When Roxanne refused the water, he produced another dart. “Don’t make me use this,” he said. She obstinately stuck her nose in the air and the hard lines of his face deepened. “I don’t know how you got involved in this, but I don’t want to hurt you. No more innocent blood needs to be spilled.”
“If that’s true,” Keriya growled, “why don’t you let us go? We haven’t done anything, and neither has Thorion. He’s innocent—”
“He’s a weapon,” Doru interjected, pointing at the dragon. “Why do you think your empress wants him? To use against anyone who opposes her.”
Keriya was about to argue that Aldelphia wanted to use Thorion against Necrovar, then realized this strengthened Doru’s point. What did she know about the world outside Aeria? The empress had been all too happy to torture Keriya to get what she wanted. That didn’t speak volumes for her morality.
“Our country is dying,” the guardsman continued. “And if you deliver that dragon to the empire, rheenar, I promise things will get worse. There is a dark future awaiting us if this weapon falls into the wrong hands. I’m fighting to prevent that from happening.”
“Then we will fight you every step of the way,” Roxanne declared. Doru sighed. Slowly, perhaps reluctantly, he stuck her with the evasdrin dart. She convulsed in pain before going limp, her head rolling onto Fletcher’s shoulder.
Doru retreated to the cart and pulled items from his personal bag: a dagger, an oval mirror wrapped partly in cloth, and a handful of darts. He waved the darts menacingly at Keriya before retiring to his tent.
She scowled after him, refusing to let his arguments sway her. He had hurt Thorion, so he and all his associates, Necrovar included, were evil. End of story.
This had been her first test, and she had failed. She’d stood by and allowed Doru’s band of turncoats to hurt her friends and her drackling. Magic or no magic, she should have done more.
I’ll find a way out of this, she thought, tilting her head to stare at the stars. I’ll do whatever it takes.
They made slow progress the next day. The second dose of poison had made the prisoners lethargic. Keriya’s mind buzzed with numbness, making it impossible for her to focus on anything.
“Once Doru runs out of poison, we can escape,” she assured herself in an inaudible whisper as she limped onwards.
They’ll still have the magical advantage, said a contradictory voice in her head.
“But we have Thorion,” she countered.
That’s true. She smiled grimly as she imagined Thorion doing to Doru, Shosu, and Blackwater what he had done to the water slug.
Keriya stumbled as a voice bloomed in her mind.
In response, she received a deluge of confusion and pain.
Thorion stirred on the cart. A tremulous gleam of hope emerged in Keriya’s heart at the sight.
She leaned toward Fletcher, who was toiling along in front of her, and nudged his shoulder with her own. Though their rope bindings prevented them from walking abreast of each other, she kept her arm pressed against his for support.
“Look,” she whispered, nodding at Thorion. “He’s getting better. He’ll help us, and we’ll be free soon. Hang in there.”
But after another grueling day of travel, there was still no hope of salvation. Shosu stuck more darts into Thorion’s side, which plunged the drackling into a stupor.
This time, Keriya could still feel the faint clamor of his semi-conscious mind. To keep him calm, she sent him a constant stream of thoughts. This forced her to sharpen her telepathic skills and lessened the negative effects of the evasdrin.
To illustrate the emotion, Keriya sent him memories of the times she’d been happy. She sent the memory of her first view of Allentria, of reveling in her newfound freedom with Fletcher and Roxanne. She sent the memory of when the Elders had told her she was allowed to participate in the Ceremony of Choice. She sent the memory of when she had met him.
Keriya grew familiar with Thorion’s mind as she continued their non-stop mental conversation. She picked up fragments of information in his brain—not things he shared with her, but things that were simply there, landmarks in the labyrinth of his consciousness.
He was the only dragon to have been born in the Etherworld in a thousand years; his grandsire had been murdered in the Great War, when Necrovar had risen to power; he feared he was changing, not just learning about emotions, but absorbing them.
Yet despite his reservations, he liked the comforting feel of Keriya’s mind. He enjoyed her happily-ever-after stories. He was pleased with the image of eating Doru, Shosu, and Blackwater.
Oops. She had tried her hardest not to let him see that particular vision.
Why, indeed? Killing the Imperials was definitely a bad idea, but Keriya couldn’t come up with any reasons why Thorion shouldn’t rip them to shreds the moment he awoke.
The next day, they left the fen. Doru led them up a hill and through a small gorge. When they came to the mouth of the ravine, they were met with a spectacular sight.
Despite their dire circumstances, a tiny gasp of awe escaped Keriya. Before her, an impossibly immense waterfall stretched from one end of the horizon to the other. Water cascaded from a high plateau, thundering into a river whose banks were crowded with stilted buildings and stately tiered towers. The sunset illuminated the spray from the falls, painting the sky and the settlement with rippling rainbows.
Blackwater set to work covering Thorion with a canvas tarp. Doru turned to his prisoners.
“We’re entering the Galantrian Village. You’ll go without protest, or there will be dire consequences for him.” He pointed to Thorion.
Bile rose in Keriya’s throat.
