Dragon Call (The Throne of the Dragon Queen Book 2)

by Clare Smith

  Cautiously he opened the door a fraction listening for footsteps but the man who had been close to him had either continued on his patrol or was very well hidden. He glanced back at the wavering flame and decided that one way or another he had to go, so he slipped out of the door, taking a minute to push the bolts closed behind him. As he ran he worked through the instructions which Cheum had given him, and decided he was off course, so he moved to the left where the ground rose slightly.

  He had to be close to the Master’s pagoda now as he could smell the lacquer which protected the intricate paintings on the front of the building, and he could hear the roof tiles creak in the cool, pre-dawn air. Now there would almost certainly be members of the Ban Long on patrol instead of just guards, and he knew he wouldn’t hear them until they were on top of him. Suddenly he thought he heard a sound and the hairs on the back of his neck rose in warning, so he searched around, certain that someone was watching him.

  Fear froze him to the spot, and for a moment he was incapable of doing anything when his world exploded with an ear shattering crack into brilliant light and chaos. Above him, where before there had only been the blackness of night, the sky was lit with red and yellow streaks which blossomed into cascades of multi-coloured stars. One after another, the streaks shot skywards and the air vibrated with the power of their upward flight and the concussion which followed.

  It was like the Emperor’s celebration of the Autumn Festival, but more so as now the shed where the tubes of black powder had been stored was glowing like a furnace. In the lurid light he could see people running towards it, including figures in dark, tight clothing. He could have told them it was a mistake, but they were the enemy and didn’t deserve his help. Apart from that he had created the required diversion and his task was done.

  Now would be a good time for him to leave, but his curiosity to watch his more experienced brothers at work was too much of a temptation. Swiftly he moved away from the burning building, keeping low to the ground until he stood in the shadow of the pagoda’s upper rooms. He watched and waited for his brothers to make their move, but there was no sign of them. His brothers were experts at concealment but even so, he should have been able to see them by now, unless something had happened to delay them.

  Anxiously he waited a few more minutes listening to the enemy’s shouts as they formed a bucket line to douse the fire he’d started, but they needn’t have bothered. In a blinding flash, the powder which was stored in the clay pots caught light and the shed exploded outwards setting the clothes alight of those who were closest and peppering the rest with splinters of wood. The shock wave rolled outwards knocking people from their feet and sending a blast of heat along the side of the pagoda where he was hiding.

  For a moment the whole compound was lit up like day giving him a clear view of the area and he knew for certain that his brothers were not coming. He hadn’t come all this way though to fail his master and as everyone was concentrating on the fallen and the remains of the shed he made his decision. Running flat out down the dark side of the pagoda he fixed his eyes on the protruding roof that overhung the first floor of the building above him,

  The last time he’d made a leap up onto the balcony of a great house he’d been just a boy, but instead of his recklessness costing him his life, he’d been well rewarded. He just hoped that the same thing would happen today. With an agility which was unmatched by any of his brothers, he leaped upwards and caught the carving on the roof’s edge. On the backward swing he readjusted his grip and then swung around so he was facing the other way.

  In the darkness beneath the overlapping roof he hadn’t been able to see the detail of the carving, but now he thanked all the gods that it was the same dragon that was carved into his own master’s pagoda. That gave him plenty of hand holds so he could rapidly make his way along to the end of the roof support, grab one of the end posts and swing himself into the open window of the building. He landed soundlessly and crouched in the darkness, taking a moment to assess his surroundings.

  In front of him one of the doors had been propped open to allow the breeze to cool the room beyond. Normally the sleeping room would be dark at this hour but on the opposite side the shutters had been thrown wide open so that the richly decorated room was bathed in flickering firelight. Silhouetted against the glow and intently watching the fire was a tall figure in a long, silk robe embroidered with a silver dragon.

  He’d never seen the Ban Long master but he recognised the robe which looked almost identical to the one that his own master wore, so he had no doubts as to who the man was. He automatically reached for his baldric of throwing knives and then remembered that they were still strapped to his body which left him with just his hands. The Master of the Silent Hand had taught him well, but he didn’t think he would stand much chance against the Ban Long Master.

  That just left the garrotte which was hidden in his pocket. It was a weapon he truly hated, but the only one he had at hand. He slipped it from his pocket and edged forwards, his soft-soled boots making no sound on the thick rugs which covered the floor. In a dozen rapid strides he was across the room and behind the man in the dragon robe who was a good six inches taller than he was.

  It was going to make the kill difficult but as he had no other option he took the garrotte in both hands and flipped the loop over the Master’s head. The man must have heard the thin wire sing in the air or perhaps it was a second sense which warned him of danger, but he swung around before the garrotte was in place. Even when resting a master carries a weapon and in an instant a knife was in his hand and slicing into his attacker’s ribs.

  Twistirian did the only thing he could and pulled the garrotte tight making the thin wire slice into the Master’s flesh, cutting away his upper lip and exposing his cheek bones. As he tightened the wire, his body twisted, so the knife that would have otherwise killed him sliced through the binding which held one of his knives in place, and instead of reaching his heart, it just scored a bloody line across his ribs. He felt the knife come free inside his shirt and stepped back, releasing the ends of the garrotte and leaving the Master standing there with the wire buried in his face and the ends dangling down like some obscene moustache.

