Dragonshade (The Secret Chronicles of Lost Magic Book 2)

by Aderyn Wood

  Danael paused his step. One thing he knew about Beljan – he wore a wolf’s pelt in wynter. And the mountain wolves in Varg Isht were all grey.

  Danael focused on the flickering light ahead of him. Someone had built a large bonfire near the altar, and shadows danced to a steady beat, a drum. Danael took a breath and stalked closer. He crouched behind a bush and peered into the clearing surrounding the altar.

  The carcasses of various animals lay on the ground. Pigs, rabbits, goats, even fish. The altar was teeming blood that mixed with the rain.

  Sidmon stood by the altar with a cup in hand, his black lips moving, and around the fire a number of people danced, all naked. Hiljda was among them. A line of blood had fallen from the hus-thralls lips, down her neck and between her breasts. A young man, bent to lick the blood from her and she giggled. The man turned and Danael’s eyes widened. It was Oryn.

  Oryn was married to Tora now. He wasn’t supposed to be cavorting with Hiljda or anyone.

  A cackling laughter drew Danael’s attention away from one of his oldest friends to Sidmon. The seer was laughing, and uttering indecipherable words. Danael couldn’t be sure but his black eyes seemed to be watching him.

  Danael’s mouth went dry as he stepped backward, keeping as low as possible. One of the seer’s words came to him clearly, “Daemona.” Danael’s mouth fell open. Daemona was the goddess of chaos and overseer of Hador. Why would Sidmon invoke her name?

  Danael kept stepping backward, and when the darkness of the forest had swallowed him, he turned and ran.

  He stormed back down to the village, his heart keeping beat with his footfalls and the fury that raged in his mind. The rain continued to fall gently, and the rock walls of the rondhuses sparkled in the gloomy light of the night torches that were dotted around the village. He didn’t pause to consider the night’s beauty as he might have done any other time. He made a line straight for the king’s encampment.

  Angut stood guard outside the king’s tent, his linen skirt was drenched, as was his hair. “What is it, Danael?” The Azzurian soldier said quietly.

  Danael paused his step and took a breath. “I need to see him.”

  “He sleeps—”

  “I will wake him.”

  Angut frowned. “Can it not wait until the dawn?”

  “It will not.”

  “Angut?” The king's voice came muffled through the tent wall. “Let Danael through.”

  Angut nodded.

  Danael opened the tent flap and and stepped inside. A lamp was being lit. The king’s hair was knotted and tumbled over his linen nightdress. He turned and placed the lamp on the table. He gestured to a chair. “You have something to tell me?”

  Danael nodded, ignoring the chair. “I will go with you when you leave. I will not stay here with my father.”

  The king raised an eyebrow. “You have come to some resolution?”

  “I have.” Danael took a shaking breath. “There is much I must tell you.” He began slowly, telling the king all he knew, that he believed Sargan’s news about the secret meeting pointed to his father’s guilt. The khanax had arranged for the murder of Petar during the summer warring, and Danael’s mother in the wynter before.

  The king leaned back in his chair. “These are grave accusations.”

  “There’s more. I believe Sidmon is using some kind of dark and ancient witchery to influence the others. What I’ve seen tonight cannot be explained any other way.” Danael told of the blood sacrifice, and the strange antics at the feast, so unlike Drakian customs, and finally of Sidmon and his call to Daemona.

  The king listened, his expression darkening with each new word.

  “If what I’ve learned is true,” Danael finished. “I must kill my father.”

  The king held a hand to his head. “You were close to your mother. I have detected as much from the way you talk of her with a great fondness. She would have been a worthy ally and it saddens me that we never met. But are you certain killing your father will help her rest?”

  Danael’s mouth turned up in a scowl. “She must be avenged, it is the only way she will rest.”

  The king gave a subtle nod. “It is my experience that such evil, such treachery, does not remain hidden forever. In the course of time, secrets rise to the surface, just as the bones in the desert appear when the wind sweeps the sand away.”

  Danael nodded. “Right now my father and Sidmon have complete control over the other leaders. They will accept your offer on the morrow. They will give you a Drakian army.”

