Zarryiostrom
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POWERBORN
Book One of the Zarryiostrom
Prologue
“Sacrifice”
On a hill overlooking a narrow valley, a lone woman stood like a sentinel, watching a battle taking place below her. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers fought and died in a futile attempt to break a stalemate which had lasted for days, and despite the obvious desperation of everyone involved the fighting showed no signs of abating. Amidst the wreckage of war machines and splintered chariots, the battlefield was littered with the bodies of the dead and dying. Each and every victim of the fighting lay where he or she had fallen, for there had been no truce, no abatement, no pause to give the living time to help the wounded or to mourn the dead. The soldiers had already fought past the point of exhaustion, and now only pure hatred and rage kept them moving at all.
A strong wind arose, blowing the woman’s waist-length brown hair off her shoulders and swirling it wildly in front of her for a few moments, before the gust died away as suddenly as it had risen. Her hair’s movement revealed that the woman was not truly alone, for on her shoulder sat a tiny dragon with scales the color of an emerald. The dragon’s tail draped protectively around the woman’s neck, though the comforting gesture seemed lost upon its companion.
Behind the woman, a shadow grew from the ground, rising up and coalescing into a doorway of nothingness. A second woman stepped out of the nothingness, and the shadows folded about her like leathery wings of the deepest night. For a moment the hilltop became bitterly cold, as if a winter’s breeze had swept over the hill, but the unnaturally chill wind didn’t disturb so much as a blade of grass, and as the shadowy gateway faded, so too did the cold. The newcomer walked forward, an ebony black dragon draped across her shoulders in much the same way the green dragon graced its companion’s shoulder. The black of the dragon made a striking contrast to the woman’s pale skin, and her long hair was as dark as the dragon’s scales, with a single streak of purest white flowing from her forehead. After taking a step, the pair stood unmoving, awaiting a signal that their presence was welcome on the lonely hilltop.
The emerald green dragon turned to look at the newcomers, and bowed its sinuous head in regal welcome before returning its gaze to the battle. After a brief silence, the newcomer spoke.
“I have been watching the fighting for a while, and though I am no warrior it is clear to me that the battle is turning against Zarryiosiad. It won’t be long now, Astranaithes.” The auburn-haired woman nodded in agreement, though she didn’t take her gaze from the battle. Instead, she raised a graceful hand and pointed at a spot on the battlefield.
“There. Prophecy is moving rapidly, Severeielle, uncontrollably in fact. But that is where our fates will be decided.” Severeielle stepped forward to join Astranaithes, and looked at the spot to which she had pointed: a seemingly random fight in a swirling melee made up of hundreds of thousands of warriors. To her raptor’s eyes every detail of the battle could be seen, even from so great a distance. Here and there she could see a bloodstained banner fall, to be trampled underfoot by uncaring soldiers struggling to gain an advantage in the press of battle. At first Severeielle couldn’t see the importance of the spot to which Astranaithes had pointed, but a small clearing opened up in the battle lines—a brief respite in which a single figure stood out from the rest. Severeielle gasped in recognition, for she knew that figure well. Severius, her beloved brother, stood like a white-haired flame, wearing heavy black armor and holding an immense, ornate spear, and both the spear he carried and the black armor encasing him were drenched in blood. The dragon around his shoulders hissed in defiance at the lines of opposing soldiers, and then the respite ended and the press of battle obscured him once again.
“Why is he here, Astranaithes? We agreed to have no part in this! He shouldn’t be here!” Severeielle demanded.
The auburn-haired woman turned and looked at her companion. For a split second as Astranaithes met her gaze, Severeielle glimpsed a sorrow so vast that it threatened to swallow her whole. But the sorrow was covered instantly, replaced by a stern, almost arrogant look that bespoke a wisdom that Severeielle had yet to match.
“He is here because it is his duty; a duty he willingly embraced. He knows the world lies in the balance and that his actions today will either deliver us or destroy us. With him, the world has a chance. Without him all is lost. He made his choice.”
Severeielle swallowed her fear and asked,
“Will he survive?”
Astranaithes gave her companion a disapproving look.
“You know as well as I do that such things are beyond our ability to predict. I do know this: if he survives, he will prevent catastrophe, but he will also pay a heavy price for his heroism. I told him as much long ago, and even knowing this Severius embraced his destiny and came here as prophecy demanded.”
