***
Legs dangling off the high bench seat, Blayke pushed the eggs around his plate with his fork. “I’m not really hungry.”
Arcon bit into a gozzleberry muffin. “You learn to steel your heart after about one-hundred years. I’m too old to go hungry.” Crumbs collected in the corners of his mouth and he flicked them away with his finger. “It could still turn out okay.”
Fang sat on the table next to Blayke’s plate and nibbled at his own muffin. But they’ve been gone all night. What’s taking so long?
“You would have to ask Drakon.”
No thanks. Fang shook his head and twitched his whiskers.
“What if they. . .?”
“If they’re not back tonight, my boy, we’ll talk about it then. Have faith.”
Blayke rolled his eyes. “Where has that gotten me so far? Or you, for that matter. What is this all for? We beat the gormons, and then what? We’re all going to die one day anyway.”
“Blayke! Do not go down that path. Life is a gift, and you should make the most of it: enjoy the company of those around you, strive to make others happy, live in each moment. That's the point. And give others that chance. I don’t want to hear you speak like that ever again. Understand?” Arcon glared at the younger realmist.
Blayke snorted.
“Well?”
“Whatever. Okay, I won’t say that ever again.” Around you, he said to himself. He turned to Fang. Where are they? Do you think Drakon will save them?
My rat sense tells me that he will. Fang ran up Blayke’s arm, sat on his shoulder and patted his cheek with his paw. It will all work out fine, I promise. Remember when you saved me from Phantom? I didn’t think I’d get out of that barn alive that night, but I did. What are the chances of a realmist bonding a rat? And do you know how many rats there are? Out of all the rats in the world, you chose me. Miracles happen, Blayke. Our bond is proof.
I suppose you’re right. Blayke stroked Fang’s back. “I’m going to go for a walk.”
“So, you’re not going to finish your breakfast?”
Blayke shook his head.
“Do you mind?” Arcon leaned across and grabbed Blayke’s plate, sliding it across to his side of the table. “Thanks.”
Blayke laughed, and, with Fang on his shoulder, walked into the hall.
“Hey, Blayke! Where are you going?” Brownyn waved and smiled as she approached, Sinjenasta by her side.
He froze before smiling, running to her and throwing his arms around her. “Is it really you?”
“It’s definitely me. Ha! Drakon saw fit to save us, but there’s something else I need to talk to you about.”
Blayke stepped back. “What?”
“Where’s Arcon?”
“In there.” Blayke jerked his head toward the dining room.
“Come on.” She took his hand and dragged him in, Sinjenasta padding along behind them.
Fang looked over Blayke’s shoulder and smiled. Good to see you, old friend. What kept you?
Good to see you too, little rat. I was busy making myself presentable. He winked.
Well, we’re happy to have you back.
Sinjenasta smiled.
On entering the dining hall, Arcon stopped mid-chew before jumping up to embrace his niece. “I can’t believe it. Drakon kept his word.” He leaned back to look her over. “And not a scratch.”
She laughed. “I’m fine, and so is Sinje. But we have news.” They all sat around the table, and Bronwyn told them who Sinjenasta was, although she left out the part where they could be together as humans in the Sacred Realm. She would tell Blayke later, because he would understand, but she was worried that if her elders knew, they would stop her from trying to slip back across into the Sacred Realm. Plus it would add extra worry, and they didn’t need anything to distract them from the task ahead.
“So the secret’s out, hey?” asked Arcon.
Did you know? Sinjenasta stared at the realmist.
“Agmunsten mentioned something when you were both under arrest, but I wasn’t well, and I thought I might have imagined it, plus he wasn’t one-hundred percent sure.”
Thank you for keeping my secret. Bronwyn needed to learn from me without feeling uncomfortable.
Arcon shrugged. “So, you’re back in panther form again. When do you get to turn back?”
When this is over—if I survive. Sinjenasta shot a warning glance at Bronwyn, to which she gave a slight nod.
