Dragonshade (The Secret Chronicles of Lost Magic Book 2)

by Aderyn Wood

  She wrapped the amulet in one of Ana’s herb pouches, and placed it upon the table, keeping her fingers on it for a moment. Please, protect him, so that he may protect her.

  Rayna turned her face up to the loft, and then to the curtain of Yana’s nook. It took all her strength to resist one last glance at her loved ones, but resist she did, lest she change her mind.

  She left as silently as she’d arrived, closing the door behind her.

  In the duckyard came a muted quacking. She opened the gate and peered in. The ducks were waking, foraging for beetles amongst their bedding.

  “Now you, little rascals,” Rayna addressed them and they tilted their head obediently, as though listening. “Look after my granddaughter as much as she looks after you.”

  Finally, Rayna stepped into the goat-hus and to the makeshift bed where Sargan now snored down one end, while the new nanny goat snored down the other. She gently placed her hand on Sargan’s head and opened her mind to the Otherworld drawing on more of her power. She fed him words, Drakian words. A sprinkling to help him on his way. And help Yana while he’s at it. Outside, by the bramble bush, Rayna looked one more time at the rondhus, before turning her back to take the path through the forest. Rhast flapped behind her, his caw an eerie echo in the still of dawn.

  Sargan

  Sargan watched the ducks play in the stream, diving and churning the blue water white. Yet another day had filled with beauty. It was leaf-fall here in Drakia, nearly winter and it caused the leaves to change and fill the world with their colour. Now that he dressed as the Drakians did in wool and goatskins, he was warm enough, and he’d grown rather fond of the still, cool days, filled with golden sunshine.

  The ducks were diving again, splashing around like a group of drunks. Sargan laughed, and this made him jolt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. The sound seemed foreign, like somebody else entirely.

  Yana glanced at him with her usual suspicion. She’d warmed to him a little more since Rayna had left near a quarter-moon ago. Sargan still wished the old woman hadn’t taken off like that. She seemed to be on his side, and had helped him learn some of the Drakian speech without scowling at him the way Yana did. She'd also taught him more about the clan's way of life.

  “There's no pampered princes here, young Sargan,” she'd said to him two days before she left. Her hand had rested on the biggest axe Sargan had ever seen. "Everyone contributes in Drakia, and so ought you, lad."

  Sargan's efforts at wood chopping proved to be as useless as his skill with the sword. But Rayna was not Mutat. She was patient, and gave him praise, and surprisingly her guidance had an effect. Every morning he chopped the wood, and every morning he improved, keeping his eye on a crack in the log, just as Rayna told him, and missing the target less with each day, though the blisters and the burn in his shoulders sometimes kept him awake at night.

  Ana had also been grateful. Her smile spoke volumes every morning when Sargan brought a new load of wood into the rondhus. It was one less task she had to do. Perhaps his contribution had also been noted by Yana. She no longer ignored him, and even seemed to acknowledge his presence now.

  “What's so funny?” Yana asked in mountain speech.

  Sargan pointed at the stream. “Your ducks are in a state of euphoria.”

  Yana watched their antics and smiled.

  Sargan liked it when she smiled. The scar on her upper lip faded along with her grouchiness. A rare occurrence, except when she watched her ducks.

  “How do you say ‘funny’ in Drakian?” Sargan asked. It was a comfort having Yana to talk to, when she was happy to talk back, and his mountain speech had improved as a result. But Sargan was eager to learn Drakian to add another language to his personal repertoire, and to attempt some camaraderie with Ana.

  Yana frowned. “Frar-fopple-tok,” she sounded each part carefully.

  Sargan snorted. “Frar-fopple-tok? You cannot be serious. Frar-fopple-tok?” A fit of giggles bubbled up from his belly and he clutched his stomach in an attempt to breath. “What kind of stupid word is that?”

  Yana gave him another frown. “It isn’t stupid. That’s the Drakian word.” She lifted her chin that prideful way she did when proving that yet again it was Sargan who was stupid, not anything Drakian, and certainly not Yana.