“Prophecy didn’t demand that he come here, Astranaithes—you did, and if anything happens to him it is on your head. Know that should my brother fall in this battle you will have made an enemy of me, Queen of Fate. You will learn why I am called the Queen of Shadows.”
“I am sorry that we will be enemies, Severeielle, but that too was preordained. If it brings you comfort, know that I do not believe your brother will fall in this battle. His fate is much, much worse than to merely die. And while it breaks my heart that the very best of our number must suffer so, if he doesn’t the world will end today in fire and ash.” Astranaithes met Severeielle’s gaze unflinchingly, challenging her to dispute her words, and in the end it was Severeielle that turned away. Astranaithes returned to her quiet contemplation of the battle, and reluctantly Severeielle joined her.
Several more hours passed, and the silence between the two women deepened. As the bright light of the afternoon sun faded into the dimmer light of early evening, and the battle raged without pause, Astranaithes gasped, and the sound of it startled Severeielle. The Queen of Shadows leaned forward, and saw that the desperate soldiers of Il’Amhar Severius fought against had finally broken. Zarryiosiad’s men threw down their weapons as they either begged for mercy or turned to flee, and as their center collapsed Severius’ triumphant soldiers rapidly filled the gap and began rolling up the battle line. The stalemate had finally ended, and the rout had begun. Zarryiosiad’s soldiers were being slaughtered, and they knew it.
Almost as suddenly as the battle line faltered however, the army of Il’Amhar reacted. A gleaming spearhead of heavy cavalry charged into the breach, led by two glorious figures in shimmering armor, one male and one female. At first Severeielle thought Zarryiosiad herself was joining the battle, but a closer look quickly dispelled that belief as she recognized the Dragon Witch known as Furionchires, the Queen of Battles, riding into the fray. The warrior was a legend among even her own kind, for she was drawn to war as a moth to flame, and was always victorious in battle. The bright red of the tiny dragon riding upon her human’s shoulder looked like a firebolt as she charged into the melee, and the unexpected reinforcements cut down the Lyxan slave-soldiers as if they were made of straw. The soldiers who had broken through the lines reeled back in shock and confusion at the fresh assault and threatened to break completely at the furious countercharge, when a single figure stepped forward and bellowed out a challenge to the Queen of Battles. Severeielle knew without a doubt who had issued that challenge, and she hissed in pain as her fingernails dug deep furrows into the flesh of her arms as fear for her brother’s life overcame her cool reserve.
Furionchires, black hair flowing like a banner, turned in her saddle to see who had dared to challenge her, and when she recognized her opponent she eagerly turned her blood mare toward him. The horse needed no prompting, as it reacted to its mistress’ command and charged toward the lone figure at full gallop. The Queen of Battles held her slender sword straight in front of her like a lance, but Severius stood his ground, refusing to back up so much as an inch. As the warhorse bore down upon him, Severeielle covered her mouth to stifle a scream of anguish.
The Queen of Shadows expected Severius to be overrun, but suddenly the horse fell to the side screaming, throwing aside its rider as it crashed to the ground, transfixed upon Severius’ spear like a wild boar. The Queen of Battles fell forward off of her horse, tucking into a graceful ball that robbed the impact of its power, and as quick as a serpent’s tongue she stood again to face her challenger. Severius pulled the spear from the still-screaming horse and readied himself for her charge. Both of their dragons were hissing as they circled each other, preparing to fight to the death.
Severius struck first, thrusting his spear forward in a blindingly fast move that Furionchires narrowly avoided by pirouetting to the side like a dancer. Halfway through the pirouette her sword shot out in a move meant to decapitate him, but he ducked the strike easily, and turned his spear’s momentum into an arc meant to disembowel her. She saw the strike coming and had to divert her swing into a block that just barely deflected his cunning stroke. They backed away from each other slowly, looking for openings to exploit, or some weaknesses in their opponent’s defenses. Severius kept his spear loose in his hands, and the tip pointed directly at Furionchires’ heart.
The Queen of Battles charged again, and again Severius drove her back, but neither of them could find an opening in the other’s guard. Severeielle could tell that her brother was totally focused on this fight: he knew exactly who he faced, just as he knew of her reputation for victory, but he also knew he had no choice but to win. In contrast Furionchires seemed almost distracted, for every so often she took her eyes off of her opponent and glanced at the battle around her. From the grim set of her mouth, Severeielle could see the Queen of Battles had realized that the glorious charge of the heavy cavalry had finally been stopped by their opponent’s own reserves and the reversal averted, and if she didn’t end her fight soon it would be too late to affect the battle even if she killed Severius.
