The Dragon War

by Salvador Mercer

  Diamedes asked, “Wasn’t there a time issue last year when you brought Alexi and Damien back from death?”

  “Aye,” Dour said. “There still is, though it is longer now. How long has he been dead?”

  Diamedes walked back over the cleric followed by his companions, one on either side flanking him. “Not long. I thought you would have known that by the condition of his nemesis and the… hmm…”

  “What?” The other three men asked in unison.

  “Odd, but have you noticed there is no… how do I put this delicately… smell coming from our former colleague?” Diamedes said.

  The fact hit the men like a ton of bricks, all except Dour. “Of course he doesn’t stink.”

  “He was charred to a crisp,” Zokar said, his eyebrows narrowing in suspicion.

  “That’s because he really ain’t dead,” Dour explained.

  Azor interjected with his accented voice, “Dead or not, his flesh should smell as any meat over a fire.”

  “Aye, if he were like any man,” Dour said.

  There was a pause before Diamedes asked, “Isn’t he a man? A Kesh man?”

  “Half of him,” Dour explained. “It would be best if he explained to you. It’s not my place to share his story.”

  “Fine,” Diamedes said, eager to question his former protector. “Hurry and bring him back then.”

  “That’s the pickle of it, you see,” Dour started. “I can bring him back, but I don’t know if he’ll be in pain or if he’ll heal properly. That was dragon fire after all.”

  “Do you have a choice?” Diamedes asked.

  “I can let him finally rest,” Dour said.

  “Why would you do that?” Azor asked.

  Dour sighed, letting out a long breath of air and releasing whatever tension had built up in him. “He’s been through a lot the last two-hundred years and with what’s about to happen, perhaps he’s better off dead.”

  “Wait, what did you say?” Diamedes asked. “Two hundred what?”

  Dour waved him off, “None of your business. Forget what I said.”

  “You were upset not more than ten minutes ago that we were going to bury him and now you’re telling us that he’s to have a funeral?” Zokar asked, a hint of confusion and anger in his voice.

  Dour stood for a moment then glared at Zokar. “Fine, I’ll do the deed and bring him back, but it’s on you three if he’s in pain and suffers. You should have protected him better from that there dragon.”

  While the trio looked at the dead dragon, Dour walked around to stand at the side of his friend and then with a deep sigh, he knelt and pulled back the dirty, soot covered bedroll. The sight of Damien was horrific. The man had his flesh melted and charred black all over his body. His face was contorted in agony and his jaw was tight, both sets of teeth were gritted tightly together as the only thing on the man that remained white or any other color other than black.

  There was no blood, it had boiled away in the inferno of the dragon’s breath. The limbs were frozen in position with the metallic staff seemingly undamaged and still tightly gripped by the dead man’s hands. The eyelids had been fused shut, gratefully keeping any gore from sight of what was once a human being’s eye sockets. The robe and cap were fused with skin and bone and it was difficult to tell clothing from flesh.

  Dour said only a few words, pulling a small, rod with one hand and pointing it at the planet behind him without looking and he placed his free hand on Damien’s forehead. “By the power of the nine and the will of the Father…”

  The cleric proceeded to mumble and kept talking as if reciting a chant. His brow creased and all the while it appeared as if nothing happened. Diamedes looked at his companions but didn’t convey to them his worry. The last time this had occurred it seemed to have happened much more quickly than now.

  “Wake up damn you.” Dour yelled suddenly, startling the trio.

  Damien seemed to have heard him, suddenly sitting upright and opening his mouth with a jaw that struggled to comply as a blood curdling scream issued from the man.

  Azor made the sound of warding and Zokar spoke for the trio, “I’ll be damned.”

  Dour stood and looked at them. “We all will to the nine hells and this man will lead us.”

  Damien stood and screamed again.

