Mritha
Legendary AdventureGuide!
|
Chapter 9
Days later, Mritha looked down at the cold sea below. You should be grateful to me, Surt’s voice echoed in her mind from years past. I have given you immortality. Time has no power over you, poison and blade are meaningless.
Thank you? You took my freedom! Given the chance I will kill you!
Nothing is free, Mritha. Everything has a price. You are simply paying up.
My name is Ahtirm!
Not anymore.
So long ago did that conversation take place. Unless her heart was destroyed or badly damaged, she would not die. So he had said. But looking down at the water below, Mritha wondered how true that was. If she jumped, there wouldn’t be a body left to live in, it would be destroyed completely from a fall at this height. How would she live then? In that moment, Mritha almost let go and let herself fall. Surely whatever existence she was put in would be easier to endure than this! You would leave Odgne to suffer alone if you do this. A small voice in the back of her mind whispered. Lich and Aiolos would be here forever, your father would come only to find that his daughter was weak. She gave up and tried to run instead of fighting and waiting for him.
“I can’t take any more of this…” she whispered back to the voice, her eyes prickling and burning with fought back tears. Her sanity didn’t even cross her mind, that she was having conversations with strange voices in her head. Mritha looked out in the distance, as if the rising sun on the horizon could offer her hope. Two dragons were approaching, still tiny in the sky. One appeared to be grayish in color, the other was glittering gold, unmistakably so even from the distance between them. “Father… you came!” Mritha’s grip on the rail tightened. “Praise the gods, you came!”
Fodr looked out to the sea as they approached, then down at the fluttering map clutched tightly in his hand. “We are here but there is nothing.” He called to his companions brokenheartedly.
Kyle frowned but said nothing. It seemed that the legend was untrue and they now had no leads and no time. Then he saw something moving down below, it was difficult to tell from this height but it looked like someone wrapped tightly in a pure white robe, only seen against the snow because of the skeletal horse the person rode provided a backdrop against the sea of white. Before Kyle could point out the rider, the snow seemed to swirl unnaturally ahead of them. Distracted now, he watched a black bridge take shape in front of him as if a thick fog were suddenly lifted. “Fodr!” He called.
“I see!” Came his reply. Both dragons picked up their speed, following the bridge as it was unveiled. The waves ahead no longer looked like the rest of the sea, being blown by the wind. Now they crashed against something, black stone walls could now be seen. The castle slowly appeared ahead of them now that the spell concealing it had been severed.
Beset glanced up at the dragons, monitoring their approach. They would soon be within range. An unseen command had her undead drawing their drawing their bows; she pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back and took aim alongside her creations. “What are you waiting for, bring them down!” A voice called behind her. She recognized it to belong to Jaken, a loyalist necromancer.
Without a word, she quickly turned and loosed her arrow into his chest. “The same thing I be waitin’ on for years!” She answered him as he fell, a shocked expression on his face.
The green robed necromantress glanced up as the two dragons flew closer. “It’s about time ye be gettin’ ‘ere.” She grumbled and drew another arrow. Though they had never landed, they still flew as if they could see the castle. An oddity, the spell interrupter was located on a dead tree near the edge of the sea. They never activated it so if they could see the castle, then it meant someone else had. Beset’s lips pressed together in a thin line when the thought crossed her mind, not knowing who ended the spell.
A massive black shadow rose up in front of Tyr-Gullin and Nacure, startling the two dragons and their riders. The sound of her beating wings was the only noise Odgne made as she rose from the cramped courtyard and vanished into the thick clouds above, granting the four intruders an easy access to the castle.
Undead poured out into the courtyard when the two dragons landed. Nacure took a deep breath and exhaled, a grayish fog erupting from his mouth and turning all undead it touched into solid stone. Behind him, Fodr raised his blade to meet the axe of an undead but an arrow brought the creature down first. Looking up, the elder dragonlord saw that the walls around the courtyard were topped with undead, each armed with a bow and shooting the animated skeletons below.
Undead gargoyles, gryphons, and even a wyvern swooped down from above, attacking the undead on the ground. It was as if the two dragonlords had arrived in the midst of a civil war in the castle.
