Dragons' Fall_Tales from the Mirror Worlds

by James Calbraith

  The army of the Abyss let out a howl of triumph and, ignoring for the moment the silver dragon ravaging its rear guard, charged forward with renewed strength.

  The Master’s arms flailed helplessly from under the rubble. He boomed out a desperate plea, barely heard over the din of battle.

  “Nivriel! Protector of this world! Help us! Only you can stop this slaughter!”

  The dragon raced for the Gate like a vengeful bullet. Ennaki followed, slower, but fast enough to hear the exchange that happened between the beast and the Master.

  “What do you mean?” the monster asked, between spews of its invisible, disintegrating flame; it was just enough to stem the onslaught of the Abyss, stop the troops just before the great stairs leading to the Gate.

  “Your Heart, Nivriel,” the Master wailed. “You know what your blood can grant us.”

  His voice was frail and breaking, fraught, but, at that moment, Ennaki knew this was just a ruse. The Master’s plan was more intricate, more layered than any before — befitting a dragon as powerful and ancient as Nivriel.

  “Hargh!” The dragon roared in fury, and then laughed. “My death? None shall have it!”

  “I would never wish any harm to come to you, oh Great Dragon,” the Master called. “But time is short. You can survive this — you alone can — and remain the master of a dead world… or die, and save us all.”

  Without responding, the dragon flew high up and then fell on the enemy once again, with even greater fervour and fierceness. The ranks of the Abyss wavered again, and again pulled back, until enough reserves poured from the skies to push even the mighty Nivriel away. The dragon struck one more time, and one more time it was rebuked. The circle of the Gate’s defenders was now less than half of what it had been initially.

  There were freed slaves among them, Ennaki noticed. Prisoners of the War fought beside their captors. Dwarves and elves stood side by side with the trolls and ogres; all joined together in a hopeless last stand.

  Repelled for the third time, the dragon retreated and landed next to the Master, nudging him from under the rubble.

  “Very well,” she agreed. “I see that you were right.”

  She lay down around him, with her belly upwards. “Do what must be done.”

  A slit opened in the her abdomen, revealing a beating silver heart.

  “Come to me, my people,” the Master cried, summoning the remnant of the defenders. He nodded, too, at Ennaki, and the boy landed beside him. “I shall grant you life and power eternal, and together we shall defeat the invaders!”

  The soldiers hailed him and huddled closer, as the Abyss prepared for the final charge.

  “Be quick, Creature, else this sacrifice, too, will go to waste!” roared the dragon.

  The Master tightened the tip of his tentacle arm into a blade and pierced the heart. Thin, almost gaseous, translucent blood poured from the opening. The dragon closed its eyes and shuddered in pain, but persisted calm as life spilled forth from its heart.

  The defenders of Nivriel waited for the magic to happen, but the blood did not come their way. The Master had cheated them. His arm was now a funnel, draining all of the blood onto him, covering his fat, oblong body in a thick coating. He reached another arm, and, like a hose, it poured some of the blood overnEnnaki, as a reward for his services. But that was all that could be spared of the precious liquid.

  The dragon finally noticed what was happening and tried to writhe out of the tight grip the Master held on her heart, but it was too late. She had lost plenty of blood, and had no strength left to struggle. The soldiers, confused at first, now also began to see that something was amiss. Behind them, the army of the Abyss climbed the stairs, uncertain of the reason for the sudden lull in fighting, wary, but determined to finish the battle with one final strike.

  The Master let go of the dragon’s heart, and the beast shuddered before falling still forever. Gleaming silver, he rose, and flew high into the sky, away from the now raging troops. Ennaki followed close by; he looked down just in time to see the enemy slaughtering the remaining defenders; reaching the ruins of the Gate unopposed.

  “Time to leave this wretched place,” the Master said. “Let’s hope our friend on the other side is not late.”

  Just as he spoke, the sky before them cracked open; a familiar, lightning-lined portal grew wide enough for both of them to pass through.

  “Even sooner than I — ,” the Master began.

