Master Timon adjusted the narrow spectacles that had slid down his long nose. “As much as I would like to believe you, none of the histories support your claims.” His tone softened. “There isn’t mention of a dragon beneath the stones, let alone one who can sense the state of our fair city. Put the matter out of your mind. This fascination of yours was all a dream.” He tapped a sheet of paper perched on top of one of the piles of books. “Finish your report tonight or you’ll have to answer to Lord Kyril personally.”
“Yes, Master. Right away,” she answered through clenched teeth. The dragon wasn’t a dream, this song inside her wasn’t imagined. She would search the library herself, the second she finished her duties, until she found something.
She returned to her alcove and cleaned the nib of her quill and quickly set to work copying passages and drawing conclusions as Master Timon had taught. Darkness came and plunged the pages before her into shadow. She lit her candle and continued to write.
Return, Ianthe.
One page remained, only one more until she finished her task. Ianthe pushed away the dragon’s call and pressed on, scratching the quill across the paper faster, all while trying to keep her script neat enough that it could still be read. Rushing meant errors, and errors meant she would be punished. Master Timon would make her scrub the floors for a week or dust the endless shelves of books from top to bottom if there were too many.
Phaedra’s call grew stronger, making her quill slip and scratch on the page. She cursed and wiped the nib clean once more. The dragon had been silent for hours and could surely wait another few minutes for her to finish. With a final neatly dotted period, she dusted the page to set the ink and blew it clean.
Come to me, Ianthe.
The call pulled her from her chair. She dashed, papers in hand, through the long, winding shelves and toward Master Timon’s desk. He wasn’t there. She hurried to his cramped office and found it empty. He couldn’t have gone far, the large front doors had not been locked for the night.
A noise from outside caught her attention. A crowd gathered around the great Aer’Vicus. She pushed her way through, stomach sinking. Should the mighty crystal have already broken or crumbled to pieces, no force on earth could repair it. Master Timon stood in the center of the crowd next to the crystal, his hand resting on its shining surface.
Ianthe forced her way through the dozens of people separating her from the obelisk and her master. He opened his eyes and stared at her with a grunt. “During the evening devotion a piece came free from the base here.” He opened his hand to reveal the tiniest piece of crystal, no bigger than a fingernail. “Come with me.”
Phaedra’s summons filled her mind, making her head feel as if it were splitting in two. “No. The dragon is calling me. I must go.”
“What is this nonsense?” Master Timon glowered down at her.
“I must return to her.” Ianthe gripped her head. “Do not try to stop me.”
He pulled a dingy handkerchief from his pocket and tucked the tiny crystal fragment into it. “I’m coming with you.”
This sudden change stopped Ianthe short. While her words had done nothing, the fleck of crystal in his pocket must have scared him. “Follow me.” She hurried back through the winding garden and down the dark spiral stair.
“What took you so long, little one? Our time is fast running out. Splinters of the Aer’Vicus are beginning to rain down. What have you found?” Phaedra stood tall, her movements agitated and sharp, almost snakelike, as her neck twisted back and forth.
Master Timon shuffled into view, eyes suddenly wide, hands reaching for something solid to hold onto. “In all my years. The legends are really true.” He gripped Ianthe’s arm to steady himself before bowing low. “You must forgive me, Great Dragon. I didn’t believe the girl.”
Phaedra shuffled back, her claws raking the glasslike stone at her feet with a screech. She did not respond to Master Timon but spoke to Ianthe instead. “He doesn’t belong here. He’s not part of the music. He must be destroyed.” Her eyes flashed dark and she opened her mouth wide. Blue flame curled in the back of her throat.
Ianthe jumped in front of Master Timon and spread her arms wide, blocking him with her body. “Stop! He might have the answer we are looking for,” she shouted over the flailing mass of dragon. “I forbid you to roast him alive. We cannot succeed without him.”
