Dragonshade (The Secret Chronicles of Lost Magic Book 2)

by Aderyn Wood

  Her mother looked at her with tired, tear-filled eyes. “What happened to you, my daughter?” Her mother touched the dragonscale of Yana’s vest. “What is this? It’s so warm.”

  Yana took her mother’s hand and held it in her own. “You know I have the gift, Ma. You wouldn’t let Grama take me that night, when Da was still away warring.”

  Ma’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “You’ve found your gift then?”

  Yana nodded slowly.

  “What were you doing here tonight?”

  Yana looked at Krasto. “I was going to deal with him, and Sidmon, and take you away from here, somewhere safe. Then I was going to deal with the other isles and rid Drakia of the Halkans once and for all.”

  Her mother frowned. “You have that kind of power?”

  “I do. I did.” Yana held her wrists up to examine the manacles once more. “But these have stopped it. I can’t access my gift at all now.” She tried to sense Argath, but all she could feel was an empty space.

  “What of Danael?” Krasto muttered from the other side of the cell. “Does he live?”

  Yana looked at him. “Aye, he lives, and he makes his way back to Drakia as we speak.”

  Krasto frowned. “To meet his death when he gets here.”

  “Thanks to his father,” Yana snapped.

  Krasto threw his head to the side, as though he’d been slapped and kept his eyes down.

  “And you’re sure?” her mother said. “You’re quite sure you cannot access your gift?”

  Her mother stared with such hope in her eyes that Yana felt sick with desperation. She tried once more to access her power, but again it was like hitting a rock wall. Like being in this dank cell. “It’s useless.” Yana stepped to the bone gate. Somehow each bar had been melded together. The bone was blackened. She wondered if her dragonscale would be able to saw through it and her hand flew to her waist to extract a scale.

  “What are you doing?” Ma asked.

  “I need to get out through the tunnel and up to the mountain,” Yana said. “If I can get out I might be able to save us.”

  “Ha!” Krasto raised his head to give her another scowl. “Those bones are ancient and as hard as any rock. Made from a firebeast. No blade or saw will ever cut through them.”

  “Firebeast,” Yana whispered as she gently touched the bone gate. It was warm and smooth.

  “I can get you out,” Ma said.

  Yana turned. “How?”

  Krasto scoffed again. “No one can escape this cell.”

  “That’s not true.” Ma stepped closer. “Your grandmother was locked in here, two times that I know of.”

  “Would have been more if I’d had my way.”

  Yana ignored Krasto and nodded at her mother. “Go on.”

  “Rayna escaped during the night and would take the tunnels up the mountain then come and visit us in the rondhus. She’d return to the cell before dawn. She thought the whole thing a rollicking laugh.”

  “Goat dung,” Krasto exclaimed. “How—”

  But Ma was digging in the straw, then lifting a stone and finally she brought out what looked like a herding stick. “This is how.”

  Ma stepped up to the gate and poked the hook between the bone bars and lifted the bar with a clunk. Then she slid the whole gate open.

  “I can’t believe it,” Krasto muttered.

  Yana turned to her mother. “You must stay here. I’ll be as quick as I can, but when I return the longhus will burn. As soon as you hear the sounds of destruction you must also retreat to the tunnels where you’ll be safe.”

  Ma’s eyes were wide with fear, but she nodded. “We will. Be safe, daughter.”

  Yana stepped forward and embraced her mother, before entering the tunnel and heading for the mountains.

  Darkness still prevailed by the time Yana reached the old beacon on the mountain peak, but dawn would come soon. A gentle rain fell, and the manacles on her wrists seemed to make her entire being cold. She shivered.

  Every muscle in her body ached, and fatigue weighed her down like a cold, wet cloak. She’d forced herself to hurry in the tunnels, and up the mountain. Without access to her gift she couldn’t feed her body the strength she needed. But there was no time to feel sorry for herself. She had to find Argath and return to the longhus before sunrise.

  But where was the dragon? Without her gift Yana couldn’t send out her essence to call him back. She’d stood by the beacon and screamed his name into the cloudy sky, in every direction, but only the hiss of rain answered.

