One Cannot Deny a Blood Oath with a Dragon

by T P Sheehan

  “Then a new beginning… a new era.”

  Catanya looked at Joffren. It was more so to break eye contact with Jael than anything. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead and over the markings across the side of his head. She raised a hand and ran her fingers over her own markings, somewhat hidden now by the growth of hair over the last month. She had deliberately avoided the ritual of clean-shaving the area. She thought it helped maintain her anonymity during her weeks in Brindle, but now it served to distance her from the order that betrayed her.

  Jael reached out to her and felt the side of her head also. Her touch was gentle. “Don’t hide who you are, Semsame. Be proud.”

  Catanya looked at Jael again. She had admired how refined and pretty she was when they first met. Now she resented her for it. There was a seductive quality to her and Catanya wondered if Magnus found her attractive. Catanya held Jael’s wrist and gently removed it from her face.

  “Do not call me Semsame again, Jael. I am no longer a part of the priesthood, regardless of what comes to pass.”

  Jael smiled. “We need you. Magnus needs you.”

  “Magnus is with me, regardless,” Catanya said snidely.

  “Hmm,” Jael looked to Joffren as Catanya had done before. “There is a big future for Magnus. Are you sure you are up to being a part of that?” She slowly looked back to Catanya—a challenging expression on her face.

  Catanya could feel heat rising to her face. “The last priest who tested me was Demi. Things did not end so well for her. Are you sure you are up to that?”

  Jael sneered. She stood and drew her lance from over her shoulder. Catanya jumped to her feet and freed her own lance. The two Ferustirs stared at one another, neither saying a word.

  Eventually, Jael looked down to her weapon, stroking its casing with her thumb. “I think I’ll see what Eamon is doing,” she said and left.

  Alone with Joffren, Catanya tried to calm herself. She sheathed her lance, concentrated on her breathing and removed further thoughts of Jael from her mind. Kneeling again, she held a damp cloth to Joffren’s forehead. It seemed to settle the tossing and turning and anxious mumbling he was working through in his semiconscious state.

  “Shh…” Catanya whispered. Joffren’s eyes suddenly shot open. Fear seemed to grip him and he shouted a nonsensical jumble of words. It was strange for Catanya seeing Joffren like this—he was always a man of absolute control and confidence.

  “Why didn’t you do what was right? Why did you listen to the poisonous words of the High Priests?” She spoke directly to him. She hoped some part of him, beyond the damage and delirium, would hear her.

  There was no response. Eamon had explained that his wounds ran deep. Every organ and bone had been twisted or cracked. “Only the Gods know the damage done to his mind, Catanya,” Eamon had said. “That seems to be causing him the most grief.”

  Catanya sighed and stood to leave the tent when Joffren took a firm grip of her lower leg. He looked at her with eyes wide, as if in shock. He gasped in short breaths, blowing frantic whispers from his trembling lips. Catanya knelt beside him, her head bowed so as to hear him.

  “Semsa… Semsa…” His voice was frantic.

  “Semsarian? Is that what you are saying? I am here, Joffren.” As much as she pitied him she couldn’t bring herself to call him Semsdi.

  “Semsa…” he repeated. “Sorry… I’m sorry.”

  Catanya nodded, holding Joffren’s hand. “Joffren,” she said. He blinked as if acknowledging her. Catanya drew breath and forced the question from her mouth. “Did you send Demi to kill me?”

  Joffren’s head shook and his eyes widened even more.

  “Did you, Joffren?” Catanya spoke louder and shook Joffren’s shoulders. “Did you sanction my death?”

  “I… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” Joffren stammered repeatedly.

  Catanya stared at him. Tears welled in her eyes and her face twisted into anger. She cast his hand aside and walked out of the tent. Eamon was talking with Jael. He turned to her to speak but Catanya spoke first.

  “Let him die in there. Let him rot alone.” She stormed off, hoping to find Magnus.

  FAREWELL

  Magnus stormed toward the priest’s encampment at the eastern wall. He cursed under his breath. “Wretched priests and their fickle dragons.” The first person he happened upon was Catanya, who came down the alleyway toward him. She appeared as vexed as Magnus but stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of him.

  “What happened to you?” she asked, looking Magnus over. She covered her open mouth.

