The Sword of Elseerian: The White Mage Saga #2 (The Chronicles of Lumineia)

by Ben Hale

  Satisfied, he eased the pressure off his foot and moved it forward. The sole of his shoe touched, and he gradually placed more weight onto it. Smooth, fluid, and painstakingly slow, he skirted the black dragon and approached the pedestal. Twenty feet from his goal his foot slipped on a piece of dust, eliciting a barely audible scrape.

  Sweat blossomed on his forehead and he swung to look at the dragon. His tension did not ease when it didn't move, and after a full minute he resumed his pace. Step by tiny step, he checked for signs of monitoring motes or other traps. Ten feet from the Sword he heard a deep, raspy growl.

  He froze, but the damage had been done. A great trembling shook the cavern as the dragon shifted. Stone ground on stone as its joints moved, and its tail scraped the ground. Despite the hardness to its body, the dragon moved like flesh, fluid and graceful, elegant and deadly. The claws tore into the floor as it turned, and its massive neck stretched and whipped around, searching for him.

  In a single heartbeat the Swordsman realized two things. The dragon had known the moment he had entered the chamber—and that it had waited until he was far enough in that there was no chance of retreat.

  The dragon swung his titanic head toward the Swordsman. Obsidian eyes stared at the intruder, unblinking. Then they tightened into furious slants and its jaws opened. Its roar caused the Swordsman's bones to quake inside his body.

  The Swordsman dropped his other spells and cast strength, speed, and agility on himself. His muscles tingled with power as the spells took effect. The flood of magic sharpened his senses, heightening the fear that galvanized him into action. Faster than he could blink the dragon's jaws reached for him.

  He leapt to the side, and the massive teeth snapped an inch from his chest. Before the dragon could withdraw the Swordsman bolted. In four long strides he reached the Sword of Elseerian. Without slowing he reached out and caught the hilt—but his hand passed right through it.

  In an instant of clarity he knew the truth. He had been set up—not by Hawk—but by someone else. Perhaps Ranson had known it was an illusion, and had intentionally leaked the information to Gerik, or Gerik himself was a Harbinger. Fury blossomed within him as he realized that once again, the Harbingers had sought to kill him.

  His rage and fear battled for supremacy. Both propelled him into motion. The titanic stone dragon coiled at the door, seeming to recognize that the Swordsman sought to escape. It bellowed its fury, rattling the objects on the shelves. Then it dashed toward him.

  Like a snake strike it exploded from the door and bit the air, but the Swordsman had dodged again. With his body tingling from the assortment of spells, he drew his sword and swept it at the dragon's face, scoring a line across its muzzle as he leapt back.

  The dragon recoiled from the scratch, and swept its enormous tail across the floor toward him. The Swordsman darted behind one of the pillars, and allowed the stone column to take the brunt of the assault. It shuddered from the blow, but cracks spider-webbed across its surface. Sensing what was coming, The Swordsman sprinted to a different column.

  The first pillar exploded as a second strike landed. Oversized chunks of debris pummeled the area, and he had to use all his skill to avoid being crushed. The tail appeared in his peripheral vision, rushing at his side. On instinct he slid to a stop and jumped backwards over it. Twisting into a tight angle, he threaded the gap between two gigantic spikes. He sucked in his breath as one scored him from shoulder to elbow, slicing his shirt and several layers of skin.

  He rolled when he landed, and risked adding a healing spell to his already charged body. The pressure on his lungs increased as they tried to sustain the energy pouring through him, but a welcoming numbness swept through his shoulder. The moment of pain, though, had brought a touch of clarity.

  The dragon had withdrawn its tail and was crouching low, its stone muscles bunching into knots as it prepared to lunge. The Swordsman swept his gaze across the debris strewn battlefield and made his decision. Then he surged into motion.

  He dashed toward the broken pillar at the same instant the dragon's maw streaked toward him. Coiling his body, The Swordsman rolled his momentum onto one foot, and then launched himself into a high forward flip. The jaws clamped shut below him as he flew sideways over its huge head.

