Reflections in the Void: Book Two of the Demon's Blade Saga

by Steven Drake

  Several minutes later, the strange creature came galloping up. Taller than an ordinary horse by half, and with three times the girth, perhaps more, Mhoa were the chosen mounts of dragon kind. They possessed thick, leathery hides, covered in scales. This particular Mhoa was colored with inky black scales, smooth, small, iridescent and shiny on the legs and chest, massive, dull, and worn upon the back. The head of the beast was twice the size of a horse, and it ended in a thick, horny beak, sharply yellow against the black. The tail of the beast bore plumes of magnificent blue and violet feathers. It opened its mouth and called again in the same deep whistle, revealing its mouth, broad flat bony plates, part of the beak used for grinding the tough vegetation used in dragon lands. The eyes were dark umber, with large pupils, and seemed to hold a deeper intelligence than a common horse.

  Skarn walked up to the beast, and patted its head. The beast let out a series of snuffling sounds and quiet honks like some giant deep throated goose. The beast bore neither saddle nor bridle, yet Skarn gripped a particular scale on the Mhoa’s back and hauled himself up to sit on a flatter, more worn scale on the beast’s back. Surprising, to say the least, that a simple wanderer would have such a rare creature, but convenient. Skarn was far too large for the horses, and on foot, though faster than a man, he would have slowed the party considerably.

  The party road closer together in the wildlands. On the road from Trinium, it had been easy enough to keep on track, so the party had tended to filter out into groups of two or three riding together, holding their individual conversations. Here, the risk of getting separated was quite real, so none ventured too far from the main group, and most were quiet. Just about all of them had something to hide from at least one of the others. The only exceptions were Niarie and Jerris, who rode closely together, and talked most of the day about nothing particularly interesting, each eagerly listening to the other’s awkward rambling, now and then whispering about some secret topic.

  Skarn led the way, with Darien close behind, watching carefully, and examining a map he had bought in town. They rode over open countryside, with no sign of habitation or settlement, dusty hills dotted with spiked succulents, thin spidery bushes, and clusters of scrubby cedar trees. By evening, they had left the town of Coldwater far behind, and truly entered the wilderness. They made camp in the most sheltered place they could find, a lonely grove of short fir trees on the leeward side of a hill. Over a roaring fire, the party ate their meal, and whispered curiously about their large guide, but until the meal was finished, none ventured a comment. In the end, it was Jerris who had the courage to ask the question everyone seemed to want to ask.

  “Um… Skarn, sir,” Jerris stammered, “I wanted to ask, um, are you… an ogre, or a troll, or… well, what? I don’t really know the difference.” The giant laughed heartily, a sound more like a roaring than laughter, and Jerris paled noticeably. “I meant no insult sir. I’ve never known any, so I’m only curious.”

  “Once again, the young whelp shows his courage, or his stupidity,” Tobin joked, “but I think this one is neither.” The old dwarf examined Skarn quite closely, and puffed on his pipe. “I think we are in the presence of the rarest of all the races, a half-dragon, or do I miss my guess?”

  The half-dragon slowed his laughter, and nodded. “Yes, I am. I see my employer is not the only one observant enough to guess my true nature.” Niarie suddenly paled and drew closer to Jerris, grabbing his hand. He held it tight, and pulled her close to him.

  “So Darien already figured it out? Well, he’s always a step ahead it seems,” Tobin said.

  “Um…” Jerris spoke up again, “forgive me for seeming rude, but… how is that possible?” Skarn laughed even louder than before, and all the party save the old dwarf and the immovable Shade looked somewhat intimidated.

  “Jerris, please be quiet before you insult our guide so thoroughly I have to increase his pay,” Darien intervened. “But, I think Tobin can answer that question.”

  “Aye,” Tobin smiled. “Dragons you see, are not all giant fire breathing lizards, no offense.”

  “None taken,” Skarn bellowed. “They would consider that description complimentary.”

