Hidden Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 6) (9 page)

I turned my attention from him for a moment and studied the barrier. It was a relatively simple piece of magic use, and, once you knew where to look, such things could be dealt with if you had the chance to focus and get things just right. I didn't really have that luxury but I had to try, so took a few steps back and focused, no easy thing while a giant creature from an unknowable netherworld closes in, smiling at the thought of chewing through your windpipe.

"There, give it all you've got," I said to Mithnite, pointing at a thin blue vein within the rock.

"Blast it?"

"Yes, and don't hold back. Hurry up!"

Mithnite crackled as magic built, the ogre seemingly cautious as we both began to expel violent snatches of energy.

I let a particular section of ink flare into red light, the markings warping the magic and changing its function. Not good with spells of the more subtle arts, I knew I had to blast my way to giving him his freedom, so focused on the weakest spot of the spell that had created the barrier. I sent a single, focused line of energy as thin as cotton, red as hell, right at the upper corner nearest the tunnel wall.

Mithnite shot out a thicker jolt of red power parallel to mine, his wavering slightly, but he held it together and it kept on coming, boosting the strength of my magic, mine doing the same to his.

Just like any door, all forcefields of this nature have strong and weak points, places that act as hinges and as locks. Our combined magic wormed its way into the lock where the barrier both began and ended, and as I channeled more of my will, more of my power and knowledge of the subtle arts—which was less than total—into the growing hole, it suddenly erupted in a blinding light and vanished.

"Hurry up. It's now or never, dude." The ogre turned from me to the open passage as I nodded in that direction. Head snapping back around, it roared, impossible to tell if it was saying thanks or was still gonna chew all our bits until only gristle remained.

"Go on, we can't hold it off for much longer. Now or never, your choice."

Seemingly having made up its mind, it came for me, but as it stepped close and I readied for destruction, it nodded once on impossibly thick neck muscles, turned, and was gone, lumbering down the hall and disappearing.

I had no doubt it would fade from the world of dwarves, back into its own layer of existence. Just a little removed from this reality but close enough to break through if it had to, certainly easy to summon by anyone with a good base in magic use.

Straightening my tie, and putting a hand through my hair, I turned and stepped up to the plain wooden door.

Time to work the old charm on a dragon.

"Awesome. This keeps getting better!" said Mithnite, stepping forward to join me, looking done for already. As if on cue, his face became a mask of pain and he collapsed, curling up into a ball and crying out for help, for it to all be over.

It brought back so many memories, seeing him like that. Such pain you endure when young and first learning how to master the Empty. It's a wonder any of us continue, but that's the draw of such power—you will always come back for more, no matter the cost.

Mithnite recovered relatively quickly. Face covered in sweat, he clambered to his feet, brushed himself down, and soon enough was standing beside me, resolute. His payback made me aware of how little I hurt, that I could carry on and felt no real comedown. Just as well, given the circumstances.

"That was pretty scary. That thing was huge!"

"Just another day in the life. Get used to it. You sure this is going to be your kind of thing?"

"Too right, man, I can't wait."

Mithnite's eyes were bright and glassy. He was hyped up on the violence, itching to become more involved. I'd seen the look before, back when I was his age staring in the mirror, just thinking about how much of a badass I'd be in the future. Chasing down the bad guys and doling out my own particular brand of punishment.

Hell, what had I let myself in for?

"Just stay behind me," I warned as I reached for the door.

An Undramatic Entrance

"Hold on!" shouted Mithnite, grabbing my arm.

"What?" I said, annoyed at the interruption.

"It might be waiting for us. What if it breathes fire at us the moment we open the door?" He looked freaked, the comedown from the violence replaced with anxiety.

"There's always something nasty behind the door. You just gotta be prepared." I felt like a damn teacher, him continually interrupting my flow, having to explain why I did things. It wasn't good. He kept making me question my actions when normally I just ride the wave of magic and see where it brings me.

"Okay," Mithnite replied sulkily, reluctantly moving his slightly shaking hand away.

