What seemed like an undefeatable force began to dwindle. Svana saw less than a hundred opponents in front of her, and when she turned around to look at the sea, she saw the same against Captain Telvidius. Her face broke out into a grin when something slammed into the back of her shoulder. She spun and fell onto the ground. Dazed, she got to her feet and glanced around. She saw the Caelestan king, King Bertram, running toward Emmeline with a long spear held firm. The expression on his face was wild, and he appeared completely unpredictable. Svana hadn’t even known he was in the battle.
“Emmeline!” Svana shouted.
The woman turned around, a falchion in her hand. She paused, stunned with eyes wide as she watched the approaching Caelestan king. Her jaw dropped, but her body was frozen.
King Armand pushed her out of the way, knocking her to the ground. He raised his sword, prepared to defend. King Bertram would not be stopped however, and while Armand was able to deflect the first three strikes, Bertram’s spear found its way through King Armand’s defenses, and stabbed into his ribcage just below the heart.
Silence filled the battlefield as everyone ceased fighting. Even the undead paused to look at what had happened. All was silent for a single moment as King Armand fell to the ground. King Bertram ripped the spear from the Tellurian king’s body and then spit on him. The battlefield then erupted in shouts and roars as everyone tried to make their way to their king.
Svana sprinted forward, brushing past stunned Caelestans who didn’t know what to do, and past eager Tellurians who rushed to their king. She skidded to a stop a few feet from the king and raised her sword high.
“You dare attack the Tellurian king?” she shouted through clenched teeth.
King Bertram snarled at her. “He killed my son.”
“That wasn’t him,” Svana shouted. “He was controlled by dark magic, the same dark magic that is controlling this undead army right now. We are fighting for peace, and yet you would still condemn your people behind your rage?”
King Bertram snapped. He thrust his spear forward, aiming for Svana’s throat. She dodged, spinning around and preparing her sword for defense. His spear impacted it immediately. She tried an offensive spinning strike in hopes to reach the wood of his spear to cut its metal tip off, but King Bertram was too fast. His spearhead met her sword every step of the way. It penetrated her defense, and struck her side, knocking her to the ground. Svana clenched her teeth as she rolled away and stepped backward. She reached to her side and felt the liquid drench her hand. When she raised her hand to look at it, she saw the crimson blood.
“Some warrior you are,” King Bertram mimicked.
Lingaria appeared outside of Svana’s sword and blazed fire toward him. He ducked and rolled out of the way, but the flames still touched his body, charring him. Svana didn’t wait for him to recover as she charged. Lingaria disappeared back into her Dragon Sword as she swung it at the king who lay on the ground. Her strikes missed as he rolled from the left to the right, dodging the tip of her blade. His spear jabbed forward, sliding easily into her left leg. She stumbled and collapsed onto one knee.
He laughed at her.
She slammed her sword down, shattering the shaft of the spear. Splinters littered the air all around her. Svana rushed forward, bringing the tip of her blade to his throat.
“Surrender,” she said.
“Never,” he growled.
A blade slipped from his belt into his hand as he tried to lunge it forward into her lung. Svana moved the hilt of her weapon down, blocking the blade from entering her body, but cutting her hands in the process. She slammed the hilt of the Dragon Sword into King Bertram’s jaw, knocking him backwards. Without hesitating, she took a step back and swung her blade at his neck. It pierced his skin without hesitation, lopping his head from his shoulders.
Svana paused as she looked around. Hundreds of the undead creatures still remained. She used her sword as a staff to get to her feet. Pain surged through her entire body. Everyone around her looked at her. Some with respect, others with fear.
She scanned the crowd until she saw Emmeline kneeling next to a body. Her eyes widened. King Armand. Svana ran as fast as her injured body would allow her to toward the fallen king.
“Armand!” Jakobe yelled, concerned, rushing forward to the lifeless form of King Armand that lay unmoving on the beach. “Svana! Come quick!” Jakobe’s voice had taken on a tone of desperation, and Svana hurried to his side.
“King Armand!” Svana yelled, as she knelt next to him, then in one last effort to save him she jumped up and screamed loudly for her sister Hekla.
