To Light the Dragon's Fire

by Margaret Taylor

  Pushing it open, she let out a low whistle at the wealth of weapons. Swords, knives, bows and arrows in every shape, size, color and type hung from large hooks along the walls.

  “Well, that explains a lot,” she muttered, pulling the door closed again.

  Trying the other, she almost squealed in delight when it opened onto an equally large library. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered the walls and with no windows to interrupt the room, it was better than opening her first present on Christmas morning…

  ***

  Arin entered the ballroom on the 33rd floor and headed straight for Draven. He had to ask what had happened earlier. Surely his liege wouldn’t hold a simple question against him.

  The King was engaged in conversation with Ulnis Tardir, the Harpy Regent of the 2nd Kingdom and Jarex Copsa, Griffon Regent of the 4th Kingdom. He waited as long as he dared before interrupting. Inclining his head respectfully to the other two, he spoke calmly, hoping to keep the edge out of his voice. “Your Majesty, a word?”

  Draven excused himself.

  He took his friend by the elbow and led them out of earshot of the others. “You should know, Terra has yet to be found and the one called Lanni is safe in my quarters.”

  Draven blinked at him, once, twice, a third time but there was absolutely no recognition in his eyes. “I apologize, but to whom do you refer, Arin? Are these subjects of mine?”

  Chapter Ten

  Arin stood there, stunned. “What do you mean, to whom do I refer?” He gripped Draven’s elbow, dragging him deeper into a corner, away from any listening ears and lowered his voice to a hiss. “Sire, the humans? Terra and Lanni Heegan! The Twins we fought just about every Satyr in our lands to rescue not two rotations ago?”

  Draven’s eyes drifted across the room, his attention clearly on the party.

  Giving his arm a rougher shake than he intended, he tried again. “Sire! Draven!” he hissed empathically. “Look at me!”

  The molten orbs swung back, focusing at last on him. “You were saying?”

  Arin scratched the back of his neck, hearts knocking together with worry. “Do you not remember the humans? Enon brought them here, two rotations ago.”

  Draven laughed and shook his head, sighing deeply. “I see you have been at the ale early, old friend.” A hand came up, landing on his shoulder. “Was it that rough of a daylight? Did the Ogres give you trouble over that purchase of weapons after all?”

  Ogres, weapons sale? Wait, they’d had that conversation the same daylight Lanni and Terra had been brought to the Capitol…

  He tested a theory, just to be sure. “Sire, what rotation is it?”

  Draven frowned at him, like he’d lost his own mind, but answered. “It is the darkfall of rotation four, why?”

  He smiled tightly and kept his thoughts hidden only by the grace of his life-long training. “No reason.” He jerked his chin toward the other guests. “I beg forgiveness for disturbing you.”

  The King inclined his head slowly, lips pursed and there was the briefest flash of something in his eyes. It passed just as quickly. He might have even imagined it, wishful thinking on his part because if what he suspected was true, the entire Five Kingdoms could be in very real jeopardy.

  Draven stepped away, as if to rejoin the festivities but paused, turning a question back over his shoulder. “You will keep me informed on these subjects you spoke of, yes?”

  “Indeed Sire. If there is a need too, you will be the first.”

  ***

  Arin stood on the outskirts of the room, watching, holding himself in check by sheer effort of will. He had to wait until the feasting was done before it would be proper to excuse himself and sadly, every last one of the Ruler’s present seemed to be taking his or her sweet time!

  He wanted to bolt from the gathering, taking the 30 some odd flights of stairs back to his quarters because it would be faster than the elevators!

  He wanted to jump off the nearest balcony, shift and fly up there!

  He wanted, no, needed the books in his library to confirm his worries.

  And, he couldn’t get to them. Not until the fat, overstuffed leaders had had their fill!

  He scratched his shoulder absently and ignored the nausea broiling through his stomach. The lamb he’d consumed at the table, shifted in his gut and an acid-filled burb tickled the back of his throat.

  He swallowed it down and sighed mentally when Draven rose from his seat at the head of the table.

  His liege spoke with a wide smile, no indication that just two rotations before he’d been cutting Satyr’s in half to save a human. “Thank you for attending. Please, enjoy the Goblinale and mingle among yourselves…”

  Spinning on a heel, he left, foregoing protocol for the sake of his friend…

  ***

  Lanni had read four books by the time she heard him return. Tucking a finger between the pages to hold her place, she rose from the overstuffed chair and headed for the door.

  And was nearly bowled over by Arin a second later. “What was that…” he muttered. He strode across the room, brow pinched into a hard frown as his eyes roamed the numerous shelves. “Time control…time shifting…time…time…time…”

  He ran a finger along the spines and continued talking to himself, completely ignoring her presence.

  “Did you find something?” she finally asked.

  He started, like he’d forgotten all about her and cut a look in her direction before going back to searching the library. “Yes and no,” he said. “Possibly.”

  She leaned against the doorway, tucking the book under her arm. “What happened? Maybe I can help.”

  He snorted. “Are you an expert on time manipulation where you come from?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, no, of course not. No one is.”

  His broad shoulders lifted on a heavy sigh. “Then I doubt you can.”

