“Oh no!” cried Stitch, “Hunter, look! The wizards, I think they’re dead!”
“I think we’ll be joining them soon, Stitch,” Hunter said, angrily. “I’m out of arrows and Ballorn can barely stand.” He smiled at Stitch, “Nice knowing you,” he said, patting Stitch on the back and drawing his hunting knife. “I think I’ll give my friend a hand,” he laughed and sprinted toward Grimbarr.
The dragon knew he had won and was now simply toying with Ballorn. The nemilar could barely support his own weight and as he stumbled around tears welled up in his eyes as he saw Hunter racing toward them. He held up his hand and implored his valiant friend to flee, but he did not.
With one swift upward stroke, Grimbarr impaled Hunter on a single claw. He looked down, almost resigned to his destiny. He lived long enough to look into Ballorn’s eyes, smiling briefly before the light left his.
Stitch watched as the dragon tossed Hunter’s lifeless body aside and menacingly began his approach toward Ballorn. The tailor was angry. He glared at the scene before him and felt a rage that he had never experienced before.
“You leave him alone!” he bellowed. He shocked himself. It wasn’t the meek tailor shouting at the dragon, it was something else. He felt stronger, confident and unafraid. A pain surged through his body and he fell to his hands and knees sweating and shaking. He stared at his hands as they began to grow. His fingers were thicker, his wrists were stronger, and the sleeves of his jacket started to split as his forearms doubled in size. He raised his palms and was about to cradle his head but found it difficult as his jacket had become so tight, but it did not encumber him for long as his swelling body shredded it. He fell forward as his body was wracked with pain once more. His palms slapped against the floor and he dug his fingers into the ground, creating deep gouges in the solid rock. The pain stopped and he rose slowly to his feet. He looked straight into Grimbarr’s eyes.
Striding towards the dragon, he pointed at him, “I’m going to kill you!” he growled.
Grimbarr backed away slightly, unsure of what was happening.
Stitch leaned down and took his friend by the arm, “Go,” he said, “I’ve got some business to finish.” As he watched Ballorn stagger away he stooped down and took hold of the silver hammer. “My turn!” he roared, and charged forward.
Grimbarr planted his feet and swung at Stitch. The tailor leapt into the air, using the dragon’s own claws as a stepping-stone. Soaring past the dragon’s open jaws he took a huge swing and struck the crystal with all his might. Grimbarr roared and fell backwards, shaking his head as blood red droplets began to ooze from the crystal. A loud crack echoed around the chamber as it split and fell from the dragon’s brow and Grimbarr crashed to the ground taking his last breaths.
Felidan took no pleasure in the dragon’s suffering, quickly remembering the promise he had made to Volknar. Sprinting to his shredded jacket, he uncovered the hideous crown, then dashed back to the dragon.
Kneeling next to Grimbarr’s head, he placed it on the ground beside him. “I’m really sorry, Grimbarr. I never wanted this, none of us did.”
The dragon now had a gentle look in his eyes, “Do not apologise little one, you have done a good thing today. You have not taken my life, you have given it back to me. I have been used to do terrible things, things that should never be repeated.”
Stitch held up the crown, “Volknar said that this will save you, I only hope he’s right.”
“Perhaps,” said the dragon as his eyes closed, “but he is only a child.”
A golden mist drifted gently from his mouth, lingering for a split second before swirling around Stitch and eventually being absorbed by the crown.
“So, now we know who the real Nibrilsiem is.”
Stitch shuffled around to see Yello smiling at him. “What!”
“It’s you, Felidan. You are the true Nibrilsiem.”
“But, but I can’t be! I’m not brave or courageous or any of those things! Ballorn is the Nibrilsiem.”
“No, Felidan, the true Nibrilsiem comes forward, he is not chosen or informed by another that he is the one.”
“I wish I’d have known earlier,” Stitch said quietly as he started to sob. “Hunter’s dead and so are your friends. We nearly lost Ballorn too.”
“Hunter was a brave nemilar, I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted to live into his dotage anyway and Porflax was very, very old.” He glanced over at where the two fallen wizards lay. “Unfortunately, Barden survived, horrible little git, he can’t even die when he’s supposed to!”
