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

by James Eggebeen

  Befriend him.

  Lull him into a false sense of security.

  Wait for him to let his guard down, then attack.

  He pushed the memories out and locked them away, just as he had done with so many others.

  Enough.

  Better not to dwell on it.

  He had a mission.

  Nothing was going to deter him.

  Not kings, not wizards, and certainly not an aging sorceress.

  Sulrad stayed at Theria’s house so the king’s guards would not find him while he nursed his wounds. He felt the power of Theria inside him and was constantly tempted to use it to heal himself. Only the knowledge that her magic was needed to get him into the treasury kept him from squandering it.

  As he lay abed, he visualized the treasury as he had glimpsed it that day. The shelves of precious jewels and gems lay before him, but always at the forefront was the amulet on its chain. He imagined how it would feel in his hand. In his mind, he lifted it, judging the weight of it.

  Over the next several days, his strength returned. He was far from healed and would have waited longer if not for a dark feeling that came over him. Something had happened that would work against him. He tried to ignore it, but the overwhelming sense of dread grew until it was intolerable. He had to act.

  He focused on the treasury. This time, he let his body follow his mind. He visualized himself in the room, standing next to the amulet where it sat on display for those few who were privileged enough to enter.

  It was dark. In his mind, it had always been light. He reached out his hand. “Incendo ignio.” The vault was lit from above, just as it was in his many imaginings.

  He touched the amulet and felt the power in it come alive. He had not expected that. He presumed it would be dead, no different from any other relic. He lifted it from its display, feeling the weight of it.

  It was heavier than he’d imagined.

  He placed it around his neck. The cold gold chain was weighty as it lay against his skin. He stepped away from the display, and a strange feeling rose up around him. He looked down at the floor of the vault. A hexagram was inscribed in the marble at his feet, no doubt waiting for someone such as him to trigger it.

  The spell seeped upwards. It was a binding spell that would freeze him in place, mute and waiting until someone entered the vault to find him trapped there. A proper thief would have known to look for such a trap.

  Panic gripped him.

  The spell worked its way up his legs. His midsection froze in place. He raised his arms, hoping to keep them out of the advancing spell, if only for a few moments. He had to think of a spell that would counteract the trap.

  He wished he had waited, that he had never left the room where he lay recuperating. He was a fool and would be standing there like one when they came for him in the morning.

  Stupid. How could he have let himself be trapped by something so simple? He should have known better. Sulrad studied the hexagram on the floor. What he could see of it was complex and intricately drawn. It would be no easy task to defeat this spell.

  All might well be lost.

  A warmth arose in his chest, right above his heart. Then came a slight shaking that turned into a pronounced vibration. The sound, a single note of music, split the air, growing louder. The weight of the gold around his neck grew heavier and the chain became warm, almost hot.

  The amulet was alive.

  Sulrad imagined the room in Theria’s home where he had recuperated. He visualized the bed and the small table he’d used for his studies. He imagined himself there and pulled with all his might to escape the trap.

  The light dimmed, and the treasury disappeared to be replaced by the tidy bedroom in Theria’s home. The pressure on his legs relented. He was free of the trap and safely back in Theria’s room.

  The amulet quieted down. The chain cooled once more, and the sound dissipated until all that was left was the stillness of the room. He collapsed on the bed exhausted, breathing heavily from the effort until sleep took him.

  Sulrad lay abed for a hand of days. Each day, the pain seemed to diminish, but it didn’t abate. The power in the amulet was tempting. Sulrad wanted to use it to heal his lingering wounds, or travel to the location he had selected to summon the dragon, but he knew he would need as much power as he could muster to drive the spells he planned to use.

  Afterward, he would have power, plenty of it. He could heal himself then.

  He had selected the location with care. The dragon would answer his summons, but he wanted no repeat of the last time. He was ready. This time, he would strike. He would give the beast no opportunity to deride him and escape.

  He explored the countryside and found a small canyon that would be perfect. It was narrow, flanked on each side by high cliffs. The ground was covered in sand and gravel. He stood at the narrowest point, raised his hands, and invoked the summoning spell. The amulet grew warm as he spoke the words. Overhead, curtains of color materialized in the air, evidence of the opening of the door to the realm of dragons. The dragon would soon arrive and he would have his chance.

  The shadow of a dragon split the lights as it circled ever lower. The dragon landed at the entrance to the canyon and tucked its wings in to clear the rock walls. It lumbered toward him. Such a graceful creature in the air, it walked heavily on the ground, swaying from side to side. Its massive tail struck the canyon walls, sending showers of rock tumbling to the sandy floor.

  When it reached him, it lowered its head and eyed him with disdain. Sulrad spread out his arms and drew on the power of the amulet. He called up the reserves he carried from the sacrifice of Theria.

  The dragon snorted and shot fire, but Sulrad was expecting it. He dove beneath it and quickly advanced on the beast, squeezing beside its head, careful of its horns, until he stood beside the massive neck.

  “Eum ligare ubi stat,” he called, binding the creature where it stood. He knew the spell would be weak and might only last a few heartbeats, but that should be all he needed. He could not dally. The dragon would not be paralyzed for long. He must act quickly.

