Dawncaller

by David Rice

  “The fires are slowing,” Dorak announced.

  Cinn’s response was terse. “Thousands of lifebane are not. We need to replenish arrows from our stockpiles. Can you delay them?”

  Dorak glanced over to the archive door and was relieved to see it sealed. Then his expression hardened. “We will close their paths, tangle their legs in thorns, and fill their skin with stinging vermin.”

  “The flames will catch up to them,” Cinn commented. He signaled four of his fastest wardens to dash south for resupply. “Can you hold them in the flames?”

  “A practical idea,” Dorak responded. “We will try.”

  Smoke began drifting through the trees, along with the crackle of flames. A purple glow began to filter through the smoke.

  “Where’s Galen?” Cinn jammed his last arrows in the dirt and readied his bow.

  “Sending our more vulnerable into the mountains with Orweh,” Dorak replied.

  “Where’s Alvilas,” Cinn commented dryly. “He’d love to say I told you so.”

  Dorak’s face hardened. “Prepare. They are here.”

  Through the swirling smoke charged the first wave of the lifebane.

  As one, the forestwards pulled the strands of the weave together and began to knit and shape their traps. The forest became a writhing knotted net of thorns that grabbed the lifebane and dragged them to the ground, piercing them in a hundred places, and filling the wood with cries of terror. A second wave of lifebane began to hack through the squirming thorns, and trailing groups of the lifebane moved quickly to find the ends of the forestwards’ defenses. Their ears filled with angry buzzing as clouds of thumb sized hornets drove the second wave to the ground, or up trees, or away in blind panic. Still, a third wave replaced them. They swatted at the offending bugs who were being neutralized by thickening smoke and growing heat, and they cut away thorns as fast as they grew.

  Cinn’s wardens reappeared with armfuls of arrows, these dipped with paralyzing poisons that were usually kept for hunting deer.

  Cinn raised his bow with a smile and signalled for volley fire. The first volley struck down most of the lifebane closest, and their bodies began to create a pile between the trees. As more lifebane rushed forward, more volleys added to the carnage to the front until a wall of brush and bodies began to rise from the ground.

  The lifebane continued to pour to the sides, searching for the ends of the thorn wall and Cinn knew they could not hold their position for much longer.

  “Prepare to withdraw to the centre of the Heartwood,” Cinn called out. “Just hold them as long as you can.”

  Dorak closed his eyes and intensified his sparkweaving. “They are passing our right flank,” he announced.

  Cinn jumped up and waved to the right. “Centre and Right, fall back right, and hold them off the forestwards. Left, keep them from flanking.”

  The wardens had been well prepared by Ballok and they responded crisply to Cinn’s directions. For several moments, the lifebanes’ attacks withered on both flanks.

  Then the purple flames leapt forward, erupting in the new growth of thorns, and consuming all in its path. With terrible speed the fires climbed nearby branches, and began to gnaw at the ancient protective enchantments of the archive tree.

  “Fall back,” Dorak commanded his forestwards. “I will suppress these flames.”

  The forestwards hesitated until Cinn repeated the command. “Fall back before you are surrounded!” He turned towards Dorak and shouted above the growing storm, “What are you doing? You can’t stay here.”

  “Our future is in our past,” Dorak shouted. “I will defend this place.”

  Cinn signalled for his remaining wardens to retreat. “Fire and move!” he yelled. “Get the forestwards to the Heartwood.”

  “Go,” Dorak commanded. “I will persevere.”

  “How—” Cinn’s voice nearly broke as he watched the lifebane spill around the sides of the forestwards’ defenses while the flames rushed forward once more.

  “I can take many shapes!” Dorak shouted exultantly, and then his body became a soft green tinged putty that melted into the grasses, shrubs and roots of the ground itself.

  Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, it took a spear grazing his face to propel Cinn to action. With an instinctive triggering of a shadowspark, he raced south from tree trunk to tree trunk, stopping to fire at any who came too close.

  As he turned to shoot the fourth time, a cry blasted the trees and buffeted everyone to the ground. Clinging to the rough bark while his entire body quaked uncontrollably, Cinn watched as a massive drake descended swiftly, slamming itself through smaller trees to crash upon the ground amid the growing flames, crushing a score of panicked lifebane in the process.

  At the base of its neck, rode a tall fur clad figure with a gnarled staff that radiated crimson power. Cinn’s mind grasped at possibilities. How could anyone ride a drake? Was this the leader of the lifebane? If he could manage to aim true, could he end this here and now?

  Cinn struggled against shaking hands and bolting breath to nock an arrow and aim. The drake’s head bobbed back and forth, repeatedly shielding and then revealing the rider. Any shot would require more than luck.

  At the feet of the drake, thick barbed tentacles, glossy and green, swarmed up from the earth to latch onto the abomination in a dozen places. The drake jumped sideways, plucking some roots savagely from the ground. They twitched and streamed an ichor like blood.

  “Dorak!” Cinn yelled in horror.

  The rider of the drake turned towards the sound of Cinn’s voice, looked directly at him, smiled wickedly, and pointed his staff.

