The moment they stepped out from the village gate, the accompanying draennith praetors greeted the group led by Augermil keeping the pace of the excited Sigi. Even his dark eye glimmered with a childlike fervor upon witnessing the mighty forms of the heavenly host, clearly dragon but with the faint lineaments of gryphons, phoenixes and the proud kings of the southern forests, elks and stags. It took him a lot of effort to keep himself courteous – hammered into him by both Mirdbruil and Aurelithae.
For six years she prepared him for this meeting, and the next when the three youths shall meet with the Elhyrissiar, her father. A moment she was very anxious about, yet the source of it seemed to evade her still. Nonetheless, the two spent half their time in Oneiron practicing manners of the court, the need of self-control – to contain one’s excitement outside the boundaries of ones’ home – and of course the strange maghia both were gifted with. Although Aurelithae kept silent on the Black Book delivered by a pale stranger.
Despite knowing, suspecting that the princess of the Empire possessing such knowledge had to have a source, Sigiwaer remained silent on the matter. Mostly because he knew it was improper to delve into the secrets of others. And because he believed that when the time comes, she shall reveal it to him – and possibly to Eadwald and Amiriniel, their fellow kindred, siblings.
As these thoughts danced around his mind, walking between Eadwald and Augermil – Priernuss behind them with Mirdbruil – Sigi’s mind focused on the group of dragons and their proud riders in gilded plates of overlapping segments covering their whole and honed forms on top of the seemingly thin layer of lavish clothing. He surged with excitement, awe like Eadwald whose dream just entered into his world, a step away from him. Still, the two remained calm as they matched their pace to Augermil’s.
“This one you had all seen. But let me introduce you my winged friend, the great Jaculus.” Eadwald unsure on the proper way of these things remained still listening with a mildly excited expression plastered onto his face. Amiriniel near him, excited more as she sensed a familiarity with the beast, on top of sensing the might of the dragon that faintly leaked from its body. Which Sigi himself saw in the form of a chromatic mist, opaque when he walked closer, translucent when they were still a few dozen steps away.
Jaculus’s presence drawn him closer. His hand raised, and without noticing it he walked towards the dragon, palm reached towards the muzzle with an avian lineament. “May I?” Came the question while his eyes met the dragon’s brimming jewels of myriad colors congregating peacefully in the wide frame. “Go ahead my little brother!” And came the answer from the recipient himself, freezing the boy in bewilderment as he not expected the dragon’s capability of speech. The bestial voice rang with a tone both bestial and regal, noble the least followed by a breath pleasant both in odor and the heat it generated upon the formation of words.
“No need to be afraid.” Augermil encouraged him in a kind manner that reminded him of Ulrich nudging him during their hunting trip. He took a mouthful from the frigid air and pushed on, and surprise dawned on his face upon sensing the scales pushing gently against his palm. A feeling he likened to touching velvet or silk but with the sturdiness, indomitability of metals. It felt pleasantly warm like the breath accompanied by the heat piling up within the massive form which shadow protected him from the pallid light of the Illius. The heat, the softness and sturdiness all delivered a sense of calm and empowerment within him, as if he himself changed into a dragon of the Heavenly House.
Lost in this sensation, he almost walked into the baggage fastened to the enormous saddle hewn from the hide of another mighty beast – he conjectured from the refined dullness of it. “Ah, excuse me. Was a bit lost.” He said meekly to Augermil who was following behind, noticing the distant look on the boys’ face as he was day dreaming, soaring the skies. “No need for apologies. Seems even Jaculus felt it pleasant.” He pointed out the soft purring of the dragon who looked at Sigi.
“Can we too?” Amiriniel noticing too his expression asked whilst stepping forward. Augermil looked at Jaculus who nodded, then lowered his head with the same motion.
“Come Eadwald!” She yelled to Eadwald who stood beside Mirdbruil and Priernuss, both watching proudly, their woes lost to the moment. Though he was brimming with eagerness and even in a state of blissfulness, Eadwald maintained the façade of a calm, measured man as he placed his palm betwixt the scaled epidermis, the domed area between the slit nostrils and at once Jaculus shared a tinge of his primeval essence. Like Sigiwaer he went through a series of ecstatic sensations, the weightlessness of a dragon soaring across the sky.
“His presence lingers truly in all of them.” Jaculus spoke up once more after they released their soft touch, feeling dejected as if a precious thing was torn from their very being. “We should bring them to safety as soon as possible.”
Augermil raised his hand noticing the stirring of the trio. “We shall take them when the time comes for that. For now, let’s just enjoy this gentle coldness of the north.” His words seemed to calm them for the moment. His head turned sideways upon hearing the approaching steps in the snow and his massive body leaned forward greeting their mother.
“I know this is not an easy time, we shall take off when their hearts and minds are in the right place.” Mirdbruil leaned closer, pouring a bit of mana into her throat, into her words as her lips parted, emanating faint sounds aimed only at Augermil.
“Brother.” She began but stopped in the very same moment as she looked pensive. “Could you not take them the next morning.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Why the hurry Sister?” He asked recognizing the touch of the Gray Monarch within Mirdbruil. “Only my Liege knows, but for the past few months, he has been sending me foreboding dreams.”
Augermil stroked his horned chin before answering. “We shall see. But I believe it is best for these kids to stay at least a month. If anything happens in the meanwhile, I vow on my soul, on my body that I shall protect them even if the Nightscale himself ascends from the belly of Dhaugruz.” Mirdbruil looked into his eyes, and her worries faded at the strength of those words. She simply nodded then excused herself, and the three to let them unpack.
