by Victor Poole
"Why don't you think I could have destroyed the black dragons?" Delmar asked in a whisper, coming along beside Ajalia. Ajalia looked over at him, and grinned.
"You like animals too much," she told him. "The two dragons looked like big snakes, or worms. I don't think you would have wanted to kill them."
"That is a silly thing to say," Delmar said. "And you have no reason to believe that I love animals at all."
"What about the screeching metheros?" she challenged. Delmar's mouth puckered.
"The metheros don't count," Delmar said.
"And you've liked every horse that you actually spent time with," Ajalia added.
"Well, everyone likes horses," Delmar said sourly.
"They do not," Ajalia said. "Philas says that horses are stupider than cows, and that they smell."
"Horses are nice," Delmar said indignantly. "And they do smell," he conceded.
"Yes, but you like the way horses smell," Ajalia said. Delmar's lips worked back and forth.
"I do not," he said under his breath, but Ajalia did not believe him. "Well, how come you wouldn't touch the black skins?" he asked. Ajalia looked down at the floor of the passage they were walking down. Aaron and the other guards had led them into a narrow hall that wound around the edge of the palace; Ajalia could see the rough sides of the mountain out of the windows that they passed. A chill evening air was filtering into the hall, and tickled at the back of her neck.
"Your grandfather," Ajalia said finally, speaking very low so that the guards could not hear, "reminds me of someone that I used to know."
Delmar looked sharply over at Ajalia. His eyebrows drew together, and he studied her closely.
"Your father?" he asked quietly. Ajalia nodded. "You never talk about him," Delmar explained.
"Your grandfather reminds me a great deal of him," Ajalia said. They followed the guards into a staircase, and climbed up a floor. "I don't want to touch anything to do with my father," Ajalia said, and Delmar reached around her waist, and snugged her close against his body.
"Well, you don't have to," Delmar said. Aaron led them down another hall upstairs, and then stopped before a door.
"The priests are kept here, my lord," Aaron said, opening the door, and stepping aside. Aaron's eyes went towards Ajalia, who was still hugged close against Delmar's side. "There are two more rooms, just there," Aaron said, pointing down the hall.
"All right," Ajalia said. She nudged Delmar. "Tell your chief guard what to do about the palace," she said. Delmar's lips twitched again, and he turned to Aaron.
"Take the guards who have been taught to see the magic," Delmar directed. "Place a watch over every entrance to the palace. We'll be having a purge in a few minutes." Aaron ducked his head respectfully, and began to turn away. "And Aaron," Delmar said. Delmar's voice was brisk. Aaron stopped, and turned to look at him. "Arrange the ranks of the guards, and isolate my uncles, and my aunt. Keep them away from each other, and have each of them under guard with a man who can see."
"It shall be done, my lord," Aaron said.
"And Aaron," Delmar added. Aaron looked quite fiercely happy. He waited eagerly to hear what Delmar would say. "Anything else you can think of, to make my life easier for now," Delmar said. "Within reason," he added quickly. Aaron's lips crept into the most gleeful smile that Ajalia had ever seen in her life, and the new chief guard bowed sharply, and then hurried away with the other two guards behind him. "How was that?" Delmar asked Ajalia.
"Perfect," Ajalia said, and she kissed him. Delmar made a strange growling noise in his throat, and pushed Ajalia gingerly away.
"Let's see to the priests," Delmar said hoarsely, and Ajalia knew that he wanted to occupy himself with her mouth. She grinned, and followed him through the door that Aaron had opened.
There were twelve priests in the room. Ajalia took her knife back from Delmar, and gave him the falcon's dagger. She began to cut the ropes that bound the priests, and she heard Delmar doing the same at the other end of the room.
"Why aren't they bound with chains?" Ajalia asked Delmar. The priests all had cloth hoods tied over their faces; their bodies stiffened, when she touched them, and then stilled when they felt the motion of her knife.
"The priests of Talbos work magic on metal," Delmar said, pulling the hood from the priest he had freed first. "They would more than likely be able to escape, if they were bound with chains."
