Realm Of Blood And Fire (Book 3)

by Dionne Lister

  Of course, Zim. You’re not worried about the gormons tracking where we are?

  The gormons won’t matter if we get struck by lightning.

  I suppose not. Let me know when to start, Astra replied.

  Soon drops of water hit their faces, and the dragons put their heads into the gusting wind. Now, Zim called.

  Astra opened the portal in her mind, feeling for the Second-Realm corridor. She was quick to locate it. Her awareness was sucked through the black until she was spat out into what she liked to call the “jewel of the realms.” Millions, maybe billions, of symbols shone like many-faceted diamonds laid out on black velvet cloth, reflecting light and twinkling with the magic of life’s essence. Smiling, she silently thanked the realm and took the power she needed, drawing it into her body.

  As Astra surrounded them with her invisible bubble, the rain turned into a pelting torrent. From the safety of the bubble, Arie could see the drops sliding horizontally along the surface of the shield, like tadpoles swimming in a stream. A deafening crack divided the ozone. Arie flinched and was almost blinded when Agmunsten’s shield was hit. The lightning shunted Zim, and he fell a few feet before recovering.

  “Whoa! That was close,” Arie said. “Oh, you can hear in this thing.”

  “Yes. Being inside the barrier is like being closed in a room. It’s warmer too. Can you feel it?”

  “Hmm, you’re right. This is a much better way to travel.”

  “Well, I’m tiring, so we need to fly through this storm as fast as we can. It takes a lot of energy to shield a flying dragon. The wingspan is ridiculous.”

  Warrimonious interrupted. “Ahem. If you have any complaints, I’d be happy to let you off here.”

  Astra remained silent.

  “I thought so.”

  Flying deeper into the storm, Zim was hit again, and Agmunsten spoke into their minds. I can’t take too many more hits. It’s like getting whacked over the head—the vibration makes it feel like my teeth are falling out, and I’m sweating.

  Does that mean your blood is heating up too much? Arie asked.

  Yes, lad. We’ll fly for a few more minutes, but lower, so if I have to drop my shield, there is less risk of being hit.

  Can’t we fly above the storm?

  No, Arie, Agmunsten answered. None of us will be able to breathe.

  Within seconds, the rain turned to pellets of ice, the hail hitting the invisible Second-Realm power and bouncing off. Astra squinted her eyes, straining against her body’s desire to stop channeling as her blood heated.

  And then it happened.

  A bolt of searing electricity exploded from above, striking Astra’s invisible shield of energy. The realmists gripped tighter as Warrimonious was shoved downward, and they were jerked almost out of the saddle. Astra’s ears rung, and her tentative hold on the flow from the Second Realm broke. She could feel the wisps of hair that had escaped her hood stand on end from the static before the rain flattened them to her face.

  I’m sorry.

  It’s okay, Astra. I’ll fly lower. Warrimonious descended until he was three dragon lengths from the ocean. Soon enough, Zim joined them—Agmunsten had given up shielding too.

  How much farther, Zim? asked Warrimonious.

  We should arrive around midnight—still five more hours.

  Arie groaned but gritted his teeth. He would make it if it took everything he had . . . although he wasn’t sure even that would be enough.

  Chapter 8

  Queen Jazmonilly stood in the Heart of Vellonia on the five-pointed-star shape embedded into the floor. She channeled Second-Realm energy while holding two columns that rose from the floor to the ceiling—one obsidian, one blood-red. In her mind, she saw two blockages in the rivers of energy powering the golden spires that protected Vellonia from airborne attack. Carefully, she diverted a dribble of energy from the main river into the blockage to break it apart. Fleck by fleck, it dissolved to become part of the sea of magical current that surrounded it.

  Closing off her link with the Second Realm, she removed her hands from the pillars. A low growl escaped her mouth as she stared around the room looking for any sign of who had been tampering with Vellonia’s protective spires. This room was warded against Second Realm and Talian power that was drawn from outside its confines, and the door was locked and had been guarded since Symbothial’s death. So who was getting in here and causing trouble? Or was it just a natural occurrence? This was the third time since Zim had left that she had found blockages on her daily checks.

