His dark eyes narrowed with suspicion. His guards rested their hands on their swords.
They were no match for her. Still… “We’ll discuss this in private.”
“We can speak here.”
She transported him with her—
To a windy mountain ledge overlooking the shimmering heat from meandering lava flows—the Dark Hills, the ancient breeding grounds of her clan and soon to be once more.
“Perhaps now you’ll listen to me.”
From the tension in his body, she recognized his anger, and his fear. But he controlled his emotions. Except for his hand on the pommel of his sword, he stood otherwise unmoved. “Say your piece.”
“You wish your revenge on the one called Istaria?”
He nodded and lowered his hand from the sword. “You can make this happen?”
“I know how to reach Eyr Droc, the Second Realm. That’s where they’ve taken her. Bring her to me and I’ll forgive your failure.”
“If you know this place, why do you not enter?”
How dare he question her! But she expected such a question and calmed. “I cannot. Powerful spells protect the portal and are set against me.
“But they do nothing to mortals. It’s the legacy of he who trained our enemy; that dragons and mortals live together. You’ll have your revenge, my Lord Tyrkam. Obey me and I’ll reveal their secrets.”
He gave a slow nod. “I’ll consider it.”
“Think fast.”
The muscles of his neck flexed, his eyes narrowing. “Return me to my palace. I have plans to make.”
So easy. In a blink they stood in the middle of the Grand Hall.
The thumping of boots on stone tiles echoed around them. “Milord!”
Tyrkam turned to the captain of the guard.
In that moment, Lusiradrol transported herself to her waiting mount at the edge of the forest. It took less than a thought to place herself at the foot of the creature.
A difficulty turned to advantage. The effect of riding in and walking amid the soldiers could not have been less to her favor. They would remember the threat.
He will do it, sssissster?
She patted Fresthan’s crimson face before climbing aboard the jagged scales along his neck. “He knows the risks if he fails.”
A rumble of pleasure escaped the large beast as he lifted into the air.
Wearing a smirk, she looked back at the palace. She would have her revenge of Tyrkam and the white dragon.
But what of the other magic users in the palace? They had vanished before her return with Tyrkam. The thought of such power in the hands of her enemies troubled her. The being she sensed awoke strange feelings of familiarity and, with that, a burning hatred.
__________
Damaera
Damaera shivered from the breeze ruffling her long gown and adjusted her coat.
She followed Tahronen and Gayleana through the lonely, stone streets branching around tall structures. Stone unbroken with cut lines flowed in smooth, solid forms several floors up. Wind whistled through the shattered protrusions of glass.
Vague memories stirred from her youth, flickers of this same place but seen through less experienced eyes.
Gayleana walked on her other side. Her younger sister of some two or three years; her blood sister of the same mother and father. The woman turned brilliant blue eyes to her and smiled. “Welcome home, Damaera.”
Home? That place was not her home. Her home had been the palace before Tyrkam laid siege to it. Her home had been with her two children, before they disappeared. Her home had been in the comforting presence of her husband, King Alric Isolder, before Tyrkam killed him.
She wished she could think of Euramai as home, but her home was torn asunder by the wrenching of her emotions. The devastation destroyed her body and soul; all she loved was gone. Euramai was never truly home for her, even in the past.
“Forget who you were taught to be.” Tahronen’s voice rang clear with a wisdom and guidance that calmed Damaera’s soul. “You are who you were meant to be. Here you’ll learn further the gifts of your lineage.”
The High Priestess lowered her voice. “You are all my children. Only together can we defeat the darkness.”
Damaera glared but said nothing. She hated this but could not go back. This would have to be her home until she could join her children, all she had left in the world dear to her.
They passed through a high-ceilinged library—built on a grand scale with tall columns and seamless stone like everything in the city—and descended a set of wide steps, where several women sat alone in meditative quiet.
From the bottom of the wide steps to the columns at the opposite side of several acres of sectioned areas spread a garden like none she had seen. Barren tree branches swayed in a light breeze. The wind hushed through the trim hedges along the diverging paths through the garden. A few flowers still lingered at the edge of winter.
Clusters of women and young girls added color to the garden with their groups of same-colored robes, like artificial flowers to replace those that lost their blossoms at the end of the growing season.
She descended the steps with Gayleana and Tahronen and followed them over one of the stone paths through the garden. They passed the groups in small open areas. Most members of each group appeared of similar ages, but the different groups they passed ranged from young children to adults. In a couple, one or two individuals stood out as older, although she noticed a younger face in one group of older women. They sat around elder women who wore robes of similar simple design to Tahronen and Gayleana.
Damaera turned to Gayleana, a question on her lips.
Gayleana spoke up. “The colors designate the level of training.”
Gayleana wore green. What did that mean?
She counted five groups by the time they reached the two-story building at the opposite end of the garden. Neither Gayleana nor Tahronen gave any inclination for further explanation. She put the matter aside for later, as was appropriate when a guest to someone such as the High Priestess. Tahronen would explain when the time was right. At least, she hoped.