The priests that Ajalia was cutting free were rubbing gingerly at their wrists, and then pulling the hoods from their heads. Ajalia saw that a tight webbing was tied over their mouths. She made a disapproving noise with her tongue, and pulled her tiny sewing knife out of her bag.
"Help your brothers," she said, handing the small knife to the nearest unhooded priest. The priest cut his own mouth binding away, and gasped at once.
"I thank you," the priest said to Ajalia. She heard that the man had a thick accent; she could understand what he said, barely. The man turned to the priest nearest him, and began to cut his mouth free. A murmur of noisy breath, and gasps of relief, soon filled the room. The priests who had been freed went to the others, and helped them. Many of the priests, Ajalia found, had not known who else was in the room, and soon a chorus of greetings was cascading between the men.
"We must prepare to battle against the king," one priest exclaimed, and the other priests took up a rallying cry.
"Fernos is dead," Ajalia said. The twelve priests all stopped still where they stood, and turned to stare at her, and then at Delmar. Delmar had cut free the last priest, and then sat back against the wall of the room. Ajalia could see that his eyes were unfocused; she looked inside Delmar's soul, and saw that he was burning through the last great heap of the old dragon skins. Streams of color and light were coursing all through Delmar, filling up his heart and his head with flashes of every color of light.
Delmar closed his eyes, and Ajalia saw with approval that Delmar was feeding thick loops of golden light from the ground into his soul, to meet up against the great chunks of black skin that were seeping more and more quickly into his skin from deep under the mountain. The great gathering of dragon skins, which had been, in the beginning, almost as large as the palace itself, was now only as large as a pair of great rooms.
"How can he be dead?" one of the priests asked Ajalia. The priest glanced at the others, and then turned seriously to Ajalia. "The king of our land feeds himself on the great black dragon," the priest told Ajalia. "You cannot kill him without doing battle with the black dragons." The priest who spoke clearly saw that Ajalia was a foreigner; he spoke with an accent as well, but his words were much clearer than his fellow priest's had been.
"What is your name?" Ajalia asked the priest who told her of the king. The priests all looked at each other.
"We do not speak our names to those who will not know the great lights in the sky," another priest said.
"We are grateful to you for releasing us from bondage," the priest told her. Ajalia remembered Rosk, and how reluctant he had been to tell her his name. She had learned it eventually from Leed, she thought. Ajalia looked at Delmar, and saw that his face was strained.
"Delmar," Ajalia said. Delmar opened his eyes, and looked at her. "Try using the deeper golden lights, from the core," Ajalia said. Delmar nodded, and took a deep breath. The priests watched this exchange curiously. Ajalia could see that none of the priests recognized Delmar at all.
"Why do you speak of the lights?" a priest asked Ajalia.
"If none of you will tell me a name," Ajalia said to the priests, "then I will go to the next room over, and search until I find a man of courage among you."
The priests shifted uncomfortably, and then they all shoved a priest forward. This priest, who had been singled out by his brothers, looked distinctly uneasy. He glanced pleadingly at the others, but they ignored him, and looked with stony faces at Ajalia. The priest who had been pushed forward sighed, and turned to Ajalia with resignation.
"I am the least ranking of ou
r number in this room," the priest told Ajalia. "My name is Oracle. My brothers will eject me from the priesthood, for revealing to you my name," Oracle said, "but you have freed us, and it is a fair exchange."
"That's not a fair exchange at all," Ajalia said. "That's a stupid exchange. Why can't you say your names to anyone?" Oracle's mouth drew down into a frown.
"We are named by our powers," Oracle explained. "To reveal our names exposes our natures, and then we are able to be used by another."
"Well, have you ever thought of having different names, for everyday use?" Ajalia asked. She looked at Delmar, and saw that his face had relaxed now. She sent her mind into the mountain, and saw that the dragon skins had dwindled now to the size of a great boulder. Delmar's breathing had quickened. Ajalia went to Delmar, and stood beside where he sat. She put a hand on his temple, and pressed his face against her leg. Delmar gasped, and then let out a shuddering breath. He put a hand around her calf, and squeezed her leg in thanks. The priests watched this with wide and solemn eyes.