  Chapter 5

  Revelations

  The four men sat around a camp fire where a large duck, that Azor had hunted, roasted on a spit and they tried to eat the best they could despite the intermittent screams from their companion. Damien had started to heal, that much was easily discernable. The mere fact that his eyeballs had regenerated, and he no longer needed someone to help him walk was proof enough.

  The rest of his poor body would take longer. Dour had spent a considerable amount of time peeling away layers of charred cloth, sometimes mistaking flesh in the process, and this error elicited a scream of pain and agony from the Kesh wizard. After some time, Damien had grunted enough that Dour understood he had to wait to finish the job. In the meantime, Damien passed in and out of consciousness and Dour tried to eat something to provide himself with sustenance for the task at hand.

  “That’s not right,” Azor said, looking across the fire at Damien where he slept fitfully on a small bedroll that was too short for his frame. “Can’t you do something for him?”

  Dour didn’t take offense, instead he looked over his shoulder at his sleeping friend and nodded, finishing a bite of his well roasted duck leg and wiping his sweaty brow with an old handkerchief. “I’m doing all I can. Had the Father not been as close as he is now, there would be no returning for him.”

  “Don’t take it personally,” Zokar said, having finished eating not long before. “It’s a miracle if you ask me that he’s even alive after being burned by one of those beasts.”

  It was obvious that the Balarian was referring to the red dragon whose dead body lay not far away, less than a stone’s throw to be precise. Diamedes fished out his last pickle from the broken jar. Azor had tracked the pony down and brought it back but not without some lost provisions and damage to their supplies. The pickle jar was one of them. “I would have a hard time believing it too had I not seen this before,” Diamedes began. “It’s obvious that there is much more to Agon and Akun than we know or even what we think we know. I can only hope that Damien heals well enough to live a life without pain, but this time, I am losing hope.”

  Zokar spoke quickly, “I’m sad to hear this. My chief has tasked me with helping you to complete your mission. You sound as if you’re defeated already.”

  “I have already failed,” Diamedes said, not looking at his companions and ignoring the murmur of protest. “My primary objective was to alert the civiliz— ah, perhaps better to say all the realms of this danger to us as a species.”

  Azor pulled a chunk of meat from the roasting duck over the fire and set it down on a flattened rock near the pit to allow it to cool a bit before eating. Wiping his hands clean he responded, “We understand that you southerners don’t think of us as civilized.” The accent on the last word was meant to be obvious.

  “I should choose my words more carefully,” Diamedes said.

  “Speak freely,” Azor commanded.

  “Alright then,” Diamedes said, taking courage from the Northman’s words. “Are you all certain it’s a good idea to light this fire so close to the dead dragon?”

  “It’s a very bad idea,” Azor said.

  “It’s worse stumbling around in the dark with a wild, pain-crazed, Kesh wizard screaming at the top of his burnt lungs.” Zokar added.

  Dour grunted then said, “I need light to heal Damien. His screaming will stop… eventually.”

  “Will the body bring more of the red demons?” Azor asked, gingerly picking up the piece of meat and taking a large bite.

  “Are you afraid?” Dour asked, looking up with one eyebrow raised.

  “Not in the least,” Azor said. “I come from a long line of idiots and lead th
e strongest idiot clan of the north.”

  The awkward silence only lasted for a moment before Diamedes spoke, “You really haven’t learned our language completely. Let’s just say that it’s better not to use that word as it implies a very poor warrior.”

  “Really?” Azor said.

  Zokar pointed at the Northman and asked, “How can you speak our tongue so well and not know what the word idiot means?”

  Azor finished chewing before responding, “The noble I learned from was… what is the word you use? Cultured?”

  “I think I understand now,” Diamedes said, still wanting to avoid a fracas between the cleric and the Northman. “Do you know what the word imbecile means?”

  “Of course I do,” Azor said. “It’s the heartline between mother and newborn child.”

  “No that’s an umbilical,” Dour said.

  “Umbilical cord,” Zokar added.

  “Same thing,” Azor said, brushing their corrections away as easily as one would swat a fly.

  “No, not the same thing,” Dour said.

