XXVII

 

Sacrifice

Azran shook off the effects of his father’s actions just in time to behold a vision of the wizard Yalak forming before the elder Bedlam. Azran gasped, then realized that this could not be the veteran mage.

That could only mean it was Jekrith Terin. Why he confronted Azran’s father in this shape was of no interest to Azran. All that mattered to him was retrieving the sword and book. With the Horned Blade and the book --- the link to the libraries as a whole --- his, Azran would at last be the master of all. No one would ever look down on him again.

Gritting his teeth, Azran extended his hand in the direction he sensed his creation.

The Horned Blade returned to his grip. Nathan’s son brandished it, then eyed the two remaining thorns in his life. At that moment, he thought how well Fate chose to serve him, setting the former seneschal and his father so close to one another. Azran could not have planned it better himself.

You thought that you and you alone were the sword, he thought as he stared at the false Yalak. but if there’s one piece of advice I can thank dear Father for, it’s to never fully trust those who seem to offer you the world.

He focused on the sword, the great weapon whose creation had been guided by the seneschal, but whose initial crafting had to be done by Azran and Azran alone. Thus, even the renegade Seeker, with all the lore of the City of Knowledge at his beck and call, could not know everything that the son of Nathan Bedlam had done during that period.

Come to me...come to me...

The hilt shimmered. He felt hidden places --- magical places --- he had set deep in the sword open up. Tremendous power surged into the Horned Blade, power to which Jekrith Terin had no access.

Power secretly gleaned from that absorbed by the dark sword from each and every victim.

It was not so tremendous a fount of power as already surged above Penacles, but it was the magical might with which Azran had planned to seal his victory over his ‘ally’. The Horned Blade emitted a black aura. Azran pointed the tip at his father’s back.

“Sorry, Father,” he whispered. “but you’re in the way in more than one manner.”

 

 

The floating figure reached toward Nathan. Despite the mage’s best efforts, the stolen tome pulled free of his grip and flew to Jekrith Terin’s waiting ‘hand’.

“All is again as it should be.” ‘Yalak’s’ face broke into a sinister smile. “He promised to bring you to this point --- to this very point --- Nathan Bedlam,” the renegade Seeker declared with amusement, using the human mouth to speak out loud. Jekrith Terin spread his arms to indicate the fiery dragon form surrounding them. “This...all of this is for the fools below and for the prying eyes of others you and I need not name! This display of power is for those who have no purpose but to be ruled!” The smile widened. “But you...you have always been meant for me...as he foresaw. Your body with its inherent magical abilities will serve as an exceptional vessel for me.”

Nathan did not respond, his mind racing with what Jekrith Terin said. Had he not been earlier confronted by Yalak’s illusion, he would have thought the Seeker’s words nothing but lies. Still, Nathan could not believe that Yalak had truly been allied with this creature.

Jekrith Terin cocked his head. “Did you think that only Lord Purple manipulated the fates of your kind? Nathan Bedlam, the wizard Yalak was mine before he took his first breath! As the unlamented Lord Purple played his games, I played another beneath his nose, bringing together those with hints of foresight and cultivating their children as needed to grow that ability. It was a process that at times required weeding out the unfit, but the final result was well worth it, do you not think?”

Nathan shifted out of the way just as a huge paw of raw magical energy almost seized him. He immediately countered with a barrier of white radiance that not only pushed the paw from him, but also sent it back at the false Yalak.

Unfortunately, the paw dissipated just before it would have reached Jekrith Terin. A second later, the barrier did the same.

“This rebellion, every little victory and loss, every little bit of blood, was all foreseen. In fact, it was Yalak himself who came to me in the end, his mind haunted by visions whose meaning he came to understand only I could make clear to him. He begged me to put an end to those visions and so I showed him the way.” The renegade laughed harshly. “I guided him to his decisions and in accepting that guidance, he finally saw that the one thing I demanded from him he had to give me whether or not he wanted to. He had to give me you.”