  Something flew out of the gate; a large, oblong shape, flailing long, sharp flippers. Another Star Manatee, slightly longer and slimmer than they were, with darker, almost onyx, skin. It charged straight at the Master, who could not move out of its way fast enough.

  The mysterious enemy struck at the Master with all of its arms, piercing the thick hide repeatedly and penetrating deep into the flesh in a furious, lethal attack.

  But the wounds healed faster than they were dealt. The Master wrestled with the attacker for a while and then cast the defeated Manatee down, towards the ruined Gate and the dead body of the silver dragon.

  “Whoever you are, and whoever sent you, you’re all too late,” he gloated. “I have bathed in Nivriel’s blood. I am truly immortal!”

  Ennaki glanced down, watching the falling attacker. As it fell, a subdued, quiet explosion buried the battlefield and everyone within in a cloud of dark ash.

  Who was that?

  “Come on, boy,” the Master urged him.

  The edges of the lightning-lined portal shivered. The gate was closing. He lunged forward at the last moment.

  “Is he here already?” The Grand Master asked for the fourth time in as many minutes.

  The Grand Marshall’s lips curled in a dry smile. He waved his hand and the door of the Listening Hall swung open noiselessly. A narrow-eyed, short and squat man with gleaming silver skin and short white hair, stood in the centre of the room. Most of the men in his position would cower, tremble before the might of the legendary Knights — but not him. He stood straight, proud, bold and bright. He noticed the Grand Master entering through the side door and observed with mild interest as the Knight crossed the room towards the Hearing Seat. He didn’t bow, or in any other way acknowledge the man’s superiority, he simply stood there, watching.

  The Grand Master sat down and also watched the silver man for a long while.

  “Ennaki of Dihirizniel,” he said at last. “You don’t look at all like the monster of the legend.”

  “You also don’t match your fame,” the man replied with a shrug. “I was expecting heroes and warriors, not… bureaucrats.”

  The Grand Master chuckled. “I fought more battles than I can remember, in my younger days. And I can still raise the sword with the best of them, if need be. But… a War that spans countless worlds, involves millions of soldiers, thousands of armies, can’t be won by hammer-wielding warriors alone. The times of the Fighting Masters are long gone. My generals deal with the fighting — I have to make sure they have something to fight with.”

  “And how’s that been working out for you?” the man asked.

  The Grand Master sighed. “The War is a constant in our life. We win some, we lose some…”

  “You mean a stalemate.” Ennaki nodded. “For aeons now you haven’t been able to breach the enemy’s defences, despite all the losses. Indeed, it seems to me you have been retreating in many places.”

  “With respect,” the Grand Master was losing his patience, “you are not a strategist. And I’m sure you haven’t come all this way to discuss the way the War is being waged. What message do you bring from your Master? Is he willing to help us again?”

  Ennaki’s face tensed. The silver skin turned a darker shade of grey.

  “I come of my own accord. My Master does not know I’m here.”

  “Oh?”

  The Grand Master stirred uneasily in his seat. The collar of his cloak chafed his neck.

  “I came to you because I know you’ve already tried to kill my Master onc
e, and you’ve failed.”

  The Grand Master’s knuckles tightened on the dragonbone-carved edges of the Seat.

  Is he here to claim revenge? He wouldn’t dare…

  He looked around the room, and the sight of the guards poised along the walls, as always, invisible to anyone but himself, calmed him a little, but he stayed anxious. The man standing before him did share, after all, at least a part of the gifts of the dragon hearts with his helmet-defying Master. There was blood and death in his bright, crescent-shaped eyes.

  “And I’m here to tell you,” Ennaki continued, “that you must try again. The Dragonsbane must be vanquished.”

  Did I hear right?

  “Aren’t you his most faithful servant? Why the sudden change of heart?” the Grand Master asked, intrigued.

  “It is for his own good. I see it now. His errand is leading him nowhere, only to ever greater power.”

  “There are worse ambitions to have in life.”

