The Legend Of The Seven Crystals The One Crystal - Chapter 1

The human skull stared through empty eye sockets from its position next to a pile of parchment sheets. On the opposite side of the desk sat a short red candle, the wax from its earlier state an uneven glob around its base. Blue wisps of smoke emanated from its wick, the flame recently murdered by a puff of breath.

Standing, the dark wizard picked up the piece of parchment across which he’d been scratching a series of runes with a raven-feather quill. With another expulsion of breath, he made sure the ink was dry before rolling the crackling paper into a scroll, which he secured with a saffron ribbon and then shoved into a leather carrying tube.

“It is done,” he whispered, eyes glittering in the semi-gloom. In just a few short hours, dawn would turn the sky outside his window from ebony to smoke. Before the golden rays topped the horizon, he would be gone. All preparations had been made. He ordained his six ogre knights – Agor, Tumanem, Kormas, Sigrid, Yetura and Pistri – as Guardians by performing the Shantra Rites and now only his presence was required to set into motion the final stages of what he’d worked toward since that day, twenty-five years earlier…

That day, his father had been executed for practicing the forbidden art of Lunarix, the Darkest Magic of the Dark Arts. And on that day, Mobius had sworn not only to follow his father’s path, but to exceed everything the wizards in his bloodline had accomplished since the great wizard, Marcus of Nostragoth, had split the One True Crystal into its seven parts to end the war and bring peace to Meridia.

As he donned his deep blue cloak, his mouth twisted with disgust. They’d given his ancestor the task of saving the planet from its inhabitants’ own stupidity, and how had he been repaid? With imprisonment, that was how. Marcus had been foolish enough to try and tell the rulers of the seven races how to prevent a war from ever breaking out again. Perhaps they would have accepted his words, had he not conditioned their continued peace on no one ruler being allowed to have control of the Portal. Yet it had been that very point – who would control the Portal – that had started the War of Seven Nations in the first place.

Despite this, they refused to agree to his advice. The humans who had claimed control of the Crystal declared their agreement to let the Crystal be divided for the sake of Meridia. But as far as the wizard was concerned, it was only a matter of time – eventually one race or another would want to control it, either for good or ill, and that might start another war.

Rather than admit the wisdom of his advice, the leaders of the nations decided that he was a threat since he was powerful enough to successfully split the Crystal. After all, they reasoned, if he could do that, what else might he be able to do, and what if he suddenly decided to use his magic to become all-powerful?

Stupid argument – had the wizard wanted that, he would have made himself their ruler right at the start, and not bothered to split the Crystal in the first place. But then there was Goltrodium, and no one even began to suspect that he was the wizard of whom all should have been mortally afraid. But Marcus suspected, having discovered Goltrodium’s dabblings in the Dark Magic.

Mobius headed out of his chambers, determined more than ever to change the course of Meridia’s future – for his own purposes, of course. His admiration for Marcus was confined to the ancient wizard’s ability to split the Crystal; his true admiration and respect was for Goltrodium, whose way of thinking had indirectly molded Mobius’ own. So much had happened over the millennia, so much that he wanted to set right, or “right” the way he saw it to be. But to accomplish his goals, he would need an army to supplement the one he had, an immortal army that none could stand against.

Such an army in fact did exist, and was the brainchild of the illustrious Goltrodium; he had devised his own plan to control Meridia, a plan only a master of the Dark Magic could both formulate and carry out. Mobius shook his head, disgusted with the necessity of having to take all the steps he’d need to succeed in his own plans.

“But at least I know how, and now that all the races have brought the Crystal together for me, I can reasonably expect to win this.” He chuckled, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound.

“Master!” came a voice from the other end of the murky corridor down which the wizard trod.

He didn’t answer right away, but continued toward the owner of the voice, wondering what was so urgent that the idiot couldn’t wait until he’d gone outside.

Perhaps it was the way Mobius’ aura was swirling like an extra cloak around him, or perhaps the servant had simply realized that nagging his master was never a good idea. Regardless, he said nothing more until the wizard had reached him at the end of the corridor.

“Master, the dragons have grown restless, and one of them, er, cooked its rider.”

Mobius almost laughed. “Is that so? Not one of the generals, surely?”

“No, Master. One of the lesser riders.”

