Faith Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 2) (38 page)

The day seemed to darken with the wizard’s words. Ren released a breath as Zorc turned his concentration back to the stones. Suddenly, the large rock mass broke apart and the stones soared back into their earlier positions.

“The reason the mass of hate is ultimately weaker than the pinnacle is because of love and pain,” Zorc continued. “They’re both stronger than hate. Hate, though, doesn’t have to be pure hate as in hating for hate’s sake. Hate can be stemmed from goodness. Although you hate, your actions are truly originated from love or pain. For instance, hate could stem from a man’s daughter being raped. The man loves his daughter. He hates what happened to her. He hates that he couldn’t prevent it, but he doesn’t hate for hate’s sake, he hates because of love. A better term to describe this righteous hate is anger or rage.”

Zorc tapped the Black Knight’s chest with a long, bony finger. “You’ve lived long with this righteous hate. I commend you for not giving in to true hate long ago. Many who carry that much righteous rage can’t withstand the pain. Take the man and the rapist for instance. The man’s righteous rage transforms into hate for the perpetrator. He kills the perpetrator. He feels power by doing so. He forgets the pain of his daughter because he can’t bear to carry it with him. He begins to scheme of ways to hunt down more rapists, not because of love now, but out of lust. So beware, righteous hate can grow into evil hate within the blink of an eye.

“But if you hold on to this righteous hate, this righteous anger, and remember the love and the pain it stemmed from, the hate will be the good hate. This type of hate drives you to correct those who use hate in other ways. If you have this righteous hate it’s powerful, and it’s needed to create the calm.

“You’re a mage, Ren. And you’re the Chosen. The two together are powerful. The evil of this world will try to make you one of them. When people die and destruction happens hate is an easy thing to feel for it doesn’t come with pain. If you remain in the calm you’ll feel pain. Pain is pain and love is painful. Hate doesn’t deal with any pain. You must make sure your hate won’t grow into evil. You must make sure love and pain balance it and bring it.”

Zorc paused, making sure his words were being understood. “Only a mage can control the pinnacle. Others of us never reach it or only reach it a few times in our lives. And only a mage can destroy another mage. The first mage was Magnus, a wizard who lived before the Dark Ages. Magnus found the calm and used the pinnacle. Years later Barracus found the calm, but his hate collapsed the pinnacle. If the two were in battle for power, I’m unsure who would survive. Magnus, though stronger in the calm, would be aware of the consequences of his actions. Barracus, in his hate, wouldn’t care whom he hurt and would hurt many to wear Magnus down.

Zorc focused on Ren. “If Barracus enters someone other than you, you’ll have to battle him outright, not internally. You’ll be concerned about your actions – he won’t. Even if you find the pinnacle you could lose. But,” Zorc said, raising his finger in the air, “if the mage enters you, you’re on your terms, your actions affecting only you. If you reach the pinnacle you have a chance of ending the threat forever by banishing the mage back into the Red Eye.” Zorc nodded to the boulder Ren had been on earlier. “You must learn to find the calm so you’ll be at your strongest. That’s why I show you the exercises I do.

“You have to learn fast. In my day it took years to find the elements within. Over the centuries I’ve searched for a quick way to teach you, fearing we wouldn’t have much time. The exercises I show you are what I discovered to work best for me and I think will work best for you. Ren, you’re strong, and the Quy has gained in strength since the Wizard War. You’ll be able to do things in a day that took me years of training, but I don’t know how much time we have.”

Ren nodded. “I’ll do whatever you ask,” he said, meaning it more than he had ever meant anything in his life.

Zorc smiled. “Then find love.”

- - -

Sim shivered by the brook. He couldn’t move. Fire spread through his right thigh, his underbelly, and his flank. He released a pent-up roar. Men began to emerge from the woods. A black citadel glittered on their tunics. All their heads were shaved.

He had been running for days, fleeing their poisoned arrows. But he had to rest, he had to eat, and when he had landed for a drink they were there. Magic had made them swift. His skin may repel magic but he couldn’t outrun it. He released another bellow.

The men stepped closer. Some held flails, others held whips, and others drug a long wooden plank behind them.

