Ashar'an Rising (Nexus Wars Saga) (24 page)

The warrior who had given Astan-Valar the Rod had disappeared, shimmering into nothingness while clutching at an amulet encircling his neck. At the sound of the whistle, those who were able copied this action, also shifting into non- existence as they teleported.

But Astan-Valar could not leave his kin to fight while he employed the power of the Rod, so he tucked it into his belt and stepped forward to meet a new wave of Demon and Ashar'an that pressed a group of nearby Kay'taari, who wore the Red Tabard of House Harradin. Astan-Valar struck with blinding ferocity, his sword an invisible weapon as it tore through the ranks, momentarily freeing them from melee. He shouted a command at them, and as a whole they teleported after the others to Kil'Tar.

This left more enemies and fewer companions, but Astan-Valar had made his decision, despite the orders of his mother. He would activate the Rod with his dying strength if he had to, but would not do it and leave while there were those who needed his help.

And so, the son of Sha'kar moved through the battle like a vindicating deity, no blade or talon seeming to touch him, though the blood that covered him could have been of his own or many others. His arm never tired and magic coursed from his hand as constant as a sun's rays. Greater Demons he confronted and slew, sending moments of panic and mayhem through the massed Demon horde, all the while helping others to make their way to safety. Often he was momentarily too late, the dying form of a companion greeting him through a press, spurring him to even greater strength and effort.

Yet the Watcher knew there was one he searched for in the melee: Vighor, the Lord of the House of Ji’Ta’Har, he who slew his father. He called for the murderer to show himself, but his challenges were unanswered by Vighor, whom he did not know was on Kil'Tar.

Then, with strength wavering and the oppression of the tide of enemies carrying him along, he gave another warning whistle before tearing free the Rod at his side. The golden length felt cold in his hand, and the watcher saw him sigh as he lifted it skyward, and then with great force propel it into the ground at his feet. There was a distant groan, as of thunder, and the ground gave a great upheaval around him, throwing Demons and Ashar'an as if they were leaves before a wind, yet he was unmoved, and the rod remained firmly in the rocky ground.

Then he was gone also, fading like twilight to the oncoming night as the blue gem atop the rod began to glow. The watcher viewed this with curiosity and expectation, looking around as Ashar'an also blink out of sight, while Demons mill around searching for prey, some even turning on the Ashar'an in their frenzy.

But it did not last long as light absolute engulfs everything in an instant, followed by the approaching boom of thunder that grows in volume, drowning the cries of Demon and Ashar'an only for the time it took them to die, as the world around them exploded, and the Watcher was gone.

Another battle. Or was it the same? The watcher did just that, and as he grew closer, it took him only a moment to see it was a different one, less tumultuous, but bloody and ignoble nonetheless. Ashar'an and Demon battled Kay'taari, yet this time the land beneath them was green and lush, or at least had been before the blood of thousands was spilt upon it. In several places, there were patches of red snow where earlier it had been the white of a fresh fall. A tall mountain peak rose like a watcher also, giving the one who did watch a strange feeling of home.

Whether it was coincidence or meant to be, the watcher was once again confronted with the figure of Astan-Valar battling a press of dark figures. Once again he seemed to shine from within the sea of darkness, a living light that gave hope to those around it. His sword was a blur as it wreaked death at each swing, no matter what stepped before him.

Yet again the Kay'taari were outnumbered. Not by as many as the previous battle, but it would not be long before the weight of numbers saw them fall rapidly.

Winged shapes appeared suddenly on the horizon, alerting the watcher, who seemed to catch everything of importance that occurred. The forms were those of Dragons, the distance eaten away by huge sweeps of their wings, and atop them, the watcher could see riders.

The Dragons dived down like birds of prey as winged Demons leapt skyward to meet them. Demons cast bolts of fire whose very presence was one of death and decay, while the Dragons returned with flaming breath, and when close enough, with razor claws and armed riders. One of these was Silmarel, the beautiful warrioress, armed with a blazing lance that shot bolts of pure light at the demons from afar, and skewered them like fish when close.