Patience had been drilled into Damaera since the time she started her foster care with the nobles of Brethin. Her teacher, Mistress Laurel, was quick with discipline but restrained with compliments. In that Damaera had learned the restraint and decorum required of the royal court of Cavatar.
For the moment, she pushed aside her questions and took in the beauty of the arch overlooking the far end of the garden. Up close, she made out the detail of the figures carved on it. They stood larger than life on the face of the arch sheltering the entrance from the elements. Two figures in the center—a man and a women—almost held hands, but their hands blurred in a formless object between them from which rays spiked out. On either side bowed dragons, humans, and other creatures to the center figures.
The Creators of the world, the Majera. Tahronen had showed her the truth after healing her. The Light created the Majera, who was split into three beings. One took no form, but the other two took male and female. It shattered everything her foster family taught her about the one Goddess.
Tahronen looked to both of them with an understanding smile sparkling in her eyes as clear as it curved up her lips. “Come.” She waved them forward.
Damaera glanced aside at Gayleana, but she only shrugged. Tahronen had a purpose, but not even Gayleana could say what that was.
They followed the Majera under the archway and into a candlelit hall of low tables and pillows with two fireplaces on the opposite wall. Candles sat cold in their sconces around the room. Not a seam broke the rock face, like all the buildings they passed, yet the interlocking circles on the floor were comprised of different colors and patterns of stone polished smooth.
Light poured in from the tall windows on either side. Amid the shadows of the arched doorway at the far end rose a staircase.
“What is this place?”
“It serves many purposes. When we
’re not eating, it’s a meditation room or a testing room.” Gayleana untied the leather belt securing her cloak at her waist to keep the wind out. The room was strangely warm without the fires lit. “Several smaller rooms are maintained throughout the grounds to aid in the enrichment of the Lumathir.”
Tahronen led them up the spiral staircase, her steps making no sound on the stone. They ascended to an antechamber with two columns a few steps before a plain wooden door. On the columns hung green banners billowing softly in the breeze through the lone open window. A breeze that should have chilled the room but did not. Winter was forbidden in this place.
The priestess walked ahead and opened the door on quiet hinges. She motioned for Damaera to follow. “I must speak to my child alone,” Tahronen said to Gayleana. “I ask you to stand watch outside the door.”
Gayleana bowed her head and stepped back for Damaera. Tahronen followed and let the door close with a small thud behind her.
A sheer curtain hung down the center of the room Damaera entered. It shimmered in the light of the falling sun through the window, where a noble hawk perched. The High Priestess motioned for her to take a seat on the pillows on the other side of the curtain. Damaera obeyed, while her teacher sat opposite her.
In the air between them, a ball of smoke formed. Images coalesced, moving in and out of the view. Damaera recognized some as they changed from one group of individuals to another.
All of the scenes shared one commonality—red dragons attacking men, women, and children; destroying homes and land. They left nothing but black ash in their wake. Fires blazed while the shadows of people fled each scene.
Too shocked and afraid to look away, Damaera watched in horror as one of the red wyverns swooped down on a woman and swallowed her whole. Her stomach twisted in disgust. “They must be stopped.”
The smoke dissipated to reveal Tahronen’s frown. “You know the purpose for Istaria’s powers. She must be protected. I doubt not that Lusiradrol will find a way to destroy the spirit of Gilthiel and his power she carries. At all costs, we must keep her from that goal.”
A lump formed in Damaera’s throat. She thought Istaria was safe when they revealed her whereabouts. Now that wasn’t true? “How?”
“Mortals may cross the barrier.”
“Any mortal? Any man?”
“Yes.”
No. Istaria was not safe there. “But if someone knows—”
“She is surrounded by the dragons and guarded by the spirit. You will see her when the time is right.” Tahronen dropped her eyes. “Now, our task is to gather. The Red Clan is awake. The war is upon us, but the white dragon is not yet ready. We must do all we can without him to stop the darkness Lusiradrol has unleashed.”
Soft hands enclosed hers, calming her worries. “All children of Light must unite. We’re here for this purpose, that the white dragon will be ready when the time comes to destroy the Darklord in Lusiradrol. We can only pray Lusiradrol does not discover it within herself before the task is finished.”
She released her gentle hold. “All are needed, though your sacrifice is the greatest. I know your doubts. Heed them no earth in which to root. You were meant for this and will yet have a part to play in his purpose.”
With a deep sigh, Damaera nodded. She had known all her life, though the memories of her brief time in Euramai as a child provided little preparation for this. She mourned for her family and would honor them with her efforts.
Tahronen smiled with the gentleness of one who understood. “You were chosen for this path. Let go any doubts you have. Release your guilt. Such emotions can be used against you.”
She was chosen? Who made that decision? Why? Questions swirled in her head, stirring her frustrations to the surface. The answer came like a jolt. “You sent me to be fostered in the practices of the royal courts. You sent me to Brethin.”
The calm on Tahronen’s face showed no shame or regret. “With each generation, the power of my descendants waned. I saw the potential and had to do something. Haiberuk and I guided them to one another to rebuild that power. Alric was gifted, but he was never told. The Isolder line has had infusions of mage blood, but yours is the purest line to my children. Yours is the strongest.”
