Dawncaller

by David Rice

Something pushed them upwards just before impact. The ship hit hard and its bow cut deep into the soft loam, severing roots, smashing branches and splintering low platforms like kindling as they sped by.

  Opening her eyes, Kirsten found their space dominated by a bubble of energy pulsing from her sword. She drew it immediately and cut the ropes to free Dria and her Papa. Beyond the remnants of their ship, the trees of the Heartwood were ablaze with purple flames, and smoke roared towards the moons. “Everybody out!” she commanded.

  Olaf shook the cobwebs from his head. A bowshot away stood a clutch of elves, some with bows, and some with hands raised as if ready to sparkweave. He scrambled to help extract

  Dria and Muren. “I’ll get them to that group,” he announced and grabbed Muren under the arms.

  Kirsten nodded approval to Olaf and slid from the deck to the ground. She looked back to see Plax, dazed and unresponsive, but otherwise uninjured. Turning her head, she took a deep breath when she saw the drakes flying in, purple fires brewing in their throats. “Come on,

  Grumm!”

  Grumm wiped his beard, drew his shield and hopped to the ground beside Kirsten. “I don’t know how this is going to work,” he said. “Do I just watch your back?”

  Kirsten shrugged. “It’ll either be a really short fight or we’ll figure it out.”

  They both ducked as the first drake pounced. Its fire deflected all around them and then faded as if inhaled by Grumm’s shield.

  “Oh, now that’s handy!” Grumm said.

  Then the drake flew past, narrowly missing them both with its razor claws. The marks on the soil near their feet spoke volumes about the hazards they still faced.

  “We might be able to fight off one or two,” Kirsten said, “but not this many.”

  Another swooped in to buffet them with its wings. Then it tried to bite Grumm. Its beak rang off his shield, knocking the dwarf to the ground, and Kirsten used that opening to thrust with her sword. A white flash dazzled the Heartwood for an instant and then the drake was flying away, dripping ichor from its face. Circling above, the great drake was swift to pounce on its wounded rival, and killed it with one pass of its talons.

  Kirsten winced at the brutal efficiency. “They’re watching and learning,” she said.

  “Ugh,” Grumm replied as he rose to his feet. “I’ll be ready.”

  A third drake swooped in, quickly followed by a fourth. One attacked with fire and the other with claws. Grumm’s shield was almost ripped from his arm, and he was sent tumbling once more. Kirsten had to duck under a beam of the ship to avoid a talon. Each time the drakes came close, the light from their gems grew subtly brighter. The light seemed to be causing the drakes some confusion.

  With the next passes, Kirsten managed to inflict a series of slashing wounds and both of the drakes flew away as if half-blind. Grumm and Kirsten watched as the great drake killed three more of the attacking drakes and then continued its watchful circling.

  Between attacks, Olaf raced forward to try to extract Dria or Plax. Kirsten scowled and waved him away.

  “Stay with Galen and the rest. Keep my Papa safe!”

  “I can’t leave them!” he yelled. Then a swooping drake’s talons missed the gnome by a hair’s breadth. “Okay,” Olaf squeaked, “Maybe this once,” and he hustled back to the elves.

  “We’re tryin’ te concentrate here,” Grumm yelled after the gnome. “In case ye hadn’t noticed!”

  This time three drakes swooped from different direction and a fourth plummeted from above. Kirsten and Grumm didn’t see them all.

  With a rending of rope and sail, beam and board, the drake from above crashed down upon Kirsten and Grumm, and smashed them to the ground with a swipe of its powerful tail.

  Grumm groaned as he tried to lift his shield arm. Any motion of the shield stabbed back, and by the strange angle, Grumm knew his arm had been shattered.

  Kirsten lay face down in the grass, her sword gleaming just beyond her outstretched hand. All four drakes closed for their kills and then started to fight one another over their prey.

  Grumm squeezed into a hole under the ship and then felt ashamed. Kirsten was still out there. He became aware of his arm slowly move itself into a more natural shape. Bones rubbed against one another like sandpaper and twigs. He gritted his teeth and shivered. The shield was healing him but not gently. He briefly wondered how Dindur had endured such repeated agony while trying to bring the shield to Thunderwall.

  A blast of fire from above deflected around Kirsten and then, as fragments of purple flames dropped upon the ship, they were gathered like smoke and absorbed by the blue gem.

  Kirsten began to stir, and when one of the drakes shifted for leverage to better attack its rival, cobralike she rolled forward, grabbed her sword, thrust upward, and dashed under the cover of the ship.

  “You big faker,” Grumm commented, amazed.

  Kirsten almost smiled. “I really wasn’t. But—umm—thanks?”

  “Plax and Dria are still in the open,” Grumm said. What’re we gonna do?”

  Kirsten’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know,” she stated. Then thrusting out her jaw she added. “Stick together and we’ll carry them to Galen. Trust the gems to keep us all safe.”

  Grumm was about to climb towards Plax when they heard another scream. This time it was from the circle of elves. Kirsten twisted to see the largest drake descending upon them all, readying a blast of fire.

  “Papa,” she screamed, and bolted from cover.

