Chronicles of the Four: The Complete Series

by Marissa Farrar

  Vehel and Orergon followed, side by side, both leading their ponies. They were lucky not to have lost Orergon’s mount in the sludge. Both men were unusually quiet, having been through a lot, and Dela hoped there would be no lasting consequences from what they’d experienced. She’d seen how much energy Vehel had given over to save Orergon, and she’d also seen how long Orergon hadn’t been breathing. She worried about them both. She needed them, and they needed each other. At some point along this journey, the four of them had become a unit.

  Her anticipation increased with every step that took her closer to the ridge. Soon they’d look down onto Drusga—The Valley of the Dragons. Would they see dragons for real, roaming around down there, content to live in the shadow of the fire mountain? Would they recognize her and somehow welcome her, or would they see her and the others as the enemy, and the group would find themselves with a far more dangerous fight on their hands?

  Warsgra reached the ridge first, mounting the crest to look down onto the valley.

  Dela picked up her pace, her mouth drying, her heart beating so hard she thought her chest might explode. What was he seeing? He had his back to her, so she couldn’t read his face, but then he turned to her and locked his gaze on her, and she still couldn’t read what he was thinking.

  “What?” she cried, breaking into a trot to reach him. “What is it?”

  She reached the edge and staggered to a halt. Exposed on the ridge, a wind buffeted them from the direction of the sea, and she had to push her hair away to prevent it tangling around her face. The sun was only moments from setting, sending long shadows down over the valley. The valley was huge, spreading into the distance, and, peeping through the hills on the other side of the gorge, she spotted the blue waters of the Lonely Strait.

  But none of those things were the reason her heart sank.

  Beside her, Orergon and Vehel also reached them and drew to a halt.

  “By the Gods,” Vehel exclaimed.

  Dela clamped her hand to her mouth, not knowing what to say.

  The valley was made of the same black volcanic rock as they’d just climbed, but it wasn’t pure black. Embedded into the rock were swathes of white—lines and circles, all intricately joined together.

  “Skeletons,” she breathed.

  They were looking down on numerous giant skeletons. From the shape of their massive heads, with their deadly, sharp teeth still in place, down to the long line of their tails. She could even make out the huge, delicate bones of their wings, the skin and tendons that held them together long since disintegrated.

  A strong hand wrapped around her fingers and she managed to tear her eyes away from the scene before her to see Warsgra looking down at her. “I’m so sorry, Dela.”

  She’d been expecting to find live dragons, but instead she saw only skeleton after skeleton of dragons as far as the eye could see. The rumors had been right. They had been wiped out all those years ago.

  The valley shimmered in her vision as her eyes filled with tears.

  “They’re all dead,” she managed, speaking past the painful lump that had formed in her throat. “Just like everyone has always believed. This whole thing has been for nothing.”

  What had she expected? That she really was someone different, that she’d be able to change Xantearos and bring everyone together? Why? Because she had strange dreams and a ring other people couldn’t touch. Because she’d been fed a pipedream by a Fae she’d only met for a matter of hours.

  She tugged her fingers from Warsgra’s grip and covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid. All of this, it’s been for nothing. I’m so sorry I put you all through this. By the Gods, we almost lost Orergon!”

  “It hasn’t been for nothing, Dela,” Orergon said. “It’s brought all of us together. You can’t say that it means nothing.”

  She shook her head, her face still in her hands. “That’s not what I meant. I thought I was going to be able to make a difference in the way everyone lives.” She lifted her face from her hands and gave a cold laugh. “I thought I might somehow be able to stop The Choosing. I thought there would be no more Passovers, and that we wouldn’t keep losing people the same way we lost Ridley and Layla and so many others.”

  “Maybe there’s still a way,” Vehel said, lifting his chin and looking out across the valley and the numerous dragon skeletons. “It might not be this way, but we can still try.”

  She shook her head. “How? Four voices among thousands. How is anyone going to notice us?”

  He fixed her with those pale blue eyes. “I don’t know, but we can try. It’s only over if we give up.”

  A sob escaped her throat. “But we have so many miles to travel to get home. We were already so far away from the south, and now we have to turn around and retrace our steps. There are so many dangers. What if one of us or more doesn’t make it?

  “Then we’ll keep fighting,” Orergon said, lifting his voice against the wind, “the same way we have on this whole journey, and we’ll take care of each other. It’s the only thing we can do.” He reached out and swiped the tears from her face with the pad of his thumb.

  She caught his hand and kissed his palm “Thank you, Orergon. Thank you, all of you. I’m sorry it was all for nothing.”

  “Stop saying that,” he chided.

  Warsgra’s deep voice suddenly sounded. “Hey. What’s that?”

  The Norc was looking down at the ground, a frown on his face.

  Dela sniffed. “What?”

  “It’s a rock. But it looks the same as the one in Dela’s ring.”

  “Dragonstone?” Her interest had been piqued, and her tears dried as quickly as they had arrived.

  Warsgra bent to pick up the stone, but he snatched back his hand, hissing air in over his teeth in pain. “Aye, that’s the same stone.” He held out his big hand to display the blisters already forming.

