
FANTASY
Flanked by two lovely and graceful sisters, Princess Casiondra Falanell Cristalona Ariva---
Sondra to her family---doesn't feel confi dent or beautiful. In fact, she's an unconventional princess who spends her days trying to disprove the nonsensical ideas of magic and myth.
As she stands on the edge of achieving the life she has only dreamed about, Sondra's handsome suitor, Derek, prepares to propose, and her poverty-stricken kingdom of Ariva uncovers a valuable resource that will change its future forever.
Everything seems perfect in Sondra's life until she encounters a wizard who transforms her into a monstrous dragon. Forced to fl ee from the man she adores, Sondra blunders into the territory of Tolmac, a powerful and ancient black dragon.
Instead of killing her as she anticipates, Tolmac takes her under his wing, un-knowingly training the human princess in the fi ne art of being a dragon. As Sondra soon discovers, she must constantly sacrifi ce to make the right choices as she grows to love and admire her new mentor. With her homeland poised on the brink of war, Sondra fi nds herself facing an unbearable decision; she must choose between her heart and her duty to her country.
S U S A N T R O M B L E Y is an avid reader and writer of both fantasy and science fi ction novels. Now that she is no longer traveling as a soldier in the U.S. Army, Trombley dreams up new worlds in Arizona along with her husband, daughter, and a menagerie of pets.
U.S. $XX.XX
TM
Editor's
S U S A N T R O M B L E Y
iUniverse, Inc.
New York Bloomington
Copyright © 2010 by Susan Trombley
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This is a work of fi ction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fi ctitiously.
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ISBN: 978-1-4502-0599-3 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4502-0600-6 (dj)
ISBN: 978-1-4502-0598-6 (ebook)
Printed in the United States of America iUniverse rev. date: 12/31/2009
78
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The empty sockets of countless skulls stared down at the lone fi gure in the center of the tower room. Th e sullen afternoon
sunlight fi ltered through the stubborn miasma of dust that drifted through the chamber crammed with dried herbs, unguents, and mysterious crumbling scrolls. Much like a wizard's workshop, the poorly lit room harbored a menagerie of the strange and bizarre, though most of the creatures there were already dead.
But this was no wizard's room; quite to the contrary, this laboratory belonged to a princess, one bound and determined to disprove the very existence of such nonsensical ideas as magic and myth. A princess as unconventional as the chamber where she idled away most of her afternoons studying the artifacts of nature and devising logical explanations for everything even remotely mysterious.
"Steady, steady ..." The young woman didn't realize she was whispering to herself under her breath. She carefully fitted the rare and expensive clear glass disk into the twisted frame of a close-viewing apparatus.
"Sondra, why are you hiding in this dusty old room again? We have work to do." The unexpected sound of her sister's voice shattering the dusty silence of the tower room startled Sondra and sent the glass disk flying. Sondra shrieked and snatched at the glittering glass as it swam through the dust motes, sparkling in the meager sunlight. She fumbled with the slippery disk a few times, then managed to gain a firm grip on it and carefully placed it on the table with a sigh of relief. She turned to her sister, swiping wisps of hair out of her face and leaving a trail of dusty streaks behind.
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"Sarai, don't sneak up on me! You scared me halfway into Morbidon's kingdom! I think I nearly wet myself! And I almost dropped my ocular disk!
You have no idea how hard it was to come by. I ordered it last season and only just received it from yesterday's trade caravan!"
"Sondra! That is horrifying! What would Mother say if she heard you speaking so crudely? Honestly!" Sarai regarded her sister in her filthy apron and worn morning gown with despair. Why couldn't Sondra behave as a princess should, instead of saying and doing such outrageous things?
"Oh, you know Mother; she would probably say something like 'I give up' and then proceed to prove that she hasn't by setting a pack of maids upon me like a hunted fox to fix me up and retrain me in comportment and all of the other vital necessities of life. Quit rolling your eyes, it isn't seemly, Sarai.
Besides, you know I speak the truth."
Sondra watched her sister struggle to form a reply that would fit within the narrow confines of propriety they were supposed to live by. Sarai gave up and changed the subject after a moment.
"I knocked and when no one answered I cracked open the door to see if you were in here. I even called your name. I finally had to enter this horrid chamber and walk right up to you and shout in your ear just so you would hear me!"
Sondra could not help the giggle that escaped her at her sister's offended expression. Sarai could not bear her 'chamber of horrors,' as she called it, and claimed she would rather tour the dungeon below the castle than this tower room.
"Stop laughing, Sondra! You must attempt to be serious for tonight at least!" Sarai insisted.
"Why? What's different about tonight?"
"Sondra! How could you forget? Tonight is the summer party! You have only a few hours to prepare and you are such a mess!"
"Oh, that! Yes, I vaguely recall hearing something about a party or some such nonsense. I'm not going."
"Yes, you are. You have no choice and you know it. If Mother discovered you missing she would send the guards up here to haul you downstairs by force.
Stop acting foolish, Sondra."
Sondra heaved a sigh of regret. She despised these ridiculous parties and
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the inevitable boredom she must endure as much as her older sister looked forward to them.
"Of course, you're right. I can't wait to leave my newest and most exciting invention to stand around for hours in a room filled with lifeless furniture, not to mention all the chairs and settees."
"Sondra, I hope you are not referring to the nobles as lifeless furniture!"
"Sarai, these parties are a waste of time. The kingdom is broke, we have no dowries, and we couldn't get married to an eligible prince or duke even if one got lost and somehow wound up at our snore fest. In fact, if we did meet an eligible bachelor with all his teeth, breath that doesn't fell entire battalions, and a face that doesn't send maids screaming from the room, we would only be disappointed by our inability to actually engage in a betrothal contract."
"Don't be so certain we could not find a husband. Elona married the Bladen prince," Sarai insisted.
"Yes, that was surprising; here I had always believed Mother and Father liked Elona, but apparently they harbored a secret hatred for her."
"Don't be ridiculous, Sondra. Elona made an excellent marriage. I envy her good fortune."
"What? Why? I would rather cut off my own legs than walk down the aisle to a man like that. Rumor has it the real prince fell inexplicably and irreversibly ill after meeting Elona, and King Arctuor dressed up a game boar and sent it to the wedding in his stead."
Sarai struggled to maintain her composure as she recalled the Bladen prince, Galaden, on his wedding day. "Oh Sondra, I shouldn't laugh, but he did sort of look like a hairy animal, didn't he?"
"He's perfect for her," Sondra insisted.
"Sondra, she's your sister! I know that you don't get along, but still, you should not speak so ill of her. Especially now that she is in such a delicate condition, she should deserve all of our good wishes." Sarai unconsciously placed her hand over her own flat abdomen, and Sondra realized with shame that while she teased her goodhearted sister mercilessly, Sarai harbored a strong desire to have a babe of her own. It was little wonder she looked forward to these social gatherings with so much anticipation. They were her only chance to meet a future husband and be one step closer to her dream.
"Fine, I will moderate my dislike, seeing as she and her pig, I mean prince, 4
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tried for so long to have this child and have finally found success. I suppose I should wish her well in that at least." Sondra sighed and picked up the disk again, regarding her new apparatus with a wistful glance. "I really don't want to attend this summer party; couldn't Mother just lock me in the dungeon instead?"
"What about Derek?" Sarai watched her sister carefully from beneath her sweeping lashes. "The Warlord will be there and Father approves of your friendship with him."
"Hmm, ah yes, Derek ... will he be there? I did not realize." Sondra pretended a nonchalance she certainly did not feel.
"Oh, come on. Who are you trying to fool, Sondra? This is Sarai you're talking to. You have held affection for Derek since you were a child. You know you're aware of his every move."
"Don't be silly, that was when I was a child. Now he is like a brother to me."
"Oh, good then, since he possesses wealth of his own from his days as a mercenary and Father trusts him so highly, he has spoken of granting the title of Duke of Arivale on him. That would make him worthy of the hand of a princess, and with his wealth, he won't care about a dowry. Even better, he is easily the most handsome man in the entire kingdom, and he has all his teeth! Since you are not interested in him, I will ask Father if it would be okay for Derek to court me." Sarai spoke thoughtfully, tapping one perfectly manicured nail on a slender finger against her full, pouty lips just touched with the slightest gloss.
"Why you---!" The glass disk slipped from Sondra's hand and clattered to the table as she turned on her sister.
"Hmm, what was that, Sondra?" Sarai asked slyly, regarding the blush staining Sondra's round, smudged face.
"You wouldn't want Derek, Sarai. He is ... um ... very coarse and rude," Sondra replied.
"Oh, I don't know, he seems extremely polite and his eyes are such a lovely color of blue, just like the pond at the base of Ariva Falls. And he is tall and strong, with golden hair, though he keeps it much shorter than any other nobles." Sarai recalled Derek's appearance thoughtfully, pacing around the workbench in Sondra's tower room.
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"But he's boring, really boring. He puts me right to sleep, the best insomniac tonic I know, really," Sondra insisted.
"How strange, I find him quite charming and amusing, and he tells the most invigorating tales from his travels to the southern lands."
"Sarai!"
"Got you!" Sarai laughed as Sondra snarled and chased her sister around the workbench. Sondra caught her and pretended to choke her laughing sister.
Both girls dissolved into laughter before recovering their composure.
"Sondra, that man loves you; I do not know why you continue to pretend you do not feel the same." Sarai grew serious.
Sondra laughed. "I highly doubt that; Derek is too handsome for the likes of me, even if I am a princess. I'm not beautiful or graceful and I certainly wouldn't make a good wife for anyone. Besides, he has never expressed an interest in me." Sondra waved away Sarai's assurances.
"That is only because he was in no position to offer for you, but according to rumors, things might be different now," Sarai insisted. Sondra just shook her head, not daring to hope.
Sarai sighed in frustration and looked around for a change of subject.
"Sondra, why do you spend all day in here? What is this mess anyway?" Sarai delicately flicked a crumbling scroll peeking from beneath a clutter of rodent skulls and shed animal claws. She shuddered when the gruesome artifacts jiggled in response to the sudden movement.
"I've already tried to explain to you several times, Sarai. I'm studying the natural world in search of logical explanations for the things people don't understand and so attribute to magic."
"But magic does exist, Sondra."
Sondra cast her sister a long-suffering look of pity.
"It does, and you used to believe in it too," Sarai insisted.
"Of course I believed in it, I was a naïve child. Now I'm grown and I realize that all questions hold perfectly logical answers and all mysteries can be solved without the aid of some charlatan waving a wand around and mumbling nonsense. Think about it, Sarai. Have you ever actually seen magic worked?"
"Well, no, but we do live far from the southern lands, and anyone with talent must travel there to the Academy of Magic for training."
"More like the Academy of Trickery. How many people from Ariva have attended this so-called school of magic for training?" 6
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"No one from Ariva needs magic. We are peaceful people; we don't war on our neighbors or live on the border of the Changing Lands. We don't need magic, so we don't use it."
"Ah, yet another myth, the Changing Lands. Funny you should bring that up, because I have a theory about the myths that surround that blasted land, but I know you don't wish to hear it."
"No, I don't. You and your theories are dangerous. Just think what might happen if you angered the dragon of Thunder Mountain or the faelins of the Woods."
Sondra scoffed, "Dragon? Faelins? Seriously, Sarai, neither fantasy exists; I promise you there are logical explanations for all of it. Have you seen any dragons?"
"Of course I haven't seen him," Sarai rolled her eyes, "because he is trapped within Thunder Mountain, by Ulrick the Clever's spells. But everyone can hear him when he growls, and the obsidia that we craft with and use for trade throughout the southern lands is a product of his rage. Legends say he repeatedly encased the valley beneath its darkness before Ulrick defeated him.
If he hadn't grumbled a warning beforehand, no one would have escaped his wrath."
"Legends, Sarai, that's all they are," Sondra sighed, knowing her next words would fall on deaf ears "There is no dragon. Thunder Mountain is not the birthplace of storms, it is not the top of the world, and there is no dragon trapped beneath it waiting to break free and bury us in black glass. Obsidia is found in other regions as well. Look, Sir Pilphragm describes it in this manual.
It's simply molten rock from beneath the ground that pours out of a hole in the mountain and then cools to a black glass." Sarai turned away and headed for the door. "I don't care what your manual says. Magic does exist and I wish we had never played that silly prank on you or you would still believe in it too. Now go get ready for the party. I'm sure Derek will be there. You should ask him about the southern lands. He has seen a great deal more than you or your Sir Pilphragm has, I'd wager!" Only her ladylike restraint kept Sarai from slamming the door behind her as she left.
Sondra thought back to the childish prank her eldest sister Elona perpetrated on her when she was still a gullible little girl. Elona had told her that if she caught a magic faelin and gave it a kiss, she would get her dearest wish. Her sisters, Sarai included, sent her off on a fool's errand to catch the
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flashing fairylights in the meadow. She finally did capture one, only to discover a horrible insect instead of a beautiful faelin. Worse, she found herself lost in the Woods, a place that frightened grown men and absolutely terrified a young child only five rotas old. She had wandered aimlessly, imagining herself pursued by all manner of dreadful and ghastly creatures. In the end, frightened by her nursemaid's tales of the dreaded dragon Sarai believed in so strongly, a common owl spooked her and sent her careening through the trees where she felt a claw grasp her dress. After she recovered from her swoon, she discovered the monstrous grip was only a broken branch.
She had spent the remainder of the night weeping and cursing all foolish fairy tales and their lies. Better that she be eaten by the dragon she believed chased her than feel so completely crushed by her disappointment. That cycle, she learned that magic didn't exist in the world and all the tales were nothing but a grand hoax. She remembered the old man, the so-called Wizard that everyone spoke about with awe and fear. He happened upon her in the forest and escorted her back to the castle, and she learned that he was nothing more than a kindly but senile hermit that made the Woods his home.
Sondra studied her insect box, her lip curling at the light bugs pinned within. They still looked as grotesque as she remembered them, only when she'd caught them this time she hadn't made a wish; instead, she had gleefully impaled the revolting creatures with her pins, just another mundane insect for her to catalogue and study.
She shook her head at the folly of those believers like her sister and the commoners in the city. She would never again fall prey to such foolishness.
She turned away and headed for the door, pushing away the memories of her unenlightened childhood, and firmly ignoring the twinge of sadness at the sense of wonder she had lost.
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By the time Sondra fi nished enduring the torturous ministrations of her lady's maid, Liliana, colorful pavilions already dotted the courtyard. Th
e errand boys rushed around lighting torch poles, and the feathered and beribboned coach horses of the noble guests pulled their lacquered coaches up to the massive stone steps to the great hall. Sondra imagined the servants racing about, barely glimpsed but performing effi ciently
in their endless tasks.
She thought wistfully of the public courtyard visible from a window as she passed her ladies-in-waiting, distant cousins and young daughters of the nobles. They fell into step behind her once she left her room. The courtyard would soon fill with commoners. People from the city and the surrounding towns and villages of the kingdom would crowd in and take part in the largest party of the rota; one where everyone from the lowliest beggar to the highest noble received an invitation to celebrate another rotation of peace. Although only the nobles were permitted into the ball that took place within the castle itself, the commoners didn't seem to mind. Performers from the southern lands never failed to show up in vast numbers for the annual event, and most found the commoners a more appreciative and generous audience, so they chose to ply their trade outdoors.
The food and drink flowed freely, and the crowds always grew loud and raucous as the evening progressed. The courtyard and crude revelry were forbidden to any young lady of nobility and were certainly never permitted for a princess! Instead, Sondra and the other nobles must remain crammed within the stifling and heated ballroom, dining chamber, and great hall. The 8
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back gardens, normally reserved only for the royal family, were opened for those attending the ball that required a breath of fresh air.
Sondra planned her escape to the relative peace of the gardens, reasoning that no one would really miss her absence as long as she made her official entrance. Of course, she couldn't sneak away until something distracted all of the simpering ladies accompanying her. Sondra glanced hatefully at them, certain that the dungeon's manacles wouldn't feel as constricting as the beady-eyed and malevolent presence of the women.
She ignored the tightening in her stomach, the nerves that always preceded her appearance at social situations. Though none who knew her would guess, she always felt sick when crowds of people surrounded her, watching her and judging her, maybe disliking her, and undoubtedly talking behind her back. She hid her fear well and none ever guessed that the charming princess that chatted with everyone and always elicited a smile or laugh from her conversation really just wanted to throw up and run screaming from the room. She despised the company of the nobles that languished at court, availing themselves of her father's hospitality. They bored her and talked of nothing but rumors and gossip about other noble ladies and gentlemen. If they spoke their poisonous vitriol about others so freely to her, she feared what they said about her when she could not overhear. Because of that she never spoke of anything personal; she held her true self hidden away behind a social mask.
Today, her ladies-in-waiting, noble daughters of impeccable lineage, gushed over the way the golden threads of her burgundy brocade gown picked out the highlights in her unbound hair, and how the lace that ran below her breast lengthened her normally stocky stature and made her look so much taller and slimmer. Of course, that's what they said to her face. When they reached the ballroom, she waved them ahead to talk behind her back. They made their entrance while she waited for the proper time to make her own. A princess must always follow protocol.
The king and queen already sat upon their thrones atop a dais commanding the head of the ballroom as the royal steward announced every guest by title, name, and holdings. Sondra peeked through the curtain and admired her parents. Papa presented a regal figure, still strong and vital despite the gray in his hair and close-cut beard. His brown eyes twinkled with good humor and only those that knew him realized how deeply worry carved grooves through his ruddy skin. He fretted about the kingdom and their impending poverty, 10
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not to mention the ever-increasing tax burden that fomented unrest amongst those who had little enough to give. He worried that his wife continued to spend lavishly, even as she argued that their people needed visible evidence of a strong economy.
As for her mother, Sondra felt her nervous stomach lurch when she glanced at the queen. They shared a complicated relationship. She loved her mother dearly but never seemed to please her, no matter how hard she tried.
She possessed neither Elona's cleverness nor Sarai's grace and beauty. She hadn't been the boy child her mother so hoped for and disappointed the queen even from the moment of her birth. Her mother always sounded exasperated with her and everything she did. The queen passed her austere and delicate beauty to her two eldest daughters; Sondra bore none of her loveliness. Her mother's face appeared unmarked by time, though Sondra knew that closer up, beneath the powder she always wore, fine lines of worry wove their tapestry over her once-flawless skin. She also knew that the cool blond hair beneath her jeweled circlet owed its youthful color to Sondra's own invention, a dye made from Lantis seed that only Sondra knew how to prepare.
"I'm surprised to see you here first, Sondra," said Sarai as she drifted gracefully toward the curtained portal, trailing her own group of slightly older and no less insipid giggling, gossiping ladies-in-waiting. The women moved past them in a rustle of stiff brocade, fluttering fans, and reeking perfumes through the doorway and over to the king and queen, where they curtsied gracefully and awaited the entrance of their royal charge.
"Finally, I can breathe again. Apparently not everyone bathed for this party."
"Sondra! Really, must you be so outspoken?" Sarai glanced around nervously, fearing someone had overheard her sister's rude remark.
"Oh, please, Henrik is the only one that heard and he won't repeat it, will you, Henrik?" Sondra tapped the young palace guard standing at attention by the curtain with her feathered fan. Henrik simply blushed and stared straight ahead, determined to do his job perfectly despite the teasing of the youngest princess.
"Sondra! You shouldn't interact with the guards like that; people might think you're ..." Sarai leaned forward and whispered almost inaudibly "...
flirting!" She wore a look of pure horror at the thought, as though such a rumor
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presented the worst possible speculation anyone could have about Sondra.
And indeed, Sondra pondered, in her world it probably was.
"You're right, Sarai. By the way, you look beautiful this evening, as usual."
"Thank you, so do you. Liliana can work miracles; with a ladies' maid like her, how can you doubt the existence of magic?" Sarai asked, her beautiful, heavily lashed eyes wide and suspiciously innocent.
"Thank you, my dear, devoted sister. You always reserve a kind word for me," Sondra replied sarcastically. Her sister simply smiled.
"Hey, what do you think of my new doublet?" Sergen, at just fifteen, already filled out the blue brocade doublet he wore. He possessed a promise of his father's strength and vitality, as well as some of his mother's grace and beauty, so it hardly surprised Sondra that he behaved just a little arrogantly. He affected a manly swagger as he approached his sisters, and both women stifled fond smiles. Despite his arrogance, he still possessed a boyish charm that made him likable, especially in the biased hearts of his big sisters.
"You look exceptionally handsome today, Sergen," Sarai solemnly replied.
"Hmm, I don't know, perhaps you've been eating too many scones, Sergie.
Is that a paunch I see developing?" Sondra teased, poking the horrified boy in his flat stomach with the tip of her fan.
"Sondra!" Sarai rolled her eyes in exasperation.
"A paunch!" Sergen clutched at his stomach, too distressed to object to Sondra's use of his childish nickname.
"It is time for your entrance, Your Highness," announced the steward, a balding man who resembled a particularly fussy bird, as he swept aside the curtain and motioned for the young prince. The boy glared back at Sondra and she cast him a saucy wink, knowing that some manner of frog, insect, or reeking fish would find its way into her chambers tonight as revenge for her teasing. Sergen turned, lifted his head high and strode through the curtains to the sound of his official name ringing through the ballroom. The crowd already gathered offered a rousing applause at the young heir's entrance.
"It is your turn, Your Highness," the steward motioned to Sarai. Sondra tried to ignore her clenching stomach while she watched her sister sweep through the portal, skirt held just so in one hand, lace fan tilted just so in the other, and her chin raised just high enough for a princess of the realm. Sondra's parents beamed their approval and the steward announced her arrival to a crowd awed by her beauty.
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"The Princess Alistasaria Deliandra Andraselle Ariva." The watching crowd bowed their heads, just as they had for the prince. No one curtsied or bowed for the lower-ranking heir and princesses in the presence of the king and queen. Sarai paused during the recital of her name and then descended the marble steps, first halting in front of her father to sink into a deep curtsy, then to her mother to dip slightly less, then to her brother where he stood on the dais to barely bob her head. Then she too, took her place beside him, to wait for the last princess, so that the party could officially begin.
"Your Highness," said the steward, returning to where Sondra stood behind the curtain, just out of sight of the crowd. She clutched her stomach briefly, sucked in several cleansing breaths, snapped open her fan, and promptly sneezed when a stray feather flew free and tickled her nose. The sneeze dislodged some pins holding her silver circlet in place and it began migrating south, pushing her heavy hair before it as more pins came loose. The steward motioned imperatively to her, and she stepped forward, trying unsuccessfully to blow the stray hairs out of her eyes and tilting her head back in an effort to reset her circlet without using the hand even now positioning her fan, or the other gently grasping her skirt.
This was, of course, the position she stood in when the steward swept aside the curtain and the light of a thousand candles struck her full in the face, at the top of a flight of marble steps in front of hundreds of judgmental nobles, a king, and, worst of all, a critical mother. She froze in horror; head tilted so far back that everyone received a lovely view up her nostrils, her circlet flopping loose and dragging her hair with it, and a burning blush crawling up her neck and across her face. This time the silence felt more awkward than awed.
Then the steward, a true professional, cleared his throat and commenced with his announcement. "The Princess Casiondra Falanell Cristalona Ariva." The watching crowd dipped their heads, many hiding smirks and fat, malicious smiles. Sondra took the opportunity to straighten up and reposition herself, unwilling to glance at her parents. She paused, counted out the requisite seconds in her head, and then proceeded down the steps as gracefully as she could with her face still on fire, until she stood in front of her father. She curtsied deeply, glancing obliquely at him to find him smiling with a genuine fondness and no hint of condemnation. Then she curtsied less deeply for her mother and spared a glance at a face frozen with disapproval. Sondra heaved a mental sigh and continued to her little brother. He smirked at her when she lifted her
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head from the bow, but she saw the strain of his barely contained laughter.
She bobbed her head to her sister who bestowed on her a compassionate and slightly amused smile. She then took her place on the dais beside her sister and they waited while the king welcomed all the guests, imploring them to enjoy his hospitality.
After his short welcoming speech he waved to the musicians in the galley, and music filled the ballroom. The crowd immediately broke apart and separated into many smaller groups to chat and gossip, the favorite pastime of bored nobility. The prince could barely restrain himself from bounding off the dais to join two other boys his age, a young duke and an heir to a barony.
Sondra groaned when she spotted her ladies-in-waiting descending upon her, and turned to Sarai only to discover that her sister's keepers had already collected her and herded her off to bore her to tears. Sondra desperately considered her escape routes when a deep, amused voice startled her out of her contemplations.
"If you're thinking of going out the window, you'll never get there in time.
Every other exit is too far away for any pace other then an all-out sprint. I suggest you join me on the dance floor, Princess, and we will successfully evade them."
Sondra glanced down at the weathered yet still incredibly handsome face of Derek, son of Calvin, and Warlord of Ariva. His close-cropped blond hair, deep-set eyes, and lowered brows seemed austere and forbidding to some, and frown lines etched across his forehead, giving the impression that he had not often found a reason to smile. Despite this, his finely sculpted lips were curved into a teasing smile for Sondra, revealing perfect white teeth. Her gaze roved hungrily over his face, admiring the purely masculine beauty he possessed, his strong chin, slender but prominent nose, and rugged, weathered skin made him appear as strikingly different from the other men at the ball as a wolf among the many toy dogs carried about by the noblewomen. No other man in the room managed to make the jewel-toned brocade doublet and tights look so incredibly masculine as he offered a strong, calloused hand to help her from the dais. Sondra smiled with relief, grasped her rescuer's warm hand, and practically leapt off the dais to evade the gaggle of vapid girls.
"You saved me from a fate worse than death," she gushed in relief. The man beside her glanced down at her, her head barely reaching his shoulder.
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Her delicate circlet continued the slide it started earlier and he gently reset it, careful not to draw attention to the action as he responded.
"What possible fate could be worse than death?" he teased, the corners of his intense blue eyes crinkling with feigned confusion.
"Boredom of course, then death ... by boredom. So really, you saved me from a fate worse than death, than death itself. I owe you a great boon, brave knight." Sondra smiled up at him.
Derek, a trained warrior and former mercenary with more hard-won wealth than nearly all of the nobles at this party, felt the power of that smile like a fist in his gut. When her father, the king, elevated him to the position of Warlord, a title unused by the peaceful kingdom in centuries, he felt a happiness that came rarely to him after a lifetime of blood and war, but that experience couldn't compare to the way his heart lifted at the sight of Sondra's smile. "I ask only that you bestow another smile upon me, Your Highness, that I may bask in your glory this evening."
"Humph, well, since your valor comes so cheaply, perhaps I should suggest my father lower your pay." Sondra playfully bumped his shoulder before taking up her position across from him for the dance.
"Well, when you put it that way," Derek smiled wickedly at her, "perhaps I will request another boon."
"Oh, and what would that be?" Sondra fluttered her lashes up at him as he took her hand and they moved down the line of glittering dancers.
"Why ... let me think." Derek paused and Sondra felt a strange pulse in her stomach that had nothing to do with social nerves and everything to do with the way he gazed down at her at that moment. "I know. I demand another dance from the most beautiful woman at the party."
"Well, you shall have to seek out my sister and rescue her; I believe that even now she suffers the same fate that I so narrowly avoided." Derek laughed, his head thrown back and his white teeth startling in his tan face. "You little imp, you know I referred to you."
"Well, since you've obviously been enfeebled and left blind by all of your fighting and warring, I guess I shall have to humor you." She smiled up at him.
"Blinded only by your smile, Princess."
"Why, my Lord Derek, I had no idea you were such a poet," Sondra laughed at his expression of horrified disgust.
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"Please, Your Highness, never suggest such a thing; my reputation is at stake," he pleaded, and feigned concerned dread.
"I suppose I shall keep your secret, my Lord."
"Well, that's a relief; my men would never let me forget it otherwise!" Sondra couldn't help laughing out loud at the exaggerated relief on his face as they turned, he taking her other hand, and they again swept down the line of dancers. The pain in her stomach eased and a new feeling replaced it as she looked up into the face of the man she adored. One thing she recognized was that she was finally starting to enjoy herself, bantering with a longtime friend who knew the girl behind the mask and still seemed to like her.
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Fourteen cycles after the annual summer party, Sondra struggled with her sketch of an Asterix lily, the logical-looking diagram failing to capture the beauty of the gently curling petals, or the unique brindled coloration within the center of the snowy fl ower. Her lady's maid, Liliana, and her escort guard suff ered other concerns, their eyes drawn to the boiling, charcoal-colored storm front and the curtain of rain that rolled over the mountains in the north, specifi cally the dreaded Th under Mountain.
While the afternoon sun still shone brightly upon the three of them and their increasingly nervous horses in the wind-whipped meadow, the crack of thunder grew ever closer as the front advanced with terrifying speed. Th ough they were
not far from the castle walls, the closest shelter from the storm lay within the Woods, a place neither the guard nor the maid intended to brave no matter what threatened them. Th
ey would rather chance being struck by skyfi re than risk encountering the shadowy denizens of that haunted place.
A fierce wind snapped Sondra's page and her pen stuttered across the parchment, leaving ugly blots of ink behind. Frustrated, she stuffed the mess back into her workbox and stood, shaking out her skirts, only then noticing the advancing storm. She stopped for a moment, awed as always by the power and beauty of the deadly storm, a primal excitement uncurling deep within her. Someday she planned to travel to the north and solve the mystery of why the most ferocious storms always rolled down from that direction. For the moment she simply drank in the sight of the clouds creeping forward like a hunting predator waiting to break upon the unsuspecting valley with all the ferocity of a wild beast.
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The neighing of her horse interrupted her meditation and she turned to find her guard struggling to hold on to all three mounts as they danced skittishly. Liliana stood huddled and miserable, casting frightened looks north, and Sondra sighed. She hated always requiring an escort. Had she been alone, she would far prefer finding a place where she could watch the storm break over her to experience a touch of its rage before seeking shelter, but she couldn't penalize her keepers who'd committed no sin greater than seeking gainful employment at the castle, and suffered her as punishment.
She turned to the horses as Liliana grabbed gratefully for the workbox to follow her, but as usual the girl couldn't lift the heavy box and the guard still struggled with the rearing horses. Self-consciously Sondra returned, easily hoisted the box with one hand, and strode back to the horses to strap it to her mount. She knew her strength surprised people since it better suited a peasant wife laboring in the field than a delicate princess, so she went to great lengths to avoid revealing it. However, when it came to her workbox, she had little choice. Outside of her study chamber, it was the container for all of her sketches, specimen jars, and tools for logical research.
They mounted up and raced back to the castle just before the storm broke over the meadow, ripping the head off the Asterix lily in its rage.
Sondra rushed into the castle after handing off her horse to the stable boy and shook the rain off her coatdress and out of her riding hat. Her sister and brother intercepted her the moment she entered the great hall flanked by stairs to both residential wings of the castle. They had been waiting outside the massive throne room doors carved and gilded with rearing unicorns and flying dragons. A gaggle of ladies-in-waiting fluttered around anxiously or perched gracefully on delicate gilded chairs with embroidered silk cushions. Gigantic tapestries stretched from the wooden beams in the ceiling to the marble floors, depicting everything from the annual hunt to the legend of Ulrick the Clever.
"Sondra! Thank the gods you're here. Father is in the throne room with a miners' representative from the obsidia mines in the eastern region near Arivale.
Apparently he brings important news and Father and Mother ordered that all of us be present to hear it. You must change quickly and meet us back here. Go!
Don't talk; just go! Or both Mother and Father will be furious at the delay!" Sondra about-faced and, grabbing a fistful of her skirts, raced up the stone steps to her chambers in the east wing. She dashed blindly past wood-paneled stone walls adorned with paintings and tapestries, tiny, fragile occasional tables 18
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topped by candelabra and delicate obsidia carvings, and small windows tucked into stone embrasures. Real glass distorted the sunlight pouring onto the carpeted wooden floors.
Reaching the iron-clad door to her chamber just as Liliana threw it open, she sighed gratefully upon discovering that her resourceful maid had already heard the news and pulled out her court dress. She nimbly unfastened the row of silver buttons on the front of Sondra's wool coatdress, and Sondra quickly shrugged out of it and stood in her simples. Liliana held open the back of the heavily brocaded court-dress, the gold embroidery, gemstone beads, and silk ribbons flashing in the early afternoon sunlight. Sondra slipped her linen-clad arms through the flowing spidersilk sleeves of the overdress. It took only seconds for the skilled maid to lace up the dress and quickly unbraid, brush out, and pin up Sondra's hair with a jeweled tiara. Sondra helped out by unbuttoning her high leather boots and sliding her feet into embroidered slippers. A brush of powder on her flushed face, and Liliana pushed her out the door, where her ladies-in-waiting clustered, impatient to hear the news that had the castle abuzz with speculation.
Sondra arrived at the great hall just as the king's own guard cast open the heavy doors to the throne room and summoned the heir and two princesses into their father's presence. They approached the king and the sisters curtsied while their brother bowed, then took their places on the dais besides the two heavily carved and gilded thrones encrusted with obsidia.
The king and queen barely acknowledged the presence of their children before summoning the nervously sweating man standing off to one side of the cavernous chamber. He'd been attempting without success to blend into one of the many standards of the kingdom's nobles hanging from the marbled walls. The representatives of those various noble houses had already returned to their tiny and purposefully uncomfortable chairs beneath their standards after rising for the entrance of the younger royals. There followed a brief flurry of confusion as several of the ladies-in-waiting jockeyed for position near their respective princesses in the seats behind the dais, reserved for those who directly served the royal family. Sondra resisted the urge to roll her eyes and carefully studied the small man the king motioned forward.
She noticed that his attempts to present himself properly failed miserably amongst the excessive glitter and wealth of the surrounding nobles. It grew painfully clear that the poor man felt something akin to terror at his surroundings
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and his unfortunate role as mining representative. His short stature, receding chin, thinning hair, and protruding nose, not to mention his obvious myopia, made him appear mole-like. He wore a badly fitted flaxweed coat, breeches, sagging stockings, and simple, square-toed dress shoes generations out of date. Sondra wondered whimsically if he really was a mole, captured and sent to work in the mines and, having done such a great job, he found himself promoted to foreman. She smiled inwardly at her fanciful thoughts as the man bowed deeply to the king. His hands crushed the chipbark wide-brimmed hat favored by the middle class---those who could afford head coverings but could not afford quality materials.
"Well," said the king, "tell us what this is all about, man, and why your employers felt it warranted the attention of the entire court yet didn't see fit to appear before their king themselves!" Her father's voice boomed across the throne room, and the mole-man flinched at the tone of offended anger in the king's words. Several nobles covered sly smiles behind gloved hands, amused by the man's obvious discomfort, and Sondra felt a little sorry for him. After all, his bosses offended the king by not appearing before him themselves, not the poor beleaguered mole-man.
"P---please, Your Highness, I beg of you just a moment to explain everything. Myself and my employers believe the news I bring is worthy of such a gathering." The man glanced nervously around at the cold, hard eyes surrounding him; it seemed that each noble eagerly anticipated a royal reprimand to provide their daily entertainment. The man paused and the king waited impatiently.
"Well!" he barked, causing the man to jump. "Get on with it and explain!"
"Y---yes, Your Highness. Our stone expert found evidence of a potential rich obsidia deposit just outside of Arivale and petitioned for the rights to sink another tunnel in that region."
"We already know this since we personally approve every mining petition that your employers submit, man! What importance does this have for the kingdom other than more obsidia for trade to the southern lands?"
"W---we," the man glanced around fearfully as the king's face grew red with impatient anger, "we sunk the mine and found ginacite, fully charged." He blurted this last out and waited with a relieved grin on his scrubbed pink face. The grin faded when the room failed to erupt into cheers, applause, or even excited whispers as he no doubt had expected might happen. Only one 20
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person reacted, and Sondra caught the abrupt twitch of movement from the Warlord Derek only because she surreptitiously watched him from the corner of her eye. He stood slightly behind the king's throne and no one else seemed to notice the abrupt change in his usual stoic demeanor.
When his news failed to elicit the expected reaction, the foreman began rotating the hat in his hands and elaborated, his voice gaining confidence as he described a subject he actually felt comfortable with.
"Ah ... ginacite is an exceptionally rare stone, prized in the southern lands for its ability to store aether ... or, ah ... magical energy. In fact, wizards and witches use the stone in amulets and staffs so they may charge it with their own magic and release it at a later date. We discovered a rich vein of the ginacite beneath the first layer of obsidia that we mined. One small stone, uncharged, is worth more than forty carts of carved obsidia to the southlanders. I am told that they use the stored aether for everything from lighting to cooking to moving carriages about without the aid of horse teams." The man paused as if he couldn't wrap his mind around such a thought and then continued into a different quality of silence, as the bored nobles, suddenly vastly interested in what this man had to say, strained forward to avoid missing a single word. The King and royals remained frozen, listening while each one's mind raced down its own path of speculation.
"As I said, the uncharged stones are what are typically mined in the south in a very paltry amount, which only adds to the stone's rarity. The vein we uncovered glowed with what our stone expert claims is a full, nearly overloaded charge of aether." The man paused again, this time more pleased with the reactions around him. A murmur of excitement rose behind him and a brilliant smile replaced the king's scowling anger.
"So what are you telling us, man, and why are your employers not here to tell us this wonderful news themselves?" the king asked.
"Ah ... my bosses consider the open mine a security risk and are busy securing protection from the local Citizen's Force..."
"Bah! We shall dispatch a platoon today to guard the lode. This wealth will fall under the king's protection, naturally."
"Naturally, Your Highness," the man bowed, knowing that the taxes from that single vein would outweigh the taxes the kingdom collected in over ten rotas on the obsidia trade.
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"Now, who else besides your employers and the other miners know of this find?"
"Of course, Your Highness, we brought news of our find to the court without delay. My employers dispatched me two days ago, immediately after we cleared the obsidia vein and saw the glow of the ginacite." The man's expression grew dreamy as he recalled his first sight of the magnificent vein of ore, the milky ginacite glowing with an intense violet light that pulsed within the inky darkness of the tunnel, dimming the candles on the miner's helmets the way the sun dims the stars.
"We assume you brought proof of this great find?" the king asked, nearly rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
Sure enough the mole-miner nodded jerkily and motioned to a second man, so dun-colored that he blended into the marble column he stood beside.
The man hastened forward, clutching a leather case to his chest like a mother protecting her babe. Reluctantly he stopped before the dais, bowed clumsily to the royalty above him and set the case down, opening the top flap and revealing a stone the size of a hogshead, pulsing with the brilliant violet glow of charged ginacite.
Everyone gasped, and Sondra nearly fell from her seat in mingled awe and disbelief. It couldn't possibly be magic; she knew there must be a purely logical explanation for the oscillating light within the stone; but at the moment logic failed her, and her heart seemed to throb in time to the pulses in an almost painful rhythm. Everyone mentally sighed with disappointment as the second man pulled the flap back over the stone, concealing its luminescence.
The king regained his composure and clapped his hands together, snapping everyone in the throne room to attention. "First, the Arivale claim is open property held by the crown, and the mineral rights are granted in bulk percentage to the Miners Cooperative, with taxes and fees paid to the crown.
The remainder of all profit belongs to the Duke of Arivale, which, as we are all aware, is an unclaimed title since the previous duke passed into Morbidon's embrace without producing heirs. Therefore, until a new duke is named, the crown will hold the ducal percentage in trust." The gathered nobles glanced around speculatively, wondering yet again who would gain enough of the king's favor to earn the Dukedom of Arivale.
The title and holdings already produced a larger income than any other, prior to the mining claim shares. Many glanced at the seasoned warrior standing 22
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at the king's right hand, a favorite of those betting on the outcome of that question.
"Next, our finest platoon of guards will leave from the castle barracks tonight and should arrive at the mine in three days time, so Foreman, you will send this man back to your employers on our swiftest mount and inform them that the soldiers are coming, and they must avoid any security breach until then. Tell them we order all of your mining resources, tools, men, and equipment diverted to the ginacite mine. Leave the obsidia mining to the Merchant's Mineral Acquisition Guild."
Everyone present realized that the MMAG members would pull their hair out in rage over passing up this incredible claim. The sallow foreman's assistant looked sick at the thought of riding a royal messenger mount across the rugged terrain and unimproved roads to the mining venture.
"Naturally your employers will want to gift us for our generosity and beneficence with that sample you brought." The second man turned green and looked even sicker. His eyes caressed the leather case as the foreman waved him from the throne room.
"Of course, Your Highness; the stone sample is just one of many gifts from my employers." The foreman, his task nearly complete, took a deep and relieved bow.
"For now, we call a meeting in the council chambers attended by all council members, as well as the Warlord. Steward, we demand the presence of the foreign trade advisor to the Merchants Guild in the council chamber. Also we request that the Royal Scribe pen a missive to our daughter Elona, asking after her health and humbly requesting the presence of her husband to renegotiate our existing trade agreements with Bladen. The foreman will also join us in the council room. We may need more information from you." Sondra swore she heard an audible urp as the foreman straightened, his throat bobbing and his barely visible chin quivering.
"Everyone else is dismissed to prepare for a grand feast tomorrow in honor of this incredible find."
The nobles shot to their feet as the king rose and strode from the room, followed by Derek, the Royal Steward, and the council members that lined up against the wall behind the dais. The wall concealed a door to the council chamber where all meetings of state between king and council took place.
The guards motioned for the shaking foreman to follow the last councilor,
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an ancient man in charge of social welfare who never left his chambers unless summoned by the king. The concealed door clicked closed behind the man, leaving a seamless marble wall in its place. Very few knew the secret to opening and closing the chamber door.
The queen stood and addressed the nobles. "Now, as the king has commanded, there will be a grand feast in honor of today's news. We expect all present to attend." Her sharp gaze touched every noble there before she floated gracefully from the dais and through another door to the side of the throne room. Her son and two daughters followed dutifully behind, Sondra casting one last curious look at the leather case that even now two men of the castle guard gently secured and carried away.
As soon as they left the chamber trailed by their entourage, the queen dismissed her offspring as well, admonishing them to rest up and prepare for tomorrow. She specifically addressed Sondra. "Do try to be on time and suitably presentable for once, Sondra." She sighed and tweaked the jeweled tiara that slipped slowly down the side of Sondra's head. With a fond pat to her youngest daughter's cheek, a kiss on Sarai's forehead, and a hug for her son, she turned away and proceeded down the grand hall.
Only the royals and their entourage used the grand hall to move around the castle with some semblance of privacy. The queen's matronly ladies-in-waiting followed swiftly behind to keep up with her deceptively graceful pace.
The Royal Chatelaine joined her, harassed and incredibly stressed at the monumental task of organizing a grand feast in less than one full cycle.
Relatively alone, save the two groups of tiresome girls they must always lug around, the three siblings huddled in excitement, eager to discuss what just transpired in the court.
"Sergen, let's meet in your morning room, it's closest." The eavesdropping ladies gasped in horrified shock at Sondra's suggestion.
Nobles considered it indecent for a young unmarried woman to meet a man in his morning room, even if that man was still a boy and one's own brother.
"No way, I'm not letting those girls in my room, they babble incessantly." The boy shuddered in dread as he glanced at the selection of lovely young girls culled from the noblest families in the kingdom. Sondra and Sarai exchanged an amused look, knowing that once Sergen reached his majority, these same girls would likely become his only company, as his doting parents encouraged him to select a bride from their number.
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"We'll meet in my morning room," Sarai said, and since her room sat only one flight above them, they all agreed and she silenced the objections of their entourage by adding, "Naturally we are all well chaperoned. After all, isn't that what our ladies-in-waiting are for?" The girls managed to pull a cognizant thought together long enough to discern that they owed their continued presence in the castle to their job chaperoning the princesses as well as providing suitable companionship. The thought that someone might perceive that they failed in their duties silenced them, and they meekly followed their charges to Sarai's chambers.
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Another meeting took place that day in the king's council chamber. Th
e councilors all applauded the wonderful news about the change in the kingdom's fortunes. Everyone spoke at once, the atmosphere in the council chamber far less formal than the throne room.
Th
e king generally allowed and encouraged all opinions and advice as well as the heated debates that often broke out among competing councilors. Even now the never-ending battle of expansion versus infrastructure that broke out between the councilor of Land Acquisition and Distribution and the councilor of City Development and Planning nearly dissolved into blows, both elderly men trembling with rage.
Only one person besides the king himself and the timid foreman remained silent and thoughtful. Unlike the others who perceived only the wealth the new mine brought to the kingdom, Derek foresaw problems the naïve and sheltered councilors could not begin to imagine. Even the king appeared innocently oblivious to anything beyond his dreams of unlimited budgets and a wealthy citizenry where peasants lived better than the nobles in other lands.
The king noted his reticence and turned to him, noticing the frown on the Derek's face. He waved the councilors to silence. "What of you, Warlord, what opinion or advice do you have to share with us?" Derek looked around at the gathered men, most of them far past their prime, and realized that not one among them beside himself had ever been to war or fought for their life. None had ever faced death from the moment they awoke on a blood-soaked battlefield to the moment they collapsed from exhaustion and blood loss on that same battlefield. Perhaps his experiences 25
26
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made him a distrustful cynic, but he understood the southern lands better than even the king. That cluster of kingdoms forever warred amongst each other over valuable land and resources, sometimes ostensibly over religion, but almost entirely over gold and power. So he related his misgivings, assailed by a dreadful certainty.
"Your Highness, honorable gentlemen, and Mr. Foreman, I do suffer some concerns over this find. For centuries other kingdoms have left us in peace, not because of our military might or the strength of our allies, for we must be honest and admit that we possess neither of those things. No, they left us alone because we also possessed nothing of value that they desired. For generations our only export of any worth has been obsidia, and I believe we can all say that our market share of that product did not make us a wealthy nation. Forgive me, Your Highness."
The king simply motioned for Derek to continue, the surrounding councilors wearing various looks of concentration, concern, and confusion.
"These circumstances allowed us to reside in peace for so long that we found no need for a strong army, nor any reason to negotiate powerful alliances.
I personally preferred it that way for I have seen too much of the ravages of constant war and I hope never to see it come here to Ariva, my home and sanctuary of peace. However, I fear that now that we have uncovered a resource of exceptional value, there will be those that desire it and may not hesitate to declare war in order to take it."
The councilors gasped and broke into clusters of muttered denials and murmurs of disbelief. The king sat quietly absorbing Derek's words for a moment.
"Very well, Derek, your speech holds merit; however, we want more information. You are our Warlord, Councilor of War and Protector of the Kingdom. You have posed a concern, but at the moment there is no evidence that other kingdoms will move against us. We imagine that there are some present that believe your assessment is highly cynical, but we believe in your experience and first-hand knowledge of the southern kingdoms. What is your proposal for the future, knowing that we cannot delay the exploitation of this resource?"
"Nor would I ask such a thing, Your Highness. Delay serves no purpose; the find itself is what will generate unwanted interest. The news will reach the southern kingdoms within two ten-cycles, so I agree that we accomplish
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nothing by delaying the mining of the ginacite. I maintain communication with many old acquaintances residing in both Bladen and Halidor, and they keep me informed on the political climate in the south. I don't anticipate any problems from Bladen, though they may not support us against any threat.
However, Halidor prefers war to peace and I believe if we have a problem it will originate from that southeastern kingdom. We are protected on all sides excepting the southern pass by the Ring." Derek gestured to the map on the wall that depicted the ring of mountain ranges surrounding their valley kingdom, broken only by a southern pass where both Halidor and Bladen bordered the Valley of Ariva. The top edge of the map showed only the highest peak, Thunder Mountain. No one knew nor cared to speculate about what lay past that forbidden zone.
"Nevertheless," Derek continued, "Ulrick pass spans well over a mile, and the number of soldiers in our volunteer army cannot defend the entire pass even if they stood fingertip to fingertip. Besides, even if we could hold the pass with greater numbers, our army consists of farmers who soldier part time, not warriors like Halidor's or even Bladen's troops. We must note that Halidor has in the past used battle wizards and clerics in their wars. There isn't a single magic-user in this kingdom, save the old hermit that lives in the Woods." Derek turned to the king, allowing his words to sink in before continuing with his proposal, an idea he expected those present to object to strenuously.
"Your Highness, I ask that we reinstate conscription and begin training new recruits immediately."
The councilors gasped in outrage. The current king's grandfather abolished conscription when he realized that a standing army forced to serve the required two-rota term with nothing to do and no one to fight grew unruly and created more trouble than they prevented. Everyone knew that reinstating a mandatory military service for young men meant pulling those same men out of fields, craft workshops, taverns, and homes and that led to angry citizens. Still, the new wealth of ginacite would more than compensate the people, as the king might finally possess the funds to implement some of his dream projects, bettering the quality of life in the kingdom for all citizens.
Conscription might anger the people, but if Derek truly felt it necessary then the King must take the chance. He personally trusted the young man completely and valued his opinions as one who had seen more war and bloodshed than anyone else in the kingdom. If Derek felt the kingdom needed 28
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to amass a standing army, the king considered himself intelligent enough to heed the veteran warrior's advice. With a decisive nod he called for pen and scroll.
"Very well, Warlord. We have placed you in charge of our protection and as such we must trust you to do your job; therefore, we agree to your advised action and reinstate conscription as of this very day. Naturally, we leave the details and the recruitment to you and our current soldiers. We only ask that you treat the people fairly and with great compassion. Never forget these men are the sons, husbands, and fathers of this kingdom." The king finished scribing the new decree and the steward raced off to order it copied, sealed, and sent out to every corner of the kingdom.
"Thank you, Your Highness; you will not regret this decision. I will dispatch a company of soldiers to reestablish the border guard at the pass and the remainder of our active soldiers will begin recruitment and training immediately." Derek nodded to one of the soldiers who guarded a second exit from the chamber. He saluted and hurried silently from the room to carry out the Warlord's commands.
"Now," commanded the king, "we order all of you to reassemble in these chambers this evening with detailed reports on how this new find will impact each of your departments. Mr. Foreman will remain in the Royal Library until then to answer any of your questions and assist you with any mining details.
We wish to speak to the Warlord and the Councilor of Titles, Deeds, and Trusts alone. The rest of you are dismissed." The councilors filed out. When only Derek, the king, and the Councilor of TDT remained, the king began, "Now, about the Dukedom of Arivale..."
"Well, what do you think about all of this, Sondra? After all, we are talking magic here?" Sarai leaned forward in her chair, her perfectly stitched embroidery project all but forgotten on her lap as the three siblings huddled together in her morning room. Ranged along the walls, the ladies-in-waiting embroidered their own scraps of spidersilk and tried unsuccessfully to appear disinterested in the barely audible conversation taking place in the center of the room.
The princesses perched on daintily carved chairs upholstered in a pale yellow spidersilk. The young prince lounged on a matching upholstered chaise longue that complemented the blazing sunset oranges and pinks pouring
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through the room's only window to pool on the heavy loomed carpet that warmed the wooden floors.
"It's not magic obviously. I am not certain what sort of logical phenomena it is. I will need to consult my books, but I believe I read a mention in Pilphragm's manual about such a stone. He didn't refer to the energy as aether but rather some sort of chemo kinetic force that occurs naturally..."
"Why can't you just admit it, Sondra?"
The ladies jumped in surprise as the always refined, elegant, and calm Sarai snapped impatiently at her sister. Even Sergen looked up from where he lounged bonelessly, picking his fingernails and yawning in boredom.
"I wish you would stop insisting that magic exists ..."
"And you should stop insisting that it doesn't, despite irrefutable evidence to the contrary. You saw that stone--how could you possibly deny the power in..."
"Yes, Sarai, I saw the stone, and I admit it possessed considerable power," Sondra interrupted heatedly, "but why must we assume that any power is magical in origin? Perhaps there is a store of naturally occurring energy in the world that we have all along called magic but in actuality possesses a purely logical explanation."
"You are hopeless, Sondra; there is no getting through to you, and I am sick and tired of imploring you to listen to reason. Everyone here thinks you are some sort of aberration, and I am tired of defending you when they call you strange and unnatural!"
The sound of shocked gasps trailed by leaden silence shook Sarai out of her frustrated anger. She realized that she towered over her sister, her finger in the other girl's stricken face, and quickly covered her mouth as if she could push her hasty words back in.
Sondra slowly stood, the shine of tears darkening her eyes as her shoulders straightened with quiet dignity. She ignored the shaking hand Sarai stretched out to halt her retreat and turned her back on her sister.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Sarai, but at least now that I know the truth, you won't need to defend me anymore. In fact, I don't want you around me at all unless the occasion dictates it. Good-bye, Sarai. Oh, and do keep an eye on my ladies-in-waiting. I have no more need of them this evening and I'd rather not have to watch my back tonight." The last words quavered as Sondra strode 30
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to the door, jerked it open, and stormed out, her skirts barely clearing the doorway just as it swung shut behind her.
The sound of the closing door intruded on the awkward silence as the girls glanced nervously at each other, the frozen princess, and the pale young prince.
The spell broke when Sergen stood, stretched and ran his hand through his shaggy mop of hair, leaving behind a mess of spiky locks. He patted his sister uncertainly on her shoulder, uncomfortable with emotional girls, and eager to escape before one of the many women in the room started crying. "She'll get over it. You know she will. She just got her feelings hurt, but sometimes people need to hear the truth, you know..."
"Sergen, please, don't ... " Sarai turned to him, tears welling in her beautiful eyes, and Sergen swallowed, nodded, and beat a hasty retreat, racing from the room as if Morbidon's own reapers snapped at his heels. He didn't stop until he reached the sanctuary of his own chambers, raced inside, slammed the door, and leaned gratefully against it, safely away from the tears of both sisters---
tears he didn't know how to deal with.
Sondra made it as far as the flight of steps leading to her own chambers before she crumpled against the cool wall and, sliding to her knees, shook with powerful and painful sobs that clawed at her throat and tore at her insides. She curled up in an effort to protect the gaping wound her sister's careless words had carved in her heart.
She always knew people thought her strange but she never really concerned herself since people expected a certain level of eccentricity from royalty, didn't they? Sarai's words cut the most, not because of what other people thought of her, but because those she loved the most knew about it, suffered embarrassment for it, and never once told her. The thought that they would ever grow tired of defending her and supporting her in spite of what others might think made her question whether they even returned her love.
Suddenly she understood why her own mother always seemed so disappointed with her, or why her father couldn't always stifle the embarrassed grimace when she started explaining logical studies to his councilors. Now she knew why her brother often avoided her while visiting with the few noble boys allowed in his company. Still, she never thought her sister Sarai felt burdened by her and her eccentricities. Elona, yes; she couldn't stand her eldest sister and knew the feeling remained entirely mutual, but she always believed Sarai loved her as much as she loved Sarai. To find out differently left a gaping hole that
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steadily filled with the same feeling of betrayal that she experienced when her sisters sent her on a fool's errand to catch a magical fairy so many years before.
"I bet they don't care about me at all," Sondra muttered, a spark of anger burning her stomach and igniting the well of betrayed feelings finding shelter there. "Fine, let's see how they fare without me. I'll run away. I'll go to Thunder Mountain and prove there is no Dragon, and that they've all been duped, and I don't care at all if they worry, but they probably won't even look for me." Sondra ignored the sting of acid tears burning her eyes and climbed the steps to her chambers. She quietly cracked the door open and peeked inside.
Liliana lay sprawled and snoring on a bench at the foot of Sondra's massive bed, her maid's bonnet long since fallen to the floor. Sondra smiled, pleased that her maid's noisy slumber concealed her own furtive movements perfectly.
The glow of the half-moon had gilded the chamber silver by the time Sondra quietly and clumsily managed to untie her own laces and shrug out of the heavy court dress. She let the hated thing fall to the floor.
Throwing open the wardrobe doors in her dressing chamber, she selected the darkest and simplest of her coatdresses, a plain burgundy wool adorned only with hand-carved obsidia buttons. She shrugged into the fitted sleeves, pulled the coatdress around her, and buttoned up before sliding on her black leather riding boots. The pale cream underskirt of her simple showed through from the waist where the row of buttons ended but she didn't have the time to change completely, nor did she possess a dark-colored simple. Rather then a jaunty hat or bonnet, she pulled a wool cloak from the back of the wardrobe.