  The Master’s ruined face was contorted with pain and blood ran down the lower half whilst behind him the glow from the burning building gave him a red aura making him look like a demon from the underworld. Twistirian took a hasty step back and gave a gasp of horror as the Master’s eyes began to glow like hot coals and his form began to waiver. Fear gripped him like it had never done before but instead of paralysing him it forced him into action.

  Now his only thought was to kill the creature in front of him before it could take him and destroy his soul forever. Knowing he was going to die, he grabbed for the knife which had been cut free and leaped at the terrifying being. His momentum knocked the Master to the ground and his knife slid upwards beneath the Master’s ribs and into his heart. For a moment he just lay there, clutched in the man’s embrace, and then he was consumed by flame and fire and darkness.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Caves of Kriphis

  Mount Kriphis

  Amalaya woke and opened her eyes. It didn’t make any difference, her world was darkness, but just doing that made her feel normal. Slowly she removed her hand from beneath the rough blanket which covered her and purposely ignoring the scars which marred her cheeks, ran her fingers through her hair. It was starting to grow back, and whilst it was nowhere near as long as it had been, at least it would make her look more like a woman again instead of a scruffy boy.

  What her hair looked like didn’t really matter, as there was no one there to see her except Pellecus, but it was another one of those things which made her feel alive. She gave a deep sigh, and as she had done every morning for the last month, wished that her eyes would grow back just the same as her hair. It was a pointless wish. Her eyes had been pierced by hot needles and no amount of wishing o
r praying to the goddess Athena was going to bring her sight back.

  She still prayed every day though, and made a small offering of goat’s milk to the goddess, but she was fast coming to the conclusion that it was a waste of time and milk. If Athena did exist, then she too must have become blind and deaf as well. Her sacrilegious thoughts made her cringe inside. She’d spent the last six years as an acolyte serving the goddess, and all it had taken was to be betrayed by an important man and the spiteful actions of two priestesses and her faith had blown away on the breeze.

  Of course there was always the possibility that the goddess was testing her and that one day when she was making her offering the goddess would smile down on her and give her back her sight. Knowing her luck she would be an old hag by then and wouldn’t care less. However, just in case Athena did look down and took pity on her, she’d carry on with her prayers and her offerings for a few more days yet.

  With the first decision of the day made, she rolled off her pallet and felt around for her robe which she’d laid out the night before. When she’d first come to the Caves of Kriphis she’d been as helpless as a newborn, and had stumbled around crashing into things until she was bruised all over and filled with despair. She’d screamed at Pellecus to help her, and when he’d refused, she’d sat down where she was and sobbed until she’d fallen asleep.

  She might have stayed there forever, but when she woke, Pellecus had given her some good advice. The man, who had a deep, gruff voice and smelled of smoke and wood chips, had told her that patience, tidiness and routine were the virtues that would lead to a peaceful life, and when she had mastered those she would find contentment. Then he’d left her there on her own to go and do other things.

  She’d screamed at him and cursed his cold heart, and had broken down into sobs again, but when she’d run out of tears she’d thought about what he’d said and knew it made sense. Trying to be patient and not to rush things, she had slowly investigated her surroundings, repeatedly touching the things around her and counting her steps until she could create a picture in her mind of what was there. Now she knew every inch of the cave in which she lived and the small area in front of it.

  It was essential though that nothing moved and she’d discovered the importance of being tidy after falling over the things she had carelessly dropped. Unfortunately she still erred occasionally and forgot to put something back in the right place, and then had to spend a long time searching for it, but she was learning to be more disciplined. She was also starting to develop a sense of when something was in her path that shouldn’t be there, although she had a long way to go before she could walk around with confidence.

  Getting into a routine had been the hardest part, mainly because everything seemed to take so long to do, but she was getting better at doing the same simple tasks each day. At first Pellecus had helped her by explaining what she needed to do and guiding her hands, and then he’d just given her the occasional reminder from his place by the fire when she was about to do something wrong. Now he let her do her own tasks and put her own mistakes right when she hadn’t been concentrating sufficiently.

  In a way it was like being back in the Great Temple again where there was a strict routine and numerous tasks to be done. There Priestess Sissinia had always been chasing her and hurrying her along, and then chastising her if she didn’t do things just as the priestess wanted. The tasks there had been menial and boring and sometimes pointless, but here everything she did was for her own well being. It really did make a difference.

  The first task of the day was to dress, which didn’t take long as she only had the one robe. She’d assumed it would be white like the robe she had worn as an acolyte, but Pellecus had told her it was the dark grey of unbleached wool. She disliked dark colours, but supposed it was practical as it wouldn’t show the dirt from the numerous times she fell over. The robe was also coarse and scratchy which irritated her skin, but at least it was warm.

