Dungeons & Dragons - The Movie Read online

  Profion himself loomed over the crew of a ballista, a giant crossbow mounted on a stout oaken frame. Sweating soldiers tightened the twisted skeins. Others moved the heavy weapon, trailing a flight of dragons across the city’s heights.

  “Fire! Let it go, you fools! Fire!”

  A crimson-clad soldier loosed the trigger of the weapon, and a massive bolt shivered through the smoky air.

  The dragons, who could sense the hatred of their kind in every human heart, scattered quickly to let the deadly bolt pass. Only one, a dragon nearly past its prime, darted directly into the missile’s path.

  As the bolt pierced the creature’s underbelly, it opened its great maw and screamed, a sound of such agony and pain that every man who heard it carried it forever in his dreams.

  The dragon turned and twisted, pounded its wings against the air, struggling in vain to right itself. It plummeted to earth, impaling itself on a lofty city spire. For a long and terrible moment, its death-cry echoed through the heights of Sumdall City, then was quickly gone.

  Not far away, the Empress Savina watched in agony as the gold dragon died, then she turned away.

  “What have I done, Nitidas? I’ve killed us all, every one!”

  “Lady, you have not,” the general told her, resisting the urge to comfort this frightened young woman in his arms, to treat her like a child.

  “You have done what is right. It is they who have brought this to us today.”

  “And so, General?” She looked into his hard gray eyes. “Will fault bring my father back? Will it help the Empire survive? Tell me, my friend, does it matter if Profion is wrong, and I am right?”

  General Nitidas never answered, for at that moment, the black clouds boiled and spread their darkness across the sky. Now, there was not the slightest touch of day, only the hellish night.

  * * *

  Atop the school of magic, with the smell of burning flesh in the air, the mages looked up, startled at the sudden darkness, a spell that none among them could apply.

  “Look,” Azmath said, a tremor in his voice. “Look at the skies.”

  “It’s dark,” Profion said, eyeing the man with disgust. “Are you afraid of the dark? By the gods, you’re not a child. Stop your whimpering, man.”

  “He’s right,” Mage Sidaurus said. “It’s unnatural, Profion, it’s the world turning black.”

  Profion laughed aloud. “You should take pride in such blackness. When we’re finished remaking the world the way we want it, nothing will ever be the same. What do you think I’ve been working for?”

  “It isn’t right,” Azmath muttered, shaking his head. He clasped his hands together, twining his fingers about like restless snakes. “You were wrong, Profion; the Empress was right. This is a madness that can’t be stopped. You have no power over this.”

  Profion glared. “You betrayed the Empress as well as I, you fool. Now you stand there and tell me I’m wrong? Now you betray me as well?”

  “It is not betrayal. It is common sense, mage. I am not blind, and I can see the darkness you’ve unleashed on the world. In your pride, you’ve destroyed us all.”

  “And you are beginning to bore me. I cannot abide a whiner, especially whiny old men who are useless to anyone.”

  “Profion—”

  Azmath’s eyes went wide. He tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. Still staring at Profion, he sank to the ground, a dagger buried to the hilt in his chest.

  The mage Sidaurus gasped and stepped back. Mendal, a tall and pale-eyed mage, bent over Azmath, started to touch his face, then jerked his hand away.

  “You’ve killed him.” Mendal looked up at Profion in disbelief. “He’s dead.”

  “You have truly amazing powers,” Profion said. He turned to face the seers gathered behind him. “Any more complaints, my Brothers? Any more suggestions, any more advice? Please don’t hesitate. We’re all professionals here.”

  The mages were silent. Not a one dared look into Profion’s eyes. Each, though, within himself, knew that they had pledged themselves to a cause they might most heartily regret before this day was done.

  Before they could ponder any further on this, the gold dragons wheeled about and came at them again. While dragons do not think in the manner of men, they are wise and clever in their cruel and ancient ways. This time, they did not attack in any organized manner but darted down from every height and angle, leaving their foes in fear and disarray. No sooner had the soldiers turned to face a dragon to the east than three rushed down upon them from the south, deadly fire spewing from their gullets, turning men to torches, then cinders, then ash.

