The Missing Dragon Ch. 05

A bright blue light flashed above the heads of everyone to fill the great hall and bring down a sudden silence over the fighting within. Everything seemed to fall still when an image began to form over Urgin's head.

"No!" Wren called out. The distraction had made him temporarily forget that he was in single combat with one of the most dangerous creatures in the world. Grolfir's mighty fist connected hard against Wren's stomach, making the shaman slump to the ground gasping for breath. Even so, he still tried to reach out toward Urgin in a vain attempt to stop what was happening.

The figure forming in the blue light became steadily more recognizable. Rolk's image seemed to burn into the eyes of the assembled orcs, and the implications soon rang out through the hall. It was fair to say that no one liked Rolk, but it was known that the arrogant pup didn't do much without his father's blessing. What's more, it was seriously doubtful that Rolk could have managed to get himself a shadeglass wand alone.

If it hadn't been Urgin who was casting the spell, some might have cried out that Gregory had somehow bewitched the blue dust. The gamble paid off, as few truly believed that Urgin would actually be fooled by such a ruse. He was old, independent and excessively grumpy, but his magical talents were legendary. Now, he was looking at Wren with cold fury in his eyes.

Throughout the hall, it became clear that the elder was losing support as more and more orcs came to realise what it meant to see the figure rising above them. The son of the elder shaman had clearly been in league with the corrupted raiders. Even Wren's firmest supporters were clearly shaken by the implications.

The blade had been successfully planted, and now all that remained was to twist.

"There is more!" Gregory called out. "If you would only hear it!"

A few very tense moments of silence followed. A challenge had been declared, after all, and it was highly unconventional to stop such a thing once in progress.

"There is nothing more to say until the challenge is finished," said one of Wren's more ardent supporters.

"I have every intention of honouring that challenge." Gregory shifted his attention back to Wren and stepped out from amongst the Dragons as the elder fought to regain his feet. "But it's not me who needs to speak to you now."

At his signal, one of the cloaked figures that Gregory had arrived with stepped forward from the outer wall. They wore the same cloak that the courtesans had garbed themselves with on the night of the proving ceremony. Cupped within their hands was a gleaming, empty silver bowl and on their steady approach all attention turned toward them.

"The sacred hall is befouled by even more human filth!" Wren had apparently once again found his voice. "It has no voice here!"

"It is not human." The voice arose from beneath the hood of the approaching figure. It was a sound that radiated with calm authority, and carried a strength that Gregory had never heard before. "It is an elf."

The cloak was whipped dramatically from the slender and beautiful physique of Valise. Gregory had never quite seen her appear as glorious as she did in that moment. Her pale skin seemed to glow with its own light, and her blue eyes shone like twin beacons in the torchlight. It seemed that she had reclaimed the power that had been taken from her by her people. Her hair had been braided in a long strand that fell to the back of her waist, and offered no hiding place for her ears. Although it seemed through some miracle that her ears had been restored, and they ran smoothly along the sides of her head to end in sharp points that immediately made her true nature clear.

Although orcs generally had strict rules about not allowing humans within the great hall, there weren't any such rules concerning elves. Combining the uncertainty with the stunning vision of the woman before them landed the desired effect. Valise wasted no time in taking her bowl and stepping forth toward Urgin and Kozash. The older of the two shamans peered at her with narrowed eyes, though his full concentration still remained upon the shadeglass in his hand.

"Elders, I have a sample taken from the befouled scrying pool recently discovered in the jungle. I would submit it for your examination, and ask your assistance in performing a ritual to determine the identity of the one who was using it." Valise bowed her head respectfully to both of the shaman.

"No such ritual exists," Wren scoffed. "Can you all not see that this is once again an attempt by the human to put on a light show and dazzle you with lies?"

