Faith Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 2) (42 page)

“The white sand is called enchanter’s sand. It’s much stronger than silver dust, just as the black sand, scoria, is much stronger than enchanter’s sand. Enchanter’s sand is made from wizard’s bones and is used when emotions are needed to heal and protect. If mingled with silver dust it strengthens the emotion’s magic.

“Scoria is gathered from wizards who have given their life with the Quy.” Zorc paused to touch a place in his robe with tender affection. “Scoria won’t only conduct and intensify magic, it will also amplify it one thousand times over. Use scoria only when you want to conserve all your strength, or only in dire need. One grain of it is deadly. In the right hands it could obliterate kingdoms.

“All of the dusts have their uses, and if used wisely can save lives. For instance, fire is the one physical element wizards have hitherto been unable to utilize.” Everyone glanced at Ren before turning back to Zorc.

“With the dusts any wizard can amplify fire, though not from his own emotions. Silver dust can cause a fire to burn hotter, but because it intensifies the heat it makes the logs burn more quickly. The other two dusts can act as a counterbalance to the silver dust. Enchanter’s sand can make the logs stronger, and scoria can explode the flame without utilizing the log, hence making the fire burn for a longer time.”

Zorc leaned back and looked at each one in turn. “In the future, those with magic may be able to conjure fire. Though magic is being reborn, it’s also starting over. No wizard in history has been able to invoke fire, with or without the dust, but the Quy is stronger than ever and the rules have changed. All of you are far more advanced than you should be. In my day it took years to move past an apprenticeship. Even Barracus required years of training, and he was a mage.”

Ren leaned forward. “But you said magi couldn’t be trained.”

“They can’t, pardon the expression. Barracus required years of study, of growing, of learning, until he could find, through guidance,” Zorc said, raising a finger, “what he was capable of doing.”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” Markum said. “How did I end up with the prophecy book?”

Zorc smiled. The fire reflecting in his eyes caused them to blaze with a reddish hue. “You’re a direct descendant of Galor, Markum.”

Markum lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “The seer who was with you in the Alcazar?”

Zorc nodded. “Yes. Galor didn’t have the Quy, just the sight, and was my only companion when I fled the Alcazar. He stayed with me until he was told by the Maker in a dream to leave and begin a new life. I formed the prophecy book to hide its words until the time was right. I gave it to Galor, knowing the Maker would lead him to the right location so that the Chosen would find it. I never heard from Galor again.”

“I’m sorry you had to live alone for so long,” Ren said.

All former sadness dissipated with Zorc’s grin. “I’m the lucky one, Ren. I’m alive, and I have the great honor of knowing you, the one we put our hopes on. To be able to smell the air, see the stars, and feel the grass beneath my feet is an extra bonus. I vow to extract all I can out of the rest of my life. I’m lucky I have any time at all.”

Ren tensed, once again noticing the streaks of gray in Zorc’s hair. They had become more profound over the past few days. “What do you mean? I thought you would just now begin to age. You were only forty-one when you received the time weave. You should live a good while yet.”

Zorc’s eyes softened. “Before me, magic had only been used on a few occasions to extend a human life, and only for a span of a few years. Time stopped for me for almost four centuries. No one knew how the magic would affect me. I won’t die tomorrow, but I’m aging faster than I would like.”

“How long?”

“A year, possibly a little longer. I’ve probably aged one year in the past week. If I live to a ripe old age of ninety that would give me forty-eight more weeks.”

Ren didn’t know what to say. In the short time he had known Zorc a strong bond had formed between them. Ren knew that bond would strengthen with each day and each lesson taught. He thought Zorc would be there to guide him for years to come.

Zorc patted Ren’s arm. “I’ve become fond of you too.”

Just as Ren was about to speak, Markum gasped.

He was having another vision. By the look in his eyes it was the worst yet.

“It’s coming.” Markum’s voice was soft, but the way he spoke chilled Ren to the bone.

Ren knelt beside him. “What’s coming?”

Then Ren felt it. It came from all directions. He scanned the woods.

Galvin drew his sword as Markum moaned.

“Burning cinders, do you feel that?” Neki said, eyes darting everywhere at once.