“I see.” He started walking past the cowering man, but stopped and turned back. “Perhaps you’d like to take his place?”

The servant’s eyes suddenly looked as if they were on the verge of popping out of his head. “M-m-me? Oh, no! N-no, Master. I don’t know how – ”

“Oh, stop burbling! Of course you don’t. I wasn’t serious, you poor fool.” He shook his head, smirking, and continued outside.

Everything he needed to accomplish his goals was to be found in Nipos. Defeating King Vangard and whatever soldiers he might have at his disposal would be child’s play. So would gaining control of the Crystal. But once those things were done, he’d need that other army, since his ultimate goal was far greater, for it was nothing less than to take full control of the whole of Meridia.

A cold look narrowed his eyes as he stepped into the courtyard where his current army awaited his orders. Surrounded by dragons on which sat warriors marked as outcasts by a mark on their forearms, stood his own mount, the Raventor dragon Inumaka. The sole offspring of the original dragon whose blood had enabled Goltrodium to produce an undead army, Inumaka was a fearsome sight, indeed. Its strength, size, and power were unparalleled. The dreaded creature was huge, a red dragon with eight horns, fierce red eyes, fangs as long as an average man’s height, and great, impervious scales larger than that of any dragon that had ever lived.

And it was under the command of Mobius.

No one who lived in Nipos, nor any of those who had gathered there for the Joining, stood a chance. Not a chance.

*******

Spartas was nearly at his rooms when the sound of many feet running up the main staircase at top speed made him stop, and he cast a worried glance at his escort. But before he could ask what could possibly be going on, a small contingent of soldiers reached the upper hall and raced past them.

A moment later one of them shouted, “King Vangard! We are under siege!”

Spartas turned and saw the king had entered the wide corridor from outside, and was staring with open shock at the soldiers, a shock that echoed Spartas’ own. How could they be under siege, and from whom? Certainly not an army belonging to one of the Guardians! And was this attack the true source of the shouting they had heard outside the palace walls?

Any question of that was erased as the shouting Spartas was still hearing changed to screams and shrieks of sheer, unmistakable terror. Forgetting about his escort, he raced to his rooms to make sure Masori was still there and safe from whatever was going on outside.

To his great relief, Masori met him at the door, fully dressed, sword drawn, looking pale but determined.

“Your Highness! Thank goodness you’re back. We need to go help!”

“Hold, my friend – what’s happening?”

“You don’t know?”

“How could I? We have just returned from the first part of the Joining. King Vangard seemed to think all the shouting was the people cheering our efforts.”

Masori looked down, shaking his head. “If only that were true.” He met Spartas’ gaze again. “I couldn’t see all that much from the windows of our rooms, but what I did see was horrifying enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dragons, my King! Breathing fire and – and – they – they’re being ridden by… I don’t know who or what they are, but how are we ever going to battle an army like that?”

Dragons? Since when did dragons attack peaceful people? And what of the dragons we’ve encountered here already?

As if reading his king’s mind, Masori said, “These are not normal dragons, sire. They’re much larger and are faster than any I’ve ever seen!”

Shouting in the corridor behind Spartas reminded him that he was wasting time discussing the situation with his servant. He’d learned they were under attack by an army of dragon-riders, and that was really all he need to know. “Come, Masori. Help me out of this fancy robe and into something practical. We must lend whatever help we can give. Quick – then fetch my bow and make sure the quiver is full while I get my sword for when I run out of arrows.”

With a nod, Masori shut the chamber doors. “I thought you might wish to be wearing something else,” he said, pulling the robe over the king’s head with a lot less care than he had used putting it on. Spartas began to dress in his traveling clothes which, he noticed in passing, had been cleaned, while Masori dashed off to do his bidding, his quiver bouncing hard against his back as he ran to the far side of the room where he’d stowed the weapons in a chest next to the wardrobe.

Spartas finish donning his clothes faster than he’d ever done in his life, belted the wide leather strap and scabbard that held his elven sword, shoved his hands into the leather fingerless gauntlets that protected his palms and wrists from the bow’s string. By this time, Masori had finished packing arrows into the king’s quiver and helped him slip it on across his body, quiver at his back, and handed him his strong, cleverly-crafted bow.

