The Dragon War

by Salvador Mercer

“I thought you said Damien was two centuries old? How in Agon could you have known his father?” Zokar asked, his Balarian instincts kicking in as the story didn’t match the known facts.

  Diamedes caught on quicker saying, “The father lived for as long, if not longer, correct?”

  Dour nodded, but Damien spoke, “He did and we both are much older than two centuries.”

  “How much older?” Azor almost scoffed.

  “I do not know for sure,” Damien said. “It was several passings of Dor Akun at least, or so my father said.”

  “How can you not know when you were born?” Azor asked.

  “Because where we resided time was measured differently,” Damien answered, returning the intense gaze of the Northman.

  Diamedes said, “So your father also lived and passed time within the domain of the nymphs?”

  “Yes,” Damien said simply.

  “There’s something you’re not telling us,” Zokar added, narrowing his eyes, not in suspicion, but in a more inquisitive nature. Such were the traits of a trained Balarian assassin.

  Dour looked at Damien who ignored him before speaking, “My father is deceased.”

  “We knew that,” Zokar said, his gaze unfaltering.

  “No need to tell them,” Dour said to Damien, urging the man to remain silent.

  “It will be fine,” Damien said to his old friend. Turning his gaze back to the others, the Kesh wizard continued, “My father was my master and trained me in the arcane arts.”

  There should have been no gasps with such a stern and seasoned audience, but a slight intake in air was heard from all of the three men who had never heard this story before. Diamedes spoke as kindly as he could. “The mage killed your father.”

  Damien nodded, “He did.”

  Before anyone else could speak, Dour brought in the wrecking ball with his response, “The Arch-Mage ascended to the next level within the Kesh order and is now known to us all as the High Mage.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Diamedes was taken aback.

  Damien replied after another glance at Dour, “He speaks the truth.” Then, with a turn and intense gaze at the historian, the black and burnt Kesh wizard leaned forward and said, “I am ready to discuss your peace treaty with the High Mage.”

  Diamedes replied, “Hell no. I can’t do that to you.”

  “Not your choice anymore,” Damien said, leaning back and looking at Dour then grimacing in pain for a moment before asking the priest, “Will I heal in time?”

  “You’ll be fit enough, though against the High Mage himself I don’t see any future for any of us, especially not for you.” Dour’s face seemed pain as if sharing the emotion with his friend.

  “This changes everything,” Zokar said.

  Diamedes thought for a second before responding, “Perhaps it is futile, and I have no right to ask this of Master Damien, but we must do something before the entire world is plunged into death and destruction.”

  “Could someone else not approach the High Mage?” Zokar asked.

  “Who?” Diamedes said.

  “My leader for one,” Zokar said. “Master Seth would have the leverage enough to force the High Mage to at least consider a truce.”

  “He would, but he’s not here,” Diamedes said.

  “We can go to Balaria and beseech him,” Zokar said, looking back and forth between Damien and Diamedes.

  There was a pause as everyone contemplated this request which sounded a lot more logical after the stunning revelation from the outcast, Kesh wizard. Damien himself broke the silence by speaking first, “We do not have enough time.”

  “Aye,” Dour added, looking at the horizon where Father Death would appear first followed by the Dragon’s Fire. “The Father will soon be upon us. I fear it is too late for everyone.”

  “Then we must move with all haste and seek an audience with the High Mage no matter the risk to any of us.” Diamedes said.

  Another long pause before Dour nodded and spoke as the fire light danced across his face while his eyes twinkled a flaming orange, “The time for death has come. Prepare to meet the Father.”

  Chapter 6

  Keshtor

  The next few days had passed fitfully if not quickly. The rough terrain that they had to cover slowed their progress and without Damien’s assistance, they had to rely on Dour who had made this trek more than once, but long ago. They had to fight draws and gulley’s, spurs and ridges, as well as hills and small ravines that teased them mercilessly. They were too close to the northern flank of the Felsic Mountains and found themselves travelling up and down almost as much as they were making progress eastwards.

