Adventurers Wanted, Book 5: The Axe of Sundering

by Forman, M. L.

  “Hold!” Alex yelled, his voice booming through the valley like thunder.

  It was a command that no mortal, not even a wizard, could give to a dragon. But Alex was more than a man, more than a wizard. He was a dragon lord.

  The dragon turned to look at Alex, then it rose up on its hind legs and beat the air with its wings. Fire flared from the dragon’s mouth, filling the air but touching nothing else.

  Alex took a few steps closer and leaned on his staff, watching the dragon.

  After a time, the dragon settled down, resting on its haunches, ready to spring, but Alex’s command held it where it sat.

  Alex focused his mind on the dragon in front of him. When he was certain it could not attack him in any way, he turned his attention to Darthon. He moved slowly forward, gently speaking Darthon’s name. Darthon stood as still as stone, his eyes looking into emptiness, seeing nothing. When Alex was close enough, he reached out and touched Darthon’s shoulder, speaking his name once more.

  “I . . . I am lost,” Darthon mumbled. “I have wandered too far, and I can’t find my way back again.”

  “Your people need you,” Alex said, watching Darthon’s face. “You must return to them and lead them in these troubled times.”

  “My people. I must return, but I . . . I don’t know the way,” Darthon answered in a voice that was too tired for words.

  “Remember Valora,” Alex said. “Remember your family and friends. They are waiting for you. You must go.”

  “. . . must go,” Darthon repeated. “And you? Will you come to my kingdom? Will you aid us in our time of need?”

  “I am already here, waiting for you,” Alex answered. He summoned a weir light, and the small ball hovered at eye level. It was the brightest thing in the entire valley, and the dragon roared in anger.

  Darthon turned toward the light like it was the sun.

  “Retrace my path,” Alex said to the weir light. “Lead Darthon home.”

  The weir light bobbed and spun, making Alex smile.

  “Go now,” Alex said to Darthon. “Follow the light. I will be there when you wake.”

  The weir light began slowly floating back along the dry riverbed.

  Darthon didn’t say anything, but he managed a weak smile. He lifted one hand, reaching for the light, and started walking. Alex watched him until Darthon and the weir light vanished into the distance. He knew that Darthon was making his way home.

  Alex turned to face the dragon. The golden dragon remained ready to attack but sat motionless. For a moment, Alex considered taking his second true form as a great true silver dragon. In this magical place, he could do so easily, and just as easily destroy the enemy in front of him. He looked at the dragon once more, and then moved forward without changing.

  “You know what I am,” Alex said. “You know what I can do if I choose to.”

  The dragon did not answer; it simply nodded its head and then looked down at the ground, almost as if ashamed.

  Alex had not expected this. He thought the dragon would speak to him. At the very least, he thought the dragon would try to bribe him or convince him that it had done nothing wrong. He let the silence grow between them, and with it his anger began to grow as well.

  “You serve the evil of Conmar,” Alex said in a cold voice. “You do the bidding of the evil wizard Jabez. Have you nothing to say? Speak for yourself. I command you to speak.”

  The dragon lifted itself on its hind legs once more. Flames and smoke issued from its mouth, and it let out a roar of pure rage, mixed with a deep agony. Stamping the ground and flapping its wings, the dragon twisted and twitched as if in great pain, but it said nothing. Finally, the dragon calmed and turned its head away from Alex, unwilling to face him.

  “You cannot speak,” Alex said, suddenly understanding. “Jabez has stolen your voice. You are truly his slave.”

  The dragon turned its head back to Alex, nodding slowly in pain and defeat. As Alex looked at the dragon he saw something he had never expected to see. It broke his heart and filled him with an inner rage at the same time. The dragon in front of him was crying.

  “I will free you of this curse,” Alex said. “I swear by all that I am, I will free you from Jabez’s evil.”

