by Meagan Hurst
“Not yet,” he told her. “We have things—”
“Daryien can handle it.” Z closed her eyes and pulled herself out of the Dragon’s hold to go grab her things. “I need…space.”
He understood at once. “The lair,” he stated before moving to pack his things as well. It irritated him to have to pack supplies, but like everything else he had adjusted to since the loss of his form, he accepted it for what it was.
Waiting for him by the doors, Z continued to shut out the Rangers as they continued to debate, argue, and simply grieve. They were used to her taking a step back and no one commented on her absence as she slammed the mental door shut. Nivaradros caught one of her hands in his and she started.
“This is not your fault,” he reminded her.
“I know.” She summoned a portal—not wanting anyone to know they had left until after they had stepped through. The portal would be sensed, but before anyone could reach them she and the Dragon would be gone. Stepping through it, she closed her eyes just to enjoy the small taste of magic she used here.
Opening her eyes as she stepped not into Nivaradros’s lair, but where she had truly planned to arrive, she collapsed the portal and glanced around the slightly glowing room with a trace of bitterness. Nivaradros inhaled sharply as he looked around the transparent room. “Where are we?”
“Standing in my burden,” Z whispered. “I need to be here with the massive deaths that just occurred.” She could feel the dismay of the building and grimaced. “But that is not why I brought you here,” she explained as she began to lead the Dragon from the entrance down a hall that appeared to be nothing more than a bridge over…nothing. Walls, ceiling, and what was beneath a slender bridge of stone was nothing more than a darkness that was impossible to describe.
“This is…different,” Nivaradros murmured almost uneasily behind her. “Where are we?”
“It is a part of the world.”
“That is not exactly reassuring, Z.” He caught her arm and forced her to face him. “Tell me.”
She pulled her arm free and shook her head. “I have to show you—you won’t believe me if I tell you.” Turning back, she continued to lead him down the hall until walls that gleamed with the color of steel appeared before them. Floor, ceiling, and doors appeared around them until it looked as though they were in a building again—just a very strange one. She heard Nivaradros’s muffled curse and knew why; thousands upon thousands of blades were hung neatly on the walls and they were shaking lightly.
“You’ve heard of this place,” she stated.
“Yes,” the Dragon whispered. “I thought it was a rumor. As if the world hasn’t placed enough of your shoulders. You are the Recorder; how long have you had this…task?”
“Three months after I joined the Rangers I woke up here,” she explained in resignation as she pulled one of the blades from its spot on the wall. Turning it over in her hands, she sighed at the thousands of names that were engraved upon it. The woman she’d accidentally killed in Midestol’s lands would be listed on these blades. Another regret. One of thousands.
“Were you trained?”
“No, but I managed to make sense of things, and I figured it out on my own. This place doesn’t need much, Nivaradros, just a witness. I am not really a recorder of the deaths that occur; I am here to witness their deaths—or lives—if I chose. Though when I arrived there weren’t swords here. This room and the others were lined with books and scrolls. Apparently they change to fit the new Recorder; steel was deemed more suitable than scrolls for me.” She returned the blade to its spot and sighed. “Don’t touch the swords, but you can read them if you wish.”
“Reading hundreds of millions of names from hundreds of races does not interest me. I have never understood the necessity of this place.”
“It is a reminder, a memory, a gift, a curse, and a warning. Every innocent life taken for any reason is recorded here. We warriors,” she added dryly, “don’t get named here unless we happen to be killed outside of war, outside of battle. This place was in disarray when I awoke here; its old guardian long dead. The building chooses its Recorder.” Looking around at the freshly filled blades she sighed bitterly. “And it reminds me why I fight, it reminds me what I must guard myself against becoming,” she told him. “I would have never chosen to become the watcher of this place, but if I was offered the chance to surrender the duty to someone else, I would turn it down. I can feel the pain here, Nivaradros, and I need that due to my own limitations.”
“How many know?”
“Just you,” Z said quietly. “Too many times has this place been sought for less than honorable purposes. And I don’t need to give anyone another reason to try and kill me. The only advantage to my death is one no one is aware of; killing me would bar them from finding this place. No one believes that, though.” She stayed in the room in silence for several more minutes—the Dragon at her back—before she turned and led him to a different room. A room that housed blades of a different sort; blades that were meant to be used.
Nivaradros froze in the doorway. It was a nondescript room that was bright white in color—without furniture, windows, carpeting, or anything of note other than its size and the thousands of weapons that had found their way here. All of them were immortally crafted, and they were both named and known. And, judging by Nivaradros’s stance, some of the weapons were known to him personally.
“I’d like you to pick one to use, Nivaradros. These are entrusted to me to find a wielder for, but you are the only person I would consider arming from here. If you can find a blade that will respond to you, take it.”
The Dragon entered the room with caution. “You did not get Kyi’rinn from here.”
“No, I received the sword from its maker—after it flew at my face.” Z leaned against the doorframe once Nivaradros had cleared it and watched the Dragon enter the room with caution that implied he expected armed enemies to attack him.
