by M. L. Forman
“You cast an interesting illusion,” said Alex, catching one of the lightning bolts in his hand. “For a moment, I almost thought it was real.”
“Real enough,” said Mog, still sneering at Alex. “Whatever I create here, I can create in the world. Whatever pain you feel here will be nothing compared to the unending pain you will feel when I am through with you.”
“Then why show me this foolishness?” Alex questioned, carelessly tossing the lightning bolt aside. “If you are so mighty, why waste my time with mere illusion?”
“To give you a chance, boy,” answered Mog, his voice shaking with anger. “I am not cruel, and I do not destroy without a reason. Join me and share my power. Together we could do so much.”
“You would do only evil,” said Alex, waving his staff. Mog’s imagined world vanished. “You can’t create anything new; you can only call back what once was.”
“You are a fool,” said Mog from Nethrom’s body. “A brave fool, perhaps, but a fool just the same.”
“I will give you one chance to depart. Leave Nethrom and return to the darkness from whence you came,” said Alex, lifting his staff.
Mog roared in reply, raising his own staff in a sweeping motion and spreading fire over the floor around Alex. Alex felt the heat of the flames and knew that this time the fire was real, yet he did not move nor did he try to counter the spell.
“Feel the heat of dragon fire, boy!” Mog laughed. “Begin to feel the pain that I will inflict upon you.”
Reaching out, Alex took hold of the fire. It seemed almost alive in his hand. Mog had cast a spell of dragon fire, but he did not know that Alex was both a dragon lord and part dragon. The fire would obey him, not Mog. Alex pulled the fire together in his hand and swung it at Mog like a whip.
Mog screamed in surprise and pain as the flames struck him, throwing him back against the far wall of the chamber.
Alex coiled the flames for a second strike, but Mog spun away before he could land another blow.
“I see you’ve mastered fire,” Mog said. “An impressive feat for any wizard, I’ll not deny it. But I have other weapons—other, more deadly, ways of dealing with you.”
Mog spun his staff quickly and an ice-cold blast of air hit Alex, pushing him back toward the wall. The cold tore at him, burning his bare hands and face as the air rushed over him. He felt strangely tired, and for a moment all he could think about was sleep. Shaking his head, Alex cleared his thoughts, and, raising his own staff, he turned away Mog’s spell. One wall of the chamber went white with ice as the spell hit it. Mog raised his staff once more.
Alex was quicker this time, and he cast a spell of his own, a binding spell that would keep Mog from moving. He needed time to think, to warm his cold, numb hands, and to clear his mind. Fighting off Mog’s spells was slowly draining his power, and he wondered how long he could keep it up.
Mog struggled against Alex’s spell, but he was unable to break it. After several seconds he stood still, and Alex knew that Mog was gathering his own power to break the binding. Focusing his thoughts on the spell, Alex struggled to keep the binding in place, and for a brief moment he thought he’d succeeded, but then with a loud snapping sound, Mog broke free. The creature staggered slightly and leaned against the table, catching his breath.
Alex leaned against his staff, breathing hard after his effort to keep the binding spell in place. In the back of his mind, the wild, reckless feelings that he had been trying to understand for the last few months began to stir.
Mog moved suddenly, sending a blast of bloodred light at Alex.
The light hit Alex in the chest, throwing him against the cavern wall and knocking the breath out of him. He looked up to see the effort on the creature’s face, the pain that it was costing him to keep the spell in place. Alex, however, didn’t feel any pain; the true-silver mail he was wearing under his shirt had deflected the spell from him and sent it back to Mog.
“Curse you!” Mog shouted, breaking the spell. “That spell has killed more powerful wizards than you.”
“Yet I remain,” said Alex, pushing himself away from the wall.
“Not for long.”
A blast of green light hit Alex like a hammer, driving him to his knees. There was no pain in this light, but it was full of feelings. His mind spun as memories he had thought all but forgotten returned to him. All of his darkest thoughts, his fears, and his sorrows seemed to gather around him like a mist as Mog continued to dig them out of Alex’s own past.
Alex felt himself weakening little by little, unable to resist Mog’s spell.
Mog pressed his advantage, forcing Alex’s thoughts further back in time, drawing out the worst things that had ever happened to him.
Alex fell to the ground, his body suddenly too heavy for him to hold up. Darkness filled his mind with the memories and feelings Mog was forcing out of him. Alex knew the battle was lost. He would not be able to break Mog’s spell; he would be destroyed. It was pointless to go on, pointless to resist the darkness.
Fight! a voice shouted in the back of Alex’s brain. Reach out and take the power that is waiting for you to claim it.
It was a voice Alex had heard before, a voice that had told him what he needed to know when he’d fought other evils. This was his O’Gash, his sixth sense. Alex lifted his head and tried to focus on his enemy, but something hit him like a massive fist, driving him back to the floor.
Alex’s deepest sorrow flooded into his mind. He was alone in a dimly lit room, standing in front of a coffin, a coffin that had only just been closed. Mog’s spell began to lift the lid to reveal what lay inside, but Alex already knew what he would see: the pale face of his own mother, dead when Alex was only seven years old.
