The Dragon War

by Salvador Mercer

  A large, red dragon crested the hillock, landing on its hind legs and allowing its wings to flap and keep its upper torso away from the ground. It would remind any casual observer as if a dog with wings was upright, begging for some table scraps with its front paws.

  “Did not expect that.” Azor pulled his hammer off his belt and took a battle stance.

  “Do you three think you can take on a red dragon, one on three?” Diamedes asked.

  “How many of you attacked the last red dragon?” Zokar asked.

  “Six of us and at least a dozen mercenaries,” Damien answered for him.

  “And that did not go so well for us,” Diamedes concluded.

  “Well, there will be no running from the red beast,” Zokar said stoically.

  Azor loosened up by waving his hammer in front of him in a series of short movements. “I will not run from the red devil.”

  “I do not think the draconus has seen us,” Damien said. “Perhaps Diamedes is correct and we should move south with all due haste.”

  “The trolls will bring the dragon to us,” Zokar said. “Perhaps that was their plan in the first place.”

  “I doubt they had time to formulate a plan,” Diamedes said. “I think instead it was misfortune for us to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “I told you we should have waited for Dour,” Damien complained.

  “No time for that,” Zokar said, reaching back for the reins of Diamedes’ pony and pulling it forward. “We need to reach the trolls before the dragon reaches us. Let’s go.”

  “Have you lost your mind, Balarian?” Damien protested.

  Running full speed at the trolls with Azor following, Zokar called back at Damien, “The dragon has seen us and for whatever reason, some of us stick out like a beacon calling to it in the dark. Our only chance is to reach the trolls before the creature reaches us.”

  Damien took off at a fast pace in an effort to keep up and yelled at the Balarian, “Why do you think it sees us and do you not think it would be better to allow Diamedes to escape?”

  Zokar didn’t’ hesitate in answering, “Because I think it is looking directly at you and from this there can be no escape.”

  “I do not think it is looking at me,” Damien said. “There is no way you can tell for sure from this distance.”

  “I don’t need to,” Zokar said. “I’ve been informed that these creatures see Arcane wielders quite clearly and the fact that it hasn’t attacked the trolls tells me that it’s looking at you.”

  “Us,” Damien tried to correct the man.

  “No, I said you,” Zokar stated emphatically.

  Diamedes winced in pain as the trotting pony jarred his ribs up and down and bounced his injured leg off the pony’s torso. Despite the pain he asked loudly in an effort to be heard over their conversation, “How does fighting the trolls first help us?”

  “It doesn’t,” Zokar said, never slowing down. “I’m making a calculated bet that if the dragon engages us at the same time that we engage the trolls, the trolls will naturally defend themselves from the dragon, the greater threat and not us.”

  “That is ridiculous,” Damien said, exasperated and running out of breath from the near sprint that only increased once the red dragon took flight again into the blue sky heading towards them. The effect was positive, at least from their point of view as that seemed to spur the trolls on to a quicker pace as well. It would be close.

  Diamedes had a different perspective, “It worked once for us, Damien.”

  Even though the small historian was trying to be positive and cheer him up, Damien remembered the end result of their last battle, even when they timed it to meet up with the dragon at the same time that a mercenary, bounty hunter group did as well. “It worked for you,” Damien said. “I died and ask your holy warrior how that turned out for her.”

  Diamedes didn’t mean to speak his next words aloud but they were audible nonetheless, “Bloody hell.”

  Chapter 4

  Dead Again

  The race was on and the two groups had a rate of closure that could rival even a cavalry charge. It didn’t take long before Zokar reduced their speed in an effort to time the clash as close as possible with the arrival of the dragon which was beginning its attack dive from high overhead.

  “I think we ran too fast,” Damien noted, also pulling up to begin a spell and cast the first salvo in the impending battle.

  It appeared that the trolls would arrive before the flying dragon and test Zokar’s theory with relation to who would they attack first. Zokar yelled at Damien, “Use your first spell against the dragon, not the trolls.”