  “Thank you,” Tobin said and nodded. “As I was saying, when most of the other races think of dragons, they think of the giant, flying, fifty-foot-long fire breathing beasts, and some are. Dragons are said to be the oldest race in Terralien, and their elders are said to remember a time before even the elves. It is only elder dragons, you see, that grow to such a massive size,” Tobin explained, while Jerris listened intently. Darien knew all of this already, as presumably most of the rest of the party did as well. He had studied dragons as a Shade, for they made extremely powerful and valuable allies. The Demon King pursued alliances with them when he could.

  “Most dragons are born from eggs,” Tobin continued in his gravely voice. “Eggs laid by a brood mother. Now the brood mother is the elder dragon who is the strongest, and often the only female in a particular clan. When a clan grows large enough, they choose a new brood mother, and establish a new clan with a new settlement. Several related clans form a tribe. Over time, the tribes have diverged and taken on different appearances. The largest and most important tribes are the Silverscale, who live in the South Sea Islands, most notably Dragonhead Island; the Stonetalon, who live in the far northeast; the Icehorn, who live north and west of here; the Firemane, who live in the Red Mountains, the same lands as my people; and finally, the Ebonscale, who live in the Burning Lands north of here.”

  As Darien looked around the group, he noticed most of them paying rapt attention. Most likely Geoffray and Oswald had some limited knowledge of dragons, including the names of the tribes, but most likely none of them would understand how such a thing as a half-dragon could even exist. Niarie continued to clutch Jerris’ hand intensely, and Rana seemed distant, as if her mind were somewhere else. Traiz sat next to her, and looked over at her from time to time, already working at the task that had been set for him.

  “Now, the peculiar thing about dragons is that as they grow, they change. They go through several stages of life. When a dragon hatches from an egg, it looks like a small, scaleless lizard. That’s called the salamander stage, on account of what they look like. Many dragons never grow past that stage. They tend to fight and kill one another so only the strongest remain. Those lucky or strong enough to reach age twenty-five go through the first changing. I can’t say as I’ve ever witnessed the process, but it’s said they get this covering over their bodies, rocklike stuff, and they sleep for several months, undergoing the change. When they come out again, they are very large, very scaly, strangely colored lizard men with wings. You can see our guide over there lacks wings, but he possesses much greater size and strength than a man. In that phase, they’re called dragonkin or just dragons, and most dragons live their entire lives in that stage. They can live several thousand years as dragonkin, and during that time, they can produce children just as we can. Those children, however, are generally smaller and weaker than those born from eggs. They make up the worker caste, if I’m not mistaken, who do the usual menial jobs, farming, mining, cleaning, smithy work, crafts, and such. At least, that’s my understanding. There are lower castes, based on how many generations removed from an egg-hatched dragon they are. It’s somewhat complicated, and the tribes don’t always have exactly the same castes.”

  Skarn nodded his agreement. The half-dragon seemed untroubled by the rather long-winded explanation of his people’s reproductive habits, and indeed, seemed somewhat amused by the entire matter. He at least had a much better attitude towards his mixed parentage than most of the half-elves Darien had known, including himself. He had never known who his father was, only that the man had left him and his mother to fend for themselves.

  “Now, if a dragonkin manages to live to the age of two hundred, they can become an elder dragon. Elders don’t become elders on their own, mind you. They have to be chosen by the tribe. They have to be honored
among their brethren, great warriors. They have to endure severe trials, and battle one another for the right. Once they’ve been chosen, there’s a secret ritual, never been observed by outsiders, where the tribe comes together, and makes a sacrifice of blood and flesh to the new elder. The new elder-to-be undergoes the second changing, which lasts five full years, and when they come out, they’re a somewhat smaller version of the giant, fire breathing lizards we’re all familiar with. So, I suppose that about covers it.”

  “I should think so, Tobin,” Darien confirmed, then added, “half dragons are born from dragon fathers who take a human or elven bride. That in itself isn’t altogether uncommon. Dragons are intensely passionate, and reputedly excellent lovers. There are certain villages in the east where young maidens compete for the right to court the local dragon tribe’s chosen warriors. If the dragon accepts her as a worthy bride, then the village enjoys the protection of the tribe for her lifespan. It’s uncommon for such unions to produce children, but then again, all mixed-race children are rare. Half-elves are the most common, I suppose, and true half-elves are quite rare themselves.” The party all looked rather aghast at Darien, and he wasn’t quite sure whether they were stunned by the revelation, or stunned by the fact it came from him.

