Quest Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 1)
Page 33
Jasta knew it too, and she was frantic.
Justin would only survive if they came back quickly, but Lazo didn’t know how long it would take for the Red Eye to reveal its secret. No twin had survived an alienation past two days, but most died within a sun’s click after the separation.
Because of Lazo, Jasta would survive, but Justin would succumb to the killing Mar within heartbeats, and if Jasta wasn’t back soon thereafter Justin would be forever out of reach. He would die from the Mar even if Jasta was by his side. Once the connection was severed it was severed for eternity.
Lazo squeezed Jasta’s hand. There was no hurrying the Red Eye’s apparitions. The amount of time it took depended upon the aura the Eye brought forth from his timbering drone.
Lazo sat naked, as did Jasta. Nothing but flesh and the object in question could enter the ritual. Thankfully, that included their chains.
When he started to hum the rite Ista had taught him the Red Eye began to glow around the edges. A circumambient luminescence slowly emitted from the Eye, growing outward until it encompassed them in one large orb.
The murmurs of Jasta and Justin were abruptly silenced. Beside him, Jasta began to weep. Lazo tenderly drew her into his lap, opening his own mind as wide as he could. She clung to him both physically and mentally.
The orb of light surrounded them in a haze of muted red. The outside was no longer visible. Lazo continued to hum, frantically urging the Eye’s memories to be quick. The haze soon began to move in a torrent of shapes, mixing vermilion waves with rosy hues. It was a dizzying effect, and this time Lazo didn’t force his eyes away. Jasta appeared almost hypnotized by the frenzied swirls of color.
Black soon began to mix with the sanguine images, forming shapes of people and buildings. Shouts and screams reverberated around them as men fell to their knees in terror. Visages of women killing their children and specters of men raping and eviscerating their wives rose over and over as the shrieking escalated. Blood and bone and entrails littered the floor.
The scene wavered and shifted until the people were gone. A lone man stood peering over the Eye, brown hair in disarray, eyes frantic. He held another Eye in his hand. Lazo knew of the Silver Eye. It was kept at the Alcazar as a symbol of magic’s strength. The man bellowed a curse and from out of nowhere a hideous, blackened creature with eyes a murky white tore past him, shrieking a soulless cry. Its jawline took up half its face, its eyes the other half. Two tattered ears protruded from its black skin and eight arms drug the ground as it ran, bouncing as if they were merely trinkets it donned. Its legs were squat and it ran hunched over. Two pinchers opened and closed at its chest.
The creature came to an abrupt stop and focused its large, murky white eyes on Jasta. Lazo scooted backward, pulling Jasta’s quivering form with him, but came to a sudden halt when his back hit the outer edge of the muted orb. The jaw of the creature dropped open, revealing fangs as long as Lazo’s hand. Inky saliva inched down the white protrusions. It sprung straight for Jasta.
Lazo quickly changed the inflection of his hum and the creature disappeared. The whirls stirred again. Jasta released a moan of terror as Lazo whispered assurances in his mind, acutely aware he could have saved the children the same way if he had seen the apparitions attacking them.
The memories continued. A building with large columns began to form. People stood in line outside the door, waiting for entrance. Occasionally someone came out and another ventured in. The etching on the edifice was in an ancient tongue but the meaning was clear. It read: “Truth Above All.” Just as quickly as the scene came, it disappeared.
A bone-chilling scream descended on them. Lazo looked up and cowered as a black wyvern flew from the heavens, crashing to the ground in a torrent of dust. The two-legged dragon screamed in warning as a beautiful woman rose from beside the Red Eye, dark hair billowing from her body. She reached for the Eye but the wyvern was too quick. The beast toppled her, pawing her with its talons before grabbing the Eye and taking to the sky.
The grizzled pulp of flesh lying before them was unrecognizable, but the woman was still alive, thrashing on the ground in pain.
