₰₰ Sixty one ₰₰​

Snow Cat groaned and mewled in delight as she all but melted away under the strong hands of Master Roerich. Her eyes became glazed and dream-like in their liquid emerald-green depths, one particular touch of his on her lower back caused her to writhe and stretch out, tired joints popped and muscles loosened as she lowered her head back on the pillow and adjusted her hands beneath it to support her chin.

“Yes, right there my love, just like that,” she cooed to him, her tail gently tapped against his thigh as he scooted a bit and leaned closer to work his massage-magic on the indicated spot. “Oh god you do that so well,” she said as she closed her eyes and thumped her foot on the wagons floor.

Snow Cat turned her head to view her companion and lover, Master Roerich, and felt the fires of desire and lust surge to the fore as they devoured any restraint she had left. Her eyes were filled with tender love for him, a look he caught from the corner of his eye and caused him to turn, grin and blow a kiss to her as he took her lower leg in his hands and began to massage away her cares and worries. His feather-touch on her skin caused ripples of sensuous delight to flow into her mind, and tickled at the same time.

“Good, I love to get that reaction from you my love. I’m glad we have time together,” Roerich said as his one hand ‘strayed’ down her leg to her inner thigh. He grinned as she looked back over her shoulder, her face flush with a grand heated blush; she nodded in approval as his intention became clear, and she returned to resting her head on the pillow.

Snow Cat closed her eyes, mouth slightly open and her breathing became raspy and quickened as her lover did his magic on her womanhood. They danced and pleasured each portion of its mysterious depths, drawing out ever more heated delight and electrifying bliss; all too quickly the cornucopia of pleasure built and surged like a tsunami in intensity, and released as a great river that had torn free of its confining banks and canals.

In a primordial scream of passion heard by half of the encampment she announced her climax having hit, and kicked out with her leg, accidently smashing her beloved in the chestnuts. She looked back at him, aghast at what she had done…

She saw Master Roerich still in place, sitting cross-legged as he gave her a delighted grin.

“Snow Cat,” he said to her, “being a magician has its advantages. I used that magic of Stone Skin to harden my body from any accidental movement such as your kick; at the least it remains in place for a short time, and it does not affect my ability to continue pleasuring you to no end…”

Snow Cat smiled and grinned in anticipated delight for what was to come as Master Roerich undressed. As he stacked his clothing neatly next to her own she got onto her knees and felt him shift position to behind her; his strong hands gently stroked her thighs and the sides of her abdomen, each pleasurable spot she had got touched just so and flooded her mind with a surging rainbow of fire and passion. Her body shuddered time and again as passion and bliss built upon the other, molten desire climbed to ever greater levels of heat, pressure, and much more as a million millions of universes opened up before her minds eye.

Then his lips pressed upon her slickened womanhood and began to explore, along with his tongue, each portion of its depths. She gritted her teeth hard to keep from screaming across the camp once again as Roerich hit spot after absolutely pleasure-induced, lust-built, heat-generated, rainbow-of-absolute-wonderment causing spot with his mouth.

She clenched her fist and scrunched her eyes shut as he found the one spot that drover her absolutely mad with passion. One gentle touch followed another, then a third and a fourth, which proved too much for her stimulated body; she fought with all of her will to hold the inevitable from happening, and wound up screaming louder than ever before, a clarion call of dragon passion that flowed across the woods for miles, and caused the great forest wyrms to join in the primordial cry of passion and procreation.

Snow Cat launched into a chain of passionate descriptions of what she felt, desired and longed for in the language of dragons that caused all who heard and understood to blush from embarrassment, or grin in delight.

₰​

Hanna, in her dragon form, looked up at Marcus from the chessboard and turned her gaze in the direction of Snow Cats passionate cry. She blushed from nose to the tip of her tail, her mottled hide flowing with pink and red hued iridescent fires; the flush became deeper as Marcus gently chuckled and stroked her neck with his armored nose.

“I thought her mating-time had past Marcus?” Hanna asked him, completely perplexed by the wild passions of Snow Cat. “You told me it comes onto dragon-females only once a generation or so; and yet she has been at it with Master Roerich with a vengeance lately…”

“I’m curious about that too Marcus, what do you say to that?” Sergeant Kenneth said with a wicked grin. He and many others had gathered in the sheltered areas of the encampment to watch Marcus and Hanna play chess. So far for the night Hanna was ahead five to nothing, having crushed Marcus with cunningly played strategies taught to her by Snow Cat over the last couple of weeks.

“Yes Marcus, I’m curious too,” declared Pearl, an archer and magician in the Pegasus Archery Company detachment led by Sgt Kenneth to escort the High Vale Councilmen and representatives to Shadowdale. Pearl heard the northern guardsmen – Reaper, Badger, Dancer and Wolf, accompanied by Foxy, laugh and grin, their eyes glowing red with inner fires, as Marcus tried to respond.

“Why the non-reply Marcus,” Sgt Kenneth asked, gently ribbing the dragon while trying to not insult him and wind up ‘accidently’ being incinerated over a matter of personal honor. “Mind you, I only ask out of curiosity, though Pearl may have other ideas here…”

Pearl gasped at the wicked leer given to her by Kenneth, one which she returned with glee and offered a real challenge to him, “How about a personal bet there Sergeant over who wins the current game between Marcus and Hanna? Just a little one done before everyone here, no exceptions and no holding back,” she asked him.

“May as well Sergeant,’ chuckled Marcus who whispered something to Hanna that sent her into a quivering delight across her body. “You see good Sergeant; a true romantic can cause any lady to experience sheer bliss on many a level just by words alone…”

“Fine then, your on Pearl, name the terms and I take Marcus to win,” Kenneth said, his jaw set in a stern pose that made it clear whom he expected to win. His iron-visage fell when he heard the terms of him losing but agreed, as if he won, Pearl would be his for the night…

“Done then,” Sgt Kenneth turned to Marcus and suggested he and Hanna get back to their current game.

All eyes turned to Hanna as she considered the options before her on the board, and many knew this game had to go to Marcus for there could be no escape from her isolated King being mated. She moved one rook, smiled at Marcus and declared “Checkmate, you fell into Snow Cats favorite trap.”

Marcus closed his eyes and shook his head, “You and Snow Cat timed this game to ensure her time with Master Roerich would distract me…well done Hanna, very cunning and well played. You will be a true master of the game inside a hand count of years.”

“Thank you,” Hanna said, then turned to the crowd and gazed with a sadistic grin on Sgt Kenneth who looked on the two dragons with a crestfallen look of resignation. “I believe its time to pay up dear Sergeant…”

Moments later the crowd laughed, chuckled, snorted in mirth, or ribbed the good Sergeant about his current state of dress as the man sat there naked save for a winter cloak around his shoulders.

Kenneth shook his head as he watched the last burning embers of his clothing dissipate in the frigid air. “When will I learn…never bet against Pearl and a pair of dragons…”

Pearl covered her mouth with her hands and snickered, which drew even more chortled responses of pure mirth from the crowd and even Marcus and Hanna joined in. The grand gala of humor grew all the louder as the cry of Snow Cat echoed for a third time this very night, a keening cry of pure hedonistic abandonment which left many to speculate there will be funeral services for Master Roerich come the dawn.

₰​

Snow Cat grimaced in shock as the chilled winds of the night swept through the hole in the wagons wall. She grabbed the bearskin rug, wrapped it about herself and leapt out the hole to land and look about, aghast at the thought of what she had accidently done to Master Roerich in their passion-filled activities of the night…

She shivered as the cold bit deep and hard into her exposed flesh, overcoming even her draconic heritage. Calls came from ahead, alert guards challenged someone who approached in the night who cursed in at least a dozen languages she knew and many more she did not. Her hand covered her mouth as her ears flattened next to her skull as she cringed in anticipation of the hell-storm she was about to face from an angered Master Roerich…

He emerged from the shadows as his crimson robes fluttered about in the wind, as did his white fur-trimmed vest that magically protected him from the cold. Guards rushed up with drawn swords and lowered spears; each demanded that the man identify himself only to turn sheepish as they clearly recognized Master Roerich as he approached Snow Cat with an impish smile.

“Master Roerich, I didn’t mean to…” Snow Cat began to say, only to be silenced as Roerich leaned down and kissed her on the lips. She started grinding one foot into the cold ground while her face blushed hotter and hotter with each passing second; much to the amusement of the watching guards, merchants and laborers.

“Next time my dear, when we practice that ‘Wail of the Banshee’ spell,” Roerich said to Snow Cat with a grin, “I’ll heed your warning and practice it outdoors and not stand in front of it. I imagine the rest of the camp has us ‘fooling around’ for the rest of the night…”

Snow Cat laughed with him as she went back into his wagon; the wall magically mended a few moments later.

₰₰ Sixty two ₰₰​

As the gathering broke up for the evening Pearl stayed behind, mostly to speak with Hanna and Marcus to help her studies of dragon-kind. When she looked at Hanna though, something told her to not interrupt, just a hunch that a rare sight was about to happen and give her insight into the world of dragons as a whole…

Hanna moved parallel with Marcus and leaned her sleek body against his, using extreme care to not touch the iron-hard, razor-sharp projections that had cut her badly in the past. She nuzzled his armored cheek, chin and bottom of his jaw, the hot exhalations of her breath casting great clouds of steam into the chilled night air. Then she gave Marcus a soft little peck on his cheek and then his ear, slowly working her way down to the base of his skull and onto his neck.

Pearl pulled her knees to her bosom and wrapped her arms around them after adjusting her winter coat. Her smile grew, as did the gleam in her eye as she watched the courtship of two mighty dragons commence; here she was, a fairly unsuccessful magician and explorer, a disaster of a poet and scholar, watching an event many of the most learned human sages had only speculated about – dragons in love.

Hanna pressed her head under Marcus’s jaw, gently rolling it side to side, and caused his eyes to soften and gain a thousand-yard stare of contentment; he began to move his head in rhythm with Hanna, using great care to not hurt her on his body projections.

Marcus brought one fore-claw up and stroked Hanna’s chest with the backside of it, using motions so tender and gentle that Pearl almost gasped in awe as Hanna began to give off a long, low, resonating sound from deep in her body. Marcus moved his caressing claw in soft circles and helix spirals, then he tenderly began to knead here and there on the massive muscles she possessed, unleashing a chain of sensations that caused Hanna’s eyes to glaze over and roll back into their sockets while the resonating sound deepened to where anyone within a hundred paces could hear and feel it.

Hanna’s tail swished back and forth, then gently began to entwine around Marcus’s own tail. She shuddered as Marcus placed a tender kiss on her neck, followed by a soft puff of heated air, then a second kiss and a puff of air; again and again it happened as he moved up and down her neck, alternating between the two and drawing more quivering excitement from her body that caused her soul to soar into the heavens far above.

Returning to all fours, Marcus partly unfurled one wing and commenced to softly stroke Hanna’s side with it, and he drew out of her a deep series of gasps and passion-filled shudders. He caressed her shoulder and then the ridge of her back in a steady series of small strokes and swirling motions that caused Hanna’s mottled hide to shift and flow in a dancing rainbow of iridescent fires that reflected upon Marcus’s armored scales.

Hanna gasped at the sight, closed her eyes and concentrated. In moments the iridescent fires shifted and danced in a sensuous pattern of swirling coloration; fast, slow or combination of the two and of many different colors that never repeated.

Pearl gasped as Marcus adjusted his own coloration to match the flowing pattern of iridescent fires, though his maintained a majority of rich reds, blazing orange, golden suns, yellow heat and white-blue sunburst. She had heard of the camouflage ability Marcus possessed; but never had she imagined it to be so versatile.

Hanna opened her eyes and sensuously moved her tail across Marcus’s hip, drawing a steam-filled sigh of bliss from him that fogged up the region for a few seconds.

Hanna’s tail moved its way along Marcus’s abdomen and onto his stomach, where she ticked and teased him to no end, his excitement becoming so great he began to thump his leg at a fevered pitch – causing a minor quake in the area as well.

Marcus looked into her eyes and smiled, his eyes filled with gentle love and tender affection for his soul-mate. Then he whispered matters of erotic love and desire into Hanna’s ear, causing her to blush and turn away while stepping to the side and backing off…intimidated and hesitant in a manner she had never felt before.

Pearl watched this keen interest, wondered what had occurred and then heard the two dragons softly talking…

“Its okay Hanna,” Marcus softly whispered to her as she placed her head next to his, “dragon-courtship can last for years at times among the more civilized of our kind. It’s understandable for anyone to be afraid when the desires come to the fore, what you feel right now is your human side conflicting with your dragon side; and there is no shame to be found in it.”

Hanna looked at him quizzically, “So what I asked earlier this night, about Snow Cat having been through the mating-urges is true? She has passed that time, yet her ordinary passions as a cat-girl still exist. Like mine do as a dragon and a human mixed into one?”

“Indeed, Snow Cat has found a lover for a time, someone she can be with for the years to come, if the two of them deem it to be worth pursuing,” Marcus whispered to her, knowing full well that Pearl was hearing every bit of it. “You still feel human emotions of love, hate, joy, sadness and all the others in your dragon form; just many times stronger and more fiercely. Some aspects of being a dragon have to be experienced to learn and to understand.”

“In time Hanna as you gain more knowledge of your dragon-self you will learn to handle the emotional surges, and we will dance the courtship as we did tonight, only much stronger and longer than any before,” Marcus promised to her.

Hanna smiled at him, her eyes dancing with desire and love for her soul-mate.

Marcus turned his head to face Pearl who simply grinned in delight at what she had seen and learned. “Come and ask your questions Pearl, I will try to tell you what you seek to know. And Hanna can answer others as she is a human and a dragon in one; thus she bridges a world into which I can never fully reach or explore in my own right…”

Pearl and Hanna looked at Marcus, never having considered that aspect of his existence.

“I know, it shocks many people when I say that and they understand for the first time,” Marcus stated, “but let’s get going on this, for I imagine Pearl will keep us up long into the morning with her questions,” he said with a wide smile on his face.

Indeed Pearl kept them up long into the morning…
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]

 

₰₰ Sixty three ₰₰​

Late in the night, exhausted from her romantic and magical ‘studies’ with Master Roerich Snow Cat struggled to sleep; a sudden winter storm had caught everyone around Hap-tooth Hill by surprise. Howling winds, great drifts of snow, slashing sleet and crushing hailstones made movement difficult to impossible.

The best magicians and priests of the expedition could not tame the storm, and had declared it to be caused by the fields of wild magic which swept the river-route in the winter time.

“Wild magic, that is all we need,” Snow Cat said as she scrunched her ears against her skull, desperate to shut out the howling, groaning, wailing cries of the wind. She shuddered at the thought of the unpredictable fields of magic gone mad – wild magic zones – in which a spell being cast may work fine, not work at all, or do something unpredictable or outright devastating.

She heard the song of all dragons as it beckoned and called, pleaded and implored, it promised and begged for her to join with it and understand the next part of her past. The song is a part of her as she is of it; that much she had accepted and knew it could answer all she wanted to learn, to know and to discover about the rich history of dragons on this world.

As she drifted deeper into the land of dreams she wondered if other worlds among the stars in the night sky had dragons, and what did they do…

And the song came, heard her question, and answered by showing her another dragon, of another world, who was one of her distant ancestors…

₰​

Master Sheo looked upon his ancient armband, the twin intertwined-dragons of pure platinum and gold blazing with magical mayhem and power within its depths. Holding his hand up, he cast a series of spells that fully clad him in his normal vest, long-coat, and shirt he had left upstairs in the inn. Duly armored, the enchantments alive with power that many felt as he passed, Master Sheo advanced towards the last known position of the foes he will soon face.

He felt the mystical barrier of Headmistress Pele coming into existence, rending the area around the Inn for five hundred paces. Most of the way-station was thus fortified and safe from the mayhem about to occur. He even sensed the shaping effort of Sassa, the sex-magus who continued to surprise everyone all with her most unusual of abilities continued to grow...but that is a subject for study on another day, he reminded himself.

Taking the lead position, the mantis-men, giant centipedes, and the various spirits of the air gathered to each side or above Master Sheo. As he continued his relentless advance towards his enemies forces, he cultivated his growing anger until it became a simmering, seething, brewing blazing rage at all of those who dared to threaten his friends and his lover Headmistress Pele.

One of the mantis-men pointed to the sky, where against the half-full moons shadowy silhouettes’ passed, many man-shaped, others as giant bats, and more exotic or bazaar nightmares given life. At his silent command, the spirits of the air above him, and those already waiting high above, moved to engage these beings…one thing that Master Sheo has learned over his years of battle-field command, is that creatures such as he which devours the intellect of mankind can be, despite their vast spans of life and wisdom and intellect, very predictable.

The spirits of the air climbed or dove upon the leading flight of vampires, slamming with elemental forces and pressures that smashed bone and muscle, and bursting organs. Each air-spirit clenched its prey, and dove unto the nearby river, plunging their vampire-captives into the freezing waters, holding onto them until the terrors of the night dissolved into frothing foam in the blessed waters.

Other horrors survived the hammering work of the spirits of the air, such as the great bats, wings thirty or more feet across known as Night-wings. Each one is a nightmare of shadows and death given life; struck hard with cones of uttermost cold, seeking to shatter and freeze the life-essence out of the spirits of the air, and shrieking at the discovery of their prey being impervious to their attacks.

Four great beasts, flying squid-like creatures nearly one-hundred feet in length, purplish tentacles writhing in anticipation of the battle they now join, hit hard with their telepathic screams of pure mental chaos. Wave upon wave of psychic energy surged and rolled forth, confusing, befuddling, bewailing and confounding friend and foe alike for over a mile…save for those at the way-station and Master Sheo’s forces, whom he had shielded with magical spells to withstand these assaults.

Unfortunately even his great command of magic could be overcome, as a score and three of the spirits of the air, and thirteen mantis-men collapsed or perished, overcome by these surging screams of mental power.
Master Sheo raised his hands directly at the four flying squid-like beasts, and chanted off a spell interwoven with such power and balance of law and harmony that the mantis-men came to stand a little prouder, boosted in morale and anticipation of pending victory. Golden fires mixed with blazing blues, hot greens, surging white and molten red sources of power…

One of the flying squid-beasts turned its great eyes, sixteen in count, upon Master Sheo at the instant he loosed his magic…and thus it came to be the first to die, torn asunder and incinerated by forces beyond comprehension that wracked its body, leaving nothing more than a smoking, hollowed-out shell which crashed to the ground. The blast of magic, far from finished, arced unto the other three squid-beasts which died in turn as did the first.

Sheer numbers of vampires, Night-wings, and other nightmarish beasts began to give them the advantage over Master Sheo’s spirits of the air. They reveled and called out in the thrill of imminent victory, redoubling efforts to end the fight and charge onto the Inn where their greatest challenge waits…or so they thought…

The very nighttime tore asunder with blazing hot spheres of sunlight, spirits called forth from the core of the sun itself by Master Sheo. Panic filled the enemies creatures, as vampires and Night-wings blazed out of existence in screaming terror; and nightmarish beasts large and small fled, or were summarily incinerated by these spirits of the sun.

Their moral broken, the unholy forces of he which devours the intellect of mankind that survived this sudden turning of fortune fled. Each one followed by one or more of the spirits of the sun, determined to destroy those that are anathema to the pure light and holiness of their beings.

Many of the mantis-men cheered as they continued their advance, joined by the surviving spirits of the air and the great centipedes keening calls of victory. Only Master Sheo did not join in these cries of success, knowing that the real battle is about to begin…

He raised one arm before him, and shouted out a spell of absolute power. The magic unleashed, one filled with ancient strength woven into it, unleashed a surging, rolling, writhing crushing tsunami of earth and stone across a front 1000 feet wide. In quick succession, Master Sheo conjured up two more rolling tsunamis towards a wooded hillside, hoping to crush all that existed in and around it.

