The one in the flannel shirt raised a hand to the others. “Well, I’m first, ‘cause I laid eyes on them before the rest of you burnfaces.”
“I ain’t no burnface,” a voice from behind countered.
“Anyhow, I’m first.”
“Nope, I called the scorpent. I’m first,” Dupe replied, thrusting fists into his jacket pockets.
While the Vizards argued, the scorpent slid closer. Its head dropped to reveal the gigantic stinger scorpion tail, coiled tight and arching directly above Lyra and Cullen.
He lowered his staff, the tip glowing blue with his aura, poised to fire.
Lyra lifted her hand, and the sets of her bloodswear ring pulsed with light.
Slowly, the scorpent withdrew a few feet.
With his free hand, Cullen took hold of Lyra’s arm and guided her to the side of the tunnel away from the monster.
Over her shoulder, she saw the Vizards continue to argue, so engrossed they didn’t notice the scorpent hovering without striking.
Lyra’s heart pounded in her chest as she felt along the damp stone wall to guide her forward. Her eyes remained fixed on the scorpent. She wondered if Mrinx’s obsidian vapor held the creature off. Not trusting the effluvial magic, Lyra kept an incantation ready to fire off of her ring. She led them away, foot by foot, until they rounded a curve.
Cullen took a step back and circled his staff high in the air, gathering power. He released a blanket of pale blue light in the direction of the group of Vizards. Pushing into Lyra’s side, he whispered, “We’re out of sight. Run.”
She set off without looking back. They needed to find the way out, but were on a different connector than before. It confused her sense of direction.
Footsteps sounded again behind them, and she darted down a side path. At the next junction, they paused to look either way and then at each other.
Between her racing pulse and gasps for breath, Lyra only heard the familiar drip-drip-drip of water trickling down the walls. “I think we lost them.”
Cullen panted and nodded as he looked down both directions of the crossing tunnel, a major thoroughfare. “I see lights down there. That must be the other village, where we met Scrunt. My guess is our exit lies the other way.”
“Will our Alliance gems point us to the portal?”
“Good idea. At some point, I think we’ll detect magnetism of Alliance ley lines, channeling electricity toward the lair.” After turning onto the connector, Cullen tipped his staff. “Tactus.” The sapphire sparked into a glow. “Decessio coma,” he whispered, and the light dampened to a flicker.
Lyra lifted her hand to her face and softly applied the same incantation to her ring.
They jogged along the main passage. At the junction of another trail, Lyra jumped when she heard a shuffling, hissing sound. She planted her feet and raised her arm to strike. Only a couple rats stopped to bare their teeth before skittering away. Nerves spent, her muscles collapsed, and her arms hung limp.
This happened twice more along the path, leaving her exhausted from energy spent on fight-or-flight responses. Running no longer an option, she trudged onward. Her strength worn down, she hoped they picked the correct direction.
At a crossroads, their gems sparked. Turning in each direction and observing her sapphires, Lyra asked, “Which direction? The ring seems to glow the same each way.”
“Who’s there?” a man’s voice called out of the darkness. Slowly the face of a Rotter became visible. He stood from a kneeling position. “Folks here need no flame,” he muttered. Trailing a hand along the wall, his feet stumbled over the uneven surface. His belly spilling over his belt, he seemed a bit rounder than others of his kind.
Cullen motioned Lyra to remain silent.
She nodded and cut off her aura that lit the gems.
“I’m in need of directions. I’ll gladly offer a trade,” the Rotter said, lifting his snout and sniffing the air.
“Where do you need to go?” Cullen asked.
“Headed toward Dradgest.”
“Why are you lost?”
The Rotter hesitated, kicking a rock with the toe of his scuffed boot while he clamped a clawed hand tight on a rocky projection.
Cullen stepped forward. He waved his darkened staff before the rat-man’s blank face and received no response. “Again, tell me why you need help.”
The rat-man sighed. “Just came from that open portal. Looked out and didn’t think my eyes would ever see more than a glare. Once I got an eyeful, a wide board pounded me back into the tunnel. Now, I’m as good as blind.”
