The elf must have suffered from some mental illness or a curse. He was so strict with his words, so desolate that most of them made no sense. Nothing, nothing at all. It was all so strange, so indifferent.
Cassia slammed shut the dairy and stood. Cradling the dark book in her hand she exited the library.
+ + +
She pounded on Ael’s door. Her hand turning numb, but she paid it no heed. She continued pounding her fist until the door flashed open.
Cassia’s hand remained raised before her as she gazed at Ael. He didn’t wear a shirt, just pants, sporting light stubble. He gazed at her with knitted eyebrows and curled lips. Her eyes widened, her lips pursuing. She hadn’t had the chance to carefully admire him the last time. She had never been the person to drool over someone’s muscles and stand speechless while doing so.
She was overreacting, she knew she did. But she couldn’t do anything but stare at the corded flesh of his arms and the taut, shredded skin of his chest and abdomen, at the scars that shimmered bright silver against his tanned skin. No matter her age, no matter her position and her lost femininity. She was officially ruined.
Maybe banging her head on the wall those thoughts will be beaten out of her. It was bad, so bad. Maybe fantasising the King with a dress and a corset would have helped push Ael’s muscles out of her head.
She took in a tentative breath and raised her eyes to Ael’s face. She managed an awkward smirk and entered his room without caring if he had a female sprawled on his bed. Her eyes trailed up to the bed and sighed, thankful that no one was there. She heard him closing the door and turned around, Leondir’s diary pressed against her bosom.
He pressed his back against the door and crossed his arm over his chest, glaring at her he said, “Cassia, are you alright?”
She rolled her eyes, huffing in uneasiness. “I need your help. I really need someone’s help with Leondir’s Diary.”
He frowned. “Leondir’s Diary?” He exclaimed. “What are you doing with that? It’s considered cursed around here.”
Then it dawned on her. “I haven’t told you?” He shook his head. “The King sent me here to find the first Sword. I am not going to give it to him, but I must seal it somewhere safer. If I can find her then anyone could and...and...” She trailed and tossed him the diary.
He caught it in midair and skimmed through the pages, uninterested mostly. Maybe he was scared of the diary, of Leondir himself. She couldn’t blame him, Leondir was rather mentally unstable.
Cassia crossed her arms, mimicking Ael’s stance and said, “I would really appreciate if anyone knew something.”
Ale flipped through the pages from end to start and frowned, the creases on his brow becoming deeper.
“You don’t happen to know anything more about that chap Leondir, do you?” Cassia squealed and turned around, her fingers curling into fists. “He is completely mental-”
“Or brilliant.”
Cassia twisted around and glared at Ael. “What?”
Ale chuckled. “You haven’t noticed how he aligned his text; almost none of the last word per entry makes sense. It’s a rather easy way for someone to hide-”
“A riddle.”
Cassia walked swiftly towards Ael and grasped the diary from his hand. She marched towards Ael’s desk and grabbed a quill and a piece of paper. She sat down and opened the diary to the last page. She scribbled down the last word on the page and then turned to the next and to the next.
It was indeed, rather brilliant. She continued scribbling down word after word, turning page after page, oblivious to Ael’s hot gaze on her.
She finished with a huff and a satisfactory grunt as she fell back on the chair and read the riddle. Leondir was brilliant.
She who ever sleeps,
down there in the pits of Wonfare,
of blood she is sworn
and silver will atone.
To the witch’s clutches she will burn
with the fire of the Danesir
Oh! Take the heed in heart
for the might will depart
and the Lady will awake.
Beware of the beasts
and the mighty queens.
Three will all but yield
to the silver fairy field,
but stand you not
for the thrumming will but jot.
Leondir was mental.
Cassia huffed loudly in annoyance, her eyes rising to meet Ael’s across the room. She stretched her hand passing him the riddle. “Read,” she said. “Leondir was a nutcase.”
Ael moved closer with impossible grace and grasped the paper from Cassia’s hand. He glared at the paper, frowning a few times before raising his eyes and shrugging at the she-elf before him. She had thrown her head back, exposing that elegant neck, her hands covering her face as she fumed and gasped.
“Maybe you should try deciphering it,” Ael said, reaching around the desk and propping himself up on it, looking at Cassia as she peeked at him from behind her fingers.
“You think so?” She asked, her voice silent, the most silent he had ever heard.
He shrugged. “That’s all you’ve got so far. Try deciphering it.”
Her hands fell back on her lap as she glared at him the sharpest look she had ever sported. “Have you any idea where Wonfare is?”
He shook his head.
“He fought in that place, he mentions it a lot. Maybe because his mate died there, or something.”
Ael shook his head again, his hands rubbing his face before he turned again back at her and said, “Cassia, you are safe here. You don’t have to meddle with these things. Leondir was a Warlock of the Ebony Willow. He was a genius, but he was,” he rubbed the back of his throat. “He was unstable.”
