Dragon Mage

by ML Spencer

  “Yes, you do!”

  Surprised, Aram saw Esmir hobbling toward them, carrying a longsword in his hands. Aram stared at the old man in confusion, not understanding what Esmir was trying to tell him. He waited precious moments for Esmir to arrive breathless before him, leaning heavily on the blade of his sword.

  “You don’t have to go alone,” Esmir said in a gruff voice, wiping sweat from his brow. “I’ll be your Warden.”

  Aram shook his head slowly, gaping at Esmir in bewilderment. “You can’t.”

  The old man could scarcely walk, much less Shield him against an Archon. The very notion was absurd. He glanced at Calise, seeing his own doubts echoed in her face.

  Esmir compressed his lips and raised his chin, looking affronted. “I can’t move like I used to, but I can still stand in front of you and block. Who the hell do you think trained you, boy? At the very least, I’m better than nothing.”

  Aram stared at Esmir before finally nodding. The old Warden wouldn’t last a minute, and he was sure Esmir knew it. He was volunteering to sacrifice his life for very little gain. Maybe he felt compelled to, because of Daymar. Regardless, it was a noble gesture, and Aram could not deny him.

  “You are much better than nothing,” he said, dipping his head. “Forgive me. I’d be honored to fight at your side.”

  With a grunt, Esmir hobbled past him, approaching the great red dragon who despised him more than any other person in the world. But when he arrived at Agaroth’s side, the dragon’s golden eyes softened, and he swept his wings back, lowering himself to the ground for Esmir to mount. With Aram’s help, the old Warden somehow fought his way onto the dragon’s back and strapped himself in, all while managing to maintain a semblance of dignity.

  “I’ve got to go,” Aram told Calise, pulling away.

  “Not without a helmet,” she insisted firmly.

  Irritated, Aram turned and scanned the ground. This was a field hospital; surely there must be unused armor lying about. It didn’t take him long to spot a helmet tossed aside in a pile of discarded gear. He ran to pick it up, shoving the helmet on his head and cinching the strap. He paused when he reached Agaroth’s side, turning back and smiling solemnly at Calise one last time.

  Then he followed Esmir up onto Agaroth’s back. As soon as he was secure, the dragon flexed his wings and roared a challenge across the battlefield. He leapt into the air, the powerful muscles of his wings pulling them aloft.

  From under the shadow of an oilcloth canopy, Markus watched the great red dragon vault into the sky, veering with the grace of a falcon toward the battlefield. In spite of the sharp pain that stabbed his chest with every breath he drew, what hurt worse was the terrible guilt he felt at not being on that dragon’s back instead of Esmir. It was a brave act the old man performed, but that was the best that could be said for it. It was his duty, not Esmir’s. But he had failed Aram just as surely as Esmir had failed Daymar, and this was the result.

  Markus’s vision blurred as he watched the dragon grow small and distant in the sky. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, thinking back on the strange boy with brown blood and a cave full of knots that he’d rescued from a beating so many years before. As the dragon slipped out of sight behind a long line of hills, Markus sent his thoughts and heart after Aram, the most courageous man he’d ever known.

  Calise fingered the twine necklace around her neck as she watched Agaroth descend toward the battlefield. Among the Auld, an eternal heart knot was a sentimental gift from a warrior to his beloved, given on the eve of battle. If the man returned, the necklace was burned as an offering of thanks to the Mother for bringing him home. If the warrior fell in battle, the heart knot would serve as a reminder of his love.

  This was not the first time Aram had presented her with this weighty gift. He had entrusted the necklace to her before his Trials, for safekeeping, or so he said. She had accepted the token then, thinking him ignorant of the gesture’s true significance. But this time, when he had tied it around her neck, she had seen in his eyes that he knew exactly what it meant.

  And he’d given it to her anyway.

  Reaching up, she wiped her tears. If Aram came back, then they would burn the necklace together. And if he did not, then it would be hers to cherish and despise for the rest of her life. As her gaze drifted toward the now-empty sky, she clenched the knotted twine in her fingers, holding onto it like a lifeline.

