Valandra: The Dragon Blade Cycle (Book 2)

by Tristan Vick

  “Hahaha!” the bull-man blares. “How very amusing. I almost feel bad wanting to kill you, girl. In fact, if you agreed to be my mate, I’m sure we could work out a deal that ends favorably for the both of us.”

  “How does me becoming your heifer and living trapped here with you prove beneficial to me?”

  “You get not to die by my teeth crushing your bones as you scream out in agony.”

  “Sorry, but I think I’ll pass on the offer.”

  The minotaur pops his massive knuckles, which crackle like lightning, and says, “Let’s see if your bite is as fierce as your bark, or if you’re just a stupid cow of a woman who has bit off more than she can chew.”

  My hand raised, I motion with my fingers for him to come forth and find out for himself.

  The minotaur lowers his head and aims his sharp horns at me. Then, with a snort, he stomps his hooves and lets out a deafening bellow. Shoulders forward, head down, he charges me.

  I jump away and evade the stampeding beast. Springing back up to my feet, and spin with expert timing and bring the sword down upon the beast’s back. To my astonishment, the sword clangs and reverberates off the minotaur’s back as though it had struck steel.

  “What in the realms?” I can’t believe that such a beast could even exist.

  The minotaur takes a slow step forward and begins laughing. Raising his arms above his head, he stretches and flexes his muscles to show off how mighty his strength is. Then, turning toward me, he says, “Foolish girl. I’m no mere mortal. Only the Dragon Blade can slay me, and you only have that puny little sword with the glowing letters on it.”

  “Shit,” I mutter to myself. I take a step back and prepare to defend myself.

  The minotaur circles around me and licks his chops as he eyes me with licentious intent. “I don’t’ think I’ll eat you just yet. I’d much rather have some fun with you first.”

  “Typical,” I say. “Just like any other brute, all you can think about is eating and intercourse.”

  “What can I say?” He shrugs. “I’m a man of simple tastes.”

  “Of simple mind, perhaps,” I quip.

  “Gah!” he roars, offended by my insult. Blowing his putrid breath in my face, he blares, “I will pound your body until you are tender and raw, and then I will cook you over a spit and suck the paltry meat from our bones. You won’t be much of a meal, but I’m certain with pluck like yours you’ll taste most succulent.”

  The beast grows so excited by the prospect of devouring me that long strands of saliva start to drip from his mouth as he speaks.

  With fury, I let out my best roar. I drive the sword forward and stab the minotaur in his mid-section. Without incurring the slightest scratch, he merely takes a step back and absorbs the blow.

  I swipe again, and again, but he lets the sword glance off him like the spray of water glancing off a boulder. His flesh is impenetrable to my blade, which can neither pierce nor wound him. Which is why he lets me attack him. He wants me to feel how helpless I truly am.

  The minotaur throws his head back and laughs at my failure and frustration. Of course, this infuriates me even more, so I ball up my fist and wind my arm back as far as it will go. Then, with all my might and a loud grunt, I thrust my tightly balled fist as fast and hard as I can and throw the fiercest punch of my life.

  My knuckles strike the minotaur’s sternum with full force and there is a terrible snapping sound. I spring back to put distance between us in case he decides to try anything. I pull my hand away to see if I did any damage to the minotaur. But there isn’t any. He just looks down at where I hit him and then begins laughing even more. Apparently, being struck by a woman is the funniest thing he has ever experienced.

  I look to my right hand and find my fingers are mangled beyond recognition. Several knuckle bones are jutting up from under the skin, my middle finger is pointing straight up and my pinky finger sticks out to the side. Seeing it deformed is strange, especially since I’m so doped up with adrenaline and fear that I can’t even feel any pain or the extent of the damage incurred.

  “What the…?”

  When the minotaur glances down at my mangled hand he crumbles to the ground, clutching his abdomen, and rolls about laughing uncontrollably.

  Lying on its side, the minotaur looks up at me, and reaches out toward me as though he needs help getting back up. “Could you lend me a hand?” he snickers and snorts. “No, wait! On second thought, you only have the one! Bwah-hahaha!”

