PRELUDE: PENETRATING THE SHIELD OF PURITY
The albino dragon stepped away from the ancient iron pedestal and gazed at its simple yet elegant design. Against the darkness of his surroundings the pedestal glowed with clear, vibrant light emanating from the dome of energy sizzling over its surface.
On the pedestal and enclosed beneath the energy dome hovered a large shiny gold key with the miniature figure of a dragon wrapped around its oval handle. Flames were spewing from the dragon’s mouth and entwining themselves around the key’s bar, and the gold appeared to burn with fire. The end of the key was composed of various prongs, evidently used to open some kind of lock.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Albino turned his bony white head to look down at his bearded white-haired friend. “Then this is it: the Key of Living Fire?”
“Yes. This is it.” Patient held his shepherd’s staff with both wrinkled hands and leaned on it as he scrutinized the key with narrowed eyes. “Good,” he murmured. “Very good. It is safe.”
“Did you expect anyone else to find this place?” The dragon growled. “It is buried from the world, and only you and I know of its existence.”
Patient chuckled. “One can never be certain that a secret like this will be kept safe. And this is one secret that, I daresay, any dark wizard would give anything to know. But the battle that was waged in this place was like no other, and the collisions of demonic power with that of the powers granted by God opened many portals out of this realm. I feared that someone would have discovered one of those portals by now.”
“It has been long ages since this realm was hidden from the world, Patient. If none have entered, it is likely that none will.” Something crunched under his rear foot as he shifted it, and he spun around.
“Ah—see? It is as I feared.” Patient walked over to the skeletal remains of a man and pulled the now-crushed helmet off the skull and examined it. “Strange—I am not familiar with this design—it encased this man’s entire head.” He held it up for the dragon to see. “Are you?”
Albino shook his head and tapped the cracked oval window in the helmet’s face. “It seems you were right; others have found this place. We must act now, before our enemies learn of the key.”
“Right you are!” Patient threw down the helmet and walked up the stone steps that led to the pedestal. The energy dome sparked as he approached and stretched his hand toward it. “The Shield of Purity was put here as a safeguard against any who serve darkness,” he said as his fingers pierced the dome. “Only those whose motives are right and proper and those whose hearts are pure can ever penetrate it.”
“What of those whose hearts are not pure?”
The shepherd laughed and pointed at the skeletal remains.
Albino clamped the claws of his left hind leg over the bones. So this was the end result of an unworthy soul touching that which should remain in its place. How many? he wondered. How many had touched this ancient shield and died? He threw the bones into the surrounding blackness. “I see. Very effective.”
“Quite!” Patient’s fingers preceded his hand through the energy dome and closed around the gold key. The miniature dragon spurted more flames as if fighting against him, but Patient drew it out and held it up. His gaze never left it.
Flames grew in the darkness, and the light of several thousand towering torches illuminated the ancient stone columns of a ruined city, stretching for as far as he could see. Broken pottery lay scattered in the abandoned streets, and enormous stones, dislodged from crumbling buildings, peppered the ground. The buildings’ proportions indicated human architecture, and he envisioned for a moment what the city had been like in its prime.
One structure alone had stood the test of time. Before him, beyond the pedestal, rose a cathedral. Its spiked spires disappeared into the darkness far above him, and its marble walls stood strong. An aura of dim energy surrounded it, and he knew that the thing for which he had come was close at hand.
Patient glanced up at the cathedral’s spires, the key still held in his left hand. “You understand, my friend,” he said, “that this power once destroyed an entire civilization?”
Albino grasped the edge of the stone steps leading to the cathedral and pulled himself up, carefully avoiding the pedestal. “It was you who suggested this, Patient. Not I!”
“Still, it is you who wants it now.”
“Yes.” The dragon craned his neck to look up, then averted his eyes in disgust. “If it can be used again to avert the death of the innocent, then I am willing.”
The shepherd looked up again. “You don’t fear what sleeps there, do you?”
“Not for myself. But for my children? Yes!” He growled and nodded at the cathedral. “If you will not let me face him, then let us proceed.”
“As you wish.” Patient preceded him to the cathedral’s double doors, his staff tapping lightly against the stone floor and his robes trailing behind him. Engraved in ivory upon the doors was the figure of a snarling white dragon with amethyst eyes.
Inserting the flaming key, Patient gave the doors a push and they opened inward (with a growl that sounded very much like a dragon). They entered a room several times higher than its width. Ivory and black tiles checkered the floor, a stained-glass window depicting the white dragon filled a portion of the back wall, and jewel-like stones hung from the broad rafters. The stones gave off a steady soft light.
“We have come to it,” Patient said, holding up his staff and coming to an abrupt halt. “The Hold wherein we will find the Living Fire.”
Albino checked his surroundings for an indication of where the Hold was. He felt confused. “Do you mean that this—this cathedral is the Hold? I thought you said that no one can step into it.”
But the shepherd thrust out the key and turned it in the air. Click! Then the floor trembled and rose beneath them, raising them far above to a platform that had been invisible from the ground level. “Hurry! Get on the platform before the floor recedes.”
Following Patient’s advice, Albino jumped forward just as the stones on which he had been standing dropped hazardously out of reach. He found himself standing opposite a wooden door about eight feet high and five feet wide. A heavy iron chain stretched across it, and an inordinately fat padlock had been fastened to it.
Patient held out his staff. “Hold this for me.”
Taking the wooden stick in his claws, Albino held it gingerly. “I don’t know why you bring this thing with you. It only gets in your way.”
The shepherd chuckled. “My friend, if you were human, then you would understand that age has a way of catching up with you, and that a staff can be more than a little helpful at times.” He grabbed the padlock and rattled the chains. “Hold on!” Turning the key in the padlock, he dropped the chains and the wood door swung outward.
A whoosh of hot air forced Albino to close his eyes for a moment. He dug his claws into the platform as some kind of force tried to push him off.
“Stop,” he heard the shepherd say. “Enough!”
The storm passed, and Albino opened his eyes and relaxed his muscles. Before him lay a chamber ablaze with fierce flames. Patient stood before it and reached back even as Albino held out his staff.
“The powers of a penitent prophet never die,” Patient said as he took a step toward the Hold. “They live on without him and, yet, bound to him. Once given up they yearn to return to their master, but they are not allowed to do so. Today I have come to close off this danger to the world, this threat to mankind’s existence:
“A power of evil rises from the ashes of his master’s doom, a threat upon the world grows in strength. He gathers the corrupted and the evil to himself, preparing for a war upon Subterran that will subject it under him. To what will men turn when this evil threatens their existence? Do they have a champion, a man who can match the evil brought against him?
“I see the youngest daughter of the great white dragon, pure and beautiful, won by a man of her choosing. She gives her life and brings a child into the world. A child of hope, an offspring of the dragon. But the enemy seeks out the offspring and draws near to snuff out her flame.
“Will none go to her aid? Will all stand and watch as she is destroyed?
“I see a sword blazing in the hands of her deliverer! Fierce and glorious, he stands between her and death. The sword given to men by the dragon prophet is in his hands. Lo! It has the Living Fire—the powers held from time long past. It is he, the son of the traitor.
“Take now the weapon and arm the deliverer!”
Albino beheld a mighty sword rise from the midst of the Hold. Its blade was long and elegant, double-edged. Its steel mirrored everything without flaw, and flames entwined themselves around the blade, wreathing it in red and yellow fire. The sword’s guard was semitransparent, like crystal, and a gold vine wrapped it and passed below to the handle, reinforcing the leather gripping.
Patient slid his hand over the sword’s pommel and curled his fingers around its handle, then drew it out, stepped back, and watched the heavy wooden door close. The chains tangled themselves across the door, and the padlock fitted itself into their links before snapping shut.
“Take this!” Patient tossed him the sword. “The prophecy was meant for you, and the sword is yours to give to whomever you choose.”
Catching the sword in one hand, Albino waited for the cathedral’s floor to return for them. As the tiles rose next to the platform, he leaped onto it and it began to descend, leaving Patient behind. Spreading his leathery wings, Albino shot up and past his friend, curling his tail around Patient’s torso and flinging him onto his back.
“It is time to depart, my friend.”
He streaked downward, pulled his head back, and landed in front of the entry doors. Patient dismounted and opened the doors. As he did so, they saw a swirl of light and a portal opened before them.
“Our way home!” Albino roared victory, but he had turned his face upward again. There, hovering in the air around the citadel spires, was a host of human figures wrapped in dark veils, silent and unmoving. In their midst was a body dwarfing all others, its spiked tail wrapped around its shiny black-scaled body. “Valorian!” he growled.
Patient slapped him across the head with his shepherd’s staff. “Leave him be! We’re getting out of here.”
The portal grew in size and prepared to swallow them, and at that moment Albino heard the faint tinkle of metal as the key slipped through Patient’s fingers and fell to the stone floor. He grabbed for it but missed. The key vanished and reappeared inside the energy dome atop the pedestal. “No!”
A whirlwind of color caught him up. He felt his surroundings disappear and saw the light of day fill the darkness. Moments later he found himself standing outside an ancient ruin deep in the forest. The portal vanished behind him, and Patient stood next to him.
“Do not worry,” the shepherd said. “The sword is what we really came for. It is the key to the future, and the Shield of Purity will prevent anyone else from obtaining the key.”
“And what if someone else manages to get past that shield?” Albino growled and looked at the spot where the portal had been.
Patient furrowed his brow. “If someone managed to get past the shield”—he glanced at the sword—“then that weapon would become as any other sword, and its bearer would be left vulnerable.”
“Great! So we have a weapon and a prophecy that are useless! And what if Letrias finds out about this? He is crafty and may discover a way to get the key.”
“Not if we keep this incident a secret.”
“You mean don’t tell anyone?”
Patient started walking into the trees, but he called back over his shoulder. “Yes. That is exactly what I mean!”
A whiff of smoke drew Patient up the mountain’s gentle slope as he dismissed the memory of that day. What had brought it to mind now, he had no idea. That incident had occurred about eighteen years ago. He remembered distinctly that he and the dragon had met in the wood west of the Hemmed Land soon after taking the sword from the Hold of Living Fire. That day had seemed so filled with hope. He remembered holding the flaming blade before him with a longing gaze as he stepped into the woodland pool formed at the waterfall’s base. He had stabbed the blade into the pool, and later Albino had drawn it from the water and given it to the recently widowed young father, Ilfedo. During recent years, Ilfedo had carried that same sword into battle against creatures and men who had threatened his homeland. Patient smiled as he thought of the courage with which Ilfedo had fought against the wizard Razes.
But at this moment, Patient was a very great distance away from Ilfedo and the Hemmed Land.
Snowy-white sheep parted reluctantly, and Patient had to push his way through a herd of long-horned goats. They nuzzled him affectionately and followed him for a short distance before losing interest and returning to graze the lush green grass. One kid hurried after him, bleating until he picked it up and set it around his shoulders. A lamb followed the kid’s example and blocked Patient’s way.
“Now, now, little one, I haven’t room for you today. Go back to Mamma.” He rubbed its forehead and guided it back into its flock with his staff.
The sky was turning magenta. Stray wisps of cloud that had neglected to follow Yimshi, his planet’s sun, to the horizon took on a deep orange hue. He gazed west and watched the reddening solar disc sink behind the distant hills. The daylight faded, and darkness snuck over the mountains.
He about-faced and headed up the slope. Smoke still curled from behind a large boulder, and firelight played on the trees bordering the mountain meadow. As he reached the boulder and made his way around it, a familiar gruff voice greeted him.
“Welcome back. Nice trip?”
Patient circled the boulder and smiled down at the large black-and-white dog that had addressed him. It was lying next to a pile of dry sticks. The dog looked back to the fire and grabbed a stick with its lionlike claws. It was the size of a tiger, and every muscle in its body appeared taut as iron. Blue blood dripped from its white razor-sharp teeth, and a tuft of black hair was lodged between them.
“Thank you, Corbaius,” Patient said. “It’s good to be back home. Anything exciting happen while I was away?”
The dog put the stick on the fire and shook its head. “Not until today. Some renegade wolf came up from the eastern mountains and tried to take one of the sheep. Didn’t make it very far. I introduced it to my teeth.”
“The blood?”
“The wolf’s.”
“I wonder why it is blue.” Patient knelt and examined the liquid while Corbaius obligingly showed his teeth. “I’ve never seen a wolf with blue blood.” The shepherd frowned.
“It was no ordinary wolf,” the dog replied. “Its spine was protruding out of its back, like dragon ridges, and its eyes were bright yellow. And it had the foulest smell. I ripped off one of its hind legs, but it still outdistanced me and escaped—don’t worry, I’ll track it down in the morning.”
Patient cleaned off the blood with a corner of his robe and stroked Corbaius’s head. “Very well, but be careful … and take Melvin with you—”
“Melvin?” The dog spat on the ground. “You know as well as I do how well he and I get along! No, I will not bring that winged pompous deer with me.”
“Then take his sister,” Patient insisted. “She is smaller and doesn’t fight—but you two do get along. Caution is called for in a situation like this, and I don’t want any accidents.”
The dog grinned. “She is loyal and a good friend. Very well, I will ask her to accompany me.”
Lifting the kid off his shoulders, Patient set it down between Corbaius’s clawed paws. “Watch this one; he’s a wanderer.”
“Will do.” Corbaius pulled the kid against his furry white chest and nuzzled it to sleep.
Patient left his companion, knowing full well that Corbaius would hardly close his eyes all night as he kept vigil over the many flocks and herds on the mountain. Corbaius’s sense of smell, sight, and hearing were all phenomenally more sensitive than any other creature Patient had encountered. Not once in all the years the dog had been with him had he lost a single animal.
Back down the slopes he walked, taking care not to stumble over stones or creatures in the darkness. When he was about a quarter of the way up from the mountain’s base, the ground leveled out, and he looked upon the cottage that he called home. It had been built into the mountainside. Wooden walls buttressed with stone set in clay squared off under a wood-shingled roof, and a wide variety of flowers overflowed the surrounding gardens.
“Good evening,” said a billy goat as it walked by.
“Ah, evenin’, Francis!” Patient replied. He put his hand on the rough wood latch of his door and chuckled. “Are you going to trim your beard anytime soon?”
The goat ignored his remark and shuffled off into the darkness. “Good night, sir.”
“Good night, Francis.” He lifted the latch, entered, and closed the door softly behind him. Someone had been kind enough to light a lamp for him, so he had no trouble navigating his way through the fur-laden sitting room. The stone fireplace against the back wall, its wood box filled to overflowing, soon crackled pleasantly as he fanned the flames.
Resting his staff against the wall and taking off his white boots, Patient slipped into fur slippers, grabbed an iron torch from over the fireplace and lit it, then drew the curtains so that no one could see inside. Against the back wall of his sitting room, to the left of the fireplace, was a large bookshelf. He gripped it, shoved it to the left, and slipped into the dark tunnel beyond. The tunnel went about fifty feet back into the mountain to where a large circular chamber had been chiseled out of solid stone. Scrolls, some yellowed and others fresh, filled the right wall. The rest of the chamber was lined with bookshelves, maps, and stacks of parchment.
Several lamps hung from the high ceiling. These he lit, and then he blew out his torch. Carved into the floor were the words “Wise men seek God and knowledge; fools seek power.” He searched through a pile of scrolls near at hand, pulled one out, and checked to be certain it was blank. Then he relit his torch, extinguished the lamps, and left the library and returned to his sitting room.
Late into the night he sat in his easy chair in front of the fire. He had just returned from Emperia, the kingdom of Albino the dragon. It was hidden away from the world far to the west. Albino’s face now bore Oganna’s scars but also seemed to glow with great frequency. The dragon’s offspring had risen to the challenge in Netroth. The battle had been difficult, and Albino had admitted that it had been hard for him to stand by unable to intervene on his granddaughter’s behalf, but the Creator would not have permitted it. “If it had not been for the Living Fire in the sword of Ilfedo,” Albino had told him, “I believe both Oganna and the battle would have been lost.”
Something about that statement had caused Patient to tremble. If somehow the enemy ever learned of the key—if they found a portal to that other domain and opened it—what would happen to Ilfedo and the Hemmed Land? He felt a gnawing at his soul, a foreboding that would not release its hold. He pulled out a quill and wrote upon the scroll. After completing each paragraph, he sprinkled sand over the ink to keep it from blotching and wrote on. He entered in ink what had happened between him and Albino; he wrote of the things he did not want anyone else to know. He started with the location of the portal they had used to enter the ancient realm and where they had also come back out with the sword of Living Fire.
“The ruins of a temple, that lie at the northeast corner of the Palm of Heaven, hold a portal to the ancient realm where Valorian and his host fell. Only fire will reveal it; only fire can open the way to the Key of Living Fire …”
He wrote it all and spent all night and some of the predawn hours doing so. When at last he’d finished, he closed the scroll, leaned back in his chair, and let his tired mind rest. Maybe once he’d rested the facts would freshen in his mind. He needed to know if he’d missed anything. Any vulnerability Letrias might exploit. Morning light filtered through the curtains and he fell asleep.
When he awoke, half the day had passed by, and a powerfully built deer with brown feathered wings and large black eyes smiled down at him. Its antlers rose like so many thorns above its head.
“Melvin.” Patient laughed. “What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?”
“It’s good to see you,” the buck answered, bowing low.
Patient rose and rubbed Melvin’s snout. “I was speaking in jest. Come! Let’s take a walk.” He took his staff and led the way outside.
Yimshi shone directly overhead, casting warmth upon the mountains. Antelope and deer raced across the slopes, and a plethora of songbirds played in the flower gardens and on his roof. In the distance, in a higher meadow, Patient could see Corbaius on a boulder, overlooking the flocks and herds entrusted to his care. A large dark animal dangled limply from his jaws.
“Corbaius caught the wolf, I see.” The deer shook his head and sighed.
“What is it, Melvin?”
“Oh, nothing. Well—Corbaius—actually. He and I’ve been, well, butting each other at every turn. Nothing I do seems to make a difference. He hates me.”
“Nonsense. He doesn’t hate you; he’s just not comfortable with you.”
“He’s comfortable with my sister.”
“Yes, well, Veleema gets along with everyone.” Patient stroked Melvin’s neck.
The deer breathed deep and looked to the east. “I need a vacation,” he said. “Not a long one. But I need to take some time to be alone so that I can come back fresh!”
Patient stepped back and looked fondly at him. “You are a good friend, Melvin, and a faithful one—a far cry from the fiery-tempered fawn you once were! Go. Fly to a distant meadow. Veleema and I will handle things while you’re away.”
The handsome creature bowed gracefully and smiled as he rustled his brown feathered wings. His antlered head lowered, he charged off a cliff and glided into the eastern sky. Patient watched him until he was nothing more than a speck against the blue sky, disappearing around a mountain.
He looked up the grassy mountain slope and saw Corbaius coming toward him. “I see you got the wolf.”
“Yes. Wasn’t much trouble. Melvin shirking his duty?”
“No, I gave him permission.”
“So I heard,” the dog replied gruffly. “What’s wrong with him?”
The shepherd chuckled and headed up the mountain with the dog keeping pace at his side. “Nothing is wrong with Melvin, and I think his idea was a good one. When he returns, maybe you’d like a vacation too.”
Corbaius growled. “The flocks and herds are my responsibility. I have no need of a vacation.”
Patient stabbed his staff into the ground and pulled himself forward. “Well, since that is settled, come! We must move the flocks to higher grazing.”
1
THE TRAITOR’S CHOICE
Specter rose from his kneeling position on the street in Netroth. It had been a hard-fought battle in the mighty city of the giants. Oganna, beloved princess of the Hemmed Land, had come to this place in search of the villain who’d been sending winged humanoids to murder the people in her land. She and the desert Megatraths that had come with her had been surrounded by an army of giants. She might have held her own, but the Grim Reaper had appeared to collect the Megatraths’ lives. Specter had revealed himself at that moment and engaged Death in a duel. By his hand the dark being had at last been destroyed, but the young and beautiful Oganna had meanwhile met her match. A wizard named Razes had mutilated her, bringing her very near death. Only the sudden appearance of Oganna’s father, Ilfedo, with the fiery sword of the dragon in his hand, had saved her life.
The dragon prophet, Albino, had charged Specter to protect Oganna. But over a thousand years before, in his other lifetime, Specter had been known as the warrior Xavion, and he was still bent on bringing down the traitors that had escaped after betraying him. Having found one traitor, Auron, serving the wizard Razes during the battle, Specter had engaged the man in a duel. Only he was a free agent, not tied to any particular land, but only serving the prophets of God.
He gazed into the dark western sky. A spot of white appeared, blazing through the clouds. Then it slowed and streaked toward him in the form of a ball of fire, growing larger with each second.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Auron crawling from the building wherein he’d defeated him. The traitor’s scarred face grimaced with each move he made. The ball of fire silently exploded on the broad highway, and from the flames grew the white wings of a dragon. The magnificent creature stepped out of the dissipating flames. Each of its feet resounded on the stones as it strode forward, coming toward Specter. The traitor let out a startled cry and scrambled back into the building’s shadows.
Specter knelt again and lowered his head. The mighty Albino loomed before him, scales aglow with pure energy. “It is done, my master. Auron has been defeated.” He swept his arm at the building wherein the traitor hid. “Even now he cowers in the shadows.”
A thoughtful rumble came from the dragon, and it shifted on its feet for a moment. It gazed upon the nearby structure with those fierce pink eyes and said, “You surprise me. I had expected you to become his executioner.”
“There is a chance he may find redemption even now.” Specter grasped his scythe handle with both hands. “But he is no threat to my young charge. She proved her worth in the battle this day.” He gazed up at the dragon, and the noble creature turned its face to gaze back with a smile.
“Yes. She has realized her potential. She is even beyond your prowess, my friend. What once was a hope has now become a reality. The father and the daughter shall go on to find even Letrias himself. Of this I have little doubt.” The dragon lowered his long neck, bringing its face to within a couple feet of his. “But you, my friend, have acquitted thyself above all others.”
Specter exhaled. “I only followed what I believed God’s will was in this situation. You asked me to guard your offspring—and so I have done. But she is both strong and loving. She brought about far more good than I. She befriended the Megatraths and healed their wounds. She saved that little viper from death and humbled Auron—”
“You sound taken with her, Specter.” The dragon’s scales pulsed.
“Not in a romantic way, my master. But she is a remarkable young woman.”
Albino chuckled and pivoted to gaze up at the citadel of Ar’lenon. With darkness shrouding it, the immense structure stood out in stark relief against the velvet star-studded sky. “Only she and that faithful Megatrath now remain in this city. They will sleep tonight in the citadel, for tomorrow they plan to find a suitable burial place for the fallen king of Burloi.” The dragon swiveled to face Specter again and raised his hand, holding up one huge claw. “But you, my faithful warrior—your duty to Oganna and to my daughters is finished.”
Specter stared in shock and stood. “Surely I should remain with her, to watch over her and guard her against any who seeks her life. She cannot stand alone.”
“She will not stand alone, Specter. But you will not be the one to save her when she again needs a savior. That final salvation must come from another path, another man—a man whom Letrias knows nothing of.” The dragon laughed, deep and rumbling. “Ah, the beauty of life; even in the death of those we love is the Creator’s plan revealed!”
“Then what would you have me to do?” Specter felt his mind racing through the past years, from the lovely young dragon daughters, to the death of Dantress, to the recent achievements of Oganna. He couldn’t imagine a life without these women. After his rebirth he’d devoted himself wholly to their well-being.
The dragon looked at the building wherein the traitor had hidden. “Auron’s destiny is uncertain. His path has wavered, and he has fallen into truly vast corruption. Follow him, and if thou should find him returned to his demonic worship, slay him before he becomes another Letrias.” The dragon pulled a small white bag from under a wing and smiled, then handed it to him. “Thy journey may be long. Take this for sustenance, courtesy of Elsie.”
Specter bowed. “I will do as you command.” And the dragon turned, walked down the street. Its enormous body faded, became translucent, then a breeze whisked it away. The traitor crawled from the building, slowly at first, looking one way and then the other. Specter allowed his cloak to render him invisible. Auron stood, stumbled, and fell in the street. Then he appeared to stand without difficulty. What in Subterran …? But then the man turned, and in his hand he held the upper half of his broken staff. Its head pulsed deep purple, and then faded, blending into the night. Either Auron’s repentance had been for Specter’s benefit, or the man was simply trying to survive by whatever means necessary.
Limping as he went, Auron proceeded down the highway and Specter followed, though he planted his feet with care so as not to alert his former pupil to his presence. Lead me where you will, Auron. I will follow. If salvation is your desire I will observe and help you along. But if you turn against me again, I will be God’s angel of death.
Night shrouded the city. Auron followed the highway north and slept in a burned-out home. Specter checked that there were no entrances but the front one, then sat outside against the stone foundation by the doorway. He dug into the bag, fished out a warm bun, and bit into it. The sweet taste of butter filled his mouth, and he relaxed. He bowed his head and asked God’s blessing on both the food and the prophets whom he served. And then he added a prayer for Auron. “As You have forgiven me, let me forgive him. But if he will not repent, let me bring an end to him and, in so doing, to his evil. Amen.”
The next day Auron rose early. He looked utterly famished, and his eyes bore a wildness and desperation Specter had never seen before. The traitor stumbled eastward across the former kingdom of Burloi. Not once did he glance back at Netroth. Before long, the mighty spire of Ar’lenon shrank out of view into the valley, until Specter could no longer discern where it lay. He remained invisible.
Auron stopped at the first stream he came to, plunged his head in the water and then his whole body. He touched his broken staff’s head to the water’s surface and several fish floated up from the current. He tore into them, glancing about as if sensing someone was watching. Upon devouring several fish, he stepped onto the opposite bank and glanced back. His gaze swept the exact spot on which Specter stood, then passed on farther along the bank. He broke into a run, heading toward the rising sun and leaving behind all evidences of the cursed giant kingdom.
As morning blossomed into afternoon, a forest rose before them. The trees resembled oaks and white birch, but their height seemed to defy heaven, and their trunks were broad enough to accommodate small houses. Bushes, some fifteen feet tall, peppered the forest floor. Fuzzy leaves of yellow, green, and blue covered their branches. The trees themselves abounded in leaves of green. Specter found himself ducking under the numerous low-hanging shoots that twisted from the trunks like thinner branches. The shoots curled around adjacent trees, forming a veritable web of nature.
Though no path seemed to present itself, Auron led him deeper into the forest. Hours passed. Specter couldn’t help glancing up to try to determine the sun’s position. But it did him no good, for the thick forest all but snuffed out Yimshi’s rays. Curiously, not a single bird’s call pierced the forest’s calm. Insects abounded, skittering along the forest’s dry floor, but no other living thing evidenced itself.
Auron batted branches aside and cursed when they whipped him in the face. The shadows lengthened. Specter found it difficult to keep pace with his guide. He had to keep his hood over his head, his cloak tight around his body, and his scythe from hitting the branches. No need to alert the traitor to the fact that he was being tracked.
Then Auron slipped around a tree, and when he followed, Specter saw only an empty stretch of forest floor. It had grown quite dark, but not so dark that he should lose the man. Frustrated, he turned to retrace his steps. When he faced the back side of the tree, he found a hole that opened into a hollow interior. The hole was more than large enough for a man to pass through, and a spot of flickering light bounced inside the tree—as if someone were using a torch to find his way underground. Auron had gone in.
Stepping forward with care, Specter found steps curving beneath the tree. The faint light played off the inner walls of the tree and descended quickly underground. The only thing he could guess was that the traitor had again made use of his wizard staff to create an unnatural light. Twenty feet or more he descended the wooden stairs, then they leveled out, opening into a spacious dirt chamber. Auron stood in the middle of the large space, holding his broken staff above his head. The orb at its head glowed with yellow light.
Vines grew in and out of the walls, and on every side the trees’ roots grew like leaning pillars. The chamber’s ceiling tapered to a point some fifteen feet above his head. On one side of the room stood a wooden desk built as if for a giant. A large quill rested in a bronze inkwell atop it. A great spear lay beside the desk, and a sword leaned against the opposite wall. But what caught Specter’s attention at the last moment made anger flood his soul. There, lying at Auron’s feet, was a breastplate bristling with razor-sharp blades. Razes! So, the traitor had returned to the lair of his fallen master.
Auron dropped to his knees and stretched out his arms. “God’s prophet will have me slain. Come to my aid, spirits. Ye demons, servants of the Devil and, yourselves fallen angels, see me as your servant. Use me to channel your power into the world. And grant me vengeance!”
Specter raised his blade and gritted his teeth. Time to pay for your sins, Auron.
Voices whispered in the chamber. They rose around him. His ears rang with their incessant groaning and cackles; they had nothing of peace or of goodness to offer. The dirt floor turned to ice at Auron’s feet and it spread from that point. The scythe froze in Specter’s hands, and ice grew over his feet, latching him to the floor. It spread rapidly up his legs, and he trembled as it touched his back. Wispy forms of skeletal people stepped into the light and clawed toward him. Helpless, he watched his fallen pupil rise and turn to stare back at him.
“There is only one power in this world that is truly to be reckoned with, my old master.” Auron smiled and stepped forward. “And you, even after a thousand and more years have passed, have yet to understand that it is not the power of the prophets, or of their God.”
“It is—” Specter struggled to say the words as ice formed over his chest. “You have rejected all that is good, Auron. And for that you will pay the ultimate price.”
The traitor flung his gaze ceiling-ward and laughed.
“Oh, mighty God, please,” Specter prayed. His body trembled. “Do not let him escape. Look upon me with favor.”
Auron sprang toward him and landed a punch to his jaw. Spots of light danced in Specter’s vision, and he gagged as ice crackled over his throat. “I will leave your fate up to these friends of mine, Master.” Auron turned his back and pointed his broken staff at the wall. Smoke poured from the orb, swirled, and funneled through the dirt. A bright flash and a portal appeared, revealing a snow-covered mountain slope and a gate in the mountain, made of ice. A clear blue sky stretched to the horizon, and ice-and-snow-covered mountain peaks filled the landscape.
Auron laughed and placed his foot in the portal. “Your end has come, Xavion. Death will not claim me. God’s angel decreed it.” He cackled and lowered his arms. “You should have chosen a different enemy. Now death comes by their hands and I—I live on, eternal and ever growing in might. I will escape God’s judgment, while you meet it like a warrior.” He walked into the portal and glanced over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling. “God have mercy on you!”
The portal closed and darkness swallowed Specter. The evil spirits brushed against his cheeks. “Join us. You can.”
But three brilliant lights appeared beside him, and the demons screamed as the light revealed their skeletal bodies. The humanoid spirits looked at one another, still screaming. Three glowing men robed in white smiled at him and touched his body. Immediately the ice receded from his neck, back, and legs. It fled into the room’s edges, and the demons vanished. Warmth returned to his body, and he bowed to the angels, awe filling him.
“No, friend.” The angels pulled him straight. “Do not bow to us; we are servants like you. We all serve the Lord and Maker, and He has sent us to save you this day. But now we must return you to the forest and send you on your way. Auron is lost, and should you meet him again, you must become his angel of death—or the innocent will suffer for it.”
The angels walked him out of the chamber and for a moment stood around him in the silent forest. He marveled at their radiance, their heavenly glory. “What should I do?” he asked them. “For I had set my mind on staying with the traitor. Now that he is gone, I don’t know where I may best serve the will of my Creator.”
“Return to the holy prophet, the dragon you know as Albino. Place yourself once more under his guidance.”
He started to bow, habit overruling wisdom. But they disappeared, leaving him to realize that, once again, Auron had escaped justice. Next time, he vowed—if there ever came such a time—he would do what must be done. For now he would make the return journey to Netroth and see if he could find the dragon.
2
THE HIDDEN REALM
Albino was not certain what made him return to the portal. He had not been to the site for years. But every so often he came back, just to reassure himself with a visual check that no one had managed to enter the hidden domain. He flapped his wings as he soared over the immense forest and angled toward the one tree rising far above the others. No other branches would hold his weight.
Angling his wings back to slow his approach, he settled his feet on the branch. Cool breezes rustled the leaves as his gaze swept the treetops. Folding his wings to his sides, he dug his claws into the ancient bark and gazed upon the one-story structure a couple of hundred feet below on the forest floor. It stood at the edge of a lush field.
A tangled mass of bright-green foliage partially hid the old structure. Thick vines wove around its crumbling outer walls and between the stones and the mortar. A lone pillar stood atop the stone landing in front of the open entrance. White marble steps fronted it, twenty-four of them to be precise, though there may have been more buried beneath the ground.
It could have been a whisper of the wind that broke Albino’s meditation, but it wasn’t. Footsteps moved through the forest, growing louder as they neared. The footfalls landed without rhythm, as if someone ran, then slowed pace, then picked it up again. He watched the forest floor, hoping to catch a glimpse.
Not many oak trees could hold the weight of a fully-grown dragon—much less one of his size—but he shifted comfortably on this one. It had sprouted long before he had been born, and the rich ground that its roots had grown in sustained it beyond the normal lifespan of a tree. Not a single unhealthy branch or leaf, nor even a dead twig, could be found on it. He’d postulated that the land itself might have a special strength given it by the Creator. If so, then the tree was as much a part of the land as the mountains and rivers. Not eternal, but nearly enough.
He stretched out on the branch, being careful not to mar it with his claws.
The footsteps slowed, then quickened again. He frowned. If this were a messenger for him, then why did they not show themselves? And if not, how and why had they come to this place?
A thought occurred to him, a troubling thought. But he discarded it. It couldn’t happen. Only Patient and he knew of the portal. Nevertheless, he could not risk the key falling into the wrong hands. He spread his wings and glided from the branch over a cluster of small fir trees, settling into the clearing beyond, where he could keep his eye on the stone ruin to the south.
A cloud slid across the solar disc, casting the scene into deep shadows. Albino stealthily retreated into one of them and waited. He could smell the approaching human’s sweat and hear rapid breathing.
At last the human sprinted from the trees and crouched in the clearing. He frowned. A woman. Shoulder-length blond hair, blue eyes, tall and thin—she had a rather attractive form. Something didn’t feel right. She was wearing leather leggings and a tight blouse. She glanced about as if hunted or guilty. Her left hand clutched a deep-purple staff whose end was topped by a black sphere.
He frowned. It had been a very long time since he had encountered a sorceress.
Stepping silently out of the shadows, he waited for the cloud to slide away from Yimshi. As the rays spilled over the field, he rumbled in his throat. The woman turned toward him, gave a startled cry, and retreated toward the ruin and the portal to the ancient realm.
“Back off, dragon!”
Albino growled and lumbered forward. “Drop the staff and I will not harm thee.” He could feel the resonating darkness that her weapon possessed. It felt evil, grinding uselessly yet with annoying persistence at his soul. “Unless you wish death to pay you a visit—drop it.”
Fear filled the woman’s eyes. She took another step back, then suddenly held the staff in both hands and swung it at him. A wave of dark energy absorbed the sunlight and smote him upon the chest.
The assault did not in the least affect him, and he growled out another warning. “I will soon tire of this, woman. Do not try me.”
“I-I k-know what you a-are pr-protecting,” she stuttered, retreating to the base of the stairs, “and you c-cannot s-stop me.” She lashed out with the staff, this time striking at his right shoulder.
The staff swept against his shoulder, passed through it, and emerged out of his chest—as if he had been a ghost. She stumbled up the stairs, her eyes wide open and her mouth struggling to speak. Still, she did not drop the staff.
“Your weapon betrays you, sorceress,” Albino said as he pulled his head back. “You follow Letrias, who followed in the footsteps of my enemies. Death alone awaits him and all his followers.”
“You think y-you know e-everything, d-don’t you, dragon? But I-I know my master, and he w-will destroy you.”
Albino looked down upon her, amused. “Without his master? That I doubt!”
“I-I know w-what you are p-protecting, dragon: the Key of Living Fire. Y-you thought you c-could hide it f-from him?”
The key! Letrias had learned of the key? “You have sealed your doom, sorceress.” Albino reared his head back, inhaled the air through his nostrils, and opened his great mouth so that fire issued forth upon her in a steady stream. The marble steps cracked under his assault, but the woman twirled the staff and the flames swept around her. She pointed her vile weapon at the doorless entrance to the old structure, and the flames swirled into it. A whirlpool of light appeared.
Albino roared and grabbed at her. But the whirlpool of light pulled her out of his reach into the portal.
“Fool!” he heard her scream. “You have played into my hands!” With that she was gone.
Roaring his rage at his own miscalculation, Albino spread his wings and ran into the cool wind. The portal to the ancient realm could only be opened by fire—and he had opened it for a servant of Letrias. If she somehow got the key—
He split the cloud above him, emerged above it, and maneuvered between two others. He focused on his destination, the clouds and the sky streamed behind him, colors merged, and he shot away.
As he flew he felt peace reassert itself in his mind. The Creator knew all things. Ultimately He was in control of everything. But Albino pictured the sorceress standing before the Shield of Purity and reaching for the key inside. A contest had begun. A race that he must not lose.
Starfire watched a blustery wind drive clouds of smoke to the east. Small fires could still be seen burning in the wake of the battle. Skeletons lay scattered through the streets and on the great ramp to Ar’lenon; their bones shone white in the pale morning light. The vultures had picked them clean.
The western gate’s arch was still intact. The road leading from it rose out of the valley, and there, at the valley’s rim, a ring of fire blazed on the broad highway. In the center of it she stood solemnly, viewing Netroth as if its emptiness were an answer in itself to her own heart’s pain. She glanced over her shoulder and confirmed that she was alone.
Slowly, deliberately, she moved forward. She followed the road, pausing now and again to look at abandoned weapons and the corpses of those who’d held them. Her flaming garments lit every dark corner as she passed through the city.
Coming near the city’s center, she stopped. The incredible citadel rose above her, its stone walls standing whole amid the chaos. To her right lay the entrance to the tomb of the kings of Burloi, wherein Oganna and Vectra had buried the giant, Gabel.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” a voice said from behind her.
She turned and looked into Albino’s eyes. “Father, it is a graveyard.” In her mind the city had lost its wonder; the valley had lost its enchantment; the citadel had lost its magnificence. An entire civilization had been wiped from the face of the world. Its memory would slowly fade.
The dragon was quiet, and she sensed he was troubled. “Father? Is something wrong?”
“I am not certain—though I think that something is.” He shook his head. “I am to blame.”
“What do you mean?”
He tapped the stone road with his claw. “Do not worry. Patient and I have come up with a plan. But we will need your help.”
“Of course. But what—”
“Not now. I will tell you when we are done here.”
Starfire walked up to the tomb entrance. The doors that were too cumbersome for an ordinary human to manage swung outward by her command. “The worthy live; the evil are condemned,” she murmured.
The great Albino walked past her. “I have always appreciated the giants’ architecture. So spacious and regal,” he began.
She chuckled, then sighed. “You call this regal?” She shook her head.
The stone over Gabel’s grave was now before them. The dragon scraped his claw along it and sighed. “It is a fitting thing that the king of the giants died to save Oganna. Though I doubt Gabel fully realized how important that young woman is to the future. Without her foresight there would never have been an alliance between Ilfedo’s people and the Megatraths, and without those creatures the battle would have claimed Oganna’s life.”
“Yet, Ilfedo has grown proficient with the sword,” Starfire said. “Surely no one can stand against him now.”
Albino swung his head around, facing her. “Do not be so certain. He handled himself magnificently, yes, but his greatest challenges lie ahead. The true tests of his strength have not yet come.”
A cold shiver ran down her spine. What did the dragon know that she did not? “Is there something you wish to tell me?”
“Not now. Not here. First, we must finish what we came here for.”
He wrapped his hand around her shoulders and looked again at Gabel’s burial stone. “Trust me,” he said. “Trust me.”
She backed away with a bow and smiled apologetically. “Forgive me, Father, I did not mean to doubt you.”
The dragon grasped the stone with one hand and removed it. Gabel’s linen-wrapped body lay inside, the sword rested upon him, and the crown was over it on his chest. “Hello, my friend.” Albino reached in and picked up the corpse. “Starfire, my daughter, take his weapon and the crown. It is time for us to leave.”
With great difficulty she dragged out the sword and then hefted the crown. “See you soon,” she said. As she bowed her head to go, his jaw dropped. “Not even a good-bye kiss?”
She walked up to him, waited as he lowered his elegantly boned head, and kissed him tenderly on his scarred cheek. Then she bowed her head again, and her hair caught fire. The flames spread, instantly covering her body. The city and the dragon vanished around her, and she set her mind on a familiar place.
A chamber materialized around her, and she gazed past the blue marble pillar at its center to the bodies of the warriors of the past, all wrapped in linen and suspended from the ceiling.
“Draconis? Are you awake?” She grunted under the weight of the articles she carried.
From high above a pair of lanterns appeared, and a black form let itself to the floor by means of a thick webbing. A hunching black man stepped to the edge of her circle of light and held up his reptilian arm to shield his ebony eyes from her flaming garment. He wore black armor emblazoned with a white dragon on the breastplate. His curly black hair hung in dreadlocks past his shoulders. The back side of his arms had some sort of scales pointed outward in a vicious line. Gooey webbing dripped from secretion points between the scales. His arms reminded her of a spider, but as he stood and blinked down at her, she couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by his gentle power. He had to be about eight feet tall when standing straight.
Draconis clacked his claw fingers together and stooped, grabbing the giant’s sword and then the crown. His gaze darted to the ceiling; he pointed his free arm upward and webbing shot from between the scales, catching on the stones above. He swung himself into the darkness, and soon a new cocoon slid into view.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to wait here.” She sighed. A series of clicks answered her. “Thank you,” she said and lay next to the pillar. Ilfedo’s face filled her mind and she wept. How she longed to rejoin him. But this life she now lived was no life at all. She’d already died. And the dead could not dwell with the living, or so she’d been told. At least she’d found some solace in meeting her daughter.
Patient the shepherd had spoken of her curse, but with a twinkle in his eye had added, “God rejoices in giving his children all the desires of their hearts. Do not cease to hope, child. We serve a merciful Creator of love.”
Dantress Starfire slept.
As Specter strode down the highway through Netroth, the white dragon loomed out of a tomb with the linen-wrapped body of a giant under its arm. Kneeling, Specter waited. The creature’s footfalls shook the street, and it roared as it approached. When it stood before him, he gazed up into its pink eyes. The creature set the body on a nearby stone.
“I sense something is wrong.” The dragon slapped its tail on the highway, cracking the stones. “Tell me. Is the traitor dead? Did he turn on us once again?”
“Yes, my master. Auron turned upon us as soon as he left the city. But he …”—Specter clenched his fist—“he escaped.”
The dragon raised its eyes and cocked its head to the side, returning his gaze. “A traitor who once escaped my justice and was spared it by thee. Tell me where he roams, and I will bring you to him so that you may end his miserable existence.”
Specter shook his head. The portal into which Auron had passed to that strange land of ice and snow—to his knowledge no such place existed in this world. Either he’d seen an illusion, or some part of the world lay beyond his knowledge. With all the journeys he had taken, he found that hard to accept.
A warm dragon claw touched the side of his head, and he watched Albino’s eyes close. “A forest—Auron fled there.” Smoke wafted from the dragon’s nostrils. “Underground? No, he went farther—a portal to—” The dragon’s eyes sprang wide open, and he pulled back his claw. He blasted a nearby stone block with flames. Around he paced, smashing huge stones with his scaled fist. Then he roared with such force that the highway seemed to resonate with the sound, and Specter covered his ears.
For a while longer the dragon fumed. Specter cowered. Never had he seen the mighty creature respond this way to a dredged-up memory.
“Bring me to him, Master, and I will slay him!”
Albino growled. “No, Specter, for the place that traitor has entered is far beyond your talents. Auron has escaped, for now.”
“Then you know that place? The mountains of ice?”
“Indeed I do. But I fear nothing can pull the traitor from those mountains.” Smoke puffed from his nostrils, and flames played between his teeth. “Ancient are those mountains and deadly powerful is the adversary who dwells therein. But I will not speak of him now.
“Auron has escaped, and I have a task for Starfire. Letrias, it seems, has learned of a well-guarded secret and has made advances to take advantage of his knowledge.”
“Letrias!” At last, Specter thought, an opportunity to confront the master traitor.
“Letrias sent a minion, a sorceress, to an ancient portal. Patient and I had thought only we two knew of its existence, but somehow the sorceress knew, and she used my own flames to open a passage to a hidden realm.”
Specter stood and frowned.
The dragon continued. “Long ago a key was forged by the greatest prophet, the Key of Living Fire. Do you know of which prophet I speak?”
Specter nodded slowly.
“After I killed Hermenuedis, the dragon Valorian led the remainder of his armies in an assault that destroyed a once-beautiful human city.” The dragon growled. “He wanted the Key of Living Fire but was instead entombed in the city by the power he sought. The prophet placed Valorian and his host in a state of endless sleep from which he is meant never to awaken. All the wizards believe Valorian was killed, but Patient and I know the truth.
“Besides this, the key controls the power of Living Fire and, should it be taken, the weapon that I gave to Ilfedo Matthaliah will fail him. The sword would be like any other, and he would fall.”
“What would you have me do?”
Albino rumbled deep in his throat. “The sorceress must not reach the key. Should she somehow unlock the powers in that realm and deliver the key to Letrias—no, that must not happen. I desire you to again protect my daughter.”
“If I may ask, Master.” Specter leaned on his scythe handle, grasping it in both hands. “What of Oganna?”
“It is my will that she not become involved on this mission. She should stay in the Hemmed Land. I have chosen to entrust her father with this task. He will deal with the sorceress.”
“But she could prove to be a valuable asset on a quest of this nature—”
“No!” The dragon snapped its enormous mouth within inches of his face. “She must not be part of this mission. Only as a last recourse would I send her there, for she is too valuable. The future of mankind rests with her.”
With a low bow, Specter stepped away from the dragon.
The creature sighed and gazed upon him. “You have done well in protecting my offspring, even slaying the specter of Death himself. But you have served me longer than necessary. Come!”
The dragon grasped the body of the giant in his claws and lumbered up the highway. It roared at the citadel, then shook its head and leaped into the air. Rapidly its wings drew it into the sky, then it angled around, fast descending toward him. Each time its membranous wings struck against the wind they clapped like thunder, sending reverberations for miles around. He clutched his cloak tight around his body as the dragon’s foot grasped him. As the creature pulled him into the sky, light gathered to it, the clouds parted, and in a flash it shot away.
The journey to Emperia took only a short time. Specter’s shoulders ached by the time they shot over the dragon’s white palace. The dragon reached a mountain beyond the palace and struck his wings against his descent. Specter dropped onto the stony ledge and bent his knees to absorb the shock of that fall. Albino landed as lightly as a bird, the sunlight highlighting his membranous wings. Placing the king of Burloi in one wing, it wrapped the body in it and lowered its head. It stepped into the cave beyond the ledge, and its footfalls made the mountain tremble. The dragon’s scales glowed, lighting their path. Specter followed the dragon prophet deep into the mountain, across the bridge that spanned the underground river, and through the stone doorway beyond.
At last they stood in the familiar chamber, and there by the pillar at the room’s center lay the dragon’s favored daughter. Dantress slept, apparently unaware that her father and former guardian had entered the room.
Albino set the giant’s linen-wrapped body on the floor and smiled upon Dantress. The cool chamber’s silent darkness drew Specter’s gaze to the many bodies entombed here. He had once rested here, like them. Except for one big difference. “I did not die that day, my master. Did I?”
With a swift turn, the dragon stared down at him. Its pink eyes roved the capsules, perhaps recalling the identity of each occupant.
A dark figure descended from the ceiling. Black webbing trailed from its arms.
Taking a backward jump, Specter brandished his scythe’s blade. “What in Osira is going on in this place? What is that thing?”
He stepped toward the creature, but the dragon’s hand struck his chest and held him back, gently but firmly.
The black humanoid wrapped Burloi’s dead king in webs. It held the body up with one arm while gooey webbing was secreted from the other to entwine the carcass. When a thick net covered the body, the humanoid grabbed the hanging webs and spider-climbed into the shadows. As it disappeared, it raised the giant’s body behind it toward the bodies suspended along the walls.
“Do not fear him,” the dragon rumbled. “As you serve me in secret, so does Draconis. And as you were still alive when I brought you here all those years ago, so too did Draconis preserve you until I had need and awakened you. As you have accurately deduced, you did not die at the traitors’ hands. Rather, a flicker of your life survived just long enough for me to pull you from death.
The dragon heaved a sigh as it gazed upon Dantress again. “The Creator bestowed a great blessing on you, Specter. You should have died that day. Here in this chamber lie many great warriors, some stronger than you. But every one of them awaits a life of service. A glorious service to be sure, but they have lost the opportunity to live among those they love and participate in that life. You, on the other side, never passed through death.”
The dragon nuzzled Dantress with its snout, and the young woman stirred.
3
AN ANGEL CALLED MORONI
Specter,” the dragon whispered, “you have a choice to make. You can now leave and begin life anew, if thou so desire. Or”—the creature smiled down at its child—“you can watch over this one, once again—on one final quest—and risk losing your life in defense of her and those she loves.”
Tempted. Specter did feel tempted to leave. Who wouldn’t? After all these years serving the prophets, serving God, he could lead a life of his own. He could pursue friendships—even love. The moment passed. Inwardly he smiled. But he bowed to the mighty white dragon. Loyalty, peace, selflessness, mercy—these virtues and more flowed through his soul because of this holy one. He would serve—once more. “I made my choice all those years ago to defend the innocent and uphold the righteous.” He smote the stone floor with his scythe’s handle, willing his garment to render him invisible. The cloak shimmered, blended into his surroundings, and he watched as Dantress Starfire stood. He would watch over her as if she were his own daughter. But safeguarding her would be easier if she had no knowledge of his presence.
“Father,” Dantress said, rubbing her tired eyes. She curtsied before the white dragon, and the creature rumbled deep and long.
Albino’s pink eyes shone through the mask of light that rose from his facial scales to hide his deformity. He was the picture of raw, natural power held within an equally powerful body. “My child,” the dragon said. “Since the day you lost your earthly life, you have sought to be near your husband at every opportunity. But seeing you would prevent Ilfedo from reaching his potential. His distracted state of mind would ultimately lead to the demise of thy child.”
Dantress hung her head, and Specter thought he heard a sob escape her lips.
The dragon raised her chin with the edge of his claw and sighed. “I have a task for you that will be exceedingly difficult, but it must be done. The Key of Living Fire is in jeopardy, and I cannot enter the Hidden Realm. It is my desire to send you there—but this mission must be undertaken by Ilfedo as well. I will send him to join you. Yet you must not reveal yourself to him during your mission.”
Closing her eyes, the woman shook her head from side to side.
The dragon growled and lowered its head to gaze into her eyes. “Would you rather I send another? Is this task above thee? Tell me the truth, Daughter.”
“No, Father.” With a bow Dantress opened her eyes, gazed up at the creature. “I will go and secure the power of Living Fire.”
“Very well.” Albino summarized his encounter with the witch at the portal. The aura round his face pulsed with white light, then shimmered. When he had finished his tale, the dragon pulled her to his chest in an embrace. His massive scaled hands hid her from view for that moment. “God be with you, my daughter.”
Dantress stood away from the dragon and bowed. Her hair erupted into flames. Specter, knowing what must come next, stepped close to her. Maybe she heard the rustle of his cloak or felt the air move as he reached to touch her flaming skirt. Her eyes glanced through him, but she shook her head and her visage roiled violent flames. He felt like breathing a relieved sigh that she hadn’t detected his presence, yet he held it in. Starfire held her hand to her cheek and closed her eyes. The flames licked at her and swirled. A tornado of fire surrounded Specter and her.
The chamber around them seemed to melt like wax. The flames filled the space around them until he floated in a universe of fire. Starfire opened her eyes, and he was startled by the fierce wildness he saw there. Her lips parted and a flame rolled off her tongue. The flame carved a black hole in the wall of fire around them, and the hole expanded until, through it, he saw the ancient forest tree and the ruins wherein lay the portal to the Hidden Realm.
Into that vision a figure stepped from the fire. A man as brilliant as Yimshi and robed in white stood between Starfire and the ancient ruins. Starfire dropped to one knee and lowered her gaze as the man strode toward her. Specter felt awe overcome him, and he almost bowed beside her. Then he remembered what the other angels had told him, and in his heart he knew that mankind should not pay homage to any angel—only to God himself. The angel’s face dimmed, and he smiled down at Starfire, apparently unaware of Specter standing beside her. He should have seen through Specter’s disguise. Yet he focused his gaze on the dragon’s daughter.
“Child of the mighty prophet, why do you seek passage to this place? Did God tell you to go here?” He glanced at the portal she had formed, questioning the destination, but perhaps not the journey.
Starfire glanced up at the angel. “I go to secure the power of Living Fire and find the witch who desires its secret.”
The angel shook his head. His brilliant countenance hurt Specter’s eyes. He stepped within feet of the dragon’s daughter and said, “I am Moroni, and I say to you that your true mission lies elsewhere. Turn from this quest and follow me. I will show thee what the Lord would have you do.”
Starfire stood with a gentle shake of her head. “Though you are an angel, I cannot be swayed from this path. The prophet has set me on this quest. Into the Hidden Realm I will go—because I must.”
“Because you must.” The angel frowned. “Look into your heart, Dantress. God knows it better than you yourself. Ask yourself, what is your greatest motivation to pass through the portal? You believe you go to serve God’s will and save humanity. You deceive yourself. What other reason drives you more than the love of a man and the hope of seeing him soon? If you go to the Hidden Realm now, at this moment, an innocent life will be lost—a life that I am willing to show thee how to save.”
Moroni reached into the flames surrounding them. His fingers twirled them until a spot of darkness appeared. The darkness grew, expanding like a window. Through it a forest appeared. Lush green trees spaced wide apart. Heavy rain poured from the lightning-cracked sky.
“Ah, look closely,” the angel said. He pointed a finger at the forest’s midst, and the image magnified the base of a broad tree. Rivulets of water ran along the grassy ground. Beneath the tree lay a dark-haired woman with a bleeding leg. The fringe of her skirt had gotten torn, and beside her stood a young boy grasping a knife in his tiny hand. Tears flowed from the boy’s eyes. Beside the mother lay a mountain lion, apparently dead. “Without your help—” Moroni lowered his arm and gazed upon Starfire.
A flame rolled off the dragon daughter’s tongue and burrowed into the new portal. The wall of fire swept away the portal to the clearing with the ancient tree and the gateway to the Hidden Realm. The flames roared around the image of the little boy and his mother. Specter looked upon the wounded mother and the little boy. Without a doubt he would have done the same. The innocent must be saved before they entered the Hidden Realm.
Rain pelted Starfire and Specter as their feet rested in the sodden forest. The angel had vanished. Starfire crouched next to the weeping boy. The child’s eyes just about popped as he looked at her. His sobs ceased.
“It will be all right, child.”
Specter watched the dragon’s daughter pull the child to her flaming chest. His waterlogged trousers and shirt steamed until he appeared mostly dry. She touched the woman’s leg, examined the tooth marks, and closed her eyes. Flames played from her fingertips over the wound. The flesh closed and the skin grew over the wound. Not even a scar remained. The little boy, no more than five years of age, dropped the knife.
“Be calm, child. She will be fine.” Starfire stroked the lad’s blond hair and smiled.
The child returned her gaze and wiped his sleeve across his face, then sniffled. With a stiff lift of his arm, he pointed at the mountain lion.
Starfire whispered, “You killed it?” And she hugged the child to her bosom.
She remained there for the next half hour. At last, the woman on the ground moaned. Her eyes blinked open, and the little boy spun out of Starfire’s embrace and laughed. “Auntie Bray!”
Flames roiled around Starfire, and Specter grabbed her skirt just in time for the flames to engulf both of them. The rain ceased; the forest disappeared. All around them rose walls of fire without heat. And before them stood the angel.
Moroni’s face beamed. “Well done, child. You have followed the path of mercy and found truth and reward in a small quest. Yet now I have another word for thee: The prophets have been deceived. They have lived too long among the fallen in this world. But we, the angels of God, have seen the pure and righteous Lord himself. His throne is from everlasting to everlasting. His kingdom is above all others, and he executes justice on the world through the righteous. Though the prophets desire to know the heavenly mysteries, they cannot. For the mysteries of heaven are reserved to heavenly beings.”
Specter frowned. Could it be true? Had the prophets been deceived? If so, then all that he was doing would mean nothing. What if by leaving Letrias alone they allowed him to prepare for a final towering deed of evil? No! It could not be. Albino and Patient served God’s will. Their hearts were humble and pure. Time had tested their allegiance. They stood true. He had trusted them and would continue to. Who was this angel to make him question that?
“The quest indeed brought me great reward. To save an innocent life brings greater joy to me than a thousand fallen wizards. What would you have me do, Moroni?” he heard Starfire say. Her flames diminished, leaving them in impenetrable darkness.
The glowing angel extended his hand. “If your desire is to save your husband and prevent Letrias from destroying your child, should you not go to the villain himself? His minions are spreading over Subterran like wildfires. They crop up in every corner, all with Letrias’s edict in their minds. They will stop at nothing to kill the man you love. But if Letrias falls, then so, too, will his followers.”
Flames leaped from Starfire’s hair and again engulfed her. The angel narrowed his blue eyes down at her, and another flame rolled off her tongue. “I prayed to God, asking him to give me another life. I want to live among those I love, not as a phantom but as a wife and mother.”
“Dear child,” the angel said, “I have been sent to grant thy desires. You will be joined with your husband—soon. But first this final task you must undertake. The choice is yours: follow the path to the Hidden Realm, where every hope of rejoining your husband will be extinguished forever, or follow me to the Valley of Death and terminate the perpetrator himself.”
Starfire laid her small hand in the angel’s. A smile filled the angel’s face as the flame from Starfire’s tongue opened a new doorway, a window to a place Specter had never before seen. A vast valley opened before them. Dark towers rose from the charred ground, and lava flowed in numerous streams. Not a single being was in sight. At the valley’s center, the lava streams fell into a broad river of the same. An iron bridge crossed the river a hundred feet above it. At the bridge’s end, a single metal door rested in the hillside.
Horror filled Specter. He tried to scream “No!” above the roaring flames as Starfire transported them to that dark place. But his voice was lost to the flames. Dear God, help us. She is falling into a trap.
Then Moroni glanced at him. Hatred oozed from the fallen being like a sickening stream of poison.
Starfire turned and, seemingly for the first time, she could see Specter. He struggled to speak; he wanted to tell her to turn around. Her beautiful, innocent eyes regarded him, and he lipped, “He is a false messenger!”
Her eyes startled wide and she faced the angel. Moroni laughed and vanished. The walls of fire collapsed—and Specter’s feet rested on the floor of the Valley of Death.
“Xavion!” Starfire glanced around the silent valley. Flames played across her face and along her arms as she turned to him and bit her lip. “What have I done?”
Suddenly the valley seemed to erupt around them. Hidden doors in the valley floor swung open, and a host of darkly cloaked figures swarmed forth. On all sides the cloaked figures rushed toward them. He was standing near the iron bridge. Heat waves rose from the lava river. The iron door across the river opened, and more cloaked figures raced at him across the bridge. Specter could see no path of escape. The host numbered in the thousands. A third of their number wielded swords, another third of their number held scythes in their hands, and the remaining number strode forward, smiting their black staffs against the ground. Dark energy sizzled along the ground where the staffs struck.
A chill ran down Specter’s spine. A wizard force of this magnitude he had not seen since the days of Hermenuedis. And from the size of the force now coming toward him and the dragon’s daughter, he could imagine that more wizards had yet to reveal themselves. He shoved Starfire to the ground and she cried out. “Stay low!” he ordered as he spread his feet wide. He slipped out of his cloak, dropped it next to her, and gritted his teeth.
Eleven scythe-wielding opponents drew near. The rest of the host ran a couple of hundred feet behind them. He collided bodily with the first two and swung his scythe wide. His blade impaled one in the chest. The other fell to the ground, and he slammed his boot into the man’s throat. But a sharp pain smote his back, and he stumbled forward to the ground. He rolled, seeking an escape as three others swung at him. But a wizard’s staff struck his chest, and he knelt, gasping for breath. His lungs ached, and warm blood dripped down his back.
Starfire stood before him, fully aflame. The wizard minions hesitated, and he cursed himself. He should have fought side by side with the woman. Taking on numbers such as these without his trusty sword—utter foolishness. As if to prove him right, Starfire ducked an enemy’s sword and opened her mouth. A flame rolled off her tongue and shot into her opponent’s nostril. The man screamed. Then he burst into flames and thudded to the hard ground.
A wailing wind swept through the valley, and the wizards retreated twenty feet.
“Xavion? It is really my ageless captain.” The familiar voice seemed to originate at the bridge.
With a painful shifting of his weight, Specter stood and accepted his cloak from Starfire’s outstretching hand. He slipped into it, taking comfort in the shadow of his hood. His eyes roved the broad iron bridge. Smoke rose, and the heat blurred the faces of the hundred wizards standing on the bridge.
The wizard ranks parted, and a tall, thin man dressed in black leather walked through their midst. The others bowed as he passed, and he laughed. “Xavion. Fearless commander of the Six.” Letrias smiled and raised the black staff in his hand. “Auron told me you tried to kill him in Burloi. But I said that it could not be you. You died over a thousand years ago.” His hand tapped his side.
Specter frowned at his fallen pupil. God’s justice must fall on this man. But how? He looked around and saw no hope. Thousands now followed Letrias. Thousands. How could God allow such evil to flourish? Could he not send the great Albino to wipe these people from Subterran? “This is between you and me, Letrias.”
“Oh, and what? Do you think I will let this child of the dragon escape? Do you expect me to let her live? Fool, my old master.” Letrias advanced within twelve feet of Starfire—and Specter saw too late what hung on the wizard’s belt. Letrias unbelted the whip and snapped it through the air. It wrapped around Specter’s legs, pulled him off the ground, and smashed him against the hard earth. Shards of light danced before his eyes like dust, and his vision blurred. Letrias laughed and Starfire screamed. He felt her collapse beside him.
Letrias stood over him and raised his wizard’s staff, swiveling it to rest the orb at its head on Specter’s chest. “You are beneath me in all things, old warrior. Now I will take what little you have left.”
Dantress Starfire stirred at that moment. Her fingers touched his shoulder, and her voice pleaded, “Forgive me, Lord God. Do not let this man pay for my selfish sin!”
Letrias crushed the staff’s orb into Specter’s ribs.
Everything turned blindingly white. His body floated into an enormous chamber. The great white dragon strode toward him, its eyes narrowed. “Specter?”
“Master.” He knelt before the creature and gazed back into its pink eyes. “How did I come here?”
The dragon frowned. “Has my daughter entered the Hidden Realm?”
“No, my master. She was deceived.”
“Deceived! But how came you here?” The dragon roared with terrible deafening power, and its scales radiated blinding light.
Specter clenched his fists and stood. “An angel who calls himself Moroni intercepted her as she opened the portal. First he sent her on an innocent errand of mercy. But then he offered her an opportunity to take down Letrias himself. I tried to pull her away, but the angel drew her and me into the Valley of Death.”
“The Valley of Death? My Starfire has fallen into Letrias’s lair? What hath she done?” The dragon and the room vanished. The Valley of Death rose around Specter, as real as it had been only a moment before.
Letrias leered down at Specter. At his belt hung the whip Prince Brian had so skillfully utilized in the ancient battles. Specter’s chest burned as if a red-hot poker pressed against it. He screamed and Letrias smiled.
“Hold him down,” the wizard ordered as he kicked Starfire’s hand off Specter’s shoulder. Several caped figures loomed out of the wizard ranks and pressed their booted feet on his chest and legs. Specter struggled to move. He needed to free himself, swing his weapon. But the wizards held firm as Letrias knelt and drew a dagger. He held the pointed blade against Specter’s wrist. As Specter widened his eyes and fought, Letrias grasped his chin and stared into his eyes. “Let us see if the great white dragon or your God will save you from me this day.”
The dagger severed Specter’s right hand at the wrist, detaching him from the scythe. Specter screamed again. As blood fled his arm, he glanced at the sky. The dragon would come. It must! But he saw no flash of white and knew that the dragon could not. He spat in Letrias’s face and smiled. “With God as my witness, I will live to see you impaled upon a spike!”
Wiping the spit from his face, Letrias frowned. Then he raised the dagger above Specter’s other wrist.
Gentle fingers entwined with Specter’s, and flames rolled over his body. Letrias’s eyes widened and shifted to Starfire. The fire engulfed Specter. Letrias and his armies, and the Valley of Death, gave place to a wall of fire all around Specter. He rolled on his side, and Starfire returned his gaze. They were safe within her transporting flames. “Forgive me, my dear guardian,” she said, gazing at his missing hand.
4
IN THE MOUNTAINS OF ULION
The walls of fire fell, and Specter found himself lying in a meadow on a mountainside. The scent of flowers filled the air. Yimshi’s bright rays bathed his already hot skin, and he winced. He clutched his stub of an arm and struggled to stand.
“What on Osira …?” Patient the shepherd ran toward him, climbing the mountain slope with the aid of his staff. The aged man pulled Specter to his feet and gaped at the stub of an arm.
Specter swallowed. “She went on without me! She has gone alone to the Hidden Realm.”
Patient frowned. “Alone?”
Above a distant green mountain peak, a flash of white caught Specter’s eye. The mighty white dragon shot overhead with a sound of thunder and slammed into the meadow. He gazed down upon Specter and the shepherd. Smoke rose from the dragon’s nostrils. It didn’t speak. Its enormous hand pushed Specter to the soft ground, and soothing strength poured into his body.
“My masters! Please. I must go. She sent me here and continued on to the Hidden Realm—alone.”
The dragon’s claws dug into the ground around him. Its hand pressed gently against his chest. “God is in control, Specter. Calm thyself. It was not my daughter that diverted you to this place; it was I. You have served long and well. I foresee you will play a key role in coming events. But for now your mind must be put at ease, your body reenergized. I am sending thee away to a distant place to forget war, suffering, and betrayal. Forget it all. Live at peace as you so fully deserve.”
“Master, I cannot find peace! Not now! Letrias has raised an army. Where on Subterran can I rest? His evil touches every corner of this world with penetrating fear. Even in Emperia your subjects feel it. Not because they lack security but because they bear the knowledge of the wizard’s rise! I am constantly reminded of it, driven to it. It is inescapable.”
The dragon raised its head and gazed into the distance. Its chest rose with long, deep breaths. “Another prophet dwells in Subterran, my friend. And within the boundaries of his mountains there is no fear. For the inhabitants of his land know nothing of Letrias. They are innocent of everything save the beauty and glory of God’s creation. Among them is unending peace, true tranquility.”
“Listen to him.” The shepherd knelt in the grass, his soft gaze unwavering. The old man’s hands grasped the shepherd’s staff.
Specter surrendered to the dragon’s strong hand and relaxed his body. He had to admit the cool grass soothing his tense muscles greatly calmed him. “A long time ago,” he said, “a warrior captain led his famed Six into battle. He taught them honorable combat and vengeance upon the practitioners of sorcery. Sweat and blood strengthened his bond with them. Companionship grew into brotherly love. I never had a family, or a sweetheart. The tender embrace of a woman might have softened the blow when Letrias led my men against me. I have not known true peace since my childhood. I look at all that has happened since Letrias’s rise—and I tremble for this world. My only pleasure is to heap just retributions upon my remaining apprentices.”
“And so your own words verify our greatest fears,” Patient said, standing with a frown. “Whom do you now serve, Specter?”
“I serve God’s will through you, my masters.”
The shepherd shook his head. “It is not the will of God that I hear coming from your heart, Specter. Rather, I see revenge falling like a mist in front of your eyes, clouding the purity of your missions.” The shepherd took a backward step to glance up at the dragon. “You may now go, my friend. I will look after this warrior myself. It is now the time for me to remind him of the things that matter most.”
Albino’s great hand lifted from Specter’s chest. The dragon nodded at the shepherd, spread its wings, and crouched. The air formed a white-and-blue vortex above and behind the creature. As if sucked into a tornado, the mighty creature shot into the vortex, its wings folded to its sides, and it vanished.
“Come! Come.” The shepherd beckoned to him and climbed the mountain’s green slope.
Specter sat up. He glanced about him at the green slope. Patches of red maple trees grew on the mountainside. A flock of snow-white sheep grazed at the meadow’s border, and small white goats bleated to one another as they bounded up the slope. He stood to follow Patient, then hesitated. Even though he knew the Valley of Death was a very great distance away from this place, he could still hear the tramp of Letrias’s army in his mind. They were powerful enough to crush the Hemmed Land.
He chided himself. That valley lay a long distance from the Hemmed Land. And now that Razes had fallen, Letrias had one less finger with which to claw.
