Phate

by Jason Alan

  Finally, after a full minute of exhalation, Geeter checked his scorching breath and pulled his head back. Burning smoke poured from the entrance like the defeated fortress’s final gasp. This did not deter Warloove from entering. Heedless of the smoke, he marched into the fortress as if he was its newly crowned king, and disappeared into the charred corridors.

  Outside, Geeter halfheartedly looked over the grounds for something else to incinerate, but found nothing. Then, after some minutes had gone by, he heard a wretched cry emanate from deep within the burned-out structure.

  It was a cry he well knew.

  His master was displeased.

  Warloove came bounding out of the keep, screaming, “Curse this world, they’re not here! Their trail leads through a trapdoor! Now, into the sky!”

  And with that, he leaped onto his dragon’s back. Geeter took flight, and they soared over the battlement, ready to give chase to whatever creature had fled with the gauntlets. But to Warloove’s pleasant surprise, there would be no need for a chase, for the gauntlets’ trail spiraled down right into the recesses of the crater.

  “Follow it!” Warloove commanded. “Be ready to incinerate anything!”

  Down, down, down into the ghastly darkness they went, where the walls were lined with ancient stones and forgotten bones, where the remains of all those murdered over the last millennium lay unrested, where the wall’s crumbled ruins smoked, and the victims of Warloove’s wrath still bled. And there, half a mile down, in the exact center of the crater’s bottom, at the very end of the dimming, vaporous trail, the Gauntlets of Loathing Light were precariously perched atop a battle mage’s broken back.

  Warloove’s eyes bulged. “At last!”

  As Geeter hovered over the delicate dead, Warloove jumped atop them, landing as softly as he was able (not out of any respect, you know, but for fear of disturbing the gauntlets). He clambered over the pile of bodies and seized the evil artifacts.

  Oh, now this was a moment to revel in!

  “Master!” he screamed to the unsettled sky, “I have them!”

  Good…good… came the monotone voice in his head.

  He lifted the gauntlets high and beheld them against the obscured moons’ beclouded light. They were even more glorious than he had imagined! He slipped them on, their black material snugly wrapping his flexing claws, their red runes brightening and pulsing. The gauntlets seemed as eager to find Warloove as Warloove was to find them. They had not wrapped the hands of one so powerful for so long! A warmth like nothing Warloove had ever known swept over him, and in that moment, he foresaw his dominion over all of Phate. In that moment, he was assured that he indeed held the power to wield the Sunsword Surassis. Finally, the Gauntlets of Loathing Light were his, and in another dimension, all the Dark Forever’s demons squirmed with anticipation, for they believed now the accursed Sunsword would not stop them from fulfilling their destiny.

  Warloove remounted his dragon and flew cackling into the night, stealing toward the Castle Krypt before the red sun’s cruel eye could find him and set his dark dreams aflame.

  And it was a relief for this writer when Warloove flew away, for as you can see, when particularly riled, he’s out of even my control…

  Warloove was so overcome with joy when he acquired the gauntlets, he never noticed the loyal servant of the Fallen Angel, a starlit unicorn named Arcynn Ahnna Jha, whose body was half-buried not twenty paces away from him.

  It was she who had flown the gauntlets from Vren Adiri. Overcome by the exhaustive power of the dreadful gloves, she’d fallen unconscious as soon as she’d escaped from Forn Forlidor. Now she lay helpless, her silky hide shrouded by the grey gloom of old gore.

  Swollen with sweet, immortal blood, she would have been delectable to the vampire.

  But alas, she was a feast unrealized. And, ironically, she would have died had Warloove not arrived and taken the gauntlets away, for the gauntlets had nearly drained her life force. But minutes after he had gone, her eyes fluttered open and her strength slowly returned. And when dawn’s light crept over the crater’s rim, she arose to fly, and forever fled this cursed, lifeless land.

  The eyes of those who love me have a strength that’s all their own, and when they look upon me, I know I’m not alone. And in my darkest hours when my life has grown so dim, I gaze into those loving eyes and find a light within.