The three waves close with ferocity and relentless determination, unstoppable, unyielding and unavoidable for those on the hilltop and in the woods thereupon.

Or should have been, for a countering tsunami of earth and stone surged outward from the hillside, deflecting and blunting much of the breaking force of all three tsunamis unleashed by Master Sheo. He expected such to happen, confirming that his enemy, he which devours the intellect of mankind is there in the flesh, and thus to suffer his absolute wrath for the first and final time…

The march continued forward, step by unrelenting, unyielding, step…

The night burst forth with gleaming, sickly green orbs of light around Master Sheo and his army. He knows this is so the humans and near-humans of his great foe can fight in lighted conditions, while the nightmares that are their allies and commanders will be unaffected.

The leading edge of He which devours the intellect of mankind army comes into sight, a writhing, swarming mass of creatures. From both sides of the hill and down from the woods they swarm, outnumbering Master Sheo and his band by at least forty to one. At the edge of the woods, hooded figures wave four-fingered, purplish hands in mystical passes, summoning forth magical forces to inflict ruin and pain on their enemies.

“Rearrange all formations; prepare to engage as we planned. Casters and guardians enact!” Master Sheo shouted above the howling din of the approaching enemy. Some of the mantis-men, eyes glowing with iridescent fires, spread their hands wide, unleashing shimmering cones of utterly-deadly-cold. Others send forth small spheres of elemental fire, ice, acid or lightning, that detonate in shattering, burning, freezing, rending, crushing death.

The mantis-men deemed Guardians activate the magical-wards emplaced upon them by Master Sheo, causing blazing azure-fires in the shapes of mystical sigils to form in the air around their forces. The purity of flame and light surge forth, piercing the night and the rank upon rank of the enemy, leaving the humans and near-humans unharmed, but tearing asunder nightmarish beasts: dark panthers with twin tentacles jutting from shoulders, the floating brain-beasts with hooked beaks and tentacles hanging beneath.

Wolf-like and bear-owl hybrid beasts perish, while massive, upright walking beetle-beasts cook inside their shells. Other creatures, nightmares given flesh that constantly change shape as they move, flee for their very lives.

Swarming packs of rats and insects, malformed and mutated in hideously sick screamed, keened, and wailed as steam rose in columns from their eyes, ears, mouths and noses; mangy fur burned and flesh charred, bones and muscle began to liquefy, until they perish one by one.

Many of the humans though, armed with longbows, begin to engage from a distance with enchanted arrows, claiming a score and ten of the mantis-men inside of three heartbeats. Five of the arrows, blazing with black-death, rebounded off of Master Sheo’s clothing, denied by the heavy enchantments embedded within them.

The mantis-men return the favor with their spears of spun crystal and shuriken’s coated with poison, felling their foes ten fold for each one of their number who have perished. The leading ranks decimated, the enemy fell back momentarily, until sheer numbers bowl forward with unstoppable might.

The hooded figures along the woods edge finish their casting, sending forth a score and ten of flaming sparks across the landscape. Commonly known as fireballs, such magic is designed to rend and kill and immolate mass formations of troops, and great beasts…such as Master Sheo’s mantis-men and his giant centipedes.

Joining in these efforts, another band of the hooded magicians summon to this world orbed creatures bedecked with ten small eyestalks, and one all-encompassing eye above its massive jaws. Known as Beholders, each one is a powerhouse of magical might in and of itself. Its armored hide is nearly impervious to weapons, while they fear no magician, due to the zone of dead magic projected before it to sixty paces from that central eye on each one.

“Right on time, and still so utterly predictable,” Master Sheo declared.

The arcing fireballs arrive, but instead of detonating among the mantis-men, they spiral inward to be absorbed by the glowing sigils of mystic might. Laughing in sheer delight, Master Sheo drew the accumulated magic of the absorbed fireballs, channeling it into his own spell, and struck the edge of the woods with a score of blazing meteors.

The very hillside tore asunder, scorching and melting stone while flames and pressures pulverized and burned trees centuries in age. Caught up in the writhing inferno, the spell casters gave off telepathic screams of agony and death, while the beholders sizzled, popped and exploded from being cooked without and superheated from within.

“And so pass the magic-trained Mind Flayers and the Beholders they called forth,” he laughed at the ease that these ‘super-intelligent’ beings can be predicted. Present them with a challenge they cannot resist, and the sheer arrogance each possesses overrides their alien intellect.

Three dozen more mantis-men fell to the arrows of the human warriors, while score after score of them fall in turn before the mantis-men’s deadly missiles. The ‘Casters,’ each one a deadly magician of the mind, continues to decimate the enemy as well, claiming a dozen and a half great shambling beasts made of living-vegetation and endowed with the strength of a mountain.

From among the ranks of the enemy, magicians and creatures endowed with magical gifts strike with spells that unleash fire, acid, lightning, black tentacles of death and life-draining forces. Most are absorbed by the blazing sigils, yet a handful breach even these defenses, claiming the lives of many mantis-men as the unrelenting drive for the wooded hill continued unabated.

Master Sheo unleashed scorching storms of acid and ice, stone and fire, called from the sky crashing bolts of lightning that tore gaping rends into the enemy forces, bringing down more of the monstrosities from the land of nightmares.

Laughing, sensing the probing telepathic intrusions of his ultimate foe, Master Sheo lifted one hand unto the heavens above and called forth one of his mightiest of spells: The Crown of Fire.

₰₰ Sixty four ₰₰​

Twelve orbs of primordial fire and light burst forth, instantly annihilating ten score of the enemy in a heartbeat. Tendrils of flame leap forth from each orb, surging, pulsing, blazing, weaving and encompassing one another until all are connected. The light grew and grew with each passing moment, until each blazed with the purest of light to rival that of a newborn sun.

From the forces of he which devours the intellect of mankind screams erupted. Screams of fear, terror, denial and hopelessness merge with the howling din of battle, as a portion of the army breaks, seeking escape by any means possible.

Others of that army rise to the challenge presented by Master Sheo, drawn by the blazing light as a moth to the all consuming flames. Great dinosaur-kin, beasts with thick hides of bone-plates, iron-hard and serrated spikes extended from its sides, advance with eyes blazing in unholy might. Their great tails sweep back and forth, each one shaped as a great bony club.

From a dozen mouths filled with six-inch serrated teeth, bursts of white-hot lightning and fire merge and flow to strike the crown, seeking to overwhelm it by brute-force alone. Their flames only merge with the swirling primordial forces of the Crown of Fire.

Of those twelve dinosaur-kin, five die in the first few seconds of being engaged by the four giant centipedes of Master Sheo. Armored necks snap and flesh tears while acidic venom hissed and burned, dissolving away flesh and bone as the great armored-insects move onto their next adversaries.

One centipede staggered from a hammer blow delivered by its foes club-like tail, stunned and disoriented. Its foe shouted in triumph as it prepared to deliver the death blow…only to feel the iron-strong fangs of another centipede rip into its neck, the acidic venom surging into its blood…

The conquering centipede dropped it to the ground, ignoring the dinosaur-kin’s final death-spasms as it sought more foes to slay. In short order, the quartet of centipedes brings down over two-dozen of the great dinosaur-like brutes.

While this occurs, the mantis-men brace and meet the first strong and organized wave of he which devours the intellect of mankind forces. Though many humans, near-humans, lizard folk and beings great and small die in the flames of the crown of fire, enough make it to nearly breach the line of mantis-men.

Thirty or more of the enemy goes down for each mantis-man who falls, yet the sea of enemy forces continues to come, an unstoppable wave of unrelenting darkness determined to exterminate Master Sheo and his entire band once and for all.

Four great, arcing, writhing, rolling, surging blasts of lightning followed one upon another from Master Sheo, taking down score after score of the red-skinned orcs, humans and near-humans, monstrously mutated and deformed lizard-like and insect-like creatures that walked as men. Three of the dinosaur-kin fell before his thundering blasts of sound, shattering muscle and bone until they were reduced to masses of writhing, dying flesh.

From the wooded hilltop came great spells of acid, fire, lightning and shimmering death; magical might much more powerful than those unleashed earlier in the battle. Master Sheo knows his foe has finally chosen its time to join the conflict, determining that its victory is at hand.

With each passing second, the dying accelerated.

The barrage of spells continued from the wooded hilltop, and Master Sheo continued to unleash scything blasts of lightning and storms of hail and acid, as he and his forces continued their relentless progress up the hillside.

His foe is there, the commander of his enemies, and he means to meet it in battle…and crush it…

Gaining the crest of the hill, Master Sheo sensed the sudden teleportation of he which devours the intellect of mankind. The great nightmare given flesh and life had escaped, to his great frustration.

A dozen arrows, enchanted tips glowing with hellish might, slammed against his enchanted clothing; all failed to penetrate. He beheld the last of his centipedes succumb to its wounds, while less than four score of his mantis-men remained mobile enough to fight, drawing into an ever-tightening circle, as their foes press on relentlessly.

Receiving a telepathic contact from Justin, he called out for the mantis-men to close formation within feet of him and shield their eyes. The time has come for this battle to end, and on Master Sheo’s terms…

His magic all but spent, he unleashed the stored might of the Crown of fire. It became a living entity of pure psychic energy, a living force of fire and life, directed to consume and absorb all that is anathema to goodness and life and hope.

Seeing the actions of the mantis-men, plus the fall of the final centipede, the enemy forces surged forward with a mighty roar, assuming victory is at hand…not knowing their overlord has fled for safety.

A moment later, they see the crown of fire erupt into a blazing, burning, illuminating and purifying cloud of golden radiance that enshrouded Master Sheo. Moment by moment that cloud grew, flowing down the hillside and across the army of he which devours the intellect of mankind.

All that it touched of its forces perished dissipated in an inferno of flame, heat, pressure and purifying fires of law, order, goodness, sacredness and purity. One by one, and in groups small and large, creature after creature and follower after follower ceased to be; erased from the physical universe and added to the collective might of the living Crown of Fire.

Its task finished at last, the living, sentient Crown of Fire flared and climbed for the night sky, a sight seen for miles around as it gave off a triumphant call of glory and ascended unto the heavens, bursting into its full form of the Phoenix.

₰​

In the realm of dreams, tied to the past and present by the song of all dragons, Snow Cat saw a glittering field of lights swirl and dance around her being. Instinctively she knew that this was the spirit of her ancestor from the dream who was at that time called Master Sheo; and the battle fought was against an ancient nemesis of his called an Elder Brain, an abomination from another dimension where nightmares came to life and had power beyond what many could imagine.

“Kin of my spirit and descendant of my blood,” her ancestor said as if she were a princess of the elven court instead of a mere Draco-were afraid of her dragon heritage. She sensed the great majesty, nobility, wisdom and age possessed by the one speaking to her, “I am he who once was Master Sheo, as the humanity of another world once knew me. I have gone by many names in my lifetime as a Draco-were who took after the greatest of Force Dragons. I heard in the song of all dragons your question of dragons on other worlds and have come with answers; and I may be able to help you with the questions you have as to your inner conflict between your dragon side and your mortal side…if you will permit me to enlighten, it is your choice as in all things of life, I will not force it upon you ever.”

Snow Cat gulped and considered the offer made by her ancestor…Master Sheo she corrected herself. Somehow she trusted him, unsure as to how or why that should be, yet she did. “Is my spiritual progenitor Grinder of your line? Was he a child of your children several generations removed? Or am I just shooting arrows off into the dark again?”

She felt the spiritual laugh of his that carried long and far within the song of all dragons. “True to your cat-girl heritage you are; impertinent and impatient for answers, and yet always desiring to learn and to love life. The one called Grinder was millennia removed from me in generations of birth, yet I was there when he cracked the egg from which he was hatched. All of this is in his knowledge, magic and memories he shared with you not long ago; search and you will discover secrets greater than a mere mortal can comprehend.

Snow Cat cringed as she sensed his spiritual talon reach out and gently pressed against her forehead. “I’m sorry; I have so many doubts about myself and the monster I may become…”

“Kin of my spirit,” Master Sheo said, “you believe yourself to be a monster due to what the dark-elves did to you all those years ago? And now having learned from Grinder the truth of your offspring – the one called Cronus, and the lies told by your adoptive father Brother Hart, have ‘confirmed’ the fears you have held for so much of your life. You have always longed to be ‘normal’ and never understood that no one can be that, they can only be what they choose to be.”

“Your flesh and blood body, your magic and your heritage are only part of you,” he explained. “Yet it is what you do, what choices you make who determines in the end that you are and will become. Marcus has tried to tell you this for 200 years; and yet you have not really learned to listen what you know is truth. Every time you have dreamed of dragons, from the most recent to the first time soon after you came into this world you have heard the song and learned from it. The Draco-were who raised you, Brother Hart, never taught you all you needed to learn of your dragon self.”

“Understand then Kin of my spirit,” he continued, “we who are dragons learn of ourselves and all who have come before by the song that connects all of us for time immemorial. Our physical parents teach us as well, and thus our lives are enriched as a whole while all dragons grow in the knowledge we can learn from the song and each other.”

“The darkness you have dreamed the last few days, dreams of darkness and corruption are not that part of you that you fear,” Master Sheo continued, “what you sense and dream of is the echoes of your true enemy, the one called Night Shade and the abomination that he truly has become. Brother Hart even now prepares for the time when they shall do battle, and in the process both probably will perish.”

Snow Cat gasped at this revelation.

“Kin of my spirit,” he declared, “let me enlighten you with what you have become already; and show you what I became in a lifetime of daring to dream and seeking them out – in the process I learned to live and no longer fear what I was.”

Snow Cats world flared in a flash of light more pure and sacred than anything she could have comprehended as Master Sheo’s life was displayed before her, and then imparted to her, a source of incredible wisdom and of knowledge that answered so many questions, and asked so many more…

Snow Cat startled and sat up amidst the tangle of blankets and furs which clung to her as a burial shroud. The last cry of glory from the ascending Phoenix echoed for many a minute across the depths of her mind and her soul. She cried great tears of joy and happiness, her fears at long last cast aside about her dragon self, and in its place the clear knowledge of her dragon heritage and how to become the Force Dragon that slept inside of her without losing herself to it…

The great Force Dragons, beings made of living energy of the spirit and the mind given flesh and form, long ago devoted themselves to helping others through peaceful means, yet if battle had to be done, they fought with all they had and held nothing back.

She had learned another truth among the imparted memories and knowledge of Grinder: the child whelped on her by the dark-elves was actually sired by one who took on the shape of a dark-elf, the unholy terror known as a Shadow Dragon.

“So that’s what Cronus is,” she whispered to herself, “Night Shade must have given up on his mad experiment to fuse dragon life-essence with his unholy magic; instead he is creating half-dragon children who will be his army’s commanders and elite troops…”

She shuddered at the thought of how many more powerful creatures and armies of Night Shade remain to be found between Hap-tooth Hill and Shadowdale. And there is still the problem of Mistledale and High Lord Cronus, her offspring…

 

YAY!!!!! Snow Cat will finally come into her own and not fear her dragon self.

Great addition Snow.

 

Thank you.

 

For those who have PM'd me lately, this is a mass answering...

Yes, Snow Cat is the birth mother of Cronus, and no I will not go into more of the plot about that. Patience (yes I know).

The battle of Hap-tooth Hill is not the battle as it would be for many other stories. This saga is different by far, and one large one still waits to play out in the near future...

And no, I am not going to say which one.

So how is everyone liking the story so far?

 

its amazing snow

 

₰₰ Sixty five ₰₰​

From the top of a rocky knoll, Master Roerich looked upon Heartland River Expeditions new encampment. The sun weakly made its presence known through the steel-gray clouds which promised more snow, sleet and hail at any time; yet for once in four days the howling banshee-like winds have ceased.

Centered to the south of Hap-tooth Hill the encampment had been deployed in precise military formation; in the middle were the vulnerable merchants, laborers, wagons, mounts and the like with the caravan guards quartered at key points. On the outer perimeter were the sheltered quarters for the forces of Archendale, Deepingdale and Harrowdale plus the auxiliary companies – nearly thirty in count. The heights of battered Hap-tooth itself have been secured by the Knights of Essembra to be a first-line of defense for any attackers coming from the north, north-east or north-west.

He looked over at Snow Cat and sighed, ran his hand through his hair and adjusted the white fur-trimmed vest that he wore over his scarlet robes. “Now we have a real dilemma to deal with, our enemy has a name and we know what he is. The real Night Shade is an abomination that must be destroyed if he comes after us; but right now Snow Cat, I have to be clear on this, my purpose remains the same: clear the river-route to Shadowdale and open the region for trade again.”

“I know Master Roerich,” Snow Cat said with a wry grin, “just as I know I and Marcus still work for you…”

He snorted, sending a great cloud of mist into the air, “My dear, after all that me, you, Marcus and Hanna have gone through I think we are past the ‘boss and employee’ stage. You’re effectively my co-commander in this roving gaggle of destruction. Just think of what my reputation will be like from now on,” he gave an extremely melodramatic gasp of mocked shock and surprise, “I start out with a small caravan of merchants and guards, wind up defeating an enraged Dale lord, lead a grand old crusade and manage to charm the loveliest cat-girl in the region whose brother is an overprotective fire-breathing dragon.”

“Very true, but you have charmed me,” Snow Cat said, her eyes alight with love for Roerich, “so I guess one out of five or so is not too bad…” she came over to him and stepped up on her tippy-toes to kiss him. “I think that the others do need to know, or at least some of the key leadership who will actually believe me…”

₰​

Marcus, Hanna, Master Roerich and Sir Robinson, along with Sergeant Kenneth and High Vale Councilmen Justinian and Brenner had gathered for an impromptu meeting. They listened with shocked horror as Snow Cat revealed to them all she had learned of their mutual enemy Night Shade through the song that linked all dragons as one.

Justinian looked at Snow Cat and shook his head, unable to fully fathom all he had been told. “Lady Snow Cat, if it had come from anyone else other than you, Marcus or Master Roerich I would have assumed you to be quite mad. Yet everything is true, all of what you have said, it just sounds and feels right, it has to be true then and now we know what we ultimately will face…”

“It is Justinian,” Roerich said, “I have battled such creatures before I even met Brother Hart centuries ago; and these creatures of the Far Realm are of immense power. No matter what, we keep this revelation to all of us here in this gathering. The river-route is our immediate concern, and if Night Shade, or a portion of him, shows itself, then and only then will we deal with him.”
“Right now though our scouts have begun to discover the orcs and ogres and such we have defeated a few days past are gathering again at key points along the way between Hap-tooth Hill and Crossing.” Roerich shook his head, “It appears that there are elite forces joining the shattered remnants, and I still don’t get why Night Shade wants to keep the river-route closed so badly?”

Snow Cat looked at him and smiled, “To keep from happening what has occurred with the expedition, he needs the Dales divided and thus unable to withstand his coming invasion from without and within – such as Cronus in Mistledale.” She shook her head, “the woodlands along the river bisect the middle of the Dales, and thus are a natural place to hide an army or three by controlling Crossing. There are rumors of long forgotten magical gates – the kind you step through and instantly move across vast distances – hidden in many of the old ruins that litter the region.”

Sir Robinson spoke up at this point, “There is something we may need to take into account, given the fact that this Night Shade can wield incredibly powerful dark magic.” He tapped an open map showing key terrain and features that bordered the river on both sides, plus the serpentine river-route as it existed two centuries ago.

“Here, these sights may be a major problem for us early on,” Robinson declared, indicating an pair of old structure that bore the names of Aencar’s Manor, and Abbey of the Sword. “Legend has it, plus some reports of scouts and adventurers who survived their expeditions to the region, have claimed that demonic forces hold each one, along with a cult of warrior-priests who are deadly users of magic and of the blade...”

