“Ah, yes.” He smiled again. “Yndar. When I came to the spiritual plane, Yndar was there to greet me. Apparently it has been his home since the dragons were banished. His fate had him trapped between the two worlds. He was battling a force of Gnor in the Barren Lands. Their bites covered his body and his spirit fled to the realm where he now resides – it stayed because almost in the same instant, the Keeper tore the Idylic and fled the world. He was stuck.”
He shrugged his shoulders. That was really all he gleaned from the dragon, except some very useful information about Gnor, who were nasty creatures to have to tangle with.
“Does he watch over what is transpiring on this plane?” Bob asked.
“No, he was not aware of any of our plight. I filled him in on what was happening thus far.”
Thom grimaced as he adjusted his position. Mey quickly moved to him, helping him to sit up a bit further on the small cot. He’d have to get these damned muscles working and fast. They should have been halfway across the Barren Lands by now. The voices of his friends broke through his thoughts.
“Where’s me flask, girl?” He heard Durlag asking Mey. She had his flask? The dwarf could no more whisper than he could stop growing a beard, no matter how he tried.
“Mey, tell me more about what happened when you donned the mask,” Elerbee broke in.
A veil of silence laid itself over the small group and all eyes went to her. She squirmed a bit under their intense pressure. Truth be told, Thom was more than a little curious himself.
Looking down at the mask she still held in her hands, Mey swallowed. Moving her gaze to the tapestries that hung on the walls, she said, “Those were different. I didn’t notice before, but they’re not the same without the mask.”
“How so?” Elerbee asked. “You mean the pictures?”
“The pictures, the words, the whole thing.” Moving toward the large swaths of fabric hanging next to the door, she reached out and touched the cloth. Letting her hand slide slowly down, Mey turned and spoke over her shoulder. “There were words here. Words that told me what to do…sort of. I don’t really remember them now…” she trailed, fingers still caressing the threads woven through the tapestry.
Going on as if no one else were in the room, Mey looked at the other wall hangings. “These weren’t even here. They were gone, like they didn’t even matter. There were only these two. I wonder why. What significance does the other one hold?”
“Use the mask,” the voice broke into her thoughts. She turned to stare. Thom had said it.
“Mask,” she echoed the word. “I was told to use the mask before.” The memory came back like a hammer blow. “When I first came in, I stood by the table.” She moved there. “A voice whispered to me. For the life of me, it sounded just like Garrin.” She looked directly to Thom. Expecting to find disbelief reflecting back at her, all she saw was acceptance. “Is that possible?”
He shook his head slightly, raising his shoulders to indicate his uncertainty.
“Ye said there were two tapestries, girl.” Durlag put in. “So, put the mask back on, tell us what the other one’s about. But first, give me flask back.”
It made sense. She looked down at her hands, still clutching the gold-covered cloth. Absently she reached down into her boot and retrieved the dwarf’s flask and tossed it to him. Durlag let out a hoot of excitement. He had been a couple of days without his drink; never a good thing.
Thom watched as she slowly raised the mask to her face and tied it gently behind her head. She drew in a long, deep breath as she looked around. All the others watched as well, waiting for something, anything to happen. Mey stepped away from the table, holding her arms up in front of her face, staring so strangely at them.
“What?” he asked. “What is it?”
“You can’t see this?” She held a hand out towards him. “Scales, claws. Am I the only one who sees it?”
“Apparently. Although…” Thom’s thoughts trailed back to his last moments on the spiritual plane. He had seen something, it had been her but also a dragon. Shaking his head – he’d have to discuss that with her later – he said, “Never mind. What about the tapestry?”
**********
Looking at the tapestry, its construction radiant compared to the other, Mey stepped toward it. This one, too, depicted dragons of all sorts woven throughout. There was one large dragon that took up the entire center portion. It was a glorious creature. Beauty and awesome power mingled in one being.
Mey felt drawn to it. When she reached out to caress the fabric, she found her hands were shaking. Peering closely, she saw that the dragon was curled comfortably around a pedestal upon which sat an open book.
The open pages faced outward and there were words there. All around the dragon and pedestal, there were small figures. Having never seen creatures such as these, she could not identify them. Some were flying, some were peeking out from hiding places. All of them were different; dark skin, pale skin, white hair, no hair, sharp, pointed ears, blunt, rounded ears, some had antennae and some had flowers or leaves streaming through their hair. But all of them were looking upward to the open book.
As she looked upon this image, she spoke aloud, relaying what she saw to the others.
“Can you read the words written in the book?” Elerbee asked.
“It looks like jibberish. I don’t think it’s actually…wait!” The words swam and spun, coming together into something she started to recognize. She gasped. “It’s changing!”
“Adapting to the language she knows.” She heard Bob say. The voices behind her continued, but she ignored them and concentrated on the words.
“It’s elven,” she whispered, more to herself than to anyone in particular. Damn. Her elven was really rusty, not having used it much in thirty years. Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she thought back to all the lessons her father had insisted on. There were times he would speak nothing but elven, forcing her to learn the ancient language.
