Drops of water showered down from giant foliage. The ground under foot trembled. Not far behind them, a creature howled. Silent as hunted mice, the companions moved through the sodden undergrowth.
Forcing back the fear that had made him a victim of the death shadow, Torgin hoped none of them would become prey for whatever was closing in from behind.
Heat dissipated slowly as night laid claim to the Desert of Fera Finnero on the planet of DerTah. In the Fortress of LeCur in its northern reaches, thick stone walls imprisoned the tepid daytime temperature until Fasfro, DerTah’s saffron-colored moon, had breached the horizon and sailed high in the sky. Only then did cool air penetrate into the rooms where the Dreela Gidtuss and Dahe Terah, the leader of the Sebborr, met in secret to discuss the war raging along the desert’s southern border.
Some distance from the main buildings of LeCur, in a box canyon in the Toelachoc Mountains, moonlight stole over the stone walls and through the metal-latticed windows of a deserted prison. Squares of warm light grew brighter and more defined as Fasfro arced higher overhead. Occasional murky shapes could be seen flitting by windows and across the inner courtyard. An aura of misery cloaked the ruins in silence and deterred those who might happen upon it by accident or design from trespassing into its inner chambers.
As though challenging the ghosts of Toelachoc Prison, a kcalo-draped figure crept forward and pressed his back against the rough stone wall. Adjusting the bundle cradled in his arms, he slipped through an open door and made his way down a long passage. Dark eyes glistened as he paused, trapped for a moment in latticework and moonlight. A short sprint brought him to a stone staircase that led into the bowels of the prison.
Slowing his pace, he navigated the steep stairs and made his way through the oppressive darkness of the dungeon-like lower level. Undercurrents of violence and death surged around him. He stopped to listen. Neither rodent nor insect made its presence known.
Stepping into a narrow cell, he sat down on a rickety, metal cot and settled the swaddled bundle on his knees. A match flared. The stub of a candle sprang to light.
The man pushed his hood back and listened again. Reflected flames sparked in his eyes as he gently unwrapped the bundle. A dark shape the size of a small baby shuddered beneath his fingers. He bent closer and stroked its back.
“You must stay here until you heal,” he crooned softly. “There’s food and water and a clean blanket. I fashioned you a perch.”
An ebony eye caught the light as a raven’s head tipped.
The man carried the large bird to a rough-hewn branch several inches above the stone floor, knelt, and set it down with great tenderness. Black talons gripped it. The bird steadied itself, ruffled its feathers, and seemed to examine a wing swathed in bandages. Its unwavering eye found the man.
“I slathered it with ointment and splinted it. You should be able to fly when it heals. You must stay here until you’re better. If you leave too soon, both you and I will die. Do you understand?”
The raven bobbed its head.
“I’ll be back when I can to bring fresh food and water.” He stood and blew out the candle. “Holes in the floors above will let in a bit of light when the sun rises.” He pulled his hood into place, closed the cell door behind him, and with the silence of a phantom, merged into the darkness.
The Raven Karrew clung to the make shift perch and peered after his rescuer. A faint blur of murky white shot past the door. Ghosts of long dead prisoners flitted into the cell, bringing with them the dank chill of death. Hideous, anguished faces focused and melted away. Withdrawing his attention from his strange cellmates, Karrew ruffled his feathers against the encroaching cold and cast his mind back to the turning of his capture.
Almiralyn’s face emerged like an image on the surface of Elcaro’s Eye. Her beautiful sapphire eyes gleamed. Her sensitive mouth shaped an enchanting smile. He could almost feel the gentleness of her touch. How he ached to be near her.
A chill shattered her image and concentrated his thoughts on his return to DerTah. He had rescued the Dansgirl Nichi from the LaTiru, taken her to her family, and lifted into flight above Eissua Oasis headed for Shu Chenaro. Wolloh needed him at the ranch, and yet his heart teased him to return to Myrrh. Conflicted emotions obscured his awareness of the world around him. Heat searing his wing tips screamed a warning. Too late he tried to dodge. Fiery talons crushed the breath from his body, dislocating his left wing. Piercing pain pitched him into unconsciousness.
