Legends

by Melanie Nilles

  Might I have been better off with someone else? If anyone would get them lost, Kirin would. Too late. Siannon prayed for Goddess to guide them back to safety.

  Not far from where they turned, the corridor ended in a strange room. Kirin stepped in without hesitation.

  Siannon followed, and stopped inside.

  They entered a chamber of stylized arches with eight narrow columns supporting those arches around a central peak. Around the exterior in seven sections loomed tall paintings creatures too terrible to imagine. The doorway took up the eighth section.

  Siannon walked the outside of the room, studying each picture, while Kirin held the torch aloft near the center. Siannon shivered at what he saw painted in each scene.

  The images contained fiendish creatures, some of few detail but shown lingering over the skeletons or bloodied bodies of men. One mural bore the impression of the red dragons that were the subject of recent news. He had imagined them almost as they were depicted, based on Taelyn’s descriptions. More of the strange designs like vines and leaves from throughout the fortress arched over each image.

  He stopped at the last picture and gazed at a doglike creature swinging a double axe through armies of men. Though it had the snout and ears of a dog, its body resembled that of a man. A bluish-gray pelt covered its muscular body, and red and white beads decorated the black hair. It wore nothing but a cloth around its loins and a baldric from which hung locks of hair and bones. Like a dog, it walked on the front toes of long feet, but that and the upright ears were the most obvious of the animal similarities in features. It snarled ferociously, baring its fangs at the men it killed. Others like it blurred into the background of hills.

  Siannon turned away, horrified by the sight of the abomination. When he looked to the center of the room, he saw the least fearsome yet most ominous object. The smooth, black stone of no significant shape balanced on a pedestal. No longer than a man’s hand from wrist to fingertips, the obsidian sat beneath a layer of dust.

  At first glance, he thought it nothing but an ordinary stone. But the longer he examined it, the more something about it chilled his soul and he looked away.

  “I like none of these.” Kirin’s hushed voice rang as a shout in the eerie silence.

  Siannon nodded. “I’ll not sleep well for days.” This discovery was worth reporting back to Marjan, if only to return to the safety of the valley.

  “What o’ the rock?”

  Both turned to the stone, so insignificant but curious.

  “Not right is that thing. I’ll wager whoever made this room intended it to stay undisturbed.”

  Kirin carried the torch closer. Nothing changed in the stone, but the shadows upon the walls seemed to grow.

  Siannon glanced aside at the dogman, not daring to set his eyes on the shadowy creatures in the other paintings. He shivered at the menace surrounding them and hurried closer to Kirin. “Let’s go.”

  Kirin blew a cloud of dust off the stone before wiping it smooth with his sleeve. The liquid black stone pulled one’s gaze as if to draw in the individual to a nothingness from which they would never escape.

  “Leave it alone.” Something cold wrapped around Siannon’s soul and passed, leaving a stain of malevolence.

  “It’s harmless.”

  “Did you not feel that chill? I’d not say harmless, not knowing this place uses magic.”

  Siannon glanced around, certain that at any second the pictures would spring to life. An odd sensation passed through him. Before he could describe it, it was gone. He turned to Kirin, who gazed unblinking into the stone.

  “Kirin?”

  No response.

  “KIRIN!”

  Still nothing.

  Afraid of what bewitched to his friend, Siannon jumped between him and the stone with his back to it.

  With the object blocked from his sight, Kirin blinked. “I could not look away. I saw…visions.” He looked around at the paintings, his face pale. “Of something far worse than these creatures. Horrible visions.”

  Siannon looked around once more at the strange images. Determined to leave the dark room behind, he took his friend’s arm and steered him back to the dark corridor. “I think we’d best return to General Marjan. He should know to avoid this area.”

  * * *

  Darkness breathed with the stench of death. It writhed and twisted, conscious only of its primary purpose as it awakened from its slumber. Where was the master? It had been searching when a magic-user cast his spell.

  Images returned of a gray beard on a hooded mage, the last image it recalled. It seethed with the fury of defeat by the human.

  The same human had banished others of its kind with the help of the white dragon. Revenge! The mage would pay with the souls of men.

  But what had awakened it? Something touched it, a thread of thought that shattered the weakening ancient spell. Someone disturbed the magic holding it prisoner.

  In the dark it lied, once dormant beneath an old spell waning in strength; now awake to carry out the purpose set by its creator, the one the humans called the Darklord. With the master, they would awaken the others. The Majera and their creations would not stop them this time.

  * * *

  Makleor paused, his senses sharpened. A wave of power too subtle to identify but not low enough to miss washed through him. It passed over the world like a gentle reprieve. An old and subtle magic he recognized for its chill cast upon the soul.

  His tired bones ran cold. He knew that magic.

  With the armies filling the hidden valley of Arronfel, they explored their new home. For too long the protected fortress harbored the ghosts of the past and hid its secrets.

  Now, someone had disturbed the Stone of Arromefîrdra deep within the mountain, where warnings in the Ancient language surrounded images of the terrible beasts created by the Darklord.

  But the armies of Cavatar knew not that language, nor the horrors of the last age.

