Dawncaller

by David Rice

  Kirsten also circled on the periphery, waiting for her moment to intervene.

  It took both beasts longer to gather their fires, so the next pass was with teeth and claw, battering wings and grappling tails. The drake managed to flip the dragon onto her back but she responded with a raking movement that spilled ichor from the drake’s stomach. Then she was on her feet again, shifting her weight from her more injured side, and keeping her head down, nipping at his feet with swift jabs. The drake kept his head back, weaving and waiting, swinging its tail in low arcs trying to snag one of her legs.

  The drake gathered his flame first, or perhaps the dragon let him. She thrust forward as if to bite and then coiled back to avoid the majority of his fiery blast.

  Kirsten winced as she watched the purple flames hiss across the dragon’s eyes, and she staggered for a moment.

  A moment was all the drake needed. He coiled his tail around her neck and slammed himself across her back, his claws digging into her wings, and his neck arching in triumph. From the depths of his chest he released a roar that sent the low hanging clouds scurrying in a ring.

  The dragon’s head slammed to the stone and her eyes cleared enough to reflect Kirsten’s horrified look.

  That was all the incentive Kirsten needed. She bolted forward, ducked under the dragon’s wing and brought the Fahde up with a viscious slash along the side of the drake as she ran.

  The drake screamed and released, spun in the direction of his wound, and brought his tail smashing through a massive arc.

  The tail hit Kirsten, Olaf, and Grumm, blasting them through the air until they crashed down upon the plateau. The Fahde and the Almedef skipped and rattled across the stone to rest far from reach.

  The drake screamed and thrashed as the wound along his side oozed entrails. Released from his razor grip, the dragon twisted and latched her jaws around the drake’s neck with all of her strength.

  Kirsten took a sudden deep breath and, through swimming eyes and nausea, all she could do was watch as the two great creatures thrashed madly across the shattered onyx, spraying stone shards, tendrils of fire, and thick ichor until only one still moved.

  Chest heaving and falling like a coldera, the dragon gradually pulled herself clear of the drake. She inhaled deeply and blasted the corpse of the drake with every iota of her green flame. Then she gazed upon Kirsten and staggered into the air, disappearing into the clouds while dripping ichor like a slow rain.

  It took Kirsten some time to pull herself to her feet. She gathered the shield and her sword, and pulled Olaf across the ground until he was beside Grumm. They were both still breathing, somehow, so she dropped their hands upon the shield and lay back exhausted.

  “Besra’s going to owe me,” she whispered into the ear of her dwarven friend.

  ***

  Naharin jumped to his feet when he saw the drake approach and land. “How can this be so?” he yelled. “The elder said he was going to call the dragon. Only the dragon!”

  Saphel stood and gestured for his followers to retreat from the camp. “I see the dragon,” Saphel pointed into the sky. “The elder has succeeded.”

  “Now the sword bearer must do what she promised,” Naharin trumpeted. “The new world will be ours to shape.”

  The Seer, Grash-houk, cried out and stumbled towards Saphel. “Please,” he said. “My world has gone dark,” and he leaned against the Rajdejmion. Saphel scooped him up with one arm. “You will be as safe as I can keep you,” he said.

  The dragon landed and fearsome roars rippled across the plateau followed by the moans of the gohan, and the thunder of their stampede. Tents were lifted and crumpled, blasted and mangled, all around Saphel who cradled the Seer close.

  Blasts of drake and dragon fire lit the clouds and the stone, and dazzled the eyes of those who did not run. Through the carnage, Naharin and Saphel watched as the great beasts circled one another, striking heartlessly with lightning strokes. They could also see blasts of fire deflect from Kirsten when it hit the Fahde’s shield, or evaporate into coloured smoke to dissipate in the blue light of the Almedef.

  “Strike her down!” Naharin shouted. “Why doesn’t she strike?”