  “Let me, please,” Diamedes said to the cleric.

  “Suit yourself,” Dour said.

  Diamedes cleared his throat, “Idiot means stupid.”

  Azor stopped chewing and frowned understanding the meaning, he turned his gaze to Dour and scowled. “You impugn my honor?”

  Diamedes waved his hands in front of him, “Not now and not with Master Damien in this condition. I needed to correct you before you went too far with this misunderstanding and at a much later date you and Dour can rectify this misunderstanding.”

  Zokar took his cue from the historian and chimed in, “We do need our Kesh wizard friend if we are to continue with this mad plan of trying to obtain an audience with the High Mage.”

  That seemed to bring both men, who had locked themselves into a staring match, back to reality. Dour broke the silence first, “Damien needs me… now. We can deal with this later.”

  “Agreed,” was all that Azor said, not taking his gaze from the cleric.

  “Good,” Diamedes said.

  Zokar spoke again now that the tension had been diffused, “You still want to proceed with this plan of yours?”

  “I do,” Diamedes said. “I failed my first task. I don’t want to fail in my only remaining one.”

  “Which is?” Dour asked.

  “To prevent the war between the realms and to unite us against the dragons.” Diamedes said.

  “You think you can do this?” Azor asked, the disbelief in his voice evident.

  “No, I can’t,” Diamedes explained. “That is why I must discuss this with the few people in all of Agon who can.”

  “The High Mage for one,” Zokar said. “Who else?”

  Diamedes sighed. “The Arnen and the nobles must agree to make peace with Kesh. It is the only way.”

  “Better to flap your arms and fly away then get them all to agree on anything, much less peace.” Dour spoke harshly.

  “True,” Diamedes said, “But I must try.”

  “What makes you think this magic using Kesh will let you talk, much less live?” Azor asked between mouthfuls, his gaze finally having left the cleric softening somewhat.

  “I don’t,” Diamedes explained. “To be honest I was hoping he’d listen to a fellow wizard.”

  Dour almost spat in his haste to speak, “Have you gone daft? I told ya before, Damien has been expelled from their order. He has no standing with those mages, much less the high one at that.”

  “I think he’d understand enough to try…” Diamedes said, his voice lowering as he let the sentence die on his lips.

  “Aye,” Dour said, “He’s died more than once helping others. This time won’t be any different.”

  Zokar tried to change the subject slightly, “How are you feeling?”

  Diamedes saw the Balarian looking intently at him and then he allowed his own gaze to fixate on the Kesh wizard. Seeing the man in this condition the historian grunted speaking softly, “I won’t complain further about any pain of mine after seeing what he’s been through.”

  The others followed Diamedes’ gaze to Damien who lay silently after more than one bout of pain that knocked him unconscious despite what Dour could do for the man. Zokar nodded saying, “Hopefully, you’ll both heal quickly. Time is short.”

  Just then, Damien screamed and sat upright. His yell pierced the inky night and startled everyone except Azor who continued to eat. “You alright?” Zokar asked.

  “Of course he ain’t alright. Anyone could see that.” Dour responded for his friend while standing and walking a few steps to where Damien was sitting on his bedroll. They had laid it out for him a short distance from the fire since the man was obviously averse to any flame at this point, even when it wasn’t burning him, the mere sight of the flames seemed to affect him negatively.

  Damien spoke for the first time since dying. “I will live.”

  “We can see that,” Zokar stated the obvious.

  “It hurts.” Damien said.

  “How can you speak?” Azor questioned this act by the Kesh wizard.

  Dour answered for his friend, “If he can scream, he can speak. His vocal cords have healed.”

  “Good point,” Azor said, finishing finally and throwing a bone behind him over his left shoulder.

  Damien turned, pivoting on his backside to face the fire and the other men. Looking directly at Diamedes he spoke, his voice slightly raspy, “I will help you.”

  “You will?” the historian asked.

