The Clan of Outcasts [Season 3]

Part 38: "Turning Fates"

The dense shadows coalesced into the form of a thick and tall man dressed in black leather. He wore the darkness like a cape trailing behind him. The temple was a broad space, but there was no missing the pile of scaly flesh amid the rubble of the damaged roof. The wings draped limp and useless, while a massive stone rested upon her right foreclaw, crushing it.

He reached for her mind, but found it closed off, absent, or somehow detached.

He stood on the wreckage of a balcony just above the injured dragon. He could see her skin flinching, but she gave no other indication that she yet lived. Clearly the dragon had suffered too many injuries in her fall.

Trevon sighed. "Oh well," he murmured thickly. "If I cannot use you, then I don't see any use for you."

He stretched out a hand, reaching toward her with tendrils of Shadow that would bind her fast while he drained her of her life's energy. He hardly noticed the bent, withered figure rising up from against the base of the nearest sculpture.

"STOP!" Thundered the voice, and Trevon felt the ground give way under his feet. The blast of brilliant blue magic sent him skidding backwards over the rubble. He caught himself with a cushion of shadow and curled his lip.
Out of my way, old man, thought Trevon, reaching his hand out in a sweeping motion.

The man stumbled a little, but he dug the end of his staff into the ground before him, and held against the telekinetic force.

"You have no quarrel here," the wizard said softly.

Trevon curled his lip; what did he know? He reached out again for the dragon's mind, and once more he found his efforts rebuffed by a wall of blue shielding magic.

Fine, Trevon thought to himself. If the fool won't be moved, I'll just move the ground he stands on!
The Crow Prince gestured with his hands, and a torrential wind blew through the gaps in the masonry, carrying small pebbles with it. They swirled around the combatants, threatening to puncture or shred at the slightest twitch.

The wizened mage held Trevon's gaze and merely sat down on the rock beside the dragon. He waited till the wind died down, and wagged his head.

"This is not your fight, son," he said softly. "Why do you cling so ardently to the ambitions of another? Has she told you that you will have partial rulership at her side? Perhaps she has promised you a portion of the world to do with as you please... or that she would use her eventual power to restore all that you have lost."

This time, Trevon had the sense not to telegraph what he was about to do. He flexed his hands and fireballs appeared. He didn't launch them at the lonely Mage, but laid the flames around the perimeter of their space, illuminating it fully. He looked around as other things came into view: Angel statues flanking the walls, their forms weathered and twisted in postures of despair and agony. Trevon scowled and lashed out with his shadows, finding purchase at last as they clung to the Mage's robes and yanked the staff out of the old man's hand. The blackness crept upward, but the Mage didn't strike back.

"What is the meaning of this?" Hissed a cold voice overhead.

Borne on black wings sprouting from her shoulders, Crow Queen Mallory glided into the space, frowning at her adopted brother. "Trevon, I've been searching for you everywhere! Why did you just—"

She stopped speaking when she saw the massive shape taking up most of the room. "Oh, so this is where the dragon ended up! And..." She frowned at the new face currently entangled in shadows. "Who are you?"

The Mage gripped his staff and engaged his will in keeping the shadows back. "I am the one who has been waiting for you, child."

"I am nobody's child!" Mallory snarled, lashing out with magic of her own. The ground quaked beneath them, and lightning pounded the rubble all around them.