57: PROMISES AND FREEDOM

Galen’s story The Lair of the Shadow Dragon Drehemia

Galen kept an eye on Qown as the man created lights at various spots around the cave. He’d told Qown they’d return, and he’d been able to keep his promise.

Talea watched as well, but her expression was unreadable. Galen wondered if she realized that she was slowly becoming … inscrutable.

“I thought we’d start from that side and work our way over.” Qown gestured toward one end of the row of caskets. “They’re magical, but I don’t think they’re trapped.”

“Don’t think?” Galen asked.

Qown shrugged. “Not really something I know a lot about, traps. They … might be?”

“Only one way to find out,” Talea said. She put her foot on the lid of a casket and shoved.

Galen stepped back. Inside the coffin lay a thin woman covered in snake scales with multiple serpents instead of hair. She was dressed in a tattered, ancient green dress.

She opened her eyes and began screaming.

Galen didn’t think she saw them. From the angle, she was staring at the ceiling. And unlike them, whatever kept her alive didn’t involve a bubble of air surrounding her head, so her screams released a steady stream of the more mundane variety, which ascended quickly.

He drew breath to say something, but all the other caskets chose that moment to open and disgorge their contents. No two races were the same, and many Galen had believed existed only in legends. Here was a creature with a goat’s legs and the upper body of a crab. There, a woman who would have been attractive if not for the three extra pairs of eyes and the arms replaced with long, stiff-haired legs like those of a wolf spider. A particularly large, oddly shaped coffin let loose what he suspected was an actual centaur.

All of the creatures were alike in three specific ways, however. First, all of them emerged from their caskets screaming.

Second, they all turned to face his little group.

Third, they all attacked.

Sheloran’s story

Killing a dragon—even temporarily—was a monumental labor. The stuff of legends (the few that didn’t claim it was flat-out impossible). It was so difficult, in fact, that the phrase “kill a dragon” meant to attempt the impossible.

And yet, there were people present who witnessed the deaths of as many as three dragons.

Capturing a dragon was much trickier.

Anyone who possessed so much as a witchgift had their hands full, and the rest were just as busy holding off the maddened and crazed and the just plain idiotic who sought to stop the sorcerers. If Kihrin was seen to throw a little more magic than it was popularly believed that Kihrin knew? Well, that was easily explained as him having learned more at Tyentso’s knee than people had suspected.

The Lash did her best to keep Drehemia trapped, both with her own body and with the dead whom, individually insignificant, could simply weigh down the dragon by overwhelming numbers.

Sheloran did what she could, but the blows to her head made it hard to concentrate.

Time and again, Drehemia freed an arm or a wing, and time and again, she was re-imprisoned. Time, however, wasn’t on their side, for while the dragon seemed to possess an infinite supply of rage-fueled strength, the mortals were beginning to tire.

Senera’s story Atamer Harbor, Devors, Quur

“Ready?” Thurvishar asked Senera when they completed the last of the preparations.

“No,” Senera said and then sighed. “But I volunteered.”

Her gut churned.

Relos Var would kill her for this. Actually kill her. She had no doubt whatsoever. It was possible he could forgive the betrayals she had committed so far, but if they did this, now, any hope of reconciliation with him was obliterated for all eternity.

“I’m proud of you,” Thurvishar said.

“Oh, fuck off,” she snapped. “Let’s do this.”

She began opening the ritual array when a light flashed overhead, centering on Drehemia. A second later, a scorpion cask slammed into the dragon and exploded in a burst of brilliant white light. Two more followed it, scorching dragon, undead, metal chains, and kraken with equal abandon.

Senera picked herself up off the ground, cursing.

The Quuros army had arrived to “help.”

Galen’s story

Galen swore as he yanked Qown away from the sword thrust of a cat-headed man. The only advantage Galen and his friends had was that the water slowed movements of friend and foe alike.

Two advantages, he corrected himself after a second. None of the game pieces seemed to be spellcasters. That was nice.

They were still outnumbered a dozen to one, and if their attackers managed to surround them, the relatively low velocity of the thrusts wouldn’t matter in the slightest.

If they were surrounded …

Galen stared at the cat-man, who even now stepped forward for another strike while the lady with the snakes for hair shuffled to his left.

Stepped. Shuffled.

The “pieces” behaved as if they were on land. That made a degree of sense; one wouldn’t want their Zaibur pieces swimming off the board, would they?

“Swim above them!” Galen yelled. He pushed Qown upward and then launched himself up as well. The cat-man’s blade passed beneath his feet.

“They can’t swim! We have a—” Galen never finished that thought. It was Qown’s turn to save him, planting his feet in Galen’s abdomen and pushing them in opposite directions. As he did, a tentacle-like blast of gold coins tore through the bit of water they’d been occupying a moment ago.

So Galen had been wrong about the lack of enemy spellcasters.

“Okay, this officially sucks,” he declared. He sighed and drew his sword, swimming toward the centaur. “Sorry about this,” he said, angling himself for a blow.

The centaur tried to dance away, and had he been surrounded by the more malleable air instead of water, he’d have pulled off the trick. As it was, Galen managed to score a long, shallow cut down the creature’s right flank. Blood flowed, creating red ribbons in the water.

The centaur reared onto its front legs and lashed out at Galen. The water again slowed the blow, and Galen was able to get his sword between him and one of the hooves. The second one hit him in the shoulder, and he knew he’d have the mother of all bruises there tomorrow.

“Don’t let them surround you!” Talea cried out.

“Sure,” Galen said, leveling his blade and pushing himself into a swimming lunge at the centaur. He cut it again on the same flank, and the creature cried bubbles of pain. Several other clouds of blood floated in the water by this point, and it was getting increasingly hard to see.

An issue that became irrelevant to Galen a moment later when the coin pseudopod struck him from behind and engulfed his legs and waist. He kicked and hacked at it, but gold coins don’t bleed or feel pain.

“Look out!” Talea yelled.

Galen looked up. A hulking white-skinned man with shark’s teeth in a too-wide mouth leveled a trident at Galen’s chest.

“Well, fuck,” Galen said.