Fallen Tiers

by Cheryl Matthynssens

  Ruby stepped up and dropped her eyes before Alador. He was surprised at her deference. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ruby,” he offered.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Ruby’s quiet voice could barely be heard over the gathering crowd on the council top.

  “Your Grace? Please, I am Alador.” He swayed slightly and Mesiande stepped up to support him.

  “I thought you were now the King?” Mesiande questioned, prodding him slightly.

  “He is, but it will take him a bit to get used to, I think.” Levielle slapped Alador on the back, bringing a gasp of pain from the mage.

  “Easy there, Levielle. Don’t want to put him into bed quite yet.” Bariton winked at Alador.

  Keensight had lumbered back to them as Bariton spoke. “We have one thing left to do.”

  All of them looked at the dragon, none of them sure of what he spoke. The great dragon turned toward those gathered on the tier. He did not speak as Sordith showed up, Nemara right behind him with Latiera.

  “Even better,” mumbled the great dragon.

  Alador pulled Nemara into his arms. “Are you both okay?”

  “Yes, we took shelter in the bathing room since it is more cave than manor.” She nestled close to him. Alador looked over and saw a bit of pain in Mesiande’s eyes. He would have much to explain when they got a chance to sit down.

  Keensight took that moment to bellow. “All hail the new King of Lerdenia, King Alador Guldalian Dragonsworn, and his queen, Nemara.

  Many cries echoed the new title about the top of the tiers. Alador stood somewhat stunned as they continued. It was not the accolades that froze him. He felt the geas let him go and with it, a great release of pressure and pain. It was so abrupt that the world went black.

  Chapter Forty

  Jon sat peacefully stroking Nightmare’s head as the dragon lay beside him, feeling very proud of himself. He had finally located the volume which contained the incantation Morana intended to use to raise her ‘army of the dead,’ in her quarters. Jon was very thankful she was a heavy sleeper once she did fall asleep.

  He had worked out a scenario in his head for what he would do when the time came for her ritual. He could not allow her to complete her plan, even if he had to risk death to stop her.

  Nightmare’s rumble of contentment was cut short when a fierce roar echoed through the dragon caverns. His head shot up at Jon’s side as he immediately came to his feet.

  “What is it?” Jon asked as he too rose.

  The roar came again, this time louder and more frightening, with others joining in. The caves began to tremble with the sound.

  “It is Blacksaber,” Nightmare answered as he moved to the cave opening. “He is calling us all to join him in the crypt below the temple.” Nightmare swung his wedged head toward Jon and fixed him with one eye. “Something’s wrong. Blacksaber is angry about this. He planned to leave for Sliverport tonight.”

  Jon shook his head in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he questioned the dragon.

  “You said I couldn’t go,” Nightmare countered, as if that made his decision not to tell Jon make sense.

  “I’d better go to Morana,” Jon said.

  “And Blacksaber calls us all,” Nightmare added.

  “Be careful, my friend.” Jon raised his hand and stroked the young dragon down the length of his neck.

  “You too, Jon.” Nightmare stepped to the edge of the cave’s landing platform and dropped off to go join the others of the Black flight.

  Jon took a moment to compose himself. He had confided his plan to Nightmare to make sure the young dragon did not interfere in the execution. ‘Execution…’ That was an appropriate choice of words. Morana’s spell to raise the dead required a blood sacrifice…and Jon intended to volunteer.

  *****

  Jon had trouble trying to still his rapidly beating heart. He had volunteered to be the blood sacrifice for Morana’s spell, and she had accepted. She would use him, and pull from the power of the dragons to raise her army of dead – and she would do it tonight. She had been informed though the scrying bowl that Luthian needed her assistance in quelling an uprising of the Daezun and perhaps some rouge mages as well. For the past half-hour Morana had been preparing him for the blood sacrifice, and she explained to Jon as she washed him with scented oils that this was what she had waited for. This was why Dethera chose her to be High Priestess. She would come to the aid of Luthian, and from this uprising a new leadership, shared between Luthian and Dethera, would arise.

  Now fully anointed, Jon trailed behind her in a long black robe, into the tunnels under the temple, to the crypts below.

  When they entered, the rest of the temple members had gathered and stood against the walls. The dragons, all stationed along a ledge above circling the massive crypt, roared their greeting. Jon was amazed at the lack of smell. Bodies were piled rods deep, but the decaying had been magically halted. Morana led him up a ramp, which had been left clear, to a platform with a sacrificial stone altar in the middle. This platform was surrounded by the dead.

  “Here,” the priestess indicated the stone.

  Jon pulled himself up onto it. Before he laid down, he searched the ledge for Nightmare. When their eyes met, he gave the young dragon a reassuring smile. He did not know the full extent of the loyalty the other dragons might show Morana. He knew the flight leader was not happy about being kept back from the battle he had been told by the dragon king to attend. However, given the choice of disobeying the dragon king or Morana, he had chosen the king. Either she had a stronger hold, or the flight leader feared her more.

  Jon took a deep breath and lay back on the cold stone of the altar. From what he had read, he knew the sequence of events. Morana would start the spell, drawing from the dragons’ power as she spoke. This was the reason for raising and controlling the Black flight - without their power she could not have performed an incantation so large or which controlled so many souls.

