class of magic-wielding folk that would carry on her legacy of good, whilst she herself fell into shadow.
It was the only way to preserve the witch she was now; the witch that desired to do good things, and to help quell the evil that grew across the land. The Dragon had evidently shared her thoughts, as he had allowed her to enter his temple and did not stand in the way of her taking a small part of his power. In fact, he insisted, it seemed.
Now as she waited patiently for the Onyx Dragon's arrival, she made plans in her head as to how she would leave her legacy. She could leave her offspring with the tribes of the south, or she could seek out more civilized folk. Either way, they would have to be those who would not fear the infants once they began to show their abilities.
It occurred to her that since her offspring would be female, it would be better to leave them with civilized folk. Tribal peoples tended to value boys more than girls. Boys could be groomed as leaders and warriors, while girls were mostly desired as breeding stock.
That was no good.
Another though occurred to her. It was imperative that she not remember these deeds. Once she destroyed the last of her sisters, her soul would darken once again. And if she remembered giving birth to these V'ikka, as she would call them, she would likely attempt to destroy them. She had to make sure she fled the island once she defeated Lilit. The Onyx Dragon would see to that, she hoped.
Igraina, a voice spoke to her.
"Yes?" she spoke, startled but knowing that the Dragon spoke to her.
You have come. I am glad you are here. My son will arrive soon, and you will take from him what you need. Your own magic has blessed him in a good way, and I am grateful. With your power, he will be able to wield my armor at will, though the ability to do so will take time to learn. Protect him as best you can until that day comes.
"I will do what I can," Igraina said, unsure of how.
I thank you. Once you have taken what you need, you must leave Tel Drakkar. I will help you find the right people with which to leave your offspring. There are villages in this part of the island that are well-hidden from T'kar, and they are populated with good and decent people. It would be best to avoid the wild tribes. They are not yet ready to raise such important children.
"That was my thought as well," Igraina agreed. "I do not want them subjugated."
Indeed. And you must remember, once you defeat your sister, you must flee the island. If you do not, I will be forced to unleash my wrath upon you. This is my word.
"I understand," Igraina said. "I had planned on leaving before the darkness takes me, lest I hunt down my own offspring."
Good. I do not wish to destroy you. You important to Eirenoch's future in many ways.
"I know," she said, recalling the visions of the future. "These things I hope to not remember when I return to darkness. I may try to alter them."
I will ensure that you forget everything that needs to be forgotten. For now, I want you to feel welcome in my temple. There is a comfortable chamber behind the mirror. Your magic can open it, and you may remain there until my son arrives. Be patient. His travels will take many days.
"Thank you," Igraina said. "I will be patient."
There is one other thing I want you to know. Your sister has consorted with a demon recently. She too will give birth.
Igraina stood, feeling a small sense of fear in her gut.
"Demons?"
You know the demon, Kathorgo. He is called Kingu. His blood has been spilled upon the Earth through her. This blood must not be allowed to spread. Destroy it if you can.
"I will," Igraina said, suddenly feeling rage. "I will kill them both."
If you cannot, I will not hold you accountable. It is not your responsibility. I only ask as a favor. The existence of this spawn would be a bane upon the Earth for all time. It will spread quickly if it is not stopped.
"I understand," Igraina said. "I will do what I can."
Good. Now rest for a time. My son will arrive soon.
Igraina went to the mirror behind the throne, inspecting it thoroughly. It appeared to be a normal mirror at first. But when she gazed into it, her reflection seemed alive, not just a visual representation of herself. There was a darkness about it; something that told Igraina that this was not her—at least not the way she was now.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
The reflection's lips did not move, which startled her somewhat. She leaned in closer, and the reflection did the same. There was something strange about the reflection's eyes, or maybe the brow. Though the vision moved with her, it almost seemed as if it was not a true mirror image, but a figure that was simply mimicking her, mocking her every movement while maintaining that oddly blank expression.
"Strange," she said.
Then, the face in the mirror changed. Its mouth widened into a vile grin, and the brow arched, squeezing together in an exaggerated glare that wrinkled the smooth forehead.
"No," Igraina protested. "This is not me."
The reflection cocked its head as the grin grew wider. The eyes began to glow, and the skin lightened to a pale, dead hue. Her red hair grew gray and stringy, and her green eyes were now a fierce and glowing red.
Igraina felt her throat tighten as the mocking figure glared back at her. She could barely breathe, but she could not tear her eyes away. Was this her future? Was this the Igraina she would become?
She closed her eyes, bringing her hands up to cover her face as the tears came. She tried to cry out, but the sound would not come. She could only weep in anguish, picturing the evil being that stared at her from the mirror. Furious, she balled her fist and conjured all of the magic she could summon to smash the mirror to pieces.
But when she opened her eyes, she saw only her true reflection. The witch was gone, replaced by reality. She sighed, feeling the sadness and anger melt away as her green eyes and smooth face looked back at her. Relieved, she let the magic fizzle out, conjuring a simple cantrip that she knew would open the doorway beyond.
With a faint grinding sound, the mirror moved outward, sliding to the side to reveal a lavish and comfortable chamber beyond. She wiped the tears from her eyes, hoping that she would be ab
le to rest despite the odd vision. Then, with a sigh, she stepped in and settled down onto the soft and silky bed.
Sleep, something she had never experienced, came quickly.
Chapter Twenty
Surrounded by a gentle mist and the glow of thousands of luminous plants, Igrid and her companions stood at the edge of a massive hollow that spanned as far as they could see. Surrounding the depression were giant trees that disappeared into the canopy above. Only the light of the strange plants illuminated the area, but for the sparse rays of sunlight that came down from above.
In the center of the hollow were four giant trees, growing roughly one hundred feet apart, surrounding a circle of stone blocks. The stone was white, as the many ruins had been, and were aged and cracked with the erosion of hundreds of years of dampness. Igrid had never seen anything so beautiful in her life, and the silence from the other two women told her that they hadn't either.
Several strange birds flew overhead, making strange squawks that pierced the steady cacophony of other strange animal sounds. Igrid realized that this hollow was different than the other forests. Here, Gaia's power was great, as if the hollow were a wellspring of her spirit. She could feel the Great Mother's power here, and it strengthened her like nothing ever had before.
It was truly a divine and powerful influence.
"It's beautiful," Morrigan said. "It's like nothing I've ever dreamed of."
"This is it," Igrid said. "This is our destination."
"What is in the center of that stone circle?" Rian asked.
There was something there, Igrid saw. It was an altar of some kind, perhaps, circular and flat on top. Despite their distance, she could make out many concentric circles within it, carved deep into the stone and darkened by corrosion and dirt. Her curiosity began to get the best of her, outshining her fear and urging her forward.
"Let's find out," Igrid replied.
They slowly descended the slope, moving along the flattened areas that appeared to have once been ramps or shallow stairs. Now, they were mostly soil, with only a few fractured pieces of white stone remaining half-buried. Weeds, ferns, and other stranger plants grew up through the cracks, partially obscuring the path, and thick, lush vines hung low over them. They had to duck to pass through them, or move aside the smaller and more flexible ones.
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