Sim couldn’t resist on any longer. His head hit the ground, causing one of the arrows to embed further in his flesh.

Ramie gazed at the scene before him. The Collective stood on top of the outer wall of Ziera, watching their every move. It made Ramie’s skin crawl.

Every ten or so cubits large bundles of supplies marred the perfect circle. Supplies for what, Ramie was unsure. He really didn’t care to find out.

The still air hovered around them like a thick fog. The Collective hadn’t stirred, but the clouded look in their eyes wasn’t quite right. Ramie scanned the wall again as his hackles stood on end.

The Collective were united as one mind.

Lazo was right. The Collective were grains of sand on the shore, but now they were grains united as one mind. Only time would tell if his army would be able to counter the Collective’s magic.

Beside him, Lorlier and Bostic paled, but Chris and Aaron seemed undaunted by the horde before them. The two were as opposite as day and night: Chris, dressed in all white, with tan skin and blond hair; Aaron, dressed in all black, with pale skin and hair as black as midnight. Each held an intensity Ramie had never seen before. When you looked into their eyes you drowned in emotions that could only be felt through hundreds of lifetimes. When Ramie looked at them he felt like a paltry babe. He didn’t like the feeling.

He turned and motioned for Presario and Lazo. Presario still wore his cowl, but it was pushed back so that much of his face showed. Ramie had grown accustomed to the molten flesh, as had all his soldiers. Now, instead of appearing horrific, Presario’s features held a profound beauty.

Lazo’s contrasting eyes studied him briefly before turning back to the walls. “Don’t fear, my king. We may only be a pebble, but we’re prepared to become much more on your command.”

Ramie nodded. “You know what to do. On my command.”

Lazo and Presario rode forward, those with the Quy following. Soon the first division stood hundreds wide and four thick. Ramie’s eyes darted to each side, looking for any sign of movement on the wall before turning to Fraul. His captain would lead the attack without magic, but it would have to be timed with precision. “Fraul, prepare to attack on my command. But don’t be a hero. Wait for my command.”

Fraul’s gray eyes danced with delight, as if preparing for a ball and not a siege. He turned to his men. “On guard!”

The drawing of swords and the clinking of lances echoed in the dawn.

Ramie raised his hand in the air, but before he could give the signal someone caught his wrist. He spun only to be greeted by the commanding eyes of the queen. Just as Ramie’s anger was about to ignite, it dissipated as Renee offered him a jester’s grin.

She nodded to the walls. “It would be wise to hold your position, my king. It seems my speech struck a cord.”

Ramie followed Renee’s gaze to a large tree beside the walls. Upon closer examination Ramie espied a small, dirty face peering from the branches. The small boy jumped from the tree, light blond hair shimmering like spun gold, and waved. The boy turned to the walls, placed a wooden horn to his lips, and blew.

A loud hum inundated the still air and suddenly the bundles dispersed throughout the Collective came to life. Men from the city, with black sashes tied to their arms, leapt from the mounds. Each man flung two, if not three, of the Collective to their deaths before the Collective had a chance to retaliate.

Before Ramie could whoop in delight the rebels dropped to their knees and screamed a gut-wrenching cry. Although the Collective’s magic couldn’t be seen, the men’s screams heralded the terror the armies in the field were about to face.

“Presario!” Ramie yelled as he brought up his hand and signaled. “Now!” Although the Collective still outnumbered the rebels on the wall by five to one, the rebels had given his army the diversion they needed.

Presario shouted a command. The first division brought up bows, aimed, and let their arrows fly. They didn’t fly like normal arrows. They flew with magic. Ramie watched as a few caught their targets. The remaining Collective stopped their assault on the rebels and refocused on the army.

“Go, Fraul! Go, go!”

The secondary division speed past, bellowing a battle cry. The air was immediately replete with screams of the dying and the roar of soldiers.

A torrent of wind hurled from the Collective. The arrows of the first division halted in midair as the magic in them strained to penetrate the wind of the Collective. Ramie shouted for Fraul to hold, but his command was whisked away by the wind.