Hearing this word of hope, Lyra’s tired posture straightened.
“I think we can work a deal.” Cullen smiled at her. “Tell us how to reach the portal, and we’ll give you directions to Dradgest.”
“Agreed. Tell me the way.” The Rotter leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling of the tunnel.
“Since you are at the disadvantage, lacking sight, you reveal your information first.”
“Well enough. Back how I came, first crossing to the right, then second to the left.”
“Thank you. To reach Dradgest, turn left at the second junction.”
“Thanks be to you also.” The Rotter grinned, showing yellowed snags of teeth.
Lyra slipped past him, staying well to the other side of the tunnel, although she caught a whiff of a pungent herbal odor about him. She looked back, and the rat-man crawled on all fours with his side touching the wall.
At the right turn, the sapphire dragon eyes in her ring gleamed. After rounding the left corner, light shining from the portal supplied her with newfound strength and fueled a brisk walk that soon increased to a jog.
With sunlight on her face, she smiled up at the watchful eyes of Cranewort. “We made it!” She crawled onto the ground, enjoying the softness of the forest loam.
Cullen kneeled and wrapped his arms around her.
Cranerwort’s large, flat leaves whipped in all directions. “I’m so happy to see you both! I’ll send word to the Imperial Dragon that you’ve returned.”
Cullen dragged his body to stand and offered Lyra his arm. “Direct him to meet us at the main well of the Meadow.” With a sure-handed spin of his staff, he conjured a wide blue cloud around the two of them. His free arm held her tight to his side.
The face of the ancient tree fading from her view, the familiar weightless sensation, the musky citrus smell of Cullen’s skin—a wave of gratitude swept over Lyra.
Chapter Five: Cure or Cost
A whoosh of wing beats blew away Cullen’s mist, and Lyra saw the outstretched golden sails of the Imperial Dragon. He tilted his wings backward to break his momentum. “I’m overjoyed to see your return!” he exclaimed before he completely landed in the main clearing of the Meadow of Peace.
The ground shook under Lyra’s feet. The Unicorn, Guardian of the Earth, galloped up. Double the size of a horse, when he skidded to a halt he created a wide dust cloud that mingled with the long, wispy tendrils of his silver aura. “My lord, have we learned the outcome?” He snorted and shook his white mane, tangled with brambles from what was likely a swift trip through his forest domain.
“Not yet.” The leader raised a single foreclaw. “The flame of our Phoenix approaches.” He looked up and spoke to the golden, blazing ball as it spun downward in front of him. “Our Guardian of Fire, you are the Lady of Peace who takes no part in warfare. Your presence must portend that our Scribe and Imperial Sorcerer bear good news.”
The burning orb spun faster, whipping into the form of a firebird. She extended the blue tips of her wings to halt her rotation. Golden tail feathers dripped sparks. She bowed her mauve head low before Lyra. “The Head Guardian is correct. I sense that your actions have once again brought aid to our people. Please share.”
Cullen pulled one of the bottles from his pack. “We have brought a black magic potion that will cure our sick. We have a dose for each of the wells that supply drinking water to those affected. We watched while specia
l obsidian dust was incorporated into the mixture and sampled the power of the vapors above the cauldron. That should also protect residents from future conjured dark illnesses.”
“Indeed, good news, if it is efficacious. Please administer the potion to this well. As a test, we’ll offer its water to those who come forward as volunteers.” The Imperial Dragon moved to the opposite side of the casing and motioned for his fellow Guardians to join.
The Phoenix flew to a perch on the wooden beam high above the shaft where massive pulleys fed ropes to collecting pails.
Lyra glanced at Cullen as they stepped through the wildflowers to the near side of the well. “I think we should practice saying the incantation before opening the bottle, to be sure we can remember.”
Cullen nodded. “Yes. Between the effects of the Vizard’s effluvial magic and transitioning to Dragonspeir, we may have difficulties. You first.”
“Saturate and billify...” She hesitated, unable to find all the words.
“Saturificate entrend e billify…” He paused. “How does it complete? My mind is blank.”