  Grumm jumped up, bashed his head against a beam, swore loudly, and followed as quickly as his shorter legs would allow.

  The great drake hovered above them all and buffeted everyone to the ground with powerful blasts from its wings. Galen’s sparkshield vaporized as he fell. The drake gathered a large purple fireball and—

  Thundering in from high above, wreathing the lesser drakes in precise spouts of green flame, came the mother dragon herself.

  Drakes shrieked and circled, frenzied by her presence. Flames fell upon the entire heartwood, igniting every surface not yet burning. Only the irrepressible brilliance of the Fahde preserved them.

  Nearby tendrils of flame curled into powdery clouds and fell into the centre of the blue gem. Choking smoke raced around them like water around a rock.

  The Heartwood became pure cacophony consumed by rolling purple and green fire.

  “I can’t see a thing,” Kirsten yelled next to Grumm’s ear.

  “I may never see or hear again!” Grumm shouted back.

  Inside their bubble cowered the remaining wardens and forestwards. Galen’s sad and searching eyes reached out to Kirsten with a gratitude that almost broke her heart. Then she looked at the peaceful numb slumber of her Papa and wondered what sense the world could possibly make after this. verywhere she looked, the home of the elder race was dying.

  Kirsten squinted vainly towards where the ship had crashed. “Dria. Plax.”

  The shrieks from the drakes and the dragon drew back gradually like a curtain. The fires continued to rage all round and smoke climbed the walls of the world, but sight and hearing gradually returned. Looking beyond the glow of her sword, Kirsten was shocked by the carnage strewn so casually in every direction. Every tree burned fiercely. The bodies of a dozen drakes were wilting under shrouds of green flames. Some of the drakes had been slashed open. Others had been crushed by the neck, or had a wing torn from a shoulder. The largest drake was nowhere to be seen.

  Kirsten caught sight of the ship. Its remnants were burning bright in green and purple, even the silver ore was burning like the sun and she had to look away. She pushed herself to her feet. “Dria. Plax.” Her voice quivered. “I tried.”

  Galen stood, and motioned for his wardens to follow. “Stay close to the sword and shield bearers. We must move from this place.”

  “Heal my Papa first,” Kirsten stated. “You must. Please. We rescued him. We rescued Dria. We wanted them both healed. I didn’t know—”

>   “How was he hurt?” Galen asked.

  “Something’s scrambled his mind,” Kirsten replied, “His memories. His sense of what’s real.”

  “Perhaps his guilt,” Galen added. “I will do what I can once we escape this place.”

  Olaf uncurled from his fetal position. “The drakes are gone? The fire won’t hurt us? It’s really okay now?”

  Grumm sneered. “So far so good,” he grumbled.

  Something large crushed the nearest tree, and pushed past the remnants of the ship as if it was nothing more than a toy. Kirsten’s eyes widened at the sight, Grumm tensed, Galen gasped, and Olaf crouched once more alongside the warden.

  The mother dragon towered above them all.

  Laying her face near the glow of the Fahde, the dragon’s eyes were dark and sparkling green gems filled with the depths of the ocean and and everything that could be lost there. She huffed once, spraying fine warm dust across them all, and then she shuffled back. Dipping her head once, she launched into the sky, and climbed powerfully towards the eastern mountains.

  Despite his uncontrolled shaking, Olaf was the first to speak. “Why are we still alive?”

  Kirsten touched her pendant reflexively and felt where a bit of the dust had settled along its ridges. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “But it felt like a—kind of gratitude.”

  “Gratitude for what?” Grumm snorted. “Setting her plate?”

  Kirsten sniffed. “We may never know.”

  “Must be some reason,” Olaf added. “She’s spared us twice now.”

  Kirsten looked upon the blazing timbers of the ship. “Dria. Plax. I have to see,” she said, and started walking.

  Galen spoke up. “If one can brave the heat and smoke, I need a forestward who can fly to take a look around. Find us a safe path, if you can. Tell us if any lifebane remain. They may have shaman who can also resist the fires.”

  One of the young forestwards, Shilo, held up her hand. “Orweh taught me how to be a bird. I like the raven best.”

  Galen smiled. “A sound choice. Sharp eyes and very bright.”

  “And I don’t have to transform to give report,” she said.

  “Ick,” Olaf shivered. “A raven? You don’t eat eyeballs, do you?” The forestward flashed a mischievous grin at the gnome. “Should I?”

  Galen sighed. “Go,” he prompted.

  The forestward melted into her new form and flew quickly away from the withering heat and the choking smoke.

  Slowly they walked within the safety of the bubble until they were beside the remains of the ship. The shield seemed to dampen the heat in the timbers as they approached, and the fires faded away.

  Kirsten’s face wrinkled as she examined the deck, then underneath the embers of what remained. Then she frantically scanned the surrounding scorched landscape. “They’re not here,” she cried out.

  “It was a fierce fire,” Grumm responded. “They’re probably gone, like most’a the ship.”

  Kirsten restrained a sob. “We did so much and we still failed them?”

  “I’m sorry, Kirsten. But, in my books, Plax is a hero. We’d have never saved Longwood without him.”

