Wizard Pair (Book 3) (40 page)

Quineshua

Zhimosom materialized beside the dragon on the remote island of Quineshua, where Kel'hin had taken Sulrad to isolate him from the fight. The dragon lay on the ground, moaning, and Zhimosom knelt down beside him. Kel'hin had been stabbed in the neck. Blood ran from beneath his scales and down onto the ground. Zhimosom tried to find a spell to heal the dragon, but none of his efforts could slow the flow of blood.

"You can't save him," a voice came from behind Zhimosom. He spun around to see Sulrad standing there, holding his sacrificial dagger. Around his neck, the Charm of the Joiner glowed brightly.

Zhimosom grabbed the charm. If he could get it away from Sulrad, he could stop the summoning and commanding of the dragons. Sulrad stepped back and twisted away from Zhimosom's grasping fingers.

He swung the knife and slashed Zhimosom across the arm. He stumbled to the ground as fire erupted where the knife sliced through robe and flesh. Red blood gushed forth, dripping to the ground to mix with that of the dragon.

"I'll take your magic, too." Sulrad advanced towards Zhimosom.

Zhimosom felt the pull on his magic. Sulrad was drawing it out of him while he was alive. Zhimosom resisted, but he was weakened from the night of hard work transforming dragons and traveling to Quineshua. He was too weak to stop Sulrad from drawing his magic away.

Zhimosom's power drained and he knew that it would mean the end of him if he couldn't break free. He reached for Rotiaqua's magic and the magic of the pools. It wasn't enough. His power separated from him as if his soul had been torn out of his body.

"That's it, just a little more." Sulrad bent over him with the knife. Sulrad leaned in. Zhimosom saw the Priest's gaunt and drawn countenance. Sulrad was in pain, too.

Zhimosom reached out for the amulet once again. He steeled himself to ignore the pain, but the burning in his arm was too intense. The amulet vibrated, gaining intensity as they struggled. Zhimosom's magic was being stripped from him and sucked into the amulet.

He thrashed, pushing against Sulrad with all his might. At first Sulrad held on, but Zhimosom kept bucking and twisting. He rolled from side to side and arched his back until, finally, he dislodged the Priest.

Zhimosom struggled to his knees, grasping about for any handy weapon. He felt a nudge at his leg. It was the dragon. Kel'hin was still alive.

"Take my magic. I give it to you," came the low rumbling voice. He offered his power to Zhimosom freely.

Zhimosom felt the magic surge in him. It was greater than anything he had ever felt before. It was clear as a mountain spring and more refreshing than a plunge into its icy waters. It invigorated him, restored him.

Zhimosom raised his shield to protect himself from Sulrad and turned to Kel'hin.

"Protect my people,” Kel'hin said. “Use my magic. Save them from this madman." Kel'hin's intense eyes fogged over as the scaly lids closed over them one final time.

As Kel'hin breathed his last, Zhimosom felt the final transfer of the magnificent beast's magic. He not only inherited the magic of the dragon, but its memories, too. He knew what it felt like to fly, to breathe fire and sail through the clouds. He felt the magic of the clan and how Kel'hin fit into it.

Zhimosom turned to Sulrad and reached out his hand. He cast a summoning spell on the amulet, trying to pull it from around the Priest's neck. The amulet shuddered slightly and gave a wiggle, but quickly settled back in place.

"You didn't think it was going to be that easy, did you?" Sulrad stepped towards Zhimosom, knife raised high.

Zhimosom focused his magic on the knife. It was the same one that had taken his power when he'd first crossed paths with Sulrad. He summoned it to him, pulling with all his might and that of the dragon. He reached for the power beneath the grasslands and tapped into Rotiaqua's magic.

The knife flew out of Sulrad' hand and slapped into Zhimosom's open palm. He grasped it, flinching with pain. His arm bled profusely, the wound raw and painful.

Sulrad jumped at him, grabbing Zhimosom's injured arm as he made contact. The last time Zhimosom had taken Sulrad on, Zhimosom had been outmatched. Sulrad had been physically bigger and magically more powerful. No more. Zhimosom had grown in stature and power since then; now they were well matched.

Zhimosom groaned at the pain in his arm, twisting in an attempt to shake Sulrad off. Sulrad hung on and reached for Zhimosom's free arm. He grasped it and pulled Zhimosom closer.

