Return of the Dragon (The Dragon's Champion Book 6)

by Ferguson, Sam

  *****

  Erik trudged through snow that was knee-high. If not for the thick furs that the Immortal Mystic had given him, he was certain he would have frozen to death by now. Even with the furs, his nose and eyes felt as though they were turning to ice. Every breath in his nostrils stuck together. Every breath out melted the scarf over his face only to have the fibers refreeze to his skin. Even his eyelashes stuck together when he blinked.

  If only the blue crystal could make fire, that would have been useful! It didn’t, though. Erik had tried that the first night after leaving. Not that that was so important though, considering his sword could help him create a fire. It was more that he wished the crystal could warm him while walking. It couldn’t though. In fact, it didn’t seem to do anything. The second night, after making a campfire, he had tried to use his power on it, but nothing happened. For all he knew, it was just a blue crystal that sparkled nicely in the sunlight.

  The thought of the sun made him glance up to the west. The sun was already dipping behind the mountains in the distance. It would be dark soon. He began looking around for a place to settle in for the night. He moved toward a large, thickly branched pine and pulled his sword free. He climbed up into the tree and began cutting some of the lower branches off. He left those that hung the lowest, he would use those as a wind buffer. He spent the remaining daylight clearing snow from the boughs he cut from the tree and then arranging them into a heap near the trunk of the tree. Then he took his rope and tied the lowest branches in such a way that he created a veritable wall of pine branches. It wasn’t perfect, but he was shielded from snow fall and most of the wind was blocked as well. He then pulled two blankets out from his pack. They were both made of a thick canvas, though one was definitely softer to the touch than the other. The soft one he stuffed into the center of the pile of branches. The coarser blanket he draped over the pile. Then he burrowed into the branches he had cut.

  His workmanship kept him warm through the night without the need for a fire, though he certainly did his share of tossing and turning. He was more than happy when the sun finally peeked its light into his shelter. He repacked the blankets and stuffed the rope back into his pack and continued on. He ate while moving. His pack was filled with enough bread to feed twenty men, so his stomach never went hungry for want of food.

  As he made his way down into the valley, the journey became easier. The snow was not as deep as it had been farther north. There were even occasional streams that were not entirely frozen over and provided him the opportunity to restock his water supply.

  He had expected to see Tarthuns along his journey, but he never saw so much as a footprint. It was as if they had all disappeared. He couldn’t say that he actually was displeased by that fact though. The last time he had had a run in with them, he and Tatev had been kidnapped and Tatev was murdered after the barbarians had tried to burn the Infinium.

  Erik’s heart felt heavy then as he recalled Tatev. If only he had done something. If he had used his power to scare the Tarthuns, or maybe if he had been faster when they were first kidnapped. If he could have stopped the man with the bone necklace, maybe Tatev would still be alive.

  “No I wouldn’t,” a familiar voice said.

  Erik jerked his head to the side and saw Tatev standing next to him. The librarian was smiling, with his red, curly hair bouncing slightly as they walked. “Am I dreaming?” Erik asked.

  “Not this time,” Tatev said.

  “So you are real?” Erik pressed.

  There wasn’t anything you could do,” Tatev said. “It was my time.”

  Erik stopped walking and looked at the man. “I don’t believe in fate,” he said defiantly.

  “Whether you believe the sky is blue or not is irrelevant. The sky is blue. Fate may not exist in its purest sense, but I had a meeting with destiny. It was my time.”

  “Why?” Erik asked. “What possible purpose could that serve?”

  Tatev smiled. “Have I ever told you about the Eyes of Dowr? They were created by…”

  Erik reached out to grab Tatev’s shoulders but his hands went through the image.

  “You can’t grab a spirit,” Tatev said. “It is widely known that a spirit holds the intelligence from life but not the physical body. It only retains a likeness of image, in those rare instances when a spirit can be seen by mortal eyes. Which, by the way is a rare trait. It usually happens in times of great need, or when a person has developed the skill to see those that have passed on.” Tatev raised a finger. “This skill by the way is not to be confused with clairvoyance, or mediums. Many of those people are nothing more than swindlers who use…” his words stopped and he looked at Erik. “Where are my glasses?” he asked.

