Khan nodded, “I simply need rest. In fact, I will need a lot of rest.”
Salina nodded and went for her pack where she had dropped it on the ground and pulled out her water flask. Turning to Cedric she said, “Find your flask and see to Will.”
“Right away, Mother,” Cedric said, imitating her actions.
Targon stood alone in the dark room as the light from his newfound sword dimmed to nothing while Salina tended to Khan and Cedric tended to Will. Cedric spoke first, “I think he’s hurt pretty badly.”
“Did you offer him water?” Salina asked.
“I can’t,” Cedric said. “I used a bit on his face, but he won’t come to. He’s been knocked out cold.”
“Damn,” Salina said, moving from Khan over to Will. After administering to him she turned to Targon. “I think we’ll need to stay here for at least a day.”
“That bad huh?” Targon asked.
Salina nodded, “Yes. His head will swell, and the entire left side of his face is bruised. He may not live through the night.”
“What about you, Khan?” Targon asked.
“I will live,” Khan said. “However, I have no energy at all. No spells and no ability to even stand at the moment. I will most likely require sleep for the next several hours if you do not object.”
“No, of course not,” Targon said, moving to Khan’s pack where it lay on the floor after coming undone during combat. He rummaged through the man’s things and pulled out the bed roll along with the water flask since Salina had taken her own to tend to Will.
Offering it to the man, Khan nodded and laid it to his side where he promptly rolled over onto it, back towards the companions and his face to the east wall and moved no more.
“He seems tired,” Cedric said, coming back over to see Khan’s condition for himself. “What are we going to do for light?”
“What can we do?” Targon asked.
“Sleep in the dark, I guess,” Cedric said.
Salina moved to the door and looked down the corridor which was in plain view with the door destroyed. “I feel exposed with this open.”
Targon shrugged, “At least we’re alone. How did you know the stone would work against the creature?”
“I didn’t,” Salina said. “I could only hope.”
“So,” Cedric said, drawing out the last word. “Why isn’t Mister Andrew there rising from his tomb?”
“Who said he didn’t?” Targon asked, moving towards the crypt but standing a healthy distance back. “Bring that dagger of yours.”
Cedric complied but hesitated when he got closer. Targon offered his free hand and Cedric gave him the glowing knife. Holding it out in front of him with his left hand, sword firmly gripped in his right, Targon approached the coffin and held the dagger over it illuminating the inside. “Bloody hell.”
“What?” Cedric asked, moving forward slowly now to peer inside the tomb and see for himself. He noticed a red set of eyes glowing where the man’s skull was and he Cedric cried out in horror, “Aaahh!”
Salina left the door and ran to her son brandishing her sword again. Targon held his position and kept his own sword leveled out and down at the corpse which didn’t move. Salina asked, “Is it alive?”
Khan’s voice came to them from the side wall, “He is most certainly dead, though whether or not he is animated, that is another question.”
“I thought you passed out,” Salina said.
“Close,” Khan said from his prone position, not having moved at all since laying down and rolling over.
Salina stayed next to Cedric who had backed away. Only Targon could see inside the coffin. After a few seconds, Cedric asked. “What’s it doing?”
“I don’t know,” Targon replied. “Either it only appears animated or it is content to look at me.”
“Is there any indication of animation?” Khan asked.
“Its eyes are glowing red,” Targon replied.
Cedric corrected, “Its eye sockets were glowing red.”
“Bright red or a dim red?” Khan asked.
“Come look for yourself,” Targon said, slightly annoyed for the moment and perplexed as to why he was having a conversation with the Kesh wizard if the man was going to continue to lay down and do nothing.
Khan didn’t seem to notice or didn’t care that Targon was short with him. “Bright or dim?”
Targon sighed, then answered, “They seem dimmer than the others we’ve seen.”
“Then he is listening to you,” Khan said.