Nigel rubbed his arms. “Crawling. My skin is crawling.”

Blood pounded in Ren’s temples. The sword quivered in its scabbard. Ren remembered what had happened the last time he had held the sword, after Nigel had completed the stones. He didn’t know if he could control the sword if he drew it again.

Leaves began to rustle. Twigs snapped.

Ren didn’t hesitate a second time. He drew his sword and reached for the calm, hoping he would be able to overcome the intensity of the stones. The hate hit him first, righteous rage; then love washed over the hate, purifying it; then came a keening pain.

As quickly as the emotions came they mingled into one. Ren became the calm, rising above the emotions, looking down upon their intensity. He felt the sword screaming for him to draw upon the power of the stones.

The sword became an extension of him, a weapon of emotions, a herald of light. The triangle of stones glowed with a silver brilliance.

“It’s coming,” Markum whispered.

The pages of the prophecy book flipped wildly, but there was no wind. Markum moaned again. Ren clutched the sword’s hilt, letting the power of the blade oscillate through him. The internal elements pulsated with strength. He reached higher and soared above the pinnacle. Inside him, the feet of the triangle came together and merged until only a straight line remained.

The power was no longer a pyramid but a needle-sharp shaft. The sword he held was an extension of that shaft. It was the true synergy, the true union. It was the syzygy of three to one. He was the sword. He was the elements. He was the Quy’s deadly weapon.

Trees began to break as if they were mere twigs. The night air became stagnant, like a blanket of frost. Corruption seemed to surround them.

Ren gripped the sword tighter. The sky flickered with light, and clouds started gathering, swirling as if a giant force stirred the heavens.

“Ren, look,” Morris said.

“I see it,” Ren said through clenched teeth. Shadows stirred in the forest. They were moving closer.

“It’s coming,” Markum whispered again.

“No, Ren, over there.”

Ren broke his gaze from the forest and turned to where Morris pointed. A blood-red beam of light exploded over Zier, reaching toward the heavens like a blade of death. Clouds rolled and twirled by the light until they too were washed in blood, spinning, churning, whirling out from the light, infecting the clouds beside them until the sky exploded in crimson, rolling toward them and past them, outward over all of the Lands. As soon as the red clouds roared by them the air changed. It became thick, hard to breathe, almost as if you were breathing cinders. The evening dusk was gone. All that was left was a sickening red glow.

The world had drowned in blood.

The Red Eye’s power had been released.

The forest moved again.

“It’s coming.”

- - -

Chris watched the sky turn to blood. He barely heard the commotion behind him as horses reared and men screamed in terror. He paid no heed to the change in the air or his deepening breaths. He didn’t listen to the king of Yor shouting for men to enter the tunnels and search for the women. His mind was focused on one thing and one thing only – hate.

It sifted through the air like smoke. It wasn’t powerful enough to be detected by the normal man, but he wasn’t a normal man. He was a man touched by profound emotion. He was a shell, but he was also a man who could sense the undercurrent of exceptional emotion. The hate the red glow emitted was an emotion that was now a shadow, but would soon become a disease. It was an emotion that could destroy everything it touched. It could destroy their world.

Aaron silently stood beside him, but Chris felt the Avenger’s fear. It wasn’t a fear of death, but a fear of the unknown.

The conglomerate circle remained unbroken, and Ista had tapped into the Red Eye’s power. If the women didn’t find the weaver soon all was lost.

Chris wasn’t worried about Manda. Each time he looked at Aaron he knew his sister was safe. Although Aaron couldn’t discern Manda’s location he would know if she came to harm. Their connection was still strong.

Chris turned his attention back to the sky. “Hurry, sis,” he whispered. “There’s no more time.”

- - -

Galvin shouted, but it was too late. Before Ren knew it, something knocked him down. A biting cold tore through his shoulder as if part of him had died with the touch. He rolled to his feet as Galvin screamed another warning. A black fog sailed toward him, whistling with speed. Ren brought up his sword, called on its power and watched the silver triangle pulse with life.

The black fog soared right through the blade. Ren felt a frost shiver down the metal. The kota wailed and bowed, sending her stunning ray into the fog. The ray did nothing to it. The fog turned for another attack.