Cassia pushed the chair away and stood. “No,” she shook her head, smiling. “No, don’t you see. It’s our chance to stop the King from furthering his plan. Do you know what he told me? He said he will repair the Slit and he will venture to destroy and conquer more Realms, more lives will be put at stake, Ael.” She clenched her jaw and grabbed the paper from him and the diary from the desk. “If you can’t help me-”
He groaned. “Cassia,” he huffed. “I didn’t say that. I want to help you, of course, I want.”
She tilted her head to the side and smiled. “Good, we begin tomorrow, at ten, in the library.” She tiptoed closer to Ael, her smile radiant and vibrant for the first time in her life. She leant closer and plastered a soft kiss at Ael left cheek.
33
Astrid and Arslan had remained in that mountain top for the past three days. There was not much to see as the mountain gates opened only for few minutes a day. It was a risk to even think of ever going in there. There was a high probability to be captured and they had no short of idea of what beasts –apart from the dragon born- dwelt there. It was a risk they didn’t know they could easily take.
The mountain air sliced through the atmosphere, rendering it colder and drier despite all the snow. Astrid pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders and buried her nose on the rich fabric. Her eyes inspecting the far off the horizon with a quiet suspicion. If the King was breeding an army, then one mountain couldn’t sustain all of it, the rest mountains of the sierra must be hollow too, nurturing monsters in their bellies.
Astrid greeted her teeth; the cold was becoming more aggressive every day, stronger and more unyielding. She turned her head to the side and glared at Arslan as she said, “We must move tonight.”
“I am not going in there,” Astrid glared at him again, but he shook his head looking away. “Have you seen the things that come out of it every day?”
“We’ve come here,” Astrid growled, her eyes snapping wide. “We are here to gather information.”
Arslan threw his hands in the air in surrender. “We already know what’s in there.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Astrid,” he shook his head, stepping away from her. “I know you want to help, I know you want t
o see him out of the throne, but we could get caught. The gate opens only once every night.”
“Scared, aren’t you?”
He fidgeted with the handle of his dagger anxiously. “It’s not about being scared. I am not letting you go there, I am not. If Cassia dies, you are the hope of the resistance, of reigning over us. The council has decided-”
“I don’t care what the council says.” Astrid spat and turned to look at him. “I don’t care, I don’t need the throne, they might as well as put it up their arses and-”
The earth groaned, vibrated and snapped underneath their feet. Astrid twisted around, her boots knee deep in the snow.
The mountain had opened up.
+ + +
Arslan followed Astrid down the cavern. That infernal female had grabbed his arm and flashed them into the mountain a few feet away from the emerging beasts. Astrid had said nothing, had given him no warning.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her or didn’t love her. Nature! He would venture to the Underworld for her. But she was jeopardising not just his life, but hers too. Whatever dwelt down there must have been hideous and terrifying.
Arslan raised his eyes from the ground. Astrid had pushed her hood back, her long blond braid cascading down her back, nuzzling in the vicinity of her cloak’s hood. Astrid was far too blind to Arslan’s hidden affection. He did manage to conceal it rather well.
She would have thrown a fit if she knew, probably she would have tried to gut him and dump his corpse in a hidden alleyway to rot. It had started a few years ago, when she had found him in Madame’s brothel, announcing his affections towards a courtesan.
Astrid had shaken her head and had dragged him from his jacket out of the brothel and into an abandoned street, lecturing him about the consequences of showing any form of affection towards someone in those dreadful times. She had paced before him, daggers at hand, the moonlight shining on her golden hair, her eyes angrily burning a hole on the wall behind him, when he realised that she was more to him than just a mentor and someone he looked upon for guidance.
He was foolish, he knew. Astrid would have whipped him to death if he ever announced his feelings, not just a childish affection. They had gone through a lot together, bandaged wound and helped each other to stand up through perilous times. It foolish of him to think that one day after all this would end, if they made out alive, she would turn to him and survey him with another pair of emotion instead of annoyance and impatience.
The dark cavern seemed to become shorter and tighter around them, swallowing every feeling, every molecule of air. There were no lights hanging from the walls, the corridor was dimly light by the flames of the fire-breathing dragons at the other side of the cavern. Snarling and gnarling the dragons had continued breathing fire.
Arslan ran his hand through his hair, his heart pumping furiously. Astrid was demented. She must have been. He wasn’t scared for himself, he was afraid of her life. He didn’t want to see her hurt, to lose her over her loose thinking habits. Going in there, in those fiendish caverns to face those worms of darkness.
Astrid stumbled backwards, falling onto Arslan. He snaked his arms around her waist and steadied her. She stilled in his arms, sweat gathering on her forehead. She chastised herself loudly and Arslan smiled as he pulled her upright and dragged his arms away, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. He knew Astrid was not used to being touched; at least she was not used to affectionate touches.
Astrid huffed and turned away from him, continuing her way down the corridor. His eyes caught on a few mice running around the sides of the corridor. Astrid paid them no heed as she reached the end of the narrow passage and stopped, her eyes fixating onto something at the vast chamber ahead.
Arslan stood behind her, gazing downwards. The reek of the place unsettling his stomach. Cages spread around the walls of the cavern. From top to bottom the mountain was adorned with brass cages, keeping the raging dragons in control, keeping the monsters inside the brass. The only material affecting a dragon’s will. Forcing the creature to alter its form and turn into a mere human, mortal and easily wounded.