  “I will and if the High Mage kills me for it, I insist on remaining dead, do you hear me Dour?” the Kesh wizard looked directly at his old friend.

  “Nonsense,” Dour said, brushing the ash and loose burnt skin from the man’s head and shoulders. There was no hair remaining, just a bald, black head with white peering from the man’s eye sockets and teeth where they were visible through his grimace.

  “Speaking of which,” Azor said, wiping his hands clean with a rag. “I understood your friend here said something of your age being very old.”

  “Two centuries to be exact,” Zokar added.

  Diamedes waved his hands in an effort to interject, “Perhaps now is not the time or place to question Damien on this matter. Let him heal.”

  “Yeah,” Dour agreed, eyeing both larger men with a spiteful gaze.

  Damien held his own hands up to quiet the other men, but the effect that his burnt limbs had on them was unexpected. “It is alright, I will answer that question for you.”

  “You don’t have to,” Dour protested, ignoring the looks of disgust on the other men’s faces as small pieces of charred skin fell from the Kesh man’s arms.

  “Better now than never,” Damien said. “Seeing the look on Dour’s face he explained, “I am serious about not wanting to live any longer if I die again. I can not take this much longer, and I will not be able to explain to anyone if I am dead for good.”

  “I’d bring you back anyway,” Dour said, standing up straight from his bent over position and giving the other man some room.

  Damien sighed then said, “You know the rules, Dour. I must be willing to come back and next time I will refuse.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Dour said defensively.

  Damien ignored his friend’s protest. “Where do I begin?” The question was rhetorical. “My father was a Kesh wizard and my mother was a dryad sometimes known by men as a nymph.”

  “Impossible,” Zokar said, shaking his head.

  “What’s a nymph?” Azor asked.

  “A woodland creature that lives in a tree,” Diamedes tried to explain.

  For once, the historian didn’t know more than the story teller. Damien clarified, “The nymphs live in another dimension. The trees are their portals, their doorways to our world.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence when Zokar said, “You sound insane.”

  Damien nodded, expecting as much. “I know, that is why I rarely speak of it.”
/>
  “Speak of what?” Azor asked.

  “Speak of my genealogy,” Damien answered. “My history and lineage were the main factors in the order accepting me as an apprentice.”

  “So what caused you to be expelled?” Azor pressed his questioning further.

  “Boy, you are rich,” Dour said, scowling at the large Northman.

  “It is alright,” Damien said to Dour, gracing him with a look of kindness. “If their lives will depend on me, they have a right to know with whom they are dealing.”

  “It’s your life,” Dour said, resigning himself to his friend’s wishes.

  Damien coughed, spitting up blood into a dirty rag that Dour handed him and then he spoke softer, “An Arch-Mage had ordered my master to do something rather immoral. He refused, and the mage killed him. I witnessed the event and fled for my life to avoid the same fate. The mage pinned the murder on me, the jealous apprentice, and had a bounty put on my head in order to kill me and silence me for good. I tried to hide, but the death worshippers found me.”

  “They killed you?” Azor asked, surprised by the tale.

  Damien looked at Dour who hung his head, looking at the ground. Damien cleared his throat again and continued, “Yes, they did.”

  Azor looked confused, “But you’re alive now.”

  Damien nodded, agreeing with the obvious. “One particular cleric took pity on me and spared my fate by giving my life back to me after the other death worshippers had left fulfilling their deed and collecting their bounty.”

  There was silence around the fire as the men contemplated the wizard’s story. Zokar nodded in understanding and spoke first as all eyes moved from Damien to Dour, “You took pity on him.”

  “Aye,’ Dour admitted the deed.

  “Isn’t that punishable by death?” Azor asked, not sure of all the customs of the southern realms.

  “It is,” Zokar answered for the now silent Kesh pair. “I find it hard to believe that an Akun cleric would take pity on anyone, much less a disgraced Kesh wizard apprentice.”

  Dour looked at Zokar and spoke, “His father had saved my life more than once. I owed it to the man.”