  When Tahronen gave birth to the magi by men of the Second Race, the Darklord spawned his own “children”. Makleor had created the stones as a means of trapping the vestiges of the Darklord. The stone hidden deep inside the mountain trapped one of them. The Ancients had sealed away the stone on the chance that he might seek the demon. They sought to keep it out of the hands of the evil master.

  When he hid within the embryo of one of his dragons, the Darklord lost all of his memories. Lusiradrol still knew nothing of the immense power within her. If she recognized the power of the Stone, however, it might arouse those memories as it had once before.

  Long ago she attacked Arronfel for reasons she could not identify and was defeated. The barriers protecting the valley could not keep her out, and the people paid a great price in the lives lost. Those who survived the siege fled. They dared not take the Stone of Arromefîrdra with them for fear of luring Lusiradrol and escaped to one of the islands they now called home.

  Makleor sighed and set down the quill on the table by the tome he translated.

  Such is the nature of human curiosity, I suppose. They found the Stone before we’re ready. If she understands— He closed his eyes and shook his head. The world is not ready for such a foe.

  With any luck, Lusiradrol was too busy entangling Vahrik in her web of deceit to notice the faint power.

  __________

  Vahrik

  Vahrik gazed at the woman encased in the clear crystal. It scattered the firelight throughout the room. The figure frozen within was definitely a woman, though the hood of the furred cloak hid the hair. He could not confirm that this was the woman Lusiradrol promised.

  Nor had he expected her frozen in crystal. Rather, he desired to have her as any woman, to make her scream in fear and pain.

  Lusiradrol’s eyes burned a hole in his skull from where she sat atop the clear block of faceted crystal. “Amused?”

  He looked up to the black-clad woman. “Not likely. I see nothing to confirm she is who you say.”

  A shadow
crossed her face. Vahrik stepped around the block of crystal to the crackling fire, away from the side where Lusiradrol sat. The fire flared high and subsided.

  When he looked ahead of him, he stopped short of running into the woman. He hated when she did that.

  Menace softened into an amused smirk on black-red lips. “You’ll have your toy.” She stepped towards him, sliding her black fingernail along his jaw line. Her finger traced the scar she had left on his jaw in one of their previous encounters.

  “She cannot escape you, nor can she be rescued. They have no choice but to bring the princess. Once I have what I want, she’s all yours.” She smirked in amusement. “Perhaps you’ll have your woodsman too.”

  Vahrik smiled at the idea. The woodsman. Darius! The name burned like acid in his mind. If not for that man, he would not have lost the princess nor taken a beating at the hands of Tyrkam.

  “You’ll have them soon.”

  A pleasant tingle rippled down his spine at the thought. The power of the white dragon would be his. Tyrkam would beg for his life.

  And he, Vahrik, would have all rights to refuse mercy.

  Lusiradrol smiled wryly. “Make ready for visitors within the cycle.”

  The hearth fire flared to consume her, and Vahrik jumped back. After she vanished, the fireplace crackled and spit as if nothing happened, except the shadow upon his mind lifted.

  He returned his gaze to the crystallized woman as images of the princess came to mind. What entertainment he would have with her, with all of them!

  __________

  Jayson, Shadow, and Istaria

  Jayson slid down the steep, snowy slope on his back. This was no time to break his leg. He was close to the gateway now. Its power called to him. Though he had never been to Eyr Droc, Master Haiberuk showed all Sh’lahmar the way in their meditations. Haiberuk insured they could find it if circumstances made it necessary, like his.

  Unfortunately, it meant whoever followed him would also find it. The same presence of the wolf they had seen before staying in Selton had returned to track he and Calli when they entered the mountains. Jayson could only wonder his purpose.

  He wished Haiberuk had joined him, instead of sending him off alone. Perhaps with the immortal’s power, he could discern who followed him. And perhaps Lusiradrol could not have trapped Calli so easily.

  Or perhaps the immortal could help to calm his emotions for her.

  He let out a heavy sigh. Too many possibilities and not enough answers arose.

  As he reached the bottom of the slope, a gentle reprieve settled over his mind, calming his frustrations. He had arrived. Magic masked the cave to appear as the shadow of a boulder. Now to convince Darius to help him.

  If not, he would go alone. One way or another, he would rescue Calli. Or fail trying. There’s a happy thought. He swatted it aside like a pesky insect.

  Calli was strong. She descended from the Ancients. Even if he failed, she would survive.

  Giving no second thought to the cave, he dusted the snow off his clothes and walked through the illusion. With plenty of room to spare for the dragons using the cavern, the maw opened up around him.

  He followed the flow of magic emanating from the portal somewhere ahead through the black of the inner tunnels.

  When he reached the light of the portal entrance, he hesitated at the brink. Magic swirled around an image of green beauty of the world of the Second Realm. In a moment, he would step across the divide. He would leave Calli behind, until he could return with help.

  * * *

  Hidden by the trees and brush, Shadow watched the Sh’lahmar vanish into the cave. The forces of magic swirled around the man in bright colors Shadow felt through his core, consuming the one who stepped through the gateway. They formed a nexus between this world and the one beyond.

