‘Illuvinatum!’ Hugh shouted. From his outstretched palm blossomed gold light, which spread to form an ovular shield in front of him, only a smidge taller and wider than he was. Though it was small, the Illuvus Shield was impenetrable. The lines of dragon-headed fire reached him, impacting against the shield of golden light, which gleamed as though fashioned from the heart of a sun.
The dragon-heads smacked against the shield, biting and scrabbling to break through, but could not. After a few frenzied moments, the lines of fire began to dissipate, fading away.
As the last tendrils of fire disappeared, Hugh breathed a sigh of relief. To some, his decision to use an Illuvus Shield – a spell with only defensive capabilities – would be seen as an error; rather, they would opt for a spell which combined offence and defence to provide a stunning counterattack.
However, Hugh thought. Those spells would never have been able to withstand the full brunt of a Fire-Dragon Fusion Power.
His eyes fixed on the red-hooded Weaver stood in the middle of the pipe, the scaly, bloated form of the dragon stood behind them. Apparently, the figure had believed that the Fire-Dragon Fusion power was enough to defeat Hugh, facing their back towards the reaver. That would be a mistake. Hugh gritted his teeth, bunching his hands into fists. Takes a lot of stamina to cast Fusion Powers; it’s why I try to avoid doing so. I can’t let them gain their stamina back, though – I need to attack now.
He sprinted towards the Weaver; when he was just ten metres away, he bellowed, ‘Cord’agsen!’ His body suddenly lit up, wreathed in green fire. He felt strength and power shoot down his veins. With the Cord’agsen spell, any further Fire Weaving he cast would be bolstered in power and effectiveness. As he ran closer, feet thudding against the bottom of the pipe, the red-hooded figure did not seem to notice him; their concentration was on the dragon and the battle with Fi’s Mental Lock.
Three metres from the red-hooded figure, Hugh yelled, ‘Hansfear!’ In each hand appeared a sword, which seemed to be made from fire itself, crackling malevolently as it swirled in his grip.
Two metres away from the red-hooded figure, Hugh leapt forward, raising the swords over his head. Still the figure did not seem to have noticed him. I’ve got him now! Hugh though triumphantly, swinging the swords towards the Weaver’s head.
From each of the Weaver’s ear canals, spearing through the air, came what looked to be a scaled, dagger-ended tail. A dragon’s tail. Hugh’s eyes widened as he noticed them, but it was too late. One of the tails slashed at the two flaming swords, extinguishing them; the other slashed at Hugh’s chest, drawing a huge welt of blood and sending him hurtling back into the side of the pipe.
The impact against the side of the pipe sent daggers of pain into his spine – and his head, as he crashed against the stone. He slid down the side of the pipe, coming to rest in a dazed heap at the bottom. Groaning, he tried to get to his feet – but the pain kept him planted on the floor. The green fire that had wreathed him was now gone, and he felt weak and vulnerable without it. Blood dripped down his front, staining his white shirt; he cursed, seeing a long, thin gash cutting across his chest, from shoulder to hip. The wound stung; Hugh winced.
It seemed Dragon Weaving was even more powerful than he’d thought – that spell had been cast without the red-hooded Weaver having to even say a word. He sighed. There’s no way I can beat that… He gritted his teeth. But I have to try. If I can take up his attention, Fi may have an easier time trapping the dragon in her Mental Lock…
He forced himself back up to his feet, glaring at the red-hooded Weaver, who turned to face him. Who are you? Hugh pondered to himself, staring at the shadowed face under the hood. Who do you think you are, fighting me? I’ve fought and defeated an Ov’l–
–I’ve fought and killed two, a voice inside his head countered. Hugh’s eyes widened. The red-hooded Weaver.
He hadn’t expected a response. It seemed this Weaver was an especially skilled one; not content with knowing just two disciplines of Weaving, Fire and Dragon Weaving, they knew Psychic Weaving as well – which explained why they had, thus far, been able to battle Fi’s Mental Lock. Even Hugh – legendary reaver though he was – only used two disciplines, Air and Fire Weaving, though he did know some basic Psychic Weaving. Of all those in the Reaver Society, he only knew of two who could use three disciplines: the captain of Taskforce Delta and Battlemaster Val, the leader of the Society’s UK branch. Of those two, though, neither had matched an Ov’l in combat – much less beaten one. This Weaver had beaten and killed two.
Hugh shuddered. If it wasn’t evident enough already as to the skill of his opponent, it was now; certainly, they were one of the most powerful Weavers in existence. Their ability to fight both Hugh and Fi at once was proof enough of that. I could die fighting them.
That is my intention, old man.
A shiver ran down Hugh’s spine. He clenched his jaw. Not if I have anything to say about it. Muttering the spells under his breath, he wreathed himself in Cord’agsen’s green flame and conjured up Hansfear’s flaming sword in one hand. However, for his second weapon, he opted for a flaming spear, conjured by the Uhjyk spell.
