by Jordan Baker
"That's a shame," Jax said. "Our numbers are few here as well. We will have to find some way to coordinate between the groups. It's good to know there are some Rangers in the Xallan lands."
"I should be more clear," Pike said. "There aren't any Rangers left in Xalla. I am the only one."
"And you came here looking for others in our order?"
"No, I didn't know there were any of us left," Pike said, glancing at the three of them. "The reason I came here is to kill the king."
"Kill Cerric?" Jax laughed and put his arm around Pike's shoulder. "Brian, I think I am starting to like this friend of yours."
*****
Cerric stalked through the palace in a dark mood. The voices that he had banished from his thoughts had returned, emboldened by the baiting of the blasted mage, Stavros, and to his further irritation, he could no longer sense the power of the one who carried the shadow. He could still feel the shard of darkness and the shadow that slowly grew within the young man, but that was all. Before Stavros had bound and blinded the mage priest he had sent, Cerric had only managed to get a quick look through the trees of the group that traveled with the old mage. Other than Stavros himself, whom Cerric recognized from years ago, the rest of the travelers appeared to be common.
An old man, two women, one barely clothed and the other in a cloak, and a young man with a sword, were all he saw, and no matter how much he repeated the memory in his thoughts, he could not make out their faces. The only thing Cerric was sure of was that the young man was the one with the shadow within him, for he could feel its dark power emanating from him. Shortly after his conversation with Stavros, the power had become vague and distant as though it had moved somewhere far away. Cerric knew that if the mage had traveled using magical means it would have meant an abrupt change, but instead, it had faded gradually, which he figured could mean only two things, either the young man had traveled to the sea or he had gone to the desert, where the sands, like the waters, would obscure his power. From where the group of them had been when the mage and the Darga had attacked, it was likely the latter, and it was worthy of some concern, for the desert people had long been enemies of his power.
Shapeshifters they were, these desert people called the Ansari, and their power was as ancient as his own. Cerric blinked as memories of fighting the loathsome beings flooded into his thoughts and he struggled to place those memories clearly in his mind, knowing that they were actually the experiences of the dark god that lived within him. With the confusion came the voices again, like echoes of thoughts, impressions of arguments from the dark corners of his mind, and it frustrated him that he could not silence them completely.
Cerric made his way to the grand courtroom of the palace and found Berant, sitting at a desk in front of stacks of paper, with messengers coming and going. The soldiers at the door stood at attention when he entered and Berant rose from his seat as Cerric strode across the polished stone floor.
"Your highness," Berant said, bowing his head. "Have you come to look over the information we have gathered from the tournament?"
"Yes, Berant," Cerric said. "Tell me, what sort of warriors has this little game brought to the city?"
"These are the latest round of challengers," Berant said. "Over two hundred fighters remain."
Berant held up a stack of papers then slid them across the table toward Cerric, turning them around. On them were drawn various likenesses with written notes, detailing where they had come from, the weapons they fought with, their ranking in the tournament, the battles they had fought thus far.
"And how soon before we have them down to the last fifty?"
"Three days at most," Berant said and Cerric shook his head.
"That is too long," he said. "Find a way to move up the schedule."
"Only so many fights can happen at a time, highness," Berant replied. "I could assign more soldiers to act as officials for more matches, but there are a limited number of fighting circles."
"Then don't use the circles," Cerric suggested. "Have them fight elsewhere."
"Where would you suggest?" Berant asked, biting back his aggravation.
"Anywhere! What does it matter, so long as they fight! Have them fight in the streets. The people will love such a display. They seem to thrive on chaos."
"Are you sure that is wise?" Berant asked, cautiously. "There could be damage to the city."
"Have you seen the entrance hall to the palace, Berant?" Cerric scoffed. "I care not if a few shops are smashed. I want this tourney concluded. The victory banquet will happen tomorrow at nightfall."
"Yes, your highness," Berant said as Cerric stormed out of the room. He turned to several of his messengers. "Summon the tourney officials."
"Yes, Lord General," one of them said and they scampered away.
Outside the courtroom, Cerric heard the footsteps of the messengers running down the stone hallways and the steps of the palace behind him as he made his way along a wide hallway to a large, glass-covered balcony that overlooked the city. He walked outside and looked out over Maramyr, its lesser palaces, the busy streets, shops in various districts and numerous dwellings sloping all the way down to the city walls. The nearby temple district was busy with black robed mage priests putting the final preparations in place for the spell they had been working on and the Academy, which was close to the palace, teemed with people, many of them warriors who had come to compete in the tournament and many more common folk who had come to watch.
The city looked like an anthill, with countless little creatures going about their miniscule lives, convinced of their own importance, all the while unaware of how easily they could be manipulated or destroyed. Cerric watched as they moved about in senseless chaos, each of them driven by their own thoughts, their own desires and the trivial things that made up their individual worlds. He heard a loud cheer from the tournament grounds as one fighter bested another and he shook his head in disgust.