The swirls escalated again, taking the woman with them. The image of the building reappeared. A silver dragon rose from its steps. One of the dragon’s talons was bloodied. A regal woman dressed in white bent over the wound and whispered a blessing. The talon was immediately mended and the silver creature groaned in appreciation. Another woman, wearing scant cover, walked forward and caressed the creature with a slender hand. From the way her lips moved Lazo realized she was whispering her thanks.
The regal woman stepped back, holding a gleaming ball above her head. She nodded and the dragon spewed fire over her form. Lazo could only stare in mute shock. It was as if the woman had welcomed the fire. His senses reeled, but before he could form a question in his mind the fire abated and the woman, without burns or blemish, lowered a glowing red ball in her hands.
It was the Red Eye.
Lazo drew in a sharp breath. The Red Eye had been brought to life by silver dragon’s fire. If silver dragon’s fire had formed it, it could awaken it. The silver fiend in the prophecy was the silver dragon, and because Ren hadn’t destroyed it Ista had a chance to release the Red Eye’s power through silver dragon’s fire.
Lazo quit humming. The visions disappeared and they were back to reality. Jasta jumped to her feet and ran toward the corridor leading to the outside, where Justin barely clung to life.
Lazo felt profound relief that his brother was still alive, but when his eyes found the Red Eye he sunk once again into despair. Jasta would reveal all she knew to reach Justin, to try to save him from the clutches of the Mar.
“I’m sorry, Ren,” Lazo whispered, knowing the silver dragon would soon become Ista’s captive. He couldn’t bear the thought, but there was no escaping it.
Lazo walked to the table in the far corner of the room and pulled his advisor’s robe over his head, finding small comfort in the way the familiar black fabric cleaved to his body.
Run!
The intensity of Jasta’s message caused Lazo to fall to the floor. No thought from the twins had ever hurt him before, but this time Jasta’s words were fire.
She touched me Lazo. I wasn’t in my other side! She knows! Leave us!
Lazo pushed himself up as he heard his brother’s scream echo down the corridors. Lazo spun, unsure of what to do. He couldn’t leave his siblings. Although a triplet wasn’t joined as deeply as the others, they would die without him. He was the strongest.
Run, Lazo! Jasta’s command left no room for doubt.
Triplets with the power could wipe out nations. He would help cause that destruction. He remembered Jasta’s rare smile and Justin’s frequent laugh. Neither would want that fate. If he separated from them he would cause their strength to be broken. If he severed he would stop the Quy from growing any more puissant inside them. If he didn’t sever Ista would find him and he would be used as a weapon of force, against Ren, against righteousness, and against honor.
Lazo started toward the door. No guards were present. Jasta had rushed out, revealing all she had seen, stalling the onslaught of guards. He could escape if he kept his wits about him.
Lazo stumbled forward, the intensity of Jasta and Justin’s screams making him lose all sense of reality. They were far worse than the blackened creature he had seen in the Eye’s memories. They were anguish made voice, terror made noise. They were his own soul tearing from him.
I’ll come for you. I’ll get you out!
No, Lazo. She’s asking me where you are. I can’t hold out much longer… Separate, Lazo! Hurry!
Lazo separated, crashing to the ground as he felt the last of the twins leave him. Lazo had never separated so completely.
Lazo forced himself up and turned toward the library where the secret passage was hidden. The twins’ screams followed him down the corridor.
Jasta and Justin, his life, his family, would die.
He might die.
Terror and panic built inside him. Soon the Mar would set in, and in the Mar there was only a vast expanse of nothingness. No twin had ever survived it; no triplet had ever tried.
- - -
“I can’t thank you enough,” Chris whispered.
Carter smiled. He didn’t know how to feel. Part of him wanted to laugh in elation at Manda’s escape. She had been gone since high moons and an alarm had yet to sound. Giving his life for Manda’s was something he couldn’t describe. It was a gift no one could take from him. But that gift also spurred fear. At times during the night he had almost been delirious from apprehension. At other times he had wanted to run.
During those times Carter turned to Chris and let the third emotion claim him – savagery.
He wanted to kill. What Alezza had done to the man before him was unforgivable.
