Resurgent Shadows (Successive Harmony Book 1) (34 page)

He whirled around and threw the hammer, catching another trulgo in the back and propelling it forward, stunning it. A golgent leapt up in front of Eric, thinking him unarmed, a curved scimitar in its clawed green hand. Eric punched out instinctively, the golgent’s eyes widening as Valundnir appeared in Eric’s clenched fist. The hammer connected with the golgent’s head and knocked it to the ground, never to rise again.

Eric spun around and was struck along the side of his head by a staggering blow from a trulgo’s club. The force of the hit sent him to his knees and he teetered dizzily. Valundnir flared suddenly with a bronze glow and jolted Eric awake just as the trulgo was readying for another swing. The trulgo looked down stupidly at the glowing hammer, his blow forestalled a second too long as the hammer head grew suddenly large and slammed into his face. The hammer connected with a crackling force of energy behind it, shooting sparks of electricity flying into the air. Eric roared and raised the still glowing Valundnir into the air, bellowing a challenge into the sky.

As if in response, the ground shook beneath his feet as it had during the mortar bombardment, but without the explosions. The ground roiled and bucked, knocking Eric to the ground and sending Valundnir careening out of his hand.

A dozen gaping holes appeared in the ground and twelve large Brown Dragons shot up into the air, a mixture of half-trulgo and humans upon their backs. The dragons spread their disproportionately small wings and sprayed a cloud of black acid like a hellish fog as they floated to the ground.

When their clawed feet touched the surface of the earth, the shaking stopped. Another dozen dragons burst from the holes in the ground as the original twelve charged forward amidst the mist of acid.

Eric saw the dvergers regrouping as best they could, the dvergers from Gaeslingr and Fenrirbane making their way to the forefront of the wedges, though they no longer had any nets or catapults to use against the advancing dragons. Many dvergers had fallen, but there were still several thousand formed up in defensive position. Eric stood silently for a moment in between the two forces, a lone human figure amidst a sea of gray and green creatures. He gestured and Valundnir appeared in his hands, the weapon still aglow with a powerful bronze light. Everything Eric saw seemed to glow with a faint reddish light. He saw only the dragons. He charged.

A thunderous roar stopped him in his tracks as, suddenly, a torrent of flame fell from the sky and consumed one of the brown dragons in a hellish inferno. Red Dragons poured from the sky, raining fire down on the Brown Dragons and the dverger army. Wave after wave of Red Dragons fell upon the Browns, some bearing riders and some without. Brown Dragons shot upwards from the holes in the ground, leaping into the air and pulling Red Dragons down with them to grapple in the earth.

A massive wave of wyrms poured over the sides of the valley, falling upon the dvergers even as a portion of their number leapt onto the backs of the struggling Brown Dragons or fought against other wyrms that surged upwards from the holes in the ground like ants.

Eric looked around through his wall of rage. Diarf was dead, broken and burned upon the ground. Jorund and Haefnir were sprawled out amongst the dead only a few steps away, their bodies ridden with bullets and pinned to the ground with long spears. Eric threw back his head and a primordial scream of rage and defiance tore from his throat.

A soft voice cut through the shout, piercing not only his hearing but penetrating into Eric’s mind. He looked down and almost at his feet saw a twisted heap of white robes stained red in long crimson streaks. Torsten! How had Torsten . . . ? Memory flooded through Eric’s mind as Valundnir’s thrumming power lessened in his grip.

Eric rushed over to the fallen cleric, his rage and bloodlust instantly abated and replaced by horror and guilt at his own actions. Valundnir’s glow faded.

Torsten’s face was contorted in pain and utter anguish, but he clutched onto something in his hands desperately, as if it were his only hope of survival. A gaping hole poured blood from the cleric’s chest.

“Torsten!” Eric cried, dropping Valundnir and falling to his knees by Torsten’s tortured body.

“We are spent, Eric,” Torsten whispered through a mouthful of blood. “You must lead them now. You are Atelho’s chosen.” Eric felt Torsten press something into his hands. “Take this amulet. It is Atelho’s mark, given unto his clerics. It will keep you sane in the bloodlust.” Torsten coughed weakly.

Eric looked into the cleric’s eyes and saw power and strength screaming an odd counterpoint to the death creeping through his body.

“Lead the people. You are all that’s left.” Torsten shuddered and was gone.

