If not for the strapping, Reecah would have leapt from the slab in horror. A wisp of black smoke emanated from a sooty patch in the centre of Devius’ left palm. “What happened? Are you alright?”
“Bah. Just a flesh wound.” He bent to recover the gemstone and held it to the candlelight between his thumb and forefinger. “So, you’re the evil one.”
“Excuse me.”
“I’m surprised I was able to differentiate the two. That’s a good thing, no?”
Reecah had no idea what he was talking about. “Sure, I guess.”
“Yes. Yes. I agree,” Devius mumbled, paying her no attention.
Lying on the altar, she half expected to see Raver come flying into the chamber. The memory of Grimelda severing his toes assaulted her. She was glad he was safe with the dragons.
Her friends would be worried about her and Junior. With any luck, they wouldn’t get into trouble searching for them.
Carrying an open book in one hand, the high wizard dipped his unburdened pointer finger into the black fount. Pulling his hand free, the long fingernail dripped with what Reecah suspected was blood. “Look straight up and stay still.”
His strange actions petrified her, but she did as he asked. It was all she could do not to jerk her head away when his fingernail touched her cheek.
“Steady.”
She swallowed, unsure if she trembled as hard as she thought.
Referencing the book, he traced a peculiar pattern on her face, pausing a few times to acquire more blood.
She thought better of asking why—afraid she wouldn’t like the answer.
Devius walked around the head of the altar and stood in front of the white marble bowl. “Keep your eyes on the ceiling.”
Her eyes tracked his progress as he switched the book to his other hand. Dipping his opposite pointer finger into the white bowl, he meticulously traced what felt like a different pattern on her other cheek.
He stepped back, admiring his handiwork. “Okay, I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
Reecah kept her head in place, swallowing the lump of fear threatening to suffocate her. “You think?”
Devius shrugged. “Magic is a tricky creature at the best of times. Finicky, if you will. Inflecting the wrong emphasis on a syllable is done at the spell weaver’s jeopardy. A slip of speech, or a missed word, could prove disastrous. For instance, if I placed the evil Eye in the white vessel and the good Eye in the black fount, there’s a real possibility I would lose containment of the dark magic involved in unravelling your binding.”
His words made her head spin. She hoped he knew what he was talking about because she hadn’t a clue. “Is it dangerous? To me, I mean.”
“Honestly?” Devius considered her for a moment as if contemplating his answer. “Let’s just say, if this doesn’t go as planned, neither of us will be the wiser.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t want to know.” He cleared his throat. “Now, where was I. Oh yes. The Eye of Light.”
He raised his right hand, his bony fingers holding the Dragon’s Eye above the bowl. His eyes glossed over and foreign phrases passed his lips.
Reecah heard a barely audible plop as he released the gemstone, followed by a vigorous bubbling. Rose-coloured steam hovered above the bowl, mingling with the pall of incense smoke.
“So far, so good.” Devius walked around the head of the altar to position himself on Reecah’s other side, confronting the black marble fount.
“Provided I haven’t misread the signs, this is the Eye of Darkness. Thus, the larger fount to contain its theurgy.”
She assumed by his explanation that dark magic required a bigger vat to contain it. Though she didn’t understand the words he chanted as he performed the rite, she believed they weren’t the same ones he had chanted at the white bowl.
Releasing the second Dragon Eye, the fount hissed and gurgled; a darker crimson vapour escaped the fount, stretching above the altar to comingle with the lighter vapour of the white vessel.
The vapours collided and the chamber lit up with a blinding flash.
Reecah closed her eyes and tried not to cry out as tendrils of vapour stretched down to her. Her skin crawled as the mist traced the lines Devius had drawn on her cheeks.
A tingling sensation crept through her skin and into her skull, triggering an intense headache. The pain grew, consuming her every thought. It felt like a boulder rested on her forehead—its weight threatening to crush her skull.
She rolled her head back and forth to escape the ethereal tendrils and the agony they inflicted, but they moved with her.
