Dragon Lord: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Origins Book 2)

by James Eggebeen

  Would that I could remain here to assist you, but my being here only draws attention that I would rather you not receive. Consider me a lightning rod whose task is to draw away the attention that might otherwise have been drawn to you in the coming moons. I will be off preparing for the day when you need my assistance the most. What form of assistance that is, or when you will need it, I cannot yet determine. Suffice it to say, I have learned a few things since we last spoke that shed light on your recent predicament.

  I have undertaken to lay the groundwork for your monumental task.

  The note was unsigned.

  It didn’t need to be.

  As Sulrad folded the parchment and slipped it back into the envelope, it grew hot in his hands.

  He flicked the offending parchment onto the floor.

  It burst into flames and vanished, leaving only a small cloud of gray ash in its place.

  “News?” Ignal asked.

  “From an old friend,” Sulrad answered. “I had thought him an agent of Amedon at one time, but it seems he has come to the same realization as I have. He has forsaken his masters and come to his senses.”

  “What did he have to say?”

  “Little that makes sense at the moment. He admitted to being party to the curse that now surrounds the temple. He was tricked into it and regrets it, but expresses his confidence that I will ultimately prevail.”

  “That was it? An apology?”

  “No. There is more, but I need to think on it before I speak.” His head was abuzz with questions. What had Kelnor found? What did he mean that Sulrad could be of great service? The note was so cryptic, it bordered on nonsense. What had Kelnor done? Why was he confident that Sulrad could undo it, and what was the secret that the wizards were keeping from him? He wished he could summon his old friend to him and demand answers, but if the note was accurate, Kelnor was no longer in Frostan.

  “Did it relate to the temple? Did he say how to defeat the spell?”

  “He did not, but he believes the spell is ancient and that the wizards of Amedon simply triggered it. That means they understand it not, and that leaves room for error. An error that we can exploit if I can figure out what they have done. Now that we have penetrated the first layer of the spell, there is hope. Yet I still feel like there is more to it than I am seeing. Were your parents able to provide any greater insight?”

  “As you have witnessed, my parents are not the talkative type. They are busy preparing for their departure. They have encouraged me to remain here and continue my work with you. For some reason, my mother seems intrigued with Ran and has requested that I provide her with the scrolls you have written to train the faithful. She is studying them even now, but of the spell and what it means, she has little to say. They will depart in the morning and I will heave a sigh of relief.”

  “I thought you had mended your fence. Was I wrong?”

  “My mother is not one to be easily swayed. It was you who mended what little has been mended. You healed my son and removed the great stain from my character. She was so intrigued by Ran and what he has done for his people that she relented in her banishment.” Ignal paused. “Well. Not banishment. I am still not allowed to return to my own people, but the threat of death has been lifted.”

  Sulrad felt bad that Ignal and her mother were constantly at odds. His own mother had abandoned him. It was a never-ending source of pain. He didn’t want Ignal to have to live with something like that. “I never got the chance to reconcile with my own mother. It pains me greatly. I don’t wish to see you carry the same burden.”

  “Don’t worry about my family,” Ignal said. “Let’s take your newfound insight and see what we can discover at the temple.”

  Sulrad resisted, but eventually allowed Ignal to drag him through the darkened tunnel and up to the temple where the dwarves had broken through. Once more, he approached the thick tangle of vines.

  Even though the sun was up, it still felt like twilight. The spell that surrounded the temple was multi-layered. They had defeated the first layer by tunneling beneath the spell and up into the shimmering gray dome that entombed the place. The little light that it let in was enough to show Sulrad what he was up against.

  The thick tangle of vines seemed even more formidable now than they had been when he first encountered them. They clung tightly to the stone and wood of the temple, the thorns protruding at odd angles. Each of the thorns was as long as his hand. Their dark wooden appearance had a shimmer to it as if the bramble was coated in liquid. He reached for one of the thorns.

  “Don’t.” Ignal grabbed his hand. “It’s poison.”

  Sulrad shrugged. If she said it was poison, it probably was. But could he reach between the sharp thorns and get to the vines? He felt that he might be able to cut them away if he could avoid their needle-sharp defenses.

  He pulled this knife from his belt, thankful that he habitually carried it with him, or else it too would be trapped inside.

  As the glistening blade approached the thorns, the needle-like thorns shifted, crowding together to prevent the blade from slipping between them.

  “Careful.” Ignal’s words were unnecessary and intrusive. Sulrad bit his tongue. She was only trying to help.

  “Maybe, if I…” He shifted his knife and approached from another angle. The thorns moved swiftly to bar his path.

  “It’s not working,” Ignal said. “What about the outer shield?”

  Sulrad turned to the shimmering film that encircled the temple. It had the appearance of a soap bubble, but as he approached it. It hardened, as if it were alive, had sensed his presence, and taken defensive action.

  He thrust his knife at it.

