“But…”
“Not now,” Ja’tar said, as his head shot up. He reached across and kicked Rua’tor’s foot. “Get up! The dragons come.”
Rua’tor groaned and rolled over. “How did you sleep?” he asked.
“You already asked me that. The answer is the same…”
Rua’tor grunted, not remembering that he had already been awake and talked to Ja’tar that morning. He must be getting old.
“But to elaborate; no, the girl didn’t visit. I find it curious—that was the first night in decades that I can remember her not visiting. My night was still a bit restless with visions from the dragons. I am too close to Voltaire. My bond to her is too strong for me to block out her dreams.”
“Well then, see—maybe it is good for you to get out of the Keep once in a while…”
Ja’tar’s face got serious and he blurted out. “Maybe she is in the Keep?”
“Who?”
“The girl in the dreams. Maybe she is trapped somewhere in the Keep.”
Rua’tor frowned. “That makes no sense. Who could she be?”
Ja’tar frowned. “Who knows, but nothing else makes sense either.”
Rua’tor shook his head. “So did you say dragons are on their way?”
Ja’tar threw his cloak over his shoulders and clenched it tight, shivering from the bitter cold. He grabbed his staff and ducked out of the entrance to the ice-cave, stepping past the magical curtain that kept the cold out.
Before he started his chants, he took a deep breath; he was filled with trepidation, pondering how things had gotten so out of hand. He shoved his staff deep into the snow, freeing up both hands. There was no sense in dillydallying so he quickly moved his hands in patterns mastered centuries ago and wove a dome of protection over their small refuge. The weave came to him. He shifted his vision and watched the pattern form a tight net over the area; strands of air and water crisscrossed forming the weave.
Satisfied, he paused and looked to the north. There, just barely visible, he saw three small specks high in the air above the peaks. The Guardians were on their way.
He ducked back into the snow-cave to find Rua’tor sitting on the floor, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He eyed the bread, cheese and sausage that Ja’tar had laid out for him.
Ja’tar reached down, grabbed a chunk of bread and tossed it to Rua’tor. “You need to eat quickly and get moving. The dragons are on their way. They’ll be here in ten minutes or so—you don’t have much time.”
Rua’tor caught it easily and took a big bite. “Are you expecting trouble?”
Ja’tar grinned. “What do you think?”
Mica sat quietly listening to the two wizards banter. She had never seen a dragon before, but she had heard stories. Bards sang of the great beasts in the pubs across the land. They had already been vanquished to the Spires by the time she was born. She had not been sure if they were real or myth.
Rua’tor’s head bobbed. “This is just like the old times…”
“I think you are remembering them more fondly than they deserve.”
Rua’tor grunted and shoved another big chunk of bread into his mouth and reached across the fire to snag more to eat. “Perhaps…”
Ja’tar stepped out of the snow-cave and looked to the north. The dots were larger now, identifiable as dragons. He stared intently, almost looking forward to the encounter.
Mica poked her head out of the cave. “Are they here yet?”
“Not yet. You’ll know when they get here.” Ja’tar said, rubbing his arms to warm himself.
Ja’tar felt his ears starting to tingle as frostbite set in. He cast a gentle warming spell inside of the shield and sighed as the warmth swept over him.
Mica stepped out of the cave and stood next to Ja’tar. She was still wearing the ultra-thin chemise, causing Ja’tar to gaze a bit more intently than he intended. Mica smiled to herself, so he was human after all.
It wasn’t more than a minute later when Rua’tor poked his head out. He held a hand to his eyes and squinted in the bright sunlight.
Ja’tar looked down at his mop-haired friend. “You might as well join us.”
Rua’tor grunted and crawled out of the cave, expending much effort. “Bloody hell! I’m getting too old for this shit!”
Ja’tar chortled, extending his hand to his friend.
Rua’tor pushed his hand roughly away and struggled to stand, using the wall of the cave for support. “My back is killing me. I think I kinked something last night.”