A loud buzzing swept through the mass of Demons and Ashar'an, one the watcher could only feel was fear, yet in their midst, another dark shape rose. This the watcher saw as a huge winged demon, yet it was far taller than the other by far, equal in height to the largest Dragon, and atop it sat a figure, also in black.

Vighor!

The demon rose inexorably, gaining speed, then was amongst the Dragon host. Vighor unleashed dark bolts and flaming jets with each turn, while the Demon employed a whip of dark force that sliced through whatever it touched.

The Demons below seemed to gain in strength from this appearance, attacking again with a fervor, but there came from above a great roar as a Dragon, that which carried Silmarel, issued a challenge to the Demon, who answered it with a deafening roar of his own.

The watcher was awed by the display as Dragon met Demon, fire and darkness meeting and dissipating like puffs of cloud. Then their riders were able to meet, and in a time stopping pass where everything went deafeningly silent, dark sword and blazing lance crossed.

The Dark Rider was the first to fall, seeming to slide away from the blazing lance, away from the Demon that struggled against the Dragon's claws beneath it. His sword fell from his hands, and both disappeared into the swarming armies.

Yet the cheer that ran through the Kay'taari was short  lived as the golden armored figure of Silmarel toppled from the battling Dragon, lifeless, the lance she had clutched remaining secured to the saddle the Dragon wore. She did not strike the ground however, as a form sped upwards to meet her, and Astan-Valar caught her lightly, tears falling behind his speeding body like floating diamonds.

For a moment, all eyes were turned upwards to view the spectacle: Demon, Kay'taari, Ashar'an and Dragon. Plus the invisible watcher, who knew he would be shedding as many tears as Astan-Valar were he capable of doing so. The young warrior hung motionless as Demon and Dragon continued to wheel above and around, all seeming to turn away from the golden  armored warrior who held his dead mother in his arms. His eyes were closed, and for a time it seemed he had forgotten about the battle and the danger, though no Demon or Ashar'an approached him.

Then his eyes snapped open, revealing a blazing anger within their dark ocean depths. He spoke momentarily and the figure of Silmarel was gone, her destination unknown to the watcher or any other save Astan-Valar. Then his sword was out, so fast it looked as if he had never sheathed it, and then he was shooting towards the Dragon his mother had rode. He landed on its shoulders where the saddle and lance were, and he took hold of the shining lance as the Dragon roared once again and attacked.

For the watcher, there was no fury or vengeance greater than Astan-Valar showed as he fought atop the Dragon. When he was not jousting or firing bolts of pure silvery light from the lance, he was hacking away with his sword, which seemed to strike any and all, no matter how far away they seemed to be. Magical energies sizzled around he and the Dragon, from his hands and from those aimed at him, but none seemed to have any effect on him.

Then it is over, so suddenly the watcher wonders if there was another shift, this one imperceptible, but he knew he had been caught up in the atmosphere and fervor of the battle where time held little meaning. He found Astan-Valar then, now standing, surrounded by bloodied corpses, his sword somehow free of blood, though the rest of him was not. Those Dragons who were left were landing; amid rent bodies and scorched earth run with blood.

“
In the name of the Kay'taari, I declare a bloodhunt for the Ashar'an,” cried Astan-Valar, his voice hoarse and choking but carrying to all on the battlefield and beyond. Many bodies writhed in pain, some ceasing their struggles even as the Kay'taari spread out amongst them, using healing magic on their own kind and dealing out merciful if not swift death for those Ashar'an they found still moving, while the Demons were mercilessly hacked apart. Whether any of the dark Demons had escaped was unknown to the watcher.

“
The Ashar'an have nowhere to go other than the voids into which they belong,” voiced Astan-Valar again over the subdued silence, broken only by the cries of the dying or wounded and the soft voices of those giving solace to those who were drawing their last breath. Astan-Valar seemed unaware of these other struggles, though the watcher knew he was more than aware and inwardly counting the lives the Ashar'an had cost his people.

