The Mark Of Iisilée

by T P Sheehan

  “If it were you it would be a tragedy,” Jael spoke without hesitation. Eamon thought she was making a point as sharp as her eyes. Austagia was always her true teacher, he thought. Austagia nodded. No more, apparently, needed to be said on the matter.

  “We should return Joffren’s body to the Romghold for cremation,” Austagia suggested.

  “Is he worthy of it?” Jael said, crossing her arms.

  Eamon could see her point. Then again, Joffren had given his life to the priesthood—even if his final deeds were questionable.

  “For the most part, I think so.” Austagia spoke Eamon’s mind. Austagia kissed a closed fist then opened it, placing a palm on Jael’s forehead. Eamon smiled. A wave of nostalgia for the order passed through him. Austagia’s gesture was a customary show of accord among priests. He remembered doing the same to Joffren when proud of his Semsarian’s accomplishments. Eamon was quick to clear the thought. He relit his pipe.

  “If Joffren is to return to the Romghold, I shall take him,” Eamon said. “Perhaps Färgd could assist me with this.” He needed to be sure Marsala was okay after her altercation with Joffren. Then, Färgd willing, he would accompany Joffren to the Romghold. A trip here would serve two purposes. Firstly, Eamon wanted to assess Magnus and Catanya’s secret mission to return to the Romghold and confront the High Priests. The danger this posed had plagued Eamon since they left and yet, after the attempt on Magnus’s life, no other could be trusted for support. As much as Austagia and Färgd had worked hard to establish order among the dragons and priests, Eamon knew the time would come where they would head home to the Romghold. He wanted to be there to support Magnus and Catanya when they did.

  The second purpose to Eamon’s trip was one suggested by Catanya when last he saw her—‘Make the journey to the temple… leave the fire-sword and with it, the priest who once was Steyne… perhaps if Joffren is well enough he can accompany you and together you can reach a mutual understanding…’ Catanya’s words were of such wisdom at the time. He yearned for the closure, but it was to be a bitter journey with Joffren deceased. We never will reach a mutual understanding…

  “I’m sure Färgd would be honoured. Are you happy to return to the Romghold?” Austagia asked.

  “Aye. All things considered.”

  Austagia nodded. “When do you think you will arrive?”

  “A day to Thwax. I need some time there, then two more days to the Romghold. Färgd will no doubt favour an approach from the east.” Eamon knew Färgd called the east coast his home and a coastal approach would be more discrete than most others.

  “The scouts will return to Ba’rrat within a day, giving me time to square things away here in Ba’rrat.” Austagia looked to Jael. “We have to assume the Quag are spread throughout the Caves of Cuvee. With unknown exits throughout the Realms’ southern borders, we’ll soon need to run scouts all along the Southern Plains.” Jael nodded in agreement. Austagia looked again to Eamon. “Several Ferustirs will remain here in Ba’rrat for the time being. I’ll return with the others to the Romghold.”

  Eamon blew a steady stream of smoke from his nostrils again as he considered Austagia. Magnus and Catanya were well on their way to the Romghold now and so, he felt it was time to reveal their intentions.

  Eamon asked to speak in confidence with Austagia and immediately sensed the priest knew he was about to learn something he would not like.

  “Alone? You sent them to the Romghold alone?”

  “Austagia, it was not of my doing. The Electus chooses to confront those who would have him dead. Joffren shared the knowledge with Magnus that the High Priests take refuge in the Temple of Fire under guard of spell and dragon.”

  “What exactly do they think they will do when they get there?” Austagia appeared visibly shaken which did nothing to appease Eamon’s lingering doubts about letting Magnus and Catanya go alone.

  “In Magnus’s words—‘see them repent or fall’.” The words sounded grandiose to Eamon—much more so than when Magnus said them. Austagia looked ready to spit words of bitterness but Eamon got in first. “Think about it, Austagia. When these words were spoken, Magnus had just survived his most vicious attack since entering Ba’rrat. Yet it was not the Quag who attacked, nor Delvion, nor black wyverns, but your brethren, who were sworn to protect him… and a dragon!” Eamon knew he was shouting, but they were words of truth that needed to be said. “This followed an assassination attempt on Catanya’s life—the most precious thing in Magnus’s world—by the same order. All things considered, there was no more sane thing he could have done.”

