The Second Symbol

by Lana Axe

  “Go!” Taren shouted.

  Neither Imrit nor Zamna moved. Frustrated, Taren shouted at them again, but still they remained at his side.

  “We’re not leaving you, foolish boy,” Imrit scolded.

  Taren felt a lump rise in his throat, tears stinging his eyes. He knew Imrit would never abandon him. Everything the old man had done, he had done for him. The least he could do was return the favor and help Imrit any way he could. First they would deal with the dragon, and then they’d retrieve the tome together. Failing that, both would die here. Together they held the shield, putting all their strength behind it.

  Iracidae’s body shook with anger, and a crackling hiss sounded from her belly.

  “She’s going to breathe fire!” Zamna called to his companions. He had no idea if the shield they were holding was adequate to protect against dragon fire. Neither answered him, but both seemed to tense, suggesting they intended to hold the spell.

  Sweat beaded on Imrit’s brow, his every muscle quivering with fatigue. Taren sensed his discomfort but could do nothing to alleviate it. He could only hold the spell, focusing all his energy into it.

  As his magic began to wane, Taren’s right arm begged for release. Every nerve in his hand stung as if pierced by a million knives. The dragon-shaped mark burned with fire as the symbol fought against him. A wave of panic came over him as he realized it was trying to force him to submit to the dragon. What did the symbol want with this foul creature? She was evil to the core. Taren wanted no part of her or her fire.

  The dragon’s head reared back, and the sorcerers braced themselves for the onslaught. Zamna stood behind them and prepared to make a fast getaway. He angled his body toward Imrit. If the shield failed, he might have time to drag the old man away. It was a gamble. He was betting on Taren’s youth and good health to help him get to safety. Imrit already looked frail, as if he could barely maintain his spell. Taren, on the other hand, appeared stronger than Zamna had ever seen him.

  Bellowing orange flame, Iracidae unleashed the power of dragon fire. The entire room heated quickly, becoming unbearably hot in mere seconds. Taren’s throat went dry, the taste of ash filling his mouth. Anger roiled in his belly, emboldened by the dragon’s attack. Opening his mouth, he let out a wild cry, as if he could breathe fire of his own. With all his might, he thrust the shield toward the dragon. It was a last ditch effort to control her wrath. The green of his shield faded to a pale yellow. It wasn’t going to hold.

  Taren’s eyes flashed with a moment of indecision, and Zamna knew he had to act. He leapt for the old man, whose arms had collapsed at his sides. Tackling the sorcerer, the pair slid across the floor. Zamna rolled, carrying the old man halfway to the shrine’s entrance, his eyes searching for any sign that Taren had followed.

  Squinting through the smoke, Taren tried to locate Zamna and Imrit. Impossible. Placing all trust in the La’kertan, he believed them both to be safe. His yellow shield continued to shrink, the dragon showing no sign of relenting. Her fiery breath continued its barrage, forcing the herbalist into submission. Digging deep into his magic, he let out a burst of lightning with his free hand. Iracidae recoiled slightly, more surprised than hurt. Her concentration broken, the flames paused temporarily.

  Taren took the opportunity to run. Sprinting toward the tunnels, he made it to the door only to realize it was a single, long hallway. If he went inside, he was trapped with only one direction to run. Then he would be cornered. His vision filled with smoke, and he coughed violently. Keeping low, he headed for the center of the shrine, hoping to locate his companions.

  “Over here!” Imrit’s hoarse voice shouted. His throat was full of gravel, and he shook as he coughed against the smoke.

  Taren hurried to his side. “Where’s Zamna?” he asked, still squinting to see.

  Imrit pointed ahead. “He told me to stay put and went that way.”

  The herbalist’s shoulders sank. Zamna had gone to find him, and in doing so had gone back into Iracidae’s path. Taren started to his feet, but Imrit grabbed his sleeve.

  “Stay,” he said. “Your friend knows what he’s doing.”

