If he was restless, would the other dragons be too? What if they all woke up? The Dragon Dream was no longer there to hold them. Baelthrom would hunt them down and enslave them. Baelthrom had become too strong. He growled again and lifted his head. The Immortal Lord’s power should have waned but it had only increased. His plan was taking longer than he’d anticipated. Could it be failing? The thought made him angry.
It was a simple plan. When Baelthrom’s war had ravaged and weakened Maioria and both enemies, he would awaken the dragons and finish both sides off. Maioria would once again be for dragons to rule. Getting the orbs was part of that plan, but it was taking far longer than he’d anticipated.
Could he defeat the Immortal Lord? Of course I could! He snorted soot, but human anxiety seeped into his great heart, making him irritable. His brother had been destroyed, and Faelsun had been immensely strong. My brother was a fool. But the thought lacked the feeling behind it and he actually experienced a twinge of loneliness. Me, a dragon, lonely? Pah!
Maybe it was time to get rid of his human body before it weakened him any further with its thoughts and feelings. But then he would lose his spyhole into the world of men, and with it the chance to gain an orb of power.
The source of Baelthrom’s strength was the Dark Rift. If Morhork closed his eyes he could feel it out there, a great sucking darkness on the outskirts of Maioria, bigger and closer than it had ever been before. It touched everything on the planet. Could he fight that? His talons paused their scraping into the rock. He knew he could not.
There were things in the Dark Rift just waiting to get out. A long time ago he’d travelled close to it simply to look. Dragons, like ravens and other magical creatures, had the power to travel through dimensions. Dragons, unlike wizards, could do this easily. He’d travelled there in the Astral Planes, not daring to try the Ethereal.
The darkness had substance. Things had reached for him and tried to pull him in. Powerful things. He felt them drinking his soul, his life force, like Maphraxies consuming the Black Drink of Oblivion. Rather than empty blackness, he quickly discovered the Dark Rift was a reality field filled with all manner of twisted consciousnesses feeding upon themselves and each other without thought or regard. A ravenous, hating, all-consuming hunger.
When he pulled away he felt their extreme panic. Their food source was being taken away from them and they would die if they did not sustain themselves. That overwhelming sense of mortal terror had shaken him to the core. He had never dared go close to the Dark Rift again.
He lay his head back down and closed his eyes, willing the disturbing thoughts away. Perhaps if he slept a plan would come to him.
He snorted and fidgeted and tried for hours to sleep. Just as he drifted on the edges of consciousness, a flash and crack of brilliant light exploded before him, jolting him awake. He snapped his head up, alarmed. A bright light assaulted his eyes and within it was the Sword of Binding. Its red pommel flared and he saw the green, majestic face of Slevina looking back at him. Her face grew bigger and bigger, engulfing the sword. Her silver eyes were wide, pupils narrowed to mere slits, demanding his servitude to his queen, demanding he be what his Goddess decreed.
‘The sword was not made willingly,’ he growled at the image. ‘It has nothing to do with me or any true blood dragon.’
Slevina’s face grew larger, sharper and more perfected. Her green scales began to glow and turned a brilliant gold. Fire flared and surrounded the most beautiful dragon face Morhork had ever seen. Great golden horns framed her head making her look like the sun. Her eyes were a lighter white gold that saw straight into his mind and soul. Life-giving warmth flowed through his bones and muscles, easing all tension.
Morhork dipped his head in respect. ‘My Goddess,’ he breathed.
Power, strength and passion filled him, coursing through his veins in a torrent he couldn’t control. The goddess knew everything that he was, every thought and feeling he had was laid bare before her. Feygriene knew and understood his plans of dominion—she had always known—and she did not judge.
They were good plans, powerful dragon plans, he nodded to himself. He was dragon, born to rule, but now those plans seemed so small and puny in the face of the goddess, and compared to the immense and terrible reality unfolding upon on Maioria.
The Sword of Binding hovered between him and the Sun Goddess. Darkness flooded around it. Morhork entered the Flow, thinking black magic had entered the chamber but it flowed only around the image of the sword. The black magic thickened and rose, smothering the sword and extinguishing its light.