Master Timon didn’t shrink back from Phaedra’s display. If anything, it awakened his curiosity. “I assure you, I want to help, nothing more. Please don’t cook me.” The gleam of discovery shone in his eyes as he traced the rose-colored threads extending from Aer’Vicus and wrapping around the great subterranean vault.
Phaedra’s noise and stomping caused more glittering flakes to fall like gentle snow. Tiny cracking noises filled the air. She calmed and settled on her haunches still breathing hard. “Forgive me, my fear got the best of me.”
Master Timon approached the wide crystal pillar reverently, as a supplicant would approach deity. “It is forgiven. I haven’t made things easier. I’m sorry.”
Ianthe didn’t dare break the quiet. While near Phaedra, their twin songs hummed in harmony together and were complete. Another tiny flake of crystal floated down from the lofty ceiling. Waiting wasn’t an option. “How long do we have?”
The red dragon closed her eyes and sound filled the air, vibrating the soles of their feet. “A day, maybe two. Please hurry.”
Master Timon led Ianthe through the wide halls of the library, oil lamp held high above his head. With each turn the halls grew narrower, unfamiliar. In the many years Ianthe lived in the great building, she had never been down this way. Judging from the chipped plaster and dusty cornices, no one else had either.
From deep within the lower levels of the library a new song filled Ianthe’s mind. It pulled her and guided her much like Phaedra had done the first time Ianthe had been summoned.
Master Timon faltered at a junction of two identical hallways. “I know it’s down here. My blasted memory is not what it used to be.”
Ianthe didn’t listen. Her feet followed the trail of song turn after turn until she was stopped by a door. On the door, in a piece of cunning carved relief, was a curled dragon. She set her hand on the door, searching for a knob or latch, but found none.
She rested her head against the carving, trailing a fingertip along the dragon’s spine. “How do we open it?”
Master Timon patted at the pockets draped around him until he was rewarded with a jingle of metal keys. “Here, it has to be one of these.”
Ianthe took the heavy ring, but when she returned her attention to the door, she found it was missing a keyhole as well. “No, it’s something different.” She leaned against the door, pressing her ear to hear the sound, feel the vibration of its song. As soon as she did, the door creaked inward and opened a fraction. She pushed harder, the scales of the relief biting into her palms, until it had opened enough for her to pass through.
“What is this place?” Ianthe asked as she entered the tiny room. Like in Phaedra’s cavern, the walls curved into a circle. At the centermost point a white marble pillar held a single rose-colored crystal the length of Ianthe’s forearm and about as thick. One end was pointed, much like the obelisk in the center of the great plaza.
Master Timon stayed in the doorway, not moving to set even a single foot into the space. “No one remembers when this came, it has always been here. I think it might have been here since before the great library was built over it.”
The crystal continued its song, urging her to touch it, to pick it up. She brushed her finger against the smooth hard edges, the sharp point. A gentle glow shone beneath her hand and the crystal warmed under her touch. With the greatest care, she picked it up.
The vision came without warning, catching her in its grasp with such force she had to grab the edge of the pillar to keep her knees from buckling out from underneath her. In an instant, understanding washed over her. This process had happened befor
e, girls like her had existed throughout time. Even before the city had been built, a temple of the dragon had been built around the rose obelisk by the druids who first found it. All the memories were there, locked into the crystal in Ianthe’s hands.
She felt a rush of power awaken within her, a raw energy, a dragon energy. The vision opened to show her the girl who came before, Ianthe’s predecessor. She watched on as the girl used the crystal to bond with the dragon and together, they formed a bond that strengthened the Aer’Vicus for another 1000 years. The vision took her breath away. She knew what had to be done, and how to do it. With the lesser crystal in hand, Ianthe made her way back to her dragon.
Master Timon rushed after her. “What is it, girl? What must be done?”
Ianthe didn’t stop to talk to him, didn’t dare. The knowledge the lesser crystal gave her filled her with such energy and fear she was afraid to stop and risk letting her nerves get the better of her. If so, she wouldn’t be able to start again.
“You must tell me.” He had fallen behind, his old creaky joints slowing him down.
