The War of Embers

by James Duvall

  Graham's sword flashed through stone, carving away chunks of the mighty golem as it swatted at him like a fly. Debris piled up at Kreen's feet, making the footwork tricky as the paladin struggled to stay ahead of the golem's flailing arms. He sliced one off cleanly below the elbow, but the golem simply reached down and pulled it back into place, tendrils of magic leaping between the stump and severed limb like crackling lightning until the cold stone fingers came to life again.

  “Crush the interloper, crush the fleshlings,” Kreen repeated as he backhanded Graham hard enough to knock the sword from his grip. The world went dark as a heavy stone hand reached toward the uneven ground to crush him, but he egressed into a channel of broken earth. Still he could feel the pressure as it tried to crush him. The stone grew cold against him, painfully cold. He could hear the frost mage screaming his name. The light came back all at once, giving him a dizzying rush as air flooded back into his lungs.

  Grimlohr grappled with Kreen, his dark claws furrowing the golems chest like a reaper's scythe. All around them a torrent of stone rushed past, draped in the burning wreck of the marketplace.

  “The head!” Graham called. “Take the head!”

  Grimlohr's claws slipped up to Kreen's neck, looking fiercely into the hollowed eyes of the abomination of stone. The burning irises flared white-hot as though oil had been thrown into them. Grimlohr twisted the golem's head off with a roar of ferocious triumph, then dashed it against the ground.

  Lightning crackled between the pieces and they drew near to each other again as though drawn by magnetic force. Graham scrambled desperately onto the creature's chest and drove his sword down until the hilt rammed against unyielding stone. Inside, the heartstone cracked in twain. Kreen fell silent at last.

  All around the market the din of roaring golems faded like the last crash of thunder in a dying storm. Many of the golems simply stood still, never lifting a limb as men with hammers and pickaxes overwhelmed them and broke them down into unrecognizable chunks. Graham's men surged in from every side, overwhelming what little resistance remained.

  Chapter 38

  Vagabond

  Liberated Camden, Arcamyn

  And standing among the ruins he heard a voice cold as night saying, 'Come, weary soldier, and take thee thy rest.'

  From atop St. Penathor's tower, Draggus Morphial could see Kreen fall beneath the zeal of a paladin's blade and the fury of a dragon's claws. It was too bad about Khaebus, really. There was no way out of Camden for the old senator, only for Draggus himself.

  “Sir? They are coming!” one of his servants warned.

  “They've always been coming,” Draggus answered him, looking down into the streets. He could see the paladins gathering at the foot of their desecrated church.

  “Ilsador's vaunted justice,” he said with a sneer. “Was it just when they drove us into the mountains so many generations past?”

  “No sir,” the servant said, bowing quickly. “Forgive my impertinence, but the city sir, you must escape.”

  “I knew this city would fall from the day I told King Drissus I was going to take it for him and for the Forgemaster's glory,” Draggus went on. He strode over to the portal of flame. His servant followed close at his heels, being very careful to keep a respectful distance. It was how he was trained, but Draggus found it annoying. There was very little point in speaking to a man whose opinion would always reflect his own. He was better off seeking counsel in the mirror. “He does not have enough faith.”

  “S-sir...?” the servant said, sounding unsure of himself. Speaking ill of King Drissus was tantamount to an unforgivable heresy in the eyes and hearts of the lowly.

  “I said that he does not have enough faith,” Draggus repeated.

  “You must excuse my simplicity, sir. I am not a man of letters,” the servant said and dropped to one knee in a bow. A sigh of exasperation was the only answer he got. Draggus went to the portal, gazed into the swirling flames and took one last look at the city he had destroyed. Losing Kreen frustrated his efforts, but Khaebus was a hole that would be harder to fill as the servant clearly demonstrated. There were not enough thinkers in Embrahl's courts, only sycophants and warlords. Both were useful, but few were as quick of council as the wizened senator had proved. The Forgemaster's visions were clear though, he was to leave Khaebus behind.

