Bells were never a good sign. They rang only when something couldn’t be kept secret and the entire city needed to know that something was wrong. The two wizards were the first to react, both looking at the door then at each other. Haden, however, was the one to rise from his seat and rush toward the door. Whatever was happening, the Prince was the least competent person in the room and should definitely not be the first to leave.
I followed, catching up with the group once they reached the door. Haden pushed the door open, letting in the loud tumult outside. Screams I knew all too well to be coming from dying men and women were quickly overshadowed by the thundering crash of stone. The castle shook in its entirety, threatening to collapse when something enormous slammed into the tower.
Just as I reached the threshold, I saw a massive winged arm breach through the wall, tossing up heavy stones and whirling up dust. The Prince barely dodged, scrambling on the floor, his face white like a corpse.
I only caught a few syllables of the draconic’s words, but they were already so familiar that I could guess it called out “Fínu.”
Without enough time to consider the implications of this, I saw bright red come from outside the broken wall. I tried to rush forward to put myself in between the Prince and a fiery death, but Siestra had overtaken me in the hallway. She lifted her hands high into the air and shouted some magic spell just a second before the castle was engulfed by an inferno. The blinding light made all of us shield our eyes, bright crimson-colored flames rushing up an invisible wall the sorceress had conjured.
“A wyvern?” Albestra yelled out next to me.
Whatever it was, it needed to die. And fast, judging by the horrible cries of pain outside. But the prince’s voice croaked out between the burning stone. “Drake!” He called out.
My eyes met with the wizard at my side, we both knew what this implied. “I don’t have a weapon,” I looked at him with inquiry, hoping he understood what I was asking.
He waved his hand over the air and produced a regal-looking sword. The hilt was made of gold and silver, a bright ruby adorning its hilt wrapped around the handguard in a weaving fashion. The sword was clearly meant for the draconic himself, large enough to be a longsword for me. I grabbed it from his hand and lined up behind Siestra, who visibly strained to hold the barrier. My friend shouted at me to not lose his fancy sword, understandable given how expensive it must have been, but not something I truly concerned myself with.
“When it stops, let go of the barrier and get to somewhere low to the ground,” I said to the Black wizard, holding onto her shoulder. She looked at me with a hint of confusion, likely not used to taking orders from anyone. But she luckily recognized that I was the most knowledgeable person in the city about the current threat.
Finally, the blasting waves of fire stopped, just before they would have melted the very stone around us. The sorceress turned and grabbed Haden, pulling him into a downward staircase.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I rushed forward and lept from the hole in the wall. I looked to my left and found a wyrm as gigantic as a warship hanging sideways from the wizard’s tower, clawed wings dug into the stone. It was momentarily distracted by a valley of arrows shooting from slits in the inner wall. But the arrows hit its body at the perfect angle to be completely ineffective.
It reared its snaking head toward the wall, preparing to use its fiery breath again, but it had therefore not spotted me or the ball of flame I was holding in my left hand. The heat burned through my gloves and began to rise up my sleeves, collecting in a stream that flowed in weaves of orange light into an enlargening sphere of curling fire. I held onto it as long as I could, falling out of a window, giving that flaring heat in my chest an outlet through my arm.
I remember that my immediate instinct was to throw it as soon as the wyvern would launch its fire, but something deeper than that, something studied so long ago that I must have forgotten it already. Wait…when did I learn about the fact that wyverns cannot use their breath more than a few times before spitting empty air?
While my muscles tensed for the throw, the essence of flame gathered floating above my palm resisted my command. A strange, incoherent feeling of incongruence fell over me like I was suddenly left without a limb.
‘They are about to die. They are going to die because of me. I failed.’
As I was plummeting, the world seemed to slow ever so sneakily, barely enough to register. All of my thoughts were focused on why, why now my power disobeyed. Only the reality of what actually happened managed to tear me out.
The wyvern wasn’t able to spew fire. Only sparks that failed to ignite emerged from its maw. No elemental fury came from it to devour the guardsmen – and something within me knew that it was right.
