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

by James Eggebeen

  In the ancient days, the world was a beautiful place that Ran had created to bring great joy to all men. But a great snake entered that garden and poisoned it, and that great snake was a dragon…

  Later that afternoon, Kelnor arrived out of breath. “I’m ready,” was all he had to say.

  “Ready for what?”

  “To summon the dragons. Had you forgotten?”

  Sulrad glanced at the tray before him. It was filled nearly to the brim with parchment. Had he written all of that? He barely recalled holding the quill as he poured his words onto the parchment. He’d revealed how the dragons had stolen the magic from the common folk. How the wizards of Amedon had put them up to it. How the world had been such a beautiful place before the dragons interfered. He had codified much of the way the world had become what it was. He shook his head. Why had he not done such before?

  He jotted the last of his thoughts down and placed the final parchment into the tray.

  “Ran had much to say today, it appears,” Kelnor quipped.

  “He has. It scares me when he does. I always feel like he wants me to write this all down because he has plans for me that I might not survive.”

  “You’ve survived everything so far. Why think he has abandoned you now?”

  “I just have this feeling that things might not work out the way we wish.”

  “Then we adapt and continue. That’s all we can do. Come now. Let’s summon some dragons.”

  “Last time I summoned the dragons, I was unable to maintain control. Will this truly work?”

  Kelnor shrugged. “This will free up some of your magic. It will leave you with more power to command the beasts after the device summons them. Beyond that, I hardly know, but I have confidence in you.”

  “Where will we do this, then? In your canyon?” Sulrad wasn’t eager to spend the next several glasses astride a horse as they traveled to wherever Kelnor had decided was the best place to summon the dragons.

  “I already charged the crystals there. We can summon the dragons here. What better way to show the townsfolk that you serve a mighty god than to summon a dragon to the temple?”

  “Right here?” Sulrad asked.

  “Not here, here. In the square, out front of the temple. What a grand sight it will be. I’m prepared. Everything is in place. All we need is you.”

  “Sounds like you have everything in hand. Why do you need me?”

  “To receive the dragons. You will need to guide the spell even as the devices create it. Join your magic to theirs so that you will be the one the dragons obey. Who else would could command them but you?”

  Sulrad followed Kelnor outside. In the square, he had arranged two circles of his devices. The outer circle was joined with thin cords of deepest vermillion. The cords stretched to the center where they were fastened together. The inner circle of devices were joined with deep, dark olive cords.

  Sulrad walked around the circle of devices, examining them and the slender cords that emerged from each.

  “The outer circle is the summoning spell. You trigger it by pulling the red cord. When the dragons arrive, then pull the green one. That is the binding spell.”

  “You’re certain this will work?” Sulrad picked up the strand of vermillion. The cord was rough in his sweaty hands. He was almost afraid to try. What if the dragons came, but he could not control them? What then? Would they destroy the temple as they had destroyed the world of men so long ago? If they did, he would be the one to bring down the temple. What would Ran think then?

  As if to answer his question, the statue of Ran at his neck gave a twitch and fell silent.

  Sulrad pulled the cord.

  Magic leaped from him, following each of the vermillion threads to trigger the devices. Pain flared in his chest as the magic departed. It was as if one of the dragons had grabbed his heart and was attempting to wrest it from his chest. Was this a trap? Was Kelnor really an agent of Amedon sent to assassinate him? How could he have been so foolish?

  He gasped for breath as visions of dragons appeared before his eyes. In the sky overhead, he imagined he saw them, hundreds of dragons, large and small alike, all the colors of the rainbow. They flitted in and out of the diaphanous blue-green curtains that wavered in the air above him.

  Several dragons descended in a cloud of colors. The great beasts grabbed for the spire that rose above the temple and clung to it. They spat fire and screeched, filling the air with sound and flame. It was a sight to behold.

  The brick-red dragon, Ril’vesi, slowly made its way down the great spire, its gaze fixed on Sulrad. “How dare you?” it bellowed. “This time, I will eat you.”

  Sulrad froze. He had summoned the dragons, but now what? How was he to control them? The charm had held them in thrall, but something had broken that spell. He needed to think, but the sickening odor of brimstone and sulfur threatened to choke him.

  “Choose,” came Kelnor’s voice.

  Sulrad struggled to understand. Choose what?

  “Choose the ones you want and then pull the green cord.”

  Sulrad looked up, locking gazes with Ril’vesi. “You.” He pointed to the dragon slowly working its way toward him.

  “Two more,” Kelnor shouted.

  “Those.” Sulrad jabbed a finger at two more dragons. He chose them at random. They appeared large and strong.

  “The cord,” Kelnor shouted.

  Sulrad yanked the olive-green cords. Once more, his magic raced from him along the cords, triggering each of the apparatuses that Kelnor had positioned around him. They whirred with a gentle noise and then fell still.

  As the silence descended, the magic returned to Sulrad, racing along the cords of red and green to fill him to capacity and then some. He winced in pain as the magic started to expand inside his chest.

