Asaph took in the sight of the towering mountains with their snow tips set against a deep blue sky, the glistening crystal-clear lake below surrounded by rich green meadow, and he nodded his head: this was the place of their magnificent rebirth.
The dragons had told him that, long ago, in Arc’s time, this place had been called Arc-Ralan, after the mighty wizard Ralan Afisius and the great dragon, Arc.
Now, the dragons called it Yis, meaning “dragon heart” in Dragon Speech. Here, the dragons had been reborn. Now was their time to live again. The Dragon Dream had gone but in its place they would have their sacred haven on Maioria.
Faelsun would be proud, he thought.
With another body shaking roar, he turned south, and the others followed.
Far below, at the base of the mountains, eight more dragons were visible. They would not come with him despite how he’d tried to convince them all to join the mighty battle—and what could be more glorious than a legion of dragons to make the Immortal Lord tremble? But the dragon race was still weak, and it was true that they were needed here to gather the others.
Asaph still sensed reluctance and distrust within those who had not fought alongside him at Avernayis. And why should they trust him? He, a Dragon Lord, the very same as those who had become Dromoorai and turned upon and destroyed their own kind.
Morhork had not been seen since their fight. He’d given up trusting the wingless dragon.
The green oasis of Yis disappeared behind him and the world turned into frigid ice sheets and towering mountains of snow. He felt the minds of Garna, Pennarc and Rust linked to his own. Just having the connection was teaching him many things—things a Dragon Lord should have known decades ago.
The wind itself carried messages, such as how far away winter or summer was, or when the next snow fall would come. He now instinctively knew how high he was, how far ahead the ocean lay, and a hundred minor things that had become second nature to him.
He sighed, feeling a deep sense of belonging for the first time in his life. If only Coronos were with him to share in that feeling. As soon as Issa was by his side, there remained only one thing left for him to do: retake Drax. Fire rumbled in his belly.
Like the great Dragon Legions of old, we will descend upon Drax and wrench it from the Immortal Lord’s grasp!
2
Myth of Myths
Jarlain paused and looked back over her shoulder for the hundredth time.
It had only taken a day to get to The Centre on Fenn’s back, but now the elderly, the young, and the injured made it painfully slow going on the return journey. The night was also overcast and very dark to make matters even worse.
Already, Shufen’s arrows and Tarn’s knife had taken down two death hounds that had ambushed them in the dark; they were easy prey with their torch beacons in the forest. There had been a third, but it had escaped and run off into the forest.
Jarlain noted the odd behaviour. Usually they fought to the death, they never fled. No one spoke aloud what they all felt—that it had run off to get others. Everyone was tired, uneasy, and jumpy, but she refused them rest.
Fenn gave a low growl. He was sick of the slow speed too.
‘It’s a wonder you humans survive anything,’ was all he said when they stopped yet again to wait for everyone to catch up. Jarlain pursed her lips and adjusted her helmet. At least the night gave respite from the heat of the sun, though she was still sweating under her armour. She decided to stop here and wait for daybreak.
Hours later, dawn broke; thick golden rays burst through the rich green canopy of the jungle. Her vantage point on a rocky hill looked out over the vastness of the forest—her home. She sighed, wishing she were here for good. Apart from the swathes of blackened, destroyed earth along the coast, the enemy had ultimately done little to hurt this endless land. She did not allow herself to hope though. It would not stay that way. Larger countries than hers had fallen to the Immortals.
She arched her back and stretched her sore muscles. They had made it through the night alive, and for that she gave thanks to Woela. Behind her, the others wearily stirred from their far too brief sleep.
‘How long, Fenn?’ Jarlain asked the bear as he returned from the stream.
He sniffed the air, finding his answers there before speaking. ‘An hour, maybe more if we stop.’
‘We cannot stop. I have the awful feeling we’re not going to get out of here without a fight,’ she said.
He growled.
Their journey became easier as Fenn led them downhill along a gentle slope. Jarlain glanced behind. The long line of people, all of whom were carrying weapons, looked tired, but there was a determined set to their expressions.