  Iracidae’s giant form silhouetted against the smoke. A smaller figure moved gracefully around her. It could only be Zamna. Taren wanted to go to him, but he had no idea what spell to use. Opening his bag, he drew out two potions, one for himself, the other for Imrit. “Drink,” he said. Downing the draught in one gulp he immediately felt the effects on his magical stores. They would renew within minutes, and he’d be ready to make another attempt against the dragon. Keeping both eyes on Zamna, he waited for the right moment. He was clever, and likely had a far better plan than Taren, but if the La’kertan needed his help, he’d be ready.

  “You can’t outrun me, lizard,” Iracidae called, clearly amused. “This little game of hide and seek will entertain me only so long. Then I shall show you what we dragons are capable of.”

  Zamna didn’t respond. Keeping low in the smoke, he kept his nostril flaps tightly closed. Creeping toward the dragon statue, he retrieved a dagger abandoned by one of the Cultists. Taking careful aim, he steadied his arm for the throw. It was difficult, the smoke-filled air decreasing his normally keen vision. Hoping to strike an eye, he sent the dagger flying. It glanced off her nose and clattered to the floor. Zamna cursed under his breath.

  Iracidae shook her head and sneezed loudly. “Is that all you can manage? Tickling a dragon?” She laughed, her tone more maniacal than before. “I tire of this game,” she shouted. Swinging her tail, she took aim at the La’kertan. Ducking low, he rolled behind the statue. Her tail made contact with the marble, shattering it and sending debris in every direction.

  Zamna lifted his arm to shield his face. Half the statue’s head crashed next to him, its remaining eye staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Grasping it with both hands, he struggled back to his feet. It was heavy, but it was a better weapon than the dagger. With all his strength, he pulled the chunk of marble to one side and swung it toward the dragon. Releasing it at full momentum, he sent it flying at her head. Dropping low, he did not see whether it reached its target.

  A shout of anger and pain suggested it had. With a roar of malice, Iracidae unleashed a torrent of flame, blasting it over the ruined statue’s platform. Zamna pressed himself to the floor. There was nowhere to run. Both of his escape routes were wide open, and the dragon would only need to turn her head to melt the La’kertan. His best bet was staying put. Her flames failed to reach him, but the platform wouldn’t last long under her attack. If she kept it up, the remaining marble would crumble, and Zamna would be left exposed.

  From his position, Zamna saw a flash of red. It was a Cultist approaching the statue. Zamna groaned. The elf was bound to try to drag him from his hiding place and give him to Iracidae. He was going to have a second fight on his hands. But the elf did not approach him. Instead, he turned toward the dragon and spread his arms wide. With a shout of “Blessed Iracidae,” the elf ran headlong into the fire, a second man following immediately after.

  Stunned, Zamna’s eyes refused to blink. The stench of brimstone and burning flesh seared his nostrils, and he forced them closed once again. These Cultists were the craziest people he’d ever encountered. If he managed to live through this, he was never returning here for any reason, no matter who asked.

  Imrit and Taren witnessed the sacrifices as well. Neither spoke. It was too horrible a sight to speak of. The elves lay unmoving, charred beyond recognition, their final wishes granted. The flames stopped abruptly as Iracidae took a moment to look upon the brethren she had killed. Taren doubted she felt remorse.

  “Now’s our chance,” Imrit whispered.

  Before Taren could stop him, the old man rushed forward.

  Chapter 16

  Blue magic ignited in Imrit’s hands, a look of wild passion in his eyes. Pouring all his physical strength into his magic, he blasted a stream of blue energy at the dragon. Iracidae swiveled her head, her green eyes narrowing
. A look of amusement came over her face as she studied the scrawny sorcerer. Clearly she didn’t see him as a threat.

  The magic blasted against the dragon’s scales, a cloud of steam emerging from their surface. She laughed, amused by his failure. But as she drew back her head to set fire to the old wizard, she found herself void of flame. Gasping in surprise, her throat tightened, letting out a pitiful shriek. Confusion was written all over her face. No sorcerer had such power over a dragon.

  Imrit smiled. “You underestimate us humans!” he cried. “We are far more than lunch to your type.”

  “You will die for your insolence!” she shouted. Reaching inside a long-dormant space behind her heart, she renewed the flame inside her. Smoke wafted from her nostrils and between her sparkling white fangs. “I shall add your bones to my hoard!”