“Why me?” Nathan finally blurted. “Why not Azran?”

The vision of Yalak shimmered. Jekrith Terin’s true form shone through, but he continued to speak with the wizard’s voice. “Your son is not the one, although he was a necessary if annoying catalyst. No, it is you that bears the key to turning the fate of the Dragonrealm on its proverbial head. Your Yalak foresaw that, but he also foresaw that for it to come to pass we had to reach this very point.” He chuckled. “And lest you think me naive, I made...corrections...to his initial vision as things came to pass, ensuring that my victory would be the only possible outcome.”

The Seeker continued to emphasize Yalak’s visions. Yet, Nathan also understood Yalak’s foresight well enough. Yalak had at times even seemed to take pains to show his friend the intricacies involved, so much so that Nathan now wondered just how certain Jekrith Terin could be that he had eliminated all but one path. Indeed, now that Nathan thought about it, it was almost as if his old friend had wanted the other wizard to see the very flaws in the Seeker’s plot.

Yalak, did you ---

I had to bring you close enough, the dead mage’s voice interrupted in Nathan’s thoughts. I had to bring you to the point where you understood what needed to be done.

It was all Nathan could do to keep from reacting when the voice. It was clearly a voice that the Seeker did not hear...a coming from only one possible source.

Once more, whatever spell Yalak had been placed on Darkhorse now enabled the dead wizard to speak through him. Yalak had foreseen this moment --- this moment hidden even from the calculating Seeker --- and left one last message for his friend.

Why wait, Yalak? Why wait to tell me only now?

To his surprise, he actually received an answer.

Because...the final decision is yours...and not your son’s.

Why Yalak would include Azran in the comment, Nathan at first did not understand. Only when he instinctively sought out Azran’s presence did the veteran wizard truly appreciate the depths of Yalak’s own long-range plot against the creature who believed he controlled the seer.

Nathan twisted. The stream of energy that would have struck him solidly in the back instead caught Jekrith Terin/Yalak. All vestiges of Nathan’s friend vanished.

Jekrith Terin’s expression was one of surprise, but not pain. The avian eyes narrowed.

“Fool...” He gestured beyond Nathan.

Azran suddenly materialized in front of the Seeker. He wore a grin as dark as the false Yalak’s had a moment before.

With both hands, Nathan’s son thrust the Horned Blade into the book.

“Now, who’s the fool?” Azran asked with a wide smile.

“Still you,” Jekrith Terin replied.

The sword’s aura magnified. Azran cried out. He nearly let go, but managed to keep hold.

“You are not your father,” the renegade remarked as the aura spread from the ruined tome to the Seeker’s image and then throughout the dragon form. “and your use is ended ---”

But the same forces spreading through the book and Jekrith Terin’s image now also covered Azran. The smile returned.

“No,” the younger Bedlam rasped. “I am not.”

Azran’s hands whitened as he strengthened his hold on the Horned Blade. Jekrith Terin’s image momentarily faded.

Nathan felt the titanic struggle for control. Azran’s will had initially surprised the Seeker, but no longer. For the moment, the two were caught up in a stalemate.

Nathan concentrated. Yalak?

He received only a puzzled thought from Darkhorse in return. If there was anything else the dead wizard planned to tell his former comrade, it was not intended for this moment. Nathan was entirely on his own.

Throughout all of this, the false dragon surrounding them continued to roar and flap its wings. Nathan understood that after the devastation Jekrith Terin had already unleashed, few there were who would have remained close enough to see that the Seeker had no active control at the moment. Unfortunately, there was no manner by which Nathan could take over, for the dragon was part of the same energies over which the pair fought.

A pained grunt escaped the younger Bedlam. Eyeing Azran, Nathan realized that despite his son’s hubris, the tide was slowly but surely turning against him. He doubted that Azran understood that yet. Nathan had to act.