  The knife slowed down as if he had driven it into molasses that grew thicker as the blade penetrated. Try as he might, he was unable to press the knife far enough to contact the glistening film that formed the shield.

  He stretched his hand out, palm facing the shield.

  As he pressed, he felt the working of the spell. It was as if his hand were being immersed in honey that grew harder and harder as he pressed.

  He drew back, expecting his hand to drip with the substance that had surrounded it, but there was nothing.

  He released his magic, sending it questing toward the shield.

  At first, he felt nothing. How could that be? There had to be magic there. How could it be so subtle that he could not feel it, yet strong enough to stave off his attempts to circumvent it?

  He pressed his knife toward the shimmering surface and watched closely as it was repelled.

  There.

  He saw it now.

  The magic of the shield was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It had a strange, otherworldly feel. It reminded him not of the sky iron, but of the imperfections that had been excised from it when the smith purified it. How could that be? Was this magic not of this world, then?

  He pressed his magic toward the shield. Could he discern the spell by examining the magic? If he could, could he find a way to disable it?

  He let his own magic surround his hand and pressed it against the shield. Once again, a thick, viscous substance encircled his hand, growing thicker as he neared the shield.

  He pressed harder.

  It was no use.

  He drew his hand back.

  “Thank Ran you’re all right,” Ignal blurted. “I thought the spell had taken hold of you. I’ve nearly been out of my mind all day.”

  “All day. It’s barely sunup.”

  “You’ve been standing there all day. Frozen. I was so worried.”

  Sulrad looked around. Sure enough, the sun was now low on the western horizon. He felt hungry, as if he had fasted the entire day, but it had only been moments since he pressed his hand against the shimmering surface, hadn’t it?

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “Did you discover anything?” Ignal asked.

  “I’m uncertain.” As he spoke, fatigue overtook him.
Sulrad felt as if he had been on his feet all day without a break. He was famished and exhausted.

  His knees buckled beneath him.

  Ignal grabbed him as he collapsed. “Let’s get you something to eat and put you to bed. You look like death itself.”

  “I feel like death,” Sulrad said. “But at least now I know what I’m up against.”

  “Can you defeat it?” Ignal asked. “Why am I asking? Of course you can.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Sulrad let her lift him to his feet. “I really do.”

  24

  Sulrad invited Urnard and Omer to spend the morning with him and Ignal before they departed. He wanted to make an attempt to smooth over the animosity between mother and daughter, if that were even possible. He had invited them to Ignal’s residence and had the cooks prepare the most lavish meal she knew how to make. It contained many dishes Sulrad himself avoided, but the dwarves seemed to enjoy. His hopes for a tearful reconciliation were dashed when the mother and daughter began making small jabs at one another while Ignal’s father looked on in dismay. From what Sulrad could determine, Ignal and Urnard were so similar, it was hard to tell them apart by words and actions alone. By the time the noon meal was wrapping up, Sulrad was convinced he’d made a grave mistake. Had it taken longer for the dwarves to tunnel beneath the spell and up into the temple than it did, the mother and daughter would no doubt have come to blows.

  As it was, the dwarves departed on reasonable terms, and Ignal quickly settled into her normal role as Sulrad’s assistant and the true force behind the temple.

  “Did you find a way in yet?” she asked when Sulrad returned from the temple.

  He had spent a hand of days trying to figure out a way into the temple. He had thought it was just a matter of getting inside the spell that encased the temple, but he had been mistaken. The vines were impenetrable.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. No spells in the library even mentioned something like this. It’s odd. Do you suppose they have a hidden library somewhere? Something they never gave me access to?”

  “How about crystals? Maybe you can direct the magic from the spell into crystals and bleed it from the vines.”

  Sulrad looked at Ignal. She amazed him at times. For someone who had no magic of her own, he was always impressed with her acumen on the subject. He almost slapped himself for not thinking of it. “You make a good point. I’ll try that tomorrow.”

  “Why not now?” she asked.

  “Because I’m tired.”

  “Do you need me to carry you?” Ignal hopped from her seat and held out her arms.

  If he refused, she might well carry him. It was best not to argue with her. He was glad to have her back. “I’ll walk,” he said.

  When they reached the thick vines that encircled the temple, Ignal leaned in and sniffed the thorns that still glistened with tiny drops of poison. She reached out a finger and touched the fluid, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger for a while before raising it to her nose and sniffing deeply. For a moment, he thought she was going to collapse. Her eyes glazed over and she wobbled on unsteady legs. Sulrad caught her and lowered her to the ground, sitting beside her until her color returned and her breathing steadied down.

  “That wasn’t such a good idea, was it?” Sulrad asked.

  “The sky iron will work,” she muttered. “But not from the outside. I smelled it just before I lost my sense of smell.”

  “Lost your sense of smell?” Sulrad reached out to her with his magic. He noticed a distinct tinge of putrid green surrounding her.

  “Ignal. What have you done?”