“Uncle,” she beckoned him.
Approaching her, his brow dipped deeper in confusion. “Meylaran? What is it?”
“It’s in elven, uncle. I can read it but I don’t think I can translate it all.” She felt ashamed to admit that she had dishonored part of her heritage by not retaining the language skills of her father’s people. And they were her people, no matter how far she tried to run, the elven people were in her blood, in her soul. This feeling surprised her. She had never felt sentimental to what she always thought of as her father’s race, not her own.
The words rang with beauty as they flowed from her lips, the elven language had a mystical quality that Mey found comforting. As she recited, Bob translated for the others:
The truth to see,
To clear the lie,
Sheets of gold wrap the eyes.
Land of fey
‘Neath constant sun’s ray,
Find the key to prevent the fall
And cease destruction of us all.
“Land of fey,” Thom echoed.
Mey turned to him. “Where?”
“The Faery Isles.” His eyes met hers. “We have to cross the Barren Lands.”
No one spoke. The Barren Lands would be a challenge. A complete expanse of nothing but hard, cracked earth and dust. Only one tribe of nomads lived there and they roamed with the changing seasons to follow food and water as it appeared and disappeared at a whim. The lands were unforgiving and hard; the people even more so. Not an exciting prospect to cross them.
“How long will it take?” Elerbee asked.
“Two weeks, less if we’re lucky enough to cross where the oases have appeared,” Bob told him.
“Aye, but if we’re lucky enough to find the oasis, we also find ourselves facing the nomads,” Durlag put in.
“True.”
“We have to wait until Thom heals enough to travel anyway,” Mey pointed out.
“I can have the priests work on strengthening my muscles. I can be ready to leave at an
y time.” Thom stretched his legs and grimaced at the pain that shot through them.
She had to distract them for another night at least. There was something Mey intended to take care of before she left this forsaken town. Eyes narrowing as she pictured the priest with the marked face, she felt the heat tugging at her. She had to make something up quickly; she had no intention of letting anyone know what she meant to do.
“I wanted to commune with the priests before we leave,” she said. “There are burdens I would relieve myself of.”
“I suppose staying another day is not out of the question,” Elerbee agreed. “I can inform the Temple Head that we will require his hospitality one more night.”
“Yes,” Thom said, looking at Mey, “I suppose I could use another night’s rest, regardless.”
She could see his doubt. He no more believed her desire to talk to the priests than he believed the world would fall from its place in the heavens. Avoiding his accusing stare, she made an excuse to leave. Staying and lying further to Thom was something she did not desire. Because she would lie; there was no way she was going to tell him her plans.
Finding a few priests gathered in the gardens, she asked a few well-worded questions to gather the information she needed. The other sects of priests in the city had been imposing taxes. They claimed they were following orders straight from the Provicaries themselves, though the Sirrahn priests had not heard of such taxes.
The Yenohan priests had bought up most of the properties in the northern parts of the city, while the Irhonan temple held most of the western end. Sirrah was quickly losing ground as a respected god in Sorga and the temple had already lost most of its followers to the other, more powerful sects.
Each of the temples had elected a Collector to make sure these so-called taxes were paid diligently by the people. Of course the taxes were too high and most could not pay. That’s where the Collector’s job came in. He would travel the city to demand payment from those who had not kept current. The tactics used by these Collectors had gotten increasingly cruel. The Collector Mey had seen was indeed affiliated with the temple of Yenoh.
His name was Maxus, not that she really cared to know but it would help her find him. After her visit to the woman whom she had seen, she knew all she needed to know of Maxus, the Collector. He was the worst sort of human; greedy, mean, unfeeling and soon, dead.
What he had taken from this woman was the last memento she had of her missing husband. A small stone set in silver she wore around her neck that he had given her just before he left to find work with the lumber merchants. They would travel to the forests just outside of Sorga’s western edge. When the laborers had returned from their last trip, her husband was not with them. No one could answer her questions as to his whereabouts. He had simply vanished with no trace. She could barely afford to feed herself and the child without his income and now the Collector had taken the last thing she owned of any value.
Mey’s throat tightened and she had trouble swallowing back the knot of anger that had risen as she listened to the woman tell how she had asked for leniency on her tax until she could learn what had become of her husband. Maxus had laughed at her. There was no leniency in the Yenohan territory he had told her, and then lewdly offered to keep her company in her husband’s absence.
She knew everything she needed to know of this Collector except where he lived. That bit wouldn’t be hard to ascertain with a few coins at the local tavern. Drink loosened men’s lips and gold made certain the information was trustworthy. There were a lot of people with little trust for the gods who buried themselves in drink these days, and Mey easily found what she sought.
EIGHTEEN
From the shadows of an alleyway, Mey watched the Collector enter his home. Light erupted through the windows as he made his way from room to room inside the two-storied building. She would bet everything his bedroom was on the upper floor and that he slept with the door locked tightly. A Collector’s job would leave anyone with a lingering feeling of insecurity, especially one of a dishonest sort.