  Lornalicia

  Sorceress of the Northern Spires of Icyndia

  “Wake up, my Emperor, wake up…”

  A clear ringing voice invaded Drinwor’s dreams, but he was reluctant to listen to it, for on this night there were no nightmares, no frightening visions. No, on this night there was only peace. This night, his dreams were as loving arms about him.

  He drew out a long moan and turned over, subconsciously fighting the urge to rouse.

  But the voice persisted.

  “Wake up, my Emperor, wake up…”

  Drinwor stirred.

  His dreams dimmed, and he ascended into the bleary haze that lay just before awakening. He exhaled a deep, rousing sigh, and gently came awake.

  When he sat up and looked around, he experienced something that occasionally afflicts all sentient creatures of the universe in their first minute of wakefulness—for the life of him he couldn’t figure out where he was. He wasn’t frightened, though. He was actually quite comfortable, sitting on an island of silk pillows, surrounded by satiny curtains and smooth furniture all made of the purest white. The candelabra affixed to the wall across from him gave a soft, flickering light, and it was pleasantly cool.

  Ah, yes, now he remembered where he was.

  “I’m in Vren Adiri.”

  Indeed, he was. But there was something different about the room, something he didn’t think had been there the night before. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it was just a feeling. Dismissing it, he shook his head and got out of bed.

  Before he took his first step, there was the faintest sizzling sound, and a tray of food materialized atop the hope chest which stood at the foot of the bed. Interesting. He looked behind the satiny drapes, trying to find whatever wizard was responsible.

  “Hello?”

  There was no one there (well, no one visible, anyway). No matter, he was starving, and the tray was laden with exotic fruits, loaves of fresh smelling bread, and a pitcher of blue fluid. Being fairly confident that the food’s origin was benign, he sat next to the tray and went right to consuming all he was able. The food was delicious, the blue beverage very refreshing, filling him with warm energy.

  He felt good…until memories of yesterday’s conversations started trickling into his mind, that is. Now he felt a slight tug of anxiety. His thoughts strayed to Vu Verian and Morigos and his conversation with the Fallen Angel. He remembered how she had proclaimed him the “Son and Savior of the Stars.” Was it all a dream? He truly wished it was. He looked down, grasped the silver sword charm dangling around his neck, and held it tight.

  His father’s sword charm.

  “May the Gods return…father.”

  Oh, our dear Drinwor. In those brief, waking minutes, he’d forgotten. Now guilt and grief collapsed like a mountain upon him, and that familiar feeling of utter hollowness consumed his spirit. He fell back onto the bed and lay there in silence for long moments.

  Eventually, without realizing what he was doing, his hand slid into his armor’s leg pouch. He felt the warmth of enchanted metal, and slowly pulled out the Sunsword. He held it up over his face, beautiful as it was, gleaming and glinting within its own mystical light. He turned it over in his hands, and Sillithian Synnstrike’s limp, lifeless body rolled over in the pommel. He brought the pommel close to his eyes, and stared at the little solar dragon. It seemed to be resting peacefully, as if patiently waiting for him to return it to life.

  He looked closer, closer…

  “It is something to behold, the Sunsword Surassis.”

  Drinwor sat up with a start, smacking his nose into the po
mmel. “Hello there?”

  “Hello, I’m here.”

  “Who’s where?” He quickly put Surassis back into his leg pouch, his head darting from side to side. The bedchamber appeared to be empty, but anything was possible in the magical world of Phate. For all he knew, the ‘food wizard’ could have been right there in the room with him all this time. He stood from the bed, still looking about.

  “I’m right here,” the voice came, “outside.”

  Drinwor peered through the semi-transparent veil of scintillating white magic that draped the chamber’s doorway. From beyond it, a huge eye was staring back at him. He was immediately transfixed. This was no ordinary eye! It was brilliant, glowing through the doorway like a star peering out of the cosmic dust that swirls in the center of a newborn galaxy.

  This was the eye of a dragon.

  Drinwor wondered if it was real or imagined.

  “You slept well, my Lord?”