It took a moment for the others to comprehend what the Kesh man had said. Salina was the first to speak. “Why on Agon would it do that? How can it do that? Everything we’ve seen with red eyes has attacked us on sight.”
“He is different,” Khan said. “He knows.”
The cryptic response didn’t help, and Salina asked, “Khan, you need to stand up and get over here.”
There was no response and Cedric was the first to move to Khan. Checking him, he turned to address his mother, “He passed out.”
“Seriously?” Salina said, impatience in her voice. “You mean just now?”
“Apparently so, Mother,” Cedric said.
Khan’s voice spoke again, “It is sacrilege to stay here. We should leave immediately.”
“What the…” Cedric said, looking from Khan to Targon and then his mother. Confusion was on his face.
Targon looked from Cedric and then back to the corpse in the coffin. Holding the sword level at the skull he said, “We mean you no harm. If it means anything to you, I am sent from the last remaining Arnen. He has called me to his service as his Zashitor, his Ranger if you will. We are here under his direction in order to find your shield and to… request it in order to fight the evil that covers the land.”
There was a long pause until Cedric said meekly, “That was pretty good.”
Salina nodded and then Khan’s voice spoke, “Where did you come from?”
Targon resisted looking back at his Kesh companion and instead he looked at the glowing eyes in the skull before him. “We are Ulathans and come from Korwell.”
“Tell him Utandra,” Cedric spoke excitedly.
Targon nodded, “Korwell is the name we have given the Ulathan city known as Utandra.”
Another pause before Khan spoke, “Why do you travel with the Kesh?”
Salina and Cedric shrugged when Targon did look at them and then the woodsman returned his gaze quickly to the supposed body of Andrew Vandersot. “This Kesh wizard has turned against his own country, against his own order, and now fights for Ulatha. He is trying to do what’s right now.”
“You trust a Kesh wizard?” Khan’s voice spoke and it sounded odd the way it worded its question.
Khan responded to himself, “I am a Kesh wizard.”
“Why do they trust you?” Khan’s voice continued the one-sided conversation while the companions could only gap in confusion at the voice coming from all around them.
“The Ulathan informed you. He is serving an Arnen, a druid if you will—”
Khan cut himself off, “I know what an Arnen is.”
“Then you should also know that neither the druid, nor his ranger, will fraternize or otherwise ally themselves with a Kesh unless something significant has occurred.”
“What transpired with your group to thusly be so formed?”
“We came to an understanding about life and death. We choose life not only for ourselves, but for all living souls.”
“The Kesh seek only power.”
“Yes, we normally do, however, I am willing to concede that ambition in light of the impending doom of Dor Akun.”
“Unusual for a Kesh, especially one of the magic order.”
“Yes, I will take that as a compliment. Now, if you do not mind, it would help my friends if you would release me and allow me to discuss this with them, unless you intend to inflict harm upon us?”
There was a pause before a different voice spoke, it was also
disembodied and talked in a slightly different tone as well. “As you wish. I was tasked with protecting the Ulathan artifacts and your presence, Kesh, was suspicious.”
Khan began to stir and tried to sit up. Salina ran to him and motioned for Cedric, “Help him get up, take his other arm.
Together, the pair lifted Khan on his feet and held him steady as he turned around and faced the coffin with Targon keeping guard over it. They walked the few feet to come closer and Khan’s voice, weaker and fainter than before, said, “With whom are we speaking.”
The other voice answered, “You met my mother.”
Cedric nodded at Khan and said, “Andrew Vandersot.”
“He’s dead,” Salina protested slightly.
“I know,” the voice said, this time coming from the coffin and the dead, armored figure rose to a standing position while keeping its feet, heels down on the stone, inner slab, down. Targon back pedaled slightly and held the sword at the speaking corpse. “I’ve been dead for a thousand years.”
Chapter 13
The North
“Nicely done, Master,” Hermes said.