  “He is already like a God, and he still pursues more power. More will die at his hand. I can’t abide it anymore.” He stopped and stared at the Grand Master’s indifferent face. “Are you truly not concerned with what he’s doing? One of your own Knights!”

  “But it’s too late,” the Grand Master replied, shrugging. “He has the power of Azoth. He cannot be killed.”

  In truth, ever since the news of the unruly knight’s slaying of Nivriel had reached the Dragon Halls, the Grand Master had decided to ignore and forget anything regarding his further fate. His predecessor had wasted far too many resources trying to hunt Ennaki’s Master down and stop him, and for what? The Dragonsbane — he scoffed inwardly at the epithet — was clearly following a path separate to other Dragon Knights, and as long as this path took him far from the frontline, it was no concern of either the Grand Master or the Grand Council. Sooner or later, the Grand Master was certain, the stray knight would find his doom at the jaws of a dragon too big to slay. In the meantime, there was a War to be won.

  “No, but he can be stopped. And I think I know how — but I can’t do it alone.”

  The Grand Master turned his gaze to the wall of invisible guards, impatient. “I don’t have resources to spare. We are preparing for a major offensive. Besides, our code — ”

  “Your assassin,” Ennaki interrupted him. “I know he’s still alive, somewhere. I’ve seen him fall into a puddle of Nivriel’s blood.”

  “Her,” the Grand Master corrected him mechanically. “It’s a woman.”

  “Is, you say. Then I was right.”

  “Yes. But I doubt she’d be willing to work with you.”

  “I’ve never heard of a choosy assassin before.”

  The Dragon Knight sighed. This was a thoroughly unnecessary conversation, as far as he was concerned.

  “We didn’t hire her,” he explained. “She came to us for help, like you. Given a chance, I’m sure she’d like to kill you, as well.”

  Ennaki scratched his nose. “I see. I have made many enemies throughout the years in his service. Still, I would like to talk to her, convince her of my good will. Alone, she stands no chance against the Dragonsbane. Together, we might just make it.”

  The Grand Master studied him for a while, using all his powers of perception to discern the truth of his intentions.

  “Curious,” he said at last. “I sense no malice in you, no mischief. It seems you are truly honest. Very well,” he added with an approving nod, against himself. “I will speak to her. Come back in ten days.”

  Ennaki bowed deep before the tall, imposing woman dressed in a flowing dress of dark blue; the colour of mourning among the Elves of Dihlantar.

  “Queen Espe. I suspected it was you.”

  His heart raced. She said nothing, and made no gesture, but her eyes burned with loathing.

  “I don’t have any excuse for what I did to your people,” he added. “I will not apologize or beg your forgiveness.”

  I saved you, he thought. How do you think your bodyguards knew of the coming attack?

  But he knew it would not matter to her in the slightest.

  “Good,” she replied coldly. “Your words would only insult their memory, traitor.”

  He was uncertain how to go on. She hadn’t yet stormed out of the room, as he’d expected, but she wasn’t eager to welcome his help, either.

  “Tell me about your plan,” she said, breaking the long silence.

  “How much do you know of my Master’s quest?” he asked.

  “More than I care to know. The Knights told me what they knew, the rest I’d guessed from what I had gathered during the pursuit.”

  Have you been chasing us since then?

  He imagined the long years she must have spent hunting them down from world to world, forever burning with hatred and vengeance.

  Her heart must be shrivelled and black like a burned leaf.

  “Then you will know that there are only two dragons left on his path,” he said, after a pause. “And after the metallic ones, the only hearts that remain stronger are those of the Four.”

  “The Great Elements?” The Queen’s face, a stone until now, twisted in surprise. “I thought they were just a legend.”

  “My Master now lives in a time of legend,” said Ennaki, “and moves in a world of myth. He is a God hunting Gods.”

  “A demon slaying monsters,” she spat. “But even he cannot possibly hope to destroy an Element. That would… that would endanger the very fabric of the Mirror!”

  Ennaki reached out to touch the cold stone of the Dragon Hall. A rivulet of grey water dripped down the carved wall from high above. It turned into quicksilver under his touch — the side effects of his adventure on Nivar were still lingering in his magic.

