Over an hour later, a tremendous plain spread before them. A dense forest lay to the left and, miles in the opposite direction, a sheer wall of rock rose into the air. Over a hundred dragons battled in the sky between, hurling flames and bolts of lightning.
Chapter Twenty-five: The Silent Battlefield
Lyra sat up straighter and swallowed hard. She didn’t know her role in the battle, involving hundreds of dragons, playing out in front of her. If only she could ask Kessa questions, or receive a communication from Tarom. Neither seemed likely, which meant Eburscon and the ruby would each attempt to guide her to meet their own selfish goals. Already, the tug of the ruby’s eagerness to conquer oozed from the gem into her core.
Kessa shifted against Lyra’s chest.
Lyra repositioned her staff more tightly into the crook of her elbow and secured the violin’s sack on her shoulder. She strained to pick out individual dragons. Larger ones, more obvious at their present distance, appeared mostly in colors of blue or green. Two gold dragons, by far the largest of all, maneuvered around the edges of the battlefield.
Several stealth dragons, like the one they rode, stalked from remote locations. They darted from passing shadows and wisps of low aerial clouds to deliver sharp, intense blows. Their precision almost always brought death.
The blues fought with lightning bolts that cut across tremendous distances. Some carried riders who threw powerballs. Lyra couldn’t discern how the greens challenged enemies but noticed times when others cleared a wide zone around them. The golden dragons fired only on occasion, but the flames they breathed cut far across the combat zone.
Direct observation proved easy for Lyra, but analysis escaped her. She couldn’t discern good fighters from evil. “Damn,” she cursed the ruby’s will that obliterated her reasoning.
Brows arched, Symar glanced back at her. Using pressure from his knees, he pulled the neck of his cimafa upward and the beast ascended. The din of the fighting increased. “We’ll be in the strike zone within minutes,” he called over his shoulder in a louder tone.
Lyra picked out black, red, and white smaller dragons, similar to those she’d met in the dark lair, numbering at least a hundred across the Steppe.
“We’ll take cover in the underbelly of a low cloud until you give me word what you want us to do,” Symar shouted, not taking his eyes off the nearby action.
At the higher elevation, cooler wind rushed over Lyra’s face, but perspiration trickled down the nape of her neck. Again, she studied the combat, desperate to determine patterns and distinguish good from evil players. Only the dark drakes and cimafa she associated with the Dark Realm. Roles of others escaped her logic.
A trio of white-colored drakes hovered nearby. After nods in her direction, they rose higher, camouflaged by vapor.
A pair of cimafa aligned with theirs in the cloud, one on either side.
“Circle slowly down into view,” Lyra ordered the stealth beasts. She hoped this move would buy her more time.
The trio glided into a wide arc above the battle. When they passed snarls of dragons, fighting ceased. Hovering drakes briefly bowed their heads to her, while others froze expressionless, suspended in mid-air.
Some drakes joined her stealth dragons, and the entourage swept the perimeter of the combat zone, across at least three miles of the great plain. In their wake, all fighting suspended.
Lyra’s hand gripped Kessa’s shoulder, and the girl covered it with her own. Lyra’s nerves stood ready to fire. Her eyes swept from side to side, checking every nearby movement. The ruby’s fire boiled in her veins and dried her outer membranes. Her eyelids scraped against her eyes like sandpaper, and her pasty tongue stuck on the roof of her mouth. Hyper-sensitive, she perceived every slight motion of extended tails, wings, and, snouts. Odors became even more acute, so much that Lyra grimaced in pain, her sense of smell overwhelmed.
Silence fell over the battlefield. Only the cimafa they rode voiced garbled roars and groans as though under an invisible restraint.
Symar fidgeted and shot Lyra questioning glances.
Sweat ran down her spine. Their parade circle neared completion, and she still didn’t know what do to. All eyes riveted on her—the new Dark Leader—waiting for a signal, a direction the fight should take. She clutched her staff firmly in her right hand. Her finger scar against the metal shaft gave no guidance. She closed her eyes and sought the comforting sensation of the brooch.
A jerk from the cimafa broke her concentration.
