Return of the Dragon (The Dragon's Champion Book 6) (13 page)

Lady Arkyn circled around a mark in the ash she had
left before entering the camp. Her lips stretched into a smile when she heard
the tell-tale
schnap!
A goarg screeched in pain and an orc’s shouts turned
into garbled mumbling. She glanced back to see the pair of spikes jutting up
through their bodies. The trap had worked perfectly.

The pursuers redoubled their efforts, closing in on
her. She sprinted between two darkened, burnt trees, careful to run over the
tripwire without springing it. She ran straight as fast as she could. None of
the orcs could have known what was about to happen. She didn’t hear the
tripwire snap, but she heard the groans and grunts as the several dozen spikes
she had set up in two columns behind each burnt tree erupted out from the ash
and tore into their targets. She stopped and turned to see her improvised traps
in action. Only one orc survived the onslaught. All the others were caught in
vital areas and either died upon impact or would soon bleed out.

“Okos borszorkany,” the orc grunted. He pulled his
battle axe free and motioned for her to come to him.

“Eager to join your comrades in
death?”
Lady Arkyn asked. She sneered wickedly and beckoned the orc
forward with her hand. “Catch me if you can,” she taunted.

The last foe glanced at the fallen orcs and then
started to run after her once more.

Lady Arkyn spun around and ran away. Her feet were so
light that she ran over the final trap she had prepared, a pit covered loosely
with small branches and ash, without falling through. Her smile widened. She
hadn’t succeeded in killing the chief, but she had wounded him. She had also
humiliated his army. It was an act sure to sow the seeds of discord and doubt
throughout the camp. Better still, she had managed to escape. Only a few more
seconds and her final remaining pursuer would lie impaled by spikes in the
bottom of a pit, and she would be free to return to Stonebrook.

Unfortunately, she was too busy congratulating herself
to notice that her pursuer had stopped running. Her ears missed the ceasing
footfalls, and they also failed to catch the warning sound of a whirling axe
spinning through the air.

A sharp point tore through her armor and cut through
her skin. Her eyes went wide. Something snapped.
A rib maybe,
or perhaps two.
Her breath left her with such force that she wheezed and
gasped for air. She didn’t realize that she was flying forward until her upper
body tilted toward the ground and her face crashed into the layer of ash
covering the hard ground beneath. Her legs flopped over her back and pinched
her spine at the waist. Her body twisted and contorted unnaturally under her momentum,
spinning and sliding through the ash for several feet before coming to a stop.

With great effort, Lady Arkyn managed to raise her
head so that her right eye could see over the layer of ash. She choked and
sputtered, still unable to suck in air. Her vision blurred, but she could see
the orc running toward her again. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t react. Her
fingers trembled and her lungs burned. Her back would not respond to her mental
commands. She was helpless.

The orc shouted something and pulled what looked like
a long knife, or perhaps a short sword, from his belt. He raised it high above
his head and then disappeared. A horrible howl rose up from where the orc had
just been. Only then did Arkyn realize he had fallen into the pit and met his own
end.

Khhhhhugh!
The air rushed in and she immediately choked and spat out a mouthful of ash
that had entered with the air. Her lungs begged for breath, but the broken ribs
burned and cried out against any movement. Finally, overcome with pain and
shock, she lost consciousness. The darkness swept in over her and she went
still in the ash.

Gilifan sat in his soft chair that had been brought in
by the mercenaries some time ago and placed next to the blood-stained altar
where the many victims had been sacrificed and their energies used to speed the
egg’s hatching. He looked up when he heard the heavy footsteps echoing into the
chamber where he sat. The gray haired, wide-shouldered man strode up to him
confidently. It struck Gilifan how different Bergarax was from his
half-brother, Governor Finorel. There was hardly an ounce of fat on the soldier,
whereas Gilifan doubted he could find an ounce of muscle on the governor. One
of them had the brawn to compel, while the other had the brain to control the
populace.

Gilifan chuckled to himself then, thinking that if he
could somehow merge the two into a single being, they might prove useful.
Still, he had to acknowledge that they were upholding their end of the bargain.
The necromancer had already lost count of the sacrifices they had brought to
him for his rituals.

“Sir,” Bergarax said with a slightly bowed head. “I
thought I should tell you that the snow has come.”

“Yes, that usually happens when autumn gives way to
winter,” Gilifan said with a derisive snort. “Have you come empty handed only
to tell me that snow falls upon Pinkt’Hu?”

Bergarax shook his head. “No. It appears that this
winter has come early, and is much more severe than usual. The docks are now
inaccessible due to ice forming in the shallow waters. Trade has been halted,
and we will be reliant upon the storehouses for food.”

Gilifan smiled. “Well, then I suppose it will also
help keep the citizens from buying their way aboard the trading vessels and
escaping. That should help with the collection efforts.”

