Reshna said, “Many possibilities I have foreseen. All lead to this moment. Your destiny is your doom, as is Mirjel’s.” He reached placed the canister containing the target poison on the platform. Mirjel stiffened and turned toward it. She crawled forward, her hands and feet still moving when she reached the limits of the chain.
Reshna looked down to the canister. “It is a crude bane whose potency ends with the rise of the full moon, but at the moment it is the most deadly threat possible to Princess Mirjel. The moon holds your destiny as well.” He indicated Petstra who held a leather pouch in his one hand.
Ryckair drew his sword and took a step towards the case. Craya raised his sword and blocked him. “I am afraid I cannot allow that, brother.”
Petstra threw the pouch, hitting Ryckair and covering him with red powder. Craya and the commander attacked in unison. Yetig joined in and beat Petstra back as Craya advanced. Ryckair said, “Craya, don’t do this. I don’t want to hurt you. We can defeat Reshna together.”
For an instant, Craya dropped his guard. Pain strained his face. He looked into Ryckair’s eyes. Then, with a guttural cry, he attacked.
Craya circled, trying to bring the glare of the setting sun into Ryckair’s eyes. Ryckair feigned to the left and came round for a thrust. Craya easily parried the blow and returned a riposte. Ryckair pressed Craya back, praying to Jorondel that his brother would yield before he had to kill him.
He threw himself against Craya, pinning their swords between them. Craya shoved his brother away and nearly tripped as he lost his footing. Ryckair pressed his attack. Craya gave ground. They moved toward the crystal sphere.
Reshna dropped powder in the brazier and spoke the words of a spell. A blinding flash lit the tower. Ryckair covered his eyes. When he looked once more, twelve exact duplicates of Craya stood facing him. As one moved, so all thirteen moved together in unison. The mirror image army raised their swords and charged.
Ryckair parried. His opponents’ swords were hard as steel. Their bodies, however, were like smoke. Each time he attacked, his sword brushed through their images.
As Ryckair furiously repelled the phantoms, Yetig knocked Petstra’s sword aside and stabbed the commander through the abdomen. The commander dropped to the roof top. Reshna was too absorbed with the task of keeping the phantoms alive to take notice of anything else.
Yetig dropped to his knees next to Mirjel. As the brothers fought, he took a set of keys on his belt, one of which unlocked the chains holding Mirjel. If he guided her down the stairs in her dazed state he could take her to the waiting galley and flee into the east while Ryckair and Reshna were occupied. She need never know of his return.
Ryckair concentrated hard on the thirteen images. One moved its hand slightly ahead of the others. He pushed all thoughts and emotions from his mind and struck.
The blade drove hard into Craya’s chest. The phantom images vanished. Craya stared at the red stain spreading across his doublet as though he were trying to recognize what it was. He coughed and fell to his knees. Looking up to Ryckair, he tried to speak, then fell.
Reshna’s trance broke. His first sight was that of Narech Yetig next to Mirjel. Reshna raised his hands. “You shall feed a host of demons.”
Yetig dropped the keys, grabbed the canister of poison from the table and jumped up on the parapet wall. He gripped the canister tightly. “No, sorcerer. I will be free of you.” He looked to Mirjel. His chin quivered, then he leapt from the tower.
As the target poison receded, the fill moon rose over the horizon. Mirjel’s mind cleared. She tried to make sense of the scene before her. She saw the ring of keys and struggled to unlock her chains.
Ryckair ran to the sphere, inserted the key in the keyhole and turned it round once. The crystal formed a line in its center and the top half opened like a lid. He reached in and placed the crown on his head.
On the plain, the animated corpses shuddered and fell. The Barasha’s brazier went out and the vortices above the tower imploded. Dek’s troops felt a spontaneous and unexplainable joy. The mercenaries who still lived dropped their weapons and fled from the field. In the Bay of Hasp the Carandirians sailors who were freed from their chains fell upon the mercenaries.
Jarat said, “The power of the crown is once more focused and the foes of Carandir cannot stand before the power of the rightful monarch.”
Batu smiled. “Then, we have won.”
“Not yet. We have to reach the palace before the greatest danger strikes. But first, we must clear away this filth.”
