Wizard Pair (Book 3) (36 page)

Alwroth watched in silent agony as his most trusted adviser simply ceased to exist in a flash of dragon fire and a puff of ash that blew away in the early morning breeze.

The dragons separated and turned each to its own path of destruction. One of them headed for the side of the camp where the damage was light and a few tents stood intact. The other dragon turned towards the stand of trees where Alwroth had left Uskin.

Alwroth ran as fast as his tired legs could carry him. He stumbled on the rough ground, but recovered as he kept one eye on the sky above.

He reached Uskin and rolled across the rough ground to come to rest against her. He raised a protective shield around them just as the dragon spat fire. It scorched his outstretched hands and his mind with fire and magic. Alwroth held out, drawing power from his reserves, knowing it would soon fail him.

The dragon landed near him and craned its neck, its large black eyes piercing him, yet Alwroth could feel a struggle going on inside the dragon, as if it was fighting itself for control.

On the back of the dragon sat the Wizard Sulrad. He held his staff aloft and screamed. "Kill him!"

Alwroth recalled the shield Moright had used. He poured what little reserves he had into the spell and raised a fireball of his own. He guided it around the dragon and towards the Wizard.

Sulrad raised his staff to deflect the attack, but was not fast enough. The fireball seared his arm as it passed and he cried out in pain.

Alwroth felt the control on the dragon lighten ever so slightly as Sulrad was distracted by his attack.

The dragon reared back and Alwroth cringed, waiting for the breath of fire that would overcome his shields.

It never came.

The dragon stepped back and stretched out its mighty wings. The horns on its head gleamed in the early dawn light, but it was the figure behind that massive head that Alwroth watched. The Wizard that sat astride that mighty beast cradled his burned arm clumsily as the dragon launched itself into the sky.

Alwroth breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the dragons flew off. He turned his attention to Uskin. She was still alive, but her breathing was shallow. She gasped in pain as he touched her face and spoke to her.

"I am going to see who survived the attack and get you some help. We may be able to travel back to Amedon if I can find enough Wizards left alive."

She opened her eyes weakly and just blinked at him. He heard her voice in his head telling him not to worry. It was just like her, to tell him not to worry while she lay there in agony.

Alwroth walked between the charred remains of tents. Here and there, were piles of ash atop a circle of charred ground that he knew were the remnants of Wizards who had joined the fight at his behest. His breath caught in his throat as he trod the quiet aisles finding no one alive.

There was not a soul left alive, save for himself and Uskin. Out of a hundred Wizards who had made the trek from Amedon, there were but two left. He hung his head and cried.

As he made his way back to Uskin, Alwroth felt the contact of Rotiaqua. "Alwroth. What happened?"

"We were attacked by dragons. Two of them. They came at us just before dawn." Alwroth sat down on the dirt, and cradled his head in his hands. "They're all dead."

"Who's all dead?" Rotiaqua cried.

"Everyone. Everyone but Uskin, and she's badly burned. I don't think she's going to make it."

"Guide me there. I want to help," Rotiaqua said.

"No. I have to get back to Uskin. She needs me."

Alwroth cut Rotiaqua off and lurched towards the threes where he'd left Uskin. He stumbled along the way, picking himself up and vowing to crawl to her on his hands and knees if it came to that.

He reached Uskin and sat down beside her on the grass. He touched her face, caressing the skin that the fire had spared, infusing her with what little power remained in his reserves.

Uskin opened her eyes and looked up at him. Alwroth could hear her voice in his head, weak and distant.

"It's too late. I'm sorry," she said. Alwroth felt the sadness in her voice.

"No. You're not going to die."

Alwroth delved deep in himself for all the power he could find. He was connected to the Sorceress, their magic was intertwined and linked. As long as he was alive, he could send her power. She would live.

"Our time is at an end," Uskin said softly. She smiled at him through cracked and bleeding lips, her eyes full of sadness. "There is a new pair now. They can carry on where we cannot."