  Agaroth’s sleek body slipped through the clouds, angling toward the bare patch of ground where their adversaries awaited. The dragon circled once, carefully selecting a place to land, then descended from the air, coming to rest upon a patch of unbroken soil away from the thick of the fighting.

  Seeing them, the Archon’s dragon dropped into a crouch, raking back its obsidian wings and baring its teeth, raising its hindquarters like a panther readying to spring. Agaroth opened his maw, letting out roiling hot breath, lashing his tail as though trying to goad his nemesis into attacking.

  Aram waited until Esmir was down before sliding off the dragon’s back. He stood for a moment assessing the situation. The day had darkened considerably; the sun was hidden behind cloud cover. A cold wind breathed a gust of stale air in his face that stank of blood, a rank metallic odor that made his stomach twist.

  He stood gazing out over the horrendous landscape, absorbing it in small increments. Everywhere he looked was death and agony, mounds of corpses and moaning wounded. A man to his right was trying to grope his way forward on his belly, calling out for his mother as though searching for her. A woman not far away lay on her back screaming, waving in the air her own severed hand. There was more. Too much more. Clutching his stomach, Aram bent over, trying hard not to vomit. Wiping his mouth, he straightened, a cold hollowness goring out his insides.

  That was when he felt the presence enter his mind, like a cold iron spike slipping into him, shoving its way deeper.

  Groaning, Aram squeezed his eyes closed as he grappled against that feeling with every fiber of his will, at last succeeding at expelling the assault. Panting from exertion, he opened his eyes and lifted his head, staring straight ahead across the hellish scene into the helmed face of his adversary.

  A sudden and all-consuming rage bloomed within him, starting in his stomach and working its way up to his chest, spreading out to all of his extremities. Unbidden, his hand moved for the hilt of his sword, sliding it out of its lacquered scabbard. He held it in front of him as he stalked slowly forward, the star-steel blade shining brightly with the light of the power manifest within him.

  Seeing him coming, Kathrax raised his Baelsword, which blazed with dark flames. He reached out toward Aram with his gauntleted hand, palm open, as though trying to grasp him.

  He closed his fist.

  Before Aram, two demonic creatures materialized in a flash of brilliant light: therlings, conjured from the void. They looked like gross amalgamations of both human and animal parts, as though they were deliberate parodies of all that he fought for. One had goat’s horns and a wolf’s muzzle, its hands ending in talons, a barbed tail extending from its back. The other looked like a cross between a praying mantis and an elk, with bulbous eyes staring out from an antlered head. The creature’s powerful forelimbs ended in claws that clacked like those of a crab, and it pawed at the ground with a cloven hoof, looking ready to gore him.

  “This should be my fight,” said Esmir soberly.

  “It’s mine,” Aram said, raising his sword in both hands. He didn’t wait for the void-creatures to come to him. Instead, he lunged forward, bringing the fight to them.

  He struck out with his foot, kicking the goat-thing in the knee, at the same time sweeping out with his sword at the other. The elk parried his strike with its massive rack of antlers. With a jerk of its head, the elk captured his blade and nearly wrenched it from his gasp. Somehow, he managed to maintain his grip on the hilt.

  Aram jerked it back and scrambled away, yielding ground but gaining precious seconds to recover. The goat br
ayed as it dove at him, a flamberge sword appearing in its hand. Aram blocked the strike it tried to land on him, spinning away fast to avoid being gored by the elk’s antlers.

  When the goat-thing came at him again, he punched it in the face then brought his sword up, slicing through the thick mane of hair that encircled its neck. Black blood spewed from the wound, and the goat screamed like an agonized child.

  Aram sprang back as, enraged, the elk-creature lowered its head and charged at him like a bull. Before he could get his sword up, Agaroth pounced on the elk, closing his talons around its girth and taking it to the ground. While the creature struggled, the dragon started tearing it apart, piece by mismatched piece.

  Aram turned to Esmir, flashing the Warden a reassuring smile. But Esmir didn’t return the expression, his gaze fixed on something behind Aram.