“Are you sure it is good idea to wait?” Jaculus asked as he watched the three of them get swallowed by the arched southern gate. “I do. And time is still on our side.” He answered truthfully, confident.
**
“So, this is it.” Uchitemar said with a retching voice as the two of them stopped before the Pillar of Dawn – one of the four dotted across the north. “How vile.” Orhadin remained silent, reaching towards his throat, unfolding the shawl wrapped around his neck from the same etheric material as the robe beneath his large, scaled plates.
A piece of granite protruding from the blackened earth and snow, lacking in any striking feature – visible to the eye at least. For the two though, it was unmistakable thanks to the invisible storm of overpowering iuboron matter making up the base of the protective dawn spell. A spell which seemed utterly complex even for Orhadin, the erudite nekromancer of the Host who studied maghandr for the better of his life, for almost a century. It almost looked to be woven not by a mortal blessed by the essences of all the Deossok but by the Deossok themselves – specifically by the accursed Amber Lord.
“Do not approach any closer.” Orhadin tilted his staff, stopping the Uchitemar drawing near, ignoring the wave of nausea sweeping through his whole being. His hissing echoed and he at once stopped, noticing the bright, gilded cracks forming on the ghastly pale arms of his slipping out from under the sleeves, burning the conjured material itself even.
“Let’s be done with this.” He said biting his rotten seeming tongue, spitting into the snow the dark ichor coating the insides of his mouth.
“We shall soon. But this spell of the Elhyrissiar is one foot out of the realm of mortals – even us blessed with ascended forms.” For a moment, he lifted his arm up to demonstrate the unseen terror before them. His long, clawed fingers caught on flames – or what appeared to be gilded flames of dawn – contending with the overflowing nekrotic matter flowing within his form. After he pulled it out, he watched as his anima took the shape of his hand while marrow, flesh and epidermis grew back into their state before gnawed away.
With a smile on his ophidian lips, Orhadin turned around and held out a small piece which looked like crystallized obsidian or even glazed basalt hanging from a thin line of rope dangling from the brink of his palm. “Here, satiate your eyes and your heart, mind.” Even from the distance between them, from just glancing at the pallid palm where the piece of the claw rested peacefully, emanating a soothing, opaque mist dark as the starless night sky, he sensed the primordial essence of the Nightscale. It passed through him like a gentle breeze of wintry gust, calming, embracing him.
Without even noticing it, his withered lips curled in exhilaration. Just with that single piece, he felt confident in raising a legion’s worth of undead in the name of the Nightscale. He could face half the lords of the woodland, bind them to his will. Or simply face off against Eadwald in the state where he unravels with his gift, planted into his whole being by the Almodo himself. He was sure of all of that by just simply glimpsing the small piece of primordial piece of claw.
“It is magnificent.” He blurted out. “I do agree.” Orhadin agreed.
“What exactly is that?” Uchitemar pointed at the pillar glowing in the dawn’s shade of amber and golden as it sensed the two just five steps from itself. “It doesn’t feel like a piece of rock enchanted with some dawn spell.”
“Correct.” Orhadin said while curling his fingers over the piece of claw which now emitted a dark mist. “Once upon a time, this piece of granite was part of the Veinways below our feet – called forth by the Elhyrissiar not long after our ancestors retreated to the basin. From what I can tell, and was told to me, it is similar to our sentinels.” He stopped for a moment as he raised his hand forward overflowing with the poisonous, cleansing mist of primeval nekrotic matter. “Souls imbued in a piece of rock. Quite funny if you ask me.” A chuckle mingled into his sibilant groan.
As soon as his hand clutching the claw piece reached into the invisible storm, the mist raged against the storm of iuboron matter, reaching its own tendrils into the myriad draughts. At first the blackness whitened at the edges, and the few tendrils retreated back, amassing their forces for the next assault whilst Orhadin bit his ophidian tongue, his eyes brimming with fervor as he held back the immense pain of clashing forces. Uchitemar watched silently as his compatriot held his ground silently, emanating faint groans and whimpers, muffled cries from the pain.
Then he meandered back at the sudden explosion of iuoboron and nekrotic matter contending against each other, the latter gaining ground slowly as Orhadin beckoned it to ignore the woe of his eroding hand, forearm. Utter blackness burst forth the claw, enshrined the granite pillar whilst the air around them grew darker, colder – even pleasant for the two blessed by the ancient spirits of Dusk.
“What were they thinking?” Uchitemar blurted out as he approached slowly, sensing the spirits of the sacrificed magrorhok calm by the soothing etheric winds of Dusk. They no longer lashed out against the two, but beckoned them closer as friends, siblings all under the care of the Nightscale. “Have they expected to attack before us? Or was he simply so confident in his own power, in the lies of the Deossok that he relegated the protection of this land to the dead?”
“My guess is good as yours Uchitemar. But I think he did not expect us to make the first move. Especially down at the very heart of the Empire.” Orhadin said as his hand once more reconstructed before his eyes, while the previous pain was nothing more than a distant memory locked deep within his mind. He took one more look at the pillar, chugging in the raging mist of the night. From it, the vague outline of an aevhe and a faun parted and hovered close to him.
From the snow, the piece of claw hovered into his palm held towards the two floating around him, slicing through the air with muffled shrieks. “Come, we better return.” With the part of the claw in their possession, the wraiths free from the searing tyranny of the dawn spell, glided into the distance – beneath their opaque mist form, the snow and earth blackened from the presence of the Nightscale.