“No, I think Brea has got me. Thank you, though.”
Arfael chuckled to himself as he turned up the passageway leading to the den. Alacin was right behind him. And Brea, now holding Olam’s arm, was at the back. Absently, he wondered if Alacin could see in the dark as well as he could. But the Cren stumbled on a loose stone and answered that question.
Arfael grabbed his arm. “Be careful; those aren’t your ankles. I doubt Ealian will appreciate spending a week with a splint on his leg.”
“Yes, you’re right. I’m just excited to see them,” Alacin said. “I’ll slow down.”
Arfael couldn’t help but grin; why was everyone else so keen on seeing the dragons? He was the one they had asked for, yet he was the only one who didn’t want to go.
His smile didn’t last long, though; he could hear the dragons up ahead.
Surprisingly, he could not feel anything. Fear, nerves, anxiety; the potion Brea had given him was doing its job.
He guessed they must have heard him, too, as a sudden scurry of activity cast shadows along the tunnel ceiling. Surely they weren’t nervous?
With a deep breath, he entered the den, to find Tor and Tiama standing side by side. The small dragon, Rek, was bouncing around on their sleeping platform… until Tor grunted at him. The little dragon cowered, perhaps embarrassed, and lay down, head facing the entrance. He perked up again when Brea entered, but she waved him down with a smile.
“Welcome, Cinnè’arth.”
Tor’s bellowing voice shook against Arfael’s chest. He gulped, unsure how to respond. “It’s… uh… my honour,” Arfael said. He rose from a low bow to see both Tor and Tiama bowing back at him. “Would you call me, Arfael? You say ‘Cinnè’arth,’ and I look around to see who you are speaking to.”
Tor’s lips creased in what Arfael assumed must be the dragon’s version of a smile – a surprisingly friendly smile, despite the forearm-length teeth. “Of course… Arfael. Please come in, all of you. We have had food and drink brought from the village. Help yourself.”
Arfael looked to his left, at where a table had been set up with fresh fruit, cold meats and wine. Brea blushed. How had she managed that, she had not been gone for more than an hour? “Thank you, Tor. And thank you, Brea.” He smiled at the young girl.
“Well… we did make a mess of things on your first visit,” Tor said, scratching his head with a long talon. “We had hoped… Never mind, you’re here now, that is all that matters.”
“Why am I here?” Arfael asked. The welcome was all very well, but he had spent days wondering what this was about.
“So soon!” Alacin said. He had stopped and turned on his way to the table. Shaking his head, he took a deep breath and gestured towards Tor. “No chatting, catching up, getting to know one another. If he only wanted to tell you the facts, he could have sent a message. You should be honoured. I doubt ten people in all the world have seen the inside of a dragons’ den, must less have an invite.”
“Alacin, please. That is not necessary,” Tor said. “If facts are what he wants, then facts are what he shall have. He is our guest.”
Alacin took a step forward. Hands on hips, he stood between Arfael and the dragons. “If you two are going to work together, which I suspect you are, then you should learn more of one another, become friends… if such a thing is possible. You both have difficult paths to follow. Trusting one another will go a long way towards easing that path.”
“Yes, yes,” Tor answered. “Friendship takes time, and we have precious little.” He turned sternly to Arfael. “I declare I am your friend, Arfael. Though you do not know me, I have read much about your deeds. You have my trust, and it is my honour to welcome you to our home.”
Alacin shook his head again but said nothing. He turned and strolled back to the food table. Perhaps he had been hoping for a reunion party.
Tor was right; there was no time for bonding, they must act. “I will trust you as a friend until proven otherwise,” Arfael told Tor. “If you please, could you explain why I am here?”
Tor acknowledged the offer of friendship. “If it pleases you, Arfael, I think It would help to tell a little of our history, the history of our two races.”
Arfael wondered what that could mean, but if Tor had a speech ready, then who was he to deny him? “That’s fine with me.”