  She pushed off the wall and dropped the book she’d been halfway through on the small stand next to the chair. Joining him at one of the shelves, she put a hand on his forearm to still its movement. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been told I make a halfway decent research assistant. Why don’t you start at the beginning? What happened at the party?”

  He dropped his arm away from her touch and a quiver skittered through her belly.

  Was she that repulsive?

  She shook off the feeling and concentrated on what he was saying.

  “Draven does not have a memory of the last two rotations and yet he knows what darkfall it is.”

  She scratched at her cheek. “I’m sorry?”

  He huffed and turned toward her finally. Staring up into his golden brown eyes, she had – at least for a moment – the unmistakable sensation of suddenly being his prey. The instant passed and he explained his earlier comment. “It is the first rotation of the Festival. It lasts for four, the last four of our Sun.”

  She interrupted, just to clarify. “So, a rotation is a day then? One loop around your sun I take it?”

  He frowned then seemed to get the difference. “Yes, that is correct. A rotation is what we call daylight to daylight.”

  “And a Sun? That would be your year?” His frown deepened and she explained a bit better. “Where I come from, we have 365 days in a year.”

  Understanding blazed in his eyes. “Ah, yes. We have 245 rotations to a Sun.”

  She got it now too and it made things so much easier. “So, a Sun equals my year.”

  “That would be correct.”

  “Alright then. So, your friend thinks it’s what, two days ago, not today?” she asked, trying to work it out.

  “No. He thinks it is the darkfall before you and your sister arrived. So, three rotations ago. Yet, he knows today was rotation four of our Sun,” he explained.

  “Ok, wait. He thinks it’s three days ago, but understands it’s the first day of this festival, or day 4 of your year?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Not exactly. We count our, year,” he stu
mbled a bit over the word but didn’t mangle it too much. “Downwards. When the Festival ends, it will once again be rotation 245.”

  Ok, that made a weird sort of sense and she put it in terms she could understand. “So, you count your year backwards and celebrate the festival on the last four.”

  “That would be correct,” he said, gracing her with a wide smile.

  Her heart skipped a beat and she did her best to ignore it. “And Terra and I arrived on rotation six, if I’m getting you.” He nodded once, that crisp jerk she found quite endearing for some odd reason. “And Draven’s memories are from rotation seven but he knows it’s actually rotation four. Did I get that right?”

  His smile widened and so did the flutter in her belly. “You did. Well done.”

  She really tried not to grin like a ninny at his praise. “So, how is that possible? What happened to the last two days for him?” she asked. “And how do you know what he’s thinking?”

  Arin rubbed at a spot on his shoulder. “He referenced something that happened to me the daylight before you arrived but when I asked him what rotation it was, he told me four.”

  Under his fingers, the tuxedo shifted and she spied the dark patch of blood just beginning to spread across the crisp whiteness of his shirt. She gasped and pushed his hands aside. “You’re injured!”

  He looked down at the spot and snorted. “It is a scratch.”

  She glared at him. “That could just as easily have gotten infected with all your traipsing through the jungle the last two days.” Taking him by the hand, she dragged him over to the chair and pushed him into it. “Take off your jacket. Let me see it.”

  “It is fine,” he argued, unmoving.

  Not to be outdone, she yanked the lapels apart and pushed it back. The blood stain was spreading, quickly and it worried her. “Take that off, now,” she commanded.

  Not waiting to see if he did, she spun and headed for the bathroom she’d used earlier, hoping to find some sort of first aid kit or medical supplies. Coming up short, she grabbed the towel she’d used after her shower and returned.

  He wasn’t in the library though and she tracked a trail of blood across the living room to his room. The door was open and she entered without knocking to find him out cold on the floor, his jacket grasped in one hand and his shirt half undone.

  “Well, shit…”

  ***

  Arin blinked his eyes open slowly. Pain radiated across his chest, beginning at the shoulder and he groaned before he could bite it back.

  “Hi there,” Lanni’s soft voice drew his head around. “Welcome back.”

  He was laying on the floor, several pillows from his bed propping him up and the fur he typically slept under covering his chest. He ordered his right arm to lift but it failed to respond. Tilting his gaze over, he found a swath of white bandages and a sling made out of one of his towels pinning the limb to his side. He poked tentatively at the set up. “Why am I on the floor?”

  “Because you’re an ox and too heavy for me to lift onto your bed.”

  He swung his head back toward her. “What happened?”

  She smiled tiredly and toyed with the hem of her dress, fingers red with his blood. “You passed out,” she said calmly. “I can guess from the wound you’ve been bleeding internally.” She jerked her chin toward his shoulder. “Is that what happened a couple of days ago?”

  He pushed himself up, wanting to get to his feet but dizziness sent him back onto his good arm. “An Ogre stabbed me,” he admitted sagging back against the pillows. “You, why did you not call for a healer?”

  A blush colored across her cheeks and she dropped her eyes away. “I didn’t know how. I looked for a telephone, but you were bleeding out. I only had a few moments to stop it.”

  “Are you a healer then? In your world?”

  She laughed tightly. “Oh goodness no, not at all. I’m nothing actually.”

