Key of Living Fire (The Sword of the Dragon)

by Appleton, Scott

  Limping as he went, Auron proceeded down the highway and Specter followed, though he planted his feet with care so as not to alert his former pupil to his presence. Lead me where you will, Auron. I will follow. If salvation is your desire I will observe and help you along. But if you turn against me again, I will be God’s angel of death.

  Night shrouded the city. Auron followed the highway north and slept in a burned-out home. Specter checked that there were no entrances but the front one, then sat outside against the stone foundation by the doorway. He dug into the bag, fished out a warm bun, and bit into it. The sweet taste of butter filled his mouth, and he relaxed. He bowed his head and asked God’s blessing on both the food and the prophets whom he served. And then he added a prayer for Auron. “As You have forgiven me, let me forgive him. But if he will not repent, let me bring an end to him and, in so doing, to his evil. Amen.”

  The next day Auron rose early. He looked utterly famished, and his eyes bore a wildness and desperation Specter had never seen before. The traitor stumbled eastward across the former kingdom of Burloi. Not once did he glance back at Netroth. Before long, the mighty spire of Ar’lenon shrank out of view into the valley, until Specter could no longer discern where it lay. He remained invisible.

  Auron stopped at the first stream he came to, plunged his head in the water and then his whole body. He touched his broken staff’s head to the water’s surface and several fish floated up from the current. He tore into them, glancing about as if sensing someone was watching. Upon devouring several fish, he stepped onto the opposite bank and glanced back. His gaze swept the exact spot on which Specter stood, then passed on farther along the bank. He broke into a run, heading toward the rising sun and leaving behind all evidences of the cursed giant kingdom.

  As morning blossomed into afternoon, a forest rose before them. The trees resembled oaks and white birch, but their height seemed to defy heaven, and their trunks were broad enough to accommodate small houses. Bushes, some fifteen feet tall, peppered the forest floor. Fuzzy leaves of yellow, green, and blue covered their branches. The trees themselves abounded in leaves of green. Specter found himself ducking under the numerous low-hanging shoots that twisted from the trunks like thinner branches. The shoots curled around adjacent trees, forming a veritable web of nature.

  Though no path seemed to present itself, Auron led him deeper into the forest. Hours passed. Specter couldn’t help glancing up to try to determine the sun’s position. But it did him no good, for the thick forest all but snuffed out Yimshi’s rays. Curiously, not a single bird’s call pierced the forest’s calm. Insects abounded, skittering along the forest’s dry floor, but no other living thing evidenced itself.

  Auron batted branches aside and cursed when they whipped him in the face. The shadows lengthened. Specter found it difficult to keep pace with his guide. He had to keep his hood over his head, his cloak tight around his body, and his scythe from hitting the branches. No need to alert the traitor to the fact that he was being tracked.

  Then Auron slipped around a tree, and when he followed, Specter saw only an empty stretch of forest floor. It had grown quite dark, but not so dark that he should lose the man. Frustrated, he turned to retrace his steps. When he faced the back side of the tree, he found a hole that opened into a hollow interior. The hole was more than large enough for a man to pass through, and a spot of flickering light bounced inside the tree—as if someone were using a torch to find his way underground. Auron had gone in.

  Stepping forward with care, Specter found steps curving beneath the tree. The faint light played off the inner walls of the tree and descended quickly underground. The only thing he could guess was that the traitor had again made use of his wizard staff to create an unnatural light. Twenty feet or more he descended the wooden stairs, then they leveled out, opening into a spacious dirt chamber. Auron stood in the middle of the large space, holding his broken staff above his head. The orb at its head glowed with yellow light.

  Vines grew in and out of the walls, and on every side the trees’ roots grew like leaning pillars. The chamber’s ceiling tapered to a point some fifteen feet above his head. On one side of the room stood a wooden desk built as if for a giant. A large quill rested in a bronze inkwell atop it. A great spear lay beside the desk, and a sword leaned against the opposite wall. But what caught Specter’s attention at the last moment made anger flood his soul. There, lying at Auron’s feet, was a breastplate bristling with razor-sharp blades. Razes! So, the traitor had returned to the lair of his fallen master.