  The king looked up.

  “And I will also return to Azzuri. I will help you fight your Gedjon-Brak, and then I’ll lead your soldiers back here, and when that happens I will overthrow my father as khanax, and drive the Halkans out of Drakia for good.”

  “Very well.” The king looked at the lamp. “I will seek an audience with your father in the morning. I’ll think of a way to put this idea into his head, so that his suspicions remain unplucked.”

  It had taken very little to convince Danael’s father. The khanax assented wholeheartedly to his only child returning to the foreign land that had stolen him away in the first place. Danael considered it more evidence of his father’s guilt.

  And now it was time to leave. The negotiations had come to an end with a deal struck between King Amar-Sin and Drakia. Thousands of Drakian warriors said goodbye to their families and boarded the ships that would take them to another world, to fight a foreign people’s war.

  Danael stood on the jetty facing his father. “Keep an eye on them,” his father said, nodding toward the Zraemians now all on board. “Do your best to see our people are treated with the respect they deserve. And make sure that king returns with the gold he promised.”

  “I will, Father.” And try not to murder anyone else while I’m gone.

  Yana stepped onto the jetty carrying a crate with two ducks. Her cheeks were tear-streaked from saying goodbye to her mother, who now watched from the ramparts above.

  Some of the Zraemians followed Yana, carrying more of her ducks, and Danael fell into line behind them, boarding the king’s ship.

  King Amar-Sin was waiting for him, but first the king bent on a knee to greet Yana.

  Danael raised an eyebrow. He’d never seen the king bend his knee for anyone. “My lady,” the king said in perfect Drakian. “It is a great pleasure to have your company.” He’d clearly practiced the phrase and honed it well.

  Yana sniffed, and a frown formed on her face. Danael tensed. Yana lacked the subtleties required for Zraemian diplomatic relations. He braced himself for what would come out of her mouth.

  “I’m not here ‘cause I want to be.”

  Danael winced at her abrupt air.

  She thrust her chin forward. “And my ducks will require fresh water daily.”

  The king looked at Danael who translated, then smiling he said. “Of course, anything you need, please just ask. Sargan will ensure that your needs will be accounted for.”

  Rayna

  Rayna paused to take in the scene before her. A sense of relief eased the knots in her shoulders. The mountain trail descended and opened up to reveal the rising smoke from Ana’s rondhus, clear in the summer blue sky. It had taken much less than a moon’s turn to get here – using her magics when she must, sleeping little and eating less. But she had arrived at long last, and there stood the rondhus, just as she remembered it as though nothing had changed.

  Only everything had changed. Petar was dead.

  She crouched behind the brambles, and peered through the thorny bush to better assess the situation, ignoring the rumble of her stomach, and attempting to still her shaking knees. She must know exactly what she was walking into. If the khanax spotted her, there’d be trouble. While Rayna could cope with any punishment Krasto’s limited imagination could impose, the shame for Ana would only add to her burden.

  The fact Ana lived out here on the outskirts of the village proved a blessing. Still, Rayna must be careful.
She took another step and froze.

  On the path coming up from the village a figure stalked closer.

  “And there he goes,” Rayna whispered. “Like a wolf to the duck-hus.”

  The khanax picked his way through the garden and toward the rondhus, the ducks quacked loudly as he passed. Rayna held her breath wondering if perhaps he’d known of her arrival, but she quickly doused the thought. The seer’s power was not so strong as that, not yet.

  Rayna stepped back behind the bramble thicket once more and watched as Krasto drew closer. He entered the rondhus and still Rayna watched, her eye falling over the garden. It was weedy and unkempt. The wood shelter at the back was low in wood, and even from this distance Rayna could see the axe had not met a whetstone in a long time.

  What’s more, the goats were not yet released from their pen, and the ducks had quacked raucously when Krasto walked past their yard. Rayna frowned. Something was gravely amiss. On a fine day such as this, the goats and ducks should be out foraging in the forest. Her skin crawled and tightened with goosebumps. Where was Yana? Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

  At midnight, Rayna returned to the bramble thicket. She and Rhast had retracted to the forest during the day, finding a feed of hazelnuts and berries, and napping in the cool of one of the many caverns along the mountain’s trail.