Kessa waved her arms high, and Lyra grasped the girl’s waist, worried she might fall off the undulating cimafa.
The larger of the two gold dragons soared at top speed directly for them. A golden aura surrounding its body set the dragon apart from all others. Its enormous wingsails rippled all the way to where they attached far behind the hind quarters. Golden scales reflected the sunlight onto their cimafa. “Lyra! I’m coming for you!” The roar of the magnificent beast thundered through her body.
The shadow of evil covering her skin seeped inside through her pores. Lyra wriggled and scratched against what felt like hundreds of bees stinging her skin where it connected to underlying tissues. Powers within her fought to overcome the reverberations of his voice. Colors of different auras from dragons around the battlefield blended into a dark emptiness in her mind.
“Lyra, give an order!” Symar yelled, working to control his dragon writhing under them.
From that black void, Lyra sensed the deep rumble of her own voice bellow an order. As if her consciousness submerged deep within her own body, she couldn’t hear the words she’d yelled. The force of her ribcage, lungs, and diaphragm hurling the directive jostled her so much, she feared falling. She commanded her hands to clasp the cimafa’s spine harder, but her limbs wouldn’t obey. Rather than being forced to act on behalf of the ruby, Eburscon now controlled her with the shadow of evil. Her body moved and spoke without her control, leaving her an onlooker. Her body served as his puppet.
Helpless, she watched the three cimafa’s red lasers shred the golden dragon’s torso.
The gold returned fire, a wall of flames.
Symar pulled his cimafa into a sharp descent, while the other pair flew upward. The flaming curtain licked into the sky, burning the soft tissues from their bones.
The ice drakes, hidden in the cloud, swooped and thrashed their tails around the gold’s chest and face.
The golden dragon let out a low moan. Bleeding profusely, it half-flew, half-dropped downward.
The other gold sailed to its side, and a bevy of four blues escorted them to the ground.
Kessa twisted in her seat, looking toward the ground from one side, then the other.
Lyra felt her ribcage reverberate with another unheard order, and the cimafa they rode twisted. From its snout, a red laser slashed the neck of a blue that made direct flight toward them.
The dragon, twice the size of the cimafa, plummeted. Its body smacked the ground with a dull thud.
She glanced across the battlefield, silent once again. Blues and the other golden dragon bolted to the ground around their fallen comrades. A third gold sped from the direction of the cliff. Other blues spilled from the cliff and the eastern side of the Steppe.
Kessa guided Lyra’s hand over her jeans pocket. There, Lyra felt a large, hard mass, its surface formed in the shape of a cross. The commanding darkness in her mind thinned to a gray film. Together, Lyra and the ruby reclaimed control. She gripped the mass—the Staurolite. “Land this dragon!” she barked at Symar. “Next to the injured.”
“As you wish, Dark Leader.” He obliged and took the cimafa to the ground.
Once she and Kessa dismounted, they rushed toward the golden dragon.
One blue blocked Lyra, flames dripping from his open jaws, while Kessa was easily admitted and kneeled beside the gold’s convulsing frame.
One of the blue riders, an old man wearing a long, white beard stared at Lyra with hollow eyes and murmured, “The shadow o
f evil covers her. Our Scribe is the new Dark Leader. How can this be?”
Two others coursed their hands along the body of the golden dragon, his blood covering their pale blue robes. All stood silent, watching.
The incoming fighters landed at a distance from the group.
The two elderly healers leaned back and dropped their faces into their blood-stained palms.
Blues extended their long necks and wailed into the sky now cloaked in somber gray clouds. The dragons’ mournful cries rang loud and clear. Eerie howls responded from more incoming blues.
A huge, graceful white bird with an S-shaped neck flapped toward the body of the gold. While hovering at his torso, vapor transferred from the dragon’s chest to the bird. With a single downthrust of its wide wings, it glided into the air and returned the way it came.
A sharp pang of frustration cut through Lyra. She desperately wanted to share the intense sorrow of the dragon’s followers, to feel their pain, to offer her empathy. The ruby blocked her memories of the great dragon. Intending to throw it away from her, she yanked the gem from her pocket.