  Auron dropped to his knees and stretched out his arms. “God’s prophet will have me slain. Come to my aid, spirits. Ye demons, servants of the Devil and, yourselves fallen angels, see me as your servant. Use me to channel your power into the world. And grant me vengeance!”

  Specter raised his blade and gritted his teeth. Time to pay for your sins, Auron.

  Voices whispered in the chamber. They rose around him. His ears rang with their incessant groaning and cackles; they had nothing of peace or of goodness to offer. The dirt floor turned to ice at Auron’s feet and it spread from that point. The scythe froze in Specter’s hands, and ice grew over his feet, latching him to the floor. It spread rapidly up his legs, and he trembled as it touched his back. Wispy forms of skeletal people stepped into the light and clawed toward him. Helpless, he watched his fallen pupil rise and turn to stare back at him.

  “There is only one power in this world that is truly to be reckoned with, my old master.” Auron smiled and stepped forward. “And you, even after a thousand and more years have passed, have yet to understand that it is not the power of the prophets, or of their God.”

  “It is—” Specter struggled to say the words as ice formed over his chest. “You have rejected all that is good, Auron. And for that you will pay the ultimate price.”

  The traitor flung his gaze ceiling-ward and laughed.

  “Oh, mighty God, please,” Specter prayed. His body trembled. “Do not let him escape. Look upon me with favor.”

  Auron sprang toward him and landed a punch to his jaw. Spots of light danced in Specter’s vision, and he gagged as ice crackled over his throat. “I will leave your fate up to these friends of mine, Master.” Auron turned his back and pointed his broken staff at the wall. Smoke poured from the orb, swirled, and funneled through the dirt. A bright flash and a portal appeared, revealing a snow-covered mountain slope and a gate in the mountain, made of ice. A clear blue sky stretched to the horizon, and ice-and-snow-covered mountain peaks filled the landscape.

  Auron laughed and placed his foot in the portal. “Your end has come, Xavion. Death will not claim me. God’s angel decreed it.” He cackled and lowered his arms. “You should have chosen a different enemy. Now death comes by their hands and I—I live on, eternal and ever growing in might. I will escape God’s judgment, while you meet it like a warrior.” He walked into the portal and glanced over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling. “God have mercy on you!”

  The portal closed and darkness swallowed Specter. The evil spirits brushed against his cheeks. “Join us. You can.”

  But three brilliant lights appeared beside him, and the demons screamed as the light revealed their skeletal bodies. The humanoid spirits looked at one another, still screaming. Three glowing men robed in white smiled at him and touched his body. Immediately the ice receded from his neck, back, and legs. It fled into the room’s edges, and the demons vanished. Warmth returned to his body, and he bowed to the angels, awe filling him.

  “No, friend.” The angels pulled him straight. “Do not bow to us; we are servants like you. We all serve the Lord and Maker, and He has sent us to save you this day. But now we must return you to the forest and send you on your way. Auron is lost, and should you meet him again, you must become his angel of death—or the innocent will suffer for it.”

  The angels walked him out of the chamber and for a moment stood around him in the silent forest. He marveled at their radiance, their heavenly glory
. “What should I do?” he asked them. “For I had set my mind on staying with the traitor. Now that he is gone, I don’t know where I may best serve the will of my Creator.”

  “Return to the holy prophet, the dragon you know as Albino. Place yourself once more under his guidance.”

  He started to bow, habit overruling wisdom. But they disappeared, leaving him to realize that, once again, Auron had escaped justice. Next time, he vowed—if there ever came such a time—he would do what must be done. For now he would make the return journey to Netroth and see if he could find the dragon.

  2

  THE HIDDEN REALM

  Albino was not certain what made him return to the portal. He had not been to the site for years. But every so often he came back, just to reassure himself with a visual check that no one had managed to enter the hidden domain. He flapped his wings as he soared over the immense forest and angled toward the one tree rising far above the others. No other branches would hold his weight.