  Throughout this chaos and disorder, Profion stood calm and unyielding, directing his forces with a leaders strength and skill. Inside, the great mage was seething, boiling with a rage he could scarcely contain. The Empress Savina was winning the day. The power of her scepter was awesome, greater than he had ever imagined. Even the spells of all the Council of Mages combined could not hold the beasts at bay. Profion knew that only the Rod of Savrille could have turned the tide this day, and Damodar, that arrogant fool, had failed him, leaving him to fight the battle alone.

  The mage searched his mind for every power, every deadly spell he’d ever known, aware, in his black and ruthless heart, that nothing could defy the Empress now. Her dragons would sweep his forces away, destroy them to a man. Nothing but soot would remain of those who’d defied this stripling, this child, who would rule Izmer at the end of this day.

  A blast of searing flame struck the parapet directly over Profion’s head. The mage went to ground, turned, and wrapped his cloak about his head. He could feel the searing heat, hear the cries of dying men, and when he dared look up again, he could see great slabs of stone melting just above and sizzling down the high wall.

  “Merculon! Hankis!” he bellowed. “Get your men from the north! I need them here!”

  “Idiots,” he muttered. “By the time they get here, there won’t be anything left. I have to do everything, everything myself.”

  Profion staggered, covering his face as a sharp blast of thunder nearly punctured his ears. A blue, shimmering portal appeared before his eyes, and Damodar leaped out, knocking a soldier to the ground before he reached Profion.

  “By the dark gods,” Damodar said, taking in the smoke and carnage all about, “it appears I’m either sadly late or just in time.” He bowed, slightly, a mockery of pleasure on his face. “Here, Lord. I believe you might need this.”

  Damodar brought the heavy, crimson Rod of Savrille from under his cloak and presented it with a flourish to Profion.

  Profion made no effort to hide his pleasure. His eyes went wide as he tore the instrument from Damodar’s grasp. At once, he could feel the thing’s power, feel it surging through every vein, humming through every cell. He watched in unbelievable joy as sparks of power danced visibly over his shoulder, across his chest, down his arms, and into his gauntleted hands.

  Now, now little Empress, now we shall have our day. Now we shall see the old world die, and the new one begin.

  CHAPTER

  36

  “My, ah, head,” Damodar said. “I’ve done as you asked, and I’d be grateful if you’d get this damned thing out of there. Do you have any idea of the pain, the humiliation—”

  “Enough!” Profion turned in a fury, raised one hand, and swept it past Damodar’s face. “You’re fortunate I leave you with a head, you prideful fool. Don’t interrupt me again.”

  At once, Damodar’s flesh began to writhe, tremble, and stretch in tortured disarray. Sharp tendrils of hellish blue lightning began to whip his body. A terrible cry escaped his lips as the corners of his mouth began to crawl up his cheek, smother his nose and envelop his eyes. The damp, quivering tentacles of the demon in his head snaked out of his ears, his nose, and his mouth, jerking frantically, wildly about as if they sensed their time had come. Damodar sank to his knees, clutching the distorted flesh that quivered atop his head and rolled across his
face. The watching mages and soldiers shrank back in horror, each one aware that Profion’s wrath could just as easily fall upon them.

  Finally, Damodar rose shakily to his feet, lowered his hands, and revealed the handsome, haughty features back in place again.

  “What are you looking at?” he scowled at the few onlookers. “I’m myself again, and you louts are as ugly as you were before. Mores the same, you’re all filthy as—”

  Damodar stopped, startled, as a dragon appeared through a cloud of greasy smoke. It swept the dark veil aside with its leathery wings, diving at the crowd with incredible speed.

  Damodar jerked a lance from the hand of a soldier, hurled it at the beast, and leaped aside. The dragon, screeching in fury, loosed a searing gobbet of fire at the humans down below. The blast caught a trooper, burning the fellow to a crisp before he could topple to the ground. The fire licked and boiled across the ground, setting two mages aflame as well.

