by Matthew Wolf
Wind rushed about him as the dragon whipped its head. Rydel grabbed a long white spike, holding on, muscles straining and looked down. Here the scales were smaller, finer, and thinner. The beast’s momentum switched direction, and it gave him a precious moment, a single breath, to strike. Hoping to his very soul, Rydel released the white spike in that sliver of breath and raised his blade. Then, with the gleaming elven sword, he struck—with every ounce of his strength towards the dome of the creature’s skull. Hoping to plunge his blade into the dragon’s brain. The blade fell with terrible speed and then—
Rydel was falling. The dragon had vanished beneath him as if turned into thin air. Rydel hit the ground hard enough to send every bone in his body shuddering and rattling, and his head thundered with pain. When he looked up, he saw the dragon reappear at the end of the massive clearing in a gust of wind. The wind materialized, forming scales, large white wings, and a massive head with rows of teeth—and those eyes. Those fathomless, white, swirling eyes, watched him knowingly.
A dragon of wind…
One of the nine, and leader of the nine. Rydel should have known.
“Valiant,” the dragon said in a deep rumble and lifted its wings.
Rydel rose to his feet and spotted the tear on its left wing where he had cut it. A flicker of pride filled him. He could cut it. Perhaps if… As he watched though, the jagged and violent wound suddenly knit together with little bits of wind surrounding it, until the dragon’s wing was whole once more. Everything he had done was undone in a split second. Meanwhile, his body felt as if he’d thrown it down a cliffside and hit every rock on the way to the bottom. He was bruised and battered. Breathing deeply sent splinters of pain through his whole body. Elisaria had her hands clasped over her mouth, watching in fear. Rydel knew to his core there was no way he could defeat this thing. Moreover, he saw the look in the dragon’s eyes—it had no intention of sparing his life. The bargain had been struck and now the creature would follow through.
“You are truly something, little elf,” the dragon rumbled. “Perhaps you should have chosen my brothers or sisters as challengers, but against me, you have no chance.” The taunt reminded Rydel of Aladar and Hadrian’s first clash so long ago. Save this time, the dragon was toying with him, not the other way around. The deep booming voice held a note of sorrow, “I will regret your death, little elf, but our deal was struck and I am of my oath. We dragons are of our words, our code, or we are nothing. Our oaths bind us to the land, and the land to us.”
We are more than our codes… Elisaria’s words. Then came Master Trinaden’s voice, echoing in his head, it may break you all if you do not find the final code. The final code. That was it… What was the final code? The third code of the Hidden. Clues had been laid before him, but now he needed to decipher them.
The first code: strength is life, weakness death.
The second code: fight only when necessary.
Each was meant to balance the other, and the final to bring the two to perfect harmony. Then what was it!? He needed to know. The dragon’s monstrous maw opened, showing what looked like a grin.
Then disappearing into a gust of air, the dragon of wind reappeared over him like a mountain. Claws raked, digging into the ground, as it crossed the final span. The dragon opened its terrible jaws showing teeth like sharpened javelins ready to skewer him. As the beast’s maw closed Trinaden’s words returned, you saved your brother despite the pain you knew it would cause you. But you can’t lose your soul just to save the world, or the world isn’t worth saving. The dragon wanted him to step forward and take the water, but Rydel wanted to prove his worth. Pride and ego warred inside him. Again, even being here with Elisaria, he wanted to fight, to lose himself at all costs. But was that right? Master had taught him that strength and sacrifice weren’t enough. He needed to have a good heart. To have a good soul.
Yet he couldn’t give up. This creature wouldn’t stop until he was dead, nor could he stop until it was dead.
Bellowing, Rydel dove out of the way of the snapping jaws, but not to the side or backwards. Instead, he dove forward, beneath the creature. White scales soared over him. The dragon of wind then rose … then he saw it. A scale seemed to shimmer, and… vanish? There! A chink in the armor—there was a missing scale of wind showing a pulsing red flesh of the beast. The red flesh had an orange glow to it as if made of pure spark or flow. Of magic. But the flesh beneath that orange glow seemed real enough, and precisely where a creature’s heart should lie.