Only Hekla was nowhere to be seen. Svana knew where her sisters were. They were on Caelestis fighting the dragon. They were nowhere near the border of Aequoris. Without Hekla’s magic, Svana could do nothing for him.
“Please, you’ve got to pull through,” she pleaded with him.
King Armand’s eyes fluttered slightly, but he remained unmoving. Svana gripped his shoulders, shaking him gently. “King Armand! Please, just stay awake until my sister gets back.”
His eyes opened then, the whites lack of luster, and dark brown orbs fading fast. He looked through her, not at her, as his lips began to whisper.
“Svana…” he breathed, rasping and groaning as he struggled to position himself more comfortably. “Ahhhh,” he yelled out in pain. “Please…” he groaned, barely audible to her. “When I’m—” He let out a raspy breath. “When I’m gone…” The color slowly began to leave his face. “When I’m gone… you need to rule…”
“King Armand… you’re not leaving. So stop,” she said, hoping that her desire for him to stay would be enough.
“You must rule the kingdom,” he finally managed.
“No! I cannot take your throne,” Svana said, fighting the inevitable.
“Uncle!” Emmeline cried next to him. “Armand, stay with us. Svana! Please!”
Emmeline’s horse nudged her, neighing lowly, as if understanding the emotion the young woman was feeling.
“I can’t do anything,” Svana whispered, barely able to keep her eyes open to look at him. It ripped her heart from her chest to know that the only chance she had was Hekla, and she wouldn’t be able to get to him in time.
Lingaria hopped along the ground. The noise and battle around them felt non-existent. The others would just have to fight the remaining undead. Svana couldn’t leave the king in his final moments. She couldn’t leave Emmeline, maybe not ever. The woman would be devastated without her uncle. Svana knew that much. Suddenly, the tiny sliver of hope, the tiny promise that they were going to fight and win, had completely disappeared. Nothing mattered.
Emmeline began to sob, tears cascading down her cheeks as she threw her face into his chest. Her petite, yet always elegant frame bent over in great wracking sobs, as Armand managed just a few more pained, raspy breaths.
“I love you, Emme…” He didn’t finish her name, as his eyes glazed over and rolled back, and his body emitted just one last breath.
“No, no, no!” Emmeline pounded her fists against his torso. “Don’t you dare leave me,” she begged. Even as she did so, Jakobe was gently grabbing her shoulders against her will.
“Emmeline, he’s gone, leave his body to join the others.” He urged her, even as she fought against his grip, clawing at him, screaming for him to let her go. Tears poured down her face.
“No…” Emmeline sobbed, as she tired of fighting, and gave into the grief that poured over her.
“Emmeline, take your horse, and head back to the castle. We can handle things here. We’ll bring King Armand home for a proper burial,” Svana promised.
Emmeline could only barely nod her head, as Jakobe hoisted her back up onto her horse. “Please, be safe,” Jakobe encouraged.
Dazed, and frozen to her saddle, Jakobe gently patted the horse’s hind end and it let out a soft whinny, carrying Emmeline to the forest line, and through the trees.
“Jakobe, help me get him off the batt
lefield!” Svana pleaded.
“Let me take his shoulders, I can drag him out of here.”
She nodded, and the sounds of battle were suddenly near deafening as she realized that time hadn’t stopped. Wiping away a tear, she pushed down the feelings of brokenness she felt over losing the king. True he had not been the greatest, but he was still their king. How would she take his place? How could she?
She felt disorientated, knowing she had to fight, but also knowing the end of the battle would mean the beginning of something else. How would she tell the people?
Growling sounded behind her, bringing her back to reality. She swirled around with her sword in hand, aiming it at the rush of undead now coming after her.
It had felt like an eternity, but it had only been a matter of minutes that all of this had happened.
“You all right?” Jakobe had joined her again, hand on her shoulders.
“No,” she said honestly, and then they were swept up in battle once more.