  When the drake surprised the dragon and pinned her to the ground, Naharin shouted with joy. “Now! Now! While she is helpless! Take off her head!”

  And then his jaw dropped as he watched Kirsten dash forward to wound the drake.

  “No!” he said. “The fool! She dooms us all!” Naharin whirled upon Saphel who stood nearby still holding the Seer in his arms. “You’ve sent me a fool and a coward! Someone unworthy to bear the Fahde.” The Rajdejmion of the Silver Reeds drew his blades and stepped towards Saphel. “You’ll pay for this betrayal,” he growled.

  The points of two silver swords erupted from Naharin’s chest, and he was suspended there twitching until his own blades clattered to the stone. Then Ashak dropped the dead man to the ground. “I serve to protect the Seer,” Ashak stated.

  “You are worthy of many tales,” Saphel responded.

  The thunderous shrieks and crashing of stone made them all crouch. They watched as the dragon crushed the drake’s throat, roasted him with green fire, and struggled into the clouds.

  Strewn upon the stone, Ashak could barely spy Kirsten and her companions. Naharin’s elder was nothing more than a crushed cinder pinned under the drake’s corpse.

  “Fetch the bearers and aid them,” Saphel instructed. “I fear what the gohan might do next. We must be gone from here before they return.”

  Ashak bowed, wiped his blades on the strewn silks of Naharin’s tent, and sprinted away.

  XIV

  Kirsten had little strength to defend herself when the Rajalan warrior ran up to her small group, everyone semi-conscious and clinging to a shield that bathed them in blue light.

  He bowed deeply. “You are the Bearer of the Fahde, Kirsten Starwatcher. I am Ashak and I have long been a friend of your father. It is my deepest honour to aid you now.”

  Kirsten blinked. “You? A friend of my Papa?”

  “We met on our journey to Graniteside. His use of the spark to—master—a gohan, and his friendship with the eldest inspired my Rajdejmion to grant him a gifted young scribe named

  Raisha. Are you acquainted with her?”

  Kirsten looked away and mumbled, “Yes.”

  “Is your father and his scribe well?”

  Kirsten pushed down a twisted knot of pain. “No. My Papa is dead. So is Raisha.”

  Ashak took a knee and lowered his head. “I regret offending your memory,” he said. “Such a double loss after such a great victory as yours is difficult to absorb.”

  Kirsten pushed words past a throat swelling with grief. “They sacrificed themselves for others,” she said quietly. “Raisha was my friend.”

  Ashak stood. “Then such memories should be celebrated when one’s heart is better prepared. You have inherited much of your father’s spirit to show such bravery.”

  Kirsten couldn’t look Ashak in the eye as she forced herself to stand. “Thanks,” she mumbled. She looked down upon her friends who were beginning to stir. “But there’s been no victory. The dragon flew away and we don’t know where. I’m going to have to find her.”

  Ashak nodded. “The gohan return, called by your blade. We should depart this wasteland at once and ride to my Rajdejmion to discuss your plans further.”

  Kirsten’s neck bristled. Another Rajdejmion? “Why were you here?”

  Ashak let slip the briefest of grins. “I have protected our Seer for many cycles. He felt compelled to come here. Now I see why.”

  Kirsten reached down to pull Olaf to his feet. “You okay?”

  The gnome brushed grit from his clothes and rubbed a collection of cuts and bruises. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve gotta check something.” He limped away towards a broken and blackened body that could only be Eko.

  “I’m fine, too, thank ye fer askin’,” Grumm added. The dwarf pushed himself to his feet
and looked around. “Now I know what a cave in feels like.” He hoisted the shield and grinned. “This oversized meat platter is starting to grow on me.”

  Kirsten almost smiled but thoughts of the dragon’s fate intruded.

  Ashak pointed to a group of gohan slowly shuffling towards them. “We must ride,” he said.

  Grumm groaned loudly.