A tremble ran along Lyra’s spine. She closed her eyes and searched her mind, channeling a portion of her heart aura to her memory. “…din aquifer en totalle,” she added and then recited the entire sentence. “Ready.”
“You state the incantation, backing it with some of your scribal power. The unusual nature of your aura may also confuse dark forces.” He leaned over the stone housing and loosened the cork. “As soon as it’s unstoppered, begin.”
Lyra nodded, mentally reciting her line and pulling a larger quantity of her aura to a ready position in her mind.
Cullen wedged the cork free from the neck of the bottle. He tilted it, and the viscous dark liquid oozed, hanging at the lip. Rather than pouring out, it circled the glass mouth, as if waiting for guidance.
“Saturificate entrend e billify din aquifer en totalle,” she pronounced each syllable with precision. Once she spoke the last word of the incantation, the potion flowed out and spiraled around the rim of the well, shimmering soft light onto her and Cullen’s faces. Moving lower, it lit the stone casing of the well. Moments later, a sizzling noise echoed upward, followed by wisps of faintly glimmering vapor.
“This well is now enchanted with the cure,” Cullen stated as he turned to face the Imperial Dragon. “How do you wish to test the water? Do we have a volunteer who wishes to attempt the treatment? Or should a non-magical animal be the first subject?”
Without waiting for guidance, the Unicorn struck the ground with a hoof and spread his billowing aura farther around him. “I’ll bring back a volunteer and also an animal.” With a snort of silvery mist from his flared nostrils, he charged away, reaching a gallop after only a few strides.
Cullen grasped the rope lead on the collecting bucket and lowered it down. They all stood silent, watching. Even the surrounding sprites hushed the wildflowers in the Meadow of Peace. Only the grinding of metal pulleys broke the stillness. As he hoisted up the first bucket of water, the remaining Guardians edged closer with the fairies hanging above them.
“How it fizzes with bubbles,” remarked the Phoenix. “And it glimmers—”
“With suspended particles.” The golden leader interrupted. “Let’s hope those are safe for our consumption.”
No one ventured a response. Lyra’s breath was shallow in her chest.
Finally, the thundering of the Unicorn’s hoofs shook the ground, and in moments, he came into view, carrying two men.
Not far behind, Bero led two blue bucks. He and the members of his herd each transported a man. Bero held his chest high, and his silver antlers caught the light.
Kenzo, Cullen’s tiger owl assistant, flew alongside, his silver and white striped wings spread wide.
At the back of the group, Noba flapped his tiny pseudodragon wings, unable to match the agile flight of the owl, even though the two were equally about three feet from nose to tail.
The Unicorn jerked to restrain his pace, and mist puffed from his mouth.
At the sight of her good friends, Lyra’s heart soared.
A team of dozens of sprites flitted around the weakened riders. Trails of magic threads secured the men onto the backs of the Guardian and the three deer.
As the Unicorn trotted toward the well area, he billowed filaments of his aura upward around his riders, which braced them when he stopped.
Lyra took a step toward them, intending to help the volunteers.
“Stop! Lyra stay away from them,” Cullen exclaimed. “You may be at risk. No one knows.” After securing the end of the basket rope to a metal cleat, he eased each man off of his escort to a seated position several yards from the well. “Good to have your assistance,” he said to the volunteers and gently slapped the muscled shoulders of the bucks. “And my assistant and familiar, thank you as well for organizing security with the sprites.”
Four of the men were elderly and suffering with advanced stages of the pestilence. They stared blankly. Red patches covered their arms and faces, bleeding under the skin. Too weak to sit upright, they slumped against large stones. The fifth man was much younger, in his prime. Although his symptoms appeared as advanced, he sat without aid. He held out a live chicken in a burlap bag to Cullen.
The wizard accepted the hen and took it to the ledge of the well.
Kenzo sailed to a perch beside his master. After the owl bowed his head to the Phoenix who sat on the crossbeam, he stroked the tip of his wing along Lyra’s arm. He fixed his big ice blue eyes on her. “When I learned where you’d gone, I was…” he lowered his voice to a whisper. “…afraid.” He quickly folded his wings and puffed out his feathers.
