She hesitated, unwilling to hurt the boys who loved her so much.
:Be honest, na’lanna Qwen,: Dharman whispered in her head. :Your heart never hurt us.:
“In many ways, I feel guilty, as though I caused his death.”
Alea leaned forward and hugged her too. “Why would you ever say such a thing?”
“Because…I…wanted them,” she whispered. “Vulkar never took Rhaekhar until I really wanted them.”
“Vulkar Called his name,” Kae’Shaman said, his voice echoing oddly in the tent. “His time had come.”
They all looked at him with concern. Shrunken and so very frail, he stepped closer, leaned down, and cupped Shannari’s chin in his hand.
“Don’t flail yourself with guilt, child. Sorrow has caused you pain enough without you tormenting yourself needlessly. Your Lady never gave you love to make you feel guilty. Love them, as She meant you to love them. They are your comfort and your protection in the darkest Endless Night.”
Easier said than done, but she nodded and burrowed deeper into Dharman’s arms. Not to be ignored, Sal pressed against her side, touching her hand that clutched Dharman’s arm so fiercely. She clamped onto his hand, shivering as his hair slipped down the length of her arm. Breathing deeply of their warm, sweet scents, she finally found the courage to continue.
“I have a great favor to ask.”
“Ask, Shannari,” Drendon replied formally. “It’s our great honor to assist you in any way that we can.”
“I must return to Shanhasson.” She swallowed, gripping both of her Blood harder, trying not to shatter. “I can’t take the twins. They won’t be safe. Someone already tried to poison them. Rhaekhar brought them home to protect them, and I can’t take them back to such danger, no matter…” Her voice cracked, but the tears couldn’t fall; they were frozen in her broken, wounded heart. So unfair, to take her love and her children in one fell blow. “No matter how much I’ll miss them.”
Alea wept openly, leaning against her mate. Even Drendon looked teary eyed. “Of course they can stay with us. We’ll protect them as our own.”
“I have a suggestion,” Kae’Shaman said. “My time on the Plains is over, but I still have a home in the Tenth Camp.”
Reverence softened Drendon’s face, his eyes glowing. “You can take them there?”
How Shannari hated that look in his eyes. Rhaekhar must have looked much the same way upon the holy horse that came to kill him. “No,” she said sharply. They all looked at her as though she’d spat on Vulkar’s name, and perhaps she had. “I won’t let them grow up mindless pawns the Gods shuffle around on a chess board. Although they’re Daughters of Leesha, they’re also mine, and they have a right to lives of their own.”
Kae’Shaman patted her on the shoulder. “They could see their fathers in the Tenth Camp.”
Alea and Drendon both made more sounds of awe. Few knew all the secrets of the legendary valley hidden somewhere on Vulkar’s Mountain. Unless a Death Rider or shaman, few ever even tried to find it. The punishing obsidian slopes made it impossible to find the Tenth Camp unless one was willing to make a sacrifice of blood so great that death may very well be the only option. Gregar had always said he was half-dead already after his climb up the punishing slopes.
Shannari had been there many times in Dreams. Positioned half on the Plains and half in Vulkar’s Clouds, the dead could walk again, especially her Shadowed Blood. But she hadn’t been back since she’d flown there as the White Dragon and torn him apart. Even knowing Rhaekhar might be there with Gregar, she couldn’t bring herself to try and find it. Not yet, while the pain was too fresh.
Bitterness ground the rahke deeper into her heart, but she nodded. If her daughters could see their fathers when their mother was forced to abandon them, who was she to deny them such solace?
“You are correct, though. They shouldn’t spend all their days on Vulkar’s Mountain. Time passes strangely there, and they must participate in our world and make their own choices. Let them abide with me awhile in perfect safety, and when Winter breaks, they’ll descend to live among Khul’s family.”
“I’ll provide an escort—” Drendon began, but Kae’Shaman smiled and shook his head.
“There’s no need. Our na’kindren know the way. We’ll leave at first light when Shannari returns to Shanhasson.”
She hugged her friends, murmuring her thanks. They held the last bit of her heart and soul in their hands, and they knew it.
