“Will you not go to Bayside and give the king your answer?” Lydria handed breakfast to Haustis. Bacon and a porridge the Chag Ca’Grae made using a distinctive orange berry and river fish. Haustis was as unlike Lydria as two people could be. Where Lydria was of moderate height, pale, and plain, Haustis was as dark as onyx, tall, lithe, and beautiful. She was an Eifen warrior; her muscles rippled in dark shadows across her skin and her gaze was intense and sure, but her eyes were soft and her mouth generous, curving in a natural smile that people were attracted to and sometimes mistakenly took as a sign of timidity or frailty.
“You know I cannot. Wynter still lives. The Haustis before me was given the task to remove him from Eigrae and she failed. We have fared no better, even though he is no longer a part of Eigrae.”
She stopped speaking quickly, though Lydria thought she was going to say more. A none too silent series of footfalls made their way up the ramp to their door. The sound, they both knew, could be none other than a Chag, for while they were clever in their way, they were not silent unless they tried, and even then, they would be found as easily as an elk by an Eifen in the forest.
“Good morning!” Hokra’s greeting was sincere and he made a show of smelling the bacon which was duly offered by Lydria and accepted by the prince as he pulled up a chair. “So, what are we discussing this morning?”
Lydria gave him the bare facts of their failure with Wynter and the failure of the previous Haustis. She said nothing of the neighboring king’s proposal.
“What you say is true, and that may make things much worse.” Hokra, in addition to being the prince of Safarngal, was also a wielder who, despite having his collar for only a few months, was remarkably adept at magic and seemed never to become incapacitated as he learned his power, as had Lydria and the others while they mastered their own abilities. “I’ve been speaking with Batra and Sturmgrae and they believe Synca was correct when she said Wynter cannot be left alone in the Melting Grae.”
Synca had warned them that Wynter’s arrival in the Melting Grae could have dire consequences. “Do Sturmgrae and Bartra have any idea of what we should do?” Haustis looked at the bald prince with eyes full of hope that the two blue dragons might have an answer that would help them reach Wynter in the Melting Grae.
The dragons, except for Sanprax, were created by magic when Wynter encased fourteen humans in ice pillars. Since their release, the first among them was killed by Keldon as Lydria and Haustis fought Wynter in the Cobalt Tower. The stone of power of that dragon was absorbed by Keldon’s two-handed sword giving it powers that Lydria was not entirely certain of. She believed that when holding the weapon, those listening to Keldon would be more likely to listen and agree with him.
The second dragon of the original fourteen to die had been Garprax on the island fortress of Ep’Muta. His stone now resided in the Sword of Wilmamen, and it gave the weapon the ability to create a gateway to the Melting Grae.
“They have an idea, but it is one we should all hear from them together. And Pars may be useful to the conversation as well, if we can pry him from the archives.”
Pars was the older brother of Edgar, King of Wesolk, although only a few knew of his connection, and the man did nothing to promote his lineage. Pars was part scholar, part woodsman, part archer, and wholly unsuited to governance. As Hokra led the women through the winding, dark passages of Safarngal, they were unsurprised to find him asleep on a stack of papers in the cool, dry archives beneath the city. Globes of magic light floated above him like a pack of dogs waiting on their master’s instruction. The half-score of Chags who worked with him were absent, almost surely grateful for the brief reprieve from Pars’ seemingly inexhaustible reserve of stamina that allowed him to work for days on end without sleep.
“It is a shame to wake him,” Haustis whispered. “He barely sleeps and those who help him need rest. He will want them all here the moment he awakens. The three sat quietly, Hokra moving the balls of light with a thought and looking through the cavernous archive.
Months ago, Lydria knew, there had been a randomness to the place that was inviting; a treasure hunt for the studious. Now there was cleanliness and order. Pars had created a system to store every book, codex, scroll, and scrap of parchment, and he had cataloged it all in a single enormous book. By scanning the long lists in the book, even the dimmest could find a document within minutes. Pars, Lydria thought, had taken all the fun out of the archives and replaced it with simple efficiency. It was at the same time amazing and sad, and that realization prompted her to wake him.