  Austagia still looked shaken, but seemed to be seeing the bigger picture. “I see reason—I do. But it does not change the fact that even if they could get near the High Priests, they are dealing with something so beyond their understanding it will almost certainly lead to their end.”

  A long pause of silence passed between Eamon and Austagia. It was Austagia who broke the silence. “They will have the advantage of surprise. The High Priests won’t be expecting them.”

  Eamon agreed. “This was Magnus’s intention.”

  “And if others of my order learned of their intention, there would likely be another assassination attempt.”

  “Again, something Magnus foresaw.”

  “It seems he set forth with reason. Angry… Naïve… but with reason.” Austagia shook his head. “We need to get there as soon as we can, Eamon.”

  “Very well, then.”

  Austagia was pacing, rubbing his chin. “Something is bothering me with this scene—the High Priests under guard of dragons. I wonder, under what pretence do the priests have dragons standing guard over them?”

  Eamon had no answer, but figured Austagia was about to work it out for himself.

  “Did Magnus say which dragons they were?”

  Eamon thought on the matter and then shook his head. “No… no I do not recall him saying so.”

  “Liné.” Austagia stopped his pacing. “Liné remained in the Romghold. She is with child. In her condition, her younger sister—Rubea—is likely to be in her company.” Austagia’s eyes widened and he drew a sharp breath. It was emotion Eamon had rarely seen in the priest. “The High Priests play custodian of a dragon’s egg unto such time the mother wishes for it to hatch.”

  Eamon realised what Austagia was getting at. “If the High Priests hold the egg as collateral in trade for their protection…”

  Austagia shook his head. “No. They would not be so stupid. Such folly would undermine all confidence in our order.”

  “You do not think they have it in them?” Eamon barked. “The same High Priests who sent your brethren here to kill the Electus?”

  Austagia let out a long, exasperated sigh. It was a sigh of letting go, of finally acknowledging a truth, and of something else—“I know then where Brue is.” Austagia anxiously kneaded the knuckles of a fist into the palm of his other hand, looking about the room, as if for a more desirable answer. He finally turned hesitantly to Eamon. “He is in the Romghold.”

  Eamon swallowed hard. “For why, Austagia, for why?”

  “He is the father of Liné’s unhatched child.”

  The pieces fell together in Eamon’s mind. “Brue is driven spare with protective instinct. Enough to follow through on a promise—to kill Magnus for the life of his child!”

  A deafening silence fell between them.

  “This is why Brue tried to kill the Electus,” Austagia said.

  “He was blackmailed.”

  “No doubt, with Thioci’s death as a catalyst, for Brue was also his father.”

  “I see,” Eamon was beginning to see the full picture. “The High Priests convince Brue that Magnus is responsible for Thioci’s death. They hold the egg, employing the deception that they’re protecting it from Magnus, and then—”

  “You have a fire dragon thirsty for revenge for the death of his son and now…” Austagia provided conclusion to their deliberations. “And now Magnus and Catanya ente
r the Romghold where Brue will be waiting to kill them.”

  TRAX

  The training field was dark. Only the moonlight illuminated the field’s perfectly manicured grass. At its centre was a large, sleeping hulk of a creature—A dragon… Magnus expected as much, but his heart sank nevertheless. Beyond the field to the north was the Temple of Fire. Sure enough, as Balgur had told him, there were another two dragons. One stood to attention at the top of a set of wide stairs beside the doors of the temple while the other dragon perched on one of the temple’s steeples. This third dragon was the only one Magnus recognised—Brue…

  The Temple of Fire had four steeples as Catanya had described—two at the front and two taller ones at the rear. It was on one of the taller ones that Brue kept his vigil. His extraordinarily long tail spiralled down the tower, mirroring the curve of an equally long hornpipe that wrapped around a tall parapet. What struck Magnus most about Brue’s presence was his alertness. He was not at peace. He stood tall and rigid, turning his head about, taking in all the details of the night.

