Dragon Lord: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Origins Book 2)

by James Eggebeen

When the dwarves once again returned to the surface, everything had changed. Magic was found in only a few men, and those few hoarded it jealously. The great city of Amedon had risen and those with the power congregated there.

  When the dwarves confronted the wizards, they were told to return to the depths and stay out of the affairs of men.

  Saddened by what they had done, they sought the greatest stone they had ever found. They gifted this stone to a wizard who promised to banish the dragons and destroy the city of Amedon. They had hoped to reverse what they had done, but when they returned to the tunnels to remove the crystals, they found great spells barring their way. The dragons had sealed the tunnels with spells of great power that drew their magic from the very crystals the dwarves had placed there.

  In time, the wizard was able to banish the dragons, but by then, the damage was already done.

  Ignal heaved a sigh as she ended her tale. It was clear that she took personal responsibility for something that had happened generations before she was even born.

  “It is not your fault,” Sulrad told her.

  “I hear your words,” she said.

  “But you do not believe them.”

  “It’s hard to accept. We were taught from a young age that the dwarves carry a burden of shame that can never be washed away.”

  “Ran can forgive anything,” Sulrad reminded her.

  “Even this?”

  “And so much more. If we are successful, the stain will be removed from your folk. We will defeat the wizards of Amedon and destroy the dragons once and for all, then we can see about restoring the magic to the lands. I have a feeling that the magic the dragons used to prevent interference from the dwarves has faded over the summers since it was cast. No spell lasts forever.”

  39

  Sulrad paced his study, the anger welling up in him as he pondered what he had learned. Three days had passed since Ignal revealed how the dwarves had helped the dragons construct a lattice of crystals that diverted the natural magic. The pattern they created concentrated magic at key points, like Amedon and others, while diverting it from almost everywhere else.

  He glanced at the map he had drawn, hoping to find those places where the magic was accessible. No spell was perfect. There must be at least one place where the wild magic still ran free. If he could find it, he could recharge the Charm of the Joiner and then he would have his revenge on the dragons and the wizards who had aided them.

  A knock sounded on his door. It was early. The sun had yet to appear on the horizon. Few in the temple rose before full dawn, preferring the evenings rather than morning. Sulrad preferred it that way. He had always been an early riser and enjoyed the quiet and calm of the pre-dawn twilight. It gave him time to think and meditate.

  “Yes?” Sulrad glanced up to see Kelnor standing in the doorway, a large rolled parchment beneath one arm.

  “I think I found one.” Kelnor unrolled the parchment on the table and jabbed a finger at a location on the map. “Here. Rohir.”

  “I’ve never heard of the place.”

  “Not many have. They are secretive and unwelcoming to travelers. But just before I left Amedon, there was a stir about Rohir. Seems that the place has great stores of magic and someone took liberties with that magic. It was all everyone talked about.”

  “Have you been there?” If Kelnor had visited the place, they could travel through the void and learn what they could.

  “Sadly, no. I have not been to Rohir. I’ve seen many texts that speak of it. I once saw it in the void. At least, I believe I have from the descriptions I have read. I would not risk traveling through the void to a place I believe was Rohir but might not be.” Kelnor paused as if in thought. “I was once in Rukel. It’s only a day’s journey from Rohir.”

  Sulrad studied the map. If what Kelnor said was true, they could be in Rohir by evening. They could make their way to Rukel through the void, then travel over land to Rohir, making it there by nightfall. If they left immediately. There was no reason to wait. If Kelnor went alone, he would consume most of his magical reserves traveling to Rukel, and unless Rohir truly had magic in abundance, he would be stranded there for days. It could be half a moon before Sulrad heard back. Better to go along.

  “I’m coming with you.” Sulrad rolled the map and snatched up a piece of parchment. He quickly penned a note to Ignal to inform her that he would be away for an unspecified amount of time. He dispatched it with a messenger and instructions not to deliver it until she rose.

