by Bryan Davis
Randall carried her into the dungeon. Orion leaned to the side, watching for a moment, then turned and hurried along the path.
Marcelle glanced around. The archers were gone. She could take on the bodyguard without a problem.
Shedding her cloak, she drew her sword in the same motion, making sure to keep the blade quiet. The bodyguard emerged from his hiding place and followed Orion. Glancing in every direction, he seemed nervous. Apparently the presence of dragons had everyone on edge.
Marcelle tiptoed out of the forest. Obviously her footfalls would eventually alert the guard, but she could at least get close enough to lunge when he finally heard her sounds.
As she neared, the guard slowly withdrew his sword, his eyes trained on Orion. Marcelle gulped. The guard wasn’t listening for her; he had another target in mind.
Just as the guard reared back to slice Orion’s neck, Marcelle hissed, “Orion!”
He spun and ducked under the swinging blade. Charging, Marcelle thrust her sword into the bodyguard’s back. As he arched his body, she pressed close and covered his mouth with her hand, stifling a shout. When he collapsed, she jerked the blade out and kept her head low, hoping the darkness would conceal her face.
His mouth dropping open, Orion stammered. “You … you saved my life.”
“It seems that conspiracies abound,” she said, trying to disguise her voice. She stooped and wiped her blade on the dead man’s tunic while watching Orion out of the corner of her eye. “I think you owe me.”
“Of course. Of course. Anything you ask.” He squinted at her. “Who are you?”
“Anything?” She rose and pointed the sword at him. “Don’t make a sound, or you’re dead.”
He stiffened, then nodded. She guided him deep into the forest and shoved him to the ground, driving his face into the dirt. With the sword again pricking his back, she nudged his ribs with the toe of her boot. “I assume you heard about the missing dungeon prisoners.”
As his cheek pressed against the ground, his visible eye rolled toward her. “Marcelle! How is it possible?”
“That I survived the execution?” She laughed. “Your schemes are falling apart, aren’t they?”
“Then you are a sorceress! When I tell Leo—”
“I’m not a sorceress, and you’re not going to tell Leo or anyone else.”
“What are you going to do? Stab me in the back while I’m unarmed?”
“No.” She gave the sword a gentle push. “That’s something you would do.”
Orion winced under the blade’s sting. “I opposed you publicly, face to face, never in a dishonorable fashion.”
“Dishonorable? Was it honorable to set flame to the pyre before I began speaking? Was that in keeping with the spirit of your promise?” She scanned his body. What could she use for a gag? Ah! His socks. “You were kind enough to rescind Leo’s gag order, but I’m afraid I can’t reciprocate. Take your boots off.”
“What do you intend to do?”
She lifted the sword. “Just do it!”
“Very well.” He turned over, sat up, and slid his feet out of his boots.
Marcelle pointed with her sword. “Now your socks.”
“This is most unbecoming.” Orion peeled down his socks— dark purple and knee-length—and flung them on the ground next to Marcelle. “Satisfied?”
“Not yet.” She pressed the point of the sword under his chin. “Stand up.”
Orion rose slowly, swallowing as he looked cross-eyed at the blade.
Marcelle nodded toward a nearby tree. With leafy vines hanging from head-high branches, it would be perfect. “Pull down some of those vines.”
“It seems that you are inventing this scheme as you go.”
She scooped up his socks. “That’s what makes life exciting.”
He grabbed a vine and pulled. The upper end broke loose from a high branch and reeled down to a pile at his bare feet. “Now I suppose you want me to tie myself up.”
“As much as you can.” She pointed the sword at the trunk. “Stand there and hold the vine up to your chest.”
Scowling, he picked up the vine and stood with his back against the trunk, the vine under his armpits. She scampered to the other side, leaned her sword on the tree, and jerked the vine tight.
Orion let out a grunt. “If you intend to murder me by humiliation, you are well on your way.”
“That would be too merciful.” She tied a secure knot. “The next step will be a dose of justice.”
