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

by James Eggebeen

  He was not going to rely on Kelnor’s magical devices this time. Not that he distrusted them, but they had failed him once before. He had sufficient power of his own, and once he killed the dragon, he would have enough to bind at least a few to his command. He felt more in control this way. It was all up to him. And Ran.

  He would have liked to summon the dragon early in the day to give him the greatest amount of time to deal with the wizards, but the veil seemed thinnest at the onset of dusk, as if the setting of the sun had something to do with the ethereal curtains that opened to admit the dragons to the realm of man. He would wait, but he would not like it.

  When the sun touched the horizon, Sulrad crept out into the canyon and spread his arms. “Ril’vesi. Great worm who is sworn to do my bidding. Come to me now.”

  Sulrad reached for the magic of the charm and drew it forth. It was becoming more natural now, to control the power that accumulated within the charm. At first, it had been like touching ice that was at the same time cold yet burned his flesh. That feeling had faded with time but was still present. He winced as the magic rose from the charm and spun itself around him as if he were being wrapped in a cocoon of gold.

  He drove his fingers through the air in the pattern he had devised that would shape the magic. At first, the magic resisted. It was as if the power wished to dissipate itself, waste itself by soaking into the ground.

  Sulrad wrestled with the wild magic. It was a blend of magic, and that made it all the more difficult. Had he not grown accustomed to using the magic of other people, this would have been beyond him. He muttered a thankful prayer to Ran for his experiences. He saw now that things he had considered a burden at the time had actually prepared him for this day.

  He calmed himself and grasped the magic. Finesse, not force. That was the key. Guide the magic. Do not command it. Commands were for the dragons. Not the magic. Magic was not a respecter of power. It was power. It cared not what he wished.

  He drew his finger in the air, careful to form the spell precisely as he had imagined it.

  As he did, the magic flowed into it. The character blazing in the air before him turned from a brilliant gold to a cherry red, to orange, and finally, white.

  “Dragon. Come.” Sulrad formed the words to the spell in his mind, not wanting to chance saying them aloud and disrupting the spell he held in the air. This spell would summon more than one dragon, but it lacked the power to command both. He had worried about that, but when he hit on the plan, it was so simple, he berated himself for not seeing it sooner. He only needed to command one dragon. For now.

  High overhead, a brilliant streak of lightning split the twilight sky. A jagged line raced across the clear air and the diaphanous curtain fell, almost as if some unseen stage manager had declared the show was about to begin. The great curtains parted and Sulrad felt them. The dragons. He had summoned more than the two he had wished for.

  There were dozens of them.

  For a moment, his heart raced. What if the rest of the clan interfered with his plans? What then?

  “Ril’vesi. Is that you?” he demanded.

  “It is,” came the rumbling reply.

  “Find a dragon.” He pressed the thought at Ril’vesi. “One that is no match for you in size and strength.”

  Laughter came through the mental connection Sulrad had with the dragon. “No dragon comes close to being a match for me.”

  “Good. Find one and bring it to me. Here in the canyon.”

  Sulrad felt the grudging compliance. Ril’vesi might be bound to him, but only barely, He would not have enough power, even with the charm and the earth magic to try this again. It must work.

  The charm hung heavy around his neck as he stretched his arms out and reinforced the spell. High overhead, he saw them: the brick red of Ril’vesi and another dragon nearly as large, but black as the blackest night. The two flew side by side.

  An itch spread across Sulrad’s flesh. It was as if an army of ants had appeared from nowhere and attacked him. A spell had been cast against him. The bites were painful and distracting. He almost lost focus on his spell, but he persevered. There would be time to deal with the wizards once the dragon had landed. He could survive a bit of pain. All he had to do was to put it out of his mind. Concentrate on the spell he held that compelled the dragons.

  He renewed the characters in the air before him.

  Not long now.

  The dragons spread their wings, both landing with snaps that raised dust, stinging Sulrad’s eyes.

  “Ran curse you,” he muttered. Let them have their little resistance. Soon they would both learn.