His mind raced with fear and with sorrow and with a desire Alex had never felt before. His body shook as he realized that he wanted the coffin lid to lift; he wanted to use the dark magic to call his mother back to the world of the living. More than anything, Alex wanted his mother to answer the questions that plagued him. Why had she never explained what his father had been? Why had she taken Alex to a world that held little magic? Why had she never told him about the family that should have been his?
He looked down on his mother’s coffin and rage replaced his sorrow.
It will do no good, the O’Gash said calmly. She had her own reasons, and she did what she did because she loved you. Calling back the dead is not the answer you are looking for.
“Use the magic!” Mog’s voice screamed from nowhere. “Rip the truth from those who have deceived you.”
The coffin began to shake, its lid slowly opening. Alex closed his eyes, not wanting to see what was happening, but he could still hear the creaking of the coffin lid. With all the strength he had left, Alex lifted his right hand and reached out for something that had been waiting for him all of his life.
“Do it!” Mog shouted in excitement. “Take hold of the darkness, and live forever!”
“No,” Alex growled in a voice that shook the mountain around him.
The reckless, wild power of the dragon surged through him as he fought off the despair. The flames of power rose up, filling Alex’s whole body. He got back to his feet, and Mog’s spell burned away like paper. A blast of golden light shot from Alex’s staff, throwing Mog across the room into a shelf full of books. Mog looked up, startled and afraid, as a second blast hit him in the chest. His stone staff shattered into a million pieces.
Mog fell to his hands and knees, struggling to get back to his feet.
Alex moved forward, the reckless power changing him as he walked. When he stood over the broken body of Nethrom, he looked like a man made of golden flames.
“Dragon,” said Mog in an awed whisper before collapsing to the floor.
A piercing scream filled the ancient chamber where Alex stood, and the dark shadow of Mog slowly lifted from the body of Nethrom. The shadow hovered for a moment as if trying to take shape, but Alex brushed it away with a wave of his hand, and i
t vanished without another sound.
Slowly, the feeling of reckless power began to slip away, and Alex found himself kneeling beside Nethrom’s body. He was cold and worn out; he felt like he had just been sick. He gulped in the cool, damp air of the cavern, wiping sweat off his face with his sleeve.
After what felt like a long time, Nethrom stirred, his eyes opening slightly to look at Alex.
“You came,” said Nethrom weakly. “You saved me from my own foolish mistake.”
“I did what I had to do,” Alex said softly.
“Thank you,” Nethrom whispered. “Thank you for freeing me and my people.”
“How did you find this place? How did you know it was here?” Alex asked.
“The order,” Nethrom managed to whisper. “The order of Malgor.”
Alex did not have time to ask anything more as Nethrom’s eyes slipped out of focus and he let out his final breath.
Chapter Nineteen
Return from Darkness
You have done well, young one, Salinor spoke in Alex’s mind. Now you must return to your friends. You have been too long in the darkness of the mountain.
“I’m so tired,” said Alex, looking around as he tried to find the dragon.
You must go, Salinor repeated. You can rest later.
“As you wish,” answered Alex, struggling to get up.
When he opened his eyes, Alex wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming. Darkness was all around him, and only the cold stone floor beneath him reminded him of where he was. Slowly he got to his feet, using his staff to help him stand. His head spun, and he stumbled sideways, bumping into something solid.
It was all he could do to conjure a single faint weir light, its dim glow reflected back to him by the crystal on Nethrom’s table. Without thinking, Alex reached out and took the crystal, but he was too tired to put it inside his magic bag. Instead, he held it close to him with his free hand and pushed himself away from the table with his other hand.
It was difficult for Alex to find his way out of the room. He was dizzy, and the feeble light he’d conjured did little to illuminate the path. He managed to close the door to Nethrom’s prison behind him and then staggered across the chamber where he’d faced the golem. He felt like the weight of the mountain was pressing down on him.
The great cavern where he’d met the dwarf king, Set, was empty, and Alex hoped that that meant the king and his long-dead people had finally found their rest. As he made his way slowly across the wide floor, the darkness continued to press in on him, but he knew he had to go on, to return to his friends.
Pausing at the bottom of the cliff to rest, Alex looked up. He could not see very far in the darkness, but he felt a sudden surge of energy. He had to hurry. The darkness was growing heavier, and he could feel it all around him, trying to hold him where he was. More than once he had to stop and rest on the long climb to the top of the cliff, but each time he stopped, he felt the same urge to hurry push him forward. He longed for the feel of the wind on his face, but the air in the cave was deathly still.
By the time Alex reached the first chamber he’d entered, he was barely moving. His feet slid across the stone floor, and each movement took all the strength he could find. Only a strange light in the chamber drew him on, and when he stepped into the light, he had to blink to focus his eyes.
In the center of the chamber was a circle of torches. The jewels that had once been bats had been gathered into a great pile, and on the top of the pile sat the broken crown of Set. It had once been a beautiful crown of true silver, inlayed with gold and precious stones, and on its top was a star sapphire as large as an egg. The sapphire had been cut in half along with the crown, and Alex felt a great sorrow that such a beautiful object had been destroyed.