  Angling his wings back to slow his approach, he settled his feet on the branch. Cool breezes rustled the leaves as his gaze swept the treetops. Folding his wings to his sides, he dug his claws into the ancient bark and gazed upon the one-story structure a couple of hundred feet below on the forest floor. It stood at the edge of a lush field.

  A tangled mass of bright-green foliage partially hid the old structure. Thick vines wove around its crumbling outer walls and between the stones and the mortar. A lone pillar stood atop the stone landing in front of the open entrance. White marble steps fronted it, twenty-four of them to be precise, though there may have been more buried beneath the ground.

  It could have been a whisper of the wind that broke Albino’s meditation, but it wasn’t. Footsteps moved through the forest, growing louder as they neared. The footfalls landed without rhythm, as if someone ran, then slowed pace, then picked it up again. He watched the forest floor, hoping to catch a glimpse.

  Not many oak trees could hold the weight of a fully-grown dragon—much less one of his size—but he shifted comfortably on this one. It had sprouted long before he had been born, and the rich ground that its roots had grown in sustained it beyond the normal lifespan of a tree. Not a single unhealthy branch or leaf, nor even a dead twig, could be found on it. He’d postulated that the land itself might have a special strength given it by the Creator. If so, then the tree was as much a part of the land as the mountains and rivers. Not eternal, but nearly enough.

  He stretched out on the branch, being careful not to mar it with his claws.

  The footsteps slowed, then quickened again. He frowned. If this were a messenger for him, then why did they not show themselves? And if not, how and why had they come to this place?

  A thought occurred to him, a troubling thought. But he discarded it. It couldn’t happen. Only Patient and he knew of the portal. Nevertheless, he could not risk the key falling into the wrong hands. He spread his wings and glided from the branch over a cluster of small fir trees, settling into the clearing beyond, where he could keep his eye on the stone ruin to the south.

  A cloud slid across the solar disc, casting the scene into deep shadows. Albino stealthily retreated into one of them and waited. He could smell the approaching human’s sweat and hear rapid breathing.

  At last the human sprinted from the trees and crouched in the clearing. He frowned. A woman. Shoulder-length blond hair, blue eyes, tall and thin—she had a rather attractive form. Something didn’t feel right. She was wearing leather leggings and a tight blouse. She glanced about as if hunted or guilty. Her left hand clutched a deep-purple staff whose end was topped by a black sphere.

  He frowned. It had been a very long time since he had encountered a sorceress.

  Stepping silently out of the shadows, he waited for the cloud to slide away from Yimshi. As the rays spilled over the field, he rumbled in his throat. The woman turned toward him, gave a startled cry, and retreated toward the ruin and the portal to the ancient realm.

  “Back off, dragon!”

  Albino growled and lumbered forward. “Drop the staff and I will not harm thee.” He could feel the resonating darkness that her weapon possessed. It felt evil, grinding uselessly yet with annoying persistence at his soul. “Unless you wish death to pay you a visit—drop it.”

  Fear filled the woman’s eyes. She took another step back, then suddenly held the staff in both hands and swung it at him. A wave of dark energy absorbed the sunlight and smote him upon the chest.

  The assault did not in the least affect him, and he growled out another warning. “I will soon tire of this, woman. Do not try me.”

  “I-I k-know what you a-are pr-protecting,” she stuttered, retreating to the base of the stairs, “and you c-cannot s-stop me.” She lashed out with the staff, this time striking at his right shoulder.

  The staff swept against his shoulder, passed through it, and emerged out of his chest—as if he had been a ghost. She stumbled up the stairs, her eyes wide open and her mouth struggling to speak. Still, she did not drop the staff.

  “Your weapon betrays you, sorceress,” Albino said as he pulled his head back. “You follow Letrias, who followed in the footsteps of my enemies. Death alone awaits him and all his followers.”

  “You think y-you know e-everything, d-don’t you, dragon? But I-I know my master, and he w-will destroy you.”