  Dela took a couple of steps to bring her at Warsgra’s side and looked down at the stone. It did look the same—black with red swirls, and shiny. She reached to the back of her neck and untied the leather cord, letting the ring drop into the palm of her hand. Then she knelt and held the ring beside the larger piece of stone on the ground. “Yes, it’s definitely the same.”

  Her heart thumped, her pulse racing. Everything else fell away around her—Orergon, and Warsgra, and Vehel. The surrounding fire mountains and even the valley filled with the massive skeletons of the long dead dragons. Somehow she knew this would be the turning point, that when she picked up this stone and held it in her palm, everything would change.

  Dizzy with fear and anticipation, she scooped up the rock and cradled it in her hand.

  She held her breath, waiting, though she wasn’t sure what for.

  Still, nothing happened.

  She turned to look at the others, and they all gave a gasp of shock,

  “What?” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Dela, your eyes,” Vehel said.

  “They’re glowing red,” Orergon added.

  She lifted her hand, as though placing her fingers beside them would mean she could see them.

  “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t feel any different—”

  A sudden screech came from the distance, across the other side of the valley. She’d never heard a sound like it before, somehow ancient, bloodthirsty, and beautiful, all at the same time. It echoed around the valley, bouncing from the volcanic walls, sending her heart racing. She sensed the others tense, and Warsgra pulled his axe from its holder. The others followed suit, Vehel lifting his bow from his back and pulling an arrow from his quiver, while Orergon withdrew his spear and stood, one foot forward, preparing himself for attack.

  “Put the weapons away,” she said. “He mustn’t think we’re the enemy.”

  She held her breath, her gaze searching the skyline.

  The haunting screech came again, drawing her line of sight to the east.

  The dragon appeared, rising
from beyond the peaks, its great wings flapping slowly to lift its massive body higher. Its scales were an emerald green, but glinted blues and purples in the low light, like oil shining on the surface of a pond. Twin horns protruded from the top of its head, and spikes ran down the sides of its face, growing larger as they continued down its neck and back. Its long throat stretched out as it flew, its tail streaming out behind it.

  In her palm, the Dragonstone grew hotter, though it didn’t burn her skin. Instinctively, she knew if she handed the Dragonstone over to one of the others, their skin would rise in a blister within seconds. She could feel the others staring at her, and knew her eyes were burning bright with the power of the stone.

  Suddenly, the valley and the fire mountain vanished, and she was spiraling, her mind vanishing down a black hole. She was flying again, but instinctively she knew her feet were still on the ground. This wasn’t like before, where she felt like she was present in the moment. No, this time she was seeing something already gone by. These were the dragon’s memories she was witnessing, rather than flying with him and seeing through his eyes.

  Though they were a thousand miles away, on the other side of the country, she found herself looking down on her home city of Anthoinia. The streets were mapped out below her, a labyrinth of alleys and lanes. But the streets were not peaceful. No, it was chaos. People shouting. Families running and hiding.

  And in the city square, armies were being gathered.

  She saw it all from above, looking down, and understood exactly what it meant. News of what had happened in the Southern Pass had got back to King and Queen Crowmere. They knew the treaty had been broken, and now they were preparing for war.

  Dela’s eyes flew open, though she hadn’t even realized she’d shut them, and her fist unclenched. The Dragonstone fell from her palm and onto the blackened, rocky ground.

  Warsgra, Vehel, and Orergon stared, wide-eyed, between her and the dragon now swooping across the valley.

  The dragon landed in the middle of the valley, among the skeletons of his ancestors. Was he the last one, or were there more? He tucked his wings in, and then lifted his head high, stretching out his long neck, and when he opened his mouth, a billow of smoke and flames burst out.

  “What did you see, Dela?” Vehel asked, his voice breathy with amazement. “We know you saw something.”

  She turned to them, wishing she had different news to deliver. They’d done so much to bring her to this point, but she feared it simply wasn’t enough.

  “We’re too late to stop it,” she blurted.

  Orergon frowned at her. “To stop what?”

  She looked between them all, taking in the sight of each of their expressions—worried, anxious, and a little hopeful, though that hope was misplaced. She cared about each of them and feared for what lay ahead.

  “The Second Great War,” she said eventually. “It has already begun.”

  With a Dragon’s Heart

  Chronicles of the Four

  Book Two

  Marissa Farrar

  Chapter One

  Dela

  DELA STONEBRIDGE STOOD on the ridge of the fire mountain, looking down into the Valley of the Dragons. The sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting a fiery glow across the sky. Below her, the valley was made up of black rock, the white skeletons of long-dead dragons embedded into the surface.

  This was the place the dragons had come to die. But not all of them. One such creature sat before her. His magnificent wings were tucked into his huge body, his long neck stretched toward them, his red eyes bright with curiosity.

  Are there others? Dela wondered. Or is he the last?

  At her feet lay the Dragonstone she’d dropped after becoming overwhelmed with images of the beginning of the Second Great War.

  She bent and picked it back up, clutching the smooth, black and red rock in her palm, its warmth pressing into her skin. If any of the other three people with her tried to hold it, the stone would burn them. But not her. No, she was a Dragonsayer—one of the few able to communicate with dragons. She still had no idea what that meant for her, or for the future of Xantearos, but someone who could harness the power of dragons would be the one to control the direction of the world.

