Dragon Mage

by ML Spencer

  But not all were animals.

  Walking in their midst were human shapes, equally twisted and bastardized. All were pale and misshapen, and their skin seemed to be nothing more than thin membranes webbed with veins stretched over gnarled bone. Each was clothed in rotted garments cut in styles Aram had never seen, as though they had come from a very far-away place—or a very ancient past.

  Seeing them, Markus raised his sword and readied his shield. He looked prepared to fight, and also prepared to die. Aram was terrified for him. He knew Markus would try his best, but the sheer number of creatures that surrounded them was overwhelming, and he doubted even Markus’s best would be enough to save them.

  “Void walkers.” Sergan swore. He took another great gulp from the bottle and settled into a fighting stance, even though he bore no sword.

  “What’s the difference?” asked Markus over his shoulder.

  “It means they’ll be even hungrier. And nastier.”

  Almost as one, the creatures halted. They stood frozen for a moment, like a predator before the pounce. Then, with a collective, otherworldly cry, they surged toward the wagon.

  Sergan thrust out his arms, and as he did, his many-colored aura erupted with a blazing explosion of power. Creatures were lifted and hurled backward, others shredded to pieces where they stood. Bits of flesh and gore pattered down around Aram like rain, pelting the wagon bed and the mantle that covered him. Cringing, he reached up and tugged it all the way over his head to keep from getting splattered.

  Guttural groans and shrieks alerted him to the fact that some of the creatures had survived the sorcerer’s attack. He peeked out from the back of the wagon just in time to see three once-human monsters lunge toward him, angling wide of Sergan. The sorcerer stepped into their path and, thrusting out his hands, propelled them back with a brutal slap of dazzling light.

  Aram held his breath, clutching the sideboard of the wagon with hands that, for some reason, refused to tremble. On the floor beside him, the length of cord his fingers and nerves had been relying on lay forgotten. His gaze was transfixed on Sergan, who stood with his arms outstretched, blazing with an eruption of many-colored light that overwhelmed both the darkness and their enemies. When the next wave of creatures swept toward them, Sergan picked the bottle up off the ground and, taking a quick gulp, swept his hands through the air in great arcs. Pale bodies ruptured, spewing ichor, and howls of mortal anguish filled the night air.

  Two still got through: snarling creatures that look like rabid wolves with mange-ravaged hides charged at Sergan, flecks of froth spraying from their mouths. Markus stepped in front of the sorcerer at the last moment, raising his sword and striking out with his shield. The beasts broke off their attack and fell back out of range. Teeth bared and eyes glowing menacingly, they circled just out of reach. Within moments, they were joined by others of their kind that came racing out from the shadows. Soon, an entire pack was gathered around the wagon, taking turns rushing in and then dodging back again, seeming to be taunting both Sergan and Markus. As their numbers increased, their tactics evolved, with two or more creatures coordinating to attack from various angles. Markus held them off with his sword and shield, while Sergan stood panting, perhaps conserving his resources.

  But then something changed. The creatures stopped attacking and backed away, snarling. Other human forms approached and ringed the wagon, gazing at its occupants with glowing dead eyes.

  They raise their hands.

  A deluge of light exploded from their palms and shot toward Markus and the sorcerer. With a cry, Markus brought his shield up just in time to deflect the light, scattering it in glowing rays that sliced like blades in every direction, brilliant enough to overwhelm Aram’s vision.

  Then the creatures attacked in earnest. More rushed forward from the shadows to stand with their fellows, adding their own brutal light to the offensive. Two came at Markus with swords, and even though he was strong, he was hard-pressed to repel them.

  Markus dodged and fought, beating back the ones with weapons while deflecting a torrent of magic with his shield. But their numbers were too great. They were coming from too many directions at once, and there was only so many places Markus could be.

  Sergan tilted his head back and shook the last drops from the bottle into his mouth before tossing it away. Then, with what looked like every last bit of magic he could summon, he swept his hands over his head in a great arc, producing a compressed band of light that shot out like a whiplash, slicing through the front ranks of bodies.