  “Let’s go.” Sulrad said.

  “But I haven’t broken my fast yet.”

  “I’ll buy your morning meal in Rukel. Best we begin.” Sulrad grabbed a handful of silvers and a few golds and pocketed them. They might need provisions for the trek, even if it were for only a day.

  “Rukel is a lonely place in the middle of the deadlands,” Kelnor complained. “They don’t have much in the way of inns.”

  “I’m certain we can make do.” Sulrad stretched out a hand. “No time like the present.”

  Kelnor gave him a look that Sulrad had seen often enough when they were students together. The wizard would do as asked, but he wasn’t doing it gladly. Sulrad cared little if he was happy. He only cared about finding out if Rohir indeed had magic.

  “Show me Rukel,” Sulrad said.

  Kelnor took his hands. “Let me know when you see the image.”

  Magic trickled into Sulrad. It was strange to feel someone else’s magic in such a manner. He resisted, almost without thinking, then forced himself to relax. As the magic infused him, Sulrad saw an image. Vague at first, but growing more and more defined as the magic spread throughout him and focused his attention.

  On the dry sand, someone had constructed a large roundhouse. Stones piled atop one another formed a wall as tall as Sulrad. Each stone was unique, yet they fit together tightly. Each stone had been trimmed just enough to fit it into the wall without leaving a gap. Ranging in color from light brown to dark black, the stones formed a ring that must have been two dozen spans across. Topping the stone wall was an almost flat roof supported in the center by a single pole. Radiating from the central pole, fired clay tiles had been lain in orderly circles that floored the entire structure.

  Facing Sulrad, the door stood open. Thick beams of hardwood had been fastened together with beaten iron and painted a deep red. The sign above the door carried the image of a horse, but not just any horse. The artist had managed to portray a regal animal that was too proud to take a rider.

  The sign swung lightly. The warm breeze carried with it the unmistakable odor of dried horse dung. Sulrad winced. How vivid did his image need to be in order to permit him to travel? Was it really necessary to experience the foul odor, or endure the piercing call of a carrion bird circling overhead?

  Before he could think to complain, the world fell away. Sulrad’s guts twisted and time stretched out. Everyone experienced the void in their own manner. Most claimed it was a severe discomfort that lasted only a few heartbeats and then was gone. For Sulrad, it was so much more. His sense of time stretched, making the almost instantaneous transit feel like days, if not more. While inside the void, Sulrad saw the possible futures and alternative pasts that he might have lived through. Each possible future was a scene through a smoky window that provided enticing glimpses into his future, yet provided no insight into how he might bring one future about over another. The past. Well, that was better left in the past. All too often, Sulrad caught a glimpse of a past he had not lived through that made his own suffering feel like privilege.

  The ground beneath his feet returned and Sulrad wobbled, stretching out a hand to rest against the stone wall he had envisioned. The sun was just poking over the horizon, but threat of heat was already making itself known.

  “Steady,” Kelnor said.

  The rotund wizard himself was grasping at one of the stones that formed the wall. He was doubled over panting as if from extreme exertion. “Welcome to Rukel,” he said.

&
nbsp; Sulrad pushed open the door and entered the gloomy interior of the structure. He had imagined it being one expanse of open space possibly sheltering horses, but what he found was quite the opposite. The huge interior of the structure was partitioned with paths leading between walls that would have been at home on any street. Along the righthand side of the main corridor was a small cafe bearing a sign showing a steaming mug of tea and a rasher of bacon. No doubt this would be one of the places Kelnor would visit first.

  Let him eat. Sulrad was barely hungry and eager to get started on their journey. Initially, he had imagined the two of them walking while catching up and discussing their plans, but the lay of the land suggested that would be not only foolish but dangerous. No walking through the hot sands for them. They needed transportation.

