“Yes, Catherine Stonehelm,” he answered. “I believe.”
She sighed in relief. “Good.” She bent down and wiped away a mound of snow at their feet. “Then perhaps you had best take this,” and as she stood, in her hand, was the black and ivory wand. “It’s dangerous to go without it.”
The very foundations of Michael’s core were shaken at the revelation before him. He stared at the wand for many heavy moments before slowly reaching out and grasping the hard wood and steel handle. He held it to his face and could see no mark or blemish upon it. He closed his eyes and brought the wand to his ears as Bruce was oft to do. A soft smile broke across his face. He opened his eyes and stared at the dwarf, confused and bewildered, before breaking out into uncontrollable laughter.
“Did you know this was here the whole time?” he asked in between loud, gasping laughs.
“Well, I had a feeling,” she replied, her knowing and loving face beaming at him in the bright moonlight.
Michael chuckled at her words. “You say that a lot, you know that?”
Chapter 26
The Vision
Michael ran hard through the remains of the ruined village. The snow churned and flew to and fro underneath his feet as he ran. A nearby pack of deer, finally returning to the land after the horrific battle, bolted at the sight of him. His lungs were on fire as he hopped into one of the vast trenches where the snow and ice had not had a chance to pack in. His will and his desire compelled his less than stellar physical ability to rise to their level, and he ran on harder and faster.
He no longer felt the pain in his leg. No longer felt exhausted in his muscles and his soul. No longer felt the pain of sorrow and despair. There was a chance now to save his friends. His friends who had sacrificed so much for him and their country. He would not let their sacrifices be in vain.
The wind whipped through the lanes of tents so hard it made his eyes start to tear up and burn, but he didn’t care. He reached the large tent in the center of the formation, startling the slumbering guards outside. He raced inside, bringing the two men inside to their feet with a start. They both had instinctively reached their swords until their eyes adjusted to the shape of the Mage.
“What is it, Michael?” the emperor asked, relaxing at the sight of the Mage.
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze had fallen on his slumbering companions on the heavy cots at his feet. After a moment, he turned his attention to the emperor. And out of his robes, revealed his wand for the men to see.
The emperor studied the Mage for a moment and said, “I thought you lost the wand during the battle.”
“I did, Your Majesty,” Michael replied, bringing the ebony wand down to his side.
Trevin thumbed the hilt of his sword. “Then how is it you have it now?” Trevin asked suspiciously.
But the young Mage grew desperate and frustrated. He didn’t have time to explain how he reacquired the wand even to his lord and emperor. Now was the time to put it to work. His friends were on the brink of death, and only he could bring them back.
Michael studied his companions. His mind and heart hardened and focused as it did before the battle. His eyes narrowed, and his breathing slowed. He looked at the two men in front of him and gave and curt nod in response. “My lords. I shall explain everything in due time. But for now, if I may speak plainly, leave me alone.”
The finality of his words hit the two men with the power of a warhammer to the chest. They could see the young Mage meant business. That he meant to unleash his power and would do so regardless of their worries or not. After many tense minutes, the emperor nodded and removed his hand from the hilt of his sword.
Michael held the wand away from his chest, and with a simple word, a bright ethereal light burst to the tip of his wand. The two men in the tent recoiled and shielded their eyes from the light. But after a few moments, they could see that Michael had now begun to spin the wand in small circles.
The light started to throb, and each small pulse of light bid the spell to grow larger and larger until it nearly filled the entirety of the tent. Michael continued circling the wand until the light burst out of the tent's seams and small windows. Soldiers and knights from around the vast encampment gathered outside, eager to see the magic within.
After a minute or so, Michael began to utter a quiet incantation. And with a mighty thrust, pointed the wand to the two sleeping figures before him.
The light struck their bodies and grew to immeasurable size and beauty, bathing them all in its radiating power. Michael felt his limbs restored to their former strength, and the dull pain in his leg subside. His spirits soared with happiness. Surely if he felt healed and rejuvenated from the side effects of the spell, then his companions would be completely restored.