Again, Ianthe could not answer. The weight of the crystal pulled her back to the dragon, to her fate, to her death. This would be the end of her and in a way, she had been prepared for it since her birth. Holding the crystal made it real. Master Timon needed to stop shouting at her, to be silent.
“You may watch, but do not interfere. The fate of the entire city depends on it.” The words sounded hollow and distant in her own head.
Back in the cavern, Phaedra lifted her head as if a great weight held her down. “You found it. I felt it. Heard it. The song was so beautiful.” Her eye shimmered with a tear. “Aer’Vicus returned my memories to me, as well as the memories of those who came before. Those memories hold me down, I can’t bear it. I know what must be done.”
Master Timon hung back in the smaller chamber leading in from the spiral stairway. Ianthe couldn’t take time to explain. The wrongness of the vibrations filled her with unrest, with an itching that couldn’t be scratched. The disharmony needed to me made right.
“May I see it?” Phaedra asked, lowering her great head. “May I see the lesser crystal?”
Ianthe held the long crystal in front of her. Another cracking filled the air, louder, and more insistent. Small stones fell from the ceiling, clattering on the glassy smooth floor. Master Timon drew back further into the safety of the smaller chamber, his stork-like outline barely visible.
Phaedra touched the crystal in Ianthe’s outstretched hand with the tip of her nose and took a deep breath with her eyes closed, as if contact with the stone filled her with a greater awareness, with a sense of peace and solidarity. “You know what to do, don’t be afraid.”
Ianthe climbed astride the great dragon’s back and crawled forward to where the head met the neck. In front of her, at the base of Phaedra’s neck was an indentation and a series of missing scales. The crystal in Ianthe’s hands grew warm in anticipation, the warmth spread up her arms and blossomed at the hollow in the back of her own neck. The warmth soon turned to fire, piercing Ianthe, and burning at her bones.
“Why do you hesitate? This must be. Waiting will prolong the agony for both of us.” Phaedra’s voice was breaking. Tremors shook her body and her breath came in tight gasps.
Ianthe set the point of the crystal against the center of the indentation. Phaedra held her breath, her muscles locking rigid in anticipation. The burning intensified. The stone in Ianthe’s hands began to glow white, its heat too much for her hands. Aer’Vicus glowed white in response.
“Make the bond Ianthe. All will be well, I promise,” Phaedra ordered. The words pierced Ianthe’s mind.
With one confident motion, Ianthe clenched the stone and plunged it through the dragon’s skin. The world turned white and stood still. The flecks of crystal raining down froze in place, and the bright light of the twin crystals filled the space, filled Ianthe, filled the dragon beneath her.
Ianthe clung to the crystal embedded in Phaedra head, knowing if she were to let go everything would fail, all would die, the city and the thousands living there would not see another morning. All turned to brilliant light, the stone, the pillar, the dragon, and Ianthe. The mark of the dragon spread down from the back of Ianthe’s neck, down her arms, down her chest, her legs. Scales appeared. She was falling, flying, changing.
Phaedra’s memories flowed through the crystal and became a part of Ianthe. As Ianthe grew, Phaedra changed, the vibrant red of her scales faded, resembling blood tinged water, matching the rose crystal, matching the floors and ceiling of the great chamber. The pulse of her heart echoed along the stone, echoed in the obelisk, echoed in the swirling and branching threads of crystal lacing through the walls and floor of the cavern.
A bright white stream of flame burst from Phaedra, heating the brilliant obelisk. Immense power flowed from her into the stone. The room grew hotter and hotter until Ianthe thought she would burn and turn to nothing.
She kept her hold on the lesser crystal even as her hands began to change into claws. Her awareness was dimming, there was too much heat, too much magic, too much sheer power flowing through the room. Phaedra’s pulse beat within her, keeping her heart moving when Ianthe was sure it would fail.
Another jet of white flame, and another, and then the flecks of stone stopped falling. The room grew white hot and surged with the power pulsing between them.
