by James Duvall
Also by James Duvall
The Brightistry (A Pendrian Novella)
The War of Embers (A Ryvarran Novel)
The Ashfall Run (A Ryvarran Novella)
Mistweaver (Coming Fall 2019)
Shards
Copyright © 2019 James Duvall
All Rights Reserved
Cover Artwork by Monika Deszcz (www.deviantart.com/monere-lluvia )
Visit our website at www.Frostrunes.com
Shards
by James Duvall
Acknowledgments
To my sister, Emily, a fellow writer who has given me such great feedback and constant support as I write these.
To my brother-in-law Justin, who certainly had no idea what was about to happen when he first asked me “Oh yeah? What's it about?”
A special thank you is also certainly in order to my brother Mark and his wife Sarah, and my brother John and his wife Kim, who have accompanied me on so many great adventures all over the country which have undoubtedly inspired some of the great places in Pendria.
Prologue
The Sacred Ones
Alsimor, The First Lands
The Dawn of the World
High in the mountains a single dragon looked down on the snow-covered range that hemmed in his home. Stretching feathery wings, the little dragon turned his head toward the point in the sky where the new light had risen, shining like a distant star somehow brought to the hearth and home of his people. Today it twinkled in the distance, a sign that the dragons were not alone in this new world. He would go there, one day, he had decided. The Ascended Valley was a paradise for most, but something in his heart stirred him to think of leaving. A few fellow lights seemed afflicted as he was. They gathered here on the Ascended Valley's edge and looked to the north where the new light shone each night.
Blaze lifted his head high and summoned a ball of fiery red light, blowing it up into the evening sky with careful strokes of his wings.
One light to answer another.
Blaze watched, hopeful that the whoever it was so far away might somehow see his little light and and send up their own sign in answer. For a while he waited, watching like the others filled with the same drive to wonder, to seek, and to leave.
Silent and thoughtful, each observed the distant sign of life in the world beyond the valley. A towering lighthouse stood impassively, its light burning eternal as a star even after Blaze's own enchantment faltered and turned to sparkling ruby dust. It drifted down around him like a cloak of falling embers.
That night at prayers, Blaze sat and listened with countless others of his breed, all eyes to the front of a stone amphitheater where a dragoness ascended to the high platform in the center to address the gathering. High Priestess Arya had come tonight, Blaze knew this as soon as he saw the flash of purple in her otherwise snowy feathers. No other dragon bore her colors. As she rose to the top of the steps, more recognized the purple-marked figure and the clamoring crowd fell into a reverent silence so still that the winter winds sighed as it wound through them, tugging at feathered wings.
“A time will come, when the Almighty above will send our people into the world beyond this valley. It is dark and it is cold. A place without light, a place without song. Who will go? Who will carry light into the darkness? Who will carry song into the hopeless places? Who will carry mercy to a land of wounded souls? Who will go?”
I will go, Blaze thought, and he meant it. It seemed so obvious, the very idea resonating with something intrinsic to the deepest fibers of his soul. He had to go. He was born to go. Arya had challenged her followers this way before, and every time she looked his way and said those words he could not help but feel she was speaking directly to him. Around him, others looked back with worried brows, or wide, fearful eyes. Blaze understood their fear. He was not unsympathetic. Who would want to leave a place of plenty for such a trying place as the priestess described? Blaze could not make rational sense of his own desire to leave. He simply knew that a day would come that he would go. It was in his blood to do so.
“We are the luminarians,” Arya continued. “Created from the creator's song and blessing of light. Brothers and sisters, raise your lights to honor He who is Holy.”
Once again Blaze summoned an orb of soft red light and raised it as high above him as he could, leaning back to lift his forelimbs from the ground and raise them up and open beneath the radiance of the field of lights.
“The road is dark before us, guard your hearts and forever shine your light,” Arya said, her tone encouraging despite her words of warning.
The very next day Blaze's world changed. He returned to the edge of the valley to lift his light to the distant tower, only to find something that no other luminarian had ever seen. A creature climbing up the mountainside, swathed in brown robes and walking on two legs. Blaze flew to the temple, beating his wings furiously, shouting and proclaiming to all that would listen.
“Come! Come quickly! The valley has received its first visitor from the world beyond!”
Arya and her mate, Brazen, marched out to meet the visitor. Nearly the entire valley's population followed in loose formation by the time the luminarian dragons met what would turn out to be a human wizard. He called himself a prophet and immediately fell under Brazen's suspicion. Arya calmed his spirit with a touch and welcomed the robed man into the valley of the luminarians, telling him of the magic the Almighty above had bestowed on the land and in the hearts of its people.
That night, the prophet came into the temple and took Arya's life, carving her heart from her chest. The passing of the ages would not undo such an egregious sin, nor would it erode the memory of that night from Blaze's long-beleaguered mind.
Brazen's cry of anguish had been enough to stir most of the drakes from their sleep. Blaze arrived among the first and saw the grisly scene. Arya lay torn and bloody, her eyes shut in pain. Sometime in the night her suffering had ended, and there was no life to save. Brazen clutched her tight against his chest, wracked with grief. Soaked in her cooling blood, he prayed and begged for a reprieve, but Blaze could see the light had gone out of her.
