by Rex Jameson
“What is this?” he whispered, as he kicked at the dirt. A layer of charred earth flew into the air, and the blades of grass cracked and dispersed into the air, covering the gray and white wrappings of his tunic.
Jahgo followed but timidly, kneeling just outside of the burnt weeds and flowers. Jasmine, Nintil, Zosa, and Venzin followed the alpha on their bellies, only taking steps when he took them. Jandhar turned to them.
“You really are spooked by this thing, aren’t you?” Jandhar asked. “Looks to me like a local superstition of some sort. It’s just burned grass, my pets. It looks fresh to me. A raven or a crow. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Jandhar strode back to Jahgo, whose tail wagged excitedly in anticipation of another flight. The prince hopped atop the dragon and pulled hard on his neck scales. Jahgo reacted immediately with a huge burst of warm air lifting them twenty feet into the air and then ascending with haste. Behind him, he heard the squawks and quibbling of the greens. Jasmine glided effortlessly into a position to the right and just behind the wings of Jahgo.
Jandhar admired her grace and beauty, and she looked back at him with devotion. He only stopped watching her when he heard the tell-tale sounds of battle. Fists against wood. Steel against steel. An army was attacking the smoldering town of Perketh. People were fighting in the streets. Battle cries echoed up to him, hundreds of feet above.
“Down,” he commanded Jahgo as he pushed his neck forward.
He couldn’t tell civilian from attacker. Each side looked human, but one side was well-equipped with plate. He guessed the heavier-armored side were locals and the attackers were potentially the “undead” he had heard about from his lieutenants and spy network.
He turned north away from Perketh, planning to circle around, but then he saw them. A horde, more than an army. They moved across the fields in staggered, jerky movements. They ran like their legs didn’t work correctly, and as he descended closer, he saw the unnatural green light in their eyes.
“Fire,” he commanded.
Jahgo roared mightily and then opened his maw. A stream of liquid followed by flames shot out, consuming the creatures as they stumbled. The unnatural beasts screamed in horror as Jasmine, Nintil, Zosa, and Venzin joined in the destruction. Dozens of undead perished in the first salvo. Jandhar circled around to catch the stragglers. They ran like human matches but didn’t drop to the ground quickly like the people of Sevania.
The greens broke from the pack and began engulfing a nearby forest with flames. The sticky liquid in their spit covered the bark and lit the trees. Within seconds, crackling fires were spreading. Huge trees toppled onto the kindling on the ground, and the wind picked up, racing the flames to the northeast.
The retreat of the undead became a full-sprint rout that proceeded north toward Alefast. Then a larger group broke from the pack and ran north and east toward the huge mountain. The greens squawked and cried as they were left behind by Jahgo and Jasmine in the main pursuit. The alpha and beta beat their wings in earnest, without their normal gliding to conserve strength. They were fully focused on the battle for the first time since they had landed on shore.
Jandhar looked up at the mountain and saw a strange light display at its base, ahead of where the undead were mostly running. At first, he thought it was glare from the sun, but then he realized the sun was still directly overhead and not behind the mountain. A white fire glowed there, and then a great bubble of light came into view. Lightning licked at the air, not from the clouds, but from the ground.
He pulled hard on Jahgo’s scales, and the dragon halted and flapped its wings. There were armored men at the base of the mountain lifting hammers, swords and spears and slamming them into the ground. And with each smash, the strange light came back anew. Some of the combatants stopped their pummeling to stare at the man on the dragon.
The green dragons became distracted in the rear by the movement of the fleeing undead. They poured flame and destruction upon the grotesque creatures reinforcing the ones fighting against these holy men and women. He found the scene very inspiring, forgetting his vengeance for a moment.
“These must be the paladins that I’ve heard of,” Jandhar said. “I guess Etcher’s stories are real… the undead… the holy warriors….”
Down on the ground, a large man with a long, black beard and staff locked eyes with him. The bearded man struck the ground with his instrument twice, leaving black marks in the grass. Jandhar watched in horror as the man morphed into a twenty-foot creature with a goat’s head. A well-dressed man argued with the goat-headed man until the large creature pointed its staff at Jandhar and commanded loudly, “I said I want one!”