  It only took a moment to locate the livery within the narrow corridors. The livery, unlike those that Sulrad was familiar with, had no animals, just a collection of tack and an array of travel goods. A brief negotiation secured a pair of horses, a two-day supply of food, and water. Sulrad was given a hastily drawn sketch of where the animals were stabled and a bill of lading stating that he was hiring the animals for three days. He had paid extra for a guide who would not only show them the way to Rohir, but return with the animals so that Sulrad would not need to purchase them outright. He made arrangements with the guide to load the provisions and meet him in a glass and a half.

  Proud of himself for the bargain he had struck, Sulrad returned to the cafe to find Kelnor halfway through his ample morning meal. A plate of hotcakes was partially devoured as were sausages and bacon. A pot of strong black tea rested in the center of the table. Across from Kelnor was a plate and utensils.

  Sulrad took the open seat just as the server returned with a platter of pastries and fruit. Was there no end to what the wizard would consume given free rein?

  “For you.” Kelnor jutted his chin at the pastries and fruit. “I know you don’t care for meat, but I miss it. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Why would I mind?” Sulrad asked. “My faith suits me. I never asked you to adopt it.”

  “I know. That’s one of your best traits. You don’t concern yourself with the sins of others.”

  “You don’t need me to point it out to you,” Sulrad said. “You know how I feel.”

  He sampled the pastries. They were exotic but tasty. The bread had a coarser grain than he was accustomed to and it was sweeter than he expected. Whatever they had used to make the frosting, it wasn’t molasses. Honey, perhaps? He sampled the tea, letting the flavor spill over his tongue. It too was strange, but not overly so. All in all, the meal was pleasant. One thing Sulrad admired about Kelnor was his ability to sense when Sulrad was engrossed in thought. Most folk couldn’t stand silence and attempted to fill it whenever it occurred, but not Kelnor. He would, no doubt, eat in silence until Sulrad chose to speak.

  “I hired a guide and animals,” Sulrad explained. “They will be ready just about the time we finish here.”

  “I’m nearly ready.” Kelnor shoved the last of the sausage into his mouth and pushed away the plate. “I didn’t really need all of this. It’s just that the temple food is a bit light for my taste. Is that part of the religion, or can your adherents eat meat?”

  “You thinking of becoming an acolyte?”

  “Not if I have to give up meat, but I’m considering it. I’m still not sure if Ran is real, but there is no doubt that what you’re building is noble. You heal the sick regardless of their ability to pay. You teach the young folk how to read and how to think for themselves. That’s more than they ever imagined doing in Amedon. Those wizards wait until your magic comes awake in you, then send you off on a long and dangerous trip. Did you know that less than half the wizards they set on those journeys arrive in Amedon safely?”

  “What happens to them?” Sulrad had himself been sent on such a journey. Unfortunately, he had run afoul of brigands almost immediately and he had been fetched to Amedon because he had used his magic to deal with them. He shuddered to think what would have happened had he not had enough control of his magic to defend himself. Was that what happened to the others?

  “No one says, but one can surmise.”

  “What dangers did you face on your journey?” Sulrad asked.

  “None, really. I wasn’t that far from Amedon. When they told me how they planned for me to reach them, I realized they were sending me the long way around. I decided a more direct path was appropriate. They were shocked to see me there less than a moon after sending me on my way. It was only then I started to realize that everything was not as they portrayed it. The journey to Amedon is more about testing young wizards against the world than gathering them together.”

  Before Sulrad could respond, the door opened. Standing in the dim light was the guide he had hired.

  “Looks like it’s time to get started.” Sulrad shoved his chair back and stood.

  “Be right behind you.” Kelnor stood. He glanced at his plate as if deciding if he were truly satisfied, then scooped up the remaining pastries, wrapped them in a napkin, and shoved them into his pocket. “For the ride,” he said.

  Sulrad followed the rotund wizard out the door. It was going to be a long day.

