by James Dale
“I doubt she was the only one,” Jack laughed. “I’ll send her my apologies when I get back to Dorshev. I won’t be leaving the room tonight. Have a nice, boring shift. Good night, Corporal Paeton. Sergeant Aevirhon.”
“Highness,” both guardsmen saluted.
The first thing Jack noticed as he walked into the room was a new sheath lying on his bed beside Yhswyndyr. He picked it up and examined it, pleased it bore no resemblance to the gaudy, monstrosity that had housed the Highsword during its centuries in the Temple of the Sword. Simply designed, yet worthy to carry a Highsword, the body itself was Ithlemere, old by the looks of it, but polished recently to a high sheen. The throat, hangars and chape were polished brass. There was etched script inlaid with gold running down the length of the body; the Ailfar words of power. Ailaires Sinalda Enne’Eyloyas Daeon Cythora. Simply reading the words filled Jack with a sense of strength and confidence. The sword belt was finely crafted, double wrapped new leather, with a silver buckle. Jack strapped the belt around his waist and cinched it tight. Picking up Yhswyndyr, he slid the Highsword into his its new sheath. It fit so perfectly Jack suspected the scabbard might even have belonged to Ljmarn himself. He’d have to remember to get someone to take him to Chief Armorer Matthias in the morning so he could thank the man.
Jack unbuckled the sword belt and stood Yhswyndyr beside his bed, resting the hilt against the headboard. There was a tray of fruit on the nearby nightstand and a pitcher of water. Though he’d eaten his fill of roast chicken only a few hours ago, he selected a bright red apple, took a bite, and then poured himself a glass of water. After a few swallows of water, Jack sat on the edge of the bed and removed his boots. He thought briefly about taking a relaxing bath but all he really wanted to do was get undressed and fall asleep. Although he’d only been up a little more than four hours, the council meeting had taken a lot out of him and he was bone tired. He’d have to work on that whole, “heal yourself,” Yhswyndyr had shown him and throw in a little more stamina next time.
Jack lay down on the comfortable bed, closed his eyes, and took deep, relaxing breaths. “I am the dream,” he whispered. “I am a thread of light.”
Jack found himself once again in the familiar grassy meadow, standing beside the stream under a bright, starry sky. He entered the Land of Dreams so easily he could not discern whether he’d entered waking or asleep. Asleep he decided, examining his clothes. He was dressed in a simple white tee shirt, comfortable jeans, and a pair of rubber soled sandals. Certainly not attire he had become accustomed over the last year but it was functional. He was unarmed. Apparently even subconsciously he thought there was no longer any danger. He’d cleansed the Land of Dreams after all, right? It mattered little here. He could be fully armored with Yhswyndyr in his hands quicker than a thought if the need arose. He looked up at the sky and found the object of his desire instantly. With a smile of anticipation, he willed himself to enter the pulsing, blue star.
Jack was instantly transported back to the royal bedroom in Dorshev. Anna lay in their canopied, feather bed, her red hair splayed out on the pillows like a halo of fire, covers pulled up to her perfect chin. She was sleeping even in the Land of Dreams. He sat down on the edge of the bed, content to just watch her sleep for a moment, but her eyes opened. They brightened with delight when she saw him.
“Beloved,” she smiled, reaching out to him as she sat up. The sheets fell away, revealing her perfect form covered only in a thin, silk sleeping shift. Though they were not in the Land of Dreams waking, neither were they on the outer edges of the dream. He pulled her to him and held her tightly.
“I was worried about you,” she whispered. Jack shivered, feeling her breath on his neck.
“I’m fine,” he assured his wife, kissing her cheek. “Just needed a nap is all. We will be headed back soon.”
“How soon?” she asked, snuggling against him.
“Another day or so,” Jack replied, reveling in her scent, the feel of her in his arms. “Once we sail, Ara’fael says we can be back in Dorshev in five days.”
“A week?” Anna sighed.
“It is not so long,” Jack replied.
“I cannot wait a week,” his wife whispered. He felt nails trail lightly down his naked back. With a start, he realized they were both no longer dressed, as he felt the warmth of her sooth sink pressed against him.
