He squints against the sun low on the horizon and sees perhaps one hundred dragons remain aloft. With at least three times that number of creatures battling the dragons. By the Lady, dragons have little chance of survival, let alone turning the beasts from the cavern.
Through twisting bodies of combatants, across Burick Lake he sees a familiar mahogany form. Aura. His mate flails, embroiled in battle with two huge tan creatures. Fear clenches Maru’s heart as one of the beasts latches onto Aura’s back.
His wings snap down. He thrusts with all his might to gain speed as he hurls toward his mate. Aura bucks, twisting her neck as she tries to latch onto the creature on her back. His heart aches as she fails to fling the creature free. Aura falters in her wing strokes as she weakens.
Maru exhales a blast of fire at a beast in his way. The creature plummets, engulfed in flames, toward the lake. He wrenches his gaze back to his struggling mate. He will not make it in time. Aura loses altitude with every wing stroke.
A green dragon plunges from above Aura and rips the beast free of his mate. Kilita! Maru redoubles his efforts as the creature and the green dragon entangle in battle, hurtling groundward.
Aura spins dizzily. Finally her head jerks up and she manages a few weak wing thrusts, slowing her descent. Rage and frustration build in Maru as Kilita and the struggling Volastoque smash upon the shoreline. Neither of them moves.
Another two beasts target Aura. Her faltering wing strokes barely keep her aloft as they rake across her back, tearing her wings with their sharp claws. Bright furrows of red blood stream down her mahogany sides and course along her wings. Every fiber of Maru seethes in rage as he finally reaches his mate.
He snatches the first beast from her back. As the beast clears his mate, he catches a brief flash of Aura’s agony-filled expression. He snarls and swings the creature by two of its wing struts, snapping them in two. Maru’s talons unclench, releasing the fragmented bones. His battle flames engulf both broken wings, and the second set, sending the shrieking beast groundward in a ball of flame.
“Aura, withdraw, thine injuries are too severe to continue fighting.” Maru executes a quick turn and engages the other Volastoque, hoping to give Aura time to flee. He risks a glance at his mate.
Aura’s torn wings flutter as she makes a rough landing beside Kilita and the fallen creature on the shore.
Maru dodges the beast’s venomous barb and closes with the creature, his mouth wide, reaching for its gullet. Claws scrape ineffectively across his neck and abdomen plates as he sinks his teeth into the Volastoque’s throat. Hot, foul blood floods his mouth as he tears, jerking a chunk loose. Somersaulting, its screech bubbling through a fountain of blood, the creature falls. Maru scans the surrounding area. For the moment there are no close Volastoque.
He turns his attention to Aura. “Is she…”
“Dead.” Aura’s Mindspeak wells with anguish and pain. “Kilita is dead.”
Maru swallows hard against his sorrow. “Can thou fly, my love?”
“I do not know if I want to. I will not flee while thou continues to battle.”
“If thou must continue—” Maru’s gaze rakes across the overwhelming horde of creatures. “I would have thee in battle beside me against our foes.” His gaze drops to the green dragon’s tangled body. “I suppose, thou must fight on, so that her sacrifice will have meaning.”
Aura’s stare locks with his across the distance; then she turns to contemplate the swirling mass of creatures. “Indeed. We shall take out as many as possible.”
Her mahogany head bends briefly and Maru hears a soft prayer to the Lady, then she releases a whoosh of dragon fire on Kilita. They watch as their friend burns and the ashes swirl high above the battlefield. Aura’s Mindspeak is bleak as she says, “How many dragons must feed their ashes to the skies, or men nourish the earth with their bones in hopes their children will not have to do the same?”
Maru has no answer; he sweeps the area, seeking their next combatant.
Trembling wings lift her until she flies beside him. “I find no better death than to die beside thee, my love, in battle protecting our allies and people.”
~!~
Estrola jerks her head up in mid-flight and listens intently.
Faint, but clear, the Mindspeak of a Royal reaches her. “All dragons are needed to transport to battle at Burick Lake.”