The fireball destroyed the green gas floating their way while the same colored dragon wheeled and banked away from the score of crossbows shot at it by their bowmen behind them. Another group of soldiers, with long pikes and spears, stepped forward and braced them into the ground with military precision and orderliness. These were the top of the line Balarian troops sent by their ally to assist the High Wizard.
“Keep firing at the beast,” Zorcross ordered.
Hork nodded and yelled, “Balax third, move forward.”
The third brigade from Balaria moved past the Kesh troops that were set and firing their crossbows and then past their own second unit of pikemen and spearmen. These men had longswords and halberds and were armored in scale mail from neck to knee.
“Shall we bring the second brigade of crossbows in?” Hermes asked expectantly.
“Keep them in the rear as cover,” Zorcross said. “The dragon could very well fly past us and attack us from the rear.”
Hork nodded in agreement and then said, “Ready for the charge. Can you keep up with us, Master?”
The plural form of deference and respect was more appreciated by Hermes than Zorcross. Both men nodded while Zorcross, in charge of the entire army, responded. “Start your attack. We will both support you from close behind.
Hork turned and spurred his horse to gallop along the line that was being readied as the third brigade marched by them and then set in front. Half of the bowmen were reloading as they shot in two different groups to prevent a large window of time in which any enemy could attack while no crossbowmen were ready. “On my mark, we take the pass.”
A cry of victory came from the troops, especially the Kesh units, though the Balarians were trained to fight with passion and honor and they had their voices heard as well. Once the third brigade had finished establishing the new front line, and the crossbowmen who had fired the last volley at the dragon had reloaded, Hork motioned with his sword.
Both the initial foot brigade, and the crossbow brigade, ran forward streaming pass their newly set comrades. Hork, and three of his brigade commanders, rode headlong up the long road directly at the path of the four rebels standing at the top of the pass. It would be a hundred to one odds, at the least, and that excluded the pair of wizards who had kept the dragon at bay.
Hermes and Zorcross followed at a much leisurely pace keeping a close eye on the dragon who was only now banking and turning back towards the battle. Hermes spoke first, “If the dragon breaks through, it could poison our troops by the dozens.”
“Hundreds, actually,” Zorcross noted. “The size of its gas cloud is deceiving at first glance.”
“How so, master?”
“The initial cloud is condensed. It is, of course, lethal at that stage, but what makes it more dangerous is the fact that as it is carried on the wind, it remains potent despite expanding ten-fold.”
“How do you know all this?” Hermes looked at his mentor in awe.
Zorcross smiled at his pupil and replied, “I have read the reports during my time in Ulsthor of the many raids that we had taken in Ulatha over the last century. I interviewed survivors from our loss at the battle of the Ulathan Pass, and did my own research into the lore of such creatures, the draconus. In each case I learned and fathomed understanding of the creature and was able to extrapolate missing details. Finally, I am now engaged with the creature itself and am confirming my hypothesis in real time based on our actions and observations.”
Hermes smiled back and thought hard of a way to ask again without revealing that he only understood half of what his master was telling him. In the end, he resorted to pragmatism and asked the safest question he could think, “So I should continue to cast the first fireball directly at the foul beast to make it swerve and choose a course.”
“Yes,” Zorcross confirmed, “and I will then have a trajectory in which to do what I have done and cast my fireball into the path of the beast.”
“That is how we have beat back three of its attacks,” Hermes stated.
“Now you are learning,” Zorcross sounded pleased. “The High Mage will be sure to note my success in defeating a dragon, especially the one that has vexed us for so many decades.”
Hermes would have clapped if that were possible, but with his reins in one hand and his staff in the other, he could only beam in joy at the news. “The historians will have to label you with a befitting title such as Dragonslayer. That would be most appropriate for what you have done, Master.”
Zorcross smiled back and readied his staff as the green dragon was diving for an attack on their lead elements. The pair had to spur their mounts harder in order to close more ground and prevent the dragon from attacking their lead chargers. Neither man seemed disturbed by the idea that the dragon was still alive and not dead, nor by the fact that the battle so far was pretty much a standstill, a draw, between wizards and dragon.