“
Hirowa  Lagar!” Astan-Valar turned to the nearby form of the huge golden dragon he had ridden throughout the battle, the same one from which his mother had fallen. He gave the beast a respectful bow and sheathed his sword. “You and your kind have performed a great service for us and this world, if not the universe. There is one thing more I would ask your assistance, however.”

As if expecting the question, the Dragon lowered his head to speak with Astan-Valar. “This is indeed not the end of the Demons. Those Portals the Ashar'an have created cannot be destroyed, as you well know. What would you have of us?”

Astan-Valar dug briefly beneath his cuirass and withdrew a slender golden chain, upon which dangled a diamond of considerable size, its many  faceted surface gleaming in the afternoon sun. It was shaped like a raindrop. He clutched the gem in his hand momentarily before looking back up at the Dragon.

“
We of the Kay'taari have never bowed to destiny, but times are changing and a new order arrives, while us of the old code are decaying.” He spread his hands to take in the mass of bodies scattered about them and there were again tears running down his cheeks. “This War of Ascension has been the culmination of many eons of struggle between us, a final test that we have both won and lost. The Ashar'an are gone and the Demons are driven back to their voids. We have accomplished that which we had to, and now we must ensure this threat does not resurface. Seals we must create to keep these spawns of Evil from this great land, else the fate of Kara’Tar will be that of Kil’Tar, and no greater tragedy could there be for both twins to be destroyed through our failings.”

There was murmuring through the surrounding Kay'taari, of assent and disagreement. Some suggested they leave Kil'Tar, to which Astan-Valar surprisingly agreed.

“
Kil'Tar must need be our home for a short time, but once the seals have been created, we must seek out our position in the new order. Those of the Dragon will remain, as is their destiny, making reparation where we cannot except in our hearts and minds.”

There was more murmuring, but after a time, none made objection and the Dragon, Hirowa  Lagar, agreed. “There must be balance, Kay'taari, and although your kind have brought about this devastation and blight upon our world, your honor and actions have ever named you true. From hence, know that we of the skies name you Dragon People”

Astan-Valar's bow drew in not just Hirowa  Lagar, but all of Dragonkind, before he straightened and wordlessly began to walk away, his figure becoming intangible as he strode towards the setting sun. His destination was unknown to the Watcher, and in short time he was gone, leaving Dragon and Kay'taari to the tasks at hand. Many looked to where Astan-Valar had disappeared, and there was hope floating there in the sea of sadness.

Crystalline
splashing at the edge of his consciousness was like an alarm as he rose from the clutches of unconsciousness. Opening his eyes, he found that pale light surrounded him, like an early morning sunrise.

The first thing he saw was not the pale ambience, or the gleaming gold of the Dragon  fountain and its silvery water, nor was it the shimmering moisture that seemed to catch every leaf in the trees around him, each like emeralds, though he mused such a tree would be worth a great deal.

The face that gazed down upon his was distantly familiar, though with a start and a moment of disorientation he knew the woman had to be the one he had met earlier in the darkness. Her face was wide yet sharp, with high, pronounced cheekbones accentuating a full mouth and narrow chin. Wide- set eyes of deepest green caught him in their depth, and some unfelt breeze tousled her hair, which hung like dark strands of silk.

“
Kaylara?” His whispered question brought a confused frown from the woman, and he knew it was not Kaylara, whose eyes had been of blue not cyan, and her fuller lips had been paler.

“
Who are you?”

He was lying on his back with his head resting on her thigh as she sat with her back against the fountain. His sword lay against the fountain, and he was still dressed only in a pair of bloodstained trousers, still wet as if he had passed out only momentarily. The visions he had seen, however, were burned into his awareness, and he knew they had not merely been dreams. Every event that had occurred had taken place in his presence, as if he were merely an invisible participant. He could still hear the distant ringing of metal and the cries of the hurt, and images flashed through his mind as he tried to bring the visions into context with what he had already been told.