Key of Living Fire (The Sword of the Dragon)

by Appleton, Scott

  “Do not worry,” the shepherd said. “The sword is what we really came for. It is the key to the future, and the Shield of Purity will prevent anyone else from obtaining the key.”

  “And what if someone else manages to get past that shield?” Albino growled and looked at the spot where the portal had been.

  Patient furrowed his brow. “If someone managed to get past the shield”—he glanced at the sword—“then that weapon would become as any other sword, and its bearer would be left vulnerable.”

  “Great! So we have a weapon and a prophecy that are useless! And what if Letrias finds out about this? He is crafty and may discover a way to get the key.”

  “Not if we keep this incident a secret.”

  “You mean don’t tell anyone?”

  Patient started walking into the trees, but he called back over his shoulder. “Yes. That is exactly what I mean!”

  A whiff of smoke drew Patient up the mountain’s gentle slope as he dismissed the memory of that day. What had brought it to mind now, he had no idea. That incident had occurred about eighteen years ago. He remembered distinctly that he and the dragon had met in the wood west of the Hemmed Land soon after taking the sword from the Hold of Living Fire. That day had seemed so filled with hope. He remembered holding the flaming blade before him with a longing gaze as he stepped into the woodland pool formed at the waterfall’s base. He had stabbed the blade into the pool, and later Albino had drawn it from the water and given it to the recently widowed young father, Ilfedo. During recent years, Ilfedo had carried that same sword into battle against creatures and men who had threatened his homeland. Patient smiled as he thought of the courage with which Ilfedo had fought against the wizard Razes.

  But at this moment, Patient was a very great distance away from Ilfedo and the Hemmed Land.

  Snowy-white sheep parted reluctantly, and Patient had to push his way through a herd of long-horned goats. They nuzzled him affectionately and followed him for a short distance before losing interest and returning to graze the lush green grass. One kid hurried after him, bleating until he picked it up and set it around his shoulders. A lamb followed the kid’s example and blocked Patient’s way.

  “Now, now, little one, I haven’t room for you today. Go back to Mamma.” He rubbed its forehead and guided it back into its flock with his staff.

  The sky was turning magenta. Stray wisps of cloud that had neglected to follow Yimshi, his planet’s sun, to the horizon took on a deep orange hue. He gazed west and watched the reddening solar disc sink behind the distant hills. The daylight faded, and darkness snuck over the mountains.

  He about-faced and headed up the slope. Smoke still curled from behind a large boulder, and firelight played on the trees bordering the mountain meadow. As he reached the boulder and made his way around it, a familiar gruff voice greeted him.

  “Welcome back. Nice trip?”

  Patient circled the boulder and smiled down at the large black-and-white dog that had addressed him. It was lying next to a pile of dry sticks. The dog looked back to the fire and grabbed a stick with its lionlike claws. It was the size of a tiger, and every muscle in its body appeared taut as iron. Blue blood dripped from its white razor-sharp teeth, and a tuft of black hair was lodged between them.

  “Thank you, Corbaius,” Patient said. “It’s good to be back home. Anything exciting happen while I was away?”

  The dog put the stick on the fire and shook its head. “Not until today. Some renegade wolf came up from the eastern mountains and tried to take one of the sheep. Didn’t make it very far. I introduced it to my teeth.”

  “The blood?”

  “The wolf’s.”

  “I wonder why it is blue.” Patient knelt and examined the liquid while Corbaius obligingly showed his teeth. “I’ve never seen a wolf with blue blood.” The shepherd frowned.

  “It was no ordinary wolf,” the dog replied. “Its spine was protruding out of its back, like dragon ridges, and its eyes were bright yellow. And it had the foulest smell. I ripped off one of its hind legs, but it still outdistanced me and escaped—don’t worry, I’ll track it down in the morning.”

  Patient cleaned off the blood with a corner of his robe and stroked Corbaius’s head. “Very well, but be careful . . . and take Melvin with you—”

  “Melvin?” The dog spat on the ground. “You know as well as I do how well he and I get along! No, I will not bring that winged pompous deer with me.”

