Zelspar and the Magicians

by Cheryl Rush Cowperthwait

  The old White Dragon sighed out his weariness and inhaled a breath of renewal. All the strain of the recent training, and the leaving of the Dragon Hails and friends behind, was taking a toll. It seemed this was the first time he felt he could breathe freely. A moment to replenish the self. Soon, he too closed his eyes and enjoyed the sweet sounds the lush environment provided.

  After what seemed like hours, Zelspar pried his eyes open at the sound of splashing behind his head. A smile crossed his face along with the thought of fresh fish, until he heard his name.

  He shot up and turned to face the sound. It was Pravietis. The Future Walker splashed forcefully to gain their attention.

  “Pravietis, my old friend!” Zelspar greeted warmly.

  “No time, Zelspar. Flegmorr has followed your markers and heads your way. You must hurry if you are to get the slip on him.” Pravietis wore his concern like an ostentatious display which no one could ignore.

  Perthorn and Kiel jumped up and moved far away from the enormously long, talking sea serpent.

  “What do you see in our Futures, Pravietis?” Perthorn asked, his fears of the Future Walker pushed aside.

  “There is no time -- if you do not leave now, your battle will be here, and that will bring about a Future you would not enjoy. Follow the stream up until you see the land bridge that crosses to the other side. You must take the bridge. Go!”

  Zelspar wasted no more time as he briskly followed the side of the winding stream. He moved only as fast as his companions could keep up. Adrenaline raced through his internal rivers, pushing him along. He knew the battle loomed, but the last hours had pushed aside his thoughts and worries. He looked over his shoulder to see if the two were keeping up to his pace. He stopped dead in his tracks.

  A blue mist had risen from the ground, swirling around the feet of the Magicians with pops of electricity. Perthorn’s face looked chiseled from stone -- a resolve Zelspar had not recently seen.

  He refocused on finding the land bridge. They must make it across to the portal in time. Zelspar’s mind raced. We do not even know what awaits on this new world. We have to find shelter, a place to command our attacks. How will Perthorn battle the Dark Magician and what can I do to help?

  His sudden flurry of thoughts threatened to strangle him when he heard loud and clear, Trust. React. Respond. He took a deep breath and flooded himself with those words. They washed away the questions and the momentary doubts. This was no time to second guess.

  The stream made a sharp bend. They rounded the bend and pushed aside the lush plants which grew down to the water’s edge. The mist had thickened, sparking blue flashes all around them. Their path was difficult to see through the mist and thickness of leaves and plants. Zelspar noticed the ground underfoot changed from sand to gravel to hard ground as the vegetation grew sparser.

  He stopped. Perthorn and Kiel drew up next to him. Ahead of them the land arched over the stream, a mass of rock, vines and land. Water flowed underneath in the washed-out potions where the stream had cut a path through its wall. They all headed for it.

  Zelspar went first with Perthorn close behind. The old White Dragon tested the land bridge with each step. Kiel walked close behind Perthorn, duplicating his steps. Zelspar made it to midstream and turned to look at Perthorn. With his next step, he vanished.

  Perthorn threw his arms behind him, stopping Kiel from moving. He yelled as he looked down at the stream. “Zelspar!” There had been no sound of splashing and no answering call. They both whipped their heads in every direction, searching for their friend. Perthorn stepped forward. He disappeared, leaving Kiel alone and stunned.

  His eyes narrowed, searching the water, but he saw nothing. He had no choice. He had to move forward. Danger followed close behind. He took the step.

  Chapter 17

  The atmosphere was charged with electricity. A lightning storm sent fiery daggers across the stony surface of deep craters and the towering pinnacles of rugged mountains.

  The portal had led them to the edge of a gaping crater. One of many which dotted the landscape of this new world. A place of desolation, a fitting place for Flegmorr. Zelspar’s discerning eyes scoured the landscape while waiting for Perthorn and Kiel to take the portal.

