by Steven Drake
The dark armies of the Demon King rushed forward, and the enemy took to the air to meet them. Wave after wave of silver and black swooped down with spears lowered, decimating the dark army with the impact. The dark army took heavy losses, as the terrain and the dragons’ ability to fly gave them a devastating tactical advantage. Just as he had suspected, the dragons were winning.
Kirin took the center, and wherever he went, the enemy fell and died. He led the smallest force, but also the most powerful, made up principally of the monstrous chimeras created by the Demon King. The left flank was composed of the ogrim guard, the highest order of ogres, and the forest trolls from the eastern edges of the Black Forest. They attempted to scale the wall with massive rolling siege towers. They were repelled many times, but they managed to get a few of the siege towers in place, and they fought atop the walls. On the right flank, the goblin and orc legions, despite having a decided numerical advantage, were being routed. They had not the strength to stand against the vastly larger and stronger fighters. They fell by the hundreds.
The center and left continued in their stalemate for what seemed like hours, while the right gave ground. The center could not force the gates, and the left fought a bloody draw along and before the walls. Kirin engaged a monstrous elder dragon, a hundred feet long perhaps. The Ogrim Captain Bludd Axehed had summoned his honor guard to the top of the wall, where they engaged the second of the three elders. Where was the third?
When Darien turned again, the right was near collapse, and then high overhead, the third elder dragon appeared. He spun in the air, and plummeted down like a spear of living quicksilver. A plume of fire flared before the dragon, and it crashed down into a formation of goblins, led by Evis the Stormcaller. An attack on the commander, as expected. The impact crushed dozens, and the ground where the dragon landed was stained red. Goblin soldiers flew in all directions. Evis the Stormcaller hobbled away, alive but gravely injured. The elder pursued. Evis summoned a gale wind against the elder, and launched a flurried storm of lightning bolts into the dragon’s hide, only enough to slow the creature. A second later, the dragon breathed a plume of fire, and Evis disappeared into the fiery tempest. His death sent the orcs and goblins into a chaotic retreat. The right flank was collapsing.
But Darien had seen enough. He spurred his horse, Darkstar, towards the right. Within minutes, he had joined the battle. He found the small stream that ran down out of the fortress, and rode along it. The dragons noticed him quickly, and flew towards him, silver wings glimmering in the evening sun. The archers trained their arrows upon him, but he turned them away with gales of wind. They aimed fire for him, but he raised water from the stream into shields of ice, which hissed and melted as it shielded him from dragon’s fire. When the dragons stopped to regain their breath, he flung the remaining ice at them. Shards of ice pierced their hides, and ripped through their wings, sending many crashing to the ground. Then, the cycle repeated. He must have slain a dozen before they drew back.
His forces began to rally around him, cheering in their guttural language. The exhilaration of the moment filled Darien with power, a burning electricity that flared in his belly and tingled at the ends of his fingers. Darien was young, and strong, and filled with the thrill of battle. “Is that all?” he screamed at his enemy. “Have you no more lambs for me to slaughter?” Then it appeared, it flew in from the west, using the setting sun as cover. At least forty feet long, its silver scales and glimmering wings appeared as shadows silhouetted black against the setting sun, its mouth large enough to swallow a man whole, each tooth as long as a man’s forearm. Great curling bony horns rose above the beast’s eyes. The yellow eyes of the monster focused their slit pupils upon him, and he prepared himself.
Darien raised all the water in range, and everything that was in the air, into a truly massive shield of ice. The hot dry air burned his lungs as he prepared to face the attack.
The dragon hurtled towards him, belching fire. The shield held, and the dragon wheeled round for another pass. The ice was quickly melting, and the dragon launched an even more withering curtain of flame towards the young Shade. This time, the shield hissed and dissipated to steam, and he could not reform it. There was simply too much heat in the air to refreeze the steam, and he had exhausted the water of the stream. The dragon wheeled for a third time. This one would finish it, but the young Darien would not be defeated so easily.
