Chapter Nineteen
Storm-Father
Luna felt strange.
It had become odd for her to be out of her armour for any length of time since joining the gang and then the Dark Moon Order. She had grown accustomed to the reassuring weight of mail or plate.
Without armour, she felt naked.
It wasn't as if she had always been armoured. Back in the enclave, she'd never had need of a steel hide. Her armour had been built around her heart and mind, to deflect the words they threw at her, the claims that she was human, not elven, that she had no place amongst them, that she was unworthy of them.
There were chinks in every type of armour though. Sometimes she wondered how right they had been.
But she also felt free.
She'd never realised how confining it had been to serve as a Moon Rider, beholden to the every word of Selemene. Life in the Dark Moon Order had been more rigid than her life amongst the elves, and much stricter than the bandit gang, where she had pretty much done as she pleased.
She could do whatever she wanted again.
She had given some thought to the ideas, the temptations, of finding a roadside inn and practically drowning herself in alcohol, maybe even finding herself companionship for the night. Nobody could stop her now. If she needed coin, there were plenty of mercenary outfits in need of skilled fighters. She could even…
No. She wasn't going to do that again. She had been several things before, and as tempting as it was to turn to banditry she did not want to repeat that mistake.
Luna knew that she was a killer. Nothing could change that. Fighting and killing were a part of her, skills she found hard, if not impossible, to deny. The Dark Moon Order had instilled a measure of discipline in her, and she had hoped that she might be fighting for a good cause. But nothing had changed really. She had gone from a greedy raider to a religious raider.
She found herself wondering how Marci had managed.
Although Luna had never really liked the Princess' handmaiden, she had felt a grudging respect for her. In spite of herself, she had occasionally stopped to watch her performing her routines. She had wondered how somebody fought armed and armoured opponents unarmed, but she had also admired Marci's discipline and focus.
She'd come to realise that Marci had a cause besides serving the Dark Moon Order. But more than that, she and Luna had opposing natures, different reasons to fight and kill.
Luna enjoyed the rush of battle, the thrill of combat. She killed because she was good at it, because deep down she enjoyed it.
For Marci, it was all about duty. She was a protector. She fought to defend Mirana, and put herself in harm's way to keep the Princess alive.
As for Mirana, she had trained to kill for a similar reason: to keep Marci alive.
Luna had not wanted to admit it, but she had become just like them. She had become weak.
She had become attached to her soldiers, despite her better judgement. Since setting off, she had thought about the deaths every night.
Lhara lingered in her thoughts a great deal. She had not deserved to die as she had.
She'd been young for a Marshal, but had been one of the best griffon riders in the Order, and thus Luna had seen fit to recommend her for promotion. She could fight, she had the respect of her troops, she followed orders.
At the same time, Luna realised that she'd had other motives. Selemene might not have been interested in Luna, nor had Mirana, but Lhara had caught her eye on a few occasions and she had considered approaching her once or twice, even considering letting her guard down for a bit around her.
But she had instead kept her distance and acted like the Commander she was. Lhara had been one of her soldiers. Soldiers died in battle. She had not wanted to become too attached.
At least Lhara had not lived to see Selemene betray them. That was a small comfort.
Nova grunted softly. Luna reproached herself. Free she may be, but safe she was not. There were plenty of dangers out here in the wilderness. She had to remain alert.
She had not brought her distinctive double-blade or armour with her. Apart from Nova, a dagger and her clothes, she had nothing which connected her to the Dark Moon Order. With Selemene's power practically gone, the double-blade would have been useless anyway. Without magic to guide and help control it, it was an impractical weapon, as much a danger to its wielder as anybody in its way.
She could make do with a dagger for now. Luna was good at killing. She had enjoyed it.
She was ashamed, and she was tired of being manipulated. She had told herself that if she was good at fighting, then she ought to fight for a good cause. Selemene had seemingly offered that cause.
Killing people who could barely fight back, or not fight back at all, was not what she wanted, not really, not for any reason. It was why she was becoming envious of Marci now. Her cause, seemingly simple, was not a bad one. Luna actually admired it now.
She would find Mirana, the long lost, apparently dead Princess of the Sun, and protect her. She wanted a new cause, it seemed a decent place to start.
Going to the Helio Imperium would be the death of her though. It wasn't an option. Luna wanted some sliver of redemption, not to end up buried in a shallow grave. Redemption was a tricky proposition if she died. She had long since stopped being the Scourge, but the Scourge would not have been forgotten in the Imperium, not after what the Scourge had done.
Luna brought Nova to a halt and peered around. She knew this area fairly well, and she was at home in the wilderness. The most recent rumours had placed Mirana somewhere in the vicinity of Kestren, and Selemene believed that she was likely on her way across the border. She might even have crossed it.
With Nova's help, it would not take long for Luna to find the border. Finding Mirana was not going to be easy though.
Since joining the Dark Moon Order, Mirana had undergone some basic survival training. Marci had already known a few things, and had spent a fair bit of time improving her skills. They would be wary of people tracking them.