His next clear memory—a cage surrounded by glistening wards and Nissasa Rattori’s triumphant eyes peering at him between the bars. Unending questions and Nissasa’s torturous reprisals left him exhausted and weak. His chest bore the wounds of each burning probe that resulted from his refusal to answer. He had begun to wonder how much more he could withstand when a soldier entered, whispered a message, and left with Nissasa hurrying after.
Time drifted by with the slowness of his descent through the Abyss of the Dead with Desirol. He floated in a state of semi-consciousness, where pain was all he knew. The cage being moved and strapped to the back of a rohes, shook him back to wakefulness. A torturous journey jostled him until he almost wished he were dead. Desert heat left him panting and dizzy. The cold of night made him puff up his feathers and crouch lower on his perch.
He had almost reached the end of his physical endurance when the group of Sebborr surrounding him, came to a halt within the gated grounds of a fortress, set up camp, and moved his cage into the confines of a tent. Fresh water and food were set out for him, and then all grew quiet.
The Sebborr had returned to camp and retired for what remained of the night when a cloaked figure slipped into the tent. Gentle hands lifted him from the cage. Skilled fingers explored his injured wing, gripped a dislocated bone, and jerk it into place. Pain dropped him once again into unconsciousness. When he resurfaced, a blanket rather than cage bars enclosed him. Strong arms cradled him. The sounds of a beating heart and the muted clip clop of a horse’s hooves were all that he could hear. Too weak to fight and hopeful that by some miracle he was being rescued, he had let the pitch and sway of the ride soothe his battered body.
Where am I? Who is my rescuer? What does he know about me? Sidestepping along the perch like fingers over worry beads, he blinked unanswerable questions back into oblivion and stopped, his head tipped to listen. Silence, thick and saturated with the violence of another time, pressed in on him. Nothing alive stirred. How long had it been since he had felt safe enough to let down his guard? In order to heal, he needed rest. Tucking his head beneath his uninjured wing, he slept.
Wolloh Espyro lay in the cool quiet of his bedroom at Shu Chenaro, trying to piece together the past few hours. The setting of wards to protect the ranch and to obscure the departure of the children to safety had left him in an exhausted heap at the center of the arena. Once One Man had secured the wards with the help of Gerolyn, Stebben, and Allynae, Stebben had carried him here, tucked him in bed, and demanded he rest.
He tried to sit up and fell back on the pillows. Fatigue weighted his body like stone. Every joint on his disfigured left side ached. His head throbbed and his parched throat longed for relief. I need water . As the thought flitted across his mind, an arm slid under his shoulders and lifted him enough to sip from an offered glass.
Stebben lowered him and sat down beside him. “How do you feel?”
“More tired than I can ever remember. Wards?”
“We reconstructed them. One Man interwove a spell of deflection throughout. They remain intact—at least for now.”
“The children?”
“They teleported. When I searched Atkis, I couldn’t find them. We haven’t located them yet.”
“And Corvus. Has he returned?”
Stebben shook his head.
“I was afraid of that.” Wolloh closed his eyes, took in a breath, and released it in a long, soft whoosh. “How long have I been out?”
“It’s approaching Tri-Nular. All thre
e moons are almost visible.”
A spasm of pain made him grimace. “If I don’t rest, I won’t be of help to anyone. I need to sleep, my friend. Call me when Lunule hits its zenith. By then, I should be able to function.”
Stebben settled him more comfortably. “Until the third moon, then. I’ll be near if you need anything.” The door closed with a whispered click.
Wolloh stared up at the ceiling, reflecting on the events of the past several turnings. Nissasa Rattori is a dangerous adversary, one we can’t afford to underestimate. I feel sure the Mocendi League is behind his betrayal of Lorsedi and Desirol. A yawn overpowered his thought process. He ignored it, regrouped, and continued. Both Esán and Brielle are capable of handling most things that come their way. Together they should be fine. Still, I wish they had an adult with them. I wish Nomed were here. And where on DerTah is Corvus? He yawned again and repositioned his throbbing left hip. I’ll think better when I’ve slept . Humming a quiet, meditative tune, he drifted at last into restless, dream-laden slumber.
Stebben’s voice brought him to wakefulness several hours later. “Wolloh, Lunule shines overhead. It is time.”
