When she awoke, Maggot and Ehka still slept and Zorock had not yet set, though it was just touching the mountain tops. How much time had passed upon Maioria since she had been gone? Whatever the answer was, it was too long. She had to get going.
She sat up. Maggot stretched and Ehka opened his eyes.
‘You stay here until you know you can fly home,’ she said, stroking the bird. ‘Don’t return to Venosia, it’s not safe. Go whichever way you ravens know best.’ He dipped his head. She knew he didn’t want her to go but understood their predicament.
‘I’ll come with you, Issy,’ said Maggot.
‘Just help me get back through the crystal. I won’t need any help after that,’ she said.
In the King’s great chamber, Maggot placed his hands on the huge green crystal first, his eyes a mix of fear and wonder. ‘I hate the human worlds, but being with you is exciting,’ he said, twitching his ears.
Issa grinned and placed her hands on the crystal beside his, feeling at once the strange demon magic recoil at her touch and then hungrily fill her palms, seeking her soul energy. She didn’t like the feeling at all.
Her body was pulled forwards, becoming light and insubstantial. Rushing air filled her being, the chamber faded away, and she felt herself lifting upwards. Maggot’s face was lost in a sea of pulsing green. Focusing on Venosia, she could feel the Murk magic seeking the symbol she had drawn on the floor of the shallow cave. It connected and she rushed forwards.
The symbol appeared before her, a line of bright luminescence in a field of green. Soon she could make out the rock of the cave. Suddenly, the demon magic faltered and grew thin. Something was wrong. It jerked and stuttered.
Issa entered the Flow, finding herself able to reach it here between dimensions, and supplemented the Murk magic with her own. The ground materialised but dark clouds engulfed her, blotting out her vision. Refusing to panic, she pulled more magic to her. The Flow was driven from her grasp.
The rushing wind stopped and she crouched, feeling hard rock beneath her hands but there was no cave around her, she was in an open space. The black brightened into swathes of grey moving this way and that like a thick fog. Slowly she pulled herself to her feet, ignoring the knot tightening in her stomach.
‘Maggot?’ she called out, her voice heavy and eerie in the silence. He wasn’t here; she was very much alone. She pulled out her raven talisman. It was heavy, cold and unresponsive to her commanding mind. She tried to reach the Flow again.
Nothing.
Then she heard a faint noise, as if from far away. She pricked her ears. It was a beat thudding into the earth. Horses? It sounded like there were more than one and they were getting louder. She unsheathed her sword. What could she do against several of anything with just her sword and no magic? Without the talisman, she couldn’t even reach the realm of the dead!
In the billowing grey, black specks formed. The sound of hoof beats rumbled closer, soon becoming thunderous in her ears. Issa’s heart leapt into her throat. The specks became definite horse shapes with riders—four dark shadows galloping through the fog straight towards her.
One of the horses lifted its long shadow head and neighed—but the sound it made was a scream, a scream that tore into her. She trembled, dropped her sword and fell to her knees. The Under Flow surged towards her, coming directly from the four horsemen. Paralysing cold engulfed her, chilling her bones. She tried to stand, to grab her sword, anything, but her body would not obey. It was bound by the Under Flow. All she could do was tremble.
Cold sweat trickled down her temples and back. They were only yards away. Another horse lifted its head and neighed. Agony filled her ears and she screamed. Her terror seemed to excite them and they came on faster.
She forced herself to look at the horsemen. They had no eyes; only black pits that leaked smoke. The pits drew her in, hunting for her soul, eating her alive. As her strength drained they grew larger and more substantial.
The horsemen separated to surround her, lifting their shadow swords high. She could not run; she could not fight. A horse bent its head towards her, its snout materialising into that of a solid beast. Black metallic skin like the scales of a Dread Dragon. It pulled back its lips and black fangs protruded.
Issa jerked away, trying but failing to control her trembling body. Beyond the shadow horsemen, other shadows formed, great pillars of darkness that began to take human form. Her breath came fast and she shook her head, disbelieving. Light Eaters! The same fallen beings she had glimpsed in the Dark Rift.