A hand grasped his shoulder, and he shook himself back to the present. The old shepherd frowned up at him, blue eyes searching Specter’s face. “You must settle your mind, for I have something to show you.”
“Forgive me, my master. My mind wandered to a distant memory. But I will not let it happen again.”
“Clear your mind and follow me.” Patient climbed the mountain’s gentle slope, and Specter walked after him.
Flocks of sheep, some at least fifty in number, crossed the path as they climbed. But the shepherd parted them with his staff, nudging first one reluctant white body and then another to the side. The old man smiled, laughed at the animals, and shook his head. “Wonderful is God’s creation. Marvelous is the handiwork that we are privileged to behold. Specter, my friend, do you not find all of this pleasing?”
“I do.”
“You speak the right words without conviction, warrior. Have you forgotten to listen to your soul, your eternal body? Think on the beauty of God’s creation. Meditate on it, for in it you will find God’s greatest attributes revealed. Namely his eternal power, glory, purity, resurrecting power, and of course love. What is life without beauty? What are we without joy?”
“Would you like me to answer you, prophet? Or do you desire me to listen?”
The shepherd chuckled and glanced over his shoulder. “I have always appreciated your straightforward reaction to the events and people around you, Specter.” He turned away and hiked around a boulder. “Perhaps you should answer my questions. It may illuminate some things.”
Specter grunted and reached for the boulder. He intended to grasp it but realized too late that he’d used his stub of an arm instead. Tensing his arm, he used it as a pole and vaulted the boulder. “I have fought an endless war for nearly two lifetimes. I have seen an honorable young man slain in cold blood—slain by men I counted among my friends.” He quickened his pace to keep stride with the old man and clenched his fist. He let his gaze bore into the shepherd’s eyes. “The only joy I find comes from bringing the wicked to punishment, avenging the just, and saving innocent lives. Up here—on your mountaintop—you have a vastly different perspective than I. You are surrounded by peace. You hear only the birds and the sheep. Here the world feeds you contentment and life. But the lands I have dwelled in reward physical strength and prowess, not peace. Do you now condemn me for finding joy in deeds of valor?”
“Condemn you? No. I would not condemn you for what you have become. But …” The prophet led him through a small forest high on the mountain and stood in a meadow on the opposite side. Twin waterfalls gushed on either side of a cave entrance fronted by lush grass. A sheep bleated and Patient smiled. He reached down and picked up a white lamb. Holding the lamb under one arm, the shepherd pointed at the cave with his staff. “The greatest things in life, the most praiseworthy, are often the things we take for granted. And your heart will surely harden if it is continuously and only fed war and suffering.”
Specter took a step toward the cave opening. Water dripped somewhere inside. When he took another step and squinted, mist rose from the dark interior, and a dim glow spread over the stone floor and walls, filling it. A woman emerged from the mist, coalescing in a manner that made him shudder. The Grim Reaper had formed out of night shadows in the same way. But the woman who stood before him wore a velvety gown of sun-yellow. Her green eyes sparkled as she held out her hand for his.
He glanced at Patient and the shepherd nodded.
As he slipped his only hand into hers and felt the smooth, soft contours of her fingers, she gazed up at him. Heat rose to his cheeks, and he tried to pull back. But her hand gripped him with animal strength, and she beckoned at the cave. “Come and observe the manner of your life. Come and partake of wisdom. Stay with me; hold on to me. Once you let go, you will fail and you will fall. Stay with me, for I am Wisdom, and I will teach you what you must know.”
Into the rising mist she pulled him. Out of the sunlight into the cave’s dim glow he stepped. The mist clung to him, lying warm upon his skin. He didn’t dare utter a sound. The woman led him a hundred feet into the cave. Its walls rose far above him. His foot slipped on the wet gently sloping floor. He widened his stance to keep his footing, and the woman halted. She stood in his way and gazed around them. “My path is slippery, and it is easy to fall. With every step you take forward your feet threaten to slip from under you. You must walk with care to keep from hurtling past me. Once you fall, once you lose your grip on Wisdom, I am hard to find again. But consider the steps you would take before you take them. See where your path leads. For those who hold my hand cannot fall.”
Ahead of them there appeared a man kneeling on the floor. In his hands he held a sponge, and he swept it over the wet stone floor. At first the sponge soaked up the moisture, and the man smiled as he shifted his knees to the dry floor. He looked around at the rest of the floor and his smile faded. Inches at a time he sponged the floor, but with every spot he dried, his sponge grew wetter. He wrung out the sponge, but it needed a thorough drying. The man furrowed his brow, continued his work.
Specter looked down at Wisdom. She released her hold on his hand and swept toward the man on the floor. She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Sir, come away with me.” The man shrugged her hand off and continued to sponge the floor. But the sponge, soaked as it was, spread the water rather than drying it.
Wisdom stood and held her skirt off the floor as she stepped up to Specter. A tear rolled down her cheek. She took his hand and walked past the man, deeper into the cave.
Specter glanced at the fellow on the floor and shook his head. What a waste of the man’s efforts. He shook his head. If this was for his own benefit—a lesson, a riddle, or an analogy—the meaning escaped him.
Not fifty feet beyond the first, a second man appeared. He also knelt on the wet floor and sponged it. After watching him wring out his sponge for the fifth time, Specter sighed. The man was a fool, though Specter had to admire his persistence. Both of the men were fools. What a waste of their efforts.
At that moment the man turned his face toward Specter. With a start, Specter recognized that the man on the floor was himself. Slipping and sliding, he raced back to the first man. The man was bent low to the floor, sponging away. Specter dropped in front of him, grabbed his hair, and jerked his face upward. Again his own face returned his stare. Yet the man’s frowning visage revealed no hint of recognition.
“What is going on here? Who are you?” He stood and strode back to Wisdom’s side. “What is the meaning of this!” But Wisdom slipped her hand out of his. Sweeping to the second man’s side, she knelt beside him and spoke in his ear. Specter strained to hear.
“Sir, will you harken to Wisdom’s call? Come away with me!” she said.
The man stood with her, and she smiled up at him. Still holding his sponge, the man followed her out of the cave. Specter kept a short distance behind them. His mind struggled to understand what Wisdom might be teaching him.
Wisdom and the man stepped into the blinding radiance of Yimshi’s rays. The man laid the sponge on a flat rock by the cave entrance, and Wisdom laid him in the grass. “Sleep for a time to refresh yourself.” And for a long while Specter watched his duplicate asleep in the grass. The man bore a smile, and his chest heaved with each breath of fresh air—and he had two hands. In that, at least, Specter took a small comfort. At last Wisdom roused the man. She instructed him to retrieve his sponge and wring it out. He did so, and not a single drop fell from it. “Go,” Wisdom said. “The task awaits you.” The man bowed and reentered the cave whistling a quiet melody.
Taking Specter’s hand, Wisdom led him inside. The first man still fought with his wet sponge. When they arrived at the second man, they found him hard at work. Specter noted that this man had succeeded in drying several times the area that the first man had.
“You now have your lesson, Specter.” Wisdom kissed his cheek and evaporated into mist. His duplicates also vanished. He frowned and climbed out of the cave.
Patient the shepherd greeted him with a hard stare. The old man shook his head and set down his lamb. “Specter, were you able to discern Wisdom’s message?”
“Master, I am thoroughly confused. Though I suspect you are about to reveal to me the merits of what I saw.”
“Truly you have wandered off the enlightened path.” The prophet leaned on his shepherd’s staff and sighed. “You are the men in that cave, Specter. On the one hand, you are the man with the sopping sponge. So intent are you on destroying the wicked that you fail to see you have lost your effectiveness. The other man is the man you used to be and the man you must become again. When Wisdom comes to you and pulls you aside, you listen. When she leads you away from your task in order to strengthen you, you follow. And when she tells you to return and finish your task, you obey.”
Shame fell over Specter’s soul. He lowered his gaze and knelt on the ground. Patient was right, as was the great white dragon. “Forgive me. I did not see.”
“Ah, but the important thing is that you come to see again.” The prophet knelt and folded his hands. Specter stood with head bowed. Patient’s eyes closed, and a smile brightened his countenance. “Too long you have fought. For now you must leave the sponge on the rock so that it may dry. And when your usefulness is wholly restored, you will be wakened to finish your task.”
The prophet stood and raised his foot into the air, then set it on an invisible step. Then he lifted his other foot. As if on an invisible stairway to heaven, the prophet climbed toward a distant cloud. “Come along, Specter. Have a little faith.”
Specter walked over to the first invisible step and lifted his foot. At first he found no footing. Closing his eyes, he stepped again, and this time landed on something smooth and firm. Upward he climbed, eyes closed for fear of losing the trust he placed in the shepherd’s guidance. Then a wrinkled hand grabbed his stub of an arm, and he opened his eyes. The prophet and he stood on a puffy white cloud. On the distant horizon a few more clouds presented themselves. A shiver ran through his body, but the old prophet put an arm around his shoulders and pointed into the distance.
Over the edge of their cloud he could see the mountains he had stepped off of—yet their peaks fell far below him. “This should be impossible.”
“Impossible?” Patient laughed and spread his arms, turning in a circle. “All things are possible with God, my friend! From the mountains to the seas and even the Valley of Death, the Creator’s hand is evidenced in them all and sustains them all.”
Specter breathed deeply. The mountain air had been fresh, but this tasted sweeter. In the distance a mountain range rose from Subterran. From the position of Yimshi in the sky he determined the mountains lay south and maybe a bit west of his location.
With a gentle laugh, Patient embraced him and held him at arm’s length. “God be with you, my friend.”
“But—” Specter didn’t get to finish. The distant mountain range rushed up to his cloud. Their green peaks filled the sky. Then the cloud and the prophet vaporized around him. A mountain cliff shifted under his feet, and he grabbed for a vine on the rock face. The fingers of his remaining hand missed the vine, and he flailed as he plummeted down the long cliff face. He plunged into a deep blue lake.
The frigid water penetrated Specter’s every pore. His arms and legs cramped. Holding his breath proved unbearable, yet he held it in as he sank. Sunlight sparkled on the water’s surface. The light bent in beautiful shafts of yellow and white that dimmed in the depths around him. Unable to hold his breath any longer, he exhaled bubbles and coughed on the sharp intake of water in his lungs. He choked on it, coughed again. For a moment his lungs adapted to the water, and he breathed it as he would air. Everything darkened around him, and he closed his eyes.
Something slimy and warm cushioned his descent. It lashed around his torso and constricted his chest, at the same time raising him out of the lake’s depths. In that moment his sight returned, and he rose out of his body to view as if from a great height. A green arm that reminded him of seaweed raised his body above the lake’s surface and carried it away from the cliff toward a sliver of sand. He floated after his body, unable to steer himself in any other direction. Several minutes passed. The arm cut its swift path to the shore, and a narrow beach grew from the sliver of sand. A lush land of green field and forest spread beyond the beach.
The arm set his body on the beach and slid into the lake’s depths. The joyous sound of laughter filled the forest, and a host of children danced from the trees. Their hands raised to the sky, the children circled his body. He noted that most of them had dark skin, almost black, while others were orange, green, blue, or cream-skinned. The boys wore green-and-black trousers without shirts. The girls flitted about in bright dresses of yellow, white, and pink. They waved like flowers in the wind to the movement of the grass all around them.
Then he remembered that his body still lay unmoving on the sand. He gazed upon himself and shook his head. Death by drowning. But if he was dead, why this sense of living?
The children swarmed around his body, and the lake’s calm surface started to swirl with such speed and force that a funnel formed at its center. The children hushed, and birdsongs filled his ears. From the forests trotted lions and lionesses. The powerful animals roared together, and the grass trembled before them as they mingled with the children. The children laughed again, and songbirds flitted from the forest, of variety and colors incredible to behold.
As he watched the birds flying above and the children and lions filling the shore, his heart filled with awe. Yimshi settled a bit lower in the western sky, partially eclipsed by mountain peak. Glancing back at his body, he saw two little black girls kneeling beside him. “Awaken, Specter!” They giggled and pulled on his arms. Other children joined them. Together they dragged his body into the lake and then stepped back.
The current swept his body away, carrying it around and around until it made him dizzy. A shaft of blue light shot from the whirlpool as his body entered it. He blinked. The whirlpool pulled him in too. He struggled against it but could do nothing. Water crashed over his head, and a sweet melody carried over the lake, a melody without words. And suddenly he opened his eyes—his real eyes—and stared into the faces of the children on the beach.
He sat up, and the lake settled into a glassy calm. Some kind of miracle? He held his arms in front of his face and heaved a sigh. No, he still had only one hand.
The children crowded him. They threw a garland of purple and gold flowers around his neck and stuck dandelions in his hair. Their smiles filled his eyes, the scent of flowers entered his nostrils, laughter sounded in his ears, and their soft hands stroked his skin. He smiled back and stood as a chickadee landed on his shoulder and twittered in his ear. And together the children sang: “Praise and glory to God! Life and blessings to his prophets! Welcome to the Mountains of Ulion—welcome!”
The children danced and leaped on the lions’ backs. The creatures raced down the mountain toward the trees, and he followed, running as if he too were a child. Beside him, all around him, the children’s feet seemed to float inches above the ground. They floated over the forest floor, and he raced to keep up.
He ran for hours on end. Yimshi set and the stars sparkled in the sky. Still he ran. The children’s laughter filled the mountains. They dispersed into the meadows and forests and stopped to pluck apples, pears, and oranges from trees in the valleys.
As he darted beneath a sprawling pear tree, he plucked a piece of fruit and bit into it. A little girl giggled and reached out to him with both arms. He chuckled and lifted her with his stub of an arm. With his help, she swung her legs over his shoulders. The juicy fruit coated his tongue, and he sang an ancient hymn that he’d not remembered in a long time.
Oh ’tis sweet to trust in God, to rejoice in his firmament
We sing, we sing to praise—let all creation sing with us
Oh ’tis sweet to feel his presence, to know his ordinance
We walk, we rise in joy—let all creation rise with us
Oh ’tis sweet to adore our God, with all creation we praise
We laud, adore our Lord—let creation proclaim his glory!
Bouncing the child on his shoulders, he spun around and ran through an apple grove. Deer and lions played with the children beneath the stars. There was no moon that night, but little birds with glowing yellow chests flew to the trees, providing a dim warm light as if they were large fireflies.
Late that night, he dropped into the grass and closed his eyes. His cheeks hurt from laughing, but that did not stop him from smiling again when a star shot across the heavens.
5
THE DRAGON RING
Oganna opened her bedroom door a crack. Enough to see that the house rested quiet and dark. Rose’el’s labored breathing bordered on snores in the adjacent bedroom. Something scaled brushed her bare ankle, and she reached down so that Neneila could coil around her arm. The viper’s head nuzzled her neck and she smiled. She tiptoed into the kitchen to grab a piece of dried fruit, then hastened through the living room to the outside door.
Slipping outside, she broke into a run beneath a canopy of brilliant stars that twinkled in the warm sky. As she entered the forest, the tree leaves eclipsed the stars one by one. She held her hand in front of her and, with little effort, called upon her dragon blood. Her palm glowed bright blue, shedding light on the forest floor. She veered around trees and jumped over large stones, following the path she’d used since childhood, until she arrived at Matthaliah Hollow.
Descending into the meadow that lay before the cave, she approached the cave’s hidden entrance and sat on a boulder nearby. One glance at the sky affirmed the clarity of the night. She took off her slippers and beat them against the boulder, then set her toes in the moist grass. Suddenly the blades glowed blue where she touched them, and the glow rippled into the meadow until all of it glowed with an ethereal, magical quality.
How well she remembered the night she’d first found Specter in this clearing. She’d been only a child, but the memory had not faded. Night after night she had visited him, hoping to ease the loneliness his vigil over her certainly entailed. And as time passed his smile had come more readily, and he kept his hood off so that they could speak face-to-face. In contrast to Uncle Ombre’s jovial nature, this man had seemed tragic. What lay in his past he’d buried deep—deeper than he’d been willing to share with her.
For a couple of hours she waited, hoping he would return. She’d been fearful after leaving Netroth. The last she’d seen of Specter, he’d grappled with the Specter of Death, the vile being, that Grim Reaper. Together hero and villain had fallen off the great ramp to Ar’lenon Citadel—and though she’d searched the city for any sign of her valiant protector, she had found not even a trace of him. After the horrors she’d witnessed in Burloi, she chose to believe Specter survived the battle. Choosing to believe did not, however, make it reality. But Specter was not an ordinary warrior; surely he stood above his foes.
With a long sigh, she hung her head and stroked Neneila’s head. The viper closed its eyes.
When silence continued to fill the night, she stood. “He’s gone, Neneila. For all my childhood he was here. Now that I am grown, perhaps his task is complete.”
The viper blinked its eyes up at her and curled tighter around her arm.
“I guess this is one good-bye I’ll never get to say. But maybe it is better that way.” With a final glance at the concealed cave, she inserted her feet back in her slippers and walked out of the hollow into the forest.
When she arrived back at the house, she placed the viper on the hearth. The creature curled on the warm stones, slicked out its tongue, and closed its eyes. Oganna crossed the room to the short hallway and opened the first door. Upon entering her bedroom, she went immediately to bed. In the adjacent rooms, all but one of her aunts lay sound asleep. Caritha had accepted Ombre’s invitation to come see the construction of a new fort right on the coast of the Sea of Serpents. They’d left the day before yesterday.
The next morning Oganna woke early and stretched, put on her slippers and robe. She took an iron poker from the fireplace and stirred the coals until they ignited. Then she grabbed the split logs from beside it and laid them inside, crisscrossing them on top of one another. The viper reluctantly uncoiled itself and slithered out of her way, coiling to the side instead of before the flames. Sunlight beamed through the front window, adding unnecessary heat to the room. She opened the front door and kicked a wooden wedge under it. The door remained ajar as she rustled through the kitchen, grabbing cooking mitts, a cast-iron frying pan, and spatula.
She sat in front of the fireplace and inserted a cooking rack. She shoved the pan onto it and threw in a chunk of butter. Before long she settled into a pattern. Stirring eggs, cinnamon, and milk in one pan, she soaked thick bread slices in it and flipped them on the frying pan.
“Mornin’.” Rose’el rubbed her face as she emerged into the kitchen. She tightened the drawstring around her green robe and dropped onto the bench, elbows on the table.
Oganna flipped two slices of toast a final time in the pan, and then transferred them to a plate. “Good morning!”
Laura, Levena, and Evela trooped out of their separate rooms, slowly closing the doors behind them. Evela smiled brightly and sat at the table. “That smells wonderful.”
“Indeed it does.” Laura quick-stepped to the fireplace, bent over the toast, sniffed and closed her eyes for a moment. “Thank you, Oganna.”
Levena squinted at Oganna in what came off as an attempted smile, then sat down with her sisters.
They all ate at the table, for a while not saying anything but simply glancing at each other and the food. Laura commented on the beautiful weather. Hasselpatch glided from the stairwell to perch next to Oganna.
“Psst! Psst!”
Oganna turned and shook her head at the viper as it showed its fangs to Hasselpatch. “She had this spot first, Neneila. Go back to the hearth.”
“Ssspit. I ssshould spit in thisss bird’s face!”
Oganna glared at the creature, and it slunk to the floor, averting its gaze. It slithered back to the hearth and coiled on the stones, then buried its head at the center of its coiled heap. Hasselpatch cooed and flashed her silvery eyes at Oganna, who set a slice of breakfast toast in front of the bird and held up the syrup jar. The bird bobbed its silver beak, and Oganna poured the sugary liquid on the toast.
Evela stood and walked around. “Would you like that in smaller bites, Hasselpatch?”
“I would indeed, mistress Evela.” The bird cuddled up to Oganna while the aunt cut the toast into smaller chunks. Evela stroked the Nuvitor’s head, then returned to her seat and resumed eating.
“So,” Rose’el said through a mouthful. “Your father has been gone a whole week. Any idea what is keeping him?”
Laura wiped her mouth with a napkin and brushed a crumb off her robe. “Caritha would know. If anyone would know, it would be her. Ilfedo tells her first, or Ombre, and she spends enough time with both of them to get the updates firsthand.” When Rose’el glared at her, she shrugged her shoulders. “What?”
“If I’d wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it.” The tallest sister scowled. “Humph!” She forced a large chunk of syrup-dripping toast into her mouth and turned to Oganna. “Do you know anything?”
“About father?”
Rose’el rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Maybe I’m just talking to the wind. Either that or no one listens when I speak up.” She set down her fork, swallowed her food, and crossed her arms. Her eyes narrowed at Oganna. “Yes, your father. Do you know what is taking him so long and why we haven’t heard from him?”
In all honesty, Oganna had no idea. She chewed her food, thinking that her aunt was right in her unspoken assumption that something major must have come up; otherwise her father would have returned home or at least sent a messenger. “No,” she said at last.
“See—that wasn’t so hard!” Rose’el reached out, pinched Oganna’s cheek, and then stood. “Well, I don’t know about everyone else, but I’m going to take advantage of this nice weather. I have some weeding to do in the garden.” She strode into her bedroom and closed the door, emerging shortly afterward with her hair tied in a bun and wearing a white blouse and brown skirt. With a sudden cheery smile at her sisters and Oganna, she exited through the front door. Oganna heard her whistling a catchy, unfamiliar tune and mentally noted that she would have to ask if there were words to go along with it.
But where was Father? Surely he was not attending another state banquet.
The fifty-one delegates around the grand mahogany table returned Ilfedo’s somber gaze. The garnished plates of food lay untouched before each of them. He folded his hands behind his back and sauntered to the windows. From here he could gaze from the castle’s heights. The gardens twisted about the structure, and beyond the city limits thirty stone buildings took shape. Carpenters and masons clambered like ants in a building frenzy. Gwensin, the capital city of the Hemmed Land; he could only imagine what it could look like in another twenty years. At this rate it would sprawl over every adjacent hill and beyond. But if relocation proved necessary, expansion of this city would come to a sudden stop.
Someone at the table cleared his throat in what came out as half-growl. “My lord, do you really think it will come to that? I mean, abandoning our country over a little weather crisis.”
“It is more than that, Vortain.” Ilfedo faced them and felt the familiar slap of the sword of the dragon on his leg. “Consider the extent of Resgeria. Miles upon uncharted miles of hot, dry sand. The current wind pattern has held for the past three months. In that time we have seen the desert advance half a mile into our border. And that wind continues unabated as we speak.”
Mayor Vortain shook his long blond hair and stood, pushing back his chair. “With due respect, my lord. Consider what you are saying! Consider the consequences. This land is all we have. It is all we know. Unless you propose we relocate our people to the now-abandoned land of the giants.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad option, Vortain.” A bald-headed man thumped his fist on the table and glared at Gwensin’s mayor. “It’s better by far than watching this land slowly die. At least Burloi is vast, watered, and there are enough buildings to shelter our entire population whilst we build new cities.”
Ilfedo raised his hand and Vortain sat down, though a frown played across his face. “No. That would not be prudent. The land of Burloi was laid waste. It may be green, but much of it reeks with death. I wouldn’t want to build upon such a massacre. Besides, who knows if the animal carcasses have sat there for too long? The water and the land itself could be poisonous by now—in all probability they are. I am not proposing that we leave the Hemmed Land. Believe me, I do not want to, in the slightest. But I do ask that all of you prepare for that possibility. Prepare yourselves and your people; store foods and supplies with which to journey. Whether or not the idea suits your fancy, you cannot deny that, if the weather pattern does not change, this land may no longer be able to sustain our growing population.”
A murmur of agreement passed through the men at that table. Even Vortain gave him a slight nod. Ilfedo could only guess what was going through the mayor’s mind. But he imagined it had a lot to do with the beautiful city of Gwensin. Vortain continued to pour all his energies into making the Hemmed Land’s capital a place of which to be proud. For this Ilfedo admired him and worried for him.
“Long ago I told you of the creature that gifted this sword to me.” Ilfedo drew the sword from its sheath, and the Living Fire engulfed him. “And I remember also telling you all of the prophecy delivered by the white dragon. But one other thing the dragon told me, something that has been on my mind in recent months. He told me that when our land can no longer sustain me and my people I will look for another land. When that time comes, I must seek out the dragon Venom-fier—because that dragon will be my strong arm, and I will be his shield. I still don’t understand the meaning of it, but I believe it was a prophecy meant to lead us out of the Hemmed Land to a sustainable country. And I believe it will come true.”
“You believe?” Vortain scowled up at him for an instant before lowering his gaze. “Forgive me, Lord Ilfedo. I know that you think you speak the truth. But let me say for those of us who love this land as much as our own limbs, and would never trade it for another, that I would oppose relocation publicly. Especially relocating in search of some dragon.”
Ilfedo sheathed his sword, and the fire receded from his body. “Then,” he said with a meaningful stare in the man’s direction, “let us pray to God that it will not come down to that.” He returned to the table’s head and sat down. For a moment he studied the thick tabletop, wishing he could return to his life as a hunter. Yet he lifted his gaze to the opposite end of the table and nodded at the monk seated there.
Brother Hersis stood. His black hair framed his beady eyes in an almost fierce way. But as the delegates looked at him and he smiled, the atmosphere changed and they smiled back. “In the midst of this deliberation, I do believe a fog of moodiness has prevailed.” He spread his arms so that his white cloak brightened the room. “Come now, brethren, can we go to God with our petitions if we build walls against one another?”
Vortain glanced back at Ilfedo and shrugged his shoulders. “I hope you know I am not your enemy, my lord.”
“I do.” Ilfedo smiled and then raised his glass. “A toast, gentlemen, to Vortain! May he always be as honest with us as he is today. Few counselors dare contradict the Lord Warrior, and few counselors could build such a magnificent city!”
The men laughed and raised their glasses. Vortain smiled and drank with them.
Brother Hersis chuckled as the table quieted and then drank deeply from his own glass. “Wow! My congratulations to the house of Vortain for keeping such a fine wine for tonight.” He set his glass on the table and sat down, folding his hands and bowing his head. The delegates closed their eyes with hands folded, and Ilfedo closed his own.
“Oh, Lord God,” Brother Hersis began. “We are so very thankful for the wonderful things you have blessed us with—the good food and the good lords of our land.”
The monk’s prayer continued for a few minutes longer. Ilfedo felt the spirit of peace rest in the room. When the prayer ended, Vortain rose from his seat and bowed to him, then excused himself through the door. The remaining delegates shuffled out of the room in short order, leaving Ilfedo alone with the monk in the large room. He gazed out the window as horse-drawn carriages lined up in front of the castle-like mansion. The delegates emerged from the building, many hanging their heads and crossing their arms. Some scratched at the backs of their heads. Others toyed with their wide-brimmed hats. They stepped into the carriages and drove off into the city.
Brother Hersis stepped up beside him and gazed out over the white and gray city buildings. “Do not fear, my lord. You only said what you believe the Creator is guiding you to do or, rather, prepare for. These men know that even if doubts fill their minds, they will follow you. You are the Lord Warrior. Your word sways the people.”
“But this is a hard thing to comprehend. It is an impossible situation in my mind and in theirs. They know that even if the desert wind continues to devastate our southern border, it will take years to make significant headway into the Hemmed Land. And it could cease at any time, just as readily as it appeared.”
The monk stepped over to the table and picked a strip of meat from an untouched dish. “Is that what is bothering you?”
Ilfedo shook his head, still gazing over the city spires and slate-and-wood rooftops. “How would it be possible?”
“Possible? With God what thing is not possible?”
“That is not what I mean.” Ilfedo stood back and gestured out the window. “Look at us. We have grown strong. Unity has brought prosperity, and with it our numbers have grown. How many people do we now sustain in the Hemmed Land? Twenty, thirty, maybe even fifty thousand?”
The monk smiled. “Closer to fifty, I think.”
Ilfedo shook his head. “I could not ask fifty thousand people to follow me on a pilgrimage into unknown lands. The warriors under me—their numbers alone stand around fifteen thousand. Somehow, some way, we must remain here. The land is green; the people are happy.”
Clearing his throat, the monk walked to the door and opened it to reveal the arched hallway beyond. “If it is the comfort of the people that you seek, Ilfedo—if it is the approval of Vortain—then forget the will of God. Yet, if you wish to follow Him, do not look for man’s approval. God will lead, my lord, and you—you must follow.” He bowed and strolled into the hallway, waving as he did so.
Ilfedo left Vortain’s city little more than an hour later, wearing a hooded cloak to shield his identity from passersby. Women knitted outside their homes, basking in the sunlight. Children played ball on the highway. A tall soldier marched down the cobblestones, jostling Ilfedo. “Beg your pardon, stranger.” The soldier smiled sidelong at him and passed, then spread his arms as a young woman with dark hair dropped her knitting and ran to his embrace. For that moment Ilfedo hesitated. The warrior swung his lady around and passionately kissed her lips. They laughed, and she pulled his helmet from his head and ran her fingers through his blond hair.
The lord warrior smiled to himself. Peace at last. It had cost them blood, sweat, and tears. Around him laughter filled the streets. Women washed their house windows as men scrubbed the white and gray building exteriors. He leaned forward and continued walking away from the heart of civilization. A blue marble statue of a horse stood in the highway’s midst, and he walked beyond it, beneath a stone arch, and gazed at the open fields stretching to the lush green forest. It was quite the contrast, and he almost glanced back at Gwensin’s hewn magnificence once more. Yet he kept his face forward and strode into nature’s privacy.
The Creator’s good trees welcomed him into their shadows and a profound silence. He slipped the hood off his head, striding with purpose westward—homeward.
Later that day, twilight fell upon the forest. Still, the woodland remained silent save for an occasional breeze. A twig snapped under his foot and he halted. The familiar path home, almost as wide as a road, wended through the forest ahead. Why such silence? He felt the cool pommel of his sword, ran his fingers along its smooth crystalline surface.
Suddenly a flame grew on the path ahead of him. A single thread of red and yellow flickered into existence and curled toward his feet. He stepped back and drew his sword. But an invisible force ripped it from his hand, and it hovered several feet off the ground, blade pointed to the sky. The Living Fire knifed out of the blade, roiling around its reflective surface. Flames whirled around the blade and shot toward the treetops. Flames cascaded from its guard, flooding the ground about him. The leaves crackled, catching fire. The trees’ trunks blackened, and the fire formed a tornado around his body. He could reach out and touch it with his fingertips, but he did not.
A splash of white mixed with the fire, and he was pulled off the ground. The white swam through the fire, and the enormous, glowing face of the albino dragon gazed upon him from behind the flames. He looked into those pink orbs—its eyes—and tried to bow. But the whirlwind caught Ilfedo away in its flames and white. Strands of black snaked through the tornado, across the magnificent creature’s veiled face—and the dragon vanished.
The flames stroked his face with thin fingers, yet they gave off no heat. He could see nothing beyond the flames, the white, and the black. Only the sword of the dragon remained within sight. It spun in gradual orbit around his head, spilling flames that whipped about.
A beam of light pierced the flames above his head and spotlighted the sword. The weapon ceased its orbit, held its place before him, and the hands of an old man reached from the flames. The wrinkled fingers grasped the sword’s handle with unwavering strength while one hand grasped his shoulder. And the old prophet shepherd who had wed him with Dantress stepped through the fire, blue eyes blazing at Ilfedo.
Gone was the gentle patriarch. This man gazed up at him with positional authority and experience. Ilfedo knew that look—the look of a fellow warrior. The sword of the dragon blazed in the prophet’s hands as he swept its blade in a slow, wide loop. Lightning crackled from the blade’s double edge, sewing a ring of electricity through the flames.
The prophet’s fist clamped on Ilfedo’s shoulder and pulled him close to the ring. “Hear me, Lord Ilfedo. Hear my warning. A war broods in Subterran, and only the strength of your sword stands between you and death. Long, long ago, a prophet of God forged this sword and bequeathed to it the power of Living Fire. Yet the power that your sword wields comes not from itself but from a Hold in a faraway land that we had thought forever lost. In recent days that land has been rediscovered by our enemies. Even now one of their agents walks the Hidden Realm in search of the Key of Living Fire to take it for her master. Ilfedo, she must be stopped or the might of your sword will be forever lost, and all that we have worked to save will be destroyed.”
Thoughts of the Hemmed Land’s trouble fled Ilfedo’s mind. Without the sword of the dragon’s power, he was a mere swordsman. Skilled, yes, but without the might that had formed him into the potent protector of his beloved daughter and had enabled him to kill the wizard Razes.
Ribbons of current lashed out of the ring into its center, forming a six-pointed star that began spreading, filling the ring with a purplish transparent window. Beyond the window a desert rose into view. Wind swept the sand in clouds toward a natural wall of stone rising from the desert floor. The wall stretched to the horizon beneath the blinding sunlight.
Ilfedo furrowed his brow. The prophet released the sword, and it resumed its orbit around them. The flames and the white washed away the window. “Resgeria,” Ilfedo said.
“Indeed.” The prophet stepped back, and the wall of flames and white changed him into a phantom. Pointing at him with a long smoking finger, the prophet continued. “Within their subterranean realm, the Megatraths unwittingly guard a portal to the Hidden Realm, and there you must go. Go to your ally Vectra; seek entrance to the Tomb of the Ancients, for therein lies the Key of Living Fire. Once the key is secured, give it into a prophet’s safekeeping.” The prophet began to recede from sight, growing more and more distant.
Holding up his hand, Ilfedo said, “Wait! Surely you don’t mean to leave me with so little information? Am I to undertake this task alone? Come with me if you deem it so urgent.”
“I cannot, Lord Ilfedo. Yet take comfort that another will join you in this task, once you reach the Hidden Realm.”
“But how will I know this individual?”
The old man vanished. The wall of flames expanded outward. His fiery universe grew, and the albino dragon loomed through the flames; its boned face glowed so that he could not see its features, and its scales radiated pure energy. An onslaught of wind made him raise his arm to shield his eyes. When the wind ceased, he looked about to find himself standing on the path again with the sword sheathed at his side.
Light from the gibbous moon covered the grassy path in silver, but a shadow fell over him. Windswept dirt rushed into his eyes, and his hood blew off his head. He shielded his eyes again and reached to his side with his free hand. His fingers slid over the crystalline pommel of his sword, and he drew it from its sheath. The wind ceased as he dropped his other arm and held the weapon with both hands, angling it ahead of him.
The vision he’d just received played out in his mind. Or had he dreamed the whole thing?
Flames leaped from the base of his blade and streamed over it. They spread, passing over his hands like a shield of comfort until they covered his entire body. Receding with great rapidity, they returned into the sword’s blade, leaving him dressed in a suit of armor unlike any other. He flexed his arms with ease and smote his chest, hearing it clink but feeling nothing. Good, the armor was real. This was no dream. The shiny breastplate glowed white, and flames danced inside it.
The ground vibrated, and the tremendous dragon stepped into view. Moonlight outlined its retracting wings in silver and illuminated the veins. Large pink eyes glowed beneath the twin horns twisting over the back of its head. By the light of the sword he could see the white dragon scales, though the face took on a glow, obscuring its features. Gradually the glow spread from the dragon’s face, enveloping its entire body.
Immediately he sheathed his weapon. As the flames receded from his body, peeling off the armor before flashing into the sword’s blade, he bowed. “It has been a long time, mighty one.”
“Indeed, to you, I suppose it has,” the dragon rumbled. “Almost eighteen years.”
Ilfedo stood straight and looked up, keeping his eyes on the pink ones that seemed to float above him like luminous jewels. The creature’s huge body glowed white and shone silvery in the moonlight, reminiscent of clouds on calm-weather days.
“You have done well, lord of the Hemmed Land, and the offspring of my blood is growing into a potent, pure maiden. The people of this land are now strong. Their homes are safe, and thou hast vanquished your enemies. The wizard in the north would have eventually launched an invasion of the Hemmed Land and likely would have destroyed you—had you given him time to prepare—but you went to where he was, interceded to save thy daughter’s life, and destroyed him. You have done well.”
Ilfedo bowed. “I was given to understand that you healed Oganna of her wounds—for that I am eternally indebted to you.”
The dragon lowered his head closer to Ilfedo’s face. “She is my blood, the child of my child. I did what I must do for those I love. Just as you do no less for those you care for.” It pulled its head high again and growled. Smoke wafted from its nostrils. “She must live, Ilfedo. She must not fall. And only you have the power to protect her.”
A knot formed in Ilfedo’s stomach. The dragon punched the ground, forming a mini crater. “Always I protect her. She is my only child and”—Ilfedo swallowed—“she is all I have left of her mother. Her smile, her laugh … Oganna inherited those, and I see her mother in her—”
“Ilfedo.” The dragon sighed and gazed down upon him. “Your child is only alive today because your wife sacrificed her own life to bring her into the world. Because Oganna has the power of my blood flowing through her veins—” With a growl the creature gazed skyward, and flames roiled from its maw. A ground-quaking growl erupted from its throat that turned into a roar. Unseen woodland creatures scattered through the underbrush with frightened cries.
Ilfedo cringed and fell to the ground.
The dragon’s body trembled as it stepped back. “Visions of the future haunt me, Lord Ilfedo. I would that I could reveal them to you, if only to stop them from coming true. But my Master, the Creator of all, does not permit it. I can see it all. You, thy child, my daughters—your fates are clear to me, yet I cannot reveal them. All I may say is stand strong and let nothing that opposes you for evil remain. This may be the last time, I fear, that you will see me. For I can foresee—” Again the dragon roared and shot flames heavenward.
It looked into his eyes in that instant, and Ilfedo feared the knowledge that burned in the creature’s gaze. It said, “I see a battle waging in a distant land. It is you on the field with the dragon Venom-fier, that mightiest of Etina’s legions. Letrias does not deign to show himself but sends Scourge to do his will. The blood-red dragon’s army clashes with your own, and heroes fail, some fall. The onslaught reaches its pinnacle and—” Tears formed in the dragon’s eyes. “She has come; she has come for you at the end. Faithful and single-minded, she takes the sword, and sends it through the heavens to the place Letrias knows nothing of. She sends it to the hero born of the traitor and the witch. A pool of blood, Ilfedo. I see fields soaked in the blood of dragons and humans. Thousands clash and Scourge draws near … for you.”
A beam of blinding light split the sky. It shone upon the albino dragon, and he roared with such power that Ilfedo covered his ears. All around him the tall trees splintered and fell away from the dragon. It crouched, spread its wings over the trees, and sprang into the sky. When Ilfedo stood, the creature roared again. Its glowing form grew smaller in the western sky until he could no longer see it.
Fear filled him. The encounter had only served to add to his confusion and trepidation.
“Do not fear, lord of the Hemmed Land.” The shepherd from the vision stepped onto the moonlit path. Ilfedo felt lightheaded. His feet hovered inches above the ground. The grass and trees, the stars in the sky, all began to whirl around him until they were only a blur. The shepherd and he floated in a universe to themselves.
“What are you?” he asked as the universe continued its dizzying spin.
“A messenger. A prophet of the most high God. I am Patient the shepherd, and I bring you instruction you would be wise to heed.”
Ilfedo nodded. “Speak, then, and I will listen.”
The shepherd frowned and pointed at him. “Heed the words of the vision that was delivered to thee. Go to the Tomb of the Ancients. Find the Key of Living Fire and secure it, for without it your daughter’s future crumbles into the ruins of lost history. Tonight you may rest with thy loved ones, but in the morning depart for Resgeria—alone. Upon this mission rests the entire future of your race and that of the dragons.”
The shepherd stepped close, as if looking into Ilfedo’s very soul and probing for something. A patch of grass appeared beneath the shepherd’s feet. The old man removed a golden scroll from his robes, took one step forward, and laid it in Ilfedo’s hand. And then he vanished.
Ilfedo rubbed his hands together against the sudden night chill and ran his fingers along the white-gold seal in the form of a dragon on the scroll. As his skin brushed the seal, the scroll unraveled to reveal a letter written on a green parchment. The smooth and sweeping characters written thereon merged with one another in an artistic fashion, and he had little doubt that a woman had written it.
The letter was short and to the point, giving him the information he required.
Lord Ilfedo,
Some doors have been closed that were intended to remain so. They conceal secrets either too evil or too great to be revealed. One such door has been opened—the door that holds the secret of Living Fire, which power runs through the sword that you bear.
Time does not permit me to go into great detail on this matter. Suffice it to say that the greatest of God’s prophets once saw fit to lock all his powers within a Hold of fire that could be opened by a single key. The location of the key has hitherto been a carefully guarded secret known only to a few individuals.
Though it is unknown how, an enemy has learned of the key and has sent one of his agents to obtain it. If his agent succeeds in taking the key, the powers of Living Fire will no longer be at your command—instead they will be at his. Ilfedo, this must not be allowed to happen.
Come alone to the Tomb of the Ancients in the Megatrath realm, one day hence. I will await you on the other side of the portal (your doorway to an ancient realm). When we meet, your dragon ring will prove that I am the one the great albino dragon has sent. Together, we must find the Key of Living Fire and give it to the prophet for safekeeping.
Scrawled at the end was a name unfamiliar to him: Starfire. The green parchment suddenly flamed, burning his hands before he could drop it. The parchment was consumed, and the golden scroll glowed. He started to set it on the ground, wary of what it might do. But he hesitated. The white-gold dragon on the seal grew outward, growling as it gripped his right-hand pointer finger gently with its metallic claws and wrapped its wings around his finger. Detaching itself from the scroll, the dragon solidified, and the scroll vanished with a soft “pop!”
He felt the dragon ring’s cooled surface and glanced over its open maw. Its twin amethysts stared up at him from miniature eye sockets.
“So, little ring, I am supposed to bring you to the Tomb of the Ancients?” He pulled at the ring, intending to pocket it, but the claws reanimated themselves and dug into his skin until he let go. “Very well, stay there.”
Gazing around, he saw blackness deep and unyielding. It enveloped him. The ring dug into his finger, and he bit his lip. The metallic creature would stay there, for now. His feet sank into a current that swept him through lukewarm darkness.
He didn’t know how long he drifted. His mind seemed to wander from distant vague corner to distant vague corner until it settled in an eddy of tranquil thought. His beloved young wife laughed, and then his child cried. He heard himself comforting Oganna and chuckling. “You hurt your finger, my little one?” Darkness weighed in on him, yet without menace. In its unseen depths, Oganna, the young woman, laughed, and her cheer swam through the darkness in beams of soft light. He breathed a contented sigh and closed his eyes.
As he rested, a woman’s voice broke the silence. “Ombre! Look it’s—”
“Stay here,” Ombre replied. “Let me check him first.”
A hand shook Ilfedo’s shoulder, and he squinted up into his friend’s pale face. “When did you get here?” He rolled onto his side and jumped to his feet. A breeze whisked the treetops, and beyond his friend Ilfedo saw a woman standing in the shadows. “Caritha, is that you?”
Ombre scowled. “What in Subterran were you doing lying in the middle of the path? And—” His face stretched into a frown as his gaze swept the area. He drew his sword and ran past Ilfedo, kneeling beside a large, clear impression of a clawed foot. He ran his fingers along the claw marks and whistled. “Heaven help us.”
“What is it?” Caritha asked, taking one step out of the shadows and pulling a pastel yellow shawl around her shoulders. She was wearing a beautiful pink dress embroidered in gold-and black lacing around the cuffs and neckline. A golden band held her thickly braided hair away from her forehead and behind her ears.
Ilfedo greeted her with a smile, then slapped the dust from his trousers. As he turned to greet Ombre, his friend stood from the dragon’s footprint, raised his eyebrows at Ilfedo, and beckoned with a hand for Caritha to approach. She did so in an almost-dainty fashion, lightly placing each foot on the ground. The hint of a smile graced her lips as Ombre took her hand.
With a huff, Ombre shook his head at Ilfedo. “Well? Aren’t you going to offer an explanation? Or have you, without our knowledge, made a habit of lying in the middle of well-traveled paths?” He looked around at the forest. “And why are all the trees splintered and fallen?
Ilfedo strode to the dragon’s footprint and closed his eyes. “I had a vision—”
“A vision?” Ombre’s eyes flooded with skepticism. “Visions don’t break trees like twigs. And what of this print? It looks, well, real. If I were a child, I would swear this is a dragon’s footprint. But being a man I must confess that sounds crazy. After all, a dragon has never been seen in these parts, and no one, save for you, has ever seen one.”
“Ombre, please be quiet for a moment. I fully intend to tell you what happened.” Ilfedo then launched into an account of all that had happened that night, beginning with his departure from the city of Gwensin and ending with the moment Ombre awoke him. When he had finished, his friend remained silent, but Caritha released Ombre’s hand and marched down the path. She murmured, “He has the dragon ring.”
The men followed. “Great,” Ombre whispered under his breath so only Ilfedo could hear. “The past couple of days she’s really softened toward me; now you have reminded her of her heritage and the mysteries of the future.” Then he slapped him on the shoulder and sighed. “Forgive me, I do not blame you.”
For the next half hour they walked, drawing ever closer to home.
Then Caritha cleared her throat. “You will, of course, do as the prophet instructed?”
He let her question remain unanswered, knowing his silence was an answer in itself. What choice did he have? The sword of the dragon was the key to their future. Without it—without it the next encounter with an enemy like Razes would be the death of him. Though he longed for peace and a rest from the troubled world, there was no respite. Not yet, anyway. “I had not anticipated leaving again so soon.”
“Why must you go alone?” Ombre glanced at the stars. “If this key is so important, shouldn’t we marshal an army and invite the Megatraths to come along?” He pumped his arm and smiled. “I can picture it now! The dragon’s agent is waiting for you on the other side of that portal. It opens with a whoosh, and, expecting to see you, he steps forward. Instead the five thousand Elite march into the Hidden Realm. The light of their armor reveals every shadow and, behind them thunder the Megatraths. Immediately the wizard’s minion screams. She runs, but trips and falls just as you catch her and hand her off to your warriors. Mission accomplished, you lead your army back through the portal, waving to the agent of the dragon, and all in time for dinner with Vectra!”
“And”—Ilfedo shook his head—“because I never obtained the Key of Living Fire, a wizard hunts me down. Having stolen the power from the Hold, the sword is now useless to me, and he slays me in cold blood.” He let the scenario rest in the air for several minutes before drawing his sword. The Living Fire leaped from the blade, engulfing him, and he held it forth. “Now is not the time to make light of these things, my friend. Now is the time to steel myself for the struggle I will surely face—and I will face it alone.”
“Oganna will not be pleased with that,” Ombre said.
“Yet she will obey.” Ilfedo sped his pace, catching up to Caritha and walking beside her. “In my absence I would like you to include her in the business of being a Warrioress. She has proved to be more than your equal, and I will no longer hold her back.”
Caritha dipped a slow nod. “Then she will accompany me wherever I go. You have my word, my brother.”
Ombre caught up and kept pace on Caritha’s opposite arm. He smiled down at her, and she nodded back at him before setting her face forward. He frowned and Ilfedo caught his eye. “Give it time,” Ilfedo mouthed.
“I have” Ombre lipped back. And his countenance hardened as he, too, locked his gaze on the path ahead.
6
HOME AND GONE AGAIN
Beneath the moon-washed expanse of the night sky, Ilfedo’s house took on a dreamlike quality. He hung back when Ombre and Caritha opened the front door, choosing to remain in the open lawn. Except for the night that the specter of Death had appeared on his doorstep, this place brought good, tender memories. Even Dantress’s death bore an element of joy for the child she’d delivered.
Laughter floated through the open doorway, and warm lamplight played on the patio stones. Ombre and Caritha exchanged hugs with the remaining sisters and with Oganna, their forms muted by the flashing firelight.
“Father!” Her form, so like her mother’s, stepped into the door frame and onto the patio. She held her skirt above the wet evening grass as she walked across the yard, and they wrapped each other in their arms, her head nestled against his chest.
He kissed her hair. The troubled kingdom he ruled and the cares of Subterran … faded into the night’s whispering breezes. Seivar and Hasselpatch screeched, shooting out the open door. Their white wings flew them behind his back. Flapping their wings, the birds gripped his shoulders in their silvery talons. There they perched, cooing and rubbing his cheeks with their soft, fluffy heads. It was good to be back.
Smiling up at him with her gold-blue eyes, Oganna pulled him gently toward the house. Ah, she had grown up. How long had it been since she giggled in her crib?
“Ooh yum! Now that’s an apple tart to smack my lips to,” Ombre’s voice said from the kitchen. He slapped something and Evela laughed.
Ilfedo stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind him. He slipped his cloak off his back, then handed it to Oganna. She ran to the pegs on the far side of the main room whilst he took in the warmth of home. This place had turned out exactly as he’d planned it those many years ago. And now, even with her gone, the Creator had seen fit to fill Ilfedo’s home with the laughter of true friends and a special offspring.
The dragon ring bit his finger with a burning sensation. He stared at the ring, and the dragon thereon growled up at him.
“Father, what is that?” Oganna stepped close with her brow furrowed.
Ombre frowned and crossed his arms, eyeing the strange jewelry.
But Caritha and her sisters sighed in unison. “It is a gift from the prophets, Oganna. It is a ring given to someone who must undertake a task within a certain time frame.”
Ilfedo glanced at the woman and held forth his hand. “You have seen this before?”
“Yes, though never have I seen it used.” Caritha stroked the white-gold dragon with her finger, and it stretched contentedly. “It is said a dragon ring will constrict itself around the bearer’s finger until that bearer nears his journey’s destination. It cannot be removed by force, and it will only relax its hold as its bearer fulfills his task.”
Oganna frowned. “Father, what task?”
Resting his hand on her shoulder, he sighed. “Dinner before questions, if you will, my daughter.”
Late that night, after a satisfying supper, Ilfedo opened his root cellar and brought out a mug of apple cider. Everyone sat around the fireplace, exchanging memories and laughing at Rose’el and Ombre’s occasional jests. Caritha situated herself next to Ombre and rose often to bring him cheese, cakes, and cider. Never had Ilfedo seen her more radiant. Ombre’s arm slipped around her shoulders, and she turned to flash a smile at him.
Ilfedo took his daughter’s soft hand and kissed it. Smiling into her blue-gold eyes, he felt the days to come rise within them, as if the future were a sunrise reflected in her soul.
Seivar waddled between Evela and Levena. He hopped onto the hearth and stretched out his wing. His beak combed each long white feather with great care. Soon Hasselpatch joined him. The birds snuggled and closed their eyes. But Seivar blinked at Ilfedo. “It is good to have you home again, master.”
Ilfedo nodded at the faithful creature, smiling.
Slithering out of the kitchen, Oganna’s viper companion hissed out apologies as it slid across several sisters’ feet. It stretched around the birds and closed its eyes. But Seivar raised his head and aimed his silver beak at the creature. For a moment the viper seemed not to notice, then, inch by inch, it slithered off to its own spot, closer to the fire, and coiled there. Its forked tongue slicked in and out as it fell asleep, and Seivar relaxed, closing his silvery eyes. “Despicable winged creaturesss,” the viper hissed.
Oganna stifled a yawn and stood, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. “So, Father, have you nothing to say of your trip?”
He set down his mug. “My trip?”
“Yes.” She smiled, picked up his mug, and brought it to the kitchen. As she picked up a jug and poured cider into his mug, she held his gaze with curious eyes. “You know … where did you go, who did you see, what did you do?”
He blinked his heavy eyelids. “Ah, that.” As she held up her skirt, stepped over Rose’el’s legs, and handed him the mug, he rested his head against the fireplace. Ombre and the sisters hushed their conversations and looked at him. “I suppose now is a good time to tell you, though I had hoped we’d hold off the serious conversation for tomorrow. I need rest.”
“Then rest he will, ladies.” Ombre stood, and before Ilfedo could so much as blink, his friend grunted and picked him up.
“Ombre! Set me down immediately.”
“No, my friend. You are right. Rest you need and rest you deserve.” Ombre flashed a smile at the women. “Ladies, if you don’t mind lending my tired arms some assistance, we shall carry our lord and master to his chamber and lay him down to sleep.”
Rose’el laughed and rose, wrapping her arms under Ilfedo’s armpits and around his chest while Ombre held his legs. “Do not struggle, brother. You are outnumbered in this battle,” the sister said.
The remaining sisters, as well as Oganna, followed with gentle smiles as his friend and sister lugged him up the stairs and dropped him, without ceremony, on the bed. Caritha bowed and wished him a good night’s rest. Ombre turned to follow her down the stairwell, but Ilfedo sprang from the bed and grabbed him from behind. In one swift move he lifted his friend off the floor and flipped him upside down, dangling him by his ankles and chuckling.
Ombre laughed and crossed his arms. Evela, Laura, and Levena patted his cheeks. “Good night!” They proceeded down the stairs, and Rose’el skirted the wall, making as if to go behind. Dropping his friend, Ilfedo jumped toward the tallest sister. She let out a bloodcurdling yell and burst down the stairs, pushing her sisters to the side. Rubbing his head, Ombre stood and backed toward the stairwell, holding up his hand. “You win! You win.” And he, too, left the room.
Oganna’s sweet laughter filled the room as he sat on the bed. They embraced, and he held her head to his chest, stroking her hair. Downstairs he could hear someone roasting corn kernels over the fire. As the kernels popped, Caritha and Ombre chatted about an early morning beach walk they had shared on their recent trip.
Oganna pulled away, stood, and kissed his cheek. “Sleep well, Father. I will see you in the morning.” She rose and blew out the lamp at his bedside.
As darkness flooded in, the fluttering of Nuvitors’ wings sounded in the stairwell. Seivar and Hasselpatch landed under each of his arms, and he closed his eyes.
“I love you,” Oganna said as she tiptoed toward the stairs.
He exhaled and whispered back, “And I love you. Sleep well. I will speak with everyone in the morning.”
“And I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Ah.” He smiled in the dark. “That, I would like very much.” He raised himself on his elbows and opened his eyes. The Nuvitors stirred. “Do we have any smoked pork?”
Oganna laughed softly. “Aunt Laura saw to it last time she went to market. Now please go to sleep, Father. You really do need to rest.” And her bare feet padded down the stairs.
Ilfedo settled his head back on his pillow. Rest. Yes, rest before my next journey begins.
In his dreams that night, the shepherd and the albino dragon circled him. Flames and smoke roiled around him … and the sword of the dragon blazed in his hands. His armor of Living Fire radiated pure white light that drove back the smoke and pushed away the shepherd and the mighty dragon. Beneath his feet was desert sand, while before him rose a mountain of stone.
From the mountain’s peak a woman fell. She rolled down the mountain’s face and landed at his feet. He knelt and raised her chin. Her face was young and beautiful, her hair and eyes dark. But cuts and bruises marred her skin. She pulled back her arm and smote him in the stomach. He fell over her, and she rose with a laugh, running her fingers along his blade as it slipped from his grip. The Living Fire hissed as if quenched, steam rose from the blade, and she walked off into a wall of flames.
In the morning Ilfedo dispelled the dream from his mind. Only God knew the future. The dream? Well, it was only that—a dream.
The dragon ring bit his finger as he dressed. He glanced at his hand, then stared at his now-purple finger. The ring had tightened around him while he slept and now cut off all circulation. The little dragon flicked its tail and bit him. He grimaced.
The hammock swung gently as it cradled Oganna in front of the morning fire. She watched the tongues of fire as they licked at the seasoned oak logs and spread soft light throughout the room. Below her, curled on the hearth, the viper slicked out its tongue and rolled its eyes as its skin absorbed the warmth.
The Nuvitors flew over her and landed on the mantle above the fireplace, their white feathers flapping brightly. “The table is set,” the female bird announced. She spread out her left wing and began to preen its feathers.
Oganna rotated on her back and leaned on her other elbow so that she could look at the long wood table. A basket of fresh-picked fruit made up the centerpiece, and she had cooked the smoked pork, a wild duck, and a chicken to complement her bowl of garden salad. Besides this she had set out boiled corn on the cob, and on the kitchen counter were three pumpkin pies. She rarely made this much food for supper and had never before for breakfast. The smell of all that good food just waiting to be eaten had been driving her stomach crazy for the past hour. It had taken her most of three hours to prepare this feast.
As the Nuvitor had said, the table was set. “It is getting late. Perhaps we should wake him.”
“Nonsense!” the bird replied. “He slept heavily last night. He was exhausted. Just be patient. He’ll come.” She flitted from her perch and landed in the hammock beside Oganna.
Oganna cuddled the soft creature. She reached up and stroked her own face. It still amazed her beyond belief that the dragon had been able to heal her so completely after the giant had mauled her. She shuddered as she remembered how Razes’s blades had dug into her flesh.
Her stomach rumbled noisily, and she swung her legs over the side of the hammock and set her bare feet on the warm wood slabs. That food was looking more and more tempting each time she glanced at it. And the smell of those pies … Mmm hmm! If she weren’t a princess she would smack her lips.
The male Nuvitor dropped to the floor, preening his feathers as he stepped around the pole that supported the hammock and cocked his head at her. “I’d give Master no more than another ten minutes. If we wait all morning, the food will get cold.”
“Psst!” The viper uncoiled and slithered between her legs, then raised its head with a disdainful air. “We will eat when Mistresss says we do. Psst! Don’t put your feathers in a ruffle for nothing!”
“Shush,” Oganna scolded. “There’s no need for this bickering. Just sit back and relax.” She glanced at the small carved wooden clock hung on the far wall.
Ever since the viper had become a permanent member of their family, it had rubbed its bird friends the wrong way. With its cocky nature and unflinching loyalty, the creature had both wheedled its way into her affections and earned her most stabbing rebukes. Her father had seemed to accept the creature with a lot of reservation. It didn’t like him and he didn’t like it. And it had an annoying tendency to intrude on others’ conversations.
She stood and walked to the fireplace. The fire was burning lower now. She grabbed a poker and stirred the coals before laying several more logs on the fire. “Want to come outside with me?” she asked the female Nuvitor as its mate and the serpent began another argument.
It flew to her outstretched arm and held its wings out to maintain balance. For its size the bird was quite light, no heavier than the viper. “Thank you, Mistress, I did not want to listen to those two go at it again.”
Oganna laughed. “I know what you mean.” She opened the door and walked out into the brisk morning air. Warm orange rays bathed the eastern sky.
A pile of neatly stacked, split logs lay to her right against the house. The Nuvitor leaped onto the woodpile while Oganna crooked her left arm and collected the wood into it with her right. When she turned to go back into the house, she almost ran into Ilfedo as he held open the door.
“Mmm! Something smells delicious.” He took the wood from her arms and kissed her forehead.
“Good morning, Father.” She entered the house and Neneila hissed, “Psst! See?” The viper slicked its tongue at Seivar. “He’s here.”
But the bird flew to its master’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you rested,” it told him.
“It had been a long time, my friend. Too long.” He stroked the bird’s chest and let it lean against his head. Then he gazed upon the table and let out a long, low whistle. “Oganna, you’ve prepared a feast.”
The ring on his right hand flashed as it passed through the lamplight and she eyed the white-gold dragon. The jeweled eyes, a rich purple, appeared focused on her father. Its wings enclosed around his finger, and its tail curled over it.
She caught him staring at her, a stony rebuttal of her curiosity. “Sorry, my dear, I will tell you shortly.”
There was a new look in his eyes—a glint of mystery, enfolding him in a mantle of silence.
“Who gave that to you?”
“A dragon with whom you are also acquainted.”
“Grandfather?” She grabbed his arm and eagerly waited for him to elaborate.
But he did not.
Oganna sat at the table and waited as her father and companions followed her example. The Nuvitors stood on the bench on either side of Ilfedo while the viper coiled next to Oganna and raised its head above the table so as to be within reach of its plate. Just as she prepared to portion out the food, Ombre and Caritha came in with Laura, Rose’el, Evela, and Levena in tow.
“Good morning!”
Rose’el pinched his cheek. “Good to see Sleeping Handsome awake!”
He slapped her hand away with a laugh. “Enough, my friends.” Ilfedo smiled at Oganna. “I’m afraid that while this meal looks absolutely fabulous, it is a bit heavy for me. Would you mind poaching some eggs?”
She laughed. “I am not insulted.” She kissed his cheek and walked into the kitchen, holding up three eggs. “Would you like them cooked through, or do you want the yolk runny?”
Dressing in clean pants and a tan shirt, Ilfedo then walked downstairs. As promised, Oganna had everything prepared. After stuffing himself with eggs and jelly-smattered toast, not to mention the warm chatter of the sisters and Ombre, he walked outside. Everyone soon followed, seating themselves on the stone wall around the patio.
Ilfedo sat on the bench under the window, and Oganna settled beside him. He put his arm around her and wondered where to start his tale. Ombre and Caritha already knew the latter half, that which concerned the shepherd and the dragon’s appearance the night before. But concerning the other matter …
“Ilfedo?” Caritha leaned forward. “What is the matter? You seem highly preoccupied. Is it—that?” She cast a glance at the dragon ring.
He sighed and looked in Ombre’s direction. With a wave of his hand, he said, “I would very much like to hear about your trip before I launch into the details of my own.”
“There is not a great deal of news from the coast. At least, little you don’t know already.” Ombre plucked a blade of grass and twirled it in his fingers. “The recent construction of Fort Gabel is progressing well. The outer walls have been raised. Unlike our previous military projects, Fort Gabel is built of stone—”
“Stone. I like that. It is fitting.” Oganna folded her hands in her lap and gazed eastward. Beyond the line of trees and the forest, over the rolling hills of the Hemmed Land, down on the flatland stretching to the sea, the fort was even now being built. And its name came from none other than her valiant defender and martyr, the giant king of Burloi.
“Anyhow,” Ombre said, “the fort is nearing completion. But the artisans from Gwensin are pushing to build a cylindrical keep. They say if there were an invasion, the fort walls could be destroyed, but a cylindrical keep would present an imposing and impenetrable barrier. Of course, I pointed out that such a thing would be a waste of resources and time. We have no neighboring countries, unless you count our allies the Megatraths.”
Ilfedo nodded. “The proposal of such a thing doesn’t surprise me. Vortain sent those artisans. Granted, the city of Gwensin is a marvel in our society; it is beautiful and thriving, but I think in the case of Fort Gabel we should aim for practicality, not grandeur.” With a frown, Oganna directed her gaze at him. “Do you disagree?” he asked her.
“Yes, Father, I do. This fortress represents strength and security to our people on the coast. The artisans’ request may sound extravagant, but creating a beautiful structure instead of an ugly imposition would greatly benefit that region.” She pointed eastward at the forest. “Imagine that a fort were built within sight of our home. Imagine that you are one of the people, an ordinary citizen. You have no say in the matter. The forest is hewn down, the wildlife flees, and in place of that beauty walls of cold gray stone are raised and a military garrison moves in. But what if, instead, the lord of the land sends the finest craftsmen to build a majestic structure, a monument to commemorate a fallen hero?”
He allowed himself to smile. “It sounds as if you might be personally interested in seeing this task through.”
“Oh, I am no expert in architecture; you know that!”
“No.” He leaned back and gazed around at the sisters and Ombre, then he pointed at his daughter. “Look at her. The future queen—that is what the people vow they will call her—she is graceful yet forceful in her opinion.” He clasped his hand to his chest. “My subjects, men like Vortain, will sometimes oppose me … but to her everyone will bend the knee, and willingly.” A bird twittered in the trees, and he glanced upward. A caressing breeze gifted him the scent of roses and dew. “Oganna, I could send you to Fort Gabel. You could do as you wish in this matter. Indeed, knowing that you are occupied in such a manner will help clear my head for another matter.”
Ombre winked at Oganna, and Caritha caught her eye, giving her an encouraging nod.
At that instant the dragon ring animated. With a snarl it dug its claws into Ilfedo’s finger and flapped its white-gold wings. He clutched that hand, flashing a glare at the amethyst-eyed creature. The sisters whispered among themselves, and then everyone grew silent as he stood and paced back and forth before them.
“What I must say now, I am compelled to say. What I must now do, I am compelled to do.” The dragon ring hissed and bit his finger.
Oganna’s viper slid through the open door. It coiled at her feet and looked up at him with the strangest expression, one that seemed to convey concern. Startled, Ilfedo leaned over to look at the viper’s round eyes. The creature pulled back its head, eyes narrowed. Everyone laughed, and the viper slicked out its tongue. “Dessspicable!”
Shaking his head, Ilfedo addressed his family. “Now that that is behind us”—he cleared his throat—“I’m afraid I have a troubling bit of news to discuss with you.” He went on to relate how a persistent wind had, for the past three months, driven the sands of Resgeria into the Hemmed Land’s southern border. “It lashes into the forest like a whip, shredding the bark off trees, eating into the meat of the trees themselves, and toppling them. Already this wind has turned several hundred acres of prime forest and farmland into desert.” He told them how his advisers had reacted to the news, and then he related how he wished to proceed.
“Someone must begin a search for possible sites to relocate our people to. The Hemmed Land is small, and while our population grows, its resources and now its landmass are shrinking. Years ago”—he waved his hand at the sisters—“when we buried my wife and the dragon appeared, he told me that I would one day seek a new land. That this Hemmed Land would not contain us. It seems that his prophecy is coming true, and though Vortain opposes my decision, I believe it wise to prepare for possible relocation.”
“What of the Western Wood?” Ombre pointed in that direction. “No one has fully mapped it.”
“Not mapped. No. But some hunters have recently ventured far enough west to bring word of a volcano that cuts off the forest. Perhaps that is why the soil out that way is so rich.” Ilfedo bit his lower lip. “What we need is for a small expeditionary team to find out what lies beyond the Western Wood. I dare not bring our people north into Burloi, and we know not what lies beyond the Sea of Serpents. Perhaps the Megatraths can inform us of what lies south of their desert, but for now I would like to focus efforts on finding land west of here.”
Ombre nodded and said, “If you wish, I will undertake this task.”
“I do not want anyone going alone. We don’t know what lies out there.”
Caritha exchanged a smile with Oganna. “Then we will go with him.”
“To that I will agree, and thank you for offering.” He crossed his arms and gazed southward over the thickly greening treetops. Fresh sunlight rendered a golden hue to the leaves. South was the direction he would soon go, the path he must take. But what waited for him beyond the sands of Resgeria? He had never visited the Megatrath tunnels, and though the prospect of stepping into the underground world Oganna and the Warrioresses had described lifted his spirits, thoughts of the unknown outcome darkened his mind.
Everyone returned his gaze as he looked at them. The ring dug into his finger and roared with uncanny strength so that even Ombre frowned. Grasping his now-burning finger, Ilfedo grimaced. “The great white dragon visited me last night, as Ombre and Caritha already know. I am to set out on a quest into Resgeria, and I have no way to know how long I will be gone.”
“Father, surely you don’t intend to leave this instant?”
He caressed her cheek with his hand, but the dragon ring reared its tiny head and shot a searing flame from its mouth against his skin. “I’m sorry, everyone. I’m sorry to leave so soon. I will be back, Oganna. Ombre and Caritha can tell you more of what transpired last night and how the dragon entrusted me with a vital errand. In the meanwhile, I leave you to oversee my affairs as you see fit.”
Turning to Ombre he said, “You said you are willing to undertake the task of looking to the west for a new land?”
Ombre grinned. “Oh yes! Just think of it, I’ll be the first to step foot in our new country.” He winked at Oganna. “That would make me a hero of sorts.”
Ilfedo somberly gazed at his friend. He envied the man’s positive outlook. “Begin the search for a territory suitable for relocating our people to. Verify what little information we have, and report back quickly if you find what we need. I will be back as soon as God allows.”
First his daughter threw her arms around him, then the sisters as well.
Ombre enclosed everyone’s necks in his arms and laughed. “The prophets have given you this mission, brother. Now go—and go with a cheerful smile.” He patted Ilfedo’s cheek. “Not this sullen frown.”
Evela marched inside the house and returned with the sheathed sword of the dragon laid across her hands. Caritha and Oganna ran behind her through the door. As they vanished inside, Evela knelt at his side and held the sword against his belt while Laura and Levena strapped it in place. As those sisters stood back, Caritha and his daughter stepped back outside with a pack.
Slinging the pack over his back, he kissed each of them and thanked them. “Pray I do not fail,” he said.
“We packed your clothes, Father. You will also see I put some rope in as well. Dried fruit and jerky too.” She embraced him again, kissed his cheek, and stood with everyone else as he set his feet southward and marched across the lawn into the forest.
As the trees swallowed his lonely self, he tightened his jaw. For several miles he walked, and then Seivar dove through the forest roof, landing on his shoulder. “I have wished my mate farewell, Master, and I will go with you if you so desire.”
“Oh, I do, my faithful friend. I do. But where I am going you might not be able to follow. And something tells me blood will be spilled … I do not want that blood to be yours.”
The bird rode on his shoulder for half a mile, then it squawked and nuzzled his neck. He stroked it and sighed. Why couldn’t he have remained a simple woodlander?
Seivar stretched his white wings and flapped, launching toward the treetops. Ilfedo walked on, but suddenly the bird dove, battering his face with its wings. Ilfedo stood still and batted away the bird’s wings. “Seivar, what in Subterran are you doing?”
