Cursed Cleric

by Salvador Mercer

  The dragon roared and breathed fire and another blast lit up the room in a bright blue light. Within the chamber the sound of the electrical attack was almost deafening. Isolda turned to Bran, “She’s in danger. Will you let her die for this Ulathan traitor?”

  Bran looked at Malik and frowned. He lowered his eyes for a moment then looked up at Malik then turned his head to gaze across the chamber. The dragon had breathed flames at his precious wife and the large warrior woman was attacking the Kesh wizard as well. The Northmen were in a wild frenzy and Bran’s heart almost broke. With a final word to Malik he said, “Save yourself and your brother. Let me save my family.”

  Malik looked over his shoulder and saw his brother battling both beast and undead. The love, courage, and pride he felt overwhelmed him, and he turned to Isolda saying. “Fine, you want the rod? Then take it from me.”

  Pulling the rod from his belt he held it high overhead and yelled, “Awake, protector of the flame.”

  Isolda scowled and stepped forward to take it from him when he hit her hand with it. Instantly the hand went black and blue as if bruised from bracer to fingertips. She recoiled and hissed at him. “You’ll die for this, traitor.”

  Malik turned to Bran yelling, “Run,” and without waiting to see if he followed he fled down the rocky slope directly into the raging battle.

  “Here it comes again,” Salina said, holding her slender sword out past Khan to protect his left flank. Both her and Khan stood behind Targon and the dragon rushed them breathing fire that spread past the tall, undead, priestess that was bent of attacking Khan for some reason. The fire did the same as last time being vented all around them in a cone from in front of Targon. The Shield of Ulatha held.

  The second bolt blasted the dragon square on its head, and it reared back, a part of one of its horns falling to the ground from the impact. The warrior woman reached them and engaged the lone figure standing between it and her prey. The woman spoke, her voice haunting and commanding at the same time. “Stand aside and allow me to mete justice upon the Kesh intruder.”

  Targon parried her first blow and he felt it vibrate the length of his arm. The woman he faced had been dead for a millennium and she was supposed to be the person they were sent to parlay with. Instead she only wanted to kill Khan. “Stop your attack now.”

  The warrior woman did no such thing. She stood slightly taller than Targon and her white, pupilless eyes seemed to be able to pierce them with her undead gaze. Her magnificent armor was shiny and polished, not dulled at all by a thousand years of wear. Targon had never heard of plate armor before, much less seen it. It made the woman nigh to invulnerable against any conventional sword or weapon. Her strength was massive and greater than any that Targon had ever faced before. Her presence momentarily took their focus away from the dragon and that would be rare feat for anyone to be able to accomplish.

  Then the sound above the roar of battle and it could be heard slightly but clearly echoing across the chamber. “Salina!”

  “By Agon, it’s Bran!” Salina said, pointing towards the Northmen who had encircled the red dragon and were hacking at it with sword, spear, and axe, nearly a hundred strong. Crossbow bolts flew towards the beast, this time some hitting soft spots where Khan had weakened it.

  “Targon, call her by name,” Khan said.

  Targon nodded and used his shield to fend off another blow by the cursed cleric. “Alexi, stop!”

  The woman held her sword high and then paused, slowly lowering it until it was pointed directly at Targon. “What did you call me?”

  “You are Alexi, a Fist of Astor,” Targon recited word for word what Elister made him memorize. “I come from Elister, last surviving member of the Arnen to request your aid. Will you fulfil your oath and help us?”

  The woman’s eyelids narrowed, and she hissed at Targon, “My oath is to the King’s historian. I have failed him. You have no claim upon me.”

  Targon faltered, his words leaving him, and he spoke from his heart at that moment, “Please, Alexi. Don’t fight us. By all that is good from the Mother Agon herself she—”

  Alexi cut him off, “The Mother has forsaken me. Speak not of her to me. I am abandoned. I am lost. I am the walking incarnate of disgrace and dishonor. Speak not to me of this matter. Now stand aside. The Kesh will pay for their sins.”