  Her silver scales flashing in the torchlight, Jaz shut and locked the door, nodded to the sentry, side-stepped a startled, black-bearded realmist—one of the ones Agmunsten had recently sent from the academy—who had been scurrying past, and made her way to see her husband, King Valdorryn. Knowing he would be seeing to newly-arrived provisions of dried fruit and herbs, she took the stairs to the first-floor kitchen storeroom.

  When Jaz entered the high-ceilinged storeroom, she couldn’t see Valdorryn. But then she spied him: hidden by a mountain of boxes—the tip of his tail peeking out from behind the wall of produce gave him away.

  “There you are, my love.”

  The king peered out. “Hello, my darling. This is the never-ending supply of human food. I hope they appreciate it.” He made a few ticks with his quill on the list he held.

  “Have we enough space in here?”

  “For these boxes, yes. But there is at least double this. They’re moving the other boxes downstairs to one of the dungeon cells. So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  “I don't want to worry you, but two channels were blocked this morning—the spires to the north of the city. I don’t know if I’m being paranoid or if someone is sabotaging us. It was bad enough to believe Symbothial would betray us, but surely no other dragons would. I mean, who would side with the gormons over us?”

  Valdorryn raised his eyebrows when some of his wife’s scales flashed red. “We’re not at war yet. Calm down, love.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. Without those defenses working, those wretched flying demons will kill us all.”

  The king took a deep breath and blew a puff of smoke to the ceiling. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. We have someone on the door all the time. There’s nothing more we can do, short of sleeping in there.” Jaz looked at him as if he’d just had a brilliant idea. “No, you’re not sleeping in there.” She still looked hopeful. “No, Jaz, I am not sleeping there either.”

  She came as close to pouting as a dragon could. “Maybe we could get someone else to.”

  “No. It’s too dangerous. And what if they caught someone in there and a battle of power erupted? The whole city could collapse. I won’t have it.” The king cast a stern glare at his wife. “Now, surely you have other things to attend to, as we have many guests arriving over the next few weeks and a castle to prepare for war.”

  The queen matched his scowl with her own. “Yes, I have things to do, but I hope I won’t have to say “I told you so”.” As she walked to the nursery, she sent a mind-message to the “head of visitor comfort.” Anazista, I’d like all the guest rooms ready by the end of the week, if possible.

  It will be difficult, but I will do my best. I thought we had a few more weeks.

  Unfortunately we have no idea when everyone will start arriving—things can change quickly. Arcon, Avruellen and their protégés could arrive any day, and I know that King Fendill sent some of his army this way when he left for Bayerlon, as did Queen Alaine. So we’ll need accommodation for their seconds-in-command. I have Karadimbas organizing the soldier’s accommodation in Little Vellonia. Little Vellonia was secreted across the valley and took up three floors of a mountain that was smaller than the royal family’s lofty home. Decorated more sparsely than the main dragon lodgings, it provided perfect accommodation for visiting armies.

  As you wish, Queen Jazmonilly. My team and I will do our best.

  Continuing up two flights of
stairs, Jazmonilly quietly sung a lullaby.

  A little egg hatched and gave to me

  A precious dragon hatchling

  New scales shining so bright

  In the gentle firelight

  A precious little hatchling

  Your untried claws are yet to hunt

  And your gossamer wings barely dry

  Precious little hatchling

  But one day you will fly far from me.

  And when you soar the skies,

  My precious little hatchling

  Remember that every flame I breathe

  Is for you

  As she finished, she reached a blue door—the color signified freedom in the sky and the hope of a better future for the dragons of tomorrow. Jazmonilly nodded at the two hulking dragons guarding the door. They saluted and stepped aside. On entering, Jazmonilly immediately felt at peace.

  Twelve stone blocks, knee-high to a dragon, the insides carved out to fit dragon eggs, sat against one of three blue walls. A mosaic of young dragons playing in the thermals above Vellonia decorated the fourth wall. Standing a dragon’s head shorter than Jazmonilly, and watching the eggs, was a gray-scaled dragon, her tummy a shade of pastel yellow.