Eric looked down at the amulet in his hands. It was a round white disk of metal held on a thin metal chain with a war hammer and an axe inlaid in its center. It felt cool and refreshing in his hands. He looked around him as he slipped it on.

Battles raged on every side. Trulgo, half-trulgo, and golgent overwhelmed pockets of dvergers that were struggling for survival. Dverger bodies littered the ground, axes broken, shields and armor shorn asunder under dragon claw and weapon alike. In the skies, Red Dragons formed for another pass to rain fiery hell down indiscriminately on dvergers and Dragonspawn alike.

Eric felt the realization sink in with an overpowering sorrow. They were lost!

“Retreat!” he bellowed and grabbed Valundnir from the ground. “To me! Retreat!”

He looked down at Torsten’s body and was thunderstruck to find it missing—only the bloodstained robes remaining on the ground. He hesitated for a moment, torn between trying to find Torsten’s body and the duty the cleric had laid upon him. In the back of his mind, the bloodlust screamed at him to continue fighting and Valundnir thrummed invitingly in his hands. Growling, he turned away from the robes and called the retreat.

The room into which they entered was filled with trophies of the havoc that had been rained down on this and other city-fortresses. Caleb marveled at the mounds of gold and silver coins that were strewn about on the floor like litter. Stacks of gold, silver, and palladium bars were arranged randomly amongst the other trophies. Dollar bills and loose standard coinage also rested amongst the piles, along with heaps of both ancient and modern weaponry. Suits of fine dverger armor and mail were thrown haphazardly amongst the weapons. The room was massive and most of it was filled with the eclectic collection of wealth. At one time, it had probably been part of the original stadium as the roof was opened wide to the sky above, obviously the means by which the dragon entered or exited.

“Thieves and plunderers,” Sigvid growled in a whisper, shaking his head angrily. “That’s all that dragons are!”

Nepja made a silencing gesture at him and led the way through the mounds of loot. Lando had taken up a position just behind the wizard, his p90 held in the ready position. The young man looked genuinely frightened for the first time that Caleb could remember, which gave him a great sense of unease. He pulled an arrow from the quiver at his back and placed in on Faeranir’s string, walking with the bow half drawn.

Suddenly something caught his eye, as if seen through fog and shadow. A small iron bound chest reposed on a mound of gold coins. It looked oddly out of place against the wealth upon which it sat, but it tugged as Caleb’s memory as if he had seen it before. Without stopping to think about it, Caleb took a few steps forward and, placing Faeranir on the ground, flipped the clasp on the chest and opened the lid. A pair of small metal bracers reposed on a bed of green silk. A simple ring of steel rested in between them. They were familiar to him though Caleb could not recall where he had seen them before.

“Caleb,” Sigvid whispered. “What are you about? The wizard said to touch nothing!”

The dverger shuffled up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder to pull him away, but then noticed the object of Caleb’s attention. Sigvid sent out a low whistle at the sight, whether in surprise or to catch Nepja and Lando’s attention Caleb couldn’t tell.

The wizard hurried over to them, his eyes flashing with anger. “I told you not to touch anything!” he hissed.

Sigvid reach around Caleb and pulled the bracers and ring out of the chest.

“These are one of the six Bands of Garik, forged in the Halls of Tealcenrir! The Bands inhibit magic users from using their power without the consent of the wearer of the Master Ring.”

“Put them back!” Nepja hissed angrily, reaching for the bracers.

“Don’t you see though,” Sigvid said, pulling them out of the wizard’s reach. “If we get these onto the Dragonlord, we can control him!”

“They won’t work,” said a cold mocking voice.

All of them immediately spun in the direction from which the voice originated. A man stood in the doorway to which they had been heading, his red armor and horned helm marking him as the Dragonlord Jarome. A sword hung at the man’s waist, hilt heavily adorned with glittering red rubies. Caleb stood still, recognition flooding his mind. It was the same man he had seen in his dreams!

Further thought was interrupted as Lando opened fire, the first among them to snap out of their stunned apathy. The Dragonlord grinned and removed his helm, revealing long black hair and chiseled features as the bullets ricocheted off of an invisible shield a few feet from him. Sigvid roared and threw one of his axes as well, but it had even less effect than the bullets, stopping in midair only a few feet from Sigvid’s hands and falling to the floor. Caleb stood unmoving, unsure of what to do.

The orb on Nepja’s staff began to glow and he stepped forward, tossing the hood of his robe back as he crossed in front of Lando to stand directly before the Dragonlord. Jarome’s eyes burned with an inner light and he smiled almost cynically across at the man.