  The moon was full and gave plenty of silvery light. No movement could be seen through the slats of the rondhus windows. The khanax should be well gone by now.

  She crept close, as close as she dared before she paused to whistle the morning tune of a blackbird. She waited a handful of heartbeats before whistling the tune again, and then once more. She sat on a rock and waited. Rhast perched beside her, his feathers gleaming blue in the light of the moon.

  Soon enough a light bloomed in the rondhus. Rhast flapped his wings and took flight when the figure of Ana came trotting out toward the forest. The glow of the candle illuminated Ana’s face, etched in worry.

  “Kill the candle, granddaughter.”

  Ana blinked, but extinguished the light. “Ma—” Ana began, but her sobbing quickly took hold.

  Rayna enfolded her granddaughter in her arms, and Ana’s shoulders shuddered violently. “Cry it all out, my girl. Let the tears fall.”

  Ana shut all four shutters and tacked a blanket over each window to be sure, before returning to the cook fire where she lifted a pot of steaming water and filled two cups.

  Rayna sipped the mountain tea and blinked into the candle on the table. “And Petar thought the khanax murdered his own wife? On what basis?”

  Ana sat, joining her mother at the table. “Because of what Sargan overheard.”

  Rayna listened without interrupting as Ana told her the news.

  “I’m not surprised Sidmon was involved,” Rayna said. “He probably mixed the poison with his own dirty hands. What do you think it was?”

  “Probably berry of nightshade,” Ana rubbed her eyes. I didn’t think of it when I treated her. I just didn’t think it would be a likely cause, that anyone would want to poison the khanassa, much less her own husband.”

  “Yes, well, he wanted her power, that’s easy to see now. But why kill Petar? Has anyone else pointed the finger at Krasto? Or, do you alone harbour this theory?”

  Ana looked at her, the tears still fell. Tears she’d not shed until now. She wiped her nose. “There’s whispers among Fegarj and the like, but no one has openly questioned Petar’s death. He died bravely in battle and everyone tries to comfort me with the fact he would now be with the ancestors, drinking in the endless longhus. Sometimes I wish I could go and meet him there.”

  Rayna reached out and held her hand. “And now they’ve taken Yana from you.” Rayna looked her granddaughter in the eye. “You ought to come with me into the forest. I saw Krasto visit the rondhus today, sniffing around like a rat. I think he seeks to reignite an old flame.”

  Ana pulled her hand away, and thrust her head into her palms. “It’s true. I’ve tried discouraging him, but he grows more insistent. He wants me to take up residence in the longhus. For my safety.”

  “It’s all very convenient. His wife dies, then his arch nemesis, clearing the way for him to marry the woman he’s longed for all these years.”

  Ana shook her head. “It all sounds ridiculously far-fetched. Why would he or anyone go to such great lengths to gain my hand?”

  Rayna sniffed. “He's always lusted over you like a mad wolf—”

  “Mother, please.”

  “It be true. No one has been brave enough to put him in his place. Well, perhaps I shall.”

  Ana's eyes widened. “Mother, no. Please, I cannot lose you as well.”

  Rayna smiled. “You’ve no need to worry for my safety, daughter. You know that.”

  Ana looked down at her hands that knotted on the table. “I cannot come with you to the forest. I must stay here and persevere with whatever comes next.”

  “He’ll get what he wants if you don’t come with me.”

  “I know, but what if Yana is returned here and I’m not at home? Sargan promised me he would get Yana back. I must stay and await her return.”

  “You should have allowed me to take her when—”

  “I know that now, Ma! Please do not rub salt into the wound.”

  Rayna bit her tongue. “So what will you do? Remain here and jump to his beck and call?”

  “I will do whatever I have to do. But I must remain here for Yana.”

  “Very well. Then I will give you this promise. I will find Yana. I will take her with me into the forest and when it is safe I will bring her with me to collect you and we shall escape together once and for all.”

