Wars of Irradan

by RG Long

  “Couldn’t hear,” Urt said, keeping his eyes forward.

  The Pit was called this because it was a circular hole dug out of solid rock. A wall the height of at least three tall men surrounded the fighting area. Three doors led inside. One from the prisoners’ cells, where they were brought at first, the one they were standing by now that lead down to the nicer rooms, and a third door that Jurrin had never seen opened during his time in the pit.

  “Here it goes,” Felicia said as the chains beside the door began to lift the door up. She turned to face them both.

  “I have a strange feeling about this one,” she said as the door reached her knees. “Keep together, like we normally do. I’m sure Lord Gerald really believes this fight will be the end of us.”

  She drew both of her swords and crossed them in front of her as the gate reached her chest.

  “Let’s prove her wrong.”

  Jurrin hefted up his belt and tightened his grip on both sling and knife. He wasn’t so sure about proving anyone wrong. But he did know that he didn’t want to die today if he could help it.

  Mustering up as much courage as he could, which he knew was slightly less than he needed, he walked out into the pit between Urt and Felicia. The crowd roared at their arrival. He heard himself being announced by the same elf who always stood next to Lord Gerald. His voice had to be magically enhanced somehow. Once they entered the arena, they could always understand him clearly. Or maybe it was design of the pit itself that made every word audible over the crowd’s noise.

  “And now, fan favorites Jurrin, the halfling with a stinging, slinging arm! Felicia, the beautiful captain and corsair! And Urt, an exotic Skrilx who’s deadly with spear and sword alike!”

  Cheers from the crowd rose up to near deafening. Jurrin held up his knife in good nature. He always felt like he did better when he imagined the crowd was cheering for him to live, not to be butchered.

  “Let’s see how our champions from Ruyn do against the fierce, terrifying, fire breathing, menace: red-winged dragon!”

  “Oh, suns above,” Felicia said as the third gate Jurrin had never seen raised slowly lifted up out of the ground. From it came a blast of fire followed by a dragon covered in red scales.

  “My sling is not going to help much,” said Jurrin, just as he dodged a ball of fire the size of a horse that blasted them apart. The dragon was spitting and growling. It seemed enraged beyond caring that it only had three morsels of food in front of it. Felicia had rolled out of the way of the blast and came to rest in a kneeling position, swords raised. The dragon launched another fireball at her, which she jumped away from.

  Jurrin was back on his feet.

  “You’ve got to do something!” he said out loud. Taking a rock from his sling pouch, he swung it at the dragon and hit it in the skull. It let out a roar and shook its head. Glaring at Jurrin, the halfling was able to take in the full effect of the beast.

  This red dragon had four horns, all of them pointing backwards out of its head. Its belly was a lighter tan color, though the scales seamlessly blended from one color to the next. It's tail was long and thick, with two horns on the edge of it as well. Also, there was a heavy iron collar around its neck and iron shackles around each of its four legs. Angry welts were all over its body.

  It let out a roar that nearly put Jurrin on his back, but the little halfling did his best to hold his ground.

  In a flash, Urt was climbing up the back of the dragon. The Skrilx took his spear and put it around the head of the dragon, attempting to choke the beast. It stood up on its hind legs and cracked its head like a whip, sending Urt flying towards the wall of the Pit. Had he been a man, Jurrin was sure he would have crashed against the wall and died instantaneously. But Urt was no man.

  He bounded from wall to floor to rock with the agility of his race and landed on all fours, his spear still in hand but shield abandoned. Jurrin saw the large shield on the floor just a few paces away from him. The dragon let out a snort of steam and looked from each of the three in front of him. Jurrin leaped for the shield and held it up in front of him. It was just as tall as he was.

  It was Felicia’s turn to attack the winged reptile. She ran head long at the creature and, just as it reared its head back to fire off another blast at her, she slid under it and raked its scales with her blades. Not a single one of her attacks penetrated the tough hide. If anything, it only enraged the dragon further. It let loose a flurry of fireballs in every direction. One hit right next to Jurrin, who was able to avoid getting covered in liquid flame by hiding under the shield.