  Jon swallowed hard as she raised her arms and began the chant. She had not hesitated in the least when he volunteered. It was almost as though she had expected it. It made him wonder if she also expected what he had in store for her.

  The dragons began to keen, something he had never heard before. He turned his head on the stone to see Nightmare. The young dragon was leaning forward, as were all his kind, with their necks outstretched toward Morana as she spoke the words. She began to sway, and their heads swayed with her.

  A fog began to form and flow, creeping its way from the base of the altar out over the piles of the dead. It oozed across the battered and beaten bodies, like oil over the surface of water.

  As soon as the dead were covered, it would be the time for the sacrifice. The blood from the volunteer, him, would trickle down the sides of the altar as she dismembered his body. Where it touched the fog, the mist would turn red and carry the power of the spell to animate the dead.

  Jon readied himself. He had placed his hands over his chest and tucked them in his sleeves, looking ever the pious mage for his loving priestess. She had no idea, but he had conjured a dagger – a dagger especially enchanted for the purpose of killing a Death Temple High Priestess.

  She drew the dagger she was carrying from its sheath and raised her hands up high above her head. She held the weapon tightly in both hands. The spell required that the death of the sacrifice come with one well-aimed blow. If it took two, the spell would dissipate and fail.

  Jon drew in his breath.

  Just as Morana was on the verge of plunging the dagger through Jon’s heart, Nightmare roared. Morana looked up and Jon took advantage of this distraction to draw his dagger from his sleeve, plunging it into her heart.

  There was a moment when Morana still stood on her feet, speared on Jon’s outstretched arm with his dagger in her chest up to the hilt.

  “Jon?” she breathed with surprise and then slumped over him onto the altar.

  He used a quick cantrip to keep the blood from flowing off he
r body and into the fog. He rolled out from under her, and once he was off the altar he placed her body fully laid out on it in his place.

  He watched as the fog slowly dissipated and he thanked the Goddess Dethera that he was able to stop this abomination.

  It was not until he was sure there was no movement, no life, among the dead, that he thought to look up. The members of the temple were all down on one knee with their heads bent as if in prayer. He only just noticed the dragons’ keening had also been silenced with the death of Morana.

  His fearful eyes looked up - from Blacksaber to Nightmare, all the dragons had their wings spread and were bowing to him.

  Jon addressed the assemblage. “Blacksaber… will you dispose of these bodies as befits their souls and cleanses our temple?”

  The large black tucked his wings and nodded his head. “As the High Priest commands.” The Black flight leader turned to Nightmare. “Take your bonded one from this place so we may cleanse it.”

  Nightmare sailed down and landed at Jon’s side, extending a wing as an invitation for Jon to mount. Jon hesitated; he had never ridden the young dragon, and he was not sure his friend could carry him.

  “I won’t drop you unless you try to feed me more of that,” Nightmare indicated with a wave of his wing toward the dead.

  Jon smiled and climbed up on the dragon. “Not a chance,” he replied, before words were forced back in his throat as Nightmare surprised him with a mighty leap into the air and a swirling flight up through the dragon corridors to the flight’s cave entrances.

  ===***===

  The next day, Jon sat in the courtyard with Nightmare and his now loyal followers. They watched the smoke rise through the vents in the crypt to funnel out like long black snakes from the chimneys on the temple’s roof. The last of the dead were being burned by the dragon flight.

  The scryer hesitantly approached. “High Priest, I have a message from Silverport.”

  Jon held out his hand and the scryer passed it to him.

  The new High Priest of the Death sphere read the one-line message.

  It is done!

  Alador

  Chapter Forty-One

  Sordith stood on the new stone jetty, which bisected the harbor. The stone mages had done a splendid job constructing it, and he could not wait to put it to use, but for today it was reserved for the coronation. The tall anchoring pillars along its length each had a dark blue barrel sitting at their base where the nature mages had cultivated blooming vines. They spiraled up, dumping their profusion of blooms off their tops like the festooned, cascading locks of a beautiful woman.

  At the far end where the Trench Lord stood the mages erected a trellis, and it too was covered with vines and blooms of blue and white. From the top corners pennants of blue, with the now familiar silver dragon, fluttered in the gentle sea breeze.

  A lot had happened in the past two months since the battle of Silverport. That was what the people had all taken to calling it, ‘The Battle of Silverport.’ It wasn’t a Lerdenian battle, or a Daezun battle, or even a dragon battle, it was a matter of taking back the city of Silverport from the corrupt leaders and putting it back in the hands of reasonable folk who would see that it was run for the good of all the residents, not just the magically empowered.

  Once this coronation was over, the jetty would become a new docking place for ships, enabling them to pull alongside, drop ramps and unload. This would be much more efficient than the small boats previously rowed back and forth from ship to shore. He could envision the fleet all tied up and the goods from the mainland rolling off onto the dock. The ships were due back soon. The council had promised the Daezun supplies to take back with them for their efforts in helping repair the city. Sordith could see a great future for all in Silverport.