  Sargan pressed his lips tight and breathed through his nose.

  “They don’t always put the three words together,” Yana said, her eyebrows still drawn and serious. “Sometimes they shorten it to just Frar.”

  Sargan nodded.

  “Or fopple.”

  Sargan lost all control. His shoulders shook with renewed sniggering. “Fopple!” he shouted. “Fopple!” He laughed so hard his knees buckled and he fell on his backside on the bank.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny. It’s just a word. Fopple. Fopple-tok—”

  “Fopple-tok!” Sargan screeched between giggles. “I mean—how many—” Sargan struggled to get his breath. “How many syllables does one need?” Then he lost it again, and laid down on the bank, his stomach jigging with renewed giggles.

  “And I suppose you think your people don’t have any strange words. Well, I can tell you Sargan is a funny word. And so is Zraemia. And what about King? What a silly word that is. Sounds like ping if you ask me. And prince sounds plain rude.”

  Sargan took deep breaths, straightened his features and sat up. “I’m sorry, Yana. I didn’t mean to insult your people. Not at all. I find Drakian people fascinating. That’s why I want to learn more Drakian words. So I can learn more about your people.”

  Yana tilted her head. “Really?”

  Sargan nodded as he wiped his eyes. “Really.”

  “Well, I suppose it is kind of funny.”

  “It really is the funniest word I’ve ever heard. Matches its meaning rather well when you think about it.”

  Yana rewarded him with one of her grins, and a flush of warmth bloomed through his chest. He lay on his back and watched the red leaves of the tree above him fall slowly to the ground.

  A horn, long and howling, echoed to them from the bay, and Yana’s smile faded.

  “What is it?” Sargan asked, sitting up again.

  The horn sounded again, stronger.

  Yana threw her herding stick and ran up the bank. “It’s Da. Watch the ducks,” she yelled over her shoulder, her long dark hair streamed out as she ran.

  Sargan watched her go, trying to quell the panic that now threatened to course through his veins. He’d been dreading this moment. They’d settled into a new routine, him, Yana and Ana. They shared civil meals together, and Ana seemed to hold some kind of position of respect in the city, so that she fended off any questions from the clansfolk.

  Yana had spoken often of her father returning, as though he would fix everything. She’d also told him how her father was a great warrior, and this especially made Sargan nervous. Soldiers were the last people who understood Sargan. Would he call Sargan ‘Prince Hog’ in Drakian? I should’ve asked her their word for hog.

  Sargan rolled over onto his knees to stand with a grunt. He tried to enjoy watching the ducks once more, but his fears would not abate.

  What if Petar casts me out? Would he refuse to house an enemy?

  Sargan had no desire to reside with anyone else in the city. Especially not the khanax with the crooked mouth. He always looked at Sargan with unbridled disdain. And as for the others, everyone one of them gave him a wide berth when they visited Ana for herbs or potions. No, he liked it here. Ana was kind, and while Yana was still mostly grouchy with him, she was warming to him more every day.

  The ducks quacked loudly, and Sargan suddenly smiled with a new realisation. Yana had left him in charge of her precious flock. That had to mean something.

  One of the ducks waddled up the bank toward him and looked at him with her blue eye.

  “She must trust me,” Sargan told her.

  Yana

  Yana ran like a wynter gale. By the time
she got to the waterfront her lungs were burning and her legs shook like a jellyfish. Khanassa Ashrael’s fleet were still drifting into the bay.

  With short shallow breaths Yana calmed herself and began searching the growing crowd coming up the escarpment steps.

  It wasn’t long before his familiar figure came into view, his braid pulled tight, his beard too long. She smiled with relief as much as happiness. He was alive! Her vision was wrong after all.

  “Da! Da!”

  He picked her up twirling her around. “It's always good to see your smiling face, my little warbler.”

  “You’re safe!” She nuzzled into his embrace, breathing in his familiar scent – a blend of sea salt, wood and sweat.

  “Here, what’s so wrong?” he wiped a tear from her cheek.

