by Toni Kerr
Tristan tried again to get to his side, for the first time wishing his wings weren’t so cumbersome. “Let me get to my feet.” Someone wrapped arms around him from behind, pinning his wings against his arms.
The plants had stilled and a certain darkness that had nothing to do with light surrounded the group.
“It’s a good sign,” said the woman. “I’d let him up.”
The instant arms released him, he rolled to his side and sprang to his feet, stumbling several steps before getting his wings out for balance. “Something is wrong.”
“Give yourself a second,” said Victor. “Sheesh.”
The meadow seemed tilted and he couldn’t quite get his bearings. Dorian stepped under his outstretched arm; he leaned against her for stability. “He’s right,” she said. “Something is wrong. The plants—”
“No one speak,” said the woman. She glanced at Donovan, then quickly scanned the rest of the group. “They are coming. Keep your weapons put away.”
Tristan camouflaged his wings and steadied his breathing, startled when the valkyrie rushed forward and kissed him on the lips. A tingling flash of power jolted through his body; Dorian’s grip tightened.
“The breath of life is not the same as a Kiss of Immortality.” She spun toward Donovan. “Do not pose as a threat. Everyone, sit down. You.” She pointed at Victor. “Music. Quickly.” Her clothing shifted from armor and leather to a light cotton dress with a long-sleeved overcoat. She dropped to the ground and tucked her legs beneath the fabric.
A wooden bench appeared for Alpheus and Eleonora, but everyone else dropped where they stood.
The three pixies dashed behind one of the bright lanterns hanging in the tree.
Victor plucked at random strings on his guitar until Alvi hummed an upbeat tune to guide him.
“Down, Tristan.”
Before Tristan could explain the complication with his wings and sitting on the ground, a bench appeared behind him, just as a surge of power ripped through the air. Dorian helped him down, unaffected by the rush of harsh vibrations. He covered his ears and curled in on himself, barely able to breathe.
Landon slid onto the bench at Tristan’s left, exuding a calmness that softened the edges of his concerns, just as a tall beast materialized in the center of their group. The pressure in the air ceased.
His bare feet were impossibly long, calves and thighs corded with dark veins and taunt muscles. He had to be at least twelve feet tall with the chest and head of a bull. A ring pierced his leathery snout, and twisted horns protruded from his forehead. Plates of leather, covered with metal fastenings, were tied to his chest and shoulders, along with strings of sharpened fangs, while scant scraps of fur covered his midsection.
A club rested on his broad shoulder; an ornately decorated spike at the handle and metal shards clumped into a massive block at the clubbing end.
Victor quit playing while everyone stared at the beast. Silent.
He glanced from the valkyrie to Donovan, then his bloodshot eyes narrowed in on Tristan.
Tristan tried to turn away, but this was his island. It was supposed to be hidden and safe from dangers. He would not give it up without a fight.
“Give him time,” said the valkyrie, though it took several echoes before the words translated.
“I had to come see for myself if Hundrodr spreads truth or lies.” His gravelly voice came across as a low, growling hiss. “You would shoot him with your poison?”
“I would protect what is mine. He was foolish to test me.”
Tristan cringed at the thought of being owned, drawing the beast’s attention. He dropped his gaze to the ground and focused on the calmness Landon provided.
“’Tis not your usual crowd. Even the dragon seems not quite willing.”
“He does not yet understand his position in this arrangement.”
“There are rumors that he knows exactly what he’s doing. Perhaps your release is proof enough.”
“Have no worries.” The valkyrie circled the monster, smiling. “Life for a life, and now his life is mine.”
Tristan’s anger surged and he glanced at Donovan. Could they take this creature together if it attacked? Could they take the woman? Could Donovan understand the language?
“Be warned, Helene.” The monster grabbed her shoulders and yanked the woman off the ground. She produced a dagger and pressed the shiny tip of it under his chin. The beast ignored the blade and Donovan, who’d stood with his own sword drawn. “I am joyed to be seeing you alive and well, but if the dragon releases any more of the magical parasites, I cannot stop the creatures of the underworld from reacting. They will sense the draw on their reserves.”
“Are you calling me a parasite?”
“There has been peace for so long. I assure you, most of us are long past ready for war.”
“I shall take your words with careful consideration.”
The beast set the woman down roughly and faced Tristan. He couldn’t help locking eyes with the creature. The thick mane of hair was braided in parts, along with his beard. But there was something different about the beast now, a sense that they might be on the same side at some point in the future. He slowly got to his feet and held his breath.
“You were wise to release her before the others, but you have much to learn.”
The valkyrie wasn’t the first to be released, but she’d kept him alive for so long, it was the least he could do to give her the freedom she deserved, before it was too late. But in reality, there was no planned order for releasing the races. And clearly there was more to the contract than what he was led to believe.
But now, there was no stepping back to reconsider his actions. Their actions. Tristan swallowed the betrayal lodged in his throat.
“I will explain the situation,” said the woman, resting a hand on Donovan’s sword to keep it lowered.