The light receded into the tip of his wand, returning the camp to darkness. No one outside the tent, not even the emperor’s own bodyguards, dared to move into the tent. The candlelight that had illuminated the tent returned, as the two men stared awestruck at the power such a young man had channeled. They both realized that young Michael, who had been near death in the far north, had grown mighty in his magic. A small fear grew inside Trevin, but it was all for naught as Michael moved to his companion’s side in an instant.
“Tiberius,” he whispered. “Tiberius, it's me.” In the dim light, he could easily see that his wounds were mended, yet he did not wake nor even stir.
He turned to the Dragoon and said, “Shayla? Shayla, it's Michael. Please say something.” But just as Tiberius next to her, she made no movement.
Michael rose and held the wand again in front of him. He repeated the words more vigorously than before, twirled the wand faster and longer, growing the light so large it filled the tent completely. He hurled the spell towards them with such force that the tent's flap flew open and sent the emperor and Trevin to the ground. He held the light on them longer than before, hoping that the renewed power would surely be enough. But again, after the intense, fiery light finally dissipated, his friends did not stir.
“Michael,” the emperor said softly, standing again. “Perhaps it is best if…”
“No!” Michael cut in. “No! I will not quit! This worked before! It has to work again!”
For a third time, he repeated the healing ritual. However, this time, the spell grew so large and magnificent the tent's walls were ripped apart and sent flying. The warriors of the empire outside staggered backward with their hands held to their eyes. Each startled and confused at the near daylight that seemed to radiate in front of them. A few of the sentinels had regained their senses, and with swords drawn, prepared to advance on the Mage. But they were immediately waved off by the emperor.
Michael continued reciting the incantation as he twirled the wand in larger and larger circles. His voice grew quicker and louder to match his desperation until he found himself shouting at the top of his lungs. The light grew so large it engulfed the entirety of the empire’s camp. Such was the power Michael wielded that the wounded who were suffering in their own tents around them were healed and rejuvenated. All as if nothing had happened to them. At last, he directed the power to his friends. A great boom echoed out into the night.
A mighty crack belted out as if a raging storm had burst overhead. The ground beneath them began to rumble and shift. The very air seemed to be sucked out into the night, and Michael felt great heaps of sweat falling down his face and arms. The light in the middle began to slowly shift and swirl in on itself. Michael became fixated on it, determined to see and understand what was happening as he continued to hold it firm over his friends. Slowly, the light started to take the shape of a swirling vortex in front of them. Michael locked eyes with it, somehow knowing he was soon to witness a new vision.
The swirling brightness began to take shape. And, to his mortal mind, Michael appeared to be looking through a window into a beautiful green field against a fiercely blue sky. From within the light, he could see a great man twice the size of the mighty Tyg
ahl locked in a violent struggle with what appeared to be an enormous serpent. His muscles strained and burst out of his body as he wrestled and pummeled the great snake.
No, not a snake, Michael realized. That’s a dragon. A gods damned mighty and terrible dragon the size of the Unity Spire.
His mind raced, trying desperately to make sense of what he was seeing. He continued to gaze inside the light watching as this desperate struggle between the man and the dragon raged on.
The mighty beast unfurled its wings and tried to take to the sky in escape. But his foe quickly grabbed hold of his razor-sharp forked tail and swung him back to the ground. The dragon reared its great head in anger and expelled an endless stream of blue fire out of his mouth. The fire engulfed the beautiful green pasture they struggled in, yet nothing in this land seemed to burn.
Michael continued to stare in disbelief. What is this place? What is going on?
“Do you believe!?” a powerful voice like an earthquake called out.