But Luna was adept at finding people who did not want to be found. After fleeing the Imperium and sailing across the sea, she had taken up mercenary work, including debt collection and bounty hunting. She could find them, she was sure of it.
She could also see signs of people in the area, people who were trying not to be noticed, but were sloppy about it.
Luna sighed and brought Nova to a halt. She whispered a command to her, then swung her legs off the saddle and dropped to the ground, pulling her dagger from her belt. 'Are you going to come out and get it over with? Or am I going to have to hunt you down?'
She heard whispering. Nova growled and extended her claws.
'If I have to find you, I'll let Nova eat you.'
A thickset man in frayed, dirty clothing emerged from behind a tree. He was carrying a long, two-handed one-sided blade, and was wearing mismatched splint on his arms and legs. A second man, armed with an old boar spear came from the other side, wearing a battered brigandine vest. Last came an oglodi carrying a flail, who looked like he might have been hit with a flail too. He was arrayed in mail.
'Smarter one than usual.' The man with the blade seemed to be the leader. 'Sharp as a knife you are, albino.'
Luna adjusted her grip on the dagger. 'Call me that again if you want to lose an eye.'
'You're confident for somebody who's about to die.' The man with the spear pointed his weapon at her. 'You obviously have no money. That big cat of yours will feed us for a week or so though.'
The oglodi grunted. 'Want to trade?'
Luna sneered at them. 'Fuck off.'
'That a challenge?' the leader demanded.
'An order. Get lost or I'll kill you.' Luna cocked her head. 'First though, you'll drop your weapons and armour. I could use something bigger than a dagger where I'm going.'
The man with the spear chuckled. 'That cat of yours is big, but I bet I can spit him before he gets me.'
'Nova's female, you dunce.'
'Whatever,' the oglodi grunted. 'Let's kill 'em now.'
'How about a different bargain, my white haired wench?' the man with the blade spoke with a faint accent. Candoness perhaps? He didn't sound Kestreni. 'You drop that dagger, leave your money and clothes and the cat, and we might let you leave alive.'
Luna scoffed. 'Kochi.' A mild insult for her, but they probably didn't know that. She wanted them to get angry. They would make mistakes. She also wanted them to underestimate her.
She had to take them down quickly though. She could not risk Nova being injured. Mirana had a long head start. Sagan was fast, but Nova was faster.
'What was that?'
'Elvish, you whoreson.' Luna answered. 'Yes, that's right. I have elvish blood. Now what are you going to do?'
That did the trick.
The man with the boar spear grimaced. 'Elven scum killed my brother! I'll kill you!' He ran at her, spear extended.
'Wait!' the swordsman cried, but it was too late.
Luna did not risk charging, or even holding her ground. She swung her arm, flicking the dagger at her attacker. It hit him point-first, right in the neck. He fell to the ground, gurgling and feebly trying to pull out the dagger. Luna almost laughed. Pulling it out would only speed his demise.
The swordsman and the oglodi were less impulsive, they moved together. But now it was two-on-two and both opponents lacked the reach of the spear, the spear which Luna took the opportunity to seize.
When the oglodi swung his flail, Luna whipped the spear around, smacking him in the head with the shaft. As he reeled, she rammed his friend in the stomach with the end, reversed the weapon expertly, then ran the oglodi through it, pushing the spearhead through his mouth and out of the back of his head. Luna released the spear and let him fall, dead before he hit the ground.
The swordsman fared no better. Nova leapt on him, slamming him into the ground before closing her jaws around his torso. Luna heard him scream as his flesh tore and his bones snapped. His screams ended half a second later as Nova crushed his ribcage, ripping into his vitals with her long fangs.
'Nova, wait.'
Nova dropped the corpse and sat back on her haunches obediently. Luna had no qualms about letting Nova eat the bandits. She needed to eat, and it's wasn't cannibalism for her. Luna wanted to scavenge what she could from the corpses first.
The oglodi's mail was much too large for her, and mail was always heavy. She took it anyway, but did not put it on. It might come in useful later. Better off with her than left for other bandits to steal. The spearman's brigandine was a better fit, and more efficient and lighter than the mail. She fastened the buckles and moved her arms. It was a little loose, but better than nothing. She made a mental note to see if she could fashion some padding for it later. The splint was no problem.
Nova continued to watch her as she tried the weapons. She took them all, not willing to leave them for brigands. She could always barter with the ones she didn't want to keep.
She picked up the blade last, noticing the distinctive hilt: a wooden grip reinforced with steel. 'Kriegsmesser,' she murmured, mostly to herself. 'Not bad. This'll do.' She might have been right about its former owner's accent. Messers had originated in Candoness, where strict laws prevented all except for soldiers on duty and knights from carrying swords. For some reason, no matter their size, messers were classed as knives.
She piled up the weapons and armour at the side of the road, then nodded to Nova. Nova grunted, picked up the swordsman's corpse in her jaws and trotted off to enjoy her meal.