“How did you…”
“This is in my dream, Beloved,” she smiled, taking his hands and guiding them to her supple hips. “I control what happens here. I can make you do whatever I…I can make…” A look of confusion darkened her face, an instant before she vanished like mist blown away by the breeze. “Anna!” Jack cried with sudden alarm. Instantly he was on his feet, his naked body covered in shining mail and armor, Yhswyndyr in his hands. He heard a muted impact from somewhere high above and the ceiling shuddered slightly as if some great weight had settled on the palace roof. This couldn’t be happening! He had cleansed the Land of Dreams! Whatever… whatever had pulled Anna from his arms must be happening in the real world, he realized with growing horror.
Jack sprinted from the room, crashing through the doors to the balcony with a shower of shattered glass. Looking up, he could see nothing, his view blocked by the slight overhang of balcony’s protective roof. Ceramic tiles came cascading down like rain as something above him shifted. Without conscious thought he was transported to the garden below. He looked to the roof and fear gripped his heart. Clinging to the tallest spire of the palace was an immense, winged shadow. It flapped its wings and struggled for balance, sending more paving tiles tumbling down as its claws sought purchase on the peaked roof of the spire. He could not see the creature in any detail. He was in the Land of Dreams and it was in the waking world. But he did not need to see it clearly to know what it was.
A dragon had landed on Ellgereth palace!
“Yhaires! Sinalda! Enne’Eyloyas! Daeon! Cythora.”
In the space of a heartbeat, Braeden was in the Land of Dreams waking. Sunheart flared hotly and white fire snaked down Yhswyndyr’s blade. His vision cleared, no longer clouded by the veil that separated Dream and Reality. The dragon answered his shout with a challenging roar of its own. Other cries pierced the night, adding their voice to the dragon’s challenge, sharp, malevolent cries he’d heard once before in Elvendale. He saw a half dozen other winged creatures circling the spire, smaller than the dragon but still larger than a man. Krayga! Without conscious thought, Braedan raised Yhswyndyr and a bolt of white fire arched upward, crackling like summer lightning on the edge of a fierce storm. The spire exploded, sending a shower of blasted stone and burning wood spiraling into the night.
With its perch destroyed, the tremendous beast struggled to regain its balance as Braeden sent another lightning bolt of white rage hurtling toward it. Fire engulfed one of the dragon’s wings as it rose into the night. The monster rolled sharply to avoid a third blast from Yhswyndyr and Jack saw something fall from the back of the beast before it could right itself. A shadow plummeted to the earth, landing at his feet with a meaty thud. Slowly a form took shape, the shape of a man though cloaked in elemental fury and darkness. Jack felt murderous rage batter his mind as the thing struggle to rise, still alive after a fall of more than fifty feet. ‘na’Hhoul!’ He realized, as he threw up a protective barrier to ward against the evil sorcery of the servant of Sa’tan. Yhswyndyr descended, trailing fire. Powered by rage of his own, the blade struck the creature between neck and shoulder, slicing through bone, sinew and flesh without resistance. The na’Hhoul fell dead, split asunder and bursting into flame.
Jack’s attention returned quickly to the sky and he spotted the dragon flying off to the east, roaring in pain and trailing smoke from its injured wing. A threat no longer, his head snapped back toward the palace, back to the balcony. He watched in horror as the last Krayga disappeared inside. Rage and fear filled him as he opened himself to Sunheart, prepared to draw every ounce of power Yhswyndyr possessed to save his wif
e.
“Jack!” a voice cried. “Wake up!”
His body shook. He felt his hold on the Land of Dreams slipping.
“No!” Jack wailed in despair as he was pulled back to the waking world.
Chapter Twenty
Sweet rolls and other matters
“Jack!” Dorad was shaking him furiously. “Wake up!”
“No!” Braedan wailed, bolting upright. He reached out to Sunheart and a rush of power filled him.
Dorad recoiled in fear, raising his arm protectively as if he thought Jack was about to strike him. “Gods! You’ve got to stop doing this!” he shouted, defensively. “Something has happened.”
“I know something’s happened!” Jack growled, springing from his bed. “I was flaming there!”
“Where?”
“Dorshev! The palace is under attack! I have to get….” Jack stopped suddenly when he realized there was sunlight streaming through the window of his chamber. It felt like he’d only fallen asleep minutes ago. Once again being in the Land of Dreams waking, if only for a short period, had altered time in the waking world somehow. He’d chased the dragon away and killed the na’Hhoul but, whatever chaos and murder the Krayga had wrought, whatever…whatever Anna’s fate, it had happened hours ago. “How long have I been out this time?” he asked Dorad, resignation and weariness washing over him.
“It’s only morning,” his friend replied. “Gods Jack, is Sunheart killing you?”
“What do you mean?” Braedan asked.
“You had best heal yourself again before anyone else sees,” Dorad said softly.
Jack walked over to the polished mirror hanging above the nightstand. No streaks this time. His hair and beard had gone almost completely gray. His face looked like he’d aged decades. His face was a mask of weathered wrinkled lines. His eyes were haunted and shallow. The power of Sunheart already filled him. He poured water into the basin and washed his face, not because it had anything to do with the process but because he wanted to wash the despair from his eyes. This time he as drew upon the healing power from Yhswyndyr, he visualized more vigor and strength as it flowed into him. When he looked again, the years and gray had been washed away, and this time he was more than just refreshed, he was alive with suppressed energy. “How did you know something had happened?” he asked, walking over and quickly buckling Yhswyndyr around his waist.
Jack didn’t wait for Dorad’s reply as he headed for the door, expecting his friend to explain as they walked. “Follow me,” he said simply to the two Immerman standing watch outside his chamber. They saluted wordless and fell in behind him.
“I was up early,” Dorad answered, hurrying to catch him. “Excuse me gentlemen,” he apologized, slipping between the guardsmen. They knew him, they let him pass. “I was up early, on my way to help Alnordel ready the Wind for our trip. I saw Lord Khaevan sprinting in the direction of the High Lord’s chamber. A Lord of the Staffclave does not run unless some calamity has occurred. I knew it was bad so I came straightway to get you. What happened at Dorshev, Jack?”
Braeden explained quickly all he had saw and done. “Someone woke Anna before it started. Lord Khaevan somehow knows about the attack I’ll wager and now Perigaen does as well. I want to find out what happened.”
The journey to the High Lord’s chamber was a short one. Half a dozen Lords exited even as they approached. Seeing the storm raging in his eyes, they quickly hurried out of his way. The two guards standing watch at Perigaen’s door moved to stop him, but the dangerous look Jack gave them froze both men in the tracks. They stopped Dorad from following however. A disinherited prince didn’t carry the same weight as an obviously enraged bearer of a Highsword.
“Of course, it was you,” the High Lord said as Jack stormed into the room unannounced. “Who else could show up at just the right moment, with the power to send a dragon scurrying back east like a whipped mongrel pup.”
“What happened?” Jack demanded, his anger rising as he approached the table where Perigaen, Lord Dhoran and another Lord, probably Khaevan, were seated.
“You know what happened,” Perigaen replied simply. “Graith sent a na’Hhoul, riding a dragon to kill or capture your queen. The Krayga were…”
“What happened to Anna?” Jack roared, pounding his fist on the table. Perigaen’s water glass tumbled over from the force of the blow. Fortunately it was empty or the map spread out on the table would have been ruined. Lord Khaevan started in surprise and Lord Dhoran fixed him with a disapproving glare. Obviously it had not been the custom of anyone over the last several centuries to demand answers from the High Lord of the Staffclave in such a manner.
The High Lord calmly set the cup back aright, non-pulsed by his anger, before replying. “Queen Annawyn is unharmed. The na’Hhoul and the dragon were the real threat. You saw to them both quiet easily it seems. The Krayga were…handled.”
“Handled?” Jack demanded, though his anger was tempered somewhat upon hearing Anna was safe.
“Lord Khaevan?” Perigaen asked, turning to the Lord.
“Well…ummm…yes five Krayga were dispatched. One fled, severely injured. Seven Rangers died in the attack. Along with,” he searched for and consulted a paper on the table. “Four Galekindar, five of the queen’s Horsemaidens and several others, I’m afraid. Many more were wounded. Very tragic.”