He brushed the snow crystals off his cloak before they could melt. This snow was coarse, and hurt his hands. It was more ice than snow; back home, they called it corn-snow.
Ja’tar pointed to the sky. “It won’t be long now. They’ve spotted us.”
Rua’tor could clearly see them now as they dipped in and out of the thin-veiled clouds. “Good.” He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s show them whose boss!”
Ja’tar set his hand on Rua’tor’s and pushed them down. “Let’s not. We are going to need their help.”
“But…”
“No buts. The shield will hold. They will eventually tire of the game. Then we will petition.”
Rua’tor raised a brow, but said no more.
Drag, the large blue, arrived first and bellowed a roar loud enough to cause the mountains to shake. A blast of flame swept over the group, following the contours of the shield. The shield steamed as the weave of water quenched the flame and the air diverted it to the sides. The snow all around the cave melted, leaving them on an elevated perch with deep trenches—almost a moat—surrounding them.
Rua’tor threw his hands over his ears. “By the gods!” he swore.
As soon as the blast passed, the water at the bottom of the trench iced over and turned solid. The dragon veered off to the left and circled around, preparing to make another pass.
The giant red was next. It swept down in a steep dive with talons extended and hit the shield just as Rua’tor covered his head and ducked down. Ja’tar stood tall and proud—staring the dragon in the eyes. It raked its claws over the top of the shield, grasping at thin air in frustration with its giant razor-sharp claws. It howled and roared in disappointment that the shield held. The shield rebounded and tossed the dragon to the side where it rolled heavily across the icy ground, its wings splayed to the sides as its face scraped across the ice. The impact shook the three and they struggled to maintain their balance.
The red stood and shook its head roughly, trying to clear its vision. It hopped twice and stood only feet away from the arrogant mage that was staring it down. It roared as it flexed open the gill-like structures in its neck. It took a deep breath and blew flames and smoke at the mage.
Ja’tar stood his ground. He could feel the heat even through the magic. He lifted his staff and pointed it at the dragon while it was in the midst of taking another deep breath. It growled and blasted…nothing…no flames, no smoke! Its eyes went wide in disbelief.
By this point, the green had arrived and was trying a different approach. It had swung over a debris field and grabbed a large boulder in its claws. It swung in low and released the boulder just before it veered off to the side, avoiding the dome of protection.
The boulder slammed into the shield, but barely caused it to quiver. The boulder simply made a small bounce and settled deep in the snow.
The blue slowly circled the protective shield, bumping it with her nose. Her face was only feet away from the mage. She wondered who this mage was that was so defiant. His magic was strong, that much she would grant him. She lowered her head and stared him in the eyes. He didn’t blink. There was no sign of fear.
“Who are you that dare trespass upon our lands?” she bellowed.
Ja’tar smiled. “I am Ja’tar, Keeper of the wizards of Havenhold.”
The blue’s eyes narrowed. “I have heard that name before. There was a Ja’tar centuries ago who took Voltaire as a familiar.”
“I am
he.”
The blue laughed loudly. “You wish… he was a god!”
Ja’tar smiled and shrugged. “You may escort me to Voltaire. She will vouch.”
“You do not appear to be a god…”
“Appearances can be…deceiving. You appear to be all powerful dragons.”
The red approached, pressing his face against the bubble. “Arrogant, this one is!”
“All men are arrogant,” nodded the green in agreement, throwing its nose into the air.
The blue looked over at Mica and sniffed, catching an unexpected scent. “Why is it you have a demon at your side, wizard?”
Ja’tar looked over at Mica. “She is my prisoner. She and her kind violated the Keep and attacked us.”
The red eyed the demon warily.
“I should think that you would wish leave and return to your Keep. Surely they require your skills.”
Ja’tar hung his head. “The battle has already been lost.”
Mica smiled; satisfied that she would be handsomely rewarded once she escaped and returned home.
“I demand audience. It is allowed under the Rotterdam pact. I paraphrase; the right for audience by the Keeper in time of need shall be allowed.”
