Key of Living Fire (The Sword of the Dragon) (28 page)

“Lord Ilfedo, are you prepared to undertake the title of Lord Warrior for our people? Will you serve them as you do your own and thus fulfill the long-prophesied time of exodus? Will you lead us out of this place and bring us to a new and better home?”

Ilfedo stood before the assemblage. Most of these men wore the same pink as the rest in their society. The Dewobins were useful for more than just citywide illumination.

A broad-shouldered fellow with a pitted face lumbered toward him, raising on a pink pillow the golden scepter of office. It had four large rubies along its three-foot staff, and a diamond arrowhead at its end. It had been held in keeping for such a day as this, for it had been unclaimed since the death of the Lord Warrior over a hundred years ago.

As the fellow knelt at his feet, Ilfedo said, “By your invitation, I accept this gift and the duties it entails. And by your law I take my place as ruler over this people to lead as I see fit, with wisdom and justice. And under the watchful eyes of Creator God I pledge myself to rule well.” He took the scepter and tucked it under his belt; he would rather hold his sword and maintain the magnificent attire that it bequeathed him than sheath it and be left in nothing but trousers and a short-sleeved shirt.

“All hail the Lord Warrior! All hail the Lord Warrior!” The officials stepped back and bowed, holding their gaze to the floor as he walked down the aisle toward the exit doors.

Five trumpets sounded from the balcony above as twelve guards, attired in the armor of their forebears, marched into position behind him. The doors swung outward, and he strode onto the hall steps.

The mayor and Bromstead, captain of the guard, stood beside him and raised his arms. Bromstead was such a giant of a man that he towered over Ilfedo, yet when their gazes met, Ilfedo knew beyond a shadow of doubt that here was a man to be trusted.

Releasing his arm, as did the mayor, Bromstead grinned down at Ilfedo and bellowed for all to hear. “Hail Ilfedo, Lord Warrior!” Under his breath he said, “My Lord, if you would please raise the scepter for the people to see.”

Ilfedo took a deep, comfortable breath, and sheathed the sword of the dragon. It seemed only appropriate to put away the sword and let the people see him holding the symbol of his new office. He stepped forward as the Living Fire peeled away his armor of light. Within moments he stood before the people in the clothing he had first arrived in—simple and practical. Grasping the scepter in his hand, he pulled it from under his belt and pointed it at the Dewobin sky.

Then it happened. A force beyond his control seized him. It lashed itself around him with an invisible hold that constricted his body. One of the scepter rubies started to shine. He fought the constricting force. If only he hadn’t let go of his sword.

But the scepter had him now. It threw him down the steps, and those assembled gasped. Bromstead rushed to his side, grabbing for the scepter. His fingers slipped over it without touching it, and his eyes narrowed.

Then a voice whispered from the scepter, and the crowd stumbled back. “Who is this that touches mine scepter?” Ilfedo felt a cold loathing seep into his soul. Smoke wafted from the scepter’s diamond head as another ruby lit and the voice said, “Thought me dead, people of Dresdyn? Thought me long gone? Buried me, you did, didn’t you? Yet I live on in here, and no other may lay claim to my office. I built this city; I ruled your grandfathers. I brought light to this place, and I cut it off from you too.” A wave of darkness emanated from the demon, knocking Bromstead to the ground.

“Begone, foul spirit.” Ilfedo writhed on the ground as a smoking hand clamped over his throat.

“A body is all I need in order rise again. I had one once, and I will have one again.”

Half of a humanoid now stood over Ilfedo—man or demon, he couldn’t tell. The people dropped to their knees, trembling, but Bromstead gazed openmouthed at the being as it coalesced. He drew his sword and held it defensively.

