by Bryan Davis
“In spite of the masks you wore during this solitary journey, you slowly grew into that courage, your muscles conforming to your inner strength, your skills matching your daydreams. Although I sat as a hermit in the archives, I watched you grow through official reports of your tournament victories, through your student records, and through your father’s occasional visits to my hermitage. More than one video tube featuring you has passed through my hands, so I was able to view you from afar, a lonely little girl blossoming into a strong, confident young woman.”
His lips trembling, he forced a smile. “Hear my parting counsel, Marcelle Stafford. Few are they who are willing to penetrate the protective shell you have created. They are not enamored with your muscles, your skill with a sword, your tournament victories. They love the lonely little girl still residing within and the woman she has become, the Marcelle without a mask.”
He clenched his fists. “Hold these people close to your heart. They are more precious than jewels. They are the ones who will abide with you forever, whether you gain a crown of victory or suffer the shame of defeat. Your real friends will never forsake you.”
Marcelle threw her arms around him and pulled him close. Biting her lip, she sobbed within, though no tears flowed. The warmth of his body seeped into her skin, casting off some of the chill and easing the spasms.
She drew back and looked into his tear-filled eyes. “Love has stripped away my shell—your love, Adrian’s, and even the strange love of a mysterious Starlighter. And I will be forever grateful for your patience with this mule-headed sword maiden who didn’t know when to lower her shield and put away her sword.”
Dunwoody reached behind her cloak, drew out her sword, and pressed the hilt into her hand. “And now is not that time, dear Marcelle. Now is the time to become the warrior the Creator made you to be. It is time to fight! It is time to sever the oppressive hands and claws of tyrants. It is time to break the shackles of slavery and lead the liberated to lands of peace that you have cleansed with fire.” He clasped her wrist firmly. “Go now. With the Creator at your side, no dragon or dark Starlighter will be able to stop you.”
She kissed him on the cheek, then, without another word, crawled through the hole in the rubble and into the pipeline tunnel. She withdrew a glow stick from her tunic pocket. After shaking it, she held it out in front, letting its yellow radiance wash over the dirt walls and floors as well as the waist-high pipeline to her left. As before, extane coated her tongue, a reminder of the task ahead. Magnar awaited, a king of the dragons who had likely been energized by the gas. Harnessing that power and turning him into a willing helper would be far from easy.
With a purposeful stride, she marched forward. Although puddles occasionally dampened the floor, and a rat or two scurried past, the journey offered no real obstacles, just time to ponder the past few event-filled days. Less than a week ago, her only concern was facing Adrian in the tournament finals. Would he fight? If so, could she hold her own against him? Although he had been chosen as Prescott’s bodyguard, no one really knew how good this peasant was with a sword. All she knew was that he was taller, more muscular, and faster. He had won the earlier rounds with ease, and even then he seemed to be holding back, as if not wanting to embarrass his opponents. The gentle warrior knew how to handle a hilt and a heart.
Since that day, her world had exploded. The laurel crown had withered into a peacock’s defrocked plumage, and her rivalry with Adrian had been exposed as a silly, pebble-slinging contest. The real world had slapped her in the face, dislodging the mask that had blinded her to the ugliness of the slavery in her midst. And now she wielded a sword in a tournament that crowned no victor and awarded no accolades to the one left standing. This was a battle whose champions fought on bended knee, servants to those shackled in chains.
As she neared the pipeline’s termination point, a shaft of daylight appeared in the distance. Apparently the scouts had followed instructions to dig an opening to allow her exit from the tunnel.
When she arrived at the hole, she touched a valve on the pipe and looked up. It seemed quiet on the surface. Maybe the scouts were resting. After all, it had probably taken quite a while to dig a hole so large and deep.
A crunching sound reached her ears, but not from above. It seemed to come from somewhere in the tunnel. She stepped back into the darkness and peered into the recesses, waiting for her eyes to adjust. No more sounds emanated. Could it have been a rat? The last time she guessed a rat as the cause of an unexpected noise, she lost the opportunity to rescue the children in the dungeon. But what could she do? Darkness favored a hidden assailant. It didn’t make sense to stay or to search for the source of the sound.