The nearest blue snarled, “Put that away! No more death. You’re not welcome.”
Under its fearsome stare, she obeyed. What horrific acts did she commit while directed by Eburscon and the ruby? She fell to her knees, unable to connect past to present. Aching to feel her own feelings, she clawed the earth and sobbed. The fact that the golden dragon called her by name and tried to save her gave Lyra enough reason to grieve. The gold put its life at risk for her.
Abruptly, the black void rose within her again. Lyra grabbed for her Staurolite through the fabric of her pocket. In response, the darkness inside waned, although the shadow of evil still clung to her skin.
In front of her, a violet mist spiraled into the form of Eburscon.
Lyra flung handfuls of dirt at his face. She attempted to withdraw the ruby from her pocket to fight him but could only inch her immobilized fingers along the denim.
“You’ve mastered how to mitigate my control over you a little too late.” He nodded toward the golden dragon, who gasped for air with death rattles. The alchemist chuckled, conjured more darkness around her, and wiped dirt from his face.
Two of the blues hissed and shot lightning at him.
His rapid return of a powerball deflected both strikes. He took a step closer to Lyra and extended his hand. “Come, Lyra. The Alliance doesn’t want you now. They already shun you. Let’s return to the dark lair where you belong. We’ll celebrate our victory. Now that you’ve killed the Imperial Dragon, you’re ruler of all of Dragonspeir.”
His words ‘ruler of all’ rang in her mind, and the ruby couldn’t resist.
He yanked her hand free from the Staurolite.
Temptation moved her feet to the alchemist’s side.
“No, Lyra! Don’t go with him,” Kessa cried. She ran to Lyra and took hold of her other hand. The girl’s tear-stained eyes pleaded. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Chapter Twenty-six: Shadow of Evil
Lyra glanced from Kessa to Eburscon, unsure whose advice to follow.
A constant stream of blue dragons landed and gathered around the fallen leader, but none spoke. A mature gold landed beside the younger and, together, they hung over the body of their lost kin.
The alchemist scowled at the girl, then addressed Lyra. “I see you’ve lost your Alliance staff.”
Suddenly aware of her missing staff, Lyra twisted around, searching unsuccessfully.
“No matter. It won’t match your majestic powers now.” Come with me, and I’ll oversee the making a new staff befitting a world ruler.” He emphasized the last phrase with a louder tone and longer pronunciation.
His words whetted the ruby’s appetite. Lyra’s attention hung on his face, and she pulled away from Kessa.
“Lyra! Don’t follow him,” the younger golden dragon shouted.
The scar encircling Lyra’s finger prickled.
Eburscon whispered in her ear, “With me, you can rule all.” He grasped her hand bearing the scar. As if burnt, he dropped both of her hands. His brows knitted, and his mouth twisted into a scowl.
Like before, the agitated scar led to a message. On a clear channel in her mind, she read, Gather the four keystones into your hands, then have her cover yours with her own.
Lyra pulled Kessa beside the younger gold and trembled being so close to the deceased. Losing the ability to grieve unhinged Lyra. She considered asking the golds to shield Kessa and her, but withheld her impulse. After the harm she’d caused, killing their leader, she couldn’t expect to gain their protection from Eburscon.
Facing the girl, Lyra pulled the pack from her shoulder and removed the violin. Its translucent moonstone flashed rainbows.
Dragons and men nearby gasped.
She rested the violin in her left elbow and dug in her opposite pocket. When she withdrew the pearl and fluorite, the knot of onlookers tightened.
Eburscon wormed his way to a prominent position, while Symar stayed behind him, holding his cimafa.
Lyra turned the violin’s scroll, set with the moonstone, into her palm that held the two other keystones. With her free hand, she extracted the vile ruby from the other pocket and added it.
“She has all four,” a man across the circle murmured.
“She did it. She really did it,” another responded, his voice rising with each repetition.
Lyra’s scar on the hand that held the collection itched uncomfortably. She worked to keep hold of the gems.
“Of course she did it,” a familiar, strong male voice called from across the circle.
