by DB King
So why did you do this? Why did you try to kill everyone? Raphael asked.
Like I said, it is in our nature. Understand, Magus, that dragons have more than one aspect. Here, in this conjunction of time and space, we were the keepers and guardians of its denizens. Yet in others, dragons could just as readily be the scourge of life, the bane of existence, the eternal enemies of mortals. If those two aspects were to be switched, then what your world has beheld would follow, and has in fact followed.
Switched? Raphael was aghast. So someone did this to you? To all of you? Who?
I do not know for sure, Magus. All I know is that within the passing of a moment, this overwhelming hatred and contempt for mortals seized my entire being. What you sense here, this sliver of a sliver of my fading self, could only shudder helplessly as I slaughtered those I once protected. And the rest is history.
I am so sorry, Platina. For you, and for everyone else who suffered because this happened to you, Raphael said.
Your compassion uplifts me, Magus. I have suffered for so, so long. Would you grant me the mercy of oblivion?
Yes. Raphael reached out and touched the platinum flame. It broke apart and crumbled into eternity.
Goodbye, Platina.
Goodbye, Magus. Tell Koshi I love him.
He opened his eyes to the sight of Rayne, once more shrunken down to the size of a house cat, hovering in the air before him, its wings laden with light. Platina’s massive body was crumbling into piles of ash and tiny shards of bone all around him.
The faerie dragon spread its wings, shedding the remnants of Platina’s spell core over Raphael’s soul. On top of the increase in his capacity to hold mana in reserve, he also felt a new power awaken within his being. As he shone the light of the Dragon Meridian on it, he found that it was hidden behind the Seventh Brazier, beyond his reach until he ignited that Brazier.
He turned to Koshi, but to his dismay, Koshi was on his knees, coughing and wheezing.
His power is tied to Platina, and now that she’s gone, he doesn’t have any of it anymore! Raphael ran frantically to Koshi and caught him before he fell over.
“Koshi!” Raphael cried. “Koshi! Are you alright?”
“I am, little Raph,” Koshi said. “Better than I’ve ever been in a long, long time, actually.”
“Let’s go home, Koshi. I’ll make you a bowl of oats, and we’ll have some apples in the morning,” Raphael said, dimly aware that his friends were gathering around him in a respectful circle.
Gabriella had healed Sylvia, and though the elf looked bruised and battered, she was standing on her own, an uncharacteristically somber expression on her face. Fenix had taken off his hat and bowed his head, and Eliza and Gabriella’s identical cheeks were awash in tears.
Rayne bumped Koshi’s thigh gently with its snout and made a sad, cooing sound. Koshi scratched under the faerie dragon’s chin weakly.
“There’s nothing I would like more, little Raph,” Koshi whispered. “But I knew long before I stepped into the junkyard for the final time that I wouldn’t be coming back.”
“Why? How would you know that?” Raphael asked.
“My time had come, and as death loomed over me, with all its pains and regrets, so too did it awaken whatever was left of Platina, through the tattered remains of our bond,” Koshi explained, his voice growing weaker with every word. “I suddenly knew where to find her, after all these years, and so I did, hoping to lay us both to rest once and for all.”
“I was coming home to you, Koshi! I want to tell you all about my adventure in Vitoria!” Raphael said, tears running down his face. “Please, don’t go.”
“I’m so proud of you, little Raph.” Koshi reached out with a trembling hand. Raphael caught it in his. “But no, I don’t want to go. I still have so much to tell you. To teach you. About what it means to be a Dragon Magus.”
“Then don’t!” Raphael squeezed Koshi’s hand. “Don’t go. Don’t...”
But Koshi could no longer reply. His glassy eyes stared emptily into the sky. Raphael couldn’t stop the sobs that tore their way past his lips and made his shoulders heave.
Eliza kneeled down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s bring him home, Raphael, and find him a place to rest, where he can watch over you.”
Raphael shook his head. An idea had come to him. A wild, defiant sensation filled his heart, and he let it ride through his very being.