“Justice?”
She stalked around the tree, keeping her eyes trained on him as she orbited, reeling out the vine and binding his arms to his side. “You kidnapped innocent children,” she said as she eased into a haunting tone. “You chained them to dungeon walls and stuffed dirty rags in their mouths to keep them from crying out. Giving them barely enough food and water to survive, you used them as insurance, a way to keep your posterior in power. You are the one practicing sorcery, for you bind the hearts of the valiant with a force greater than courage—the love of parents for their offspring. Like a sorcerer, you transformed that love into shackles and emasculated fathers; you ripped the hearts out of mothers, and you made the world a living hell for souls who should be playing with dress-up dolls and clashing sticks in mock battle instead of choking on filthy rags, wallowing in their own waste, and silently crying out to the Creator asking why Daddy hasn’t charged to their rescue.”
The moment Orion’s mouth opened to respond, she pushed his socks inside and jammed them in so deeply, he gagged. His cheeks bulged, and his face reddened. He coughed and heaved, but the socks stayed put.
Finally shifting the socks enough to breathe, he glared at her, his eyes casting obscene insults.
Marcelle sheathed her sword. “You told me that the children were well cared for. Since this is your definition of that term, I assume you won’t complain.” She reached up and grabbed more vines. “Now to tie you more securely.”
After a few minutes, she had wound several vines around Orion and the tree, securing his arms more firmly and binding his legs. Then, brushing her hands together, she stood in front of him and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back slightly to admire her work. “Not bad for a sorceress who was burned at the stake, don’t you think?” She waved her hand. “No need to respond. It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full.”
She pivoted toward the dungeon. It was time to pay Randall a visit.
When she reached the forest edge, she looked at the gate leading to the maze. It was now closed, and Randall was nowhere in sight.
After glancing both ways down the path, she dragged the guard’s body into the forest underbrush, then hustled to the gate and peered inside. A draft wafted into the maze and then out again, carrying with it a slight rumble—dragon respiration. They were still in there, but where had Randall gone? Obviously he had to care for his mother, and he probably wouldn’t be able to find safe refuge for her in the palace. That meant a journey to a peasant commune, which would take a while. Also, dinnertime loomed. With the dragons locked up, Randall would have to find food for them. Dragons probably ate a lot, and keeping them satisfied wouldn’t be an easy job, especially since extane likely increased their metabolism.
She hurried back to the woods and stood in front of Orion. “Promise to keep your voice down, and I’ll relieve you of the gag.”
His face bright red, he nodded.
Marcelle reached in and withdrew the damp socks. After shaking them out, she pushed the ends into her trousers pocket and let them hang there. “Better?”
His scowl returned. “As if you cared.”
“I do care. I saved your life, didn’t I?”
“You did, but obviously for your own purposes.”
“True. I can’t deny it.” After retrieving her cloak and draping it over the ground, she lowered herself and sat cross-legged on the cloak’s edge near the pocket that held the mirror, keys, pencil, and parchments. “Try to relax. It might be a while
before Randall returns.”
As she sat, she pushed her hand into the pocket and caressed the mirror’s wood while gazing at the sky through the canopy above. Afternoon waned. Solarus was likely already setting. The palace’s banquet room would be filling with the residents and the usual parasitic freeloaders who invited themselves to the bounty. A few seats would be conspicuously empty—her own, her father’s, and the chair at the elevated table, Orion’s. With the governor absent, Maelstrom would have a prime opportunity to make sure the next backside to fill that seat was his own.
As the darkness of evening settled in, Marcelle refocused on Orion. “What was Leo doing the last time you saw him?”
He glared at her. “With such maltreatment from a witch, do you expect me to reveal what I know?”
She shot to her feet, whipped out her sword, making metal ring on metal, and pressed it against his throat. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
He looked down the blade, this time with less fear in his eyes. “I suspect that you will kill me whether I tell or not, so your histrionics will avail you nothing.”