The vision went and the chamber turned cold and empty.
‘A dragon has awakened.’ The voice that spoke was weak and airy.
The necromancer floated further down the steps and paused, its watery eyes never leaving him so Asaph had to concede that it could see him. Quickly, he assessed the situation. To his relief, it wore no Shadow Stone amulet. He could just turn and leave. The sword was why he was here and it was getting away. But necromancers had powerful magic and he had never faced one to know how to fight it. No matter what, his presence was known and would be reported back to Baelthrom, one way or another.
‘I sense not an ordinary dragon,’ its milky eyes grew wide with hunger. ‘I see a Dragon Lord before me!’ It rubbed its unnaturally long-fingered hands together.
Maybe other necromancers were already on their way. In a few moments, Maphraxies could be pouring down the steps. It left him only one option: kill the necromancer quickly, if he could.
Asaph moved with great dragon speed, but the necromancer was already gathering the Under Flow and drawing a symbol in the air. Fire burst from Asaph’s mouth only to flare uselessly against an invisible wall protecting the necromancer. Asaph lunged, dropping his dragon form and pulling his sword free. He ran through his own flames swinging his blade.
The necromancer’s magic wall had been created to stop magic, not a man, and Asaph plunged through it, feeling the cold touch of the Under Flow trickle over him. His sword came smashing down, slicing through the necromancer’s left shoulder as easily as paper. It squealed a horrible sound and collapsed spurting watery red blood from its awful wounds. It kicked and writhed then crumpled in on itself as if an unseen hand crushed its body. Moments later, there was nothing left but its stinking black robes.
Asaph stamped on the robes to be sure it was gone, then picked them up and threw them over the side and into the sea. He backed away down the steps, his heart pounding in his ears as he waited for more necromancers or Maphraxies to pour down the steps, alerted by the dying screams.
He backed all the way to the shore, turned and plunged his sword into the sea. The necromancer’s blood hissed as the water touched it. A grim smile curved his lips. He had taken his first revenge killing on his own homeland, the first of many. Justice was finally being delivered and it felt good to do it with Coronos’ sword.
He sheathed it and resumed his dragon form. Cloaking his presence, he leapt into the air in the direction the sword had gone, keen to get away as fast as possible. Hopefully, they hadn’t flown too far ahead.
The harpies and Dromoorai were no longer to be seen and a heavy bank of clouds made the night sky even darker. It would be hard to find them in the clouds, Asaph thought grimly, but they would also hide him too.
He lifted into them then cautiously poked his head above them. Starlight bathed the tops of the clouds in white. Great swathes of white hills and valleys rose and fell as far as the eye could see. A true Land of Mists, he thought. There were no dragons or harpies to be seen so, for a moment, he flew above the undulating, white starlit landscape, revelling in both the magnificence of the scenery and the joy of flying.
Focusing his mind and eyes into the realm of magic, he saw the world as great swathes of energy; the clouds were pristine white and the stars flaring orbs in a sea of dark blue. Far ahead flew dark patches marring the beauty of the Flow. He streamlined his body and tilted his wings to a keener angle.
When the dark shapes began to descend, he did too.
Passing through the clouds he blinked into his physical vision. There, far away, were the dark specks of Dromoorai and harpies. He dared not get too close. What was he going to do when they landed? He couldn’t face that many. He only needed to know where they were taking the sword. His sword.
Hours passed and the coast of northern Frayon came into view. A large town or city sprawled across a wide inlet. Perhaps it was Nordastin, he thought. Surely it was daring for these beasts to travel so brazenly across their enemies’ lands? Had Baelthrom become so bold? It certainly seemed so. Asaph ground his teeth. They were not done in yet. As far as he was concerned, the real battles had only just begun. Issa’s invasion would show them their strength and it was only the first of many.
As they dipped even lower in the sky, he felt the Under Flow slide beneath the Flow, drawing together around the enemy ahead. Harpy magic moved too, clearer and easier for him to read. They were cloaking themselves heavily and they did a good job because he couldn’t see them at all anymore, forcing him to focus on the Flow again.