They made their way to a stone road that led toward the city at the base of the waterfall-mesa. A group of travelers on horseback passed them. The riders nodded respectfully to Doru, though they couldn’t be bothered to spare Keriya a second glance. She was shocked at their disinterest until she remembered she looked like a common criminal.
By the time they reached the outskirts of the Village, the relentless din of the falls had become little more than white noise. Keriya figured there was magic involved in keeping the sound at a minimum, for the roaring lessened as they moved further into the bustling city.
There were stone streets for horses and carts, and a network of crisscrossing waterways where boatmen poled long, thin vessels through giant lily pads, carrying goods and passengers alike. Garlands of colored lanterns hung between the buildings, providing a soft, warm illumination as night descended. Keriya viewed the beauty through an anxious, blurred haze, unable to appreciate the exotic splendor.
Doru marched them through a marketplace and led them over a bridge before leaving the bustle of the thoroughfare. They wound their way east along streets that became increasingly dingy and narrow. This part of town was poorly lit. People garbed in dark clothing ghosted through side alleys, lurking in doorways to see who was watching before they disappeared into shops of the most ominous nature
s.
Finally Doru stopped before a large stone building. A black-robed figure exited to greet him and the two conversed in low voices.
Then Doru turned to his captives. The smile he gave them promised a world of unpleasantness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Blood of dragon, threads of the great, touched by Shadow, seals your fate.”
~ Darksalm Incantation
Dread settled in the pit of Fletcher’s stomach, making him sicker than the evasdrin had. When he’d fled Aeria, he had been driven by mindless, instinctive panic that had disappeared as soon as he left his old home. This fear was slow and brutal. It haunted him even when he slept. All he’d been able to think about since he had been captured was whether he would get out of this alive.
More and more, he feared he wouldn’t.
Doru pushed Fletcher through the front door of the building into an entry foyer. To the right, a wooden staircase carpeted with moth-eaten fabric led to shadowed halls above. Before them stretched a passage adorned with tapestries depicting savagery of ages past. Whoever had decorated this place had nailed the ‘imminent doom’ motif.
Doru herded them into a room on the top landing. It was a large, windowless chamber. Two brass firelamp stands flanked a mahogany desk littered with trinkets and papers. Seated in the chair behind it was an Imperial Guard whose torso glittered with medals. Bands of color marked his sleeve, indicating his rank.
Two guards entered the room, carrying the tarp that contained Thorion. The high-ranking man stood and walked out from behind the desk to meet them.
He wasn’t tall, yet he was imposing. His head was devoid of hair save for his dark beard, which was meticulously trimmed to frame his mouth. Fletcher gasped when he noticed the man’s eyes: they were a boiling scarlet, a color that rivaled Keriya’s in terms of scariness. A jagged scar snaked across his right eye, stretching from forehead to jaw.
“Commander-General Tanthflame,” the guards murmured. They placed the dragon on the wooden floor, and the man’s face shone with fervor as the body was unwrapped, revealing the bronze scales and bound limbs within.
“Finally,” he breathed, moving to loom above the drackling.
“Get away from him,” Keriya spat.
Tanthflame looked up, as if he’d only just realized he had company. He approached them, his gaze sweeping Keriya’s frame and resting on her face.
“Ah, the rheenar herself. Never have I met a person who had eyes more interesting than my own.”
Keriya said nothing, but if looks could kill, Tanthflame would have been dead on the floor.
Tanthflame moved on. Fletcher didn’t want the guardsman to look at him, speak to him, or be anywhere in his personal space. Luckily Tanthflame ignored him and Roxanne and stopped in front of Effrax, whose head was bowed.
“What have we here?” he asked. “A Fironian, by the looks of it. You’re far from home, boy.”
Effrax looked up for the first time since entering the room, revealing his face.
“Effrax Nameless?” Tanthflame said, his awful eyes growing round. Fletcher frowned—did these two know each other? “How do you come to be in such company?”
“Release us,” Effrax commanded, ignoring Tanthflame’s query, “by order of the Ember Clan. If you do, perhaps you’ll be spared the worst of your punishment for the sins you’ve committed.”
“Sins? Such melodrama. You, of all people, should be able to appreciate what I’m doing.”
“Betraying and destroying our empire?”
“The empire has done a fine job of destroying itself,” Tanthflame said with a negligent flick of his wrist. “All we have to do is give one little push, and Allentria will crumble and fall. And when it falls, we will be there to pick up the pieces.”
“Who is ‘we’? You and Necrovar?” Effrax growled.
Tanthflame graced him with a smile full of secrets.
“Leave us,” he said, flicking his gaze to Doru.
Doru jumped to attention and brought a hand to his forehead, as if shielding his eyes from a bright light. The other guardsmen deferred to him as he led them from the room—these soldiers certainly cared a great deal about rank and seniority. The hinges creaked as the door shut behind them, setting Fletcher’s teeth on edge.
Tanthflame went to his desk and rummaged in a drawer. He found what he sought and held it aloft so it sparkled in the firelight. It looked like another dart, except its midsection widened to form a hollow glass vial.
