Peorvem’s eyes flitted underneath scaly eyelids for several moments before cracking opened. “It is finished.”
The tingle of mezhik dissipated, returning full mobility to Nardus once again. Sitting up made his head pulse with pain, but the effect didn’t last long. However, one particular spot at the base of his skull smarted when he touched it. He must’ve been laying on a jagged rock.
Nardus stood, his legs a bit shaky. “And will it hold this time?”
“Then you remember?” asked Peorvem.
Memories of claws reaching into his mind and extracting sections of his life shook him to the core. “Yes.” He shivered away the feeling. “I’ve been known to be stubborn at times.”
“As Nardus or Cyrus?” Peorvem withdrew from the shore and entered the blue waters.
The question struck Nardus as odd. “Are we not one and the same?”
Peorvem lowered himself until only his head remained out of the water. “You’re the only one who can answer that question.”
Am I?
His two lives contradicted each other in many ways. Sorting out who he was and where he stood would take some time. As Nardus, he loathed mezhik and the use of it, so how could he, Cyrus, a powerful mage, rectify that? Who’d ever heard of a mage loathing mezhik? Yet the thought of using his powers still sickened him. Furthermore, everything bad that had happened stemmed from its usage. Then again, mezhik could’ve saved Vitara or prevented the entire event from ever happening.
How could I stop Cinolth without mezhik?
He didn’t know the right answer and didn’t need to figure it out right then. Far more pressing matters needed his attention. “How long should I wait to use my mezhik?”
“You’ll know once you test yourself, but I suggest you refrain from doing so until you’ve left the valley. Many of the dragons here still remember Magus and resent humans that wield mezhik.”
“Then I will wait.” Nardus bowed low. “Thank you for helping me find myself again.”
Peorvem blew water from his nostrils. “Think nothing of it. I merely showed you the path. You’re the one who took the painful journey.”
Nardus straightened and rubbed his left bicep. “Even so, I couldn’t have done it on my own.”
Tharos and Theyn entered the cavern together. Theyn’s yellow-eyed gaze met Nardus’s and stirred up love in his heart. As Vitara had been his first love, Theyn would be his last. The Cyrus side of himself didn’t approve of either woman, for every woman presented a distraction from matters of importance. But Cyrus had never known love. Nardus smiled as much to himself as he did to Theyn.
Things will never be the same for either of us.
Tharos grinned, or at least that’s how Nardus perceived his display of sharpened teeth. “Did you find the man you sought?”
Nardus grimaced. “Not what I expected at all, but yes, I’ve found Cyrus Nithik.”
“Good.” Smoke billowed from Tharos’s nostrils. “It’s good to have you back, my friend.”
Theyn rubbed up against Nardus’s leg. “I’ve missed you,” she said in his mind.
He bent down and rubbed Theyn’s ears and scratched underneath her chin. “I’ve missed you as well.”
Nardus’s thoughts circled back to the mess he’d created. He peered up at Tharos. “How did all of this happen? How could I have been so naive to think that putting Cinolth’s heart into a conjured world would keep us safe? And how could I have placed such a burden on your shoulders? I’m sorry you were stuck in Räəllm Kenzhärd Dhä for so long.”
“Men lie to themselves when they can’t face the truth. Had you the weapon to destroy his heart, I’m certain you would’ve used it.”
“That is true, but we should have searched harder for Hemär Dhef Əllíʈ.”
“What is Hemär Dhef Əllíʈ?” asked Theyn.
“The Hammer of Light,” said Nardus. “It’s the only weapon that can destroy Cinolth’s heart.
Tharos lowered his head to Nardus’s level. “You knew and understood the words of the prophets, yet you chose your path. Perhaps you couldn’t face the truth either.”
“Obviously not.” Nardus clenched his fist. “I’m such a fool. Cinolth has risen from the grave because of me. I’ve seen him with my own eyes.”
Tharos nodded. “As I told you it would happen.”
Nardus shot to his feet and shook his finger at Tharos. “You said nothing of it. You dragons speak so cryptically that I’m surprised anyone ever understands as to what you’re referring or eluding to.”
