Masters & Slayers (Tales of Starlight)

by Bryan Davis

  “Yes, you did. How many dragons will be at my execution?”

  “As few as two or as many as five or six, depending on the interest. With the human witnesses present, I doubt we could fit any more in here.”

  “Even with two, my probability of survival is very low, especially if I’m in chains and without a sword.”

  “As I said, some options are more desperate than others. You seemed unwilling to exercise that option, so I have taken your risk upon myself.” Arxad tucked his head again. “You need not fight to secure your freedom. Drive the poker and be on your way.”

  A soft feminine voice echoed in his mind, as if Cassabrie was speaking again, but it seemed more like a memory than murmuring. Your mission is very nearly impossible, and learning where great faith and brutal practicality meet might be your only hope.

  She had reminded him before, and he had surrendered himself to Nancor as a result. He was ready to sacrifice then, to give his life for the sake of the children. What happened? To what hiding place had his resolve flown? Would he now slay another dragon, one who had provided transport to this land in spite of the risk to himself? Would he pay back this dragon’s counsel with a rod of iron and leave a widow grieving with her daughter?

  Adrian dropped the poker. It clanked loudly on the tile. With his arms dangling loosely, he shuffled to a column near the perimeter and sat down hard, his back against the cool marble. Whom was he trying to fool? This mission truly was impossible. How could two humans, the size of rodents in the eyes of the dragons, possibly liberate hundreds of slaves right from under their masters’ scaly snouts? It would take an army of well-armed soldiers, and Prescott would never agree to send them, not without proof positive that the slaves and the dragon planet really existed.

  “Unless,” he whispered out loud, raising a single finger. Unless he could take one slave back, someone who could testify to the cruelty here, someone like Shellinda. She was articulate and perfectly pathetic. The stripes on her rail-thin body would rally dozens of men with sharpened swords ready to cut dragons’ throats. The sight of a brutalized little girl would be enough to make every father in Mesolantrum foam with rage.

  He shook his head. No. Even Shellinda wouldn’t be enough. Prescott would just deny it all. He would accuse them of making up the story, including bribing the girl to endure the lashes and spread her lies. That would bring the fathers’ swords swinging at Adrian’s throat.

  What could possibly be irrefutable evidence?

  Adrian looked at Arxad, still on the floor, his head hidden from view. Of course! A dragon! And not just any dragon. Arxad was the only one who could do it. With his sympathy for humans, he could be trusted to tell the truth, and there would be no risk that he would hurt anyone on Major Four.

  “But …” Adrian raised a finger again. “Prescott’s soldiers would try to kill him.”

  He leaned his head back on the column. So tired. Just sleep. Everything will be clearer after a few hours. If he decided to fight for his freedom, he would need every ounce of energy possible, especially without a weapon.

  He opened one eye and looked at the rod lying on the floor. The poker. Arxad would likely return it to its box when he finally decided to get up. The box was unlocked, and both he and Arxad knew it. When execution time came around, the poker might be his only chance.

  Closing his eyes again, Adrian let out a long sigh. “Good night, Cassabrie.”

  “Good night, brave warrior.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Brave warrior? I didn’t do anything brave.”

  “Oh, but you did. It took a lot of courage to drop your weapon. I am so proud of you, I could—”

  “No. Please don’t burst with passion again. I need to sleep.”

  “Very well,” she said, laughing. “I will just sing you to sleep.” Cassabrie began humming a sweet tune, and after a few seconds, she added words.

  The dragons found in danger’s lair

  Cannot withstand my hero’s stare;

  He trusts in courage, not in steel,

  In sacrifice’s golden seal.

  His words become his weapons bared.

  His faith transforms to shields prepared.

  Defending those forsaken souls,

  He soothes, protects, sustains, consoles.

  And now my hero needs his rest,

  For midnight brings his greatest test.

  His spirit soon will join with mine,

  Embraced forever, hearts entwined.

  As her song swam through his mind, a sense of dizziness took over, and her words brought a new touch of soothing energy—brave warrior, hero, embraced forever. Less than a minute later, her gentle pull drew him into sleep’s embrace.

