LET THERE BE DRAGONS (COMPLETED)

Chapter Forty: A Companion

The afternoon waned towards a bloody evening as Tiyasha, Arthur, and the Medimen stood in apprehension of a dark future. And miles apart, Blikrot and Bakrasur walked towards a courtyard that had been prepared for Bakrasur's training. Three mirrors were placed on the edges of the courtyard, and the black walls of Blikrot's castle rose to kiss the sky beyond them.

The mirrors held the bloodlight of the ageing sun, as if luminous from within, and it was not too difficult for Bakrasur to imagine them as secret portals, instead of rationalizing them as pieces of glass.

"What are mirrors, if not siblings of our souls, waiting under a cold skin, to come to life?" Blikrot was saying, as he walked, slowly, towards one. Bakrasur, of course, had no idea what he was talking about. The king had stopped making any sense to him a long time back. "Do you understand me, Bakrasur?"

"Sir, I'm not sure..."

"What I mean is...every blank mirror is just a possibility of a reflection. People mistakenly think that it is the surface that reflects...but they are wrong. It is the possibility, instead, that is realized when one stands before a mirror. By magic, we can become at one with this possibility, and walk through them. Does that make sense?"

"Sir, actually..." Bakrasur muttered, cursing himself for his lack of intelligence. He was meant to be a warrior--although right now he would be completely happy as a poor farmer instead, hopefully with a busty wife--and thus, it was difficult for him to philosophize on such abstractions. What kind of magic was he about to learn, anyway?

"Let me see your spear," the king said softly.

Bakrasur sighed, and clapped his palms together, focusing all the energy he had on summoning his weapon. The spear of blinding white light appeared, and he gripped it by his right hand. The weapon flickered a few times, then got steady, but shortened. Bakrasur's dragon-burns itched. He looked down at the ground in shame.

"It's okay. You're getting stronger. You can liquidate it. I am satisfied." Blikrot said.

Bakrasur snapped the thumb and middle finger of his left hand. The spear vanished into the air like incense.

"Okay. Now. Touch this mirror," Blikrot said, gesturing towards the mirror right in front of them. Bakrasur went ahead and placed his right palm on it. "What do you feel?" Blikrot asked.

"Cold," Bakrasur said, feeling lame.

"Exactly! Exactly!" Blikrot said happily, clapping his hands together, making Bakrasur jump. "Now, why do you feel so?"

"Um?" Bakrasur said, lost. "I guess because...my body temparature's higher, and the heat flows from me to the mirror..."

"Exactly! Now close your eyes, and imagine rays of heat, much like rays of the morning sun through your window curtains, escaping from your fingers into the glass. Do it!" Blikrot said. Bakrasur closed his eyes and tried to follow the king's instruction. Oddly, images of peasant women dancing around a fire came to his mind out of nowhere. He hastily pushed it away. His dragon burns continued throbbing and itching.

"Are the visuals clear in your mind?" Blikrot asked.

"I hope so," Bakrasur answered.

"Good. Now, imagine your fingers sinking into the glass, along with the heat rays."

Bakrasur tried to do as he was asked, and waited for further instructions. None came, he only heard strange incantations being uttered by Blikrot, which meant nothing to him.

"Open your eyes," Blikrot commanded. Bakrasur did so, and found that their reflections had disappeared from the mirror that he was touching. He jerked his head towards the king in surprise.

"It's normal," Blikrot assured in a gruff voice. "Try to push your hand through the glass now."

Bakrasur pushed. Nothing happened. He pushed with all his might.

The mirror cracked, and went completely dark. Something stung Bakrasur's hand. He pulled it back, and was surprised to see it bleeding. He jerked his head toward the king again, his mind already thinking about what unique punishment the king would come up with to torment him.

"Ah," Blikrot said softly. "This is going to take a while." Recently, Blikrot had discovered a fresh fountain of patience within him. And he was all too ready to use it while training Bakrasur.

"Don't go there alone," the oldest historian of Heart had warned, while speaking of the Glaciers. The Glaciers that housed the Temple of Eclipse. The Temple that hid the Shadowblade.

Blikrot was determined to possess that sword. If he secured it, no sailor, witch, or dragon would pose a threat to his empire ever again.

He was going to follow the historian's advice. He needed a companion in his quest for the mythical Shadowblade.

A long-trusted, disposable companion.