How pointless it was, and wasteful, all that energy expended on foolish things when it could all be directed toward something more. Soon they would all fall in line and know their purpose, a purpose he would give them, for he was their god, and such pitiful creatures were not worthy of anything more than to worship him. Soon their time would come, and once he had gathered his power and secured his temple, he would set about removing all those who might dare to oppose him, and this time he would prevail, for he had learned the truth of darkness and nothing would stop him.
And still, the voices whispered at him from inside his thoughts, like gnats in his ears, no more than an irritation but no less persistent. Cerric turned and walked back into the palace, heading for the dungeon, to take his frustrations out on his guest, who he was sure was near to his breaking point. The god-king smiled in amusement, wondering how fearsome the creature might become once he assumed his true power, a power that Cerric would take and add to his own, and he laughed to himself as he walked through the palace halls, imagining what kind of terror he himself would become.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Borrican awoke to dark golden shadows and warm heat all around him, except for an arm that rested lightly on his chest, cool against his hot skin. He turned his head and saw a tangle of dark, reddish hair and he was confused, then he realized that he was himself again and it was all he could do not to leap to his feet to be sure of it. Borrican took a deep breath and steadied his thoughts, then he carefully brushed away the hair that spilled over his shoulder and onto his chest, and he saw her. Ariana's face, her pale skin and delicate features as he remembered them, lay upon his shoulder, and her knee rested on his leg as she slept soundly next to him on the rocky floor of the cavern.
He noticed something strange on her shoulder, giving off a luminescent glow, and he pushed her hair aside, revealing a layer of glittering gemstones that were almost like scales running down her arm, and giving off a faint light from within them, pulsing and shimmering in the darkness of the cavern. From where Borrican lay, it looked as though othe
r parts of her body were similarly covered as well, then he nearly jumped again when he realized where they were, and what they had done together.
Memories and flashes of what had happened entered his thoughts and he felt his cheeks flush and his pulse race as he remembered it all, every kiss, every touch, every caress, the urgency of their embrace and the rush of passion that swept them away. His body quickened with renewed yearning as the images ran through his mind and he fought the urge to wake her in the hope of more. As his breathing became deeper, he noticed her scent, her taste, her essence was in every part of him, as though he had bathed in her very being and it was completely intoxicating to him. Borrican held his breath for a moment and let it out slowly, focusing his thoughts and trying to remember how this had come to be, hoping to make some sense of it all.
"You're awake," Ariana said, her voice dry and gravelly yet soft and light.
"I have only just awakened," Borrican said, nervously, hoping she would not notice his arousal or that they were naked in each other's arm. "Just now."
She nestled into the crook of his neck and put her hand on his cheek, and slid her thigh overtop him, letting it fall upon his upper leg and the part of him that ached at her touch.
"I could sleep forever," she said, seeming not to notice, or perhaps only half awake. "I am so tired."
"Are you well?" Borrican asked. "I mean, are you hurt?"
"I am not hurt," she said, then she laughed a little. "Well, not really."
Ariana opened her eyes again, and saw that Borrican was truly back to himself, the way she had dreamed it. It was a strange dream, one that blended from one thing to another, with Borrican trapped as a dragon, angry and hurt, to a different dream, one that she had visited before, more than once since she had known him, though she would never admit it to him. It was a dream that had left her sheets wet more than once, and her body trembled at how powerful it had been. Then the fog of sleep lifted a little more and she realized where she was and that she was not remembering a dream, but remembering, and the gentle ache in her body told her the truth of it.
As she truly awakened, Ariana fought the urge to leap to her feet, almost in shock that she was so close to him, and disturbed that a part of her wanted nothing more than to be a lot closer. As the memories of everything that had happened between them returned to her, Ariana wondered how much of it Borrican would remember, for he could not even speak for most of the night, but he had responded to her every thought with eager purpose and an intensity that she had never imagined possible.
"Are you yourself now?" she asked, deciding to stay the way she was.
"I think so," Borrican told her. "I am not trapped in that beast anymore."
"The beast is gone, Borrican," she said.
"No, I can feel it," Borrican said. "It is still there."
Ariana shook her head and smiled.
"It is you, Borrican. You are the dragon and the dragon is you."
Borrican knew that what she said was true. Something deep inside of him told him that it was, and somehow her words were more than just words, but thoughts as well, and he knew the truth of them.
"How can I hear you inside my head?" he asked. "I thought only dragons could do that."
"The gift your father gave me," she said. "I didn't understand it at first and I still have a lot to learn, but there are things I just know somehow, and I can feel things in a different way."
"What about us?" Borrican asked, nervously. "What does this mean?"
"I don't know," Ariana said. "There is so much in my thoughts that I am trying to learn, and the dragons I met explained some of it, but I think I may have bonded you."
"I am not exactly sure what that means myself," Borrican admitted.
"It means you have to do what I say now," Ariana replied with a sleepy laugh and she moaned a little as she stretched and shifted her leg a little higher.
"What do you mean?" Borrican asked.