The summer night air hardly called for such a heavy garment, so she wouldn't wear it for long; she just needed the concealment of the hood to escape the castle unrecognized. The simple dark cloak concealed the fine cut and material of the dress she wore and she prayed that anyone who saw her would mistake her for one of the servants trekking into the city for supplies or returning to their homes for the night. Fortunately, the castle portcullis never closed and people traveled in and out of the gates all evening long on various errands, especially just after sundown when the demands on the servants lessened greatly.
She tiptoed into Liliana's tiny chamber just off her own dressing room and guiltily searched the sparse quarters, finding what she sought tucked beneath the hard cot. A poorly woven basket covered by a cheap, printed flaxweed material sat tucked neatly under Liliana's bed. It looked exactly like hundreds of others that the servants used to carry their goods and money to and from 32
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the castle. She stole the basket, promising herself that she would repay Liliana a hundredfold for it when she returned with her proof. She would start by ordering the girl a new bed, one that didn't resemble a slab of stone.
She stuffed some of her less expensive jewelry into the basket with vague ideas of selling the items for money. She then added a brush, some ribbons, her toothstick and powder, a jar of soapstone powder and a woolen washsquare, and hurried to the door. She caught a glimpse of herself in the polished silver before she left the room. She mentally shook her head at her near mistake and snatched the tiara out of her hair, wincing as the pins pulled free along with several long strands. She cast the tiara on the bed, threw her hood over her unbound hair, and snuck from the room, holding the door to keep it from slamming shut behind her.
The journey through the silent castle and down the servants' steps would cause Sondra nightmares for many nights to come. Every servant glanced her way, though none stopped her as she proceeded through the tight, dimly lit corridors. Most of the other occupants shoved rudely past her, rushing to complete some errand or another in the never-sleeping castle.
She couldn't believe her luck when she threw open the servant's entrance door after slipping past the bustling kitchen. She'd made it, and she supposed she could thank the upcoming grand feast for everyone's preoccupation.
Especially when she entered the courtyard from the kitchen gardens to find it filled with people, carts, horses, and the wildly dancing shadows cast by the torches of harried guardsmen. No one noticed one more servant girl in a dark, hooded cloak slipping through the shadows and joining the traffic flowing out of the castle grounds.
She proceeded through the portcullis and out the gates to the city below.
No shout of alarm went up as the cloaked figure broke away from the path leading to town and followed a less-used path to the countryside. The path traveled through the meadows, the dreaded Woods, and beyond that, Thunder Mountain. Sondra spared one last glance back at the ghostly central tower before continuing her journey.
She reached the meadows by centernight. The great bell in the castle tolled the hours just as she left the path and crossed the moonlit meadow. She set her sights on the crouching Woods beyond. She reminded herself over and over that she felt no fear and that every myth and legend that emerged from the Woods possessed a purely logical explanation---precisely like those horrible
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fairylights, several of which now lay forever pinned to the insect box in her study chamber. If she approached the Woods without fear, she might unravel its mysteries and see that there remained nothing but natural phenomena.
Besides, the old hermit lived deep within the Woods and that batty old man managed to survive the so-called horrors of the haunted forest.
As if her memory of the hermit conjured him up, he appeared at the border of the Woods, apparently from thin air. She reminded herself that she hadn't watched that area moments earlier and he no doubt merely stepped from the shadows. That explained it. Not magic.
"Don't believe in magic, eh?"
"I beg your pardon?" Sondra jumped a little at the sound of his voice and quickly tilted her head, casting her features into shadow beneath the bright moon. "I mean, excuse me. I must be going." She tried to affect a less-cultured accent, mimicking Liliana's country drawl as she sidled around the old man.
She noticed he looked much the same as her youthful memories had drawn him. Tall, but stooped and wearing a dusty robe, he still carried an unadorned twisted branch taller then himself. His blazing white hair concealed most of his features, and only his twinkling black eyes and sharp nose remained visible beneath the copious locks. When she'd seen him as a child she had experienced profound disappointment because the mysterious wizard of the Woods turned out to be nothing more then a kindly, if absent-minded, old man. That final insult to her childish fantasies of magic convinced her that actual magic was a fraud, a joke, and a trick, just like the one her sisters played on her. She found him no more impressive now, though he still struck her as exceedingly tall---
even stooped over he topped her own height by head and shoulders. She gave him a wide berth and headed for the wood line, keeping her face averted.
"I say ... I said, I say ..."
The old man scratched his head with one gnarled hand. Sondra moved a bit faster.
"I say ... girl ... I remember ... so many memories I forgot ..." Sondra nearly reached the wood line when the old man turned to face her squarely. He seemed to grow huge; his black eyes pinning her like a light bug in her insect box so she couldn't escape. Suddenly he stood before her, though he'd been a cart length's distance away only moments before.
"I remember you, child, lost and alone. You left something behind in the 34
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Woods and even now she keeps it safe for you. You need only to ask for it back."
"Wh---what? I don't know what you're talking about. I really must be going." Still, Sondra remained immobilized by the old man's gaze---sharp, unforgiving, and intelligent.
"You don't believe in magic, child, because you cut it away to excise the pain of betrayal. You cut away belief! She holds your belief for you, but you must ask for it back and accept it. Only then will you be whole again."
"There is no such thing as magic!" Sondra felt the scream in her head, the denial, but only a shallow whisper escaped her nearly frozen lips.
The old man shook his head, but his eyes never moved, and Sondra's own gaze crossed from the momentary double vision.
"You will never ask for it back like this. You must be made to see." The old man seemed to consider her, almost as if his gaze pierced her flesh and perused her soul. "Ahh, do you know of the dragon that lives in Thunder Mountain?" He seemed to hear her internal snort of disbelief, he seemed to read the flash of thought about molten rock, heat vents, and vague ideas about black glass.
"Very well, child, you don't believe in dragons. Let us see how you fare when you become one."
At these words the old man smiled beautifully, revealing perfect white teeth even brighter than his hair. Dazed by the beauty of his smile, Sondra didn't hear the chanting that emanated from all around her until he stepped back and she could move again. The chanting faded and she shook off a vague feeling of disorientation that chased tingles up her spine.
The man stood, stooped and feeble again, his black eyes glazed with confusion. He stared off into the distance, seemingly unaware of her presence.
Sondra waited for a few moments, mentally querying her body and cataloging her memories of what just transpired. She realized that she felt no different.
She certainly wasn't bearing wings and scales. She wondered if she hadn't dreamed up the entire episode in a moment of weakness brought about by her nerve-racking flight from the castle.
"Well, I feel no differently. I suppose that is all the proof I needed that magic doesn't exist. You are a charlatan, old man, and you should be ashamed of yourself for playing tricks on people."
"Eh ... who's that? Ethelda, where'd you get off to now?" The old man held a gnarled hand to his ear as though listening to some far-off sound. His gaze
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passed blindly over her as he searched the meadow, before he turned away and headed back toward the Woods. The hermit stumbled on his trailing beard.
"Datgurnnit, Hasselfloss, I told you to stop tripping me up. Why, I'll chop you off and throw you in the fire once and for all if you do it again." He shook his fist at the offending hair and continued on, stumbling again, mumbling, and shaking his fist. His shambling gait carried him into the Woods and he disappeared into the gloom within moments.
"Humph! It must have been a dream. That poor, elderly man is obviously too befuddled to intentionally perpetrate such a fraud on people. Perhaps those who encounter him allow their own expectations to overtake them when they meet him and trick themselves by conjuring up a fantasy like I just did. That is the only logical explanation. The mind can certainly play tricks on people. It is not as though anything really happened back there. That poor man, he must be lonely. I should talk to Mother about sending some food and supplies to him.
After all, we should take care of our elderly and infirm and she does love taking charge of such charity projects ..."
Sondra continued her monologue explaining away the night's experience.
As she lay curled up beneath the covers and nearly asleep just before sunbirth, she realized that she had returned to the castle and her own bed rather than continue her planned journey. She drifted asleep immediately after that revelation.
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Liliana opened Sondra's door the next morning at the sound of a tentative knock and bobbed a curtsy to Sarai, who waited uncertainly on the other side. Sondra didn't spare her sister a glance as she brushed out her waist-length hair in front of the polished silver. She pointedly ignored the other woman and addressed her maid. "Liliana, I wish to wear the blue court gown today with the silver headdress and embroidered slippers. Please lay it out for me." Liliana bobbed another curtsy and disappeared into the dressing room. Sondra continued brushing her hair and watching her refl ection. Sarai noticed dark circles beneath her eyes and her skin appeared pale and colorless in the harsh morning sunlight.
"How long are you going to ignore me, Sondra?" Sondra continued brushing.
Sarai heaved a sigh and gracefully seated herself on the bench in front of Sondra's draped bed. "I don't know how to apologize to you, Sondra, for what I said last night. I spoke unforgivably hurtful words. I didn't mean it, not the part about defending you from malicious talk. I don't know how to make you believe me about that except to ask that you remember how close we are. You can't possibly think I ever faked my affection for you!" Sarai watched her sister; Sondra's reflected expression revealed nothing save her sickly pallor. Sarai felt the wave of guilt increase at the thought that she caused such pain in her sister. Finally, Sondra arrived at some private decision. She tossed her horsehair brush aside and faced her sister. Despite the exhaustion on her face, her eyes blazed with anger and pain.
"And what about the other part, Sarai? Did you lie about that as well, just 36
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some words said in anger, or are people really talking about me?" Sondra could tell when Sarai silently bowed her head and averted her eyes that that part at least was the truth. People had been talking about her.
"Some people have expressed concerns. Some people don't like your ideas and some even fear them."
"Why? What could they possibly fear from me! I'm trying to educate people, to elevate them from superstitious peasants to modern thinkers."
"What makes you think they want to be educated? What makes you so arrogant that you would set out to mold another person's beliefs to fit your own view of the world? You and your Sir Pilphragm! Did it ever occur to you, Sondra, that people might like believing in magic? They might like their superstitions and feel comfort in the world they see."
"How can they feel comforted living in constant fear of retribution from capricious fairies because they didn't set out the proper offering? How can they want to believe in the need to race home before the rise of a full moon because the lycanthropes might be on the prowl? How can someone find comfort in jumping at shadows and dreams? It limits people, Sarai! I want them to expand their horizons, not remain paralyzed by fear."
"Sondra, the only thing these people really fear is you."
"Because I threaten to show them the truth?"
"No, because you threaten to do something stupid!" Sarai shouted, growing angry yet again, though she meant to apologize this morning.
"What do you mean?" Sondra asked in confusion, and Sarai sighed, continuing in a calmer voice, desperate to make her sister understand.
"You may not believe in magic, Sondra, but other people do. I do ..." Sarai stood and paced slowly, the fall of her slippers soundless on the thick rug. "I like believing, I'm happy that there is magic. What sort of world would this be if every mystery had a logical explanation? It's not fear that keeps people believing, it's hope. Hope that through magic, we will witness some miracle, some marvelous event that leaves us with a memory we can carry with us throughout our everyday life. A memory we can pull out and peruse when that life grows burdensome."
Sarai turned on Sondra, determined to force understanding on her stubborn sister. "They don't fear that you will strip away their belief, Sondra.
You couldn't do that if you tried. They fear that you will anger some ... thing, with your constant denial of magic and all magical beings." 38
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"Anger who, the 'fairies' in the Wood?" Sondra crossed her arms, stubbornly planting her feet, bracing for an argument.
"Ahh! You are so frustrating. Will you never let that go? No, not the 'fairies,'
Sondra, but maybe the old wizard."
Sondra remained unimpressed.
"Yes, I shudder in fear of offending a poor old man who wouldn't remember me the next day. We can't have that," she replied sarcastically, her memory of the previous night so vague, she grew ever more convinced she'd dreamed the entire episode.
"Fine, Sondra. What of the dragon?" She held up her hand for silence, continuing heatedly, "Stop! I know you don't believe he exists but everyone else does, including Father. It is by royal edict that none may pass the forbidden boundary set by Ulrick himself over one thousand rotas ago. I know you, Sondra. Eventually you would get the idea into your head to travel to Thunder Mountain and march heedlessly through the stone ruins, determined to prove your molten rock theory. And despite your disagreement, your violation of Ulrick's Law would succeed in destroying the wards he placed around the mountain and free the imprisoned dragon to annihilate us all. Don't bother to deny it, since I already know you don't believe the legends. But everyone else knows that our ancestor bewitched the dragon and trapped him, and if the wards are broken by any human, the Dragon would escape, whether you believe it or not!"
Sondra didn't bother to deny it. She knew for a fact that that is precisely what she would do and had intended the very night before, just before she fell asleep ... if she had indeed fallen asleep. She remained confused about what had happened exactly but clearly recalled her original plans last night. Instead she remained silent, thoughtful.
"This is the reason some people fear you. They fear where your actions will land the kingdom. You believe you know better than anyone else, so you listen to no one. That attitude could hurt us all one day, Sondra." Sarai fell silent, collapsing gracelessly onto the bench, emotionally shredded, and hoping to the gods that she had reached Sondra and finally made her understand.
"I have to think about this, Sarai. I never looked at things this way before.
I am sorry that I made anyone afraid. I am very sorry that I embarrassed you and our family."
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Sarai jumped up and hugged her little sister, who immediately dissolved into tears, her broken sobs shaking them both.
"Oh, Sondra, you're not an embarrassment. I love you and so do Mother and Father, though they are not free to show it as I am. We are proud of you, of how intelligent you are. Don't cry, dear sister. I'm so sorry I hurt you." Sarai rocked her sister slowly until Sondra's sobs eased and finally stopped altogether.
She stepped away and smiled, her own eyes teary. "Look at us, we're a mess. You had better call Liliana back in here; she has a lot of work to do to make you presentable for this evening's feast."
"I daresay that I look worse than any gruesome monster from the Woods right now." Both women broke into unsteady laughter.
Sarai squeezed her sister in one last hug. "Am I forgiven?"
"Depends, Sarai, on whether I am forgiven?"
"Of course, Sondra, I'll forgive you but not for that atrocious pallor. Have you been playing in Mother's powders and unguents again?"
"Ooh, I am so telling ... you know Mother would never use such things." Both girls giggled. Mother's vanity and the extreme measures she took to maintain her beauty never failed to amuse them.
"Seriously though, Sondra, are you feeling okay?" Sondra laughed away Sarai's concerns. "I had a sleepless night but already I'm feeling better."
"That's a relief. Now get that poor maid to work her miracles; she's going to need every last bit of her considerable skill to fix you up." Sarai grinned and turned to leave.
"Sarai."
Sarai paused and looked back at Sondra.
"I love you."
"I love you too, you impossible girl!"
Sondra smiled with a hint of her old joy and Sarai felt her heart lift as it always did when her sister smiled.
"Go on, get." Sondra shooed her away and Sarai left the room laughing, feeling the pain compressing her heart ease as she nearly skipped down the hall. Her mind turned to the upcoming celebration feast, the reason for it, and the potential income that meant a dowry for her and, maybe, someday soon, a husband.
Sondra waited until the door closed and then checked on the dressing 40
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room door as well before digging out the little-used chamber pot to heave up what little breakfast she had managed to choke past her swollen throat this morning. She felt worse than she ever had before, every joint ached. Her throat stung and her stomach roiled. The faintest brush of her morning robe irritated her skin worse than the coarsest flaxweed. She hid the chamber pot beneath the bed before calling Liliana back into the room. Liliana, a longtime servant nearly as close to her as her sister, would question her illness. The chambermaid who cleaned daily would not bother to inspect the contents before dumping them nor ask why she used the pot rather than the retiring closet in her dressing chamber. Sondra didn't want to miss the feast nor be ordered to rest during her illness.
She also didn't desire time alone with her thoughts, especially not after the conversation she just shared with her sister. She couldn't say she'd experienced an epiphany, but her sister's words did provide some small insight. She had never considered someone else's point of view before. She'd always felt certain she knew all the answers and that all she must do was prove them---and the people would rejoice gratefully for her enlightenment. Instead, she realized that they might actually stone her in the street, and even her father couldn't stop them because, as her sister said, in everyone's mind, she posed a very real threat to the kingdom. The thought of the untenable position she placed her family in and the potentially dangerous position she nearly placed herself in chilled her.
As Liliana helped her into her gown and arranged her hair around the filigreed silver headdress, she stole a look at her maid. The chatelaine often hired girls as young as eight rotas away from their homes for service in the castle, but few ever rose to the position of lady's maid, especially to a princess.
The child that arrived from the countryside rotas ago was the same age as Sondra, and when the lonely young princess spotted a new girl entering the servant's quarters, she had demanded a meeting. Liliana soon became the youngest royal lady's maid and the girls grew up together, but for the first time Sondra questioned Liliana's loyalty. She wondered if the girl she considered her best friend would be one of the first to cast a stone. She wondered if the maid secretly feared her too. It didn't seem likely as the other girl poked and prodded Sondra, regaling her in her drawling accent with servant's gossip and funny anecdotes about life below stairs. Liliana appeared as she always had: friendly, talkative, and loyal. Deciding that she couldn't question the allegiance
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of everyone she knew without growing paranoid, Sondra focused instead on ignoring the pain of getting dressed and concentrated on not heaving up all over Liliana.
Sondra managed to avoid any more stomach upheaval that cycle but she didn't dare eat. She shifted the food about on her plate and flicked as much as she could to the floor, where the massive castle hounds waited to snap up any dropped morsels. The food and drink flowed freely and everyone overindulged.
Her sister flirted genteelly with a baron old enough to be her father. Her brother laughed raucously with his friends between bites as he shoveled food into his mouth like a starving animal. Her mother and father sat at the center of the high table and conversed quietly, their parley inaudible amidst the noise of the crowd and the musicians playing in the galley. She couldn't wait to break away from the table and the crowds.
After the servants dished up the final course, the king and queen stood to retire to the sitting room; a huge chamber crowded with seating of all types and filled with musical instruments and games for the entertainment of the guests. They took their places in heavily upholstered chairs at the head of the room, while their guests made it a point to stop in and visit until dismissed to seek entertainment in that room or one of the other many public rooms of the castle.
Normally, the princesses joined them and sometimes played the harp or the lute for their guests, but with a gathering this large bent on discussing one thing and one thing only, the queen released her children from their duties and gave them leave to mingle among the guests in the other rooms or the back garden, properly chaperoned. Sondra sighed in relief and made her escape determined to reach her chambers before collapsing in agony on her bed. She'd almost attained the steps to the royal residences when Derek intercepted her, his handsome features solemn, his eyes glittering with a strange excitement that sparked a different kind of disturbance in her stomach.
"Your Highness, may I have a word with you, privately?" He glanced at the ladies-in-waiting that Sondra had already dismissed in her escape attempt.
She nodded, struggling not to wince visibly when he gently took her arm, causing agony to shoot through her body at the contact. He led her out to the back garden, smoothly avoiding other couples and groups seeking private conversation or more scandalous entertainment.
"Your Highness ..."
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"Don't call me that when we're in private. You know I hate all the formality we have to keep up between us. You used to pull my braids when we were growing up. You were the one who caught me trying to sneak out of the castle through the void hole in the retiring closet."
"Ugh, don't remind me, it took days to get the stench out of my nostrils." Derek smiled, recollecting the happy, always-smiling child constantly sneaking away from her tutors and nanny on illfated explorations. As a youth, Derek spent time with the princesses because the king allowed informality with his children. He spent much of that time engaged in pranks and mischief but he always felt a responsibility to look after the baby princess. He still blamed himself for the time she got lost in the Woods, which time he had spent flirting with a kitchen maid instead of watching out for his little princess.
Sondra laughed, reminding him of the woman she'd grown into. The charming child had changed into a lovely, bright woman while he fought wars in foreign lands. "You were so furious as you were dragging me out of there I thought you were going to fall in yourself," Sondra laughed, brightening the night around them.
"As I recall it, you labored mightily to pull me into the void hole with you out of pique."
Sondra laughed harder. Derek halted their stroll under the tree. They stood alone at the very far end of the back garden. He seated her on a stone bench and sat beside her, careful not to crush her skirts. Her smile faded as he folded her hands in his and she met his gaze, her eyes glittering in the shadowy darkness.
"Sondra, I wanted to tell you first, before the king announced it ..." Derek paused.
"Yes," her voice sounded breathless, filled with nervous anticipation and a little fear. She didn't know if she would hear what she suddenly realized she desperately hoped for.
"Your father granted the title of Duke of Arivale to me. He will announce it officially before the close of this feast." He waited for her reaction and she didn't disappoint him.
"That's wonderful, Derek," she cried, throwing her arms around him in happiness, her delight for him overriding her propriety. Derek enjoyed the feel of her arms around him, her soft body pressing against his hard chest. He remained still, not wanting movement to remind her that the embrace must
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end. She finally pulled away, her face averted, the blush riding high on her cheeks visible in the lantern light.
"Now that I am titled there is something I have always wanted to do but never could ..." Derek released her hands and stood. Sondra watched him, waiting, holding her breath, her heart dancing with excitement as he bent his knee, bringing him face to face with her. He took her hands again and then stiffened when a voice called out to him.
"Warlord!"
A page searched the shadows around the castle, calling softly for Derek.
Derek released Sondra's hands and sighed.
"I must see what this is about. Don't move, Sondra, I need to ask you something. I will return." Casting one last heated glance her way, he rose and strode briskly to the page. They disappeared into the castle and Sondra fanned herself, suddenly feeling overheated.
It took only seconds for her to realize that the warmth she felt didn't arise from excitement, and it was steadily growing more painful. Her skin felt like it burned in a fire and, glancing at her arm, she nearly shrieked in fear. The skin along her arm had melted, and beneath it laid glittering, glistening, horrifying scales. She jumped up, dropping the fan as if that would stop the horrible things happening to her. Her heart pounded and she dared a glance at her other arm where the same sight choked off her screams.
Her entire body blistered; the ache in her joints increased to incredible proportions. She suddenly heard snapping and creaking as though they labored under great strain and without warning her skeleton broke apart, twisting and deforming her body, moving beneath her melting skin and provoking an agony so great she nearly fainted. A sound must have escaped her swollen lips because she heard concerned voices moving toward her. She panicked and, seeking an escape, scrabbled clumsily up the wall, throwing a leg hampered by skirts and even now twisting from the inside out over the wall and dropping to the other side. She landed on one of the pikes ranged along the wall to deter unauthorized entrance into the back garden. It impaled her hip and she bit her tongue, striving not to scream as tears of fear and pain steamed off her blazing cheeks.
Shouts of alarm and Derek's familiar voice calling her name galvanized her and she pulled herself from the pike with an unnatural strength. She limped 44
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toward the meadows and the Woods, the only thought in her mind, "get to the wizard!"
By the time she reached the Woods, traveling at an impossible speed, she barely resembled her former self. Horny spikes tore through the melting skin over her spine and she felt a warm liquid running down her back. The huge, flaring nostrils forming over her face even as she ran scented the blood on her body soaking into her clothes. She sensed the blood from her rapidly healing hip and the blood shed by a layer of skin that didn't melt away fast enough for what replaced it. Spikes pierced her elbows as she loped along, falling to all fours to accommodate the deformed bones reshaping in her limbs. She nearly screamed again as her neck popped and snapped, her orientation changing and her head suddenly slamming to the ground, hideously twisted and heavy.
The two horns that now curved from her flaring nostrils to the top of her skull embedded themselves in the soft, rotting soil of a secluded glade in the Woods.
She couldn't move any farther; the agony of the change forced her to stop, shuddering, heaving, and writhing in pain. The screaming in her head sounded far different from the guttural, animalistic grunts and growls emanating from her dripping jaws. Something moved beneath her back and the skin there bulged and strained to contain what slithered beneath until finally it gave way, tearing apart as a set of massive leathery wings shot into the night sky, unfurling to their full length, entangling the branches of the trees.
The last remnants of her bloody clothing fell away, shedding bits of her own skin with it, though Sondra remained too consumed by her pain to notice. Trapped within the horror of her changing body, she noticed nothing.
She crouched on all fours; eyes clenched closed, unwilling to witness the abomination she'd become. She didn't notice when her bones stopped twisting or when the burning ceased or when the horrible ache deep within her head and face faded away. She didn't hear the soft song that whispered through the Woods or feel the breeze that caressed her scales. The sound that shook her from her mental shelter was a voice calling her name, a voice familiar to her, one she loved---the voice of the man she intended to marry. She snapped her eyes open just in time to see him enter the clearing, his sword drawn, his eyes searching. She saw his gaze stop on the ground beneath her, the remnants of the bloodstained gown, the gruesome bits of skin, the curving golden claws that impaled the silken fabric, each nearly as long as the blade of his sword. She
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watched his eyes as they slid slowly up her monstrous body. She jerked at the look in them when they reached her face. A countenance of pure hatred and rage that she had never seen before transformed him from the man she loved to a deadly killer.
"You monster!" he screamed, his voice ringing with the anguish and grief of terrible loss as he raised his sword and charged blindly at the dragon that killed his princess.
Sondra stretched a clawed forelimb out to him as though to explain or to halt him. She acted with a purely human gesture, but he only recognized a threat and the bloody rags that dangled from one golden tip. He struck the dragon, the strength of his charge pushing Sondra off balance and sending pain racing through her new body, but the edge of the blade bounced harmlessly off her scales, ringing in the still night air. He charged again, consumed by his fury, and Sondra backed away, still trying desperately to communicate with him.
The only sounds that emitted from her throat sounded like low growls and piercing shrieks that frightened even her.
The sounds of more raised voices calling out and the ring of approaching armed men forced her to flee. She didn't think, just turned and crashed through the Woods, heading unerringly toward Thunder Mountain, where the pursuing humans wouldn't follow. The forbidden zone beckoned as the one place where she could find solitude and safety to regroup. Then she would return and find the wizard and beg him to reverse the spell. She didn't notice that the trees parted before her and closed in behind her. She didn't notice that the sounds of pursuit faded away as the men grew disoriented and were lost, chasing flashes of light and shadowy movements through the undergrowth. Nor did she notice the white-haired man standing straight and tall, his unlined face obscured by his long, flowing beard, his black eyes regretful as he watched her go, and his strong calloused hand gripping a carved staff of such beauty and complexity that no ordinary craftsman could dream of creating its equal. He spoke quietly to the empty night. "Did I do the right thing, Ethelda?" A soft breeze that ruffled his hair provided his only answer.
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It took eight cycles to reach the foot of Th under Mountain.
Because of the heated pursuit and her unfamiliarity with her new body, Sondra avoided the roadways; not because she feared the people chasing her, but because she feared her own strength and what would happen if she must defend herself against a mob of people. She traveled well within the tree line until she reached Aquiis Sluice. Forging the wide, freezing waters of the largest river in the valley proved less diffi cult than she feared
because of her new form. Th
ough the cold chilled her and made her slightly ill, the racing current broke over her sleek scales and passed around her body without suffi
cient strength to drag her under. She found that her clawed feet dug into the silt and yet her head, chest, and a good portion of her body still rose well above the waterline at a depth that would fl ood a rider on horseback.
Th
is additional reminder of her size and strength chilled her more than the temperature of the water, and she quickly scrambled to the other bank. Droplets of water steamed off her scales as her body temperature rose once again.
Once she successfully crossed the river and skirted the northernmost farming town of Clemdale and all the outlying villages that huddled around the ducal holding, she relaxed, knowing that she neared the forbidden zone and that no human ever traveled this far north out of fear of the dragon.
The irony did not escape her. She had finally managed to travel to Thunder Mountain, not to prove that the Dragon didn't exist but because she needed a place suitable for a dragon to hide.
The sun set on the eighth cycle after her transformation as Sondra clumped past the stone pylons covered with carvings of strange symbols that 46
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marked the forbidden zone---the seals and runes that supposedly imprisoned the mythical black dragon everyone feared. They didn't seem to have any effect on the smallish violet and gold dragon with serious identity issues, and she barely spared the stones a glance as she dragged her tail past the forbidden zone and up to the foot of Thunder Mountain.
Sondra looked up, and up, and up. Even to her weary dragon-enhanced multidimensional vision--- which incidentally gave her massive headaches---
the mountain towered beyond what she had ever imagined by her view from the castle. Despite the deepening night and the omnipresent shadow of the massive mountain, the air around her felt warm. Sondra experienced a trembling beneath her sensitive claws just before steam spouted from vents in the earth surrounding the base of the mountain. The heat felt incredibly good, and Sondra rested her travel-weary body next to the vent, nearly sighing with pleasure when the superheated steam rolled over her, engulfing her in a pungent fog.
She relaxed into the steam as her massive head rolled back on her long, serpentine neck, her slit eyes closed, and her long, forked tongue lolled over gold-tipped teeth and past pearly, violet-blue scales. She lay on her back, front claws in the air, wings flopped inelegantly to the sides, and sharply defined serpentine head pillowed on a chunk of stone, snoring and drooling acidic saliva all over herself. For the first time since this nightmare began, Sondra fully relaxed and slept deeply and dreamlessly.
The rising sun nudged her awake and she came around reluctantly. "Leave me be, Liliana, just 'til the centerday bell. I had a long night," she mumbled.
Instead of a sleepy voice she heard a muttering growl and her eyes shot open in fear. "Oh, damn, that's right," she muttered, holding her claws in front of her and sighing puffs of smoke from her flared nostrils.
Sondra had never realized her own vanity about her looks until some horrible wizard replaced her smooth skin with scales, her waist-length hair with jagged spines, and her shapely rear with a long snaky tail. Ugh. She didn't entirely hate her nails, though. She had always disliked her short, stubby hands but the blade-length golden claws she used to absently scratch her armored stomach looked somewhat pretty, in a strange, beastly sort of way. Sondra wondered if there existed a dragon version of Liliana out there that could give her a manicure, maybe trim them up and round them out a little. Then she shook her head. What was she thinking; she didn't believe in dragons, did she? Her 48
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current situation---which she firmly blamed on the wizard---notwithstanding, still didn't mean that real dragons existed. Did it? Sondra glanced nervously at the mountain, noticing a cave entrance she had missed the prior evening, and hoped that her theories about the Dragon in Thunder Mountain proved more accurate than her theory about the wizard in the Woods.
Well, she'd come all this way and wouldn't likely get this chance again. "Nor would I want it," she thought. She might as well march into that mountain cave and confirm, to herself at least, that nothing lurked within the depths of Thunder Mountain. After all, she possessed the strength of a dragon; it wasn't like she couldn't defend herself against anything she might find in there. She climbed up to the cave entrance, discovering that it sat much higher on the mountain face than she originally thought, and a sheer cliff jutted out from beneath it. Due to her new, longer body and her dragon agility, she managed to reach it without flying. She had no idea how to fly and didn't believe she would even attempt it before she found the wizard and regained her own shape.
Sondra expected the inside of the cave to reek of the foul-smelling steam that spewed from the ground vents outside. Instead it smelled like hot metal, wood smoke, and an unidentifiable but surprisingly delicious scent that caused a curly, pleasurable feeling to unfurl in her lower regions. She noticed that her own body changed as she proceeded cautiously into the cave, which opened into a series of tunnels. The deeper she went, the heavier the air grew until it seemed to possess a presence, an intelligence that observed her every move.
Instead of fear, she felt ... anticipation. Her wings twitched and her scales stood out a bit from her body. She realized she now emitted some sort of oil from the skin beneath her scales. "Eww!" She shook herself and focused, consciously ordering her scales to smooth back down---and was surprised when it worked.
Not nearly as surprised though as when she turned a corner and found her passage blocked by the biggest, most terrifying, angriest, red-eyed dragon she had ever seen. Okay, the only dragon she'd ever seen, but still really scary.
In her head she knew she screamed, but for some reason she only released a puff of smoke that floated in the black dragon's face and swept over him like a caress. What was wrong with her anyway? She should be running, screaming, flying, or even crawling away by the gods. Instead she practically purred as she shifted her body so that her head and neck curved vulnerably beneath his immense scowling jaws. He easily topped her own considerable size by several
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cart lengths and he didn't look at all happy to see her. She could tell by his physical body language and the strange black fog that overlay his form.
"Are you seeking death, foolish fledgling?" Sondra didn't hear him speak, she felt his voice in her mind, and it resonated, sounding incredibly deep and darkly exciting. She couldn't understand why she remained so mesmerized by the brute, but her body refused to obey her command to flee in terror. Instead she attempted to answer him back by thinking her words and experienced pleased surprise when it worked.
"Um, I'm ... ah ... ah ... I'm lost. Yes, that's it, lost." The black dragon glanced down at her, and she could almost see his raised brow ridge. The skepticism rolled off of him.
"Do you think me dull-witted, female? Can you not feel my mark? You and the rest of your ilk are not welcome here." The dragon's mental voice lashed out at Sondra and she flinched, finally rediscovering that useful fleeing kind of fear.
"I ... I ... I don't know what you are talking ab---"
"Silence! I will not hear lies. Those meddling clutchmates you call kin have been sending young females just like you my way for centrotations. I will not help you breed my own destruction, I will not send you back heavy with eggs so that you can raise my chicks to return and defeat me. This is my territory and you are trespassing. I thought I sent a clear message the last time. I will have to kill you this time to make them understand!" The enormous dragon seemed to grow even larger; his teeth, three times the length of her own, gleamed wickedly in the darkness as he sucked in a gust of air. His chest expanded and Sondra sensed that now might be a good time to run. She scrambled away, her claws scrabbling for purchase and gouging deep grooves in the stone floor as she rounded the corner. A blast of flames melted the rock just behind her, cooling into black glass in their wake, and she felt her wing tear as she slammed into the walls of the rough-hewn tunnel.
So, she flirted with the dragon, and it made him angry. She'd heard that some men found a flirtatious woman forward, which is one reason her mother and her etiquette teacher always stressed a more reserved approach to expressing interest. But honestly, killing her seemed like a bit much for such an offense. This dragon suffered major anger problems. Another blast of flames just missed her flank and melted more stone. She couldn't hear the huge dragon pursuing her and only knew he followed because of the flames skimming her 50
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every few steps. How could something so ponderously huge move so quietly?
Of course, she made enough noise to wake Morbidon's children.
Her panicked thoughts abruptly halted when she burst through the cave entrance and discovered that she stood on...nothing. She realized this just as she slammed into the jagged rocks below the sheer cliff, cracking her hard, horned skull on a huge chunk of stone. Her last sight before she lost consciousness was the shadow of massive wings and long, shimmering claws descending over her.
For Tolmac, life was good. He enjoyed his hibernation, all five hundred rotas of sleeping. He toyed with the thought of migrating yet again, but after so many millennia he grew tired of changing worlds, fighting new enemies, and claiming new territory. In over four migrations, he'd never found a better territory on a better world. He faced few challenges now that the "Circle," as they called themselves, had finally ceased their endless plots to destroy him.
The dragons native to this world followed the old females, with their atrophied wings and massive bodies too huge to leave their own lairs. They hated him because from the start he had refused to obey them, to mate with their females and mingle his powerful blood with theirs in hopes of strengthening their own kind. After centrotations of defeat they'd finally given up, or so he believed until he sensed the intrusion in his territory.
His awareness covered the entire mountain like a blanket, noting and dismissing the many life forms that traveled over, around, or through his lair.
None threatened him or disturbed him, so he left them alone, content to simply sleep and dream---until the feeling of yet another female dragon entering his territory goaded him awake. The last female sent by the Circle returned to them eggless and relatively untouched, though her persistence forced him to physically eject her from his lair.
That had been before this latest hibernation. Resisting her proved more difficult than the previous times. He had not mated since his last migration, and he didn't know if he could resist another female's concentrated seduction. That explained why he felt so enraged when he sensed another female's presence and the answering desire that licked through his body like the fire element he commanded. He experienced even more fury when he first saw the new female.
She seemed so tiny she couldn't be much older than a fledgling, and though she was more beautiful than any of the other females they'd sent, with her pearly
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scales, gold-tipped horns and claws, and sinuously muscular body, he found it hard to believe those dried-up old lizards expected that he would touch such a young female. His size alone would probably kill her.
She flirted openly with him, responding to his scent in a typical fashion even as he struggled to resist the very feminine scent her own lithe body instinctively released, a signal that she readied for mating. Perhaps he acted a little crueler to her because of anger, interrupted sleep, and frustrated desire. She didn't behave like the others; he sensed no malicious cunning in her demeanor, and when she opened her mind to communicate with him he would swear she'd never done so before. Impossible of course, as dragons communicated telepathically from the moment they hatched. He couldn't help feeling guilty and even a little bit regretful when he sent her careening fearfully from him, carefully timing his flames to just miss her retreating form. He tried not to admire the sweep of her slender tail as she raced away. He fully expected her to race from the cave and take flight, fleeing for her life. He never imagined the foolish young female would drop like a stone and knock herself out on the rock face of the mountain.
Sighing internally and cursing all females, especially meddlesome old dragons, he alighted next to her crumpled form and folded his wings. He studied her and again marveled at how small and delicate she appeared, despite the muscle that bunched beneath her scales. He noticed more clearly in the light of the day the glorious colors of her aura, the magic of her spirit. Like her scales, her aura glittered with violets and blues, a hint of aqua green, and the sparkle of gold. He spotted no sign of the grayish taint of the controlling malice of the Circle anywhere in her aura. In fact, he observed no sign of the deep black of death in her aura either. Unlike himself, this female had never killed another dragon for any reason. Instead, she glowed with life, vitality, and innocence, and they let her come to him. They must really hate her.
She didn't stir, and he moved closer to her head, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the sleek shape of her face, the flared nostrils, and the smooth slender horns that bordered those nostrils and swept up her head to end in sharp little points. Gently, he lifted her head and cradled it as he sent his awareness probing around her consciousness. He didn't probe far, unwilling to open a mental link even for a moment. He did not want to or need to form a bond with her. She shifted in his grasp and he saw her body shudder as a thought pressed against his awareness.
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"Oh, Liliana, I have the worst headache. Please send someone to tell Mother I cannot possibly play the harp for her soirée tonight." Tolmac wondered what sort of behavior those old, overgrown bats got up to in their linked lairs. Soirées? Harps? Those were human things. The native dragons of this land behaved strangely indeed. Maybe he should migrate again after all. Then he would be free to mate without worrying that he would someday face one of his own sons in battle. He couldn't mate with this tiny female though. She appeared far too young and innocent. He didn't want to share his aura with her even for the short time it would take to impregnate her. He didn't want to dim her spirit with the darkness in his own. Besides, he felt really old and disillusioned when he studied the fresh purity of her aura, something he'd never experienced before.
Another thought touched his mind as the female came around, her draconic healing erasing any remaining damage from the fall.
"I had the most horrible dream, a black monster tried to kill me." Tolmac sighed, setting her gently back against the rock and stepping back, tucking in his wings and waiting. She pulled herself up and raised her claw to touch her head, then stopped and looked at it strangely. He vaguely heard a mental "Oh, damn, I forgot!"
She gazed around, taking in her surroundings: jagged rocks, mountain, mountain, crumbly rock, cliff face, black dragon, mount---. Her gaze snapped back to him and she jerked back, stumbling over the jagged rocks and slipping and sliding down the mountainside. He shook his head, wondering again why she didn't take to the sky.
"Pl---please don't kill me, I didn't mean to trespass. I really did get lost, sort of ... I don't know the other dragons you mentioned, I swear it!" She continued her losing battle to remain upright in the small avalanche of pebbles rolling beneath her claws.
"Why didn't you fly, you young fool?"
"I can't ... I mean, I don't know how."
"That's impossible; don't the females of your precious Circle share the responsibility for raising and teaching the clutch?"
"I don't know who you are talking about. No one taught me how to be a dragon." The female appeared truly distressed, the emotion radiating across their telepathic communication.
"So you're telling me you're an orphaned egg, no one taught you anything.
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You cannot fly but you still managed to survive to adulthood and succeeded in traveling undetected through human-infested lands to my mountain? I find that difficult to believe."
"Yes! Yes, that is exactly what happened. I know it's hard to believe, but I mean you no harm."
Tolmac snorted. "Harm? You? Harm me?"
"O---kay; I meant that I didn't know you were even here, and I wasn't planning anything against you."
Tolmac found himself believing her, against his will. She just didn't hold any malicious prevarication in her aura. He didn't think she would even be capable of such a thing. Then he started thinking stupid thoughts and cursed himself for what he said next.
"I suppose you want me to teach you what you need to know to survive?"
"No!" The female mentally shouted and then, embarrassed, "I ... I wouldn't want to impose, I'll just leave you alone." She turned to head back down the mountainside. Tolmac sighed again, spewing smoke and a few sparks.
"Stop! You can't go back that way. Humans live that way. Most of them will run from you but a few might attack. If you kill one the others will gather together and come at you en masse. Then you have to kill more and it never ends. They breed so prolifically, and despite their short lifespan they have very long memories; you will never be free of them. And of course there is a very irritating wizard down there. I will not allow you to enter the valley and cause problems for me. I have enjoyed centrotations of peace and quiet and I prefer to enjoy centrotations more." Once I train you and get you out of my territory, he privately thought.
"You know the wizard!" The female grew electric with excitement; in fact, sparks jumped between her wings.
Wonderful, she's a storm dragon, Tolmac thought to himself. Tolmac suffered static problems for months after his last encounter with the small but very rare and dangerous storm dragons. He hadn't spotted one on this world until this delectable female invaded his territory.
"You don't want to know the human wizard, little one. He is a pest and unlike the other humans might actually pose a minor threat to you."
"Can you take me to him?" The sparks grew into full-blown skyfire zipping over her body.
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"No. Now accept my offer to train you, or leave my territory over the mountain, not through the valley."
The female seemed to think about it. The electricity died out, and she grew calm again. Finally she turned to him. "Very well, I don't want to cause problems for the---for you. I will accept your offer and I thank you for it."
"Don't thank me yet. You have a great deal to learn and I am not patient." He glowered at her for a moment, and then turned away. "We will meet back here after I have hunted. You should hunt as well."
"Hunt?" She looked at him, panic in her eyes even as her stomach growled audibly.
"Ohh, noo. How have you managed to feed yourself?"
"Um---I don't seem to need to eat very often, I guess." She bowed her head, her claws digging grooves into the rocky dirt.
"Very well, it seems that your lessons begin now. Let's go." Tolmac didn't bother to take wing, knowing the female wouldn't follow. Instead, he did something he hadn't done since he was a flightless chick and prepared to hunt on the ground. He couldn't believe how badly this cycle was going. He'd just saddled himself with a young, helpless female. How could he possibly be so unlucky?
Sondra had concerns of her own, beginning with finding a way to convince the black dragon to divulge the location of the wizard and ending with the problem of concealing her true identity from a monster that spoke casually of killing humans and had just offered to help her learn to be a dragon.
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Sondra learned many important lessons in the cycles that followed her encounter with Tolmac. Most importantly, she learned to guard her mind well because the telepathic communication used by the dragons allowed them to detect stray thoughts, images, and memories that the other dragon failed to conceal. Fortunately for Sondra, she'd spent her entire life hiding behind a mask, so covering her deepest thoughts and secrets proved easier than she had feared. She couldn't determine how Tolmac might react if he sensed the truth, that she was really a princess in the guise of a dragon. She didn't imagine such an absurd idea even occurred to him, and she certainly didn't plan to be the one putting the thought into his head.
The first few cycles Tolmac spent teaching her the fine art of hunting.
Sondra didn't find the experience pleasant in the beginning. Never in her life had she needed to hunt her own food, nor did she enjoy terrorizing a small animal simply for the sport of it, so she didn't even join the many hunts that nobles at court and in their country estate often engaged in. However, hunting to assuage the unending hunger that gnawed at her gut proved a different matter entirely. Apparently, dragons possessed a voracious appetite during the times they remained awake. Sondra discovered early on that dragons spent a great deal of time hibernating. Most likely they did so to avoid consuming every living creature in the world.
To Sondra's relief, humans didn't find their way onto Tolmac's menu. It seemed that, despite popular belief, dragons did not prefer nor even particularly like eating humans, virgins included. When questioned about eating humans because Sondra just had to know, Tolmac confessed that he'd eaten one or two 55
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when he was young and inexperienced. He found them completely unpalatable and vowed never to eat one again.
Instead, they hunted the range beasts that Sondra recalled Sir Pilphragm referring to as equinos. The creatures appeared similar to the domestic horse save for the set of lethal horns that extended up and back from their heads.
They ran on cloven hoof and boasted a long, thin tail that ended in a puff of soft hair. Sondra found them absolutely beautiful and she hated to kill such magnificent creatures, but Tolmac insisted impatiently that she catch one and eat it. When Sondra did so, she found that they tasted as lovely as they looked.
Sondra soon discovered the joy of the hunt. It wasn't the cruel torment of those nobles who harried a tiny and helpless woodland beast to death. She hunted for survival and, though singly the equinos posed little threat to a dragon, as a herd, they could wound even one such as she had become. Each meal became a challenge, a hard chase over rolling grasslands. Still reluctantly learning to fly, Sondra hunted primarily on the ground and found the sport far more dangerous than Tolmac's method of swooping out of the sky and snatching prey before the herd even sensed him. Sondra sparked off many stampedes before she learned the stealth and ambush methods Tolmac claimed most dragons learned shortly after hatching. Tolmac, though often sarcastic and impatient, proved very effective as a teacher.
By the third cycle, Sondra discovered that the normally serious and reticent dragon also possessed a sense of humor. Unfortunately, his humor came at her expense. He'd selected a training ground as far from any human settlement as he could find. Northeast of Ariva and Thunder Mountain, sheltered by the cluster of mountain ranges that spread almost all the way to the Frozen Sea, laid a secret valley, accessible only from the air or a very long hike. Tolmac assisted Sondra to the valley, and that first flight, only a few cycles after becoming a dragon, left Sondra with nightmares. The unicorn really did it though.
Sondra had just finished a hunt and allowed the sedative effect of a full belly to lull her into a state of intense relaxation. The next thing she knew, she sat snout to horn with a pure white unicorn. The beast appeared almost as surprised as she to find itself facing a dragon and it reared up. Sondra reacted in predictable fashion, shrieking and jumping backward. Unfortunately, she forgot the dimensions and additions of her new form and tripped over her own tail, rolling it under her foot and slamming head first into the only rock to be
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found for miles around. As she lay there dazed, the angry unicorn recovered from its fright. None too happy to find dragons invading its territory, it chose that moment to jump on her head and perform a painful and not very rhythmic dance on her skull in a fit of pique. It polished off its message with a very nasty plop of something foul before dismounting and prancing off, tail in the air and equine nose out of joint. Then Sondra heard the laughter. Do dragons cackle?
Oh no, they simply roll around in the grass roaring with laughter and clutching their sides, unconcerned by how foolish they look, snorting and snuffling and lighting portions of the meadow on fire.
Sondra picked herself up, shook off the dust and the other revolting thing she didn't want to dwell on, and stalked past the idiot dragon even now crushing an entire field of flowers and grasses with his mirth. She debated mentioning just how silly he looked, burying his head beneath one wing to stifle his howls of laughter, but decided it didn't pay to antagonize the only dragon capable of flying away from this valley. Instead, she huffed over to the mountain-fed stream that supplied the valley with bitterly cold water and dunked her head in to rinse it off. Then she sulked in grand royal fashion, pointedly ignoring the occasional snickers that drifted her way from the shadows beneath the mountain. She fell asleep irritated and not the least bit pleased at her first meeting with a unicorn. She always expected she would find them awe-inspiring and beautiful. She discovered that, like dragons, unicorns didn't behave the way humans anticipated.
Sondra listened in fascination as in the next cycle Tolmac deigned to explain how the unicorn appeared out of thin air and wound up face to face with Sondra. Apparently, unicorns traveled by moving between two planes of existence. They used what Tolmac called a planar corridor to escape from threats, move past obstacles such as massive mountain ranges, and generally appear wherever it pleased them. Unfortunately for Sondra, the unicorn didn't pay careful attention when exiting the corridor, certainly not expecting to find a dragon relaxing in its valley.
Tolmac explained that his territory encompassed the entire northern reach from the southern pass of Terroc's Ring to the Frozen Sea, and other dragons didn't trespass if they valued their continued existence. Since he rarely ever left his lair anymore, the unicorn didn't expect him or any other large creature to seek rest and food in his territory.
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"But unicorns are supposed to be gentle, good, and kind!" Sondra claimed, still disenchanted by the unpleasant encounter.
Tolmac barely contained his laughter in his reply, but Sondra saw golden sparkles dancing through his aura anyway. "I don't know where you heard that nonsense. In every world I've seen, the unicorns never change. They are nasty, mean-spirited, and ill-tempered beasts. Humans are the only creatures that seem to find those beasts fascinating. In one world the people worshipped them as harbingers of goodness and purity. Imagine that!"
"But---I don't know---they just look like they should be nice."
"Oh, yes, of course. The lethal, two-foot-long horn just shouts peace and love."
"Stop it," Sondra couldn't help her own laughter now. "I'm serious," she laughed. "They are pure white, they are related to horses, which are noble beasts, and they only suffer the touch of the purest maiden."
"You spout asinine myths developed by the lesser races. Horses are simple herbivores, there is nothing truly noble about them, though they taste delicious, I might add. Only humans care about the state of their female's virtue, I assure you. No animal, magic or mundane, cares in the least for human virgins. Where did you hear these tales? Were you raised by humans? Never mind, I think I understand; somewhere in your short and ill-informed life, you came across some human anthology of mythical beasts---am I close?"
"Um ... yes! After I ... hatched, I found a book in my ... um ... nest, and I read it from cover to cover. That's how I learned about unicorns."
"Yes, the human written word is a simple runic formula; even a hatchling would have no problem deciphering their language. I wonder what your brood mother wanted with a human bestiary."
"I don't know; I never met her, remember."
"Yes, I remember. I just cannot fathom how you managed to survive to adulthood without any guidance at all. You are fortunate those withered old lizards in the Circle never found you. Nothing would please them more than the addition of a storm dragon to their number. Well, almost nothing would please them more."
"You mentioned the Circle before. Who are they? Why are they so dangerous?"
"When I first arrived in this world after my last migration ..."
"What's a migration?"
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"One thing at a time, little one, I will explain migration later. I am not even certain if you can perform such a feat. Only dragons of certain heritage can migrate across worlds. But I digress." He cast a wry look at Sondra, her boundless curiosity literally sparking off her scales and across her wings. "The native dragons of this world choose to live together in linked lairs, though I cannot imagine why. They occupy this cave city for the majority of their lives, and a circle of ancient, withered females controls all of their actions from the main caverns where they make their own lairs."
"It isn't normal for dragons to congregate?"
"Apparently on this world it is, but no, I have never seen the practice before and I have met many dragons on many worlds. They have all lived as I do; they claim a territory and choose a lair, fighting for the privilege if they must. They live alone unless they choose to seek a mate to spread their bloodline."
"Then do they live together with their mate?"
"Of course not, why would they do that? Once they assure themselves that the female is heavy with eggs, they return to their lair and continue living out their days in peace and quiet."
"It sounds lonely."
"You think it is better to live under the thumb of the Circle, puppet to their never-ending machinations? Would you choose crowded living conditions and over-hunted territories over a bountiful and spacious territory?"
"Well, not when you put it that way. But the humans live in cities and it doesn't seem like such a bad life for them."
"Dragons are not humans and should not seek to live like them. Humans cluster together the way the equinos do and for the same reasons. A dragon does not need the safety of numbers for survival. The Circle draws dragons to them for power; they demand tribute from the humans in their lands, and they indoctrinate or kill any dragon not of their kin. They play games with other dragons, humans, and beasts, bending them all to their perverted whims.
Do not mistake the way they live as a means of interacting with others and benefiting from company the way the humans seem to. The Circle sucks the life from their followers and gives nothing in return."
"I never thought of it that way. Why don't the other dragons rise up against the old females that control them? Surely they are strong enough?"
"The Circle raises most dragons into their kin from the moment they hatch; in fact, they are selectively bred. These chicks never have a chance to 60
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break away and live as natural dragons. Those that are born free, like you, are hunted down and forced to join the Circle kin or die."
"So they would see me as a prize because I am a ... what did you call me, a storm dragon?"
"Yes, little one, you are smaller than most dragons, but you possess the power of skyfire and no dragons' scales can resist the heat of that flame."
"I don't think I want to put that to the test!"
"No, you are not a killer, anyone can see that. That is why the Circle must never gain control of you; they would destroy your spirit and force you to kill your own kind."
"I would never let that happen. I would choose death first!"
"Very brave of you, but the ancient dragons of the Circle are very powerful telempaths and often use mind control on dragons untrained in mental battle.
I will teach you how to protect your mind and fight a telepathic battle just in case you ever encounter one of their enforcers, or a human wizard."
"A human wizard?"
Tolmac sighed. "Yes; sadly, despite their relative weakness, the humans somehow manage to harness magic and use it, as well as direct it toward enslaving and controlling magical creatures. The majority of their spells use compulsory commands that untrained dragons find difficult to ignore. Even I have struggled against wizards who possess a powerful will. Obviously, I always win in the end, but every battle counts; one mistake during telepathic combat means enslavement. But you probably won't encounter many wizards as long as you stay away from human settlements. Most wizards seek easier targets for their spells than full-grown dragons. The Circle is a different matter entirely.
I must see you trained to withstand them mentally as well as physically before you ever encounter one of them."
"How have you remained free for so long?"
"Yes, let's go back to that, shall we? When I migrated here so long ago, I sought a suitable territory and instead found the Kin enclave. They saw me coming and the old females practically drooled in anticipation. I am of Cindara's bloodline and the Circle couldn't wait to capture me and begin breeding enforcers that could spread their sickness to other worlds."
"Cindara?"
Tolmac sighed heavily. "I will never finish this tale if you keep asking questions. Cindara is, well, if we worshipped gods the way humans do, you
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would call her our Goddess, but in actuality she is the second dragon the Creator ever made and she controls the passages between worlds. Those directly descended from her can form portals to other worlds and migrate.
There, two questions answered; now may I continue?"
"Do go on ..."
"Thank you so much for your permission. Anyway, I fought off their enforcers, I shrugged off their mental compulsions, and I destroyed a good portion of their enclave before moving on to seek a suitable territory. They didn't appreciate my answer to their invitation to join them and spent the next hundred or so rotas sending warriors to kill me. After they lost too many male dragons, they started sending females to tempt me, hoping I would impregnate one and send her back heavy with chicks of my bloodline."
"I see, that explains a lot. What did you do to the females? Did you ... kill them too?"
"No, but I wasn't kind or gentle with them. You should know, little one, that I am still not entirely convinced that the Circle didn't send you. After so many others failed they may have felt that an innocent and naïve young female could win past my guard."
"Ah! How could you even think that? I would never participate in something so dishonest and evil!"
"Perhaps not knowingly. I do not think you are capable of such a thing, but there are many ways to create a situation to their advantage, and the Circle spends their entire life dreaming up new manipulations."
"So you think they sent me here without me realizing it? That I am a puppet for them?"
"I told you they were strong empaths; they could just as easily implant orders for you to appear at my lair, with no memory of how you got there or why you'd come."
Sondra felt rejection and sadness tighten her throat. She was starting to like Tolmac and enjoyed his company---and he still didn't trust her. Worse, she knew he had good reason, as she wasn't being completely honest with him.
"How do I prove that I am not a part of them?" She tried to keep the hurt from her thoughts, but Tolmac sensed it anyway.
"Do not fear, little one, I know you are not like them. If they sent you to me then they will find that not only will they never have me, but they have lost you as well. I will protect you from them." Tolmac didn't like the feeling of pain 62
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issuing from Sondra's spirit, and he didn't understand why it bothered him. The emotions of other dragons never affected him before. He realized that he just vowed to protect something other than himself or his territory. Taking on such a responsibility provided its own form of enslavement, but for some reason the thought didn't alarm him. Instead he looked over at the smaller dragon beside him, her aura dark with hurt feelings, and felt a fierce desire to stand between her and any threat she faced. He struggled to find something else to say to soothe the wound he himself caused. An idea occurred to him. Knowing her endless curiosity, satisfying it should snap her out of her sadness.
"Would you like to see my hoard?" Did he just say that? It sounded so ...
juvenile.
