The Druids' Legacy

by Trenna McMullin

  Joran nodded solemnly then looked down at Calistra’s desk, absently rubbing a small whorl in the wood. "I've been trying to decide what to do about that as well...Ky'ara hasn't come to tell you what she figured out, which means she likely realizes you will do everything in your power to stop her from going if you know."

  "Not only would it be suicide, it would give the enemy exactly what they want! Then rather than having until the queen gives birth, we'd only have until the Destroyer got near Ky'ara!" Calistra exclaimed, “And we don’t even know how close she has to be!”

  "Unless we can block it somehow." Joran looked up from the desk and met her eyes.

  "I don't know how we could possibly do that," Calistra said, frustration filling her voice.

  "Neither do I...but I think if we knew more about what Arys told her about the transition, we might be able to come up with something."

  "If we can make it so she no longer fits the mold, maybe she'll be safe?" Calistra surmised, "I suppose it might work...don't you think she'll be suspicious if you start asking her more about what Arys said?"

  Joran shrugged. "Maybe, but worst case scenario, she finds out we know and we fight about what she should do or not."

  Calistra sighed again. "Well, I guess it's worth a shot."

  * * * * *

  Taren tried to focus on the wall across from him. There was an odd little divot in the stone...a place the stonecutter had likely slipped and gone across the grain of his other strokes. He focused on that irregularity, envisioning how it may have occurred...or at least he tried to. It was the only way to ignore the pain that wracked his body. His shoulders ached. His wrists felt raw, chafed by the coarse ropes that held them above his head. They were cinched so tight his fingers felt painfully numb. His jailer had bound them so tightly that, even though his wrists were slippery with blood, they couldn't move even the tiniest bit to loosen the ropes and possibly struggle free. His feet were locked into heavy iron blocks so that, while he could support himself, he couldn’t adjust positions more than a few inches to relieve his discomfort.

  He could ignore the pain in his hands and wrists, but his shoulders...they seemed to alternate between feeling like his arms were about to tear from their sockets, and aching with a deep, intense pressure that made him wish his arms would just pop out so his joints could breathe...Maybe the stonecutter had been distracted by a pretty girl walking by, or by a friend nearby calling his name. He tried to focus once more on the wall, but he was quickly running out of possible scenarios. It was just a stupid wall. The divot might have even been made after the stone became part of the wall. Maybe someone had thrown something at it. Maybe a prisoner had tried to escape and a deflected sword had glanced off the stone. He'd probably never know...he doubted even his jailer knew. Not that it would do any good if he did. The fellow hadn't spoken a single word to him other than to order him to open his mouth when it was time for his daily gruel. Taren had yelled himself hoarse trying to talk to the man, and had only been rewarded with silence.

  Once he'd tried to refuse the food, but the man had merely shrugged and poured it on his head, leaving him slimy as well as starving until the next day when it was time for his meal. At least, he assumed they fed him once a day. It felt that long between meals, if you could call them that, but since there were no windows in his cell and no other indication of day or night, he really had no idea how long he'd been here. Long enough to wonder when the real torture was going to begin. The immobility, disorientation, sparse feedings, and lack of human contact were just the beginning, he knew. Eventually they'd decide he was suitably softened up, and then the real pain would begin.

  Footsteps echoed in the hall outside his door, and he looked up, wondering if it was time for his next allotment of gruel. The steps were different though, lighter than the man who usually fed him. He didn’t have the excellent senses he used to, but he could still discern some differences. These definitely belonged to a woman. The steps paused on the other side of his door. He wanted to shout and scream at the person to just come in already, but he restrained himself. Calm. He would stay calm.

