by A. Evermore
Asaph understood then why they had not fled taking Issa to safety. In the air he was, he hoped, safe from whatever evil magic they had placed beneath the Wykiry. Part of him wanted to destroy the Maphraxies then and there but the other part knew he had to save her first. They were closing in, eager to claim their prize.
Rage filled Asaph’s belly with fire.
He turned to the nearest ship. To attack would mean his shield of invisibility would drop, but that mattered little to him now and time was running out. He drew close to the ship and spewed forth the fury in his belly, feeling the shield drop as he did so. A massive bout of red-hot fire exploded forth from his mouth into the nearest ship. The fire covered the decks in raging destruction, the ship’s sails exploded into flames and Maphraxies sprawled in all directions.
Asaph beat his wings up and circled around preparing to attack again. But the Maphraxies aboard the flaming ship were already recovering from dragon fear and swiftly dousing his fire with magic and water. Asaph realised then that the dead could not feel fear like the living. Truly formidable.
Guttural yells reached his ears above the howling wind and the Maphraxies aboard the other ships scrambled to obey orders. Thick archer bows, taller than the Maphraxies themselves, were thrown on deck. The ships began to move out, spreading their numbers apart so it would not be possible to cover them all in flames at once.
Cunning, Asaph thought, his plan had been anticipated. In their haste to separate they ran over their own raft boats and any clinging to wreckage in the water. Once again their expendability only made Asaph wonder how many Maphraxies there were that they could let them die so easily. Whatever the number was it was too many, Asaph thought grimly as he came back towards them.
Archers now lined the decks and drew back their massive bows. Hundreds of arrows were pointed towards him, their tips were dripping green slime and shimmering darkly. Enchanted and poisoned. He smiled inwardly, what a battle to be my first fought in dragon form, Coronos will not believe it.
A horn blew and the dull thwonk of released bowstrings filled the air. Asaph arched his wings and drove upwards hard, away from the cloud of poisoned tips, and blew a huge bout of fire as he did so. Flying harmlessly through his own flames, the arrows swiftly followed him and were engulfed. The flaming arrows fell harmlessly into the sea. Not one of them made it through the fire to touch him and neither would they be able to fall back upon and harm the Wykiry and Issa. He knew more would be coming, they were probably already notched.
Far below he sensed Issa pull on the Flow, felt her magic surge and the Orb of Water she clung to somehow doubled the power of her intention. In a matter of seconds a huge circular wave, some twelve feet high, formed and surged outwards from her in an ever expanding ring. It smashed into the surrounding ships just as the horn blew.
Asaph glanced down with a grin as the unsuspecting archers were knocked off balance and their arrows loosened harmlessly in all directions but up, many piercing other Maphraxies. The ships floundered like toys upon the waves, making it difficult for the Maphraxies to reload, let alone aim. She was trying to help him and though it helped to delay their next attack it cost her greatly. The smaller boats were still moving closer and soon they would reach her.
Asaph roared, the thunderous sound rolled out and the Maphraxies stood frozen for a moment, trembling from dragon fear. So, they can still fear a little then, Asaph thought, though they recover quickly. He climbed high into the clouds, stretching out his neck and tail into one long line so he could streak straight upwards as fast as he could. He closed his eyes and focused upon the feeling of the air as it rushed past him. He then pulled his wings in tight as his upwards motion slowed and the air went slack.
He opened his eyes as he came to a stop and for one surreal moment all was perfectly still and silent. The air in his nose stopped moving and the trickle of smoke that came from his nostrils was perfectly motionless. Then he began to roll forwards. In a split-second he had tilted one hundred and eighty degrees to face straight down towards the ocean. He hurtled like a comet towards those hated black ships.
The Maphraxies scrambled for cover as the golden monster sped towards them but there was nowhere to go. Asaph roared and bellowed as he tore through the air and rained fire upon them once more. In one great breath he set ablaze two ships closest to each other. Then he was straining upwards in a tight arch to avoid their flying arrows, his taut muscles quivering against the forces.