Zhimosom could feel the magic of the amulet as it touched him. The power inside of him started to separate once again, both his and the dragon's.

He managed to twist his arm free and grasped at Sulrad's robe. He yanked and tugged, trying to shake the Priest off. The two of them rolled across the ground.

The momentum of the roll carried Zhimosom on top of the Priest. Zhimosom clung there, arm waving in the air, trying to find the best place to strike Sulrad. Clearly, the Priest knew how to fight. Zhimosom was going on instinct.

Zhimosom thrashed around, hoping to inflict damage on the Priest, but he made little progress. Sulrad grabbed Zhimosom's injured arm and tore at the deep gash, but the freely flowing blood interfered with Sulrad's grip.

Zhimosom seized the opportunity to strike. The knife flashed towards Sulrad's throat. One move and the Priest would be cut, left to bleed out like a butchered pig.

Zhimosom gathered his power to him. He let the rage at Sulrad's murder of so many dragons emerge from Kel'hin's memories. The rage fueled his strength even further. He could easily do it. Just the smallest amount of pressure and it would be over.

Zhimosom drew Sulrad's magic out of him in preparation for that final thrust. It was mottled and muddy, a mixture of Sulrad and all of his victims. Zhimosom felt the dragon's magic in the Priest, just a hint of it, for Sulrad kept most of it secreted away in the amulet.

He put pressure on the knife, ready for the final thrust. He would slit the Priest's throat and separate his magic from him. He would not absorb the magic, but spill it harmlessly. With Sulrad dead, the dragons would be safe and he could restore them to their natural shape.

He was ready. He could do it. He gave the knife a tiny push, enough to pierce the skin, but not enough to sever the blood vessel.

Sulrad screamed in pain. "Please. I'll let you have it."

"Let me have what?" Zhimosom demanded.

"The amulet. You can command the dragons." Zhimosom was enraged. He was not after the amulet. He had no interest in commanding anyone. All he wanted was to be left alone to live his life, and Sulrad had shown time and time again that he would not let him be.

He nudged the knife deeper. Blood welled up from the point to dribble to the ground. It mixed with the slick puddle of blood from the dragon and Zhimosom himself. Zhimosom felt the power in Sulrad's blood. He plucked at it, examined it. Rotiaqua's magic was still there, connected. More than connected; intertwined.

His heart sank. If he killed Sulrad, Rotiaqua would die with him. Now that he was looking for it, Zhimosom sensed Rotiaqua's life force tightly woven in and amongst Sulrad's.

Zhimosom withdrew the knife. He put his hand around Sulrad's throat, squeezing it until the Priest gasped for breath. Zhimosom squeezed tighter, anger rising up in him. He looked down at Sulrad's face. The Priest was bloody and bruised. He was scratched and bleeding and his face turned red from lack of air.

Zhimosom wanted nothing more than to simply hold on as he was, and wait until the Priest breathed his last, but he could not. It would mean his death and that of Rotiaqua. His own life meant nothing, but he could not kill Rotiaqua.

He released his grasp. Resigned to let Sulrad live, Zhimosom grasped the amulet, determined to take advantage of the opportunity to rob Sulrad of his power to command the dragons.

As his hand came in contact with the jewel, a searing pain shot up his arm. He flinched and released the heavy golden amulet. Zhimosom looked at his palm. A burn the shape of the amulet was marked out in angry red.

He heard Sulrad laugh. "You can't take what's mine."

Zhimosom tried to take the amulet once more. This time, the pain flared in his hand even before he touched the thing. How was he going to defeat Sulrad's power?

Sulrad lay there watching Zhimosom with a triumphant look on his face. "You will always lose when you come against me."

Zhimosom pulled his hand back ready to strike Sulrad, but he resisted. He had to find a way to destroy Sulrad's advantage, or else all would be lost.

Zhimosom recalled the spell he had prepared to wrap Sulrad in his own magic. Maybe he could use it on the Amulet. Zhimosom reached for the amulet and layered the spell around it. "In tua magicae erites involvint," he called out.

Zhimosom felt the amulet resist. Had he gotten the spell wrong? The amulet was powerful. It was filled with dragon magic. Maybe he needed more power. He pressed Kel'hin's magic on the spell. He drew from the plains, and joined that magic to the effort.

The amulet grew hot and glowed with an internal light. It shook violently and vibrated with a piercing noise. Sulrad looked at it in horror and pulled it from his neck. He cast it aside as if it were a deadly snake about to bite him.