“Alright so far,” Sergeant Kenneth said, “we have enough troops to storm those places if needed…”

Sir Robinson looked at him with rage on his face and slammed his hand on the crate which held the map, “If you would have let me finish dear Kenneth,” everyone knew Robinson was barely in control of his anger, “then you would not make such a bold statement with the knowledge that a pair of incredibly ancient bone dragons live in each one. Four bone dragons, dear Kenneth, now how do you feel about ‘storming those places if needed’?”

“Great, just all we need,” Marcus said in a tone of absolute dread, “for those of you who do not know the term, they are commonly called Draco-liches. Each one in and of itself is as tough as a Gray Renderer; and given what we have learned of Night Shade, we can expect them and much, much more fierce beasts.”

Sergeant Kenneth sat there completely aghast. He gulped, shook and stammered his words, “four bone dragons,” he looked at Sir Robinson, “you’re right, my statement was careless, hasty and incredibly stupid. How do you fight such creatures of darkness? You two had your hands full with a small Gray Renderer; I cannot even begin to imagine what these beasts must be like…”

“I have a hunch Brother Hart knew what we would face from the beginning and has been using us as a means to ‘restore the balance’ or such nonsense as he talks about,” Snow Cat said to everyone. “It would be just like him to ‘forget’ to say something about the beasts, assuming they are there, and we should base our plans accordingly as if they are…”

“That does sound like Brother Hart,” Roerich declared with a sigh, “always the larger picture matters more than the individual. As a matter of fact Snow Cat and Marcus, it was the stories he told me of your successes that led me to find you and hire you on as guards; now I see he played me as well…”
“I know, he’s done that to me for longer than I had ever realized,” Snow Cat said with such anger and bitterness in her words that nearly everyone turned to look at her. The amount of pain and self-depreciating loathing in her voice and manner told volumes of a great betrayal, not long in the past, which has wounded her to the core of her soul.

Roerich came to stand next to her and placed his arms around her hips, drew her close and let her rest her head on his shoulder. “Brother Hart has played her bad, and over matters only recently discovered. Ask no more than that for I will tell no more.”

“Brother Hart does that with everyone,” Marcus said as he snorted a great cloud of flame and brimstone, “even with himself. One thing though, if Night Shade does come after us into the Dales, or into the elven-kingdom, then you can be assured Brother Hart will stop him; even if it means his own life in the process.”

That thought instantly sobered everyone.

“Very well then,” Master Roerich said, “right now we need to consider how soon the expedition continues on down the river-road. How far can we advance each day and do we make an effort to bypass any major dangers or take them on? Remember, our expedition has finite resources from here on out; everything we do has to be to the best effect, especially if we have to turn west of the river at Crossing.”

“I hope to get going in ten days, if the weather breaks that is from the ‘wild magic’ which has generated this mess,” Roerich said. “At least if we do get stuck here for the winter, just recall that it’s only thirty more months away…”

His joke about the ‘long winter’ drew moans and groans, for none wanted to be stuck anywhere for that amount of time for months on end. “We will meet again tomorrow and begin to make the plans; for now in regards to all we have discussed, it is to be shared with no one else unless absolutely necessary.”

₰​

Brother Hart looked over the world so far below the great mountain chain in the Northern Mountains. Here only ice, snow and stone ruled; all other beings were merely short-termed guests, dragons included, of the mighty and eternal bastions.

He waved a hand over the shimmering field of silver motes of light which hung in the air before him. The magic dissipated, released back into the natural world around him, and the image of his adoptive children and their new friends vanished.

He gave off a great sigh, “Yes Marcus I do ‘play’ people for larger reasons and gain, so long as the balance has been maintained. Night Shade will come soon enough and then he and I will have our final battle; as since he merged his being with that abomination from the Far Realm, he is a corruption and blight on the order of the world.”

The ghostly silent footfalls alerted him to one who had arrived just yesterday moved nearby, “Hello Snowflake, how are you doing this day?”

“You found a beautiful location for our young to be raised in,” she said to him, “a Song-dragons heart and soul is lifted clear of any troubles and concerns here in the heights. “Thank you for this gift to me Brother Hart, it means so much to me…”
He took her hand in his and pressed it to his cheek, and looked at her, “Snowflake I must leave soon. My time grows short and soon enough Night Shade will move himself out of his fortress, determined to destroy Master Roerich before he reaches Shadowdale. When he does, the threat his corruption represents must be stopped; and I shall do so…no matter the cost to me in the end.”

“Brother Hart I don’t want to lose you, not now, not with our young on the way,” Snowflake declared.

“Snowflake my dear, you will live safely here in the shelter of stone and ice,” Brother Hart declared, “We all have our parts to play, and yours is to be part of the future. In time our children will become great champions of the light and of the balance. They will combine the best of us both, Draco-were’s who are of human and dragon lines in one.”

“Teach them well to honor and respect both sides,” Brother Hart said, “for with Snow Cat I failed in one major detail, I never helped her past the nightmares that haunted her life after that Shadow Dragon whelped Cronus on her body. She knows the truth now, which he did not perish soon after being born as I claimed. It is something I can never find forgiveness for, and never can make up to her…”

“I only can hope she will find peace at last between her cat-girl and dragon heritages,” Brother Hart said.

He turned and looked back at the small entrance to a grand network of caves beyond that linked to a large central cavern; the place where millennia ago he and his draconic twin Night Shade had been born…so it is fitting that another generation of dragons be born here as well.

₰​

“So are we ready to strike down the enemies of our liege?” Shadow asked his fellow confederates. He steepled his hands and drew a deep breath then slowly released it to calm his building excitement. He reminded himself the time for mayhem will be soon at hand, right now all that mattered was that no flaws or unexpected details came to the fore.

“Yes we are ready,” Smoke declared. He bowed his head to his elder, knowing that Shadow was one to be given the respect and honor he is due for one of his age, rank and sheer ability. Few can equal his skill in planning and battle, and even that cat-girl and her dragon brother will fall before them in the next few days; or so they have planned, yet if they shall fall in the fight, Smoke and Shadow expected to dance with the dark goddess Shar in her realm of half-moonlight and shadow for eternity having done their best.

Twilight, the third confederate looked at his brethren and nodded that he too was ready to strike when the moment arrived. He held out small cups of steaming tea to his companions, a custom long established to unite them as one in their efforts.

Each held it before them and declared, “To success and honor gained, or to fail and thus have done our duty to the end,” with that they drank the tea down and departed unto their respective jobs within the caravan.

Unknown to them, a fourth agent, with a deadly purpose, was already on the way from Mistledale. Her orders would complicate the lives of Twilight, Shadow and Smoke in a very dramatic way.

₰₰ Sixty six ₰₰​

High Lord Cronus stood before the gathered court of Mistledale and moved down the steps of the raised dais to face the ambassadors of Shadowdale and Daggerdale face-to-face. Clerks, merchants, servants and many others moved against the outer walls or into side corridors. His personal bodyguards placed hands on sword hilts or shifted to lower spears at the two men who had roused their liege’s anger, for a storm seemed ready to burst at their audacity.

“Ambassadors Mondale and Monde,” Cronus said to the representatives of Shadowdale and Daggerdale, “let me see if I have this right…”

High Lord Cronus tapped his hand against his hip, and then began to make intricate gestures with it as he went over his position in clear, crisp, and concise words. “I am currently in a state of hostilities with Essembra, the capital of Battledale. I have dispatched troops to retake territory – uninhabited territory – north of Crossing, that which is the rightful land of Mistledale for ages untold. Is this correct or am I unclear on the matter so far as you two are concerned?”

Cronus swept his open hand before Ambassador Monde, who growled at the insulting gesture.

“Why you…” Monde began until Mondale placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head for the man to be silent until Cronus finished speaking.

“Now, in addition to this,” Cronus continued, “there is an expedition working northward on the old river-route led by an man who is hostile to my very presence and consorts with Devil Dragons, immoral cat-girls and is in himself a Red Wizard…”

“I am the lawfully elected High Lord of Mistledale,” Cronus stated, “and yet despite all of this your respective Lords demand I step down immediately? They insist that I must face trial for ‘crimes against the High Dale’ based on information ‘found’ by my enemies in Essembra and the hostile expedition; why should I not assume they are seeking to conquer Mistledale for themselves, maybe they sent you to assassinate me?”

At the heavy accentuation placed on ‘assassinate’ the crowd gasped and guards slid closer to the two men, ready to grab them upon the first sign of hostilities toward High Lord Cronus.

But events, accelerated by the magic of ‘enragement’ Cronus had carefully cast by gesture and will alone on Ambassador Monde, were faster by far…

Ambassador Monde grew furious at the insinuations made about his Lord, “How dare you!” He drew a stiletto blade from a wrist-sheath and lunged at Cronus, who whirled to the side, grabbed the man by his collar and belt and bodily flung him into the far wall with enough force to snap the mans neck.

The nearest guards rushed forward and grabbed Ambassador Mondale who shook his head in denial, eyes wide with terrified shock. “I had nothing to do with his actions…” he whined to High Lord Cronus.

“I actually believe you Ambassador,” High Lord Cronus said and ordered the man released. “However, the mere fact that the allied Dales of Shadowdale and Daggerdale have sent ambassadors who demand I step down, and one of them,” he indicated with a wave of his hand the corpse of Monde, “tried to kill me before everyone here…”
Cronus let his anger show, “As of now all relations with the two dales are ended; no caravans will be allowed and any who try to pass will be confiscated for smuggling. You will be given a full escort with honors back home Ambassador, and do tell your Lord all that happened here today.”

In the back of his mind Cronus felt a magical communiqué connect him to his liege, “Lord Night Shade as per your plan the effort to further divide the dales again are continuing apace. The land just north of Crossing is now in Mistledale possession and being fortified on the off chance Roerich and them do make it this far north.”

“I have scouts out looking for the Gray Renderers and other such beasts you indicated are in that region; even one tamed by the magical ritual you have presented will enhance our defenses considerably…” Cronus paused for a moment, a new possibility presented itself, “or we can use them on the offensive, to indirectly take the fight to Master Roerich and the Heartland River expedition.”

“Very Good Cronus,” Night Shade declared, the corruption and malevolence in his thoughts nearly felled Cronus to his knees, “Keep hiring the mercenary forces as you can; organize your armies to deal with Master Roerich and Essembra. But be warned, Brother Hart has vanished from Shadowdale and may be anywhere.”

“Yes my liege,” Cronus replied, “I will work on adjusting my plans in anticipation of his interference beyond that of his abominations of children who travel with Roerich.”

₰​

In the woodlands east of Essembra the gathered Sisters of Essembra, many of them true dragons, their children and personal agents watched as Owl, their leader, came forward to speak to them all. Clad in a flowing gown of forest green and browns, a thick winter cape and fine furred vest she bowed and offered them formal greetings as all such meetings opened with.

“My friends, I wish to tell you I have finally heard about Snowflake who vanished from Essembra a few weeks ago.” Owl avoided any reference to the political coup she had staged against Snowflake, “she is currently with Brother Hart and both of them have moved to a private lair in the furthest of the Northern Mountains. I need not explain what they have been up to lately…” People laughed at her joke about Hart and Snowflake having become lovers.

“What matters now for our watching over Essembra is this: less than five hours ago our agents had reported an attempt on High Lord Cronus’s life, an effort made by the now deceased ambassador of Daggerdale. The lords of Daggerdale and Shadowdale have declared Cronus needs to step down, and as of now, they are denied the right of passage through Mistledale for their caravans; he has also begun efforts to tie the assassination effort to Master Roerich and the Heartland River Expedition, plus to us here in Essembra,” she continued.

“Cronus is gathering a large mercenary force, one strengthened by an unusual number of half-dragon units,” she let the shock of that pass before she continued, “Yes, half-dragons of mixed human and Shadow Dragon blood; we suspect that due to their sudden appearance the real enemy Night Shade is behind this. More ominous, the revelation of the three fake-Gray Renderers has emboldened Cronus, and he seeks to gain the allegiance of such monsters from the southern woods – may one of them have him for a quick snack.”

“Lady Owl,” a messenger said as he appeared from the crowd, “my pardon for the interruption, but we may have more urgent problems. Some of our woodland allies to the east have reported a flight of dragons is circling the elven-kingdoms, using all due care to stay out of its lands. Two more are headed in from the west, all appear to be headed directly for the Heartland River Expedition.”
“Three flights of dragons, plus the fortification of Crossing, and who knows what else is in the area.” Owl said to the crowd after dismissing the messenger. “Master Roerich will face a most formidable foe indeed.”

That revelation caused a chaotic cacophony of discussion and hushed conversations in the gathered crowd. Many wondered what Owl would do, or not do, as the case may be. A single flight of dragons is a force of utter devastation beyond measure; and three of them is a holocaust for any great nation…the expedition of Roerich would be annihilated in short order.

“Master Roerich will, weather permitting, begin to advance up the river-route in a few days,” Owl declard.

She held up a hand to cut off any protest or concerns, “and as I have stated, we will not interfere with events outside of Essembra. I ask of all of you to add to the defenses of Essembra, and by extension that of Battledale; Cronus may march on us at any time, and with most of the Knights of Essembra gone, we are the main line of defense from him and from Night Shade of whom Snow Cat has magically spoken to me about…’

Owl explained all that Snow Cat has passed onto her about Night Shade, and the beast of corruption and nightmares he had become. The council of the Sisters went long into the night as they debated what to do, and who would handle the different parts of preparations for the war that High Lord Cronus threatened. Owl sent other members of the Sisters to speak and coordinate with the Lords and Ladies who ruled the Dale.

For as Owl closed the council meeting, she declared, “We – dragons, dragon-kin, and folks of the dale, are all one large family, we all work as one or fall in the end.”

₰​

Along the river-route, hidden among the wooded knolls and crags is the Abbey of the Sword.

For generations untold the warrior-priests, beings born of shadow, have perfected their ways of battle with sword and spell and have mastered the rare art of the blade-singer known among the elven folks.

This night though, the leaders of the Abbey discussed the soon-to-arrive threat of Master Roerich and the mighty Heartland River Expedition. Charts were consulted and the three leaders of the order – Grandfather, Mother and Father of the Darkness calculated and speculated, compared strength to strength and matched the terrain they knew so well.

Finally a consensus was reached, the order shall fight; and the combined might of the Abbey of the Sword and Aencar’s Manor, home for much of the orders secondary might, will be employed.

“Here then,” Grandfather of the Darkness declared as he tapped the map, “here at Broken-bridges and the hills around it. That is the place to make the stand. Our scouts have seen the might they have in magic, blade and how they have used it.”

“Father of the Darkness,” Grandfather of the Darkness said to his son, “Go and prepare your units for the battle at Broken-bridges. Mother of the Darkness is to coordinate a campaign of harassment and probing as our new enemies approach. We will have victory in the end…’ with that, they all departed.

₰​

The snow and ice crunched beneath the booted heels of Master Roerich as he walked back to his wagon. “One more meeting done, we still are far ahead of the curve for supplies, goods and such. Our defenses are strong and the scouts are already probing far ahead…” He rubbed his forehead with one hand while silently going over the thousand and one details still left to accomplish, once again thankful that Snow Cat has come to assist him as much as she can.

“Now if we can just do something about this blasted weather that keeps us from moving,” Roerich griped as he whished for more powerful and skilled magicians to do the weather-control magic. He, Snow Cat and Captain Laurence had taught them as much as they could in combination; yet for most of their students, the finest details still evaded them. “At the least they had gotten the howling winds to stop, so I can sleep in peace and quiet. Now if I can just…”

He stopped and looked around the space he occupied between the wagons, something from the shadows that watched his every move with cunning intellect…

He heeded his instinctive feeling that saved his life on many other occasions, and spotted the ghostly shadows that rushed at him; only to be intercepted by three great silver-black coated wolves which rushed past Roerich as the man growled in righteous anger…

Twelve living shadows, human-like in shape and form, emerged from the night, hands held blades that gleamed blackened death and dripped liquid shadow and promised a pain-filled annihilation for those cut by them…

Roerich knew instantly what these unholy beings were, ones he had battled many times back in his homeland of the Red Wizards…

“Take death, all of you Shades,” he roared as he held one hand palm-side out at them, and unleashed a blast of sun-hot, life-giving, darkness-cleaving, white light which enshrouded nine of his foes. The Shades screamed in unholy terror, the very essence of shadow – the source of their eternal existence as undead beings – was torn to shreds and consumed in the blazing purity of the magic that clung to them despite their best efforts.

Alarm horns sounded and sentinels rushed to assist Master Roerich and the three wolf-were’s. The clash of steel on steel, cries of victory, shock, pain and the final denial before death comes merged as one from many other areas of the encampment.

Master Roerich howled in rage and turned to the three Shades who remained alive who danced and executed moves common to the elven warriors called blade-singers. In a blur of motion, two of the wolf-were’s fell to the deadly touch of the black blades, their bodies reduced to dust in less than a heartbeat.

One Shade turned upon the last wolf-were, scoring a savage cut to its flank as the other two turned to finish off Master Roerich…

Only to perish a moment later under the maelstrom of Clinging fire unleashed by Marcus and the Consuming lightning of Hanna who happened to be close by.
“Blast these thrice-cursed Shades,” Roerich yelled as he slammed his fist onto a tent-pole. “Does anyone have any idea who they are or where they came from? Other than being allied with the priests of Shar in this area…”

He turned and went to assist the wolf-were as best as he could until Captain Laurence and a band of guards showed up a minute or so later. Laurence reported that the Shades had vanished, but that he cannot guarantee they will stay gone for long.

“See to my friend here,” Roerich ordered as he pointed to the wolf-were who lay on the ground whining and pleading for aid. “His fellows gave their lives for me…” he said with sadness in his voice, feeling unworthy of such sacrifices made by anyone for him.

He watched other patrols and groups sweep the encampment, then a second group approached Master Roerich.

“Master Roerich,” Melissa, a caravan magician, called out. She was accompanied by five guards, each with torches illuminated by continual sun-light spells. “We have, as per Snow Cats communiqué, begun posting torches lit by continual daylight and sunlight spells; in this way the Shadows will hopefully be kept at bay, or at worst, forced to fight us on near equal terms here in the encampment.”

Snow Cat ran up to Roerich and began to check him over for any injuries, the worry clearly manifest in her eyes of liquid emerald-green.

“Snow Cat,” Roerich said after finally grabbing her by the arms and holding her in place, “How is it you know so much about these Shades, few beings not from the far south such as me even know of them?”

“It’s not the first time I and Marcus have been in this region, the last time was nearly a hundred years ago when Essembra sent an expedition to try and stop the shadows.” Snow Cat shook her head at the horrid memories of that expedition, and the slaughter that resulted when the Shadows emerged from the night, breached the camp defenses with contemptible ease and slaughtered nearly everyone…only the intervention of Brother Hart and a band of magicians and heroes saved her and Marcus.

“The place indicated by Sir Robinson a few days ago called the Abbey of Swords,” Snow Cat said, “Brother Hart once speculated that the Shadows may be based there. They happen to be deadly blade singers based on the fighting style of the elves; and this is in addition to them possibly having those Draco-liches backing them up.”

“So then we know where they are at,” Captain Laurence stated, “and now they have struck at us, but not in any real numbers or activity, we have had some damage done, but not as much as I would have assumed they could have done…’

“They were testing our defenses,” Marcus stated, “and gauging how we react when they appeared. If we meet them on their terms in battle, we will suffer massive losses. Yet in the end it may come down to just that; plus if we wind up facing those Draco-liches that are assumed to be in the region at the same time…”

“Just great,” Melissa said as she shook her head in apprehension of what was to come, “Can it get any worse than it already has?”