She shifts her grip on the egg-laden tarp she carries with her hind legs and peers down at Belnarth, clutched in her front talons. “The Royals send a message that all dragons are needed at a battle at Burick Lake.”
Belnarth turns his face, flush from the brisk wind, up toward her and shouts, “We cannot very well go into battle with the last of this clutch. Make haste and we can at least get them into the chamber. We can return to place them in stasis.”
She nods and tucks her wings to allow passage into the crystal cavern. A few wing strokes and she deposits the eggs and lands beside the steaming pool. “Let us place them near the others, to prevent any creature finding them until we return.”
She lowers Belnarth to the ground and he unfastens his flying tether and moves beside the eggs. He places a hand upon them and disappears.
Estrola allows the peace and beauty of the cavern to seep into her. One claw scrapes across the pebbled surface of the cavern as she waits. Belnarth will remove them from their tarp to make sure none tumble and get damaged while they are gone.
This summons. It could well be the final battle. She slides forward to peer at her reflection in the still pool. Her battle-ravaged face and body attest to the many confrontations she has participated in against the Volastoque. She studies her reflection.
Her scarred, battered visage shows a true mirror of herself. She is weary, her soul aches for peace. Yes, this path of the Lady will give dragonkind and the Palmir People a chance. And it will give her a chance to be at rest.
She stirs as Belnarth emerges from behind the falls.
“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice solemn.
“Yes.” She shifts to take him in her forearms. As he fastens his flying tether she gently rubs her cheek alongside his body. “May the Lady be kind and we stay together.”
“My dear, I already hold you in my heart. We will always be together.” He reaches up and pats her cheek, then transports them into battle.
Chapter 29
Geramn thrusts his hand through his hair and shoves it back from his eyes. The apprentice Healers mill in ever-increasing agitation before him.
Where could those transport Shaman be? He turns once more to check the cavern entrance. No Shaman are in sight. By the Lady, they need to leave. The sooner they get to Burick Lake Caverns, the sooner he can set up a triage area and organize everything to receive wounded.
Once more, his eyes drop to the satchels and bundles of supplies. He kneels to open one.
“Nor Geramn, I have double-checked, everything you requested is there.”
Geramn’s eyes dart to young Elish. “I am sure that is true. I just cannot help checking once again.”
“I would be happy to go through them one more time for you.”
“No, Elish, it is not necessary. It is more that I seek something to keep my mind busy until we can get there.”
“You still get nervous?” Elish’s smile is a bit shaky as he glances up from beneath a shock of dark hair.
About to respond in the negative, Geramn notes the beads of perspiration on Elish’s forehead. Nervous sweat, for it is far too chill for the temperatures to bring sweat to a man, or boy’s brow.
He stands and lays his hand upon the lad’s shoulder and squeezes gently. “Of course.” He forces a grin. “It is all this waiting, once we can get busy, it will pass.”
Elish nods, wiping his palms on the front of his knees. “That is good to know.”
“You will do fine, lad.”
“I hope so.” Elish’s eyes cut behind Geramn and he points with his chin. “They are here.”
Geramn turns to see four S
haman bustling out of the cavern entrance; he meets them halfway to the gathered apprentices. “Greetings, I am Healer Geramn,” he says and points to the woman with the apprentices. “That is Healer Derness. I will transport with the first group to the actual battle site; we need you to transport Healer Derness and the rest of the apprentices to the cavern at Burick Lake, and stay with them until they can locate and be transported at the location set up there to receive injuries.”
“I am sorry, Healer Geramn.” A tall, skinny Shaman with a scraggly beard steps forward. “Our instructions are to take all of you to Burick Lake Cavern.”
“No, that is ridicules. We need to be close, some injuries require immediate treatment.” He gestures to the satchels. “We will set up a triage area as close to the battle as possible.”
The skinny Shaman glances over his shoulder to the other three Shaman, all of whom shake their heads slowly. He shrugs when he looks back at Geramn. “I have to follow what we have been told. Your whole group will be taken to Burick Lake Cavern.”
