It was horror.
Conor had denied all along the notion that his visions of war, of doing bloody battle against a dragon, could have represented any sort of reality, distributed through his mind in blazing images as it had been. It was this creature that he’d seen, he knew now, his true strength and power represented in this bear. This Beorn. A name which was new to him, but that held within it his entire destiny: birthright, duty and curse at once.
The brutal violence of war was something that he had yet to experience, and it seemed that he was to be at its epicenter. And yet he knew nothing of such battles. His life had seemed to lead him to Lily, to their bond with Graeme and the potential for love and a long life together. Not once had he allowed himself to believe that inside him lived this enormous déor; that he could possibly become such a beast. A creature made for combat, for killing.
And yet a part of him understood why he was sought by the Stranieri, the leagues of shifters who devoted their lives to taking down their enemies and particularly the dragons of the world.
Not only was he enormous, but muscular, and even handsome, insofar as a bear could be handsome. He’d always found Lily’s and Graeme’s dragons beautiful beyond expression, their coats so different, so rich with colour. His own beauty was a more primitive one, reminding him of statues he’d seen all his life of great leaders carved in stone; daunting, broad, invincible figures who led others to their dooms and then took the glory for themselves.
Here he was, such a figure, and yet the most reluctant of warriors. The bear and the man diverged, the man wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed with his mates, to love, to offer affection, caresses, respect and the gift of trust as he had so many times. The notion of betraying them ate at him, weakened him from within his enormous form.
The Roc shifter who’d lured him into seeing his own reflection still stood a few feet away. Conor could read in him a sense of satisfaction at having accomplished his goal: to show the great Lord Dunbar his future.
The huge bird backed away and shifted back into his human form. On his face was an expression of sympathy which did little to help Conor, who was struggling not to despise the man with every fibre of his being.
“It is difficult for you, I know,” said the other man. “To now be realizing what you are. What your fate has in store. You have seen it—you have seen the world ahead of you, and it isn’t what you wanted. But sometimes the greatest of men are the ones who have power thrust upon them; not the ones who snatch it away.”
The bear let out a low growl and the man backed off slowly, knowing full well what he might be up against. But a moment later Conor stood before him, the tall, dark-haired young man that Lily had met in London, vulnerable once again in his humanity.
“And should I refuse to oblige you by following through,” Conor said, “What would happen then? What if I should simply deny myself the ability to shift from now until my death? Others have done so.”
He thought of Barnabas the owl shifter, who remained always in his déor’s form. Or of Lilliana’s grandmother Freya, who seemed content to remain human, rather than inhabit the body of the phoenix which was in her blood.
“You could refuse,” said the Roc. “Of course. And someone else would gladly step in; a man with more desire for power. Perhaps a man who is less fair-minded than you, and less merciful. We do not lack for ambitious shifters, Lord Dunbar. But ambition can be a road to death as easily as it can be a road to greatness.”
“It seems that my leadership would result in death either way,” said Conor. “We were told that this war would lead to extinctions, families halting their Rituals, shifters becoming a thing of the past.”
“It is the Stranieri’s hope that this dark period in history can be altered. That you will find a way. And if you cannot, I’m afraid that no one can.”
Conor reached down and picked up his clothing, which was in tatters on the floor.
“Well, I wish you luck. But I don’t want any part of your war. I want to return to my mates,” he said.
“That is the one thing that I cannot help you with, Lord Dunbar.”
“What do you mean? Surely I can simply walk out of here,” said Conor, confident at the least that his déor could take on the large bird should it try and stop him. “They’re meeting me back at the inn…”
“You are welcome to walk out through any door you please,” said the man, gesturing towards each end of the large chamber. “But you will find yourself far from your mates, with no train to bring you back to them. You see, you are now in the sixteenth century, far from Lady Lilliana and Lord Graeme.”
The vast interior space had struck Conor as oddly enormous the moment he’d set foot in it, but it had never occurred to him that in entering it he had somehow shifted through time. His only experience with leaping had been with Lily at his side; always with a hand on her. Now he felt isolated, torn away, his very limbs amputated as he’d lost her and Graeme both.
Conor didn’t reply. Instead, he advanced past the other shifter, towards a source of light at the end of the room, where he could see a narrow line of sunlight penetrating into the vast room. He stepped forward hurriedly, the Roc shifter behind him, watching in silence. Conor knew what he would find, and yet he needed to see for himself; to know for sure that his life had been inextricably altered.
When he reached the source of light, a large wooden door which was slightly ajar, he pulled it open and looked out onto another world.
The sight before him was a large courtyard teeming with figures who milled about busily. Some were shifted animals; lions, wolves, birds. Most, though, were men in leather armour, chatting amongst themselves or examining their weaponry. They seemed, thought Conor, to be preparing for battle.
As he stood in the doorway, he saw that some of the men were beginning to turn their focus to him. After a moment they all went silent, heads aimed at him from every corner of the multi-levelled courtyard, and then a sort of quiet, excited chatter started up again. It didn’t take mind-reading abilities to note that he was pretty well naked, and no doubt they would be wondering at his lack of dignity.