The thongs restraining her ankles and wrists stretched, biting into her skin as she bucked and thrashed—moaning in agony.
“Reecah!” Devius’ voice sounded leagues away, though she was vaguely aware of him cradling her head in his hands. “Don’t fight it. Give in to the pain. Let it consume you.”
The high wizard’s words struck her as bizarre. She couldn’t take much more. A scream of absolute agony ripped from her lips; her throat raw.
The pressure increased. If not for Devius’ hands fighting to keep her from bashing her head off the marble altar, she was certain her brains would have squeezed through her ears.
“Reecah! I’m losing you! Let go! Let it consume you!”
She screamed in rage. He was killing her.
“Reecah Windwalker! Remember the dragons. Their magic will free you!”
A vision of the first time she had seen Lurker, lurking, on the trunk of a dead tree high above the path she trod, fought its way through the pain. The excruciating hurt of Devius’ spell lessened—not much, but enough that she noticed. She resisted the urge to break free of his grip.
“Yes! Let it take you. Your salvation lies down that path.”
A blur of memories bombarded her. The night Lurker and Silence rescued her from certain death at the hands of Jaxon and that snake, Viper, took shape. The pain subsided a moment longer before it increased again.
She closed her eyes tight. The boulder pressed harder, dashing her memory. She wanted desperately to bash her head off of the altar to make it stop, but Devius held on.
It seemed as if she had detached herself from the chamber beneath the tower—her deafening scream far removed from her physical body.
“Remember the dragons!”
Wind flew through her hair. The moon sparkled off a river far below. Her inaugural flight. Her escape from the Dragon Temple eased the all-consuming pressure from her mind, soothing her with the indescribable sensation of freedom that flying through the sky on the back of a dragon evoked.
The euphoria was short-lived. Replaced by the vision of Grimclaw lying slaughtered before the threshold of the temple he had protected for as long as there had been mountains. It sickened her.
The pressure moved in to claim her. She doubted she would survive a third wave.
Not knowing how to prevent her inevitable demise, it was as if her cheeks were kissed by a butterfly—a sensation so soft that it was almost non-existent. A feeling like nothing she had ever experienced before. Comforting and safe—not a worry in the world. The feeling of her naked body being wrapped in the loving embrace of a dragon wing.
Time stood still. She didn’t dare open her eyes. She was content to lie in Lurker’s embrace until the end of her days.
A warmth radiated deep within her mind; from a place she never knew existed. Negligible at first, it grew—its presence pushing aside the crushing pressure threatening to exterminate her existence.
Her eyes fluttered open to stare into the high wizard’s—his concern for her plainly evident on his sweaty face.
“You made it.” He released her head and leaned forward to rest his forehead on hers, exhaustion in his voice. “I thought I had lost you.”
She smiled, her brain tingling with a newfound sensation. Though she had nothing to compare it to, she instinctively knew what it was.
“You released Reecah’s G
ift,” she said dreamily, as her body gave into the mental fatigue of the unbinding—vaguely aware that she spoke of herself the way Grimelda had many years ago.
The Power of Evil
Prince J’kwaad surveyed the carnage littering the approach to the Draakval Colony’s main entrance. Countless bodies of both man and beast lay contorted in their death throes on the platform overlooking a roiling bed of molten rock; the victims scorched black or riddled with heavy war arrows and ballistae bolts.
It had taken the better part of three days to establish a front line that was able to sustain its position while under the voracious assault of the flying nightmares. More than once he believed his attack force was on the verge of being routed as the dragons forced his men from the cliffs to fall to their deaths into the flaming lava lake. If not for his expertly employed tactics and well-drilled army, they wouldn’t have survived to witness this day.
It was only a matter of time before his troops coaxed the great Demonic from his lair. Dragons were all but impervious to fire, but they were mortal creatures, dependant on taking breaths. Sealing off the colony’s tunnels one by one and lighting bonfires within to deprive the tunnels of their oxygen would force the monstrous lizards into the open where his ballistae crews were finalizing their preparations. Not even dragon fire could stop a well-aimed bolt delivered by these modified crossbow installations.
