The War of the Masters

Terra swallowed hard. She, Cyrus, and T’Saunté had faced the Bloody Bones together as a team. But this time they were the ones outnumbered.

She understood Cyrus’s strategy. His words served a double purpose: first to intimidate, and second to draw the soldier’s attention on him.

Terra stole a glance at T’Saunté. One of the Dire Wolves had clamped its thick jaws on the base of his left wing. T’Saunté swung his arm, trying to bat the creature away, but couldn’t get a clean hit. One of the other wolves saw the opportunity and pounced on the dragon’s neck.

T’Saunté reared back and unleashed a bestial roar. The feral look in his eyes was so fierce even Terra was frightened.

She had to get to her friend. He had always been there for her; now it was time to return the favor. Shifting her gaze, Terra regarded the pair blocking her path with a fresh resolve.

Cyrus sprang toward the closest soldier, opening with a quick diagonal slash. The guard blocked the strike while his partner moved around to flank him.

Not on my watch.

Channeling her telepathy, Terra projected a whisper into the soldier’s mind. The man paused just short of Cyrus and looked around with a confused expression. Seeping into the deep recesses of his consciousness, she barraged him with several other chants in a multitude of voices. Her words were random, intended only to confuse and distract. Shaking his head, the guard covered his ears in an attempt to suppress the maddening chorus. Terra continued her mental onslaught, overloading his brain. The soldier spun in a complete circle, trying desperately to find the source.

With her foe losing his grip on reality, Terra suddenly stopped all the voices, allowing an eerie silence to fill his brain before letting loose one final, devastating scream.

Cyrus was quick to make the first strike, hacking at his enemy with the black half-blade. The warrior caught the attack with his kite shield and countered, bringing his sword across in a wide, horizontal slash. Cyrus narrowly ducked beneath the blade and rolled to the warrior’s side.

The soldier wore an arrogant smile; no doubt he could tell that his foe was inexperienced in combat. This suited Cyrus just fine—he’d need to be underestimated if he hoped to come out of this alive. And though he lacked armor and training, years of seafaring had given Cyrus a balance few could rival. If he sacrificed power for quick and unpredictable movements, he might have a chance.

Cyrus stole a quick glance over his shoulder, making sure the other guard hadn’t flanked him, but the man was spinning in circles, undoubtedly from some technique Terra had used.

The glimpse took only a fraction of a second, but the soldier saw his hesitation and pounced, plunging his blade toward him like a spear. Cyrus leapt to the side at the last possible instant, avoiding a fatal blow. Instead of running him through, the sword slid off his breastplate and cut a gash into the meat of his right shoulder, throwing him off balance.

In the second that followed, Cyrus knew he was vulnerable. But the soldier didn’t move in to finish him off. Another sly smile crept across his face, drawing satisfaction from the one-sided battle. Ignoring the blood oozing from his shoulder, Cyrus stepped back and waited for his opponent’s next move.

“It’s obvious you’re no match for me,” the soldier proclaimed. “Surrender now before I’m forced to kill you.”

Cyrus had nothing to say. This man was stopping him from helping his friends; surrender wasn’t an option.

When the soldier realized a response wasn’t coming, he launched into a series of heavy slashes and cuts. Cyrus twisted and dodged, evading the strikes rather than attempting to block with his broken sword. A lethal slew of swipes and jabs followed, but Cyrus was careful to play to his strengths, content to tire the man out even as he fell into a retreat, luring the Koh’Lahni soldier away from Terra and his ally.

Frustrated by his opponent’s elusiveness, the soldier dropped his haughty demeanor and charged in again, thrusting out his shield in a heavy bashing motion. Cyrus nimbly stepped back, avoiding the worst of the blow but allowing it to hit him nonetheless. The motion threw him backward, and he stumbled with exaggerated effort. From the corner of his eye he saw the soldier’s elation as he brought his sword across in a horizontal swipe at neck height, looking to chop off Cyrus’s head. In a flash, Cyrus dropped to the ground. Landing flat on his stomach, he thrust his broken blade between the joints of armor covering the man’s ankle. The sword dug into the soldier’s tendon, eliciting a howl of pain from the man as he toppled backward.

Perched atop the dragon’s shoulders, Lucky watched the battle unfolding around him. Two Dire Wolves had their massive jaws clenched into his steed—one around his neck, the other on his right wing. And though Lucky wasn’t even the size of a Dire Wolf’s paw, he knew his role in the melee was invaluable to the team.

Remembering that the woman had called him T’Saunté, Lucky leaned close to his ear and shouted, “C’mon, T’Saunté! Give ’em all you’ve got!”

A moment later—no doubt due to his invigorating speech—T’Saunté reared back and let out a mighty roar, one so fierce and threatening it sounded more like a challenge than a warning.

The last of the Dire Wolves moved like a blur, lunging for T’Saunté’s tail. The enraged dragon gave him just that, smashing his tail into the approaching creature with the force of a hurricane. Lucky watched in awe as the Dire Wolf flew twenty feet into the air and slammed against a thick oak tree with a pained yelp.