That turned out to be a mistake on the part of Wren, for the moment Urgin heard him question his ability and skill, the old orc took matters into his own hands. Passing his hand over the shadeglass, the image of Rolk faded from above their heads. Urgin then took a moment to carefully seal the pouch containing the dangerous blue sand, and set it aside. Then, with a mere flick of his wrist, the vines that had ensnared Gregory's limbs once again lashed out against their own summoner. It was clear who the more skilled shaman was, and Wren soon found himself ensnared and bound within the vines and roots that arose from beneath the stones.

The point was made, and it was clear for all to see. Urgin was not an amateur practitioner, and knew far more than Wren on matters of magic. It was a challenge that Wren lost before he even knew it had begun. In that moment, Gregory saw a hint of fear in the bound orc's eyes for the first time. He very much hoped that it would not be the last.

Valise stepped forward and set her bowl upon a table placed before her by Borika. The female shaman had stayed in the background until this point, and had largely let the two elders come to their own conclusions. Now, she would need to provide a little more assistance if the ritual was to work properly.

Urgin and Kozash stepped forward to examine the vessel, and Valise instructed them in its nature. It took a few moments for the elf to explain what she was up to, and as she spoke she removed several ingredients from her white robes to place upon the table. Alchemy wasn't a common practice amongst the orcs, at least not on the level that Valise understood. She took a few moments to explain the nature of her ritual, and the shaman looked at her critically. They had a few questions, and Kozash made the mistake of sniffing a small pouch of dried herbs that almost made him lose consciousness. Luckily, Borika saw the mistake in time and caught him before he could fall.

It didn't take long before both the shaman were satisfied with the mechanics of the ritual. Valise proved to be an excellent tutor in the magic she was wielding. The shaman might not have understood the technicalities involved, but they were familiar enough with the magical energies involved to have a solid grounding in the theories behind it. Once they were brought up to speed and satisfied that she wasn't going to do anything deceptive, she removed the bottle of green liquid she had taken from within the scrying pool and poured it carefully into the silver bowl.

"I think it might be best if you provide your own force to this effort," she told them. "I do not wish to have any influence that might be brought into question at a later time."

Kozash didn't seem to relish the idea of involving his own magical energies with those that inhabited the murky liquid in the bowl. It had already begun to bubble with apparent annoyance at the purified container in which it found itself. With a snarl of disgust, Urgin reached out to place a gnarled hand over the bowl, and his example forced Kozash to follow his lead.

With everyone's gaze focused upon the bowl, no one noticed Borika quietly stepping up behind Valise and placing her hand upon the elf's shoulder. The female shaman closed her eyes and focused, causing Valise to draw in a gasp as she felt power begin to flow through her in waves once again. Only Urgin flashed his gaze toward the women, and saw his former apprentice offering her own power to the elf. Thankfully, he held his tongue on the matter and allowed Valise to begin the ritual.

The magic began, and the participants began a low chant. Chanting wasn't usually necessary in magic, and in Gregory's experience there were no "magic words" that needed to be said. Understanding of magical energies was more an exercise of will and focus, and as such it was often better to practice such things in silence without any noisy distractions. It was only when several practitioners needed to combine their power that chanting became useful, as it provided them with a singular rhythm in which to focus. This enabled them to work together more efficiently, and didn't seem entirely unlike tuning several radios to the correct frequency in order to hear the music properly.

As such, the actual words of the chant were often meaningless ones. In this instance, that was not entirely the case, as Valise had led the chanting with the simple repetition of a name.

"Dal Gahlla, Dal Gahlla, Dal Gahlla..."

The patron dragon of the orcs. Their oldest friend and ally. A being that they trusted entirely. Not only would the repetition of that name keep them focused, but there was comfort in its mere mention to anyone in the vicinity with green skin and extended lower canines. Even though the great dragon had not been seen in centuries, his memory was still enough to give strength and resolve to any orc.

The vile liquid began to bubble as if brought to the boil, and spat up at the hands held over its surface. All four of the practitioners flinched at the reaction. Even Borika, who was not directly involved in the ritual, bared her teeth at the struggle.

