Halfstone: A Tale of the Narathlands

by Daniel White

  Illumir rose upon his four armoured legs. “Indeed we must, or else life on this world will be extinguished forever. It appears fate led you here, Aldrick. You need my help, as I needed word of this dragon’s return. So long as it is stopped from destroying the temple I can help you defeat your foul wielder, should you ask it of me. However strong his stormpower becomes in unity with this ‘shard’ you speak of, his body will still snap between my jaws.”

  “I’m glad you are on our side, but I’m afraid we may be too late. Today was the day Malath threatened to take the Shard.”

  “Well, by my estimation the day is not yet over, and fortunately, I have wings.” Illumir spread his wings to their full span. They were enormous, webbed by thick, leather-like skin, the same white colour as his stone-plated body. Each had five fingers composing its form. At the tips of these, more green spikes protruded and gleamed brilliantly.

  For a moment Aldrick simply gaped, then managed a faint “Whoa.”

  “Come—we must go at once.” Illumir strode past him. He followed but maintained a distance so as to avoid being crushed by the dragon’s lengthy tail. With every step Illumir took, the ground shook and Aldrick feared the roof would give way above them. Not a pebble fell. The rock that remained after countless years of water erosion was sturdy.

  They soon reached the area where Aldrick had woken in the air. It appeared that gravity had returned to normal. The dripping water now reached the bone-strewn ground.

  “Illumir, it was you who stopped my fall, wasn’t it?” he asked.

  “Indeed it was,” replied the dragon. “Wild animals often misstep, as you did. I favour my meals fresh.” Illumir looked up and grumbled. “Aldrick, will you allow me to carry you?”

  “Carry me?” Aldrick wasn’t sure if he liked the sound of that.

  “Yes—carry you—between my claws,” confirmed Illumir. “You needn’t be afraid. I have a gentle grasp and will be mindful of your flimsy body.”

  “Well, all right then.”

  Illumir raised one of his back feet then, after Aldrick had hesitantly stepped beneath it, closed his claws around him and lifted him off the ground. The dragon then began to scale the nearest wall. For the most part Aldrick kept his eyes closed, dreading that Illumir might forget about him and either let him fall or squish him. Thankfully, neither of these happened and they were soon at the top. The light of the glow worms had vanished in Illumir’s wake and the entrance tunnel was instead lit by the dragon’s own green flare.

  At the point where the stone ceased to slope, Illumir set Aldrick down. “Thanks.”

  The naked daylight flooding the entrance of the cave was blindingly bright. Aldrick covered his eyes with a hand while they adjusted. Through his fingers he saw a figure approaching. It was Télia. His heart warmed. She froze and let out a shrill scream. He realised she had just seen the most profoundly terrifying thing in all her life, as he had when first beholding Illumir’s fearsome majesty.

  “Télia, Télia, it’s all right. He’s friendly.” Aldrick went forward and embraced her. “He can help us.”

  “No, no,” she cried. “Aldrick, it’s a dragon!” Her breaths were rapid and her eyes frantic.

  He grinned. “Yes, that is Illumir.”

  Illumir took a step toward them and stooped his head.

  “Hello, Télia,” he said, looking upon her with a smile that was as polite as a dragon’s smile could be.

  Télia gaped at Illumir for a moment, then her eyes began to glisten and she buried her head under Aldrick’s neck. “Aldrick, I thought… I thought I had lost you… but I haven’t, and… and now you have a dragon?!”

  He stroked her flowing tresses. “I’m here.”

  A swift arrow sped past them and splintered against Illumir’s armoured chest. It had been sent from within a shaded patch of ferns.

  Knowing he had forfeited his hiding spot, Kaal stood. His face was as white as snow.

  “Y… you two, get away from it,” he stammered, beckoning Aldrick and Télia to him.

  Illumir’s eyes narrowed. “Another human? He is your friend, Aldrick, or shall I devour him?”

  Kaal stumbled back and tripped over upon hearing the dragon’s words.

  “He’s my brother,” Aldrick said, going to Kaal. “Kaal, it’s all right. The dragon is our friend, our ally.” He pulled him to his feet.