  In addition to the ever fearful anticipation of another dragon attack, the companions had to worry about trolls and other creatures that lived in or near the mountain range. They would not have much of a chance to avoid either had they encountered anything. Fate, however, was more than fickle and in time the land seemed to die as even the wildlife around them faltered and it was rare to hear even the tweeting of a single bird.

  “Have I gone deaf or has the Mother taken all her children home with her?” Azor asked apprehensively as the travelers walked as quietly as they could.

  “Your hearing serves your well,” Zokar said, looking at the next ridge line and anticipating an attack. “What evil has befallen this land I cannot say.”

  “This is no evil,” Dour said, never looking back from his lead position at the head of their column. “This is the work of the dragons. All creatures great and small have fled from their wrath. The real question now is what remains?”

  “What did you say?” Damien asked from atop the pony.

  Diamedes, now on foot and feeling better after Dour had tended to him replied, “Your friend is contemplating the fate of your capital, Keshtor.”

  “Are we far?” Azor asked, being the only one not to have visited the Kesh capital in his lifetime.

  “No, another few hours and we should reach the northern gates,” Dour answered.

  “Shouldn’t we be seeing settlements then this close to your main city?” Azor asked, confused by the wild lands and not homesteads or farms to speak of.

  “I told ya, we are coming at the city from the north now along a set of ridges that extend far south into our cultivated lands,” Dour said, again speaking to the tall Northman as if he were a large child.

  “The Twin Staves,” Zokar said, referencing the formation of rocks that jutted deep into Kesh.

  “I can see the path of the fire overhead,” Azor said, referring to the sun that now crossed their path and was moving towards the horizon to their right which was now west for them. “We angled south yesterday morning.”

  “Very observant of ya,” Dour said and the cleric’s intent, facetious or factual was not discernable to the companions.

  “So what’s the plan?” Azor asked, ignoring any slight and getting to the point. “Do you plan on knocking on the High Mage’s door?”

  “No,” Dour responded, raising his voice so that he could be heard clearly by all including Zokar who brought up the rear. “He’s going to knock.”

  The motion with a single finger on Dour’s hand pointing back to his left at the pony with Damien on it was clear to everyone. “What am I going to do?” Damien asked.

  “I think you gave him too much wine,” Zokar said.

  “I didn’t think he gave him enough,” Diamedes said, allowing a faint smile to cross his lips.

  The journey became much more tolerable with the Kesh wizard somewhat sedated from a store of wine that Dour had with him. The cleric was willing to abstain in order to allow his friend some comfort from the drink. Each day involved healing with rest at night and Damien was recovering rapidly. Rosy pink skin peaked out from charred flesh as his skin regenerated. A small amount of hair, stubble really, started to grow on top of his head.

  “Well he can’t go knocking like that,” Azor said. “He’s barely staying atop his mount.”

 
; “That’s why we tied him in,” Dour said, referring to the rope they used to secure the man to the small saddle.

  “You think this is funny?” Azor’s tone took a turn for the worst.

  Now it was the cleric’s turn to ignore a perceived slight, “No, we’ll have our good friend sober and alert by the time he marches up to the Onyx Tower.”

  The five men continued walking in silence for several minutes before Zokar, who closed the gap a bit to catch up to Diamedes, asked, “Perhaps there is another way to approach the High Mage?”

  Dour stopped and waited for everyone else to do the same. “Are ya asking a question or do ya have something in mind?”

  Zokar allowed a grin to cross his face, “We can sneak into the inner garrison.”

  “You can get us that close?” Diamedes asked, his eyes widening a bit.

  “I can,” Zokar replied.

  “What’s so special about this inner. . . what did you call it?” Azor struggled with the right words.

  “Garrison,” Zokar said.

  “Isn’t that where they keep their guards?” Azor asked.

  “It is,” Zokar answered.

  Azor tilted his head slightly then asked, “Why on Agon would we want to march into their guardhouse?”

