“Are we?” she asked, picking at a thread on her skirt. “Even for those of us who don't have magic any =more?”
“Sienna,” he said, softly. “We are not immortal.”
“We can be,” she said, her eyes dazzling as they whizzed passed a sun. “If I could have figured out how to contain my magic to...”
“No, little one,” he said. “We are not meant to be immortal. That goes against Nature.”
“So did I,” she said.
He sighed.
“You defied all the odds,” he said. “And now we're going to do it again in Dramoon, hmm?”
“Yes,” she said, after a moment. “If we can.”
“We will,” he assured her. “Think of it as another adventure. Another quest. But you have to stay strong, all right? We will all be in danger if you are weak. We can fight, Prada and I, but no one can communicate with them. We need you.”
“What do you think would have happened?” she asked. “If Desmond had set up a school there, for warriors?”
“I don't know,” he said. “Whether we would have had a whole generation of witches who were little more than soldiers or whether it would have united the galaxy. I guess is wasn't a path we were meant to take. How's your arm?”
“It's all right,” she said, pulling her sleeve down. It made him suspicious, and he reached out, pulling up her sleeve.
It was indeed, all right. Almost fully healed, which he knew was impossible without magical intervention.
“Sienna!” he cried.
“You wanted me to be strong,” she said. “Besides, I wanted to practice. Just in case you needed me.”
“That's not why you are practicing,” he said.
“Nathaniel, I'm fine,” she said. “Really, I feel fine.”
“That's because the meds are still in your system,” he said. “You may not remember what it was like, Sienna, you were young…but I remember how terrible it was.”
“I remember how terrible it was,” she said. “I remember throwing up throughout half my childhood. I'm not eager to repeat it.”
“Good,” he said. “Then trust we can take care of you, one last time.”
“One last time.” She smiled. “I will treasure that.”
Chapter 7
“MAESTRO!”
“AH!” Nathaniel sat bolt upright. “Sienna. Prada. What?”
Desmond was the one leaning on his door way, with a smile.
“I just thought I'd do that to you, and see what happened.”
“Have I mentioned lately that I despise you?” Nathaniel rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What do you want?”
“We're here,” Desmond said. “Landed a few minutes ago, in a field, and so far our presence has gone unnoticed. But we may want to exit soon to not look like we are doing anything suspicious.”
“Why didn't you wake me sooner?” Nathaniel asked, still groggy. “Ugh. I need to…Are they all right?”
“As far as I know,” Desmond said. “I haven't seen your new one in an hour or so, but Sienna was taking a shower and eating breakfast.”
“Remember when getting her to eat breakfast was a civil war?” Nathaniel answered, as he threw off the blankets. “Those were the days when life was simpler in a way.”
“Simpler?” Desmond said in surprise “I hate to ask what you are currently going through if that was a simpler time.”
Nathaniel ran a hand over his face with a sigh.
“I suppose that you should know,” he replied. “Eliza asked me to take the throne with her.”
“Of course, she did,” Desmond answered. “She's been waiting to do that for years.”
“No,” Nathaniel said. “We had an agreement and she's thrown everything up in the air now.”
“What are you going to do?” the older Maestro asked.
“I don't know,” Nathaniel admitted.
“Well, until you figure it out, there's no point in sitting around,” Desmond said, as if it was a simple choice. “Come on.”
“Can you—” Nathaniel felt like he'd never get enough sleep. “Make sure Prada's eaten and packed and is stable enough to go?”
“You mean make sure she's not going throw a tantrum?” He raised an eyebrow. “She's a bit old for that.”
“You'd think,” Nathaniel answered. “Please?”
“This one time,” Desmond said to his former Tiro. “Ten minutes.”
“Uh-huh.” Nathaniel resisted the urge to fall back onto the pillow, yawning as he got up. He must be getting old, because he remembered days when he go three nights with no sleep. Now, six hours felt like a catnap.
He managed to shower and put his rut sack back together in record time, before joining the others at the back door. Everyone else looked well rested and calm, although Prada found his other side quickly, avoiding Sienna. Nathaniel chose to ignore this, instead pointing Sienna to the middle, in between him and Desmond. It was a position she took often in her youth, in between her two warrior Maestros.
“There's no one out there,” she said, more of a fact than a complaint. “We scanned the area twice.”
“That's good,” Nathaniel answered. “But they could still be coming, so stay on guard.”
“Ready?” Desmond asked and Nathaniel nodded. He pressed the red button and the gangplank lowered.
Dramoon was a puzzling planet, with many different temperatures, depending on the rotation, all of them harsh. Nathaniel sucked in a breath at the cold they weren't expecting, and took the first steps down the gangplank.
It seemed like an easy enough descent There was a vastness that was unsettling to him as they walked onto the solid ground. It felt too empty.
“Do you think—” he started to Desmond, when he suddenly felt a disturbance in the magic.
Out of nowhere, beings began appearing. They had been using magical cloaking that was far advanced to any of them. It was a combat technique that Nathaniel had only dreamed of.