  The Swordsman landed on the floor and lunged behind an intact pillar. Furious at its miss, the dragon wrapped a massive claw around the column and tore it from its place. It snapped like a dried stick. The entire cavern shook from the force of its removal and clumps of rock rained down as it came free. The dragon roared and tossed it aside, shattering an entire wall of shelves and magical artifacts.

  But the Swordsman was not there.

  The moment he'd landed he bolted for the first broken pillar. Using the base like a springboard, he jumped as high and as far as he could. His leap carried him over the dragon's bulk and toward the door. He slammed into the ground with brutal force, cracking the floor. His previously wounded leg twinged as he did, but he could not afford to slow.

  The dragon whipped his head in the Swordsman’s direction and issued a thunderous roar. The Swordsman yanked the door open as the dragon streaked after him. Just as he dived through the door its jaws clamped shut on his cloak, tearing it in two. The Swordsman caught the door and swung it closed before the dragon could come after him. Magically enhanced bolts slid home, and he reached for the sphere to reset the lock—but he froze as he saw what waited for him.

  Thirty battlemages stood in an arc facing him, and others were appearing behind them. Shouts rang out, echoing through the tunnels as The Swordsman's presence was reported. Magic blossomed into view as the enraged soldiers prepared themselves.

  The Swordsman saw no escape. There was no way he could get past so many, even with his body enhanced as it was. By now the wind lifts would already be directed downward, closing off his sole point of egress. They would take him, and then strip him of his magic. In the span of a day he would go from being the Swordsman . . . to an auren.

  He could fight, but then he would die. He knew it to his bones. There would be no escaping if he fought them. Alone and outnumbered amongst a highly trained enemy, it was the end. Sword in hand, he stared at them as they shouted for him to kneel. He shrugged in defeat.

  And then opened the door.

  The Swordsman leapt aside as door exploded open. Bereft of the extra support from the bolts, it was no match for the dragon that had been driving against it. Its open maw burst forward like a semi-truck exploding through the wall.

  Battlemages cried out and jumped back while the stone mages tried to calm the dragon. Brown light closed the distance and struck the black surface, trying to subdue and contain it. Enraged, the dragon withdrew, and then lunged at the tiny opening. The adjacent walls tore open as the massive creature crashed into it, raining debris onto the panicking battlemages.

  The added space allowed its shoulders and forearms through, but its hind legs and wings had gotten wedged. It roared and clawed the ground, nearly shredding a pair of soldiers that hadn't been quick enough. Its smooth black skin was marred with thousands of scratches and chips, making it appear almost grey.

  Realizing it could not force its way through, it withdrew a second time. The Swordsman bolted from the corner just as the entire end of the corridor shattered. A rock the size of beach ball struck him in the back. He winced and stumbled, but kept running. Ignoring the scattering battlemages, the dragon came for him.

  The Swordsman ran like never before. His magic coursed into his legs, fueling his lightning fast stride. Each step covered several yards, each motion was flawless. A battlemage appeared in the gloom and ink poured toward the Swordsman. He leapt and twisted, and soared over the anti-magic bonds. He landed and continued without slowing. Behind him, the dragon accelerated in pursuit.

  The breadth of the corridor trembled as the great creature forced its way down the tunnel. The vaulted ceiling was barely sufficient for the dragon to pass, causing its wings to scrape on t
he walls and roof. But the great pillars that lined the center were another matter. The dragon plowed right through them.

  Stone crunched and burst into dust and rubble, showering the fleeing battlemages. Shouting for aid, the men and women guards dived for cover. Some opened vault doors and stepped inside to avoid being crushed. His breath raspy, his whole body focused on speed, the Swordsman kept his eyes focused ahead, and his ears behind. His skin tingled with fear as the sound of shattering columns came closer, until his shoulders cringed from the proximity.

  He risked a glance back—but wished he hadn't. The jaws reached for him, snapping shut mere feet from his fleeing form. A pillar flashed past him, and it detonated a second later as the dragon went through it. Then the Swordsman saw the end of the corridor.

