Dragon Dreams (The Chronicles of Shadow and Light) Book 1

by Dusty Lynn Holloway

  It had taken him all day to check everyone—every body, every house, every shop—and then it had taken him half the night to drag them all to the middle of the square. Most of his job had already been done for him; there were very few that weren’t already there.

  The man had died holding his daughter in his arms. The man whose name he didn’t know. He didn’t know the names of any of these people he was burning. But he knew that if he didn’t take care of them, the wild animals would get them. And that thought was just too much for him to contemplate. Wasn’t it enough that they had been slaughtered? Did they have to become food for the beasts as well?

  So he’d piled their bodies, as gently as he could, in the middle of the square, and lit a funeral pyre. Wood burned beneath them. The wood of their homes and their shops. The wood of the lives that they used to live. It seemed fitting to him.

  He watched until there was nothing left then he left without a backward glance. His chest hurt so badly. It felt like something inside of him had been burning right along with the dead. Like he was burning.

  He camped by a river that night. Not the Strathelm that ran from the north, but another that flowed from a tributary nearby. The water was as smooth as chilled silk, and it ran like silk down his arms and legs when he stepped in. Thick rivulets of black ran down his body, dripping into the inky black water. He stood like that for a while, not really bathing, not really moving, just dripping wet-pouring ash down his pale skin.

  He closed his eyes and could see the light of the fires—the fire of the town, and the fire of the pyre. They lit up his mind like the midday sun, hot and blazingly bright.

  He remembered the little girl he had held. The man who had dragged himself, with his last moments of life, to his dead daughter. The women who had died protecting their children; the children who had died regardless. It burned a hole inside of him. It burned so hot that he stood in the dripping water and trembled against the strain of trying to hold it all in. Until, finally, it came out. He screamed. He screamed until his voice went hoarse, until everything inside of his shaking body was spent. His knees hit the water in slow motion. He clutched his stomach, bowed his head, and wept.

  Time didn’t mean anything to him. The throbbing of his body, the choking of his lungs, the burns that seared his skin, none of it mattered. Nothing mattered.

  It was a long time before he was able to drag himself, still dripping soot, from the stream; a long time before he could drag un-charred clothes from his pack and force his fumbling fingers to put them on. He sat in front of the fire in a daze. Remembering, mourning, and finally dreaming.

  He opened his eyes—her eyes—and found himself in the forest, running through flames and smoke. He felt his body—her body—churn with panicked speed.

  He could never stop it, never make her go back, never wrench control and force her to return to the safety that she had willingly left behind. Because she refused to go back. Auri refused to give in.

  They ended up where they always ended up—facing Obsidian. She was helpless in the battle, and Nachal was helpless to stop her. Men shouted and screamed. People . . . so many people, were dying or dead. But still they fought on, frightened probably as much as the elven girl who ran through their midst, trying—ever trying—to get there in time.

  This time the dream seamed surreal to him; this time he didn’t try to stop the outcome. He was too numb, too beaten, too tired. When the inevitable happened, he closed his dream eyes and wept for the girl he loved.

  Chapter Five- Need

  Auri woke up to darkness and a tap at her door. “Come in,” she called. Sweena opened the door and stepped in. “Oh, Sweena,” Auri said tenderly. “Did you have another nightmare?” Sweena dodged the huge stacks of books, the tables with ink splattered on them, and the numerous sheaves of parchment that were strewn all over. She reached the relative safety of the bed and climbed up.

  “No,” she said softly, her little voice husky for a child’s. “I didn’t have a nightmare.”

  “Did you need to tell me something then?” Auri guessed.

  Sweena nodded. “The king has asked for you in the Great Hall.”

  Auri blinked at her in surprise. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  The little girl nodded sleepily, settling her body against a pillow. “I know,” she sighed, closing her eyes. “He said that it’s very important, and that I needed to get you right away.”

  Auri smiled softly. “Alright, sweetheart,” she said. “Sleep now.” But the child was already asleep. Despite the seeming urgency of the summons, Auri took a moment to watch the sleeping girl slumber. Her eyelids flickered, as though she was already dreaming, and her face was the face of an angel.

  Sweena was an orphan. Her entire family had perished in the sickness that had spread through Ardalan a few winters ago, and she had no one left to care for her. No distant relations had come forward to claim her, not even a friend of the family. There had simply been no one. So the king had taken her into his household and into his care.

  She was a quiet child, not easily given to trust. She kept to herself amidst the other children of the castle, and played with a little doll that Auri had given her when she had first come to them. She was respectful, but distant. The toll of losing her family had made her withdraw into a quiet world of her own. A world that she only let two people into—the king and Auri.

  Auri smoothed her hand lightly down her honey-brown hair and sighed. Then she stood up and looked around her chamber. Every inch of the darkness stood out clearly to her. Not quite as distinct as daylight, but very nearly so.

  It was a stark reminder that she was different. An elven girl among a world of humans. She walked to the glass above her bureau and stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were deep blue, fringed with thick, black lashes. Her hair was black as well, and it hung to her shoulder blades. But there the similarities ended. She moved the brush through the snarls of her hair, and focused her gaze on her ears. Slightly pointed. Only slightly, but still noticeable.