Fodr and Kyle were able to slip into the castle mostly without trouble, the undead and their necromancer masters were occupied with fighting each other instead of stopping them. When Kyle saw the black dragonlord emerge from behind a large stone staircase, he raised his sword but Fodr jerked his arm down. “Father!” She cried out and charged, leaping into his arms. Kyle stood to the side awkwardly, watching them embrace. He briefly wondered if he should leave them alone for a while, but quickly remembered how easily that woman had killed before, against her will or not.
He was glad he didn’t leave when he heard laughter echoing through the hallway. “Oh this is precious,” Surt commented, watching the three below from his perch at the top of the staircase. His staff was held in one hand… a beating heart in his other. “Such an adorable moment when a father and daughter reunite.” Mritha slinked behind Fodr, as if trying to hide. “Unfortunately the arrival of you two has unleashed hell on this castle and caused Zeuster knows what kind of damage.” He continued, speaking now to Fodr and Kyle. “I considered killing you both for this; though having two more dragonlords and their dragons to add to my collection would be useful indeed.”
A protective rage filled Mritha; the memory of the little boy trembling in her arms while Surt stole his freedom was still fresh in her mind. She drew her black sword and stepped out from her father’s shadow. “You will do no such thing to them!” She shouted, even though she had not the slightest clue on how to stop him.
“Hmm… you’re right. Two more dragonlords would be far too much trouble than they are worth and attract too much attention.” When he smiled at Mritha, she trembled and had the urge to hide again, to run from whatever twisted thought was stewing in his mind. “I think it will be far more entertaining to watch you kill them.”
“Please,” she softly begged, barely able to force the words past the growing lump in her throat. “Please don’t!”
“Kill them both, your father first.” Surt commanded.
Her mind screamed in anguish, fighting the chains that lifted her arm, her sword almost severing her father’s head. It would have had he not ducked and backed away. Her legs moved without her consent, rushing her body forward to strike again. “Kyle!” Fodr shouted, blocking her black and purple blade with his gold and silver sword. “Get her heart and command her to stop!”
Kyle obeyed, running up the stairs two at a time. A fireball whizzed past him when he reached the top, the shock of its suddenness knocking him off balance and almost causing him to fall back down the stairs when he back stepped to avoid it. Several bone fires were waiting for him at the top; he had apparently missed their presence in his mad dash up the black stones. Their fire heated his shield when he hid behind it, slowly advancing and cutting the dead casters down as he neared them. One slice from his blade was usually all it took to bring an undead down; there were just so damn many of them! Surt backed away, watching the two fights taking place from a safer distance.
Odgne watched from above, almost invisible in the thick clouds. Nacure and Tyr-Gullin were attacking both sides of the necromancers battling below, not knowing who to fight for. A considerable amount of undead and even one of the necromancers had been turned to stone by Nacure. Several piles of dusty bones were scattered around as well, the dark magic binding the souls to decaying bodies had been undone by Tyr-Gullin’s light breath. Odgne felt her human child’s anguish like a knife to her scaly breast and roared in helpless sympathy. Alerted to her presence and possibly thinking she was going to soon attack, Tyr-Gullin and Nacure abandoned their eradication of the undead below and flew up, teeth bared. Enraged by the torment she felt flooding though her soul bond; Odgne dove to meet them halfway, too lost in primal rage to remember that they were her allies. “Fools!” she roared at them. “Hatchlings! Do you really dare to challenge me!?” Darkness poured from her maw, meeting stone and light midair.
Rohin glanced up at the three dragons fighting above him. “Stupid lizards causing more hell than anything else!” He grumbled, directing an undead gryphon to snatch up an enemy undead and fling it into the cold stone walls of the courtyard, its bones clattering to the ground shortly after.
“They be confused, they don’t be knowin’ who is friend and who is foe.” Beset said, frowning when a bonefire cast a fireball at one of her archers, charring its bones and freeing the captive soul.
“Easy for you to say, they didn’t shatter as much of your minions!” Yelling caught his attention and he looked over to see Vezrith and Lenoi, two other necromancers, arguing over he didn’t care what. “It’s like there was a target on them. ‘Here is one of Rohin’s undead that he spend countless hours to find and fuse a soul to bones that had to be put back together in a way that still allows them to fly! Extra points if you eat one of them!’” He said, as if announcing an entertainment show on stage.
