“The gods have awakened, and they have emerged from their slumber hungry for blood and war. If their appetite is quenched, the world will burn, and they will rebuild it anew.”
Whill was trying to take it all in. For a moment he thought that he had a good handle on things, but it was all proving too much. He wondered again where he fit in all of this.
Kellallea waved her hand, and the image of Mallekell beside the tree rippled and faded.
Whill found himself on the sofa beside the fire. He reeled back from the contact with Kellallea, panting.
“Where do I come in to all of this? Why have you kept my powers from me?”
Kellallea shook her head, regarding him with a frown. “You still do not understand. You are the most dangerous mortal in all of Agora, in all the world. You hold the power of the ancient humans. If you are unleashed upon the world now, at a time like this, you will become the gods’ tool of destruction.”
“But if I swear fealty to you, I become
your
tool. Is that it?”
“You put it harshly, but yes. I would ensure that you do not use your power to meet their ends.”
“If I do this, if I swore fealty to you, what then would you have me do?”
Kellallea’s eyes flashed, and a feral quality shadowed her face. “I would have you challenge the gods.”
Whill stared at her, unbelieving of what he heard. “Are you mad?
Challenge
the gods?”
“And what would happen if they answered?” Kellallea asked patiently.
The answer came to him instantly and he gasped. “If they answer the summons…and try to destroy me…I would become as powerful as them.”
Kellallea nodded. “It was a clever gift that your god bestowed upon the humans. Not only did he protect them from the other races, but from the other gods as well. The gods would never dare attack you, or else they would create a new god.”
Whill understood. Then another thing occurred to him. “You cannot act against me either. Can you?”
“You are clever,” said Kellallea. “I have suppressed your power so far. And I will continue to do so if I must.”
“You would do so even though you think that the gods would see the world burn? Why have you gained such a high seat in all of this? Why do you deserve the right to choose?”
“Because I do not seek power for the sake of power. I have done what I have to protect the four races from themselves, and from magic. It was indeed a curse. I wish to free the world from this curse, to see it grow on its own, naturally. The gods are arrogant. They see the world as their playground. Always fighting with one another through their creations. I have learned many things since my ascension. I have seen the countless worlds before this one. Never in any of them were the people free of the gods’ influence, never have they lived in peace.”
“Magic was a gift given by the gods,” said Whill. “You call it a curse. But does it not take an evil mind to make a weapon out of a hammer? Would you see every good man stripped of his hammer because a few would use them as clubs? You have taken my power, yet you still possess yours. Who has deemed you worthy of such a gift? I held the power of a god in my hands and I let it go. But still you do not trust me to wield it responsibly. You would rather see me kneel before you. You would see me as your tool. And you would use me as a weapon. You, Lady Kellallea, are no better than any of us.”
“I will not allow you to become the charge that ignites this world. I will kill you first.”
“You cannot kill me,” said Whill. “Lest you open the floodgates for the gods to intervene.”
Her expression soured, and Whill nodded slowly, knowingly. “I have been listening. I know that you cannot intervene. For every time that you do, you allow the other gods as much influence over their subjects.”
“You think that you are clever, but you are not. You are arrogant like all the other humans before you,” said Kellallea.
“Your influence over me will wane. You cannot hold back the tides whilst keeping me caged. Soon your strength will fail.”
Kellallea burst into flame and doubled in size. She loomed over Whill. From her side she unsheathed a glowing blade and brought it back.
Whill stared defiantly into her eyes, silently daring her to strike.
Her body tensed. He thought the blow would come at any moment.
But then she relaxed. She sheathed her fiery blade.
“You do not know what you are meddling with, mortal! You see yourself as a hero, but you are the harbinger of death.”
“You have lost this battle, Lady Kellallea. Speak of it no more. You ask for my fealty, and when I refuse, you try to gain it through lies. You say that magic is a curse, yet you wish to seize it all. If it is true what you say, that the gods wish to destroy this world, then I will work with you to defeat them. But I will not become your tool. I will never swear fealty to you.”