Using every fiber of her body to concentrate on Tarom’s direction, she didn’t look for the commenter. “Kessa, cover my hand with the keystones with yours.” Her voice shook, and perspiration trickled into her eyes.
The girl did as directed and clasped her small hands tight around Lyra’s.
“Good. Keep them there until I tell you to let go.”
Lyra stared into Kessa’s cool, green eyes. Queasiness formed in the pit of Lyra’s stomach. The discomfort increased and shook her entire gut. She shut her eyes and scrunched her face against the nausea. “Don’t let go!”
“I won’t,” Kessa replied with a steady, controlled voice.
Lyra’s stomach roiled, and a wave of fever shot through her. She groaned. The gems slid around her palm on a film of clammy sweat. Working to keep the violin’s scroll from slipping out, she braced the instrument between her opposite elbow and churning stomach.
Kessa maneuvered the angle of her thumb under the violin’s neck, helping support the awkward mass.
Waves of nausea rose into Lyra’s esophagus. Saliva puddled in her mouth, and she leaned to her right, away from the circle.
Hands, other than Kessa’s, held her braid and loose strands of hair away from her face.
When, at last, one of the surges spewed out of Lyra, she continued holding tight to the keystones, and the girl didn’t budge. Dark slime, that looked in every way like the Black Dragon’s acidic regurgitation, collected on the ground. Lyra continued to heave for several minutes, her body shaking with weakness. When her stomach quieted, she dropped to her knees.
Kessa, her grip still locked in place, fell with her.
Lyra examined her skin, now free of the black aura. A huge smile covered her face. “You can let go now, Kessa.” She nodded toward the bubbly puddle on the ground, then faced Eburscon. “Here is your shadow of evil. I don’t want it anymore.”
Immediately, the evil alchemist whirled a transport cloud of purple vapor around himself.
Blue dragons shot lightning bolts at what remained of his mist.
Symar, already mounted on his cimafa, commanded it to leap straight upward.
A blue burnt one of the stealth dragon’s wing tips before the beast disappeared in the clouds.
Gathered fighters surveyed the Steppe of Ora, but Eburscon’s form didn’t reappear.
Without a lea
der, the Dark Realm dragons and drakes, scattered across the plain, retreated into the dense cover of Silva Nocens.
Gentle hands stroked Lyra’s hair. “We’re so glad you’re home. I’ll alert the Tortoise of your return.” She waved a short wand that finished with a dangling star. Her scent smelled soft, like a grandmother, with notes of roses, baby powder, and moth balls.
Lyra looked over her shoulder at a mature woman with a kind, smiling face. A scarf decorated with twinkling stars held her long, gray hair.
A handsome man, with a large, striped owl hovering above him, kneeled and pulled Lyra into a tight embrace. “The jadestone reassured me you were alive, but I wanted you back with me.” He buried his head in her hair. His strong citrusy, woodsy scent smelled like a peaceful forest.
Lyra silently cursed the ruby for again blocking her memories. She pulled away, a tear spilling from the corner of her eye. “I’m s-sorrrry,” she stammered. “I can’t remember you. The ruby…I gave my aura to the ruby.”
The smile on his face dropped, and lines formed across his brow. Not releasing Lyra’s forearms, he looked at Kessa. “What happened to her?”
“Eburscon set her up in a match with the Black Dragon, expecting her to win,” Kessa replied. “In order to save herself from being killed, she had to bond with the ruby. She gave it her aura. He planned to use his skills to control her rule.”
“Tarom discovered that Eburscon secretly intended to steal my aura, become the ruler, and kill me,” Lyra added.
The man raised an eyebrow. “Tarom? What was his role in this evil? I felt my bloodswear scar twitch under my ring a few minutes ago.” He raised his hand bearing a dragon ring similar to Lyra’s.
The elderly man with a long, white beard spoke up. “This is all important but can be discussed later. What matters most is returning those keystones to the Elementum Arcesso.”
Those assembled murmured, and a blue dragon with graying whiskers on his snout said, “I agree with the wizard. She needs to place them in the balance pans at once.”
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