Ascension: The Dragons of Kendualdern

by Sam Ferguson

  Gorliad turned to see the dwarves had managed to push their foes into the forest as well. A few trolls were regenerating outside the forest, as well as a handful of new ones sprouting from severed limbs, but the dwarves had managed to push the majority into the woods.

  The burgundy dragon could feel the cold spreading over his shoulder and seeping into his chest, just as the troll had promised, but his fires were not gone yet. He opened his mouth and devoured the forest in such a wave of flame as he had never before unleashed. Snow within one hundred meters of the hot red and orange flames melted and turned the earth to mud. The snow upon the trees melted, and then evaporated into a great cloud of silver steam that danced with the thick, black smoke. The trees burst and cracked, some exploding with the heat and others becoming large poles of living flame. The smaller trolls were destroyed in a blink. Gorliad turned his head and continued to push the flame around the troll king.

  The troll howled and screamed. He erected wall after wall of ice, only to have it melt and vanish. Flames licked the fur upon his back, scorching the hairs and melting them to his foul skin. The troll king created a shell of ice, but Gorliad did not relent. The burgundy dragon leapt into the air and took to wing, ensuring the flames consumed the forest on all sides of the troll king.

  The blue shell of ice cracked and split. White cracks ripped and popped through the surface under the inferno’s relentless assault. Yet, despite weakening, the shell held. Gorliad glanced around. The forest was all ablaze. The only way to increase the heat would be to use his fire directly on the shell, but the cold from the troll’s spear was edging in deeper into his chest and he could feel it draining his fires.

  He looked back to the dwarves. He saw the hope on their faces. He turned back to the troll king and knew what he had to do. He poured out orange and green flame upon the shell as he soared directly for it. With all of his weight he slammed into the ice, clawing and ripping at it. Shards of ice fell like melting crystal amidst the furnace. Gorliad at last managed to topple the shell over onto its side. Click-click-swop! A deep, white crack tore through the shell and the heat finally worked its way through. The crack widened, melting under Gorliad’s fire. Soon there was a hole in the ice nearly the size of Gorliad’s snout. He reached his left foreleg up and ripped at the opening. A hunk of ice tore free and then he spewed his flame into the hole.

  “Huuuwaaaargh!” the troll king screamed in agony. The blood curdling howl stopped abruptly and the inside of the blue shell turned black as night. A hideous, green and gray smoke emanated up from the hole in the egg and the ice melted away at once. There, in the moist earth remained a pile of yellow and black ash. The troll king was dead.

  At that moment, the cold filled Gorliad’s chest and his fire ceased.

  He walked through the burning forest back to the dwarves. They were cheering and pointing at troll bodies around them. It took a moment for Gorliad to realize that all of the trolls, not only the ones who had been consumed in the fire, were now dead. The bodies on the snow, whether whole or mutilated, did not regenerate again. They were dead.

  “The troll king is no more,” Gorliad said.

  Fenerir ran forward and pointed at the nearest corpse. “These trolls fell dead all at once. They must have been connected to the king.”

  Gorliad nodded. “They were spawned from him. They will no longer take breath in this plane.”

  Fenerir spat. “The void take them back,” he cursed.

  “Come, we must make our way to the others,” Gorliad said.

  “Well,” Fenerir said as he looked around. “We can start walking, since the basket is broken, but with the forest on fire I am afraid we will have to find a way around. In the meantime, go and see the others. Then come back and tell us of their fate.”

  Gorliad nodded. “How many are there?” he asked.

  “Twenty three survived,” Fenerir said. “It was the worst slaughter we have had in a long time,” he added.

  Gorliad nodded. “Salvage the rope and lashings from the basket. I will carry you all upon my back.”

  Fenerir looked up at him with a knit brow. “You think you can carry that many of us?”

  “If you can hold on, I can carry you.”

  The dwarves quickly got to work and then carefully climbed onto Gorliad’s back. Gorliad looked up to the sky and spread his wings. He climbed up steeply, forcing the dwarves to hug close together. They clung to his back as best they could as he climbed above the thick smoke. They soared over the ashes of the forest in silence. No one spoke, hardly any of the dwarves even moved.