Slowly, the guardsman returned to Thorion. He knelt and placed a hand on the dragon’s head gently, almost fearfully. Fletcher felt like he should try to stop whatever was happening, but he couldn’t move. It felt like his body was entombed in ice.
“Don’t,” Keriya cried. “He’s not the one you want—it’s me. I was sent to kill Necrovar.”
Tanthflame hesitated and let loose a humorless laugh. “Who put that idea in your head?”
“Shivnath,” Keriya said fiercely. “Allentrian guardian of earthmagic!”
“Oh yes,” he replied, in a voice that surpassed condescension and sounded almost pitying. “Shivnath sent a little girl—a girl who, by all accounts, cannot wield any of the base magics—to kill the greatest mage who ever lived.”
Fletcher flinched at the tone. Tanthflame’s taunts were eerily reminiscent of the Aerians’ indictments of Keriya.
“That’s right,” she said, though the fierceness in her voice had given way to uncertainty.
The sound broke Fletcher. There had been a time when he and Keriya would have weathered such insults together, commiserating and comforting each other, but they no longer lived in a world where such assurances could make a difference. Neither kindness nor good intentions could save them from whatever horrors awaited. That realization chilled Fletcher to the bone, draining him of his last vestiges of hope.
Why had Shivnath chosen Keriya for such an impossibly dangerous task? The dragon god would have done better to grant her powers to someone like Roxanne, who was naturally gifted. It didn’t make sense to Fletcher. Nothing made sense anymore.
Tanthflame busied himself with Thorion once more. He used the point of the dart to pierce the soft skin of the dragon’s neck.
“Bloom of mandrake, snareroot thins, dust of salamander skins,” the guardsman intoned, “blood of dragon, threads of the great,”—he pulled on the end of the instrument and it elongated, drawing a dark, purplish liquid into its midsection—“touched by Shadow, seals your fate.”
“They’re making darksalm,” Effrax gasped, his voice husky.
“What’s darksalm?” whispered Fletcher. Effrax made no reply—his body was rigid with tension as he stared at Tanthflame.
Tanthflame stood at last, holding his liquid-filled dart aloft in triumph. “Corporal Fireglaim?”
A figure unfolded from a shadowy corner. Tall and lean, the newcomer was garbed head to toe in black. A veiled headscarf covered his face.
“We have what we need,” said Tanthflame. “After you’ve given your soldiers their orders, send a messenger to the Galantrian Palace announcing my arrival. We’ll want to have an alibi tonight.”
“Yes, Commander-General.” Corporal Fireglaim bowed. His movements were inhumanly fluid. “What of the prisoners?”
Fletcher gulped. What of the prisoners?
“These aren’t our prisoners, these are our future allies.” Tanthflame flashed a smile that didn’t touch his blistering eyes. “Bring the dragon to The Waterfront and prepare the darksalm dispersion.”
Fireglaim stooped over Thorion. He looped his arms around the dragon’s frame, crouching in an awkward embrace. The two of them began to dissolve into shadow, sinking into the floorboards.
“No!” Keriya leapt at Thorion, who was melting into a pool of blackness. Tanthflame intercepted her, catching her around the neck and crushing her head in t
he crook of his arm. She struggled against his grasp. Her writhing movements pulled on the rope that connected her to Fletcher, yanking him around. He caught a glimpse of her face and he gasped. Her eyes were glowing.
“Do something,” she implored him, choking out the words.
But Fletcher was frozen. He was no match against Tanthflame or Fireglaim. He should never have come on this quest! Look where he’d ended up: bound and poisoned with a possible death sentence hanging over his head. He would have been better off if he’d stayed in Aeria and lived out his days in the Lowers’ settlement.
Roxanne lunged toward the drackling on Fletcher’s other side, as if intending to snatch him from the midnight puddle. Effrax stumbled with her, and Fletcher’s arms twisted painfully in opposite directions.
Corporal Fireglaim shot a dark spell at Roxanne. It passed through both her and Effrax without leaving any physical mark, but brought them crashing to their knees.
The sight of his friends collapsing ignited something in Fletcher. He had to help. He should assist Roxanne, or save Keriya, or hit Tanthflame, or—
A weight dragged on him from the left. The commander-general had dropped Keriya’s limp body.
Fletcher’s heart stopped. What was wrong with him? Why had he hesitated? His sole purpose in coming along had been to make sure Keriya didn’t die.
It’s up to me now, he realized. He could no longer afford to be afraid or uncertain. He had to make a stand and fight.
But it was too late to fight. Beyond Tanthflame, the tip of Thorion’s snout turned to shadow and disappeared without a trace.
Tanthflame dusted off his hands, glaring at Fletcher, Roxanne, and Effrax.
“That,” he said, “was very stupid of you.”
Thorion was vaguely aware of goings-on around him. Sometimes he heard voices—usually loud or high-pitched, which he had come to associate with the emotions of anger and fear. More than once he gained enough control over his body to open his outer eyelids, but on those occasions his mind was unable to process his surroundings. All he could discern were blurry patches of light and dark.
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