  Imperial soldiers and warriors of Damodar’s Crimson Brigade loosed bolts and heavy stones from mangonel and trebuchet. Arrows clouded the sooty air, and mages hurled their magic fireballs at the sky—all, it seemed, to no avail. The gold dragons learned quickly and well. With each new attack, they changed their tactics to further confuse and demoralize their foes.

  Amid this chaos, Profion stood firm, unmoved, as if he were on another world, some tranquil plane where the cries of burning men could not be heard. Indeed, a narrow smile creased his cruel features as he raised his right arm and thrust the Rod of Savrille at the darkened sky.

  Now we try our powers, he thought. Now we challenge the very gods themselves! Now we win or lose the greatest game of all!

  A blinding red beam left the mage’s rod and laced the skies above. A hot, howling wind arose and filled Profion’s cape, making it seem as if a dark demon had suddenly appeared in his place.

  At once, the mage saw a shaft of gold arise from the palace towers and cross his bolt of red.

  Profion laughed. The Empress had met his challenge with her scepter, and the true war had begun.

  The gold dragons, circling high above, turned away at once, wings on edge, and dived straight for the Empress’ stronghold.

  At the sight of the dragons’ retreat, the mages and soldiers on the roof of the magic school cheered and waved their arms about. Some of the troopers tossed their weapons to the ground, certain this was a sign they wouldn’t have to tangle with dragons anymore.

  “Stop that!” Profion shouted. “You’re not done here. Pick up your weapons, or I’ll turn you all to serpents and frogs!”

  The soldiers and seers went silent. Profion didn’t bother to see if they’d obeyed. His eyes were on the far palace tower. He knew, as no other did, what was happening there, what powers the Empress would embrace.

  He knew, as well, the force he would bring against her. He sensed, even now, that this dread power was upon him. He could feel their very presence, smell their hunger, see the fury in their eyes. As he turned, facing the cold wind of the north, he saw their awesome image in his mind and knew they were very near.

  He looked at the dragons that circled the Empress’ keep, forming a dazzling crown of gold. One, whose scales were brighter than the rest, whose wings seemed spun of the sun itself, detached itself from the rest and swooped down to grasp the Empress’ balcony in its massive claws. Beating its great wings to keep its balance, it bowed its head before the Empress’ gaze.

  Once more, Profion clenched his metal glove about the Rod of Savrille and swept it in a blazing arc across the sky.

  “Hear me!” he demanded. “I entreat you now to answer my command!”

  A bolt of northern lightning ripped the clouds, shaking the city down below.

  “Answer! Answer me now. You are close; you are near. You belong to me!”

  Still, the things he sought did not appear. They were there, he knew, somewhere up in the dark. “Why are you waiting?” he said. “I have commanded you here!”

  A great cry of anguish rose from the masses at his back. Profion turned, waved a veil of smoke aside, and looked up to see the most numbing sight of his life.

  The gold dragons were molten streaks against the sky. The awful din of their cries assaulted the senses of every human down below. Profion saw them turn then, one by one, only to come together again in three magnificent flights from the east, the west, and the south. One, which Profion knew was the leader now, began the attack, veering down in a breathtaking dive, a signal to the others to join the fray. Riding boldly astride this great beasts back was the Empress Savina herself.

  “Good,” Profion said beneath his breath. “You have the heart for it, girl. I’ll give you that. Come and get me, if you can….”

  The dragons came on, closer, closer…

  “Fire! Fire now!” he shouted. “Kill them! Kill them all, or you’ll not live to see another day!”

  The iron weapons of men clouded the skies, followed by the roar of fireballs conjured by the mages’ spells. Still, the Empress and her dragons came. Fire and missiles whined past their wings, but none struck home.

  Profion knew, even before the attack began, that he was Savina’s target, that her mount was shrieking down straight for him. It came as no surprise when the dragon dipped low and loosed a bellyful of fire directly where the mage stood.