  It soon burned so hot, however, that he had to throw it away from him. The sound made a giant clamor on the ground, which, unfortunately, the dragon heard.

  Turning its ugly head towards Jurrin again, the dragon took several steps towards him. Urt rushed it again, but this time the dragon was ready and slung its tail out at him, knocking him back toward Felicia. The two collided and quickly became tangled up in one another.

  “Things look bad for Jurrin the halfling!” he heard the announcer say. In the back of his mind, he knew the voice had been narrating every blow, but he was only now just cognizant of any outside noise other than the roar of the dragon and crackling flames around him. “My, this dragon is huge!”

  If there was anything he was glad for at the moment, it was that this dragon wasn’t even a third of the size of the last one he had seen. It was an ancient dragon that belonged to the king of the dwarves in Grandun-Krator on Ruyn.

  “Nidashma!” Jurrin shouted.

  The dragon stopped mid step and blinked at Jurrin. Steam still poured from its nostrils as it looked at Jurrin with hesitation.

  “I’ve met her!” Jurrin shouted, speaking before thought could catch up with him. “She lives on Ruyn. She’s hundreds of years old. She helped me and my friends defeat a demon.”

  Slowly, the dragon began taking small steps towards Jurrin.

  “The halfling is talking to the dragon!” the announcer’s voice boomed over the pit. “I’d try that dagger if I were him.”

  Jurrin looked at the blade in his hands and felt like it would be saner to try to stab the beast’s eyes out than talk to it. But something made him hesitate.

  “Do you...” he choked. “Do you know Nidashma?”

  The dragon was now an arm’s length from Jurrin. One bite from its toothy jaws or blast of fire now and the halfling would be wiped from the pit and no longer be a nuisance to anyone. He’d be a grease spot instead.

  “You speak the name of the egg bearer of my egg bearer,” a voice said.

  Jurrin blinked several times before realizing that it was the dragon who spoke to him. And its voice didn’t sound harsh or full of rage. It sounded calm. And female.

  “Egg bearer?” Jurrin repeated. “Of your... Oh! Your grandmother, so to say.”

  Another spurt of steam came from the dragon’s nostrils as it inched towards Jurrin. She pushed Jurrin with her nose, not too hard but certainly enough to put the halfling on his back. Urt and Felicia were now running towards him and the monstrous dragon.

  “No!” he shouted, holding up a hand at the pair of them with their weapons ready. “Wait!”

  The dragon eyed them beadily, then drew her attention back to Jurrin.

  “You were told my heritage to mock me and my bondage,” she said in a whisper, barely audible to any but Jurrin and his two companions.

  “No!” he said quickly. “No, ma’am I wasn’t. I’ve met Nidashma. She’s the dragon of King Thuda of Grandun-Krator! She’s mighty, big, and powerful, too! She took on a demon and half of an army all on her own!”

  A long stream of smoke billowed out of the dragon’s jaws as she let out a small roar. Then the dragon put a strong arm on Jurrin’s. He was sure everyone in the crowd was thinking he was about to be eaten. He was starting to think he was going to be eaten, too.

  The dragon gave a mighty chomp, but not on Jurrin. Next to him. She spoke rapidly.

  “My name
is Nerashi. There are three Speakers whose magic binds me to this pit,” she said. “Breaking any one of their concentrations on the spells they whisper will allow us to escape. You and your friends will ride on my back. I will us bear away from here and you will tell me more of Nidashma.”

  Jurrin was aware of the screams of the crowd. He was also very aware of the dragon’s hot breath that smelled like sulfur. He wasn’t sure he could trust a dragon. He wasn’t sure he would have the chance.

  “Hit the Speakers!” he hissed at Felicia and Urt as he rolled out from underneath the dragon and let loose a rock he had placed in his sling. The missile sailed right over Lord Gerald’s head and hit the elf in black robes who stood beside her, mumbling under his breath and holding wand of Rimstone. He was vaguely aware of Urt throwing his spear and Felicia launching one of her swords.