  He doubles over again, laughing at his own bad joke. I’m not amused.

  “Let’s see how you like this…” I growl, running full speed up to where he frolics around on the grass. With all my might, I pull back my right boot and then kick him right in the groin. It feels as though my shin might splinter from the force of the kick, but I don’t care.

  Suddenly his eyes go wide with shock, and then, after a brief pause, I hear a sound unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. The yowling of a bull whose testicles just got turned into applesauce. With a deep whine that turns into a high-pitched yowl, the minotaur staggers back to his feet. Once up, he stands hunched over as he cradles his bruised jewels.

  “You’ll pay for that!” he snorts.

  I respond in kind by offering my mangled middle-finger that sticks straight up into the air.

  With bloodshot eyes full of inflamed rage, he throws out his arms, taking a sloppy swing at me, but I easily evade his powerful arms.

  Then, he rushes me again. I prepare to leap away, but this time his speed is so fast that I don’t have time to react. The top of his thick head strikes me right in the chest and sends me to my ass.

  I hit my tailbone on the ground so hard that my legs go instantly numb from shock and I fall to my side. Using only my arms and my shoulders, I roll myself over to face the beast, only to find him already looming over me with his red, hate-filled eyes.

  One of his mighty hooves slams down right between my legs. The minotaur looks down at me and licks his bloodthirsty maw with his big slimy cow tongue. I try to scramble back, but my legs tingle with numbness and all I can do is squirm like a fat, useless worm.

  “Hold still,” the minotaur grumbles. His mouth drips with saliva in anticipation of the meal he’s about to eat. Grabbing his giant fist with his other hand, he starts popping knuckles and says, “I like my meat tender.”

  Out of nowhere flies a raven-haired man with long flowing locks. His hair travels down to the middle of his back as dark as the starless night. To my astonishment, he comes crashing down onto the minotaur, striking the beast with a mighty blow.

  Both combatants topple to the ground in a heap and hasten to scramble to their feat lest the other get the advantage.

  The man, who matches the minotaur in height and size, stands up first and dusts himself off. By the looks of it, he’s at least six-foot-four or six-five. I’ve never seen anyone built like him before. His body is taught with rippling muscles and it appears as though he was chiseled out of marble by the great sculptors of old.

  Slowly, he turns toward me, and gazes upon me with his hard brown eyes. After a moment, he smiles at me and asks, “Are you all right, miss?”

  “I think so…” I reply in a barely audible whisper. I can’t get past my strange attraction to him, or his chiseled jawline and his muscular physique, which ripples beneath his flimsy gossamer shirt. A shirt that hangs halfway open, allowing me a glimpse of his amazingly fine chest, tan skin as smooth as silk, and maroon nipples.

  The minotaur groans as he rises back up to his feet. Shaking his head, he puffs in anger at the ambush. “I thought I told you to stay out of my affairs, Ashram.”

  “Ashram?” I gasp, unable to believe my ears.

  The tall, dark, and handsome man reaches down and lends me his hand. I take it and he hoists me into his meaty arms. As I stare up at him in astonishment, he looks down at me with his angelic face and smiles again. This time I could almost swear his smile is even more radiant and captivating t
han before, and I am instantly drawn into him.

  “Ashram Godfrey of Greywood, at your service,” he says with a debonair wink.

  26

  Ashram of Greywood, the most feared knight in all the realms just saved my life. The same Ashram, mind you, that roams the world of the living as a dark and dangerous wraith knight. Ashram, with whom I’ve faced off with twice and who has killed my countrymen and fellow knights, and who cut of Queen Sabine’s arm. Ashram—who killed my master, Kel Oren.

  “You can set me down now,” I say in a soft voice. “I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Right,” he says letting me down. “My apologies.”

  Then, with a snort and a bellow the minotaur rushes Ashram, who turns and grabs the beast by the shoulders. The minotaur wraps his arms around Ashram’s midsection and, with his head tucked under his arm and his shoulder pushing into Ashram’s torso, he sends Ashram skidding backwards.

