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Chapter 230 - Drakalyn
🕑 Added 2023-05-28 00:46:57 +0000 UTCA bang echoed and Winston gasped awake. His nose stung as he wheezed for breath, a quiet whistling escaping his nostrils. Everything hurt. Instinct drove him to draw upon his regeneration rune, but the magic did not come. A searing hot blaze erupted over his chest like a plate of red-hot metal. His body pulled taught, suspended on chains, every muscle tensed against the pain, his mouth agape in a silent scream.
The heat stopped but the pain continued. He wheezed a quick, pained breath, his whistling nose growing louder. Memory returned to him like waking from a bad dream. After the battle against the wizard, he’d been captured. He looked around at his dungeon. Distantly, he heard the echoing tap of footsteps growing closer. Nearby, the drip, drip, drip of water on stone. It reeked here—blood, rot, damp, death, and other foul things mixed into a concoction of disgust.
Panicked, he fought his chains. He felt a tear run from his swollen eye. The iron chains cut into his wrist with ancient, rusted fragments like spikes against his skin. He resisted his desire to call upon the power of his runes, knowing the pain it would bring. There was no escape.
He tried to distract his mind as the footsteps came closer, looking anywhere but the iron bars of his cell. The floor was of stone bricks, covered in moss and water. A skull stared at him from the corner. Everything stunk. Everything, except… something sickly sweet wafted through the air, clinging to his mouth and throat like honey.
His heart dropped. She’d returned.
As the tap of footsteps stopped, Winston looked up at the iron bars of his cell. They were old and broken—given the chance, he could escape without even changing form. There, the Lich Queen Irila stood. He swallowed, mouth salivating at the smell of her heart. If only he could taste it, then her power would be his.
She watched him with shining purple eyes, and it was like death had come for him.
Suddenly, a noise came from the skull. Its mouth moved. “I watched him, Mistress! I watched him just as you said. He tried to escape, he did! But he’s far too weak to escape your bindings. Far too weak. He passed out eventually.”
“Thank you, Mal,” Irida said.
The skull clacked, mouth opening and closing quickly like a laugh.
“I…” Winston trailed off; his mouth hurt. It had been a long time since he’d experienced such prolonged agony. What did he even say to that? Of course, the skull was undead.
“No need to worry,” Irida said softly, pulling open the iron gate of his cell with a creak. “I would have tried to break free too. It is good. This way, you know where you stand.”
“Very good indeed!” the skull said.
“I told you the truth!” Winston mumbled through thick, bloody lips. The lich left one of her fleshy horrors with him for a time, a mindless, endless beating.
“Your words were true, changeling,” she said. “The wizard possesses something interesting indeed.”
“Of course,” Winston said. “I told you all I know.”
She stepped closer to him, the stench of her power trailing her like the finest perfume. Hunger and fear coursed through Winston, a deep, insatiable craving clouding his mind. Such power…
She stepped closer still, taunting him. She bent down so that they were face to face, her purple eyes gazing into his. Her face was dry and like white stone powder, her lips as red as blood.
“You are a strange creature,” she said, stepping around him, trailing his body with a finger. Trailing his runes. “What would happen if I carved the runes from your body?”
Winston tensed. He shook his head. “Don’t.”
“Would you lose your power?”
He swallowed but didn’t answer. She jammed her finger into his side, blazing hot pain searing from her finger. He felt his magic falter—one of his runes of Might.
“Yes!” he gasped. “I’d lose it.”
“We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” she said. “I have not known one of your kind before, but there is a place for you in my service, whether dead or alive. Bind yourself to me, and I shall lead you to a feast beyond your imagination.”
Winston stared at her with wide eyes. Raging fury burned within him, but fear kept it back.
“Do your runes still function once they’re removed,” she mused. “Could I hang one on my wall? Or better yet, perhaps I’ll make a cloak out of you.”
Winston swallowed, his breath quickening. Live. Live and escape later. Her heart will be mine yet.
“I’ll serve. I’ll serve, please, just spare me.”
“Very good,” she whispered in his ear, her breath stale and rife with rot. “I shall add to your collection then. It is only fitting.”
She ran her finger over his neck. His heart pulsed. Fear filled him and he pulled away, snarling. His face contorted as magic surged in his runes, and heat erupted against his chest once more. The pain was too much, and his magic failed, his face returning to normal.
“Hush,” she said. “I must make a new collar for my hound.”
“What—”
Pain erupted as her magic poured into his skin, trailing her finger like a blade. Burning hot sigils marred his flesh, just as her essence wormed its way into him, etching his soul. Her power tightened, her will crushing him like a tightening ring. Rune by rune, the ring grew tighter, her binding upon his soul becoming stronger. When the spell finally ended, he slumped against his chains, covered in sweat. His neck roared like fire.
The were a click and suddenly the chains released him. He flopped to the ground, landing heavily on his face with a grunt, the wind knocked out of him.
But he was free. He drew hungrily on his regeneration and pain nullification runes. Immediate relief flooded him, and he gasped in a greedy breath. His sliced wrists knitted themselves back together, the bruises across his beaten body shrunk, his lip healed and the burns on his neck cooled. He touched them, the runes still there around his neck.
He turned to Irila. “I am yours.”
“Indeed, you are,” she said, a bloody smile on her lips. “Follow me, and I will lead you to more than just a dragon hatchling. Fail me…”
Pain erupted, the runes around his neck flaring brightly hot once more. He screamed. His mind went white. His core erupted with fire and pain until the entire world was consumed by it. Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped.
“Fail me... and that shall be your fate.”
***
“There it is,” Celaine said, her voice heavy with nervousness. “Drakalyn.”