  The elf next to Lord Gerald went down and Jurrin felt a wave of energy pulse through the pit. Lifting up her head, the dragon let out a deafening roar.

  “Onto my back!” she said, shaking her head and launching a ball of fire at the guards who were coming through the gate she had entered the pit through. “And hold on to each other!”

  Jurrin was quite sure he had lost his mind. He clamored up and around the dragon. Felicia was looking crazed as well, but still she climbed onto the dragon’s back. Urt got behind her and held onto the chains that swung from the collar the dragon wore around her neck. Jurrin reached out a hand and Felicia took it, placing the halfling in front of her. Another ball of fire flew from the dragon’s mouth in the direction of the announcer’s box, but Jurrin couldn’t see whether or not she hit anything.

  They were in the air and flying through the passageways and bridges of Blood Spire. He rocked back and forth in time with the wings of the dragon and felt like at any moment he might slid off her scales to the rock below.

  “There!” Felicia shouted as they flew. “Up towards the top! A hole in the rock!”

  Roaring with delight, the dragon climbed higher and higher towards the hole in the top of the cliff and, with a final push of her wings, propelled them out of the fortress city of the pirates and into the blue sky and winter breeze above.

  18: Cutting Through

  Serinde was hunched over as she rode along the trail set out for them. She had gotten used to sleeping on her horse as they seemed to stop for shorter and shorter times of rest as they traveled east. Jerking out of a deep sleep, she realized the suns were rising and that morning was nearly on them. They had been traveling for some good many hours before the light had pierced the day.

  She shook her head to clear it and looked around at the four of them.

  Omioor rode in front, as he was their guide. Old and bent, he was much stronger than he looked, but a certain amount of senility was sneaking into his mind. No one could be that sardonic without claiming at least a little old age. But within his mind were maps of Irradan that no cartographer had ever put to paper. He knew the territory better than any.

  Behind his father rode Orin. He never spoke and wore dark clothes that nearly covered his whole face. A collar wrapped up past his chin and a dark cap covered his head. Serinde knew next to nothing about him and Omioor wasn’t in the mood for talking after riding all day and night.

  Then again, neither was her sister, Erilas. She rode behind Serinde and was watching the changing scenery with interest. But she never caught a glimpse of Serinde’s, even though she kept trying to make her sister look at her.

  She knew she blamed her for nearly everything that had happened to them for ill since their father had passed away. Serinde knew she had acted rashly on some occasions, but still she couldn’t be blamed for the entire rebellion of the southern cities against the Enoth Empire. Some of those working had been implemented even before they were born.

  But perhaps being sent on a mission to assassinate the emperor was her fault. She had volunteered to be of service and that’s what they were doing now. They were, in effect, bodyguards to Omioor and his son. The death stroke would come from Orin. No one talked much about it, but he was apparently one of the rebellion’s best fighters and most adept at stealth and sneaking in shadows.

  Serinde stretched her arms out wide and looked around at the scene that was unfolding in the morning light. After a solid week of traveling, they were on the other side of the cliffs that ran along Irradan’s southwestern coast. These provided shelter for the cities that thrived there, but prevented them from taking a ship to where the emperor had his army gathered.

  It was now their duty to find the emperor amidst his army and put an end to him, if they could. Serinde remembered their briefing. It had not been very pleasant at the time.

  The Lord of the rebellion was a hard elf, worn by years of battle and rebellion. He had looked at them all in the eye before he said his part.

  “This is no rash move I make,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I am attempting to end this conflict and preserve as many elven lives as I can. Human and others, too, if it can be done. Enoth has finally reached too far and must pay for their greed. Rophilborn is the driving force behind all of it. If we are able to take off this wild snake’s head, I am sure the rest of his empire will fall around him into unable hands. It will then be our job to rebuild from the ashes.”

  He took a deep breath and sighed.