  Zokar continued smiling, “Because there won’t be any guards there when we do.”

  “How do ya intend to do that?” Dour asked nonsensically.

  “With a distraction,” Zokar said. The dubious looks on everyone’s faces were enough to force a further clarification from the assassin, “Look, it won’t be dangerous, just something enough to draw out their soldiers and empty the garrison.”

  “You gonna cry wolf?” Dour asked.

  “No, dragon,” Zokar replied.

  Dour snorted, “Oh, I’m sure they’re going to come running at the first utterance of that word. . .”

  “Not without something visual,” Zokar explained. “Damien appears to have mastered the arcane art well enough to be pretty good with his fireworks.”

  Dour frowned. “After what he’s been though you want him to summon fire?”

  “There are other weapons that the dragons employ,” Zokar pressed further.

  Diamedes didn’t want to chime in, but Zokar looked at him when he said his last statement and naturally both Dour and Azor allowed their gazes to move to the royal historian. Damien remained unmoving on the pony. “Well, I do think Master Zokar is correct. The wizards of Kesh should know the other breath weapons that the draconus species uses.”

  “But will the guards know them?” Dour remained skeptical.

  “The wizards will for sure,” Zokar said sounding confident.

  “I thought you wanted Damien to speak with the High Mage, you know, wizard to wizard.” Dour adjusted his stance and put both his hands on his hips as he was oft to do when preparing to argue with someone.

  “The High Mage will simply kill him, isn’t that what you said?” Zokar asked the cleric.

  “Aye, he’ll do that and more. Have you ever heard what the High Mage does to those he kills?” When there was no response, Dour continued, “He disintegrates them into nothing more than a pile of ash with that staff of his. No disrespect to the dragon species, but there’d be no coming back for Damien after that.”

  Azor, who had remained silent until now, chimed in, “Then who will confront the Wizard Chief?”

  “I will,” Diamedes said.

  “Well, nice knowin ya,” Dour said, sarcasm evident in his tone.

  Azor wasn’t done with his questions however, “The guards will see a man hurling fire. How will you make this appear to be a dragon?”

  “We attack at night,” Zokar began but was interrupted before he could finish.

  “Attack?” Diamedes and Dour said in unison.

  “Alright, we distract after dark,” Zokar corrected himself. “The dragons are hard to see in the darkness and, if we use those taller buildings in the merchant’s quarter of the city, it could appear to be a dragon in the street behind a few structures that will assist our ruse from the garrison’s perspective.”

  “I don’t know. . .” Dour said, moving one hand from his hip to his chin.

  “It could work,” Diamedes said. “Even if it didn’t appear too much to come from a dragon, any sort of pyrotechnic display that a Kesh wizard is capable of would certainly draw some sort of response from the local militia.”

  “Even so,” Dour began, rubbing his chin now, “There is no gettin in the Onyx Tower. Your mission will fail before it begins.”

  “We don’t have to get in,” Zokar explained. “We only need to reach the main entrance and summon the High Mage’s major-domo. He’s forced to announce any that reach the door of the tower.”

  “Don’t mean the big one will take an audience with you,” Dour said.

  “Major Dumbo?” Azor asked.

  “A steward,” Zokar clarified.

  Diamedes waved a hand to get his companion’s attention. “It’s the best we can do on short notice. I’ll not waste another day if we don’t have to.”

  There was a pause as the men contemplated the newly mandated deadline from the diminutive historian. Dour was the first to speak. “Not that I ain’t fond of ya, but if it will spare the life of my friend then I’m all for it.”

  “Death comes to us all,” Azor said.

  “Well that’s comforting,” Dour mumbled.

  “It’s settled then.” Zokar said. “Azor, Dour, and Damien will distract the garrison, Diamedes and I will approach the Onyx Tower.”

  “I trust you have a discreet path for us?” Diamedes asked.