Looking to the east, the setting sun glinted off a snow-capped mountain peak visible beyond the volcano’s lip.
Earth-toned scales reflected the brilliant rays, bearing evidence that many wyverns observed the spectacle unfolding close to their mountain home on the far side of Cliff Face.
Just as J’kwaad suspected, the wyverns hadn’t interfered with his campaign. As far as he knew, if anyone were able to converse with the misshapen dragon kin, the wyverns might even be coaxed into lending their support. There was no love lost between the colonies.
A smirk contorted his features. A terrified rider from Cliff Face had recently delivered a message from Headwater. One of his spies had reported the death of the tracker from Fishmonger Bay. The news was bittersweet. The Waverunner boy had apparently lost sight of the miscreant, GG, so his future lay in doubt anyway, but J’kwaad had taken a shine to the insolent youth. Jaxon had shared a kindred spirit with Calor. As such, J’kwaad had had great plans for the boy, but the report claimed that GG’s new friend had slain him.
The prince sent word back with the rider that the one responsible for Jaxon’s death was to be sent to Sea Keep to await his return. Perhaps through this new player, J’kwaad could finally unlock the mystery of the girl disrupting the pattern of magic.
The sighting of dragons in the King’s Wood had unnerved his sensibilities, but their appearance supported his theory that this miscreant represented a danger to their plans of eradicating the dragons. Should a Windwalker truly still walk the land, they might yet make a difference.
Staring at the line of armaments honed in on the main entrance, finishing this battle couldn’t happen soon enough. He needed to get back to the castle and deal with her.
He sighed his impatience. The report mentioned that GG had been summoned by Devius; a fact he already knew. What troubled him was she hadn’t been seen since. Why the high wizard hadn’t discovered her true identity and returned her to the king disturbed him more than he cared to admit. Devius was no fool.
Ever since his days under the high wizard’s tutelage, J’kwaad never fully trusted the old codger. He had sensed an underlying purpose in Devius’ agenda. Considering the newest complication, the old wizard’s plans likely had nothing to do with those of the high king.
It was a good thing J’kwaad had the presence of mind to send a group of impersonators north, upon the open road. A previous report informed him that the dragons had taken the bait and followed the group northward—away from GG. He needed to keep GG separated from the dragons at all costs.
“My prince.” A knight watching his back pointed to the platform. “There.”
J’kwaad’s gaze followed the man’s arm to a spot along the far wall close to the colony entrance. Even from high above, J’kwaad knew the figure moving through the shadows was none other than Calor. Who else would be brave enough—or crazy enough—to enter a dragon colony on his own to flush out the fiercest dragon in the land? He doubted Grimclaw would have been a match for the leader of the Draakval Colony. Perhaps in centuries gone by, but by the time they had confronted the ancient guardian at the Dragon Temple, Grimclaw had been exceptionally old—even in dragon years.
“It’s time to flush Demonic into the open and finish this.” The prince absently looked to the east to ensure the wyverns weren’t circling to ambush his depleted ranks. If ever they were vulnerable, now would be the time. Satisfied that his instincts served him well, he dismissed the wyvern threat. “Signal the flanks to light the fires.”
“Aye, my prince.” The knight motioned to men in key vantage points along the crags. Those spotters in turn disappeared; reappearing amongst a squad of slayers as they ran into cleverly concealed side tunnels and were gone from sight.
J’kwaad’s aide awaited his nod before starting along a thin ridge that took them directly above the main entrance.
The ground beneath their feet shook long before they heard the deep rumble. Demonic was being forced from his lair. Even through his boots, J’kwaad sensed the terrific heat exuded by the creature’s flaming breath. Demonic would test his men to their limits.
J’kwaad remained back from the edge, leaving the knight in the open to draw Demonic’s attention should the dragon turn their way.
