by K K Ness
“Good plan, fala. Just remember to conceal your abilities—owls aren’t the only dangerous shifters in Amas.”
Danil already knew that. He’d seen his friends fight.
6
The sun sat low when they finally wheeled down a sheer cliff face and into a valley. Sonnen landed in a clearing, his golden scales a flash of light in the fading day before the dragon transformed. Griff set the carrier down carefully and Danil gladly stepped out onto the grass to join Sonnen by a ring of charred stones that marked a campfire. Just beyond was a stone marker with whorled glyphs etched into the rock. The glyphs grew brighter as he approached.
“This is a common waypoint for folk crossing the mountains,” Sonnen said in greeting. “It is said that Aramanth, the first dragon of Corros, rested in this clearing on her journey to discover the citadel.”
“Fascinating.” Arlyn inspected the marker. At her touch, the glyphs winked out.
Sonnen rumbled. “The wayfarer stone recognizes allies of Corros, emissary. When we reach the citadel, you would do well not to touch the glyphs or kiandrite, lest your message of peace be lost.”
She flushed slightly. “Of course, Your Highness. I meant no insult.”
Turning his back, Sonnen said, “Griff, you have first watch.”
The blue dragon launched back into the air. He wheeled over the camp once before gliding in a broader, lazy circle.
“First watch for what?” Danil asked as he scanned their surroundings. The chance of attack from Roldaer was doubtful here.
Hafryn dumped his pack by the stones. “Mountain lions and the like.”
“Real mountain lions?” Arlyn took a step back toward the carrier.
“Of course.” Mirth showed in Hafryn’s green eyes. “Not every creature in Amas is a shifter. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“I never gave it much thought,” Danil murmured, glancing at the nearby pine trees. “Does that mean shifters run with animals?”
“Some Houses allow it, though in others it’s frowned upon.” Hafryn grinned. “I ran with a pack of timber wolves for a whole summer before Sonnen suggested if I was that bored I could do a stint on the deadlands.”
Arlyn tilted her head. “You didn’t forget who you were? After all that time?”
“We don’t lose ourselves to the shift, emissary,” he chided and was rewarded by another embarrassed flush. “Our Trueforms are just another aspect of ourselves.” Hafryn tilted his head in thought. “Though I must admit I still get a hankering for raw game on occasion—grouse in particular, even if the feathers always got stuck between my teeth.”
Danil resisted the urge to shudder.
Arlyn frowned. “Forgive my ignorance, but how do you know you aren’t eating another Amasian?”
Hafryn huffed in bemusement. “We have our ways. Contrary to Roldaerian fables, I promise no one has accidentally served up a friend for dinner.”
The emissary looked mildly disbelieving.
Turning to Danil, Hafryn said, “Let’s get some firewood. I can smell ice on the wind.”
“I’ll join you,” Sonnen said.
Hafryn raised an eyebrow but nodded.
They walked the granite outcrop into the trees. Back at the camp, Arlyn laid out her cloak on the ground before sitting, her two attendants silently watching the woods.
Danil’s gaze slid to the horizon, where Griff was a black silhouette against the setting sun.
Sonnen also watched the blue dragon. “If the thermals are kind, we will be at Corros tomorrow.” He broke apart a fallen branch for kindling.
“Not much time to prepare Danil for the High Council,” Hafryn muttered.
Sonnen grunted. “Our Roldaerian emissary should prove a distraction. I expect any treaty she presents won’t be accepted by the High Council.”
“She’ll demand kiandrite,” Danil said, remembering her fixation on the crystal about his neck.
“That will only make the magi more powerful. The High Council will never agree to it,” Sonnen said with a firm shake of his head.
“Hafryn thinks I should hide my ability to see Trueforms,” Danil remarked.
Sonnen studied Danil, golden eyes knowing. “Then it has happened more than once.”
“This morning.”
Hafryn gave a grunt of surprise as Danil described what he’d seen during their departure.
Sonnen looked contemplative. “Until we know the extent of this new gift, it would be best you kept it hidden.”