“It was almost two-hundred and fifty years ago when Sek’gaw, my brother, turned his back on the Kel’mai.” Alacin gasped, but Tor ignored him. It seemed the dragon really did have a speech planned. “It was during the island’s civil war. Vila’slae, who had placed herself in a position of prominence within the ranks of the Kel’madden, had subjugated Toi’ildrieg. The long-held treaties between the Kel and the dragons, who both shared the islands, had been stretched to breaking point. Indeed, it was her greed that had brought us to war in the first place – but that is another story. We were winning the civil war; Toi’ifael were days from victory, when my brother turned his back on us, taking the Drieg’gaw dragons with him.
“For over a century, we blamed Sek for Toi’ifael’s defeat. Then, when things looked as though they could not get any worse, the Battle of Blai’nuin saw most of the Fael’gan dragons slaughtered at the hands of Vila’slae. Or rather, killed by the dragons she controlled. The few who survived, me amongst them, escaped to this valley. With hatred in our hearts for what my brother had done, we swore revenge; we plotted, we planned and we schemed – it was all that kept some of us going. Then, six months ago, we discovered Sek may not have had a choice.”
“What happened six months ago?” Olam asked.
“Well, that’s not really import—”
Olam interrupted. “It’s important if you want our help. We should know everything. What happened six months ago?”
Tor shrugged. “Oh, very well. If you insist. It was around that time when Brea discovered she could use the Lier’sinn – the device we use to follow those who are strong in the Powers. She was playing with—”
“I was not playing with anything. I was doing as you asked.” Brea folded her arms and tapped her foot, staring indignantly at Tor. “Playing… pft,” she muttered.
“You were playing, child. You should not have been—”
“Oh, enough! Get back to the point, Tor.” Tiama, Tor’s mate, glanced apologetically at Olam. “Those two are always arguing,” she said, rolling her eyes between Tor and Brea.
Tor continued, “Anyway, Brea was… working” – he shot the girl a conciliatory glance – “with the Lier’sinn and saw a vision of Sek. Only for a moment, though; the vision almost destroyed the Seer’s Bowl… and half the tunnel. She was lucky the blast didn’t kill her where she stood.” He glanced at Brea again, apparently waiting for her to say something. The girl raised her chin, pointedly ignoring him.
“Soon after,” Tor continued, “we, or rather, she, began to get a vision of Arfael. Knowing the way the Lier’sinn works, we soon realised Arfael must be connected to the Powers. Not to mention, we knew he was a Kel’mai, and what was a Kel’mai doing in Aleras? It took months of investigating, but finally we pieced together what had happened. Using the old scrolls, and accounts from those who were there, we discovered Vila’slae had tried to use one of the God Stones – the Barrowshard, in this case – to control Arlyn Gan’ifael. That would be you, Arfael.” The dragon pointed a long talon at him. “Once that was determined, it wasn’t hard to discover she had used the very same stone to control my brother.”
Everyone began to speak at once; Olam insisting Arfael was not connected to evil, Alacin protested that such a thing should not even exist, while Tor tried to calm them.
“Let him speak,” Arfael roared. “I want to know how I am connected to your brother, Tor. What does it mean? Is this why I’m here?”
“Yes, Arfael. Whatever happened in Barais’coi cave, a hundred and twenty years ago, is still a mystery. Yet one thing is for sure, you and my brother have been touched by the same Power. The Lier’sinn does not lie!�
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“And how can that help us?” Arfael asked.
“You can free my brother, of course.”
A puzzled silence descended on the dragons’ den. Arfael stared into the unlit fire, Alacin scratched at his chin, and Brea made a study of the walls.
“And, of course, without the dragons on her side,” Tor said, “it will be that much easier to defeat her.”
And here we are again, Arfael thought. Another step on the path I must take. “And if I free your brother,” he asked, “will I be cured? Will I have my mind back and be able to remember?”
Tor’s eyes flickered to Tiama, and then to Brea. All three of them seemed anxious.
“Arfael, I am sorry.” Tor scratched a talon along the floor. “To free my brother from the effects of a Barrow Shard, someone affected by the Power must be holding it when it is shattered. The Power contained within the Shard… Standing that close when it’s… There’s a good chance you will not survive the blast.”