It did the trick, however. Sondra's head snapped up and she responded with alacrity, her aura brightening with excitement. "You have a hoard! Really?
What's in it? Gems, gold, magical weapons?" Tolmac sighed, secretly pleased at her enthusiasm and unnaturally nervous about showing her his life's collection of things precious to him. "You shall have to wait and see. Let us hunt and then we will return to my lair."
"All right, let's go!" Sondra rushed out, anxious to view a real dragon's hoard for herself.
They arrived back at the lair before sundeath, Tolmac determined to teach her to fly at the very next opportunity. His muscles ached from assisting her over the mountains. She was a small dragon, but even for him, practically carrying another adult dragon over mountains wasn't a simple matter. They filed into his lair, wending through a maze of tunnels.
Sondra vaguely recognized the same tunnels she travelled previously and even spotted melted rock where Tolmac flamed her as she ran away. She glanced back at him as they passed one spot where black glass gleamed darkly in the rock face.
"I missed on purpose, you know." He defended himself, feeling strangely ashamed of his behavior at their first meeting. She didn't answer, just mentally smirked at him and turned away to continue through the tunnels. He struggled to keep his mind on the task at hand and his tongue between his teeth as she sashayed ahead of him, her sinuous tale gliding back and forth in the red glow cast by molten rock bubbling in the mountainous cauldron below.
They reached the main cavern. A huge pit opened to the lower levels of the volcano and Sondra saw the molten lava that boiled in the belly of the
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mountain beneath her, the heat and light of it chasing away the shadows and the chill of the mountainous air. She carefully skirted the pit, amazed that the heat didn't bother her---it actually felt nice warming her scales.
Tolmac ignored the gaping hole in the center of the cavern and continued down a side tunnel. Sondra followed him to another rocky chamber and nearly bit her tongue in shock. Here, amidst steam vents clouding the air, the walls glittered with enough rough gems to purchase a hundred kingdoms. Lying beneath the vaulted ceiling, whose gem-encrusted surface glittered like a starry night, was a huge pile of gold coins spilled across the floor. Interspersed among the gilt bounty, cut gems glittered, and strands of pearls dangled from their golden grip. Lethal weapons wore sheaths of gold, and pieces of armor shared space with bolts of silken cloth that spilled from ironbound chests.
Sondra noted that many of the items didn't look like anything she had ever seen in her entire life. Over in the corner lay a suit of armor made entirely of a luminous green stone, delicately and skillfully carved. Helms in a style unknown to the southern lands dotted the treasure trove, runes and decorative carving and gilding suggesting their purpose was solely ceremonial. An entire armory of weapons lined up against the far wall, many whose use and design were completely unknown to her.
Tolmac watched her as she surveyed his treasure. He noted the awe and wonder swirling through her aura. He hoped she saw the treasure as he did, rather than as an object of greed. He collected each piece of treasure and every coin from the many lands he traveled. He earned every priceless gem, magical or simply beautiful, from long journeys and deadly quests. Some he pried from the clutches of other dragons that he bested in combat or in riddles. Many of the weapons he took from the legendary warriors he defeated when they challenged him in hopes of further distinguishing themselves. A dying warrior, honored by his mere presence, gifted him the jade armor. Every gem, every sword, every shield or helm; they all held meaning and represented the life Tolmac led.
Suddenly he wanted Sondra to feel the same awe and wonder for him as she did for his treasure. He wanted her to understand that this hoard represented a part of him---a story of his life---and whenever he sifted through it, he returned again to the memories of past glories. He couldn't tell her this; he needed for her to understand it on her own. He couldn't say why it became important to him; he lacked experience with such a strange desire. Lust he 64
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understood; he accepted his lust for the little storm dragon; but this proved completely outside of his knowledge, something he couldn't find a memento of in his collection of gleaming memories.
Sondra studied the jade armor; she softly caressed the jeweled hilt of a massive broadsword wrested from the grip of a Calgorian knight on a world much like this one. The touch of her slender claw on the metal resonated, and Tolmac felt as if that claw caressed his body in the same fashion. He stifled a groan as she continued to handle and examine his things, peering into his private life as innocently as she did everything, unaware of the effect it had on him. He waited in agony, steeling himself for her final reaction. After what seemed like hours she turned to him, her eyes blazing brighter then the soft gleam of gold surrounding her.
"This is you, isn't it?"
Tolmac nearly collapsed with relief. She understood. Sondra didn't wait for his reply; too overwhelmed to notice his reaction, she continued.
"I can see it! These coins; they are from places that don't even exist here.
These weapons and that armor were never made on this world. Everything here is as complex, powerful, and epic as you are. This is your life, laid out before me! Tolmac," Sondra turned to him, her heart pounding, "I am honored that you showed this too me. I---I don't know what to say ..."
"You've already said what I hoped to hear. Come, little one. It has been a long cycle and my wings are sore from carrying you. We shall rest because tomorrow I am going to teach you to fly whether you decide you are ready or not." Tolmac turned away, shaken by whatever alien emotion afflicted him, and proceeded into the main cavern.
Sondra took one last look at the golden hoard behind her, startled by the stab of lust she experienced glancing over the many tokens of Tolmac's long and storied life. She felt more startled that the lust wasn't for the wealth before her but for the dragon it represented. She followed him into the main cavern and they settled in to rest.
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Sondra twisted her wings just slightly, feeling the lift of the aether current buoying her higher into the air. Tolmac glided beside her, watching her carefully and occasionally barking out orders on how to move her wings or turn her body. Sondra had decided, once she fi gured out how to stay aloft, that fl ying felt wonderful. Unlike birds, the heavy armored forms of dragons couldn't glide on ordinary air currents. Fortunately, dragons are magical creatures and Sondra discovered that the strange tingling she couldn't place was the feeling of aether: magical energy that dragons, other magical creatures, and wizards possess a particular connection with. Th e much
denser force of aether lifted the dragons when mere wind currents would send them plummeting like stones.
Tolmac spent the morning painstakingly instructing Sondra on the fine art of flight. She discovered that getting into the air in the first place proved the most difficult part. The strenuous flapping left her shoulders and back aching, and the strain of air and aether pushing against her wing membranes felt unnatural, leaving her feeling slightly queasy.
Then she reached a horizontal current and learned to glide. Gliding above the world, Sondra finally discovered the true magic of flight. Suddenly, she no longer strained or struggled to remain airborne; instead, she floated with minimal effort, and this allowed her to truly experience the world around her.
She gloried in the rush of wind that broke over her body as she sliced her way through the sky, the lift of aether and the tingle of its energy along her membranes, the sight of the world spreading out far below; mountains, rivers.
and forests shrunken like images on a map. With a barely perceptible twitch 65
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in one wing she reshaped the aether and felt her entire body turn, following a new path. Tolmac coasted beside her, his own flight graceful and effortless. She communicated her excitement to him and he merely nodded in response. Of course she loved it; flight meant more than breathing to a dragon.
Sondra grew overconfident as they glided above the Easterly Ocean. After hours of soaring smoothly, she now felt comfortable enough to experiment with the aether currents, and she incautiously folded one wing tip, eager to attempt a more advanced aerial maneuver that Tolmac performed earlier without any perceivable effort. She overcompensated, pulled her wing in too far, and lost the lift of current, her entire right side plunging toward the chilly ocean waves below. Snapping her wing out didn't stop her fall, and she spiraled out of control, plummeting toward the water with terrifying speed. She felt the sting of Tolmac's claw grasping for her tail as she fell, but he didn't catch her fast enough, and she slammed into the water, knocked unconscious from the impact.
Tolmac dived in after her slowly sinking form, aware that drowning may be the least of Sondra's concerns. Already, dark, sinuous shadows were moving through the water toward the helpless dragon. Tolmac braced himself as the suffocating liquid closed around him, his eyes flaring as he searched the murky water and spotted Sondra below him. He folded his wings and used them to propel forward, his movements choppy and awkward beneath the water.
Around him, sea serpents circled, waiting for the best opportunity to attack, their hungry jaws trailing seaweed and saliva as they watched the two dragons struggle outside of their element.
Sondra came around only to choke and struggle in panic; her lungs filled with salt water on her first gasp, and it burned through her body like acid. She fought the urge to swim blindly or suck in another lungful of seawater as she attempted to gain her bearings. Her heart stuttered in terror as she caught sight of the serpentine creatures swimming around and around her and Tolmac. The monsters appeared easily as long as Tolmac himself, and though they lacked his bulk and evident strength, they possessed the ability to breath under water and also boasted rows and rows of dagger-length teeth. Barnacles and tiny schools of fish clung to the pitted and scarred surface of their bodies, showing grayish-green in the strange limited light of the undersea. They breathed through extensive gills that pulsed obscenely as they swam closer and closer to Sondra, growing bold enough to bump her as they passed. Substantial, spine-enhanced
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dorsal fins waved with their movements; their only appendages---long, finned front legs---propelling them forward to slam into Sondra again.
Tolmac reached her within moments that felt like rotas. What little breath she had managed to hold ran out and she moved into the realm of suffocating pain. Tolmac slashed away at a sea serpent that grew too eager and it lost a good portion of its horrible grinning maw. Blood darkened the water around them, and the serpents grew more frenzied. They descended on their companion like wild dogs and ripped the wounded creature apart, gobbling down bits of flesh and gore.
Tolmac urged her toward the surface as she slowly lost consciousness again, but the serpents still desired a feast and plagued them, wrapping around their limbs, pulling them back toward the abyssal depths. Tolmac kicked one and then another away from Sondra, whom they'd decided made the easier target, and he snarled and clawed away at one that grew bold enough to tear away a chunk of Sondra's flesh. She jerked out of her unconsciousness long enough to feel the agonizing pain and responded, instinctively sparking off a stream of skyfire at her tormentor.
The skyfire ripped through the monster that had bitten her and streamed off to slam into the creatures closest to the beast. Scorched chum floated gently in the aftermath---all that remained of the closest sea serpents. Tolmac took that opportunity to push them to the surface with all of his strength, breaking the surface of the waves just as Sondra lost consciousness a second time. The sea serpents finished the feast on their dead and wounded companions and swam after the retreating dragons; loathe to part with a fresh meal.
Tolmac swam swiftly, lacking the strength to lift both of them into the air and desperately struggling to catch his own breath, even while the fires in his lungs sizzled out. He dragged Sondra, her head looped over one shoulder. The serpents harried them to the shore, pulling away at the lethal kicks but always returning in an attempt to snack on any vulnerable portion of their bodies.
The shore loomed but hovered frustratingly out of reach, when a horn sounded and the serpents immediately backed away. Tolmac paused, waiting.
He feared for the unconscious young dragon and the fact that he no longer felt her breathing. He didn't need to wait long. The waves before him parted and the upper body of a stunning woman emerged from the ocean. She swayed before him, buoyed by her lower body, one that resembled a jeweled and flawless version of the sea serpents. Rather than hair, turquoise waves crashed over her 68
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brow, frothing past her shoulders and pouring back into the sea. Starfish and anemones collected on her body, the only concealment for her nudity. Her skin gleamed pale and luminous white in the sunlight, and strands of pearls in every color dripped from her slender arms and neck. Her full lips parted and she spoke.
"Tolmac! You trespass in my territory; you killed my pets, why have you come here?"
"Greetings, Aquea. It has been far too long since I last basked in your beauty."
Aquea, goddess of the element of water, practically purred as she swam closer to Tolmac. "If I believed you meant that, my sweet fire-breather, I would gladly take you below to my kingdom and make you my consort for all eternity." Aquea stopped and pursed her lips in irritation. "But I know better. I recall that you rejected me once before. I did not imagine you would so foolishly place yourself at my mercy again after you cast me aside." Tolmac bowed mockingly, remembering vividly his previous encounter with the goddess and his narrow escape from her amorous clutches. "I recall that you sought to enslave me, Beautiful Goddess, just as you have enslaved your pets, as you call them." Even now he could sense the pull of water currents beneath him as thousands of sea serpents circled.
Aquea swam up to Tolmac and placed one webbed hand against his ebony cheek, the soft gleam of nearly invisible scales flashing on her arms. "One such as you would never be a pet, my love. You are too magnificent and powerful to succumb to enslavement." Aquea shivered as the heat rising off his scales boiled the water from her hand. She pulled it away reluctantly and gazed into his fiery eyes, her green tongue darting out to lick her lips.
"You seek to drown me, Great Goddess; it is the curse of your element and my own that we can never be together."
Aquea turned away. "We are together now."
"Only temporarily. I cannot remain in this water forever; even now the moisture douses my flames, and I must struggle against the current just to remain afloat."
"Oh, then you are telling me you are powerless against me, Tolmac?" Aquea returned, one blue-tinged brow raised.
"I am never powerless, Goddess, not even against you. However, I assure you, great lady of the water, I would never purposely trespass in your domain.
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Unfortunately, my young charge," Tolmac lifted his shoulder and moved aside his wing, revealing the unconscious Sondra, "fell from the sky while attempting an ill-advised aerial maneuver. I dived in to save her." Aquea glanced at the young female dragon dismissively, then paused and took a closer look, her brows drawn together in confusion. She saw something in the small female dragon that startled her and she turned back to Tolmac.
"You took on the responsibility of training a fledgling?" she asked, turquoise eyes pinning Tolmac.
"She is a full-grown adult if you can believe it, yet she didn't know how to fly. My guess is that she hatched from an abandoned egg."
"Your guess? You mean you didn't search her mind to find out for certain?
What is this female to you, Tolmac?"
"She is a nuisance and nothing more, but I have accepted the responsibility for seeing to her safety, and I will carry out my duty."
"You accepted responsibility for someone other than yourself? You? I am to believe that you made yourself vulnerable to a female dragon without finding out everything you could about her first? And yet she means nothing to you?" Tolmac dared to snarl at the water goddess, irritated by her mocking statement and the truth behind it. "Her aura is clean; she is innocent of any subterfuge."
"Hmm, is she? I think I will let you both live. What happens next should be interesting to witness. You, my darling dragon, have no notion of what you have gotten yourself into. It amuses me that such a fascinating male could make such a colossal mistake. When the foolish female abandons you, remember that you could have had a goddess! " Aquea snapped, her lips curling back in anger.
A conch shell materialized in her hand and she raised it to her lips. The mournful call sounded out over the ocean, and the sea beneath Tolmac and Sondra boiled, lifting them up and carrying them both to the distant shore where it deposited them in a heap. Tolmac stood and shook, then looked back out to the sea.
The goddess laughed and waved, "The next time we meet, darling Tolmac, I won't be so ... accommodating, no matter how delicious I find you." She dived back into the waves and the boiling sea calmed, leaving behind nothing but the desolate cry of seagulls.
Tolmac turned back to Sondra where she lay, still unconscious, half buried by sand and seaweed. He hurried to her just as she rolled over and expelled a 70
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massive dose of seawater pushed from her lungs by the unceremonious drop to the beach, and undoubtedly helped along by Aquea. Tolmac sighed wetly in relief and mentally thanked the water goddess, certain that she hadn't aided them out of kindness, but equally certain that he didn't care, as long as Sondra lived.
Sondra fell back to the sand, gasping and sucking in ragged breaths.
Her draconic healing knitted together the bite wounds from the serpent and aided in cleansing her lungs and easing the swelling. Within moments she felt almost normal again. Still, she kept her eyes tightly shut, unwilling to suffer the humiliation of facing Tolmac after her stupid mistake. She'd nearly gotten them both killed, and she wasn't certain how he saved her but could guess that it hadn't been easy. She wanted to cry, the same desire she'd felt so many times since that blasted wizard changed her into a dragon, but for some reason the tears still wouldn't come, so she contented herself with wallowing in misery on the beach instead.
After a while, the silence grew deafening and Sondra knew that Tolmac waited for her to open her eyes and look at him. He must know that she had already recovered, that she only delayed looking at him. She didn't know what to expect from him. How would he react? Would he yell at her and order her from his sight, finished with helping her learn to be a dragon? When she first encountered him, she didn't want to learn dragon things, she only wanted to survive her misfortune long enough to find the wizard. She still wanted to find the wizard and become a princess again and regain her old life. However, she enjoyed Tolmac's company most of the time. She even liked some aspects of her new form, and the last thing she wanted was for him to cast her aside while she remained trapped in dragon form.
"You are not the first dragon to fall from the sky from inexperience." Sondra lifted her head, darting a glance at Tolmac. He crouched, dark and menacing on the beach in front of her, but his aura sparkled with gold as it often did when he was amused. At least he didn't chastise her or laugh at her.
"I'm so embarrassed." She hadn't meant to admit that so bluntly. For some reason she couldn't prevaricate around him; she simply said what she felt. She imagined he could see it in her aura anyway. She wondered what it looked like.
"I know. Still, I took many spills when I learned to fly as well. I blame myself for failing to catch you."
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"You couldn't know I planned to do something so stupid! How can you blame yourself?"
"Of course I knew you would do such a thing. I just told you that I did it myself many times when I learned to fly. I made an ill-advised decision to take you over the Easterly Ocean so soon. I knew the sea serpents proliferated here."
"Is that what they were? They were horrible. I always thought sea serpents were a myth just like drag ... uhh," Sondra choked, coughing to cover up her near slip of the forked tongue. It appeared she wasn't through being stupid today.
"No, the sea serpents are very real and always very hungry. It isn't wise even for a dragon to swim where sea serpents make their home." Thank the gods that Tolmac hadn't noticed her near slip. Such a confession could prove absolutely disastrous at this point, especially after Tolmac had saved her life. She hoped that he would never discover the truth. When she learned enough about her dragon form to survive and move around humans unnoticed, then she could find the wizard and turn back, and Tolmac would simply believe that the dragon he'd come to know had left for parts unknown.
Somehow, the idea of just leaving him like that made her sad. Still, he was just a heartless monster anyway. He didn't really care about her, did he? He viewed her presence as a nuisance to train and get out of his scales, didn't he?
Sondra told herself that, but found it very difficult to convince herself in light of the time they'd already spent together. What monster would pull her from the clutches of sea serpents rather than leave her to her fate, and take flight to escape with his own life?
"I am sorry; I won't act so foolishly again." Sondra pushed aside her musings, telling herself that there remained plenty of time to worry about leaving Tolmac and returning home. She still had a great deal to learn.
"Of course you will, because that's part of being young and learning. I will simply need to watch you more carefully and choose where I take you and what I teach you based on your experience."
"Don't be too careful! I want to learn as much as possible. Most of the lessons have been fun."
"Hmm, most of them? Not all of them?"
"We-e-ell, I didn't really enjoy hunting at first. But now I like it. And I 72
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wasn't thrilled about having to fly. I like gliding but after today's incident I am not so sure about going over water again."
"Just remember to keep it simple. No aerial acrobatics until you practice the basics."
"I saw you do it and you made it look so easy ..." Tolmac sighed, covering his own embarrassment. He'd been showing off, trying to impress Sondra, he hadn't thought she would attempt such a complicated maneuver herself. Now that he grew to understand her, he should have expected she couldn't resist trying the feat. "I have been flying a very long time, little one."
"How long? How old are you, Tolmac?"
"Old enough to know better, little one, and that is all I will tell you on that subject."
"Know better about what?"
Tolmac just turned away without answering. He spread his wings in preparation to lunge into the sky. He glanced back over his shoulder at Sondra.
"Let's return to my lair. You have learned more than enough for today.
Remember, no aerial tricks. Just take it slow and easy." He leapt into the air and flapped his powerful wings, gaining altitude until he caught an aether updraft and circled above her. She paused, gathering her courage, avoiding looking again at the deceptively calm ocean, and followed him into the air, pushing past the pain and soreness in her back and shoulder muscles to reach the same current Tolmac glided on. They winged back to the lair together.
That evening, Sondra drowsed by the lava pit, the heat warming away the ache in her muscles. Her entire body relaxed and she felt strangely content, picking her lethal fangs with a charred bone from her dinner. Here, she didn't worry about appearances, protocol or manners. Tolmac lie stretched full length on the other side of the pit, his massive head pillowed on his forelegs as he dozed. He didn't seem to care if she acted ladylike. She supposed that acting like a lady would only make him hungry. Then she mentally blushed. He did say that magical beasts, dragons included, weren't interested in human virgins.
She studied him from the corner of her eye, careful to shield her thoughts from his awareness as it stretched out over the lair and beyond. She wondered about what kind of female dragon Tolmac preferred. Did dragons even have a preference? Or did they simply find the first available female to mate with? She
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couldn't ask Tolmac such a thing. It would be far too personal and embarrassing.
Plus, she discovered she wasn't entirely certain she wished to know the answer.
For some reason, she wanted him to say that small, bluish-violet storm dragons were absolutely his type. She couldn't fathom her reasons, but she came to the realization that she had developed a fancy for Tolmac. It didn't help that her dragon body wanted him very much, all the time.
"Tolmac ..." Sondra interrupted her own thoughts, uncomfortable at the direction they took.
"Hmm?" Tolmac replied sleepily. Sondra felt his awareness pulling back into his body. She made a mental note to ask him how he accomplished that, before making her request.
"Would you tell me a story?"
Tolmac opened his eyes and they glowed in the crimson shadows around them. "Why?"
"I don't know. I'm just finding it difficult to relax after such a strange day. I hoped you could tell me some more dragon lore, maybe." He shifted, pulling himself up into a sitting position and fixed his gaze on her. "You want to hear some dragon lore? You think it will help you relax?"
"I thought it might, yes. I like stories."
"Humph!" Tolmac snorted thoughtfully as puffs of smoke shot from his nostrils. "I suppose I am fond of stories as well. It is fortunate for you, little one, that I made a hobby out of collecting them."
"Really? Then you must know some good ones. Will you tell me one, please?"
Tolmac chuckled, a dark, rich sound that Sondra felt all along her body.
She barely restrained herself from stretching in pleasure. "I suppose I can part with a story. But you must listen, little one, and do not interrupt with a thousand questions." He eyed her sternly.
"I don't ask a thousand questions, only a few hundred." Sondra scooted closer to Tolmac, inching her way around the lava pit until she felt the warmth rolling off his body. His wood smoke and hot metal scent enveloped her and she ruthlessly squelched the instant tingling in her body.
"Very well, only a few hundred. Tonight you must ask none, so that I may tell the story without losing my place."
"I can't imagine you ever losing anything, Tolmac." Sondra sighed, settling in next to him in anticipation of hearing his story.
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"I don't know, little one, I definitely feel like I'm losing something," Tolmac replied, gazing down at the slender, feminine dragon lying so close to him in the warm, intimate shadows. "I will tell you the story of Solendar and Cindara, the first and second dragons ever created. Will that satisfy your desire, little one?"
"Yes! I definitely want to hear that story. I remember you mentioned Cindara before."
"Then I shall begin."
"In a time when the world was still young, the Creator of everything faced the emptiness of the Void and desired something more. So He created the cosmos and filled most of the Void with worlds. Then He realized that the worlds lie as empty as the Void and decided to create life, but in order for life to survive, He needed light. So He created the first dragon, Solendar. He formed the dragon from his own body and granted Solendar the divine flame, and then He sent him to light the stars, the suns of all the worlds. Solendar blazed brighter than the brightest sun, his heart filled with joy and a sense of purpose. He gloried in bringing light and warmth to all of the Creator's worlds so that life could thrive there."
"Solendar loved the new life thriving on all the worlds so much that he often settled in to watch the many different creatures, humans, animals, magical beasts, move about their new lands. During his visit to one of these worlds he first met a human woman. He had never seen such a sight and, like all of the Creator's children, he found her absolutely fascinating. He watched her live her life on the harmonious world the Creator gifted her and her mate.
Soon he grew obsessed. Unlike the other creatures, this human woman seemed different. Her unusual beauty drew him and he fell under her spell. He changed his form so that he could be closer to her, taking on the shape of a human male. When she saw him she decided she preferred him to her own mate, the one the Creator fashioned for her. So she spurned her mate and instead chose Solendar. Her human mate petitioned the Creator, and the Creator realized that he must intervene."
"Realizing that Solendar must suffer loneliness after so many millennia lighting the stars, the Creator fashioned a soul mate worthy of his greatness.
He created Cindara, the second dragon ever made. He made her the most resplendent dragon in all creation; a vision beyond even Solendar's blazing glory. He gifted her with the power to travel anywhere she wished and the
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ability to make or destroy doorways to any of the worlds. He made her kind and loving and absolutely perfect."
"The Creator went to Solendar and told him of his gift, insisting that Solendar come meet Cindara. Solendar refused, so captivated by his human female that he spurned Cindara sight unseen. The Creator grew angry and determined to punish Solendar by making his human woman and all humans thereafter mortal. In a short span of time, her beauty faded and her bones grew crooked and brittle. She aged before Solendar's eyes and nothing he did could stop her from dying."
"Solendar grew incensed and bitter at the Creator. His divine fire left him as he severed all ties to the one that gave him life. Soon, darkness and emptiness consumed him and his love for all life turned to hatred. He began to swallow the stars, suns of a thousand worlds, condemning countless living creatures to death. The Creator despaired, unwilling to destroy Solendar, but unable to allow him to continue his devastation. Cindara convinced the Creator to allow her to trap Solendar in the Void, claiming that in the emptiness of nothing, perhaps his own emptiness would not appear so lonely. And so, Solendar threw away his soul mate and his freedom for a human female."
"That is so sad," Sondra sat up, watching Tolmac. "Cindara must have felt so hurt by his rejection."
"Well, she did consign him to the Void so I gather she wasn't too pleased."
"But if he truly loved the human woman, why did the Creator act so cruelly, why didn't he allow them to remain together?"
"Love? What is love for a human? A paltry word to describe the lukewarm emotion those humans feel for each other. The Creator offered Solendar a soul mate, created especially for him and worthy of his glory! A human isn't a worthy meal to a dragon, certainly not a dragon god like Solendar." Tolmac shook his head at Sondra, amazed at her naivety.
"Do you really hate humans so much, Tolmac?"
"Me? Why would I hate humans? Why would I feel anything for them at all? They are beneath us; we are dragons! We are the superior race, little one. Do not forget that even though humans display some intelligence, they are not equal to us. You will jeopardize your future and your freedom if you allow them close to you. That is how they trap you, and the next thing you know, you are wearing a collar and shackles and heating some wizard's castle."
"Have you ever allowed a human close to you, Tolmac?" 76
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Tolmac remained silent, his mind closed behind an impenetrable shield.
Sondra experienced a renewed determination to never let Tolmac know the truth about her. The way he told the story, it became clear that he blamed the poor human woman for Solendar's downfall. Of course, Tolmac would never love a human. Sondra reminded herself that it was a good thing she hadn't done something foolish and fallen for a dragon that viewed all humans as inferior.
She thanked Tolmac for the story and lay back down to sleep, ignoring the dull ache originating from somewhere in the vicinity of her chest.
Tolmac watched her, concerned by the darkness in her aura that spoke of sadness. What had he said? Had she encountered humans in the past? Had she ever cared for one at one time? He growled at the thought of her meeting some gilded human knight, out to charm her rather than slay her. He wouldn't tell her about the humans he'd befriended; they were the exceptions to the rule, of that he felt certain. He didn't want his experiences to convince her to try and make friends with some strange human, especially not a human male. Imagine!
A dragon actually loving a human, and his soft-hearted storm dragon actually felt sorry for the human. He grumbled as he folded himself to sleep, thinking that Aquea proved right about one thing; he should have investigated Sondra's past before taking her under his wing.
Sondra tossed and turned in the lava glow. She fell asleep thinking about Solendar changing his shape into a human. She wondered if that was only an element to the tale or something dragons could actually do. After all, if a human could become a dragon, couldn't a dragon become human? Maybe even a dragon like Tolmac? She wondered what he would look like as a man. That thought chased her into sleep and her dreams conjured up a dark-haired man whose face remained frustratingly out of sight in the shadows. She was human again, a princess in her own body, wearing her most elaborate ball gown. Her dreaming mind furnished a ballroom around them, crowded with dancing couples. Now her dream man wore a mask, but Sondra could see his shapely lips and his glowing red eyes. He bowed to her and asked her to dance, his voice as deep and rich as Tolmac's always sounded in her mind. She curtsied and accepted, and he swept her into the dance, mingling with the other couples in the ballroom.
In her dream, the man moved gracefully, comfortable with his human form.
He held her close, and her waist and hand tingled where he touched, warming from his body heat. Their breath mingled, and he smelled of wood smoke and
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molten metal and something else, indefinably male and exotically powerful. He dipped his head to kiss her and she pursed her lips, closing her eyes. Suddenly she heard a sharp scream and the sound of a sword unsheathing. Her eyes snapped open and to her horror, Derek stood between her and her dream man.
He held a sword to the masked man's throat. Sondra shouted and grabbed his arm but he pushed her away even as he called out to the great Creator. Then Derek's face changed and the ballroom melted away. A new stranger stood in Derek's place. A stunningly beautiful woman that moved to block Sondra's view of the masked man, she turned to Sondra, gently pulling her away from her dream man.
"Tolmac is a dragon. He can never love a human woman. You must go, find the wizard and return to your own life and your own love." The beautiful woman dragged her farther and farther from the masked man, until he faded out of sight. The woman released her and then backed away, her appearance changing. Suddenly she no longer stood but floated, the lower half of her body that of a jewel-encrusted sea serpent that disappeared into the shadowy floor beneath them. Cerulean waves crashed over her head and shoulders in the place of hair and she wore a cruel and mocking expression as she regarded Sondra.
"You aren't worthy of him and you know it, human. Leave him; he would hate you if he knew the truth."
"Who are you?"
"I warned you, princess. If you remain with him any longer it will only bring you heartache when you realize that you cannot have him." A look of pained sadness passed swiftly over the strange female's face before she scowled at Sondra and turned away, disappearing into the darkness of Sondra's dream.
Sondra jolted awake, unaccountably relieved to find herself back in her dragon body. She glanced over at Tolmac where he lay sleeping peacefully. The sight of him scared her, not because of his fearsome aspect but because she finally admitted to herself that she was falling for him and she didn't know what to do about it.
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How do I begin collecting my own hoard?" Sondra lounged next to Tolmac, studying a sleek sword she'd selected from his hoard earlier that ten-cycle. For some reason, that particular sword attracted her above and beyond all of the other treasures and gems in his hoard. It wasn't particularly ornate and boasted not one gemstone in its hilt. Th e worn
and pitted blade and the blackened leather wrapping the grip showed years of continued use. Still, the sword seemed to hum with energy. Some force surrounded the nondescript weapon, and despite an undoubtedly violent history, that force did not feel malevolent.
Tolmac glanced up from his own scrutiny of his hoard, returning from his journey through memories long past. "Hmm? Ah yes, starting your own hoard.
That is an admirable goal. Most dragons possess piles of gold and at least some gems in their hoard by the time they reach adulthood."
"Where do I find such things?"
"Now there is the trick. Some dragons simply demand tribute from lesser races and form their hoard from that. Other dragons steal the majority of their hoard."
"I don't want to do any of that! I want my hoard to be like yours, a collection of memories and trophies from adventures!"
"Good, I hoped you would say that. I have never resorted to tributes or theft for my hoard. Only weak dragons do such things. A hoard should represent your strength and intelligence. I quested for many of these items, I won trophies from warriors who sought my death, and I gained a great deal of my hoard from fair challenges against other dragons." 78
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"Do humans always try to kill you?"
"No. In fact, most humans stay well away from us as long as we stay well away from them. Occasionally some great 'hero' decides that he must slay the evil dragon and that is when you must decide whether it is worth it to fight them or simply find another place to make your lair."
"You always fight, right?"
"Of course," Tolmac snorted fire, "you didn't think I would flee from a human did you?"
"No, I can't imagine that you would." Sondra thought that he might flee from a human female, or perhaps kill her for lying to him. Sondra looked again at the sword in her hands. "How did you acquire this sword?"
"Ah, you like that one, do you?" Tolmac approached her and regarded the sword fondly. "I did not kill the bearer of this weapon, but she did attempt to slay me."
"She?"
"Of course! In some worlds, women fight alongside their men. This warrior woman served as a heroine to her people, a mighty general that led them to many victories against their enemies. However, she finally met an enemy even she could not defeat."
"You?"
"Okay, she encountered two enemies she could not defeat. I refer to illness.
Her baby daughter contracted a virulent disease that slowly claimed the child's life. The healers of her tribe told her that only dragon's blood could save her offspring. So she grabbed her enchanted sword, gifted to her by the Mother goddess her people worshipped, and hunted down the only dragon for miles around."
"Of course, you always claim a large territory."
"Indeed. She challenged me out of desperation. I never deliberately threatened her people and she knew this. When she confronted me in my lair, she preceded her attack by asking my forgiveness for slaying me. Obviously I was intrigued, since most warriors simply charge, they don't plead forgiveness first. So after I disarmed her I asked her why she wished me dead. That is when she told me about her child."
"What did you do?"
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revealing an uncomfortable confession. He hoped she didn't think less of him when he told her how the battle with the female warrior ended.
"Tolmac? You have to tell me now! You can't just leave the story unfinished."
"Very well, I shall tell you, but you must know that I acted out of character for me, understand. What I did in that situation was very unusual."
"Tolmac!"
He sighed. "She told me about her child and the healer's claim that she needed dragon blood. Of course I couldn't give her dragon blood, it would make her babe immortal, nor could she take it from me by force or it would poison the child. When I explained that dragon blood wasn't the answer she collapsed and wept to her Mother goddess, devastated that she could not save her child ..." Tolmac paused, unwilling to continue.
"Quit stalling, Tolmac! Tell me what you did!"
"It's not really important now, that was a long time ago ..." Sondra grew so frustrated she snatched his wing and bit down, just hard enough to let him know she meant business and that he'd better continue.
Tolmac and Sondra both shuddered at the contact and the resultant desire neither expected. Sondra pulled quickly away when Tolmac's eyes blazed.
"Finish the story! Please!" She scooted away meekly, unnerved by his reaction and her own.
Tolmac shook himself, the brilliant crimson glow fading from his eyes.
"All right, if you insist. Her pleas shook me so badly that I felt myself ...
hmm ... uh ... um ... uh ... I ... uh ... shed a couple of tears." Tolmac paused, embarrassed beyond measure at the confession. Dragons didn't weep unless something truly monumental moved them, which explained why dragon's tears proved so rare and highly prized. Well, that and the incredible healing capacity of tears shed by a magical creature as powerful as a dragon.
"Ohh, that is soo ..." Sondra nearly melted into a puddle of mush on the cavern floor. Whatever part of her heart remained free of her growing love for Tolmac caved in and she fell hard. She couldn't believe he didn't want to admit he'd wept at the thought of a dying child and a grieving mother.
"I know it was weak on my part. I was young and inexperienced with humans then. I didn't know how to deal with their messy emotions. So anyway, I gave the woman the tears and told her that they would cure her baby, and she raced away. She returned later and trespassed in my lair again. Apparently,
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the child not only survived but also thrived, stronger then ever before and immune to any sickness. She wanted to thank me, so she gave me her sword.
She claimed it was the greatest treasure she owned. It wasn't much, of course, but I graciously accepted."
That was a lie. The woman's offer stunned Tolmac. The enchanted sword was a treasure beyond measure for the woman and her people; a divine weapon instilled with the essence of their Mother goddess. At first he refused to accept such a precious gift but the woman insisted and eventually, mindful of losing more of his dignity, he accepted the tribute. He spent many years watching over the woman and her people, determined that the loss of such a divine weapon would not find them vulnerable to their enemies. Eventually those enemies grew tired of fending off a dragon and left the people alone, and from that moment on, the people carried a black dragon as their standard.
"Tolmac ... I lo---um, I really like this weapon. It feels so soothing for an instrument of death." Sondra struggled to rally after Tolmac crashed through her defenses and laid claim to her heart.
"That weapon was an instrument of life to the people it served. It saved them and their families from slaughter at the hands of ruthless human raiders.
There are many different viewpoints, little one." Tolmac turned away from Sondra and returned to his perusal of his hoard. "Ahem, anyway, the weapon suits your spirit more than my own. A feminine deity blessed it. I suppose it is as good a treasure as any to begin your hoard."
"Tolmac, you're not suggesting I keep this weapon, are you? It's one of your special treasures."
"Yes, well, I have many treasures. Now you have at least one, it's a good start."
"But..."
"Don't argue, little one, I've made up my mind." Tolmac abandoned his hoard and moved to the tunnel. "I am going to hunt some food, I will return later." He turned to regard Sondra. "Don't leave the safety of the lair, little one.
There are many dangers out there that you are not yet ready to face." He left the cavern.
Sondra used his absence to face the stunning revelation she'd just had. She loved Tolmac, a dragon, and she was a human princess. They had no future together if Tolmac ever discovered the truth. She could abandon her plans to find the wizard and beg him to transform her back into a human. The thought 82
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of living forever, as a dragon, wasn't as repellent as she at first imagined. She'd figured she would learn enough to survive on her own and then find the wizard and she would be back to a princess again, resuming her old life as though nothing had ever changed.
Now she knew better. Even if she could disregard her feelings for Tolmac, which she couldn't, she realized she enjoyed being a dragon. She felt comfortable in her scales, content with her form and figure, pleased with her power and abilities. Suddenly returning to human form seemed like a step backward.
She'd never been truly comfortable in her life as a princess, always restricted and constantly judged on petty details, letting down her family and her people at every turn. As a dragon she felt free: free to travel wherever she wished, free to make mistakes, though some proved deadlier than others. For the first time in her life, she didn't have to answer to anyone nor did she have a responsibility to anyone.
Yes, she could definitely see living out the remainder of her life as a dragon with Tolmac by her side. But Tolmac said dragons didn't normally live together, unless they belonged to that horrible Circle group. Still, she believed she could find a way to remain with him. After all, he agreed to teach her everything she needed to learn to survive. She would simply have to take a long time learning it, like, say, the rest of her life. She would miss her family but she knew she would miss Tolmac more.
Then a horrible thought occurred to her. What if the wizard's spell only lasted temporarily? She recalled that he intended for the transformation to
"make her see," whatever that meant. What happened once she "saw"? Would she shift back into human form? Suddenly she had to know whether the spell was permanent or not. She couldn't risk planning her life around being a dragon if someday she'd simply change back into a princess! She needed to find the wizard immediately. She couldn't afford to take the chance that she would shift back tonight or tomorrow or the next cycle. She needed to know for certain that her secret remained safe. And if he'd made the spell temporary, she would beg the wizard to make it permanent. She would give him anything.
She glanced over at the sword she still grasped in one claw, surprised to find that it fit so nicely there despite her size, almost as if it adjusted itself to her.
No, she wouldn't give the wizard anything. She would always keep the sword, no matter what transpired.
The time before Tolmac would return slipped rapidly away. She suspected
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that he hunted for them both and she needed to be back in the lair before he returned with their food. She found the sheath for the sword and discovered that it too, adjusted to her size, encircling her reptilian waist with ease. She sheathed the weapon, missing its comforting weight in her claw, and quickly raced for the exit.
Sondra made it outside in record time and she didn't spot any sign of Tolmac. She leapt into the air and winged her way south aiming for the Woods, just outside Ariva. Determined not to cause the humans any more fright, she summoned up a storm just as Tolmac taught her and pulled the clouds around her, hiding within the concealment of the stormfront. Anxiety pushed her on, faster than any storm that ever moved over the valley. She sped, using her wings to propel herself forward. In her mind she had enough time before Tolmac would return to the lair and discover her missing. She moved so quickly and desperately that she didn't pay attention to the passing ground below her; so driven with finding an answer to her burning question, she overshot the Woods and Ariva and headed further south, moving over Passton and Ulrick Pass.
Before she realized it, Sondra glided in her stormfront over the Kingdom of Halidor. She finally slowed and attempted to locate her position but found that without the sheltering mountain ranges with its dominant central mountain as a landmark, she was completely lost and disoriented. Once again, she'd acted in haste and made a stupid mistake. She forgot that dragon flight moved very swiftly, and an adult dragon really pushing forward covered a considerable distance in a short time, just as she had. She started devising an explanation for Tolmac because she realized that she would never find her way back in time and hoped she could remain aloft long enough to find her way back by sundeath. Already her wings grew tired. Unwilling to dismiss her concealing clouds, Sondra held them close around her as she turned back the way she'd come and started making her way back to Thunder Mountain.
Hours passed and still the familiar mountain ranges failed to appear.
Suddenly Sondra realized that she no longer flew over Halidor but actually was continuing farther south and to the west rather than north. Spread below her lie the distant and mysterious kingdom of Fomoral. From books and maps, Sondra knew that the Dragon Cliffs formed the southernmost border of that kingdom.
Suddenly the name of those cliffs took on an entirely new meaning, and Sondra realized that she needed to move as far away from them and the caves 84
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she now knew housed the sadistic, draconic Circle. She needed to leave the cloud cover long enough to get her bearings. She hoped that the people of Fomoral expected dragons and wouldn't panic if they caught sight of her. More importantly she hoped she didn't alert any of the dragons from the cave city to her presence.
Of course, as she exited her concealment she realized her worst fears. She plunged out of the clouds and nearly collided with another dragon, an enforcer sent to investigate the curious stormfront moving at unnatural speed toward the compound. The other dragon blinked in surprise when Sondra pulled herself up in front of it. A harsh feminine voice ripped into her mind and Sondra slammed down her shields as Tolmac instructed and trained her to do, before the other dragon could sneak a peek at her thoughts.
"Who are you, from where do you hail? You are not of the Kin." The other dragon, a female much larger than Sondra, though still considerably smaller then Tolmac, challenged her, the tone of her thoughts belligerent and confrontational.
"I am nobody, really. I just lost my way. I didn't mean to trespass. I will leave immediately." Sondra started flapping her wings, desperate to lift herself away from the other female. The brownish-tan dragon possessed a sickly aura that reminded Sondra of illness and disease. It swirled in a brown, murky color, but ragged holes of darkness and globs of gray, slimy smoke moved through it. Sondra didn't need Tolmac to explain to her that this female was not a nice dragon.
"Halt! You cannot leave here. I am taking you to the Circle. They will decide your fate." Sondra tried to escape, but flying was still new to her, and the other dragon caught her far too easily, slamming into her back and bearing her to the ground.
When they hit the ground, other dragons appeared, summoned telepathically to restrain this new dragon and escort her to the Ancient Ones.
They pulled Sondra between them and she realized the futility of struggling.
She didn't stand a chance against one of them, much less three. The other two dragons, a greenish-brown male and a scarred, golden-orange male, also possessed sickly grayish-black tinged auras. They limited their communication with her to short commands, saving the interrogation for the old queens of their Kin.
They reached the cliffs, the dragons on either side of her pushing her off the
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edge and remaining beside her as they glided down to the closest cave entrance.
Holes riddled the entire cliff face, and Sondra saw dragons of all sizes and colors moving in around those entrances like bees in a hive. She and her escorts entered a tunnel and moved through a cavern city laid out like a labyrinth.
Tunnels meandered in every direction; they encountered many dragons as they passed through them. Most possessed the same sickly taint to their aura that her escort had, but not all of them did. Several dragons glanced up curiously as they passed by, but the majority just went about their business, ignoring the small group completely.
Dragons carried unidentifiable loads; some moved past with dead cattle or barrels and crates. Others carried strange tools and implements, and Sondra swore they passed a strange garden of sorts were several dragons labored just as human peasants might. The sight of such incredible and magical creatures reduced to mundane labor struck her as profoundly sad and disquieting. What could enslave an entire race in such a manner that they acted in a way that Tolmac assured her was completely out of character? After experiencing the freedom and power of dragon life for only a short time, she viewed this city as sinister; she could only imagine the effect it had on Tolmac when he first saw it.
It wasn't long before her escort brought her to the Royal Caverns. They ushered her into the huge cavern carved out of several smaller caverns and filled with enough treasure to make Tolmac's hoard look like that of a pauper. Of course, Sondra realized, this hoard undoubtedly came from tributes demanded of the people of Fomoral. She wondered how many peasants in the lands above starved while these dragons hoarded their wealth. Then she really took a look around at the occupants as they moved closer to the three crouching and horribly bloated queens lounging on their own piles of gold.
The three ancient females were all massively obese, the excess flesh of their bodies spilled out over the gold coins. Their atrophied wings curled against their back like deformed limbs, unused and forgotten. Flakes of scales peeled from their sides, and their pigment had faded to a murky gray, either out of laziness or ennui. All three appeared nearly identical, differing only in minor and nearly unnoticeable details, like the curve of a horn or the shape of a spine ridge, but they all boasted a boiling, foggy grayish-black aura that moved in her second-sight like writhing snakes over their physical forms. Sondra barely suppressed a shudder and sketched an awkward bow in her dragon form. Since 86
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these dragons desired the royal treatment, Sondra knew exactly how to act.
After all, she'd spent the majority of her life pandering to the court and the nobles that practiced their unending intrigues and power plays there.
The queens hissed in satisfaction at her gesture of respect. It suited their idea of how they should be treated. This newcomer already proved a pleasant surprise. "Welcome, ssstranger, to our gloriousss city," the queen on the right said, her telepathic voice sibilant and cold.
"It is an honor to be here before you. I have heard of your mighty city and decided I must see it for myself," Sondra replied, deciding to pander to the ego of these females in the hopes of keeping them out of her head.
"You claimed you were lost!" The enforcer who first accosted her replied.
Sondra nodded quickly, irritated at the beastly guard's memory. "Of course, I was so roughly challenged; I grew frightened by the might and strength of your soldiers and made to run away. I am ashamed, for I see now that I would have missed the true majesty of this great city if I hadn't been able to meet you, Your Highnesses."
The queens hissed again, very pleased with the pretty words of this new little dragon. The enforcer fell silent, realizing that her job was finished and she was out of her league within the confines of the Royal Cavern and the subtle machinations that went on there.
"From where do you hail?" the center queen asked.
"I hail from everywhere. I am an orphan since I first hatched and I made many blunders growing to adulthood, traveling alone into dangerous territory countless times. Fortunately I survived; but when I heard that there existed a place such as this where our kind came together to grow even more powerful, I searched until I found it."
Sondra prayed they didn't invade her mind at that moment. The lies she wove wouldn't hold up to telepathic scrutiny. Just in case, she kept her shields up and distracted her mind from thinking of the truth. Thus far, the queens hadn't made an attempt to read her mind. She didn't know if she could flatter them enough to delay them. She struggled to control her nerves. As a human princess, she'd never been very good at maintaining poise under pressure; as a dragon it became critical that she not spark in fear or anxiety, revealing her nature. Tolmac told her the Circle would love to have a storm dragon under their control. So far she didn't think they were aware of her nature, and she wasn't about to give them any clues.
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"And what isss your purpossse here, orphan? Now that you have ssseeen the wonder and beauty of our vassst kingdom, what will you do next?" the queen on the left asked.
"I would like to explore more of your kingdom. I would like to meet the dragons that make their home here. I have never met another dragon before.
Most of all, it is simply overwhelming to revel in the glory of your exalted presence. I did not know that we dragons could wield such power." The boiling fog of their auras pulsed and shuddered in pleasure and anticipation. They were pleased with her answer but wanted more from her.
"Do you wish to join usss, to become one of the Kin?" the right queen asked.
Sondra felt she'd reached a critical stage. She knew that at some point they intended to invade her mind and see all the lies she'd told. She must hold them off as long as possible by acting agreeable and willing. Hopefully, she would find a way to escape or stall long enough for Tolmac to find her, if he even searched for her.
"What must I do to join your mighty clan, great ones?"
"Ah, yesss. You must be initiated. It is a long and somewhat ... painful ...
processs, but in the end it will be worth it and you will be one of usss," the queen in the center hissed.
"We shall allow you to explore, and then eat and ressst. On the morrow you shall return here and we will begin the initiation," the left queen said, her aura writhing in pleasure and anticipation.
Sondra nearly sighed with relief. She'd guessed correctly about these
"queens"; like all pretentious glory seekers, they wanted to make a spectacle of their power, and even with enslaved followers, it took time to gather them all to witness the initiation. Sondra hoped it would be time enough to escape or think of something else to save herself.
"Essscort her to the city and show her around. We want her to feel at home here," the right queen ordered the guards. They bowed uncomfortably, still unused to the strange and unnatural gestures of respect demanded by the queens. They motioned to Sondra and she followed. Reluctant to turn her back on the watching queens, she bolstered her shields and was glad she had when she felt a brush, a mere tickle at the corners of her mind. The tendril of consciousness simply tested her, Sondra guessed. She suspected that by tomorrow, no mental shield she could erect would stop the three queens'
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combined efforts to invade her mind and enslave her to their will. She hoped she found a way to escape a fate she suspected might be worse than death.
A stray thought occurred to her as she passed several dragons ranged around the cavern, lounging on their own, smaller beds of coins. They looked so much like the arrogant sycophants that cluttered the human court she was raised in that she could almost see human features superimposed on their serpentine faces. Every one of those that occupied the Royal Cavern bore the same sickly taint. Sondra nearly shook with relief when they left the main cavern---the resemblance to Ariva's royal court had failed to inspire homesickness.
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The guards did give her a tour of the "city," which turned out to be little more than a series of tunnels and linked caverns crowded by dragons. Many of the occupants had atrophied wings and shedding scales layered over prominent bones. Th ey appeared to be starving
or malnourished and Sondra guessed that they hadn't been outside the caverns in many rotas. She wasn't permitted to speak to those dragons. Instead the guards simply pointed out various sights along the way to the dining hall.
Gilded statues of dragons, supposedly the queens themselves, though the magnifi cent beasts in no way represented the shriveled old creatures in the Royal Cavern, lined every wall. Th
ey appeared to watch every dragon moving
through the corridors.
They passed a stonemason's shop, and Sondra paused in surprise at the sight of several brown dragons sculpting with their bare claws, the stone melting and reshaping with their movements. The female guard who'd first captured her shoved at her foreleg to propel her forward but Sondra turned and asked her about what she witnessed, unable to contain her curiosity over the sight.
"Those are just stone dragons. You see they have no wings and cannot fly, but they possess an affinity for the earth element and form the stone with their thoughts. They craft our statues and tunnels. Now, keep moving. There is much to see and I would like to eat before the commoners get their scraps." Sondra moved reluctantly forward, disappointed that she could not watch the stone dragons work their craft. She glanced over at the female guard that seemed to be her new keeper and wondered if she had an affinity for a particular 89
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element. Perhaps all dragons related to a single element more than any other, just like the stone dragons, and her, a storm dragon. Sondra wondered what element the queens possessed an affinity for.
They passed another cavern and the guard attempted to hurry her along but Sondra paused again. She couldn't resist and didn't know how the other female could, for in this cavern, tiny little dragons with adorable, nearly round baby faces stumbled and tripped and fell over their own oversized wings as they played with their fellows. It was obviously a nursery and the baby dragons looked so cute Sondra pulled away from her guard to get a closer look. She moved into the cavern and into the wriggling little forms. They squeaked as she got close and, startled, raced away to hide behind their keeper. Sondra looked up, and up, and up into the frigid eyes of another adult dragon. This dragon looked neither sickly nor tainted; her aura bore spots of shadowy darkness but those areas remained firm and solid rather than tattered and wavy. Not a speck of gray moved within her blazing reddish-orange spirit and no scales shed from her glittering red-orange body.
She snarled at Sondra as she demanded mentally, "Who are you that trespass in the brood nursery? Commoners are not permitted here." Sondra backed off at her angry tone, embarrassed and a little afraid.
The other female stood so much larger than her, larger even than her guard who came up behind to grab hold of her impatiently. The red dragon looked beautiful as well, with a slender head, brilliantly gilded horny headdress and gold-flecked scales. She was the type of dragon humans painted or sculpted into their art: massive, awesome, and menacing and she looked like she wanted to crush Sondra for daring to enter her domain.
"I'm sorry, I'm new here and I saw the babies and I just couldn't resist a closer look. They're so adorable." The red dragon glanced down at the wriggling babies weaving in and out of her legs, curious about the small violet dragon but shy and nervous as many young creatures are. "I didn't realize I was breaking the law. I will leave right away." Sondra backed away. The red dragon looked back up at her, her expression inscrutable.
"Did you say you were new here? From where did you come?"
"From everywhere really, I'm an orphan."
"You're small for an adult dragon. That is curious. Have you undergone initiation yet?"
Sondra looked at her guard who tugged on her, urging her to hurry to the
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dining cavern, while purposely ignoring the clutch keeper who towered over even her and made her look like little more than an overgrown swamp lizard.
"The queens will initiate me tomorrow. They have graciously granted me the opportunity to rest tonight."
"You think they are gracious, do you? Well, new female, you may be permitted a bit of freedom for now, but soon enough you will be just another commoner. Your kind is forbidden to interact with the clutch. You've seen them; realize that you will never have your own in this city and leave, now." The red dragon turned away, dismissing her as forcefully as if she'd physically shoved her.
Sondra let the guard drag her away, sparing one last wistful glance at the little squeaking dragon babies. One pulled its own tail hard enough to knock itself over on its back, and it chewed happily away on the spiky end, rocking on its tiny little spines. The others gamboled about the legs of the red dragon and Sondra caught one last look at the other female as she gently rescued one baby who'd climbed too far up one rugged wall.
"It is almost the end of second meal! We will be left to fight with the commoners for the scraps of third meal because of you. Move it, let's go." The guard shoved her along the tunnels until they reached another cavern, this one nearly as large as the Royal Cavern and lit, as all the tunnels and caverns were, by soft, glowing globes that clustered on the ceiling.
Sondra witnessed the largest concentration of dragons yet in the dining cavern---they pushed and shoved and snarled and growled at each other as they gnawed away at unidentifiable meat. In the far corner another tunnel, guarded by dragons that actually wore metal armor, led away into a heated cavern that the guard referred to as the kitchen. The guards needed the armor, she clarified, because many a starving dragon tried to raid the kitchens for more food.
The dragons ate in three meal times. The best and most plentiful food came at first meal, reserved for those arrogant claw-lickers lounging in the Royal Cavern. The soldiers, guards, and craftsdragons ate at second meal, and the leftover scraps tossed out to the common dragons, those who were the least powerful and least skilled of the dragons, made up the third meal. Sondra realized why they looked so malnourished. So many dragons in one place must strain the food supply tremendously.
They reached the servers, dragons that guarded the meat troughs and doled out the food to those that came forward and identified themselves. These 92
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dragons also wore custom-fitted armor, and Sondra wondered who made it for them. Was there a metal smith in the city? Not a very skilled one, she could see; the craftsmanship appeared poor and the metal pocked and pitted, but she supposed it proved effective enough against another dragon. Perhaps the mere sight of it discouraged any attempt at stealing food, especially on the part of already weak and starving dragons.
The guard identified herself and explained Sondra's presence and one of the servers slapped a hunk of meat into her claws. Sondra looked down and nearly screamed in horror. She held a human thigh, torn and roasted. She struggled not to vomit in front of the watching dragons and it took every ounce of self-control to casually offer the grisly meal to the guard, claiming that in all the excitement, she didn't have much of an appetite. The guard glanced at her curiously but gladly accepted the gory limb, and Sondra turned away while she gobbled it down.
It took several more moments for Sondra to swallow her gorge, and she tried not to spend those minutes looking too closely at the meat being consumed around her. There were people being slaughtered to feed these horrible dragons. She wanted to race out of that dining hall, find any that yet lived, and free them, but she knew that would serve no purpose. Obviously, the people of Fomoral gave more than gold in tribute to their brutal neighbors.
In that instant, Sondra hated the queens and their horrific city with a passion and wished only to escape it with her sanity intact. She turned her eyes to the cavern itself, wondering how deep within the cliffs she now stood and how she could escape without detection. She tried not to let the hopelessness of her situation distress her. After all, she had stalled the queens of the Circle; now she just needed to ditch her guard and find a way out of this nightmarish place.
The guard finished her meal, licking her chops with her obscene, gray, forked tongue and then motioned for Sondra to follow her. They moved through the dining hall, passing the emaciated dragons lining up for third meal and out into the tunnels again. Sondra finally took a deep breath, trying to purge the stench of burnt flesh from her lungs. For once, her normally voracious draconic appetite didn't bother her. She wasn't certain she would ever be hungry again.