  Magnus sunk back behind the precipice, pulling on Catanya’s arm. She squatted beside him and studied his expression. “It’s a long way back,” she whispered, clearly seeing the dismay in his face.

  Magnus gave a weak nod. He slowly rose, peeping over the precipice for a second time. He eyed Brue and the other two dragons again before focussing on the Romghold’s layout. All was just like Catanya described. There were three buildings adjacent the temple. Across the common were the arrangement of small buildings—the priest’s accommodation, Magnus surmised. He glanced one more time at Brue before squatting beside Catanya again.

  “I recognise Brue atop the steeple. The other two?”

  “Liné is at the temple door. Rubea is asleep on the training field. You’ve met her before,” Catanya said. Magnus could not recall. “By the Nuyan River,” Catanya clarified. Magnus remembered. She was the dragon who carried Catanya away all those months ago. Catanya retied her laces then pulled on the tongues of her boots. “We have to get to the buildings before sunrise.”

  Magnus looked to the moon, which was beyond the Spindlefax constellation and into the Couldradt constellation, soon to disappear over the horizon. They had about two hours before sunrise. After that, they would be easily spotted by a dragon taking flight over the cliff face.

  “If we make a run for it—” Magnus snapped his mouth shut. Something was moving across the field above their heads. The thud of footsteps drew closer. Magnus winced. He could hear dragon scales sliding over each other like a hundred sharp blades gliding over sharpening stones. Magnus and Catanya pushed their bodies hard against the cliff face beneath a lip of rock that jutted over their heads. Six talons spilled over the lip, gripping tightly to stone. Each talon was two foot long. Magnus looked at Catanya. She mouthed a single word—

  “Liné!”

  Magnus’s heart lurched. There was no heat to bathe the panic away. It was an unfettered emotion he had to endure. Liné thrust away from the cliff, making rubble fall across Magnus’s face. Directly in front of him, Liné arched over, tucked her wings back and fell into a dive. As fast and silent as a shooting star, she shot down the mountainside and vanished into the clouds a mile below. The fire dragon had not seen them. Magnus released a long breath of relief.

  “We have to go NOW.” Catanya pulled Magnus up.

  “Now?”

  “Now! If her patrol is like last night, she’ll be back in a few minutes. We can be across the training field in a moment. If we hesitate, we’re done for.”

  Magnus had no counter argument. The anticipation of Liné approaching from behind terrified him even more than what he’d just been through. They peeked over the cliff face once again. Rubea was still sleeping. Brue was still atop the steeple, looking about.

  “As soon as Brue is looking northward, we go,” Catanya instructed.

  “Aye. I’ll follow you.”

  “To the back of the small buildings to the right.”

  “Whatever… I’m following you.” Magnus stared at Brue. Worse case scenario, he figured he would have to confront the large dragon just as he had in Ba’rrat. This time, at least, they would have the solid stone buildings for protection against fire. Just as he was done reasoning with himself, Magnus saw movement at the temple doors.

  Magnus and Catanya dropped again, peering as discretely as possible. One of the two doors had opened and a black-robed figure walked out. Brue looked down at the figure as it moved swiftly down the stairs and across the common toward the three buildings adjacent the temple.

  “That’s Trax,” Catanya whispered. The figure walked a distance before disappearing into one of the buildings. With the priest out of sight, Brue turned away to the north.

  “Go!” Catanya sprung up and over the lip of the cliff face and took off, fast and soft footed. Magnus was barely a step behind her.

  The accommodation buildings were a hundred yards away but every yard felt like ten. Catanya made a direct line for the buildings. Magnus was still behind her. Neither glanced at Brue or Rubea. They reached the paved common and, in six more long strides, were there. Catanya reached for Magnus’s arm and pulled him around the back of the building. He heaved for breath in painful silence and looked at Catanya. Mouth closed, she drew controlled breaths from flared nostrils. A moment passed and the night was still silent. Then the silence broke—Liné was returning.