Insignificant in the mouth of the entranceway, Calor held a palm out—a small flame appearing between his fingers. The apprentice wizard did well to cast a spell under extreme duress. The flame signalled Demonic’s approach.
Movement from the corner of his eye informed him that his three main ballistae crews were ready to discharge their killing bolts.
A flame-red dragon charged into the open, spewing fire at anything that moved. Calor ducked behind a tower shield, the state of his wellbeing undiscernible from where J’kwaad stood.
The dragon’s crimson eyes locked on the ballistae battery and its mighty roar reverberated off the cliff faces surrounding the entranceway.
Something wasn’t right. J’kwaad prided himself in his extensive knowledge of his enemies. Though red in colour, there were subtle differences in this dragon’s detail. The dragon wasn’t Demonic.
He stepped to the edge of the brink and shouted, “Hold your fire!” but his voice was lost to the roar of the dragon.
J’kwaad winced as the ballistae recoiled simultaneously. Two of the tree-sized bolts ripped into the red dragon and knocked it from its feet, while the third exploded against the cliff face beside it, showering the entranceway with splintered wood.
The dragon fire ceased.
Calor threw his shield aside and leapt into the open; a glowing stave in his hands—the heavy spear magically enchanted to stop the heart of whatever creature it impaled.
J’kwaad bent at the knees and cupped his hands to his mouth, trying to shout over the agonized roar of the writhing dragon. “Calor, no!”
Faithful Calor never missed a step. Hoisting the lance high, he jumped into the air. With all of his considerable weight behind the thrust, he drove its point into the dragon’s unprotected chest.
The stave pierced the dragon’s hide with ease. The concussion of the ensuing explosion within its body threw Calor across the entranceway. He flailed his arms and legs, landing in a heap of clanging armour and lay still.
The sound of a deeper growl made J’kwaad’s skin crawl. The ballistae were busy reloading and the magic of Calor’s stave was spent.
A dark red behemoth charged from the entryway, dousing the dozen men and women around the ballistae with deadly fire.
Agonized screams rent the mountainside as the operators dropped to their knees and fell face first to the ledge, burn
ing alive.
Demonic grabbed the nearest ballista as if it were a child’s toy and threw it off the ledge. His spike tailed whisked around, smashing the furthest machine against the far wall. Rearing his head, he emitted a horrendous shriek and doused the last ballista in withering flames.
Arrows rained down on the enraged beast, but they had no effect on his thick hide.
Demonic grasped the burning ballista in his mouth and bit down hard, snapping the heavy wood with ease. He whipped his head around until his eyes located J’kwaad above the entry. With a flick of his neck, Demonic threw the burning remnants of the ballista at the prince.
J’kwaad barely escaped being crushed by the wreckage. His aide wasn’t so lucky.
Demonic screeched. His bloodred eyes squinted, tracking J’kwaad’s retreat across the ledge.
Sensing he was about to meet his fate, J’kwaad stopped to face the dragon. Taking a deep breath, Devius’ extensive training took over. He cleared his mind of everything but the confrontation; cracking his neck muscles and throwing his shoulders back in preparation for what must be done.
As calmly as possible, he incanted the words to his most powerful spell—speaking them faster than ever before. If the spell went awry, the outcome mattered little—he would be dead.
A blue fog coalesced between his palms; the magic augmented by the various trinkets twinkling on his fingers. A white vapour wisped into the mix from a teardrop shaped, opal amulet dangling from his neck.
Demonic hunched down and sprung into the air—his immense, black-tipped wings spreading wide.
J’kwaad thrust his palms forward, shouting the last words of his spell. Releasing the pent-up energy, he crumpled and rolled sideways to evade the dragon’s leap.
An ice-blue ball of magic hammered into Demonic’s open mouth, visibly freezing his head and neck down to where his wings extended from his muscular shoulders.
Demonic crunched into the edge of the shelf and fell back to the platform below, taking a good part of the rock’s face with him.
J’kwaad crawled to the lip of the damaged ledge.
Legends of the Lurker Box Set Page 57