The Second Prophecy (Part 1 of the Dragdani Prophecies)

by R. Alan Ferguson

  The figure turned to face them, and Peter jumped out of his chair, ignoring the pain in his rear. It was wearing jet-black robes, and holding them together was a broach, which was a circle with a skull and crossbones in the middle, and around it was the color purple.

  “Is there something wrong, dearie?” asked the dark body, still using a woman’s voice, only it was cold and soft.

  “Who...what are you?” asked Peter, startled by all he was seeing. Just then, the scenery changed again, and Peter saw the old woman standing where the figure stood before. The light and fire had returned, as did the furniture and the roof.

  “You pure boy, your wound must be more serious than you thought,” said the woman in her rough, throaty voice.

  “No, you were different, and so was this place. I know what I saw,” said Peter, becoming more alarmed with every moment that passed.

  “What are you talking about?” Braten asked him.

  “Didn’t you see it?” said Peter.

  Braten shook his head slowly.

  “I told you it wouldn’t work,” said the woman smoothly, as though there was a fourth person in the tiny room.

  “Who the hell are you talking to,” Peter pressed on at her.

  Again, everything around them changed, and this time Braten saw what Peter had the first time.

  “What’s going on,” he said, as he jumped out of his chair.

  “Shall I kill them now?” said the hooded figure, its eyes changing to shining yellow Dragon eyes under its dark hood.

  “OHMIGODS! IT’S HER! IT’S KILAMEN!” shouted Braten, horrified by what his brown eyes were showing him.

  “No, I told you, I have better plans for him. Contain him only,” said a sinister voice that seemed to be coming from the shadows. But it was a voice that Peter had heard before, the voice of that the assassin who attacked him in the Normal World.

  “And the other one?” said Kilamen.

  “Him you can kill,” said the cold voice.

  A dark smile approached her lips as she contemplated ways of killing young Braten.

  “Ulicoth, that’s who you are,” said Peter, trying to sound calm but failing miserably.

  “You remember. That’s good, Peter,” said the Dark Lord. “You know, I’m looking forward to turning you to our side.”

  “That’ll never happen,” said the young King.

  “ENOUGH OF THIS CRAP!” shouted Kilamen, growing impatient by the talk.

  “Keen to die young,” said Peter arrogantly.

  Kilamen laughed. “Ulicoth was right. You are an insolent little brat,” she spat. “This just might be fun, after all.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” Peter commented.

  Before Peter knew what was happening, a yellow energy ball came straight at him, and he reacted with lightening reflexes by jumping in Braten’s direction, pushing him to the floor and out of harm’s way.

  Peter jumped back onto his feet and, without giving her time to react, threw the Cripplize spell at her. She reacted with equal speed and deflected it.

  When he saw that his first attempt had failed, he threw an energy ball right at her head, knowing that she would deflect it, too, which might give him enough time for a surprise attack. He was right. A second after he threw it, she deflected it, but failed to see his plan, which meant Peter was able to get behind her. Peter hid behind the ragged old armchair that sat near the back wall.

  Kilamen turned to find him, but there was a flash of blue light, and Peter stood in front of her again. He used the Terwalia curse, which was usually one of the worst curses, for it would burn the skin off of its victims in seconds unless they know the curing spell.

  Seeing her mistake, Kilamen used the Deflecta spell. She was too late. The spell hit her, but to her surprise, and to the surprise of Braten and even Ulicoth, nothing happened to her. What they didn’t know was that the one who stood in front of her was only an astral projection, and the real Peter was still safely hidden behind the old chair. Just then, the King pounced from behind the chair, grabbed her by the neck and shoved her into the front wall. He then proceeded to smack her head off it again and again. He didn’t stop there; seven times he smashed her head against the wall. In the end, she fell unconscious to the rotten wooden floor.

  “She underestimated you. Be proud; she’s not easily fooled,” said Ulicoth from the shadows.

  “COME ON, QUICKLY!” Peter shouted to Braten.

