Senion poured a cup of tyna and handed it to Emeldra before answering. “He has gone with Sir Halwain and a company of knights on a special mission,” she replied, trying to hide the worry she felt. Her expression, however, betrayed her to Emeldra.
“You aren’t telling me everything that’s going on, Senion. Better tell me now, I’ll find out anyway.” She sipped her tyna, regarding Senion with a stern expression.
“Oh, Emeldra I’m afraid for them,” Senion answered, sitting beside Emeldra. “Matra is scouting for them, and Jason is Sir Halwain’s second. They have gone to the Paen Desert after a band of Paenalirs.”
Emeldra remembered that Jason was the young knight Senion had been seeing. It seemed things were getting serious between them. Though now worried herself, Emeldra sought to reassure her friend. “Don’t worry, Senion, Matra will see them all safely back,” she began reassuringly. Around her neck, the heartstone glowed brightly. Looking down at it, her eyes suddenly lit up. “I can try and contact them with the heartstone.” Her eyes bright, Senion looked expectantly at Emeldra.
“Oh, if you could Emeldra, it would be a relief to know that they are all okay.”
Without another word, Emeldra clasped the stone tightly in her hands and reached out with her mind. She almost let go again in near panic as the same sensations she had experienced before when summoned by the gold dragon swamped her reality. She vaguely heard Senion ask if anything was wrong. Shaking her head, she tightened her grip on the stone. This time she tentatively reached out with only a part of her mind. Again she had a sensation of flying, though this time she felt more firmly grounded. Only a part of her that seemed detached reached out. She centred her thoughts on Matra as a blue dragon flying across the Paen Desert, then as a man riding horseback with Sir Halwain, Jason Kith and the other knights. Her focus floated eerily above the ground, passing at speed over villages, farms and woodlands, making her feel giddy and nauseated.
Eventually, she became used to the sensation and found she could control the speed and direction more accurately. She settled herself more comfortably, then with growing confidence and ability she attributed partly to the heartstone, she cast her sight toward the Paen Desert.
In the space of a heartbeat, the surroundings changed from woodland and fields to sparse shrub, then desert. Harsh and mostly desolate the Paen Desert stretched out before her. Spike grass adapted to the harsh desert conditions grew in clumps across dunes; the occasional desert willow, doggedly clinging to life, spread its cup-shaped leaves to catch every bit of moisture from the air. Heat waves shimmered from the hot sands. Ahead, Emeldra saw hazy shapes. As she drew near she could make out men and horses; the familiar figure of Sir Halwain sat upright on his horse, as stoic as ever. At his side, Jason Kith pointed ahead at a shape flying high above.
Matra!
Hastily she sped onwards until she reached the blue dragon, soaring high, wings outstretched. Matra glided effortlessly, searching ahead. The sight of him made Emeldra’s pulse quicken. Almost without thought, she joined with Matra’s spirit, seeing through his eyes. She gazed out with a wider vision and exulted in the experience. So seamlessly did she join with Matra and so intent was he on searching that he was not aware of Emeldra’s presence. Realising Matra was as yet unaware of her she sampled his thoughts and immediately felt guilty, not just for her uninvited intrusion but because Matra’s usual calm, ordered mind seemed disturbed, and the cause was she. On the verge of announcing her presence, Matra became aware of her and spoke first.
“Emeldra.” Matra felt relieved that Emeldra had contacted him with the heartstone. “You have mastered the use of the heartstone, I see.” His tone echoed with calm acceptance of her presence. The estrangement had hurt Matra more than he would care to admit. He blamed himself entirely for not being completely honest about the heartstone. Matra resolved to be more open with her in future, for he needed to be there to help her through the dangers that may lie ahead. Matra struggled with his thoughts, trying to find the right words of apology. A seemingly long and uneasy silence passed. Before he could voice his apology, Emeldra spoke.
“Oh, Matra, I—I’m sorry I’ve treated you badly. I’ve been silly about the heartstone when all you wanted was to keep me safe and give me a means to keep in contact with you.” The words flowed in a rush from her. “Please forgive me, please!” She pleaded. The pitch of the sending carried a note of tearful and heartfelt remorse.
