The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (38 page)

A fierce burst of fire shot up before them, racing toward the sky. Rowan raised a shielding arm reflexively and backed away several steps. When he lowered it, he saw distant figures through the inferno. It only took a few seconds for him to recognize them for what they were, but he could not yet tell whether they were bringing doom or salvation. He grabbed Deron’s sleeve and pointed. “Dragons!”

“I have never beheld them,” Deron said softly, his face showing a sort of awe, his voice nearly lost in the chaos.

“Can you make out the colors?”

“ ‘The colors’?”

“Yes. I can’t tell at this distance. Are they black, blue, and red, or rather copper and bronze?”

Deron took a moment, his vision limited and the air distorted by the flames. “Blue. Green. One is orange.” His voice was tight. He had started to remember details of the story his daughter had told.

“No metallic colors?”

He shook his head. “No. I am sure of it. We have a new problem, right?” He hoped to see anything but what he did on Rowan’s face, which had gone swiftly pale.

“A big problem. We have to spread the warning, though I’m not sure what we can do. They are difficult to fight, and we can’t hide or scatter.”

“Solek planned this well,” Deron said with grudging admiration.

They started back at a run, shouting as they went. “Dragons! Dragons are coming!”

Demetrius felt a chill as the cry reached his ears, in spite of the heat all around him. He had been helping to clear away trees, trying to expand the size of what they hoped would be a safe pocket in the circle of flame. Now he stopped, as did those with him, and all looked to the sky. Someone pointed east and then he saw them, a red and a green in the lead.

“Just as well,” said Corson. “I was afraid I might be getting a blister trying to cut these trees down so fast. Those things hurt.”

“Dulls your sword, too,” Demetrius replied, trying to catch some of his friend’s feigned indifference to the incoming beasts.

“What do you think, stand in the open or get in the trees?”

“Be an easy target or try to hide in a forest fire? Nice choice.”

A dwarf near them, who had been hewing the trees with breathtaking efficiency, responded. “I’ll chance the open ground, though I hear their breath is fierce.”

“It is,” Corson acknowledged.

“And would not a dwarf—or a man—in the trees be doomed anyway? If the wood around you burns, so do you, even if the dragon misses you.”

“He makes a good point,” Corson said to Demetrius.

Demetrius nodded but said, “Try to stay spread out.”

They stayed clear of the road itself, but moved away from the burning wood. There was little order now to the Arkanian Army. The leaders had no interest in pushing everyone into lines that would simply make good targets for the dragons, although a few elven bowmen gathered in a rough line on their own, as did some spear-wielding Lorgrasians. For the most part everyone was fending for themselves, just trying to survive until an escape route might become apparent. The fire drew inward to their right and left, the trees quickly catching as the flames progressed through the woods. Those that tried to shelter in those trees, hoping to remain unseen, were soon forced toward the temporary safety of the road. As the dragons neared, the horses, already near panic, went berserk, smelling the flying creatures. Some raced into the blazing wood, and some even leapt from the newly formed cliffs, their jumps far short of the other side. These met a fiery doom in the darkness below.

Warning cries rang out as the first dragon, covered with red scales, reached the penned-in warriors. Arrows rose to meet it in its descent, but they bounced off, ineffective. The beast was soaring past Rowan when it pulled its head back slightly, a motion Rowan recognized from his earlier encounter with them. “Move!” he screamed to those in its path, many of whom stood bravely with weapons drawn. Some scattered at his command, others—not hearing or comprehending or just too slow—did not. The red monster shot forth a gout of flame from its mouth, searing all who were unable to get clear of the area, then rose into the sky to wheel and make another pass. The dead lay smoldering on the ground, while the injured cried out in agony.

None had failed to see what had happened. When a blue dragon swooped down next the Arkanians scrambled madly to be away from it, but the dragon was swift and could alter its course instantly, and the white ice it poured out of its throat claimed a fair number of victims.

A brown followed, lower, sailing through the flames rising from the newly-minted canyon. The fire did not appear to bother it in the least. The first two dragons had been content to strike a central portion of those trapped, but this one had decided to try the army’s front, or at least the group which had advanced the furthest down the road. Deron raised his bow, trying to get a shot at an eye, just as he had done when the first two neared. Rowan gently took his arm. “This one’s coming for us. Hold.”

The elf nodded his understanding. “Right or left?”

“We’ll split up. I’ll go left.” The perspiration beading on Rowan’s forehead collected and slid toward his eyes. He flicked it away. Just before the brown exhaled its foul gas, he leapt to the left while Deron sprang right. He rolled and looked up, propped on his elbows. The brown was already far past and rising into the sky. Through the cloud of gas it had left behind he could see that Deron was alright—at least for now.

Lucien had stood in a crouch since the assault had begun, ready to spring to safety if necessary, or attack if the opportunity presented itself. Krellos stalked around him, his ears up and his head on a swivel. “This is maddening,” the wolf growled. “If we cannot bring them to ground we cannot fight them.”

“Teeth no good against scale,” Lucien observed.

“Perhaps I could find a soft spot,” the wolf replied.

