CHAPTER 68 – OF A DIFFERENT SORT


    It was strange for Zora to be this far north. She didn’t feel comfortable along the northern reaches of the road where she met Mitakahn, and this port city was no better. She tried not to look around. Too many horrible sights around her. She was no soldier. Zora came from a family of cavern dwellers, forgesmith by trade. Yes, she did join the dragon rider core in an attempt to get outside of her family’s shadow, but never did she intend on such extensive destruction. As Fathom’s broodmother, she wanted him to spend time in the clouds and see greater MagnaThora. As all members of the dark kingdom know though, if there is anything that the cascade has taught them, it’s that there is always a cost, usually in flesh and sacrifice, a dragon rider rides with the armies, and in the military it is kill or be killed. Sometimes they fought the monsters, and, with deep regret, sometimes they were the monsters.


    Zora was still early enough in her career to have not done anything particularly reprehensible yet. But as she continued to figure out just how far deep in she was, Zora began to realize her time was running out. She tried her best to keep to herself and stay out of the dark lord’s way. Zora could only keep that up for so long. She knew as soon as Fathom awoke, certain things would be expected of them. Zora had an inkling of what those orders would be, but she would wait until she heard it directly before even grappling with the challenges that lay in store.


    The dragon rider was given a room in Seaport Village, mostly because that’s where Fathom decided to crash. The accommodations were fair. The bed was far softer than anything she ever slept on. It was quite relaxing, and given her current situation, just the reprieve she needed from all the trouble surrounding her. Zora stepped outside to check on Fathom. He was still fast asleep, exactly where she left him. It had been days now, and he showed no signs of waking up.


    Zora got close to Fathom’s head and rubbed his leathery chin. One of her favorite pastimes. The creature was a consistent source of heat for her, which she desperately craved at all times. She ran her fingers up the black scales and across his mouth. Zora wedged her fingers into the dragon’s massive mouth and gently pinched his tongue. It was still wet. That was a good sign. Zora let go of his tongue and palmed the dragon’s cheek. She could feel slight vibrations reverberating up and back down in the beast’s chest. She followed the breaths down and saw the vibrations awaken glowing red lines in the cracks between Fathom’s black scales.


    When she turned around after inspecting her dragon’s slumber, she saw the Emissary waiting for her. A chill shot down Zora’s spine, not a good sign. There was something repulsive about this particular member of the dark lord’s council. She much rather preferred the company of Commander Zorrowfold or even Spangalore for that matter. Anyone would be preferable compared to the Emissary who had damned features and a flamboyant savage resolve.


    “The Dark Lord wishes to speak with you, dragon rider.”


    Zora nodded. “Lead the way,” she said.


    The Emissary turned around, brandishing a satisfied look on his face as he led her to the lobby plaza of Vestige Tower. The Dark Lord Malinor and Admiral Zorrowfold were coordinating all the moving parts of the invasion from this camp; Zorrowfold’s acolyte riders were on route to the Serengeti. They let the infantile cravens rampage through what’s left of the city. The army formed up beyond the stables, almost at the city limits, as it gathered for the siege on Zepathorum. The behemoths and mongrels harnessed and shackled into position within the ranks of the standing army.


    Zora walked through the city with the Emissary and the violent sights took a toll on her, by the time they reached the tower she practically had her eyes closed. Now she was before the Dark Lord and the Admiral, with the Emissary lurking in the background. She knew what would come next. Once the Dark Lord noticed she was in the room with them he addressed her.


    “Zora of Morticomb Caverns, I have summoned you today to promote you to my high council and name you sky marshal of my fleet.”


    Zora dropped to one knee before the Dark Lord. “Nothing would honor me more, my lord.” She crossed her right arm over her chest and then pulled it away swooping down. Malinor wiggled his wrist free of his sleeve to reveal a black gold ring around the middle finger of his gloved hand. Zora was meant to kiss it. She lurched her head forward, closed her eyes and kissed it. The black was siphoned out of the now pure gold ring and into Zora’s lips. They glowed black for a second before fading back into her natural pink colored lips. She had no idea what just happened. All she knew at the moment was that she didn’t like it. That feeling was foreign and immediately evasive. She even struggled to remember it. Remember what? She was tired, even after all that rest. It was easy to doubt oneself when seeing at least one reality altering thing per day. The allegiance she just swore to the Dark Lord was no mere words. That shadow that infected her lips bound them by more than just oath. If Zora acted against the words she spoke the ring’s shadow would activate immediately, swarming her system, if it hasn’t already.”