  “Direct it,” Kelnor’s voice cut through the fog that surrounded Sulrad’s mind.

  “Meus es tu,” he called out.

  Ril’vesi froze where it was.

  Its eyes glazed over.

  It nodded to Sulrad. “Master.”

  “Attend me,” Sulrad said.

  Ril’vesi dropped from the spire, spreading its wings just before reaching the ground. They snapped open with a loud crack just as its feet touched the ground. It lowered its head and folded its wings.

  A second and third dragon followed suit.

  Sulrad turned to Kelnor. “Our ride has arrived.”

  “You want me to get aboard one of these?” he asked.

  “Yes. Join me.”

  Kelnor hesitantly approached the nearest dragon even as Sulrad leaped up and straddled Ril’vesi’s neck.

  “Come,” he said. “We have a war to wage.”

  44

  Sulrad glanced back to see Kelnor standing beside the dragon. Was he afraid? It had been his idea. Why was he holding back? Ril’vesi had risen almost to the height of the spire when Sulrad decided to turn back. It was not essential that Kelnor accompanied him, but he wanted someone to witness what he was about to do, and it had been the rotund wizard’s idea, after all.

  “Back. Back to the temple. I need to speak with Kelnor,” Sulrad said.

  “No,” the dragon rumbled.

  “What do you mean, no? I summoned you. I command you.”

  The dragon laughed. “No. I’m taking you somewhere you will be out of harm’s way.”

  “I demand you return me to the temple.”

  “You are in no position to make demands.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To Mistwind. They know how to deal with people who take advantage of dragons there. I will leave you to their mercies.”

  “You will bring me home,” Sulrad demanded.

  The dragon ignored him as it rose into the sky. Each beat of its leathery wings unsettled Sulrad as they rose above the town. The spire dwindled below. The castle appeared as if it were a toy. The dragon banked and headed north.

  It seemed like ages before the dragon stilled its
wings and began the long glide from the sky. Far below, nestled in the mountains, lay a small town. Who would live there?

  “What are you doing?”

  “I will drain your magic and leave you there. If you cannot convince the residents of Mistwind that you are an ally of the dragons, they have ways to deal with you.”

  “You will not.”

  “I will.”

  As the dragon circled, Sulrad panicked. Drain his magic. He’d not been without it since the glade where Rotiaqua and Zhimosom had attempted to kill him. His hand went to his back, recalling the knife thrusts they had leveled at him. No. He was not going to be without his magic.

  He glanced down.

  The town was still far below.

  Was he high enough for what he had in mind?

  He hoped so.

  “Mihi capere,” he shouted and leaped from the dragon’s back.

  The wind in his face was mild at first, but it quickly grew both frigid and strong. For a half a heartbeat, Sulrad thought he was out of his mind. What if he had misjudged things? What if he was falling too fast?

  He had mere moments to worry before a tear appeared in the sky below him.

  He rushed through it.

  He found himself rolling on a gravel path in an isolated and bare land. He had done it. He was inside the void.

  Of all the wizards he knew, he was one of the few who did not fear the void. It was a strange place, no doubt, but not something to be feared. He’d learned early on to avoid peering into the windows that showed his early years. No need to relive those. He had memories enough. No. He would take this time to see if he could discover how to defeat the dragons once and for all.

  Once he recovered.

  Rolling across the gravel had opened wounds on his arms and legs that hurt like fire.

  Perhaps a healing?

  “Restituet mihi in salutem,” he intoned.

  Usually when he performed magic, he felt it flow through him, but not this time. Silver flecks appeared in the air around him like mad fireflies. They swirled and dove in and amongst one another as they did their dance before him. It was enthralling. He watched it, almost forgetting the pain. As they swarmed, the cloud of sparks grew more and more dense until he could no longer see through them.

  Were they going to heal him, or had he done something foolish?

  The sparks had formed a solid silver sphere that encompassed him now, and it was shrinking.

  He drew his legs tight, enfolding his knees with his arms.

  The sphere closed in.

  He ducked his head. Was he trapped? Was this the end for him? How could he have been so reckless? Who knew what forces operated inside the void?

  The sphere grew smaller, forcing him to curl up like a babe inside its mother’s womb.

  It pressed against him.

  The pain was unbearable. It clenched then released, only to return a hand of heartbeats later.

  “Stop,” he shouted, but the silver sphere ignored him.

  With one final squeeze, the sphere clamped down on him then released. It exploded in a burst of silver and vanished as if it had never been there.

  Sulrad relaxed.

  The cuts and bruises on his arms and legs were gone.

  So was the twinge of pain in his back.

  He reached around.

  The scars were gone.

  So was the one he had acquired when his knife slipped while carving as a young boy. He let his hand wander farther up. The ever-present marks of shame his father had gifted him with were gone as well. No more scars from the switch. No scars from the hot poker his father had beat him with. He was healed. Completely healed.

  He felt renewed, as if he had lost ten summers in age.

  He leaped up and rushed off to see what he might discover about this place. He knew little about the void, as little was written about it. What he did know was that he could emerge wherever and whenever he chose.