"Don't go, please don't go," Brazen begged her. Tears streamed down his face as he stroked her muzzle lovingly. At last the sun began to rise, and he carried her body out of the temple on his back. Blood staining his fur and feathers, he gave the funeral, entrusting his beloved's soul into the creator's care.
"I remember," he said, looking out at the colorful assortment of dragons. "When the creator sang our kind into being. I watched him pick her up from the shards of the crystal that bore her and first whispered her name. He said she was beautiful, and she was. Ar..." his voice was choked with sorrow, and he stopped to collect himself.
"Arya was the brightest light I have ever known, and she has been taken from us by the wizard Dulshim. He took..." Brazen hesitated again, dragging his forepaw across his eyes to clear his murky vision. He looked over at the open grave without continuing his thought, everyone knew by then that the wizard had cut out Arya's heart. It bled shimmering crystals of soft purple as he went, leading down through the pass that had first brought him into the Ascended Valley. Brazen took one of the pieces and placed it atop her bloody chest. He took one last look and nuzzled her chin.
"I love you," he said, softly and reverently. "I will... never..." he said and broke off, finishing his promise in silence.
The luminarians put a marker on her grave and stood watch until nightfall. The cold that had gone so long unnoticed now kept Blaze from sleeping. He stood his turn at the graveside, bringing a little light with him and setting it up high on a pole.
In the morning the council convened. The wisest of the lightborn sat in a circle, debating hunting down the wizard or sealing the pass in hopes that no darkness mig
ht ever invade the valley again. It was far too late for that, to Blaze's mind. The marker on the hillside had changed everything. In the rising sun it cast a shadow tall as the mountains, and Blaze could think of nothing else.
"Who will go?" Brazen asked, pushing his way past wings and shoulders to stand before the council. His grief had given over to rage. "Who will carry the wrath of God into the dark and uncaring world? The wizard has taken her heart. Every day its countenance warms him is a desecration of her memory!" He spoke with wild-eyed fury, scanning the crowd.
"Who among you has the strength, the courage?!" he demanded. Getting no immediate response he gnashed his teeth and clawed at the ground, then gathered his composure and looked out with disapproval.
"I will not let this desecration stand," he announced with cold intent. "I will hunt down Arya's murderer and reclaim her heart and I will render justice unto him. I ask again, who will go?"
Blaze lifted his wing up over the colorful assembly. He knew what he had to do. "I will go."
For a few moments only Blaze and Brazen stood above the rest, searching shocked and vacant faces, a people who had once had hope and then saw hope murdered on the temple steps.
“I will go!” a blue drake shouted, his voice exuberant and his eyes bright with passion. Heads swiveled to the roof of the temple where the one called Rain made his loud proclamation.
“As shall I,” another blue-marked drake announced. He was an older soul, and he stepped forward on the high roof with a grim set to his jaw. “Darkness has come to the children of light. Let us not falter.”
One by one others announced their intention to join, a small army soon rising to mete out righteous judgment and return with Arya's heart.
The next day Blaze left home behind him, unsure if he would ever be able to return. His heart fluttered as he took the first steps down the pass and began his descent, flaring his crimson-striped wings now and then to keep himself steady. In the intervening years his anxiety would fade, replaced with bright-eyed wonder. He was in awe of a world more vast than he could ever have known. His desire to see more of it and to fulfill Arya's mission, gave him the courage to overcome his fears.
* * *
Enshrouded by high walls and backed by a mighty mountain, Alsimor was a city hewn from the rock itself. It had sprang up in the span of only a few years, wizardry building what would have otherwise taken centuries to complete. From atop the mountain Alshim's white tower watched over the city he had built, and his people prospered.
Dulshim's war had come suddenly, but not unexpectedly. The city burned from within, giving up tall pillars of thick black smoke as the two wizards dueled for dominion over Alshim's kingdom. While Alshim had expected his brother's violent return, he had not anticipated the growth of his power might outpace his own.
With every attack and counter attack, Alshim could sense he was losing ground. His own power would expire before Dulshim's, and he would be at his brother's mercy. Feigning weakness, he drew his brother's ire. Dulshim prepared a great spell to obliterate his brother, worthy of the depths of his wrath. At the last moment Alshim slipped aside, and the fireball bounced off the top of the wall, tearing away the battlements before it sailed into the distance and erupted against one of the towers. Only two of the city's towers yet stood. Alshim sprinted along the wall with Dulshim in swift pursuit, a deluge of arrows tracking close behind, trying to pick him off without risk to Alshim's own life.
In the streets, Alsimor's men fought with hulking green-scaled freyn. Even outnumbered ten to one the reptiles overwhelmed their human foes, striking them down with claws as long as swords and tails heavier than a blacksmith's hammer. By afternoon they had been pushed back to the keep, and Alshim's magic was exhausted.
Alshim was the last to draw back to the keep. His assistant Arbilor ordered food and water and a surgeon brought before he had even taken a moment to inspect Alshim for injury.