As they chanted, the liquid began to evaporate to send up green vapour into the air that burned to the touch. The chanting was disrupted, as all the participants began to choke on those fumes and struggled to maintain their focus. Valise used her free hand to reach inside her white robes and remove another vial of yellow liquid and smashed it open upon the table. Upon contact with the air, the liquid immediately vaporised and mixed in with the miasma generated by the contents of the bowl. It seemed to neutralise the effects, and the chanting returned with Valise's voice growing clearer and stronger.

The call of the dragon encouraged others in the hall to join in. Though they didn't participate in the ritual directly, they did maintain the timing perfectly. Grolfir himself was soon chanting, and even Ulag joined in before the end. Gregory listened, and the singular focus on the chant brought about the sensation of his own strength returning to him before he too began to utter the name.

His world flashed with white-hot light, and a blaze of pale fire consumed him. It was a fire that did not burn, but its power was unmistakable. The vision lasted only a few seconds, but in those moments he was the fire, and he burned like a beacon. When his sight returned, it was to see Valise take another potion from within her robes. This one was a clear shade of sky blue, and carried its own faint glow before it was poured into the bowl to mix with the green liquid.

The chant was then interrupted by a horrific screech of agony emanating from the silver bowl. Bubbling and shifting in ways that were slightly alien to watch, the liquid finally seemed to splash back into the bowl and the glow of Valise's skin grew brighter. Her hair began to lift about her as if she was submerged in water, and her eyes shone brighter than the torches lighting the hall. The liquid beneath her hand settled into a clear pool of gleaming, mercurial silver that carried no reflection.

"It is done," Valise said.

With the scrying liquid apparently overcome, quite a few nearby orcs scooched forward to see inside the bowl. Upon the shimmering surface, a face came into view. Wren's image looked out at them, as he had once peered into the scrying pool.

"My master," he said. "Your forces have been successfully transported into the south via ship. They landed ashore in Uldrin three days ago under cover of night. I have prepared a means for them to enter the camp that will be traced back to the human diplomat. All goes according to your design."

The image shimmered slightly, and then Wren appeared once again.

"Master, there is a problem. A human has appeared in the camp and our fool of a war-chief is harbouring him. This human apparently wets the cunt of his niece, and is to be granted our hospitality." Wren paused to spit upon the ground. "He has even been granted property, and the right of challenge! This closeness with the war-chief cannot be tolerated. It's about time my son cut his tusks, and so I have charged him with sabotaging the human. I have taken great pains to isolate the human influence in this camp, and will not allow this upstart whelp to interfere. The orcs must be independent, and free of human contamination."

Again, the liquid shimmered before Wren's face reappeared. This time he looked paler and considerably more stressed than he had been before.

"Master, the war-chief has lost his mind! After my son's successful act of sabotage in the creature's encampment, it should have been consigned to the waste pits and been forgotten." Wren snarled with frustration. "Instead, Grolfir has granted it a special right to be entered into the provings! Its first proving was against my son's pack, and Rolk put the human down hard enough that it should never have risen again. I had thought that would be the end of it, but it has some sort of human witch in its service. Magic I am unfamiliar with was used to keep the wretched human alive, and it has recently returned to the provings only to begin winning! My attempts to further sabotage have failed, as it seems the human's encampment is guarded by some unseen force. I dare not send any of my servants, for I feel that I am suspected." Wren was interrupted by a flash of green light, and he screamed out in pain whilst clutching his hands against the sides of his skull. "Master! Please! There is still time! Another chance has presented itseaaargh!" The pain continued, along with the screaming, for quite a while. It finally subsided enough to leave Wren gasping over the pool, his face almost touching the liquid within. "Thank you, master. The human is sending its caravan to the north, into the human lands to trade. We can use this. With your blessing, our forces will intercept the caravan, and I can enchant it with an illusion that will allow it to pass into the camp. Once inside, they will open the gates and release our full might into the Embervine encampment. I will see to it that the defences are weakened. All that must then be accomplished are the deaths of Grolfir, and the human. Should the latter survive somehow? I shall ensure that he is blamed for the attack. My kin are rightfully quick to distrust humanity."

