The Soul Sphere: Book 02 - The Final Shard (39 page)

Panicked now, the blue charged, easily knocking over those directly in its path, but allowing warblades, swords, and even wolf fangs to slash at its side.

The blue cleared those clustered about it, flapped its wings a few furious beats, and then wheeled about, realizing that it was now trapped. Before it could charge its advancing foes again, an elven arrow found its mark, piercing the dragon’s left eye. In fury and agony the dragon raced forward, lashing out at whatever it could reach with its snapping jaws, its breath weapon either forgotten or unusable.

Demetrius, like many to the beast’s left, took advantage of its partial blindness to step near and drive his sword under its scales.

The dragon sent another dozen flying while it flailed, but the damage had started to accumulate, and the dragon’s tormentors grew bolder. The blue fell to its knees. Further encouraged, its assailants pressed their advantage.

Corson had actually stepped back, the press of those trying to get to the dragon becoming more of a danger than the weakening beast. Just at the edge of his awareness he heard someone give a muffled warning. Something inside urged him to look skyward.

The big orange dragon, once content to guide the smaller beasts from high above, was now nearly upon them.

“Move away!” he screamed. “Another dragon comes!”

Some heard and heeded his warning; some did so because of similar cries that swiftly followed, Demetrius among them. Others, not hearing, not comprehending, or simply carried away by bloodlust, continued to hack at the fallen blue.

The orange came at them like a thunderbolt, its great wings stirring the air into swirling eddies and fanning the forest flames. It opened its mouth and vomited forth a molten stream like lava tossed from a volcano. All who were in its path—dwarves, elves, wolves, goblins, men, even the downed blue—were quickly brought to ruin.

*          *          *

Lucien had seen the blue knocked from the sky, had taken a few hurried steps in the direction of the fallen beast, and then checked himself. The downed dragon was quickly encircled by hundreds of angry warriors who were happy to finally have something at which to strike, and pressing himself through them to try to get at the blue with his own warblade made no sense. Instead, he looked to the Lorgrasians, hoping those who still had their spears could reproduce the feat on the next dragon that came near. But he, like the Lorgrasians, could only watch in horror as the great orange dragon bore down and issued forth destruction. It would take many spears to lay that one low.

Krellos let a low rumble play in his throat as he scanned the sky. “Our hope fades. First the big orange, and now there are far more dragons.”

“ ‘More’?” Lucien repeated. He looked up and indeed found at least another dozen winged creatures in the air, but as he scanned them hope did not die in his heart, but rather blossomed anew. “Watch,” he told his furry companion.

Krellos had already noted with surprise that the attack runs had not recommenced after the orange’s, and now he could see the reason why. The newcomers were attacking the dragons that had been tormenting the Arkanians. Flames of various hues, gas, ice, acid—these flared and flashed as the dragons made war upon one another. Where breath assaults failed teeth snapped and claws ripped. The orange had noticed what was happening as well and ignored the Arkanians as it soared to join in the dragon battle.

For those on the ground, the danger had not passed. The fire in the woods crept closer on each side, and assorted deadly substances still fell from above, failed attacks of acid or lava pulled down by gravity to seek victims below. The action in the sky was so fast and furious that it was hard to follow, and the descending liquids less easily avoided than they might have been in less hectic and confused times.

Adiel and Roldon had finished casting their spell just as Tala spotted the metallic dragons racing in from the east. A muted cry of triumph escaped her lips.

Rowan’s mouth hung open an instant upon seeing such unexpected aid, but once the dragons engaged in battle he jumped at the opening presented. “How many can the bridge hold at once?” he shouted.

“I would chance as many as possible while we have this opportunity,” Deron replied. “It is less a question of weight than of time.”

Deron started across while Rowan called out orders for the army to move forward. Deron stopped halfway across, making himself a spectacle for the others. He seemed to be floating in mid-air, and while flames licked at his feet they were turned aside and he remained unharmed. The fire was the only way to mark the edges of the invisible bridge, and Rowan and Tala positioned themselves a few feet inside the edges so as to funnel everyone safely onto the magical escape route. Once he saw the lead elements begin to cross, Deron ran to the other side and readied himself to push them on once they reached him to ensure no bottleneck would develop. He looked around the approaching army to Adiel and Roldon, the former relatively pale but the latter nearly white and perspiring profusely. “Hurry!” he cried to those nearing the end of the crossing. “Step away and move down the road! The dragons may yet return!”

Reaching the far side of the chasm, even without the dragons flying about, was no guarantee of safety. The road continued on some three hundred yards before it bent to the left, and it remained flanked by woods on both sides. These trees, as had those in the center of the trap, had caught fire, and the blaze had spread at least to the bend in the road, likely beyond. Even so, there was a palpable feeling of relief when one reached the far side of the magic bridge, a feeling that safety might indeed be just around the corner.

Demetrius was far enough away from the invisible bridge that he had no sense of what was happening toward that front. But he was one of the first to note a general movement forward, and as he faintly heard the shouts that they were to advance, he added his own voice to the urging that the army move while the dragons did battle in the sky.

“What’s happening?” Corson asked.

“Don’t know. Hopefully they’ve found a way across.”