With desperate energy, Furionchires and her human charged the Lord of Time, swinging her sword in a flurry of lightning blows meant to overwhelm his defenses. The ferocity of her attack was incredible, and Severius knew better than to try and stand up to it. He retreated slowly from her assault giving ground reluctantly but never letting her find an opening in his defenses. And then disaster struck: while retreating from her desperate charge he tripped upon the legs of a dead soldier and fell to the ground, defense forgotten in his surprise. With a cry of victory, Furionchires swung her sword in a killing blow that Severius had no chance of stopping.
Before the sword landed however, the black dragon on Severius’ shoulders raised his head and released a jet of white-hot flame that struck her full in the face. The surprise was total, and as she flinched from the unexpected attack, her deadly blow stopped short as she reflexively covered her face with her forearms. The flames had no effect upon Furionchires, for one of the protections afforded a host by their dragons was a virtual immunity to dragonfire, but the break in her concentration was all the opportunity Severius needed: like lightning, he brought his spear around and in front of him, just in time to meet her interrupted charge. The heavy blade parted her armor like parchment before stabbing her through the heart and emerging from her back. The Queen of Battles had a final moment to realize what had happened, before the sword fell from her nerveless fingers, and her body fell limp as it slid down the shaft of the spear until her knees hit the ground. The dragon on her shoulders cried out in agony as she felt her companion’s death, and then disappeared in a flash of light and flame. Severeielle knew that while the Queen of Battle’s human host was dead, Furionchires herself would survive. The dragon was sorely wounded, but the loss of a host wasn’t fatal, just agonizingly painful. It would take decades for Furionchires to recover, and decades more for her to find a new host, and even then she would remember only fragments of the time before her death. Severeielle felt a great sorrow welling up for the pain she knew the Queen of Battles would go through, but with the sorrow came a pride she had never felt before: her brother had triumphed against a legend.
The soldiers of Zarryiosiad’s army knew it as well: the loss of morale the death of their champion brought them shook the army to its core. Furionchires’ companion in the charge moved quickly to rally his troops, and to somehow turn despair into hope. Severeielle couldn’t make out his words, but his efforts seemed to have some effect on the soldiers. Slowly, the soldiers began reforming their line, and once again a rout was averted. Whoever he was, he wasn’t a Dragon Lord, and Severeielle didn’t recognize him. Before she could ask about him however, Astranaithes spoke.
“That is Talindril, Zarryiosiad’s consort. He is a Faeborn, and more than he seems. Watch.” As she spoke, the air around Talindril wavered and began to glow. Great shimmering butterfly wings emerged from his back, and he rose above the battlefield with a single mighty stroke. The glow around him intensified, and Zarryiosiad’s soldiers again rallied around their general as Talindril unlimbered a bow from a golden case on his back and began firing arrows into the opposing army. Everywhere his arrows struck soldiers died, and as the relentless tide of warriors began to fall back from the assault Severeielle again saw her brother.
Severius stood up and pulled the spear from the fallen body of Furionchires’ host, and then stepped toward to challenge the shining figure slaughtering his soldiers. Talindril saw him, and reacted by firing a burning arrow at him faster than the eye could follow. Severius didn’t even slow down. He contemptuously batted aside the arrow with a sweep of his spear, and as Talindril fired a second time, then a third, Severius deflected the arrows again and again, while moving ever closer to the spot where Talindril hovered. Talindril intensified his efforts, firing faster and faster until the arrows seemed to be a golden line, with no breaks to mark individual arrows. Time and again Severius turned aside the arrows; with his hands, his armor, or his spear, it didn’t matter. Nothing could turn him aside from his purpose.
Talindril’s face changed from a look of concentration and fury, to one of concern as his arrows time and again failed to reach their mark, and too late he realized his mistake: he had allowed the Lord of Time to get too close. In desperation, Talindril beat his wings to gain altitude, to avoid the attack he knew was coming, but too late; a lifetime too late. Severius didn’t hesitate. He launched his spear with a mighty throw that tore almost completely through Talindril’s body, killing him instantly. The Lord of Time walked to the body of his downed foe and pulled the spear from his chest as the dragon on his shoulder bellowed victory. A great cheer erupted from the lines of men to either side of Severius, and the rout that both Furionchires and Talindril had died attempting to forestall finally began in earnest. Everywhere on the battlefield Zarryiosiad’s soldiers threw down their weapons and tried to flee, only to be cut down by the thousands, and each soldier that died brought the conclusion of the battle ever closer.
