The Dragon War

by Salvador Mercer

  “Stop him, he’z gettin away,” one assassin hissed, hardly audible at this distance. Diamedes had managed to put some distance between him and his attackers and more importantly he was able to get out of sight of his pursuers.

  Several twist and turns later, Diamedes felt his ribs on his right-side ache as the pain increased rather rapidly. He realized that he had run out of the entertainment district and was moving slower now, but steadily, through the trader’s market. Most of the stalls, shops, and storefronts were closed, locked, or otherwise inaccessible to him.

  While the lack of inquisitive eyes comforted the man, he felt more vulnerable in his current location. He knew he had to move further west into the city’s center where the main thoroughfares were located so he could encounter more people. Not that Kesh citizens would be much help, at least it would make his attempted killer’s work more difficult for them.

  Luck seemed fickle this night as another turn into what he thought would be a good street turned out to be a dead end. He would have to backtrack and though he neither saw nor heard signs of his pursuers, he knew better than to hope that he had lost them.

  “Found him,” the voice said before the figure stepped out of the shadows and into the faint light of the twin sisters. Though the alley was dark, the cross street allowed the illumination to shine from the southern sky. The assassin’s black cloak flapped lazily in the wind and the too familiar sheen of glinting steal from the man’s sword stopped Diamedes’ breath. They were at opposite ends of the alleyway, perhaps a half stone throw away, but the adjacent, three-story buildings all around trapped him. There would be no escaping this time.

  Several others came into view until all five were present and one said, “About time’z too. That damn librarian gave’z us a merry chase.”

  “You were saying about your luck?” One asked. The others chuckled.

  Diamedes felt all hope leave him. He wasn’t sure if his message had reached the Duke of Ulatha much less the King of Tyniria. Even if it had, he wasn’t sure it would be heeded and in a matter of months, if not weeks, life as humans knew it on Agon would be destroyed.

  “Not only has he run out of luck, but it appears the book master has finally run out of words too.”

  Diamedes ignored the guffawing killers and tried to ignore the overwhelming pain in his chest. He was sure he had cracked more than one rib. “Not a loss of words, but rather a lack of desire to speak with the likes of you.”

  “Fair enough, librarian,” the leader known as Breakers said. “We’ll make this quick, but painful for you then.”

  “I thought it was supposed to be quick and painless?” Diamedes asked.

  Breakers nodded as all five brandished their weapons, short swords and daggers. “For making us chase you it will be painful. For such a large bounty, we’ll make it quick to secure it for ourselves before you can fly the coop little birdy. Consider it a compromise.”

  Diamedes grimaced but spoke as clearly as he could despite the overwhelming pain that was making their offer of death seem rather appealing to him at the moment. “Not to mince words with an educated man of your stature, Master Breaker, but I find your compromise rather illogical. By this I mean to say that any death you’re offering this night will be painful, however, the termination of said means of execution quickly is, and of itself, merciful.”

  Two men titled their heads and a third asked, “What’z he gettin on about?”

  Another answered, “He’z trying to confuse us.”

  “Confuse?” Diamedes asked.

  “He’s trying to buy time as usual,” Breakers explained. “Enough of this, time is short and our contract with the city guards will end soon. Get this over with.”

  The four other killers advanced and Diamedes asked, “So you’re too pious to soil your hands with my blood, Master Breakers?”

  Breakers ignored him. “Tomlin, you search his pack after Blade slices his throat.”

  “Da honor is all mine,” Blade said, flashing his dagger and grinning so that his pearly, white teeth were exposed.

  Diamedes knew enough of Kesh and Balarian naming conventions to know that Blade was not the man’s actual name, but the moniker carried a hefty truth for the man who answered to it. More than likely he was the most active, and ruthless of the assassins. “Try not to miss, Master Blade.”

  “Ain’t never in me whole’z life, little man. Slicing you will be quick and eazy’s.”

  Diamedes pressed his chin down onto his chest. He’d make the killer work to slice his throat and reached around this back and felt for the handle of his own dagger. He’d go down fighting.

  “Hurry up—”

  The leader was cut off by the sound of the city’s alarm. The large bell in the middle of town started to ring and its deep bass tone echoed off every structure. Blade had made it halfway to him and was in the lead while three others were a dozen feet behind him. Only Breakers remained at the intersection a good thirty feet away.

  Diamedes was looking somewhat down, having pressed his chin against his chest in a gesture of defiance to the cutthroat. With the alarm sounding, he found himself instinctively looking up at the dark sky where stars twinkled above. The appearance of the sixth assassin seemed out of place. The newly arrived figure was looking down from the building behind the historian. Diamedes had to crane his neck all the way back to see the man and in turn realized that he was now exposing as much of his throat as was physically possible. Not what he wanted to do, but maybe that was part of the killer’s plan.

  The first sounds of reaction came as voices cried out from nearby streets. Though not audible enough to understand, their voices turned to cries and a great commotion started throughout the city. Diamedes ignored the figure overhead and looked back down at the man approaching him. Blade had stopped and looked up as well and seemed to have spotted the ghostly figure. He took a defensive stance and the others stopped and formed a ring with their backs to one another. They kept firm grips on their weapons but seemed confused.