Zhimosom thought the amulet was going to explode and shatter into pieces, so violent was its resistance. Eventually it settled down, once again cold, dark, and quiet. It was done, the amulet could only be employed for one thing only, and that was what it had been used for last. But what was that? Zhimosom had a sinking feeling. Sulrad had used the amulet to command the dragon!

Zhimosom was disheartened. He had failed to free the dragons. He could not kill Sulrad. The only good that had come of it was to bar Sulrad from using the charm to power any new spells, but the dragons were still in danger. If he restored them to their original form, Sulrad would be able to command them once more. They were stuck in their new form until Zhimosom found a way to kill Sulrad without risking Rotiaqua.

Zhimosom felt for Du'ala. He reached out for her and pulled himself to her, leaving a bleeding Sulrad stranded on the empty island of Quineshua.

Protection

Zhimosom reeled from the travel spell that carried him from Quineshua to the plains of grass. He appeared beside Rotiaqua, who sat beside Du'ala, tending a small fire.

When Rotiaqua saw him she rushed over and hugged him so hard, he was afraid she would break his ribs. The pain in his arm flared up and he felt dizzy.

"Are you alright?" Rotiaqua said.

"I'll live. Sulrad tried to take my magic, but I defeated him."

"He is dead?" Du'ala asked.

Zhimosom shook his head to clear it but didn't look at her. "He's not dead. I have frozen the amulet so that he can't use it for anything but to command the dragons. I can't free you yet. I need to destroy the amulet before I can do that, or you will be back under his command."

Rotiaqua helped Zhimosom to the ground, where he sat on a rock. He was exhausted and had lost much blood.

"When will this happen?" Du'ala demanded.

"I don't know yet," Zhimosom said. "He almost beat me. Sulrad is a very powerful Wizard. If it were not for Kel'hin, I could not have defeated him."

"Kel'hin. Where is he?" Du'ala demanded.

"He's dead." Zhimosom shook his head. "Sulrad had already started to take his magic when I arrived. He was bleeding to death. He gave me his magic so I could defeat Sulrad."

"Yet you did not." Du'ala spat. She grabbed Zhimosom's robe and pulled his face to hers. She leaned in so close, their noses almost touched.

"You said you would kill the Priest. You said there would be no more killing and no more taking of the magic." Zhimosom could feel the heat of her breath. It reminded him of the dragon's fire.

Du'ala released Zhimosom's robe and pushed him away. "You failed!" She turned her back on Zhimosom.

"Please. I tried. He was just too powerful for me."

Du'ala spun around to face him. "And what about this?" She waved her hand in front of her new squat body. "What of this?"

"I'm sorry. You're going to have to remain that way for a while. Just until I can destroy the amulet. Then I'll come back and free you."

"Why shouldn't I just kill you? That would release the spell you hold us under."

"If you change back to your Dragon form, Sulrad will regain his control over you and you will be pressed to do his bidding."

Du'ala snorted at Zhimosom and he felt the heat of her dragon's fire. "Swear to me that you will not rest until you have defeated this Priest and released us." She shook her finger at him, and then looked around. "How will we survive here? How will we be safe from YOU?"

"I won't harm you." Zhimosom wondered why she thought she wasn't safe from him.

"Not you, YOU. Your kind, mankind. How will we be safe from them? We have no wings, no claws, and no fire."

"You still have your magic."

"Not enough. What will you do to make this place safe for us?"

Zhimosom pondered their predicament. He had made them small, yet powerful. They had magic, but once word got out, there would be a constant flood of people seeking them out, trying to use their magic, or capturing them for sport. He had to do something to protect them from humankind.

"I know," Rotiaqua said. "You can change the grass. Make it impenetrable to humans, but something that won't harm the dragons."

"That's a good idea, but I'll need your help." Zhimosom took Rotiaqua's hand. His magic touched the grass surrounding them. Zhimosom visualized the grass growing tall, almost as tall as he was, much taller than the dragon folk. It was tough and razor sharp. It would cut a normal person's skin open just as surely as a sword blade would, if they touched it unprotected. The dragons had their scales as protection against the sharp edges.

He felt the grass transform everywhere, except the small clearing where the people camped. Zhimosom felt it grow. There was a pronounced change to the air. It grew mustier, earthier, as the soil gave up its nutrients to the newly formed sword grass.