“Your daughters carry the honor of the greatest warrior the Plains ever knew as well as the new Khul’s personal oath of protection. The Nine Camps will see them safe or writhe in the Three Hells.” Drendon touched his fist to his heart. “Kae’Shaman, do all the dead abide in the Tenth Camp?”
“Nay,” the old man squeezed her shoulder again. “Merely the ones who swore they would never ride to Vulkar’s side until their heart rode with them. They’ll wait for you in the Tenth Camp as long as it takes, child.”
“I don’t…” A hard, cold knot of ice caught in her throat.
He patted her shoulder soothingly and then shuffled over to the tent flap. A stiff breeze whirled inside, so cold it felt as though her Blood had given her a fierce slap back in the face. “When you’re ready, they’ll still be there. They understand, child. You have a right to grieve as long as you feel the need.”
* * *
THE DARK HOUR BEFORE DAWN was Mykal’s favorite time of day. Although he still couldn’t remember as much as he’d like, he suspected he’d spent many nights plotting into the wee hours. It was the perfect time to kill a dragon sluggish after its feasting, as well as casting nets out into the world long before any of his victims suspected a thing.
The Keldari enjoyed these dark hours, too. Because of the miserable heat of the long daylight hours, they’d learned long ago to accomplish as many tasks as possible in shades of night. However, few men could have brought four powerful tals together without bloodshed.
He gave a small bow to each, lightly touching his forehead, heart, and mouth. “May Somma’s waters cleanse us of our devalki.”
Eying each other warily, they repeated the gesture.
After days of practicing with his rav, he’d learned how to decipher the marks on each tal’s face. He didn’t have to relearn, exactly; the knowledge was there. He simply had to filter it through layers of silt. Occasionally, very disturbing memories filtered up through the murky water of his past, little pockets of miasma that chilled the marrow in his bones.
Nightmares, he whispered to himself. Only nightmares.
I am Mykal tal’Mamba and I have a purpose.
Not even hidden pockets of quicksand could prevent him from achieving it.
Razul tal’Cobra gripped the hilt of wicked scimitar in one hand and a short sword in the other. “If we’re to Dance the Blades at dawn, why meet now without our ravs?”
“So he can set us one upon the other,” Gana tal’Tellan retorted. His face was so heavily tanned and lined by the punishing sun that Mykal couldn’t make out his markings. It didn’t matter. Tellan claimed to be the holiest and purest of all tribes in the desert, the last hope, the remnant that would be saved.
Yet they had proven to be the most corruptible. So much precious White blood had been given to them in the beginning, only to be squandered in their thirst to claim the title of azi, supreme tal’Keldar. As sands blew constantly in the face of the storm, so had Tellan lost all they held dear.
“You don’t even bring a White to sacrifice.” Nijar tal’Gaboon sneered. “How can you hope to challenge us for azi?”
The Gaboon had been well named; the man had very long fangs but less potent venom. Mykal smiled, holding his hands out empty of all weapons. “You bring a White? A true White?”
“Absolutely.” Nijar drew himself up proudly. “I have the granddaughter of the first azi.”
Razul hissed, muscles coiling for battle. “You filthy jackal. You would sacrifice one of my blood after swearing to t
reasure her?”
Shaking his head, Gana merely laughed. “This child couldn’t possibly be the granddaughter of the great Zahak, for his munakura was barren. You should be a slaver, Razul. How much water did Gaboon pay for your precious kin?”
“I can guarantee us a true, precious White.” Mykal spoke softly, but his low voice carried, even to the bickering tals. Silenced, all three stared at him.
Gana finally voiced the question they all burned to hear. “How?”
“There’s only one White Daughter left in all the world,” Mykal whispered. “Only one who still smells of roses.”
Razul spat on the sands, a grave insult, but Mykal noted the whiteness of the man’s knuckles on his weapons and the grooves of strain about his mouth. “You lie.”
A faint shudder shook Mykal’s shoulders at the memory. “Smoldering roses that grow thicker with her desire. Is that not how a White should smell?”
Releasing a rumbling snort of challenge dragon to dragon, Razul took a step closer and raised the scimitar over his head. “How could you possibly know this?”