“Oh quit ye whinin’.” Beset grumbled, aiming for the bonefire before releasing her arrow. Red curls bounced when she nodded in satisfaction, her arrow felling the flaming undead.
It was a seemingly endless battle for Kyle; more undead blocked his path no matter how many he killed. His armor was blackened in places from the fire and much of his skin burning from the heated metal. Thanks to his dragon amulet, he was able to heal some of the burns by connecting to Nacure’s magic. He didn’t dare heal them all though, no matter the pain and discomfort. This was both in part to his current lack of concentration from the battle around him and because he didn’t want to take too much of Nacure’s power in case the dragon needed it more than he did. Kyle had given up trying to reach Surt by now; he was trying his best to fight his way to the dark skinned necromancer. All he had to do was kill the red robed figure and he would be free to pursue Surt, the undead no longer being controlled and commanded to stand in his way.
An axe wielding undead came up from behind Kyle and swung his weapon, the sharp blade cutting through the ribcage of a bonefire. More followed it, shambling right past Kyle and attacking the other undead. A white robed necromancer impaled a bonefire with his white and cold blue staff. “Don’t jusst sstand there, you idiot!” The necromancer hissed, his long white braid swinging when he jumped back to avoid a fireball. “Go after Ssurt and end thiss!” Kyle hesitated only briefly, wondering why one of the necromancers was helping him, before spotting Surt through the warring undead and charging.
Mritha sidestepped, dodging Fodr’s lunge and striking at the same time. He blocked with the heavy gauntlets on his armor, the flat of his blade striking her midsection. He could have done damage with that attack even with her armor on. Yet he used the flat of his blade, not the sharpened edge and didn’t use magic. He was fighting defensively. Despite her mind screaming at her to stop, Mritha’s arm lashed out and twisted, her blade catching on his sword’s hilt and wrenching it from his hand. Now he had no weapon.
“Had it not been for you, Engdo, Ahtirm would never have suffered this way!” Tyr-Gullin dove, narrowly avoiding her snapping jaws. He was surprised at how easily she was angered, always had she been cool and calculating, never making rash actions. Now however… he darted quickly to the side, his tail almost getting bitten off!
With Odgne’s attention completely focused on Tyr-Gullin, Nacure flew above her and breathed on her back where her right wing was joined to her spine. Scales and bone turned to stone, freezing her wing in place. Now unable to fly, Odgne began rapidly sinking from the sky but was able to snatch Tyr-Gullin out of the air with her hind claws as she fell past him. She pulled him down, her claws digging into his side when he struggled to be free from her grip. The icy ocean water shocked them both with its cold when they fell into it, the waves created from their impact with the water rising up and almost swiping Nacure from the low flight he had taken. His gray slitted eyes scanned the churning water for the two dragons below but neither surfaced.
Mritha advanced without mercy, the darkness forming in her palm suddenly released at her father. Fodr caught the blast on his shield, blackening it slightly. When his daughter swung her dark blade, he ducked and grabbed her before she could recover, pinning her sword arm to her chest and causing them both to fumble to the floor. He rolled and grabbed his sword, standing while raising it and blocking her next attack with his blade. It became a test of strength as the two warriors locked weapons and tried to force the other back.
“Don’t give in, Ahtirm! You have fought this for twelve years, don’t falter now!”
A tear rolled down her face as Mritha cursed her weakness. It should have been so simple to listen to her father’s words, to keep fighting the evil writhing in her soul. But it wasn’t. Her heart ached when she forced her father to his knees.
Kyle sliced empty air as his foe vanished from sight, only to appear behind him with a painful strike to his back. Surt was deliberately not injuring Kyle too badly with each attack; it was far too much fun to watch the dragonlord flail and fail. Kyle had barely enough time to catch a darkness spell on his shield, the impact forcing him back a step. He tried to shake it off, his pride taking the biggest blow. He knew he was below average in a fight; he hadn’t been a dragonlord for long and hadn’t held a weapon before then. Still, to be toyed with like this… Kyle gritted his teeth, reigning in his anger. He whirled around and lashed out, knowing Surt would attempt to shadowstep behind him again. His sword was caught by Surt’s staff and a blast of darkness hit his chest, knocking him down. “You show promise, young dragonlord.” Surt commented.