The Nuvitor’s talons cut into Ilfedo’s shoulder. Its body whipped around to perch there with an undeniable grip. It stretched its neck, leering at him with both silvery eyes. The sunlight gleamed off its partially open beak. “I am yours until death, Master. You have underestimated that loyalty, and I pray you do not so again!”
“You are coming with me?” Ilfedo treaded through the grassy forest floor for a few miles. The Nuvitor remained on his shoulder, moving only to shift its weight. “Stay close to me,” he said. “We have a long and treacherous journey to take, like that of my childhood hero, the Count.” The day wore into evening and he pressed on. The evening waned into a starry night, and the dragon ring relaxed around his finger. He was going in the right direction.
7
MASTER ARTISANS
The three Evenshadows shone as ghosts when they trotted out of the dark forest and into the moonlit field. Their silver hooves sprayed glowing slivers in the grass, a magnificent carpet for the esteemed princess of the Hemmed Land.
Oganna held on to her stallion’s reins with one hand while clasping Avenger’s handle with her other. Her glowing silver dress fell gracefully over the horse’s rump as she rode sidesaddle. She had chosen a mount with spirit and with which she was familiar. Avernardi, she called him. She patted the stallion’s neck and he nickered. “Ease up, Avernardi,” she said.
Ombre rode a few yards behind her, wearing a dark hooded cloak with a gold clasp in the form of a wolf. Caritha rode sidesaddle on the third Evenshadow, but like Ombre she wore a dark hooded cloak.
They rode across the field for half a mile until gravel crunched under the horses’ hooves. There they paused to gaze across the stretch of grass to the city of Gwensin, surrounded on all sides by a high wall of white stone. The white-stone buildings behind the wall were beautiful, even more so with the moonlight playing over them.
They rode to the city gate, and the guards sent word into the city. “Oganna has come!”
Vortain marched out with the city council to greet her, and a contingent of twenty soldiers with dress swords belted to their sides and white capes clasped over their shoulders escorted her to the mayor’s residence. As they rode through the mansion gates, Caritha steered her horse close to Oganna’s and whispered, “We could have gone directly to Fort Gabel. There is no need to involve Vortain.”
Oganna leaned in her saddle to better speak in a low voice. “But he, along with his councilors, truly wants what is best for the Hemmed Land,” she said. “His artisans are the ones I will be dealing with when we reach the coast, and there is no need to shut him out from these events. I think his support will be most useful. He is a bit hard to deal with, but if I play this diplomatically he will turn over the initiative to me.”
“I do not know if I agree, but this is your call.” Caritha pulled her mount back a couple of yards.
With her chin held high, Oganna pulled her Evenshadow to a halt and slid off its back. By entering the city in this manner she had forced Vortain’s hand. She was now his unexpected yet honored guest. He would be expected to listen before speaking and to give her whatever rest she required after her journey—before ever broaching a subject of interest to himself. She would instruct him of her desire to make Fort Gabel a magnificent monument to the giant who saved her life, and he would willingly grant her wish. After all, his artisans had, with his backing, proposed the cylindrical keep, and they were the best in the land. She was the power key that he needed in order to see the job done in the manner he desired, and his artisans alone could accomplish a cylindrical keep in a manner that would please her.
Vortain strode up to her, offered his hand, and bowed. “Princess, this is unexpected, but you are always most welcome in our city. Please! Come inside and refresh yourself.”
She smiled, laid her hand in his large one, and followed him up the wide steps. The double doors swung open as she approached. Tonight she would rest, even though her journey had not been long. Tomorrow she would depart with a troop of artisans and soldiers, an impressive display to lift the citizens’ spirits and remind them of her station in relation to Vortain’s.
The night passed uneventfully, and the next day she rode out with the artisans and soldiers she required. Yimshi’s rays bathed the city in a fierce heat. Vortain walked ahead of her, leading her Evenshadow by the bridle. Behind her a dozen trumpets blew, and from a balcony above the street a harp strummed. Only the sweat on her brow and the memory of her father’s dire prediction of resettlement lessened the glory in that moment. The possibility of abandoning their homeland to nature’s unforgiving changes seemed borderline cowardice. But in reality there was nothing that could alter, stop, or slow the changes soon to come.
8
WHERE THE DRAGON DARED NOT GO
Specter cut the water in his dive, plunging into yet another beautiful lake. As the cold depths swallowed him, cooling his sweaty body, he blew bubbles and sat on the muddy lake bottom. Eyes open to the aquatic world basking in afternoon sunlight, he watched a dozen small people dive after him. The children settled onto the lake bottom, mimicking his position and blowing a few bubbles of their own.
He smiled at a little black boy, and the child smiled back, accidentally opening his mouth. The boy clutched his hand to his mouth and rapidly swam for the surface. For seventy seconds—he counted—the remaining children held their breaths. He could see the concentration in their little puckered faces as they glanced at him, no doubt waiting for his breath to give out.
A laugh formed in his chest and almost upset the balance of his stasis. But he concentrated on his bare feet sifting the greenish mud and held his breath. A volcano of bubbles erupted, and he looked up to find the remaining children racing for the surface.
He chuckled to himself. Good, at least he could still hold his breath longer than they. But his chuckle boiled over into a laugh, forcing his last air from his lungs. Standing, he pushed off of the lake bottom and beat the children to the surface. As his face emerged into the open air, he gulped it in and swam for shore. A thin line of other children jumped up and down, cheering him or their comrades on. Sometimes he could not tell if they rooted for him, or their companions, or for all at once. It mattered not. Life here had proved peaceful beyond his imaginings. He could stay here forever—that is, if he could get Auron out of his mind. As he pulled himself onto the sandy beach and the children embraced him and laughed, he thought of the misery his fallen pupil had caused him. What misery he could still cause if given another opportunity.
The children encircled him, dancing around and around.
“I stayed underwater longer than you, Master Specter!” said one of the girls. She grinned as broadly as she could and extended her brown hand. “But I will play with you again. Maybe then you can beat me. Next time, that is!”
She could have been no more than ten years old. He shook her hand, putting on a defeated expression as best he could. It was getting harder to fool these children. He could easily have stayed underwater for a few more seconds, but he enjoyed the pleasure victory gave them. Though this time, he’d almost genuinely lost. “Congratulations, Regina! You were amazing down there.”
She giggled and moved off, mingling with the crowding children.
The children ran into the lake and he followed. They began to swim with swift, even strokes, steadily crossing the broad body of water. With his one hand he pulled himself after them, relying on his strong legs to propel him forward. His stub of an arm splashed with almost useless regularity.
When he reached the opposite shore, the children had already raced into the trees. Gleeful lions trotted after them, though a couple remained, drinking from the lake. A particularly large lioness ambled over to him, and he stroked its velvety back. What a majestic animal! It purred and nuzzled him, then sauntered under the shade of a sprawling tree while he lay in the grass.
As the sunlight dried his clothes, he could hear distant laughter float from each of the mountains rising from the lake’s boundary. Again his thoughts turned to Auron. He recollected the traitor’s gloating face. “I am safe, my old master,” the traitor seemed to taunt. “No one hunts me. I am safe. Not even the great white dragon would dare enter this place!” And he stepped through the portal to the mountains of ice, safe from justice.
Suddenly the grass around Specter began to grow at an accelerated rate. The green stalks blossomed, turning into thousands of white flowers. The nearby trees blossomed, then shed their leaves and grew new ones. He stood and gazed around. The lake began to bubble as if filling with oxygen, and the lions meandering near the shore settled down and fell into slumber.
A cool breath washed over his back and he turned—but there was nothing there. No man and no creature. He sighed and shook his head. It felt as if someone were watching him—and not the children. He closed his eyes. Something powerful resided in these mountains. He had felt it pass by, heard the children speak of it. It would have to be benevolent; otherwise, the children would not remain. And it must have great power; otherwise, this paradise could not have lasted long. He reached out with his hand and a bony snout pushed back, then pulled away. He opened his eyes but still saw nothing.
He knelt in the grass and lowered his head. “There is no need to hide from me, Ulion, for I know that you are numbered among the prophets.”
“At least you are straightforward.” The voice that boomed out of the air struck with such force that the ground vibrated and the trees trembled. The lake rippled. “But you assume too much, Specter. It is only because you are a servant of the prophets that I permit your presence in my domain; had you entered it without invitation by any other means I would have cut off your life and given no other thought to the matter. You know not me and I know not you, save by reputation alone. Your purpose here is one of peace, is it not?”
Specter stood and nodded. “Indeed it is—”
“Your presence is no longer welcome here!” the voice thundered, and Specter cowered as a vicious wind lashed the shore. Something enormous and heavy pounded in a circuit around him, pacing. “The way of peace may have once lived in your heart, and my children see it in you, but I see a war raging. Bloodlust and war are your true desires. These are unacceptable to my domain! These things are alien to my children and must now remain so. You bring darkness with you, Specter, and in our meeting you have made an assumption that I have hidden myself from you. Tell me,” Ulion roared with the thrust of a mighty dragon. Nevertheless, the lions continued to sleep. “Tell me, Specter, who hides? Is it I, or is it you? You bask in the joy my children are allotted, you drink of my lakes, you revel in the beauty my mountains afford, but your heart desires the blood of another man. Do not lie to me! Speak forthright; speak truth.”
Trembling, Specter knelt. “Your words are true, but confused, great prophet. For, though I desire a traitorous man’s blood, I do not lust after blood. Is it wicked to desire the downfall of an evil man?”
“Do not twist this into a conversation, Specter! Answer the questions as posed.”
Specter swallowed and continued. “I desire the death of Auron. He has escaped retribution for a thousand years, and I have vowed that, one day, he will meet his just end at my hand. While my strength and peace return to me in this place, I am also aware that Auron is likely doing the same, gathering himself for greater wickedness. As I wait, he grows stronger. But there is nothing I can do, for even the great Albino himself dares not enter the place that traitor has gone. Oh if I could, I would depart this place, these lands. I would pursue Auron and bring justice upon his head—yet I cannot.”
The ground shook and sank in front of him. Unseen claws imprinted the soil and a seven-toed footprint appeared. Specter gasped. The creature’s foot was even larger than the dragon’s. If only he could see it, perhaps then its proportions would be revealed to him. If only to uncover the mystery of Ulion.
At that moment a child ran up to him, a blond-haired boy, bare feet sailing over the grass. He bowed to Specter and laughed. “Master, you forgot this.” His little arms struggled under the burden of a folded gray cloak. As Specter took it with a smile, the child ran to the footprint and gazed skyward, wrapping his arms around the creature’s invisible leg. A purr rumbled from Ulion. Yellow, orange, and blue crocuses sprang from the ground into full bloom.
Specter slipped the folded cloak around his shoulders. If anything could reveal this creature to him it would be the gift of Albino and Patient. As it settled around his bare shoulders, he pulled the hood over his head and half-closed his eyes, willing it to make him invisible. His arms shimmered and vanished, then his cloaked torso disappeared, and he gazed toward Ulion and the child.
A sun-golden image coalesced over the green grass. It shimmered, and some sort of creature wavered in and out of his perception, as if he viewed it through a mottled and blurry pane of glass. He strained his eyes, hoping to make out at least how many legs it had. But it flashed like morning sunlight over the horizon, and he stumbled back, shielding his face with his hands. Around him the grass glowed too. The flowers glinted dangerous shades of yellow-white. He took another step back and felt the ground tremble. The child laughed again, and he heard it dance into the forest.
“You would stoop so low, oh Warrior?” Ulion growled, and massive fingers closed around Specter’s body. He cried out but was raised ten feet off the ground. “For daring to intrude on my privacy and giving in to the temptation of seeking my mystery, for this your privileges with me I now revoke. You will depart my mountains. Seek no return visit, for it will not be granted. Should you return, I will consider you as I would any other trespasser.
“Go now, Specter. Let peace grow in your heart, and may the fire of righteous judgment burn therein so that you can do nothing but follow your warrior desire. You will find the one you seek to the north and east. Run with all thy might before my lands reap vengeance upon you.”
The creature relinquished its grasp. Specter fell to the ground, every joint in his body screaming pain. Great fear filled his heart, such as he had not felt in a very, very long time. He stood and ran northeast. Through the laughter-filled woodland and mountains he fled Ulion’s presence, all the while feeling the prophet’s cold breath down his back.
His feet trod air as he ran. He rose as a mighty, carnivorous roar pummeled the forested mountain slopes. Something swished through the air beneath him, and invisible claws screeched back into the creature’s hands. But his feet landed inches above the ground and he stumbled, grabbing at a smooth surface with his hand. A gentle ramp, transparent, as if made of glass, stretched skyward, vanishing in a puffy cloud. He stumbled upward and ran, legs burning, hoping and praying that a certain friend would greet him atop it.
“You cannot flee, Warrior!” Ulion said, and a great weight bent the ramp downward. “For invasion of my secret, oh, your soul is revealed to me. You must be kept from ever returning. I am sorry, Specter, but your life is forfeit!”
Something sliced his back, and the cut burned as if with fire. Specter screamed and ran on, the creature’s breaths belting his back. And he stumbled onward until at last the ramp reached the white cloud. Specter stepped into the fluffy white moisture, sinking in its veiling wisps. Then he pulled his cloak tighter and willed it to render him invisible to the vengeful prophet’s eyes. His body faded into the cloud, and he stepped deeper into the rolling mists.
“Mighty prophet, what hast thou done?” the voice of Patient said.
Ulion roared, and the cloud faded to gray, then deep purple. “An honest man this one is not! I received him with charity, and he repaid me with treachery. For gazing upon me, he must now die.”
“So ready you are, at all times, to render judgment, my friend. Yet this man is under my protection now. His life is in my hands. Take it at your own peril. The world needs him as your children need you, and I need him. Let God be judge this day, for had the Creator desired you to take this man’s life, you would have succeeded. Yet, here you stand, and I between you and he. For will not the wrath of God rise above either of us if we abuse the gifts he has bestowed on us?”
The creature blasted the cloud with its breath, and lightning zipped across the heavens, snaking past the cloud. When it passed, the air smelled of flowers, and the wrinkled shepherd stepped up to him, frowning. “Come, Specter. It seems you will now return to Emperia … for Ulion has barred you from his mountains.”
Letting the shroud of invisibility fall from his body, Specter stepped forward. Other clouds flitted through the darkening blue sky, and a large bird screamed as it glided between them. His back pained him, and his fingers yearned to clutch his scythe. He would need a weapon in the task he now chose for himself. Indeed, the one Ulion had ordered him to follow.
The mountains of Ulion receded far beneath him as he left them for a new destination. A vast sea spread beneath him, and in the distant east sunlight shattered upon jagged, shining peaks of ice. The mountains of ice!
He turned his head and glowered at the distant mountains as they sped by. Somewhere, hidden among them, was Auron. “You will pay, my apprentice. The wrath I will bring upon you will reach Letrias’s ears, and even he, though deep in the Valley of Death, will tremble for fear of God’s justice reaped through His servants.”
The shepherd’s hand clamped on his shoulder, and the old prophet walked around to stand face-to-face with brow furrowed and eyes unblinking. For what seemed to Specter an eternity, the shepherd gazed back into his eyes. The clear blue eyes of the old man seemed to reflect energy and vitality that contradicted his aged form.
“Forgive me, my master.” Specter knelt in the rolling moisture and gazed at his feet with his arm stub resting on his knee. “I did not mean to speak those things aloud.”
“Is it vengeance you seek, Specter? Or justice?”
Specter glanced up into the prophet’s sober face. “I desire retribution, my master.”
“For thyself—”
“No!” He stood, clenching his fist and thrusting it toward the ice mountains. “For Kesla, for Prunesia’s lost prince, for Oganna, and for the many others that Auron has raised his hands against. He was given a chance, a final chance to repent. I hoped for a short while that his heart was ready. Maybe, even if only in the slightest, his heart yearned to come home. But now his path is set away from repentance, and he will follow his dark master’s legacy, and in so doing bring further shame upon me for releasing him.”
The shepherd stepped back, and a tear rolled from his eye. “Your use to the prophets has come to an end, Specter. For now, while you feel such bitterness in your heart, you must walk your own path.” He knelt and raised a scythe from the billowing moisture. “To replace that which you lost,” he said, holding it forth.
Specter reached out with both hands, then remembered he had but one. He closed his fingers around the black shaft of the weapon and raised the silvery blade to eye level.
“Listen to me, Specter, and listen closely.” The shepherd raised his eyes heavenward and spread his arms. “A prophecy I would deliver to thee, for the journey you now undertake will lead you away from this place and into another. A thousand men rise who rose before, and their master awakens from his long slumber, though he did not sleep. The world you know and the worlds of the universe merge in the instant death falls, and the child you knew, the child you safeguarded, and the world you knew shall be lost to you—at least for a time. But in death’s fall, victory is assured for those you loved, and the hero who has not yet come will be armed in the glory you preserved.”
The shepherd lowered his gaze to Specter and leaned on his staff with a sigh. “You go now where neither I nor Albino can follow—into the very pit of the enemy’s home. And you will go alone, as it must be.” The shepherd struck Specter’s back with the staff. Tears sprang from Specter’s eyes as his cuts protested. But his skin cooled, and as the shepherd stepped back, Specter stretched to find that the wounds Ulion had inflicted had been healed. “Farewell, Xavion, master of warriors,” the prophet said, “and may the God of the heavens shine a light of blessing on your path.”
The shepherd stepped off the cloud into oblivion, and the mists swirled beneath Specter’s boots. A sharp wind bit his cheek, and a shiver ran the length of his spine. The cloud vaporized into nothing, and a white world of sharp ice-encrusted mountains rose around him. He squinted as Yimshi’s rays turned the snow into a blinding sheet. They bounced off the ice cliffs, in all the mountain crags and valleys, along the sparkling dagger peaks. He skidded down the mountain slope toward a sudden drop-off.
With a grunt, he stabbed his scythe into the ice, pulling to a stop at the expense of his good arm. Every muscle burned, every tendon stretched to its utmost—but he held fast, closing his eyes for a moment and choking on the frigid air. When he glanced down the slope, he found his feet hanging over a cliff’s edge. He gritted his teeth and smiled. At last, once again, he was on the trail of the traitor.
The wind howled through the mountains, such a potent force of nature. It spun drifting snow back up the ice slopes, whirling around spiking daggers of ice a hundred feet long. These shoots of ice protruded skyward from every mountainside for as far as he could see. The mountains rose on all sides and to every distant corner of the deepening blue sky.
Yimshi slid behind a mountain’s sharp peak at that moment, and where brilliant light had reigned, now a velvet star-peppered sky twinkled down at him. The day had gone. Night had come.
His arm screamed with pain, and the scythe’s blade creaked, then scraped, along the ice as his body dragged it after him over the cliff face. He closed his eyes. No one could survive a fall this far, not onto ice. After a few hundred feet of this weightless fall, the impact would kill him.
Suddenly his legs hit ground and his knees buckled. He rolled for a short distance, then stood on shaky legs. His ribs burned as if on fire. He wrapped his arm stub around them and leaned his weight on his scythe. He had landed on a sort of gravel ledge cut into the mountain slope. Not eight feet in front of him the slope dipped sharply downward, descending into the dark heart of the mountain valleys. Ice covered everything. Not a tree, not a single boulder, stood anywhere. Yet he kicked the gravel and looked over his shoulder.
Before him, cut into the mountain’s slope, the gravel landing descended to a gate unlike any he had ever seen. Snow wisped past and he blinked. The gate stood a hundred feet high, and its width was even greater. The gate itself was composed of rods of translucent ice—smooth as glass and ramrod straight, spaced evenly every couple of feet—and a tunnel of ice, behind the bars, bored into the mountain’s depths.
Civilization? He gazed around at the forbidding mountains. In this part of the world? He gritted his teeth and stumbled up to the gate, shivering before its chilly columns. Here he was, at the enemy’s doorstep. How he yearned to feel the great white dragon’s breath down his neck. But this time he must take the journey alone.
Pulling his hood over his head, he wrapped his cloak tightly around his torso and pressed his body sideways to the bars and slipped through. Once through, his feet slipped from under him. With a whoosh of air he slid bodily into the gaping tunnel. Its descent angled steeper, and he clawed at the ice but could not decelerate. The dimming blue-gray walls of ice curved high above him. With a desperate roar, he jabbed the scythe at the ice. The blade sparked and bounced off the ice. He tensed his arm and swung it with all his might. The floor sloped steeper. The walls blurred in motion as the scythe blade stabbed toward the ice. The blade that had never failed to pierce his enemies now stubbed against the ice. Its tip bent, and sparks showered from the point of contact, yet he slid faster.
For the first time in a long time he felt helpless. He rotated onto his back, bent his neck to gaze between his feet at the vast, endless tunnel rushing toward him. He pounded his arm stub against the ice, then relaxed his neck, his head cushioned in his hood.
Long ago he’d been the invincible. He frowned. A thousand years ago he could have marshaled an army of five hundred choice warriors. They would have set off in pursuit of Auron, slain him long before now, and marched across Subterran in search of the Valley of Death. A sigh escaped his lips. It would take an army even mightier than that to bring down Letrias, an army of thousands instead of hundreds, for the dark apprentice had learned Hermenuedis’s teachings all too well. The memories of long-ago battles entered his thoughts, and he smiled at the courage of those he’d known and loved.
The ice tunnel pulled him ever deeper, twisting in large curves, then dipped and gently rose.
Not knowing how long he’d slept, Specter blinked open his eyes. The ice walls streamed past. He pressed his head against the smooth, slipping floor and gazed behind. The ice tunnel ran arrow-straight until it bent out of sight.
He rose over a hump, slid up the side of the wall, and shot downward. But a small bump in the ice jarred his spine. Pain ripped through his back, but the bump struck the back of his head—and everything faded to gray, then white, then total black.
9
BENEATH THE DESERT
The fierceness of the desert sun was eclipsed by the ferocity of the sandstorm that slashed Ilfedo’s face and threw Seivar off his shoulder and into the forest. Ilfedo took a step forward and another, yet the storm pressed against his entire body with the strength of a dozen men. He stumbled backward and sneezed, yellow sand lashing his face and filling his clothes.
As he blindly stumbled into an oak tree and groped it, the bark broke off with ease. The howling wind drove sand against the tree’s exposed flesh, drying and cutting it apart.
Farther into the sheltering forest, he ran. The air cleared, and the scent of moist leaves replaced the dryness. He coughed and looked at the forest around him. The Nuvitor waddled from behind a tree. “Master, it is true what you say. This land is dying.”
“Come, Seivar. I will keep you close to my chest and wrap my own face with a shirt to keep out the sand. The Megatraths are somewhere beyond that storm, and so I must go through it.”
“But—Master?”
Ilfedo picked up the bird, stuffed it under his shirt, and donned a second one. Then he wrapped another around his face, leaving a slit through which to see, and marched back into the storm. He cringed after proceeding fifty feet. He could see no farther than a few yards ahead of him, and the sand bit through the slit in his turban. It was nigh impossible to keep his eyes open.
He blinked back the sand and shouldered his way forward. He might as well have plowed through drifting snow. It pressed against his knees and thighs, blasting around him in a yellow blur. The world or some force had set itself against him. He said a prayer under his breath and pushed against the sandstorm.
For what seemed like miles, he trudged forward. His body burned, and he choked on the sand. A more powerful gust swept his breath away. His knee buckled, and he collapsed to his hands and knees. The Nuvitor’s chest heaved against his own as he crawled his way forward. He drew the sword of the dragon, but the armor of light and fire crushed the bird tucked against his chest. He hastily sheathed the weapon and fought to a standing position with both arms shielding his face. However, after a hundred feet or so—he could not determine because of the blasting sand—he dropped to his hands and knees again. He crawled ahead, praying for a break in nature’s fury.
For a couple of hours or more he fought in this manner, until the desert floor gave way under his hands. He rolled underground, instantly feeling relief as the sands whipped harmlessly above his head. He gazed upward. The sandstorm slashed north. There was not a single break in the yellow sandstorm, nor did the wind sound likely to let up any day soon.
Pulling Seivar from underneath his shirt, Ilfedo waited until the bird situated itself on his shoulder. Then, drawing the sword of the dragon, he waited as the Living Fire illuminated the small subterranean chamber in which he stood. He had fallen about twenty feet onto a pile of soft sand. All around him the chamber’s walls curved inward from the floor to the roof. There were no footholds or any other means of ascending to the desert floor. But a tunnel opened ahead of him, and it was high enough to enter without stooping.
Taking his compass from the pack, Ilfedo waited for the floating red arrow to settle. When it did he smiled, tucked the compass back in the pack, and stroked the Nuvitor’s chest as he slid down the sand heap. The tunnel headed south, the direction of Vectra’s subterranean home. He walked inside and followed it for a while. It continued southward in a direct line.
The tunnel steepened, leading deeper and deeper beneath the desert floor. The howling sandstorm faded behind him like a monstrous mouth yearning to be fed.
Eventually trickling water sounded from somewhere ahead. The light of his armor and sword revealed every crack in the stone that formed the tunnel. The stone was sandy yellow at first, but as he descended it turned red. He spat on the reddish dirt and wadded it into a ball. It held together, proving that high concentrations of clay were interspersed with the solid rock. But not much farther along gray and black washed out the red. He had dropped under the dirt and clay. Here he traveled in a new world made of stone and sand.
For a long while he followed the straight passage. Always it headed south, true as a compass, but it also maintained a steepening descent, as if the world had vowed to drop him into its dark heart. Seivar cawed and huddled against his master. The bird’s call bounced into the unseen reaches of the tunnel before them.
The light of his sword sparkled off a trickle of water along the tunnel wall ahead. He hesitated and tasted it with a finger before spitting the bitter stuff out. The water trickled ahead of him, following the small cracks in the stone floor, and he walked on.
Eventually the tunnel widened and opened to the right. He stood at the juncture, dug into the pack on his back for some dried fruit, and divided a few pieces between his mouth and Seivar’s beak. Munching on the fruit, the Nuvitor half-closed its eyes and cooed.
With sweet dried cranberries in his mouth, Ilfedo stepped forward. He would stay on the path directly south, for that was where the Warrioresses had first found the Megatraths, and to the Megatraths he must go.
10
A HAND OF ICE
It must have been a new day when Specter awoke, still sliding through the tunnels in the ice mountains, for his stomach gurgled and his neck and head did not throb or even ache, as one would expect from an impact strong enough to knock him unconscious. He dug into his cloak, and his fingers touched a large apple. “Creator of all, I thank you for food”—he smiled—“in a barren place such as this.”
He sank his teeth into the apple, and its juices sweetened his mouth and ran down his parched throat. He smiled as he thought of the little girl who had given him the apple. Her name was Brianna. She had foggy gray eyes and hair as red as the apple’s skin. He took another bite. “And thank you, little Brianna, for insisting I put this food in my cloak.”
Somewhere ahead a crackling sound drew his attention. He raised his head but saw only the endless corridor of ice. It stretched straight ahead, and something green speared up through the white floor. As he slid toward it, fast as ever, the ice crackled. Cracks slivered along the ice, and shoots of green penetrated it. A meadow grew, and the ice walls ahead of him became transparent, revealing a familiar mountain valley. He slid onto the grass and rotated onto his side, stabbing the scythe blade into the grass and ice. At last he came to a halt, and for a long moment he closed his eyes. At last the terrible descent was over. Yet returning here would not have been his choice.
When he opened his eyes, the ice melted away and the tunnel walls vanished. Once again the Mountains of Ulion stood around him, and the distant faint laughter of the beloved children drifted into the valley. Long morning shadows spread from the mountain tree line, and the ground trembled. Something enormous, something powerful, marched toward him. The grass brightened to yellow and shivered. An indiscernible form shimmered before him, and a cool breath washed over him.
“This time you will not escape, Specter,” a voice boomed out.
“Ulion?” Specter stood, and frustration welled up in his soul. He spun the scythe in his hand and widened his stance. “I’ve had enough of your grudge against me, mighty prophet. God’s favor is on my side in this matter, and I tire of your mood. It shifts like an errant breeze.”
“Against me, oh Warrior, you cannot hope to stand. For how can you fight the unseen?”
“Fight a ghost? A spirit? I have done that in the bowels of Al’un Dai and will now do so again if you stand against me.”
“Then prepare thyself, for you have determined to enter the lair of the water skeels, and you possess knowledge of my children and this sanctuary. I cannot allow such knowledge to pass into the ice mountains, for, should Cromlin capture thee, he would surely draw such memories and knowledge from your mind and turn it against me.”
“I would never betray you! Nor would my mind be broken. You presume to know me, when you know me not at all—”
“Such fire in your words, I almost am made to believe you. Maybe I do believe you. But you don’t know the enemy as do I. Cromlin is king of the water skeels. They are a vicious, most powerful race, ancient—and Cromlin is cunning. Thou art reckless to plunge after your fallen pupil without consideration for the unknown. Some places have been hidden in this world, hidden deep that none may find them or be harmed by them. Thy heart leads you like a lamb into the tiger’s mouth. You can kick with your little hooves and bleat until you run out of wind, but the tiger still has you.”
Specter flexed his stub of an arm. “You are that tiger, lusting for the power you have over me. Yet my spirit remains untouched. And one day the lamb may kick out the tiger’s eyes and laugh at its arrogance.” He swiveled the scythe behind his back so that the blade pointed over his shoulder. “Come now, let us duel. Or else be gone and return me to the journey I have set myself to.”
Clouds rolled over the mountains and lightning flashed. Wind howled through the forest, and a chill of foreboding crept up Specter’s leg. The invisible creature circled him at a distance, its footfalls shaking the earth, and in its wake the air churned. Faster it moved, and he waited for it to strike. The wind followed Ulion. It increased its strength and howled down from every mountain to join a funnel of air that rose from the meadow. Skyward the funnel grew until a veritable tornado lashed at Specter’s every limb, holding his arms and legs at its center, then raising him five feet off the ground.
Specter closed his eyes and prayed from his heart for salvation from the prophet’s wrath.
“I am sorry, Specter. Your magnificent life should not have ended like this,” Ulion rumbled. “Yet I will give thee a last chance to save yourself. You can leave my lands, live any life you choose, if you but give me your promise to stay out of Cromlin’s domain. Take you, I pray, my offer—”
Swinging his scythe around his waist, Specter bit back the fiery words he could have uttered. He would let the Creator judge between him and Ulion. Yet he would let the world know that he would seek the death of Auron at all costs. Whoever or whatever stood in his path, be they a warrior or a prophet, they would not stop him. He would continue on, destroying evil, so that other wizards and all men of wickedness would forever fear the consequence of their choices.
“And so it will be,” Ulion said, and the tornado lifted Specter higher off the ground as a narrow razor-sharp claw materialized out of thin air and angled toward Specter’s neck. His feet dangled helplessly above the grass. Specter slashed at the claw with his scythe, and the blade passed through it as if through water.
The darkened sky split, and blinding light streamed upon the scene as a familiar roar filled the mountains and valleys. The great white dragon dove from the clouds, spraying fire first one direction then another. The clouds recoiled from the flames, and the tornado faltered. Ulion’s claw pricked Specter’s neck just as the wind released him.
Specter dropped to the ground and rolled as the mighty dragon thundered to the ground and covered him with its wings. Its pink eyes blazed as never before, and white flames burned along its scales. The creature’s entire body smoked as it roared again. The ground quaked and split beneath Specter so that he fell into darkness.
The dragon’s claws gently caught him, and it beat its wings, sending gusts of air across the meadow. Its body rose from the ground, but Ulion roared and the tornado renewed its power, buffeting the dragon and crashing it to the ground. The great white dragon rose to his feet. A stream of fire issued from its mouth, impacting something behind Specter. Ulion roared.
Albino stepped toward Specter, spreading his wings, then scooped him in his claws and shot into the sky. A sonic boom echoed in his wake, and Specter covered his ears. The dragon’s wings clapped the air, and another sonic boom reverberated against the mountains … and they rose above the clouds into sunlight.
The dragon glided over the eye of the storm, then banked to the left and rumbled in a voice of irrepressible power, “Thunder and lightning cease! Clouds, disperse. The battle is over, Ulion.”
But the storm raged on until, with a blast of white fire shot from his nostrils, the dragon interrupted the winds. The clouds rolled into the distant horizon, and beneath him Specter once again looked upon the green Mountains of Ulion. From this vantage point he saw a vast desert bordering the mountains on their eastern slopes and grassy plains of green rolling into blue in the west. To the north a broad sea filled the horizon. “The Sea of Serpents—”
With a growl, the dragon dove headlong, tearing the air from Specter’s lungs. The wind ripped at his face and chest. The mountains rose to greet him, and the dragon tossed him into the meadow beside the crack in the earth. As he stumbled to his feet, Specter watched the dragon prophet shake out its wings over the meadow.
“Enough of this, Ulion! Do not tempt my patience any further.” The dragon’s claws raked the ground. Fire played out of its nostrils, and smoke rolled between its bared teeth. Bolts of white-and-blue energy sizzled along its horns.
From the edge of the forest Ulion replied, and for the first time respect measured the tone and pace of his words. “Forgive my mood. I did not mean to offend thee.”
“Forgive?” The dragon roared and swung its tail into the trees. Ulion yelped and then growled. Treetops splintered and snapped, falling to the ground. “First seek forgiveness from another, Ulion. Not I. You have brought shame upon yourself in thy behavior toward one of my own. Come, therefore, prove your change of heart … Undo thy folly.”
“I sought to protect my children—”
“Silence!” The dragon’s fist pounded the ground. It quaked, and Specter fell to his hands and knees, still grasping his scythe. In a low voice the dragon uttered, “Undo what thou hast done.”
Ulion’s claw materialized in front of Specter. It tapped the grass, and ice formed around him, curving upward and around to once again form the tunnel from which he’d been pulled. He started to slide again, so dropped onto his back. The tunnel walls remained transparent for several moments as ice covered every blade of grass. Then, crackling into place, the tunnel walls solidified and transformed into snow-white ice.
The ice tunnel seemed to go on forever. It snaked one way and another, rose and fell, unchanging and smoother than a pond’s surface. He closed his tired eyes and let them rest.
The white tunnel walls continued to shoot past as Specter opened his eyes. He slid around a corner, rose over another hump, and emerged into a cavern. The ground dropped from under him as he gazed with awed horror at the chamber. Overhead ice stalactites a hundred feet long and several yards broad speared downward. His body flew into open space and he flailed.
Teeth chattering, he stabbed his scythe into the nearest stalactite. It caught and held, hanging him there. With but one arm to grasp its handle, he glanced around for some means of escape. Or maybe he could return to the tunnel. Below him lay a deep-blue lake a mile in breadth surrounded by smooth walls of ice that arched to the cavern roof. A thin vapor rose off the water, and an intense cold pierced his cloak. Try as he might, he saw no place to rest. A long distance down the water sloshed in its icy nest. He gritted his teeth.
For a long time he held on. It was impossible to tell exactly how long. His arm muscles burned, and at last his fingers slipped on the scythe’s handle. No! He wouldn’t let go. He must wait for—for what? He could think of nothing.
He shook the scythe and swung on it. The blade grated in the ice, yet held. He swung his weight again. The blade bent and his hold slipped. He released it and plunged to the lake, closing his eyes. If the water was as cold as it looked, he wouldn’t feel a thing.
As soon as his feet struck the water’s surface, an icy shock stabbed up the back of his legs to his spine. His vision exploded in a burst of light, and his body snapped as tight as a harp string. It was so cold that he couldn’t feel anything else. Then in his mind’s eye Auron stood on an ice mountain and wrapped his arm around Oganna’s neck. Tears rained from the young woman’s eyes and fell to Auron’s feet. And Specter saw that the traitor stood upon the bodies of slain women and children.
“No! It will not be!” Specter gurgled in the water, and strength flowed into his body. Bands of ice pushed him out of the water’s depths and to the surface. His feet stood on the water as if on land as he knelt and smote the liquid with his arm stub. His arm stub froze to the water. Ice caked his useless arm as if it were armor. Then the ice spread over his missing hand. He drew it out of the water, raised it before his eyes, and smiled as he flexed a fist made from ice, every line of his palm and every finger in its place. Miraculous!
The water seemed to smile back at him, and he laughed, then lowered his normal hand into the water. He half-closed his eyes, envisioning his weapon of choice. Beneath the water’s surface a new scythe formed itself in his hand, and he raised it out of the water, chuckling. With both his ice hand and his other, he gripped the weapon and spun it around his neck. It had no more weight than a hatchet and felt warm to his fingers. He moved each ice digit on his new hand and laughed again. Whatever miracle this was, he would not question it for each finger—though apparently constructed of ice—felt warm. Now I am ready to face you, my traitorous apprentice! But where do you hide?
He looked around the cavern. No tunnels or openings to other caverns revealed themselves, so he gazed into the lake. His legs sank, and then he dropped wholly under the surface. No vegetation or fish, nothing for as far as he could see. And the lake was the clearest blue he’d ever seen. This water appeared as pure as the day of creation. At the far side, a dark hole appeared in the lake bottom.
Fixing the scythe to his back, he swam for the aperture. His hand of ice worked as well as the hand he’d lost, pulling him in sync with his other arm. He descended to the dark hole in the ice, noting the warmth of the lake that had before seemed so frigid.
When he arrived at the aperture, he dove inside. He swam a hundred yards, his lungs near exploding, but the tunnel continued without end. He turned back and resurfaced in the cavern. He walked on the water, then knelt, placing his hand beneath the surface. This time he formed a hollow sphere of ice as broad as his chest with a finger-sized hole on one side. Bringing that out of the water, he drained it and stuck his finger in the hole, dove again, and swam back into the tunnel. After a minute or so he pressed his lips to the ice sphere, slid his finger out and pressed his mouth over the hole, and sucked in fresh oxygen while exhaling through his nose.
In this manner, he groped through the tunnel for a long distance until a soft light appeared above. He kicked toward it and rose in another cavern. He brushed his soaked hair out of his eyes. A broad ice beach lay ahead. Behind it yawned another enormous tunnel. Glowing stars, like spiders on a ceiling, dotted the cavern, throwing soft light into every corner. He swam to the beach, shattering the ice sphere on his thigh as he slogged out of the water. With sudden concern he stepped up to the cavern’s wall. It would be wise to first prove his newfound weapons. Firming his jaw and tensing his arm, he punched his ice fist into the wall. But his new hand did not break; instead, it cracked the cavern wall. He drew the scythe from his back and likewise smote it against the wall. It also held, but when he cast it through the air, it shattered against the wall, bursting into large splinters. He formed another scythe from the water and, keeping it in his hands, struck the wall a dozen times. The weapon held strong, not bending or cracking.
So, he had to maintain physical contact with it, otherwise it would break. He cradled it over his shoulder and strode into the enormous tunnel ahead. Almost immediately the floor sloped down, and he began to slide. He lay down and slid through a series of caverns, then the tunnel swerved, and around a bend it branched in three directions. He stabbed the scythe’s ice blade into the tunnel floor, and it held, jerking him to a halt as he grasped it with both fists.
Catching his breath, he rose to hands and knees, anchoring himself to the slippery surface by folding his leg around his ice weapon. From this vantage point he could gaze into each tunnel. The first stood substantially lower than the original tunnel. Fifteen feet, no more. The other two gaped a hundred or so feet wide and as many high. Shiny blue ribs adorned the tunnel walls, and the ice floors glowed with iridescent light, such that a rainbow seemed to adorn each of them.
He closed his eyes. Which one? Where would Auron have gone? But there was no way of telling. Apart from their size they were identical. Perhaps the larger tunnel led to the water skeels and the smaller one led elsewhere.
Then he heard it. A sound so faint that at first it drifted by him unnoticed until it reestablished itself. Something slapped the ice and warbled a birdlike high note from the smaller tunnel. Another warble answered and a third echoed. Something slapped the ice and padded closer. A long, thin shadow snaked up the tunnel wall as that something approached a bend in the tunnel.
He pulled the scythe from the floor and stuck his ice hand to the wall, pulling his hood up. The cloak shimmered and his body vanished.
The creature warbled, padded closer, and gurgled as if amused. Its arrow-shaped white head snaked into the tunnel, held high on its long neck. It padded on four fin feet toward his tunnel intersection. Its large nostrils, set above round green eyes, rattled another warble as it swiveled its long neck to glance over its bulbous body and short, fat tail. Other shadows snaked along the tunnel’s wall, and three others padded after the first creature. Each of them had to weigh more than a full-grown elephant.
The lead skeel hunkered close to the ice, warbled long and loud, then raised its head and padded to the intersection and sped up the tunnel from which Specter had come. The others followed, climbing the iced path with amazing agility and speed. One snapped at its companion with needle teeth six inches long, and together they warbled, sending their song ringing through the tunnels.
He let out a slow breath as the last one disappeared up the tunnel. He allowed his cloak to render him visible. He had found them. He’d found the water skeels. One thing occupied his mind as he entered the small tunnel one careful step at a time. Auron had picked interesting allies. Specter could handle a few of these creatures, but he wouldn’t want to try facing a group of them. Yet one thing nagged him: why did the great white dragon fear them? Planting his ice hand on the wall to keep from sliding, he rendered himself invisible.
It took at least an hour to navigate the gently winding tunnel. Rounding a bend, he stepped into another cavern, this one laced with rainbow-swathed ice. Each glowing swath contrasted with the pure white ice composing the walls. A frozen world of frolicking water skeels swept before him. Over a hundred of them lounged on the ice or slid headfirst into a number of deep-blue pools. Salt scented the air. The creatures warbled to one another, speeding their bulky bodies along the ice with agility and grace, cutting into the saltwater pools and disappearing into the deep underwater shadows.
The ice beneath his feet rose ahead of him as a highway that branched in several directions, twisting around the edges and through the midst of the cavern. He leaned out of the tunnel, holding the ice wall with his new hand, and gazed over the highway’s edge, which curved downward a hundred feet to yet more ice. Large carven holes punctured the highway’s base, and slicks of bluish ice formed roads through the holes, traversing the belly of the cavern.
A warm glow emanated from the far end of the cavern from beneath a shelf of ice, and he distinguished a deeper warble as it rose and fell … then rose again. The frolicking skeels skidded to a stop. One of them rose from a pool with a very large fish hanging from its teeth, but its green eyes pivoted in the direction of the ice shelf and froze there. The deep warble danced along the cavern walls, changing pitch to a piercing wail. He cringed and covered his ears with his free arm until it stopped.
The skeel with the fish threw its catch on the ice. The skeel stabbed its head into the water, flipping into the depths with a splash. Another creature snared the fish in its teeth and shuffled onto the blue ice. Using its flippers, it pushed itself in a fast slide that sped it toward the shelf of ice. It warbled high and quick, disappearing around a highway wall.
Specter walked along the ice highways, following them toward the distant shelf of ice. Something resided beyond, hidden beneath it, he felt certain.
As he passed the largest saltwater pool, he hesitated long enough to gaze at it. Was this somehow connected to an ocean? The Sea of Serpents lay to the west, or was it southward? He shook his head. With all the twisting and turning about of the ice tunnels, he had no way of guessing.
From the dark depths of the water, several water skeels rose with fish in their mouths. Yet they jerked their long necks around, gazed into the depths, and bolted for the water’s surface. They almost flew out of the pool, then slid along the ice at frantic speed as some enormous object rose in the pool. Specter knelt and strained to see through the watery shadows. It was a whale almost as large as the albino dragon, though not a live one. The creature’s body draped over something pushing it upward, and suddenly enormous green eyes blazed back at him.
With a gasp he leaned hard on his scythe.
The head of a water skeel pushed the whale out of the water, threw it on the ice, and the skeel’s neck followed. It warbled, and the now-little skeels slid into hiding. Dripping water from its smooth white face, the water skeel heaved itself into the cavern and spat water from the nasal holes above its face. Long tendrils hung from its chin, and the veins along its neck and fat body strained against its polished skin. Powerful muscles stretched along its back and up its neck, and each of its four flippers could have covered a house.
Though Specter remained a hundred feet above the cavern floor on the highway, this creature’s head rose above him. At last he knew why the dragon would not venture here. Those first members he’d seen of this species were little more than children. But was this one of the adults, or the very skeel about which he’d been warned?
As the water skeel’s flippers pulled it toward the ice shelf, it whipped its neck around, latching its teeth in the whale. It pulled the whale into the air and moved off. In its wake another skeel speared out of the pool; though smaller than the first, it was still larger than even the great white dragon. Soon another skeel followed, then another, and two more. The creatures warbled as they followed the larger one.
When the adults were a long way off, the youngsters slid out of hiding, warbling to one another as they formed a circle around the pool. More youngsters raced out of the tunnels behind him. The creatures joined their companions, and when the ring had been filled, another massive head rose from the pool. The youngsters’ warbles softened, then faded into silence as the adult swiveled its head to gaze upon them all. Its many tendrils swung in a thick beard from its jutting chin. It smiled with an arsenal of needle teeth that could halve an elephant.
It raised its fin out of the water, and a green mermaid thrashed thereon. Specter blinked. It could not be. Yes, he’d seen the wee mermaids of the Eiderveis River, but this was totally different. The mermaid raised her webbed hands as the skeel chomped its teeth. She gurgled, and a golden tear rolled down her cheek.
And Specter closed his eyes as the skeel opened its mouth. I don’t need to see this. He hurried down the highway, striking his scythe on the ice every few steps in frustration. He could do nothing for that poor creature. If only he could—
The highway snaked toward the far end of the cavern, descending beneath the ice shelf.
The shelf of ice seemed more like a vast natural roof as Specter stepped off the slick path onto the moist, sticky ice around it. At last he walked without fear of losing his footing and cracking his head on some hard surface. Beneath the ice shelf gaped an oval chamber with mist rising from its floor and startlingly warm air. The warmth saturated his body. Though he knew the air still remained around the freezing point, the change from the frigid temperature in the ice tunnels was a welcome relief.
He entered a strange world of green grass shoots so large he could have wrapped his arms around them, and so tall they might have passed for trees deprived of their branches. The shoots had grown through the misting ice. They did not populate the chamber as a forest; rather, they were few and far between, and a path curved through their midst over a rise in the ice.
Mighty warbling echoed from the depths of the chamber as he ascended the rise to look beyond, and glowing diamond crystals dripped from the ceiling, shattering around him into ribbons of light and color. Standing atop the rise, he beheld the heart of the chamber. The path sloped away from him into thicker rolling mist that swirled between arches of ice. A transparent column rose from the center of the chamber all the way to the ceiling, and water fell through it in a sparkling fall. The sound of the waterfall muted the warbles of the water skeels.
The large creatures moved from one ice arch to another and less imposing, shorter-necked skeels raised themselves to greet them with a fluting sound. At the far side of the chamber the largest skeel whipped its head into its companions, and they lowered their necks, spun around, and slid toward the exit. Specter hid behind a grass shoot. Somehow his cloak gave him little comfort in these beasts’ presence. But upon the creatures’ departure, he stood again atop the rise.
The largest skeel rose before another ice arch, and a peach-skinned skeel raised its head from the mist. Entwining their necks, the mates cooed. Then, withdrawing itself a short distance, the large one waited. Two other peach skeels slid from beneath their arches to the large one’s mate and dug into the mist with their fore flippers.
A tiny water skeel rose through the mist, cradled in their flippers. Its neck looked many times too long for its small body and its head too big. Yet the large skeel warbled with delight and slicked out its flat tongue to lick the tiny creature. Pulling up its head, it warbled in various tones as if instructing the peach ones as they lowered the little one back beneath the mist. The mate raised its head and entwined its neck with the large one’s. Then it pulled back into the mist out of sight.
The water skeel spun and appeared to glide over the ice as it made its way out of the chamber. Specter stepped behind a grass shoot as the creature loomed out of the belly of the chamber. It rested on the hump. Its flippers twitched, and its green eyes glowed for an instant, then it slid in the direction of the exit. He tried to run after it, but it outdistanced him with ease and disappeared around the corner.
11
THE DEWOBIN CAVERN
Fully two days after Ilfedo’s departure, the tunnel in which he walked finally leveled out. For a brief moment he leaned forward, holding his knees and flexing his legs to repel the stiffness. “Well, Seivar, have we arrived in the Megatrath realm?” He glanced at the large frightened bird on his shoulder. It hadn’t said a word in almost a day.
“Have courage, my companion. I think our destination is close now. Just look at the scratches on these walls. The tunnel is larger, too—large enough even for Vectra and her kind.” He scraped his blade along a slash in the arching tunnel’s stone. “This is a claw mark, and I dare say a Megatrath’s. We are getting close.”
As he walked, boulders jutted through the tunnel walls. Boulders of every size and shape loomed out of the shadows. His path widened between them, and the tunnel was higher and broader than before. The light of his sword seemed to push back the walls until they receded into utter darkness. When the walls were out of sight, Ilfedo stood still, feeling that he’d lost his way. He must have been standing in a large chamber, and the floor was flat in all directions.
Guessing which direction to go, he proceeded another hundred yards and turned in a tight circle, playing his glowing aura over the stone path until he saw it drop into utter darkness.
Seivar shivered.
“No, this is good.” Ilfedo turned and lighted the other side of the path. It, too, dropped into oblivion. “Oganna said that Vectra took her along dangerously steep underground paths, and it looks like we’ve found one. Now as long as this continues in a straight line, we’ll head straight into the heart of Resgeria.”
He strode into the enveloping darkness, and a cool fog rolled from the depths on either side of the path. The path widened and the fog billowed upward. But instead of enveloping him and obscuring his vision, it left the path ahead of him clear, and he proceeded, feeling all the while like some infinitesimal being entering a holy realm—or was it a sense of foreboding fiddling with his mind?
He walked until his leg muscles burned, and he sat cross-legged on the path. Seivar hopped off his shoulder and stood on the stone, his silvery eyes combing the walls of fog. Ilfedo swung the pack off his back and untied it. Digging out some bread, he tore off a large chunk for himself and handed another to the Nuvitor.
As he chewed it thoughtfully, he realized that the dragon ring no longer hurt. He held his hand up to the sword’s blade and by its light examined the white-gold dragon. The miniature beast purred as if in sleep and kept its eyes closed, resting its chin on its folded hands.
He was heading in the right direction.
He stood, then marched down the path with Seivar scurrying after him. He continued in this way for a long while until the fog bowed over the path some fifty feet ahead. Dead end.
But when he walked the remaining distance, he discovered that the fog merely bent to the left and the path curved downward. It wasn’t steep but gradual, and he found the going easy. Seivar bounced onto his shoulder, and he petted the bird’s soft chest.
The fog rolled away from the path and receded into the blackness. He pointed his glowing sword into the darkness and sidestepped several sharp stones projecting from the path. Soon the way leveled, and he stepped onto a broad shelf of silky smooth stone. Gazing upward, he could distinguish the path he’d followed. Great chisel marks glistened underneath its pillarlike stone supports, and the pillars dropped into the depths of the cavern around him.
Stepping to its edge, he peered downward and rested the point of his sword on the floor. But a ripple of blue formed as the sword’s edge struck the stone. The floor shimmered, and the ripple expanded until it flashed out of existence at the far sides of the stone shelf. As if called from nonexistence, the cavern around him lit up with billions of pink bulbs no larger than bees. Far, far below, the light spread through the ruins of a wooden city, apparently human. The white spires of churches and the brown, red, and green houses flanked dirt streets that formed perfect squares. The moist, cool air fell away, and warmth filled the cavern.
There seemed no way off his high vantage point. The stone shelf’s edges formed a sheer drop down a black cliff and to the city below.
Sheathing his sword and dropping his pack, Ilfedo unwound the rope inside and let it over the cliff’s edge. Unfortunately its length fell far shy of the city. He held it over the edge for a long moment, then sighed and reeled it back in. As he returned the rope to the pack, a bell rang, then echoed through the city below. The pink lights that glowed all over the cavern fell away from the stone and floated in the air, clustering in bright swarms.
He watched them, keeping his fingers on the smooth crystal that formed his sword’s pommel.
The swarms exploded, peppering the air with their individual lights. A few floated within a dozen yards of him, and Seivar cocked his silvery eyes and squawked in curiosity. For the individual lights seemed to have feathered wings, and upon examining them closer, Ilfedo could see that each pink glow was a tiny bird. There were billions of them, all floating around in silence and providing the cavern’s only illumination.
Ilfedo didn’t know how long the creatures mesmerized him. Their little wings flapped lazily, and the tips of their pink feathers glowed poker-white. In this world of darkness, their light held his attention with unsettling power.
Spreading his wings, Seivar took flight. He glided among the miniature creatures, cooing to each of them as he passed. The pink balls gathered behind the Nuvitor, swarming behind him, shooting above and spiraling beneath him. As the creatures enveloped the Nuvitor, their light reflected off its white body and silvery eyes and talons. They formed a cloud above the city that flashed first pink and then white and silver as Seivar flitted in and out of formation.
Ilfedo called to his bird, and the faithful creature shot back to him, perching on his arm.
“They are friendly, Master!”
“So I see. And you are confident of this?”
The Nuvitor’s silvery eyes glinted pink as a miniature bird glided past. “They call themselves Dewobins. This cavern is their one and only home, and they warned me that there are creatures in the tunnels not far from here … Master, from their descriptions, I believe they were telling me of the Megatraths. But they talk of cruel black brutes that kill without moral consideration.”
“They cannot mean the Megatraths.” Ilfedo frowned and glanced at the city far below. It looked serene and somehow drew him as if toward home. “The Megatraths are not black. Could the Dewobins have been mistaken? They give off a strangely colored light, and that alone could change their perspective on the color of a Megatrath’s hide.”
“I think not, Master. They said a battle was fought here, not long ago, between the humans and the black brutes. Also, the city’s inhabitants live in fear, avoiding a dark corner of their city. The Dewobins are afraid of something down there. They call it a plague, Master. They said there is a creature in the city, also. Something the humans dread.”
Ilfedo gazed upon the city again. Houses and other structures rose out of a land devoid of trees. As far as he could see, the terrain was harsh and barren. He shuddered to think people lived down there.
Far below him, yellow light flickered out of a house, as if a door had been opened. He thought he discerned a scream, like that of a child. The scream cut off, and a wail pierced his ears.
“Seivar, someone down there needs help. I am going down there!”
“But how, Master? To climb down is too dangerous, and though I flew across the face of this cliff”—the bird raised its head—“there is no way down there.”
Ilfedo leaned over the cliff’s face, considering the wet surface and impossibly steep descent. Standing, he threw Seivar into the air and pulled the pack onto his back again. He drew the sword of the dragon from its sheath and hung himself over the cliff’s face by one hand. Gritting his teeth, he sank the burning blade into the cliff, up to its hilt, and grabbed the handle with both hands.
Spitting sparks, the sword burned through the stone. He held on to it with all his strength, hoping seemingly against hope that his foolhardy plan would succeed. Like a hook buried in cheese, the sword cut through the cliff’s face, trailing sparks and a glowing line of molten rock. With a screeching sound, the sword plunged him toward the outskirts of the city below.
Dewobins hummed by, spraying pink light on his arms and the cliff. But the sword of the dragon spouted flames from its pommel, and the birds scattered, though the Nuvitor dove through them and circled Ilfedo’s head.
With his eyes half-closed, Ilfedo felt every jarring of his body as the sword caught in denser stone. But though a few times his hands slipped, he never broke his grip, and he descended rapidly.
Ilfedo thudded to the floor of the cavern and turned. He pulled at the sword stuck in the rock face. It screeched as he drew its glorious blade out. With a smile, he sheathed the weapon and about-faced. Tongues of Living Fire licked his body as the armor of light vanished.
He gazed down a long street, flanked on both sides by rotting wood buildings. Most were homes with short picket fences fronting them. There was, however, a lone church to his left. Darkness filled every window for half a mile, yet beyond that the houses in the heart of the city were filled with candle or lantern light.
He caught his breath for a few moments, then stepped toward the rotting church at the city’s edge. The building’s roof had partly collapsed under one side of the steeple that now leaned precariously over the street. The heavy double doors had been chained shut, and the little cemetery next to it was covered in layers of dust and cobwebs.
Across the street stood a row of five identical homes. Most of the windows had been shuttered, and across every door a beam had been nailed. Cobwebs laced the shutters and windows, and rust covered the wrought-iron fences that surrounded the homes’ dirt yards.
Ilfedo pushed a creaking gate open, followed the stone path, and climbed the stairs. The Nuvitor squawked as it landed on the iron fence.
Standing on the porch that fronted the building, Ilfedo drew his sword, holding its blade in front of his face. A half circle of small panes adorned the upper section of door, and white trim outlined the otherwise dark wood.
The house creaked, and something howled in the house next door. Ilfedo jumped and growled at himself. It’s only the wind, you fool! He knew, however, that not the slightest breeze disturbed this underground world.
Ilfedo faced the house. He knocked and waited.
A soft cry sounded from within, and he grasped the door handle. The lock clicked, as if someone had released it. The strange thing was, he didn’t hear any footsteps and certainly no breathing.
Grasping the knob, he pushed the door open and stepped forward into a pitch-black home. He was standing in the foyer with an oak staircase rising to the second floor on his right and a narrow hallway to his left. His sword should have lighted the room with no problem, yet it didn’t. Several paintings of middle-aged men and women hung on the wall, one large one in the stairwell and two smaller ones along the hall wall. The air smelled thick, and everywhere he looked he seemed to gaze through a smoky haze. A small table stood against the wall with the contents of its open drawer spilled over the floor.
A child cried from the dark rooms ahead.
He swallowed hard and slowly advanced into the hall. The door creaked behind him and clicked shut. He swung around, a cold chill spreading from his back to his fingers as the darkness of the house closed around his sword. The Living Fire burned on, yet its light was absorbed by the darkness so that all he could discern was the blade. Glancing down, he found the light of his armor diminishing.
He stepped forward, but the woman’s face in the last picture on the wall faintly glowed. Sweat broke out on his forehead. His feet rooted to the floor. The face blinked its glowing white eyes and opened its mouth, revealing a row of sharp teeth. He swung his sword at the portrait, and it clattered to the floor in two pieces. The face opened her mouth in silent laughter.
He could see nothing around him save for the split portrait glowing at his feet until the figure of a thin man rose out of the hallway’s end. Up it rose, glowering down at him. A cold, slimy goo brushed his hand and slipped off as Ilfedo slashed his sword through the air around his body.
His hand stung where he’d been touched. His fingers spasmed. He very nearly dropped his sword. He split the face with his sword, but the halves merged again. The being’s white eyes riveted on his face, then glanced at his hands.
The dragon ring pulsed red, and the tiny creature growled, standing on his finger and spitting fire at the face. The amethyst eyes radiated their purple light, and the white-eyed face opened its mouth, sucking in ribbons of energy from the dragon ring.
Ilfedo’s mind went back to the night he had fought the specter of Death in front of his home. The feeling he’d had then—that feeling of being utterly powerless—was exactly what he felt now.
The door behind him slammed open at that moment. Pink light dimly lit the hall, and the face in the portrait on the floor faded until it was no longer visible, as did the being in front of him.
Strong arms grabbed him around the waist and dragged him back down the hall and out the door. Ilfedo’s vision was foggy, as it had been in the house. He discerned the form of a short man in a pink robe running back up the porch steps and leaning into the doorway, pulling the door shut. Hefting the board back across the door and holding it in place, the man viciously hammered it back in place with his booted foot.
“Fool!” he yelled. His beard brushed the ground as he bounded down the steps and kicked Ilfedo’s side.
Ilfedo shot to his feet, kicking the other’s out from under him. Then he loomed over the fellow, his vision clearing, and held the tip of his now-blazing blade within inches of the man’s chest.
“Wh-wait a minute here.” The fellow rolled to the side and stood to his feet. His grizzled face looked the part of fury personified. “I just saved your life, stranger! I saved your life! And now you want to gut me? What in heaven and hell is wrong with you?” He punched Ilfedo in the stomach. “Fool! God be my witness that I went in there to save you at my own peril.”
Ilfedo rubbed his sore stomach and sheathed his sword with a flash of fire that caused the little man to retreat a couple of steps.
Pulling his curious pink robe around his shoulders, the little man frowned and held out his hands. “Take this slow, sir. I wasn’t trying to rile you.”
“Then you shall treat me with more respect, sir, for all you have done in our short meeting is rile me.”
“Fair enough.” The man shook his head and, turning about, walked into the street.
Ilfedo followed, and the Nuvitor leaped onto his shoulder. “Wait!” he commanded.
The man kept walking. “I would gladly wait if I thought you could be trusted. But you, stranger, have done little to convince me you are not a sword-wielding maniac. Now, if you want to talk with me, walk with me.”
“Walk? How can you walk? There’s a child stuck in that miserable house!”
“A child!” The man spun around and returned to the gate, gazing at the dilapidated building. “Is that—is that why you went in?”
“Not at first. I knocked, and the door unlocked, apparently, by itself. I can’t explain it without sounding crazy, but inside I heard a child—”
A tear welled in the old man’s eye, and he gazed at the ground. “That is how it always used to be. But it hasn’t happened this way in a very long while.” A Dewobin fluttered onto the man’s hand, and he glanced at it, yet his gazed returned to the house. “So many homes gone, even the church.” He jerked his thumb at the bent-over steeple. “When I was a youth, I laughed at old wives’ fables of our city’s curse. Now I weep. For the dark truth of it now stalks us constantly.”
As he stood talking to the man, Ilfedo heard a child’s cry, as if in his mind. It was soft and pleading, as if hoping he had not given up on it.
Then the old man looked up at him and said, “You were a fool to enter one of these buildings. Even though that sword you carry startled me, it wouldn’t startle them. It was a neat trick, fire rushing up your blade. But they fear nothing and want nothing. This is all a game to them, a game of death.” He shook his head. “So what are you? Foolish or ignorant? I can see by your attire that you are from the wealthier end of town.”
Ilfedo raised his eyebrows. “No, I am from the surface world. Why, do the wealthy inhabitants of your city have armor such as this?” He drew the sword of the dragon from its sheath.
As fire bathed Ilfedo’s body and armor clapped onto his chest and arms, the man stumbled back, eyeing Ilfedo up and down as if for the first time. His eyes startled wide open and his countenance brightened. The Dewobin fluttered off his hand and ascended to its fellows high above the city. “I-I … you are … from the surface, you say?”
The man whooped. Running and tripping on his robe, he raced down the street. Ilfedo started to follow, then turned back to the house as a child’s cry faintly reached his ear. Cursing the man for running off, Ilfedo summoned Seivar to his shoulder. His heart burned for the innocent child. He would do all and anything necessary to rescue that child out of its nightmarish prison.
Far down the street, past a myriad of other dark but less broken homes and businesses, the long-bearded fellow ran. He was at least half a mile away when he turned up the steps of a white church. The building, unlike the others, was beautiful and unmarred. Ilfedo gazed upon it, reminded of the magnificent homes and buildings in Gwensin. Then he shed the image from his mind and faced the house. If no one else was around to face this task, he would.
Dropping to his knees, he prayed to his Creator for guidance. His body trembled. The horrifying faces of the house’s ghostly occupants had drained his soul of light and hope. How could God allow such horrors to exist? Why not purify the world of all such things and leave only the good and pure?
Because you want me to recognize my need of a Master. You want me to trust in your power, not my own. You want me to learn to reject the evil and love the good, fighting to my last breath to preserve it in order to grow my soul. He rose and barreled up the porch steps, smashing the door down with a single blow from his blazing sword.
As if sensing what he was about to do, a haze of smoke spilled out of the house and over his feet. Cold seized his leg muscles, and he stumbled back down the steps. Facing the house and stroking Seivar’s chest, he bit his upper lip. “Can you get inside, my friend? I need a distraction.”
The bird cawed, stretched its wings, and flew into the house.
Ilfedo ran after it, rolling into the hallway. The door righted itself behind him and hovered back to its hinges, slamming closed. Once again darkness crowded him. A face of mist formed and opened its evil mouth, taking on a slight glow. The light of his sword dimmed, and he up-slashed with his sword, closing his eyes and remembering how he had forced the Grim Reaper into physical form.
Opening his eyes, he concentrated the power of the sword into his free hand. He grabbed the ghost’s throat and smiled as his finger closed around it. The ghost’s eyes bulged as he stabbed its heart. The being sank to the floor, and he looked down at it. It was a man again. He could only imagine what had transformed a human being into something so cursed. He smashed the door down with his sword. As the door crashed onto the porch, he stepped over the man’s body.
“Release the child,” he called into the darkness. “You cannot fight me, so do not try.”
He waited to no avail. The house remained as silent, as dark, as it had always been. “Hello! I am here to help you, child. Make some noise if you can so that I can find you.” He stepped onto the broken portrait and glanced around. Nothing. Not even a child’s scream.
Then the pictures, all of them, appeared in the dark. Smoke rose through the floorboards. Smoke that stung his eyes. Real smoke!
He dropped to his knees and yelled as he raised the sword above his head and struck it against the floor. Wood chips flew as he repeated his action again and again. “What good are you to me, sword, if you cannot now blaze? Show me the power given you by the prophets.” Suddenly the sword seized him; he felt it. His whole body billowed with strength, and at the same time, the forms of a man and a woman slipped out of the portraits and stood before him. Their mouths opened in silent words he could not discern, and the hall walls turned to ice.
Whispers and murmurs, evil and low, sounded from the house’s unseen chambers. Demonic and vindictive whispers filled his ears. They slashed at him with their hands, and he focused the sword’s power again, grasping first the woman’s wrist. It turned into vapor, but he concentrated harder, the Living Fire lashing around her wrist and holding it together.
Her whole body materialized and her eyes widened. He shook his head as she sank to her knees. Pointing back down the hallway, he said, “Leave now and seek repentance from whatever brought you to this state. I will offer this escape only once.”
She stumbled to her feet, pulling her ragged skirts around her, and ran out of the house. He could hear her weeping.
Grabbing the next ghost, Ilfedo forced him into physical form as well. The man grabbed Ilfedo’s throat with both hands and kneed him in the stomach. Yet the sword of the dragon blazed, and so did his armor. Rising out of his hands, the weapon thrust the man through. As the man fell, Ilfedo grabbed his sword and walked to the hallway’s end.
Ilfedo found a door, opened it, and pointed his sword down the stairwell. Lying at the stair’s base, a little girl slept. An old man held his hand against her cheek. He pulled his hand back and straightened, pushing oily strands of long gray hair from his eyes. He smiled up at Ilfedo as four ghostly human figures swirled out of the mist covering the basement floor.
“Welcome, stranger. Welcome indeed!” The old man placed one bare foot on the lowest step and gazed down upon the child. “Beautiful, isn’t she? The perfect picture of innocence.” He held up his hand and pointed at Ilfedo. “Ah, but wait! We both know that you have not come for my pleasant conversation. And we both are aware that you are unlike any human being in this city.”
Ilfedo tensed, readying his body for a sprint down the stairs. He would snatch the child and get out of this place.
“In fact, you are not even from this place … Are you, Lord Ilfedo?”
Ilfedo stopped short, and three more ghosts emerged from the stairwell, rising through the steps to stand between him and the old man.
“How do you know me?” Ilfedo asked.
The man turned as if he were a top, arms spreading as he smiled at the ghosts. They bowed at him, then faced Ilfedo again. “God has his way of communicating through prophets. I merely imitate that, in my own way. I know that you faced the Grim Reaper, Razes, and even the king of sea serpents. But though you are a skilled warrior, you have faced nothing like me! I have anticipated your arrival because it was long-ago prophesied, and today I will test you in a way you have not been tested before.”
Spitting on the stair, Ilfedo grasped his sword with both hands. “Stand aside. Allow me to fetch the child. If she is unharmed, I will let you live.”
The man raised his bushy eyebrows. “Here, in my house, you will be given no choices except to proceed with the test or to leave. If you leave, your destiny is your own. But if you wish to save this child from these spirits, then you will do so according to my rules.”
Ilfedo took a step down the stair. “I am taking the child, and then I will go.”
The old man stood there. He did not appear to do anything, but the stairway extended, doubling the distance to the child. Ilfedo stopped and narrowed his eyes. He could blast the stairs with living fireLiving Fire, dropping himself into the basement. By doing so, however, he would leave no way to climb out of the basement. “What are your rules, old man?”
Clapping his hands, the old man kicked the stair step. “Excellent! The rules are these: You will descend one step at a time, you will only take a step when I say so, and you will wait ten seconds before picking up the child. Swear this to me by your honor.”
“I swear,” Ilfedo said.
“Very well.” The man waved his hand, and the stair shrunk to its original length. “Lord Ilfedo, you may descend the first step.”
As Ilfedo stepped down and stood on the step, the air warmed and he began to sweat. When he was instructed to descend to the next step, he found it hotter. The temperature increased with each step, as did the length of time he was required to linger. Sweat poured off his body, and he growled as he stepped to the halfway point.