  His gaze wandered up to the council tier. It, and the fifth tier, had been heavily damaged during the battle; dragons were ferocious fighters. The only mansion that was left standing unscathed was Luthian’s, and Alador had ordered it torn down after all that was needed had been removed. The only part he spared was the garden. The whole council tier was growing into a park, which all could access, from trench residents to the council itself. There would be no designation of levels based on magical powers any longer. The people were encouraged to mingle as much as their finances would allow.

  The third tier remained mostly shopkeepers, but other than that, the whole face of the city was slowly changing.

  The council chambers were being rebuilt. Five powerful mages took refuge there during the battle and the dragons fought valiantly to rout them. The whole roof and one side of the chambers was destroyed in the process.

  Alador and Nemara had chosen to maintain their residence in his manor on the fifth tier. It was damaged in the battle, but they made repairs, making improvements as they went, much as Sordith himself had done with the Trench Lord’s manor. Alador’s home now had a terrace overlooking the seaside.

  It had not been easy, picking up the pieces of their lives. Some of the dragons, including Keensight, stayed on after the battle to help with the cleanup. The big red dragon said, ‘since we did the most damage, we will help with the repairs.’ Of course, Sordith and Alador knew it was because Alanis and the rest of Henrick’s family was still here. Alador had officially recalled Henrick, but he was not due to ‘appear’ until today, for the coronation of his son. Prior to that, he had been a somewhat grumpy red dragon giving other dragons orders.

  Some of the Daezun stayed on after the battle. They proved to be great builders and truly helpful to those who accepted their assistance, but that was not without issues at times. As Trench Lord, Sordith had broken up more than his share of fights. He missed Owen, who was still recovering from his wounds, and often finished up his day at the big man’s bedside catching him up on what was going on outside. Sordith had been forced to use some of the Blackguards Bariton loaned him for a bit of high profile law enforcement.

  But, it was not all bad either. With the help of the new council members led by Alador, Levielle, Aldemar, Bariton, and the Trench Lord himself, there was a plan and the city would move forward into the future fully integrated, Lerdenian, Daezun, and the mixes of the two. They also had to bring the rest of the Lerdenian cities to heel.

  Sordith shielded his eyes with his hand as he watched the carriage carrying Alador and Nemara make its winding way down the tiers. It was followed by another carrying Alador’s family - Henrick, Alanis, Dorien, Tentret and Sofie. These were followed by a walking procession of the mages sworn earlier to the service of Alador and the city’s governing council. Keelee and Mesi, who had become good friends, were among these. After the mages, some of the general public were falling in behind to trail down the tiers in order to see the event closer. Most of the folks stayed on the tiers raining handfuls of petals on the passing procession.

  Alador had refused the idea of being crowned the “Dragonsworn” in the council chambers. He wanted the whole city to be able to celebrate and he wanted to honor those who had died in the trench during the storm. He said he did not want people to look up at him… he wanted to be one of them.

  Sordith could hear the cheering of the crowd as the carriages passed. He was somewhat taken by surprise when the dragons, who had positioned themselves on the rock barrier between the harbor and the sea, roared their approval as Alador and his bondmate stepped from the carriage at the foot of the jetty.

  They were the picture of a new reigning king and queen, both dressed in deep blue. Alador had always preferred his leathers under his mage’s robes, so he wore leathers tanned to such a dark blue, they were almost black. His shirt was the blue of a spring sky, and his cape a royal blue velvet with the silver dragon embroidered on the back for all to see. He came fully armed with both sword and dagger.

  Nemara was on his left in a matching blue velvet gown with smaller silver dragons racing around its hem and down the length of its long train.

  They proceeded slowly along the stone dock, arm-in
-arm. Henrick followed a short distance behind. He held the crowns on a blue velvet pillow.

  Alador had argued against the crowns, but Henrick, in his decades of wisdom as a dragon, said the people deserved to see their king crowned properly. Alador’s father was chosen to do it to prove that there was no animosity on his part for Alador killing his brother, and no desire on Henrick’s part to claim the leadership of the isle for himself.

  When Alador and Nemara arrived at the end of the jetty, they stood to one side and let Henrick take the lead. Keensight had suggested he might bring the throne from his hoard for Alador to rest in, but the young mage had drawn the line at that suggestion. It was enough just being king. The crown did not rest gently on his brow.

  Henrick handed Sordith the pillow with the crowns on it. Their father turned back toward the city and motioned Alador and Nemara to take their places in front of him. Using a magical amplification of his voice, he addressed the residents and guests of Silverport.

  “People of the isle, I hereby present to you Alador the Dragonsworn, and his Queen, Nemara. All you who have come this day to do them homage and service, raise your voices.”

  A great cheer arose from both human and dragons.

  “Your majesties, are you willing to serve the people of this isle no matter their origin, in equality and with due respect?”

  “We do,” Alador and Nemara said in unison.

  “Will you uphold the laws of both the council of humans and of the dragon council?”

  “We will,” they replied again.

  “Present your sword, my king,” Henrick intoned.

  Alador drew his sword and presented it on his sleeve, handle first.

  “Please kneel,” Henrick instructed.

  Alador and Nemara knelt before him, still holding hands.