    “This invasion will be the largest battle in MagnaThoran history. I took certain measures to ensure our victory over the north. Due to unforeseen developments, we may now need even more reinforcements than I had arranged for.”


    Zora wasted no time and cut to the chase. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    “You want me to fly south and bring forth the horde.”


    Zorrowfold and the Emissary both regarded Zora briefly before hearing Malinor’s laughter.


    “No, dear daughter of darkness, I would not ask you to once again fly south.”


    Zora felt relieved. Maybe for a couple moments she lived in that naivety, before the brash realization set in of her mission being far more worse than another long trip.


    “What would you have of me, my lord?”


    “You say your family comes from the caverns, but you speak like a noble.”


    “I speak like a comber…from my age.”


    “So, you freely admit it now.”


    Zorrowfold and the Emissary looked confused, exchanging glances between the four of them.


    “What does the dark lord speak of, dragon rider?” asked the Emissary.


    “I’ve been sent to the future from my time.” Zora sighed.


    There were plenty of questions, but this was Malinor’s court, so he continued.


    “I’m asking you, Sky Marshal, to lead my finest dragon riders on a quest to reclaim a cosmic force.”


    “I’m not sure I know what force you are referring to, my lord.”


    “MagnaThora was not always the paradise that it is today. In the first age the world was ruled by fire. The phenom gods used their power to create dragons that could eat the fire. When the fires went out, the dragons ate animals and humans instead. So, the gods imbued them with magic and sent them into the stars.”


    “That’s a beautiful legend, my lord.”


    “What does it have to do with us, exalted one?” asked the Emissary.


    “Sky Marshal Zora, you are tasked with finding and bringing home the ancient star-dragons.”


    Zora was flabbergasted. So many questions ran through her head. It was hard for her to keep her concentration and pick just one response. The choice was obvious. Everything else paled in importance.


    Zora asked, “How will you imbue me with the power?”


    “It won’t be nectopyre vapor, I can assure you of that,” Malinor smirked, “Admiral Zorrowfold make sure siege preparations proceed without delay, even if that means marching up to the gates of Zepathorum without me.”


    “As you wish, my lord.” Admiral Zorrowfold bowed.


    Malinor walked away before stopping briefly, turning around, and gesturing Zora to follow him. Together they walked back towards Seaport Village. The Dark Lord was bringing her back to Fathom. Zora kept pace slightly behind the Dark Lord. She looked back, only the Emissary followed them. Zora felt a chill ping off the top of her spine by the neck. There was something truly despicable about him that Zora could not put her finger on but felt strongly about all the same.


    Malinor rubbed his hands as he approached Fathom, still sleeping on the ground.


    “Excuse me, my lord,” said the Emissary, “would you grant me the honor of awakening the beast?”


    “Be quick with it.”


    “You have my gratitude, exalted one.”


    The Emissary brandished the same staff that Malinor had used to quell the fires, from where? Zora did not know. He touched the top tip of it to the glowing gem strapped to his chest and they became the same white fire color, the churning cosmic flame seemed to spread over to the staff. The Emissary took the lit staff and began waving it in a synchronistic fashion. The clouds were being manipulated. From this far away, Zora could make out little, but the atmosphere was changing, fluctuating chaotically between dry and humid, hot and cold.


    Something was happening above. It looked like a tunnel was formed through the clouds above, then a loud crack and another, followed by two bolts of lightning ricocheting off the clouds. As the lightning blasted, Fathom’s eyes snapped awake. Zora could see reflections of the lightning bolts in her dragon’s eyes. He was awake and refreshed. Zora understood the implications.


    “Where are we going?”


    “Into the Burning Mountains.”


    “Why?”


    “To kill a god.”