“Hey!” Pars reached down to grab his bottom that had been magically pinched as if by a giant land crab. “You could have just told me to wake up. No need to bring magic into this.”
“Then you won’t want this?” Hokra pulled back a bowl of steaming porridge and bacon he had taken from the women’s quarters and a mug of beer that was floating toward the table to fill the place Pars’ head had just vacated.
“Let’s not be hasty,” Pars said, grasping the bowl and mug before they could drift away. It was obvious he hadn’t eaten well in days. Nearby, Lydria noticed half or barely touched meals on trays shoved to corners and jumbled together. The only thing the scholar had time for, it seemed, was drinking. Wine glasses, beer mugs, and water skins were all empty and carefully moved away from anything they might ruin should they spill.
Pars ate quickly, noticing the eyes locked on him as his friends patiently waited, enjoying the awkward discomfort he obviously felt under their quiet gaze. He ate the porridge almost without chewing, and tipped the beer mug once, draining it before rubbing the sleeve of his tunic across his face.
“You need some sunshine,” said Hokra, rising to his feet in acknowledgement of the meal being finished.
“And a dunking in the river. He smells like a wounded deer.” Kimi said from the doorway to the archives. The man got up with as much dignity as he could muster after Lydria relayed what Kimi had said, and she whispered to him as he passed that she agreed, and he should change. Aloud she said bathing and changing would have to wait because Sturmgrae was expecting them.
The dragons lived as far from the archives as it was possible to be within the city of Safarngal. The city was built on both sides of the river L’ang in homes carved from vertical cliffs that towered over the river valley for more than a mile. The archives were well below the level of the river and to the south, but the dragons lived at the northern edge of the city, near the very top of the cliffs in an enormous cave carved by the Chags, by magic, and by scorching fire from the dragons themselves. Pars knew the way well, for despite his appearance of never having left the archives, he would bring tomes and items of interest to the dragons every day and they would sit and discuss what they each had learned.
The walk to the upper caves was interrupted by a series of Chag children and royal officials stopping to talk with the wielders or Hokra. Each time a child came by, Pars would ask them a question about their history, or about a particular story he had shared with them as part of his regular visits to their classrooms. The bowman-scholar was in his element around the children, speaking with them more easily than he did with adults, and almost always leaving them smiling.
Along the sections of walkway that had windows to the outside, Lydria saw one of the blue dragons laying by the edge of its cliff-side home. His enormous snout was hanging over the cliff edge and he watched the Chags below, his eyes following individuals or groups as they went about their day. She thought he looked almost sad, but she would never say so because as expressive as they may be, dragons’ faces didn’t work like a human face. To be sure of a dragon’s feeling you had to know the dragon, and you had to see its eyes. All their emotion was in their eyes – if you knew how to look for it.
When they reached the caves, Bartra was still looking down at the Chags working near the river tending small beds of shade-loving plants. He spoke to the prince and the others as they approached, using magic to allow the humans, Eifen
, and Chags to hear him without using his voice. The dragon voice, as they all knew, was debilitating at best.
“Welcome, Prince Hokra, friends. Sturmgrae has asked that we wait a bit before we begin. She says another comes toward Safarngal and when he arrives, we will take counsel. Until then, there is time for Pars to go to the river below and wash.” Bartra’s voice in their head made a heaving sound that they knew for laughter and while Pars looked at them all indignantly, he was quickly lifted off his feet and floated out the mouth of cave. To his credit, he didn’t cry out or show any fear being well over a hundred feet above the ground. “Fine, go ahead.” Pars said, holding his arms at his sides in submission. The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he began to drift downward like a falling leaf and when he was a few feet above the water, the dragon released his magic and the scholar fell into the water with a splash that drew the eyes of all the Chags who weren’t already following his descent. The laughter was immediate and a mother scrubbing her children nearby, tossed Pars a rough towel to scrub himself.