  Gorliad knew they were anxious, so was he. Had all of the frost trolls died along with the king? Even if they had, would it have been fast enough to save the others before they were destroyed? He flew faster, pulled by his sense of duty. He ignored the growing ache that spread through his body from his exhausted wings. They burned and started to tremble, but he pushed on. Unfortunately, his wings were not the only problem. The biting cold in his chest moved through his body now, settling in his stomach and forming a cramp in his abdomen that pulled him down several meters before he could right himself and continue flying.

  “You alright?” Fenerir asked as he smacked his hand on Gorliad’s back.

  “Just tired,” Gorliad replied.

  “Can you see anything yet?” Fenerir asked.

  Gorliad looked down and sighed. The thick smoke wafted south, covering the land and obscuring it from the burgundy dragon’s view. “Nothing yet.” They continued on for some time, sailing above the smoke. As they neared the area where the forest ended, a heavy wind pushed in from the south and dispersed much of the smoke. His heart sank as he saw the ground below. Several shelters, those built near to the forest, had also burned along with the trees. Scores of trolls lay dead all around. Mixed with the white-furred, blood covered corpses were several dwarf bodies as well.

  Gorliad dropped down to the ground and roared in anger and grief as tears filled his eyes. The dwarves on his back slid down his tail, unceremoniously flopping onto the ground and then running around the camp. The burgundy dragon scanned the area, then finally saw what he was looking for. There, in one of the larger shelters moved a familiar form. The dragon moved closer to it and Hermean emerged from the shelter.

  “We needed you, dragon,” Hermean said matter-of-factly.

  “We had our own battle,” Fenerir called out as he ran to keep up with Gorliad.

  “I returned as fast as possible,” Gorliad said. “We met with the troll king, and I had to deal with him before we could make our way back.”

  Hermean’s eyes focused on the gaping wound in Gorliad’s right shoulder. “We lost many. We killed many more, but for every arm we cut off a new troll would grow, and for every wound we inflicted, they would simply laugh and grow stronger. My drake used his fire, but the animal’s ability is nothing like yours.” Hermean motioned to the forest. “I assume you did that?”

  Gorliad nodded. “In my fight with the troll king.”

  Hermean nodded and then glanced around. “We managed to hold them off by retreating to the shelters when the forest blazed. Then, a few minutes later all of the trolls that had managed to escape the fire just fell over in the snow, as dead as the rocks around them.”

  Fenerir spat on the ground and jabbed a thumb at Gorliad. “That was because he slew the troll king. Once the king died, all of the smaller trolls we were fighting died in a similar fashion.”

  “Smaller trolls?” Hermean asked with a knit brow. “How big was the king?”

  “Nearly as tall as the dragon,” Fenerir answered. “He wore armor made of stone and wielded ice magic. It was a most terrible foe, indeed. Each piece of skin that fell from him spawned into new trolls. It was like fighting a nightmare of ice.”

  Hermean looked again to the hole in Gorliad’s shoulder. “He managed to hit you too, I see.”

  Gorliad sighed. He lowered his head and looked into Hermean’s eyes. He didn’t form the connection immediately
though, he waited for the dwarf’s nod. Hermean agreed and the two formed the bridge between minds. Gorliad showed Hermean the ice spear, and let him feel its effects.

  “Your fire is gone?” Hermean asked with his mind. The disbelief was clearly written across his face.

  “The fires no longer burn inside, and the cold continues to spread.”

  “What do we do?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Geldryn would know,” Hermean said.

  Gorliad laughed, nearly severing the connection between them. “Shall I return to him now, and ask for grace and favor he has not shown me for decades?”

  Hermean shook his head. “No, but the knowledge would be recorded in the mountain. I am not as well versed in this matter as others may be, but I know that kings keep knowledge of the various lands in the world. They have a record of the wild beasts created by the void, and there is knowledge of how to defeat monsters like trolls and such. If there is any information on how to counter the troll king’s magic, it will be in that record.”