She followed her hated guard through the tunnels and into another series of caverns. Here, dragons curled up in groups or singly in small caves. The guard explained that, as she was an "honored guest" of the queens---this said with
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a smirk---she would get her own room tonight. Sondra suspected that if the initiation went as planned she would no longer be an honored anything and would find herself crammed into a room with a bunch of bony, hungry dragons.
That is, if the queens didn't sense the truth and simply kill her outright.
The guard left her, but Sondra didn't take heart in her chances of escape.
She had no idea where in the cliffs she lay or how to find an exit. Even if she could somehow move without detection, she didn't think she could fly past the guards she felt certain patrolled the outer cliffs and the skies over Fomoral. If she were caught trying to escape, the queens would definitely rip into her mind without the ceremony they obviously planned tomorrow. Sondra allowed the hopelessness to swamp her for a moment as she laid her head down in sadness and despair. She didn't know if she dozed or not but suddenly the soft blue glow from the tunnel globes disappeared and Sondra's little cave plunged into darkness. She sat up and could barely make out the form of another dragon, one much larger than herself.
"Guard your thoughts, stranger. The queen's spies are everywhere." The other dragon waved a claw and a tiny blue globe burst into light, illuminating them both where they crouched in the cave. Sondra immediately recognized the female from the dragon nursery. She wasn't a dragon one easily forgot.
"Wh---what are you doing here? I apologized for frightening the little ones; I swear that I meant them no harm!" Sondra didn't know what to make of the other dragon; her expression, difficult enough to read on a dragon, appeared even more inscrutable than other dragons.
"You could not have harmed them had you tried, small dragon. I would have destroyed you in a flash. That is not why I am here. I wish to ask you a question."
Sondra felt a little put out by the arrogant claims of the other female.
Perhaps she wouldn't find Sondra so easy to destroy if she knew she was a storm dragon.
"I do know that you are a storm dragon." The red dragon smirked, revealing long, glittering fangs. "You really should learn not to telegraph your thoughts, especially here where even the walls listen."
"Fine. You still haven't asked me your question."
"True, and I have little enough time. Why are you really here, storm dragon? Did you actually come to join the city?" Sondra decided she had little enough to lose at this point in revealing at 94
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least some of the truth. "I grew lost and blundered into one of the guards. They brought me here."
"So you are not here willingly? You do not truly wish to join the Kin?"
"Honestly, no. But I see little hope in escaping."
"There is no escape from the city."
"Well, that makes me feel so much better! Now if you're done ruining my night I would like to sleep again, please."
"Listen to me! There is no escape but there is another option. Are you willing to take a risk; are you willing to do something dangerous to gain your freedom?"
"Is this a trap? How do I know that this isn't a test and that you were not sent by the queens to ascertain my loyalty?" The red dragon nearly growled in frustration. "Look at me, storm; can you see their taint in my aura?"
"No, but maybe because you serve them willingly."
"Fool! Nobody serves them willingly! If they cannot control you, they destroy you. The only reason I yet live, despite the fact that they have not been able to breach my mental defenses is because they control me in another manner."
"The guards?"
"Of course not; they are no threat to me. I speak of the hatchlings. The queens threaten to kill them if I leave."
"How horrible! Why would they do such a thing? Why wouldn't they just kill you then?"
"The hatchlings are not all prime bloodline and you have seen that we already have an overcrowding problem. The queens have tried to eliminate those that don't show enough promise already, but I have managed to stall them. They keep me alive because I do possess an excellent bloodline. I am their favorite breeder."
"Then those babies ..."
"Some of them are mine, yes, but all of the clutches are reared together and the best and brightest hatchlings are selected and taken to the queens for initiation. The rest are taken to the kitchen." The red dragon snarled as flames licked across her body in rage. Sondra stepped back, frightened by the unexpected reaction and more repelled by the confession than by her macabre meal earlier.
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"They eat their own young ..."
"Good, I am glad to see that the idea horrifies you, that the perversions of the queens bother you as well, storm. Perhaps you will find my proposal more palatable then.
"I don't understand; are you the only one that can resist them? Are there no others strong enough to fight them?"
"There is the fire god, but he cares nothing for us ordinary dragons."
"The fire god?"
"Tolmac, the fire god that lives in the mountains to the North. Once, he destroyed this entire city and nearly killed the queens, but he never finished the job and left us to their mercy instead, him and all the other gods that came to this world with him."
Sondra struggled to remain upright, completely stunned by the other dragon's words. Tolmac, the fire god? What could she possibly mean? "What other gods? What are you talking about?" Sondra could barely shield her roiling thoughts.
"The gods the humans worship---Aquea, Vivacel, Morbidon, Zephrona, Terroc, and Tolmac. Tolmac brought them all to this world when he opened a portal. He takes the form of a black dragon, enormous, larger than any of the queens. When they realized that he was a child of Cindara they immediately attempted to capture him, but they weren't strong enough. So they sent us to him instead."
"A child of Cindara ... the Dragon Goddess?" Sondra barely released the thought to the other dragon before another question occurred to her. "What do you mean they sent you to him instead?"
"The breeders, the best that the city had to offer, they sent us to him one by one and he spurned us all. I was the last that they sent. I went by order of the queens but I really wanted to plead for him to help us, to beg him to free us. I thought I could seduce him, and I nearly succeeded, but I made a foolish mistake and he pushed me away, he wouldn't trust me after that, nor would he listen to my pleas. He forced me from his lair." Sondra fought a spurt of jealousy, so ridiculous in her current circumstance, but the thought that Tolmac turned away offers from this gorgeous dragon made her seriously doubt he would ever choose her as a mate. Of all the things she'd just heard, that Tolmac was the fire god and knew the other five gods of the human pantheon, including Vivacel and Morbidon, Ariva's own gods, the 96
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thought of this red dragon mating with Tolmac bothered Sondra the most.
Sondra remained silent, absorbing everything she'd learned, and the red dragon continued.
"I lost hope, fearing that I and the other dragons must live like this forever.
Then I saw you today and I recognized what you were, though I suspect even the queens don't know about you yet and that can work to our advantage."
"What do you mean? Why is seeing me so important? What can I do against a city full of dragons?"
"That is just it; you needn't fight a city full of dragons. You have seen the gray sickness in the dragon's aura. Not everyone here suffers from it, but those that don't are not permitted near the queens. Only those firmly controlled by the queens may approach them; even I cannot go near them. However, whenever a new dragon is initiated into the Kin, they come into close contact with the queens. There hasn't been a new initiate in generations. Now here you are, and better yet, you control skyfire. You can kill them and once they are dead, those they control will be free."
"Wait a minute, are you asking me to fight three dragons at once? What about their followers---before I kill them, won't they attack me as soon as I strike out at the queens?"
"I have planned a coup for over a hundred rotas. I have brought many dragons over to my side, earning their loyalty the way the queens have never had to. I---and my associates---will charge the first-tier dragons and the guards when you begin your attack. We will keep them occupied while you eliminate the queens. They are old and weak and they haven't personally fought a battle in over a thousand rotas."
"But I don't think I can kill one dragon, much less three!"
"What choice do you have? Do you value your freedom at all, or are you just another coward? If they succeed in initiating you, you will have to kill many dragons and other creatures; they will relish in your power and your abilities. They might even grant you a first-tier position and your own hoard of gold. Is that what you prefer to freedom and the call of the open lands beyond this city?"
Sondra remembered the roasted human thigh, the starving dragons, the oppressed Fomoralians, and the gamboling baby dragons in the nursery.
Suddenly she knew what she had to do. She could never live in a place like this; never endure day after day of life in this sick society. She once compared
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the dragon city to her own kingdom, but now she knew better. The Circle mimicked human society but perverted everything good and right in human social intercourse. It must be destroyed, and these dragons set free to make their way in life, as they were intended to, not as mock humans lusting for power and prestige.
"I cannot promise that I will succeed, but I will die trying to kill those queens. I accept your proposal. But I have my own request." The red dragon nearly shook with excitement and anticipation, eager to rush off and inform her companions that the time for revolution neared.
"Anything! You can take the gold, the hoards. We don't care, we just want our freedom."
"I don't want the gold. I want any humans still alive and trapped in this city freed and I want the Kingdom of Fomoral released from the oppression of any and all dragons."
The red dragon paused, startled by the request. "Why? What do you care about humans?"
"That is the reward I demand if I do this for you. Do you accept?"
"Of course! We have no need of the humans; we will see to it that the dragons disperse. Most will not want to remain anywhere near here anyway. I will personally free the human cattle once the queens are dead and see them to safety. Is that agreeable to you?"
Sondra nodded and the red dragon made to leave. "Wait! There is one more thing. I do not know if I will ever see you again. Can you tell me your name?" For some reason, Sondra needed to know the name of the female dragon that nearly claimed Tolmac as her own.
"I am called Rubeliara. And your name, storm?"
"Sondra."
"Such a strange name for a dragon! But no matter, if you succeed in tomorrow's battle, the name Sondra will be known forever to the dragons as the hero that freed us."
Rubeliara hurried off and Sondra settled down to get some much-needed rest. She realized that all odds were against her, and she didn't stand much of a chance, but for the first time in her life she felt confident that even though she might die tomorrow, she had made the right decision.
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Sondra didn't sleep much through the night, her mind sifting through everything she'd learned. She dwelled on Tolmac and the things Rubeliara told her about him to avoid thinking of the coming battle and the death she likely faced as one who had never fought a physical battle a day in her life. So Tolmac was the fi re god of the Pantheon of Six.
She'd always heard of the six gods, of which her own people worshipped two, Morbidon and Vivacel, god of death and goddess of life. Th e elemental gods,
Aquea of water, Terroc of earth, Zephrona of air and apparently Tolmac of fi re, were never really worshipped in her kingdom, though the religious text did mention them in passing. Sondra didn't remember ever reading the fi re god's name, though she wasn't certain she would have suspected the truth if she had.
So what was Tolmac, dragon or god? Was he truly the child of Cindara, the divine dragon he spoke of in his story? Why had he never mentioned it?
Who was this dragon she'd lost her heart to? And most importantly, would she live to see him again?
Despite her noble cause, Sondra didn't feel at all ready to face the three queens and mortal combat when her pet guard showed up to escort her to the Royal Cavern the following sunbirth. This time, Sondra's passage through the tunnels was accompanied by much pomp and circumstance. Someone ordered the resident dragons to line up on either side of the passageways as she paraded past in ceremonial solemnity. Guards fell into step before and behind her, and Sondra found the sight somewhat pitiful, like animals playing at being human. Though she supposed that the dragons considered humans as animals 98
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rather than the other way around, for some reason, the queens enjoyed these bizarre displays of power and consequence. The whole experience seemed so different from the way Tolmac behaved that she started to seriously doubt he was a dragon. But no, Rubeliara had told her that the dragons here did behave unnaturally for their race.
Sondra buried her heartache at the thought of Tolmac and followed the procession through the tunnels; her spines standing straight up and out on her neck at the feeling of so many eyes upon her. She felt the brush of other dragon's minds as they sought to touch her own, curious about her. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Rubeliara, but the other dragon remained staring straight ahead, making no attempt to communicate with her. Sondra reinforced her mental shields and gulped past the lump of fear forming in her throat as they neared the Royal Cavern.
In what seemed like only half the time it took on the previous cycle, they arrived at the Royal Cavern. Today, the first-tier dragons stood at attention with all four feet firmly planted and their wings, gilded and bejeweled, folded neatly with their heads lifted and watching. They ranged on either side of the queens still lounging on their hoards. Sondra didn't realize there were so many of the privileged dragons, and she hoped Rubeliara came through with her promised assistance before they ripped her apart. The three queens hissed as she approached, their anticipation of the day's events obvious as they licked their drooling chops with gray tongues dripping acidic saliva. Sondra readied herself, focusing on reinforcing her shields.
The right queen spoke. "Welcome back ssstranger. It is time to initiate you into the Kin. Are you ready?"
Sondra nodded, glanced out of the corner of her eye at the guards surrounding her, and took a deep breath. Before she had a chance to release her skyfire, a force slammed through her shields with the effectiveness of a battering ram, ripping open her mind and tearing through her thoughts like shredding fabric. The three queens, linked in their element of spirit, gasped as one as they examined her thoughts. They saw her conversation with Rubeliara.
They saw that she was a storm dragon. They dug deeper and saw Tolmac, emitting chittering sounds of excitement at the revelation. Then they traveled deeper into her memories and saw ... Sondra, the human princess. The queens roared in rage and Sondra struggled to fight them, to release her skyfire, to move. But her struggles yielded nothing and she remained pinned in place 100
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while the queens decided what to do with the information they'd uncovered in her mind.
Her heart broke, her hope faded as she realized that she'd failed. She'd failed herself, Rubeliara and the chicks, the humans of Fomoral, and Tolmac.
Now she would die and everyone she'd failed would suffer for it. The queens started barking orders and the guards shifted. Sondra prepared herself for the sting of death, determined to ask Morbidon about the fire god when he came for her.
The guards moved to surround her, with the combined minds of the queens still raping her memories, rifling through her childhood hopes and dreams, her memories of the wizard---which they also found interesting---and life at court. Sondra suddenly felt a strange presence wrapping her in warmth and love. Suddenly part of her mind felt free as a gentle maternal presence pushed aside the queens as effortlessly as moving aside a curtain. The presence shielded her mind, burying it back away behind impenetrable shields that blazed with a white light.
The queens gasped in shock as they were pushed out of her mind and Sondra felt one claw reaching for and unsheathing the forgotten sword belted at her waist. She turned on the guard to her right, and the sword buried itself through the only vulnerable part of his body, the throat ring, where his neck and head met and the scales didn't completely overlap. He suffocated on his own flame, bursting apart and falling to the ground. The sword continued to move, imbued with a divine power and a life of its own, unerringly finding the weaknesses of every opponent that came against Sondra. She aimed it at the queens and, obeying the maternal presence guiding her, directed her skyfire down the blade. It fired off the blade of the sword, amplified by magic from an ancient and alien divinity. It slammed into the central queen, sparking off of her and linking into the two others. They screamed in agony as the skyfire burned through their scales and into their flesh, melting down to the bone.
Behind her, Sondra heard the sounds of chaotic combat as a small army of young and strong dragons charged the guards and first-tier dragons, distracting them from the battle in the center of the room. Suddenly, everyone fought for their lives, and those dragons not directly controlled by the queens joined in the fray, attacking guards standing next to them with feral abandon.
Sondra remained focused on the queens. They struggled against her skyfire as she sent wave after wave of it against their writhing forms. The
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stench of scorched flesh polluted the air and their screams rent the chaotic din, bursting out over the battling dragons, until as a one, they died on a final cry of agony, melted into three pools of blood and gore that dripped over the golden hoards.
The battle didn't proceed as Rubeliara had promised, however. Many of the dragons controlled by the queens did stop fighting when the queens died; free of their compulsions, they fled through the tunnels, eager to escape the aftermath. But others, the guards included, continued to fight, and several came after Sondra. She backed away, shaking with exhaustion from the vast expenditure of magic.
Rubeliara shouted in her head, and she looked up to where the dragon stood indicating a side tunnel. She followed the red dragon blindly, racing through the tunnel as fast as she could move on shaky legs. They passed several caverns, all occupied by struggling dragons, bursting flames, stone walls rising out of nothing to crush guards, and starving dragons ripping into the dead.
Sondra shuddered and turned away, struggling to keep up with Rubeliara.
"Where are the babies?" she thought to the other dragon.
"They are safe and well-guarded. None will harm them ever again." The other dragon passed the dining hall and raced through the kitchens, Sondra on her heals, studiously ignoring the abattoir where humans, dragons, and animals alike met their end to feed a sick society.
Rubeliara stopped in another room filled with cages. Contained within were several types of herbivores, small carnivores, and in one cage at the back, a group of ten terrified humans that screamed at the sight of the two dragons racing into the small cavern.
"Here are the cattle, free them quickly. I will need your help moving them outside to the surface. We will let them go there and hope they have enough sense to escape on their own."
Sondra moved to the cage, using her claw to smash open the lock. The humans kept screaming and huddled in the corner of the cage. The dirty and ragged men formed a wall around the three females, one of whom Sondra noticed in horror was barely more than a child. The men screamed at the dragons, cursing them, and Sondra didn't even attempt to communicate with them, fearing she didn't have the time to convince them she meant them no harm. Instead she scooped up three in one claw and two in the other and moved away awkwardly on her hind legs. The humans struggled, bit, and kicked, and 102
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Sondra felt proud of them for fighting to what they believed to be the bitter end. Their attacks hurt her not at all.
Rubeliara grabbed up the remaining five humans, including the young girl who passed out from fright, and turned toward another tunnel. They proceeded down it, meeting few dragons on the way. Arriving at an intersection, they took the left-hand passage, which soon found them at the entrance to one of the many caves that dotted the cliff face.
Rubeliara didn't bother to speak, but simply jumped out of the cave; she spread her extensive wingspan and lifted herself up into the sunlight, her passage trailed by human screams. Sondra glanced around her at the dragons pouring from the caverns, many engaging in aerial battles with the guards and few first-tier dragons that enjoyed their privileged life and didn't appreciate its end. Already dragon corpses littered the rocky shore below, and as Sondra jumped from the cave ledge and spread her wings she breathed a grateful sigh of relief at her freedom.
The humans she clutched weighed more than anticipated, and she found her flight to the top of the cliffs extremely difficult. Fortunately, the men and woman had enough sense to remain still, uncertain of their future but unwilling to plummet to the shore below. Even they realized something catastrophic was happening to the Dragon Cliffs. They didn't wait around to find out what when Sondra finally crested the top of the cliff and collapsed, exhausted, next to Rubeliara, who had already deposited her charges. Sondra's humans raced off without a backward glance, each fearing what new game the evil dragons planned to play with them.
Rubeliara turned to her and started to say something when a dragon struck her, knocking her off the cliff. The red dragon plummeted to the shore below, barely spreading her wings in time to slow her fall. She landed heavily, and the impact stunned her.
Before Sondra now stood a guard dragon, none other than the female guard that had first met her when she arrived in this cursed land. The other dragon grinned horribly, her teeth filthy and bloodstained by the many kills she'd claimed in this battle. Even without the gray taint of the queens' control, her aura still looked sick and diseased, ragged black tears moving within a bilious brownish-tan.
"I knew you were trouble the moment you entered our territory. But you
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have done me a favor. The queens are dead and the city is in chaos. This is the perfect time for the guards, led by me, of course, to take control."
"Why? Why would you want to live like this? Why not fly to distant lands and make your own lair?"
"Fool! Why be the master of myself when I can become the master of many? With the power of a dragon army I will be akin to a god. I will not waste time with demanding petty tributes and playing twisted games with the creatures of this world. My army will destroy everything in its path and I will make this world the domain of dragons only, where the only other creatures will be our cattle."
"But that is not natural for a dragon; why would you want to live in a manner so against your nature?"
"What would you know about dragons, human?" The guard grinned evilly.
"Oh, yes, I know the truth. The queens were so outraged by what they saw that they let images slip to those standing nearest to them. I saw it all. It will give me the greatest pleasure to crush you for daring to pretend to be a member of the most powerful race." The guard snarled and leapt at Sondra. She met the charge of the much larger female and shrieked in pain at the impact.
Unable to find the strength to summon up more skyfire, Sondra relied on her physical agility and teeth and claws to tear at the other dragon. They grappled on the ground, the larger and heavier guard gaining an advantage despite the many fights she'd already won that day. She tore at Sondra, sending glittering violet-blue scales flying and leaving behind welts and trails of blood on Sondra's flank. Sondra tried to draw her sword again but the guard batted her claw away, slicing the leather of the scabbard belt and sending the sword careening to the dirt as she pinned Sondra and snapped at her neck, seeking her vulnerable throat ring. Sondra's wings crushed beneath her as she brought her hind legs up and ripped at the guard's stomach, her claws skittering off the heavy scales that protected the other dragon. The guard dragon simply laughed and bit her wing tip, snapping the bones and tearing through the membrane as Sondra screamed in agony.
An outraged roar answered her scream and the ground beneath her shook.
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realize her danger. She bit down again, tearing deeper into Sondra's wing, and then, suddenly, she wasn't there anymore.
Sondra looked up in pained surprise and saw a sight she hadn't hoped to see ever again. Tolmac towered over her, his entire body blazed with flames.
They danced over his ebony scales and Sondra could see the tracery of fire moving beneath his skin. The guard didn't stand a chance against his rage and he tore her apart in the blink of an eye and turned back to Sondra.
His fury didn't abate, though the flames licking across his body died down.
He snarled at her and she realized that much of his anger was directed at her.
He confirmed this with the first words he fired into her mind.
"So, little liar, you served the queens all along!"
"No, Tolmac, I swear it, I have never been here before ..."
"Then why did you come here?" he shouted, and Sondra winced as his furious voice ricocheted through her skull, carrying some emotion deeper than anger with it.
"I got lost; I didn't mean to come here. I just lost my way and I couldn't tell where I was from the air and then this female dragon came out of nowhere and ..."
"You expect me to believe that? That you conveniently grew lost over Fomoral and the Dragon City, which is, in case you were unaware of this, miles and miles from my lair, which I asked you not to leave!" Tolmac shouted again, bearing down on her in his fury, his face inches from her own, and the heat off his body scorching her as his eyes blazed.
For the first time since she'd been turned into a dragon, Sondra felt she might actually find the ability to cry. She cowered away from his anger, not fearing a physical attack, believing that even as angry as he was, he wouldn't hurt her. She feared his rejection, the way she could even now see him drawing away from her inside. She couldn't bear to lose him like this and she nearly confessed the actual truth, about her humanity, when another mental voice intruded.
"Tolmac?" Rubeliara stood on the edge of the cliff, shaken and battered, but alive. She held Sondra's sword in one claw and her eyes fixed on Tolmac towering over the storm dragon, her gaze hungry and wistful.
Tolmac greeted her with a snarl. "I see this city is still a den of treacherous, lying females."
Rubeliara flinched as if he'd struck her, and then turned to Sondra. "You
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dropped this, Sondra. We have routed the remainder of the guards and first-tier dragons. We can never thank you enough for destroying the queens and freeing us. It is strange; I only met you yesterday and somehow I feel that we have known each other for a very long time." Rubeliara skirted the still glowering Tolmac and handed Sondra her sword.
"Thank you, Rubeliara. I am glad the queens are dead and I hope your chicks will never know pain or hardship."
"They won't, thanks to you. We will honor our end of the bargain. Even now the dragons disperse, leaving this land to the humans. I will never see you again, Sondra, for I am taking my young as far from this place as I can go. I say good-bye to you, and good luck." Rubeliara glanced at Tolmac again, and then back at Sondra. "You will need it." She leapt into the air and winged to the south, following a group of dragons already airborne.
"The queens are dead?" Tolmac queried, his mental voice subdued but still cold and remote.
"Yes."
"The red dragon claims that she only just met you, but I happen to know she has long been a member of the Kin."
"I know."
"You are not one of them, then."
"No. I am not."
"Tell me, Sondra. Why did you leave the lair? Why did you come to this cursed place?"
"I told you, I was lost. I did not lie about that."
"Then what did you lie about, Sondra? What secret are you keeping from me that drove you from my lair even after I told you it wasn't safe? What drove you from my side?" The last question he thought so softly that Sondra barely sensed it.
She looked at him, still towering over her, his massive, muscular body dark and menacing, his fearsome aspect concealing a gentle and noble soul. She still loved him, now more than ever because he had once again come to her rescue and, even doubting her, he'd saved her life. Terrible fear squeezed her heart and she remembered her dream. He couldn't love a human; he had said as much himself, had he not? She could never tell him the truth or he would leave her and despise her forever.
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"I cannot tell you Tolmac; all I can say is that I felt the need to find something and I grew lost instead, winding up here." Tolmac watched her for a long time, but he didn't try to enter her mind.
She didn't even feel the soft tickle of a questing thought as she had felt so often in the Dragon Cliffs. He simply watched her and Sondra knew that he debated whether to trust her again or simply abandon her here to the mercy of whatever dangers might befall her. She could see that he remained angry; nearly invisible traceries of fire still moved beneath his skin and scales. Finally she could bear the silence no longer.
"Please, Tolmac. I'm sorry for all of the problems I caused you. I'm sorry I left the lair without telling you. I'm sorry for giving you cause to distrust me.
I don't know what else to say, except that I beg your forgiveness and hope that you will continue to train me. I don't think I'm ready to be on my own yet." Sondra added to herself, "nor will I ever be." Tolmac came to a decision. Despite his fury and suspicion, the sight of his little storm dragon torn, bleeding, and pleading his forgiveness forced him to give her another chance. For some reason, he didn't want to think about not having her around anymore. The memories of returning to the lair and finding it empty still preyed upon him. He asked her if she could fly herself back to his lair or if she needed his help, and she sagged in relief.
Sondra did manage the flight back to his lair. Now that she knew Tolmac would give her another chance, she felt like she could fly to the ends of the cosmos and back, so light was her heart. She studied him as they soared over the kingdoms below, concealed by another stormfront she summoned. After everything they'd been through together, to her, he did look like a god, and she determined to ask him about what Rubeliara told her just as soon as she'd rested and healed. She wondered if she had the nerve to ask him just how close he had gotten to the red dragon. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.
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Sondra didn't get the chance to ask Tolmac about the fi re god immediately after her recovery. Even though he took her back to his lair and agreed to continue training her, he withdrew from her and rarely spoke to her beyond the instructions he laid out for her. He didn't act cruel or impatient but neither did he tease her anymore as he used to before the Circle Kin incident. Sondra tried everything to bring him back to the easy and casual relationship they'd once shared but he remained cold and distant, despite her teasing and her prodding. She'd even attempted to provoke him by deliberately making mistakes: startling their prey before he could pounce, blasting skyfi re at inopportune moments, or wobbling shakily in the air though she fi nally mastered basic fl ight. Nothing she tried goaded him from his frigidly polite demeanor. He didn't even deign to correct her, simply ignoring her lapses, well aware of their true purpose. He no longer told her stories as they settled in at night and he physically kept his distance as well, curling up as far away from her as possible while still remaining in the same cavern. He didn't even bid her good night before he dropped off to sleep. Sondra didn't bother to conceal her pain and sadness; she simply laid her own head down and curled up in misery.
For so many cycles that Sondra lost count, things continued like this, until she began to lose hope that she would ever breech the barrier he'd erected against her. He no longer trusted her and he'd taught her enough to survive on her own. Though her heart broke, Sondra decided that the time to find the wizard and renew her old life had come; she couldn't bear remaining with this distant stranger, knowing that the dragon she loved still crouched behind his 107
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walls; nor could she remain a dragon anywhere in the world and know that she could never be with him. She would rather rejoin the human world and try to forget she'd ever had this experience at all. At least then she could be with a family that loved her.
Besides, she still didn't know the duration of the wizard's spell and whether it would even last. Most cycles, she didn't even care if she transformed back into a human in front of him. Perhaps that would shake him from his chilly composure. Some cycles she wished that she would change, just to break through the frozen calm with which he treated her. Still, she didn't confess the truth to him because a part of her still hoped that she could win past his guard and earn his love. If she told him the truth, he would expel her from his lair or at the very least insist on helping her locate the wizard and become human again. Then he would leave her forever.
The cycle came when she'd finally made up her mind to leave. She decided that she wasn't going to go without getting some answers first. She wanted to know about the fire god, and she decided that he would answer her whether he liked it or not. When they awoke at sunbirth, she confronted him about what Rubeliara told her.
"Tolmac, are you a dragon or a god?" she asked when she'd finished explaining about what she'd heard. Tolmac looked surprised at the question.
"You ask that as if the title matters. Dragon or god? Are they not one and the same, at least as far as most creatures are concerned?"
"You know what I mean! Are you the god of fire, do you control the fire element in this world?"
"I possess an affinity for fire, which you already know, so if I wish, I can control the fire element just as you can summon storms and direct your skyfire.
I am a dragon; perhaps at one time humans, who often make foolish mistakes, might have decided I was a god. Such a title is meaningless to me; I neither desire nor seek worshippers. I simply wish to live my life in peace."
"But what of Vivacel and Morbidon---the humans worship them and build temples in their name. Rubeliara said they came to this world with you.
Are they dragons as well?"
Tolmac chuckled, the first sign of humor she'd seen since she left his lair so many cycles ago. "The twins? Yes, they enjoy their role as gods to the humans.
It is their affinity with the spirit realm that draws them to the short-lived humans and they certainly don't mind the worship."
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"Twins! I thought they were lovers, that their union created mankind." Tolmac glanced at her strangely. "Why would you think that? You are very young if you do not realize that humans have existed for eons. The Creator made them and scattered them to all the worlds. Did I not tell you the story of Solendar and his human lover? As for Vivacel and Morbidon, even among 'gods'
such a union would be unacceptable. They are twins and they fight mercilessly.
I can't imagine that even they would appreciate such a story being spread about them amongst their followers."
"But it is in their religious writings as told to the prophets."
"You read human religious texts as well? You possess strange tastes in literature. I don't know what they actually prefer from their worshippers. I have never been very close to them. Spirit dragons are strange creatures, as you discovered with the queens of the Circle."
"Then they are dragons, like the queens?" Sondra felt aghast at the thought.
"No of course not; Morbidon and Vivacel are far more powerful than the queens could ever dream of becoming. Besides, they are only half-dragon."
"Half-dragon? What do you mean?"
Tolmac sighed heavily, watching Sondra, and debating whether he wished to open up any more to her when she held back so much of herself from him.
She wanted the story of the five "gods" that piggybacked through his portal with him, but that involved telling her something about his own life. He still harbored anger and resentment toward her that she didn't trust him enough with her secret. Why should he tell her more about himself? Why should he lay open his soul any further to her scrutiny? She had already made it clear that she didn't care for him and that he offered only a means to an end, worthy of her presence but not of her secrets. It shouldn't bother him. In strength, size, and birth he remained superior to her, but her lack of regard for him still cut him deeply, and he didn't want her to have another chance to wound him.
"Tolmac? Please tell me. Tell me about you and the other dragons that pretend to be gods."
"Pretend? Make no mistake, Sondra, in this world the others are gods.
They wield great power and often grant some of it to their worshippers. Vivacel gives her priestesses the gift of healing and resurrection. Morbidon grants his priests the power of death magic. Aquea, Terroc, and Zephrona all reward 110
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their followers with elemental magic. To the humans, they are as good as any of the old gods of this world that they replaced."
"And you, Tolmac? Do you give your followers any powers?"
"I told you, I have no followers, nor do I want them."
"But you can give them abilities?"
"Yes, of course I could grant a human the power to control fire. Why I would ever wish to do that is beyond me."
"Tell me the story behind the gods."
"Why should I, Sondra? What stories have you told me? What about your past, which you guard so carefully? Will you tell me that in return?"
"I cannot, there is nothing important to tell Tolmac. As far as I am concerned, my past doesn't exist; only the present, this moment in time is all that matters to me."
"So you will not tell me."
"I am sorry ..."
"What happened to you, Sondra, that you fear telling me so deeply? I already know you are not of the Kin. What could possibly be a worse secret than that?"
"Please, Tolmac. Don't ask me anymore. Can't we just start from today?"
"No. We cannot."
Sondra shuddered at the finality of that rejection. Tolmac watched her aura darken and roil frantically before drawing into a tiny ball around her heart. Red smoke seeped into the ball and Sondra folded in on herself. To Tolmac's horror, he heard the softly clinking sound of crystallized dragon tears striking the ground. After her near death not once but twice, Tolmac had never seen his little dragon cry, but his own words caused her spirit to bleed and rare dragon tears to fall from her eyes. He couldn't hold out against her any longer. He couldn't keep her at claw's reach if it wounded her so deeply. He raced over to her and folded himself around her, closing his wings over them both and holding her closely in his grasp. His own aura reached out to the tightly clenched ball of her spirit and encircled it gently, soothing away the red smoke of pain.
"Shh, little one, do not cry. I will tell you the story, I promise. Just please do not cry." Crystal tears still dropped into the growing pile, and Tolmac grew desperate, agonized by each perfect drop that fell. "Sondra, forgive me. We can start from today. I don't care about your secret or your past. You are right, what
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happens now is what is important. Please stop crying so that I can tell you the story. I know you love stories and I think you will like this one." Sondra's tears finally stopped and her body relaxed in his arms. He slowly released her and stepped back, putting distance between them because his own body started responding uncomfortably to her closeness. She valued his companionship, which he now knew, but she'd never said she wanted to mate with him. He refused to frighten her with his own desire. He folded his wings, falling back on all fours to watch her as she gathered up her pile of tears in surprise.
She held up the tears. "I wondered why I couldn't cry before. They were very painful to shed. Why are they solid like this?"
"That is something I could never figure out, little one. I only know that I have only cried once in my entire life. You must keep them, hold them somewhere safe, for they possess tremendous powers, far greater than even our own blood."
Sondra tucked the glittering teardrop gems into her cheek pouch, a flap of skin within her mouth where dragons often stored small items of importance, having neither clothing, nor bags, in which to carry their things. Tolmac waited while she settled back.
"You said you would tell me the story?"
"Very well," Tolmac sighed, "I will start with the beginning. The other five 'gods,' as you call them, are Solendar's children." He held up a claw when she made to interrupt. "Please, no questions until I finish as I will probably answer them within the tale itself. Before Cindara banished her soul mate to the Void, he went on a rampage, his hatred for all life driving him to destroy it.
He couldn't hurt the Creator directly so he struck out at his creation instead, primarily the humans. He hated them the most of all because of their frailty and mortality, the very things that took his human woman from him. He didn't kill them all though."
Tolmac paused, certain his soft-hearted little dragon with her fondness for the fragile humans would dislike the next part of the story. She watched him expectantly.
"Solendar raped many human women." She gasped in horror as he expected, and he continued. "He did not take human form to do this, instead he remained as a dragon and most of the women died from the ... act." Sondra couldn't speak, shocked by the stark and horrible image of tiny women attacked 112
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by a massive dragon, one she guessed would be larger even than Tolmac himself.
They must have suffered greatly before their tragic deaths.
Tolmac continued. "Some of the humans survived the brutal attacks, and four of them gave birth to half-human, half-divine dragon children. Cindara sought out all of the children and took them to her realm to raise them."
"She raised his children? That was very good of her."
"She is a force of goodness, but her actions were not entirely altruistic. She feared that Solendar could influence his own bloodline even from the Void, and since his offspring possessed their own considerable abilities, she wanted to insure that they were raised as champions of goodness and justice and would not succumb to the evil of their father."
"And you? Where do you fit in?"
"I am coming to that, little one. I am Cindara's child, sired by a fire dragon, one of the many consorts gifted to her by the Creator in way of an apology, I suppose. She raised me from a chick and I found myself in the company of her other charges from time to time."
"So you're a full-blooded dragon?"
Tolmac snorted. "Of course, isn't it obvious? Let me continue ... Solendar's spawn traveled to many different realms with Cindara's assistance, as they could not make their own portals---only Cindara's direct bloodline can do so.
They forever sought a place to call home, a place where they could find peace and acceptance despite their unusual traits. They often took human form and attempted to live among the human settlements that cluttered the cosmos, but discovered that humans distrusted those who held too much power. Inevitably they returned to Cindara's realm, each time growing more discouraged more bitter, more disenchanted, more like their father. Cindara began to fear that they were slowly regressing into darkness. By this time, I stopped in to her realm for a visit and she asked me to take them all on my next migration. It appeared she'd seen the world I planned to travel to and felt they might find their purpose here. So I brought them and they scattered as soon as we arrived.
We all made our own way here and though they plague me from time to time, I don't see them often."
"So they found their purpose in acting as gods?"
"The old gods of this world were dying out, and the humans descended into chaos and fearful superstition, some even sacrificing their children to the harvest or shedding their own blood to the full moon. Solendar's children
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gave them hope again in the form of faith and belief and in turn they found a purpose and a home."
"What are they like, Tolmac? You've met them; what do they look like and act like?"
"They look however they wish to. They can choose any form they desire, and they often suit their appearance to the occasion. They rarely ever choose the form of a dragon, though Morbidon does form an excellent bone dragon when the mood takes him. As for their personalities ... they differ greatly from one to the next. Vivacel is arrogant and impetuous but filled with vitality; she accomplishes a great deal without appearing to make any effort at all ..."
"Is she beautiful?"
"What do you mean? Beautiful how? Her dragon form is a nice silvery-white and perfectly proportioned but that is simply because she can look any way she wants. She usually takes the form of a human woman for her followers.
I suppose that form holds a certain ascetic value."
"Oh. You wouldn't find her human form attractive, would you?"
"Not particularly. Now, you wanted to know about their personalities. Let me finish. Morbidon, her twin brother, is dour and serious, but disgustingly noble. He has very little sense of humor that I can see. Terroc is far more entertaining; he loves practical pranks and plays them often, but he can be very serious when necessary. Zephrona, with her affinity to the air element, unsurprisingly behaves in a flighty and unreliable way. Aquea possesses many moods and, though often temperamental and demanding, she has a good side and especially favors all sea-faring humans."
'There, I have described them all. Be grateful if you never need come into contact with them because even though they have been raised by Cindara, they still harbor their father's blood within them and are capable of hurting or killing you on a whim. As far as they are concerned, that is the prerogative of gods."
"Thank you, Tolmac. You tell an excellent story, and now I know so much more about this world than I ever did before. I would love to meet Cindara someday."
"All dragons meet Cindara someday, little one, but you don't want that day to come too soon. You have already come too close to meeting her early as it is.
You have an unfortunate habit of placing yourself in mortal peril." Sondra couldn't disagree with that. She wondered where she would go if 114
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she did die in dragon form. Would she see the great Cindara then, or would she still travel to Morbidon's kingdom like all of the other humans of this world, to be reborn again?
"I have a special hunting trip planned for next sunbirth, Sondra. You have explored too far to the south on your own. I wish to take you farther up north than we have traveled previously. There is an excellent herd of cattle there, the likes of which I doubt you've ever seen. Rest up; you will need your strength for the flight."
Tolmac curled up, closer to Sondra than he'd been in many cycles. Once again Sondra put off leaving him; now that he'd given her a second chance, she fell back to hoping and praying that the wizard's spell lasted permanently, or at the very least persist long enough for her to find him and ask him to transform her into a dragon forever. Her eyes moved hungrily over Tolmac where he slept.
She didn't think she could ever bear to leave him now.
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The next cycle, Tolmac proved true to his word, and they set off to the north, traveling well past her very fi rst training site and the unicorn-infested valley. Th
e sight of the world spread out like
a colored map below Sondra entranced her as the air rushed past her heated scales. Th
e jagged tops of the mountains marched like endless teeth across the ground below, appearing nearly fl at from the distance. Here and there, rivers wound through the mountains like delicate ribbons twisted across the untamed land. Th
e entire world sparkled with color and vitality because beside her Tolmac glided, his impressive wingspan casting a dark shadow on the mountainous region below, his gaze constantly scanned his surroundings, ever alert for danger. From time to time, Tolmac would fl ap his huge wings and push himself until he soared to a higher altitude, scouting the horizon and seeking out their ultimate destination. Sondra watched him go, maintaining her own position as she simply enjoyed the feel of freedom fl ying gave her.
Sondra's relationship with Tolmac had changed last night when she rediscovered her ability to cry. The pain of his rejection wounded her far more than anything else that had ever happened in her life, and the hopelessness of her love for him nearly destroyed her. She felt like she died on the inside, and then he came to her, holding her and comforting her. He apologized for hurting her and vowed to ignore her past and forget the secret that remained between them. Surely that meant he loved her? He claimed that dragons only mated to insure their future offspring, but he described Solendar and Cindara as soul mates, even though their story didn't end happily. Dragons must feel some deep emotions, because they did possess the ability to cry, and Tolmac 115
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had already demonstrated his capacity for compassion many times to Sondra.
She had to believe he also possessed a capacity for love.
He rejoined her after another scouting mission, and she broke away from her thoughts, promising herself that soon she would find the courage to tell him that she loved him. She had no idea how he would receive the news, but she knew that he would never hurt her if he could avoid it. He had proved that already.
Sondra watched their shadows pass together over the mountains and valleys as they traveled in companionable silence. Their silhouettes glided close together, their wingtips nearly touching. To her, the sight symbolized everything she desired, her and Tolmac together, free from the world below and all of its demands.
"You are enjoying yourself this morning. I am pleased to see I made an inspired decision to take you on this journey." Sondra glanced over at him; his aura sparkled with gold. It seemed she wasn't the only one enjoying their flight and the brisk morning air parting around them. "I am having a good time, Tolmac. It's beautiful here! The mountains seem so small, more like ripples in green water than massive peaks."
"Much different from the last time I took you over the mountains, little one."
Sondra laughed, unaware that gold shot through her aura at the memory of Tolmac lugging her over the mountains so he could teach her to hunt without frightening the human inhabitants of Ariva Valley.
This journey north consumed several cycles. For Sondra, it was the first time she'd ever spent the night out under the stars since she was a child. Tolmac planned for them to reach the edge of the green land just before it sank into the Frozen Sea before the third sundeath, allowing them plenty of time to hunt from the herd of herbivores he promised Sondra tasted better than anything she'd ever eaten. Along the way, Tolmac told her about the frost dragon he once encountered. To Sondra's surprise, even Tolmac avoided frost dragons and this one nearly defeated and killed him. Sondra could not imagine the kind of dragon that could ever harm him. According to Tolmac, frost dragons once looked and acted just like other dragons, but when the war between Cindara and Solendar came where she banished him to the Void, all the dragons in existence chose to side with one divine dragon or the other. The frost dragons descended from the dragons that sided with Solendar.
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Those that Cindara did not banish to the Void with their master, she cursed, stripping them of their fire, their heat, and their status as dragons. She consigned them to a barren existence in the coldest places of the universe as punishment for siding against her. Because of this, they held no fondness for other dragons and attacked without provocation when one entered their frozen territory. Though not as strong as ordinary dragons, much less a dragon such as Tolmac, the bitter cold they lived in and controlled served them far better than claws and teeth as an effective defense and offense. While normal levels of heat and cold rarely affected Tolmac and most dragons, he explained that extreme cold forced all of Cindara's chosen dragons into an involuntary hibernation after only a short time, long enough for a frost dragon to kill them. The cursed frost dragon that Tolmac encountered lived at the very top of the world, in the region of frozen spires referred to by local human nomads as "Aquea's teeth," aptly named for the water goddess who sheltered the frost dragons within her frozen womb.
Fascinated as she was by the tales of the frost dragon and the far north, Sondra was even more entranced by what she saw beneath her as she flew over the endless ranges of mountains that separated the valley from the northern lands. For miles and miles those lands appeared constructed entirely of mountains, yet tiny settlements spread out like miniatures on their inaccessible peaks, or tucked in small valleys. The majority of the human dwellings boasted animal-hide tents, and as they flew, they often accompanied herds of the agile and sturdy mountain sheep and goats that roamed the area.
Twice, they flew over stone edifices; one small stone building that Tolmac didn't recognize and, farther out, perched on the very top of one of the highest mountains and only reachable from the ground by a winding, treacherous trail, stood a large stone building carved out of the very top of the mountain itself.
Tolmac claimed that the nuns of Vivacel made their home here high in the mountains because they practiced the art of resurrection, which Morbidon despised and treated as theft. The nuns so feared his wrath that they chose a location as far from the underworld realm of the god as they could, lest he send his reapers to destroy them and the knowledge they held.
Sondra wished for just a moment she could fly down to the temple and speak with the nuns there. She spotted a few working in a sparse garden; their white robes bright and vivid against the gray stone of the mountaintop. They glanced up at the shadows looming overhead but seemed unsurprised and 118
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unafraid at the passage of the two dragons; one tiny figure even waved before turning back to her work. Sondra commented on their lack of fear and Tolmac explained that the nuns often saw him when he hunted and even hailed him from time to time. There followed a flash of something in his mental voice that spoke of some previous experience, but Sondra missed the chance to ask about it as he quickly banked and headed off in an oblique direction, leaving the nuns and their temple of forbidden knowledge behind.
Sondra struggled to ignore the jealousy she experienced at discovering yet another part of Tolmac's past that belonged to someone or something other than herself.
After two cycles of gliding flight, they reached the end of the mountain ranges; Sondra tried to calculate how long the journey would take on foot and the distance boggled her mind. She found it little wonder that her people possessed no knowledge of what lay beyond Terroc's Ring to the north. Their journey brought them to a verdant flatland that stretched before them, covered with grasses and small, tented settlements. Herds of wild herbivores grazed on the plentiful grasses that made them round and fat.
The dragons avoided the human settlements, though the shadow of their passing created havoc with the people below. Sondra witnessed humans in animal skins pouring out of their tents as the dragons flew past. Their effect on the humans failed to approach the reaction of the slow-moving, shaggy-coated herbivores that neither Sondra nor even Sir Pilphragm ever catalogued. The sight of the dragons galvanized the herds and sent them charging recklessly away. Their speed, so much slower than the fleeter-footed mountain sheep the dragons hunted previously proved no match for the winged goliaths and it wasn't long before both hunters ate their fill and began scouting a place to rest for the evening.
Sondra admitted to Tolmac that those creatures did taste better than anything she'd ever eaten before and he gloated, disgustingly satisfied with the success of this journey. As they selected a location to rest, Tolmac reminded her again that even dragons must consider safety when choosing a place to camp beyond their lair. Sondra knew from personal experience that other dragons posed a very real threat to her continued well-being. Before the wizard enchanted her, she had spent her entire life secure behind castle walls. Since becoming a dragon---supposedly stronger, faster, and more magical---she'd experienced more peril than anything she'd ever encountered as a fragile human.
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She'd seen for herself that dragons shouldn't live as humans do, clustering together for safety, but she wondered if Tolmac ever considered that sometimes just two dragons could protect each other far more than one alone.
Tolmac taught her many camouflage techniques during her training; shifting her scale pigment to blend into her surroundings proved her favorite by far. Not only did she enjoy the process of changing her appearance as much as she had as a human, but she found that she could will her scales to take on almost any color, and she practiced forming tapestry-style images on her stomach that left Tolmac groaning at her immaturity. Tolmac chose boulders to conceal his presence. Most humans ignored a dragon-shaped rock, but wouldn't hesitate to hack away at a harmlessly sleeping dragon. Other dragons couldn't spot a dragon's telltale aura from an aerial perspective, so they also tended to overlook a large, lumpy boulder.
On this hunt, they flew farther north for a few hours and reached the coastline, where the chill bit deeply even through their scaled armor, and towering boulders marred the rocky shore. Tolmac settled against a particularly substantial boulder and Sondra watched, amazed as always, at the way his black scales shifted and changed to blend with the stony gray of the boulder. She could still see his aura from where she crouched, but for any other observer he would appear as just another enormous rock on the beach. Sondra shivered a little. For the first time since becoming a dragon she registered the cold stealing away her body heat, and she barely hesitated when Tolmac motioned her closer.
She curled against his warmth and with his guidance shifted her own color to match the rocks. Then she settled in to sleep, as he had done.
Sleep beckoned but her thoughts kept her awake. The warmth of the male dragon against her side distracted her in ways she barely understood but knew on a primitive level. She wanted him badly, though she wasn't entirely certain what that entailed. She knew that people mated and animals mated but didn't understand the actual process. Even a father tolerant of her boundless curiosity would never allow a virgin princess to study that sort of logical subject. Sondra had culled some information from the gossip of servants and overheard comments by the guards but none of it made any sense to her. She'd only ever been kissed by Derek and those kisses had been very nice, in fact they had made her entire body tingle and crave his touch.
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her beyond the physical male--female dragon dynamic they'd both experienced from the start. Sondra loved him with her mind but she felt something else as well---she craved him. She felt possessive of him, of his presence and his time. She wanted to claim him as her own, body and spirit. She wanted him to belong to her and her alone and she wanted to keep him with her forever. She'd never felt that way about anyone, not even Derek, whom she once believed herself madly in love with.
Sondra's thoughts melted into dreams. She wanted to scream in frustrated pleasure, knowing without understanding that something even better waited just beyond her reach. She writhed against him, her scales rasping across his body, igniting wherever they touched. His dark, seductive chuckle rippled through her mind, jolting her with desire, even as he pleased her without ever truly satisfying her. She struggled against the hold of sleep, eager to turn her dreams into reality but she could not escape the shivering pleasure. Suddenly the dream faded just as quickly as it had come upon her, leaving her cold and frustrated with unfulfilled passion. She slipped into a deep slumber and slept through the remainder of the night.
Tolmac fought his own yearning in his dreams, so close to taking advantage of the trusting young dragon beside him that he nearly pushed both of them over the edge. Ever mindful of his greater experience and the responsibility he took upon himself to protect the naïve storm dragon, Tolmac could not give in to his own wishes now. When and if he ever mated with Sondra, it would be at her request. He knew he could influence her with little effort and she would beg him to take her, but he didn't want her like that. For the first time, Tolmac cared if the female he wanted to mate with really desired him in return---and not just a clutch of eggs.
The next morning, Tolmac announced that they would return to the lair. He had enjoyed their outing nearly as much as she did, amused at seeing everything through the eyes of her inexperience rather than his own jaded point of view. Still, he didn't like lingering so close to the frozen sea and the island of ice beyond in case the frost dragon still held that territory. Sondra possessed an uncanny knack for finding danger, and the thought of her falling prey to the one creature that had nearly ended his own life sent a chill through him much sharper than the frost's breath.
Sondra, unaware of his concerns and still nursing unsatisfied desire from
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the previous night's erotic dream, leapt into flight without comment, and they winged their way back to Thunder Mountain.
Less than a cycle away from the lair, Sondra reached a decision. The time had come for her to tell Tolmac how she felt. She couldn't hold out any longer, as every night brought her more devastatingly real dreams of passion that never reached fruition. She didn't know if he would willingly welcome her in his life forever, but now she needed him so badly that she would gladly risk him casting her aside once they mated. She wouldn't make it easy for him though, since she fully intended to stay with him, regardless of his plans. The thought of leaving him and returning to the human world to live out her mortal life without him caused her stomach to seize and lurch sickly. Now that she understood that magic existed and the myths and fairytales held true, she no longer had her work studying logic as an outlet for her time. She knew she would find life as a princess unbearably boring after all that she'd seen and done, and she would never sleep peacefully another night in the castle when her heart and her body still craved the dragon in the mountain. When they arrived at Thunder Mountain and alighted on the ledge outside his lair, she worked up the courage to confront him with her desire.
"I don't want to leave you." She blurted abruptly, afraid that if she hesitated, she would never say it all. He turned from his study of the distant valley below to glance at her.
"Leave? Why would you even think of leaving at this point? I still have much to teach you, little one, especially since you always manage to embroil yourself in peril when left to your own devices. I cannot have that on my conscience!" Tolmac teased before turning away again, his attention returning to Ariva Valley and something he sensed there.
Sondra failed to respond to his teasing, instead she tried to make him understand, fighting past the nervous churning in her stomach and the nearly painful lust clenching her gut.
"I mean I want to stay with you. I don't want to leave you ever." She waited, her heart pounding, fearing she would die if he rejected her or did something stupid like pat her head like a child. If he did that she would rip his wings off!
Instead, his head swung toward her and his eyes blazed with a fiery light, brighter than she had ever seen. Flames burst out on his body, a tracery of fire moving beneath his obsidia scales. Suddenly she had his full attention.
"What did you say?" he demanded, his mental voice harsh and strangled.
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He closed in on her. She shivered, but not from fear. The heat pouring off of him was not anger, and even in her inexperience she recognized his pure masculine desire. It sparked an answering need in her own body, literally causing sparks to zip off her wingtips and shoot along her scales.
"I said," she tilted her head back, her lids lowering over her golden eyes, exposing her long slender neck to him, "I don't want to leave you ever. I want to stay with you. I want you..."
This last whispered thought barely registered before he grabbed her throat with his powerful jaws and pinned her against the rock face of the mountain, his forked tongue caressing the stretch of neck he gripped firmly but gently in his mouth. His facile tongue teased the tender flesh of her throat ring and Sondra felt the heat of flames brush her scales as his breathing grew labored. She spread her wings, angling her back to him, her body instinctively responding to his own in a nearly undeniable urge to mate.
Sondra's body shivered and sparked, and her wings quivered as he moved behind her. He opened a mental link between them, nearly swamping her as she experienced his excitement pouring through the link, followed by a vast web of emotions, images, and memories that threatened to ensnare her before he pulled himself back under control. One emotion stood out and surged between them. She felt something deeper than love rushing through the link; something primal, hot, and hungry that dwarfed the gentle, more peaceful emotion so glorified by humans. Tolmac wanted her---wanted to possess her---
a possession not just of the body but also of the spirit.
Sondra roared in ecstasy, certain now that he wanted her as she wanted him, not just now but for all eternity. Tolmac threw part of himself through their linked minds; for the first time in his very long life willing to be possessed, unafraid of the consequences of belonging to someone else; the same sort of vulnerability he spent his entire life avoiding.
Sondra responded by casting her own spirit to him in return, and he held her, caressing her as no one else could, her spirit fluttering within his own vast and shadowy mind like a brilliantly colored butterfly. Consumed by their mating, Tolmac didn't spare time to study the memories, emotions, and thoughts coming through her end of their link. Perhaps it would not have mattered if he did at that moment, because she belonged to him body and soul, and he didn't hesitate to enslave himself to her, shouting his true name through their link, the power of it unspoken since his mother whispered it into his
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spirit at the moment of his hatching. Other dragons squandered their freedom, losing their true name to wizards and witches and serving them forever because of it. Tolmac had never acted so incautiously before, but he gave it to Sondra without hesitation and asked nothing in return. He forever belonged to her.
The mating was not gentle, physically or emotionally. The two dragons surged into flight together, winged high into the air and then spiraled down, tearing away from each other at the last moment before coming together again.
Their link never wavered, and through it they shared the rapture each felt during their fierce mating. Scales were torn away by grasping teeth and claws, wings were scraped during several near misses with the ground, and muscles were tested by the struggle between two dragons trying to outdo each other in providing pleasure.
Hours passed before both dragons collapsed on the ledge and dragged themselves into the lair to curl up, their bodies and spirits twined languorously around each other. Tolmac had mated many times in his life, but never had he mated like this, never had he given up a portion of himself to another. Dragons did possess the capacity to care for one another, but few ever found a mate they desired enough to risk themselves. Tolmac counted his age in eons and never before had he found another he would gladly follow into death. Now Tolmac understood that death would be far preferable to a life without his mate.
Sondra dreamed terrible nightmares that nearly shook her awake. In her dreams she witnessed men dying, screaming in agony as spears pierced their bodies or swords impaled their skulls. Other men battled for their lives against impossible odds. The men wore the armor of Ariva, and one man stood out among them as he hacked and slashed away at the strangely armored enemies.
His sword and shield an extension of his body, he twisted, swung, and kicked through the enemy, mowing them down with fierce abandon. He used his spiked shield nearly as often as his sword to batter his enemies, leaving bleeding gouges on their faces and great dents in their helmets as he slammed them away from him before he swung his other arm across and slashed through them with his sword.
He bore the standard of Ariva, holding a high rank in their army judging by his feathered helm, but Sondra nearly didn't recognize his face because of the bloody grimace he wore. In shock, she realized that she dreamed of none other than Lord Derek, a man she once believed herself in love with. At first, she wondered if the gods punished her by showing her this nightmare of him 124
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in danger because she so callously forsook him and all those she once treasured, but then she realized that the dream felt too real and that the battle took place at Ulrick Pass, a place she knew about but never traveled to in her sheltered life. Alarm shot through her as she watched men die around Derek and the few other veterans who managed to hold the line. She jerked awake and her distress passed through her link to Tolmac, who woke immediately, alert for threats.
"I dreamt that a war raged in the valley between my---the humans. It seemed so real," she said, shivering.
"This is good; you are learning to spread your awareness while you sleep.
You have spread it very far; the pass you speak of and the battle that goes on there is quite a distance away." Tolmac seemed pleased, unaware that her distress wasn't because of her strange experience but of the actual vision.
"There is a real battle going on in that pass?" Sondra demanded.
Tolmac yawned. "Yes, I sensed it yesterday when we returned, before ..." He looked at her, heat lighting up his red gaze.