  Magnus looked at himself for the first time since the incident. His body was blotched in black from head to toe with soot and ash. His pants had not survived Brue’s flame attack and the strips of melted leather that did remain clung to his flesh. “I apologise for my appearance. But we’ve three less priests and one less dragon to worry about.”

  “What? Which dragon?” Catanya asked.

  “Brue. It appears his loyalties remain with the priests who would rather I were dead.”

  “Brue… Are you sure?” Catanya looked him over again.

  “I’m sure. I got a pretty close look before he tried to burn me to a cinder.”

  Speechless, Catanya scanned the ground with wide-eyes.

  “Catanya. We’re not safe here. I don’t know whom we can trust. I think we should leave now.” Magnus’s words were harsh. Catanya said nothing. “Catanya? We should leave now.”

  Her head went from shaking in disbelief to a fast nod. “Yes, we should leave. It’s true then—we cannot trust anyone.”

  Magnus could see more than his incident troubled her. “What is it, Catanya?”

  “Joffren all but admitted to me he sanctioned my death.” Catanya’s face turned cold.

  Magnus held her close. “I hope he lives to regret it.”

  Together they turned and headed back down the alley to find another way out of the city. He hoped any remaining Quagmen were otherwise occupied as he was in no mood for any more fighting. As they walked, Eamon’s familiar voice called after them.

  “Magnus! What… What happened to you?”

  Eamon was jogging at a slow pace, his wild hair flowing behind him. He looked as surprised at Magnus’s appearance as Catanya had been. Magnus explained in detail what had occurred in the small room, leaving out the particulars of his dreams.

  “This is most grave news, Magnus. We should get back to the Quadrangle and inform the others.” Eamon shook his head in disappointment. He removed the cloak he was wearing and threw it around Magnus’s shoulders.

  “I don’t think so, Eamon. There is none we can trust short of you.”

  Eamon looked at Magnus then Catanya as if for further clarification.

  “In the company of priests and dragons, whom can we trust?” Magnus said. “Where can we sleep without fear of our lives? What if Catanya had been in the room with me just now? It seems I cannot be destroyed by fire. But can you?” He could see Eamon understood by the despondence in his face.

  “Yes. Yes I see that now.” Eamon looked drawn. “Just now—you were about to leave?” Magnus and Catanya looked at one another but neither admitted he was right. Eamon nodded. “Well then. I’m glad to have found you before you do. Pray tell—where will you go?”

  The moment his altercation with Brue and the priests ended, Magnus had hatched a plan. “Joffren revealed to me the minds of the High Priests behind this madness. It is they who’ve poisoned the minds of the Irucantî and it is they who need to be brought to justice. They have hidden away in the Romghold with wards and dragons as their guards. I am going there to see them repent or fall.”

  “We are going there,” Catanya said.

  “Yes—we. We go without warning and without anyone knowing. It gives us the element of surprise. Then we finish this.”

  Eamon twisted two locks of his beard between his thumbs and forefingers. “Yes, it is what needs to be done. I can see, too, that even if Austagia and Fä
rgd alone were confided in, the process of deliberation would certainly raise suspicion among their brethren. News of your intentions could lead to a revolt by those sympathetic to the High Priests.”

  “We would ask you to come but I believe you are needed here,” Catanya said.

  Magnus appreciated that Catanya could see what he had not—Eamon’s desire to join them. Yet he needed to look after Joffren and support Austagia.

  “You can see my predicament, Catanya,” Eamon said. “I would see you safe to the Romghold on the back of a dragon. And my advice would have been as much just hours ago. Advice that may have cost you your lives.”

  “It seems fate has a cruel way of showing us what we need to know,” Magnus said.

  “Indeed,” Eamon agreed. “You know of course, without a dragon your journey will be long and arduous?”

  “Aye,” Magnus agreed.

  “We’ll have each other.” Catanya added.

  “Indeed you will. And what a formidable pair you are!” Eamon chuckled. He reached to Catanya and held her hand then did the same to Magnus. He looked at each of them in turn. “I am proud of you both.”