Rydel knew the unexpected reckless roll towards the dragon had stunned it, and it was looking for him. Above him the creature bellowed, twisting its head as if searching for Rydel. How long did he have until it realized he was beneath? The flesh was close, the massive heart of the creature thumping with vitality like a giant war drum. He could leap for it, but it was too far. Rydel’s breathing slowed, biding his time, watching the heart. Yet at any moment he knew the creature would discover his location and smash him into the earth, or snap him in half with its jaws and dagger-like teeth. Then it struck him… He could throw the blade. Rydel gripped the haft, gaze riveted to the thumping heart that hovered above him. Muscles in his arms, shoulders, and back coiled, ready to launch the blade with every ounce of strength he had. He’d done it before. He knew if he threw it true, it would the pierce the heart and slay the creature; allowing him to obtain the water from the Hidden Pool. Every fiber in him begged to launch the sword in his white-knuckled grip, to take his fading chance. Any moment now it would turn and notice him.
And yet…
To lay low the magnificent legendary beast. How could he? A primordial creature. A living being born at the beginning of creation that was bound to Farhaven. How was he supposed to save Farhaven by killing one of its favored creations? By, in essence, cutting a piece out of Farhaven’s own heart? And yet, if he didn’t, he would fail.
Rydel knew his opening would vanish any second. Hating himself, he prepared to throw the blade and end it. Above him, the dragon roared and swiveled its massive body like a snake as if searching. Why hadn’t dragon disappeared into a gust of wind? Why hadn’t it found him or thrashed up the ground in a flurry?
As if… searching. The words, his own thoughts struck him.
A memory returned of his Master and him in the small hut that day after he saved Dryan.
Trinaden’s next words were a mere whisper, “The third and final code.” And his eyes blazed with the fire’s light, “To be a Hidden, above all else means to sacrifice yourself, but never your soul for the greater good.”
The greater good.
Killing this beast wasn’t the greater good. It couldn’t be.
Staring at the thumping, exposed heart, Rydel let the sword tumble from his grip and bellowed, “Sacrifice yourself, but never your soul.”
At his words, wind erupted in a violent rush, making his cloak flap widely, stinging his eyes with its gale-like force. When Rydel opened his eyes, he saw the dragon was before him. Rydel gawked, eyes panning up. The dragon… It was more massive than ever before. Rydel realized the creature had scaled itself down for their fight. The maw seemed to curve into a terrifying smile and Rydel saw the missing scale. As he stared, wind swirled and it reappeared and the beast was whole once more. As he thought, the creature had intentionally left itself vulnerable, testing him. The dragon of wind rumbled, “The final code. Very good. I suppose I could have gone easier on you, yet I sensed you were the strongest, so a harder trial seemed the right thing to do.” Rydel bowed his head. “Take your vial,” it rumbled.
Rydel moved forward, towards the glowing pool at the base of the Elder Tree.
“Not there,” said the beast, mirth lacing its rattling voice. Just then, there was a swirl of wind before Rydel’s feet and a murky, muddy pool appeared. In its depths, there was a glimmer of light.
Rydel understood with a small laugh. “That pool,” he said, nod
ding to the glamorous turquoise waters at the base of the Elder Tree. “That was a trick the whole time, wasn’t it? Even if I defeated you, I would never have succeeded, would I?”
“Perception is a tricky thing,” the dragon of wind uttered.
Rydel reeled at those words… they were his words to Elisaria when Hadrian had been fighting the commander of the Terma. “How…” He whispered, then swallowing his awe, Rydel obeyed and pulling the glass bottle from his pocket he neared the waters and filled the small vial. “Thank you,” Rydel uttered.
The giant beast bowed its head. Then abruptly, the dragon of wind vanished in a burst of wind and white eddies. As it vanished, so too did the murky pool before him.
Rydel sagged to his knees, exhausted.