“You think there’s more to it?” Danil asked as he tucked a large stick under his arm for the fire.
“Perhaps,” Sonnen said. “Your new ability coincides with the emergence of the first crystal—I don’t hold that to mere happenstance.”
“The crystal could be responsible,” Danil guessed.
“Or proximity to the deadlands,” Sonnen countered. “But there is also your own abilities, Danil. You survived a magi curse because there is an innate power within you. You may find yourself called upon to use it.”
“That’s suitably alarming,” Hafryn said with a frown. “What trouble are you flying us into, Sonnen?”
“The assassin is an added complication,” Sonnen admitted. His golden eyes gleamed as he met Hafryn’s gaze. “I expect you to hunt down the contract and the person who issued it.”
“Of course,” Hafryn dismissed his request as a foregone conclusion.
“The assassin may have targeted Danil, but I suspect the attack has more to do with the deadlands. Many have debated over who holds rights over it.”
“No one does,” Danil said. As the strip of land separating the borders of Roldaer and Amas, the deadlands had been in limbo for centuries.
“And everyone,” Sonnen countered. His golden eyes seemed to brighten. “The leylines running beneath the deadlands are of Amasian origin. That is what the High Council needs to remember—as does all of Amas.”
“I don’t know if anything I say will be enough,” Danil stated, feeling a slow wash of fear.
“You have served my House faithfully, even at great personal cost, Danil.” The dragon raised his palm, showing the whorled House glyph on his palm. It glittered gold as if lit from within. “No matter the outcome with the High Council, my House will not abandon you.”
The glyph on Danil’s own palm burned in acknowledgment.
7
They set off early the next morning, with frost still coating the outside of the carrier box. Hafryn seemed to revel in the flight, hands gripping the porthole as Griff glided over mountain peaks heavy with snow. Sonnen occasionally drifted into view, his powerful wings stretched wide as he rode the thermals.
Dusk saw them descend over a series of grey spires on the edge of a sprawling lake that was a startling blue against the jagged rocks and ice. Only when they drew near did Danil realize the spires were unnatural.
Each spire was an intricate series of large and smaller towers, some with painted roofs or bearing pennants of gold. From their vantage, Danil could see stone courtyards, arched gateways and balconies large enough for a fully shifted dragon. Battlements and small bolt holes made him wonder what sort of enemies Corros had once fought, but then his eyes caught on a flock of birds that shot from a tower to spiral down to the lake below. A harbour town sat on the edge of the lake. A handful of wooden piers and pontoons jutted out into the water, where boats and skiffs sat anchored.
Griff wheeled them between two spires connected by a bridge suspended high above the earth. They landed on a sprawling platform with a whorled design inset into the marble.
The carrier opened, and Danil stepped out gratefully and turned in a slow circle. An arched entry led into the keep of the largest tower, its buttresses engraved with winged folk and unfamiliar symbols. Head tilting upwards, Danil counted dozens of balconies and huge windows filtering sunlight into the tower’s interior.
Arlyn stepped down beside him, her expression resolute. The crest of Roldaer gleamed on her chest.
Wh
oops of laughter came from an adjacent platform, and Danil watched in astonishment as a group of younglings flung themselves from the edge only to transform mid-fall into exotically colored birds. Their raucous shrieks echoed amongst the towers.
“Parrots,” Hafryn muttered in fond exasperation. “Welcome to Corros, the great citadel of the east,” he added, stretching his arms expansively. “More than sixty generations of Amasians have lived here, ever since the great dragon Aramanth first roosted here in a winter cave.”
Danil peered past the ornate pillars lining the entrance to the keep. He imagined a massive and immutable creature within, golden eyes glowing like magelights.
Still in his dragon form, Griff lifted off from the platform and winged down to disappear into a lower keep.
“Have dragons always ruled here?” Arlyn asked, glancing about. Her eyes momentarily lingered on a vein of kiandrite threading innocuously across the platform.
“In one manner or another,” Hafryn said. “Sonnen comes from a long and honored lineage.”