"Is the young man ill?" Oracle asked. He seemed to have been appointed the speaker for the room. The priest who held the small sewing knife made a motion towards the door, and Ajalia knew that he was thinking of rescuing the other priests that still lay, presumably bound and gagged, in the other rooms.
"Stay where you are!" Delmar commanded in a voice like fire. The priests all froze, and the priest who held the sewing knife dropped it with a clatter to the floor. The priest who had dropped the blade flushed, and stooped to pick it up.
"Who are you?" Oracle asked Delmar. Delmar waved a hand for quiet, and Ajalia watched the heap of dragon skins explode smaller and smaller, until only a handful remained. She watched Delmar soak up the final remnants of black shadow. The scraps of dragon skin brushed up against the cord of hot red-gold that Delmar had drawn up from the earth, and the light and color inside of the dark pieces burst out in a shower of brilliance. Delmar took a deep breath, and pressed his face against Ajalia's leg.
"Thank you for helping me," Delmar said, and then he stood up. "I am Delmar. I am the master of Talbos, and of Slavithe. I have vanquished the dark king, Fernos, and have eradicated the shadow of evil from our land. I commune with the lights in the sky," Delmar said, raising a hand, and letting a bolt of blue spin in his palm.
SAVAGE AND COREN
"They've been eaten away by Fernos," Ajalia murmured, and Delmar looked closely at the priests, none of whom reacted to the shining blue light in his hand. He nodded.
"You will stay with the sky angel," Delmar told the twelve priests. "She will heal you from the evil the dead king has put upon you." Delmar drew the falcon's dagger from his waist, and went out of the room. Ajalia heard the second door down in the hall open wide.
The twelve priests were all staring at her with wide eyes, and parted lips. Oracle, who seemed to have recovered from his banishment by the priests quite well, smiled at Ajalia.
"I would like to go first, mistress," Oracle said, ducking his head respectfully. Ajalia sighed, and held out her hand for her sewing knife. The priest who held it hesitated, and then offered it to her reluctantly.
"She's the sky angel," another priest snapped, shoving at the priest's arm. The priest with the tiny knife blushed, and came closer to Ajalia.
"Sorry, lady," the priest said, giving her the knife, and then retreating into the very back of the cluster of priests, as though hoping to escape notice.
"Do all of you know Rosk?" Ajalia asked, drawing lights from the earth and sky, and twisting them through Oracle's body. A great burst of disgusting purple smoke spilt out of Oracle's mouth and nose; the priest bent over double, and coughed violently. The other priests scattered away from Oracle, and Ajalia moved smoothly to block the door. One of the priests, not the one who had held the sewing knife, had gone straight towards the door when Oracle had begun to cough out the heavy smoke. This priest glared at Ajalia, and his teeth showed. He looked like a ranging wolf.
Ajalia was still holding her knife; the priest, she saw, had noticed this, and was crouching at some distance from her, and eyeing the door.
"Oracle," Ajalia called through the dense cloud of smoke.
"Yes, mistress," Oracle hacked out.
"What is this man's name?" Ajalia asked. The priest who faced her looked surprised, and then displeased. He attempted to melt back into the group of priests, as his fellow priest had done after releasing the sewing knife, but it was too late. Oracle stumbled forward, and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. The twist of magic that Ajalia had put into Oracle's middle crackled white; she saw a strong sheen of a white brand lifting out like a balloon over Oracle's chest. Oracle was gasping now for air, and coughing at the purple smoke that was dissipating through the air of the room, which held no windows.
"This is Savage," Oracle told her, blinking through the smoke, and waving his free hand. "He is a spy, and a guard for the priests."
"Tie him up for me," Ajalia said, and Oracle, after the barest moment of hesitation, pushed Savage toward the piles of cut ropes that lay all over the floor of the room.
"She cannot give us commands," the priest who had been reluctant to relinquish the sewing knife said at once. "Do not obey her, you fool!" the priest hissed at Oracle. Oracle ignored these words, and began to tie Savage's hands behind his back. Savage submitted to this procedure with little grace, but his eyes were on Ajalia's knife, and he did not seem willing to test his fellow priests' undying loyalties in this situation.