  “Do not follow me,” he warned the servant. “The portal will burn you alive.”

  Then Draggus left Camden with a single easy step. Drawn by the call of the Firewalker's charm, the magic of the portal collapsed behind him and he carried it with him to the sanctuary of Sarash the Wise.

  When the paladins arrived they would find only the servant, still kneeling in supplication on a floor stained red as fire with the vengeful blood of a dragon prince.

  ***

  After three weeks they removed Joshua from the hospital and into a private quarters in the palace set aside for the use of Grimlohr and his company. It was another month before he could walk more than a few minutes without feeling tired. Most mornings Rickthicket or Syrrus were around to bring him food and water as his slow convalescence continued. Only on rare occasion did Grimlohr make an appearance, usually for a quick breakfast. There were bad days and good days. On the good he would go out onto the terraced balcony and lie in the sun, letting it warm his scales as he watched the city pick itself back up by its bootstraps.

  One morning he felt particularly strong and Syrrus went with him into the market and to survey the damage to Halder's Tower.

  “I think you'll be impressed,” Syrrus said. “I know I was.”

  Joshua followed her down the road until they stood before the tower. He was in his alter, something he had not had much opportunity for in the past months for fear of re-opening his wounds. The drain was noticeable, but Syrrus had draped him with a necklace of infused gems that quickly replaced the magic as he lost it. When he questioned her on the cost of it she assured him it was worth it to lug a human and not a dragon back up all those stairs should he become enfeebled.

  Stone masons had effected repairs in the area closest to the tower, replacing gouged and broken paving stones with newly cut ones. A bundle of broken stalagmites had been piled beside the tower like a rick of grey firewood. Everywhere there were chopped off stumps and deep grooves cut into the stone.

  “Surveying your handiwork?” Grimlohr asked as he joined them.

  “I couldn't stay in there any longer,” Joshua said. “Not that I'm not grateful. It's a nicer room than the nicest hotel I've ever stayed in. It's just-”

  Grimlohr cut him off with a raised hand. “Say no more, I understand. You seem to have recovered much of your strength. That's the most I've heard out of you in a week, generally speaking.”

  Joshua nodded. He had. “I will need to go back soon. Solomon's Watch will be worried.”

  A deep sigh came out of Syrrus. “Still going back?”

  “You do not have to go,” Grimlohr said thoughtfully. “You have found a home with us.”

  Before Caedus Beldin's army it might have surprised Joshua to hear that. Today it seemed as obvious as noting that the sun had risen or that the moon was blue as the sea.

  “I have.” He turned to look at them both. “I have responsibilities though, people I can't walk away from.”

  Grimlohr nodded in approval.

  “I won't be gone long. Maybe not more than a few minutes,” Joshua remarked ruefully, remembering how the watchmen reacted the last time he disappeared for several months, and this had been even longer. It surely had not helped his petition to join the watch.

  “There is another matter I wish to discuss,” Grimlohr announced. “Do you remember the heartstone you ripped from Gulderthag's chest?”

  Joshua nodded. He did, vaguely. Mostly he remembered how much it had hurt to shapeshift into his alter and drag himself into the tower. After that things were hazy for about a week.

  “I am afraid it was as you had surmised, Syrrus,” Grimlohr said. �
�Archmage Varner concluded that a human soul was trapped inside.”

  Joshua felt a lump in his throat. “A soul... trapped... inside...?” he asked numbly, not sure he heard the adviser's words right.

  “We consulted with the surviving fathers at St. Penathor's. They have said prayers over it and sough the Almighty's wisdom in the matter. At dawn tomorrow they will drive a spike into the heartstone, freeing the soul to its fate.”

  “He's alive?” Joshua asked.

  “No,” Syrrus said. “Geartooth is alive, but his old body is passed away. The same could be said of Gulderthag. Whoever he was, he died when he was formed into rock.”