  Eamon turned his full attention to Magnus. “You have done well, Magnus. I, more than most, have seen you go through fire and brimstone to protect those you love and defend what is just in this world. I can think of no finer man to bear the title of Electus.” Magnus thanked him. Eamon then handed Magnus the fire-sword he had carefully wrapped in a suede cloth for safekeeping. “Keep this, Magnus. Return it to the Romghold and place it before Balgur in the temple. There it will rest as it belongs.”

  Catanya stepped closer to Eamon. “No, Eamon. It is you who needs closure on the matter. I think you need to make the journey to the temple. Here, you can leave with it, the priest who once was Steyne. Perhaps if Joffren is well enough he can accompany you and together you can reach a mutual understanding,” Catanya took the sword from Magnus—who nodded his assent—and she handed it to Eamon.

  Eamon smiled to her. “For the second time today you have left me speechless. Something none have done for many a year. You are wise beyond your years, Catanya.” He looked at Magnus again. “Take care of this one, Magnus—she’s a keeper.” He winked at him before slapping him across the shoulder. Eamon looked over the wrapped sword and allowed his thoughts to trail off for a moment. “Memories… good and bad. Nostalgia and regret paint with different palettes.”

  Magnus considered the old man. He had saved his life and taught him much. Eamon—the man who at first frustrated him, whom he then grew fond of, before hating him so much for so long, only to admire and respect him all over again. Now they shared a common goal, yet Magnus knew they needed to part ways.

  “Eamon, thank you—for everything. I would not be here now if it weren’t for you. From the moment we met in Froughton Forest you have put my needs before your own.” Magnus stopped talking, for his heart had risen and choked his words. He was tired and worn from saying farewell to those he loved.

  Magnus stepped up to Eamon and embraced him with a long, firm hug. He stepped back again and Eamon smiled at him the way his father did—with pride and love. “Thank you, Magnus.”

  Catanya did the same, hugging Eamon affectionately. “I’ve only known you a day but I see you as an old friend.” She wiped away a tear.

  “Old… yes! A friend… most certainly,” Eamon said. “Now, be off you two. When I can I will get word to you of my whereabouts and of Joffren’s progress. And anything else of importance. Look to the skies for the Ahrona swallow.”

  With a final wave, Magnus and Catanya headed back down the alleyway and south toward the city gates.

  BEYOND BA’RRAT

  Outside the eastern walls the land was a scattering of ancient ruins that predated Ba’rrat itself. The pale stonework was crudely made of brittle sandstone from the coast built long before the people of the known ages started mining the more resilient black granite from the cliffs. The ruins sat upon parched, lifeless soil long sucked of its fertility, making the bleached landscape a striking contrast to the foreboding black city. Blood was splattered all over the ruins—evidence of the airborne battles of dragons and wyverns. Magnus and Catanya walked around the body of a dead wyvern that was draped over an old stone wall where flies busily made a feast of the bloody mess. The smell from its carcass made Magnus gag and he could see Catanya fared no better.

  A Quag horn blew, bringing Magnus and Catanya back to reality. Somewhere beyond the Capitol the Quag were reuniting. Magnus and Catanya started to run, weaving their way around the ruins, occasionally hidden by smoke from smouldering fires lit by the flames of dragons. A dragon’s roar followed by a screeching cry came from Ba’rrat. Magnus looked to the sky and saw a dragon tearing at a wyvern before releasing it from its bloodstained claws, letting its dead body fall to the ground behind the city wall.

  They kept running—Magnus fuelled by the blood of dragons and Catanya by her flawless training. Neither needed to temper their pace for the other. Progress was fast and, within an hour, the violence and deceptions of the city were out of sight.

  “Over there.” Catanya pointed to where the land sloped away to form a gully lined with a neat row of tall poplar trees. They broke into a sprint, desperate to close the gap between them and the shelter of the gully. Magnus’s hairs stood tall on the back of his neck at the sound of a galloping horse approaching from behind. He looked at Catanya just as her body jolted forward and she lost her footing. Magnus caught her and came to a standstill. Catanya had an arrow protruding from her back. Magnus saw the approaching Quagman on horseback with a second arrow loaded in his bow. He released it.

  Magnus felt Catanya’s heart beating against his chest. He held her tight, taking the weight of Catanya’s body in one arm. The arrow spiralled toward him. He raised his free arm, allowing the arrow to pierce through and embed itself into the palm of his hand. Still the Quagman came, drawing his two black swords, spurring his angry warhorse forward.

