A Shadow He Became: short story

A Shadow He Became

The sky rained death.

Like blood, the clouds became red. Homes and businesses burned quickly by fire, making the snow-covered ground black from ash. The earth, opened like a mouth, opened with darkness and flame as they spat out dragons.

Children of destruction, winged and fire-breathing, had no heart as they killed the innocents and drank their blood from the skulls of the slain like wine as chaos ravaged the once calm lands of Mythoria. Some were kept alive, as slaves to mine minerals in the deep layers of earth or playthings for a dragon's bed. Both were worse than death in the eyes of the captured.

Those that survived slavery or death, a handful that dwindled for each passing year, sought justice for the murder of their loved ones in lands foreign to them. Prayed to the gods and begged the many kings they came into contact with but to no avail.

One answered their plea.

It was the end of fall, trees were barren and the sky was grey with white puffs of clouds accompanied by cold winds from the north. A man arrived on a horse to the survivor's camp in the middle of the afternoon which surprised many, they thought nobody saw them but he did which of the many oddities of the mysterious figure.

The figure was strange to the survivors, he was tall and pale-skinned with black clothing not fit for the coming winter but it seemed not to bother him. His hair was white as snow, he possessed crimson-colored eyes which made some believe he was a demon. But the strangest, by far, was his black longsword marked with unreadable runes that glowed a pale green and hummed at the waist of the figure but screamed like a banshee as it got close to another person with the figure whispering which calmed the blade down.

When the man asked for some food and place to rest for a bit they agreed then, by investigation between drink and meal, the figure spoke for the first time. "I am Eldred Drakyor, " he said, taking the last bite of pork and finishing another mug of ale. "Last of Vaelis'Tah, heir of the old Sorcerer-Kings. Come to kill the dragons."

Silence filled the camp at the stranger's words, inside they fought with happiness and. They knew of Vaelis'Tah, a lost famous kingdom of powerful sorceries, but they knew of the stories told of the terrifying arcane powers of the Sorcerer Kings. A woman, with more courage than her people, said, "If you seek to end these dragons you must kill their leader, Dharenji."

The pale wizard nodded. "I know of this one, for he is named the Hellraiser in the west and the Butcher in lands more west than Kós, " he said, rising from his seat by the fire with his runesword. "Tomorrow, before the sun sets, I will journey to the Dragon King's lair and take his head."

Everyone grew happy but the same woman said, "Then what?"

"I will leave, " replied the sorcerer, walking to a dark cave close to the camp. "The dragon's head is mine, nothing else."

Those were the last words the man spoke before entering the cave and vanishing into the darkness, partially frightening the younger children who were quickly called off to bed by their mothers with the men following their lead soon after. Night passed and morning came after, the camp awoke but none saw Eldred leave the cave. Throughout the day they heard him ask for meals and they would always be left at the cave's mouth, a half-hour later the plate or bowl with the meal that was served would be empty as if not touched by the food.

By night the camp's fire was fading when the wizard crept out of the cave, startling many and making two grown men almost piss themselves. Eldred went to the fire and said, "Where is Dharenji's home?"

All of the grown men, drunk mostly, pointed in the direction of a behemoth of black jagged rock with a shroud of thick fog. "The mountain Shadowbone, " replied an old man, voice quivered by the cold. "Be careful."