Soon they heard the sound of the sea rushing against the shore. Hushed cheers spread, and relief washed over Jarlain. She hurried forwards but as she ran the ground shifted beneath her feet, making her stumble. Everything fell silent and an odd sensation filled the air. Fenn pushed his nose into her hand but she could barely feel or see him as numbness spread over her. He was coming to recognise when the Hidden Ones brought her visions.
She tried to control herself by sitting before she fell, but reality had already shifted. She heard that awful scream in her mind, the one that nearly made her lose control of her bladder. Her breathing came fast and shallow as the ground tumbled then righted itself. Great black shadows passed overhead. She looked up; many black dragons turned to her and roared torrents of flame.
‘Hurry,’ she screamed, her voice coming from far away. ‘They’re coming!’
Jarlain found herself slumped over Fenn’s back, her arm gripped gently in his mouth. The bear was desperately trying to keep her on his back as he rushed through the forest. She came around and hugged his neck, clinging on as the pounding in her head receded and her senses returned.
‘Too many to fight,’ said Fenn.
Blearily, she glanced behind her to see all the people running, terror on their faces. She didn’t dare look up. The dragon fear would take her when it came. The black dragons weren’t here yet, but even Fenn could feel them.
He came to a jolting stop just before they reached the exposed beach, staying under the cover of the trees. But trees were not going to protect them. Jarlain swung her legs off his back and stumbled to the ocean’s edge. A gust of wind and great screech coming from behind made her stagger. The boatman’s name was on her lips only to be ripped away by the dragon fear that coursed through her. Her legs shook and her bladder let go as she collapsed onto her knees.
Fenn roared. The bear’s dragon fear made her own more potent. Flames and immense heat burst in front of her and sprayed the trees. She couldn’t run or even turn her head to look back.
Call the boatman! Her mind yelled at her. The screams of her people cut through the grip of dragon fear. Kneeling on the wet sand she held her hands high and forced the words out.
‘Murlonius!’ she screamed three times.
Her whole body trembled as she pushed herself onto one knee, then the next, and finally to a standing position. She reached behind her back and pulled her spear free. It seemed to take an age. She turned in time to see the jungle become engulfed in thick orange flames. Fenn was locked in a struggle with a Foltoy, the undead beast’s fur already slick with black blood.
A howl of battle rage escaped her throat and she forgot about the thickening mist spreading over the ocean behind her as she lunged to help Fenn.
The Foltoy slid off her spear and Fenn whirled to face the next. Huge black shapes passed overhead, darkening the ground, and the jungle was alive with the howls of Foltoy and death hounds.
Something hard slammed into her, hurling her several feet into the air. Dazed and winded, she rolled out of instinct, narrowly missing the black axe that smacked into the white sand just in front of her face.
Jarlain jumped up, flinching at the contorted, ugly, grey face of her attacker. She dodged its blade again and slammed her spear straight through its pale eye. It howle
d and sunk to its knees, black blood oozing down its face.
Panting heavily, she wrenched her weapon free and took in the impossible sight before her. The forest was alive with the enemy and at least four Dread Dragons flew overhead. There was no hope.
She glanced to the ocean and was struck by the picture of calm. Standing in his boat was Murlonius with Yisufalni just behind him. The sky beyond had turned orange with the sunrise and the glass-like sea mirrored the boat and boatman perfectly. Around them drifted a glowing pale mist. Neither of the Ancients moved, they seemed like statues, an island of serenity in the bloody chaos of battle. Then, he beckoned.
‘Get to the boat!’ Jarlain screamed.
Fenn heard. He crunched his jaws, finishing off the death hound and tossed the body aside. Standing on his hind legs, he gave a mighty roar.
Jarlain ran towards him, screaming again and again, ‘Everyone, get to the boat!’
A moment passed where nothing happened other than the sounds of screams and clash of weapons, then waves of wounded, panicking people hurtled out of the forest towards the ocean. They splashed and fell, frantic to reach the boat.