  “This isn’t part of the deal,” one said.

  Suddenly, the sound of a nearby building imploding assaulted their ears and cries of pain and suffering were clearly heard. The general darkness was lit up by indirect light from a large fire that seemed to have sprouted from somewhere nearby. To cast that much light it would have to be a fairly large fire, though everything happening around them was out of sight from their location in the narrow, dead-end alley.

  “Psst,” the sound came from above.

  “What?” Diamedes now turned completely around, exposing his back to the assassins. Definitely something one should never do.

  “I said take the rope and cinch it around your body.”

  “What rope—” Diamedes didn’t finish his sentence. A lasso dropped in front of him with part of it bouncing off his head, startling him. The rope was pre-knotted and cinched like a belt ready for tightening.

  “Quickly now, times short.” The voice came from above, firm but calm.

  Sounds of death and dying were heard clearly now and another crashing boom rolled over them as some structure nearby appeared to have exploded to make such a sound. Blade got sight of the escape attempt and sounded their own alarm, “He’z gettin away!”

  “Stop him,” one killer said.

  Diamedes quickly stepped into the lasso and tried to bend down to pull it up but couldn’t. Pain shot up from his ribcage and he released his hold on his dagger tucking it back in his belt and wrapped both arms around his body in an effort to quell the pain. Blade ran the last dozen feet or so in an attempt to stab the historian and kill him quickly. It didn’t appear that he was going to slice, but rather stab, and get the deed done once and for all.

  “Sorry, this may hurt slightly,” The voice above said as the lasso and rope was pulled up slowly at first. “Spread your arms, quickly now.”

  Diamedes fought the urge to lie down in a fetal position and accept his fate, instead doing as he was instructed. He released his
hold on himself and leveled both of his arms out to either side of him. The pain was immediate and intense as the lasso met resistance under his armpits and cinched tight. Once it was firmly taut around the royal historian, the figure pulled with great strength and Diamedes was lifted off his feet and swung up and into the wooden building at the end of the alleyway right as Blade arrived.

  “No you don’tz,” Blade said, leaping to grab and stop Diamedes’ escape. The man wrapped one arm around Diamedes’ legs and used his other to plunge his dagger into the historian’s hip.

  “Argh,” Diamedes cried out in pain and the rope stopped suddenly with both historian and assassin swinging slightly from side to side several feet above street level.

  The voice from above sounded slightly familiar and said in an urgent tone, “Hurry Azor, pull him up quickly.”

  The pair of swinging men suddenly resumed their ascent, this time at a brisk pace. They bounced off the building’s wall on their way to the top. The assassin’s dagger was firmly imbedded in Diamedes upper leg, and Blade was using it as a handhold to keep a firm grip on his prey. Within seconds they reached the top.

  A large hand plucked Diamedes up and over the wall while the black cloaked, roof-top figure engaged Blade who had let go of his dagger and pulled his short sword from its scabbard. Instantly the pair of assassin-looking men engaged each other in sword combat.

  Diamedes was dragged backwards and away from the melee. He felt wave after wave of pain assault his senses and he resisted the urge to cry out. He came to a stop on his back and he felt his body released from the strong grip that had carried him to safety. He realized that in his pain he had squeezed his eyes shut. Timidly, ignoring the screams of death from the city around him, he opened his eyelids and looked squarely into the upside-down face of a Northman. The man’s long blonde hair flowed down each side of his massive head, framing the man’s square and stern jawline while the twinkling blue of his eyes looked at him inquisitively. The man spoke with a strong accent, “He lives.”

  “For how long I wonder?” the mysterious figure asked rhetorically without looking as he remained engaged on the roof-top with his opponent Blade.

  “Stop playing with him. Time’s short,” the Northman stated simply.

  “I’m not playing,” the figure said. “He’s actually quite good.”

  Diamedes sat up with some assistance from the large warrior clad in furs and leathers. He looked at the pair of fighting assassins and heard a roar from behind him that was all too familiar. He tried to turn and look but the pain was too intense.

  Coming around to his side, the large man knelt saying, “This will hurt. Hold still.”

  With a quick pull, the dagger came out and the Northman dropped it next to Diamedes while turning to look into a bag that must have been dropped during the escape. Pulling out a single bandana, the Northman tied it around the historian’s leg and tucked the knotted end under Diamedes’ belt. “Thank you,” was all that Diamedes could muster.

  Before the man could respond, a darkness passed overhead blotting out not only the twin sister’s moonlight, but the stars as well before the light reappeared and the dark creature flapped a pair of gigantic wings and settled on a nearby building overlooking the alleyway.

  “Time to go,” The large Northman said, reaching down and unceremoniously pulling Diamedes to his feet despite his injury.

  The other cloaked figure said, “I couldn’t agree with you more,” and the man disengaged the assassin and ran at the pair, Northman and historian.