“You are doing well, Lord Ilfedo.” The old man stepped back. “Now, take another step.”
Stepping down again, Ilfedo cried out, for the heat increased. He felt as if he’d been placed on a heated pan and thrown in a furnace. Hold on, he told himself. Endure! The child matters more than my own comfort. Then he saw … saw the child’s body soaked in sweat.
With every step he took, he not only raised his temperature, he raised hers. If he proceeded to the stair’s base and waited the required ten seconds, she might not survive. “Why you—” He clenched his fist. “You said I could fetch her.”
“Ah, so now you see!” The old man pointed at the child and stepped back. “It is getting rather hot in here.”
The ghosts drifted across the steps, silent laughter written on their faces.
“Now you are tempted, aren’t you, Lord Warrior?” The old man stepped back again, farther into the dark recesses of the basement. “I had hoped you would not realize until too late, but now it seems you have bound yourself by an oath and cannot fulfill your mission. If you break your vow, this stair will extend and extend and extend until she is far, far beyond your reach.”
The sword cooled in Ilfedo’s hands, and for an instant he felt relief. “I will not break my word,” he said. “Continue, old man!”
“Step down, please.”
Ilfedo did so. This time, as the heat increased, he closed his eyes and focused on the sword. He willed it to absorb the heat. The sword seared his hands, then it cooled again and the temperature dropped. He smiled as he took another step and repeated the process. The stairwell refused to overheat as he pointed the blade toward the little girl, pulling the hot air away from her.
The old man darted to the little girl’s side and touched her forehead. He jerked his face to look up at Ilfedo. “You are very clever with that weapon of yours. But as long as I am here, I will stop you.”
“Then, for the sake of the child, I will make certain you keep your distance from us both.” Ilfedo smiled as Living Fire snaked through the air and splashed onto the dirt floor, driving back the old man.
The flames from the sword spread over the floor, away from the child but toward the old man, until his back was pressed against the wall. “Remember our agreement!” the man screamed.
“I have not broken my oath.” Ilfedo stared at the man. “I am still waiting for you to let me proceed.” He willed more fire to shoot from the sword, flattening the old man to the basement’s stone wall.
Glancing around at the flames that pressed upon him as he cried out in pain—for the flames touched his ankles—the old man told Ilfedo to descend the remaining steps. “Take her and go!”
Ilfedo gently scooped the child into his arms. She had blond hair befitting an angel, and her hands were as soft as silk. Tear streaks had emblazoned her cheeks and chin. “There is no longer a need to cry,” he whispered as he carried her up the stairs and into the hallway. Behind him the old man screamed.
“Fool, Lord Warrior, I will have you slain!”
Ilfedo stroked the child’s forehead. She was someone’s baby, someone’s Oganna. Several wispy humanoid forms rose into the hallway, blocking his escape. One of them scratched his arm. Another cut his leg.
Stabbing his sword into the nearest ghost’s chest, he concentrated on materializing the being. When it did, his sword slew it, and he attacked the next one.
The door had repaired itself—again—so he kicked open the door beside the stairwell and entered the adjacent room. Three human forms rose from the floor, almost as if they’d been painted there or were shadows peeling off. He didn’t hesitate but spotted—only barely in the dimness—the shuttered front window. He kicked it open with a grunt, shattering the glass, and blasted the room behind him with fire from his sword.
A ghost slashed the back of his neck, and he cried out. Ignoring the pain for a moment, he jumped through the window and rolled off the porch onto the dusty yard. Setting the little girl down, he returned to the house door.
He could hear the crunching of feet on the dirt road into the city. People whispered, and he sensed eyes watching his every move.
The sword blazing his hands, Ilfedo sprayed fire over the house, but it refused to catch. The door broke in half under his powerful assault, and he spewed fire from the sword into the dark hallway. A rug on the stairwell caught fire, flames crackled along the wood, and soon the building burned. He stepped back, suddenly exhausted.
Outside the house, he stumbled and lay down. He sensed a gathering of people nearby, and yet he did not rise. He was far off track, he knew, from the mission the dragon had bequeathed him. But, looking at the child he’d saved, he did not care.
Seivar landed on the ground next to him. “Master, are you all right?”
“I am now, my friend.”
The little girl groaned beside him. She rolled onto her side, then stood. She gazed down at him, glanced at the burning house, and screamed, “Mommy!”
From the buildings of that wooden city flowed a multitude. They ran out of their houses, shouting to one another in an effort to determine how and why they had been awakened from sleep. The people flooded down the streets by the hundreds, merging on the road leading to the cursed buildings of the old town.
A little man ran ahead of the multitude, holding up his pink robes. His gray beard swept the street, and he urged those behind him to hurry.
The city had come alive. The glowing Dewobins formed immense swarms that crisscrossed one another, traveling to the far reaches of the great cavern. Church bells rang, and early morning worshippers exited the buildings, joining the flood of souls headed for the dark and evil corners of their beautiful city.
The little man ran all the way back to the house from which he had pulled Ilfedo. Beside him came the city mayor and the captain of the city guard with a contingent of twenty soldiers. The captain of the guard slowed as they passed the city center with its multistory buildings and decorative marble pillars. Thirty more soldiers clanked their short swords to their breastplates and swept into formation behind him. At a brisk jog they proceeded, keeping the masses behind them.
“Everett,” the mayor demanded of the short bearded man, “what is happening? Why have you roused the entire city?”
The little man laughed. “Praise be to God! Today he has sent us the Promised Leader of our exodus … a Lord Warrior.”
“What? Impossible! What sort of claim is this?” The mayor slowed his pace and turned. “I am going to stop this foolishness and tell the people to go home.”
The captain of the guard, Bromstead, a large man with broad shoulders, seized the mayor by the collar and dragged him along. The mayor kicked and protested, but to no avail. Bromstead was over seven feet tall, and a spark seemed to grow in his eyes. “If come a Lord Warrior has, then praise be, but if lied you have, Everett, you will pay the price for this at the stocks. Onward men, and keep the rabble behind you.” He glanced around at the faces in the crowd that followed. “And if it is true, then we will need to confirm it with Elhandra.”
Everett smiled. Elhandra will see what I have seen, he thought. As will all the people. He lent speed to his legs, outran everyone to the house. He stood on the street, crossing his arms over his chest and gazing at the silent abode of those evil creatures. Where had the stranger gone?
Bromstead released the mayor and held up his hand to the soldiers now forming a line between the house and the multitude. “Let no one past this fence! We cannot protect them beyond that. That crazed old wizard still lives here.” He glanced down at Everett. “Now, where is this Lord Warrior you speak of?”
“Inside the house.”
Bromstead punched the little man on the shoulder. “Inside?” he yelled. “If indeed inside he has gone, then he is lost to us! You let him go inside when you had him within your reach? Why not bring him to the edge of Kraylan abyss and push him in? Would that not be a kinder death?”
“Peace, soldier. You are playing the part of a fool! If this man is the Lord Warrior foretold by the prophets, then he will return.”
“Me, a fool?” Bromstead clamped his fingers around Everett’s beard and lifted him until only his toes touched the ground. “I have spoken to you of this before, and I shall not repeat myself. Mind your place, preacher.”
At that moment the front window of the haunted house shattered, and the shutters flew open. A man shot through the window and crashed on the porch, cradling a little girl in his arms.
The hundreds of people that stood in the street surged against the soldiers. The soldiers broke rank, thronging with the people toward the fence and staring. The stranger walked up to the house again, his body on fire, and smashed in the door. He went in and emerged moments later, the cursed house burning behind him.
The crowd let out a startled cry, and Bromstead opened the iron gate. In place of the fire that had burned, a white armor covered the stranger’s body so that he glowed as an underground sun. Everyone glanced away for the brilliance of it, then looked again.
A white bird flew out of the house. The bird soared into the air, screeching to the Dewobins so high above. The stranger slumped to the ground, and the bird landed beside him.
Smoke billowed from the house’s doorway. Flames licked at its walls and roared up its roof.
The old wizard, who had not shown his face outside of his abode, stumbled out of the house doorway, coughing all the while.
Bromstead cheered and his soldiers did likewise. Their swords in hand, they surrounded the stranger, the girl, and the wizard. The old man pulled a short staff from inside his shirt and pointed it at a soldier, but Bromstead stabbed him through the heart. The old man fell and the people cheered.
Ilfedo stepped away from the sudden onslaught of armed men. The world spun around him and he leaned on his sword.
Standing forth, he surveyed the cheering crowd. Hundreds, maybe thousands—he could not tell. People had filled the streets and were talking one to another. Old men and women smiled at him, children danced, and several young women swooned while others gazed at him with their beautiful soft eyes.
People. Here. Underground. He would not have believed such a thing possible. Yet here they were. A society of humans hidden away beneath the Resgerian desert. His knees wobbled and again he felt dizzy.
The little old man who had pulled him from the house on that first occasion stepped from the crowd and raised his arms. The crowd grew silent, and the warriors marched into the street as the house began crumbling, flames creeping up every inch of its wood exterior and smoke pouring from its windows.
Walking up to Ilfedo, the bearded fellow bowed. “Welcome, Lord Warrior, to the city of Dresdyn.”
12
WORD OF THE PROPHETESS
The people of the wooden city of Dresdyn stared at Ilfedo with the same wonderment that the Hemmed Land had shown after he’d slain the first sea serpents.
He sheathed his sword and trudged into the street. A hush fell over the crowd, and they parted like wheat, leaving a generous space around him.
“Welcome, Lord Warrior,” the long-bearded fellow said again.
“Welcome, yes, welcome indeed.” Another fellow shouldered his way through the people. He wore a pink sash around his neck and a white turban with a bronze coin attached to its front. By the manner in which he carried himself, with back unnecessarily straight and thin arms folded across his chest, Ilfedo deemed him to be a person of some importance. The man eyed Ilfedo up and down and shook his head. “Everett, you told the truth. What a strange and wondrous soldier has dropped in our midst—”
From behind Ilfedo walked a giant of a man. He wiped the blood off his sword onto his pink pant leg, circled Ilfedo slowly, and stood in front of him. “Your face is unfamiliar to me,” he said.
The people and the city blurred and started to turn, as if on a great wheel. Ilfedo caught a deep breath, then sank to his knees in the street. High above the city, a bird screeched. He glanced up as a swarm of Dewobins veered around the Nuvitor as it dove. The people let out started exclamations as the bird landed on his shoulder and crooned in his ear.
The silence that followed was extremely uncomfortable. Ilfedo’s body yearned for rest, as did his mind. Yet only stares greeted his unvoiced plea, until a woman emerged from the throng, carrying a glass pitcher. She wore a blue dress, almost purple, and he couldn’t help but notice her beautiful countenance. She gazed upon him with stern, sober gray eyes, knelt in front of him, and pressed the pitcher to his lips.
He took it and drank until, refreshed, he stood and thanked her.
Without a word she smiled, but only briefly. “The dark world is not for the Creator’s children, yet there they walk,” she said. “In time old, in time now forgotten, his children walked in light. But no more. Let the dead rise and slay them. May the desert winds drown them in sand and lay their land in ruin. Call from the ashes the souls of the damned, those cursed by their Creator until forever. When darkness has fully fallen and the spirits of the children are weak, then let their Lord Warrior speak. Let him bind and shackle, hew and spear. His arm is against them, his arm is for them. The Lord Warrior comes to doom them … the Lord Warrior comes to save them.”
The crowd murmured as the woman combed her red hair away from her eyes, picked up her pitcher, and bowed to Ilfedo as she backed out of sight into the crowd. He thought he heard her mutter as she departed. It sounded like “Has he come to free me too?”
The tall man gazed after her, then turned to Ilfedo, as did every other face. “What was that supposed to mean, Everett?”
The bearded fellow shook his head and threw up his hands. “I have no idea. Though it sounded like another riddle, as are all things that woman ever utters. Yet we know the prophecy, at least in part. For now our visitor needs tending to. Leave the details for later, Bromstead.”
“Please, Warrior, it would honor us if you would accompany me into our city.” The tall man shook Ilfedo’s hand with the strength of an ox. “I am Bromstead, captain of the city guard. Please, will you come with us?”
Everett and Bromstead navigated Ilfedo through the milling crowds into the heart of the city, which seemed to be built on a rise in the cavern floor. The Nuvitor kept vigil, as it were, sweeping the crowds with its silvery gaze. Ilfedo couldn’t help but wonder at the number of dilapidated buildings mixed in with those that seemed well tended and lived in. Here stood a spacious hall with high walls, but its roof had caved in, and elsewhere a home that looked new; only, the picket fence that fronted its small yard had half-rotted away.
In the city’s midst, down a broad side road, a stone-fronted church rose into view, with a belfry at its peak. Two dozen warriors kept the crowd from entering the building while they took him into the church and there tended to his wounds. There was a room for monks built off of the worship hall, having inside twenty cots and oil lanterns for light. Several pink-clad monks stood by, gladly fetching clean bandages and other supplies that Everett requested as he tended a long gash on Ilfedo’s leg.
After they had finished, the men rose and bade Ilfedo rest for a while. “For we have many questions for you, and I’m sure you have some for us as well,” Everett said.
Bromstead clapped his hands. “You’ve earned this much from us for ridding us of those creatures.”
Bromstead lumbered out of the room, Everett shuffling after him.
Lying on his side on a thin cot mattress with Seivar nestled against his chest, Ilfedo sighed. What a day. With the sound of monks’ prayers in the church around him, he fell deep asleep—on a bed of pink. Despite his weariness, he imagined Ombre walking in and discovering him in this strange place.
“Um, Ilfedo, my dear brother, whatever brought you to this condition, we can reverse the process,” the imaginary Ombre said. “Pink—what is pink? Pink.” He raised one finger and gazed at Ilfedo as soberly as possible. “Pink is … evil. Yes, yes, that’s right. Don’t fall into the pit of evil, Ilfedo. God doesn’t like pink.”
Ilfedo released the apparition to oblivion, chuckled, and smiled. Now for some sleep.
The city of Dresdyn lay in deceitful peace as Ilfedo slept, and half a mile from the church, a bong sounded. A great factory building, painted pink, opened one of its thirteen heavy stone doors, and children rushed outside. Some smiled, but most just exhaled with relief and stretched their tired necks. The boys marched down the streets, and the girls, brushing strands of pink thread from their hair and dresses, followed. The army of youths formed columns down the streets, fanning into most every section of the city, and dispersed into their various homes. Soon the crowd thinned and silence washed over the emptied streets.
Back at the factory an enormous wooden screw twisted out of the building’s end, as women shuffled outside and stared at each other over the top of the mechanism. “One, two, three, four.” Wearily they pulled on the screw’s ridges, and it turned again, spearing farther out of the building. As the screw turned, the roof split open with a metallic crack, and Dewobins rose like a gentle cloud of pink mist. The women pushed the screw against the building. The Dewobins spread to the distant walls of the cavern, joining with the other innumerable, glowing specks of pink that were their brethren.
As the factory’s roof closed, the women lifted their skirts and walked in the directions their children had taken. Their homes welcomed them with the yellow glows of lantern light, and their children threw open the doors, pulling them inside. A day had ended in the life of the working class of Dresdyn, and though they had no way of knowing it (for they had been in the factory all day), only the stranger in their city could bring an end to this hard cycle.
The Dewobins’ steady soft light flickered. The tiny birds flashed on and off, fireflies that had gone to their secret nests, out of reach from all but their own kind. The pink glow, upon which the city’s days depended, dimmed, swathing the cavern’s heights and breadths in unadulterated blackness. Only the flickering yellow light from lanterns hung in house windows warded back the night as a thin mist flowed down the streets.
The long room in which Ilfedo awoke to find himself was modest. He rolled aside the pink sheet and stretched his legs over the edge of the cot. But he pricked his foot on a sliver in the rough floor and had to pause and pull the sliver out. As he tied both boots on his feet, a wail sounded from the corridor. The sound echoed among the rough-hewn beams along the walls and the gently arched ceiling. He strode out of the room, between the rows of empty bunks with their neatly folded pink silken sheets. The Nuvitor glided from an overhead beam and perched on his shoulder.
The room opened into the sanctuary, a broad room with white walls and brown twisted pillars. The pillars supported a low ceiling with crisscrossing beams. Most of the wood resembled oak, with some pine as well. The wood grains were close together and filled with small knots. An array of thick brass pipes filled the rear wall of the sanctuary, and the organ to which they belonged sat in a half circle of smaller pipes at their base. A large lantern hung from the ceiling, its flickering light bouncing off the polished organ pipes.
The soft prayers of pink-robed monks filled the church. Unwilling to disturb their devotion, he stood at the back of the room. Two monks stood beside the organ, and another sat on the bench. His hands struck the keys and pulled on various knobs, while his feet slid across the pedals. The organ belted forth a deep, majestic song, and close to fifty monks stood from the benches, songbooks in hand, and sang.
Ilfedo followed the wall to the pillars at the front. He walked to the thick doors, grasped the cold iron latch, and pulled it open. The door made not a sound, and he closed it gently behind him. But as he turned and set his foot on a lower step, the little man, beard still sweeping the ground, smiled up at him. “Good morning, sir.”
“You are Everett?”
“Everett Matthaliah at your service, stranger.” The little man pointed at the church. “I am the shepherd here at the Church of the Seekers.”
Ilfedo gave a start. “Your family name is Matthaliah? Strange. So is mine.”
“That is strange,” Everett replied, stepping onto the same step as Ilfedo. He eyed their feet and slowly raised his gaze up to Ilfedo’s. “I don’t believe in coincidence, yet, looking at you and me, there is no family resemblance.”
“Well, I am not sure whether or not I believe in coincidence, but I have never met another Matthaliah. My parents died when I was but a youth. My father was an only child, and his father was also an only child.” Ilfedo circled the little man, and then faced him again and laughed. “At the very least we are distant cousins.”
“Perhaps—but for now, with your permission, let us put this matter aside. I think you need to see some things.” Everett stepped back into the street, and Ilfedo followed him. “You must be hungry, Ilfedo. Did you sleep well?”
“Very. In fact, other than a few aches and sores, I feel strong.”
The little man stroked his long beard and threw its draping length over his shoulder. “Remarkable,” he said. “You are either very resilient or enjoy the Creator’s favor.”
“I would like to say a little of both.” Ilfedo nodded. “But truly, yesterday’s experience was a nightmare.”
Everett led him down the dusty streets between rows of houses, some falling apart, some well tended. The contrast was everywhere, a reminder that something dark seemed to rule this underground world.
The city awoke as they walked. A sprinkling of Dewobins in the cavern’s high reaches, which provided only moderate light, were soon joined by a multitude more. The pink birds soon glowed in such numbers that the city filled with their warm light. Women and children emerged from many of the houses, their faces sober. They formed a line that grew into a mass of bodies marching with lunch pails in their hands. They marched to a pink structure that loomed behind the rows of houses. A bong sounded, and Dewobins veered from the main flock high above, spinning to the building and out of sight as if entering through its roof.
“What is that place?” Ilfedo said to Everett as a gap between buildings again revealed the long pink structure.
Everett paused to follow Ilfedo’s pointing hand. He glanced at the building. Unsmiling, he said, “After breakfast I will show you.”
Turning down a side street, they faced a fountain encircled by the road, which was surrounded by a thick carpet of green lawn. They stepped onto the lawn and Ilfedo, curious as to how grass could grow in a place such as this, reached down. But his fingers brushed moss, a soft and thick moss. As he straightened, Everett pointed sideways across the lawn to another street with only a few homes, but one stood out from the rest. It was large and surrounded by a white picket fence. “That is our mayor’s residence. At some point soon you will be expected to dine with him. I’m sure the leaders of our city will want to learn more about you, as there is a prophecy concerning the return of a Lord Warrior to Dresdyn. But I will save the telling of that for another time.”
They crossed the lawn into a village of shops. The smell of baking cakes and muffins, of bread and cider, rolled off the low rooftops. Women and men stepped in and out of various storefronts, some sweeping dust off the steps, others carrying out clothing and tools. Most of the clothes were pink, though a very few were shades of yellow, white, or black.
In front of a bakery that read “Not-so-mundane Meals,” Everett paused and laughed. “The owner here is a friend of mine who will gladly fill our bellies with delicious food for a reasonable cost!”
The pair entered the bakery, and Ilfedo ate his fill of close-to-mundane food. During the meal Everett hinted that he wanted to show Ilfedo around before the city council could object. There were things he wanted to show him that they would not appreciate. Continually Everett praised the baker for the breakfast. Ilfedo came to the conclusion that either these underground dwellers had too limited a selection of foods, or Everett did not know a good thing when he tasted it. Nevertheless, he thanked the baker for the meal and followed his willing and straightforward guide back into the streets.
Across from the village lay the city square. Everett stood at its edge and pointed to the square’s corners. Stone monoliths twenty feet high corkscrewed toward the cavern’s epicenter from each corner. The statue of a lightly armed swordsman rose from the square’s center. Ilfedo crossed the moss lawn and peered up the statue’s base at the lithe figure. The man’s eyes were close together, and the sword in his hand had a green blade.
“Quite an impressive piece of sculpture, don’t you agree?” Everett asked.
Ilfedo ran his fingers along the base’s face until they trailed in the words inscribed thereon. “In memorial forever in our hearts, Brunster Thadius Oldwell.”
“Oldwell founded our city.” Everett sighed. “He is a hero to all of us, a saint to some, and an enigma to the rest. It is said he was an original Lord Warrior from our ancestors’ long-lost homeland. But for those of us who follow the holy prophets’ teachings of the Creator, Oldwell is the atheist whose example misdirected our youth, and whose soul now lingers in torment until the final day of judgment.”
The square’s only other occupant was the city hall. It was a large building constructed of part stone and part wood. The stonework buttressed the building’s corners and base.
As Ilfedo was gazing upon all these things, Everett shuffled toward the road. “Come with me. I need to show you something, before the time to do so escapes us.” He led him down the street in front of the high steps to the city hall, then turned him up another that angled away from the square. Over a row of collapsed rooftops he glimpsed the enormous pink building. They rounded a corner, and on a dead-end street they stood gazing over a field of rich green moss to the structure set in the field’s midst.
Ilfedo looked down at the little man. “What is that place?”
Pink silk draped thickly from the factory ceiling where a couple of thousand glowing birds threaded strands from each others’ beaks. Everett led Ilfedo across the tiled floor, between rows of spools as large as men. Young girls fed the silk strands from the ceiling to the spools, pumping turntables beneath the spools to slowly spin them. Monotonously they wound the silk around the spools into a natural thread. Young boys mopped the floors, and others slid the filled spools away from the girls’ stations, and others guided empty spools into place. The girls began the process of filling the fresh spools.
Ilfedo frowned as he looked about. The place would be wondrous to behold if he could stop seeing Oganna’s face on every downcast child in the factory. He turned in fury upon the little man. “What is this?”
“These are the children of the poor in Dresdyn. By the city council’s decree they work here to provide for their families.”
Ilfedo felt tension build in his voice. “Where are their mothers and fathers?”
“Their fathers have been conscripted into the city guard and sent into tunnels on the far side of our city. They fight to safeguard us from a race of black beasts that sometimes encroach upon our territory.”
“And their mothers?”
Beckoning for Ilfedo to follow, Everett led him across the hard floor down rows of spinning spools. Children bumped into him, cursing him as they passed. “Look out where you are going. Gee, no help. We is working here!”
Everett led him through a door at the long room’s end. As he opened the door and stepped aside, Everett pinched his nose. Ilfedo stepped into a stuffy room almost as large as the first one. Yet here the Dewobins screeched as women stuffed nets full of them onto butcher blocks. There were several hundred women carving the tiny birds for meager morsels of meat, or plucking the feathers that they stuffed into pouches at their waists. A gelatinous red coating layered the stone floor.
“These are the mothers of those children?” Ilfedo pointed at the door through which he’d come.
“They are,” Everett said, “and you will find only the poorer citizens of our city in this place. West of here, beyond the house of Elhandra—the prophetess you met yesterday—lie the homes of our military officers, statesmen, and the more successful businessmen.”
Ilfedo shook his head. “Is there no other way for the poor people to feed their families?”
“Oh, you have misunderstood.” Everett shuffled over to a woman. She held a struggling Dewobin in her hand and a butcher’s knife in the other. Everett lifted his hand up to her shoulder and touched it. She looked down at him and he said, “Emily, turn your face to the stranger.”
The woman did, and Ilfedo judged her to be in her midthirties. She had long brown hair, green eyes, and handsome cheeks. A smile would have made her look beautiful, but a shadow lay under her eyes, her cheeks were sunken, and her dirty lips formed a weary frown.
“You look tired,” Everett told the woman. “Take your children out of this place, at least for today. Go home. Rest and refresh yourself.”
Her eyes widened. “Wh-why do you tempt me with such a thing? Do you not think I would if I could? If I don’t work, my husband will be left in some distant tunnel. The city council decreed it.”
“Ah, yes, there is the truth of this matter.” Everett left the woman and gazed at the bloody factory around him. “These people are not here by choice, Ilfedo. They, like their husbands, have been conscripted. The women to butcher birds and the children to collect Dewobin silk.”
Ilfedo looked around the room again, then down at the little man. “This is how they pay their dues to your government?”
Everett sighed and led Ilfedo back into the threading room. “This is how the life of the city is maintained. The Dewobins provide for all but a few of the things we desperately need in order to live: food, clothing, and commerce.”
A flame of anger grew in Ilfedo’s heart as the children moved to and fro throughout the building.
Two finely dressed women emerged from another door. They didn’t notice him as they walked down the rows of pink spools. They caressed the Dewobin silk and smiled at each of the children. But a few boys, in the process of moving a spool, tipped it against a table. The pink threads frayed and snapped, and one of the women darted to the scene. She frowned and slapped each lad on the face.
“What?” Everett’s face reddened, and he bolted toward the woman. “How dare you touch that child!”
But Ilfedo grabbed the little man by his pink robe and held him back. “Your people have a prophecy,” he said as he drew his sword. Flames roiled from the hilt, covering the blade, and every face in the room riveted on him. A voice spoke from the sword, a voice so soft that he thought only he could hear it. “When darkness has fully fallen, and the spirits of the children are weak, then let their Lord Warrior speak. Let him bind and shackle, hew and spear. His arm is against them, his arm is for them. The Lord Warrior comes to doom them … the Lord Warrior comes to save them.”
Everett’s eyes widened, and he pointed at the sword. “Did you hear that? It spoke the words of Elhandra! I heard it. Your sword speaks.”
Ilfedo stepped toward the woman who’d struck the children. He had their attention. He must now act, say something that would change what was going on in this place. But what could he do? These were not his people. They had their own leaders, their own decision-makers. He was but a stranger with a magnificent sword. Frustrated, he let the power of the sword fill his arm as he smote the nearest spool. The spool toppled into another one, and that one fell after it. One by one the spools knocked into each other. Some of the children screamed and froze at their stations, but a group of boys and girls gathered around him, clinging to his legs.
The stone door through which he had entered the factory now lumbered open, and a woman stepped through. She wore a ragged pink dress. The Dewobins splashed an aura around her, and she smiled at him with her soft gray eyes.
“Elhandra, how did you come to be here?” Everett asked.
But the prophetess had eyes only for Ilfedo. “Hail, Lord Warrior, and welcome to Dresdyn! Long have we waited, waited for you. Our dark world is not for the Creator’s children, yet here we walk. Let us walk again in the light; guide us out of this dark world. The dead will rise to slay us. But you, Lord Warrior, have come to save us. Now go! Bind and shackle, hew and spear, free and release. For this is within your power, and to your will the loyalties of this people will be drawn.”
The cluster of children around him doubled as the prophetess stepped forward. Her eyes stared deep into Ilfedo’s until she was only ten feet away from him. Then she lowered her gaze to the floor and knelt before him. “I have waited for you a long time, my lord. Ask whatever you desire of me, and I will obey.”
“He has come to free us?” one child said, and another echoed it. The mob of children began to chant, “Free us! Free us!”
He gazed upon Elhandra, and she smiled back at him. “You have the power to effect great change among us.” She stood and placed her hands on the children’s heads. “Free them!”
Ilfedo found himself striding out of the factory, several hundred children dancing after him. When he had exited the building and stood on the moss lawn, the children gathered as an army around him with Elhandra in their midst and Everett standing a short distance off.
Crowds gathered on the nearby streets as thousands of glowing birds shot out of the open factory door. Ilfedo went to each door around the structure, and strengthening his arm with the sword’s energy, he opened them. Very soon hundreds of women emerged from the factory and stared at their children dancing before him.
“Go to your homes,” Ilfedo commanded. “The factory is closed for today. Do not fear for your husbands, yourselves, or your children. I will deal with the corruptness I have seen in this city. The full responsibility for shutting down the factory lies with me alone.”
A few women glanced at each other, then turned to reenter the factory.
Ilfedo blasted the doors with Living Fire. The doors slammed shut, and the flames sealed them. “Go to your homes,” he said. The children cheered, and the crowd of them mixed with that of the women. Eager young hands took their mothers’ and led them down the streets. The lawn emptied, leaving him with only Everett and the prophetess. What had he done? This was not his fight. The dragon ring constricted around his finger and he winced.
But Elhandra stepped up to him and lightly touched his arm. “I look forward to becoming your friend, Lord Ilfedo of the Hemmed Land.” The Nuvitor cooed on his shoulder.
Everett shuffled toward him.
Ilfedo sheathed his sword.
“Word of your deeds will spread as a flood through our streets, now that you have defied the will of the council. They will surely summon you to give an account of your actions, and I do not trust them to reveal certain things to you. Come!” He led Ilfedo behind the factory and onto the streets.
“What is it you want to tell me?” Ilfedo asked.
But the little man trudged up another street. Elhandra walked beside Ilfedo. She was so light on her feet that she might as well have been gliding. There were fewer homes in this section of town and no ruins to speak of. The scent of fresh moist moss rose from the gaps between buildings, lending a clean scent to the air.
Elhandra laughed and glided ahead, catching up to Everett. “My dear, dear monk, where do you think are you taking us?”
Everett glanced up at her with furrowed brow. “The Records Library. Where else will he learn more about the history of our people, or of the prophecy?”
She put her arm across his chest, and he stopped as she pointed down a side road. “The Records Library is that way.”
His face seemed to light up, and he chuckled as he gestured Ilfedo to follow him in the new direction. “She is right, I’m afraid. I was taking you in the wrong direction. Come! We have much to do before the council discovers where you’ve gone.”
The slight musty smell of the ancient book caused Ilfedo to pause his reading to sniff it. When Elhandra had showed him the library, he had marveled that the books did not get moldy. This underground world felt a bit damp to his skin. But she had pointed to strips of what appeared to be leather hung on the walls. The skins were from some mighty beast that had long ago been hunted down and slain by the city’s inhabitants. They did not know what sort of beast it was, but the skin absorbed the moisture from the air and seemed never to get wet.
Ilfedo gazed again at the thick pages of the book he was reading. Hemran’s Lament, a book of prophecy.
Lord God, I will speak a word to this people, for they trust that their Lord Warrior shall in due season return. Surely I say, the Lord Warrior shall return. Beware, thou, that the world has forgotten. Weep, for he led you to this place and taught your children to fear neither God nor man. As a flower budding on dry ground, you will wither. This dark world is not for the Creator’s children, yet there they walk. In time old, in time forgotten, his children walked in light. But no more.
Let the dead rise and slay them. May the desert winds drown them in sand and lay their land in ruin. Call from the ashes the souls of the damned, those cursed by the Lord forever. When darkness has fully fallen and the spirits of the children are weak, then let their Lord Warrior speak. Let him bind and shackle, hew and spear. His arm is against them; his arm is for them. The Lord Warrior comes to doom them; the Lord Warrior comes to save them.
Ilfedo gently closed the leather-bound volume, and a small cloud of dust rose from the pages. He was sitting at a large stone desk in a round room with high blue marble columns and high-rising shelves piled with parchments, scrolls, and books like the one he’d been reading. He turned the spine so as to read the worn gilt letters. Hemran’s Lament. According to Everett and Elhandra, the people of Dresdyn regarded this particular book with reverence, for it alone contained the prophecy that confused them by giving them both dread and hope for the future.
He set the book aside and lifted another two volumes from the far end of the desk. These were in better condition, having neither the wear nor the weight of the Hemran’s Lament. Their titles read Extant Records on Our Lost History and Oral Historical Traditions.
The first book contained diagrams of winged contraptions, some more farfetched than others, for achieving human flight. Its author claimed to be relating only what his grandfather passed on to him in oral tradition as it related to human flight. The rest of the text dealt with partial documents transcribed because of their pertinence to Dresdyn’s history. It spoke of a race of humanity forced to leave their technologically advanced society and of the few Lord Warriors who had led their exodus. By perusing its pages he’d gathered an overview of the city’s origins.
He glanced from one book to the other, then at the other material piled around him. Surely a library such as this should be taken out of this place and preserved in a clean vault, such as the vault in the city of Gwensin that held the Hemmed Land’s scrolls. If he had the time and the resources at his disposal, he could begin an analysis of the material, comparing it to the texts of the Hemmed Land. But now was not the time.
Carrying a stack of books higher than his head, Everett walked up to him. The little man set the books on the floor by Ilfedo’s chair and let out a heavy breath. “I believe these materials will be the most useful in your attaining the status of Lord Warrior in Dresdyn. The city council would rather you didn’t know so much about us, but as the books of the prophets teach us, truth sets people free.”
“Is there no other way to convince the council to change policies?” Ilfedo lifted a thin volume from the top of the stack and read Dresdyn Law: An Overview. “They are the leaders of this city. I am but a stranger.”
Elhandra glided from behind a pile of books. “I thought you said the sword was a gift from a prophet.”
Ilfedo nodded, wondering what she was leading up to. He found her ready with sharp, quick answers at all times. It intrigued him.
The woman laughed. “Everett told me that he thinks your sword spoke the words directly out of Hemran’s Lament.”
He looked at the worn old volume and said, “It did.”
“Do you not find that a bit strange? The first time you heard those words was when I quoted part of the prophecy.” She stepped in front of the desk and leaned forward, the palms of her hands on its surface as her gray eyes gleamed at him. “There is a purpose for everything. The Creator guides us each to fulfill his will. We can ignore it and miss out on his blessings, or embrace his path and live it out in faith. Right now you need to take the prophecy in faith. Only you can bring about an exodus from this place. Only you can lead us out of here to where we can become a part of the larger world. Don’t you see? You are the key that unlocks our destiny. Unless you embrace us as your people, unless you accept the role of Lord Warrior, we will fall into darkness.”
Everett held up his arms. “Whoa! Hold it. You believe this time—”
Her beautiful eyes gazed heavenward. “One Lord Warrior has come; one Lord Warrior must rise, to test the hearts and minds of this people and prove them before their exodus. Rise now, oh people of Dresdyn. Rise now or thy children will forever walk in darkness, until the generations dwindle and your names are forgotten.”
Ilfedo and Everett glanced at each other. Everett shrugged his shoulders, and Ilfedo opened the book. Elhandra was a puzzle, yet what she said rang true in his heart. He must lead these people to the Hemmed Land. Their lives down here were hardly lives at all, and unless he took charge nothing would ever change for them. He would do it for the children and mothers in the factory, and the fathers stuck following tunnels into the deeper places of the world, places no human should ever have to go.
Ilfedo had met with the city council, a group of men of pomp with, as he saw it, little honor. They groaned when he told them how he’d shut down the factory.
“You should have consulted us, stranger,” one councilor objected. “This action will earn you great disfavor among the people.”
“The opposite has proved true.” Ilfedo thudded his fist on the long table at which the councilors sat. “I have found allies among your people. Allies whom in these past few days I have come to regard as true friends.”
A large man with a roundish face rose from his seat. “You have somehow gained the loyalty of the riffraff in our city. But they hold no power, and neither do you. And, I promise, I will leverage my position to see that your power is not validated.” Several councilors glanced at him, and he coughed into his hand. “We are, however, not denying your miraculous and seemingly timely arrival. We are deeply grateful to you for ridding us of the demons, or beastly creatures, that haunted the northeast corner of our city.” He sat down as another man rose.
“We had high hopes that you would fulfill a prophecy concerning our people,” said the councilor. “Yet your actions defied the rule of our law, and a new Lord Warrior must work within the rule of law.”
“Work within the rule of law?” A giant of a man loomed in the dining room doorway. “Councilors, perhaps you forget that the rule of law is dictated by the Lord Warrior. He is the supreme authority in a nation.”
“Captain of the guard?” The large man with the roundish face leaned toward the figure cast in shadow as if to see him with greater clarity.
Bromstead loomed into the lamplight and folded his arms across his chest. “You called me ‘riffraff,’ Councilor.”
The large man shook his head. “I would never. Always you have served us with distinction.”
“Then,” Bromstead said, “perhaps you were not aware that Lord Ilfedo has gained not only the support of the lower-class citizens of our great city but also of myself, the city guards themselves, Elhandra the prophetess, and a number of monks. When the soldiers in the tunnels hear of him, they will follow him as well.”
“It is an uncomfortable and sad situation,” another councilor interjected. “We are unsure whether to banish this stranger or to reward his selflessness.”
Bromstead lowered his arms to his sides. “The choice is simpler than you think. Simply listen to the word of the people on the streets, look at their faces, and judge where you want to be a year from now.” He glanced down at Ilfedo. “I trust this man. I believe he will lead us out of this city to a new home under the sun. I have always wanted that. I have always wanted to leave the darkness and live in the light. Every child among us, every child that sits at this table today …” He smiled and the councilors laughed. “Noble lords”—Bromstead looked into each of their faces—“the time has come for change. Give up the authority you hold before the people tear our city in two. They have been depressed, and, regretfully, you have allowed some to be oppressed. They will make you pay for that if you do not execute a wise course of action today.”
Ilfedo watched as the men relaxed. They gazed up at him with sudden respect. Whether this was caused by Bromstead’s endorsement of him, or because they let the child in their hearts out to view the sliver of hope his presence offered, he did not know. He felt elevated in their eyes. They shifted from lording their will over their people, and their eyes betrayed their hopes that he would rise and guide them. Power had shifted. He felt it settle into his hands as Dresdyn’s leaders slid their chairs aside and knelt in front of him. Bromstead loomed beside him. This side journey in his quest for the key of Living Fire had handed him a powerful ally.
13
AN EMPTY GRAVE
Four days Oganna had been here. She stepped out of her command tent into warm morning sunlight and gazed at Fort Gabel’s foundations. Masons heaved chiseled stones into beds of mortar. Their taut faces and sober expressions eased as they glanced up out of their pits and saw her. She smiled upon them all and walked along the edge of the foundation, every step light and full of life. The workmen knelt back to their tasks.
More than five hundred men worked in the pits, forming square stone foundations that rose out of the rich soil. From these foundations the heart of the fortress would be birthed. From the forests, a line of men carried wooden beams on their shoulders. They carried them into the pits, laying some on wet blocks of mortar and standing others in holes. Masons gathered around the poles held upright in the holes and poured mortar in around them. As the holes filled, the masons propped other beams against the poles to hold them in place. When the mortar hardened, this foundation would be solid indeed.
The process brought a smile to her lips as she regarded the tents of workmen and artisans that peppered the fields surrounding the site. The tents, clean and white, could have passed for bits of fluffy clouds that had fallen from the sky.
“Princess.” Saybor, the master artisan, strode out of a nearby tent; his smooth face and wild long hair blustered as a breeze caught it. His hair was as blond as her own. He stood in front of her and bowed with a thin humorous smile twitching his mustache. “Your input has been most valuable to us, and I would like to thank you. Remarkably, although you’ve had no prior experience and certainly no training, we, the artisans of Gwensin, preferred your design for this fortress, preferred it over the designs proposed by two of our master artisans. Eighty out of the one hundred artisans present voted to work along the designs you laid out for us. And the dissenters offered no good reasons for their objection.”
She frowned. “You are sure the majority did not agree just to please me?” His smile and chuckle told her all she needed to hear. She took the rolled paper in his hand and walked into his tent. The ceiling was high and the tent oblong.
At a high wood table she unrolled the paper, fastening the corners to the tabletop with tacks to keep it open. A castle-like structure had been drawn upon the paper. She had drawn it herself. A trench would be dug from the Sea of Serpents, and it would surround the castle. Sea water would fill the moat, ensureing that it never dried up, and a drawbridge wide enough for ten men to walk abreast would span it. The courtyard walled in a stable, smithy, several homes, and shops. The walls were twelve feet thick, something several artisans had protested required too much valuable building time, but if the fort ever served as a point of defense, she knew the walls would be strong. She traced the entrance to the central keep. Its cylindrical tower would rise a hundred feet above the guard towers along the fort’s outer walls.
Withdrawing her hand from the plans, she sighed. Yes, this would be a monument of which her people could be proud. A place that even Gabel would have admired.
Saybor bowed to her from across the table. “If you are satisfied with the designs, I do believe the Maiden Voyage is ready for you. The sailors hereabouts have been waiting with eager and high expectation to display the fruits of their ship building. They say the Maiden Voyage is quite a lady on the water.”
She glanced out the open walls of the tent at the Sea of Serpents. A low wall of fog rolled off the shore like a thick blanket uncovering the crowd gathering by the wharfs. The fog receded away from the shoreline, out to sea, and a line of sailors, dressed in white and blue, marched toward her. She smiled at Saybor, thanked him, and walked toward the sea.
“May the Creator bless your voyage and your journey into the west, my lady,” he called after her.
The hull of the Maiden Voyage cut the sea waves with hardly a tremble in her thick beams. Oganna held on to the rail as she stood on the prow and looked at the water rushing past. Seagulls cried as they landed on the ship’s bowsprit. She heard the giant sail snap before the wind struck her back.
“She is a forty-foot from stem to stern, my lady,” said the captain as he stood behind the ship’s wheel. “We plan to build more just like her: fast, steady sailing ships. They are excellent for fishing, far better than the little boats we’ve been working with since before you were born.”
She turned and faced him, then grabbed hold of the railing as the boat pitched.
The captain laughed and spun the wheel by its polished knobs. He cupped his hand around his mouth and called to the sailors hanging onto the rigging high above, “Bring in the sail!”
“Ho! Roll! Ho! Roll!” Ten men hauled on the sail, rolling it, and then tying it to the yard.
The Maiden Voyage curved to the shoreline, where a crowd had gathered at the end of a long pier. As the vessel slowed for the end of its tour, Oganna looked at the shoreline. Where not long ago only fishermen’s boats had lain on the shore, today several piers jutted over the water. Several long and tall buildings stood along the shore, and beyond them lay the town. But what brought a smile to her face were the beams and stonework rising out of the fields north of them. Fort Gabel—or Castle Gabel, as some were calling it. When finished it would be the mightiest structure in the land. For now only a foundation of stone and the beginnings of a wall had been completed, but atop the foundation stood scaffolding a hundred feet high.
The sailors lashed the Maiden Voyage to the pier, and she rocked to a stop. The captain lowered a plank to the pier and preceded Oganna. He stood on the pier and bowed, proffering his hand. Eager for solid footing, she grasped it and stepped out. She staggered, and her head grew dizzy, then she recovered and curtsied to the man. “It seems to be a very worthy vessel, Captain. I look forward to seeing other ships like this one sailing over the sea for exploration and profit. Perhaps we will meet again.”
“You do me much honor, my lady,” he said.
She touched her sword’s pommel as she walked down the long pier and stepped on the sandy shore. The sword’s mysterious power shot across her body. The crowd stood back as the sword adorned her in a silver dress. Gwensin’s artisans marched toward her, their faces radiant. Saybor was among them as they thanked her for her contributions and support for the glorious structure they would complete.
“My contributions?” She gave a soft laugh. “I have little knowledge of these things. I found the process of designing the castle quite invigorating, but I’m afraid the real contributions were those that you, the experts, have made. This project would not go ahead without your knowledge and advice.”
“Do not undercut your importance in this matter,” said one artisan. He smiled up at her and kissed her hand. “Though I realize you know little of these things, you do have a natural gift toward structure design and masonry. Someday the world will know you for this Gabel Castle and others like it.”
Oganna returned his smile with one of her own and said her farewells to the artisans. “I will check on your progress upon my return.”
“Be safe, our lady!” the artisans replied, bowing out of her path.
The crowds parted, and everyone knelt before her as she made her way to the three Evenshadows whinnying in the road beyond. Ombre and Caritha had already mounted their horses. A swordsman darted toward her and knelt beside Avernardi, cupping his hands a foot off the ground. She glanced at his handsome young face and gently placed her foot in his hand. He beamed as he lifted her effortlessly up to the saddle. Their gazes locked for one strange moment. He seemed desirous of saying something else, but bowed and stepped back to the crowd’s edge. His hair was black and his eyes brown. No wedding band graced his finger. For the first time in her life she wondered what possibilities existed for her as a woman. She could doubtless have the pick of any of these fine unmarried and upstanding men. Maybe someone such as this could complete her, or someone like Saybor.
She turned the Evenshadow’s head away from the crowd and rode west across the fields of corn and into the forest.
“At last!” Ombre raced his horse around both hers and Caritha’s. He raised his fist toward the sky. “Western Wood, here we come. Good-bye familiar and hello to unexplored lands.”
Oganna laughed as she watched him slow his mount to a trot, a smile still beaming from his face.
“You are awfully excited,” Caritha said. “What do you think this is? Some kind of vacation?”
Ombre frowned. “We have a lot of work ahead of us. But I hardly call escorting two beautiful women through unknown lands a heavy chore.” He winked at Oganna, and she laughed again.
She was so glad he was coming along. Especially with Father gone she needed—they needed—a man to fill that gap. Oh, where was Father now?
Ombre’s upbeat manner, so long as it remained, would be an encouragement to her wherever she found herself. Under heaven she could not think of another man she would rather take this journey with.
They would pick up provisions at home before proceeding to the Western Wood. After all, it was on the path they were taking. She also wanted to bring along a change of clothes, and Neneila would want to come. The creature might be harsh, but no one could ask for a more devoted guardian.
At that moment she released her connection to Avenger. As the silver dress vanished, her trousers and plain shirt became visible again. She swung her leg over Avernardi’s back, straddling him. Yes, that was far more comfortable.
They rode through the afternoon, talking and laughing together.
Oganna hauled on the reins, holding her Evenshadow in check long enough for Ombre and Caritha to catch up to her. She patted the stallion’s neck and cooed softly in his ear as his rapid breathing slowed. “Take it easy, Avernardi. Our journey has only begun.”
The horse shook his head, whipping his silvery mane in all directions. This handsome creature had been given to her by Ombre when she had returned from Burloi. “Avernardi is a little spirited at times,” he had told her, “but he is also the best of his breed. Take good care of him, and he will take good care of you.” Now, as she soothed the eager animal, she admired its aristocratic poise and toned body.
She steered the horse to the side and looked over her left shoulder as Ombre’s Evenshadow carried him around a large oak tree. Caritha’s horse followed. They were taking this trip far more relaxed than she had anticipated, especially after Ombre had voiced such enthusiasm for seeing new lands. Here they were, still in the Western Wood, and her aunt and uncle seemed not to care.
As his horse wove toward her through the trees to avoid the underbrush and low-hanging branches, Ombre shook his head at her. “You will wear down your mount long before the day is out if you continue to let him dictate your speed.”
She smiled. It wasn’t her fault that Avernardi was feeling playful. As a matter of fact, she enjoyed him most when he was a handful. “I’ll see you farther on,” she said. “Avernardi needs the exercise.” Then she galloped off, leaving Ombre with no opportunity to protest.
The weather, as it had been the day before, was warm with a clear blue sky. Rays of sunlight penetrated the trees, creating shafts of light that shot to the leaf-strewn floor of the forest and highlighted the green shoots of grass underneath.
Leaning into her mount, Oganna urged him on, guiding the stallion through the trees without receiving so much as a scratch. Faster and faster she went until the trees whizzed by at a fearful rate. A stream ahead of them obstructed their path. She could feel Avernardi’s muscles tense in preparation for the jump.
“Psst! Slow down. No!” the viper, Neneila said as it constricted around Oganna’s arm. It closed its eyes as the horse leaped into the air.
The stream was too wide for Avernardi to carry her across, so she grabbed a hanging vine, and he slid from under her to jump. Her momentum carried her forward until she’d swung over the stream. Then, releasing her hold on the vine, she flipped in midair and landed softly on Avernardi’s back.
The horse nickered as she patted his neck and scratched between his ears. “Well done, Avernardi. Well done.”
Slipping around her neck, the viper tasted the air with its tongue and rolled its eyes at her. “Psst! I do not approve. One of these days you’ll missss the horse and hurt yourssself.”
“Shush, now. I’ve practiced this several times, and contrary to what you think, it is actually quite safe.”
She dismounted and looked back at the stream. Now, in the silence of the forest, she thought she could hear a waterfall. The sound was coming from upstream. Leading Avernardi by his bridle, she followed the water to its source: a large pool into which a stream of water fell from a solid face of rock. The grass in the area seemed particularly vibrant, and the silence was strange … as if time stood still.
The scene reminded her of something, and she sensed that there was more to it than met her eye. She stepped forward, but her foot caught and she fell facedown. That was clumsy of me. She rose, dusted the dirt from her clothes, and gazed at the stone over which she had tripped. It seemed out of place and … what’s this? The stone was one of many that had been laid with evident care on an oblong mound near the water’s edge. A burial mound!
Wait! Hadn’t her father told her that he had buried her mother in the western forests? Could this be the place where she began? There was the waterfall and the pool of clear water that fed a stream. This had to be the place.
She knelt in the cold dirt and let her gaze soak in the moist air, lush trees, and rich grass. This was the place. She felt sure of it. Here her father had met the woman of his dreams. Here they had fallen in love. The woman that everyone had loved, the wife that was missed, and the mother that she had never known lay buried here. Father had kept this place a secret from her. Not the knowledge of it, but the location of it. It was his prerogative, she supposed. She had seen him disappear into the forest for several days, and had known he was spending precious hours in the sanctuary of his love. The tears that she had always wanted to shed upon her mother’s grave now fell unhindered to its surface.
“Oh, Mother, if only you had lived, then I would know what you were like, and I would have known how to please you. But I have”—she wiped her eyes—“I have no way of knowing what you were truly like.”
At this moment, when it seemed no one could give her comfort, she felt the ground tremble, saw Avernardi start, and turned to find the magnificent Albino standing there. He didn’t say a word. His scarred face glowed so that she could not see the marks upon his scales where he had taken her pain. But through the mask of light she saw tears form in his pink eyes. One clawed hand reached around her back and stroked her like a lost child.
She accepted his love, walking to him and clutching his impenetrable neck. I lost my mother and he lost his daughter. In the minutes that followed she felt a stronger connection with the dragon. He was a grandfather beyond compare: gentle, strong, and full of love. And what a sacrifice he had made for her in Burloi. In her mother’s absence, the Creator had surrounded her with the deep, deep love of her father, grandfather, and her aunts—not to mention Ombre.
When she pulled away from him she curtsied, and he acknowledged it with a nod of his bony head. Then, expanding his wings to their full span, he pulled against the air. The draft forced her to shield her eyes from the flying leaves, and when she looked again … he was gone.
Her eyes searched the area, and, noticing a cluster of wildflowers nearby, she gathered them into a bouquet. Lilies and bluebells, asters and daisies—all smelling like different varieties of perfume—wafted on the breeze. She inhaled deeply; the mix was appealing, driving away the pangs of loss and easing her awakened grief.
She walked to the grave and lay flowers on top of it. The stones and dirt that covered the mound had guarded her mother’s body from the woodland creatures. At the mound’s end, nearest the water, some of the stones had been torn away. She circled to fix the damage, but a hole had been ripped into the grave. A cavity the size of a woman’s body had been opened. “No,” she cried, for the body had been taken by some creature.
Oganna fell to the ground and wept again, now for the indignity of such a deed and again for the knowledge of what this would mean to her father. To him, Mother had meant the world, the universe—even life itself.
“Psst! Mistresss, are you all right?” The viper brushed its serpentine head on her neck.
Boots crunched on the ground behind her. “What’s this?” Ombre asked. “Are you crying?” He knelt beside her and grasped her quaking shoulders with his strong hands.
But Caritha came too, and glancing at the robbed grave, she clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. She fell over the place and beat her fists into the mound until Ombre reached over and stopped her. Oganna watched tears rain from the woman’s eyes. Recovering her senses, Oganna reached over and comforted her.
Confusion was written all over Ombre’s face, for he knew not why they wept. “Ladies, please, would either of you mind telling me what is wrong?”
For a time, neither of them could. Then Oganna wiped her eyes and turned to him. “This … this place is where Father met Mother, and this grave is where he buried her.” With a trembling hand she pointed to the hole in the mound. “See? The body has been stolen.”
“But how do you know for sure? You were only a baby—”
“But I wasn’t,” Caritha replied. “This is the place where we buried Dantress, and here the dragon gave Ilfedo the sword.” Standing to her feet, she pointed to the waterfall and the pool. “He found her in this place, and it was in this forest that he won her heart.” There was a pause as she redirected her attention to the grave. “If I ever find the filthy and vile beast that dared to do this, I will—” She clenched both fists against her temples. “What creature would do this?”
Ombre was blunt in his answer: “Carnivores scavenge for bodies. Something was bound to discover one out here.”
“No!” she said sharply. “You don’t understand. Dantress was a friend of the woodland creatures; she had a special connection with them. I don’t believe they would have allowed this to be done. Why, then? It doesn’t make sense. Why? Why?”
Finding no answer to give her, Oganna looked at the grave until Caritha exhausted her tears. Then she touched the burial mound. It may be empty, but her body did rest here for a time. “Good-bye, Mother,” she whispered. “Though I never knew you, I love you with all my heart.” With that she stepped back, pulled herself into Avernardi’s saddle, and waited for Ombre and Caritha to mount the other Evenshadow.
Ombre wiped Caritha’s tears away with his handkerchief and smiled sympathetically before helping her up. “Come now, ladies,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.” As he straddled the horse’s back, he gazed upon the grave and said in a firm voice, “Ilfedo does not need to know of what we found here. Let him remember this place as he left it.”
Oganna nodded and led the way westward into the forest again, leaving her tears where they’d fallen. Trees and forest undergrowth succeeded one another, and the way became more difficult to navigate. No part of the Hemmed Land was as wild as this.
Avernardi placed his feet with care, but every now and again he startled a creature on the forest floor. Oganna patted his shoulders and spoke soothing words. Nuvitors were everywhere, and by looking high into the tree limbs she could see some of their nests. From the ground it was hard to tell what they were constructed of, though she guessed by their bulkiness that they were part clay and part wood.
A low-hanging branch ahead of them forced her to dismount. The leaves crunched under her feet as she guided Avernardi through the forest. She passed by a murky pond. Green slime coated most of the water’s surface.
Somewhere in the distance a coyote heralded the approaching night with a howl that made a shiver run up her spine. Time had flown. She looked up to find darkness closing in on the world. How many hours they’d traveled, she could not determine.
“Oganna,” Ombre called from the rear, “If we do not find our way out of these trees soon, we will have to set up camp in here. The horses can’t see in the dark, and I don’t want one of them getting injured.”
“Don’t worry,” she called back, “the forest is thinning, and I can see a break in the trees ahead of us.” Before long she emerged from the tree line, leaving the western forest behind her.
Ahead and far below her, under a velvet sky, vast wetlands stretched, riddled with twisted trees and bogs that thickened in the distance until nothing could be seen between the trees. Plumes of fire shot from a black mountain on the far side of the swamp, and lava ran from the crest. It was fearful yet beautiful. Foreboding, yet it enticed her and dared her to cross the vast swamp and set foot on its charred slopes.
“Our journey is only beginning,” Ombre said. “We’ve gone far enough for now. We will rest here tonight. Tomorrow we will determine our next move.” He pulled the packs off the horses’ backs and began setting up camp.
Oganna grabbed a tent stake, Caritha grabbed the other, and they helped Ombre build their white canvas shelter. Once the stakes had been driven upright into the ground, about eight feet apart, they tied a pole to rest on top of them and draped the canvas over that. Then they drove other stakes to stretch it to the ground and rolled the rest beneath to make a floor for their tent. The task was soon completed, and the horses lay down by the tent door as Ombre heaped wood and lit a fire. Caritha and Oganna huddled in the open tent door, the fire in front of them gradually filling the tent with warmth.
Neneila slithered to the fire. Heat waves distorted the creature as it coiled and closed its eyes.
They sat and Ombre sat beside them, on Caritha’s side. The distant rumble of the volcano and the chirp of a cricket lent the only disturbance to their surroundings. Oganna lay down and pulled a blanket around her shoulders before looking again at the swamplands and the volcano. Was her father right? Could the Hemmed Land be destroyed by the sandstorms?
The ground shook, and the volcano spurted a plume of white fire. A thin curtain of ash veiled the stars from view and dusted the dismal terrain in the distance. If there was a cursed land, she thought, maybe this was it.
14
SOVEREIGN IN A STRANGE LAND
The streets resounded with three cheers of “Hail the Lord Warrior!”
Ilfedo ascended the steps to the high double doors fronting the city hall, the Nuvitor perched on his shoulder. He held the sword of the dragon in his hand so that the magnificent armor of light and Living Fire covered his plain clothes. On both sides of him warriors decked out in red and bronze armor stood four rows deep. Pink plumes composed of Dewobin feathers waved atop their gold helms, while at their belts swung bronze short swords sheathed in velvet.
Pink light fell upon the scene from the Dewobins glittering as they flitted far above the city.
The pink flag of Dresdyn hung from every house for a mile in all directions. It had the most curious and yet memorable design of any standard he’d ever seen: a tiny Dewobin planted against a large white oval with a man in silhouette to the left side, holding a small yellow sun in his outstretched hand. All through the streets people thronged toward him, lifting their voices in song. In their hands they carried iron lanterns, casting a pallid yellow glow over the ground.
He turned up the steps again and nodded to the guards. “Are they ready for me?”
“They have been prepared for several hours now, my lord.” The guard smote his fist to his chest. “As—have—we—all.”
The guards pulled back the tall doors and saluted him. The Nuvitor spread its wings, flying up to the Dewobins again, and Ilfedo shook his head, for a moment thinking back to the man he used to be. From where he stood today, that man seemed so far, far off. Even the woman that man had loved … Dantress. Dantress, why couldn’t you be by my side for moments such as this? He closed his eyes and imagined her standing beside him. She slipped her hand into his, and though she didn’t look up at him, he detected the beautiful smile playing across her lips. Oh, he was the envy of every man.
Ilfedo stepped through the doors, and they thudded shut behind him. His daydream faded as pink-clad council members and other governmental figures swept forward from the enormous room before him.
For the next two hours—he kept time by the oak clock hung at the pinnacle of the cathedral-ceilinged room—an elaborate ceremony centered around him. A polished blue marble pillar rose from the center of the room. It didn’t reach the ceiling, for it served no practical purpose; rather, it was an ornament created to commemorate the glory of a past era.
He had learned much of this culture in the past days. Similar to the Hemmed Land, these people knew little of their history. However, they possessed records dating back a hundred and fifty years. As he went through the ceremony, he went over what he’d learned from Everett Matthaliah, one of the city pastors and the man who had pulled him from the haunted house. He chuckled to himself. Everett Matthaliah, you and I are somehow related. We’ll probably never figure out through which ancestors, but I feel sure that we are.
A hundred and fifty years ago a nation beset by war fell apart. They possessed knowledge and skills of science that allowed them to fly with the birds and harness the power of the sun to light their cities. An exodus occurred in which the remnants of that nation divided. One faction traveled in search of a land far north. But the remaining smaller faction was caught in the desert and found refuge underground. Under the guidance of a Lord Warrior, they built the wooden city using materials they had carried from their homeland. They took the name Dresdyn from a pink flower that used to flourish in their former land, for the tiny Dewobins reminded them of the dresdyn flower.
Their Lord Warrior was a man of many gifts. He built for them an optical scope of some sort that gave light to the city, pulling it directly from Yimshi. According to Everett, the city scope still stood, though it was housed in a long-ago-abandoned structure. The people of the city believed a spook inhabited it now. How it was possible for an instrument to bring sunlight to this city, Ilfedo couldn’t guess. He thought it curious, considering that the city was underground. Yet there were certain tie-ins with the Hemmed Land’s history—for instance, the reference to their ancestors having the ability to fly.
“Lord Ilfedo, are you prepared to undertake the title of Lord Warrior for our people? Will you serve them as you do your own and thus fulfill the long-prophesied time of exodus? Will you lead us out of this place and bring us to a new and better home?”
Ilfedo stood before the assemblage. Most of these men wore the same pink as the rest in their society. The Dewobins were useful for more than just citywide illumination.
A broad-shouldered fellow with a pitted face lumbered toward him, raising on a pink pillow the golden scepter of office. It had four large rubies along its three-foot staff, and a diamond arrowhead at its end. It had been held in keeping for such a day as this, for it had been unclaimed since the death of the Lord Warrior over a hundred years ago.
As the fellow knelt at his feet, Ilfedo said, “By your invitation, I accept this gift and the duties it entails. And by your law I take my place as ruler over this people to lead as I see fit, with wisdom and justice. And under the watchful eyes of Creator God I pledge myself to rule well.” He took the scepter and tucked it under his belt; he would rather hold his sword and maintain the magnificent attire that it bequeathed him than sheath it and be left in nothing but trousers and a short-sleeved shirt.
“All hail the Lord Warrior! All hail the Lord Warrior!” The officials stepped back and bowed, holding their gaze to the floor as he walked down the aisle toward the exit doors.
Five trumpets sounded from the balcony above as twelve guards, attired in the armor of their forebears, marched into position behind him. The doors swung outward, and he strode onto the hall steps.
The mayor and Bromstead, captain of the guard, stood beside him and raised his arms. Bromstead was such a giant of a man that he towered over Ilfedo, yet when their gazes met, Ilfedo knew beyond a shadow of doubt that here was a man to be trusted.
Releasing his arm, as did the mayor, Bromstead grinned down at Ilfedo and bellowed for all to hear. “Hail Ilfedo, Lord Warrior!” Under his breath he said, “My Lord, if you would please raise the scepter for the people to see.”
Ilfedo took a deep, comfortable breath, and sheathed the sword of the dragon. It seemed only appropriate to put away the sword and let the people see him holding the symbol of his new office. He stepped forward as the Living Fire peeled away his armor of light. Within moments he stood before the people in the clothing he had first arrived in—simple and practical. Grasping the scepter in his hand, he pulled it from under his belt and pointed it at the Dewobin sky.
Then it happened. A force beyond his control seized him. It lashed itself around him with an invisible hold that constricted his body. One of the scepter rubies started to shine. He fought the constricting force. If only he hadn’t let go of his sword.
But the scepter had him now. It threw him down the steps, and those assembled gasped. Bromstead rushed to his side, grabbing for the scepter. His fingers slipped over it without touching it, and his eyes narrowed.
Then a voice whispered from the scepter, and the crowd stumbled back. “Who is this that touches mine scepter?” Ilfedo felt a cold loathing seep into his soul. Smoke wafted from the scepter’s diamond head as another ruby lit and the voice said, “Thought me dead, people of Dresdyn? Thought me long gone? Buried me, you did, didn’t you? Yet I live on in here, and no other may lay claim to my office. I built this city; I ruled your grandfathers. I brought light to this place, and I cut it off from you too.” A wave of darkness emanated from the demon, knocking Bromstead to the ground.
“Begone, foul spirit.” Ilfedo writhed on the ground as a smoking hand clamped over his throat.
“A body is all I need in order rise again. I had one once, and I will have one again.”
Half of a humanoid now stood over Ilfedo—man or demon, he couldn’t tell. The people dropped to their knees, trembling, but Bromstead gazed openmouthed at the being as it coalesced. He drew his sword and held it defensively.
“Captain of the guard,” Ilfedo choked out. “Pull out my sword—”
The demon sprouted a bare, smoking human foot. This it pressed against Ilfedo’s chest and leaned over him, a face taking form. “Strong one, what makes you think you can fight something like me?” It reared back its head and cackled, spitting smoke from its mouth. “Long ago I led this people underground. I ruled them well, and then I let loose my companions so that when I died I would not die but would live on in my scepter. I have returned to rule, to rule today!”
Bromstead slipped a couple of inches closer, his fingers reaching for Ilfedo’s sword.
“Fool,” the demon billowed over him, “you have a sword of your own if you wish to face me. Use it!”
Seeking to distract the thing, Ilfedo balled his fist and immediately met resistance. The demon stretched forth its hand, long fingers of charred bone that clamped around the scepter’s staff, and pulled it from Ilfedo’s grasp. “At lasssst.”
Ilfedo glanced at the captain of the guard, still lying speechless on the ground. “My sword, Bromstead!”
“Cease your foolish, powerless grabs at authority!” The demon’s eyes took form, staring at Bromstead. “Hail me, Soldier, and submit to my authority so that days of glory may be restored to Dresdyn. For here I stand, the last Lord Warrior, Brunster Thadius Oldwell!” And with that the demon leaned over Ilfedo and struck him on the chin.
Stars danced in his vision, flashes of light that changed to darkness. He was losing consciousness. At the same time, the demon’s hold on him relaxed, so with a desperate grab Ilfedo’s fingers curled around the hilt of the sword of the dragon. He laughed as ribbons of fire lashed from the sword onto his arm. A wave of flames enveloped his body and drove the demon backward ten feet.
Ilfedo stood and fully drew his sword, poising his blade at the being. Driving forward, he took hold of the demon’s arm and hacked it off. It screamed and leaped into the air. Remembering his fight with the Grim Reaper, Ilfedo blasted the ground with fire from his sword, sending himself flying after the being.
In the air they collided, and the people below scattered as, blow upon blow, sword rang against scepter. They fell to the street. Blood ran from Brunster Thadius Oldwell’s stub of an arm.
Ilfedo stared at the blood. The thing had become flesh. He swallowed his fear and said, “You are not welcome in this world, Demon. It is time to meet your eternal Judge.” Ilfedo stabbed his sword into the being’s heart and it collapsed upon the ground.
The body dissolved into smoke, which seeped into the scepter.
Taking the evil thing in his hand, Ilfedo climbed the hall steps and faced the people. “No device of sorcery must be allowed to continue. If it were, then it would visit our children or their children.” He frowned and held forth the scepter, crossing it with his sword blade. “I will not risk that.”
Tensing his sword arm, he sliced through the scepter. As the golden halves clattered to the steps, a cheer rose from the people, and Bromstead climbed the steps to stand behind him. Tendrils of smoke wafted from the scepter at Bromstead’s feet as he kicked it away, smiling down at Ilfedo, his Lord Warrior.
Ilfedo raised his sword. As if he had dropped a blanket over the assembly, they ceased their cheers, and with every eye engaged on him, he spoke loud and strong. “A time of change is upon you all. The time has come to leave your homes and return to living aboveground, where there are trees for shade, ground for tilling, and seas to explore.” He went on to promise them a welcoming union with the people of the Hemmed Land.
“The sword that I wield draws its power from an ancient place that I must find. Someone is trying to steal that power. I cannot allow that to happen. I must continue on the journey I started before finding your city. But in my absence I will leave your ministers of state with instructions that you are to follow. Upon my return we will leave this cavern forever.”
The rest of that day was filled with meetings. Ilfedo laid out his plan for the construction of a ramp along the cavern wall. By means of this he hoped to lead all the people out of the cavern by the way he had come. Building materials would be needed, and seeing as the city was made of wood, he ordered the buildings to be deconstructed. At first objections were raised, but Ilfedo would hear none of it. “I have ordered it to be done. Now make it so,” he said.
At the end of the day, seeking peace and solitude, he wandered back toward the street where the haunted home had been.
The city was quiet, and the Dewobins flew to their nests high in the cavern walls. The Nuvitor flew ahead of him between the rows of beautiful buildings. It circled, then landed on his shoulder. He caressed its chest and sighed. “Where do we stand now, Seivar? Have I gone too far?” He fingered the dragon ring, now as tight around his finger as the day he’d acquired it. The amethyst-eyed creature growled at him.
He shivered in the still, damp air as he walked past a church, snowy white with a steeple fronting it, rising perhaps fifty feet. He stopped and stared at the dim cemetery on either side of the church. Gravestones large and small covered the ground. He stood to the side of the church and leaned against it. From this street to the next, a quarter mile away, all he could see were more graves.
Bathed in the Dewobins’ pink light, the scene looked deceptively simple. He knew from his glance through the city’s historical records that many remarkable people had been buried here.
He wandered among the stones, mulling over the strange demon he’d faced earlier that day. Demon or spirit, he didn’t know what to call it. He stooped as the Nuvitor bounced onto a gravestone. Brushing dust from the engraving, he read “Hugo Emitzer—beloved husband and deacon of God’s church; we’ll see you again.” Nearby stood a triangular stone. “Relmund Fletcher—trusted prophet; your kindness brought us light in this dark place. May God smile upon you until we can follow you Home.”