  Albino looked down upon her, amused. “Without his master? That I doubt!”

  “I-I know w-what you are p-protecting, dragon: the Key of Living Fire. Y-you thought you c-could hide it f-from him?”

  The key! Letrias had learned of the key? “You have sealed your doom, sorceress.” Albino reared his head back, inhaled the air through his nostrils, and opened his great mouth so that fire issued forth upon her in a steady stream. The marble steps cracked under his assault, but the woman twirled the staff and the flames swept around her. She pointed her vile weapon at the doorless entrance to the old structure, and the flames swirled into it. A whirlpool of light appeared.

  Albino roared and grabbed at her. But the whirlpool of light pulled her out of his reach into the portal.

  “Fool!” he heard her scream. “You have played into my hands!” With that she was gone.

  Roaring his rage at his own miscalculation, Albino spread his wings and ran into the cool wind. The portal to the ancient realm could only be opened by fire—and he had opened it for a servant of Letrias. If she somehow got the key—

  He split the cloud above him, emerged above it, and maneuvered between two others. He focused on his destination, the clouds and the sky streamed behind him, colors merged, and he shot away.

  As he flew he felt peace reassert itself in his mind. The Creator knew all things. Ultimately He was in control of everything. But Albino pictured the sorceress standing before the Shield of Purity and reaching for the key inside. A contest had begun. A race that he must not lose.

  Starfire watched a blustery wind drive clouds of smoke to the east. Small fires could still be seen burning in the wake of the battle. Skeletons lay scattered through the streets and on the great ramp to Ar’lenon; their bones shone white in the pale morning light. The vultures had picked them clean.

  The western gate’s arch was still intact. The road leading from it rose out of the valley, and there, at the valley’s rim, a ring of fire blazed on the broad highway. In the center of it she stood solemnly, viewing Netroth as if its emptiness were an answer in itself to her own heart’s pain. She glanced over her shoulder and confirmed that she was alone.

  Slowly, deliberately, she moved forward. She followed the road, pausing now and again to look at abandoned weapons and the corpses of those who’d held them. Her flaming garments lit every dark corner as she passed through the city.

  Coming near the city’s center, she stopped. The incredible citadel rose above her, its stone walls standing whole amid the chaos. To her right lay the entrance to the tomb of the kings of Burloi, wherein Oganna and Vectra had buried the giant, Gabel.

>   “Magnificent, isn’t it?” a voice said from behind her.

  She turned and looked into Albino’s eyes. “Father, it is a graveyard.” In her mind the city had lost its wonder; the valley had lost its enchantment; the citadel had lost its magnificence. An entire civilization had been wiped from the face of the world. Its memory would slowly fade.

  The dragon was quiet, and she sensed he was troubled. “Father? Is something wrong?”

  “I am not certain—though I think that something is.” He shook his head. “I am to blame.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He tapped the stone road with his claw. “Do not worry. Patient and I have come up with a plan. But we will need your help.”

  “Of course. But what—”

  “Not now. I will tell you when we are done here.”

  Starfire walked up to the tomb entrance. The doors that were too cumbersome for an ordinary human to manage swung outward by her command. “The worthy live; the evil are condemned,” she murmured.

  The great Albino walked past her. “I have always appreciated the giants’ architecture. So spacious and regal,” he began.

  She chuckled, then sighed. “You call this regal?” She shook her head.

  The stone over Gabel’s grave was now before them. The dragon scraped his claw along it and sighed. “It is a fitting thing that the king of the giants died to save Oganna. Though I doubt Gabel fully realized how important that young woman is to the future. Without her foresight there would never have been an alliance between Ilfedo’s people and the Megatraths, and without those creatures the battle would have claimed Oganna’s life.”

  “Yet, Ilfedo has grown proficient with the sword,” Starfire said. “Surely no one can stand against him now.”

  Albino swung his head around, facing her. “Do not be so certain. He handled himself magnificently, yes, but his greatest challenges lie ahead. The true tests of his strength have not yet come.”