“Koshi didn’t want to go. You all heard him say that,” he declared, getting to his feet and picking up Koshi in his arms.
“Raphael...” Eliza whispered, her eyes widening in disbelief. “What are you doing?”
“He was a Dragon Knight, wasn’t he?” Raphael looked over his shoulder at the crumbling remains of Platina. “His entire being was wrapped up in dragons.”
“Raphael, you have to calm down now,” Fenix said. “Koshi is gone. You have to let him go, for your sake.”
“Wait.” Sylvia placed a hand on Fenix’s shoulder. “I think Raphael has an idea.”
“What? What’s he going to do with the Dragon Knight’s body?” Gabriella was aghast.
Raphael walked toward Platina’s remains and placed Koshi down on them. Then he held out his hands over Koshi’s body, looked toward the light of the Dragon Meridian, and reached out for the soul of his father.
He found it just before its journey to oblivion. Koshi’s soul was filled with regret and concern. He hadn’t been ready to depart, even though he’d lived for so long and he was so tired. Raphael pulled on Koshi’s regrets, calling him back to the realm of life, and Koshi responded readily.
Blinding platinum light enveloped Koshi’s body. The light spread out to engulf Platina’s ashes as well. The very earth trembled beneath Raphael’s feet. He threw his hands up and roared a dragon’s roar, that shook the heavens.
A massive form streaked from the light and soared into the heavens. It uncoiled its body and returned Raphael’s roar before swooping down and landing before him.
Fenix, Eliza, and Gabriella cried out in alarm and scrambled back. Sylvia shook her head and smiled.
A platinum dragon stood in front of Raphael, regal and majestic, its eyes filled with strength and wisdom. It bowed its head.
“Welcome back, Koshi,” Raphael said.
End of Book 1
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War Wizard 1: Chapter 1
Logan Grimm, son of Jesper the War Wizard, moved through Elderwood Forest outskirts like a wraith. He kept his body low as he trod over the blades of Jade Grass, the tall, spindly stalks lolling in the hushed early morning wind. He stepped in the way he had been trained, with long strides that landed on the soil for a half-instant. Each precise movement maintained his silence and kept his presence hidden.
He was not alone. He was among over two dozen other members of his clan, all Elderwood Rangers, and all among the finest warriors of the realm. Their bodies were clad in the same leaf-colored leathers that covered their torsos and legs. The magics of the War Wizards imbued their gear, giving them enhanced durability while still retaining the lightness of Glade Leather.
Logan wore one other thing—a smile. It was a slight smile, a subtle curl of the right side of his lips, one he wished to hide from the grim-faced veterans of his group. But it was his first campaign beyond their borders, and he couldn’t wait to prove himself. He’d barely slept a wink last night, knowing the hunt was only hours away. Sleep had been the last thing on his mind as he lay on the spare bed of his tent. All he wanted was the chance to slay an orc, to let the other members of his clan see that he was as much of a warrior as his father. Aspirations to become a War Wizard like his father were never far from Logan’s mind, and they were at the forefront as he lay his head to rest.
Sleep had come, and his friend Aiden
roused him as the first rays of sun cast through their tent. Logan had grinned as he rose, and the grin hadn’t left his face since.
“Where are they?” Aiden asked, his voice barely above a whisper, barely louder than the bend of grass underneath their boots. “I would’ve thought we’d have found some orcs by now.”
Logan hesitated for a long moment before speaking. His eyes danced from one veteran to another to see if any of them had noticed that Aiden had broken one of the cardinal rules of a hunt—no talking.
But as Rank One rangers, Aiden and Logan had been tasked with holding up the rear. The Bloodhand orcs that stalked the woods were fierce warriors, but weren’t much in the way of tactics. If the rangers were to be attacked, it would come at the front.
Logan didn’t respond to his friend. Instead, he found his gaze lingering on the runic marks that decorated the bare skin of all the rangers. Dark colors and hard, straight lines made up intricate patterns, all of them magical, all of them the sacred marks of an Archspirit, inscribed by a War Wizard.