Jarat raised her hands overhead and clapped them together. Dull thunder rolled across the plain. The scaffolding where the sorcerers stood shook. Screams rose from the Barasha priests. The ground opened. Flames reached up out of the earth and engulfed the scaffolding and all on it who fell into the abyss. Jarat spread hers arms apart once more and slapped her hands together. The hole closed with a crack.
The wizard said, “Quickly. We must reach Ryckair.”
Ryckair was flooded with the minds of all his ancestors reaching back to Avar. He saw his mother Vara through his father’s eyes and knew the love he held for her. Within a heartbeat, he saw former kings and queens, their reigns, their battles, their mistakes and their triumphs.
Craya moaned. Ryckair knelt at his brother’s side. The wound bled profusely. Ryckair took him in his arms and held him as he had when they were boys.
Craya’s face was relaxed and calm. He reached up and grasped Ryckair by his fisherman’s jerkin. “Of all the people in the world, only you loved me enough to come back and free me.” Craya smiled. “Things are supposed to get black when you’re dying. Strange. Everything seems so very crisp and clear. I almost…” He stopped abruptly, his face serious. “Ryckair, if I did something really terrible, really awful, would you still love me?”
Ryckair nearly choked as he answered. “Of course.”
“Forever.”
“Forever and ever.”
Craya smiled again, then died.
Ryckair kissed his brother on the forehead and laid his body down gently. Then, he stood and advanced on Reshna.
Mirjel opened the lock and dropped the chains holding her. Before she could move, The sorcerer drew a dagger, grabbed her by the hair and held the blade to her throat. “Can you evade a demon yet, Ryckair Avar? This fresh blood will call your death.”
Behind him, Jarat burst through the door and onto the roof. “Highness, stay your hand.” The others rushed onto the roof behind her.
Ryckair thought of nothing beyond Mirjel’s life and his hatred of Reshna. He formed an image of the sorcerer burning with fire. Blue flame sprang from the dragon crest to engulf Reshna in a brilliant glow. He released his grip on Mirjel. The blast knocked him against the parapet. His form was barely discernible in the flames. The features on his face showed horrific pain. When he spoke his voice was harsh and cracked.
“Fool. You have called on the crown for personal gain to save one most precious to you. When it is not used in the name of all Carandir its power is corrupted. You have played your part well. The wizard has destroyed the other Barasha, but they also played their part in delaying her. Now, I play mine.” Reshna swung around to the west as the last rays of the sun slipped below the horizon. “Awake, My Lord.”
The blue flame changed to bright red as it poured out of Reshna’s fingers and struck the Dragons’ Mound. The top of the hill glowed in the twilight. The Barasha priest laughed as his body vanished in a haze of smoke.
The Earth rumbled and shook the foundations of the palace. Birds leaped into the air. The top half of the Dragons’ Mound shifted as dirt and boulders fell away. A shrill bellow cut through the air followed by a deep base voice. “Nuava. Ata laney.”
Where once a hill stood, a sinuous shape now rose on four legs. Nearly transparent wings, each as large than a dozen sails, spread wide. The rays of the dying sun sparkled though them like a prism. Jarat stared unmoving. “Baras has risen.”
Baras climb
ed into the air and swept across the plain. Soldiers fell to the ground. Others ran in circles. Baras hovered above the cowering army, his wings barely beating.
Ryckair shouted, “Baras. You will yield to me.”
The dragon turned and gave a great bellow. All on the tower were knocked down save for Ryckair. He stood steadfast as the crown’s dragon crest glowed. Baras turned and flew straight for the palace with his talons extended outward.
Ryckair said, “Baras, you will yield.” He searched back through the ages for spells locked in the crown that could be used to attack the dragons. Images came, but he could not understand them. In frustration, he raised his hands over his head. “Yield.”
The great dragon slowed, then stopped a stone’s throw from the tower and eyed the crown. Ryckair felt certain he had subdued Baras. Jarat leapt between Ryckair and Baras just before the air in front of the dragon ignited into flame that rushed toward the tower. She stretched out her arms. The fire reached them with a roar, but was deflected from their bodies and shot away harmlessly. She turned to Ryckair, “Highness, do not…” Before the wizard could say another word, Baras was upon her. He grabbed Jarat in one claw and carried her aloft. Nissor chirped wildly before leaping into the air and assuming the shape of a golden dragon. The garat flew straight for Baras with such speed that he appeared to be no more than a streak of light.
