Prison of Supernatural Magic

by Laynie Bynum

  She sat in silence a while, but when he’d eaten half the food she prepared, she said, "I hear you sent Beru on a mission. It sounds exciting. What's the mission?"

  She leaned forward to rub Onen's shoulders and his muscles released under her touch, sending tingles spiking across his shoulders and down his arms. It felt wonderful, and he closed his eyes to enjoy the moment.

  He grunted in appreciation, but her asking more questions made him wary. "Oh, Beru? It’s probably nothing. Just one last try for peace in Iynia. But I hate to tell you. I don't think anything will come of it. We just have to try, and who knows?"

  "Indeed. No one knows?" She swung her legs off the broad chair and leaned into him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. "But right now, we have this. Me and you."

  Onen smiled as he looked down into her eyes, and reached up to brush a stray hair out of her face.

  Chapter Six

  The road north had been a long one, though on any other horse, it would have seemed a lot farther. It was pointless trying to guide it when it sprinted. It moved faster than even a god could react. Onen spent the time dozing, only waking up fully when his horse had to slow down to an ordinary gallop to rest. That pace, he could have kept up almost forever, except that he still needed food.

  The familiar sound of wind dying down brought Onen out of his dozing once again. He looked around to get his bearings. This time, surprisingly, the stone towers of Mid'thras were already visible up ahead.

  "Rorcham, you goat. You must have worn yourself out to get here this fast. Why didn't you tell me? I'd have let you rest longer. But, thanks. You know how important this is." Not that horses understood what he said, even a magical beast like Rorcham, but he'd spent so much time alone, riding, that talking to him had become a habit.

  He picked up the reins from where they hung on the saddle horn, though Rorcham was already heading in the right direction. Rorcham always knew the way.

  Half a candle-span later, they crested the hill south of Mid'thras, and that ancient stone circle rose into view. He didn't know how long it had been there before he found it, just like the Obelisk, but unlike it, he knew who built Mid'thras.

  Power radiated from the stone circle, a magic unlike any Onen could use. It belonged only to the dragons. Even the dense surrounding forests ended precisely one-hundred yards away from the circle, and no animal would willingly approach closer than that. Even Rorcham became twitchy and nervous, his ears rotating constantly, but he did as Onen asked.

  As they approached, familiar details came into focus. The majestically arched stone pillars rose from the platform until the points almost met, their jade capstones seemingly welded into the stone pillars themselves. The copper-inlaid writing, etched into the stone in every language Onen knew of and more, the inlay perfectly flush with the stone itself, fused into it with dragonfire.

  The magic contained in those stones had been built over a millennium by generations of dragons. He doubted even a god could put a scratch in it. Mid'thras had stood almost forever, and it would stand forever more.

  "There we go. Come on. You know the routine. Up onto the platform." He nudged his mount forward.

  Once Rorcham had clopped up the steps to the large dais in the center, he stopped.

  "I know you hate this part, but we must. The dragons have to be told, and I need their wisdom."

  Rorcham whinnied, stomping his hooves on the upper step, but with his ears held back, he walked slowly to the center with his head hung low. If Onen hadn't known how much his horse hated this part, or hadn't cared, it would have looked comical.

  As soon as all four hooves were on the dais itself, a pattern emerged in glowing lines, forming the stylized profile of a dragon's head with its jaw opened wide. In the same color, three words in a row lit up on one arched pillar, invisible until then. The words were written in his first language, though it had been long dead even by the time Onen discovered this place.

  "Mid'thras, Mavengus Quat'l," he said, repeating them from memory. Each word he spoke reverberated, and though it could be heard only in his mind like a whisper of thought, seemed to echo across the tiny valley.

  In one blink of an eye, everything changed around him. Gone were the hills, the forest, the stones of Mid'thras. In their place stood only a vast underground chamber that stretched far beyond the meager light cast by the floor's glowing, etched circle. That light faded quickly, as the process completed. Dragons had no need of light.

