Rise of the Nightkings

by Levi Samuel

  Keeping steady tension without pulling the rope, Inyalia forced several breaths, psyching herself up. She’d made some foolish decisions throughout life, but this was probably one of the stupider ones. Her stomach knotted. She wasn’t ready, but she couldn’t stay here. Eventually she’d have to move. And when she did, both her and the basin would come tumbling down.

  No, she had to act now. This was her best chance. Holding the rope loose in her hand, but with enough tension to keep the hook set, Inyalia jumped.

  Weightlessness claimed her for the briefest moment before the rope caught. She watched the basin fall away, only to rise the other direction. This was the tricky part. Timing her descent, Inyalia embraced a freefall, letting the rope slip between her gloves. Rapidly approaching the floor, she squeezed the tether with all her might, stopping inches before the surface. Her hands burned from the friction. She could feel the leather covers hardening around the rope. But she couldn’t let go just yet.

  The basin rang out like a gong. It flipped and rolled, finally settling on its top.

  A sudden jerk lifted Inyalia into the air. Her shoulders screamed against the sudden weight. The ruined leather separating her from the rough fibers became slick and the rope ripped itself from her hold. Inyalia crashed to the floor, collapsing in a heap. Yanking the gloves off in a desperate attempt to cool her hands, she pressed them against the stone floor, hoping it would suck out the heat. Savoring her success, she laid there, breathing deeply. It wasn’t the most graceful landing, but she was alive, and relatively uninjured. It was still better than the alternative. She was just glad the basin had dropped straight. If it had rolled even slightly, the rope would have missed the towering pedestal and she would have splattered.

  A bright light filled the room, drowning out all lesser light. Inyalia looked up from her pile, unsure what was happening. The basin was misshapen, flat where it had impacted. It laid on the other side of the pedestal. Getting to her feet, Inyalia saw the remanence of her grappling hook. It had gotten crushed, but the bulk of her rope was salvageable. It took a moment to realize, but the floor was clean. The broken shards were nowhere to be seen. The wooden orbs, chunks of coal, smooth marble, even the real gems, all of it was gone. All but one she hadn’t seen before.

  Lying at the base of the pedestal, a small chunk of blackened ore remained. It wasn’t much, but it was ripe for smelting.

  Lifting the odd mineral, Inyalia felt something inside it, like a heartbeat. Staring intently, she could see a faint pulse within the subtle veins, ebbing a purple glow.

  A wash of motion rolled around the room. The walls faded away, replaced by rough stone. A chill wind wrapped itself around her, extinguishing the sconces. For a brief moment it was pitch black. The shadows of the room shifted and a new light emerged. At the center, a pile of embers burned within a small forge. It provided just enough heat to beat back the cold winds. Moonlight beamed through an overhead ventilation shaft, while reflecting off the snow just outside the entrance. It wasn’t much, but for an elf, she could see everything perfectly. A stone workbench rested against the wall on the other side of the forge, and a rack of tools stood beyond that.

  Inyalia knew a fletcher’s workshop when she saw one. She’d been crafting her own arrows since her third cycle. A wide smile on her face, she approached the workbench, taking inventory of the tools at her disposal. Her father had one like it at home, though this was a masterpiece by its own design. Never before had she seen its equal. She could smelt the ore and pour the molds within seconds of each other. She could hone her arrows to precision, ensuring a perfect shaft each and every time. With this setup, the forge could nearly run itself. It just needed someone to oversee the process.

  She suddenly knew what her test was. It had all led up to this moment. And considering the rewards she’d received from each of the rooms, it seemed now she was going to make some arrows.

  Laying the ore upon the workbench, Inyalia removed the broken limb from her quiver, and placed the feather on one of the cleaner shelves. And a moment after that, she was forging arrowheads, carving shafts, and shaping fletchings.

  The moonlight faded, replaced by the morning sun, but it didn’t make much of a difference within the cavern. The blinding snow reflected just the same.