They moved forward less swiftly than they might, the fire to each side narrowing their path, too many people trying to get to the same place at one time. The army, for the time being, had lost some of its discipline, but who could blame them, Demetrius thought. He turned and saw those behind him pressing forward, filling gaps whenever possible in an effort to shorten the time needed to get off this fire-enclosed island. The Arkanians were making themselves easy targets. If the evil dragons won their duel now and turned their attention back to those below… He shivered at the thought, then fought off the urge to push those who slowed in front of him. He blew out a long, steadying breath, releasing the panic that was trying to build inside him.

“Look out!” someone yelled.

Demetrius’ head shot up immediately, though the warning had not indicated from which direction the danger came. Careening toward them came a copper dragon and a red dragon, holding each other in a deadly embrace, their wings useless as they snapped and clawed at one another. As if they were one creature they spiraled down, neither willing to release the other so both could stop their dizzying descent.

Other warning cries joined the first, but there was too little time and too little room for those still earthbound to move. As the two great beasts crashed, their fall claimed a dozen victims. The shock of the impact knocked them apart, the copper rolling three times while the red had its head and forelegs hit the ground too hard, sending it flipping over onto its back.

The two gained their feet at roughly the same time and eyed each other, exhausted but bound to fight until at least one was dead. The red flicked its tail and slapped a pair of goblins that had wandered too close. Demetrius heard the sickening sound of bones breaking as they were thrown aside like insects.

The dragons started to circle and most of the Arkanians moved away to stream forward once again, thinking of nothing but escape. Demetrius hesitated and then stood his ground, being jostled by those hurrying past.

Corson had not moved either. “We should help,” he said, verbalizing what
he knew Demetrius was thinking.

“As we can,” he replied. “The copper is an ally, as surely as the goblins and wolves we travel with.”

“Well said,” intoned a gruff voice behind them. It was Lucien, and Krellos was by his side.

They were not the only ones to think such thoughts. At least a hundred waited and watched, while the dragons hissed and feinted. Perhaps sensing its growing peril, the red tried its wings, but the right one was useless. It bounded toward the copper, then pivoted and blew a quick breath of flame at a small group of men and dwarves, many of whom had no chance to react before they were consumed. The action had the desired effect on the gathering mob, causing some of those encircling the dragons to back away, and the rest, at least for a moment, to freeze in place. But the copper saw its opportunity when the red turned its head, and sprang forward to grip its opponent’s neck with its teeth, which it then worked past the scales and into the flesh beneath.

The red struggled to find the leverage needed to cast its foe off. Its tail, legs, and wings thrashed and flailed, hoping to beat off its attacker or even to throw off its balance. But the copper had its feet set as firmly as its teeth, and it absorbed the blows with grim determination.

How long the red could have lived in such a predicament was unknown, but those who considered the copper dragon a friend and ally now had the opportunity they sought. For the price of a lot of bruises and a few broken bones, the Arkanians by turns charged in to slide weapons or teeth under scales, and the life slowly drained from the red monster. As its thrashings slowed and finally ended, they stood back, and the copper gave its neck several great shakes. Satisfied, it released its foe, then breathed a controlled blast of orange-green flame on its head, ending any question of whether the red might still live.

“Thank you, friends,” the copper said. “Now go.” It leapt skyward, flapping its great wings—one of which appeared damaged but was obviously still useful—searching for another opponent.

For a moment Demetrius stood watching it. He looked at the slain red, and then at his sword, which was painted with its blood, just as Corson’s sword, Lucien’s warblade, and Krellos teeth were. He shook his head and blinked his eyes, as if waking from a dream. “Come on,” he said, leading the way.

They were now among the rear elements of the Arkanian Army. As they neared the chasm, Demetrius saw others rushing across, and wondered how a bridge could have been fashioned over such a fiery gorge in such a short period of time. Then he saw Roldon, looking as if he would certainly collapse if the two elves at his side withdrew their support. He stepped out of the main group to get a better look at those passing across, his eyes growing wide as he saw their running feet supported by nothing.

He heard a familiar voice, Tala’s, urging everyone forward. She waved with one hand and held the other out like a barrier, defining where it was safe to cross. Their eyes met for an instant and they exchanged a quick smile, old friends happy to know they both were alive and well. Then with a growing pit in his stomach but no visible hesitation, Demetrius moved onto the bridge.

He knew looking down was a mistake, but he could not help himself. For a few lingering seconds he floated over nothing, the bottomless black void pulling at him, and his knees weakened. Flame shot up and fanned out beneath him. He could feel the warmth of it—warmth but nothing more. Unsteady now, he pried his eyes away from the mesmerizing pit, forcing himself to stay centered on those in front of him and on the road on the other side. He found himself, like those around him, pressing toward the center, afraid to wander too close to the unseen edge. It slowed them, but it was unavoidable. No one was willing to move to the side and risk walking an invisible tightrope over such a precipice. Demetrius thought of Adiel and especially of Roldon, how weak and frail they had become and the energy they had to be expending to hold this pathway in place. Thinking about that was nearly as bad as looking down. He gauged the distance to the other side and guessed it was fifty paces away. To occupy his mind, he counted them down.

Once the last of the army was on the bridge Tala waved Rowan onward, then went to Adiel. The elder sensed her presence, even with his eyes closed. His face was pinched and strained, the visage of one holding a great weight over his head with nowhere to set it down. “Go. Roldon too,” he told her. She knew better than to question him.