  Profion laughed, watching this inferno broil down from the sky. He stood his ground, refused to move an inch, even as he vanished in a roiling cloud of smoke and flame.

  Mages and soldiers gasped in disbelief, rushing to see his blackened corpse. As the smoke cleared away, they gazed at one another in wonder, for the mage wasn’t there.

  The Empress, her mount skimming just above the roof of the magic school, eager to see this horror come to an end, drew in a breath and stared as Profion appeared in a flash of brilliant light far from the spot where the flames had engulfed him scant moments before. Their eyes met for one brief instant, then the Empress and her mount were past and out of sight.

  Dragons screamed by, loosing their fearsome breaths of fire. The dazed and dwindling army fought back, hurling iron and magic at the skies.

  Profion, untouched, stood alone, seeming no part of the fray at all. While flames burned soldiers all about, roasting poor brutes in armor that could no longer save them, he stood atop a hot and blackened wall, his cape, in the wind, like a bright red flame of its own.

  To the mages and soldiers down below, he seemed a giant, a warrior of old, a man near a fearsome god himself.

  It was well they could not see the great concern, the doubt, and the fear that burned within his heart, within his darkened soul, for he had sent forth the powers of the Rod of Savrille, he had prayed, he had cursed the distant stars, and still the help he sought had been denied. He could feel those awesome forces, sense them in the heavens, knew they were near, lurking out of sight.

  “Why do you taunt me? Why do you laugh while my followers die? Come to me, my horrors, for I wield the rod that commands you. I demand, and you obey!”

  As his words cracked like thunder, flashing across the fiery sky, he raised the Rod of Savrille once more, shouted ancient words, magic names of demons that had tortured mens’ souls, and haunted their every dream for a thousand dreary years.

  For an instant, a deep oppressive silence blanketed the city, a silence that struck men with fear, leaving them cold and frozen in their boots. From the north, a great wind began to howl, began to shriek through Sumdall’s towers, stripping roofs bare, hurling bricks and stones, tearing ancient trees from the ground, and raising black funnels of dust that churned everything in its path.

  As suddenly as it had come, the wind died and disappeared. Profion waited, drawing in a breath until it nearly exploded in his lungs. He could feel the power of the rod come to life, bathing his body in ghastly web of red…

  Through the pall of smoke, through the foul desecration of the skies, the clouds began to pulse with a horrid crimson shade, with a dark unearthly hue. It was not
a color any living man had dreamed before, yet each man who saw it knew it heralded some fierce and alien thing, something no mortal was ever meant to see. The strange color whirled, turned upon itself, twisted in alarming, impossible shapes that couldn’t be, shapes that were old when the world itself began.

  Not a breath stirred atop the ruined and beleaguered magic school. All eyes were on the skies, and every man saw what he’d never imagined and never hoped to see. Unnatural forms came together, unlikely colors coalesced, and the choking skies were filled with great horrors unbound.

  * * *

  Damodar had seldom felt fear, but he felt it now. Profion had summoned them, brought them out of nightmares, brought them out of myth—immense, grotesque creatures, creatures of awesome strength and size. A man without a conscience, a man with a heart as black as sin itself, Damodar now shrank from the part he’d played in this fateful event, helping a madman bring his dark dreams to life.

  Dragons…

  They were here…

  Profion had loosed red dragons on the world.

  Profion sensed the man’s presence and peered at him a moment with a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

  “I have done it, Damodar. No one believed that I could, even you.”

  “Yes, Lord, you have indeed.”

  But I brought the bedlam to you, Damodar thought, you didn’t go and get it yourself.

  “Now,” Profion continued, “my day is here. My destiny fulfilled. I’ve brought true glory back to Izmer, glory to us all.”

  “So you have, sire.”

  You’ve doomed us all with your lunacy—this is what you’ve done. There is no glory here!

  Though none dared say it, every mage there, every common man, seemed to mirror Damodar’s thoughts: That Profion had used them cruelly, made them all fools who shared in his terrible crime, bartered their bodies and their souls for a horror that would surely doom them all.