Kyle scrambled to his feet, sword and shield raised. “I’ve gotten that a lot lately.” He replied warily.
“You don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell to defeat me; my power is strengthened by the might of many!” Surt truthfully taunted. “Your leader is losing against his own daughter, your dragon losing against her’s. Do you think she will spare you because you flew with her father? No, she will come for you next.”
“You have the power to stop her; she won’t attack without your command.” Kyle pointed out, buying time. Maybe if he kept the mage distracted with small talk, he could gain a slight advantage.
“That I do.” Surt admitted, catching the ice spell in his hand and dissipating it without batting an eye. “But I don’t think I will. I enjoy watching my possessions take a life, knowing that murder would never have crossed their minds unless I commanded them to act is… thrilling.”
“If your mind is made up then why waste your time with conversation?” Kyle asked, both annoyed and a little afraid by how easily Surt countered his spell.
“I want you to know and fully comprehend how you do not stand a chance. When you are faced with your own death at the hands of the one you were questing to save, I will offer you a chance to live. I am very curious to see what your response will be, even if it won’t matter in the end.” Kyle shivered when Surt smiled at him; he wondered if that was the same smile a spider would give an insect that had become ensnared in its web, moments before the spider devoured it. “Maybe I will even change my mind and add another dragonlord to my collection.”
At that moment, Kyle’s eyes flicked to the door, sorely tempted to run. He didn’t know how Surt was able to remove a heart from a person or how exactly he was able to command their actions after. Yes the thought of being controlled scared him, but the many unknowns about it toyed with his fears as well. He took a deep, shaking breath; remembering words engraved on a wall in Dragonsgrasp, found when he was lost in the city. Strength is found when you go beyond what you are able. Heroes are born when you abandon your life for the hope of saving another. Kyle glanced down at Fodr’s desperate fight, he felt Nacure’s worry through his amulet as the stone dragon tried to make a dent of damage in Odgne’s thick scales. Despair and loss surrounded him, but there was still a glimmer of hope. That white necromancer stepped in, fighting the red necromancer so that Kyle would be free to confront Surt. Fodr could never have gotten this far without the help of someone within this place sneaking him information. They were not alone here; they had allies fighting alongside them. They had hope.
Kyle lashed out unexpectedly with his sword, catching Surt by surprise. He had been expecting the young dragonlord to flee, not keep fighting! The mage jumped back, narrowly avoiding the blade. Though not completely avoiding it, he realized when he felt something warm begin to fall down his face. He touched his cheek then looked at the blood on his fingertips. Surt angrily cast a spell of energy at the dragonlord who caught it on his shield, though was forced back from the strong impact. Kyle ducked and avoided the next spell, it missing him and hitting the wall behind him, knocking down an oil lantern and pouring the flaming oil on the floor like liquid fire. Kyle stood with his back to the flames, his sword and shield raised in defense against the now angry and wary mage. The young dragonlord allowed himself a barest of a smile on his face. His odds didn’t seem so impossible now that he was watching his foe bleed.
Beset summoned a shadow arrow, her quiver now empty of wooden ones. She scanned the courtyard, searching for a target but had eliminated them all. Despite the bitter cold, sweat was beading on her brow. She wiped it away with the sleeve of her green robes and savored the brief moment to catch her breath. The necromantress dissipated the shadow arrow with distain. She despised using them; they were such an expensive drain on her mana. Beset began gathering arrows from her kills while her mind counted the souls still shackled to her undead, adding up her losses and discovering how many she had left.
Kerith jogged over, part of her robes singed. “The courtyard is ours along with several main hallways.” She shoved her brown hair out of her eyes. “I can’t find Lich, Aiolos, or Theo.”
“We know where the dragonlords were goin’; maybe they followed ‘em.” Beset placed her gathered arrows in her quiver and called to Rohin. “Leave the beast, we must be goin’!” He rose and followed them when they turned to the door Kyle and Fodr had passed through earlier, casting one final distressed look at his redead wyvern. Beset ignored his complaining remarks about how long it had taken him to find all the parts to build the wyvern and muttered under her breath. “If them dragonlords found Surt they gonna be needin’ all the help they can get.”