  40

  The journey overland was hot and painful. Wind whipped the sand into Sulrad’s eyes, even though he wrapped his face with the thin cloth the guide provided. The sand stank of dead things and Sulrad wondered what sort of pestilence it contained every time some of it seeped into his mouth. It was nearly sunset when the city of Rohir appeared on the horizon.

  The walls of the city were constructed of adobe mud baked by the sun, and the gates stood open. Inside of the gates, the street was lined with clay homes sporting thick beams sticking out at regular intervals. Sulrad and Kelnor quickly found an inn and purchased a pair of rooms. Sulrad had no interest in sharing his with anyone, much less Kelnor. The rotund wizard had complained mightily all the way from Rukel and was beginning to make Sulrad regret accompanying him on this foolish quest, yet the possibilities were tantalizing.

  Sulrad lay on the bed and let his mind wander.

  Not far off was a source of power. Not the brilliant sharp power that he had experienced in Amedon. This was muted, as if the source lay deep beneath the earth. Ignal had told him the ley lines of magic sprouted from the root of the mountains and followed well-defined paths. But this was not like that. It was meandering and soft, as if the power were imbued in something that flowed beneath the earth.

  Sulrad reached for it.

  It eluded him.

  He tried to calm himself.

  There was something there, just beyond his senses.

  The power that flowed around him was organized, not natural. He let his senses gently touch the flow of magic. It was as if he had dipped his toe into an ice-cold stream on a sunny winter’s day. It sent a shiver up his spine.

  He let it flow around him.

  Sure enough, there was a pattern to the magic he had not noticed before.

  He followed the pattern.

  It was maddeningly complex.

  Some flows were tiny, little more than a thread.

  Other times, the flow was huge, as if a raging river ran across the dry and dusty land.

  He let his ethereal body separate from his physical form, not unlike when he separated his magical hand from his flesh and blood when he performed a healing.

  He willed his ghost body to rise above the bed where he lay.

  He paused and looked back.

  Thin and gaunt, he looked like death. Head shaved, chin smooth, eyes closed, his most prominent feature was his bird-like nose. Seeing it from above made him momentarily self-conscious. He shook it off and rose, passing through the ceiling and into the evening air.

  The stars were out, and to his ethereal eyes, there were more of them than ever before. Traces of the diaphanous curtains that appeared when the dragons crossed over hung in the northern sky, blues and greens almost i
nvisible, but wavering slowly nonetheless.

  He turned his vision toward the city below.

  Low walls surrounded it, holding the sand out and the dwellings in. The streets were laid out in a grid along parallel lines that were not quite square. Each block formed a diamond shape, with the points aligning with the major directions of the compass.

  Most of the houses were lit from within by lamps or hearths. Light flickered between curtains, stirring in the breeze to cast shadows on the ground that appeared to be dancing.

  Over it all, the slightest hint of deep green hung. Threads, ropes, and rivers of power — translucent and insubstantial. In some places, the magic faded to dark; in others, it shone brilliantly.

  Sulrad stared at the lines of light.

  The characters were still unimaginably complex, but they had a familiarity to them. He tried to recall, but it escaped him. He attempted to commit it to memory, but was only able to recall parts of the spell when he closed his eyes.

  After a time, he grew tired and let his ethereal body return. As his specter re-entered his flesh, a wave of fatigue washed over him. He was starving. He was exhausted. He could barely keep his eyes open.

  He struggled to say awake, but it was a losing battle.

  Just before the darkness took him, Sulrad recalled where he had seen a spell such as the one covering the city. It was in Amedon — in the library. And it wasn’t one spell. It was several. Multiple characters overlapped one another, creating a set of spells that enchanted the entire city.

  He willed himself to remember them, even as sleep overtook him.

  The next morning, Sulrad splashed water on his face and headed for the public room to break his fast. He had neglected to eat the evening before and was famished. He found Kelnor already seated at a table in the corner. The rotund wizard was surrounded by cut meats, cheese, and fruit. Across from him was a plate filled with breads and an assortment of potted fruit preserves.