“Don’t quote me the Rotterdam pact,” the red bellowed. “We have been bound in blood by its words for over a thousand years.”
“As have we…”
The red threw its head back in the air and shrieks at an ear shattering volume. “You know nothing of what we have given up.”
Ja’tar spat back. “And you know nothing of the cost the realms paid for your involvement at Ror.”
“Involvement against our will…”
“But involvement none the less…,” Ja’tar added.
Drag jumped to the air. “I tire of this wizard’s words, let us leave him here to die!”
The green looked to the red. “What say ye Argo?”
The red nodded for the dragons to go. The green spread his wings wide and pushed off with his powerful legs and took to the air. He circled the snow cave, gaining altitude, but did not return to the lair, choosing instead to wait for the red.
“I do not know if the elders will grant you audience, mage. I am not sure that they believe that there is need.”
“A dark mage has risen.”
This proclamation made the reds head jerk upward. She had not been privy to this news. She growled.
“Is it truth you speak?”
Ja’tar bobbed his head. “I’m afraid it is…”
The red walked near the cave and pressed her face against the shield, feeling the glow of the ancient magic. She eyed the mage and spoke softly. “I will deliver your message, wizard. What they chose to do is their right. You will need to cross the ice planes on your own if you wish this meeting. Beware, the ice is unstable. I’d hate to see some unfortunate calamity occur while you are on your journey!”
She cackled and jumped into the air, pumping her wings hard. In a matter of seconds, she was circling with the green. They veered off and headed north, back to whence they came.
Ja’tar stood, hands on hips, watching them go. “That went well!”
Rua’tor got back to his feet, “How can you jest at a time like this?”
“I do not jest.”
Rua’tor snorted. “You have a strange view of the world, old man.
Ja’tar lifted a brow. “Did you expect them to greet us with open arms after a millennia of solitude in this godforsaken place?”
Rua’tor frowned. “The red was angry.”
“They are all angry. They agreed to the pact to save their species. They were under the control of the dark ones, but they have so much magic and power, none of the races trusted them after the battles.”
Rua’tor snorted.
“Dragons are not the most particular when it comes to hunting when they are in the lust. It takes over; they become irrational.”
“So, what do we do now?”
Ja’tar waved his hand and the shield fell. “We travel north.”
Rua’tor looked at the mountains far off in the distance. “Are you kidding me?”
“No, we need to go there,” he said, pointing.
“Do you believe what they said about the ice?”
“I do,” Ja’tar said, smirking. “It’s probably a lot worse than they make it out to be.”
“Worse?”
“Almost certainly.”
“Oh, good!” Rua’tor grumbled. “I’ll probably end up dead in a crevasse somewhere.”
Ja’tar shook his head. “More than likely, you’ll freeze to death crossing the ice planes.
Rua’tor’s eyes went wide and he cursed under his breath. “I supposed we should start walking…”
Ja’tar laughed. “You can walk if you want.” He raised his hands and chanted. “I would rather ride!”
Rua’tor watched in confusion.
“What is he doing?” Mica asked.
“I don’t have any idea,” Rua’tor muttered, “but whatever it is, we’ll probably wish we had walked instead.”
Mica watched intently. She heard the chants and saw his fingers weave, but she didn’t recognize any of the sounds or shapes.
A loud roar came from the distance. Ja’tar smiled.
Rua’tor squinted, but could see nothing in the direction of the sound. They echoed loudly bouncing off the hard ice spires.
Ja’tar was now chanting louder and dancing in a small circle. The sounds made by the beasts, whatever they were, got closer. Rua’tor knew they had to be close, and yet, he could not see them. He spun quickly in a circle, trying to spot whatever was coming. They were getting closer. The moaning sound made his skin crawl. He spun again in a circle, sending out his own feelers and prepared his wards just in case… Nothing registered; whatever they were, he couldn’t detect them. He began to sweat.
