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brunt of the strike.
Take the power. Take what is offered.
“That was an offer?” Dax got up, dusted himself off and rubbed his aching jaw. “No
offense, dear friend, but whatever that is clearly doesn’t want to be taken.”
Without the Old One’s strength, you cannot win. You must take it. But first, you must
prove yourself worthy.
“Wonderful.” Dax moved his head, stretching the tendons and cracking the joints in
his neck. He regarded the translucent image of the dragon shimmering in the hot air.
“So be it, Old One. Let us roll the bones.”
This time, as he approached the crystallized dragon carcass and the veil of energy
hovering above it, he braced himself for attack. The blow, when it came, struck twice
as hard as before. Power tore into him with diamond-hard claws. The sheer intensity
of it threatened to rip him to pieces, but he set his jaw and leaned into it, firing
back a blast of his own, meeting power with power, force with force. The shimmering
dragon roared and flexed its wings.
And the fight was on.
Waves of energy swirled around the room. A powerful force built underneath and around
him. The walls of the chamber began to tremble. Tiny particles of rock and sand fell
from the ceiling. Dax thrust calming waves into the ground, stilling the rupturing
earth.
The flow of magma into the chamber increased, forcing Dax to step back. Gases bubbled
and spat in the magma pool. The heat increased. The air sparked. The gases caught
fire in a flash of boiling orange flame. Dax closed his eyes and flung up a shield.
Heat poured over him like an ocean wave.
A voice that sounded like thunder growled and rumbled in his brain. Only the strongest may hope to hold a dragon’s soul. How strong are you, Danutdaxton
of the Carpathians? The dragon spoke in his ancient language, Carpathian, allowing Dax to understand
him.
Each word boomed and burned inside his mind as if a hammer made of flaming lead were
pounding against his skull. Dax fought the urge to cover his ears, knowing it was
useless.
“As strong as I must be to defeat my enemy,” Dax replied. A dragon’s soul. Was that
what fought him now? Or had Mitro found a way to trick him after all? “Do you think
me your enemy?”
Does a lion name the flea his enemy?
“A flea, am I?” Dax was mildly insulted at the thought. He reached for the heat rising
from the magma, drawing it to him, shaping it between his hands into a ball of fire,
which he flung at the center of the insubstantial creature. But rather than punching
a hole through the shimmering red mist, the fireball exploded against the surface,
spreading out in tongues of flame that were swiftly absorbed. The red-mist dragon
seemed to grow larger, as if the flames only made it stronger.
The enemy of heat was cold. Dax tried to drain the heat from around the veil of mist,
but the heat was too intense for him to do more than cool the room a few degrees.
“If you mean to help, Old One, then help,” Dax said. “There is a great evil locked
inside this volcano. While I fight you, it is trying to escape.”
What should I care of this evil thing? You have awakened me from my resting place
and I care nothing for your troubles.
Dax puzzled over that for a moment. The dragon had no reason to care. His time was
long past. All that he knew and loved was gone from the earth. Even his body was gone.
Perhaps there is no reason other than you are a dragon, and a great warrior, or so
I have been led to believe.
There was a moment of silence. A dragon’s soul is a mighty power. Only the strongest of vessels could hope to contain
it. All others would shatter.
Power slammed toward Dax again, but this time he tried a different tack. In his years
of training with the ancients of his race, he’d learned when to stand firm and when
to bend like a tree in the wind. He ducked the dragon’s main blast and rolled forward
beneath it, coming up
Take the power. Take what is offered.
“That was an offer?” Dax got up, dusted himself off and rubbed his aching jaw. “No
offense, dear friend, but whatever that is clearly doesn’t want to be taken.”
Without the Old One’s strength, you cannot win. You must take it. But first, you must
prove yourself worthy.
“Wonderful.” Dax moved his head, stretching the tendons and cracking the joints in
his neck. He regarded the translucent image of the dragon shimmering in the hot air.
“So be it, Old One. Let us roll the bones.”
This time, as he approached the crystallized dragon carcass and the veil of energy
hovering above it, he braced himself for attack. The blow, when it came, struck twice
as hard as before. Power tore into him with diamond-hard claws. The sheer intensity
of it threatened to rip him to pieces, but he set his jaw and leaned into it, firing
back a blast of his own, meeting power with power, force with force. The shimmering
dragon roared and flexed its wings.
And the fight was on.
Waves of energy swirled around the room. A powerful force built underneath and around
him. The walls of the chamber began to tremble. Tiny particles of rock and sand fell
from the ceiling. Dax thrust calming waves into the ground, stilling the rupturing
earth.
The flow of magma into the chamber increased, forcing Dax to step back. Gases bubbled
and spat in the magma pool. The heat increased. The air sparked. The gases caught
fire in a flash of boiling orange flame. Dax closed his eyes and flung up a shield.
Heat poured over him like an ocean wave.
A voice that sounded like thunder growled and rumbled in his brain. Only the strongest may hope to hold a dragon’s soul. How strong are you, Danutdaxton
of the Carpathians? The dragon spoke in his ancient language, Carpathian, allowing Dax to understand
him.
Each word boomed and burned inside his mind as if a hammer made of flaming lead were
pounding against his skull. Dax fought the urge to cover his ears, knowing it was
useless.
“As strong as I must be to defeat my enemy,” Dax replied. A dragon’s soul. Was that
what fought him now? Or had Mitro found a way to trick him after all? “Do you think
me your enemy?”
Does a lion name the flea his enemy?
“A flea, am I?” Dax was mildly insulted at the thought. He reached for the heat rising
from the magma, drawing it to him, shaping it between his hands into a ball of fire,
which he flung at the center of the insubstantial creature. But rather than punching
a hole through the shimmering red mist, the fireball exploded against the surface,
spreading out in tongues of flame that were swiftly absorbed. The red-mist dragon
seemed to grow larger, as if the flames only made it stronger.
The enemy of heat was cold. Dax tried to drain the heat from around the veil of mist,
but the heat was too intense for him to do more than cool the room a few degrees.
“If you mean to help, Old One, then help,” Dax said. “There is a great evil locked
inside this volcano. While I fight you, it is trying to escape.”
What should I care of this evil thing? You have awakened me from my resting place
and I care nothing for your troubles.
Dax puzzled over that for a moment. The dragon had no reason to care. His time was
long past. All that he knew and loved was gone from the earth. Even his body was gone.
Perhaps there is no reason other than you are a dragon, and a great warrior, or so
I have been led to believe.
There was a moment of silence. A dragon’s soul is a mighty power. Only the strongest of vessels could hope to contain
it. All others would shatter.
Power slammed toward Dax again, but this time he tried a different tack. In his years
of training with the ancients of his race, he’d learned when to stand firm and when
to bend like a tree in the wind. He ducked the dragon’s main blast and rolled forward
beneath it, coming up
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