Carian, the veteran ranger closest to Logan, wore the long lines of the badger. Seamus, ahead to the left, wore wing-like inscriptions on his upper back that extended from underneath his Glade leather and down his bare, powerful arms.
Logan wore the snarling wolf’s visage of the Archspirit, Fenrir. This rune on his left forearm was imbued with powerful magic that allowed him to tap into a snarling rage. He didn’t know how the magic worked—such sacred and esoteric knowledge was exclusively the domain of War Wizards. And, hopefully one day, he would mine the depths of hidden wisdom that all War Wizards shared.
Even so, Logan did not need to know how the magic worked to give into its power, to allow the ferocity of Fenrir to fill him with strength and fury. He could already imagine ripping the head of an orc from his body, a howl blasting from his lungs as he tossed it aside.
The other rangers were equally well-prepared. Each had twin Skofnung daggers tucked into small, leather sheaths at their hips, their shape of the dagger hilts like interweaved branches, runes inscribed up and down the lengths of the blades. Hung over their backs were Arne bows, their bodies carved from Hindmal wood and their strings of the finest elven silk. And parallel to the bows were the pride of each Elderwood Ranger—their Me’nayr blades.
Each Me’nayr blade was precisely forty inches long, the blade gently curved, the edge honed to razor sharpness. The handle was segmented, made for gripping with two hands. The enchanted Magnus steel was hard as a diamond, folded sixteen times by master smiths. Each had been imbued with the magic of their War Wizards, the power allowing them to focus their animal runes and wield their blades with the precision and savagery for which the Elderwood Rangers were renowned.
Logan had no such blade. Me’nayr blades were given to rangers upon achieving Rank Three. As a mere Rank One, he wasn’t yet trusted with the power a Me’nayr allowed. He would have to go on many more hunts, kill many orcs, before his battle prowess was proven and he was allowed to rise through the ranks.
He couldn’t wait for the chance. But at that moment, he wore only the Skofnung daggers given to each Elderwood Ranger upon passing their induction trials. The Hindmal bow was slung over his back, along with a quiver of Elderwood arrows. The single-handed axe that hung off his belt by his right hand was made of simple steel and unblessed with any magic. But he’d trained hard with it, and he knew it would be more than enough to cleave the head of any orc clean from his body.
“Logan!” Aiden hissed. “Where are they?”
The smirk faded from Logan’s lips as he flicked his steel-colored eyes over to his friend.
“What are you thinking, talking during a hunt?” he asked, moving as closely to Aiden as he could and keeping his voice little higher than a breath’s volume. A large portion of Elderwood Ranger training involved how to move and speak and breathe and kill in near-total silence. But speaking during a hunt was still forbidden, especially by the neophytes.
“I don’t know,” Aiden said. “Have to pass the time somehow, right?”
Aiden was a skilled neophyte, having passed through the Sylvan induction trials along with Logan. But at times, Logan wondered if his childhood friend had the seriousness required to rise through the ranks—let alone to match the prowess of Frode One-Eye, his legendary father.
“We pass the time by staying focused on the hunt,” Logan said. “You want to make a name for yourself, right? Sensing an orc raiding party on the wind before the veterans would be a good way to do it.”
Aiden nodded, as if accepting his friend was right but not truly grasping the sense of it.
“Of course. But I have serious doubts that we’d be able to do such a thing. There’s a chance we might not even find any orcs, even. The last three hunting parties have come home empty-handed, remember?”
Logan gritted his teeth at his friend’s words. Aiden was right, of course—the three last hunting parties hadn’t made a single encounter, let alone a kill. And the half-dozen prior hunting parties had only encountered stragglers, orcs exiled from their clans and banished to wander the Elderwoods until put out of their misery by whatever rangers chanced upon them.
“That doesn’t matter,” Logan replied. “You can’t lose focus.”
“I’m not losing focus,” Aiden retorted. “But surely, you couldn’t fault me if a small part of my mind was focused on the evening ahead, back at the town. Gods, I can already taste the ale on my lips—not to mention feel Frida’s mouth on my—”
“That’s enough,” Logan snarled. Aiden’s words had caused him to let his mind drift to the post-hunt party, where wine and beer and women and song would carry them into the night. As much as he loved women and grog and music, Logan wanted to stay focused.