  Guests usually did, however, and rows of glyphs appeared on every wall, the floor, and the ceiling, each identical and spaced ten feet apart. It was amazing how vast the chamber was. He once had been equally impressed by the glass-smooth surfaces. The dragons had revealed their secret for that long ago. After dragonfire turned the stone butter-soft, it had been smoothed out, and it cooled into that glassy finish.

  A deep voice spoke directly into Onen's mind, sounding like a harmony of people whispering in unison. Onen Suun. I expected your arrival, old friend, and cleared the chamber for Rorcham's comfort.

  The harmony gave the familiar voice a creepy effect, especially in that dim lighting, but unlike the voice in the Obelisk chamber, this one had warmth and feeling behind it.

  Onen smiled broadly. He could make out the dragon's form now that his eyes were adjusting to the light. "Arc'homir, lord of the high dragon bloodlines, king of all dragonkind. Thanks for that. Coming here feels like coming home in many ways."

  The dragon chuckled, a hoarse, raspy sound. You flatter like a human, old friend. But you are always welcome here.

  "Wherever 'here' is." Onen smiled. "All I can guess is that we're somewhere up north or you wouldn't have left your gateway for me to find, so long ago."

  Arc'homir muttered something under his breath and the glyphs closest to Onen brightened considerably, making the lighting much more comfortable. As the lights came up, the dragon king was also lit up, at least halfway down the length of his neck, which was as thick as an old oak tree.

  The dragon king's broad shoulders spanned sixty feet, and even grew a bit broader when his wings were extended. Dragons reminded Onen of giant, scaly war dogs with their build, their bulk, and the way they ran. The similarities ended there, though. Like all dragons, Arc'homir's tail was as long as his body from snout to rump. It ended in spikes for battle, but the tail was primarily used for balance in flight. His beefy neck was not quite half as long as his body, while his head was huge, like a pit-viper's but with more spikes and fangs, and an alligator-like jaw.

  All in all, seeing a dragon was a fantastical sight, even for a god.

  Certainly, it wasn't I who left Mid'thras there. You first came here before I was lord and king, remember.

  That was startling. Onen had never considered that before. Even back then, Arc'homir had inspired awe with his sheer size and raw power. "And now, here we are. You're the oldest of your kind, and perhaps my oldest friend."

  Arc'homir let out a deep rumble in his chest, his scaled lips pulling back to reveal rows of teeth, each as long as a sword. I certainly feel like the oldest. Jests aside, though, let us go somewhere comfortable. Standing for long is wearying.

  Onen cocked his head, startled, but the dragon either wasn’t familiar enough with human body language to catch it or he had decided not to comment. Arc’homir had been there as long as Onen had known dragons, and he’d chosen to think of dragons as being immortal, like him. That didn’t mean they were, but of course, they couldn’t be truly mortal, either, could they? It was an uncomfortable thing to consider, and he shoved the thoughts aside. Whatever the future held, things would be what they were, no matter Onen’s desires.

  Arc’homir laughed again—had he heard Onen’s thoughts? —then turned around. It was a slow process due to the behemoth's bulk, but even the great dragon was dwarfed by the tremendous room. A hundred high dragons could have fit inside it with space to spare.

  Walking down the narrow corridor Arc'homir chose to leave the room, which was only wide enou
gh for two dragons to pass each other in comfort, Onen didn't bother to look back at his mount. He'd never been able to coax that horse out of the arrival chamber, and didn't try now.

  But, seeing Arc'homir make that walk, a dull edge of sadness cut into him. Was his dragon friend not joking when he'd said that even high dragons were mortal? Onen could almost believe it, based on the lumbering pace Arc'homir set. If the dragon king ever died, it would be a sad day for the world, even if it had never known of him personally, or of the thing’s dragons had done and battles they'd found in the past that had made Iynia's vast northlands into a lush, green paradise.

  Getting to the king's lounge took noticeably longer than the last time Onen visited. His old friend was slowing down.

