He saw the other ogre once, as it darted out of the area. It was probably scared witless being without a mother for the first time.
March, are you all right? Rikky asked. Is Blaze?
It’s just a tear, but we were stuck, Marcherion finally responded. We ended two more of the druids’ lot.
I think the membrane will line up well enough, Aikira added. We’re coming to you. How is Silva?
She won’t be feasting for a while, but she will live.
Musst spell the membranes for usss, Blaze hissed.
Before Rikky could respond, Crystal, Zahrellion’s frost dragon, sent a shrill shriek of warning echoing across the ethereal.
By the time Rikky was mounted and Silva had struggled herself into the air, the others were gone. He and his dragon could not have felt more helpless.
***
Zahrellion was in the stronghold’s great hall hearing the concerns of a man who had once been contracted to make tack for King Blanchard’s stablemaster in Mainsted. He seemed like a good man, a man who was once proud of his work, and proud of his place in the scheme of things. The filthy little girl beside him was clutching a doll and crying simply because her father was so upset. One look at her huge, sad eyes melted Zahrellion’s heart. The streaks from the tears running down her face were the cleanest parts of her.
The man was not proud now. In fact, he was on his knees begging for employment, sobbing about the home he’d lost, and how his beautiful young wife had just disappeared. Zahrellion was going to help them. She was just waiting for him to calm down. She’d already gotten the scribe’s attention to take her command but couldn’t bring herself to interrupt the man’s desperation. Jericho was sleeping in a basket beside Lemmy at a nearby table, and the pair of door guards were patiently keeping another petitioner from entering.
No one expected what happened next.
The little girl started wiggling. Then she started doing a silly twirling dance. The man’s pitiful voice droned on and on, and then suddenly his form expanded and shifted. The little girl disappeared in a roiling cloud of smoke. Then a terrible black maw attached to some ever-changing predatory form launched itself at Zah.
Zahrellion’s protective instinct forced her to check what was happening to her son. What she saw made her icy blood burn. There was the girl, who was now a young witchy-looking woman, all bedecked in a high-collared gown and garish face paint, reaching for Jericho. Before she could think, she screamed out to her dragon, who shrieked out across the ethereal as she’d been told to do.
Lemmy’s long, thin blade would have cleaved the woman’s head, had she been in a fleshy form. As it was, the elven steel passed right through her.
The woman cackled at this, but only until she realized Lemmy wasn’t deterred. Lemmy had Jericho by the wrist and was yanking him toward the hall’s service door.
Zah met the closing jaws before her with an ear-pummeling blast of yellow Dou magic. Even though she was no longer associated with the defunct order of druids, the magic she’d learned there was hers to command. The bespelled man was flung into the rock wall and was partially buried in the crumble Zah’s blast caused.
The witch, however, was between Lemmy and the service door now. It was clear Lemmy’s sword didn’t scare her at all. She waved her arms crazily and then shouted a word that seemed to leave her mouth like a fist. Lemmy was knocked backward so hard it looked as if his skeleton was crushed flat against the wall.
Jericho was left sitting on the floor before the witch, unprotected.
It all happened so fast that the two door guards were just starting into the room. The next petitioner wasn’t who he seemed either, though. The guards were yanked backward from the middle by unseen hands and left on the floor screaming and bleeding from the holes left in their abdomens.
Zahrellion wanted more than anything to blast the young raven-haired bitch who dared attack her and her son, but the witch was holding Jericho now. There was little she could do that wouldn’t harm him, too. She was suddenly so afraid for her son that she wanted to scream.
Part II
Xerrin Fyl
Chapter Six
Jenka cocked his head curiously and took a long, deep breath. It was dark. The sun had long since faded into the sea. He was standing at the steel-banded door of Xaffer’s old temple. There were no guards posted. He couldn’t even spot a sentry. Jade had let him off at the edge of the vineyards, a short walk away. It wouldn’t have mattered if there was a full brigade watching the place, though. Jenka was invisible and would be for half of the night or more.