  He drew out the sacrificial knife and probed the creature’s neck. The scales were large, like plates the size of his hand, layered over one another. He chose carefully, finding the most vulnerable spot. He worked the knife under a scale and pried it up. Soon he had enough room to reach beneath the scale and touch the tender skin.

  The dragon struggled against the spell and Sulrad felt the magic draining from his reserves. It would be mere moments before the beast was once again free. He would surely be dashed against the rocks.

  He positioned the knife against the exposed skin and heaved with all his might, reciting the spell that would drive it home and release the dragon’s magic.

  The dragon bellowed in pain as the knife entered its flesh. It spat fire, but Sulrad was safely out of the path of the flames. Sulrad felt the binding spell loosen, but it was too late. Blood gushed from the wound to soak into the sand at his feet.

  He felt the magic of the dragon separate from its body. It was pure and clean, more powerful than anything Sulrad had ever known. He absorbed it as it came, taking it into his body, adding it to his reserves.

  He felt as if he had grown in stature to match the dragon. The power was heady, overwhelming; he thought he was going to burst from the pressure of it. It kept coming until Sulrad screamed in pain. The magic permeated every bit of his being, stretching him to the size of the dragon. He cried out in agony.

  Through the pain came the thought.

  The amulet.

  He channeled the power into the amulet, pressing it into the jewel, funneling the magic from the dying dragon into the stone.

  The dragon sighed and collapsed to the ground, the great beast breathing its last. Sulrad kept chanting the spell to take the dragon’s magic until it turned to a cloud of sparks and dissipated. He was left standing in the canyon alone.

  Taking the dragon’s magic was nothing like taking mag
ic from a wizard. Dragon magic was stronger, more pure. A piercing scream split the air as the great beast expired. The magic flared as if imbued with renewed power. Great sparks of vermillion and gold chased one another about the beast as they made their displeasure known. For the briefest of moments, Sulrad felt the great weight of the dragon’s memories. The beast was ancient. It had been alive when the wizards laid the first stones in Amedon. It had advised and instructed the stone masons how to strengthen the span that crossed the chasm between the main grounds and the library tower.

  Sulrad almost felt sad for the death of such a creature, but he reminded himself that this one had most likely been part of the push to steal magic from the common man and, if given the chance, would lead the assault against Sulrad himself. It deserved to die, and Sulrad deserved its magic.

  The amulet rode heavily on his neck.

  It was warm to the touch and glowed with a golden hue it had not had before.

  Sulrad collapsed to the ground, exhausted after his battle. He stilled his breathing and willed his heart to follow. He’d done it. He had captured the magic of a dragon in the charm. Surely that would be enough to bind the next dragon to his will.

  His desire to destroy the dragons was becoming a reality.

  Sulrad waited a few nights before he was ready to try the next step in his plan. He had used a small portion of the dragon’s magic to power healing spells to restore himself, and was almost free of the injuries inflicted by Theria. The headiness and pain he had experienced as he took the power of the dragon were a fading memory.

  The amulet still glowed with an inner light. He was not sure if it contained enough magic to bind more than one dragon, but was confident that it had enough for at least the one.

  He returned to the canyon where he’d captured the first dragon. It made him feel safe, knowing that the dragon would be flightless when it approached him. He was confident in the summoning, but if the binding failed, he wanted every advantage he could get.

  He invoked the summoning spell and the diaphanous curtains rippled across the sky. A dragon appeared, larger than the one he had sacrificed. It crawled into the canyon as the other one had. When it reached him, it twisted its head around and sniffed the ground.

  “What have you done to my brother?”

  “What brother?” Sulrad asked.

  “Do you think I cannot smell the blood of my brother spilled in the sand? Do you think me dull?”

  “I think only that you will make a good servant.” Sulrad grasped the amulet and chanted the binding spell he had prepared. The dragon lifted its head and roared. It blew fire at him, but Sulrad’s shields were prepared and powered by the magic in the amulet. They held back the scorching flame.

  Quickly, the flames lessened until they abated and the dragon relaxed. It closed its massive jaws and lowered its head to the sand in a gesture of submission.

  Sulrad smiled. The spell had taken hold. There was a connection between him and the dragon now. One that he could use to control it, to influence it.

  He sat heavily on the sand, relieved. He reached out and tested the connection, willing the dragon to let him see through its enormous dark eyes. There he sat, a tiny man, arms outstretched, wearing a brilliant talisman around his neck. The dragons perceived the charm more vividly than Sulrad did.

  “You are not my usual steed, but you will do until he arrives.” Sulrad withdrew from the dragon’s vision. “What is your name?”

  “I am Ryn'per.” The dragon snorted.

  "Where is Ril'vesi?"

  "Occupied. You may have some control, but I assure you, it is by no means complete.”

  Sulrad reached out and touched the minds of two more dragons. He felt the strain of his efforts, but the charm provided sufficient magic. He could control all three. He wished for more, but the hold he had on these was tenuous already. He couldn’t risk more.