His noble steed whirled around and pushed onto his back legs. As the wolf fell back to the earth T’Saunté met it mid-air with a bone-shattering uppercut, knocking the Dire Wolf so high into the sky Lucky couldn’t even it see it anymore.

T’Saunté growled viciously at the other two wolves still clinging to his frame and began to flap his immense wings. Little by little they lifted off the ground, soaring into the sky. Lucky watched in exhilarated horror as Cyrus and the others turned into tiny specks on the ground far, far below them.

T’Saunté halted their steady climb, hovering over a hundred feet in the air. The Dire Wolf at the base of his neck tried to dig its fangs into T’Saunté’s throat, but the dragon’s thick blue scales were impervious to the beast’s powerful jaws.

“You call yourself a wolf?” Lucky taunted. “You look more like an overgrown mattress with teeth!”

Unleashing another roar of fury, T’Saunté vigorously flung his head back and forth until the wolf finally lost its hold on his neck. Before it could fall back to the earth, T’Saunté’s enormous talon clamped down over the beast’s entire head.

The Dire Wolf hung in the dragon’s grip, its body rigid and helpless, for what seemed like an eternity to Lucky. Then T’Saunté lifted his shoulder and hurled the beast toward the ground like a meteor. A full second later, the wolf’s body smashed into the earth so hard it sounded like an explosion. Lucky watched in proud—but terrified—marvel as a crater swept out through the ground with the demon wolf at its epicenter.

“Atta boy, T’Saunté! Only one left!” Lucky yelled, providing his crucial encouragement to the battered dragon.

T’Saunté targeted the last Dire Wolf, still clinging to the dragon’s massive, bat-like wings. The wolf’s eyes burned like twin embers as it tore through the dragon’s vulnerable wing. T’Saunté let loose an agonized howl and tucked his wings in close to his body, placing the Dire Wolf closest to the ground.

Then he let himself free fall.

Lucky held on for dear life as the dragon plummeted toward the ground at breakneck speeds. But even his powerfully formed, jealous-inducing Leprechaun muscles couldn’t hang on forever. Just before T’Saunté and the Dire Wolf crashed into the earth, Lucky flew off the dragon’s back and soared through the air.

The soldier’s head lurched forward, smashing his own skull into Cyrus’s. The young fisherman cried out in pain and fell to his back, giving his enemy the precious seconds he needed to rise to his feet. Stars filled his vision; blood trickled from the bridge of his nose, and Cyrus knew at once that he had lost. His broken blade lay three feet from his grasp as the armored guard bore down on him like an angry predator. The man approached cautiously this time, no longer underestimating his enemy. He stepped over Cyrus’s blade, cutting off any last desperate hope he had left. There was no smirk on the soldier’s face this time; just a look of grim determination.

Out of options, Cyrus realized gravely that this would be his final moment of life. But with his last breath he decided not to lash out pitifully at his foe, but to reach out with his mind.

Terra, he projected, hoping she would pick up his thoughts with her telepathy, tell my parents I love them . . . Take care of yourself.

The soldier raised his blade for the coup de grace. Cyrus stared back without regret.

Behind the guard, one of the Dire Wolves hurtled to the earth like a lightning strike. The beast slammed into the clearing, sending a shock wave of tremors pulsing through the ground. The sudden quake knocked the soldier from his feet, and Cyrus seized the opportunity.

With the ground still shaking, Cyrus rolled to his right and grabbed hold of his broken sword. Hopping to his feet, he lunged at his prone opponent and sliced a ligament in his elbow. The soldier screamed, his sword falling from his suddenly limp hand.

Cyrus could have ended his life with a blade to the chest, but this man was still a soldier of Koh’Lah. Cyrus refused to kill his own people, even if they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

A blood-curdling scream jarred him from his thoughts. Whirling around, Cyrus saw the second soldier drop his weapons and slump to his knees. Babbling incoherently, the man put his hands over his ears and began to rock back and forth. Cyrus took three quick steps and smashed the hilt of his sword into the man’s head, knocking him cold.

With the immediate threats neutralized, Cyrus turned his attention in time to see T’Saunté crash into the ground. The impact was twice as strong as the last, kicking dirt and dust into the air like a mushroom cloud. The massive tremor knocked Terra from her feet, and Cyrus immediately rushed to her side, throwing down his sword to help her.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, taking his hand and hauling herself back to her feet.

Before he could respond, a high-pitched voice shouted from above.

“Eeeeee!”

Cyrus looked up and saw Lucky tumbling through a tree, smacking each branch on the way down. To his surprise, the little Leprechaun clambered back to his feet almost immediately, looking more than a little perturbed. Lucky pulled up his yellow tights, twigs hanging loose from his jacket and hat as he marched toward them—though from his size, Cyrus could tell it would take a minute or two before he reached them.

With the battle finished, Cyrus’s first priority was to see how T’Saunté was doing. The dragon was still over fifty feet away, huddled in the center of the larger crater he’d produced, a dead Dire Wolf beside him. T’Saunté threw back his head and howled to the sky—a cry of pain and anguish from what Cyrus could tell. He started to run toward the dragon but Terra stopped him.