  TWENTY-ONE

  VANNA held a palm-sized mirror and moved it from side to side and up and down while Marcelle followed it with her eyes, using the light from a lantern sitting on the desk. With each new angle, a different part of her altered appearance came into view. The darker hair tied into short pigtails looked foreign around her familiar face, and the light gray tunic covering her flatter chest made her look like a prepubescent girl again, especially when combined with the skirt, a darker gray garment that fell just past her knees.

  At one angle, Daphne came into view, still propped in the corner with her hands tied behind her back. She stared with sleepy eyes, blinking frequently and staying quiet.

  “Does everything fit?” Shellinda asked from the desk chair. “Better make sure.”

  Marcelle lifted her knees in turn. The short trousers underneath fit perfectly, so running wouldn’t be a problem. Yet … She inhaled deeply and felt a twinge. The binding around her chest restricted her breathing. That might be a problem, but the appointed hour approached, the time for the charade to begin. A little pain wasn’t about to stop her.

  She spread out her arms. “What do you think?”

  “You could be her twin!” Vanna said. “The dragons won’t be able to tell the difference.”

  “What I’m hoping …” Marcelle reached for the viper blade lying on one of the mats. “I’m hoping I can conceal this.”

  “That won’t be a problem.” Penelope, now dressed in Marcelle’s clothes, picked up her sheet. “I’m supposed to bring my possessions with me, including the slip I wear at night. The dragons say we will need all the protection we can get in the Northlands. It’s a lot colder there.”

  “So if I wrap the sword,” Marcelle said as she slid the blade under the sheet, “they won’t notice, because—”

  “Slaves don’t have weapons,” Vanna finished. “And who would suspect that an innocent little girl would come prepared for battle?”

  Marcelle looked at the mat again. Adrian’s sword lay there, much longer than the viper blade, too obvious to include under the sheet. “What will Adrian battle with?” she asked under her breath.

  “If you find him at all,” Daphne said from the corner. “If you don’t, how long will you play out this deception?”

  Marcelle turned and met Daphne’s defiant stare. “At least until I learn what they really do with promoted slaves.”

  Daphne let out a tsking sound. “Once the dragons take you to the Northlands, you will have another long hike back here.”

  “Ah, that might be true,” Marcelle said, “but if everything has been determined, then the fact that your warning is insufficient to overcome my stubbornness is also unavoidable.” She copied Daphne’s tsks. “Such is life.”

  Shellinda picked up the remaining sheet. “Maybe I could bring Adrian’s sword. I could hide it and pretend I’m delivering something to the Zodiac.”

  Daphne shook her head. “You would be delivering yourself to death. Is that what you want?”

  “No,” Shellinda said. “I want to help—”

  “Psst! Are you girls dressed?”

  Marcelle turned toward the familiar voice coming from the corridor. “Is that you, Scott?”

  “Yes. I have important news.”

  “Come in. We�
�re dressed.”

  Carrying a weak lantern, Scott walked in and glanced at Daphne briefly, apparently not noticing her bound condition. “Have you heard? The dragons are calling the villagers to attend an execution at the Zodiac.”

  “The cooking stake?” Penelope asked.

  Scott looked at Penelope, then back at Marcelle. “Wait a minute. Which one of you is—”

  “I am the raven,” Marcelle said. “This disguise is part of the rescue plan.”

  “You had me fooled.” He looked at Daphne and nodded toward the corridor. “Hyborn is already on the way to the Zodiac. He saw me on the street and told me to come and tell you to hurry.”

  “Yes,” Penelope said. “He called for me earlier. It’s a good thing he’s too big to come all the way into our quarters.”

  Marcelle patted Scott on the back. “Thank you. We will meet you outside in a moment.”

  Scott hurried into the corridor, taking his lantern.

