Twin Soul Series Omnibus 2: Books 6-10

by McCaffrey-Winner

  “Which lives?” Imay asked.

  “Ellen, Jarin, and Krea Wymarc,” Rabel said, his lips twisting as he added, “My daughter and his daughter.”

  “I see,” Imay replied. “And the blood?”

  “You must prick your finger and offer him your blood,” Rabel said.

  #

  Ellen woke with a start and looked wildly around the darkened chamber, confused. She raised a finger and started to call forth a light — but her hand was knocked down. Her eyes widened as she saw the darkened form beide her, eyes gleaming fearfully, put her finger to her lips and whisper, “Don’t wake him.”

  Jarin. Ellen’s memories flooded back and she recalled vividly the moment the black dragon gobbled up her blue-white demon. She had two left. The last would only leave on her death.

  The black dragon was snoring, hidden under a layer of gold coins in the treasury of the zwerg queen, Diam’s, underground city. Next to her was Lissy, the queen’s youngest daughter.

  “Do you have the demon I loaned you?” Ellen said, reaching a hand toward Lissy. Lissy nodded in a quick jerk and shook her head as she grasped Ellen’s demand. “I’m going to get help,” Ellen assured her.

  “Captain Ford?” Lissy wondered, dimly recalling the name from her memory. “Isn’t he dead?”

  “The one who bound them,” Ellen said. “Even Ophidian was impressed.”

  Lissy reached into her top and pulled forth a bright, blue-white demon which she cupped quickly in her hands to reduce the glare.

  Ellen took it, leaned her head down and said, “Send help.” Then she threw the demon into the air.

  The dragon’s snores stopped and the two girls looked at each other in alarm. The blue-white demon headed toward the door, paused, and disappeared.

  The two girls clutched at each other for support and waited wide-eyed while the dragon twitched under its pile of gold, twitched again — and started snoring.

  The two girls sighed in unison, still holding each other tightly.

  #

  “I think I have it,” Imay said, reaching her finger up to her mouth and biting hard. A steady drip of blood poured from the wound. “Ophidian, hear my oath. I, Imay, Princess of the Silver Earth zwerg, do offer you this bargain: for your gift of dragon’s fire and dragon’s healing, I swear to you to guard my people and my friends, to protect them with my life, particularly to protect, aid, and guard Ellen Ford, Rabel Zebala, Ibb the Immortal, Krea Wymarc and Jarin the dragon —”

  “Accepted!” A voice spoke from nowhere. And suddenly the room was crowded with three more people.

  “That was quick,” Rabel said, glancing toward the dragon-god in surprise. Then his brows drew together as he added, “Who are these two?”

  Ophidian ignored him, turning to Imay. “Your offer is accepted,” he reached forward to her bleeding wound and light flared from his fingertip. The wound glowed brightly and the color raced up Imay’s arm and into her body, causing her to glow slightly in the room. “In addition, I’ll heal all these wounds, just —”

  “Just what?” Rabel asked.

  “Where is my son?” Ophidian said, turning his fire-red eyes on the sorcerer. “What have you done with him?”

  “He’s —” Rabel began easily, then stopped, turning a horrified look to Imay. “That’s why they didn’t come!”

  “Who?” the new man demanded. He glanced around. “Where are we?”

  “In the Silver Earth kingdom of the zwerg,” Ophidian told him. He glanced back to Rabel. “Where is Jarin?”

  “Underground?” the man looked like he was going to faint. “We’re underground!”

  Ophidian’s brows creased. “And that is a problem?”

  The man licked his lips nervously. “I don’t do well underground.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to cope for the foreseeable future,” Rabel said, toward the man with his hand extended. “I’m Rabel.”

  “Rabel?” The man repeated in surprise. “You’re not related to Krea Wymarc are you?”

  “If you’re referring to the same Krea who was Krea Zebala not long ago, yes,” Rabel replied.

  The man pulled his hand back hastily and raised both arms, ready to cast a spell. “You can’t be!”

  “I am,” Rabel replied, looking at the mage in surprise. “Why can’t I be?”

