Well, looks like it’s really now or never. For the glory of the sky, the moon, and the stars, let’s rock this place.
“Boy, is that Death Legion close, or what?” Gallian asked the two Wyvern-Masters, laying on the sarcastic tone. No reason he couldn’t play with them just a little longer.
“You seem to be just a little too happy, what with your being so close to death,” Muertaa insisted. “I guess you just don’t like your life much, do you?”
“That’s not the question at hand, here, fellows. The question is how much do you two like your lives, and why are you so happy so close to your deaths?” Gallian replied matter-of-factly, earning him evil looks and icy glares from both Wyvern-Masters.
“That’s the worst comeback I’ve ever heard!” Muertaa spat out in disgust. “It matters not what you say anyway, you foolish Sage.” He lifted up his own arms then in a mockery of Gallian’s own earlier actions. “Thou shalt die! And from the looks of, I’d say it will be fairly soon. I still see nothing that can possibly save your poor self.”
Gallian’s smile became more complete. “Yeah, well, see this – SAGE!" he cried, calling forth the ancient Tytin magic to power his spell. The protective wards carved all around the room flared a dark blue and instantly sprang to life as the magic of the ancient spell went into effect.
“What the . . .” the Wyvern-Masters said in unison. It would be the last thing they ever said.
* * * * * * * * * *
The blue light from the wards grew stronger until it started to envelop the whole room. The force of the magical light was so great that Teryn, still watching the events unfold through Gallian’s eyes, was abruptly torn out of Gallian’s mind and thrust violently back into his own body.
He fell to the floor as the pages of the book fizzled and the blue light of the spell engulfed them momentarily. Teryn tried to hold onto his consciousness to no avail. With his last coherent thought, he cast a quick spell to shut the book and push it to a far corner of the room.
Then he blacked out.
Chapter FivePriest Material
“Do not fight against fate.
For if the gods must,
They will sooner take away all that you have,
Than watch you go against them.”
Book of Gallian, 4:29.
Year 4993 (Six years ago)
A young man stood silent in front of the Dragon Council, the ruling section of the Grand Order, waiting patiently for one of them to do something and get the show on the road. His mother had been after him this morning about something, and he knew it would interfere with his plans, so he wished to get the test over with as quickly as possible before she could burst into the room and ruin things.
He knew as well, though, as he stood staring straight ahead in that grand hallway, patience was a major part of the test. Still, they had made him wait twenty minutes already, not able to move or speak. All he could do was look around, and then only at things in front of him, and he felt all this waiting to be a bit unfair.
The hall really was quite grand, and since this was his first time inside, he did find interest in the artistry of it. The man noticed immediately that there were many paintings and tapestries of old battles between Dragons of Martial Arts and their enemies where the Dragons, of course, had been winning.
Of course, there were few battles that ended otherwise, seeing as the Dragons were the best-trained fighters on the continent and likely even beyond. There was great pride and prestige in being a Dragon of Martial Arts, which was one reason the man was here to try and become one. He wanted to be the greatest fighter ever to live, and he knew the only way to accomplish such a feat was to become a Dragon.
The young man wished he could look behind him for just one second, so he could see if his mother was coming, but at the same time knew that even that one tiny look would cost him his chance. He could test again in a year, of course, but he had a feeling that waiting that long would only end in disaster. So he looked as straight ahead as he could, trying his best not to flinch, though his eyes occasionally betrayed him and strayed anyway. That’s when he noticed a tiny stain on his nice black uniform. His mind started racing, wondering what would happen. He knew it to be a small spot, one he himself hardly noticed, but that would make no difference to The Dragon Council. They would kick him out of their sight immediately for staining a magic uniform like his, especially since the magic, in part, made them stain resistant.
The magic did many other things to transform the garment. For one, it was enhanced so it would not only fit him perfectly at any time, no matter how disfigured he became, but that it would never fit anyone else, not even someone his exact size. This could be useful, since there were many weapons and other things inside the uniform that could only be accessed by the wearer, another aspect of the magic.
This garment covered almost all of his body, leaving a few slight holes in the mouth for breathing and an eye slit so he could see clearly. Other than that, it covered every inch of him – feet, hands, everything – but left him with a wide range of flexibility, yet another part of the magic behind it. The garment also offered a good deal more protection than one might have thought given the thinness of the fabric. It could