Luna carefully pulled off her boot and examined her injured foot. It wasn't slowing her down, but it still hurt to put pressure on it. Fymryn had left a permanent reminder of the Battle of the Nightsilver Woods on her. Paradoxically, she had also saved her life.
The bandages were bloody. Luna carefully unwound them and peered at her foot, which looked weird with two toes and a chunk of flesh missing.
Luna could have cared less about the appearance though. She was just checking for signs of infection. So far, so good.
She took some fresh dressings from her bag and bound the wound again, not even wincing as she tightened the bandages and pulled her boot back on.
Nova was still eating noisily, snorting as she snapped bones and tore flesh. She had no table manners. Luna was used to it, and she had seen and heard much worse.
She took a swig from a flask as she waited. She half-smiled as she secured the cap. She had been the only one in the commune who had actually liked this stuff. It was too strong for all of the delicate priestesses, and even her soldiers had not enjoyed it.
Mirana had tried it once, just trying to be friendly, trying to find some common ground with Luna. She'd spat it back out in a hurry. A waste of good whiskey, but it wasn't for everybody. Luna preferred it that way. More for her.
As Nova moved on to the second corpse, Luna wondered how she was going to explain everything to Mirana. It would take some time, and no doubt the Princess of the Moon would be shocked, devastated even.
One thing at a time. She had to find Mirana first.
She was still holding the flask. A last bad habit she'd never quite shaken. She wasn't as bad as she had once been, not when it came to drinking. But it was one thing from her days as a raider she had never stopped doing. She hadn't stopped killing yet either, and she doubted that would change any time soon. And there was that one time she had slept with one of the priestesses, both of them drunk at the time. And that other one. And that soldier.
Thinking about it, she hadn't really shaken any of her bad habits apart from self-harming, unless one counted the alcohol, and how she tried to keep herself from becoming attached to people.
Luna stood as Nova plodded over, crunching on something. 'If these idiots were bandits, they might have a stash nearby.' Luna mused, partially to herself. 'They're not going to need it. What say we take a look?'
Nova grunted.
'Five minutes. We'll follow your nose.'
Nova bumped her head against Luna's shoulder.
Luna patted the lunar-lion's flank. It wouldn't take long to load her newly acquired gear onto the saddle.
Maybe her luck was starting to turn.
It was often easy to tell when a dragon had been driven into a frenzy by the Madness.
A fire dragon would leave a swath of charred land, up to dozens of miles in size. An earth dragon would leave craters and gaping tunnels. Sky dragons would smash up forests. Water dragons would leave excessive numbers of carcasses to wash up on beaches.
Chaos dragons were an exception. They just killed whatever was unlucky enough to cross their paths. Radiant and void dragons preferred to isolate themselves.
It was also easy to tell when an ionic dragon had succumbed to insanity. Though the "lesser" ionic dragons had but an iota of Indrak's power, they could still generate and emit electricity on a whim, and absorb it, which was why ionic dragons were often spotted amongst storms.
The blackened stumps of the trees were still smoking when the Dragon Knights approached. It looked as though a lightning storm had bombarded the forest.
Bram looked up, expecting to see a silver shape emerge from behind the peaks, roaring as it came. The black clouds overhead would make it harder to spot, though mad dragons were not known for their subtlety.
The plate still felt large on him. He felt bigger than he was, and he had nearly tripped several times with the visor down, unable to see where his feet were without looking straight down. He'd resorted to lifting it for the time being.
Though he had been trained to fight in armour, he had never actually been in a fight whilst wearing full plate. Davion had preferred to take on dragons alone.
Ionic dragons were amongst those which were difficult to fight solo. Jorsen had decided to err on the side of caution and had brought support, including two garudas.
The garudas were similar in form to griffons, but much larger and grumpier. They had more of a resemblance to condors than eagles. It was common practice for one person to direct the garuda, with a second acting as an archer behind them.
Bram was glad he wasn't going to be flying on one of the garudas. Their riders had to be specially trained for their duties, as did the garudas themselves. It did not stop the garudas from being ill-tempered. Each garuda would only accept one pair of riders. Anybody else was an interloper, and unwelcome upon their backs. Those sharp, hooked beaks were not to be trifled with.
But what they lacked in tolerance, they made up for with lethality and strength. They were strong enough to take on sky dragons, and they had a knack for slipping their razor sharp talons between dragon scales.
Jorsen stooped close to one of the trees, lifted his visor and sniffed. The scent of ozone was thick in the air. 'It's close.'
Bram drew his longsword, eyes still on the sky. They would have very little warning before it attacked, if any.
'Stand fast,' Jorsen ordered. 'Wait for my command.'
There were two scorpions set up behind them, concealed amongst the boulders of a rockslide. Even in its maddened state, the dragon would most likely attack the garudas first. They would lure it into sight of the scorpions' crews.