"Hell, give me some room, will you?" He was too close, his breath on my face, cramping my style and my ability to react quickly should the need arise.

"Sorry." He stepped back, and behind me—at least he wasn't stupid.

"It's okay, my fault." This was going to take some serious getting used to. I was out of line, had to learn how to relax and deal with someone less experienced than myself.

I felt anxious turning the handle on the door now he'd broken my focus, interrupting the flow of the narrative I realized I pretty much always had running—body primed for whatever would come next, me anticipating the worst, all happening on an instinctive level. Now there at the fore because of his interruption. I would definitely have to have words. I just wasn't sure if it was him or me that needed the telling off.

The door pushed open a hand's breadth then held fast. We exchanged glances and with a shrug I put my shoulder to it, trying to push past whatever was blocking it. It hardly moved, so Mithnite helped, both of us shoving but to no avail. Stepping back, we nodded to each other, and on the count of three we gave it all we had.

The door held for a second then sprang open. We both sprawled onto the floor as gold coins and all manner of exquisite goodies spilled out of the doorway, leaving us face down in a pile of priceless dwarf gold.

"Ugh, geddof me," I moaned as I stood, Mithnite grabbing me to try to help himself up. This was getting ridiculous. The sooner I was up top and could figure out what to do with him the better.

"Oh, wow!" Mithnite was transfixed, and as I stood and took in the vast room it was easy to see why.

Right inside the cavernous room the gold hoard began, and already the door had pushed shut behind us with the weight of the treasure. A few steps, taken without even thinking, and we were sinking up to our shins in riches beyond imagining.

Up and up it went, a vast mountain of bling that just kept on growing. The space was impossibly large, lost to shadows and darkness, the scale mind-boggling. It was big. Very big. Huge pillars came down from the ceiling at regular intervals, supporting great arches that soared into mist high above, a micro-climate complete with what looked like clouds.

What there wasn't was a dragon shifting in the stolen stash, readying itself to burn us to a crisp, eliminate the intruders with a quick roar of flame.

"Where is it?" whispered Mithnite, getting too close again. Hadn't this kid heard of personal space?

"Ssh. What the hell is the matter with you? Be quiet. We need to wait and then introduce ourselves properly." I'd zero dragon experience but was sure I recalled, maybe something I'd read, believing it to be a fairy tale as a young man, that when you first meet a dragon you have to be very conscious of your manners and introduce yourself with all possible politeness if you are to survive that initial contact for more than a second.

"I think I hear something."

I turned in the direction he was looking, and damn if he didn't have seriously good hearing. A few seconds later the piles of gold began to shift. Then the stirring turned into an avalanche.

The dragon was awake, and it was definitely a he.

What was rather surprising was that I'd been such an idiot—okay, maybe not so surprising—not once even considering it could be such a legend that was holding the dwarves' gold to ransom in its lair.

"Do not, and I mean under any circumstance, move or talk unless you're spoken to. Do I make myself clear?" I said hurriedly, unable to take my eyes off the approaching figure.

Mithnite shifted uncomfortably, almost as baffled by the revelation as I was. "But it's only—"

"Just be quiet," I snapped. "Let me do the talking."

I stepped forward, ready to introduce myself. Damn, but I was nervous. You'll see why.

The Dragon

Suddenly it all clicked into place. How had I missed it? Princess Dekosli had basically spelled it out for me. Not
a
dragon,
the
dragon, she'd said. I'd just not thought she could mean "The" Dragon.

Everyone believed him to be dead, long gone, lost in the annals of time. A legend, a mystery, most not even believing him to have ever been real. Sure, much of what we knew today of magic was based on his teachings. The long years, endless centuries, that he'd studied, discovering the Empty and bending it to his will. Wizards spoke of him with awe, but most of us, even those many years older than myself, those thousands of years old, only half-believed in the existence of the man.