  Cinn rolled away just as the tree exploded in half. His nervous shivering instantly purged by a surging heart, Cinn sought cover behind another tree and fired two arrows. One struck the drake’s neck and bounced away. The second struck the rider. No. His staff.

  The rider screamed with anger and jumped clumsily from the drake’s back to disappear from sight behind its massive bulk.

  Cinn fired several more times at the drake without any effect while, helplessly, he watched the monster tear apart the writhing tentacles with its feet. He swore he could feel the earth crying out in agony as the drake’s darting jaws tore away hunks of green and tossed them into twitching piles.

  Cinn’s heart flooded with anger. He broke from cover to have an unobstructed shot at one of the creature’s eyes, but its head kept moving. An unexpected prayer appeared upon Cinn’s lips as he drew back his bowstring with all his strength.

  At that moment, the archive tree’s door, already coated with purple flames, burst open and the figure of Alvilas stumbled into view grasping his head, wobbling on his feet, and attempting to focus on the nightmare towering above him.

  The beast stopped moving to focus on his target. Cinn released his shot.

  Before Alvilas could react, the drake blasted the opening of the archive tree with a massive ball of purple flames. Then the entire glade filled with fire, and the concussion sundered the trunk of the archive tree, and drove Cinn to the ground.

  Dazed and scorched, Cinn covered his ears in pain as the monster’s shrill shriek filled the Heartwood. The drake’s angry cry was followed by the sound of its thick wings crashing through the trees once more. When Cinn pulled himself upright, the archive tree was fiercely alight, the rest of the glade was a growing pool of flame, and the shadowy figures of lifebane were still emerging from the smoke, and bolting in all directions.

  There was no sign of Alvilas or Dorak, the rider or the drake.

  Cinn wiped ash from his face and tried to stand. Pain drove him back to the ground and he looked down to see a spear of wood tearing through his calf. Realizing that the lifebane were skirting the area, he managed to pull himself towards a stream. Squirming past the overhanging shrubs, he crashed into the shallow water. Rolling onto his back, he stared half-wittingly at the trickle of blood being pulled away from his leg by the current. The fires seemed far away now, and the bliste
ring smoke was passing overhead. Cinn rested his head on a mossy rock and let the cool water run over him until his spinning head darkened, and all sound retreated.

  ***

  Ulimbor raged at an unseen sky while the last of his strength poured into a sparkshield to keep the heat and smoke away. An arrow from a lone elf had sundered the crystal in his staff, and he had instantly felt all control over his son, over his drake, severed. His army would still be enough to destroy the elves, but without his staff’s power, how would he rule over them? The drakes were free and he wasn’t? His breath almost stopped. The drakes of second dawning were free. They were beyond all control now.

  No, he swore. The One be cursed. Recrimination was the path to doom. Ulimbor shuddered with the effort to push away all self-doubt, and stood straighter. He would gather his strength, find another crystal, perhaps in the wreckage of Longwood itself, and then he would rebuild. But first, he reminded himself, he would have to avoid the drakes. Especially one truly resentful drake.

  ***

  The drake knew its own mind again. A whimpering blot had been lodged between his temples since re-awakening. Now it screamed repeatedly as his willpower devoured it piece by succulent piece. What took its place was a single new appetite. Until now, the drake had feasted on morsels that hardly sustained it, and it had to be strong to pursue its final goal. Now the drake understood its purpose clearly and knew what it must do. It would feed on its rivals and, once enriched with their flesh, pursue the mother dragon even to the edges of the earth, to make his will known and his kind immortal.

  ***

  With each lurch, list, and sway of their sky ship, and with each gust of wind, Kirsten desperately clung to the ropes that wrapped her Papa and Dria securely in place. Her eyes repeatedly danced from friend to friend to measure their moods. Grumm had wrapped the ropes so tightly around his own arms that his fingers were blue. Olaf was staring wide-eyed over the side as the sparkling water of the ocean raced by far below. And, most concerning for Kirsten,

  Plax stood wide armed and glassy-eyed while gripping the wooden mast with one hand, and its silver adornments with the other. Somehow, he was channelling the power of these Longwood timbers and this Rajalan metal to focus the weave so they could sail upon its currents like a massive sea bird. The pull upon the weave would have to be enormous, Kirsten feared, and it would either attract drakes, or kill Plax. Or both.

  Olaf swore something low and blue in Halnnish and then pointed over the remnants of the bow. “Look! The whole horizon ahead. It’s where Longwood should be but it’s all smoke now.”

  Kirsten looked beyond the boat and her heart filled with ice. “Longwood’s on fire,” she stated. “And the flames. They’re purple.” “Oh, no,” Olaf swallowed.

  “Drakes,” Kirsten whispered. “It’s all coming true. I should never have—”

  Olaf swatted Grumm. “Hey. Looks like you’ll need that shield after all.”

  Grumm started awake. “No! No! I was in a good place and ye broke me out of it.”

  “What? Your eyes were open,” Olaf responded.

