But even as the spell grew stronger, Keegan himself was growing weaker. The power of the Ring was being poured forth in an endless gush at the glowing green monster high above his head. It wings thrashed madly in the currents of the storm, and its body was racked by the lightning and corrosive rain. Again and again he threw more Chaos up and into the storm, determined to bring the monster crashing down to the earth, a victim of his irresistible power. And with each thrust of his spell, his ability to call upon the reserve of magical energy diminished.
Finally the dragon fell. Its wings pulled in tight to its sides as it began to plummet to the earth. Keegan’s flush of victory was short-lived, however, as he realized the beast was not falling, but diving. At him.
Frantically, Keegan began the incantations of another spell, one to preserve him from the certain death hurtling toward him. The dragon grew in size as it approached, becoming large, then huge, then monstrous. It spread its wings wide, blotting out the sky. It was close enough for Keegan to see the deep scars and horrible burns on its scaled hide inflicted by his storm, but the wounds weren’t enough to be fatal. The beast roared once more, the cry making the earth tremble. And it opened its enormous tooth-filled mouth.
The dragon pulled out of its dive twenty feet above him, shooting a powerful jet of flame from its wide-spread jaws as it peeled away. Keegan barely had time to throw up a protective barrier—a shield of pure Chaos—to deflect the fire.
The intense heat of the dragon’s breath dropped the wizard to his knees as the stream of magical flames beat against his counter-spell, trying to punch through to consume him utterly. He willed the flames to extinguish, flooding them with wave after wave of smothering magic, pouring an ocean of Chaos onto the descending column of fire until it was completely drowned out.
The entire ordeal had taken less than a second, but it left Keegan exhausted. The seemingly infinite pool of Chaos he had drawn into himself from the Ring was gone, spent in an instant against a single attack by the dragon. He suddenly became aware that he had shrunk back down to his normal size, the spell of transformation broken when he had poured all his energy into deflecting the deadly flames.
The beast was slowly veering around again, preparing another assault. Its great bulk forced it to turn in a wide, lazy arc, giving Keegan the time he needed to prepare his defenses.
He gathered the Chaos once again, drawing upon the Ring to replenish his fading power. But the river of power running through him had dwindled to a faint trickle. Even as he felt the magic gathering inside him, he knew it would never be enough to protect him from another deadly blast of fire.
He cast his mind back to his studies, desperately trying to recall anything he had ever read about dragons during his study and research under Rexol. But the Chaos Spawn were long extinct; it had been centuries since a great wyrm had last taken to the air. There was little he could draw on.
The beast had circled the castle on Ferlhame’s western edge and was now flying in low over the city. It gathered itself for another attack, its head rearing back as it prepared to unleash another gout of flame. The great green wings flapped in a powerful, steady rhythm as it glided swiftly toward him.
From the deepest recess of his mind a half-forgotten memory surfaced. Dragons were beasts of fire and flame. It was their greatest strength, but also a weakness that could be exploited—they were extremely vulnerable to cold.
With several quick, complicated motions of his hands and a rapid-fire series of arcane words, Keegan unleashed what little Chaos he was still able to call upon. It was a mere fraction of what had filled him before, but it was still more than any other mortal wizard could have conjured.
The beast’s wings were instantly encased in sheets of solid blue ice as his spell took effect. Unable to maneuver, the great wyrm veered off course. The flames that would have incinerated Keegan shot over his head, the beast’s aim completely thrown off. The fire slammed into one of the tall towers a block away, and the entire building was instantly alight.
The dragon careened down into the cityscape, the momentum of its flight sending it smashing into towers and buildings, leveling an entire block of the Danaan capital with a great crash before the enormous scaled body finally came to rest beneath tons of lumber and wooden rubble.