  Ashram digs in his heels as the minotaur pushes him back. The soft grass of the garden tears up beneath their combined weight as both their feet cut into the fertile soil like plowshares. With a mighty heave, Ashram throws his arms out and brings them crashing down upon the minotaur’s back. The minotaur buckles, but refuses to give up the fight. So, Ashram raises his arms again, and strikes the beast again. And again.

  Eventually the minotaur lets go of him, having taken a rather unrelenting beating. Stepping back, the half-man, half-bull shifts his wrathful gaze onto the tall man with long, flowing, black hair.

  “Had enough?” Ashram chuckles, deliberately goading the minotaur to attack.

  The simple-minded creature takes the bait and rushes in head-first to tackle his opponent. But Ashram swings his fist so fast that, just for a moment, it blurs out of sight. All I see are the effects of the hit, as the minotaur plows into the ground face-first, taking in a mouthful of dirt.

  I’ve never seen anyone move as fast as Ashram, or with such power and force. Ashram looks at me, as if to check on me, and smiles again. Then he reaches down and grabs the minotaur by the scruff of his neck and hoists him off the ground as if he weighed nothing.

  He makes his way to the edge of the garden and comes to a wall made of dense shrubs laced with a latticework of thick vines. Ashram heaves the beast through the bushes so hard that the minotaur collapses several rows of the maze. I can hardly fathom the strength it would take to do that. But Ashram does it without so much as breaking a sweat.

  A cold gaze settles over Ashram’s face as he looks down upon the toppled minotaur. “Now leave this girl be. If I so much as see you give her a sideways glance, I’ll personally remove your head, beast!”

  The minotaur rises to his feet, dusts himself off, and then grumbles, “This isn’t over between us, Ashram of Greywood!” Then he turns and lopes off and returns to the thick of the maze with his tail tucked between his legs.

  “Are you all right?” asks Ashram, looking me up and down just to be sure.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say cradling my mangled hand.

  “Let me take a look at that,” he says, reaching out to take my hand in his. I recoil away from him, and he laughs softly. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. You have my sworn oath as a Knight of the Twelve Realms.”

  After a moment of deliberation, I hesitantly allow him to take my hand. Holding it in his palm, he examines it with a gentleness rare in a warrior of his caliber. Squinting at him suspiciously, I ask, “Why are you helping me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I help a damsel in distress?” he asks, as he rubs his rough hands against the back of my hurt one as he searches for breaks and fractures in the bone.

  “No, that’s not what I meant. You…and me…we’ve fought before.”

  “Are you sure?” he chuckles. “Because I’m sure I would have remembered.”

  “You killed my Master,” I say in a low voice.

  He pauses, as though it’s news to him, and then looks away. As he stares off into the distance, I sense that he genuinely feels bad about it. “I see,” he says remorsefully. “Perhaps,” he begins, “an explanation is in order.”

  “You think?”

  “Just one thing first…” with a quick flick of his wrist, he jerks my arm straight out. Then, running the palm of his hand down my forearm to my hand, he squeezes firmly, but gently, while pressing my fingers flat, and relocates my dislocated extremities. Everything snaps back into place with a nasty snap, crackle, and pop and I groan from the pain.

  Once it’s over, I inspect my hand. Although sore, it looks good as new. I even open and close it a few times just to see if everything is in working order.

  Ashram turns his back to me. “One thing to be mindful of down here, miss, is your enemies from above may appear as your friends below, and your friends might appear as your enemies.” Ashram turns back toward me and his disarming gazes settles upon me. “That is how the Nether Realm works, I’m afraid.”

  “So, what are you saying? That everything down here is upside down?”

  “Something like that.” He grins at me as I piece things together in my mind. When I catch him staring at me out of the corner of my eye, he discreetly turns his face away as so not to make me feel awkward by his reticent glances.

  “How’d you know I was here?” I ask him. “That I was in trouble?”

  “I wouldn’t be a good knight if I didn’t recognize the sounds of battle. I heard you cry out. Your voice aroused me from my slumber.”

