Araxis's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

The black horse carried Araxis through the raider gate. Two guards saw the mark on its flank and waved it through. Araxis kept his hood low and his glowing sword hidden under a cloak. The halflings slipped into the shadows along the fence. Thirty men filled the camp. But all of them faced one spot at its center, where the ground had been cleared and ringed with fires. A hooded figure stood in that ring. Dark armor covered his body, and a mask hid his face. Two points of purple light burned where his eyes should be. In one hand he held a staff carved with the shape of a dragon. This was the man who had ordered Araxis's village burned. The raiders bowed their heads when he spoke. Araxis had chased a faceless enemy for days. Now the enemy had a name on the raiders' lips. They called him Dr. Oblivion. "The light has come to us," Oblivion said. His masked face turned straight toward Araxis. "Did you think your little horse would hide you?" Araxis threw off the cloak. His sword blazed gold in his fist. The horse reared and the raiders scattered back. For a moment Araxis stood alone in the firelight, blade raised, heart pounding. Oblivion laughed. He raised the dragon staff high. The ground split and smoke poured out. From the smoke rose a dragon, black-scaled, its wings leathery and torn. Its eyes glowed cold blue. Oblivion reached up and stroked its long neck like a man pets a hound. "Vorthak," he said. "Burn the field. Leave nothing." He swept the staff toward the far side of the camp. "The next village waits past the ridge. We ride at dawn." The dragon's head snapped toward Araxis first. Fire gathered in its throat. Araxis had no plan for a dragon. He had planned for thirty men, not this. He thought of the braided woman, somewhere in the dark, counting the odds he had just ruined. Araxis raised his sword and reached out with its power, the same power that had bent the horse. He pushed into the dragon's cold mind. For one breath he felt it. Then it slammed shut like a door of stone. Vorthak was dead already. No living will remained to bend. The fire broke loose. Araxis dove behind a cart. Flame washed over the wood and lit it like dry grass. Heat tore at his back. He rolled through the gap in the fence where the halflings waited, their faces white. "Run," the braided woman said. She hauled him up by the arm. "We saw the odds. The odds just grew wings." They fled into the dark fields while the camp roared with fire behind them. Araxis had found the man who killed his village. He had learned his name and seen his face of iron. And he had learned one thing more. His sword could not command the dead.