She climbed to the top of the pipeline and vaulted up through the newly dug hole. Now standing in the center of a forest clearing, she looked around. Picks and shovels lay on the ground in haphazard array, but no diggers showed their faces. Trees stood twenty paces in any direction, most at least sixty feet tall and so densely packed, the scouts could be lounging anywhere among them.
She looked at the dirt, still somewhat damp from the downpour a few days ago. Footprints gave evidence of all three scouts. Scuff and sliding marks led from a shovel to a dark space between two trees.
A low growl sounded from the gap. Marcelle whipped out her sword and set her feet in a battle stance. She peered into the trees, but nothing came to light. “Magnar?” she called.
Her voice bounced back, weak and thin.
“Magnar,” she called again, raising her voice, “you’ve made your presence known. What do you want?”
The growl returned, this time forming words. “I want passage to Starlight.”
She stared into the gap. Draconic eyes appeared along with a dark shadow behind them. “What did you do with our scouts?”
“They are unharmed, and they will remain so as long as you cooperate with me.”
Marcelle kicked the shovel toward him. “I am not the keeper of the portal. What makes you think that I can grant you passage?”
“You have traveled to my world and returned to yours. It is clear that you are familiar with the means to do so.”
Marcelle nodded. Magnar was no fool. Trying to outwit him might be a waste of time. She looked again at the discarded tools. This dragon had captured three soldiers bearing weapons. He was formidable indeed. Still, perhaps he had a weakness other than the soft spot in his underbelly. “Where is Arxad? Why aren’t you two together?”
The growl deepened. “That is not your concern. Conduct me back to Starlight, and all will be well for you and your fellow humans. Otherwise, I will kill you all and find my own way.”
She set a fist on her hip. “Well, if Arxad doesn’t trust you enough to bring you with him to Starlight, why should I? You might kill me as soon as I take you there.”
“I might kill you now and wait for your army to arrive. Those who have already passed through will make sure the portal is open for their soldiers.” A flash of fire erupted from Magnar’s snout, temporarily illuminating his scaly head. “If you want to save your life, I suggest that you decide to trust me.”
“The army will not enter Starlight except by my command, and I know how badly you need them there.” She pointed her sword at him. “So unless you wish to find a cave here in our world where you can retire from your kingly rule, you’d better do what I say.”
A ball of flames erupted and shot past her. “Foolish human! Do not play games with me! I am not a simpleton who is ignorant of deceptive rhetoric!”
Marcelle forced her facial muscles to stay relaxed. In spite of his bluster, Magnar stood in a poor negotiating position. She held the key to the portal, and he knew it.
A stinging pain radiated from her chest and spread to her arms. The scale seemed to dig into her skin, an odd sensation considering that she was little more than a shell of dirt. Maybe since the dragon scale came from Starlight, it could somehow incite a pain response. The same might be true of the truth-detecting crystals.<
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Her covenant with Arxad again came to mind. She had to honor her word and search for peace with this cantankerous dragon. “I apologize for my inflammatory posturing, and I will respect your wisdom and intelligence, rightful king of Starlight. We will honor your request to send an army to crush the usurper in your midst. I ask, however, that you do the same for us. A madman has seized control of Mesolantrum, and our ability to send an army to Starlight has been compromised by his seizing of power. I need you to depose him for us. That should be a simple task.”
“If it is a simple task, why can you not take care of it yourself?”
“I said simple, not easy. The complexity is low, but the difficulty is high. Maelstrom is a Starlighter who can absorb power from his opponents, but dragon fire can destroy him. So for a dragon such as yourself, it should be a simple matter. Blast him with fire and be done with it.”