  “To me.” He pressed the command to Ril’vesi, but it was the black dragon that took a step toward him.

  “I will eat you,” came the rumbling voice of the black dragon. “Then we will have an end to this.”

  Its head dipped. Its teeth loomed close. They were the length of Sulrad’s forearm and sharp as swords. The dragon’s breath stank of rotten eggs and brimstone. Why was that? What powered the fire of a dragon? No time to worry.

  “Hold this one.” Sulrad pushed a command at Ril’vesi, flinching involuntarily as the dragon exhaled, drenching him in its odor.

  “I should let him eat you,” Ril’vesi said.

  “I command you. Hold this one. Drive his head into the dirt. Protect me.” Sulrad’s words sounded tentative even as he spoke them. What if the dragon was just a bit too slow to comply? Had Ril’vesi tricked him?

  The black dragon drew a breath. “Shall I roast you first or eat you raw? I prefer my meat roasted.” It tilted its head, but before it could strike, Ril’vesi landed on its back and pinned its head to the dirt.

  Sulrad rushed forward, knife drawn.

  The dragon’s scales turned the knife as if it were an ordinary table knife and not the razor-sharp sky iron he knew it to be.

  “Ran, guide my blade,” Sulrad called out. He stepped close to the dragon. It was fighting and Ril’vesi appeared to be tiring. “There has to be a weakness,” he muttered to himself.

  He placed his hand on the dragon’s neck. Its scales were the size of dinner plates. Thick black dinner plates that overlapped and slid as the dragon moved.

  He grabbed at one.

  It was thick and hard.

  He tried to lift one, but it was tight against the scale beneath it.

  Think. What to do?

  Sulrad leaned in close.

  The very tip of one scale was bent.

  Ever so slightly.

  He offered a brief prayer of thanks to Ran and slid the point of his sky iron knife beneath that scale. It was tough. Almost like trying to pierce the hide of a cow, but the knife blade slid in.

  When half the blade was beneath the scale, Sulrad twisted.

  The blade creaked.

  The scale groaned.

  It came away. Half a digit.

  Again.

  Sulrad put his whole body behind the knife.

  The scale lifted.

  Not a lot, but enough to expose the flesh beneath.

  Sulrad grasped the knife and thrust it into the thick hide beneath the scale.

  It penetrated the skin and sank into the dragon’s flesh, but no blood flowed from the wound.

  “There has to be something here,” Sulrad muttered. He twisted the blade and rotated it once more, fishing for a vein in the dragon’s neck.

  Nothing.

  He yanked the knife out and inserted it once more, trying to aim the blade down. How could he be so fortunate to find a loose scale yet unfortunate enough to find one that protected nothing?

  He wiggled the knife.

  Again, nothing.

  “He struggles. I cannot hold him for long,” the voice of Ril’vesi rumbled in his ears.

  “You must. Do not fail me, worm,” Sulrad shouted.

  “Hurry. Even I have not the strength to hold this one for long.”

  “I’m trying, and you will do as you’re told.”

  Sulr
ad chose another scale lower on the dragon’s neck.

  This time, he was able to slide his blade beneath it, even though it appeared pristine.

  Once again, the scale came away.

  He plunged the blade deep into the flesh beneath it.

  This time, blood gushed forth.

  Hot, steaming blood.

  “I have done as you wished.” Ril’vesi released the black dragon and launched itself into the sky.

  “Come back here,” Sulrad demanded.

  “I have done as you asked. Your magic is weakening. I will return and eat you,” Ril’vesi called out.

  Sulrad raised his hand to renew the command spell, but as he did, the dragon before him raised its head.

  “It is I who will eat you.” His words came, but they were weak, as if the dragon itself doubted them.

  “You will die.” Sulrad shoved the knife even deeper into the wound, then drew it back, twisting it to lift the scale, allowing the blood to rush forth.

  Hot blood.

  Steaming blood.

  It stung where it splashed on Sulrad, as if it were fashioned of acid. Where it splashed on his robe, it sizzled and burned, emitting wisps of smoke.

