The Transporters - 6. Chapter 6

The unnatural grey mist blanketed the windows, obscuring any view of what was happening outside. Anshar began to chew his lip again, he had virtually no idea what was happening outside. All he had to go on was a series of roars and the unmistakable sound of flame from the backyard and what sounded like an explosion soon followed by the rumble of broken masonry from the front. Neither of which was particularly comforting.

Mithras reclined on the couch, watching Anshar’s distress with obvious amusement. “You know, you can always go out and check,” he suggested helpfully. “I can’t exactly go anywhere with the binding on me and they probably need you out there.” Anshar turned away from him, staring pensively out the window. “What’s the point of having the former Sky Warden come along if he’s not even going to take part in the battle?” Mithras insisted.

Anshar didn't respond and continued looking out the window as if trying to pierce the mist through sheer force of will. It was clearly a cloaking spell of some kind to conceal or at least direct attention away from whatever mayhem was happening around the house. That at least explained why Mithras' loyalists would be so brazen as to attempt a rescue here. While this meant that the supernatural races were in less imminent danger of exposure than he had feared, it also confirmed they would have to fight their way out if they hoped to escape alive.

"Do you remember that mirror I gave you?" Mithras asked, refusing to be ignored.

Anshar gave an involuntary grimace. Damn that television, he cursed to himself, glad that his back was to Mithras. "Not particularly, why?" he replied curtly. The Void Queen's champion deserved a mirror to match, Mithras had declared upon unveiling it at the celebration of Anshar being named Sky Warden. Anshar could still see the diamonds embedded as stars in the frame, its black metal cast in twists and swirls of the Milky Way and other cosmic bodies. The reflective obsidian meant it would always reflect the night sky, Mithras explained.

When another guest had asked why he didn't simply enchant a regular mirror to do the same thing, the Lord of the Void Clan had amazingly been without an answer. Anshar had understood though and had it put up immediately in his chambers—something beautiful in and of itself, with no enchantments to alter it, had a magic all its own. The mirror had been far from the most lavish or even useful gift but he loved it anyway. Sometimes the gift itself mattered less than who it was from.

"I was just noticing how that television is roughly the same size," Mithras answered, breaking Anshar's reverie, "And remembering how you were looking at it earlier. Really, Anshar, you always were a terrible liar." He could practically feel the smirk digging into his shoulder blades. "Which is, of course," Mithras continued conversationally, "why it is so easy to make the mistake of trusting you." Anshar felt his hands involuntarily curl into fists. "In hindsight it seems so painfully obvious, doesn't it? I was arrogant enough to believe I was special, that I knew you better than anyone, but so did your sister and look at what good it did her." He heard Mithras chuckle darkly. "I suppose I should thank you, Anshar, for teaching me this, to, to not let my judgment be clouded by hubris—or love. It cost Rathra her throne and her life. I fell into the same trap even though you had shown me exactly what you were."

Anshar whirled around, feeling his scales surface beneath his eyes as he faced the White King. "I am what you have made me!" he erupted. "Do you think I wanted this? Do you think it was easy for me to turn against my family?" The lights had begun to flicker again, this time responding to Anshar's rage and the power of the creature that lurked behind his human mask. He could feel the claws ready to form at his fingertips and the itch in his shoulder blades from where his wings were ready to sprout. He knew he should control himself before this went too far but now he simply didn't care. "You came to me saying our people deserved better in a leader and I thought that was you. I wanted it to be you, more than anything, so I betrayed my queen and sister along with everything I stood for, to make you king and my mistake has cost us everything."

"Yes, it has but your 'mistake' as you so delicately put it was undermining your king when he needed you most," Mithras rose from the couch. "We were ready to begin a new chapter in our history, dragonkind together as one. Isn’t that what we wanted? You made me king for just that reason. The least you could have done was stand by me," his voice grew in volume as he spoke until the last three words rattled the windows.

"I did what I had to for my people," Anshar fired back, "My loyalty is to them over any one ruler, you taught me that. Hate me if you will, I won't ask for your forgiveness but don't you dare re-write history to recast yourself as the victim when you brought this on yourself."

"How?" Mithras snarled. "What have I done besides unite our people, a paralyzed, bickering confederacy for generations, into a single entity? An empire? Not only that, but give them something even greater - a purpose, while all you have sought is to divide us?"

"Your desire for glory and conquest would spell the end of our way of life and quite possibly our people's very existence. That's why…"

"As opposed to what? This insurrection escalated to a civil war because of you! You set us against each other more than your sister ever did. Anshar, you broke your oath for nothing." Mithras was silent for a moment, before collapsing back onto the couch with a sigh, the fight suddenly draining out of him. For his part, Anshar had no response. He had long brooded over this very fact but hearing it from someone once so close to him was another thing entirely. Mithras looked up, his face somber. "I truly wish you could have understood but I have no more time to spend on your stubbornness."

Anshar felt the merest breath of movement just behind him. A heavy blow to the back of his head left him face down on the floor, his nose colliding painfully with the hardwood. Claws cut into the nape of his neck and hot, fetid breath brushed his cheek.

"Keep him subdued and be sure to take some of his blood. With luck, Astaroth will be here shortly with the others and we can start on the key," Mithras continued, still seated at the couch with his knees crossed. Anshar snarled and twisted beneath the creature holding him, cursing himself for being taken so utterly by surprise. Though he could call on draconic strength and speed in his human form they would do little good if those jaws tore into his neck before he could transform.

