Old Wicked

V

V

Fenroot watched as an army of dragons landed on the snowy shores of the northern continent. He stood atop a rocky bluff, watching as the dragons piled on the icy shore. The cold, bitter wind blew snow around in jagged wisps. Through the whirling white, he saw the dragons line up according to an elven woman who was pacing up and down the ranks, calling out names.

One by one, each dragon spread its wings and shook off dozens and dozens of elves, all dressed in white. They fell off the dragons like sheets of ice, and they scrambled into the snow and lined up as the elven commander made rounds. An aura of smoke rose into the air as the dragons blew fire to keep everyone warm. Soon, the entire foot of the mountain was covered in a patchwork quilt of hundreds of dragons and elves.

The wide expanse of frozen ocean behind the army cracked as the wind rushed over it.

Fenroot blew fire from his own mouth to warm himself up. He welcomed the challenge of the cold. If anything, it took his mind off the specter that had haunted him for a thousand years.

He had dreamed this day would come. No—Old Dark’s parents—a bastard and b***h who had nothing better to do in life than thrive on others’ suffering—had told him.

Fenroot watched them burn. He tied their wings to a stake himself. Alsatius, with his blindness and Smirnagond with her stitched mouth. Since he couldn’t finish Dark, he knew he could at least get rid of them.

And he did, gathering a mob that stormed their palace. He lit the magical flame that consumed their bodies, and he enjoyed every moment of it.

They screamed in the flames! But Alsatius chanted something, and Smirnagond’s body glowed.

They were casting a spell.

Fenroot cut them down but he was too late. Alsatius looked up at him with clarity in his blind eyes and a grin that Fenroot would never forget.

“Count down to your death,” the dragon said. “For my son will return and reclaim his glory. Heh heh.…”

“Where is he?” Fenroot asked.

“He’ll reside in your dreams.…”

Fenroot killed them both instantly.

He had thought the prophecy foolish, that they were toying with his mind.

But shortly after he was declared dragon lord, a dragon seer confirmed the aura of a curse around his body. The seer read his aura and told him, “One day, a specter from your past will return, and if you are not prudent, it will claim your life.”

The seer had been loyal to Old Dark and he thought she too was trying to toy with his mind.

Toy with a dragon lord!

He had the seer drowned. The old Keeper died with a smile on her lips.

He’d never forgotten that smile. It swirled through his dreams, crept upon his mind’s eye during daylight, and as time went on, he wondered if it was really true.

Seeing Dark’s face, imagining him reanimated, made him sweat. Fenroot had tricked him once, but the old dragon wouldn’t be tricked again.

He would be back for blood, and if Fenroot wasn’t careful, he’d have it—rivers and rivers of it.

Fenroot had gone into hiding, not out of fear, but for preparation.

He’d amassed the best army the world had never seen.

He was ready for the old dragon lord. He’d have the black dragon’s head and return once more to his rightful place—the lord of the world.

And now, here on the snow-packed mountain, the realization hit him.

The seer had been right.

He ground his teeth together as he watched the army start drills.

A red Crafter dragon scaled the mountain to meet him.

“We are all accounted for, my lord,” the dragon said.

“Good. Wait for my command,” Fenroot said.

The dragon scurried back down the side of the mountain.

“You’re sure this is the first, best stop?” Moss asked.

The green dragon had been coiled up next to him, blowing smoke on himself to stay warm.

“I don’t know how any dragon can survive in this place,” Moss said. “It’s a wasteland.”

“We’re here for a good reason,” Fenroot said.

Moss looked over the army, incredulous. “So this is what you’ve been doing for the last thousand years, eh?”

“It’s more than what you’ve been doing.”

Fenroot had tried to convince Moss to go back to Magic Hope City, but the dragon insisted on staying with the army for protection. His cowardice was wearing on Fenroot.

Moss frowned. “I would hardly call running a city nothing.”

“There won’t be any cities left to run if he gains power.”

“You think I don’t recognize his skill?” Moss asked. “My daughters would be alive right now if we hadn’t finished him off in the forest like we should have.”

“And that’s my fault, is it? If I remember correctly, I was the one who did the fighting,” Fenroot growled.

“I cheered you on. I provided support!”

Fenroot laughed. To think that Moss had once been formidable...he was just an old dragon scared for his life now. The Crafter dragon had gained weight. He couldn’t use magic anymore because of Abstraction...why was he here?

Fenroot started across the snowy valley that lay ahead. “I have work to do.”

“We have work to do.”

Moss followed him, and he sighed.

The snowy plains crunched underneath their claws and while the mountain valley protected them from the wind somewhat, they had to keep blowing smoke to keep themselves warm. After what seemed like miles, they came to the base of a topsy-turvy mountain that looked like something out of a storybook.

The mountain was blue, and its peak was ringed with clouds.

Fenroot lifted into the air, pushing against the wind. Moss followed, tucking his head against his chest.

As they flew higher, they noticed eyes looking at them. Bright, jewel-like specks amidst the snow.

Fenroot landed near the summit in a patch of flat snow.

Four-legged shadows crawled up the mountain. A whirlwind blew, concealing their faces—but their eyes shone, and so did their sharp, knife-like teeth.

“Are you here for war?” one of the shadows asked. “If so, allow us to give you a more proper introduction.”

Fenroot flexed his wings. From the looks of it, he was taller, broader and more muscular than these dragons. Then again, he was bigger than most dragons. He could take them all in a fight—wouldn’t it be like old times to break out his claws again and leave them strewn along the mountain!

“I’ve come to tell you that Old Dark is alive,” Fenroot said. “If it’s war you want, you’ve got one, but it won’t be with me.”

The dragons whispered among themselves. A pair of bright yellow eyes stepped forward.

“You lie,” a voice behind the eyes said.

“He is on the western continent,” Fenroot said. “He has awakened. And you are going to help me end him.”

“Why should we help a dragon lord who abandoned the title?” the shadow asked.

Fenroot puffed. “Because if I remember correctly, you supported me. If you aren’t with him, you’ll surely be marked for death.”

“But how can we be sure it is him?” the shadow asked.

“I’m as sure as I’ll ever be,” Fenroot said. “Do I need to remind you what he is capable of?”

The dragons hissed.

“We are not stupid, Fenroot,” the leader said.

“My informants tell me very little these days,” Fenroot said. “That’s the price to pay when you live in seclusion. But what was it they did tell me...ah, I remember now....isn’t it true that one of your very own is living in Abstraction? As an arbiter of justice?”

The leader stepped into the light. He was a white dragon with a long white tail. His yellow eyes glowed in the snow.

“Norwyn is no longer one of us,” the white dragon said. “He is a traitor. We chased him off this mountain.”

The other dragons joined him from the shadows. They were all sleek and white with bright eyes.

“Norwyn was loyal to the Dark regime,” Fenroot said. “What do you think is going to happen if he and Dark reunite? Do you think Dark is going to ignore your change in loyalty? Friends, if you think Norwyn is a traitor, now—”

“What do you want from us?” the leader asked. “You already have an army.”

Fenroot smiled. “My friends, I need you to lend me your shares of the aquifer.”