  “Oh, Queen Jazmonilly. How lovely to see you.” The dragon nursemaid bowed her head in respect. “You’re just in time for today’s firing of the eggs. Would you like to do it?”

  The queen smiled and clasped her hands together. “I would love to, cousin. Thank you, Emerance.” Jazmonilly approached the line of eggs. Hello, future Vellonians. We can’t wait to meet you. Here is some fire to warm your tiny bodies and make you strong. She breathed in through her sizable nostrils, and then opened her mouth. A controlled stream of orange fire streamed out, flowing over the first egg and stone holder. The flame embraced the egg for a few seconds before Jaz moved to the next one, the stone holding the heat that would warm the egg for twenty hours. Walking down the line, she heated the eggs one by one.

  “There we are, Emerance. They’ll stay warm until tomorrow. I can’t wait until Arcese’s egg arrives. You’ll be seeing a lot more of me then.”

  Emerance smiled. “I look forward to it too, my queen. Ah, to have a royal baby in the nursery will be an honor. It’s been such a long time. I remember when Zimapholous, Arcese and Pandellen were in here. So long ago, but it feels like yesterday.”

  “They were such a handful—especially Zim, but he is such a good young dragon now, and who would have thought he would become part of The Circle. And I remember your little ones—Symbothial was always so lively.” Jaz smiled, her silver cheeks shining with pride until she saw the look on Emerance’s face. She put her clawed hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Emerance. We all miss your darling boy. Please forgive my slip up.”

  Emerance’s sorrowful expression flicked to anger before she schooled it to neutral so quickly that Jaz shrugged it off as her imagination fooling her. “I’ll see you soon. And thank you for doing such a wonderful job with our young ones.”

  “I live to serve the dragons, my queen.” Emerance inclined her head.

  Stepping out of the nursery, Jaz heard the guards talking and then noticed a black shape out of the corner of her eye. When she turned her head to look down the hallway, it had gone. She turned to the guards. “Shouldn’t you be paying attention? Not talking?”

  “Sorry, my queen. It just gets a bit, well, boring.”

  Jazmonilly flared her nostrils. “Complacency won’t be tolerated. If anything happens to those eggs, you will both be banished. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” both dragons answered in unison, bowing.

  “Now, did you see anything unusual while I was in there?”

  “No,” the larger dragon answered, being the more senior of the two.

  “Carry on, then, and don’t let me catch you slacking on the job again.” Jazmonilly lifted her chin and walked as regally as she could down the hall. But something bothered her. She had never caught guards talking on the job—not in the fifty years she had been queen. And what was that dark shape—if indeed there had been a dark shape. Hmm, I must be imagining things. There is too much to do without making up new things to worry about, you silly dragon. Trying to rationalize it did not stop the feeling of foreboding that slithered, spike by spike, down Jazmonilly’s spine.

  ***

  Bronwyn trudged next to the horse that Arcon led, her hand resting on Sinjenasta’s shoulder. The panther was still slung over the horse’s back—a week after they had left the seaside town. “He’s not getting any better, and the fever isn’t coming down.”

  Avruellen looked at her niece, lines of worry cementing a path across her usually smooth brow. “You don’t look so good, either.” The realmist placed the back of her hand on Bronwyn’s brow.

  “I’m okay. I don’t feel great, but what do you expect when my creatura is sick. Bloody infected gormons—I’m happy to die if I can at least kill a few before I go.

  “You’ll get your chance,” said Arcon. “But if we don’t get Sinjenasta to Vellonia soon, he may not.” He exchanged a fraught glance with his sister.

  “You’ll be okay, Bronwyn. You’ve got us.” Toran walked next to Bronwyn. Since they had met, he was never far away, wanting to stand near her and protect her from what may come.

  “I won’t be okay. You don’t understand—the bond between a realmist and their creatura goes deeper than anything you can imagine. I can feel his pain, and I have a fever too—even if it is mild. What happens to him, happens to me in a way. If he dies, part of me will die with him. I don’t know if I could survive with such a big hole in my heart.” Bronwyn looked at the panther, her eyes red and glistening with tears.