Not far off rested a stone larger than all others. It was square, about a foot thick, three wide, and twice again as high. He walked up to it and crossed his arms, for the inscription read “Brunster Thadius Oldwell—In the time that our ancestors fled their homeland in search of another, he became the Lord Warrior to secure for us a future. His knowledge of sunlight’s power enabled us to keep our homes, but his denial of God’s existence will forever be our sorrow. He will be sorely missed.”
Ilfedo stepped back and was startled to bump into something soft and hear it grunt. He spun around, and the Nuvitor flashed across his vision. With his hand on his sword, he faced the church.
A bearded man looked up at him with a smile. “Relax, relative.”
Ilfedo laughed and shook Everett’s hand.
“You have a way with death.” Everett clasped his hands behind his back and faced the gravestone. “I suppose we’ll never know if that thing today was the Lord Warrior purportedly buried here or not.” Then he shook his head and put an arm around Ilfedo’s back, walking him back to the street. “Ha! God be praised. We are not alone in this world after all. You proved that. Now all that remains is getting out of this nightmare hole.”
“The bridge out of this cavern, once built, will make escape possible. But with several thousand people, I doubt the journey will be easy. And during my absence you will have to endure this continuing darkness.”
Everett stood toe to toe with him, staring into his eyes. “Frankly, there is a way for you to do something substantial about that. It would tie in with the prophecy.”
“There is a prophecy concerning this?”
“Indeed. There is another building like the one you destroyed. Except this one is no abandoned home. It is the observatory housing a device long ago used to light our city. Supposedly it has the ability to turn our night into day. It was built by the Lord Warrior and was abandoned upon his death. It seems the creatures—or demons, as you have called them—inhabited it on the very day of Brunster Thadius Oldwell’s demise. There was a caretaker of the observatory, according to our historical records—a man by the name of Miles. But on the day the Lord Warrior died, Miles remained in the observatory and refused to come out or light our city ever again. Some men broke inside after two weeks of darkness. The records are not clear, yet it seems only one man returned alive, though missing both arms, and warned of a beast within the observatory. No one has ventured inside since. From time to time passersby have testified to hideous manifestations that beckon to them and then vanish back through the observatory walls … but then there is the prophecy concerning the coming of a new Lord Warrior—”
“Tell me of it,” Ilfedo said.
Folding his hands to his forehead, as if in prayer, Everett nodded. “The prophecy was spoken around sixty years ago by the pastor of Holy Commons Church, which is now a ruin in the haunted neighborhood. The pastor was Hubert Apelgen, and I have put to memory what the books quote as his prophecy:
“ ‘Woe to you, city of darkness that lies in the heart of this fallen world. Woe to the people that live in your streets. For many and wicked are the spirits that seek you out. The possessors come that cannot be cast out. They come for your wives and your daughters. They seek not pleasure but pain. Fallen, fallen is the house of God in the midst of the darkness. But when a child cries and the new Lord Warrior hears, then salvation comes for you. Run, run he must and will, to the window of heaven, to open and shed light on this dark, fallen world. Unbind the soul held within the prism. Break and scatter the pieces thereof, that the spirits shall release and be gone forever. Blessed is he that comes in the righteous indignation of his Creator, for he sheds the light of truth from one Lord Warrior upon another.’ ”
Ilfedo raised his eyebrows, and Everett laughed in a nervous sort of way. “I know. You’re thinking coincidence, or was Brunster Thadius Oldwell truly not dead.”
“The prophecy is a puzzle until proven true or false. Yet, what do you think that last phrase means?”
“I have long wondered, cousin. But who am I to understand the prophecy beyond its words? Perhaps the answers can be found in the observatory.”
“Regardless, this bears looking into. I cannot leave until I know the people will be safe in my absence.” Ilfedo waved toward the street. “Show me the place.”
Everett stroked his beard, frowning. “If your greatest concern stands on that sentiment, then what do you plan to do about the black beasts? They will surely return.”
Ilfedo shook his head. “To what are you referring?” As soon as he asked the question, he remembered Seivar’s dance with the Dewobins. The Nuvitor had said something about a battle between black brutes and humans.
“You have been with us this long and no one has told you about the creatures?” Everett’s mouth hung open, and it was his turn to shake his head. “I thought the city council would have informed you.” He put his hand on the back of Ilfedo’s shoulder and led him down the street, toward the farthest corner of the dimly lit city.
Everett told him of six-legged creatures that lived in the tunnels and caverns nearby. They breathed vapor and fire like Vectra’s Megatraths, but these had black hides. Ilfedo could only reason that he was very close to the underground Megatrath realm. It was possible, he reasoned, that, like humanity, the Megatraths were divided into various skin colors, or races.
“The army of Dresdyn is in the midst of a small war with the brutes,” Everett said as they passed a red house with green shutters and turned down a narrow street. “Bromstead returned from the tunnel defenses only a few days ago, yet he had been gone for a month. The bulk of our military force is guarding several tunnels in that direction.” He pointed to the far wall of the cavern, the opposite direction from which Ilfedo had come, and thus Ilfedo deduced he was pointing southwest. “I’m not well informed when it comes to soldiers’ dealings,” Everett continued. “Yet I hear things from members of my congregation. The Tresk family has two sons gone in the tunnels. They had a third son, but he died last year in battle. They say the fight has not gone in our favor, but they have reason to hope that it may change; the brutes have not ventured this way for several weeks now, which is most unusual.”
As they passed a gray home with white trim, fronted by a porch, the door opened and a young man hobbled out on a cane. He wore pink trousers, and a pink shirt was visible between the folds of his brilliant yellow sweater. Seeming not to notice Ilfedo and Everett as they walked by, the young man patted a book in the crook of his arm and dropped into a swing seat at the porch’s far end. Laying his cane across his knees, he pushed on the floor with his leg, rocking the swing. Then he opened the book with great care and fingered several hundred pages through before smiling to himself, licking his lips, and holding the page before his eyes. His peg leg slid back and forth over the porch. Rit-a-tat, rit-a-tat, thud! Rit-a-tat, rit-a-tat, thud!
Slowing his steps, Ilfedo listened to the steady rhythm of the engrossed reader’s peg leg and the creak of the swing’s chains. “Do you know him?”
Everett looked at the porch and nodded with a big grin. “Him I know well! That is Ardius, and, as he would say, he teaches history and literature and math at High Glory Academy. Or, as it is commonly known, his house. But his academy is well reputed. He teaches around thirty children.”
“Did he lose his leg in the war?”
Everett laughed and slapped his thigh. “Ardius? Go into battle? No, my good cousin, he came into the world with one leg. There is hardly an iron muscle in his body, save for his eyes, I suppose, and his brain … if one can call that a muscle. Ardius is an avid follower of the prophets’ works, and he’s often brought very strong debates into my parish. He believes most prophets are false, yet the few he accepts he ardently defends, for he knows the whole of their writings, I believe, by heart.”
Guiding Ilfedo to the end of the street and turning another corner, Everett said, “Among your new subjects there is no one whom you should trust more than Ardius, and also whose trust you will need to work as hard to earn.”
At the end of the road, a row of shabby homes and businesses rose into view … with one very unique, very large building rising out of their midst. The sword thrummed against his leg, and he glanced at the sword of the dragon, still sheathed. He sensed a thick, growing evil somewhere ahead. Something strong, something elusive, that connected through the sword. He grasped for it, yet … yet it remained illusive. It wanders, stumbles, drunken and bidden against its will. It hates and wants to kill. Too long has it been alone. These walls of stone and wood are a prison and a home to its infested soul.
The building before which Ilfedo now stood was dissimilar to all other structures in the wooden city. Its round base was about eighty feet in diameter, and the walls stood half as high. It sat nestled at the base of a very high cliff, and its roof was adorned in white and beige square tiles. Its pitch was steep, rising to an arrow point some thirty feet higher than the walls.
Perhaps the most curious sight, however, was the mighty metal gears. They were slightly taller than he. The core of each gear had been carved from a dark wood, but an iron band had been wrapped around each, much in the same way that iron forms the outer ring on wagon wheels. To the outer bands had been fixed bronze blocks the size of a man’s head. These teeth fitted between the teeth of each succeeding gear all around the building. From the orange discoloration on the gears’ shafts, where they pierced the building, Ilfedo could see that the contraption had been out of use for a long, long time.
Everett shifted from one foot to the other, staring down the length of his beard at a dead Dewobin on the dirt street. He dropped to his knees. “Be glad I’m not an atheist.” He folded his hands and closed his eyes. “I will remain here and pray that you succeed.”
Ilfedo walked down the winding path to the observatory doors, standing before them in the silence until the Nuvitor shrieked, diving, and landed on his shoulder. “Wait out here, my friend.” Ilfedo stroked the bird’s chest and set it on a post sticking out of the ground. He would rather venture in alone, at first.
As he drew his sword and reached for the door latch, a low rumble filled the building. He grasped the latch, then lifted it and pulled. The door, some twelve feet high, squealed on its hinges and opened barely enough to allow him to squeeze through the opening and into the hazy, dim room beyond.
Dust clouded the air, falling from the arched ceiling rafters. He brushed the dust from his shoulders and sneezed into his elbow. The air felt warmer in here, humid almost. The Living Fire played over his body unimpeded as he scrutinized the walls of the small oval room; he half expected a series of portraits that would spawn the demonic creatures he’d found in the house.
But here the walls were devoid of furnishings and color. Also, his armor shed light, and his sword blazed without dimming. He strode to a smaller door at the far end of the room—the only other door—and opened it.
Something was different about this building.
The room that he gazed into was circular and enormous. Its walls extended to the full size of the building as seen from the exterior. And the cathedral ceiling was fully exposed between rows of tree-thick beams crisscrossing some thirty feet above him. Cobwebs in abundance overflowed the rafters and draped onto the machinery below. Twin rows of enormous gears, like those outside, flanked a broad aisle leading to the room’s far end. A faint glow emanated from a yellow panel on the floor, and a series of weights on chains filled the wall behind it. Beneath the motionless weights was an assortment of levers, both large and small. The levers had been built into a hammered iron box. As he stepped down to the floor, his aura reflected off the iron box, blushing it a shade of violet.
“Troubled sleep. I always have it. Leave me, nightmares. Let me die.” The words entered his mind from a troubled consciousness, probing, as if reaching out to Ilfedo’s.
Ilfedo stooped behind the gears. He peered between them, wondering where the voice in his head had come from. But all he could see were cobwebs and some gears strewn across the floor. He might have tried burning the cobwebs with his sword, so as to see with greater clarity; however, such a fire could easily spread to the walls. If this contraption could bring light into the cavern, he would need to preserve it, not burn it.
“Ho, weary one! At last, having entered my abode, how do you find it?” A thud sounded from behind, and Ilfedo heard the unknown voice again in his mind. “Too long alone and hungry.”
Who are you? Ilfedo thought.
The building answered back with the haunting summons of a tomb. Yet somewhere in the shadows piercing eyes were watching. He could feel their penetrating stare—but not as if they looked at Ilfedo the man. It gazed under his skin, spirit to soul.
Standing and closing his eyes, Ilfedo demanded more fire from the sword. Out the flames poured, turning him into a pillar of bright fire. “Come forth!” he commanded. “I know you are watching. I can feel it and—” He angled his consciousness into the sword of the dragon and raised the sword out of his hand. He could see himself standing there, from the perspective of the sword’s blade. He looked steady and focused. Good. Whatever is in here will see me as a greater threat.
He hovered the point of the sword over his head, then flipped it so the blade aimed at the roof. Being inside of the sword in this manner was like being in a crystal with four facets, those facets being the four angles of the shiny blade. He could see better from in here than was possible with his physical eyes—at least in such a dim setting. And above him on the creaking rafters he spotted his quarry, a bulky black thing that moved with the speed of a snake to another corner and then let itself to the floor below.
Withdrawing his mind from the sword, Ilfedo flexed his sword arm. He glanced to the left over the mass of confusing gears. The creature had let itself down over there.
Bounding forward, Ilfedo landed on a gear with one foot and vaulted the rest of them. He rolled onto the floor on the opposite side, nicking his cheek on a loose gear in the process and pushing his helmet off to one side. He stood and shifted the helm so it sat straight upon his head again.
Before he could lower his hand from the helm, a claw scraped along his breastplate and attempted to carve a circle over his heart. The armor was not even scratched.
The face of a Megatrath penetrated the shadows … a black face layered in glossy armor plating. Its egg-white eyes regarded him without fear. “The power of Living Fire is in your blade, foreigner. Otherwise this claw should have cut open your heart and you would now be dead.”
You are a Megatrath.
The creature stepped sideways, and knife-blade spikes along its back glistened in the playing firelight. Judging by its size, Ilfedo surmised it was half grown.
“So you know this species. What an intriguing twist on our knowledge of you, yet insubstantial. You were clever in your dealings with our counterparts, pulling them out to slay one by one. Yet this body is fully physical, powerful enough to match your skill. And we are within it as powerful as they. You are going to fall.”
Pain twisted the creature’s face as it shook its body. Smoke fell from its armored hide, metal chinking against metal. The smoke rolled to Ilfedo’s feet, and ice crawled up his armored legs. The Living Fire sputtered, yet the armor stayed upon him even as he sank to his knees and the mighty sword’s flames died.
Human arms extended from the Megatrath’s sides. They were wisps, vapors. Whisperings emanated from the creature’s mouth, voices not its own. “Come to us, Ilfedo of the land above. Join with us for a life eternal.”
“Life eternal? God help me, you are devils in disguise.”
“He will not be swayed,” the voices whispered to each other in his mind. “Then we will slay him. This body needs sustenance.”
The creature’s eyes startled open. “No!” it roared. It swept its claws through the loose components on the floor, clanging them against the large gears behind Ilfedo. The sound rang through the building. The heavy rafters seemed like harp strings flinging the sound to and fro, then casting it high above to where the arches met at the roof’s pinnacle.
At that moment the door opened and someone stumbled inside. Ilfedo tried in vain to raise his sword as the devils hissed his doom. “Everett, be careful. I can’t move. Stay back!”
“And what,” Bromstead replied, “made you think I was that pompous little man?”
“Captain of the guard!” Ilfedo twisted his head enough to see the giant of a man stagger within ten feet of him.
The man’s eyes were white, and his cheeks dripped sweat.
“No.” Ilfedo hung his head. “How did they get to you too?”
Bromstead inhaled deeply, and his eyes turned a beautiful green. His skin darkened considerably, and his muscles bulged beneath his clothes. He stood straight and walked to a stone slab nearby. Ilfedo did not recall noticing it before.
Bromstead hefted the stone with a mighty grunt, then rolled it aside. Beneath lay a two-handed sword with a blade over four feet in length. Stooping, the man grasped its ivory handle and raised it before his face. He smelled it and smiled. The blade had a half-inch gap running from its handle three quarters of the way up its fuller.
Ilfedo cried out, “God will save me from this madness.” He released his sword, for this was a spiritual battle waged over souls. He tried to prostrate himself, but the ice crawled over him and froze his position. So he continued to pray, both out loud and in his heart.
With a couple of easy strides Bromstead crossed the distance remaining between them. He swiveled the sword with his wrist, cutting swift, skillful arcs on either side of him. Then he stepped up to the Megatrath and patted its head. “I did not think I would ever see thee again.”
Incoherent whispers emanated from the creature’s mouth.
“Ah yes, possessing a body … never an easy task.” Bromstead swept around and returned Ilfedo’s stare. He held his long sword’s point to Ilfedo’s throat. “Curious little man. You broke a scepter and believed me gone. Yet all you did was free me for the acquisition of this body.” Bromstead laid his hand on his chest and vomited.
Ilfedo continued to fervently pray.
“Enough of that!” Bromstead’s blade glowed green to match his eyes, and tongues of green lapped toward the sword of the dragon. “I, Brunster Thadius Oldwell, will fight thee to the death by sword combat.” He swept his arm at the rest of the room. “What better place, in this strange world, could there be for a sword duel between two Lord Warriors!” Brunster stood back and slapped the young Megatrath’s thick hide. “Release him, for I will fight him in the old manner. No advantages given. We will fight cunning versus cunning, and I will match my experience and skill with a blade against his.”
The ice melted until Ilfedo found himself standing in a puddle as the Megatrath lumbered to the far wall. It stood there, vacant eyes fixated on Brunster.
Ilfedo straightened his back and loosened his shoulders. “So you want to challenge me in fair one-on-one combat.” He chuckled, poising the sword of the dragon as if to stab forward. Slashing instead, he tapped his opponent’s long green blade. Living Fire slashed out, and green flames responded from the ancient rival blade. The flames fused together, twisting like fighting serpents.
Brunster slashed his blade across Ilfedo’s face. Ilfedo leaned back, too late. The green sword drew blood from his nose. Ilfedo countered with a thrust, simultaneously smashing his fist upward at Brunster’s nose, but missed with both attempts.
The taller man parried and swept one leg behind Ilfedo’s knees. As Ilfedo dropped to the floor and rolled to the side, Brunster widened his stance. He flashed the green blade over Ilfedo’s head, then stabbed at his chest. Ilfedo reversed his roll, lay on his back, and kicked Brunster’s knees.
The man cried out and teetered. Like a falling tree, he landed on the floor, and Ilfedo stood. He flicked the sword out of Brunster’s hand with his own blade, then held it to Brunster’s chest. “Release this man and depart from this place, I command you.”
In that moment, with his opponent felled and at his mercy, the Megatrath rumbled in its throat. It thrashed on the floor, hissings and gasps sounding between its teeth. The sword of the dragon, which had continued to blaze with undeniable fervor, sputtered. Its flames quenched of their own accord, and the armor of light peeled away from Ilfedo’s body.
A scream echoed through his mind, and he closed his eyes, seeing a dark place where stone blocks had been strewn over the ground and rusted weapons and metal shards lay beneath a woman’s feet. He couldn’t see her face. She laughed and raised in her hand a gold key that blazed with fire. “The power to overcome is mine,” she shouted. She ran across the ground and tripped on a small block. As her chest smacked the ground, the key slipped from her fingers. It flew into the air, hovering there for a brief moment, then sped the way it had come. A dome-shaped energy barrier captured the key and the scene vanished.
Ilfedo found himself lying on the observatory floor. The Megatrath and Brunster Thadius Oldwell stood over him. The ancient Lord Warrior knelt next to him and pulled the sword of the dragon from his hand. The Living Fire returned into the blade. Returned! It returned into my blade. The vision he’d had of the woman … she must have stolen the Key of Living Fire and temporarily transferred its power into her own hands. That was why his sword had failed him in that moment. The dragon ring tightened around his finger, and he gritted his teeth, for it was very painful.
Brunster’s eye gleamed as he stared at the ring. “Living Fire. This I have not seen in a very long while. Restrict his movements, Megatrath. There is more to this man than at first I thought.”
The creature planted its claws over Ilfedo’s shoulders as Brunster cradled the beautiful sword in his outstretched hands, gazing upon its blade. Releasing the blade with one hand, he touched the dragon ring. A stream of white-hot flame emanated from the tiny creature’s maw, and Brunster withdrew his hand. Then he threw the sword of the dragon across the room and spoke to the Megatrath. “Hold him here until I return.” He picked up his sword. Green flames snaked over the blade as he strode to the door and exited the building.
Though Ilfedo looked about for a way of escape, he could find none. The Megatrath loomed over him, its great weight an impossible obstacle for him to overcome without his sword. The screams of women and children filtered from the doorway Brunster had left open. Something large exploded, and the floor trembled.
“No, please! I will serve you,” a woman pleaded from somewhere outside.
He heard Bromstead’s strong voice reply, “And your daughter? Can I rely on her allegiance as well, or shall I exact her life in payment for the deeds of this city against me?”
“Mommy!”
“Please, don’t kill her! She is my only child.”
“Then take her. I will let her live so that you may better serve me,” Bromstead said. “So will it be that if you fail me, your daughter will perish.”
“Captain of the guard, what are you doing?” It was a voice unfamiliar to Ilfedo. “What is wrong with your eyes? Hey! That is the sword of—”
“Kneel and kiss my feet, Soldier. Kneel or fall upon my blade, for I am your Lord Warrior.”
“What have you done with Lord Ilfedo?”
“Lord Ilfedo? You called him lord.”
The man cried out as if he’d been stabbed, and the woman screamed.
“He is not dead, woman,” Bromstead laughed. “I have left him alive so that you may prove your loyalty to me, as will everyone in this city. Take that stone and kill him, else I will slay your daughter.”
Ilfedo screamed his rage. He threw his leg against the Megatrath’s, yet it glanced blankly down at him. It did not comprehend, nor did it need to. He was no threat.
Then Ilfedo’s soul surged within him. With intense conviction and faith, he said to the creature, “In the name of God, be rid of these demons!”
From a dark corner of the large room, behind an idle gear, Everett emerged. He hunkered forward, eyes closed, lips silently moving. The Megatrath growled and slashed at the man. Momentarily freed, Ilfedo wrested his other arm from the creature’s grasp and rolled toward the door. “Everett, let’s get out of here.”
The old man shook his head ever so slightly, and two men stood behind another gear. By their pink robes and familiar faces Ilfedo recognized them as monks from the church he had slept in. The monks’ hands were folded, and they began to sing a soft hymn as the Megatrath shook its head and blinked its eyes.
From outside Ilfedo heard Bromstead’s voice. “Make your choice. Serve me, or shall your daughter die?”
Ilfedo slammed the door open and stepped into the dusty street. The vast expanse of Dewobin pink sky was far above him. The mix of well-tended and far-gone buildings stood on streets as far as he could see in any direction.
People flooded down the street, led by the city guards who now brandished their swords. Bromstead struck the woman who knelt at his feet and grabbed the little girl by her hair, dangling her from his hand and aiming his angry green blade toward the city guards.
The guards ground to a halt, and clouds of dust rolled the twenty feet or so that remained between them and Bromstead. “Bow to me, one and all, for I am returned,” Bromstead declared. “Bow to me, else this child shall die by my sword.”
Ilfedo rushed Bromstead from behind, tackling him at the waist and throwing him to the ground. He rolled and came up with fists ready to strike … but the man somehow stood first and poised his blade to strike Ilfedo’s neck.
A bird screeched from above, and the Nuvitor dove. Its silvery talons slashed at the man’s hands, and its beak tore a hole in his arm. The sword fell from Bromstead’s grasp as he screamed and grabbed the bird by its neck.
Ilfedo grabbed the fallen sword, then stabbed it toward Bromstead’s shoulder. But an invisible force tore the weapon from his grasp. The sword orbited Bromstead’s head, then shot through the air, aimed straight for Ilfedo’s heart. It seemed that just as the sword of the dragon was tied to Ilfedo, this other sword was likewise linked to Brunster Thadius Oldwell. It could not be turned upon its master.
Ilfedo dodged the flying blade too late. It impaled him through the lower ribcage and smashed him to the ground. The back of his head hit a stone, and a field of white flashed across his vision. He bled from his chest, and his strength left him.
Bromstead cast the girl to the street’s edge, and the Nuvitor shook itself free of his hand. Bromstead grasped his sword, leering down at Ilfedo. Then he twisted the blade in Ilfedo’s flesh and, unsmiling, he pulled it out. In two strides he met the guards, flashing his green blade in and out of their midst. The guards fell around him, for he hewed them down in frightful numbers. He left a mass of twisting wounded in his wake, seeming to leave every soul alive. The guards cried out for someone to stop him, but he seemed unshakeable and advanced toward the heart of the city.
At that moment Everett and the monks exited the building. They surrounded Ilfedo as he lay in the street and they knelt, laying hands on his body. A woman brushed between them and tore off his shirt, then dabbed at his wound with a clean cloth. More people rushed from between the buildings; of their number a great many closed their eyes and began to sing a lament.
But Everett and the monks were reinforced. The pink-robed holy servants knelt in the dust, and the power of their prayers refreshed Ilfedo’s spirit. “Sit me up,” he commanded.
A dozen eager hands pulled him to a sitting position as he groaned from the pain of his wound. “Bring me my sword.”
A heavy clawed hand reached out of the crowd, the sword of the dragon lain across it, and the young Megatrath lumbered forward. Its mouth twisted into what Ilfedo knew to be a Megatrath smile, but the people screamed and started to run. The creature made no attempt to follow. The people stood away from the creature as Everett smiled and stepped up to it. “Everyone,” he said, “may I have the honor of introducing Arvidane, whose body has been cleansed of evil possession through the Creator’s grace.”
“Honor?” A man limped toward the Megatrath. “I know this species. I fought its kind, and many of our good men have died defending our borders from them. Step aside, Minister, and let justice be served in the form of death to this beast.”
The Megatrath hunkered backward, pulling out of the crowd. Someone raised a sword and another cried out for silence, yet pandemonium broke instead. As fear filled the Megatrath’s eyes, it roared and batted away a sword.
A young boy ran to the Megatrath and gently wrapped his arms around the beast’s leg. “Stop! Don’t hurt him. Can’t you see how scared he is?” The child beckoned to several other children and they joined him. Soon the Megatrath stood in a protective crowd of children.
A man rushed from the crowd, ordering the children away even as he raised a sword at the beast’s back. With surprising agility three girls, no older than six, ascended the Megatrath’s leg and sprawled over its back. But the girls cried out, “Don’t hurt him!”
The creature still held the sword of the dragon. Ilfedo grunted, rolled toward the beast, and came within reach of the Megatrath’s hand. He turned his face up to see into the creature’s eyes. Their eyes met and the creature’s relaxed. Timidly it held forth the sword, and Ilfedo wrapped his fingers around its warm hilt.
The Living Fire leaped from the blade, the armor of light covered his body in warmth, and he felt his wound cauterize. A tingling filled his lower ribcage, as if internal healing was begun. Gradually his strength returned until he stumbled to his feet, leaning on the sword for support.
Facing the Megatrath, he smiled. “I know your kind, Megatrath, for in Resgeria I have an ally. She is strong and honorable.” He pointed in the direction Bromstead had gone. “If you are honorable as well, rectify your deeds by bringing that man to me … Bring him alive and disarmed. For only then do I believe the people of this city will forgive your past deeds, though they were not your own deeds but those of the demons within you.”
The creature shrank away, shaking its head. “I cannot! The man placed the demons in me before; he would do so again.”
“You are larger now, Arvidane. You have great strength and speed, not to mention experience with what he did to you before.”
“Hear him.” Everett stepped close to the Megatrath and stroked its long snout.
And the crowd echoed with exuberant shouts.
Arvidane straightened his legs as the monks assisted the children off his back. He swiveled his face to look around at the people, then stared at Ilfedo. “I-If you will join me, I will do it.”
The giant of a man stood on the steps to the city hall, the wicked green blade glowing in his hand. Smoke gathered around him as he looked upon the wounded men he had strewn over the steps. He directed his sword at the city hall’s doors, and green flames lapped at them until the wood darkened. Flames crackled along the doors, wrapped around the trim. The paint peeled, and thick smoke rose over the building’s face.
Down the street Ilfedo came, purposeful strides bringing him nearer the possessed man. In the side streets the monks gathered the people in huddles. He took great comfort in the prayers they were offering.
“Bromstead, hearken to me! What is this madness?” Ilfedo sheathed his sword and spread his arms. “You are in there still. Surely you have not been destroyed. You are a man of honor, so how did this spirit come to reside in you? How can you let him use you thus?”
The man regarded him with an indifferent gaze as the building crackled and smoked, its windows turning deep gray. He descended the steps as Ilfedo drew within a dozen feet of him, then he stepped close, and, though Ilfedo moved quickly to draw his sword, the green blade smote him broadside on his knee.
As Ilfedo fell, the man shook his head down at him. “A puzzle indeed. You bear the Living Fire, yet you haven’t the knowledge or means to properly wield it. Would that you knew its true potential, Warrior; then fear me you would not, and this city would be yours. Ah, but my defeat requires more than you have brought against me. Take me from this body, and I shall live in another.” Bromstead knelt and rested his knee on Ilfedo’s chest. “Thou hast proven yourself a capable warrior, a threat even. I am almost sorry to be the agent of your death.” He raised his green blade in both hands, pointing it at Ilfedo’s throat. He thrust downward—
The dragon ring hissed a jet of steam and growled.
Bromstead’s arm froze, the blade mere millimeters from Ilfedo’s jugular. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the little ring.
The gold dragon’s neck tripled its length, and its body doubled in size. Its amethyst eyes swelled, and its metal claws drew blood droplets from Ilfedo’s finger. Ilfedo cried out, pain lancing his wrist with the intensity of a pot of scalding water.
The young black Megatrath barreled out of a nearby street, yellow vapors wafting from its maw. Bromstead stood to meet it with a frown upon his face. “You could not keep this man restrained?”
The creature swiped its claws toward Brunster’s sword, hooking its claws around the blade and throwing it end over end. Bromstead watched the blade depart until it stabbed into the thick beam along a porch front. A cry of jubilation sounded from the streets. People rushed from hiding. A man lifted a boy on his shoulders. The boy grasped the green sword—its flames dying—and pulled it down. The sword was handed through the crowd and vanished from sight, carried to only the crowd knew where.
“No!” Bromstead charged Arvidane the Megatrath, and the creature smote him in the chest.
But Ilfedo could watch no longer. The dragon ring grew ever larger. The band snapped off his finger, and the gold dragon stood on the ground. Its legs grew seven feet long and its body grew in proportion. The crowd gasped.
A snarling dragon of pure shining gold rose twenty feet over Ilfedo. It had no wings, yet its gold scales sprayed the Dewobins’ glow in every direction. Its feet clinked against the ground as it stepped over him. With an effortless sweep of its hand, it grabbed Ilfedo by the torso. It pressed him against its belly, and a gold band hinged from its side and pinned him in place.
Seivar attacked it, leaving not even a scratch for his efforts on the metal monster. The bird screeched, flying circles around the gold monstrosity as it lumbered into the main road. The gold dragon carried Ilfedo to the far west side of the city. The city guards struck it with their swords, without avail.
The gold dragon raced down the road, leaving the city’s inhabitants far behind. It stabbed its claws into the cavern wall and pulled itself up, hand over hand, with the speed of a leopard. Stone fell away as it tore upward a hundred feet, two hundred. The city became a child’s plaything far below. Then the gold thing stopped. Holding itself on the wall with three feet, it tore a hole in the rock with its free hand. Gold flaked from its claws, and sparks erupted as it viciously attacked the cavern wall.
It dug a hole and lurched inside. Seivar flew on its heels. His wings flapped unseen in the blackness, and the gold dragon ground the stones into dust, burrowing a tunnel toward—Ilfedo knew it to be true—Resgeria. He could only hope that his efforts had been enough to give the people of Dresdyn the upper hand in their struggle against Brunster Thadius Oldwell. There was no way for him to return, not now when he was held to this thing’s metal underside, and there was no conceivable means for the people of Dresdyn to follow him. A thousand people could not scale that wall. At least, not before he was so far away that—
As Seivar landed on the gold dragon’s back and cawed, the gold dragon’s tail lashed the ceiling and walls of its created tunnel. Staring behind at the dim pink light at the tunnel’s opening, Ilfedo’s throat tightened. The dragon’s tail crumbled the stones, and they rained from the ceiling, broke off the walls, avalanching into the tunnel. A shadow of dust and stones filled in the tunnel behind him.
The gold dragon surged forward. It released him from its belly only to hold him in one of its hard hands. Its body crashed into the stone, and the stone did not deny it. Dust blanketed Ilfedo’s body as he reached for his sword and drew it from its sheath. By the Living Fire’s light, the gold dragon glared brilliantly, as if chiseled from a single enormous gold nugget.
Ilfedo considered speaking to the creature. If he ordered it to turn back … but that would be futile. The creature’s amethyst eyes were unblinking as they stared into space. It was not a living thing to be convinced. It had a mission to bring him to Albino’s agent and reveal the agent to him. It had no other purpose.
“Master, are you all right?” The bird’s silvery eyes flashed in the light of his armor, and its wings spread to balance it atop the metal beast.
Ilfedo shouted back, “I will be. I suppose.”
The gold dragon’s claws raked the stones. It balled a fist and crushed it forward. Inside of a few seconds the tunnel extended a few feet farther.
“I see no way out of this, my friend.”
“Nor do I, Master.”
Ilfedo smote his blade against the gold dragon’s back, sending a shower of gold to the ground. “But I will return. The people of Dresdyn deserve that much.”
For several hours the gold dragon tunneled. The tunnel collapsed behind it as it pressed forward. At last, its claws tore into brown stone that flaked into tiny bits and fell into an enormous cavern beyond.
Light filled the cavern, a pure blue light that danced over the gold dragon and upon the terrain before it. The cavern was shaped like a teardrop and had a pillar of gray stone from its peaked ceiling to the bowl of a floor below. Ribbons of water trickled into the bowl, and from nearby twin rivers gushed out of the rocks, wending through the bowl and out its other end.
The gold dragon raised its hand and pointed its sharp metal claw at a tunnel opening far on the cavern’s opposing wall just above the bowl. In that moment the dragon ceased to move. With the sudden loss in momentum, Ilfedo was thrown forward out of the dragon’s opened hand. He tumbled, slamming his shoulder on a boulder.
Groaning, he stood, and the Nuvitor perched on the boulder, flapping its wings. Ilfedo walked down the walls of the bowl. It was a gentle descent. When he had proceeded a hundred feet, he turned back and gazed upon the gold dragon. It was a statue now, frozen in the gaping mouth of its tunnel. The amethyst eyes seemed to accuse him, and the gold claw pointed across the rivers. “Go,” it seemed to order him. “Go before all that the white dragon has ordered falls into ruin.”
The rivers’ rush was gentle on his ears as he walked to the bank and knelt, cupping his hand in the ice-cold water. He quenched his thirst and then stepped into the river. His legs prickled as if stuck with a thousand needles. Then the sword of the dragon warmed his blood. He stepped up the opposite embankment and sidestepped a curious cactus about four feet tall. The cactus had two branches that shot at right angles from the trunk, and several oblong orange fruits hung from them.
His stomach rumbled, and he smiled as he picked a fruit off the cactus and broke it upon a stone. The fruit’s flesh was cream in color, and as he took a bite he relished the pear-like flavor. But the aftertaste of overcooked beef—
He swallowed before his taste buds could fully object. “It isn’t as good as it looks, Seivar.” He moved aside as the bird waddled toward the fruit and slashed it with its beak. Its eyes closed as it swallowed, then it dug into the fruit with a vengeance. Before long it cleaned out the skin and flew across the second river, perching on a boulder along the way toward the exit tunnel.
Ilfedo splashed into the river. The water came to his chest and he half-swam the twenty feet to the other side. As he sloshed out of the water, the sword of the dragon steamed his clothes dry. Something splashed behind, and he looked back at the river. A fat black fish swam against the river current. Its large round eyes gleamed with blue light, so bright that he glanced away.
He walked up the bowl and the Nuvitor leaped off its boulder to circle him. The bird landed gently on his shoulder and cooed in his ear. He continued toward the tunnel, glancing back once again at the white-gold dragon. In the blue light of this cavern it turned almost silver. “It will probably remain there forever, Seivar. Forever, that is, until the end of this world …” Ilfedo flexed the fingers of his right hand. His pointer finger was now freed of the nasty ring. Yet would the ring’s loss prevent him from finding the dragon’s agent? No sense in mulling over that which was already done.
Holding his sword before his face, he set off into the tunnel. Great claw marks had carved the tunnel walls, and they angled steeply upward so that he was forced to his knees. He pulled himself up the tunnel, knowing that, at last, he would be among friends and allies.
15
WHIMLY JANVEL
The ground trembled and a roar rent the air. Oganna started from her sleep and looked about. The roar sounded as if it had come from the volcano, not from some beast.
“The volcano is very violent,” Ombre said as he sat beside her in the tent’s doorway. “More violent than anyone told me it could be.”
She raised herself on her elbows. She’d been sleeping on her stomach. “You’ve been up for a while?” The viper slithered through the grass and coiled around her arm until its head rested on her shoulder.
He nodded. “I had trouble sleeping last night.”
Again the ground shook; the volcano rumbled. Caritha stirred and groggily inquired what was happening. “No need to worry,” Ombre told her. “The volcano is having a bad day.”
The air was rent with a sound equivalent to that of a bolt of lightning cracking a large tree—only this was a million times more powerful, and it was not a tree. The volcano’s crest cracked, and an ocean of fresh red-yellow lava spilled out. The ground quaked—then all grew silent.
They waited in hushed uncertainty. “Well,” Ombre said when a few minutes had passed, “that was strong—and disturbing—”
He stood, but never finished his sentence. The land to the south divided. A crack in the ground cut through the western forests. The low ground ahead of them sank, taking a forest of trees out of sight into the opened chasm.
The horses whinnied.
“Whoa!” Ombre began gathering their things, packing them back into their bags. “Let’s not stick around this place. Shall we, ladies?”
Caritha closed the tent’s flap. “Let me change first.”
“There might not be time,” Ombre warned.
But his words were lost on her, for she emerged shortly and smiled at him.
Together they gathered the rest of their things, packed their gear, and saddled the Evenshadows. Then, vaulting onto the horses’ backs, they raced from that place. But they were too late to escape. The ground beneath them twisted, rose, and broke up. Horses and all tumbled toward the swamp as the higher ground of the western forests slid away toward the volcano.
Oganna regained her balance as the quake ended. She looked back, and her jaw dropped wide open in astonishment, for she could see that a very large portion of the forest was buried. A broad and deep canyon sliced into the fertile ground, and swamp water was sloshing in its lowest depressions, though she and her companions had landed a good distance away from the canyon.
The viper stretched out its neck and swallowed hard. “Psst! Mistresss, this isss not good.”
“From here on,” Ombre said as he pulled Caritha from the mud, “the horses would be of little use. We will set them loose here, and they will find their way home.” He pulled a pack off his mount’s saddle and began picking a few items from the other bag still remaining on the saddle. “Unless you want to feel like you’re carrying lead, take only the essentials.”
They unpacked their things, then slapped the Evenshadows’ haunches and bade them speed home. Oganna watched them go with reservation. She relied on Avernardi, and on his back she always felt secure. Avernardi stopped to glance back when he reached the high ground. Wind whipped his silver mane to billow behind his neck. He snorted before wheeling about and disappearing into the trees.
“Well,” she said, “that’s that.”
“Indeed.” Ombre collected a few scattered items and added them to his pack.
Caritha had gotten the worst of the swamp’s muck, for she’d landed in the thick of it. She wiped her slime-covered face with her soaked sleeve and shook her shoulders in disgust. “Yuck!”
Ombre chuckled, and Oganna’s aunt turned on him with a bit of fire in her gaze.
“What?”
He raised both hands as if to defend himself. “Now, I don’t want you to stab me, or do anything else—painful.” He laughed. “Consider that I have been the perfect gentleman—”
Caritha’s face broke into the hint of a smile. One of her gentle hands pinched his chin, then squeezed his cheeks.
Into her hand Ombre chuckled again. “It’s okay. I know that it was important for you to freshen up. And you looked, well—” His voice grew suddenly serious. “You looked beautiful.”
Her face flushed and she withdrew her hand.
Oganna faced the swamp and surveyed its murky waters and dark terrain. The clouds of ash rising from the volcano almost hid the rising sun from view so that the mountain and the swamp around it were still shrouded in relative darkness. She could pick out streams and pools of water intersecting around tufts of tall grass. Narrow and muddy land covered most of the area, and gnarled trees pushed up to interlace in a dense canopy overhead. If habitable land lay in this direction, it was beyond that volcano.
“Once we enter that swamp, we will probably have great difficulty making it to the other side. But if we keep a straight path to the mountain’s base, then we should be able to skirt around it to the opposite side.” Ombre headed into the swamp and cut the swamp vines out of the way with his sword while they followed.
Before long all that connected them to the world outside the swamp was a tunnellike path cut out behind them. The swamp waters’ depths were impossible to calculate, so they did not set foot in them. Instead, they walked along tree roots and the occasional boulders that pierced the water’s surface. The foliage thinned out somewhat. Creating a path through the foliage became less of a problem than finding the nearest tree roots to step on.
Several hours of this treacherous hike brought them to the base of a large elm tree. A raised bit of grassy land surrounded the tree, and its roots stuck through it into the swamp. Oganna swatted at a swarm of mosquitoes. The insects grew peskier the farther into the swamp they went.
Ombre and Caritha sprinted ahead of her to a dry grassy spot of ground. They rolled the packs off each other’s backs and knelt, fishing out bread rolls and jam. Not particularly appetizing to her, but they would suffice.
Another mosquito stung her arm and she swatted it, then brushed the dead insect off as she leaned against a massive log beside the water. But the log slid into the water. She grabbed a hanging vine just in time to keep from falling into the murky swamp, and the log twisted its end out of the water to look at her with beady green eyes. It looked like some kind of alligator. Instinct told her to reach for Avenger in case the reptile turned on her, then she thought the better of it. There was no telling what other sorts of predators roamed this place, and the flashing of a glowing sword could bring their attention right to her. Better to remain inconspicuous.
Regaining her balance, she ran to join her companions. As she sat in the soft, dry grass, she swatted another mosquito and bit into a roll that Caritha handed her. “Uncle Ombre?”
He looked at her, his cheeks stuffed with bread.
“How much longer must we endure this?” she said.
He harrumphed and thumbed over his shoulder to the swamp ahead of them. Partitions of thick green foliage hung from the trees that hid the sunlight. The swamp waters formed pools that melded into one another as far as she could see in the dimness. “We haven’t made much headway. I’d say we are less than halfway to the mountain.” He finished his roll and held his hand over his mouth as he burped. “Sorry, ladies.”
Caritha shook her head, and Oganna laughed quietly. In the swamp water she distinguished a pair of lidless yellow eyes. The black pupils seemed to rove over her with disturbing persistence, like a predator eyeing its prey. She stood and turned to point it out to Ombre, but in that instant four skinny arms breached the water’s surface and pulled her feet out from under her. She grabbed on to the tree’s roots and refused to let go as the arms threatened to tear her limb from limb.
The eyes now rose out of the water, and she saw a hairy, slime-covered face atop a reptilian body. Gators now gathered around to watch, though she noted that they kept their distance from her captor. Two more arms extended from the creature’s body. It had now risen almost twenty feet out of the water, and she saw that multicolored scales shielded its chest.
There was a commotion to her right as Ombre and Caritha stabbed at the arms with their swords. The creature slipped its humanlike hands around their ankles and dangled them in the air. Its grip around Oganna tightened, and she felt another arm wrap around her stomach. She gasped for breath and struggled to maintain her hold on the tree’s roots, but they were wet and slippery.
She lost her grip with one hand, and her legs submerged in the water. The creature gurgled, and the water foamed around its arms, emitting a stench that made her gag. The thing seemed to be laughing at her, almost like a master puppeteer pulling the puppet’s strings. Using her free hand, she slid the boomerang from under her belt and stabbed one of the arms. This, she assumed, would cause the creature to release her. Instead, it dropped Ombre and Caritha and then wrapped the arms it had used to hold them around her chest!
The wound she had inflicted healed at a rapid rate, and the added strength of the creature’s other arms wore her down. Her arm ached and her lungs burned. The creature jerked her and then pulled again. Despite everything she’d tried, she lost her grip on a tree root, and the creature lifted her into the air. It pulled her out into the swamp as she struggled to free herself. The creature drew her toward its head, and its toothless mouth gaped open to receive her.
“Psst! Try it, you monssster! I’ll sssink my fangs into your ssstomach.” The viper coiled and uncoiled around her neck, slipping to each of the creature’s arms and sinking its fangs into them. But the creature was unaffected.
With cold slime sliding down her face, Oganna found it impossible to see what happened next. She heard something hiss in the trees and heard wings slap the air. The arms holding her thrashed. They held her sideways, upside down, or whichever other way they preferred. Then, quite suddenly, they released her. She felt herself falling and heard the creature’s arms slapping the water around her body in an attempt to snare her again.
As she hit the water and sank, she flailed her arms in an effort to free her nostrils from the slime that now suffocated her. A heavy object struck her on the back of her head, and she lost her strength. She could feel herself sinking deeper into the water, and she imagined with terror what the swamp’s inhabitants would do to her. They’d probably rip her apart and divvy her into portions, leaving nothing recognizable for her relations to recover.
Then, strong human arms slid under hers. They tensed and pulled her up, dragging her from the water. Someone slapped her cheeks and pulled the slime out of her nose and mouth. She closed her eyes and allowed her weary body to collapse. The arms lifted her, and she felt wind blow across her face. A branch slapped her skin, and her rescuer set her in a bed of dry leaves. The horrible face of the swamp creature crossed her mind, and she shuddered.
She was safe now—at least she thought so. Unable to open her eyes and not certain she wanted to, she curled into the leaves and drifted into dreamland.
A sweet smell of candied apples drew Oganna’s mind out of her dreams. But she held on for a moment longer. In the field stood a man, a young one by the look of it. His eyes shone with passion, and his face was as bold as a lion, yet gentle. She walked toward him, and he came toward her. He looked about as if confused, and then his eyes rested on her.
She tried to read his expression, to gauge what he was thinking. Did he like what he was seeing? She could see him and he could see her. It was only a dream, and yet she had heard her father speak of the strange way in which he had met her mother, and she’d always had a secret desire to meet the man of her dreams in a similar way. The warm wind gusted through the field, scattering the fluffy white seeds of the dandelions ahead of it.
Again she smelled the sweet odor, like candied apples. Someone was trying to wake her. But she did not wish to wake. She wanted to find out more about this dream and know if there was more to it than simple imagination. The young man stood close to her and raised his hand as if to brush her hair, and she smiled up at him, hopeful that he would. There was a curiosity in his eyes that she wanted to understand—a curiosity about her.
In a whirlwind of colors, the vision around her vanished, and she found herself lying on a bed of dry oak leaves. A canopy of interlacing branches above her formed a solid roof, and her bed was on what appeared to be a nest built in the trees. She could not see through the nest’s floor; however, she guessed that the swamp lay far below.
Caritha’s smiling face cut into her field of view. “Good morning, Oganna. Did you sleep well?” Oganna noticed a jar in the woman’s hand and guessed at the contents.
“Smelling salts?”
“No, more like—” Caritha ran her fingers through her red-brown hair until she came up with a satisfactory answer. “More like spices. Our host picked them off one of these trees. He said it would wake you up, and it looks as though he was right.”
Rising to a sitting position, Oganna stretched her sore arms. “Our host? Is that who pulled me out of the swamp?”
Caritha nodded solemnly. “He pulled us all out. I still can’t figure out how he did it. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. We are alive and safe.” She stood and spread her arms to keep her balance as the branches shifted under her weight. “Be careful; this house may be sturdy, but it is still not as solid a footing as we are used to. Walk slowly, and step on the larger branches.”
The woven walls of the nest were unbroken except for in one place: a round door made of wood rested in the far wall. Oganna stood and followed her aunt through the door into a larger room. Furs covered the floor here, and two log benches offered cozy seating. Ombre lay on one of the benches, a bearskin draped over his body. His steady breathing told her that he was asleep.
“Our host is through that door, Oganna. Before you meet him I suggest you prepare yourself for a shock.”
“A shock?” Oganna shook her head. “After being almost drowned by a creepy twenty-foot-high swamp creature, there is little left to shock me.”
Caritha gave her a warm hug and kissed her on the forehead. “At the very least it will come as a surprise.” She held Oganna at arm’s length and stared into her eyes. “Our host is an Art’en.”
“An Art’en!” Oganna almost spat the word.
The woman shushed her. “Not so loud. We don’t need to insult him. Yes, he is an Art’en, and he has not only saved our lives but he has offered to show us a safer way through the swamp.”
In her mind, Oganna went back to the day she and Vectra fought at the Citadel of Ar’lenon. While the giants encompassed the city of Netroth, the flying men that had called themselves Art’en had attacked her and the Megatraths. She remembered, too, that it was an Art’en that had cast a spell over her father and controlled him through a wizard’s powers. After all that, could she possibly trust one of them?
Nonsense! She chided herself. Just because some members of his race are evil doesn’t give me the right to shun him. He had saved her life, as well as the lives of Ombre and Caritha. Then he had brought them to his home. Art’en or not, she would treat him with the dignity and honor he deserved.
The partially open door offered little to no resistance as she pushed it aside and entered the adjoining room. Wicker baskets lined the far wall, and four vines hung from the ceiling, suspending a legless wood table. A single lantern set in a corner of the room provided light.
Whistling a merry tune, with his back turned to her, was the Art’en. She leaned sideways to see the side of him. He was about six feet tall with broad shoulders, a rather pointed nose, and a high forehead. Gray hair, parted down the center of his head, fell almost to his shoulders, and he had the keenest brown eyes. His skin had paled with age and was a bit wrinkled.
The Art’en dug into one of the wicker baskets with a pan and filled it with brown rice, then set it on a small potbellied stove against the left wall that she had not noticed. His dark-brown feathers rustled as he spun to face her.
He folded his hands behind his back and then flourished a courtly bow. “Welcome to my humble home, Princess. My name is Whimly Janvel. However, I will permit you to call me Whimly.”
She curtsied. “Then, please, Whimly, call me Oganna.” Then, remembering the viper, she inquired about it.
“Ah, you mean the loyal serpent I found unconscious around your neck.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the potbellied stove. “Poor thing,” Whimly whispered, pointing at the viper coiled next to the heated cast iron. “Exhausted it is, and rightly so. That was a brave fight it put up in your defense.” He looked down at her and cocked his head to the side. “It is most unusual for a human to win the affection of a desert viper. How did you come upon this one?”
After telling him of the evil Art’en that had led the vipers against the Hemmed Land and how she had broken the wizard’s spell over the viper, she told him of Razes. The creature shook his head in wonderment. “It is sad yet true that many of my species have turned to sorcery. Shame litters Art’en history, and darkness dwells in many hearts. The wizards began their work with us, so the legend goes, and the corruption of men—fortunately—was never complete. Thank goodness for that.”
“What do you mean the wizards began with you? Were the first wizards Art’en?”
He patted her shoulder and chuckled uncomfortably. “No, thank goodness we were not the first. But the legends of my people do reveal that the wizards were responsible for our ultimate demise.”
A smile lit his noble face, and she felt a wave of awe wash over her as he continued. “The day will come when a prophecy will be fulfilled, and the Art’en will no longer serve the wizards. The day will come when darkness will be drawn off the corrupted ones, and they will again see the light. They will shake the shackles imposed on them by their own blindness, and they will make war upon the wizards.”
“You speak as though the prophecy is your own,” she said as she looked into his eyes.
They returned her gaze in a playful manner. “Maybe the words are mine. Maybe I made the prophecy. It matters not. What matters is that it will one day be fulfilled.”
“Then, for your sake, I hope that day comes soon.” She knelt and stroked the viper’s head. It stirred, its eyes fluttering open as it yawned up at her. “My valiant defender.” She felt the tears come to her eyes as she realized that the serpent might have died defending her. Never again will I doubt the depth of your commitment, my little friend! You are my hero.
16
IN THE WATER SKEELS’ MIDST
Specter’s stomach growled and he frowned, stepping up to a stalk of the ice world’s grass. He sliced a piece off with his scythe, rolled it in his fist, and forced it into his mouth. Too long. Too long he’d lived off this bitter-tasting growth. He’d hidden from the water skeels and among them. He had seen hundreds of them racing through their ice tunnels, lords of this world hidden from the world.
As he chewed the grass, it stuck to the roof of his mouth, dangled strands down his throat, forced him to gag. But his stomach growled again, and his hunger overcame his dissatisfaction with the nourishment. He swallowed it.
Directing his steps out of the mist-filled chamber, he emerged into the cavern. He’d discovered this one only the other day. It rivaled the one he’d seen when witnessing the skeels’ mating chamber, if that was what that place should be called. Since leaving the peach-skinned water skeels behind, he had seen only the monstrous white males and pods of younger ones. Skeelets, he’d come to call them.
A procession of forty large males waddled into the cavern, split into pairs, and pulled themselves up to jutting ice platforms high on the walls. They settled their fat bodies on the jagged platforms and held their heads high, warbling deep and long. They posed there, as sentinels along each wall. From Specter’s position he looked down upon them and the hundreds more that emerged from tunnels and adjacent caverns. The smooth walls and floor of the cavern, and the mineral stalactites on the ceiling far above, pulsed with soft white light.
The water skeels flooded the cavern, yet despite their massive numbers they did so in utter silence. Only the sentinels uttered a sound. The masses stood along the edges of the cavern, leaving a straight, wide path through their midst to an icy pinnacle. Water fell from that end, forming a moat around the pinnacle. Then, abruptly, the sentinels ended their warbling and directed their green gazes toward the far end of the cavern.
The largest water skeel of them all lumbered out of a tunnel. He bared his needle teeth and flashed sparks from his eyes. As he placed each massive fin on the ice floor, rainbows of color bled through the ice, then faded. The gathering lowered their long necks until their heads touched the ground as he pulled his great bulk toward the pinnacle. Not glancing to either side, the water skeel levitated off the ground. He rose to the pinnacle’s peak and crashed atop it, shattering ice shards in all directions as he gazed over his subjects.
The large one had to be Cromlin, king of the water skeels. Specter had approached the creature several times, seeking insights into their culture, and always in passing the other skeels warbled something that sounded very much like “Crumlin.” Yet in all his searching of the maze of ice tunnels and caverns, not once had he glimpsed a human. Perhaps Auron was not even in this place.
For the next several hours he listened to the unintelligible warbling of Cromlin. It dragged on for an eternity. Specter hadn’t seen Yimshi’s light in so long. He wondered how many days it had been since first he’d arrived. After nearly collapsing into sleep, he lay down in the mists of a small chamber—too small for the male skeels to enter. His thoughts turned in every direction—reminiscing, regretting, hoping.
The king of the water skeels trumpeted, and Specter covered his ears. The skeels dispersed into the tunnels and caverns, all except for the sentinels. Then, speaking intelligible words that rang through the cavern, Cromlin laughed. “Oh, don’t be so fearful. An ally of mine ally is safe here so long as he behaves himself.” Speaking with great force the skeel said, “Come forward that we may speak!”
From a small tunnel the dark figure of a man emerged. He strode down the long cavern, head bowed. A growl spiked his words as he knelt before the water skeel. “I fear you not, mighty one. Only I seek to bring my consortion with the spirits to a new depth. I would be joined with them as the Reaper was.”
“Ah, a boon you ask of me?” Cromlin slid down the pinnacle and smote Auron with a massive flipper. The traitor flew across the ice, collapsed to the floor, and Cromlin sped after him. “A request and a favor. Would I grant such a thing when you hold me in such disdain? This thing you desire cannot be found through your master. He would instead seek it for himself.” The creature lowered its face within feet of the man’s and snapped its deadly jaws. “Knowing this, you came to me. For you know that I have no use for such trivialities. But instead of falling in fear on your face, you insult me with that sneering scarred face of yours.”
The creature raised its flipper as if to strike, but Auron stood and held forth the upper half of his wizard’s staff.
Cromlin pulled back his head in a laugh that echoed into the adjacent caverns. He held out a flipper, and ribbons of color snaked along the ice floor, merging beneath it. A geyser sprouted from the ice between the man and the water skeel. When the water fell away, Cromlin held an ornate staff of ice at least twenty feet tall. A sphere atop it faded into every color imaginable. “If you would have a duel, little wizard, then let us fight.” Cromlin snaked his neck around the pole to gaze into Auron’s face. “Who do you think would win?”
Falling to his face before the creature, Auron sputtered apologies. Cromlin’s staff melted into the floor, and he turned his back on the man, sliding back to the ice pinnacle.
“I beg thee, mighty king of the water skeels! Please, without this quest I am nothing.”
“Beg?” The creature warbled, and the cavern faded into strips of yellow and pink. “That, my small friend, is what I like to hear.” It spun to face the man, gesturing with a flipper. “Now, come to me.”
Auron trembled as he walked the length of the cavern. He knelt before Cromlin.
With a smile on its monstrous face, the creature smacked the ground on either side of the traitor. The man bounced, fell to his face. “To shield you from all eyes, Auron, I give you garments of ice.”
The ice around Auron melted until he lay in a pool. When he tried to rise, it pulled him back down with fingers of water. Small waves danced in the pool, washing over the traitor. The man stood, and a sheet of transparent ice covered his body from his hair to his boots. Auron gasped. In agony he doubled over. His body trembled; he glared up the creature. “What hast thou done to me?”
Looming over him, the water skeel smiled. “In truth, I believe you will find this ancient master. I had considered ending your life—as I saw no use for you—but then I saw that look of desperation in your eyes. Ah! And that look gave me assurance that you will journey until you find this Realm you spoke of. But the journey is long and speed I desire.” It lumbered in a circle with him at the center. “At this moment you must feel as though your skin is on fire, and you are probably hoping it is a temporary condition.”
“Please! Release me from this curse!” Auron screamed and rolled on the ice.
Cromlin warbled a laugh. “This ice shield will render you perfectly invisible on your journey. And it will continue to burn as long as you remain in Subterran.” The creature straightened its course, slid to the pinnacle. Two of the sentinels descended from their perches and shoved Auron toward their king. “There is a secret I wish to share with you, fallen one. For I was in this world long before you, and I remember the war of the prophets and the wizards. When it ended, the prophet’s great city lay buried, yet, as you said, Valorian sleeps there still. Go now to the ancient portal through which Letrias sent his minion. Until you pass through the portal, the ice shield will burn your skin.”
The traitor screamed as Cromlin scooped him in one fin and shoved him toward the ice pinnacle. Water streamed from the skeel’s nostrils. The water struck the pinnacle, and a tunnel opening appeared at the pinnacle’s base.
Specter slid down to the ice floor. His heart pounded as he raced across the vast floor and drew near the mighty creature. Cromlin had said that Valorian slept in the Hidden Realm. Was it true? If so, he prayed that age had conquered the ancient dragon wizard. Over a thousand years ago, Specter had fought against Valorian, and the dragon had beaten him. It now appeared that Auron wished to take on the mantle of the Grim Reaper. Specter shuddered at the thought, for he knew it had long ago been rumored that Valorian had created the Grim Reaper. But why was Cromlin helping Auron in his quest?
Specter stayed out of the path of the water skeel’s green eyes, skirted behind it, and grasped the edge of the tunnel with his ice fingers. Too small for a full-grown water skeel, the tunnel dropped like a drain into darkness.
“Here is your exit, little wizard.” Cromlin tossed Auron into the tunnel.
Without a moment to ponder, Specter slipped into the tunnel. He plunged into darkness feetfirst, landed on more ice, and slid without any sense of direction. The terrified, angry screams of the traitor rang back to him, and behind him the ice tunnel entrance iced over.
Specter shot out of the ice tunnel into blinding daylight. But as his eyes adjusted, a green lake spread before him surrounded by hills laden with trees. A butterfly danced on a warm breath of air, and from a nearby bush a bird twittered. A frog croaked.
Dropping to his knees in the soft earth, he smiled up at the blue sky. Normalcy at last! He raised his arms, but his ice hand melted, forming a puddle on the ground, and his scythe drooped, then cracked apart. It fell into a hundred ice fragments, and his merry spirits fell.
A short distance away from him stood Auron, crying. The traitor could not see Specter, for he was still invisible. Auron shivered inside his ice armor, which glistened in the daylight.
Striding to the lake’s edge, Specter knelt and cupped his hand under the water. He blinked and submerged his stub of an arm and looked down. Out of the water he raised a new hand of ice. Closing his eyes, he envisioned the scythe and submerged his ice hand. His fingers closed over something firm, and he opened his eyes, raising a transparent green scythe from the lake. Drops of water fell from it as it solidified. He stretched out his new fingers, flexed his new fist. It worked and felt strangely warm.
Auron cried out, and Specter shifted his attention to the man. The traitor’s body shimmered and blurred. As the traitor gazed in the opposite direction, Specter willed his cloak to render him visible. As he shifted into the visible spectrum, Auron vanished.
So, the water skeel’s gift will truly hide thee, my fallen apprentice—hide you from all eyes except mine and God’s.
Perhaps Specter should have reached out, closed the short distance between them, and slain him. But if he followed Auron, the traitor would lead him to Valorian. Specter gritted his teeth, then smiled. “I will be the angel of death to you, my fallen apprentice,” he whispered. “And to Valorian you will lead me, so that I may exact justice upon his head as well.”
17
SWAMP GUIDE
As the viper slipped around her arm and slithered to her neck, Oganna accepted Whimly’s invitation to eat breakfast. “Please, if you will, have a seat, Oganna. I will call your companions.” He disappeared into the other room and returned with Caritha and a sleepy-eyed Ombre.
Whimly pulled out a chair and gestured for Caritha to take it. The seat had no legs; rather, it was woven like an upside-down basket. Caritha sat, and Oganna could tell that Ombre felt cheated, for he had been a step behind their host. But her uncle put a finger to his lips, signifying he didn’t want the Art’en to know.
They sat down and ate a most curious porridge made of wild oats and interspersed greens from the swamp. The porridge tasted delectable, and she took three helpings. Ombre, she noticed, took five. On the more cautious side was Caritha, eating slowly and taking a second and smaller helping.
The gentle wheezing in her ear affirmed her suspicion that the viper had again fallen asleep. Its tail started to slide off her shoulder. She pushed it back into place so that the creature would not fall.
Whimly Janvel was more than a little taken with Caritha. They conversed about the weather and the food, told one another a bit about themselves, and smiled all the while. “You have four sisters? All almost identical to you?” Whimly crooned, “Perhaps one of them is looking for a husband?” He wagged his head at Ombre. “Lucky you are, sir, to have so—so exquisite a wife.”
The color ran to Caritha’s cheeks and drained from Ombre’s. They stuttered for a few minutes until the Art’en’s eyes darted between them and a puzzled expression filled his face. Finally Ombre managed to make him understand that he and Caritha were not married, and the creature leaned back, though with a quizzical frown. He shifted his gaze between them, and then turned to Oganna.
“They are playing games with me,” he said.
“Oh no, Whimly! They wouldn’t do that. They really aren’t married.”
He frowned still deeper. “Lovers then?”
She smiled and peeked sideways at her aunt. The woman kneed her under the table as if to tell her to hold her tongue, yet she couldn’t resist the urge and felt the need to tease them. “Hmm, I’m not sure, Whimly. Sometimes I think not, but at other—”
“Ah, yet I am sure that my eyes have not deceived me. Either they are, or they will be.” With a broad grin he slapped Ombre hard on the shoulder. “And you are a lucky one—whether admit it you do, or you don’t.” Suddenly he gripped his head in both hands and closed his eyes, cringing as if in pain.
Oganna rushed to his side, and her companions did so too. “Whimly! Are you all right?” She felt his forehead. It was normal, no temperature.
Whimly’s gray head tilted back and his eyes opened, though they appeared to stare at nothing, as if he was seeing something that they could not. His hands dropped to the arms of his chair, and he clung to them until the knuckles on his fists showed white. His wings spread to their full span. Speaking in dark tones, he voiced what could have been nothing less than a prophecy.
“Beware, O daughter of the great dragon, for thy bed will be prepared in the dark places of the world, and you will sleep where you do not wish it. In a day of flame and water, you will be powerless and none will save you. Beware, for—should time be allowed—you will be lost in the tapestry of history. And where you are, only One may follow.”
As his eyes returned to normal, the Art’en fastened his gaze on Caritha, and though she could not explain why she believed him, Oganna did. “That was for you, dear lady.” Whimly seemed dazed. When they asked him to elaborate on the prophecy, he could not. “The foretelling is not something I am able to recall, nor is it something I can repeat,” he said. “Trust that God means for it to help you. Yet, for your sake I wish that I could elaborate on this, for then you would know what to do when the time has come.”
Having finished the thing he wished to say, Whimly Janvel stood and showed them back into the other room, which he called his parlor. Oganna offered to clean the table, but he would not allow it. “We do not need the table until noon, so what good would it do to clean it now? Let it be! We will clean it then.”
Settling into a fur-covered bench, Oganna found it easy to forget Whimly’s dire prophecy and her nightmarish experience of the day before. But Whimly brought up the subject. He pulled a reed out of his pocket and chewed on it, then offered some to his guests. One sniff and they admitted it smelled too swampy for their taste.
“This swamp has been my home for a long time,” the Art’en began, “and I know it like the feathers on my wings. These waters are strange and unpredictable, constantly changing in depth and varying greatly in temperature from one pool to the next. Currents run fast, and then slow, and the creatures are unlike any I have found elsewhere in Subterran. Take, as an example, the Aquagiant you faced. Fierce creature, nearly killed all of you; it is accustomed to burying its victims alive in the swamp slime and then eating them later. Its blubbery arms grow as long as its body and can heal themselves rapidly after most any injury. Only one weakness, it has, and that I have learned to take advantage of. Its eyes, having no lids, are vulnerable. Yesterday I poked the Aquagiant’s eyes to free you.”
Ombre sat on the bench opposite Oganna, stretched his legs, and spoke through a yawn. “How many of those creatures are there?”
“I have found ten of them. Yet I am certain there must be others, for the swamp is quite large.” Whimly sat beside her, and Caritha sat with Ombre. The Art’en pulled a fur from beside the bench and threw it over their legs. It was a very soft fur, white, and she thought it might have come from a bear. “There is another one of these to your right,” he told Ombre as he pointed to the floor. Ombre thanked him, picked it up, and laid it out for him and Caritha.
Whimly talked then, for hours, about the “Swamplands.” He told them that unless they wanted to end up getting killed, they should turn around and go back the way they’d come. “The way to the mountain is littered with crocodiles, eels, and poisonous snakes. But worst of all there are two giants, a man and a woman, that waylay anyone daring to pass through the heart of the swamp.”
“Giants?” Ombre drew his sword and balanced its hilt in his lap while eyeing the blade. “We’ve dealt with their kind before, and, believe me, they are no match for the three of us.”
Nodding his head, Whimly continued. “Oganna told me a little about what happened in Burloi—and I commend your deeds in that place—however, the giants I am speaking of are not merely twice the height of a tall man. These giants are taller than that Aquagiant.” He lifted his eyebrows for emphasis. “Getting past them is not a simple matter of putting up a good fight.”
“Whimly, you know the Swamplands better than any of us. Couldn’t you show us the way?” Oganna smiled as he shot a glance at her, and she read his startled face.
“Would not be wise—it would not be wise,” he said.
She leaned toward him. “Why?”
“There are too many risks, particularly for women folk. Look what happened with the Aquagiant. The next time you might not come out alive.”
She stood and went into the room where she’d woken. Avenger was lying in its sheath with her other things in one corner. “Whimly,” she said as she returned, strapping the weapon to her side, “have you ever seen a sword such as this?” Not waiting for him to respond, she drew the blade.
The Art’en jumped as the blade glowed crimson and clothed Oganna in the silver garments. His jaw dropped and he stared. “I have not seen something so marvelous in a very, very many years.”
“I call it Avenger,” she said. “You have no need to fear for me. The Aquagiant caught me unprepared, but that will not happen again. This sword is an extension of the power in my blood—my dragon blood.”
“Dragon blood?” The Art’en stood with a deep frown and stared down at her. “Is this a work of God, young lady? Or of some sorcerer?”
“No, you misunderstand,” she said, placing her hand on her chest. “I am the descendant of a dragon. And believe me when I tell you, there is nothing evil in that dragon’s blood.”
He relaxed his stance and sat again. “Then my mind is at peace. Though you had me confused for a moment. Goodness in your heart I saw, and I thought purity—a rare and valuable combination.” He pressed his hands together, forming his long fingers into a pyramid. “Tomorrow, then, I will guide you,” he said decisively. “Be ready to leave after breakfast.”
Whimly spread his wings and swooshed through the humid air to the base of the tree. It was a long fall, but he made it appear easy. Oganna stepped through the door and exited the Art’en’s nest. Wood slabs, nailed to the nearest tree’s trunk, permitted safe passage to the swamp below. According to Whimly, he had constructed this makeshift ladder as a precaution, in case he ever hurt himself and could not fly into his home.
Descending with care, she put one foot below the other until she made her way to the tree’s base and stood beside Whimly. Caritha and Ombre soon joined them. “Come.” Whimly grabbed their backpacks from where he’d piled them and helped them put them on. “We have the day ahead of us and much distance to cover, and you don’t want to be caught out here at night. There are nocturnal beasts that would love to prey on you.”
Jumping from one dry mound to the next, the party made steady though slow progress. Whimly had told the truth about the abundance of creatures in the Swamplands. There were several times when Oganna, Ombre, and Caritha slipped and disturbed the placid water’s surface. Immediately a dozen or more crocodilian creatures would pop up, jaws snapping ferociously. Every time, the Art’en pulled them to safety and warned them to watch their footing more carefully.
