“Scribe Lyra! Please help us,” a male voice she’d heard before called to her.
She glanced off the trail in the direction of the voice. Two scruffy men crouched behind a bush. With a second look, she recognized their ashen-green complexions and lanky frames—Lesot and Angom, her friends, the Malificates from Terza.
A shiver ran down her spine. She prayed the run burned off enough of the ruby’s fire. She couldn’t endure harming these kind souls who’d helped her so much. They needed her. She wanted to return their kindness. Images of the burning Qumeli welled tears into her eyes. Would the ruby allow her to be compassionate?
Angom looked over his shoulder, then waved her to join them.
Trembling, Lyra swallowed hard, returned the Staurolite, and hurried toward them.
Chapter Twenty-one: Portal to Terza
Lyra dropped behind the bush and took a seat between Lesot and Angom. “Why are you here? Are you in danger?”
Lesot nodded. “Since last we met, the Vizards are more cruel to our people.” Wrinkles criss-crossed his gray-green complexion more deeply than Lyra remembered. Rips now riddled the coarse fabric of his dark tunic and leggings. Strands of hair escaped his usually neat gray ponytail, which hung from a small patch of hair growing at his crown. Taller than Angom, Lesot’s knobby knees pointed at odd angles in order to squat out of sight.
“To get a better way, we’ve come here to the portal, like fathers before us, for a barter,” Angom continued the explanation. “But the dark drakes offer no deal for what our people need —matans, what you call…I can’t think—”
“Pseudodragons, like Sire Drake’s Noba,” Lyra replied.
“Yes. With no deal, we’ve come to steal some back. Where do we find matans in your world?” With a wide-eyed stare and brows lifted, Angom studied her face. Like his partner, his clothing appeared shabby. She remembered him dressed with olive trousers neatly tucked into thick-soled boots. Previously, only his hands had showed hardship from working in the mines, calloused with obsidian dust embedded under the nails. Now, his pant legs hung in shreds as if something had chewed on the hems. And the hair at his crown hung in a web of tangles rather than a groomed ponytail. His eyes revealed signs of stress, puffy and sagging lids, the whites marred with reddened vessels.
“I’m not familiar with this area, but I did see a group of half a dozen following me earlier.” She peeked over the top edge of the bush.
A trio of drakes patrolled an open tunnel, the portal to the underground world of Terza. Under their watchful eyes, four other Malificates hauled buckets of black, shiny ore. The men’s knees bent under the strain. Lyra expected more than three drakes in charge of this operation, but war times probably cut the size of this staff.
She lowered to the ground. “Only three guards. They’re busy watching others bring some kind of ore.”
“The crude form of our magic obsidian dust,” Lesot replied and held up a small, stoppered vial of sparkling black powder secured by a leather cord at his neck.
The shimmers arrested Lyra’s attention. She remembered bathing her hands in the steaming obsidian dust that rose above his mother’s cauldron. For a short while, the dust cleansed and protected her against black magic, and she felt untouchable. She sensed the ruby hunger for that invincibility. Recovering from the run, her slowed metabolism seemed to allow the gem’s power back into her brain.
“Are you well?” Lesot studied her face.
She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the greed away. With her chin, she pointed toward the trail. “I’ll be all right. Let’s look for pseudodragons.”
Bodies bent low, they scurried toward the trail. After rounding a bend, they stood and walked to a wide trunk.
“I last saw pseudodragons here.” Lyra scanned the trees.
“There!” Angom whispered excitedly and pointed. He glanced at his partner. “How will they come down?”
Lesot shook his head and fingered the vial, which drew Lyra’s gaze again. He touched her shoulder. “You can get them from trees for us?”
She wiped a hand over her forehead to brace herself against her internal conflict, then faced two pseudodragons staring down at them. “They’ve been following me for a while, but I don’t know why.”
Unable to deduce what attracted them, she considered each of the magical valuables she carried. That species of dragon originated outside of Dragonspeir, brought in by the Black Dragon’s cimafa in search of powerful souls to reuse. She displayed the moonstone end of the violin, but Arial magic made no impression on the tiny dragons. One by one, she lifted her Alliance amulets and gems: the phoenix flame in its glass orb; the black amber butterfly and pocket watch talisman hanging from her neck; the heliodor scrying stone and opal invisibility ring fastened to her jade brooch. She twirled her wizard’s staff until light sparked from the golden sapphire tip.