They were a mile from the city when they heard the dragon’s cry. Their horses reared in response, their fore-hooves churning and kicking at the air as they whinnied in terror. Vaaler and Scythe managed to hold their seats, but Jerrod and Norr were thrown from the saddle. The monk rolled nimbly with the fall and sprang quickly to his feet, but the barbarian landed heavily on the ground. By the time he scrambled back up the horses had run off in the other direction.
“What was that?” Scythe screamed out, struggling to maintain control over her skittish mount.
Jerrod reached out and grabbed the reins, and the animal immediately stopped its struggles.
“Chaos Spawn,” Jerrod replied after a moment’s thought. “A creature of pure destruction.”
“It came from the city,” Vaaler said, keeping his voice low while rubbing his mount’s neck in an effort to calm the wild-eyed animal.
“The beast must have awoken in response to the power of the Ring,” the monk explained. “Keegan must have felt it. He must have known it would attack the city.”
“That’s why he came back!” Norr exclaimed with a broad smile. “He wanted to stop it! He really is the champion who will stand against them!”
Scythe was about to say something scathing, but the words died on her lips when Vaaler spurred his horse into a gallop.
“Keegan might need our help!” he called out over his shoulder as he rode off.
Leaving Norr and Jerrod to follow along once they recaptured their mounts, she charged off after him.
After only a few seconds, she broke through the trees and pulled up short, reining in so that her horse stood beside Vaaler’s own. The prince was staring in stunned horror at the scene before them.
The city was a smoking ruin. Buildings had collapsed and hundreds—perhaps thousands—of bodies lay scattered about the streets. But it wasn’t the devastation that drew Scythe’s attention. Flying in from the western edge of the city was a glowing green monster, a great winged beast that even Scythe recognized as a dragon.
The dragon was homing in on a single lonely figure: Keegan, shrunk once more to his normal size. There was a flash of magic and the beast veered away, a blast of fire erupting from its jaws but missing its target. It slammed into a row of buildings in full flight, its enormous scaled body vanishing beneath the collapsing structures.
A second later, to Scythe’s horror and utter disbelief, the dragon rose up from the rubble.
For a moment the beast lay still, but then it shook itself free of the debris. It turned its head first to one side then the other, shooting short bursts of flame at its ice-bound wings then flapping them to dislodge the last shards still clinging to the glittering scales. It took a few lumbering steps on its massive legs, preparing to launch itself to the sky once more.
Keegan lashed out again, throwing every remaining ounce of energy into the hastily conjured spell. Shards of jagged ice flew from his raised fists, ripping through the leathery skin of the dragon’s outstretched wings. Great holes tore into the hide, huge rifts in the flesh and sinew of the bat-like appendages, and the dragon screamed as its steaming blood gushed forth from the wounds and burst into flames as it hit the street.
The mage collapsed face-first onto the ground, too weak from the effort to even try to cushion his fall. For a second he just lay there, then with a great effort he managed to roll onto his side to bring his enemy into view once more.
The beast was crippled, but not beaten. No longer able to fly it began a slow, clumsy advance. Its massive, clawed feet crushed everything in its path as it crawled its way through the ruined debris that had once been great wooden towers of the glorious forest city.
As soon as the creature was clo
se enough, Keegan knew, it would incinerate him. He tried to summon the Chaos again, but his will was drained. He could still sense the power of Old Magic pulsing within the Ring, but he could no longer draw it out.
And yet he could release it all at once. He had managed to cage the fury of the Chaos within the Talisman; if he hadn’t done so the magic would have overwhelmed him as it had Rexol when he had tried to use the Crown. If he released that magic now it would consume him utterly … but it might destroy his enemy as well.
He struggled to his feet and thrust his left hand up high above him in a clenched fist. The Ring glowed brightly, responding to the presence of the mystical beast that was inching ever closer. The dragon’s steaming jaws yawned open. With his last conscious act, Keegan released the full power of the Ring.