  The cold from the manacles was worse now Yana had stopped moving, and the rain felt like ice darts upon her skin. She drew her arms around her as another shiver took hold. “Where are you, Argath?”

  She yelled again and again until her voice rasped. The rain teemed now, but no dragon emerged from the blackness. She jumped on the spot in an effort to get warm, but the cold continued to creep from her wrists and through her entire body, right down to her toes.

  She looked up to the clouds once more, and inhaled a deep breath to summon Argath again, but a black shadow caught her eye. A bird flew closer.

  “Rhast?” Yana uttered.

  The raven landed on her outstretched arm with a loud squawk.

  “Rhast!” Yana’s voice was half a sob. “Grama sent you?”

  Rhast cawed.

  “Can you find Argath? I need him to—”

  But Rhast had taken flight before Yana could finish her words. She clenched her chattering teeth together as Rhast blended with the dark clouds above.

  Hope flared in her chest. Rhast would find the dragon. He had to.

  “Come on, Rhast,” she whispered, as another violent shiver gripped her. Her mind wandered. She thought of Vargu’s words, explaining how Yana was their only hope to stop the Ravnak’s spread. She thought of the Drakian boy who’d she saved from the two Halkan oafs. If she let them win, that would be the fate of all Drakians. Their proud people reduced to nothing but slaves and subjects for Ravnak sacrifice.

  A loud squawk made her jolt, and she realised her eyes had shut with fatigue. Rhast circled above, and Yana’s heart thudded as she looked around for Argath. A sinking feeling clawed at her, but then a screech filled her with hope once again. She stepped to the other side of the beacon and saw her dragon.

  She stepped closer, her jaw chattering. Argath looked directly at her. His blue flaming eyes didn’t shift from her and she could feel something emanated from him. Was he questioning their bond, now that she had no access to her gift?

  Argath growled a deep grumble.

  Yana held up her arms. “I’ve been bound, and cannot work my magic.”

  Some other emotion now came from the firebeast – anger and defiance. His eyes blazed intensely now. He was trying to communicate with her. Grama had told her this would happen. Grama and Rhast shared a way of communing, almost like a language of their own. They understood each other, and soon enough, Yana’s bond with Argath would allow such communing too.

  It was a feeling more than any words that came to Yana now, but Argath seemed to be trying to give her a message – use my power. Yana closed her eyes and rather than shifting to the Otherworld, she focused on Argath who was free. Her mind blended with his own. As always a rush of power filled her, as though she herself was a god, and together they accessed the raw essence of the Otherworld to break the manacles.

  Yana gasped and opened her eyes as the metal binds fell to the ground. A rush of essence came, like a river churning with floodwaters, and she smiled.

  “Argath, we must fly.” She strode to him in five swift steps then climbed up onto his back, his heat halting her shivers.

  Argath roared a fiery blast and then they were soaring. Yana clutched the large scales behind the dragon’s neck.

  “South,” she yelled, and the dragon turned and flew over the mountains and toward the longhus.

  The square building soon came into view with the red Halkan flag atop its roof. The alleys and
the village circle still looked empty and no one seemed to stir in or around the longhus. Yana hoped her mother was awake, as she instructed Argath to fly lower.

  “Fire,” Yana shouted, and Argath let loose a plume of hot red flame that set the longhus roof ablaze in an instant.

  “Again!” Yana yelled, and Argath dipped and flew once more, lighting a trail of destruction in his wake.

  Four more times Yana burned the longhus and when she reached out with her shade-self she found Sidmon dead. Burned to a crisp, trapped within the longhus.

  She searched for her mother’s essence, and relief swept over her when she learned her mother was still alive, making her way through the tunnels.

  Yana instructed Argath to land, and she jumped from his back to the solid ground outside the burning longhus.

  Flames were everywhere. The longhus’s roof had burned right through and the furnishings were all ablaze. The rock walls still stood, and would probably survive, but everything else was destroyed. Including the enemies within.

  Shouts came from behind and Yana turned to see a long line of Halkan warriors approach, their spears held aloft.