Geramn bites his lip, then turns and gestures where Healer Derness stands. “Fine, go ahead and take Healer Derness and her groups, I will find Shaman Hern and get this straightened out.”
The Shaman shakes his head. “Shaman Hern has already left.”
Geramn’s eyes widen in surprise. “Hern went to battle?”
“We transported him and a large group of Shaman to a small valley just north of Burick Lake Cavern.”
A hollow chill fills Geramn’s middle. “What kind of Shaman?”
“Mostly those of the yellow and red crystals. Look, we have other groups to transport. Seems all the dragons are headed into battle, along with all of the Shaman of the blue crystals.” The Shaman gestures for the other three Shaman to go to Healer Derness. “I can take you where I was instructed to; perhaps you can get it sorted out from there.”
Geramn strides beside the Shaman toward the satchels. “All of the dragons?”
The Shaman’s eyes rove the pile of gear and the small group of apprentices. “Well, not the younglings, only those old enough to battle.” He waves a hand at the apprentices. “All of you going with Healer Geramn need to stand close together and put a hand on each other.”
Geramn moves close and reaches a hand down to lay upon the pile of gear. His mind goes back to his conversation with the leader of the Shaman Council. He focuses on Hern’s assurance that the Volastoque would be vanquished, but at great sacrifice. All dragons, the transport Shaman said all the dragons were engaging in this battle.
As they blink into transport, he contemplates: just how large a sacrifice?
~!~
Hern snugs his cloak close against the chill wind. In front of him the shimmer of a red defense shield arcs across the valley. The top of the pulsing shield is well above the height of the crag he stands upon. Yes, that will do fine.
He waves to signal for the Shaman of the red crystals to allow the field to dissipate. It will not do for them to diminish their energy by holding the shield before necessary. The shield dissipates and Hern calls an apprentice of the red crystal to him. The lad rushes to his side, eyes wide and cheeks flush from the brisk breeze.
“Advise them to remain at their posts, it will not be long before they shall need to raise the shield and hold it at my signal.”
“Yes, Nor.” The lad tugs on his forelock and darts away on his mission.
At his gesture, a transport Shaman strides up the slope to where Hern stands. “Take me to the gathered Shaman of the yellow crystal.”
The man nods and places his hand upon Hern’s arm. A breath later they stand at the bottom of the valley. Thirty-two Shaman of the yellow crystal huddle about three small fires. Hern nods thanks to the transport Shaman and shuffles forward to warm his hands over the flames of the closest fire.
His gaze travels across the assembled Shaman. He is the eldest, by far. Most gathered are in their thirtieth winter or there about. Men and women with families at home, most with children. Children of the age when they are just setting out into the world of adult responsibility and in need of their parents’ guidance.
The quiet chatter of the assembled Shaman wanes as one by one they turn to face Hern. Silence fills the small clearing where they stand. The only sounds, that of the wind and the crackle of the fire.
His eyes sweep across the faces turned to him. The fire casts flickering light across them, making them appear to fade in and out of view in the evening dusk.
Dread clenches his heart. Have they done everything to make this work? All prophecies are vague in the details, and details can be very important sometimes. What have they missed? He shoves the rising unease away and focuses on the pending need. They have done what they can; the Lady will guide them.
“My friends.” He clears his throat then continues. “I know you have questions as to why we gather here. A short distance north, a tremendous covey of Volastoque engage the dragons who defend our people.” He pauses a moment to allow the spattering of mumbling to subside.
“We are here at the Lady’s guidance, to purge the Palmir People of the threat of these creatures.”
Once again those gathered break into chatter, this time louder and more exuberant.
Hern raises his hands, asking for quiet. “Please, there is more.”
He looks around at the excited faces. “The Lady has shown a specific path that will lead to the survival of the Palmir People. We of the yellow crystals have the power to impel others to do as we suggest. We must use this Lady-given power to ensure all the Volastoques, and the dragons, are brought to this valley. I am sure you notice the red field arcing above the valley a short moment ago. This will enable us to contain the battle to this valley. Trapping the creatures and giving us the chance to kill them all.”