  That was a benefit now as the last days of winter melded into spring, but it would be a real disadvantage in the heat of summer. She had assumed, of course, that she would still be here in the summer, although she’d asked Pellecus how long it would be before she was moved to Delphi. The man had just laughed and told her this was her home now and she should forget all about Apollo’s temple.

  It was easy enough to forget about Delphi as she’d never been there, but the two priestesses had promised her she would go there once she’d given her sight to the goddess. Promises didn’t mean much to the people she knew. Even Dionostes, who was meant to be an honourable man, had broken his promise to give her anything she wanted as a reward for saving his life and had betrayed her instead. She’d made a promise to herself though, which she’d vowed to the goddess she would keep.

  When she’d been well enough to make her first offering to Athena in this place, she’d vowed to have her revenge on the two priestesses and the nobleman who had sent her here. It was going to be an almost impossible promise to keep, but in those first days, when she was filled with despair, it was the only thing which kept her alive. Even now it was like a fire inside of her, and was the only thing which made her roll out of her pallet each morning instead of just giving into the darkness.

  There was also Pellecus to consider. There had been a time when she was certain he would have been happy to let her die, but now she wasn’t quite so sure. During the first weeks when she’d done very little else apart from scream, curse and cry, he’d almost ignored her, and except for the day when he’d given her the good advice, he hadn’t come into the cave or spoken a kind word to her. Now that she’d started doing things for herself he seemed more willing to help her adjust to her new life.

  If it hadn’t been for Pellecus she didn’t think she would have found the courage to step away from the mouth of the cave. However, on the first morning she’d stood there, clutching the solid rock as if it was the edge of the world, he’d taken her by the arm and had walked her around her little domain. He’d done the same thing on the second morning, telling her to count her steps, and had then left her to it. She’d fallen over more times than she could count, and once she’d become completely disorientated and had wandered up a rocky pathway and he had to come and fetch her back.

  Now though she knew everything about the area outside the cave and as long as she moved in the same direction every time, she could walk around it without mishap. To the right was a small spring where the water bubbled out of the rock into a shallow depression and then disappeared underground again. It was where she washed each morning and filled the water skin which Pellecus used for cooking the oats.

  A little further around was a fenced off area where herbs and other green plants grew, presumably watered by the spring’s run off. She’d asked Pellecus how the plants came to be there, and he’d told her that a hermit had once lived there and had planted them. She was grateful he had, because amongst the sage and the thyme there was soapwort which she’d used twice to wash her hair. There wasn’t much of it though, which meant she couldn’t wash her robe. That was unfortunate, as after a month it was starting to smell a little unpleasant.

  Further along was the track leading down to where Pellecus had left the wagon which had carried her to this place. It was where Pellecus slept at night and cared for the pony and she’d wanted to go there, but Pellecus had refused to take her. She supposed the man did need some privacy but one day, when she felt more confident, she would go and investigate it for herself. Close by was the other pathway she had accidently walked, but it was rough and went steeply upwards and really didn’t hold much interest for her.

  Almost opposite the mouth of the cave was an area of hard packed earth where the goats came to be milked. There was a herd of about twenty, led by an ancient nanny which no longer gave milk but dictated where the herd went, where they ate and when they should be milked. She’d helped to milk goats in the days before she’d lived in the great temple, and so it hadn’t been difficult to learn how to do it a
ll over again.

  Getting the milk from where the goats were milked to the stone crocks where it was stored, and would eventually be turned into cheese, was more difficult. It wasn’t helped by having the younger goats milling around her, butting her legs and nibbling her robe in curiosity and more than one pail of milk had failed to reach its destination. Pellecus had scolded her for being clumsy, but had then taught her to use a marker stone to get her bearings and count out her steps to where she wanted to be.

  The final important area in her small world was the fire which was to the left of the cave. She always knew where the fire was because she could smell the smoke and feel its heat as she approached, although she never came too close in case she fell into the flames. Pellecus gathered wood from the many olive trees which grew on the hillsides around them and kept the fire burning continuously.

  When she asked why he didn’t let it out at night and lit it again in the morning, he’d told her that wild dogs and wolves lived in the hills, and it was only the fear of the flames which kept them away. That was a frightening thought, and for several nights she had lain awake listening for the sounds of them creeping up on the cave. Eventually, when she couldn’t even hear them howling, she came to the conclusion that Pellecus had lied about the wild animals in order to stop her wandering away from the cave and getting lost.

  Having found her robe next to her, she pulled it over her head and tied it with the plaited cord she used as a belt, and then tidied the blanket on her pallet and steadily made her way to the mouth of the cave. Before she’d always worn sandals, but now she went barefoot so she could feel the ground beneath her feet. That had been her idea, and whilst she stubbed her toes countless times, it did make her feel more confident when she moved around the place.

  When she reached the mouth of the cave she stopped and let the sun warm her skin. It was pleasant standing in the sunshine listening to the birds and the other sounds around her which had become so familiar. She could hear the spring bubbling to the right and the fire crackling to her left, and the more subtle rattle of the vanilla pods in the herb patch rubbing against each other. Further away she could hear the breeze amongst the branches of the ancient olive trees, and further away still the clang of the goat’s bell.