The Blue Flame [Book 1 of the Daradawn Series]

by Barbara M. Hodges

"But it will free the villagers’ souls? So when a Ru'taha dies it will be free?"

  Caitlan nodded.

  Regan's glance raked the room for something to use to break the globe. Inside the fire-pit she saw a charred faggot of wood. She crossed to it and grabbed the piece of wood by its charcoal end. “Please be strong enough,” she prayed.

  She carried it back to the globe and raised the makeshift club over her head. As she looked down into the light, the glow wavered and Dirkk's masked face formed. His green eyes glittered at her in command and her hand hesitated. She gritted her teeth and beads of sweat dampened her forehead as she strained, but her hand refused to descend.

  "Damn,” she said, stepping back from the globe. “Even from there he controls me.” She turned to Caitlan. “You have to help."

  "Me?” Caitlan squeaked, “I've no magic!"

  "It's the only way,” Regan said, “but it will take accurate timing. As you smash the glass, I'll place my hands on top of yours."

  Caitlan backed from her. “It will never work."

  "We have to try. I'm not leaving here without trying, and if I don't go neither do you or your son.” Regan still saw indecision in Caitlin's eyes. “I'm out of the room. Dirkk'll know you helped me."

  The woman's shoulders slumped. “What do you want me to do?"

  "Come, stand beside me so I can lay my hands over yours as the wood strikes the glass."

  Caitlan slowly walked to Regan's side. Her eyes were wide with fear, her entire body tense and poised to flee like a wild doe. Regan handed the length of wood to her. I know just how she feels. I probably look the same to her, she thought, taking a deep breath.

  "We will do it on the count of three. Ready?"

  Caitlan stiffly nodded.

  "One ... two ... three."

  Caitlan swung the club downward and, as it smashed into the glass, Regan placed both her hands over the other woman's. The glass globe exploded and showered them in splintered crystal. With a cry Caitlan dropped the piece of wood and stumbled back.

  Regan looked down into the shattered globe. Their blow had struck the orb's rounded top. The shattering glass left a sharp, jagged edge around the globe's base. The light inside was still fused into a ball. It began to pulse, as if confused. Then one spark, like the lightning bugs of summer youth, floated upward. It hovered before Regan's face, and from it she felt immense joy. As if it was the keystone of a rock dam, hundreds of sparks floated upwards and surrounded her in a golden shroud of light. Tears flooded her eyes and ran down her cheeks, as wave after wave of happiness pulsed and rolled over her. The sparks whirled, faster and faster, like a miniature tornado then, with a last burst of painfully sweet joy, sailed up through the ceiling and were gone.

  Regan stared at the spot where the tornado of light had vanished for a long moment, and then turned and fumbled toward Caitlan in the now pitch-black room. “Caitlan?"

  "Here.” The woman's voice was thick with awe.

  "We can go now.” Regan's hand fumbled for and found Caitlin's in the dark.

  "This way,” Caitlan said.

  * * * *

  Regan stood behind Caitlan in front of the squat stable. Odors of hay and manure wafted from the open double doors. She heard a soft snort and the restless stirring of hooves. Caitlan stepped through the doors and called softly. “Patrick.” A chorus of whinnies answered her. “Where is that boy?” Caitlan walked deeper into the stable and Regan followed.

  Caitlan led her down a narrow alley. As they neared each stall a head poked out and Caitlan absently patted each velvet nose as they passed. As they reached the end of the barn, anger heated Regan's blood. Gilda wasn't among the horses. “What did he do with you?"

  Caitlan turned toward her in question. “Do with who?"

  Hoofs beating against a stall door stopped Regan's answer. “Gilda?” she said and pushed past Caitlan.

  Regan jerked open the stall door, but the hooves beating irritably against the wooden wall were not the mare's. Instead, they belonged to a rotund black-and-white pony with flattened-back ears.

  "That's Minx,” Caitlan said from behind her. “The bad-mannered little rascal belongs to my son.” She reached forward and pulled the pony's ear gently. “Behave yourself."

  Regan saw a frown flit cross Caitlin's face. “Where is that boy? At least I know he hasn't tried to follow Dirkk on Minx."