  Though barely able to stand, Imrit did not give up. He straightened his back as best he could and shouted an incantation, but nothing happened. Frozen in place, the old man cried out in distress. A blast of orange flame was headed straight at him.

  Without warning, Imrit was forced to the floor and dragged backward.

  “Taren,” Imrit whispered.

  Tucking Imrit behind him, Taren cried, “Stay low!” Forcing magic from his hands, he threw out a shield of green, holding it against Iracidae’s inferno. It was far greater than before, fed by some means unknown. Dragons were complicated creatures, with secrets never revealed. He searched his mind for a stronger spell but came up short. Focusing instead on the shield, he placed all of his will behind it. If it failed, the two of them would be incinerated.

  The dragon continued her onslaught for several minutes, taxing the herbalist’s power to its limits. Slowly, she drove him to his knees, the weight of her magic pressing down on him. Despite his youth and strength, he could not stand long against a dragon. Through the smoke, he could not see Zamna, but he silently hoped the La’kertan had made it to safety. Otherwise he would die here, where Taren and Imrit were about to meet their end.

  Taren felt himself fading, but he fought the urge to drop the spell. Pain shot through every bone in his body as he continued to hold the shield beneath the dragon’s attack. It felt like he was holding up a mountain, his body screaming for him to let go. Sweat poured from the young man’s skin, the heat growing more intense. It evaporated as soon as it appeared, the scent of burning flesh creeping into his nose. Iracidae would never relent.

  The last of Taren’s magic burned in his stomach, and he knew the end was near. Silently pleading with the symbol, he sensed no reply. He knew it would not use its strength against the dragon, and he cursed it for that decision. Rather than retreat to the fetal position, he chose to die with dignity. He would look into the dragon’s eyes, defying her to the last. With his magic spent, the green shield faded to nothing, his arm raising instinctively to shield his face from the flames.

  Dragon fire blasted against his right arm, and he felt the symbol awaken. You will die with me, he projected with his mind. The symbol had earned its fate. It would be melted down and added to the dragon’s wealth, and he hoped it would lose all its power in the process. It deserved no less for its refusal to aid him. It had chosen him in Ailwen’s tomb two years earlier, only to abandon him here. It was a cruel, evil object.

  Expecting to die, the herbalist waited, counting the seconds in his head. Any moment he would feel the searing heat as it melted his flesh. Yet several seconds had passed, and still he felt no pain.

  Taren blinked, his mind attempting to comprehend what was happening. He could see the fire against his skin, but he remained unburnt. Taking his eyes off the dragon, he looked at the marks on his arm. Where once the head of a mighty dragon had been was something entirely different. The lines had formed into spade-shaped scales, a mirror-image of Iracidae’s own armor.

  No burning, no discomfort. Taren couldn’t believe what was happening. The scales formed upon his hand as well, spreading up his arm and past his sleeve. A tingle in his left hand let him know that the same thing was happening there. As long as the fire continued, he felt his skin prickle, the only sensation a minor itch. He felt it on his legs and abdomen, and finally on his neck and under his jaw.

  Iracidae’s green eyes flashed with sudden insight. Her flames could not harm this human. She ceased her attack and stood over him.

  Taren felt the symbol inside him as it returned to a state of rest, but a spark remained inside it. It had come when he needed it most, not abandoned him as he’d expected. Guilt swept over him at the memory of his harsh words. He wished only to understand this artifact, but all it ever seemed to do was confuse him. Would he ever find the answers? Looking now upon Iracidae, he was determined to know whatever she did about the symbol’s origins.

  “I see now what lies within you,” Iracidae said. “What I sensed before was a farce. You bear a mighty talisman. The strength of dragons protects you.”

  “You will not harm my friends,” Taren said. He didn’t know what help the symbol would be if the fight resumed, but he felt his magical stores completely restored and ready to obey him.

  “I no longer desire to do so,” the dragon replied. “Tell me. Did you have any idea what it was you carried?”