Pandemonium reigned; Olam was shouting at Tor, Alacin at Brea; Tiama yelled at Tor for not putting it better. Brea seemed to be shouting for them to be quiet; the scene reminded Arfael of a child’s playground.
He walked to the hearth and sat down. A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind. Most fell away, but two remained; carry on the way he was, or risk death to help defeat evil. Well, when you put it like that… The shouting continued, but he heard nothing. A few days of hope, that was all he had had; a few days of wondering if they might find a cure. Now, to discover that cure would probably mean his death… He could go to Eurmac; leave them to their fighting? No, running away is not the answer. Do I want another hundred years of this? His mind flickered back and forth, desperately trying to pick out a few good moments, real moments, memories that would be worth preserving, worth running away for – nothing! Only a sweet thought of Elspeth came to mind. And he was a week away from completely forgetting she ever existed.
“I’ll do it,” he whispered. The shouting continued. “I’ll do it,” he said. Still, they shouted at one another. “By Ein’laig, will you shut up! I will do it.”
Olam put his hands on his head; his staff fell to the ground with a clatter. The poor man looked fit to drop. Alacin sighed, closed his eyes and turned away. Brea let out a sob and rubbed a tear from her cheek, before running to hug Rek – who let out a sympathetic whimper.
“That’s very brave of you, Arlyn Gan’ifael,” Tor said, bowing.
“It isn’t bravery, not if it’s the only choice,” Arfael said. “And my name isn’t Arlyn Gan’ifael!” Arfael stood and walked towards the food table. Might as well eat something, now all that was decided.
“But you do have a choice, Arfael,” Tor said, “If you will let me finish.”
Again, silence fell over the den. Tor turned toward Tiama with a knowing look in his eyes. He seemed reluctant to continue. “You are not connected to the Barrow Shard in the way my brother is,” he said, more for Tiama than for anyone else. If Arfael had to guess, he would say Tor did not want to tell him anymore. The dragon continued, “It could be destroyed by anybody. You would still be free of it.”
Tiama gave Tor a smile. And then the shouting started again. This time, everyone focused on Tor.
“Why didn’t you say that before?” Olam asked.
“It can be remade!” Tor shouted. “If it isn’t destroyed by someone affected by it, it can be remade. Arfael would be free of it, but my brother could once again be tied to the new Shard.”
“This isn’t making any sense.” Arfael rubbed at his temple as he walked back to Olam and the others. “If I am free, why would Sek still be controlled?”
“It’s the nature of the curse, Arfael. My brother was bound to the Power, not the artefact. Yes, if someone else destroyed it, eventually Sek would be free, too, but we have no way of knowing how long that would take. Sek is deeper under its influence than you… more cursed, if you like; he has been a slave to the Power for two and a half centuries, his actions have become part of who he is. It might take a month for him to come to his senses. And that’s more than enough time for Vila’slae to create another Barrow Shard, or find one of the other God Stones.
“There are four God Stones, three for each earthly power and one for the spirits. The God Stones themselves are huge; Vila’slae is only using a Shard from hers. Well, it’s not hers, but it is somewhere on the islands, and she can get to it. If you don’t destroy the Shard, she will just go fetch another one. On the other hand, if you destroy the Shard, she will only be able to create another with your help. Which, of course, you won’t give. She’ll be stuck, without any way of controlling her dragons.
Arfael sighed, his shoulders dropped. I wish he had not told me that. The chance for freedom; better I had no choice. “No!” Arfael grunted. “No, there is no choice. I couldn’t live, knowing what my freedom has cost. I will destroy the damn shard. But you have to do something for me.”
Tor tilted his head. “And what would that be, Arfael? If it is within my power to grant, it is yours.”
“You leave Bren’alor by week’s end. All of you, all the dragons. Leave these people in peace.”
Brea’s eyes widened. She looked ready to speak, but…
“My boy,” Tor said, “we are already making plans to move south of Bailryn. The battle will be there, and we intend to be part of it.” Tor gave him a toothy grin. “The scrolls don’t do you justice, Arlyn Gan’ifael. You are a brave man.”
Arfael smiled. Maybe he was Arlyn Gan’ifael, after all.