Abashed by Emeldra’s tearful apology for something he believed mainly his fault, Matra was left temporary at a loss for words. Believing Matra’s silence as condemnation, Emeldra started to withdraw, feeling rejected.
“Don’t go, Princess,” realising she was about to leave. “It is I who should apologise for not being entirely honest about the heartstone.” He paused. “I think we are even!” he concluded; his manner had a feel of wry amusement. He could feel the sense of relief and bewilderment coming from Emeldra. Once more Matra felt moved by her humility and compassion. That she, a princess, would plead for his forgiveness belied all present conventions between human and dragon, let alone between a princess and a man regarded as a king’s subject.
“What!” Emeldra said, not understanding his last remark. A feeling of unease distracted her.
“Weaver of Destiny, on our second meeting you made me apologise for speaking out of turn to your maid, remember!” Matra sent. His inflexion held subtle humour that made Emeldra smile, yet words had been spoken that rang a bell in her head.
Briefly, Emeldra related her visions asking in conclusion about what was meant by calling her Weaver of Destiny. The feeling of unease she had felt earlier grew stronger and seemed somehow familiar.
“Your visions prove what many amongst dragonkind have long believed, that a human would come, whose very presence would influence the fate of many; most especially the fate of dragons. That person we call Weaver of Destiny; that person is you, Princess.” He paused, lost in thought. “They have a name for me, too, you know,” he concluded. His tone held expectancy of a question unasked; Emeldra obliged.
“What do they call you?” The sense of unease heightened to a foreboding of danger.
“Maker of Change,” he answered. “We will speak more about this when I return, but I think you had better return your focus for now.” His tone serious as he looked across the desert. A short distance ahead loomed Blind Man’s Pass, so called because of the winds which whipped up blinding sandstorms through the pass. A narrow passage between the lower Dragor Mountain range, fraught with pitfalls for man and beast alike.
The pass, however, remained the only credible route through to the northern desert reaches. To try to go around would mean certain death in the searing desert heat. Looking out through Marta’s eyes Emeldra saw the pass, and the feeling of foreboding intensified every part of her tensed with a fear of imminent and mortal danger. She recognised the feeling like the same as her vision before Matra entered the cavern of the serpent.
“Matra.” Back in her room her body shivered, and her hands tightened on the heartstone.
“I know; now you must go,” interjected Matra firmly. Regretfully he broke contact and swiftly brought up his mental shield.
Slowly at first, then ever quicker Emeldra returned her focus. Only a few minutes of time had passed since she first reached out to Matra. Opening her eyes, she let go of the heartstone. Emeldra saw Senion sat beside her with an anxious expression.
“Is all well, Your Highness, are they safe?” she asked fretfully, looking at Emeldra with wide eyes.
“For now, but I fear they may be in battle soon,” Emeldra said. “I saw them all, Jason as well.” A look of consternation crossed her face. “Damn!”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Senion asked, jumping to her feet in alarm.
“I might have been able to help; I’ll go back,” explained Emeldra, ignoring Senion’s pleas of possible danger to herself. Emeldra clasped the heartstone again and once more sent out her focus.
&nb
sp; Chapter Nine
Moments after breaking contact with Emeldra Matra sent his thoughts to Sir Halwain, though Sir Halwain was only able to receive brief mental messages. It was, surprisingly, Sir Halwain’s suggestion that Matra teach him to communicate mentally. With a supreme effort of will, Sir Halwain could manage an occasional short reply. On this occasion, however, he refrained from attempting a reply.
A shrewd strategist, Sir Halwain had seen the advantages of having a dragon as a scout and being able to pass messages at the speed of thought. The ability to communicate across distance would not readily be seen by that many as an advantage. Certainly not by the Paenalirs, Sir Halwain surmised, as they had no dragon flying, according to Matra. Sweating profusely in his armour and with sweat running down his face and stinging his eyes, Sir Halwain implacably sat his white stallion and called a halt to the column.