Blinking his vision between the world of magic and the physical, Asaph saw they were dropping lower and lower as they neared Carvon. It worried him. Were they going to attack? That would be foolish; there were too few of them. Should he alert King Navarr, Freydel and all the guards? He knew he ought to, but he smelled a rat. Something was going on for them to be taking the sword to Carvon—into the heart of their enemies’ lands. If he attacked them now he would never discover what they were doing. He should follow them and find out what they were up to. He didn’t like it and his human reasoning did not sit well in his fierce dragon heart that wanted to fight with teeth and claws and sinew.
With horror growing in his heart, he watched the dark shadows descending towards Carvon. The city rose high above the swathes of dark forest while the frothing Arin Flow surged around the castle and keep.
Keeping his distance so no enemy or magic wielder could detect him, Asaph hovered high in the sky, half in the base of the clouds, and watched as the enemy slowed above the grounds of the Goddess’ Temple which glowed white in the Flow.
There came a flash of black light so fast that had he blinked he would have missed it. The temple itself disappeared for a split second, then reappeared and the Dromoorai and harpies were gone.
Some black magic that is! Asaph growled, looked outside the Flow and dipped lower. The grounds were heavily patrolled by temple guards walking in pairs, he could see their white tabards through the foliage. There were more than he’d ever seen before and they weren’t running about in alarm, which made him deeply suspicious. Did the Temple know the evil party was arriving? Could they be in league with them? He didn’t want to think it, let alone believe it.
Outside the temple grounds, the City Guard also stood watch, but Navarr had posted them there to keep an eye on the temple. They would not be magic wielders, so they wouldn’t even sense something was up. It was unlikely King Navarr and his guards were in on it too. From his elevated position, Asaph doubted the king’s guards would even be able to see the temple guards, hidden as they were by the trees.
The flash of black light came again and he felt the touch of a twisted dragon mind, the foul stench of a diseased beast. He blinked into the Flow and saw two dark shadows rise above the temple.
Swiftly, he pulled back into the cloud. The Dread Dragons were leaving. Was the sword with them? He couldn’t feel it. Perhaps they had left it behind. His guts told him it was still in the temple.
He watched the shadows disappear into the east, then dropped out of the clouds again to survey the temple that crawled with guards. How was he going to get in there? He couldn’t just land in the grounds. He circled as low as he dared, close enough to make out which rooftops were closest to the temple wall. There were several houses clustered close at the eastern edge but their rickety slate roofs were too low and far away and he wouldn’t be able to jump from them onto the wall.
Further up from them was a clock tower which had long since fallen into disrepair. The clock face was green with moss and the hands were frozen at a quarter to midday or midnight. The top of the tower was much higher than the wall, too high to jump, but a long thick branch of an oak tree extended towards it. It looked strong enough to take a man’s weight but it was a good two or three yards away from the roof. If he didn’t make the jump, he could kill himself in the fall if he landed badly. He considered his options.
If he went straight to the City Guard and told them about the suspicious activity, they would certainly demand entry into the temple to investigate and then he would never find out what was going on in there. He might never find the sword. It was worth snooping first then raising the alarm later if things got messy.
Decision made, he swiftly descended towards the clock tower. His wings billowed great gusts through the streets sending leaves and garbage tumbling. The city guards nearest looked around at the sudden squall and Asaph held his breath. They didn’t spot the great dragon just above them in the sky. Doing something he had never done before, he changed form in mid-air several feet above the clock tower’s roof.
He hit the slate with a thud, just missing skewering himself on the weather vane, and tumbled alarmingly to the edge. He thrashed, trying to grip anything for purchase but the slate tiles were wet and slippery. As he rolled over the edge, his right hand found the stone gutter and clenched into a vice. Hanging by one hand he watched slate tiles tumble past him and smash on the ground some forty feet below.
Voices came from somewhere. Quickly, he gripped the guttering with his left hand, swung up a leg, and heaved himself up. Flattening himself on the roof, he lay still, feeling like a thief in the night.