Sondra jumped to her feet, shaking loose the parts of him that still coiled around her. "What about the humans? They're dying! We have to help them!"
"What? Why would we do that? They are only humans; they do this sort of thing all the time and they will eventually sort it out. They are not stupid enough to bring their petty wars to us." Tolmac grew astonished at Sondra's distress and she realized that he couldn't possibly understand why she needed to act on behalf of the humans. After their intense intimacy it was now too late for confessions. He would hate her forever for tricking him. And worse, her people died in agony while she actually possessed the strength and ability to aid them. He would never accept her leaving him without an explanation.
She looked at him, feeling his concern and confusion through their link, and she carefully guarded her own agitated emotions. She resolved that she would find a way to help her people and still not reveal the truth to him. She would just sneak out, blast the enemy army, and then return with some equinos and tell him that she wanted to surprise him. It had to work. Just like her time within the Dragon City, circumstances forced Sondra to make a choice and take a horrible risk just to do the right thing. And just as before, the choice wasn't really a choice at all. She could never live with herself, even safely at Tolmac's side, if she sat back and did nothing to save her people.
"Of course, you're right. I have never seen humans up close and it startled
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me to discover myself in the midst of their battle. For a moment I almost felt human." Sondra nearly stuttered mentally from the lie. Tolmac relaxed, though his gaze still remained wary.
"Stay away from humans; trust me, you will be much happier if you do.
They are annoyances who spend their entire short life span dreaming up ways to kill each other," Tolmac grumped.
Sondra grasped at a flicker of memory that passed through their link of a young man with black eyes and long, wild hair and an even younger girl, beautiful and pale in a gentle delicate sort of way, but she lost it before Tolmac turned away and curled up again. She joined him, curled up next to him, but careful not to touch him. He fell asleep within moments and she carefully uncoiled and moved to the entrance, cringing at every sound, shrinking their link to a mere wisp of thought along which she sent all her love and happiness to him. Once through the tunnels and out on the ledge, she took flight, wending her way south to join the fray, hopefully to save her people, without losing her love.
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Just cycles after the dragon attack on the youngest princess of the Ariva royal family, the cycle of the funeral dawned clear and bright. Th
e sun shined as though determined to remind the grieving people of Sondra's bright smile. Everyone in the capital city of Ariva bore witness to the funeral procession, many wiping tears from their eyes while many more searched the sky, wondering whether the dragon would swoop down and snatch up another victim. If any person felt that the young princess had brought her death upon herself because of her beliefs, they weren't foolish enough to speculate aloud.
The previous night, the priests of Morbidon had prepared the remains and erected a funeral pyre at Morbidon's shrine beside the west-facing wall. Just as the sun died every night after its journey through the sky, so did Morbidon's children return to him after their passage through life.
Sondra's funeral procession began at Vivacel's shrine in the eastern wall, the place where most women came to labor and birth their babies. Occasionally a prince or princess took their first breaths there as well when their mothers eschewed the castle shrine for the city shrine. The procession traveled across the city, simulating the passage of the deceased from Vivacel's arms to Morbidon's embrace as the sun itself followed the same path.
Four bearers carried the royal deceased through the streets, although during this funeral they pulled the filmy curtains, concealing what little remained of the princess within. Before the princess lying in state, marched a contingent of the palace guard wearing full ceremonial armor, their breastplates gleaming.
The king, queen, Sarai, and Sergen rode their horses behind the soldiers.
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They wore the best clothing they owned to honor their sister; the morning sun glinted and sparked off jewels, gold thread, and silken brocade. Behind Sondra's remains rode the ladies-in-waiting, their normally giggling stupidity subdued for the occasion. Following them walked the servants that had grown close to Sondra during her life: the nanny, a woman of middle years, plump proportions, and a kind heart, and Liliana, who wept openly, struggling to walk through her mourning. Many palace servants and a final contingent of guards brought up the rear of the procession.
Behind them all, so far distant that he hardly appeared attached to the procession at all, rode a single man, his clothing dark and subdued, but not nearly as dour as the frozen despair and impotent rage twisting his expression.
Lord Derek watched as the procession bore the pitiful remains of his love through the city, and he harbored an intense hatred in his heart, a growth of darkness that he nurtured, surrounded, and protected.
When the procession arrived at the shrine, a Morbidion priest stood and recited his sermon as the bearers placed the remains on the funeral pyre.
"In the beginning, there was the goddess Vivacel, bringer of life and challenge and the god Morbidon, bringer of peace and rest. The god and goddess created a child, which they called man. When the gods split the world into two, the overworld and the underworld, Vivacel and Morbidon fought over their children. They finally decided that man should spend one part of his existence with Vivacel and so we live out our lives here in the overworld. Then man should spend the other part of his existence with Morbidon and so we join Morbidon in death in the underworld. And so follows the never-ending cycle of man, with each child of the gods spending time first with the Mother, Vivacel, goddess of Life and then with the Father, Morbidon, god of Death, before their rebirth to live a new cycle, just as the sun is forever reborn from one cycle to the next."
The priest paused in his recitation of the birth of man, part of the origin story written in the Forbidden Scrolls, and the basis of all religious worship in Ariva and the majority of the civilized southern lands.
"And so, as the sun sets, the princess Casiondra is returned to Morbidon's embrace to bask in her Father's love and the glory of his kingdom before she is reborn anew. Let us not grieve, for this is not an ending for the princess but merely a time of rest before her new beginning. The princess lived a blameless and genteel life and so will rejoin Vivacel's realm blessed in her next destiny." 128
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Those gathered within the temple walls where the remains of the princess lay in state nodded along with the recitation, certain that the princess, despite her heretical ideas about magic, would indeed be reborn into a good life. At the back of the temple shrine, standing with the guards and armored bearers, but separated by an invisible wall of grief, Derek ground his teeth, angry and unmoved by the words of the priest, just as at the front of the temple, the king and queen buried their sorrow beneath rigid masks of polite neutrality.
Sarai sobbed behind her dark veil, and Sergen sat clenching and unclenching his fists, his mind shying away from the thought of never seeing his closest sister again. The images that haunted him at night, the terror and agony she no doubt suffered at the jaws of the dragon, chased him into the daylight hours.
The words of the priest washed over them, providing little solace and leaving their bereavement unchanged.
After the services the mourners each selected a torch proffered by Morbidon's novitiates and cast it on the pyre, setting flame to the mortal remains of the princess whose spirit the priest assured them even now resided in Morbidon's kingdom. The royal family returned to the castle trailed by the nobles and other mourners who joined them there for a feast in honor of the tragically short life of the princess. A bard sang tales about the princess, describing her beauty and unfailing kindness, her intelligence and grace and, most remembered, her brilliant and magical smile. The family struggled to bear up under the strain of their melancholy before their duties ended and they would be free to release their grief in the privacy of their own quarters.
Lord Derek had other plans. He spent the remainder of the funeral meeting with the royal engineers. The four learned men primarily focused on the planning and building of the kingdom's infrastructure, bridges, waste disposal, roadways, and city layout. However, with the current uncertainty regarding the new resource of ginacite, the engineers spent the majority of their busy day designing and drafting plans for war engines. Fortunately, their training in the war-torn southern lands provided them plenty of inspiration for the task at hand. Still, they remained a bit confused at Lord Derek's request for several large ballistae---massive, heavy crossbows the width of two men laid end to end that fired projectiles as long as a horse and as heavy as sapling trunks. This ballista would prove somewhat effective against enemy troops but wouldn't possess the devastating area effect of damage from the catapults, despite the superior range of the ballista. Still, never ones to argue with their
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employers, especially not with the Warlord, the engineers provided the ballista plans to their builders and included the special modifications that allowed for rope attachments to the projectiles.
After ensuring construction for the weapons, Lord Derek made his rounds. He checked in on the new recruits, met with his generals to discuss tactics, and stopped in to provide new orders to the armorer and blacksmith that worked their apprentices half to death completing new armament for the training recruits. Many citizens doubted all of this expense and concern would even prove necessary, but Lord Derek ignored the skeptics and used the king's royal approval to its fullest extent.
The cycles passed, the people cast aside their mourning easily enough, and soon stopped watching the sky in waiting for a dragon to swoop down and carry off the next young maiden. Fears that the monster might demand sacrifices waned, and the kingdom carried on with life. As miners brought forth the first payloads of ore from the ginacite vein, people grew ever more excited by dreams of wealth and comfort.
Only the royal family found their mourning difficult to cast aside and, despite the good news that the vein measured even richer than they previously suspected, a pall remained over the castle.
Lord Derek followed one of his captains down to the dungeons. Captain Georgeff claimed that his men detained a spy they cornered in the Gate District.
According to the guards, the spy had yet to explain his presence or whom he served, but they did confiscate orders from him demanding information about the ginacite vein, Ariva's defenses, and the rumors about the youngest princess.
Deep within the bowels of the castle laid the dungeon, a long neglected and abandoned stone-lined series of chambers belonging to the original fortress.
At one time in Ariva's history the dungeons held all manner of victims and villains, as well as implements of torture, festering disease and rotting corpses.
Those days long passed, the current king's grandfather had ordered the dungeon cleaned out and closed up in favor of the new jail he commissioned within the city for the Citizen's Force. Though conditions there weren't much of an improvement on the old castle dungeon, prisoners held less fear that they would disappear forever behind the jail's walls as so many had within the depths of the dungeon.
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suspicious prisoners be moved from the city jail to the dungeon and held there until he could interrogate them personally. He expected that the news of the ginacite would bring spies out of the woodwork, desperate to discover more information. He just hadn't hoped it would happen so quickly.
They reached the cell where the man stood, manacled against the wall.
His face swelled from his interrogation at the hands of the Citizen's Force guards who originally brought him in. To a casual observer, the nondescript man looked much as any other commoner beneath his bruises, but Derek saw beneath his bland countenance, familiar with his kind from his days as a mercenary. He wasn't so much concerned with what the man knew, but how much he'd already reported to his superiors and who they were. They both knew the man wouldn't leave this dungeon alive. Unfortunately, the spy proved his professionalism, refusing to talk when Derek's guards interrogated him.
Lacking the torture devices removed and destroyed by the king's grandfather, Derek and his men grew creative. The spy finally relented and released some of the information they sought.
Derek discovered that the man worked for Halidor, as he suspected, and he'd prepared and already sent off the reports requested by his superiors. Other than that he had nothing else to add, and he anticipated glory in Morbidon's kingdom for his service. Derek ordered the guards to keep him alive and chained within the dungeon.
"You shall not see your glory yet, spy. I will personally see to it that you live a long and unhappy life locked beneath this castle." Derek leaned in, studying the man's bleeding face, unfazed by his missing eye or the chunks of flesh hanging from his cheek. He contained his irritation that they'd received no more useful information than what little they already suspected from this man. He turned away as the spy spoke again.
"Don't worry, milord. Prince Onian will see to it personally that you rejoin your princess. Or will she ever see the kingdom of Morbidon while trapped in a dragon's belly?" The man chuckled and the guard standing closest to him punched him. He doubled over, grinning evilly at Derek as the Warlord drew his sword and buried it in the spy's stomach so fiercely that it sank several inches into the stone behind him. Derek looked into the man's triumphant dying eye, his own face dark with fury. He pulled the sword from the wall, twisting it in the man's guts, then whipped it free and casually cleaned the blade on the dirty tunic of the dead spy before resheathing it.
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"I want this man's corpse buried in the moat, face down. Allow no prayers for him and no mourners." Derek turned away as the guards unlocked the manacles and dragged the man off. Captain Georgeff fell into step beside him as he strode back to the steps and made his way back to his office.
"It is nothing more than we already suspected, milord," the captain said of the interview with the spy and what little they'd learned.
"Yes, I'm aware of that, Georgeff. I imagine Halidor is not the only kingdom sending new orders to their spies. By now, news of the ginacite will have certainly found its way to the ears of every ruler in the southern lands.
It is no secret that we possess a pitiful number of troops, and Prince Onian, Halidor's heir, will no doubt view Ariva and her newfound wealth as a ripe fruit ready to pluck. I want our own guards to sweep the Gate District and detain anyone suspicious. If they cannot claim relationship to a known citizen, imprison them in the dungeon. My hope is that we uncover another spy who has yet to pass on their report."
"You have a plan, milord?"
"More like damage control, Captain. We will find a way to pass on inaccurate and conflicting information. It probably won't help much but we must do anything we can do to confuse the enemy. It is early yet; Halidor still sends out feelers at this point."
"Shall I pass on a report of this capture to the king, milord?" Derek stopped and regarded the captain for a moment, contemplating his next move.
"No, we don't know enough yet. I have my own informants with their ears to the ground. We shall see what they hear about the other kingdoms. When I have their reports I will officially inform the king myself."
"Very well, milord. I will order my men to begin searching the Gate District immediately."
"Georgeff, search the Market District as well; many strangers come to ply their trade there, and perhaps our men will discover another spy among their number."
The captain nodded in agreement.
"Now to other matters. Tell me, Captain, have your men located the wizard of the Woods yet?"
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the whereabouts of the dragon as well as to locate the wizard in the hopes the old man could assist him in finding the monster. So far his men had met with frustrating failure. The Woods seemed to cast obstacles in their path at every turn, inevitably leading the nervous and superstitious soldiers back to the meadow empty-handed. As for the wizard, no one had yet spotted him or the cottage rumors claimed that he kept there. Like the Woods, it appeared the old man felt no desire to cooperate. Georgeff knew how important Lord Derek considered this information and he hated disappointing his superior.
"We've found nothing, milord," he reluctantly confessed. "The Woods don't wish to reveal their secrets and each time I send men in there, they leave more frightened than ever."
"Hmm, that is ... disappointing, Captain. What of the wizard? Surely you have located his residence. The Woods are not that extensive." The captain felt sweat beading on his brow as duty forced him to deliver another negative report. "He remains elusive. He must know that we seek him, yet he has made no effort to contact our men, milord. We found no cottage, shack, or hovel that could possibly serve as his home. The men found nothing but trees and more trees."
"Damn the blasted old man! Why does he play these games with my men?
We must find that dragon, Captain." Lord Derek smacked a fist into his other palm, angered by the repeated failure of his men to locate any useful information about the dragon and its whereabouts. He held his own suspicions, but they hardly served him at this time.
The captain remained silent, not about to suggest that Lord Derek's interest in the dragon was more personal than his duty to the safety of the kingdom.
They reached Derek's office in the administrative wing of the castle and Derek preceded the captain inside, waving him in after him. "I want another sweep of the wood line and one more search of the Woods themselves, Captain.
We cannot afford another dragon attack."
"But, milord ..." the captain dared to interrupt, "wouldn't our men be better served searching the city for spies and agents of other kingdoms?"
"I have already given you orders to search the two districts I most suspect harbor enemies of our kingdom. We must consider the threat of the dragon as well. We cannot forget that it already claimed one life."
"Yes, but ..."
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"What is it, Captain?" Derek stepped behind his desk and picked up a sheathed dagger lying atop a pile of scrolls and maps. He regarded the unremarkable leather sheath before slowly drawing the dagger, his eyes fixed on the smooth, unmarked blade.
The captain swallowed nervously before finding the courage to continue.
"It is just that the dragon attack claimed only one victim, and no one has seen any sign of the creature since. Ahem ... some people suggest that the attack was an isolated incident." The captain paused as Derek pinned him, his eyes glacial and deadly.
"Do continue, Captain. I wish to hear what else these 'people' suspect." The captain gulped again, wishing he'd kept his silence and not blundered into this uncomfortable situation. "Some people, not myself, of course,"
"Of course. Go on ..."
"They think that perhaps the attack was an act of the magical creatures in response to the young pr---princess's heretical ideas." The captain barely whispered the last words as Lord Derek drew the pad of one calloused thumb over the edge of the dagger blade, calmly regarding the bead of scarlet blood that formed there before replying.
"You should guard your words, Captain. There are those that might view them as treasonous, and you realize that the penalty for treason is death."
"Of---of course; I merely repeat the rumors, milord, an---and only to you.
I thought you should know about them."
"Naturally, this conversation has been ... enlightening. You are dismissed to carry out your duties, Captain." The captain turned to go, grateful for his escape.
"Oh, one more thing, Captain. I trust you will report any more treasonous rumors and the names of those spreading them to me immediately. After all, we wouldn't want agents of the enemy undermining the royal family just as we sit on the precarious brink of war, would we?" Lord Derek lifted his eyes to skewer the other man, now visibly perspiring in fear. "You may go." Captain Georgeff barely closed the wooden door behind him when he heard the thud of the dagger striking the other side. He gasped and hurried off to perform his duties and ensure he never came into close contact with the Warlord again.
Moments later, Lord Derek came to and regarded his destroyed office.
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half and sending scrolls and maps across the room, the drift of papers barely settling even as he regarded the mess around him. His breathing slowed as he grew calm again, irritated by his loss of control---not the first time since the death of the princess. He paced slowly, wading through the kindling that was all that remained of his chair and the tattered fabric left in the aftermath of the destruction of the tapestries. His steps brought him to the corner of the room, to a chest set below his armor stand, the only two items in the office that escaped his enraged fury.
Derek fell to his knees before the chest and reverently opened it. Held within lay his father's uniform, a fine linen in the colors and standard of the Ariva royal family. He pulled out the dress coat and held it up, admiring the carved silver buttons gifted only to the Royal Captain of the Guard, just as he had many times when he'd been a boy. He recalled his father's words, spoken every morning to young Derek as he left to guard the king. "Loyalty, honor, courage, and chivalry, my son; those are the tenets of the knights of Ariva." Of course, there hadn't been true knights in Ariva for generations, but to Derek, an impressionable boy who'd lost his mother at a young age and had only his father to raise him, those tenets became his creed, his reason for striving in the training grounds long after exhaustion set in.
When his father had passed into Morbidon's kingdom, Derek had not wept. Instead, he trained until nothing remained of his grief but his exhausted muscles and his mud-stained clothing. He defeated men twice his size when only a boy, and later he carved a name for himself in the flesh of his enemies in the southern lands. Always he held those four tenets close in his heart. He returned to Ariva, a wealthy and skilled warrior, and the king gave him a title to match his new station in life.
Derek pulled another scrap of fabric from the chest. The spidersilk ribbon gleamed dully in his broad, scarred hand. He remembered vividly how it had looked against Sondra's tawny hair. She'd hardly been more than a child when he'd returned to the kingdom. She'd been a shapely girl of sixteen rotas, neither as slender nor as beautiful as either of her sisters. At first he hardly noticed her, he'd been so taken by her sister Sarai's stunning beauty. But then Sondra skipped up to him and mockingly curtsied, her ribbon falling from her hair.
As he caught it in his hand, moving with his exceptional reflexes, she smiled at him in thanks and Derek's world changed forever.
Her smile stunned him, but it was Sondra herself who won his heart.
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Of course, at first he didn't dare dream of asking for the hand of either of the two unmarried princesses. Despite his new title and wealth, he remained a commoner, and nothing could change his blood. He tortured himself by spending every spare moment with Sondra, finding her both delightfully curious and refreshingly innocent. She seemed to enjoy his company as well and demanded he tell her endless stories of the southern lands and everything he saw there. Derek could not mistake the attraction she felt for him; he'd known the affections of many women since he left Ariva, and he recognized the signs, but he also knew that as a princess, Sondra was more than just a woman; she was a dream that could never happen for him.
Derek caressed the soft silken ribbon, welcoming the ripping pain in his chest as he remembered. Time passed and he fell hard for Sondra as they always managed to find a moment in each other's company. He came to the realization that he couldn't bear it if her father married her off; he couldn't stand to watch her become the wife of another man, one of the arrogant and pompous nobles who still disdained him, despite his wealth and title. He wasn't certain what he would have done, what madness he might have resorted to if such an event came to pass, but he found he needn't have worried. It seemed that the king favored him and, better still, a noble title lay without an heir.
With the flourish of the registrar's quill, Derek suddenly possessed the ability to achieve his greatest dream---the hand of his princess---and he had the king's blessing to do so.
Rage boiled away the pain as Derek remembered the events that stole his love away from him forever. He fought the anger, struggled to harness his deadly rage before he damaged any more of his office. Regaining control, he dropped the ribbon into the chest and softly closed it, flipping the latch and locking the memories away. He turned and surveyed the chaos in his office. He had much to do, but first he must conceal the evidence of his fury. It wouldn't do for the citizens to believe their Warlord didn't have his own emotions in check.
As he tidied up and stacked the broken furniture by the fireplace he glanced out the window, his gaze seeking the Thunder Mountain. He suspected that the dragon even now holed up in the largest mountain in Terroc's Ring. He silently vowed that the dragon's death would come at his own hands, and the princess would be avenged. He turned away from the window and continued his tidying. Later, when the majority of the castle slept, he would return to the royal library, and continue his research on dragons, searching every tome and 136
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scroll if he must for information on the legendary monsters. He spared a brief thanks to his father for paying a scribe to teach him to read and write when he was a boy; the skill would serve him in his quest for vengeance.
Meanwhile, Derek waited impatiently for word from his "friends" residing in the southern lands. If they brought news of the war he feared, he could not begin his quest for vengeance. He hoped his suspicions remained unfounded, aware that his reasons were selfish. He wished to set out immediately for Thunder Mountain and the forbidden zone, damning the consequences of breaching that hallowed boundary. Already, his lance lay prepared, his armor polished, his warhorse awaited only tack. Only a strong sense of duty to the king he respected and the country he loved kept him from riding out that very night.
Things remained quiet for well over a moon-cycle after the death of the princess, and people began muttering resentfully over the conscription decree as their sons, apprentices, and young husbands marched off with the recruitment guard. Still others questioned the expense of the expanding army, certain that any fears the Warlord held about possible invasion arose from the grief-stricken phantoms of a battle hungry ex-warrior craving action. Lord Derek hardly appeared to notice their censure as he struggled through each cycle, impatiently delaying his own quest.
The king did notice the discontent, despite his own grief. Fearing a public outcry, he ordered the royal treasury emptied to pay for a grand party he planned to hold kingdom-wide. The messengers spread the word to every corner of the kingdom that all citizens were invited to the celebration, including the newly recruited soldiers. Royal decrees assured that this party would be the first of many to follow in the wake of the new ginacite trade and all the wealth it stood to bring the kingdom. With the royal debt mounting, word went out and preparations for the great party began.
Throughout the kingdom, from northernmost Clemdale to southernmost Passton, royal servants erected massive pavilions, sewn in a matter of days by harried seamstresses, in every royal park in every major town of the kingdom.
The royal hunters spent each day procuring the meat for the party and the citizens stripped every garden of all blooming flowers. Every bolt of fabric sold out of the milliners' shops as the entire kingdom ordered a new dress or coat for the affair and seamstresses and dressmakers struggled to meet all the orders that came in, while sewing their own dresses and tunics in the evenings.
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Musicians spent their days writing new songs, and performers practiced their art, eager to please the crowds and earn whatever coins the people could spare, from the copper commons to the golden royals and the silver nobles in between.
Near Arivale, miners spent each cycle buried deep in the tunnels as the stone experts carefully inspected and rated the first loads of ginacite before they handed off the stones to the craftsmen to polish, clean, and cut.
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Only seven cycles remained before the grand aff air, when a ragged messenger on a half-dead horse galloped up to the castle gates. Th
e guards hailed him, and he claimed he traveled from the southern lands, the far kingdom of Empiron, and he brought news for Lord Derek and the king.
The guards sent for Lord Derek, who responded with alacrity, knowing that this was the news he waited for. The king and Warlord met the messenger in the council room, alone save for royal guards selected for their long service to the kingdom and the king. The messenger, a former soldier who once fought at Derek's side in the mercenary army, bowed to the king and, once acknowledged, clasped Lord Derek's forearm in greeting.
"Forgive me for arriving so late, Your Highness. It is because of the turn that you served me, Derek, saving my life in battle, that I took such risk bringing you this news, hopefully in time for you to prepare." The king slumped in his chair and rested his forehead on his clasped hands. "So, it is as you feared, Derek," he whispered.
"I'm afraid so, Your Highness," the messenger answered. "Already, Halidor has closed their border to the Ulrick Pass and they approached both Barselor and Vanguard for an alliance."
"Those kingdoms have always warred against each other; why would they ever ally with Halidor?" Derek demanded, well remembering his own days battling as a mercenary next to Vanguard's soldiers against Barselor and Halidor.
"That is an excellent question. Right now, Halidor spreads a rumor 138
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claiming that Ariva awakened a monster through the foolish actions of one of the royals and that the beast might take its vengeance out on Ariva and continue to the southern land kingdoms if it cannot be appeased. Halidor promises that defeating Ariva and casting the royal family to the beast will slake its hunger and send it back to slumbering."
"Surely they can't believe that load of nonsense!" the king demanded, his face purple with outrage.
"It hardly matters what the leaders actually believe, as long as they can provide a valid reason for an alliance to appease their superstitious citizens.
Fear is a powerful motivator for war, and no doubt the citizens of both Vanguard and Barselor even now clamor for the chance to assist Halidor. Of course, Halidor offered up a portion of the ginacite trade to both rulers as an additional incentive for their aid in conquering Ariva. That is no doubt what will ultimately convince the queen of Barselor and the queen of Vanguard to ally with Prince Onian," the messenger continued.
"What of the Priest King? Why is Onian orchestrating this war in place of his father?"
"The old king lies on his deathbed; he has left the kingdom in financial ruin. Prince Onian hopes to use the ginacite to refill the kingdom's coffers and usher in a new golden age for Halidor."
"At Ariva's expense!" the king shouted, slamming his fist down on the table.
"Prince Onian will do whatever it takes to achieve his goals. I have heard that his father's illness isn't natural and only grows worse despite the frequent visits from his doting son. The prince has grand plans for the kingdom and now that his father lies ... indisposed, the prince has the authority to act in his father's stead. Already he is effectively the leader of Halidor."
"Damn! Onian is far more dangerous than his aging father. He will not be easily dissuaded from his course of action and he can be very persuasive when he desires something." Lord Derek started pacing. Onian slowly poisoning his father explained why the spy referred to the prince rather than the ailing priest king when he confessed. It was sheer bad luck that Ariva discovered the ginacite just as Onian prepared to take control of Halidor and needed a large amount of capital to reverse the toll his father's reign took on their kingdom.
"Does he have any weaknesses that we can exploit before he has a chance to descend on us?" The king looked briefly hopeful.
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"Unfortunately, I don't know of anything that will stop him. He follows the radical Morbidion Temple that believes in glory for those who die in battle over all others. He fears nothing that we know of. He has many wives and concubines and cares little for any of them; they serve him and nothing more.
Though he has sired many children, he favors none of them and most of them now serve the Temple and train anyway, so they would not be vulnerable to our agents. Personally, we cannot strike him anywhere that will cause him to call off the attack. If we attempt to assassinate him, then it will almost certainly galvanize the fanatical Halidorians and we will find them fighting for their martyred prince."
The king grimaced at the unpleasant turn of topic. Derek knew that the man, despite serving as king of a nation for many years, didn't have the stomach for some of the more devious and brutal methods of securing peace. He also knew that he would not allow the king's distaste keep him from exploiting all possible alternatives to outright warfare, since Ariva still hardly stood a chance against Halidor alone, much less any allies that might join them.
"What of Barselor and Vanguard?" the king queried. "Can we at least convince them to stay out of this conflict? Is there nothing we can offer them or ... do to them to influence their actions?" The King looked sick, but he kept his head up as he addressed the question to the messenger.
"Queen Garacilla won't join them, Your Highness," Lord Derek assured the King. "I have met her personally. She is young and ambitious, but she is no fool. Her land borders the old empire, fractured by the Wizard Wars, and she requires the bulk of her military just to protect her southern border from the magical mutants that constantly raid her citizens. She does not typically engage in war simply for profit. For her, the cost of the mercenaries she must hire usually outweighs the benefit."
"You are probably right, my lord." The messenger concealed a smile as he spoke the title, amused and pleased by how far his old friend had risen in the world. "Garacilla has her own problems simply maintaining peace with Empiron and holding back the chaos of the old empire. She will be grateful if Barcelor and Halidor simply leave her in peace. Certainly if they both march off to war on Ariva, she wouldn't complain because they'd be out of her hair; but you needn't worry about her joining them."
"And Barcelor?" the king asked hopefully.
"I'm afraid they are a different matter entirely. Queen Isa has a problem
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with her three daughters, who constantly bicker over who will inherit the crown and stand to tear the kingdom apart upon her death. For years, the queen has attempted to convince the priests of Morbidon to reveal the secret to necromantic magic so that she may extend her life indefinitely as a lich queen.
Up until now they have refused since they strongly object to female rulers and Barselor's attitude toward her male citizens. However, the prince holds more modern views than his father and the old high priests of Morbidon's Temple.
If he desires Barselor's assistance, he will promise Isa her ritual and her undead immortality. We can almost guarantee Barselor will ally with Halidor, and that is a problem. Isa doesn't have a powerful army but her engineers designed and built superior war machines and siege engines. They can also overcome the logistics of transporting their heavy equipment, thanks to a series of clever mobile bridges. I have seen their more peaceful constructs in action and it is a truly awe-inspiring sight; they have overcome obstacles we haven't even encountered yet. Fortunately for us, even they have not devised an effective method to cross Terroc's Ring." The messenger felt pity for the king as each bit of information he passed on served only to highlight the apparent hopelessness of their situation.
"Does Isa have any weakness?" asked the king hopelessly.
"Besides her three daughters, I cannot think of any personal vulnerability.
If we had access to magic to extend her life we could promise it in return for her alliance against Halidor, because as I said, they do not approve of each other.
Striking at her three daughters would prove difficult, but I am not certain that she would be upset over their peril; she might even thank us if we eliminated them. Rumor has it that they are ... unpleasant."
"We have no such magic and I would not even know where to begin to find it. Ariva has not needed magic of any kind in so long that I fear we have all forgotten what it was like to use it. Even our own priests and priestesses find their spells lacking the strength and potency that history claims they once possessed." The king dropped his head into his hands in defeat.
"We are not defeated yet, Your Highness. We also boast some of the best engineers from the southern lands. I have taken the liberty of shifting their responsibilities from civil projects to war machines, and our builders have worked tirelessly on their designs. I have also taken the liberty of sending for free mercenaries." Lord Derek dared to hold up a hand to halt his king's protest.
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the investment is well worth it. Our own men don't stand a chance against veteran warriors despite the intense training we are giving the new recruits.
These soldiers served in the same wars I did, and I know many of them personally. I can assure you they will make a difference in our numbers; one of them counts as ten of our new soldiers in terms of skill and experience."
"When do they arrive?" the king asked, resigned to the necessity of the expense.
The messenger grinned in anticipation.
"One of them is already here, Your Highness," he said bowing.
"The others should arrive at Ulrick Pass within a few cycles; they already know to travel through Bladen's borders and move in stealth. I believe a group of them are disguised as a troop of jongleurs coming to perform for the grand party," Derek answered.
"You must have suspected we would have need of them some time ago to see them here so quickly, Derek. Why am I only learning of this now?" the king asked, regarding the Warlord.
"Forgive me, Your Highness, but I did have strong suspicions that were confirmed by several spies detained in the Gate and Market districts. When I received more than one report confirming the rumors, I sent for the mercenaries.
I apologize if I acted precipitously." Derek bowed slightly.
The king slumped back in his seat, realizing that he had put Derek in charge for a reason, and he had not been in any condition to deal with the details of this situation while grieving. He should be grateful to Derek for taking care of it for him.
"You said you detained spies. How much did you learn from them? Where are they, in the city jail?"
"Ah, no, sadly the spies did not survive the interrogation process, and unfortunately they were not as forthcoming as we hoped. We have learned more from my friend here than from the agents of our enemy,." Derek replied.
"Hmm, I would have liked to have spoken with the spies personally, Derek.
You overstepped your authority by executing them without my knowledge." The king agued, but his words lacked any real heat.
Derek bowed again in answer; this time lower, aware that the king wasn't really angry but he must show proper respect for the rebuke in front of others.
The king already allowed more informality than Derek had expected in front of the messenger, and Derek figured it was due to the king's own distress.
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Things certainly were moving out of the realm of the king's own experiences.
He'd played many a game of court intrigue but he'd never been challenged by a war. "Forgive me, Your Highness; I shall inform you immediately if we capture any more agents."
The king waved a hand in acknowledgment, and continued the meeting.
"So, we face not one but two kingdoms eager to batter down our front gates and steal everything my people worked so hard for, including centuries of peace. You tell me that my own army is not up to the task of fighting this battle alone, and you hired mercenaries to assist. We have several war engines to add to our side. Is there anything else, any other plus on our side of the scales, or do we still stand unbalanced against our foe?" The king looked weary; lines of strain, grief, and worry etched his pale skin.
"The Valley of Ariva works in our favor, Your Highness. Recall that we maintain a very defensible position. We need only retain the Pass to win this war. If we hold out long enough, the costs of the venture will outweigh the benefits even for Prince Onian. Recall that his kingdom lies in extreme debt.
He cannot afford a drawn-out war, even with the aid of Barselor. That will also work in our favor. We need not withstand them forever. If we can block them at the Pass and keep them there, we can win against their superior skill and numbers."
"Do we have enough men to hold the Pass once we boost our numbers with your mercenaries?"
"If we pull every fighting man out of the cities and send them to the Pass we should have enough men."
"That means leaving my cities unguarded, vulnerable to attack," the king protested.
"Your Highness, the only attack you need fear is from Onian's armies. Thus far, no one has the ability to breech the mountains surrounding us, and there are no armies we need fear within our boundaries. I will leave the Citizen's Force in the towns and cities to remain alert to any attempts at subversion, but the greatest danger lies at the Pass. I am sorry to say that if our armies fall there, then no amount of guards left in the cities will hold off Onian's soldiers for long."
"So the war comes down to one battle, one chance at success or failure? We either hold the Pass or lose our kingdom to murderous thieves?"
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the messenger nodded in agreement. "Take heart, Your Highness; this will serve us better than having to move troops all around the kingdom. We are the ones who need only wait; Onian must deal with the logistics of mobilizing a mass army and supplying them over miles and miles of territory. We have advance notice and that gives us time to prepare. I used the brief respite when no other kingdoms knew of the ginacite to prepare for just this eventuality. We are not beaten, my liege, nor will we be as long as I yet draw breath." A thought occurred to the king and he wondered why he hadn't considered it before. "What of Bladen? We share a trade alliance with them cemented by the marriage of my own daughter to their youngest prince. Will they consider an alliance of war and add their number to our troops?" He looked hopefully at Derek. The Warlord shook his head sadly.
"We've yet to receive word from Bladen though we sent the missive to your own daughter and her husband when we discovered the ginacite. By now, Bladen will be well apprised of the situation and I fear that they have no intention of involving themselves. I fear they mean to stand back and wait---
and pick the carcass clean in the aftermath." The king let his head drop back on his hands and heaved a sigh. "Well, there is little left for us to do then. We must prepare for war. Call in the herald.
We must send out the word."
"Your Highness, about the grand party---" Derek prompted.
"How long until Halidor marches on my land?" the king addressed the messenger.
"I am not entirely certain, but the word I received during my brief stay in Halidor was that the troops planned to mobilize before the start of the next moon-cycle."
"That gives us twenty-five cycles; the party happens in seven. We will continue with our plans for the grand party."
"But, Your Highness ..." Lord Derek interrupted.
"This may be the last chance our people have to celebrate, Lord Derek.
Would you take that away from them? Whether we win or lose, there will be a great cost to my people." The king bowed his head, but not before Derek caught the glitter of tears in his eyes. Derek motioned to dismiss the messenger and bowed to the king.
"I will send the herald, Your Highness, and begin my preparations immediately." Derek watched, as the king remained slumped with his head
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bowed. He wanted to add something else encouraging, but there wasn't much left to say; he could only hope the measures he'd taken would make a difference in the end. He turned his back on the king's misery and quietly exited the chambers, waving the royal herald in to confer with the king.
Derek's old comrade-in-arms met him outside the chambers and motioned for the man to follow him. They headed for Derek's office. Derek still had things he needed to discuss with the seasoned veteran. He only hoped the other mercenaries he sent for arrived as quickly as they promised; the fate of Ariva might very well rest be resting on their shoulders.
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A mere two sun cycles after the order to mobilize the troops, a creaking, battered carriage drawn by a pair of exhausted horses pulled up to the castle gates. Th
e carriage's occupant was accompanied by
only a scruff y and shifty-eyed mercenary guard and an aging and foul-mouthed coachman. A veiled young woman poked her head from the carriage window in response to the gate guard's request for identity. She lifted her veil to reveal none other than the princess Elona. Th
e guards hastily opened the gates and
allowed the carriage and outrider to proceed within.
Once within the courtyard the royal steward appeared and assisted the heavily pregnant princess from the rickety coach. An ancient pinch-faced matron emerged after the princess's painful and awkward descent and demanded payment for her services as chaperone to the princess. Once servants secured the single trunk and the steward paid off the disreputable hired escorts and sent them on their way, the princess was conducted within the castle to her former chambers, which servants hastily aired and prepared. More servants scurried about laying out a meal.
The princess, travel-weary and sore from the rough ride and her advanced pregnancy, set herself down heavily, grateful that the ground beneath her no longer bucked and rocked, and she ate heartily. Soon, the efficient steward sent a lady's maid to assist Elona in bathing and changing and her family received word that she had returned, alone and unexpected. The princess collapsed into a freshly changed bed to rest.
By sunbirth the following cycle, Elona awoke, refreshed and full of energy despite the demands of her bulging belly. Back home, surrounded by those 146
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things she'd claimed too childish to take with her upon her marriage, Elona looked around and for the first time in a very long time she felt like her old authoritative self. The chamber maid scurried busily about the room, setting the few meager belongings Elona brought with her into their proper places whilst the lady's maid, hastily promoted from the chambers, shakily assisted the princess in dressing. Elona grew impatient with the girl and snatched the overdress out of her hands, pulled it over her head, and thrust her arms through the sleeveless garment. The maternity sack dress split over her massive belly and fell to either side. She swept up a filmy shawl and arranged it artfully about her slender shoulders, pulling her auburn braid out of the way, all while she snapped orders at both harried girls. Checking her appearance in the polished silver, she powdered her face, attempting to brighten the darkness beneath her eyes and disguise the lines of strain on her otherwise flawless skin. She barely finished restoring her appearance to its normally glowing and vibrant beauty when a peremptory knock announced the arrival of her family.
Sarai entered the room first and Elona clenched her fists at how exquisite her sister looked; she hated admitting that her sister appeared lovelier than herself. But, she reminded herself, she is so quiet and shy; she blends into the walls despite her beauty, unlike me. Everyone knew that Elona's vibrancy, arrogance, and sense of command drew all eyes to her more often than not.
Elona rose, slowly, struggling to maintain a semblance of grace despite the awkward belly, and waved her sister in.
"Tell those fools to wait in the sitting room. I'll not have them chattering and interrupting all the time," she said, when Sarai's entourage of ladies tried to follow her into Elona's chamber. Sarai waved them out and stepped in to close the door and study her sister. Elona stood impatiently.
"Well---" she said, tapping her tiny foot in its worn silken slipper.
"You look beautiful, your pregnancy becomes you." Sarai stepped closer and then enfolded her sister in a fierce hug. "I am so glad you came home." Elona stood frozen, stunned by the show of affection. Many people in her life admired her beauty, and some even admired her strong and aggressive personality, but very few people in her life loved her or showed her true affection. She'd forgotten what it felt like to be surrounded by a family's love.
It had been a long time. Cautiously she raised her own arms to awkwardly encircle her sister. She pulled away a few seconds later and fussed with her gown, straightening the front and brushing at the fabric. It gave her time to 148
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blink away foolish, sentimental tears. She had no time for such nonsense, and her pregnancy seemed to increase her vulnerability to waterworks, something she so rarely indulged in before she found herself with child.
"You shouldn't have made the trip though, Elona. It's so dangerous, especially in your condition." Sarai looked wistfully at Elona's swollen tummy.
"Nonsense, my baby son is tougher than a little bit of bumpiness on the roadways. Besides, I received your message, and I knew I just had to come." Her answer distracted Sarai for a moment. "How do you know you are having a son?"
"Because that's what I asked for, of course."
"Asked for? Who did you ask, your husband?"
"Don't be ridiculous. That oaf demanded a son; I wouldn't even have to ask him for such a thing. You aren't asking important questions, Sarai. You always did waste your time on frivolous pursuits. You should ask me why I had to come, what was so important that I came here despite my advanced pregnancy."
"Why did you know you had to come?" another voice asked. The king crossed his thick arms over his chest, awaiting the answer to his question, certain that his eldest child planned some mischief and in no mood to countenance her and her troublesome nature at this time. The queen joined him; the remainder of Elona's family having entered while Sarai greeted her sister. Sergen poked his head around his father, eager to catch a glimpse of the sister he barely knew but whose reputation alone terrified him.
Elona turned to her father and mother, clasped her hands in front of her, her elbows resting on her stomach. "Well, I see nothing has changed. I would say it was good to see you again, Father, but that would be a lie, wouldn't it. I can see that the feeling is mutual, as usual."
"Oh, Elona, you know that is not true. Your father has been under a great deal of strain and worry. He didn't mean to..." the queen replied.
"Don't tell me what I meant; the girl better have a good reason for risking her health on those terrible roads between here and Bladen," the king insisted, standing his ground despite his internal embarrassment at his poor treatment of his daughter. He had been rather brusque, but pride kept him from admitting it.
"I suppose I had better not delay my news or I shall find myself thrown in
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the sewage ditch." Elona glared at her father, noting the new lines of weariness on his face and hating that she cared enough to feel bothered by them.
"I insist that you two stop this nonsense at once. You are always welcome here, my dear, this is still your home," the queen soothed.
The king refused to repeat the invitation. It hardly mattered what he said; he knew as well as the queen did that he wouldn't cast his daughter out of the castle.
"Go ahead then, tell us what brought you here on a reckless journey, alone and risking the babe you carry. I hope the news you bring was worth the risk." Elona raised her head and glowered down her nose at her father. Sarai wished the two could see just how much alike they were.
"Well, forgive me, Your Highness, if I felt that the news that Prince Onian offered King Arctuor a lucrative trade contract to ally with Halidor against Ariva might prove important enough for me to risk this trip. Perhaps I erred in judgment, believing you might find this information worth consideration."
"What! By what right would they move against us? We have had nothing but peaceful trade and cultural exchange between us for centuries."
"I did not say that Bladen accepted the offer, only that Onian extended it. As for what King Arctuor will actually do, I cannot say. I do not know my father-in-law very well since my husband and I spend the majority of our time on our royal estates in Blades' Edge, away from the court."
"Yes, now that you mention him, where is your husband? Why hasn't he made this dangerous journey with you? My men say you arrived with hired help and no other accompaniment besides an old crone that took to her heels the moment she received payment. Why would he not accompany you or see you off with more suitable arrangements?"
"My husband returned to court to be at his father's side during this time of political tension. We received news that the border would be compromised at Ulrick Pass and I could not wait for him to make other arrangements or I would risk the Pass closing off altogether. So I made my own arrangements and here I am." Elona stood proudly, facing down her father. She carefully glossed over the terrifying escape from her virtual imprisonment at the hands of a tyrannical and abusive husband just hours after he left the estate to return to the court of his father.
Her father narrowed his own eyes, studying his eldest child, the one he often credited for most of his gray hair. He knew that her story was half fiction 150
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and the other half a downright lie, but was unable to prove it or fathom the truth behind it. There was more here that she failed to tell him, but he couldn't dwell on it while a war brewed on his front steps.
"Very well, you must stay here, of course. You will certainly not be traveling in that condition. We shall send a courier to let your husband know you arrived here safely." At Elona's abrupt movement, which she quickly checked, he raised his eyebrow imperatively. "Do you have a problem with that?"
"Of course not, Your Highness. By all means, send the missive. My husband must know that I am well. We wouldn't wish for him to worry." She curtsied clumsily and the king nodded as well.
"Darling, are you well?" The queen stepped forward, throwing her husband a quelling glance as she reached her daughter's side and led her to a lounge, settling her in solicitously. Sarai rushed to her other side and plumped up the pillows. The king found the grace to blush guiltily before he glanced over at his son, as uncomfortable as he himself. Both men shuffled and sidled before pulling up chairs around the lounge. The queen and Sarai had already seated themselves by Elona and the queen sent the lady's maid for refreshments. It appeared they planned to visit.
The king made motions as though to escape, but the queen's icy glare stopped him. "I hope you have not overtaxed yourself, my dear. You are very far along and a pregnancy is so exhausting on a woman." The queen shot the king a fresh look of censure. Elona covered her amused smirk behind one slender hand before replying.
"Well, Mother, I do feel somewhat tired. It has been a busy and strenuous five-cycle. And my son does make many demands on me." Elona fluttered her eyelashes and cast a gloating look her father's way.
He ground his teeth and crossed his arms over his barrel chest, loathe admitting he might have handled things badly when he greeted his daughter.
She did look tired, pale, and drawn; her stomach distended almost obscenely, overwhelming her slim body. However, the King couldn't picture Elona as weak, timid or ill. She had never been so; she had always been full of life and vitality and never failed to engage in a fight or shouting match with her father.
He remembered when the guards caught her dressed as a page, swinging a wooden sword at the straw targets on the training grounds. He well recalled the way she never missed a target during archery, a sport generally considered suitable enough even for ladies. There was nothing ladylike about her unerring
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aim or the way the slender missile always seemed to deal massive damage to its target. She acted arrogant, bossy, sometimes cruel, impatient, and quick-tempered, but nothing in her entire life had ever brought her low and he didn't believe for one minute that this pregnancy proved much of a challenge for her.
"My dear, you just rest. Refreshments are coming and we will all keep you company, won't we, my king?"
The king simply nodded at his wife, knowing that he did owe Elona a few moments of his busy day. She had brought him some important news that he would share with the Warlord at the first opportunity. Besides, she carried his future grandchild, and he hoped that he and the babe would get along better than he and his daughter ever had. He hoped Ariva still had a future to get along in.
Elona stopped antagonizing her father when she realized he wasn't paying attention and searched for a new target. Her little brother remained off limits, even though he already cowered in his chair, intimidated by her. Her mother would switch from loving matron to fierce predator if Elona picked on her precious son. Sarai was no fun at all; she simply accepted every insult, veiled or blatant, with her usual inoffensive calm and understanding. Elona felt cranky and emotional and she'd nearly cried too many times for her comfort in the last five-cycle; she needed an outlet, an assurance that she was still herself despite everything. She needed a target.
"Well, where is she then?"
The others looked around in confusion.
"Where is who, dear?" her mother asked.
"Where is Sondra? I guess it is hardly surprising that she can't be bothered to join the rest of the family, as usual. Honestly, it is just too much the way you allow her insolent behavior. She is no doubt messing around with her nasty skeletons and bugs rather than showing her respect by greeting me properly." Elona flipped back her braid, sitting up and whipping herself into a righteous fury at being ignored by her little sister. She pulled herself to her feet to begin a full-scale oration on the many failings of Sondra when she noticed that everyone else had fallen silent. She looked around at all of them, their faces wearing identical masks of stricken pain.
"You don't know ..." her mother whispered her eyes huge, her face pale and lined, the hand she raised to her lips shaking.
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Elona looked at Sarai. Even her unflappable sister shook with some unnamed emotion, her eyes welling with tears.
"What happened? What's going on here? Where is Sondra?" Elona demanded, turning to each of them in turn.
"Sh---she's gone ..." Sarai cried.
"What! You mean she ran away! She disappeared again? It figures, just when things are getting difficult for the kingdom ..."
"No! She's dead, Elona. A dragon came and ... and ..." Sarai couldn't finish; she crumpled in her chair with her face buried in her hands as her body shook with sobs.
"A dragon ate her." Sergen dared to answer, his own voice shaking with grief and fear at the look his eldest sister turned on him.
"Is this some kind of sick jest?" She turned on her father.
"You know we would never jest of something so serious. Never! How could you not know, word was sent to your husband!" Even the King had tears in his eyes and they rolled unchecked down his grizzled cheeks.
Everyone around Elona started crying. Elona looked at all of them weeping around her. She let the news sink in: Sondra, eaten by a dragon, dead and gone forever. She threw her head back and laughed out loud.
The family stopped crying to stare at her; shocked, dismayed, and enraged at such disrespect. Elona kept laughing, her face turning red, then purple, her eyes nearly bulging out, as the laughter changed and grew harsh, coarse and ugly.
Sarai stood up, so angry with Elona that she actually moved to slap her sister despite the gracelessness of such an act. Her mother didn't suffer such reservations and also jumped up, delivering a resounding slap to her daughter's cheek. Elona's head snapped back, and her wild terrible laughter changed into deep and broken sobs that caused her entire body to shudder in pain. Fat tears cut tracks down her cheeks, washing away powder and revealing purpled skin; her sobs became cries that escalated in volume until she fell screaming to her knees to pound the upholstery of the lounge.
The king jumped up and raced for the door, jerking it open and ordering the guard outside to send for a healer. His eldest daughter's wails tore at their ears, ripped at their hearts. She screamed and screamed, shouting over and over, "I'm so sorry, no, it can't be!" She began rocking back and forth on the floor while her sister, mother, and brother surrounded her, unsure what to do.
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Suddenly, her screams changed and she arched her back and clutched her stomach. Beneath her dress her stomach clenched, convulsed, and then relaxed. She collapsed and then screamed out again as the contractions began in earnest. Blood and fluid ran down her legs and pooled on the wooden floor, and the queen added her own shouts to the cacophony.
"Forget the healer, call the midwife! The baby is coming!" She shrieked, and hustled Sarai toward the sitting room. "Take Sergen with you, this is no place for maidens or men." The queen raced back to the king and had to shake him from his tortured terror as he watched his daughter writhe in pain on the floor. "Go outside and join the guards; I will take care of this until the midwife arrives. Gods willing, we will be welcoming a new family member tonight." She pushed him toward the door and ran to her daughter. Helping her move to the bed between contractions, she stroked Elona's hair back with one hand while she clasped her other hand, trying not wince as Elona squeezed her hand with each agonizing contraction. Fear in her eyes, Elona looked desperately at her mother, nearly drowned by tears.
"I---I can't---urgh ..." she clenched her teeth against another contraction.
"It's too soon, what will happen to my son? I can't bear it if I lose this baby, Mama. I love him so much already."
"Shh, it's going to be okay, baby. He is strong; he will survive this just fine.
You hold on, help is coming." The queen kissed her daughter's sweating brow, her own heart squeezing at the thought that she might lose her daughter as well as the baby.
"Mama, Sondra ... Sondra is really ..." Elona struggled through the contraction.
"Don't speak of it now, baby. You just focus on bringing this new life into the world with Vivacel's blessing."
Elona nodded, blinking the tears from her eyes. She centered her attention on the coming labor, determined to fight through this pain and eager to meet the child she already loved more than anything else in the world; the child for whom she'd already sacrificed more than her family could know.
The royal family finally retired into a dreamless slumber after the triumphant news came from the midwife and queen that Elona and her newborn baby boy were both fine and resting. Sarai found she could not sleep and instead crept down to her sister's chambers, scratching softly at the door. A tired voice called "Come in."
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Just inside the door, a healer's apprentice dozed fitfully in a hard-backed vanity chair, her stones and incense tumbling out of the bag at her feet. The midwife, the high priestess of Vivacel's temple herself, bustled quietly around the bed and the tiny three-sided cradle that set pushed up against it. Her white robes rustled softly in the candlelit darkness. Shadows from the white candles lit to keep Morbidon's reapers at bay danced over her as she fussed and fidgeted.
She swaddled the minuscule bundle next to the bed until a pale hand waved her impatiently away and a croaky exhausted voice called from behind the bed hangings. "Well, who is it? Don't just stand there, show yourself."
"It's me, Elona." Sarai walked to the side of the bed, where she could see her sister, lying on her side facing the cradle, her arm stretched out and one long finger clasped firmly by a tiny hand. The baby lay barely visible amidst the swaddling despite the free arm, but Sarai could just make out a small, perfect little face with tightly closed eyes and red skin slowly pinking with each shallow breath the newborn took.
Elona smiled at the tiny bundle, her expression so sublimely peaceful that Sarai nearly burst into tears. "He won't keep his arm in the swaddling. He always wriggles it free and grabs my finger." She glanced over at her sister, then moved her other hand and patted the bed beside her. "Come look---isn't he the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?" Sarai sat gently next to her sister, ignoring the midwife and the healer and studying the baby boy. "I have to say he is at that," she whispered, just as he pursed his lips with hunger.
Elona chuckled softly and carefully sat up. She held out her arms as the midwife placed the stirring newborn into them. Sarai watched as Elona efficiently fed her baby as if she had done so all her life, without the slightest hesitation, nervousness, or doubt. "He looks strong," she said.
"Of course, I never doubted it. He is my son, after all." Elona smiled down at the baby suckling. A look of sadness swept over her. "I remember the first time I ever saw a baby." She looked up at her sister, tears welling in her eyes.
"It was Sondra, right after she was born. I snuck out of the nursery and into Mama's chambers. She knew I was there but she didn't stop me from stealing up to the crib and peeking in." Elona choked a little as Sarai held her breath, unwilling to jeopardize this new and unexpected closeness she shared with her sister. "I loved her so much, Sarai. I took one look at her and she was so perfect and tiny, just like this." Elona hugged her baby a little closer as her tears began
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to flow. She continued before Sarai could answer. "Do you know that I was the only one who could get her to stop crying when she was a baby? The nurse didn't like me always hanging around but Mother insisted that I be allowed to cuddle her whenever I wanted. Anytime she cried, the nurse had to hand her to me just so she would stop. Once, she grew very sick when she was just over a rota old. I spent every night sleeping on the floor beside her crib until I knew she was better. I was so afraid she would pass away in the night and I would never get to see her again. I had to sneak past our nanny every night just to witness for myself that she slept peacefully and safely." Sarai listened, stunned at the revelation. "What happened, why did you treat her so badly when she grew older?"
Elona smiled sadly. "I used to be the one who got all the attention and you never seemed to mind it." Elona saw Sarai nod in agreement; her quietly reserved sister disliked undue attention. "Even after Sondra came I still had the majority of the attention, until Sergen came along. Suddenly the heir was born and the rest of us were forgotten. You still didn't seem to care and Sondra was just a baby, but I ... I hated it. I did everything I could think of to get Father's and Mother's notice. That's what I really cared about; I used to be their special perfect princess and suddenly I was a nuisance." A tear dropped on the baby and he scrunched up his face in irritation until Elona gently wiped it away, stroking his soft cheek. Elona glanced up at her sister, nearly unable to bear the compassion on Sarai's face. She didn't like pity; it was for the weak. "Well, anyway, eventually I got the attention back. After all, the King of Bladen wanted a wife for his youngest son, and I was already eleven rotas, a perfect age for a betrothal contract. Suddenly I was important again."
"Then why did you seem to despise Sondra? I don't understand ..."
"Of course you don't! You were too young to remember, and besides, you were always practicing some new embroidery or instrument with the tutors.
A wizard's apprentice from the Academy of Magic traveled around testing potential students for the next rota. He came to castle and tested everyone there. Only one of us possessed any magical ability."
"No, not ..." Sarai was shocked.
"Yes, Sondra tested so high that his meter couldn't calculate it. Apparently, at only four rotas old, she already demonstrated enough talent for a novice wizard.
Suddenly, everyone talked about her going to the Academy as early as her eighth rota, fully three rotas earlier than any other Academy student. She became the 156
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special one, and she was all anyone ever talked about, especially Mother and Father. The pitiful alliance my betrothal contract would bring paled in comparison to having a real wizard in the family. The first truly powerful magic user since Ulrick himself they kept saying. Suddenly I was nobody again and worse, it was my own baby sister that I loved so much, always played with and looked out for, that took all the focus off of me. I thought I would never forgive her."