A death hound bounded out of a bush and clamped its jaws down on Jarlain’s spear arm. Her metal bracers creaked between its powerful jaws as it yanked left and right. She pulled her knife free and plunged it into the base of its skull. The undead dog shivered and fell.
She looked ahead and laughed. Murlonius’ boat had expanded to fit the hundred or so people already in it. Yisufalni constantly lifted her arms and an unseen power lifted people from the ocean.
Jarlain glanced back. Bloodied bodies floated in the water and were scattered on the beach. Red blood on white sand. Still, people streamed out of the flaming forest, some on fire, all harried by death hounds and Maphraxies. Not everybody was going to make it. What if the Immortals attacked the boat? The thought made her stomach turn. She couldn’t let that happen.
The Maphraxies hesitated at the water’s edge as if they did not want to get a foot wet. Jarlain watched, curious.
‘Get to the water!’ Murlonius screamed. ‘They won’t follow you into the sea!’
She glanced back at Yisufalni. The Ancient held out her six-fingered hands, palms down, her eyes glowing vivid blue.
A dark shadow covered the sun as a Dread Dragon swooped low over the water. Not five yards away from her the giant jaws of a Dread Dragon clamped down upon those in the water. She stared at its huge, blood-red eye that was larger than her head, the slit of its pupil narrowing as it focussed on her, and her heart skipped a beat. The muffled screams of people came from inside its mouth. The dragon clenched its jaw, silencing the howls within, and lifted into the air. Jarlain shook uncontrollably.
Something clanged loudly against her helmet, then she felt an intense pain and fell forwards into the water.
Yisufalni’s strength drained quickly. It took all of her power and concentration to keep their presence at once hidden from the Maphraxies yet still visible to the people they were trying to rescue. Murlonius could not assist her, consumed as he was with keeping the connection to Maioria open, the boat steady, and the sea calm. She sensed this was the most dangerous mission he had so far conducted. She couldn’t imagine it being any worse.
The doomed people were surrounded on all sides by Immortals. Their only hope was the sea, and Yisufalni poured the Flow into it. Maphraxies hated water, something to do with energy of the substance. To them it was toxic. The purity of the Flow was also toxic to them, its high frequency poisonous to those who existed in the low, dark frequencies. The enemy would not go into the water unless they were pushed. And there they would die.
But she could not protect them from the Dread Dragons. They swooped and attacked with ease, picking up people in their jaws and claws. Yisufalni looked at one, its dead eyes filled with hunger, whilst its rider’s gaze blazed within a metal face. She tried not to give in to hate, not now whilst she held the Flow. Hate would weaken her and muddy the pure energy she channelled.
Some people reached the boat and she lifted them in with her magic. They collapsed in the hull in exhaustion. The boat stretched to accommodate them as each one entered.
Yisufalni glimpsed Jarlain fighting alongside Fenn. She held her spear up and was screaming at the people. The brave Navadin had come last, commanding strength and power like the people of old. She already was a leader, Yisufalni smiled. The Flow jerked, and her smile dropped.
Emerging from the trees walked a man. A normal, human man—only dark, inhuman, power surrounded him. He was not a Maphraxie but he had the black aura of one who has tasted Sirin Derenax; one who had lost his humanity long ago. His piercing eyes spoke of intelligence without empathy. His grey hair was smoothed back, accentuating deep widow’s peaks and his face was long and gaunt. He moved slowly, completely controlled in a world of chaos.
Yisufalni held her breath as he looked straight at her. She froze. He can’t see me, he can’t! But the man looked on and then slowly, deliberately, raised his arm. Something glinted in his hand. Danger prickled her back. To do anything to protect herself from a direct attack—or to attack back—would immediately drop their cover.
Fenn moved fast. The bear’s jaws closed upon the man’s arm just as something fired from the device. A metal dart shot forth, she saw it clearly. The dart was off course; it would not hit her. But it was on course for another. Yisufalni stared at the trajectory towards Jarlain. The Navadin did not see it and there was no time for warning—to help her would reveal themselves fully and risk all the people they had saved.