  Holding his hand aloft, Magnus allowed the arrow to burn to ash. His hand healed with an ascending ring of flame. The Quagman saw this and pulled back hard on his reins, drawing his great horse back—its hind legs sliding to a halt.

  “Electus!” The Quagman yelled, before turning and charging back toward the city.

  Magnus carried Catanya the short distance over the steep embankment to the gully below where a creek flowed weakly back toward Ba’rrat. He sat on the ground and laid Catanya in his lap.

  He took a hold of the arrow in her back and tried to gently pull it free but it was stuck fast. Catanya recoiled from the pain and wrapped her arms around Magnus, squeezing him tight.

  “Try again!” she cried. Magnus was hesitant, knowing the gnarled arrowhead may cause more damage than when it went in. “Please Magnus, just take it out.”

  Magnus place a hand on Catanya’s chest to see if the arrow had pierced her through but it had not. It had found its way through a small gap in her Ferustir armour to the right of her spine. He was sure it had missed her heart and hoped it had missed her lungs. The only choice he had was to pull it back the way it went in.

  He took a grip of the arrow once again, then thought for a moment. Can I turn it to ash as I do to myself, or will this burn her inside? He thought carefully about trying this approach, for he could not bring himself to pull the arrow free with force. If I heat the arrow it may sear the flesh and stop the bleeding…

  “Catanya,” Magnus began to explain.

  “Hmm.” Catanya shook from the pain. “Whatever you’re thinking, just do it. I trust you.” She forced a smile. “Can you heal me the way you heal yourself?”

  “I don’t know,” Magnus confessed. Nevertheless, he held the arrow and felt the heat from his hand flow through its shaft. Catanya gripped even tighter and grunted through gritted teeth. Smoke began to rise from the shaft of the protruding arrow. Magnus pulled gently but it was still firmly lodged in Catanya’s back. He did not want the arrow to ignite into flame.<
br />
  Magnus looked at the arrow and thought of the crude metal head, for it would surely hold more heat than the shaft. He closed his eyes and pictured the arrowhead turning to molten metal and reshaping itself into a smooth extension to the arrow, allowing him to pull it free. Catanya pushed her face into Magnus’s chest and mumbled what sounded like a spell.

  “Namon hama fara meo…” She said it twice over then gave in to screams of pain. Magnus pulled on the arrow again, drawing it easily free of her body and examined the glowing metal head—it bore the smooth shape he had envisioned.

  Catanya’s body slumped and she took deep breaths, recovering from the ordeal. Magnus put a finger to her wound and saw it was cauterised by the arrowhead, stopping any further bleeding. Hopefully it will stop any infection. He held Catanya tight.

  “It’s over, Catanya. It’s over.”

  “Thank you,” she mumbled.

  “What was that spell you cast?”

  Catanya breathed deeply, “Something Färgd taught me… to protect against damage from fire.”

  “Thank you Färgd…” Magnus whispered.

  He stood, lifting Catanya to his chest. She wrapped her arms around Magnus’s shoulders, resting her head on his chest and her thighs around his hips. He carried her further up creek like this, walking on the soft sand of the lower embankment.

  The sun began to set over the poplar trees that followed the top of the embankment, taking with it the warmth of the summer day and replacing it with a damp chill. Catanya shivered from the cold. As night wore on the creek widened and the lush vegetation flourished with more trees, grasses and summer flowers. The sound of water cascading down a small waterfall lifted Magnus’s spirits.

  “Are we home?” Catanya mumbled half asleep, her head under Magnus’s chin. Magnus smiled and stroked her forehead. She looked so beautiful and he felt blessed that they should be together again.

  “No, we’re not home yet, but we will be soon.”

  The waterfall reminded him of the Nuyan River, as it no doubt had Catanya. Thoughts of home came to mind—more so than in times past. He had been so focussed on protecting Sarah and finding his parents that he had given little thought of returning home. He thought of his mother and of how his father said she had gone looking for him. To what end? Magnus wondered. Returning home was of no interest to him unless he found his mother. His father would soon look for her himself. He yearned to be by his side searching for her.