But the volume of his words had risen above a whisper, catching the attention of Erik Grimblade, another nearby veteran. His green eyes blazed among his fire-red hair, his long mane pulled into a tight braid away from his face.
“I’ve been hearing you two cluck like hens for the last few minutes,” he said, closing the distance between him and Aiden and Logan. His powerful body, covered in runes and scars, loomed over the young men. “Consider this your first and final warning before we send you scampering home like a couple of whipped pups.”
Furious with himself for not obeying such a simple rule, Logan nodded.
Aiden, on the other hand, pushed his luck. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “Just planning for t—“
However much Erik’s eyes had blazed with anger before, Aiden’s words took it to another level. His hand shot out and gripped Aiden’s throat, cutting him off in mid-sentence.
“Not another blasted word.” He held his hand there for long enough to make his point. Aiden raised his palms in submission, Erik letting go once he got what he wanted.
“Now,” Erik said. “Keep your damn mouths shut or I’ll have the War Wizards seal them for you.”
It wasn’t an empty threat. Temporary magical removal of a ranger’s mouth was a common punishment for speaking on a hunt. Not only did it serve the purpose of silencing a talkative hunter, it was a badge of shame that let the others know the punished ranger couldn’t even manage the simple task of keeping his mouth shut. Logan had no intention of being embarrassed in such a way.
But once Erik was back in position up ahead, Aiden didn’t waste any time letting Logan know what he thought of the man’s chiding.
“I swear,” Aiden said, exasperated. “He thinks just because he’s slain over a hundred orcs he can do whatever the hells he wants.”
“Big words,” Logan said. “Considering you seem to think you can get away with anything by dint of your father’s name.”
Aiden’s blue eyes flashed with surprise, and he opened his mouth to retort. But Logan’s palm shot out, his hand covering the lower part of his friend’s face. Logan made a ‘lock it up and throw away the key’ gesture, followed by dragging the back of his thumbnail across his throat to really hammer the point home. Aide
n nodded, his expression conveying his compliance. Satisfied, Logan took his hand from Aiden’s mouth and turned his attention forward.
But he didn’t have even a moment to focus back on the hunt before Aze Bloodhand, the Rank Five ranger and leader of the hunt, stopped mid-stride. He raised his right hand, his face forward and his back to the rest of the party. Even Aiden, fool he could be, knew this meant it was time to shut the hells up and focus.
Logan’s eyes stayed locked on Aze’s hand, and he didn’t need to look at the rest of the part to know they were doing the same. Elderwood Rangers communicated with silent gestures, entire battle plans able to be conveyed with only a few crooks of a finger.
Aze’s hand clenched into a fist—a fight was on the horizon. Logan’s heart beat faster and the corner of his mouth once again curled into a slight smile at the prospect of battle.
But what he saw next confused him. Instead of pointing his fingers forward, indicating that orcs were coming from up ahead as they typically did, Aze folded his middle three fingers down, leaving his thumb and pinky finger extended.
This meant an attack from the flanks. Already Logan knew something was different about this fight—something wrong. Orcs rarely attacked from the flanks, their honor-bound societies considering such tactics cowardly. But Logan stayed focused on Aze’s hand. The next bit of information would be about numbers. Aze, the highest-ranking ranger in the party, had skills refined enough to be able to detect enemy numbers with nothing more than a scent on the wind.
Aze clenched his fist once more, clearing the message letting the party know numbers were next. He extended all five fingers, then again, and again. Logan’s eyes went wide as he watched Aze open his palm over and over and over.
This wasn’t a chance encounter in the woods, Logan realized.
This was an army.
In that moment, Logan understood just why the orcs had been so sparse in their usual attacks. They’d been conserving their numbers, preparing for an assault like this. His stomach tightened as he considered the implications. If the orcs managed to take out the hunting party, there’d be no one to give warning for the army’s movement through the forest.
