Magician (Riftware Sage Book 1)

The heavens were torn with mad vortices of energy crashing from horizon to horizon. Ashen-Shugar sat upon mighty Shuruga’s back, watching the very fabric of time and space rent.

 

A clarion rang, the heralding note heard by dint of his magic. The moment he awaited had come. Urging Shuruga upward, Ashen-Shugar’s eyes searched the’ heavens, seeking what must come against the mad display in the skies. A sudden stiffening of Shuruga under him coincided with his sighting of his prey. The figure of Draken-Korin grew recognizable as he sat upon his black dragon. There was a strangeness in his eyes, and for the first time in his long memory Ashen-Shugar began to understand the meaning of horror. He could not put a name to it, could not describe it, but in the tortured eyes of Draken-Korin he saw it.

 

Ashen-Shugar ordered Shuruga forward. The mighty golden dragon roared his challenge, answered by Draken-Korin’s equally mighty black. The two clashed in the sky, and their riders worked their arts upon each other.

 

Ashen-Shugar’s golden blade arched overhead and struck, cleaving the black shield with the grinning tiger’s head in twain. It was almost too easy, as Ashen-Shugar had known it would be. Draken-Korin had given up too much of his essence to that which was forming. Before the might of the last Valheru, he was little more than a mortal. Once, twice, three times more Ashen-Shugar struck, and the last of his brothers fell from the back of his black dragon. Downward he tumbled to strike the ground. By force of will, Ashen-Shugar left Shuruga’s back and floated to stand beside the helpless body of Draken-Korin, leaving Shuruga to finish his contest with the near-dead black dragon.

 

A spark of life still persisted within the broken form, life ages past remembering. A pleading look entered Draken-Korin’s eyes as Ashen-Shugar approached. He whispered, “Why?”

 

Pointing heavenward with his golden blade, Ashen-Shugar said, “This obscenity should never have been allowed. You bring an end to all we knew.”

 

Draken-Korin looked skyward to where Ashen-Shugar pointed. He watched the tumbling, raging display of energies, twisted, screaming rainbows of light jagged across the vault of the sky. He witnessed the new horror being formed from the twisted life force of his brothers and sisters, a raging, mindless thing of hate and anger.

 

In a croaking voice, Draken-Korin said, “They were so strong. We could never have dreamed.” His face contorted in terror and hate as Ashen-Shugar raised his golden blade. “But I had the right!” he screamed.

 

Ashen-Shugar brought down his blade, cleanly severing the head of Draken-Korin from his body. At once both head and body were engulfed with a glimmering light, and the air hissed around Ashen-Shugar. Then the fallen Valheru vanished without trace, his essence returning to that mindless monster raging against the new gods. With bitterness Ashen-Shugar said, “There is no right. There is only power.”

 

Is that how it was?

 

“Yes, that is how I slew the last of my brethren.”

 

The others?

 

“They are now part of that.” He indicated the terrible sky.

 

Together, never apart, they watched the madness above as the Chaos Wars raged. After a time Ashen-Shugar said, “Come, this is an ending. Let us be done with it.”

 

They began to walk toward the waiting Shuruga. Then a voice came.

 

 

 

 

 

“You are quiet.”

 

Tomas opened his eyes. Before him knelt Aglaranna, a basin of herb-sweetened water and a cloth in her hand. She removed his tabard and helped him pull off the golden chain. While he sat near exhaustion, she began washing the blood from his face and arms, saying nothing as he watched her.

 

When he was clean, she took a dry cloth to his face and said, “You look tired, my lord.”

 

“I see many things, Aglaranna, things not meant for a man to see. I bear the weight of ages upon my soul, and I am tired.”

 

“Is there no comfort to be sought?”

 

He looked at her, their eyes locking. The commanding gaze was tempered by a hint of gentleness, but still she was forced to drop her eyes.

 

“Do you mock me, lady?”

 

She shook her head. “No, Tomas. I . . . came to comfort you, if you have need.”

 

He reached out and took her hand, and drew her toward him, hunger in his eyes. When she was encircled by his embrace, feeling the rising passion in his body, she heard him say, “My need is great, lady.”

 

Looking into his pale eyes, she dropped the final barriers between them. “As is mine, my lord.”

 

 

 

 

 

TWENTY-TWO - Training