“But, Shaman Hern,” interrupts a thin, wiry woman, “does that not mean we will be trapped in here with them?”
Hern nods. “Yes, the field would block our abilities and therefore we must operate from within the area that the defense shield contains.”
Her grey eyes narrow and she shakes her head. “What protects us if we are in here with them?”
Hern gestures to the Shaman of the blue crystals who are scattered across the valley. “They will use their powers to fight with the dragons and to defend us as they can.”
She pales. “Many of us will not survive.”
Hern keeps his voice calm, not letting the weight of their soon-to-be made sacrifice sap his resolve. “The Lady’s guiding hand shows this as a final battle to rid the Palmir People of this plague from the north.” He cannot help the bitterness entering his voice as inward-pointing knives of his knowledge, that they all will die, pierces him. “I stand beside you, secure in the Lady’s promise those who sacrifice their lives today do so with Her assurance it secures the future of the Palmir People and the dragons.”
He forces a reassuring smile for the woman. “I know, the yellow-crystal Shaman are not accustomed to being at the scenes of the battle. Usually our powers are not needed at the conflicts. Today we ask no less of ourselves than we asked of our brethren of the other crystals and our dragons for many winters.”
Her slow nod of acceptance does not dissipate shadows of fear in her grey eyes.
Hern turns his attention to the other Shaman gathered as they draw closer to the fire he stands beside. “I know we can fulfill the prophecy and stand in defiance of these creatures, together. Stand proud to protect the Palmir People and when you meet the Lady of the Mist, you can know that no matter what rose against you, you stood and stared it in the eye and kept faith with Her guiding hand.”
The Shaman around him nod and their eyes harden in resolve. Yes, they needed to hear that, and perhaps he did too. Hern details the need to take control of all dragons and the Volastoque and summon them to this valley. One by one, they nod their understanding and step away, clutching their yellow crystals and sending out their power to compel the dragons and Volastoque.
Hern takes his own crystal into a trembling hand. Whispering a heartfelt prayer to the Lady, he delves into its depth and sends forth his own summons.
~!~
Yalkin’s wings jerk in mid-flight when the summons reaches him. Astonishment sweeps over him, even though he expected this summons. The compulsion to obey is strong. Never in his over two-hundred winters has anything seemed so obligatory. His wings resume their steady rhythm as he sweeps in an arc that will take him toward the valley. Around him, the covey of dragons that had been headed to the original battle location changes its direction also.
So, it has reached them all.
He turns his head to the right where Niwah flies. The green dragon nods, his face stoic and a bit pensive. Niwah’s private Mindspeak reaches him on a tightly controlled sending. “Thou should evade this summons, those eggs will need thy wisdom to survive in this new age dawning.”
“No,” he answers, his Mindspeak held just as tightly aimed to only Niwah as recipient, “I still agree with the need to follow the precept shown by the prophecy.” He studies the other dragons around him, some obviously trying to escape the compulsion, their flight erratic and smoke puffing from their nostrils in agitation. “Moreover, as thou can see, much younger and stronger dragons than I do not seem to be able to ignore this summons.”
His Mindspeak open, to broadcast to all, he sends, “Do not resist. This is a summons agreed upon by the dragon council. We are called to the final battle. The Lady has shown in prophecy the means to annihilate the Volastoque once and for all.”
The dragons cease their struggles and fly smoothly toward the valley. “We shall rid this plague from dragonkind, and our allies the Palmir People. Know that I have never been so proud of all of ye.”
They clear a ridge and the mountains sprawl out before them. From the northeast a horde of Volastoque, with dragons scattered in their midst, rush like a wave over the mountains. His breath catches for a moment when he sees the vast numbers of the creatures headed toward the valley.
By the Lady, there are so damn many! Many dragons within the onrushing wave are obviously injured, as their flight is erratic and in many cases barely clearing the ridgeline. The hundreds of dragons around him bugle challenges to the oncoming creatures.