But right now, he dreamed of escaping this.
There were at least fifty of them suddenly surrounding them. And with shoulders tense, and hands up, they didn't come in peace.
“We're here to help,” Sienna spoke right away. She knew that her accent wasn't perfect, but she felt confident and fluent, and even elated to be using what she thought was a useless root language to learn. “We are witches.”
They stopped, staring at her.
“We are witches,” she repeated.
“You are keepers of magic without use,” came the reply. “You will not stray us from our path.”
And then the first one shot magic at them.
This was a level of magic and a strength that was not often seen. They didn't often fight other witches. In their combat training, while they did spar with each other, they usually fought technology, guns, weapons of destruction.
Nathaniel slammed his hand onto Sienna's shoulder, shoving her to the ground as he blocked the blast. Desmond moved to her side, his magic ready after years of lying dormant.
It came back to him like riding a bicycle. Fighting with Nathaniel was something he would never forget. They were two of the greatest warriors in the history of witches.
Prada, though, was something he was not prepared for. For every move that Nathaniel made, she made one twice as powerful. It was as if he could set her up for every single shot that led to a killing blow for her.
Prada, Desmond realized, with a sinking pit in his stomach, didn't need any of them. And she didn't feel any remorse, any emotion at all, from taking life after life.
They weren't supposed to take a life unless they absolutely had to. They were supposed to defend, and only kill when absolutely necessary.
Prada clearly thought every moment was a time to kill.
Desmond had never seen her power in action quite like this before. She and Nathaniel were clearly made to work together, and after a moment or two, he hung back, acting defenseless rather than offensively.
Wound only, he heard Nathaniel sho
ut to Prada, who ignored him. WOUND, TIRO.
Prada got the message and pulled back at last, although she didn't seem happy about it.
It was over before Desmond even had time to judge what had happened. It was as if to Prada, they hadn't been in the middle of a life or death battle. It was as if they had just been in the middle of a normal day, and she had stopped to take care of a few bugs.
“Check which ones you left alive,” Nathaniel said, with a tone in his voice that told Desmond he had dealt with this more than once. Prada moved forward, checking pulses without blinking. Magic killed without a trace, if done right. And Desmond could see not even a scorch mark on them. She was an expert, better than those twice her age.
Being an expert in killing was not something that any witch should be proud of.
“Are you all right?” Nathaniel turned to Sienna, who shakily stood.
“I could have helped,” she said.
“No.” Nathaniel looked straight are her. “Your skill is languages, that is where we need you.”
“I was just as powerful as her,” Sienna said, and Desmond touched her arm gently.
“Focus, little one,” he said, softly and she quieted down.
Prada returned to Nathaniel, meeting his eyes. Her own were cold, as if she was not affected at all by the lives that she had taken, robbing Nature of them.
She held up her hand, indicating five fingers.
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.
“You killed five?”
She shook her head.
“She left five alive,” Sienna said slowly, and Desmond looked down. Her fingers were twitching and he knew what she was thinking.
Sienna didn't like death of any kind. Not witches, animals or flowers. Healing was one thing, but resurrection was a whole different matter. Resurrection not only made her sick, but also opened portals to the dead. It was a dangerous game.
“They are gone,” Desmond said to her, quietly. “Send regrets to Nature.”
“Bring me to the ones who are alive,” Nathaniel said, and Prada dutifully led him forward. “Sienna?”
“Mm hmm,” she managed, moving forward.
One of the damaged witches was awakening, his eyes clouded. Sienna had trouble getting the words out, especially given the destruction they had just caused.
“We need to speak to your leader,” she managed. “We will speak for the universe about your plans for peace.”
“The age of the witches are here,” he spat to her. “We will bring this universe to a society that can operate together, under our rule.”
She paused, trying to think.
“We already do that…
“Your way of magic controls nothing,” he managed. “Ours will control all.”
With that, his eyes rolled back. He wasn't dead, but they weren't going to get any information out of him any time soon.
“What did he say?” he asked.
“He… they want control of the universe, like our version of witches have,” she said. “It sounds like they might be making plans. I'm not sure they have the technology that Thomas was alluding to, to be honest. I think they might be using their magic.”
Their magic is weak, Prada echoed in Nathaniel's head.
“Only compared to you,” he answered verbally. “We need to see where their headquarters are, and how many they are. We need to convince them to back down...to work in harmony Or we could be at risk for an age of war. Am I glad you're here,” he turned to Desmond with a smile. “Any tips?”
“Brute force wasn't the technique I used,” Desmond answered. “They do not deal with emotions. They speak very bluntly When I was here, I had a translator, and he only translated the facts. A very different kind of negotiation than we are used to.”
“It should be easier,” Sienna said. “Translating facts is always easier than emotion.”
“He seemed to understand you well enough,” Nathaniel said, and she shrugged.
“It's not a difficult language, actually. It's much like Desmond's description. Facts, easy and safe, clear words.”
“Well, keep doing that,” he said, as they straitened up. “I'm tempted to wait until those who are alive wake up and can lead us but…”
North, Prada said. North and then north east and through the passage.