  Erik sulked and shook his head. “They were lost.”

  “I see. Well, then we must find them. I can’t go on until we do.”

  “What do you mean?” Erik asked.

  Tatev’s spirit began walking. His head was focused on the snow covered ground and he muttered something to himself that Erik couldn’t hear. Erik watched the apparition search the snow for a few moments, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him or if Tatev actually stood before him. He called up his power.

  Tatev stopped and went rigid. He turned back to Erik with a curious look on his face. “I am real, Erik.”

  Erik’s mouth fell open. He had gotten so used to his hauntings that he hadn’t actually expected Tatev to remain after he called up his power. “Tatev…” Erik’s sentence fell away in his mouth. He wasn’t sure how to say what he wanted to say. “I’m sorry,” he finished under his breath.

  Tatev smiled and gave a quick wink. “Help me find the Eyes of Dowr.”

  Erik nodded and then Tatev’s image faded away. Tears came to Erik’s eyes, but he was quick to wipe them away with his gloves before they could fall and freeze on his cheek. He then pushed on, travelling westward and hoping to find the large brook where he and Tatev had been kidnapped by the Tarthuns. He walked for days, stopping just long enough to find or build shelter as he made his way across the wintry valleys.

  Tatev’s ghost came and went on occasion, but Erik was unable to hold a conversation with him again like he had before. Now when he saw Tatev the ghost was completely engrossed in searching for the Eyes of Dowr. His head was always down and he seemed not to notice Erik at all. Erik was unsure if it was Tatev’s sudden silence as compared to his former talkative nature, or if it was the utter hopelessness he saw on Tatev’s face that bothered him more. Erik couldn’t help but wonder if his friend was trapped in a kind of hell, unable to move beyond the last thing that occupied his mind upon death. This thought only served to magnify the guilt and shame he felt. Every day he failed to reach the brook and find the Eyes of Dowr he felt less and less capable of anything. Some mornings he struggled to rise from his sleep, secretly wishing that a beast could have found him during the night and ended his own suffering.

  In those moments he tried to focus on Lepkin. He tried to force himself to push on and act more like he knew Master Lepkin would in his place. It didn’t make it easy, but it made it possible for Erik to continue putting one foot in front of the other.

  Then came a day he hoped would not come. His wanderings had somehow taken him back to the place where Tatev had been killed. The camp and all of the structures were gone now, save for the pit and the large timber that jutted up out from the pile of ash like a grotesque monument to Tatev’s murder.

  Erik surveyed the area and saw that each of the more permanent buildings had been razed by fire. There was nothing left but ash and snow. The young man walked toward the fire pit and looked down. His eyes could see only a dip in the snow where the pit went down into the dirt, but his mind replayed the entire scene for him in every vivid detail. The men chanting and gyrating as Tatev was bound and sacrificed to some pagan god. Erik drew his sword and moved toward the standing pillar of burnt wood. In his anger and grief he hacked at it with his sword.

  Charred bits of
wood exploded out from the pillar in clouds of black ash and soot. Erik put more and more effort into each swing until finally the pillar cracked and the top half broke and fell to the ground.

  “Does that make you feel better?” Tatev asked from behind.

  Erik turned and nodded dumbly. “A bit, actually,” he said. He stabbed his sword into the pile of frosted ash and folded his arms. “I am sorry,” he said.

  “I told you before, Erik, it was my time.” Tatev offered that reassuring smile of his and at last Erik could see that Tatev held no ill will toward him. There was no blame in the ghost’s eyes. There was only compassion. “Before we found you at the mouth of the cave, I had a vision.” Tatev shrugged. “Visions are usually reserved for others in the order, not for the librarian. Still, I know what I saw. I knew I would die along our journey.”

  Erik ripped his sword free from the ash only to sheath it and walk up to Tatev in a huff. “Then why come with me?” he asked incredulously.