  “When he embarked on his first hunt, everyone said he was too young to slay a Great Dragon,” he said. “When he did that, nobody believed he could repeat the deed. Then, later, they said no Knight could ever defeat a Broodmother… and that a Metallic Heart could never be obtained. He never listened to their doubts. He always tried the impossible and never failed. And he will try again... and once more, he shall not fail. It is his destiny, you know.”

  “And yet you claim to know how to stop him.”

  “Yes. Because I alone know where, and when, he is planning to strike again… and only I can get close enough to set up the trap.”

  “The Dragon Knights knew all that too, the last time. Still he outmanoeuvred them.”

  Ennaki shook his head. “They are old, slow and weaker than they show. Join me, and I will give you the vengeance they couldn’t provide.”

  Still she hesitated.

  “The Grand Master vouched for your trustworthiness,” she said, “but how can one ever trust a butcher of entire worlds?” She shook her head. “The hatred… the pain… This can never work.”

  “What choice do you have? You live only for revenge. Once he gets the final heart, he will be truly undefeatable, and you will die knowing you had a chance — a mere chance – to do something about it, and you threw it away.”

  Her fists clenched and unclenched, her eyes threw lightning bolts, but he knew she sensed truth in his words. Even if it was just an elaborate ruse, even if, for some reason, Ennaki and his master were trying to entrap her with this made up story, as long as there remained a sliver of hope…

  Slowly, almost unnoticeably, she nodded her head.

  The distant ceiling of the hollowed-out mountain-chamber echoed with the steps of their iron-boots on the marble floor. Ennaki and his Master marched the length of a narrow stone bridge cast across a fiery chasm, and stood before the black basalt throne of the dwarven lord. The Master bowed slightly, Ennaki did the same, but deeper.

  The dwarf lord stroked his long red beard and rose to full height. Tall, burly, with youthful, haughty demeanour despite the beard, their host was a born warrior. Instead of a sceptre he held a battle axe, its handle trimmed with gold and jewels, but the blade sharp and tough, shimmering with enchantment.<
br />
  The entire chamber buzzed with magical energies; Ennaki felt their static crackling on the tip of his tongue, in the goose-bumps on his arms.

  “My people tell me,” the dwarf lord began, “that you can help me regain my rightful inheritance, Silver Man.”

  The Master bowed again. “I believe it is in my power to do so.”

  “A proud boast. King Hreiðmar’s armies have no match in all of Niðavellir. We tried to storm his Stone Cloud castle seven times, and each time we failed. It is known.”

  “I am aware of that, Prince Regin, and of the fate of your brothers. But the eighth time, if you enlist my help, will be different.”

  Prince Regin eyed him suspiciously. “I hope you’re not thinking of bringing any forces from the outer-world. That would be dishonourable.”

  The Master spread his arms. “It would be me, alone, as you see me now. And my servant, Ennaki.”

  The dwarf stepped forward, and probed the Master’s shoulders. “You have a warrior’s body, aye,” he grunted, approvingly. “And there is boldness in your eyes. But if that was all that it took to get to the Stone Cloud, my brothers would still be alive, and we would be feasting on my father’s grave, with the Andvari’s Rings on our fingers. What else do you have to offer?”

  “A sword that will slay Ymriel.” The Master drew his weapon from the sheath carried by Ennaki. The sword gleamed in the light of the torches; sturdy, broad and plain. Prince Regin stepped back, shielding his eyes from the magic beaming from the blade; visible only to him and the bearer of the weapon.

  “I am prepared to face any tests you have for me,” the Master added, “to prove my worth before the battle. I will show you I am the Strongest.”

  The dwarf studied the sword and the knight. “It doesn’t matter how strong you are. Ymir’s Spawn cannot be killed,” he said firmly. “It is known.”

  “And yet you’ve tried. Seven times.”

  Prince Regin shook his head. “Never against the Dragon. We always attacked when she was asleep, or away on a hunt. But she always returned in time...” He smoothed his beard, wincing at the painful memories.