It was nearly half an hour later when Pars climbed back to the cave, still dripping but smiling broadly and placing the remains of an apple core into his mouth.
Bartra laughed again and blew hot air through his nose, helping Pars dry and warming the others who shivered slightly in the cave dwelling that would not see the sun until the afternoon. “That is much better. The archivist, though he hides in the cellars, is easily found when he reaches the open air. Be thankful you have such small noses.” The dragon moved his head to include everyone in his joke, and even Pars was forced to admit that he had been a little ripe.
While they waited, Hokra collected chairs, and asked that refreshments be brought to the dragon’s den. A young Chag took the message, gave a polite short bow and ran down the paths leading to the river, by the time he came back, the dragon was pronouncing their guests were starting to arrive.
Graenel, King of the Chag Ca’Grae, and Ilsit, former Wae of the Eifen of the East, made their way up the last corridor to the dragons’ home so close behind the young man Hokra had sent on his errand that Lydria was sure the boy must have seen the king and the Eifen and made it his duty to fetch what was asked and return to the top before his king. He was flushed and exhausted as she watched him start to take his leave moving quietly around the gathered group, and she reached out and touched him briefly in thanks, a golden light sparking behind her hand, and refreshing the Chag who brightened instantly, thanked the wielder and moved quickly back down the stairs once again.
Moments later, just a few seconds behind Graenel, the largest human any of them had ever seen reached the top of the stairs and made a quiet groan as he straightened to his full height. He was easily twice the height of the Chag king and moved to stand by his side.
“Keldon!” Lydria moved quickly from her place in the shadows against the back wall and ran toward the newcomer. She was followed quickly by Haustis and Relin, each of whom had met Keldon in Solwyn before he had been named king. Keldon had been Wynter’s Knight Commander, but when he realized the wielder would try to start an unwinnable war with Wesolk, he, along with Haustis’ brother, Nethyal, turned on Wynter, before he was ultimately defeated by Lydria. Keldon smiled at them all but before engaging them with welcome, he turned to his hosts.
“My friends, Bartra.” Keldon surprised them all by inclining his head in a small bow to the dragon. “King Graenel has told me much about you, but the stories do you no justice.” Keldon, Lydria understood quickly, was being very careful around the dragon, as he was responsible for the killing of the first of their kind as it was released from its prison in Wynter’s castle.
“Be at ease Keldon King. We have no animosity toward you. Only Wynter is deserving of our scorn. And our pity. Come, let us move further inside and speak with Sturmgrae.” As they walked into the enormous cave, Keldon greeted his friends warmly, happy to see them all well and in a single place.
Bartra led them to the furthest recesses of what could only in basest of speech be called a cave. In one section of the large room, chairs and a table were set up on thick rugs, and a galley of plates, knives, spoons and mugs rested on cleverly constructed open-faced shelves that featured deep lips to keep the utensils in place, lest the vibrations from the dragon’s movement drop them to the floor. Sturmgrae and Batra obviously entertained members of the Chag community often, as there was also a large wooden stand with several kegs of beer nearby, and Pars immediately set about filling a mug for each of the two-legged guests.
The Chag Ca’Grae had decorated nearly every inch of the place in their own particular hand-pinched relief, the stone images of dragons standing out from the rest of the wall the depth of one of Lydria’s fingers. Some scenes had been created using gems or crushed gems to create a color palate that glowed fiercely, even in the dim light. The scenes in the artwork was varied, from mundane human village scenes to a large and interesting panoply that made Lydria think it was sculpted from the back of a bird. There were small farms and ponds, woods and rivers. Lydria could have looked at it all day, but for a streak of ice-blue that caught her eye.
The color was made from crushed sapphire if she knew anything about gems, and depicted an enormous room, with seven pillars of ice lined up on either side, flanking an ornamented walkway leading to a small chair. There were no people in the room, and the pillars themselves were opaque. Lydria shuddered to herself, aware at once that she saw again the castle Wynter had created from ice in Solwyn, and the pillars where humans were trapped and turned into dragons.