  “That was my plan,” Damien answered, raising his staff and pointing it at the red beast that was quickly growing larger overhead as it dove at their group.

  Diamedes pulled his dagger out from his belt and saw it glowing a bright blue color. The last time it did that, and he used it, it almost killed him.

  “What is that?” Zokar asked, pulling a small hand-bow from behind his back where it had been dangling off his belt.

  Diamedes almost put it away then held it out and said, “Don’t ask, but if I have to use it, run for cover.”

  Azor looked at the small historian saying, “That does not sound good.”

  Damien murmured his last words and a blast of lightening as if from a thunder god shot out from his staff and directly at the dragon as it barreled down from the heavens. “Gotcha!” Damien exclaimed when the bolt struck the beast directly on its snout.

  The trolls had looked up and watched the spectacle as it unfolded. Most were armed with crude wooden clubs and a few cheered when the bolt hit. Several others yelled in their guttural tongue at the humans standing defiantly before them.

  “Look for cover,” Diamedes said, pulling his reins and spurring his pony to the east towards a large collection of rocks and bushes.

  “Too late,” Zokar said, taking aim and letting loose a small, poisoned dart which hit and ricocheted off the dragon’s scaly hide near its ear.

  The trolls would have arrived first, but they slowed their approach when the humans did the same. The sight of the dragon overhead slowed them further and in a twist of fate, they arrived after the dragon, who flapped its wings furiously and landed with a loud thud in between the two groups facing the humans.

  Azor rushed at the dragon and hit its front claw with his hammer smashing scale and bone alike as the blow echoed off the ground with a loud crunching sound. “Die demon,” the Northman yelled.

  Zokar took one more quick shot at its right eye which saved their lives. The red dragon reared back inhaling the air and expelling it in a wide blast in front of them. The dragon instinctively closed its eyelids to protect its vulnerable optic organs and this prevented it from adjusting its aim as the group split up in various directions in an effort to avoid the wall of flame that the beast hurled at them.

  Damien lurched backwards and also towards the east near where Diamedes was struggling to control his pony. Shouting over the noise of combat he asked, “Does this creature not appear smaller to you?”

  With the trolls yelling now, fire flaming and cracking the very ground itself, the pony neighing wildly, and Azor screaming his battle cry, Diamedes did his best to answer. “Compared to the last red dragon we faced, yes, this one seems much smaller. It also appears to have been previously injured.”

  Damien stopped near the pony and turned with his staff pointing at the dragon. The beast finished hurling its fiery breath weapon and lurched backwards into several of the trolls that were either trying to engage it or flee from it. Either way, the effect was the same. Several trolls died instantly while a few more hammered at the dragon’s rear legs and tail with huge wooden clubs, some blows hard enough to dislodge the steel-like scales of the beast. In a twist of lucky fate, the troll’s wolf died as well by the dragon’s claws.

  “That worked better than expected,” Damien noted.

  The dragon stomped with its
left legs, the front one missing Azor who was nimble enough to dodge it, jumping and somersaulting to his feet away from its maw while a troll was not so quick, its life ending in a sickening thud as bone and flesh were liquified.

  “Not so well for the trolls nor the mercenaries if memory serves me well.” Diamedes answered, just barely managing to control the pony.

  Damien nodded and, after glancing at Diamedes and seeing that the man hadn’t succumbed to his injuries or his unruly mount, he looked back at the dragon and prepared to cast another spell. “I hope this one works.”

  “What did you say?” Diamedes asked over the din of combat. It was too late. The wizard was engrossed in his arcane summoning and this drew the attention of the dragon. It started towards them needing only a few strides to close the distance of more than a hundred feet.

  “Run,” Zokar’s voice implored them from the other side of the battleground. Even Azor grunted something and waved with one hand, motioning for them to flee while taking a swing at the dragon’s tail as it sauntered by.