The balled-up circle of fire finally responded to my plea and hurled itself forth. Although any draconic was resistant to their element, this was far removed from immunity. And my fire burned hot with the desperate intent to kill.
A wave of hot air blasted through the castle grounds, drumming into my ears. But it was barely a squeak when compared to the beast’s howl of scorching pain. My fire splashed against its head like a wave crashing against a cliff, hanging onto the scales and pouring into its flesh, eating away at its eyes and jaw like acid.
It fell from the tower. The massive body caught up to me in my own plummeting descent. It thrashed, trying to shake its head to throw off the melting flames and scratching its face with its talons and wings. I tried my best to listen if it was talking but found only the sounds of a wild animal next to the rushing wind.
A cloud of dust welled up when it hit the ground like a piece of a mountain impacting a valley below. The ground split and rock shot up in all directions. Some of the more unfortunate souls were directly beneath or simply too close, getting squashed into messy globs of broken bones and bleeding meat by the wyvern’s body or falling debris.
I landed more gracefully, chanting “Slôh Zíshir,” while imagining the elven spelling in my head. It still wasn’t a particularly soft landing, as I saw no ground beneath me until I entered the cloud of dust.
I couldn’t make out anything of my surroundings, so I listened. Listened to the agonized roars of the wyvern, the screams of horrified people, then the marching of guards.
“Attack it while it’s on the ground!” I yelled as loud as I could, hoping to encourage the men to take the opportunity I presented. I rushed forward as well, getting close to the flailing shape in the cloud.
The sword in my hand weighed almost nothing, which is why I was able to hold onto it during my fall. I clutched it tight, though I somewhat missed the familiar weight of my axe. Still, the enchantment it carried seemed to almost sing to me in my head and vibrate in my grasp.
‘Just a little closer,’ I thought, the shape in the dust becoming more visible with each running step. But before I could prepare to leap, something like a whip cutting through the air disrupted the sound and cloud of debris to my left. I had no time to react when it finally came into view, the wyvern’s tail.
All I could do was brace when it hit me in my side. Luckily, my arm was in the way of being broken in two halves, taking most of the impact. My feet left the ground and gravity ceased to exist for a fleeting moment of suspended flight.
The light entered my blurred eyes so fast it barely gestured, as I was launched from the cloud and into the main square. Like a launched ballista bolt, I crossed the entirety of the courtyard within only a second. My path was stopped by a cart carrying food.
Were it not for my still active controlled descent enchantment, I would likely look about the same as the pieces of meat and smashed fruit. Still, all of my muscles refused cooperation for a good while, burning with pain. Most of it was centered on my arm and lower left stomach, likely at least some broken bones somewhere along that.
The sword Alebstra had gifted to me lay a few meters away, having slid along the street. I groaned, I tried to lift my head to look around but felt something very wrong with my torso. I managed to glance down and found a piece of splintered wood buried in my chest. Strange, I barely even felt it.
Blood seeped out from it like a pastry leaking its filling, when I noticed something entered my lungs. I choked, trying to breathe but only drawing liquid into my throat and mouth. Trying to clear my airway, I spit up my overflowing blood. But as I couldn’t turn over, it just landed back in my mouth or around my face.
Chocking, unable to inhale, something heavy and warm fills my lungs, iron sticks to my gums, leaking out of my filled mouth, and pooling around my mouth.
My vision became unfocused, only saw the blue sky above me. ‘It’s a beautiful day,’ I thought. All sounds became one noise in my ears, one noise that got quieter and quieter.
‘So this is… what it…’
A shape. A tree. A branch and a noose. And a person hanging from that noose. The body is made of shadow. Nothing to indicate who it was. But a single point of focus, two glowing white eyes. They are looking at me. Only me. Everyone else, too. But only me.
“Soon.”
I take a breath, still feeling like I am underwater. Blood still clogged my throat but I managed to get air into my lungs regardless. My eyes were dried together with blood, I tore them open and found an old man staring back at me.