  Kaal stared at Illumir.

  “Friend? That’s nice,” he said blankly.

  “Yes, and just as we do, he has pressing reason to reach Darkna. It turns out there is a menace even greater than we knew.”

  Aldrick hurriedly told Kaal and Télia of the malevolent dragons trapped beneath the chasm at Darkna’s feet, and of the likelihood of their imminent release. They seemingly failed to fully grasp what he was saying but this came as no surprise—it sounded ludicrous. It was all truth, though, and this mighty dragon here with them now was the one hope they had left.

  “We must make haste,” said Illumir once Aldrick had finished speaking. “Aldrick, you and your friends must travel with me.”

  Aldrick stared up at him. “Travel with you? We can’t really do that, Illumir. We don’t have wings.”

  “Yes you do. You will sit on my back. You should find that the gaps between my spires offer a fitting place to seat yourselves. I will fly with caution and ease.”

  “He wants us to ride on his back?” Kaal asked in a whisper, avoiding eye contact with the dragon.

  “It may be the only way,” said Télia. “We have very little time and must take the quickest path.”

  Kaal heaved a sigh. “All aboard, then.”

  “We must set our horses loose first. De’ama will lead yours to Galdrem.”

  “Good plan.” Aldrick looked up at Illumir. “We won’t be long. Will you wait for us here?”

  “Of course I will,” Illumir said. “Go now, Aldrick, Télia and Kaal. Return with your hearts hardened. There will be only darkness at Darkna today.”

  They left the dragon and returned to their horses, which were happily grazing by the campsite. Télia uttered soft words to De’ama before setting her on her way.

  “Goodbye, chum,” Aldrick said, patting Tame on the neck. His steed whinnied, nodded, then left with Stub to join De’ama. The horses carried away with them travel provisions that were no longer necessary.

  Before returning to Illumir, the three of them rallied together. Aldrick surveyed Télia and his brother.

  “Are you ready for this?” he asked.

  Télia didn’t respond. She simply stared at him with wide eyes. He knew she was anticipating the coming events at Darkna far more than the airborne journey there.

  Kaal shrugged. “What is it people say… ‘as ready as I’ll ever be’?”

  “Right, let’s do this.”

  When they returned they found that Illumir had scaled one wall of the gorge and was gazing out across lands afar. Out in the open, the green colour of the dragon’s spires was fainter and it was now his plated white crust that shone fiercely, reflecting the sunlight. He stood a god of creatures.

  Seeing them approaching, Illumir clawed his way back down, then lowered one of his wings to the ground, offering a passage to their seats. “Come—let us be on our way.”

  “You first, Brother,” said Kaal, looking at Aldrick with an expression that said “Don’t expect this to end well.”

  After a moment of justifiable hesitancy, Aldrick climbed up Illumir’s wing and awkwardly sat himself down between two of the dragon’s great spires. There was enough space for Télia to find her way in behind him. She fastened her arms around him and rested her head against his back.

  After Kaal had seated himself between the spires behind them, Illumir spread his wings.

  “Hold fast,” the dragon grumbled. With a mighty thrust he launched his rocky bulk into the air. Immediately, their backs were toward the ground. They clung on for dear life.

  Aldrick closed his eyes and willed the tug of gravity to weaken.
r />   “Are you alive back there?!” he called out to Kaal.

  “Mostly,” Kaal replied. Aldrick almost failed to hear him over the rushing sound of air passing as they rapidly ascended into the sky.

  Peering sideways, he saw they were nearing the height of the weatherworn mountain peaks. His eyes followed their path eastward. Somewhere away in the distance Galdrem stood, and beyond—Darkna—their journey’s end.

  Illumir ceased flapping his wings and for a brief moment they descended in a sharp dive, before the dragon spread them to their fullest span and they transitioned into a swift and steady glide. Hazy clouds passed by above and below them. The ground, when it was visible, looked like an exquisitely detailed picture map. Everything was in miniature but drawn to perfect scale. Aldrick wondered how many people had ever seen the world from such a view, and how many could say they had from upon the back of a dragon while the woman of their dreams held onto them as if there was no tomorrow. Perhaps there would be no tomorrow.