  Turning, Aram saw that a glittering wound had ripped open the air, the threads of the Veil unraveling right in front of him. The earth trembled, almost knocking him off his feet, even as he grappled to close the rupture. But before he could finish tying off the strands, something forced the rift open wider, unravelling the Veil for hundreds of feet to either side.

  Esmir cursed loudly, jumping back. Agaroth gave a furious growl, raking back his wings.

  Aram started to raise his sword but then froze when he saw what was coming.

  Chapter Ninety-Eight

  In the wide, cleared area around them, a rupture in the Veil had opened, a long wall of brilliant, blinding light that seemed to be sucking the life from the world. Just the sight of it provoked a deep, visceral fear. Unlike the other ruptures Aram had seen, this one did not lead to the World Above. This rupture opened directly into the emptiness of the void between worlds, into the desolation that turned living creatures into hungering wraiths.

  Seeing the rupture, Agaroth shrieked and flinched back, a reaction that filled Aram with so much dread that he stood frozen, unable to move. His dragon had been trapped within the void for hundreds of years and knew better than anyone what horrors lay within. As the opening yawned larger, a breeze picked up, air rushing toward the vacuum of the looming maw. The speed of the wind increased as the rupture expanded, until it became a howling gale that whipped Aram’s hair against his face and plastered his mantle to his back. Debris carried by the wind rushed past him: leaves and twigs, strips of cloth, clouds of churning dust and tumbling branches.

  Out of the gaping rupture emerged four inhuman creatures, stepping out onto the sodden ground of the battlefield. They were not therlings, nor were they void walkers. Aram recognized their kind immediately, and that recognition filled him with fear, chilling his insides.

  They were Overseers, or at least of the same mysterious race as the creatures who had supervised his Trials. They stood before him, each twice the height of a man: powerful, otherworldly beings with an arcane and ancient presence, their faces serpentine, their eyes black and vacant. They were clothed in robes that crackled in the wind. The wide rupture closed behind them, sealing itself shut with writhing tendrils of aether.

  And yet the Overseers remained, standing in a line before him, cutting Aram off from his adversary.

  Aram gripped his star-steel blade firmly in both hands. Esmir walked forward to stand at his side, considering the creatures before them with a mixture of revulsion and disbelief. Raising his sword, the old Warden settled into a fighting stance, ready to step in front of Aram and Shield him with his own body.

  Esmir glanced at Aram and met his gaze, and something passed between them, the deep affection shared by a master and his apprentice. The old man nodded, resolve squaring his jaw, his hunched back straightening. A lump formed in Aram’s throat, and his chest tightened with heartfelt gratitude. He did not know what he had ever done to deserve such remarkable friends and allies. Vandra and Markus, Calise and Esmir … not so long ago, he had been a boy of twelve who had thought the most he could look forward to was a lifetime spent at sea, surrounded by nets and rigging and solitude. He had thought himself undeserving of friends, and yet, somehow, he’d ended up with the best friends any man could ask for.

  As he stood before a line of beings more powerful and sinister than any in the world, he felt comforted to know that he had Esmir at his side. Together, they might be enough, and even if they weren’t, he felt certain they would make a good accounting.

  A shadow fell over him, and Aram shivered.

  It was then that he noticed that the day around them had changed. It was as though the sun had set when he wasn’t looking, light draining from the sky. Darkness and shadows had settled in, and the air had taken on a chill. The sky overhead was gray. The sun hung above them in the position of high noon, a black disk outlined by a halo of red, ominous light. He saw that Esmir was staring up at it, too, frowning deeply at the corrupted sun that hung like an ill-portent in the sky. The lines around the old man’s eyes deepened, but his shoulders didn’t sag, and his grip remained firm on the hilt of his sword.

  Aram turned his attention back toward the line of foes, waiting for them to act, uncertain of their intentions.

  He didn’t wait long.

  The creature directly across from him took a step forward, it’s inky gaze locking on his.

  SURRENDER.