  “It is now clear,” Daphne said in a derisive tone, “that finding Adrian won’t be a problem for the black-feathered bird, but she should be a bit more concerned about the chance that she, too, will suffer his fate. The Zodiac has a central room with a domed ceiling, and the one being executed is chained tightly to a crystalline stake. The crystals capture the light from the sun or moon and begin cooking the victim slowly, ever so slowly, unless the dragons decide to have mercy and adjust it so that it works more quickly.”

  Marcelle stared at Daphne. New retorts about destined events bubbled in her mind, but she let the subject drop.

  Shellinda picked up Adrian’s sword. “This is my chance! Now I can go to the Zodiac with a weapon.”

  “The dragons will turn you into a fried minnow in two seconds,” Daphne said. “I absolutely forbid it.”

  Shellinda set a hand on her hip and glared at Daphne. “Who are you? My mother?”

  Marcelle took Shellinda’s hand. “Maybe you’d better think about it. Conceal the sword and bring it with you, but you don’t have to take it into the Zodiac.” She gave the girl a stealthy wink. Since Arxad said dragons learned winking from humans, these slaves likely knew that signal.

  As the two stared at each other, Shellinda suppressed a smile, her eyes widening ever so slightly. She understood. She would be there with Adrian’s sword. With freedom as her prize, the risk was worth it.

  Penelope touched one of Marcelle’s pigtails and watched it sway. As her eyes watered, her lower lip quivered. “You’re doing all this for me?”

  Marcelle pulled her into an embrace and caressed the back of her head. “For you and all the other slaves. Everything will be all right. Just try to get some sleep while we’re gone.”

  “I will.” Penelope pulled back and nodded toward Daphne. “When may I untie her?”

  “Not until Vanna comes back with news.” Marcelle set a finger on the lantern’s handle. “Vanna, if we leave this here, will you be able to lead the way in the dark without it?”

  “I have wandered these halls in the dark many times.” As Vanna walked into the corridor, Marcelle followed, holding the viper in front with both hands. Concealed in the sheet, it truly felt like a serpent ready to strike.

  “I have seen other promotion processionals,” Vanna said as they entered the dragon’s living area. “We’re supposed to be quiet. It’s a time of grieving for those left behind. But since this one is coming at the same time as an execution, I don’t think many people will pay attention.”

  Marcelle looked back. In the flickering light of Penelope’s lantern, Shellinda was wrapping Adrian’s sword in a sheet. The brave little girl had a lot of spunk.

  Heaving a sigh, Marcelle strode on. Now she would have to save Adrian and protect Shellinda at the same time. Would it be possible? How many dragons might there be in the Zodiac? Yet, if Shellinda could arm Adrian with his sword, maybe they stood a chance, however small it might be.

  She reached under the sheet and gripped the viper’s hilt. At least maybe they could save Shellinda and die together in a literal blaze of glory. Their example as martyrs for the sake of the slaves might give them courage to continue on in spite of their cruel captivity. After all, Edison was still out there somewhere. Maybe he would find Frederick, and the two of them could muster an emboldened army of slaves. And maybe they could make up for her stupid, stupid mistake. They could lead the slaves to freedom and—

  Marcelle bit her lip. Tears welled in her eyes. Her stupid mistake. If not for her impatience, none of this would have happened. She and Adrian might have led every child from that horrible cattle camp by now. They might have found Frederick’s refuge in the forest. They could be marching to the Northlands with a host of rejoicing slaves in their company.

  As the tears began to flow, she slid her hand away from the hilt. No, her death wouldn’t be a blaze-of-glory exit. She would be hiding in a shroud of shame, a death shroud made by her own hands.

  Sniffing back a sob, she lifted her head high. So be it. There was nothing she could do about it now. At the very least, Adrian wouldn’t die alone.

  Adrian blinked his eyes open. The Zodiac’s domed chamber was darker now. The crystalline sphere gave no light at all. Only a withering flame on a nearby lantern provided any illumination. Arxad no longer lay on the floor. Everything was quiet, deathly quiet.

  From his seated position at the column, he looked up through the hole in the ceiling. A single moon neared the apex of the sky and cast its glow into the room. The middle of the night approached, perhaps his final night on this or any other world.