“Captain of the guard,” Ilfedo choked out. “Pull out my sword—”

The demon sprouted a bare, smoking human foot. This it pressed against Ilfedo’s chest and leaned over him, a face taking form. “Strong one, what makes you think you can fight something like me?” It reared back its head and cackled, spitting smoke from its mouth. “Long ago I led this people underground. I ruled them well, and then I let loose my companions so that when I died I would not die but would live on in my scepter. I have returned to rule, to
rule today
!”

Bromstead slipped a couple of inches closer, his fingers reaching for Ilfedo’s sword.

“Fool,” the demon billowed over him, “you have a sword of your own if you wish to face me. Use it!”

Seeking to distract the thing, Ilfedo balled his fist and immediately met resistance. The demon stretched forth its hand, long fingers of charred bone that clamped around the scepter’s staff, and pulled it from Ilfedo’s grasp. “At lasssst.”

Ilfedo glanced at the captain of the guard, still lying speechless on the ground. “My sword, Bromstead!”

“Cease your foolish, powerless grabs at authority!” The demon’s eyes took form, staring at Bromstead. “Hail me, Soldier, and submit to my authority so that days of glory may be restored to Dresdyn. For here I stand, the last Lord Warrior, Brunster Thadius Oldwell!” And with that the demon leaned over Ilfedo and struck him on the chin.

Stars danced in his vision, flashes of light that changed to darkness. He was losing consciousness. At the same time, the demon’s hold on him relaxed, so with a desperate grab Ilfedo’s fingers curled around the hilt of the sword of the dragon. He laughed as ribbons of fire lashed from the sword onto his arm. A wave of flames enveloped his body and drove the demon backward ten feet.

Ilfedo stood and fully drew his sword, poising his blade at the being. Driving forward, he took hold of the demon’s arm and hacked it off. It screamed and leaped into the air. Remembering his fight with the Grim Reaper, Ilfedo blasted the ground with fire from his sword, sending himself flying after the being.

In the air they collided, and the people below scattered as, blow upon blow, sword rang against scepter. They fell to the street. Blood ran from Brunster Thadius Oldwell’s stub of an arm.

Ilfedo stared at the blood. The thing had become flesh. He swallowed his fear and said, “You are not welcome in this world, Demon. It is time to meet your eternal Judge.” Ilfedo stabbed his sword into the being’s heart and it collapsed upon the ground.

The body dissolved into smoke, which seeped into the scepter.

Taking the evil thing in his hand, Ilfedo climbed the hall steps and faced the people. “No device of sorcery must be allowed to continue. If it were, then it would visit our children or their children.” He frowned and held forth the scepter, crossing it with his sword blade. “I will not risk that.”

Tensing his sword arm, he sliced through the scepter. As the golden halves clattered to the steps, a cheer rose from the people, and Bromstead climbed the steps to stand behind him. Tendrils of smoke wafted from the scepter at Bromstead’s feet as he kicked it away, smiling down at Ilfedo, his Lord Warrior.

Ilfedo raised his sword. As if he had dropped a blanket over the assembly, they ceased their cheers, and with every eye engaged on him, he spoke loud and strong. “A time of change is upon you all. The time has come to leave your homes and return to living aboveground, where there are trees for shade, ground for tilling, and seas to explore.” He went on to promise them a welcoming union with the people of the Hemmed Land.

“The sword that I wield draws its power from an ancient place that I must find. Someone is trying to steal that power. I cannot allow that to happen. I must continue on the journey I started before finding your city. But in my absence I will leave your ministers of state with instructions that you are to follow. Upon my return we will leave this cavern forever.”

The rest of that day was filled with meetings. Ilfedo laid out his plan for the construction of a ramp along the cavern wall. By means of this he hoped to lead all the people out of the cavern by the way he had come. Building materials would be needed, and seeing as the city was made of wood, he ordered the buildings to be deconstructed. At first objections were raised, but Ilfedo would hear none of it. “I have ordered it to be done. Now make it so,” he said.

At the end of the day, seeking peace and solitude, he wandered back toward the street where the haunted home had been.