Bram felt small and insignificant. Davion had hunted dragons capable of flight before, a few times with Bram. The trick was grounding them. Sky dragons were especially clumsy on the ground. The ionic dragon would still be dangerous due to its build, but they needed every advantage they could get.
'Relax, Bram.' Jorsen ordered. 'This isn't the first ionic dragon I've hunted. Just stay calm and stay focused.'
Bram nodded numbly. Unlike other militaries, the basic plate favoured by the Order was not made of simple steel. It was a specially devised alloy, less conductive than normal steel. The same went for their blades. But they would still need to be careful. Conductive or not, the lightning generated by an ionic dragon could still be lethal to them.
Bram adjusted his grip on his longsword. As light as it was, its weight was reassuring.
Davion had favoured heavy blades suited for chopping: greatswords, warswords and claymores. But like all Dragon Knights, he was well versed in a variety of weapons and he had given Bram some advice for using the longsword.
It was a good weapon to use against a dragon. Its length would give him manoeuvring room. Its light weight would make it fast to swing. The long grip would make it easy to handle with both hands, and it could easily slip between a dragon's scales. It was a weapon well suited for thrusting and stabbing.
Jorsen was clad in his dragon scale armour, mostly fashioned from sky and water dragon scales and supplemented with splint. He was holding an arming sword, with a pick designed for piercing dragon scales at his side.
'Take off,' Jorsen told the garuda riders. 'You have two minutes, then we'll lure it in.'
The riders spurred their garudas into the sky, away from the thunderclouds but close enough to swoop in.
Luring the dragon was the easy part. They didn't even need to butcher something for bait. They were the bait.
'Positions.' Jorsen commanded.
The other Knights and squires moved to the flanks. Bram did the same, as Jorsen had instructed.
Jorsen drew his pick, then nodded to one of the Knights. The Knight lifted his sword and began to beat his blade against his buckler. The clanging resounded through the air. The others began to shout and yell.
Bram stopped shouting when thunder boomed overhead. He saw a flash of light amongst the clouds.
Slowly, he lowered his visor. His first fight against a dragon. Thinking about it, he might have preferred to have fought a sky dragon, or even an earth dragon. Ionic dragons were amongst the most dangerous. The fundamental dragons were much nastier than the elementals.
There were more booms, more flashes of lightning. The Knights and squires all tensed, clutching their weapons tightly. The reports had all indicated that this was a large adult ionic dragon. It would not be easy to kill.
They would likely suffer losses.
Jorsen stared up at the clouds. The garudas were circling overhead, their riders alert for any signs of the dragon.
A faint roar sounded over the booming thunder. It was coming.
Bram saw it first: a silver shape swooping out of the clouds. It was just like the depictions he had seen in the archives: lean of body, with a short neck and a long tail. Its wings began at the base of the neck, running nearly the entire length of the body.
It spotted the garudas and made straight for them, its wide wings catching the air, allowing it to glide at them. Both garudas broke away and started flying towards the scorpions, trying to draw it in lower.
'Steady,' Jorsen ordered. 'Steady.'
The dragon swooped lower, low enough for Bram to see the shining silver eyes blazing from its skull. Arcs of electricity started to flicker around its scales.
'LOOSE!' The cry went up a split second before the bolt shot skywards. Attached to the end of it was a heavy chain.
The bolt struck the dragon's hind leg, biting deep. Cleverly devised barbs deployed, anchoring it inside the dragon's flesh.
Howling, the dragon tumbled in the air. The scorpion crew worked in a frenzy to hammer the chain into the ground with steel pegs. Bram saw them jump back, the third too slow. He went flying and landed in a heap, twitching as the electricity surged through his body.
The dragon flapped and tried to break free. The garudas closed in, but the riders forced their mounts to keep their distance. If the garudas were struck by an electrical discharge, they would fall from the sky. Instead, the second man on each garuda started to loose arrows at the dragon, their shafts tipped with bodkin arrowheads.
As the second scorpion crew adjusted their aim, one of the garudas flew too close to the dragon. The riders were secured by their harnesses, but the dragon's long tail smashed into the head of the first rider.
Bram saw a small object fall to the ground: the man's head. Unable to control the garuda, the second man was struck by the dragon's claws and torn apart. The garuda tried to seize the dragon, digging in its long talons and angling its bald head, aiming for the neck.
The dragon roared and emitted a burst of energy. The garuda screeched and fell, jerking and twitching, unable to stop itself from falling. Bram saw it fall amongst the trees, never to rise again.
The deaths had not been in vain. The second bolt struck the dragon in the right shoulder.
'Now!' Jorsen bellowed. 'Drag it down!'
The scorpion crews manned their weapons and began to wind the chains back, joined by Knights. With their strength augmented by their dragon scale armour, the Knights began to pull the dragon down. The second garuda continued to swoop around it, the archer atop its back aiming for the wings. As they drew it down, the squires with bows and crossbows began to loose projectiles too.