Yisufalni raised her hand, formed the will to command the magic, and flicked her fingers forwards. A solid knot of shimmering air burst from her fingers and slammed into Jarlain. It knocked her into the water and continued straight into the grey man. The force tore him from Fenn’s grasp, leaving the man’s leather bracer in the bear’s mouth. Their shield was gone. The next moments became a whir of chaos.
Fenn spat out the man’s bracer and bounded into the water to where Jarlain had sunk under the weight of her armour. The Dread Dragons above turned to their new enemy. People still poured out of the jungle.
‘Oh, woe,’ she heard Murlonius whisper.
Yisufalni closed her eyes and focused the mass of energy that was the Flow.
The Maphraxies were black shapes moving through the living green of the forest. The red spots fleeing between them were the auras of terrified people. Energy gathered around the grey man getting onto his feet and the Flow avoided him. Fenn was a large ball of copper light and Jarlain’s aura was faint beside him.
Yisufalni lifted her hands and drew large shapes of power in the air. With a word, the Flow exploded outwards. Dread Dragons scattered, Maphraxie hordes and their death hounds sprawled. Only the people remained unaffected.
Yisufalni drew her arms together, shouting words in the Ancient Tongue. The Flow obeyed and the magic she had thrown out now rushed back towards her, picking up and carrying all the people who still had an aura.
Murlonius entered the Flow, a beautiful aura of purple in her maelstrom of magic. He lifted them all and she felt herself withdrawing from Maioria. The black shapes disappeared and the taint of the Under Flow vanished. Yisufalni let go of the Flow, feeling as if she floated back down into the boat. Exhausted, she let herself drift in a sea of magical energy.
Jarlain awoke to a large, wet tongue draping over her face. It gave a long lick from cheek to cheek.
‘Fenn, stop!’ she tried to sound annoyed but her voice was a rasp.
The bear stopped and dunked his snout into a bucket of water where he proceeded to drink noisily. He was caked in blood, both black and red, and his ear was ripped and oozing. Jarlain tried to sit up but slumped back instead. A middle-aged woman with lighter skin and hair than her own people took a cloth to the bear and inspected the ear. Jarlain wondered if she was Kuapoh but didn’t want to rasp again. Fenn flinched at the woman’s touch, then got into the idea and relaxed.
&n
bsp; Jarlain tried to get her bearings, though she couldn’t see much past Fenn and the woman. She lay in the bottom of a huge boat that rocked gently and was surrounded by sleeping people. Above, the sky was a strange blanket of white though there was no sun that she could see. She rubbed her face and her hand came away bloody. Her fingers found the rough fabric of a bandage around her head.
‘The bleeding has mostly stopped. Your bear was just cleaning you,’ a familiar old woman’s voice said then chuckled.
‘Sharnu?’ Could it really be the Elder? Jarlain tried to sit again but her battered body protested. ‘Is it really you?’
The brown, wrinkled face of the old woman smiled down at her. Jarlain realised then that her head was cradled in the Elder’s lap. Tears filled both their eyes and the old woman bent to hug her.
For a long moment they stayed like that. There was nothing to say, each knew everything that had come to pass and all that had been lost.
‘Tarn’s gone,’ whispered Sharnu gently after a time.
Jarlain took a breath and swallowed against the pain of losing her half-brother. She hugged the Elder closer. So much pain, so many had been lost. She dedicated herself to protecting those who remained. Those around her in the boat.
It was the soft groaning growl from Fenn that drew them apart.
‘Now stop it you big wuss,’ said the pale woman tending his ear. She had a needle and thread and was attempting to sew up his wound. ‘The lotion will numb the area and you won’t feel a thing.’
‘It’s all right, Fenn,’ Jarlain said.
‘It hurts. The lotion doesn’t work,’ he growled.
‘Ah, Jarlain, you have awoken in us the gift of the Navadin. You are the first but the gift will spread and awaken within us all.’ Sharnu spoke telepathically, startling both Jarlain and the bear.
War of the Raven Queen: The Goddess Prophecies Fantasy Series Book 6 Page 2