Tharos shot smoke from his nostrils. “Well, let me be perfectly clear this time. Don’t make the same mistake again, my friend. Find Hemär Dhef Əllíʈ and destroy Cinolth’s heart once and for all.”
“Silence.” Nardus and Tharos turned and faced Peorvem, who’d risen from the water again. “If what you say is true, son of Ƨäʈūr, we’re all in danger.” He looked at Tharos. “Quldrai must be warned. Eventually, Cinolth will return, so we must prepare for war.”
Tharos snorted and puffs of smoke rose from his nostrils. “I’ve already tried to warn her, but she’ll hear nothing of it. You and I are old enough to understand the threat that Cinolth poses to the entire world, but Quldrai was born after Cinolth’s treacherous reign.”
Peorvem slid back into the water and submerged himself until nothing but his head remained above the water. “Warn her again.” His head vanished below the surface.
“As you wish, Ancient One,” said Tharos.
Nardus peered down at Theyn. “We must leave at once. Gnaud needs my help.”
“Do not narrow your focus so much,” said Tharos. “The Ancient Realm needs your help, Cyrus.”
Nardus gritted his teeth. “I’ve sacrificed everything for this realm. Twice. I will deal with Cinolth, but first I must do something for myself. Without Gnaud, Nasduron and its knowledge will be lost.”
“You think I’m not familiar with sacrifice?” said Tharos.
“You know that’s not what I implied. And don’t call me Cyrus. He died long ago.”
“Forgive me, Nardus. It’s a force of habit, given our history.” Tharos turned toward the cavern exit. “Follow me.”
Tharos ushered them back up through the tunnel and into the main area with Quldrai. Nardus and Theyn bowed to Quldrai.
“Thank you for your kindness,” said Nardus.
Venomous hatred flashed in Quldrai’s eyes. “Be gone before I change my mind and eat the both of you.”
Nardus, Theyn, and Tharos backed out of Quldrai’s cavern without another word and made their way back to the surface and out of the upper cave. The valley teemed with activity, but none of it displayed an urgency or resembled preparations for war.
Nardus turned to Tharos. “How far can you take us from here?”
“No farther than Altus Pass. Beyond that there are humans.”
“That will have to do. Can you take us there now?”
“As you wish.” Tharos extended his hand and Nardus and Theyn climbed into it.
With a few beats of his massive wings, Tharos rose off the ground and flew them up out of the valley and to the south, toward Altus Pass. Within ten minutes, they’d arrived at the pass. Tharos dropped them off on a flat, narrow stretch between dueling peaks.
“Be careful, my friends, “ said Tharos. “Cinolth is a vile beast and not one to be taken lightly.”
Nardus nodded. “I remember everything, including what you did for us all. Your sacrifice gave us hope for the future. I’m sorry I ruined that and brought the world to its knees once again, but I promise that I will make it right. Cinolth will not live through the summer.”
“May Ƨäʈūr make it so.” Tharos took to the sky and disappeared in the thick cloud cover.
“Where are we headed now?” asked Theyn in his mind.
“Back to Galondu Castle.”
“That’s going to be a long journey without the níʈfinzh.” Nardus det
ected a sigh somewhere in there. It was strange how he could pick up feelings and inflections through mindspeak.
He smiled. “If we were walking that’d be true, but there’s no need for that now.”
“Then what? A mirror or something?” she said in his mind.
“A special friend. You’ll see.”
“And why didn’t we use this friend of yours when we traveled here?”
“I didn’t remember how to call her before. Now I do. Just be happy knowing that we won’t be walking all that way.”
Theyn growled. “Be happy I don’t kill you.”
Nardus chuckled but then remembered how close she’d come on a few occasions. One day she might just be the death of him. If so, he’d take it in stride.
He cleared his mind and called for Sarai, the ʈrenƨbūrʈ, using mindspeak.
A moment later, a pool of golden liquid appeared before them. Sarai rose up from the pool in her glorious, golden form. “Master, it is a pleasure to serve you again. What is our destination?”