"Don't say that. You're going to be all right. I can lend you the power you need to heal." He pressed his power into her, but he feared that it wasn't enough. She was fading, and so was he.

The magical reserves in his body drained away. Soon, there was nothing left. He was no longer a Wizard; he was just an old man. He had no more magic to sustain him, and none to save Uskin.

Her breathing stopped.

Alwroth's heart beat became erratic, then stilled. His magic was gone, his partner was gone.

He stroked Uskin's face one last time as the darkness took him.

Mistwind

High up in the mountains, Zhimosom watched as the dragon disappeared into the sky. The sound of a bell pierced the air, once, twice, three times. It paused, then rung again, three more times.

People came running from between the buildings, men and boys in orange robes. They flooded the square and bowed their faces to the ground. The all muttered something. It sounded like they were chanting the same thing, but Zhimosom was not familiar with the language.

He stood dumbfounded as the orange-robed men filled the square. Zhimosom thought that the entire town must have turned out for the occasion. Finally, the bell rang out four more times and stopped. At the final stroke, the men stood, their heads still bowed in reverence. One man separated himself from the crowd and approached Zhimosom.

"Dragon Lord," he said.

"Not me." Zhimosom was shocked. They thought he commanded the dragon. "I do not command the dragons; I was brought here against my will. The dragon attacked my friend near Ryden. He killed him and carried me here."

Zhimosom looked at the man. He was old and bald, but stood straight and tall as if he were a young man with an ancient face.

"It spoke to you." The man said, tilting his head to one side.

"Where am I?" Zhimosom looked around nervously.

"What did it say?" The man's dark eyes were penetrating, the kind that demanded an answer.

"It asked me to save it ... What is this place?"

"You are going to save the race of dragons?" The man smiled, his eyes sparkled, and the wrinkles radiating from them piled up even deeper.

"One of them attacked us. It was in Ryden where it killed my friend and carried me away." Zhimosom pointed to the sky where the dragon had flown off. "I need to get back to Ryden. The Wizards are counting on me." Zhimosom turned and started from the square.

The old man grabbed his arm and pulled him up short. "What did the dragon say to you?"

Zhimosom pulled his arm free of the old man's grip. "Sulrad, the Wizard, has discovered a way to summon and command the dragons. I saw him kill one of them to power his spells. He is going to trap and bend the rest of the dragons to his will. They will all be killed or turned into his slaves."

"And what are you going to do about it?" the old man asked.

"I don't know yet." Zhimosom leaned down and looked into the old man's eyes. He tried to appear as menacing as he could. "Where am I and who are you?"

"My name is Danirus. Would you be so kind as to accompany me back to the temple? We can be comfortable there while we talk." The old man held out his hand to Zhimosom. It was bony and weathered, but his grip was strong.

Danirus led Zhimosom to the temple. It was constructed of stone hewn from the mountains and decorated with red and gold hangings. They entered a large room with pillars supporting the roof, but Danirus gestured to a smaller side room.

There was no furniture, save a low table, in the small room. Danirus retrieved a pair of thick pillows from the corner and slid them towards the table. He crossed his legs and lowered his ancient form onto the pillow, sliding himself up to the table.

Zhimosom did the same, wishing he were as limber as the old man.

Another man came in wearing the same universal attire, an orange robe, tied in the middle with a rope. He carried a tray laden with a small brazier, a pot, and several small cups. He placed the brazier on the table and lifted the pot onto it, centering it above the coals. Zhimosom fidgeted while the man set a cup before him and then another before Danirus. He bowed his head and backed out of the room.

"So tell me. Do you think you can defeat this Wizard?"

Zhimosom held back, uncertain that he could trust the monks. "I'm not sure."

"Sulrad commands the dragons?"

"Yes, he does. The Wizards from Amedon have gone to make war on him. I need to get back to them."

"If he commands the dragons, then is it not he who is the Dragon Lord?"

"I suppose so, but they do not serve him of their own volition. He commands them by magic." Zhimosom was getting angry at their evasiveness. "Where am I? Who are you, people?"