  Tatev smiled wider. “Because my vision was two parts. One showed me my death was sure if I traveled with you, but the other part was worse. It showed me that if any other besides me went with you, or if you went alone, then you would die. I could not let the Champion of Truth fall. The whole world would then be at the mercy of that wretched book!”

  Erik shook his head. “You died for nothing!” Erik screamed. “I am not the champion. I am just a boy.”

  Tatev shook his head. “No you aren’t,” he said adamantly. “You are the champion.”

  “You don’t understand,” Erik continued. “The Immortal Mystic said I am not the one he saw in the prophesies. I am an imposter.”

  Tatev shouted, “No!” and a great burst of thunder shook the sky. “You are the champion!”

  “How can you not see it?” Erik asked in a whisper.

  Tatev moved in close. “If you are to win, there can be no doubt left in your heart.”

  “How do you propose to fix that?” Erik asked.

  Tatev pointed to Erik’s pocket. “You have the Tear of Goresym in your pocket, I can see its energy radiating out from within your clothes.”

  Erik reached in and pulled the blue crystal out. It still appeared to him nothing more than a sparkly bobble. “You mean this?”

  Tatev nodded. “It is a powerful relic, I assume the Immortal Mystic is the one who gave it to you, am I correct?”

  “Yes,” Erik replied.

  “I told you that ghosts appear infrequently yes, that they only can be seen in times of great need or if one has developed the skill. Well, this is a time of great need, Erik. You are the champion and yet it is you who are blind. You are letting your doubt and grief defeat you before you have even set foot on the field of battle. This is unacceptable.”

  “You don’t understand,” Erik interjected.

  Tatev cut him off. “It is you who does not understand. Give me the crystal.” Tatev held out a hand.

  Erik shook his head. “You can’t hold it,” he said. “You are a ghost, remember?”

  Tatev stepped forward and reached out so quickly Erik couldn’t react. The ghostly hand whiffed through his own, leaving a cold feeling as it passed through. Then the crystal was taken from him and Erik gasped when Tatev held the blue crystal and a great light started to grow from deep within it. “Now you will see the truth.”

  A great cloud formed overhead as a blue streak of lightning shot into the sky from the crystal.

  “What are you doing?” Erik looked up to the sky and put an arm up to shield himself from a sudden burst of wind that flurried the snow and nearly hid Tatev from his view.

  “Prepare yourself, Erik!”

  A black bolt of lightning crashed down to the ground. Tatev disappeared, leaving the blue crystal hovering and spinning in the air. Another form stood nearby, laughing and holding an axe.

  “So, we meet again, young Erik.”

  The voice was familiar. Erik peered through the snow to see Janik. The man was standing confidently, smiling and twirling his axe.

  Erik looked to the man’s wrist and noticed it was no longer disfigured. When Janik stepped forward, he didn’t limp either.

  “What is it, Erik? Nothing smart to say?”

  Erik drew his sword. Flames covered the black, Telarian steel with hardly a thought from the young man.

  “You have no dwarf here to protect you today,” Janik said. “Now I will finish what I started.

  The two ran toward each other. Janik sent a powerful spell at Erik, but Erik dodged left and then came in with a horizontal chop of his sword. Janik nimbly flipped over the swing and countered with his axe. Erik jerked his arms back and managed to catch the axe with his blade. Erik had no way of understanding why it was happening, but the shock he received when the weapons collided told him that this was a real battle.

  Erik sprang away and readied his sword. Janik laughed and pressed the attack. He swung downward in a diagonal chop, then reversed his swing and drew his blade out to the side. Erik managed to escape both and then countered with a quick jab. The point of his sword tore into Janik’s flesh, but Janik recoiled before the sword could do more than cause a minor gash. The flame from the blade left a smoldering mark on Janik’s tunic and chest, but the man didn’t seem to notice.

  “You have improved,” Janik noted. “But you are no match for me.”