“Allow me, then, to deduce his actions.” She slid the sword away. “After witnessing his power in the courtroom and his animosity toward you at my execution, I have been wondering about his absence since that time. Someone who publicly displays such power doesn’t usually go into hiding afterwards. Why would that be?”
“He is seeking witches. Such a hunt requires stealth.”
She laughed. “I know you don’t believe that. He is seeking something else, isn’t he? Because of your cowardly kidnappings, he found no military leaders willing to help him usurp you, but they are likely more than willing now that their loved ones have been restored. They went to him and conceived a plan to remove you from office. Leo has been scarce during recent hours because he has been plotting the assassination I saved you from. And since he secured military help in that plot, you have no hope of regaining your seat of power.”
Orion stayed silent, his face hardening.
Marcelle laughed again. “Why, Governor Orion, it seems that you should be expressing more thankfulness to your deliverer!”
He turned his head and looked away. “I didn’t need your deliverance. I was protected until you meddled in my affairs.”
“Protected? You mean you hid behind the skirts of imprisoned little girls.” She sat again, this time with her knees propped up. “My guess is that Maelstrom, or Leo, as you call him, is even now in the process of gaining control of the palace and more of the military. If I were to release you, I would be sending you to your death. It is in your best interests to cooperate with me.”
With his brow bent low, he fixed his gaze on her. “What is it that you want?”
“With Captain Reed on my side, I’m sure I can get a detachment sent to the dragon world, but in order to requisition supplies—”
A rustling sound filtered through the woods, moving from left to right toward the dungeon. Marcelle jumped up, jerked the socks from her pocket, and shoved them into Orion’s mouth. Grunting and blowing, he tried to expel them, but he soon gave up.
“Don’t go anywhere.” Marcelle followed the sound. Fortunately the noise masked her own footfalls, making stealth easy. When she reached the forest edge, Randall came into view, dragging a stag by its antlers up to the dungeon’s rear entrance.
Holding a bow over his shoulder, he dropped the stag, opened the gate, and called into the maze. “Come out. I have your dinner.”
After a few seconds, Arxad and Magnar emerged and stretched their wings and limbs. With the moon now casting its glow, their scales shimmered as if aflame in white and yellow.
Marcelle crept closer on hands and knees, hoping to hear. They would likely keep their voices quiet.
Randall nodded toward the stag. “I didn’t have much time, so I have only this one. I hope it’s enough.”
“Thank you,” Arxad said. “It will be sufficient.”
Magnar extended his neck, bringing his head close to Randall. “I heard some of your conversation with the new governor, but you intentionally kept your voices low during much of it. What were you hiding?”
“I kept my voice down for Orion’s sake. I’ll tell you everything I know.”
While Randall spoke, Magnar opened his maw and clamped down on the stag’s midsection, crunching the bones loudly and forcing Marcelle to sneak on her belly to continue listening. Fortunately, the breeze blew from their direction. They wouldn’t detect her scent. Still, even this close, most of Randall’s words were garbled, as if chewed and spat out by Magnar. His final statements, however, came through clearly.
“So Orion wants to send a small number of troops to see if our claims about your planet are true. He doesn’t want to leave Mesolantrum undefended.”
Magnar swallowed, spilling blood over his chin, and looked at Arxad. “You expected this offer. Is your counsel unchanged?”
With his gaze drifting toward Marcelle, Arxad nodded. “Any leader would have the same concern Governor Orion has. I urge you to take this opportunity to make peace with Darksphere’s rulers and fight our common enemy under these judicious terms. There is no reason to insist on your original plan.”
Marcelle closed her eyes to slits. If Arxad caught their gleam, he would know that a spy was in their midst.
“True,” Magnar said. “A scouting cadre of humans will report that we have told the truth. Yet surely Taushin realizes our plan by now. He could delay his ultimate weapon until he is certain all the forces against him have arrived.”
Randall raised a hand. “Hold on a minute. What ultimate weapon?”