He still gripped the stone, but despite Yalak’s insistence that Nathan bring it with him, the veteran wizard had no idea how to use it beyond what he had already done. It could store a great reservoir of power --- much of which Nathan had depleted --- and then unleash it at its wielder’s command, but was capable of little more. Nathan considered attempting to use it to absorb as much power as he could from that over which his son and the renegade fought, but it would never be enough to garner the senior wizard control ---

Nathan bit his lip. Of course, that all depended on just how much control he desired and what he hoped to do with it.

Now I understand you, Yalak, Nathan somberly thought. Now I understand. I still wish you’d told me first, though. You should have trusted in me. You should have.

He knew he could not wait. Without giving them any warning, Nathan severed his link to both the Gryphon and Darkhorse. He did not want to risk either of them in this, especially the shadow steed, who was magic himself. Once Nathan used the stone again, it would seek to swallow any and all power around it, Darkhorse included.

The Gryphon immediately reached out to him, repeating the wizard’s name several times. Nathan ignored every entreaty. Holding the stone before him, he concentrated.

Shade’s creation stirred sluggishly, then grew dead again. Nathan understood now why Jekrith Terin had not bothered taking the stone away. What little magic remained in the stone appeared locked within, but, worse, Nathan could not make the thing serve the other function for which the accursed warlock had supposedly designed it. Yet, Yalak had been insistent that Nathan keep the stone with him through the end.

The wizard suddenly clutched his chest. His heart, which had been beating hard throughout all of the struggle, had just skipped. Nathan was again reminded of the sacrifice he had made before coming here and saw now what that was costing him. He did not regret what he had done for his grandson, but knew that he could not last much longer at this rate.

There was no help from the remaining Seekers, not that the mage desired to include them at this point. They battered futilely at the dragon without any success and when Nathan tried to reach them, he felt a nothingness that he recognized had to be a spell Jekrith Terin had earlier cast.

The Gryphon sought him out again, but the wizard continued to ignore the call. Instead, Nathan placed the stone on his chest as he had done before. Then, gritting his teeth, he opened himself up as he had only to Cabe, feeding his life force into the spell he utilized on the stone.

And at last, under his grueling effort, the stone stirred to life.

Shivering, Nathan fought to maintain his position while also commanding the stone. He could not lessen his own contribution to Shade’s creation less it cease functioning again.

The stone reached out to Azran and Jekrith Terin.

Caught up in their own struggle, neither sensed Nathan’s spellwork until the stone began its work. Shade’s creation immediately began draining from both.

Azran screamed while the Seeker merely grunted in pain. Nathan felt both of them attempt to sever the spell’s ties, but as the wizard expected, Shade had apparently done his work well. Indeed, the only weak link in Nathan’s plan remained his own strength. With both his son and the renegade attempting to overwhelm the stone, the veteran wizard could hardly keep from blacking out.

I have to finish this! I can’t let this go beyond what it has... The rebellion was over, the only victory left to Nathan and his comrades the freeing of Penacles. Everyone else was dead save Gwendolyn, whom he hoped would find sanctuary either in the Manor or with the Gryphon.

He felt both Azran and the Seeker continue to fight to regain what the stone tore from them. At the same time, more energy poured from the libraries. Far more than Nathan knew the stone could contain.

Father! Azran all but roared in his head. Just what do you think you’re ---

Nathan blocked out Azran’s voice. For all the evil his son had committed, at that moment Nathan feared that his love for Azran would make him hesitate.

Nathan felt the stone’s matrix start to collapse. It was time.

He used the efforts of his son and Jekrith Terin to transport him to them. Azran gaped. Jekrith Terin’s eyes flashed as suspicion at what Nathan planned clearly dawned on the Seeker. The former seneschal faded as Jekrith Terin sought to sever his magical link to the struggle, but by then it was too late. Nathan had already intertwined all of their spells to the efforts of the stone.

Now it was Azran whose eyes signaled his understanding. Wide-eyed and fearful, the younger Bedlam also tried to break free. When that attempted failed, he looked from his father to the Horned Blade and then back at Nathan a final time.