  Diamedes brandished his dagger intending to use it even though the last time it nearly killed him, but again, he was too late. “Wait, Damien, come back.”

  The crazed former wizard’s apprentice ran towards the red beast while incanting the spell and met the dragon precisely when the spell took effect. A forcefield encircled the magic-user protecting it from the kinetic attack of the dragon’s fangs as its jaw closed tightly around the Kesh man. The nearly invisible globe was lifted in the dragon’s maw and if the creature was surprised by the magic, it didn’t appear to show it. Damien yelled in triumph, “It works.”

  After a quick shake of the shimmering globe and man, the dragon reared back and inhaled while Damien stood resolutely pinned within the sharp fangs of the beast. Azor yelled at Zokar, “Shoot now.”

  Diamedes looked further afield to spot the Balarian assassin cocking another bolt and aiming at the dragon’s mouth which suddenly started to glow a bright orange-amber color foreboding an impending doom for anyone caught within its breath.

  “Damn the nine hells—” was all that Damien could scream when the red dragon breathed a ball of fire that entered the force field as if it wasn’t there. The Kesh wizard, once an apprentice, lit up like a bonfire soaked in kerosene. The force field held just a second longer before death overtook the Kesh man.

  That was all the time that Zokar needed and in rapid succession, he loosed two more darts as the last of the fire issued forth from the dragon’s maw. Both darts struck home pumping their poison into the red dragon’s tender, inner-mouth tissue.

  The beast roared, perhaps feeling the burning of the human made venom that started to course through its body, though it definitely felt the hammer blow from Azor who had caught up to it and struck its rear leg this time. The beast bellowed, dropping the burning man from its clutches and fell on its side, crushing the last of the attacking trolls. Its body shook violently for a few seconds more and then it was all over.

  Diamedes had finally been thrown from his pony and the old man could only lay on his side and watch as the man known as Damien burned. The intense sound of battle was now quieted, and the sudden silence felt eerie. Zokar ran to Diamedes while Azor pulled a dirty bed roll from his immense pack and smothered the flames from the Kesh’s body.

  “Are you alright?” Zokar asked, taking a knee while dropping his small weapon and grabbing Diamedes by his shoulders.

  Diamedes nodded, then lied, “I feel fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “None of us should after facing a draconus and loosing a stout companion. Here, give me a hand and help me stand up.”

  Zokar complied and watched as the old historian winced in pain as he stood, one hand and arm wrapped around his torso. “You’ll never heal properly if you’re going to keep bumping those ribs of yours.”

  Diamedes looked over his shoulder east at the rapidly disappearing pony that had met its match in patience against the dragon. “We’ll need to track that lass down, she’s got more than my belongings in her saddle bags.”

  “We’ll get to her later,” Zokar said, inspecting the man by visually looking him up and down.

  Eventually both men faced reality and their gazes were drawn to a smoldering lump under a blanket with a Northman standing respectfully nearby. “I guess we’ll need to conduct a burial first.” Diamedes remarked.

  Zokar said nothing but guided Diamedes by his arm to eventually stand by Azor who was looking past the dead Kesh man and at the large red dragon. Azor spoke first, “What did you do to that demon?”

  “I poisoned it.” Zokar answered.

  “A coward’s weapon,” Azor said, turning his head to look the Balarian in the eye. “Good thing you had it.”

  Zokar grinned then responded, “Against these demons no weapon is a cowardly one.”

  “Agreed,” Azor said. “How is your royal clan keeper?”

  Both Diamedes and Zokar were well versed in the Northman’s lore and culture and so understood the reference to librarian, though no libraries existed in the far north. “I’m doing fine.” Diamedes answered. “I take it the trolls are all dead?”

  Azor nodded, “Those that fought, yes. A couple of them fled back north away from the battlefield.”

  All eyes went to the northern horizon, but no movement or sight of the escaping monsters were seen. Within a minute, all eyes were on their former companion and Diamedes spoke, “That’s twice this Kesh gave his life to save my own.”