The ground erupted in front of them and a large white tiger-like animal with long fangs sprang up from under the snow. It towered above them, and stood on its rear paws clawing at the air. It lowered itself and bowed before Ja’tar who held a hand out—calming the beast. The tigear sniffed the air and its stripes rippled from gray to white as it stopped growling.
“What in the…” Rua’tor sputtered as he fell backwards, landing on his ass.
Ja’tar didn’t turn, but he did answer the questions. “These are the ice tigears of the Spires.”
Ja’tar grunted at the beasts, who shook their heads side to side before growling loudly back. Ja’tar snorted.
“Ice tigears? I never learned about any ice tigears in our classes.”
The beast growled back, lifted its paw and then sat back on its haunches.
“They are solitary beasts. They hunt seals, elk, and the like.” Ja’tar reached out and ran his hand over the tigear’s head. The tigear leaned into the stroke. “They are an old species, more bear than tiger—yet they appear like tigers to us.”
Ja’tar turned and grunted and growled a couple phrases, cause the tigear to purr and snort.
“How did you know?”
“Ah, they were part of the Pact. It is their land the dragons now occupy.”
The tigear rocked back and forth on its haunches. And calmly watched the two wizards talk. It sat quietly with its enormous paws folded in its lap.
“Th..they’re speaking to you, right?”
Ja’tar nodded. “They are quite intelligent. The Guild asked their permission because dragons have large appetites. We didn’t want to threaten their survival. They understand our tongue, but they only speak Gol’tar.”
“And you just happen to speak Gol’tar?”
Ja’tar’s lip quivered. “I do, but not very well. I have already had to apologize several times for my mistakes. They are…understanding…but they find my accent amusing. The last time they talked to wizards was after Ror. They knew my father. They were surprised that he is dead, but they agree to honor the office of the Keeper.”
Rua’tor nodded slowly
, taking it all in. “And why did they allow the dragons here anyway?”
“They understood their need. Besides, the dragons agreed to raise their own food…” Ja’tar said, as if he expected Rua’tor to understand.
“Raise?” Rua’tor asked, bewildered.
“Yes, they raise their shaggy cows and wooly beasts in the caves. The tigers help provide feed for the animals and in return, the dragons give them a portion of the meat.”
Rua’tor stood watching as another beast rose up from the ground. “They burrow?”
Ja’tar nodded, “but they can also travel quickly on top of the ice. They have consented to taking us to the dragon’s lair.”
Rua’tor stared at the tigear’s paws. They had seven long talons bigger around than his wrist and the paw itself was bigger than his head. He gulped reflexively.
The tiger stood full erect on its rear legs, towering over both mages. It looked down and roared and grunted twice. Ja’tar snorted back and issued a couple grunts of his own. The beast rolled its eyes and fell to the ground, rolling over twice before issuing a half-hearted growl.
“The beast finds our predicament amusing,” Ja’tar said, while placing his hands on his hips.
“A..a..amusing?” Rua’tor choked out.
Ja’tar nodded. “They don’t get many visitors here. I gather that they are rather surprised that the wizards haven’t killed themselves off. Apparently this settles a long running bet with Bookma, their leader.”
“Th..they bet against us?”
Ja’tar grinned. “I’d say the odds were in his favor.”
Rua’tor grunted and swore under his breath.
The tigear made a sound which sounded like laughter to Rua’tor, which soured his mood even further.
The large female got down low to the ground, allowing Ja’tar to climb on. He grabbed a handful of the long mane. “Well, are you going to walk?”
Rua’tor groaned and mounted the smaller animal.
“Mica, you are coming with me,” Ja’tar said, extending a hand. She was hesitant. “Don’t worry, the beast will not harm you.”
She grabbed Ja’tar’s hand and swung a leg over the beast. She gripped it tightly with her legs, and held Ja’tar about the waist. She thought about trying to get away, but as soon as she thought about it, she felt the magic constrict, cutting off her existence.
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla Page 19