Azran brought up one hand to the sword’s sharp edge.

Nathan allowed the stone and its spellwork to collapse. The combination of other spells along with all the compressed energies suddenly released could have only one result.

He gritted his teeth and prayed it would not be too painful.

 

 

The sky above Penacles burned. An inferno spread over wherever the huge fiery dragon hovered, swiftly engulfing it. Even then, the fearsome energies danced around violently, as if feeding off something that could not be seen.

Now standing at the edge of the nearest balcony, the Gryphon watched in both amazement and dismay at the sight. He knew that somewhere in the midst of all the magical conflagration, Nathan still struggled. The lionbird tried again to reach out to the mage.

Instead, a different voice entered his mind. Lord Gryphon! What shall we do?

The Gryphon answered with a question of his own. Do you think you can resist that chaos long enough to carry us inside?

The eternal immediately understood. Stand ready!

Even as Darkhorse gave that warning, the Gryphon’s view of the world suddenly grew muted. A black film covered everything.

You are inside me, Darkhorse informed him. To conserve my power, I will continue to speak through thought! You may do otherwise!

“Get us there,” was the lionbird’s only reply.

They shot into the air, heading straight toward the inferno. The Gryphon marveled that it still burned despite having no obvious source. He could feel its horrendous fury even from far away and wondered how Nathan could possibly still be alive in all that.

Darkhorse neared the edge. As they entered, incredible heat struck the Gryphon. He dropped to his knees as both that and a crushing force assailed him. The Gryphon was well aware that what he felt was only a fraction of what bedeviled the eternal. Yet, although the lionbird could sense his companion’s stress, Darkhorse persevered, flying them into the heart of the inferno.

Nathan! the Gryphon silently called. Nathan! We’re coming for you!

I sense something --- or someone --- just ahead!

Even as Darkhorse spoke, the Gryphon also sensed another presence. Unfortunately, surrounded by so much wild energy, it was impossible for him to say who or what it might be. The lionbird peered through the eternal’s translucent form, trying to make visual confirmation ---

The gigantic head of a raging Seeker filled his view. The savage avian reached a huge taloned hand at the pair.

Before the hand could reach them, a wave of blue energy washed over the monstrous vision. The head turned in fury, only to dissipate.

Nathan spoke. Both of you leave! Watch Cabe! Watch my grandson!

Before the Gryphon could ask anything, he felt a force shove Darkhorse back. Despite the eternal’s struggles, the pair found themselves thrust back out of the magical maelstrom.

Nathan! the Gryphon shouted in his head. When that proved insufficient to him, he shouted it out loud as well. “Nathan!”

The inferno swelled, turned as black as death, then imploded.

 

 

As Nathan forced the Gryphon and Darkhorse back, he felt Jekrith Terin once more attempting to seize control. The huge face of the Seeker reformed. This time, instead of creating gargantuan talons in which to seize the wizard, the renegade simply opened wide his beak and sought to swallow Nathan whole.

Nathan allowed that to happen. He felt the former seneschal’s presence surround him, press at him from all sides.

He also felt the presence of the stolen book, the only object untouched by all this. Indeed, it was the book around which so much of the energy swirled.

The Seeker’s will continued to try to crush Nathan’s. Jekrith Terin was everywhere, yet, despite that, the mage held his calm.

I have waited too long, human! Jekrith Terin roared in Nathan’s head, his physical mouth now gone. This power is mine! I will shape the land, not the land shape us!

The wizard said nothing. Instead, he briefly thought of all those now dead and the one hope left for the future. He thought of how the ‘war’ had begun.

Most of all he thought of all his failures.

Jekrith Terin’s voice roared in his head. I will --- I will ---

Nathan tensed. Straining, he surveyed his surroundings. Just as Nathan had expected, the renegade Seeker could not contain so much wild energy in his current form.