  “Krea said you were old!”

  “I was,” Rabel agreed, jerking his head toward Ophidian. “We came to an arrangement.”

  “He made you younger?”

  “Not the first time,” Ophidian added with a glance toward Rabel, his eyes lidded in secret amusement. “He swore to protect three lives with his own, even beyond death.” He jerked a finger toward the woman. “Rabel, this is Annabelle. She’s sworn in service to me —”

  “Only for the next few days!” Annabelle said.

  “— for the next three days,” Ophidian corrected. He pointed to the man. “And this is mage Reedis, formerly of the airship Spite and an acquaintance of the late Captain Ford.” He pointed back to Rabel. “And this man is Krea’s father, Rabel. He’s young because he took an oath —”

  “Another oath,” Rabel interjected.

  “— to me,” Ophidian finished.

  “You did?” Reedis said giving Rabel a look of surprise. “An oath beyond death? That seems a bit difficult…”

  “In fairness, he probably won’t need that part,” Ophidian said. “He has only to protect them to adulthood.”

  “Krea would be one, I imagine,” Reedis said. “May I ask about the others?”

  “Ellen, an urchin with great potential,” Rabel replied, “now called Ellen Ford —”

  “After Captain Ford?” Reedis interrupted. “Why?”

  “He was the first person to help her,” Rabel said. “When he died —”

  “How did you know?”

  “I told them,” Ophidian said. “The girl had been given spy demons and she needed to understand why they were free.”

  “Annabelle made those,” Reedis said, glancing toward his silent companion who nodded in affirmation. “And the third?”

  “Jarin,” Ophidian said, “my son.” He glared at Rabel. “And where is he?”

  “Last I heard, he was in one of the treasuries, resting on a bed of gold,” Rabel replied. “Ellen and Lissy, the queen’s youngest, were attending him.”

  “That is not all,” Ophidian said angrily. He started for the door, turned back to Rabel, saying, “Well?”

  “Great god, the injured?” Imay asked in a small voice.

  Ophidian paused, visibly torn. He turned around and went back toward the row of burn victims. He glanced at Imay. “Are you ready to learn?”

  “Yes,” she said without hesitation.

  “Good,” Ophidian said. He pointed to the first victim. “His wounds are all over his body, you know that, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Imay said. She knelt beside the burned man. “What do I need to do?”

  “You must think of fire,” Rabel said, moving back to stand behind her. “Close your eyes and imagine the tip of your finger on fire, burning brightly but not hurting.” He glanced to Ophidian. The dragon-god nodded. “Do it now.”

  Imay took a shaky breath, closed her eyes and held up her left hand.

  “It must be the hand you favor,” Ophidian said.

  Imay switched hands. She closed her eyes, held up her index finger and — a brilliant white light flared at the tip.

  “Open your eyes,” Rabel said. “Slowly.”

  Imay did as instructed. Her eyes widened as she saw her burning finger but her surprise faded and, intrigued, she brought the burning fingertip closer to her eyes, examining it from all angles, her mouth agape with wonder. Finally, she turned to Ophidian, “Now what?”

  “Ask your teacher,” Ophidian sai
d, gesturing to Rabel.

  “As you make fire, you can pull it,” Rabel told her gently. “First, kill the flame in your finger.”

  Imay glanced at her finger, blinked, and the light went out.

  “Good,” Rabel said. “Now, you need to imagine the fire of the burns, the fire that made the burns. And then reach forward — but don’t touch — toward the burns. Imagine the fire flowing into you, warming you and cooling the injured, making their flesh whole and unharmed.”

  Imay took a deep breath, looked carefully at the burns on the zwerg lying unconscious before her and gently lifted her finger toward him. In a moment, the man’s body was bathed in light which coalesced into a brilliant flame. The flame raced up her finger, through her hand, her arm, and into her body. With a gasp of surprise, Imay rocked back on her heels.

  “I did it!” She sat back up again and looked at the injured zwerg, his burns all gone, skin healthy. She turned to Ophidian. “Thank you.”

  Ophidian gave her a small nod. “Now, the others.”