  “It is unfortunate that the man's identity could not be discerned. Our prisoner claims to not know. He seemed genuinely distraught when he heard how the speaking golems were made. I am inclined to believe that he was not privy to that information. Obviously he knows more than he is sharing, but this I think he was kept out of. I have no doubt it is a dreadful sin among his faith as it is in ours.”

  “Probably,” Joshua said with a dry throat. There had been a time, however briefly that he was a soul borne about in a lifeless vessel. Though it was brief and the majority of it was spent in the presence of the Keeper of Death. He could not remember any other part of his strange journey from dying in Colorado to being reborn a seeker in the mountains of Arcamyn.

  Two weeks later the day came that Joshua was to return to Earth. Rickthicket, Syrrus, and Grimlohr were all present to see him off. He carved the portal in the air on the balcony, in full view of St. Penathor's cathedral. It was a nice day, warm and sunny.

  “I've put it off long enough,” Joshua said, shaking each of their hands. When he got to Syrrus she hugged him tight against her and pressed her cheek to his.

  “Be safe,” she said quietly.

  “I will,” he promised.

  “Check in in two weeks time if you can,” Grimlohr suggested. “The church is sorting out Isaac's succession. You will not want to miss the coronation.”

  “I've seen three,” Rickthicket observed. “They're all the same boring ceremony. Lots of clapping and cheering, some graybeard on the platform making pronouncements and reading titles. Then they sit a little crown on his head while music plays and everyone's so far away that all you can see is the little glint of gold when they hold the crown up so you know when to clap and cheer.”

  “So don't hurry back? Is that what you're saying?” Joshua asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Nonsense!” Rickthicket retorted. “The feast is to die for! They'll even fill a dragon's belly twice over without a thought. That's what you'll not want to miss.”

  Joshua chuckled. “Of course.”

  “It's quite an event,” Syrrus said. “Try to be here.”

  “I will, I will! I'll only be gone a week or so at most.”

  “We've grown used to having you here, where you belong,” Syrrus said firmly.

  “I know. I've... grown used to it as well,” he said. The truth was he was not completely looking forward to his return to the place he had once called home. The uncertainty of Solomon's Watch, the small and cramped apartment, an empty sky forbidden to him... But there were his duties, and a dagger in his pack that would let him return at any time. Two, in fact.

  Joshua slung his bag over his shoulder, said one last round of goodbyes and marched into the portal without looking back. He would see them all again very soon. It was strange to him how hard it was to take that last step. There had been partings before. So many people had come in and out of his life. On one hand he could not count the number of people as close to him as these three, for these were friendships formed deep as marrow, strong bonds smelted and purified in the forge of war.

  The End of Part 1 of The War of Embers

  ***

  A Note from the Author

  Greetings! First off, thank you for reading the War of Embers! I really enjoyed writing it and I am excited to finally have the opportunity to share it with others. If you liked the story, please leave a review on Amazon! It doesn't have to be five stars or anything or even very long. Every review helps me out and that means more cool stories about dragons and gryphons and far off places.

  Presently I'm working on a novella focusing on Caela Marwick's history, which will be available soon. I have also begun work on the sequel to The War of Embers. Included after this note is a preview chapter of my upcoming release, Shards. Shards follows the story of a small feathered dragon named Sapphire, as well as a businessman-turned-smuggler named Timothy Binks. Check out the preview below!

  To keep up to date on my upcoming projects please check out my website at www.Frostrunes.com or follow me on twitter @FrostruneDragon. I regularly post cool artwork of characters from War of Embers and Shards on twitter.

  Thanks for reading and please remember to leave a quick review!

  With great appreciation,

  James Duvall

  Shards Preview

  Chapter 1

  Book Wyrm

  Cahen, Tandor Shard

  Luminarians were never out of place on the streets of Cahen, but there were certainly eyes out there searching for Sapphire Nightsong. She watched the market from a safe vantage point where even if she were recognized she could easily fly away and disappear once more into the anonymity of just another street dragon. Somewhere down there, in those streets clogged with humanity, was the man that had stolen her book. It had been three years since Sapphire had last returned to her home. The market had grown and the booksellers had moved.