Bronwyn eyed Arcon’s near-empty plate. “Any chance of me grabbing some food? I haven’t been this hungry in a long time.”
“My appetite’s seemed to have returned, too.” Blayke patted his stomach.
“I have some things to do. On my way through, I’ll tell the kitchen to send some more food up. I’m glad to see things are finally back to normal—at least where everyone’s stomachs are concerned. And later, I want you to join me for some channeling practice—you need to build up the amount of power you can hold.” Arcon turned to Phantom. “Come on.” He placed his forearm in front of the owl who had been sleeping on the stone mantle. After he stepped aboard, Arcon departed, leaving the younger realmists to catch up.
***
Jazmonilly was discussing the night’s dinner menu with the head cook, when Arcon entered the bustling kitchen. “Good news, Queen Jazmonilly. Bronwyn and Sinjenasta are back. Drakon saved their lives.”
“That’s wonderful news. Her room is ready, and we’ve put some bedding on the floor for Sinjenasta.”
“Thank you. I’ll let her know. Can we have some more breakfast sent up to the dining room?”
“Of course. Mendalon will get to it straight away.” Jaz smiled at the head cook.
“Certainly, Your Highness.” The smaller yellow-scaled dragon grabbed a bowl before going to the larder for the pancake ingredients.
“Arcon, would you mind taking a quick walk with me?”
“Certainly, Jaz.” Arcon followed her out of the kitchen and into the valley. The sweet fragrance of jasmine and dragon lilies reminded him that spring was turning into summer.
When they were out of earshot of the dragons’ mountain castle, Jaz stopped. “I need your opinion on something, and it is strictly confidential—you can’t even tell my husband.”
“Sounds serious.”
“Do I have your word?”
“As much as keeping secrets from the dragon king is against my better judgment, you have my word that I will not repeat what you are about to say, to anyone.”
“Thank you. How well do you know the realmists that Agmunsten sent from the academy?”
“I’ve only seen one of them around: Zella.”
“She’s the one with a ferret for a creatura.”
“Yes. Feisty little animal.” Arcon laughed.
“Would you trust Zella?”
“Yes, I would. I don’t know her well, but last time I visited the academy, Agmunsten seemed happy with her.”
“And she has no reason to hate Agmunsten or any of the other realmists?”
“No. Has she done something that worries you?”
“Not her.” Jaz looked around before leaning down to whisper to Arcon. “But there is someone who has. I’ve been having trouble with the spires, and there are other things that I can’t talk about yet. Do you know the one with the dark beard? His name is Crotus, and he wears black gems in his ears—earrings, you call them.”
“Can’t say I know the fellow. Why don’t you introduce us at dinner tonight and I’ll see what I can find out?”
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all. Why don’t we meet out here tomorrow morning, before breakfast.”
“Thank you, Arcon. Now I must go—I promised my son Pandellen that I would have lunch with him.”
Arcon bowed. Not ready to go inside, he thought a walk through the valley would be a good way to enjoy the fine weather and get a better look at where the best vantage points would be in battle. It was always good to have a prime position when
throwing fireballs at gormons.
As he strolled toward the river, he didn’t notice the dark-hooded figure that watched him from a fourth-story window. The figure stuck his arm out of the opening and a crow swooped up. With the bird safely settled on his forearm, Crotus brought him inside and altered his plans.
Chapter 15
The heat of the day had cooled somewhat in the hours since sunset. For the second time that day, Zim landed on a rooftop in Tranquility. The dark shrouded the dragon and his companions, Astra and Agmunsten. Not wanting to take any more chances, the realmists held Second-Realm power as they dismounted. The pebbles on High Chancellor Calinsar’s roof crunched together as they searched for the door. “Not this again,” Agmunsten mumbled.
“I can fly you down.”
“After this morning, I think a subtle entrance might work better.” The realmist stared at Astra and Zim, challenging them to disagree.