"You have already cast me out," Oracle said calmly. He asked Savage to sit, and then tied up his legs and his wrists. "I owe all my allegiance to the sky angel," Oracle added, when he had finished. The other priests were scattered against the walls, and they watched Oracle tie up Savage with guarded expressions. Ajalia thought that the majority of the priests had not yet made up their minds about her, or about Delmar. She saw Oracle undo the magic in his middle with a twist, and the sky energy retreated upwards. The light from the earth sank down beneath the mountain, and Oracle gave a great sigh, and rubbed at his eyes.
"Thank you, from the bottom of my heart," Oracle told Ajalia. "It is very good to see again."
"You're welcome," Ajalia said. She held her knife ready in her hand, and looked over the priests. "Who is next?" she asked no one in particular.
"Me," said the priest who had not wanted to relinquish the sewing knife.
"No," Oracle said quickly. "Do not heal him. He is not the wisest of us. I do not think he is worthy."
"Tell me your reasons for this," Ajalia said. She sent her mind into the priest's soul that Oracle said was unwise, and looked about. Ajalia sighed, and reached for the energy below the earth. She was getting tired, and her eyes ached. It was becoming more difficult for her to see the lights without holding onto the colors in her hand. I need sleep, Ajalia told herself, but then she thought that what she really needed most was Delmar.
"He is accused of betraying us to the king," Oracle said, pointing to the man who had volunteered to be healed. Ajalia sighed. She wanted to be finished with this chore of healing and testing the priests. She realized suddenly that her head ached; her eyes felt heavy with tears. Now why, she asked herself sternly, should I be crying? She remembered what she had told Delmar, about Fernos reminding her of her own father, and an involuntary shiver crept up her legs. My father fed on me, she thought, the way Fernos fed on his children, and on his guards, and on these priests.
Ajalia blinked, and looked over the eleven priests who remained. She gathered up a handful of lights from the earth, and began, swiftly, to twist them up into the legs of all the priests.
"What are you doing?" Oracle asked, watching her carefully.
"Finishing what I started," Ajalia said. She gathered up light from the sky, and made it come down to meet the earth lights in the bodies of the priests. The priest who had attempted to keep the sewing knife, and Savage, and one other priest, began, as the lights met, and curled together in a crackling sheen of white, to c
ry out in pain.
"You will kill them," Oracle cried over the shouts and coughs of the priests, who were now venting many dark colors of smoke, and coughing loudly.
"Only the bad ones," Ajalia shouted back, and she gave each cord of magic an extra sharp twist. The white light crackled, and the whole room was filled with fumes of vividly-colored and sharply-rotten smoke. A cacophony of noise filled up the room. The priests were all obscured from view; for a long moment, the screams of the three afflicted priests mingled with the coughs and disgorging hacking of the other priests. When the smoke cleared a little, and the bodies of the priests again became visible, Ajalia studied the number of white brands that were blossoming out into the smoky air. She counted eight brands.
One of the priests who wore a newly-grown white brand clapped his hands together, and the air cleared at once of smoke. The smell lingered, but Ajalia could see clearly now.
"What is your name?" Ajalia asked the priest who had clapped his hands to make the smoke clear away.
"Will you unbind the lights from my middle?" the priest asked her. Ajalia undid the twist of light, and the energy sank upwards and downwards. The priest who had clapped let out a heavy sigh, and rubbed at his stomach. "I thank you, sky angel," the priest said. "I am Coren." Ajalia blinked.
"Why are you called Coren?" she asked. She wanted to know why this priest shared a name with Delmar's youngest brother, who was now dead. The priest Coren smiled at her.
"I am an anomaly, among my brothers," Coren said. He stepped forward, and held out his hand to Ajalia. "I reject the way of the priests, and cast myself away from their brotherhood," Coren said solemnly. Ajalia took Coren's hand. "I offer my life to the sky angel," Coren said, and bowed low over her hand.