52
Hekla
Fighting isn’t easy. No true warrior wants to do it. It is not done for the thrill of it—or the sport. Fighting happens because of necessity. Fighting is to prevent the alternative. Death. It takes courage to fight against overwhelming odds. Not everyone can do it. Often times, this is what shows you the truth of a person. A coward, or a hero. A coward will hide, but a hero—a hero will stand up for what is right—no matter what the odds. That is a true fighter. And that is someone who will always be remembered.
Reidlesiul, The Bravest, Seventh Dragon Elder, Eighth Age of Verdil
Hekla skidded to a halt as she saw Astrid get knocked to the ground. Astrid tried to get to her feet, but in her weakened state, she simply collapsed back onto the ground. Xolderan grinned as he took a closer step toward Astrid. His mouth opened wide and flames began to form in the back of his throat.
Hekla raised her scepter into the air, focused her attention onto her sister, and whispered, “Aquum Purum Seperatum.”
A wall of water surrounded Astrid as flames erupted from Xolderan’s massive jaw. The flames draped around the wall of protection, but they didn’t penetrate. However, the heat did, and Hekla could see Astrid cringe at the high temperature surrounding her.
“Aquum Purum Iciclum,” Hekla said.
A beam of ice flowed from the tip of her scepter and collided with the flames, making them dissipate and the ice turn into water. Hekla rushed forward, sliding until she rested by Astrid’s side. She leaned over and helped Astrid to her feet.
“Thanks, sister,” Astrid said.
“Go, let me handle him.”
“Hekla…”
“Trust me. You are no use to me in close range anyway. If you want to help, go further back and loose arrows. Especially, when he opens his mouth.”
Astrid nodded.
Hekla turned around and watched as her sister disappeared behind a building. She loved her sister, and she had been a great help in this battle, but an archer was not helpful against a dragon—especially up close. Hekla wasn’t even sure magic would be useful against a dragon up close, but they had little choice.
Any idea, Speltus?
None.
Xolderan growled as he slammed his paw downward. Hekla spun to her left, until she rotated all the way to face the dragon again. His paw was directly in front of her, only inches from her face where she had just stood. She slashed her scepter at its paw, using the blunt end to smack against the dragon’s paw. Thankfully, it wasn’t an ordinary scepter. It was fueled by magic from the weapon itself, and the magic Hekla fed into it as she fought. Then she took a step backward and raised her scepter high. She impaled the bottom of the scepter into the paw.
A loud shriek filled the air as Xolderan jerked his paw backward. The scepter flew into the air and out of Hekla’s grasp. She jumped into the air and rolled out of the way of a giant dragon’s tail that slammed into the ground at her side.
“Levitatum Objectum,” she said.
Her scepter flew back to her grasp and she spun to impale it in his tail. Again, the dragon reacted instantly, retracting the tail at lightning speed, but this time, Hekla was ready. She held onto the scepter tight and leapt onto the tail.
As the dragon’s tail moved backward, she began running up it like a hill. While she moved, she continued to slash her weapon into his flesh, creating wounds all across his body. She used spells all the while, creating frost burn across his scales.
Hekla made it to his back and raised her scepter high. “Iciclum.”
She slammed her scepter into his body, and his scales under his scepter began to freeze. He shook his body, trying to free himself of her as he turned her neck around to blast flame toward her. Hekla slipped and made the mistake of looking down. She was high up, as the dragon was huge, and the ground was a long way.
An arrow flew through the air and penetrated into the dragon’s hide between two scales just below the ice patch. Hekla reached up, and grabbed onto the arrow, preventing her fall. Another arrow pierced the dragon a foot above the last. Hekla smiled as she reached up for the next arrow.
Astrid continued releasing arrows into the dragon. Her precision was incredible. Hekla was able to use her sister’s arrows to climb onto the dragon’s back. She slashed her weapon at the creature behind its neck, finding its weakest points on the side of its neck. Blood covered the dragon. Xolderan was already weakened from the fight against Duliogial, but Hekla was weakening him even more. He tried to reach his paws to knock her off like an annoying gnat, but his appendages were too short. She moved to the wings on his back and began slashing at the joint where the wing met the back.