"But you must have, because you said that you did love her." Elona dipped her head. "There was nothing for me to forgive. I realized that many years later, well after it was already too late. I sent her into the Woods and when she came out she wouldn't even speak of magic, much less try to learn about it. When the time came for her to go to the Academy of Magic she kicked up such a fuss that father sent a message saying she failed to demonstrate the talent they expected and would not be attending. In a way, it was true. She never did use any magic. It was all my fault, and I never apologized because I was still angry at her. I distanced myself from her so I wouldn't have to be reminded of what I had done---that I stole her future away from her because of my own insecurity."
Elona gently rocked her baby where he lay, sated and sleeping in her arms.
"When I married, I was so happy to get away from her and this place where I believed myself to be miserable, but I realized after a while that I was trying to get away from my guilt and I hadn't succeeded." The midwife came and gently took the baby and laid him in his crib. Now that they were freed of the tiny burden, Elona's arms wrapped around herself, unable to bear the emptiness for even a moment. "I always thought that someday I would get a chance to talk to her about it and let her know that I did love her and I was sorry and that maybe we could start over again. Then, when I came home and you told me she was gone ... Oh, by the gods, Sarai, I will never have that chance, I will never be free of the guilt ..."
Elona started crying in earnest, the burden in her heart much heavier than the weight of an early-born infant. Sarai, sad and silent, enfolded her sister in a hug and held her until her sobs died away and she swayed with exhaustion.
The midwife came over and helped Sarai settle the nearly sleeping Elona into bed. Sarai leaned over and kissed her sister gently on her forehead before whispering softly in her ear.
"I know Sondra forgives you and loves you back," she said, hoping in her heart that it was true.
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The cycle before the day of the grand party, Elona pushed away the suff ocating keepers and caretakers that insisted she remain in bed resting, and demanded a day dress, determined to seek some fresh air even if it killed her, though she had no intention of letting that happen.
Morbidon himself would wait on her if she had her say about it. She very forcefully denied the request that she take an entourage and insisted that she would keep to the inner curtain wall, that there was little danger to threaten her there. Reluctantly, she yielded to the wet nurse's insistence that she leave her son to his peaceful slumber. She gratefully escaped her chambers and her keepers before they could report her to her father.
Out on the curtain wall, Elona sucked in large breaths of fresh air, grateful for the respite from the crammed and musty chamber and her enforced convalescence. She wasn't in the habit of lying about all cycle. She wouldn't admit even to herself that the chamber began to feel like a prison, much like the tower chamber she had escaped cycles ago. What would Galaden think when his lackeys reached him with news of her defection? She imagined his fat, florid face turning purple with rage as it so often did when he grew angry.
By now, he probably knew; no doubt her own father sent a missive the day she arrived at the castle. She didn't care; she would kill him before she would ever return to him. She wasn't the type to allow anyone to abuse her indefinitely without planning her revenge. Never again would he strike her. Never again would he lock her away and starve her. Never again would he lay his bloated hands on her body and force his corpulent form on her. And never would he get his hands on her precious son.
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Elona stood against the stone wall, her eyes blind to the sweeping mountains before her, when she heard footsteps. She turned, just as one of the captains rounded the corner of the high tower accompanied by another man, one she did not immediately recognize. They both stopped when they saw her, the captain bowing deeply, the other man sweeping his eyes over her with insulting disdain before rising to pin her, an expression of distaste marring his nearly perfect masculine features.
"Your Highness, we had heard that you returned. Welcome back," the captain said, his face flushed and his eyes respectfully averted.
"Yes, Your Highness, your father related the news you brought. I am certain it will prove useful ... in some way," the other man said, his voice a mocking reflection of the obsequiously respectful tone of the captain.
Elona flushed in anger. She recognized him now, though she couldn't believe the boy had changed so much---Derek, looking far more handsome than any one man deserved to look, and worse, he simply exuded arrogant confidence. How dare he speak to her in such a way? What rank did he hold that he felt he could talk down to her?
"The Warlord is correct, Your Highness, we are already investigating the information you so graciously passed on to us." The poor captain felt the intense dislike between the princess and his own superior officer and had no idea how to defuse the situation.
So, her father made this ... this ... commoner a Warlord. It was exactly the type of impetuous decision he so often engaged in. Of course, now that Ariva did stand on the brink of war, Derek's promotion was nothing short of prophetic. Unfortunately, during wartime the Warlord held as much authority as, if not more than, a princess, especially one married to a foreign prince. Even if she called him on his disrespectful behavior, her father would only claim she deserved it. Derek knew this and made it clear that he was aware of her discomfort and irritation at the reversal of their roles.
"I haven't the time to deal with you right now. I must return to my son," Elona said, striving for an airy, careless tone and failing miserably. It was a blatant retreat, and Derek perceived her true purpose. She despised him for placing her in a position of weakness. She turned away, ignoring his eyes on her, and maintained a brisk but graceful pace until she reached the relative solitude of her room. She gently picked up her sleeping son, holding him close to her heart, his soft breaths soothing her turbulent emotions.
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Derek watched her go, the captain's next words unheard as he pondered the princess Elona. He turned to the captain and dismissed him, desiring time to regain his composure since the unexpected encounter with the eldest princess shook him more than he'd anticipated.
He strode along the curtain wall after the captain left him, wondering why Elona still inspired such deep dislike in him. He thought he'd put that part of his past long behind him when he marched off to war in foreign lands. He remembered how she'd been as a child, only two rotas younger than himself and a thousand rotas removed from his league. He didn't have a chance with a princess, being only a soldier's son, but the king allowed his children informality and the opportunity to play with the children that lived in and around the castle. Derek had taken one look at the feisty and beautiful girl dashing around the training ground with a wooden sword and wearing boy's clothes, and he'd fallen hard. The kitchen girl, Milly, had been his first lover, but Elona was his first love.
She always knew she was desirable and she used it to her advantage. Derek's infatuation amused her, and she played on his affection, using him to assist her in her pranks, helping her escape her keepers, stealing from various workshops around the castle, and generally engaging in mischief. It went against the code Derek's father had taught him, but when Elona fluttered her eyelashes at him and begged so prettily, he obeyed her every command. He found himself in trouble with his own father more times than he could count because of Elona, but it seemed that nothing could convince him to stay away from her or resist her charms.
The only thing he was proud of about that time was the fact that always hanging around Elona allowed him to intervene when she tormented or abused her younger siblings. Then one day she kissed him. That cycle, at only twelve rotas old, she taunted him, telling him she was already engaged to marry a handsome prince and that even if she wasn't, she wouldn't want a commoner like him anyway. The thought of her marrying anyone but him made him sad but he decided that a lot could happen before her wedding. At fourteen, Derek had already made his own plans to travel abroad and earn his fortune. He figured he had plenty of time to come back and claim her as his own, so her constant taunts about his common blood didn't really concern him overmuch.
Then she raced away from him, into the stables. When he followed, she jumped out at him and crushed her lips to his. He'd done far more than just kiss 160
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a girl by that time, but he could tell that she had never kissed anyone. He felt such joy that she'd chosen him, a commoner, as she always called him, to share her first kiss, and he brought his hands to her face and deepened the embrace, the fiery heat of his lips shocking her. She pulled away, her eyes slightly glazed, and struggled to recover.
Derek couldn't help grinning in satisfaction at that moment, but her next words wiped his grin away.
"Well, now that I know what a common boy kisses like, I am grateful that I am to be wed to a noble man. I have no more need of you, so I suggest you stop following me around. I am to be a bride soon, and I cannot have peasants clinging to my dress train." With those cutting words, she tripped Derek and ground his face in the filth of the stable floor, skipping away, trailing mocking laughter.
Derek pulled himself off the ground and swiped a hand across his face, his eyes trained on the direction Elona disappeared. Never again would he let her use him; never again would he let her fool him. From that moment on, Derek hated Elona with a passion that far exceeded his childish infatuation for her.
She did marry her prince only a few rotas after the incident, against her father's wishes that she wait until she was older. Both Elona and King Arctuor insisted on it, and she moved away from Ariva soon after, but he never forgot her and never forgave her.
Apparently, the wounds she inflicted with her casual cruelty still cut deep even after all these years. Derek decided he would avoid her as much as possible.
It shouldn't be difficult; he almost never encountered the other princess, Sarai, or her brother, Sergen.
The day of the grand party arrived and the entire kingdom showed up to celebrate, despite the pall over the day because of the coming conflict with Halidor. All over the kingdom, in every province and town, jongleurs, minstrels, actors treading hastily erected stages, dancers, and food stalls cluttered the royal parks. Artisans tucked within home-sewn pavilions or walking amongst the crowds hawked their wares. The masses of people flowed among and around the revelry like a river, the flow stopped by partygoers who paused to purchase wares or take in a performance. Nowhere was the party larger or more frantically celebratory than within the capital city on the castle grounds and spilling out into the meadows. Here in Ariva, with the royal family in attendance, every last citizen poured out into the morning sunshine to take
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advantage of perhaps the last possible celebration before the entire kingdom plunged into a war it hadn't provoked.
The king and queen watched the crowds ebb and swell around them from a royal dais within the castle courtyard. Many revelers came forth to receive blessings from the royal family. Some, despite having spent their entire life living in or near the capital city, had never been so close to their king and queen, and many had never seen the princesses or the young prince. It was no surprise that of all the sights of the festival, the royal dais proved the most popular, especially due to the newest member of the family, though none could actually see the newborn prince of Bladen where he squirmed and cooed within the swaddling held tight in his mother's arms.
The princesses made quite a sight, both stunningly beautiful and garbed in their finest dresses; heavy headdresses laden with gemstones and gold hardly seemed to weigh upon them as they gracefully nodded and smiled at all who came before the dais to gawk. The young prince found dealing with the excessive attention more difficult and slumped sulkily in his chair, though he wore perfectly tailored and spotless clothing, and not a speck of lint or dust marred the burgundy brocade of his overcoat. His hair curled artfully over his youthful brow and many a village maiden sighed wistfully at his burgeoning good looks.
Everyone noted how handsome the royal family was, and the older citizens commented about how different it was from the Kking's father and mother, who were not so well favored nor so blessed with offspring. To respect the jollity of the day, no one mentioned the one person missing from the dais---the youngest princess, who lacked the elegant beauty of her sisters but always had a beautiful smile that made people feel wonderful.
By midday, the royal family retired for a rest before the evening's revelry began. Elona took her newborn son, who still had yet to be named in an official ceremony in Vivacel's temple, and returned to her chambers where she snarled at the nurse who attempted to take the baby from her. She settled her son into his crib and sat at a small writing desk she had ordered moved from her sitting room.
She never could stand the afternoon nap; she had no need of such rest and indeed the enforced solitude and inactivity left her feeling even more restless.
She used the time making lists and plans, unwilling to fall to her habit of pacing for fear the swishing of her skirts would waken her baby. From time to 162
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time she would arise and stand at her window, which overlooked the courtyard, watching the busy humanity below. A tiny frown wrinkled her perfect brow as she noticed how shabby the courtyard appeared beneath all of the festival frippery. In places, the castle walls crumbled, the grass of the central statue of Ulrick lay dead and crispy, and the statue itself was dirty, stained and chipped.
The Citizens' Force guards maintaining the peace seemed lazy and half-hearted even though they were only pulling a half shift and would be permitted to join the party themselves as soon as they got off duty.
Elona looked up and beyond the castle walls, imagining the city below and the outer walls of Ariva, which hadn't been manned for centuries and still were not guarded. The gates to those walls had long since frozen open with rust.
The city itself fell into disrepair, the cobbled roads filled with more potholes than carriages, and the houses and tenements disintegrated into the street.
Shops and taverns were not regulated in any way and tax income was spotty and inconsistent. The only healers in the entire city belonged to the temple of Vivacel, and their talents were stretched thin dealing with just a small portion of the population that could afford the donations to the temple.
Dirty children led by unscrupulous street criminals ran the streets, picking the pockets of even the most wary citizens, and all the parks in the city were closed to any citizen not of noble rank. Worse, a miasma lay over the entire lower quarter of the city, commonly called the Gate District, where the only refuse management consisted of the ancient ditches that once served as a moat.
Elona had so many plans and ideas to improve the city, the castle, and the kingdom. "But, of course," she thought as she turned away from the window,
"plans are no good without the power to carry them out." And a princesses'
power, as she well knew, lay in her influence over the men who controlled things. Unbidden, a stray thought of the powerful and handsome Warlord arose in her mind, and she ruthlessly shoved it away.
She'd planned her entire life around increasing her own power and consequence, even when she was a child. She organized her life to optimize her opportunities. Granted, Galaden had been a mistake, but he hadn't been her idea anyway. She toyed with Derek when they were children because she found him very pleasing to look at, though his devotion grew tiresome. She'd yet to experience a kiss as delicious as the only one he ever gave her. But she knew then, as she still understood, that he couldn't give her the power she so
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craved. She'd made sacrifices, but she wasn't going to wallow in regret; she would simply avoid him and ignore the fact that the sight of him still made her heart pound with desire, especially considering how much he'd changed. She never remembered him being so ... dangerous or ruthless.
It didn't matter; he was not for her, and she'd accepted that when she was still a child. She wasn't going to change her plans now just because he filled out his uniform very nicely. Even though right now she remained powerless, she had no intention of staying that way. As she stroked the downy cheek of her son, she started making new plans, knowing that a mother has more influence over a man than any other woman.
Within his council chamber, the king did not relax, as filled with restlessness as his eldest daughter and perhaps for the same reason: the state of his kingdom and its future. He gave in to his need to pace, unconcerned with its effect on the other people in the room, and indeed, the guards who provided his sole company paid little attention to what was a familiar sight. Instead, they jumped to attention when the messenger knocked softly and, at a nod from the king, who moved back to his chair at the head of the council table, clicked the secret latch to allow the messenger in.
The reedy man, little more than a boy, hurried within the chamber and bowed low to the king. His young face, dirtied by a hard ride, displayed worry and fear.
"What brings you before us, messenger?"
The King noted the clothing the boy wore, an embroidered patch on his tunic sleeve revealing him as a member of the messenger's guild in Passton, a half cycle's ride from the border checkpoint. He felt the stress that constantly plagued him gnaw deeper into his vitals and struggled to maintain a semblance of calm and control in front of this boy terrified by the message he must pass on to his liege.
"Your Highness, I have come from Passton. A messenger from Blade's Edge arrived there but three cycles ago, and I set out immediately."
"What message does this Bladen bring?"
"He claims Prince Galaden sent him, and that the prince demands the return of his wife and child immediately. Failure to return them safely would be viewed as an act of war against Bladen, and they would ally against Ariva if that happened."
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demanded, "How is it that they know of Elona's arrival a mere two cycles after she appeared at our castle gates?"
"According to the prince she left a missive informing him of her destination.
Apparently she claimed that her parents insisted she return to Ariva despite the danger of the trip."
The king summoned a guard and ordered him, "Send for Elona immediately, as well as my wife and the Warlord. We will meet them here."
"Here, Your Highness, in the council room?" The guard looked askance; no woman had ever crossed into the council chambers during the entire time he'd been in service to the king.
"Yes, here! Now go, you are wasting time." The guard scurried out. The king turned back to the messenger.
"Galaden is claiming that Elona's presence here is an act of war. By what right does he make such claim, since the princess is still our daughter and is certainly permitted to visit us on occasion?"
"The messenger from Blade's Edge claims that due to the dangerous political climate, it is believed that the royal family of Ariva knowingly put both the prince's wife and unborn child in danger by demanding their presence at this time, and they feel that the purpose behind this must have been an intended slight toward the Bladen royal family."
"That is utter nonsense! This will be taken care of immediately; we shall simply escort Elona and the baby back to Blade's Edge and be done with it.
She can return to finish her visit once the danger has passed." The king prayed silently that there would be a kingdom for her to return to.
The queen and Elona entered the council chamber followed by the guard who had fetched them. Both women looked harried and cast the king equal looks of startled concern when they were ushered into the chamber. A few moments of strained silence later, Lord Derek entered, his face hard and expressionless as he took in the occupants of the room; not even a flicker of surprise altered his stony expression at the presence of the two women. He bowed to the king, queen, and princess and stood until the king waved him to his seat.
"Now, we can begin. This messenger brings news from Blade's Edge," the king said, watching Elona as she twitched in surprise. "Apparently, the prince is less than pleased that his wife has made this dangerous journey with his heir." Elona bowed her head and remained focused on her clasped hands. The
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king didn't trust her assumed meekness and knew he was about to fight the first battle of this upcoming war right here in the council chamber. Everyone remained silent, including the uncomfortable messenger, still standing before the king. Lord Derek watched calmly; dispassionately he noted the look of fear on Elona's face just before she lowered her eyes to her lap. The king continued.
"Prince Galaden demands the return of his wife and child immediately." Elona jumped up, her expression livid, while her mother gasped in dismay.
"I will not go back! I refuse!" She stood, fists clenched before her father, just as he expected she would.
"You will return, whether you like it or not. You have little choice in the matter, nor do any of us. Prince Galaden believes our keeping you here is an act of war against them."
"That is madness! There is no reason for him to think that! It is simply a ploy to get me back under his control." The princess stopped, wishing she could take back those last words and decided to change tactics. "Father, please understand. I will certainly return to my husband as soon as my son is old enough to travel, but we cannot travel now; it is far too dangerous a road, even without the impending war. You wouldn't send a helpless babe off to his certain doom, would you?"
"Of course not. We will naturally see to it that you and the child are in a well-appointed carriage with a full entourage of nurses, healers, and maids, as well as an entire platoon of soldiers to ensure your safety on the roads." The king smiled, certain that she would find no argument to counter his assurances.
He wasn't expecting an attack from a different source.
"I will not let her go!" The queen stood and put her arm protectively around Elona, who was marshalling new arguments in her head. She cast a surprised glance at her mother, startled by the support. The queen faced off against her husband, her expression glowering with righteous indignation. "I have already lost one child; will you take from me another, just to satisfy a cruel and greedy man?"
"We have no choice, my queen. Bladen will join the war against us if we do not return Elona and the babe at once. I cannot risk it, or there will be no sanctuary for her or any of us anywhere in Ariva." The king willed his wife and his daughter to understand his position. He hoped he had got through 166
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to them, as they both fell momentarily silent, but he doubted it as he could practically see the wheels turning behind his daughter's eyes. Once again, a new front opened up against him as Lord Derek stood and addressed the king, virtually ignoring the two women in front of him.
"She will never make it to the border alive, Your Highness."
"Wha!?" All three echoed the word at once, everyone turning to regard the man. He nodded to the queen and princess before continuing.
"My own messenger just came to me with news, moments before your summons. Indeed, that is who I was meeting with when the guard sent for me. My sources inform me that Bladen has already mobilized troops to join with Halidor. They are no doubt closing off their border even as we speak.
The news of Halidor's offer to Bladen that the princess brought with her was echoed by my own sources cycles later."
Derek nodded again to the princess, who raised her chin and cast her father a smug look, having brought them the news before the Warlord's spies could report it. "Only, my own sources say that Bladen accepted the offer with alacrity and set about devising a plan to break off our paltry trade alliance without appearing to dishonor our existing peace treaty, a move that would endanger them on other fronts as they hold similar treaties with Fomoral and Ramadyn.
The princess' return to Ariva carrying Prince Galaden's heir was the perfect excuse for them to call off the treaty." The princess glared at Derek, even as her father groaned and her mother sighed and hugged her more tightly.
"So why can't we send her back and take away their excuse to attack us?" the king asked, without much hope.
"Because my sources claim that Galaden dispatched several assassins to kill both the princess and her son before they reach our borders. They would have many opportunities to do so, since there is a long stretch of rugged terrain between Ariva and the Pass."
The queen gasped and Elona felt faint for the first time in her life, picturing her helpless baby in the hands of monstrous killers. Derek spared a look of compassion for the queen but ignored the princess. The king jumped up, shocked and outraged.
"Do you expect me to believe that the man cold-bloodedly ordered the murder of the son and heir he waited years for? By the gods, I don't like the man and never have, but I cannot believe that of him."
"He knows that the boy is not his son." The princess pulled away from
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her mother and sank back into her chair. Only Derek failed to react to her statement, unsurprised to have his own suspicions confirmed. The queen shrieked and the king nearly succumbed to an apoplectic fit as he swung toward his eldest daughter in rage.
"How could you do something so ignoble, so foolish, and so reckless? You are no daughter of mine, you hear me!" he bellowed.
"Would that I were so lucky, Father," Elona screamed back, her own temper sparking as she jumped up again, shouting in his face. The queen took her seat, fanning herself furiously as she tried to remain conscious. "Fine! Since I am no daughter of yours, then I needn't obey your whims. I will leave this castle but you will never get me to return to Galaden!"
"Your Highness," Derek interjected, interrupting the king's livid response,
"if you please. The princess and the innocent child will be killed the moment they leave the safety of this castle if the assassins have anything to say about it.
We cannot guarantee their safety if they leave here." Derek stressed the word innocent, knowing that even when enraged the king was not a cruel man and would not send his daughter and grandson into the arms of a killer. The bluster left the king and he sagged back into his seat.
"What do you suggest we do then, Warlord?"
"Bladen has already made their decision. Even if the princess and her son made it safely to the border---" Derek raised a hand to stop Elona's heated denial, and she was so shocked and intimidated by this new man he'd become that she fell silent---"Bladen would simply find another reason to join the fray, and no doubt your daughter and grandson would befall some tragic accident anyway." The queen fanned harder, reaching again for her daughter, tightly grasping her hand. The king raised his head.
"Do we stand a chance against them, Warlord, or are we doomed?"
"People have won against worse odds, Your Highness. We have the pass, and we have enough men to hold it. The men aren't well trained but we also have the mercenaries and war engines, some of the best weaponry to be found outside of Vanguard and Empiron. Bladen is not a warring nation; they have used politics and subterfuge to maintain peace amongst their neighbors, and though they have a large army, they are not veterans as are Halidor's men.
There is little we can do besides fight to survive. Halidor will accept nothing less than full surrender, and the royal family will be executed to the last. My men are willing to fight, and willing to die if it must be so." 168
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"Then we must do as we planned and fight this war. It appears that we are alone in our battle; let us hope the gods have not abandoned us as well." The king motioned to the messenger, who had retreated to a shadowy corner of the chamber. He sprang forward, eager to escape the tension in the room.
"Return to Passton and tell Galaden's messenger that the princess and her son will remain with us until it is safe to travel once again and that her safety and that of the baby is our number one concern. Let them twist that as they will, since they have already made their decision." The messenger hurried out and the King turned to his daughter and queen.
"You," he pointed to Elona, "will remain within the castle walls at all times as will the baby. I will increase your guards at once and none but our most trusted servants may come within one hundred feet of the infant." The king paused and made to turn away, but he glanced back at his daughter, who still stood glaring at him defiantly. To him it seemed that a chasm gaped between them and nothing he tried would aid him in crossing it. He sighed, feeling every one of his years upon him, and motioned for his wife and daughter to leave the room. The queen swept out, drawing her daughter with her, and the king turned to Lord Derek.
"We have much work to do. Let us call another council of war..." The men sat down at the table to confer while the guards sent for the other councilors.
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Derek surveyed his men. Th ey lined up at the pass, maintaining a loose formation until the armies camped on the other side of the border decided to make their fi rst move. Derek and the bulk of his army had arrived at the pass fourteen cycles earlier. Soon after, Onian's army arrived en masse, meeting up with the small companies of enemies that engaged Ariva's border guard in tiresome skirmishes for several ten-cycles.
At some point, Halidor and Barselor came together, for they arrived as a single unit. Halidor's legendary cavalry rode beside Barselor's mounted swordsmen. Halidor's archers marched in line with Barselor's batteries, the artillerywomen leading the bullocks that towed the massive catapults and siege engines behind them. Amongst the endless sea of foot soldiers, Halidor's black uniforms bearing the standard of Morbidon's skull helm mingled with the brilliant scarlet uniforms of Isa's soldier-slaves, their standard bearing the charging bullock pierced with swords.
Within a few cycles of Onian's arrival, a vast contingent of heavy knights and foot soldiers bearing the unicorn rampant on blue of Bladen's army arrived. The sight of their former ally lining up against them infuriated and demoralized the soldiers of Ariva, arrayed in their gray uniforms bearing the standard of crossed sword and staff, neither finding a purpose in the peaceful kingdom for generations.
Derek shook his head at the sight of the knights. Bladen clung to the old ways of battle, preferring their armored juggernauts against the faster and more agile mounted cavalry that the rest of the southern lands adopted. The knights fought well enough against small forces, but in the chaos of a crowded 169
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battlefield their heavy and unwieldy armor might very well spell their doom if Arivan soldiers unhorsed them. Derek found the thought comforting.
Still, the numbers stacked against Ariva. Derek's own army boasted only five thousand men while Onian commanded nearly three times that number.
Derek counted among his soldiers two batteries of archers and artillerymen to man the catapults and ballista, thousands of pikemen, and equally numerous swordsmen. These foot soldiers comprised the main defense of his army. His swordsmen, increased by seven hundred mercenaries trained in the never-ending southern wars, would hopefully finish off any enemy that breached the pikemen's line during their charge.
Derek traveled the entire length of the Pass, shoring up weak points and concentrating his defense where he expected Onian might bear down the hardest. The prince waited, allowing his own army to rest after the forced march across their land to the Pass, but the respite would not be a long one.
Onian needed this victory and the new wealth of Ariva.
The first serious attack came at sunbirth on the fifteenth cycle after Derek's arrival. Derek experienced a sense of relief because the drawn-out waiting, with his new recruits and barely trained soldiers forced to witness the vast army spread before them, demoralized the Arivan army and jeopardized Ariva's defense before the fighting even began. Despite Onian's eagerness, the man was a skilled tactician and had anticipated the effect the sight of his army had on the Arivan troops.
Derek also noticed that Onian never underestimated an enemy; he brought enough soldiers and war machines to take down an army twice the size of Derek's, but he didn't simply throw his troops recklessly at the defended pass, realizing that even untrained soldiers entrenched held an advantage over a charging enemy.
Derek also didn't underrate the enemy and when the first charge of foot soldiers came he ordered his men to ignite the oil and kindling in the ditch they had spent many cycles digging. With a muffled whump a wall of fire split the Pass, just as the first enemy troops crossed over. Some soldiers made it through and the pikemen quickly finished them off. Those that didn't halt their charge quickly enough screamed in agony as they fell into the ditch, engulfed in flames.
Derek's own men cheered but he didn't share in their victory. Onian surely expected the ditch; they'd seen the Arival soldiers digging industriously. The
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other man had many tricks up his sleeve and the fire could not burn forever; already they'd stripped every bush, shrub, and tree in the area of its kindling.
Onian would fall back and wait them out, his first charge undoubtedly designed to trip the ditch trap and render it useless against his superior numbers. Still, Derek also had more cards to play and the meager victory helped to dispel the depression Onian's calculated delay brought over Ariva's men.
By the following sunbirth, Derek allowed the firewall to die out, unwilling to squander more oil delaying the inevitable. Onian ordered the second charge by that centerlight. This time he sent a company of footmen, which Ariva's battery cut down before most of them came anywhere close to the front lines.
The few stragglers that managed to dodge the deadly missiles firing from the artillery stands and war machines found themselves alone in their battle with an entire army itching for a fight. They died quickly, the new soldiers gaining a boost of confidence at their first kills.
Derek watched from a commander's perch behind the front line as Onian, seated on a similar perch well out of range, sent forth signal birds to his commanders on the field. Derek strongly wished he could read those signals, even as he sent his own messages down to his generals.
It didn't take inside knowledge to guess Onian's next move, as Barselor's artillerywomen cracked the whips over the bullocks and the massive catapults rolled forward, followed by armored carts, pushed rather than pulled, and armed with massive spikes. Behind those rolled massive metal sheathed wheels, the men inside running to keep the wheels rolling, ready to crush the front line beneath them.
Derek sent out a signal and Ariva's batteries jumped into place. Artillerymen loaded oil-soaked missiles into the catapults, lighting them before firing them off. Soldiers rotated the massive ballistae, bearing on the rolling wheels, and fired their first salvo when the metal behemoths came into range.
The first catapult rounds slammed into the enemy catapults even as Barselors' artillerywomen loaded their own missiles. The catapults held up under the onslaught and Ariva braced for the impact. One of the flaming missiles struck an Arivan catapult but the metal-braced construction held. The other knocked out the leg of one of the artillery stands and archers plummeted to the ground below. Battle engineers raced out under fire to rebuild the stand, while the healers dragged off the wounded and dead archers, those unharmed climbing to the other stand or assisting the engineers and their crewmen.
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Barselor lost one of their crushing wheels when the metal-sheathed ballista bolt impaled it and pinned several of the men inside. The wheel ground to a halt, rocking uselessly back and forth before the splintered wood finally gave, and the engine collapsed on itself. The other wheel rolled relentlessly on as the second bolt flew past it and skidded into a company of swordsmen, killing several before burying itself in the ground.
The artillerymen loaded the second rounds and fired again, and Ariva sent off a second salvo of catapult rounds. The twin battering carts continued to roll forward, the blazing missiles bouncing off their metal shields. The pikemen held their battle formation, their spears in the air and their shields above them.
The expected slaughter didn't come. As the carts rolled over the trenches, the debris and corpses filling them gave way from the weight and their wheels sank, stranding them with their spikes mere inches from the pikemen. Arivan archers fired down on the operators now in view, killing them before they could retreat out of range.
Ariva's artillery kept the enemy's catapults from firing off any more salvos as the artillerymen loaded Ariva's catapults under the covering fire of the archers.
Many of Barselor's artillerywomen died before Onian ordered his catapults out of range. Derek allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. Already Ariva had performed better than Onian expected. His own ballistae struck the battering carts and shattered them, sending splintered wood into the ditches where the front line tossed torches. Desultory fires burned in the ditches for a short time while Onian recovered and pondered his next move.
The next charge came at sundeath, rendering artillery nearly useless for both sides as the falling twilight hindered their sight. Derek had suspected this would be Onian's next move, since his own batteries proved problematic for the charging enemy. This time, the front line braced itself as a contingent of Onian's foot soldiers came upon them almost silently, engaging the solid wall of pikemen and hacking their way through. Many of the enemy swordsmen breached the frontline only to meet veteran mercenaries who quickly dispatched them.
The battlefield erupted in chaos as the soldiers fought for their lives, taking no prisoners. No enemy retreated, and they all died at the hands of Ariva, but they claimed a fair number of their own victims, Ariva's sons lying dead after only one short battle in their life.
Onian harried them through the night, sending charge after charge, and Derek ordered every charge met with flaming arrows, the archers firing blindly
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into the moving mass of shadows. More Arivan soldiers met Morbidon that night but by sunbirth, the victory still went to Ariva, though the cost was high.
Bodies piled up on the battlefield before the front line, as healers dragged off Ariva's wounded to the camp behind the lines.
Derek rubbed a gloved hand over his burning eyes, exhausted and frustrated. He longed to be down in the trenches with the men, slashing and hacking away at the enemy, not stuck on the commander's stand playing this brutal game of kings and knights with a dictatorial fanatic. This was a job for kings, but his own king knew nothing of real warfare, so Derek took his place, directing the men as he countered Onian's every move, trying not to mourn every dead Arivan below.
Onian chose his next move and sent Bladen's knights to charge the front line. As he expected, the arrows of Arival archers bounced harmlessly off their heavy armor, and they bore down on the front line on their giant armored warhorses, fording the corpse-choked trench with ease. Catapult missiles struck some of them, knocking them from their horses, but the massive beasts, bred and trained for battle, did not shy, and kept charging, leaping over other fallen mounts and knights. The knights carried lances, lowered to pierce the shielded front line and trample over the swordsmen behind. Derek ordered the ballista bolts held in reserve; certain they wouldn't take out enough of the knights to justify the loss of the valuable rounds.
Derek waited, holding his signal, certain that the previous night's activities, performed between charges and under the cover of darkness, would prove more effective than the artillery against the charging knights. Just as they prepared for impact, Derek dropped his hand, signaling his men, and at each end of the pass, groups of men tugged on massive and heavy ropes, spiked barbs knotted throughout their length. The ropes shot up out of their shallow burial ground and directly in the path of the knights. The men holding them barely had the time to secure them around the stone pillars marking the boundaries of the Pass before the front wave of knights struck the barrier.
Pikemen parried the wildly swinging lances as the horses screamed in agony, their vulnerable legs slamming into the rope and tangling them within the barbed length or sending them rolling, crushing their riders beneath them.
The unexpected obstacle sent many knights sailing off their mounts; they didn't rise from the ground swiftly enough to avoid the swords aiming for the joints of their armor. Those knights that held their seat fought their entangled, 174
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panicking horses and dropped their lances to draw their swords, swatting at the enemies that sought to pull them from their mounts.
Derek anticipated the knights and felt satisfaction at the success of his counter-maneuver as his soldiers, quickly earning their veteran status, finished off the knights that didn't escape the rope barrier. Onian's generals signaled a retreat and the knights bringing up the rear reversed their course and fell back to the enemy line just out of range.
Still, Onian held many of his troops in reserve. Derek suspected the other man possessed a secret weapon that he held back, choosing instead to investigate Ariva's defenses. Derek awaited the reports of his scouts, hoping they possessed news of more of the enemy's plans. So far, only two of his men returned from their scouting trip, bringing news of nothing that he couldn't already see from his position high above the battlefield.
After the fall of the knights, Derek expected a reprieve, and Onian didn't disappoint. Derek signaled for a change on the front lines, fresh soldiers relieving those weary from the latest battle. Fatigue plagued him and he left the stand, placing his first general in charge so that he could take a quick rest before sundeath---or Onian's next move. He returned to the camp, heading for his pavilion, wearily returning the salutes to the men that hailed him. He barely made it to his bedroll before he collapsed into a deep and dreamless sleep.
His second general, General Heinrich, a man of middle years who'd never personally seen a battle but excelled in his training, shook Derek awake what seemed like only moments later.
"My Lord, you asked me to awaken you before sundeath. Even now the mountains pierce the sun."
"Any move from Onian?"
"Not yet, milord, though we expect something tonight."
"What of the scouts, have any returned?" Derek shook himself awake, grinding the sleep from his eyes and wishing the aches in his body arose from good solid fighting rather than hours of perching in a command post.
"Not since you retired, milord. We fear they are dead at this point." Derek followed the general from the tent and glanced over at the passing sun as it made its journey to Morbidon's kingdom. The moon already showed a mere sliver in the darkening sky. Derek turned to the general. "Onian will undoubtedly strike again tonight; he cannot afford to allow this battle to drag on, and he must breach the front line soon." General Heinrich nodded
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agreement. "I have a plan; we must move quickly though." Derek headed toward the front line, shouting over his shoulder to the general, "Get me all the extra pikes you can find."
Onian didn't strike immediately at sundeath, waiting for total darkness for his next move. Derek suspected that Onian planned to use the "Blind Knights," Morbidion monks that trained to fight in dim light, strengthening their night vision, so that they may better serve Morbidon in his shadowy kingdom. It would be Derek's next move if he held Onian's post. His men worked busily away at his plan, though many didn't like it. Still, they obeyed the Warlord, aware that it was his knowledge and tactics that kept them alive and Onian out of Ariva for this long.
As true night fell, Derek's keen eyes spotted the first shadows moving in the gloom and sent up the signal. Torchbearers rushed out onto the battlefield and ignited the enemy corpses impaled on pikes. The night sky in the kill zone before the front line lit up with flames just as the monks moved into range. The archers raised their weapons and flaming missiles shot into corpse-lit night.
The monks, their night vision ruined by the flames around them, struggled to regroup even as they fell beneath the unceasing onslaught of Ariva's missiles.
The macabre human torches burned for hours, sending foul smoke into the night sky and infuriating the enemy troops even as the Arivan archers cut down the nearly unarmed monks.
Derek's first general climbed the stand to confer with him. "Once again, milord, you anticipated Halidor's move."
Derek glanced away from the burning battlefield, "You forget I have fought Halidor before, Josef. They used many of these same tactics against Vanguard where I served as a mercenary."
"You'd think they would know that."
"I assure you, Onian knows as much about me as my own mother did, Josef. We cannot catch all of his spies."
"Would that our own sources proved so reliable," Josef answered.
"I agree. I am frustrated by the failure of our scouts to return. Onian has something major that he saves, unwilling to play his winning hand just yet. I can feel it; he hesitates, wanting to be certain that he has drawn out all of our defenses. Yet so far, I have seen nothing that Halidor hasn't used before."
"Perhaps this is all he has, milord. We may yet win the day!"
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head ached from just sitting and watching the battle. "I am going to join the men on the morrow, Josef."
"That is good, they will see your presence and it will do wonders for their motivation. A visit from the high commander always rallies the troops."
"Not a visit, Josef. I need to fight. I am going to stay on the front lines. You will take over command here until I return."
"What? But, milord---" Josef, one of the oldest soldiers in Ariva's army, sputtered---"we need you here. Already you have held off Onian's dogs longer then anyone hoped. We cannot afford to lose you in battle."
"Do you think I will die so easily, Josef?" Derek casually inquired, his eyes hooded and dangerous.
"No, no, of course not, but it is still a terrible risk. There is no reason for it; we are winning!" Josef protested.
"No, Josef, we are simply at a stalemate. We will not win unless we find some way to break Halidor's spirits. Until that time, I cannot sit up on this stand watching the battle drag on."
"Perhaps you need more sleep, milord. I will take the next watch and inform you if Onian moves again."
"I will sleep tonight, Josef, but tomorrow I intend to join the battle personally."
"Milord, I cannot let you do that."
Derek paused at the steps leading down from the stand. Josef gulped but held his ground.
"I don't recall making a request, General Josef. The last time I checked I was still the Warlord here." Derek turned on Josef, his eyes steely. "I suggest you don't forget that. I will repeat myself only once; tomorrow I join the battle personally. You decide if you wish to command this post or find yourself hanging from the gibbet for treason." Derek turned away again, exiting the commander's stand without a backward glance. Josef took out a scrap of spidersilk, hand-embroidered by his young wife, and mopped his brow, collapsing in the chair Derek vacated.
"Gods help us," he whispered to the night air.
The following morning Derek strode out to the front line, rested, refreshed, and dressed in full armor, his sword strapped to his waist and his shield already on his arm. The feathered helm he wore bore little resemblance to the one he pulled out for ceremonial occasions. He'd ordered it designed for function
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rather than elegance, and there was nothing particularly beautiful about the unadorned metal save the fluttering dyed feathers waving from the top. He met with his generals one last time. Despite their complete shock and dismay at his decision to fight, they held their silence and made note of his commands before he marched out to the front line. The generals shook their heads as they watched him go, wondering if, in the strain of battle, the Warlord had lost his sanity.
Derek felt quite sane. Finally, he could fight and feel the rush of battle lust push through his veins, chasing away fear and doubt. He could engage the enemies personally rather than move his pawns around the battlefield the way he had been. He needed to hear the dying screams of Halidor's men loud in his ears and crush their dead beneath his boots. Only this would shake him from his thwarted longing to seek revenge. He had no idea how long Onian planned to camp at Ariva's border, but each passing cycle meant another delay to his personal quest. Sitting back and watching others die at his command left him too much time for thought.
The men cheered when they saw him, and word passed down the line that the Warlord came out to survey them personally just as he had at the start of battle. When he marched to the center of the front line and took up his position, the cheers died down as the men whispered in surprise. The field captains raced over to confer with Derek, and he told them with an air of finality that he would lead the next battle personally. The soldiers overhearing this passed the news down both ends of the line and soon the cheer began again, a rally cry that echoed off the mountains, the stone goliaths amplifying the sound until it reverberated back to the enemy, striking fear into their hearts.
For the soldiers, Derek's presence among them only boosted their moral. The captains looked at each other, then back at the command post, where First General Josef shrugged his shoulders in response.
Derek waited with the men, eager for blood. The soldiers around him shifted from nerves and inexperience while he remained motionless, silent, solid, and lethal. He watched the enemy line, certain that Onian made note of his new position and equally certain that the next charge would target him personally. Onian would see the death of Ariva's Warlord as the first key to victory.
Derek had no intention of dying and he impatiently awaited those foolish enough to try to kill him. Fortunately he didn't have to wait long. He suspected 178
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Onian, too, grew impatient with this game so it didn't surprise him when the prince sent out his cavalry. Derek had nothing other than artillery to counter these horsemen. Having seen his previous trick, they would not be so easily fooled. He ordered the pikemen into battle formation and they crouched, shields raised and pikes lowered.
Derek remained in front of the wall of pikemen, standing between two lethal pikes as he waited to engage the cavalry soldiers. The wind whipped the feathers on his helm, signaling his position to the enemy. He watched them come and felt the chilly calm of impending battle take him, giving himself over to the fight.
Arrows rained down on the cavalrymen but they raised their shields and kept charging. Their steeds continued to gallop, unfazed by the arrows sticking in their chest or flanks. More arrows fell upon the men, but again the lethal rain failed to halt their charge. Josef ordered the catapults to fire but he hesitated too long; the artillerymen couldn't fire too close to their own front line so their missiles passed harmlessly over the horsemen. The cavalrymen crashed into the wall of pikes, the first wave striking down around them from their dying mounts even as their fellows executed astonishing jumps over the struggling bodies and past the front line into the swordsmen, trampling many beneath their horses and slashing at the rest with demoralizing ease.
Derek quickly dispatched the horse and rider that hit the pikes next to him first, yanking his sword free and burying it in the body of the next horse, smashing the rider with his shield as the horse fell forward in death. He continued to eliminate those cavalrymen that approached him with exceptional skill and nearly inhuman speed. Men fell all around him and at the back of his mind he realized that too many of them were his own men but he didn't allow it to distract him. There was nothing he could do besides take down as many of Onian's men as he could, and he gloried in the feel of action after so much time sitting around.
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The horsemen succeeded in cutting their way through the front line and Onian sent a battalion of his footsoldiers to follow up on the attack. Th
e mass of troops charged the beleaguered Arivan defenders when suddenly the tide of battle turned. Th e horsemen found
themselves knocked from their mounts by fi reballs. A powerful and invisible force pushed the advancing swordsmen back, knocking the front row to the ground. Sparkles of light burst out in the faces of the grounded horsemen, blinding and confusing them even while their mounts raced away in terror as impish fl ames scorched their hides.
Derek dispatched two more confused cavalrymen before he found the time to locate the new source of aid. As he suspected, the old wizard from the Woods stood next to an extremely uncomfortable General Josef on the commander's stand. As Derek watched, the old man raised his glowing staff again, gestured with his other hand and pointed the staff at the battlefield at the same time that Josef ordered a volley of arrows. A fierce wind blew up and carried the archer's arrows far beyond their normal range, directing them with unerring accuracy into the enemy. Another spell sent forth a wall of wind, forming a shield before Ariva's front line.
Onian ordered a retreat and his army fell back. The horsemen who managed to escape made haste in their retreat but many found themselves trapped behind enemy lines, and the Arivan soldiers and mercenaries recovering from their abrupt change in fortunes swiftly dispatched the remaining enemies.
The invisible shield of wind remained between the two armies, and Derek directed his men to rest, calling for the healers to pull the wounded and dead 179
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from the field. He ordered the troops waiting in reserve to replace the battle-weary front line and sent the discharged soldiers back to the camp even as the fresh troops took up their battle positions. Derek made his way back to the camp, wiping his bloodstained sword on the uniform of one of his kills before sheathing it and striding through the front line, stopping to clasp soldiers on the shoulders or arms in greeting and praise.
Derek bypassed the commander's stand and headed for his pavilion, determined to corner the wizard after he'd had a chance to drop his gear with one of the many servants that kept the war camp running as smoothly as possible. The servant would clean, polish, and see to the repair of his armor and weapon while he confronted the wizard that had managed to avoid him for so long. Instead, he discovered a visitor in his pavilion.
The king himself awaited him within, and Derek drew up short, startled to see him and his entourage of royal guards. During wartime, the Warlord's power became absolute, his word law above and beyond even that of the king.
It was an ancient law enacted by Ulrick himself after he united the valley tribes as their king, because it anticipated the potential for war-hungry rulers. No king wanted to turn his power over to a subordinate, and the Warlord didn't possess the initial power to enter a war, so Ariva never fought a war they started.
The king's presence here today served no purpose, as Derek's command took precedence. Still, Derek respected his king and bowed to the other man in greeting.
"Your Highness, I hope everything is well in the capital?"
"Of course; we have very competent councilors and an even more competent queen. We decided that we cannot sit back and do nothing while our people are dying in this war. When the wizard from the Woods came to us and requested we accompany him here, we set out immediately. We hope he can assist the soldiers and bring a swift end to this conflict. Please do not mistake us, Lord Derek, from the news we have received from the frontlines.
You have performed an admirable job at holding off the curs that howl at our gates. We simply wish for life to return to normal."
"I assure you, my liege, I am as eager as yourself to see the end of this battle. The wizard's aid will undoubtedly serve us and has already done so, granting my men a reprieve and routing Onian's cavalry, arguably one of the best military units Halidor possesses."
The king nodded in satisfaction. "Good, that is excellent news. We cannot
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stay long, but we hope we will witness the fall of Onian and his cursed allies before we must return to the capital."
"Of course, Your Highness, we all hope for that. You are welcome to stay as long as you are able; feel free to use my own pavilion, the only one suitable for royalty. I trust the queen and your children are still well." Derek started unbuckling his armor to hand to the waiting servant. Before the king could reply a soldier raced into the pavilion.
"My Lord, Onian rallies, his troops prepare to make a move!" Derek glanced at the king and his guards.
"You should find a place of safety, Your Highness. I suspect that our wizard has finally forced Onian's hand." He buckled his breastplate back in place and retrieved his shield.
"What do you mean?"
"I am afraid that now Onian will reveal whatever weapon he held back."
"What makes you think he possesses such a thing?" Lord Derek spared one last glance for his king before he strode outside.
"Call it a hunch," he replied, closing the heavy tent flap on his parting words.
In another part of the encampment, one of the king's cloaked outriders removed their concealing cloak to reveal a slender archer. In the chaos of the milling camp, few would notice that the archer, carrying a massive and strangely built bow and a quiver filled with black arrows, bore the stunning and delicate features of a woman beneath the feathered uniform cap. Elona skirted the most populated portion of the campsite, seeking the archer's stands even as the men erupted into action at the signal that Onian's men made to strike again. Elona quickened her pace and shot up the steps to the archer's stand with the other soldiers crowding back to perform their duty. None of the men, young and middle-aged alike, noticed her, their attention fixed on the horizon and the enemy army there. The artillery captain simply waved her and the others to their positions, and Elona took her place at the far end of the stand.
Taking out the far-seeing tube she had recovered from Sondra's workroom, Elona surreptitiously scanned the enemy troops, searching the Bladen uniforms for the target she sought. Sure enough, just as her informants had told her, Prince Galaden waited amongst the Bladen soldiers, his ornate helm conspicuous amongst the dull colors of the troops around him. It didn't surprise her that he wanted to personally direct the men his father promised for Halidor; what did surprise her was how close he'd come to Ariva's frontline.
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Even now he sat upon his mount just out of artillery range, his arrogant stance mocking the front troops of Ariva.
It chilled Elona that even the wizard's arrival didn't seem to disturb the enemy. Still, she came here for a specific purpose, tucking her hair beneath a uniform cap and risking her father's intense wrath and the dangers of warfare.
She put away the far-seeing tube and drew her bow. The sleek weapon, designed especially for her by the engineers who accepted her handsome payment for their silence, operated using a system of small pulleys, which allowed even a thin woman like herself to draw the massive bow, increasing the tension on her missile, and hopefully expanding her range enough to strike her intended target. The special arrows, made of the nearly feather-light blackwood found deep within the Woods themselves, should assist in reaching the distance she required.
Still, she planned to wait as long as possible in the hope that Galaden would grow over confident in his heavy, metal suit of armor and brave the missiles of his enemy to lead his men forward. Fortunately, she had an excellent aim and the gap in his helm beckoned like the bull's-eye on a target.
Derek rejoined the front line just in time for the charge. Bladen's footsoldiers, led by mounted captains, moved into position nearly within artillery range to charge the Arivan line. The wizard's shield of wind still roared between the two armies, but Onian ordered a charge anyway, and Bladen's men moved forward, bringing up their shields as Ariva's artillery released a volley of lethal arrows.
Only a few soldiers fell, the rest of the arrows bouncing harmlessly off upraised shields. The next volley struck more men but made little dent in their numbers, though Derek saw a commander topple from his horse, an arrow embedded right through the slit in his helm. Still the troops advanced, though they moved slowly, cautiously. Derek shouted to the field captain closest to him.
"Beware, watch the enemy further back. Bladen's advance is a feint. Onian plans something else and needs the distraction." The field captain nodded and sent word down the line. A field messenger raced up to the commander's stand and relayed the word to the wizard and the General. Derek caught the wizard's nod in acknowledgment; he also suspected something big.
Derek returned his study to the troops hanging back behind the advancing soldiers in Bladen's colors. He spotted movement that he might have missed had he not been watching. Most of the men remained focused on Bladen, though they wondered why Onian persisted despite the wind that still howled
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between them and carried Ariva's arrows beyond their normal range to the enemy.
Two large carts rolled behind another unit of foot soldiers. Derek wished he could see clearly from this distance, but a shriek tore his attention away from the carts, and a cry went down the line as six death priestesses floated into the sky from the concealment of Halidor's troops.
"Damn!" Derek watched the women, in black, flowing robes, their eyes covered by black blindfolds, float up to the wall of wind. They levitated inches from the ground. The cry went down the line, "Morbidon priestesses!" as every soldier shivered in fear.
The priestesses of the god of death were all blind, their eyes removed when they became initiated into the order so that they may focus always within themselves and increase the strength and accuracy of their death magic.
Halidor must have held them back, believing that they would not be necessary against Ariva, but it appeared that Onian decided to use them to counter the wizard's magic. Immediately, the old wizard started casting defensive spells, but even for him, shielding over a mile of soldiers from the powerful death magic occupied him completely.
The wind wall died down, and Bladen's troops continued their advance.
The Arivan soldiers readied themselves, relying on the wizard to deal with the eerie, wraithlike women that hovered over the battlefield, their forms lacking substance and completely unaffected by Ariva's arrows or catapult artillery. The death priestesses didn't falter at all as their hair whipped around them with the power of their magic, and they gestured and chanted. They fired spell after spell at the magical shields that the old wizard struggled to hold and repair, his entire attention focused on his defensive spells while a small contingent of warriors formed a physical shield around him where he stood, a highly visible target on the commander's stand.
The Arival soldiers met the charge of Bladen's swordsmen, and many of Arctuor's men died on Arival pikes. Those that managed to cut through the front lines engaged the veteran mercenaries in a bloody swordfight, the ringing chaos of metal and screaming men sounding out over the field as fighters struggled to retain their footing in the blood-soaked mud.
Once again, Derek easily dispatched any soldier that neared him. The sight of his battle prowess rallied his men, and they began to chant, "Warlord!
Warlord! Warlord!" as he hacked, slashed, and bashed the enemy, moving 184
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with all the grace of a performing acrobat through the mud and piled corpses.
Suddenly, no more enemies met his sword and Derek looked around to find that Bladen's men retreated, racing back to their own side with great haste. The Arivan soldiers cheered and heckled the enemy, but Derek felt his gut clench.
Now was the time for Onian's endgame.
He watched the enemy, saw the covers ripped from the mysterious carts.
High priests of Morbidon gathered around the carts and Derek could not hear their chanting but he felt that he could feel it. Even now, the death priestesses still engaged the wizard, holding him hostage with their magical struggle. Two hideous creatures arose from the massive carts and the cheers of the soldiers died out as they noticed the yellowish-white giants rising up as if from the grave itself.
"By the gods," Derek whispered. He'd heard of them, but never in his life had he seen such an abomination.
"What in the name of the All Gods are those things?" the shaking field captain whispered, coming to stand next to the Warlord.
"Bone Golems, Morbidon's invulnerable champions," Derek replied. The two massive bone golems, their skeletal bodies cobbled together with the ancient bones of the behemoths that once roamed the world, began their disjointed and hideous advance, obeying the commands of the Morbidion priests that raised them. The chains and straps that held their patchwork frame together swung in arrhythmic counterpoint to their motion. Everyone watched the slow advance, the soldiers around Derek crying out in despair or struck speechless by shock and horror.
"Can we fight them?" The captain asked without much hope.
"Not without the wizard. The ballista, the catapults---they probably won't damage them," Derek replied, as he watched their steadily advancing downfall.
"What about the priests, what if we kill them?" the captain begged.
"If we destroy the priests, then the golems collapse, but we cannot get close enough to them to strike. We cannot move past those." He indicated the blind wraith priestesses just beyond the magical shields protecting the men from instantaneous death. "Nor can an army move past the golems themselves to reach the priests who are also surrounded by thousands of armed men."
"What do we do?" the captain asked.
Derek finally pulled his eyes away from the morbid weapons and met the
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frightened countenance of the field captain. "We pray," he answered in a voice laced with doom.
The golems advanced slowly but it mattered little, every soldier realized that nothing they had besides the wizard himself could destroy the monsters.
If the wizard let up his concentration on the shields, the priestesses would fire their magic into the army itself. So the soldiers of Ariva did the only thing they could do---they watched and waited.
When the skies darkened overhead, few even bothered to glance up, certain that the shadows merely mirrored their future demise. However, when skyfire struck the enemy camp and the images of the death priestesses shrieked and flickered out, many soldiers looked up at the storm clouds spinning above them in shock. The wizard nearly toppled forward as the pressure from the priestesses' magic disappeared.
Derek regarded the boiling storm clouds as the men around him speculated whether the wizard had found some way to fire off an offensive spell. Suddenly a shriek rent the storm-shadowed sky. The sound shivered off every man's nerve endings, striking fear into the hearts of the bravest warriors. All except Derek, who'd personally heard a sound similar to that not that long ago. He broke into an anticipatory grin, forgetting the battlefield, the bone golems, and the enemy in favor of a monster he despised even more. He sheathed his sword and abandoned the field and the startled troops, racing for the ballista, just as the clouds parted and a huge violet-blue dragon descended from their concealment.
The creature shrieked again and swooped past Ariva's army, winging toward the enemy as skyfire sparked along the dragon's wingtips and shot into the enemy troops. Volleys of arrows from Ariva's archers trailed the beast. The dragon dived on the bone golems who continued to march mindlessly. It raked its claws over the right-hand construct and caught a chain in its claw, snapping the metal links and sending a yellowed collection of arm and hand bones to the earth, where they continued to crawl toward the Arivans. The dragon summoned more skyfire and the bolts struck the creatures, sparking off their chains and melting straps but failing to slow their advance.
The dragon shrieked again in frustration, flapped its wings to pull itself farther into the sky, and surveyed the enemy. When next it dove toward the enemy it struck at the enemy soldiers themselves, many who had already started running in terror from the swooping monster. Like Ariva's arrows, Halidor's 186
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missiles bounced harmlessly off the creature's scaly hide. The dragon swooped in for another pass and this time, its skyfire struck several of the Morbidion priests. They collapsed in an ashen heap, and the right golem faltered, ground to a halt, and then slowly toppled forward, crumbling into dust as it struck the ground.
Shouts of rage erupted from Onian's command post as the dragon took another pass and killed the remaining priests, and the second bone golem joined its companion in eternal oblivion.
The Arivan soldiers watched the dragon attack their enemy with surprise and confusion. Was this not the very dragon that killed their princess? What was happening? One man suffered no doubts or confusions as he lifted the massive ballista bolts that trailed ropes onto the weapons as easily as another might load a crossbow. The artillerymen stood to the side watching their Warlord react to the dragon like a man possessed. It normally took two men to load each ballista. By the time the golems struck the ground, both ballistae stood primed and ready to fire.
"Aim for the monster's wings. When it passes this way again, fire without hesitation. Do not fail me in this!" Derek yelled to the artillerymen, and they jumped to do his bidding, waiting for the dragon to pass overhead.
Derek raced to a supply chest where the army kept their chains and ropes and started pulling lengths of chain from the chest, shouting for soldiers to aid him. When several soldiers came running to obey his command, he barked out his orders. "When we ground the dragon, you must cast these chains over the beast and keep it from rising. Use as many men as you need, the creature will prove impossibly strong. You must hold it down and stay away from its tail." The men nodded, beads of sweat breaking out on their fearful brows.