“Wait, Cyrus. He says he needs a moment alone right now.”

Before Cyrus could reply, he heard the heavy snapping of tree limbs being crushed. His eyes turned to the tree Lucky had fallen from. The branches shook violently, followed by the sound of wood splitting in two.

No. It can’t be . . .

The third Dire Wolf stumbled out of the forest, its teeth bared and its crimson eyes glowing with hatred. Somehow the beast had survived T’Saunté’s uppercut, though not unscathed. Fresh cuts and dark bruises marred the wolf’s pale fur. One of its legs had been shattered by the impact. And still it was coming for them.

The Dire Wolf locked its red, baleful eyes on Terra and sprinted toward her, moving swiftly despite its broken leg. From the corner of his eye, Cyrus saw T’Saunté flying toward them . . . but he would never make it in time.

In an instant the Dire Wolf closed the twenty-five foot gap between them to ten. Cyrus’s weapon was out of his reach, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t have time to think; he simply reacted. The beast leapt, its claws outstretched. With his right hand Cyrus shoved Terra out of the way. Instinctively he threw up his left hand in front of the beast and closed his eyes, bracing for the impact.

Suddenly Cyrus felt a surge from deep within his chest. Raw energy erupted from his left arm and into his hand, concentrated in that lone appendage. The Dire Wolf leapt full speed into his outstretched palm, and was stopped cold as though it had hit a stone wall. Its body compacted like an accordion and then it crumpled to the ground, dead.

Cyrus stood frozen in place, utterly shocked at what had happened. He looked at his hand and then down at the Dire Wolf.

What just happened . . . Is this the same power my mother used?

The thought vanished a moment later when his chest began to burn. Cuts and bruises opened across his forearm, and a stinging agony slowly overtook him. His ribs cracked, and with each breath the pain flared within his chest. Collapsing to the ground, Cyrus suddenly realized he’d felt this same way once before.

Whatever power I used must have been the same energy sustaining the Breath of the Masters. Cyrus fought back another wave of pain. I’m reverting to the state I was in before the first Breath.

Terra must have come to the same realization because she was at his side immediately, and in one long exhale she renewed the Breath of the Masters, healing his wounds almost instantly.

“Cyrus? Cyrus, are you all right?” Terra asked softly.

Cyrus couldn’t think of anything to say, his mind still reeling from the shock of what had just happened, so he simply nodded. T’Saunté landed nearby and eyed Cyrus for the first time with what appeared to be a look of genuine respect. The fisherman gave a tiny smile and did his best to return the look.

Lucky huffed and puffed as he neared the end of his marathon. The Dire Wolf had sped right past him, fleeing in terror at what the extraordinary Leprechaun would do to him, no doubt!

I guess this gave Cyrus a chance to shine, too, he thought with a grin.

Finally reaching the others, Lucky put his hands on his knees and began to breathe in long, wheezing rasps from the fierce exertion, silently wishing the ladies had seen his astonishing feat.

One of the wounded guards spoke from his prone position. “You make me sick,” the man taunted Cyrus. “You’re willing to let your entire country burn just for your own greed?”

Well, that was rude! Lucky thought. I better knock that oaf down a peg!

Without a word, the little Leprechaun sauntered over to the man’s outstretched pant leg and climbed inside.

Cyrus returned the soldier’s gaze defiantly.

Remember, he doesn’t know what’s really going on. He’s just following orders.

“I never wanted to fight you,” Cyrus reminded him, “but I spared your life nonetheless.”

“Then you’re a fool,” the man spat, still clutching his wounded arm. “You may have crippled me now, but mark my words, no matter how long it takes, I will hunt you down and finish what you didn’t have the guts to do.”

“I don’t think so!” a muffled voice came from inside the soldier’s pants. “Not if Lucky the Legendary Leprechaun has anything to say about it!”

The man looked down, caught by surprise. Cyrus heard a dull whack and the soldier doubled over, passing out from the pain.

A moment later Lucky crawled out from the man’s pant leg and looked up at Cyrus, beaming.

“Did you see how I single-handedly took down that soldier? I told you I’d help!”

For a moment Cyrus simply stared, bewildered by this bizarre Leprechaun. Then he smiled and laughed.

“Yes, you did very well. Thank you, Lucky.”

Lucky started to ramble about how strong and handsome he was, but Cyrus ignored him, turning back to Terra.

“We better not waste time. Let’s get out of here while we still have a chance.”

T’Saunté was already beside them, leaning his shoulder low so they could climb up. Cyrus put Lucky in his pocket and discarded his broken blade. Grabbing the Luduan and the guard’s sword, he scrambled onto the dragon’s back behind Terra. T’Saunté darted into the sky, picking up speed and altitude until the trees looked like a plush green rug below them.

A deafening roar pierced the air, jostling Cyrus and nearly causing him to lose his grip.

Glancing back, he saw a gaping pair of jaws—large enough to swallow T’Saunté whole—looming right behind them.