  He rested a hand over Télia’s. Whatever happened, he could not ask to be in better company. He remained anxious of Jon’s fate, however. What had become of him? Would he be there to fight alongside them, or had he already fallen at the hands of Malath? May it not be so. Regardless, with those who remained standing, Aldrick would stand with, and for those who no longer did, he would fight until his dying breath to avenge. He knew now that he would never have had it otherwise. This was his destiny.

  17

  THE SHARD OF HEART’S STORM

  Malath looked beyond the mighty archway. Darkna stood, a towering stronghold, forewarning of the boundless precipice atop which it stood. Beyond the temple’s multitude of columns and walls of grim stone, the ultimate prize awaited him. Anticipation was causing his heart to thud like a sledgehammer. He brought his mount to a standstill. So too did his faithful. No one uttered a word. No one would; this was his hour, this was his day, one that had been robbed from him for far too long… but no longer.

  The dragon Aashkara, who had been slowly spiralling in the sky above, dived like a bird of prey and perched on the temple’s court. It was upon that very court, all those years ago, that Malath’s storm had been taken from him. Today he would stand upon it and see history rewritten. The world would behold true power and vision!

  Malath signalled to continue and the procession began to ascend the final length of road which led to the court steps. These proved too steep for the horses to climb, so they dismounted. He took his frail and defeated captives from their cart and dragged them up the stairs behind him. In the shadow of Aashkara he set them down so that they could witness the proceedings—see the chamber that sheltered the Shard, the one the Synod believed impenetrable, demolished by his winged puppet.

  Malath stooped to address them.

  “See me become divine,” he whispered.

  They didn’t respond. This didn’t bother him; in fact, it amused him. Their eyes would soon be opened and their heads bowed.

  Before directing the dragon onward, Malath strode to the edge of the court and looked down upon the dreary grassland. The remains of the ancient Sanswords’ bones lay in a chaotic, but nonetheless collective scattering across the ground. By his hand they would soon live again; an army to end all others; the rebirth of a demised race to decimate another. It was all so very close now.

  “Aashkara.” He spun on his heel to address her. “The Shard lies within those aged walls. The warding enchantment placed upon its holding chamber is fuelled by its own storm—the deed of a sniffling wielder who agreed to shelter the Shard in exchange for all the comforts of a king. You may find the enchantment sturdy but you will break it, and you will crush the life from the wielder. The Shard does not belong to one so worthless. It belongs to me. Go forth and retrieve it.”

  Aashkara appeared hesitant. “Wielder, am I to simply believe that you will let me live after I have completed this petty errand for you? What assurance do you offer?”

  Malath was infuriated. “I have given you my word. Do you think I would break it?” He stepped closer to the depraved beast. “And do you think you really have any choice? Your life depends on me!”

  The dragon’s fiery eyes became slits. She scowled, then stormed away toward the temple’s entrance. He watched her go, his own eyes narrowed. Had she seen through his words? He couldn’t risk her suddenly turning on him, however suicidal that might be for her. Fortunately, he could soon be rid of the monster. Sustaining her life had been a hefty encumbrance, but it was to pay off significantly.

  Malath looked to his dear sister. She too eyed the dragon with disdain. He took her hands in his. “All is in order. You need not be vexed.”

  Selayna’s frown faded and she began to giggle. He kissed her cheek, then left to oversee Aashkara’s chore.

  The dragon stood before the pillared entrance to Darkna’s hall. It was far too narrow for her enormous body to pass through, so she thrust one shoulder against the encompassing wall. It was reduced to rubble. This brought to Malath’s mind their accord. After uncloaking the Shard, Aashkara was to be free to demolish this temple, pursuing her belief that it would free her kind from the fires beneath them. Though her intent was commendable, it was heartbreaking to think that the dragon held faith in such a profoundly ludicrous myth. He would, in fact, be doing her a kindness in returning her to the Life Afterwards before she had a chance to discover its falsehood.