  The force of the word trembled the foundations of Aram’s mind. He brought a hand up to his temple, clenching his jaw against the pain of it. He could not imagine the strength of the mind that could inject such force into a single word. Every fiber in his body trembled under the weight of it.

  “No.” He shook his head.

  SURRENDER … OR BE BROKEN.

  Aram groaned, squeezing his eyes closed as the words raked like claws into his mind. He had experienced these voices within the portal stones, but he didn’t remember them being this overwhelming. Or was it the voice of the Archon he was hearing?

  Whichever, it didn’t matter.

  Esmir shot a nervous glance his way. “What’s happening?”

  “They’re going to attack,” Aram answered under his breath, his eyes locked on the Overseer’s black gaze.

  The strange creature inclined its head, as though acknowledging a foe. Then it raised its palm, the other three echoing its gesture.

  Sharpened beams of intense blue light shot from their hands, streaking toward Aram. Esmir moved with the alacrity of a twenty-year-old, inserting himself between the assault of magic and the Champion he defended. The spears of light fell upon him and were unmade, disappearing completely. Aram gaped at him in wonder, but only for a second, because the beings were moving quickly, spreading to encircle them. Esmir turned slowly, following the line of creatures as they wrapped around them. Aram put his back against Esmir’s, for, Impervious or not, the old Warden couldn’t defend him from all sides. When the next series of attacks came at him, Aram met them with his star-steel blade.

  Beams of razor-sharp energy reflected off his sword, scattering like sunrays. In the same instant, Aram started weaving, throwing up a web between himself and the Overseers, thick enough that their light couldn’t penetrate. A growl of rage trembled his mind, and he could sense their frustration. He could not see them through the shadow-shield, but he could feel them clawing at it, dismembering its fibers.

  Aram gathered more strands of aether and wove snarls of knots that he then tore apart, snapping the strands that bound them and releasing all the pent-up energy stored within. One of the reptilian creatures gave a shrill cry as it went down, spewing black blood from a rent in its chest. In retaliation, the others redoubled their efforts, forcing Aram to divert most of his energy and attention into bolstering his shield.

  Vaguely, he was aware of the rage of his dragon, and he knew that, behind him, Agaroth was fighting a battle for his life against the obsidian monster. Though he wanted to turn and look, he couldn’t, for he was too hard-pressed to defend himself and Esmir.

  Focusing all of his concentration, Aram wove an elaborate pattern in the air between himself and the nearest of hi
s enemies. When he finished, he jerked the threads with all his might, snapping every strand all at once and releasing a torrent of power that exploded in the Overseer’s face, taking its reptilian head off.

  The remaining two Overseers hissed, intensifying their efforts, and powerful ropes of light streamed out of them in blistering rays. But with only two of them remaining, the assault was less than it had been, and Aram felt his confidence surge.

  But then another force asserted itself: a darker, more sinister power adding its own menace to the attack. Suddenly, Aram found himself being quickly overpowered by an onslaught of magic unlike anything he had ever imagined. A terrible inferno erupted from the ground beneath them, and suddenly he and Esmir were standing in the funnel of a tornado made of flame.

  Aram did his best to draw the heat out of the blaze, but he couldn’t stop the flames from reaching them. Behind him, Esmir staggered, knocking into him and throwing him off balance.

  “Turn around!” the old man growled over his shoulder. “Hold onto me, boy, and don’t let go!”

  Aram did as Esmir ordered, wrapping his arm around the old man’s chest from behind, hugging him close, so that he could maximize the protection of the Warden’s touch.

  Seeing their vulnerability, the Overseer in front of them ceased its attack and simply stood for a moment regarding them. Slowly, it raised both hands.

  BE BROKEN.

  Aram threw himself aside as a slanted beam of light sliced toward him like a guillotine. It hit Esmir in the back and would have sliced any other man clean in half, but not the Warden. It hurt him, nevertheless. Esmir staggered, growling in pain. A line of blood appeared and spread across the cloth that covered his back. He was resistant to magic, but not a True Impervious like Markus. Magic could still harm him, if it was strong enough.