The Dragon Star (Realms of Shadow and Grace: Volume 1)

by G. L. Breedon

  Kadmallin turned to see an arrow sticking from her back, flame spreading up her rough spun dress to set her hair smoldering. She made a moaning sound as the pain from the arrow and the heat of the fire began to register in what little remained of her mind. He drew his sword. He had not protected her and could not save her, but he would not let her suffer any longer than she already had. In a single swift motion, he severed her head from her shoulders, looking away before he could see her eyes stare back up at him from the ground. He dropped the contaminated blade to the dirt as her body continued to bang against the wall for a moment before falling to the street, stiff and motionless.

  He ran from his childhood home as the second wave of flaming arrows fell from the night sky. By the time he crossed the wheat field and looked back, the town blazed, flames leaping toward the stars — the bonfire of a summer festival set to burn away evil spirits and bring good fortune. As he watched the archers across the field launch more arrows, he stared at the inferno eating the town and wondered if she had thought of him in her last days. Had he been the final memory to fade from her mind before her body took to moving of its own volition? Had she called out for him? Had she whispered his name in the hope that he would come to rescue her?

  He pulled the elephant mask from his face and breathed in the chill air tinged with the scent of smoke. Breathing out, he said her name aloud, a prayer in a single word, blessing for her soul and a plea for a favorable recasting in her next life.

  “Nennea.”

  THE PRESENT

  “WHO?”

  Kadmallin blinked as he looked down from the meteor shower scraping the sky with talons of light.

  “No one.” Kadmallin took a deep breath to cleanse his mind. “I was thinking.”

  “I have been considering our options as well.” Sketkee collapsed the brass tube of the distance magnifier and slid it into her satchel.

  “If we cannot break in and we cannot attack once they come out, we must do the unexpected.” Kadmallin looked to the castle again.

  “I agree.” Sketkee sounded curious.

  “We need to be invited in.” Kadmallin turned back to Sketkee, noting the look of intrigue in her eyes.

  “Indeed.” Sketkee placed the four digits of her hand to her chin. “The fact that we have both reached the same conclusion independently is both reassuring and unexpectedly troubling.”

  “I know exactly how you feel.” Kadmallin stared up at Sketkee, struggling to keep his mind focused on the present, to keep the memories of the past from clouding and filtering his perceptions. He required a clear head for what they needed to do next. A clear head and a great deal of luck. They were due for some beneficial random occurrence.

  To continue reading the Philosopher story arena follow this link.

  To continue reading Kadmallin’s storyline follow this link.

  THE SEER

  KELLATRA

  CHALK-WHITE WINGS flapped and fluttered in the flickering light of the quivering candle flame, filament-thin membranes touching briefly the miniature blaze, turning life to fire and ash in the passing of the warm breath that stirred the air. Kellatra watched the burning moth fall to the table from where it had circled the candle. Stupid creature. She stared at the codex spread open on the table before her and reconsidered that thought. Could she claim to be any wiser?

  Her eyes drooped and her head nodded as she looked at the flowing arcane script. She blinked her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to awaken herself. She turned to Tamateraa, already snoring quietly in a blanket-padded chair by the cold hearth. She’d dozed off an hour ago, claiming age and exhaustion.

  Kellatra sighed and admitted to herself that she would make no more progress that night. Not that she had made any real advancement in the preceding days. She and Tamateraa pored over the book, looking for clues to its decipherment, with no result. They had no idea what language or cipher might compose the pages of the text. They had no notion what the illustrations referred to. Determining that a single hand wrote all the text comprised their sole achievement.

  Kellatra closed the covers of the codex and placed it in the protective wooden box, lowering the lid to seal it away from her. Her frustration only helped to dim her thoughts. She would leave in the morning and take the book with her, but without Tamateraa, she doubted her ability to unravel the riddles of the tome. Possibly, if she had access to the libraries in the City of Leaves, she might have hoped to understand it, but what chance did she stand to crack open the mysteries of the book while on the run? And she would be running for as long as she could foresee. Her father would not rest until the book had been returned to The Academy of Sight, or he had confirmation of its destruction — and her death.