  The words seemed to come from right outside the doorway, from the eye, in fact. Drinwor recognized the voice. As smooth as a swift running stream, flowing clear and soft, yet resounding and strong, it was the voice he had heard in his dreams.

  “Yes,” the dusk elf said, “I guess I slept well, considering my world has fallen apart.” He gave that slight, sheepish smile of his, the smile that tried to ward off the seriousness of the feelings behind it.

  “I’m glad, Drinwor.”

  Drinwor squinted to try and get a better fix on the eye. “Are you…well…are you her?” he asked.

  There was a small laugh. “Yes, I’m her. I’m sorry if I interrupted your sleep, I was just anxious to see you, and we have much to do.”

  “Oh, it’s fine, I never get a full night’s sleep, and everyone seems to be anxious these days.”

  “Indeed, they do.”

  Drinwor stepped closer to the doorway. “So, you’re really my dragon?”

  “Yes.”

  Drinwor pondered for a moment, then said, “I’ve flown them before, you know. My father used to let me take his cloud dragon out for a short flight from time to time.”

  The eye blinked. “Zraz could not have asked for a finer rider.”

  Upon hearing the name, Drinwor’s brow lifted with curiosity. “You knew Zraz?”

  “Yes, I met her a long time ago. She was beautiful and kind.”

  “If you knew Zraz, then—” Drinwor cut himself off and turned his face toward the floor. He was silent for a few seconds, his mouth hanging open, hesitant to let fall delicate words. Then he slowly brought his head back up and asked, “Did you know my father?”

  “Yes,” the dragon answered with an airy whisper, “a nobler being there never was.”

  Drinwor turned, and with shoulders slumped sat back down next to the now empty tray. “You don’t mind talking like this, do you?”

  “No, absolutely not.”

  “It’s been a very difficult time.”

  The eye drew closer to the door. “Drinwor, I’m here for you, in whatever capacity you need.”

  “I appreciate that, though, to be honest, I’m not really sure what I need right now.”

  “Perhaps just a friend.”

  “I haven’t had many of those. That would be nice.”

  The dusk elf pushed a tuft of hair from his face and his midnight blue eyes twinkled in the candlelight. He then folded his hands together and set them upon his lap. With lips scarcely parted, he asked, “How did you know him?”

  The dragon looked away, reminiscing for a short time. A smile slowly broadened on her snout, but to Drinwor went unseen. She looked back through the doorway, back to Drinwor, who was patiently waiting for her response.

  I can tell you that Herard Avari Fang would have been honored to know that this is what she said: “I was here when the Fallen Angel appointed him as Emperor of the Sky. It was a proud moment. He was the only human to ever hold that title, you know. It had always been held by either elves or dragons. But in these times, with the dragon nations broken, and so much infighting amongst the remaining elves, it was a wise choice.” She nodded at this, then continued. “Oh, Drinwor, Herard was so young! But he brought levelheadedness where before there had been only pettiness and bickering. It was something to see, this young mortal repairing immortal divides that had spanned for a thousand years. That one so young could see what so many others refused too; that one so young held a wisdom they’d long abandoned…well, his example helped bring them back together.” She laughed. “Some of the dragons were convinced Herard had to be one of their own—a dragon spirit reborn in a human body. For only a dragon could have had the patience to deal with an elf!” Her voice dipped back down to nearly a whisper and she concluded with: “Yes, I knew Herard Avari Fang. He was a triumph of the human spirit, of all spirits, and ever will his memory endure in my heart.”

  And then she was quiet, her eye sparkling with remembrance. Drinwor looked up to her. “I don’t know what to say, except, thank you.” He brought his hands to his face to catch liquid crystal tears. “Ah, I’m sorry. I really need to control my feelings. I can’t break down every time I hear about my father. It’s just—”

  “My Emperor,” said the dragon, “there’s no need to justify or explain. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ve been insensitive. In your delicate state, I went a little too far. I shall not speak of him like that again.”

  Drinwor took his hands from his face and waved them. “No, no, don’t be sorry, I asked you to tell me how you knew him! No, please, it’s good to hear these things, actually. Good to hear…well…good things about him.” He laughed through a sniffle.