Astra pulled a dagger from her boot and held it in front of her before stepping as quietly as she could to the eastern side of the roof, where a large square shadow indicated a structure above the roofline. On reaching it, she saw it was, indeed, a door set in a squat stone structure. The realmist looked back to check where her colleagues were. Seeing them close by, she put her ear to the door and listened. No light spilled from underneath, and nothing could be heard.
The realmist placed her hand on the knob and turned slowly, hoping no squeaks would give them away. Astra let out a quiet breath—the door opened silently. She quickly slipped inside. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness on the flight over, and she could make out potted plants lining the walls and hanging from the ceiling; a balustrade in the middle of the room surrounded a darker hole—the staircase.
As she descended, the treads gradually became visible—white marble with a red hand-woven runner set in the center. At the bottom of the stairs, she walked along a wide torch-lit hallway, a portrait displayed on the left and right every four feet. She looked back and saw Agmunsten reach the landing and Zim hunched over, squeezing to fit.
Astra kept her voice low. “Which way?”
Agmunsten shrugged. “You’re the Zamahlan. You tell me.”
“I pick east.”
“Any reason?”
Astra grinned. “It’s as good a direction as any.” Seeing that Zim had finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Astra jogged quietly down the hall. Snatches of memory came to her as she passed bronze busts of previous chancellors. As a child, her parents had brought her here on a tour—Zamahlans all came to see the chancellor’s residence at one time or another. She supposed, thinking back, it was a way to impress the average person—make sure they remained in awe of those in power.
Her mother had worn her very best red dress and had clothed her daughter in a matching outfit. Astra smiled—they had gotten a lot of attention that day, on account of how sweet everyone thought they looked—mother and daughter. Her heart suddenly ached. Was her mother still alive?
Conversation drifted to them from up ahead, reminding the Astra why they were there. She stopped and motioned at the others to do the same. Twenty feet ahead, another staircase leading to the ground floor intersected with the corridor, and two servants, one carrying a tray covered with food, the other an armful of papers, had just reached the top. Thankfully, they turned to their right, away from the realmists.
Good choice, Astra. Who else lives here?
Thanks, Zim. The chancellor lives here with his partner and their children, if they have any. And he can move his parents in, too—so the extended family.
How are we going to find which bedroom is his, then? Agmunsten raised his brows and put his hands palms-up in the air. He hated trying to emphasize his point when speaking mind-to-mind—it felt strange. If someone not privy to the conversation was to see him gesticulating for apparently no reason, they might lock him up for weird behavior.
Luckily for us, I remember that part of the tour.
What tour? Agmunsten looked behind them to make sure they weren’t about to receive a nasty surprise. The hallway was empty.
When I was a child. Anyway, the chancellor’s bedroom door has a big “C” in gold lettering and the five-pointed star of office underneath. The door is onyx, so it really stands out.
Nice and easy. Zim nodded.
I’d prefer not to kill any of my countrymen this time, if we can avoid it.
We’ll do our best, but I can’t give you any guarantees. Sorry. Agmunsten placed a hand on her shoulder. Are you ready? He took the silence as assent. Let’s go.
The shadows along the corridor were not large enough to hide a grown man, let alone a dragon whose head almost touched the soaring ceiling, so they hurried. Agmunsten stayed ahead of Astra, and Zim was behind.
Before they reached the end of the passageway, the servants they had seen earlier reappeared, walking toward them. The one who had been holding the papers saw them. She opened her mouth to scream.
Astra shot Second-Realm power at them. “Sleep,” she said. They dropped to the floor.
“Effective.” Agmunsten nodded.
“I used to practice on the students who were in the mood to disrupt my class. They only ever disobeyed me once.” Astra laughed.
“Looks like they came from that way.” Zim pointed to the right, where the hall came to a “T.”
