He managed to shower and put his rut sack back together in record time, before joining the others at the back door. Everyone else looked well rested and calm, although Prada found his other side quickly, avoiding Sienna. Nathaniel chose to ignore this, instead pointing Sienna to the middle, in between him and Desmond. It was a position she took often in her youth, in between her two warrior Maestros.
“There's no one out there,” she said, more of a fact than a complaint. “We scanned the area twice.”
“That's good,” Nathaniel answered. “But they could still be coming, so stay on guard.”
“Ready?” Desmond asked and Nathaniel nodded. He pressed the red button and the gangplank lowered.
Dramoon was a puzzling planet, with many different temperatures, depending on the rotation, all of them harsh. Nathaniel sucked in a breath at the cold they weren't expecting, and took the first steps down the gangplank.
It seemed like an easy enough descent There was a vastness that was unsettling to him as they walked onto the solid ground. It felt too empty.
“Do you think—” he started to Desmond, when he suddenly felt a disturbance in the magic.
Out of nowhere, beings began appearing. They had been using magical cloaking that was far advanced to any of them. It was a combat technique that Nathaniel had only dreamed of.
But right now, he dreamed of escaping this.
There were at least fifty of them suddenly surrounding them. And with shoulders tense, and hands up, they didn't come in peace.
“We're here to help,” Sienna spoke right away. She knew that her accent wasn't perfect, but she felt confident and fluent, and even elated to be using what she thought was a useless root language to learn. “We are witches.”
They stopped, staring at her.
“We are witches,” she repeated.
“You are keepers of magic without use,” came the reply. “You will not stray us from our path.”
And then the first one shot magic at them.
This was a level of magic and a strength that was not often seen. They didn't often fight other witches. In their combat training, while they did spar with each other, they usually fought technology, guns, weapons of destruction.
Nathaniel slammed his hand onto Sienna's shoulder, shoving her to the ground as he blocked the blast. Desmond moved to her side, his magic ready after years of lying dormant.
It came back to him like riding a bicycle. Fighting with Nathaniel was something he would never forget. They were two of the greatest warriors in the history of witches.
Prada, though, was something he was not prepared for. For every move that Nathaniel made, she made one twice as powerful. It was as if he could set her up for every single shot that led to a killing blow for her.
Prada, Desmond realized, with a sinking pit in his stomach, didn't need any of them. And she didn't feel any remorse, any emotion at all, from taking life after life.
They weren't supposed to take a life unless they absolutely had to. They were supposed to defend, and only kill when absolutely necessary.
Prada clearly thought every moment was a time to kill.
Desmond had never seen her power in action quite like this before. She and Nathaniel were clearly made to work together, and after a moment or two, he hung back, acting defenseless rather than offensively.
Wound only, he heard Nathaniel shout to Prada, who ignored him. WOUND, TIRO.
Prada got the message and pulled back at last, although she didn't seem happy about it.
It was over before Desmond even had time to judge what had happened. It was as if to Prada, they hadn't been in the middle of a life or death battle. It was as if they had just been in the middle of a normal day, and she had stopped to take care of a few bugs.
“Check which ones you left alive,” Nathaniel said, with a tone in his voice that told Desmond he had dealt with this more than once. Prada moved forward, checking pulses without blinking. Magic killed without a trace, if done right. And Desmond could see not even a scorch mark on them. She was an expert, better than those twice her age.
Being an expert in killing was not something that any witch should be proud of.
“Are you all right?” Nathaniel turned to Sienna, who shakily stood.
“I could have helped,” she said.
“No.” Nathaniel looked straight are her. “Your skill is languages, that is where we need you.”
“I was just as powerful as her,” Sienna said, and Desmond touched her arm gently.
“Focus, little one,” he said, softly and she quieted down.
Prada returned to Nathaniel, meeting his eyes. Her own were cold, as if she was not affected at all by the lives that she had taken, robbing Nature of them.
She held up her hand, indicating five fingers.
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.
“You killed five?”
She shook her head.
“She left five alive,” Sienna said slowly, and Desmond looked down. Her fingers were twitching and he knew what she was thinking.
Sienna didn't like death of any kind. Not witches, animals or flowers. Healing was one thing, but resurrection was a whole different matter. Resurrection not only made her sick, but also opened portals to the dead. It was a dangerous game.
“They are gone,” Desmond said to her, quietly. “Send regrets to Nature.”
“Bring me to the ones who are alive,” Nathaniel said, and Prada dutifully led him forward. “Sienna?”
“Mm hmm,” she managed, moving forward.
One of the damaged witches was awakening, his eyes clouded. Sienna had trouble getting the words out, especially given the destruction they had just caused.
“We need to speak to your leader,” she managed. “We will speak for the universe about your plans for peace.”
“The age of the witches are here,” he spat to her. “We will bring this universe to a society that can operate together, under our rule.”