What piqued him as he stood there was the sudden feeling that this might be the end of him.
Nooss, Jenkas, Jade hissed. You will triumph here.
Three days, he said as he reached to test the door. It wasn’t locked and the hinges were surprisingly quiet for their age. After he stepped in, he pushed the door closed behind him and concentrated.
Jade?
Yesss.
Good, I still feel you there. He’d been worried about the place being warded from the ethereal. He also worried about getting lost in some wizard’s maze and just drifting away in his Dour-saturated head. Having Jade in his mind with him would go far toward keeping him centered and on task. Determined to help Clover now, he worked at keeping his thoughts focused.
Inside, the temple was amazingly well kept. In fact it seemed as if the lobby had been recently full of men. He wasn’t sure how he sensed that, but he did. Maybe it was just the fact that the small oil lamps ensconced in the walls were lit? Still, whoever had been here hadn’t used the front door. It wasn’t like the rest of the place. He hadn’t noticed any paths or wear marks in the lawn between the two buildings, either.
He figured there was an underground or hidden hall built between the buildings. It was the most logical explanation.
The rest of the ground floor was about what he’d expected it to be, only the wooden pews weren’t dusty, they were freshly oiled, and the scent of hot candle wax was heavy in the air. One look at the altar revealed why. Hundreds, maybe thousands of red and black candles had been melted there over the years. The sides of the navel-high block were caked with it, and it had built up and puddled along the floor in a strange, misshapen glob.
There was another room beyond the main hall, and the stairs opened into it. They led away, going both up and down in a tight spiral. Jenka went down, and down, and down. Four floors down. The first two landings had been well kept and were illuminated with lamps, but the third floor was cavernous and dark, as if it had a vaulted ceiling that opened up through the floor, or maybe floors, above. Then there was the final level, where the cobwebs were as thick as the rat droppings.
There were no torches or lamps here. He could see well enough, though. The Dour flowing through him heightened all of his senses, but none more than his eyes. Everything was bathed in an eerie emerald light. It was like each separate block of stone was radiating its own field.
He was compelled to draw the sword Mysterian had made for him. It had the crystallized tear of Jade’s mam mounted in its hilt. Jenka also had Clover’s teardrop in a pouch at his hip. He had enough contained Dour to level a city and the means to use it. None of that mattered, though, for the moment he stepped onto the lowest floor he knew he’d activated some sort of spell.
Then he realized it was more of a release than anything. That, and he wasn’t invisible anymore. A heavy slab slid down over the landing behind him, blocking him from the way he’d come. Then a long, slow growl echoed from the depths of the darkness. Looking around him, he decided this was probably the right place to be. Whatever it was that just came to life was most likely warded to guard something down here, and it didn’t sound pleased about his intrusion.
There was nothing to do but follow the sound. A hallway led in the right direction, and he cautiously started down it. No more than three paces in, he had to clear away a spider as big as his fist from a web that was blocking the way.
Be
yond the web there was a single door on the right. It was painted the sort of red you see on the fingertips of night girls. The stuff was as glossy as if it had just been brushed on, but everything around it was grimy and coated with dust. A dozen paces farther down the hall, he passed another door which was exactly the same. He went on, and again there was another glossy red door. When he looked back, and ahead, he saw that the corridor was infinite and that there were evenly spaced red doors all the way down it. The spider web he’d cut away wasn’t behind him, either. Understanding he was in some sort of trap, he stepped over to the door before him and cautiously put his ear to it. He was rewarded with a savage howl that might have come from just the other side.
Since Jenka had been swallowed by the alien, he’d been torn between his love for Zahrellion and his sense of duty. There was no emotional tie to what he was doing, and there was a sea of regret for leaving his love and his unborn child behind, but he was here. Any reservations he might have had over opening the red door were numbed by his lack of enthusiasm. He never expected to survive the alien. How could he hesitate here, when the Dour itself and his word to Crimzon had combined in a moment of triumph to keep him alive for just this purpose? He didn’t know the answer, so he opened the door and made ready to jab with his sword anything that might be lurking.