  Dela didn’t want war, but over the last few weeks she’d learned the price for peace had been too great. The other races had been repressed, and wealth had been hoarded in her home city of Anthoinia. King and Queen Crowmere might not have been the ones to create the Treaty, but they had continued with it, taking more gold and jewels from the other races, telling everyone the coal was needed to fire their furnaces and that they were helping the other races by giving them food in return. But in truth, this was only another way of keeping the populations of the other races small and not powerful enough to fight back. The Treaty had even taken away the Elvish’s right to do magic—an ability that was as old as they were.

  Dela had grown up believing this was just the way it should be, but her eyes had been opened now, and she’d never allow them to be shut again.

  The wind coming off The Lonely Strait—the ocean that lay beyond Drusga, the Valley of the Dragons—tore through her hair like angry fingers. The air brought with it the stink of sulfur, and smoldering heat and smoke rose from the rock they stood upon.

  She turned to the three men with her. Warsgra—the biggest of them all, a Norc, and a fierce fighter—stood, bare-chested in only his boots, the piece of leather around his waist, and his shoulder guards. Beside him was Orergon, the protector and hunter, and a Moerian with eyes as black as night. He was still covered in the sludge they’d almost lost him to on the journey up the side of the fire mountain, his brown skin barely visible through the black crust. And next to Orergon stood silver-haired Vehel, the bringer of magic, who had saved them all, but who had also started the Second Great War by doing so.

  Her heart wrenched. She cared for them all deeply, and the thought of them being divided by war tore her in two. There was the chance they would choose to leave her, to go back to be with their own people. Their own kind needed them now more than ever. Each were powerful fighters and leaders of their own kind. When did a race need their people more than during a time of war?

  Whatever else happened, she could never bring herself to fight against any of them. But what if they stood against her, and she refused to fight? Didn’t that mean she’d have failed before she’d even got started?

  Before them, the dragon rose to his scaly feet and extended his wings.

  “What’s he doing?” Orergon’s normally sure voice quavered with nerves.

  Dela shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

  “Can you ask him?” Warsgra shot her a glance.

  “I don’t know how. I don’t know how to control this yet.” She glanced down at the stone in her palm.

  The dragon suddenly seemed twice as big. His wings stretched wide then he gave a couple of experimental flaps. Black rocks and pieces of dragon bone scattered in the wind the creature’s wings created. The dragon lifted his head and shrieked, the sound ancient and mournful and terrifying, bouncing off the walls of the valley and echoing around them. A shiver ran down Dela’s spine in response.

  “I don’t like this.” Vehel took a step back.

  Dela tightened her fingers around the stone, hoping it would give her some insight into what the dragon was thinking. She willed herself to experience that same tumbling feeling, like plummeting into a black hole, only to wake inside the dragon’s head, but nothing happened.

  The dragon stretched out his long neck, revealing the intricate pattern of scales on the underside, a lighter color than the emerald greens and multi-faceted shades of blues and purples on the top of the animal’s body. He was truly beautiful and terrifying all at the same time.

  He opened his mouth and exhaled, sending a plume of red, yellow, and white flames into the darkening sky.

  Behind them, the ponies whinnied in fear, stamping their hooves and snorting hot air in their agitation.r />
  The dragon fixed them with his red gaze, and Dela’s heart raced.

  He lifted his wings and beat the air slowly but with great power, his massive body rising into the air. He seemed so much larger with his wings outspread, and, despite their span, Dela marveled how something of his size could even get airborne.

  “We should move.” Orergon grabbed her by the arm and took a couple of steps back.

  She shook him off. “No, it’s fine.”

  Warsgra had also backed away. “I don’t know, Dela. I think Orergon is right. He doesn’t look happy.”

  The dragon wouldn’t hurt her, would he? She’d felt so connected to the creature, as though she’d inhabited a part of his mind. Only now did it occur to her that the dragon might not appreciate the intrusion.

  But Warsgra was right, he didn’t seem happy now. The creature managed to stay in one spot, beating his wings to negate the weight of his body. His red eyes fixed on her, and fear shot through her veins like iced water.

  “Dela, do something,” Vehel called.

  She shook her head and widened her eyes. “I don’t know how.” She tightened her fingers around the Dragonstone, willing the searing heat to return, but nothing changed.

  The great beast’s wings flapped again, sending dust and dirt flying toward them. His massive chest swelled as he inhaled a deep breath.

  “Run!” Warsgra growled.

  He wrapped his fingers around Dela’s hand and yanked her away. Orergon and Vehel moved with them as they fled, running across the ridge, the drop precarious on the other side. A mighty spout of red, orange, and yellow flames erupted toward them. Behind them, the ponies whinnied. The group had long since lost their hold on the animals, and they galloped away, panicked, the whites of their eyes showing, their ears flattened against their skulls.

  The flames did not hit the area where they’d been standing but a little farther down the ridge face. That didn’t prevent them from feeling the heat from the fire, however. The blast of smoke and heat hit Dela from behind, throwing her forward.