  Despite the time spent in distant, unfamiliar shards, the market's ever-present aroma of food felt familiar. It was strongest at the center, a medley of cooked meats and sauces rich with spice and herbs rising into the air. Sapphire drank it in as she sailed over market's heart on feathery wings. From there the market radiated outward like the petals of a flower, colorful cloths bridging from roof to roof to keep out the summer sun and prodigious spring rain. Through the gaps Sapphire could see humans moving up and down the streets, stopping to barter or browse. They could see her as well, but they paid her no mind. Humans tended to only notice luminarians when they got underfoot.

  There.

  On a narrow street with blue cloth canopies draped over it Sapphire caught sight of a heap of books. She landed lightly on one of the rooftops and poked her head in through the gap between two rain sheets. The alley smelled of old pages and binding leather. Here the patrons were younger men and women mostly, all dressed in colorful uniform robes.

  Other luminarians lingered in this street, mostly sleeping in curled up heaps of fur and feathers in out of the way places, though a few were awake and weaving around the bigger clusters of mostly human university students as they shopped for books. Three of her kind sat watching with great fascination as a man operated a machine that produced popped corn, which the students would sometimes throw one piece at a time to be caught by the hungry dragons.

  Sapphire descended a stack of crates to the street below and kept an apparently attentive eye on the popped corn vendor while she stole furtive glances at the piles of books, seeking out a particular deep maroon binding. Slowly, deliberately, she made her way down the row of booksellers trying to find the book she needed while at the same time not betray her interest in the books. Food vendors were accustomed to dragon attention, but booksellers... well, she wouldn't make that mistake again.

  A word rose from the steady murmur of conversation: Alchemy.

  Sapphire pricked her ears, looking in the direction she thought it had come from. A small cluster of students lingered in front of a stall heaped with older books.

  “Alchemy is more expensive than I ever imagined,” a young man complained. The bit of emerald set in his amulet meant he was in his third year.

  “Thought it would be free? I thought you had to be smart to get into this place,” one of his friends observed. Sky sapphire amulet, a fourth year.

  The female with them rolled her eyes. Another third year.r />
  “What I mean,” the first boy said, “is these alchemy books are an entire order of magnitude more expensive than the novels they're selling in the exact same city. Look at this one, Ketterson's Herbs of Kenti, I could get twenty of those other books for the same price. Twenty!”

  The girl took it from him and turned it so he could see how thick it was. “First off it's much longer and second they don't get to make as many, so of course it's more expensive for one.”

  “That's right,” the middle-aged bookseller added helpfully. “I can come down a little, but you won't find many more copies of this one. I'm afraid they've all been bought up.”

  Sapphire watched them for only a moment and then scanned the table for the distinctive maroon cover. There, at the end of the table, was that it? Sapphire squinted, trying to imagine it without the slight cast of blue from the flapping rain guards overhead. By then the bookseller and the cash-strapped boy were haggling over price, providing Sapphire with the distraction she needed to cross the street and dart beneath the table, hidden from view by a dusty cloth. Luminarians were not particularly large and Sapphire was no exception to this, easily hiding beneath the table so long as she kept her tail up around her paws.

  Assessing the situation with great haste she determined that there was little risk of him spotting her tail or wings. Her largest risk was that the bookseller might glance down and catch a flash of her vibrant cobalt mane or snowy white pelt through some small gap in the tattered old tablecloth. Sapphire addressed this with a tiny piece of onyx from her satchel. As she held it up between two claws the space beneath the table darkened as though the cloth had thickened, casting a more complete shadow.

  Also in the space was a small shelf containing the bookseller's lunch, already eaten. Sapphire felt a plaintive growl from her stomach as she sniffed at the empty paper. Beside this was a small book, which she nearly overlooked, assuming it was a novel the bookseller passed his time with. The title caught her eye, embossed on the cover with silver leaf.