  “What troubles you?” Cassabrie asked.

  “Endings.”

  “Oh … endings. Fear of jumping into the unknown.”

  He clasped his fingers together and allowed his thumbs to spar. “Not that so much. It’s the fear of leaving things undone. Lost opportunities. Unfortunate circumstances. Crumbled hopes.”

  “Yes, it was unfortunate that Marcelle lost her temper. Much damage has resulted.”

  “I can’t argue with that, but she’s not the only female I know whose passions flare.”

  “Adrian, your point is sharp, and the cut deserved. I am a woman of passion who boils at the sight of evil, but I did not attack Zena, and I kept peace in Magnar’s presence. What makes such a woman honorable is the way in which she deals with her passions, the manner in which she tempers her response.”

  “Like not attacking a dragon alone?”

  “You said it. Not I.”

  “But you were thinking it.”

  Cassabrie stayed silent for a moment. Adrian listened to the sounds in the chamber’s drafty air, a rustling somewhere in another room in the Zodiac. Human footsteps? Wings beating? Had dragons and slaves begun gathering to witness his execution? Probably. He would be a spectacle, an example set for any human who dared oppose authority.

  With a sigh in her voice, Cassabrie finally replied. “I do not deny my thoughts. I am not ashamed of my opinion of Marcelle. She made the foolish choice that has caused you great harm. Now she is free, and you will die. When she returns home with liberated slaves, she will receive the glory due a hero, while the true hero perishes in agony. I am justified in my opinion.”

  As her soothing warmth flowed through his body and mind, the image of Marcelle attacking the dragon appeared, and not just in his thoughts. It played out on the floor in front of him, just as it had done when Cassabrie related the tale to Arxad. Was this her doing? Or was this a product of his tortured mind?

  Marcelle slashed the dragon’s face with her sword. Her courage was amazing, her skills unquestioned. But her judgment? Apparently nonexistent.

  Cassabrie’s voice melded in with the scene. “Have you decided? Will you go to be with your maker, or will you allow Arxad to join us together for all eternity? I bring pleasure to your soul. I remove every pain, even the memory of its cause. I fill the longings of your heart. I am your Starlighter.”

  “Those aren’t my only choices,” Adrian said.

  “Yo
u are correct again. Will you then choose to fight for your freedom? Do you wish to find Marcelle and restore her as your warrior companion? Will you accept all her faults and tempers, or will you continue to be at odds with her, battling her pseudonobility and her refusal to accept public shame for her foibles?”

  “Now who has the sharp point?”

  “Ah, but it’s sharp for a reason. Whomever you choose, you have to decide to bear the problems as well as the joy.”

  A hinge creaked. Adrian climbed to his feet and looked for the source. Double doors at the perimeter swung open. Arxad shuffled in, his head low. When he arrived under the partially open dome, he looked at Adrian. “Your execution is at hand.”

  Adrian squared his shoulders. “I know.”

  “We have an unusual circumstance. Magnar has ordered you to be cooked at the stake, which happens to be the same crystal that divines truth and falsehood. The problem is that we also have a Promotion ceremony, and those being promoted always come to the Zodiac first to be prepared.”

  “Not that it’s any of my business, but what is involved in the preparation?”

  Arxad’s head drooped closer to the floor. “I give them a drug that makes them compliant, the same drug you saw working in the separated family. Then they each write a letter to a relative describing their joy at being in the Northlands. When Trisarian rises higher, I chain them to the stake. At midnight, Trisarian sits directly above this ceiling, and its beams combine with the crystal’s energy to draw the spirit out of anyone touching the sphere. The spirits are absorbed into the crystal, and after their bodies are removed, I can capture their spirits and transport them to the Northlands where they will be safe.”

  Adrian imagined the process, a girl writhing in pain and a misty light streaming from her body and into the sphere. Then, she slumped, her agony ended. His breaths coming a little faster now, he stared at Arxad. “What do you do with the bodies?”