Derek grabbed another chain, this one bearing a loop of heavy links on the end. He raced back to the ballistae just as the dragon banked away from the enemy and lifted into the sky toward the clouds still roiling there. "Come on, you foul beast. Come and get me," he whispered, willing the dragon to pass overhead.
The dragon turned, going in for another pass at the enemy. Determined to gain the most momentum to its charge, it began its dive over the Arivan army.
As it passed overhead the ballista bolts shot up into the air, ripping through the monster's wings and catching on the bones of its wingtips. The creature
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shrieked in pain and rage, and Derek shouted to the men, "Grab the ropes and pull, damn you! Pull!"
The men grabbed the trailing ropes just as the dragon attempted to gain altitude and pulled as hard as they could. The dragon lifted them in the air and more men grabbed on until the weight of soldiers kept the dragon from escaping, and they managed to drag the beast toward the ground. The creature struggled in fear, its spiked tail sweeping back and forth, knocking men from their feet as they waited to cast the chains over the beast. It clawed and kicked, but the men bearing it to the ground remained out of reach and soon they held it close enough for the other soldiers to cast their chains. They secured the bucking monster as it struggled against confinement, and Derek laughed in the face of the creature's obvious distress. Blood poured from its wounded wings and the white of broken bones showed through the ripped membrane.
Derek approached the creature's head with his own chain and avoiding the thrashing skull armed with spiked ridges and lethal horns, he cast the chain over the creature's neck. Calling for more soldiers to pull the chain to one side, he released it to them and drew his sword, striding toward the pinned creature, its head cocked painfully, the vulnerable throat ring Derek had read about lay exposed.
"Now I take revenge, you monster. I will have your blood!" he shouted just as he raised his sword. Derek noticed nothing during his struggle with the dragon. He didn't hear the shouts of his own soldiers, nor did he hear his generals telling him that Onian even now regrouped. He didn't notice the old wizard frantically gesturing and casting some unknown spell, nor did he see the king poking his head from Derek's own tent.
Then something happened that even he could not ignore. Another roar shook the battlefield; this one knocked men and horses to the ground with its power. A black shadow, darker than the storm clouds, blotted out the sky, and the rushing wind from the beat of massive wings whipped up the ground as men screamed and ran for cover.
Derek looked up and saw a dragon on fire; flames flowed along the monster's ebony scales. It hovered above him and the violet dragon, and it appeared at least twice the size of the other. The only thing Derek felt as he faced the creature was frustration and anger at the interruption. He'd waited so long for this revenge and now this other monster intended to stop him. He 188
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glared at the goliath and shouted, "I will have my revenge!" then he raised his sword to strike.
The black dragon roared again and all around the battlefield the ground split open and molten rock spilled out. From one end of the pass to the other a giant chasm opened and a river of fiery death bubbled free. Men raced away from both sides of the chasm; Onian's next charge retreating before the molten wave that rolled over those stragglers that failed to move fast enough. The black dragon drew in a breath at the same time that Derek raised his sword and suddenly the wounded dragon burst into brilliant light that blinded Derek and caused the black dragon to swallow its flames in surprise.
Derek blinked away the tears of pain from his eyes and looked at where the monster he meant to kill once lay, finding instead the tiny nude body of a badly wounded young woman buried beneath a tangle of chains, one massive chain bruising her delicate throat.
Derek dropped his sword in shock. "Sondra?" he whispered, then leaped into motion, racing to the woman and throwing the chains off of her, pulling her barely conscious form carefully into his arms as he fell to his knees beside her. Derek couldn't believe his eyes; Sondra lay limply in his arms, wounded but alive. He touched her cheek with one bloodstained gauntlet, hardly daring to trust what he saw. Her own eyes fluttered open.
"Sondra, it's me. I'm here, you're safe now," Derek promised, his voice rough as he lowered his head and placed a gentle kiss on her unresisting lips.
Her torn, bleeding arms went around his neck, embracing him just before she lost consciousness.
A sound shook him from his joy. The black dragon roared again, enraged.
Derek glanced up to see that the beast still hovered above them, beating its wings to maintain its altitude. It watched him with glowing red eyes as it drew in another breath. Derek knew he did not have time to move Sondra away from the monster's fire. He looked down at her again, and then curled himself around her, tucking her beneath him as best he could, hoping his own body would shield her enough that she might survive the dragon's breath. The fire never came and after a moment, men started pulling themselves up off the ground and searching for their comrades as the sky emptied, both the black dragon and the storm clouds disappeared as if they'd never been. The gaping chasm at the pass, where even now a black crust formed over the molten lava,
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and the destruction on the field stood as the only testament to the amazing events that took place just moments before.
Derek called for a healer and pulled off his cloak, wrapping it gently around Sondra. Several healers and his generals arrived at the same time and he reluctantly handed Sondra over to the surprised priestesses who carefully carried off her battered and bleeding body. The king raced up, puffing slightly.
"Who was that woman? What just happened here?"
"Your Highness, somehow ... in some miraculous way, Sondra has returned to us." Derek replied, his own voice soft with wonder. The king's eyes widened in hopeful shock.
"You mean that woman was my Sondra?" The king stared toward the healer's tent where the priestesses of Vivacel carried the woman.
"Yes, Your Highness. Go see for yourself." Derek replied, unable to curb the happiness tingeing his own voice. The king hurried off.
"Milord, this is wonderful news," General Josef replied. Derek turned to him, his face luminous. He nodded silently with agreement; there really wasn't much else he could say. The general continued, "The black dragon disappeared and the bone golems are no more. A chasm of molten rock separates us from our enemy and my scouts report that both Barselor and Bladen's troops even now pack up their camps. Only Halidor's troops seem determined to remain behind. The engineers already speculate that it will take many ten-cycles for the chasm to cool enough for either us or Halidor to bridge the gap. What are your orders, milord?"
Derek wanted only to race to the healer's tent and reassure himself that it really was Sondra who lay there, but he still owed his duty to Ariva.
"Pull the bulk of our men back to Passton and send them on temporary leave. I want an accountability report; I want to know about every man that came to this battlefield and what their status is, dead, wounded, or still standing." The general nodded in agreement as Derek continued. "As soon as the healers say that we can move the wounded I want them firmly ensconced in Passton's temple to Vivacel until they recover."
"Who will guard the Pass, milord?" the general queried.
"Leave the surviving mercenaries to guard the pass. They cannot return to their own homes until we can bridge it and they committed to serve Ariva until we determine ourselves out of danger. We are still at war."
"What about their payment?"
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"They have already agreed to accept ginacite in form of payment, and they know that we now hold it ready for them. Once we declare the war over they will receive their due. Until then, we will continue to provide their food and supplies as if they were active citizens of our own army. That should satisfy them for the short term." Derek knew the mercenaries would not be pleased if the waiting dragged on for too long.
"Very good, milord. I shall relay these commands at once. Will you remain at Passton?"
"No, General Josef," Derek glanced toward the healer's tent. "I will return to the capital city until the chasm cools." The general nodded and hurried off.
Derek picked up his sword and resheathed it just as an archer raced past.
He reached out and grabbed a slender arm, yanking the archer back and around to face him.
"How dare you manhandle me, you oaf, do you have any idea who I am ..." Elona bit out as she turned to face the man foolish enough to touch her. Her voice died on a squeak as she looked up into the icy eyes of the Warlord.
"What are you doing here?" Derek ground out, his expression deadly with rage.
"It's none of your concern what I do. I am a princess." Derek grasped her arm harder and leaned down until his face hovered mere inches above her own.
"I suggest you explain yourself, Princess, before I decide that you serve our enemy." Derek nearly shouted the last words into her face.
"How dare you make such a suggestion? If you don't unhand me, I will call the guards." Elona shivered at the smile that spread across Derek's tanned and bloodstained face. There was no humor in his smile. She suddenly realized that though he stood covered in blood he personally suffered from not a single wound.
"Go ahead," he purred, "call the guards, Princess. Then you can explain to them what the wife of our enemy is doing here on the battlefield impersonating one of my soldiers."
"I am a citizen of Ariva ..." Elona protested.
"No," Derek shouted, interrupting her. "You no longer belong to Ariva! You are a citizen of Bladen, our enemy, and you have infiltrated our encampment.
During wartime, my word is the law, Princess. If I decide that you are a spy, there is nothing your father can do to save you."
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Derek leaned in even closer, so close his lips nearly brushed her own, his body heat sparked answering warmth in her even as he spoke his next threatening words. "You wouldn't like what I do to spies, Princess." Elona shuddered, her stomach dancing with nervous fear. She tried to pull away from him but though she put distance between them, he didn't release her. "Answer me, or rot in Ariva's dungeon until I have you executed as an agent of Bladen." He waited, his grip hard and unyielding.
"I came here to kill my husband. That is all." Elona lifted her chin and met his eyes, though she simply wanted to turn tail and run as far from him as possible, more frightened than she'd ever been in her entire life. He studied her for a moment, his eyes boring into her own. Then he thrust her away from him.
"An admirable goal," he mocked, his eyes raking her up and down, his expression disdainful. "I suppose I should thank you for the timely assassination. Get out of my sight, Princess, and pray you make it home safely before your father learns of your actions." Derek turned away, dismissing her from his thoughts as he strode toward the healers tent. She called softly after him, and he paused.
"Is Sondra really alive? Was that really her?" she asked.
He looked back at her where she stood waiting hopefully for his answer.
He turned away again without responding and continued to the tent, ignoring her eyes upon him.
Elona pulled her emotions back under control. She feared Derek, for the first time seeing him as the extremely dangerous man he'd become. What frightened her most was that she still desired him. He was the kind of man no woman could manipulate. She wouldn't stand a chance with him.
Within the dark and pungent confines of the primary healer's tent, Derek passed the wounded men, stopping to share a quick encouraging word or cheer up an ailing soldier. He finally made his way to another portion of the tent that the priestesses had roped off. Within the curtained alcove he found Sondra, resting peacefully, her body wrapped in bandages.
He kneeled next to her, studying her face. His eyes traced the soft line of her thin but shapely lips, her delicate brow, her round dimpled cheek, and her strong and pointed chin. He lifted his hand to touch her but quickly pulled it back when he noticed the blood clotting his gauntlets, instead contenting himself with leaning closer and whispering softly into her delicate ear. "Sondra, 192
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my love, you've come back to me, I'll never let you go again." He bowed his head and remained there beside her until the priestesses insisted he seek his own bedroll and much-needed rest.
On a promontory in a land now separated from Ariva by a chasm of cooling glass, Prince Onian watched the healers carry away the shapeshifter. The monster had destroyed his bone golems, his secret weapons. Their immense cost had sunk his kingdom into further debt and now they lay as nothing more than piles of bone dust. He didn't give up easily though; he simply needed a new unstoppable weapon, and as he thought of the shapeshifter he imagined that he'd already found one. He regarded the cooling chasm, irritated by the necessary delay, but it would allow him time to hire some wizards. For his plan to work he would need them. Once the chasm became passable he determined that his spies would seek out her location and her identity.
He looked out over the battlefield at the remains of his army and the retreating backs of those kingdoms that had allied with him and would undoubtedly refuse to aid him again as long as Ariva possessed guardian dragons. Oh, yes, he would have the shapeshifter, and soon his coffers would swell with the profits from the ginacite. He smiled to himself and turned his back on a kingdom he regarded as beneath his contempt.
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Sondra spent the first few cycles back in Ariva recovering from the wounds on her arms and upper body that had transferred from the dragon form to her human form. She chose not to accuse the wizard for enchanting her in the fi rst placed, instead responding to everyone's questions about what had happened and where she'd been by claiming she remembered very little. She planned her own meeting with the wizard as soon as her wounds healed, but it would be diffi cult for her to escape from her
overprotective family at this point.
Not surprisingly, the entire kingdom remained in turmoil, despite the fact that most of the enemy army retreated once the chasm split the pass. Even now, with the molten stone still cooling into an obsidia bridge, the people wondered if they'd witnessed the end of their troubles or if they'd only experienced a lull in the war as the enemy regrouped.
Sondra hardly cared what happened anymore; she found it difficult to feel much of anything while her heart shriveled up and died inside her chest. Cycle after cycle passed without the merest glimpse of Tolmac. She still experienced an ache in her spirit where they bonded, but she could no longer sense him; his thoughts or emotions remained a mystery to her.
Late at night, she tortured herself wondering where he went and whether he would ever return. She feared that he hated her, and that he felt anger at her lies and betrayal. But even worse, she feared that he felt nothing; that he was relieved to be rid of her and grateful that he'd discovered the truth about her before he made any real promises to her. Now he was free, and she was 193
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returned to where she belonged---so why did she feel like her world had just ended?
She lay in her room, surrounded by the things she'd grown up with, that her family hadn't the heart to dispose of or move when they believed her gone.
Her clothes felt unnatural, her skin dry and itchy. Her hair constantly tangled and got in her way. She grew to despise her human form, transferring her sadness and heartbreak to disgust with her frailties and weaknesses. For the first few ten-cycles, Sondra nearly went mad from her sense of loss.
Still, over time, her anger faded, and her heart grew numb. She finally accepted that Tolmac had abandoned her, left her to her human life the moment he discovered her secret, just as she always feared he would. She couldn't even summon enough emotion to feel anger at him for not allowing her a chance to explain, to defend her actions, to say good-bye. He was gone, and though she wasn't entirely ready to accept the fact, she could feel it in her spirit, where the hole from their broken bond throbbed like a healing wound.
Once the healers declared Sondra fit and whole again they returned to Vivacel's temple, and Sondra finally gained some peace and the freedom to escape her bedchambers. Her parents didn't permit her to travel very far and insisted that guards follow her everywhere she went. They constantly fussed over her health and watched her closely, secretly fearing that the harrowing experiences she'd been through might have affected her mind as well as her body.
She certainly didn't seem like the Sondra they remembered. She hadn't shared her magical smile with anyone since she'd returned, and it seemed that a sad and solemn woman replaced the sweet and innocent girl they'd all known and loved. None of them knew how to reach her in those first cycles, fearing that they could never breach the wall of grief she'd built around her spirit and unaware of the reason for its existence. Because of their concerns, it wasn't surprising that Sondra was not even permitted access to the gardens or the castle grounds, much less the city beyond the gates. After over a moon-cycle enjoying the freedom of her dragon form, she chafed at the return to her royal prison, trapped by her status and her gender and now even more so by her family's love.
The king also restricted Sondra's visitors, only allowing the family or servants permission to see her even after her convalescence ended. One visitor her father didn't object to was Lord Derek. Unfortunately, the man she once
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loved was the last person she wanted to see now. He didn't constantly inquire after her health, or ceaselessly fluff her pillows. He didn't peer into her eyes, fearing he might spot madness there, nor did he drill her with questions she couldn't and didn't want to answer. He didn't do any of the annoying and exasperating things the rest of her family did. Instead he simply sat with her, providing comfort and regaling her with amusing anecdotes and entertaining stories until she drifted off to sleep.
Not once during her convalescence did he bring up their previous relationship, nor did he mention it afterward. Like always, Derek managed to do exactly the right thing at exactly the right time, and when Sondra found herself smiling during a gentle stroll they took along the curtain wall, she felt an insane urge to turn and punch him. No man should be so perfect, especially not after she fell in love with someone else, someone that didn't want her anymore.
She hated the guilty feelings Derek inspired in her. Though they'd never finalized their engagement and he'd never actually managed to propose, she felt as though she'd been unfaithful to him during her time away, and now her feelings had changed while his own remained strong and true. It made her feel small and unworthy, and that was not an emotion she welcomed on top of everything else she'd already endured.
Worst of all, it appeared that everyone still assumed the engagement would go forward, and things would return to the way they were before she'd left. Sondra didn't feel worthy of Derek now that she couldn't give him the love he so richly deserved. She didn't feel she could just fit back into her old life, as if she'd never left, and pretend that she was the same princess she'd always been.
Derek didn't touch her during their stroll, though he remained close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body and smell his enticing masculine scent, a combination of leather and soap over some unidentifiable but delicious scent that belonged to him alone. It bothered Sondra that she still noticed how handsome he was and that he smelled so good that she wanted to lean in even closer. The way she noticed the sharp intensity in his gorgeous eyes disturbed her.
She didn't love him anymore, of that she felt certain. She freely gave her heart and soul to Tolmac, and the black dragon had cast those gifts aside. Now Sondra belonged to no one, and this physical attraction she felt for Derek dishonored them both.
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She found herself bursting into laughter when Derek started mimicking the voice of the cellar steward during a particularly amusing anecdote. He did such an excellent job that she could almost swear the reed-thin, ridiculously fastidious man had come up behind them. Her laughter rang out over the castle grounds, and servants and craftsmen looked around as sparkles danced in the air and the sky brightened. Suddenly, for everyone who heard the sound of her joy, their day became just a little better, their step a little lighter.
Derek teased her out of her depression; battering down her defenses like the warrior he was, until she began showing signs of her old self. He led her over to a stone parapet and she leaned against it, looking out over the courtyard. He pressed a muscled shoulder against the stone and turned to face her, studying her profile. He'd finished his story, and the silence fell between them. Derek decided that now was the time to speak of more serious matters; he had something he needed to discuss with Sondra, and he couldn't allow himself to put it off any longer.
"Are you truly feeling recovered, Sondra? I don't want to overtax your strength," he queried, working up to the subject he feared would jeopardize the casual rapport he'd worked so hard to renew between them.
"I'm feeling better. The healers have done an excellent job and they believe my scars will be minimal." Sondra didn't notice that Derek's expression froze; she was startled when he dropped to his knees in front of her and grasped both her hands, holding them trapped within the warmth of his own.
"I am so sorry, Sondra, can you ever forgive me?" Sondra stared at his stricken face, shocked. Her ... forgive him? She was the one who'd given her heart to another, callously forsaking her unspoken vow to Derek. She voiced her confusion.
"Forgive you for what, Derek?"
He stared at her as if she'd suddenly lost her senses.
"For wounding you, when you were fighting our enemy for us. By the gods, Sondra, I very nearly killed you! I am haunted at night by the sight of your broken body on that battlefield! I came so close, so close to destroying what mattered most to me. Can you find it in your heart to trust me again, Sondra?
I cannot promise I won't ever make another mistake, but I swear on my honor that I will never place you in danger again. I will never lift a sword against you."
Derek shuddered at the memory and the intensity of his anguish shook
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Sondra to her core. She didn't realize that while she'd been moping about her lost love, Derek had been emotionally torturing himself. He blamed himself when he'd done nothing wrong---and now he feared she couldn't trust him?
Sondra touched a soft hand to his hard cheek, the rasp of his shaven skin scraping softly on her palm. The contact sparked a little wisp of desire and she quickly pulled her hand away, closing her fingers around her tingling palm.
"Lord Derek, what you attempted to kill was a full-grown dragon that you believed had eaten me. I can hardly hold it against you that you sought to avenge my death. No one could have suspected the truth. You did nothing wrong! You must stop tormenting yourself over a past we cannot change."
"I should have suspected. I should have recognized you! If I had, you needn't have run away, and we could have found a way to reverse whatever foul sorcery befell you. I shudder to think of the horrors you must have suffered alone and trapped within that monstrous form." Sondra spared a brief bleak thought for the memories of her time as a dragon when she'd been so incredibly happy.
"Lord Derek, I officially and personally absolve you of giving any offense. I trust you absolutely and would not hesitate to place my life in your hands, since I know that you are a good and honorable man and would never intentionally harm me. I hope you can find it within you to absolve yourself and free yourself from your nightly torment." Sondra pulled both her hands away from him gently, uncomfortable with the warmth growing between them and the way his eyes darkened to a soft twilight as they gazed at her.
Her movement broke the spell, and he arose to his feet, huge and graceful, his leg muscles, outlined by his court breeches, bulging and shifting as he straightened to his full height, towering over her as she leaned against the parapet. He bowed his head, his eyes closed for a moment, and he sucked in a deep breath before meeting her gaze again.
"With your forgiveness, I can move on, Princess. Perhaps there is still hope for this wounded old soldier," he said, his smile teasing again. She shoved him hard and nearly fell back as he remained immobile.
"You are a relentless tease, a trickster. Why I do believe you have attempted to play on my sympathies, you unconscionable rogue. What scandalous behavior. I shall order that you be publicly flogged ..." Derek's laughter interrupted her mock outrage, and she smiled at him, pleased to see the frightening solemnity melt away and the old Derek return.
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He stopped laughing, his eyes pinned to her mouth, and Sondra held her breath, her heart pounding, as he lowered his head and pressed his lips gently to her own. He broke the contact after mere seconds and took her arm gently.
"I should see you back to your chambers. You have been out for some time today and you have not regained your strength yet. I wouldn't want your father to lock me in the dungeon for risking your health." He steered her toward her suite, and she followed in a daze, her mind spinning. He spent the walk back regaling her with another anecdote before depositing her with her maid with a promise to visit later. The door closed behind him, and Sondra slumped on her bed, shaken by the kiss and her inflamed response to his touch. She dropped her head in her hands and moaned aloud.
"What am I going to do?" she asked as Liliana helped her out of her gown and into a dressing robe.
"With him?" The maid inquired.
Sondra just looked at her in answer.
"I say do anything and everything you can think of because he is absolutely the most gorgeous man in the kingdom," she answered emphatically.
Sondra groaned again as Liliana tucked her in and left the room, shaking her head at her princess, who actually thought the devotion of a beautiful man was something to groan about.
Sondra didn't have much of a rest, though, as her family descended for their daily visits. First, both her parents swirled in, enveloped her in hugs, fluffed and fussed with her blankets and pillows, asked after her health, and asked again just what she remembered about the events leading up to her ensorcelment. After many reassurances that she felt fine, grew stronger every cycle, and her arms were no longer sore, Sondra once again claimed that she did not remember what had happened or retain much memory of her time as a dragon. Her parents, dissatisfied as always with the vague and uninformative answers, left her in momentary peace.
Soon, Sarai and Sergen appeared. Sarai gave her a fierce hug before she could even speak and pulled out her embroidery, bringing a stool next to the bed to visit and chat like old times. Sergen rolled his eyes at Sarai.
"I just came by to check on you, Sondra. I'm going to the training field; Father is going to let me train with the soldiers, and Lord Derek even said he would help me with my swordplay." Sergen nearly bounced with excited
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anticipation. Sondra smiled at his exuberance, grabbed his arm, and pulled him in to a hug, from which he promptly struggled free, and bid him hurry before Lord Derek grew impatient. He raced from the room without another word, waving as he shut the door.
Sarai visited for over an hour and it felt good to gossip with her sister again, catch up on all the petty intrigues she'd missed, and simply spend time in Sarai's restful presence. Sondra enjoyed her visits, but Sarai always ended them by repeating the same questions her parents asked, was she certain she remembered nothing? For Sondra, every lie felt like another betrayal of her family, until she grew to dread their visits as much as anticipate their company.
There was one visitor she never expected to see but found herself greeting for the first time in rotas, only cycles after she arrived back in Ariva. On that cycle, to her shock her sister Elona stood in her doorway and for a moment Sondra could almost swear her sister appeared uncertain, but then she bustled into the room with her usual graceful efficiency. Sondra braced herself, the way she always did when confronting her sister, expecting a battle of wills that she had no chance to win. Instead, her sister took a seat beside her and rather than boldly meeting her gaze, Elona stared down at the end of the lounge where Sondra had propped her feet in jaunty little slippers.
"Are you well?" Elona asked, without a trace of her usual contempt. Sondra noted that her sister looked thinner than usual, and pale, but that only served to make her more beautiful.
"I'm feeling better. And you? I hear that I have a new nephew that I can't wait to meet."
Elona's smile at the mention of her son was beatific. It was obvious she loved the child and Sondra was a bit taken aback that her sister possessed the capacity to love anyone more than herself.
"He is beautiful! When you are feeling stronger I'll bring him by for you to meet. You will like him. He reminds me a lot of you when you were little." Sondra glanced at her sister in open surprise. Elona still wouldn't meet her eyes. She continued into Sondra's stunned silence, determined to get the words out.
"You were an adorable baby and a good child. I am sorry, Sondra, about the way I treated you when we were growing up. When we thought you were gone, I didn't think I would ever get the chance to ask your forgiveness." 200
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Elona finally looked at Sondra where she sat with her jaw gaping open.
She turned away again. "I know that we are very different and I don't expect us to miraculously become best friends but I would like to have your forgiveness and a chance to know you as an adult." Elona fell silent, waiting.
Sondra pulled herself together and snapped her mouth shut, thinking back over all the childish torments Elona put her through while they were growing up. Then she looked at her sister, really studied her. Fine lines showed around her eyes, and hollow shadows highlighted her face where her own hardships left their mark. Sondra realized that Elona had her own fears, dreams, and wishes, separate from what seemed to be her mission of making Sondra miserable. She realized that she had never, until this moment, thought of her sister as a person in her own right. She suddenly felt an incredible desire to know this woman, this stranger who shared her bloodline.
Elona waited for her to say something, only a slight tick in her right eye betraying her apprehension. Sondra didn't answer; instead, she cautiously wrapped her arms around her sister and then the two women embraced, laughing and crying at the same time, relief and regret overwhelming them both. Elona visited with Sondra until sundeath that cycle and continued to visit as often as the rest of Sondra's family.
This cycle Elona spent over an hour speaking of the condition of the kingdom since the battle at Ulrick Pass and what news she'd gleaned from conversations in the throne room about the state of the chasm and the enemy troops that still camped on the other side. After she updated Sondra, she finally left her to rest.
Sondra wondered at Elona's amazing interest and perception of matters of state. Her eldest sister really seemed to care about the state of their kingdom as well as the political struggles taking place elsewhere. It was a subject Sondra rarely ever concerned herself with, always trusting that her father did an excellent job as king. It appeared that Elona felt strongly about the matter and had many of her own ideas and plans for the kingdom. For Sondra, the more she grew to know and understand her sister, the more she realized how blind she'd always been about her family, those she always thought she knew best.
She'd spent her entire life wrapped in illusions that gave her comfort, but kept her understanding superficial and her loved ones at a distance.
Another ten cycles passed with no sign of Tolmac. Sondra walked the curtain wall everyday, sometimes with Derek or Sarai, sometimes alone, but
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her eyes always searched the horizon and the massive Thunder Mountain at the center of Terroc's Ring. Since the Warlord's return to Ariva, riders came and went from the castle with news and updates from all over the kingdom, primarily from Passton, where messengers brought news of the now-cooled surface of the chasm they began calling the Black River. The enemy soldiers finally decamped, many fearfully searching the skies as they retreated, leaving their dead behind to feed the carrion birds.
Barselor issued an official apology and Queen Isa made veiled references to the way Halidor tricked them and misrepresented their new "guardians" as threats to all of the southern lands. No word came from Halidor, but neither did their soldiers come, once Ariva's engineers completed a bridge over the chasm.
Derek ordered that the mercenaries receive their payment and released them from service. They promptly headed south, eager to spend their new fortunes as they saw fit. Ariva's army built a new and permanent garrison at the Pass and the first unit of soldiers attached to the Black River fortress started serving their term as guards at the new outpost.
A Blade's Edge representative arrived to inform Princess Elona that her husband died during the conflict and King Arctuor demanded she return his heir to Blade's Edge immediately. The messenger left Elona's presence pale and shaking, returning to his king and informing him that the youngest Bladen Pprince would remain in Ariva until all threat of war and unrest had been settled and a new and irrevocable treaty with Ariva signed to guarantee the safety of any Arivan citizens passing through Bladen territory.
Sondra used her time reacquainting herself with her family and found that she continued to grow closer to Elona, who proved to be a brilliant, charming, and engaging raconteur. They began riding out on the royal grounds in the mornings, and Sondra spent many of her evenings cuddling her precious nephew under the watchful and doting eye of his mother. She also spent a great deal of time with Sarai and Sergen, and offered them both the opportunity to take whatever they wished from her workroom. She found she no longer had interest in the study of logic.
During her times alone she often contemplated going to the Woods and seeking out the wizard. She wanted to beg him to make her a dragon again as each cycle that passed insulated her memories of that time, freeing her to live again but leaving behind a feeling of dissatisfaction. She saw no sign of 202
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Tolmac, despite the fact that she constantly searched for him, and she could no longer feel anything but the faintest whisper of a bond where his spirit had once lodged comfortably. That was why she didn't seek out the wizard, the reason that held her back. Tolmac didn't want her; he'd made it quite clear when he'd disappeared and failed to return or even contact her through their bond. The rejection ripped her apart, then it ached, then it stung, and now, after some time to heal, it rankled. She wanted to confront him, to demand he listen to her side of the story, but she didn't think she could bear another rejection. So Sondra didn't hunt down the wizard and she began to suspect that the happiest moments of her life were destined to fade into memory.
She saw Derek nearly every cycle and he continued to charm her from her ennui and depression. He didn't attempt to kiss her again, nor did he speak of their previous relationship; instead, he allowed her time to relax, to simply enjoy his company and his friendship. The more time she spent with him, the more Sondra recalled why she'd fallen for him in the first place. Under his handsome and charming surface, Sondra sensed the steel that he so rarely revealed. The knowledge of his inner strength and seriousness used to make her feel safe and secure; she doubted he'd ever encountered a situation he could not handle. She knew he would be a devoted and loyal husband and father, protecting her and their children to the death if it ever came to that.
She realized that she wanted children, and that she didn't want to spend her life locked in the castle as an unmarried princess watching her youth and vitality fade. She wasn't going to pine away for a love that didn't love her back.
She would find a way to love Derek again, but even if she couldn't, she decided that she could still be the perfect wife and show him all the loyalty and devotion he showed her.
Once she'd made up her mind to accept Derek's proposal, she realized she needed to convince him to propose. What if he didn't want her anymore either?
Then she remembered his kiss, the barest pressure of his lips brushing hers and the way his own eyes glazed over immediately afterward. No, she decided, he did still want her, but he was being noble, allowing her to reacquaint herself with him and her life. She appreciated it, but now she was going to let him know that she wanted a new life, with him. If she had to be so bold as to actually tell him so, she would.
She pushed her love for Tolmac into a corner of her heart, locking it away, aware that she would never truly be free from it, but determined to move on
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anyway. She spent the remainder of the cycle planning her seduction of Derek, anxious to move forward now that she'd made her decision. That evening she made her way back to her chambers, her guards close behind.
When they reached her chambers she proceeded inside, leaving them to guard the doors. She imagined they were grateful to be away from her. Though her family accepted her transformation with remarkable calm, the rest of the citizens of Ariva, including the guards, soldiers, and servants, regarded her with mingled fear and awe. They appreciated what she had done for them but they feared her and no one had completely forgotten the black dragon that followed her, though he certainly forgot Sondra easily enough. She answered no questions about him and no one dared push the issue, but it left many citizens casting fearful glances at the sky though they tried to hide it from her.
Inside her room, Elona's chambermaid waited for her with a message from Elona. Apparently her sister had something she wished to tell Sondra, but she didn't want anyone to overhear it. She had devised a plan to sneak Sondra from her chambers by dressing her up as the maid. The guards never really looked at the maids, only at what they carried with them. The chambermaid brought with her a uniform and said she would meet Elona around the corner of the hall to take her to where her sister waited. She urged Sondra to hurry, and then slipped from the room.
Sondra thought the whole situation was a little bit silly and childish but the constant presence of her guards, the way she felt imprisoned in this castle, and the hunger for a new adventure to distract her saw her slipping awkwardly out of her own gown with Liliana's disapproving assistance and into the maid's uniform. She tucked her long braid under the maid's cap, ducked her head, and snatched up the tray she'd finished eating from several hours before.
That was another unfortunate side effect of her new reputation---servants did not respond with the same speed as before. She imagined that they drew lots belowstairs to decide who had to serve as her chambermaid that cycle. Her old chambermaid had been reassigned after her funeral. Fortunately, Liliana, her lady's maid, was returned to her from the post she had been assigned to assisting one of the lesser noblewoman that served as ladies-in-waiting to Sarai.
Liliana was the only servant who didn't cringe or cower from Sondra, but that was hardly surprising since she was really more sister than servant.
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and slipped out the door laden with the tray, trying to carry herself as she felt a servant might. Sure enough, the two guards chatting outside her door barely glanced up as the short maid hustled by, plates and covers rattling. She heard one whisper something to the other, and they both broke into laughter behind her. Her cheeks burned as she tried not to imagine what they could have been discussing, and she started missing the layer of invisible armor that royalty afforded its women, protection from the lewd comments and actions of men, that servants and commoners did not have.
She met Elona's maid around the corner and quietly set down the tray before hurrying after the girl. They moved away from Elona's chamber and toward the servant's stairs, and the girl only urged her onward at her whispered inquiry. Soon they moved through the same shadowed corridors that Sondra had once snuck out of on a night that seemed so far away, a night that had changed her entire life. She followed the slender girl down the stairs and out to the kitchen gardens. Just outside the door in the shadowed garden sheltered from the heat and chaos of the kitchen, the maid turned and took one last look at Sondra before hurrying off.
Sondra looked around for her sister and was just turning back to the kitchen, obeying the slight tingle of fear caused by the maid's strange behavior, when a rough, filthy hand clapped over her mouth, cutting off her scream. She struggled in terror, kicking and trying to bite, her hands clawing at the heavy coarse fabric covering muscular arms that closed around her like bands on a barrel. The man knocked her out with one punch to the side of her head, and Sondra fell limp in his arms. He trussed her up and loaded her into the secret compartment on the smuggler's cart, finished unloading the barrels he was ostensibly at the castle to deliver, and then hopped in the driver's seat and slapped the reins. The horses kicked into a trot, pulling the cart, loaded with the princess, away from the castle.
That same night, Lord Derek received a note from Princess Elona to meet in the library. He debated ignoring the missive, with its single and uninformative line: I must speak with you about a matter of grave urgency. Still, Derek's survival had often depended on him obeying a hunch and now he had a hunch that this message and this meeting were very important.
He made haste, throwing on a tunic and overcoat, and pulling on his boots before he raced from his chamber. He reached the royal library only a short time after the servant delivered the missive to him at his. He knocked softly
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at the library door and entered at Elona's call. He was surprised to see her in a dressing gown, her hair bound up. He was even more surprised and increasingly alarmed to see the two guards he'd personally set on duty at Sondra's room that day waiting with Elona and Sondra's lady's maid, Liliana. His alarm turned to full-scale panic when Liliana explained that Sondra had snuck out of her room to meet Elona but when Liliana bravely sought out the eldest princess with her concerns it was to discover that Elona had never sent her chambermaid with such a message. The guards knew nothing, and Lord Derek sent them to search the castle for the chambermaid, the traitorous bitch who was no doubt counting her gold and planning her escape.
It took until sunbirth to find the girl, and she was indeed planning on escape. She'd already reached the city gates when the guards there, stopping everyone who went through, discovered her. They locked her in the castle dungeon, interrogated her, and it was discovered that she knew very little save that a rough-looking man approached her on the previous cycle while she was out shopping in the city. He promised her gold to perform a simple task for him. She swore tearfully that she didn't know the princess would be in any danger and believed she led the princess to a secret assignation.
Lord Derek wanted the girl executed, but the king and queen chose banishment instead. The gold the girl received in payment provided them with the best clue, as it displayed Halidor's priest king on the front and an image of Morbidon's skull helm on the back.
Lord Derek set out that very same day in the hopes of catching up to the kidnappers before they reached the border, but it seemed hopeless; he had no idea who they were or how they would be traveling. He could only pray to the gods that the thieves would make a careless mistake and leave behind a clue.
He added that prayer to the others for Sondra's safety and well being. The images of what might be done to her haunted him on his lonely ride. Worse, he had failed her a second time after vowing to protect her, and this time could be her last.
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Sondra awoke with a splitting headache to discover herself trapped within a wooden cart in some kind of compartment. Th e
bouncing of the cart slammed her back and forth into the walls, and she stifl ed her cries as each impact slammed spikes into her damaged skull. Th e
pain served the purpose of taking her mind off her fear. Abject terror would be a better description, and as Sondra ran her hands along the confi nes of the compartment she brought away splinters and the knowledge that only the top lifted up--- and it appeared to be locked closed. She was trapped in this tiny space without food or water and, as always seems to happen while in mortal peril, an uncomfortably full bladder.
She barely discerned the sounds of a whip cracking over the cart horses and the sound of a man's voice speaking with an uncultured and foreign accent.
The only other sounds she heard were the ceaseless and relentless rolling of the cartwheels over uneven roads, carrying her to an uncertain future. She didn't hold out much hope of escape. She had no idea where she was, who held her captive, or why, but she could reason with certainty that whatever her captives wanted she wouldn't want to give up willingly.
Sondra remained awake and tried to distract herself by employing logical formulas to her dilemma. She made mental lists, cataloguing the details of her situation, her potential enemies, what she might know that would put her in danger; whatever she could think of. Mainly she spent the time fighting back the fear and mind-numbing panic. By the time the cart halted and the trap door opened she was ready to do one of two things: scream in insane terror or wet herself.
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Fortunately, she managed to do neither, and a huge, grizzled man wearing homespun flaxweed tunic and trousers that hadn't seen a wash bucket in ages, yanked her out and tied a rope around her hands. He dragged her over to some trees, and Sondra recognized the royal parklands just a cycle's ride from Ariva.
They were heading south, but she was still in her home country; she might still escape.
"You use that tree; I don't want you messin' up my cart." The man shoved her roughly and Sondra didn't hesitate. She'd been a dragon; she could handle relieving herself crouching behind a tree while a pungent and shifty kidnapper waited on the other side. Besides, it felt so good to finally be free of the cramping pain that she almost forgot where she was, until the man jerked on the rope and yanked her back to reality.
She jumped up and quickly set the maid's dress back to rights. The man shoved her toward the cart and she balked, unwilling to trade the relative freedom of the parklands for the cramped confines of the cart. She had no idea when or if he would let her out again. When she stopped he raised a meaty fist to punch her again, and Sondra moved on her own. She didn't have a chance of escaping as long as she remained unconscious.
He lifted her back in the cart as effortlessly as if she were an empty barrel and tossed a hunk of moldy bread and a skin of water in after her. He leered down at her just before he closed the trap door. "You try anything, I'll forget that I was ordered to bring you to my employer untouched, you understand me." His eyes roved over her body in the maid's uniform, his fat tongue licking lips, thick like sausages. Sondra shuddered and turned away from him. She heard the door slam and the meager twilight disappeared.
Sondra choked down the bread and took small sips of the warm water, determined to keep her strength up to face whoever employed this cretin to kidnap her and deliver her. She supposed she should be grateful that they'd insisted she remain untouched. She shivered with repulsion at the thought of that man molesting her in such a way. She didn't know what her kidnappers planned for her, but she liked to think of herself as a realist. They may not want her touched because they may want to do something to her themselves. She spent the remainder of her cart ride promising herself she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of screaming, until she finally fell into an uneasy slumber.
Her captor let her out two more times on the journey before he finally declared that they'd arrived. She crouched awake in her compartment when 208
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the cart rolled to a stop the final time. She heard more men talking to the fat man then heard a thump as something struck the seat beside him. The man responded in the same language as the other man, and both men laughed, while the third moved around the side of the cart.
Sondra didn't speak Halidorian but she'd heard diplomats from that country speak it, and this language sounded similar, if not the same. Judging by the length of the trip and the basic geography of the land she should be in ...
"Oh gods, I'm going to scream," she thought, her logical consideration failing to distract her when the third man opened the trapdoor and looked in.
He was dressed like a guard or a soldier, wearing the same lack of expression on his clean-cut face as any other soldier in her own castle. The uniform he wore identified him as a Halidorian, the Morbidion helm ghoulish on the black background. The soldier glanced down at her, turned and signaled the other man, and the two bodily lifted her from the cart. They set her down but didn't release her arms, and she glanced back at her original kidnapper.
He waved mockingly then slapped the ribbons and his horses started forward.
Sondra stuck her tongue out at his back.
The soldiers escorted her roughly but dispassionately into a crumbling manor. Sondra didn't get much opportunity to study the exterior or the interior, but she did note that the steps to the upper level had nearly disintegrated. The soldiers took her down a hall on the first floor and thrust her into a room furnished with a single cot, a chair, and barred windows. She turned just as they slammed the iron-studded door behind them and she heard the key turn in the lock.
By now it was sundeath, and Sondra didn't even know how many cycles had passed since she had snuck past her guards into this trap. That she was the intended victim she had no doubt. She could think of many reasons why the Halidorians wanted to kidnap her, but none of them comforted her. After all, they had a good reason to dislike her since she destroyed their monstrous war-creatures. She guessed they must know that she was the one that did it; everyone in Ariva knew it, and it wouldn't take much work on the part of a spy to figure it out. She slumped onto the cot, deciding that she might as well try to rest until her captors paid her a visit.
Several hours later, as the room lay dark and silent, Sondra jerked awake at the sound of the key turning in the lock. She quickly stood, staring at the shadowy portal and waiting to see who entered. The door swung open and a
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guard stepped through carrying a lantern. Following him, a man of medium height and lean muscle stepped into the circle of light cast by the lantern.
Sondra didn't recognize him, but she felt certain she would have if she'd ever met him before. He wasn't traditionally handsome, lacking the rugged good looks of Derek, but his skin was a beautiful golden color, his features were finely wrought and elegant, he had a strong masculine nose, short black hair that swallowed the light, and intense dark eyes that swept the room until they alit on her. Like the guard, the man wore a black uniform coat bearing the Morbidon skull helm. The fabric appeared to be the same linen material as the other guard's uniform, though his buttons were silver rather than black.
Despite his unremarkable clothing, Sondra knew the man was important. She saw it in the way he carried himself, the confidence in the set of his thin but shapely lips, the way the guard bowed as he entered.
The stranger smiled when he saw Sondra, and his brilliant white teeth flashed. His smile was so friendly and engaging that Sondra nearly smiled back before catching herself. He dipped his head slightly in greeting.
"Welcome, Princess Casiondra. I apologize for the inadequate accommodations." The man's voice was rich and rolling, the charismatic tone of a great orator. He had a slight accent but spoke flawless Arivan.
"I'm afraid you have the advantage on me, sir. You know who I am but I have no idea who you might be." His lips tightened just slightly before he responded with another lovely smile.
"Of course, forgive me, where are my manners. I am Prince Onian, son and heir to the throne of Halidor." The prince bowed in greeting, his movement arrogant and slightly mocking.
Sondra hadn't expected a prince; a general, perhaps. Every prince she'd ever met---and they had been admittedly few---were little more than ornately decorated puppets, boasting flawless manners and empty skulls. This man, this prince, dressed like a soldier: the sword belt around his waist simple and functional, not a jewel anywhere on the hilt of the weapon. He bore the intensity of a warrior rather than the frivolity and vanity of a pampered statesman.
Despite the fact that she admired his complete lack of wealthy pretension, Sondra could never forget that this was the man who had brought war to her people and all in the name of greed, unconcerned with how many lives were lost.
"I see I am finally face to face with my enemy. I cannot imagine what you 210
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hoped to gain by abducting me; my father will not pay ransom. He has three other children to carry on his line." Sondra hoped he wouldn't decide that he no longer needed her and dispose of her.
"Of course not, Princess; we do not resort to such foolish antics as ransom demands. I have brought you here for another reason entirely. I would like to extend an offer to you. You see, I am aware of your ... shall we call it---unusual nature. I vastly admire your abilities and appreciate them as your own superstitious and judgmental citizens cannot. Only look at how your own people treated you when you sought to aid them. Even now my ... friends ... in Ariva tell me that the people mutter about what should be done, whether they should demand that your own father lock you away because you might prove dangerous to them someday."
Sondra gasped, unwilling to believe the prince. His eyes narrowed on her and he walked forward, his expression radiating sympathy.
"Oh, but you did not know. Of course your family would seek to protect you from hearing about such horrible ingratitude. But let me ask you, Princess Casiondra, how long can your father hold off the angry mob when they come seeking your blood? Your people, they fear you---and fear will drive them to destroy you. I cannot bear to see such an eventuality come to pass. You are far too incredible a creature to die at the hands of ignorant peasants."
"You lie," Sondra whispered, willing herself to believe that the prince spoke falsehoods even when she suspected that he did not. Even if he lied, there was a grain of truth in his words, for hadn't she experienced some of the fear herself?
Fear from servants who had known her all her life, yet now hid whenever she rounded a corner. He came closer, sympathetic and compassionate.
"You know that I do not lie. I can see the realization in your eyes. You must understand that people who live in ignorance can never appreciate your glory.
They hate you. These are the people you defended, and they demand your death. I believe you are magnificent. I wish to make you a hero, a mascot for my new empire. You see---" Prince Onian turned and started to pace, each step measured, his fantastic voice ringing out with avid conviction as he began his oration---"the kingdom of Halidor is dying along with my father, poisoned by excess and overindulgence in wasteful luxuries. I have plans to usher in a new era, an era of industrious progress, an era of expansion and empowerment for all of Halidor's citizens ..."
"Except for their women," Sondra interrupted.
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"No, Princess," the Prince turned, his face glowing with his enthusiasm,
"unlike so many others in my country I am well aware of the intelligence and untapped abilities of the fairer sex. I would see all citizens, men and women alike, stand on equal footing. I would see women trained in the same trades and skills as men and work alongside them. Ah, I see that now I have your attention. Even in your own kingdom, women have very few rights. In Halidor, I would change all of that. But change is costly, and my father's excesses have drained our treasury. That is why I attacked Ariva. I need the revenue from those mines to implement this wondrous new era. Do you see, Princess? I am not a monster, just a man that loves his kingdom and his people so much that he will do whatever it takes to see them prosper." He was a powerful speaker, Sondra couldn't deny it; and for a moment she wished there was a way to help him achieve those marvelous goals without attacking Ariva. His charisma and enthusiasm were difficult to deny, especially since what he said sounded so reasonable. She couldn't help him, of course, even if she was willing to betray her own country and slaughter her own people, which she most certainly was not. She did not have the power to change her own shape, not that she would let him know that. She suspected such a confession might just find her in Morbidon's kingdom before the sunbirth.
"I think you have admirable goals, but it isn't worth the cost of so many lives simply to improve your kingdom. I will not betray Ariva." The prince stopped his pacing and approached her again.
"Princess, I am asking you out of respect for your remarkable abilities. Do not believe that I will simply allow you to turn down my offer and walk away.
If you agree and work with me, you will find your life much easier. I will allow you to consider your options until sunbirth, then I will expect an answer, and I hope for your sake that it is the right one." He flashed her another beautiful white smile and strode to the door.
"One more thing, in case you are thinking of changing into your other form and escaping. You should know that I have already had my wizards en-spell this entire room. If you change into your dragon form, the wards will trap you here. Sleep well, Princess."
He left the room and the guard followed, taking the lamp with him and plunging Sondra into darkness. She heard the lock click on the door and collapsed on the cot. She had no idea how she could escape this mess. She would die before agreeing to attack Ariva, and she most likely would die if she 212
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did not. Then there was the whole problem of her inability to shapeshift. She buried her face in her hands and gave in to the need to cry, her sobs shaking the whole frame of the cot as she wallowed in the hopelessness of her situation, knowing it would only get worse.
True to his word, Prince Onian returned at sunbirth, bringing six guards with him. The first guard entered the room, and Onian followed. Sondra realized that he expected her to attack or make a move, hence the armed guard preceding him. The five other guards followed. This wasn't looking good for her.
"Good morning, Princess, I hope you slept well." His eyes swept the chamber, noting that everything remained where it belonged, even to the chamber pot beneath the cot that Sondra gratefully found the previous night.
Sondra remained silent. The prince came closer, but it was his guards closing around her that felt the most threatening. "So, do you have an answer for me this morning?"
"It's still no, Prince Onian. I will not betray Ariva." Sondra's voice shook with fear. She knew she was doing the right thing but that didn't mean it wouldn't get her killed. The prince sighed.
"How disappointing that you wish to do this the hard way." He motioned to his men and they jumped on her before she could move, dragging her to the chair in the room as she struggled and bit and kicked. They lashed her to the chair and she screamed at them, epithets that she'd overheard passing the servant's quarters but never personally used.
"Such foul language for a princess," Onian tsked. He walked up to her and she spat at him. He slapped her across the face as casually as he might brush back her hair. Her head snapped back and she couldn't stop the startled oww that escaped her stinging lips.
"Really, Princess, your behavior begs the question of whether you are truly of noble blood."
She struggled against the ropes, but the guards tied them so tightly that they bit deeply into her arms and chest, bruising her with every movement and cutting off her breath.
"Now, I shall ask you again, before things grow really unpleasant, will you join Halidor voluntarily? I promise you, I shall spare your entire family. I will have to kill the Warlord you understand. I realize that he is important to you, but he is far too dangerous to remain alive."
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Sondra strained against the ropes, struggling for air. Her outrage at the callous offer nearly choked off her reply. "Never! I will never help you." Onian shook his head and turned away. He nodded to the guards.
"I don't care if you break any bones, but do spare her face; it is such a shame to scar a lovely woman, don't you think," he asked the guard. "I will return again, this centerday. I trust I will find you more cooperative." He left the room as the guards moved in to beat Sondra, closing the door on her screams and the sound of fists meeting flesh.
Sondra lay crumpled against the ropes for a long time after the guards finished and left. They were experts at what they did; beating her until just before she passed out, stealing the comfort of oblivion from her and leaving her locked in a world of pain. From her neck down she hurt; every breath she took brought tears to her eyes and took her to the abyss of unconsciousness but never into it. She knew that several ribs were broken. She didn't know about her arms, but she was certain she had a broken leg. Her entire body swelled from the merciless beating but the guards remained true to their orders, they hadn't touched her face. She cried softly, each sob wracking her with more pain.
She knew she was going to die here and probably in a horrible manner. This pain, this suffering, was only the beginning.
The sound of the key in the lock had her tensing up, crying out in pain.
The guard entered, followed by the prince and then the five other guards. It must be centerday. He'd come for his answer, and despite her agony Sondra would not give him what he wanted.
He came up to her, leaning down and studying her face, his expression a mockery of sympathy.
"Poor Princess Casiondra, it doesn't need to be this hard. Simply say the words, and I will order a healer and food at once. Why suffer? Who do you martyr yourself for? Countrymen who clamor for your death? A family I promise to spare, or a kingdom of no consequence? Or perhaps you fear for your lover, your Warlord? Give in, Princess, and you shall have all the glory you deserve; you will never want for anything again. Continue to defy me and you will only bring yourself more pain."
Sondra lifted her head, looked into his austere and attractive features, so close to her own and spat, striking him right on his high, unlined forehead. He pulled back, his face burning with fury as he wiped away the spittle.
"Untie her!" he shouted at the guards.
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One of them moved to her chair and cut her free. Onian jumped on her the moment the ropes fell away, grabbing her arm and dragging her to the wall and slamming her against it.
She cried out at the pain from her broken leg and ribs and the thousand bruises on her body. He pressed her into the wall with his hard body, his hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back at an unnatural angle as his breath scorched hot and furious in her ear.
"You are an unmarried noblewoman, so pure and untouched." He ground his body against her, his erection hard against her backside. "If you wish to remain that way then I suggest you cooperate." He leaned closer, licked her ear, and chuckled as she shuddered in revulsion.
"I will take you first, Princess, while my guards watch and then I will let them have you until they grow tired or bored. I assure you, we will not be gentle."
Out of the corner of her eye, Sondra saw the guards leering at her, licking their lips. One reached down and adjusted his crotch and the obvious bulge visible there.
Sondra nearly gave in, nearly told Onian the truth that she couldn't do what he wanted her to, even if she wanted to. At this point she was grateful she couldn't or she might have agreed to kill her own people, so deep was her terror and revulsion at the new torment he promised. She wanted to be brave and strong no matter what happened, but she didn't think she could endure it any longer. Not this, anything but this.
A knock at the door interrupted them. Onian pulled her away from the wall and thrust her at the guards who grabbed her roughly. He straightened his uniform and pushed back the hair that fell forward over his brow. It sickened Sondra to see that he still appeared so attractive and reasonable and trustworthy after all she knew about him. This man terrified her the way he managed to conceal so much evil beneath such a cool and elegant façade. He nodded to the guard to answer the door and another guard on the other side stood waiting.
"The wizards are ready in the basement, Your Highness," he said.
"Excellent." Onian dismissed the guard. He turned to the princess. "I have no more time to play games with you, Princess. If you will not serve me willingly, then I will make you my slave. When the wizards are finished, you will obey my every command whether you wish to or not."
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Sondra dropped her eyes, wondering how long it would take for the wizards to discover that she wasn't really a shapeshifter.
Onian brushed at one lapel of his uniform coat then looked up at her, his eyes roving over her face. "Perhaps, when you become more agreeable, we shall take up where we left off." He shook his head at her. "Such a pity, Casiondra; we could have enjoyed a very pleasant relationship." Then he turned away and left the room.
The guards dragged her between them out of the room and down the hallway, heading for stone steps leading below.
They pulled her to the far end of a cluttered basement. Two wizard adepts from the Academy of Magic waited near one stone wall adorned only with a set of manacles and a circle of runes and candles on the floor. The guards dragged her to the manacles and locked her in. She sagged, resting all of her weight on her good leg, the pain in her ribs nearly bringing unconsciousness.
The wizards glanced up from their runes and Sondra expected them to notice she wasn't a dragon right away, but they simply looked her over, nodded, and then turned to Onian, who stood to the side, out of their way but watching intently.
"It will take several hours to breach her protective shield. We will need to force the change first. Once in draconic form we can begin the measures to bind her with the collar. She doesn't appear to have strong shields; finding her true name and weaving it into the binding spell shouldn't prove too difficult." The first wizard turned back to his preparations, and Sondra noticed a large metal collar lying on the stone floor besides the wizard.
"What of the manacles once she shifts, will they hold her?" Onian asked.
"No, she will break through them, but the wards of the rune circle should hold her better than any physical chains."
"Should?" Onian asked, unwilling to see his new pet escape.
"There is always an element of chaotic randomness to magic. We cannot entirely guarantee whether we will be successful. But, since we are still alive, we have been very successful thus far," the second wizard reassured him. "This should be a fairly routine procedure. We have performed similar bindings on dragons captured in Fomoral."
"And if she does escape?"
"Then we all die, of course. I can't imagine she will appreciate what we are doing."
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"Really? Will this be painful for her?" Onian asked, his expression filled with a perverse anticipation.
"Undoubtedly, since we are forcing the transformation against her will." Onian looked over at Sondra where she listened to the conversation, spoken in her own language for her benefit, she didn't doubt. He smiled grimly.
"This should be entertaining."
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Tolmac traveled a long way in search of a fi ght, a challenge, anything to rid his mind of the images that kept replaying over and over---the image of his soul mate embracing another, a human. Th e
image of his soul mate as a human, lost to him forever.
He couldn't answer the question Why? It didn't make sense. Humans were notoriously illogical and irrational, but he had never heard of one doing as his Sondra had done: becoming a dragon, mating with him, and then leaving him for another human. Of course, she wasn't his Sondra anymore. She belonged to another, and from the evidence of that damning embrace, she had perhaps always belonged to another.
So what had he been to her then---a game, a curiosity, an experiment?
His stomach boiled with flames of rage, but just as he held himself back from frying both her and her human lover, he swallowed back the flame, welcoming the pain of it as it took his mind off the agony in his spirit, the gaping wound where her soul had once entwined with his own.
He shouldn't care; he was a powerful dragon, he carved out territories on many worlds through sheer strength and cunning, he had never wanted for willing females. But he had always been alone, except for the brief time he'd spent with Sondra. In all his life, he'd never felt so complete, so comfortable with the presence of another, so ... happy. Suddenly, the thought of countless more years living alone didn't hold any appeal.
He briefly considered migration, but found he couldn't summon the energy or drive to open a portal and leave this world, only to carve out another territory on another world. Besides, Sondra was here, and he didn't think 217
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he could leave it as long as he knew she still lived here, even if she lived with another, a human like herself. He briefly contemplated mating with one of the many willing female dragons now that the Circle was destroyed by Sondra---
whose name seemed to find its way into his every waking thought. The idea of spending himself in any other female after he'd given himself completely to his little storm dragon held no appeal. Instead, he gave in to his first desire---the desire for battle.