“Are you all right?” Elisaria asked, her hands worriedly searching him for wounds. When she found none but cuts and scrapes, she embraced him tightly. Rydel grunted in pain from the shattered rib and Elisaria apologized profusely, pulling away. “Dear spirits, you moved like the wind… You… you just fought a dragon, my love.”
“And lost,” he said with a smirk. “It was toying with me the whole time.”
“I don’t think there was any winning against that. Not in the traditional sense.”
Rydel grunted his agreement. “Perhaps you’re right. The only thing I have defeated, was… well, nothing. You’ve defeated the spider and you were the one that heard the drekkar’s approach.”
“Sounds about right,” she said. “Perhaps I’m a Hidden now too.”
Grinning, he kissed her. “Let’s go home.”
“Please and thank you.” Then Elisaria paused, grabbing him. “Wait a moment. You’re a mess, what are we doing?” She filched the full bottle from his hand.
“What are you doing?” He asked anxiously.
“We can’t have you limping out of this place, can we? I’m all for saving your hide, but if you get hurt, you’re too heavy for me to carry out of here. Besides, you don’t need the whole vial, do you? Just a drop or two should suffice, I imagine.” She put the vial to his lips and immediately he felt a warm sensation infuse him. Something not like pain, but not like pleasure, tugged at his wounds, pricking and growing until… He felt his ribs and expected to wince.
“Nothing,” he said. “They’re healed.”
“It is a miracle. See, you have to trust me more,” she said and waggled the bottle.
He felt invigorated too.
They walked for a while, leaving the glade behind them and teasing one another when suddenly the woods darkened. Rydel’s heart began to beat faster, and it wasn’t the enchanted water’s doing. From out of the shadow of the trees stalked a tall, menacing familiar evil on all fours. A drekkar. Elisaria hadn’t seen it yet, facing him, but she saw his eyes taper to dangerous slits. “Rydel?”
Rydel unsheathed his blade. “Get behind me.”
Elisaria whirled about, seeing the advancing threat. Instead of listening to him, however, she pulled her own blade free. “We can take one.” As she said it, another drekkar crept out of the umbra of night, and then another. Long skeletal fingers tipped with black claws raked the ground, and where they did the once green grass sizzled to a charcoaled black. The first drekkar’s head tilted and Rydel felt its pale, sightless gaze fixed on them. Slavering jaws dripped with a wanton lust. “Three we can take still, but how do they sense us?” Elisaria whispered.
Rydel might have been healed, but he’d been bleeding profusely from the dragon’s attacks. “The blood,” he whispered. “They smell the blood. And they’re not just three. Drekkar hunt in packs.”
As if summoned, more of the demons stalked out of the woods joining their brothers. At his side, he felt Elisaria’s tension but she only gripped the haft of her blade tighter.
“We’ll have to clear a path,” he said and Elisaria nodded. “Don’t get touched, whatever you do.” Heart pounding, Rydel charged and laid into them with abandon. The demons were fast and their reach was long, but Rydel was hungry for their blood. Dipping beneath the first creature’s strike, he lopped its head off and dodged the spray of dark blood. The next he ran through with his blade before it could strike. Sensing claws behind him, Rydel stabbed behind without looking, feeling flesh puncture. But drekkar were tenacious and both creatures slashed at him, snarling. Rydel pulled his blade free, severed their boney claws with quick slashes and left the two demons to bleed as he leapt to the next. Elisaria was handling her own, battling two when—
Out of the corner of his vision, Rydel saw one of the creature’s he’d left to bleed pull itself on bloody stumps towards Elisaria, sniffing with the empty holes in its face, smelling her nearness. Elisaria deftly fended the two beasts before her but didn’t see the threat behind. Rydel cried out but she was distracted as the beast rose on bloody stumps and snapped, biting into her leg. The needle-like teeth pierced the armor. Elisaria shrieked but didn’t hesitate to turn and stab the demon through the head, ending its miserable life. The bite, however, was enough to distract her. Rydel was almost to her when one of the drekkar she’d been fighting hungrily saw its opening and slashed.