  She shook her head, clearing the path that her thoughts had been taking her down, and put the brush down. So she was an outsider. It wasn’t anything that she wasn’t used to. She pulled her sleeping shirt over her head, and hurriedly pulled some clothes on: soft, black pants, a soft, blue shirt, and supple boots. She opened and shut the door quietly and made her way down the wide, circular stairs to the main floor.

  The long corridor before her was lit with candles along the wall. As she walked, they flickered slightly at her passing. She reached the doors and nodded to the guardsmen as they opened the door for her to enter. The doors shut quietly behind her.

  She stood at the edge of a large room of flickering shadows. Candles had been lit along the wall here as well, and two chairs sat before the hearth at the opposite end of the room. One of the people sitting there rose. Auri recognized the commanding presence of the king before he even stepped toward her. As he did, she immediately noticed the change.

  Something was wrong.

  She inhaled, holding her breath as she studied him. His grey eyes were tight, lined with worry and an emotion that she couldn’t define. His face—which normally sparkled with wit and kindness—was pinched and pale. She met him halfway. He reached for her hand.

  “What is it?” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”

  He held her hand in a bone-squeezing grip as he looked at her. One minute was drawn out to two and then two to three. Finally, he put his other hand to her cheek and held it there. “You know that I love you . . . like my own daughter, Auri, right? Where you came from, who you are, none of those things have ever mattered to me.”

  Her heart pounded. “Of course,” she whispered. “Of course I know. You are the only one for whom it doesn’t matter. The only one who loves me in spite of me.”

  His eyes turned anguished. “Oh, Auri. Is that what you’ve thought all of these years? That I’ve loved you in spite of you?” He looked down, overcome with emotion. When
he looked up, tears were sparkling along his dark lashes. “I’ve loved you because of you,” he whispered fiercely.

  She reached out and wiped away his tears. Her heart was now hammering so loud inside of her chest that it was hard to hear anything else. “What’s wrong? Why is it suddenly so important that you tell me this now, tonight?”

  He glanced back toward the chair. “There is someone who would like to speak with you,” he said quietly. The only other occupant in the room, the person in the second chair, stood up and turned toward her. She gasped.

  The king kissed her forehead. “Remember what I said, Auri. And remember also that, whatever you choose, I will support you. I will always love you, and you will always be welcome in my home so long as I have breath in my body.”

  She couldn’t even think to nod. Her mind was tumbling, spinning end over end in a free fall of stunned amazement. She didn’t notice that King Valdys had left the room until the door shut behind him. Her feet took her forward without her thinking about it, until she found herself standing before him.

  “How—ˮ she began then stopped. “Who are you?”

  He didn’t answer at first, gesturing to the empty chair. Auri passed it by and sat on the rug in front of the hearth, her eyes on him the whole while. She couldn’t take her eyes from his face. His impossible face.

  He had rich, golden-amber eyes, and short, sun-streaked blond hair, as though he spent every single moment out in the sun. His hair was short, which easily allowed her to see that his ears were elegantly tapered at the tips. He smiled slightly to himself as she sat down on the rug, as if he had somehow expected that of her.

  It was the same elf, but that was impossible! She had been dreaming. None of it had been real! He frowned slightly, as if he were hearing something that she couldn’t hear, then his face became smooth and he gazed intently at her. His fingers were resting loosely on his legs, and his posture was relaxed. His whole body gave the impression that he was completely at ease. But his eyes betrayed that impression. They were intense, and very focused.

  She had never had anyone focus like that on her before. It was a little unnerving. People tended to look at her and then through her, speaking to her shadow against the wall rather than her. But he didn’t. He searched her face for a long time in silence, as she searched his face back. She waited for him to speak, to answer her question. When he did, she winced.

  “My name is Liran,” his voice rasped. It sounded like pebbles scratching along the bottom of a slow moving brook. There was a honeyed richness to it, but it was a damaged richness. A parody of what it once must have been. Strangely, it comforted her. She felt warmth wash through her.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “I have come to ask you to come home.”

  “This is my home.”

  His eyes glowed. Literally, they glowed. She forgot to breathe for a second. “El`ness Nahrral is your home.”

  Her heart started pounding again, or maybe she was only now just realizing that it had never stopped. “You want to take me to the elven isle?” she whispered in confusion. “Why?”

  He sat calmly under her scrutiny. “There is a way,” he said quietly. “A way to show you rather than explain to you. But I will need your permission. It is . . . somewhat invasive.”

  “How would you show me?”

  “I can—” he struggled for the right words “—open your mind, and connect it with my own. I can show you my memories and thoughts.”

  “And in your memories is your reason for asking me to go with you?”

  He nodded, silent.

  She studied him for a long, drawn out moment. His eyes had grown more intense as he waited for her to make up her mind, and she had to look away. She couldn’t think.