Asaph turned to look back at the enemy and to his chagrin he saw that the Maphraxies did not burn as normal living things made of flesh and blood would. Though they screamed in pain as they smouldered, it seemed many of them, with their unholy flesh, strange black iron armour and protective magic, were able to resist his fire. Get rid of their wizards, it will break the magic, Asaph reasoned.
He scanned the ships and, aboard each partially hidden by a magical grey mist that his dragon sight could penetrate, made out a tight ring of four or five black-robed and hooded figures, their faces bent together in concentration.
Necromancers, he thought in disgust. Most were tall but some were short. The servants of the Immortal Lord came in all shapes and sizes from all races; elves, human, dark dwarf and anything else they could infect.
‘Traitors,’ he growled aloud.
Now he had found them he could feel their presence like a dark stain in the Flow as they focused on dousing their flaming ships. His fire could not penetrate their shield but it could destroy the ships, they could not put out all the flames he had created.
His fire had already destroyed the sails despite their magical protection and that gave him some comfort. There came a noisy cracking sound of splintering and then one of the flaming masts crashed down towards the ship. It swung in the rigging and swiped across the bow taking a score of Maphraxies into the sea with it. Tied up in the rigging they sank with the mast into the dark water to their doom.
‘Dragon brother, help us!’ The desperate plea cut through the roaring of flames and splintering masts. So absorbed had he been in destroying his enemy he had forgotten the reason he had come. Asaph realised then one of the few weaknesses of a dragon; easily we are lost in fury.
Forgetting his enemy he turned to where the call had come from. To his horror the Maphraxies in the small boats were nearly upon her. Whilst he had been busy with the ships, the smaller raft boats had closed in. They had thick hooks and nets which they were throwing towards Issa and they were almost within range. The Wykiry and cetaceans fought desperately but now there were too many Maphraxie raft boats in the water.
In his peripheral vision he saw the archers drawing their bows. He had to get to her but if those arrows hit him it would all be over. The signal sounder brought the horn to his taut grey lips. Asaph roared in frustration and beat his wings hard and fast. The horn blasted and the whistling of arrows came from behind. He was still in range. He dropped his right wing down savagely and spun down to the right, spewing what fire he had left in his belly. The arrows missed him, but only just, for one narrowly brushed past his tail.
Asaph spun tightly towards the ships, filled his lungs, sprayed them with weaker red fire. All now had their sails alight. He racked his brains as he watched the enemy swarm to put out the new flames. He could not breathe fire upon the smaller boats, it would kill Issa and all those that helped her. Not knowing what else to do he dropped towards the two boats closest to her. Ignoring the screams of the enemy he gripped their boats in his giant claws and crushed them and their boats. Wheeling up he tossed the crushed boats and their contents far away into the ocean.
Movement in the Flow caught his attention. The magic was being sucked into the Under Flow. He glanced back at the necromancers. They were up to something but what? All the necromancers then glowed with bright green auras and their power joined as one in the Flow. From each group a blast of magic arced up into the sky towards each other until the five arcs met in the centre, directly above Issa.
Asaph searched
the intention of the magic but could only find destruction. He could not read their magic easily anyway. Though he could see it in the Flow they drew upon the undercurrents, the unnatural Under Flow of Baelthrom’s dark magic that drained the life force of the Flow. They intend to kill her now? He sped towards her as the necromancers’ great ball of flaring green fire grew and boiled. Their drain upon the Flow sapped his own strength.
No, they intend to destroy me trying to stop them. Bastards! He couldn’t call their bluff, he had seen what they had done to their own kind, why would they not kill her anyway? They were necromancers, perhaps they had already bound her soul. He drew what he could of the Flow, trying to take it away from them, trying to stop its drain into the Under Flow, but they were strong and they were over twenty in number. The Flow surged and the green ball of fire fell. Everything moved in sickeningly slow motion then.
I may die, father, but I cannot let her go!