She paused, trying to think.
“We already do that…
“Your way of magic controls nothing,” he managed. “Ours will control all.”
With that, his eyes rolled back. He wasn't dead, but they weren't going to get any information out of him any time soon.
“What did he say?” he asked.
“He… they want control of the universe, like our version of witches have,” she said. “It sounds like they might be making plans. I'm not sure they have the technology that Thomas was alluding to, to be honest. I think they might be using their magic.”
Their magic is weak, Prada echoed in Nathaniel's head.
“Only compared to you,” he answered verbally. “We need to see where their headquarters are, and how many they are. We need to convince them to back down...to work in harmony Or we could be at risk for an age of war. Am I glad you're here,” he turned to Desmond with a smile. “Any tips?”
“Brute force wasn't the technique I used,” Desmond answered. “They do not deal with emotions. They speak very bluntly When I was here, I had a translator, and he only translated the facts. A very different kind of negotiation than we are used to.”
“It should be easier,” Sienna said. “Translating facts is always easier than emotion.”
“He seemed to understand you well enough,” Nathaniel said, and she shrugged.
“It's not a difficult language, actually. It's much like Desmond's description. Facts, easy and safe, clear words.”
“Well, keep doing that,” he said, as they straitened up. “I'm tempted to wait until those who are alive wake up and can lead us but…”
North, Prada said. North and then north east and through the passage.
“Or we could just read their minds,” Nathaniel answered, rolling his eyes. “You aren't supposed to do that without permission, Prada.”
What difference does it make? she asked. It's just facts, in their minds.
She led the way, showing no signs of cold or fear as they moved forward.
Nathaniel followed her, feeling her magical ping to bring him closer. She wanted him to stay close, in case they were attacked again, and so she could communicate if needed.
His Tiro did seem so cold and ruthless, but he knew that underneath she was lost, learning and frightened.
If he left her, there would be no one she could communicate with.
It wasn't something that lay easily on his mind.
But even now, he wondered what Eliza was doing, and thought about how much easier it would be to be sitting beside her.
It was more than just the warmth and the fact that he would be safer, quieter.
It was the fact that on that throne, he could potentially serve and save more lives than these individual visits. They did take on large quests like Dramoon, but sometimes they took on smaller, quieter quests that only affected a person or two.
Was his calling the high throne? He felt like he had failed with two Tiros now.
He didn't know, but he needed to make sure his head was here, keeping his team safe. Otherwise, there was no point in thinking about the future.
They walked through the cold, Prada leading the way from the directions she had gleaned from the warrior witches.
It was only when they came upon a huge gleaming building did they realize what they were dealing with.
“It looks like school,” Sienna said. “It looks exactly like the school.”
“They did build another one,” Desmond half-marveled “Without me, without our training, without our approval. So, what are they up to in there?”
“Only one way to find out,” Nathaniel said, approaching the door. “Let's invite ourselves in.”
Chapter 8
Walking through the front doors was easy for Nathaniel and Prada. But despite the fact that the doors were wide open and there seemed no one there to stop them. But Sienna stopped, as if there was an invisible force field.
“Ack,” she said. “Maestro?”
“It's a spell,” Desmond said. “It's barring those who don't have magic from entering.”
He was able to step back and force without difficult, and Sienna drew a deep breath.
“I can give them enough magic to go through,” she said, drawing her shoulders up.
“No,” Nathaniel said. “You will not.”
“Then do you suppose I just shout through the walls?” Sienna asked. “You need me. It's not going to hurt me, Maestro. And I need to practice anyways. For Devon.”
“Sienna…”
“Nathaniel,” Desmond, ever the voice of reason, spoke up, “she's with the two of us, we've dealt with this before. It's fine.”
“I'll be fine,” Sienna protested.
Perhaps I'll just go alone and you can stay here debating? Prada's voice came in his head. Are you here to work?
Prada, you will let me set the schedule for this, he whipped around. Her magic flared in her eyes.
We need to be vigilant, especially if we need to attack again.
This is a school, Tiro. We don't attack.
This is their school. They might attack if they see fit.
He turned back to Sienna, trying not to answer Prada.
“All right,” he said. “Minimal amounts. Come through.”
She closed her eyes, forcing her magic up through her veins It came through easier than Nathaniel thought it would, and it made him realize that she was not at all keeping up with her medication.
She was preparing for a full return to her magic, which would kill her in short order if she wasn't careful.
She stepped through the open door with ease, and he saw Prada's eyes widened slightly as she felt the power off Sienna.
His young Tiro said nothing, but he knew she was impressed.
Her feelings lasted only a moment, because Sienna only made it three steps before she wavered
Desmond and Nathaniel had spent years dealing with this kind of weakness. Desmond reached out to grab her before she fell, and Nathaniel stepped into her side, bracing against her.
“I'm all right,” she protested, breathless. “I'm all right. I'm all right.”