Off and on in the night Alezza would call to Chris. Sometimes it was a sharp pain, other times a long passionate thrill. When the pain came, Chris curled up into a fetal position and tried to control the spasms. When it was passion Chris body reacted with lewd elation, but his face was a mask of loathing. Carter wondered how long the prince would live. Chris already had deep lines in his face from lack of sleep. Only Manda had kept Chris sane, and now Manda was gone.
Carter had stayed in the same position all night, ensuring to the best of his ability the passing guards would think he was Manda. He had draped what was left of her clothes around him and stayed in the corner shadows. He was a small man. He would fool the guards until dawn.
It was almost dawn.
He hadn’t spoken of his fate during the night. He had only whispered stories of his childhood, wanting to try to take Chris’ mind off his inner torture.
Chris’ whispered thanks was all the prince had uttered since Manda’s escape.
The first rays of light sliced through the tent’s partition and touched his face. A flood of emotions surged inside Carter: exuberance, regret, fear, hopelessness and anger. When those emotions subsided only dignity remained.
He was Lieutenant Carter Donovan Meal of his crown prince’s guard seeing an order to completion. He was Carter Meal, born of Sethavian Meal, and his father had taught him to put others before himself. He was Carter, a man who loved his prince, his land, and his honor. He was a man who was angry, for the man beside him, chained and tortured, and the girl he now gave his life to free.
He winked at Chris. Chris smiled.
Carter tightened the grip on his sword. He would take out as many solders as he could, not for himself, but for Ren, for Chris, and for Manda.
An alarm sounded. Muffled curses wafted to them. Carter exchanged a confused glance with Chris. No one had entered their tent. The alarm hadn’t sounded because of Manda’s escape. Thundering footfalls ran past.
Chris’ brow furrowed as he looked at the tent’s partition. The sunlight made his green eyes glow with emerald fire. Disgusted oaths and foul curses became prominent as they listened to the story unfold.
Bort was dead. He had been found tied to the poles of his tent, choking on his own private parts. The meaning was clear: if he had lived he would have never raped another.
Chris chuckled. Despite the imminent danger, Carter joined him. Manda had taken her revenge.
But then the chaos stilled and the air filled with an oppressive silence.
Chris screamed.
Carter leapt to his feet and made an arc with the sword, ready for the soldiers sure to come.
And come they did, one right after another.
- - -
“We must hurry, she’s losing strength,” Aaron said, face twisting into a mask of fortitude as he spurred his horse into a gallop.
It was the Avenger talking, not Aaron. The Avenger had found the betrayed with his feelings, and she was dying.
The sparks of the Avenger’s impetus were moving violently around his body. Fraul could see their glow even through Aaron’s dark clothes. Fraul hadn’t slept the past few nights. Aaron was a fascination to watch in the dark. He glowed like a seraph come to life under the stars.
Now Aaron glowed brighter than ever. The particles of power moved so quickly Aaron appeared to be a living sun, shaded by a black garment in the bright of day.
Fraul wondered how much of the day’s heat came from Aaron, for it was exceptionally hot for the season, and although it was a warm day Fraul doubted the actual temperature near Aaron was the same as everywhere else.
Perspiration rained from Fraul as if he rode through the high heat of the Sesanie desert. Fraul had been in that wasteland lying between Ketes and Byn only once in his life, and what he felt now matched if not surpassed its intensity. It felt as if the heat were being sucked from him only to be replaced with more fervor. It was draining from the beginning and exhausting in the end.
The Avenger’s cape slashed the air, sending more of the oppressing heat in Fraul’s direction. The landscape was a blur as they rode into the unknown. Fraul felt the excitement building inside him. This was the Avenger’s purpose. This was his duty. This was what Aaron had been born to do.
But would this time be different? This time would the Avenger live?
Fraul’s jaw set with grim determination. Aaron would live this time. Somehow Fraul would help Aaron remain in this world.
A lone rider crested a distant hill. Fraul turned to Aaron. From the anguish written in the contours of Aaron’s face Fraul knew the rider was the betrayed. Aaron spurred his horse faster, his glow intensifying to an even greater illumination.
