The Return of the Dragon Queen

by Farah Oomerbhoy

  “Blood magic.” Victor nodded.

  Rafe glanced at the old druid. “Yes, it is from an old alliance my family has with the dwarves since Dorian the Great was king.” He flashed me a half smile. “Why do you think they agreed to make me your sword?”

  I ran my hand over the hilt of Dawn and smiled back at him. My dwarven-made sword, which Rafe had gifted me while he trained me in sword fighting during my time at the academy, was once a perfect conduit for my fae-fire. But now there was no silver fire left in me to infuse the sword with, and it hung at my side like any ordinary weapon.

  “Then it’s settled,” said Victor. “Once Ashara makes the witchstone, I will take you to an area where you can open the portal outside the wards.”

  Sebastian returned to the library.

  I put my hand on his arm. “How is Kalen?”

  “Still weak,” said the old druid. “You can see him now, but only for a moment. He needs to rest.”

  I nodded and followed Brother Sebastian. Kalen had been moved to a small room near the infirmary. He was lying on a small wooden bed in the corner of the room, propped up by pillows. Penelope was sitting on a stool by his bed, holding his hand.

  He smiled when he saw me. “Aurora.”

  I smiled back at my old friend and hurried over to hug him. “I’m so glad you are okay, Kalen.”

  Rafe came over and patted Kalen on his shoulder. “You gave us quite a scare.”

  Kalen winced. “I can’t even remember how we got here. Mother has been filling me in.” He looked up at Tristan, his violet eyes shining. “Thank you. Mother told me you carried me all the way here.”

  Tristan came over and squeezed Kalen’s shoulder softly. “And I would do it again, brother.”

  Kalen’s eyes shone with tears. He looked away. “I’m tired.”

  Sebastian bustled forward. “I think that’s enough for today. Kalen needs to regain his strength.”

  I nodded and looked at Penelope. “As soon as Ashara creates the witchstone, we can leave.”

  Penelope turned her gaze on Brother Sebastian, who was busy checking Kalen. “Will Kalen be well enough to travel?”

  The old druid shook his bald head. “No, it is too soon. He needs at least a fortnight or maybe two until he is strong enough to leave.”

  Penelope stood up, her eyes steely blue as she regarded her son. “Kalen will be safer here with the druids. We have no idea what we will encounter once we get to Stonegate.”

  Rafe and Tristan nodded simultaneously. Protective as they were of Kalen, there was no way I could see either of them willingly dragging him along on a quest such as this.

  Penelope kissed her son’s forehead. His eyes were already closing. “Now get some rest.”

  She glanced at us. “How long will Ashara take to make the witchstone?”

  “She said she will have it ready by morning,” Tristan huffed.

  Penelope arched an elegant eyebrow. “So soon? Witchstone portals can take months for an ordinary witch to make. Is Ashara that powerful?”

  Tristan shrugged. “She believes she is.”

  “Well, I hope she knows what she is doing,” Penelope said as she ushered us out of Kalen’s room. “I will stay here with Kalen tonight while you make preparations to leave in the morning.”

  The next morning, Ashara had the witchstone ready as promised. Rafe had spent hours with her poring over a map of the area around Stonegate so she could create the portal to take us exactly where we needed to go.

  Tristan took the witchstone from Ashara to look it over. It was a small green stone the size of a marble with a strange mist swirling inside it. “Impressive,” he said as he turned it over in his hand and scowled at it. “Does it work?”

  Ashara rolled her eyes and took it back. “We will just have to wait and see, won’t we, fae?”

  Tristan did not look amused.

  We said our goodbyes to Kalen and the druids.

  Victor led us through a secret passage out of the monastery that led to the woods behind it. “We cannot open the witchstone portal anywhere near the monastery,” said Victor, waving his staff in front of him and removing the wards. “But we must be quick.”

  Outside the magical wards of the druid monastery, the mist was thick and menacing. It crept over the ground and through the trees as if waiting to swallow us up. Tall firs rose above us as we raced toward the hills. Our feet slipped on treacherous wet rocks as we ran, our breath fogging before us. We had one chance to make it through the portal before the Drakwraiths realized where we were. Twilight had started to set in, lighting up the sky in a burnished pink sheen. The mist-covered hills rose all around us, like sentinels at the gateway of a lost world.