  A sudden burst of light exploded from the half-circle of the polished basalt archway, delivering Perthorn to his destination. He stood, mouth agape. He had not been prepared for the desolation of this place. Moving towards Zelspar, the light again burst, dropping Kiel unceremoniously out of the arch.

  The great White Dragon bent down. “Come on. I see a place of shelter.”

  Perthorn did not hesitate. Climbing up, he dropped one arm to help Kiel onto the Dragon. Zelspar left the ground and headed towards the nearest indentation in the black columns of rock. Coming so close to it, his wings brushed the rock face before he veered a hard left. The turnabout lead Perthorn to grab wildly at his vine strapping, knuckles white from his grip. Lightning bolts slashed the sky and hit dangerously close all around them.

  An outcropping of columns up ahead looked promising. He landed and had his riders remove all the bundles and packages from him. Behind the rock structures in which they hid were a few pockets in the mountain. They were hardly large enough to call caves, but they were a place where his companions could seek cover if necessary.

  “Store what you must in one of those pockets,” Zelspar said, pointing to the spaces behind his back.

  Kiel thrust their packs of bare essentials into a shallow cave near ground level, noting it to be large enough for them to hunker down into during storms or… He swallowed hard, the realization of the pending battle gave him a sharp slap to the face. He quickly rejoined his companions.

  “Do you see what lies ahead?” Perthorn asked as he tried to interpret both what Zelspar said and did not say. He knew there were thoughts he held under his tongue.

  “Ahead? No, I do not see our Future. I must confess, this place, this world, is more desolate that I could imagine.”

  “It’s an ugly world, lacking in any beauty or life.” Perthorn looked around, grimacing. “If I were to compare it to anything, perhaps it compares to Flegmorr’s soul.”

  Zelspar nodded, still in thought. His right arm moved in front of him and then to his right side. The massive lightning bolts split and parted, following the direction of his arm. Behind him, shocked gasps filled the air. A wry smile tickled at his snout. Before he could turn to look at his friends, a bright flash broke in the distance.

  Flegmorr had arrived.

  The taste of bile crawled up Perthorn’s throat. He gulped it back as his two fingers swirled to his right and his ceremonial robe appeared. He slipped the Book of Days into the concealed pocket as he let the robe settle against his flesh. One arm reached for a vial stitched along the seam, and he released it. It slid into the leather hand thong which covered the front of his right hand and wove around his palm.

  A wind blew in their direction. Subtle at first, then gaining momentum as it approached. Kiel stumbled backwards as he saw what was within the swirling dust-laden air. Huge gaping maws covered in rotted flesh were filled with needle sharp teeth were moving in the dark shadows of the wind. It was headed directly toward them.

  “So, it begins,” yelled Perthorn, casting a frenzied ball of green at the surging wind. It exploded and shrieks of the soulless creatures permeated the air, tearing at their eardrums. Their remains rained down as fine ash and blew away.

  Zelspar’s eyes narrowed, scanning for Flegmorr. He saw the attack for what it was -- merely a precursory attack designed to unveil their location. Flegmorr used the first attack to follow the Magic and sounds to reach them. Words stabbed at his brain causing his eyes to twitch. The words came from all directions and like ghosts, flew past his eyes, blazing in his sight. So loud, layering over other layers, the assault made him kneel, his large palms reaching to shield his ears. The words consumed him, forcing tears of pain to flow down his muzzle.

  Kiel’s jaw dr
opped, watching his friend succumb under an assault he neither saw nor heard. Perthorn hazarded a look, his eyes wild at the sight. He was inflamed and immediately struck out, sending a red fireball streaming in the sky and exploding the ground in the distance.

  Zelspar shook his head violently and then became still -- his face slack, his eyes dulled. Perthorn turned to come to his aid when Zelspar roared and leapt up, his teeth bared for battle. The attack had come from his mind. His memories all flooding in the rivers churned by adrenaline, colliding against his skull. Words from Sigrunn and Tyrianau screamed over his spells and ancestral memories, battling to direct Zelspar’s mind. He focused until his mind narrowed to one path. Trust. React. Respond. It was all he had to remember. His powerful wings unfolded, glinting in the burst of yellow flame he threw in the air. He had stripped his Invisibility Magic. He snarled as this thought took hold. I want Flegmorr to see who comes against him. He will suffer for all that he has chosen to become.

