Chapter 3 Reflect #2
But there is no battling the Black Dragon as it roars in its terrible wrath.
I watch as curses riddle all through the dragons trying to ambush it, snapping their bones like twigs and jettisoning their blood from their bodies like their veins are made of tissue paper.
The village defenders plummet from the skies, into the rune-charred and oilslick-diseased carnage, full of broken bodies below.
Before the Black Dragon flies on—to wreck its terrible ruin elsewhere.
As the silver mirror swirls out, dark, a trembling rage fills the underground library. It’s coming from us, as we stand in shock now after what we’ve just seen, horrified and furious all at once.
We heave hard breaths in the ancient library, our inner dragons roaring and gnashing their teeth inside us, as Bjorn, Strom, and I churn. Our dragons seethe for vengeance at what we’ve just seen.
I quite agree with them—all joviality ripped now from my day.
“Well. That’s not what I saw before.” Strom growls, beyond furious, as we stand before the dark mirror.
“Clearly, Litha and Emil Beck, and whomever else they’re Bloodbonded to, are not halting in their agenda of taking down all Blood Dragondom to put themselves and other Bloodwalkers at the top of the food chain.
” Bjorn snarls now as I feel his inner drake rage.
A searing gold Bloodwind whirls all around him as he churns, even though it’s far less than his usual.
“Emil lost some of his Bloodmates at the palace in Copenhagen, but he still has his connection to Litha and her drakes. They still probably have a lot of firepower between them to control the Black Dragon, both being Bloodwalkers.” As I tremble with a sensation that’s blacker than black now, I fight my own darkest dragon rising inside me.
Wanting to punish our enemies forever, for the village they decimated here.
“Litha and Emil have an entire network of Bloodwalkers and their mates, also, who support them in their agenda. At least in Copenhagen.” Strom growls, as we watch the silver mirror swirl.
It doesn’t give us any pictures now, though I notice minuscule Blood Dragon runes and sigil-phrases scrolling through it in insane patterns, like a blowing wind.
When the picture lit up before, it was less like watching an actual scene, but like watching a silvered image through an antique mirror. I understand why now, as I realize all those tiny, infinitesimal runes coalesce to form the images we see.
Ancient magic—nothing that could be replicated today.
“I think this place is some sort of library, this central area a scrying-chamber for the silver mirror-stone.” Strom gestures at it, then nods at the high vaults all around.
“I think this hall focuses the energy of whatever you’re thinking about onto the stone… and whatever you want to see appears.”
As Strom indicates the vaults all around the silver stone, I see those vaults have a strange shape, pointing down like daggers at the mirror as they support the dome far above.
The silver and gold runes in their arcane patterns are also far more vivid and complex here than elsewhere in the city, unique.
“What did you see before?” I ask him now as I glance over.
“When I first found this place, I was actually wondering if my last tattoo-dragon made it to my great-grandfather, the Jarl. To tell him to take the True Knights to our King and join forces,” Strom says as he watches me.
“I came in here and the stone lit up as I was thinking about my great-grandfather Jorg. It showed him in conference with our King, Huttr Erdhelm, and our Prince, Halfdir Erdhelm. With my grandmother Annika. Plus that drakaina who helped us up in Magnussen lands—Svanhild Magnussen.”
“If my great-aunt is there with those others from your lands, it’s guaranteed to be a meeting of the True Black Dragon Knights, with our King,” Bjorn rumbles now as he heaves a hard breath of relief.
“At least we know the True Knights have joined forces with the King, at last. We couldn’t just leave King Huttr fighting the Black Dragon alone, not when there was expert help available. ”
Bjorn doesn’t mention how Strom maimed himself and nearly caused his own death down here, to get his last tattoo-dragon off to his great-grandfather and give him our message. Approval shines from Bjorn’s gold eyes at Strom, however.
As Strom gives him the barest nod, acknowledging it.
“If I could see my great-grandfather with this mirror-stone,” Strom juts his chin at the silver stone now, “then I bet we could probably use it to check up on a whole host of our allies, right now.”
“Evaluate our situation, and how fast we may or may not need to move once we recover enough to leave this place.” Bjorn nods, in total agreement with Strom.
Though my Second Drake gives Bjorn hell, a deep mind lives inside Strom. He’s no slouch, having done his time in a curse breaking sector of the Grand Palace Guard, and was chosen by his great-grandfather, Jarl Jorg Eriksson, as his Jarl-Heir for a reason.
“Mirror,” I say now as I feel like the Evil Queen in Snow White, addressing it, but push on anyway. “Show me the Blood Dragon Grand Palace at Stockholm.”
Even as I say it, I feel both my drakes focus on the place we once called home in the Grand Palace Guard. Tension fills me, as the silver mirror swirls—then relief, as an image of the Grand Palace in Stockholm fills the mirror’s antiqued view.
Hale, there is no diabolical curse-work from the Black Dragon spiraling through the palace’s stones, nor evil ropes of black char decimating its grounds. A bright midsummer day, green is everywhere as I see dragons flying through the city’s airspace just like on any regular day.
Even I can see the tight cordons of King Huttr’s military and palace guards, however, not in human form but all in dragon-form, as they police the skies. Though everything still looks normal, Stockholm is on red alert, as I see those sweeps going through the air.
Not to mention ridiculous cordons of shifted-up Blood Dragons perched on every tower and bridge.
“Our King has called up the entire military,” Bjorn says as he studies the scene. “He’s got a large force protecting Stockholm and the palace, probably every local brigade that could fly in on such short notice. Hopefully, it’ll dissuade Litha and her allies from attacking the city just yet.”