“You know so little.” The sharpness in Magnar’s words faded. “A male Starlighter has not been seen in our world in centuries, and I have never seen one myself. We have only legends, but they are dark tales. His power enabled the humans to enslave dragons in the first place.”
“All the more reason to help us.” Marcelle propped the sword against her shoulder. “Don’t think Maelstrom will stop at conquering my world. As long as he knows there is a portal to yours and a way for his slaves to escape, he will soon be knocking on your door with an unfriendly army.”
“Your point is sound, but one fact of history has escaped your reasoning. Whenever a despot is removed, if there is no preserving force in the land, another despot will take his place. If I help you depose Maelstrom and then leave with your army, you will return to find a new slave master, perhaps one even crueler and more powerful. Peace must be established through constant vigilance by a firm, benevolent monarch. That is how I maintained my rule for so long.”
Marcelle shook with rage. “Benevolent! How dare you! Your whips and chains have scarred my people and—”
“Your people!” Magnar roared, his head now protruding from the trees. “Your people cruelly enslaved mine. I am benevolent to dragons and dragons alone, and I will not be cowed by your insolent anger. Either do what I say or …” His eyes suddenly grew wide.
“Or what?”
Magnar spat out a fireball, then jerked his head back into hiding. The fireball zipped past Marcelle’s ear. A scream erupted behind her. She spun, swinging the sword with her momentum. Her blade crashed against another. A tall, muscular soldier in a Tarkton uniform stood at the other end of the opposing sword. With their blades locked, she backpedaled and allowed him to advance, giving her a better view of the hole to the pipeline. A man knelt at the edge engulfed in flames, while others poured out of the opening one by one, each with a glow stick attached to his orange-and-black sleeve.
With a powerful leap, she flipped backwards, kicking at her opponent’s wrist as she sailed. When she landed on her feet again, the Tark scrambled on the ground for his sword while at least ten other Tarkton soldiers faced her, all with swords drawn.
A graying man wearing officer’s stripes stepped to the front of the line, a sword in hand—a dark-bladed viper. “Drop your weapon,” he ordered.
Marcelle stood with the soldiers between her and the pipeline, her back to Magnar’s hiding place. They had to be wondering where the fire came from. Would the unpredictable dragon do anything more to help her?
She lowered the sword’s tip to the ground. “Why should I drop it? Aren’t you here to go to Dracon to battle the dragons and set the slaves free?”
“That expedition has been canceled.” The officer pointed the black blade at her. “Captain Reed is in custody, as is your father. If you refuse to surrender, they will be killed.”
Hiding a swallow, Marcelle sidestepped. With each shift of position, the soldiers facing her shifted as well. They seemed frightened, perhaps hearing about her prowess, or, more likely, hearing rumors about her sorcery. “What do you want me to do? Go back through the pipeline to the palace?”
“That’s the shortest route to the dungeon,” the officer said, “which is where you’ll be staying for a very long time. Since we can’t seem to burn a sorceress, we’ll see if Leo’s crystalline rope will hold you.”
She continued her slow sideways walk. “How did you figure out where I was going? Leo doesn’t even know I’m alive.”
“Captain Reed told your plan to an officer who was more devoted to Leo than to him. It was an easy matter to follow you from the false wall in the dungeon’s lower level.” The Tark’s angular face hardened. “It seems that the captain’s disloyalty to Governor Leo has returned to him.”
Now at a ninety-degree angle with respect to the pipeline hole and the forest, she glanced at the trees where Magnar hid, but he wasn’t in sight. “Speaking of loyalty, as an officer of Tarkton, sworn to uphold our good king’s principles, surely you don’t support aiding a usurper. Leo doesn’t have the king’s best interests in mind.”
“Sometimes we have to sacrifice principle for the greater good.” He stepped closer and pressed the viper’s point against the tip of her nose. With his arm extended, three square patches, two gold and one silver, were easy to see. “I will not be lectured by a sorceress. Leo warned me about your beguiling ways.”