Hermes couldn’t resist and yelled out as they prepared their magic spells, “We will be hailed as heroes by the High Mage.”
Zorcross furrowed his brow in concentration but managed to add, “Yes, I will be hailed a hero.”
“Well, they’re coming,” Horace said, shooting another bolt and hitting the lead rusher in the leg causing the man to fall to the ground.
“How long do we stay?” Mary asked.
Dareen shrugged, “Elister didn’t say, but he did mention that our retreat needed to look believable.”
All three civilians looked at Dorsun who shrugged and looked back at them with a blank stare. Finally he responded. “They’re not stupid, but four of us will look suspicious no matter what.”
“That is why he asked Tyra to fight with us,” Dareen said.
“Yeah,” Horace said. “That green terror does kinda even up the odds a bit even if they are countin us as five to their hundred.”
“They have at least five hundred there,” Dorsun corrected. “One hundred per brigade and at least five of them in column attack formation.”
Mary chuckled, “That’s why the druid wanted the Kesh fighter here with us, to tell us how outnumbered we are.”
“Well, whatever we’re going to do we need to do it fast cause I can’t outrun them,” Horace said.
“He’s right,” Dareen added. “Let’s go now then and get to the forest before they reach the pass.”
“It’ll be close,” Mary said, judging the distance.
Dorsun held it hand out for Horace’s crossbow and the old man gave it to him. They both had understood that Dorsun would carry the weapon so that they could all run. “Time to go,” the Kesh said.
“There she comes,” Mary noted as the group took one last look at the approaching Kesh army and ran west towards the Blackthorn Forest.
They had only managed to travel a hundred yards when a huge thud echoed off the mountain walls and a loud, near deafening roar came from th
e dragon. Turning back the rebel fighters saw that Tyra had landed at the pass on all fours and stretched her wings out, flapping them in an effort to make her appear larger than she was and more ferocious. The green dragon would buy them time to make their escape. The dragon would fight for them.
“Hold,” Hork called out as the rebels fled and were replaced with the dragon landing directly on the pass and looking larger than life. “Form a line.”
The initial charge was ragged, as the men ran at different rates. At least a third of the hundred men in the first wave had gotten far in front, too far in fact. The dragon roared a second time and took several steps forward covering the ground between them at an alarming rate. It ended with its neck shooting out, maw open, and gas shooting out as it moved its head from right to left.
The men stopped and turn, running as fast as they could. The wizards were at a full gallop now, but it was too late for a dozen of the fighters. The mist spread and caught up to at least a dozen of them before help could arrive killing them slowly as they wreathed on the ground in agony and pain.
“Ogon, pazhar!” Zorcross commanded, keeping his mount headed directly at the great dragon.
The fireball was large by most anyone’s standards, and the Kesh wizard had purposely made it so. It was less potent being spread out, but its purpose was something other than to kill or harm the dragon. It was designed solely to burn and neutralize the dragon’s breath weapon.
The twenty plus soldiers that survived made it back to Hork’s line and the wizards breached it pulling their horses to a stop near the dragon. The second fireball was aimed at the dragon and Hermes let it go with good effect, but not as powerful as his mentor. The dragon side stepped and only a small amount of flames impacted on its wings. It roared at them in defiance and beat its wings.
“Hit it again, Master,” Hermes said, encouragement in his voice.
Zorcross voice became more sinister, “This time, let us try something more potent.”
Summoning the charged particles from the air, the wizard pointed its staff at the dragon and sent out a lighting bolt that was faster than fire. It shot out and clipped the dragon on its side towards the upper part near its scaly back where it had lowered itself in an effort to dodge the bolt. The blast sent several of the dragon’s scales falling to the ground and a cheer came from the men within the ranks. Hork didn’t hesitate. “Fire at will. Aim for the exposed skin.”
Cursed Cleric Page 16