None elicited any response, although the pair of pseudodragons watched her intently, tilting their heads to one side, then the other. Three others flew to join them.
Alerted by a flood of mental images, Lyra paused and revisited each gem. Contact with each Alliance token awakened memories and emotions previously clouded by the ruby’s strong will. She pictured the proud Phoenix Guardian. Thinking of her example of courage, Lyra straightened her posture. She felt the Unicorn Guardian’s conviction and honor through the smooth surface of his heliodor, and lifted her head high. A gift from Gea, Yasqu’s mother and a brave golden dragon, the rare opal reminded Lyra to be courageous. Her pride swelled, remembering when the Imperial Dragon awarded her the golden sapphire staff. But the other two pulled at her heart with a warmth she’d somehow lost. The pocket watch, her engagement gift to Cullen, now moderated her influx of power from fire stars. Her lovers’ jadestone, bonded to its mate which Cullen wore, reassured her that he lived and loved her still.
Two keystones remained. Lyra dreaded contacting the ruby with her skin. The pseudodragons had followed her run when she kept the ruby out of sight, so, perhaps, that didn’t attract them. Instead, she removed the Staurolite from her pocket and held it at arm’s length. The two crystalline arms spun rapidly on a central axis.
Apparently startled, the pseudodragons squawked and flapped to upper branches.
Lyra stowed the stone and scanned the sky, in case their motions alerted the fire drakes. Upon finding no cause for alarm, she grazed the pocket with the ruby, then jerked her hand away and clenched her jaw. One last try—she walked under the tree and peered up at the five little chattering beasts.
“Take care. These are wild. Not so like your Noba,” Lesot said. He and Angom followed close behind.
The pseudodragon perched lowest dropped to the branch above her. The others joined on the next limb.
Instinctively, Lyra lifted her arms and opened her hands.
The leader swooped to her feet and spoke in broken words with a rhythm of the Qumeli’s language.
She bent toward the three-foot-tall dragon and held out her hand to rub his head. “What do you want?”
He sniffed her fingers and arm, then chortled a happy remark.
“You must smell Noba’s scent on my skin.” Lyra laughed, then gulped it back, suddenly conscious of alerting the drakes.
The other tiny dragons joined the leader, cautiously smelling her skin before they relaxed onto their haunches.
Lyra linked arms with the pair of Malificate and drew them closer to the flock. “Our contact might encourage their friendship with you two.”
With his other hand, Lesot uncorked the vial of obsidian dust. Angom did the same with a small bottle he removed from his pocket.
With the first whiff of the magical powder, Lyra’s nostrils flared. She breathed deeply, trying to inhale more of the intoxicating essence—a sort of new car smell that promised happiness through material possession. Traces of powder passed into her bloodstream, and a boost of energy fueled her muscles. The ruby craved the sensation. Lyra’s fingers reached for Lesot’s vial.
He
pushed her arm away. In the process, some of the sparkling dust spilled on the ground. “Damn!” he yelled at Lyra, who dropped to his feet where she sifted through the dirt.
The pseudodragon leader growled at Lesot and joined Lyra, both clawing the soil. Traces of the powder immediately affected the male dragon. His eyes glazed hypnotically.
“Look! He’s charmed. Lesot, bond him!” Angom directed his partner.
Lesot guided Lyra backward while he reached his other arm to contact the leader.
Her friend’s action, separating her from the powder, elicited an outcry of anger from the ruby. Muscles in Lyra’s legs tensed. She gripped the edge of a nearby boulder to keep herself from acting on that emotion and retaliating.
Angom applied more dust to other pseudodragons, and the compelling odor floated through the air.
Lyra locked her jaw and forced her gaze away.
“Lyra, are you well?” Angom called in her direction.
Hearing her name, she flinched but remained focused on her internal battle with the ruby. Her friends needed to form important associations with the pseudodragons.