She pulled the hood of her cloak tighter about her face as a man and woman, laughing and stumbling, passed not ten paces from her. They never knew she was there.
Patience was something a thief learned early. More often than not, Mey had to lie in wait in order to appropriate items she’d been paid to acquire. Whether awaiting the perfect moment to slip stealthily around previously locked doors or hunkering down until Garrin had met her at a designated point, she’d long ago grown accustomed to passing time. Plus, this wait gave her time to run through her plan once more.
Mey contemplated the best way to ensure servants wouldn’t be a problem. If any stayed in the house, they could become a hindrance or alert the town guard and complicate everything. She had rope and a small bit of sleeping potion. Using those would be effective for incapacitating rather than killing them.
Kill them all, Makagesh whispered.
“You’ll have your blood soon enough,” she told him, steeling herself against his influence. The sentient dragon was relentless when he could smell a kill so close.
Sighing, Mey looked to the sky. She couldn’t read the time by its stars; they had remained stationary for two weeks now. Gritting her teeth against her frustration, she sank deeper into the shadows as footsteps sounded down the block.
Night watchmen marched past, eyes ahead, not so much as glancing her direction. A smile touched her lips as she considered how easy this was going to be. Focusing again on the large house, she mulled over the beginning of her plan.
Search the bottom floor for remaining servants. Their rooms would be near the back of the house, around the kitchen. Once she secured the lower portion, she would make her way to the top floor. Judging from where the Collector lingered the longest, she felt certain his bedroom was the one on the far right. She would still secure all the rooms at the back of the house first, those she couldn’t observe from her position on the street.
Makagesh broke her thoughts again. I bet he squeals like a pig. Laughter floated like tendrils through her mind.
“We do this my way.”
Of course, he purred. You certainly know what is best. Your plan is flawless, my dear.
She rolled her eyes. “Flattery is useless. If you keep insisting on bothering me, I can make sure your participation is limited to cutting rope.”
She heard his low growl of defiance, but he fell silent. Thankfully. His intrusive mental bombardments, gruesome and filled with thoughts of blood and torture, were bothersome and blurred her focus. Although, she had to admit he had some good ideas on making sure the Collector feared her before she took his life. She wanted the man to feel fear; that total loss of control he so skillfully instilled in the people from whom he pilfered.
Her thoughts drifted back to the countless times she had been in this same scenario. Garrin had been by her side then. His presence always lent a feeling of security. Unconditional trust had grown between them. She had never trusted anyone like that before. She had been convinced she never would again. But when she battled the spirits of Dharst with Thom, that same feeling emerged with surprising strength.
With Thom, she never thought of what the next move would be; never tense or constantly looking over her shoulder to protect her own back. He was there, she was certain, protecting it for her, just as she would shield him. He would definitely not approve of what she did now, but he would accept her decision. Her chest tightened at the notion.
Astonished she would actually care what he thought, she breathed out a long sigh. He made her want to lose control of every part of her soul and hand it over willingly. He was an excellent kisser and his hands were always gentle, even when they were firmly holding her.
Her breath caught. Come on, Mey, get yourself back in the job at hand. It was so easy to be consumed with Thom. And since Makagesh could see everything that passed through her mind, she would do well to keep those thoughts to herself.
No one had left the house for
more than two hours, the last light extinguished over an hour ago. Pushing herself away from the wall, Mey followed the shadows from the buildings as she slid out of the alley and into the street. Sprinting across to the small yard of the Collector’s house, she slipped around the side, making her way to the back.
Unlocking the door quickly, she snaked inside the tiny, darkened room where flour, potatoes and grain were stored. Mey paused, breathing in the natural smells and taking in the unique sounds of the house. Each place has its own distinctive aura and a good thief will familiarize himself with it before commencing. She could hear Garrin’s voice as plain as if he were in front of her.
She continued on, keeping low throughout the first level of the house. A bit ostentatious, she noted and it made her blood boil to think of where the money actually came from. The servant’s room was just where she thought, off the back of the kitchen; a small space only containing a bed and washstand. The rooms at the temple were in better repair than this rat’s nest. It only strengthened the hatred she felt for the master of the house.
One man stayed here and he slept soundly, soft snores emanating from the lump of covers on the bed. She scanned the room. No windows and only one door. Moving in on the man, she pulled a vial from a pouch at her belt, uncorked it and let two drops fall just beneath his nostrils. He would sleep through the end of the world, no doubt. Backing out as silent as the night itself, Mey worked at the lock on the door for good measure. Satisfied, she made her way to the stairs leading to the second level.
Running her gloved hand over the wood railing as she ascended the lavish staircase, she cleared her mind. Alone. Silent as a whisper. A serpent poised and ready to strike. She couldn’t allow her conscious to interfere at this point. Almost as if she were two separate beings, she disconnected the part that would have reservations and let the hard, unfeeling side emerge with each step she took. Makagesh chuckled in delight as her mind shifted into this heartless, cruel predator and his excitement built, almost beyond containment, in her head.
Reborn (The Dragons of Cantor Book 1) Page 19