  The moment stretched interminably. Then the lamp that lit his cell inexplicably went out, leaving him in darkness. At first the disorientation nearly threw him into a panic. But after the initial shock he saw that in some ways it was a blessing...without the light to illuminate his surroundings, he could pretend he was floating somewhere. He closed his eyes, imagining the darkness feeling cold and soft against his face...the footsteps retreated down the hall, leaving him alone with his thoughts...and now that he had nothing to look at to draw his focus, he became increasingly aware of every discomfort, every screaming muscle fiber…

  Focus. Slow, even breaths, focus on breathing. Focus on moving: constant small adjustments could help prevent permanent damage. Focus on Ky’ara...no, not on whether she was safe or whether she would be foolish enough to come after him. Focus on her face: the way her eyes changed from blue to green depending on her surroundings. The softness of her hair, the way it felt under his hands...Her voice: the quiet, kind reassurance he so often heard there, the quaver of uncertainty that made him feel instantly protective, and that stupid, stubborn tone she used when she was set on having her own way. A tiny smile flitted across his face. That’s it. Focus on Her. She’ll keep you strong. He let his thoughts wander through every moment he’d spent with her, from the first time he’d sensed her presence to when he convinced her to let him teach her magic and their subsequent journeys together.

  Sometime during this exercise, he drifted into blessed unconsciousness.

  * * * * *

  Il’esandra contemplated her reflection in the mirror. Her trip down to the dungeon had been a waste of time. The prisoner was not yet ready for interrogation. Not that she really needed any information to defeat those irritating rebels, should she choose to reveal her full power. But it would help her defeat them with less...hassle. Her brother was still ignorant to the true state of things in his kingdom. Using overt magic against the rebels would make him start to ask all sorts of uncomfortable questions and then she'd have to resort to all sorts of unpleasantness to maintain her control here. She'd do it if she had to, but really, it was silly to go to such lengths when she had a perfectly viable source of information in her own private dungeon—even if this route did require a little patience on her part.

  He wasn't quite to the breaking point yet and to tip her hand too soon might help him summon the will to resist. Plus, she wasn't entirely sure what tricks he might have up his sleeve. He was untainted by the royal bloodline, so she could not feel out his thoughts as easily as she did most people she interacted with. His ancient origins and training as a Keeper also made him more likely to know some bit of magic she was unaware of, even if his power was almost pathetically minuscule.

  She curled her lip in contempt. He would break. His druid had deserted him, fading into death and breaking their Link. That left him more susceptible to despair than he would have been if he'd never had such a connection. Sooner or later the right moment would present itself...and then she would strike.

  Chapter 14: Breaking Point

  Joran paused outside of Ky’ara’s tent. I just need to find the right moment…If he approached this wrong, Ky’ara could get angry and go off on her own to rescue Taren, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. He was about to knock softly on the canvas door when a warning drum sounded. Not again.

  ‘Joran? What’s going on?’ Ky’ara’s voice echoed inside his head.

  “I’m right outside you know,” he answered aloud, and heard a startled yelp from just on the other side of the door. Ky’ara pulled the fabric aside and fixed him with a glare. “I was about to come out, you didn’t have to yell into my ear!”

  “I didn’t yell. Besides, you should have known I was close. Can’t you sense where I am?”

  “I only knew you were in the general vicinity, not practically inside my tent already. What’s going on? Is it another
attack?”

  “I’m not sure,” Joran frowned, “I just came to see how your research was coming when the drums started up...it’s a call to arms though. Something is going on at the perimeter.”

  Ky’ara didn’t even hesitate, she started towards the sound of the drums. “Let’s go.”

  Joran hurried to catch up with her. “Wait just a minute. You don’t need to be throwing yourself into danger. We should find out what’s going on before you rush into things.”

  It had just occurred to him that there was the slightest possibility that the Destroyer might eventually decide to come take care of the rebels herself...what if Ky’ara threw herself into a battle and Il’esandra showed up?

  Ky’ara turned to look at him. “You didn’t worry about that last time.”

  “Last time you hadn’t just avoided being captured.” he said defensively.