The city was quiet, and the Dewobins flew to their nests high in the cavern walls. The Nuvitor flew ahead of him between the rows of beautiful buildings. It circled, then landed on his shoulder. He caressed its chest and sighed. “Where do we stand now, Seivar? Have I gone too far?” He fingered the dragon ring, now as tight around his finger as the day he’d acquired it. The amethyst-eyed creature growled at him.

He shivered in the still, damp air as he walked past a church, snowy white with a steeple fronting it, rising perhaps fifty feet. He stopped and stared at the dim cemetery on either side of the church. Gravestones large and small covered the ground. He stood to the side of the church and leaned against it. From this street to the next, a quarter mile away, all he could see were more graves.

Bathed in the Dewobins’ pink light, the scene looked deceptively simple. He knew from his glance through the city’s historical records that many remarkable people had been buried here.

He wandered among the stones, mulling over the strange demon he’d faced earlier that day. Demon or spirit, he didn’t know what to call it. He stooped as the Nuvitor bounced onto a gravestone. Brushing dust from the engraving, he read “Hugo Emitzer—beloved husband and deacon of God’s church; we’ll see you again.” Nearby stood a triangular stone. “Relmund Fletcher—trusted prophet; your kindness brought us light in this dark place. May God smile upon you until we can follow you Home.”

Not far off rested a stone larger than all others. It was square, about a foot thick, three wide, and twice again as high. He walked up to it and crossed his arms, for the inscription read “Brunster Thadius Oldwell—In the time that our ancestors fled their homeland in search of another, he became the Lord Warrior to secure for us a future. His knowledge of sunlight’s power enabled us to keep our homes, but his denial of God’s existence will forever be our sorrow. He will be sorely missed.”

Ilfedo stepped back and was startled to bump into something soft and hear it grunt. He spun around, and the Nuvitor flashed across his vision. With his hand on his sword, he faced the church.

A bearded man looked up at him with a smile. “Relax, relative.”

Ilfedo laughed and shook Everett’s hand.

“You have a way with death.” Everett clasped his hands behind his back and faced the gravestone. “I suppose we’ll never know if that thing today was the Lord Warrior purportedly buried here or not.” Then he shook his head and put an arm around Ilfedo’s back, walking him back to the street. “Ha! God be praised. We are not alone in this world after all. You proved that. Now all that remains is getting out of this nightmare hole.”

“The bridge out of this cavern, once built, will make escape possible. But with several thousand people, I doubt the journey will be easy. And during my absence you will have to endure this continuing darkness.”

Everett stood toe to toe with him, staring into his eyes. “Frankly, there is a way for you to do something substantial about that. It would tie in with the prophecy.”

“There is a prophecy concerning this?”

“Indeed. There is another building like the one you destroyed. Except this one is no abandoned home. It is the observatory housing a device long ago used to light our city. Supposedly it has the ability to turn our night into day. It was built by the Lord Warrior and was abandoned upon his death. It seems the creatures—or demons, as you have called them—inhabited it on the very day of Brunster Thadius Oldwell’s demise. There was a caretaker of the observatory, according to our historical records—a man by the name of Miles. But on the day the Lord Warrior died, Miles remained in the observatory and refused to come out or light our city ever again. Some men broke inside after two weeks of darkness. The records are not clear, yet it seems only one man returned alive, though missing both arms, and warned of a beast within the observatory. No one has ventured inside since. From time to time passersby have testified to hideous manifestations that beckon to them and then vanish back through the observatory walls . . . but then there is the prophecy concerning the coming of a new Lord Warrior—”

“Tell me of it,” Ilfedo said.

Folding his hands to his forehead, as if in prayer, Everett nodded. “The prophecy was spoken around sixty years ago by the pastor of Holy Commons Church, which is now a ruin in the haunted neighborhood. The pastor was Hubert Apelgen, and I have put to memory what the books quote as his prophecy: