Fallen Tiers

by Cheryl Matthynssens

  Fallen Tiers

  The Blue Dragon’s Geas

  Cheryl Matthynssens with Co-Authors Theresa Snyder and Alex Hunt

  Copyright © 2017 by Cheryl Matthynssens

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Cheryl Matthynssens

  895 Riverside Drive

  Wenatchee, WA 98801

  www.dragonologists.com

  ISBN: 9781521309797

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2016 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Fallen Tiers/Cheryl Matthynssens. – 2nd ed.

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to the Outcasts of the world.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A special thanks to Alex Hunt and Theresa Snyder. I was struggling with finishing the book during yet another round of chemo. They stepped up and helped me get this out. Also, Thanks to the fans who have stuck by me.

  Prologue

  Jon nodded to the acolyte that took the reins of his lexital, smiling inwardly at the sudden stillness which descended over the crowd. It was not his robes, gray with travel dust, nor his unkempt hair which drew the attention of the entire stable yard. No, all eyes were on the tiny black dragon, whip tail wrapped like a choker around the mage’s throat

  He looked around in amazement. He had heard of this temple, all death mages had, but this was more than he ever imagined. It was fashioned similarly to the tiers of the capital, though the levels here were not as distinct, and black spires rose here and there, a sharp contrast to Silverport’s glistening white stone. The courtyard where he had landed stood outside the main walls of the temple, and he wondered briefly what wonders lay on the other side.

  The death mage was distracted from these thoughts when he spotted cave openings lining the far-off cliff walls. How many dragons had the High Priestess managed to gather? If they were all full, it was a concern he would have to relay to Alador. He cast a cleaning spell absently over his robes as he continued to take in the spectacular view.

  His eyes caught the distant movement of three dragons flying together. They looped in and out of one another before making some diving run, displaying amazing in-flight choreography before dropping down out of sight. Nightmare sat up on his shoulder, crooning softly as though he too was watching the aerobatics, and Jon absentmindedly stroked the hatchling’s small muzzle, bringing the usual response of a soft sigh.

  As they left the stable yard, they joined the line of those making a pilgrimage to the temple. The journey here was not an easy one; most of those in line were travel worn, and proceeded with heads bowed. Nightmare looked about with the same curiosity as Jon, the little dragon hissing at any that dared draw too close. The crowd parted as the black robed mage made his way toward the main gate of the temple that rose above them.

  The line stopped at the gate where the weary travelers could see a large inner courtyard which held a few privileged travelers milling about waiting for their turn to be admitted to show respect to the High Priestess.

  The guards stopped him at the gate. “What business have you in the temple?” demanded the man who appeared to be in charge, his hand on the hilt of the sword.

  Jon cocked an eyebrow at the man, who stood a head taller than him and twice as wide. “Either you are blind or inept. I bring this small hatchling for the High Priestess’ flight.”

  The man actually looked at the small dragon, seeming unimpressed. “Is the High Priestess expecting you?”

  Jon tipped his head, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the guardsman. “Obviously not, or you would not be standing there asking inane questions. I do not know how much more tolerance this wee one has before it starts spitting acid at people.” Those that were close behind him took several steps back. “I suggest you send me through so that we can get him settled.”

  The man nodded at Jon as though the mage’s words had finally brought him to his senses. He motioned one of his fellow guards over. “Take this mage to a private parlor and then let the High Priestess know that a dragon has come in.”

  The guard who had approached saluted, then turned to Jon. “If you will follow me, milord.” He turned and led the way through the narrow gate.

  Jon was content to be led wherever it was that he needed to go. Everywhere he looked he saw black robed acolytes tending the pathway gardens, weeding the side paths and sweeping the wide walkway - really a road - to the main building. He knew they were no more than simple attendants of the temple, for their robes were of common cloth with no embellishments.

  There was a peace inside the wall that amazed him. He noted the sound of his own footfalls, the swish of the acolyte’s brooms and the rustle of the breeze through the early spring leaves above his head. Those that were speaking here and there seemed hushed and equally aware of the strange calm. He was so absorbed in taking in the magnificence surrounding him that he almost ran into an acolyte sweeping.

  Jon shook his head and followed the guard up the stairs and into the main receiving hall, where there was a bit more noise. People had ill family members with them on stretchers and handcarts. This was not a temple of healing, but a place of passage; for a substantial donation, one could buy a space in the crypt. However, the people that he saw seemed far too common for the most part to be here for that. It made him curious, but he shelved the question until he could ask the High Priestess or a talkative acolyte, if such existed.

  He was placed in a simple room, holding a small table with a decanter of wine and two glasses, framed by three chairs. There was a large black fireplace that crackled merrily, taking the chill off the early spring morning. He moved to the fire to warm both himself and the small fledgling.

  Nightmare had burrowed under his cloak for the flight, for the air had a bitter bite even when flying just over the treetops. Jon turned his back to the fire, where the warmth drew the small dragon out to hang by his tail, basking in the flames. Fortunately, he did not weigh much yet, so the tight constriction of the tail to Jon’s throat was only slightly uncomfortable.

  He had expected to wait for some time since Lady Morana was not expecting him, so he was surprised when the door opened only a short while later. Nightmare sprung up at the sound of the door, to curl back around the safety of Jon’s shoulders.

  Jon was caught completely off guard, despite Alador’s warning that the woman who entered was not his goddess but her priestess. Her long hair was coiled in ringlets, most piled from the top of her head and cascading down. Her lips had to be painted, for their red was like blood first exposed to the air. Her gown was built in layers of voluminous black material, the bottom a series of cascades of silken material trimmed in gold thread. A corset was set over the top of the gown, laced with gold and decorated with gentle loops of black braids. The corset pushed her breasts up to perfect mounds that swelled just above the tight fabric. The sleeves were sheer and only closed at her elbow and her wrist, giving almost a winged appearance. It took him a moment to realize he was staring before he descended to one knee.

  “Milady,” he acknowledged.

  “Rise, mage.” The dry rasp of her voice was a startling contrast to her outward beauty, and only her confident tones kept him from rushing to offer her a sip of wine for her throat.

  She looked him over with a critical eye. “What is your name?” She demanded, but her eyes had already shifted to Nightmare before he
could answer. She took a step forward, “And pray tell, where did you acquire the hatchling?”

  “I come from the bloodmine. It was assaulted. The dragons you sent to protect it fell under the onslaught of other flights.” Jon gave a flat factual report. “This is the only one of the fledglings I could save.” He paused and gave a slight bow. “I am known merely as Jon.”

  She put her hand up to the fledgling without even hesitating. Even more to Jon’s surprise, Nightmare did not hiss. The little hatchling purred as she rubbed between its eyes, only protesting when she attempted to remove it from Jon’s shoulder.

  Jon winced as Nightmare’s talons dug into his flesh. The little dragon drew back and let out a growl of warning that was really more of a whimper, due to its small size. “I fear, milady, that he has bonded with me during the trip to bring him to you.”

  “Do you need to return to the bloodmine?” Lady Morana asked, withdrawing her hand to calm the small beast.

  “It fell completely. There is nothing to return to.” Jon stated. “My loyalty is to Dethara, rather than to Silverport or its minister. I would prefer to stay with the hatchling.” Jon knew that not all death mages were also priests. He knew that not all those seeking priesthood were mages. To be both would automatically place him in higher rank than the acolytes he passed on his way into the temple.

  She was about to speak when Jon thought to add, “May I point out that I am also trained in blade use within the Blackguard?” It was possible he could get closer to over time if she believed he could protect her.

  She nodded her permission. “I will have a cave assigned for your use. Each dragon’s cave has a small quarter for its keeper. I think you will find it a pleasant enough space.” Lady Morana was talking to him, but all her attention was trained on Nightmare. Her eyes only flitted to Jon’s face on occasion, the greed within her gaze reserved for the hatchling.

  “I am sure that it will more than suffice.” Jon answered politely. “He has not eaten,” he added in a questioning tone, caressing the small head that pressed into his hands.

  “I will have a keeper sent to you to show you where the supplies are kept for those that live in the caverns above the temple.” She finally turned her gaze away from Nightmare, her eyes moving from head to toe, assessing the young mage. “You will wait here until someone is sent to escort you. You said your name is Jon?” She asked to clarify.

  “Yes, milady, that is correct.” He gave a slight bow once more. “We will do as you have bid.”

  “Welcome home, Jon.” Morana’s voice held a strange silken edge rather than the rasp it had exhibited earlier. Jon felt a shiver go up his spine.

  Though her words of welcome were proper, he felt as if a cage door had just swung shut behind him. Nightmare’s weight was suddenly apparent, as was the tail about his throat. For a brief moment, he realized he felt much like a fly must feel in the spider’s web. His eyes followed her as she turned and swept from the room. He took a settling breath as the door closed. He was in the temple as he planned. For a brief moment, he wondered if he should flee while he still could.

  Chapter One

  Alador waited for Nemara on the veranda outside his office, where breakfast had been laid for them both. He stood at the rail overlooking the city; the sun was shining, but the air was strangely still and heavy. Still, it was spring, and the winter was finally behind him. He was so deep in thought that he startled at Nemara’s touch, not having heard her soft tread as she joined him at the rail.

  “What has you so deep in thought that I can sneak up on you?” she teased as she thumped him on the arm, but her smile did not make it to her eyes. Nemara had seemed different after her return with the egg. It had been two weeks since their return, and still she was not quite the woman that Alador had conspired with to bring down the bloodmines, a dragon bleeding facility. At times, he felt like she was doing her best to act ‘normal’ around him.

  “Nemara, we can’t keep the egg here,” he replied, once again broaching the subject. They had already argued about this twice. Since she appeared with the dragon egg, she had become quite territorial; one would think it was her egg, the way she protected and hovered about it.

  She bristled instantly. “Why not?” He looked over at her, marveling at how she could look so beautiful even when she first woke up. Her red hair was loose, falling around her shoulders; it glistened in the sunlight with glints of burnished copper in the dark cherry strands. She had settled for a simple gray skirt and a soft blue tunic. It brought out her copper eyes and hair.

  He turned to face her, ready to do battle once more. “Nemara, someone is going to find out. I can’t keep the servants at bay saying you’re sick and likely contagious much longer.” He gazed down at her, tenderly pushing a few strands of hair out of her glaring eyes.

  “Where else are you going to find a pool to keep it warm that you can also protect?” She put her hands on his chest, a pleading look in her eyes. “We have to keep it safe. I promised Rena before she died.” She almost choked out the words. This was another example of how she had changed since her return. She was so emotional.

  “I am going to take it to Pruatra.” he said firmly. “She is Rena’s mother and will know how to care for it.” Somehow Alador felt he needed to get the dragon dame involved. How had this ever happened? He couldn’t fathom the magic that must have taken place, out of his control and as it would seem Rena’s as well.

  “I can care for it!” Nemara snapped, her hands dropping to her sides in defiance. “I can hear it move. Rena gifted me with the knowledge to take care of it.”

  “You have kept your promise, Nemara. You brought the egg safely to me.” Alador reached out and gently touched her shoulder, “but I can’t keep it safe, nor can I keep others from finding out.” Nemara shook off his hand. “We have no idea how long until it hatches because of my influence in its creation,” he persisted. “We have gone over this.” He took her hands from her sides where they were clenched into fists and held them tightly. “Pruatra is the best choice we have.”

  Nemara searched his face worriedly, her eyes still threatening tears. “What if she refuses because… because it is partly a mortal’s hatchling?”

  “Then I will have to make her see reason.” Alador leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I will make her see the connection to Rena.”

  “She might kill it if it’s not a dragon, as she expects a dragon to be.” Nemara visibly wilted.

  Alador put his arms about her. “It might be as well if she did, Nemara. If it is some misshapen monster, it would be kinder.”

  She shuddered against him, struggling with his logic. He felt it when she finally relented, her body fairly sagging in his arms. “All right.” Her answer was muffled against his chest. She looked up at him. “Are you going to send me away too?”

  Her eyes held her concern as she waited for his answer. She seemed so attached to the egg and him since her return. It worried him.

  “No. The High Master has released you from service at my request and you are free to stay with me as long as you like.” He put a hand under her chin and looked into her eyes. “I can arrange for you to return to the caverns if you would prefer.”

  She shook her head vigorously to his suggestion. “I want to stay with you.”

  This was not the spirited woman he had met in the caverns. Something significant had changed her. “Nemara, did something happen while you were trying to get to the egg and back? You haven’t seemed yourself at all, even after rest and proper food.” He kept his hands at her waist so that she could not escape his question.

  “It was just a hard journey, that is all.” She wiped the hair back from her face. “Am I really so different?” Her eyes seemed to come alive.

  “Yes.” His simple answer lay between them, silence building the tension.

  She reached up and brushed her fingers over his cheek before her hand dropped and she attempted to turn away.

  He held her firmly. “Nemara, what happene
d?”

  “I don’t know,” she murmured defensively. “I haven’t felt the same since Rena gave me a picture of the path to the egg.” She scowled and absently rubbed her brow.

  Alador’s eyes narrowed. Had Rena attempted to take over Nemara and only given the information for the egg when she could not do it? Henrick had indicated it was quite the process; surely Rena would not have attempted it.

  “Dragons can do that to a person,” he offered. He would have to watch her more closely and see if there was any evidence of Rena’s presence. He had loved Rena, but there was no way he would have sanctioned the stealing of another’s place in life. He guided Nemara to the table.

  “You still need more rest.” His words held an edge of authority rather than a simple comment. “You are too thin. Perhaps we can start practicing with each other in our sword play. I could use the workout and it might help you build your strength back up.” He scooted the chair in as she slid into it.

  “I guess,” her answer held the edge of doubt.

  She watched as he added food to her plate. He purposely chose things he knew she favored. Only when her plate was filled, did he take his own chair. He was fairly hungry after the workout with Luthian the night before. They had been practicing deflecting spells again; Alador was getting faster and now could often parry his uncle’s swift use of spells.

  “When will you go?” Nemara asked. She pushed her food around her plate, not really eating any of it.

  “I am not going to tell you if you do not eat,” he insisted, waving his fork at her, absentmindedly shrugging his shoulders. The air felt almost oppressive this morning, as if it were bearing down on him.

  She scowled at him and dutifully shoved a bite in her mouth. Alador nodded his approval. “Luthian is going to Whitecliff in a few days, and he has said I need not go as he will be meeting privately with the High Minister there.” Luthian, his uncle and the High Minister over all of Lerdenia, had been a hard task master since the fall of the bloodmines. Alador knew Luthian suspected his nephew of being involved, but had been unable to prove it. It seemed his alternative to an accusation was to keep Alador too busy to cause trouble.