  The dragon might have smiled, but Alex couldn’t tell. After swearing his oath to free the dragon, both the valley and the dragon began to vanish like mist under the morning sun. The magic that had trapped Darthon was broken. Alex looked out across the fading emptiness, knowing that the dragon would never reveal to Jabez what had happened. Alex took a deep breath, bowed his head, and spoke one last time before returning to his physical body.

  “I will free you and all of Jarro from the evil of Jabez.”

  “Alex?” Whalen’s voice came softly in the darkness. “Alex, are you alright?”

  “I am fine,” Alex answered slowly. “How long?”

  “You have stood motionless since just after dawn, and the sun has already set,” Whalen answered. “The healers are afraid. You . . . you mentioned a dragon.”

  “The dragon of Conmar,” Alex said. “The dragon that Jabez keeps as a slave. That trial has passed; Jabez will know nothing of it. Let the healers back in, and I will wake Darthon.”

  Alex heard Whalen leave, and he slowly opened his eyes. The room was still dimly lit, and Darthon lay resting on his bed. Nothing looked different but many things had changed. Slowly, Alex stretched his stiff body, then took a few steps to the side of the bed. His senses were heightened, so the sound of Whalen and the healers returning seemed incredibly loud to Alex.

  “Darthon,” Alex said softly once the healers had taken their places. “Darthon, it is time to wake up.”

  Darthon’s eyes fluttered and opened. He tried to sit up but was too weak to manage it. The healers, including three more hooded figures, propped him up on pillows. Another healer gave him something to drink. Darthon took a swallow, coughed, and then finished the drink. Alex watched but did not speak, and Darthon’s eyes never left his face. He lifted his hand to Alex, and Alex reached out and took it.

  “Praise the ancients you have come,” Darthon whispered. “In our darkest hours, you have come.”

  “Rest,” said Alex. “You need food and rest. We can speak later.”

  Darthon nodded and Alex turned to go. Whalen looked at him with an unasked question on his face. He followed Alex out of the room and down the hallway, where Timold was waiting for them.

  “Darthon? He is recovered?” Timold asked.

  “He is out of danger and will recover fully soon enough,” said Alex.

  Timold breathed a sigh of relief. “You have done our people a great service this day, and your names will always be honored here. Come, I will lead you to a place where you can eat and rest.”

  “Whalen may want food and rest, but I need something else,” Alex said. “A quiet place—a garden, perhaps. Someplace I can be alone for a time.”

  “As you wish,” Timold replied, a puzzled look on his face.

  “After great acts of magic, a wizard often needs to be alone to clear his mind,” Whalen said to Timold. “My friend will recover, but solitude will help him recover more quickly.”

  “Then it shall be as he wishes,” Timold answered. “There is a garden here in the palace, and I will see that you are not disturbed.”

  Timold led Alex and Whalen through the palace and into the garden. “I will place guards at the four entrances to the garden,” he said, looking at Alex to make sure that was acceptable. “If you should require anything, one of the guards will get it for you.”

  “Thank you,” Alex answered absently, and walked into the garden alone. His mind was too full for anything but the memory of the crying dragon.

  Alex didn’t notice Whalen and Timold leave; he just walked. When he came to a wall he turned and walked in a new direction. He didn’t keep track of how many times he paced through the garden. After a long time, he sat down on a bench near the center of the garden and cupped his hea
d in his hands.

  The crying dragon filled his mind, a dragon whose voice had been taken. It was so evil that Alex had trouble believing it was true, but he knew that it was. Whatever Jabez had done other than this, whomever he had hurt, no matter how many people he had put in danger, none of it was as evil as stealing the voice of the dragon. It was like stealing a piece of the dragon’s soul. Killing a dragon was sometimes necessary—Alex had killed an evil dragon on his very first adventure. Making a bargain with a dragon was possible. He had befriended the ancient dragon Salinor on the Isle of Bones. But to take a dragon’s voice away and enslave it was cruel, wicked, and hateful. It was like leaving a wounded animal to suffer. It was an evil like nothing Alex had ever faced before.