  Above them, in the hay-stacked rafters, a low thump sounded and straw showered them. Caitlan sneezed, then looked upward, exasperation replacing her frown. “Patrick, you come down this instant.” Above them they heard footsteps, then a muffled curse. Caitlin's lips tightened. She spun on her heel, marched to the end of a ladder, then placed both hands on her hips and waited. Regan, brushing straw from her hair, followed.

  The ladder's end disappeared into a square hole in the loft. As Regan watched, a brown pair of adult-sized, scuffed boots extended from the opening and found the first rung of the ladder. Caitlin's hands slid from her hips and she drew back with a frown, as Regan's heart hammered inside her chest and she looked around wildly for a place to hide. The closest place was Minx's stall.

  She raced to the box and slid the stall door open. The black pony's head jerked up and he bared his teeth. Regan hesitated, then glared at him and stepped inside. The pony shuffled to the back of the stall and snorted, never removing his gaze from her. Regan made a face at him. “I don't like this any better then you do so just pipe down."

  From outside the stall she heard Caitlan gasp. “You? I can't believe it ... but how?"

  Then Peter's voice replied. “Caitlan, you are alive."

  Regan grabbed for the side of the stall to keep herself on her feet. She turned her back on the pony and peered around the stall's door. “Peter?"

  Peter turned at her whispered word, then opened his arms to her. With a small cry, she ran to be enfolded in them. She buried her face in his chest as he crushed her to him.

  "I thought I had lost you forever,” he whispered into her hair.

  She lifted her face from his shirt and looked up at him. “Never ... forever,” she answered. Behind her she heard Caitlan clear her throat and reluctantly backed from his arms. “Come. Let's help Caitlan find Patrick, then get out of this hell hole."

  "Patrick lives also? Rourk will be happy,” Peter said.

  A tiny smile curved Caitlan's lips. “Will he?"

  Peter frowned. “Of course he will be happy that you both live."

  Caitlan stared hard at him a moment, then turned away. “We shall see. Right now I must find my son."

  Peter turned toward the stable door. “While you seek your son, there is something I must do."

  Regan reached and grabbed his arm. “What?"

  "I must find a way to stop Dirkk's shaping and free my people's souls."

  "The only way to stop Dirkk's shaping lies in what he wears around his neck ... and as for the souls, they've already been freed,” she said.

  Peter stared down into her face.

  "More important,” Regan said, “is stopping Dirkk. He has your grandfather's book."

  Peter's face paled. “Are you sure?"

  "I saw it with my own eyes ... and Peter, a crack has entered the red."

  "No. It cannot be.” He pulled away from her arm and started toward the stable's door.

  "Wait,” she said, running to stand in front of him. “We must stop Dirkk first. We can come back for the book."

  "But if he escapes us and gets back before we can...?"

  "Once free of the wall, you can ward the castle and prevent him from entering. Our first concern has to be Raya and Tessa,” Regan urged. But the gateways? a voice protested in her mind. Wards will not stop Dirkk. We will, she silently argued back. Uncertainty flickered across Peter's face. “We promised Kelsey,” she threw in for good measure.

  Anger flared in Peter's eyes at her reminder of their promise. “We will do it your way—and pray to God that you are right. Now let us get out of here."

  "No
t without my son,” Caitlan said, her tone of voice leaving no room for discussion.

  "Of course, Patrick too. Regan, I saw a tack room on your left. See if the boy hides there. Caitlan, check the stalls once more. I will check the loft."

  Regan ran to the tack room and opened the door. The aroma of leather, saddle soap and horse sweat greeted her. “Patrick.” No sound came from the darkened room. Regan strained her eyes to see into the dim corners. “If you're in here, you'd better answer me,” she said in her best no-nonsense voice. From the darkness she thought she heard a muffled giggle.

  "Regan, have you found him?” Peter called down to her.

  She hesitated, listening, then called back, “No."

  "Caitlan, how about you?” Peter asked.

  "Not a sign."

  Above her head, Regan heard Peter's muffled steps. “Meet me at the ladder,” he said.

  Regan arrived at the ladder just as Peter was stepping from the last rung.

  "We can wait no longer,” he said. “It will take time to make our way to Raya through the Ru'taha and vipers."