Beyond the door was an impossible chamber that was as big as the old temple itself. It was a long-sided octagonal, and the walls were easily twice as tall as Jenka. It seemed that he was standing inside a dome, save for the space wasn’t under a round roof. The four square panels that formed over him were solid. The four triangular panels, at each corner of the peak, were made of stained glass, and beyond them the sun, or some simulated source of light, glowed brightly. In the square surface that was parallel to the floor, the same symbol he’d seen in the courtyards was displayed. He looked down to find it was on the floor as well. Turning slowly, he saw that he was in the center of an arena. The door behind him was gone, and there across the slightly bowled floor was a bearish creature the size of a house. Its burning cherry eyes were narrowed, and its toothy snout was frothing with anticipation. Bristles quivered and rippled over its bulging muscles. It had claws as long as knives, and a long, spiked tail, which was whipping around. It started sauntering toward him. Jenka had no idea how to defeat such a thing. He doubted it could be done with a sword.
He could outmaneuver the creature and maybe tire it, but with so much Dour at his disposal that would be foolish.
He couldn’t decide if this were some illusionary monster or if it had been summoned and bound to Xaffer’s spell. He also wondered if Clover’s statue was even down here anymore. This was a place where huge things did battle, not a place to keep a petrified woman. There were long, gouged scratches in the walls, and the few large stone blocks that were spaced about the outer combat area were busted and scattered.
This was something real.
There was nowhere to hide, save for huddling behind some rubble, so he ran toward the center of the bowl, trying to steel himself to the fact that he was about to have to use the Dour. When he did, the priests, or monks, or whatever those robed men were who worshipped here, would probably feel it. As the surge of sparkling energy flowed through his guts and slowly down each limb, he decided the worshipers above would be wise to stay out of it. If they tried to stop him, he didn’t know what he would do to them.
Chapter Seven
Zahrellion was dumbfounded by the witch’s attack, but Crystal was quick and not so surprised. A walled-in area had been designated for the dragons when they were in Three Forks, and Crystal could cover the distance between it and the stronghold with one chilly flap of her wings. As Zahrellion fought to hold back her pulse of devastating magic, Crystal’s head burst through the window behind the attack, taking part of the sill and frame with it.
Lemmy was striding across the polished tile floor, a silent scream of frustration on his fair face, his sword bared and ready. The pitiful man-thing that had been with the witch was writhing on the floor and slowly pulling back into its natural form. Lemmy’s blade must have found it, for a puddle of thickening black fluid was spreading around it.
The witch was forced to turn away from Lemmy’s charge to see what was behind her. In that instant, Lemmy dove with all the half-elven grace he had in him. He hit the floor, rolled twice, and then slid up to his feet, somehow snatching the baby at the very moment the shock of dragon fear consumed the witch. He didn’t stop, either. He took Jericho straight across the room and out into the quickly emptying entry hall.
Crystal’s huge maw came clacking down over the beautiful woman, and Zah found she had to close her eyes because she didn’t want to see almost perfect beauty destroyed in such a violent manner. It was an unnecessary thing and keeping them open might have saved her the blow she took next, but now she was sailing backward across the hall. The witch had turned herself to mist, slipped out of the way of Crystal’s teeth and blasted Zah so hard in the gut with a fist of energy that she couldn’t even breathe.
Zahrellion landed hard, and her head whipped back, smacking the marble blocks that served as interior walls. She ended up in a heap, half-conscious and trembling. Only the rage building inside her dragon, which she could feel plainly inside herself as well, kept her from slipping away.
Smoke can be frozen, witchesss, Crystal hissed before glacializing the now misty form of the voluptuous woman.