As usual, when such a question is asked, the cosmos listens and makes it happen.

₰​

The messenger bowed down before Mother of the Darkness in the depths of the Abbey of the Sword. “Mother of the Night, as per your instructions the raid went forth and tested the expedition’s defenses. Almost all have been destroyed in the fight, mostly due to the quick actions of Master Roerich and his closest companions, especially the one known as Snow Cat.”

“I returned as instructed by my captain to report to you,” the messenger declared. He detailed the battle to the Mother of the Night as precisely as possible and left no detail unexplained when asked for clarification by the Mother of the Darkness. Both of them shuddered when the sun-magic of Master Roerich was described in full horror as it clung to, and consumed, the shadow substance that gave the Shades life and existence.

Mother of the Darkness dismissed the messenger and contemplated the chain of raids she intended to carry out over the next four days as the expedition approached. “Night Shade will be pleased when we and the Draco-liches exterminate the expedition completely; unless our own forces manage to do the same ahead of their combined efforts,” she said to no one in particular.

She had no idea that another had entered the game against the expedition, one who played for much grander stakes – revenge among them – and even then had pieces on the chessboard. He had come in person to deal with the Draco-liches held in bondage by Grandfather of the Darkness, and asked them to join his side, if they so wished, after exacting their revenge…

He also promised a grand reward for one other little deed that the Draco-liches agreed to with no hesitation.

 

₰₰ Sixty seven ₰₰​

The beast’s slender body slid among the frozen ground with a grace that belied its serpentine appearance. Its every move sent a lustrous icy-blue flame that danced and shimmered across its scales as it hunted for the prey it knew by scent and feel had to be nearby, yet it also was cautious in its advance, for the smell of brimstone and dragon was strongly intermixed with the lesser, more vulnerable human prey…

Step by step the ice drake advanced, using the heaped mounds of snow and ice as extra camouflage while its ghost-white eyes swept the next clearing just ahead. Then it heard the first soft noise of its prey at the pond, six, no eight or more soft-skinned humans who had decided to bathe in its icy depths…

It smiled, for their bathing in the pond had made the hunt even easier. It will freeze the waters with its icy breath and drag the frozen carcasses back to its den to snack upon at a later date. A low growl of delight passed from its body, signifying its pleasure at the thought of frozen flesh for dinner…

It turned its head to the right, having heard a faint sound…

Which turned out to be, much to its regret, the twang of a bowstring as its arrow is loosed…

Its world exploded into an inferno of flame, heat and pain as seven blazing arrows charged with the essence of pure fire pierced its hide and tore into lungs, heart and severed its spine. Moments later, as death came to lay claim to it; it regretted on thing – it failed to tell its masters of the Abbey of Swords that the cat-girl and her brother, the dragon it has smelled, were in the region.

₰​

Snow Cat waited until the ice drake had breathed its last and then returned the nocked arrow in her bow to the quiver on her hip. “That’s one less of the brutes in the region. They may be dragon-kin but they still lack even a tenth of the brains and cunning Marcus has, let alone any other true dragon,” she stated with a bit of contempt at how easy the beast had allowed itself to be ambushed.

She walked back to the pond after she paused long enough to renew the alarm-spell which alerted her to the drake’s presence. “Alarm-spell,” she recited the lesson of her elven-teachers, “it silently alerts you to any large size creature bigger than a human who passed within sixty paces. It is a one-use magic, thus having to be reset after each triggering, which can become a headache in bear-country…”

Once done she picked up her bow, pulled her cloak tighter around her half-clad body and grinned as she saw the nipples of her breasts standing full and flush in the chilled air. She blushed at the sudden desire to have Master Roerich there, his hands on the small of her back as his lips sucked and teased and pleased upon one nipple and then the next…

Her melodious giggle rolled across the snowbound forest as she came to the ponds edge, shed her bow, cloak and remaining clothing, and then dove into the chilled waters. She surfaced and gave off a squawk of shock from the cold before she swam over to the other women – Melissa, Pearl, Hanna (in her human form), Foxy and Dame Foxglove.
“Snow Cat I have to admit I never would have dreamed of a hot soak in a frozen pond until now,” Dame Foxglove said to her with a smile of appreciation. “Then again, until I met you and Marcus it never occurred to me just how fantastic dragons really are. Just spending time listening to the tales told by you and him, or how he offers such great advice and insights into matters…”

“Or of how he can be used as a four-legged furnace to heat water up for his sister,” Marcus said, his voice filled with faked derision and contempt, “and for her friends and my soul-mate when Master Roerich does not have me breaking trail as a snow-melting flame-breathing beast of burden…”

“SHUSH!” Snow Cat and Hanna said at the same moment, and then pounded on his armored hide, the deep metallic ringing flowed outward as if a thousand fine bells rung at one moment. “Shish, remember Marcus you lost the chess game to Hanna fair and square, I had nothing to do with it so stop whining…” Snow Cat said with such anger in her voice everyone, Marcus included, looked at her with shock on their faces.

“Snow Cat what’s bothering you?” Marcus gently asked his sister, though he had a pretty good idea given the emotional roller coaster she had been on the last few days; impossible as it should be.

“I’m sorry Marcus, I am just very tired,” Snow Cat said as Hanna and Dame Foxglove swam over to her to see if they could help her out, “this entire journey keeps growing ever larger, we have the entire southern half of the river-route ahead of us, then Mistledale and Crossing, and I’m getting a little overwhelmed in helping Master Roerich out…”

Marcus bent his head down and nuzzled Snow Cats cheek with his armored nose and then asked, “Snow Cat, is that all or is there something more? Your not…you know….”

BLAM!

Only Snow Cat did not scream as the wave of water bowled over them. They shook their heads in shock and awe and gasped in wide-eyed fear as Snow Cats fury partly faded; she had clobbered Marcus upon the head with enough force to drive him far under the water.

“Blast it Marcus I told you never ask me that again!” Snow Cat screamed at the top of her lungs, so powerful was her cry that many trees shook in protest, sending cascades of snow down from their branches. “Why do you have to keep doing that to me Marcus, you damn well know I can’t have children!”

The ladies gasped – all save Hanna who already knew – at that revelation from Snow Cat. One by one they came over and embraced her in sisterly affection and sympathy. “I’m so sorry to hear that Snow Cat,” Melissa said, “I can understand from another perspective, I cannot have children either, so I’ll never know about being a mother…”

Marcus poked his eyes up from under the water, deemed it to be safe for his continued existence in the world. He then lifted his head out of the water and apologized to Snow Cat, “I had to ask sister, given the way you have been acting. And considering that your appetite has been as unpredictable of late as your temperament and nocturnal activities with Master Roerich have become…”

This time all of the women hammered on his armored hide before they returned to their bathing.

₰₰ Sixty eight ₰₰​

Master Roerich, Captain Laurence and Sir Robinson walked around the encampment as preparations for their departure were being finalized. Drovers and laborers worked hard on ensuring all the wagons were in shape for the hard journey ahead, supplies and trade goods properly stowed, duties gone over one more time and the order of progress for each part of the expedition as the group marched.

“How soon Master Roerich,” Sir Robinson asked, his thick coat muffling the slight noise his fine chainmail suit made from beneath. “How soon until we can move, open the trade route, and finally reach Shadowdale? Or have more delays come along other than this cursed weather and the raids by the Shades and their orc allies?”

“As I have said before Sir Robinson,” Roerich said in a tone of mocked anger, his smile reassured the Knight that no insult was intended, “four days, five at the most and we depart. The rods of snow parting, and snow melting are already being mounted on specified tack and harness and wagons. Our progress will be slow, some ten to twelve miles a day at best, barring any major disasters.”

“Right now though I am concerned about the Abbey of the Sword; the scouts have reported that our enemies are gathering at the sight of Broken-bridges. We have to take that place, or the first river tributaries will stop us in our tracks.” Master Roerich declared as he shook his head in exasperation.

Captain Laurence spoke up, “The other matter is, our scouts are being ground down by sharp-shooting orcs who use hit and run tactics; and this is in addition to the Shades, whom I expect to conduct more hit and run raids on us as well.”

“We are being lured in, on ground they know well, and one we have to fight for,” Sir Robinson said.

“Then we need to bring them to battle in that area on our terms,” Captain Laurence said, “We still have four days left; and given that you are to lead this part of the battle for Broken-bridges, consult with Marcus and with Snow Cat, both are excellent tacticians. Hopefully they will be able to counter any Draco-liches or the like that show up…” he looked at Master Roerich, “unless you can summon those Cloud Rays for a second time…”

“No, such magic is powerful and the personal cost it extracts is immense,” Master Roerich said no more on that matter. “As for Snow Cat and Marcus, we will have to wait until they get back from bathing with some of the other ladies.”

“Master Roerich, it sounds like you and Snow Cat are going to be doing some ‘consultations’ of your own. The kind that results in lots of gymnastics, cute little mewling from her and the inevitable cries of rapturous bliss as the discussion ends.” Sir Robinson declared with a sly grin that left Master Roerich flabbergasted.

The trio laughed as they walked onward and discussed, as most men are prone to do, the ladies who are the center of their universes.

“I have to admit,” Roerich said, “Hanna has done fantastically with Marcus; and Snow Cat is amazing in her own special way. Who could have imagined she would have fallen for an old scoundrel like me. Though she has this fascination with games of ‘strip chess’ and the like…I heard she and Pearl beat the Sgt Kenneth in another game; though with a different wager this time around…”

“As a matter of fact those two did Master Roerich,” declared Councilman Justinian of the High Vale, “though I hope Sergeant Kenneth and some of his more…amorous men will learn some restraint. Snow Cat has won a lot of their clothing and uniforms, and our replacement supplies for them are running low – though she has offered to sell her winnings back at ‘generous prices.’

“That sounds like Snow Cat to the end,” Captain Laurence stated as the quartet of men walked past the wagons of the High Vale diplomats. They paused to look over Sergeant Kenneth as he stood watch, hand on his cutlass and his winter cloak gently blowing in the wind.

“Lost another bet dear Sergeant?” Captain Laurence asked as he looked the man over, and noted the way the pirate costume fit him to a letter. “Looks like Snow Cat and Pearl have been getting better at their chess games, this is what; five days in a row you have been losing? How long until the next ‘Strip Chess’ game, or did the humiliation of standing watch the other day in your birthday suit wean you off the game?”

The four men laughed as the good Sergeant blushed and gulped, as he fully expected to get clobbered in the next game of ‘Strip Chess’ as Snow Cat had declared her intention to play. “When am I going to learn…” he repeated that mantra over and over until his watch ended.

₰​

Shadow and Smoke watched as their target Master Roerich passed on by, mere inches away but held off their planned strike. They sensed the powerful magical wards that Roerich had recently woven into his fur-trimmed white vest, new thread-of-gold dragons blazed with iridescent fires when directly looked upon.

“Not now, he is too well defended, on guard and may have sensed us in the area,” Shadow said to his fellow assassin in the silent hand-talk. “Let us wait for a better opportunity, for I see that he will not be as easy to take down as we had first assumed. It may be the best way to deal with him is via Snow Cat, his companion and play mate.”

Smoke began to nod his head until he suddenly fell forward, a black-shafted arrow in his back.

Shadows eyes flared wide in shock and alarm as he recognized the arrow as one endowed with the ability to slay specific foes on the barest contact with their skin. He pulled back into the shadows, his back to the wagon as he held his slim blade before him; eyes desperately scanned everything in sight…

Only to feel the bite of the arrow in his back, the magical projectile piercing the wood as if it were parchment. In an instant, he joined his compatriot Smoke in the realm of death.

From the shadows nearby Lotus, the dark-elf emerged. “High Lord Cronus,” she said to her liege, “the two you sent me after are now dead, as is their compatriot Twilight. All three were shape-changing Shadow Dragons as you suspected; though I cannot be sure yet that they were in the employment of Master Roerich…”

“No matter dear Lotus,” High Lord Cronus replied with his magical spell of communications, “I shall have my revenge on Roerich, Marcus and Snow Cat, as shall you and your troops. Your deeds tonight will sew discord among the encampment, for all know that only Snow Cat has a magical bow that kills as your arrows have.”

Lotus smiled, amazed at the man who thought and schemed almost as wickedly as a dark-elf did. Minutes later she exited the camp and headed to Ashabenford in Mistledale via her flying carpet; she remained unaware of how bad she had underestimated Cronus.

 

Geeez... you're creative man

 

₰₰ Sixty nine ₰₰​

High above the winter-bound forest a lone beast flew, a nightmare come to life and given form. Creatures not deep in winter hibernation cowered and fled, desperate to find any cover from that terrifying being; for this very night the ancient Draco-lich commonly called Pale Death was on the wing and searched for any intruder near his den underneath the Abbey of Swords.

It had sensed the demise of an Ice drake earlier in the evening, then the presence of another magical being who evaded it on a flying carpet. Now it hunted for that same intruder, using care to stay away from the Heartland River Expedition encampment; it had no desire to end its unlife at the hands of a magician capable of calling to this world sixteen great Cloud Rays…

Circling away from the encampment it flapped its skeletal wings and climbed higher into the cloudy sky above, determined to hunt and slay the intruder if it can…

₰​

Dame Foxglove squealed and squirmed in delight as she leaned against Marcus’s large mass; she struggled to keep the thick blanket over her nude form, failed, and let her hands reach down to teasingly run through Snow Cats hair. A wave of pure hedonistic bliss surged and clawed up through her body, crashed into her mind and caused her pelvis to thrust upward in response.

“You do that so well Snow Cat,” Dame Foxglove purred as her eyes closed and her breath quickened. Each flicker of Snow Cats tongue and puckered lips upon her womanhood induced new heights, depths, widths and dimensions of bliss unlike any she had ever experienced. Reluctant at first to join the ladies in their activities, she finally gave in, curious as to what it would be like, not to mention she desired some time free form the demands placed upon her almost every waking moment.

Her body continued to writhe and dance as she pressed harder against the armored hide of Marcus, being careful to stay clear of the iron-hard, razor-sharp projections folded along the sides of his huge frame. She felt the great furnace-heat emitted by him which warmed the air along with the magic Hanna had cast upon them, her ears picked up the steady bellows-like breathing and thundering of his massive heart. Even the pounding of his blood she felt through her hand that came back to brace her up…

A deep intake of air filled her heated lungs as Snow Cat reached an extremely arousing spot, one that threatened to cause her eyes to cross and her body to erupt in flames. “How you can do it to me, and have it done to you in turn Snow Cat I’ll never fully understand…”

A high pitched squeal of passionate bliss escaped her lips, and informed the world that her time will soon be at hand. “Oh man, this is better than you described my dear girl…”

The other ladies giggled and squealed in turn as they shared in the feast of flesh on flesh while Marcus kept a calm watch over the area.

₰​

Pale Death spotted a gathered band of revelers near the old pond to the east of the encampment, just past the base of Hap-tooth Hill.

He sensed and then saw the small dragon – the one called Marcus, it recalled, by Grandfather of the Night, and others, including the cat-girl Snow Cat. The strange sensations Pale Death sensed in regards to the cat-girl gave it pause and caused it to circle around from a safe distance if it had to hastily retreat from the region; for centuries of life, and then of unlife had taught it to be cautious around unknown foes, for even Draco-liches are far from immortal.

His preternaturally keen senses, so much greater than those of any living dragon, told the truth of the cat-girls heritage: she is a Draco-were of immense power, one to be feared for she could exterminate Pale Death with contemptible ease given half a chance, and the inclination to do so…

So it was that Pale Death had begun to swing to the east, determined to avoid detection and final annihilation…

And thus it spotted its prey on that magical carpet…

It climbed higher into the sky, then began a steep dive, determined to rid itself of this nuisance once and for all.

₰​

Snow Cat felt the ministration of Pearl on her womanhood as she pleasured Dame Foxglove. She loved the taste of human and elven women, the heady sweet-sour tang that accompanied every stroke of her tongue and the soft texture that was strong and yielding of flesh before her lips that teased, pleased and pleasured all in one.

She felt her hips move and shift, her back arch and relax as Pearl alternated the usage of her fingers and tongue on Snow Cats womanhood. “Oh yeah, just like that Pearl, keep it up,” she said as a crushing pressure of heat and bliss assailed her brain, causing her to thrust back, her tail smacking Pearl across the neck, cheeks and upper back.

She returned to pleasuring Dame Foxglove as her keen hearing detected the rasping from Pearl as Hanna went to work on Pearls womanhood. A quick look over at Hanna drew a smile of delight for her, as Hanna had hit her climax moments before, and redoubled her effort on Pearl while Foxy and Melissa moved to engage in a heated sixty-nine romp of love and raw, unadulterated lust.

A moment later Pearls ministrations caused her to inhale and clench her teeth, her climax well on the way…

₰​

“Told you Dame Foxglove that she can do wonders for a lady,” Pearl said with a wide grin as she raised her head from behind Snow Cat.

Pearls face was flushed, heated beyond normal by the tender ministrations of Hanna on her own womanhood in such a way that all but caused her to melt into the ground, her body felt on fire from head to toe. She gasped and gulped as Hanna’s exploring lips and tongue found that one spot all ladies have which gives them the most pleasure possible.

“Right there Hanna, right there…” Pearl cried as her eyes closed and her body began to shake. She moved back down on Snow Cat and resumed ministering to her womanhood; she luxuriated in the heady tastes – sweet and sour – that are distinctly those of a cat-girl. She heard the shrill screams of Melissa and Foxy, deep into giving pleasure to each other, as they hit their climax.

In short order, Pearl and Hanna added their own screams of delight along with that of Dame Foxglove.

Snow Cat though gritted her teeth, determined not to scream out like she usually did…but could not contain the massive cry of primordial pleasure that roared forward from the depths of her being. Her cry echoed across the pond and into the forests depths as she collapsed on the blanket the ladies were upon.

Breathing hard, Snow Cat looked around at the other ladies and smiled. “Give me a minute and I’ll be ready for the next round of our evening’s activities.”

“How long with the warming spell of yours hold out Hanna?” Dame Foxglove asked as she waved a hand over her flushed cheeks, “I don’t want to be half-way through our fun and suddenly get frozen solid by the chilled night air all around us…”

“We have a good three hours Dame Foxglove,” Hanna said as she got onto her hands and knees. Her eyes took on a glazed appearance as Pearl sat down behind her and commenced to pleasure Hanna’s womanhood. “Of course we also have Marcus to thank for this; his fire-based heritage is keeping the area warmed so long as he can keep those great internal furnaces stoked…’

₰​

Lotus looked down on that annoying dragon and his sister Snow Cat, plus the other women deep in the heated throws of passion and grinned. Here, high on her flying carpet, she had the perfect vantage point to take them down without fear of reprisal…she would start with that blasted dragon…

She lifted her bow and nocked a slaying arrow specifically made to kill a dragon on contact with its skin.

“Now to say goodbye Marcus, you shall be dead…” Lotus stopped in mid-sentence as she sensed the approach of a truly ancient and powerful creature…

She scanned the skies around and below, looking for the unknown creature that threatened her. Despite her best efforts, and due to her being trained as a land-bound warrior, she never understood that her hunter was a being of the air, and came from above…

Nor would she ever learn that lesson…

For a moment later she was dead, her and her magic carpet chewed to pieces in the great jaws of Pale Death.

₰​

Marcus detected the flight of Pale Death far overhead, along with the passage of Lotus but did not say anything to the ladies who so enjoyed each others company. He figured the southern half of the river-route was going to be a fight beyond anything they had known to date – now confirmed by the appearance of Pale Death.

The demise of the archer on the flying carpet did not bother him, as he rightfully suspected there had been another raid on the encampment of the Heartland River Expedition by its rider.

Marcus decided to take a chance and learn something of the expedition’s newest foe. He reached deep into the song of all dragons and soon found the corrupted melody that represented the darkness and foulness of unlife of Pale Death.