The creature inside Mykal stirred. Scales slithered against his spine, claws clattering beneath his ribs. He stiffened, fighting to keep his face smooth despite the rolling, prowling beast crawling inside him. “I have my ways.”
“Keeping secrets, are you, Razul?” Gana growled and unsheathed his short sword. “I should have known you’d have more information than you’d share.”
“You’re the great and holy Tellan.” Razul shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. “If anyone kept secrets of how to recognize a true White, it was your tribe. Chanda the White filled your cursed Well of Tears to found your tribe!”
“If none of us can be azi without a White,” Mykal said, keeping his hands well away from his own weapons, “and your captives aren’t true Whites, then why battle each other to the death when we could work together to accomplish the same goal?”
“Speak for yourself,” Nijar growled. “I’ll offer my sacrifice and see how White her blood proves to be.”
“So be it.” Mykal shrugged. “You will fail. You will all fail, for the only true White remaining alive and breathing in our world is Shannari dal’Dainari, the High Queen of the Green Lands.”
“Munakura.” Gana’s lip curled with distaste. “We’ve raided their lands to no avail. They have even fewer Whites than we do.”
“Of course,” Mykal said with a small smile. “They kill theirs off as quickly as we sacrifice ours.”
“What do you suggest?” Nijar toned down his belligerent attitude. “If she’s royal, we’ll never get close enough to take her. We’ve never raided farther than Far Illione before turning back.”
“We ride to Shanhasson, the High Court, and we approach her directly.”
Razul laughed. “Iyeh, we’ll simply ride through thousands of soldiers, pass through her Shining Walls magicked with her blood and Yama only knows what sort of traps, drag her across our endless sands, and toss her into Agni’s Rock.”
Mykal shook his head slowly, quirking his mouth into a broad smile. “We’ll soar over those Shining Walls. We’re dragons after all, aren’t we?”
Stunned, the tals stared at him. None of them liked to remember the dra’gwar blood burning in their veins. Someday, they would succumb to the Fire in their blood and a fledgling dragon would tear itself out of their bodies. A dragon cared about nothing but feasting: people, horses, other dragons, it didn’t matter, as long as its food was alive and kicking when he started to rip out the choicest pieces.
If they were even half as terrified as he was of the slithering, murdering beast inside him, then they would do anything to atone for the great sin before they could be torn apart from the inside out.
“Sands swallow you,” Razul cursed. “You’re a fool if you think such a plan will work. I’ll kill you now and save myself the trouble at dawn.”
The other two tals stepped back, giving them plenty of room to Dance the Blades.
Mykal inclined his head slightly at the man, keeping his eyes low and hidden so the man couldn’t see the rising dragon burning in his eyes. His heart raced and an iron fist slammed into his stomach, twisting his innards viciously. He’d known at least one of the tals would likely have to die to win the others to his cause. The others would be forced by their doubts and own dark secrets to conspire with him.
Wells, he didn’t want to do it this way, despite the logical reasons. Somma, be merciful.
Massive claws sliced his abdomen open, peeling back the human body to reveal glistening black scales and silver-tipped talons. He screamed out a roar of pain, fury because they’d driven him to this, despair that this was the doom waiting for them all.
Images flashed through his mind: soaring through a night sky, the sands of Keldar spread out below; puny tents huddled together like children afraid of the dark; spurting blood, tearing meat, the screams of his victim feeding him as much as the body.
The two-leggeds shouted, waving their tiny false claws at him, but he ignored them, focusing instead of the lone man with blades in both hands who had challenged him. The man muttered words, as though any prayer could ever save one from a dragon’s hot hunger.
Charging with scimitar cocked back over his head, the man opened his mouth on a mighty roar for one so small. Dance the Blades with me, human. Feel my claws.
He let the man come in close for the kill, twisting at the last moment to slither away from the curved blade. Clamping his jaws on the back of the man’s neck, the dragon picked him up and shook his head, snapping the spine like a twig. Ever so gently, now, he laid his food out on the sands. Eyes huge, shining with terror, the man could do nothing but watch as the dragon lowered its head to the feast.