He looked old enough to have grandchildren, with a bald head which wrinkled like his face. His eyes were kind and blue, carrying a somehow reassuring look in them, despite the obvious panicked worry in the way he looked around.
Slowly, the noises around me came back into focus, breaking into the wall of dulled echoes. His mouth moved but I heard only the faintest whispers of his words.
“...The Prince… King’s hall…”
I stared confused, not understanding the meaning. Taking a look around the ceiling and walls, I was inside some building, still made from the black stone of the capital. A glance down revealed that the hole in my chest had somewhat closed, though it still looked like a fresh wound.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Screams outside eventually registered in my observations, previously they had almost blended into the background too much to notice.
“Hack that thing apart!” The inspiring tone in the man’s voice was surprising.
People screamed, most in some sort of fearful realization of their doom, others with vengeful desire.
“Cut off the wings, watch that tail!” A voice that triggered the memory of my draconic friend echoed over the courtyard.
I felt something soothing, warm atop my chest. I looked to find the man placing his hands above me, his hand seemed to be the center of that warmth. He chanted quietly, rocking back and forth with his eyes closed.
“Oh Haschkyy, Cuurskur, Mahis… íjiihoro Maq…” I didn’t understand those last words, but those were names. Names of Gods.
Then it finally dawned on me, the man was the Diligent of the capital. Not particularly a worshipper of the Gods, but certainly a man who worked in miracles.
One can deny Gods worship, and leave them out of their lives if so chosen. But there was none with eyes who’d deny that they sometimes showed their powers. And they worked through their emissaries, like the Diligents.
The way my flesh pulled together was not the painful stitching of my elven enchantments or the unnatural speed that arcane regeneration brought, but a gradual mending of flesh and bone. Still, I winced when a few pieces of wood slipped out of my wound and floated in the air. But like a healing potion would numb the nerves, only much less intoxicating, the area in which my body was being repaired only perceived a slight sting.
Once the man had done his ritual, he turned to me again. This time I could finally understand him. “The Prince is trapped in the King’s hall. The entrance is blocked, you have to get to him!”
I didn’t know why the Diligent would care about that kid, he’d be fine serving his father alone. But the way he looked at me, what he had obviously done in order to save me… I owed him whatever he was asking of me.
I sprung up, feeling renewed strength surge through me. He grabbed Alebstra’s sword from the floor, where a trail of blood – my blood – lead outside. He handed it to me, giving me a hard look. “Save the Prince,” He bespoke more with his eyes than his lips, I felt the intent he was giving me like a radiant wave of determination.
I sprinted outside. What I found was unexpected, the wyvern I had attacked with my fire was laying dead or very close to it, men pushed their spears into its stomach and neck, others pinned the leathery wings to the floor with their swords, while some even just hacked and slashed away at its body. The cuts were rather shallow, but there were hundreds. The beast’s regeneration couldn’t keep up with it, for one wound closed but a dozen more were sliced into it at the same time.
It weakly tried to swipe at the men but it had little strength left, allowing them to dodge its claws. Dark red blood leaked from it, beginning to pool around it, soaking the boots of its many attackers. I observed the carnage and turned away. Not just because my goal was the King’s hall, but also because the wyvern was staring at me while it was being butchered.
I caught the frame of Alebstra, who seemed to be in the throws of casting a spell on the guards around him. He didn’t notice me.
The entrance to the King’s hall was destroyed, rubble from the castle had piled so high that entry was impossible. Inside, I heard the roar of a draconic. Then I smelled it, the stench of cremated corpses, of slowly blackening flesh, charred bones.
I spotted a busted window, high up on the sides. With a leap, I produced a burst of flame from my hand and both feet to shoot myself from the ground and onto the window sill.
The sight was perhaps just as grizzly as the wyvern being sliced apart outside. Hundreds… all dead. Those who had survived what looked like the initial blast died in the flames after. A beast that made the massive hall and pillars seem small in comparison thrashed around with something in its hand.