  “Then take his sister,” Patient insisted. “She is smaller and doesn’t fight—but you two do get along. Caution is called for in a situation like this, and I don’t want any accidents.”

  The dog grinned. “She is loyal and a good friend. Very well, I will ask her to accompany me.”

  Lifting the kid off his shoulders, Patient set it down between Corbaius’s clawed paws. “Watch this one; he’s a wanderer.”

  “Will do.” Corbaius pulled the kid against his furry white chest and nuzzled it to sleep.

  Patient left his companion, knowing full well that Corbaius would hardly close his eyes all night as he kept vigil over the many flocks and herds on the mountain. Corbaius’s sense of smell, sight, and hearing were all phenomenally more sensitive than any other creature Patient had encountered. Not once in all the years the dog had been with him had he lost a single animal.

  Back down the slopes he walked, taking care not to stumble over stones or creatures in the darkness. When he was about a quarter of the way up from the mountain’s base, the ground leveled out, and he looked upon the cottage that he called home. It had been built into the mountainside. Wooden walls buttressed with stone set in clay squared off under a wood-shingled roof, and a wide variety of flowers overflowed the surrounding gardens.

  “Good evening,” said a billy goat as it walked by.

  “Ah, evenin’, Francis!” Patient replied. He put his hand on the rough wood latch of his door and chuckled. “Are you going to trim your beard anytime soon?”

  The goat ignored his remark and shuffled off into the darkness. “Good night, sir.”

  “Good night, Francis.” He lifted the latch, entered, and closed the door softly behind him. Someone had been kind enough to light a lamp for him, so he had no trouble navigating his way through the fur-laden sitting room. The stone fireplace against the back wall, its wood box filled to overflowing, soon crackled pleasantly as he fanned the flames.

  Resting his staff against the wall and taking off his white boots, Patient slipped into fur slippers, grabbed an iron torch from over the fireplace and lit it, then drew the curtains so that no one could see inside. Against the back wall of his sitting room, to the left of the fireplace, was a large bookshelf. He gripped it, shoved it to the left, and slipped into the dark tunnel beyond. The tunnel went about fifty feet back into the mountain to where a large circular chamber had been chiseled out of solid stone. Scrolls, some yellowed and others fresh, filled the right wall. The rest of the chamber was lined with bookshelves, maps, and stacks of parchment.

  Several lamps hung from the high ceiling. These he lit, and then he blew out his torch. Carved into the floor were the words “Wise men seek God and knowledge; fools seek power.” He searched through a pile of scrolls near at hand, pulled one out, and checked to be certain it was blank. Then he relit his torch, extinguished the lamps, and left the library and returned to his sitting room.

  Late into the night he sat in his easy chair in front of the fire. He had just returned from Emperia, the kingdom of Albino the dragon. It was hidden away from the world far to the west. Albino’s face now bore Oganna’s scars but also seemed to glow with great frequency. The dragon’s offspring had risen to the challenge in Netroth. The battle had been difficult, and Albino had admitted that it had been hard for him to stand by unable to intervene on his granddaughter’s behalf, but the Creator would not have permitted it. “If it had not been for the Living Fire in the sword of Ilfedo,” Albino had told him, “I believe both Oganna and the battle would have been
lost.”

  Something about that statement had caused Patient to tremble. If somehow the enemy ever learned of the key—if they found a portal to that other domain and opened it—what would happen to Ilfedo and the Hemmed Land? He felt a gnawing at his soul, a foreboding that would not release its hold. He pulled out a quill and wrote upon the scroll. After completing each paragraph, he sprinkled sand over the ink to keep it from blotching and wrote on. He entered in ink what had happened between him and Albino; he wrote of the things he did not want anyone else to know. He started with the location of the portal they had used to enter the ancient realm and where they had also come back out with the sword of Living Fire.

  “The ruins of a temple, that lie at the northeast corner of the Palm of Heaven, hold a portal to the ancient realm where Valorian and his host fell. Only fire will reveal it; only fire can open the way to the Key of Living Fire . . .”