Xolderan hissed. Hekla didn’t relent. She continued to hack at his joint. Arrows also struck the same location as Astrid realized what Hekla was trying to do. Hekla raised her scepter high, then impaled it into the joint. Xolderan screamed. He thrashed from side to side, almost knocking Hekla onto her back, but she dropped to his back and held onto him at the joint, which only inflamed him more.
Once Xolderan calmed, he began to try to use his tail to strike Hekla. He was much more precise with his tail, and Hekla had to move out of the way a few times to not be struck. When he paused for a moment, she lowered her scepter and pointed it at his joint.
“Iciclum Orbium.”
An orb of blue ice slammed into his joint, freezing it entirely as ice began to travel up his wing. Hekla didn’t pause for an instant as she slammed the tip of her scepter into the joint. It shattered. Xolderan’s wing tore from his back and fell to the ground.
Hekla had to slam the bottom of her scepter into his back between two scales and hold onto it for dear life as he thrashed in pain at losing one of his wings. He roared, and as he did, arrows flew into his mouth, penetrating his throat. Xolderan shook his head, and looked like he was attempting to speak, but no words came. Instead, blood poured out of his mouth.
Not wasting any time, Hekla ran up his neck until she stood on top of his head. She slammed the bottom of her scepter into the weak spot on his forehead between his eyes. He shook his head, but Hekla held onto her impaled scepter tight. Xolderan tried to slam his head into the ground and into buildings to knock her off of him, but she closed her eyes and held tighter.
When he relented, she ripped the scepter from his forehead, which only caused him more pain, then slammed it into his left eye. Again, the scream came, ear-deafening. He thrashed his head again, and this time it knocked Hekla off balance as she slid down his neck. His tail came for her, slapping against his neck. She ducked and slid down his back, and then his tail as it landed back on the ground.
Hekla turned around and looked at the bloody mess of a dragon. Wounds were all across his body. He had only one wing, and one eye. It was clear he was defeated, but he would not give up. Hekla knew that. She knew she would have to kill him. And she didn’t know how she felt about that.
It is all right, Hekla. He is not one of us. He is a monster.
Hekla sighed wi
th relief. She hadn’t admitted it to herself, but a large part of the reason she hesitated when fighting the dragon, especially when it came to the fact, she would have to kill him, was the fact he was a dragon. She’d been taught how great dragons were. And she had her very own dragon guide. How could she talk about killing one of his kin? But, Speltus was right. This wasn’t a dragon. Xolderan was a monster. The same way the wizard in Telluris was a monster—not a Tellurian.
Xolderan turned to face her. His neck lowered until he was only a few feet away from Hekla, and roared. An arrow flew over Hekla’s left shoulder. It penetrated the dragon’s remaining eye. Xolderan jerked backward, snarling as his head shook. When he ceased moving, Hekla stared at him. He was blind now. Both of his eyes had been damaged. She’d stabbed one of them with her scepter, and Astrid impaled the other with an arrow.
Hekla turned around and noticed all the Caelestans had littered the streets behind her. They all watched in awe as Hekla and Astrid fought a dragon, and beyond all belief, were winning.
“Give up, Xolderan,” Hekla said. “You are defeated. Go before the Unseen Ones and accept judgement.”
“Never,” he croaked.
His voice was cracked, clearly damaged from the injuries Hekla and Astrid inflicted on him. He raised his head high, and his jaw opened wide as he snapped it at Hekla. Xolderan jumped forward, his jaw aiming for Hekla—trying to consume her in a massive bite in a last desperate attempt to fight.
“Aquum Purum Iciclum, Expandum!” Hekla yelled.
A massive shard of ice appeared from her scepter and blasted up and into the dragon’s throat. It pierced through the top of his mouth and between his eyes. Instantly, the dragon ceased moving and collapsed toward the ground.
Hekla’s eyes widened as she ran away from the dragon and toward her sister. After only a few steps, she slipped, and fell onto the ground. The dragon slammed onto the ground, his head on two sides of her, and Hekla, sitting on the ground inside of its mouth spread in a v. Her eyes were clinched, but when she opened them, she exhaled a breath of relief to realize she’d missed being squashed by the dragon by the opening of its mouth. She looked at the teeth all around her. They were massive—larger than her scepter.
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