  “You can’t get away. I’m still watching you,” said Ulicoth confidently. “And now that I can see clearly through the walls of this place. There’s nowhere you can run or hide from me once I’ve found you. You’re mine, boy.”

  Peter was trying to figure out a way to escape without Ulicoth seeing them.

  There was a white light that appeared in the middle of the floor. Peter could see what he thought was the handle of a sword.

  “Pick it up,” said a voice coming from the light. Peter recognized this voice, too, for it belonged to the Grand Wizard, Jaucal. “Pick up the sword and use it. He can’t see you in its light.”

  “What do I do with it?” said Peter, afraid and confused.

  “You’ll know what to do.”

  Peter took the sword in his hand and held up to the shadow. The light intensified, which caused the darkness to roll back.

  “RUN, BRATEN! RUN OUT! HE CAN’T SEE US!” shouted Peter.

  As they left through the door, Ulicoth Phazed into the cottage only to find Kilamen still lying on the floor.

  “Get up,” he said to her.

  “I’M GOING TO KILL THAT LITTLE GIT!” she screamed as she lifted herself up.

  Ulicoth left the small house first and saw them running over the rise in the road. Kilamen soon joined him, and they took off in lightening speed and were almost on top of them. The boys were running for dear life as their enemy’s curses and energy balls flew past them.

  “Look,” said Braten pointing ahead of them. As he was pointing, he was hit in the back by a curse.

  Peter hadn’t realized what had happened, for he was in front and looking ahead. He saw a Wolf running toward them.

  “Braten, come on,” he said. When the young Wizard did not answer, he skidded to a halt and turned to see him lying on the dirt road. When he went to him, the young Wizard wasn’t moving. His eyes were wide open, and blue veins could be seen on his skin, which had momentarily turned scarlet. Peter tried to lift him, and the wounded boy cried out. The young King took his arms and started to drag him, and as Braten did not stir, he continued to do so.

  The Wolf had zoomed passed them and headed for Ulicoth. It jumped at the Wizard-Elf, knocking him to the ground.

  Kilamen halted immediately.

  Just then, funnels of swirling smoke appeared, and Ulicoth’s followers stood around him and his attacker. Like Ulicoth, they wore robes of scarlet with hoods over their faces so no one could see who they were. They had badges sewn onto the left side of their robes. Badges which were round with a skill and crossbones in the middle, and around that was some dark color. The colors represented a different rank. They drew their wands to attack.

  “NO! GET THE BOY!” shouted Ulicoth. “I’LL TAKE CARE OF THIS TRAITOR!”

  Kilamen lead the crowd of Dark Wizards and Witches after the two boys.

  While dragging his friend, Peter hadn’t looked to see the mist that had formed behind him. The very mist that he walked straight into.

  Ulicoth and the Wolf where still fighting. The Wolf was somehow wearing a protection talisman, and a very powerful one, at that. The Dark Lord’s spells bounced off of him like water off a duck’s back.

  “How did you get that?” Ulicoth asked the Wolf.

  “It was a gift from a Wizard greater than you could ever hope to be,” replied the Wolf.

  “So Demala, Jaucal has recruited you into his service.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Don’t be stupid. You know better than anyone that I always win.”

  “Not today,”
said Demala. He pounced and, using its vice-like mouth, ripped through the Wizard-Elf’s right arm with his razor sharp teeth. Ulicoth grabbed the Wolf by the scruff of the neck pulled him off, which ripped a chunk out of the Wizard-Elf’s arm. Ulicoth didn’t even flinch in the slightest, and when he had a tight enough grip, he threw the Wolf fifty yards across the field.

  Demala lay there as if hurt. Ulicoth laughed at him, turned and headed in the direction that Peter had taken. I’ll kill that thing after I get my prize, he told himself.

  As soon as Demala was sure that Ulicoth had left him, he got up and started at a trot, watching the Dark Lord as he went and picking up speed as he followed him.

  Ulicoth saw Peter dragging Braten into the mist and Kilamen standing with their followers, who were less than willing to enter after them.

  “COME ON!” yelled Kilamen.