The reflection dissipated and reappeared one last time. It now recalled the conversation that Talina heard on her venture into the forest on the night she had followed Wren to the pool. The sound of the demonic voice could not be heard, but Wren's came through loud and clear.

It was enough to scuttle any remaining support the fallen shaman had left remaining amongst his people. All of the orcs who had rallied to his side amidst the skirmish now lowered their weapons. At best they looked uncertain, but most of them just looked downright furious. Wren saw the shift in the mood of the room, and the last of his influence crumbling away beneath him. Still bound by the roots he had summoned, and unable to wrench them from Urgin's control, he sought power from a different source.

"Back up!" Gregory called out, having not taken his eyes from Wren since the beginning of the ritual.

The orcs nearby soon saw the wisdom in the human's order as their former elder shaman fully turned himself over to his demonic master. The transformation was slow at first, showing Wren's eyes to burn a sulphuric yellow colour before erupting in green flame. His body wretched so powerfully that the vines and roots could not keep him at bay.

Valise immediately broke her focus on the ritual, and both Urgin and Kozash saw what was happening and turned their own power to strengthening Wren's bindings. It was an effort that proved fruitless, as the elder's body expanded and began to expel vicious green flames that scorched his own skin. That fire consumed him, and made several orcs scramble backward whilst a couple of Wren's most ardent supporters who had been nearest him were engulfed in the flames. Their screams were drowned out in a rising demonic screech, as two skeletal, bat-like wings lifted out of the fire. The bony limbs had been blackened, and were clearly incapable of flight. It didn't stop them lashing out at nearby orcs with the sharp spurs. One was impaled through the shoulder and the others just managed to escape a vicious slash.

The fire then faded to reveal a large, hideous creature with glowing green eyes and a badly burned hide. It had a bat-like snout with large fangs, and its forearms finished in large slashing claws. The screeching noise sounding from its throat made his ears ring in pain, and it reeked of sulphur. Its legs were covered in scales, and it held itself like a lizard standing upright. A long whip-like tail extended behind it, tipped with a cruel looking barb that lashed out wildly and cast several drops of acidic liquid hissing onto the stone floor.

"Ok, that's definitely overkill," Gregory noted. "Couldn't he have just turned into a big snake? What's wrong with a big snake? It's a classic bad guy move."

The monster that Wren had become interrupted his musings when he charged toward the Dragons.

"On me!" Gregory yelled to his friends as Nullik threw him a 4ft long, curved sword to defend himself with.

The rallying cry had just been meant for his pack, but it seemed to snap every orc assembled in the hall out of their shock. Turning into a giant death-beast might have given Wren some chance to free himself, but it wasn't nearly as much of a chance as he'd hoped for. Since the night of the attack, the orcs no longer felt safe in their Great Hall, and that meant that many of the assembly had arrived armed to the teeth.

Before the monster could close the distance between it and the relatively unarmed human, it found itself being attacked on all sides by several orc packs. This included that of the war-chief himself. It was only then that Gregory saw just how much he still had to learn. In the midst of witnessing the fight on the night of the ambush, everything had appeared like a dream in slow motion. He hadn't fully comprehended just how fast orcs could move when they wanted to, or how well orc war-packs worked together in an actual battle. Without calling out orders, each of the packs focused on a single target of their enemy, and seemed to know each other's movements instinctively.

Even so, the creature was still putting up quite a fight. Though the orcs were fast, they were finding it exceptionally difficult to locate a vulnerable avenue of attack. Its tail lashed wildly at its rear, spitting the corrosive fluid as it did. To the flanks, its wings might have been useless for flying but proved to be perfect for skewering flesh upon their long, bony spurs. A frontal attack seemed out of the question as any attacker would find itself facing those great fore-claws and the creature's fanged maw.

These constant dangers prevented the orcs from attacking, and instead kept the creature in a holding position until someone could provide a solution of how to take the damned thing down. Kozash, Urgin and Borika all fell into line and seemed to be preparing some attack of their own, but whatever it was seemed to be taking far too much time.