Hump came to stand beside her at the edge of the cliff.
The Great Tree stood at the heart of an ancient forest, a monolith to the sky beyond anything Hump had imagined. It dominated the surrounding landscape, towering over neighbouring trees and reaching for the heavens. The trunk alone was as thick as some trees were tall. Grand branches stretched out in all directions at its apex, adorned with luscious, verdant leaves that glimmered as if they were imbued with magic. Birds and all kinds of creatures moved about its branches, like an entire world contained inside.
It was magnificent. Hump’s heart raced just from looking at it. His soul felt lifted, graced by what he could only describe as divinity, soothing him after weeks of travel. This was the home of a goddess, a place where the mortal world and the divine met.
The tree rustled as a breeze swept through its canopy, carrying the scent of wood and damp earth. The forest spread out from the base of the Great Tree, other than the large clearing at the front of it that housed Drakalyn.
Built at the centre of the trunk was the Temple of the Everflame, a pyramid of stone that could rival the temples of Sheercliff City. Yet before the Great Tree, it appeared small. Layers of grey stone climbed to its peak where a tower housing the brilliant blue fire of the Everflame shone brightly, forever protecting Drakalyn from all that would harm it. Celaine had spoken of the burial chambers that housed the heartstones of fallen dragons where even in their death they could remain with Owalyn. Hump intended to take Nishari there so that they could visit the heartstone of her mother.
Drakalyn itself was larger than Hump expected. Stone roads formed an organised grid of straight lines, with wooden houses spaced out alongside them. Smoke rose from many of the chimneys, farms formed rows toward the east side of the village, close to the tree. From this distance, Hump could just about make out people, but it was the dragons he was more interested in. A dozen or so lounged in the afternoon sun at the edge of the village—wolf dragons from the familiar look of them.
“What do you think?” Celaine asked.
“Definitely not savages,” Hump said, unable to keep the awe from his voice. “I can’t believe such a bustling settlement exists in the Fallen Lands.”
“The world is much bigger than Alveron,” Celaine said.
Hump nodded. He was surprised at how relieved he was to see people once more, even if many of them were likely to be hostile to him. After spending so much time travelling in the wilds, they’d finally arrived.
“Stop look,” Rehk said. “Soon there if hurry.”
“We’re appreciating the view,” Hump said.
The chief gnoll let out a choked scoff sound. “Trees and huts. All same.” He barked something in gnollish and his cohort of twenty gnolls started to move, leaving Hump and Celaine little choice but to go with them.
Two days of travelling with the gnolls had been unpleasant. Where Rehk was willing to let Hump lead, Rakar was far more stubborn. It seemed his hold over his pack was not quite as solid as he’d like. There could be no disrespect, and no doubt at who was in charge. If any gnoll stepped out of line, it was a direct challenge to him. That didn’t bother Hump though. So long as Rakar stayed on target, he couldn’t care less.
“How are you feeling?” he asked Celaine, riding Prancer up beside her.
“It’s good to be back,” Celaine said. “I’d forgotten what it was like to feel at home with Owalyn after so long away. It’s peaceful.”
“I know what you mean. The presence of the tree is… it’s like a mother watching over us.”
“It’s been like that for hundreds of years,” Celaine said. “Owalyn has always watched over us. My actual mother, however, I’m not convinced will be so welcoming.”
“It’s been a year. They’re family, right? They’ll be happy to have you back. Though that’s coming from someone that never knew their mother.”
“I can’t speak for all mothers, but mine specifically did not approve of me leaving. The fact that I then decided to stay for a year… yeah, not good.”
Hump snorted. “We’ll throw Nisha at her. Nobody can possibly be angry with Nisha around, isn’t that right?”
The dragon slithered around in Prancer’s saddle, staring at him eagerly, then back at Drakalyn. She didn’t know what was going on yet, but he could sense the excitement from her. Her eyes were everywhere at once, unsure what to focus on, distracted by anything and everything.
“Do you think they’ve spotted us yet?” Hump asked.
“They’re already on their way.” Celaine pointed through the thickening trees. I suspect they’ll meet us at the edge of Drakalyn.”
It was easy travelling from there. A well-beaten track winded down the hills toward the forest below and carved its way through the lands toward Drakalyn. They made fast progress, and after a couple of hours or so, Hump heard voices through the trees.
As they neared the threshold of Drakalyn the forest thinned and, Hump sensed a building pressure. At first, he couldn’t place it, but soon he recognised it as the same deadly intent that Celaine gave off when using Predator’s Intent. It was subtle, yet impossible not to notice. Even the gnolls were on edge, their claws on the hilts of their weapons. Chatter had died down, complete focus on their orders.
It was Owalyn’s warning to all that would trespass on her land. Hump couldn’t help but feel nervous. Celaine had told him he would meet Owalyn as part of his trials. At the time it had sounded exciting. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
A path through the trees soon opened up and Celaine pulled Thistle to a stop. Hump waited at her side as Rakar ordered his gnolls to wait as well. Standing before them was a welcoming party twenty people strong. Amongst them, Hump spotted the three Dragon Keepers from two days ago, and Vamir standing there with a broad grin on his hawkish face. He gave them a wave.
“Well, this is it,” Hump whispered. “Let’s keep going.”
“Right,” Celaine said, a quiver in her voice.
She urged Thistle forward and Hump followed, crossing his fingers that things didn’t go to shit.
As if it ever works, he thought to himself.
Comments
Alex Maher
Lol. Somewhere between the two
Young Youghurt
I have one important question. Is the lich queen pretty? Is she mother night from skyrim type or more like Esdeath from Akame Ga Kill? Her nature would suggest the first but her actions the second.