  Yana shook her head. “I’m happy. Happy to see you.”

  Her father grinned. “And I you, daughter.” He cupped a hand beneath her chin. “I think you’ve grown, and your Drakian has improved. Mayhap I should leave more often.”

  Yana shook her head, but smiled broadly.

  “Here, help me with this, would you?” he handed her a heavy sack. “Let’s get back to your mother and you can tell me the village news on the way.”

  Yana heaved the sack on to a shoulder and walked by her father’s side. “There were raiders, Da.”

  Da stopped and glared down at his daughter. “Raiders? Drakian?”

  “No. Not Drakian. Not Halkan.”

  “Is everyone safe? Your mother?”

  Yana nodded. “Everyone, not the khanal.”

  “Danael?” A grimace tightened his face. “What did they do?”

  “Took him.”

  “Where?”

  Yana shrugged. “East. Sargan knows.”

  Her father’s frown deepened. “Sargan? Who’s—”

  “Petar,” Avric came thumping along the lane, breathless. “Khanassa Ashrael wants everyone up at the Longhus now. Pass the word.”

  “The raiders?”

  “Aye, you’ve heard?”

  “Yana told me. Where did they come from?”

  “I know as little as you, my friend. Though apparently your wife has been holding one of them prisoner.”

  “What?”

  “Sargan,” Yana said, glancing at both of them. “His name. Sargan.”

  Yana stood next to her father. The longhus hall was filled to its seams with people, all talking animatedly about the odd-looking raiders with curtains for clothes, who’d taken Danael and left a strange young man called Sargan in his place.

  Yana’s mother rushed over and embraced her father.

  “What’s this talk of a prisoner?” Da whispered.

  Ma’s eyes were wide. “You need not concern yourself about Sargan, husband. He’s not one whit of trouble. Is he Yana?”

  “I hear your mother had a finger in this,” Da said, not taking his eyes from his wife.

  “Mother had nothing to do with it. We were lucky she was here, though. If it weren’t for her, someone could have done something stupid.”

  Da scoffed. “I doubt the khanax would have risked his neck.”

  “No, but Danael would.”

  “Aye, but Danael’s been taken.” Da shook his head. “It’s a grave insult to our clan.”

  “Danael’s alive and that’s the main thing.”

  “How can we be sure?”

  Yana opened her mouth to explain it the way Sargan had expained it to her, but she stalled for the right words in Drakian. Then Khanassa Ashrael’s voice rang out above all.

  “Brothers and sisters, thank you for coming.”

  Yana frowned. It was normal for the Khanassa to show signs of fatigue after warring, but Yana had never seen her so worn. Dark bags marred her eyes and her cheeks looked more drawn. “Foreign raiders have taken my son, your khanal.” Her voice cracked. “It it a great shame for us to have faced a miserable battle against the Halkans, only to return home and find a new enemy at our back.”

  “You didn’t succeed?” Ma whispered.

  Da shook his head, a grievous look on his brow.

  “We found little victory at Uthalia. The gods test us.” Ashrael glanced toward Sidmon who sat, as always by the khanax. “But we must turn our minds from our troubles with the Halkans for now, and concern ourselves with this latest threat. Let us have the matter open and digested together. No need for us to worry ourselves to death about it in village rondhuses, when we can put our heads together, as we’ve always done, and find a way to bring Danael back and prepare for whatever it is these new raiders demand of us. Is Ana with us?”

  Ma stepped forward to stand by the central fire. “Yes, Khanassa Ashrael. I am here.”

  “I understand Rayna was present during this raid, and that she could speak their tongue.”

  A murmur rose like a gentle wave and the khanassa raised her hand for silence.

  “Aye,” Ma said. “But she could speak with one of them only in an ancient mountain dialect.”

  Ashrael nodded. “I also understand by some twist of fate, that this very dialect is the one and the same spoken by your daughter all these years.”

  More murmurs.

  “That’s right.”

  “Daughter?” Da whispered.

  Yana nodded.