  “You may very well meet your death upon this quest I am sending you. I do not do so lightly. You may, at any point, abandon this task, Miss Serinde and Miss Erilas. I would hate to see such young elves cut down in their grief.”

  He then turned to Omioor and his son.

  “But to you two,” he began.

  Omioor waved him off.

  “We know. We know,” he said. “There’s no stopping us. No matter the cost. We won’t fail you. Or, at least, we won’t come back until we’ve tried every possible way to end the emperor's life or died in the attempt.”

  At the time, Serinde had only thought that if Omioor died, there would be no need to come back. Now that they were on their journey, however, she somehow knew that old elf had no intention of returning. He was going to do this, or die.

  “Do you think we’ll stop for breakfast today?” Serinde asked as they trotted along. “Or will we be eating on our horses like normal?”

  In response, Omioor threw an apple at her.

  “Horse it is,” she said as she bit into the fruit.

  They had met no opposition thus far. No traveling Wrent pack or stray elven guard or garrison. It was a simple journey with not many perils. The lack of any trial or struggle was, in truth, beginning to make Serinde think this was going to be a dull trip.

  Then again, she thought, things would quickly get heated when they found the army. And her thoughts turned to her father, and to Azol, and the whole reason she was here. Vengeance. She was going to help bring down the empire that had ended her father’s life.

  She had done a considerable job at that task so far, having participating in two large battles to take control of imperial held cities. Now she was on an assassination attempt on Rophilborn, which the elf leader said was crucial to the survival of the rebellion. But that thought made her pause.

  “Omioor?” she asked, blinking as the suns made their way over the mountain’s peak and filled her vision with light. “Have they attempted to assassinate the emperor before? He’s ruled for a very long time. And the rebellion hasn’t just started, has it?”

  “You talk a lot before the suns are properly in the sky,” Omioor said, rubbing his eyes and stretching. Still, he didn’t go back to his silent watch over the territory as their horses trotted over it.

  “Of course, this isn’t the only time,” he said. “There have always been attempts by the rebels to do in the emperor. It’s always been the thought that, without their political figurehead and leader, the whole thing would fall apart. I suppose that’s partly true.”

  “Partly?” Erilas asked, breaking her two-day silence.

  Serinde spun around in her saddle t
o see her sister’s face. But the elf only had eyes for Omioor and refused to look at Serinde or meet her gaze.

  “Well,” Omioor said, scratching the back of his head. “It’s an untested theory, wouldn’t you say? Seeing as how the emperor still lives and isn’t dead. Of course, we certainly hope that without their ruler, the cities would rely only on their own power and not the combined might of the whole empire. Leadership under the emperor changes frequently enough that the population doesn’t have loyalty to any one general or advisor. The empress may be a problem, though.”

  “There’s an empress?” Serinde asked. She thought that a female who was wed to the emperor would indeed be a problem.

  “Sure, there is,” Omioor said. He didn’t sound his usual joyful self. “You didn’t think the emperor of all the south would deny himself love, huh?”

  A moment of silence stretched on, broken only by the sound of morning calls of larger birds who hadn’t yet flown north to warmer climates and the soft breeze of a chill air.

  “Omioor?” Serinde asked carefully. “What is it?”

  She saw the elf’s shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh.

  “One attempt didn’t get us the emperor as we had planned,” he said, his voice measured. “Instead, the empress was who was killed.”

  Serinde’s gasp was small, but she felt a pang in her chest.

  “You mean...”

  “We thought we had everything planned out. Every detail considered. In the end, however, she took a poisoned glass that was meant for him and died soon after.”

  The company was quiet for several long moments.

  “I hope we get this right,” Serinde said quietly as the suns warmed her side but a chill ran down her. The path they were traveling on was beginning to be shadowed in trees as they approached the great forest of Irradan. She hadn’t yet felt the gravity of their mission until she realized that it might go wrong.

  And someone they hadn’t intended to be hurt might die.

  “That makes two of us,” Omioor said. “Say, Erilas...”