“You do that.” The monster pulled a small dagger from a sheath at his side and handed it hilt first to Tristan. “Never use this blade, unless you mean to call upon the wrath of war.”
“Thank you.” Tristan took the knife, then changed his mind. “I will never want to go to war.”
The creature spat a vile yellow goo that sizzled at the ground near Tristan’s feet, then circled to face the woman and Donovan. “I can understand you had no choice for the dragon. This man has potential.…”
The woman remained silent as the beast sniffed at Donovan’s neck.
“But the rest of this party…no one would choose them. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
At the woman’s silence, the creature squatted to face Donovan eye to eye. “Let me predict that you, with your little toy weapons and arrogance, will be the one who gets everyone killed. And if Helene dies because of you, I will rip you limb from limb and eat every last juicy chunk.”
Donovan spat in the monster’s face.
Helene laughed quietly as the beast straightened. “Perhaps the element of surprise will have advantages for you.”
Helene nodded. “I doubt it.”
“Welcome back.” The creature withdrew a cord with a small statue attached—a white winged creature carved from bone—and handed it to Helene. “Let us hope we do not see each other again.”
The beast vanished.
The group stared blankly at the center of their gathering.
Helene clapped her hands to gain everyone’s attention. “Well, that was fun. Who’s hungry?”
No one answered.
“Fine.” She slipped the necklace into a pocket and brushed off non-existent dirt from her hands. “We’ll convene in the morning to discuss our future plans over breakfast. At the castle, I presume?”
“No,” Donovan said. “We’ll convene now and discuss what just happened.”
“What was that thing?” asked Madam Galina.
“A berserker,” answered Talak.
“Very good.”
Tristan sat back down, already deciding he would not correct her version of the st
ory if she failed to tell the truth, but his ears perked up when she got to the parts he didn’t understand.
“…So the surface dwelling races were depleting the magical resources the underworld races relied upon. Killing them off would upset the balance, but getting them to withdraw voluntarily would not. Therefore, it was a simple matter of convincing them the humans were to blame for the lack of magic, when all along the underworld races were stockpiling.”
“Did the dragons know?” Tristan asked.
“One did. But from what I understand, he was quickly killed when he refused to play his part.”
Tristan nodded, but didn’t feel much better.
“Dragons aren’t very trusting to begin with,” she continued. “So they were tricked into believing a contract would preserve lives from the greed and destruction of humans, rather than protect the source of magic for the Underworlders.”
Tristan rubbed at the ache in his temples. “What are we supposed to do, keep everyone imprisoned so the magic won’t be affected?”
“I’d say with such low numbers, it could be a few years before the Underworlders feel truly threatened. However, I fear it’s the principle at this point. They’ll want this taken care of before it gets out of control.”
“Why have they let the humans live, if we’re using the same magic?”
“Pfft. For the few of you who have access and know how to use it, your usage is insignificant, and the magic does need to circulate, lest it grow stale.”
“Let me see if I understand,” said Victor, taking Alvi’s hand. “While the surface dwelling races focus their attention and anger on how terrible the humans are for destroying the environment, these creatures from some sort of underworld will be moving in for the kill?”
Helene nodded. “Though it is unlikely the creatures will be killed, unless they fight back. They will most likely be held prisoner until they die of natural causes. That way the magic will not be weakened.”
Tristan raked his hands through his hair, too exhausted to think about what to do next. “Seems like we should leave the races where they are, so they’ll be safe.” Exactly what the council originally wanted.
The valkyrie shook her head. “They probably know where all the gems are—if not, they will soon enough. If I were their leader, I’d send out scouts to collect the gems, then keep them locked away in the underworld where no dragons could find and release them. And then, I might seek and capture all potential possibilities.”
Dragons. Tristan cringed at the risk to others who probably, according to his sources, didn’t even know they were dragons. “I’m too tired for this.”
“We’ll meet in the morning.”
Tristan shook his head, resting his elbows on his knees. He needed more than a night. He needed weeks. Months. Maybe more. “I need a paper and a pencil.”
Landon produced the items and handed them over. He needed to write down the names and addresses of the other dragons the council had been tracking, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember a single one.
“I’d advise you all to refrain from using too much magic, unless you want to make yourself a target.”
“Even if you’ve ‘claimed’ us?” asked Alvi.
“They’ll not touch you directly, but they could track you until you lead them somewhere interesting. However, I’d say none of you overuse it, so you might be okay.”
“But you aren’t certain?” Landon asked.
“What about the berserker?” asked Dorian. “Is he going to tell everyone we’re here?”
Helene shrugged. “He might be forced to tell them something, but he’ll be on our side when we need him.”
“You aren’t suggesting we shouldn’t travel, are you?”
“Using the magic leaves a trace. If you vanish, the residue is nothing more than a dead end. I’d suggest not drawing attention to a location you wish to remain hidden. Such as the clearing in front of the castle. You can arrive, but do not vanish from there. Though they are probably already aware of that location.”
“This will be impossible,” growled Donovan.