Turning in the saddle, he regarded his second in command, taking a moment to study the youthful face of Sir Kith, assessing the man’s abilities and experience. Sir Halwain believed Sir Kith competent but lacking in experience. His distrust of dragons and Matra, in particular, had become apparent since they started out. Sir Kith had taken every opportunity to bring scorn and suspicion on Matra. This obsession, Sir Halwain surmised, might prove his downfall.
“Sir Fangdragor reports several dragons in hiding at the pass, with one band of Paenalirs,” Sir Halwain stated.
“One band, where is the other? How do we know Fangdragor is not in league with these dragons he says are waiting? He could be bringing the other band up behind us even now,” Sir Kith queried in acid reply. He looked around nervously for support.
A knight near to Sir Kith gave him a sidelong look of scorn and murmured to his companions. All the other knights liked and respected Matra and even if they didn’t, they trusted Sir Halwain’s judgement. To them, Jason Kith's continuing suspicion of Matra was uncalled for and fast becoming an irritation.
“By the creator, Sir Kith can’t you let be? You think you are as good a judge as me? Maybe you think you would do a better job leading this mission, is that it!” Tolvarn Halwain bellowed scornfully, finally exasperated with Jason Kith's prejudices.
“Yes, sir. Tha—That is, I mean, no sir. I trust your judgement in all matters implicitly, sir,” he stammered in reply, alarmed by the unusual outburst from his captain.
“Glad we got that cleared up, boy. Now listen. Matra has just located the second band,” Sir Halwain regarded Jason, his expression stony. “We rest here for a few minutes, see the men don’t drink more than their ration, and the horses get watered, then we go, ready for battle,” he explained loud enough for all to hear.
Matra bellowed a call of recognition to the dragons lying in wait; three lesser mixed colour dragons rose to the challenge. A fourth, larger bronze dragon remained in place, watching impassively. Below, Matra could see the first band of Paenalirs in hiding at the entrance to the pass; the second band was attempting to circle behind them.
“We call challenge, Fangdragor, unless you join with us. We will destroy you,” sent the dragon in a ringing tone filled with arrogance. Matra sensed the dragon was counting on the bronze dragon’s help. He glanced down to where the bronze still crouched unmoving. Then he noticed the column of Sir Halwain and the knights like ants, slowly moving across the desert.
“Do not be foolish, it is the like of Var Firedragor and you that follow him that will bring the ruin of our kind. Leave now, and I promise no harm will come to you and your brethren; persist and death awaits,” Matra sent calmly. Sensing the other dragon’s reticence he took up position in front of the three dragons.
“So be it,” the dragon bellowed, flying towards Matra, bolts of energy lancing out towards him. Turning, Matra avoided the attack, flying away from the three dragons. The three followed, thinking Matra fleeing as they closed the distance. Matra turned to face them again.
“Desist or face the consequences,” sent Matra, attempting once again to persuade them to relent. He brought his shield up, radiating a blue-white aura all around his body as the three dragons joined in a concerted mental attack. Slowly but inexorably Matra pushed back the attack until they broke off.
The lead dragon called for the bronze dragon’s help. Hearing no answer, it bellowed in frustrated rage and flew headlong towards Matra. Swerving sideways, Matra deftly avoided the dragon’s attack. Once again the dragon turned to face Matra, jagged bursts of lightning and fire streaking in Matra’s direction. He dived under the lead dragon to come up behind all three dragons.
The distance between the protagonists and the bronze dragon had lengthened considerably. Matra judged if the bronze dragon chose to intervene it would give him enough time to prepare. The lead dragon spun to face Matra as its two companions turned and circled warily. Again the dragon flew straight for Matra, spewing fire in gouts toward him.
Matra stood his ground as the fire hit his shield. It fizzled out, the shield shimmering brighter. A gap appeared in Matra’s shield, and a small ball of energy sped toward the attacking dragon. Seeing nothing but a feeble attack, the dragon scoffed contemptuously, lazily raising his shield. Too late the dragon saw the sphere of energy grow and split into several larger spheres. They hit the dragon’s shield simultaneously, shattering it instantly; the dragon reeled from the onslaught, engulfed in a nimbus of energy. The dragon gave an agonised scream of pain before disintegrating, leaving a pall of smoke and dust particles that blew in the wind.