  It had to have been at least a few hours, but it felt like minutes. Inyalia fingered the pair of arrows, coddling them like a parent holding their child for the first time. They were perfect in every way. The wood was seamlessly smooth, weighing next to nothing. A diamonded-shaped razor protruded from the business side, cradled for reinforcement by the wooden shaft. Inyalia had found some strips of leather to cut down for the binding, which added just enough weight to increase distance and accuracy. The tail had been tapered to a near point before flaring out to form the nock. About an inch lower, a section of white plume was secured into the split, ensuring perfect balance and proper spin when they were fired. These were the best arrows she’d ever seen, surpassing even those of her father. There was something about them that she couldn’t identify, something magical. No, that wasn’t right. Magic had nothing to do with it. Mystical was the term she was searching for.

  Inspecting the perfect arrow heads, she saw the same glow the raw ore had displayed, ebbing through the sharpened edge. She didn’t know when, or how, but these arrows would save her life one day. Carefully, she inserted them into her quiver, ensuring they remained separate from the others. She didn’t want to risk grabbing the wrong one by mistake.

  Chapter X

  The Breaking

  A deep roar echoed outside the cavern, shaking the ground. Snow fell loose of the vent hole, sizzling into the burning embers of the forge.

  Quickly, Inyalia grabbed her bow and nocked one of the newly constructed arrows. It seemed a shame to use them so quickly, but she had to remind herself this was a test. The arrows had been provided for a reason. Their only purpose was to be fired. Carefully, she made for the entrance.

  Inyalia scanned the whitened world around her. Everything outside her focus was a blur. She watched for movement. If her arrow wasn’t trained on it, it wasn’t worth looking at. The roar hadn’t sounded like that of the ice wyrm, but she didn’t want to risk encountering another one if she could help it. Regardless of what it was, it had to be close for the ground to shake the way it had.

  Another roar resonated, this time right behind her. It was deafening. Unable to withstand its might, Inyalia strained to release her draw. It hurt, but she didn’t want to lose one of the few good arrows she had. As soon as she was able, she dropped her bow, throwing her hands over her ears. It did little good, but it was better than nothing.

  Massive gusts of wind swirled the loose powder around her, blocking out much of her sight. There was no direction. It blew one way only to be pulled the other, showering her in the flaky substance. Her heart raced, beating violently within her chest. She could barely move from the forceful wind. Shaken to her core, Inyalia dropped to her knees, feeling the slightest reprieve. Fighting her instincts, as well as the elements, she summoned the will to turn.

  A pair of leathery white wings spread wide, much wider than her home city was long. It was covered in shimmering white scales, each one peaked in the center and overlapping those beneath. The sheer size of the beast could have easily crushed the entire settlement simply by landing atop it. The body was longer than it was wide, but the muscular width was nothing to dismiss. It had four massive legs, the rear larger than the front, all displaying thick onyx claws that could easily tear her to pieces. Slender but long appendages tapered from both ends of the body, equally decorated by blackened horns and spines, but it was the head that caused her to gasp. She’d remember that draconic face anywhere.

  Alona flew overhead, shadowing the mountaintop for a long while, despite the speed in which she moved. If she weren’t cowering beneath the wind, Inyalia could have reached up and drug her hand along the scaled underside. She knew she should have felt fear. And she did, but not of
the creature. Her fear was of something else. Something in the distance. Whatever it was, she knew in her heart that it was wrong.

  The wind receded with the dragon’s passing. Watching it disappear over the next peak, a loud crash echoed through the heavens. Inyalia didn’t have to see to know what’d happened. Quivering her arrow, Inyalia snatched her bow off the ground and rushed through the collected snow.

  After the gusts, it was waist deep in places, but she didn’t let it slow her. Elves were naturally light on their feet, but that didn’t mean she didn’t sink. She simply didn’t sink as deep, especially in wet snow. And the morning sun had ensured this was plenty wet. A flurry of powder exploded with each kicking step, but Inyalia made it to the cliff edge. Clinging to the frozen rocks, she stepped into the mountain’s shadow. The snow wasn’t nearly as deep here, likely shielded from the wind. But the sun did little to melt it either. With the colder temperature, there was greater chance for ice buildup.

