Blood of the Dragon
By David and Andrew Burrows
The
crisp cold air seared their lungs. Around the small party a thick layer of
permafrost glistened in the dazzling rays of the sun, and it sparkled with the
intensity of a rolling sea of pearls. Snow glinted and stretched like a thick
blanket for miles around and created an unnatural, oppressive silence.
The
splendour of the scene was lost on Forfar; he cursed as he crunched through the
snow, glancing in apprehension at the darkening sky. The mountain climate
changed regularly and swiftly, and he had no desire to be trapped in a
snowstorm. He felt that his life had changed significantly, being an
apprentice, and a friend of the renegade Salar. To be entrusted with this task
was pleasing on the one hand but very scary on the other.
He
glanced back behind them to the swirling sheets of spiralling fog and sleet, a
curious curtain of downpour. The thin curtain only existed for a few metres,
making it all the more stranger, as to either side of the continual veil the
sky was morphing and changing. At present, sleet fell from the dark sky, except
in the ever- present strip a few feet behind them. Forfar didn’t like it; he
was convinced it was a pathway to the underworld, but having emerged
tentatively from it unscathed, he thought no more of it as they ascended the
peak of the massive mountain.
Forfar
was accompanied by seven others, two were sorceresses, and the others
sorcerers. King Darwyl had tasked them with contacting the dragon world to see
if they could expect aid; a monumental task that might help their war against
the demons. But were dragons ally or foe? Others had discovered the dragon
world, in their efforts to learn about the demons. If there was a demon world,
they had speculated, then why not others.
Forfar
tried not to think too hard about the task. It scared him. He glanced behind at
the others. Their ragged breaths emerged in quick, shallow bursts of vapour
that trailed behind them in slivers of ice, like banners unfurled and streaming
through the crystalline air.
“What in the name of the
Kalanth are we doing here?” Asked Shatha, her teeth chattered
uncontrollably. She was leading the others, a young woman, tall and dark
haired. Her eyes flashed her frustration as she struggled to breathe in the
thin air.
Forfar
smiled. “You know as well as I do, opening a gateway to the dragon world.”
“But
why on top of a mountain?” Shatha quizzed. The others had stopped and were
listening.
“Well,
for one, we need to be away from the general population. We do not know what to
expect and in case things go wrong… The other reason is, I’m told, the spell
will work better in the mountains, especially in the cold. With all this snow
and ice we certainly have that, in abundance.”
Shatha
grinned. “By the Kalanth, it is cold, I’ll grant you that.
But why will the cold help?”
“Because
we can only open a gateway to the dragon world briefly,” one of the other
sorcerers chipped in. “In the cold, the gateway will stay open for longer, or
so goes the theory. No one has tried this before don’t forget.” He rubbed his
hands together, clearly cold even though his mitts looked thick. He wondered
how deep the ice was beneath his feet.
Forfar
looked around. They were standing on a glacier not too far from BanKildor. That
was the tallest mountain in the region. A frigid wind gusted from its peak
chilling his cheeks. He pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders.
“This
should do,” Forfar announced looking around. “There’s no point in tiring
ourselves further. Well this is it. Good luck to you all.”
They had the spell committed to memory yet it
took them a while to organize themselves, drawing the necessary runes in the
snow. When the casting started, elementals were summoned; their small forms
dancing within the confines of the runes as the power of the spell grew. The
chanting voices soon vibrated the very air about them, the magic of sorcery
expanding the words into entities of their own.
A
rift began to form above the circle of Eldric, and their shouts multiplied in
fervour and astonishment. Whereas the rift to the demon world was always green
and like a jagged tear in the fabric between the worlds, this was different,
like looking through a giant lens.
Forfar
didn’t know what to expect. The spell was cast and the rift was open. It should
hold longer here in the frozen domain. But, it would still close soon enough.
What was he expecting? It could take days to contact a dragon, assuming contact
could be made. They continued casting spells, seeking to keep the gateway open.
An
intake of breath from the others alerted him to something and glancing at the
rift he saw a dark shape gliding upon thermals. Then he recognised a long
serpentine body with gossamer thin wings, as the shape flew silently towards
them. It was a dragon. He was amazed that one had found the rift so swiftly.
Chanathan had said they might. A rift would be like a brazen alarm to anyone
with magical abilities. Forfar could feel the rift’s presence strongly, and to
his chagrin he could also tell that it was starting to close.
He
and the others stepped back as the dragon approached. It was going to make it
through, but it would be close. Then the apparition was crawling through the
rent in time and space. He caught sight of a huge red pupil, a large, heavy
black claw, blue scales that glistened and gleamed as though with a life of
their own, a blue dragon? His colleagues had only spoken about red dragons.
Forfar
fell to his knees as they sought to keep the gateway from collapsing for a few
more seconds. The dragon itself seemed to help them and to their shock, the
reflux of energy was morphed into a massive rent through the sky, sparkling and
shining in radiant beauty. An explosion shook the mountain, tossing the Eldric
through the snow like dolls, their heads ringing with ancient power.