Yet, the seneschal either did not see that danger or refused to admit it. Energy coalesced around Jekrith Terin as he sought to reclaim command. I will be the master of ---

The Seeker’s presence fragmented again. This time, Nathan could feel his consternation, his fear.

No! Jekrith Terin cried out. I have planned too long! I have planned ---

The maelstrom turned black. Although already wracked with pain, Nathan gritted his teeth for what he knew was to come.

Those below could not see the core of the implosion. For the wizard, it was as beautiful as it was horrifying. A tear opened up reality and through it rushed the unleashed energies. In their wake, they left brief, colorful streaks that made the strongest rainbows pale in comparison. So bright were some that Nathan had to shield his gaze.

Battling the flow, the mage strained to reach the book, the only stable object in the chaos. The wizard’s shields did little now to protect him, but Nathan tried his best to fight back the agony. He had to retrieve the book in order to keep the maelstrom from taking part of the Dragonrealm with it.

The final vestiges of his shields faded. His flesh began to sear. Nathan’s fingers came within inches of the stolen tome, yet he could not push himself the final distance.

No! I--- must!

The gap remained.

The wizard started to black out. He fought back the darkness, made one final attempt.

The book came to him.

Clutching his prize to his chest, Nathan did everything he could to sever its link to the magical storm. His vision blurred as his body burned. The faces of his sons, of Gwendolyn, of Yalak, the Gryphon, of all the Dragon Masters, coursed through his tumultuous thoughts.

And then one last face came to him, the refined, loving face framed by lush black hair. The face he always dreamed about.

“Asrilla...” Nathan murmured. “Asrilla....”

Asrilla smiled at him, then took the dying wizard in her arms and carried him away from his pain.

 

 

Tears swelled around Gwendolyn’s eyes, tears she could not shed thanks to Azran’s foul prison. As he had promised, she had seen everything through his eyes, everything save the final end. That, she had sensed through her close ties to Nathan.

A figure moved at the edge of her vision. In her grief, Gwendolyn paid little attention to the figure. She assumed it to merely be the female drake Camilla or one of her sisters. Twice now, they had stepped up to the trapped enchantress and tested her prison with their sharp claws. Gwendolyn knew that they did not do it out of any attempt to release her, but rather because they hoped to slay the human.

Yet, their claws did not even leave marks on the amber. The enchantress suspected that even if all three worked hard for a century or more, they would fail to mar the surface. She did not mind the three trying, though. Even the potential threat of death was better than what Azran had done to her.

However, it was not any of the female drakes. Rather, it was the hooded form that had once before appeared in front of her. That time, the figure had merely gazed at her, then, in a voice purposely muffled, apologized and said that nothing could be done to free her. After that, the shape had vanished.

Gwendolyn expected the strange spellcaster to try again, but instead, the figure raised a gloved hand before the enchantress’s eyes.

I cannot free you, just as he said it must be, but I can make the time stretch easier. I can make you dream of better things, of better moments...until he comes to rescue both you and the land itself. It will be a long while, but he will come.

Gwendolyn had no idea what the stranger meant. She wanted to ask questions, but the hand waved past her.

The enchantress fell asleep...and as promised by the figure, dreamed.

 

 

And while Gwendolyn slipped into dreams, Azran Bedlam awoke from one nightmare to discover himself in another.

Battered, his body wracked with pain from burns, it took him all his initial strength to just push his face from the dirt. Memories assailed him them, memories of his realization of just what his father had intended. As one who could have never sacrificed himself for anyone, it had come as a tremendous shock to see that his father could do that. It had also shocked him to understand that Nathan had also been more than willing to take his wayward son with him.

At the time, that had been enough to push Azran to do what he thought he could never bring himself to do. Clutching the Horned Blade by its sharp edge, he had used the mixing of his blood with the power still in the weapon to cast both he and the Horned Blade to somewhere far away, anywhere.

