Key of Living Fire (The Sword of the Dragon)

by Appleton, Scott

  “Troubled sleep. I always have it. Leave me, nightmares. Let me die.” The words entered his mind from a troubled consciousness, probing, as if reaching out to Ilfedo’s.

  Ilfedo stooped behind the gears. He peered between them, wondering where the voice in his head had come from. But all he could see were cobwebs and some gears strewn across the floor. He might have tried burning the cobwebs with his sword, so as to see with greater clarity; however, such a fire could easily spread to the walls. If this contraption could bring light into the cavern, he would need to preserve it, not burn it.

  “Ho, weary one! At last, having entered my abode, how do you find it?” A thud sounded from behind, and Ilfedo heard the unknown voice again in his mind. “Too long alone and hungry.”

  Who are you? Ilfedo thought.

  The building answered back with the haunting summons of a tomb. Yet somewhere in the shadows piercing eyes were watching. He could feel their penetrating stare—but not as if they looked at Ilfedo the man. It gazed under his skin, spirit to soul.

  Standing and closing his eyes, Ilfedo demanded more fire from the sword. Out the flames poured, turning him into a pillar of bright fire. “Come forth!” he commanded. “I know you are watching. I can feel it and—” He angled his consciousness into the sword of the dragon and raised the sword out of his hand. He could see himself standing there, from the perspective of the sword’s blade. He looked steady and focused. Good. Whatever is in here will see me as a greater threat.

  He hovered the point of the sword over his head, then flipped it so the blade aimed at the roof. Being inside of the sword in this manner was like being in a crystal with four facets, those facets being the four angles of the shiny blade. He could see better from in here than was possible with his physical eyes—at least in such a dim setting. And above him on the creaking rafters he spotted his quarry, a bulky black thing that moved with the speed of a snake to another corner and then let itself to the floor below.

  Withdrawing his mind from the sword, Ilfedo flexed his sword arm. He glanced to the left over the mass of confusing gears. The creature had let itself down over there.

  Bounding forward, Ilfedo landed on a gear with one foot and vaulted the rest of them. He rolled onto the floor on the opposite side, nicking his cheek on a loose gear in the process and pushing his helmet off to one side. He stood and shifted the helm so it sat straight upon his head again.

  Before he could lower his hand from the helm, a claw scraped along his breastplate and attempted to carve a circle over his heart. The armor was not even scratched.

  The face of a Megatrath penetrated the shadows . . . a black face layered in glossy armor plating. Its egg-white eyes regarded him without fear. “The power of Living Fire is in your blade, foreigner. Otherwise this claw should have cut open your heart and you would now be dead.”

  You are a Megatrath.

  The creature stepped sideways, and knife-blade spikes along its back glistened in the playing firelight. Judging by its size, Ilfedo surmised it was half grown.

  “So you know this species. What an intriguing twist on our knowledge of you, yet insubstantial. You were clever in your dealings with our counterparts, pulling them out to slay one by one. Yet this body is fully physical, powerful enough to match your skill. And we are within it as powerful as they. You are going to fall.”

  Pain twisted the creature’s face as it shook its body. Smoke fell from its armored hide, metal chinking against metal. The smoke rolled to Ilfedo’s feet, and ice crawled up his armored legs. The Living Fire sputtered, yet the armor stayed upon him even as he sank to his knees and the mighty sword’s flames died.

  Human arms extended from the Megatrath’s sides. They were wisps, vapors. Whisperings emanated from the creature’s mouth, voices not its own. “Come to us, Ilfedo of the land above. Join with us for a life eternal.”

  “Life eternal? God help me, you are devils in disguise.”

  “He will not be swayed,” the voices whispered to each other in his mind. “Then we will slay him. This body needs sustenance.”

  The creature’s eyes startled open. “No!” it roared. It swept its claws through the loose components on the floor, clanging them against the large gears behind Ilfedo. The sound rang through the building. The heavy rafters seemed like harp strings flinging the sound to and fro, then casting it high above to where the arches met at the roof’s pinnacle.

  At that moment the door opened and someone stumbled inside. Ilfedo tried in vain to raise his sword as the devils hissed his doom. “Everett, be careful. I can’t move. Stay back!”

  “And what,” Bromstead replied, “made you think I was that pompous little man?”