  Urgency called her. She knew Alona wasn’t gone. She could feel the ground shake on occasion. And there was no mistaking the volume of those roars. The question was, what was wrong with her? Inyalia slung her bow and mounted the rocks. It was a slow process, but she scaled the cliff face with minimal trouble.

  Reaching the other side, Inyalia could see one of the dragon’s wings in the ravine. It thrashed about for a moment before falling still. It reminded her of a downed bird, writhing in pain as it slowly died. The thought troubled her. What would cause such a magnificent creature to react in such a way? Was it the same thing she felt inside herself? Aside from its face, this dragon seemed nothing like the calm, gentle behemoth she’d met a few months prior. This one seemed scared, nearly out of its mind. She only hoped her recognition was correct. She knew of no other dragons, especially white ones, and in these mountains nonetheless. How could it be anyone but Alona?

  Cautiously approaching, Inyalia reached the top of the ravine. From here she had full vision of the downed creature, the entire ravine between peaks, and no doubt a great distance beyond were it not for the lingering clouds and kicked up snow.

  Large mounds were scattered around the impact site. It appeared as if Alona had hit one of the rocky walls and been forced to the ground. From there, she rolled to the base of the ravine, flattening everything in her path, while throwing the rest into the air.

  Inyalia sympathized with the beast. She was clearly in pain, panting when she lacked the strength to thrash. The spines running the length of her back were buried in the rocky surface, leaving her underbelly exposed to the sky. Thick muscular legs hung limp, save for the occasional spasm or attempted reconfiguration. Her wings were outstretched beneath her, contorted at weird angles, but neither appeared broken nor torn. And the last several feet of her thick spiked tail swished back and forth, kicking snow from its path like a cat becoming annoyed.

  Inyalia watched the thick scales covering the beast’s chest. They rose and fell several feet at a time, in rapid succession. She could occasionally see a blue glow beneath them, though it wasn’t nearly as bright as she recalled the last time she met the creature. Tracing the elongated neck, Inyalia finally found the horn-wrapped head, laying exhausted among the rocks. Alona’s eyes were closed and her nostrils flared with each ragged breath, expelling huge gouts of steam.

  Knowing for certain that this was the dragon that had comforted her in her hour of need, Inyalia charged through the churned snow and leapt onto the steep slope. Her boots slid across the packed surface, but the occasional protruding rock kept her from losing control and tumbling to the dragon’s side. Reaching the bottom, she skirted the huge creature. She had no fear of the beast, but she didn’t want to be crushed if it decided to pick itself up again. Climbing the rocks where the dragon’s head lay, Inyalia spoke softly, as if comforting an old friend. “Alona, are you okay?”

  The labored breaths intensified as the dragon moved its head. The eyelid closest to Inyalia cracked, revealing the piercing blue beneath. The large pupil was wide and round but quickly adjusted to little more than a thin slither, focused entirely on the tiny elf. Weakly, the dragon spoke. “Child, you should not be here. I’m not safe for you right now.” Alona winced in pain, her body tensed, and her tail slapped the ground, shaking the earth.

  Unprepared for the sudden movement, Inyalia fell backward, landing on one of the dense mounds. She rolled off and picked herself up. Waiting for the dragon’s contraction to subside, Inyalia stepped onto the flattened snow, close enough to speak without shouting, but far enough to avoid another spasm. “What do you mean? You wouldn’t hurt me. What can I do to help?”

  Wincing, Alona lifted her head to look upon the girl. “You misunderstand. Willingly, no I would never hurt you.” She paused to catch her breath. “Something’s coming. Something I cannot fight. I can feel it in my core. You need to run, child. Run as far from me as you can.” Alona convulsed again, though this time her entire body contorted. It was is if the bones inside were moving of their own accord, stretching her scaled skin to its capacity. She roared in pain, twisting and thrashing. Her legs caught the ground, leaving deep gouges where her claws dug. Pulling herself up, her wings unfurled, echoing a series of sickening pops as they extended to their full glory. Through gritted fangs, Alona’s voice echoed deep and distant, like a plow scraping through gravel. “I can’t hold myself much longer. Run!”