  Ky’ara rolled her eyes. “I’m not sitting in a cage till Calistra wants to trot me out for some final showdown between good and evil, Joran. I’m here to fight. I can’t just let other people die when I can do something to help.”

  “I’m not saying you shouldn’t...I just think we should find out a little more before jumping in this time. I just want to keep you safe.”

  She eyed him suspiciously, but motioned for him to lead the way. He headed away from the perimeter, toward Calistra’s tent. They arrived just as a scout on horseback rode up and dismounted.

  “What’s the commotion all about, soldier?” Joran called authoritatively.

  “An army is approaching from the east,” he replied, “our estimates put it at somewhere near four hundred, but they’re partially concealing themselves somehow using magic, so we can’t be sure.”

  Ky’ara frowned. If the king was blatantly using magic to conceal his armies and the word got out, he’d lose what little trust the people had in him to begin with. It didn’t make sense.

  Evidently Calistra thought so as well. As soon as the scout had made his report, she sent him off with a message for Hallahna.

  “I don’t know if Irakyll can break through whatever spell they’re using to hide their numbers, but she can certainly get closer than any of our other scouts and with much less risk of discovery,” Joran’s sister said, “Hopefully Hallahna isn’t averse to my requisitioning her dragon again. Now, what did you come to see me for?”

  “We just wanted to find out what was going on,” Joran replied.

  “And now we know as much as she does,” Ky’ara said impatiently, “Let’s go to the perimeter so we can help when that army attacks.”

  “We may as well wait and see what Irakyll can find out,” Joran argued.

  Ky’ara sighed. “What difference is it going to make? We’ll be needed regardless of what the King decided to throw at us.”

  Calistra and Joran exchanged a significant look as Ky’ara headed to the door of the tent. “It’s probably best if you wait before running into battle.”

  Ky’ara paused, turning toward them warily and looking suspiciously from one to the other. “I’m not running headlong into a fight, I just want to be on hand to see what happens so that I’m already there if it’s an attack.”

  “I’d rather have you here in case I need you for something specific,” Calistra said, a little too quickly.

  Ky’ara felt her anxiety increase, and she looked toward Joran, trying to read the conflicted emotions that came across their link. He met her eyes reluctantly, and she read the guilt there. Somehow he knew and obviously he’d told his sister.

  "I am not going to stay out of things just to keep myself safe from a potential encounter with the Destroyer," she said quietly, her voice as serious as she could make it.

  "So you'd rather risk the fate of the entire world by letting the Darkness transition to you?" Joran said incredulously.

  "Not doing anything also risks the fate of the world, in case you didn't notice," Ky'ara retorted, "And in the meantime you'd rather I sit back and let people die when I could have helped? We've been over this about a thousand times. I won't do it. If I can help, I'm going to, regardless of the risks."

  Joran looked helplessly at Calistra, hoping for some kind of support. His sister seemed to be conflicted. Did he really want her to threaten Ky'ara? What if she decided she'd had enough of the rebels trying to control her and went after Taren on her own? That certainly wouldn't help their predicament.

  "I—" Calistra hesitated. "I can't make you do anything. So I'll just ask you, as a friend: please at least wait until we know a little more about the situation?"

  Ky'ara looked a little surprised by this response. She hesitated, a little of the defiance flowing out of her. Finally she nodded curtly, sitting on one of the cushions near the edge of the tent and trying her best not to appear sullen.

  Joran let out a sigh of relief, only to be rewarded by an annoyed look from Ky'ara.

  ‘Sorry for caring what happens to you!’ The sarcasm in his inner voice was evident.

  ‘Really? How likely do you actually think it is that Il’esandra left her comfy palace and came all the way here?’

  ‘You never know!’ Joran protested. The stood watching each other, the moment of silence stretching awkwardly until Ky’ara spoke.

  ‘How did you even figure out that the Darkness could transition to me?’ she asked.