"What is that unholy thing he's got?" Arbilor asked. Alshim looked out through an arrowslit and saw and shook his head in dismay. His brother had brought a rough purple gem, glowing with an inner light. In all his years, Alshim had never seen anything like it and said as such.
"He must have found it on his last journey," Alshim said.
Arbilor snorted disdain. "Of course he did. I can hardly imagine him waiting until now to make use of it. If there are any virtues your brother possesses, patience is certainly not one of them."
Arbilor's righteous anger gave way to pragmatism as he stole another look out through the arrowslit. Explosions thudded through the keep as Dulshim barraged the gates with a steady flow of magical bolts. Every impact made a sound like distant thunder as it boomed against Alshim's wards. Crystals around the door shone with power, though already their light had begun to wane.
"What are we going to do about him?" Arbilor asked anxiously, hoping that Alshim might have an answer. His old friend did him the service of honesty, and offered him no false hope.
Pensively, Alshim took his turn at the arrowslit. "When he comes through the door, we will have every archer fire, and then I will attack with what ever strength I have recovered. God willing, some of us may yet survive."
When sunrise drew near, four of the seven gems had gone dark. They had cracked and fallen from their settings. A fifth was soon to join them, and the final two had grown so faint they could only be seen through cupped hands placed over them to block the morning light. Alshim summoned his apprentice at dawn and instructed the boy on recharging the gems, buying them perhaps another hour. His own magic he saved for his brother, knowing he would need it and the will of the divine had he any hope of victory.
Then the long and steady tempo that had drummed through the night missed a beat, then a second beat. A third moment came and went without a sound. Alshim and Arbilor scrambled for the arrowslit and looked out over the bridge. A myriad of colorful feathers and fur swept by, resolving into a small army of dragons not even half the height of a man each.
"Alshim...?" Arbilor began slowly. "Have you ever seen anything like those before?"
Alshim shook his head, grinning as the dragons took positions between Dulshim and the beleaguered gate. "I have not..."
* * *
Arya's crystallized heart dominated the battlefield with its presence. It glimmered with soft purple and white light, an aura of magic swirling around it in misty patterns. A bright light glowed within, at war with the eerie purple magic that tried to devour it. Blaze watched the colors dance, entranced by the beautiful patterns and the purity of Arya's light. Then he saw the man holding it in his bony fingers, curled around it like a claw. Rage welled up in Blaze's soul like a thundercloud rumbling as lightning bounced around inside of it, ready to reach out and bring white hot devastation on wherever it should land. Blaze would land on Dulshim the Black. Somewhere in his heart a warrior's spirit had lain concealed only by a thin veil of fog, now burned away by Arya's light.
Half of the luminarians landed behind Dulshim, blocking his escape. Blaze followed Brazen and his group down to the gate, meeting their foe head-on with brilliant flashes of magic that peppered Dulshim's shield with bursts of flame. The barrier flickered but held.
The monstrous, lizardlike freyn swarmed up behind Dulshim in a flash, overrunning the luminarian flank. Over the din Brazen commanded them to hold, lest Dulshim retreat. They did their best, but in the first few seconds several had already been killed and a dozen more badly wounded.
Dulshim did not shy away from Brazen and his advancing troops. He lifted Arya's heart over his head and made it crackle with dark energy. Dark winds rose up, sapping the very light from the air. Blaze could feel the pressure pushing on him as he strove to remain by Brazen's side. The entire world gave way to purple and black, breaking in front of the luminarians like a coursing river against a mountainous boulder, enveloping them in the dark embrace. The dragon next to him screamed in pain and was carried off his feet, obliterated by the evil magic.
"Be strong!
" Brazen commanded. "Do not let him take you by your fear!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Blaze could see another dragon ripped to shreds by the current. He could feel it tugging at his paws and raking through his mane like hot embers thrown across his back. Blaze steeled himself and continued his advance. He would have Arya's heart back, even if it meant being taken into her presence to tell her of the news himself. With a roar that shook the heavens, Brazen lunged. He caught Arya's heart in his jaws.
***
The last thing Alshim saw of the dragon's battle was their leader tearing the crystal from Dulshim's hand. After this, the crystal fractured, leaking bright white light from deep violet fissures. Then, it exploded. The world outside was deluged in bright white light, and when it was no longer painful to look at, there was nothing left on the bridge but bodies.
"There's no sign of your brother," Arbilor reported with regret.
"And the dragons?" Alshim asked. He was too busy plying what magic he had been saving for his brother to mending injuries that were beyond the surgeon's own abilities.
Arbilor frowned and hesitated, as though reluctant to deliver his report on the matter.
"All dead?" Alshim asked sorrowfully. It was a shame to not meet even a single member of the unlikely warband that had delivered Alsimor from its imminent damnation.
"We're not sure," Arbilor answered, shaking his head. "We only found eleven bodies, most of them killed by freyn. We're searching the river, perhaps we will find the rest there."
As I stood upon the road and looked back whence I came, I could see the valiant dead who lay along it, stretching long before even I had walked. Though their bodies lay broken and their blood spilled, through the pained faces I could see they bore no regret, for they had found their victory.
Once they had walked this road and carried the light, knowing full well the night might strike them down--
and each had gone to their fate upon the road.