A party of Amasians made their way out of the keep. At their lead was a woman in officious blue robes, flanked by House guards bearing the Corros glyph on their breast. They carried spears displaying the gold pennant of Sonnen’s House.
The officious woman reached them and bowed. “Lady Arlyn of Roldaer, I am Naril, clerk to Councilor Tresa of Corros. I trust your journey was acceptable.”
Arlyn inclined her head and smiled warmly. “A unique way to travel to be sure, but satisfactory.”
“Excellent. Councilor Tresa apologizes for not greeting you herself, but we have rooms prepared for you, my lady.” Naril bowed again. “If you’ll come this way.”
Startled at being summarily ignored, Danil stepped back as the House guards moved to escort Arlyn. A flash of gold showed on the horizon.
“Ah, here comes our dragon prince,” Hafryn said, his voice carrying across the platform. “It would be remiss of you not to welcome Prince Sonnen home, wouldn’t you say, Naril?”
The officious clerk slowed. Her expression turned cautious. “As you say.”
Buzzing with nervous energy, Danil watched the golden speck grow large and distinct with massive wings that cut powerfully through the air. Sonnen eventually landed beside them, scarcely alighting before transforming into his human form. His tunic was once again heavily embroidered, his breeches dark with seams of gold. His eyes showed flames as he took in the clerk and escort.
Naril bowed deeply as Sonnen approached. “Welcome home, my prince.”
The golden dragon scarcely acknowledged at her. “Where is Councilor Tresa?”
Naril gave a polite smile. “She’s in meetings at the moment, my prince.”
Sonnen scowled. “The High Council has adjourned until week’s end,” he argued.
“Yes, my prince, as you say. A few councilors have stayed on to discuss certain events,” Naril said.
“How many?”
“Beg pardon?” Her smile slipped a little.
“How many councilors are attending the meeting?”
Naril almost squirmed. “I don’t—I’m not privy to that information, Your Highness. I’m certain the meetings are nothing of high importance, however.” She attempted a new smile.
“But important enough to ignore the arrival of the custodian of the deadlands,” Sonnen observed. The flames in his eyes deepened.
The clerk swallowed thickly. “I’m certain no slight was intended, Your Highness. Time must have gotten the better of them.”
“I see.” Sonnen studied the small contingent of House guards set to escort Arlyn. “And are my House guards likewise preoccupied? You appear to be missing half your retinue, Naril.”
The clerk’s mouth opened.
Sonnen raised his hand. “You are either impertinent or incompetent, Naril. Either is intolerable when it means Custodian Danil is without attendants from my House. Am I likewise to find no rooms prepared for him?”
Naril’s face turned bright red as she stammered. “W-we expected the custodian would prefer to share Hafryn of Eyrie’s rooms.”
Danil muttered under his breath, “Gods, yes.”
Hafryn snorted.
The flames grew in Sonnen’s eyes. “Have Councilor Tresa meet me in my quarters. Now.”
“But—”
Sonnen’s expression darkened
Naril bowed deeply. “Of course, my prince. Immediately.”
With a low growl, the dragon prince swept past her, motioning for Danil and Hafryn to follow.
Danil felt the heat of Arlyn’s gaze on the back of his neck as he trotted to catch up.
Entering the keep, the bracing cold of the mountains was suddenly tempered by warmth and the rustle of foliage. Sunlight streamed in through the grand archways, alighting on massive trees whose thick branches stretched up through gaps in the high ceiling. Magelights the size of Danil’s thumbnail bobbed and weaved between the tree roots and leaves and twinkled prettily. A causeway and stairs led up to a simple throne looked over by an obsidian stone dragon.
Hafryn and Sonnen seemed unaffected by the grandeur of the place. With an effort, Danil stopped himself from gaping.
“What was that, Sonnen?” Hafryn growled under his breath as they entered a corridor where long veins of kiandrite cast iridescent light. “You told us the High Council had asked for Danil.”
“There was a vote,” Sonnen muttered. “Not all saw the need.”
“Let me guess—our own councilor was one of them,” Hafryn spat derisively.
