The Flame Weaver

by Elicker, Tania

  “Well done, Kazen!” Ilagon gave Kazen a proud slap on the back. “Looks as if we will be going east after all.”

  After fashioning a few sturdy torches, they started into the tunnel. Against the sharp angles of the carved black walls, their flickering torches glimmered like an infinite sky of twinkling yellow stars. Though dark and damp, the shaft was a welcome shelter from the deep drifts of snow and biting wind. The air inside the passage was still and ancient, the slightest catch of breath echoing against the icy walls.

  Although the floor of the tunnel was level and mostly clear of debris, they made their way along cautiously in the dim light. The scurry of jittering beetles along the walls, and creeping shadows of sizeable spiders kept everyone’s hands close to their sides. Patches of ice along the ground turned into puddles of slush as they made their way deeper into the mountain.

  “Is it just me, or is it getting harder to breathe in here?” E’enna asked.

  Ilagon stopped and took a deep breath through his nose. “The farther we go into the mountain, the less fresh air there will be. Keep your stride short and your breath shallow. You will be fine.”

  Kazen hadn’t really noticed, but now that someone had mentioned it, his chest did feel a little tight. Adding to this, the passage began to narrow, and slope noticeably down, generating an uneasy sensation of confinement. Trying to ignore the twinges of anxiety, he swatted with his torch at the thick spider webs that draped heavily from the roof of the tunnel.

  Hours and hours passed with no sign of an end to the winding passage. The company pressed on until their eyes grew bleary and their backs ached from the constant hunching. They settled in for a few hours of rest, huddling against the cold rock and warming their hands over a modest fire.

  While the men sat talking quietly among themselves, E’enna spent her time plucking out strands of sticky web from her hair. They each had their turn at a nap, but found it difficult to rest easily in such a place. So, between fitful bouts of sleep, they nibbled on rations and sung soft tunes to keep their minds off the choking darkness.

  Most would say that an hour spent in one place would be equal to that of an hour spent in any other place. But Kazen thought differently. He was finding time to be a vengeful beast, callous and without mercy. For as sure as he knew that a moment of rapture could disappear in the blink of an eye, he knew the same moment of misery could stretch for a thousand lifetimes. And here, in this tight tunnel, time crept along painfully slowly, as it often seemed to do in such dark places.

  Barely rested, but well fed, they snuffed their fire at Ilagon’s guess at dawn, and headed off into the darkness once again. They followed the winding path ever downward as it snaked aimlessly to and fro, seeming at times to nearly fold in upon itself. Their footfalls echoed perpetually through the narrow passage, sounding like an army of hundreds on the march. All the while, the soft orange glow of their flittering torches battled against the dense blackness.

  Nearly an entire day passed before the air began to smell less stale. The chill gradually began to lessen, as well. Soon, the company found they no longer needed mittened fingers or hoods on their heads. Moisture glistened off the chiseled walls as temperate air filtered in through the dark passage. All around them, they could hear water trickling through unseen caverns deep within the mountain walls.

  Down and down the tunnel spiraled, until finally they could see a sliver of light ahead. Kazen smiled with relief. As sure as he was that this tunnel was the passage to the east side of the mountain, part of him feared that it would lead them on a wasted journey through an unfinished subway. He and the others hurried toward the outlet.

  They pushed aside a curtain of green moss, which served as an excellent camouflage for hiding the entrance to the tunnel. Shielding their eyes from the afternoon sun, they stepped out onto a broad ledge. The tunnel had led them safely down the mountain. It was only a few hundred feet to the base of the mountain, and they could easily travel on the wide footpath that led down the side.

  But the company’s faces were frozen in astonishment and despair. Above them, the sun shined brightly in a pale blue sky. Below them, however, almost at their feet, was a sea of shadow. Like an endless black ocean, the darkness stretched on as far as even the eye of the Pale Mountains could see. The haze of black-and-gray clouds churned and swirled like a bubbling stew. Writhing and seething, the shadow seemed to breathe with a life of its own. Its loathing of all things green and good flooded over the land.