  He cautiously trailed the dragon into the hall, conscious that the wielder in the Shard’s holding chamber, at least at present, possessed more power than he. There the chamber stood, at the centre of an otherwise open and bare interior—a room wrought of marble, its doorway flooding torchlight. The wielder appeared as a silhouette inside. To avoid his attention, Malath veered left and concealed himself in a shadowy corner of the hall. From there, he watched Aashkara proceed, with bated breath.

  “Surrender yourself, wielder,” the dragon snarled as she bore down upon the chamber.

  The wielder made no reply. Instead, he raised his staff and began attacking Aashkara with fervent flurries of frost, their intensity extraordinary. For a brief moment her entire body became encased in a thick, transparent shell of ice before, with a deafening smash, she shattered it into a multitude of tiny pieces.

  Now in a deadly temper, she engulfed the chamber in a rampant tempest of red fire that floodlit the entire hall. When her breath was ended, black smoke subsided to reveal the chamber undamaged. The walls were not even charred. The wielder inside was chortling.

  “You stupid slug, you have no power over me!” he jeered, then prompted two nearby pillars to collapse upon the dragon. She brushed them from her like twigs.

  “Fool, your end is me.” She began hammering her mighty body against the chamber.

  The presence of the warding enchantment became perceptible as ripples across an unseen barrier, a hand’s breadth from the marble walls. The wielder continued aggressively attacking Aashkara but, in her wrath, she was irrepressible. Her blows kept coming, causing the entire temple to shudder and rumble. Suddenly there was a thunderous crack as the enchantment broke and the chamber exploded.

  Before the stunned wielder could react, Aashkara flicked him away and he became a bloody splodge on a far wall. His staff, carried with him, disintegrated on impact. The power of the Shard was his no longer.

  Malath stepped out from the shadows. “Aashkara, you have done well. I am most impressed.”

  The dragon turned and glared at him. “Well, wielder, what are you waiting for? Come and claim your prize.”

  He went forth.

  “Wait for me outside,” he ordered.

  She turned and stormed away, leaving him facing a thick plume of dust. With patience absent, he raised a hand and swept it aside. The interior of the chamber was now unlit. The torches which had brightened it were missing, as were the walls on which they had been fitted. Malath looked up. From the ceiling of the hall, six huge oil lamps hung on chains which he ignited to provide light. He fo
und himself amongst total ruin. The floor was a mix of rubble, broken furnishings and various other indiscernible dust-coated objects. In one corner was a circular settee. Upon it, a number of young whores lay dead, crushed by falling marble. Left of this, a bare stone altar stood, upon which the Shard must have rested. Malath went to it and searched the floor at his feet. Though he could not see it, the Shard’s stormflow was so potent that he could feel it—a warming breeze passing through his chest. It was very close… there! It lay amongst stray marble blocks a short way away—a rough piece of dark red metal surrounded by tiny, flickering sparks of green. Shivers washed through him. This was it. He stretched out his hand and it came to him. He took it with care but firm intention. Its storm coursed through him and he felt blissful elation. Its power was his! He laughed aloud. All these long years and now here he stood—a god among wielders.

  Malath turned to exit the hall and found Dron and his dear sister in front of him. They ogled at the Shard in his hand.

  “Oh, Brother, it is yours,” Selayna exclaimed.

  “What does it feel like, my master?” asked Dron in awe. “I can feel it from here… I can only imagine what it is like to have it in your grasp.”

  Malath looked down at the Shard. “No, you cannot imagine. It is like nothing else. I am… eternal.”

  He strode outside. All eyes were set on him. He moved to the edge of the court. Before him, the Sanswords were ready to be arisen. He held the Shard out before him. Now was the time. With all its glorious power in his possession, he found it an effortless task to summon the desert warriors’ souls. He willed them to once again be bound by skin and bone. Like winter mist over a lake, they appeared above their skeletal remains then slowly began to reanimate. Once awoken, they roared passionately at the sight of their kin around them.

  After boisterous celebrations, the Sanswords turned to Malath and cheered, praising him with hands raised to the sky. Never had he seen these creatures in the flesh. Their kind had diminished long before his time. Gazing upon them now, he was impressed. They stood tall, their bodies armoured with thick plates of sand-toned skin. Their eyes were dark; their hands were talons. They were an army of death.