Aiolos thwapped Enroc in the head with the head of his staff then rolled the wooden shaft around the back of his hand; bring the end up and thrusting it into his foe’s belly. Enroc doubled over, dazed from the blows. Aiolos winced when one of his undead was set ablaze, the link he held with its soul snapping when the spirit was freed. He moved to take advantage of Enroc’s momentary inability to attack but was distracted by shouting below. Mritha had cornered her father who was now having difficulty maneuvering. The older man was tiring as well.
Aiolos pointed at the two dragonlords, several of his undead branching away from their fight with Enroc’s creations and clattering down the stairs, dog piling Mritha when they reached her. Fodr at first tried to help her fight them off, but ceased when he realized they were only trying to hold her down, not trying to harm her, or himself for that matter. The white necromancer nodded in satisfaction, sure that would keep the girl occupied and Fodr safe for several minutes.
His victory was short lived. His face twisted into one of shock and pain. It felt as if a hot fire had laced through him and yet at the same time, he felt cold. The chill was not from the air around him but emanated from within. He looked down slowly, as if time were suddenly crawling. A shiny red blade was protruding from his middle, shiny red from his blood. He grabbed the blade, somehow surprised when it cut his palm. “Did you really think we didn’t know what you and Lich were planning?” Enroc whispered in his ear. “Your little rebellion dies today, starting with you!” He jerked the stolen blade out of Aiolos’s back and tossed it carelessly aside to the pile of bones he took it from. Aiolos’s knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor, his own blood staining his precious white robes. With their master dead, the animated skeletons holding Mritha back and keeping Enroc’s undead away from Kyle ceased their actions, wandering aimlessly or attacking the first thing they saw moving.
Mritha renewed her attack against her father while Kyle suffered an unexpected fireball to his back, dropping him to his knees.
Below the waves, Odgne swiped at Tyr-Gullin with her claw but he evaded. The water was making it difficult for both to maneuver but worse for the larger and much heavier female. Her magic was already working against Nacure’s breath on her wing but it was still frozen in place. Her slitted eyes narrowed when she watched the gold dragon claw his way to the surface. She pushed off from the sea floor with her hind legs and rose rapidly, her teeth nipping at Tyr-Gullin and pulling him back down underwater. Her jaws clamped down on the spine of the squirming dragon, rendering him still and lifeless. Her fury blinded her to the remorse she should have felt and swam nearer to shore where she could stand on the sand below and still have her head above water. Odgne’s black breath enveloped the grey cloud reaching down for her. She may still be grounded, but Odgne was far from defenseless. She warily watched the stone dragon circle as she walked to shallower waters.
Fodr cried out when he felt Tyr-Gullin die, the link they shared suddenly severed and the power flowing from the dragon to his human ended. He felt suddenly blind and unable to comprehend the world around him even though his senses were still intact. It was no effort at all for Mritha to knock his sword and shield from his hands, attacking relentlessly until he was once again cornered. Surt ignored the young dragonlord, leaving him for Enroc to deal with. He stroked the heart in his hands with his thumb. Victory was so close; his hands almost trembled with glee! Make the girl kill her own father, let her despair and final submission leak over and poison the already tainted heart of the dragon, then take the last thing the beast has left. Force the dragon to watch as her beloved human was slain. Not even Odgne could resist his spells then, Loki’s Staff was sure to activate!
Mritha’s sword wavered above her father’s throat, fighting the chains binding her will. Surt’s thumb caressed the heart in his hand. “Kill him, Mritha.” He commanded. Her arm thrust forward.
Surt was unable to enjoy the moment; he dropped the heart and his staff and clutched his now bleeding leg where an arrow protruded. His glanced over to his left where three necromancers stood, their undead advancing. One in particular caught his glare, the one lowering her bow. Surt snarled and raised his palm, energy crackling between his fingers as he prepared to launch the spell at them. Kyle tackled him before he could complete the spell, the two of them tumbling down the stairs. Before they even reached the bottom, Kyle heard a woman’s scream of agony. His first sight upon reaching the base of the stairs was Mritha clutching her breast, smoke leaking out of her chest plate. Above, Enroc was in the midst of the flames from the broken lantern, holding a ball of fire and desperately swatting at it with his sleeve as if trying to put the flames out. Surt took one look at Mritha and knew exactly what was happening. “No!” He yelled, shoving Kyle off of him and scrambling to his feet. “It’s too soon!”