"I don't really know," she said, opening her eyes a crack and squinting at him mischievously. "I think it means I am your queen now and I can order you around if I want. Will you do whatever I say, Borrican?"
"I don't know if I like that idea," Borrican said.
"You seemed to like it last night," she said.
A few images of the two of them flashed through his thoughts, and he realized that the thoughts were coming from Ariana, the same way the dragons shared their thoughts.
"Please don't remind me," Borrican said. "I'm not sure what to make of all of that."
"Don't be silly. We can figure it out together, even if it takes many nights, and even some days," Ariana replied, tilting her head up and looking into his eyes. "Do you know your eyes have fire in them?"
"Really?"
"They do," she told him. "They're strange to look at, but pretty, I think. They were like that for a moment when we were at Kandara, right before you changed into a dragon, but now they're like that all the time."
"I guess it's to match your hair," Borrican said.
"My hair?"
"Yes, it's red now," he told her. "And you've got gemstones on your skin like the dragons do. That's strange to look at as well, but it is very beautiful. It suits you."
"Did you just tell me that I am beautiful, Borrican?"
"I guess I did," he replied, all of a sudden feeling a little awkward, and not sure what to say.
"It's okay," she said, sliding her leg up a little more, so the inside of her knee touched him, heightening his arousal. "I can feel your thoughts, even when you won't let me hear them."
"Are you doing that on purpose?" he asked.
"Maybe," she said, and she moved her leg a little to let him know that she was very aware of what she was doing. "Now I can return the favor for all those times you teased me."
"Ariana, please," Borrican said, exasperated and she laughed and put her hand to his cheek and turned his face toward her, so that his gaze would meet her own.
"Would you like me to stop?" she asked, her lips curling in to a half smile.
Borrican did not know how to answer, so he tried to change the subject.
"How did you get jewels on you?" he asked, trying to look away. "I thought only dragons could do that."
"Something happened to me when I fell into the river of fire," Ariana said. "And I'm not sure if it had something to do with the people who live at the edge of the fire and the snow, or if it is part of the dragon gift."
Borrican noticed something else and he lifted her hair away from her cheek.
"You've got the same thing on your face where you burned it," he said.
"Really?" Ariana was surprised. "I didn't notice. Does it look odd?"
"No. It is different, but I like it."
"Can you see my scars still?"
"A little," he said. "But the place where you were burned is like it has turned to metal and gemstones, like the elven mask you wore."
"Curious," she said. "Maybe Vale or one of the other dragons might have a mirror I can borrow."
Borrican felt a little odd at the mention of Vale when the memory of how she had attempted to bond him came into his mind. Ariana arched an eyebrow at him and he knew that she could hear and see what he was thinking. Borrican quickly covered his thoughts, squirming inside from embarrassment and worried that she might be offended.
"You've met Vale?" he asked. "Have you met her mother Vana? They have been helping me while I have been here."
"It's all right, Borrican, I know about Vale," Ariana said, sensing his unease. "She was trying to save you, to stop the madness."
"I know," Borrican replied. "I just don't know what to say about it."
"You don't have to say anything," Ariana said. "Vale and I understand one another, though I am a little worried about her."
"Why? Is there something wrong?"
"I'm not sure. The power that helped me save you did something when she and I met. It was like we felt each other, the same way I can feel you, and I know she can feel me as we
ll. It is very strange, I think we may be bonded in a way, but that does not bother me. What worries me is that I can feel that she is confused and upset by something."
"Where is she? Is she hurt?"
"No, she is in no danger, and she is not far away," Ariana said. "I would like to go and see her."
"Do you think we can we just go?" Borrican asked, looking over at the heavy, iron chains that were scattered across the floor of the cavern, chains that had held him captive so he would not harm anyone or himself.
"I don't know," Ariana said, and she disentangled herself from him and slowly sat up, then she looked in the direction of where she could feel echoes of dragon voices through the heavy stone of the cavern. "I have the feeling there is something happening with the dragons. Do you think you can change back into one?"
"I would rather not," Borrican said, sitting up as well and crossing his legs in front of him.
"It is fine now," she said and she leaned forward and put her hands on his shoulders. "I can tell you still worry about falling prey to the beast, but you have no need to fear."
She kissed him lightly on the lips, the ends of her hair draping over his shoulders and Borrican squirmed a little more.
"I don't know," he said. "What if I can't change back again?"
"Don't be afraid, Borrican," Ariana said, her voice becoming a little more firm. "You have never been, nor will you ever be a coward."
"Of course not," he said, an edge coming into his own voice and his anger rising almost at once. "Why would you even say such a thing?"
"I just wanted to see if you were still you," she said. "You still get worked up about things and try to hide it."
"You have no idea," Borrican told her as he fought to bring his blood back down to a slow boil.
"I do," she said. "I understand all of the troubles you went through. That is part of the gift, and you will start to know things now that I have shared it with you."
"What sort of things?"
"Ancient things," Ariana said. "Dragon things."
"I don't understand," Borrican said.