He rubbed his eyes and lay still, ignoring the weariness that made him disinclined to move. “I’ll get dressed. Please ask One Man, Gerolyn, and Allynae to meet us in the conference chamber. We have decisions to make.”
“Do you need anything before I go?”
Wolloh sat up and pushed the bedding aside. “I’ll be fine. Give me a half circle of the chronometer.” He reached for his cane and gazed thoughtfully at the crystal knob. When he looked up, Stebben had departed.
Once attired for the coolness of evening, he stood in the quiet room, assessing his strength. The mere act of dressing had depleted his meager energy. He sat down on the bed and rested his head on the knob of his cane. At the center, a light began to glow. Wolloh jerked his head up, gasped in pain, and slumped forward, oblivious to the world around him.
In the form of a Dertahan red hawk, One Man soared over Shu Chenaro, sharp raptor eyes picking out and assessing the stability of the wards surrounding Wolloh’s land. He had done what he could to strengthen them, but not before a short battle had occurred between Lorsedi’s soldiers and Nissasa’s men. He doubled back to soar again over the battlefield. I wonder why the Sebborr joined forces with the traitors and then did not involve themselves in the scrimmage?
Below him, men on both sides of the shield hurried to regroup. The wounded were being helped to shelter. It did not appear that anyone on either side had been killed. The quick action of Wolloh’s small group of DiMensioner-trained comrades had raised the wards back into place before the casualty count could rise too high.
Swooping lower, he searched for Lorsedi or a Pentharian—either Voer or Yaro. The gleam of blue scales brought him into a long glide that ended a short distance from where Voer completed a conversation with a group of soldiers. One Man studied the creature from the planet of ReTaw au Qa. His long braids, multiple piercings, and tattoos made him stand out. But it was his immense height and his lapis blue scales and lizard legs and tail that marked him as alien to this world.
The soldiers dispersed and Voer joined him. “How’s Wolloh?”
“He’s resting. We haven’t located the children, but we will. I need to see Lorsedi.”
The Pentharian led the way to a dugout where the Largeen Joram met with his staff. While Lorsedi completed his meeting, One Man listened to Voer’s account of the battle and took stock of his surroundings. Soldiers in combat uniforms worked with trained precision to redeploy equipment and men along the desert border. “RewFaaran troops are certainly well trained.”
Voer indicated the confusion on the other side of the wards. “It is unfortunate Nissasa’s aspirations created discord.”
One Man searched the traitor’s camp. “I don’t see Nissasa anywhere. The Sebborran leader, Dahe Terah, and the Dreela Gidtuss appear to be absent as well.”
“Discipline is vital to the warrior. Nissasa’s Brigade…” Voer shook his head.
Lorsedi dismissed his staff and waved them over. “The shields fell, One Man. What happened?”
One Man shared what had occurred with Wolloh, the children, and Corvus.
The Largeen Joram ran a hand through his flaming red hair. “At least the young people are together. I hope Desirol doesn’t do anything…silly. He told me about his behavior at Nesune.” He studied One Man’s face. “What brings you here?”
“Stebben and I believe it is vital to have someone at the front who has been trained in DiMensionery. Gerolyn has volunteered to join you.”
Lorsedi’s expression went from open interest to stern denial. “It’s too dangerous. I can’t be worried about her while I’m battling with Nissasa.”
“She felt sure you would react this way, but I’ll let her speak for herself.” He raised his arm and waved.
A DerTahan hawk landed beside them. Gerolyn appeared, dressed in desert gear. “I can take care of myself, Lorsedi. We need to keep communications open, and we need to know you are safe. I am the best one to do the job while Wolloh is incapacitated.”
One Man drew Voer aside as a heated discussion ensued. “I have to go back. Try to convince Lorsedi to allow Gerolyn to stay. We need to be in touch. I can’t keep flying back and forth to make sure he is safe. Too much is happening.”
The tall Pentharian observed the two opponents. “I will take care of this, my friend. Go.” He strode to Gerolyn’s side and looked down at Lorsedi. “Yaro and I will be responsible for Gerolyn’s safety. We need her assistance.”
Lorsedi pivoted and walked several steps, paused, and returned. “I will allow it if you, Gerolyn, promise to leave if the risk becomes too high. When battle is in full swing, the front is no place for a woman.”