  This made her wonder if the best way forward might not be to fake her death and the destruction of the codex. It would not help her understand it, but it might provide her with the time — the years — she suspected would be necessary to do so. How could she accomplish such a thing? She would need to lure her father or his men into some manner of confrontation. Someplace of her choosing. And they would need a book to burn in place of the codex, something that would look enough like it to leave evidence after its annihilation. They also would need a way to fake not only Kellatra’s death, but those of her family and friends as well. A fire? They would need the right-sized corpses to be found after the flames died down. Where did one find a family of cadavers? They’d heard of militia in the Shen dominions attacking pilgrims, but that would mean getting to one of those nations before trying to enact the ruse. Could there not be a way to pull off the plan here in Juparti? Maybe she should just give the book back. Maybe she…

  Old stone wore down by wind and rain and overgrown with ancient vine. Women and men digging, hauling, carving, building. Hands heaving rock and wood. Her hands. Sunset fading to twilight and a star bright above as song fills the air, calling out to the Goddess to come forth, for Moaratana to…

  Kellatra’s eyes snapped open from the dream as the sensation of something pricked against the hollow of her throat. She saw the long, steel blade glowing yellow in the candlelight. She did not move her body or her head, but her eyes scanned the room.

  “Do not think to gain The Sight, or these men will kill you. They are more dangerous than their swords.”

  Kellatra’s eyes turned to her father’s voice. He stood beside the table. An Academy guard stood beside him, holding the sword to her throat. Another stood with a blade held to Tamateraa’s neck, her eyes open and filled with fear.

  “I knew you would come to Tamateraa.” Her father stepped closer to her. “I did not suspect how long it would take to locate her.”

  “Father…” Kellatra did not know what to say to the man standing before her, her life in his hands. The lives of all she loved in his control. The guard with the blade to her neck, trained in The Sight as much as martial skills, leaned closer. He would not sense her obtaining The Sight, but he would be able to discern any attempt to use it — and would likely kill her before she could do so. She did not need to worry longer about what to say to her father as he interrupted her before she uttered more than his name.

  “Do not squander words in defense of your actions or pleas for mercy on the basis of familial relations.” Her father’s voice matched the contempt exhibited on his face. He placed a small bottle on the table. “You will tell me where the codex resides, then you will drink this sleeping draught and return with me to the City of Leaves, where you and the man you call your husband will stand trial for the murder of most the Academy Council.”

  “My children?” Kellatra’s only real fear concerned what would happen to Lantili and Luntadus.

  “They are of my blood, and as such, they will be cared for.” Her father glanced toward the open door of the cabin. “In time, hopefully, they will forget the murderous traitor who birthed them.”

  Kellatra shifted her eyes to the cabin door. She did not see anyone in the yard outside, but the shuffling of feet came to her ears, an
d she thought she heard the soft whine of a young boy’s voice. She fought back the tears that threatened to cascade down her cheeks. The children would be afraid. They would be without a mother and a father because of her choices. Her actions. Her selfishness would leave them orphans. Orphans of executed murderers.

  “Where is the codex?” Her father’s words brought her eyes to him once more.

  Kellatra said nothing. She had no words for her shame and anger and none she could voice to the man she wanted to blame for so much of it, but could not. She looked to the box on the table. Her father pulled it to him and opened it.

  “This is not the time for jests.” Her father’s eyes blazed with anger as he tilted the box toward Kellatra.

  “I don’t understand.” Kellatra stared at the empty box, her throat constricting as her mind contemplated the possibilities. Where could it be? Who could have taken it? What would happen to her and Rankarus and the children if her father did not believe her? Had Tamateraa moved it while she slept?

  “Do not test my resolve in locating the codex.” Her father closed the box and slammed it on the table. “Where is it?”

  “I swear to you, I put it in that box before I…” Kellatra wondered briefly at the dream of the temple in the Forbidden Realm. Could that have something to do with the book’s disappearance? Could such a thing be possible?

  “Before you what?” her father asked.

  “Before I fell asleep.” Kellatra looked to Tamateraa, hoping for some indication she might know what had happened. Her father followed her eyes.

  “Where is it?” Her father stepped closer to the old scholar as he questioned her.

  “I do not know, Teneeris.” Tamateraa looked up. “I have been asleep for some time. Search the house if you must. I am sure it will turn up somewhere. We would not hide it from you now. While I am too old to care what you might do to me, can you not see how your daughter fears for her children? Your grandchildren?”

  “Do not attempt to play upon my sympathies for my daughter. I have none.” Her father appeared to resist the urge to look at her while he spoke. “Now, where is the codex?”

  A noise outside caught Kellatra’s attention, and she cast her eyes to the door. A scuffle seemed to be taking place. Were Rankarus and Abananthus fighting her father’s guards? The fools. Did they not see…?

  “We gots the family. Yer men is dead. We wants the book.”

  Kellatra shuddered as she realized who must now be outside the cabin holding her family captive. How did they find the cabin? How did they know where to look? The fear of being found by her father rapidly transformed to anger at those holding her husband and children.

  Her father walked to the door and stared out. He looked back to her, his face filled with confusion and fury. He turned to the guards.

  “Bring them outside.”

  As her father stepped onto the porch of the cabin, the guard moved behind her, placing a dagger blade to her throat as he pulled her to her feet. The guard beside Tamateraa did the same. Kellatra walked across the solid floorboards and out the door. Her father stood at the edge of the porch, and the guard pushed her to stand beside him. Tamateraa stepped beside her. Kellatra’s guard stood slightly in front of her as he held the knife blade, no doubt to better see her face and any indication she might attempt to use The Sight.

  Kellatra suppressed a gasp as she looked out at the moonlit yard, the twin quarter-moons casting long, double shadows. Armed men held knives to the throats of Rankarus, Lantili, Luntadus, and Jadaloo. Three dead men in black uniforms lay still on the ground, crossbow bolts sticking from the chests of two, while another stared upward, a gash across his neck glistening black-red in the moonlight. Two more men stood to the side with loaded crossbows aimed at the porch. A seventh man leveled a sword at Rankarus’s stomach. It took Kellatra a second to realize that she didn’t see Abananthus among those held captive. This gave her a glimmer of hope that faded with the realization that there was little one man could do to upend the balance of the situation.

  “We don’t wants no trouble.” The man with the sword pointed toward Rankarus and spoke loudly, his voice carrying easily across the yard. “We wants this one, and we wants the book.”

  Kellatra knew who the man must be, even though she had never seen him. Kinorus. The thief Rankarus stole from all those years ago. A thief who wanted revenge and a chance to steal an arcane treasure, it seemed. How had he found them? How did he know about the codex? More importantly, with the book missing, how could Kellatra free her family unharmed and hope to escape either the thief’s retribution or her father’s justice?

  To continue reading the Seer story arena follow this link.

  To continue reading Kellatra’s storyline follow this link.

  THE PHILOSOPHER

  SKETKEE

  A WING-CLOUD of crows burst from the branches of the moonlit tree as the two horses and their riders trotted past them. The birds circled the air in looped patterns, a soot-black frenzy flowing in between the stone towers before alighting in new tree limbs to watch the riders approach the castle gate. Sketkee raised her eyes as she and Kadmallin neared the lowered drawbridge and open wood and iron gate of the fortified rakthor embassy.

  “If, for some reason, this plan does not succeed and untoward events arise, I would like to thank you now for your support.” Sketkee glanced to Kadmallin on the horse beside her. Her own steed seemed much more complacent than usual. The result, no doubt, of the many wearying hours of travel.