  “Captain of the guard!” Ilfedo twisted his head enough to see the giant of a man stagger within ten feet of him.

  The man’s eyes were white, and his cheeks dripped sweat.

  “No.” Ilfedo hung his head. “How did they get to you too?”

  Bromstead inhaled deeply, and his eyes turned a beautiful green. His skin darkened considerably, and his muscles bulged beneath his clothes. He stood straight and walked to a stone slab nearby. Ilfedo did not recall noticing it before.

  Bromstead hefted the stone with a mighty grunt, then rolled it aside. Beneath lay a two-handed sword with a blade over four feet in length. Stooping, the man grasped its ivory handle and raised it before his face. He smelled it and smiled. The blade had a half-inch gap running from its handle three quarters of the way up its fuller.

  Ilfedo cried out, “God will save me from this madness.” He released his sword, for this was a spiritual battle waged over souls. He tried to prostrate himself, but the ice crawled over him and froze his position. So he continued to pray, both out loud and in his heart.

  With a couple of easy strides Bromstead crossed the distance remaining between them. He swiveled the sword with his wrist, cutting swift, skillful arcs on either side of him. Then he stepped up to the Megatrath and patted its head. “I did not think I would ever see thee again.”

  Incoherent whispers emanated from the creature’s mouth.

  “Ah yes, possessing a body . . . never an easy task.” Bromstead swept around and returned Ilfedo’s stare. He held his long sword’s point to Ilfedo’s throat. “Curious little man. You broke a scepter and believed me gone. Yet all you did was free me for the acquisition of this body.” Bromstead laid his hand on his chest and vomited.

  Ilfedo continued to fervently pray.

  “Enough of that!” Bromstead’s blade glowed green to match his eyes, and tongues of green lapped toward the sword of the dragon. “I, Brunster Thadius Oldwell, will fight thee to the death by sword combat.” He swept his arm at the rest of the room. “What better place, in this strange world, could there be for a sword duel between two Lord Warriors!” Brunster stood back and slapped the young Megatrath’s thick hide. “Release him, for I will fight him in the old manner. No advantages given. We will fight cunning versus cunning, and I will match my experience and skill with a blade against his.”

  The ice melted until Ilfedo found himself standing in a puddle as the Megatrath lumbered to the far wall. It stood there, vacant eyes fixated on Brunster.

  Ilfedo straightened his back and loosened his shoulders. “So you want to challenge me in fair one-on-one combat.” He chuckled, poising the sword of the dragon as if to stab forward. Slashing instead, he tapped his opponent’s long green blade. Living Fire slashed out, and green flames responded from the ancient rival blade. The flames fused together, twisting like fighting serpents.

  Brunster slashed his blade across Ilfedo’s face. Ilfedo leaned back, too late. The green sword drew blood from his nose. Ilfedo countered with a thrust, simultaneously smashing his fist upward at Brunster’s nose, but missed with both attempts.

  The taller man parried and swept one leg behind Ilfedo’s knees. As Ilfedo dropped to the floor and rolled to the side, Brunster widened his stance. He flashed the green blade over Ilfedo’s head, then stabbed at his che
st. Ilfedo reversed his roll, lay on his back, and kicked Brunster’s knees.

  The man cried out and teetered. Like a falling tree, he landed on the floor, and Ilfedo stood. He flicked the sword out of Brunster’s hand with his own blade, then held it to Brunster’s chest. “Release this man and depart from this place, I command you.”

  In that moment, with his opponent felled and at his mercy, the Megatrath rumbled in its throat. It thrashed on the floor, hissings and gasps sounding between its teeth. The sword of the dragon, which had continued to blaze with undeniable fervor, sputtered. Its flames quenched of their own accord, and the armor of light peeled away from Ilfedo’s body.

  A scream echoed through his mind, and he closed his eyes, seeing a dark place where stone blocks had been strewn over the ground and rusted weapons and metal shards lay beneath a woman’s feet. He couldn’t see her face. She laughed and raised in her hand a gold key that blazed with fire. “The power to overcome is mine,” she shouted. She ran across the ground and tripped on a small block. As her chest smacked the ground, the key slipped from her fingers. It flew into the air, hovering there for a brief moment, then sped the way it had come. A dome-shaped energy barrier captured the key and the scene vanished.