  Sounds of shrieking pierced the air.

  The Drakwraiths were here.

  Victor pointed to two large fir trees. “Create the portal there.”

  We pushed ourselves faster and ran for the trees.

  Victor had stopped. He drew a rune on the ground with his staff, preparing to meet the wraiths. “Go! I will hold them off.”

  I glanced back. The Drakwraiths were not alone. “Dark fae,” I gasped and ran faster.

  “Victor might be able to stop the Drakwraiths,” shouted Rafe, “but not dark fae.”

  Tristan stopped and turned to meet them. “I will make sure they don’t pursue.” His swords lit up with silver fire, fierce and unyielding like the warrior who wielded them. “Go, I’m right behind you.”

  I faltered. We were so close, but I knew Victor could not fight the Drakwraiths as well as two dark fae on his own. Ashara stopped as well. She threw me a dark look and pressed the witchstone into my hand. “Go!”

  She turned to stand beside Tristan, the stones on her staff coming to life as she woke her magic.

  Rafe took my hand. “We have to go, Aurora. If those things follow us through the portal, we will never make it to Stonegate in time. They have to be stopped.”

  I nodded and ran, pumping my arms as we raced for the trees. I threw the witchstone at the largest tree. The air before us shimmered as we neared. I let Penelope go first, then Rafe and I followed. Just as we touched the bark of the tree, we were transported by the witchstone portal to the very heart of the Silverspike Mountains that lay in eastern Avalonia.

  The portal closed behind us. I hoped Tristan and Ashara were okay.

  The air was chilly as an icy wind blew down from the northern mountains. The dwarven fortress of Stonegate lay beneath us, situated within the mountain itself.

  “The secret entrance is close by,” said Rafe as he started inspecting the path before us.

  “Drimli is planning to let Joreth in through the western gate, which is on the other side of this mountain,” said Penelope. “The Drakaar will be guarding all the entrances. Be careful.”

  We climbed down a rocky side of the mountain. “Shh . . .” Rafe crouched behind a rock and pulled me down near him along with Penelope.

  My heart leapt into my throat—just a few feet away, two Drakaar were inspecting the area. “I don’t know why the general sent us to guard this side of the mountain. There is nothing here,” one said.

  The other nodded. “I would much rather be ripping out dwarf throats.”

  I looked over at Rafe, my eyes showing my distress. How were we going to get past these Drakaar? Without Tristan, we wouldn’t stand a chance.

  A shadow loomed behind us. “What have we here?” said a raspy voice.

  I whirled around, drawing my sword.

  A Drakaar stood before me, soulless black eyes and serrated teeth flashing as Dragath’s henchman regarded me. His smile was vicious as he reached out his hand and shadows formed around us, rooting us to the spot.

  “The general did say we might have visitors,” he said to the other two Drakaar, who had just noticed us and hurried over. “But we weren’t expecting the Dawnstar herself.”

  He looked the three of us over. “I don’t see the dark prince.” He grinned, flashing his razor-sharp teeth.
“Finally, you are at our mercy, Dawnstar. The general tells us you have lost your fae magic.” His clawed fingers curved into a fist, and the shadows that wound around us tightened. I gasped for breath, my sword falling from my hand and clattering to the ground.

  Rafe and Penelope struggled with their bonds, and Penelope’s magic flashed dangerously as the shadows around her broke and reformed. It was not enough. Only the fire-fae were any match for the Drakaar.

  “We will take great pleasure in killing you, Shadowbreaker,” he sneered. “We will—”

  His words were cut off as a flaming sword appeared out of nowhere and the Drakaar’s head was severed from his body.

  I looked up.

  Tristan stood over the fallen Drakaar, twin swords blazing in his hands and eyes flashing with silver stars. He eyed the other two Drakaar, who had already started backing away at the sight of him. “Why don’t you ever learn?” Tristan scowled. “If you want the Dawnstar, you are going to have to go through me.”