  Zelspar threw his left hand in a downward motion, instantly causing the ground to crackle and split, creating a large crevice which zipped towards the Dark Magician.

  Flegmorr flew up into the air, his power of Levitation kept him upright. His demonic laughter peeled through the sky.

  Perthorn countered, his lips mumbling, “Divestori Adoone!” It was a Grounding Spell which blocked the Magic of Levitation, forcing Flegmorr to sink to the ground. The Master Magician immediately followed up with the Binding Spell that worked like a net of chains, holding Flegmorr from being able to lift again.

  Rapid click-click noises crawled down Flegmorr’s ears, and Glik pressured him on. “Killzz thems…” he feverishly encouraged.

  Flegmorr knocked the Flaptail off his shoulder, spittle flying from his mouth as he spoke. “I will drag Perthorn by the hair of his mustache all the way back to the Vale of Valdross. I will prove to my father I have out matched Perthorn in all Magic. I will bring back our Book of Days, restoring my honor and standing. Shut up and watch, you vile creature, or I will burst you into flame!” Glik climbed the back of Flegmorr’s robe and eased onto his shoulder.

  The distance narrowed between Flegmorr and his opponents. Flegmorr grabbed a handful of dust and released it into the air, leaning backwards as his arms thrust up to the sky. “Sotetseg Leszall!” Darkness engulfed the sky, leaving Perthorn scrambling to find his opponent.

  Zelspar fixed his eyes towards the two yellow orbs gleaming upon their approach. A fanatical cackle pierced the air. The White Dragon moved his staff across the ground in a rapid side to side motion and slammed the tip to the ground before pointing it towards the yellow orbs seemingly suspended in mid-air. Vibrant purple lightning erupted from the ground, pitching dirt and rock skyward and sending Flegmorr dodging right and left. Glik tenaciously hung onto Flegmorr’s shoulder, his tail of rattles swishing in a frenzy down the Dark Magician’s back.

  Flegmorr charged forward, yellow orbs bouncing in the air. Under the cloak of darkness, he lifted his arms to waist level, fingers splayed, and sent streams of fire shooting from his fingertips.

  Momentarily illuminated by the light given, Perthorn shook the vial open and blew the dust into the air. Large hailstones crashed and rained from the sky. Zelspar roared an ear-splitting bellow, countering the fire with his Ice Flames. Still, Flegmorr advanced, the gruesome yellow gleam cutting a path through the darkness.

  Glik nervously ranted into the ear of the Dark Magician. “Killzz the Dragon. Killzz him, then Perthorn yours.”

  His incessant hissing finally reached its mark. The luminous eyes veered towards Zelspar. In the darkness, Flegmorr crossed arm over arm and then threw them wide, casting a snarling net to each side. One wrapped itself around Kiel, throwing him to the ground. One snagged the right wing of Zelspar, pinning him down. The nets were infused with Magic, making them impervious to fire, ice or Magic.

  Perthorn heard the sounds around him and felt along the ground to discover Kiel incapacitated. He called out to Zelspar and only received a long deep moan. Zelspar curled as tight as he could against his snared wing, his moans deepening.

  Zelspar exacted all of his effort on forcing his words into Perthorn’s mind. He repeated them in growing intensity as Flegmorr trudged forward, a sinister chuckle slipping into the dark.

  Perthorn caught the words and echoed them with all the power he possessed. “Sotetseg Felszall!” he screamed. The Darkness gathered and disappeared, bringing a bright light over the world.

  That brief instant, Flegmorr was blinded and staggered.

  A calm washed over Zelspar as the words came to mind. Trust. React. Respond.

  In a flurry of action, Perthorn cast a red ball of fire at Flegmorr, catching his shoulder and knocking the Flaptail into a fiery heap.