  “Targon, it’s Bran and I think it’s your brother!” Salina said, running past Khan to stand next to their protector. “We must save them.”

  They could hardly speak when something unexpected happened. Targon was trying to deal with a dragon, an undead holy warrior hell bent on killing his companion and now Salina was telling him his brother was here in the middle of nowhere. It was too much for him to process with the unexpected arrival of the second dragon.

  Coming from the pool of lava and splashing it all around the chamber, a red dragon arrived. It was nothing like the first dragon. This one was red, but it had been encased in lava that had cooled and formed a rocky tomb for it when it had died a thousand years ago at the hand of the royal historian, Diamedes. Her name was Conflagula and she was undead.

  The beast had holes in its body, wings and head. The eyes weren’t there, only two huge lights of bright red. The creature sloshed out and squirmed its way on less than stable legs towards Malik who was running towards it and holding a glowing rod in his hand. Bran ran beside him and the pair was headed towards the undead dragon and lava pool. The first dragon turned to face her undead sister and for the first time was confused and fearful. Two traits seldom seen in a dragon.

  Upon reaching her master, she hissed, and Malik spoke to her in a loud voice that all could hear. “Kill the Balarian thief.”

  The dead dragon stumbled by, headed directly towards Isolda who had been gaining on them. The woman stopped and retreated in her tracks, trying to get away from the undead dragon. Her bracers, as did Malik’s, gave her great strength, but they paled by comparison to a dragon. She could only turn and run and curse Malik for his treachery.

  Salina left all caution and ran towards Bran. Bran saw her and left Malik to be reunited on the field of battle inside a volcano. It took precious seconds for the pair to meet and when they did they fell into each other’s arms. They hugged each other intensely and Bran kissed Salina on her lips then moved to her forehead and cheeks. Out of breath he asked her. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” Salina answered. “You?”

  “I live,” Bran said, comforted by his wife. “Our boys?”

  “Alive and well,” she said. “Cedric is nearby. We must leave this place immediately.”

  Fate was not to be kind however and while the Northmen ignored the strange humans from the south running near them, they were all focused on the red dragon. The one that was living and breathing and who now had overcome its own shock to find anger and hate again. It didn’t understand why its sister was following the commands of a human, how it had purged itself of its molten grave, nor what it was going to do and be. The red dragon knew it wanted the humans to pay for their crimes and she moved to take matters into her own claws, so to speak.

  Several Northmen and a few Kesh had died from the battle with the dragon. Their bodies laid strewn about the chamber and while they bravely attacked, they were no match for the beast. It moved into them and directly at Bran and Salina who had met in the middle of the chamber. Several people yelled “No!” at that time. Targon, Malik, and Khan included. It would be too late.

  Targon pushed past Alexi leaving Khan to deal with her and ran at his fellow Ulathans. He would not be able to reach them in time. The dragon already inhaled and burned a score of Northmen and a half dozen Kesh in its first breath. Now it would burn the pair of humans huddled before it. Not only because the dragon hated the humans, but because they were in her path.

  Malik ran towards them as well and saw Targon. “Brother!” he cried.

  Targon yelled in return, “Malik!”

  Malik ran behind the dragon and could only reach i
ts tail. Targon was going to be close, but at least a good dozen paces away when the dragon killed them by fire. Tears started to well when he saw Salina in her husband’s arms and the thought of them united finally and then that joy and happiness stripped from them broke his heart. He ran as fast as he could as the dragon reared its head and prepared to administer death.

  Seeing his brother’s face change, gave pause to Targon. Malik seemed to nod as if he had decided upon a course of action. He managed to reach the dragon’s tail and with a war cry, “Ulatha!” he brought the rod up and hit the dragon as hard as he could.

  The power of the rod smote the dragon’s tail which turned black and blue. Scales began to fall off it and the dragon roared in pain. It reared back in anger, facing its new attacker who stood alone against it. The figure was now looking past it and at someone else. The dragon didn’t care. It would kill the offending human at all costs.