“Until the Black Dragon grows stronger.” Brimstone flashes in Strom’s green eyes as he glances at me, a sheen of his maroon-green magic whirling through the air.
“I don’t think that village we saw being attacked was in Sweden; their clothing and building style looked Danish.
Probably sympathizers to the old Jarl that Emil wanted to root out. ”
“It’s only a matter of time before Litha and her cronies send the Black Dragon back to Sweden, though, to deal with our King.
” I set my jaw, feeling my inner dragons snarl as I try to predict where our enemies will move next.
“She might want to root us out first, though, to finish us before attacking the Grand Palace.”
“Now that we’ve gone underground, she’ll send that thing against our loved ones as bait. That’s what I’d do.” Strom’s brimstone eyes flash with his darkest Bone Magic, dire. “Mirror. Show us the Old Palace in Sweden.” He says at once, as he faces the mirror.
As the mirror-view changes again, throughout its antiqued, rune-scrolled patina, we see the Old Palace on the same sunny day. Just like the Grand Palace, there’s no ruination in sight; all three of us breathe a sigh of relief now, none more so than Strom, to see that his family’s home is hale.
But if the Grand Palace was swarming with guards, the Old Palace is thrice that. Jarl Jorg Eriksson is taking zero chances with his people and the central seat of the True Black Dragon Knights.
It shows, as dragons crowd the ancient towers and high blue skies.
“At least my great-grandfather won’t let our enemies in without a fight. A good one,” Strom says tersely now, though we all know how fast the Black Dragon can carve through ranks of regular Blood Dragons, if they don’t have anyone with intense mystical abilities to combat it.
“Mirror. Show us Jurggadden.” As I ask the mirror to check up on the village of my stepfathers now, I see all is peace there, as well.
Though the cliffside village is still being rebuilt from when the Black Dragon already ransacked it a few weeks ago, there’s no new destruction, only building happening upon the steep cliffs beside the ocean.
As I take a chance now and ask the mirror to show us the Thorsen twins’ locations, it scrolls through about thirty different places, all without harm.
Other than The Chartreuse club, already devastated in Copenhagen, I know Mikkel and Laerke’s clubs are not on the Black Dragon’s hit list just yet, either.
It’s then that Bjorn asks to see his father’s hall up in Magnussen lands—and I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing when we see it hale before us on the same sunny day.
It’s forbidding, as its white towers stand strong in a stiff high-north wind, snow still thick upon the ground. Bjorn doesn’t ask to see inside the Jarl’s hall, however, or to see his father. I understand why not, as a conflicted hatred seethes through my First Drake now.
His father, Jarl Oggi Magnussen, so not a friend to us.
As the mirror swirls back to its runic silver winds again, however, I suddenly have a thought. “Show us Litha,” I say, wondering how far this object’s power extends.
But even as I ask to see our enemy, the silver mirror blows into intense carnage. Indistinct, there’s only a cyclone of power that whirls through it, before it gives up and goes back to its calmer, more inert state.
As I ask to see Litha’s hideout, Litha’s mates, even Emil Beck, I get nothing now, only that intense whirl. As if the mirror can’t latch onto them, it seems to have trouble finding their dark magic, or they’ve shielded themselves with their power somehow, in a way the mirror can’t pick up on.
I don’t want to think about why it showed me the Black Dragon as I entered this space, though.
It’s not a good thought that perhaps the silver mirror can find the Usurper because I’m somehow connected to the creature.
My dual dragons gnash their teeth, knowing we share some deep inner darkness with the behemoth, as the bloodline of its creator.
Still not understanding what.
“Well, at least we got to see a few things,” Strom says as he glances at me. “That our King is still safe, for one, and that he’s in conference with the True Knights, for two. And that our homes and loved ones are still intact.”
“For now.” Bjorn’s low basso growl conveys everything Strom won’t say, however, as he stares daggers at the inert mirror with his arms crossed, his gold eyes burning.
“But they don’t have shit to fight the Black Dragon with.
We know that—they don’t. They’ll die to the last dragon if we can’t get them something useful against the Usurper, stat. ”
“Bjorn’s right. Even if the True Knights do share all they know about the Black Dragon with our King, his forces are far from fighting it.
” I gesture with a sigh at the swirling mirror, calm right now, though it blows with all those millions of tiny runes scrolling all over it.
“When I spoke with Insinio Brandfort at Chambord, even he admitted the Intercessoria have no clue how to fight this thing, and are only working on possible containment. We need to figure out how it was made; we need to understand the magic that created it, for any of us to battle it.”
“Which we are even further from doing now, ever since Emil Beck betrayed us and stole all our artifacts from Unhaemmerten.” Strom gives a snarl as a nasty brimstone-green fire flashes in his eyes, his wrath renewed as that sheen simmers around him again in the vast hall.
“If there was anything useful in that pile of scrolls and oddities, it’s gone now.
” I fight a howling black wrath of despair as I set my hands on my hips, ignoring the black shimmer that swirls around me now in the hall—my inner Bone Magic surging as I stew.
“We don’t even have a phone or anything to access the documents Mikkel and Laerke deciphered for us.
This place is ancient… no cell service or internet here. ”
Even as I have that thought, however, the silver mirror suddenly swirls again. Harder than before, the entire runic pattern seethes upon the massive stone, like a hurricane of water and wind all blending together inside the silver.
Then the image stabilizes—with a blink, I realize we’re looking at a page from one document Mikkel and Laerke decrypted for us from the scrolls we found at Unhaemmerten.
This is the translated version stored on the web, however, picked right up off the magically bio-encrypted link Laerke created for us.
Accessed without a computer or anything now, by the strange silver stone.