With talons extended, Nissor flew into Baras’ face. As Ryckair watched the battle, he fought to find a spell that would defeat the evil dragon. Thunder echoed in the sky as lightning sparked. The two dragon forms writhed in the air. Above the din, Ryckair heard Jarat’s voice shout, “Lancheha.” Baras’ great bulk shuttered and he released the wizard. In the same instant, Nissor flew down and caught Jarat in its own claws. The pair descended to the tower roof as Baras flew aimlessly in a circle.
Ryckair felt elation at first, until he saw Baras recover from his stupor and dive for Nissor. He struck the dragon shaped garat in the left wing, tearing it nearly away. Nissor dropped Jarat and transformed himself into a terec. Baras swooped down and captured Jarat once more before swooping just above the tower with his prize held securely. Baras crushed the wizard in his claw and threw her body to the tower’s roof before flying off into the sky. Ryckair ran to Jarat and knelt at her side. Nissor landed, returned to garat form and took the wizard’s hand. Ryckair expected Nissor to begin cooing. Instead, it remained silent.
Jarat took in shallow breaths as she opened his eyes and coughed. “Remember the warrior in the mountain and the strongest weapon of all.”
She closed her eyes and fell unconscious. Nissor rested its head on the wizard’s chest and closed its eyes.
Ryckair stood slowly. Mirjel ran to his side. They looked wordlessly at each other, then turned together to face the approach of Baras as he dove on the tower. Ryckair and Mirjel clasped hands. He called up a blast of lightning and sent it skyward. It struck Baras full in his chest, knocking him back. Then, the dragon raised a claw and double the number of lightning bolts flew back at Ryckair and Mirjel to strike the walls of the tower, blasting large sections of stone away.
Calling on memories from the crown, Ryckair willed a ball of fire to entomb Baras. This time the dragon fell from the sky and crashed onto the plain. The fire burned so hot it was felt from the top of the tower. The Carandir troops cheered and Ryckair was certain Baras had been vanquished.
The fireball expanded, then exploded, charring the ground and killing the soldiers who had approached. Baras took flight once more and charged directly for Ryckair and Mirjel. The prince called up boulders and hurled them at the dragon. They bounced off his scales as though they were snowflakes. He summoned a tornado, acid fog, a thousand spears. The more Ryckair attacked Baras, the stronger the dragon became.
Baras reached the tower and blew a cold wind that enveloped and chilled all present. The visions from the crown vanished from Ryckair’s mind. The spells he had understood a moment before were now jumbled.
Baras grabbed Ryckair and Mirjel in one of his massive talons and flew north over the Great River. “Your torment will be long, Avar. In the end, you will both bow down and pray to me for death. All humankind will pray to me.” Baras paused in mid-air and studied the prince. “No. Not Avar, merely a descendant.”
Ryckair tried to focus his thoughts on the spells that had been there a moment ago.
Baras laughed. “Fool. You think you have the strength to challenge me? What lies has the wizard told you? Drop the crown. I will do you no harm. Can’t you see that you are but their instrument? We are not enemies.”
“Jorondel, protect me.”
“Jorondel and Ilidel use you. Do you not know the truth of the Dragon Wars and the role of the wizards? They conspired against me out of jealousy because I was the best teacher and the people loved me for it.” Baras paused and studied Ryckair as if reading his mind. “As I see your own brother conspired against you. We are kindred spirits.”
“No. I have read the histories.”
“Histories are written by the victors. The wizards use you. Come. Join me. Bring a new age to the world. Be my voices to humanity, the emperor and empress of all humankind. Drop the crown. It but inhibits you. Join me.” Baras’ voice was calm and reassuring. His words made sense.
Mirjel squirmed against the dragon’s claws and managed to place a hand against Ryckair’s cheek. “I have faith in you.” Ryckair returned her gaze. He said, “I have faith in you.”