By the time Enroc had put out the fires licking the heart in his hands, it was blackened and silent. An arrow was blocked by his hastily thrown up arcane shield, he commanded his undead to protect him from those advancing but his were outnumbered. He tucked the still heart into his robe and hastily retreated, leaving his undead behind to stall the other necromancers.
Surt was hobbling away to a balcony but Kyle grabbed the arrow and yanked it out with a twist, deliberately causing more pain than needed. A piece of meat was stuck on the arrowhead, having been torn out of Surt’s muscles. He now could no longer put weight on that leg and reached down to apply a healing spell. Infuriated by all this man had caused, Kyle tacked him a second time, breaking the old wooden railing and tossing them both over the side.
At the sea’s edge, Odgne roared in agony, the feeling of part of her soul dying was almost more than she could withstand. She felt every lick of the flames eating away at her human child’s heart, she felt the other half of her soul writhe within Mritha’s body, she felt the soul sink beneath the icy waters of the dead. Red blurred the dragon’s vision; she tasted blood on her tongue. A numbness crept along her scales, gone was the dull throbbing of her wing where her blood was cut off from the rest of her body and quickly growing cold. Her only thought was vengeance. The dragon saw Nacure out of the corner of her eye and leapt into the air, attempting to tear him apart with her jaws. She cared not who she killed, she only cared about killing itself. A primal need to taste the blood of her prey was overwhelming, to smell the coppery scent of their life draining away. Nacure dodged the attack and flew high, circling uncertainly. He had never seen one of his kind reduced to such a primitive behavior and mindset. From his link with Kyle through the amulet, he knew Mritha had died. He also knew that his human was now hanging on to a rotten wooden railing and was close to falling. Terrified beyond his own understanding that he would be reduced to such a state should his human die, Nacure ignored the raging black dragon below and flew to his human with as much speed as he could muster.
Kyle looked down. It was a very long way to the bottom. He felt nauseated all of the sudden and closed his eyes. “Never look down, you never look down and I just looked down. Why did I look down? Because I’m an idiot, that’s why.” He whispered to himself, as if talking any louder would make the railing break. He lifted his head and opened his eyes, looking up at the small balcony. The wood seemed ancient with how easily it broke, though it was more likely just old and weathered. The young dragonlord was gripping a beam that had fallen vertical, his arms and legs were wrapped tightly around it. A single nail that connected his life support beam to another part of the railing still intact was sliding slowly through the wood. Kyle cautiously reached up to grab the edge of the stone floor but even that small and careful movement cause the rotting wood to creak and splinter. Kyle quickly retracted his hand and dug his fingers into the wood for dear life.
“Where is Surt?” A voice called from above.
Kyle looked up into the green eyes of what he correctly assumed was another necromancer. Cursed place is full of these people… he thought to himself. “Pardon?”
“The evil dude you were fighting, who else?”
“He fell.” Kyle responded.
“To his death I hope.” The necromancer reached down, holding out his hand. “I’m Rohin, by the way.”
“Kyle.” He said as he reached for the outstretched hand. The beam he was wrapped around groaned, then gave.
Rohin was barely able to snatch Kyle’s hand from the air and was almost pulled over the side from the sudden jerk of the action. “This would be so much easier if you weren’t wearing heavy armor!” He complained. He then looked up. “Oh, that’s much better.” Rohin said as he let go of Kyle’s hand.
Kyle screamed loudly as he fell, certain he was going to die as soon as he hit the ground. A gray mass snatched him out of the air, jerking him violently as Nacure made a tight turn to narrowly avoid the black stone wall. “P-perfect timing.” Kyle managed to squeak out.
Nacure’s nose wrinkled as he flew up, preparing to place his human back on the balcony safely. Relieved beyond belief that his human was safe, the dragon teased him. “You might need to check your armor, I smell something foul.”