  “So it is,” Skarn confirmed. “My mother was a human, my father of the Ebonscale. I am impressed by your knowledge of my people. Most men are woefully ignorant, thinking us no more than mindless beasts, but this is far from correct.” Niarie’s eyes narrowed and she stared daggers into Skarn, who seemed, fortunately, not to notice. “Darien, hmmm, that name is known among dragons. Would you be Darien the Executioner, who fought for the Demon King in the Battle of Dragonspire?”

  The party fell completely silent, which, of course, answered the question definitively without a word. Darien’s companions continued to frustrate him. “Yes, I am,” Darien confirmed, as the lie would be obvious, and insulting to a dragon. “That was many years ago. I was not aware my reputation had carried so far.”

  “Courage in battle such as you showed, at such a young age, is respected amongst my people. Few of your kind have the courage to stand against us, or the strength to prevail. You may actually be able to convince them to speak to you,” Skarn reflected. “I would be honored if you would tell me of your deeds.”

  “Your request honors me, but unfortunately, my memory of that time is rather hazy. I would not wish to unintentionally overstate my deeds,” Darien replied. It was true, of course. He had no memory of the events, only the knowledge that they happened, and while great deeds were respected among dragons, braggadocio was not.

  “You seem to fit your reputation.” Skarn smiled. “Tell me, is it true you defied the Demon King and lived?”

  “It is, but I was defeated, and fortunate to escape with my life. It is not something to take pride in.”

  “Well said, but all the same, you are the first Shade to have escaped his judgment in the centuries of his reign. There is some merit in that.”

  “I suppose,” Darien conceded. “It allows me the opportunity to find a way to destroy him, at least.”

  When the meal concluded and the fire burned low, Darien set the watch. He assigned first watch to Jerris and Ceres, second watch to Rana and Traiz, third to Nia and Tobin, fourth to Geoffray and Oswald, and he took the last himself with Skarn. Jerris seemed abundantly disappointed to be stuck with Ceres, but the younger half-elf’s relationship with Niarie had become too much of a distraction. Hopefully Jerris’ infatuation would pass sooner rather than later. Darien laid down, his mind calm after a successful day, and his mood far more conducive to sleep. Within a few minutes, he had drifted off.

  Chapter 31: The Battle of Dragonspire

  Yellow rocks rose before him. Spires of sandstone, weathered by winds over countless eons. Hundreds of dragonkin hung in the air over the fortress, Dragonspire, frozen in time. Darien, still a wiry youth, fifteen at the battle of Dragonspire, stood next to Kirin the Hollow Eyed. His old teacher’s yellow blond hair shone in the late afternoon sun, his chin set, his face grim, determined. Battle approached. As Darien contemplated seeing his old teacher again, the scene lurched into motion.

  “We cannot win as we are, Kirin.” It was Darien’s younger self who spoke first. “We have lost too many of our commanders. Our numerical advantage counts for nothing if we cannot act as a unit. Individually, our soldiers are far outclassed. Let me take the right flank. I will show them the power of the Shades.”

  “No,” Kirin replied sternly without turning to face his student. It was comforting to hear the calm steadiness in that voice. The perfect self-control that carried through settled Darien’s restless mind. “This is a mission of observation for you, observation only.”

  “But I can fight. I am ready. I’m the second strongest Shade here,” Darien protested bitterly.

  “Skilled, perhaps, but not experienced,” Kirin replied. “Do not question my orders, or I will remind you who is in command.” The young Darien gritted his teeth and nodded his assent. “Now, how do you assess this battlefield?”

  “The fortress of Dragonspire has held for centuries. The outer gates are made of some unknown metal. They cannot be breached by any known technique. The terrain makes this entire area a natural fortress. As such, the outer walls are natural rock. Without brick and mortar, there are no weak points. The walls themselves are enchanted to resist earth magic. Even you and I could not overpower them.”