Neither Scythe nor Vaaler had moved since emerging from the forest. The scene before them held them rapt, fascinated and horrified by what was unfolding. Their stupor was only broken when Jerrod’s horse exploded out of the woods behind them, racing at a full gallop toward the young wizard and the dragon.
Jerrod crouched low in the saddle as he thundered toward the city, the world rushing by in a blur of shadows. His horse’s hooves churned up great chunks of earth as he spurred it on. The animal raced across the field separating Ferlhame from the surrounding trees with unnatural speed, sure-footed in the darkness as the monk channeled his own energy and mystical second sight through the animal he rode.
Five hundred yards away from him Keegan unleashed a spell that ripped through the dragon’s wings, then collapsed to the ground.
Three hundred yards away the Child of Chaos crawled forward while the wizard lay motionless on his side.
Two hundred yards away Keegan struggled to his feet.
One hundred and fifty yards away he thrust his hand up into the air, fingers clenched in a tight fist.
One hundred yards away the wyrm opened its jaws to reduce his foe to ashes. The Chaos burst forth from the Ring in a single glorious beam of pure white. It arced from Keegan’s palm and plunged down the beast’s gaping maw.
Fifty yards away the dragon exploded into a thousand chunks.
The force of the blast sent Jerrod and his horse hurtling through the air. The monk threw himself clear as his mount’s body slammed into the ground, rolling to absorb the force of the impact. A spray of boiling blood splashed over him, searing his flesh and melting the fabric of his Danaan robe.
He ignored the pain of his burned skin and the screams of his dying horse as he sprang to his feet and crossed the last fifty yards at a run that was only slightly slower than the stallion’s charge.
Keegan was still standing with his hand raised to the heavens, though he was no longer conscious. His body was rigid as steel, frozen in place by the Chaos surging through him, devouring him from the inside. Great arcing beams of white light shot out from the Ring to lash at the city in a wild, random pattern, obliterating everything they touched.
Twenty feet from Keegan Jerrod scooped up the sword of a fallen soldier without breaking stride. Smoke began to curl up from the wizard’s skin.
Ten feet away a beam of deadly white light hurtled toward his chest. He ducked and somersaulted beneath it without losing any momentum, coming out of the roll five feet from the wizard’s frozen form.
He leapt high into the air, flipping over as he did so. The Danaan blade flickered out, slashing at Keegan’s upraised fist. Jerrod’s forward momentum allowed the thin blade to slice cleanly through skin, tendon, and bone.
The arcing white beams vanished as the link between Talisman and wizard was broken, instantly terminating the spell. Keegan crumpled limp and unconscious to the ground, his cleanly severed hand—finger still wearing the Ring—landing beside him a moment later.
Epilogue
Three days had passed since the battle at Ferlhame, but Scythe knew it would take far, far longer for them all to recover from what had happened.
Jerrod had emerged from the wreckage that had once been the Danaan capital carrying Keegan’s unconscious body, the young wizard’s left arm wrapped in torn bandages to stem the bleeding from the cleaved stump that had once been his hand. Scythe had also noticed that the Ring dangled from a chain around the monk’s neck, though she hadn’t mentioned it at the time.
With their small group reunited, they had retreated into the forest where the monk had done his best to tend to Keegan’s wounds. Within a few hours the young man had regained consciousness, though he was so weak he couldn’t even stand. Despite this, Jerrod had insisted they move on, claiming it wasn’t safe to linger so near the city.
Scythe had half expected Vaaler to abandon them at that point. She thought he might go back to try to help his people in the aftermath of the destruction, but the prince had simply saddled up and ridden off with them. Obviously he felt his place was at Keegan’s side now.
Jerrod’s horse had been killed during his mad rush into the battle, meaning they had only four mounts for the five of them. Since Keegan was in no condition to ride alone this hardly mattered. They had placed him and Scythe on the same horse: Between them they were far less of a burden than Norr was to the unfortunate animal bearing his massive girth. The wizard rode in front with Scythe behind so she could help support him in the saddle whenever his exhausted body began to droop to one side or the other.