  He raised his hands again to attack the creatures that remained. But then the color drained from his face and his arms fell to his sides, and Aram knew he was beaten.

  The sorcerer was out of essence.

  Apparently, Markus understood, too, for Aram could see the despair written on his face. Sword raised, Markus turned slowly in a circle as the remaining void walkers converged on them, growling and snarling.

  “Stand next to me,” Sergan said to Markus, his voice just as calm as it ever was, even in the face of death.

  But something unexpected happened.

  The creatures halted, their ears perking, heads tipped as though listening. For a long moment, they stood frozen. Then suddenly, inexplicably, they dashed away. Their glows faded in the distance, at last disappearing altogether. Watching them go, Aram heaved a sigh of relief, while Markus sagged to his knees. But Sergan’s face hadn’t changed. If anything, it had become grimmer.

  Looking past Markus into the trees, Aram saw why.

  The shadows of the night parted, and a new figure appeared, towering over all the others. It tucked its enormous wings close against its body as it emerged from behind a copse of tall pepper trees. Aram’s breath caught in his throat and for a moment he couldn’t move, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t even scream.

  It was a dragon, and it was real.

  The dragon’s milky body was devoid of color, like that of a corpse, its wings tattered and scarred. Cold blue eyes glowed from within its skull. Reaching the road, it extended its massive wings, a display of strength that scattered any remaining creatures. Then it took to the air and glided toward them, letting out a terrible roar that shook the atmosphere. It landed right in front of them with earth-shuddering force, releasing gouts of crackling blue flames aimed straight for Markus and the sorcerer.

  Cringing, Markus did the only thing he could do in the face of such an assault:

  He raised his shield.

  Roiling blue dragonfire poured over him, convulsing the air with broiling waves of heat. Aram cried out in horror, sure Markus’s flesh would burn to char. But the blue flames were pure magic, and they were repulsed by his shield.

  Its attack frustrated, the dragon thundered its outrage.

  Emboldened, the other void creatures crept back out of the shadows, closing around them again. This time, they didn’t hesitate, but swept right in, circling the dragon and ranging around to the other side of the wagon to come at them from behind. Terrified, Aram clung to Sergan’s cloak, tugging it closer to his body, hiding the light of his gift beneath its shade. Every instinct within him screamed for him to throw it off and join the fight, but Sergan’s warning echoed in his ears, and so he cowered in the wagon while his best friend stood braving a dragon’s flames.

  A roiling blue inferno gushed from the mouth of the great beast, and it was all Markus could do to stand before it. He couldn’t do anything about the other void creatures coming at them from behind. He stood in defiance as long as he could, clinging to his shield, until the rage of the dragonfire drove him to his knees. And even then, he did not succumb. He raised his shield over his head and accepted the force of the searing blast even as the air around him heated to blistering. Behind him, Sergan knelt on the ground with his hands flung up to shield his face.

  Markus squeezed his eyes closed and pushed back at the raging flames with all his might. The fire itself wasn’t harming him, but the air it was heating did. It was starting to burn
. He could smell his hair smoldering, and every breath he drew seared his throat. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand it, but he knew that, if he fell, then Aram would die. And he was convinced that if Aram died, a small but wonderous part of the world would die with him.

  So he stood in defiance of the flames as they ravaged the air around him, until he felt his skin start to scorch. And even then, he did not cower or falter.

  Even in the face of death, he stood.

  Aram looked on in horror as his friend’s strength started to fail. He knew that even Markus’s great courage couldn’t last against such brutality, and he couldn’t bear to watch him die. He knew there was nothing he could do. And yet, he knew that he couldn’t let his best friend die alone. With that thought in mind, he threw off the thick wool mantle and climbed down from the back of the wagon. For some reason, his leg barely hurt as he slid to the ground and limped forward, determined to be there, at Markus’s side, when his strength finally failed.