“Draco-lich, hear me,” Marcus stated to it, “I will give this one warning to you and all others who wish to try and stop the Heartland River Expedition. If you and the others of your kind value your continued existence then do not oppose us or support those who decide to do battle with us. You know the strength we possess, in magic, men and in dragons. Understand, and I say again, this is the only warning you shall have…”

“Hatchling, few beings would dare to issue such a threat to me,” Pale Death stated, “I have lived more years alive and dead and undead again than you and the entire expedition combined have. Few can stand against me, yet I will consider your words.”

Marcus watched with his preternaturally keen vision the movements of Pale Death, prepared to rise to do battle if the Draco-lich circled about to attack. Something bothered him about this particular undead dragon, a feeling he could not quite place…

“Mind you dragon,” Pale Death declared unto Marcus, “that the Grandfather, Mother, and Father of the Night of the Abbey of the Sword may choose otherwise.”

“So be it,” Marcus declared and withdrew from the song of all dragons.

“I will have the answer for you tomorrow night,” Pale Death declared as the song faded, “meet me one mile to the north of this location, among the wooded hillside referred to as the ‘smoking mound’ by the primitive orc-kin in the region.”

Marcus mulled over this new information, plus the fact the Draco-lich wanted to ‘meet’ with him at a time and place of its own choice. He detected no deception in the dragon’s words, but already knew that when the two of them met, it will be to do battle, for no dragon, living or undead would allow a rival to pass through their own lands unchallenged.

He could not figure out why the Draco-lich mentioned the titles of the Shades who occupied the Abbey of the Sword. Only one reason came to mind – the chance for the Draco-lich to have his enemies or controllers taken out, along with one or more of his rival Draco-liches.

He looked down at the ladies, deep in their passion filled gyrations and smiled, thrilled that Hanna had found some time for romance among her own kind…though he did long for the mating-time to catch up with her and then they can have their own fun…
Only one thing still troubled him as of late, something he never had considered before. How can his sister Snow Cat, unable to have children anymore since the birth of Cronus so long ago, undergo the mating-time urges she does every twenty years or so…

Her body should not be doing that, yet recently she had passed through the time, and for the few weeks she would be receptive to a mate for bearing offspring, she had been with Master Roerich…

He dismissed the matter from his mind.

For now though he had to debate the matter of the Abbey of the Sword, and find more information within the song of all dragons…as for the contact with Pale Death…

He decided to tell everyone else after they fought…assuming he survived the battle.

 

₰₰ Seventy ₰₰​

Marcus looked upon the landscape identified by Pale Death as the “Smoking Mound,” and grinned. The mound was a series of wooded knolls and ravines, massive mounds of rock and raw earth, bubbling hot springs and mud pits which combined with an acrid mist rich in sulfur and brimstone from a volcano’s heart deep beneath the surface.

He looked at the twin moons high overhead that approached full brightness. His preternaturally keen senses failed to detect anything larger than a snow hare and three lynx on the hunt; he had arrived, as planned far ahead of his enemy…

Marcus drew upon his mystical reserves and prepared for the coming battle.

First he called into existence the Ghost Wreath which enshrouded his body in a field of mystical force alive with witch-light fires. The field rendered him nearly immune to spells, physical attacks and the like as the force from each is deflected, channeled or absorbed and returned upon its caster or wielder; and he enacted a subtle twist devised by Master Roerich a few weeks ago…

So long as the Ghost Wreath remained viable, he could ‘store’ pre-cast spells and discharge them with no more than a single thought. Thus stored, the additional preparations he made heightened the devastation his claws, tail and bite would inflict upon the magic-sustained life-essence that animated Pale Death; plus ones that modified his fiery breath and others that hastened his reflexes, enhanced his strength and constitution, plus the Hastening magic that will allow him to move faster than normal.

“Just in time,” Marcus declared as through the gaps in the snow covered trees he spotted Pale Death approach and cautiously circle the area. He snorted a great cloud of ash and brimstone that steamed in the chilled air, his contempt for Pale Death now absolute, for he finally understood what had bothered him the other day, and knew exactly what kind of dragon he now faced…and how vulnerable it truly was before him.

Still he cautioned himself to never underestimate any foe…too many of his own enemies had perished for that exact kind of hubris in regards to Marcus and Snow Cat.

₰​

Snow Cat pulled her magical cloak tighter around her body as she wandered about in search of Marcus. She had awakened from a troubled sleep, the song of all dragons played loud and clear as always in her dreams, yet this time there was a disharmony to the melodies; it spoke of strife, war and battle soon to happen between a pair of dragons, a confrontation that inevitably will end in the death of one or the other…

“Roerich, have you seen Marcus?” she asked of Master Roerich.

“No Snow Cat, he passed on our usual chess game tonight.” Roerich stroked his chin and looked at her, “Come to think of it, he was acting somewhat odd. I just figured Hanna was having difficulties or such learning more of her draconic heritage…”


Snow Cats expression became crestfallen, her ears drooped and eyes teared up as she began to understand what her brother had gotten into this night. “No, no, no, that hard headed, no good, thrice-blasted four-legged furnace of a brother of mine…” she ranted, turned around and bolted for her wagon. Her cloak streamed behind her as a pendant in the wind, her every step accompanied by a dozen curses that made the most hardened soldier blush in embarrassment.

People howled in shock and surprise, animals reared and neighed or whinnied; she paid them no mind, for she needed to get to her bow and armor. Her brother, for some idiotic reason, had taken it upon himself, to go off and fight one or more of the Draco-liches in the region, and he will need her help.

₰​

Pale Death circled the smoking mound, and sought to ensure that Marcus was alone before they met to do battle. He had already enacted his magical defenses and expected to easily defeat Marcus based on all he had learned of the dragons abilities though his divination magic and the lore hidden within the song of all dragons.

“It shall be a brief but interesting fight,” Pale Death declared to no one in particular, “and after this I will find a way to destroy that Draco-were Snow Cat as well.”

Personally, Pale Death desired the elimination of those who dominated and controlled it from within the Abbey of the Sword. Hence, he had passed on to Marcus the tidbit of information concerning their leadership, but even then he could not be sure if the combined might of the Heartland River Expedition could destroy them…

There was a second reason why he had decided to battle Marcus. Night Shade, the liege lord of the Draco-liches in the region, promised him a dragon king’s ransom to the first one who could defeat Marcus or Snow Cat, plus elevation to Rulership over the region.

So it is that Pale Death has come to do battle, determined to win his freedom and fortune and kingdom as he had been promised by his liege lord…

Of course the small complication of having to kill Marcus remained.

After ten minutes of circling the mound, convinced that Marcus truly was alone, he commenced to land near the top of one wooded tor amidst the acrid mists that swept the region. His supernaturally keen senses located the heartbeat of Marcus within a few seconds, and informed him that he was headed to face Pale Death.

₰​

“Greetings, you pathetic excuse for a dragon,” Marcus growled, his eyes glowed with white hot fires as the internal furnaces of his body radiated waves of heat that rippled across the terrain. His every step melted snow with an infernal hiss that spoke like the souls of the damned.

He reveled in the fear that crossed the undead dragons face as he relentlessly closed the distance between the two of them. “Yes you miserable pile of bones, I know exactly what you were; the choice of this place made it manifestly clear for me. Even when you searched for knowledge of me in the song of all dragons I knew of your every move and discovery as only a true dragon can.”


“What do you know of me Marcus,” Pale Death said to Marcus, his eyes green pools of unholy fire. “I know all I need to for your destruction. You know nothing of a Draco-lich who had been birthed by the cosmos itself. I cannot be defeated, unlike you…”

“Oh no Wrack-dragon, I understand you all too well.” Marcus grinned as Pale Death shuddered. “You are a Wrack-dragon, brought to this world from the dimension of pure elemental fire, bound to the will of Night Shade in life, and now more so in unlife…you have forsaken what it means to be a dragon, and have joined in the realm of the dead…”

Pale Death reared on his hind legs and unleashed a feral roar which ignited the shrubs and trees, caused the very hot springs to boil and froth while the mud pits danced and curdled. The acrid mists parted in a wave of frost-fire that shifted, danced, pulsated, undulated, glowed and writhed in blue-white ghostly light common to the undead of this world.

Marcus reared upward as well; wings spread wide and unleashed a savage roar of challenge that charged the air with smoke, flame and brimstone. His body danced and blazed with a cacophony of iridescent fires of all kinds as the very ground shook with such force that boulders shifted, rock formations tore asunder and trees twisted as they fell to the ground after strong roots snapped like dry reeds.

Pale Death backpedaled from this brutal demonstration of Marcus’s determination and power. He saw Marcus lunge forward in a blur of motion, and braced his body to receive the assault, determined to disembowel his living adversary in a single rake from his rear talons…

But Marcus had other plans on how to deal with a Draco-lich as he saw Pale Death fall for his feint. He reared and inhaled, his chest expanded outward as the inner furnaces stoked to fever pitched intensity, boosted by the magic he had enacted earlier…

₰​

The battle cries of Marcus and Pale Death rolled over the encampment and caused heads to turn, many a soul made signs to ward off bad luck or foul spirits. Some said silent prayers or goodbyes to their loved ones incase a demon had come and they may never see each other again. Guards on duty clutched shields and spears or blades tighter in their grips, senses strained to their limits to detect the first sign of the unknown combatants in the darkness beyond the outer defenses…

But for those who understood the language of the dragons the cries were all too clear: battle between Marcus and another dragon had commenced.

Snow Cat shot out the door of her wagon, having hastily donned her armor, magical bow in one hand, and quiver in the other. She bolted for the last place she had seen Hanna, and hoped she could convince the young lady to take her aloft and into battle; if not she would have only one real choice left…

“Hanna!” Snow Cat cried out as she passed Master Roerich who lifted one hand outward and swept her up in a strong-gripped gigantic hand of force which floated three feet off the ground. She ranted, raved, cursed and swore as Roerich came over to her.

“Snow Cat, what in the blazes is going on out there that has you in such a panic?” Roerich asked of her.


“Blast it, Marcus is fighting one of the Draco-liches not far from here,” Snow Cat shouted at him, her eyes now all but ablaze within their liquid emerald-green depths. Her anger redoubled, for Roerich had whistled and dismissed the gigantic hand with a simple gesture, which caused her to fall to the ground with all the grace of a sack of potatoes.

“Right now I need to find Hanna or get someone to take me to that area,” she all but pleaded with Roerich, her eyes welling up to the point of tears, “he won’t last long…”

She shushed up as Master Roerich placed two fingers to his lips and gave off a sharp, piercing whistle that drew the attention of all within earshot. Her expression turned to one of shock and uttermost disbelief when a sudden flash of light illuminated a massive cloud of blue-white mist…upon which formed a pair of ghostly eyes and a single mouth.

“Bear her to the scene of the battle and ensure she and her brother are safe, do as she commands until you are freed by her or have returned her to this spot,” Roerich commanded the creature of elemental air he had called from another dimension. With the wave of his hand at Snow Cat he dispatched the creature, carrying a loudly screaming cat-girl, unto the battle.

Captain Laurence, accompanied by Dame Lae’lion and a handful of the Knights of Essembra rushed to the side of Master Roerich as he bade them to back up and give him room. “Dame Lae’lion, you have charge of the encampment until I get back,” Roerich yelled, “Prepare to do battle with a Draco-lich or three, for the fight that Marcus is conducting right now may be nothing more than a distraction…”

Dame Lae’lion nodded as she wondered if her friend Roerich was headed for his final battle.

Everyone gasped as he crossed his arms over his fur-trimmed white vest, fingertips touching each shoulder, and shouted a single word of mystical power. Instantly he was consumed in a pillar of white hot flame that glowed with purity of cause and deed, embodied and personified all truth of what is good, holy, sacred, and of life, love, law and order.

The pure flame ascended into the heavens and unfolded twin wings of pure radiant light, and then the mighty body and head formed, followed by legs and the tail feathers. Its eyes, twin pools of infinite glory and beauty, looked down on all around it and nodded in approval…

Then it called out, the cry quickened the heart and blood of all who heard, healed wounds and cured sickness, comforted those who grieved and heightened the feelings of affection between those who loved with pure heart and intent.

The great bird flew off to assist Marcus and all understood what had occurred before their very eyes…

For a short time, Roerich had become the legendary Phoenix.

₰​

High Lord Cronus stood among the gathered dark-elf warriors once led by Lotus and reveled in the sheer looks of hatred that showed on their faces. Not hatred for him, but for the ones who Cronus declared had slain their belated commander…


“Snow Cat and Marcus informed the Draco-lich known as Pale Death as to Lotus’s location. They had enchanted the flying carpet, one that I had provided for her scouting mission, to have it cease motion when the Draco-lich appeared,” High Lord Cronus declared.

He went on to describe in creatively graphic and gruesome detail the ‘tortures and punishments’ enacted upon their dead commander. Even the most sadistic of the dark-elves blanched at the fabricated tales, their anger and hate built to ever higher levels, until many began to pound fists upon chests or their small buckler-shields.

“I offer you this opportunity for revenge,” he declared, “I will use my magic to move most of you to where our enemies are encamped, the area where Broken-bridges is located. The rest will wait for Marcus and Pale Death to do battle and weaken one another, if Marcus the Devil Dragon survives, I will give a kings ransom in gemstones to the one of your group who delivers the death blow.”

The dark-elves cried out in anger and battle-hunger that lit their eyes with red flames akin to the heart of a kiln.

“Now for all to go unto battle,” High Lord Cronus declared, “may the lady of Darkness, Shar herself, guide and bless your efforts and your own dark goddess as well.”

With a great cheer the dark-elves assumed formation for battle and held still as Cronus used his magic to send them off; little did they know he intended to sacrifice them, as he did with Lotus, to weaken the Shades of the Abbey of the Sword and their orc-tribe forces.

He needed the Heartland River Expedition to win through, though only after they have been damaged as much as possible. And if the Draco-liches came through on their end of the deal, he had promised them the wealth of the entire expedition as their prize. If they failed, then he is out nothing in the greater scheme of things.

Crossing is the point of decision, unless something unexpected occurred…

And given the displayed abilities of Marcus, Snow Cat and Master Roerich, he could not discount that probability coming about to one degree or another. Just to be sure, he had already secured the means to let the four Draco-liches live again…just incase…

₰₰ Seventy one ₰₰​

Enveloped by the pure sun-fires of Marcus’s breath, Pale Night screamed, injured worse than it had been in its life and unlife. Bones charred and smoked, fine cracks appeared here and there as a portion of one massive rib tore free and tumbled to the ground; the pools of unholy green flame in its eyes writhed and flickered, as the unholy magic which bound his life-essence to his bone body was assaulted and partly undone.

Marcus bodily slammed into Pale Death, and grabbed the Draco-liches neck in his mighty jaws, while his claws and tail inflicted more and more damage with each passing moment. For once in his life, Marcus thanked the cosmos that Brother Hart insist on him learning the spell of ‘Ghost Touch.’ That formidable magic allowed his natural weaponry to bypass the supernatural defenses of undead creatures such as Pale Death and harm them as if they still were mortal, living and breathing foes.

Pale Death rolled on his back, seeking to impale Marcus upon the enchanted bone-frills that lined his back, only to find them denied by the Ghost Wreath. He screamed as his own attack returned on him in full, great gouges rising along his ribcage, neck and skull; then desperation set in and he spoke a single world of corruption and unholy power from the language of undefined evil called the Dark Speech.

Marcus screamed in pain as blood flowed in mighty rivulets from his eyes, mouth and nose. Stunned, he lashed out with his sun-fire breath where he assumed his opponent stood, unaware until the last minute that Pale Death had closed to point-blank range and had empowered his hellish breath with the Dark Speech into a force of absolute corruption and perversion…

₰​

Pale Death unleashed an incinerating holocaust of amethyst fires that perverted the natural world. Reality itself warped and bent and shook and tore, as the great flare of corruption tore through the ‘Ghost Wreath’ that protected Marcus, pierced his armored hide and consumed him from the inside out.

“And so passes the might Marcus, he who assumed a Draco-lich to be so easily defeated,” Pale Death said. He relished the last screams of Marcus as the upstart dragon succumbed; his body reduced to a molten mass of goop and bones…which dissolved into a mass of embers and lights that ascended into the night sky

Pale Death cursed to the heavens as he swung around, seeking his foe who had created the illusion and then used a short-range teleport spell to move out of the way; a brilliant tactic, two spells prepared and bound as one ahead of time, that once again demonstrated Marcus to be a formidable opponent.

That brilliance was demonstrated a second time as Marcus loosed the remaining stored magic within the Ghost Wreath. Eight blasts of clinging sun-fire hit Pale Death and wrought more devastation as he howled in ever greater pain from the essence of sunlight which clawed, tore and devoured at his body and unnatural existence.

Marcus landed upon Pale Death for a second time, and both great dragons – living and undead – rolled across the land and into one of the frothing hot springs. The water surged upon the shores in great waves while clouds of steam hissed in protest from the intense inner fires of Marcus. Then a chain of great blasts from deep in the depths as light and darkness clashed with enough force to shake the ground and rend massive gouges in the living stone.


Pale Death shot from the bubbling spring, flung upward by a great blast of rending force which mauled his bone body. One great wing disintegrated along with a foreleg and part of his ribcage. The mighty Draco-lich landed by the pools edge with a thundering crash, more bones breaking free.

Pale Death struggled to follow Marcus’s ascension into the night sky as he leaped free of the water, wings spread wide as he reached the apex silhouetted against the nearly full moons. He shuddered at the sight of the pure white flames that lived in Marcus’s eyes, a purity of purpose and life that told Pale Death his time on this world has now come to an end…

₰​

Marcus tore and savaged the bony remains of Pale Death, determined to ensure his opponent will never come back into the world again as some Draco-liches are prone to do. Time and again he unleashed the sun-fire breath over the bones until each one had been reduced to fine ash and powder, then upon these remains he cast a sacred blessing taught to him long ago by the Druids, one that would ensure any undead will never arise a second time.

Duly finished, Marcus gave off a derisive snort of disgust for the now annihilated Draco-lich and took stock of his own injuries. He still shook and walked uneasily from being hammered by the corrupted touch of the Dark Speech and cringed at the thought of a more powerful Draco-lich using it upon him in battle. In the depths of the hot spring the claw-to-claw battle had been a brutal, no-holds-barred action, which breached the Ghost Wreath and scored many wounds upon him, despite the toughness of his natural armor.

One wing throbbed at the joint where it met his body, a series of gouges torn in the iron-hard membrane.

He shook his head and looked up at the stars used by many for navigation across great distances and figured out which way the encampment lay in; then slowly headed off, one pain filled step at a time, determined to use the time wisely and figure out how to tell Snow Cat what happened.

“I’ll be fortunate if she does not up and kill me for her having missed the fun,” Marcus said.

“You so have that right you iron-plated four-legged excuse for a brother of mine,” Snow Cat shouted at him as the air elemental landed and gently lowered her to the ground. “Blast it, you know we fight as a team Marcus, we always have save for when you go off and get into trouble like this…” she stopped and gasped as she took in the wounds that slowly dripped white-hot colored blood.

Roerich arrived moments later, his fiery form illuminated the entire hill region with light as pure as that of the noonday sun. Seeing no threats in the immediate area he landed and returned to his human shape; then began to help Snow Cat attend to Marcus’s wounds with potions of magical healing he carried with him at all times.

“Somehow Snow Cat I have a feeling this is the beginning of our troubles,” Roerich stated as the distant cries of three dragons sounded out, declaring they had begun to do battle with another foe far up the river-trail.