  “You mean in the event we end up dead?” Kadmallin raised an eyebrow at her.

  “That is the most probable outcome.” Sketkee continued to stare at Kadmallin. She did not entirely understand his steadfastness, but she appreciated it nonetheless. A fully rational individual would have calculated that she simply did not pay enough for the services to be rendered in the coming hours and demanded either more coin or departed to pursue less risky endeavors. Kadmallin, as usual, had not hinted at either possible course of action.

  “I couldn’t let you walk in there alone.” Kadmallin grinned suddenly. “You might do something irrational without me around to keep you in line.”

  “I might once have considered that to be highly improbable.” Sketkee frowned and looked to the guards at the castle gate. “The events leading to our present circumstances lead me to suspect your presence may be essential in that regard.”

  “That was intended as humor.”

  “Ah.”

  She did wonder how her decisions led to the current set of choices she planned to make. The series of judgments seemed rational at the time, but when examined in their fullness from a distance, they varied considerably from the orthodoxy of rakthor rules and customs. She would worry about the stability of her thought processes after she retrieved the device, assuming she survived the attempt.

  “State your business.” The rakthor to the right of the gate spoke in Shen with a heavy Rakthorian accent. Both guards wore hooded cloaks similar to Sketkee’s. Lanterns hung on the walls beside them, the cloaks keeping their faces in shadow. Both held steel-tipped spears in their hands.

  “We seek shelter for a night under the rakthor flag.” Sketkee spoke in Rakthorian as she lowered the cowl of her hood to reveal her face. The two guards looked to each other, then back to Sketkee, and finally to Kadmallin.

  “Name?” the first guard asked in rakthor.

  “Sketkee Jhaknat, former ambassador and traveling natural philosopher.” Sketkee nodded politely. “And my human companion.” Kadmallin, long used to being namelessly introduced to fellow rakthors, made no sign of taking insult.

  “Enter.” The rakthor on the right gestured with his spear toward the inner courtyard of the castle and led the way while the other remained at the gate. Inside the courtyard, the guard turned to them and issued a single command.

  “Wait.”

  The guard spoke to another rakthor nearby, one of the tanakk breed, half the size of Sketkee. Her own kinakk ancestors tended to b
e the largest of the rakthor peoples. While this tanakk rakthor appeared to be a servant, rakthors held no caste system as the humans and other peoples often did. Rakthor society prized clarity of thought and action above all qualities, regardless of one’s bloodline.

  The servant nodded to the guard and ran off across the courtyard and up a flight of stairs. Sketkee said nothing to Kadmallin, and he made no effort to speak. His ability to remain quiet with danger nearby stood as one of the chief reasons she appreciated his company. She knew too many humans who tended to vocalize every inner thought when faced with dire circumstances.

  Sketkee scanned the inner buildings of the castle, lit by lanterns hung in strategic places around the courtyard. The structure did not look large enough to house more than a hundred. From what she could see, she doubted more than twenty rakthors lived here. The castle had clearly been purchased or leased from a human tahn and renovated to meet rakthor requirements. She noted that the masonry around the doorways all looked relatively new. Even a rakthor could forget to duck when passing through the shorter human doors.

  She noted a stable with several horses. Unsurprisingly, a human groom tended to them. Likely one of the few humans in the castle, he provided a function the rakthors could not easily perform themselves. Horses simply did not tolerate rakthors well enough to be tended by one on a regular basis.

  The main keep of the castle only rose three stories, just slightly taller than the walls surrounding the structure. A door on a balcony of the third floor opened, and a green-gray face stepped into the cool moonlight, a face she recognized easily. Viktik. He looked directly at her, showing no surprise. Whether he had anticipated this move on her part, or whether he had time to recover after the servant’s mention of Sketkee’s name, she could not surmise. She feigned surprise herself as she leaned her head back. Viktik turned from the balcony, and Sketkee watched him disappear into the shadows of the room, remembering the last time she had seen him and her conflicted thoughts at betraying him.