  “I don’t know if she has the strength,” Rabel cautioned.

  “Now is the time to find out,” Imay said, moving to the next injured person.

  “Sometimes you have to put your finger near the worst burns,” Rabel warned.

  “She did well enough,” Ophidian said, “perhaps her gift is stronger than yours.”

  Rabel returned the dragon-god’s taunt with a quirk of his lips but nothing more.

  “It will go quicker if two sets of hands are helping,” Ophidian said to Rabel.

  “Indeed,” Rabel said, stifling a yawn. “But I am at the end of my strength. I must rest.”

  “Oh!” Ophidian said, raising a hand and dropping it on Rabel’s shoulder. “I can fix that.”

  Rabel gasped as the god filled him with strength, standing taller and looking a full year younger. He turned to the dragon-god, shaking his head, and said, “A little warning, next time.”

  “As you wish,” Ophidian said. “Now, the injured?”

  Between Imay and Rabel it took twenty minutes to heal the forty injured zwerg. Their bodies were bright with the retrieved energy and Imay smiled and laughed with delight as she healed the last of the wounded.

  “Now,” Ophidian said with a tone of great forbearance, “perhaps we can see to my son?”

  “What of these two?” Rabel asked, pointing to the newcomers Ophidian had brought with him.

  “They come with us,” Ophidian said. “He’s a mage of hot and cold, she’s a witch.” When he heard Imay’s gasp, he added, “Rabel’s a sorcerer which makes him the worst of the three.”

  “What am I, great god?” Imay asked in a small voice.

  “Untrained,” Ophidian said. “Rabel…?”

  “Until we leave, I’ll train you,” Rabel told the princess with a poorly veiled sigh. “You have great potential, you know.”

  “Now, where’s my son?” Ophidian repeated in a dangerous tone.

  “I’ll take you,” Imay said, moving to the fore.

  Chapter Four

  Captain Nevins growled as he beckoned the young apprentice toward him. “What’s your name, again?”

  “Mage Marten, sir,” the pimply-faced lad supplied with a pitiful attempt at a salute.

  Nevins raised a hand to his hand in acknowledgement. He turned to the mechanic, another apprentice. “And your name?”

  “Dalton, sir,” the mechanic said. He was an older man, grizzled, grimy. He smelled, too. Mostly of coal and oil, so Nevins didn’t complain. Besides, he seemed to know what he was doing. “Aldis Dalton.”

  “Very good, Mr. Dalton,” Nevins said. “Is the ship ready?”

  “The engines and propellers, sir,” Dalton said. “That’s all I speak to.”

  “And the coal? And the boiler?” Nevins prompted with a bite in his voice.

  Dalton blinked. “Them, too, of course.”

  Nevins glared at him, waiting. The mechanic frowned, then added, “Sir.”

  “Good,” Nevins allowed. He turned to the mage. “And the spell?”

  “At your command, sir,” Bill Marten replied with another botched salute.

  Nevins nodded and gestured the two to their stations. He turned to the first mate, a lieutenant “on loan” from the King’s Navy. His name was Walter. Nevins was keeping a stern eye on him — Harbinger’s captain wasn’t up to snuff and if Walter worked out right, Nevins would give him Pace and take Harbinger himself, bumping the bumbler down to first mate. Besides, both ships were light on crew.

  Fortunately, what crew they had aside from the ‘specials’ — mages and mechanics — were “on loan” from the Navy. Nevins hid a bitter smile. He’d been Navy, too, not that long ago. But he could tell which way the wind was blowing — and it was blowing upwards, from ships to airships. They would be the wave of the future. Nevins snorted as he recognized his un-intended witticism — no! Two by Ametza! I’m becoming quite the wit, he thought to himself.

  He went to the stern, grabbed his speaking trumpet and bellowed across to the other ship, Harbinger. “Ahoy, Harbinger! Are you ready to lift?”

  “What?” a querulous voice came back to him.

  “Ready, sir!” Tortis Borkin shouted above the voice of the captain.

  “Very well, follow us in turn,” Nevins called. He turned to his crew. “Lift ship! All hands, lift ship!”