Michael turned away from the image, and standing firm and strong in the row of tents behind him was Catherine, the dwarf. She locked eyes with him and began to amble towards Michael. Behind her marched her dwarven warriors, each without the armor they had worn before. They came with smiles on their faces and with hearts full and eyes bright and clear. They formed a semicircle behind Michael. After a brief word from Catherine in their ancient tongue, they held their arms out as if children begging for their parent.
“What is this!?” Michael bellowed over the deafening roar of the spell.
“Do you believe!?” Catherine bellowed in response, her mighty voice adding to the cacophony of noise that pierced his ears.
Michael returned his gaze to the battle. The great man was again wrestling the dragon as hard and as furiously as possible. Still, he appeared to be making no headway in the fight against the winged beast.
Suddenly, from within the flaming image, he heard a horn blast so mightily that it rang out past the sound of the spell. Michael became suddenly aware that all the rangers around him, even the emperor himself, were on their feet. They gazed hard at the moving picture in front of them before each of them, the emperor being the first, had taken a knee in reverence.
From within, Michael saw a tall man dressed in brown and grey leathers seated atop a great war-horse emerge over a distant hill. A vast host of soldiers followed behind him, each clad in armor of assorted colors and designs. The figure approached the battling foes with such regality and majesty that he seemed to exude utter command and authority. He dismounted his horse and strode towards the battle ahead. Michael studied his face, knowing that somehow, he recognized this man though he had never seen him before.
From his waist, the majestic looking warrior drew his sword. Michael’s eyes widened, and his mind clicked everything into place. The man was holding Tiberius’ sword aloft. The blade of the emperors. It was The Spirit of the Warrior himself. It was Alexander Axton, the founder of the empire. With Catherine’s words echoing in his ears, he finally began to understand what he was witnessing.
There was the Dragon King Kazduhl, mighty and terrible to behold. His impossibly large black body and thick neck with scales as sharp as razors locked in mortal strong with the dwarves Father, Frijigzah. The Warrior, the totem and symbol of the Rangers and the Axton bloodline with his mighty sword coming to enter the fray. He was inhumanly fast, weaving in and around the beast’s claws and tail just as Tiberius and his rangers were oft to do themselves in the heat of battle. His mighty sword thrust out all over the dragon’s body, sending it screaming and thrashing in pain. The Father now pressed his strength on it. Even though he was but a child compared to the size of the dragon, his strength was nearly overpowering to it.
Tears formed in Michael’s eyes at the magnificence the three radiated. He thought to look away, wishing to respect the sight of the mighty gods at war. Yet all around him, the faces of men and dwarves and dragoons were staring at the image.
The image began to fade now, growing dimmer and dimmer as the healing spell slowly began to disappear. The crowd around Michael started to draw closer to him, hoping to catch some fleeting glance of the battle inside it. Finally, the light faded, and silence as thick as ice hung in the air. With a quick glance around the camp, Michael could see that all the empire's assembled warriors were crying at what they had just witnessed.
He lowered his wand and looked to the two men standing beyond his companions. Though they were bound in love to Tiberius, they were both men of the rangers. And both of those men were struck still at the sight of The Warrior himself. Michael returned his attention to his companions, dropped his wand in the snow, and rushed to their side.
He knelt between them, closed his eyes, and held both of their hands as hard as his would allow. He began to pray to the gods of his homeland that his spell had worked, and his friends would wake. He began to pray to the Father and to The Warrior, and to the Dragon King to return his friends to the mortal world again. He swore that he would always protect them. That he would never abandon them to darkness and despair. That he would see their quest and oaths fulfilled. That, given the chance, he would lay down his life a hundred times over for theirs. He heard the soft crunching of snow at his side. He knew who it was without having to look.
Catherine bent at the waist and placed a hand on each of his companion’s heads. Like Michael, she too began to also pray in the tongue of the dwarves. She prayed that the Father and Warrior would prove victorious against the dragon to release his hold over Shayla. She prayed The Warrior would grant favor to his son Tiberius and allow him to return to battle in his name once again. She prayed the Father would bless this land that had been cursed by evil and bless the sacrifices of his children to defend their adopted homeland.