  “Burn them all,” Yana told Argath, and the dragon opened his giant maw and breathed fire. The line of Halkans screamed, but only for a moment before they all fell dead.

  A movement caught Yana’s eye and she turned to see the boy she’d saved in the alley. He made to run, but she called him back with her gift. Come to me.

  Reluctantly he moved toward her.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Sigfrid.”

  “You have parents?”

  The boy nodded, his eyes wide with fear.

  “Tell them, tell as many Drakians as you can, Simple Yana has returned and she will deliver Drakia back to the Drakians by nightfall.”

  The boy blinked as Yana turned from him and stepped to her dragon.

  It’s time. She extended her shade-self, and as Argath took flight Yana lurched toward him and her flesh melded with his own. The dragon grew even larger as Yana bound with him. Through her dragon sight, she saw Sigfird’s mouth open wide, before he turned and ran.

  East first, then north, she thought as she flew. Time to burn every longhus to the ground.

  The red Halkan flags flew high and proud atop every longhus in Drakia. But not for much longer. The enemy burned as they slept in Westr Varg, and so to on the smaller isles.

  By the time Yana flew to Uthalia Isht the enemy somehow knew, and archers and spearmen stood waiting for her. Yana sneered in dragon from and flew close, daring them to try their feeble weapons. Her massive form was too vast for any weapon a human could forge. Over half the soldiers spun and fled as she veered over them. But they were eaten up with her ravenous flames. There was no escaping her terror.

  In another heartbeat, the Uthalian longhus was also in flames, and Yana spread her vast wings and headed north to the final stronghold at Kania-Isht. It had been many summers since Drakians had ruled on Kania. This victory would be a sweet one.

  As the northern isle came into view, a light grey lit the eastern skyline. Dawn had arrived, though the clouds refused to budge and rain continued to teem.

  Kania Isht’s high mountain range stood so tall it disappeared amongst the clouds. The Kanes called one mountain ‘the protector’. It stood taller and wider than the others and resembled a warrior’s head and shoulders, looking out to sea with a scowl as though ensuring no enemies would escape notice.

  Yana beat powerful wings and flew with speed, down to the longhus.

  There were no line of warriors awaiting her with spears and arrows. Only two figures stood in the rain.

  One, taller by half than the average human bore two twisted horns upon his head. The other wore a red robe, his hair a mass of dark, matted locks, and his hand clutched a staff with a red jewel that glowed. It was the Ravnak magi and the ichorseer called Xan. The very ones who had given the enemy their power.

  Their essence did not shine with light the way most did, rather black smoke-like tendrils surrounded them. But Yana could feel their power. Blood power. Its coppery reek reached far and wide.

  She flew low and breathed fire upon them. The two magic-users worked together forming a thick wall of ice, enough to protect them before it melted. Then the Ravnak magi formed an ice spear and with deathly accuracy he hurled it at Yana. She breathed her flame and it melted away.

  In her mind she laughed, but in dragon form she roared, and veered round to strike once more. She could sense fear from her enemy now. And well you should be afraid, for nothing can destroy me in dragon form. She could feel Argath’s presence of mind, egging her on and telling her no enemy could best them.

  She opened her maw and flames spewed forth. The two figures were ablaze. All at once Yana saw a range of images in her mind’s eye. The Ravnak with Sidmon, teaching him the ways of the blood power. The ichorseer convincing King Amar-Eshu he was the one true king of all Zraemia. And all the bloody sacrifices made at their altars of evil.

  As their essence dissolved into the Otherworld, Yana’s awareness filled and she knew their plans to dominate the world. To use the Drakian and Zraemian people for their own dark ends, so that the Ravnak could walk their lands. She swung around. The day had lightened, but still the rain teemed and the dragon flew low, one last time to throw a plume of flame over the enemy.