“Or we could just read their minds,” Nathaniel answered, rolling his eyes. “You aren't supposed to do that without permission, Prada.”
What difference does it make? she asked. It's just facts, in their minds.
She led the way, showing no signs of cold or fear as they moved forward.
Nathaniel followed her, feeling her magical ping to bring him closer. She wanted him to stay close, in case they were attacked again, and so she could communicate if needed.
His Tiro did seem so cold and ruthless, but he knew that underneath she was lost, learning and frightened.
If he left her, there would be no one she could communicate with.
It wasn't something that lay easily on his mind.
But even now, he wondered what Eliza was doing, and thought about how much easier it would be to be sitting beside her.
It was more than just the warmth and the fact that he would be safer, quieter.
It was the fact that on that throne, he could potentially serve and save more lives than these individual visits. They did take on large quests like Dramoon, but sometimes they took on smaller, quieter quests that only affected a person or two.
Was his calling the high throne? He felt like he had failed with two Tiros now.
He didn't know, but he needed to make sure his head was here, keeping his team safe. Otherwise, there was no point in thinking about the future.
They walked through the cold, Prada leading the way from the directions she had gleaned from the warrior witches.
It was only when they came upon a huge gleaming building did they realize what they were dealing with.
“It looks like school,” Sienna said. “It looks exactly like the school.”
“They did build another one,” Desmond half-marveled “Without me, without our training, without our approval. So, what are they up to in there?”
“Only one way to find out,” Nathaniel said, approaching the door. “Let's invite ourselves in.”
Chapter 8
Walking through the front doors was easy for Nathaniel and Prada. But despite the fact that the doors were wide open and there seemed no one there to stop them. But Sienna stopped, as if there was an invisible force field.
“Ack,” she said. “Maestro?”
“It's a spell,” Desmond said. “It's barring those who don't have magic from entering.”
He was able to step back and force without difficult, and Sienna drew a deep breath.
“I can give them enough magic to go through,” she said, drawing her shoulders up.
“No,” Nathaniel said. “You will not.”
“Then do you suppose I just shout through the walls?” Sienna asked. “You need me. It's not going to hurt me, Maestro. And I need to practice anyways. For Devon.”
“Sienna…”
“Nathaniel,” Desmond, ever the voice of reason, spoke up, “she's with the two of us, we've dealt with this before. It's fine.”
“I'll be fine,” Sienna protested.
Perhaps I'll just go alone and you can stay here debating? Prada's voice came in his head. Are you here to work?
Prada, you will let me set the schedule for this, he whipped around. Her magic flared in her eyes.
We need to be vigilant, especially if we need to attack again.
This is a school, Tiro. We don't attack.
This is their school. They might attack if they see fit.
He turned back to Sienna, trying not to answer Prada.
“All right,” he said. “Minimal amounts. Come through.”
She closed her eyes, forcing her magic up through her veins It came through easier than Nathaniel thought it would, and it made him realize tha
t she was not at all keeping up with her medication.
She was preparing for a full return to her magic, which would kill her in short order if she wasn't careful.
She stepped through the open door with ease, and he saw Prada's eyes widened slightly as she felt the power off Sienna.
His young Tiro said nothing, but he knew she was impressed.
Her feelings lasted only a moment, because Sienna only made it three steps before she wavered
Desmond and Nathaniel had spent years dealing with this kind of weakness. Desmond reached out to grab her before she fell, and Nathaniel stepped into her side, bracing against her.
“I'm all right,” she protested, breathless. “I'm all right. I'm all right.”
Prada snorted, turning around. She had no patience for those who were weak, that much was clear.
“And that is why you don't use magic, hmm?” Nathaniel asked, after a moment. “Prada, stop walking.”
She turned around, but she didn't do it patiently.
Finally, Sienna straightened, nodding.
“All right,” she answered, although she didn't seem too keen on responding to their inquires about magic.
“This is eerie,” Desmond said as they looked around. “It looks like ours, down to the last point.”
“Which means someone has been inside ours,” Nathaniel said. “And then came here.”
“Yes, of course,” Desmond answered. “There were many of us who worked on this project, before they made it clear that they wanted nothing to do with it.”
“Who else was here?” Nathaniel asked as they walked. It seemed as if no one was bothering them. No one even knew they were there. It was almost as if there was no one there.
“No one who is still alive,” Desmond answered. “Except for me.”
“Well, then…” Nathaniel said as they turned the corner.
There was a class room, as he knew there would be. As with their own academy back home, there was glass windows.
Inside, it looked identical as well. Young Tiros training in a combat class.
Except for the fact that they were not just sparring.
There were animals in the class with them, wild animals who looked terrified. They had a reason to be terrified, Nathaniel saw quickly, as the young Tiros advanced and then killed them. There used various techniques to end their life, but it was the same outcome. It wasn't long before there were bodies laid out and bleeding, life devoid of them.
Dragon of the Prairie (Exiled Dragons Book 13) Page 69