The deeper they journeyed into the Swamplands, the more difficult it became to navigate from one dry spot of ground to the next. The exposed tree roots, covered thickly with moist moss, proved treacherous as well. Overhanging vines became difficult to distinguish from the many varieties of snakes that hung from the trees. They encountered two more Aquagiants, but this time Oganna was prepared. She drew Avenger and stabbed the blade into one of the creature’s eyes. It slid back into the water, and she threw her boomerang at the other giant. The boomerang carved one of the Aquagiant’s eyes, and it, too, sank back into its slimy bed.
“I am beginning to think there is no way we will be able to move thousands of men, women, and children through this place,” Ombre said. “Perhaps we should turn around. We need to search in another direction.”
“What direction?” Oganna asked. “North of the Hemmed Land is Burloi, and south is Resgeria, while eastward is the vast uncharted Sea of Serpents. At least if we continue in this direction and find a suitable land for resettlement, we can skirt around to the south through the desert.”
“Perhaps,” Ombre said, though he sounded doubtful.
About midday they reached what Whimly referred to as the “heart of the Swamplands.” Here they found more solid ground. Streams of clear water wove into the murky swamp water, surrounding islands lightly populated by large oak trees.
Lights flashed in the streams—lightning under the water. Oganna held on to the sturdy trunk of an oak and craned her neck to see what caused the flashes. Zipping through the current with blinding speed were countless blue-green eels, their bodies blinking on and off as though plugged into an unseen power source.
Suddenly she felt a stabbing, paralyzing pain shoot up her legs and looked down to see the tail of one of the eels entwining around her. Knowing that to delay could mean death, she drew her sword. The crimson blade cut through the eel’s body, severing the tail like a hunk of wet cheese.
“Uncle Ombre, I can’t feel my legs!”
He came on the run, peeled her trouser legs up to her knees, and inspected her legs. A perfect line, drawn by some kind of teeth, circled her ankles. Greenish goo oozed from the eel’s tooth marks, and the lower half of her leg turned purple.
“Poisonous eels,” Ombre muttered. “What next?”
“It looks bad. I warned you to watch out for the eels.” Whimly’s wings shivered, and he motioned for Ombre to move aside. “Let me take a closer look.” After inspecting the wound, he scratched his chin thoughtfully and roved the island on which they were until he found a small bush, laden with arrowhead-shaped green leaves. He plucked several of the leaves, put them in his mouth, and started to chew.
A stabbing pain shot into Oganna’s upper leg, and she cringed. Her lower legs were beginning to swell. She closed her eyes against the agony. When she opened them again, she saw Whimly pluck some strange yellow berries from another plant. Still chewing, he approached her and knelt down before spitting a revolting mash into his right palm.
“This is the only remedy I know of—it hurts like fire!” He smattered the mash on her leg, and stood up with arms crossed, watching her.
Trillions of needles drove into her leg, and it hurt so badly that she began to cry. Ombre cleaned the bark off a stick and stuck it into her mouth. She bit it, feeling the sweat break out on her forehead as a burning sensation ran the length of her body, ending at her head. When the pain eased and she dared to look at the wound, it was running with greenish goo.
Caritha took her hand and patted it as the last of the poison left her system. “I think Whimly’s remedy is working, but let me see if I can help.” She smiled and rested the cold metal of her rusted sword against the wound. A few teeth marks closed as the weapon resonated with light and warmth. But Caritha’s face shook. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes with the effort. Within a few minutes the teeth marks vanished, the swelling in Oganna’s leg went down, and the color returned to her skin.
Whimly grinned down at her, and she felt the warmth of his friendship cover her. “Thank you, Whimly; you saved my life.”
“The lady helped,” he said, nodding at Caritha. “I suppose she is part dragon too.”
Caritha collapsed, and Ombre picked her off the ground. She lay limp in his arms, her skin bone-white. “Caritha?” He shook her but she did not stir, and he looked to Oganna with fear in his eyes. “She is not responding.”
Oganna touched Caritha’s cheek. It was cold and growing colder, as if death were claiming her. Grasping Avenger, she touched its blade to the Warrioress’s sword arm. The blade pulsed red light and warmed the woman’s skin, for a moment forming an aura around the body. Caritha coughed, and set her feet on the ground as Ombre embraced her.
“What happened there?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I guess I don’t have the strength I used to.”
But that made no sense to Oganna. Why would her aunt suffer a reduction in the power of her dragon blood? While it was true that it took the combined power of all the Warrioresses to perform any great deed, this act should have been relatively simple for her. It was as if her power had diminished.
“Don’t have the strength?” Ombre held her at arm’s length, gazing into her eyes. “What are you talking about? Where would it go?”
“Please.” The Warrioress stood apart from him and gestured for Whimly to lead them onward. “I can see Oganna has questions too. But for now, treat me as you have before. I am able to cope with whatever situations arise on our journey. The rest is a secret I alone bear. And for now I have no desire to share it with either of you. Can you respect that?”
Ombre stared hard at her, but Oganna nodded. “Of course, Aunt Caritha. If that is what you wish.”
The Art’en, unaffected by the episode, picked up Caritha’s and Oganna’s packs and glided to another island.
Several vines of sufficient length and size hung close at hand, so Oganna grabbed hold of one, pulled back, and ran forward, swinging over the stream and landing on the island. Her companions landed beside her, and the viper coddled her neck. “Psst!”
She scratched its head and then looked to Whimly. He had his back turned and appeared to be listening for something. “Whimly?” But he stopped her with a sharp glance and raised his hand for silence as a dull thud sounded in the distance ahead of them.
Placing his hand over his left breast, Whimly gave her a meaningful gaze.
Heart? His heart? She watched him point ahead of them and frown before again touching his breast. “Heart?” she mouthed.
He nodded.
The heart of the Swamplands. We’ve reached it—but … “Why the silence?”
Spreading his arms wide, the Art’en pointed up and walked in a lumbering manner.
Ah, she had almost forgotten about the giants. She nodded to let him know she understood and checked on Ombre and Caritha. Their swords were drawn, and their eyes were darting in all directions. They knew.
They proceeded onward with Whimly leading the way. The islands grew larger, and the swamp turned shallower. The air here was less humid, and the lighting was not as dim. No crocodilian creatures were in sight, and the region was deathly quiet. Not a bird dared to muster a song for fear of discovery.
For a long while they continued in this fashion until, coming upon a gargantuan human footprint, they stopped to take stock of the area. Whimly pointed to a rise in the land ahead and folded his hands under his head to indicate that the giants were sleeping. They tiptoed up the rise, then peeked over.
There, filling a huge bed made of felled trees and covered with animal skins, was the largest woman she had ever seen. Even in her imagination Oganna had never dreamed that such a race of humanity existed. The giant wore fur breeches and a fur coat pieced together from a great many different animals. She couldn’t help wondering how long it must have taken to sew those garments.
Whimly interrupted her musings by leading her and her companions around the giant and into a stand of trees to the west. Another giant lumbered into the clearing behind them at that moment and caught sight of them. His eyes popped wide open, and in one swift move he grabbed the Art’en, Ombre, and Caritha and laughed as he brought them to his face.
Oganna had slipped behind a tree, and the giant appeared not to have seen her. She raced around the clearing, came up behind the giant, and stood by the head of his still-sleeping companion. She drew her sword and held the point to the female’s head. The sword arrayed her in the silver garment as the man spun around and cried out. Horror was written on his face.
There aren’t many women your size, are there? She knew that her assumption was correct, for the man set down her companions and whispered so as not to wake his mate. “You—please—you no hurt her! I let go—see? Free now. Go—will not—I not harm you.” He folded his enormous hands, and the largest tears she’d ever seen tumbled down his cheeks.
18
LOST DEPTHS OF THE WORLD
The sheer cliff rose before him like a hideous giant. Ilfedo shook his head and wiped his brow. It seemed like forever that he’d been searching for Vectra’s realm. He thought he’d entered it a long while back.
Apparently not, for even with telltale Megatrath claw marks in every tunnel and on every wall, not a sighting had he made and not a sound had he heard. He had found several underground rivers, and the various fruits and fish he’d found had sustained him. Still, he couldn’t go on forever. Part of him wondered if he had passed too deep through the tunnels. Perhaps he missed a turn and was now in unoccupied or abandoned territory.
The cavern in which he now stood was so large that the light of his sword did not reveal even the walls to his left and right. Though he had circled the cavern’s edge, he found, much to his discouragement, that there was no way out except an upward climb. Not even the Nuvitor could help. It could not see in total darkness and would therefore have to follow his lead.
The cliff was black and sparkling with moisture. There were abundant handholds on the rock’s face. The Megatraths had ensured that with their tremendous claws. How he wished he had six lizardian legs right now.
“Let us be done with this climb,” Ilfedo said as the Nuvitor flew over his head.
He stabbed his sword’s flaming blade into the cliff, hauled himself up, inserted his foot in a claw mark, and pulled out the sword. Again he stabbed, this time as high as he could reach. The blade pierced the stone with little effort, and he pulled himself up as a cold wind howled from high above. Wind from where? I’m still deep underground. It swept down his neck and goose bumps rose on his arms.
Time’s passage fell into the back of his mind as he methodically climbed. Out, out, he wanted out of this place. He wanted Yimshi’s light and the companionship of a friend, even if that friend was a six-legged reptilian Megatrath.
A long while later his aching arms cried out for a rest, and his lungs threatened to catch fire. Somewhere beyond his sight the wind blew again. Mixed in with the sound, a few stones crumbled from the cliff, crashing to the rocks far, far below. He pulled himself higher again and stones crumbled, though this time it sounded nearer. He paused, and Seivar landed on his shoulder. “Master, you should not stop. There is nowhere to go but up.”
Ilfedo shushed the Nuvitor and gazed at the swallowing darkness around and above him. He felt as if he’d again entered that haunted house in Dresdyn. He was so weary of darkness. He kept his ears tuned for anything that might indicate something else was in the cavern with him, yet the silence was his only company.
Holding on to the nearest claw indentation, he pulled his sword out of the stone, stretched to his full height, and stabbed it several feet higher in the cliff’s face. He watched his feet, carefully raising first one foot and then the next onto a slight ledge. Then he looked up to pull his sword out of the stone again—and froze. The Nuvitor shivered on his shoulder as a blank white eye as large as a barrel shone out of the darkness mere inches above the sword of the dragon. The eye rolled by and another eye appeared, rolled on by, and was followed by yet another. They were attached to a gray snake body, or so it appeared, for the monstrosity slipped through the sword’s glow on its journey around the cavern. It had several heads—he counted seven—but every eye was blind, and its mouths yawned, showing rows of rotting teeth.
So long as he remained where he was, or so it seemed, it would not realize he was there. Holding on to the cliff, he drew out his sword and pointed its blade up. He focused the weapon’s energy on maximizing the light output, and it revealed coil upon coil of sinewy serpent-dragon wound around the cavern walls. It had wound itself like a rope stuck to the inside of a tube. Round and round it moved, yet without proceeding up or down. Perhaps it waited in the manner of a spider, patiently anticipating unsuspecting prey. It opened and closed its mouths. The heads rose and fell from the rest of the serpent-dragon’s body. The thing smelled—of death. It had to be hundreds of feet in length, larger than anything he had imagined could exist. It could swallow a dragon, maybe several.
It was then that Ilfedo noticed it. Chunks of stone had broken off of the cliff’s face, and beneath those sections lay rusty metal, not unlike iron in appearance, yet as smooth as steel. Ilfedo, warily keeping an eye on the serpent sliding so close to him, chipped at the stone with his sword. Using short bursts of Living Fire, he blasted a hole a foot wide and twice that deep. The next time he chipped at the stone, it clanged against metal. A chunk of the cliff fell away. He cringed, expecting the serpent to spring on him, but it maintained its blind circuit. Its heads rose and fell, noiselessly snapping their jaws.
The hole in the cliff was large and deep. Ilfedo stepped into it and exhaled with relief as his feet relaxed on solid footing. Ahead of him, the metal was smooth except for some dents and scrapes. Despite his weariness, he started chipping away at the stone. He determined that if this metal was linked to the sections he had seen above, whatever was hidden behind the cliff was rather huge. But what could place something metallic behind a cliff, and why down here?
He chipped away at the stone, and before long cleared a large section of metal. He stood back and examined it. Triangular plates of metal had been joined together with a copper ribbing. To one side the ribbing curved around the edge of something that rose out of the metal wall. He chipped away at that side and soon revealed a round hatch with no apparent hinge or latch.
Jabbing his blade against the metal, he called upon the Living Fire to penetrate the metal. But the blade would not pierce it. So he stood back and again chipped away at the stone until he uncovered what appeared to be an oval window. Surely it was made of glass, but it was so filthy he could see nothing through it. Yet when he clubbed the glass with the sword, the glass cracked. He struck again and it shattered, falling away from him into some sort of chamber.
“Are you feeling up to doing some exploring?” he whispered to Seivar as the bird cooed and nuzzled his neck. The Nuvitor said not a word, just huddled on his shoulder.
Glass crushed beneath Ilfedo’s boot as he stepped down into the chamber and held forth his glowing sword. The chamber floor sloped steeply away from him, and it was covered by a red carpet more plush than he had ever walked on before. Strange glass dials adorned one wall, and a glass plate stuck to another. The image of a blue-and-gold world in the midst of a field of stars, along with a strange heavily cratered moon, flashed on the glass plate. The planet turned slowly, and the moon orbited it, painting a shadow on the planet’s surface. He reached out to touch the unknown worlds. His fingers brushed only glass, and he withdrew his hand, astonished.
He walked through a doorway into a corridor entirely constructed of a gray-green metal. The corridor’s ceiling was about ten feet high and as broad. Beads of soft red lights set at shoulder level blinked on and off down the corridor’s length. He sheathed his sword, relieved to at last rest his arm from carrying it. As the Living Fire extinguished, the metal structure thrummed from somewhere deep underground, somewhere down the corridor. The walls creaked as if shifting in their rock prison.
Ilfedo leaned against the wall and went down the corridor. At each door he stopped and peered inside, marveling at gadgets and inventions truly beyond his understanding. Every chamber was square with high ceilings. He saw other glass screens, such as the one in the first chamber, yet none of them displayed any images.
At last the corridor turned to the right. But it opened up to an even longer stretch some two hundred feet long, albeit on more level footing and with recessed glowing panels in the ceiling. Three corridors opened off this main one, and doorways abounded. He ran down its length and slid to a stop, for ahead of him the floor twisted upward. Several metal beams stabbed out of the walls and rubber strings hung from multiple holes in the ceiling. Some of the strings’ ends were frayed, exposing metal wires inside of them. He stepped beneath a hanging string, and a metal protrusion at its end swung across his forehead. Lightning danced across the ceiling, and his body convulsed with shock as he fell to the floor.
Spurts of electricity cascaded around Ilfedo’s head. He blinked and rubbed his throbbing head. Every hair was standing on its end. Seivar shrieked and landed on his chest. “Master, what happened?”
“Perhaps you can better tell me. All I remember is—” He pointed at the rubber strings. “Did I touch those?” He raised himself on his elbows and shook his head, gazing around at the mess of metal beams and hanging string. The string of red lights blinked down the corridor’s length behind him. The glowing panels illuminated the structure’s interior so that he could see everything very well. He chuckled at his own mishap and stood. “We’ll avoid those strings from now on.”
He looked across a gap in the floor. The twisting of the structure had broken the floor so that the remainder of the corridor could only be accessed via a long jump over jagged pieces of metal and a bottomless crack in the stone beneath it. And the corridor beyond was dark.
Ilfedo took a flying leap over the hazardous divide, then rolled into the dark corridor beyond. He stood with a smile and drew his sword. By its glow he followed the corridor. Water dripped intermittently from the ceiling. He passed several doorways similar to those he’d seen in the previous corridor, but these were barred shut and would not open, even when he burned them with Living Fire.
He proceeded deeper into the structure. Copper pillars rose on either side of him and stood every ten feet along the walls. The head of each pillar was carved in the form of a dragon’s maw, and vibrant red and yellow flames had been painted on the ceiling. At the corridor’s end he stopped before an arched doorway. There was a chamber beyond, swathed in utter darkness, and a putrid odor ushered from inside.
Covering his nose with his sleeve, Ilfedo stepped inside and swung his sword to the right, illuminating a series of square control panels with buttons and knobs. The ceiling rose twice as high as the corridor. Slumped in the corner were three human skeletons. They wore metal clasps around their necks and wrists, and each wore a tan breastplate emblazoned with a seven-pointed star inside a circle. Turning away from these pitiable souls, Ilfedo stepped farther into the chamber. It was immense and frigid.
The floor thrummed violently, and every inch of the structure groaned. White and blue lights flared into existence, and a soft whirring sound came from somewhere ahead. Flickering blue lights shone overhead and in that moment revealed a dragon lying at the chamber’s far end. The lights died out, leaving only his sword to guide his way. He walked toward the dragon, and the floor on either side of him was replaced by depressions filled with human skeletons slumped over panels, switches, and glass screens.
When he stepped up to the dragon at the chamber’s end, its deteriorating scales and empty eye sockets revealed none of this structure’s mysteries. The dragon had a spiked tail; its spine stuck out of the rotting flesh along its back; and its neck was short. Unless the wings had rotted away eons ago, it had none. Behind the dragon lay another human skeleton, yet this one gripped a strange instrument in its hands.
Ilfedo sidestepped the dragon, held his breath, and uncovered his nose in order to pry the gold-and-gray device from the skeleton’s fingers. It was heavier than his sword but only half as long, and round, quite useless for cutting. But it must have been useful for something in its day. With the artifact in hand, he glanced one last time over the immense room. It thrummed again, and lights flickered on in random places along the wall panels and in the recessed chambers where the humans had died.
“It is time to get out of here, Seivar,” he said.
The Nuvitor screeched, flew off his shoulder, and shot ahead of him out the chamber and into the corridor. He followed as fast as he was able, though the device he carried slowed his pace. When he arrived at the divide in the floor panels, he attempted a flying leap to cross. This time, however, he miscalculated. He fell into the gap, twisting his foot between stone and a metal beam. The Nuvitor dove to his aid, pulling a sharp metal rod to the side. If the bird had not, the rod would have impaled Ilfedo through his stomach.
Ignoring his throbbing foot and cursing his foolishness, Ilfedo threw the artifact out of the hole. He no longer felt the need to keep it. The artifact struck the wall, and its barrel transformed into raw energy. A green bolt flamed out of the barrel and blasted a hole in the wall. The device tumbled to the floor in the lighted half of the structure’s corridor.
For a moment Ilfedo stood in the gap, staring at the hole blasted in the wall—a wall the sword of the dragon had been unable to penetrate. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts as he used the sword of the dragon to blast the stones around him. They crumbled into dust, and the metal chunks slid toward him, filling the space. He blasted flames at the space under his feet and was thrown against the corridor’s ceiling to fall hard on the floor. As he limped to his feet, the dark end of the corridor groaned and split down its length. An explosion tore a closed door from its hinges and twisted it against the wall. A torrent of flames rushed toward him, and the corridor in which he stood tipped steeply toward the gap.
He limped up the corridor, stabbing his sword into the floor and pulling himself up even as he grabbed the device he’d abandoned. He tucked it under his belt and applied all his strength to pulling himself out of the structure before it became his grave.
Suddenly a scream tore through the structure, and the portion ahead of him fell away. He held on to the edge of the corridor, and the remaining portion plummeted down the cliff. The seven heads of the serpent-dragon raced in front of him, screaming together. He was within a few feet of their grotesque faces. The endless coils of serpent beat the walls of the cavern. Chunks of stone and metal rained from the walls.
As he glanced at a nearby eye, the white peeled back as if it were only a film, revealing a gleaming yellow iris beneath it. He glanced back down the corridor, now a deadly slide into the structure’s heart. Seivar flew at the eye, opening his beak to attack. The head raised itself, and in a swift motion swallowed the bird in its mouth. A part of his heart began to melt in the creature’s mouth.
“No!” Ilfedo blasted the Living Fire at the creature’s eye. It blinked and its heads screamed. The head slid away and another rose to blink at him. Sheathing his sword and thus plunging the cavern into darkness, Ilfedo reached blindly for the device and pointed its barrel at where the creature had been. He struck the barrel against a protrusion of metal, but the device did not fire.
He felt something slimy wrap around his legs. He cried out as it dragged him out of the corridor and raised him into the cavern. His finger found a hold, just beneath the device’s barrel. He pulled, and the barrel transformed into bright light. A green bolt shot out and ricocheted off the serpent-dragon’s scales. But in the momentary flash he saw the creature’s eye and took aim, firing the weapon again.
The creature screamed tenfold. A smoldering hole yawned at him from the creature’s socket. The weapon appeared to have disintegrated the eye.
Three-pronged red tongues whipped toward him. One lashed around the device. He held on to it as the tongue jerked it first one direction and then another, ripping it from his grasp. The tongue unraveled, dropping the device down the cliff’s face. The other tongues lashed his arms to his sides.
The creature corkscrewed up the cavern’s walls faster and faster until Ilfedo closed his eyes. He felt his body pressed against the serpent’s by centrifugal force. His pinned arms could not move, but he managed to grasp his sword handle. The weapon clothed him in light, and he could at last see what was happening, but it was strange. The serpent-dragon’s heads pumped forward, raising its long body through the cavern another few hundred feet. Atop the cliff, it coiled on a ledge of rock as vast as the fields of Burloi. Incredible stalactites hung from the ceiling. The creature set him on the ledge and twisted around him as it pulled more of its coils over the cliff.
Screaming, the serpent-dragon spread its length around him in a sort of maze. One head regurgitated the Nuvitor into his lap. The bird shuddered and slogged to its feet as Ilfedo wiped slime from its back.
“Are you all right, Seivar?” Ilfedo drew his sword and rested the point of its blade on the stone. It burned a small pillar of fire that the bird huddled up to. Soothing energy entered Ilfedo’s foot and ankle as well.
As the Nuvitor preened its drying feathers, Ilfedo looked around him. The serpent had stilled, and its slimy body formed twelve-foot-high walls around him with only one exit. “I am so sorry,” he yelled to the serpent-dragon. “If only I knew that you meant us no harm. Forgive me. I would make amends, if you will let me.”
The seven heads rose behind the body ahead of him. The creature was truly monstrous, yet he could now see the weary blinking of its yellow eyes and hear the growling of its stomachs. Surely something this size would have many stomachs. The heads bowed to him, and he could only guess they accepted his apology. Then the head whose eye sported a large smoldering hole leaned over him.
Ilfedo stood, extending his arms with the sword dangling from one hand. “What may I do in return for your kindness?”
The heads sank behind the serpent-dragon’s body. The body slid effortlessly over the ledge, rearranging its form. The serpent-dragon’s tail extended to a far corner of the cavern. The remainder of it looped around Ilfedo and formed a wall opposing its tail. Now there lay a path in the midst of its body.
Ilfedo placed the Nuvitor on his shoulder and walked for at least half a mile between the serpent’s coils. Up ahead its heads summoned him with plaintive chirps. They waved above him as he approached, then turned their enormous eyes upon a small tunnel in the cavern wall.
He stepped into the tunnel and found nothing of significance for several hundred feet. It was a bare tunnel, too small for the creature, yet containing nothing it would need or want.
He emerged in a far smaller cavern and gazed upon a swift-flowing river. Black fish crested the water’s surface. Hundreds of them swam downstream. He glanced over his shoulder at the tunnel. “Does that thing want me to feed it?”
With a gentle cough, Seivar spread his wings and glided over the river. He dove, talons snaring a large fish. The Nuvitor flew low and dropped the fish at Ilfedo’s feet. “Master, it would take many, many, many of these to fill the beast.”
“Yes, yes, that entered my mind.” Ilfedo stooped to examine the fish and then to glance around the oblong cavern. Cavern, cavern, tunnel, cavern … I would love to see someplace else for a change. From where he stood, a ledge continued around much of the cavern’s interior. He could skirt to the other side if he wished. The river had long ago punched a hole in one end of the cavern. It filled the cavern floor and gushed out the other.
If he used the sword of the dragon, he might succeed in blasting apart enough of the cavern’s far wall to divert the river’s flow, sending it down the tunnel. The serpent-dragon could then take its pick of as many fish as it desired.
Could it work? He stood and walked to the cavern’s far end. “I’m going to dam it up, Seivar. If this works, the river will fill this cavern and flow to the serpent. If it doesn’t—well, be prepared to fly.”
Flames writhed in the sword’s blade. He watched as they roared out of the sword, storming to its tip, and gushed against the wall. Stones turned molten. The cavern wall fell apart. Red-hot stone crumbled into the river with a great hiss of steam. Ilfedo told the Nuvitor to flee as a cloud of steam rolled toward them.
Racing through the tunnel, he looked into the serpent-dragon’s mighty eyes. The creature’s heads screamed. Its tongues caught both him and the Nuvitor, flinging them to roll on the other side of its enormous body. Though he could not see the river come through the tunnel, Ilfedo heard it. It gurgled and gushed forth. The serpent-dragon’s heads lashed at the water with tongues and teeth. It was a vicious creature when it wanted to be.
“Master, would it be wise to—”
“Don’t worry,” he whispered as the bird perched on his shoulder. “I have no desire to hang around our present companion. It is time to move on.”
The serpent-dragon never seemed to notice their departure. But even an hour later, as he traversed the immense plain of stone beneath those magnificent stalactites, Ilfedo could glance back and hear the occasional screams of the creature’s heads.
The world was lost to Ilfedo and his bird companion. He felt he had wandered far beyond the reach of man. He could lose his sanity in a world such as this. Stalactites hung from high, high above, their cream-white the only relief in a world of gray and black.
Then at last his glowing aura shifted over a cactus in his path. A single oblong orange fruit hung from its branch. He plucked the fruit and continued on his way, breaking open the fruit and sharing its cream-colored meat with Seivar. He heard water trickling, and his thirst drove him to the source. A narrow stream ran across the plain. He sipped its water and spat the bitter stuff out. Yet his thirst was enough to drive him to try again. He drank as much as he could stomach, then walked on.
A sheer cliff rose out of the darkness ahead of him. He groaned. “I am not going to climb another one of these.” He walked to the right, seeking another means of ascending or traversing the obstacle. Then he saw it—stairs carved into the cliff’s face. The steps were blue marble and only a few feet broad. These had been hewn by human hands!
He ascended the stairs, and though the climb was long, he reveled in the ease of his passage. The stairs took him up at least as high as the previous cliff had been. When he came to the top, he stepped into a forest of strange fruit trees and fruit-bearing cacti. The forest extended a short distance onto a gravely plateau. He parted the leaves of a couple trees ahead of him and stepped out of the forest.
Before him lay the remnants of a city. Walls of tremendous stone surrounded it, broken by twin archways—one in front of him, and the other on the city’s opposite end. Beyond the city rose another cliff—and another staircase zigzagged up its face. Somehow he knew that, this time, Vectra and the Tomb of the Ancients were close. He walked toward it but stopped short of entering. Lava flowed through the streets, illuminating the cavern but denying him the chance to explore. Round buildings filled the city, though every roof was broken open, and many walls had only their foundations remaining. When he had entered the giants’ realm, the land of Burloi, he thought he’d found the most foreboding-sized structures, but here the doorways were fifteen feet high, at least.
Ilfedo gazed through the archway that towered above him. It was a strange thing to behold a city like this. What other marvels did this underground realm hold? What mystifying creatures had the intelligence and the strength to build something like this—only to abandon it? Then, in the door of one structure, the lava’s glow glistened on white bones.
Ilfedo scaled, with some difficulty, the wall next to the arch. And when he stood atop it, he viewed the city’s vastness set in a depression in the cavern floor. Lava swirled through the broad roads and pooled inside the buildings set lower in the ground. He looked to the structure wherein he had spied a bone, and there lay the skull of a Megatrath. In a nearby building, gazing down through its broken roof, he saw three other Megatrath skulls amid scattered bones.
Ilfedo stroked the Nuvitor’s chest, then threw it over the city. The bird glided out over the ruins. It shrieked as it veered out of sight behind a crumbling tower. Then it appeared on the other side, flying with all speed on a return vector. He frowned as the bird shot overhead toward the stairway leading out of the cavern.
“Run, Master! Flee this place now!”
The lava gurgled in the city’s center. It spat volcanic ash into the air. Sliding down the wall and landing in a crouch, Ilfedo raced across the vast stony plain. When he reached the steps in the cliff’s face, his faithful companion perched on his shoulder.
“Forgive me, Master, but there was something asleep in that city. It stirred in the lava as I flew behind a tower. It was larger even than the creature to whom you fed fish.”
“Larger?” Ilfedo shook his head. “Then it was a serpent?”
“Yes and no, I believe. For I saw wings like tree leaves along its sides and a head of great beauty and terrible—”
The explanation was cut off as something streaked above the city. It was long and aflame, moving so fast that he could not determine its size or shape. It whipped through the cavern. As a thunderbolt, it wove through the air, raining glowing embers on the city. It was a comet and a bolt of lightning simultaneously. It knifed into the heart of the city, erupting a geyser of lava and ash.
Fear seized Ilfedo, fear he could not quell. He stumbled up the steps into the dark recesses of the cavern far, far above.
Leave the dead be. He must find the living.
His hands must have hardened from his recent escapades, for the stairs steepened, and he effortlessly grabbed the higher steps to ascend the cliff. He glanced once over his shoulder. The city was far below and the warm glow of lava filled it. One would have thought nothing threatening could hide there. Yet surely a creature capable of sleeping in lava—if indeed it had been sleeping—must pose a threat. A man and a bird would be blades of grass it would study curiously in its fists. To break blades of grass, the creature would give it not a second thought.
The blade of grass swallowed and followed the stairs up the cliff face. The bird on his shoulder cooed, glancing behind. When at last Ilfedo reached the top of the cliff and looked down it, he could not help being overwhelmed by all that lay behind him. Ombre would never believe him, and Rose’el would likely play the skeptic.
The Megatrath graveyard was beneath him, and the largest creature he’d ever seen rested afar off near the technologically sophisticated metal structure mysteriously hidden underground. Beyond that … He clenched his fist. How could he reach out to his people in Dresdyn? Beyond the gold dragon, the city’s inhabitants had engaged in a battle for their survival.
He fell to his knees. The blood of the people ran in Dresdyn’s streets; he remembered it vividly in his mind. He could only hope that Brunster Thadius Oldwell had failed. But what happened to the faithful captain of the guard? Had the man he’d admired—Bromstead—been lost? He hung his head and remained there for some time; the Nuvitor cooed in his ear.
When he rose to leave, he turned his back to the cliff. Ahead of him the stony terrain was grooved. The grooves ran up a slope on the wide cliff, but the edges of the stone floor rose to form a tunnel twenty-five feet wide.
19
INTO THE VOLCANO MOUNTAIN
Wary of what so large a man could do to her, Oganna waited for Whimly, Ombre, and Caritha to run into the forest before she relaxed her threat. She bowed before the giant, and then smiled. “Farewell, sir. I have no desire to harm you or your companion. If you will permit us to leave in safety, then we will part in peace.”
“Go—then. Take all—leave alone us. Me will not stop you.”
Not waiting to press her luck, she dashed into the forest and soon caught up to the breathless trio. “Let us get as far away from this place as possible.”
“Ugh!” Ombre wrapped his arms around himself. “I can still feel that sweaty beast’s hands strangling me. Lucky for us we had the granddaughter of a dragon in our midst.” He pinched her cheek as he sometimes used to when she was a child. “You are a magnet for the strange and troubling things in our world, my dear. I sometimes forget that the only world I knew before your birth was one of normal people living off the land. No talk of dragons, sorcerers, or beasts. Just home, trees, and food.”
She didn’t know if she could take that as a compliment, though she tried. She knew he meant well.
Ahead of her Whimly spread his brown wings to their full reach and craned his neck to stretch. The land before them sloped up, toward the volcano that was just becoming visible through the treetops. An occasional dull roar came from the crest. “Almost there. Just beyond the rise ahead are the cooled lava flows.”
A long low whistle from up ahead made them stop. Whimly’s feathers shivered; he crouched down. The lengthening shadows suggested that the hour was growing late. A growl sounded in his throat, and he followed it with a hiss, making a shiver run from the nape of Oganna’s neck to the end of her spine.
With a leap into the air, the Art’en flew into the trees, disappeared for a moment in the branches, and then plummeted to the ground, struggling with some kind of creature. He rolled with it, and then kicked away to stand between it and them.
The creature shook its hairy head and looked up from a kneeling position. Pointed ears draped over its shoulders to its waist, and its humanlike face was covered in tan fur. It had two blue eyes, as reflective as mirrors, and a green hooded robe covered its body—though a long fury tail stuck out of the back and three-toed, black-clawed feet jutted out beneath. From the way it had poised itself, she guessed that it could be vicious if it wanted to be. Oganna had never seen or heard of anything like this, not even in myths told in the scrolls her father read to her when she was a child.
“What is it?”
“A hybrid of some sort that wanders the Swamplands,” Whimly said. “I think it is just out to cause trouble.”
“Can it talk?”
Whimly snarled as he eyed the hybrid. “Not so far as I have been able to tell.”
Taking a step toward the hybrid, Oganna reached out with her mind, searching for the mind of a beast. Do not fear me.
Through the fog of minds around her, she heard a faint, calm response. “Fear you? That is an absurd, albeit reasonable, assumption on thy part.” The hybrid’s blue eyes danced as they looked back at her, and its tail flicked like a playful cat.
“What—what are you doing?” The Art’en crouched as if to spring on the hybrid, yet Oganna’s reassuring glance held him back.
She reached out her hand to the hybrid and smiled at it. Do you have a name?
“Well done, Oganna!”
Startled, she drew back her hand. “How do you know my name?”
Her companions stiffened noticeably, and Ombre drew his sword. “What?”
“It knows your name?” Caritha pointed an accusing finger at the hybrid.
“How is that possible?” Whimly crept closer to the hybrid and narrowed his eyes.
But the hybrid crouched and sprang effortlessly into the branches of a nearby tree, then scurried out of sight. In her mind, she heard its last words as if spoken from a great distance: “Continue with caution, descendant of the dragon.”
How do you know that? Come back! There was no answer, and when she reavealed to her companions what the hybrid had said, they puzzled over what the creature had meant.
“Funny-looking thing,” Caritha remarked. “Not quite like anything I have ever seen before. Does it live in the Swamplands?”
Whimly, now standing relaxed and open to conversation, shrugged and looked up through the trees to the dimming sky. “I can’t say I know for certain that it lives here, though I have always assumed so. From time to time I’ve spotted it in different places, all throughout this region, and it has at times been”—he cocked his head to the side—“mystifying.”
“How so?”
“Well, it never seems to be doing anything—shall I say—worthwhile. Always playful, ever the rascal. Useless sort of creature; we are better off without it. But come now; the volcano is up ahead, and I don’t want you caught in the Swamplands after dark.”
They passed out of the Swamplands to traverse the twisted black formations of lava leading up to the volcano. It was not a great distance to the mountain’s base. When they reached it, Whimly directed them along a narrow path leading to a dank tunnel.
“It has been a pleasure meeting you all, and if you ever pass my way again, I hope you’ll stop in to see me. The Swamplands are, well, a bit lonely.”
“You are leaving us?”
He stretched out his wings and shook hands with everyone, lingering when he came to Oganna. “I hope that time will allow me to see you again, young one.”
“As do I.” She reached out and gave him a daughterly hug.
He stepped onto a large rock and flapped his wings, then turned and offered them some final advice. “If at all possible, do not sleep inside the mountain, for I have heard it said that travelers who do have disappeared without a trace. Stay together, and do not rest until you have passed through the tunnels and stand in the land beyond.” With a jump, he flattened out his wings against the air and glided back into the Swamplands.
With the cold, dank air of the tunnel seeming to press down on her, Oganna had no difficulty staying awake. The close walls bore the deep gouges of chisels used to carve the tunnel out of solid stone, and millions of arachnids skittered around, entering and leaving adjoining tunnels or disappearing into the dark recesses of the many chambers they passed.
Gleaming blood red, Avenger’s blade pierced the veil of darkness ahead of her as she held it at hip level. The silver robes, smooth as molten metal, created a circle of light around her feet, allowing her to avoid tripping over uneven ridges in the floor.
The hours passed, dull and monotonous. She could feel Caritha keeping very close to her left shoulder, while Ombre was practically breathing down her neck. Without her they had no light by which to see their way.
A gleam in the dark, reminding her of a flickering candle, disappeared around a corner in the tunnel ahead. Was it the eye of a creature? Maybe, but she doubted it. The light had been too bright, and she thought it had blinked with a light all its own, not some reflection caused by her sword’s glow. Whatever it was, it now was gone. Yet something else bothered her, and at first she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was that feeling of someone watching them. She tried to shake off the feeling, convincing herself that it was a figment of her imagination. “Did you see that?” she asked her companions, referring to the light.
“Did we see what?” Ombre strode ahead of her and yawned. “It’s been a long day of smelly swamp travel and ugly giants. Why not—” He yawned again. “We can rest here for the night. We can—continue in the morning. My word! Why do I feel so sleepy?”
Caritha yawned as well, and shook her head as if to wake herself.
Oganna’s eyelids grew heavy, and she blinked her eyes, coming to a standstill. She glanced at the spider-infested floor and walls, yet somehow she could think of nothing nicer than sitting down and leaning back her head. It would take a mere moment, just time to catch a nap. She sat on the hard tunnel floor and leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes. She shouldn’t have, she knew, but fog drifted through her mind, impairing her judgment. The viper’s head settled on her shoulder as it, too, fell asleep.
Where was she? Why had she come here? She could not remember, nor did she care.
Her sword slipped from her fingers. Her silver dress vanished, replaced by her trousers and simple blouse. The sword’s blade ceased its glow, and darkness surrounded her. Groping along the floor, her fingers touched the soft ruby pommel of the crystalline weapon. Her blood surged, and the sword blazed with light even as her magnificent silver dress covered her once again.
She stood and looked behind for Caritha and Ombre. But the tunnel was empty save for her, Neneila, and the bugs. “Uncle Ombre? Aunt Caritha? Where are you?” She searched back along the tunnel, but to no avail. “Neneila, did you see them leave?”
The serpent slicked out its tongue and shook its head, so she turned and proceeded deeper into the mountain. She could not find a sign of either of them.
Daring to call into the darkness, she listened to her voice echoing eerily through the mountain depths. No one responded. But they wouldn’t have knowingly walked on without her, and they couldn’t find their way without the light of Avenger. Maybe they did not fall asleep when she did. Perhaps when she dropped her sword and its light dimmed, they had tried to find her and lost their way. This hypothesis seemed equally absurd, and she cast it aside.
She stopped searching and closed her eyes, trying to concentrate. Where should she go now?
“Psst! Mistresss?”
“Please, not now. I’m trying to think.”
The viper nudged her neck with extra vigor and slurped its tongue along her neck. “The little man. Psst! He wantsss to talk to you.”
“What little man?” She opened her eyes and spotted a skinny fairy standing on a ledge not six feet away. She stumbled back. His four semitransparent wings folded, insect-like, down his back. He was no more than twelve inches tall, blond-haired, and wore blue clothes that glinted as he waved a silver wand.
“Greetings, giant. Prince Percemon bade me come and welcome you to our realm.”
She recovered from her surprise and curtsied. “My name is Oganna.”
He swatted her introduction aside. “Follow me and don’t try anything, or your friends will not survive the night.”
“What! You’ve kidnapped them?”
The viper held its tail whiplike as if to catch the fairy, and Oganna was tempted to let Neneila sling off her neck and ensnare the little man. But if the fairy was telling the truth, then she would have to be careful not to incite violence.
Fluttering into the air, his wings beating as fast as a hummingbird’s, the fairy led her through a series of tunnels and small caverns until he brought her into a chamber different from the rest—lined with jewels, brightly lit, and inhabited by a host of fairy kind.
Lady fairies abounded, while the men were few in number. Oganna could see miniature homes built high in the chamber walls, and the plethora of jewels astonished her. The jewels amplified the light from her sword, and the air felt dry rather than clammy. One fairy, a brunette, zipped by her head, settled to the floor, and waved her little silver wand over a stone. It transformed into crystal, then changed color, creating a marvelous sapphire.
On the far wall was a fairy palace, complete with marble walls and glass windows. Multicolored steps led to its ruby doors, and two fairies rolled out a red carpet as the doors opened and a curious-looking little fellow came forth.
He had dimpled cheeks, fair skin, pitch-black hair, and tear-stained cheeks. No crown adorned his head, but he held one in his hands. He was clothed in black. Tears, black clothing—this creature was in mourning. Fairy courtiers gathered behind him in a semicircle, and twenty fairies dressed in silver armor flanked the steps to guard him. They carried spears and wore swords on their sides. If it had not been for the prince’s attire and sad expression, Oganna could have assumed that this was a gala occasion.
Her fairy guide landed in front of the prince and bowed low. The prince acknowledged him with a nod and spoke. “Sevré, you have done well.”
“Thank you, your Excellency! May I be excused now?” As the prince waved him off, Sevré flew to one of the little houses and disappeared inside.
The prince sniffled and requested Oganna to kneel so that he could speak with her. She did so, feeling no threat in his words and no animosity in his actions. “I am Prince Percemon. Welcome to Avejewel, a city of peace.”
“And I am Princess Oganna of the Hemmed Land. I have come in peace, yet what I hear disturbs me. Is it true that you have taken my companions captive?”
“Regrettably, Princess, it is true. But please understand that I felt compelled to do so. It was not by choice but out of desperation. Let me assure you that they are both unharmed and well.” He strode toward her on his spindly legs and shook his head. “It was not an act of war, Princess, or of hostility—please believe me. I only want my dear, sweet, lovely Pansy back from the volcano god. He took her—in the dark of night, right out of my palace—and has enchained her within his temple. Ah, how lovely she is! I will never again be the same, and my death will soon come, unless she is returned. You see, dear lady, we male fairies are very rare, and when we pick a mate, it is not a light decision, for if we are separated from each other, then the life flowing between us is stretched too thin and we wilt, like flowers.”
“You kidnapped my companions so that I would go and rescue your mate?”
“Yes.” He bit his upper lip. “I hate to do it this way, but I have already tried everything else. When I heard that you were traveling through our tunnels, I purposed that you could save her. If you will rescue Pansy, then I will release your companions and”—he lifted a shivering hand as if to make his offer more attractive—“I will send Sevré to guide you out of the mountain.”
“All right.” She sighed and stood. “It’s a deal.”
Such a look of relief passed over the timid fairy’s face, and from the hundreds of fluttering observers came shouts of jubilation. Despite the fact that she was being blackmailed into doing this, Oganna couldn’t help sympathizing with the fairies. They seemed so fragile, both in body and in spirit.
“Psst! Mistresss are you certain this is wise?”
“We’ll soon find out, won’t we?” She ran her eyes along the miniature faces and admired again their insect-like wings.
Sevré and another fairy, this one a female named Yveré, guided her out of Avejewel to a deep and broad cavern wherein natural steps descended deeper into the mountain. “We will bring you as far as the volcano god’s temple door.” Yveré tossed her hair and glanced at Sevré to see if he was looking.
Oganna cleared her throat to get the fairy’s attention and pointed down the stone stairway. “How far is it?”
The female fairy seemed not to hear. “Humph! Sevré, is that a new haircut?”
He beamed a smile back at Yveré. “Like it?”
“Like it?” She fluttered her blond eyelashes. “I adore it.”
“Now look here, you two.” Oganna felt like a mother dealing with her children. “I don’t have all day to find Pansy, and you’re not helping matters.” When neither of them acknowledged her, she shrugged and started walking down the steps. “Oh well, I guess I could always report you to Prince Percemon—if I have to.”
“What?” Sevré snapped into action, ignoring Yveré as she pecked him impishly on the cheek. He flew ahead of Oganna and led her down the stairs. Yveré flew close by Oganna’s ear and growled. “You think you’re smart. Do you? Humph! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a husband these days? They’re about as scarce as—as sunshine inside the mountain.”
Poor thing, she’s a brat, but that’s probably because she’s desperate. I’ve hurt her feelings—and her pride. Trying to make amends, Oganna apologized and offered a proposition. “Yveré, if you will try not to slow down this mission, then I will help you win Sevré.”
“How?”
The fairy couldn’t conceal her curiosity, and Oganna knew that she’d won the proud creature over to her side. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll think of something.”
“Deal!” Whistling a merry tune, Yveré flew ahead and did circles around Sevré until he begged her to stop. She darted to his side, kissed him again, and giggled.
With his face turning red, the fairy continued down the stairs, warning Oganna of loose steps and crumbling stones as they went deeper. The light of her sword illuminated the cold walls of stone, and the fairies’ silver wands spread glowing dust into the darkness.
20
MAZELLA
Sleeping potion, now that’s an easy one to concoct! Two ounces of olive oil, a little sesame, and three rose petals plucked at dawn.” Sevré puffed out his little chest as he shared his knowledge, and Yveré poured compliments into his head.
“Yesiree,” the fairy was saying, “that’s the very potion—the same one, mind you—I used on the giants. Err”—he turned apologetically to Oganna—“I mean on your group.”
“So brave,” Yveré said. “But wasn’t it an awfully fearful experience?”
“No. It was exhilarating! Just like”—he thought for a few moments—“borrowing elderberry wine from the palace kitchen.”
“Ooh! How foolish of you.” Yveré left his side and flew a distance off. “If you had been caught—ooh! Foolish—very foolish!”
The silence that followed was music to Oganna’s ears. Even the viper, curled around her neck, relaxed a bit. Whew, a moment’s peace at last. Then it occurred to her that Sevré had just now, inadvertently, given her just the bargaining chip she needed to give Yveré an edge over him. By his own confession, he had stolen from the fairy prince. If the prince found out, he would be in a lot of trouble. She eyed the female fairy and laughed inwardly. It was perfect! Oganna would tell Sevré that unless he proposed marriage to Yveré, his secret would be told to the prince. She checked herself a moment, wondering what right she had to interfere with two creatures she didn’t know all that well. But if Sevré did not want Yveré, he could back out, no matter the consequences. It might be blackmail, but that was what the fairies had done to her.
She would wait for the opportune moment and present her threat. Sevré would have to be a fool to reject Yveré’s offer of silence, and besides, Yveré wasn’t that bad. He could do far worse than that starry-eyed, exciting, and energetic young fairy. Yep, they’re destined for each other. I’ll see to it.
There it was—the entrance to the “temple.” Oganna laughed aloud when she saw it. “Why, it’s nothing more than another cavern.”
Yveré clung to Sevré, shaking like a leaf. “Ooh, no. It is much more than that. Do be careful, Princess. The volcano god may not be a deity, but he is no fool. Prince Percemon himself tried to rescue Pansy, and he is a powerful master of the silver wand. He failed.”
She left the fairies behind and passed into the cavern. She now stood on a plane of solid stone surrounded on three sides by a steep drop-off. It was as though she stood on a cliff and looked down into a chasm. Lava fell in bright cascades from the walls, emptying into the chasm, and a river of the same flowed far below. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, and the lava flows dimly lit the cavern’s interior. It felt warmer in here too.
There appeared to be no one around, and she began to wonder if the volcano god would show himself. After waiting for a challenge that never came, she walked about the edge of the chasm until she discovered a narrow path leading down. After descending fifty feet, the path leveled off on a broad ledge, and she saw a small windowless hut made of wood. A neatly stacked pile of wood lay to one side of the door, and four barrels were on the other. Upon closer inspection, she discovered that the barrels had been filled with various fruits and vegetables, mostly varieties she recognized from the Swamplands.
“Who goes there?” The deep voice had come from inside the hut, and for the first time Oganna noticed a peephole set about three feet high in the door. The volcano god? She leaned down to examine the hole, and in her curiosity neglected to return the occupant’s demand.
“I says again, who goes there? Answer, or I comes to fight.”
“No, no. I don’t want to fight! Allow me to introduce myself. I am Oganna.”
Silence.
“I am sorry to trouble you,” she continued, “but I am looking for a certain missing fairy called Pansy. Could you tell me where to find her?”
“No. No, I knows nothin’ about no fairy. Not round here no ways.” The voice strained to a higher pitch, and she could tell he was lying.
“I am very sorry.” She straightened and put her hand on the door, ready to force it if necessary. “I do not believe you, and since the lives of my friends are on the line, I must insist on coming inside.”
Bolts slid into place, and she heard a chair propped against the door.
“Look now,” she said through the door, “I’m not going to hurt you, and I don’t want to ruin your home. You don’t want me to blow the door up. Do you?”
“All rights! All rights! Waits a minute. I-I do as you asks.”
With a ringing of metal, she sheathed Avenger and let the fold of her skirt fall back over and hide it. She could hear the chair sliding out of the way, and then the bolts being slid out. “You can comes in now.”
She opened the door slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the hut’s dim interior. To her surprise, the occupant was a midget, no more than three feet tall. An unkempt yellow beard matched his discolored skin, and he wore a tattered suit of animal furs. He stood with a noticeable hunch, and scars covered his wrinkled face. He was a rather unattractive individual. But she saw tears in his green eyes, and his fists were balled up, ready to fight. Behind him, on a pedestal, stood a cage of wood wherein a fairy sat sobbing.
“Pansy?” Oganna asked.
The fairy looked up, startled. Hope shone in her eyes. “You know my name?”
Oganna smiled with relief. The winged miniature woman appeared to be unharmed. “Prince Percemon sent me to rescue you. I’m here with Yveré and Sevré.”
Clasping her tiny hands together, the fairy tinkled out a laugh, and dimples showed in her cheeks. She had blond tresses longer than any of the other fairies; they fell to her ankles. White-and-green cloth interlaced over her shapely form, and little jewels glittered from the necklace around her neck and the bracelets around her wrists. “At last, I will not diminish! I will return to Avejewel.”
“No!” The midget picked the fairy’s wand off a nearby table and pointed at Oganna. “Pansy is not leavings me. I will not allow!” He shook the wand, and a stream of light particles shot toward her.
Oganna held out her hand, palm up, and the light gathered above it. Hmm, it is some kind of transformation energy. This could prove useful. She closed her other hand over it, absorbed it into her body, and smiled at the midget. “You might as well put that away. It would take a far more powerful weapon to hurt me.”
Dropping the wand, he took a step toward her with fists raised, but the viper slid from under her collar and raised its head menacingly. “Psst! Dare you. I daresss you to try.”
The midget flattened himself against the wall. “Please, do no harms to me, Sorceress. I only tooks the fairy for company. Me no harms her.” A couple of tears moistened his cheeks.
“And I am not going to harm you.” Oganna knelt, pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, and offered it to him. As he timidly accepted it, she examined the cage, and, finding the lock, twisted it until it broke. The mechanism fell off, the door swung out, and Pansy danced out, flexing her wings. She really was a most beautiful fairy, and Oganna did not wonder why Prince Percemon wanted her back so badly—that is, other than his belief that her absence would mean both their deaths.
She expected the fairy to fly out the door to join her friends, but Pansy flitted to the weeping midget, caught one of his tears in her tiny hand, and blew on it. Immediately it transformed into a pearl.
“I believe this wand is yours,” Oganna said. She handed over the wand used by the midget.
The fairy thanked her gracefully both for rescuing her and for the wand. Then she stole another of the midget’s tears and transformed it, like the first, into a pearl. Oganna watched in fascination as the creature flew around the midget to sit on his shoulder. “There, there, now,” she cooed. “Don’t keep crying. I’m still here, aren’t I?”
Looking pleadingly at Oganna she said, “Mazella has lived here all by himself for many years, and he is very lonely. I understood that after he captured me. He really is a splendid man, and a warrior. He needs a friend. Hmm, he needs to leave this place.”
“Mazella. That is his name?”
Pansy gave a gentle nod and stole another tear from the midget.
Oganna reached out and cleaned Mazella’s face with his shirt. “Is it true that you are a warrior?”
Sniffling, Mazella controlled his emotions enough to respond. “Aye, warrior I was.”
“No,” the fairy encouraged, “a warrior you are.”
He glanced at her with tender eyes and managed a smile. “I am sorry thats I forced you to stay heres. It wasn’t right.”
“No hard feelings.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Now, Mazella, come with me and this friendly lady as we return to Avejewel. There is no need for you to stay here all alone.”
“But, I cannot stays in your city. The prince will not forgets that I have done this.”
“Nonsense! You are all alone, and it is not right for anyone to be like this.”
“Mazella?” Oganna rested her hand on his narrow shoulder. “How about coming with me? I have an aunt and a friend with me, and we will need a guide out of this mountain. Could you help us?”
It must not have dawned on him that he could still be useful for something, because his eyes popped wide open and he spoke in his deep voice while standing to bow. “I would be honored.”
Pansy flew off his shoulder and clapped her hands. “Good! It is settled then.” Her strength suddenly failed her, and she started to fall, but Oganna caught her.
“I think we had better get you back to Prince Percemon before you weaken any further.”
“A wise decision,” Pansy panted. “Let’s go.”
A short time later Oganna ascended the cavern steps.
“Pansy!” Yveré stopped massaging Sevré’s shoulders to chatter happily with the freed fairy. Her face soured when Mazella came out of the cavern as well. “What? He lives?” She turned accusingly on Oganna. “You didn’t kill him?”
“Yveré,” Pansy interrupted, “watch your tongue, or I will have you publicly flogged. This is Mazella, and he is sorry for what he did.”
“Sorry? What good does that do? He might have killed you.”
“But he did not, and I want you to treat him with kindness.”
“It will not be easy—”
“Do it!”
Under Pansy’s critical eye, the fairy cordially introduced herself to Mazella before fluttering off with her nose held high. Sevré, too, did not receive the midget. After welcoming Pansy back, he flew off before she could make him do anything.
“Such childish attitudes. If Mazella weren’t going with you, Princess, I think I would have an impossible task on my hands.” Pansy’s eyes rolled back into her head, and she flopped unconscious in Oganna’s hand.
Knowing that the fairy’s bond must be healed quickly or she would die, Oganna raced out of the cavern. Her precious bundle felt like a doll in her hands, bouncing at every turn. Remembering the way back, she passed Sevré and Yveré and burst into Avejewel. “Prince Percemon! Prince Percemon!”
In answer, he came out of his palace, flew to her, and with tears in his eyes slipped his arms under Pansy and carried her inside. Fortunately for Oganna, the fairies were so focused on their returned comrade that they neglected to close the doors behind their prince, and she was able to watch the fascinating procedure. Mazella snuck up behind her, but he remained in the shadows out of sight from the fairies.
Prince Percemon laid Pansy on a jeweled table in his sparkling white hall. Thirty fairies then danced around the table, waving their wands in unison until a cloud of colored dust covered her. Another fairy, gray-haired and stooped, with faded wings, entered the hall and stood by the table. He held a wand longer than any the other fairies possessed, almost as long as he was tall. The fairy prince leaned over the table, spilling his tears on her face.
The elderly fairy swirled the air with his silver wand and cried out, “Unite!” and a momentary flash of light blinded Oganna. When she looked again, Pansy and Prince Percemon had their arms entwined and their tiny lips locked in a kiss. Applause broke out from the observers, and Oganna joined them, though she was careful not to clap too loudly as she was afraid it might hurt their ears.
The prince of the fairies came out with his bride on his arm, and all of Avejewel burst into cheers. Wands waved and wings fluttered. Oganna sat back and relaxed; her task was done.
Amid all the commotion, Sevré and Yveré returned, and Oganna pulled Sevré aside. There was one more thing she had to do. “The prince does not have to know that you stole his wine, if you will at least consider doing one thing for me.”
His face paled and he spoke into her ear. “I will do anything you ask! Please, please don’t say anything!”
She told him what to do and smiled as he turned red in the face. “You know you want to anyways,” she said. “Unless your flirtations were all foolishness. I’m just giving you extra incentive.”
After much stuttering, the fairy went over to Yveré and kissed her hand. His words were spoken too softly for Oganna to hear, but Yveré’s response left her ear ringing. “Ooh yes! I accept!” Then she glanced up at Oganna.
Oganna winked down at the creature and mouthed “good luck” to her. Yveré kissed her on the nose, and then disappeared with Sevré into the airborne crowds.
Prince Percemon raised his hands for silence, and the citizens of Avejewel obeyed. “Princess,” he said so that all could hear, “you have fulfilled your end of our bargain. Again, I wish to say, I am sorry for the trouble this has caused you. It is now my turn. Release the hostages!”
Then the fairies all sang in chorus:
Set the prisoners free, oh thou great stone walls.
Let them out for the time has come,
To dance once more in our jeweled halls
And welcome home our prince’s bride.
With a terrible grating sound that reminded Oganna of the Tomb of the Ancients in Resgeria, a portion of the cavern wall slid aside, and she saw a chamber beyond with two prone forms side by side. “They are—”
“Asleep,” the fairy prince answered. “They know nothing of what has happened, and when they awaken, they will be unaware of anything other than a very relaxing nap. We will return them to where we found them, and then they will awake.”
A parade of fairies lifted their wands in unison. Silver light spilled from a hundred wand tips. The light formed a litter of shining gold that raised Ombre and Caritha out of the chamber. Sliding into the fairies’ midst, the litter followed the delicate creatures. They waved their wands and the litter hovered as it followed them out of Avejewel.
The procession of fairies with their wands held aloft in their tiny hands cast a harsh glow into the dark underground. The glow spread up the tunnel walls, and there stood Mazella. He stared at his feet, wringing his beard with both of his hands.
“The volcano god!” a fairy screamed.
The procession halted. The fairies stepped away from the litter, letting it thud to the tunnel floor. They redirected their wands toward Mazella.
Pansy shot into the tunnel. She buzzed over the angry creatures, and waved her own wand toward the midget. A sheet of light rose between Mazella and the fairies, and they glanced up at their queen, bewilderment in many a tiny face. “This one is not evil,” declared the fairy queen. “I command you leave him alone, for he will no longer bring suffering to any of us. His deed toward me was wrong, but I have forgiven him of it. I desire you all to forget the incident.”
Oganna expected the fairies to protest. Likely they felt ready to tear Mazella apart and throw him into some dark pit, but they bowed to Pansy with broad smiles on their faces. Redirecting their attention to the litter, they again lifted it with their wands and led it down the tunnels. Oganna followed them, and Mazella shuffled along behind her, glancing up with doleful eyes as the fairy prince flew over his head and took up the lead with Pansy buzzing along at his side.
At last the procession arrived at the place where the fairies had first kidnapped Ombre and Caritha. They lowered their wands, and the litter clunked onto the tunnel floor. With a wave of his wand, Prince Percemon turned the litter into gold dust so that Oganna’s companions lay on the stone.
“I wish you could stay with us,” Pansy told Oganna with a friendly smile. “You and I are quite alike, I think. I will miss you.” She fluttered close and lifted her skirts, exposing her little feet. “The friend of fairies you will always be, Princess Oganna. Please accept a token of my gratitude.”
With her wand spreading light particles over her feet, Pansy pressed them into Oganna’s shoulder, just below the collarbone. Oganna felt a quick burning sensation. The fairy’s bare feet sank into her skin as though they were branding irons, and when Pansy pulled them back, she had left two perfect impressions.
“There! That’s better.” She held her hand against Oganna’s cheek. “By these marks you will be known to all fairies as our friend.” But the little creature froze, staring at Oganna’s hands, for a sliver of red light glowed in each of them.
Oganna stepped back and held her hands palms up. Her hands felt warm and they tingled. Beneath her skin there appeared slivers, hair-thin, that radiated ruby light. She sheathed her sword, extinguishing its glow and that of her dress. But her hands glowed brighter, and a thread of energy grew from one hand to the other, and from the thread’s midst a small tree radiated into existence.
The fairies gasped. The tree was no more than three feet tall, and it remained suspended in the air between Oganna’s hands. As Pansy touched the tree, it pulsed blue light. The fairy’s little eyes widened. “The tree of our ancestors.”
“It cannot be.” Percemon fluttered beside his bride, gazing at Oganna’s hands.
Oganna did not know what to make of it. She had never seen these slivers in her hands before. Were they part of her dragon heritage?
“It is a sign! The legends are true.” The fairy prince looked at Oganna with wonderment in his eyes. “You have showed us the way home.” He waved his wand, whooping, and all the fairies flew toward the small tree.
Oganna stepped back as they swarmed toward her. But her back hit against the wall.
The viper cried out, “These creatures hasss gone mad!”
Percemon and Pansy dove into the tree of light—and vanished. Oganna stared, unable to believe.
Crying and smiling, the fairies flooded into the tree of light, vanishing one by one until not a single fairy remained in the tunnel. The fairy city of Avejewel had been abandoned. But a haze grew around her, rising like a mist. Oganna saw a life-size version of the tree in her hands. It stood in a high-arching hallway. Silver and gold tiles covered the floor around it, and its bark glowed soft blue, then shifted into white the higher she gazed up the sprawling branches.
Neneila’s mouth clamped shut, and her eyes opened until they threatened to pop from her serpentine head.
The leafless tips of the branches glowed like pokers pulled from a fire. Fairies swarmed to the tree’s branches, and other fairies rose to meet them. A harmony of tinkling fairy laughter filled the air. Then, behind the tree, a white creature rose, scaled and glowing. “Grandfather?” Startled, she clapped her hands to her mouth. The vision disappeared, and though she attempted to bring it back, her hands refused to return their red glow, and the vision remained lost.
Ombre moaned at her feet and Caritha sat up. Both her companions’ eyes opened wide when they saw Mazella, and it took a little while to assure them that he was harmless.
Ombre rattled his head. “I feel like I slept a week. What happened?”
Oganna smiled, relieved to have him back. “That will take a little time to explain.”
21
THE STRENGTH OF THE LITTLE MAN
Fairies?” Ombre was skeptical. “They kidnapped us?”
“That’s right! You were both dragged off after Sevré used a sleeping potion on us. You do remember that you couldn’t stop yawning. Don’t you?”
“Yes, but—” He shook his head. “Are you pulling my leg?”
Oganna laughed and pulled on her neckline so that he could see Pansy’s footmarks.
“This is very rare.” Caritha fingered the still-glowing impressions and shook her head in wonder. “Fairies are generally timid creatures, and they don’t trust people easily. You are very fortunate.”
Ombre gestured at Mazella. “He is coming with us?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm, I see.” He grinned broadly at the midget and reached down to shake his hand. “Mazella, is it?”
Mazella nodded his affirmation and timidly shook the larger man’s hand. Beside Ombre he looked very insignificant. Caritha bowed slightly and Ombre stretched his arms. “In all of Subterran! What was in that potion?”
“Two ounces of olive oil, a little sesame, and three rose petals plucked at dawn.” Oganna leaned on his arm and started walking down the tunnel.
He looked down at her and raised one eyebrow skeptically. “Really?”
“Really. At least, that’s what the fairy said.” She redirected her attention to the little man walking ahead of them. “Is it much farther?”
“No. Tunnels lead outs of the mountain. It will takes a little while.”
True to his word, Mazella brought them through the maze of dark tunnels and out onto the mountain’s western slopes. Oganna could see the morning light flooding the area, and she felt exhausted. All night she’d done the fairy prince’s bidding, and she’d quite forgotten to sleep. Thus, she made the others aware of her exhaustion and let them set up her bedroll so that she could take a nap.
The viper, resting around her neck, fell into the blankets and shook its head groggily. “Pssst! Sssleep.”
Ombre picked his way through the tangled vines and hacked at them with his sword. “Have you been through here often?”
Bringing up the rear, Mazella clambered over a fallen tree. “Nevers. Not in heres.”
They had left Caritha in the tunnel in the mountain with Oganna. It had been Ombre’s idea. “I’ll scout ahead with Mazella and clear a path through that swamp,” he’d said to her. “Wait here. I’ll be back before she wakes up.”
Caritha had tried to object, but he had laughed her concern aside and invited the midget to accompany him. Now, as his boot sank in a pool of green water, he found himself hoping that there were no deadly creatures roaming this place, and no forty-foot giants!
A log lay in his path, so he reached for a vine hanging overhead and used it to vault over. “Come on, Mazella.” But the midget’s eyes grew big, and he cried out as the vine twisted around Ombre’s chest and hauled him up while another vine clamped down on his sword arm.
Ombre could not breathe. The strength of the vines was incredible. Only his armor stopped them from crushing his body. He spotted Mazella on a boulder, every muscle tense as he pummeled several encroaching vines with his fists. He was very fast and, considering he was weaponless, was doing rather well.
“What’s this?” Caritha burst into view and drew her rusted sword from the fold in her garment. She grabbed a vine as it reached for her, pulled it down, and severed it with her blade. Then she dashed to Mazella’s aid and untangled him, for the vines had by now managed to wrap themselves around him too. “Hold on,” she called to Ombre.
Though he struggled, the vines dragged him higher. His sword fell from his hand. He was lifted into the trees and lost sight of his would-be rescuer. Great! Now what? I have no weapons and … no—wait, I do have a weapon! He opened his mouth and clamped down as hard as he could on the nearest vine. With a funny screeching sound, it recoiled and slid out of sight in the branches. One by one he bit the rest of the vines until only one remained. It was more stubborn than the others, so he chewed on it, grinding his teeth into it as hard as possible and spitting out the bark that broke off in his mouth.
Before he realized that he’d succeeded, the vine released him, and he was hard pressed to cover his face with his arms as he plunged through the tree branches and splashed into a slimy pool of water. He wiped the green slush from his face and smiled wryly up at Caritha as she and Mazella stared at him from atop a log.
“I thought you were going to watch Oganna.”
“And I thought you were going to be careful.” She sprang down and helped him to his feet, giving him a disgusted look as she did so. “Are you all right?”
He shook the water out of his ears. “Where is Oganna?”
“The viper woke up and said that it would watch over her. I decided to come looking for you.”
“There was no need. We’re doing quite well on our own.” He located his sword nearby and picked it up.
Caritha glanced at Mazella and then back at him. “How did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Free yourself from the vines.”
“Oh, that.” He picked a chunk of bark from his teeth and held it up with a laugh. “Bit down as hard as I could as often as I could.”
She shook her head and sighed with relief. “Sometimes I don’t know about you.”
“Psst! Psst!” The viper’s tongue tickled Oganna’s hand.
She forced one of her eyes open and tried to motivate her legs to move. How long have I been sleeping? The angle of Yimshi’s light on the mountain slopes told her that there were still a couple of hours until noon.
She packed her bedding and heaved it onto her shoulders. The viper slid up her arm and around her neck. “Psst,” it said in her ear, “they went into the ssswamp.”
At the mountain’s base she could see the beginnings of a swamp similar in appearance to the one through which Whimly had led them, though this one did not appear to stretch as far, and a clear line of green in the distance gave her hope that they would soon reach more hospitable ground. She could also see mountains some distance beyond. The volcano rumbled and then belched a cloud of ash. Around the mountain hung dark clouds, some of rain and others of ash, forming a perimeter several miles in breadth. Above the distant line of green she could see a clear blue sky beckoning her. Or was it teasing her?
A peal of thunder redirected her attention to the north. Dark low-hanging clouds rolled toward the volcano. “Let’s get moving, Neneila. I want to find them.” The sky darkened, and the first drops of rain fell around her as she made a run for the swamp. She thought that Ombre would have left a trail for her to follow, but she could see nothing. Perhaps it was the dim light and the tangled vines. They formed a perfect wall.
Drawing Avenger, she clothed herself in silver and slashed a hole through the foliage. To her surprise, the vines retracted as she slashed at them, opening a broad path ahead of her. She walked inside, leaving behind the faint odor of sulfur wafting from the volcano.
Several large trees leaned out of her path as she passed by, and a few raised their low-hanging branches above her head. This forest was alive.
One tree did not move out of the way, but she pointed her crimson blade at its trunk. The tree screamed in terror and raised its branches. Startled, she screamed. The creaking of the tree’s movements sounded to her like whimpers, but she couldn’t be sure.
The vines formed a vast maze that moved out of her way and sometimes formed bridges over the water for her to pass on. It was all very strange and a lot of fun. She felt like a child again, discovering the wonders of a world larger than she could fathom.
As she neared a small body of water, the vines lowered, entwined with tree roots, and a bridge formed over the water. She danced over it and jumped to dry ground on the other side.
“Ow!”
The exclamation caught her off guard, and she looked down to see a yellow flower, about ten inches tall. It had eyes and a mouth where the center of its blossom should have been. She stared, unable to fathom what she saw. At last she managed to say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you down there. Are you okay?”
“Wah!” The flower bent over, and its petals shook with its crying.
She tried to say she was sorry, but her apologies went in one petal and out another. It didn’t appear that she had harmed it. She scrutinized it to be sure. “You’re fine,” she said. “Don’t cry.” The viper slurped disapprovingly in her ear, and she knew what it was thinking. This thing is a wimp. That seemed to be the case. Though, for all she knew, all living flowers possessed that characteristic.