I narrowed my vision, finding two people grasped in its forelimb. An elderly-looking knight was stabbing at the beast’s fingers with a knife to little effect. And the Prince of Blackspire, Haden. Unlike his trapped compatriot, the young Prince looked frozen in terror. And at this point, I could hardly blame him.
I had not seen a drake before, at least in anything but books. What unsettled me was its head shape, however. It was broad like a viper’s head, bulging out on the side and becoming narrow toward its bottom jaw. Horns came out of its skull, facing straight backward. And its scales drew long, smooth patterns over the forehead.
Where a dragon’s wings would have been was only a muscular back adorned with spiked, hardened scales. It had a tail that trailed behind it, about half as long as a wyvern’s, which was currently sweeping the floor of burning corpses. The scales were red in most parts but became slightly yellow-tinted toward its legs. Unlike its face, they were very rough and extended out from its hide, creating a spiky outline.
“Koshgròw Pùul,” it spoke. ‘Why? Why did this one have to speak, too?’ Despite the dramatic shifts in worldview I had undergone only that day, I was still mournful for the simpler times before this very moment.
I had almost just died a few minutes ago. And here I was, about to jump to my most certain demise.
I hesitated.
I stared as the beast reared to blast the Pince in its grasp with a torrent of flame, or perhaps just devour him whole.
But instead of a blast of red flame, the room was suddenly illuminated by a blast of blue ice. Shooting out from the drake’s palm were half a dozen pillars of sharp ice. My eyes went wide as I witnessed the dragonspawn howl in pain.
Large chunks of the beast's forelimb were pierced and torn from the ice explosion. It pulled back just a second before launching the two bodies in its grasp at the far back wall.
And again, a flash of blue-white light burst from them. But this time, I caught that it was coming exactly from the Prince’s chest. A thick layer of glacier-like ice pushed around his form, then a large and round bubble of more whitish frost enveloped him fully. When he hit the wall, it shattered into chunky crystals but the seethrough-able armor capturing his body only slightly cracked – seemingly much more solid.
Still, he had taken a hard fall. But unlike the man next to him, he was still alive.
Something about this. The way that my core is flaring up. Not just because I was ready to fight, but like before. When I first met Sadir and now Haden, it was this same feeling.
The feeling of being pulled.
The drake had already recovered, seizing its downright childish tantrum of smashing pillars and floors while thrashing around with its palm. Maybe it even spoke, who knows, the words would have been lost in hateful slurring.
It turned to focus on Haden, crouching low and then pouncing into a gallop within a blink.
That pull within me compelled me to act before I could think. I extended my hand behind my back, a stream of molten fire forming into a levitating sphere of fire. I threw it as hard as I could, aiming for where the drake’s head was going to be.
The impact of the fireball was not the strongest, but it hit at the perfect angle to throw the beast into a nearby pillar. It smashed through the stone like a crashing tree in the forest, taking everything around it down.
I dropped from my vantage point, slowing my fall with a quick stream of repelling fire. Sword in one hand, the other to help with directional control. While expelling fire through my feet can give speed, it is hard to control without at least one hand to steer. Like driving a cart but without reigns on the horses.
I tried to glance to where the Prince lied but caught the drake stir beneath the rubble. Luckily my suspicion turned out correctly, as the beast sprung up and launched several large chunks of stone in the direction of the window. Some would still hit me if I stayed still, so I ran forward to gain momentum. Just when it could have been too close, I dropped to my knees and slid beneath the pillar’s base.
Immediately, I began charging a stream of flame into the air, collecting it in my hand. Then I turned to Haden, who seemed to be mostly fine. “Run!” I yelled, hoping he didn’t have a concussion and was actually understanding the situation.
Though I couldn’t focus on whether he was listening or not, for the Drake had crouched down low again, preparing to rush at me most likely. “I said fucking run!” I screamed, then heard the monster spring up as soon as I turned away from it.