“Dammit to hell!” Jack growled. “How do you know all this? How did you know about the attack at all? You have a Lord in Dorshev? Don’t you?” he suddenly guessed.
“There are still Staffclave in the capitols of all the major kingdoms of the Whesguard,” Perigaen shrugged. “And in other places.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this yesterday at council?” Jack snarled.
“My Lord Bra’Adan, you may be tasked to bear Yhswyndyr and face the dark-King,” the High Lord replied, for the first time a note of annoyance creeping into his voice. “But it is still my duty to direct the Staffclave as I see fit and watch over the entire four corners of the earthe.”
“Dammit Perigaen,” Jack sighed wearily. There was an empty seat at the table. He took it without asking. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could have simply relayed my plans to Kaerl and the rest and made this a lot simpler for me.”
“Your plans have been relayed. They would have reached the proper ears eventually,” Perigaen replied.
These Lords are…not known…among the courts of the Whesguard.” Lord Khaevan explained hesitantly. “It would ummm…lessen the quality of the information they provide.”
“Spies!” Jack snorted. “You’re spying on the Kings of the Whesguard.”
“I suppose it is one way to view their service,” Khaevan shrugged. “Lord Shaeron was forced to reveal herself to warn your queen of the attack when she detected the dragon’s approach.”
“Shaeron?” Jack said, thoughtfully. Shaeron was the one who had concocted the brew for their wedding…”You mean that flighty little handmaiden of Anna’s is a Lord?”
“Shaeron is not so…flighty, as you put it, as she lets on,” Perigaen informed him. “If I may offer this as an explanation, not an apology mind you, but an explanation? The Staffclave has been without the need to…consult…with a High King, or with anyone in regards to how we oversee our task in over seven hundred years. Without a High King this body took it upon ourselves to… well, maneuver the Whesguard in the direction we thought best. I realized now the situation has changed. We must make…adjustments.”
“Christ on the cross. You think?” Jack laughed sarcastically. “Is it possible you can put all this subterfuge aside for a just minute and help me be about the business of winning this flaming war?”
“We can,” the High Lord nodded. “Shaeron was forced to reveal herself to Annawyn. It could not be avoided to defeat the Krayga. The Lords in Brydium, Annoth, and Ail’itharain will present themselves within the hour. They will replay your plans in person.”
“We erred in continuing this path once we learned an heir t
o Yhswyndyr had returned.” Perigaen said when Lord Khaevan muttered under his breath. “It will be corrected. Will you accept my apology, High King? On behalf of the Staffclave? There must be trust between us if we hope to survive this.”
“You mentioned wounded?” asked Jack.
“Khaevan?”
“Six rangers, two Galekindar and one of your Lions,” the Lord replied without consulting his notes. “Castellan? Or Cass…”
“Borg Cassaban?” Jack said, sitting upright.
“Yes,” Khaevan nodded. “Cassa…”
“How badly?” Jack demanded, anger and worry flaring again.
“Lord Shaeron is an accomplished healer,” Perigaen replied soothingly. “I am confident he will make a full recovery. High King, you have dealt another blow to Graith,” he said, deftly changing the subject. “He will grow even more desperate now. We will warn the Whesguard to maintain vigilant watch for his next move until we have you back on the mainland. Prince Kirstaen and Muriel’s Revenge sailed with the morning tide. Lord Eirique, his Aunt, leads the Staffclave with him. I suggest we make all due hast in preparing our departure. If we double our efforts we can sail with the evening tide.”
Jack readily agreed, mollified by the High Lord’s apology but more so by his change of attitude. “High Lord, though I often act as such, I am painfully aware having Ljmarn’s blood or drawing Yhswyndyr does not give me exclusive knowledge on how to execute this war. I have been…hasty…barking out orders and expecting everyone to just follow my lead. I apologize. And for my outburst just now. Anna…well…I was beside myself with worry. It is not an apology for my behavior,” using the High Lord’s own words. “Simply an explanation.”
“I cannot say I would have behaved differently if the Lady Kaiddra was in danger,” Lord Dhoran replied, speaking for the first time. “She has made it known you can, upon occasion act, impulsively, based on your heart. But you have a good heart,” he smiled. “We will get you back to your queen with all speed.”