While Magnar resumed his noisy eating, Arxad shifted his focus to Randall. “As you might expect, we would not request an army unless we anticipated great danger. Taushin hopes to unleash a weapon that will kill every human on Starlight, including invading forces from Darksphere.”
“What exactly is this weapon?”
“A hovering body of light we call Exodus. Taushin hopes to use Koren the Starlighter as its pilot to spread a disease that is always fatal to humans.”
Randall shook his head. “Koren wouldn’t do that. At least not intentionally. She’s on our side.”
Magnar swallowed again, sending a huge lump down his throat. “How little you know. Starlighters are unpredictable. Cassabrie and Zena proved that. Koren now wears the dark vestments and is doing Taushin’s bidding. I knew this could happen. That’s why I insisted on her execution, but Arxad, in his mercy, prevented me from averting this crisis.”
“Why didn’t you subdue Taushin?” Randall asked. “He’s blind, right?”
“Arxad hoped to keep Taushin free because he alone knew how to seal a hole in Exodus and make it rise. Implementation of that knowledge would allow the star to fill the atmosphere with pheterone, the gas you call extane. With pheterone abundant, we could release the slaves and send them home. We hoped to learn the secret for resurrecting Exodus, work out a way to implement it without spreading the disease, and then subdue Taushin before he implemented it himself. That is why we are here.”
“But you didn’t have a way to get here until you found the portal peg. This plan could never have worked without it.”
“I didn’t have a way to get here,” Magnar said. “Because of a curse, I am unable to pass our barrier wall to the north or the mountains to the south. If we had been unable to find the crystal, Arxad would have guided the human army through a portal that emerges in our world in the Northlands.”
Randall squinted at him. “A curse? What kind of curse?”
Arxad glanced Marcelle’s way, a hint of recognition in his eyes. “In our region of Starlight,” he said, “we have constructed a wall on three sides, which the slaves believe to be a way to keep them in. That is true to a point, but the wall, combined with a mountain range on our southern border, creates a barrier that keeps something out, as well. These borders have been the site of many battles, so in order to establish peace, Magnar agreed to a mutua
l exile for the kings of the opposing sides, and a curse is the sealing enforcement. Our king, Magnar, is unable to cross the barriers, and in exchange, our opponents are unable to enter. Not only that, the curse sent our opponents to a place of captivity we know little about, and their king has been separated from them for as long as the curse is in effect. Because of this agreement, we live at peace.”
“You have opponents that could threaten dragons?” Randall let out a whistle. “What kind of creatures are they? Another dragon species, or something else?”
Magnar slapped his tail on the ground. “Enough! We will talk no more of this. It is irrelevant to the matter before us.”
“Okay, okay!” Randall kept his eyes on Magnar, apparently deep in thought.
Marcelle focused on Arxad. He seemed to be staring right at her. If he knew she was watching and listening, why hadn’t he alerted the others?
“It’s all coming together,” Randall said, nodding, “except for one thing. How could a newly hatched dragon know a secret that no one else knew?”
Arxad broke away from his stare and looked at Randall. “I wondered that for centuries. We have a prophecy that foretold his ability, but we could only guess at how he would learn something no one else knew. Not even the king of the Northlands knew. He told me so himself.”
“Do you know now?” Randall asked.
“We have a theory. Zena used another Starlighter’s finger to communicate with Taushin while he was yet in the egg. That Starlighter, Cassabrie, was powerful, and even in death it is clear that her body radiates the mysteries of Starlight. Through a single finger, she might have communicated to Taushin the key to sealing Exodus.”
Randall shivered. “How do you know her body is powerful in death?”
Arxad looked at Magnar, apparently seeking approval.
Nodding, Magnar heaved a wave of sparks that floated upward with the heated air. “We have told him everything else.”
“We also have an ultimate weapon,” Arxad said. “We have preserved Cassabrie’s body. If we could restore her spirit to her body, we would have the more powerful of the two Starlighters. Cassabrie would be a force Taushin could not overcome, even with Koren fully on his side.”