Ramie tried to spur Mortar forward, but the air was like a brick wall. He couldn’t move. With rising dread he watched Fraul and his army plunge forward, intent on breaching the gate. The Collective were letting them come, leading them to their deaths.

“No!” Ramie shouted, but again his voice was whisked away.

Ramie turned back to the arrows. A few of them broke through the wind to successfully pierce their targets, but most of them fell to the ground as the power of the wind forced all magic from them.

- - -

Presario lifted his arms. “Prepare to form a gale on my command!” It was the only counter measure he knew against gusts of air that powerful. They had to form a windstorm that would hurl the air back at the Collective. Just as he was about to command his men to form the magic, the wind stopped.

Presario hesitated, unsure of his next move. Then the power of the Collective’s new magic surged toward them.

It wasn’t the strong gust of air as before, it was a scant breeze, but it was hotter than flames. It stole over them like a shadow, coating them with fire. Presario screamed as the flames engulfed him, burning him as they had years before. Some of his men dropped from their horses, no scar or blister on them, but their faces were clenched in the terror Presario had once lived.

Suddenly Lazo was beside him, keeping him upright. The flames quickly dissipated. Lazo spun to the men. “Shields! Everyone, individual shields!”

Presario nodded his thanks. His entire body still held the resonance of the flames, but he would survive. Presario embedded his emotional shield into place. Shields would deflect most magic, but you couldn’t use any magic behind them, and they were so difficult to conjure without silver dust most would be unable to summon them more than once in a day. Shields wouldn’t save them again.

When Presario rose to his feet he saw Fraul leading the second division to the outer gate. His eyes scanned the wall. The Collective were slowly beginning to turn, eyes reaching for Fraul and his army. In heartbeats the army would feel the heat of the flames and they would be unable to counter the threat. They were riding into a trap.

Frantic shouts caused Presario to turn. Chris and Aaron rode toward Fraul’s division in a blur of white and black. Presario blinked in shock. What were they planning to do? Even if they were strong enough to conjure their shields again those shields wouldn’t be enough to save the entire division, and when they weakened Aaron and Chris would be sitting targets.

As the Collectives flames reached the soldiers, horses reared and men began to topple. Presario watched helplessly as many soldiers weren’t killed from the inner flames but from their own horses as they were trampled underfoot.

Fraul turned in confusion as the screams of the dying reached his ears. Then the flames engulfed him. Fraul’s eyes widened as his body took in the heat. Heartbeats later the wave of fire swept though the entire army and harrowing screams saturated the air.

When Aaron and Chris reached the troop of soldiers they turned as one body. Presario could see the power lighting their eyes even from his distance. Presario watched in awe as the air before Chris and Aaron twirled in a circular pattern, forming a lip as wide as the wall itself. The cyclone roared in the dawn, masking the screams of the dying, and moved forward. Just as Presario thought it would move over the Collective on the wall it stopped. A thundering implosion echoed over the horizon as the cyclone collapsed inward, forming a funnel that led to the two defenders. Presario could almost see the power of the Collective being drawn into the funnel. He could almost hear the heat sizzling down the tube.

“May the Maker’s fates be with them,” Presario whispered.

- - -

Chris collapsed on the back of his mount as the first wave of heat tore through him, transforming his body into an inferno. Beside him, Aaron screamed, but Chris knew it wasn’t a scream of a dying man. It was a scream of determination. Even as the flames engulfed his body Chris forced himself to straighten and look through the funnel. Their conjuring was so strong, the collective force behind it was wrapped up in its strength. As long as they held the funnel the Collective would be unable to turn from their magic. They were trapped.

Chris found Presario through the torrent of wind. Presario’s eyes were wide. In those eyes Chris saw the pain of the flames and the pain of realizing Chris and Aaron would be unable to survive the intensity of the conglomerate fire.

Little did Presario know Chris and Aaron had survived much worse than the flames. They wouldn’t only survive, they would also give Presario the time he desperately needed.

Chris nodded to Presario. “Now.”

- - -

Ramie watched as the messenger spurred away before turning his attention back to the battle. Both the first and the second division were trying to recover from whatever horrors the Collective had used against them as Chris and Aaron took the brunt of the attack.