 

₰₰ Seventy two ₰₰​

“And so the Draco-lich known as Pale Death has ceased to exist, the one called Marcus has emerged as the victor,” Grandfather of the Darkness declared. He waved a hand over the glowing image of Marcus and turned to face his fellow Shades, each one a warrior-priest who had sacrificed their mortal bodies and souls for immortal shadow forms given life and solidity, watched the last threads of scrying magic dissipate back into the natural world.

“Weakened as he is, Marcus now can be safely eliminated from the battlefield,” Grandfather of the Darkness said, “go my warriors and deal with him, bring victory and honor to our order and our liege lord Night Shade. We must avenge the defeat of the fallen Pale Death, and strive to defeat all of our orders enemies of the expedition who is soon to march onto our homeland.”

As one, the Shades assumed formations and began to march into the shadows that clung to the chambers walls; then vanished into the darkened depths as they stepped instantly across the world’s surface, to emerge near the location of Marcus and began their hunt…

₰​

The Shades emerged from the darkness of the shadow world and spread out into their battle formations. All of them knew that Marcus, weakened or not, would still be a dangerous adversary; and right now the fewer of the Shades taken down by him before he succumbed to the hands of death, the better.

None of them detected the masters of stealth, who hunted for Marcus as well, the dark-elves that Lotus had commanded. The battle which resulted was chaotic and vicious beyond any human comprehension as neither side showed or expected mercy, and most of the dark-elves had been obliterated before the last Shade fell.

The few survivors headed to Broken-bridges and linked with their fellow brethren. They learned of the massacre of the Abbeys forces wrought there at the dark-elves hands, and of equally great losses suffered as with the dragon-hunters. As one, they decided to depart for their home in the depths of the earth.

₰​

“I hope they do better than the units we positioned at Broken-bridges,” Mother of the Darkness said as she entered the chamber, “I have returned from the site and must report that the entire force of warrior-priests we sent there has been eradicated to the last. Even the orc-kin we gathered for the confrontation with this Master Roerich are scattered to winds, slain by the contingent of dark-elves who suddenly appeared.”

“What of my son, Father of the Night?” Grandfather of the Darkness asked, his voice filled with dread for the first time in centuries. “And have we found who sent the dark-elves there in the first place?”

Mother of the Darkness answered, “Father of the Darkness still lives, he is preparing the final details to wipe out the Heartland River Expedition in detail; his trap is quite cleaver and should do the job.” She explained the plan to which Grandfather of the Darkness smiled in wicked delight. She continued, “As to who sent them, I may have a guess as to that…High Lord Cronus of Mistledale. I believe we should pay a visit to him and his minions after our troops finish off Marcus.”


“Indeed,” Grandfather of the Darkness declared, “in the one battle, there at Broken-bridges against the dark-elves, we have lost more of our Shade warriors than we had lost in generations. It will take us millennia or more to recover from this carnage, even with the three Draco-liches who still, hopefully, remain under our control.”

“You have reason to doubt the control over them granted by Night Shade?” Mother of the Darkness asked.

“When it comes to that one, can anything truly be reasoned not to have multiple layers of meaning and action?” Grandfather of the Darkness declared. “We must be cautious, and use our remaining resources wisely, once we have defeated Marcus and then taken our revenge upon Cronus.”

Grandfather of the Darkness never had his chance to deal with High Lord Cronus, for a messenger ran up to him and Mother of the Darkness, declaring that the three Draco-liches Furnace, Charcoal, and Midnight demanded to see him at once.

“Such arrogance of those unholy beasts,” Grandfather of the Darkness declared as he marched to meet with the three great dragons in the Abbeys outer courtyard. Many of the servants and lesser protectors of the order, those who have yet to become Shades, bowed and groveled before him as he passed through halls and chambers, taking his time to remind the impatient dragons that they served him and not the other way around.

In the courtyard Grandfather of the Darkness marched up to Furnace, the greatest of the three and directed the nightmare given life, “Kneel before me Furnace, as I am your master and keeper. Kneel before me now and give me your allegiance anew and understand your rightful place in the order of…”

He stopped in mid sentence, wondering what was wrong as the great fire-dragon looked upon him with eyes of red flame. Then Furnace chuckled at him, revealing he had no more control over any of the Draco-liches to keep him safe from their wrath…

“High Lord Cronus sends his regards,” Furnace declared, “he freed us from your mystical chains of domination that shackled us to your commands. Same with Mange, the magician of Aencar’s manor; together we will stop this ridiculous expedition you have so foolishly engaged earlier, and this is being done with permission of our true liege – Night Shade.”

Grandfather of the Darkness knew his time in the world had come to an end as all three dragons reared, inhaled and unleashed their breath weapons at him…the rest of those who dwelt in the Abbey of the Sword perished within the hour, and so the order of the warrior-priests ceased to exist; save for one who planned to deal with Cronus, after he obliterated the Heartland River Expedition…

₰​

Several men and women watched the carnage wrought at the Abbey of the Sword, and looked upon their leader, the wolf-were Badger. They had already determined that a massacre had taken place at the area of broken- bridges; though that one had involved Shade against dark-elves from some unknown place which raided the area with a vengeance.

“Crane,” he said to the magician who had accompanied them “use your magic when it’s safe to communicate with the expedition and tell what we have seen. Half of you maintain watch in this area; I will take the rest over to the Manor’s area and see if we can discover more of what is facing us there.”

Two hours later Badger and his scouts had their answer, and were not pleased; for the manor was completely empty of warriors. Enough space was available to house a legion of them, and yet they had vanished.

₰₰ Seventy three ₰₰​

Back in the encampment Marcus was clucked and worried over by many healers, especially Hanna – in her human form for the present time - who had scolded him to no end. “Honestly Marcus,” she said with a scowl at her soul-mate, “you are supposed to be teaching me about fighting as a dragon; instead you keep forgetting the most basic rule of all…don’t get hit!’

Marcus heard a distinct set of footsteps and turned to see Master Roerich headed in his direction. From the look on his face, Marcus expected to catch a wrath-filled Hades-bound tail-chewing for having gone off on his own to deal with Pale Death.

“Marcus, Hanna, good the two of you are here together,” Master Roerich calmly said, “I had hoped to see Snow Cat here, it would have made my task a bit easier.”

“She has been feeling rather sick this morning Master Roerich,” Hanna said, “As soon as I’m done checking out my hard-headed husband here,” she tenderly tapped Marcus’s armored chest, “I’m headed over to see how she is doing.”

“Good,” Master Roerich said as he looked up at Marcus, “You and her will be needed shortly. Barring a sudden storm appearing we are set to move in three days. One Draco-liches is destroyed; there has been a massacre of the Shades and the orc-kin who assisted them at the location of Broken-bridges.”

Marcus mulled this last portion over and nodded his head, “You think that the forces within Night Shades army have had a falling out amongst each other? What of the Abbey of the Sword and the Draco-liches spotted in the area? Plus that of Aencar’s Manor, anything there to report or what?”

“To answer your questions – dark-elves were found among the massacred foes at Broken-bridges; they carried arrows akin to the ones used to kill three of our ‘guards’ who turned out to be Shadow Dragons of Night Shade. So if I had to guess this division among them one source comes to mind, and hence why I am talking to you and Hanna first…” Master Roerich said.

“High Lord Cronus,” Hanna said, suddenly sick to her stomach. “Snow Cat is going to freak…”

“Yes,” Master Roerich declared as he shook his head, “but back to the matter at hand. Right now we have some of the wolf-were’s watching the Abbey and the Manor. The three Draco-liches are confirmed to be in the Abbey and the Shades are nowhere around – we think they have been destroyed. As for the manor, the forces stationed there have vanished…”

“And thus the newest dilemma, how do we crack these problems?” Marcus declared, having grasped the tactical problem instantly. As he had discussed with Sir Roerich, each position had to be taken in turn – the Abbey, Manor, and Broken-bridges are major strong points for a defender; any assault not conducted with care would see the forces massacred or delayed for many a week.

“Let me think about it, I’ll talk again with Sir Robinson,” Marcus said. “There has to be a simple way we can crack all three locations, and deal with the Draco-liches in one swoop. It’s not going to be easy though; unless I can challenge the Draco-liches one at a time before our forces get to them…OUCH!”


Marcus turned his head and glared at Hanna as she pulled her fist back from one of his recently healed wounds. His ears lowered back along his skull and he nodded to her, and then moved to nuzzle Hanna’s cheek with his armored nose. “Sorry Hanna,” he declared, “let me amend that previous statement, unless we – I, Hanna and Snow Cat – can take them out one at a time…”

“Good then,” Master Roerich said, then looked at Marcus and sighed, “let me know your plans, and those you and Robinson, manage to create. You, Hanna and Snow Cat are the only true dragons we have along with us, to my knowledge that is…unless some of the Sisters of Essembra have followed us after all…”

“No, they have not,” Marcus declared with finality to his words. “Owl declared their business with us to have been finished. And so it shall be, Essembra is their home and with High Lord Cronus – may I have the chance to incinerate him – having threatened them and Battledale as a whole, they are needed there.”

₰​

Hanna listened to the conversation between Master Roerich and Marcus for some time and wondered just how much she could contribute to the coming fight. The injuries inflicted upon Marcus by the smallest of the four Draco-liches had left her unnerved, afraid for her love and for her co-mate; they are a practiced team in battle, she is but a third branch who can hardly hold her own…

Or could she, an idea occurred to her, one so crazy that Marcus and Roerich probably would assume she had lost her mind completely.

“Master Roerich,” Hanna said, “That magic in which you used to become a Phoenixfor a short time, can you teach it to Marcus and Snow Cat? I know it’s beyond my ability at this time,” she looked down and scuffed the snow covered ground with the tip of her boot, “and probably will be…”

Roerich looked at her with a bit of confusion until Marcus nuzzled her cheek with his armored nose and gave off a great chuckle. “I can provide copies of the spell recorded in my spell books. Marcus, there are some thirty variations of the spell; including some that you can command as well Hanna…”

Roerich ran over the basic variations and how the magic functioned. “One thing I have to ask the two of you to keep quiet,” he softly said to them, “I have been crafting a spell book for Snow Cat, one that allows her to draw on her draconic heritage…”

Marcus moved faster than greased lightning and looked at Master Roerich eye to eye, his great head inches from the caravan master. Roerich returned the savage stare in equal measure, no longer tolerant of Marcus’s rather heavy handed protection of his sister.

“Has Snow Cat spoken to you of her heritage Roerich? Do you fully understand what and who she is now?” In the past, you said you understood her in part, and I will not have her manipulated or controlled by anyone…” Marcus growled in anger, determined to make Roerich understand he will not tolerate any disrespect shown to Snow Cat.

“Marcus, yes Snow Cat told me of her Draco-were heritage and the fact she is descended from a Force Dragon,” Master Roerich calmly stated as he put one fingertip to Marcus’s armored nose. “Now then, tone down this ‘I greet you with incinerating flames’ every time I speak about such things. Snow Cat is as dear to me as Hanna is to you; and as such I will not tolerate it anymore. Remember what happened the last time we fought?”
“I love her like nothing else in my life Marcus,” Roerich said, “and I will never attempt to control or manipulate her or you or Hanna. For all intensive purposes we are family now, and besides here is something else to consider about me…” He whispered something to Marcus, whose eyes flared wide at a name he recognized and the great being of justice and fire it referred to.

Marcus sheepishly looked away and he shuddered, his body turned iridescent oranges and reds that swept his body. “Sorry about that,’ he said to Roerich, “I have been protective of my sister for so long I tend to forget she is her own person. Once Hanna is done with me here do you have time for a round of chess?”

“Always Marcus, always, but I want any revised plans made between you and Sir Robinson within two days; we cannot delay the assault for much longer.” Roerich said and nodded goodbye to Hanna who struggled to keep from laughing out loud.

“Good night to you dear Hanna,” Roerich said and then departed, whistling as he walked deeper into the encampment, and wondered how Marcus would react to the magical spell about to go off…sometimes he just cannot resist having a bit of fun.

Marcus looked around and noted many of the guards, healers and Hanna had begun to chuckle or break out in full scale laughter. Hanna gave off a humor-filled snort of delight which became a flow of outright hysterical laughter.

“What is so blasted funny…” he started to say until he felt the magic unleashed by Master Roerich blossom into life. In a flash of light Marcus wound up clad in a formal white wedding gown, appropriately modified for his draconian shape, sixty foot long silk lace train behind it, a blue bonnet upon his head with a delicate pink ribbon bedecked with flowers. A large arched wooden trellis appeared over him, its area covered with slender green vines that bloomed in six-inch soft pink roses which glowed in the night.

Silver bells chimed in mid-air a dozen varieties of wedding songs in as many languages.

Marcus’s eyes became mere slits of white-hot fire as he growled, “Hanna, Master Roerich told you what was going to happen via his magic?”

“Yes he did Marcus, it’s a kind of mind-to-mind link such as you and Snow Cat possess,” Hanna said, tears flowed from her eyes as she clutched her sides from having laughed so hard. “And since you did threaten him, he had every right to retaliate…”

“Never annoy an arch-mage,” Marcus said with a massive sigh, and then he commenced to pound his head on the ground for some time to come.

Hanna just sighed and shook her head, “Some days I will never understand male dragons.”
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]

 

I have to pull out my red pen on this one

Miss Malaprop paid a visit to your keyboard:

I know you have a sharp-edged wit but I think you meant to leave Orcrist on the sidelines and use something clever instead

I know that the story is getting intense but you need to show your intents instead of your tension

-----------------------
​

And you have GOT to watch your word agreements within a sentence:

ouchies - all of them sacrificed their souls but each had only one to give

one lick, two licks, one witch, two witches, one lich, two headaches

-----------------------
​

Not to mention your simple grammar:

could you have been trying to say: strive to defeat all of our order's enemies within the expedition which is soon to march?

• Plurals do not use apostrophes, possessives do.
• People are whos, items are whiches
• Of and in are a pair of tricky bastards, but in this situation, those OF the expedition can throw more chaos into your sentence than those IN the expedition.

 

other than THAT ^^
pretty good reading

 

Thanks for catching my goofs Darthel, and glad you like the story so far.

 

The Battle for Broken Bridges: first moves

₰₰ Seventy four ₰₰​

Master Roerich looked over the line of troops as they advanced down the roadway, company upon company of auxiliaries flanked by Battle-titan mounted Knights of Essembra. Off to the east of them he noted the banners of Harrowdale and Deepingdale continue onward for their part in the coming battles.

Three days of travel had proved the success of the magical rods of Snow Melting and Snow Repulsion, which helped clear a wide enough path down the river-route for the expedition to travel. Three days, in which many changes had been made to their battle plans, forces and tactics.

But the time had come for the expedition's first major battle...

Roerich looked to his side when a soft 'thump' resonated and he blanched, for there sat a lone jackalope, which smiled and nodded at him before it vanished in a flash of golden light.

"Great," he said, "Here we are on the edge of battle and another one of those blasted critters show up. So many changes made to our plans, and now this had to happen..."

He hoped the overall stratagem Marcus and Sir Robinson had come up with actually worked, for if it did not, catastrophe will be at hand. This was doubly true for the contingent of wolf-were tribes who closed in on a key position that had to be taken for the first tributary to be crossed.

He headed over to where Snow Cat had finished securing the dragon-saddle to Marcus, her magnificent bow already in its saddle-scabbard. For one time he wished he could accompany her in battle, to lend his strength of spell and staff to the fight; but his responsibility still lay with the caravan he began with, and those who stayed back from the battle.

“Snow Cat,” he began to say as she looked up at him, just about to climb into the saddle, “please use all care out there my love.”

Hanna, currently in her sleek dragon form, walked up to Marcus and nuzzled his cheek with her nose. She spoke to him words so sensuously erotic in the language of dragons that his body blazed white hot; ripples of heat flowed from him in a surge of shimmering glory and desire that had awakened in him.

People hooped and hollered at the two dragons until Snow Cat walked over to Master Roerich and stood on her tippy toes. She placed her hands behind his head and drew him down to meet her lips upon his, “I’ll be careful as I can be my love, I have a lot to fight for now.”

Snow Cats eyes danced with pure joy and contentment, “One thing Master Roerich, please be careful, most of our might is forward of the new encampment.”

“What is it my love,” Roerich gently asked Snow Cat, and drew her close.

Snow Cat rested her head on his shoulder and said, “We’ll talk more when we all get back together in a couple of days.”

“Fair enough, now though before you, Marcus and Hanna leave I have something I want to do for you,” He placed a finger on Snow Cats head and granted a single spell of incredible force for her to use at her discretion. He smiled as she gasped; amazed at the immense power it will call up for one massive holocaust of devastation if she chooses to use it.

“Now then, since you three,” he indicated Marcus, Hanna and Snow Cat with a wave of his hand, “are going to need your magic for battle, let me help with your defenses from my part of the battle. It’s better to expend my mystical strength than your own which may be needed later on…”

He called upon his training as a War Weaver to empower and enhance his magic with esoteric lore; and granted to them greater reflexes, strength and stamina. Next he granted them a gift of insight and good fortune that will help them anticipate enemy actions, evade attacks and strike home more efficiently with their own attacks; he finished with the newest version of the Ghost Ward spell he had tinkered with the last few days, and explained the ‘stored’ magical spells each one can call upon.

Then came his weaving of spells of counter-fire, counter-cold, counter-lightning and counter-acid he boosted to nearly quadruple their normal defensive strength.

For Hanna and Marcus he specifically enhanced the strength and penetrating power of their natural weapons; heightened their breath weapons to unprecedented levels of destruction and endowed them with the ability to use it more often than normal.

His last enchantment granted them the ability of Ghost Touch, so they can inflict horrendous damage on the Draco-liches if it came to claw-to-claw combat.

“Aside from these enhancements for all of you, there is one more caution,” Roerich said, his breath coming in rasped gasps from the strain of so much spell weaving, “Snow Cat; your quiver holds ten Phoenix-endowed arrows. Use them well, and remember the limitations they have.” He waved to them and stood back as the dragons took off into the heavens.

Sergeant Kenneth walked up to Master Roerich and shook his head, “Someday sir I hope I can love someone as fiercely as you do with Snow Cat; and that I still can let her go into battle if need be…”

₰​

Chief Iron-hide looked upon the earthen ramparts, thick and high and strong, which extended to his left and right. He envisioned the confrontation to come, the desperate humans astride their horses, infantry and archers lined up in formation and unable to advance due to the frozen tributary before them; the surface of which had been covered with poisoned caltrops.

Here on the north side Iron-hide knew the ramparts would withstand the most determined assault, each one twenty feet high and half again as thick. At their base a thirty foot high cliff above the thick ice, every place of ascent covered by deadly archers and cunningly crafted and hidden traps; he and his troops will reap a harvest of man-flesh when the battle begins.

“Scout returning,” shouted a lookout in the high watch tower.

Soon enough Chief Iron-hide grinned and grunted in delight, joined by the orc-kin and ogre-kin of his tribe as he learned that the first enemy forces are less than a day away. “My soldiers, we will soon do battle with the spineless humans, avenge our defeat at Hap-tooth Hill and reap a harvest of man-flesh and treasure to fill our stomachs and hearts for months to come,” he declared.

His troops shouted in response, giving off great whoops and hollers, and swapped recipes for ‘roasted, basted, toasted human on a stick.’ Iron-side knew that his forces, combined with the orc-chiefs Shredder and Huntsman Bear-Master would be hard pressed against the legendary Knights of Essembra and their Battle-titans, but they will fall none the less.

“Tomorrow, with the dawning of the twin moons in the evening sky,” he declared, “the time for orcs to hunt, we will engage the Knights of Essembra and obliterate them. Make sure all the preparations are made, reserves are in place and that the War Weavers know the plans inside and out.”

His sub-chiefs ran off, determined to do all they can to succeed in this coming fight.