The dragon screamed and bucked, trying to break free. Bram could see the bolt in its leg starting to come loose.
'Keep pulling!' Jorsen cried. 'Don't stop!'
High above, the archer on the garuda pulled a different arrow from one of his quivers. He took careful aim, then loosed it at the dragon's right wing.
Instead of an arrowhead, the arrow was tipped with a glass phial. It shattered when it hit the wing, spraying a potent acid. The dragons screeched as the acid ate into its wing membrane, tearing holes in it. A second arrow spread more acid, widening the holes and creating new ones.
The dragon changed tactics. It dived.
It landed on one of the scorpions, smashing it to pieces and crushing three unlucky men under its bulk.
'As one!' Jorsen commanded. 'Bring it down!'
The fear Bram had felt became a distant sensation. His pounding heartbeat filled his ears as he ran, the weight of his armour absent and irrelevant. It was as Davion had told him: in the moment, there was absolute focus. All that mattered was his enemy, what they did, the weapon in his hands and what he did.
Aware of his allies, Bram ran with them, straight at the dragon. It spun round, dragging bits of scorpion with it and smearing a crushed body across the ground in a swath of red.
Tendrils of electricity shot from its scales as it roared, lashing into men too slow to react.
'Do your job, mage!' somebody shouted.
Their sole mage lifted his staff, catching arcs of electricity and flinging them harmlessly away. They had to stop the dragon soon, or it would overwhelm the mage.
As Bram closed in, he saw two men flung limply to the ground by the dragon's tail. Another was impaled upon its claws. A fourth failed to avoid the gnashing jaws. Blood spurted from his crushed armour as the dragon bit down, letting his head and legs fall to the ground as it swallowed his torso, armour and all.
Bram yelled as he jabbed his longsword into the flesh under the dragon's left foreleg. Blood dripped and flowed down the length of his blade, streaming over the crossguard and soaking into his gauntlets, warm and cloying. The static charge in the dragon's blood made his fingers tingle.
He withdrew the blade and stabbed again, closer to the chest. The tip slid over a silver scale and bit into the dragon's hide.
Its roar warned him and he ducked, yanking his sword free. The claws swept over his head, smacking another man away instead.
Jorsen swung the pick into the dragon's neck, following it with a stroke from his sword. The dragon lifted its head, nearly yanking Jorsen off the ground with it.
Another surge of electricity sent a handful of men sprawling, their bodies jerking as their hearts burst. Directed outwards, the surge missed Bram, who was underneath the dragon. Jorsen used the sky dragon scales in his armour to jump aside.
The dragon spun, wrenching the second scorpion apart. It jumped back, facing Bram and snarling.
Bram did not hesitate. As the dragon tried to snap at him, he darted to the side and thrust his sword deep into its eye.
The dragon howled and staggered back. Jorsen closed in again and buried his pick into its neck again. The other Knights hacked at it with their weapons, shattering scales and tearing into the hide.
As the dragon reeled, Bram lunged and drove his sword into the neck at the base of the skull, piercing the dragon's carotid artery and trachea. Blood sprayed across his armour as he pulled the longsword free, splattering his helmet and gushing through his visor. Bram spat and stepped back, blinking furiously as it dripped into his eyes.
The dragon gurgled, trying to scream through a ruined throat filling with blood. It spurted from the dragon's maw, gushed from its throat.
'Back!' Jorsen yelled.
Bram did not need telling twice. In their death throes, the organs which generated electricity in an ionic dragon pulsed out of control. Many Dragon Knights standing victorious over such a dragon had been robbed of their victories in this moment.
Arcs of power sliced through the air, catching two men too slow to evade them. The mage's staff shattered as he tried to channel it, the shock blasting him backwards and straight into a boulder. Bram did not hear his spine crack as he backed away from the writhing dragon.
After a minute of erratic spasms and bursts of ionic power, the dragon fell still. Blood coursed more slowly from its wounds now, dark and potent.
Bram was aware of his limbs shaking now. He was breathing heavily, clutching his sword tightly. His armour was dripping with blood. He lifted his visor and wiped his face with gauntlets damp with more blood, smearing his face with the stuff.
Jorsen sheathed his sword and stuffed the pick back into his belt. 'Well struck, Bram.'
Bram exhaled shakily, lowering his blade. His sweat was mingling with the blood soaking through his gambeson and hosen. 'How… how many did we lose?'
'They'll be remembered.' Jorsen assured him, not answering the question.
Bram had never seen Davion fight an ionic dragon, but now he knew why he preferred to fight dragons alone. He wasn't after glory, that was just a welcome benefit. He did it to avoid putting others in danger, even though it had put him at greater risk, and made it harder to fight the more dangerous types of dragons. He never would have been able to fight a void dragon alone, that much was certain.
'The final blow was yours, Squire Bram.' Jorsen continued. 'You know what this means.' He turned to the surviving Knights. 'Start gathering scales, then fasten the chains. We're taking it back to Dragon Keep.' He handed Bram a tool with a wide, shovel-like blade. 'Lay your claim, Bram. You've earned it.'