  Eyr Droc.

  That was this one’s destination. It would make his job difficult.

  Jayson had traveled with a woman, until Lusiradrol took her.

  Shadow would smile if he could with a cat’s lips. For all he had suffered, fate and Lusiradrol granted him the bittersweet taste of vengeance; soon to be twice-over. If what he suspected proved true, Jayson would return with aid to free the woman. That meant fewer protectors with the princess, making his job easier. Unless Istaria joined them, which he doubted, since the dragons would not allow harm to come of their chosen one whose spirit was locked to hers.

  He had only to wait. In the meantime, his wound would heal. Though he had removed the arrow, the pain delayed him. Now, with the flesh healed on the outside, the inside remained. The pain grew less each day.

  Too bad the hunter had not shot the wolf. Whatever she said or did saved her life. From a distance, Shadow had watched the man hoist her over his shoulder and carry her away.

  Her presence never reappeared. Had she returned to the mage, or died of the wounds he inflicted? Or did she seek the dragons from the Second Realm now crossed into the First?

  Only one possibility gnawed at his mind—she would return before he could complete his mission. If that happened, she could ruin any cover story he created to gain the trust of the one he hoped to take back to Tyrkam.

  He could only hope time sided with him.

  Until he could make his move, Shadow would wait.

  * * *

  The drakin circled overhead, chirping and squawking at each other in their games. The blossoms of spring in the Second Realm scented the air, carried on the breeze that blew long white strands of hair across Istaria’s face. The cool of the grass tickled her bare feet.

  A swift jab to her ribs made her cringe and put her hand to her belly. She pressed her palm against a tiny limb stretching her already tight skin further than it wanted to go.

  Had I power over nature, you’d be out already and in my arms. For now, you are safest there. Where the darkness could not touch him.

  Rowen grazed next to her, fattened on plentiful grass with little work. Darius used the gelding on occasion, but he no longer needed the horse for hauling trees or wagons of chopped wood.

  Now, Darius cut wood for their fires, but mostly he trained. Somewhere alone in the woods, he practiced the ways drilled into him for more than sixty years.

  She stroked away another prod against her belly. She never would have guessed Darius’s true age. As he explained, the connection to the Light determined one’s aging rate, since they were descendants of the immortal Majera. Darius appeared about a third of his age. When she first saw him without the beard, she thought him barely older than Phelan.

  Perhaps that was why, while her father had grayed beyond his years, her mother’s youth and beauty never waned. Her mother had been a sister of Lumathir, now returned to train in the skills she would need to survive the new struggle overtaking their world.

  Istaria stroked the shining hide of the heavy horse. In all the time she spent in Eyr Droc, she learned more than she ever thought possible. Her world had changed in almost a year to nothing she would have expected.

  Had it been so long since the attack on her carriage?

  “My lady.”

  Istaria whirled at the voice.

  Jayson? She blinked. What was he doing there? She never noticed his presence in the magic, though he never created much, if any, ripple in the flow of power.

  I thought you had other duties.

  “‘Had’, my lady, is as good a word as any.”

  Stroking Rowen’s lowered neck, Istaria frowned, until she recalled what Gaispar told her. The Red Clan?

  He nodded and shifted the heavy cloak in his arms. “Asleep, they kept my lips sealed, but Lusiradrol broke that seal.”

  As I was aware. What have you now? When another thought struck, she put her hand to her belly. You’ve not come for Darius to help you fight them.

  His cheek muscles flexed with the clamping of his jaw. When he spoke, his words came with hesitation. “Not…as…such.”

  Liar. She held the thought private.

  His e
yes dropped briefly to her protruding belly before meeting her gaze again. “I need to speak with him on certain matters.”

  When Rowen moved off, Istaria watched him go, wishing she could ignore the troubles around her. Jayson’s words bothered her. Something inside her rang with a warning she wished not to hear. The Sh’lahmar could hold secrets to their graves. She doubted Jayson would share with her whatever he tried to avoid.

  “If you could tell me, my lady, I’d be most honored.”

  Istaria turned back to him with a sigh. If you must, he’s in the woods practicing the ways—your ways.

  The ways of magic counted for only a part of the Sh’lahmar training, as she discovered. She likely knew more about the elite guards than either Darius or Jayson from the tomes she read, more than she wished to know.

  Jayson smiled and bowed his head. “Once again, we meet, though this time under circumstances better than the first.”

  The first had been during her escape with Darius to this, the Second Realm, when Lusiradrol had attacked. Without him, she would have died there with Darius. Jayson had tipped the balance of power in their favor. She supposed she owed him her gratitude, despite her suspicions now of why he would seek Darius.

  Without what she expected as his typical courtly manners, he rushed off.

  The baby flipped inside her, stealing her attention for a moment. Not even the promise of new life could shake the shadow crossing her emotions. Something of Jayson’s hidden purpose bothered her.

  What is it?

  The baby kicked again as if to assert itself.

  She rubbed the place where its limb pounded against her and smiled. Shall we see?

  A hard jab to her ribs responded.