  Caitlan walked up behind him. “I won't go without my son."

  Peter turned and met her steady gaze. “Then you will have to stay."

  "No,” Regan said. “She rescued me from Dirkk. I can't leave her alone."

  "You will,” Caitlan said. “Dirkk's defeat is all that must concern you now. I will stay and find my son. When the battle is over, return for me."

  "It is the only way,” Peter said.

  Regan looked from one face to the other and her shoulders slumped. She reached out and squeezed Caitlan's hand. “We'll be back. I promise."

  Caitlan's lips trembled as she smiled. “Of course you will. Now go."

  Peter turned and ran toward the stable doors. Regan hesitated, and Caitlan reached out and gave her a shove. “Go,” she said. Biting her lip, Regan turned and raced after Peter.

  As Regan ran through the open doors of the stable she heard Caitlan call. “Patrick! Patrick, where are you?"

  Peter was already halfway across the open square of dead grass. Just how does he plan on getting that drawbridge down? No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a rusty squeal filled the air. Regan watched in open-mouthed surprise as the drawbridge lowered and settled to the ground just as Peter reached it. She looked up. Nicholas stood in the doorway of the gatekeeper's tower. He smiled grimly and waved as she raced across the wood planks just behind Peter. As she left the drawbridge to pound across packed dirt and stone, she felt a familiar tingle and Kelsey's exasperated mind voice rang in her head.

  "Regan, damn, where are you? I've been at this for hours."

  "I'm here,” Regan sent.

  "Peter found you. No, don't bother to answer. Just get here as soon as you can."

  Then Kelsey was gone.

  Peter slid to a stop beside here. “Did you contact Kelsey?"

  Regan nodded. “She told us to hurry, then broke contact."

  "First I must ward Crag Castle."

  "Give me your hand so I can help,” Regan said, reaching toward him.

  His hand grasped hers. “Let me do the warding and remember, feed me just a thread of your power."

  She captured a small tendril of power and coaxed it down her arm into his hand. He crouched and touched the drawbridge. As he withdrew his hand the drawbridge creaked upward, but at a snail's pace.

  Regan glanced from the drawbridge to Peter. His face was taut and pallid and the hand that gripped hers trembled. She tightened her hold on his hand and fed him another small stream of power. He gasped, his body jerked, and the bridge jumped skyward and into place with a sharp crack.

  "Pull it back,” he moaned through twisted lips. Frightened, she abruptly fused the stream of power. Her arm began to heat and she separated it into tendrils and fed the power throughout her body.

  He swayed and stumbled against her. Her arms closed around him, her knees almost buckling at his weight. He's so weak. It will take us forever to get to Raya and Kelsey.

  As if he had heard her thoughts, Peter took a deep breath and pushed away from her. He swayed again and Regan reached for him, but he waved her away.

  "The horses are tethered in that fissure to your right. We must hurry.” He turned, took three faltering steps, then stopped and leaned against a large, jagged boulder. He raised his hand and rubbed his head just above his eyebrows. Regan took a step toward him, then halted as he straightened and pushed away from the boulder, his face grim with determination.

  "Horses?” she said.

  "Gilda and Skylar."

  Regan felt relief flood through her. Gilda was safe. “I'll get them."

  Not giving him a chance to reply, she ran into the split in the mountain's wall. The horses neighed when they saw her. Skylar butted her arm as she unwrapped his reins from a scrubby bush. She smiled and scratched between his ears before turning to Gilda. The mare's brown eyes glowed as Regan stole a minute to stare deep into them. Then she loosed the mare's reins and led them both back to Peter.

  He still stood with his back pressed into the rock. His face was ashen and his hands trembled as he reached for Skylar's reins. Regan's stomach clenched as she watched him raise his foot toward the stirrup. His knees buckled and only his grip on the saddle horn kept him from falling. The stallion turned his head and blew softly through his nose at Peter. “I am okay. We have done this before,” Peter said.

  She watched the muscles in his arms bunch as he pulled himself up. As he lifted his right foot and placed it in the stirrup, his left leg collapsed under him and his body swung hard into Skylar's side. Regan flinched, but the stallion remained still. She started forward, then stopped at Peter's muffled curse. She forced her hands to relax, walked to Gilda and swung up into the mare's saddle. Peter still leaned against Skylar's side. She watched his chest heave and frowned. “Pride be damned,” she mumbled under her breath. She reined Gilda to Peter's side.