  Gorliad thought of the prince’s chamber, the room he was to inherit after he had learned to fly. Algearon had said that the prince’s chamber was where all knowledge was kept regarding claiming new lands. If there was such a record, it would be there.

  “I will go,” Hermean said.

  Gorliad then realized that he had not hidden his thoughts of the prince’s chamber from Hermean. If you go, you will be discovered.”

  Hermean shook his head. “I am trained in silence and stealth. Besides, out of the two of us, it is obvious that I stand a much better chance than you.”

  Gorliad relented. He then showed Hermean the passage lower in the mountain that led up to Dalean’s prepping chamber, and where her son worked.

  Hermean nodded. “I shall be back as soon as I possibly can. Until then, keep my people safe.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Gorliad asked.

  “Because you are the only hope we have to survive out here, and without fire it will be impossible. If there is a way to restore your strength, we need to find it.”

  “Perhaps if we could find a horde of gold,” Gorliad said. “It is possible all I need is healing.”

  Hermean shook his head. “We have not the time to search aimlessly for gold. How could we mine it in time to save you?”

  “I wanted to protect you,” Gorliad said. “I fear I have only brought disaster and misery upon you.”

  The connection broke and Hermean stepped in close to the burgundy dragon’s face. “No, you have brought us hope. Before you arrived, we wandered as vagabonds and outcasts. We moved, hiding in the wilds for thirty years. As bad as today was, it is not the worst day we have had. Let me repay the kindness you have shown us.”

  “You go to your death,” Gorliad said.

  “Only if they catch me,” Hermean replied with a wink. “As you said, we will conquer with the fires in our hearts.”

  Gorliad nodded. “We shall wait here. I wall salvage any timbers I can and we will fortify these structures.”

  Hermean nodded. “That would be wise. I doubt there are any other beasts in these parts that the trolls did not slay long ago. It will be cold, though. That is one foe we cannot destroy.”

  Gorliad looked to the forest. “There are embers enough to keep the fires burning for some time yet.”

  “What is going on?” Fenerir cut in. “Why are we staying here, and where are you going?” he asked as he pointed at Hermean.

  Gorliad stiffened. If he answered Fenerir, there would be no telling how long before the rest of the camp knew they traveled under the guidance of an impotent dragon.

  Hermean came to his rescue. “There is an item we need. I am going to retrieve it. I will return as swiftly as my drake can carry me.”

  “Back to your kingdom?” Fenerir pressed. “You can’t. If you are caught and one of the dragons scours your mind, they will find us. They will come for us.”

  Hermean stepped in and put his nose against Fenerir’s. “You will be silent. I will not be caught. Trust me when I say we need this item.”

  Fenerir backed away and opened his mouth to say something, then he looked to the hole in Gorliad’s right shoulder. Realization dawned on him and his hard features softened. He nodded thoughtfully. “Alright, I trust you. I would offer to go if I had a drake to ride upon, but I am afraid as I am I would only slow you down.”

  Hermean placed a hand on his shoulder. “See that others keep silent about this. I don’t want the mothers or young ones in the camp to worry.”

  Fenerir looked around and sighed. “Little late for that, I imagine, but I will do what I can to ease their minds.”

  “I’ll be back soon,” Hermean promised.

  Gorliad watched him whistle for his drake. The beautiful animal emerged from the shelter and lowered down for him to hop into the saddle. Gorliad sighed and exhaustion began to overtake him. The cold continued to spread through his body. He could only hope that Hermean would be successful, and speedy.

  “Let’s get on up!” Hermean shouted.

  Chapter 25

  Hermean sat atop his drake, watching through the trees as a large, green-backed dragon circled around in a clearing below. A black hatchling was with him, and they were searching the area. For what they were searching, he couldn’t be sure, but they circled the area intently. From the memories Gorliad had shown Hermean, he knew the dragons to be Ceadryl and Beleriad.