  Olaf ran up, tucking a bag into his belt. “Eko’s roasted. And crushed. Do we just leave him?”

  “Yes,” Kirsten insisted. “Maybe the ravens will like him more than I did.”

  Ashak grimaced, turned away, and walked towards the gohan.

  “What’s in the bag?” Kirsten pressed.

  Olaf blushed. “Every piece of Eko’s gem that I could find.”

  Kirsten nodded her approval. She shouted towards Ashak. “How far to your camp?”

  “Six suns and moons,” he answered.

  Grumm groaned even louder.

  ***

  There was rain in the desert and their journey took nine days. When they arrived at the camp of Rajdejmion Huzzail and the Weaving Mists, they were greeted by a cheering collection of over three hundred Rajala, and one exceedingly happy dwarf. The gohan stopped to let their riders dismount and unpack, and faded into the nearest dunes.

  Ashak and the Seer were lifted upon the shoulders of their kin and transported gently towards the Rajdejmion’s circle. The remaining crowd ushered Kirsten, Grumm, Olaf, and

  Saphel through the twisting paths of the camp, seemingly passing every tent at least twice. Drinks and food were constantly thrust into their hands, and every eye stole shy glances at their glowing artifacts.

  One dwarf pushed through the throng to embrace Grumm tightly. “Dindur made it back to Thunderwall! Ye came! An’ ye fixed it!”

  Grumm returned the hug and then slapped the dwarf on both shoulders. “Yer a Shornedge, aren’t yeh?”

  “An’ yer a Rockbottom,” the dwarf laughed. “I’m Nezzil Shornedge. Fought a drake for that shield. But it didn’t have that big stone in it.” Then he rubbed at rogue tears. “It’s been a long and strange time. I never thought anyone would come for me.”

  “Grumm. An’ here I am outta bitters,” he replied.

  Kirsten fished in her pack and tossed Grumm’s metal flask their direction. “Too strong for me,” she said.

  It was expertly snatched from the air by Nezzil and he looked wide-eyed at Grumm.

  “Go ahead,” Grumm encouraged.

  Nezzil did, draining the flask with a quick tip, and then staring heavenward while he scavenged the last possible drop from his moustache. “Yer more than alright in my books,” he croaked gleefully.

  The group found themselves entering the Rajdejmion’s circle and directed to cushions where plates of steaming spiced foods filled their senses. The Rajdejmion was a large man with an even larger smile. He bowed to Saphel and gestured for all to sit.

  “Welcome to my Rajdejmion. I am Huzzail of the Weaving Mists. I am indebted to you for returning our Seer Grash-houk and our honoured speaker Ashak, and I insist you partake of our hospitality and share the stories of your journeys.”

  Kirsten didn’t know where to start or what to say so she let others lead the conversation. It was a far more relaxed affair than she had expected, and she found herself in a trusting mood. Even trusting enough to warn them about the dragon.

  “If the drake pinned the dragon as you describe, then she must be found,” Rajdejmion Huzzail stated. “You say she will come if you bear the Almedef and the Fahde?”

  Kirsten nodded. “I think so. I freed her when she was trapped in the mountains. And she came to us when we fought the drakes in Longwood. Then she came when we were in the wastelands. She could have killed us any of those times but she didn’t.”

  Huzzail frowned and rubbed his chin vigorously. “But the drake mounted her before he was killed.”

  Kirsten squirmed. “I guess.”

  Huzzail clapped his hands. “Then we must choose a place she will be weak, and we must end her, for she is surely carrying a drake or dragon of next dawning.”

  Kirsten grimaced. “What? We can’t kill her.”

  Huzzail scowled. “Child, we must.” He turned towards Grash-houk. “What does my Seer say?”

  Grash-houk quivered. “I fail you now, Rajdejmion, for my mind no longer dances with the dreams of the one. The weave is now the last breath of the One and it hovers over the world like the thinnest of blankets. My dreams are now only darkness and silence.”