  “My control is sufficient for my purposes,” he told the dragon. “How long will it take you to reach Amedon from here?”

  34

  Sulrad clung to Ryn’per as the dragon descended toward the wizards’ keep. The grounds outside the keep were dotted with light and dark blue robes. Students had favored the grounds on sunny days, but today was overcast. Most of them would be inside studying. Sulrad recalled his own days inside the keep. Perhaps after he had scoured the place clean of the wizards who infected it, he could make the library his own.

  But first, he had wizards to deal with.

  “The tower. The senior wizards live in the tower.” Sulrad gestured to the windows set halfway up that imposing structure. Wide windows with balconies below them looked out onto the grounds. The senior wizards loved to stand on their balconies and display their magic for the students gathered below. He had always thought it more a display of the insecurities of the wizards than the show of power it was meant to be.

  Ryn’per snapped open his wings and hovered outside one of those windows. He took a deep breath and released fire into it.

  Immediately, the heavy drapes that masked the interior burst into flames, followed quickly by the wooden frame of the doors that separated the balcony from the wizard’s suite. As the flames took over, Sulrad pointed to another window.

  “There. That one.” He had no idea which wizard inhabited that suite, but that was not his concern. His goal was to create as much confusion as he could to drive the wizards out into the square. That was his real target.

  With the second window billowing black smoke, Sulrad chose a third. “There,” he shouted.

  “I tire. I cannot hover here all day.”

  “Don’t you have claws?” Sulrad demanded.

  Ryn’per snapped his wings and grasped a balcony with his claws. He folded his wings against his body and snaked his head around the tower and into another open window.

  Smoke poured out as he withdrew his head.

  Again.

  Another window in flames.

  Again.

  One more wizard’s abode destroyed.

  By now, the screaming was evident as students and instructors poured forth from every doorway. They crowded the square, colliding into one another in their panic.

  When the square was filled, Sulrad reached out to Ryn’per. “To me. We attack now.”

  It took almost all his magic to command the brick-red dragon. He wished he had more power or more control, but the two was all he could manage. They would have to do.

  “Fire the grounds now,” Sulrad screamed to Ryn’per when he saw Ril’vesi rise above the ledge and approach the square.

  “Fire. Now!” Sulrad screamed.

  Ryn’per released his hold on the tower and dropped like a stone. He spread his wings and dove for the square.

  Sulrad’s guts knotted as his weight increased to more than double. He was barely able to continue to hold on to the dragon’s neck.

  “Burn them. Burn them all.” Sulrad watched the flames lick out and consume a row of students. They would never make fun of him again. Those who survived would speak his name in hushed tones of respect, not sneer at it. He had shown them.

  A senior wizard strode through the milling crowd of students. He stopped, raised his arms, and began chanting. A brilliant vermillion flare arched from his hand toward Ryn’per.

  The dragon exhaled fire that met the wizard’s magic in midair. The dragon-fire flared like the flame of the smith’s forge under the application of the bellows.

  The vermillion of the wizard’s magic also flared, growing brighter even as the wizard that drove it fell to his knees.

  For a moment, Sulrad thought the wizard had found a counter to the dragon’s magic, but only for a moment. The vermillion flare winked out and the dragon-fire leaped toward the wizard, consuming him in an instant.

  Ryn’per turned for another attack.

  Standing proud in its path was a single wizard, short and stout with long black hair. Sulrad peered at her. It was Rotiaqua. Would she be able to withstand the dragon-fire? What would ha
ppen to him if she was consumed?

  “No, not that one,” he screamed.

  Too late. The dragon opened its massive jaw and screeched. Accompanying the screech, Sulrad smelled the swamp-gas smell of rotten eggs and brimstone, then there was a loud click and the night erupted in flame. Almost as if in a dream, fire rushed from the dragon’s maw, orange and red flames curling in on themselves as the fire shot forth. At first, it was a tight stream, almost as if some liquid had been ejected from the dragon and set afire. The flame originated not inside the dragon’s maw, but half a span from it.

  As the fire swept its way to its target, it broadened until it was a cloud of brilliant flame half a dozen spans in diameter, roiling like a thing alive.

  Sulrad braced himself, wondering what it would feel like. Would he feel what Rotiaqua did when the flames consumed her? Would he burst into flames as well? He thought it odd that the flames had brought them together so many summers ago and the flame would be their demise. It was fitting. Fire to start and fire to end.

  In agonizing slowness, the flames reached for the sorceress, but just before they touched her, the flames broke in two, creating a path in the center where no flame intruded. The calm center inside the violent storm.

  And inside that calm stood the sorceress, her hand outstretched.

  As the fire washed around her, time resumed its normal course. The flames splashed onto the wagon beside the sorceress and quickly turned it into a raging inferno.

  Sulrad uttered a quick prayer of thanks to Ran for sparing the sorceress and himself then reached out to the Ryn’per. “Again. There are still wizards left.”

  “No,” came the reply.

  “I command it.”

  “No. You are but one voice among many. Your command does not compel me any longer. I would eat you, but the one who commands me now has charged me with returning you to your home and offering you no harm.”