  Sulrad panicked.

  Had he missed something?

  He stepped back to evade the splashing flow of blood.

  The dragon took a breath.

  Sulrad danced out of the way. The last thing he needed was to be roasted by dragon-fire as his quarry died at his feet.

  The dragon’s flame was weak.

  It splashed against the rocks, impotent.

  The dragon drew another halting breath; it caught in the great beast’s throat.

  Instead of another torrent of fire, this time a show of vermilion sparks rushed from the great maw. The motes swirled around Sulrad, making him dizzy. This was power on a scale he had never seen before. More magic than any wizard possessed. More than any wizard could possess.

  Sulrad felt the power. Took it in. Let it fill him.

  It was heady.

  As if he had partaken of strong drink.

  He felt his world expand around him.

  The sky shifted color. It was no longer the vivid shade of cobalt that it had always been, but now appeared a dingy and lifeless blue. The ground too changed beneath his feet. The sand was no longer hot and blistering, but pleasantly warm and inviting. He longed to take his shoes off and dig his claws into the sand, only he didn’t have claws. It was the dragon who had these thoughts. An image of a deep orange sky flickered before him. Low in the sky hung an overly large sun. Deep red, it filled the horizon twice the size of the sun Sulrad had grown up under.

  This was the dragon’s home world, a strange and bizarre place the likes of which Sulrad had never imagined. He took it all in, but as he did, he realized it was a trap. The dragon had tricked him into taking all that magic into himself. It was heady — dizzying — and it burned. Burned with a flame hotter than the deep red sun.

  Blisters rose on Sulrad’s arms.

  The magic was leaking from his flesh.

  The pain of the ant bites returned a dozen-fold.

  He screamed in pain.

  His heart beat against the inside of his chest.

  Darkness began to close in on him.

  Sulrad sank to his knees.

  How could he have been so foolish?

  As his knees touched the sand, the charm around his neck thumped his chest.

  The charm.

  How could he have forgotten?

  He stood upright, letting the whirlwind of vermillion encase him, then directed it toward the charm.

  The magic leaped to his will, diving into the charm.

  The jewel lit up like the sun.

  The dragon vanished.

  Sulrad stood alone in the canyon as the stars came out overhead in the darkening sky.

  46

  Still reeling from the magic of the dragon, Sulrad was startled as a stone came rolling down from above. He cursed himself. He’d almost forgotten the presence of Zhimosom nearby. His old foe was once more menacing him. He could not kill Zhimosom, but he could remove him from the fight. The dragon who had tried to take Sulrad to Mistwind had given him the answer: strand Zhimosom somewhere he could not interfere. That would be almost as good as killing him, at least for now. Later, he would have to come up with a more permanent solution, but first, he had a dragon to master.

  Ril’vesi thought he had escaped Sulrad’s control.

  He would soon learn.

  Sulrad drew on the magic of the charm and summoned Ril’vesi once more.

  The dragon fought him, but it complied.

  “Bring me the wizard,” Sulrad called to it across the sky.

  “As you command.” The brick red dragon fell from the sky like a stone, spreading its wings as it landed on the rocks.

  That was not where he had sensed Zhimosom.

  For a moment, Sulrad panicked. How many wizards had come against him?

  No time to worry. If the clandestine wizard was not Zhimosom, so much the better.

  “Bring him to me,” Sulrad commanded.

  Ril’vesi complied without comment.

  The dragon snapped at the rocks, his massive jaws closing on thin air as the wizard evaded him.

  “Do you need my help?” Sulrad demanded.

  “No need.” Ril’vesi lashed out and clamped the wizard in his jaws. He took off with a mighty snap of his wings and descended to drop the wizard at Sulrad’s feet. It was Helmyer. Sulrad recognized him from his time in Amedon.

  “Why have you come against me?” Sulrad demanded.

  “You never did understand the way Amedon works. You think you are free, but no wizard is. Not me, not you.”

  Sulrad drew a breath to answer, but let it out. Why bother?