  He frowned at that and made a note to delve deeper into the comment at a later time. “Then where did you learn such skills?”

  Her eyes lifted to his, sparkling with a good measure of pride. “I read it in a book once.”

  ***

  Draven paced his office. Something nagged at him, something he should be doing, but for all the gems in Burgi, he couldn’t remember what!

  It was late though, well past the tick that he should be sleeping. The smaller door to his office burst open and Furiem raced across the stone floor, hopping up on the desk.

  “Sire! You have returned! Is everything well?” the ferret asked, anxiousness flashing in his eyes.

  He frowned at the reporter. “Everything is fine, Furiem. Why would you think it was not?”

  Before his trusted advisor could answer, the larger door opened and Magistrate Cannis entered. “Sire,” he bowed at the waist. “If I might have a word?” He directed a pointed look at Furiem. “In private?”

  Draven smiled at his other long-term advisor, nodding. “Of course, Magistrate.” He waved dismissively at the ferret. “Excuse us.”

  Furiem paced once then spun on a small foot and disappeared back the way he’d come.

  Draven gave the Satyr his full attention. Tyleios had been in his father’s court and on the King’s impeachment had graciously stayed on as First Magistrate. He was good people, trusted and beyond reproach. “What can I do for you, Cannis?”

  The misshapen face parted in a small smile and he held out a stack of folders. “I beg forgiveness for bringing these to you so late, but you requested to see them the moment they were finished.”

  He frowned but took the stack. “I did?”

  Tyleios chuckled. “Yes, Sire, you did.”

  He flipped open the one on top, his eyes not quite able to focus on the written words. “What are they?”

  The Satyr chuckled again, but this one was, different from the first and his words didn’t sound right. Like they weren’t his own. The smell of Unicorn blood drifted to his nose and he whipped his eyes up.

  The Satyr wasn’t there, or if he was, he was hiding behind the floating image of Golix. For just a brief moment, the fog in his brain cleared and everything came rushing back. His hearts pounded, tripping over themselves in fear for his Mate.

  “Terra…” he managed to whisper.

  The Unicorn’s dark voice teased at his old self. “Easy there, Draven. Disobey me and she dies.”

  His hands tightened, crushing the folders together, rage vibrating through every muscle. “What, do you, want?”

  Golix’s horse lips pulled back on a nasty snarl and the fuzzy image nodded toward the files. “For you to do as you are bade!”

  Draven shook, managing to hold onto his old self for a few seconds after Golix’s image coiled back into the communication stone.

  And then it was gone.

  Tyleios nodded toward the papers. “Do you understand, Sire?”

  He moved to the desk. Laying the folders on his blotter, he smoothed them out. “Of course. I will have these signed for you by morning.”

  The Magistrate beamed and bowed at the waist again. “I shall retrieve them then.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Arin worked his way along the shelves, looking for the book he needed. It was slow going though and he had to pause every few steps to rest, which left a bad taste in his mouth, like a morning after too much Goblinale.

  “You should be in bed!”

  He didn’t turn from his search but acknowledged the statement with a jerk of his chin. “I know. But, I must find it!”

  An exasperated sigh drifted across the room and before he knew it, she was tugging on his good arm and leading him over to the chair. “Sit! I’ll look.”

  He did as requested, unable to muster the strength to argue. For once. Easing onto the cushion, he leaned back heavily.

  Putting her hands on her hips, she tapped a foot against the rug. “Now, what are you looking for?”

  Embarrassment rushed heat to his face. “I do not know. Anything relating to th
e manipulation of time?”

  “Oh good gods above!” Her beautiful eyes pinched together. “Did you at least catalogue the library?”

  He cleared his throat and shifted, uncomfortable under the silver of her glare. “I have not gotten around to it.”

  Her head dropped, chin almost touching her chest. “Well, then how is it organized?”

  “It is not,” he admitted in a low voice. “I know where everything is.”

  She snorted, another sign of her aggravation. “Clearly you don’t! Otherwise you wouldn’t have been searching.” Her gaze moved over the shelves. “Do you at least remember who wrote it? Maybe we can start there…”

  “There was one by Ricfast Bolger, there was another by Migo Leaf and Ava Chubb had a few as well,” he offered quietly.

  She turned from the shelves, arching an eyebrow. “Really? And how many are we talking?”

  Another rush of heat rolled up his neck and he cringed. “Bolger has 20 works, Leaf had close to the same number. If it helps, Chubb is relatively new to the academic arena and has only published two.”

  Lanni’s hand came up and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oy vey…”

  ***

  A tick later, Lanni entered his room, arms loaded with books. She set them next to him on the covers. “Get started with these, I’ll get the rest.”

  He huffed but picked up the first volume. Propping it against his thighs, he started flipping through the pages.

  She returned with another load and set it next to the first. “You know, it’s generally common courtesy to thank someone for doing something nice,” she called over her shoulder as she left again.

  He would thank her, but he was still just a bit miffed that she’d forced him into bed while she prowled the library gathering up the books. When she returned with the last group, he responded to her comment. “It is also common courtesy for someone not to be a bossy wench when someone else is trying to get something done!”