  “NO, DON’T FOLLOW! WE MUST GET BACK, AS WE HAVE A LOT TO DO!” shouted Ulicoth.

  “Give me a few of them and I’ll get them,” she said when Ulicoth got closer.

  “No, I need all of them and you know it,” said the Dark Lord. “Besides, you don’t know where you’ll end up, and the last thing I want is my best solider sent out to the arsehole of nowhere, where it’ll take them five days to recover the ability to Phaze.”

  “Then I’ll retrieve them myself,” she said forcefully.

  “After what happened last time?” said Ulicoth. “No, you underestimated him, as did I the first time I met him. He’s too powerful, confident, and a little too arrogant. We need to crush his hopes first. That’ll weaken him, and then we’ll crush him, and I know exactly how to do it. Besides, there’s a Wolf to skin just across the way, and I doubt you, above all others, would hate to miss that.”

  “Indeed,” said Kilamen delightedly, as a warm feeling crept its way through her.

  But Demala had seen his chance by this time. Kilamen saw him first. “Cripplize.” She shot the spell at him as he jumped high into the air just dodging it and landed with a snap of his jaws on Kilamen’s neck. However, this time he did not stop. Instead, he ran straight into the fog.

  Kilamen, full of fury, made to follow.

  “I said no,” said Ulicoth. “We’ll get them.”

  “You’re making a mistake. If I were in your place, I would send all of my people after them,” said Kilamen.

  “You had your chance to be in charge, and you chose to go off travelling around, so don’t tell me what you would do, for if not for me, your father’s legacy would have turned to dust long ago. Now do as I say or go off on your own again; it’s your choice,” said Ulicoth angrily.

  Kilamen decided to wait as Ulicoth had said, and they all left without any further words.

  Demala, on the other hand, found his way to the end of the tunnel of mist. When he exited, he was glad to see that he hadn’t waited too long and ended up in a different place than his charge. As his eyes fell upon the two boys, Braten lay sprawled out on the road, and Peter stood over him.

  “Your name is Drago, right?” the large Wolf said to Peter.

  Peter was startled and grabbed the hilt of the sword he had picked up in the cottage.

  “What are you? Did they send you after us?” Peter asked the Wolf in return.

  “If I were an agent of your enemies’, do you think I would have alerted you to my presence?”

  There was a short pause as Peter contemplated what the Wolf was saying.

  “Remember, if not for me, you and your friend would be the guests of the Dark Lands and their master. I saved you, did I not?” said Demala.

  “Okay, you did fight - wait a minute, I’m talking to a dog,” Peter said.

  “I’m not a dog; I am a Wolf. My name is Demala. The reason that you can talk my language is because you are what some people call Anilang. Don’t ask me to explain, for we have no time. We must go now.”

  “What about my friend?”

  “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do for him here. At the Wiz-Wit cities perhaps they could do something, but he’ll be dead long before we reach there.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” said Peter looking down at the young Wizard.

  “It depends what you think is more important,” said the Wolf.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that either you can stay and wait for him to die and risk the Dark Wizards finding us, or you can put your friend out of his misery and we can head on our way to your city to save the world from the greatest evil since Salith himself.

  “I can’t kill him,” said Peter shaking his head. The Wolf’s harsh words stunned him beyond believe.

  “Think of what is happening to him. He’s in pain, and I don’t mean anything mild. Do you want him to die a slow excruciating death or a quick painless one? Or better yet, what do you think your friend would want?”

  “I think he would want to live,” said Peter, who could hardly believe what was happening. “But I think you’re right, a quick death would be better, but I can’t do it. Call me weak if you want, I don’t care, but I just can’t.” Tears rolled down his cheek as he turned to face the Wolf.

  “It’s all right. I can do it if you want,” he said.

  Peter nodded. “Let me say goodbye,” he said. “What am I going to tell his parents? How can I explain this? I tried to heal him, but it wouldn’t work.”

  “It was the mist. It neutralizes all magical abilities for a time,” said Demala. “It’s well known for it.”

  “That damn mist,” said Peter still weeping.