Neki nocked and arrow and let it fly. The arrow was true. It hit the black fog directly at its center.

The fog evaporated before their eyes.

“Ista calls to the dead.”

Ren spun, not daring to believe what Zorc meant.

“What are they?” Neki said.

“The shadows of the Mynher,” Zorc said, backing up to the fire. “If a shadow passes through you it will strip your soul, force the life from you. The Mynher hungers to live, to feel life. The only way he can feel life is to pass through you. If he does he will absorb all life from you. No one knows how the Desolation Plains were created. The Mynher shouldn’t be able to stay in the void between this world and the Abyss, but he does. To do so he has to claim live souls and slowly drain their life force from them.

“The Red Eye is somehow breaching the Plains, allowing his shadows into our world. The more souls he claims the more powerful he’ll be.”

Ren sucked in a breath. He felt his shoulder. It felt as if all the heat had been drained from it. The moaning grew loader. Galvin and Morris dropped to their knees, shielding their ears from the pleas of the voices. Those with magic held their ground, but both Nigel and Neki had a haunted look in their eyes.

“How do we stop them?”

“You can’t.”

Shrill wails of anguish rose from the surrounding woods, prickling Ren’s skin. Although it sounded like one wail, it wasn’t one voice. It was thousands of voices together. They moaned for assistance, for hope, for life. They cried for him, for all of them, promising them things, promising him Aidan. They had her, they cried. If only he would let them have him. But Ren was in the calm, and in the calm there was truth. In the voices there was deceit.

Cadaverous specters come out of the woods, all with hideous wounds marring their visages. Hands of murky white flailed in front of them as they reached for life. Their lips were opened in a unified scream.

Neki paled. “What about them?”

“The undead,” Zorc whispered. “The Mynher’s army. They can only appear where they died before the Mynher denied them eternal damnation.”

“Do I want to know what they can do?” Nigel asked.

“With a touch they strip your flesh to feel your life.”

“May the Maker be with us,” Neki mumbled.

Galvin inched toward the horses. “In the first war there was a battle on this hill.”

Nigel’s eyes darted everywhere at once. “We’re in the middle of a graveyard.”

A deep laugh echoed around them.

Ren turned and looked over the distant treetops. The trees bent as if under a massive weight. Protruding from the trees were two jaundice eyes. They were looking directly at him.

It was the full shadow of the Mynher.

Although its body was cast in shadow, what Ren saw was enough to cause nightmares for the remainder of his days. The face was that of a man, but the skin was chalky white, with pulsating festers. Three horns crowned the Mynher’s otherwise bald head, two on each side and one in the middle, all curving back and in. The Mynher’s form was made from bodies, writhing just beneath the surface, trying to tear themselves free from the thin membrane of the Mynher’s flesh, mouths open in silent terror.

“You can’t fight them,” Zorc said, shouting over the plaintive cries. “You can only slow them. If your aim is true the black shadows will evaporate and return to the Mynher to gather again. The undead also reform, but they will do so more quickly. We have to run. We have to run now.”

“Ren, look out!” Nigel screamed. A black fog formed in front of him. The kota wailed. Ren rolled from it. He felt its frigid, tenuous mass suck in the heat of the air around him. Neki lunged for it and the shadow shot in the other direction. Ren stared at the saber in Neki’s hand. The red lines of the sardonyx were glowing in the darkness.

“Neki, Grauss said your sword could ward off the dead. Get between us and watch for more shadows. Everyone move!”

Neki positioned himself at the center the camp and twirled his saber above them. “Hurry, they’re moving closer.”

Ren risked a glance back as he strapped the dazed seer to the nearest horse. Neki was right. The undead were slow, but they were coming. Some were only cubits from them. But the specters didn’t frighten Ren, the Mynher did. The master of the Desolation Plain was moving closer. Ren could almost make out faces under its translucent skin.

Heartbeats later they were on their horses and galloping over the steep embankment that led to Zier.

Neki took the lead, waving his sword above him, warding off the dead. Specters came from all directions, wailing in sorrow. Black shapes flew overhead, but all strayed from Neki’s sword as if the sardonyx’s path left them blind.