For a long, slow moment it looked as if the dragon was correct. The witch’s form began to slow and stiffen as it hovered over the floor, but then the raven-haired woman’s jaw clenched tight, her eyes closed, and she began to tremble and convulse. Zahrellion couldn’t do anything if she tried. She was clinging to consciousness by Crystal’s will alone.
All of a sudden, the witch burst into flames; flames encased in ice that melted away in a matter of heartbeats.
“You foolish breed whore,” the witch spat. “I am Ankha Vira from the Coven Wisteria, and you and King Richard will keep the people united or we will eliminate the both of you and reform the Council of Three with the true heir to the throne. The Coven of Hazeltine has withered to naught. Wisteria will have a seat. We have taken control of the peninsula, and we intend to keep it. Watch yourself well or the Frontier and little Jericho will become ours to shape and mold as well.”
Zah wanted to shout back at her, but Ankha Vira was gone. Zah was recovering, at least enough to get to her feet. Her anger mingled with Crystal’s and she gained resolve, if not strength, with every step she took. By the time Marcherion and Aikira came storming in, she was in a full state of indignant rage.
“Where were you?” she yelled at Aikira. “You’re supposed to be here. You have duties.”
Then to March, “And you, the one who is always acting like some commander of defenses. Where were you when Prince Jericho was attacked?”
“Where was his father?” Marcherion’s words came out sharp, like a sword jab, and pierced Zahrellion’s heart. She was no less angry with Aikira, though. Aikira was supposed to carry a message to King Richard on King’s Isle for her. It would certainly be a different message now.
March glared at her, then stalked a few steps away. He called over his shoulder, “Tell Rikky that Blaze and I are more suited for the task. He’ll know what I’m talking about.”
It was clear he was speaking to Aikira because Zahrellion had no idea to what he was referring.
Aikira waited until March was gone. She stayed the half-dozen guards at the door with the palm of her hand and then began searching for words.
Zahrellion was expecting an apology, but that isn’t what she got.
“Listen to me, Zahrellion. I am not your subject, nor your servant.” Aikira’s vehement tone took Zahrellion off guard. “My dragon and I are not here to run messages for some half-arsed queen of the sticks. I’m sorry this happened, but if you and Jericho were up in Clover’s castle, instead of playing ruler of the land, like March and Herald have been suggesting, thi
s wouldn’t have happened. I am sick of it. I am going to help Marcherion with our real duty. Rikky will explain.”
Zahrellion didn’t understand. She was just trying to do what everyone wanted her to do. After a long, deep breath, she found the only thing that mattered to her at that moment was Jericho.
Without another thought she ran off to find Lemmy and her son.
***
Jade sat on a perch, watching below as a pelican dove after a dark school of smaller fish. Like some elongating and ever-shifting shadow, the knot of minnows turned and darted and circled round under the surface. Against the pale, green-tinted sand, they were impossible to miss.
Jade didn’t envy the fish. Not only was the pesky pelican diving in to fill his bill, but underneath the school there were a handful of larger feasters. These shot through the denser part of the mass and filled their maws at will.
A few wingbeats away there was a darker area. The minnows were trying to get there so they could dive into the depths. Jade watched all of this with a growing sense of accomplishment building inside him. He was strong now, easily as strong as Silva and Golden. He’d flown halfway around the world and had been forced to maneuver through every kind of current imaginable. His sense of navigation had grown powerful, and he was confident he could find every single place he had ever been again, if the need arose.
He knew his mamra would be proud of him, and he almost shed a tear at her memory. Only a sudden, shocking development with the fish below saved him from it.
As the ever-shrinking knot of fish finally found the deeper area, something large, an eel-like shape, darted out and snatched three of the bigger fish that had been feeding on the minnows. The pelican had to stall mid-dive, which Jade knew wasn’t easy at all, but the bird managed to avoid the scene. Jade wondered if the school of minnows hadn’t been luring the bigger fish in for the eel all along.
The Emerald Rider (Book Four of the Dragoneer Saga) Page 3