  Malik knew he would die. He didn’t care. Seeing Bran with his wife gave him happiness that he thought he would never know again. Seeing his brother alive and well lifted his spirits. He yelled to his brother, “Mother, sister?”

  Targon pulled up when he reached Bran and Salina. He heard his brother and yelled back, “Mother and sister are alive and well. Both are home waiting for you.”

  The words brought a smile to Malik’s face. “This is for Bran.” Malik held the Scepter of Death in his hand high overhead so Bran could see it. He then gripped the rod firmly as the dragon reared back and he spoke his last words, yelling. “I love you brother. Forgive me for what I have done.”

  With simultaneous actions, Malik took three steps at the dragon bringing the rod over his head and behind him. He threw it at them, and the magical artifact sailed past the dragon directly at them. Targon yelled so loudly that even the Northmen turned, “NO!” The dragon, meanwhile, breathed fire and it consumed Malik from head to toe.

  Bran and Salina turned away from the fiery sight and buried their heads in each other’s shoulders. “No,” Bran sobbed gently as the rod landed near them sliding across the black floor within arm’s reach. Bran ignored it at first before pulling away from his wife and grabbing the rod of power.

  “Bran, he’s gone. We must leave now.”

  “We can’t leave yet,” Bran said. “There’s still a dragon to deal with.”

  The pair stood and Targon yelled at the dragon. The sorrow filled brother ran at the beast which had turned its injured read on them in its quest to kill its attacker. Targon reached the beast and hacked the very end of the tail clean off with one stroke. Targon swung his sword twice more cleaving chunks of dragon flesh from the dragon which was roaring in pain again.

  Khan had watched the spectacle and faced Alexi. “I am no longer Kesh. I no longer vow allegiance to them. I am Khan, I am a freeman. I am not your enemy.”

  “You deserve death,” Alexi said to him.

  “Yes I do, but before you or anyone else metes that out to me, I have my own oath to kill the High Mage and return Kesh to a peaceful realm. Besides, you should know that both Ulatha and Tyniria are either under siege or have fallen to evil forces, not only the Kesh. Will you not help us free them?”

  The cursed cleric looked at the Kesh wizard and said, “If you speak truthfully then I will fulfill part of my oath. You must free me from my prison though first.”

  Khan nodded then walked by her and towards his companions. Arriving in time to see Targon slashing at the beast, he murmured another spell to summon forth an electrical bolt. He didn’t think he could summon a fourth as the prior ones drew so much energy he was fatigued and ready to pass out. When the dragon turned and was ready to bite his companion, Khan hit the beast again in its shoulders where the largest mass of its body was concentrated. The bolt knocked off scales and scorched dragon flesh.

  In the end, it was not Targon and his magical sword, nor the power of the Kesh, but instead a brave Northman who scaled the side of the chamber and then leapt out once the beast crossed in its attempt to kill his men. Kaz, chieftain of the Eagle clan and leader of the Northmen, landed on the back of the dragon’s neck at the base of its skull and plunged his sword between two scales that were weakened in the attack.

  The dragon roared in pain and let out one last ball of fire that bathed over Targon’s shield which protected him as well as his companions. The dragon was dead, and the battle was over.

  Chapter 20

  Hope

  The truce was necessary, otherwise they would have killed one another. For their help in distracting the dragon, the Northmen allowed the Ulathans, along with their Kesh companion and the undead warrior woman safe passage out of their lands. Hermes wanted to object, but he knew better than to countermand the order of the new, northern hero. The one his men called Dragon Slayer.

  Bran needed a while to understand the Scepter of Death and he used it to not only command Conflagula back to her lava grave, but to also free Alexi from her imprisonment in the Plains of Death. When she had been brought back to life by Dour, the Akun Cleric, it was not well known that the act took place using dragon energy along with the dark energy from Dor Akun. It literally tied her very soul to this place. She needed powerful magic to counter the life-giving energy of Akun and the Scepter of Death could do that.