Agmunsten and Astra dragged one body each and laid them next to the wall, somewhat out of sight. The head realmist straightened his shirt before leading them down the next corridor. This one had paintings of creatures, rather than people. There was a painting of a welpid, horses and even a lizard. But Astra stopped and stared when she came across the likeness of a gormon, its red-eyed gaze shooting adrenaline through her body. It wore a crown of what looked like human bones on its head. “Agmunsten,” she hissed. “Look at this.”
He studied the picture, noting the word “Kwaad” in red letters under the terrifying image. Frowning, he moved along the hall, viewing each painting in turn, until he came to a black-and-white drawing of a dragon. Its face was turned to the viewer, mouth open wide in an aggressive pose. Nestled in its humungous hand was a round object. Agmunsten leaned closer and held up a Second-Realm-created ball of light. In black lettering at the bottom was the word “Devorum.” “Tell me what you make of this.”
Agmunsten stepped aside to allow Zim, and then Astra, to have a look. “I’ve heard of Devorum—he’s part of our dragon myths. Supposedly he was one of Drakon’s original priests, until there was some kind of falling-out. Devorum disagreed with something Drakon did and was banished from the god’s realm. It’s said that he was confined to the Sacred Realm for eternity.”
Astra squinted. “Do you think that’s Talia in his hand?”
“Hard to tell.” Agmunsten squeezed between Zim and Astra for another look. “But that’s what I was thinking. It certainly looks like some kind of planet from the First Realm.”
Zim raised his head from the picture and looked around. “We should keep going. It’s only a matter of time before someone sees us and raises an alarm.”
The gold lettering they were looking for finally appeared—at the end of the dim hall. No guards stood at either side of the tall double doors. Was it a trap? Or maybe he wasn’t in residence at the moment. Astra chastised herself—she should have asked one of the servants before she rendered them unconscious. I’ll form a shield over us, and you and Zim can provide the firepower if necessary.
Okay, Astra. Just a moment, and I’ll check the lock. Agmunsten sent his awareness into the mechanism. This looks promising. It’s locked. He might be home after all. After assessing how the key should be shaped, he fashioned one out of Second-Realm energy. The “key” was poised, ready to turn. Let me know when the shield is up, Astra, and I’ll open the door.
On three. She shut her eyes, mumbled “one, two, three” and opened her eyes.
Agmunsten turned the key, and the latch clicked. He grabbed both handles and flung the doors open simultaneously. “W
hat in the Third Realm?” He put his hands up, palms ready to cast fireballs. The room was pleasant enough—acorn-brown leather seats, a low table dark timber paneling and a generous bed. It could have been a room in any well-to-do Talian residence. The unexpected item stood in the middle of the room.
“Welcome, realmists,” the gormon rasped. “We’ve been expecting you.”
CHAPTER 16
Birds chirped in the late afternoon sun on the ledge outside the Veresian king’s bedroom window. Edmund’s manservant helped him don leather armor, and then a vest with his blue family emblem displayed on the chest. The king reached for his gloves.
“But, Your Highness, don’t you want your cape?” The shorter man, his shoulder-length salt-and-pepper-colored hair tied in a tail at the nape of his neck, proffered said cape to the king.
“They only get in the way. I’m not going to prance around with that thing flowing behind me—it could get caught on something, or grabbed. Capes never made any sense to me.” Edmund pulled his gloves on and secured his sword belt around his waist.
Elphus, who insisted that he didn’t need armor—he had Second-Realm power to shield him—handed Edmund a dagger. “Remember: gormons can be killed, although it’s not easy to do with a conventional weapon. This dagger has an aura around it that no one can see. On contact with warm blood, it activates.”
“And does what, exactly?” The king held the weapon carefully and studied it.
“It only works once. It sends a chemical through the blood that destroys the blood’s ability to coagulate.”
“So the gormon bleeds to death from the inside?”
“Yes. It takes about a minute for the gormon to feel the effects, maybe five minutes to die. It’s not pretty. It works on people too, so be careful.”
“I’m not sure I want to carry it.”
“There’s a good chance you’re going to be in close quarters with a gormon soon, and it would make me feel better if you had this with you.”
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