  For some reason, he wasn’t afraid.

  He’d been frightened all his life, mostly of people. Not because they scared him, but because he didn’t understand them, just as they didn’t understand him. But the creatures they confronted on this night were different. He understood them well.

  They were sick and ravenous, and every second they spent in this world took an enormous toll on them. That’s why their skin was pale and decayed, why the lights of their souls were bared to the world. They were starving things. Dying things. And, like every other dying thing, they were desperate, especially the dragon. He could feel its overwhelming hunger, its need to kill them and feed upon their souls.

  With that understanding, he knew that the only way to defeat the void creatures was to take pity on them. And, suddenly, he knew what he needed to do. Not only to save Markus, but to save them, to free the void walkers from their suffering.

  With a resolve he’d never known before, Aram limped past Markus, inserting his own body between his friend and the dragon’s breath. Spreading his hands, he limped forward.

  He knew what they wanted, what they needed.

  He raised his hands and a dazzling light gushed from his palms, streaming outward toward the creatures surrounding them. The light was not magic, but rather a substance far more fundamental. It was essence, and he was full to brimming with it. He drew it out of himself the way a spider spins a thread and cast it their way, then staggered as the agony of the act tore into him. He screamed in mortal pain, for it felt as though his soul itself were being stripped from his bones.

  Hungering, the desperate void creatures soaked it in like lifeblood. The more he fed them, the greater their inner lights swelled, until they became an all-consuming brilliance that lit an area around them as though at high noon.

  One by one, the twisted creatures disappeared. Having gotten what they needed, they were free to move on.

  Whimpering in agony, Aram watched them go. He could feel his own strength waning. And yet he persisted, dispelling creature after creature, until only the void dragon remained.

  The white dragon stared at him with glowing eyes that gleamed with voidfire, and Aram knew the dragon recognized him for what he was and understood what he was trying to do. Instead of draining him dry, the great beast exercised control and took only what it had to, sparing him. When it was done, it unfurled its massive wings, making a noise that, to Aram, sounded like gratitude.

  And then it, too, departed, and darkness fell.

  So did Aram.

  His knees gave out from under him, and he collapsed to the ground.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sergan bent over the unconscious boy, struggling to calm his racing thoughts enough to figure out how to properly deal with the situation. His brain was stuck somewhere in the gap between amazement, disbelief, and outright panic. The feat Aram had just performed far outstripped anything he had ever seen or ever heard of. By offering himself, the boy had satiated, then dispelled, a void dragon and its entire entourage. But now the most valuable life in all the world hung by a mere thread, and he couldn’t let the boy die.

  He had been right: Aram was a True Savant, the first that had been born in over four hundred years. Not only did his body produce vast amounts of essence, but he also knew how to instinctually use it. It had been years since Sergan had brought anyone back to the College with more than a vial or two’s worth of essence in their bodies. The boy who lay dying in front of him was the windfall they needed to save the Exilari Order, and, by extension, the Empire itself.

  He couldn’t return to Karaqor with only a dead boy in his wagon.

  Setting a hand on Aram’s glistening brow, he grimaced, uttering a curse. “He’s burning up, and I’m out of essence. We need to get him to the city, where there are specialized healers who can treat him.”

  But Karaqor was still three days away. Two, if they were lucky and the roads were clear. He paused, bowing his head in thought, and sifted through their options. “There’s a garrison a few leagues up the road. We can get extra horses, so we can swap them out as they tire.”

  The boy Markus stood gazing down at his friend with dismal eyes. He had held his ground bravely—Sergan would give him that. Hell, he’d done far more than just hold his ground. Markus had taken the brunt of the dragon’s attack, repulsing the voidfire. He doubted even a trained Shield could have withstood so much. Markus was far more than merely magic-resistant—he was a True Impervious.

  Sergan had found two treasures, not just one. He would have to keep reminding himself of that.