Noba followed, clasping his talons onto the ledge at her other side, his poisonous barbed tail whipping so wildly that she took a step closer to the owl. “Noba happy to have Lady Lyra back safe. Was frightened.”
She looked from one to the other. “It’s okay to be afraid. I’m sure glad to see you two again.” She lifted two ladles from where they hung on hooks in the wooden frame.
Without a word, Kenzo grasped one in his beak and dipped the bowl of the spoon into the pail while Lyra held it steady.
Cullen grasped the flapping chicken.
She removed a shallow metal bowl from where dippers hung, filled it, and placed it before the hen.
The chicken took a beak full and tipped its head back to swallow.
Cullen loosened his hold. In the next minute, it cackled wildly, flopped its wings, then quieted. He placed it on the ground, and it went about the usual business of pecking and clucking. “Seems safe for a hen, after some minor effects. Shall we observe longer?” He looked at the Imperial Dragon.
“Every hour we face more death. Dozens passed while you were away.” The leader snorted a puff of smoke high into the air and thumped his tail against the ground. He sighed and looked at the sorcerer. “I will assume the responsibility. Let us proceed with treatment of those affected, using utmost caution.” He nodded to each of the other three Guardians. “Be sure to keep all healers on high alert. Don’t forget Mimio, the Tortoise’s assistant, a fine healer who is working in the near village. I told the two of them to remain there since he travels slowly.”
The old man nearest Cullen raised a hand to volunteer, but the middle-aged man labored to stand and said, “Denkus, you have grandchildren who need you. Let me bear the risk in case the potion needs adjustment. I have no wife or children.”
The older man lowered his hand and nodded. “Jeldan, you are brave. May you heal and find a wife.”
Cullen steadied Jeldan with an arm around his broad shoulders and helped transfer the ladle from Kenzo.
The villager wrapped shaking fingers around the handle, nails still stained from working the fields, and lifted it to his lips. He took a cautious sip. After swallowing, he stared at the ground for a few seconds, waiting.
From a distance, Lyra strained to watch movements of the man’s chest.
His bre
athing remained shallow.
She held her own breath.
Suddenly, a cobalt blue sentry cut across the sky, carrying a rider. The dragon approached the Meadow, traveling fast. The beast tipped his wings to resist the air and dug his talons into the ground, sending sprites darting in all directions and blossoms bending out of his way. Just as soon as he halted, a slender young woman slid off, stepped down onto his wing tendon and sprang onto the ground.
She ran toward the group, her long brown braid jostling about her shoulders and her thin work apron tearing on flower briars. “Jeldan! What have you done?” she cried, taking hold of his arm that still held the ladle.
The man turned toward her. “It’s all right, Mita. I have no one. You are my sister, but your husband looks after you now.”
“You do have me. I care. You took the cure?” Her tears streamed as she scanned his face. “How do you feel? Wait! Your eyes! Sparks just flashed over them. Jeldan? Why?” she pleaded.
Cullen gently placed a hand under Jeldan’s chin and lifted his face. “Yes, but receding now. Ruddiness is covering your cheeks.” The wizard touched the man’s forhead. “You don’t feel feverish.”
Jeldan closed his eyes and drew a long, deep breath. “I feel strength flowing through my limbs, as well as I’ve felt on my finest days.” He smiled at his sister.
“Let me be more certain there are no ill effects.” Cullen rubbed his hands lightly along the man’s body and took extra time examining his chest and torso. “All internal organs are functioning properly. The internal bleeding of the pestilence has stopped.”
Eyes still watering, Mita gave her brother a hug, but now a smile lit her face. “You’ll make a fine uncle.”
“You’re having a baby?” Jeldan asked, beaming. He took her hands and held her at arm’s length to look at the small bump of her belly.
By that time, many villagers had walked up and formed a circle around the assembly.
Cullen gently clasped the woman’s arm. “There is a blood bruising on your inner forearm. How long has this been here?”
“It’s nothing. Just from doing chores,” she replied.
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