  “I know you’ve endured a lot already. If you would like, I can ease your sorrow, at least a little.”

  Drinwor tilted his head. “How would you do this?”

  “I will show you.”

  She began to sing.

  Mystical characters composed of sparkling blue dust slipped through the doorway to dance about Drinwor’s head. They were magical notes, accompanying the dragon’s tune and reminding Drinwor of the crystal leaves in the Forest of Chanting Angels. Their intertwining melodies were soft, resonating, and pleading for the assuaging of his soul. That such a sound didn’t emanate from an instrument would have been disbelieved by the symphonic masters of the universe’s most artistic civilizations.

  This was the Dragons’ Song of Solacing.

  It was effective.

  Drinwor sat with eyes closed, listening as one does to the breaking of waves upon the shore. His breathing deepened and slowed, and an ample portion of his despair was gently turned aside. He still bore it, was still very much conscious of it, but for now, he was better able to cope.

  The song carried on for a couple minutes, then slowly sank beneath audibility.

  Drinwor exhaled, opened his eyes, and stood up. “Thank you,” he said, “I do feel better.”

  “You’re welcome, my Lord,” the dragon returned. “Would you like to come out of your bedchamber now, so we can really meet?”

  Drinwor said, “I’d like that,” then moved toward the door.

  The eye remained hovering just on the other side.

  “Uh, I might need some room, there,” Drinwor noted.

  A small laugh ensued. “Yes, yes of course.”

  The eye backed out of view.

  Drinwor strode through the doorway. There was a quick, painless little sizzle as he passed through the magical veil, then he was back in the Chamber of the Staring Sun. It was dimly lit. The Sun’s Remembrance was shadowy, for outside, dawn had yet to fully awaken. The sky was bluish-black, still flecked with weary stars, and the horizon was just beginning to glow. Inside, all was quiet. Vren Adiri itself seemed to be sleeping.

  Something about the chamber was rather odd, though. It was dim, yes, but Drinwor discerned a strange blear that covered all the space before him. Little twinkles shone here and there, and as his eyes adjusted to the chamber’s light, he noticed a barely perceptible network of thin red and blue lines threadin
g the very air. “This is strange.” He tentatively reached out to the blear, and it was as if his fingers touched some invisible wall that was both warm and tender.

  “What is this?” he cried, quickly withdrawing his hand.

  “Hello, Drinwor Fang, you are even more beautiful that I had imagined.”

  The dragon’s voice sounded from directly above.

  Drinwor glanced up, and there, looking down on him, was a pair of those mesmerizing eyes. Now unhindered by the door, he could see them in their full radiance. Indeed, they were glorious, like bluish-green worlds fully imbued in a healthy sun’s light. They were expressive, compassionate; although their gaze bore into him, they somehow didn’t seem intrusive. They came down closer and Drinwor realized—the dragon was right in front of him.

  “Oh, I was wondering what that was. It was you!” He laughed.

  “Yes.” She smiled.

  Drinwor had seen dragons in his time, but none like this. He circled around, taking in her full form.

  Ah, finally, my reading friend, a time I have long awaited has come! Beneath this very sentence lies my favorite dragon’s description…

  She was huge, much bigger than Zraz, over two hundred feet long from the tip of her snout to the end of her spaded tail. She was clear. Her body looked as if it was made of perfectly still spring water. The red and blue threads were her veins, which spread out from the soft golden impression of her heart. The rest of her organs were barely discernible blurs. She twinkled here and there, briefly revealing some feature or another. Drinwor caught a glimpse of the long, curving horns arcing back from just behind her eyes. And for a second he saw her scimitar-like talons and the tips of her glistening, pearl-like fangs. Her wings looked like great ethereal leaves folded across her back, and she was as sleek and smooth as a creature born to slip through liquid crystal seas.

  She was of a world unknown, a creature from brighter times. She projected an air of quiet power, of royal, immortal, and ancient majesty.

  She was a Greater Translucent Dragon.