Flame Singer (Fire Sower Book 2)

by Callie Kanno

  Kurag went on with his explanation, unaware of the exchange between Idris and Iona. “As the world solidified, there were also pockets of pure magic trapped among the other elements. These are what we call Wellsprings. They are undiluted sources of the creative magic from which all life was born.”

  Lenora’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So you need one of these Wellsprings in order to forge an item of power.”

  “Or reforge,” Kurag added.

  The princess leaned back with a thoughtful expression. “I did not know that it was possible to reforge an item of power. Why would something like that be necessary?”

  Cowan interrupted before the Forger could answer. “That is not something you need to know, your highness.”

  Lenora looked annoyed. “You might as well tell me. It is not as if I could be more of a threat to you than those Hunters.”

  The captain shook his head stubbornly. “You are not a member of this team. You do not need to know any of this information.”

  “I may not have started out as a member of your team,” Lenora argued, “but I have become one now. Those Hunters are just as set on killing me as the rest of you. Besides, what if I am able to help you in some way?”

  “Are you suggesting that you know more about forging than Kurag?” Hildar spat.

  Lenora’s face flushed. “Well, no…”

  “Exactly,” Hildar said with satisfaction.

  Captain Cowan’s face was set. “You were correct in assuming that we would not abandon you,” he said to the princess, “but that has not changed your role in our company. We will see you safely to a place you will be protected from the Hunters, but that will be the end of our association.”

  “We could drop her off in Trys on our way back to Calaris,” suggested Hildar.

  “I am not going back to the capital,” Lenora insisted hotly.

  Kurag’s brow furrowed. “Why would we be going to Calaris?”

  “We know of a Wellspring there,” Cowan answered carefully.

  “What kind of Wellspring?” Kurag inquired.

  There was a sudden pause as the members of the Royal Guard exchanged looks. “I was not aware that there were different kinds,” admitted the captain.

  “Just as there are different mineral deposits,” the Forger nodded. “Unless your Wellspring has a natural source of heat, it is not the kind that will help us.”

  Idris felt the weight of disappointment pushing down on his stomach. “It does not,” he answered glumly.

  Kurag didn’t look surprised. “The closest Fire Wellspring that I know of is to the far north of this continent.”

  Idris’s jaw dropped. “So far? Why build your village in the south?”

  “To keep the Wellspring secret,” Kurag answered with a shrug. “Items of power have never been forged in large quantity, so we did not often have need to travel there.”

  “Where in the north?” Cowan asked sharply. “To the far east? To the west?”

  “In the central area, but I suppose more to the west,” answered the Forger.

  Cowan passed his hand over his eyes. “That would be within the borders of Roshum.”

  “Is that a problem?” Kurag frowned.

  “Calaris is not on good terms with Roshum,” Idris explained.

  “There is no way we would be allowed to cross into their land,” Aherin added.

  Cowan nodded his agreement. “Not without starting a war.”

  “Well,” Lenora said, tossing her red locks over her shoulder, “Breen is not at war with Roshum.”

  “Congratulations,” Hildar answered sarcastically. “That does not help our situation, though.”

  The princess raised a finger. “Actually, it does.”

  “How?” demanded Cowan.

  A smile spread across Lenora’s lovely face. “My father has been urging me to take a greater part in spreading good will with our neighbors. No one would think it amiss if I were to visit the king and queen of Roshum in a gesture of friendship.” She paused for effect. “The capital city is to the north. And, of course, I would need to have protectors with me as I traveled.”

  All eyes turned to Captain Cowan, who was scowling at the ground. He considered Lenora’s words for several moments before speaking. “I suppose that would work.”

  Hildar looked as though she were trying to swallow a large rock. “There have to be better options than that.”

  Cowan made a gesture with his rough hand. “I am open to all suggestions.”

  “We could try sneaking in,” Aherin said, not looking very convinced by his own idea.

  The captain shook his head. “Roshum has been guarding its borders since our last war with them.”

  “We could use my boat and go by sea,” Hildar offered, sounding a little desperate.

  “You cannot reach the Wellspring by sea,” Kurag spoke up. “It is barely reachable by land.”

  Lenora was looking rather smug, and Idris couldn’t help but feel disapproval. He knew that she wanted to stay with their group, but it was starting to feel like Lenora was taking advantage of their problems as a means to accomplish her personal goals—whatever they may be. His disappointment must’ve shown on his face, because Lenora appeared surprised when she glanced over at Idris. He quickly averted his gaze, but he found he couldn’t change his expression.

  “I want your word,” Cowan growled at Lenora, “that you will not attempt to accompany us any farther than the capital of Roshum.”

  Although Idris wasn’t looking at Lenora any longer, he had the feeling that her eyes were still on him. “I promise,” she answered softly.

  “Very well,” Cowan agreed grudgingly. “We will head for Koyo, where you can send the appropriate letters.”

  “As an added bonus,” Aherin piped up, “we may lose the Hunters by crossing the border.”

  “I would not count on that,” Kurag said with a dark expression on his face.

  Idris didn’t say anything aloud, but he privately agreed with Kurag. He had glimpsed the bloodthirsty gleam in the Hunters’ eyes. That was not something that was extinguished by something as small as distance.

  Chapter Twenty: Chosen

  Idris jerked awake, feeling disoriented. He instinctively grasped the shaft of his partisan, which was on the ground next to him. He remembered going to sleep in the small cave with his traveling companions close by. Yet, he now found himself lying in the center of a grassy field.

  It was night time, with a full moon shining overhead. The sky was clear and the stars each seemed to be clamoring for attention. Idris had never seen so many stars out together. The air was warm and humid, but not uncomfortable. He breathed deeply, taking in the scent of nearby wildflowers.

  Where am I? he wondered to himself.

  Idris climbed to his feet, brushing blades of grass from his clothing. As he leaned down to pick up his weapon, he heard three voices arguing loudly, drawing near.

  “…should know better,” came a distinctly feminine voice.

  “Leave him be. You can never pass an opportunity to argue with him, can you?” asked a deeper tone.

  “Someone needs to point out his idiocy,” snapped the woman.

  “It was a simple question,” came the third voice, sounding deceptively mild.

  Idris jumped as another voice spoke right behind him. “Those fools will let every enemy in the area know where we are.”

  Idris whirled around, coming face to face with a man who looked to be in his late twenties. He had a nose that was much too large for the rest of his narrow features, and his eyes were in a perpetual squint. His coloring was dark, very similar to Idris’s, and his hair was kept away from his face with a long braid.

  The man’s garb was archaic—Idris didn’t know how else to describe it. He wore some sort of skirt, where the back portion of the cloth had been pulled between his legs and tucked up in his belt. The result was somewhere between baggy pants and an infant’s cloth diaper. The man’s loose shirt was open at the chest, and
his feet were shod with simple leather sandals.

  The man gave Idris a friendly smile before turning his gaze back to the three figures emerging from the shelter of some nearby trees.

  The two men were dressed in the same manner as the one standing next to Idris, only one of them didn’t have his skirt tucked into his belt. He had a thick beard, while the other was clean shaven. But both wore their dark hair in long braids down their backs. The woman’s raven hair flowed freely to her knees, swaying with the gentle motion of her stride. Her face had a masculine cast to it, making her look strong rather than beautiful. Her clothing consisted of a simple cotton robe, belted at the waist to accentuate her figure.

  The three walked to where Idris and the other man were standing, coming to a halt with simple words of greeting. The man next to Idris took each of the newcomers by the hand, one by one.

  “You should not let them goad you,” he told the woman.

  She tossed her hair angrily. “You should take your own advice.”

  The man with the beard was the third voice that had sounded so mild. “You know we only act so because we are each dying of love for you.”

  The woman snorted. “If only you would die quicker.”

  The bearded man thumped a fist against his chest. “Ah, you wound me, Amitola.”

  “Not in the way I wish to,” she muttered.

  “That is enough, Gavril,” smiled the man who had been standing next to Idris.

  The clean shaven man gave Idris an appraising glance. “Still dressing like a foreigner?”

  Idris found that he didn’t know what to say. He looked down at his clothing, but he didn’t see anything amiss. It was the simple brown garb that he had been wearing before finding himself in this strange dream.

  “It certainly helped us to cross the border,” asserted the narrow-faced man who had been standing with Idris.

  “Is that one of them?” Amitola inquired, nodding at Idris’s partisan.

  “This?” Idris asked dumbly.

  “I thought you were going to wait for all of us to arrive before claiming one,” the clean shaven man said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “He has not claimed it, Tarak,” intervened the angular man. “He was just holding it.”

  “Well, put it down, Marlais, and let us get on with this,” Gavril urged, rubbing his hands together eagerly.

  Idris froze in place. The names they had been using had been tugging at the back of his mind, but it wasn’t until that moment that he made the connection. His eyes turned to the woman—Amitola. The man with the beard—Gavril. The clean shaven man—Tarak. And finally to the narrow-faced man who kept to Idris’s side.

  “Lyndham,” he murmured.

  The man gave him a puzzled look. “Yes, Marlais?”

  Idris suddenly found it difficult to breathe normally. “I am Marlais?” he whispered.

  Lyndham gripped Idris by the shoulder. “Are you ill?”

  “No,” he blurted out. “No, I just…I…” He trailed off, feeling like a fool.

  Tarak quirked an eyebrow at him, then gestured to the polearm in Idris’s hand. “Shall we?”

  Idris turned to put the partisan on the ground, seeing that there was a length of soft cloth laid out for it. On similar pieces of cloth were four other items, glittering in the moonlight.

  Immediately next to Iona was a golden circlet. A stunning sapphire encircled by diamonds was set so that it would rest on the wearer’s forehead. The gold of the circlet was shaped to look like dragon wings wrapped around the head. Idris marveled at the fine detail etched along the surface to make it seem so lifelike.

  Next was the breastplate that Idris recognized from Hollow Cry Tower. However, unlike the burned out version he had seen, this plate shone with the inner luminescence that could be found in every item of power.

  On the fourth piece of cloth rested a bow. The top of the weapon was shaped like a dragon head, with the length of the bow shaped like a long flame issuing from its mouth. The bow was covered in red lacquer, but the dragon head had tiny rubies for scales and diamond chips for teeth.

  The final item was a pair of gauntlets, each designed to look like a dragon head flowing down the wearer’s arms. All of the elaborate details surrounding the dragon were done in gold and silver. The dragon itself was covered in rubies, with eyes of sapphire.

  “I have never seen a group of items look so alike,” Tarak murmured.

  Gavril clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, they all come from the same source. Makes sense they would share attributes, no?”

  “Who should go first?” Amitola asked, looking to Idris—or, rather, Marlais.

  Idris shook his head. “I do not know.”

  “Does it matter?” Lyndham pointed out. “We have all been chosen by Calaris for this task, so we know we are meant for these tools.”

  “I will go first,” Gavril volunteered, grinning impishly. “More choices for me.”

  Amitola rolled her eyes. “That is not how this works. You do not choose whichever you wish. The item chooses you.”

  Gavril waved a dismissive hand at her as he stepped up to the five items of power. “Alright, you beauties,” he said boldly, “which of you wants me?”

  Tarak frowned uncertainly. “I think the request is meant to be made with more humility.”

  “Bah,” Gavril shrugged. “Calaris knew what she was getting, making me a part of this group.”

  There was a brief moment of silence while Gavril surveyed the items before him. Then, slowly, the gauntlets began to glow. The bearded man grinned as he scooped them up. “What be your name, lovely?” he crooned. Gavril paused to listen. “Ilana, eh? Nice to meet you.”

  “Amitola?” Lyndham suggested, gesturing for her to step forward.

  Instead of speaking, she simple waited for one of the items to manifest itself to her. She gracefully leaned over to pick up the bow before Idris had noticed it starting to glow. “Izel,” Amitola said with a smile, backing away from the others.

  Tarak was the next to be chosen. He lowered himself to one knee, bowing his head in respect. “Great daughters of the dragon Calaris, I implore one of you to accept me as a companion and fellow warrior.”

  Gavril chuckled, shaking his head. “No woman likes a beggar, friend.”

  The breastplate began to glow, prompting Tarak to pick it up. He immediately tried it on, fumbling with the gold plated buckles. The armor fit him as perfectly as if it had been made just for him. Tarak’s handsome face broke into a wide grin. “Ismene,” he nodded, “our enemies will tremble before us.”

  “That they will,” Gavril laughed merrily.

  Lyndham turned to Idris, speaking quietly. “I believe I know which one is to be mine.”

  Idris nodded in return. “As do I.”

  “Would you like to go next?” Lyndham offered.

  Idris inclined his head, stepping forward. He almost simply picked up his partisan, but he restrained himself. Even though he knew that Iona was meant for Marlais, he felt he should follow the others’ example by letting the weapon express her wishes.

  As with the others, the partisan began to glow softly. Idris picked it up with a smile. “Hello, Iona,” he murmured.

  Greetings, my master.

  Idris was startled by her formal tone. He knew that he wasn’t himself in this dream, but part of him had assumed that Iona would still recognize that he was Idris rather than Marlais. It felt unexpectedly lonely to realize he couldn’t talk to her as himself.

  As Idris turned around, he caught sight of Lyndham’s face. The man’s expression was rigid and his eyes were wide. He hurriedly tried to hide his shock with a smile as soon as he saw Idris looking at him, but even his smile was stiff.

  “I suppose I assumed I would get the partisan,” Lyndham said with forced casualness. “I mean, I am more practiced with a polearm than you.”

  “It is true,” Gavril piped in. “Honestly, I was surprised there was no sword for our illustrious leader.
Do not leaders always have swords?”

  “Oh, be quiet,” Amitola snapped at him. “Must you ruin every somber moment?”

  “Yes,” Gavril answered immediately.

  Lyndham stepped forward, cutting off their bickering. He knelt before the circlet, his hand hovering over the beautiful workmanship. At first nothing happened, causing a tense silence to fall over the group.

  “Am I to be chosen at all?” Lyndham whispered, mostly to himself.

  Finally, the circlet began to glow. Lyndham exhaled loudly, picking up the item with haste. His expression was humbled as he spoke softly to the circle of gold and jewels. “Forgive my lack of understanding…Innis.”

  Idris cast his eyes over the group, each standing with the item of power that had been entrusted to them. For a brief moment, they didn’t appear to be individuals. They were each part of a greater whole—making up the majestic creature that had sacrificed her life to begin this essential work. Idris could see the dragon Calaris standing with them, her eyes glittering with satisfaction.

  “She is here,” Amitola whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Calaris is here once more.”

  “As if she never left,” Tarak agreed.

  “Let us stand together,” Idris suggested suddenly. He didn’t know what had prompted his words, but he knew that it was right.

  The others nodded in agreement, drawing into a circle of bodies. They each placed their free hand on the shoulder of the person standing next to them, with their items held in the middle. As they did so, the items of power began to glow brighter and brighter. Idris squinted against the light, but didn’t break the circle to shield his eyes.

  With a final burst of radiance, the figure of a dragon appeared before them made entirely of soft light. Idris instantly recognized Calaris from the vision he had been given in the Wellspring months earlier. Her red-scaled form was smaller than in life, but her green eyes had lost none of their intensity. Her strangely musical voice sounded in their minds.

  Well done, my dear friends. You have honored and assured my legacy.

  “What are we to do now?” Tarak asked. “How are we to begin?”

  You must find Marfa, the Spirit of the Flame. She will teach you how to use the tools I have given you. She lives in the heart of the Burning Mountain, far to the south. She will recognize you through the items you bear.