"You are in Mistwind," Danirus said. "We are the last of the brotherhood of the dragons. We served them when they were in this world and we have waited for their return these many summers."

"You served the dragons?" Zhimosom asked. How could they serve the dragons when the dragons had left so long ago?

"Yes, we served them. We have preserved their lore and history, waiting for them to appear once more."

"What happened to the dragons?" Zhimosom wanted to learn as much as he could, and Danirus sounded like he knew a lot about dragons.

Danirus spoke to someone off to the side and soon a monk in orange robes entered carrying a thick book. He set the book on the table and slid next to Zhimosom on the floor.

"The dragons of old were never plentiful. At most, there were only a hundred of them spread across the whole of the land, but even those few made a big impression. They were the mentors of men. They brought wisdom and knowledge. It is said that they made man what he is today, that, before the dragons, man was no more than a beast of the field.

"No matter the beginning, they were the mentors of the wise and the terror of the foolish. They guided kings and punished the wicked, until one day a Wizard learned how to command them to his will. He never was able to command more than one or two, but he made them commit acts of unimaginable atrocities.

"The dragons decided that it was no longer safe for them here. They had taught all that man was capable of learning. It was time to leave. So they opened the veil and crossed the void, pulling the curtain shut behind them.

"They left our world long ago, but we have waited. We knew that when the time was right, they would return."

"They have not returned. They did not want to come. They were brought here by a Wizard," Zhimosom explained.

"And they brought you here? At the behest of this Wizard Sulrad?" Danirus asked. He nodded his head to the unseen monks once again.

"Yes."

"How do we know you speak the truth?" Danirus became agitated. "How do we know you are a friend of the dragons? Is it not true that the dragon breathed fire on you?"

"Yes, but why would I lie to you?"

"Why did the dragon leave you here?"

"He was under Sulrad's command. Sulrad wanted me out of the way while he attacked Amedon. You have to help me get back to Amedon."

"How do we know you are not working against the dragons? If they brought you here, they must have had a reason. We must see who you really are. We must expose your soul."

Someone grabbed Zhimosom from behind. The monks that held him were strong. Too strong. He tried to free himself, but he could not break their grasp.

"What are you doing?" Zhimosom yelled.

"We have only your word that you are a friend of the dragons and that Sulrad is their enemy. Is there any evidence you can offer to prove you are who you say you are?"

"I am not your enemy. I am trying to help the dragons."

"Yet one of them has delivered you into our hands. You must be put to the test." Danirus waved his arm and the monks hauled Zhimosom from the room.

They dragged Zhimosom back to the square where the dragon had deposited him. The orange-robed monks had assembled a wooden platform with a solid post sticking up through the middle. It was piled with branches and brambles and smelled of oil.

"What is the meaning of this?" Zhimosom demanded.

"Trial by fire," one of the monks said.

"What for?"

"You said you were a friend of the dragons', but they abandoned you here. You admitted to fighting the Wizard whom they serve. We don't know what to believe, so we're going to find out."

Zhimosom squirmed and eyed the pile of branches. "How does this prove anything?"

"If you are a friend of the dragons', they will save you. If you are their enemy, the fire will consume you."

Zhimosom struggled as they hauled him to the platform, drew his arms around the post, and bound his hands together, leaving him free to move about, but secured to the post. The smell of the oil was strong.

"The most holy of creatures has borne you into our midst and handed you over to our trial. You have admitted to working magic against the holy master of the dragons and threatening him with death, should it come to that.

"To prove yourself, you will undergo the ancient trial by dragon fire. The fire symbolizes the cleansing magic of the dragon. If you can bring it forth, you are a friend of the dragons' and speak the truth."

Danirus nodded to the men holding torches. "If you cannot call forth fire, you are guilty and you will be burned at the stake."

"I told you I am trying to save them." Zhimosom struggled against the bonds. He tried to raise magic, but the dragon had depleted him. He knew he would not be able to withstand the fire long enough for it to burn itself out.