This wasn't how Bram had expected this day to come. What would Davion have said?
Bram took the tool, hoping that he would get to tell Davion about this over a mug of beer one day.
Garrisan watched the pangoliers as they made their way down the gangplank. He wished he could go with them, but he had his orders.
Since he had not wanted to rejoin the Sun Guard, but wanted to be involved in returning the Princess and her handmaiden to Rasolir, he had been assigned to the First Legion as a Praetor.
Their ship had crossed the sea without incident, and was now docked in the town of Saldavan. Garrisan suspected that this had been where Mirana and Marci had disembarked too, when they had fled the Imperium.
'We will find them swiftly, Praetor.' Donté assured him.
'If you need assistance, send a message to Vigilus Island.' Garrisan reminded him. It was an Imperium naval outpost, but Lina and Kashurra had arranged for the First, Second and Third Legions to be stationed there, sixteen-thousand five-hundred men in total, not counting the garrison already present or their auxiliary troops, for when Mirana was found.
When the time came, she would be escorted across the sea by a contingent from the Imperial Navy, and guarded on her return to Rasolir by three Legions. With Shabarra still on the loose, Kashurra did not want to leave anything to chance. The three Legions had been reformed and filled with soldiers who would willingly give their lives for the Imperium, and by extension for Mirana. Patrodis was acting as Legate.
Garrisan almost smiled when he spotted two of the new munifex performing combat drills, both of them women who had shown exceptional potential during training. Before now, women had never been allowed to serve in combat or even as city guards. One of the first decrees Lina had sent through the Senate was permission for women to take up arms.
Unofficially, Marci had been the first. Although she probably did not need to use weapons, Mirana had often asked if she could be trained to wield a sword. Both of them would probably be pleased with Lina's decision.
It shouldn't have come as a surprise to Garrisan. Lina was from Misrule, where men and women alike learned to fight and defend their tribes.
The Gallants were assembling their mounts, large creatures similar in form to an armadillo, with blunt snouts and curling horns. The Gallants had taken the precaution of armouring them in mail and plate. The Gallants themselves had swapped their court finery for proper armour, though they insisted on retaining their cloaks and feathered caps.
'We shall make our way towards Kestren,' Donté stated. 'If your Viceroy's reports are still accurate, the Princess and her handmaiden will be heading south, almost as if they're heading here,' he paused to adjust the angle of his cap to a more rakish position, 'could they be aware of what has happened?'
'Maybe.' Garrisan murmured. 'Who knows what they have heard in Selemene's service? It would make things easier if they were aware.'
'Maybe. Hopefully there is still adventure to be had.' He leaned over the railing and called to his comrades in Nivanese. Whatever they said seemed to satisfy him. 'Excellent. We shall see you soon, Praetor.'
'May the sun light your path, Sir Donté.'
'Worry not, mon ami. Fortune is with us on this day.'
Despite some minor misgivings, Garrisan was certain that Kashurra had chosen wisely. The Gallants had a well-deserved reputation, and Sir Donté was famous even amongst them.
He would have preferred to go himself, of course. But he could not. He tried to content himself with the knowledge that seasoned swordsmen and adventurers were searching for Mirana, and that when the time came, he would be there to bring the Princess home.
There was a sackful of silver dragon scales hanging from the saddle of Bram's horse now. Enough to empower some armour.
He knew what this meant. It was a shame Davion couldn't be here.
The storm was building overhead, the rumble of thunder almost constant.
Bram looked up, feeling uneasy. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end.
He was not the only one. The horses were jittery. The surviving garuda was chittering and trying to fly off.
Always pay attention to the animals. That was what Davion had told him. Horses and garudas could often sense danger before a human could.
Jorsen was frowning up at the storm. It was swelling and growing stronger, more intense.
Bram caught his eye, and he noticed that the man was afraid.
'This is not a natural storm.' Jorsen murmured, turning his gaze skywards again. 'Everybody, on your horses now!'
'What about the wounded?' Bram demanded.
'There's no time.' Jorsen stated. 'We need to go now.'
'But we can't just—'
He stopped when he heard the roar. There was another dragon in the clouds, another ionic dragon.
The rumbling boom of thunder accompanied a frenzied cascade of lightning. The few intact trees left behind were blasted to pieces, scattering flaming chunks of wood everywhere.
A shape emerged from the thunderhead, gleaming platinum emitting blazes of incandescent light.
'Indrak!' Jorsen breathed. 'Move it! An Eldwurm is upon us! Go now! Go!'
Davion would not have wanted to abandon the wounded. Nor did Bram. But Jorsen had a point. To stay would be to die. Indrak might have arrived to avenge his fallen kin. This was not a battle they could win.
He went for the garuda first as it took flight. He didn't even need to touch it. A fork of lightning lashed forth and struck the garuda, killing it instantly. It fell in a limp, charred, smoking heap.