  Erik saw through the man’s lie. The champion’s gift told him that Janik was lying. Erik’s confidence soared. He stepped forward, careful to note each of Janik’s movements. Janik swung furiously, but Erik parried every strike. Then, after he pressed in close enough to force Janik to take a couple steps backward Erik launched into an attack. He jabbed forward, then swept his sword at Janik’s stomach. Janik smacked down with his axe and shot his hips out behind him, exactly as Erik had hoped. The young champion sent a savage snap kick to Janik’s face. The man’s head jerked upward and his nose leaked blood. Erik then plunged his sword deep into the man’s chest.

  A flash of lightning struck Janik and he cried in agony as his spirit disappeared.

  Another bolt struck the ground nearby.

  A man with a dark, hooded robe stood and smiled. A bony, pale hand reached up and pulled back the hood to reveal Tukai, the warlock.

  “A most impressive display, but you are a fool to summon me here, boy,” Tukai said. “Your sword will do you little good here.” Tukai sent a fireball hurtling toward Erik, but Erik raised his sword and cut through the spell as he had seen Lepkin do in the previous battle with Tukai. “Try this one, then,” Tukai taunted. He clapped his hands together and a massive wall of air slammed into Erik, flipping him end over end to land several yards away. When he shook his face free of the snow he realized that his sword was nowhere near him.

  Erik pushed himself up quickly and dodged another series of fireballs that sailed at him.

  “Dance little champion, dance!”

  Erik’s mind raced. He couldn’t see the sword anywhere. He had no other weapons on him. Then, a moment of calm clarity overcame him and he smiled at the warlock. He didn’t need to have a weapon on him. He had one inside. Erik sprinted straight for Tukai. The warlock laughed and gathered a massive, green ball of flame between his hands.

  “Time to send you to meet your father, boy!” Tukai shouted. The fireball flew on its trajectory, spinning and crackling as it soared ever closer to Erik.

  Erik ran on, undaunted. He gathered his power and let it build within his chest. The fireball came within ten feet and then Erik released his power. A column of bright, white light streamed out from Erik’s mouth. It pierced the fireball and blasted it apart before continuing on to strike Tukai in the face. The warlock flipped over backward and landed face down in the snow. Erik continued sprinting toward the warlock and before the foe could clamber up to his feet Erik was upon him. The young champion leapt atop Tukai’s back and drove a furious fist down into the base of the warlock’s neck. Tukai’s head snapped down to slam into the ground. Erik continued beating on h
im relentlessly as he gathered his power for another shot.

  A sudden burst of energy knocked Erik to the ground and Tukai rose into the air.

  “Clever, but that will not be enough!” Tukai shouted.

  Erik didn’t hesitate. He sent another column of light at the warlock, striking Tukai in the center of the chest. The warlock shouted out in pain as Erik poured all of his energy into the light. As he focused his power, the light burned bright orange and within seconds it had bored through Tukai’s chest and shot out into the sky behind the writhing warlock.

  “How?” Tukai asked as his face drained and his limbs went limp.

  Another bolt of black lightning came down, removing Tukai.

  Erik shut off his power and pushed up to his feet. He was breathing heavily now, and his senses burned with the heat of battle. No longer did doubt swirl in his mind. He was wholly in the moment, prepared to handle whatever was to come next.

  A thick bolt of gray lightning struck the ground twenty yards away, but with enough force that the ground shook.

  “Erik, has it been so long?” A man stepped out from the smoke wearing white robes with purple stripes around the sleeves. It was the warlock Gondok’hr, the fiend who had masqueraded as Senator Bracken and was responsible for Erik’s father’s death. “You struck me down in my sleep,” the warlock said. “I won’t be so easy this time around.”

  The warlock transformed from his human body and took on that of a fiendish demon with spikes like granite jutting out from his shoulders, terribly long talons extending out from his fingers, and wicked fangs protruding out from the grotesque mouth. “Now you must fight me in my true form.”

  If Erik had felt any fear while watching the warlock transform, it was dispelled as soon as he heard those words. “Then I shall take on my true form,” Erik said. He didn’t think about what he was saying. He didn’t think about the ramifications of shifting earlier than his time. He made the choice, and transformed as was natural for any Sahale.