  Alex sat in the garden until late into the night, his mind replaying what he had seen in the valley. The dragon had been ashamed about what had happened, but it was more than shame that made it cry. The dragon was in pain; its very soul had been torn in pieces by evil.

  The dragon cried. And Alex, alone in the garden, cried as well.

  Alex was still sitting in the garden when the gray light of morning crept over the horizon. A chill ran through him, but not because of the cold air. Someone else had entered the garden—in spite of Timold’s guards at the entrances. Alex didn’t look up; he knew who the visitor was, but he wasn’t sure why she was there.

  “I am surprised that Timold’s guards let you pass,” Alex said without lifting his head.

  The person stopped short in obvious surprise. There was silence for a moment, and then she replied. “Guards often see only what they are watching for.”

  “And it is hard to see what does not wish to be seen,” Alex said, finally looking up. “But why do you come here in secret? What is it that you want from me?”

  The person standing before him wore a dark cloak with a hood. “To understand,” she answered.

  “Understand? What could I teach an elf such as yourself?”

  Again the figure paused in surprise. Then she took a small step forward. “We know Vankin’s name, and the man you travel with looks like Vankin, but we do not see his magic. Your name is new to us, we see even less about you than Vankin. You both carry staffs, you survived a storm that should have destroyed your small boat, and you came with the mage wind in your sail. We see many things. We see that you carry a great sword from the ancient people. We see that you have come at a time and to a place where you are needed most. We see all this, but we do not see who or what you are, and we do not understand.”

  “And yet you hide yourselves among these men,” Alex said. “Your magic tries to hide you from all who might see.”

  “We hide because we must. We hide because of who we once were and what we have become. We hide because of shame,” the elf said. “You hide, but not because of shame.”

  “And you do not trust what you cannot see,” Alex said.

  “Trust must be earned.”

  “Trust is a two-way street. If I tell you what you wish to know and show you what you wish to see, will you also tell me about yourself and your people?”

  “If you speak truly, I will tell you all that I can. I cannot tell you all, though, for I do not know everything you may wish to ask.”

  “It will be enough.” Alex sat up straight. “You cannot see what I am because I do not wish to be seen. My magic is hidden from most because to show my magic in this land would warn my enemy of my approach. I do not wish the evil in Conmar to know I am here, so I remain hidden. I do not wish that same evil to find my friend Vankin, so I hide him as well.”

  “There is wisdom in what you say, but I must doubt your words,” the elf said. “Magic knows magic, power knows power. From a distance, perhaps you could hide your magic from another, but given the distance between us, I do not think that is possible.”

  “It is possible, but few know how to master it,” Alex said. “I can show you. It is not hard, but I will need something from you first.”

  “And what is that?” the elf asked skeptically.

  “The smallest seed of trust—your name,” Alex replied.

  The elf stood in silence for a few minutes, considering Alex’s words. The silence grew between the two of them as the sun slowly rose over the garden walls. A bird started to sing nearby, and finally the elf answered.

  “Very well. I see no hidden meaning in your words, no trap, and any possible danger is to myself alone. My name is Aliia—Aliia of the sea elves.”

  “Then look, Aliia of the sea elves. Look at me and see what you wish to know.”

  Alex concentrated so that his magic would be revealed only to Aliia and no other. Slowly he peeled back the layers of his magic that hid him from the world, the unexpected layers that his dragon magic made possible. He would allow Aliia to see his wizard’s powers, but no more. His powers as dragon lord, and his dragon self would remain hidden.

  Aliia’s sharp intake of breath told Alex that he had been successful. He did nothing for a moment, and then he skillfully hid himself once more. Aliia seemed unable to speak, too surprised by what she had seen to even move.

  “I have never seen a wizard’s magic before,” Aliia stammered. “I did not know that it was so great. You have so much more magic than we elves. I . . . I had been told, but having never seen such magic . . .”

  “I understand,” Alex said when Aliia seemed unable to go on. “Do you trust me now?”