As Stitch reached for the crown he did not see Yello palm the smaller piece of the crystal and quickly thrust it into his robes, “I suppose we’d better get this back to Volknar and see if it worked,” he said, quietly.
Yello pointed at the larger piece of the crystal, “I think you’d better bring that with you as well,” he advised. “The senior wizards from Reiggan will be coming for it and I’m sure they’ll want to thank you personally.”
Stitch picked it up and stared at it, “Everything we went through, all the friends we lost… for this!” he sighed. “It doesn’t make sense!”
Yello shook his head, “Things very rarely do when magical forces are involved, my friend.”
Stitch tried to put the crystal shard in his pocket, but it was far too large to fit. Noticing the bag he had made for Ballorn, he picked it up, “I’ll be able to carry this as easily as Ballorn did,” he said, studying his biceps. “Mind you, I’ve thought of a better name for it. As it’s used to pack things away, I’m going to call it a ‘backpack’.”
EPILOGUE
Gelbran stared lovingly at Grubb who lay in his crib. Three years had passed since they had descended Muurkain. Their new village had taken shape surprisingly quickly, each family having their own warm, comfortable cottage. Occasionally they were visited by Asdor and Cordain and were only too pleased that they were the only dragons they had seen since they had been forced to abandon their hunt for Grimbarr.
There was a gentle tapping on the door. Gelbran smiled as he glanced across at his wife, who sat snoozing in the chair next to him. “Just a minute,” he called gently as he rose from his seat.
He opened the door to see Fellis standing there, a look of deep concern on her face. Taking her arm, he steered her inside and quietly closed the door, “Fellis, what is it, what’s wrong?”
Fellis seemed reluctant to answer.
Gelbran placed his finger under her chin and looked into her eyes, “Come on, girl,” he said smiling, “it can’t be all that bad.”
A tear welled up in her eye as she spoke, “Oh, Gelbran, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you, but I had to.”
“Tell me what? Come on, spit it out,” coaxed Gelbran.
Tears now flooded down her panic-stricken face, “It’s the dragon,” she sobbed. “The dragon’s back!”
Without a word, Gelbran flung open the door, startling his wife and son, who began to cry. “EVERYBODY OUTSIDE!” He roared.
The light from the cottage doorways flooded the ground around him as he stood, breathing hard, waiting for the other vikkery. One by one, they joined him in the cool night air.
“Gelbran, what on Pordan is all this?” asked one of them.
“I’ve just been told that our old friend the dragon’s back,” he growled. “I say we go and put his fire out for good. Who’s with me?”
The vikkery clamoured around, some grabbing weapons as they transformed. Fellis lead the way, sprinting ahead as Gelbran and two others followed, Gelbran ordering most of the vikkery to stay behind and protect the village.
Reaching the only large cave in the area Fellis pointed, “Look,” she whispered. “He’s in there.”
Gelbran frowned, “You saw him go in there?”
“I didn’t see him,” she replied, “but look at all the sparks coming from the cave. The last time I saw anything like that, it was coming from him.”
“This isn’t right,” whi
spered Gelbran, “there’s no tracks or anything outside. If he was in there, his footprints would be all over the place.”
“We have to look into this,” Fellis urged, “whether he’s in there or not.”
Gelbran nodded and the four of them approached slowly. Suddenly, one of the vikkery cried out in pain as an arc of lightning struck the sythe he was holding. “Bugger, bugger, bugger,” he yelled, trying to shake the pain from his hand. Now on the ground, there was a second strike to the sythe.
“Drop your weapons!” Gelbran cried, “It’s going after them.”
No sooner had they hit the ground, than they too were struck. The metal was instantly blackened and the handles charred.
“Alright then, if that’s the way you want it!” snarled Gelbran as he grew. “Looks like it’ll be teeth and claws that put you down, dragon!”
All four charged toward the cave. There was a blinding flash of light, and they all vanished…
Mark of The Nibrilsiem: Set before The Ascension of Karrak (The Karrak Trilogy Book 4) Page 30