Gerolyn smiled. “I am not a RewFaaran woman, Lorsedi, but I do promise to leave if it becomes too hazardous for me to stay.”
Voer turned and waved. One Man shifted. Hawk wings carried him back to the ranch house—back to many decisions that had to be made, not the least of which was how to find Esán and his friends.
3
Master’s Reach (Sample)
Myrrh
H enrietta stood in a forest of green stems and leaves. Above her head sunflowers stretched toward the Myrrhinian sun and bobbed in the gentle autumn breeze. As soon as her feet had touched the ground, the Tropal Portal from The Borderlands whirled back into itself and faded into a barely visible blur. It had been nearly fifteen sun cycles since she had first stepped into it on her way to Idronatti. She remembered the turning Karrew had flown into her home on KcernFensia—the turning that had changed her life forever.
Muggy heat drove her to the open window, where a sea breeze rustled the sheer curtains and fanned her flushed cheeks. “What has happened to my life? Where’s the adventure I have always dreamt about? All my training at the Temple of Mahyinaeh didn’t prepare me to sit home and do nothing, yet here I am.” She flopped down in a chair, bit her lip, and studied her surroundings. Her conclusion—beautiful, elegant, and, boring.
Bounding up, she flounced around the room and came to a halt beside a table laden with framed family portraits. Her sister’s beautiful face smiled back at her. She sighed. “Mairin, where are you? You’ve been gone far too long. Almiralyn and Allynae are in Myrrh, and I haven’t heard a word from them either. I miss you. I miss your children. I even miss your companion. How is Lanli anyway?” She faced the room. “I am beginning to hate—”
A raven swooping through the open window silenced her monologue. She dashed across the room and flung her arms around the Human man who had materialized in its place. “Corvus! What brings you to KcernFensia? I have missed you so much. How’s Mira? Alli? Do you like Myrrh?”
A deep chuckle shook his chest and made her giggle. He held her at arm’s length. “We miss you, too, Henri.”
Prancing with delight, she pulled a cord by the door. Within minutes, a young woman entered and set a
tray on a table between two chairs. She caught her mistress’ eye, laughed softly, and departed.
Henri sat down on the edge of a chair. “Sit. Tea?”
“I love your special tea.” He joined her, accepted a fragile cup, and inhaled the aroma. “You always remember my favorite.” He took a sip and placed the cup and saucer on the table.
Henrietta’s curiosity exploded into words. “Don’t just sit there! Why are you here? I know you didn’t travel all this way just to see me.”
Corvus sat back and smiled. “To the contrary, I am delighted to see you. It’s been far too long. But you’re right—I do have another reason for this visit. I have a proposition for you, at least Mira does.” He grew quiet, his dark eyes searching her face.
“Tell me! I’m all ears.”
“Allynae is in love and has secretly joined to SparrowLyn AsTar.”
“What! How did he meet her—Gerolyn’s daughter—the daughter of the Largeen Joram of RewFaar?”
Corvus rested his hands on his knees and quickly outlined the story as he knew it. When he reached the part where Sparrow discovered her pregnancy, he paused.
Henrietta smoothed a stray strawberry blonde curl away from her face. “She’s in Idronatti. He’s in Myrrh. Does he know?”
She watched a frown erase the dimple in Corvus’ cheek. “Almiralyn can’t tell Alli, Henri, because he’ll run back to Myrrh and get himself thrown in the Five Towers.”
“Then who will look after Sparrow and their baby? How will they manage in Idronatti by themselves?” A delighted smile spread from her mouth to her eyes. “I will. I’ll go to Idronatti and watch over them.”
Corvus picked up his tea and sipped its fragrant warmth. “Mira was hoping you’d volunteer.” A relieved smile deepened the dimple. “There are a couple of drawbacks, Henri.”
She ran a dainty finger around the rim of her teacup and considered the ramifications of sun cycles spent on the planet of Thera. Ordering the list in her head, she looked at Corvus and shrugged. “The worst thing—my longevity will be impacted—I’ll age more rapidly. Of course, I could sit around here and die of boredom, while you and Mira are having adventures.” She tapped her chin. “My luxurious and lazy lifestyle will come to an end. I can’t think that I’ll miss it. Life without meaning is not cured by wealth and luxury, but by action.”
The UnFolding Collection Two Page 70