The power of the crown embraced Mirjel. She, too, saw the generations of kings and queens. She understood the workings of the crown and the power within. Each of them saw the trials the other had endured over the last years, understood the pain and the triumphs. In unison, they each said “The warrior of the mountain.”
The spell Baras had woven evaporated and the world snapped bright and clear before their eyes. The wind roared past their ears, the crisp coolness of evening slapped against their faces. The binding spell came instantly to their minds. They pictured the dragon resting peacefully, unfettered by the cares of the world. In their minds there was no resistance to attack, no revenge, no anger.
Ryckair felt strength flow back into him as Baras gave a shrill cry and twisted in the air. His talons relaxed and he almost dropped them. He said, “Foolish humans. I will crush you. I will destroy all you hold dear. I will bring flame and death everlasting to your lands.”
Ryckair and Mirjel cleared their minds of the anger they held only moments before. The waters of the Great River were below them. They had but to finish the binding spell together to drive Baras back into sleep. They both realized that they would be dragged to the bottom of the river with the dragon. Ryckair wondered if they would die in the fall or be trapped to duel in hellish dreams with Baras until the end of the world.
Ryckair shouted through the wind. “There is no conflict, only peace.”
Mirjel said, “ Find now peace and rest until the world is unmade.”
Baras cried a long wail. He curled into a ball and fell swiftly.
Ryckair blocked all thoughts from his mind except for the spell, even of his own impending death. Then, the image of Jarat laying on the tower roof raised anger inside him. It lasted an instant, yet the spell was disrupted enough for Baras to break free. He released Ryckair and Mirjel from the grasp of his claws and flew off in an erratic pattern towards the northeast.
Ryckair and Mirjel dropped toward the river. They knew they were falling to his deaths, yet said nothing. No words would suffice. They wrapped their arms around each other as they plummeted.
Something fluttered against their cheeks, then their arms. It was a bird. A terec. A dozen terecs, a hundred, a thousand. They flew around them, beneath them, supporting their bodies, taking them across the river toward Meth. Ryckair wondered where they had come from and immediately a thousand small voices inside his head echoed the thought, “You called us, of course, great king and queen.”
The terecs flew them to the palace and sat them gently on
top of the north tower. Cheers erupted from everyone.
The wizard lay on her back as Nissor stroked her hand. Ryckair ran to her side and knelt. Mirjel followed and placed her hand on Ryckair’s shoulder. Ryckair said, “Mistress, forgive me. I gave into anger and hatred. All is lost.”
Jarat slowly opened her eyes. Her ebony skin took on a pallor. Her breathing came in shallow gasps.
Ryckair lowered his head. “Mistress, I was not ready. The subduing spell was incomplete. He has flown off to the east.”
Jarat reached up and touched the dragon crest. It glowed for an instant. “Do not despair, Ryckair and Mirjel Avar, king and queen of Carandir. The partial spell you cast has weakened Baras greatly. He must hide and regain his strength, perhaps for decades. You must seek him out and complete the spell or he will rise again. You now know how to. The Barasha are truly destroyed. The time of the wizards is at an end. It is your time, the time of people. You are the true monarchs. Your minds thought as one through the crown. You must work together as is the plan of Ilidel and Jorondel. Have faith in yourselves and the dragons. You will prevail.”
Jarat closed her eyes. A glow emanated from her and Nissor. Ryckair heard a trumpet as he had when he saw the dragon from the window in the tower. Pure and sweet, the sound heartened him. A silver shape appeared in the sky. It grew closer to reveal a dragon sailing on gossamer wings. As it hovered above the tower, the light around Jarat and Nissor became blinding. They rose into the air and the dragon took them gently in its talons. Then, it sped off and vanished into the sky.
All on the tower stared in awe. Many cried and fell to their knees at the wizard’s passing. Then, the dragon sounded a trumpet call again and the feeling of loss felt by all evaporated to be replaced with great cheers and a sense of peace and relief.
Mirjel turned and looked at Ryckair. He was so familiar yet so different. It was the same face, but hardened. The eyes held confidence and assurance as they never had before. Yet, they still reflected gentleness.
Dragons Unremembered Page 29