“Then this is farewell, for now, Whillhelm Warcrown. I shall find another who might accept my gifts. As the other gods have done, I must now arm my people with the power that they need to defend themselves.”
“You do what you have to do, and so will I,” said Whill.
Kellallea offered him one last disappointed glance. Then she was gone.
Whill sat on the sofa, staring at the fire and thinking of all he had learned. He didn’t know the lies from the truth, but he felt as though Kellallea had been forthright with him. It made sense. He was first healed by the queen of elves when he was an infant. In healing Whill, Araveal had given him the ability to heal. Then, much later when he met Zerafin and Avriel, he began to exhibit other powers.
A mimic,
Whill mused.
If it was true, then he would not be able to heal himself again until he came in contact with someone with healing powers—assuming that Kellallea stopped interfering with him.
Roakore. If I meet with him again, I should absorb his power to move stone at least.
Whill was becoming excited by the prospect. Finally he was beginning to understand his power. It was ironic to him that the god of man had blessed him with such an ability, whilst Whill did not worship him.
“Guard!”
The door opened, and one stood at attention inside the room. “Yes, sire!”
“Summon my scribe at once.”
“Yes, sire.”
Whill had a letter drawn up for Roakore, asking him to meet at his earliest convenience. With the power of the dwarves, Whill would be able to take back the north easily.
Reshikk sat perched on the rim of the smoldering volcano. With the rising of the sun he gave a fierce roar that rumbled throughout the island like rolling thunder.
“Father of Dragons! I have gathered a terror of dragons as Agora has never known. Hundreds of eggs have been laid in the birthing chambers. We stand before you now, your servants, ready to exact your will upon the world.”
He waited, horned head bowed low.
You have done well, Reshikk the Green. Soon will be the time.
“What do you command, Father of Dragons?”
Choose one dragon of each color to be your commanders. Bring them here, to me, and I shall bless them with the powers of old.
“As you wish, my lord.”
Reshikk leapt from his stone perch and flew a circle around the volcano. He let out a cry that sent birds erupting from the jungle below. The call to gather echoed long and far. Soon dragons began to emerge from the underground chambers in droves. Reshikk landed on the stone perch jutting out of the side of the volcano and watched them gathering. Soon every dragon on Drakkar Island was bowing before him. The sun shone bright in the morning sky, causing the dragons’ scales to shimmer like jewels.
“The Father of Dragons has commanded that I choose one dragon of every color, so that he might bless them with the powers of old.”
The dragons began to stir, and a chorus of growls, gnashing teeth, and scraping claws sounded below. Fights broke out among the alphas, who pushed and clawed their way to the front of the group.
“Enough of this!” Reshikk roared, shaking the ground below them. He spread his massive wings, each nearly a hundred feet long.
The physical display silenced the gathering, and all bowed before their king once more.
“All who think themselves worthy to become one of the blessed, step forth now.”
The black dragon Ez’Rah was the first to step forward, which pleased Reshikk. The black stood proudly before his king and was soon joined by nearly three dozen others, some of whom were females.
Reshikk swooped down from his perch and landed before the brave dragons. He walked the line slowly, staring down at each of them. Choosing one from each color was not an easy task. He had watched them all for weeks. They fought often, as all dragons did, both for play and position. The alphas had been determined through battle, but there were many females who had proven fierce as well. One of them, a long, slim red with a crown of long curved horns, had proven too fierce for any male save Reshikk to dominate and breed with. She had given him three strong dragon eggs already.
He stood before her and stared into her fiery eyes. She was unrelenting in her gaze, a feat that few dragons could achieve.
Reshikk offered her a toothy grin. “The Father of Dragons has chosen you, Fiorra the Red.”
She straightened her neck proudly and strode forth past the two red males to take her place beside her king. One of them, an old dragon with a terrible scar across his snout and more than one broken horn, gave a roar and shot fire into the sky.
Fiorra shifted and whipped her pointed tail suddenly. The infuriated alpha saw the blow coming, but he was too slow. With a twitch of the hips Fiorra cracked her tale like a whip, impaling the red through the eye. The alpha howled and grabbed at his face, reeling back.