The swamp sprang to life. The trees shifted on their roots, and the marsh grasses parted to make way for a multitude of flowers that rose out of the sopping soil. Dripping moisture, the flowers converged on her position, spidering along on their roots. Most of the flowers stood no higher than her knee, but from the farther depths of the swamp, flowers rose in great numbers; some of them stood as tall as she. They waved stem-like arms and leaf hands. It was the strangest sight Oganna had seen yet, and she stared at the hostile plants’ faces.
“Human treads Flowerland and human die in Flowerland.” They moved to attack her, groping with their stem arms and spitting pollen at her face. She raised her sword, and burning flames rippled along its blade. She pointed the sword at the flower horde. Flames cascaded from the blade’s tip, singeing the nearest flowers and burning others.
Uttering cries, the flowers scampered away. Charred stems and leaves littered the ground where they’d stood.
They soon returned, growing new body parts as they came. She did not wish to destroy them; after all, she felt she had started this incident. She held back her power and only used that which came from her sword. But the flowers did not stop, and she was forced to pull out her boomerang and send it out on its deadly journey. As large numbers of them fell, halved; the flowers retreated, and she made her way farther into the swamp. Her tactics had the desired effect. None of the flowers followed her, and the trees and vines parted once again to allow her safe passage.
She exhaled, and from then on kept one eye on the ground, careful to avoid any and all flowers. Caution seemed not just prudent but necessary.
Then she heard Ombre somewhere up ahead, struggling. And as she approached she heard Caritha and Mazella as well.
“Watch out for that branch,” Mazella said.
Caritha added, “It’s another vine!”
“Look out!”
When she came upon them, they were some fifty feet off the ground, tangled in the living vines trying to capture them. As soon as she approached and pointed her blade at the vines, the vines released their captives and set them on the ground. The tree roots slid to the side, and the vines swung aside, opening a path ahead of her.
“What in Subterran is going on here?” Ombre slumped his shoulders and opened his arms wide, looking skyward. “First I come in here with Mazella, and the swamp wants to kill us, then you walk on the scene and everything gets quiet. Oganna, what did you do?”
Caritha said nothing, yet she stared at Oganna with unwavering analysis.
Mazella stared up at her, stepped close, and knelt. “Truly there is somethings special about you.”
“Come on, everyone. Let’s get out of here. And be careful not to step on flowers; some of them are”—she swallowed, knowing how it would sound—“alive.” She pulled Mazella to his feet and ran toward a wide stream. As the vines formed a bridge, she stepped onto it, eliciting gasps from her companions behind her. She ignored them, leading them westward as fast as she was able. The bodies of water grew scarce, the vines thinned, and the trees grew farther apart. She passed over a stream of green water to the land beyond and stood on dry ground.
When they could see a field through the trees ahead, the vines formed another bridge over a final large body of water. As they reached the bridge’s center, the vines drew back, dropping all of them into the water.
Ombre swam to the opposite shore, dragging Caritha with him up the bank. But Oganna floundered as the water soaked into her glowing dress, and when she looked into the water’s cold depths several pairs of eyes glinted back at her. Crocodiles popped to the surfaced and snaked toward her. Oganna swam toward the shore, but the weight of her dress dragged her down.
“Hurry, Oganna,” Caritha urged as she stood on the shore.
But Ombre dropped his pack and leaped into the water, sword in hand, and Neneila slithered into the water. The viper swam at the nearest crocodile and sank its fangs into its head. The crocodile swam closer to Oganna and opened its toothy mouth.
Just then Mazella ran along one of the reptile’s backs, reached into its mouth, and yanked out one of its teeth. The crocodile groaned and plunged underwater. Mazella bounced like a wildcat from one crocodile to the next, digging the tooth he’d acquired into their eyes until they too submerged.
But the murky water now unleashed snakes and strange fishlike creatures that breached the surface and tried to catch Mazella as he sank into the water. “You must gets out of here. Now!” he screamed. “I cans handle them.”
She could have done as he suggested, but instead she powered up her sword. The flames shot underwater, evaporating the water in thick clouds of steam and driving back the swamp creatures. Neneila skittered through the water to the shore, ahead of the steam.
“Come on.” Oganna dog-paddled toward the shore as Mazella glanced at her. “The shore is not far off.”
Ombre swam between her and the midget as snakes rose back to the water’s surface. He lopped off their heads and kicked and yelled, enough to keep them from biting him and from getting to anyone but him.
Caritha cut a long vine from one of the trees and threw it into the water. Mazella took hold first, and Oganna grabbed on behind. Then they swam while Caritha hauled them in. They landed on dry ground at the same instant that an Aquagiant began to surface. Ombre screamed, for the creature’s ugly face loomed directly in front of him. He swam faster than Oganna believed possible and made land within several seconds.
“Whats is that?” Mazella trembled as he pointed at the wicked creature.
“Run!” Oganna faced the creature while Ombre and Caritha ran with Mazella for cover. With sword raised, she directed a torrent of flames at the creature’s face. Its hands closed into fists, and its arms slipped back under the water. As the last bit of the Aquagiant’s head disappeared, she let her tired arms drop to her sides. The viper slithered up her leg, and Oganna ran to join her companions.
They stood in a narrow meadow now. Yimshi’s rays began drying their clothes and warming their skin. “That,” she said to the gaping Mazella, “was an Aquagiant.”
They found a flat, dry region littered with boulders outside the swamp. Evening darkness settled over the land, and a warm breeze relaxed their frayed nerves. They set up camp, not bothering to pitch the tent, and fell asleep.
“Garumph! What have we here?”
Oganna woke and faced five green Megatraths. Judging from the moist, cold air and the dark star-studded sky, it was hardly past midnight. Swamp slime and roots hung off their smelly bodies. She closed her nose against the smell as the creatures stared greedily upon her and her companions. They held nasty barbed spears, and she overheard one of them mutter that it had been a long time since they’d had any humans to do their dirty work. She sat up and reached to her side, feeling for her sword. But a Megatrath held up her sheathed weapon and cackled darkly.
“I think the human wanted to fight.”
“Garumph!” another said. “Let’s impale her.”
They moved toward her, and three of them grabbed her companions. Caritha’s sword lay on the ground, as well as Ombre’s. One Megatrath smashed Caritha into a boulder. He dragged her along the ground and stepped on her arm. A sickening crack of bone and Oganna knew: it had broken Caritha’s arm!
Another growled and drove its fist into Ombre’s head, surely knocking him cold.
“How dare you.” Anger surged through her being, and a fire boiled in her soul. Without moving her legs, she floated to a standing position. Her hands glowed like the embers of a fire, and she advanced without fear upon the nearest Megatrath.
He gurgled deep in his throat and grabbed her, but as soon as she touched him with her hands, they burned through his hide into his flesh. Avenger slipped from the Megatrath’s grasp, and his companions backed off, grunting their concern as she was decked in silver and the blade flamed red. She drove the blade into the first Megatrath’s chest, toppling it, and lopped off the arm of the one holding Mazella.
The midget pounced on the Megatrath guarding Caritha as Oganna finished off the one missing an arm. He pulled a dagger from a belt around the creature’s waist and climbed onto its shoulders, then thrust the blade into its neck. The Megatrath roared, reached behind its head with its remaining forearm, and grasped the midget in its powerful fist.
The Megatrath rushed to a nearby tree and slammed Mazella’s head into the trunk. The little man fell limp and bled from a split in his skull.
“Monster!” Oganna turned to the creature, leaping on its back. Neneila tightened around her shoulders. The Megatrath’s hide skinned her knees, but she did not care. She sank Avenger’s blade into the creature’s back and shoulders, and then its neck. The Megatrath trembled and slumped to the ground.
The Megatraths that remained roared with fury, yet they turned away and lumbered toward the swamp. They stepped into the murky water, settled into its depths, and swam toward its heart. Crocodiles scattered before them, but the Megatraths grabbed one by the tail and ripped it in half. The sound of their ferocious feast filled the swamp.
Releasing the power of her sword, Oganna returned to her normal state and rushed to Ombre’s side. He sat up and shook his head. He grunted, stood, and stared at the carnage about them. “Green Megatraths?” But his eyes fell on Caritha, and he brushed past Oganna. He knelt beside the Warrioress. Tears fell down his face.
Oganna dashed to Mazella’s side. The midget lay still, unmoving. She took his tiny wrist in her hand, felt for a pulse. Finding none, she hung her head and wept. She closed her eyes, probing for his consciousness. But the spark of his life was gone forever.
She heard Ombre laugh with relief. He shouted to her, “She is going to be okay. Her breathing is steady. She’s unconscious, but she will be all right.” Under his breath, he said, “Her arm is broken. Oganna, help me find some wood for a splint.”
His words did not break the veil of sorrow that surrounded Oganna. A few minutes passed; Oganna cradled the lonely midget in her arms. So brave, so alone.
Ombre’s strong hand clasped her shoulder. “Oh no.” And his tears fell on her shoulder. “He is gone, then. Oh no.”
A scream broke the silence, and both of them glanced over their shoulders. A Megatrath had returned from the swamp, and its clawed fingers had frozen within inches of Caritha’s body. It stared down at her.
“Back for more, eh?” Ombre charged. He must have retrieved his sword, for he swung it in his hands. “You would kill an injured woman?”
But the creature’s arm shot toward him, faster than Oganna’s eye could discern. It held Ombre, pinning the sword to his side. “Silence, human.” Its voice rolled deep and commanding over the ground. “I am not here to harm her, or you.” It turned its gaze upon Caritha. “Your arm is broken, lady. Did my kind cause this?”
Oganna rose, cradling Mazella’s body in her arms. She nodded, even though the creature had directed the question to Caritha, and another tear rolled down her cheek.
The creature growled as Caritha grimaced a nod. “Do not fear. The villains will be dealt with. They will be dead before the night has ended.” It set its claws along the sides of Caritha’s arm. “This will be painful, so prepare yourself.”
Bone ground against bone in a sickening sound that made Oganna cringe. She walked toward the creature, where it held Ombre off the ground. Ombre struggled no more, just stared as the creature worked on Caritha’s arm. Caritha’s arm straightened, then bent. The woman cried out, and the Megatrath narrowed its eyes. “That is dragon blood in your veins.” It smiled, and her arm straightened into its normal shape.
The creature dipped a bow to Caritha, then growled at Ombre before plopping him on the ground. Ombre fell to his knees, and the Megatrath rushed into the swamp. Oganna counted not six but eight legs. The creature swam like a bloated alligator through the water until it was out of sight.
Caritha rose unsteadily. She touched her arm and exhaled. “I am so tired.” She stumbled toward Ombre, and he caught her in a hearty embrace. They stood there until they dared look upon Mazella’s corpse. “We must bury him,” Caritha said.
A terrible roaring filled the swamp, and the trio gazed into its dim depths. The water churned, and half a dozen Megatraths breached the water’s surface. Four of the creatures forced two of them onto the shore. They lumbered toward Oganna, Ombre, and Caritha. The two between the four, their eyes darting side to side, growled and groaned. But they cowered as the eight-legged Megatrath rose out of the swamp and joined their group. He lumbered forward as the other Megatraths halted.
“We have a custom among our race,” he said.
The two Megatraths behind him whimpered, and he turned on them, his voice the sound of thunder. “We have a custom that the murderers dig the grave of their victim, overlay it with stones, and die upon those same stones.”
The four creatures slashed the two with claws and roared. The Megatrath pair began to dig. With little effort, their powerful forearms opened a deep hole in the ground.
“Please.” The eight-legged creature took a step closer to Oganna. “This is the only way we can recompense what has happened.”
She shook her head, then bowed. “Truly I respect your customs, but we wish to bury him in a clean grave with a human ceremony. He fought and died alongside us, and we owe him the type of burial he would have wanted.”
The Megatrath growled and spun on the two murderers. His claws opened gashes in their throats, and they tumbled into the graves they had dug. The remaining creatures spat on the bodies, bowed to Oganna and the others, then lumbered back into the swamp.
Caritha sat on the ground and stared after the Megatraths. By her aunt’s silence, Oganna judged the woman was in shock. Ombre sat beside her. No one spoke as they all stared into the swamp. At long last, relieved but weary, Oganna and her companions fell into fitful sleep.
22
HOME OF THE MIGHTY MEGATRATHS
Weary and with his throat parched, Ilfedo ascended yet another tunnel. It turned sharply and he rounded the bend. Again it turned, and he followed this as well, only to be blinded by sunlight. Shielding his eyes, he let his blade’s tip drag on the stone floor as he emerged, at long last, into Yimshi’s rays. He had made it out of those dark and lonely caverns and found the world he better knew.
Past the confines of his stone shelter, yellow sands stretched to the horizon. Just in front of his feet an almost-vertical cliff dropped to the desert floor. Yimshi’s rays brutally irradiated the scene. Waves of heat even penetrated the shadows where he stood. He retreated deeper into the cool shadows and realized another tunnel branched away from the cliff. It angled down rather steeply and was adorned with numerous gouges from Megatrath claws.
“We made it, Seivar. Thank God! This is Resgeria, see?” He pointed across the desert. “The Warrioresses and my daughter told us that a great wall divides the desert, and somewhere on the other side we will find Vectra.” He pulled the last bit of fruit out of his pocket and bit into it. The taste that he had almost despised before did not seem that bad anymore. As the juice trickled down his throat, he thanked the Creator with a quick prayer and stumbled into the tunnel.
As he started down the spacious tunnel, he found its inclination rather steep. He stepped in the gashes on the floor to keep his footing. It would take only a minor slip to send him sliding down the tunnel, a prospect that drove him to take even greater care.
A little while later the tunnel sloped more gently, and he stood at its end. The stone floor upon which he now stood was smooth, worn and polished by usage. The cavern walls, reaching far above him to the darkness-enshrouded ceiling, bore elaborate designs upon them. Chiseled, he presumed, though for all he knew they might have been carved by claws.
He had heard from Oganna and the Warrioresses of the channels, filled with oil, carved into the Megatraths’ cavern walls. Yet in the dimness he could hardly distinguish them. If lit by fire, the channels would illuminate the entire area. He considered setting them aflame with the sword of the dragon but thought better of it. These creatures were strange beings. Their customs were alien to him. He should not risk enraging them. Besides, his glowing aura illuminated much of the large underground habitat. The cavern walls were pierced by hundreds of tunnels as large as the one through which he had come. Some larger tunnels as well. However, these opened at ground level and led out the back side of the chamber. Cuts in the cavern’s rock walls led like ladders from the floor to a countless number of caves above him.
“Hello?” He tried to sound bold, calling into the silent unknown, but he felt a bit uneasy. Where had everyone gone? “Is there anyone within the sound of my voice? I am Lord Ilfedo of the Hemmed Land. I have come to see Vectra.”
Though he waited for a long while, there was no response.
Picking a tunnel at random in the hopes of finding one of the creatures, he started down it. Five steps in he stopped. The faintest sound had reached his ears—a dull rumble from a neighboring tunnel.
He redirected his steps in the sound’s direction, just as another, louder rumble followed. Several bends in the tunnel effectively kept the light at its end hidden from him until he had almost reached it. Hot air swirled into the tunnel from the stone-encircled arena ahead, and he put away his sword. Two of the hulking six-legged creatures were circling each other, whilst many more observed from atop the stones.
Fearsome to behold, the full-grown Megatraths stood above ten feet at the shoulders, while the meglings ranged from the height of his shoulder to just shy of their elders’. Dark gray scales ran from atop their alligator-like heads to the tip of their long bony tails. Creamy white scales plated their underbellies. The creatures could move on all six of their tree-sized legs if they wished, or simply balance their weight on their rear four and use the forward pair as arms.
One of the Megatraths in the arena retracted its claws and drove its fist into the side of its opponent. The other rolled with the blow, stood up, and faced it. Its sides expanded as it drew in air, and then it let out a torrent of flames, its sides constricting to send out as long an assault as physically possible. The other fell back, blinking its eyes and shaking its head. Ilfedo wondered if the flames had entered the Megatrath’s ear holes.
“Lord Ilfedo of the Hemmed Land?” Ilfedo’s ears rang as the deep-throated voice sounded from behind him.
He turned to find an adult Megatrath looming before him. He bowed slightly to the creature and sheathed his sword. As the Living Fire receded, the creature watched.
When the Living Fire fell entirely off Ilfedo’s body, the Megatrath said, “Vectra has asked that I bring you to her.” It growled and beckoned with one heavy hand for him to follow. It climbed a pile of loose stones to the gargantuan ones on which the observers sat.
Having no desire to be in direct sunlight again, Ilfedo considered a refusal. But a wave from the observers’ midst showed him Vectra’s location beneath an awning made from reptilian skin. Her tooth-ridden jaws smiled down at him, and he relaxed. A friend in whom he could trust, and one whose help he would need to find the Tomb of the Ancients and to enter it. In all these travels I must not forget the key. I must reach it—and very soon.
Skirting a dozen half-asleep Megatraths on the stones, he joined their leader. “Vectra, it has been too long.” When he had last seen the Megatrath, she had been camping out in the city of Netroth with his daughter after their harrowing battle against the giants. His daughter owed her life to this creature.
“Too long, indeed. Please, sit. Can I offer you anything?” She gestured at a pile of fruit withered by the heat.
“I have been on a long and fruitless journey,” he replied with a shake of his head. “I slipped under the sandstorm along the Hemmed Land’s border and found my way here, via an underground route so incredible and frightening that I find it hard to believe it all happened to me.”
Her great eyes roved over his dirt-encrusted clothing.
He laughed. “Actually my throat is quite dry, and I lost my traveling supplies. I would be very grateful for a peaceful meal and conversation.”
The contenders in the arena collided, and one of them thudded to the ground, panting heavily. “Next!” Vectra roared. A Megatrath left the sidelines, flexing its muscles.
“Isor.” Vectra looked thoughtful as she named the new duelist. “Her brother was killed by Oganna and the Warrioresses.”
“Loos?” Ilfedo spoke the name of the murderous Megatrath slowly. Loos had invaded the Hemmed Land and slain the inhabitants of a border town. Ilfedo had sent his wife’s sisters to track the creature down and kill it, but Oganna had secretly followed them. Vectra had disapproved of Loos’s attack, and after Oganna had killed him, Oganna had formed an alliance with the Megatraths. He pulled away from his thoughts to look at Loos’s sister, Isor.
Vectra nodded, then waved him toward the tunnel through which he’d entered. “Come, Lord Ilfedo. The water springs are underground. I am most pleased you have come, and most curious as to how you came to be here. Come inside, and we will fill your stomach and talk, just as you asked.”
The circular room of black stone in which he stood fascinated Ilfedo. Four impressive silver bowls hung from chains attached to the ceiling some forty to fifty feet above him. The bowls each measured more than seven feet in diameter. Flames burned in them, and five silver mirrors—placed so as to reflect the light downward—illuminated the room.
Against the back wall and opposite the arching tunnel through which Vectra had led him was a basin of water with large snaking spouts above it that appeared to be carved out of the stone. Crystal clear, the liquid poured from the spouts into the basin and then drained out of it through two holes at the basin’s rim, disappearing into the rock wall.
He couldn’t help feeling like a midget as he climbed onto a large stone in order to reach the water. The spouts were almost as thick as he was wide, and the basin could have served adequately as a pool. He submerged his cupped hands and was preparing to slurp the water—
Vectra’s claws held out a stone cup with a handle just his size. He stared at it as he took it. Where would a Megatrath get a human-sized cup? Why would they have the need?
“After we returned from our battle against the giants,” Vectra rumbled deep and satisfied, “word spread of how your people—in particular your daughter—saved Megatrath lives by risking their own. The mates of those who were saved have been hard at work since, preparing our hard world to welcome you and your kind. We have plates and bowls chiseled in the size you require.” She shook her hide and gave a toothy grin. “You and your people will be forever welcome among us, Lord Ilfedo.”
Ilfedo gulped several long draughts of cold water as Seivar perched on the basin’s rim. The silver-beaked bird dipped its head to the water’s surface, scooping some into its lower beak, then raised its head and closed its eyes. Its beak remained partially open as its tongue gingerly flapped the water down its throat.
“Follow me, Ilfedo.” The Megatrath led him into an adjacent chamber. A sheet of water fell across the entry, washing the Megatrath’s hide.
Stepping beneath the deluge, Ilfedo laughed as the liquid cleansed his hair and face, then rushed down his back. He shivered, but the Megatrath picked him up and ran up a tunnel. The creature’s powerful body threw him about, then suddenly they rose into sunlight. His skin warmed as the creature stood him atop a mountain of stone surrounded by the desert’s yellow sand. His clothes quickly dried.
A white-feathered body shot out of the tunnel, screeching into the sky. The bird leveled out, then dove to land on his shoulder. “Master, it is good to be among these creatures.”
He could have lingered a long while in the warm sun, but a shadow blocked the rays. Vectra stood between him and the sun. With one muscle-rippling arm, she pointed at the tunnel. “Let us return now. Your skin will badly burn if you remain here.” She grasped his torso and plunged down the tunnel. Her claws sparked on the stone walls, slowing her descent. With a gentle settling of her body, the creature landed in the dim cavern. “Sinva!” she roared.
A wrinkled Megatrath loomed out of another tunnel. “You need me, most powerful one?”
“Start the firelights.”
The order seemed curt, but the Megatrath bowed to his mistress before returning into its tunnel. A spat of flames erupted in the darkness and spidered along the walls. The fire split through various oil-filled channels that spread a warm glow throughout the caverns. Vectra led Ilfedo back to the drinking water and dipped her snout in the basin. He could hear the water rush down her throat. When she withdrew from the water and looked down at him, he shook his head.
“It is a shame you couldn’t have accompanied me on my recent journey. Your size and strength would have been a truly welcome comfort.”
She rumbled in her throat before turning her attention to the black-stone walls. She raised a hand and extended a claw toward a painting carved into the wall. “To tread the depths of the world? Even with you and your mighty sword, I would not dare such a venture.” Her claw traced the image of a Megatrath with a frivolously long forked tongue wrapped around its body, being pulled whole into the mouth of a cream-skinned serpent-like creature. Wings the shape of oak leaves stretched along its sides, keeping it airborne.
The Nuvitor trembled on his shoulder, and he shushed it. Not wishing to distract Vectra, he lowered his voice. “What is wrong?”
“Master, that is strikingly similar to the lava monster.”
Unaware of their separate discussion, Vectra growled. “Ancient legend tells of a race of terrible creatures of unparalleled might born in the heart of the world. Glorigathans, they were called, and masters of the deep places they were.”
He gazed at the mighty creature, her gaze glued to the painting as if seeing something beyond the wall. “You believe the legend.”
“I honestly don’t know.” She returned his gaze, sparking her claw on the floor as she turned. “But it does explain a lot of things. Like why the Megatrath cities deep underground were abandoned, and why every Megatrath that has gone down there … vanishes.”
“Cities beneath the desert.” He recollected the Megatrath bones scattered in the buildings of the underground city.
She nodded her head vigorously. “Megatrath cities. I myself have seen them, though from a safe distance. It is a perilous journey underground to where they lie, and no one knows how many of them there are, but some of us have ventured to find a couple of them. Rivers of fire run through their streets, as if the ruins are still burning from a battle, but we do not dare approach them. If the legends are true, then even the strongest Megatrath ever born proved to be no match for the creature that came from the deep. It is said that the same Glorigathan that destroyed them haunts those cities to this day, guarding the bones of its victims and the wealth of our ancestors.”
Vectra spat fire from her mouth against the scene on the wall. Ilfedo expected it to blacken from the heat, but it did not. He looked at her, curious. “It—”
Her eyes bright with youthful energy, she nodded. “No matter what is done to that picture, it is neither defaced nor charred. It’s as if it has been sealed against assault by magic.”
The depiction was too high for him to reach. He wished it hadn’t been. He would have liked to get a closer look. But perhaps it was best left alone. Works of magic led him from one evil to another. He folded his arms across his chest. “The legend is true. At least, it would seem that way.”
“What! What do you know of these things?”
“I passed through the depths of your desert.” He closed his eyes. “Marvelous and dangerous it is, and creatures that make you seem small haunt the deep caverns. I have seen a serpent larger than anything even your legends claim. More than that, I stood on the walls of a Megatrath city and viewed the bones of your kind. Something woke when I sent the Nuvitor over the city. Something that I cannot describe, for it flew—no, it shot like a star—out of the lava. And we fled.”
Vectra’s eyes widened as he spoke. She stared, then at last spoke in a voice gentle and low. “Lord Ilfedo, you are the envy of me and my kind. You have dared to go where we dare not—”
He chuckled nervously. “Not by choice, my good Megatrath. I was stuck in the deep underground, seeking you.”
“Nevertheless, I envy you.” She wagged her mighty head. “Your race surprises me, for you are small in size, but your courage carries you to greatness. Or, perhaps, you have the cunning of a serpent?” She laughed a powerful laugh and faced down a tunnel, igniting the oil in a channel along the wall with a flame from her nostril. “I will think on this matter. I will learn from you, human.” The firelights soon washed the straight tunnel with flickering orange light, and he followed her inside.
“Tell me now, Lord of the Hemmed Land, what has brought you on such a marvelous journey to find me?”
23
NOT THEIR PARADISE
The morning after the swamp Megatraths’ attack and Mazella’s death, when Caritha woke, she found Ombre gathering their packs and pinching his nose against the odor of rotting Megatrath flesh. “Whew! Let’s get out of this place as fast as possible,” he said.
She stretched her arm and glanced back at the swamp. “Strange how such evil and such good seem to coexist in that swamp.”
“Try not to move your arm too much, Caritha. It may need time to fully heal.” He stuffed a shirt into a pack.
“No, I think it is fully healed. Whatever that Megatrath did to me was very effective.”
He grunted and forced a smile, not looking at her. “If you say so.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Why, nothing at all. One of our number is dead, your arm is tender, and we have all new territory to explore today.” He picked a nut out of the pack and crunched it in his teeth, then turned his back and walked off.
Oganna was several dozen yards away, rolling Mazella’s body in a white sheet.
Caritha touched Ombre’s shoulder, and he stopped as she said, “You have seen death before, on many occasions. Why does this disturb you so much more?”
“It does not disturb me, Caritha.” He hung his head and closed his eyes. “I just have something on my mind.” His eyes opened to gaze into hers, then he turned his back to her and strode to Oganna. “Let me carry him, my dear.”
The three of them ascended a grassy hill and dug a grave for Mazella. They layered it with stones, covered his body with a sheet and dirt, and filled in the rest with stones. Atop the grave they heaved a smooth, round stone. Oganna held up her finger, and it glowed poker-hot. She conferred with her aunt and uncle as to what should be written on the stone. When they agreed, she wrote “We love you, Mazella.” They didn’t know him well enough to write more. They could think of nothing clearer to convey their sorrow.
Before long, Ombre gave a pack to Oganna, then handed one to Caritha with a forced smile. They marched west with Oganna leading the way over gentle rolling hills of green.
Caritha slowed her pace until Ombre was walking in step with her. “Something is wrong between us, and I am not going to stop asking until you tell me what is bothering you.”
He cleared his throat, and she heard him sniffle. “It’s nothing really. Only, I was disappointed.”
“Disappointed? That we were caught off guard last night?”
He slammed one fist into his other hand and growled. “If you want to understand, then stop asking questions and just listen.”
She clamped her mouth shut. His impatience was uncharacteristic.
“Where is the ring I gave you?” he said at last. “I had to unpack your things, and, well, I had hoped it would be there.”
He looked sadder than she had ever seen him before, and she couldn’t help laughing a bit with relief as she reached inside her pocket and untied the ring he’d given her.
She pulled it out and held it up, and was overcome by the love that washed over his countenance. If it were possible then, even at this moment, she would unite with him. But was she willing to pay the same price that Dantress had paid to join with Ilfedo? In her heart she yearned to feel free to do as Ombre wanted: to take the ring and be forever his. Yet she knew that forever could not be. If she were to bear a child, then she, like Dantress, would have to die. It seemed so unfair, and at times she’d tried to make sense of it, but she had always met an impenetrable barrier, a knowledge that she did not possess.
She put the ring back in her pocket and tried not to cry. “I—I can’t. Not yet.” She didn’t dare to look into his face as he put one arm around her and spoke softly in her ear.
“I will wait, forever if necessary. Even if it is only in the final years of my life, I will have you.” He stroked her neck, and she turned to look at him with a couple of tears running down her cheeks.
“I know,” she said, “and that is what scares me. I-I want to, but I don’t see how.”
“Well now,” he replied, smiling at her very brightly, “that is what I wanted to hear.”
He moved closer, and she knew that he wanted to kiss her, yet she could not allow it, though her heart ached to let him. She put her hand up to stop him, and he kissed it instead.
“Caritha, someday—when you no longer fear whatever it is that holds you back—I will look for the ring on your finger. And I promise that, even though a thousand miles should lie between us, I will come for you.” He gazed into her eyes. “Do you believe me?”
She did, and she let her eyes tell him so. If ever that day came, and she put on the ring, he would come. “Someday, Ombre, you will hold in your hand the proof of my feelings for you, and you will never doubt again.” She ran to catch up to Oganna before he could speak another word.
Tinged orange and red, the evening sky was beautiful to behold. Oganna had been wandering for hours now, crisscrossing the dry terrain and working her way slowly toward a chain of mountains in the west. Now, as she came to the end of the plain and ascended another green hill, her eyes scanned the territory ahead. The mountains flanked a long valley that looked greener than a new blade of grass under direct sunlight. She could almost feel the cool meadows beneath her feet. A thick forest lay between them and the hollows between the mountains—a tangled and thick forest.
“We’ll go through here.” She swept her hand to indicate the gap between the mountains. “Compared to the land we’ve passed through so far, this will be smooth after we get through that forest. Look at those mountain slopes—green as green can be! And what’s that white capping the peaks?”
“Snow, I believe.” Ombre walked a bit ahead of her and spoke deliberately. “What a lush terrain this is. Now, this place may in fact be habitable. It certainly appears expansive, but we shall see after some exploration.”
Yimshi was now setting behind them. She glanced over her shoulder as its disc formed the perfect backdrop to the green hills far behind them. The viper dropped off her arm and disappeared in the thick grass, then returned with a field mouse in its jaws.
That night they ventured to the outskirts of the forest leading up the mountains. They gathered dry wood, which was abundant, and heaped it beside their tent, which they pitched on a secluded hillside. They soon piled the wood and lit a fire to keep warm. In its light they chatted for an hour while they ate venison jerky, dried fruit, and wafer crackers they’d packed in their bags. They agreed upon keeping watch by shifts all night. Then Caritha and Ombre went to sleep in the tent while Oganna kept watch outside. Caritha tapped her on the shoulder around midnight and took her place.
Thunder greeted her in the morning. She stepped out of the tent and stretched beneath gray clouds moving in from the east. The darkest clouds took up residence over the mountains, and a violent wind whipped through their encampment. As they took down the tent, Oganna saw a flock of black birds take shelter in the forest before the mountain slopes.
“Let’s get moving before God blesses us with more rain than we can handle.” Ombre swung his pack onto his back. “This hillside is going to run with mud.”
Setting a brisk pace, he led them off the hillside and into the trees, where they waited out the downpour that followed. When the clouds broke and Yimshi shone again, they marched along the forest’s edge, seeking a path around it, for the foliage was impossibly dense. They climbed a nearby mountain slope and edged around the forest until they emerged behind it. From their new vantage point, they overlooked a vast stony region. The hollows between the mountains were little more than a broad pass that divided a chain of mountains that stretched to the northwest and to the south.
A stony desert valley, oppressively dry and hot, lay before them. “So much for having found the paradise I thought I saw from back on that hill,” Ombre said.
After they had trekked a few hours, the stony region was cut off by a forest of very large and very tall trees. Dropping their packs, they rested in the shade and drank sparingly from their water skins until an old man, his long gray hair braided back, interrupted them. He was gaunt and pale, yet his eyes were inquisitive and intelligent. He must have been very old, for his skin was wrinkled and stretched over his body so that it was a wonder he held together.
He seemed friendly enough, and when he asked what brought them to his forest they told him that they were on a mission of exploration. “Ah! The call of the unknown was too great for you to resist, eh? There was a time—long time ago, mind you—yet there was a time when I trod a similar path. Curiosity. It is both a curse and a gift. Its call is irresistible, and you don’t want to ignore it, and thus it curses you to servitude. But it also gives you eyes to see the endless possibilities of what lies beyond the next mountain. Ah! If I were a mite younger, I would pack my things and join you, for there is nothing I find more rewarding.
“Alas, I am too feeble and my days of exploration are over.” He sniffled and then blew his nose on a leaf. “Yes, too feeble to do any good. But maybe I have knowledge of places you wish to see. Maybe I can set you on the right path.”
“Thank you, we’d appreciate that.” Ombre chuckled as he waved at the hard terrain behind them. “We have never been this far west—”
“West? Ah! You are easterners? Fascinating. But you mustn’t think of this as west, for everything in this part of Subterran is considered in terms of its position in relation to the Palm of Heaven.”
Oganna took a step toward him. “The Palm of Heaven. Is it lush and uninhabited?”
“Why, yes. It is.”
“We might be looking for a place like that.” Oganna said, “Could you tell us how to reach that place?”
The old man brightened and stood straighter. “Aye! Indeed I will! Come now. Let me show you the path. I know these woods like the clothes on my back.”
Dense forest growth invaded every turn of the narrow path on which the old man led them. Their progress was slow, for they had to maintain his feeble pace. But they didn’t mind. Oganna found the forest fascinating. It felt empty to her, and dark, like a thousand mysteries hidden away that did not wish to be solved.
“Here we are,” the old man said, interrupting her musings.
She gazed at an ancient tree blocking the path; its tangled roots stuck out of the ground, and the bark on its broad trunk had a smattering of red. This can’t be it—the Palm of Heaven. I thought it was a place, not a tree!
“I know it doesn’t look like much,” the old man was saying, “but this is a sort of gateway to that land I told you about. Discovered it ages ago, and it has served me well ever since. Now, all of you step over here—that’s right—amid the tree’s roots.”
They did as he asked, naively, for the tree suddenly burst into action. Its roots wrapped around them and then dragged them underground. Oganna caught sight of the old man bent over, howling with laughter. “Fools! Marvelous fools!” He patted one of the tree’s roots. “They are all yours, my old friend. Fill up! It may be a while before I can get you more.” The tree’s roots caressed his face and then waved to him as he sprinted, no longer feeble, back the way he’d come.
Oganna tried to reach for Avenger, but the tree’s roots held her arms fast and kept her immobile. She could hear Ombre raging against his captor, and, from the sounds of a muffled voice, Caritha was trying to free her mouth.
She realized then that the viper was no longer around her neck, nor on her arm. Had it escaped and left her? No, it would never.
The tree roots shifted dirt over her, filling the small hole that still let in light from the surface. It was pulling her deeper underground. Its roots tightened around her chest.
Somewhere in the forest above the old man screamed, and though she struggled to understand his words, it sounded like, “Snake! Snake! Get it off my arm! Get it off my leg! Get it off, get it off!”
The old man’s cries ceased, and Neneila’s smiling head peered down the hole at Oganna. A tree root wrapped around the creature, but it slid out with ease, making its way to her and slicking out its tongue. “Psst! Mistress, the old man can no longer ensnare you. He is either very sssick, or dead.”
“Neneila, I cannot free myself from this tree.”
“Then I will poison it too. Sssee?” The viper dug its fangs into the roots, but nothing happened. Again it tried, on another root, but to no effect. “Mistress, I have failed.”
Oganna closed her eyes, remembering her duel with Caritha. That was before the battle of Burloi, before even her encounter with the Megatraths. Surely now she could do more, maybe even bring a living tree such as this under her subjection.
Her mind probed the tree and, finding the spark of its life, squeezed. The spark flared, bright as a star. She could sense its startled recognition. Its consciousness had been touched by her, and its soul, if it had one, lay exposed and at her mercy.
The roots loosened their hold, then churned the soil and pushed her up. Her head pushed through the leafy forest floor. Beside her rose Caritha and then Ombre. The roots unwound from their bodies and withdrew into the ground.
“Come on. Let us get out of this place.” Oganna ran around the tree, scooping up the viper as she did so. Westward once more, to discover what lay beyond the forest.
24
WHERE THE STRONGEST RULE
Standing and looking down into the desert arena from atop the stones at the arena’s edge, Ilfedo watched the Megatraths duel and wondered what it would have been like to watch Oganna and the five sisters engage in combat with Loos and his companions. Four of these creatures against six humans—it must have been a terrible sight.
His daughter and the Warrioresses had triumphed that day. He didn’t understand how. According to Oganna, the sisters had appeared to be near death when she’d come to rescue them. But somehow, when she had fallen, they came fresh to the battle, and together victory was obtained.
They should have died—but they didn’t. Why? It was a question to which he had no answer. The sisters had hinted that something had happened when they had fallen, but they had refrained from saying what.
Isor—the sister of the wicked Megatrath known to him as Loos—rushed against her opponent, crashing him to the sand. Yellow vapors smoldered between her alligator jaws. Grimy saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth, mixing with froth, and her claws zinged as she extended them from her hands and dug them into the other’s side.
Along the arena’s edge a group of young Megatraths cheered. He noticed that most of these meglings’ hides appeared softer and their colors, rather than dull gray, ranged from cream to white. But nowhere did he see a black Megatrath like Arvidane. He mentally noted that the Megatrath coloring was a topic to discuss later with Vectra.
A shriek of pain, a final defensive strike, and Isor’s competitor rolled away from her and reluctantly surrendered. Blood stained the desert floor in big round blotches as the creature retreated into the tunnel. The audience growled and roared together, satisfied with the demonstration. Isor moved off to the sidelines, where another Megatrath cleaned her wounds and poured buckets of water over her hide to cool her.
“Well,” Ilfedo remarked as the Megatraths began to return underground, “that was quite a demonstration.”
Vectra leaped from the stands and raised one eye at him. “My turn is next—then you will see how a true warrior acquits herself.”
The rough edges of her mouth curved into a smile, and he smiled back knowingly. “A true warrior. What Oganna told me is true: the strongest among you rules?”
She walked off, stretching her neck and extending her claws. Yimshi, no longer directly overhead but falling to the west, framed her long shadow with golden light. “Yes, Ilfedo, the strongest rules.”
The Megatraths had not stayed away for long. Ilfedo looked around at the monstrous stones now filled with the expectant creatures. Either these creatures were addicted to violence, or there was a purpose to these fights that he failed to grasp.
Vectra barreled into Isor to throw her off balance and then stood. She spun and, with undeniable force, struck with her tail. Isor stumbled but did not fall. She lunged for Vectra’s neck, grappling with her claws. Vectra reared on her four hind legs, snaring the undersides of Isor’s hands on her claws.
Twisting to the right, Vectra threw Isor to the ground. At the same time, she pushed with her rear legs, throwing herself on top of her. Her mouth opened wide and flames issued forth, point-blank.
When the flames stopped, Ilfedo leaned forward. Surely Isor couldn’t last any longer.
He was right. Vectra’s fists hammered into the creature’s chest, and her screaming battle cry caused the crowd to hunker down in fear. Clouds of sand rose, hiding the duelists from view. Only an occasional poisonous vapor escaped.
Emerging from the dust, Vectra shook herself and growled victory. The dust settled, and several Megatraths made their way past her and dragged Isor’s unconscious form into the tunnel. She accepted a washing from her subordinates and returned to lie beside Ilfedo—with not a scratch on her, so far as he could tell.
“If I may be so bold,” he whispered by way of congratulating her. “If that is the strongest challenger to your supremacy, then you have nothing to fear.”
She started to smile and rumbled in her chest. “The ways of a Megatrath are strange to you, Lord Ilfedo, but I would like you to understand. I remain in charge of my people only so long as another cannot defeat me in combat. Isor was weary, having already battled today. Yet she is strong. I will someday pit myself against her when she is fresh, but only when I know that she is truly capable of defeating me in fair combat. For now all Isor may do is test me and hone her fighting technique.”
“I understand,” Ilfedo said. “You will only permit her to truly challenge you when you feel she presents a genuine threat to your leadership.”
Vectra nodded, then shook her head. “You understand part of it.” She might have continued, but a voice interrupted, cool and confident.
“So, this is the great Vectra,” it rumbled. The Megatraths in the stands gasped, and Vectra stiffened. A Megatrath lumbered from the assemblage’s midst. Ilfedo had not noticed him before. His hide was black, and his eyes were silver. A horn spiked out from his snout, and his build was wider than Vectra’s. Ilfedo could hardly believe his eyes. Here was a black Megatrath. Only once before had he seen a Megatrath of that color, and that creature was in Dresdyn. That could easily be his pass to discovering the fastest way to return for the people of Dresdyn.
The black one had evil intent in its eye. Or was that the glimmer of ambition? Ilfedo knew not which. The creature lumbered toward Vectra’s stone. It would challenge her when she had already exerted much of her energy. Isor had not hurt her, but Vectra’s breathing was far from easy, and she smelled of sweat.
The black one approached them. Ilfedo eyed the creature, noting its powerful build. It was taller than Vectra, too, by at least a few feet.
“Who are you?” Vectra stood and eyed the other. “You are unfamiliar to me.”
The creature chuckled. “No, we have never met. But I know you.” He raked his thick black claws through the sand. “I have watched you wage war against your neighboring Megatrath nations. You would have them bow the knee to you, to recreate Resgeria the way it once was. But you would have the land for your own, all Megatraths your servants.”
“It is the way of our people,” she spat.
“Conveniently, yes. Which is why I have come—to lay claim to Resgeria.”
Vectra’s muscles bristled as she stepped down a level so as to be closer to him. “You fool! You wait for me to duel first and then demand this?”
“Yes.”
“Coward!”
The Megatrath’s silver eyes glistened. “Prudent planning.” He waited for her anger to build, then he stepped back and bowed. “Shall we duel?”
“No.” Ilfedo stepped past Vectra, his eyes fastened on the silver ones. This creature had cunning. He could see that all too clearly. He was breaking down Vectra’s mental walls before taking her on physically. If she accepted the challenge, which she must to retain her honor, then—no, he would not let it happen.
“Ah!” the black creature said. “A brave though weak individual. I have dealt in numerous ways with your kind before.”
Ilfedo smiled and bowed, determined to outdo the creature’s aristocratic manner. “It is good of you to call me brave. But weak? You bring my ability to lead my people into question—I accept your challenge.”
“My challenge?” The creature laughed deeply and held up one clawed hand, clicking his claws together. “I have nothing to gain or lose by accepting a challenge from you. Vectra, on the other hand, has much to lose.”
Remarkably, Vectra appeared to have caught on to what Ilfedo was doing. The insult had been meant for her, but she did not offer a rebuttal. Instead, she looked to Ilfedo for his response. He could see appreciation and a light of anticipation in her eyes.
“You misunderstand, Megatrath.” Ilfedo shook his head. “I am allied with Vectra. The challenge to her is a challenge to me as well. She has fought her battle for today. I therefore accept your challenge in her stead.”
Cocking his head to the side in an amused sort of way, the Megatrath gave Ilfedo his attention. “Then the rumors were true. Humans joined with Resgeria. Is this true, Vectra?”
Vectra growled affirmation, and sparks flew from her mouth. “Your challenge has been accepted—” Suddenly realizing she did not know his name, she hesitated.
He bowed with mocked politeness and snapped his gaze to Ilfedo. “Regulus.”
She stepped back and turned to Ilfedo, sudden recognition in her eyes. “Do not go through with this, Ilfedo. I beg you as a friend.” She kept her voice low, but there was no mistaking the fear in her eyes. “This Megatrath is legendary … and old. His army—”
“Is here,” Ilfedo said.
“What?”
He disregarded her question and looked around the arena. Standing along its rim was a host of black Megatraths, smaller than Regulus and without horns. They had Vectra’s assemblage at a disadvantage, for they had taken the high ground. His hand dropped to his sword’s hilt. It warmed to his skin, and then it cooled to give him a better grip.
“You have made a foolish move, Regulus. Today you force me to draw your blood.”
“We shall see, er—what is your name?” Regulus grinned. “I like to know the names of my victims before I kill them, or before I send them into my mines.”
His followers roared with approval.
“Of course,” Ilfedo replied. “Who wouldn’t?”
Regulus waited for him to continue. “So?”
“What? Oh! My name—it’s not important.”
Regulus narrowed his eyes momentarily, and backed to the arena’s other side. “Come, human. It is time to test your words with a little fire.”
Inwardly, Ilfedo chuckled. A little fire!
Ilfedo drew the flaming sword of the dragon and watched with satisfaction as Regulus’s silver eyes widened. “Your move, Regulus.”
“No,” the creature replied. “Please, you move first.”
Ilfedo strode forward slowly, circling to the right and appraising the black monster’s response. Regulus, his head three times higher than Ilfedo’s, kept his eyes on the sword’s flaming blade. Each of his six tree-trunk legs moved with unexpected agility to keep him facing the man.
The mid-afternoon sunlight glinted off Ilfedo’s blade. The air cooled. The sky remained clear, its bright blue becoming a darker shade. A gentle breeze blew in from the west, not enough to stir the sand. He took a deep breath, gripped the sword’s handle with both hands, and pointed it at the creature’s head. At one with the blade, he felt rather than saw the fire shoot forth. It struck the Megatrath’s scaled hide, burning holes in his natural armor and exposing raw flesh.
Enraged, his face contorting with pain, Regulus fell on his side and scrambled away, spitting flames from his mouth. The flames smote Ilfedo’s blade, and the blade absorbed them. Ilfedo drew nearer, his sword sizzling with energy that moved in waves over his body, empowering him beyond the bounds of a mere mortal.
He rushed forward and jumped onto one of the creature’s legs. He thrust in the sword and willed it to send a surge of energy into the wound. Red blood sprayed against his armor and ran off of it without leaving any stains.
But Regulus pushed Ilfedo to the ground with one foot. Yellow vapors billowed from the creature’s mouth, suffocating vapors that threatened to cut off all of Ilfedo’s oxygen.
Ilfedo choked and weakened, yet he felt the power in the sword revive him. A tingling sensation started in his hands and spread up his arms, down his spine, and into his feet. Life renewed, he twisted the sword around and stabbed Regulus’s foot repeatedly until he felt the weight lift.
He stood up and stumbled back, gasping for breath.
“Not so invincible now, human?”
Regulus spun around before Ilfedo could react, and his tail smote him across the back of his legs. As Ilfedo toppled, the creature pressed his advantage. He blew fire to keep the sword occupied and drove his left hind leg into Ilfedo as though determined to crush him into the ground.
The armor of Living Fire held, but Ilfedo felt as if he were inside a shell that was constricting around him, robbing him of his ability to fight back. Then, to his amazement, Regulus’s wounded leg, which hung limp, healed.
A rumbling laugh filled his ears, and another foot pressed down upon him. One sharp claw dug into his hand and pulled the sword from his grip, throwing it a dozen feet away. The armor of Living Fire blazed—then vanished.
25
THE DRAGON’S INSTRUCTION
Two days after her frightful encounter with the carnivorous tree, Oganna ascended a rise in the land where grass and flowers covered the ground. The forest lay just behind her, but now a hundred feet below. Ombre and Caritha climbed behind her, their breathing more relaxed and their occasional comments cheerful. A quartet of mountains towered over either side of the rising land, the sunlight glinting off their jagged peaks.
When she crested the rise and planted her feet on level ground, she gazed out over a lush field that stretched as far as her eye could see to a wall of mist that billowed over the land. Trees dotted the field, enough to shade but not enough to obstruct the view. Flowers of incredible variety were more numerous than the grass, and the smell filled the gentle air. Behind her Ombre and Caritha let out whoops of joy.
Ombre ran into the field, laughing. “We have found a paradise! A veritable paradise. Not even Vortain would oppose moving to a land such as this. Just think what a magnificent city the artisans could raise from this virgin ground.”
But both he and Oganna turned and stared at Caritha, who pointed into the distance. Her mouth was opened as if to say something, and her eyes half-closed then opened wide as she raised her hand higher and higher, angling it as if pointing to one of the clouds. “No, it cannot be. I know this place.” She shook her head. “We have come here for nothing.”
“For nothing.” Ombre chuckled as he rolled in the grass. “Look at this place, Caritha. It is beautiful.”
“Yes, yes it is very beautiful, but he would never permit us to settle here.” She dropped to one knee and bowed to Oganna.
Or so Oganna thought, until a shadow fell upon her and Ombre. She turned and faced the albino dragon; only, he was more magnificent than ever before. Ombre’s jaw dropped as he struggled to his feet. “Is this, is this him?” he choked.
The dragon’s muscles rippled beneath his white scales. Blinding light made him into a star at which they could not look directly. He rose before them, and the flowers at his feet began to radiate light. “This paradise is not for Ilfedo’s people,” Albino rumbled, and the ground shook beneath them. “You have done well, my children, in seeking this place out. Thy destiny, however, is not to live under my protection but to become beacons of hope for the dark corners of this world.”
Ombre stood and took a step around the creature. The dragon snapped its jaws in his face, trailing particles of light in the air.
“This paradise is not for thee. Your path lies east of the Hemmed Land, and out of that land thy people must soon go. For the Creator’s will is bending nature against the Hemmed Land’s borders. As thy people multiply, the land can no longer contain you.” The dragon roared and spread its wings.
Oganna glanced away.
“Do not think me harsh, my children. I have heaped more blessings on thee than you yet know.” His wings beat against the air, blasting their faces. “You cannot linger here.” The great dragon’s clawed hands grasped each of them and pulled them into the air. As the ground fell away beneath them, Oganna felt her eyes water. She had failed her father, and this trip had been an utter waste.
Suddenly the land beneath and the sky above streamed in a myriad of colors and light. Faster than seemed possible, the dragon shot into the east. Almost as abruptly, the scenery reconstructed itself into a forest beneath them and the sun overhead. The dragon settled into a woodland clearing, releasing Ombre and Caritha from his claws. The pair rolled on the ground and looked about—they had been returned to the Hemmed Land. They gazed up at Oganna as the dragon pulled her another couple hundred feet into the air.
Albino held her before his magnificent face and hovered, his wings beating a slow, powerful rhythm. She smiled at him and reached out, touching his scarred face. He closed his pink eyes for a moment, rumbling deep in his throat. “It is a great temptation for me to keep thee with me, my precious one,” he said. “But I cannot.”
She nodded, feeling that somehow he could never hold anything but her best interest in his heart. “I think I understand.”
“Hmm, I believe you do. But do be strong in the days ahead. Your trial will come upon thee with great suddenness.” He glanced south, and she followed his gaze to the Resgerian desert. “Thy father has not returned from his test. Pray, pray, pray for him. I fear the place to which I have sent him is full of all-consuming hatred and bloodlust. But he is strong and I have sent Specter to assist—”
She threw up her hands and laughed to the heavens. “Then Specter survived the battle for Ar’lenon! It is all as I had hoped.”
“It seemed appropriate for me to tell thee, for he did valiantly fight to save thee.”
“Oh, he did,” she said.
The dragon sighed and pulled her to his chest, whispering, “I love you, child.” The dragon descended toward the woodland meadow and set her between Ombre and Caritha. The clearing resounded with the might of his wings as he crouched and sprang into the sky, shooting into the west.
“What should we do now?” Caritha asked as she watched him depart.
“We wait for father to return.” Oganna touched her sword’s pommel at her side. “And we will pray that, in his travels, God’s hand will be with him.”
26
THE ENDLESS CORRIDOR
What could he do? Without his armor and with the sword lying beyond his reach, Ilfedo found himself defenseless. Regulus, the extra-powerful black Megatrath, leaned over him. Gradually the creature shifted his weight onto his hind feet. Ilfedo felt his ribs break, and his vision flashed blinding white. He was being crushed alive.
In that moment he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and his sword shot through the air and stabbed the Megatrath’s leg. Regulus roared and pulled back with a look of horror plastered on his reptilian face. The sword paused above Ilfedo’s reddening chest, hovering with its blade pointed at him. The sword’s blade flashed red and yellow. Tongues of fire gathered from its metallic surface, swirling around and around it until it was all that could be seen.
His body throbbed with pain, and he retched blood—just as the Living Fire exploded from the sword and slammed into his chest. His torn chest healed, the flesh coming together where it had been torn and coloring pink where it had been a raw red.
Ilfedo shook his head, spitting some more blood from his mouth as he picked himself up. The sword flipped to present its handle, and he took it. In a moment the flames enveloped him and then returned to the sword. The pure white armor, with the fire dancing beneath and through its surface, covered his body once again. He adjusted the helmet on his head and ran his finger along its baby-soft surface.
He let the weapon reenergize him and closed his eyes. Regulus would no doubt be staring, stunned, at this sudden shift in fortunes. Ilfedo kept his eyes closed and focused on the sword, losing himself in it and being drawn inside it. He could see Regulus as if he were watching him from inside the sword’s blade, and he moved the weapon at the creature. It left his hand, stabbing at Regulus’s head and arms, then his body.
Blood soon drained from multiple wounds. Regulus growled. His massive hands grasped at the sword as if to try to stop it, but he missed every time.
Coming back into his body, Ilfedo opened his eyes and took the sword in hand. Sending a swath of fire down Regulus’s forelegs, he advanced and stabbed up into his chest.
The Megatrath turned its back to him and loped away. “We’ll meet again, human,” he said, glancing over his black shoulder. “I’ll make certain of it!”
“You are going nowhere, Megatrath. As I understand the rules of Megatrath combat, you now owe me your life and your authority. Surrender that, and I will let you depart.”
“I have spent a long while fighting your kind, human. I will not be subjected to one.”
“Then, for the sake of the people of Dresdyn—”
The creature stopped and roared. Its wounds began to heal; its muscles bulged as it turned and lumbered toward him. “How could you know that?”
“Because they are my people, and I will soon return to bring them out of their underground world.”
“You? You could never!”
“Surrender to me, Regulus.” Ilfedo pointed his sword at Vectra. “Declare your loyalty to this strong and wise Megatrath. Give your might over to her. Do this, and I will hold you to only one thing more.”
The creature growled; yellow vapor billowed from its jaws. “Yes?”
“Leave Dresdyn alone.”
“Ha! How little you know, apparently.” The creature roared with terrible power and sorrow. “The war began not with me but with them! It was they who took my son.”
“Arvidane?”
With a swift swipe of its mighty hand the black Megatrath pinned Ilfedo to the desert floor. The sword of the dragon hovered a foot over the ground, but the beast pinned it with its foot. Regulus lowered his voice to a whispered growl. “You know of him.”
Ilfedo pictured the young Megatrath and its valiant fight against Brunster Thadius Oldwell. He laughed and began to tell of how he entered the city, of the demons that haunted it, and his discovery of Arvidane. He told of the monks who expelled the spirits from the young Megatrath’s body. He spoke of the people’s loyalty to him and of Arvidane’s valor when he attacked the possessed Bromstead and disarmed him. Then, with a tear in his eye, he told of his ring. How it had abducted him from the battle and pulled him into the dark bowels of the desert.
When Ilfedo finished his tale, Regulus released him and took several steps back. “For some reason, human, I believe you. Oh, my son is alive! He is safe.”
Ilfedo shook his head. “I can only hope Brunster did not recover in my absence.”
“My allegiance will never be given to Vectra, human. But I admire your heart. Never have I met a man like you.” The black creature lumbered toward the stands and roared for all to hear. “Peace there shall now be between me and Vectra. This day an alliance I propose, and an exchanging of representatives.”
The Megatraths of all colors shook the arena with their roars. Vectra lumbered forth and butted heads with Regulus. “Peace there shall be; an alliance begins.”
Regulus turned to Ilfedo, his feet falling heavily upon the sand. “Call when you have need of passage to Dresdyn, and I will grant it. You are welcome in the deep places that the black Megatraths call home.” The creature lumbered up the embankment to stand with its host upon the arena’s rim. He gazed back into Ilfedo’s eyes. “I will protect your people until you return for them, human.”
Ilfedo stood and picked up his sword. “Then tell them that I will soon return.”
The Megatrath bowed ever so slightly, and its eyes gleamed in the failing light. “Who shall I tell them will return?”
“Ilfedo of the Hemmed Land.”
“Fare thee well, Ilfedo of the Hemmed Land.” The black Megatrath ushered four of his assemblage onto the arena floor. The creatures soberly bowed before Vectra, who in turn summoned a pair of grays. As the gray Megatraths climbed out of the arena, they dipped their heads to Regulus. He didn’t even acknowledge them, but he did point a claw at Vectra. “The pact is sealed.” In a chorus of roars and thundering feet, the black horde raced out of sight.
Ilfedo and Vectra climbed the arena’s sloping wall with many of her fellow Megatraths. They stared after the cloud of sand making its way south. “Ilfedo,” Vectra growled, “are there things about your journey that you have not shared with me that you wish to now?”
With a sigh, Ilfedo sheathed his sword and faced her. “Yesterday I needed rest, and last night I received it. Today was filled with duels. But tonight I will tell you everything—and request a favor of you.”
Vectra opened one eye wider than the other and scratched her head. Together they walked back into the arena toward the entrance to the caverns. The milling Megatraths that followed them erupted into deafening applause. Wide-eyed meglings slipped under their elders, getting close to Ilfedo. The older ones smiled at him, and a few expressed congratulations on a battle well fought.
“Make way! Clear the way, all of you.” Vectra punched several creatures in the sides and sent meglings running. “Our guest needs to get his rest. Now—go! Before I make you.”
With grumbles, the crowd dispersed and made its way into the tunnel. “Evening will fall soon,” Vectra said as Ilfedo watched the lengthening shadows. “We will go inside and discuss things over a large meal.”
“I know not why a prophet would send you to the Tomb of the Ancients, Lord Ilfedo.” Vectra lumbered ahead of him down the smooth tunnel. Flames played in the channels along its descending length. The stone walls and floor had been compacted by ages of use. “There is nothing to see but the things I revealed to Oganna. Yet I can see that you will not be dissuaded.”
“Yes, I will not be dissuaded. And thank you for letting Seivar stay among you during my absence. That bird has been a faithful companion, but I was instructed to do this alone.”
“Would you favor me by again reciting the final portion of that letter?”
“Certainly, to the best of my ability. The letter ended with ‘Come alone to the Tomb of the Ancients in the Megatrath realm, one day hence. I will await you on the other side of the portal (your doorway to an ancient realm). When we meet, your dragon ring will prove that I am the one the great albino dragon has sent. Together, we must find the Key of Living Fire and give it to the prophet for safekeeping.’ ”
The Megatrath lazily zinged her claws along the wall, the sparks flaring in her eye. “You are long overdue for that appointment. Surely the prophet’s agent, this Starfire person, is long gone by now.”
“The delay could not be helped.” Ilfedo fingered the baby-soft pommel of his sword. “Nor could the loss of the dragon ring. I am hoping that this sword will lead me to Starfire; otherwise I must find the key on my own.”
“I still think your trip into the tomb will be fruitless; nevertheless, we have arrived.” The Megatrath knelt, and he knelt beside her as a silver disk rose out of an abyss before them. Both of them lowered their heads, and the stone beneath them glowed pink to form a beautiful rose. “Thank you for keeping your head bowed, Lord Ilfedo,” the Megatrath rumbled. “Your daughter did not keep her eyes lowered—such was the curiosity of her youth—and I feared the ancient spirit would not grant her access.”
“It is out of respect for your custom and not for this ‘spirit’ that I kneel.”
“We bow to honor the dead,” the Megatrath continued. “It is good to reverence those who have passed before us into death.”
Stones grated together, and something slammed behind them. He dared a peek behind. Across the tunnel through which they’d come, a rusted steel door now stood. Beside him the Megatrath stood, and he followed her lead. The silver disc faded until it was no longer visible. On an invisible bridge, Vectra led him over the abyss toward the opposing cavern wall. As he followed, he felt that the glass-like bridge sped him on his way, literally increasing the length of this stride. When he stepped onto the opposite side of the abyss, he walked on a white path that led down to twin doors of glistening steel. Flanking the doors and the path were two pillars that glowed.
Vectra growled and threw her tremendous bulk against the doors. The doors screeched on their hinges and lazily opened into the cavern wall. Beyond them lay the endless corridor Oganna had told him about. Yet he gaped in astonishment. It was far grander than he had envisioned. Innumerable crystals, placed along the ceiling and the floor, gleamed with unearthly light. Wood beams sagged across the ceiling, crisscrossing high above him. Here and there, gold adornments glinted back at him as he stepped inside. It did rival the splendor of a palace.
He ignored the urge to explore the many arched doorways, the tombs. Somewhere in this place, somehow, he could access the Hidden Realm. He turned and faced the tall, strong creature.
“As I told you,” Vectra rumbled, “there is nothing in here besides those who have been long dead.”
Drawing his sword, he closed his eyes and smiled. Something magnetic drew him down the endless corridor. The sword’s flames, rather than spraying off him in all directions, curved toward the corridor’s heart. “Farewell for this time, Vectra! I will return as soon as this matter is resolved.”
She started to answer, but her mouth hung open, and her eyes stared over his head down the corridor. He turned, facing a wall of swirling flames. He held the sword before his face, then raised it above his head. The swirling wall gulped in the tongues of fire growing out of his armor and blade. Around him the magnificent Tomb of the Ancients came alive. The walls marched beside him, the floor rolled beneath him, and the fire pulled him down a tunnel of wind, of flames, and swirling blue light. He tried to glance over his shoulder, but the vortex jerked his face back into its long throat.
At last the vortex ceased. The flames abated. Dimly illuminated around him was a stone wall at least thirty feet high. The wall opened only in one place. He walked through the gap, rounded another wall, and stopped short.
27
THE HIDDEN REALM AT LAST
Far above Ilfedo’s head fizzed a multitude of various colored portals. Their swirling pools of energy flashed, then faded; flashed, then faded. While some pools swirled intense red, others were blue. It reminded him of mixing different colored paints.
He backtracked to his own portal, but it had vanished. The portal was gone, but the wall of stone was pierced by a tunnel high and wide with a ceiling of crystals. No, this was no tunnel. It was the end of the Tomb of the Ancients. The portal must have sped him down the incredible length of the tomb, which meant that, if one walked deep enough into the tomb, one would enter this realm.
Turning on his heel, Ilfedo marched out of the opening in the stone wall and crossed his arms. Before him lay a plane of stone and dirt lit by the portals above. He marched up a broad highway and marveled at the smooth stone pyramids rising on either side of him. They rose several hundred feet, and smaller pyramids surrounded them. The highway passed through a triangular opening at the base of a pyramid ahead of him. As he stepped inside, the interior opened before him, as if the entire pyramid were hollow. He gasped and stared at the juncture of the four walls; the peak of the pyramid was dauntingly high.
“Hello?” It was the soft voice of a woman.
He glanced at the highway before him. It ran to the center of the pyramid, then turned right. A lone figure stood at the juncture with a tall walking stick in her hand.
He approached her and smiled. She was blond with blue eyes, and almost as tall as he. Her leggings and blouse were reinforced with metal bands and leather. “Hello there.” He sheathed his sword, and her eyes riveted on it as the flames receded from his body. He bowed. “You must be Starfire. I am Ilfedo. The albino sent me.”
“Umm, yes.”
He shook his head and laughed. At last he had found her. “I am sorry it has taken me so long to reach this place. I must confess to being relieved. Your note was specific about when I should meet you, and I was afraid you might have gone after the key on your own.”
She shook her head, too, and smiled. She was rather young, around Oganna’s age. “I could not reach the key without your help, Warrior,” she said. “So I have waited. But now that you are here, we can be on our way. The enemy of the prophets sent someone this way, too, and we must reach the key first.”
“Do you know which way will bring us to the key?” He glanced around the interior of the pyramid. “This place is incredible.”
She looked up and quietly said, “Yes, I had not noticed before. But it is incredible.”
For a long moment he waited for her to answer his question, but she seemed to have forgotten it. She stared upward, a childlike fascination in her eyes.
He admired the deep purple staff she carried. It looked strong enough to swing against stone, and its length tapered to a point. If she hadn’t been holding it, he would have assumed this was the end of the staff and not its head.
She noticed him staring and walked down the highway toward the exit. They walked through the triangular opening and emerged amid the smaller pyramids. “From what I can tell”—she pointed into the distance—“we need to be on the other side of that wall. There is nothing on this side of the wall. I’ve explored everything in reach.”
Behind several pyramids rose a wall unlike anything he had ever seen. A string of fat pillars rose a hundred feet, supporting a bridge of stone. Checkered arches linked the pillars to one another, and beneath each arch swirled a different colored portal. Beneath the pulsating portals, a fence cut off this part of the Hidden Realm. They walked over the plain of stone toward the pillar wall, but an invisible force stung their faces and threw them back onto the highway.
Getting to his feet, Ilfedo explored the pillars with his newfound companion keeping close to his side. “I have tried everything I could think of to get to that wall, but it is impossible,” the girl said.
He smiled down at her. “You haven’t told me your name yet. Surely Starfire is merely a title.”
“Oh, you want to know?” She wiped a tear from her eye, but she did it so quickly that he thought his eyes might have deceived him.
He folded his arms across his chest and winked, as he would have done to his daughter. “I could just call you Miss X. Would you prefer that?”
“My name is Escentra, though I used to have another name.”
“What was your other name?”
She frowned and squinted as if it was difficult to answer him. “I cannot remember.”
“You can’t remember your own name?”
“Please, can we move on?” She dabbed at her eye. “I am not used to so many questions, and I would prefer to keep moving. This mission must be carried out.”
He apologized and retraced his steps. She followed as he marched up to the first pillars he’d encountered. He felt sure that these structures, so enormous and strong, were hiding something. Stepping off the highway, he kept close to the pyramid’s base and walked around it. All four of its walls were smooth—too smooth to climb. So he walked to the next and circled it. On the back side, out of sight from the highway, square stones had been used to construct the wall. He pulled himself onto the first level of stones and reached down, helping Escentra climb.
“We can climb to the top.” He pointed at the pyramid’s pinnacle. “From there we should have a clear view of the surrounding area, and maybe we can find a way to either get to or even past that wall.”
They ascended the pyramid and stood at its apex. Escentra gazed upon the pyramids below them, but Ilfedo glued his gaze to the distant wall. Over the wall he glimpsed other portals, strewn throughout a ruined human city. He marveled that so much lay buried underground. While he and his people lived on the bright surface, entire cities were miles beneath their feet.
Escentra turned to look at the pyramids behind her, but her foot caught on something and she crumpled to the stones. He grabbed her by the ankle and waited until she struggled to her knees. “You just saved my life.” She sounded surprised.
“Do you think I would have let you fall to your death?” He frowned down at her. “You wouldn’t let that happen to me, and I will not let that happen to you. We are in this together.”
Ilfedo knelt in front of her and touched her ankle. An angry red line grazed her skin. He looked at the pinnacle stone on the pyramid and ran his hand around its base. The first corners were smooth, but a metal string, tightly secured, stretched toward the pinnacle of the largest pyramid. Could it be that the pyramids were connected by this?
He wrapped his arms around the string, then put his knees over it. Upside down he pulled himself along the string until he rested a third of the way to the other pyramid. Far below the highway promised a quick death should he fall. He dared not look for Escentra as he moved along the string. At last he lowered his feet onto the pinnacle of the largest pyramid. His feet slipped on the steep smooth stones, but he regained his balance and held on to the pinnacle stone.
“Escentra.” His words echoed across the chasm between them. “It is safe. Wrap your body around it and work your way to me.”
She did as he said, though it took her longer to reach the other side. When she did, he helped her grab hold of the pyramid’s pinnacle. They lay against the smooth pyramid, and she gaped at the vast distance to the ground.
But Ilfedo ran his hand along the other side of the pinnacle stone, and finding another string, he smiled. This one angled down toward the wall. He wrapped his arms around it and lowered himself over the invisible barrier that had thrown them back to the highway. The blade-thin barrier became visible as he passed over it. It stretched as far as he could see in both directions, from one cluster of portals to another.
He reached the ground and stood, looking at the barrier. It was made of stone and glass. Glancing up, he found Escentra already halfway down the string. She put her staff over the string, held onto it with both hands, and streaked to the ground, rolling beside him. When she stood, a black sphere stood atop her staff. It radiated a wave of darkness that clouded his vision, and cold whispers sounded in his mind.
He drew the sword of the dragon, and the girl’s blue eyes widened. She swung her staff at his head, but he grasped it in his fist, held it back. “Sorceress! Deceiver!” He spat the words, hoping they could reach through her darkness and pull her young heart out of her lies.
In Ilfedo’s hand the sword blazed as the armor of light and Living Fire covered his body. Escentra screamed and kicked his knee. He stumbled, then grasped her blouse and spun her toward him. He stood behind her, poising the sword across her throat and pulling her back against his chest.