  Diamedes watched as Blade turned around to face the large creature and the cloaked figure grabbled the historian’s left arm while the Northman grabbed his right. Both figures ran west while Diamedes’ feet came off the flat roof and he was carried backward towards the edge of the building. The last thing he saw before they leapt was Blade screaming in agony as he started to disintegrate from a nasty, vile fluid that poured over the man and which barely missed the trio as they hurled themselves from the top of the three-story building.

  The stress, injury, and fatigue from his escape became too much to bear, and before Diamedes lost consciousness he saw a length of rope fluttering behind them as they fell, and the stars above twinkled with a welcome warmth embracing the man’s mind into the abyss.

  Diamedes had finally encountered a black dragon.

  Chapter 2

  Clarifications

  Pain. It never seemed to leave, though in hindsight Diamedes understood that he felt nothing when he was unconscious. He was aware that he was alive, which in and of itself was quite surprising. His next objective was to open his eyes and try to understand where he was and what had happened.

  Pain. It hit him again and he grimaced, squinting his facial muscles and trying with all his might to refrain from screaming. Alerting anyone to his current state could be fatal. Perhaps that would be a preferable outcome, Diamedes thought to himself. No, he had work to do and time was short. With an effort he opened his eyes.

  Pain. This time from the light assaulting his senses as he laid on his back looking at a dilapidated ceiling made from wood that appeared to be suffering from rot and a lack of good waterproofing. Where am I?

  Moving his eyes, but not his head, Diamedes looked to the open side of the room to his right. It seemed vaguely familiar. The sparse furnishings, a wooden table, three cracked and old wooden chairs, a painting with a broken frame hung on the far wall. Looking to his left he was up against a wall in what felt like a rickety bed based on how his spine sagged.

  After several minutes, when the only thing he could hear was a bird chirping and leaves rustling from outside an open window, Diamedes sat up. He ignored the pain in his leg, the pain in his ribs, and the pain in his head and pivoted slightly to bring his feet down onto the floor. It didn’t take long before the sound of approaching feet were heard and Diamedes braced himself for what was to come next.

  “Hello, good to see you awake.”

  Diamedes had to look to the door, now on his left, and saw a familiar face. “So I am in your house.”

  Damien had poked his head in the door, which had been left slightly ajar, and then seeing Diamedes awake he walked over to the table and pulled up a chair opposite. “I do not think I would call this a house, but it has served me well for many years. How are you feeling?”

  Diamedes took his time to answer. He looked across at the Kesh wizard, well, former apprentice who had accompanied him on their last dragon quest far to the north. The Kesh man was still gaunt from having died and been brought back to life by Dour, the Akun cleric, months ago. His clothing was the same, a robe that was tattered at its edges and a dirty, pointy hat with half its tassels missing. “I’ve felt better.”

  “You’ve looked better,” Damien said.

  “How did I get here?”

  “Now that is an easy question. Both Zokar and Azor brought you here,” Damien said, scooting his chair closer. “You really have been out of it.”

  “Ah, so that was Zokar beneath that cloak. . .”

  “You did not recognize him?”

  Diamedes shook his head, “Not during the chase and certainly not during his combat on the rooftop. Who is this Azor fellow?”

  Damien scooted one last time closer, whispering almost conspiratorially, “He is a Clan leader from the North. He rules over several clans including his own and Zokar brought him here to help.”

  “Help do what?”

  “Why to help you and our cause. I thought you were in need of rescuing, no?”

  Diamedes wiggled his toes, looking down to see them and his white undergarments that went down to his knees. He felt uncomfortable being half dressed. The pain had diminished since he held himself still, but it continued to pulse from several parts of his body reminding him that he was injured. “Yes, I was in need of rescuing, but until that night… how long has it been?”

  “You have been here for three days.”

  “Hmm, well then, until that night three days ago, I
didn’t know I would be in need of assistance. How could they have known, much less come all the way from the far north to aid me?”

  “You will have to ask them,” Damien continued speaking in a hushed tone. “They should be back by dusk.”

  “Where have they gone?”

  “They are securing some supplies and provisions for our journey.”

  “Our journey?” Diamedes raised both eyebrows.

  “Yes, we have to leave Kesh before everything and everyone is destroyed.” Damien took a moment to look around as if expecting to find someone eavesdropping.

  “Why are you acting this way?” Diamedes asked.

  “What way?”

  “Like you’re expecting us to be spied upon.”

  Damien leaned back and visibly exhaled. “The stress from the draconus attacks have been much to bear, not only for me but for everyone in Kesh.”

  Diamedes nodded, “I heard over the winter that Keshtor itself was under siege by the dragons from the north. It could not be substantiated so I thought to head there and see for myself once the snows melted and the roads cleared. Besides, there was no way to enter Ulatha while Kesh occupied the entire countryside.”

  Damien narrowed his eyelids, “After what we went through in the north I would think seeing another dragon would be the last thing on your mind.”

  The pair of men had left their conversation unfinished and Damien took some time to prepare a hot bowl of soup and check on Diamedes’ bandages. The building had no intact windows and the cool spring air chilled them and reminded them that winter had not ended long ago.

  After the sun went down and Damien explained that there could be no fire and no light from torch or lantern, the men waited patiently for their companions to return. They didn’t have long to wait.