“Highwizard,” Jarome said with a smile, revealing perfectly white teeth. “Balerijon was wondering when you would show up. He felt your sleep spell earlier and recognized the chords of magic that only a wizard of the Order of the Nine Towers can create.” The Dragonlord seemed completely at ease, despite recognizing Nepja for what he was.

“And where is your mighty steed?” Nepja hissed in a voice that seemed to freeze the very air. “He is masking his presence from me.”

“Not far. Perhaps you might meet him yet.”

Nepja ignored the condescension in the Dragonlord’s voice and fell into a spell, slashing downward with his staff. A blade of pure green energy formed in the air along the path of the glowing orb. The blade streaked across the room and struck the barrier around Jarome with an explosion of light and a strange deep hum. Jarome laughed behind the safety of the barrier even as Nepja began chanting once more, pointing his staff directly at Jarome’s heart. A lightning bolt shot from the end of the staff, its glow a yellow-bronze that crackled hungrily as it sped towards the Dragonlord. Sparks flew in all directions as the lighting struck the barrier, long arcs of energy bouncing off it like a flood diverted by a boulder. Nepja continued unrelenting, the lightning building in power and intensity until Caleb was forced to look away from the brightness. Sigvid clamped a meaty hand over his eyes and Lando bowed his head slightly from behind Nepja’s back.

A shadow enveloped the room and Caleb looked up in time to see a gargantuan Red Dragon dive through the opening in the roof and land with a crash amongst the loot, sending waves of gold and silver coins skittering across the floor. Even with its wings folded, the Red Dragon’s bulk took up almost a third of the room, the long spiked tail curling inward to wrap around its thick car-sized feet. Its head was easily the size of an armored truck and just as well armored. Its eyes glowed a malevolent yellow-orange, and the sunlight gleamed against the long horns that grew from its head and along the cheekbones. Without hesitation, Nepja spun his staff towards the dragon, throwing the lightning bolt at its scaly chest.

The dragon chuckled, its voice a deep rumbling sound that seemed unnatural coming from the toothy maw, and arched its head forward. The lighting immediately diverted upwards and shot through the hole in the ceiling and into the empty sky.

The dragon spoke a single word and a ball of flame materialized in thin air and plummeted towards Nepja.

The wizard raised his staff above his head and closed his eyes in concentration. The ball of flame stopped in midflight and slowly shrank until it vanished. Beads of sweat stood out on Nepja’s brow, but his eyes still burned with fierce determination and, Caleb was surprised to see, an odd excitement.

“Oh, very good, Highwizard,” said the Dragonlord Jarome, clapping his hands as if he were watching a show. “Balerijon hasn’t had a good fight with one of your kind in so very long. It seems he may be getting a bit slow in his old age.”

The dragon roared, the sound reverberating in the small room and forcing Caleb to cover his ears to keep from going deaf.

Nepja stood tall, his staff still above his head. His eyes closed in concentration and suddenly the Dragonlord looked nervous.

“What are you doing?” he snapped, the jocularity in his voice suddenly gone. “Get out of my mind!”

The dragon trembled slightly as Jarome closed his eyes in silent concentration, mirroring Nepja’s pose of utter focus. The dragon gave a rumbling noise and a small tongue of flame shot from his mouth. Caleb uncovered his ears and cast a hasty glance around, confused at the sudden silence.

“What’s going on?” he shouted.

Sigvid looked just as confused as he did, but Lando looked nervous and frightened. He was on his knees next to Nepja.

“He is locked in a battle of wills with both the dragon and the Dragonlord,” Lando said so softly that Caleb, whose ears were still ringing from the dragon’s roar, nearly missed it. “I fear he may not win.”

Caleb got to his feet and looked at the powerful triangle of magic users that was standing before him. Nepja’s robes were dark with sweat and Jarome’s face was contorted in concentration. Perspiration was starting to form on his brow as well. The dragon Balerijon stood stock still, like a massive statue, locked in a battle within the three minds.

Caleb focused on Jarome’s face. This was the Dragonlord from his dreams. This was proof that his dreams had been real and that what he had felt was not the random fleeting of an insane man. His dreams of Rachel had felt just as real to him, so perhaps she too was alive and this had all been a nightmare.