  Unwilling to slow, he curved in a great arc that would carry him to the ring's inside wall. So fast was his run that he was forced to jump onto the wall and run sideways to complete the turn. The dragon reached for him with its fore claw, but it clenched on empty air.

  A tremendous crash sent a shudder down the ring, and the Swordsman again glanced back. As agile as the dragon was, it hadn't been able to make the turn, and had skidded into the inside wall of the ring. The dragon recovered quickly, and was already accelerating. A bellow of sheer rage issued from its maw . . . and a sucking hiss followed.

  The Swordsman's heart sank as he realized what was coming, and knew in that moment there was no way he could outrun such powerful sentient. Then he spotted a large gilded door on the side of the hall and made his decision. In a flash he darted around the nearest pillar and took refuge in its shadow.

  He slid to a halt as a torrent of blue fire erupted from the dragon's mouth. It struck the Swordsman’s pillar and wrapped around it, melting the stone into slag. Liquid rock dripped to the floor, glowing red and steaming. Fifteen feet of column shrank as the tremendous heat stripped the outer layers.

  The Swordsman wrapped himself in his shredded cloak and cast a cooling spell on his body. In spite of the double protection he felt his cloak crumble, and his exposed skin burn. He fixed his gaze on his goal and forced himself to wait. The instant the fire cut off he exploded into action—and darted to the side.

  Whipping his sword from his sheath, he cut the bottom hinge of a massive door. Sound warnings erupted in a cacophony of ear-splitting shrieks as the metal split. Anti-magic chords burst from secret holes, seeking to ensnare him. Ignoring them he streaked upward. Scaling the wall with his shadow gauntlets, he felt the tremor as the dragon came after him.

  Tracking the dragon's position by sound, he didn't spare it a glance. He bounded up the wall and cut a second hinge. Below him, the door began to bulge, and water spurted out the sides. He reached the top at the same time as the dragon's claw found him. The claw tore through the flesh of his side, gouging deep at the same time his sword sliced through the final hinge. In an instant several things happened.

  The twenty-foot door exploded outward, driven by a tidal wave of water at its back. It struck the opposite wall and was held fast by the massive wave that hit it. With nowhere to go, the water split into both directions. Bloodied from the newest wound and shaking from the effects of his magic, the Swordsman pulled free of the dragon's claw just before the wave struck them.

  Unprepared for the force, the dragon went down and tumbled left, bellowing its rage at being thwarted. The Swordsman was knocked into the wall, and felt his arm snap. Pain blossomed through him as he fell right, and the tumultuous water rose to embrace him. Sucking in his breath, he managed to activate his air board.

  The Swordsman landed on the water and it took all his skill to stay upright. The water was so high there was no place to fly above it. Half flying and half surfing, he struggled to stay out of the churning water. Twisting and banking, he swept past three pillars before the force of the water began to deplete. Catching the side of a pillar with his good arm he dismissed the board and looked back.

  He flinched as the dragon's head exploded through the water pouring from the doorway. With the torrent bursting across its shoulders, it roared at its quarry—and was abruptly knocked down as a massive dark shape came through the opening.

  Dark green in color, the creature had thick, muscular arms and stunted legs, yet bore a tail like a crocodile. Its head was shaped like a tapered boulder, and boasted a pair of horns protruding from a spiked plate of bone on its head. It slammed into the dragon's side, leading with its horns.

  Stone chipped and cracked, and the dragon bellowed in pain. Then it turned on the newcomer. The ancient sea creature was half the size of its opponent, but there was enough water still in the corridor to give him an edge. Swirling and clawing at each other, the two titans grappled for supremacy.

  The Swordsman turned away as a blast of fire turned into a mountain of steam. He dropped to the floor and wearily began to run. Releasing all but his healing and speed spells, he limped to the corridor that led to the shafts. Within a minute he had hurried down its length to the wind shaft and leapt to the center of the floor. He was not surprised to see its direction rotating towards him. He was surprised to see the hundreds of soldiers standing at the various levels.

  "Stop him!" someone screamed.