As they headed for the door, the tikbalang appeared in the doorway and was waving them on. “Hurry! Things are awful! Half the townsfolk are dead, burned alive!”

As Spartas, Masori and Akiros joined the line of soldiers heading at top speed along the corridor and down the broad staircase, the elf king asked Akiros if he knew who was attacking.

“Not sure,” the tikbalang huffed. “Whoever it is, he can control the Raventor dragon Inumaka.”

“What? I was given to believe that dragon was mere legend, that it didn’t exist anymore.”

“Seems it does.”

They were at the main doors by this time, and as they emerged with the Nipos army, smoke from hundreds of fires stung their eyes and blocked visibility. From what Spartas could see, very little was left of the grand castle town through which he and Masori had walked mere hours before. Overhead, the flapping of gigantic leathery wings indicated that the number of dragons was daunting, indeed.

Suddenly, a wall to their right, one of the massive walls of Nipos that had been touted as virtually indestructible, trembled with the impact of something huge and fiery, the sound of the shock rivaling that of the earlier thunder. Two more of the unseen missiles struck and cracks began to appear.

“They have catapults!” a soldier shouted, pointing at something beyond the wall. “Nothing else could do that!”

Spartas, meanwhile, had realized another horrifying fact – the only way the dragon Inumaka could possibly exist was if it had been kept safe by means of Dark Magic. He’d heard of a wizard, one who was a descendant of the Great Wizard Marcus of Nostragoth, a man by the name of Mobius. He had more or less disappeared some time back, but occasional rumors about his dark doings had surfaced from time to time …

“Your Highness!”

“What is it, Masori?” Spartas glanced upward, trying to discover any sign of the Raventor and confirm his suspicions.

“King Vangard and his son, sire – they’ve joined us.”

Spartas and the others were standing on the wide upper courtyard that spanned the space from palace walls to parapet where archers had already taken their place and were firing through the smoke, seemingly at random, into the sky. While it was far from where most of the attack was being mounted, this courtyard was also the best vantage point. He turned around to find the human king and the prince approaching.

When Vangard reached Spartas, he put a hand on the elf king’s shoulder and shook his head. “What madness is this?” His voice, sounding desperate, was nonetheless filled with fury.

“Father, what is happening – why is it happening?”

“Tristan.” He turned to the prince who had drawn his sword. “No. No fighting for you just yet – I want you to go back inside and make sure the Queen and your sister are somewhere safe, somewhere that fire cannot reach – you know the place of which I speak. You must do this.”

“But – ”

“Do not argue!” The king was shouting now, and the prince hung his head.

“Yes, father.”

“Good. I’ll find you later.”

Without another word, Prince Tristan turned and re-entered the palace.

“Blast him!”

Startled, Spartas gave the king a look of surprise. “Your son? Why would you…”

“No, no, not my son. Of course not. No, I was referring to the evil bastard who is murdering my people. I thought I’d have more time to prepare…I never suspected he would dare disrupt the Joining!”

“Mobius?”

Now King Vangard looked startled. “You know of him?”

“Many of us do. Besides, who else would dare ride those abominations?” He pointed with the tip of his bow at a winged creature that had temporarily broken through the clouds of smoke and was zooming downward toward Nipos’ famous university.

Vangard shook his head, nostrils flaring. “At one time he was a trusted advisor and part of my council. There’s no time now to speak of the reasons he left, only that I suspected he would one day make good on a threat…”

The voice of the dragon’s rider couldn’t be heard, but everyone saw him lean closer to the neck of his mount, spear pointed at the university’s highest tower, and as they watched, helpless, the dragon blasted it with its flaming breath. The tower exploded, then crumbled, taking most of the building with it.

Spartas closed his eyes, thinking of the poor souls who might have taken refuge inside, thinking the structure would spare them from danger.

“Dragons have found our defenses!” The man who said this had rushed up to King Vangard. Heavily armored and holding a poleax in one hand, a sword in the other, the man made a quick bow that his armor made clumsy.

“Where are they headed, Captain?”

“For our archers, sire!” The man indicated the line of archers positioned within the crenellations of the parapet. “I would recommend we use the fire arrows, my king!”

“Let it be so,” Vangard told him. “This may be our only chance.”

“Elves are fine archers, Vangard – please allow me and my servant to join your men.”