  “How can this be?” Kazen shuddered, his eyes scanning the black horizon. “How can one man do all this?”

  “Gregore is no longer a man,” Ilagon answered solemnly as he tossed a pebble into the dark mist.

  E’enna bowed her head sadly and slipped her hand into Kazen’s.

  “We must end this,” Kazen whispered, squeezing E’enna’s hand tightly.

  Chapter 17

  The company started their somber decent down the mountainside. As they crossed the threshold into shadow, they were instantly overcome with nausea. Forced to their knees, crippled by illness, Kazen feared defeat was upon them already. Slowly, though, their stomachs began to quiet and they were able to continue on.

  An ill-fated chill encompassed them as they reached the base of the mountain. Beneath the blanket of darkness they could now see the total devastation wrought by the choking shadow. Rolled out before them was a forest of shriveled trees, all barren of leaves and bark. The forest floor was littered with their brittle branches, which were so badly desiccated they would scarcely be suitable for a campfire.

  Not a blade of grass or patch of moss endured the ruin. Crunching like broken glass beneath their feet, even the very soil seemed to have been bled of its life. Stillness gripped the land. No creature stirred under the black cloud. Not even a scent lingered on the static air. Only the swirling of the black mist, high above the tallest tree, brought any movement to the land at all.

  Little sunlight was able to penetrate the dark shadow. What light did manage to filter through was washed an ashen gray. All thoughts of home and hearth were lost under the oppressive shadow. The company found themselves weighted down by fear and despair from Gregore’s sorcery and the bleakness of the land.

  “Here, our resolve will be tested,” Ilagon said, breaking the cold silence. “We cannot trust to our hearts in this forsaken land. The shadow will try to drive us mad with fear. We must have faith in ourselves and each other over the despair that would destroy us.”

  Ilagon took the first steps into the ravaged forest with his head high and an unwavering gaze. Following behind with the others, Kazen did his best to steady his trembling knees. He felt naked under the barren woods, as if a thousand eyes were staring down on him from the shadows above.

  They journeyed through the stark land until the gray of day turned to the black of night. Here, in the land of the enemy, they could risk only the most meager campfire, barely enough to see by. Huddling close together, they kept their voices hushed beneath a whisper.

  “This was once the Westing Weald,” Shanks muttered softly over the fire. “The great forest bordering the kingdom of Halifex. The king, Rathford, possessed a powerful army. He would not have given up this country without a fight. To see this proud land fallen, without so much as a whisper on the wind, is an atrocity.”

  Ilagon snapped a few twigs and tossed them on the fire. “We do not yet know the kingdom’s fate. We will reach Halifex’s largest city, Delmora, in a few days; then we will know for sure.”

  Kazen pulled his blanket tight under his chin, trying to ignore the swirling clouds of shadow that churned without rest above him. The dark silhouettes of crippled trees, which stood guard over their camp, did nothing to calm his nerves. Only the tiny spark of their campfire brought any comfort to him. He closed his eyes and dreamt of darkness.

  The morning haze carried with it a frosty chill. Barely rested, the company gathered their possessions and scattered the ashes of their campfire. Kazen, at first, refu
sed to eat even a morsel of food, his stomach still turning from the foulness of the shadow. However, Ilagon insisted they all eat enough to keep their strength up and their minds sharp. So, they reluctantly nibbled on strips of salted meat as they headed eastward, into the shrouded sun.

  Stealth was impossible in the gray forest. The land and trees were so brittle and broken that each step they took announced their presence with a clatter of snaps and crunches. With no cover of leaves or brush, they could only hurry along as best they could.

  The woods rolled on for miles. Kazen imagined that in its day, the weald had been an impressive place. A majority of the crippled tree trunks were many times wider than his home back in Napis Fare. The once virile limbs must have near reached the clouds. Dried-up channels that once sounded with the babble of clear streams and tumbling rivers delved their way through the forest. Thickets of shrubs, with new fall blooms, would have filled the air with their sweet perfume. Now, only the smell of doom lingered.