“That’s not me, I swear!” Kyle snapped, a bit of red creeping up his neck. Nacure simply chuckled. The young dragonlord landed safely on the balcony, his amulet glowing when Nacure shrunk down to his normal size. He rounded the corner looking for Fodr with his baby gray dragon scampering behind him. The white dragonlord knelt on the ground, cradling his daughter in his arms and sobbing.
For the first time, Kyle saw her face. It was blackened and blistered in places, as if the fires had been consuming her from the outside in, not the inside out. Her hair was raven black and long, spilling down from her head. Her face, like the skin of almost all the people in this place, looked like it had not seen the sun for an extended period of time in years. He was unsure what to say to the elder dragonlord so he simply laid his hand on his shoulder, feeling awkward but trying to offer comfort nevertheless.
“Twelve years, Kyle.” He softly said. “For twelve years I searched and fought. She did the impossible and never gave in…” He couldn’t finish.
Kyle again was a loss for words. Silence stretched between them for many heartbeats, broken only by the occasional roar of anguish from outside. A gentle, chilling wind blew through the room and Kyle was suddenly aware of the presence of another. When his eyes lifted to perceive who this other was, he found himself face to face with the avatar of Death. Now Kyle had heard tales of this man, if that was indeed what Death could be called, that would make a person believe Death was an interesting and oftentimes humorous character. But staring into the faceless hood of this… being, had a cold fear trickle down his spine. “I have already collected the others, she is the last.” The voice of Death was menacing yet peaceful, as if a great warlord was speaking and yet it was an innocent child instead. There was one voice and yet many, as if he spoke alone but all the souls in his realm spoke with him. Kyle would spend years after this day trying to describe accurately this voice but would never succeed.
“Please, I beg you to not take my daughter.” Fodr whispered.
The avatar of Death sighed, as if reflecting how annoying and clingy a loved one of the soul he reaped could be, interfering with his job, and yet there was also sadness as if Death were only doing what he must and intended no harm or sorrow but aware that he caused both. “Her soul is fallen, it is mine now.”
“I will do anything you ask of me, I swear to do it if you will spare her! You have already taken my wife and unborn son, please don’t take her too!”
“I have not yet collected my quota of souls for this day, she is my last.” His black robes seemed to be made of darkness and shadow; they rippled in a wind that the mortals could not feel.
“But you are death itself! Do you not have the final say?” Fodr asked in desperation.
“For all things, there is one of greater power and authority. Even I am bound by this; I cannot leave without one more soul.”
What on Lore could possibly be powerful enough to have Death answer to them? Kyle wondered. Fodr seemed to weighing his options, then came to a decision. “If you need another soul, then take mine and return her to the living.”
“Your choice is final,” Death cautioned. “Are you certain?”
“I am.” Fodr resolvently responded, lacking the slightest bit of hesitation.
“Then come.” A swirling portal opened up beside Death and he motioned to it as he spoke. The portal was like looking into eternity. It was all colors imaginable but it was devoid of any color at all.
“Fodr…” Kyle quietly said, unsure how to react.
Fodr rested his hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “I can’t thank you enough for all you did; I could never have come this far without your help.”
“I-I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” Kyle said, the lump in his throat making it hard to talk.
Fodr cast one final longing glance at his daughter, then stepped through the portal and disappeared. When Death followed him, the portal closed.
The young dragonlord heard a soft, shuddering gasp of air behind him. He turned and saw Mritha slowly rising into a sitting position, the burns on her face already fading as if they were never there to begin with. Kyle touched his empty sheath, remembering the last time he was alone with this woman. She looked around, her violet eyes resting on Fodr’s shield only a little ways out of reach, his sword a little bit farther than that. “Where is my father?” She asked. Then on a fearful second thought, “Where is Surt?”
“Surt is dead now, he fell off the balcony.” Kyle motioned behind him. “You’re safe now.”
“And my father?” Her deep purple eyes pierced his, demanding the answer he was hesitant to give.
“He…” How the hell do you say this gently? He thought to himself. “The avatar of Death came for you, and, your father went with him instead of you so that you could return to life.”