  “Very good, you remembered your intelligence reports,” Kirin praised. “But what of the enemy forces?”

  “They are typical dragonkin soldiers for the most part, primarily armed with long spears, swords and shields as backup. They will be supported by aerial archers. They have supplemented their numbers with slave orcs. The orcs will defend any attacks on the ground, while the aerial troops move quickly to reinforce where needed, and, if they follow their usual tactics, they will attack our commanders and hope to impair our organization and command structure.”

  “Is that all?” Kirin asked.

  “No,” Darien replied confidently. “I’ve seen only three elder dragons here, but we know the Silverscale have hundreds in their tribe. They must be hiding somewhere, waiting to counterattack.”

  “Your observation is correct,” Kirin remarked, “but your conclusion is incorrect. There will be no more elder dragons in this battle.”

  “What? Why. A counterattack at the right point could rout our forces entirely. Our position is strategically weak. We do not have the supplies to sustain a siege. This fortress is the most defensible position that remains under their control. They gain nothing by holding back any forces now.”

  “If this were truly a battle to the bloody end, you would be correct, Darien,” Kirin conceded, “but it is not.”

  “What is it then?”

  “It is a test, a final test for us before they will ally themselves with the Demon King.”

  “A test? What do you mean?”

  “Remember what I told you about dragons? They hold combat prowess and courage above all other virtues,” Kirin explained. “If they deployed all their elders here, we would be massacred. I would never press the attack under such conditions and waste the Master’s armies on a hopeless battle.” Darien watched curiously. If not a battle to the death, then what? “I see you do not understand. You must always consider an enemy’s motivation, why he fights. Men fight for land, resources, power over others, but dragons are different. They fight for honor, for glory, to test their skill. They love battle for its own sake. A battle where either one side or the other cannot win is considered dishonorable by dragonkind. They would only do this if they regarded their opponent without honor. I have taken great pains so far to ensure that this is not the case.”

  “So, they’re only sending in the forces they think will make it an even fight?” Darien asked.

  “Not an even fight,” Kirin corrected. “They still have an advantage, but victory for us is not impossible. If we win tod
ay, I believe we will succeed in gaining our alliance.”

  “Strange,” Darien remarked. “To fight a prospective ally is counterproductive. Both sides are weakened by the conflict, so the resulting alliance is weaker in total than if they had simply allied themselves without fighting.”

  “The dragons do not see it this way,” Kirin rebuffed. “They believe all battle and conflict makes their tribe stronger, by purging the weak, and tempering those who survive so that those who remain are stronger and more skilled. It is a fascinating and beautiful philosophy, I think, and you could learn much from it. The dragons find purpose not in victory and defeat, but in battle, itself.”

  “There is no purpose in anything but as a means to an end,” Darien argued. “We must hold nothing back in pursuit of the end.”

  “Consider this, Darien. If I held nothing back when I sparred with you, I would kill you in seconds, and you would die without learning anything. If my only end was victory, I would not hold back, but that is not my true objective. My true objective is to make you stronger, not demonstrate my superiority. The dragons simply apply the same concept towards their entire tribe.”

  “So they sacrifice a possible victory for the sake of strengthening their individual soldiers,” Darien reflected. “I suppose there is a certain brutal reason in that.”

  “You must learn to understand your enemy if you are to be a good commander.” No more words passed between the teacher and student. A few minutes later, or was it hours, the haze of the dream made it difficult to tell, a horn sounded, and the battle began in earnest. Darien stayed where he was, while Kirin charged inward. From this vantage point, he could see the battlefield well.

  The late afternoon sun glinted off silvery wings and scales, creating bright blinding reflections that flashed and flickered, that obscured their individual movements. The black chain mail of the enemy contrasted with the glistening silver, making the enemy look like light given form but held together by shadow. They carried long, light, spears in their arms, with short swords at their waists and shields upon their backs. A shining storm cloud of death and fire.