  ‘I guessed, same as you. It wasn't that hard, especially when I started to think about what would scare you so badly when you were mulling through what we learned from Iregh.’

  ‘And you just had to tell Calistra about it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Joran met her eyes defiantly, his feelings conveying far more than his one-word reply.

  "Light! That must've annoyed Taren to no end!" Calistra exclaimed, looking at them both in frustration.

  Joran turned towards her in surprise. He'd almost forgotten she was there. "I think he just got used to us having private conversations...most of the time he probably didn't even know we were communicating that way."

  Calistra snorted. "Believe me, I'm sure he noticed more than you thought...If I was in love with someone and they were staring at someone else as intently as you and Ky'ara just were, I'd notice."

  "So I suppose you'd better hope Geri never forms a Link with someone then," Joran said snidely, looking at Ky'ara and rolling his eyes in Calistra's general direction.

  Calistra opened her mouth, an angry retort on the tip of her tongue. The tent flap opened and whatever she had been about to say was lost in the sudden flurry of flapping wings and excited chittering.

  “Hallahna! I thought I’d asked you to keep her out of here!” Calistra spluttered as papers flew wildly off her desk and into her face.

  Hallahna ignored the statement and spoke urgently. “You might want to tell your people to stand down. That army approaching is your own!”

  “What?” Calistra jumped to her feet, hastily shoving the stack of papers she’d just gathered beneath a stone on her desk.

  “Irakyll showed me...the mages hiding them are some I recognize from Ainon Caseia.”

  Calistra turned to Joran. “Go tell the perimeter. I don’t want anyone getting antsy and attacking. This could be some sort of trick, but I’d rather not hurt our own people.”

  Joran nodded and hurried out of the tent. Calistra turned back to Hallahna. “Did Irakyll see anything else?”

  Hallahna’s expression turned solemn. “They looked somewhat the worse for wear...I would assume there are some among them who need medical attention.”

  “Did she see who was in charge? When last I spoke to General Gighu we had decided they should stay safely in the fortress until I called for them. I know we’re low on messenger birds after what happened to Jenie and Hal’s, but he should have contacted me…”

  Hallahna made a brief inquiry, clicking her tongue sharply at the still chittering dragon and making eye contact when the fluttering reptile settled on the edge of Calistra’s desk. Steady brown eyes stared deeply into whirling gold ones. A moment la
ter Hallahna clicked her tongue questioningly, and the dragon went silent, cocking her head to one side and blinking slowly. Hallahna sighed. “She did not see him. Dragons don’t have the same concept of leadership that we do so she wasn’t able to show me who is in charge, but she was certain General Gighu is not among them.”

  Calistra thanked her and stood. “I think this needs my direct attention. Ky’ara?”

  “Are you sure it’s safe enough for me out there?” Ky’ara asked caustically.

  Calistra pursed her lips angrily, but didn’t rise to the bait. “Come if you want,” she said simply. She left the tent, calling her guards and issuing orders in brisk tones before the flap had even properly closed behind her.

  “Oh all right, I should probably go too.” Ky’ara muttered under Hallahna’s curious gaze. She exited the tent behind the Shaari princess and her dragon and jogged to catch up with Calistra’s entourage.

  When they reached the perimeter it became clear that Joran’s message had been delivered just in time. Uneasy fidgeting plagued the contingent of guards that peered out toward the approaching dust cloud, and though their bows were relaxed at their sides, they still had arrows nocked and hands that itched to draw them.

  “Are you certain this isn’t some sort of trick?” the captain of the watch asked Calistra. Joran followed closely behind him, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

  “No, I’m not,” she replied briskly, “And that is why we are going to proceed with caution. Keep this border secure but do not fire unless they attack first. No one gets through until I come back, is that clear?”

  “Get back?” The watch captain looked startled, “Surely you don’t intend—”

  “Surely I do,” she replied, in a tone that brooked no argument. She barked orders at a handful of her guards, and turned to Ky’ara.