“Not really. The advantage you have is that most of the Underworlders cannot travel to other realms.”
“So the berserker, he’s not an Underworlder?” asked Alvi, hopefully.
“He’s a half-breed. Let’s call it a night.”
Tristan gazed up at the sky, where the horizon was beginning to show signs of dawn. Donovan brushed a hand over his face, forcing him to refocus his attention. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
“I need to talk to Dorian.” He needed to get to the cave, where he could rest in earnest without fear of being found. For who knows how long. But his words were slurring with exhaustion and he knew his chance was lost. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“Not a chance.”
38
EPILOGUE
“CAN I SIT HERE?” asked Dorian. Tristan nodded with a slight smile, but didn’t open his eyes. “You’re doing okay?”
“Sure.”
It hadn’t taken much to convince Donovan to take his clipper ship out of storage, especially with the falcon’s approval. They sailed it to a small island in the tropics, where a brick house had been built at the turn of the century—another of Donovan’s dwellings that had survived the tests of time with little to no magic involved.
The ship itself was already designed for formal entertaining; an ideal place for Victor and Alvi’s wedding. Their families were flown in from around the world with only a few grumblings about such short notice, and a small fleet of yachts were acquired to accommodate guests for a few days, for those who weren’t comfortable with roughing it on the beach.
The ceremony had taken place on the ship, followed by a formal reception, and then most of the festivities moved to the island itself for a not-so-traditional Hawaiian style luau. Guests could lounge on the sun-bleached sand or in stilted canvas cabanas, or pass the time with jet skis and sea kayaks. The blending of two families seemed to be going well for everyone.
Dorian took his hand. The unexpected contact startled his senses for a moment and she pulled her hand away. “Sorry. I guess I thought…you’re right, it’s probably a bad idea.”
“No, it’s okay.” Tristan took her hand and held it with both of his, then settled back against the wall. “I’m just worried.”
“Your arm is better though, right? At least you don’t have that to worry about.”
“Yeah. That’s a plus.” Though it felt incredibly weak compared to his right.
He watched the falcon fly the short distance from the island to the ship. It landed briefly on the railing in front of them, waited long enough for Tristan to smile at him, then flew through an open trapdoor in the decking.
They were spending a lot of time together—the falcon and Donovan. It should have made him feel a bit jealous, to lose his friend yet again, but it didn’t.
A strange sort of distance kept him from feeling much of anything at all. Like an outsider looking in, only he had no desire to be in. Dorian gripped his hand, drawing his attention.
“Guess I’m not very good company right now.”
“That’s okay. I’m rarely good company ever.” She grinned and leaned against the wall, jerking forward when she came into contact with his invisible wings. “Oh, sorry!” She laughed. “Forgot about those.”
“It’s okay.” He put his weak arm around her and pulled her close, letting her lean against him. Even if it was for just a temporary time. He shut his eyes and let his mind go back to drifting.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Everything. Nothing.” Maybe someone on the dragon council, at least someone at the very beginning, did know about the ulterior motives behind the contract, enforcing the idea that it should never, never be broken…regardless of the human population status, to prevent a more horrible life for the magical creatures who lived on the surface. Were they even capable of fighting for themselves against whatever lived in the
underworld?
Live honorably. Do the right things. Preserve the integrity of Dragons as a species….
His chest tightened. He quickly rested his chin on Dorian’s head to keep her from glancing up at his guilt-filled eyes.
Had he, personally, just condemned everyone, humans and magical creatures alike, to a war no one could win? All because he assumed he had enough information?
If only the council would have stuck with their original opinions—that he would destroy the world and everything on it if he continued with his plans. Andros even said the plans went against his gut intuition.
But he’d changed their minds and they’d all moved on with the belief that he would honor them with his actions. That he was doing the right thing. Worse, everyone he trusted and respected would live forever to witness the repercussions.
Sleep. He needed it desperately.
He’d been afraid to close his eyes in his cabin, not for fear of the ship sinking, but for the simple fact that no one would be able to wake him for, how long? Five years minimum? The world could be an entirely different place by then.
Pink would be long gone.
He glanced at the notebook beside him, filled with all the information he could remember about the living dragons the council kept records for. If the lifespan averages held true, eight of them would be dead in the next five years. Unless Donovan could keep them alive. He picked up the notebook and handed it to Dorian.
“What’s this?”
“Give it to Donovan. He’ll know what it is.”
“Why not give it to him yourself?” She sat forward and turned to stare at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Tell him not to stalk anyone, but to make friends with them. Even if he doesn’t want to give them specific information. Just...keep them alive. For me.” His eyelids fluttered shut and he felt his spine go slack.
“Donovan!” she yelled, trying to keep him from tipping forward. The notebook fell to the deck. “Don’t fall asleep, Tristan. Not yet.”
“Stay with me,” he breathed. “Don’t let me sleep forever.”
“It won’t be forever.” Her voice calmed. She slid her arm behind his back and pulled his head to rest on her shoulder. “We’ll be here when you wake.”