  Liné landed on the field, walked to the temple steps and up to the temple doors where she sat to resume her vigil. Brue looked down to her. On the grassy field, Rubea rolled over, shimmied about to scratch her back, then dropped to her other side and kept sleeping. Catanya led Magnus around the back of one, two, three buildings, separated by three-foot gaps. They peered around the eastern wall of the third building and looked directly across to the large building Trax had entered.

  Catanya put her mouth to Magnus’s ear. “That is the common kitchen. Trax is in there. This room here,” she pointed a thumb at the small building they were leaning on. “That’s my room.” An awkward smile crossed her face and Magnus felt a pang of sympathy for her. This had been her home for more than six months before Austagia encouraged her to flee and find him.

  They continued on.

  Side-stepping along the eastern wall that shadowed them from moonlight, they reached the corner at the edge of the common. Magnus peered around the corner and back toward the training field to their left. They could see Rubea but the other two dragons were out of sight thanks to the temple being set back from the common behind the temple stairs. Directly across the common was the open entrance to the kitchen where Trax had entered.

  “I’ll do the talking,” Catanya said.

  “Should I… try to restrain him?” Magnus proposed. Catanya looked blankly at him. “Bad idea?” he deduced.

  “Bad idea.”

  After exchanging affirmative nods they ran to the kitchen entrance. The common kitchen had six long tables in two rows of three, each with many stools placed upside down on top. The polished hardwood floor mirrored light from a single torch mounted in a sconce over a tall bench at the far side of the kitchen. Behind the bench and through a door in a wall to the left was a separate, brightly lit room. They shifted quickly to the bench and crouched behind it. The tinkering of pots and the sizzling sound of cooking food came from the other room, accompanied with the smell of fresh herbs and spices. Catanya hesitated then took a deep breath, stood and walked around the bench toward the door. Magnus sprang to his feet. Catanya looked back to Magnus and pushed an open palm at him indicating he should stay back. She stood in the doorway, looking inside. The tinkering stopped.

  ‘Semsame,” Catanya said, bowing her head politely. There was a long, awkward pause. “Are you well?” Magnus heard the sound of a pot being placed on a hard surface. He waited for the sound of a lance being unsheathed, but a voice spoke first—

  “Are you alone?” The voice was drawn with trepidation.

  “Can we
talk, Trax?” Catanya said, not answering the priest. Magnus fidgeted, desperate to see the Irucantî. There was another pause—even longer this time.

  “I gather you’re not alone. Is… he here?”

  Catanya took two steps back from the entrance, turning toward Magnus. The dark robed figured moved tentatively through the entrance. He paused in the doorway, slowly drew back his hood and followed Catanya’s gaze toward Magnus. Trax walked past Catanya and came slowly toward him. Magnus kept his eyes on the priest, taking note of his lance that was sheathed over his left shoulder. Magnus’s peripheral vision saw Catanya’s fingers poised just inches from her own sheathed lance. She was readying herself for all contingencies. Rounding the bench, Trax approached Magnus. He was elderly, but moved lithely. Magnus stood with hands crossed to his front, wanting to suggest a peaceful meeting. Trax stood before him. The wavering torchlight made the Irucantî markings dance across one side of his bald head. He stared in silence for a good, long minute before speaking.

  “May I see your wound?”

  Magnus knew what he meant. It was the only scar his dragon blood had not healed—the scar Thioci gave him when he pierced him with his talon and gave him his dragon blood. Magnus raised his arm, baring the scar on his right wrist. Trax reached and held Magnus’s arm, studying the scar. When he was done, Trax let his arm go and walked to the nearest table, removed a stool from its top and sat on it. He rubbed his brow, looking at Magnus, then Catanya.

  “How have you survived?” Trax spoke quietly. Catanya took a stool to sit beside him. Magnus did the same.

  “We fled,” Catanya said.

  “They did find you, though,” Trax said. He turned to Magnus. “The wound you gave Brue is testament to that.”

  “Aye, they did,” Magnus admitted. Trax sat tall. His eyes widened as if intrigued by him—by the Electus. Magnus wanted to put the priest at ease, so he spoke casually—“Luckily, Catanya found me first. I’ve her to thank for living this long.”