Theyn growled. “Master?” she mindspoke. Nardus thought he detected a hint of jealousy.
Nardus glanced down at Theyn and gave her a wink. “Galondu Castle. And make sure it’s somewhere private. We’re not exactly welcome there.”
“Very good. I am ready when you are, master.” Sarai melted back into the golden pool.
Nardus turned to Theyn. “Follow me, and don’t forget to breathe her in. It’s a fast but not instantaneous journey.” He dove into Sarai.
† † †
Wrik sat on one of the benches in the atrium, enjoying the fresh air and the peace and quiet. Pravus and his pathetic army had left earlier that morning, virtually abandoning the castle. Only a handful of guards remained behind—basically enough to man the castle gates.
Many of the servants had traveled with the army as well. In fact, he hadn’t seen a soul all day since they’d left, not including Gnaud. Unfortunately, Pravus took Alderan with him. Plus all of the captured wizards and sorceresses. Gnaud needed to be healed again within the hour, but he had no means of doing so on his own. Even with Alderan’s help, he’d barely had enough energy to finish the job the last time.
The thought of losing Gnaud and all the knowledge of Nasduron frustrated him. The knowledge especially, but he’d bonded with Gnaud over the last two weeks as well. Kinda hard not to after spending so much time with the little gordak. As far as he could tell, he’d grown on Gnaud as well.
Wrik smiled. He’d never admit it though.
A small book bound with coiled tin sat next to Wrik on the bench. He ran his thumb down the coils. Each thrummed as it bounced back into place. It was a peculiar way to bind a book. He’d only seen one other bound in the same manner. That particular book held significance for two reasons, the first and perhaps most important one being its author, Reudeus Nithik. As far as Wrik knew, Reudeus had only ever written the one book. That in and of itself made little difference, but the fact that Reudeus was the uncle of Cyrus Nithik gave the book credence. The second reason it held significance was, of all things, the book’s subject matter: shifters. Its title, Shift Your View and Take Control, spelled out what one would expect to find within its pages. The odds of such a find were astronomical given Theyn’s current predicament.
Wrik picked up the book, tucked it into a large pocket within the folds of his robes, and headed down the gravel path toward the center of the atrium. From there, he’d take the north path. He needed to check on Gnaud, perhaps for the last time. A tear formed in the corner of his right eye. Then his left. He stopped, removed his spectacles, and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robes.
Events, whether sad or joyous, had always touched him and often moved him to tears. As a younger man, he’d hidden his emotions quite well both out of embarrassment and fear of ridicule. Now, he bore them with a sense of pride, and, given his size, few ever contested him over it.
Wrik placed his spectacles back on his face and started off again, but a subtle movement caught the corner of his left eye. Purple energy crackled at his fingertips as he turned and peered into the shadows created by the millennial pines. Nothing seemed amiss. He watched the shadows for a solid minute before shaking the unease from his shoulders.
He chided himself.
Sometimes the shadows are just that.
With a deep breath, he turned and sauntered on. The purple energy faded from his fingertips and returned from whence it had risen.
Ten paces ahead, a golden substance gurgled and bubbled up from the rocks, forming about a four-foot-diameter circle. Wrik stepped back, mezhik at his fingertips once again. Two figures rose from the depths of the golden pool, but the golden waters clung to them and masked their identities.
A purple fireball formed in Wrik’s open palm. “Identify your—”
A bone-chilling snarl sounded right behind him.
Wrik turned, but moments too late.
A spiked club arced out of the shadows.
Straight at the side of Wrik’s head.
A brilliant light flashed.
Split the air and chased the shadows back.
Left Wrik blinded.
Thunder cracked and boomed.
Rang in Wrik’s ears.
Shook the ground.
A concussive wave followed the boom.
Took Wrik’s feet right out from under him.
Slammed him to the ground.
Drove the breath from his lungs.
His heart knocked in his chest and drummed in his ears.
Thoughts scattered in his mind.
Chaos.
