Dragon of the Federation by Jason Kilgore

Author:Jason Kilgore [Kilgore, Jason]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-09-30T22:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-SIX

Conspiracies

Sitting and trying to meditate on his sleeping mound, Ingal struggled to make sense of what he had learned.

Azartial's words had been troubling – beyond belief even: three gods created Irikara and then fought amongst themselves for control, pitting their respective species against each other. Humans and dwarves battled elves, and dragons failed to keep the peace. The murals only added strength to the demon's credibility. And then, trapped in the energies of their world for eons by outside gods, the Triumvirate now sought to escape imprisonment by destroying the Tower Heartstones.

Ingal had consulted all the books there at Chaz Sanooc, but none shed light on the situation. He slammed a fist to the sleeping mound, throwing up a small cloud of dust. The thud of forefoot to earth echoed through the chamber like the closing of a tomb door.

He desperately needed to contact the great Towermasters. As he had back at Palal Jehai, he once again cast the Counsel spell, creating a wispy mirror in the air in front of him. "I am Ingal Jehai, White Lands Dragon," he stated to the mirror. "We wish to speak with the Tower of Light." He waited, but no face appeared, and no voice issued forth. As before, there was only the bland shimmer of the mirror's surface. Suddenly the spell ended, cut off from the other side. Annoyed, Ingal repeated the spell twice more, once for each of the other great Towers. But the Tower of Balance cut him off as well, and the Tower of Darkness simply never answered.

Ingal pounded the ground again, fluttering his wings. How dare they! Denying Us! Never in the Memory had the Towers denied the Gold Dragon's hails.

Energy from the planar wraiths still coursed through his body. Flying madly over the forest and feeding on wild game would normally exhaust him, but not this time. It was as if he were a thousand years younger. He wanted to run and fly again. If only old Metharcus could see Us now! he thought. The last thing he wanted to do was sit in an underground chamber trying to concentrate. And to think he was near death only a few hours before! Old. Failing. Nearing decrepitude.

It was as if he had been reborn.

And at this moment, he felt he could overcome any challenge to the White Lands.

Ingal closed his eyes and ran a serpentine tongue across his teeth. Concentrate! He thought. How are the elves involved now?

He consulted the Memory and focused on the Speaker. Two-hundred and twenty years ago, Ingal had visited the Hall of Emeralds for the current Speaker's birth. Hundreds of the world's most powerful elves, mages, and dignitaries had been there to witness his coming.

For six hours they waited. Then the expectant mother appeared, bathed in sweat and carried on a laurel-wrapped litter. She was flanked by her mate, the previous Speaker and father of the child. On the other side and slightly behind walked the Eholminal, a second male necessary to carry out elvish fertilization – a nephew of the mother in this case.

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