“Does it bother you, to see this?” Bartra hadn’t come up to her, but the sound of his voice in her head made her start. She could feel him looking her way from across the cavern and wondered how he had known her feelings. “You shuddered, and I thought perhaps the image upset you. It should not. Wynter did what he did only out of spite and malice, and yet, here we are, alive and awaiting our children. He has given us a gift we could never have dreamed to ask for, and that we accept that gift; that is what makes us stronger than Wynter. If we despaired, he would defeat us.”
Lydria turned to look at the dragon, his large eyes, thin as his scaled lids closed slowly down and stopped a hand’s breadth from the bottom. He wasn’t sad for himself; he was sad for her. It was amazing, Lydria thought, how the dragons had adapted to their new situation and seemed to have so fully embraced it.
“We described it as best we could to the artists here and they are very capable, do you not think? The image reminds us that we were not always what we are. That we have been given a gift – the strength and humility to choose better than we were given.” The dragon’s eyes opened a little wider, and Lydria knew he smiled. He held her gaze for a moment and then turned his head toward his mate, who lay in the deepest part of the cavern.
Lydria walked after him as he carefully slid his enormous feet along the floor, and within a few of the dragon’s strides, they came to Sturmgrae, resting in what Lydria could only think of as a nest. It was a recess in the cave floor, like the bowl Synca had been in when Lydria met her on the island at the southern end of the Great Lake. Near the nest it was noticeably warmer and more humid. Sturmgrae’s blue scales rose and fell in a slow, methodic rhythm and when she noticed the wielder, her voice was as warm as the air and as kind as Batra.
“My apologies for not meeting you all as you arrived, but it seems you’ve caught me at a peculiar time. If Synca is correct, and I have no doubt she is, I am preparing to – lay an egg.”
Lydria laughed out loud and the others, who had taken their mugs from Pars and followed her to Sturmgrae’s side, smiled. For as large and powerful as the dragons were, it was easy to forget that only a couple years earlier they had been humans. They were learning about themselves as much as they were learning about the rest of Eigrae.
“Congratulations to you both,” Lydria said it out loud, looking at the dragons as Bartra breathed warm air over his mate’s face.
“Oh, it’s no doing o
f mine,” Bartra said in the matter-of-fact way of dragons. “It appears we aren’t equipped for mating in the traditional sense. It just… ‘happens.’ Truth be told, I’m curious as to whether I too, can lay an egg.”
Lydria watched as Sturmgrae’s eyes grew wide and then fell just a little. If she were a woman, she would be hugging her mate and shaking her head. Their love for each other was obvious, even though their emotions were not.
“As much as I would enjoy discussing the anatomy of our new species, there is something of more importance I think we should discuss,” Sturmgrae said, her voice amused by the turn in direction the conversation had started to take. “Keldon.”
Keldon looked to Sturmgrae who nodded; a small nod for a dragon but one that moved several feet leaving no doubt that she intended the man to continue. Turning so he faced the King of the Chag Ca’Grae, his friends, and the dragons together, he held his mug loosely in both hands. “I come from Solwyn in the north where winter is already fast upon us, and I passed through Bayside where I bring messages from King Edgar.” Keldon paused and looked around the room, lingering for a moment longer on Haustis. “There have been reports…sightings of…” Keldon stopped, unsure if he should continue. “It sounds impossible, but I sit in the presence of dragons and wielders, so I cannot think of the impossible,” he said. “There have been sightings of people unknown to us. They appear but briefly, as if from the air, and then they become dust and float away. I have spoken with two who have had such encounters and they have both told me by the sword, that the people they saw, Eifen in both cases, could be seen through, as if they were a pale reflection of a person.”
The silence in the room was complete, broken only by a grunt from Sturmgrae that caused those standing around her to have to catch themselves lest they fall. Beer was spilled and Pars picked himself off the floor, rising to his knees as if he were going to be sick.
Magic's Genesis- Reckoning Page 2