In his mind, he heard a dark, mirthless chuckle. Somehow, telepathic laughter always sounded so ominous. Hugh yelled, sprinting towards the reaver, ignoring the searing pain across his chest. He threw his flaming spear…and the other Weaver caught it. Another bout of telepathic laughter echoed through his head.
Then the spear exploded. With a thunderous bellow, fire spat everywhere, spurting from the spear like light from a firework.
Hugh skidded across the pipe, ducking underneath the plumes of fire shooting all over. Heat stroked his face as he brushed the flames. He couldn’t see anything through the fire. It would be bold, he knew, to think he had won. As the flames subsided, his eyes fixed on a dark figure; he leapt forward, slashing with his sword…
George’s blonde-haired head fell to the floor, and his body with it. Hugh gasped, seeing George’s lifeless, blue eyes staring back at him. The head and body caught alight, and after a few long moments, were nothing more than ash.
Hugh froze. He inhaled sharply. What…? Where…? George…? His mind whirred with a blend of emotions; he could not think straight. His head hurt as though it was being repeatedly hit by a sledgehammer. George?
Then he heard the flapping of wings and looked up to see the red-hooded figure above him, flying in the air on two huge, black wings. The figure’s red gown swirled at their feet. And suddenly everything made sense.
As Hugh looked down, just as he’d predicted, the ash that had been George’s body was gone. A Psychic illusion, to throw me off guard…
He realised this too late, however, as the red-hooded figure dove towards him, their black wings – likely a gift from their Dragon Weaving powers – beating madly. As the figure neared, Hugh spied on the crest of its wings two black spikes. His eyes widened.
The figure crashed into him, impaling his shoulders with their wing-spikes and taking him off his feet. Hugh groaned as he was slammed into the side of the pipe. The impact blew the figure’s hood off, revealing a pale face and long, gold-red locks.
The woman smiled at him, eyes twinkling. ‘The Cult of the Red Dragon is strong and grows stronger still. All he asks for is loyalty; what he gives…is everything. All the power you could dream of, right there in your hand!’
Hugh grimaced. ‘Are you trying to recruit me?’ He shook his head. ‘Never. Dragon Weaving is a cursed magic, used by the Third and his minions. It is tainted by Guhaka, the Mad God. I will never touch it.’
Her face twisted into a snarl. ‘You disappoint me. You would be one of the strongest, I know, if you had this power.’ She sighed. ‘You stand in the way of our goals. Therefore, you must die. Hail the Red Dragon!’
Just as she said the words, a plume of fire burst from behind her, engulfing her. Hugh grimaced as the smell of burning flesh flooded his nose. It was an acrid smell, a bitter smell. He sighed, feeling the pressure in his shoulders vanish as the woman’s spiked, black wings dissolved to ash. As he slid down the side of the pipe, landing on the bottom with a rough thud, he looked up to see the red-scaled dragon peering down at him. Its eyes were glassy, its look plain, not hateful.
Fi’s Mental Lock worked, he realised. With the dragon caught in her Mental Lock, she had been able to cast her Psychic Command spell to control the dragon so that it fired upon the red-hooded figure.
The Psychic Weaving the Weaver did…with that illusion of George… Hugh shuddered at the memory of it. It meant she was distracted. He didn’t dare think how he would have ended up without Fi’s intervention.
There was a pause. That was fun!
Hugh rolled his eyes, turning to see Fi walking down the pipe towards him. As ever, she looked stunning; he could not take his eyes off her. Fi was obsessed with having a good time and liked to dress lavishly for any occasion – even a battle.
Her body was wreathed in a white, laced-with-silver gown, which glistened like starlight. The gown was loose and non-revealing, but Hugh only thought that added to the charm. Her skin was as dark as coal – contrasting sharply with her white gown – and her tightly-curled black locks of hair dribbled down her head, draping over her shoulders and down her neck. Silver bands encircled her neck and wrists, shining brilliantly even in the gloom of the sewer pipe. Her footsteps were almost noiseless, muffled by white sandals.
What caught Hugh’s eye most, though, were her eyes: bright-green and infinitely majestic, they seemed to peer right into the very reaches of his soul. His knees felt weak watching her as she approached. The pain of his wounds seemed to subside in an instant.
As Fi approached, she smiled a dazzling smile, which quickly shifted to a harsh look of concern and worry as she noticed Hugh’s wounds. ‘Good thing I called the captain in,’ she murmured. ‘Still, that was a lot of fun. We should do that again.’
Hugh looked back at her incredulously, now once again feeling the pain across his chest and in his shoulders, where the Dragon Weaver had struck him. ‘No. Let’s not.’ He sighed, shivering from the pain. ‘The captain – did he find anyone else in the sewers?’
Fi nodded sharply. ‘Found your Ov’l, if that’s what you mean.’
Hugh’s face fell. He’s found George?
--
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