  Kirsten looked around at the flaming trees, the ruined landscape, and the weary grief engaved upon the faces of Longwood’s survivors. “Saved, Grumm? Saved? I don’t think so.”

  Galen reached out to pat Kirsten’s shoulder but she flinched and stepped away. “There is some truth to what the dwarf says. Longwood continues so long as there as those who can share its stories.”

  “Don’cha think we oughta look for others?” Olaf suggested. “Other survivors? If Plax could fly that boat, he could be safe somewhere else, too.”

  Kirsten’s shoulders twitched, her eyes hardened, and her mouth was a slash of frustration. “We need to rest. And you said there were a lot of lifebane around here waiting for the fires to go out?”

  Galen winced. “The sooner we can be away from here, the more likely our chances of avoiding the lifebane.”

  “Carry my Papa and show me the way,” Kirsten instructed. “It seems Grumm and I can keep the rest of you fireproof anyway.”

  “Anyone who’s hurt, grab hold of my shield,” Grumm added. “Broke my arm fighting those drakes an’ it’s almost better already.”

  Several wardens smiled shyly and crowded around the dwarf.

  Galen directed their sad and slow retreat from the remnants of his home.

  Kirsten kept searching for any sign of her lost friends.

  ***

  Plax was glittering with green dust as he pulled Dria away from the fires. “I can save us both, Dria,” he mumbled. “Save us both. But there’s thousands of lifebane about, and the fires are burning all the trees. Longwood’s dying. But we don’t have to die with it.”

  A tear burst from Dria’s left eye.

  “We can’t let them do that, can we?” Plax rambled on. “I know how we can stop it, you and I. There’s so much power here, in its roots. In the soil. In the waters. Even in the drakefire itself. I can feel it calling to me, Dria.” Plax’s eyes were wide with an inner light. “It wants to live by any means possible.”

  Dria’s tears stopped.

  Plax smiled wildly. “I can harness the weave before the wood dies, make it into something better. Something no power will harm again. But we’ll have to work together.”

  Plax found a rare patch of unsullied ground, lower than most and still smelling of moss instead of smoke. “If we rest here, I’ll tell you how.” He gently laid Dria’s head upon the moss and covered her with his singed shirt. “I’ve had the strangest dreams since touching that pendant,” he droned. “But they weren’t dreams, were they?”

  Dria lay there, her eyes unmoving. Her body limp. Her breath shallow.

  “No. I proved they weren’t when I drew power from the shield and from the boat. From the wind and the ocean. And I can draw power from here, too, you see? Reshape us into something new. We can be the Protectors of Longwood. We can grow it anew.”

  Dria’s breathing sped up and deepened.

  “We can put the fires out and we can kill every lifebane who steps foot here. Every lifebane who still hides here even now.”

  Dria twitched once.

  “You are waking! Good!” Plax laughed. “We will protect Longwood together. Forever.I will draw the power and you can help me shape it.”

  Dria’s eyes flickered.

  “But we’ll have to be together, you see,” Plax continued. “We can only do this together.”

  Dria sat up in a flash, caught Plax by the wrist and snarled. “There will never be another telling me what to do. Never another. Never again. Ever. Not even you.” Her eyes were wide and dark.

  Plax shivered in her grip. Somewhere in his soul, he understood her rage, and acquiesced. “I’m not trying to harm you,” he whispered. “I love you.”

  Dria’s grin twisted into a predator’s smile. “Draw the power and I will shape us into what Longwood needs, my little Plax,” Dria purred. “Together. Forever.”

  Upon the moss, in the sunken cover of a tiny glade surrounded by drake and dragon fire, Plax gathered the weave and the spark of every living thing he could grasp. He knitted the weave a strand at a time, like a ring of webbing shimmering with potential, and offered this to Dria. She pulled the offering into herself and shaped it with a darkening smile driven towards a new and eternal purpose.

  Vengeance.

  Their bodies steamed and melted painlessly into the blackening moss. Like ebony veins pumping, their essense shot through the roots of Longwood, slowly at first and then like quicksilver. Wherever they travelled, the bushes, trees, and vines turned dark, and their branches twitched with the new sensations of shared meaning.

  By the next morning, the darkening possessed half of Longwood and continued to spread. Everywhere it found flame, it consumed it from below to feed its needs. And everywhere it found the lifebane, it filled the air with satisfying shrieks as it fed.

 
***

  Nerrod held up his hand and crouched. He pointed across a burnt-out ravine towards a distant limping figure robed in furs and surrounded by a flickering crimson light. There were no other figures in sight. Beyond, the fires were winking out and the smoke clearing, leaving a desolate blackened wasteland where once all had been green.

  Ballok stayed atop his horse on the other side of the ridge, just tall enough to see where Nerrod was pointing.

  “Lifebane shaman, isn’t he?” Ballok grinned as he unslung his bow.

  “I think so,” Nerrod answered. “Do you think that might be the one Rybaki described?”

  “Nah,” Balok scoffed. “Any leader worth his salt would never be without his defences. Probably one of his underlings.”