Bergarax frowned. His eyes flickered toward the altar
and he sighed. It was a slight movement, but the necromancer noticed it. He
knew the sacrifices made Bergarax uncomfortable. He also knew there was nothing
the muscle-bound soldier could do about it.

“How many more do you require at this time?” Bergarax
asked dutifully.

“How many do you have in the holding cells in the
fortress?” Gilifan inquired.

“About thirty,” Bergarax answered.

“Bring me half,” Gilifan said quickly. “And make sure
the chains are tight. I don’t want any of them trying to escape and being
killed in the attempt by one of your mercenaries. If they die anywhere but the
altar, I cannot capture their energy as it leaves the body.”

“Of course,” Bergarax said.

Gilifan twitched when he heard a slight
crack.
He
held his hand up, motioning for Bergarax to remain still. Then he moved a
single finger to cross over his lips. Bergarax nodded his understanding. The
necromancer pushed up from his chair, wincing when the furniture creaked under
the shifting weight. He softly walked toward the large egg which stood at the
opposite end of the altar, nestled snugly in a concave half bowl of stone so
that the top of the egg pointed slightly toward the flat of the altar. The
river of blood from the numerous sacrifices had run down a trench in the stone
to flow out over the egg shell so that now it appeared to be mostly brown and
burgundy instead of showing the crowning spot over the top of the eggshell.

Gilifan
hovered
his hand out
over the egg. A warm, vibrating force rose up to meet his hand.

“Will today be the day?” Gilifan whispered.

A throaty growl sounded in the distance. The
necromancer couldn’t see his spirit, but he knew that Tu’luh was near as well.
He smiled and turned his attention back toward the egg.

Click-click-crack!

Rapid tapping created a split in one side of the egg.
A bright light flashed from within and a wisp of smoke snaked out through the
crack.

“It is strong,” Gilifan commented. “The souls have fed
it well.” He turned around to Bergarax. “On second thought, go and fetch all
thirty. Then go out and find me a few hundred more.”

“A few hundred?”
Bergarax
repeated. His spine stiffened and his eyes went wide.

Gilifan ignored the man’s reaction and nodded. “The
host will need to be strengthened quickly if it is to be fused with the
master’s spirit.” He waved the soldier away. “Go, leave me to this. The dragon
will be wild when it comes out, and I shall need to subdue it.”

Gilifan didn’t bother watching for Bergarax to leave.
He turned his attention back to the egg. Another crack ruptured through the
shell. This one was nearly as long as Gilifan’s hand. He would have to hurry.

The necromancer began weaving a powerful ward around
himself
. Bands of red and gray encircled him and created a
large sphere that was impervious to fire. Next he cast a net of lightning over
the sphere. The crackling bolts flashed across the sphere every which way in a
raucous, chaotic pattern. This would protect him in case the hatchling thought
to make a meal of him. It wasn’t enough to kill the young dragon by any means,
that would be counterproductive, but it was enough to stun the beast if needed.

Next he turned back and enclosed the chamber with a
wall of lightning. Around that he created the illusion of a stone surface. He
knew it wouldn’t hold up to a mature dragon’s keen mind, but a hatchling didn’t
have the awareness to dispel illusions yet.

Another crack appeared in the shell. This time a
fracture crossed horizontally across the shell. Time was running out.

Gilifan muttered an ancient spell, one shown to him by
Tu’luh himself, back when the egg was entrusted to him. A golden orb appeared
over the egg. A loud sound, like that of a constantly ringing gong filled the
chamber, drowning out the lightning and even Gilifan’s own voice. The
necromancer shouted as wind rushed through the chamber, whipping up dirt and
dust around the magical spheres in the room.

The golden orb then flattened on the bottom and
stretched until it resembled a great bell of brass.

A piece of shell the size of Gilifan’s face fell from
the egg and split upon the stone floor. Inside the shell a yellow eye flashed
across the opening, followed by a mass of silvery scales. A great light erupted
from within the shell and then out came the hatchling. It roared mightily as
the shell shattered around it. The fragile, leathery wings expanded out from
the sides and a column of blue flame spewed upward from the hatchling’s throat.

The magical bell grew large enough to encapsulate the
hatchling and then fell down to trap the beast.

Koorrrrrrrrrrrringgggg!

The hatchling didn’t even flinch. Instead, it
immediately lunged at the inside of the magical net. Gilifan smiled as he
watched the golden shape vibrate against the hatchling’s attack. Keeping his
personal ward up, he waved his hand and turned the golden prison into a
translucent bell so he could inspect the hatchling. It spun and wheeled around,
attacking the inside from every angle. Claws, teeth, and fire assaulted the
magical prison, but it was futile.

“Imagine the power the men of Kendualdern must have
had once they created this spell,” Gilifan whispered to himself. The constant
ringing died down just as soon as the dragon became still. It’s yellow, angry
eyes turned to the necromancer. Gilifan cocked his head to the side and
grinned. “If the master didn’t need you, I might have made you my own.”