  "Peter will you let me help?” She saw his shoulders stiffen, then he sighed and nodded. Regan leaned from her saddle and wrapped her fingers in the waistband of his trousers. “Ready?” She felt him tense, then he surged upward. She saw his leg swing over the stallion's back, then he settled heavily back and let his head drop forward until it rested against Skylar's mane. His fingers gripping the saddle horn were white. Regan lifted a hand to touch his arm, then lowered it to Gilda's neck instead. “I suppose we go down?” she said.

  Peter straightened in the saddle. “With slow care. The Ru'taha are everywhere.” He nudged Skylar in the side. Regan held back and let him take the lead.

  * * * *

  Gilda picked her way around a jagged rock in their path, then snorted. Regan patted her neck sympathetically.

  "I know it's slow going, but what else can I do? Skylar refuses to go any quicker.” Gilda's response was another snort and a toss of her head.

  Ahead, Skylar stopped, then turned from the path and scrambled up the mountainside. Gilda's ear flicked at the miniature avalanche of dirt and stones the stallion's heels dislodged.

  "Please, lady, I have to believe they know what they're doing.” The mare turned her head and eyed Regan with obvious doubt, then swung her head around and followed Skylar's lead.

  Halfway up the slope, Regan's heart lurched into her throat as she watched Skylar stumble and Peter slide sideways out of the saddle and halfway down the stallion's side. Skylar's hooves found solid ground again and the stallion halted. For a long minute, Peter dangled, then slowly he pulled himself upright into the saddle. Air whooshed from Regan's lungs as she urged Gilda forward. Peter turned and smiled at her wanly, then faced forward again. Skylar tossed his head, then continued his scramble upwards.

  Straight ahead in their path jutted a large boulder. Regan watched as Skylar neared the rock, then vanished around it. As she and Gilda neared the rock they heard the thud of approaching feet below them on the mountain trail. Gilda surged upward and around the rock.

  On the far side of
the boulder was a small overhang. Skylar stood at its edge. As she watched, Peter leaned over the stallion's head and looked down. He turned to Regan and raised his fingers to his lips, signaling caution. Regan reined Gilda in beside them, then looked down.

  Yards below marched twenty or thirty Ru'taha.

  "We are in plain sight if they choose to look up,” she said in a whisper.

  "They will not,” he answered. “They always march in silence, staring straight ahead.” He turned to face her. “Do you know why they do not talk?"

  "Yes,” she answered. “Dirkk introduced me to a man he'd prepared for shaping."

  Peter's drawn face tightened even more. “He made you witness his hell-spawned evil?"

  She shuddered. “No, we were interrupted.” She looked away from his questioning gaze and watched the last of the Ru'taha march by before turning back to him. “I'll tell you all about it later."

  Peter backed Skylar from the overlook in silence.

  * * * *

  "That was the third time we've had to scramble for cover. At this rate, Raya and Tessa will take hours to reach,” Regan said to Gilda as the mare slipped and slid her way down the slope. “There has to be a better way."

  "Zara,” Gilda suggested.

  Regan leaned over the mare's neck. “Zara?"

  "Zara could fly you there in minutes."

  Regan settled back in the saddle. “Zara, yes, but would she come?"

  Gilda turned her head and eyed Regan. “Yes, I know. Give it a try.” Regan shrugged. “What do we have to lose?"

  Regan closed her eyes and let the power build within her stomach. Then she turned in the direction she thought Zara's cave would be and thrust out a voiceless “Zara, Thea calls."

  Dimly she heard Peter's questioning voice from behind her, but tuned it out and concentrated only on reaching the dragon. “Royal Lady, I seek your help.” Regan felt a grumbling, sleep-muddled tingle, then a hand grasped her arm and shattered the connection.

  "Why didn't you answer me?” Peter said.

  She opened her eyes and pulled her arm from beneath his hand. “Because I'm trying to find us a quicker way home,” she said.

  He drew back from her and frowned. “I will get us there."