He thought he would leave the gems where they were, not having the energy to put them into his magic bag, but he had promised Set he would return the crown to Thorgood. He took a deep breath, and was pleased to discover that when he simply thought, treasure room, Set’s crown, along with the entire pile of jewels, vanished into his magic bag.
Alex closed his eyes, trying to gather the strength to go on. It seemed only a moment later when he opened his eyes again, but the torches had almost gone out, and he realized he’d been standing still for a very long time. He felt stiff and found it difficult to move, but the sudden, loud crashing sound of stone falling on stone in the tunnel behind him told him that he had to move quickly.
Daylight shining into the mouth of the cave gave Alex hope, and he moved as quickly as he could to reach it. A cold breeze blew across his face as he left the cave, and he wiped away the tears that the bright light brought to his eyes. A huge weight seemed to lift from him as he stepped into the icy snow, and the cold, clean air woke him as if from a deep sleep. He crunched his way through the snow, moving away from the cave of the necromancer. Alex paused to look back just before he turned round the bend in the path. He felt the mountain shake, and as he watched, the cave crumbled into an unrecognizable pile of stones.
It was only then that Alex realized that he had been holding the mountain in check. It had been the weight of the mountain that had been pressing down on him, trying to cover the dark caverns below, and it had been his own unconscious will that had held it back. The realization shocked him, but he was too tired and weak to worry about it too much. If he had held back the mountain without knowing it, well, that was fine. At least he’d managed to get out before the caves had collapsed on top of him.
Alex started down the path once more, but it was slow going. The snow was deep, and he was still weak. After he’d walked a little more than a mile, he sat down in the snow to rest. He ate some dried meat from his magic bag and drank a great deal of water. He didn’t remember water ever tasting so good before, or the air smelling so fresh. When he began to feel the cold bite of winter, he got up and started down the mountain again.
He thought about changing into a bird or a breeze, but the transformation spell seemed too difficult. Besides, he wasn’t sure he would be strong enough to change back to himself when he reached Neplee.
Alex made his way slowly through the untouched snow of the Lost Mountains on foot. He was careful not to slip as he went along; the last thing he wanted right now was to roll down an icy mountainside and be covered with snow.
When the sun began to sink in the west, Alex began looking for a place to spend the night. He knew the clear sky would make the night much colder than the day had been. Normally, he could withstand the cold in the form of a tree, or he would conjure a fire to keep himself warm. He still felt too tired to change his shape, though, and he wasn’t sure he could sustain a fire all through the night. Instead he found a sheltered spot close to some trees where a old pine had fallen. After resting for several minutes, he was able to ignite a small pile of branches with the inferno spell he knew so well, and he was grateful for the warmth the fire offered.
The night was long and cold, but even though Alex was terribly tired, he did not sleep. Instead he spent the time thinking about what had happened in the darkness below the mountain. An incredible amount of power had flowed through him when he needed it, a power he had not known was possible. It had come to him, filling him with both a wild recklessness and a joy he could not describe in words.
Then there was Mog’s final word before he fled from Nethrom’s body.
“Dragon,” Alex finally said to himself in the darkness.
That was the name Mog had given him, the name Salinor had suggested that Alex would one day take, and the name he had been afraid of since he had first felt its power. Now that the reckless power had rescued him from despair, and, in a way, had become part of him, Alex knew why he was so weak. When he had released the power of the dragon and forced himself away from it, it had drained him. He also knew that the power was still there, waiting for him to call on it, or for some need to force it out of him. He knew that he would have to learn more about this power. But he could only do that if he took th
e shape of the dragon.
“Not yet,” said Alex to the blowing wind. “Not yet.”
He also thought about Nethrom’s final words, his answer to the question Alex had asked: The order of Malgor. Alex’s thoughts ran through his mind like the winter wind, and he was unable to hold on to them for long.
In the cold hour before dawn, Alex built up his fire and cooked some food. He wasn’t really hungry, but he knew he should eat. He didn’t know how long he had been in the mountains. He could remember the two days it took to reach the necromancer, but he had no idea how long he’d been in the dark caverns under the mountain, asleep. It felt like a long time, but that might have been because he’d woken in darkness.
When the sun rose, he was ready to move again. For a moment, Alex considered taking a form other than his own so he could return to Neplee more quickly. He felt stronger, but still he hesitated. A part of him wanted to take the shape of the dragon, the shape that was at least part of what he was. But he knew that taking the dragon form now would be foolish; he wasn’t sure what changes it would make in him, and he wasn’t even sure he would ever return to his friends if he took that shape now.
Instead he struggled through the snow on foot, slipping and falling several times as he went. He had no path to follow, but he knew he had to go down to get out of the mountains. He made good time in the beginning, but as the day wore on, he began to stumble more and more. The paths he chose through the trees often ended in snowdrifts that were taller than he was, and the cold mountain air was draining his body of heat.
Finally, when the sun was dropping behind the mountains once more, Alex came to a huge drift of snow. It looked as if all the snow on one side of the mountain had slipped into the valley, blocking his path completely. He walked along the drift away from the mountain, only to find his path blocked by a raging river full of ice. There was no way to move forward and no place he could take shelter for the night.