The dragons screeched, their talons grasping onto the brass, their skin burning, their fires meddling down, their spirits breaking. There was so much sound in the cavern, so much sound of pain and toil and heart ripping hate. The creatures, leashed at their cages, but the brass bars remained unmoved, unyielding. And the screaming continued an unending symphony of spite, spite towards those that dared put a chain around those proud creatures.
Astrid pulled a few steps away from the stairs leading down to the cavern, pushing Arslan and herself into the shadows.
Someone shouted something foul through the other cavern adjourned to this. Arslan’s eyes caught glimpse of four Giant guards entering the cavern. They wore their Praegran Armours, their swords strapped on their belts; each wore an enormous band of brass around their wrists and necks to prevent the dragons from attacking them. Their helmets concealing their features. The four, tall creatures moved towards one of the dragons closer to the entrance of the cavern.
They pulled up a spear, long with a peak of the damning golden metal. The dragon writhed in its cage, twisted and screamed, snarled and pulled away from the four giants. Its golden scales seemed dull in the dimness of the cavern; the creature kept its wings at its sides, shielding itself as well as it could away from the brass spear.
The slightly taller giant with the spear move, plugging the creature’s skin, piercing through the membrane of its wings, through the otherwise unbreakable scales. The creature screeched, loud and terrifying, forcing Arslan’s and Astrid’s hair to stand on edge.
A bright light illuminated from within the cage and Arslan moved beside Astrid to have a better view of what was happening in the cage.
Instead of the dragon, there was a blond man, lying on his side on the hay, on the sharp ground. A man. A male dragon. Arslan turned to look at Astrid, her face held a horrifying expression. She turned and gulped, her gaze slicing through every layer of stone around Arslan’s consciousness.
They were not breeding the dragons.
“Astrid,” Arslan whispered.
“I know, I know.”
Arslan looked around to the cages, to the trapped dragons. His eyes skimming over the creatures’ horns, they were longer, longer and sharper. These were all male dragons. Male.
Astrid nudged his side with her elbow and shook her head. Nature, save them all! It was a different thing breeding a dragon mother. A dragon father’s blood mixed with female elvish blood created... Arslan shook his head. It created horrid things; it created elves capable of turning into those great serpents. If the King was building an army of those creatures if the King was...
Nature, save them all!
There would be no place to hide, those creatures had no weakness, not even brass could contain them and they grew to full bloodied dragons in mere days. It was horrid. Horrid.
“Intruders!”
Arslan’s eyes widened, the five giants had turned towards them, knives out and approaching. Astrid grasped his hand. She turned to face him and took hold of his other palm.
She clenched her jaw. Arslan shook his head. They should better hide somewhere in those caverns, he tried to pull his hands away. If Astrid tried to flash them out of here, she would die, her magical core would break.
She gripped his hands tighter, shaking her head with impossible certainty. She clenched her jaw again. She had to try at least. The giants had already begun ascending the stairs, swinging their knives from side to side, needing to taste their elvish meal.
Astrid bit her bottom lip and gasped, closing her eyes. Arslan listened to the silent buzzing of her magic around him, but her magic didn’t ignite, yellow sparks didn’t erupt around them.
Arslan raised his head up; the giant smiled and raised his knife.
+ + +
Arslan opened his eyes, his hands were still enveloped in Astrid’s cold ones. His head was dizzy, the
world was giving away slowly.
He could listen to Astrid’s rapidly pounding heart, her mad breathing.
Blood trickled out of her nostrils, down her chin. Her eyes turned and she slumped down onto Arslan’s chest.
She had gotten them out.
And now... now she had given her last breath.
34
The leather of her clothes clung to her skin, making it itchy and sore. Cassia paid it little mind. She strapped the dagger belts across her back letting them meet across her chest. The twin daggers rested cold against the leather, but they began warming from the contact with her skin. She grabbed her special daggers. A pair made of pure gold with a pointed, prong metal baton, from the elegant twisted handle two more curved prongs projected. It had been a courtesy of the King.
A gift. He had said. Just as feral as his precious daughter.
A chill ran down her spine. The King had ordered her to kill all the unwanted gentry in his court with these daggers. She could still remember his fascinated expression when she impaled her dagger onto Sir Thrionen’s stomach and let him suffer the consequences of his wounds.
She let the daggers slip onto their hidden sheath underneath the sleeves of her leather jacket. She held onto their handles with her palms. Feral, weapons, indeed, just as bad as any other, but they had saved her life on various occasions.
She strapped another smaller pair of long daggers to her boots and straightened her back. The weapons across her shoulders felt heavy, heavier than any other time. Maybe her mind was feeding on the guilt, tugging at her conscience since she had conjured up her elven runes, and pounded the lethal blood bane powder onto the blades of her weapons.
Her iron will shoved those thoughts aside. There was no space for her to back away now. She fastened the daggers tighter to her leather clad back and glanced at the mirror a few feet, to her vanity desk.
A War of Silver and Gold Page 29