Phaedra’s deep red scales turned entirely white, and then even the whiteness began to fade until the pulsing glow of the crystal threads in the floor were visible through her. Another jet of white flame, weaker this time, lit the room. They were coming further and further apart. The white-hot glow of the walls cooled back to the swirls of glittering marble.
Still, the tones and vibrations clashed. Ianthe’s task was not yet complete. She opened her maw and released a jet of white flame toward the great Aer’Vicus, marking it as hers. The flames wrapped around the crystal and shot along the webbing network of threads along the ceiling and floor. The discordant tones of the crystal, so wrong in her ears, realigned and straightened to once again form the tones of beautiful music of an earth well-tended, and a city well-protected. In her golden scaled claws she gripped the lesser crystal.
An immense fatigue struck Ianthe. Phaedra was gone, having fulfilled her destiny in giving her magic to the great crystal, and transforming Ianthe into the new guardian of Aer’Vicus. And yet, Phaedra was not gone, as her experience, her memories, and her life were now one with Ianthe.
Soft footsteps approached. Master Timon crept forward, his hands gripping one end of a scarf that worked loose. Ianthe yawned and tucked her wings around her. Her eyes refused to stay open.
“Sleep now, sweet Ianthe.” He slipped the lesser crystal from her claws. “I’ll keep this safe for you.”
Loyalties
Josh Brown
I.
Jinari stood at full attention, back straight, chin down. Her hands were at her sides—her right hand resting on her thigh armor, her left palm lightly brushing over her leather scabbard. The armor she wore was a mix of items that were mostly pulled from dead bodies in the wake of battle.
Leader of her clan, the Kur-hik, a human tribe known for being skilled warriors in battle, Jinari didn’t look particularly threatening herself. In fact, strip away the armor and weapons, and she might be mistaken for a nursemaid, a far cry from warrior and clan leader. Not at all athletic-looking, she had soft features, smooth skin, brown shoulder-length hair, round cheeks, caring eyes, and a warm smile. The softness continued down her body, which was quite womanly, with gentle, round curves, enough to make any male, no matter his race, linger his stare. The only things about her that were not soft were her feet, which had known countless days of travel throughout her life, and her hands, which had gripped many a weapon in many a battle throughout her life.
Jinari stood in front of Gar-Dum, an Orc, and the leader of the Vulgar-kin. Gar-Dum was High Orc Chieftain of the Empire of t
he Black Moon banner, and had succeeded in bringing together the strongest clans of the trolls, goblins, giants, and “evil” men, Jinari’s clan among them. He was old, but still very capable, and still able to defeat giants and trolls in one-on-one combat rather easily. He sat upon a stone throne on a rigid platform, brownish-green trolls on either side of him, his personal bodyguards.
Gar-Dum’s head and face were completely hairless, and he wore no crown, helm, or any other type of headdress. Gar-Dum was missing his right ear, presumably lost in combat of some sort, and the remaining ear was so notched and ragged it looked to be only half there. He wore only a fur loincloth and boots, presumably made of the same fur. He slouched in his throne, as if this whole affair was of little interest to him. A human female, wearing nothing but a thin, white slip of fabric wrapped around her waist, glided up the stairs and handed him a dark chalice. It looked to be iron, but Gar-Dum held it as if it were a feather. He took a sip, and addressed Jinari.
“I need you to travel to the eastern caverns,” he said, tilting the chalice in his hand, still seemingly disinterested.
“Yes, Lord Gar-Dum,” Jinari bowed slightly. She waited for him to say more, but he did not. “May I inquire on the nature of the mission, my Lord?”
Gar-Dum looked up from his chalice and met Jinari’s eyes. A chill shot down her back. She stood perfectly still, doing her best to resist the urge to shudder.
“There is a weapon in the caverns,” Gar-Dum said. “If found by the Man-kin it could be used against us. I need you to find it, and destroy it.”
“My Lord,” Jinari said, “the eastern caverns have quite extensive tunnels, and having never traveled there myself, I am not familiar with its layout.”
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