Offspring (The Sword of the Dragon) (3 page)

His gaze on Auron, Letrias commanded the staff-wielding wizards that had carried the litter. “Seal the doors as you leave.”

The dark-robed men turned to the door, and one of them stooped to grab the dead little man, Mazmodel.

“Did I ask you to do that?” Letrias raised his eyebrows and eyed the man out of the corner of his vision.

The wizard swallowed hard, withdrew his fingers from Mazmodel and bowed, eyes wide as apples. “Please, Master, forgive my presumption.”

Letrias pointed his staff at the man and lowered his brow. “Forgive?” Electric current snaked from the staff’s base toward its head. “Forgiveness begets weakness.” He thrust the staff at the man’s head. “And God knows I never believed in helping or preserving the weak.” Energy bolted from the staff. Before Auron could blink, another body lay beside Mazmodel, the other wizards exited the room, and the doors thudded shut.

Letrias knew he had placed Auron in a fragile position. He had treated him as little more than a servant. They had once been friends, but today he must become one of many. He must see that he was not special, that he was a tool through which Letrias’s power could be exercised. Letrias chuckled as Auron sat in front of him. The comradery of the Six no longer applied. People must live and die at his pleasure.

Letrias read fear in Auron’s eyes. He would need to drive that out of him—especially the fear of God—if he was to be a capable vessel.

Auron would need an instructor who feared neither man nor beast, neither angels nor God himself. Unfortunately the battles to the east of the valley kept his prize pupil, the Death Knight, occupied. Only one other wizard currently residing in the Valley of Death possessed a similar fearless devotion to sorcery and to Letrias himself.

Wiping his dirty face with a shredded sleeve, Auron glanced at the ceiling.

Stooping next to him, Letrias nodded. “Yes, Auron, I do believe it is possible to escape the wrath of God. I have for a thousand years. The curse which his angel pronounced upon me has turned into my greatest ally. And one day soon I will be stronger than any man or creature that roams Subterran; I will be beyond even Albino himself. The Grim Reaper will envy me and Valorian will arise. That black dragon will call me his brother, while the world falls under the sorcery I now teach.”

He pulled Auron to his feet. “Stay in my shadow and all will be well.”

Auron felt the bars of his heaven-bestowed prison rise around him. “I will stay in your shadow, as ageless as you, but I will serve in exchange for protection.” He looked up at Letrias, noting for the first time that the wizard wore a turban-like headdress.

“Very well then, you
will
serve me. But I have no need of another pupil; you will learn from another.” Letrias marched to the exit doors and touched them with the head of his staff. They immediately opened.

Down a long, high corridor they walked until they stopped at an arch opening into a large chamber. Auron followed Letrias inside past a fountain spouting lava. The heat drove him against the wall, but Letrias dipped his finger into the molten rock, pulled it out unharmed, and laughed. “Yes, not even an angel will dare tread me beneath his feet now.”

The chamber opened into a cavern, and the floor slanted steeply for a few hundred feet. Lava rivulets spilled down the stone walls. The heat was nearly unbearable. But Letrias pointed his staff into the cavern to an arena far below. Armed men battled one another inside it. Sparks and bolts of energy abounded, passing from staffs the men wielded. Auron coughed as he inhaled sulfur, but he growled, fighting it. He stepped forward, planting his feet next to Letrias, and crossed his arms.

Two wizards rushed a hulking one, but the latter swung a metal rod against their chests, dropping them.

“Ah, see the power that I now wield!” Letrias spread his arms as if embracing the combatants. “I have built an army, an army that communes with the spirits and receives power from them. This is no mere force of men, these are wizards. Their power is less than my own, but combined they are formidable.”

The thought of all these men communing with evil spirits and learning magic from Letrias chilled Auron. Not that he, with his God-bestowed curse, was better than they. In fact, this is why he’d come. He would learn and learn well. He would sell what remained of his soul if it brought him power.

Suddenly the arena calmed. The wizards formed a circle and a giant of a man emerged from the shadows to stand at their center. When he raised his sword in one hand and a staff in the other, the wizards attacked. But he batted them back like so many urchins, his body glinting as if covered with protruding blades.

“Meet Razes, a master among my followers. Your new master. Do not cross him, Auron, for he would end your life. Learn from him what you came to learn from me.” Letrias slipped his hands to the base of his staff, and slammed its head into the ground.

Auron felt, more than saw, the burst of lightning that seemed to erupt from the point of impact. It threw him against the chamber wall. When he looked up, Letrias had engaged in a duel with another wizard who’d emerged from behind. It lasted moments. Letrias stabbed the wizard through the heart and then stood over the body. “A waste.” He sighed and walked out of the cavern.

Auron was left alone. He descended toward the arena, wary of introducing himself to the giant … but knowing he must.

G
raceful, gentle, the great white dragon settled into the woodland hollow. He angled his bony face down at the hollow’s border, at the shelf of stone which concealed the faithful guardian. Without being bidden, as if he’d sensed the presence of his master, Specter came out of the narrow opening to the cave. He’d been here ever since Dantress had chosen to become a wife.