But, in the end, Nivaradros’s curiosity overran his caution. He paused before several swords, but never attempted to touch any of them until he had almost reached the back of the room. “Your sword lacks a subtly I prefer,” the Dragon said in a tone that made her suspicious about whether or not he had meant to speak at all. “This one, however, does not.” Picking up a sword that was longer than Kyi’rinn by a good three inches, the Dragon examined it critically with both his vision and his magic.
“It can’t be that subtle,” Z drawled. “I can hear its delight from here.”
“Ah, but you are mine,” Nivaradros said as he found the blade’s sheath and strapped it to his side. “And if I can wield Kyi’rinn, and I can, then you can likewise hear, carry, and wield Xriende. With limitations of course. These swords belong to one being at a time.” Sliding Xriende into its sheath, the Dragon turned deep green eyes to her. “Thank you.”
“You are most certainly welcome,” she replied. “The Dragons are going to be livid that you somehow can wield—and do wield—the sword responsible for the largest number of Dragon deaths fallen to any one weapon.”
“Oh I am aware of that,” Nivaradros said with a dark smile. “I am rather hoping to see some of them soon for that reason.”
Z laughed and offered the Dragon her arm. He accepted it with ease, but took the lead as they left the room. For an instant, Z considered leaving and heading to the lair she wanted to be at. Glancing over at Nivaradros, she could see that he had overcome the eeriness of their location to the point he was interested in learning more.
“Shall I give you a tour?” she wanted to know.
“Only if you’d like to,” he replied in a rush; which was an answer all in itself.
Leading him through the various rooms, Z explained which race they belonged to. That had been the one change Z had created; rather than having all the names jumbled together no matter what race they were, she had requested—demanded—the names be listed on blades by races and housed the same way. Therefore, some of the rooms only housed
names from long extinct races. It felt more proper in her mind, and vastly more respectful. Why it mattered, she’d never known, but it did matter to her. This was a tomb with no bodies; sloppiness was insulting.
Eventually Nivaradros reminded her that she hadn’t eaten, and Z turned away from the vast halls and rooms to create a portal. Recalling that Shalion had planned to leave Arriandie soon to ride to his people, Z grimaced and reached out to Crilyne as she and Nivaradros stepped through her portal. Landing this time in the Dragon’s lair, Z felt Crilyne’s momentary confusion before he gathered himself.
Yes? Crilyne answered in an almost tired sounding tone. Next time warn me if you plan to leave, he added. Apparently your disappearance is my fault.
She laughed, but it was a vicious laugh. After what she had just been through she wasn’t up for a happy one. I need you to escort Shalion to his people. Some of them have snuck out of Midestol’s hold and he plans to relocate them to a Ranger city. I want you to keep him safe.
The Shade’s delight and relief at her request was soothing. You trust me with him?
Yes…but if you harm him, Crilyne, you will be dead before his body cools. I need him. He is one of the heirs on whom I can count. Besides, I still have to convince his people he gave me his position, and it will be far easier to convince them if he isn’t dead.
I won’t let any harm come to him. If I have to convince him to use the shadows in order to protect himself, I will. I approve of him, the Shade added, he has never wished you any harm.
Chapter 25
She stayed with Nivaradros in his lair for three days. Both of them scarcely took a break from training and planning. Z spent most of her time forming plans and strategies with Nivaradros, and the Dragon was happy to work with her, happy to have her to himself. Also she could tell he still enjoyed picking her mind apart to learn what he would need to do to keep her allies alive. He knew she would be fighting Midestol elsewhere, and he was determined to make sure she had something to come back to.
Leaning against him as he stroked her back, Z once again began to explain how Nivaradros needed to arrange the forces he would be commanding. She knew how each race fought, and she therefore knew how to turn her army into a serious fighting team. They knew how to fight alongside each other, and Z balanced strengths of one race with the weakness of another. The Syallibions, for example, were excellent in archery, but because of their size were weak when it came to combat in close quarters. They could fight, but they often lost, and in a war of this size, Z didn’t think she could protect them.
“I cannot believe how much thought you’ve put into all of this,” Nivaradros murmured as he eyed the thousands of plans before him. He was not displeased by the stacks of papers, and he often shifted them so he could reread them. “I wish I had your talent for this,” he said wistfully. “You’re a bit obsessive perhaps, but it suits you, and I have a feeling when this war is over—once you no longer have to stress over Midestol and threat he poses—you will settle down quite a bit. You’re trying too hard,” he added, “because you care. Despite what you would like us to believe.” He chuckled and cupped her chin in his hand as he turned her face toward his. “Shall we head back today?” he inquired as he looked around her room. They had spent most of their time here—except for the training sessions they had put themselves through to keep ready and to get Nivaradros used to Xriende.
She had expected him to spend time in his room, but the Dragon hadn’t left her side for long since they had arrived. A couple of hours was the most he had left her alone, and those hours had been broken up into even smaller amounts of time. He hadn’t left when she had surrendered to sleep; she had known where in her room he was during the night. Most of the time he had either been beside her or pouring over the papers she had been putting together and revising since she had realized this was the path she would be taking.
“I’d like to train with you and Xriende again,” she admitted.