  Markus looked up at him with great sadness in his eyes. “Will he make it three days?”

  Sergan scowled. “I don’t know, but standing here isn’t going to make him any better. Help me get him in the wagon.”

  The boy laid down his sword and shield and stooped to lift his young friend into his arms. Markus was a big lad, tall and broad of shoulder, and Sergan thought he looked around fourteen or fifteen. He climbed with him into the back of the wagon and pillowed Aram’s head on his blue Exilari mantle.

  “Make him as comfortable as you can.” Sergan tossed the sword and shield into the back of the wagon and closed the tailgate. He swung himself up into the driver’s seat then glanced back at Markus.

  “I want you up here with me.” He patted the seat next to him.

  Markus stared at him but didn’t move, so Sergan shot him a wry grin. “I thank you for saving me, but I still don’t trust you behind me—especially not with that sword. No, thank you. Either you ride with me, or you ride with your hands tied behind your back. Your choice.” He didn’t care which the boy picked.

  It took Markus a moment to decide. He gazed sadly down at his friend before nodding. He climbed over the front of the bed and slid into the driver’s seat, scooting as far away from Sergan as the board would allow.

  Snapping the reins, Sergan sent the horses forward. Despite the urgency, he didn’t try to drive them faster than a walk. The poor beasts had been practically spent before the attack, and he was shocked he hadn’t run them to death. He hoped they had another couple of miles left in them, at least.

  Transferring the reins to one hand, he glanced at his young companion. “I’m not going to bite.”

  Markus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, refusing to look at him directly. He sat with his fists clenched and his back rigid, looking ready to bolt.

  Seeking to put him at ease, Sergan said, “You did well. Very well, actually. Not many trained Shields could have repulsed as much voidfire as you did without combusting. After you’re properly trained, you’re going to be the best.”

  Markus glanced at him hatefully. “I don’t want to be a Shield.”

  The remark amused Sergan, for it revealed how naïve the boy was.

  “I didn’t want to be a sorcerer.” He shrugged. “I wanted to be a nobleman and marry a fine young lady. I wanted to have four children and a dog. I really wanted that dog. I knew exactly which estate I would live in, and
I knew exactly the woman I wanted to marry.” He let slip a condescending grin. “But very seldom do we ever get what we want. I will never have the affluence or the family I wanted. Hell, I’ll probably never get the damn dog. But that’s just the way of things, especially for people like us. The world makes of us what it will, and it doesn’t give a damn about what we want. If we’re lucky, we’ll look back from our deathbeds and find that our lives were lived for a purpose. But more often than not, all we’ll see is a long list of missed opportunities.”

  He peered harder at the boy, studying him for a reaction. Part of him took no pleasure in squashing his young hopes, seeing his words as pure practicality. Another part of him did take pleasure in fracturing the boy’s naivety, because he resented it. It was a luxury he had never been allowed, not since his father had disinherited him and given him over to the Exilari, where all traces of his childhood had been wrung out of him.

  Markus sat like a stone, by all appearances ignoring him.

  “You’re one of the lucky ones.” Sergan said. “Your life will serve a purpose, whether you want it to or not.”

  The boy turned to glare at him, defiance and resentment seething in his eyes. “What about Aram’s life?”

  Sergan could tell by the fire in his eyes that Markus already had a good idea of how bleak Aram’s future would be, which was fine. He would find out soon enough anyway, when Aram was taken to the essence cellars. Markus could hate him as much as he wanted then, for it wouldn’t matter. By the time he was done with his training, Markus would understand, and appreciate, why the sacrifice of the Gifted was necessary.

  “Aram’s life will serve a purpose too,” Sergan said.

  The boy’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of purpose?”

  Perhaps he was just fishing for confirmation. But if he truly didn’t know, then Sergan wasn’t ready to supply him with the information. Rather than lie, he chose to ignore the question. The wagon creaked down the road, the silence between them broken only by the sounds of their passage.