“Is that so?” Unblinking, she met his gaze, using the blade to lock their stares. “While we’re on the topic of loyalty, have you wondered why Leo sent you on this mission instead of going himself?”
As his brow bent, he lowered the sword. “Just get into the hole.”
Walking more quickly, she sidestepped over the smoldering body and set her heels at the edge of the hole. “Aren’t you wondering how your fellow soldier ignited so easily?”
“No one is surprised by what a sorceress can do.” The officer and the other Tarks now faced her with their backs to Magnar’s refuge. “If you try it again, we have enough of us here to remove your head, and I swear to do so even while in flames.”
Magnar slowly emerged from between two trees and unfurled his wings, completely silent in his movements.
“Remove my head?” She counted the stripes on the officer’s sleeve. “Are you a captain, and yet you believe such superstition? Do you really think I have the power to create fire?”
He pointed at the smoking body with his sword. “How else would you explain this?”
Magnar, now in full flight, hurtled toward them, his mouth opening and a firestorm pouring forth.
“You’re about to find out.” She stepped back and dropped into the hole. When her feet struck bottom, she looked up. A torrent of flames shot over the opening, some tongues dipping into the tunnel. Screams erupted. The extane-drenched air sparked and sizzled. Sparks landed on her clothes, but she batted them away before they could catch.
After a few seconds, the fire died away. The screams ebbed to gasps and grunts. Marcelle climbed to the top of the pipe again and leaped out. Burning bodies lined the edge of the hole. Smoke drifted her way, carrying the foul stench of roasting flesh. Magnar sat on his haunches, his brow low and his eyes aflame.
She bowed her head. “Thank you.”
“Trust me,” Magnar said, a hint of a smile forming, “burning those fools was my pleasure.”
Marcelle looked toward the palace. “Now we have to set our officers free.”
“We?”
“Of course.” She waved her sword at him. “Do you think I can invade the palace and subdue the usurper and his supporters by myself?”
Magnar swung his neck, aiming his eyes away. “I have lost my patience with the human chattel. It is clear that they cannot be trusted to stand with us. Even if an army were to join our cause, they might turn against us after the battle is won.”
Her fists tight, Marcelle strode around until she could face him again. “I’m standing with you. Don’t you trust me?”
He drilled his scowling stare into her. “Why should I? You are standing with me only to acquire something for yourself. Once
you use me to unseat your usurper and raise your army to set your fellow humans free, you will have no incentive to help me and my cause any longer. Without self-motivation, humans cannot be trusted to do anything. ”
“That shows how little you know about humans.” She pulled her collar down, stretching it enough to expose a portion of Arxad’s scale. “Do you know what this is?”
Magnar drew his head close to her chest and sniffed. “Arxad’s?”
She released the collar, letting it snap back in place. “I made a covenant. I pledged to help unseat your usurper no matter what.”
Magnar’s scowl wilted. “I assume that it is painful.”
“Enough to remind me of my promise. I am glad to endure it.”
Closing his eyes, Magnar bowed his head. “Very well. I agree to help you.”
Marcelle reached out to caress his cheek, but quickly jerked away. No use pushing his acquiescence beyond his boundaries. “Thank you, Magnar. I am very grateful.”
He opened his eyes, revealing reddish pupils that pulsed like a beating heart. “What do you suggest that we do?”
She scanned the forest. “First, where are the scouts?”
“Hiding somewhere behind where I sat a moment ago. They are still nearby. I can smell them. I assume their loyalty was sufficient to keep them from fleeing.”
Marcelle cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. “Scouts! Hear me!”
Within seconds, a soldier in a Mesolantrum uniform strode into the clearing and bowed. “I apologize, Marcelle. The dragon—”
“Never mind. Just listen. I will lead you to the portal, and you can report to Randall that we will return with troops as soon as possible. Understood?”
The scout nodded. “Understood.”
Thrusting her sword into its scabbard, Marcelle turned to Magnar. “After we lead the scouts to the portal, take me to the palace. We will strike directly.”