  The king had likely spoken with Liran for quite a while before he’d had her summoned. That must mean that he had decided there was no risk to her. She looked around the chamber, searching for guardsmen in the shadowy corners. Perhaps she had missed them in her first glance of the room. But no, no guards were present. She knew Valdys well enough to know that he was astute and very cautious, especially when it came to matters of her personal safety. The king trusted this person. She decided to test the waters anyway; see what his response was.

  “Is the king afraid of you?”

  He shook his head. “He fears the outcome. He does not fear me.” His eyes intensified even more. “You have nothing to fear from me either.”

  “How will you show me the images? What do I do?”

  “I will kneel before you and put my hand against the skin of your cheek. Images will come to your mind. You need do nothing but receive them.”

  She nodded, drew in a deep breath, and closed her eyes. Even though she had been expecting his hand, she still jumped when his skin came into contact with her own. “Sorry,” he breathed. “Your skin is warm. Are you ill?”

  “My skin is always warm.” She blinked her eyes open to see his and then almost jumped again when they were right in front of her, closer than she had been expecting.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he murmured. His eyes were cautious, almost confused. “Close your eyes again please.”

  She closed them. “I’m ready.”

  “No. You’re not,” he whispered. And before she could ask him what he meant, the images came.

  She stood far off and witnessed a battle—a battle of dragons. They split the skies open with their roars and their wings and their flaming breath. They clawed and tore at each other. They tumbled from high above, locked in mortal combat until the last possible second, then their wings shot out and they halted a breath away from the flaming earth beneath them. They shot across the skies breathtakingly fast, like arrows flying to their targets. Hundreds of arrows. Hundreds of targets. They filled the dark night. They eclipsed the moon.

  In her form, far from the battle on a secluded hillside, she shivered.

  And then came the image of the aftermath. So many dragons dead. Magnificent, beautiful creatures lying still and silent on the flaming earth. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She knew what this was. This was the Dragon War.

  “Yes,” Liran’s voice whispered.

  Then the image was gone, and in its place was a room of white and green. Living plants curled around the open edges of a white pavilion, shooting looping vines around the trellises and beams that held the pavilion up. A scattering of seats sat at one end of the room. The people in them were panicking, shouting to be heard above one another. Anxiety oozed, bleeding into the air.

  Auri stood at the far end of the pavilion with a few others who stood observing the scene quietly.

  An elf stood up. Her presence was different from the others. She held herself regally, and gazed at the thrones at the opposite end of the sun-bleached room with a soul-deep authority. Auri couldn’t see around her to the thrones, but she didn’t want to. The person standing in the middle of the room commanded her full attention. She felt . . . anticipation. Admiration.

  “My feelings,” Liran whispered.

  And it was then that she understood. She was Liran, viewing all of this as it had happened. He had witnessed these things.

  She nodded slightly with his hand still touching her cheek. His hand moved with it.

  Back in the sun-bleached room, Auri gazed with intent focus on the elf standing. She was slight of build with raven hair. Her voice was like a melody. A strong melody. “I am going,” she said. Immediate silence followed her pronouncement. Everyone stared at her in shock and then some nodded their heads silently in agreement; others looked at her in horror.

  “Do you know what you are asking?” a voice whispered across the sudden silence of the room from the direction of the thrones.

  “I’m not asking, Alera. Not this time. I’m going.”

  “It is a death sentence,” the voice whispered. “Not only for you, but for everything.”

  The elf with the raven hair stood rigid. “I,” she said harshly, “cannot stand idly by and watch
such suffering. We elves have the power to heal it, at the very least to lessen it, and still we do nothing! I cannot do it any longer!” Her voice became a whisper. “And I cannot understand how you can.”

  The silence was like a pall. Deathly still.

  “So be it,” the voice whispered wearily.

  She was walking in the dark of night, alone. A full, bright moon hovered above her. There was a sense within her. A need to find something. A hollow emptiness in a bright pocket of life. She came to a clearing of trees and looked around then closed her eyes, searching—searching for that strange hollowness.

  She walked on, keeping her eyes closed to see better. The incongruity of that felt natural to her, as natural as taking a step with her eyes wide open. It was hard to remember that she was Liran right now, with Liran’s feelings and Liran’s memories. Hard to remember that this wasn’t her.

  When she opened her vision eyes, she sighed heavily. The trees all around her were dead. All of them had fallen, eaten alive from the hollowness within them. The animals were dead too, lying across the ground in various stages of decay. Circling the area was life: brown-barked trees standing majestically, vibrant green leaves and needles, squirrels twittering, night birds swooping. But here in this place was death, and she knew—with the certainty of Liran’s feelings and knowledge within her—that it was only the beginning.

  Chapter Six- Silence

  Auri opened her eyes as Liran took his hand from her cheek. It came away wet with her tears. His eyes were still and quiet.

  “Long ago,” he rasped, “there was a great Dragon War. The aftermath of the war was terrible. Not only did so many die—dragons, humans, and elves—but the land itself began to die. There was nothing that could be done. The dragons have a tie with the land; the land reacts to them.”