The dragon moved more slowly now, gathering himself for the finishing blow, thinking the battle was over. As the torrent of flame cascaded down, Darien raised both hands against it, forming a shadow void large enough to gather the flames. The flames disappeared into swirling blackness, but their heat did not. He felt the flesh of his hands burning, but he set his jaw, and dug in his heels. If he released the spell now, he was dead. The pain rose higher in his body, as his hands blistered and seared. His arms and face now felt the flames as well, and still the assault continued. Finally, the flames relented just as the dragon flew over his position a final time. But this time, he hurled the shadow void with all his remaining magic power, and it struck the elder dragon at the base of its neck. The snakelike neck twisted as the churning void ripped flesh from flesh. The force flipped the dragon over entirely. The dragon’s head fell a few yards away, while it’s body flipped over and tumbled for perhaps thirty yards before skidding to a stop. A cloud of dust rose around the massive body of the beast.
Darien’s magic was spent, and the enemy was still around him. His chest heaved. The dry air burned with each breath. The burns to his hands were grievous, and he could not so much as draw his sword. This was it. He was going to die, his life had just begun, and he was going to die. He steeled himself, and looked his nearest enemy in the eye with fierce contempt. If he was going to die, he would die on his feet, defiant to the end, but death did not come. Instead, the dragons all around him lit upon the ground, and laid down their weapons.
In stunned silence, Darien watched as one after another, the dragons laid down their arms and retreated. He looked over toward the center. The largest elder dragon lay dead in the vicinity of Kirin’s position. Bludd Axehed stood atop a second elder, roaring and bellowing of his victory. The battle was over. The test was over, and they had passed. He had passed. He would live to raise the flag of the Master over the spire.
The dream faded into a hazy gray, but then Kirin stood before him, and smiled at him. The Hollow Eyed never smiled, but pride in his student had moved the immovable half-elf. Darien reached to shake the hand of his teacher, but it vanished into a swirling smoke, and Kirin was gone.
He floated in the empty darkness. Slowly, eerie gray shapes emerged against the black emptiness, slowly turning to recognizable forms. Then a sound, a curious plunking, water dripping, echoed in the darkness, irregular and almost musical. The room shifted into focus. He stood somewhere in the dungeons of Shade Castle, in a round room. The trickling water flowed down into the center of the room, then passed into a dark grate leading to some lower level.
He stood facing his Master, the Demon King, who towered over him. Two horns framed his great green serpent eyes, inches below the ceiling. His leathery skin was purple, pitted and scarred, unnatural, warped into a bestial hide. The Master looked somehow larger in this dream. Kirin stood a few yards away, to the right and behind the Master, with a most serious look on his face. Several other gray figures stood around the perimeter of the room. Out of the shadows, one large figure strode forward to stand on the Master’s left, a figure which immediately filled Darien with irrational dread. The man stood a few inches taller than Darien, but was perhaps twice as wide, and his massive girth must have made him at least a hundred pounds heavier. Muscles bulged out of his body, stretching his leather armor to the point of near breaking. The backs of his hands were hairy, like the hands of a great ape from the jungles of the south, and his skin was unnaturally pale, chalky white. His abundant dark hair ran down his back in thick braids. A beard and mustache covered his face. From beneath
it, he smiled, sharp, yellow teeth unnaturally sharpened like daggers. Even so, his eyes were more terrifying still if eyes they truly were. They looked more like empty holes where his eyes ought to have been. The pupils were sickly green points in the empty darkness. Darien recognized the dark figure immediately, Alistair the Abyss.
Darien looked down and saw the burn marks on his arm. This must have occurred soon after the Battle of Dragonspire. He was uncertain what was about to happen, but certain he didn’t want to see it. He tried to cry out, or do something to wake himself, but nothing happened.
It was the Demon King who spoke first. “Darien the Executioner, your deeds at the Battle of Dragonspire have been questioned. You were sent as an observer, and were ordered not to engage in combat by your superior. Kirin, this is true?”
“It is, Master,” Kirin answered grimly, his voice emotionless.
“In the Order of the Shade, initiative is rewarded, but this goes beyond initiative. Your actions were courageous, brave, dare I say, heroic.” The low booming voice of the Demon King was laced with scorn. “Initiative is rewarded, glory seeking is not. There is no place for heroes in my service. I require only soldiers, and soldiers understand their place. You, I fear, have grown too confident in your abilities.” A few chuckles could be heard around the room.