  The "cozy" lounge where the dragon king conducted his one-on-one diplomacy or relaxed with friends was huge, to Onen, but the king set the lighting for his comfort. This in turn let Onen actually see across the chasm between the two beds within. They looked like gigantic versions of the ones wealthy mortals lounged on, not real beds, but for one of Onen's size, getting onto it required a bit of climbing. That was made harder by how seriously fluffy the beds had to be in order to support a dragon's massive bulk.

  As Onen licked his fingers clear of the last bits of brunch—amazingly good, considering it was mostly made of plants and meat he'd never seen or heard of before—he almost felt relaxed, despite the seriousness of his mission. All good things came to an end, though, and the reunion brunch was no exception. He'd have preferred to skip it and get right to the matter, but the only thing quick about dragons was their famous tempers.

  Onen took a last gulp of... mushroom cider, maybe? He wasn’t sure. "I imagine you're curious why I'm here."

  A ten-year of summers is not too long to wait when you get to be my age. How and why you share the humans' frantic urge to do everything right now, I'll never understand. I was curious about your mission, of course, but I knew you'd tell me when you were ready, in a year or two, after you'd had your reunions with some of the other high dragons you know.

  A wan smile crossed Onen's face, but, remembering his mission, it vanished. "Normally, a year or two would be only the briefest stay, hardly even polite. But the world isn't waiting for me to be polite and social. I'm afraid I have to deal with something immediately, something only you can help with."

  Something I may help with? Arc'homir owed Onen a life-debt, which Onen had never asked to be repaid.

  He didn't need to call in that debt now, either. "Yes, if you see the wisdom in it. But if you see flaws, tell me so we can figure out a way around them."

  The dragon lowered his head. Then, ask when you are ready, and do not worry about being impolite. We can extend your visit some other time. After all, what do we have but time? I'll keep this trip just between us.

  "Thank you. I'll get to the point, then. Dag'draath is winning this war, even though he's lost every major battle. We only won those by the skin of our teeth, and he's replacing his losses fast. Now, in fact, he's throwing soldiers at us where we're strong, whittling us down as though he doesn't need to be concerned with how many soldiers die in the process."

  Arc'homir shrugged his massive shoulders. That is unfortunate, and odd. Normally, only a fool attacks his enemy's strength. But, while dragons will happily help oppose this nemesis, we will not take an army to wing in defense of a bunch of men and elves. You know this.

  "What a tragic misunderstanding started that feud."

  Arc'homir's sharply angled facial spikes bobbed, a dragon's shrug. I think we understood it perfectly well.

  "I know. I don't challenge your right to feel that way. But that feud started so far back that, to humans, it isn't even in their most misty legends. It's an unknown footnote to other tales. To the elves, those tales are just part of their more ancient sagas."

  The king's jaw clenched, which meant the same in dragon as it did to humans. To my kind, it was but two generations ago. I understand your... concern. I do. But Onen, this simple brunch talk won't change any dragon minds. You can't expect me to ask my people to simply forget.

  "I wouldn't dream of asking that. My plan is simpler than raising a dragon army to protect humans and elves, yet just as hard to achieve."

  Oh? Arc'homir's spear-long eye-ridge spikes rose up.

  Good. It meant he was curious. "Yes. I plan to build a trap to imprison Dag'draath forever."

  The dragon king threw his head back and laughed, a roar that made the rock-hewn room vibrate.

  Onen had to cover his ears until the king was done. If he hadn’t heard that laugh before, he might have been frozen in fear of the dragon attacking him. While he was glad he didn’t need to worry about Arc’homir trying to devour him, being laughed at was not something any god was used to, much less from dragons, dour as they usually were. But he’d asked his friend to point out flaws, had he not? He let out a long breath and waited for the roaring laughter to die down.

  When Arc'homir recovered, he paused to look Onen square in the eyes. You aren't kidding? Oh. Do you know what kind of power it would take to hold one like him? Almost as much as it would take to imprison you. I know of no magic so strong, not even dragonweird.

  Onen nodded but stayed silent.

  Arc'homir ate another bit of meat, the size of a sheep. So, do you have a plan to deal with that problem?