  Ashara stepped up beside him, the jewels on her staff glowing dangerously bright. “And me too, apparently,” she scoffed and flipped her braid over her shoulder, flicking a glance at Tristan. “Do you want to deal with this, or should I?”

  Tristan grinned, the smile wholly genuine. “Be my guest,” he said, and stepped out of the way.

  Ashara launched herself at the Drakaar, who turned to run as soon as they saw the warrior witch coming at them. But they were not fast enough. Ashara made quick work of the Drakaar, while we watched in awe of her strength and power.

  Tristan sheathed his swords and threw a look at Rafe. “So where is this secret entrance?”

  Penelope arched an eyebrow. “How did you two get here so fast? The portal closed behind us while you were fighting the dark fae.”

  Tristan’s mouth twitched upward. “It seems Ashara was not exaggerating about her powers. She made two identical witchstones, just in case.”

  Penelope’s jaw dropped. “Two at the same time?”

  He flicked a glance at the warrior witch. “Apparently so.”

  We followed a steep mountain path down to a section of rock covered by shrubs and bushes. Rafe parted the foliage and searched along the rock with his hand.

  “Have you used this entrance before?” I asked Rafe.

  “No, but my father explained where it was. This is the place, I’m sure of it.”

  “So you have no idea if it will actually work?” Penelope asked.

  “No,” said Rafe, his voice clipped as he drew his dagger and sliced it across his palm, drawing blood. He placed his bleeding hand on the rock.

  The rockface started to shimmer. Rafe drew in a sharp breath. He raised an eyebrow and smirked at me. “Who wants to go first?”

  Tristan stepped forward and glanced at Ashara. “I will make sure it is safe.” He stepped into the rock and disappeared.

  Ashara rolled her eyes and followed.

  “After you,” said Rafe.

  I stepped inside.

  I got a sudden feeling of claustrophobia as the rock closed around me, but in a moment I was standing in a vast hall deep within the mountain. Tristan and Ashara were already scanning our surroundings, the jewels on the witch’s staff giving off an eerie glow and illuminating the cavern.

  As my eyes adjusted to the light, I willed my heart to calm while I caught my breath. My hand lit up with mage light as I looked around. We stood in a large, rectangular room with massive carved pillars holding up the stone ceiling. The walls of the cavern were polished to a smooth sheen and carved with dwarven symbols that rose into the darkness. We walked through the hall toward an arched opening where light streamed in, and I stepped out of the smaller cavern onto a ledge overlooking the biggest cavern I had ever seen. There was no sky visible here, but the top of the cavern seemed to glitter with sparkling light globes that floated around aimlessly, illuminating the whole place in a dim glow.

  “The ancient city of Stonegate,” Penelope breathed, her eyes taking in the expanse that lay before us.

  Terraced levels with stone houses and opulent buildings were built on the different levels encircling the sides of the cavern. The walls looked like a labyrinth with roads and steps and small stone bridges that connected the city dwellings. My mouth fell open in awe as we traversed the small steep steps down through the different levels.

  An ancient underground complex, Stonegate was an architectural marvel. Each level had numerous carved passageways, chambers, and pillared halls like the one we came through, which disappeared into the darkness of the mountain beyond. According to Penelope, the upper levels housed the mansions of the nobility and rich merchants, and they traveled among their levels via slender bridges, ornate arches, and wide steps made of carved stone and secured by dwarven magic. The lower levels of the workers and miners led into another whole network of twisted tunnels and dark passages that changed to primordial caverns where light never reached and nameless creatures lay in wait. I shuddered at her description of the darker parts of Stonegate as we reached the cavern floor.

  Penelope pointed opposite us in the distance, at a monstrous structure of stone pillars and arches created seemingly for giants. “The palace is there. We will have to go through the city to get to it.”

  Rafe scanned his surroundings. “I just hope we are not too late.”

  We followed the road through the city, where shops and houses dotted the area, leading off into smaller arched entrances and dingy streets. A river ran along the side, disappearing into the mountain beyond. The city was quiet, although a few of Stonegate’s citizens hurried through the streets, giving us scared glances and dashing off. Shutters closed and doors slammed as we passed. The city, which I had presumed was full of people, seemed more like a ghost town at this time of night.