  Danael

  In the dawn light the mists shifted like slow drawn curtains. The huge sails of the Praetan ship caught the slightest southerly breeze and drifted ever closer over the bay. Either side, the lofty cliff face loomed high. The mists swirled, and soon enough Danael took in the view of familiar narrow steps carved in the steep escarpment. The statue of Prijna stood tall and proud near the village circle. The old oak still clutched its leaves, though they had turned a burnt orange. Several figures walked the ramparts. The sight gladdened him. At least his father has set a watch. Then he followed the line of the lane that led to the longhus atop the hill and an ice cold gripped his heart. The longhus, what remained of it, seemed to be nothing but a blackened ruin. Had the Halkans already invaded? He scanned the rest of the village. The rondhuses looked the same from this distance. Smoke spiraled up from their thatched roofs.

  A hand clasped his shoulder and Ru spoke in his ear. “A sight for pained eyes, my friend?”

  Danael glanced up at the longhus again. His emotions were swirling as much as the mist. Home seemed a foreign word to him now. It once meant family, where his mother lived. But it had come to mean something else. Someone else. She’d died too.

  He gave Ru an empty smile and turned his attention to the village. The closer they sailed, the more his gaze returned to the blackened longhus. What in Prijna’s name happened?

  A long horn sounded over the bay, and echoed mournfully on the hard rock face of Estr Varg.

  “They know you’re home,” Ru said.

  Danael stood straight and took a long breath. The horn sounded twice more. And within moments the village streets and alleys filled with people. They came out of their rondhuses and rushed to the escarpment to look out over the sea. Their excited voices drifted over the still waters of the bay.

  “They know it’s you, Danael. They look forward to your return.”

  Danael swallowed. Yes, he could see their excitement. He glanced at the longhus once more. Would his father be waiting with Sidmon at his side still whispering dark messages in his ear?

  Danael shivered. Leaf-fall held Drakia in its grasp, but only just. Wynter was but days away, and after so long in Zraemia it would take Danael a while to adjust to the icy clime.

  The ships anchored and Ru gave instructions for ten boats to be readied to take them in. “You’ll need a guard,” Ru told him. “In case the enemy lays in hiding.”

  Danael nodded, his mind adrift and his stomach unsettled at the thought of what he may find. He’d scanned the skyline a score of times and was pleased to see no Halkan flag. It provided him with a measure of con
fidence that their old enemy hadn’t claimed this far south, at least not yet.

  By the time the small boats moored on the jetty, the sun had lifted higher in the dull sky burning the mists away, and a delegation of familiar faces stood on the jetty.

  Feraj clapped Danael on the back and welcomed him home. “Well met, Khanal.”

  “Estr Varg is safe?” Danael asked the boat builder. “No Halkans?”

  Feraj shook his head. “There’s much you’ve missed. The Halkans have been and gone.”

  Danael frowned. “Gone?”

  “Aye. It’s the strangest yarn, and you’ll need a cup of ale to hear it.”

  “Is that why the longhus is ruined? Because of the Halkans?”

  “You saw that then? Get yourself up there. We’re organising a feast for your return.” Feraj gave him a level stare. “As I said, you’ll need a cup of ale, for the story and for what’s to come.”

  Danael questioned him but the boat builder insisted he make his way up.

  Progress was slow. A long queue of well-wishers lined the jetty and the narrow steps up to the village. Familiar yet aged faces from his youth smiled and greeted him as though they welcomed a hero back from warring. His father was not among them.

  In the village circle, tables had been set under the giant oak. The oak’s leaves, brown and brittle, fell in a gentle rain around the circle. Braziers had been lit and villagers were busy everywhere bringing out drink and food, and laying the feast on the benches. A firepit flared near the ramparts, and already a whole deer hung above it. This would truly be a feast like no other.

  Someone gave Danael a fur cloak, and he turned to see fellow returning Drakians and even some of the Zraemians receiving similar gifts of warmer clothes. The day was proving to be a sunny one though, and Danael was thankful for that.

  The long line of returning Drakians continued to move from the ships, to the jetties, and finally up the narrow steps to the village. Tears and shouts of happy reunions filled the air. Old Viktar put a tankard of ale in Danael’s hand and clapped his shoulder before leaving to give out more ale to other returning Drakians.