  "Yes, partly. There is a certain stone, older than man or elf, infused with the primordial power of creation itself. You know the one. I have Beru questing for it right now, in fact."

  The dragon tilted his head to one side, his neck arching down to bring his head closer to Onen. In humans, that would mean surprise or curiosity. To the high dragons, it was the same as when a human shook her head.

  Onen asked, “What are you saying no to? Using the stone, or having Beru retrieve it?”

  Even with the Paragon Stone, you will not contain him forever. Several thousand years, perhaps, but no more. And no one living knows where it has been all these years. The last time I heard a rumor of it, humans hadn't yet even been taught how to farm the earth.

  Onen forced a smile. "It may not hold him forever, but that would at least buy me time. I can rebuild Iynia from this war's devastation, guide the nations to prepare them over time, and all the while, I'll be able to look for a truly permanent solution."

  Imprisoning a god for thousands of years might just bring an even worse war to your beloved lands, once he breaks out. The only guarantee you get with a prison is that the imprisoned will get out eventually. When the Paragon's power is drained, if he doesn't find another way sooner. He's a wily one.

  "I know. But right now, we're losing the war. It won't matter if he could have escaped in a few thousand years, once he conquers the world. Do you have a better idea? I came here firstly in the hope that you would."

  Arc'homir didn't move for half a candle-span, seemingly petrified in stone, but at last, he cocked his head and smoke trails rose from his nostrils. No. I am sorry, friend, but this was a wasted journey. I can think of no better option. That does not mean it is a good option, however.

  "I know, but we—"

  A buzz tickled the back of Onen's mind. He froze. What was that? It was new to him.

  And then the cause struck him, explaining why it had never happened before. He turned to the dragon king, his eyes wide, and leapt to his feet. "By my sword... My castle is under attack."

  He sprinted toward the edge of the giant-sized bed and slid down the blankets that covered it. Time was running out to stop Dag’draath, it seemed, and faster than he'd thought.

  Chapter Seven

  Onen reined his mount in front of the gates to one of Y'serra's castles in the Northwest Territory, situated on the way to his castle. He needed to talk to his lieutenant before he arrived at his besieged castle and walked blindly into a battle in progress. It made a conveniently close and secure spot to do so. It had the advantage of also being Y’serra’s current residence, since it allowed them both to see ea
ch other without traveling halfway across the northwest.

  Y'serra's guards jumped, startled to see him appear seemingly out of nowhere, but they were used to it and quickly recovered enough to open the gates. Stable hands weren’t far behind for his mount. A servant approached to take him to Y’serra.

  Onen thanked him, then followed him to the castle's keep, where the servant announced Onen’s arrival and then left him standing in the great hall.

  Impatient, Onen occupied himself by looking at Y'serra's decor. Something was not quite right about it, though. He wasn’t certain why, but it set him uneasy. He focused on the room, trying to put his finger on it, and soon realized what was wrong. Recognition hit him all at once—two of her favorite paintings were missing from the hall's walls, as were a few tapestries, and they'd each been replaced with new ones. The new paintings and tapestries had a lot of red in them, though Y'serra disliked the color in general, and the images they showed were gloomy. Y'serra normally didn't care for such dark themes.

  Then again, times had recently become dark, indeed. She was probably just changing her style to match the times. Still, the change was jarring.

  When Y'serra came in, she beamed at him, her whole face lighting up. She rushed to embrace him and slid her arms under his, resting her cheek on his chest. "This is a surprise."

  He withdrew to look at her with one eyebrow raised.

  Her eyes grew wide for an instant as her lips pursed, and she blurted, "But it's a good surprise. I couldn't wait to see you again. What business brings you here, though? Tell me everything."

  Her enthusiasm almost made him smile, relieved. But then he noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the hint of blood-shot veins in the whites. Her shoulders were hunched forward. Something was definitely not right, and his warrior instincts shouted “danger.”

  He forced a smile "Are you okay? You look exhausted, my love."