  It was another day and a half before the forest finally broke and yielded to a vast plane. The flatland was as dismal and pallid as the withered forest. Grasses, once tall and green, lay wilted and matted to the dry soil. Charred remains of wooden hovels, razed to the ground, spotted the land like unmarked gravestones. A ghostly fog hung low over the shallow hillside. They could see through the haze the outline of tall towers and vaulted rooftops beyond the burned-out village.

  “Delmora still stands!” Shanks said with excitement. “There is hope yet for Halifex!”

  They hastened across the planes toward the rising city, hoping, beyond all reason, that somehow it had survived the siege of darkness. As they neared the city, however, their hopes were dashed. What remained of Delmora was little more than an empty shell. Long abandoned, it still echoed with the whispers of a thousand ghosts.

  The city sat upon a vast, low-rising hill, nestled behind lofty walls of coarse stone, which rose up on four sides. Charcoaled by fire and pocked with gaping holes, the crumbling ramparts seemed ancient in their ruin. Tall towers stood proud on every corner of the walls, save for one, which had been struck down by some immense force and shattered to bits. Abandoned siege engines and wooden ladders lay strewn outside the city. The ground itself had been ripped and torn by marching feet and weapons of war.

  The scene was equally as grim when they entered the city. Marred by catapults and fire, most buildings had been completely destroyed. A few armories and bakers’ huts had managed to stay barely standing, though nearly all had missing walls or caved-in roofs. Timber and crumbled stone littered the city streets, as well as weapons and spent arrows. Elegant stairways of marble and stone led to empty voids where once there may have stood temples and gathering halls. Great statues of men, barely recognizable as such, had been toppled to the ground and pounded nearly to dust.

  The inner walls of the city had been crushed, and whatever stronghold had stood there was now just rubble. Mounds of bleached stone, smoothed and polished, marked what must have been a magnificent structure. A single monument remained standing in the midst of the ruins. A statue of white marble, chiseled to the likeness of a formally armored man wielding a massive sword, stood tall upon the wreckage. But it was a gruesome sight, placed there in mockery of the people of Halifex. For though the figure was beautiful in its art and splendor, it was tainted by blood. Atop the statue, in place of the marble head was the severed head of a man, skewered on an iron pike. A golden crown adorned the decaying skull.

  “The king.” Ilagon bowed his head in respect and mourning.

  “How horrible!” E’enna gasped. “That a king should meet such a fate.”

  Shanks gnashed his teeth together as he looked around the city. “A battle has been fought here, yet there are no bodies of men or beast. Do they not even leave the dead to rest in peace?”

  “The army of shadow does not leave flesh to waste,” Ilagon answered, disgust in his voice. “The dead are food for their demons. If there were any survivors, I am sure they prayed for death before the end.”

  Kazen glared lividly at the head of the king, which had been displayed with such contempt. It was not enough that those beasts had destroyed the city and all its people, but to dishonor a king in such a manner was reprehensible. Struggling against the growing sense of outrage that swelled in his chest, Kazen could feel his temper flaring. His hands trembling and head boiling with fury, he strained to keep the building force contained. A fire raged through his body, and soon he gave no care for caution or consequence. Raising his hands level with the offensive statue, he let out a rumbling chant. Tiny sparks of flame hissed and crackled all around him as he coaxed the magic to his will with his melodic wizard song. With his final words, the flames gathered in his hands into a blazing ball, which he hurled at the grisly sculpture, crumbling it into infinite pieces before him.

  Panting heavily, Kazen wrinkled his brow and sputtered as glowing embers and blackened cinders drizzled down on his head. Seeing that there was nothing left of the horrid monument, he was quite pleased with himself. With a satisfied grin on his lips, he turned toward his friends, but was quickly humbled by their glowering faces.

  “Have you lost your senses?” Ilagon scolded. “You would bring the dark forces down upon us!”