  The Dark Magician reacted instantaneously, rolling and throwing both arms out, sending an electrical charge which hit both Perthorn and Zelspar. The high voltage rendered them into a writhing mass, convulsing before the boot clad feet of Flegmorr.

  His heels thudded as he marched slowly around his prey. He approached Perthorn, sneering. He heaved up a wad of thick black phlegm, and he spat it on Perthorn’s chin, watching it crawl its way down his neck which left behind a trail of angry burns. He took his time. He relished in inflicting torment. He kicked him solidly in his ribs, then once to the back of his head. Blood pooled out of his mouth, his body still twitching from the voltage he had endured.

  Flegmorr glared down at him. “I should kill you for killing Glik,” he thundered, his anger painting his face red. He kicked rocks at his face. “But noooo, I have to drag you and the stolen Book of Days back to the Vale of Valdross to prove to my father and his cronies that I am indeed the best there has ever been. It should have never happened,” he yelled violently into Perthorn’s exposed ear. “You never should have been given MY title! Do you hear me?” He leered, his teeth grating together. “I will make you pay dearly for all that you have taken from me. I will tear your life apart by the seams. Oh yes,” he laughed snidely, “you are allowed to live until I deliver you to my father, but your friends will die in the most horrendous way I can fathom. And you? You have the honor of seeing it all first hand.”

  The Dark Magician kicked Perthorn until he could get his body to face the Dragon. “First, I’ll play with your Dragon. I’ll take great delight in cutting his wings from his body. Look at your friend now, all huddled into a ball, cowering under his wing!” His demented laughter rocked the air. He seemed untouchable.

  Zelspar’s erratic twitching had thrown his staff three-quarters of the way out from under him. Flegmorr’s lips curled into a vicious sneer. He grabbed the top of the staff and thrust the end into Zelspar’s belly, laughing.

  In a lightning flash of movement, Zelspar grabbed onto the end of his staff and yelled, “You do not poke a Dragon!” His arm vibrated at the end of his staff, the rounded tip of it still clasped in Flegmorr’s hand. The Draga Stone ignited, instantly swirling within the ball and hitting Flegmorr full force. It reduced him to the size of a pebble.

  The Magic nets that had been cast vanished. Zelspar sat and picked up the infinitely small Flegmorr and held him betwixt his razor-sharp talons. Perthorn rolled to a sitting position. With the back of his hand still shaking, he wiped blood from his mouth. Kiel shook his limbs, allowing the blood to flow into the rivers as it should. He looked in shock at his companions.

  Zelspar looked to Perthorn and said, “He’s all yours if you want him.”

  The Master Magician slowly shook his head. “He repulses me. Be done with him.”

  The White Dragon grinned as he slowly brought his long, yellowed talons together. If one listened very closely, screams of horrific terror rang as his guts poured out and ran down Zelspar’s talons. To the average sized Magician, what was heard was simply the sound of Balance. Zelspar flicked what was left of Flegmorr against the towering rocks to rot.

  “That was brutal.” Kiel grinned. “But I mean that in a good way.” He squatted next
to Perthorn, looking at the back of his head. “You have a knot back here; do you feel alright?”

  “I feel as though I’ve been drop-kicked off the side of a mountain. If there were a way to kill that Flegmorr repeatedly, I believe it would make me feel much better. I’m wishing now I would have stomped on him as a repayment for his abuse to my bones.” Perthorn moaned as he attempted to stand.

  “I should examine you. You may have broken your bones,” said Zelspar.

  “You needn’t check his head, he’s hard-headed,” snickered Kiel, jumping back out of reach from Perthorn’s swinging arm.

  “Ow!” he hollered with the new pain.

  “Lie back for a moment, I need to look at your chest.” Zelspar was having none of Perthorn’s objections. Raising his robe, he used his talon to slice through the lacing of his tunic, laying it open. His flesh was angry shades of red and purple. He lightly applied pressure against Perthorn’s ribcage.

  “Thunder and Lightning, Zelspar! That hurts,” he burst out as he squeezed his eyes shut.