It took a moment for his surroundings to coalesce, but when they did, Azran viewed a landscape torn apart. At first, he thought he was near what surely had to be all that was left of Penacles, but then he realized that could not be the place. He knew of only one land so decimated, a destination likely plucked from the back of his mind.

The Adajian Fields. That irony of that name for such a barren land made Azran chuckle, a chuckle which then turned into a ragged cough.

The coughing finally subsided. With the return to calm came the sudden fear of what had happened to his prized creation. Azran managed to raise himself up on his elbows. To his relief, he saw the Horned Blade only a short distance away.

Walking was still beyond him, so Azran dragged his body toward the weapon. With his one palm still bleeding and painful, the going proved very slow. However, as he finally neared, he frowned. He could still sense power in it, but only a fraction of what it had once held. Even with Jekrith Terin’s departure from the sword, Azran had expected there to be much, much more.

Then he recalled just how difficult it had been to escape his father’s trap. Azran silently swore. If the the sword was ---

Something heavy landed on his back, pressing him into the ground. As Azran fought for breath, he heard the clink of metal and the tromping of heavy boots. A moment later, he also heard the sliding of metal that warned him someone had just picked up his sword.

“I have...I have walked the length and breadth of my kingdom,” the other hissed. “Walked it all and found nothing alive. Nothing!”

Looking up, Azran beheld the Brown Dragon. The drake lord looked as bedraggled as the spellcaster felt. Dirt and dust covered the armored form and one arm hung twisted. The Dragon King’s breathing occasionally came in gasps, but with his one good arm he still wielded the Horned Blade expertly.

Azran swallowed.

“But at lassst...but at lassst...Fate sssmiles on me...” Lord Brown took a moment to eye the sword. “A fine crafting. An excellent weight. I look forward to learning all itsss abilitiessss.”

Nathan’s son tried to concentrate, tried to send himself from the spot, but his focus remained inconsistent at best.

“I sssensssed your presssence, but it took a moment to underssstand jussst who you were and where you could be found,” The Dragon King continued. “Thisss land isss ssstill inundated with your father’sss magicksss! I have tried to resssurrect the fieldsss, but nothing happensss! Nothing will grow! Nothing will live! My kingdom isss barren!”

Azran said nothing. He continued to try to concentrate, but his eyes now fixed entirely on the Horned Blade, which the Brown Dragon had readied with one clear purpose in mind.

“But all that can be rectified, I believe. The blood of a Bedlam...now that should sssalvage my kingdom, yesss. The blood of a Bedlam will give my ssspell the power to return the Adajian Fieldsss to their glory and my clan to itsss prominence...”

The Brown Dragon raised the Horned Blade high over his head. Azran struggled one last time to concentrate enough to send himself to safety ---

Someone whispered in Azran’s ear. The world around him took on a cold, grey tone.

The oppressive heat and raging fury of the Hell Plains greeted an exhausted Azran.

The air rippled. His sanctum formed before him, but that was not what interested the spellcaster so much. Instead, a lone shadow caught his attention. A lone shadow cast by nothing around it.

“I’d w-wondered what happened to you lot,” Azran muttered.

We have had...difficulties, the voice of the necromancer Ephraim replied in his head. Consider yourself fortunate that we chose to intercede...

“I’m grateful...but why?”

We will make our needs known soon enough...

And with that, the shadow faded away.

Stumbling to his feet, Azran started for his citadel. He cared not a whit for whatever the Lords of the Dead --- who clearly had suffered much themselves --- wanted of him. All he knew was that he was alive and that there were those who would eventually be trying to hunt him down. He would be safe enough in his sanctum, but he needed to do something to defend himself.

Azran thought about the Horned Blade, now a mere ghost of its once powerful self. He began to see all the mistakes he had made in forging it, especially relying on his allies for their strength. Any new sword he forged would be a part of him and him alone.

For the first time since waking, his spirits rose. A new sword. A much better sword. One lacking the obvious imperfections.

“A new sword,” Azran murmured as he entered. “Yes...a better sword...”