Reshikk gave a roar and pounced on the red, grabbing the injured dragon by the throat and spraying his chest with green venom. The acid clung to the scales and burned through to the flesh and bone beyond. The red dragon cried out in pain and horror, desperately bathing Reshikk in flame. Soon, however, the red fell to the ground dead, its chest eaten away completely by the sizzling acid.
“My word is the will of the Father of Dragons! Act against that will, and you shall lie smoldering at my feet!”
He chose Ez’Rah next, and a blue dragon whom he had been watching closely for some time. Another female joined the blessed, and soon the nine dragons had been chosen. They followed their king to the top of the volcano and landed, awaiting their god.
“Father of Dragons! I have returned with those I have deemed worthy of your blessing. See into their hearts and minds. See that they are prepared to die for your glory.”
No voice shook the heavens, no light split the clouds. But the dragons suddenly reeled, wings spread wide, and were lifted into the air by an unseen force. Their scales glowed brightly as they reveled in the glory of their god. Tremors coursed through their bodies and cries of pain rang out. Muscles bulged, bones cracked. Scales grew larger, thicker, and stronger. Short horns grew to the size of lances, and teeth like daggers became like swords. Horns grew long at every joint and down the backs of the blessed, and finally they were released.
One and all fell to the stone below, panting.
Reshikk watched them with growing excitement, waiting to see them display the power of the ancients.
Fiorra was the first to shake away her daze. She looked to Reshikk with eyes filled with wonderment and opened her mouth wide. Flame erupted from her maw and bathed the side of the volcano. There was a high-pitched grating sound and a bright spark and brilliant flash. Her flames winked out altogether, and a beam of white-hot flame shot out of her mouth. The concentrated dragon’s breath hit a large boulder and shorn it in two.
Ez’Rah opened his maw and gave a roar, spewing a cloud of mist as black as night. The other dragons were quick to get out of the way as the cloud of death descended on what sparse vegetation there was, causing it to wither and die on contact.
Longclaw the Silver leapt from the rim of the volcano and turned his head. From his maw a snaking arc of lightning erupted, hitting the jungle below and lighting a copse of palm trees on fire.
Next, Krys the White let loose with a howling gale of snow and ice that frosted the side of the volcano halfway to the base.
Xalien the Blue spewed forth a jet of steam into the ground at his feet. It bored a hole ten feet deep and three feet wide. The others shot pluming flames into the air in celebration.
“But what has the Father of Dragons gifted the violet clan?” asked Eluveitie.
The roar that escaped his sharp-toothed mouth caused even Reshikk to turn away in agony as a sonic wave swept over the mountainside. The volcano began to quiver, and as the last terrible echo of Eluveitie’s cry disappeared out to sea, the rumble of an avalanche replaced it.
Reshikk watched proudly with the others as the landslide played itself out, leaving much destruction down the northern face.
“Witness the glory of the yellow dragons,” said Kuumra.
He arched his neck, and all could see a lump building in his throat. The scales of his neck began to glow, and suddenly he shot a glowing fireball out of his maw. It sailed through the air and landed in the dense jungle below, exploding on impact.
As the rumble died, an orange stepped forth. The dragons watched curiously as Aerra bent and took up a large stone in her mouth. Her short, wide neck began to glow, and she bathed the rim of the volcano with molten lava.
The dragons roared and growled, cheering on their fellow blessed.
When silence permeated the air once more, the blessed looked upon the last dragon. Zalenlia the Gold stepped forward proudly and looked out over the side of the volcano. Ez’Rah the Black had killed what vegetation there was, leaving only charred rock and long, cooled onyx lava streams.
The gold dragon pulled back her head and closed her eyes. To the utter astonishment of the other dragons, a song erupted from Zalenlia. It swept over the dragons, filling them with strength and energy. As it echoed over the side of the mountain, saplings began to bud until they covered the northern face. They continued to grow as she sang. When her song ended, a lush canopy of green was left shimmering in the sunlight.
“You have received the blessing of the Father of Dragons,” said Reshikk. “Now you will exact his will upon the world.”