Veil of the Dragon (Prophecy of the Evarun) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Tom Barczak
waited as Chaelus tumbled to the ground.
The Remnant which hoped to claim him leaned down in pursuit, appearing strange, almost like child going after a lost sweet. But then the Dragon, having already once suffered Chaelus’ loss, would have its attention on nothing else.
Al-Aaron plunged Baerythe down.
The Remnant’s faceless veil gave a slow turn in surprise as Baerythe’s length penetrated between the bands of its blackened lorica. Blue flame swirled about it. Tremors claimed it. The Remnant’s armor buckled inward.
Al-Aaron pulled Baerythe free. Wind rushed from the Remnant’s tumbling husk, brushing past him. It smelled pungent and sweet, for the scent of the soul that had been set free.
Al-Aaron’s wound cried out.
Two pillars of shadow stood across the narrow clearing, the mist of their making still gathered about them. Beyond them, at the edge of the darker forest night, Magus reined in a black steed.
Chaelus stirred on the ground, an awakening moan upon his lips.
Al-Aaron stepped before Chaelus as the two Remnants, now fully summoned, marched towards him. Their black legion blades hissed as they withdrew them from their scabbards. Beyond the Remnants’ veils, the ire of the Dragon clamored. If the scent of a soul was sweet, then the scent of one made captive held like iron upon the tongue, like the pungent odor of death, but all the worse for the suffering it carried.
The smell washed over Al-Aaron as he narrowed the distance between them. Around him, the ghost songs of the Cherubim sounded again.
Beyond the Remnants themselves, the Dragon, Magus, waited. It hadn’t come for him, but for the return of one he’d taken from it.
The Remnants fell to Baerythe as Al-Aaron passed.
The songs of the Cherubim faded.
Al-Aaron lowered the blackened length of Baerythe’s gossamer blade beside him. Blue flame still trickled across its edge. Behind Al-Aaron, the husks of the Remnants collapsed and buckled upon the shadows that bound them. The souls they’d held billowed past, the glow of blue flame dancing upon them.
***
Chaelus awoke to his head pounding, his vision blurred. He lay upon the ground. Al-Aaron stood nearby, surrounded by the fallen bodies of armored men. Darkened legion helms, skirted in mail, concealed their faces above blackened lorica. Short stabbing blades, widened at their tips like teeth and blackened like their armor, lay on the ground beside them.
Before Al-Aaron, a single rider leveled a stave bearing the standard of the Taurate, the circle Imperious inscribed with the X of the Prostrate Cross. His black mount reared beneath him.
The azure flame from Al-Aaron’s blade illuminated the silver child’s face beneath his cowl. Magus’ whisper - the Dragon’s whisper - caustic and sweet, drifted from it.
“Why do you still stand?”
Chaelus struggled to his knees. The ground beneath him and the enemy before him wavered. Impotent rage coursed through him.
Al-Aaron stood calm, holding his wounded arm close. He raised his sword upright with the other. The thin white cloth that bound the steel had blackened.
“Because I remembered what protects me.”
Magus turned his stare towards Chaelus as a smile surely passed across his unseen lips. He urged his mount forward. His voice grew coarse as it drew in.
“Death suits you well, Master.”
Al-Aaron stepped between them. “You can’t have him.”
Magus and beast sprang back, blocked by something unseen. He screamed with the sounds of the damned as he pulled the beast up short. “Your kind is dead and your ashes have been scattered. I know this!”
“Then it’s from the ashes we’ve returned. I hold no fear of you.”
Magus screamed again as the beast reared once more beneath him. Al-Aaron remained steadfast, his sword aglow with soft blue radiance. Barely, he whispered, “Go
The Remnant which hoped to claim him leaned down in pursuit, appearing strange, almost like child going after a lost sweet. But then the Dragon, having already once suffered Chaelus’ loss, would have its attention on nothing else.
Al-Aaron plunged Baerythe down.
The Remnant’s faceless veil gave a slow turn in surprise as Baerythe’s length penetrated between the bands of its blackened lorica. Blue flame swirled about it. Tremors claimed it. The Remnant’s armor buckled inward.
Al-Aaron pulled Baerythe free. Wind rushed from the Remnant’s tumbling husk, brushing past him. It smelled pungent and sweet, for the scent of the soul that had been set free.
Al-Aaron’s wound cried out.
Two pillars of shadow stood across the narrow clearing, the mist of their making still gathered about them. Beyond them, at the edge of the darker forest night, Magus reined in a black steed.
Chaelus stirred on the ground, an awakening moan upon his lips.
Al-Aaron stepped before Chaelus as the two Remnants, now fully summoned, marched towards him. Their black legion blades hissed as they withdrew them from their scabbards. Beyond the Remnants’ veils, the ire of the Dragon clamored. If the scent of a soul was sweet, then the scent of one made captive held like iron upon the tongue, like the pungent odor of death, but all the worse for the suffering it carried.
The smell washed over Al-Aaron as he narrowed the distance between them. Around him, the ghost songs of the Cherubim sounded again.
Beyond the Remnants themselves, the Dragon, Magus, waited. It hadn’t come for him, but for the return of one he’d taken from it.
The Remnants fell to Baerythe as Al-Aaron passed.
The songs of the Cherubim faded.
Al-Aaron lowered the blackened length of Baerythe’s gossamer blade beside him. Blue flame still trickled across its edge. Behind Al-Aaron, the husks of the Remnants collapsed and buckled upon the shadows that bound them. The souls they’d held billowed past, the glow of blue flame dancing upon them.
***
Chaelus awoke to his head pounding, his vision blurred. He lay upon the ground. Al-Aaron stood nearby, surrounded by the fallen bodies of armored men. Darkened legion helms, skirted in mail, concealed their faces above blackened lorica. Short stabbing blades, widened at their tips like teeth and blackened like their armor, lay on the ground beside them.
Before Al-Aaron, a single rider leveled a stave bearing the standard of the Taurate, the circle Imperious inscribed with the X of the Prostrate Cross. His black mount reared beneath him.
The azure flame from Al-Aaron’s blade illuminated the silver child’s face beneath his cowl. Magus’ whisper - the Dragon’s whisper - caustic and sweet, drifted from it.
“Why do you still stand?”
Chaelus struggled to his knees. The ground beneath him and the enemy before him wavered. Impotent rage coursed through him.
Al-Aaron stood calm, holding his wounded arm close. He raised his sword upright with the other. The thin white cloth that bound the steel had blackened.
“Because I remembered what protects me.”
Magus turned his stare towards Chaelus as a smile surely passed across his unseen lips. He urged his mount forward. His voice grew coarse as it drew in.
“Death suits you well, Master.”
Al-Aaron stepped between them. “You can’t have him.”
Magus and beast sprang back, blocked by something unseen. He screamed with the sounds of the damned as he pulled the beast up short. “Your kind is dead and your ashes have been scattered. I know this!”
“Then it’s from the ashes we’ve returned. I hold no fear of you.”
Magus screamed again as the beast reared once more beneath him. Al-Aaron remained steadfast, his sword aglow with soft blue radiance. Barely, he whispered, “Go
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