They were ready to fight the Knights of Essembra, and the humans who came with them into battle…

The orcs failed to a one to see the small gathering of jackelopes who had arrived to witness history unfold. For here, at Broken Bridges, they knew the world would begin to change forever...

₰​

Reaper looked upon his tribe mates and grinned, for they had worked their way past the formidable defenses of broken-bridges, passed the massed burial cairn of the massacred Shades and dark-elves, and encircled the orc tribes who even now prepared themselves to face the approaching Knights of Essembra and their auxiliary forces.

Master Roerich himself had charged Reaper, chief of chiefs of the wolf-were’s tribes, to seize and hold the sight until reinforcements form the expeditions main force arrived. Reaper had readily agreed, for he and his tribes owed Roerich a massive debt of honor, and had escorted him and his caravan from the High Vale and will do so to their new home in the woods of Shadowdale.

“Reaper, the crossroads at broken-bridges has to be held at all costs,” Roerich said, “the bridges can be made whole for a short time by our magicians, and that will enable our main force to hit and take Aencar’s Manor.”

Reaper looked at his mate Foxy, and gave her a playful grin.

Foxy signed to him in the silent hand language, “Dancer and his forces are in place from the north and north-west. Wolf has already begun the infiltration of the orc-tribe defenses from the north side of the tributary. The magician accompanying him has relayed that they will be fully in position within ten minutes…”

“What of Badger and his band of misfits?” Reaper signed to Foxy, halfway expecting to hear that Badger and his band had been wiped out completely. “Knowing them they wandered off into a dragons den and wound up being incinerated, electrocuted, pulped, and squished or a thousand other gruesome demises.”

The distant cries of yips and howls indicated the encirclement was complete.

“Just wait and see what they have in store,” Foxy said to him just above a whisper.

Reaper turned to face Foxy and wondered why she grinned as she did, and then he found out as she pointed to the nearest portion of the orc-encampment. He turned and his jaw fell slack in uttermost shock and surprise…

Badger and his fellow wolf-were’s advanced across the compound, stealthily eliminated one band of orc-kin and ogre-kin after another. Time and again Reaper assumed this or that orc sentinel would sound off the alarm and spoil the coming assault…

Then Dancer and Wolf had their magicians inform Foxy by magical communiqué the assault was about to start in earnest…horns sounded, howls and roars of victory and battle lust sounded off as the wolf-were tribes went on the offensive…

Caught completely by surprise the orcs of Chief Iron-side held on for only an hour before the area fell into the hands of the wolf-were tribes. Not one orc-kin or ogre-kin survived the battle, as each fought hard and sold itself dearly against the wolf-were’s.

Reaper motioned to Foxy and directed her, “Inform Master Roerich and Sir Robinson we have the broken-bridges in hand. The orc-tribes here fought with greater skill and determination than we faced at Hap-tooth Hill, and are fanatical in their morale; we can expect all others we face to fight to the death. Request that they send the fastest units first, to give us extra troops to hold the place while we can…”

He growled, his red eyes blazed with molten fury as he spotted the deadly silhouettes against the twin moons of a Draco-lich…

“Tell Marcus, Hanna and Snow Cat that they have company coming,” Reaper said, “the Draco-liches are now headed for them at full speed.”

Foxy raced to cast her spells of communications as Reaper began to call for tallies of the dead and injured; and to set the watches and reserves for the inevitable counterattacks that had to come. He and his wolf-were tribes had to hold out for twelve hours at most, and the first units of the Knights of Essembra would be here to assist them…

He only has to hold out until the Knights of Essembra arrived within twelve hours…

Twelve very long and lonely hours in which his people would pay for in blood…

 

The Battle for Broken Bridges: A most cunning trap laid out...

₰₰ Seventy five ₰₰​

Badger stood strong and proud on top of an overturned wagon and smiled. His men were thinly spread out to his left and right; spears, swords and war hammers at the ready as they prepared to stand and die. The orcs and ogre tribes advanced in solid, disciplined formations at a relentless pace. Orc drummers pounded out their steady beats, an unearthly melody that chilled most men to the core of their being, but only heightened the fury of the wolf-were folks to new levels of fury.

Three times this night the orc-kin had fought to reclaim his forces position on the eastern part of the broken-bridges. Three times the battles had reached fever-pitched intensity, the wolf-were lines repeatedly having been bent and bloodied yet never broken; the bodies of orc-kin and ogre-kin lined the field like cordwood from the fanatical efforts, and here they advanced for a fourth round of battle.

“Hold the line my brothers and sisters,” Badger said, his normal comical mood replaced, as always occurred in battle, by cold determination and inhuman ruthlessness, “we must hold the line, the rest of our forces are depending upon all of us. We shall not retreat nor surrender, no quarter is to be granted or asked for my people, for here, at this time, we make our last stand on death ground…fight and make your ancestors proud before we all go to greet them…”

His words trailed off as he spotted the orcs psyche themselves up for an all out charge...

A charge that Badger knew his forces will be hard-pressed to withstand.

“Where one stands, all shall stand, where one goes, all shall go,” he said, and was joined by the other wolf-were’s for the last line of their tribal lesson, “Where one falls, all shall fall…”

The horns sounded, orcs shouted and screamed a great cry for victory and death; a savage cry returned in full measure by the unnerving howls and cries of the wolf-were’s that unnerved some and terrified others of their enemy as both sides became embroiled into a maelstrom of blood and death…

₰​

Sir Robinson and his fellow Knights held their shields high; the latest volley of arrows slammed home against steel armor and shields, against heavy barding and the toughened hide beneath. His arm momentarily went numb from the impact of a dozen or more arrows in quick succession, then silence followed. He held his shield in place for a few seconds more, having learned the hard way the favored tactic of the orcs – a delayed second volley timed to strike as shields lowered and ones guard went down for a vital second…

He struggled with his massive Battle-titan as the second volley slammed home, denied access to the soft flesh by thick armor on his body and that of his mount. “Blast it already, where are these orcs coming from and why can we not crush them once and for all?” he howled out to the world at large.

His mount sidestepped a bit and evaded a cluster of arrows in the ground which hissed and steamed as the acidic poison on their tips consumed the wooden shafts. “Bloody unfair tactics they are using, why will they not stand and fight?’ he raged for a second time.

To his side platoons of men-at-arms resumed their formations to advance, having survived another skirmish by ‘going turtle’ with overlapped shields, to deny the arrows their prey which sheltered beneath. A solid defensive tactic; yet not always sufficient, as some of the men-at-arms lay on the ground, never to move again, a sight which caused no end of pain to Sir Robinson and only added to his growing frustration.

“Blast these thrice cursed orcs,” Sir Robinson howled at his opponents as the orc skirmishers retreated again into the woods and scrub brush. He looked around and saw two of the mighty Battle-titans had been felled, their magical barding pierced by expertly placed shots. Three other knights sat slumped in the saddle, one injured badly, the other two now beyond any need of medical help.

“Scout Master Ren, get here now,” Sir Robinson called out as he pulled another half-dozen arrows from his shield. One of them had pierced the magically strengthened metal with contemptible ease, the poison upon its razor-sharp tip glistened in the sunlight. Three inches over and it would have met his neck, and killed him in a heartbeat or two at most.

He heard to his left and right the muffled calls of curses and orders issued, wails of pain and grief, challenges to personal battle between his Knights and the dishonorable orcs, all mixed with the hollow retorts of battle magic being used. His frustration grew with each passing moment, as the orc forces refused to commit to battle, they just used guerrilla tactics, hit-and-run ambushes that delayed, harassed, and ground away at the Knights and their auxiliaries.

“Sir Robinson,” a young Huntsman declared after running up to him and saluting. “Scout Master Ren is dead; an arrow took him in the throat. I am Huntsman Bear-chaser at your command.” Sir Robinson looked upon the young Huntsman and shook his head. “All the other officers, what has become of them?”

“Dead, Sir Robinson, every one of them has been taken down; we only have about a dozen scouts left. The orcs are using sharp shooters to take down our scouts and magicians,” Huntsman Bear-chaser said, and had his report confirmed a moment later by Dame Lae’lion.

“Blast it, we need to push our forces through these skirmishers and get to Reaper and his tribe mates,” Sir Robinson said, as his anger and frustration boiled over. He was leader of this battle, and he was failing fast and hard, a dishonor he could not bear for much longer. “Push forward as hard as we can, we have to reinforce broken-bridges and then push on to the Manor.”

“I agree with you Sir Robinson,” Dame Lae’lion growled, her frustration evident to all around them, “but these orcs and their forces are harassing us in a rolling ambush; one portion of our line is hit, and as we advance to do battle the orcs strike from another direction, or from behind us as we bypass small bands of their archers and soldiers. They refuse to stand, fight and scatter in panic as orcs normally do…”

The steady beat of the orc drummers carried far and chilled Dame Lae’lion and Sir Robinsons flesh and bones; then both of the Knights looked at each other and nodded, for they suddenly understood one reason for the hesitation shown by their men-at-arms and some of the Knights and their mounts.

Sir Robinson dispatched messengers to his archer leaders, “Aim for the drummers and trumpeters among the enemy formations, silence them at any cost.” The drums and trumpets had been enchanted to cause fear and doubt in the orcs enemies; and now the Knights and their auxiliaries would take those assets away from them.

In a few minutes the number of drummers and the trumpets that accompanied them began to dwindle in number but enough remained to cause Robinson some concern. The orcs refused to fight as he had come to expect of them after so many years…

A messenger arrived and informed Sir Robinson that the orc and ogre forces had formed up on a massive, low sloping hill just north and slightly east of the Knights current position.

“Sir Robinson, I have a report to deliver,” a second messenger said moments later, “the Huntsman Bear-chaser sent me to report, to the north and west of our position is five high hills, the crests may be fortified and he has seen orcs and ogres upon the cliff sides at their top…”

“Ignore that, it’s nothing more than a distraction for our forces, bait to leave our flanks vulnerable from the hill to the north-east.” Sir Robinson said to Dame Lae’lion who nodded in agreement. He dismissed the messenger and looked at her, “lead your unit on a flank attack to the left of the hill, I will advance from the center and the left and we will crush them once and for all.”

Dame Lae’lion was on the move moments later, gathering her unit and began to advance while small bands of orc skirmishers suddenly retreated for some unknown reason towards the hill to the north and east.

₰​

Snow Cat heard the orc drummers employ their magical instruments to inspire fear and doubt as their forces advanced on the Knights formation. A quick look confirmed her suspicions, the orcs had deployed a sacrificial force to lure the Knights and their auxiliaries into a larger, horse shoe shaped ambush; the key areas of five high hills ensured the orc archers lying in wait would have clear fields of fire and be safe from any responding volleys of arrows…

At least arrows returned from the Knights and their auxiliary forces…

Yet the orcs were very vulnerable from two dragons and an archer from above…

Snow Cat tapped Marcus on the side of his neck and signaled the plan to him in the silent hand language; then she did the same for Hanna who nodded and pumped her wings to climb higher into the sky. She swept the skies and horizon one last time for any sign of the three Draco-liches; knowing that as she, Marcus and Hanna moved into the attack, it would be the perfect time for them to stage an ambush in the sky…

Marcus banked to his left and began to line up for the attack as Snow Cat drew her bow clear of its saddle-scabbard and nocked one of the Phoenix-arrows. She drew the string back flush with her cheek and aimed at the central mass of the five hills…

Twang!

The arrow flew straight and true, blazing like a minor sun in the night time sky which became sixteen more in count as the projectile replicated itself. A moment later the volley of rending magic hit home for effect among the hilltop forces…

The nighttime sky lit up with the emergence of a miniature sun which swept across the hilltop, and the carnage wrought was expanded upon by Marcus and Snow Cat as their fun continued.

₰​

Dame Lae’lion watched as her contingent of the Knights of Essembra continued to advance. Their Battle-titans grunted, roared, lowed and snorted in excited anticipation of an orgy of blood and battle they sensed was soon to occur. The fear-generating drums and trumpets went silent, mute testament to the skill of the auxiliary archer’s abilities in such matters when given a chance…

Yet she was still troubled, the five hills that formed to her units left flank, five hills that rose sharply into the sky as solid walls of stone that formed a natural redoubt; anyone having to storm that place would take massive loss by even a handful of die-hard defenders…

She stopped her Battle-titans and cursed, which caused many of her fellow Knights to stop and look at her

“Orc archers on the hill crest!” someone screamed as the enemy suddenly emerged in strength, great bows pulled back and ready to loose the deadly armor and flesh-rending arrows upon her command. Dame Lae’lion knew all of them were lost, as the ambush had been established perfectly, allowing no escape…

The very ambush she had sensed far too late…

Before she could shout any orders out, the central hilltop erupted in a blazing tempest of light and fire unlike anything she had seen before. The screams of the enemy on that hilltop ceased instantly as they were consumed, erased from the world as if they never existed. Panic broke out on the other hilltops as two more great blasts erupted over the leftmost hill, followed by a panic-inducing roar of Marcus..

₰​

Snow Cat tapped Marcus with her boot, telling him to swing wider around the five hills and roll more to his left so she can keep her targets in sight. Marcus complied after he roared in delight and unleashed his own minor holocaust on the enemy below: four spells that unleashed a burning ember which streaked at the second highest hilltop. Each burning ember divided into four and detonated with double the force and size a normal fireball was capable of.

Snow Cat unleashed two more of her Phoenix-arrows at the swarm of enemy formations that hid just behind the hillcrests; massed formations ready to surge forward and envelope the Knights and their auxiliaries from the flanks once the ambush had been sprung…

Two more miniature suns erupted in a glorious blaze which annihilated all within their grasp.

₰​

“Snow Cat and Marcus,” Dame Lae’lion said just as the one hilltop erupted into a chain of incandescent sun-fire’ a blazing tribute to all that defined goodness that consumed all within its grasp. The orc-kin and their ogre-kin allies – the drummers, archers, footmen, shamans and War Weavers and many, many more disappeared in the holocaust unleashed before her eyes. Many of her Knights and the auxiliaries who beheld this wondered if the wrath of some god or celestial angel had come down to defend the Knights.

“Phoenix fire,” Dame Lae’lion said in awe and sheer wonder. “I have heard of this magic but never dreamed I would see it first hand,” she said to her aide-de-camp who agreed.

In fairly quick succession four more great blasts erupted, destroying more of the enemy host; the devastation then followed up by Marcus and Snow Cat as they unleashed a veritable barrage of magic: fire and lightning, great storms of cutting ice, crushing hail and stone, consuming acid and rending blades of steel.

Not one enemy formation withstood this onslaught and soon their positions bent, buckled and collapsed as the orcs, ogres and other allies fled for their lives.

“Come on my fellow Knights, we still have to flank the hill as we had been instructed and bring victory for Sir Robinson and our fellow Knights…” Dame Lae’lion shouted to her command as she turned her Battle-titans and led her unit of the Knights forward to do their part in the battle ahead.

She remained unaware that another battle was being fought high overhead.

₰​

“That’s the last stored magic within the Ghost Wreath for me,” Snow Cat said to Marcus via their mind-to-mind link. “That last band of orcs had too many good archers in it; the Ghost Wreaths won’t take much more abuse before they fall. I don’t have much more magic I can cast this day on my own, nor do you Marcus; so we need to husband what remains incase its needed at broken-bridges…” she sensed Marcus tense, “what is it brother…”

She followed his gaze and gasped at the sight…the Knights of Essembra were about to slam head on into the main body of enemy forces that emerged from the forests to the east. Someone had laid out a multi-part trap to lure the Knights to the low swept hill, ambush part of them from five-hills, and when the two sides tried to rejoin as one body, the main army would slam them from behind…

It had almost worked, yet it presented the golden opportunity for Snow Cat to use the special gift of Master Roerich had endowed her with earlier…

She told Marcus the plan and he roared in delight, his mighty wings clawed deep into the air as he surged at the main enemy body and Snow Cat began to cast the most complex spell of her life…

₰​

Sir Robinson had paused as the five hills erupted in the chain of magic and miniature suns, and realized he had been fooled into sending the main host of his Knights after the bait in a much larger trap. “Blast it already, were fully committed here,” he said to no one in particular, then a messenger arrived and pointed to the woods off to the east, “Sir Robinson, we have thousands of the enemy coming from the forest, full formations already have been deployed by them. It’s at least four legions in strength…they have forest wyrms and Path Breaker wyrms as well, at least forty of each…”

Sir Robinson gasped, shook his head and felt the cold hands of dread fold around his heart. The Knights were finished, and he had led them into the perfect trap the enemy had so cunningly set. “Thank you,” he told the messenger and ordered the man to spread the word, all Knights and the auxiliaries not yet engaged were to head to broken-bridges if possible and reinforce the wolf-were tribes making their stand; or retreat back to the last encampment if they could not reach them.

He turned to face his remaining Knights not yet committed to the fight; and directed then to prepare for a hasty charge. One look at Sir Robinsons face told the Knights the gravity of the situation, and he called for volunteers only, all others were free to go. Not one of his men left, all took up their long-spears and adjusted shields and helmets with smiles on their faces…

The smiles of men who knew they would join ranks of the honored dead this night, having done their duty to the cause of good and law and order. The smiles of men who knew this charge will be recorded in legend for the generations to come.

Thirty-one Knights and their Battle-titans angled forward to intercept the approaching legions, determined to buy time for their fellows to flee as best as they could. Not one flinched at the sight of a wall of darkness that advanced with relentless determination; a mass of enemy flesh and steel that could destroy many a small kingdom in short order.

“For glory and honor,” Sir Robinson shouted, a cry repeated by each of the Knights; a cry joined by the loud, earth-shaking roars of their mounts that desired to rend their enemies, and sensed their riders anticipation of a hard-battle.

Then the very heavens themselves erupted in a phanstasmagorphic display of light and sound as Snow Cat unleashed the magic of the spell called “Draconic Holocaust.”

Over the open fields that the enemy marched the nighttime heavens were torn asunder as twenty mighty dragons emerged amidst writhing columns of red-gold-tinged flames hundreds of feet high and wide. The very ground shook for miles as they roared. Iridescent fires of absolute purity of color swept their massive forms and lit their eyes with ever growing power and menace felt by everyone…

Then great arcs of white-hot lightning, each as brilliant in its displayed glory as the sun at mid-day, danced and writhed between each of the mighty dragons. The ground shook, danced, writhed and heaved as a mighty windstorm swept the area encompassed by the dragons, and magnified as all twenty of them roared…

A cataclysmic display of lightning, fire, hail, wind and forces beyond imagination of all save the mightiest of magicians rent the enemy formations. All life within the region of the dragons was consumed, erased from the cosmos as if it never existed, as the twenty mighty dragons absorbed the spent energy back into their beings and faded from sight.

Sir Robinson stared in wide-eyed terror and disbelief at that display of raw power unleashed by Snow Cat, for not one member of the enemy force remained; and the great field they crossed was untouched, not one blade of grass or pebble dislocated or harmed.

“Remind me never to get her or Marcus really upset,” he said to no one in particular. His fellow Knights agreed, and then returned to the here and now as the sound of fighting on the hilltop reminded them that they still had a battle to fight.

 

Battle for Broken Bridges: When dead dragons come to the dance...

₰₰ Seventy six ₰₰​

The great Draco-lich commonly called Midnight watched as his foe committed to their attack run against the orc-held hillsides below. “Perfect, that dragon and his cat-girl rider will never know what hit them,” he said and gave of a chuckle of pure malevolence and darkness beyond imagination.

He flapped his bony wings and aligned up for his dive to intercept the dragon and rider as they finished their next pass and began the climb to higher altitudes. His long bony claws glowed with a sickly gray-green, the signature of the ‘Death Drain’ spell he had cast moments before; the magic will drain the vitality and health of any living creature he scores a hit upon, and transfer it to his considerable endurance as a vampire does with its victims.