He stopped himself. Rachel had died in his arms. He knew it and he remembered it. Just because he had dreamed about this Dragonlord did not mean that his wife could resurrect from the dead.

A ragged scream cut off further thought. Nepja’s eyes snapped open as his body arched backwards in agony. Blood frothed at the corner of his mouth and dripped suddenly from his ears. He screamed again and the Staff of the Orinai dropped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. Nepja screamed a third time, his cry a shout of pure and utter agony. The wizard’s eyes rolled backwards into his head and he fell forward, toppling onto the ground with a muffled groan.

Jarome’s eyes snapped open and he smiled as the dragon chuckled from behind Caleb.

“Now we end this wizard,” Jarome said maliciously and gestured with one hand.

The dragon breathed in and Caleb dove for cover, landing on top of Faeranir as a torrent of flame shot out of Balerijon’s mouth towards where Nepja lay slumped on the ground. Caleb knew he had to act, but the heat was so intense that he felt his shirt smoldering on his back.

He wrapped a hand around Faeranir and the heat seemed to vanish. He leapt to his feet, knocking an arrow to Faeranir’s string. The flames parted around him like water as he spun and fired a blind shot at the Dragonlord. The silver arrow cut through the inferno like a fish through water, the flames parting around it as they had around Caleb. It streaked across the room and cut through the spot where all the other attempts had been repulsed by the barrier. The blind shot went high, missing the Dragonlord by inches, but the shock was enough for him to order the dragon to stop.

The flames died quickly. Caleb looked nervously to the spot where Nepja had been, expecting to find the ashen smoking remains of the wizard and Lando. To his amazement, Lando was standing over Nepja’s still form, the wizard’s staff clutched in his youthful hands and his face screwed up in concentration and anger. There was an untouched ring of floor about eight feet wide around the boy, in stark contrast to the glowing molten red of the floor outside the area. Caleb could see Sigvid hidden behind a stack of gold bricks a dozen yards away, the bricks having shielded him from the majority of the flames though his beard still smoked and his face was red and raw.

“What is this?” Jarome thundered. It was hard to tell whether he was more stunned at finding Nepja and Lando still alive or at the arrow that had cut through his defenses.

Caleb drew another arrow and sighted along it. He pulled back on the bow and aimed for Jarome’s heart.

“Are you the Jarome who stood in the pentagram the night the White Dragon destroyed your plans?” Caleb asked, not realizing until he had spoken that he was going to ask that question.

The Dragonlord’s eyes widened, giving Caleb all the answer he needed.

“How do you—” Jarome began, but Balerijon spoke over the top of him.

“So you are the one Faerin has chosen to replace the fool who prevented the Birth of our Master,” the dragon said with a hissing chuckle. “A human child. How pathetic. She sends you here with a babe, a dverger, and a green robed wizard. At least Atelho gave his champion an army of dvergers, though it will avail him little against the might of the Brown and Red Dragonhosts.”

“What are you talking about?” Caleb asked.

“What game is this human? You carry a weapon blessed by Faerin’s hand, bearing a ring of nine stars etched into its limbs. It is an ancient symbol of the nine great races of aylfins.”

Caleb realized that dragon was talking only to distract him, leaping to the side at the last moment as the dragon’s tail thundered to the ground where he had stood a moment before. Caleb rolled as the tail swept sideways along the ground towards him, toppling piles of coins and other objects as it chased Caleb across the floor. A massive clawed hand shot out and pinned Caleb to the ground.

Caleb looked up into the dragon’s open toothy maw and knew he was going to die.

*              *              *              *

High in the skies, Kaelie grabbed onto the saddle strapped to Rolaen’s broad back. They had crossed over the border of the northern continent half a day before, staying in the clouds to avoid the wings of Red Dragons that flew beneath them. Rolaen suddenly dove and she sensed the fear in him coming back along the connection between them. The White Dragon’s wings folded inwards as he strove for additional speed, forcing Kaelie to shut her eyes against the stinging wind.

“What is it?” she shouted mentally.

“We must hurry! We may be too late!”

*              *              *              *

Caleb saw the Red Dragon breathe in as if in slow motion, knowing the fiery exhale would soon follow. A shadow crossed over them and something massive and white barreled into Balerijon, wings and claws raking and buffeting the Red Dragon, forcing him backwards away from Caleb. Caleb scrambled to his feet and raced for Faeranir as a figure dropped from the white dragon’s back and turned in midair, landing lightly on its feet with a curved slender sword in hand.