The floor broke from the pressure it used to push away from it. Its long claws dug into the floor in grooves that reached beneath the foundations of blackstone and into the rock beneath even. From an open maw, which turned sideways to most efficiently snap around the entirety of my torso, came clouds of black smoke and small sparks of fire.
Death. Oh, how many times had I seen your face before I realized that you saw me too?
Launching myself seemed like a good reaction to the drake’s attack, at the time that is. But a simple fact remained very constant: I couldn’t fly.
True, I could burst into the air and then see to give myself momentum mid-air. But constant, sustained levitation? No, I couldn’t fly. I could fall differently.
So when the draconic bastard adjusted his course to lunge upward instead of where I had been, my heart seized to beat. I was trapped, strangely enough. Trapped in the middle of the open with no walls around me. But the only way to go was down for me. I could have tried to swerve, drop my sword and try to launch myself out of its reach. But this thing was fast and large. Unlike a wyvern or a wyrm, drakes are creatures made for ground combat.
If the only way was down… Then I had to do it faster.
Was this again that strange intuition my core gave me? Some knowledge that I never consciously realized but still influences my decisions, perhaps. Whatever it was, my free hand reached up, I looked down into the bloody, smoking jaws of the monster. Took one more breath. And closed my eyes.
Even through my shut eyelids, I saw the brightness of the flame I created above me. It must have reached the ceiling, given how fast I was pushed downward. As soon as I had blasted my fire, I grabbed the sword with both hands and held it out in front like a dagger.
Despite not seeing it, the fact that I wasn’t immediately pierced by the monstrous teeth, shows that my plan worked. The drake had not been able to react fast enough to clamp its maw shut before I was already past the teeth.
Alebstra’s sword was certainly enchanted to be lighter. But what that old wizard must have put into enhancing its sharpness must have cost enough to build a city. For despite the point of contact being inside of a draconic’s jaw, it slipped into the beast’s flesh like slicing tenderized meat.
I tumbled, passing into a deep, uncomfortably tight, and squeezing tunnel. The walls breathed with the beast and I felt fire-hot blood pulsing all around me. But my blade had pierced and dragged through it, blood showering me as its throat filled with fire.
I had enough focus left to pull the heat away from me, saving my hair and skin from charring. With my sword high above my head, I pulled it down, my muscles straining with the sword buried deep inside thick walls of dragon flesh. While I heard mostly nothing but dull thuds and exhausted, dying panting, I also made out attempts at speech by the drake.
“K-kaihir…”
I pulled down with all of my might, feeling eventually stopped within the drake’s throat. I cleaved all around me, slicing madly in my feverish need to survive.
And the light shined into my eyelids again. I panted, finally inhaling again. The smell was horrid, burned flesh, smoke and soot, half-digested meat, and other things dead people leave inside a drake’s stomach. When I opened my eyes, I realized I was standing in the open body of the drake.
It had collapsed to its side, one claw at its bottom jaw where I had begun slicing, the other outstretched toward the door. The sword in my hand sang to me with a feeling of… happiness. Although I was far removed from sharing an inanimate object’s feelings, I admit that it calmed me at the moment.
I felt blood all over me, sticking in my hair like a spider’s web. Meanwhile, the gallons that must have seeped through my remaining clothing began to cool already, creating a layer of crust where it was exposed to air. It dripped down my sleeves, pooled beneath my feet, leaked into my eyebrows, and slid down my spine. I also tasted the liquid’s bark-like flavor on my tongue, though I don’t want to imagine how much of it I must have swallowed.
I looked behind me while stepping out of the carcass, my feet were leading me away in a zig-zag, and my sense of direction told me I was somehow leaning. But my vision was purely trained on the dead draconic. The way its eyes slowly drained of their deep red color, becoming less bright and more glazed over by the second.
Soon, my legs gave out. Whether it was my strength failing me or my mind wanting a break, I fell to my knees and let the sword fall to my side. I looked toward the large door, where Haden had managed to flee from, judging by a ramp of ice leading to a broken section of the wall.
I just let my head hang into my shoulders, knowing I had done my duty.