  The dwarf slid off the saddle and moved in closer for a better look. As he crept down the slope toward the clearing he caught the distinct smell of burned flesh. He stopped near an oak and peered through the trees and bushes. Then he saw it. There were scorched animal corpses all around the two dragons.

  “He is not here,” Beleriad said as he shot an angry flame at a charred mass that almost resembled an elk. “If he were here, he would have made himself known by now.”

  “My prince, we have hunted every living creature in the tract that belonged to Demark. There is nothing else to be done.”

  “He denied me the heart!” Beleriad snarled. “My father, the king, ordered Gorliad to surrender this land and everything in it to me. Yet what was left of Demark? Nothing! The corpse was picked over and only the bones remained. He humiliated me.”

  Ceadryl sat back on his haunches. “If he was here, he is here no longer.”

  “Where has he gone?” Beleriad shouted. “Did you know that the high queen assigned two skytes to him the same day he was last seen?”

  “Yes, my prince, you mentioned that before.”

  “Well she did! Now, no one has seen Gorliad nor the skytes since. Where did they go?”

  Ceadryl turned his head and looked southward. “I imagine he has fled, though it would be impossible to say where he has gone.”

  “Then we search for him. I will not rest until he is found and killed. He always wanted to take what was mine. Stealing my food, trying to buy his way in to my father’s graces with a false challenge, and insulting me by taking Dermarak’s heart when it was mine to claim!”

  “If he has fled the kingdom, and is not in Dermarak’s lands, then he will likely die, my prince. The wilds are no place for a crippled dragon. Do not upset yourself worrying about him.”

  Beleriad turned and stomped up to Ceadryl. “Or do you say that because you have no courage to find him?”

  “My prince, if you want me to track him for you, I will. But I would prefer we wait until you reach maturity. Until then, you are not yet a match for him.”

  “He is a cripple!” Beleriad roared with fire streaming out of his mouth. “How is it you think he can defeat me?”

  “With respect, may I remind you of the beaver pond?”

  Beleriad closed his mouth and growled. Smoke billowed out from his flared nostrils.

  Ceadryl then stepped to the right and motioned his head to the north. “There is also the fact that he defeated Demark, a fully mature king dragon.”

  “Demark was small for a king,”
Beleriad replied.

  “Yet you are smaller than Demark still. Wait until you mature, then we can go for him. If there is one thing dragons have in abundance, it is time. We wait, then we go once you are mature. You are bigger than he was at your age. You are faster than he was. There is no accomplishment he has ever made better than you have done.”

  “Then why do the dwarves in the mountain whisper his name? Why do they slink in the shadows, looking for his return?”

  Hermean had heard enough. He knew the longer he stayed close to them the more likely he would be discovered. Silently he turned his back on the dragons and crept through the forest up the slope. Despite being a dwarf with thick, stocky legs and arms, he was silent as a falling snow flake. He made his way to his drake and gave the animal a wink and a nod. Then he pointed to the other side of the hill. The two of them tiptoed through the forest and made their way west. It would take longer to reach Geldryn’s lands, but it would ensure they avoided these two dragons.

  They walked for the space of half a day before cutting north. They crossed into Geldryn’s lands just before nightfall. They didn’t stop to eat, nor to rest. He wanted to reach Dalean before dawn. He pressed eastward, keeping within three hundred yards of Geldryn’s border. That way, he was far enough in that patrols flying over the border would not be looking for him, and still close enough to the border that foot patrols or hunters would not run into him either. Still, he kept his dagger at the ready. His fingers flexed around the leather-wrapped iron handle and at once he almost smiled and cried. Thirty years ago he would have never guessed that one day he would be sneaking into his homeland armed and ready to fight against his own people.

  For a moment he thought of rejoining with Forlean, but that notion died nearly as quickly as it was born. There would be no way for him to remain hidden in Geldryn’s lands. The queen would find him eventually, and he would pay for his betrayal. His mind conjured up the image of the smoldering shelters he had left behind. The dwarves in those shelters, and those who had given their lives fighting beside him, they were his people now. Geldryn’s kingdom was no longer his home.