Wayne Batson - The Rise of the Wrym Lord

No one spoke. It seemed that fear and menace permeated the air like the swirling ash from the volcano.

“I feared it would be so,” Farix said finally. “From the moment we entered this desolate land, I sensed something too.”

Oswyn came up and handed a full skin to Aelic. “Drink some of this, Aelic. It is Golden Tear. Queen Illaria gave it to me, for I wanted to know what gives it its recuperative powers. I deem you need it now.”

Aelic took a long drink, swallowed, and seemed to stand a little straighter.

“We have not been idle while you were away!” Sir Oswyn said to Kaliam. The Acacian riders gathered round. “It is more confirmation than news, I deem. We found a trail, well trodden by many soldiers and creased with ruts from heavy wheels.”

“Paragor’s legions,” Kaliam said absently.

“They are not more than a day old,” said Sir Oswyn.

“We followed the trail to the outskirts of the Shattered Lands,” said Farix.

“Where do they lead?” Aelic asked.

Oswyn stared at the ground and said, “They lead due south… to Clarion.”

Kaliam walked over to Aelic’s dragon steed and shook his head. “The bone is not broken, but she will not be able to manage the pace we need to set. Aelic, you shall have to ride with me.”

Aelic drew near and saw the singed flesh and the gaping tear in the webbing of the dragon’s left wing. He patted the creature on its knobby brow and looked questioningly back to Kaliam.

“Fear not. She will survive,” Kaliam replied to Aelic’s unspoken question. “With that wing, she will need to leisurely make her way back to her roost in Acacia. She will be far safer there than where we are going.”

The riders pushed their steeds to labor past exhaustion. On they flew, driven by fear. Fear of failure. Fear of the unknown power of the evil that had been unleashed. Fear of what they might find in Clarion. The sun rose red in the hazy eastern sky, but it was soon devoured by a curtain of smoldering dark clouds.

“Why would the enemy go to Clarion?” Aelic asked, shouting to be heard over the swoosh of the dragon’s wings.

“Clarion was ever sought by Paragor from long ago,” Kaliam said. “It is a beautiful white city, hewn from rich granite and marble. The Glimpses there do not delve like Mallik’s folk, but they are artists: shapers, sculptors, and engravers. The bright walls, fitted cunningly around the city, do not seem meant for military use. For in every panel there is carved an intricate design. But do not be fooled! Those walls are as strong as the bones of a mountain, and there is some hope in that!

“A round castle with many tall towers sits on a hill within the ramparts, and there are great halls as well, supported by long columns! It was an old Clarion master craftsman named Halberad who carved the throne on which King Eliam now sits.

“Paragor requested such a throne for himself. Offers of gold and priceless riches he made, but he was rebuffed. Alvisbrand was king in Clarion of old, and he was as true a friend to Alleble as The Realm has ever seen. His son, Alvisbrand the Younger, will not listen to Paragor’s entreaties either. Not only has Clarion turned away Paragor’s many offers of alliance, but they refuse even to trade with them.

“The most direct course for the enemy to take back to his dark realm would bypass Clarion altogether. I fear for Clarion, for there can be only one reason why Paragor would choose that direction: revenge.”

Suddenly, Kaliam straightened in his saddle. “Loose Fury from that sheath, Sir Aelic,” he said. “There is smoke on the horizon. Clarion is burning.”

The dragon riders came upon a scene of utter destruction. The white walls of Clarion were thrown down. Many of the great buildings had been collapsed, their columns of strong stone snapped like young trees. Smoke from smoldering cottages curled in dark tendrils into the gray sky.

“The walls of Clarion were mighty and they had two legions of spearmen to defend them!” Oswyn cried as they dismounted and entered the city. “They should have been able to resist Paragor longer than this!”

“Do you see those stones?” Lady Merewen said, pointing to a ruined turret. “They are not just broken-they… they are melted! What sort of fire can melt cold stone?”

Kaliam drew his broadsword and said, “It is the dragonfire of the firstborn Wyrm in all The Realm. I fear Clarion could have boasted ten thousand spearmen, and yet the result would have been the same.”

Aelic quickly surveyed the wreckage and turned to Kaliam. “Sir, where are the Glimpses?”

Kaliam looked sadly down at Aelic. “I do not believe there are any survivors.”

“No, I mean, where are the bodies?” Aelic said, shaking his head.

Kaliam, Oswyn, Farix, Lady Merewen, and all the riders from Acacia looked hopelessly about. “The ground ought to be littered with the dead!” Farix said. “And yet there are none!”

“Could Paragor have taken them all prisoner?” Aelic asked.

“In the face of the Wyrm Lord, could they have all surrendered?” asked Lady Merewen.

Kaliam shook his head. “If I know Alvisbrand, he would not surrender,” he said, concerned. “And the folk of Clarion would have fought to the last, but where are they?”

The riders dismounted their dragons and spread out into the wreckage. It was grim work, searching through the rubble and charred wood. They feared the death they would find, but feared worse to find none at all.

At last, Farix reported back that he had found two knights crushed under fallen columns in a collapsed building. Oswyn made similar discoveries. Everyone but Lady Merewen had returned to the front gate, but after all the searching, the count was only twelve dead.

“Help!” Lady Merewen cried out from atop the roof of a fallen cottage. The others sprinted to her aid, and there on the other side of the roof was their friend Tal, his legs tangled in wreckage. “He is alive!” Lady Merewen said.

Oswyn and Kaliam knelt at the fallen knight’s side. “Tal!” Kaliam cried. “Brother in arms! Praise to King Eliam, we have found you!” Then he saw the wound in Tal’s side, and he gasped. With pleading eyes, he looked to Oswyn, but their herb-meister shook his head. He had no salve or medicine for such a mortal wound.

Tal’s head turned toward his friends. His eyes blinked open and slowly focused. Tal’s voice was thin and dry. “Kaliam, you are here-and you, Aelic.”

Kaliam took out a waterskin and poured some over Tal’s cracked lips. “Thank you, Captain,” Tal said, his eyes roaming. “But where is Matthias?”

“Matthias?” Aelic echoed.

Farix leaned close to Aelic and whispered, “He calls for his old friend who fell in Mithegard. Alas, Tal is fading-” Kaliam held up a hand, and Farix went silent.

“I have not seen Matthias,” said Kaliam, brushing aside locks of hair from Tal’s face.

“Pity,” Tal said. “I wanted to show him the notches in my blade!”

Kaliam looked about and saw Tal’s sword. And though it was forged from murynstil, Alleble’s strongest metal, the blade lay broken in three pieces a few feet away. “We have seen your sword,” Kaliam said. “You fought bravely, Knight of Alleble.”

“Not bravely enough,” Tal said quietly. His eyes started to close.

“What happened here?” asked Kaliam.

Tal’s body shook. He coughed and took in a breath. “They came in the night,” Tal said. “Paragor himself led them to the gates of Clarion. But there was an unseen malice behind him, and the spearmen in the frontguard fled their posts. Only Alvisbrand stood on the battlement and defied the dark Prince.

“Paragor uttered one word, ‘Surrender,’ and that was all. Alvisbrand drew his sword, but before his refusal had even left his lips… something took him. A great carriage opened behind Paragor, and darkness took wing!” Tal looked up, terrified, as if he saw something in the sky.