Fury rose up at the realization of what the Majera was telling her. “You bred us like cattle.”
Hands clasped around hers in a grip too firm for a normal woman, but the unnatural beauty of Tahronen was that of no woman. She was the Creator, a being beyond any mortal.
That still gave her no right.
“Calm yourself, Damaera. Only a mage of great power could bear the power of a dragon without being taken by madness or being consumed by it. Yes, we guided the family lineage, but it was necessary to prepare for this time.”
After losing all she had loved, hearing that it had all been arranged for generations to fall upon them like this burned within Damaera; but she could not deny the necessity of it. Still, it was her daughter, her beloved Istaria, who suffered for the indignity. And Damaera had loved Alric after some time forced into the marriage and lost him to Tyrkam’s greed. It had all been pre-ordained. Did she not have a choice in the fate upon her? Did Istaria? Did anyone?
“Join us.”
Emotions threatened to boil up, but the currents of magic changed and distracted her. They flowed from Tahronen like tidal waves of an ocean. Caught in the currents of power, Damaera forgot what stirred her emotions. Instead, she lost herself in the Light surrounding and penetrating her with its warmth.
But she would not forget that she had been nothing more than a pawn in a larger game.
__________
Calli
Calli swung the wooden practice sword in a swift parry, deflecting the strike of one of Marjan’s lieutenants, a short but quick-moving man called Dravis. Wood knocked together. She ignored the sweat tickling down her neck and stray red hairs plastered to her face. Her entire attention focused on her opponent. She vowed to maintain the level of training she obtained prior to leaving the palace.
His practice sword arced through the air. She anticipated his move and swung around. He swiped through empty air. When she brought hers to his throat, he looked genuinely surprised.
She breathed hard from the workout, almost as hard as he did.
A mocking grin climbed through the mustache on his face.
“Two for three,” she said and lowered the practice blade. “I believe you owe me.”
He frowned at her words.
“Y’d best keep your word, Dravis. Who can tell what she’d do with a real sword.”
He eyed the three soldiers gathered to watch the fun. Although Dravis could be trusted for his commander’s life, he had a mouth that bested him at times. This was one of those times.
At Marjan’s insistence, Calli had taken his bet that he could defeat her in swordsmanship. After she first defeated him, he pressed for two out of three. Fair fight—he won. Third time was a charm and tie breaker. She defeated him. Maybe his pride would mellow for a while.
She used her sleeve to brush away the sweat, hiding her grin behind her arm. Marjan had warned her about her skills being challenged, but after witnessing for himself her talents, he advised she take on any challenger who dared to cross her. Being the daughter of Kaillen was never enough to prove herself.
In secret he had trained her, since most men of the continent despised the idea of women fighting.
After Istaria’s abduction and Calli’s insistence on rescuing her, Phelan assigned the two weapons masters, Donaghy and Morain, to train her with the hopes that they would break her spirit. Within two cycles, she bested them at swords and staffs.
Her father was the best, unbeaten in combat. It took a snake in his bed, while he slept, three years ago to take down the mighty Kaillen. It should never have happened.
She caught the eyes of the general several paces away. He turned, hiding the smile creeping out.
Perhaps now the others would respect her as the general did. A mer
e lady? Not for her.
Calli lowered the wooden sword and set it aside on a rack of myriad weapons. At a glance of their small audience, she recalled the first practices with Jayson. He had never doubted her, but he also joined her in the midst of a fight in a small village tavern. Without him, she could not have won.
Unconsciously, she grabbed at the pendant hanging on its chain around her neck. Her loyalty to her mistress had led her to Jayson. Her loyalty to the prince faltered.
“Next time…”
The threat in the voice distracted her from the memories. She turned at Dravis’s gruff voice.
He scowled and turned away.
Calli shook her head. Most of the men she met had a problem with her knowing how to fight. Donaghy and Morain were thorough in teaching her techniques of as many different weapons as they could—or, rather, refreshing—and she impressed them. The challenges from Marjan’s soldiers continued that training since one of them caught her practicing her combat skills with Marjan’s master.
She strode away from them, her mind shifting to the gray gelding grazing in one of several stone-fenced paddocks with his travel companion, a bay mare named Danny. Both the draft-blooded mare and the lighter saddle horse watched the commotion in the largest of the paddocks.
When Calli approached his paddock, Duke shifted his attention and walked to the fence to greet her. Calli smiled and stroked the dark, dappled face.
Phelan had given the horse to her as a means to ensure she would return. He also gifted her with a sword made by the finest swordsmith for the same reason. The seal hanging on the chain around her neck represented his promise to her, when she returned.
But her heart now belonged to Jayson, and she had nothing to return to.
The gelding nuzzled her shirt.
“Good to see you too. Ready for a little ride?”
In answer, Duke pawed impatiently at the ground. Calli chuckled and patted his neck. “Me too. Just wait a bit more.” She kissed his muzzle, his whiskers tickling her face, and headed to the fortress. She could use a good wash and rest, but first a little ride. Duke had fattened on the lush grass and lack of exercise. They both needed a good stretch.
Legends Page 4