“I only live for your glory, Master,” Darien heard his younger voice speak in tremulous gulps. “I sought no glory, only victory. Only the success of our mission.”
“Silence!” the Master bellowed. “Your mission is defined by your orders, and you exceeded both your authority and your place.”
“Please, forgive me, Master,” Darien begged. “Punish me that I might learn my lesson.”
“Yes, yes, perhaps, but later.” The Demon King waved his hand dismissively as he smiled a wicked smile. “There are many ways to teach lessons, and today, I will choose something more interesting. Since you seem so confident of your abilities, I think I shall put them to the test against a worthy opponent. You recognize Alistair, I assume.” Darien gulped, as terror filled his mind. “Alistair, kill him,” the Demon King declared and stood off towards the edge of the room.
“But Master, please,” Darien begged.
“If you live long enough, perhaps you will learn the price of pride.” The Master chuckled in his low, deathly cold tone.
Alistair had already drawn his sword, a greatsword as tall as himself. Darien was at a disadvantage. The room was too cramped to maneuver, and he could not match raw strength with the Abyss. He drew his own sword just in time to block a sweeping strike. The force of the blow knocked him sideways off his feet and into the outside wall. Before he could recover, his opponent came at him with a thrusting strike meant to skewer him. The blade pierced the stone of the wall, as Darien narrowly dodged.
Hoping that his massive opponent would be open for a moment while he removed his sword from the wall, Darien aimed a swift strike with his own longsword, aiming, ambitiously, to remove the giant’s head, but the green points of his eyes turned towards him, and he raised his hand from his sword far faster than Darien had believed possible. The beast grabbed the blade of the young half-elf’s sword, and lifted both sword and bearer over his head. Darien’s momentum carried him forward, and he crashed to the floor, disarmed. Alistair’s hand was bloodied by the sword, but he only laughed, licked the blood from his hands, and came forward to attack again with his own sword, which he had now removed from the wall.
With no sword to attack or block with, the young half-elf was reduced to dodging. He tossed a fireball at Alistair, but it simply burst impotently upon the Abyss’s shoulder. Darien froze the floor, which momentarily caused the giant to lose his footing, but he did not fall. It gave the desperate young half-elf a chance to produce his shadow void. He gave it all the magic his body and mind could muster, and thrust it toward his opponent. Alistair was not deterred, holding his own shadow void against Darien’s. A massive clash of energies shook the room, but the Abyss emerged undamaged.
A blindingly quick counterthrust tore through Darien’s shoulder between his neck and shoulder blade. Flesh tore, bone snapped, a spike of pain surged through him, but he kept his feet. The next strike came before he had a chance to recover, another wide sweeping strike. Darien tried to leap over it but the ceiling was too low, and the blade impacted his calf, shattering the bone, and flipping him onto his back. Had he not been airborne, the strike would have torn off his leg. He fell to the ground with a thud.
Unable to walk, he made a last attempt to save his life. He channeled an earth spell, and a spike of rock erupted from the floor, piercing the lower right leg of the Abyss. This immobilized his opponent momentarily, and he used the moment to launch more earth spikes. A second pierced his opponent’s right leg, but Alistair blocked the third spike aimed at his chest. Alistair then buried his sword into the ground, channeling his magic through it. Darien’s own magic was overcome, and dozens, perhaps hundreds, of tiny needles of rock pierced his body, then withdrew leaving bloody holes behind them.
His lifeblood oozed out onto the floor, mixing with the trickle of water, and lazily meandering towards the open grate. It was over. Darien let go, he did not fight, he accepted death, his muscles relaxed, and all tension disappeared. He thought of his mother, and hoped to be with her soon.
Alistair raised the blade. Darien looked up into the sharp edge of the massive blade, the point of the weapon was positioned to impale his skull. Such good fortune, it will be over in an instant. He shut his eyes and awaited the end, expecting an instant of pain, then nothing.