  He wrote it all and spent all night and some of the predawn hours doing so. When at last he’d finished, he closed the scroll, leaned back in his chair, and let his tired mind rest. Maybe once he’d rested the facts would freshen in his mind. He needed to know if he’d missed anything. Any vulnerability Letrias might exploit. Morning light filtered through the curtains and he fell asleep.

  When he awoke, half the day had passed by, and a powerfully built deer with brown feathered wings and large black eyes smiled down at him. Its antlers rose like so many thorns above its head.

  “Melvin.” Patient laughed. “What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?”

  “It’s good to see you,” the buck answered, bowing low.

  Patient rose and rubbed Melvin’s snout. “I was speaking in jest. Come! Let’s take a walk.” He took his staff and led the way outside.

  Yimshi shone directly overhead, casting warmth upon the mountains. Antelope and deer raced across the slopes, and a plethora of songbirds played in the flower gardens and on his roof. In the distance, in a higher meadow, Patient could see Corbaius on a boulder, overlooking the flocks and herds entrusted to his care. A large dark animal dangled limply from his jaws.

  “Corbaius caught the wolf, I see.” The deer shook his head and sighed.

  “What is it, Melvin?”

  “Oh, nothing. Well—Corbaius—actually. He and I’ve been, well, butting each other at every turn. Nothing I do seems to make a difference. He hates me.”

  “Nonsense. He doesn’t hate you; he’s just not comfortable with you.”

  “He’s comfortable with my sister.”

  “Yes, well, Veleema gets along with everyone.” Patient stroked Melvin’s neck.

  The deer breathed deep and looked to the east. “I need a vacation,” he said. “Not a long one. But I need to take some time to be alone so that I can come back fresh!”

  Patient stepped back and looked fondly at him. “You are a good friend, Melvin, and a faithful one—a far cry from the fiery-tempered fawn you once were! Go. Fly to a distant meadow. Veleema and I will handle things while you’re away.”

  The handsome creature bowed gracefully and smiled as he rustled his brown feathered wings. His antlered head lowered, he charged off a cliff and glided into the eastern sky. Patient watched him until he was nothing more than a speck against the blue sky, disappearing around a mountain.

  He looked up the grassy mountain slope and saw Corbaius coming toward him. “I see you got the wolf.”

  “Yes. Wasn’t much trouble. Melvin shirking his duty?”

  “No, I gave him permission.”

  “So I heard,” the dog replied gruffly. “What’s wrong with him?”

  The shepherd chuckled and headed up the mountain with the dog keeping pace at his side. “Nothing is wrong with Melvin, and I think his idea was a good one. When he returns, maybe you’d like a vacation too.”

  Corbaius growled. “The flocks and herds are my responsibility. I have no need of a vacation.”

  Patient stabbed his staff into the ground and pulled himself forward. “Well, since that is settled, come! We must move the flocks to higher grazing.”

  1

  THE TRAITOR’S CHOICE

  Specter rose from his kneeling position on the street in Netroth. It had been a hard-fought battle in the mighty city of the giants. Oganna, beloved princess of the Hemmed Land, had come to this place in search of the villain who’d been sending winged humanoids to murder the people in her land. She and the desert Megatraths that had come with her had been surrounded by an army of giants. She might have held her own, but the Grim Reaper had appeared to collect the Megatraths’ lives. Specter had revealed himself at that moment and engaged Death in a duel. By his hand the dark being had at last been destroyed, but the young and beautiful Oganna had meanwhile met her match. A wizard named Razes had mutilated her, bringing her very near death. Only the sudden appearance of Oganna’s father, Ilfedo, with the fiery sword of the dragon in his hand, had saved her life.

  The dragon prophet, Albino, had charged Specter to protect Oganna. But over a thousand years before, in his other lifetime, Specter had been known as the warrior Xavion, and he was still bent on bringing down the traitors that had escaped after betraying him. Having found one traitor, Auron, serving the wizard Razes during the battle, Specter had engaged the man in a duel. Only he was a free agent, not tied to any particular land, but only serving the prophets of God.