The
rent glistened and shut swiftly, but not before
the huge beast had flown through, and now it hung suspended in the
freezing air, huge gossamer thin wings stretched to either side of its massive
body, bulked with girth and powerful muscle, framed with scales of blue.
Forfar
had a sinking feeling. There was little or no intelligence behind the
creature’s façade. Its keen gaze was more akin to a fox looking at its prey
than a benefactor. Its red eyes stared at them madly then its maw opened,
revealing large, serrated teeth that clashed and salivated.
For
a second there was silence, as the world appeared to freeze on its pivot. The
Eldric stared back in an amalgamation of terror and awe at the huge beast,
which appeared to be just as confused as they. The thermals in the air caused
it to rise and fall like flotsam, and it shook in surprise, its rippling
tendons straining and bulging.
Then
suddenly, with the speed of light, it whipped down, snatching a screaming body
in its talons and expended a stream of burning, liquid flame over his face. The
dying scream withered as the sorcerer’s
flesh bubbled and his skin melted, his bones cracked into slivers and
shards and his blackened corpse fell to the snow; shocking the other sorcerers
into action.
“Take
cover!” screamed Forfar.
Everyone
scattered. “Stop!” Forfar shouted at the dragon. But it was clear that the
creature would not obey him. It seemed that dragons were mad, and not to be
trusted.
“Kill
it!” Forfar shouted and immediately the others started to cast spells aimed at
the dragon, summoning power through elementals and then imps. The mountain
resonated to the sounds of explosions, the snow bucked and the mountains
crumbled as a multitude of spells were tossed at the dragon.
It
screamed in fury and spiralled into the air, spewing vitriol and magma at the
insects below. Forfar swiftly created a shield of magic around his companions
and he gasped as they survived the first blanket of burning flame and licking
acid, but the effort expended left him weak and trembling, and Forfar knew that
he had to destroy the beast quickly.
He
sent a spear of light at the creature, but it simply bounced off a scale in a
burst of blinding power that left Forfar gasping on the ground, rubbing his
burning eyes. A woman was rent in two by a hurricane of talon and teeth and the
dragon seemed to laugh as it carried the corpse back into the air, out of reach
of the Eldric spells, where it devoured the woman in sight of them all.
Then
the creature roared and swept down. Most of the Eldric scurried away to avoid
the bulk of the beast, but one man was flattened by the flailing muscles and
tail as it snapped and jerked its head round, attempting to slay all those
around it.
Forfar
screamed to the others. “When I shout, take the air away from beneath its
wings,” he screeched. “Shatha! With me!”
The
sorceress ducked beneath a splash of flame and ran towards Forfar. The dragon
flew low, spewing flame and vitriol almost randomly in an attempt to kill them.
It seemed to be toying with them, as though enjoying the sport.
“Over
there,” Forfar shouted. “Turn the ice into water.”
The
dragon was hovering high in the air, as though debating which of them to kill
next. Forfar and Shatha cast their spells and a lake formed beneath the dragon.
“Now!” Forfar
screamed at the others. He watched them casting their spell, his heart in his
throat and fear in his belly. Would his plan work?
The
dragon screamed as it plummeted down. With a splash that sent water cascading
all around them, it fell deep into the magical lake. Forfar snapped off his
spell. “Release your spell,” he screamed at Shatha, which she did; only too
glad to cut off the spell. Forfar cast a spell to hurry the freezing process.
The
lake froze instantly. Forfar waited. He wasn’t sure if it would work and the
dragon would be trapped and he feared that it would somehow escape. When
nothing happened he timidly walked out onto the ice, staring down beneath his
feet. The others called to him, their voices sounding shocked and afraid.
Then
he saw it; an indistinct shape tens of feet beneath him. Trapped in the ice,
its body had contorted as it had tried to right itself. Its great wings had
spread uselessly about its body as they fought against the water, suddenly
locked in the ice’s hard embrace. Even the dragon’s great maw was trapped shut.
Tons of ice pressed down on it, sealing its fate.
The
others gathered around Forfar. They looked pale and shocked by what had
happened. He glanced around to seek out the wounded. He should have realised
not to bother. Dragons didn’t wound, it seemed. The bodies of the four dead
spellcasters were torn to shreds, their dismembered parts cast across a wide
area. Snow had turned red, marking the points where limbs had been strewn.
“By
the Kalanth,” Shatha said. “What have we done?”
It
had taken only moments, but the dragon had killed four of their number. “There
is no help to be had from the dragon world,” Forfar exclaimed.
“I
would prefer to face demons,” said another.
“At
least with a dragon, death is swift,” Shatha intoned. “They do not take your
soul for an eternity of torment!”
“Come,
we must leave. There is no point remaining here,” Forfar said, looking to the
sky, which had turned a leaden grey. He had to report to the king that yet
another avenue of hope was closed to them. It was a meeting that he was
dreading. With heavy hearts the small group turned their backs on the dragon’s
tomb, and retraced their steps down the mountain.
By David Burrows
Author of the Prophecy of the Kings
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