  “Rayna spoke to them, all right. She has much to answer for,” the khanax spoke. His mouth slanted in its usual scowl.

  Ashrael gave him a long look before turning her attention back to Yana’s mother. “Ana is not to blame for the acts of her mother.”

  “Of course she isn’t,” the khanax said. “But Rayna has serious questions to answer. Questions I was planning to ask at a mote as soon as our clan was whole.”

  “Sly fox,” Yana’s father hissed under his breath.

  “Don’t say anything, husband. Just leave it be. I’ll explain later,” Ma whispered to him.

  Yana gripped her father’s hand in the hope that holding his fist might stop him from saying something that would raise the khanax’s ire.

  “And what of the young man?” The khanassa asked Yana’s mother. “I understand he is in your guardianship? Has he informed you of any useful information?” Ashrael’s eyes flicked toward Yana for a moment.

  “Yes,” Yana's mother said. “He tells us his father is the khanax of a vast land very far from here. That his father is powerful and he will return at summer’s end with Danael – safe and sound. As long as his son is kept safe and treated with the respect befitting a khanal, then Danael shall be returned. If that is Danael’s wish.”

  “Where’s the foreigner now?” Krasto asked, glancing about the crowded hall.

  “With my ducks,” Yana yelled out.

  Muted laughter rippled through the crowd. Her father looked down and smiled at her.

  “Enough!” The khanax’s hoarse voice cut through the laughter. “Rayna has questions to answer. We should summon her here, now, along with the foreigner.”

  “I'm afraid that won't be possible,” Yana's mother said, her voice shaking. “Rayna left the village before dawn.”

  “What?” Krasto roared. “She was told a mote awaited her the moment the khanassa returned.”

  Yana clenched her hands wishing she could throw something at him.

  “I'm sorry.” Her mother shook her head. “She had to leave she said—”

  “Goat dung,” Krasto exclaimed. “She’s flouting my rule—”

  “No, Khanax—” Ma shouted.

  “It’s all right,” Ashrael said, closing her eyes for a moment.

  “All right?” The khanax’s face was red now, his mouth impossibly slanted. “I told her—”

  “Husband.” The khanassa raised her own voice, cutting Krasto off. “It is unfortunate Rayna has made such a poor decision, and I’m sure the opportunity to remonstrate her will arise soon enough. I agree we should talk with the foreigner. What is his name?”

  Yana filled her lungs and yelled out, “Sargan, Khanassa.”

  The kh
anassa raised an eyebrow at Yana. “You’ve been treating him well?”

  “We have,” Ma replied. “He is called a prince in his land, which means he is the son of their khanax, just like Danael. It is important that when they return next summer, they know we have not mistreated Sargan in any way.”

  Ashrael tilted her head, her blond braids moving with the motion. “How so?”

  Ma pursed her lips before answering. “Sargan tells us this practice of exchanging hostages is a common one among their people. It is a way of ensuring peace between the two peoples, and also a way of building understanding. Sargan says—”

  “Sargan says, Sargan says!” The khanax interceded. “Apologies, Ana. I do not wish to speak unkindly to you. You’ve been put in a difficult situation thanks largely to your mother. But we shouldn’t have to stand here listening to the demands of a foreigner. Of course he would want to be treated well, but for all we know Danael may be dead. We shouldn’t trust him.”

  “I agree,” Yana’s father stepped forward and all eyes turned to him.

  Yana’s mouth fell open. Hearing her father agree with Krasto was as strange as any foreign raider.

  The khanax must have been thinking the same thing as he looked at Yana’s father with a glint of suspicion.

  “I suppose you want to talk of warring in wynter, or something equally stupid,” the khanax replied with a shake of his head.

  A few mumbles of agreement wavered through the hall. Krasto wasn’t as popular as his wife, but he still had his supporters who would back his view of things.

  “I was thinking of something quite different, something we’ve never tried before.” Her father held a curious glint in his eye as he glanced to the crowd. “These people seek an alliance. Well I say lets make a pact with them. We help them with their troubles. They help us with ours.”