Elisaria turned, but she was too slow. She cried out, the sound piercing Rydel’s soul as a claw raked across her stomach.
No…
Elisaria fell, gasping and clutching her abdomen. His heart froze, every muscle in his body exploded into action. He was almost to her. At the same time, more drekkar fell upon him from all sides. He couldn’t do anything, he wanted to grab her and flee, but they were surrounded, overwhelmed. The end seemed near. No… I am more than this, he thought. I won’t let it end this way.
Roaring, Rydel lost himself to his unbridled rage. They fell upon him in droves, but Rydel welcomed it and cried for their blood. Sword a blur, he sliced, stabbed, and evaded, his body a whirling dervish of death. Heads, arms, tough leather hide and patchy scales, all of it were like soft fruit beneath his blade as he sliced his way to Elisaria’s side. Yet more came, and while the blood from her wound oozed, screeching drekkar fell upon the glade.
Something came over him, something he’d never felt. He became something more—something not elf. Once, he’d seen his master move this fast. Now he moved faster. Fatigued muscles burned like acid with each strike until the sword felt like a sledgehammer. Still, he shoved the fatigue down and lost himself to the dance of death. Rydel’s blade moved of its own accord. Every moment, every second of those brutal lessons that had been hammered into him now became thoughtless. Instinctual even. It had made him a weapon. It had made him death.
Black blood and red rage filled his vision, barely dipping strikes that grazed his throat, head, or leg. The slosh of blood, the dull cutting of flesh became the only music to his ears. Their cries that had once sounded hungry now held a note of terror. Drekkar began to slow their advance, suddenly hesitant to near the maelstrom of steel. So he advanced on them. Foul blood splashed and struck his body. Dark and syrupy, it seared with its touch, burning at his clothes, so he ripped the tattered remnants of a vest free. Still, he struck. Only when the last drekkar fell, a slice opening its belly and emptying vile blood and guts to the already blood-soaked ground, did he drop his blade. Rydel collapsed at Elisaria’s side. Every muscle burned, and his voice was ragged. Only then did he realize he’d been screaming while he killed.
She smiled weakly at his approach. “It seems I’m not a Hidden after all…” Her words were soft, pained.
“Don’t speak,” he answered, “please.” His own voice was hoarse and choked. Swiftly he felt her skin. It was cold and growing colder. Where the drekkar had cut, her terma armor was opened. Each interlocking plate that could deter the sharpest blade was now peeled back to look like twisted scrap metal. Drekkar’s magical touch had made her armor look like parchment. The wound was long and ugly, yet it didn’t bleed. The edges of it were black, necrotic, and the dark rot was spreading. Rydel grits his jaw and
stuffed down his terror and sorrow, controlling his emotions.
She cupped his cheek, pulling his gaze back to her and smiled. “This is not your fault.”
The words were like a dagger. Rydel smirked. “You’re going to be all right. I’ve suffered worse under Master’s training.”
“You might be the world’s worst liar, my love. I…” she coughed and dark blood came forth, spitting it onto her pale skin.
“No,” he breathed, then he remembered—the realization hitting him like a lightning bolt.
The vial.
Panicked, Rydel frantically scoured the ground until—
There.
Falling over himself, he snatched the glass container from the ground only to see that the vial had been spilled in the fight. His heart seized in his chest. It was empty. Still, he put it to her mouth, trying to drain something, anything into her parted lips, but it had all been drained onto the bloody ground. It was gone. She gripped his hand, stopping him. “No more,” she said, “I was the one who spilled it. I know it’s empty.”
“Then I’ll get more.” He began to rise.
“No!” Her weak voice begged. “It’s too far. I’ll be gone before you do. Please, stay here… stay with me. I… I don’t want to be alone when it comes…”
Rydel shook his head, feeling hot tears fall onto her perfect face and smooth skin. “I can’t… I can’t lose you.”
Elisaria smiled softly. “For all your strength, you can’t control this, my love. The Great Spirit calls, and I must answer.”