Prada snorted, turning around. She had no patience for those who were weak, that much was clear.
“And that is why you don't use magic, hmm?” Nathaniel asked, after a moment. “Prada, stop walking.”
She turned around, but she didn't do it patiently.
Finally, Sienna straightened, nodding.
“All right,” she answered, although she didn't seem too keen on responding to their inquires about magic.
“This is eerie,” Desmond said as they looked around. “It looks like ours, down to the last point.”
“Which means someone has been inside ours,” Nathaniel said. “And then came here.”
“Yes, of course,” Desmond answered. “There were many of us who worked on this project, before they made it clear that they wanted nothing to do with it.”
“Who else was here?” Nathaniel asked as they walked. It seemed as if no one was bothering them. No one even knew they were there. It was almost as if there was no one there.
“No one who is still alive,” Desmond answered. “Except for me.”
“Well, then…” Nathaniel said as they turned the corner.
There was a class room, as he knew there would be. As with their own academy back home, there was glass windows.
Inside, it looked identical as well. Young Tiros training in a combat class.
Except for the fact that they were not just sparring.
There were animals in the class with them, wild animals who looked terrified. They had a reason to be terrified, Nathaniel saw quickly, as the young Tiros advanced and then killed them. There used various techniques to end their life, but it was the same outcome. It wasn't long before there were bodies laid out and bleeding, life devoid of them.
The teacher clasped his hands and begun to speak.
“He's congratulating them,” Sienna translated.
“Do you notice they are not all from here?” Desmond said. “They are recruiting witches on their own.”
“It doesn't look like they are recruiting witches,” Nathaniel said. “It looks like they are training an army.”
The teacher looked up then, and his eyes locked on them. They were caught, and they realized they had little plan.
Bring me, Prada said quickly to Nathaniel.
“What?” he asked her in shock. “Bring you where?”
Bring me to them, as a student, she said. It's a good undercover way of moving forward without admitting we broke in. I'm older yes, but…
“I could try,” he said, quickly relaying their plan to the others.
“It might work,” Desmond said just as the door opened.
“What are you doing here?” came the strong voice.
“We are witches,” Sienna said. “And although it is too late for us, we bring you a student who may be of interest.”
The teacher glanced between them and Prada. She was small for her age, and Sienna sucked in her breath at the next question.
“How old is she?”
“Twelve,” Sienna said, pulling several years off Prada's age. The teacher didn't even blink, waiving into the classroom.
“Prove it to us,” he said, and Sienna translated. Desmond had been right. There were no feelings, no wavering. It was do or die.
Sienna had a feeling that it might be die, the way everyone was suddenly staring at them.
She had never been so grateful for her magic blocks as she was now. Despite the fact that she had conjured up a lot of magic a few moments ago, she had been on magical blockers for so long that it was quelled almost right away.
“They want Prada to go inside…They want her to prove that she is of their magic.”
“Do you want me to…?” Nathaniel started and then realized that would blow their cover. He couldn't ask whether she wanted him to come or not. He wasn't supposed to be her Maestro in this scenario.
Luckily, Prada sho
wed no fear and waltzed into the classroom as if she belonged there.
One of the students seemed to understand exactly what was going on. Prada watched as he reached into a bucket, and out came a woofle. They were ugly creatures, with tusks and a rough skin quality. They were considered rodents, pests on just about every planet.
But it's appearance didn't mean it deserved to die.
The student placed it down on the ground and it squealed, panicking.
Prada watched it run in circles twice before she drew back her magic. There was no hesitation, no flicker of remorse.
Before anyone could say anything, all the remained of it were two spots of blood and dust in the air. She hadn't just killed it. She had obliterated it.
Desmond turned in shock to Nathaniel, who took it in stride. It wasn't the first time he had seen her do something like that. It wasn't a thought he treasured, but he had seen it many times before with Prada, and it no longer shocked him.
The things that he had gotten used to over the years almost saddened him.
“Where did you find her?” the teacher asked Sienna, who had to pause and think.
“She… found us. We are outcasts of society.”
His eyes narrowed and she wondered if she had said the wrong word. But then he relaxed and she realized he was simply thinking.
“You were witches?”
“We are magically adapt, some of us more than others. We are not witches,” she outright lied. She hated that she had to, but she didn't want them to think that they were connected to their school. From what she had learned during her training, negotiations were delicate.
Sienna retained enough magic to hide her thoughts for her mind, as he watched her. Then, he pointed to her face.
“You are bleeding.”
“Creator,” she swore out loud, putting her hands to her face. Her nose was starting to gush blood, a surefire sign that the magic was starting to affect her. It didn't hurt, but if she continued down this path, it wouldn't be long before it led to something else going wrong.
“Ask him if we can have access to the med bay,” Nathaniel said behind her. “Please.”
The Dragon's Gold (Exiled Dragons Book 12) Page 70