  “There are only three people in all of Agon who know not only the path we will take, but the pass phrase that will ensure the major-domo delivers our request to the High Mage for an audience.”

  “Since I’m sure you won’t make it four people or seven, then I’ll trust to your ways.” Diamedes turned and ended the conversation by walking towards the Kesh capital. The others followed.

  It became dark well before they reached the city even though they took no breaks during their forced march and ate and drank on the move. They withheld any form of comfort from the Kesh wizard and after several hours he was both in pain and acutely aware of what was expected from him.

  The initial sight of the city took their breaths away. It appeared as if half of it was flattened by some gigantic child who stomped willy-nilly around the buildings. Some were completely torn down, others burnt down, and still others remained standing, some even with no apparent damage, though those were rare. It was obvious that the dragons of Agon had paid a visit to Keshtor.

  It was impossible to tell how the inner city faired. The high castle walls of the Kesh fortress prevented them from seeing past it and only the flickering of what appeared to be several large bonfires indicated that life still existed within the most heavily fortified structure in all of Agon. The unmistakable black spire of the Onyx Tower thrust high into the inky, black night and was only faintly illuminated by the twin sisters which had crossed the night sky and were now high overhead.

  Diamedes would not wait until they had set explaining that the hour would be late and, despite the assurances of the Balarian assassin, there was a more likely chance that the High Mage would refuse their request for an audience at such an hour. Dour had only snorted and mumbled something about the top Kesh ruler seeing them if only to blast them to smithereens, as the old cleric put it. Azor required a detailed explanation of what the word meant and so the group split in two with a farewell and an agreement on the timing of the distraction as well as when and where they would meet in the unlikely chance that any of them survived.

  “Is that your idea of a secret entrance?” Diamedes asked.

  Zokar nodded, “It looks exposed from here, but behind that wall is a grate that leads to the storm drain from the castle itself.”

  “It’s locked I suppose?”

  “Of course,” Zokar began. “I have a master key tha
t works on a variety of locks, including this one. It’s part of our job.”

  “I don’t want to know,” Diamedes said, looking skeptical.

  Zokar stifled a chuckle then spoke in an even lower whisper than he was to begin with, “You don’t think the wizards of Kesh would fail to have an arrangement with the Grand Master of Assassins in order to take care of their rivals, do you?”

  Diamedes nodded in understanding, “Makes life a bit simpler for when one of them wants to knock the other off. However, during open warfare, I’d suspect they would have these locks changed.”

  “Not if the Kesh still consider Balaria to be an ally.”

  “Which it is,” Diamedes finished for Zokar.

  “It would also help if their fortress was under siege for getting small supplies, people, or weapons in or out of their citadel.”

  “So this is only the first step in reaching the Onyx Tower?”

  “Yes,” Zokar looked at the high, outer castle walls where guards were seen pacing on top of the parapet occasionally looking down at the outer, ring road and any potential intruders. Most of the time they spent looking unnaturally overhead, a sure sign that they had seen dragons more than once recently. “From there we’ll move to a shed that has a hidden door into the garrison and then through that to the inner court yard of the Black Tower.”

  Diamedes understood the occasional reference of the High Mage’s tower as Black and not Onyx and let it go. “Tira is close to the horizon. Damien should start his distraction soon.”

  “I think we still have the better part of a half hour before he starts his fireworks and then—”

  Zokar never finished his sentence as a ball of fire erupted from high overhead behind them to their west, not the north where they expected Damien to be. Diamedes looked over his shoulder saying, “That’s not what we planned.”

  “Fate either favors us or teases us before death,” Zokar said. “Let’s go . . . now.”

  The pair tore off at a quick pace crossing a smaller street that ran parallel to the two main ring roads of the city outside the main castle of the Kesh wizards. Reaching a wall that separated a building from a trash area, Zokar pulled Diamedes with him to a small entrance that had been cut into it to allow access to the walled area where trash was stored. Sure enough, there was a small grate in the center of the depression that acted as a drain for rain water so that the walled area would not flood.