  He peered into several of the mirrors that showed him things that had already been. He paid them little heed. He was looking for one that showed him what might be. He was no fool. All that he could see were images of things that might be. His true future was as hidden inside the void as it was outside of it, but soon he found one that drew his attention. In this mirror, he saw himself once more astride a dragon raining fire from the skies. It felt right. As if, somehow, this was more probable than anything else. It inspired him and gave him confidence as he watched the scene unfold before him. Then, suddenly, it went blank. It was as if the mirror had become black obsidian. No vision. No memory. Nothing.

  Strange.

  Did that mean that it was no longer possible?

  He hoped not. He had seen his future. Of that he was sure. All he needed to do now was return to the temple, if he could find his way. He suppressed panic as he recalled how often he had been told that some wizards never returned from the void. Not him. He’d been here before. He would find his way back.

  He searched for a mirror that showed him the temple.

  There was one showing the grounds being cleared for the temple. He had almost forgotten how massive the place was, but that was not the proper time, even if it was the proper place.

  The next mirror showed him in his chambers. He stood over a bed in a strange room where an ancient and wrinkled form lay. She was short and thick with skin like leather. Her hair was grey and short, but her features were unmistakable.

  It was Ignal.

  So she, at least, would live a long life, but wait. If she did, then so did he. It had been himself he had seen watching over her, but he had looked much the same as today. Did that mean he would not age? Or that he was seeing a dream and not reality?

  He pushed that thought away and peered into the next mirror.

  It showed a new temple. Not the one in Frostan, but another. This one stood in the center of a city. It was tall and straight and new. He had no idea how he knew it was recently built, but it was. Outside of this temple, people thronged, crying out for Ran to bless them. That made him smile. The temple would survive. It would spread across the land. That was a good sign. Or again, was it a dream?

  Where was the temple today? Where was that line in the void between what had been and what might be? Was there something to indicate where it might be?

  He searched for it but found little beyond variations of the things he had already seen. He was growing hungry, thirsty. How long had he been here?

  He wandered the pathways. He stopped and made water twice, but now he was dry. His mouth felt like paste and his lips cracked. Had he been here more than a day?

  He grew faint. If he didn’t find water, he would soon die. He had to find his way out. To make matters worse, when he let his attention wander, he was drawn from the path as if the void wanted him to dive deeper into its mysteries.

  He resisted, lurching from mirror to mirror, until finally, he came upon one.

  It showed the temple. Not as it was, but as it had recently been.

  It was covered in thorns.

  Without warning, Ignal lurched from that mirror and vanished off the path.

  He shouted at her, but she was gone.

  Should he go after her?

  Where had she gone?

  He recalled how she had claimed to be trapped in the void for ages untold. Was this the time she had become trapped? Was he here in order to find her?

  He rushed after her, but there was nothing besides gravel and scrub brush leading off into the distance. There was no clear path to mark his way back. If he followed her, he would become no less lost than she had. He felt guilty abandoning her, but he recalled how she had eventually emerged. If he chased after her, would she emerge sooner or not at all? Could he change the past? And if he did, what effect would that have on his present? What if he changed that?

  Then what?

  How would he get home?

  He sat beside the mirror that showed the temple enmeshed in thorns.

  He drew his knees tight to
his chest and waited.

  He raised his head, realizing he had been asleep.

  The image in the mirror shifted.

  He struggled to get to his feet, but something brushed by him and into the mirror.

  It was Ignal.

  Had she been here for ages?

  Had he?

  He rushed for the mirror. He could live through those days a second time, couldn’t he? But what if he met himself? What would that be like?

  Before he had a chance to debate the wisdom of his actions, he was leaning into the mirror.

  He fell face forward and onto the floor in his room.

  Ignal sat cross-legged on the bed, her eyes closed in contemplation.

  She spoke without moving. “I knew you would be back.”

  “How long have I been gone?” he asked.

  “Glass and a half. The dragon flew off with you and I came here to wait for you. I knew you would be back. They can’t hurt you. You’re the hand of Ran on earth. His voice.”

  “If only that were so,” he said, but as he spoke those words, the vision of an aged Ignal came back to him. Should he say something, or would that only make the vision false?

  He crawled up on the bed beside her. “I’m back, and I have a plan.”

  45

  Sulrad returned to the spot Kelnor had chosen. The canyon was narrow, narrow enough to pin a dragon between its walls so that it could not turn away. He had struggled to maintain his hold on one dragon and was certain that if this failed, he might not have another chance for quite some time. And the wizards of Amedon were near. He could feel them. Ever since the bonding between Rotiaqua and Zhimosom, Sulrad was aware of where the wizard was. Strange that it worked for the wizard and not the sorceress. Rotiaqua was a mystery to him, but Zhimosom? The specter of his magic was like an ever-present thorn in Sulrad’s side that never went away. Even now, the wizard was sneaking up on him, secure in the false belief that Sulrad was unaware. Let him come. Sulrad had a plan for Zhimosom, one that would keep him from the upcoming battle without risking death.