“Enough!” the voice of the Demon King declared abruptly. Darien opened his eyes, and saw the Master standing over him. Alistair had stood aside. “I believe the boy has learned his lesson, and he has looked into the face of death without fear. Arise, Darien the Executioner, and join the dead who walk among the living. Rise, and take your place as a true Shade.”
Darien summoned all of his strength to rise up. His body was weak, and in pain from the injuries. Blood continued to seep from the wounds left by the rock needles. His right leg had broken just above the ankle, and his shattered collarbone screamed with pain. Yet, he was alive, and he was a Shade. He managed to get to his knees, and remained kneeling at his Master’s feet.
“Master, praise your infinite mercy. I shall never disappoint you. I live and die at your command.” The exhausted voice of the young Darien declared. His fractured consciousness struggled against the dream. The Demon King, Alistair, and Kirin blurred and faded to gray shapes, before disappearing back into the darkness.
Then fire exploded around him, and he was alone in an ocean of black sulfurous smoke. In the smoke, a shape began to form, rolling aside the veil and parting the smoke. It was another elder dragon, but twisted, warped, colored a muddy brown, with sickly green swirling patterns upon its back. It opened its eyes, but they were empty like Alistair’s, filled with an impenetrable inky blackness. The dragon opened its mouth, and belched an eerie green fire towards him. He raised his hands to shield himself, but there was no chance to stop this attack. He felt the heat, and then fell into darkness.
Darien bolted upright in the camp. Geoffray and Oswald were still taking their turn on the watch. They turned towards him quickly, hearing his sudden jostling.
“Is everything alright?” a half concerned and half fearful Oswald asked.
“Yes, yes I’m fine. Only a dream.”
“Dreams of fire and death.” The deep rolling voice of Skarn sounded from the darkness a few yards away. Apparently the half-dragon was already awake. “Rewards of past victories, that great warriors may relive their glory in sleep. I am envious, for I have had few chances for glory myself. Perhaps I shall find some in your company.”
“If you remain in my company long enough,” Darien acknowledged, “that is nearly certain.” Though his turn was yet an hour or so off, Darien relieved Oswald and Geoffray, and took up a position with Skarn, watching the empty darkness for any sign of
movement. Though he was not foolish enough to say so, Darien would gladly have given Skarn the nightmares of his past life. Most would not seem nearly as glorious as the Battle of Dragonspire.
Chapter 32: Revelations in the Desert
They started early the next day. Just after dawn Darien woke the members of the party. They packed quickly, and resumed the trek north with Skarn leading the way, confidently leading through the borderlands between the Scoured Hills and the desert.
Darien again paid careful attention to the arrangement of the party. He wanted to keep Traiz close to Rana, and Jerris away from Nia. He placed Oswald and Geoffray just behind him, followed by Tobin and Jerris, then Ceres and Niarie, with Traiz and Rana at the rear.
As the day passed, Darien ruminated on his suspicions once again. Rana and the Grandmaster owed one another nothing, and did not know each other before they met in Trinium a few weeks ago. Yet, she had been sent as a personal representative. Some sort of exchange could have taken place, Darien reasoned, but what was exchanged? Rana might have wanted a weapon to use against him, but what did the Grandmaster want in return? Information, the location of Kadanar, perhaps he wanted the Demon Sword for himself.
Niarie was also suspect. Just why was she instructed to learn about me? What is her grandfather after, and why send her? She seems harmless, even incompetent, but could it be an act? The likeliest possibility is an enchantment of observation, placed upon her, so that someone can track her position. If the Demon King wants to set another trap for me like last year with Avirosa the Wraith, it would be a simple and effective method.
Just as the day before, almost no one spoke. Traiz attempted to engage Rana in conversation, but was continuously rebuffed. Geoffray had been mostly quiet since he’d lost his spar with Rana, but the man seemed to have a more relaxed bearing. He seemed to have finally dropped his contemning hostility, at least outwardly, and he seemed more focused on scanning the horizon. It seemed as good a time as any to gauge the Shield Knight’s changed manner. After all, Geoffray was the second most experienced fighter here. With battle a real possibility from this point onward, prudence dictated an assessment of the Shield Knight’s reliability. Darien rode his horse over to the knight, who watched him closely.