  The companions travelled south and ended up struggling to cross the High Stone Pass and enter Ulatha from the north. Only the endless energy of their new companion, who cleared a path through the six feet of snow allowed them to make it home. When they arrived the reunion was bitter-sweet.

  “How is your husband doing?” Elister asked Salina.

  “He is so happy to see us,” Salina answered. “You can see he spends so much time with the boys. Time he seldom had as the Captain of the King’s Guard.”

  “Odd how bad things can sometimes lead to good things,” Elister said, watching the porch for a moment where Bran was holding his son Karz and talking to Cedric.

  “Odd how good things can also lead to bad things,” Salina said looking across the field at where Targon stood with his mother and sister near a large rock that was brought in next to her parent’s grave. There would be no grave here for Malik Terrel, but the stone would be the symbol of his memory. He would not be forgotten.

  Several people gathered on the porch and a few more stood in silence at the daily ritual. The children were hushed and knew to remain quiet. It took only a moment but when Dareen fell to her knees and Ann dropped to her side. Both were weeping and seeing Targon fall beside them, holding and tenderly loving his mother and sister in their grief brought tears to those who witnessed the love that the Terrel family had for one of their own.

  For a long time they knelt at the rock and wept together. Elister sighed and spoke softly, “This was indeed bad news, but there is more.”

  Salina looked at him and tilted her head, “I don’t like the way you said that.”

  “I know,” Elister said. “Things will get worst now.”

  “How so?”

  “Father Death will be here next spring, summer at the latest. More dragons will roam the land and both the High Mage and the evil, undead lich will seek to kill or enslave the last remnants of Agon’s children.”

  “What will she do?”

  “Who?” Elister looked around.

  “The Cursed Cleric,” Salina said.

  “Is that what you all call her? She has a name, Alexi.” Elister said.

  Salina nodded, “I know, but she is more terrifying to everyone than even Tyra.”

  “Well,” Elister said honestly, “When you first met my daughter you were all terrified if you don’t mind me so saying.”

  “No, you’re being honest. When will Alexi confront the lich?”

  “When the first snow melts and you and Bran are ready to go with her.” Elister looked west across the canopy of trees.

  “He has to take me there, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Elister said. “The rod can only slow the curse. By next summer, he will be dead
if you don’t make the trip. We have much to prepare before you go.”

  “I can’t imagine what we can do during the wintertime to prepare,” Salina said, looking at the porch and smiling at Bran and her boys, Karz and Cedric.

  “I will show you,” Elister said. “Besides, when we make our last move we will risk everything.”

  “Again you sound cryptic and sinister to me.”

  “Alexi, the Cursed Cleric as you call her, may very well best the lich at its own game. However, in order to face not only the crazed High Mage of Kesh, but the dragons coming from Akun, will require the help of professionals. We must free my last living companion from her curse and awake the last of the Zashitors, the Rangers of Agon.”

  “I thought you and Targon were the last?” Salina asked.

  “No,” Elister said. “The last of the living Arnen is a she and her name is Elizabeth.”

  “And the Rangers?”

  “They are named, Edric, Dunric, and Wulfric.”

  Salina looked back at him and tilted her head in confusion, “If they are the last, then why haven’t you summoned them?”

  “We discussed that,” Elister said patiently. “They require two things that are in short supply, or no supply the last several hundred years.”

  “Which are?” Salina asked.

  “A Ranger or Arnen to enter the Chamber of Sleeping at the High Rock Abbey where they are sleeping and a Kesh Arch Mage to lift the curse.”

  “You couldn’t enter your own home?” Salina asked.

  “I can’t leave the forest, even when I was alive,” Elister said. “I broke with my faith and gave an oath to a draconus in order to save the lives of a princess and her guard.”

  “You were cursed for that?”

  “Not cursed, but rather limited.”

  “Sounds like punishment to me,” Salina protested.

  Elister shrugged, “Call it what you want, but here I have been for a thousand years as well and by this time next fall I will be nothing more than dust after the passing. I am most interested in seeing at least the faint whisper of hope on a breezy, tentative wind, before I pass. Can you fault me that?”