Suddenly, the cheers of victory were silenced by a single inhuman cry that shook the very ground. Zarryiosiad had watched her lover die, and her grief at his death devastated her. The Archon of Il’Amhar was the most powerful Mage in the world, and in her rage she struck out with a fury that no one, save the Queen of Fate, had ever witnessed. It was widely believed that no Mage could touch more than three of the four elemental powers, but Zarryiosiad shattered that belief. Great pillars of flame erupted from jagged mounds of earth that shot up from the ground with lethal force. Lightning crashed down from the heavens, striking soldiers of both armies indiscriminately and killing men and horses by the hundreds. Boiling water and scalding steam poured through rents in the ground boiling men alive or pulling them to a watery death, and all of these powers were amplified by the blood pouring from her hands. Severeielle knew the Archon had touched the forbidden power of Blood Magic, and the combination was indescribable.
As she drew more and more power from the earth around her and the blood within her, she began to change. The transformation was subtle at first, but before long she began to swell in size, her features elongating and becoming distinctively reptilian. In a matter of moments, the beautiful white-haired woman was gone, replaced by an immense dragon of the purest silver, hundreds of feet high. The dragon spread its enormous wings, and a hurricane of wind knocked men and horses to the ground as it took to the sky, and in an instant the battle was over. Soldiers from both sides of the conflict fled in terror from the monster Zarryiosiad had become, but there was nowhere to run. The dragon inhaled deeply, and the five powers blended together until a single blast of white-hot dragonfire exploded from the beast’s mouth, instantly incinerating both of the armies on the field of battle.
The entire army that was, save one man: one man immune to Dragonfire. Severius charged towards the dragon as fast as he could, with his enchanted spear clutched tightly in his hands. All about him the earth exploded and pillars of flame erupted, water flooded and lightning crashed, but none of that could stop his mad charge. It didn’t take long for the dragon to notice him, and it landed in front of him, clearly intending to finish off the last surviving threat on the battlefield. The silver dragon reared back to strike at Severius, and in that instant the Lord of Time struck. A single mighty throw sent the spear unerringly towards its target, and for the third time that day the spear struck true. The weapon hit the dragon squarely in the chest, and the ensorcelled blade parted the metallic scales with ease. It buried itself deeply in the dragon’s chest, and Severeielle knew that Zarryiosiad had just been fatally wounded. The dragon bellowed once with surprise and agony, and then collapsed, falling to the ground with a deafening crash.
Slowly, the earth returned to normal as the power radiating off of Zarryiosiad dissipated, and as the life slowly bled from the dragon it began to transform once again, shrinking in size and changing back to the silver-haired woman. Severius approached her, and when she saw him she beckoned to him weakly. Severius knelt down beside the dying woman, and Zarryiosiad raised her hand and touched him lightly on the chest. He took her hand in his, and she turned her head to speak to him. At that moment Severeielle would have given everything she possessed to know what was said between the victor and the vanquished, but whatever passed between them died with her. After the life had faded from her eyes, Severius gently lowered her hand to her chest, and then tenderly brushed her hair back with his bloodstained fingertips as he closed her unseeing eyes. Finally, he stood up and pulled his spear from her unmoving corpse, before summoning a Shadowgate to carry him away. When he was gone, Astranaithes spoke.
“And so prophecy is fulfilled, and the Lyx and their armies are no more. Humanity is free, and a new age has begun.” She smiled, but sadness touched her eyes. “Talindril and Furionchires were always fated to die here. Their deaths caused Zarryiosiad to lose control, and in her grief the Archon touched a power greater than even she could control. When she became the Harbinger, she had the power to accomplish what the Archon could not, but the world lay in the balance. Had your brother not been here to stop her, she would have continued on to burn the world to ash in her grief.”
Severeielle frowned in confusion, and turned to look at the Queen of Fate. To her surprise, tears began to stream down Astranaithes’ face.
“I don’t understand,” said Severeielle. “My brother yet lives. I thought you said that he would suffer a fate worse than death.” Astranaithes looked at her again, and the tears didn’t abate.
“He has. With her dying breath, Zarryiosiad cursed your brother to suffer a living death. With the powers she had left, and the power of Blood Magic besides, the consequences are inevitable and unavoidable. Your brother will suffer forever for his heroism this day.” She smiled proudly toward the spot in which Severius had disappeared.
“He will suffer as no other before him . . . but the world will live.”
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