The green flames were only twenty feet from her as he surged forwards finding more speed than he ever thought he would have. Twelve feet, the green fire was dropping, ten feet. He was fast, he would make it. He must make it! Eight feet above her and he was still sixteen feet away. He closed his eyes and through half lids saw a turquoise flare as a white light hit it.
Two forces beyond any physical power he had ever felt struck him sending his massive body spinning. A sonic boom rang through his ears and shuddered his great heart. There was a horrible ringing in the following silence and then he plunged into icy cold water, hurtling down and down until his speed was finally slowed.
Asaph hung there in the dark water in a daze. His muscles were twitching from electrical disturbance, nerves throbbing from quivering magnetics as his body tried to balance itself. Even his thoughts were scattered and uncontrolled, as if his brain had been sent rolling in his head.
And then he was swimming, his muscles ached like hell but miraculously he was swimming. How can I not be dead? He broke through the surface and he gasped air into his empty lungs. Issa. One thought was all it took and with some effort he struggled out of the water and into the air, his wings shaking weakly as he beat them.
‘The orbs, brother, two united! Luckily for us all,’ the Wykiry whispered weakly but in wonder.
‘The Orb of Air! Coronos must have done something, and just in time too!’ he replied in equal wonder.
‘The net is broken, take her and flee,’ all wonder was gone from their voices now.
The ships were still reeling from what had happened. The Maphraxies struggled to their feet only to fall again from the violently rocking ships. The necromancers were all on their knees, heads in their hands. Many lay unmoving on the decks. They could not organise themselves or form any control over the Flow or the Under Flow. All the boats that had surrounded Issa were completely gone, there was not even any debris, it was as if they had never been. Anything above the water was destroyed except her.
Asaph glanced at the horizon and saw the other Maphraxie ships speeding towards them.
‘No chance!’ he growled aloud. Facing anymore of those bastards was the last thing he wanted, no matter how hot the dragon rage burned within him. He had to let the desire to destroy his enemies go.
Keteth’s death had reverberated through the energetic fabric of Maioria, his passing would not have gone unnoticed, and neither would it go unchallenged by Baelthrom and his Maphraxies. Who knows what the conjoined power of the two orbs had done too. In any case, the Immortal Lord was drawing close and he could not possibly face that enemy. Besides, she needed him more and, whilst the enemy was recovering from the magical force of two orbs combined, he had a chance to get her and get away unscathed.
He flew low over the bodies of the dead to where the pale form of Issa lay unmoving. Issa was no longer conscious and so the storms she had been causing were dissipating and yet still she clung to the blue orb as if her life depended on it. Three Wykiry moved beside her, trying to keep her aboard the splintered wood, though they struggled with exhaustion.
‘Take her, brother, far from here,’ the Wykiry whispered in his mind.
‘I shall and the goddess look after you,’ he said aloud, wondering what the voices of the Wykiry had been like when they could speak and walk on land. Beautiful no doubt. Coronos said they were called the Angels of Maioria for the beauty of their voices.
Asaph hovered low until his wing tips dipped into the sea and, as carefully as he could, reached a giant claw under her and grasped her gently. He lifted Issa from the ocean and, even to his cold-blooded flesh, he could feel she was frozen. Rags were all that remained of her clothes. He held her frigid body close to his belly where the fire burned hottest and beat his wings to lift high into the air.
‘We will meet again, brothers and sisters, our job is done here,’ Asaph said back to them. ‘Run from them, recover your numbers.’
Asaph watched the remaining Wykiry sink into the darkness and then turned to the east to where the sky was brightening with the coming dawn. His muscles ached and his wings quivered with fatigue. He was fast losing his strength now the potion that the old karalanth had given him was waning, and his eyes lost their focus now and again. I indeed feel like a newborn fawn, he laughed inwardly.
He flew low upon the ocean, where the eastern wind rushed hard above the surface, moving his wings as little as possible as the wind pushed him forwards. He desperately longed for the heat of the sun to warm his cold blood and for the first time he understood why the Sun Goddess was so important to dragons and Dragon Lords, Feygriene was the source of their strength. He glimpsed a black speck flying ahead and smiled. The raven, I had forgotten about it completely.