The first blue had come nearest to them, but not near enough to make them move. Lucien had at rough count identified three red, two blue, two green, and a brown, but it was hard to tell if that was all there were. That number was more than enough, he thought. Now he saw something new, an orange dragon, half again as large as the others. For now it appeared content to circle high above the action. He remembered the black dragon, Belthros, who had led these dragons until he had been killed by the golden dragon Valya, who had also died in the fight. Lucien wondered if the orange was the new leader.

“Green,” Krellos observed, calling out the next descending dragon, this one coming in over the trees to their right, trying to use the burning woods as a screen to disguise its approach. This one came near to them, spewing acid at a small cluster of dwarves a few feet away. Its belly remained out of reach even at the lowest point of its flight, and then it was safely past, leaving two dead and two maimed dwarves in its wake.

Lucien ground his teeth in anger while Krellos continued to prowl impatiently.

Tala had found Adiel and Roldon and had started back toward Rowan and Deron when the dragons arrived. She had quickly split the two elders up, knowing one dragon strike could kill them both if they remained together. She found two elves to watch after Roldon, while she stayed with Adiel. She indicated the others should advance to the front from the left, while she and Adiel would go to the right. At all costs they were to protect the elders.

Adiel had recovered more swiftly from previous exertions than Roldon, and could walk at a reasonable pace without assistance, though running might be pressing their luck. Tala and her charge neared the front just in time to see Rowan and her father apparently frozen as a brown dragon bore down on them. A scream of fear and warning died in her throat as she saw them tense and then spring aside as the brown attacked. She grabbed Adiel’s elbow and said, “Come on.”

“You have news?” Deron asked as she approached.

“Nothing can be done about the fire,” Tala said. “But we may be able to escape.”

Deron turned to Adiel with a hopeful look while Rowan joined them.

“We should be able to span the chasm in a way similar to that which we used to hold off the rain in the Saber Pass.”

“An invisible bridge,” Rowan stated.

Adiel nodded.

“Do you have the strength?” Deron asked.

Adiel paused. “Together, Roldon and I should be able to create it, and maintain it for a time.”

“How long?” asked Rowan.

“That is impossible to say. I would think we will be able to hold it as long as we must.”

“I do not doubt you would hold out to your last ounce of strength,” Rowan said, “but the dragons complicate matters greatly. If we group together at all, we make a juicy target. If we spread out, we will need more time to cross.”

 “And once the dragons see anyone escaping the trap—even one or two—we are sure to get their attention,” Tala added.

“Staying here and dying does not seem like a good option either,” Deron stated.

“Hard to argue with that,” Rowan replied. “Let’s give it a shot. If we can get a few across and fanned out, perhaps we can divert some of the dragons and buy some time for the main group.”

Tala turned to Adiel. “Do you and Roldon need to stand together to do this?”

“No. Work together, yes. But we can take up positions opposite one another, across the main road.”

Rowan looked around and asked, “Where is Roldon?”

Tala spotted him, being led and supported physically by the two elves. “Here he comes.”

Rowan lowered his voice and addressed Adiel. “What can you do if he falters? Is all hope then lost?”

Adiel paused before answering. “Let us hope we do not have to find out.”

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Rowan said. “I’ll go across first.”

“Let me go,” said Deron. “I might be able to aid the magic some from the other side. You can funnel our troops across as it seems wise to you.”

“So be it.”

*          *          *

Corson had had two close calls, one with a green and one with a red, the second of which actually started his cloak smoldering. He had stamped it out, hesitated, then put it back on. He saw a brown come in for a follow-up pass seconds after its first one. Its breath attack exhausted for the time being, it reached with sharp claws as it soared over those scrambling to get away. Corson watched in morbid fascination as it took a horse and lifted it easily into the air. The poor beast kicked and neighed helplessly until the dragon released it, allowing it to fall into the fiery chasm. Seeing it plunge to its death made a fresh knot develop in Corson’s stomach. “Why does that seem an ill omen?” he asked himself aloud.

Demetrius heard the question and replied. “The dragons have no interest in feeding. They are here only to kill, which likely means they do so at another’s command.”

“Solek.”

Dragons were coming from all angles now, hoping to catch their victims unaware, but their own size worked against them, and no more than two of the creatures could make a pass at one time. Foul smells filled the air, burned flesh mingling with the dragons’ own stench.

A group of Lorgrasians working as a group were the first to down a dragon. A blue, perhaps flying a bit low, was bearing down on a small pack of wolves when eight of the female warriors launched their spears, six slicing through the beast’s membranous right wing. The blue careened out of control, spewing its icy breath in an arc as it crashed to the ground. It was set upon immediately, but was nowhere near devoid of defenses. It thrashed its neck and tail, sending bodies flying away, then regained its feet.

Demetrius considered it his good fortune that he had not been among the first group to assail the downed monster, most of whom now were nursing injuries, some hurt beyond help. A few had even been flung into the burning wood, there to meet their doom. He closed with a second group, Corson at his side. The blue was surrounded but weaved its head and tail back and forth, waiting and watching for the next who would dare approach. Feints were made, and several spears and arrows were launched, a few causing some discomfort but most doing little real damage. The blue raised its head and let out a hideous roar/scream, the sound of which stalled for a moment the convergence of those closing upon it.