The well-dressed man squatted briefly and a burned creature he was holding rolled out of his hands. The pair moved unnaturally fast, crossing the distance quicker than an arrow. Jandhar pulled hard on Jahgo’s scales.
“Up!” he yelled, recognizing the danger of this unknown force. “Up!”
Jasmine pulled up with Jahgo as the man and the burned creature leapt into the sky, aimed at them like a ballista shaft. Jahgo dodged the man in the tattered noble’s clothing and chased after him with a stream of flame as he fell back toward Perketh. Jasmine dodged the burned creature, whose flowing red hair and figure seemed to imply that of a woman. The white dragon kicked the charred thing with her rear talons, sending the screaming woman to the hard earth below. Jasmine let loose a stream of hot, searing liquid that caked the darkened woman’s torso. Jasmine chased the woman across a field, searing her even more, but the woman was so unnaturally fast that Jasmine eventually pulled up to rejoin the alpha dragon.
Jandhar had forgotten the nobleman until he heard a horrible shriek from the south. He knew the voice.
“Nintil!” Jandhar screamed.
He pulled hard on Jahgo’s left side to bank toward the sound. He could see Zosa and Venzin layering the ground in fiery liquid around a dark shape that bounded along the earth like a flea on a dog’s back. As he and Jahgo came closer, he realized there were two twitching shapes below his flying green dragons. One was Nintil, flopping around and screaming in pain. The other was one of its wings which flapped separately along the ground and spurted blood all over the grass.
The man who had attacked his dragon screamed in defiance as Zosa and Venzin continued to harass him and he leapt from tree to rock and mound of earth.
“Up!” Jandhar shouted. “Zosa! Venzin! Up!”
The two greens obeyed but protested and screeched as they circled their agonized, one-winged brother on the ground.
“Pick him up,” Jandhar commanded Jahgo.
With a free hand, he pointed at his beta. “Jasmine, burn that man! But stay safe! Stay up!”
Jasmine sprayed the edge of the forest with fire, and the man leapt toward her on the field but then stopped. A scream echoed across the prairie, from the direction the red-haired woman had bounded.
“Jayna!” the man yelled.
Jahgo picked up Nintil, who had gone limp on the ground. Jasmine swooped down to pick up his wing and followed closely behind. Zosa and Venzin swooped between Jahgo’s claws, nudging at Nintil’s head, but he was unresponsive. Bright red blood streamed down his back and off his legs. The droplets splattered against Jasmine, peppering her white skin with crimson splotches and freckles that streaked down her body as he bled out.
“Retreat,” Jandhar commanded weakly, taking in the loss of one of his adopted sons. “Back to the south, toward Dona. Let us regroup with our troops and surgeons.”
“My name is Julian Mallory,” the unnatural man screamed from edge of the forest, where he cradled the charred woman who Jasmine had attacked. “By birthright, I am a high lord of Surdel! But you will know me as the Blood Lord! I’m coming for you, Dragon Prince! I’ll bleed you out and swallow your organs while you watch me do it! You hear me, coward? I’m coming for you!”
Jandhar logged the name in the recesses of his mind, but in that moment, the Blood Lord Julian Mallory was the
least of his concerns. It took two hours to return back to camp. By that time, Nintil was gone. The two greens nudged at him throughout the night, crying in mourning. Jasmine slept with her front claws draped over him, preventing any surgeons from approaching the dead dragon or even Jasmine to check on her glands.
Jahgo and Jandhar watched from the entrance to his command tent. He gave short orders to Captain Talso and his generals. Build a barge for Nintil, just as they had for his mother. Light it off the nearest shore of the Small Sea. March north after the funeral. Kill the well-dressed man and the goat-headed freak. Theodore Crowe and the rest of the Eldenwalds could wait.
“Save her!” Julian screamed at Orcus.