  Inyalia knew the words, though the voice that delivered them was not Alona. At least not in the way she knew. This was dark and violent. The ferocity behind it shook the world, causing an avalanche on one of the distant peaks. She could hear the roar of the rolling snow, but it was far enough away it wouldn’t affect her. Her focus returned to the now standing beast towering over her. The bones continued to move beneath skin, forming several new spines and horns, as black as the others, but these ones bled where they tore through the scales. The blue glow beneath the scales was turning black. Even the scales themselves were no longer shimmering. They’d become dull and discolored. What had been a pristine white was now more of a faded gray. Inyalia wanted to stay and help her friend. But that voice, the warning, the feeling inside her, everything screamed at her to leave. “I’m sorry.”

  Inyalia backed away. She needed to get up the slope and back to the cavern. She hated leaving Alona in her current condition, but what could she do? She knew nothing about dragons.

  An ear-splitting pop echoed through the heavens. The sky turned dark with rolling clouds. Through them, an orange glow burned, but it was too bright to be the sun. For a brief moment, that seemed to last an eternity, the world was still. Alona’s heaving movements ceased. The wind stopped. Even the upturned snow hung in the air, refusing to complete its descent. In that moment, the world was forever changed.

  Inyalia froze. The terror that had been building inside her came to a boiling point. She had to run. But where could she go? Nowhere was safe. It would find her even in the darkest reaches of oblivion. She watched helpless as the burning sky broke through the clouds. It skated across the heavens, burning everything in its wake. She could feel the heat. The snow around her sizzled. And, as quickly as it appeared, it crashed somewhere far to the south.

  Sound returned to the world. Inyalia stood, dumbfounded, searching the distance for any sign of the burning object. She could hear Alona behind her. But more than that, she could feel the evil radiating from her friend. Slowly, she turned, looking upon the gargantuan dragon. Her stomach churned. Bringing her gaze to the creature’s, she no longer saw Alona. All that was left was a monster, intent on her destruction.

  Frost and steam rolled from the dragon’s flaring nostrils. A fire burned in her eyes, dark and devouring. The elf before her didn’t have enough meat on her to serve as a light snack, but she possessed something much more filling. Her soul was strong. It would sate her longer than any meat could. Licking her lips, Alona’s barbed snout contorted into a wicked smile. She hunched closer to the ground, slowly moving toward the elf.

  Recog
nizing the danger, Inyalia backed away. She had no hope of outrunning the beast. And the slope was too steep to climb, especially with a dragon on her tail. Her only hope was to evade until she could find cover. Focused on the prowling dragon, Inyalia crashed into the snow-covered rocks. Falling backward, she landed in the snow. All hope was lost. She’d trapped herself without even realizing it. Salty tears pooled in her eyes, overflowing into her hair. She could feel it freezing to her skin as she lay there. She was going to die, there was no escaping it now. Helpless, Inyalia watched the horn enwrapped head of the dragon come into view. It towered over her, sealing her fate. Staring into the face of the creature that would be her doom, Inyalia waited for the end. All that was left was a quick snap of the jaws.

  Inyalia winced against the frozen air escaping the beast’s nostrils. She could feel her skin burning. A thick globules liquid formed at the rim of the dragon’s snout, dripping into the snow on either side of her. She could hear it sizzle and crack. Stealing a quick glance, she watched one of the droplets melt the snow, but rather than turning to water, it froze into solid ice, expanding into a solid block. She had no doubt she’d be dead before she knew what happened if one of those globs touched her. But such a fate wouldn’t befall her. She read it in Alona’s eyes. No, the dragon wanted the satisfaction of hearing her body break between teeth.

  It was that realization that triggered something inside her. She didn’t want to die. And while she was cornered, trapped on the ground with a dragon towering over her, that was no reason to go out without a fight. If Alona was going to kill her, she was going to give the beast something to remember her by. But how? She couldn’t unsling her bow in her current predicament. And she was laying atop her quiver. Even the dagger she kept in the small of her back was stuck. She had one final seed of hope. Reason. Inyalia locked onto it with everything she had. “Alona, you don’t want to do this! You’re a protector of this realm, not a mindless beast.”