The dragon dropped the broken staff to the ground, then swiped its massive paw at Aidan. The boy screamed as three claws raked across his chest.
Edwin laughed again. “Enough, enough. It is time. Finish him.”
Aidan turned his head to the side and prepared himself for the final blow. His last view would be of the ocean, its waves shining in the sun as Bartemus’s storm cleared, a giant merchant vessel sailing towards the isle.
That’s not possible. Aidan thought. But it was. The boat was huge, and at the helm was a row of sorcerers donning battle robes, brandishing wands and staffs.
Malachi was at their lead, and it was at his command that all of them released a variety of spells into the sky. They hit the dragons with devastating effect.
Aidan looked back up and saw the four lowest flying dragons dive towards the island, only they weren’t dragons, but griffins, and on the back of each were at least two amogh warriors.
A blast of magic from Bartemus shoved Aidan out of the way of the Black Thunder’s fiery breath, which the boy hadn’t even noticed.
A moment later, one of the warriors catapulted from atop her Griffin and landed on the Black Thunder’s back.
“What-“ Edwin said, a moment before he was knocked off the beast. Aidan saw a flash of brown hair and the wink of a hazel eye before the girl disappeared behind the dragon’s wing.
That’s why my heart is so calm, Aidan thought. Because hers is.
“Borin, Malachi, glad you could join us!” Bartemus said, walking towards the fallen Edwin. The fat warlock’s dragon was being harried by the four griffins, and had no time to defend its master.
“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long, long time Edwin,” Bartemus said, “you have-“
The seemingly unconscious warlock suddenly raised his hands, and a miniature safety sphere rose around him and Aidan, whose joy was immediately replaced by fear and rage.
“Just you and me now, boy,” the warlock said. Aidan lunged for his broken staff head, but knew before he touched it that there was no power left in it.
“This shield won’t last forever, but it should give us five minutes,” Edwin said, pulling something out of his cloak as he walked towards Aidan. It was a wand, beautifully crafted, the symbols on its side surely devoted to offensive magic.
“This was the weapon that I swore to kill Marcus with. I never got my chance to do that, so instead I have you. Tell me mage, how does it feel to know that there is nothing that you can do, just like Jonathan Gerang felt on the day I slew him? You know, he was still alive in the vault, he just hadn’t picked a Soulrock. I saw the opportunity and ended his life with this very wand.”
Aidan’s rage began to build, but there was no magic to support it. “You’re wrong,” the boy said, so close to Edwin that he could feel the magic radiating from the warlock. “There’s always something I can do.” The mage swung the remainder of his staff with all of his physical strength, and felt a satisfying thud as it smashed into the warlock’s forehead.
Edwin half fell, half rolled onto his back, his wand forgotten on the ground and his sphere sparkling to nonexistence. Aidan lunged for the wand, though he didn’t know what he was expecting.
As soon as he touched it, he felt the familiar rush of power that once came from holding his staff. He didn’t know what had happened, but he knew that the wand was his.
He pointed it at Edwin and yelled “Nergaldok!”
Immediately, a large ball of light appeared in his hand. As he stared into it, he barely noticed the Black Thunder scream for the last time, or the rest of the beasts start to retreat to the Dragonback Range.
“Do it, Aidan,” Bartemus said, his voice weary. “Finish him.”
Aidan started to close his fist, but suddenly Edwin picked up his head. “No, please,” he said. There was no threat or anger in the warlock’s voice, just fear.
“Aidan, don’t!” a voice yelled. The mage looked up and saw Aaliyah emerge from under the dragon’s wing, her sword sticking out of its neck. The boy desperately turned towards the ship, his mind spinning. There he saw Timothy, who seemed to be completely healed, and next to him, Eleanor. As he watched, she nodded, ever so slightly. It was enough.
Aidan closed his fist.
Immediately his felt himself growing up, the youngest of three, his parents both powerful sorcerers. He saw his siblings and parents die in the Great Wars, and felt himself go mad with grief, pushing away his only friends in the world. He watched himself become seduced by Malcommer, going so far as to murder his first victim. He watched his anger and hate consume him until he was the most wretched, desperate scrap of a soul that he could possibly be. And then he watched himself, at the height of his glory, loose his life to a young boy that only reminded him of himself.