Half of Jayna’s torso was still smoldering in the green grass. The fire from the big white dragon had eaten through her shoulder and half her organs.
“It’s OK, baby,” he told his betrothed. “Lord Orcus will save you.”
Orcus looked down at her, still in his goat-skull form. He didn’t move. He just held his long, skulled staff at an angle. Behind him, the paladins smote the ground, destroying hundreds of undead that continued to assault them. A bubble of light formed again and again, along with the arcs of lightning that accompanied the determined striking. Julian paid them no attention. His focus was completely on his lover.
“You saved her before,” Julian said, running his fingers through her singed hair.
Her face had been horribly burnt from the paladin attack earlier, but the dragon’s breath drenched her in a sticky substance that continued to burn long after the attack. His own burns had already healed. His skin pushed the flammable liquid out until it congealed and wiped away.
“She’s not healing fast enough,” Julian said. “Can you speed it up?”
“The disease is doing what it can,” Orcus said. “These creatures are powerful. That’s why I want one. I’d take the whole lot, if I could.”
“To hell with your dragons!” Julian said. “This is your fault!”
“My fault?” Orcus asked. “I gave you both the disease, but you didn’t leave her many men from your escort, did you? She only had so much time to train her disease—to feed it. You got greedy, so she was weak.”
“I didn’t know,” Julian yelled. “You didn’t tell me what I—How could I have known she would need so much blood to be as strong?”
“Make your peace,” Orcus said coldly. “She teeters on the edge of the Abyss.”
“No!” Julian cried.
He cradled her, kissing her crisped bangs and the burnt skin on her forehead. His tears mingled with the mucus coursing down his face and chin and saliva from his open mouth. His sobs were silent. He looked up at Orcus.
“Can you bring her back?” Julian asked.
“As a demon?” Orcus asked.
“As whatever,” Julian said.
“Not until we defeat Demogorgon and make claim to the portal below us.”
Jayna hissed, and Julian almost rejoiced that he would hear her voice again, until he realized that it wasn’t a hiss done in anger. The last bit of air was leaving her damaged lungs.
“No!” Julian cried. “No, no, no, no-no, no!”
Julian laid her gently to the ground and looked up at the arcs of lightning behind Orcus. He stomped toward the paladins, screaming. He ran at the bubble created by the Arrington woman, bouncing off it and scalding his hands over and over again.
“You’re all going to die!” Julian promised through gritted teeth, spittle dripping down his chin.
“They’ll die,” Orcus said, putting a hand on his shoulder and pulling him back, “but first, I need you to get me one of those dragons. There are two other armies approaching from the east. Armies filled with blood and organs. Use your magnificent talents. Win me this field. Help me defeat Demogorgon, and I’ll bring your dark love back to you.”
12
The People Mobilize
The blacksmith apprentice and recently resurrected Clayton Achates wrestled with a green-eyed undead minion of Orcus in the heart of Perketh. Nearby, Master Nathan swung his hammer, shattering the skull of a large, undead bear and sending fragments of destroyed creature skidding between Clayton’s legs. He grunted an approval to his master and kicked the man he’d been wrestling with in the chest, toppling him backward. Clayton was on the man in seconds, bashing his head in with his bare hands.
As he crushed the last brittle fragments, a humongous dark shadow passed over him once, then twice, and a third and fourth time in quick succession. He heard squawking and screeching above him and looked up, as did Master Nathan. The aproned blacksmith strode over, deftly holding his hammer. Undead scurried between buildings and out of the city, shrieking at the sky.
Overhead, a large black dragon carried a smaller one in its talons while two others swooped around them. The squawking group headed south.
“Are those dragons?” Nathan asked. “Is that the Dragon Prince?”
Clayton grunted and shrugged. The skin and tendons along his jaw were healing. Everyone was experiencing something similar in Perketh. Wounds were closing. He wasn’t stuffing himself with flowers anymore. Despite the attacks, some people were even smiling. Hope seemed infectious.