She struggled against him and screamed, the sound echoing off the wall in front of them. Ilfedo pushed her to her knees and yanked the wizard staff from her hands. As he touched his sword’s blade to the staff, his muscles ached as if he swam in ice water. But he walked around the girl and stared down into her eyes. He felt such sorrow, such deep, deep pity for her. She was a tool of evil, a soul off of which it could leech.
“How did you come to this, young lady?” He felt as if he were admonishing a daughter. “Do you realize what you are becoming? You will be a plague upon any and all that fear God. Your name will be feared by mothers and children, and you will be hated by all honorable men. And all who seek justice will seek your head for your crimes.” His fury poured into his countenance, and she quailed before him.
“You do not understand! I serve the wizard. I do as he has taught me. If I do anything else, he will kill my mother—and she is all …” Tears streamed from the girl’s eyes. “She is all I have left.”
The wizard staff trembled in his hand. “To save your mother you would kill mothers. To preserve your family you will destroy others. You are a fool!”
“I am not a fool!” She snapped her hand toward the staff and pulled it from his grasp. Ducking under his sword, she raced toward the wall.
He raced after her and screamed, “Escentra, do not let this sorcery consume you. Come back! Be freed of this bondage.”
But she sprinted toward the wall. Below each portal along the stone structure, a fence of spears and blades rose out of the ground. The girl stabbed her staff into the ground ahead of her and vaulted the obstructions. She landed on the other side and raced down a street between the ruins of ancient buildings.
He stood on his side of the wall, seething. He had been deceived, and now the wizard’s agent was winning the race to the key—because of him.
Taking his anger and feeding it into his sword, he unleashed a torrent of flames against the wall of spears and blades, for they were too thick for him to pass through. But the sword’s flames ricocheted off the wall, and the Living Fire died, the flames receding into the sword’s hilt. His armor vanished, and though he closed his eyes to concentrate, the sword’s power was gone.
“No! This will not happen.” Ilfedo raised his sword and struck at the spears, hoping to break their shafts, but his blade bounced off them.
For a long while he tried to cut them down, but to no avail. When his arms wearied of the struggle, he sheathed his sword and sat on the ground. Beyond the forest of spears lay a once-grand city. He could see the columns fallen on the ground, the gold strewn across its streets. Portals flashed open and others closed. The portals were everywhere. Some hovered above the ground, others lay upon it like puddles, and others covered the distant cavern walls. By now Escentra was halfway through the ruins.
He imagined what would happen if he destroyed her staff. Could she be redeemed? He would raise her in his own house, if that would save her soul. She was so young, beautiful, and fearful.
He stood and pushed his way between the spear shafts. But tiny blades along the shafts exacted the payment for his passage in blood. He felt the blades open his skin. Warm blood ran down his arms, but he filled his mind with Oganna’s face, Dantress’s laughter, and the brutality of Razes. Today must not be an occasion that would allow evil to flourish.
He had lost so much blood. He struggled just to place one foot in front of the other. The shafts’ blades cut his arms and his legs. His legs lost their strength, and he fell to the ground. But he grasped the shafts with his hands and tried to pull himself up. The blades sliced his palms and he screamed, but turned that energy into rage.
Drawing his sword from its scabbard, he slashed at the nearest poles and, at last, cut through them. He swung again, hewing the spears at ground level and opening a path to the city. He took another step forward, and tiny flames sparked along his sword blade. Another few steps, and the Living Fire roared out of the blade, burning his body and then soothing it. His cuts healed, and his muscles filled with strength. He cried out for joy and hacked his way out of the spear-and-blade forest.
When he emerged on the other side, he ran into the streets of the Hidden Realm. Escentra had probably slain Albino’s agent, so he would have to go after the key alone. “So be it.” He ran down the street, flaming sword upheld in his fists.
“Escentra,” he said as he ran, “surrender, and I will free you of your demons.”
After running for several huge city blocks, he slowed his pace. The buildings around him were huge, imposing. Yet he noticed for the first time that suits of armor lay in every corner and in every street. He stopped before a set of complete body armor and raised a shield off the ground. As the dust and dirt fell off the object, the figure of a white dragon spewing fire gleamed back at him. A flame pattern entwined the dragon’s legs. Black smoke had been painted to billow around the creature, as if it walked unscathed on a lake of burning oil.
Something snapped behind him and he turned, just in time to jump out of the way as a green portal funneled past him. The portal lingered there as he hefted the shield over his back and walked farther into the city.
For a long while he searched for Escentra, until the city structures turned into heaps of rubble. He stopped and studied the lay of the land. The structures in this area were in far worse shape than those in the city he had already passed through. Everything appeared to have been through a war, except for one structure built into the wall of the cavern.
A white stone cathedral rose there, with pillars across its face and broad double doors. A stone patio fronted it, and a strange pedestal stood atop it, for the pedestal glowed with a blue shell of energy. And inside that shell hovered a gold skeleton key wreathed in flames.
He had found it.
Striding up the steps, he let the shield clatter to the patio as he touched the energy dome. Soft and warm, it caressed his hand with the undulating rise of its shield. It did not resist as he lowered his hand, fingers stretching toward the key. A dragon had been formed along its shaft, spewing the Living Fire from its mouth. It was magnificent.
He drew the key out and held it forth, marveling that he had secured it. Then a purple staff flashed across his vision, and a delicate hand snatched the key from his fingers. Escentra vaulted the steps and landed amid the rubble and an empty suit of armor. She cackled as the Living Fire receded from his body and his sword, sucked toward and into the key.
“It is all as my master declared it would be. I am sorry, Ilfedo, but this day power has passed to me.”
He darted toward her, but she raced into the city and fled faster than he was able to follow.
Climbing yet another hill, Specter again tried to close the distance between him and Auron. Since exiting the ice tunnel into an unknown land on the border of a cold lake, the traitor ran as if hellfire burned in his wake. He didn’t stop once, not even for food or sleep, though he did swim across a river and drank some water on the way.
The starry sky seemed to watch in grim anticipation of the coming confrontation. But not long thereafter a tree of gargantuan proportions eclipsed half the sky. Specter raced into the clearing just as Auron’s ice armor flashed with harsh flames. He burned with the fervor of a torch, screaming all the while. Flames ripped across the ancient ruins as Auron walked up the steps and the portal flashed open, swallowing him.
Specter jumped the remaining distance. In midair the portal caught him. His shoulders stiffened; something squeezed his head, then his shoulders, all the way to his feet. A current swept him through light and shadows in utter silence.
28
WHEN FOES MET
When Specter emerged on the other side of the portal, his knees thumped on stone. He rolled, then got to his feet. Before him rose the city that had been hidden from the world—hidden by the prophets, according to legend.
A cathedral of immense size stood down the highway before him. The rest of the city sprawled in crumbling ruin, yet the cathedral was magnificent. To his right he could see a wall of pillars far down the road. He stepped forward, and a young woman ran headlong into his chest. She fell, and a gold key flew out of her fingers.
Specter caught it and smiled as the Living Fire tickled his hand. This must be the key … and this must be the witch, the same one of whom Albino had spoken. The key must not be allowed to fall into the hands of any wizard or witch, for then the sword of the dragon would lose its power.
He sighted Auron stumbling toward the cathedral. The light of a thousand portals glinted off his ice armor as it melted off his body.
Ilfedo glanced between the new arrivals, but when the hooded man held up the key, Ilfedo charged him. The man stepped out of his path and kicked him in the back. Ilfedo stumbled into a heap of rubble and turned, spraying flames out of his sword at the man.
“Peace, Lord Ilfedo; we are brothers in this struggle.”
“I don’t know you,” Ilfedo said.
“Ah, but Oganna does. For it was I who slew the Grim Reaper on the ramp to Ar’lenon.”
Ilfedo narrowed his eyes and pointed his blade at the man’s chest as he got to his feet. “Tell me whom you serve, for I have already been deceived by this witch, and I will not fall so easily again.”
“I serve the great white dragon, the prophet whose blood ran through your wife’s veins and therefore her child’s. I am Specter and I have no quarrel with you, but do not stand between me and him.” Specter pointed to the other man who was now scaling the cathedral’s face. “Here, the key is yours.” He laid the key in Ilfedo’s hand and turned his back to him, then ran toward the cathedral.
What appeared to be ice melted off the other man’s body. The man climbed the cathedral. Flames sprang from the darkness overhead as a thousand or more torches shed more light upon the ancient stone columns and ruined city. They were underground. No wonder this place was called the Hidden Realm. Above the spires of the magnificent cathedral a host of men and one black dragon hung as if suspended from the cavern’s dark ceiling. Veils covered the bodies of the men and the dragon.
As the man climbed the cathedral he shouted, “Awaken, master of winged serpents! Awaken! Let thy sleep come to an end; let your army arise as you lead them in conquest.” Something groaned amid the mass of bodies, and Ilfedo froze as the veil fell off the black scaled dragon and its sharp tail slapped the cavern roof, raining stones on the pedestal where the key had been held.
Escentra screamed, and her staff caught him in the midriff. He gasped, grabbed for his chest—and the key fell to the floor. As it landed, it flashed with light and vanished! But the pedestal atop the cathedral steps flashed too, and the key again floated in its shield.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Escentra struck him on the shoulder, on the leg, her staff raining blows until he could not breathe.
The sword of the dragon jolted his body with fire, and he parried her next attack, then kicked her in the stomach. As she rolled away from him, the sword spat fire in her wake.
Bodies hung from the ceiling of the cavern in which the city lay. In the midst of those that slept, above Specter’s head, there hung a large scaled black beast. Auron held himself halfway up the building’s face and threw his broken staff toward the creature. Its orb shattered on the dragon’s snout, and Auron fell to the ground.
A smile crept over Specter’s face as he stepped in a puddle of water and rendered himself invisible. With a growl, the black dragon Valorian dropped from the ceiling. But from the water Specter formed a hand of ice and a scythe to match. He vaulted a house stone and ran toward the cathedral, slowing his pace as he neared and twirling the scythe in his hands. Both of his enemies stood on their feet, unaware of his presence. It had been so long since that awful day. Valorian had been more than a match for him on the ancient field of battle. In those days age had hindered his speed. But now, over a thousand years later, Providence had restored Specter’s youth and bestowed on him these gifts to enhance his abilities. It was time to end this, time to bring the traitor and the perpetrator to a just end.
Auron fell prostrate before Valorian, and the dragon shook its head as it rose. “What sort of trickery be this? Who art thou and how camest thee here?”
“Mighty wizard, it is I, Auron. Over a thousand years have passed since the great battle wherein your master was slain. The world is a new place, but I have come to awaken thee to reap retribution on your enemies. And, if thou art willing, I place myself in thy service.”
The dragon’s body rippled like an uncoiling snake. Its tail lashed dangerously close to Specter, smashing a stone. It gazed around the dark ruins, and its eyes glanced down the steps at Ilfedo and the witch. “If a new world has arisen, then where, pray tell, is my servant the Reaper?”
“Slain, mighty one—”
“What’s this? Slain by whom?” It scraped its claws along the stones.
Rendering himself visible, Specter stepped up to face the dragon and the traitor. “Slain by me, Valorian.”
The creature growled, though a smiling sneer played across its oily face. “Then I welcome thee, Xavion. I welcome thee to thy final hour.” It roared, and the steps of the cathedral cracked. “The white dragon is not here to save thee from me.” Then its wings spread, eclipsing the citadel spires, even as its dark eyes glinted with life restored. “I am!” the creature roared. It seemed to claw the air, walking upon it. It plummeted to the earth. It speared into the stony ground, eagerly digging its way under the stones and into the soil. Its serpentine head buried in the soil; its muscle-ridden arms pulled it as a rodent into its hole.
Dropping to his knees in front of the hole, the traitor cried out, “It is I that has awakened you, mighty wizard. I am humble before you, begging indeed for your favor.”
The key still glowed atop the pedestal, but the pedestal vibrated as if shaken at its base. The stone floor rose and fell beneath Auron, yet the man maintained his kneeling position.
Specter ran toward the pedestal even as the ground rose closer to it. Valorian was going for it. He was going to try to take the key—or maybe destroy it. Destroy it would be more likely. Specter grimaced and pushed his legs to speed. Valorian hated the key. He hated all that it had been, all of the prophet’s power that it represented.
The dragon rose through the stones. A volcano of dirt rose around his head, and Specter saw glee in the dragon’s face as it reached its sharp claws for the key. But its claws glanced off the shield, and the creature growled. “The end, the end, the end for all is near,” the creature hissed. “It is I who comes to destroy you.” It reached yet again for the key.
Specter ascended the steps, stumbled on an upturned stone, and then stood straight beside the pedestal. He sensed the dragon’s hesitation.
“Xavion? Thou desirest to stop me. Ah, at last I can deal with your thorny head—”
Specter chose to ignore the beast. He reached his real hand into the shield. His skin tickled upon contact, and he smiled. Grasping the key, he held it before him. The burning thing was so beautiful, deceptively small. It was the center of such conflict, horrible and far-reaching.
Over the desolation, amid the ancient stonework and broken buildings, Ilfedo subdued the woman. She knelt before him, breaking her staff across her knees. Specter was reminded of a young man on another battlefield. Young Brian broke his white-bladed scimitar. Although, thinking back, it was not in defeat. It was an act of strength and pure intent. Perhaps this young woman’s evil could be stopped by this man of honor. Perhaps he would turn her from corruption to serve the Creator. The Living Fire burned upon Ilfedo’s blade, and he stood tall and strong, a warrior rivaling Specter himself. No, Specter told himself, Ilfedo is stronger than I.
“Give thou the key to me, Xavion,” Valorian hissed.
The dragon raked its claws forward, and Specter rolled to the side and stabbed his ice blade into the creature’s hand. The dragon roared and swatted him. Specter flew through the air, the wind knocked from his lungs. He held on to the key, all his focus bent on it as he landed in stones and dirt. As dust settled around him, he looked at the dragon. He had not the strength to rise and fight.
The creature formed a cage around Auron with its claws. Black lightning shot from its hand, sizzling along Auron’s body. The traitor screamed with agony and twisted and thrashed against the claws, seeking escape from a destiny he had brought upon himself. Auron’s flesh burned, but the dragon smiled. “Rise anew, my Grim Reaper. From ashes only canst thou be born. Death, Death is now thy name!” Black smoke obscured the traitor from Specter’s eyes, but the dragon pulled away its mighty claws, and the Grim Reaper stepped out of the smoke to kneel before Valorian.
No, this could not happen. Specter ran toward the pair. He would kill Auron. The man must not perpetuate the evil he had begun. “It is time to pay for your sins, Auron.”
Auron faced him, but it was not the man Specter had known. He didn’t even look like the traitor. His face was a blackened skull, and his hands were skeletal. The traitor had become the accursed Reaper.
As a tear formed in Specter’s eye, the traitor floated toward him and crossed his serrated scythe blade with Specter’s ice one.
Valorian roared and leaped to the ceiling. “Awaken now, all my servants. The world shall fall under me. Awaken and serve me!” Dark energy sizzled from the dragon’s claws as it held itself upside down on the cavern ceiling. The energy dispersed to all the bodies suspended above Specter, and one by one, black-scale-clad warriors dropped to the ground and stood with swords in hand.
“Ilfedo,” Specter shouted with all his might, “get out of this place! I will hold them off.”
But Escentra had surrendered, and Ilfedo had spared her. Ordering her to wait for him, he advanced as the dragon’s army awoke, rising with swords and shields. Beyond the lines of scale-clad warriors he glimpsed the Grim Reaper. The evil being swung its scythe at the man who safeguarded the key. It drove back the brave but foolish man. It slashed across his forehead, drawing blood.
The black dragon dropped from the ceiling, taking powerful steps toward the duelists.
The scale-clad warriors flooded towards Ilfedo, and he met them alone. Thrusting at one man, he dropped him to the ground and stole his sword, stabbing it into another. Living Fire danced along the sword of the dragon’s blade, consuming those who drew near. He stood atop the bodies and threw himself into the horde, hacking and cutting his way until bodies padded the ground behind him.
Someone smote him in the back of his leg, and he fell to his knee, turned, and thrust the man through. But the warriors did not heed the danger to themselves. They poured upon him, fearless and unrelenting.
“You blind and vile men, do you think I will be stopped?” Ilfedo frowned and hefted his sword yet again. “I will prevail!” Side to side he wove, upswing, downswing. His sword slew all within his reach.
The dragon’s horde flooded around Ilfedo. Those who did not fall to his sword marched into the city. Escentra screamed, and Ilfedo turned as several warriors drew their swords and veered out of the main army to face her. She picked through a suit of armor laid upon the ground and took a sword. She flailed at the men, but they parried her blows, and one of them smote her with his fist. As the fist landed on her head, her eyes closed and she slumped to the ground.
“Ilfedo, get her out of here!” Specter stared at Ilfedo. The man was standing there, as if split between coming to Specter’s aid or helping the girl. “Fool, can you not see that we will all die here?”
“I will not die,” Ilfedo shouted back. “But you will if I don’t help you.” He struck down another dragon-scale-covered warrior.
Specter screamed his rage, and the anger fed him as he turned against Auron. “I am going to die today,” he said. “But so will you.” The admission of defeat left him strangely free. He pocketed the key as the specter of death approached.
Auron swung his serrated blade, and Specter stepped into it. The blade stabbed his leg below the knee. The pain was great, but he chose to ignore it. He stabbed his ice blade into Auron’s side, released his hold on the weapon, and grabbed the traitor’s neck with his ice hand. He formed the ice around Auron’s skeletal head, and the Reaper’s mouth opened in a silent scream as it dropped the serrated scythe.
Specter’s leg, now bleeding, collapsed under him. He pulled Auron to the ground with him. He had left himself open, and the traitor had fallen into his trap. The ice held the Reaper’s head, though its hands clawed Specter’s back. Specter reached his free hand under the traitor’s tattered cloak and pulled the skeleton arm away from the body, tossing it across the stone landing.
Auron’s remaining hand somehow slipped the key out of Specter’s pocket, but Specter kicked it away. The key flashed with fire, then reappeared under the energy dome atop the pedestal.
Specter glanced at the Reaper’s face. Beneath the ice covering, the face of Auron reformed. The look on his face was one of terror and pain beyond endurance. The man’s eyes froze open, and the body turned to dust in Specter’s hands. Auron the traitor was dead.
At that moment something soothing touched Specter’s leg. He glanced at it only to find Ilfedo leaning over him with the sword of the dragon in his hand. The man’s body blazed with Living Fire, and his face radiated glorious determination. He stood and hefted the body of the young woman over his shoulder with one arm, then stabbed behind his back. Crying out, one of Valorian’s warriors fell beside Ilfedo.
The black dragon dropped from the cavern ceiling with a thud that shook everything except the mighty cathedral. His warriors awakened around him, a throng that multiplied into a thousand strong. They marched out into the city beneath the vast cavern ceiling. They threw themselves against the columns, the wall that divided Valorian from his goal: the Tomb of the Ancients, his one path out of this place.
“Awaken! Awaken from sleep.” The dragon drooled thick spittle on the ground. “Thy day and mine is here. The prophets thought to hide me here; they thought to destroy me, but today I rise to rid the world of all that would oppose me.”
Valorian raced into the city. His mighty claws stabbed into the ground, pulling wrapped bodies from the dirt. He threw off their veils, and they stood with him. Not a single warrior spoke. They surged around him, turning down the city streets, marching over the rubble and between standing structures. Their swords and shields broke upon the pillar wall, but they sacrificed their lives to attack it. They pummeled it with weapons until the weapons broke, then smote it with their fists until they could do so no longer.
The black dragon raised his serpentine head and turned to the cathedral. The building rose as if taunting him with the little key that still glowed atop the pedestal. The little key that held raw power. The same power that had imprisoned him in this Hidden Realm. With mighty steps the dragon advanced, then stabbed his head into the stony ground and burrowed out of sight. He would come up under the pedestal and steal the power of Living Fire for his own use.
Specter saw Valorian turn to the cathedral, knew when the dragon burrowed into the ground what it would do. He stood, his leg marvelously healed by the weapon of Living Fire, and ran toward the pedestal. Beneath the energy dome, the key blazed with the Living Fire.
As he ran, the stones beneath him rose. He stumbled on a patio stone, caught himself, and ran on. The stones beneath the pedestal lifted. The pedestal tipped. The ground shifted, and a huge stone speared through the floor. Specter leaped onto it, reached into the falling pedestal’s dome, and snatched the key. He stood forth with the Key of Living Fire in his hand, gazing upon its fine craftsmanship.
Valorian’s head pushed through the floor, then his shoulders and powerful arms. The dragon’s claws snatched the pedestal, and, finding no key, the creature roared and threw the pedestal against the cathedral. The pedestal crumbled to the ground, and the energy shield vanished.
“Give thou the key to me, Xavion, or I will paint these cavern walls with thy blood!” The creature loomed behind him.
Specter turned and faced the creature, key in his hand. He had no weapon this time, no way to harm this beast. But what could he have done? This creature was beyond him—even with a blade in his hand.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ilfedo set the young woman on the floor and grasp his sword with both hands. He was going to attack. Specter felt despair fill him. Not even the sword of the dragon could defeat this creature. It would take someone as mighty as Albino. None other could stand, not unless an army stood with him. And Specter felt the tramp of a thousand men, Valorian’s men, marching to stand behind him.
Ilfedo felt as if evil poured in tangible waves out of the dragon’s eyes. He ran toward it, sword held wide. But the scales along the creature’s tail rose like barbs and whipped toward him.
He jumped, but the tail followed him, as did the dragon’s dark eyes.
Pointing the sword at his feet, he blasted fire, sending himself flying onto the dragon’s back. He stabbed the blade into the dragon’s shoulder, but the beast did not even turn. The wound healed, and the scales constricted around the blade, forcing it out of the dragon’s flesh. As the sword jerked back into his hand, Ilfedo stabbed the dragon’s wing. But as he slashed down the membrane, the cut flesh repaired itself.
“Thou art insignificant, human. I shall no longer play your game. Now thy end has come by my claw.”
The dragon’s hand shot toward him, and the shifting of the creature’s back beneath him upset his balance. Ilfedo rolled under the dragon claws and off its back. He grabbed onto a wing and, hanging there, stabbed the beast’s knee.
Specter’s mouth opened in astonishment as the mighty Valorian stumbled under Ilfedo’s attack. Never had a man stood up to Valorian in such close quarters and lived. Ilfedo dropped to the ground and stabbed the creature’s rear leg. Valorian kicked him aside, but Ilfedo rose with his body still aflame and slashed across the dragon’s belly.
Specter searched the nearby ground for a sword and hefted a hand-and-a-half broadsword. He ran toward Ilfedo and the dragon, but heard a grunt behind him. He spun and faced line upon line of dark-clad warriors. They gazed into his eyes—sneers curling their lips—and drew their swords. Specter’s hope fell as fast as it had risen.
His eyes fell upon the flaming key in his hand. Valorian wanted to destroy it, and he would do so as soon as he humbled Ilfedo.
The army of the wizard dragon tramped toward him, and Specter knew what must be done. He could be of no use to Ilfedo. Not here. But the Key of Living Fire must be secured where Valorian and Letrias could not find it.
He thought of Dantress, Caritha, Rose’el, Laura, Evela, and Levena. He saw them in the Hemmed Land. Dantress when she was the happy wife, and the sisters when they accepted their roles as aunts. And then there was Oganna. She was special above all the women before her. He had watched over them all in secret. He had been their hidden guardian. Today he would be the hidden guardian again. But he would guard the source of Ilfedo’s strength so that evil would never find it.
He rendered himself invisible, and the lines of warriors before him staggered back, eyes darting to and fro as they sought him. Valorian roared from behind him. “Thinkest that thou art hidden? My eyes see through that pitiable cloak, Xavion! Albino would have done well to come to this place himself rather than send you, for now you will die, and I will throw your carcass into the Palm of Heaven.”
“Yes, you can see me,” Specter whispered as he gazed out upon the bewildered lines of warriors. “But your servants cannot.”
Spotting a puddle at the base of the steps, he descended to it. He touched the water with his ice hand and willed it to form him a new weapon, one reminiscent of the one he had wielded in his ancient service to the prophets. A two-handed sword grew from the water; its blade became hardened crystal and so did its handle and guard. It looked similar to the sword he had carried long, long ago.
With a grim determination, Specter carved his way into the wizard’s host. The warriors cried out as he felled them. Their companions sought to strike but could not find him. He passed like a ghost through their midst with the key in his hand. He snuck past a group of men only to attack the ones behind them. Making his way between the ancient buildings that stretched as far as he could see in the portal-lit cavern, he pierced through the warriors’ midst toward the line of portals glowing between the massive pillars—portals that led to places unknown.
Ilfedo could not believe his eyes, for the other man had vanished, and the black dragon ignored Ilfedo’s attacks. It swatted him aside. “I will be back for thee, little warrior,” it growled.
The dragon spread its wings and charged its army. The warriors did not flinch as the creature rose into the air with inches to spare between its claws and the men’s heads. It roared as it glided out over the city. “Xavion! I see thee.”
Far out over the city it flew. Ilfedo stood rooted to the cathedral steps.
“And now darkness will fall!” The dragon roared, the sound of his words splitting Ilfedo’s ears.
A point of light preceded the dragon. It swelled and pulsed, a green phosphorescent bubble. “Remember the fury of my revenge, Xavion. Ye are filthy fools, both thou and the prophets.”
Specter watched in horror as Valorian summoned his demonic power. Green lightning zipped from the cavern’s ceiling, feeding into the wizard’s bubble, growing it. Specter had a hundred yards to go before he would reach the pillars. The bubble would reach him first.
The swelling bubble in Valorian’s hand drew the light of the many portals like a magnet. And when the dragon threw the bubble directly at Specter, the portals grew in size. The bubble splashed against the corner of a growing portal, as if caught in the portal’s gravity well. Green filaments sprayed onto the ground, and new portals swirled into existence. Valorian roared and dropped into the city with a flurry of his wings. He crashed through the wall of a large building, and the roof collapsed over his back.
Valorian charged down the highway, sweeping his warriors aside as he loomed out of their midst.
But above the dragon’s head a hole was punched in the cavern roof. Blinding white light shone through. Specter blinked and raised his hand to guard his eyes. Other holes were punched into the cavern ceiling, as if worms had burrowed through. Valorian skidded to a stop, his great claws sparking on the stones as he turned his long neck, facing the strange event.
Water gushed through the holes, and the city began to flood. Still the dragon kept his eyes on the ceiling.
Amid the water fell a mass of white blubber. The water skeel Cromlin smashed into the city, and Specter gasped. Cromlin’s fins crushed a hundred of Valorian’s warriors, and his body ground stones into dust. In his presence even the mighty Valorian seemed to cower, though the dragon growled fiercely up at the creature.
Valorian slunk toward the water skeel, and green energy gathered along his body. The dragon sped toward the creature, released a roar, and turned into a green energy missile that struck Cromlin’s side. But he bounced off and crashed into a building. He rose from the dust and rubble with a shake of his serpentine head.
Cromlin warbled, and the warriors of Valorian covered their ears. Specter did the same. From the holes above dropped a hundred or more full-grown water skeels. Then the king of the water skeels looked down upon Valorian, and from his nostrils a stream of water gushed forth. The water struck the dragon’s chest, hurtling it farther into the city. The water around Cromlin formed into ice.
“It has been too long, Valorian, too long.” The water skeel spoke in the tongue of humanity as it slid toward the dragon. “But at last I have found this place, and you. You I had thought lost to the world, yet here you are, and how glad I am that it will be I that brings you down.”
Valorian shook himself and spat fire at the water skeel. “Warriors, art thou prepared to die for me?”
The scale-clad warriors shouted in response.
“Then kill all within thy reach!” The dragon’s retort thundered through the Hidden Realm.
Cromlin laughed, and the sound of it chilled Specter’s bones. “The power of Living Fire resides here, doesn’t it?” The creature slowly turned his massive head and gazed at Specter. “Were you attempting to stop this man from escaping with the key, Valorian?”
“That power belongs to me,” Valorian screamed.
“No, it does not, and it offers no threat to me. I say let the prophets have their playfellow.” Cromlin slapped his flipper on a building, crumbling it as he slid his bulk toward the dragon. “At least for now.”
The dragon took a step back and flexed his wings. “Thou art a fool, Cromlin!”
“A fool!” Light shot from Cromlin’s eyes, striking the dragon’s wings.
Valorian roared and spread them. A large hole had been carved from each wing, and as they began to heal, the water skeel spewed water from its nostrils again. This time the water froze over the dragon’s feet.
Line upon line of warriors rushed Cromlin and the water skeels, but the creatures tossed them into the air with their fins. They slid into the men’s midst, spraying freezing water upon them. With ease they engaged in the battle and prevented anyone from helping Valorian. The water skeels were magnificent and deadly in their movements.
“How?” Specter heard Valorian roar as Cromlin burned light from his eyes again. The dragon rolled through several buildings, then trembled as he rose to his feet. “How did thou find me?”
The water skeel laughed again. “Oh, that part was easy. Your pet the Grim Reaper was slain not long ago—and Auron begged me to send him in search of you. I covered his body in my ice, and he bore my signature into this realm. When the ice melted, it acted as a beacon that led me straight here.”
Water rose to Specter’s knees, and he pulled himself higher on the rubble.
Cromlin dug his fins into the water, pulled out massive balls of ice, and slammed them into the dragon. Valorian melted some with fire and rose against the water skeel, claws raking for the creature’s throat. Cromlin smacked one massive fin at the dragon and warbled as he withdrew the fin. The dragon flailed his wings, careening around another building. But Cromlin’s long neck reached out, and his mouth closed over Valorian’s back. He pulled the screaming dragon high into the air and clamped with his jaws.
Specter heard Valorian’s back snap under the pressure. The black dragon, that vile beast he had so long dreaded, grew limp in Cromlin’s powerful jaws.
Specter took one last horrified gaze at the creature, then regained his composure. He glanced at the cathedral, but Ilfedo was not there. He turned and jumped into the water, swimming for all his worth toward the wall of pillars. He could see the mighty pyramids that stood behind them, but the water did not flow past the wall.
Ilfedo had watched the battle between the dragon and the new arrival. He gaped at the potency of the white creature. Its blubbery body bespoke age and strength that should not be reckoned with. He stuck to the perimeter of the cavern, carrying the young woman over his shoulder, wishing all the while that somehow he could ascertain the fate of the key. Without it his mission was a failure.
When he reached the wall of pillars, he found the breach he had made in its defenses earlier. The water strangely stopped at the wall. He stepped through first and turned to pull the young woman after him. It was then that he saw Specter holding the key. Specter stood a little distance down the wall, and Ilfedo called out to him that here was a way through.
But Cromlin dropped the body of Valorian into the ruins and slid toward the pillar wall and the man with the key. “Give me the key and I may let you live, Warrior,” the creature said, and its voice sent ripples over the water.
Specter turned to face Ilfedo, and he soberly set his strong jaw. “The key will be forever safe with me, Ilfedo. And the Living Fire will remain connected to your sword.”
“I’m sure it will be. But hurry—”
The man raised a hand to silence him and stepped toward a portal. “Tell Oganna that I wish her a happy life. Tell her that I will greatly miss her, but that this separation was necessary.” The portal expanded around Specter, and Cromlin warbled, speeding toward him. “All things are now as they were meant to be, Ilfedo.” Specter laughed, and a smile lit his countenance. “Trust in God’s ultimate purposes and you will know peace.”
Ilfedo pulled the young woman through the wall—as the portal swallowed the man with the Key of Living Fire. The portal sparked as Cromlin grasped at it with a fin. It collapsed and vanished as the creature warbled and fixated its luminous eyes on Ilfedo.
Ilfedo ran to the highway and carried Escentra toward the largest pyramid. The white creature impacted the wall of pillars and they broke like twigs. Water flowed toward the highway, and the creature sailed with it. Ilfedo, his arms aching from the girl’s body weight, ran out the pyramid’s other side. He could hear the creature beating its fins into the incredible structure’s sides, yet he did not glance back. He staggered up to the Tomb of the Ancients, dropped Escentra to the stone floor, and closed his eyes as he raised his sword.
As fire ripped along the blade, the creature warbled behind him. Colors and light swirled in front of him, fed by his sword. As the flames twisted into the vortex, he pulled Escentra into it. He was yanked out of the Hidden Realm and flung down the endless corridor. When he came to a stop, the Tomb of the Ancients rose around him, and the creature that he feared—he knew it was unable to follow.
Vectra lumbered out of a shadowy corner, and suddenly she seemed quite small to him. The world seemed full of creatures far more powerful than she, and he did not want to ever encounter those creatures again.
“Well, I see that you have returned with a stranger.” Vectra looked down at him, her long mouth twisted in a confused sort of way. No doubt, after he sorted out the day’s events in his own mind, he should share the facts with her.
29
THE DOORS CLOSE
Dantress regained consciousness as an enormous white creature with flippers shattered a corner of the nearest pyramid. The creature warbled, and she spotted Ilfedo standing in the entrance to the Tomb of the Ancients. He threw flames from his sword, and a portal absorbed him and a young woman. Water rushed over her body and she stood, wrapping herself in a wall of flames.
The flames erased the Hidden Realm, and she cursed herself. She had failed. She had failed her father and, most importantly, Ilfedo. She was supposed to have met Ilfedo in the Hidden Realm. Not only that, but it appeared that the witch had managed to so thoroughly deceive Ilfedo that now he was bringing her back home with him. She might look like a helpless young woman, but that girl deserved Letrias’s fate.
The wall of fire faded, and the fields of the Palm of Heaven stretched as far as she could see in any direction. She walked out into that paradise, those borderlands to the kingdom of Emperia, and waited for the great white dragon to descend. But she stood there for a long while … and he did not show himself.
Vectra sniffed at Escentra’s clothes. “This one has a foulness, a rotting in her soul. We cannot trust her.”
“She has already earned my trust.” Ilfedo stepped between the creature and the girl. “Pity her, Vectra. Do not analyze her. This is Escentra, and she has been serving a wizard, but no longer. She will be coming with me to the Hemmed Land. I believe Oganna will want to meet her.”
The creature huffed and rumbled approval. “If this one is put under Oganna’s watchful eyes, then you will have no trouble, of that I am sure. For your daughter is wise and strong.”
The heavy doors behind the Megatrath rattled on their hinges. The Megatrath turned, baring her teeth as the doors lumbered open, and a dark-hooded figure stepped into the tomb. Ilfedo gripped the sword of the dragon and rose to challenge the new arrival.
The figure raised a shepherd’s staff in one hand, as if stopping Ilfedo from approaching. The hood fell away, and the prophet narrowed his blue eyes, his gaze burning into Ilfedo’s soul. Vectra slumped, raising a cloud of dust, and the prophet stepped over one of her powerful legs. “Lord Ilfedo of the Hemmed Land, thou wielder of the sword of Living Fire, I sent you on a quest to obtain the key. Now I have come to receive it from you so that it may be forever safeguarded.” The prophet’s eyes glanced over Ilfedo’s person. “But I do not see the key. Was your mission a failure?”
The sword rose out of Ilfedo’s hands and spilled fire around him and the prophet, and the prophet reached out and grasped it in his ancient hand.
Ilfedo glanced at the Megatrath. Vectra’s eyes were closed, and her sides rose in steady breathing.
“The Megatrath will not remember my visit,” the shepherd said.
Ilfedo sighed. He had been ready to fight this stranger, yet instead found himself facing the one man who had witnessed his vows to Dantress. “You did instruct me to give the key into the hands of God’s prophet, and now you are here,” he said. “But another joined me in the battle. He fought with honor and even took the key.” He then related all that had happened, beginning with his finding of the city of Dresdyn and ending with his escape from the white water creature, Cromlin.
The shepherd’s face relaxed and even smiled. “Then all is well, Ilfedo. The key is far beyond our enemies’ grasp, and you can count on your sword to be a help to you in the battles to come. As for this young woman whom you have saved, show her the path of righteousness and put her in the hands of those who can heal the wounds to her soul. You have done well—now stand aside.”
As the shepherd pointed the sword down the endless corridor, Ilfedo dragged Escentra beneath the arching doorway to one of the innumerable tomb chambers. He leaned her against the stones and strode back into the corridor. The crystals along the ceiling radiated in the flames of the sword.
A vortex of fire reopened the portal to the Hidden Realm, but the shepherd cut the sword’s blade across the portal, and a glowing ribbon trailed across the portal. The shepherd slashed the portal from top to bottom and closed his eyes as another ribbon formed. The portal flashed, and tendrils of green and black knifed through the flaming hole. The tendrils formed webbing through the portal, and a wave of heat roared out of it.
Ilfedo was thrown into a wall, and his vision blurred. He fell to the floor, then struggled to rise as another wave of heat struck. It felt as if his shoulders had blistered and his face swelled. The prophet fell beside him, and the portal, struggling to its last moments, crumpled like a piece of paper in the webs of energy.
The shepherd pressed the sword into Ilfedo’s hand as he leaned on his staff and stood. “All of the portals have been closed, and the key is safe,” he murmured. Then he walked through the heavy doors, and they thudded shut behind him.
The great white dragon descended from the blue sky. He stretched his beautiful wings of pure white and loomed before Dantress Starfire.
“Father, I have failed you! I waited in the Hidden Realm, waited for Ilfedo to come.” She hung her head and waited for his disappointment.
The dragon rumbled deep in his throat, a rumble that spread through his chest. “Speak, my Starfire. Tell me what transpired.”
She smote her fist against her hip, staring at the ground. “It was the witch. She reached the Hidden Realm before me. I stayed beside the entrance to the Tomb of the Ancients, but she waylaid me. I remember nothing except a glimpse of her face.” She waited for his frustration.
Instead he gazed at the sky and shook his head. “All is as it should be, my daughter. For Patient did meet Ilfedo in the Tomb of the Ancients. Ilfedo told him that another warrior met him in the Hidden Realm, a warrior who secured the Key of Living Fire and threw himself into a portal in order to keep it from the enemy.”
“Another warrior?” She shook her head. “How can we be certain this other individual means to keep it safe? What if Letrias sent him too?”
The dragon was silent for a long while, then he angled his bony head downward and said, “The warrior of whom Ilfedo spoke is none other than our beloved Specter. I believe he followed the traitorous Auron into the Hidden Realm. This means that one more traitor is dead, for I know Specter, and he would rather have remained in that place and died than let Auron live.”
A shiver ran up Starfire’s spine. She clapped her hands, as she would have done as a child. “Truly Xavion guards all that I hold dear! Nothing will harm my daughter so long as that warrior watches from the shadows. Praise be!”
The dragon sighed and shook its head in a slow, deliberate fashion. “I am afraid that is not the way things now stand. Specter will no longer hide in the shadows. His path is his own. If he were to return, it would be by his own choosing and his own doing.”
She felt the ground sinking beneath her and dropped to her knees. “Wh-where is he now? Oganna will need him in the days ahead. He cannot abandon her.” The world seemed to turn on a knife’s edge. “I must go to him. I must bring him back.”
The creature’s pink eyes roved the sky. “That, my dear child, is beyond your power. Only the Creator knows where Specter is now. For Specter took the key into one of the portals, and there is no way of knowing where it took him. Some lead to unknown parts of our world. Others lead to other worlds entirely.”
“Other worlds.” She looked up at the blue sky, picturing the stars night would bring. “You mean to say—he is up there?”
The dragon smiled and placed a gentle hand around her shoulders. “I believe so, my child. I believe so.”
“Then I will return to the Hidden Realm and determine which portal took him.”
The dragon shook his mighty head and angled his face downward to face her. “Thy heart is right, child, but your wisdom is lacking. The portals have been closed, sealed by the prophet who first created the Key of Living Fire.”
Realization fell upon her as a warm mist. It surrounded her, making her aware of the grand and deep plan that the prophets had so long ago formed. The plan that today they had brought to fruition. “Patient is the prophet in the legend,” she whispered. “He separated himself from the powers God gave him, creating an intelligence embodied in fire. Living Fire sprang from him—”
“Yes, my daughter, he did. But he only did that after he had used the power of Living Fire to imprison Valorian’s army in unending sleep. Patient sealed the Living Fire in the Hold in the citadel. Then he fashioned a key, a key that accessed the Hold so that if ever needed, the Living Fire could be called upon again. The sword that Ilfedo now wields once rested in the Hold of Living Fire. Patient crafted the sword as the weapon of Living Fire. The sword is the only such weapon, but if the key had fallen into an enemy’s hand the power of Living Fire would have left the sword.” Albino’s scales radiated warmth, and yellow buds formed in the grass around his feet. “Specter has removed the key from this world, and thus the Living Fire shall remain with the sword.”
Starfire looked up at him again. “Then I can at last rest in the knowledge that the Living Fire will remain with Ilfedo’s sword?”
The dragon nodded, yet his eyes were fixed on the sky as if his mind wandered through the stars in search of his faithful Specter.
Vectra lumbered through the blinding walls of windswept sand. On her back, Ilfedo held a shirt over his face as Escentra pressed into his back and tightened her hold around his chest. A few tree stumps were visible through the sand. A scattering of roots too. A branch flew out of the whipping sand and struck Vectra’s shoulder. The creature roared as the branch veered off her side and disappeared into the sand blowing behind her.
They passed the corner of a house’s foundation and descended into an extinct stream. Rising to the other side, the Megatrath shoved past a well cover. Ilfedo’s heart felt as if someone had tied a lead weight around it. Resgeria’s sands had progressed deeper into the Hemmed Land. This town used to be the northern outskirts of Bordelin. After the Megatrath Loos had demolished much of the town, the residents had rebuilt, only to be set back permanently by the forces of nature.
The Megatrath carried them through the storm and into the cool and shading trees of the Hemmed Land’s forests. Ilfedo beat the sand off his clothes, and Escentra coughed. He turned and realized that he had shaken his filth onto her young face. But she smiled, wiped her sleeve across her face, and brushed her fingers through her hair as Vectra rocked to a stop.
“Ilfedo,” the Megatrath rumbled, “how far should I carry you?”
He slid off her back and helped Escentra down. He strode around to face the creature and bowed. “I am grateful that you have taken me this far. The rest we can travel on foot.” He pulled Seivar out from beneath his shirt, and the bird spread its white wings, and then flew into the treetops with a screech.
The wind howled south of them. He felt as if he could hear the forest moaning like a living thing. Vectra lumbered around behind his back, planting her powerful forearm in the grass beside him. Yimshi shone beams of light through the treetops, painting the forest floor in golden hues, but he knew that not far off the desert sands ate into the forests. As a ravenous plague of locusts, they swept deeper into his territory, ruining his peace.
Vectra shook her heavy head. “What will you do, Lord Ilfedo, if the storm does not abate?”
“I will seek a new land for my people, Megatrath. I will search for a place that they can call home for a thousand years.” He sighed and drew his sword. As the Living Fire clothed him, he gazed upon the magnificent blade, turning its crystalline facets side to side to reflect the sunlight. “When I was a young man, upon the death of my wife, a prophet foretold these times. He said that this land would no longer sustain my people, and I would need to search for another land. He said I should seek out a dragon called Venom-fier.
Dragon great, dragon fool
One wise, the other cruel
Venom-fier, to man a friend
The other may be his end.
Ilfedo was silent for a time. He could hear Dantress’s laughter in his mind, and he closed his eyes, savoring it. He felt her lips against his, and his eyes watered. He opened his eyes and gazed up at the mighty Megatrath. “It seems that everything good is either taken away or in another way lost to me.”
The creature rumbled agreement. “But do not despair, Ilfedo. You are wise and strong, and your daughter is the jewel on your crown of accomplishments. And I am your friend, always. Call upon me at any moment and you will be welcomed.” She lumbered southward, then turned and said, “The underground city of which you spoke—”
“Yes. The city of Dresdyn,” he said. For that moment his mind wandered down the dim streets of the Dewobin-lit city. He wondered what had happened since his departure. Tall, strong Bromstead—may the Creator be with them until Ilfedo could get back there. And he intended to go there soon.
She slowly nodded and gave a toothy grin. “You will need help when the time comes to bring those people to the surface. Call on me when you are ready for my assistance.” She turned toward the desert and raced through the trees, her feet landing with powerful thuds.
With the distant howl of the desert wind at his back, Ilfedo led Escentra beneath the tree boughs. He looked down at her and realized how thin she was. Wherever she’d been, perhaps under a wizard’s tutelage, nutrition hadn’t been high on the agenda. He would be the father she needed, if she’d have him.
She glanced around at the bright leaves, and her eyes half-closed as she smelled the air. Ilfedo imagined that Dantress was standing beside him. She would be staring at the young woman, nothing but compassion in her dark eyes, saying, “Ilfedo, let’s love her together.”
Knowing how she would have felt, his chest surged with resolution to bring this girl happiness. He could do this, especially if Oganna welcomed her with open arms.
“How far do we need to go before we come to your house?” Escentra’s voice carried the timidity of a mouse and the elegance of a sparrow.
“It is a good long walk, but if you enjoy the beauty of creation, as I do, the trip will be too short.” He smiled down at her and strode over a tree-laden hill, then plucked a blueberry from a nearby bush. He ate the sweet berry, and Escentra followed his example. Again he smiled, and he led her homeward, raising his arm as the Nuvitor glided through the trees.
The bird’s talons latched onto his arm, and it cooed in his ear. “It is good to be in the homeland, Master.”
When the long walk ended, he was beneath a canopy of stars, and he gazed upon his house nestled on the hilltop. The warm glow of lanterns filled the windows, and shadows passed before them. He opened the door, and Oganna ran into his arms as Seivar flew into the house. The bird collided with its mate, and the pair cuddled on the hearth before a ripping fire. Ombre, Honer, and Ganning stood in the kitchen, mugs in their raised hands as they toasted his arrival. The Warrioresses swept toward him, swallowing him in their embraces. Escentra turned to the door, but he put his arm around her shoulder and turned her toward his family and friends.
“Everyone, I want you to meet the newest addition to our family.” He waited as all eyes fell upon the dark-haired girl. “This is Escentra.” And he introduced her, one by one, to every individual in the room.
EPILOGUE
The rain pelted the clearing, rivulets flowing through the mud, linking with each other and running down the hillside. Ilfedo sat in a rocking chair on the stone patio in front of his house. The chair’s motion was gentle beneath him and the cider mug warm in his hand. He pulled his bearskin tighter around his shoulders, let it cocoon him so that his body heat did not escape into the cool afternoon air.
The sword of the dragon he’d left in his bedroom. He was glad to be free of it for a while. It reminded him that he should not be resting, that the people of Dresdyn had pledged themselves to him and he had failed them.
He sipped the hot cider. As the liquid seared his throat, he opened his mouth in a satisfied exhale. The fluid was too hot, but it felt good. The flash of pain placed him in the world of the living, affirmed that he was not in a nightmare. That all these years that had transformed him from a happy child into an orphan, and then widower, he had fought for those he loved and for the innocent. He had a purpose, a mission, that pulled him out of his grief.
A wall of water ran off the patio roof. It formed a vertical river that splashed around the patio, filling the drainage ditch. The ditch diverted the water along the side of the house and down the hill into the line of trees.
He sipped at the steaming cider and closed his eyes, listening to the rain.
“Father.” Oganna’s feet tiptoed toward him.
He opened his eyes, and her smile warmed his face with a smile of his own. “It is good to be home, my child.”
“It is so good to have you home.” She sat on the stone bench beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder.
He stopped rocking and stroked her hair. It was soft and clean. He touched his own hair, and judged his greasiness. When he looked down, he found her grinning at him. “What?”
“Aunt Evela swears you haven’t washed since you left home.”
“Oh, it hasn’t been that long,” he said. “I washed in an underground waterfall before leaving Resgeria.”
She laughed and stood, reaching her arm into the sheet of water falling off the roof. It washed over her arm, and she pulled it back. She shivered and hugged herself, gazing back at him. “Are you still planning a trip to Gwensin tomorrow?”
“Yes. The council must be informed of what I found in the Hidden Realm. I feel it only right to tell them everything. They are the voices of the people, and without my support their authority becomes inconsequential.”
She sat beside him and whispered in his ear. “I think you should bring Escentra with you. She seems to have lost all memory of anything prior to her meeting you. Not only that, I think she’s feeling kind of lost right now. But she admires you. The trip could be good for her.”
“Very well, my daughter.” He stared into his mug. Escentra was a wild card in his life. He had hoped to adopt her into the family, but somehow she didn’t seem to fit. She spoke amiably with everyone, and worked hard to earn her keep, but she was warm to no one. Perhaps new scenery would help her find a place in the Hemmed Land. “If she is so inclined, I will take her with me,” he said at last.
Oganna switched the subject. “And have you decided where the next search for a new homeland will begin?”
He sipped the warm cider and closed his eyes, refreshed by the raw taste. “I have discussed this with Ombre, Honer, and Ganning, as well as your aunts. I believe an exploratory mission across the Sea of Serpents must be our next priority. We have scrolls that speak of lands south of the Resgerian desert. Unfortunately, the scrolls are suspect historical fiction. And since we cannot rely on their content, I have proposed a search eastward first. The wide-open sea should make it easy for a small crew to sail the Maiden Voyage along unknown coastlines and judge land before setting foot on it. Once a land is found, they can sail quickly back to the Hemmed Land. If the dragon Venom-fier lives beyond the sea, we will find him.”
“Venom-fier?”
He stood and heaved a long breath, staring through the rain as if he could see the pool of water in the western woods—as if he could see Dantress’s grave. Wanting to remember her in life, he had not ventured to that place for years. But he saw it in his mind as clearly as the day he buried her. The great white dragon, all muscle and sinew, rose before him.
“Venom-fier,” he said at last, “is a dragon that your grandfather told me to search for when the Hemmed Land could no longer contain my people. Back then I did not take the dragon’s word seriously. I stored it in the very back of my memory. But, my daughter, I have seen that his prophecy is coming true, and the time has come to earnestly search out a new land for our people.”
“Will you be going on this voyage, Father?”
He shook his head and put his arm around her shoulders, walking her back to the door. Rain continued to patter on the roof. “I have other things that require my immediate attention. For this mission I will be relying on a small band of capable men and women, people whom I can trust to focus on their mission and report back to me when they find something.”
“But, Father, whom will you send? I would volunteer myself, but I must return to Fort Gabel. Construction is progressing a bit slower than anticipated.”
He let her question remain unanswered until they sat inside before the fireplace. Seivar and Hasselpatch flew out of the kitchen. As he sat in the hammock, the birds plopped in with him, cooing. He stared into the flames, letting their mesmerizing dance of color and energy calm the turmoil in his heart. He could not shake the face of the massive Cromlin out of his mind. What if creatures such as that lived beyond the sea? He would be sending the voyagers to their deaths.
“Father, is something else bothering you?” Oganna sat on the hearth, and the viper coiled beside her.
He continued to stare into the flames. “You remember what I told you about the enormous creature that broke the black dragon’s back? It did that with ease, as if the dragon were nothing more than a doll. But the dragon was—well—the most vicious creature and the most powerful adversary I have ever faced. What if I send people that we love across the sea, and they encounter something like that?”
For a little while she was silent, then she lowered her voice. “No, Father. Don’t send them. They have done so much already.”
“It is not by my choice,” he said. “Caritha volunteered and”—he hung his head—“I cannot refuse. The crew of the Maiden Voyage will go with them. The Warrioresses will only be there to protect and defend the crew should a situation arise. There is no one under my command whom I trust more.”
Oganna rose and faced him; her gaze touched his soul with fire born of uncommon strength of will. “Then I will go too.”
“No,” he said. “The construction of Fort Gabel is your task. No other’s. You will remain in the Hemmed Land and tend to your duties.”
Her shoulders relaxed a bit, then she shook her head. “I cannot explain this, Father. But I do not support your decision. However, for your sake and the peoples’, I will.” She kissed his forehead and sat back on the hearth.
“Will you be accompanying us?” Caritha glanced sidelong at Ilfedo as he walked beside her in the forest in the dim morning hour.
He stopped and shook his head with a sigh. “I wish I could, but Vortain would like nothing better. During my absence on this last expedition I fear I lost some of my hold on the council. Vortain is quick and cunning. Though I respect him, I fear that he is dividing the people in what should be a concerted effort to plan for relocation to a larger territory in which future generations can stretch their arms without touching another human being.”
Caritha stared up at him. “Ilfedo, in my absence, promise me you will rely more heavily on Oganna.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” She glanced at the ground as if deep in thought or recollecting something. “She is skilled with more than her sword, and I believe she has the complete support of the politicians, including Vortain. We both know that you do not. I fear difficult times still lie ahead of us, especially for you. But if you share the burden with Oganna and with Ombre, you will come out stronger.”
“Why do you sound as if you are saying farewell forever?” He chuckled as they rose onto the muddy hill in front of his home. The ground sloshed beneath his boots as he pointed east at the rising sun. The animal skin around his shoulders felt cozy. “I have great confidence in the Maiden Voyage, her captain, her crew, and you with your sisters to handle anything you may face.”
“No one can plan for every contingency,” she said. “We will not know what is on the other side of the sea until we cross it. It may be all that we hope for, or it could be something unsuitable.” She sighed and patted his shoulder, then walked into the house. He watched her go and hoped that he was doing the right thing.
When he strode into his house, Laura and Levena rose out of their chairs beside the fireplace. Evela remained seated on the hearth, and Caritha gave him a gentle smile.
Rose’el stood in the kitchen. She chopped a potato in two, sticking the knife into the cutting board. She stamped her foot and walked away from it. She faced him and crossed her arms across her chest. “I still say you should go with us, Brother.”
“How could I do that?” He made a fist and punched his other hand. “How could I drop everything and leave at a time like this? Vortain is breathing down my neck. I will have all I can handle just effecting some kind of rescue for the people of Dresdyn. That is, if the city is not destroyed by now, with all its inhabitants. I made them a promise. I must return and bring those people home.”
Her face softened and her eyes widened. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. The remaining sisters glanced at one another, and he gasped. “Rose’el, what has happened to you?”
“Sorry!” She pulled back and stared hard at him. “You are so right, and I was so wrong. Please, please, please forgive me! Some nights I dream that you die, and then I think what I fool I’ve been to be so harsh with those I love.”
“You dream that I die?” he asked.
“In a very horrid manner,” she said. “But, humph! That is not relevant. Please accept my apology and know that whatever happens I am fully behind this mission.”
He took her hand, leaned over, and kissed it. He smiled up to find her frowning down at him.
“Umm, well, I guess we are good now. You can release my hand, Brother.”
And he did so with a bow.
That day he mounted an Evenshadow and rode to the city of Gwensin. As the tall buildings rose into view, he braced himself. Vortain would have an argument, one Ilfedo felt less than competent to rebut. He pulled his horse to a standstill and collected his thoughts and willpower.
Ombre rode out of the forest and joined him. They stared at each other as their horses shifted beneath them and the sun warmed the ground. A clear blue sky filled the horizon.
“You are the Lord Warrior, Ilfedo.” Ombre smote his chest in a salute. “Do you remember that?”
Ilfedo wearily nodded his head.
Ombre leaned in his saddle and grasped Ilfedo’s shoulder, gazing into his eyes with brotherly affection. “Then today is not Vortain’s. Today is yours. Vortain did not slay the sea serpents, nor did he conquer giants in Burloi. Stand tall, my brother. This day is yours.”
“Nay, this day is God’s!” said another.
Ilfedo and Ombre faced up the road, toward the city gates, and a familiar figure ran toward them. “Brother Hersis, what are you doing in Gwensin?” Ilfedo said.
“Ah, my lords.” The monk’s short black hair waved back and forth as he huffed. He stood in front of the horses and stroked their noses. Dust had stained the hem of his white robe. He scratched his own nose and upturned his beady eyes.
“Brother Hersis,” Ilfedo said, “have you cut your hair?”
The monk chuckled. “Yes, and it was a poor execution, my lord.” His beady eyes stared into Ilfedo’s. “Welcome home, though I sense another mission is weighing on your mind.”
“You are perceptive, Monk.”
“Lord Ilfedo, do you believe all things are ordained by the Creator?”
Ilfedo was taken aback by the abrupt question, but caught himself. “I believe God has a plan we cannot thwart, if that is what you mean. But also I believe that we each make our own choices, upon which he judges us.”
“Then I must ask, are you certain of the path you are leading this people down?”
“Certain? No. But I see no better way, and all other doors are closing, leaving the one option: relocation.”
The monk turned his back to Ilfedo and led the horses by their bridles toward the city. Over his shoulder he said, “Stand by your decisions, my lord. If you do what you believe is best, if you follow the Creator’s guidance as best you are able, then let nothing and no one cause you to doubt yourself.” The monk laughed. “I don’t know why I came out here to ask these things and say these things; however, I have, and I hope they glorify the One I serve.”
“Hmm.” Ombre leaned forward in his saddle. “Are you turning into some sort of prophet, Brother Hersis?”
“Prophet!” The monk laughed and led them beneath the city gates.
The white-and-gray city rose and stretched before them. The monk bade Ilfedo his best wishes in the coming days, then shuffled into the crowds filling the city sidewalks. People knelt as his Evenshadow trotted forward. From the horse’s back he gazed upon the throng, and strength flowed into his heart, giving him the will to face the council and guide it down the path he had chosen.
When he rode up to the castle-like residence of the mayor, he pulled his horse to a stop in front of the grand entry doors. The doors swung open, and a retinue of green-clad house servants and guards marched out. They helped Ilfedo off his horse, did the same for Ombre, and ushered them up the steps and into the hall.
Vortain stepped into the hall, and, raising an eyebrow, he bowed to Ilfedo. He was attired in a cream-and-red suit, resplendent with a gold collar and cuffs. His long blond hair flowed over his shoulders. Ilfedo had to admit that this man knew how to present himself. “Lord Ilfedo, it is both a surprise and an honor to receive you into our city. I trust your journey into Resgeria was successful, and the Living Fire is secure—”
Ilfedo felt the need to keep the man off balance, so he eyed him up and down.
Vortain’s eyes narrowed. “You have come to evaluate me, or to meet with the council?”
“Yes, Vortain, to both. For I sense a wariness in your posture, but have no fear. What I have come to do will require your cooperation.”
The man bowed low and ushered Ilfedo through the mansion and into the long dining room. Several doors opened along the wall opposite the large windows that looked over the gardens and the city, and uniformed men carried in silver platters of food.
Vortain whispered something to a man standing beside the door. The man nodded and rushed out. “The council will assemble soon, my lord.” Vortain bowed again to Ilfedo. “Is there anything you wish to discuss first with me?”
“No, but thank you, Mayor. I wish you to remain with Lord Ombre and me until the other councilors arrive.” Ilfedo sat at the head of the table and gestured for the man to do likewise.
As the mayor sat, Ombre remained standing next to Ilfedo.
“My lord, this meeting will be pleasant?” Vortain asked.
“If you allow it to be.” Ilfedo did not meet the man’s gaze until he chose to, then he looked straight into Vortain’s eyes. “The search for a new land is about to begin in earnest. I desire nothing less than your full cooperation. More than that, I know how strongly you oppose this decision, yet I expect your full backing.”
Vortain leaned forward, hands on the thick table. “My lord, I will stand by you so long as you are lord of this land. But if you move elsewhere—”
“You have a tongue that needs taming, Vortain.” Ilfedo remained in his seat, though he desired to cross the room and shove the man out of it. He decided to unnerve him instead. “You put your rank in society, your position as mayor, and your seat on my council in jeopardy when you pull yourself from under my authority. By hinting at an end to my station as Lord Warrior, you tread the very edge of treason.”
The man did not retort, nor did he appear disturbed by Ilfedo’s words. He smiled instead.
“I value you, Vortain.” Ilfedo shook his head. “I value your cool. I value your counsel concerning domestic affairs. Yet when it comes down to it, you would rather see me gone. And for that I am watchful of you.”
Ombre strode across the room and gazed upon Vortain. “Do not seed any more dissension. Your Lord Warrior will give commands and you … you will follow his orders and wishes until he dies of old age.”
“Well, I must say this is a strange moment for me.” Vortain glanced from Ombre to Ilfedo and back again. “Is liberty of mind and freedom of choice to be removed from the equation? Do you value a militaristic state over the support and affirmation of a people who love you, Ilfedo? For they do love you, but if you force them to do this thing—if you force us to leave behind everything we have known and fought to protect—then you are no longer our protector but our dictator. If that is what you want, then speak of it to me.” He swept his hand over the table. “Do not address issues that have not yet arisen. Instead, be the leader you were asked to be.”
“Why, how dare you—” Ombre grabbed the mayor’s collar.
But Ilfedo stood and stopped him. “He is right, Ombre.” He punched the tabletop. “Though I hate to admit it, he is right. What kind of leader do I want to be? Vortain has today done what I have said I value in him. He has given me an honest evaluation. He is being the counselor I long ago asked him to be.” Ilfedo stode across the room, then bowed to the mayor as Ombre backed off. “Vortain, I beg your forgiveness. Though I disagree with your opposition to relocation, I value your strength of will. I will not stand in the way of your choices. They are between you and God.”
The mayor rose from his seat and knelt. He gazed at the floor. “I have never been more proud to call you my Lord Warrior than I am at this moment. I fully accept your apology.”
For a while the three men shared an awkward silence, then Vortain roused a smile and called in the servers. Food soon filled the table, and the three sat to eat together.
Before long the missing councilors paraded into the room. They seated themselves around the table, and Ilfedo told them of his trip to the Hidden Realm. He described in detail the city of Dresdyn, then the pyramids leading into the Hidden Realm and the cathedral. He told them of Cromlin and how that creature had so easily slain the mighty black dragon. Then he paused to catch his breath. “My lords,” he said, “I must return to Dresdyn and free those people, then bring them home.”
Vortain rose from his seat and bowed. “My lord, with respect, at our last meeting you told us to prepare for an exodus. Yet now you propose adding to our population, significantly.”
“As your Lord Warrior, I have made this decision,” Ilfedo said. “And as Lord Warrior I stand by it. In the meantime, our search for a suitable new land will continue.”
A short councilor by the name of Horvin cleared his throat. “Continue? How long has the search been underway?”
Vortain closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, then looked at his fellow councilors. “My lords, Ilfedo chose to search for this Key of Living Fire instead of spending his efforts in search of a land suitable for settlement. Do you see the conflict that troubles me? Our Lord Warrior has become a man of varied goals—goals which do not meld with the future of his people.”
“Vortain, take your seat.” Ilfedo let his voice fill with authority as he pointed at the man. “You know nothing of what I have done. Listen and you will soon learn that I am not as inept as you purport. Lord Ombre is here to report on the first expedition to find a land for resettlement. An expedition that was undertaken at my request to further the needs of our people while I searched for the Key of Living Fire.”
Ombre then related how he, Caritha, and Oganna had journeyed west in search of a new land. After detailing for them everything except the Palm of Heaven, he said, “We have now eliminated northern and western territories as options for resettlement, unless we search farther. I have proposed, and Lord Ilfedo agrees, that we should next sail across the Sea of Serpents. There must be territories beyond the sea, and if there are, in all likelihood some of them will be suitable for human habitation.”
The councilors looked at one another, then at Ilfedo. He could see the query in their eyes. And he didn’t blame them for their fears. The sea seemed to have been tamed. The sea serpents had not returned to the Hemmed Land’s shores after he’d slain the monstrous king of those creatures. But the fishermen still kept within sight of the shore. They had yet to press farther into the unknown waters where other serpents might still exist. To make matters worse in the council’s eyes, only a single ship out of all the vessels in the Hemmed Land was capable of making such a brave journey. The Maiden Voyage was large enough to withstand a storm on the open sea, and her captain was just the sort of man who would jump at the chance to put out her sails.
Discussion broke out as to whether the Maiden Voyage should be risked so early in her career, but Ilfedo raised his hand. The table chatter died and he spoke. “A small band of soldiers should be attached to the Maiden Voyage, to ensure the safety of the crew if they encounter a hostile force.”
“My lord,” said another man, “you will need volunteers for such a mission. We cannot order people to risk their lives on this venture.”
Ilfedo raised his hand for silence as the chatter rose. The table quieted, and he dreaded the announcement he had to make, for though he could think of no one he’d rather send, he would rather keep the Warrioresses close. The councilors would be overjoyed to know that the sisters were going, but he couldn’t help feeling as if he was saying good-bye for a long while to five women whom he deeply loved.
It was two days after the council meeting. Night shadows stole through the thick stone walls of Gabel Castle as Caritha tiptoed along a beam spanning the moat. The sliver of a crescent moon lent its light to that of the stars above. She hugged an oblong package to her chest and glanced at the water beneath her. Her tears dribbled on the water’s surface, and she blinked her eyes.
She stepped down on the other side of the moat and glanced into the shadows. Only one guard stood watch, yet he kept his hands busy carving a block of wood and his sword relaxed at his side as he sat on a bench. She crept past him, walking between heaps of unfinished building stones, wood planks, and tools. The cylindrical base of the keep stood behind the materials.
She hardly glanced at the tall structure, instead making her way to the doorway in the keep’s base. As she stepped inside and drew her rusted sword from beneath the folds of her skirt, the blade glowed orange. The modest light painted the high wall of stone and the columns that buttressed it, as well as the broad stone steps leading into the darkness above.
Climbing the stairs took a lot of energy, for the stairway proceeded up fifty feet before leveling off in a chamber. Another stair rose on the room’s opposite side. She walked up to it and knelt. With one trembling hand, she pulled the oblong package from under her cloak and laid it on the floor. She opened its box top and gazed upon the beautiful sword laid therein, then drew an envelope from her pocket.
Her tears fell on the envelope, and the sword glowed softly. She pricked her finger on a needle and held her finger over the envelope. Her blood dripped off her finger, pooling on the envelope with her tears. When she lifted her finger, she closed her eyes and the wound very gradually healed. She breathed heavily and gripped the nearby steps. Her vision blurred as she touched her sword to the envelope, half-closing her eyes, focusing on what she wanted to accomplish. The blade touched her pooled blood and tears, sizzling. When she removed her sword from the envelope, a seal had formed.
She wrapped the envelope around the sword’s handle, tied it with a ribbon, and closed the package, sliding it under the step where no one would find it. “God be with you, my love,” she whispered. She ran to the stair and descended to ground level.
The Warrioresses waved from the deck of the Maiden Voyage as the wind snapped her sails and turned her into the waves of the Sea of Serpents. Ilfedo stood on the wharf, a mere few feet away from the ship’s deck. Caritha waved to Ombre and bit her lip. Then she let out a little cry and ran across the deck toward Ilfedo, an envelope held in her upraised hand.
“Take this, Brother!”
The ship lurched a couple of feet farther, and he reached out, snagging the envelope from her grasp as she held a rope and swung herself back to the ship’s deck. “Are you certain you wish to go?” Ilfedo glanced at Ombre, then back at her. “We could start by making a southern search, instead.”
“If we find what we are looking for, we will return quickly,” she shouted back. “But if not—”
“Do not risk your lives in this endeavor.” He pointed at the mass of people along the sun-bathed seashore. “They need you … and I need you. We will wait for your return. If you find this dragon, then good. If not, then return to us swiftly.”
Oganna ran up beside him and blew a kiss to the women. The Warrioresses waved back, Caritha and Evela blowing kisses in return.
The captain of the vessel shouted, “Heave to! To lands unknown for our country and our kin! We will return.” His voice laughed over the water as the Maiden Voyage’s hull cut a wave and she pulled east toward the broad horizon of blue. A single white cloud hovered high in the sky as the ship’s crew shouted their jubilation.
Ilfedo watched the ship shrink into the distance. The people on shore cheered four times, and their chatter filled his ears. But as the sisters became waving specks on the rolling sea, he hugged Oganna to his chest and hung his head. “I pray I have done the right thing, my daughter. I pray I have not sent them into peril.”
“Someone has to do it.” She leaned her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around him. She smelled like flowers in springtime. “Farewell,” she whispered across the water.
The End
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Sword of the Dragon story has only begun! There will be four more books in this series; a series that I have been working on now for about seven years. I’ve become attached to the characters and the places. I’m both ecstatic about what is to come, and dreading a little bit what I must do to some of the characters in order to bring about the conclusion to this series.
Thanks to the people at AMG/Living Ink Books for their continued support of this series.
I would like to thank my ever-supportive wife, Kelley, for continuing to have faith in me as I pursue a sometimes-difficult career. It has required a lot of sacrifice in time and money for us but God is blessing it.
My in-laws graciously allowed us to live with them for a while as my career launches. For their support I am forever grateful.
Thanks to all my wonderful fans! You have made this journey a lot more fun than it would have been alone. I look forward to giving you more imaginative tales. Don’t forget you can keep updated regarding the series via my website www.TheSwordOfTheDragon.com And, if you have not joined the Facebook fan page, please do:
www.facebook.com/ScottAppleton.fans