“Master.” He bowed to the majestic creature, leaving his cavernous gray hood over his head. Early morning darkness flooded the depressed clearing. Not a single owl made a sound and no bats hunted insects. It was as if they were afraid of disrespecting the mighty beast standing in the hollow, so held their voices and listened instead.

The dragon’s arm muscle rippled as he crouched closer to the man. “Give me your hand, Specter.”

“I would prefer not, my Lord.”

“No?” The dragon growled. “Of what use will you be without the full function of both of your hands?”

“It is not a crippling injury.” Specter extended his scarred hand, clenching and then opening his fist. “And it is a scar I will be honored to keep, for it is the price of a life saved, a life that one day might save humanity from the evil of the warriors who turned. Warriors that I trained.”

Smoke wafted from Albino’s nostrils. It settled around Specter like a fog. And the dragon gazed intently into the man’s hood as if he could see his blue eyes. “Do not think that I have forgotten that day, my friend,” he rumbled. “Time has not wiped away the blood spilled by Letrias’s treachery, nor has justice been thwarted.”

“One, my master”—Specter couldn’t suppress a growl—“only
one
of those traitors met with the fate he deserved.” He clenched his fist. “And he did not even have the honor to seek that death in combat. Instead … instead he committed suicide.”

“And for that you condemn him?” the dragon asked thoughtfully.

Specter was silent for a while. The sky lightened in the east. The stars winked out one by one. The brightest ones remained visible a tad longer, twinkling even as the velvet sky turned blue around them. At last he whispered, “I loved them like brothers, trained them like sons. Kesla, why him? He had a family. I would never have questioned his loyalty. If one of my students were above reproach … it should have been him.”

The dragon flexed his wings and then folded them to his sides. His long tail twitched, and the scales on his neck rippled forebodingly. “Listen to me my friend.” The dragon hesitated. The man’s cloaked head had tilted toward the ground. “Xavion?”

Specter looked up at his master.

“Xavion, I think it is time you know the truth … the
whole
truth of who lived and who died and why.”

Kesla fitted his scabbard to his side and hugged his wife. His three boys and two little girls hovered behind their mother. His eldest son was almost twelve, the youngest no more than five. The girls were seven and eight. The children waited until he released his wife, then they clamored for their turns, hugging him until he laughed. They laughed with him, filling the log cabin with the joyful noise, and he smiled as he unfastened the last of his little girls’ arms from around his neck. He stood her on the floor, tousled his boys’ hair, and pecked his wife on the cheek.

“Go now!” She laughed with him. “I love you, too. Now be off with you. You have a goodly long distance to travel … it was your choice after all to build so far from the dragon’s lands, and you must join Xavion.

“Be safe. You’ll be in our prayers … as always.” She pecked him on the cheek and shoved a glowing iron lantern into his hand. The light warmed her face as if she were an angel. In a way, she was; she was
his
angel.

Leaving the house with its smoking chimney and long, rough-hewn walls behind him, he set off down the dark, narrow path. The white cape flowed behind him. He jerked his head toward the sky, opening his nostrils to the fresh, cool air. The innumerable stars shone above him. On both sides of the trail the trees rose protectively, a border of soft, thick grass carpeting the edge. It was the night of new moon. Darkest night of the month.

The trail wended through the forest, a lonesome path, but his by choice. He could have had a mansion in Emperia, under the direct protection of the great white dragon. But he’d fallen in love with this forest on one of his travels, and here he had determined to build his family’s future. The trees were straight, tall, and sturdy, with little forest undergrowth. Deer abounded, though he did not care much to hunt them, choosing instead to lie in his back yard and watch the woodland creatures graze without fear. Thankfully, his wife sympathized with his sentiments.

But on this night he sighed, realizing that it might be a long time before he could return home. The war against the wizards seemed to continue without end. Though the addition of the valiant prince of Prunesia to the dragon warriors’ ranks had given him a small measure of hope.

And so he strode swiftly down the trail, unconcerned for the dark clouds that rolled without warning from the south to cover the stars. An exposed tree root caught his foot, and he fell forward. The night turned darker than it should have been, and the air around him bit with a sharp cold uncharacteristic for this time of year.

Turning to look at the sky, Kesla’s heart beat with twice its vigor. His blood ran cold and sweat built on his palm as he reached down to check for his crystalline sword. Fear stabbed him with the force of a thousand blades as he heard a screech, as of an eagle on the hunt, but with far more volume. The screech echoed in the forest, rebounding from tree to tree, surrounding him with its dark cruelty.

Kesla spun on his heel and raced toward his house, sliding his pure blade from its sheath and holding it wide. The lantern in his hand became a burden, and he dropped it, shattering its chimney.

The clouds gathered above his house as he ran. They swirled, tornado-like, descending from the sky as if gravity forced them to fall. Something shaped like an oversized falcon dove from the midst of the swirling dark mass, dropping with incredible speed as if to catch its prey.