Candlelight appeared in the window of a house below. The window swung open and a night-capped man peered out. He looked down at the tiles, then up at the clock tower.
‘Bloody cats!’ the man growled, shook his fist, then slammed the window.
The light went out and Asaph let go of his breath. He crawled around the roof to the edge closest to the tree. The branch seemed a long way away and anybody who looked up would see him in the light cast by the street lamp. There were no guards here but he’d noticed some circumambulating the walls earlier. It was only a matter of time before they reached here.
Licking his lips, he got into a crouching position. At most, he had a run of three steps before leaping. Slowly he stood up, backed to the edge of the tower, and launched into a run. Barely containing a howl of terror, he leapt.
The branch surged towards him closer than he had planned. His chest smacked into it knocking his breath away. He struggled to wrap his arms around it. The tree shook violently and he hung there dangling, his legs illuminated by streetlight. With a swing and a grunt, he wrapped his legs around the branch and, like a monkey, scrambled upside down into the shadows.
‘What was that?’ asked a man.
Asaph could just see the helmet of a city guard over the wall.
‘I didn’t see anything,’ said another man. ‘It’s probably a cat, this city is crawling with ‘em.’
‘The whole bloody tree shook!’ said the first.
‘They’ve been getting huge. Some are the size of dogs! I think witches have been feedin’ ’em,’ said the second.
‘Witches, eh? Someone said they were back in the city. Seemed pleased about it too. Tsk, tsk,’ said the first.
‘Aye, there’ve been posters popping up everywhere looking for “Women of the Metaphysical Arts” and stamped by a certain “Higglesworth Enterprises”,’ said the second. ‘I’ll tell you, between witches and the priestesses, something’s afoot in this city and it ain’t good. More work for us is all I see. Someone ought to keep these crazy women in check.’
‘Pah,’ said the first. ‘No one could ever control a witch or a priestess. We’re best off trying to play them off against each other. I’ll be honest, it’s not the witches I’m worried about. Not yet an
yway. With people going missing every day, some are pointing their finger at the Temple. Now I don’t mind the tramps and criminals disappearing—less work for us, aye? But it’s the children that’s downright worrying. Something’s going on in there and I can’t wait for the King to go inside and overturn the place. It gives me the creeps.’
‘Aye,’ said the second. ‘The Oracle has refused to see anyone now and some have seen priestesses dressed in red robes not white. Blood red.’
The guards’ voices faded as they walked away. Asaph let go of his breath in a long, silent sigh. Something surely was going on in the temple. Even the city guards thought so. He crawled closer to the tree’s trunk and wedged himself into a nook, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
Looking down, there was nothing but exotic bushes with wide flat leaves and various shrubs. There were no temple guards that he could see. He inched his way down the trunk and jumped the last few feet to land in a patch of yellow flowers. Feeling bad for trampling them, he hoped no one would spot the damage tonight.
Hunching low, he made his way through the bushes towards the white walls of the temple. There had to be a side entrance rather than the brightly lit and heavily guarded front.
Two temple guards, hands resting on the pommel of their swords, walked the path towards him. He ducked into a thick patch of ferns. He glanced the other way along the path. A priestess and priest were coming from the other direction, their robes blood red and swishing around their legs. Why had they stopped wearing white? The guards and priests paused together near Asaph and he flattened himself against the earth holding his breath, ears straining to listen.
‘They have arrived. Double the watch and let no one in or out until dawn,’ said the priestess. She had long dark hair and a glint in her eye that made Asaph shiver. He noticed a thin, sickle-shaped knife dangling from her belt. It didn’t look like a letter opener. Since when did priestesses start wearing weapons?
He watched them part, going back the way they had come. Good, the priest and priestess were headed straight towards the temple, hopefully to a side door. He followed them on silent feet, careful not to move a leaf or make a rustle, never once forgetting his keen tracking skills that the Kuapoh had taught him.
Dragons of the Dawn Bringer: The Goddess Prophecies Fantasy Series Book 5 Page 24