  “Found out how to break the spell. It’s an accelerating spell. That’s why the temple looks so old and why the vines grow so fast and thick. If you try to cut them, they will just grow back. You need a spell to stop time. Not a large one. The center of the spell is not far from here. Just on the other side of the thorns.” She raised her hands and made a circular motion in the air before a section of the thorns. “If you can get through here, you can defeat it from inside.”

  “And how do you propose I do that?”

  “Did you not travel through the void to meet me when I returned?” She blinked at him. “Even though you slighted me in favor of my mother, it was a gesture I shall not soon forget. Simply use the void to cross over to the inside of the temple and locate the source of the spell. Insert your sky iron knife into the amulet that drives the spell and draw the magic down until you can contain it. If you can locate whatever is supplying the magic, you can destroy it.”

  Once again, Sulrad wanted to strike himself. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? But was it safe? “Perhaps I should summon Veran,” he said.

  “You need no one. You have Ran on your side, and me. Let’s put an end to this. Now. Can you take me with you through the void?”

  “No. You need magic on your own or else you will be lost. It’s not done. It’s never even attempted from what I understand.”

  “Then let’s try,” she insisted.

  “And if you get trapped in the void? What if you come out somewhere on a mountaintop half the world away? What then?”

  “I have faith. Ran has a plan for me, and that plan is for me to be here with you.”

  “And what if you’re wrong?” Sulrad asked.

  “I’m not. I can feel it. Take me with you.”

  “No.” Sulrad stood his ground.

  “Yeeessss.” Ignal stretched the word out as if speaking to a disobedient child.

  “No,” Sulrad repeated.

  “Yes.” Ignal grabbed his hand. “No argument. Take me now!”

  Her grip sent a jolt of pain up his arm. Almost without thought, he summoned the void and stepped through it with Ignal in tow. The two of them appeared inside a darkened room that stank of decaying vegetation.

  “It’s dark,” Ignal said.

  “It is,” Sulrad muttered.

  “Do something about it,” she said.

  “Incendio ignius.” He summoned the fire and created a ball of spinning sparks in the air hovering above his hand. He shoved it toward a far corner of the grand hallway and created a second, then a third and fourth until the room was lit like it was noonday, even though no sun managed to squeeze its way through the tangle of vines.

  “Very nice,” Ignal said when he had finished lighting the rooms. “I knew you could do it.”

  “You took a great risk, coming through the void like that.”

  “No risk. Have you so little faith?”

  “I have faith. I also have good sense, something that you seem to lack.”

  “Who came up with the idea?” She smiled, her face taking on a translucent glow in the light of Sulrad’s magic.

  “You did. Now can you tell me what we’re looking for?”

  “We’re looking for a focus of magic. A crystal, a jewel, some sort of amulet, anything can be constructed so as to bend the power and concentrate the magic. It routes the lines of force into a small area. It can’t be large, can it?”

  “I’m not even certain I know what to look for.”

  Sulrad poked into every corner of the temple. There was nothing he could see that might act in the manner Ignal had described. It was growing late and he was tired and thirsty and the odor of decay was constantly scratching at his senses. He was just about to give up, when Ignal cried out.

  “Here.” She stood beside the altar, staring at it as if there were something in the air above it, but there was nothing there.

  “It’s here.” She waved her hand over the altar.

  “There’s nothing there,” Sulrad said.

  “Here. Give me your hand.” Ignal grasped Sulrad’s hand and guided it toward the altar. As his wrist crossed the edge, a slight tingling prickled the hairs on the back of his hand.

  “Now raise it up — about a span above the surface. There’s something there.” She shoved at his elbow, lifting his hand.

  His fingers touched something. Cold. Hard. Smooth. />
  His eyes saw nothing.

  He let his fingers wander about the surface of the invisible object. It was small, about the size of an apple. It was cold. As cold as ice. And hard. It felt like iron or a stone, but it was smooth as if polished, like a mirror.

  He leaned in. “Id quod latet apparebit,” he whispered, drawing the magic from deep inside him and wrapping it around the object. For half a heartbeat, he thought he saw a small pendant. Gold filigree wrapped around a gem of deepest ruby, but the image vanished, leaving him wondering if he had truly seen anything.

  “I have an idea,” Ignal said. “How about quod est occultato detego?”

  Sulrad paused. She had been studying magic. This was a spell he would never have thought of on his own. “Quod est occultato detego.” He tried her words, forming magic that commanded that which was hidden to be unmasked.

  Once again, he caught a glimmer of the object, but it quickly vanished.

  “It’s not working,” he muttered.

  “Maybe you’re taking the wrong approach. What are you trying to do?” Ignal asked.

  “Unmask it.”

  “What if it’s not masked? What if it’s not the amulet that’s masked but the surrounding air?”

  Sulrad wanted to snap back at her, ask her who was the wizard, but her words made sense. What if it was not the talisman or amulet that was spelled. What would he do then? He’d seen spells to create invisibility. Some of them made the object or person transparent, but there was one that bent the light around an object. Was that what was at play here?