“You don’t have to squeeze so hard,” a weak voice whispered.
Michael shot his eyes open. Trevin and the emperor rushed to his side. “Ti?” Michael said shakily.
“Only two people call me Ti,” the weak voice replied. “And I love them both more than anything else under the sun or moon.”
The emperor fell on his son and began to quietly sob into his chest. Trevin stood where Catherine had and began to slowly run his bare brown hands over his lover’s scalp. Michael turned to Shayla now and examined her face. The scars she had born on her olive-skinned face were gone. Her broken bones were mended and strengthened. He heard another quiet crunch of snow and saw Mychala bend down to her fellow Dragoon. She began to run her hand through Shayla’s hair and started to quietly hum the song of their people, hoping the tune would lead her back home.
“Shayla,” Michael whispered. “Please come back to us, brave knight. Please, daughter of Kazduhl. Please.”
He felt her body stir under his hand, and his breath caught in his throat. Slowly her whole body began to shiver, forcing her to gradually roll over to her side and ball up as if a sleeping child. The brave dragon knight opened one eye and looked at the Mage, and a slow smile formed on her beautifully tanned face.
“Thank you, Michael. Thank you.” She closed her eyes again and was fast asleep on the cot.
Michael chuckled quietly to himself and slowly removed his robe to drape over her. Mychala continued to slowly stroke her fellow Dragoon’s hair, faintly humming the dragon song. She locked eyes with the Mage and smiled softly at him.
“Thank you, Mage. Thank you for returning my sister to us.”
He nodded in reply and slowly stood. Suddenly becoming aware of all the people around him, he awkwardly turned and surveyed the empire's assembled men. Each of them wore a broad smile and nodded their heads in approval at the power of his magic. He quickly looked down, embarrassed at the sight of so many strong and hearty men paying respect to him at once.
“Hail, and well met Mage,” a deep but loving voice called. “And thank you.”
The assembled men turned to find the source of such a powerful voice, but only Michael knew who could have made such a tremendous sou
nd. He pushed through a small throng of people who did not even notice the presence of thirteen dwarves in their midst.
“Thank you for what, ma’am?” Michael asked Catherine.
With a soft touch on his arms, Catherine said, “It has been nigh on four hundred years since we witnessed the majesty of our Father in the beyond. Though his spirit and his will move in our world, our hearts are full to behold him again in all his grandeur.”
The dwarven warriors behind her slowly knelt to one knee, and in almost an arranged unison, began to chant in the deep throaty language of their people. The ground seemed to shake under the weight of their words. The powerful sound was carried out far away from the camp, echoing in the trees outside and deep into the snowcapped mountains.
They ceased their chanting, and the reverberations from their words hung heavy in the air around them. No one in the encampment moved. No one knew what to say after all they had just witnessed and heard until the emperor himself broke the heavy silence. He stood to his fullest height, discarded the heavy fur cloak that hung on his shoulders, and strode towards Catherine. He stood looking down upon her and her kin, examining their hard features for many heavy moments before kneeling to come face to face with her.
“Well met, daughter of Frijigzah,” he whispered.
“Well met, Your Majesty,” she replied with a small bow that was mirrored by her companions behind her. “I’m sure you have many questions, and I perhaps can give you many answers. But I pray, Your Majesty, sleep and slumber peacefully tonight. My kin and I have matters of our own to attend to tonight. There will be time enough for words before the next cycle in the things to come.”
“What do you mean?”
“Things are in motion, your Majesty. Things in this world and in the world beyond. This is but the beginning of what is to come. But take heart, Luke Axton. All is not lost. If we are determined and clever and strong. All is not lost.”
She gave a low bow and turned to depart from the encampment with the dwarves at her back. All of the men watched them pass in silence, unsure of what her cryptic words meant but too tired to form any questions.
The Spirit of The Warrior: The Axton Empire book 1 Page 33