Read Online Fate Rides Wicked: Volume I of the Lerilon Trilogy by Jonathan Biviano - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Biviano
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hill, unaware of their plight. As the
two exiles went under, a soft rap came at the door.
Standing, the realization came to him that Tych’s beacon
had left. When he opened the door, a look of panicked
worry had contorted his features. Morg stepped in quickly
with two other wizards from the village.
“Father, what is wrong?” Morg momentarily forgot
why he had come to the tower.
“I no longer feel Tych’s presence. He is lost physically
or mentally or both. I fear the storm has claimed him.”
“That is what we are here for. Pleftor has determined
that the storm outside is magically created. Working
together, we’ve discovered the truth of this. We’ve also
found evidence that it may destroy every ecosystem on the
northern plain and perhaps reach into the kingdoms.”
“We do not have enough of the right power gathered
here to counteract a Rangdor-generated storm. I’m afraid,
Morg, that we must take this defeat.” The look of gloom
on Corl’s face deepened until it seemed to suck the light
from his eyes.
“We need the help of dragon kind.”
“NO! We cannot ask such things of a race we almost
destroyed.” Rage had replaced despair.
“Father, do not deceive us. We know of your special
relationship with the dragons. This storm can be ended but
the dragons are the only race suited to do so. Their hunting
grounds are in danger. As your son, your king and a fellow
magician, I beg you.”
“I will discuss it with the one I know, but alone.” Corl
picked up the Staff of Two Magics. “Remember, we can
expect nothing we ask of them to be done, but I will try.”
After a moment of concentration, he vanished.
On his natural rock platform, the wizard chanted. A
quarter of an hour passed. The chant became a song.
Another fifteen minutes went by. Then suddenly, as if out
of nowhere, a huge, golden lizard appeared in the sky. A
fifty-foot wingspan beat back the clouds as two tons of
scale-covered body bore down on the valley. With a
graceful, gentle swoop, the creature pulled up in front of
the platform and became a man. Only the endarils knew
this secret, that dragons could take whatever humanoid
shape they chose.
Corl bowed in a deep sign of respect and the dragon
responded. “Thank you for coming, my friend.”
“What is the reason, king of wizards, for bringing me
out in a storm such as this?”
“The storm is the reason. I now ask for the favor I gave
to be returned. The storm is magical, the work of Rangdor,
and we need it ended before it wipes out every creature in
the northern plain.”
“What you ask is no small task. What, personally,
motivates you to call on your favor for such a thing?”
“He who can save this planet is out there in that storm.
He is facing a battle with powers beyond even his
remarkable strengths.”
“The second question I must ask before I may consider
this is, what might I be motivated by?”
“The destruction of your hunting grounds by he who
would kill all that is good.”
“You have satisfied me, greatest of all wizards. It will
be done.” The dragon ran to the edge and leaped, once
again taking on his natural shape. With several broad
sweeps of his wings, he passed through the clouds and
vanished. Corl once more concentrated and returned to his
tower. After his students were satisfied, the endaril put his
staff against the wall and climbed into bed. He fell asleep
quickly and his dreams were filled with death.
Tych came up sputtering. Something clung to his
armor and in panic he fought to free himself. He went
under again by its force, his hands tearing at it. His
survival had been purely by instinct, but now he needed
strength. The cold water that had helped slow his
metabolism, held something that wished to feed on him.
He kicked free and darted towards the surface of the
deep river. Something hit him in the head and, thinking it
was debris, he grabbed it. Another of the vine-like arms
wrapped around
two exiles went under, a soft rap came at the door.
Standing, the realization came to him that Tych’s beacon
had left. When he opened the door, a look of panicked
worry had contorted his features. Morg stepped in quickly
with two other wizards from the village.
“Father, what is wrong?” Morg momentarily forgot
why he had come to the tower.
“I no longer feel Tych’s presence. He is lost physically
or mentally or both. I fear the storm has claimed him.”
“That is what we are here for. Pleftor has determined
that the storm outside is magically created. Working
together, we’ve discovered the truth of this. We’ve also
found evidence that it may destroy every ecosystem on the
northern plain and perhaps reach into the kingdoms.”
“We do not have enough of the right power gathered
here to counteract a Rangdor-generated storm. I’m afraid,
Morg, that we must take this defeat.” The look of gloom
on Corl’s face deepened until it seemed to suck the light
from his eyes.
“We need the help of dragon kind.”
“NO! We cannot ask such things of a race we almost
destroyed.” Rage had replaced despair.
“Father, do not deceive us. We know of your special
relationship with the dragons. This storm can be ended but
the dragons are the only race suited to do so. Their hunting
grounds are in danger. As your son, your king and a fellow
magician, I beg you.”
“I will discuss it with the one I know, but alone.” Corl
picked up the Staff of Two Magics. “Remember, we can
expect nothing we ask of them to be done, but I will try.”
After a moment of concentration, he vanished.
On his natural rock platform, the wizard chanted. A
quarter of an hour passed. The chant became a song.
Another fifteen minutes went by. Then suddenly, as if out
of nowhere, a huge, golden lizard appeared in the sky. A
fifty-foot wingspan beat back the clouds as two tons of
scale-covered body bore down on the valley. With a
graceful, gentle swoop, the creature pulled up in front of
the platform and became a man. Only the endarils knew
this secret, that dragons could take whatever humanoid
shape they chose.
Corl bowed in a deep sign of respect and the dragon
responded. “Thank you for coming, my friend.”
“What is the reason, king of wizards, for bringing me
out in a storm such as this?”
“The storm is the reason. I now ask for the favor I gave
to be returned. The storm is magical, the work of Rangdor,
and we need it ended before it wipes out every creature in
the northern plain.”
“What you ask is no small task. What, personally,
motivates you to call on your favor for such a thing?”
“He who can save this planet is out there in that storm.
He is facing a battle with powers beyond even his
remarkable strengths.”
“The second question I must ask before I may consider
this is, what might I be motivated by?”
“The destruction of your hunting grounds by he who
would kill all that is good.”
“You have satisfied me, greatest of all wizards. It will
be done.” The dragon ran to the edge and leaped, once
again taking on his natural shape. With several broad
sweeps of his wings, he passed through the clouds and
vanished. Corl once more concentrated and returned to his
tower. After his students were satisfied, the endaril put his
staff against the wall and climbed into bed. He fell asleep
quickly and his dreams were filled with death.
Tych came up sputtering. Something clung to his
armor and in panic he fought to free himself. He went
under again by its force, his hands tearing at it. His
survival had been purely by instinct, but now he needed
strength. The cold water that had helped slow his
metabolism, held something that wished to feed on him.
He kicked free and darted towards the surface of the
deep river. Something hit him in the head and, thinking it
was debris, he grabbed it. Another of the vine-like arms
wrapped around
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