  “I trust you, and I will tell my people that they may trust you as well,” Aliia said.

  “Thank you. Now, please, will you tell me why you hide? What shame do your people carry? I do not understand why you hide even among the humans that you seem to trust.”

  Aliia sat on the bench next to Alex. “What do you know of the sea elves?”

  Alex shook his head. “Not much. Rumors and old stories, mostly.”

  “That is not so strange,” she said, nodding. “We are known only to a few, and those few we trust do not speak of us to outsiders.” She hesitated a moment, then said, “And because I trust you, I will not hide from you.”

  Aliia reached up and pulled back her hood, revealing as beautiful a face as Alex had ever seen. She shook her head once, allowing her long jet-black hair to fall freely over her shoulders. She looked at Alex with piercing gray eyes. Alex was stunned. He had thought sea elves might have hidden themselves because they were disfigured in some way, or bore some kind of mark of their shame. Looking at Aliia, Alex knew that he had been completely wrong.

  “The shame of the sea elves is an ancient one,” Aliia said, smiling slightly. “So first you must know who we once were.”

  “You were not always sea elves?” Alex asked.

  “Long ago, almost before the memory of men and dwarves, my people were known as dark elves,” Aliia answered. “We loved the earth and the riches that could be found deep underground. We loved the things we could make from metals and stone and gems. We created many things of great splendor; we made the finest weapons and armor; and we found many secrets of magic that perhaps we should not have found.” Aliia paused for a moment as if lost in memories of an ancient time. “Only the oldest of my people know the whole story. None of the sea elves now living were alive when evil came upon the dark elves, when creatures of evil hunted and destroyed my people. What none but my people know—and perhaps the eldest of our relations in the known lands—is that the greatest evil and the greatest destruction was summoned by the dark elves themselves.”

  “How can that be?” Alex asked. “I have never heard of an elf turning to evil.”

  “Some have turned to evil, but I speak of something else,” Aliia continued. “The greatest evil came because the high lords and ladies of my people thought they had learned enough. They thought they were wise and that they could control all the known lands. They believed that they could stop all evil everywhere. They thought they could change the land to suit their own needs and desires—and that they could control even the most powerful of creatures with their magic. They bel
ieved that they could tame dragons, griffins, and other creatures, making them pets or even slaves.”

  “They were seeking for more power than they should have,” Alex said.

  “Yes, and they would not stop,” Aliia said. “When they failed to tame and enslave the most powerful of creatures, their pride led them to do greater evil. I do not know what they did, though some say that they summoned up shadows to serve them. They gave solid forms to things that should have remained formless. Some say they gave life to other things, but whatever they did, their creations eventually turned against them. It was their own creations that caused the greatest destruction among my people, as well as the destruction of many who were our friends.”

  “That is the greatest shame of the sea elves,” Alex said. “The destruction of those you once called friends.”

  “It is,” Aliia answered weakly. “For trying to take more power than we should have, for thinking we were wiser than the makers and the guardians, and for causing so much destruction, we are shamed and cursed.”

  “Cursed?” Alex asked.

  “We are cursed to live our lives at sea, away from the land we love so much,” Aliia said. “We have only small towns in hidden places where we build our ships, but nothing more. Our magic was once the source of our pride, and it is now weakened and tied to the sea. The farther from the sea we travel, the weaker our magic becomes. In the lands we once called home, our magic is nearly nonexistent. So it shall be until the time of change, when darloch est messer comes, and the nameless dragon with him.”

  “Darloch est messer ,” Alex repeated, remembering the words he had read in the graveyard so long ago. “When will this master of dragons come? When will the nameless dragon appear?”

  “You know these words?” Aliia replied, a slightly surprised look on her face. “It is said that in a time when all the lands are in danger, when darkness threatens to take control and wipe away all that is good, darloch est messer will come and break the power of darkness. Then there will be a great change in the lands, and the curse of the sea elves will be removed.”