  The circle erupted in worried whispers.

  “Quiet,” Huzzail shouted, and clapped his hands. “Why silence? Why darkness?”

  “I no longer sense that the One sleeps, Rajdejmion.” Grash-houk’s voice wavered as he spoke. “I no longer sense the weave or the One. Not clearly. Not a song anymore, but echoes of a lost tune.”

  “What?” Huzzail exclaimed. “How is this possible?” Kirsten shrunk from the question.

  Grash-houk quivered as he fought for words. “I sense that the One knows of the reawakening, knows of the failure to confine the drakes even with the harnessing of the weave and the focusing of the weave into lines of power and areas of weakness.”

  “And?” Huzzail prompted.

  “I sense the One has chosen to weaken the drakes through an act of sacrifice. A dissolution, a dispersement of the One and the weave into all things of this world.”

  The crowd gasped. “If the weave is weakened so much then all sparkweaving will be lost,” Saphel said.

  “And the drake was weaker this time,” Kirsten added. “Even the dragon.”

  “The spark is not gone yet,” Huzzail added. “The spark still exists in these artifacts, and the gohan, and, as you say, the dragon for a time.”

  “The spark will disperse. Nothing so intensely imbued can endure,” Grash-houk stated. “But the dragon is rooted in the earth itself. Her power will remain the longest. Perhaps long enough to give birth.” He looked towards Kirsten with his milky eyes. “Only the bearers of the Fahde and the Almedef can save us. And it must be done quickly before our power fades.”

  “Where?” Huzzail demanded. “Where will the dragon be most vulnerable?”

  Nezzil cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind my suggestion, wise Rajdejmion Huzzail,” he began, “I noticed something peculiar when high in the mountains and fighting one o’ them drakes.”

  All eyes turned to the dwarf, and he blushed. “Well, it’s fairly simple, you see. A fire needs air to grow, and muscle needs it too if yer goin’ to give a good effort. An’ the bigger somethin’ is, the more air it needs.” Nezzil squirmed as he recognized the uncomprehending faces filling with fear. “The higher up we were in the mountains, the weaker the drake became. It could hardly blow flames or even fly.”

  Grumm spoke up. “So, we get as high up in the mountains as we can an’ then call the dragon? That’s yer plan?”

  Nezzil grinned enthusiastically. “Exactly! The shield kept us goin’ when we were that high up. Should work that way again. Now it’s got its gem back, so it should work even better.”

  Huzzail sat back and took a long breath. The crowd hushed and waited.

  Grumm leaned towards Nezzil and whispered. “Personally, that’s a terrible plan. I hate heights.”

  The Rajdejmion stood and gestured dramatically at Grumm and Kirsten. “It is decided. The highest peak of the eastern mountains is many leagues from here. The gohan seem willing to be ridden so let them take you to the mountain approaches.”

  Kirsten sighed. And what would she do then? If every other part of the plan worked? “Why does every solution involve killing?”

  Stunned expressions swept across the gathering. Only Grash-Houk, his milky eyes smiling, raised his voice. “The One came after the dragon. An attempt to limit what is limitless, and now the One has chosen to disperse itself throughout the world. Only the dragon can choose our fate now.”

  “Then why am I even needed?” Kirsten responded. “I’m tired o
f making your choices and taking your risks.” Her eyes reddened as she remembered her losses. “Everytime I do, everyone I care about gets hurt.”

  Grash-houk leaned close to Kirsten and smiled gently. “It is not the blade that is strong by itself.”

  “What are you saying?” Kirsten flinched. “How can I be as strong as the mother dragon? Or as wise? I still feel like I know nothing that I need to know.”

  The Seer’s smile radiated faith. “Although innocence cannot endure, neither can corruption survive.”

  Kirsten’s brow wrinkled. “What are you saying? What’s left?”

  “Hope,” Grash-houk stated firmly. “Hope is most powerful.”