Cries of drakes woke Lyra from her conflict. She unleashed her restrained anger. Her staff’s gem flared. “I’ll divert the guards, so you can use the portal,” she said to the Malificates, each bonded with three pseudodragons.
They nodded and gathered the tiny dragons close.
Lyra ran along the trail and cut to the other side of the portal. She let out a guttural yell from so low in her lungs that her diaphragm rippled.
At the sound of her primal scream, the drakes whirled in mid-air and bolted for her.
She lasered her fully-powered staff across the neck of the first, cleanly decapitating the beast with one sweep.
Amid a tangle of legs and wings, the remaining two fell to the ground. Eyes fixed on Lyra, they crouched low as if ready to pounce.
The other Malificates, who delivered ore, dropped their buckets and stood motionless until they noticed Angom and Lesot returning with half a dozen pseudodragons. The workers ran in their direction, cheering.
Alerted by the noise, one drake blasted flames at the portal. Rocks and earth spilled and blocked the opening. The beast laughed at the Malificates. “You won’t be going home with your catch yet. Not until you help me get my leader’s prize.” It swiveled its long neck to face Lyra. “The ruby shines from your pocket. You’re in the land of the Dark Realm. I’ll claim that stone for the Black Dragon.” It spewed a long flame at her.
Lyra swiftly produced a laser that nullified the incoming strike. She shook her head, unable to believe the improved accuracy of her aim, a quality that she’d only accomplished before by borrowing some of Cullen’s aura. The ruby proved good for that much at least.
In one calculated move, she pulled it from her pocket and ordered its red blaze to light a path of death over the pair of drakes.
The drake who sealed the portal returned fire, a mere flicker in comparison to Lyra’s curtain of flames.
Her massive display incinerated the drakes’ bodies to piles of red coals and charred ash.
She examined the remains. The enormity of her power combined with that of the ruby shocked her. Again, she fought a mental battle. The strong-willed guidance of the gemstone assured her that such unstoppable magic made her invincible, set to rule all of Dragonspeir. What she could find of her own mind maintained that there was honor in the battle. The valiant golden dragons, Gea and the Imperial Dragon, had taught her the fair and wise fighter need only calculate a winning shot, not necessarily a killing blow.
Lyra stooped and held her palm next to the smoldering coals of each beast to pay respects to their fading life forces. She rose and kicked a dead branch, angry at the ruby’s lack of compassion and her own need to rely on its power. With a heavy sigh, she aimed the red light at the blocked portal. Boulders blew to the sides like pebbles, something she couldn’t accomplish with her aura alone.
She moved her staff into the crook of her elbow and waved goodbye to the Malificates and their clutch of pseudodragons. “All clear.”
Lesot approached. “Thanks be to you, kind Lyra. We again are indebted and will look to repay you.” He removed the vial on a cord from his neck. “A small sample still remains—a gift of gratitude. Would you like?”
Her eyes followed the powder’s sparkling flashes, and saliva pooled in her mouth. The ruby guided her hand to accept his offer. Magic of the dust tingled her skin through the container. The ruby, still in her other hand, shot soft beams into the vial. Its light lifted the obsidian specs into a cloud of rainbows. Lyra licked her lips.
Furrows marred Lesot’s brow as he watched her. “Is there another way we may help? Where is Sire Drake?”
The mention of Cullen’s name triggered a lucid thought. “Cullen.” Saying his name aloud added understanding. “Please contact him. I need him.”
Angom joined them. When he drew near, he lightly touched her cheek and caught her gaze. His dark pupils scanned hers. “I’m a student of our history. I see Terza’s legendary Emtori Ruby shining from your hand—a gem so powered with greed, our elders removed it to this world. It’s taking your health. Can we help…”
Lyra’s pulse raced. She wanted to ask how to free herself from the ruby. One of their elders had discovered the Emtori Ruby in the obsidian mines and later enchanted the Staurolite to control it. She wondered if he or others knew how to use quintessence of the Staurolite to release her. She wrestled with the ruby to find words to speak against it. “I need help. Do you know what to, how to control the power of the—”
“Lyra! I’ve found you,” Tarom’s deep voice called from behind her. “Why did you run?” The alchemist strode to join them and eyeballed her up and down. When his gaze landed upon the ruby, a smile curled the corners of his lips. “Malificate guests.” He bowed low. “Fine traders, please be welcomed to the Dark Realm.” As he rose, Tarom raised a brow at Lyra. “What trade associates them with you?” His accusatory tone confused her. She wondered if he’d overheard their conversation before he made his presence known. Everyone else wanted to claim the keystones or Staurolite. It seemed strangely important to him that she possess the ruby.