  His face flushed and feeling a fool, Kazen tried to stammer out an apology, but he was cut off by a shrill cry that came down from the shadows above. An immense, dark figure circled the black mist. The creature glided on massive wings with such impossible grace that it made not a whisper as it soared through the dark sky. Spiraling downward, an ominous outline began to take shape.

  “Dragon!” Ilagon yelled. “Quickly! Hide!”

  Everyone scattered in a flurry of dust and flapping cloaks. Scrambling on hands and knees, they concealed themselves under the debris of a fallen building. They held their breath as the beast let out another earsplitting shriek. The beating of its wings thrummed like a drum as it slowed its descent. Clouds of dirt and rock wafted into the air as the dragon landed on heavy feet.

  Kazen crammed himself as far back as he could under a collapsed wooden door. Peering through a crack in the rubble, he could see the dragon’s giant talons flex under its great weight. Snuffing and snorting like a spooked horse, it was so close that Kazen could feel its hot breath on his face.

  “I would know the foul scent of a wizard even in a winter’s tempest,” the dragon snarled. “Come out now and I give you my word, your suffering will be minimal.”

  The beast crouched down on its haunches, listening with keen ears for any faint sound. Kazen could see its massive head as it glared through pale yellow eyes. Armored in scales as black as the very shadows, this dragon was a smaller, dark version of Valduron. The two horns atop its head glittered with gold and silver trinkets, and a sash of golden chains hung across its chest. Though leaner and stronger than Valduron, this young dragon clearly lacked the age and wisdom of the great king.

  A loud, crackling sound emanated from the black dragon’s throat as he inhaled heavily. Tiny wisps of smoke escaped from his nostrils just before he opened his jaws and let out a thunderous roar. Fire billowed from the dragon’s throat, torching the debris in which Kazen and the others were hiding.

  Kazen fought the urge to cry out as the inferno flooded over him. Covering his face and head, he could feel his knuckles blistering under the intense heat. Pain seared through his body as the blaze passed over him. Smoke rolled under his chin, robbing his lungs of air. He dug his face into the dirt, stifling the coughs and hacks that clawed at the back of his throat.

  Raising his massive head, the black dragon turned and launched another attack in the opposite direction, this time bathing a fallen-down guard tower in flames. He quickly crouched down again, listening for moans or cries of agony, but there was only silence.

  “Just like a wizard!” the dragon scoffed. “Too much a dog to face his own doom with any dignity. So be it! I have eternity on my side. It will not be long until your empty belly
grumbles loud enough for me to hear. Or, perhaps it will be your chattering teeth that will betray you in the cold night air. Of course, if you are as stubborn as you are craven, then it may be the stench of your rotting corpse that will give you away. Whatever the case, I will be here, waiting.”

  With a satisfied grin, the dragon coiled himself up under his tail, and used the magic of his iridescent scales to disappear into the landscape.

  Kazen was left quivering under the smoldering wooden door. His hands were scolded and black with open blisters oozing blood. The ends of his hair still sizzled, and his eyes had begun to swell from the lingering smoke. Most painful were the tender welts, which had been branded into his back by the scorching metal hinges of the door. How ironic, he thought with almost a chuckle, the great Flame Weaver defeated by fire.

  Listening intently, he could hear no sounds coming from the others, though he did not know whether to take comfort in that or not. After all, they could not be in a worse condition. Separated and pinned down, guarded by a hidden dragon that needed neither food nor rest. The outlook seemed grim indeed, and all of it brought on by his own recklessness. Frightened and alone, he huddled under his black cloak as twilight cast the city in a bluish gloom.

  The night dragged on in infinite torture. Every cold breeze that brushed over the open wounds on Kazen’s hands brought tears to his eyes. He was terribly hungry and cold, and his legs were knotted with cramps. Longing for sleep, he dared not close his eyes. Even a moment of absent thought might let slip a careless sigh or raspy snore. As the hours passed, his suffering only increased. The burns on his face and ears made his whole head throb, and he had begun to shiver uncontrollably. He was certain that the dragon would hear his stammered breathing and discover his meager hiding place at any moment.