  Fresh tears welled in Ana’s eyes. “Please, let it be so.”

  Rayna left the following morning with the dawn. But not before she made another amulet, this one for Krasto.

  “Give it to the khanax,” she told Ana before she left.

  Ana’s eyes widened as she took the bear’s tooth that Rayna had infused with power in the forest, during the darkest stretch of night. “What is it for?”

  Rayna smiled. “It will protect you. You’ll see. Thread a strip of leather through that hole, and make sure Krasto wears it at all times. Around his neck, or in his braids, even in his filthy beard, it matters not, as long as it’s with him.”

  “But what if he refuses?”

  “Use your wits, Ana. Give it as a lover’s gift, or some such nonsense. He won’t refuse it then. But make sure he wears it and he’ll not harm you, this I swear.”

  “It’ll not kill him, will it? He’s a pig of a man, but there’s been too much death already. I’ll not be the cause of more.”

  “By Vulkar’s arse, you’re a frustration!” Rayna exclaimed. “It’ll not harm him, no. Though his pride will be pricked. That’s assured."

  Rayna refused to answer more questions. The sun was rising and there was much to do. She had to get back to her mountain home across the waters. She had to get back to her store of dragonshade. She had to plan how to get Yana. She bid Ana goodbye, one last time, before following Rhast up the mountain trail and coming to terms with the fact she was returning home without her granddaughter.

  Part XVIII

  Sea of Death

  Sommer

  Ninth year of King Amar-Sin’s reign

  5,846 years ago…

  Sargan

  It was still light and at least one more bell before another day at sea came to and end, but the moon already rose steadily above the eastern horizon. Sargan gazed over the ship’s gunwale, clutching his stomach once more. Any fear he still held of facing the gates to the Underworld, or the Overworld, or the monsters that protected them, evaporated further with each retch. The waves, perfect hills, rolled to them endlessly, causing the ship to sway up, down, up, down, in an incessant rhythm that his stomach refused to accommodate.

  “Evening, Sargan.”

  Sargan turned to see Jusuran and the other royal co
usins walk past on their way to the cook fires. “What do you want?”

  “It’s our band’s turn to cook, tonight. What do you fancy, Prince Sargan? A nice cut of pork?”

  Ushtan sniggered.

  “Or maybe something more flavoursome.” Jusuran leaned closer and gave Sargan a wink. “I know where to get some nice duck meat.”

  Sargan glared and his royal cousins laughed again before moving on. “Oafs,” he muttered.

  Bile rose in Sargan’s throat and he forced it down. At least he could do that now. In the first quarter-moon he’d thrown up more times than he could count. He’d lost more weight. On the positive side, he’d noted that Ushtan and Jusuran, and his other royal cousins had stopped calling him hog. Though whether it was due to Sargan’s trimmer figure, or the fact that most of his royal cousins also suffered from the sickness of the sea he couldn’t say. Or perhaps it was because he’d stood up to them about the blue smoke.

  In every other way, the return journey to Azzuri was proving more difficult than the journey from it. His father was usually fastidious with his planning, but in his haste to get his new army back to Zraemia, there’d been little time to oversee the storing of provisions. They’d not brought enough food for their new recruits as well as their own contingents. All twenty ships were now on rations, and the Drakians, so used to their fresh vegetables, meat and fruit, did poorly on the bowl of barley gruel they were served up every morning. At least they didn’t suffer the seasickness like the Zraemians did. The Drakians weathered the roll of the ship with casual ease.

  In addition to grumbling stomachs, there was little space. At first, Sargan had shared his cabin with his old warband, minus Alangar of course. Yana also slept near him, and she insisted her ducks be kept in the space too. Sargan was accustomed to sharing his lodgings with the goats back in Drakia, but his band members weren’t, and Ru was particularly nonplussed at the odour of pungent duck shit he awoke to each night. After less than a quarter-moon most of his friends had left the cabin to squeeze out a place on the upper deck every night, under the stars, with the fresh sea air to comfort them.