The man dropped his ward, but kept the magical wall in
place behind him. He wasn’t worried that the hatchling would escape, but he had
no patience for intruders at this time. He wanted this moment to himself. The
power he felt conquering a dragon was more ecstatic than any other he had
known. Even raising the dead had not brought thrills like this. Inside of a
translucent bell sat a live dragon. The spell, Gilifan knew, was used to not
only to capture dragons, but to imprison their minds before they could develop.
It would enslave them.

“The men of Kendualdern had no idea what greatness was
theirs,” Gilifan whispered. “If they had, they might have saved their world.”
The necromancer bent down and placed a hand on his side of the bell. The
hatchling snarled and shot a puff of flame at him. Instinctively, Gilifan
jumped. He laughed at himself afterward. He knew the spell would hold, but that
hadn’t lessened the sudden fright.

“So,” Gilifan said as he locked eyes with the dragon.
“Shall we begin?” He rose up and stretched both hands out to the top of the
bell. As he had been instructed by Tu’luh, he began the chant. He wasn’t sure
the words were pronounced exactly as Tu’luh had shown him, but they were close
enough. He began to feel the bell vibrating underneath his hands. The dragon
shivered and curled into a ball as tendrils of golden light flashed down time
and time again. The hatchling cried out and attempted to cover itself, but
there was no escape. The tendrils continued to fire down rapidly, pinning the
beast to the stone floor and beating its will into submission.

Gilifan continued the chant for perhaps half an hour
before the last tendril flashed and then exploded into a cloud of what looked
like gold dust. That, Tu’luh had told him, would be the sign that the spell was
complete and the dragon had been tamed. Gilifan stepped back. His body was
noticeably weaker. His hands trembled and his feet were numb. His head ached in
the front and he struggled for breath. Goosebumps rippled over his entire body.
Placing one hand upon the bell, he lowered himself down to his knees.

The dragon came to the edge of the translucent bell
and sat upon its haunches expectantly. Gilifan smiled at the beast.

“Lie down,” Gilifan commanded.

The dragon dropped to its belly.

“Raise your tail,” Gilifan said.

The dragon lifted its silvery tail and held it as high
as it could.

“Stand and roar,” Gilifan said.

The hatchling sprang up and roared as mightily as it
could.

“So that is what it feels like to control a dragon,”
Gilifan chuckled to himself. “Lie down, now we rest,” Gilifan said. The dragon
dropped back down and closed its eyes obediently. A pair of fierce eyes stared
at Gilifan from the other side of the bell. The necromancer’s heart nearly
stopped until he realized he was seeing Tu’luh in spirit form.

A low throaty growl filled the chamber, reminding
Gilifan that the hatchling belonged to the master.

*****

“Another game of cards?”
Maernok grumbled when he saw Salarion take out the well-worn deck of playing
cards.

“We have enough food for today, and Tu’luh’s spirit is
still near. We can’t make ourselves known until his spirit has been fused with
the new body.”

Maernok moved to the window and looked down. “The
soldiers are gathering more than usual today,” he commented. “Are you sure they
won’t come in here?”

“They can’t see this building,” Salarion replied. “To
them it looks like a burnt shell of stone without a roof and filled with rubble
on the lower level. My spell will keep them out.”

“I hate magic,” Maernok groused.

Salarion shuffled the cards. “If you want to run out
and meet Gilifan’s army head on, be my guest.”

“This doesn’t feel right,” Maernok said.
“Hiding in here while others flee and are rounded up.”

“I told you before, only after the spell is used will
Gilifan be weak enough to vanquish.”

“You sure we can’t sneak in and kill him before?”
Maernok pressed. “If your spell works on the guards down below, then we can get
close enough to kill the meddler. Let’s end this madness!”

Salarion shook her head. Her raven hair fell over her
brow and covered one of her purple eyes. “I told you, Tu’luh can see through
any illusion I could create. He would alert them and then we would find
ourselves fighting an army of hundreds with no escape.”

“Sounds more honorable than this,” Maernok spat.

“The mission is to kill Gilifan. Doing so will save
thousands more than will be lost here in Pinkt’Hu.
Though I
must say I admire your consistent concern for the humans.”

Maernok’s eyes flashed with anger and he folded his
muscular arms over his thick chest. “I have no love for the creatures,” he
snarled. “I am not accustomed to hiding in the shadows when there is glory to
be won.”

“You are not so different from the humans,” Salarion
said. “You both have this delusion that glory will grant you immortality. Tell
me, what good does it do you for strangers to sing songs of your deeds around a
campfire you will never see? Does it ease the suffering you will endure in
Hammenfein?”

“Watch your tongue, drow. I shall be a captain in
Hammenfein. I will lead legions.”

“Again,” Salarion began as she reshuffled the deck.
“What good will
that do
you? You will still be cast
out and imprisoned in a fiery realm bereft of beauty and pleasure. What
difference if you are a captain of slaves when neither
are
free?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Maernok replied.