Across the square in Perketh, the undead controlled by Orcus sprinted and scurried north, leaving the town battered and smoldering in places but mostly intact. The first reprieve the town had in months. Orcus had been trying to conquer or convert them since he had emerged from Godun.
“Are they coming back?” Nathan asked.
Clayton held his jaw and forced himself to talk. “Don’t know.”
He picked up a massive hammer that Nate had initially made in preparation for the arrival of the King’s Guard who might try to snuff out the unnatural men and women of Perketh. He eyed the fleeing enemy undead who had been attacking the town for weeks. A scrawny one came bounding through the square, its eyes ablaze and panicked. It had dropped a club to move faster, and seemed to not recognize Nathan or Clayton as threats until the last moment. It veered left as Clayton spun in a half-circle with an upward swing. The head came clean off and rolled to a stop near City Hall where it spun on its cranium for several seconds.
The lights went out and it stopped shrieking.
The town had taken severe losses in the assault. Mayor Seth Collins hadn’t been seen since the beginning of the hostilities with Orcus. Some of the town council had been murdered—again and likely for good this time. Hundreds of Orcus’ minions had been destroyed with fire and Nathan’s steel weapons. They hadn’t had time to do a proper reckoning of the losses to Perketh’s citizenry though. It could be even worse than it looked.
Howland Davidson emerged from an alley beside City Hall.
“Sarah?” he called to his wife.
“I’m fine,” she shouted back through a window. “We’re all fine.”
Howland brained an undead with his axe as it skirted the building. He brought the axe back to his shoulder and nodded in acknowledgement to Nathan and Clayton.
“Tell them it’s all right to come out,” Nathan said, pointing at City Hall, which was housing a hundred or more residents in the basement, all of whom had been raised by Ashton Jeraldson after the Red Army came through.
“We don’t know that,” Clayton said, still holding his jaw and leaning his hammer near the smelter in the center of town. “This could all be a trick.”
“Even if it is,” Nathan said. “Couldn’t hurt to let the people out for a short time and rebuild some of the defenses.”
“Or maybe just get some rest,” Howland agreed.
“Has anyone seen Seth?” Nathan asked.
“Not me,” Howland replied.
Clayton shook his head.
“I wonder where Ashton is,” he said, remembering his best friend and savior.
“Aye,” Nathan agreed. “We could use some reinforcements right now. The next assault may be even bigger. We need to recoup and repair.”
Clayton nodded as he surveyed the town’
s damage.
“Repair,” Clayton said through his fingers, “but attack.”
“Attack?” Nathan asked. “Clayton, I’m not even sure we have enough people to defend Perketh when the bastards come back.”
Clayton walked slowly out of the square, north toward the retreating undead. He watched three scampering men disappear between buildings, making their way toward Alefast or Xhonia. Women and children filed out of City Hall.
“Maybe they’ll come back,” Clayton said, his jaw starting to hurt with the effort, “or maybe they’re going to attack some other town.”
Clayton turned to address a crowd that had started to gather in the square. Nearly a hundred people were here already.
“What if they’re going to kill Ashton?” Clayton asked. “What if we’re standing here, guarding our town, while the rest of Surdel burns?”
“We can’t be everywhere at once,” Howland said. “Besides, we’re not soldiers. If we can kill these things, then the King’s Guard should certainly have no trouble with them. Give the King time. He’ll come for us.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Nathan said.
Clayton nodded, joining his master at his side. “Who knows where the King’s Guard are and what they would do if they got here? They’re just as likely to attack us as being unnatural as defend us as loyal subjects. Perhaps, this Demon Lord Orcus that his minions have talked about has killed King Aethis or maybe Kingarth’s under siege. We could sit here waiting for the next attack, or we could bring the fight to them!”
“Look,” Nathan said. “I’m as ready to fight as the next person, but I agree with Howland. This is not the time to bring the fight to an enemy we don’t even know the strength of. Besides, we have women and children here. There are only a few dozen men here with any strength—”
“And we’ve held off an army,” Clayton said. “We’re not normal men. Howland was stabbed with an axe weeks ago—”