Sonnen led them through a cavernous hall of polished stone. Amasians were visible on the upper causeways. “Tresa raised doubts with me in private. However, I did not think she would slight Danil by ignoring his arrival entirely.” His eyes showed flames. A few people sketched hurried bows while giving him a wide berth. “It is nothing that cannot be handled.”
“I’d still prefer to stay with Hafryn,” Danil declared. “If that’s allowed, of course,” he added hastily.
“It is. And the insult will be dealt with. Tonight. We shall have a feast to honor the arrival of the deadlands’ first custodian.”
Danil shot the dragon prince an alarmed look.
The flames in Sonnen’s eyes eased a little. “Fear not, Danil. It will be among allies and friends. You will not have to test your wits against the High Council just yet.”
It hardly settled his nerves, but Danil nodded gamely.
“Then I will see you tonight.” Sonnen gave them a short bow before sweeping down a wide passageway.
With a sigh, Hafryn said, “This way, fala. We’ll go the long route. It seems the more eyes are on you, the better.”
They entered a new hall and took a walkway that followed the curve of an ancient tree that was wider than even the old inn of Farin. Danil peered up at the tree’s craggy height, doing his best to ignore the whispers as a pair of shifters paused in a doorway to watch.
He hurried to catch up to Hafryn. “Why do you think Naril risked Sonnen’s wrath like that?” he asked quietly.
Hafryn shrugged as they entered a corridor where magelights sat embedded in sconces. “It’s easier for folk to ignore a problem when it’s not in their face.”
“And I’m a problem.”
“Sonnen has the right of things. The High Council has been able to dally because the deadlands are of little interest to many of them. It will be harder for them to ignore the threat of Roldaer with you in their midst, setting tongues wagging.”
Hafryn took him through a stone arch leading into a cavernous hall. Rows of market stalls filled the space, some with ornate canvas awnings and others exposed to the breeze sweeping in from the open balcony on the eastern edge of the hall. Most of the shifters busied themselves with packing up for the day, although some stalls with bright and strange fruits and greens remained busy with customers.
Hafryn took them on a wandering path through the stalls. A display of throwing daggers and small blades caught his eye, and he picked up
one with a simple hilt offset by a blue glass bauble above the grip. “What do you think, fala? It matches your kiandrite.”
The crystal in question had somehow wormed its way out from beneath Danil’s tunic. It glowed deep blue against his chest. By habit, Danil ran his thumb over it, watching as a trail of contented purple followed in the wake of his touch.
Beady-eyed, the shopkeeper observed the crystal, then Danil.
“It’s a handsome dagger,” Danil allowed, not sure if Hafryn was genuinely set on purchasing the blade.
With a grin, Hafryn set about haggling. Danil watched with growing amusement as Hafryn both lauded the shopkeeper for her workmanship and harangued her for attempting to swindle a visiting custodian.
In the end, the shopkeeper settled for a handful of silver coins and the parting of a tooled leather sheath. She set about closing her shop, muttering to herself as Danil adjusted the blade to his belt.
Green eyes bright, Hafryn hooked an arm about Danil’s waist and steered him down the row of stalls. He bent close to murmur, “I’ll bet you a gold crown that our shopkeeper will be telling all who’ll listen about how you affected your kiandrite just by touching it.”
Danil raised an eyebrow. “And that’s to our benefit?”
“Of course,” Hafryn said. “Custodians are renowned for their connection to kiandrite. We’re merely showing that you’re no different.”
Danil snorted. “For someone who takes no pleasure in politics, you’re certainly good at it.”
“Gossip is the lifeblood of politics here, and the townspeople are no different,” Hafryn said.
They followed a line of engraved columns that threaded through a communal eating hall and past smaller meeting rooms. Plants and vines grew from alcoves and cracks in the floor.
Danil hadn’t given it much thought, but he hadn’t expected Corros to be so alive. He said as much to Hafryn.
“Not so different to the deadlands, is it?” Hafryn replied with a wink.
A group of five newcomers entered the far end of the corridor. Danil noticed them immediately. All had red hair, their eyes varying shades of green. Each wore jerkins dyed bright turquoise, a silver glyph over their hearts.