  We stopped as the sound of booted feet thumped toward us. The main road leading to the palace was cut off by a legion of dwarven guards, heavily armored with weapons at the ready.

  “Who goes there?” said a booming voice. “How did you get into the city?”

  Penelope stepped forward. “We need to see the king.”

  “The king sees no one without an appointment,” said one dwarven guard, his spear held firmly in his hand. He was of average height, about five feet tall. I quickly glanced around at the others whose beards were trimmed and short, framing stout faces with weathered skin. Tough-looking, the dwarven guards stoically stood their ground. “You can petition for an audience with the king tomorrow.”

  My eyes narrowed. I didn’t want to waste any more time. I pushed my shoulders back and stepped forward. “My name is Aurora Firedrake, and I have to see the king.”

  My name had the desired effect. The guards darted hasty, alarmed looks at their leader, whose eyes widened in recognition. His gaze moved from Rafe and Penelope to Tristan and Ashara standing behind me. He bowed once, then thumped his spear and one booted foot as he turned. “Follow me,” he said and led us through the main street to the palace.

  “Where is everyone?” Penelope asked the guard as we passed the marketplace, which was empty except for unused stalls and dilapidated stacks of crates. We’d passed numerous little shops all over the city, but they were all shut down.

  “Curfew,” the dwarven guard answered, not looking back.

  King Ranthor’s palace rose up above us, a huge stone fortress carved out of the very rock of the cavern. Enormous iron gates opened to let us in as we followed the guards. They led us through vast halls with massive pillars and curved arches that held up the domed ceilings. Intricate silverwork was embossed into the stone, and precious gems, the likes of which I had never seen before, decorated the arches above. The same eerie glow lit up the halls—hovering globes that gave off a faint light. It wasn’t like the warm glow of the fae magic that lit the halls of the Crystal Castle in Elfi, but a darker, more sinister magic.

  Four guards had to pry open the big stone doors that led to the throne room. Entering a cavernous vault with carved stone pillars
and walls smooth and polished, we walked down a long crimson carpet to where the king sat.

  As we neared the throne—a monstrous seat of iron—Penelope stopped, her hand on my arm. “That’s not Ranthor.”

  The dwarf on the throne got up. “No, it’s not.” I recognized him from the scrying table. He was the same one who had met with Joreth. It was Drimli, the traitor.

  Rafe and I drew our swords. Tristan and Ashara moved to flank us.

  “Where is Ranthor?” Rafe demanded.

  “Dead,” spat Drimli. “My useless cousin didn’t deserve this throne. I do.”

  Penelope gasped as a shadow stepped through the doorway beyond the throne and removed his hood.

  Joreth! He was already in the fortress.

  Joreth clapped his hands together, a big smile on his face. “Ah! Dawnstar. I knew you would come, but I wasn’t expecting you so soon.” He walked forward. Two young girls followed out of the shadows: Andromeda’s daughter Skye, who also happened to be my fae cousin, and my best friend Vivienne.

  “Viv!” I took a step forward but stopped, remembering she wasn’t herself—the Dark Queen resided within her. Lilith sneered at me from behind thick lashes, her stark black eyes sinister in the eerie light. I looked over at Skye. Her blue eyes were crystal clear, but she served the Dark Lord all the same.

  They stopped a few feet away.

  “Oh! Your friend is long gone,” Joreth said, stroking Vivienne’s hair as she stood docilely beside him. “I think I like this new body of yours, Lilith. Maybe we should keep it.”

  Vivienne smiled, but I only saw the Dark Queen swirling behind her eyes, a predator. She smoothed her hands over her new body. “Yes, I think so,” she purred. “Much better than Calisto’s body. She required too much upkeep.”

  An image of the beautiful Calisto lying dead and mangled in the palace after Lilith left her body flashed before my eyes. I shook my head to dispel the images.

  It didn’t work.

  Joreth’s eyes were now completely black; no iris and no white could be seen anymore. Dragath had taken over his mind and body completely. He drew the Dagger of Dragath from his robe, the ruby on its hilt flashing as if in warning. “We have what we came for.”