  He gazed into the dark western sky. A spot of white appeared, blazing through the clouds. Then it slowed and streaked toward him in the form of a ball of fire, growing larger with each second.

  Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Auron crawling from the building wherein he’d defeated him. The traitor’s scarred face grimaced with each move he made. The ball of fire silently exploded on the broad highway, and from the flames grew the white wings of a dragon. The magnificent creature stepped out of the dissipating flames. Each of its feet resounded on the stones as it strode forward, coming toward Specter. The traitor let out a startled cry and scrambled back into the building’s shadows.

  Specter knelt again and lowered his head. The mighty Albino loomed before him, scales aglow with pure energy. “It is done, my master. Auron has been defeated.” He swept his arm at the building wherein the traitor hid. “Even now he cowers in the shadows.”

  A thoughtful rumble came from the dragon, and it shifted on its feet for a moment. It gazed upon the nearby structure with those fierce pink eyes and said, “You surprise me. I had expected you to become his executioner.”

  “There is a chance he may find redemption even now.” Specter grasped his scythe handle with both hands. “But he is no threat to my young charge. She proved her worth in the battle this day.” He gazed up at the dragon, and the noble creature turned its face to gaze back with a smile.

  “Yes. She has realized her potential. She is even beyond your prowess, my friend. What once was a hope has now become a reality. The father and the daughter shall go on to find even Letrias himself. Of this I have little doubt.” The dragon lowered his long neck, bringing its face to within a couple feet of his. “But you, my friend, have acquitted thyself above all others.”

  Specter exhaled. “I only followed what I believed God’s will was in this situation. You asked me to guard your offspring—and so I have done. But she is both strong and loving. She brought about far more good than I. She befriended the Megatraths and healed their wounds. She saved that little viper from death and humbled Auron—”

  “You sound taken with her, Specter.” The dragon’s scales pulsed.

  “Not in a romantic way, my master. But she is a remarkable young woman.”

  Albino chuckled and pivoted to gaze up at the citadel of Ar’lenon. With darkness shrouding it, the immense structure stood out in stark relief against the velvet star-studded sky. “Only she and that faithful Megatrath now remain in this city. They will sleep tonight in the citadel, for tomorrow they plan to find a suitable burial place for the fallen king of Burloi.” The dragon swiveled to face Specter again and raised
his hand, holding up one huge claw. “But you, my faithful warrior—your duty to Oganna and to my daughters is finished.”

  Specter stared in shock and stood. “Surely I should remain with her, to watch over her and guard her against any who seeks her life. She cannot stand alone.”

  “She will not stand alone, Specter. But you will not be the one to save her when she again needs a savior. That final salvation must come from another path, another man—a man whom Letrias knows nothing of.” The dragon laughed, deep and rumbling. “Ah, the beauty of life; even in the death of those we love is the Creator’s plan revealed!”

  “Then what would you have me to do?” Specter felt his mind racing through the past years, from the lovely young dragon daughters, to the death of Dantress, to the recent achievements of Oganna. He couldn’t imagine a life without these women. After his rebirth he’d devoted himself wholly to their well-being.

  The dragon looked at the building wherein the traitor had hidden. “Auron’s destiny is uncertain. His path has wavered, and he has fallen into truly vast corruption. Follow him, and if thou should find him returned to his demonic worship, slay him before he becomes another Letrias.” The dragon pulled a small white bag from under a wing and smiled, then handed it to him. “Thy journey may be long. Take this for sustenance, courtesy of Elsie.”

  Specter bowed. “I will do as you command.” And the dragon turned, walked down the street. Its enormous body faded, became translucent, then a breeze whisked it away. The traitor crawled from the building, slowly at first, looking one way and then the other. Specter allowed his cloak to render him invisible. Auron stood, stumbled, and fell in the street. Then he appeared to stand without difficulty. What in Subterran . . .? But then the man turned, and in his hand he held the upper half of his broken staff. Its head pulsed deep purple, and then faded, blending into the night. Either Auron’s repentance had been for Specter’s benefit, or the man was simply trying to survive by whatever means necessary.