  Avruellen spoke into Arcon’s mind. If we don’t reach Vellonia soon, he’ll die. I think it’s time to call someone.

  Arcon sighed. That gormon saliva is packed with one Third Realm of an infectious punch. None of the herbs I’ve tried have done anything. I give him one, maybe two days.

  So, what are you waiting for? We’re what—another week from Vellonia? Call someone now!

  We’ve asked so much of them already. If they refuse, I’ll be more than angry. The last thing we need right now is a disagreement on our hands when we’re so close to going to war.

  If you don’t call them, Bronwyn could die. Maybe not today but in a few months—if we survive that long—she’ll lose the will to go on. You know that as well as I. It’s not a hard choice, Arcon.

  All right. Arcon stopped walking. “We’re going to rest here for an hour or two. Everyone find a place to sit.”

  Bronwyn looked at her uncle, dark circles under her eyes. “But we don’t have time to waste.”

  As Blayke and Corrille, who had been walking behind, moved past Bronwyn, Corrille bumped into her. “Oops. Sorry, Bronwyn.”

  Avruellen and Bronwyn both gave her a dirty look, and then Avruellen spoke mind to mind to her niece. If she wasn’t your friend, darling, I would have killed her by now.

  Auntie! You can’t say that, although I’m beginning to think your instincts were right.

  Beginning to think? Boh! Honestly, Bronwyn, you have to be more discerning when it comes to who you call a friend.

  The young realmist shook her head. Not now. Can you leave the lecture for another time?

  Avruellen sniffed, got some water from her pack and filled a kettle.

  Arcon helped Toran lift Sinjenasta off the horse. When they had settled him on the ground, Arcon said, “I’ve got a message to send, so if you talk to me, I won’t answer.” He sat cross-legged on the ground and stared into the distance.

  Valdorryn. Valdorryn, are you there?

  The dragon king answered immediately. Arcon? Is everything all right?

  No. I need your help. You know I wouldn’t ask unless I had the greatest need.

  Go on.

  We need a dragon, or two, who can come and take Sinjenasta, Bronwyn and I to Vellonia. Sinjenasta was injured in a skirmish we
had with a couple of gormons, and his wound is infected. He hasn’t got long to live unless we get him to Vellonia.

  But what can we do for him here that you can’t do there?

  I’m not sure, but I have a gut feeling that something in Vellonia can help.

  You want me to use my people as packhorses just because you have a gut feeling?

  Arcon winced at the insulted tone in the king’s voice. Bronwyn won’t be at her best if Sinjenasta dies, and if she’s distracted, it will be all the harder to fight off the gormons when they attack. We needed a whole circle, and we’re so close to Bronwyn and Blayke joining us. Please, King Valdorryn. I think your son, Pandellen, might know more about healing gormon-inflicted wounds than I do.

  Some of the dragons are already upset with me over letting my son, my daughter—their beloved princess—and our master of war, be used as camels, or some kind of flying workhorses. I don’t want to risk any more dissent. You know our history only too well. If you want our support in the war against the gormons, you’ll listen.

  Arcon balled his fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath to fend off the insult that wanted to fly off his tongue. If The Circle isn’t whole when the gormons attack, we won’t need your help. We’ll all be dead.

  Valdorryn didn’t answer, and the silence continued—a palpable presence that felt like thickening of the air.

  “Valdorryn!” The disembodied voice boomed throughout the dragon city and the clearing in which Arcon sat, causing everyone to jump. Avruellen put a hand to her chest, her eyes wide.

  The dragon king paled, his scales lightening by a few shades. Oh, no, not again. He shook his head.

  “I wouldn’t have to interfere if you would make the right decisions. I have trusted you to do what is best for the dragons. Be the leader your people need, Valdorryn. If any dragon wants to argue with your decision, put them in the dungeon. Now, I would appreciate it if you helped Arcon. Don’t make me have to interfere again—I have more important things to do.”

  Arcon blew a breath out, looked up and mouthed, “Thank you.”