A voice called to him from the shadows. “Wrik.”
Distant. Hollow.
Did he recognize it? He couldn’t be sure.
The brilliant light faded, restoring his vision.
A beast stood over him.
Yellow fur and sharp fangs.
Wrik drew upon his mezhik again, certain for the second time in a matter of seconds that he couldn’t defend himself.
But then he noticed the man who knelt next to the beast.
Brown eyes with yellow striations exuded wisdom. Hinted at kindness.
This man Wrik knew, but he’d certainly changed.
Nardus. Or is it Cyrus now?
Either way, the man had saved Wrik’s life.
Wrik sat up and eyed the smoldering corpse lying on the ground. A hole the size of a giant’s fist punched right through its middle. “What the gods was that?”
“Shadow troll assassin.” Nardus nudged the corpse with his foot. “They usually only work at night. Must’ve been paid a high price.”
Wrik looked around. Shadows surrounded them. Had it been just the one shadow troll, or were there more lurking about, biding their time to attack when he was alone again?
“You’re safe for now,” said Nardus. “They always work alone.”
Wrik chided himself. Fear rarely possessed him, and when it did, he usually hid it well. “Good to know. And thank you for saving my life.”
“I’m sure you’d have done the same.” Nardus scanned the atrium and his eyes narrowed. “Is it me, or has this place been abandoned?”
Wrik’s right ear—the one closest to the blast—still rang. He worked his jaw to try and get his ear to pop but had no luck. Twisting his finger into his ear didn’t help either. Only time would.
“Pravus, Cinolth, and their collective armies are headed toward the Three Kingdoms. War will soon be upon the Ancient Realm.”
“War?” Anger flashed in Nardus’s eyes. “This is madness.”
Wrik smiled within. No, this is prophecy unfolding right in front of us.
† † †
Nardus paced, driven by a torrent of emotions. He’d thought time favored him, but events progressed far too quickly. Facing Cinolth and Pravus would be difficult enough, especially with Aria involved, but how could he possibly save Aria, Gnaud, Theyn, Nasduron, and the enti
re world too? Foolish as he might be, he knew it’d be impossible to accomplish any of it on his own. Therefore, only one viable option came to mind.
I must revive the other members of Ūrdär Dhef Ƨäfn Dhä.
He didn’t like the idea at all and knew the others wouldn’t either, but what choice did he have? In truth, they’d placed Ūrdär Dhef Ƨäfn Dhä into a deep sleep for a single purpose: to prevent or thwart a cataclysmic event prophesied about long ago. Somehow, they’d reached that fork in the prophetic road.
War is coming…
Nardus rubbed the scars on either side of his left bicep. “And what about my daughter? Has she gone with them too?”
Wrik stood and dusted off his robes. “You’re no fool, Nardus. You’ve witnessed Aria’s state of mind firsthand. She leads them down that warpath. Her and that scaly beast.”
“All this is Pravus’s fault.” Nardus spat. “He will pay with his life. However, you know that’s not why I’m here.”
“Of course not.” Wrik started walking toward the north atrium doors. Nardus and Theyn followed. “I was on my way to check on Gnaud when you arrived. Your timing couldn’t have been better.”
The three of them stopped outside the door to Gnaud’s room and Nardus unlocked it with the key Wrik had given him a few weeks back. As soon as the door cracked open Nardus caught a whiff of the sickness. Pungent, rank air gagged him.
Ƨäʈūr, don’t let me be too late.
Gnaud lay on the couch wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. Not a hair on him moved nor a single muscle twitched. Sticky sweat glistened on his furry forehead, and his little hands were ice cubes.
Wrik checked for a pulse and held a mirror to Gnaud’s mouth and nose. “He’s gone.”
“Just so, but it might not be too late to revive him.” The poorly designed couch provided little room for him and Wrik to tend to Gnaud at the same time, so Nardus gripped the back of it and groaned. Mezhik tingled in his fingers as strength built up in his arms. With a grunt and then a loud crack of splitting wood, he broke and ripped the back off the couch and tossed it across the room.
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