The ruby’s fire still in her veins prompted her to follow her suspicions and fight him. Red sparks dropped onto the ground beside her.
Tarom grasped her hand with the scar into his own bearing the same mark. His action quelled her unnatural rage instantly and more completely than her exhausting run.
She shoved the gem into her pocket.
Tarom waved the Malificates in the direction of the open portal. “Lyra and I will bid you farewell now. We have important matters to attend to.”
“She is unwell,” Angom said with an urgent tone and touched the alchemist’s forearm. “Care is needed.”
Tarom gave a terse nod of his head. “Thank you for your concern.” He shot Angom a piercing glare. “Scribe Lyra took a bad fall that injured her spine. I must make more repairs to her nervous tissues.”
The pseudodragon leader snarled at Tarom.
The alchemist let go of Lyra’s hand and bent low to stare into the dragon’s eyes. The beam connecting him to the pseudodragon turned red, and the small creature whimpered.
“A wizard so great, he can overtake a matan.” Lesot trembled. He took hold of Angom’s elbow and guided him backward toward the portal.
“Lyra, we promise our hearts to help,” Angom called from outside the tunnel entrance.
Her gaze fixed on the departing Malificates, Lyra attempted to sort through the chaos of her thoughts, trying to determine right from wrong, friend from enemy. She absently fingered the jadestone brooch on her collar. Flashes of Cullen’s smiling face slipped forward from their imprisonment in the recesses of her memory. Shreds of her purpose as a Scribe wove into the mental picture. She clenched a fist around a powerball of her own aura.
Suddenly, Tarom’s face blocked her view of the portal, a connection to those who provided hope.
His eyes glowed red.
She gasped at the realization that instead of healing, he began the process of fascination to read her thoughts. She flinched, trying desperately to look away, but his hypnotic stare commanded her attention. Unprepared for his mental probing, her body shook. Traveling alone through the Dark Realm, she should have taken time to cover her innermost thoughts, secrets of the Alliance, with impenetrable aura.
“Don’t fear, Lyra. This won’t take long.” He enunciated slowly, and his voice soothed, like an anodyne. “I read your impatience to complete your mission. The ruby wrongly defies your attempt to prioritize your plans.”
While his soft words blanketed her ears, rather than sifting through her secrets, he poured new concepts in place. The unfamiliar information initially burned until the opiate qualities of his voice soothed the pain.
“Please allow me to help with that. With my skills, I can be of great service.”
Lyra drifted in and out of a half-sleep state, plagued by hallucinations of the Black Dragon.
“Lyra, sleep while we travel.” Tarom’s words trailed off, and her body floated weightless.
Chapter Twenty-two: Dragon’s Blood
Thunderous footfall, groans, and roars from dragons jerked Lyra awake. She strained to see in the dim light offered by a crude torch fixed to a wall in her small chamber. She shuddered at the room’s resemblance to a windowless, bleak prison cell, save for the wooden door, which stood open. She lay on the stone floor, dank and slick with what looked like years of grime and mold. Her aching back told her she had slept on the hard surface for hours. A pervasive rotting stench seeping through the doorway triggered a wave of nausea.
The sedative effects of Tarom’s voice clung to edges of her thoughts, which she easily shook off. In its place, she discovered what he’d deposited into her mind. She took a deep breath, only to gag on fumes of decomposition, then rubbed her eyes, trying to refute the new idea. Unsuccessful, it persisted, and she propped against a bare wall to fully examine the concept.
Enchanted Bookstore Legends (5-book complete epic fantasy romance box set) Page 120