  “Don’t forget that damn mist saved you from a fate worse than death.”

  “How long does it take for the affects of the mist too wear off?” the boy asked at length.

  “I don’t know, exactly, but if I were to guess, I would say that it would be no later than two hours for you,” replied the Wolf hastily.

  “In that case, we’ll wait a short time,” said Peter, hope springing into his mind. “I might be able to heal him when my powers come back.”

  “But you would not only need to know the curse used, you would also need to know who used it, and you would need to know how to dispel the curse itself. So unless you know all of that, I’m afraid your friend will die. It’s up to you how that happens,” lied Demala, hoping that the boy would hurry. He had nothing against Braten; it’s just that he needed to get Peter to safety. “But I was sent here to bring you to Cayer-Huld as soon as possible, to get you out of harm’s way. And you have to ask yourself how many other innocents will die if you die or are captured.”

  “How could getting caught be worse than dying? Because if you’re caught, at least you could escape,” said Peter. “Speaking of them catching us, how did they find us in the first place? And then there’s this weird sword.” He took the sword in his hand and held it up for the Wolf to see.

  “It is known as the Sword of Light by most. The Wizards, Witches, and Elves call it Yeluilat, the sword of the true King of the land of Opredanas. In other words, it’s yours.”

  “It’s mine,” Peter repeated, looking at the beautiful light on its blade that spelled out its name. “And you’re perfectly sure it’s mine?”

  The Wolf nodded. “That’s right. It belonged to your father, and before that, it belonged to King Dragdani.”

  “Good, then I can change the name,” said Peter opening his wooden chest, which had followed them through the mist.

  “I think you’d better wait to get advice on that before you do anything.”

  “Where did this come from?” Peter brought the sheath of the sword out of the chest.

  “It comes with the sword. What are you waiting for? Put the sword in it.”

  Peter did this and, as the sword clicked into place, its name that was encrusted on the sheath with diamonds lit up with a near blinding light. It was only there for about five seconds, but Peter now knew the Wolf was right, for e felt as if he had just found a long lost limb.

  “The sword has found its rightful owner aga
in. I can only hope that you weld it longer than your unfortunate father.”

  Peter said nothing.

  “You know we should go soon.”

  “Yeah, I know,” said the boy mournfully. He knelt down beside his friend and put his hand on the boy’s chest. “All he wanted was to see the city and go to the Wizard school. I’m so sorry for this. I don’t know what else to say,” Peter said. The tears dripping down from eyes were getting thicker. “I’m so sorry you won’t get the chance to be a Wizard. I only wish you could see the city.” Peter got up and turned away. “Do it as quickly as you can,” he said to Demala.

  “I don’t have to,” said the Wolf.

  Peter looked at him. “What are you talking about?” he spun round to see nothing were Braten once lay. “What happened to him?”

  “Well, I’m no expert on the subject, but I think you might have Phazed him to Cayer-Huld.”

  “But how?” Peter asked.

  “You did wish for him to see the city, didn’t you?”

  “So you think that he’s there now?”

  “It’s a possibility,” said Demala.

  “Right,” said Peter, as though thinking deeply. He jumped to the wooden chest and threw open the lid and started to rummage around in it. It seemed whatever Peter was looking for didn’t really want to be found, and he ended up half in, half out, with his legs kicking in the air. “Come here! Come here, now. Ah, ha! I’ve got you.” He jumped back out and in his hand was the magical talking map that Euol had given them.

  He unfolded it. “Can you show me where we are exactly,” he asked it.

  As before, ink showed itself in the shape of a face on the parchment. “Of course,” replied the map. And Peter saw the ink that formed the face disassemble and run round the parchment as it mimicked the landscape precisely. The boy now saw two small triangles depicted on the map, one blue, and one red.

  “The blue one is you, my lord, and the red is that,” said the map, meaning Demala.

  “And my first companion? Can you show me where he is?”

  The ink on the parchment began to move around again and showed a different place to the young King. There was a white triangle in what was marked as a hospital. The name in the top left hand corner of the map read, Cayer-Huld.