  “In all honesty, I’m still not entirely sure,” he admitted. “Perhaps you can help me with that.” Turning, he helped Imrit back to his feet. Iracidae was no longer a threat.

  Zamna hurried over, skirting past the dragon, his eyes ever watchful. “Are you all right?” he asked them.

  “I’m fine,” Imrit replied.

  “As am I,” Taren said.

  Zamna examined the herbalist’s scales. Though no longer needed, they remained upon the young man’s skin. “Nice scales,” he said with a grin. Whatever had happened to his companion, it appeared to be permanent. But the magic of the symbol did as it pleased, and neither he nor Taren had any idea what it had in store for the young herbalist.

  “I feel better than I have in weeks,” Taren replied. “Now all I want is to know more about the symbol.” His eyes locked on Iracidae. “Since we’re no longer enemies, I’d like to have a look at that tome.”

  “You are dragon-bonded,” she said. “I shall assist you out of respect for my ancestor, the one whose breath gave life to the magic inside you.”

  Zamna whispered a word of warning. “Magical words, but don’t trust her.”

  “I do not fear her,” Taren stated. The symbol warmed inside him. Somehow he knew Iracidae would not try to hurt him or his companions.

  As the trio followed Iracidae toward the tunnels, Jarraluc rushed forward. “Behold! Blessed Iracidae has transformed this human with her cleansing fire!”

  The remaining brethren dropped low to the ground in reverence. Taren wasn’t sure if it was for him or for the dragon. He didn’t care. Ignoring the spectacle, the trio followed Iracidae into the darkened tunnels to her lair.

  The sun’s rays had changed to a deep orange hue, the product of sunset on the island. It gave an eerie glow to the hoarded gold, as if embers hid themselves within each heap. Taren smelled the familiar scent of parchment. There must be many books hidden here, but none could be seen.

  Stopping beside one of her treasure mounds, Iracidae said, “Here you will find what you seek.” With a gentle touch of her talon, she brushed away piles of rubies and sapphires. A gilded chest lay beneath.

  Imrit started forward, almost salivating with anticipation. The dragon barred his way.

  “Only this one may touch the book in my presence,” she said, looking at Taren.

  Taren stepped forward and knelt before the chest. It opened without resistance. Inside was a book, bound in brown leather. He lifted it with great care, inhaling deeply its ancient scent. The binding felt surprisingly sturdy in his hands. Beneath his fingers he felt warmth. Magic had preserved this tome. Despite its age, it appeared pristine.

  Caressing the gilded edges of the parchment, he smiled to himself. Great care had been taken in crafting this volume.
The most powerful spells would fade over time if not properly preserved. But this one had been sealed in pure gold, sustaining it for ages. It prevented any fraying or damage to the delicate pages housed inside the leather-bound volume.

  “Do not open it in my presence,” Iracidae warned.

  “Why not?” Taren asked. What threat could a book possibly pose to her?

  “It is imbued with the spirits of many dragons,” she replied. “As is the token you carry.”

  “I thought the symbol was forged by only one dragon,” Taren said. Her words earlier had suggested as much.

  “One dragon forged it,” she answered. “But the spirits of all her kin are present as well. Though they are long gone, a tiny fragment of each remains.”

  “In the book as well?” he wondered.

  “The ink is mixed with the blood of dragons,” she said. “They gave it of their own free will, and that is how the book maintains its power.” The mighty dragon looked away into the darkness. “It is far too painful for me to look upon the words in the tome. If you open it in my presence, I will feel the longing of those dragons, their dreams unfulfilled, and the pain of their deaths.” Her voice went silent, a heaviness hanging in the air.

  Taren spared a glance at Imrit. The old man’s face was stone. He was thinking the exact same as Taren. They needed the dragon in order to unlock the symbol’s potential. She had to help them decipher the book. Without her, the tome was useless.

  “I have no desire to cause you grief or pain,” he said, his tone soft.

  “Then do as I bid,” she replied. “The book has been kept safe for you, dragon-bonded. Now take it and be on your way.”

  Swallowing hard, Taren knew he could not obey. “I must have your help to unlock the symbol,” he told her. “I fear the tome won’t do much good without your assistance.”