  Ilfedo found himself lying on the observatory floor. The Megatrath and Brunster Thadius Oldwell stood over him. The ancient Lord Warrior knelt next to him and pulled the sword of the dragon from his hand. The Living Fire returned into the blade. Returned! It returned into my blade. The vision he’d had of the woman . . . she must have stolen the Key of Living Fire and temporarily transferred its power into her own hands. That was why his sword had failed him in that moment. The dragon ring tightened around his finger, and he gritted his teeth, for it was very painful.

  Brunster’s eye gleamed as he stared at the ring. “Living Fire. This I have not seen in a very long while. Restrict his movements, Megatrath. There is more to this man than at first I thought.”

  The creature planted its claws over Ilfedo’s shoulders as Brunster cradled the beautiful sword in his outstretched hands, gazing upon its blade. Releasing the blade with one hand, he touched the dragon ring. A stream of white-hot flame emanated from the tiny creature’s maw, and Brunster withdrew his hand. Then he threw the sword of the dragon across the room and spoke to the Megatrath. “Hold him here until I return.” He picked up his sword. Green flames snaked over the blade as he strode to the door and exited the building.

  Though Ilfedo looked about for a way of escape, he could find none. The Megatrath loomed over him, its great weight an impossible obstacle for him to overcome without his sword. The screams of women and children filtered from the doorway Brunster had left open. Something large exploded, and the floor trembled.

  “No, please! I will serve you,” a woman pleaded from somewhere outside.

  He heard Bromstead’s strong voice reply, “And your daughter? Can I rely on her allegiance as well, or shall I exact her life in payment for the deeds of this city against me?”

  “Mommy!”

  “Please, don’t kill her! She is my only child.”

  “Then take her. I will let her live so that you may better serve me,” Bromstead said. “So will it be that if you fail me, your daughter will perish.”

  “Captain of the guard, what are you doing?” It was a voice unfamiliar to Ilfedo. “What is wrong with your eyes? Hey! That is the sword of—”

  “Kneel and kiss my feet, Soldier. Kneel or fall upon my blade, for I am your Lord Warrior.”

  “What have you done with Lord Ilfedo?”

  “Lord Ilfedo? You called him lord.”

  The man cried out as if he’d been stabbed, and the woman screamed.

  “He is not dead, woman,” Bromstead laughed. “I have left him alive so that you may prove your loyalty to me, as will everyone in this city. Take that stone and kill him, else I will slay your daughter.”

  Ilfedo screamed his rage. He threw his leg against the Megatrath’s, yet it glanced blankly down at him. It did not comprehend, nor did it need to. He was no threat.

  Then Ilfedo’s soul surged within him. With intense conviction and faith, he said to the creature, “In the name of God, be rid of these demons!”

  From a dark corner of the large room, behind an idle gear, Everett emerged. He hunkered forward, eyes closed, lips silently moving. The Megatrath growled and slashed at the man. Momentarily freed, Ilfedo wrested his other arm from the creature’s grasp and rolled toward the door. “Everett, let’s get out of here.”

  The old man shook his head ever so slightly, and two men stood behind another gear. By their pink robes and familiar faces Ilfedo recognized them as monks from the church he had slept in. The monks’ hands were folded, and they began to sing a soft hymn as the Megatrath shook its head and blinked its eyes.

  From outside Ilfedo heard Bromstead’s voice. “Make your choice. Serve me, or shall your daughter die?”

  Ilfedo slammed the door open and stepped into the dusty street. The vast expanse of Dewobin pink sky was far above him. The mix of well-tended and far-gone buildings stood on streets as far as he could see in any direction.

  People flooded down the street, led by the city guards who now brandished their swords. Bromstead struck the woman who knelt at his feet and grabbed the little girl by her hair, dangling her from his hand and aiming his angry green blade toward the city guards.

  The guards ground to a halt, and clouds of dust rolled the twenty feet or so that remained between them and Bromstead. “Bow to me, one and all, for I am returned,” Bromstead declared. “Bow to me, else this child shall die by my sword.”

  Ilfedo rushed Bromstead from behind, tackling him at the waist and throwing him to the ground. He rolled and came up with fists ready to strike . . . but the man somehow stood first and poised his blade to strike Ilfedo’s neck.