Jorsen swore as he scrambled onto his saddle. Bram slipped as he climbed up and realised that he was cursing too. They could have really done with Kaden now, or Davion, or even that abnormally strong friend of his who had apparently killed Kaden. But what good would any of them, except maybe Kaden, have been against an enraged Eldwurm?
Indrak swooped over the rearguard, lashing them with lightning. He snatched one horse and its rider as he flew over. Blood showered the other riders as the Eldwurm tore the horse in half, snapping off the Knight's head with his jaws.
More lightning crashed through their ranks, obliterating ten men in the blink of an eye. Their scorched bodies joined those too wounded to move on the ground.
Jorsen spurred his horse into a gallop, but the terrified animal reared and he fell from the saddle, his armour clattering. Bram heard a torrent of profanities issue from beneath his visor.
Cursing too, Bram wheeled his horse around and rode towards the fallen Knight, stretching out his arm. It was a noble gesture, but not a great idea. Jorsen was heavier than he was, especially with his armour on.
Indrak spun overhead, roaring. Lightning lashed out from his body, blasting anybody too slow to avoid it.
Bram had read about the awesome power of the Eldwurms. Seeing it was something else entirely. These were entities which had the potential to lay waste to civilisations, maybe even the whole world if they ever banded together.
No wonder Kaden had been so determined to end them, especially Slyrak. Though Bram had to wonder if anything short of a god could even hope to stop them.
Jorsen seized his arm, nearly yanking him from the saddle. With difficulty, the Knight clambered up behind him.
Indrak whirled around and beat his massive wings, heading straight for them.
They might have stood a chance against this Eldwurm at Dragon Keep. The Keep was bristling with ballistae and scorpions made for killing dragons, and the stonework itself was woven with potent spells of endurance.
But there was no way they could outrun him on horseback. They were all going to die here.
Indrak hurtled towards them, his maw open in a hateful bellow. The storm erupted with the force of his wrath.
Silence fell.
No more rumbles of thunder. No crashes of lightning. Nothing. The black clouds hung over them still, a foreboding cloak of darkness.
Indrak slowed, coming to a halt in mid-air. The electricity had stopped flickering across his chromatic scales. Even his blazing eyes seemed to have dimmed.
He turned his sharp head as a huge shadow emerged from the clouds, swooping towards him.
Bram saw the eyes first. How could he not?
They were a bright, unnatural green. They were not eyes which belonged in this world, they were the eyes of something evil.
It looked like a dragon, and Bram had seen a glimpse of this one before. Yet there was something clearly wrong about it. Parts of its body were scabbed over with ugly grey masses, like solid tumours, including a part of its skull. It had clearly been in a fight, and it looked like it should have died.
Yet it was the eyes which were the worst. They were not a dragon's eyes, not Vylgranox's eyes. Whatever this thing was, it terrified Bram just to look upon it.
It was terror made manifest in a form more awful than he could have imagined.
The grey-scaled dragon slammed into Indrak, smashing him from the sky. Indrak tumbled and struggled to right himself, twisting in the air until his wings lifted him up again.
'You!' Bram had never heard a dragon speak before, though it was well known that Eldwurms could talk. 'You are an affront to all of creation!'
'To your creation, Storm-Father,' the green-eyed dragon declared. 'I will have my freedom, one way or another. So tell me, Indrak, Eldwurm of the Storm, are you ready to die?'
As Terrorblade had predicted, Indrak chose to fight him instead of finishing off the remaining Dragon Knights.
Understandable. Terrorblade had no interest in the little mortals right now. He did not care if they ran. Let them cower in fear, their ends would come soon enough.
Indrak was like a storm. Slow to build, sudden to break. He was also a logical Eldwurm, always a truth-speaker. Byssrak may have been the patient one, Slyrak may have been the cunning one, Indrak was somewhere between the two.
He was impulsive though. When his wrath built it would inevitably explode, and he would not stop until his fury abated.
Or was made to stop.
Deprived of his power, Indrak beat his wings and considered his options. He was logical, but he was making a mistake by hesitating.
Terrorblade wanted his soul, there were only two options: fight or run. As an Eldwurm, he was a vital pillar of creation. Terrorblade was a threat to creation. Indrak wanted to end him, but with Terrorblade using Vylgranox's nullifying power against him, he stood no chance in a straight fight.
He chose to withdraw. Too late.
As he turned in the air, Terrorblade swooped at him, claws extended, and seized Indrak's tail. He dug his claws in, tearing deep furrows and drawing blood. Indrak's blood was still charged with electricity, but Terrorblade ignored the sharp jolts in his vessel's muscles. They just caused him to rip deeper into the Eldwurm's hide, almost splitting his lean tail in half.
Indrak roared in pain, but continued to flee.
That would not be so easy now.
Terrorblade had not tested Aethrak's power yet. Now seemed like an appropriate time.