  “Not something commonly seen in their culture,” Zokar said.

  “Is it still your culture to carry his body to a holy place?” Azor asked.

  “Not really,” Diamedes explained. “That’s usually reserved for royalty… this man will be entered into the ground. From the Mother he came and to her bosom shall he return.”

  Azor looked as if he was going to contest the historian’s words, but never got the chance. A deep, raspy voice boomed out at them in response, “Not in any of the nine hells are you three going to stick my friend’s body in this here ground.”

  “Dour,” Diamedes said, his voice merrier despite the circumstances and personal pain.

  The small cleric walked silently like a panther approaching them from the west. Azor turned to Diamedes, “You know this man?”

  “Yes,” the historian answered. “This is the Akun cleric we were waiting for.”

  “Aku nihel,” Zokar explained to the Northman in his own tongue.

  “Ah, a death shaman,” Azor nodded, understanding now.

  Dour walked up to the three who had turned to face him and stood with his hands on his hips while giving all three of them a wicked glare. “I see you all managed to get my friend killed… again.”

  Zokar held up a hand, “One moment, cleric…”

  Azor also motioned over his shoulder toward the dead dragon’s body with his hammer, “Are you blind?”

  “Of course I’m not blind, you muscle bound idiot.”

  “What’s an idiot?” Azor asked, his eyes narrowing.

  Diamedes intervened quickly, “It means warrior in the southern realms.”

  “Warrior my—”

  Zokar picked up where Diamedes left off interrupting the Akun cleric before he could complete his sentence. “We intended for you to take the recent battle with the red dragon into consideration before placing blame on us for Master Damien’s death.”

  Dour snorted then walked around them to stand over the head of the smoldering blanket. “You went and did it but good this time, didn’t you?”

  The three men looked at each other before realizing that the cleric was talking to the dead man. “I don’t think he can hear you.” Azor responded too matter-of-factly.

  “Of course he can’t hear me,” Dour glared at the Northman who stood half again as tall as the Akun cleric, though the smaller man was nonetheless stockier and proportionately as muscular as the barbarian.

  “Azor, give him a few moments to
grieve for his friend,” Diamedes said kindly.

  Azor grunted and took a few steps away, giving the pair more room. Zokar and Diamedes did the same ending up again standing as a trio but this time a good five paces away.

  “I heard the story,” Zokar began. “I doubt there’s much he can do with that.”

  Zokar didn’t point, but his eyes moved to the side where the Kesh pair were located relative to their position. Diamedes answered. “No, I suppose there isn’t considering the condition of… well the nature of his injuries and… well, no, not much.”

  There was a long awkward silence when Dour finally spoke. “How you three idiots fail to see that,” the cleric motioned with one hand and finger at the planet Dor Akun low on the horizon without taking his gaze off his dead friend, “is beyond me.”

  Diamedes hurried to speak as the Northman would not think that the word idiot meant warrior when it included the diminutive librarian. “We all see it and have seen it for the last couple of months. What is your objective in pointing it out?”

  Dour took a moment to lower his hand and turn to face the trio, “The powers of Father Death are ten times greater now than last fall and will be a hundred times greater once the Father himself arrives. Great things can be done under his watchful and beneficial gaze.”

  Zokar leaned towards Diamedes and whispered, “He’s referring to the planet as if it was a person.”

  “I’m not deaf, Balarian.” Dour said. “You surprise me death dealer since you of all the realms should know and understand the power of Akun the Father.”

  “I’ve heard the stories,” Zokar said loudly enough for all to hear, dropping any pretense at discretion. “What do you have in mind?”

  Dour rubbed this stubbly chin and hummed to himself for a moment before answering. “Now that’s the tricky part.”

  “How so?” Zokar asked.

  “You know I can bring him back… well, at least the good historian there knows I can do so,” Dour pointed directly at Diamedes with a stubby index finger. “The tricky part is what condition my friend will be when the deed is done.”