"Be still, Sky Warden," hissed a voice from above him, "do not make this more difficult than it has to be." The claws tightened on his neck to emphasize the point. Mithras seemed to cross the living room to the kitchen in a single blurred step, taking a glass from the cupboard above the sink. Returning to them, he began to chant in a rhythmic and guttural language—Old Speech, the language of dragon spellcraft. Anshar felt the blood begin to stir in the wounds from his captor's claws, defying gravity as it rose to the glass in Mithras' hand drop by drop, as if dripping upwards through the air. If he completed the ritual with Tia's blood, it would allow him to craft the key to the binding that kept him in human form, freeing him utterly.

Finishing the spell, Mithras inspected the teaspoon’s worth of blood in the glass critically. "That should do," he murmured, before returning to the couch to wait. "Ishtar, report."

Out of the corner of his eye, Anshar saw the small dragon holding him give a diffident bow before speaking. "Astaroth has engaged Tiamat and two of the humans out front, sire. Marduk has retreated and Enkil is dead."

Mithras raised an eyebrow as he swirled the glass. "They defeated Enkil so quickly?" Ishtar's eyes lowered briefly.

"No, he was... executed. By Lord Astaroth." Mithras frowned.

"I suppose he had a good reason?"

"As I understand it, failure to wait for the signal, sire." The king sighed and shook his head.

"And you say Marduk has fled?"

"He engaged one of the humans in the back—a shaman—who cursed him. He fell back to treat it." So Evan had gone to cover the rear which meant that it was Jensen and Parker fighting Astaroth. Anshar felt a stab of fear—hopefully Tia would be able to protect them.

"At least he put the veil in place before that," Mithras pinched the bridge of his nose. "And I see you gained entry as planned—were there any problems?"

Anshar was certain he detected a note of pride in Ishtar's voice as she replied, "No, sire. I bypassed their wards once the fighting in front began in earnest."

"Well done, at least something went as planned." Though Anshar could almost feel Ishtar swell with pride at her king's praise, he felt a glimmer of hope. Mithras had greatly underestimated the wizards and his plan was suffering for it. He was cunning and would adapt but his oversight might just provide the opening they needed.

Parker vaulted backwards narrowly avoiding the sweeping tail. He landed in a crouch, immediately retaliating with a bolt of lightning. Astaroth blocked it easily with a wing but it diverted his attention just enough to miss the section of brick wall hurled at his undefended flank. It smashed into the red dragon with a satisfying crunch, followed by a roar of pain. Parker glanced over to his left to see Jensen smirking before gesturing with his staff to lift another piece of masonry. The dragon turned to face him, inhaling to launch a fireball before a serpentine shape latched onto his back. Tia's massive feathered wings kept her airborne while her teeth and claws raked at his shoulders. Astaroth lashed out to free himself but not in time to dodge the second piece of debris from Jensen, which hit him square in the chest. It dawned on Parker that they were holding their own, and possibly gaining the upper hand, against a dragon, albeit with the help of another dragon but it was impressive nonetheless. With a smile, he readied his sword and charged—it was time to add a new soul, and with it a healthy dose of dragon magic, to his collection. He had barely taken three steps, Astaroth pushed off with his hind legs to carry Tia into the air. Before she could let go, he twisted around to fall back to the ground, landing on his back to catch her in a reverse body-slam.

The asphalt shattered beneath the two dragons to expose the earth beneath it. Astaroth rolled to his feet and seeing Parker running for him, unleashed a jet of flame. There was no time to dodge, Parker hastily began to form a shield, knowing it would be too late…

A translucent orange barrier materialized in front of him an instant before the flames reached him, sweeping over the shield. He glanced over at Jensen leaning on his staff with exertion, the runes along the staff fading to a dull orange.

When the fire dispersed, the crater where Tia had been lying was empty. Astaroth sniffed the air suspiciously.

"Up here!" came the shout from the roof where Tia was perched in her human form. She muttered a few words under her breath and thin roots snaked out from the ground under the broken asphalt. Astaroth leapt out of their reach with a single beat of his massive wings though the roots slithered past him. Instead they converged on the corpse of the blue dragon, inserting themselves under the scales at various points over body—at all its primary joints, Parker noticed. A few even reached inside the beast's mouth to pry open its jaws. He gave an involuntary shudder.

Then the dragon's eye twitched.

The blue dragon's entire body convulsed, gave what sounded like a painful hacking cough and its eyes glowed a sickly neon green as the deceased creature, muscles still twitching, heaved itself to feet with a roar.

"Holy shit," Jensen exclaimed breathlessly as he took a step backwards. Parker had to agree, backing away to join his friend near the house once again. The roots held the dragon like the strings of a macabre marionette, every movement of the earthen tendrils eliciting an answering motion from its body. The roots flashed and tightened causing the blue dragon's wings to unfurl and its back to arch. Astaroth’s lips curled back in distaste and his eyes flared their jade green.

“Disgusting. Are you so desperate, to turn to such vile craft? To raise the dead to fight your battles for you?” he demanded.

Parker could hear the smile in Tia’s voice as she replied. “I thought your friend here would like a word with you.” The roots twitched and the blue dragon growled. “Come on now, Astaroth. Why don’t you hug it out?”

The blue dragon lunged.