Since then they had moved at a slow but steady pace. Vaaler had assured them they didn’t need to worry about the patrols anymore: All the Danaan would have been recalled to help with the rebuilding of Ferlhame and to care for the city’s many wounded. He had said little else as he rode at the head of the group, leading them through the forest.
Scythe could understand his silence; he was struggling to cope with the destruction of his city and the guilt of knowing he had played a part in it. To make matters worse, there was the constant reminder of all the dead Danaan they passed. Several times in the first two days they had come across the gruesome remains of a patrol, their bodies impaled or hung from the branches of the trees and their throats stuffed with brown and withered leaves. But now they were nearing the eastern edge of the forest, and they seemed to have left the disturbing scenes behind them.
It had been Norr’s idea to head east. There was really nowhere else for them to go. In the Southlands the remains of the Order would be hunting for them. By now news of Torian’s fate would have all of the Free Cities up in arms. And the idea of traveling farther north into Danaan territory was unthinkable. Even so, Scythe had been surprised when Norr suggested they head for the lands of his people.
She supposed that was why he was so quiet during the journey. Her lover had never spoken of his homeland, or why he had left. She had long suspected the story was a painful one, and his somber mood now seemed to confirm that. He had chosen to ride at the head of the group beside Vaaler, and she had taken the hint and left him alone with his thoughts.
Jerrod rode at the back of the group. The monk had little to say, and Scythe couldn’t help but wonder if he was suffering through a crisis of faith. His great champion had dared to use the power of the Ring and had survived … but only after being maimed so badly that even the monk’s healing powers couldn’t restore his lost hand.
He had defeated a dragon, but thousands of innocents had died in the process, and she wondered if the terrible destruction Keegan had unleashed might be enough to make even a religious zealot question the value of his beliefs.
As for the young wizard himself, he drifted in and out of consciousness as they rode. Most of the time he seemed to be unaware of where he was even when his eyes were open, which worried Scythe.
She had seen his power; she could only imagine what he might be capable of in his unbalanced state. Jerrod had tried to reassure her, swearing that without the Ring, Keegan was no threat to any of them. She only partly believed him.
But even though she was afraid of him, she also sensed how helpless and vulnerable he was. Keegan was physically weak, drained by his ord
eal. He could easily succumb to sickness or infection in his severed stump. Despite her reservations about him and his supposed destiny, she didn’t want him to die.
Surprisingly, Jerrod didn’t seem concerned. He was convinced Keegan only needed time to rest and recover his strength. But for the first two days he had seemed perpetually trapped between a waking daze and a state of fitful, restless slumber. It was only last night that he had finally settled into a true sleep. He had woken up briefly when they had lifted him into the saddle, but within minutes he was snoring softly again, lulled by the steady rhythm of the horses’ plodding hooves.
Their shared mount stumbled briefly, a jarring step. In the saddle in front of her the young man jerked awake with a sudden start, his head snapping from side to side in confusion as he tried to piece together his surroundings.
“Hush, hush,” she whispered, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder. “You’re safe. We’re still riding. There’s nothing to fear here.”
“How long have I been asleep?” he mumbled. It was the first time he had spoken anything coherent since the Ring had nearly killed him. Scythe took it as a good sign.
“It’s been three days,” she said carefully, not sure how much he would remember.
“Three days since … since the dragon.” His voice was stronger now, but he didn’t seem upset.
“That’s right.” She spoke quietly enough that the others wouldn’t overhear their conversation. If they realized Keegan was awake they might all want to speak with him at once, and she wasn’t sure he was up to it. “Do you remember anything else?”
“The Ring … I couldn’t control it anymore,” he muttered, taking a cue from the tone of her voice. He held up his wounded arm and stared at where his missing hand should be.
“Jerrod … saved me.”
“I guess he figured a savior missing a hand was better than a dead one,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.
Children of Fire Page 47