  He stepped toward the wizard and slashed, severing the artery in the older man’s neck.

  Blood gushed forth. Not the steaming acid-like blood of the dragon. Ordinary blood. The kind Sulrad had seen before. Blood and magic. He seized the magic and drew it to him, releasing what he carried of the dragon’s magic into the charm. This magic was not for the charm. Sulrad had other plans for this.

  As the magic suffused him, Sulrad saw the burst of memories he had come to expect when he took the magic of another person. The wizard’s memories came at him like water from the falls, threatening to overwhelm him, but Sulrad held on. Images battered him until he found the one he sought.

  Sure enough.

  The wizard had recently taken part in a council meeting in Amedon. And at that meeting, they had devised a plan to send assassins against him. They were still plotting to kill him. Even after all this time. He was never going to be safe. Not as long as a single wizard lived in Amedon.

  “So, it’s to be war to the last man?” Sulrad demanded of the corpse of the wizard as it vanished in a flash of magic. “So be it, then. It’s war you want. It’s war you will get.”

  Sulrad released the magic of the wizard. He’d learned enough. Let the charm have it.

  He called out to Ril’vesi through the magical connection he maintained.

  He gestured to Zhimosom hiding behind the rocks. “Take this one where you attempted to take me. Can you prevent him from accessing the void?”

  “If he has no magic, then he cannot access the void. I can burn his magic from him. That will strand him until he can acquire more.”

  Sulrad heard the dragon’s words, but something felt odd, as if the dragon were hiding something from him. “You will take him to Mistwind?”

  “Yes. It is treacherous and cumbersome for humans to reach. He will not soon return if I abandon him there without his magic.”

  “Take him,” Sulrad said. “Drain his magic. Abandon him. Then return here.”

  “As you wish.” Ril’vesi leaped from the canyon, spread his wings, and lurched for Zhimosom.

  Sulrad felt the fear in Zhimosom as the dragon seized him in its claws and flew off.

  He pl
opped himself down onto the cooling sand and watched as the dragon disappeared into the night sky. He felt the power of the dragon and the wizard in the charm as an energizing force that countered his fatigue. The wizards were on the move. They were nearby preparing for battle, and he would bring that battle to them.

  He pondered the approach. If the texts were correct, even the mighty Skelek had not been able to command more than three dragons with the charm at full charge. Best not to try something even the fabled dragon lord had failed at. There was enough. He could rain down fire on the wizards and engulf the entire camp before they realized they were under attack.

  Kelnor had assured Sulrad that with the charm and a proper charge, commanding any number of dragons was possible. He wished he were that confident. For now, three was his limit. He would be able to do damage with just three if he had enough information.

  He reached for Helmyer’s memories. They were vague and indistinct, barely more than concepts and ideas. Nothing concrete. Was that because Sulrad had placed much of the wizard’s magic into the charm? He’d thought that a good idea at the time, but perhaps not. How was he to locate the wizards? They were afield and not far, but without Helymer’s memories, they could be anywhere.

  Sulrad pondered what to do. Draw more of Helymer’s magic from the charm? That would bring back his memories, but Helmyer was a strong wizard. Caution would be required lest Sulrad lose himself to Helmyer. That was certainly a risk, but one he felt was necessary. The wizards were prepared to attack. They had sent Zhimosom and Helmyer to attempt to assassinate him. Failing that, they would not wait long.

  The charm weighed heavily against his neck. It seemed that when there was magic present; it grew warm and gained weight. When empty, the charm was barely noticeable as it hung there. At the moment, it was both warm and heavy.

  Sulrad reached for the magic inside the charm. He envisioned the charm as a labyrinth filled with rooms and doors. Each one contained the magic of one of the souls he had trapped there. He let his mind imagine himself walking through those great halls. Rough tiles of granite met hand-hewn beams that held back inexpertly chiseled stone. The ceiling overhead was rock propped up by more beams. At intervals along the hallway, doors of thick planks held together with rough hammered blackened iron bore small windows with bars that allowed him to peer inside.