Vangard frowned. “I don’t know if I can risk you dying. After all, if we prevail, we’ll need you to help finish the Joining and take back your part of the Crystal.”

“Yes, but if we’re overwhelmed, none of that will matter.”

“Good point. All right – go, and godspeed.”

Spartas tapped Masori on the arm. “Come, my friend. Let’s see what we can do.”

Akiros, meanwhile, took out both of his axes and shouted that he would be ready in case the arrow defense didn’t work and hand-to-hand combat became necessary.

Hoping it wouldn’t come to that, Spartas headed toward the parapet, Masori beside him, and drew an arrow from his quiver.

When the first line of dragons emerged from the smoke, the archers let fly with a massive, flaming barrage that staggered the enemy, even taking several of them down. Another line followed with much the same results.

It looked as if the archers of Nipos would prevail, but without warning, the smoke parted and another dragon, one that was even bigger than the rest, shot overhead and then upward.

Inumaka.

*******

“Master, we can’t penetrate the fiery arrows of their archers! What should we do?” said Agor, one of the knights of Mobius. He had dismounted and come to kneel before the wizard.
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“We will use the blue fire of Inumaka.” Mobius replied. He was standing beside his dragon, observing the battle from the vantage point of a nearby hill, and had already concluded that more drastic measures would be necessary. He had to prevail, even if it meant disrupting the beam of epta. All that mattered, as far as he was concerned, was finding the Portal…

“Thank you, Master! Shall I tell the others to stand down and await further orders?”

“Yes. I don’t want to lose any more dragons or riders. Hurry.”

Agor stood and bowed, then raced back to his own dragon, which he mounted, urging it into the sky where it joined the others. Several minutes later, the dragon army flew into formation and landed in ranks around the base of the hill where the wizard waited.

“I am going to destroy the archers with Inumaka’s blue fire, and then we can take the palace!” Mobius shouted. He climbed onto the Raventor’s back, leaned forward and gave the dragon a command, and she took to the sky.

With an ear-shattering roar, Inumaka flew to a higher altitude than the other dragons, her powerful wings thrusting them above the smoke. When she and Mobius reappeared from an actual cloud into which they’d flown, all could see she was heading toward the upper reaches of the palace where the archers continued their barrage, now outward toward the plane to strike at the foot soldiers and those manning the catapult.

With unbelievable speed, she dived toward the archers, their fiery arrows unable to connect – she was too fast. Those arrows were no match for this creature, and as soon as Mobius felt they were at the best possible angle and proximity, he gave her the command to release her deadly blue flame.

With a single blast, the archers were instantly vaporized. Nothing but piles of ash remained where they had stood, and the wake of her wings’ downward thrust as she flew high again, scattered even that sad evidence that they had once existed.

Satisfied, Mobius didn’t stop, but had Inumaka destroy every defensive position of the archers who remained in position below the highland. Rank by rank she attacked them, impervious to their defense. He swooped down to the plane, having Inumaka hover in position over the other dragon riders, and ordered them to attack the soldiers – no archers remained to pose a threat.

He watched with grim approval as the soldiers of Nipos, no longer protected by their archers, retreated to the palace. As they ran, many were hit by fire and the arrows of the dragon riders.

And now for the Portal. Mobius ordered Inumaka to fly toward the palace again but this time, he signaled the other dragon riders to follow as he flew past them. Along the way, he ordered the Raventor to release its blue fire in quick blasts that vaporized scores of people, soldier and citizen alike, who were running from one part of the palace to another. He knew there would be nearly no fighting force remaining by the time he reached the Portal.

Once there, the dragons began to circle the beam, but by Mobius’ command, none of them landed on the platform.

One of the doors opened into the area where the Portal was situated, and along with a stream of human soldiers came those Mobius recognized as the Guardians, each one representing one of the seven races. Even from his position above them, he was able to distinguish the different representatives, especially the ogres and the tikbalang. Oh, how he would love to see them all groveling before him, begging for mercy!

A quick glance at the beam told him that it was almost ready to return to full power. He needed to do something about that before it happened. In order to take full control of the palace, he would need to do one final thing to ensure his total power: disrupt the beam so the Crystal could be taken.

And at long last, the Crystal would be his alone, along with all the power that went with it.