A moment of stunned silence passed before one of the remaining dragons, seeing his brother destroyed, called a challenge for vengeance. Diving towards Matra the dragon flung all his power at him in a frenzied rage. Reluctantly Matra faced the dragon’s attack and turned sharply aside as the dragon closed on him, talons extended, turning effortlessly in time with the attacking dragon.
The dragon saw his end coming as Matra dropped his shield. Fire gushed outwards from wingtip to wingtip, forming a wall of flame. Matra dived as his foe flew straight into the flames. Even though the dragon passed through the magic fire, flames clung, burning into its flesh. Charred remains fell from the sky onto the hot desert sands. The remaining dragon broke off and fled. Matra turned his attention toward the bronze dragon that remained aloof.
“Why did you not aid your companions, Eartdragor?” Matra sent in formal tones to the bronze dragon.
“They were not my companions. I only agreed to come and consider helping, if I thought their cause worthy, Fangdragor,” Eartdragor sent in reply. His tone implied that he found against their cause. Matra did not labour the point but turned towards Sir Halwain and the knights.
Sir Halwain led his company towards the pass at a slow trot; sweat beaded the men’s brows running down their faces. Sand worked its way into every crack and chink in their armour, but not a man complained. Swords readied, they rode resolutely onwards a fierce and highly trained fighting machine. The knights of Ladlian were known and feared throughout most of Althyia for their skill and fearless devotion to duty.
Shading his eyes, Sir Halwain glanced skyward to see the battle amongst the dragons begin and barked a terse command. The column veered sharp right at a gallop, heading straight for the second band of raiders trying to circle them. Too late, those lying in wait realised they would be left behind, unable to help their companions. Uttering curses they hastily and in disarray left their cover to pursue their quarry.
The knights charged headlong into the Paenalirs, cutting a swath through them. Half their numbers lay dead in the first charge, but now they had recovered from the initial surprise. Sir Halwain knew he had to conclude this battle quickly before the band from the pass reached them, or his force would be outnumbered.
Tolvarn Halwain looked around calmly as a Paenalir charged him. He dispatched the attacker with a single thrust of his broadsword. Two more charged and were equally disposed of. Turning his horse, he saw the leader of the clan marked by his chieftain’s headband. The enraged clan leader charged. Paenalirs were mainly
comfortable on foot and could travel great distances without rest. Increasing numbers of them, however, were taking to riding horseback; the clan leader facing Tolvarn was one such. But unlike most Paenalirs, he was a skilled horseman. He reined his horse in just short of Sir Halwain, swinging his short sword in the air
“You die now, Oegali,” spat the clan leader through yellowing teeth, his face cracked into a cruel grin.
“I don’t know what Oegali means, but I guess I can take it as an insult,” Sir Halwain replied nonchalantly. He spurred his horse forward, hefting his sword he swept it in a short cutting arc, only to meet the Paenalir’s sword. The horses bumped, and the Paenalir broke away, charging past the knight, trying for a passing blow to the back as he went which fell short of its mark.
Sir Halwain turned to meet his foe, almost too late. He saw the shining glint of metal whizzing towards him. Instinctively he raised his shield and heard the thud of a shuriken strike the shield. In quick succession two more whizzed toward him. He avoided the first by sidestepping his horse, only to catch the second glancing off his sword arm. Red hot pain roared up his arm. Sir Halwain gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain; nor did he look at his wound as he felt warm blood running down his arm. Grimly he gripped his sword tighter in hand as the Paenalir leader charged again.
The desert man battered at his shield then went for the middle. Tolvarn parried, pain racked through his arm with every clash of the sword. The Paenalir grinned mirthlessly, believing his quarry weakened. Breaking off, he rode a short distance away, preparing for a final charge. Turning, the Paenalir stopped and yelled a battle cry before charging in again. Sir Halwain sat calmly on his horse, emotionless and unmoving. He was vaguely aware of the battle around him. At the last moment, he spurred his horse to meet the charge and as the two clashed the Paenalir leader was sent spilling off his horse, his sword falling to the sand. Swiftly the Paenalir got to his feet and retrieved his sword.
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