He had become almost a religion. There were certainly many that followed his teachings obsessively, known as wyrmlings, refusing to believe he was a myth, or dead, waiting for the day he would rise and lead them on a new path. But most in our world saw them as extremists. They were definitely an odd bunch, almost militant, following sacred texts handed down over generations, copied and recopied until the more dubious wondered if any of it was still a match for the original teachings.

People worshiped him, many despised him for what he'd helped bring to the human world, yet more thought of him as a Savior. A man that was no mere man, but a deity, a prophet. Dragon. Loved, despised, scorned and adored, you couldn't get away from the fact that everything about Dragon was comparable to all other religions throughout the ages.

Rikka had taught me much of Dragon, tales of his exploits, of when he was a youth and first discovered magic in a remote corner of the Finnish wilderness. I guess this is why so many of the powerful ones come from Finland—the legends of the first magical man are strong there, always have been.

Rikka was about as pragmatic as you could get, yet even he believed some of the tales, and swore by the teachings. Heck, according to him all he learned came directly from Dragon, passed on from wizard to wizard. Although, how much of that was true I had my doubts, certainly after what I'd learned of Rikka's lineage in Japan.

Yet there was no doubt in my mind. This was him. The man they called Dragon. A wizard once, but surpassing what we think of as a wizard in every way. Not even a mage, but a sage.

A true sage, of which there are few, not only practices magic, but studies it, knows all there is to know, at least for humans, and most importantly understands it. Sages are adept like no other, can wield mighty forces, bend the elements and unknowable powers to their will from the realms that have no human names, and are wise, continue their studies until the day they die, and often long after.

Sages break through the barrier between life and death and the very old ones, the ancient men that are far removed from everyday life and concerns, they have cheated death, no longer the final equalizer for such powerful ex-humans. They are the true immortals, refusing to die, working magic into their systems over extended millennia until they become true Hidden, creatures of magic. No longer human in any meaningful way.

And here, leaning back on a mountain of gold in front of us, was the numero uno, the big kahuna, the first, the ultimo, the OMG it's really him, like yes, seriously, quick let's do a selfie, the ultimate man of magic himself.

Dragon.

"Fancy a cup of tea?" Dragon asked. To be honest, I expected something rather more dramatic, but then, I was thirsty.

"Yes please. Got any sugar?" Hey, he started it.

"Of course, but milk's a right bugger to get down here. I don't know what it is they do to their cows, but it doesn't taste right. But I have some of the good stuff," he said, and winked. "They wouldn't dare fob me off with anything but full fat."

"I bet." I didn't know what to say. I was lost for words. It doesn't happen often, as usually I talk before my brain's had a chance to warn me I'm about to say something dumb, but this was awesome!

"Don't just stand there, Mithnite, go get the chairs," Dragon snapped at the befuddled lad.

"What? Eh? Who's this?" he asked, turning to me.

"It's Dragon. You know. Him. Mr. Magic himself."

Mithnite's eyes widened in wonder. He would have been taught of him, every good teacher would tell his students of the mythical man, and as I watched him go through a series of expressions, settling on awe, it was clear his studies had been thorough.

"Um, where are they?"

Before Dragon could answer, Urrad made an appearance, looking surprised that we'd made it this far. Guess he had his orders to enter if we managed to defeat the ogre.

"Urrad," snapped Dragon, "what took you so long? You know you're supposed to help anyone that makes it in."

"Sorry," he said, sounding like such things had been going on for many years.

"Get them a chair each. We can't have guests standing around like fools. It's rude."

"Where are they?" he asked with a sigh, repeating Mithnite's question.

"I don't know. Under the gold somewhere."

Urrad looked around in dismay, and I didn't blame him.

Everywhere was gold. Coins small and large, nuggets the size of a grain of sand or as big as your fist, some like cannonballs, perfectly smooth and glorious. There were crowns and chains and lamps and necklaces. Rings and bowls and items I had no idea as to purpose.

All of it was dwarven, all of it was beautiful, and the room we stood in could have solved world poverty in a heartbeat. Although, I guess if this much gold was ever put on the market it would mean it was worthless.