The Roc shifter came up behind him and draped a long robe over his shoulders, which Conor wrapped around himself.
“Thank you,” he said, reluctant to offer gratitude to this enemy whom he blamed for tearing him from his life.
“You’re welcome, my Lord,” said the other shifter, who stepped by him into the courtyard, wearing a robe of his own.
“Your attention, soldiers,” the Roc bellowed at the crowd. “This is Lord Conor Dunbar. I know that you have heard of him by now. I have found him and brought him here because he is the Beorn leader who will save us from the dragon assault. Lord Dunbar will lead us to victory, and to a new day for all shifters.”
The men cheered loudly, raising fists, déors howling, flying and running around joyfully.
“I’m no such man,” said Conor quietly from behind him.
“Look around you,” the Roc replied in equally soft tones as the men continued to cheer and pat one another on the back, watchful eyes fixed on their new commander. “You’ve already given them hope, after only a few seconds. You are a natural leader. And they are natural followers. These men are as loyal as any you could imagine; they will follow you to the ends of the earth, if you guide them there. Do not forsake them now.”
Conor contemplated the words for a moment, his mind scanning the men around him, whom he found to be brimming with sincerity, eagerness and the sort of loyalty that the Roc described. He has come, one voice said, as though they’d been awaiting some kind of Chosen One. It must be true. We will win! said another. All Conor saw was blind hope and faith. Faith in him, a man with no experience of war; no strategy for defeating dragons. All he had to offer them was a large déor with bi-coloured eyes. And yet it already seemed impossible to turn away, to desert them.
“You are asking me to go to war against Graeme Ramsey and all of his kind. To betray the trus
t of my mate; to destroy everything that we’ve built.”
“I am asking you to help build a new future: dragons will perhaps become a thing of the past, but there would be hope for all other shifters to flourish and to work together. A new world, and one of which you would be King.”
4
Lily
“Tell me, Merriman, how exactly do I proceed?” The question was sincere, as Lily’s voice dictated. But she had little hope that he would answer it with any firm instructions. He’d told her to find her mates, but the way to them was still far from clear.
“Well, for starters you’re going to have to use that leaping ability of yours, to access your mates’ time and location.”
“But I can only leap to times and places where I’ve been. That’s always been the limit of my power,” she protested. “I can’t just program a date and place into my brain and hope to leap there…can I?”
Merriman’s face denoted all the reproach of a father scolding a child for giving up on something with little to no effort. “What have I always told you?” he asked. “You need to have a good deal more faith in your abilities than you do. Without faith, you will fail every time. With it, you can do anything. Your mind is a powerful tool; more powerful even than your déor. It is the greatest weapon that you possess.”
“Well, that’s not even remotely reassuring,” said Lily, whose mind seemed now to be a mishmash of worry, fear and sadness. Not much of a weapon. “How do I even know where and when they are? All I know is that they’re gone. It’s like they never existed. I have no evidence of them but my memories, and…”
There she stopped, placing a hand on her belly before letting it drop to her side. She forced the thought out of her mind. She hadn’t yet told anyone that she thought—no, knew—that she must be pregnant, and it wouldn’t do to have Merry know; not yet. If anyone worried about her state it would only complicate the days ahead and cloud her own judgment.
But for her part, the child inside her only served to increase her determination and strengthen her from within, a tiny ally urging her forward.
“The painting that we spoke of,” said Merriman, seemingly oblivious to Lily’s wave of maternal thoughts. “Holds all the clues that you need. I’ve told you that your mind’s powers are strengthening, and now is the time to begin to trust in them.”
“But the painting was really just a battle scene,” she said. “I remember a large field surrounded by trees. In the background were two castles and…” Lily began, suddenly realizing what she was describing. She turned to face Merriman. “Those are Conor’s and Graeme’s families’ castles, aren’t they?” Of course. It was so obvious.
“Yes, they are. And they still stand today, as you know. And while the painter wasn’t entirely accurate with perspective and distance, suffice it to say that neither of those structures is far from Edinburgh. If I were you I would make my way to the one at the far upper right of the painting: the castle of the Ramsey clan, which Graeme visited earlier today. There you’ll find answers to your questions: the battle’s timeline, and perhaps the actual location of the scene depicted in the painting. You may just need that information in order to find those two men of yours. Do not forget, Lilliana, that your powers are far stronger than you think. You are not limited by anything other than your mind’s pointless doubts. And the sooner you rid yourself of those demons, the better for all.”
“All right,” said Lily, fighting off all of the negative messages which seemed to accumulate inside her very soul, filling her with questions as to her abilities and this strength in which Merriman put so much faith. “Will you come with me?”
“I think that would be unwise. For one thing, no one but Graeme and Conor must know that you and I are accomplices,” said Merriman. “If you make an appearance at either location, you must take care to know how you will be received. While Graeme’s family would accept you, the Beorn would not. I am neutral in this conflict; I cannot take a side. And it is my intention to remain largely out of sight until the moment is right.”
“Because you’re a gryphon, I suppose,” said Lily. “No one’s enemy.”
“Yes, because I need to be an outside observer, unfortunately. But take heart—it’s not to say that I can’t offer my help when it’s needed. But aside from all of that, I have a certain snowy owl waiting for me who is in need of a mouse or a hamburger.”
“Barnabas is here in Edinburgh with you?”
Merriman smiled. “He and I are inseparable, and have been for centuries. The only reason he isn’t in this very room is that even the generous staff of this inn frown upon fowl flying through its hallways.”
“I think it’s wonderful, the bond that you two have,” said Lily, thinking of Graeme’s and Conor’s fraternal closeness with sadness.
“It is nothing more than the bond that your two male mates have,” said Merriman. “As you will discover. There is almost nothing on this earth that can break down such a thing.”
“Except for the sense of duty you spoke of,” said Lily.
“It is powerful. It is to the two men to work out which side of them is stronger: the déor or the human. Let us hope that it’s the human, for everyone’s sake.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said, grabbing her bag as she made her way to the door.
“You won’t need doors,” he said, stopping her. “Remember your gift, child. Now go. We’ll join you in the near future, or distant past, rather.”
Lily understood, and she closed her eyes, picturing the painting in the gallery, her mind grasping for every minute detail, every flick of the brush.
When she’d been a little girl, her mother Gwynne had told her how she’d developed her own skill for leaping: envisioning every physical trait that she could think of in the place she wanted to go, and then willing herself there. Gwynne had been considered the most gifted leaper of her generation, but had always said that she thought Lily’s gift was stronger and had more potential. Now was the time to find out.
With the shot of confidence that came from recalling her mother’s words from the past, Lily felt herself surge, thrust through space as she had been so many times. And a moment later she felt the unmistakable breath on her skin of cool, damp outdoor air, and she knew that she was far from the inn. When her eyes opened she found herself at the side of the castle, a wall of damp grey stone protecting her from the eyes of curious onlookers, who kept their dry shoes away from the damp grasses of the grounds.
She made her way around to the front entrance, where a woman was taking entry fee payments.
“Where can I find the castle’s historical records, books, that sort of thing?” Lily asked her.
“Walk down this main hallway to its end, then right. You’ll see a great room filled with paintings and books,” said the woman, her Scottish brogue giving the words a lilt unique to the area.
“Thank you,” said Lily, making her way in quickly and trying her best not to sprint down the hall at full speed.
The room was in fact filled with artwork hung from the walls, including another version of the painting that she’d been staring at only minutes earlier, as well as glass compartments containing books, drawings and maps.
Lily made her way towards one of the display cases, taking in the imagery of dragons and bears going to war against one another, and others of humans taking on the dragons themselves. She couldn’t quite imagine a human ever managing to vanquish one of her kind; they were simply to small, too frail. It made sense that a gigantic bear could do such a thing. But why on earth did it have to be the one that she loved?
One book spoke about the war:
It began, scholars believe, in 1504. The series of battles didn’t last long, and the combat was as bloody as it was brief, with many of the Beorn and their allies falling.
It was in the month of…
The next words were hidden from view on the following page, and Lily leaned forward, looking for a way to open the case and to turn the page. But she found
it locked securely, infuriatingly inaccessible.
“Damn it,” she said aloud and, looking around to see if anyone had heard her, cursed her own impatience. She was alone in the room, mercifully, frustrated in solitude.
Once again she thought of Merriman’s words of wisdom; his claims that she and her mates would gain one another’s gifts over the course of time. She’d never tried to move objects with her mind, but if what Merriman said was true, perhaps she could learn. And a piece of paper would be an ideal place to begin.
She stared hard at the page, its delicate, dry parchment looking as light as a feather.
“Move,” she told it, the word hidden in her thoughts. “Turn.”
Nothing.
Her fingers were digging into the wooden frame of the display case, tension filling her body as her mind attempted to work some sort of magic. She released her muscles, breathing deeply, and tried again.
This time she stared at the page and instead of trying to use words to issue a command, employed the images in her mind to picture the page flipping itself over, willing it to obey her silent command.
With that, it seemed as though a breeze swept under the parchment, pushing it upwards and over with ease, so that the next two pages were revealed.
…September of that year that the great battle was fought between the dragon lords and the leader of the Beorn, known as Dunbar. He would disappear from sight, never to be seen again. Legend tells that his body was burned in a hero’s pyre on the day that the truce was signed.
“No,” said Lily.
If there had been any doubt before, there was none now: She must stop all of the madness in its tracks. Conor was not going to die in this battle. And neither was Graeme, for that matter. This was not to be the end of their companionship, but rather the beginning. And she would do whatever she needed in order to stop it before it began.
The next step was to find her way to 1504, which would present another challenge.
Dragon Wars Page 2