Issa was gasping so much she felt faint. She had never been this helpless before. The horsemen reached down to her, huge hands materialising from the smoke, gauntleted in black iron armour like a Dromoorai.
Gold flashed, catching her eye. One wore a ring. It seemed so strange upon the horseman’s finger that she stared at it, noting the engraving of a horse. A fist clamped around her throat and a cold agony spread from there, right down to her chest, forcing the scream from her lips. By some miracle, her searching fingers found her sword and she slashed up. It clanged loudly and glanced harmlessly off impenetrable armour.
Beneath her, a green symbol flared, Murk magic surged and the Under Flow was shoved away. A foot-long spike with a wickedly sharp tip shot past her ear straight into the shadow face of the horseman gripping her neck. The horseman howled a deafening sound and released her neck.
She fell to her knees and stared in shock as the spike turned in mid-air and whizzed past her face again to strike another horseman. It screamed and the Under Flow lost power. The ground beneath her slid away and then she was falling. A horse screamed again, though from far away. The sound still tore at her mind and she writhed in agony.
She hit something hard, rolled and lay there panting as the pain receded. Her body shook and she kept her face pressed against cold hard rock. The air was damp and salty and there was a booming din as of waves against cliffs.
‘Issy?’ said a familiar voice.
30
The Dawn Bringer
ASAPH paused at the edge of the forest.
Only the light of the city behind him pushed back the darkness. It was cloudy tonight, and cold.
The dragon form came easily to him in a rush of magic. Breathing in, he leapt into the air and beat his wings until the city lights were far below him. Cloaking himself in magic, he lifted beyond the clouds and marvelled at the wondrous sky filled with stars. They twinkled silently above and all around—he even saw two shooting through the night in a blaze of pure light. There were so many stars, he felt tiny and insignificant, even as a dragon.
His eyes drifted to the massive black scar of the Dark Rift in the sky to his right. It was, without a doubt, much closer and larger. The largest I have ever seen it. Maioria was just rolling helplessly towards it. Or being pulled into it. He forced his gaze away and focused on feeling for the dragons, rekindling again that incredible moment when he had gripped the Sword of Binding; the power, the memory, the magic. A shiver trembled his body.
‘Hear me, great dragons. Awaken!’ he called out with his mind across the miles. ‘Feygriene’s dawn is rising. She calls us to take back our world.’
The wind soon turned to ice, bringing with it the keen smell of snow. He dropped through the clouds and a world of snow-covered mountains and valleys appeared. It was still a long way to the golden temple where he had met Morhork, and where Ark and Ralan Afisius had formed the First Code. That was where he intended to call the dragons. Initially, he thought he would call to them from the Grey Lords, where Qurenn had fought Slevina and they’d destroyed each other, where Dragon Lords had been born and the sword first formed.
No. He would go back to the start; where the alliance of man and dragon was mutual and respected, even loved. He had no doubt that Ralan Afisius loved Ark, and he, her. Why else would the magician kill herself after his murder?
It was with the first glimmer of the alliance between dragon and man in his mind that he touched down upon the
snow-covered plateau before the frozen lake. The snow was deep, coming several feet up his legs.
At the opposite end of the great lake, halfway up the mountains rising above it, he saw a pinprick of gold marking the little temple where he had cremated Coronos’ body and set his soul free to Feygriene’s light. To his right, there was nothing but boulders and snow. The once magnificent castle that had existed there had been destroyed and sunk into the lake long ago by Morhork.
He did not know what to do about Morhork. The dragon hated humans, Dragons Lords, and any alliance between them. And yet he had saved Asaph—twice—for no benefit to himself. The dragon was a source of confusion and mystery. He certainly opposed Asaph awakening the dragons and leading them to war—another human war.
He took a deep breath, then, deciding he couldn’t do this on an empty stomach, resumed his human form to eat the sandwich in his pack. When he finished he became still, considering the ancient place upon which he stood. Nothing he had been before mattered now. Nothing that had gone before mattered—and yet all of it had led up to now. Without Ralan and Ark, there could be no Qurenn and Slevina. Without them, there could be no Dragon Lords and thus, no Asaph.