Ah, here is the Well of Tears, and the Wadi of Blood.
He buried his snout in the man’s abdomen, eating the tenderest bits first. Screams filled the night, curling through his dragon mind like bits of a tasty dream. Even the reality of scalding fresh blood dripping from his muzzle couldn’t compare to the memory of her scent, her blood. The moon glared at him from the sky, slowly growing to its full shining eye. With a snarl, he backed away from the body.
My purpose shines like a beacon in the night. I must not fail.
Gathering his will, he wrapped leathered wings tight about his body. Midnight scales burned and hissed, sands blowing around him, swirling in a maelstrom of shadows and blood. The sacrifice had been made, driving the dragon back to its cage inside the fragile human body it despised.
Head down, Mykal crouched, hands buried in the sands as his body convulsed, wings shriveled, and scales melted into his flesh. Pain burned along his spine, bones cracking back into shape. Even his fingers hurt. He yanked his right hand free of the sand and held it up, deliberately letting his opponents see the transformation taking place.
Six-inch-long talons sank within each fingertip, leaving only a welling drop of blood.
“That…” Gana’s voice quivered, “is impossible.”
“With enough sacrifice, anything is possible.” Mykal forced himself upright and glanced down at his arms. In the lightening dawn, faint black scales still gleamed in his skin, some as dark as tattoos, marking him for what he was. Dra’gwar, dragon warrior, closer than ever to flying the night sky.
“How…” Nijar sounded just as shaken. The two tals shared a long glance, and Mykal knew they were his. Hope burned in their eyes when the turned back to him. “How did you learn to draw the dragon back?”
“I saw it in a dream.” He neglected to mention that in the dream, the black dragon had eaten him. Bending down, he snagged a bit of black cloth that he’d worn and wiped his face clean of the blood. It burned in his stomach, and the dragon gave a satisfied purring rumble, curling up for a nap. “Now then. Are you prepared to soar over the Shining Walls with me to win the greatest prize of all?”
The two tals looked at each other again, nodded, and both sheathed their weapons.
“My water i
s yours, Mykal tal’Mamba,” Gana said. “Tell us of your plan to take the White Queen.”
* * *
ICE CRUSTED THE SHORES OF Dalden Bay and the salty air numbed Shannari’s cheeks. Standing on the Sentinel, the holiest place in all the Green Lands, she tilted her frozen face up to the sky and tried not to shatter with grief.
After endless hours on horseback, they’d made it out of the blizzards covering the Plains. She was home. But this place had ceased feeling like home the moment she’d left with Rhaekhar all those years ago.
Clear and cold, the velvet blanket of night wore a brilliant display of diamonds. A full moon hung directly overhead, silvered and sparkling with ice. Sound carried over the water for miles and miles. She could hear the creak of wood from the docks at the base of the cliff, and the muted clatter of the village. Those people were bundled into their cozy cottages against the bitterly cold night, grateful for hearth and family.
While she stood here alone.
Unfair, she knew, because her Blood waited only feet away. The miserable hard ride from the Silver Lake had passed in near silence because she simply had nothing to say.
Will I always be this empty?
A soft whispering note, high and piercingly sweet, echoed on the night. A flute, she thought. Perhaps someone played in the village.
It was a haunting sound, however, too clear and truthful to be of this world. Threads of mist weaved in the sky overhead, dancing in tune to the mournful sound.
DAUGHTER OF MY BLOOD, I WEEP WITH YOU.
Sinking to her knees, Shannari wept on the Sentinel, offering her tears instead of her blood. “Why did you have to take him?”
She knew the answer. In the mists, the Shining Walls rose against the night sky. As much as she’d come to hate Shanhasson, she knew Rhaekhar would have been miserable, trapped among outlanders who knew nothing of honor. She’d always known she belonged on the High Throne. That she’d had a few precious years to love him should have been enough.
It will never be enough, not if I have to lose him.
YOU WILL NEVER LOSE YOUR LOVES. YOU ARE THEIR HEART, THEIR SHINING EVENING STAR. THEY AWAIT YOU AT THE END OF YOUR LIFE’S ROAD.
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