  “Lift ship, aye sir!” Lieutenant Walter called, cupping his hands to bellow forward. “Release lines forward!” He turned to the mechanic. “Prepare to deploy the propellers! Full steam!”

  “Full steam, aye sir!” One of the mechanic’s men called back.

  “Propellers at the ready!” Dalton called back.

  “Mage, give us lift!” Walter called to mage Borkin.

  “Aye, sir!” Tortis Borkin called back, lifting his purple sorcerer’s hat and waving it once in acknowledgement before returning it again to his head. He closed his eyes, raised his arms, and chanted his spell.

  And Pace rose into the sky.

  “Release rear lines!” Lieutenant Walter called. “Dalton, you may deploy when ready!”

  “Aye, sir!”

  “What speed and heading, sir?” Lieutenant Walter asked Nevins when the ship was level.

  “Head to the sea, two-thirds power,” Nevins said.

  “Aye, sir!” Walter called back smartly. “Helmsman! Port rudder, bring us about due west.”

  “Due west, aye sir!” the helmsman called back.

  Nevins moved forward to Lieutenant Walter, saying, “That was smartly done.”

  Walter beamed. “Thank you, sir!”

  Nevins turned without comment heading back to the stern rails. He gazed down below and shook his head at the sight of Harbinger, dangling half-up, half-down just above their land dock. Someone had forgotten to order the rear lines released and the poor ship was all a-kilter, straining skywards, her propellers still un-deployed. “Mr. Walter!”

  “Sir?”

  “Reduce speed, and set up station just north of the palace,” Nevins called back.

  “Sir?” the lieutenant sounded confused.

  Nevins pointed downwards. “Let us wait for our sister ship to join us.”

  The lieutenant gave him a surprised look, went to the side rail and peered overboard. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in the sight below him. When he straightened, his eyes were dancing with delight. He saluted Nevins and turned to bellow, “Mechanic! Reduce steam! Helm, set course for the palace. We’re going to wait for Harbinger to join us.”

  “Aye sir!” came the replies.

  Captain Nevins turned to the hatchway. “I’ll be in my cabin,” he called to the lieutenant. “Let me know when we are ready to proceed.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  #

  “Colonel, sir,” Jenthen Barr
os said as he entered colonel Walpish’s tent. He didn’t salute. Walpish still abhorred the man’s presence, his smell, his manners, and his tone but he could not deny the value of the man’s intelligence.

  “Sit,” Walpish said, gesturing to the rough-hewn wooden stool next to his camp table.

  “I’ll stand,” Barros replied, eyeing the stool and the colonel — seated in a well-built camp chair — with disdain.

  “Very well,” Walpish said sourly. “I’ve drink if you want it. Warm tea, coffee?”

  “I’m doing well, sir,” Barros replied.

  “What have you to report?”

  Barros hid a smile. That was his value to this cavalry colonel.

  “The enemy has no knowledge of your movements,” Barros said, tapping the bow slung over his shoulder with a vulpine smile.

  “Surely they sent messengers?” Lieutenant Marless, sitting opposite his colonel, asked in surprise.

  “Oh, about twenty or more,” Barros replied with an evil leer. “And that’s just the humans.” He paused for that to sink in before patting his bow again. “None of them got through.”

  “Good,” Walpish said, exchanging a quelling look with his lieutenant before turning back to the spy. “And South Pass?”

  Barros shook his head. “I was told to keep here, stop messengers, until the musketeers arrive.”

  “But nothing coming from that way?” Marless pressed.

  “You’ve sent scouts, what do they say?” Barros asked.

  “We were just wondering if you had anything to add,” Colonel Walpish said soothingly. He spread his hand over the map laid out on his table. “So far, aside from the garrison in the fort, we’ve met no soldiers.”

  “And you didn’t meet them, either,” Barros replied. Walpish shot him an angry look but the spy shrugged. “It was the airships that ‘met’ them and they all died, didn’t they?”

  “I believe some survivors joined the soldiers,” Lieutenant Marless replied. “But our orders were clear: we were to take this town and await reinforcements.”