Now they were all gone apart from him. Coronos was gone. Faelsun was gone. He was the last alive and awake to remember the Code and the Binding. And the only one with the power to reignite them. No wonder Morhork hated him. And yet he saved me.
‘I am no longer the Asaph of old,’ he said to the world that was slowly brightening with the coming dawn. It would be a short day in this place so far north. ‘I am the last Dragon Lord and a king! And I have Feygriene’s blessing.’
He unsheathed the Sword of Binding and held it up, staring into the pommel made of Slevina’s blood. The blood of dragons. The blood through which he could call them. He walked towards the lake and stepped upon the frozen surface. The ice was so thick and old, it could probably hold a hundred men, he thought.
When he’d walked about a hundred yards, he lifted the sword, angled the point down, and plunged it part way into the ice. It didn’t take much strength to penetrate such a blade into it and it slid easily a third of the way into the ice. Satisfied, he left the sword and turned back the way he had come.
Once on land, he resumed his dragon form and entered the Flow. Great swathes of magic engulfed him with a rush of excitement and dragon glory. He filled his lungs with air and roared, releasing the magic as he did so. His roar echoed across the mountains but the vast magic he expended was silent. Again, he filled his lungs and roared, releasing along with it another silent call on the waves of dragon magic.
On the third call, he felt something return to him, a gentle feathering at the corners of his consciousness. Another mind, faint but there. It was joined by another, and then another. He closed his eyes and heard whisperings.
‘The Dawn Bringer,’ they said. ‘The Dawn Bringer.’
Asaph spoke to them in dragon, sending his thought forms far. ‘Come to me, noble dragons. Awaken. The Dragon Dream is no more, Faelsun has been murdered—this you know from your dreams. Maioria is falling into oblivion. Feygriene calls to you now to awaken.’
The whisperings ceased but the dragon minds grew stronger, more alert, though they were still far away. He sensed one approaching, fast, and then it was gone. He tried to find it again but there was nothing. He frowned. Was there some dragon trick he wasn’t aware of?
There was no warning; no sound, no wind, nothing to alert him, but suddenly something big exploded into his back sending him flying through the snow and knocking the senses from him. Then the thing was on top of him, crushing him with his weight, and his throat was in its mouth. An ice-blue tail whipped into view. Morhork? He was in such a position that he couldn’t see the dragon. One thing he did know, those teeth on his throat were sinking into his scales and shutting off his windpipe. They intended to kill.
With his tail and wings, he heaved himself up, lifting Morhork’s bulk as well. It was an immense effort, especially when he could barely breathe. He had to get to his feet. He could not fight on his back and he would not die on it either.
Morhork growled and wrenched viciously. Agony exploded through Asaph, and his brain dimmed from the lack of air. Soon he would lose consciousness. He whipped his tail back and slammed it onto where he thought Morhork’s head was. Magic crackled from his blow and Morhork’s grip loosened a little.
Asaph smacked his tail down again, filling the blow with more magic. When Morhork loosened a little more, he dared to wrench his throat free, feeling scales tear. Asaph gasped and lunged, spouting flames upon the other dragon. A blizzard of snow blanketed his fire. He leapt through fire and snow to get to the dragon, breathing hard.
Morhork did not evade and rose to attack, his golden eyes blazing in mad fury. Such fury would make Morhork strong, he might even kill Asaph, but it would also make him unreasonable and hasty. Asaph decided to fan the flames of the other dragon’s fury. He’d had enough of Morhork now.
‘You thought I couldn’t do it. Pah, look at you, traitor!’ Asaph snarled. ‘Faelsun should have killed you when he had the chance.’
Morhork roared and they fell upon one another, great jaws snapping, each seeking to find a hold on the other’s throat. Talons tore into each flesh, slicing through the smaller scales, scouring off the bigger ones. Blood splattered as they heaved and strained but, in the depths of battle, Asaph was mercifully unaware of any injuries instilled upon him.
‘The world is falling and all you can do is fight your own,’ Asaph growled, feeling his own fury at the dragon rising.
‘Not my own. Disgusting half-breed!’ snarled Morhork.