As he began to shift into his dive, his instincts suddenly screamed that danger was close at hand; a warning that arrived a moment too late…

The lightning blast slammed into Midnights side with brutal force, shook him from nose to tail and forced him to flap his wings in a desperate effort to stay aloft. He screamed as the brilliant forces within the lightning clung to his massive boney frame as it clawed and ground away at its immortal existence; never before had the great Draco-lich experienced such an assault, for as an undead dragon, electrical attacks cannot harm it…

Yet it had never counted on Hanna with her Consuming lightning breath as it had been heightened to nearly unprecedented levels, and enhanced with Phoenix-fires to rend and tear at the magic that bound the life-essence of Midnight to his skeleton body.

He fell towards the ground, wings pumped desperately to slow his fall as he rolled to his left to counterattack his unseen assailant. In the depths of his bony chest gathered a morass of amethyst-fires, which alerted his foe that a holocaust of darkness and death was about to be unleashed…

Yet Hanna turned out to be all the faster, striking hard and fast with a second blast of the Consuming lightning which rolled, writhed, clawed and chewed as did the first blast. She heard the continued screams of her falling foe as pain beyond measure flooded into his immortal mind.

It was joined by more pain-filled sensations as Hanna slammed into him, her claws raking his bony chest and back while she sunk her teeth into his neck and pulled for all she was worth, until, finally, the bones separated and Midnights body dissolved under the holocaust that consumed it completely into a glistening cloud of ash and motes of golden light.

She flung aside Midnights skull and unleashed a cry of victory worthy of any true dragon…and remembered that the ground had been rapidly approaching just as she slammed into it at full speed. Several of Dame Lae’lion Knights and men-at-arms scattered in alarm until they realized who had fallen among them and rushed over to see if they could help Hanna out…

They halted and looked at each other as Hanna muttered one word, “ouch…” she stated with a considerable amount of embarrassment.

₰​

Snow Cat watched the scene below as Marcus finished his climb into the night sky. The carnage wrought on the orc forces had been considerable, and to her, well worth having expended five of the Phoenix-arrows; she had never imagined such magic could be woven so well by Master Roerich, and she understood how much more she could learn from him.

Marcus shuddered and gave a long, low growl that alerted her to trouble…

“Hanna has destroyed one of the Draco-liches which tried to strike at us as we hit the orcs on the hills,” he said to her via their mind-to-mind link, “she landed hard just after the battle ended and is dazed, the Ghost Wreath absorbed most of the impact, thus sparing her life. Right now she is mad at herself for ‘forgetting to spread her wings and fly as a dragon, and not imitate a tossed stone.’ Sounds like I finally have something to tease her about.”

Snow Cat placed her bow in the saddle-sheath and laughed with her brother, delighted that one more of the Draco-liches had perished. The usage of Phoenix-fire magically woven into Hanna’s lightning assault ensured the fallen undead dragon will never arise again; thus Hanna had the world of its unholy presence for good.

“Excellent,” Snow Cat replied and began to readjust the straps that secured her to the dragon-saddle, one had slipped out of place and she leaned down to adjust it. “Let’s head off to the broken-bridges, I have the feeling a number of enemy forces are waiting for us in the region. I still have five more of the Phoenix-arrows, so we have plenty to use against those blasted Draco-liches if they appear.”

“Reaper had spotted three of them approaching our area,” Marcus specified, “Hanna has taken down one of them, thankfully that one was extremely careless and did not watch for an attack from above and behind…’

Above and behind, the favored angle of attack for a dragon when it sought to ambush another of its own kind, as Hanna had demonstrated to deadly effect not long before…

Just as the two diving Draco-liches demonstrated as they unleashed their incinerating breath, the white-hot blasts engulfed Snow Cat and Marcus in a rending nightmare of heat, pressure and flame.

Marcus roared in outrage and righteous indignation from the surprise attack, and cursed himself for not having anticipated the double-ambush in which the greater Draco-liches sacrificed the youngest and weakest to set him and Snow Cat up for this strike. Master Roerich’s counter-fire shield bent, buckled and finally broke under the relentless hammering; and the remainder rolled off of Marcus, and left him untouched, one benefit of his fire-dragon heritage.

“Die the final death you abominations!” He roared, inhaled deeply and unleashed his flaming breath that had been for a time converted to sun-fire. He growled as the sun-fires were denied rending the Draco-liches by their own counter-fire shields, which not only absorbed the blast, but amplified it and sent it back at Marcus with great force.

Marcus screamed in pain as even his strong resistance to fire was overcome and his flesh and hide blistered and burned. He heard Snow Cat scream and felt the dragon-saddle, its straps and buckles destroyed, shift and slide off of his back; and he could do nothing for the Draco-lich Volcano was upon him a heartbeat later, and the two entered a no-holds-barred battle of claw, teeth and tail as they fell from the sky towards the unyielding ground so far below…
Volcano shouted a single word of magical power which sundered the Ghost Ward and all other enchantments upon Marcus. He knew the young upstart dragon now was truly vulnerable, and he decided to punish the brute for daring to presume any equality with a Draco-lich.

Marcus felt the great claws rip into his flesh, rake across his stomach, and unleash an unholy magical poison into his body. He, a dragon of flame and force, of rage and the elements personified, roared out in pain beyond any he had ever experienced as the poison surged into his blood and flesh, its unholy magic seeking to consume and corrupt, to burn and rot, to end the existence of Marcus once and for all.

Volcano gloated over the damage he had thus far inflicted and continued his brutal punishment of Marcus.

A blow across Marcus’s armored head blinded him as blood gushed from a massive cut, and then came the most devastating blow…

Volcano shifted and rolled across Marcus’s back and raked his wings with his talons, shredding them through and through. He unfolded his own wings and climbed into the sky as he watched Marcus continue on his way to the earth and reveled in the final, impotent cries of defiance and rage Marcus cried out…

When he joined Furnace a few minutes later he chuckled, knowing that he and Volcano will share in the prize offered by High Lord Cronus for the capture of the hated Snow Cat who lay limp in Volcano’s bony claw.

₰​

Dame Lae’lion rushed her Battle-titans over as Hanna rose to her feet. “Dame Hanna, are you alright? Is there anything we can do?” she asked her friend as she motioned for the rest of the Knights to continue their advance on the hillside.

“No Dame Lae’lion, the Ghost Ward absorbed most of the force,” Hanna said as she shook her head, “I need to get back up there, two more Draco-liches are in the region and if they show up at the same time, Marcus and Snow Cat will be in deep trouble.”

“Hanna, you just destroyed a Draco-lich with such ease,” Dame Lae’lion said as she shook her head, “not even a battalion of Knights could have done the same without taking massive losses. I have come to wish at times that I were a dragon such as you.”

Hanna took a moment to regain her balance, still stunned by the hard landing. “Thank goodness Master Roerich can weave that Ghost Shroud so well; otherwise I would have broken most bones in my body,” she said and then looked at Dame Lae’lion, “as to you wishing to be a dragon, I can say this much,” she became sheepish as she continued, “remember to use your wings to stay in the air. I forgot just how hard the ground can be…”

Hanna shuddered as she looked up in time to see a diving Draco-lich bodily slam into Marcus, shredding one of his wings, and take off towards the north with its companion. “Oh no, they have Snow Cat…and I got to help Marcus,” she stepped forward and fell flat, unable to regain her feet.

Her world became a blur of pain as Marcus ended his earth-bound descent on top of her a moment later.

₰₰ Seventy seven ₰₰​

Snow Cat moaned as consciousness returned to her, the pain of the impact filled her head with a red haze which joined that of immense pressure on her chest and abdomen. Uttermost cold raked her limbs and left her weak as a kitten, while the steady beating of wings and the grinding of bone upon bone told her of how much trouble she was really in.

She opened her eyes and caught sight of the massive bone leg and talon which held her in a death grip. “Oh no, this is not good, not good at all,” she whispered and then heard the chuckle of Furnace, that let her know he had heard her every word. “Let me go you overgrown excuse of dry bones and dusty brains…’ she cursed and railed at the undead dragon.

“Save your strength cat-girl,” Furnace declared with a second chuckle of pure malevolence, “High Lord Cronus had been informed of your capture. He wants to talk to you before he executes you with his own hands for abandoning him all those years ago…’

He sensed the state of near-panic Snow Cat descended into as she hopelessly struggled to free herself of his supernaturally strong grip. “Give it up cat-girl,” he said, ‘you cannot escape, and even if you did there is no way you would defeat two Draco-liches such as I and Volcano. Or I could just drop you from this far up, and then you have a choice – the river, the forest or the hard rock on which to fall and perish…”

“Catch my friend…” Furnace shouted to Volcano as he flung Snow Cat to his fellow Draco-lich. She screamed in terror as she was flung around as little more than a rag doll and plaything to the great dragons, until Volcano missed, cursed as he missed catching her on his turn. He entered a tight turn and dove to intercept Snow Cat as she plummeted with faster than normal speed towards the river below.

“Damn that cat-girl she’s trying to escape,” Volcano roared as he understood the source of Snow Cats great descent: she had cast a spell of “Stone-weight’ upon herself. That particular magic, he knew, would allow her to survive the impact into the river and meant she had already used her magic to allow breathing in its depths.

₰​

Reaper watched as the latest assault by the orcs finally ran out of steam and pulled back to their starting lines, leaving tens of scores of dead and dying behind. His own wolf-were forces had been all but bled white in the masses assaults; and he knew if the Knights of Essembra did not arrive soon there would be no escape.

“They are breaking off, pull all of your forces back to the last defensive line,” Reaper called out to his tribal leaders, “this is where we make our last stand my brethren; I’m sorry for having not been able to lead you all the way to our new home in Shadowdale. This is my fault, and no one else’s, may I find forgiveness in the next life for my crimes in this one…”

“Twelve hours, that is all we had to hold on, just twelve hours and we would be relieved…” Reaper said to himself, “None of us had expected the orcs to be this well trained or determined…”

He heard the cries of two Draco-liches overhead and watched as they circled and danced about over the river, a small object tossed back and forth between them. “I guess our doom is going to be a lot quicker than I assumed, two Draco-liches added to the fight will rend us apart within a hand count of seconds…”

Then the object they tossed around fell in a graceless arc towards the rivers moonlit waters, the greater of the Draco-liches dove after it as it cursed in outrage and disgust. Then his sentries warning horns sounded, letting all know the orcs had regrouped and deployed their reserves; now they advanced again in double strength of the last attack…

“To the defenses,” Reaper shouted, the orders echoed again and again down the line by his sub-chiefs and other commanders. Archers rushed to nock arrows and began sniping at enemy leaders, determined to disrupt them as much as possible as the few surviving magicians cast the last of their spells or employed wands, staffs and scrolls of spells to rend and slaughter the enemy formations. No matter how much damage they inflicted, two orcs came forward for one that fell.

“Die well my warriors, may we all feast in the halls of Valhalla as the dawn comes over us,” Reaper called out and began chanting a song of his glorious deeds, a list of valor and courage dedicated to his ancestors that asked for them to prepare his seat at their feasts; for he will soon join them there…

The orcs howled and charged forward, a tsunami of death which broke upon the mighty charge of the howling wolf-were’s who fought as men or as great wolves. Death clapped his hands in glee as the harvest of death and destruction escalated…

Then the slaughter became absolute as the great beast emerged from the river…

₰​

Furnace cursed and shook his head as Snow Cat plunged into the river below. He wondered if the fortune that High Lord Cronus had offered them had just been lost, and if so he would rend it out of the hide of Volcano.

“High Lord Cronus understands dragon-honor,” Furnace declared, remembering when the priest had severed the control over him and his fellow Draco-liches that Grandfather of the Darkness, of the Abbey of the Sword had for centuries. No dragon willingly enslaved itself to anyone – not another dragon and not an upstart Shade with delusions of grandeur.

Cronus had freed them and only asked if they would slaughter the Shades in recompense for the slavery forced on the mighty Draco-liches; and offered a mighty reward for the capture of the cat-girl…a reward that now has escaped from him and Volcano…

Or had it…

He watched as his fellow Draco-lich dived to intercept the cat-girls fall…and the subsequent plunge into the river by both of them. He circled twice as the waters frothed and foamed, bubbled and roiled; a sure sign of a battle taking place below the surface, and one he hoped let to the safe capture of their prize.

Then came a mighty surge of water up into the heavens as the legendary beast emerged in a display of iridescent fires which caused Furnace to break hard with his wings; desperately he tried to turn and flee, only to be held in place the moment he met the eyes of his enemy – twin pools of sacred, liquid emerald-green fires filled with righteous indignation that promised him obliteration…

“And so my existence ends…” Furnace stated to himself a moment before he was obliterated.

₰​

The battlefield fell silent as Reaper, his fellow wolf-were’s and their enemies watched the final demise of Furnace. He shook his head in denial, unable to comprehend how bad he must have fouled up to deserve this punishment which descended upon him and his tribes…

Its great wings and body shimmered and danced with sacred iridescent fires as it roared a cry of triumph that also heralded the coming doom for the orc armies. So great was the force of that roar that stone buckled, bent, melted and broke, trees shook, drifts of snow steamed and melted while the mighty river groaned and gurgled in protest; Reaper and his fellow wolf-were’s were driven to their knees.

It surged forward, a trail of ember-like stars left in its wake. Its body danced and writhed with the iridescent fires, from its great armored nose, down the twin frills of its back, to the end of its whip-like tail. Liquid emerald-green eyes flared with anger and primordial power as the fear it induced reached ever greater levels by the moment.

Then it landed with such force that the grounds shook yet again, as they had done earlier this night when the ‘Draconic Holocaust’ had been unleashed. It reared onto its hind legs and inhaled; the great chest wider than four wagons in a line expanded to twice its normal size, and foretold the coming devastation to be wrought…

A second sun caressed the land, joined in a holocaust of lightning and flesh-rending winds and crushing cries of sound greater than a thousand banshees consumed all before it who were enemies of the great Force Dragon. It roared a second time, and launched forward into the surviving mass of orcs, determined to crush them once and for all.

“Our salvation is with us my tribesmen,” Badger shouted and led the charge of his fellow wolf-were’s into the stricken mass of orcs. Wolf and Dancer joined him soon followed by Reaper who wondered why his ancestors had chosen to send the great dragon to save him and his fellow wolf-were’s…

The last battle ended an hour later in victory for the wolf-were’s and their dragon ally, who surprised them all when its true identity was learned…

₰​

Four hours later the Knights of Essembra and their auxiliaries finally arrived at broken-bridges. They found Reaper and his kin finishing the funeral rights for their fallen; the flames from the funeral biers ascended to the heavens despite the fierce winter cold.

Sir Roerich shook his head and dismounted, walked over to Reaper and apologized for being so late.

“Roerich you did the best you could,” Reaper said in a voice free of anger, rage or accusation. “We were given this job and have done our duty. The Abbey of the Sword has been taken without resistance by Dame Foxglove, and Aencar’s Manor is empty; all of their forces were dispatched to here, so it can be taken at your leisure.”

Wolf walked up and reported the losses to his group of wolf-were’s, “we lost nearly one in three among all of the tribes, my own forces is closer to three in five. Badgers force is all but gone.” He shook his head, “if the Force Dragon had not shown up that would have been the end for us all…”
“Force Dragon…” Sir Roerich and his fellow Knights gasped and looked at each other in wonderment.

“Force Dragon, Sir Robinson,” Snow Cat said as she emerged from a nearby hut. Her hair was matted with soot and grime, her face scratched up and the magnificent armor and cloak of hers torn and disheveled. One arm was bound in thick bandages from some injury or another. “It appeared and ravaged both Draco-liches and then fell on the enemy lines with a vengeance. If it had not shown when it did that would have been the end of the wolf-were’s here.”

“How are Marcus and Hanna?” Snow Cat asked of Robinson.

“Both of them are fine Snow Cat, Dame Lae’lion is seeing to their needs.” Robinson said, “Marcus had been hurt in the fight, and he keeps asking about you and a ‘dragon of iridescent fires and pure spirit’ according to the communiqué of Dame Lae’lion. I guess that this is reference to that Force Dragon which appeared.”

“Oh and while I am thinking about it, the last communiqué from them said your magical bow and quiver had been recovered intact from the dragon-saddles remains,” Sir Robinson declared and then he began to direct his forces to take up defensive positions.

Robinson shook his head as he took in the scene of devastation before him, “One dragon, a Force Dragon, did all of that…” he swept the final battlefield with one hand. The carnage was immense, ground torn, rocks and boulders shattered or torn asunder as if they were toys; the tributary rivers frozen waters were shattered, reduced to a thousand thousands diamond shards which glistened in the first rays of a new dawn.

“Yes it did, and the dragon may be close by, but it vanished in a blaze of iridescent fires and has not been seen since,” Reaper said as he looked at Snow Cat and winked. The wolf-were’s knew the truth of the Force Dragon which saved them – it had been Snow Cat in her dragon-form – and had promised to keep her secret forever more.

“Sir Robinson if you will excuse me, but I need a mount to take me to Marcus and Hanna,” Snow Cat asked, “I need to see to them, and to Master Roerich – we have a lot to talk about.”

₰​

High Lord Cronus looked upon the scene of broken-bridges in his magical mirror and seethed, his anger flowing in palatable waves which caused even his most fanatical of guards to go weak in the knees and others to flee for their lives. He regained his composure though in an instant, as he remembered that undisciplined and unfocused rage and anger are meaningless wastes of time.

He knew his revenge against Snow Cat would be risky and suffer setbacks; though the discovery of her Draco-were heritage – that of a Force Dragon – induced fear in him to his very soul. He would find a means to bring her to battle and bring her down, she will die under his own hands or talons – whichever came first…

“High Lord Cronus,” Dusk-Warden, his court majordomo said, “we have the last mercenary forces in place at Crossing along with the half-dragon troops. Our other forces are in place to the North to withstand the expected strike by Shadowdale and Daggerdale; spies and scouts confirm they are gathering their own armies to come after us…”

“Go on, is there more,” High Lord Cronus said as his majordomo hesitated.
“Yes my liege,” Dusk-Warden said, “reports have it that three flights of dragons have taken wing, two to the west of us – they are not projected to come close to our lands; the other from the east, shall pass close to our enemy of Essembra.”

“Then let the Sisters of Essembra and that towns hell-born forces fight them on their own,” Cronus declared with a grin, “Either one side – dragon or human – will emerge victorious but weakened, or both sides will do us the pleasure of destroying one another. No matter what, we win in the end.”

₰​

“No High Lord Cronus on that you are wrong,” Snowflake declared as she looked upon the man in her own magical pool after she observed the battle for broken-bridges. She had sensed, and back-tracked the scrying magic of Cronus and duly spied on the man, hoping to learn some of his plans.

“Owl will know what to do,” she said and wished for the thousandth time that Brother Hart was here at her side, instead of having departed for some unknown location and purpose earlier in the day. He only told her that he would be back in a day or three, as he had some business to tend to back in the Central Dales.

She only hoped that this ‘business’ involved Snow Cat and her Force Dragon heritage. Here she was, the mate of the most feared and powerful man among the dales; once was so intimidated by Brother Hart she was afraid of being instantly annihilated for even thinking of speaking with him…

And now, Brother Harts adopted children are forging legends in their own right; twin dragons, the stuff of legend brought to life.

Her hands went to her slightly expanded belly, knowing she carried twins, and wondered what legends they would become in their own time.

 

To my readers of TDOD III, the next part will be up in a couple of days, I have some final editing to do to ensure the quality of the story...

Not to mention changing a minor goof on the authors part...

***grumble, grumble...jackalopes....***

 

Just remember that you are the one who included the beasties.

When you invite Murphy, ya gotta live with his laws.