  A bird screeched from above, and the Nuvitor dove. Its silvery talons slashed at the man’s hands, and its beak tore a hole in his arm. The sword fell from Bromstead’s grasp as he screamed and grabbed the bird by its neck.

  Ilfedo grabbed the fallen sword, then stabbed it toward Bromstead’s shoulder. But an invisible force tore the weapon from his grasp. The sword orbited Bromstead’s head, then shot through the air, aimed straight for Ilfedo’s heart. It seemed that just as the sword of the dragon was tied to Ilfedo, this other sword was likewise linked to Brunster Thadius Oldwell. It could not be turned upon its master.

  Ilfedo dodged the flying blade too late. It impaled him through the lower ribcage and smashed him to the ground. The back of his head hit a stone, and a field of white flashed across his vision. He bled from his chest, and his strength left him.

  Bromstead cast the girl to the street’s edge, and the Nuvitor shook itself free of his hand. Bromstead grasped his sword, leering down at Ilfedo. Then he twisted the blade in Ilfedo’s flesh and, unsmiling, he pulled it out. In two strides he met the guards, flashing his green blade in and out of their midst. The guards fell around him, for he hewed them down in frightful numbers. He left a mass of twisting wounded in his wake, seeming to leave every soul alive. The guards cried out for someone to stop him, but he seemed unshakeable and advanced toward the heart of the city.

  At that moment Everett and the monks exited the building. They surrounded Ilfedo as he lay in the street and they knelt, laying hands on his body. A woman brushed between them and tore off his shirt, then dabbed at his wound with a clean cloth. More people rushed from between the buildings; of their number a great many closed their eyes and began to sing a lament.

  But Everett and the monks were reinforced. The pink-robed holy servants knelt in the dust, and the power of their prayers refreshed Ilfedo’s spirit. “Sit me up,” he commanded.

  A dozen eager hands pulled him to a sitting position as he groaned from the pain of his wound. “Bring me my sword.”

  A heavy clawed hand reached out of the crowd, the sword of the dragon lain across it, and the young Megatrath lumbered forward. Its mouth twisted
into what Ilfedo knew to be a Megatrath smile, but the people screamed and started to run. The creature made no attempt to follow. The people stood away from the creature as Everett smiled and stepped up to it. “Everyone,” he said, “may I have the honor of introducing Arvidane, whose body has been cleansed of evil possession through the Creator’s grace.”

  “Honor?” A man limped toward the Megatrath. “I know this species. I fought its kind, and many of our good men have died defending our borders from them. Step aside, Minister, and let justice be served in the form of death to this beast.”

  The Megatrath hunkered backward, pulling out of the crowd. Someone raised a sword and another cried out for silence, yet pandemonium broke instead. As fear filled the Megatrath’s eyes, it roared and batted away a sword.

  A young boy ran to the Megatrath and gently wrapped his arms around the beast’s leg. “Stop! Don’t hurt him. Can’t you see how scared he is?” The child beckoned to several other children and they joined him. Soon the Megatrath stood in a protective crowd of children.

  A man rushed from the crowd, ordering the children away even as he raised a sword at the beast’s back. With surprising agility three girls, no older than six, ascended the Megatrath’s leg and sprawled over its back. But the girls cried out, “Don’t hurt him!”

  The creature still held the sword of the dragon. Ilfedo grunted, rolled toward the beast, and came within reach of the Megatrath’s hand. He turned his face up to see into the creature’s eyes. Their eyes met and the creature’s relaxed. Timidly it held forth the sword, and Ilfedo wrapped his fingers around its warm hilt.

  The Living Fire leaped from the blade, the armor of light covered his body in warmth, and he felt his wound cauterize. A tingling filled his lower ribcage, as if internal healing was begun. Gradually his strength returned until he stumbled to his feet, leaning on the sword for support.

  Facing the Megatrath, he smiled. “I know your kind, Megatrath, for in Resgeria I have an ally. She is strong and honorable.” He pointed in the direction Bromstead had gone. “If you are honorable as well, rectify your deeds by bringing that man to me . . . Bring him alive and disarmed. For only then do I believe the people of this city will forgive your past deeds, though they were not your own deeds but those of the demons within you.”