Blue fire engulfed Asaph and he barely had time to shut his eyes. He lumbered forwards calling upon water and dampening the flames. His skin hissed as it cooled in the brief rain. He slammed into Morhork and they both rolled, snow flying up around them as each tried to get on top of the other. Asaph was momentarily pinned down but he bucked the other dragon off with his hind legs. Moving fast, he leapt into the air, spread his wings for lift, then closed them and dropped down. He crashed hard upon the other dragon, crushing Morhork beneath him.
‘Without wings, you are nothing more than a deformed beast,’ Asaph spat. Morhork roared and thrashed.
Magic built—a pressure on his mind. It built faster than he was able to react then exploded beneath him sending him spinning into the air. He barely had his wings open before he crashed into the mountainside.
Morhork was up and pelting towards him, murderous rage in his eyes. Asaph threw himself sideways, narrowly avoiding the hail of snapping teeth and clawing talons. He felt them rake down his side, searing between scales. He sprayed Morhork with fire, forcing the dragon to retreat.
Morhork roared, magic surged. Thunderous cracking echoed in the valley and then great boulders of rock and ice were tumbling towards him. Asaph scrambled into the air to clear them. Fire engulfed him. He beat his wings to get away and pulled on the Flow to shower his opponent with snow. Water hissed and smoke billowed as the snow doused the flames. Asaph choked, unable to see where he was flying.
A thousand daggers of ice shot towards him through the flames. He dropped low. One ice dagger passed right through his wing tip leaving a bloody hole. He could feel the air rushing through it as he beat his wings, his stability in the air compromised. He crashed below the smoke and into the snow. Morhork was on his back before he could get up, claws tearing into his scales.
Asaph threw him off, fatigue gnawing at him. The other dragon was far more experienced in magic and Asaph’s use of it was draining his strength fast. The only upper hand he held against the other dragon, who was more experienced in every way, was that he had wings. His fatigue was swiftly dissipating that advantage and it was obvious Morhork was not going to give up until one of them was dead.
‘You would have all the dragons die in their sleep rather than awaken and fight,’ snarled Asaph. Maybe he could lead the dragon to reason.
&nb
sp; Again, Morhork attacked, his bulk smashing into Asaph, sending them spinning onto the edge of the frozen lake. The ice cracked dangerously beneath them. Asaph beat his wings, lifting into the air while Morhork dragged himself to land. Asaph dropped out of the air onto Morhork’s shoulders and clamped his jaws over the back of the dragon’s neck, just behind his ears and between two horns. Blood dribbled into his mouth as he clenched harder. Morhork threw himself into a roll and Asaph lost his grip.
Something caught his eye as they rolled, a speck of red in the sky but he didn’t have time to focus on it as Morhork clawed at his face.
‘So, you found the sword and it gives you strength. When I’m finished with you, I’ll destroy it utterly,’ growled Morhork.
‘My strength is my own. Only when I hold the sword does its power become mine. Nothing can destroy it.’ Asaph bared bloodied teeth in a gruesome parody of a grin. They lunged at each other. Morhork’s tail sliced across his face, and his own blood sprayed into his eyes. Asaph raked at the dragon’s neck, feeling hot blood flow over his claws.
Both panting with exertion, they drew apart for a moment. Blinking through blood, Asaph stared in shock. There on the mountain was a slender red dragon watching them. He could smell she was female. She had dark red horns and very long wings. Her head was held high as she rested on her limbs, completely still, a blaze of red on the white and grey mountainside and the picture of majesty and beauty.
He reached out and touched her impassive female mind. The communication was broken off. She raised a barrier but not out of fear or disrespect. She is watching the fight and waiting for it to finish, Asaph realised. Whoever wins she will respect. Was this some kind of dragon protocol?
Morhork followed his gaze and roared in fury. Asaph glimpsed another shape in the sky, a trail of green, but he had no time to wonder, Morhork’s fire exploded towards him. Too late to run, he flattened himself in the snow. The heat seared his back. Ignoring the agony, he leapt forwards but Morhork’s tail flashed out of nowhere and smacked his head sideways. The whole world turned dark briefly.
Dragons of the Dawn Bringer: The Goddess Prophecies Fantasy Series Book 5 Page 38