  “Deep concentration. Dwarven ritual. You wouldn’t understand,” Grumm grimaced. He looked over the side. “Oh, By the Twelve! Why are we still flying?”

  The boat lurched again as Plax adjusted course. Now they were heading straight for the Heartwood.

  “Curse you, ye skinny grey thing,” Grumm belched. And then he leaned over a hole in the deck and threw up.

  Kirsten shivered. “All I wanted to do was help,” she said.

  Olaf carefully drew his spyglass from his vest and scanned ahead once more. “Oh, there’s a mess o’trouble down there, Kirsten. Fires all over, and smoke. It hasn’t reached the center of the elf village yet.”

  Kirsten squinted to the north. Smoke rose for a league into the sky. “Can you see any drakes? We’ll have to land near them.” Then she looked back at Dria and her Papa. “No. We have to land in the Heartwood. Find Galen. He’ll be able to help. Then we can look for drakes.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Olaf complained. “Tell our driver.” He swept the horizon ahead. His voice lowered an octave. “And, yeah, I see drakes.”

  “Where?” Kirsten jumped. “How many?”

  Olaf’s voice pittered out. “You don’t—wanna know.”

  Kirsten’s fear transformed to anger. “I need to know.”

  Olaf straightened his back and pointed northeast. “They’re a long way away and a good ways up. It’s like a swarm of bats, and there’s flashes of purple light. I think I saw one spiral down to the ground but we’re too far away to tell.”

  “They’re fighting?”

  “Maybe. I don’t see any drakes over Longwood. But we’re too far away. We’re just crossing the Raelyn now.” Olaf paused. “Wow. If it wasn’t so awful, it would be beautiful.”

  Kirsten tensed every muscle. “Nothing feels right anymore.” She faced Plax, almost reached out to touch him, and stopped herself. “Hurry, Plax. They need us down there.” Then she turned back to look at her Papa’s shivering body, and Dria’s sightless open eyes. “And we need them. My Papa. Dria. They need help right away.”

  Plax’s hands squeezed harder, and Kirsten swore she could see his skin stretch thinner. The boat began to descend and it began to speed up.

  ***

  The great drake called out to his rivals and they answered. One by one they peeled away from their swarm where they had been nit-picking at one another for half the day. The first drake to assail the great one led with a blast of fire and then attempted to rake the great one’s wings with its claws. Despite an irritation at the edge of its eye, the great one pivoted on a wing and clamped its jaws down upon the smaller drake’s neck. There was a crushing sound like a thousand shells being cracked, and then the smaller drake was released. It spiralled earthward and impacted the hills with a reverberating wet thump.

  The rest of the swarm scattered but did not depart. A sudden pull upon the weave trembled like it could be the mother dragon. The great drake rejoiced and banked towards the call. It was radiating from where it had just feasted. All the better, the great drake briefly felt. There was nothing to fear there. Or anywhere.

  The lesser drakes shrieked and followed.

  ***

  Galen stood at the center of the Heartwood where their council had so often met in peace. The smoke was thickening, the lifebane were circling out of the range of the wardens, and the forestwards were forming a tightening circle around the elder sage. Dorak, Jiror, Cinn, Alvilas. All missing. Galen’s heart tightened.

  Where was Kirsten? Had Alvilas been right?

  One of the younger wardens pointed skyward and cried out, “Drakes!”

  Galen spun to face the new threat, knowing at once that their future was decided. Those with him had no hope. But they could keep Orweh and the others safe. At least their sacrifice would mean something.

  The drakes did not descend directly upon the Heartwood. Not right away. Possessed by their lustfilled madness for survival, they skimmed across the wood, snapping, clawing, raking, buffeting, and screaming at any threat within range. Several pairs crashed through the trees, tearing at one another and spewing fire until both were eviscerated wrecks and the trees around them blazing like candles. The great drake flashed above the Heartwood, slew four of his lesser competitors, and tossed the corpse of one drake directly over the heads of Galen’s defenders to crash upon a high platform, wedged between trunk and branch.

  Everywhere the drakes fought, purple fires raced and grew until the screams of the surrounding lifebane rivalled the roar of the flames, and the flames circled them all.

  The great drake, his head slashing left and right, drove away its weaker kin, and searched vainly for the source of the weave’s distortion that twisted his rage to a razor’s edge. When he eventually looked up, he did not recognize the shape, but the disturbance of the weave called to him. And it called to the remaining drakes as well.

  Galen, fighting to maintain
a shield around the defenders, turned to follow the swing of the great drake’s eyes and could not believe what he saw.

  Descending with speed from a great height was the forward half of a large human ship. And directing the weave to propel it through the air was an elf who radiated immeasurable power. Galen feared it would crash upon them all, and he forced all of his skill into projecting their shield onto the ship, altering its path so that it would impact the ground at a gentler angle, and slide rather than tumble.

  Trailing the ship in high swooping arcs, were a dozen drakes, the last one being the biggest he had ever seen.

  ***

  At least Grumm had stopped throwing up. “This is why I hate boats!” the dwarf yelled as their ship swept down towards the ground.