Aaron’s black stallion closed the distance within heartbeats. The rider had collapsed on the back of her mount. Aaron jumped off his steed and stopped the approaching horse. It reared. The girl’s head tilted as if coming out of a daze, but she was never in danger of being thrown. She was one with the horse.
Fraul cringed as Aaron pulled the beaten girl to the ground. She was thin, her jaw broken, and if the bruises on her neck and face were any indication of the condition of the rest of her, Fraul knew she was near death.
Her reddish-blonde hair was wet with sweat and clung to her skin, but it wasn’t from the heat. She was burning with fever. When she looked up into Aaron’s face she began to shriek. The terror in her dull green eyes told more of her story than Fraul wanted to hear. She had been beaten and raped. From the look of her, Fraul knew it had been more than once.
Her hand slid to her waist, reaching for the dagger in her belt.
The Avenger stopped her hand. His black gloves shimmered with the avenging power. The Avenger’s eyes glowed a metallic gold as he looked down at the broken figure in his arms. The Avenger brushed the girl’s hair from her face. “My child, what’s happened to you?”
Aaron’s voice was filled with an incomprehensible love. Fraul took a step back, feeling inadequate next to someone who felt so much. The stories the Avenger had told him came back in a maddening rush.
One question stood out in Fraul’s mind. Was love worth the pain?
The betrayed’s torpid eyes widened and she tentatively reached up to touch Aaron’s cheek. All people had heard the story of the Avenger. Everyone knew his look and his compassion. The betrayed’s eyes filled with tears, endowing them with a vitality previously absent. The edges of her mouth rose into a semblance of a smile. It came close to breaking Fraul’s heart.
The girl began to relay the story. Ren was mentioned. Fear for both Ren and her brother was evident in her broken voice. Fraul slowly became aware of who lay before him: Manda of Crape.
As Manda’s tale started to unfold, Aaron became almost blinding to look upon. Sparks circulated outside his clothing as if they were too multifarious to remain confined.
When Manda finished speaking, Aaron hugged her close.
“I want to watch you do it,” she said. “Let me come with you. I want to see him die.”
Aaron pulled back. “No, my child, you must wait for me here. I’ll be back, and then we’ll find your brother.”
Fraul glanced up and watched in amazement as the Avenger’s stallion left the ground and galloped paces above the terrain, almost too fast for the eye to see.
- - -
The horse took to the air upon the Avenger’s command, galloping on air particles that had formed a bridge over the castle wall. As he landed on solid ground the guards sounded the alarm, but when they recognized him they fell back, stumbling as they went. He was used to the sight. He had lived it for centuries.
His name was whispered among the onlookers like a plague. Some faces drained of color. Other mouths gapped open in awe.
The Avenger spurred his mount forward, barely taking notice of the people. He had witnessed the scene a thousand times before. Those backing away were those who had betrayed friends and loved ones. The others, the ones transfixed by the sight of him, were pure. Not many were pure.
Now that the final avenging power surged inside him he saw all the betrayals of those he passed. A guard to his left hung his head in shame for claiming it was his arrow that hit the mark, not his friend’s, which advanced him into the king’s guard. Another had betrayed a lover, insisting it was she who seduced him into fornication. Another had denounced a prominent man in an accusation of molestation. Yet they weren’t the ones Aaron came for. He only avenged betrayals that could cause death.
His horse’s hooves were the only sound ringing across the courtyard, but no one moved to stop him. To try and destroy him was sure death. One spark of his pain was too much for any mortal to bear.
He concentrated on the road ahead, feeling his anger building until it reached a zenith. Then love welled in his soul for the girl he had held in his arms, caressing the anger. When the love reached the point of hurting, the pain built even higher. And so it continued: the anger, the love, and the pain. He was like a rod electrified with the three internal elements. Just as the anger reached a high, the love overwhelmed. Just as the love culminated the hate, the pain surged into a profusion of anguish.