His heart leapt with joy when he spotted a ray of bluish white light reaching out to him upon the horizon just to the west of where he was heading. He dipped his left wing and adjusted his course towards it, towards the light of the Orb of Air.
Chapter 8
The Orb Of Water
‘KETETH,’ Baelthrom breathed, forcing his mind off the girl, and remembering the day he felt the birth of a new potential. The iron ring beside him, still vibrating from the magical assault, now flickered with dim blue light in response to its master’s thoughts and a watery image formed within it.
‘How long had I spent trying to affect your stubborn mind?’ Baelthrom said. Both he and the dark dwarf turned to look at the image of the young boy Keteth wavering within the iron ring. ‘Then finally I broke through whilst you slept and there sowed the seeds that would bring you to me; a hunger for power that you could never slake. Once I was in your mind you could never push me out.’
The image changed from a sleeping boy to a skinny mousey-haired young man, his sleepless eyes were hollow and there was a tortured look about him. ‘The human fools could never understand you, Keteth… Your wonderful gift, to wander in the land of the dead and return to the living at will, is what I need. They could never understand you.’
Baelthrom fell silent as he watched the image of the young man who had been tricked into freeing Baelthrom from his prison. Kilkarn glanced from the image to his master and back again, unable to read Baelthrom’s emotions as his eyes rolled from blue to green.
‘I had high hopes,’ Baelthrom said quietly to himself, ‘your mind was strong but I know humans very well… Curiosity and greed, given time, will always overcome fear in a human heart. And I had time, all the time in the world…’
‘Keteth would never have found me in that endless dark maze had I not whispered to him, leading him deeper and deeper into these mountains, until he stood before the doors of my prison,’ Baelthrom breathed.
Kilkarn barely heard his Lord as he stared into the image within the iron ring. There stood the man, Keteth, who became the White Beast of legend.
‘He looks so weak and pathetic,’ Kilkarn snorted, noting how pale and thin the man was as he crept silently into the dark tunnels that led deep into the black rock mountains of Maphrax. Keteth’s eyes were wide and gleaming, eager for the p
ower within, and the eagerness made him bold for few dared enter the Mountains of Maphrax of their own will.
‘Looks have ever been deceiving to those without the gift of magic,’ Baelthrom said. ‘The darkness of the dead world to which he travels surrounds him and a powerful magic lays at his command.
‘Just as I can see his magic, I can also see into his twisted heart,’ Baelthrom continued, ‘and it was always the Orb of Death that Keteth hungered for, that orb would give him power beyond his imagining when combined with his strange gift. I could not let him have it, such power can only be mine. And so I tricked him…’
Kilkarn squinted hard into the dark image for only a small globe of magical light lit Keteth’s passage through the dark tunnel.
‘…Nothing more than a simple illusion easily made to make the rune for the Orb of Water appear as if it were for the Orb of Death, a trick even a fool could see through, but Keteth was so eager in his excitement, and so unsuspecting,’ Baelthrom said quietly.
Keteth came to a stop and whispered a word. The small globe of light grew bigger.
Kilkarn cackled excitedly as a large twelve foot circular door was revealed in the brighter light. The door was nothing more than the same black Maphraxian rock from which it was cut. It fitted flush with the walls and there was no handle or hole opening.
With a whimper of delight Keteth tiptoed hurriedly towards the door, but for all his efforts to move quietly his feet made loud crunching sounds. He looked down and stopped, mouth open in silent horror when he saw the piles of bones upon which he walked. The bones lay thick under Keteth’s feet and all around him; bones of all races rested atop the dust of other, older, bones.
‘Bones of those who had come before, those who had tried and failed to unlock the power of the orbs,’ Baelthrom breathed. ‘Only death awaits those who have come here, and death not of my doing but from the power of the Ancient’s magic they laid about the cursed place.’