  “I suppose I owe you some thanks,” I say, blushing a bit. I brush a strand of hair and look back up at Ashram. The way he looks at me feels, I don’t know, familiar somehow.

  Taking a deep bow, he replies, “I assure you, the pleasure was all mine.” Standing back up, he thumbs over his shoulder. “Besides, that minotaur had it coming. He was owed an ass kicking. Believe you me.”

  We share a laugh and then I look up toward the crest of the hill where the end of the maze comes out. I let out a frustrated sigh.

  Ashram follows the trajectory of my gaze and looks out across the garden with me.

  “It’s so far away,” I lament. “It will take me forever to get to the end.”

  “Are you so certain?”

  Shocked by his choice of words, I shoot him a dismayed look.

  “What is it?” he asks, noticing my sudden change in demeanor.

  “My master used to say those exact same words anytime I complained that a task was impossible.”

  “He sounds like a wise man, your master,” says Ashram.

  “He was,” I reply in reverent recollection.

  “It might help,” he begins, pointing over my shoulder, “if you used that magic sword of yours.”

  I remove the Sword of Runes and hold it out in front of me to inspect it. “Use it how, exactly?”

  “It’s one of the twelve mystic swords. One was forged for each realm in the Dragon Age. One sword was given to each ruler of each of the twelve realms to fend of the dragons. The sword you hold may be able to strike down a spirit and banish it into non-existence for all eternity, but it can also unravel unseen mysteries and help you become aware of things you hadn’t known before.”

  “So, it’s like a cipher, then?”

  “Exactly.”

  I swing the sword about, swishing through the air. “How do I get it to work?”

  “I don’t know. Have you tried talking to it?”

  “Talking to it?” I laugh. “Why would I do that?”

  “Well, it is a sword of runes. So, language is sort of its thing, right?”

  “I guess so,” I reply skeptically.

  Holding it up, both hands on the handle, I press the flat part of the blade to the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. “Sword of Runes,” I say out loud. “Give me sight beyond sight!” But when nothing happens, I shoot Ashram a puzzled look.

  “Maybe try some different words.”

  I nod my head and close my eyes. Giving it another go, I think back on the words Master
Kel always spoke to me when he wanted me to realize my full potential.

  “Arianna, look inside yourself, summon the courage to reach your potential. Dig deep, because you have within you a never-ending wellspring of talent, skill, and love. Trust your instincts, rely on your training, but most of all, be true to yourself. And be true to others. Do these things, and you will live a happy and fulfilling life.”

  When I open my eyes again, the runes on the sword are glowing bright orange, like a sunset.

  “I think it’s working,” I chirp excitedly.

  When I turn around and look at Ashram, for the first time, I realize it’s not Ashram who has been with me this whole time. It’s someone else. Someone I hold dear to my heart. Before I can even process the extent of my bewilderment, tears flood into my eyes.

  Suddenly a gush of warm wind crashes into us and the visage of Ashram breaks apart, like flecks of eggshell, and blow away on the breeze. Underneath, there is a hoary bearded old man grinning at me with narrow blue eyes. Eyes like the ocean. A man I have missed every single day since his untimely death.

  “Master…” I say, my voice flexing under the weight of my immense emotions. “But why didn’t you reveal yourself sooner?”

  “I’ve always believed in you, child,” he says, extending a hand and brushing a tear from my cheek.

  Suddenly, the Sword of Runes ignites with fire. I hold it out and the flame leaps off the sword. It glides across the ground as if a wave. It flies up the valley, burning a groove in the foliage of the maze, leaving a burnt and smoldering trail in its wake. The flame travels all the way to the exit, cutting a straight path to my destination.

  Once the sword stops spewing flames, I fling it over my shoulder and place it back in its sheath. I turn to my Master and, fighting back sobs as I realize this may be the last time we ever talk, I ask, “Will I ever see you again?”

  “That depends,” he replies.

  “On?”

  “Whether you do good.”

  “Don’t you mean whether I do well?”

  “No, my dear, on whether you do good. Be kind, love, and do good. Consider that my last request.”