  A thousand points of magic lit in unison—but were never released. Before anyone could react the Swordsman withdrew a black object from his side and tossed it straight up. In an instant all the lights in the shaft were snuffed out, plunging everyone into darkness. Battlemages shouted and yelled as they sought to reverse the spell, but their calls were drowned out by a rising shriek of wind.

  Billowing and sweeping up the shaft, the tremendous gust of wind abated at the same time the Swordsman's object reached its apex and began to fall. Then it struck the ground and all light returned to its place.

  But the Swordsman was gone.

  Chapter 39: Survivor

  "Did you have a good break?" Derek asked.

  They were eating breakfast the first day of the new term. Tess had returned from the quad break late the previous evening, and so hadn't seen anyone except her roommate. Shorn, Warren, Derek, and Rox were already eating when Tess sat down at their usual table. Iris was the only one absent from the table, and had rushed to meet a friend after waking.

  "It was alright," Tess answered. She wasn't sure if she wanted to tell them what her parents did for a living yet.

  "You missed the welcome speech," Derek said, and then pointed toward the door. "But you're just in time for your knots."

  A flurry of multicolored knots flooded the dining hall, searching out their recipients. Tess was confident that she had passed her courses. Every one of her friends had gone up at least one level, and each received due praise as their knots arrived. Then Tess received hers.

  Floating toward her, a collection of distinct knots came to a halt in front of her, waiting to be picked out of the air. She hadn't taken a fire class, but its knot was the largest.

  "Finally a master, huh?" Shorn grinned. "It only took two quads?"

  "She took a nap," Derek said.

  Tess laughed and admired the ten-sided red knot in her hands. Next to it a nine-sided purple knot floated, and she felt a flash of gratitude that Hawk had driven her to take the extra tests. The exams may have been brutal for those two days, but it had been worth it. She'd never felt such a sense of accomplishment.

  "Technically you have enough of a mastery to graduate now," Rox pointed out. She was looking at her own five-sided blue knot.

  "She's right, you know," Derek said. "You can graduate with a knot of eight, or as a four year journeyman."

  She grimaced. "That's not the way it works for me. I will just get more classes until I have mastered them all."

  "You make it sound like you want out."

  She sighed and shook her head. "It's not that. Magic is incredible. I just wish I could sit back and enjoy it. Studying and learning every waking minute takes some of the joy out of it—and after the attack on Brokins I just feel more press
ure."

  "You know why you can't," Rox said. "There just isn't time."

  Shorn agreed, so Tess released another sigh. "I know guys. I have to go, though. I will catch up with you later."

  Tess rose to her feet amidst their goodbyes and moved to wash her plate. Then she took off and flew up to the front door. Pausing only long enough to open it, she launched herself out and up.

  The Swordsman was first on her schedule, and she was anxious to learn from him again—in spite of her concern. The previous time he'd tutored her had been a harsh dose of reality. She'd practiced whenever possible, and hoped that her growth would prevent further bruising. She smiled to herself, recalling how her mother had reacted when she'd cast a spell on her.

  She flew over the empty Tempest stadium as lazy flurries of snow drifted down from the sky. She shivered at the chill, and pulled some heat to warm herself. Then she descended toward the castle. Nearing the ground she spontaneously flew into a flip and landed at the great doors. She knew the movement was an outward expression of her inner attempt to release her tension. It didn't work.

  Tess entered the ancient oak doors to the smell of dry paper and dust. She smiled and decided that the library was her favorite building at Tryton's. Striding forward, she walked between the enormous bookshelves that lined the great hall. Just as every time she'd been there, a huge fireplace cradled a glowing fire.

  She blinked as she spotted movement, but her spark of caution proved unnecessary. The fluttering sound turned out to be a wisp of purple magic moving from one book to another. Her brow creased in thought, wondering what it was. A moment later it climbed out of a book like smoke and glided to the next in line.

  Tess shrugged and moved on. She strode past mountainous bookshelves and descended to the base of the castle, but the training room was empty. She stood in the center of the room, wondering if this was part of her lesson. After five minutes she checked the time, and then her schedule, wondering if she'd gotten the time mixed up. Then she noticed the compass blinking.