“How?” She asked after a moment’s thought, stunned. “How could he trade his life away like that?”
“Because he loves you.” Kyle answered.
“How can someone love me enough to die for me, knowing all I had done?”
“You are not what you have done; you are what you have overcome.” Kyle no longer felt afraid of her; he couldn’t have imagined what it must have been like to be stripped of your free will, literally unable to stop yourself from committing acts of evil that you would never have done otherwise. “Your father gave you a second chance; it is not too late to fix the wrongs you have committed.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “You have no idea what I have done.”
“No, I don’t.” But Fodr told me you were one of many under Surt’s control and the only one who resisted him. Find and free the others! Stop them from taking the lives of innocents as you did!”
Mritha stood and walked over to her father’s fallen sword, cradling it in her armored hands. “He never believed I would be free from darkness.” She said quietly. “He never stopped trying, but in his heart he knew I could never succeed him as the white dragonlord.”
Kyle picked up his own sword and sheathed it. “There is a difference between darkness and evil, Mritha. It is possible to be one without the other.”
The smallest smile touched her face, as if she were daring to hope. The room shook violently and without warning, black stones crashing to the floor around them. Kyle drew his sword but Mritha was unconcerned. A large slitted eye peered in from the window; it seemed unusually watery, as if tears were threatening to fall. With Mritha alive once more, Odgne no longer felt the agony in her soul. Though there was now a deep fear in her heart that she would feel the pain again someday. The dragon was determined now to not lose another child, even if this one did not share her blood. Mritha rested her forehead on Odgne’s scaly cheek, conveying the love she felt for the only mother she could remember.
Kyle looked down at Nacure, who returned his gaze. They shared a friendship; close companions were they, able to communicate through the dragon amulet Kyle carried. Odgne and Mritha, however, had joined souls by love and kindred pain, each providing a balm to the other. Like the Seven before them, they had no amulet. If Kyle remembered correctly, the first two of the Seven came to be before the amulets were even created. They were not joined by a magical trinket, they were united with love. It was a profound realization for the young dragonlord and his hatchling.
“What is your name?” Mritha quietly asked.
Kyle and Nacure were both jolted from their thoughts by the spoken question. “I am Kyle,” He motioned to the stone hatchling at his feet. “And this is Nacure.”
“Thank you both, so very much.” Her voice shook a little. So much had been gained this day. So much had been lost.
“You’re welcome.” He responded. “I need to return to Dragonsgrasp, but if you ever need my help don’t hesitate to send for me.”
“I may take you up on that sooner than you think.”
Kyle nodded and turned to go up the stairs to retrieve his shield, but Rohin stood at the base of them with the gray shield in his hands. Kyle glared at him as he took the offered safeguard, bitter at having been dropped on purpose. “Dunno what you’re mad about, I knew your dragon would catch you.” The necromancer said in response to the glare. Kyle said nothing when the man shuffled back up the stairs; Nacure however hid a laugh in a cough.
Mritha rubbed the scales around Odgne’s nose horn. “What do we do now?” She asked.
“First and foremost, we confirm Surt’s death.” The dragon rumbled. “Then we must find and retrieve your heart. Lastly, we free the others that Surt has taken.”
Mritha nodded. “This castle is easily defendable; I would rather stay here and work.” She sighed. “It isn’t like we have anywhere else to go.”
“You are the lady of Castle Fallen then, the lord has been overthrown.”
Mritha’s fist clenched, her anger rising at the mention of him. Part of her was terrified that he might still be alive; part of her hoped he was just so she could satisfy her lust for vengeance. The black dragonlord tried to reign in her fury but only partly succeeded. It was so hard now to fight the rage and bitterness that was a constant in her heart. “Then we have a lot to get done.” Her violet eyes glanced up to the top of the stairs where three necromancers stood warily watching her and Odgne. Mritha smiled, but it was not one of comfort or happiness to them. Their undead would be perfect to search the seas for a body…
The End
< Message edited by Mritha -- 11/18/2012 18:26:51 >
|
Printable Version
Icon Legend
New Messages
No New Messages
Hot Topic w/ New Messages
Hot Topic w/o New Messages
Locked w/ New Messages
Locked w/o New Messages
Post New Thread