“Where is this Shard?” Arfael asked. “How do I get to it?”
“With that, there’s both good news and bad,” Tor said. “The good news: the Shard’s location is no secret. The bad news: Vila’slae has it with her. Oracles cannot control the stone unless their Shard is close by.”
Arfael noticed Alacin staring at Brea. The girl flinched, and then quickly straightened her collar, looking everywhere but at Alacin.
“What? What do you know, Alacin?” Arfael took the Cren by the arm. “Alacin… what is it?”
“She will have to go with you, Arfael. She is an Oracle, too.”
Arfael growled. “No, no, no! I’m not walking into an enemy camp with a child. Find another way,” he told Tor.
“There is no other way,” Tor said. “And Brea is not an Oracle – not yet, at least; she has not quickened. But she is connected to the Powers. She has the Blood, the Blood of the Soul Guardians. She will be able to walk you right up to the Shard. There is no one else.”
“I will go, too,” Alacin said. And immediately after, Olam added, “As will I.”
Suddenly, a noise came from the sleeping platform. Rek was running around, crashing, bashing and throwing things.
“Oh no,” Brea said. She put a hand to her mouth. “My poor little man, nobody has told him I have to go away.” She quickly ran up the stairs. After a second, all was quiet again. Arfael could not imagine what she had done to calm the dragon down.
“So we all go, all four of us,” Arfael said. “At least she will only have to point me in the right direction.”
“Yes,” Tor said. “Unfortunately, we have no idea where Vila’slae is. This may all have been for nothing if we cannot find her. As soon as we are clear of the valley, Lyduk and the others will begin a—”
“We know where she is,” Olam said. “Or at least, where she will be.”
Tiama turned from making sure Rek had settled down. And Tor tilted his head. “Where is she?” he asked.
“The Tunnels of Aldregair,” Olam answered.
Tor growled. “You’re mistaken, Olam; she would never go back there. There are things in the Tunnels that even dragons dare not face. They nearly killed her, when last she attacked Aleras.”
“But she has a map! Or will have, very soon.”
Tor roared. Arfael, Olam and Alacin covered their ears. The dragon spun around and kicked viciously at the hearth. His tail wiped at the stone column, nearly toppling it. “
Map! She has a map. By Ein’laig, why didn’t you say that in the beginning?” He roared again, sending funnels of bright yellow flame into the air.
“Calm down, Tor. Calm down!” Tiama tried to stop Tor’s rampage, but the huge dragon was having none of it. “Tor, don’t you see? We know where she will be! Tor! Enough!”
Slowly, Tor settled. Blue smoke pulsed from his nostrils with every deep breath. He paced around in a circle for another minute before coming to a halt. “You’re right, Tiama: The Karan Valley! She is probably there already. Why else would the wolves run?”
“Then she is at this… Karan Valley,” Olam said. “How far is it?”
“An hour, for a dragon.” Tor emphasised the time; maybe he was thinking about the safety of the villagers. “For you, a long day’s march around the ridge. You will have to go through the Tunnels yourself; the long way around would take a week.”
“The Tunnels! I thought—”
Tor interrupted Olam. “Don’t worry; she isn’t the only one with a map. I know a safe route – at least, it was safe, a hundred years ago.” Tor paused for a moment. “No, we will have to risk it. There will be signs before you meet danger. If you are careful….”
“So… we leave for the haunted tunnels… to go to a valley full of dragons… to steal this Shard from under the nose of an evil witch.” Alacin laughed. “I certainly picked a good time to come back, didn’t I?”
Arfael did not think it was funny.
CHAPTER 12
They Come in Threes
“As dead at the Tundra,” Si’eth said, gazing around at the seemingly endless field. “Why don’t you people do something with it? What we in An’aird Barath wouldn’t give for a few hundred acres of prime farmland. And what do you do with it? Nothing.”
Daric loosened his collar as he looked around. To him, the Taris grassland meant he was getting close to Gieth’eire; he never thought of it as an asset. “It’s just land, Si’eth. You can ride from Beugeddy to Arman’s Tear without coming within twenty miles of a farm, let alone a village or town.”
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