The sword was perfect for Nivaradros. Z could see how easily the Dragon found his way with the blade—it was frightening how fast he was growing used to a weapon he hadn’t used before. Their rates of improvement were similar, and it made her think back to when she had first gained Kyi’rinn. The immortals hadn’t known what to think of her.
She was worried about him, though. He never spoke of the loss of his form, and she wondered if he missed it, and if he did, would a war like this just rub his sacrifice in deeper? When she glanced at him, Z found the Dragon’s eyes were on her and he smiled as he shook his head.
“I hardly notice it anymore,” he said quietly. “It was worth it,” he added before she could speak. “I am fine with being banned from the skies, Z, I promise.” He fell silent before standing and moving away from her. “But I would be happy to spar with you again. Afterwards, however, there is something I wish to discuss with you.”
“We could talk about it first,” she offered.
“I’d rather you had already been relieved of any pent-up anger at me,” was Nivaradros’s bland reply. “I am going to war soon, after all; I would like to head into it unwounded.” He moved to the door, picking up Xriende on the way.
Freezing at the thought of what he could want to discuss, Z stared at him with a trace of horror until Nivaradros realized she wasn’t following him. He turned and regarded her curiously before his pupil’s switched to the slit of a Dragon’s and his eyes darkened with amusement. He didn’t speak, and she had a feeling he was torturing her on purpose.
Eventually she gave in and followed him from the room in silence. Her mind was evaluating his words and coming up with all sorts of ideas about what he could possibly mean to discuss with her. She hated it when he did this to her. Trying to relax and remember he was going to be attacking her with a sword, Z barely noticed they had reached her practice court. Checking the footing in the arena was automatic, but she did a half-hearted job.
Nivaradros was entertained. “I swear if anyone knew how easy it was to upset you…” he teased before moving to her side and catching her chin gently. “Don’t fret,” he advised. “It is nothing bad.”
“That doesn’t reassure me; I know what your definition of ‘bad’ covers.”
A brow rose, but he didn’t bother to reply. Instead he waited for her to attack him in the arena, and the two of them spent several hours in training. Her tension faded in the familiarity of the patterns she and Nivaradros employed to systematically go through sharpening—or at least maintaining—their skills. Occasionally she wondered how she would handle this once it was all over, assuming she survived, because Nivaradros was correct: her entire life had revolved around this upcoming battle. She had maneuvered, tricked, and occasionally threatened the rulers of various races to follow her and accept her decisions. She had never considered past the war; in all honesty, for many years she hadn’t cared.
Nivaradros made a judgment error and Z slapped Xriende from his hands with the flat of Kyi’rinn. Freezing before the tip of her sword touched the skin of his neck, she stepped back hastily. “Sorry about that,” she muttered.
“Please don’t do that to your grandfather if you manage to disarm him,” Nivaradros replied.
“Are you going to go get your sword?”
“When it stops calling me twelve kinds of idiot.”
Nivaradros’s hope that Xriende would not be chatty had been shattered pretty quickly. Z could hear the sword if she strained, but based on what she had overheard, she was grateful the sword hadn’t chosen her. Kyi’rinn had a different way of catching her attention—namely magic—and she therefore wondered why Xriende had decided Nivaradros should wield it. Then again, she still wondered the same thing about her sword.
“You’re thinking too much,” Nivaradros breathed in her ear before walking off as if he hadn’t done anything.
Swearing under her breath, she followed him out of the room. He had a destination in mind and since she didn’t—and she wanted to know what he wanted to talk about—she followed
him. Letting her eyes wander over Nivaradros’s extreme style of interior decoration, she was reminded that one day they needed to devote a century—or five—to her magic. Still torn between dread and a burning desire to improve her magic, Z reached out to lightly touch one of Nivaradros’s creations on the wall.
Frowning as she pulled her hand away with small dots of dew clinging to it, Z tried to recall her Dragon had once flown over villages and kingdoms with a goal of slaughtering as many as he could. It was hard to remember that here. It was harder to remember that when he was trying to force her to eat. She didn’t force herself to remember his past out of spite—Z forced herself to think of it in order to remind herself she could make errors and still not be Midestol. That, and part of her was convinced that had she been in Nivaradros’s position she would have been worse.
“What is bothering you this time?” Nivaradros inquired, clearly having gone ahead before returning when he reached his destination and found her missing.
“Nothing, your lair is distracting.” Turning to give him a very pointed look, she walked by him as though her mind was not still working on things.
He snorted and fell in step beside her. “You are not convincing enough to sell me that lie,” he informed her. She had managed to offend him, but she was too tired to regret it. “I assure you what I mean to discuss is not that bad.”
“But it is bad?”
Nivaradros swore and exhaled a stream of fire as he closed his eyes. “I dislike when you are in this kind of mood,” he growled. “Please make the effort to minimize most of it.” Opening eyes that were a hair lighter in shade, Nivaradros led her not to her room or his, but to an entirely different room that resembled one for war.
“I swear,” she said as she looked around the walls of yet another heavily decorated room, “you had to have been extremely bored to do all of this. How many rooms have you created?”