The thunderclouds swept backwards, back towards Terrorblade. The violent gale slammed into Indrak, dragging him backwards too. Terrorblade shaped the gale into a cyclone, spinning the helpless Eldwurm like a top. He was enjoying this, like a cat playing with a rodent. He wanted to play.
Now he channelled the air into a hammer-blow, bashing Indrak towards the ground. At the same time, he decided to finally make use of some of Uldorak's power.
The rock beneath Indrak formed into a point, like a small mountain, dagger sharp. It bit deep into Indrak's chest, cleaving between the scales and slicing through his hide.
As Indrak howled with blood gushing from his sundered flesh, Terrorblade revelled in his glorious new power. How foolish of the Primal Mind to split the powers of creation between separate entities. Who could deny such awesome power?
If he could claim all of the powers of creation, not even gods would be able to stop him.
Even with a fraction of the power he craved, the Eldwurms were no match for him.
Indrak beat his wings, forcing himself aloft and off the spike of rock with difficulty, blood pouring from his chest. It was amusing how a mighty being like an Eldwurm could become so easy to defeat when their powers were taken from them. Terrorblade had not intended to fall for the same weakness, which was why he had worked so hard to lure out Vylgranox.
He would thank Davion for helping him when he next saw him, shortly before he killed him and ripped Slyrak's soul from his corpse.
'Look at how helpless you are without your vaunted powers.' Terrorblade gloated as Indrak struggled to fly. 'You have no idea what it means to be restricted. You have never felt confined, imprisoned. You've never had to fight to earn your power. You take it for granted.' Terrorblade hovered over the wounded Eldwurm, enjoying his agony. 'But fear not. I will put your power to better uses.'
Indrak snarled and rounded on Terrorblade, attempting to slash him with his claws.
Terrorblade flew clear, swung around and let himself fall upon the Eldwurm. His weight and momentum forced Indrak back down, down upon the spike of rock Terrorblade had created.
Indrak screeched, and terrorblade laughed as he pushed Indrak down, forcing the spike deeper, pushing until it exited through the Eldwurm's back, slick with the dragon's blood.
The Eldwurm's cry was faint. Terrorblade chuckled and grasped Indrak's neck, tearing into it with his claws
Indrak was too weak to resist as Terrorblade dug the claws in deep. As with Aethrak, he tried to force his soul to migrate to another avatar. As with Aethrak, Terrorblade had already marked the Eldwurm's soul, and once he again he feasted upon an Eldwurm's soul, stealing his power as he devoured his essence.
The blood stopped gushing, becoming a feeble trickle. Indrak was now just one corpse amongst many, with Terrorblade the ultimate victor upon the battlefield.
Four down. Five to go.
Davion awoke with a start, bolting upright. A couple of malformed scales dropped from his skin.
Marci woke with him, still holding him in an embrace. She stared at him, her eyes wide and full of worry.
Everybody was staring at him, all of them startled. All of them except for Purist, who was just stroking his beard, watching Davion keenly.
'I felt… I felt something.' Davion struggled to comprehend what exactly he had felt. He had been somewhere else, feeling but not seeing. The song had been a tumultuous riot in his dreams, a cacophony of chaos. It had reached a horrible, piercing crescendo before tapering off into nothingness, like a dying whimper.
'You heard the Thunder.' Purist stated.
'You know about that?' Caewyn stared at him now.
'A little.' Purist did not elaborate. Given the ways of his deity, they should not have been surprised. 'The Eldwurms are afraid.'
'They're afraid of Terrorblade.' Davion murmured.
'Yes.'
Davion exhaled and wiped his brow. Marci was still at his side, her hand on his arm.
'Does Slyrak have anything to say?' Mirana asked.
Davion tried to find the Eldwurm's thoughts. Once again, Slyrak was not willing to share. Just what was he planning?
Davion felt his eyebrows lift. Slyrak had made his previous objections known, especially where Marci was concerned.
He had not protested against the plan to face Terrorblade at Dragon Keep.
As soon as Davion realised this, he felt a rumble of approval from Slyrak. For once, they were of the same mind.
'He wants the same thing we do: to stop him. He wants us to go to Dragon Keep.'
'He must be mad.' Eserren murmured. 'Then again, perhaps we all are.'
Perhaps they all were.
Perhaps that was why Slyrak had chosen him.
The size of a Legion in this AU is roughly based on the apparent size of a Roman Legion. A Helio Imperium Legion consists of 4500 legionnaires, 500 bowmen, 400 horsemen and 100 sphinx riders. This doesn't include auxiliary troops such as sappers and siege engineers, who are attached to Legions as and when they are needed. Each Legate usually commands three Legions each. How did they get this many soldiers and so many Legions? In my mind, the Imperium is massive, possibly the biggest nation in the world of Ascension, and it has allies and vassal states it can draw troops from.
It may not be too accurate, but here, Centurions are a bit like captains. Praetors command individual Legions and are under the command of a Legate. Obviously, the equivalent of the Praetorian Guard is the Sun Guard.