He wanted a real challenge, and so he sought out the frost dragon he battled once before at Aquea's Teeth, far to the north of the lands he once called home. He didn't care if he lived or died; he just craved a battle with an equal competitor. The frost dragon had very nearly killed him, and meeting the cursed creature on its own territory meant courting death again. The cold slowed his normal reflexes and weakened him; if his body temperature dropped too low, he would sink into a forced hibernation. He was willing to take the risk, willing to die just to fight a battle worthy of his greatness rather than crush two tiny fragile humans who didn't stand a chance against him.
He could almost picture himself hurting Sondra's tiny human form, so fragile and soft; but he still remembered the look of her dragon aura surrounding that mortal shell. Inside, she was a dragon; he wondered if she realized that, if she felt lost in her human form when her spirit so obviously preferred her beautiful dragon form. Then he asked himself why he even cared. He knew that even when he drew that breath on Sondra and her lover he would never release it. He could never hurt her, no matter how badly she'd hurt him. He loved her; he had committed the ultimate sin for his kind and fallen in love.
Worse, he had fallen in love with a mortal human.
Tolmac could blame her for the rest of his incredibly long existence for tricking him, but he knew the truth. He had suspected something like this from the beginning. Sondra made so many mistakes, came so close to slipping up so many times. The only reason he didn't consciously admit the truth was the sheer inexplicability of her actions. Why would a human do something as strange as change into a dragon, and then spend her time in the company of a real dragon? It just hadn't made sense to him.
Besides, he liked her; he enjoyed her company, and he didn't want to admit that she was a human because then he would feel obligated to send her away.
Humans didn't belong with dragons; nothing good came of it. But the more
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time she spent with him, the stronger he denied the truth. The more he cared about her, the more selfish he became.
Apparently, the fall of the mighty Solendar, first dragon, was not enough of a warning for him; he had to go and do the same foolish thing that had cursed the Dragon God himself.
He was furious when he reached Aquea's Teeth, but not at Sondra or her lover; he was furious with himself for ever allowing himself to fall prey to the lure of her companionship. No wonder she didn't know how to behave like a dragon. What a fool he'd been not to invade her consciousness from the first meeting and ascertain her true reason for trespassing in his territory. He had respected her privacy and it cost him dearly.
His fury escalated when he finished exploring the entire island of ice that housed the jagged crystalline spires. The frost dragon was nowhere to be found, its lair emptied of all signs of life and treasure. Only ragged fish, whale, and penguin bones littered the frozen floor.
Tolmac collapsed on the ice, frustrated, his wrath burning out like the fire in his gut. He laid his head on the ice, his long neck curling and his wings closing over him. Giving in to the lethargy stealing over him, he watched without interest as images formed in the smooth face of the ice.
Aquea stepped from the wall of frozen water. This time she stepped out on human legs, her entire form that of a stunning nude woman with luminous pale skin and the sparkle of ice concealing her nipples and groin. Spires of ice, tiny replicas of the massive spires outside the lair, set atop her flowing blue hair. She approached the dragon, her human body swaying.
"Poor Tolmac," she purred, kneeling beside the dragon's head and placing her smooth hands on his cheek, just beneath one eye whose red glow slowly faded. "She is not worthy of you, my darling." She caressed his scaled hide, his body heat rapidly fading. "I have always desired you; I have always wanted you for my own. Now that she is gone, you come to me, you come to rest in my realm, and all is as it should be. Stay here with me; let me erase her from your memory."
She breathed ice crystals against his cheek before touching her lips to his scales. Ice flowed out from her kiss, forming a crust over his head and spreading down his body. "I will take any form you want, even this human form if that is your desire, darling fire god. Now that you are mine, you will never leave me." The chill of the ice shield crept over him, lowering his blood temperature, 220
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forcing him into hibernation. Tolmac didn't fight it; the cold oblivion promised peace and release from the memories that haunted him. Aquea's frozen touch soothed him and numbed the pain in his soul. The loneliness of the island suited him, and the bleak wind that howled outside the lair played a counterpoint to his internal despair. His eyes drifted shut, their red glow fading like the dying coals of a fire and he slept; he hibernated; he dreamed.
Aquea whispered, "Sleep, my dragon, dream of me. When you awaken, you will become my consort forever." She spared one last glance at Tolmac before melding back into the ice and disappearing from the cavern.
Tolmac dreamed of the time he first arrived on this world over one thousand rotas past. He came through the portal and found a reasonably safe place to rest, as was his need after such a draining journey. When he awoke from his rest, several rotas later, he explored the new world and found it pleasant and relatively unpopulated by other dragons, the only species he really concerned himself with.
He avoided the more crowded human dwellings, interested to note that humans somehow managed to populate every world he'd ever lived on and yet they couldn't form portals to travel. That was the only thing he really noted about humans. He'd met a few humans in past worlds but only during rare encounters. Though he spoke with them from time to time, he discouraged their company. This was why he chose the volcano dominating the center of a mountainous ring protecting a valley inhabited solely by small tribes of people who lived simply and stayed well away from the mountains. He lived there for over one hundred rotas with no problems, though every time he returned from a hunt, he had to rebuild his lair because the volcano would erupt in his absence. He supposed it flooded the valley below in molten rock but didn't really concern himself with such things.
After a few of these times, when the volcano erupted into the valley below, Tolmac would return to find young terrified human children chained to the rock beneath his lair. The practice absolutely baffled him. He would approach the children and they would inevitably collapse in fear before he could ask them their purpose in being there. He assumed that perhaps this was a way humans put their young through trials of adulthood, but he could not see the logic in it.
He would snap the chains they couldn't seem to free themselves from despite their apparent struggles, and leave them be, taking his latest kill with him to
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roast and eat within his lair. They tended to hang around, making a nuisance of themselves, and so he took care of the problem the only way he knew how.
The last time he found a human chained to his lair he was growing tired of the whole mess and contemplated sending a message to the people in the valley, perhaps by torching their fields or some outbuildings. That always seemed to scare people off in the past---at least, he pondered, until some metal-wrapped human would come charging after him waving a stick around. He didn't want that sort of problem, either; metal humans were a real hassle to dispose of. Their horses were tasty, though not as good as the mountain goats that proliferated this region.
This human child did not faint when he approached. Instead, the little creature glared defiantly at him. It had long black hair and fierce dark eyes, and it raised its tiny chin at him. He glared back at it, irritated to find yet another annoyance on his doorstep and reached out to snap the chains and carry the diminutive beastly thing away. The creature shrieked at his claw and kicked it with one delicate miniature foot, collapsing in pain at the contact.
Tolmac shook his head at the little one's defiance. What was it so angry for? It was invading his territory! He snapped the chain and gathered the human up in one claw, its slight weight barely felt in his massive claw. The child shuddered in fear, but did not let loose a single whimper. He glanced at it again, surprised that this one appeared even younger than the rest; so small it would barely stand taller than a hatchling. He sent it the same magic he used on the others, lulling the child to sleep. He then launched into the air to deal with this problem as he had dealt with the ones before.
Cycles later another youth appeared on his doorstep; only this one wore no chains and stood at the entrance to his lair, summoning him forth in fierce defiance. This young human stood much taller than the other, but possessed the same wild, black hair and dark, flashing eyes as the tiny child he'd just disposed of.
Tolmac sighed and came forward, stopping just before he stomped on the newest, nuisance and glared down at it. This one spoke, loudly and clearly, before casting a weak fireball his way. Tolmac was more surprised by the youth's words than by the pitiful fireball that his body hungrily absorbed.
"You monster, you will claim no more virgins for your foul appetites. I will end your reign of terror and take vengeance for the death of my sister!" The youth fired several more fireballs, which also skidded along his scales 222
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and sank into his hide, charging him with even more magic. The human continued to exhaust itself with the only spell it seemed to know while Tolmac sought to open a link with its mind to communicate. He was startled when the link came through immediately; the youth had a clever mind and did not balk at the telepathic communication.
"What foolishness do you speak, human? I have taken no human lives this migration. If you keep that up, you will expend your own life energy on magic that is so clearly not working."
"You lie, monster. You demand sacrifice or you will flood the valley with the burning wave, the red nightmare that flows over all in its path and kills everything it touches. You have already flooded us numerous times, though the elders have offered the tribe's most beautiful and purest daughters as sacrifice to you, including the last one, my own sister. She was only six rotas old!" The youth seemed unfazed by the method of communication; his words came through, accompanied by grief, pain, anger, and frustration.
Tolmac couldn't believe what he saw in the boy's mind. What incredible nonsense was this? Sure, his magic kept the volcano from erupting, which was probably why the pressure released every time he left for a long hunt. He didn't see the need to maintain any spells on it, since he didn't mind rebuilding his lair and tunnels each time, but he'd never asked for any sacrifice. He'd long since learned the folly of eating humans---they tasted terrible, adorned themselves with all manner of sticky bits, and inevitably caused indigestion. He hadn't eaten a human in ages.
"Who fed you these lies, human? I have demanded no sacrifice, nor have I eaten the children left at my door."
"The elders have been told by their vision quests that the only way to stop the flow of the fiery death was to sacrifice a virgin to the monster that lived in the mountain that thunders. They have done so and none of the sacrifices have returned, so it is you who lies!" The youth stopped casting fireballs and indeed suffered for the great expenditure of magic. He slumped heavily on his wooden stick, a hopeless grief enveloping his features.
"Ah, I see. I was supposed to eat those hapless little creatures."
"You make light of such an atrocity. They were just children, my sister ..." The youth nearly choked with his rage and grief.
"I make light of it, as you say, because I have wasted my time transporting
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the young humans to a sanctuary of Vivacel over the mountain, when I could have simply returned them to their tribe and avoided all of this nonsense." The youth paused, shook his head as if he wasn't sure what the dragon just said, and then his face lit up with tentative hope.
"Are you saying that they, that my sister ... is still alive?" Tolmac shrugged, sending an image of the temple where he'd taken the girls. The aging nuns there had been pleased to receive new novices and looked upon his arrival as a blessing of the goddess Vivacel. They wished to pass on their knowledge of resurrection and advanced healing. The girls would live a life of comfort and knowledge and possess the sort of power most could only dream of.
The boy appeared amazed, awed by his sister's good fortune. He cried, and Tolmac sighed again, turning away to leave him, when he demanded, "Take me to them! I must see it for myself. I must be certain this is not a trick!" Tolmac turned back to the boy, amazed at his arrogance in issuing orders to a dragon. Tolmac believed he'd been very patient and forgiving to the youth for bothering him, and now the human thought to give him orders. Still, if it would get the other humans off his back ...
Tolmac did take the boy, whom he learned called himself Ulrick, to the nunnery. Ulrick was thrilled to see his sister and all of the other girls. None of them wished to return home, though his sister offered to if he could not bear to be without her. Since they'd both been orphaned soon after her birth, he'd raised her himself. Now seeing her happier than she'd ever been, he reluctantly left her there, finding himself suddenly alone in the world.
Tolmac thought he would be able to simply drop Ulrick off and be done with the whole mess, but he hadn't counted on the boy's audacity.
"Is there no way you can stop making the mountain spew forth death?" the youth asked, determined to at least return with answers for the elders.
"I do not make the mountain erupt. I can stop it, yes, but why should I bother?"
"Because if you don't, more humans will come and bother you, but if you do ... I can go back and tell them that you will no longer threaten them again, and they will never send another helpless child your way."
"And what about a foolish boy who believes himself a wizard?" Ulrick grimaced, embarrassed by how poorly his one magic spell, incredibly valuable to his people had affected the great dragon. "I will make sure that no 224
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one will ever bother you again; I will post warnings around your lair that no human must pass. I will see to it that it becomes law that this land remains forever forbidden to human trespassers."
"Very well; I will make certain that the volcano does not erupt again, as long as no human enters my territory. But if any one of your humans invades my home again, then your people shall feel my wrath."
"It's a deal, great dragon. I will see it done." The boy scurried off, his tall, slender figure leaping and climbing gracefully down the mountainside.
It wasn't the last time Tolmac would see Ulrick. Indeed, it was only the first of many times. The boy didn't consider himself included in the "any one of your humans" category, and pestered Tolmac relentlessly until he finally taught the boy some real magic just to give him something else to do besides bother Tolmac. Of course, rotas later, Ulrick repaid the favor and saved his life after he nearly died from his battle with the frost dragon. That healing changed Ulrick forever, and Tolmac still suffered some guilt over the incident.
It had been a long time since Tolmac thought of Ulrick, though the procedure that saved his life linked the two of them until the day Tolmac himself died. They had bonded like brothers, similar to a clutch bond, but Tolmac discovered that the blood bond with a human proved much more powerful---not to mention more intrusive and potentially annoying.
It was a fireball spell that awoke him. This one held far more power than the first one Ulrick threw at him so many rotas ago. It was a spell Tolmac himself had perfected, and it melted the ice around him and warmed his blood enough that he came awake to glare angrily at the man before him.
"Wake up, you old grump! Have you come here just to lie down and die?" Ulrick looked different from when he was a boy. His face and head and most of his body were almost entirely covered by blinding white hair, the change in his glorious black mane a side effect of the immense power he wielded. His black eyes twinkled in the small portion of his face still visible past that ridiculous beard he accidentally enchanted to life during an unfortunate experimental mishap and now refused to shave off because he feared he would kill it.
Most humans noticed only the white hair and purposely stooped form, failing to see that no creases marred his skin, and he still possessed the lean, powerful body and incredible height he had when he was a man in his prime nearly a thousand rotas ago.
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He waited impatiently for Tolmac to respond and grunted in irritation when the massive dragon turned his head away to close his eyes again. Ulrick hit him with another fireball, the tip of his elegant wizard's staff glowing an angry red to reflect his own temper.
"You listen here; you had no right taking off on that poor girl like that! I've never known you not to fight for something you wanted, and judging by the way you nearly tore up the entire valley, I have to assume you wanted that girl something fierce."
Tolmac turned his head, pinning the wizard with one red eye, his own flames stoked with rising anger. "It was your fault! You did this, all of it! You transformed her, didn't you?"
Ulrick was unfazed; he'd witnessed many displays of anger over the centrotations. Tolmac would never actually strike out at him; the big dragon was full of fiery bluster but held a nobler heart than any hero in a bard's tale.
"I did; I admit it, though I did not entirely plan what happened next.
Honestly, I was just hoping to teach the girl a lesson. She had the most unfortunate ideas, most distressing in one with her talent. I knew you wouldn't harm her when she encountered you, but I didn't anticipate what would happen next..." Ulrick paused at the glare Tolmac cast him. "Well, I didn't. How could I predict that? What do I know of that sort of thing? Anyway, it all worked out in the end, except for your part, you overgrown swamp lizard! You have to get up and go back now!"
"Worked out? Worked out!" Tolmac had risen to his feet by now and towered over the wizard; the wind from his shifting wings blowing back Ulrick's hair and beard, the heat from his anger melting the ice around him. "It did not work out, in case you hadn't noticed! Sondra is a human!"
"Bah! Only on the outside. I know you wouldn't have been fooled if she hadn't possessed the spirit of a dragon, and a beautiful one at that. You saw it yourself; if she'd just been any old human you would have spotted her right away and you wouldn't be lying here moping around now. And falling prey to that insidious water goddess, mind you. Besides, Sondra's a princess. That should be good enough even for you."
"Princess? Good enough---are you mad, wizard? Has the weight of the rotas warped your mind? She is human and I am a dragon! You cannot change that."
"What? Of course I can! I'm a wizard. So can you, and you know it. You've 226
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done it before. By Morbidon's bony jaw, you taught me to do it. I'll just change her back into a dragon and all will be well. Once we have her back."
"You forget about her human lover. Why would she want a dragon when she already loves a human? Wait---what did you mean by---"
"Ah, yes, Lord Derek---a fine man that one. That's a tough one, but honestly, I still believe she prefers you to him. In fact, though I haven't had a chance to ask her personally, I do think that she may very well enjoy being a dragon and it shouldn't ..."
"Wizard!" Tolmac's roar cut into Ulrick's monologue. The wizard stopped talking and looked up at the towering dragon.
"Hmm ... yes?"
With a heavy sigh, Tolmac asked, "What did you mean when you said 'once we have her back'?"
"Oh, yes, that's why I came to find you, of course. Crazy bit of bad luck, that. Seems that she's been stolen away. Don't know where to, but since you have a bond with her, I suppose you could find her. That is, if you really want to ..."
"Stolen away?" Tolmac felt as if the icy chill around him coalesced and stabbed right through his heart, freezing him from the inside out. "When, where, who dares take her?" he roared.
"I'm not entirely certain, but if you are going, I suggest you travel in a less conspicuous form. Ahem, I'm afraid that those who took her might be interested in the whole dragon thing. They may have wizards that know a thing or two about draconic wards and such."
"I don't fear those weak wards."
"Yes, but, um---they may decide to use her as leverage to get to you once the wizards see what you are. Oh, yes, and you should hurry before Aquea returns."
"Worried, wizard?" Tolmac grinned, a smile of glittering fangs.
"Ahem, no, of course not, it's just that she has a nasty temper." Tolmac grunted in agreement. He thought about what Ulrick wanted him to do and despised the idea but admitted to himself that it would be best to travel inconspicuously. Sondra was in danger and every minute he delayed could mean her death. Suddenly, it didn't matter anymore whether she wanted him and life as a dragon. All he needed was to know that she was safe. He had to save her, even if it meant doing something he really hated.
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"Fine! But don't get too used to this form; it's gone as soon as she is safe!" The air around Tolmac swirled, the fires within his body blazed to an inferno that engulfed him, his wings folded around his body, and he melted, his shape shifting into a smaller, slighter form. When the lights of the fire faded away, Ulrick stood over a shorter, but by no means less deadly, man.
Tolmac had once known a great fighter, a human with the skill to kill a man with his bare hands and the wisdom to avoid doing so. This man belonged to a people that respected Tolmac's kind, and the man treated him as though his presence was a great honor. That man was a highly regarded warrior in his lands where he taught many others his art.
On a whim, Tolmac assumed the form of a human and went to learn the methods this great teacher taught. It was the first and last time Tolmac ever took human form. He learned many things from his instructor: he learned to use his new body as a weapon, to move in silence, to fight with honor and courage, and, lastly, to grieve as humans do. In the end, the man, now old and dying, told Tolmac that it was his honor to teach a dragon his humble art.
Tolmac could only reply that it was his honor to learn, not in the least surprised that the man had seen through his human form.
Tolmac had never been close to that warrior, not as he was with Ulrick, but he remembered that human as being the first he ever respected, and so it was this reason and his memory of the man that inspired Tolmac to take on his former teacher's youthful form when he once again assumed the appearance of a man.
He looked at Ulrick, struggled a bit to remember how to form the words he wished to speak with fleshy lips, and finally bit out, "You must transport us back; I will need rest after the shape-change." Ulrick smiled triumphantly, raised his staff, and called out, "Two trips back to Ariva, coming right up. Give us a hand, Ethelda!" A strong wind swept through the lair, picked up both men, and sent them flying at high speed toward Terroc's Ring and the Valley of Ariva.
Over a cycle later, the spires of ice known for so long as Aquea's Teeth shattered, firing shards into the Frozen Sea for miles around as the sound of a sonic shriek of rage reverberated through the waters, disintegrating any living creature within range. Aquea had returned and discovered Tolmac missing.
Once again, the fire god had escaped the clutches of the water goddess.
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This was the place. Lord Derek received a lucky break when he crossed the border into Halidor. In the small border town of Halinden, one evening spent listening to the gossip in the town's only tavern led him to a man by the name of Black Jack. Th is man, according to
rumor, had received a fat purse of gold to steal away one of the royals that lived in Ariva. Th
e purpose of the kidnapping wasn't mentioned, but the speculators assumed it was for ransom since the attempted invasion didn't proceed as expected.
Derek kept his face concealed by his hood, and his body language warned anyone off, including the overly friendly tavern wenches. When he hunted down Black Jack, he discovered that the man earned his name from a lifetime spent living in the underground, performing odd jobs that may or may not be legal, depending on the amount of gold offered. He was a big man, formidable and strong, but he proved no match for Lord Derek, and the Warlord soon had his answers about where Sondra's captors held her. Black Jack didn't survive the interrogation, but he welcomed Morbidon's reaper with open arms, more afraid of the brutal and lethal warrior than of death itself.
Derek learned that Prince Onian himself had ordered Sondra's kidnapping and had specifically requested the youngest princess. It seemed that the prince believed that Sondra was a habitual shapeshifter, and he felt he could force or coerce her to join with him and use her dragon strength and magic against her own homeland.
Derek still didn't understand how Sondra had become a dragon, but based on what he'd learned about Prince Onian, if she couldn't do it again, things 228
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would not go well for her. That was the thought that harried him through the dying of the sun and into the night as he spurred his mount on to the prince's country estate, a poorly maintained castle half a cycle's ride from Halinden.
Fortunately for Derek, the prince wasn't expecting an attack or rescue attempt within the borders of his own kingdom, and indeed the roads remained remarkably clear of guardsmen or soldiers. A small group of bandits did provide a brief delay but soon discovered it was in their best interests to flee in terror from the furious madman on horseback as he slaughtered them as effortlessly as he might swat a fly. After that, nothing impeded him.
He arrived at the weed-choked and overgrown castle grounds. The castle itself was little more than a dilapidated manor home, not actually a proper fortress, and Derek nearly sighed aloud in relief. The sun would be reborn in only a few hours, and he needed to find the princess and hopefully escape this gods-forsaken place before then.
Derek surveyed the area. A sickly yellow light barely illuminated the entrance to the manor, cast by the flickering flames from two sconces framing the iron-studded front door. He averted his eyes from the source of the light to avoid ruining his night vision and instead used its wan glow to seek out the sentries he suspected patrolled this area. Sure enough, he saw the first one stalk past, barely taking note of his surroundings, obviously bored with his sentry detail. Derek waited until a few minutes later, and another came by, moving stealthily, his head swinging from side to side as he searched the shadows. He also kept his eyes averted from the light of the entrance, and Derek grinned in anticipation. This guard might provide a challenge---something he was looking for after all the worry and frustration he'd suffered on his long, lonely ride.
He remained motionless as the guard passed after carefully scrutinizing the weeds and scrub brush that Derek crouched behind. Derek suspected that any movement or misjudgment on his part would send the guard crying out an alarm. Fortunately, he wasn't spotted, and he prepared to attack, drawing his sword and moving out of his crouch, when another man appeared from the darkness, and in a blur of arms and legs, took the guard down as quickly and silently as the shadow he at first appeared to be. Derek fell back into a waiting crouch, surprised but unwilling to reveal his position before he evaluated this new threat and the purpose of the other man's attack on the guard.
He struggled to discern the figure in the darkness. At first glance he might mistake the man for a woman because he wore his dark hair long, nearly down 230
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to his waist. It seemed to absorb the meager light from the entrance, but there was no mistaking his build. Though he was not as muscular or as large as Lord Derek, he moved with a lean, masculine grace that spoke of years of training and skill. He wore a long loose robe over equally loose trousers in a style Derek had never seen before. The man wore no armor and carried no weapon, but Derek had just seen him take out an alert and efficient guard without any sign of effort.
Derek waited to see what the man would do next, his grip still firm and steady on his own unsheathed blade, and his shield at the ready. The man paused, listening for the other sentry, and then dragged the unconscious guard to a clump of weeds, tucking him into the bushes with appalling ease.
He melted back into the shadows again when the second sentry came crunching by, his boots crushing dead foliage without a concern for stealth or caution. Derek would flay alive one of his own guards for such lazy and reckless behavior while on shift. The second sentry went down faster than the first at the skilled hands of the unknown man, and he didn't bother to drag this one into the weeds. It seemed that he'd determined, as had Derek, that the prince did not feel the need for much caution this far into Halidor's borders and had set only two patrols.
The man moved toward the entry but stopped and slowly turned, the light limning the edge of his features while concealing them in shadow. The hair on the back of Derek's neck rose as he swore that the man's unseen eyes pinned him where he crouched, supposedly well hidden. He froze and felt a deep chill at the flash of a red glow from where the man's eyes should be, before the man swung soundlessly back to the door and entered stealthily, using a key he must have removed from one of the sentries.
Derek took a moment to regain his composure and push away his unease, telling himself that the man had not seen him, and the flash of red had been a reflection of light. Derek rose quietly from his crouch, for a moment envying the man his flawless silence as his own armor creaked gently despite how well he oiled and cared for it. He then took another quick survey, saw no movement, and heard only the song of the night insects. Convinced he was unwatched and unnoticed, he followed the man, pleased to discover the door still unlocked.
Just inside the door, Derek found another guard unconscious. It appeared the shadow man moved with more speed and less caution now as Derek searched the entry hall, his eyes gliding over the yellowed spidersilk walls,
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decaying staircase to the upper floors that didn't look fit to hold his weight, dust and debris piled in corners like a filthy snowdrift, and scarred wooden floors which hinted that a basement lay below this ground level.
He ignored the upstairs, figuring the prisoner would be kept most likely in the basement; it was the first place he would check. The empty feeling of the obviously once grand manor house with its crumbling stone towers filled Derek with a sense of depression, an echo of the hopeless atmosphere that overlay the place. From what Derek knew of Prince Onian, this place suited the dictatorial heir to his father's throne. The man had no use for luxury, as long as he had access to power and complete control over people.
Derek moved slowly over the floor, testing the boards carefully and hoping no creaks alerted anyone occupying the basement to his presence. He kept his mind off the fear of what Onian might be doing to the princess as he slowly crept over the floor and down the left hallway, eschewing the right wing and the center great hall littered with broken furniture and tattered hangings, in the hope of finding steps to the lower floor. Halfway down the hall, he came across another unconscious man and figured he was on the right track. A new fear assailed him as he wondered why this shadow man seemed to seek the same thing he did.
Derek continued down the hall, passing several splintering ironbound wooden doors, before he found what he sought, at the very end of the long hall, where the moth-eaten red spidersilk carpet ended: the wooden floors gave way to a stone staircase that spiraled down. Light from sconces on the steps filtered into the murky shadows of the hallway. Here, two guards slumped against the wall. When Derek passed them he realized that neither of them breathed, yet there wasn't a mark on them to explain what killed them. He noticed that neither guard had had a chance to draw his weapon or protect himself with the shields now rolled against the wall. The shadow man moved quickly and with deadly efficiency. Still, if Derek must meet the man in combat, at least he would not be taken by surprise, and the man would find him far more formidable than a few bored guards pulling a night -shift detail.
Again, he pondered what the shadow man sought as he continued down the stairs, his own leather boots barely making a sound on the narrow stone steps. The heavy atmosphere of the basement level seemed to suck up any sound and swallowed the light just a few steps from each torch sconce.
The basement steps led from a narrow stairwell to a wide-open stone 232
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floor cluttered with crates, bins, and barrels. Most appeared new and well kept, though some farther back were broken open and spilled out their contents of grains, rice, and rotting vegetation onto the relatively clean stone floor. A few desiccated mice corpses curled in the corners and against the walls of the room, and only a murmur of voices emanating from much deeper into the basement broke the stifling silence.
Derek followed the sound, his sword held close but ready to swing, his shield arm up as he slunk toward the other occupants, wending his way through a maze of boxes and clutter. He begrudged every sibilant sound his movements made. Though they sounded barely audible even to him, he imagined that each soft scrape or leathery creak exploded into the heavy silence like wizard fire.
As he moved closer, the soft murmurs of the people at the end of the basement grew louder and he realized that the underlying susurration he'd heard was chanting. Over the chanting he heard a strident, arrogant voice speaking very good Arivan with a cultured Halidorian accent.
That had to be the prince; Derek didn't believe his chosen guards would speak fluent Arivan. It was still difficult to make out what the man was saying, and he wondered where the shadow man had disappeared. His hunch said the shadow man sought the same thing he did, and he would rip the man apart before he would allow Sondra to fall into his clutches.
Derek aimed for the final stack of crates, and he moved with agonizing caution as he focused on the people on the other side, hoping that he heard the princess among these men and praying that she remained unharmed. At the back of his mind, he felt the time slipping away from him and knew that his caution must be tempered with speed or some guard or servant might discover the fallen sentries.
Just as he lifted from his crouch to peer over the crates, an explosive din erupted amongst the people in the basement. He heard men grunting, the sound of steel unsheathing, and the distinctive thud of flesh meeting flesh in a flurry of kicks and punches. Suddenly, the chanting changed, growing frantic and increasing in volume. Derek felt sweat break out on his face. His stomach churned and he had to physically brace himself against the crates to avoid responding to the compelling sound of the chants. He heard a triumphant laugh from the prince, more steel unsheathing, and then a sound that made his heart stutter---a piercing female cry.
Derek jumped up; shook off the strange sensations caused by the chanting,
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and froze at the tableau that met his eyes. The princess stood chained to a wall, battered and dirty in a simple maid's uniform. A series of runes were drawn around her; candles flickered and glowed where they sat strategically placed amongst the runes. At her feet, the shadow man crouched, locked in some internal struggle, his expression fierce, his unusual almond-shaped eyes glowing with a fiery red light, his waist-length black hair flowing around him, and his fists clenched in concentration.
Two wizard adepts in Academy robes stood before the princess and the man and chanted loudly and quickly, their own faces beaded with sweat as they appeared embroiled in an unseen battle. The prince stood off to the side, a half dozen of his own personal guards around him, their swords unsheathed. They all stood frozen, watching the spectacle.
Derek considered whom to attack first, when the prince spoke.
"You might as well come out and join us, Warlord. After all, you have traveled such a long way to be here."
Derek froze, then gritted his teeth and moved out from behind the crates, his sword still unsheathed. The prince's guards immediately surrounded him, but they didn't attack. Derek soon learned why. The prince, like all arrogant fools, wanted someone to gloat at.
"Just look, Warlord, at your 'guardians' now. I have the pleasure of having not one of Ariva's dragons in my control but both. Don't you like my new pets?
My bone golems shall be as nothing, compared to the devastation wrought by two marvelous dragons. Sadly, you won't be there to see the destruction; I must admit I find you far too dangerous to live. Such a pity after you fought so bravely to defend your pathetic little kingdom at Ulrick Pass." Derek glanced again at the shadow man, noting the glowing red eyes. He recalled the massive black dragon that had very nearly roasted both him and Sondra. He looked up at Sondra, and she didn't even glance at him, though she must know someone new had joined the fray. Her own eyes remained pinned on the man before her, her agony at his suffering plainly evident for all to see.
Derek suddenly realized why the shadow man had come here; for the same reason he had---for love. Derek wasn't sure what to think about the revelation when the prince continued, unaware of the Warlord's internal struggle.
"I understand the princess once belonged to you. Tell me, did you know she was a shapeshifting monster when you kissed her? I did." The prince smirked at Derek, his leer ugly and mocking.
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Derek forgot about his concerns over the princess's feelings for the shadow man; he forgot about his own danger. He completely forgot himself as rage consumed him. This filthy bastard had laid a hand on Sondra; he had dared touch her. How far had he gone---had he raped her? Derek didn't know and didn't wait to find out. The wave of fury engulfed his consciousness, and he welcomed the darkness that arose to swallow him.
Prince Onian demanded that Lord Derek drop his weapon, but he wasn't honestly paying much attention to the man, more fascinated by the battle between his hired wizards and the very strong-willed dragon. He couldn't believe his good fortune! Once the wizards finished subduing the male dragon, they could continue their work on the princess. The wizards had recognized the man immediately as a dragon, and the moment he recklessly stepped into the runes circle, they focused all of their effort on conquering and controlling him.
Prince Onian was thrilled. Finally, he would have an unstoppable force: two powerful slaves to his will. With both dragons, he needn't stop with the destruction of Ariva; he could annihilate Barselor and that arrogant bitch that still demanded the secret to make her a lich, even after her defection from the battle. Then he could invade Bladen and oust King Arctuor and his heavy knights. He could continue on, conquering every kingdom in the southern lands. Soon, he would be the ruler of an empire large enough to rival the ancient Alverian Empire.
Onian was engaged in his musings and plans when an enraged cry split the air. The sound so unnerved the wizards that they stumbled in their chant and very nearly lost control over the black dragon, an error that would have proven instantly fatal as he struggled mentally against them to crush their minds.
Onian turned back to the man his guards should have been dispatching, only to witness a head fly past him as one of his own guards fell to his knees in a pool of blood. The guards tried to stab at the insane man within their circle of swords but they moved too slow, not anticipating his inhuman strength.
He slipped out of the circle over the dead guard and spun around to meet the remaining fighters, parrying the closest one's blows with his sword and slamming his shield into the other man's arm so hard that one of the spikes stabbed right through the guard's gauntlet and deep into his forearm. He dropped the sword and looked up from his arm in time to see Derek's sword slide into his forehead. He collapsed without another sound.
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The guards moved to flank Derek, stepping over their fallen companion, and the right guard scored a hit on Derek's side, burying his sword into Derek's gut. The enraged warrior didn't even falter; instead, he swung his sword so hard that the other man's blade snapped before Derek punched him in his startled face, the metal studs on his gauntlet crushing the guard's nose and spewing blood from his eyes and mouth. He fell to the floor choking on his own blood while Derek parried aside the other guard's sword, kicked him back, and then thrust his sword into the man's stomach as he recovered.
During the fight against the enraged Warlord, the wizards continued their struggle against the dragon. Sondra tore her eyes away from the strange man before her whom she had recognized immediately as her beloved dragon. His struggle with the wizards terrified her; she feared they might win and gain control over him, and she knew that becoming a slave would destroy Tolmac.
The shout of rage she'd heard moments ago finally registered, and she turned her head to see Derek, her noble Warlord, hacking the guards to pieces with blood-soaked abandon. He seemed different: larger, more fierce, his blue eyes hard as chips of ice, freezing his opponents as he chopped off limbs or bludgeoned skulls. His face twisted into a monstrous mask, no longer ruggedly handsome but terrifyingly harsh. In a way, as he pulverized the face of one of the guards who'd taken pleasure in beating her, she was horrified by the monster Derek had become, but in another way, she felt a strange shiver of excited desire at the ferocious look of him, a primal attraction to such violent strength that didn't bear thinking about even while her true love struggled for his freedom at her feet. She felt helpless as she watched the two males she cared about fight for their lives, and she could only strain helplessly against the manacles that chained her to the wall.
Prince Onian drew his own sword and moved in to finish off the Warlord himself after his second guard fell beneath Derek's blade. He yelled at his men to step aside as Derek continued to slaughter them without taking another hit.
The stomach wound bled sullenly. Onian knew it was a mortal wound that would kill the man eventually, but he couldn't afford the cost of waiting for the Warlord to die on his own as he piled up the bodies of Onian's men.
The remaining guards stood aside to let him fight, and Onian moved in like the skilled fighter he was, assessing the other man's weakness even as he parried the heavy blows with his own sword and shield. He sliced at an opening in Derek's defenses but found he only scored a shallow cut that barely parted 236
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the laces on Derek's tunic, leaving behind a thin trickle of blood. Derek laughed maniacally and countered by smacking aside Onian's sword and slamming his shield at Onian, who met it with his own. Derek managed to shove the smaller man back, his rage-enhanced strength nearly knocking Onian to the stone floor. While Onian recovered his footing, another guard attacked. Derek met his swing with his own sword, pulled the man past him, broke his sword free of the other man's. and buried it to the hilt in the man's exposed side. He spun just in time to meet Onian's renewed attack and dodge a calculated swing that slid off his helmet rather than sliced through it.
Derek's feral grin and wild laughter made Onian uneasy. He had fought and killed many skilled warriors in his time. He was the greatest warrior in Halidor, but he had never fought a man so unaffected by a mortal wound, so unconcerned with his own impending death, so apparently pleased to be in the midst of mortal combat---and outnumbered. He charged at Derek with a flurry of slices and slashes that he usually reserved for truly skilled warriors, but this time his speed had little effect. Derek batted aside the swings like bothersome gnats, moving with his own deceptive speed, his attitude mocking as he kicked out and missed Onian, who quickly side-stepped to charge at Derek obliquely.
Derek cut down the remaining two guards before they saw him coming when he unexpectedly turned his back on Onian and charged them. He batted aside their swords and buried his own into the neck of the first one, then ripped it free on a tide of blood, chopping at the throat of the other. He spun again to meet Onian's sword as the last guard succumbed to his wounds.
Derek swung his sword with incredible force, and it scarred the entire front of Onian's shield, burrowing through the metal and ricocheting through Onian's arm so that he could barely lift it from the pain. While he struggled to bring up his defense, Derek brought down his sword in a second heavy arc, and only Onian's raised blade kept the wound that began at the base of his neck and slashed across and down to his hip from cutting him in half. He broke away from Derek, backing up in shock as his own armor peeled away in sections, trailing rivulets of blood.
Derek glanced contemptuously at him as Onian dropped his sword and clasped his bleeding wound; then he turned and advanced on the wizards.
Onian, only now feeling the burning agony of the wound, backed away, took one last longing look at the dragons, glanced at his dead guards and the gore surrounding him, and limped away while the madman's back was turned,
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making haste for the upper levels of the building, determined that none of them would escape the manor alive.
The wizards sensed Derek coming but couldn't ease their concentration on the black dragon to deal with him. They didn't stand a chance, and Derek hacked them apart in seconds. He turned on the shadow man and the chained princess and roared. Maddened beyond rational thought by his rage, he made to raise his sword to strike down the princess and the crouching shadow man, when the Derek who lay beneath the fury fought back, remembering his vow never to raise his sword to Sondra again. The enraged beast dropped his sword arm as Derek regained control, the intelligence sharpened in his eyes, and the insane expression faded. He looked at Sondra in apology, crushed by the fear he saw in her eyes, the fear of him. He opened his mouth to speak but fell forward instead, crumpling on the ground in a pool of blood.
Sondra cried out in grief, struggling against her manacles. Tolmac jumped from his crouch, his mind returning from the mental battle, and raced to Sondra. He snapped her manacles with almost no effort, retaining some of his dragon strength even in this form. She pulled away from him and limped painfully over to the fallen Warlord, collapsing beside him as her sobs shook her body. Tolmac left her to her grief as he swept away the chalk rune circle with his foot, eliminating the wards that chained his magic abilities.
Sondra felt the shallow breathing in Derek's body. He wasn't dead yet, just unconscious, but she'd seen the wound. Even the high priestess of Vivacel couldn't heal such a mortal blow. Nothing but a miracle could stop Morbidon's reapers.
Then Sondra lifted her head, remembering something so important she couldn't believe she'd forgotten about it. She ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek and slumped with relief when she felt the tiny lumps there. She worked one free of the skin pouch that somehow had made the transformation with her from dragon to human, and pulled the tiny crystal teardrop from her mouth. The dragon's tear had shrunk along with her, but it still glowed with a beautiful, silvery light.
"Tolmac," she cried. He turned and rushed over to her. He saw the tear in her hand and immediately guessed her question.
"Place it in his mouth, it will do the rest." He watched her lift Derek's head and open his lips, placing the glittering tear between them. As soon as his mouth closed, a silver light burst through his 238
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body, pouring down to the wound in his side and knitting the flesh closed. The light glowed for several moments, blinding in the shadowy basement, and then it died out, and Derek stirred, opening his eyes. He pulled himself from her lap and glanced around in surprise, climbing to his feet. He looked at Sondra where she remained on the ground and at Tolmac standing beside her.
"You have a lot of explaining to do," he addressed them both, then touched the bloody fabric and scarred armor over his unmarked stomach in wonder.
Tolmac snapped his head around at some sound unheard by the other two, and then turned back to them.
"Explanations must wait, we have to leave now!" He helped Sondra to her feet, accepting her weight as she favored her broken leg. She groaned softly from the pain in her ribs. He wanted to tell her to use her dragon tears but there was no time; they had to leave this basement.
Derek responded to Tolmac's statement with the alert senses of a warrior.
His eyes swept the room and what he saw there had him shouting to the other man, "Don't let her see. Whatever you do don't let her witness this atrocity, by the gods." He moved himself in front of the princess and the dragon, blocking her view.
Tolmac nodded in agreement, even as Sondra demanded, "See what?
What's happening?"
He tried to cover her eyes but she spotted movement to the side and pulled her head away. When she got a closer look she started screaming. She couldn't help it. After all she'd been through she thought there was nothing she couldn't handle, but the sight of the mutilated corpses of Onian's guards pulling themselves off the stone floor of the basement shook her to her core, and she simply couldn't deal with it anymore. She passed out.
"Great job on not letting her see them," Derek yelled back, raising his sword to the zombies.
"You try stopping her when she decides to do something," Tolmac replied, easily supporting Sondra's unconscious form.
"You've got a point there; I'll worry about how you know that later," Derek admitted. "They stand between us and the only exit. I can try to hack through them, but I suspect there are more after your lethal infiltration earlier. Plus, Onian has no doubt gathered his surviving men to cut us down if we manage to leave the building."
"This foolish mortal forgets who he is dealing with," Tolmac replied. He
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motioned to Derek, and the Warlord came and took Sondra, lifting her in his arms. He backed away from the other man, who promptly burst into flames, hotter than any fire Derek had ever felt, but not burning either him or the princess.
The next thing Derek saw was a massive black dragon cramped and crouching in the close confines of the basement. Flames jumped from its hide and engulfed the zombies. They didn't stop advancing, but the fire rapidly burned their bodies to ash. Then the dragon raised his head, slamming it into the wooden ceiling and ripping an opening even as he grabbed up both the unconscious Sondra and Derek and sheltered them from the falling debris.
Once the ceiling to the upper floors opened, Tolmac lifted his body and pulled him and the two of them from the basement. His flames ignited one of the wooden walls and burned an opening. Tolmac grabbed Derek and Sondra and smashed free of the manor house. Guards poured from around the front of the building and drew to a halt when they caught sight of the immense black dragon straightening itself out of the manor like an adult crawling out of a dollhouse. The dragon spread his wings, sucked in a breath, and torched the guards as he lifted Sondra and Derek up into the air A flurry of arrows chased them as they rose into the dawning sky, and Derek spotted the wounded prince shouting in rage and struggling with his healer as he watched the three of them escape. His guards and his priests of death proved useless as they moved farther away. The manor, still engulfed by the flames, collapsed on itself and burned to the ground behind them.
Derek glanced at the princess lying unconscious in the dragon's other claw.
They were free and safe, and he had a dragon, of all creatures, to thank for it. He touched his side again, wondering just what happened to the wound that should have killed him. Then he settled back in the dragon's claw, finding it surprisingly comfortable, like a heated chair, and he sought some rest, determined to demand answers for all of his questions from both the princess and their unusual ally. He tried not to dwell on Sondra's friendship with this dragon, choosing to let it rest for now, along with his body.
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They arrived back in the meadow outside Ariva castle that centernight. In the darkness, the black dragon's concealing magic allowed his fl ight to remain undetected by the guards on the curtain wall. Sondra had regained consciousness several hours earlier, but the rush of wind made verbal communication impossible and Tolmac refused to respond to any of the thoughts Sondra sent his way. He deposited the two humans gently in the meadow and lifted back into the sky without pausing.
"Tolmac! Wait!" Sondra shouted after him, heartache in her voice, but the black dragon didn't pause and soon disappeared in the darkness of the night sky. Sondra collapsed, and Derek rushed over and lifted her into his arms. He noted the tears spilling from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.
"Don't cry, Sondra. We are home now. I will take you back to the castle and send for a healer at once. Before you know it, your pain will be gone." But her tears weren't because of her physical pain, and both of them knew it.
Derek didn't confront her with the many questions he had, but what she'd just said sparked his curiosity. "Tolmac? Is that the black dragon's name? Like the fire god Tolmac?"
"You've heard of the fire god, you know his name?" Sondra's surprise shook her from her despair momentarily.
"Well, I can't say I know much about him or any of the other elemental gods, but the people of Vanguard worship the entire pantheon of six. They call them the AllGods, and in the capital city there is a temple to each of them.
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images of the fire god, and it seemed that of the AllGods, the least was known about him---almost as if he didn't care to be worshipped at all. So, is there any connection between the fire god and your dragon friend?" Derek asked. When no answer came, he glanced down to discover that Sondra had fallen asleep, exhausted by her ordeal.
Two cycles later, Derek entered Sondra's chambers. Liliana moved to the far end of the room, granting them privacy but remaining as a necessary chaperone.
"How are you feeling?" Derek asked.
"Much better, though the healers are growing tired of treating me," Sondra replied. In fact, she looked much improved since last he saw her, when he had carried her through the gates, and the frantic guards summoned the healer and alerted the entire royal family that they'd returned.
"Who knew the entire profit from the ginacite mine would go to furnishing bandages to the youngest princess," Derek teased, but no smile crossed his handsome face.
Sondra summoned up a wan smile, feeling the weight of unanswered questions between them.
"Thank you, Derek, for coming for me." Sondra fought back the tears welling in her eyes.
"Thank you, Sondra, for saving me, though you have yet to tell me how you did it. I know I should have died, and I know that I awoke from a dream of pain to find myself lying in your lap with my wound gone as if it'd never been." He raised a hand as she opened her mouth to respond. "I don't need to know how you did it, Sondra. It makes no difference to me what you can do, what miracles you can perform. I am most moved that you cared enough to heal me."
"Of course I do, Derek. Why would you ever think differently?" Sondra protested.
Derek dropped to one knee before her, where she sat on her lounge chair.
He pulled both of her hands into his. "I love you, Sondra. I don't doubt the strength of my feelings for you, and if you asked me to, I would travel to the ends of the world to be at your side. I want to marry you; I want to make a family and a home with you. I want to spend the remainder of my days at your side, protecting you. I know what I want, Sondra. I need to know what you want."
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Sondra felt the tears she couldn't will away roll down her cheeks as she looked into his earnest expression. He knew. He could sense her withdrawal.
He must have known when he came in here, and yet he'd laid his heart before her anyway, sacrificing his pride on one last hope.
"I don't want to hurt you, Derek."
He bowed his head and released her hands, pulling himself to his feet. He turned away and headed for the door.
"You already have, Sondra." He started to open the door.
"Derek, wait. Please," Sondra called out. He paused and she stared at his unyielding back, the muscles beneath his uniform coat bunched and tight.
"Derek, when you unintentionally wounded me on that battlefield, you pleaded my forgiveness, and I offered it freely, knowing that you never meant to hurt me. Now that I have wounded you, I beg that you forgive me, knowing that I care deeply for you, and your pain saddens me." Derek remained silent for a moment and Sondra held her breath, her tears still falling silently.
"I am sorry, Princess. I cannot grant you the forgiveness you seek. I guess I am just not as noble as you. After all I am a common man with common blood.
I am not a nobleman ... or a god." He left the room, closing the door softly behind him without a backward glance.
"Oh, Derek," Sondra burst into sobs, and Liliana ran over to soothe her mistress. Sondra knew she'd done the right thing. She couldn't cheat Derek when she didn't love him. He deserved a woman who wanted only him, and seeing Tolmac again reminded her of what it was like to have a soul mate.
Derek deserved true love too, not just a wife who had to deny her love for another just to get through each day. Still, she cared about Derek more than he would ever realize and his pain hurt her and amplified her own.
Derek appointed General Heinrich as the next Warlord since General Josef, who was content to spend his free time with his lovely young wife, declined the honor. He completed the paperwork that very day, and by sundeath he set out to travel to his new lands and officially take on his title as Duke of Arivale.
If the king wondered, when they held their final meeting, why Derek never mentioned his previous request for Sondra's hand in marriage, he possessed the sense not to ask. The forbidding, cold expression on the former Warlord's face discouraged any personal conversation. Derek rode off without stopping
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to bid farewell to anyone else besides the king, and Sondra didn't find out he'd left until he was well beyond her reach.
The king received a messenger from Halidor the following day. The man explained that the Priest King himself had sent him with an offer of a peace treaty and an official apology for his son's unsanctioned attack. It seemed that in his son's absence from the Royal Palace, the Priest King's health had improved dramatically; especially after his loyal servant met an unfortunate accident, and a new one began taking care of him. Now Halidor extended an invitation to exchange diplomats and the Priest King hoped that they could come to a mutually lucrative trade agreement.
Though the messenger did not mention it, informants later told the new Warlord that Prince Onian survived the battle at the manor house and escaped from his father's guards. His current location was unknown, but the informants suspected that it wouldn't be long before he launched a new bid for power.
That same cycle, the king summoned Sondra to his throne room. She dressed for the formal occasion and made her way down to the public rooms, her limp nearly gone after the healer's excellent work. When she entered the chamber and saw its occupants, she cried out in shock.
Before the dais, standing next to the old wizard from the Woods stood none other than Tolmac, wearing the same human form he'd taken when he'd come to her rescue. He appeared just as at ease and inscrutable as he had then, but when his eyes met hers, she saw the red glow within blaze for just a moment.
She slowly approached the dais and her father's throne, bobbing a curtsy to the king and the queen, and acknowledging the presence of her two sisters and brother, all of who sat with curious anticipation. She shook with nerves and the shock of seeing Tolmac again when she'd resigned herself to a life without him. The butterflies fluttered in her stomach and warmth spread through her body.
Tolmac's eyes never left her; he ignored all else in the room in favor of the female he loved, regardless of what form she took. When she stood before the dais beside the old wizard, the king spoke.
"My daughter, this stranger comes to us with an outrageous request. If he didn't have the support of the Wizard, we would have ordered him summarily ejected from this throne room. Still, he claims he knows you so we have called you forth for an explanation."
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Sondra looked over at Tolmac, hope rising in her heart.
"What is his request, Father?" she asked.
"He asks for your hand in marriage. Of all the arrogant nerve, as if you are some baker's daughter to be married off to the first wanderer to come through the door. She is a princess, man, what makes you worthy of her?" The king addressed Tolmac, who followed the conversation impassively.
The old wizard broke into a smile, vastly amused by the entire proceedings, but he held his silence as well. Sondra rushed to Tolmac, throwing her arms around him, ignoring her family's cries of surprise, outrage, and Elona's "Way to go."
He lifted his arms to enfold her and held her tight, even as the king signaled the guards. They moved in but the wizard raised his staff, and they fell back.
"Your Highness. I assure you that you can make no greater alliance through marriage than this." The wizard addressed the king as Tolmac and Sondra held each other, oblivious to the events around them.
"What do you mean, Wizard? Who is this man? We demand an explanation," the king roared.
"You really wish to marry me?" Sondra asked into Tolmac's shoulder. He still smelled of woodsmoke, hot metal, and himself, and she wanted to sink into his embrace, her heart bursting with joy.
"Marriage is not something dragons do, but I am told it is the way of humans, so I will do whatever it takes to be by your side, Sondra. If this form does not please you, you can choose another one for me. I will stay human like this forever if that is your wish." He held her slightly away from him and gazed into her eyes, his own blazing red.
"You would do that, for me? You would trade your dragon form to remain with me?" Sondra couldn't believe it; she struggled to accept such a wondrous and remarkable sacrifice.
"You asked me once if dragons feel love. What you humans call love is nothing compared to what I feel for you, little one. I have already given myself to you. There is no greater sacrifice than that. I need you; I need to be with you in whatever way I must."
Sondra lifted her hands to his face, cautiously touching his cheeks. "Why did you leave me, before?"
"I believed you belonged to someone else, that you played some game with my affections when you already had a lover amongst the humans. I wanted to
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despise you for it, but I could not. When Ul---when the wizard told me you had been taken, I had to come find you. When I saw you again, I knew I had been fooling myself and that I could never live without you. So I asked the wizard to help me approach your father and do whatever it was you humans do to join my life to yours. I didn't know if you would choose me over your warrior human, but I had to try."
"Tolmac, I already chose you; I chose you the moment I blundered into your lair so long ago. I am yours."
"Dragon of Thunder Mountain! What nonsense is this? You expect us to believe that, Wizard?"
The king's shocked exclamation shook Sondra and Tolmac from their private conversation. Suddenly Sondra realized that a drama played out around her, and she was a key character.
"I imagine he could give you demonstration, but it tends to damage the furniture, and the walls, and the hangings..."
"Wizard ..." Tolmac growled warningly.
"If you truly are a dragon what do you want with our daughter, a human princess?" the king demanded.
The queen nodded in agreement, her face pale from shock and fear for her daughter. Sergen hung from the edge of his seat, engrossed in the drama and eager to see a real dragon up close. Elona watched curiously, calculating the benefit of claiming a dragon as a brother-in-law. Sarai huddled in her seat, terrified.
"I'll have you know, we refuse to sacrifice our virgins to your foul appetites; we don't care what threats you make."
Sondra started laughing. She couldn't help it, especially since she technically wasn't a virgin anymore, not that she was going to mention that to her father.
"Father, Tolmac doesn't want to eat me, he wants to marry me." She turned to Tolmac. "You told me that if that form didn't please me, you would let me choose another one. That form doesn't please me, Tolmac." Tolmac waited, watching her as everyone else, even the king, fell silent.
She touched his face again. "You are a dragon, Tolmac, and that is what you should always be. If I ask you to remain human you will have to deny such a big part of yourself that you won't be Tolmac anymore."
"Are you denying me then, Sondra?"
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Tolmac closed his eyes and prepared to shift, but the wizard stopped him.
"Not here, by Vivacel's ample bosom. I wasn't jesting about the destruction!
Let us relocate, shall we."
And with that, the old man struck his staff on the marbled floors, and in a flash of light they appeared in the meadow---the wizard, Tolmac, Sondra, her father, her mother, and her three siblings. They stood alone, without guards or the trappings of royalty, just her family, the wizard, and the dragon surrounded by the majesty of nature.
"There, now you can change, dragon," the wizard proclaimed, motioning everyone to move away.
Tolmac nodded, spared one last blazing glance at Sondra, then burst into flames, transforming before their stunned eyes into a towering black dragon.
He crouched in the meadow, and Sondra heard the startled shouts from the distant guards patrolling the curtain wall. Sondra nearly cried at the beautiful sight of her lover, his scales glittered like polished obsidia, and she felt immense pride as her family gasped in awed shock and fear. She'd never seen a more glorious sight.
She turned to the wizard. "I am eternally grateful for what you have already done for me, kind sir."
"Oh, so now it's 'kind sir'? I seem to recall you weren't so friendly the last time we met." The wizard grumped, folding his arms over his beard.
Sondra heard a snort from Tolmac that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
She ignored it and implored the wizard, while her family looked on like an audience.
"I am so sorry for my previous behavior. You did teach me to see. Now I know the truth about magic, now I understand so much more. I beg you, Wizard; please make me a dragon again. I don't think I can ever be happy as a human now."
Her father gasped in outrage. "So that is what happened! I'll see you hanged for treason!"
The wizard simply sighed and rolled his eyes, unconcerned by the threat.
The king wouldn't dare carry it through, for he had witnessed the wizard's power personally.
Her mother cried out to Sondra, "No, my darling daughter, you cannot become a dragon! What about your life here, with us? We would miss you terribly."
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Sergen and Sarai stood stunned, and when Sondra looked over at Elona, her eldest sister just winked and said, "Follow your heart; it certainly beats an arranged marriage. I think your dragon is magnificent."
"Father, Mother, all of you. This is what I want; this is my destiny. I have never felt complete as a human, especially not as a princess. When I was a dragon, I was free and the whole world opened up before me. I can never experience that kind of exhilaration in this life. Besides, Mother, I would still leave, even if I married a human, to make my home with my husband. Listen, Ariva will always be my home, and I will always return as long as I have your blessing. And I promise that as long as I live I shall guard this kingdom with my life ..."
"That's all very admirable of you, but there is a problem, young lady," the wizard interrupted.
"What is the problem, Wizard? Please---I will give you everything I own, I will give you whatever you want ..." Sondra pleaded, and the wizard blushed and stammered before continuing.
"I meant that I cannot make you into a dragon permanently," the wizard explained.
The black dragon snarled and the wizard waved his staff at the dragon, but Sondra didn't believe that silenced Tolmac; no doubt whatever disagreement they were having continued within their minds. Her guess was confirmed when the wizard continued on in a loud and harassed voice, "As I was saying---before I was so rudely interrupted---I cannot make you into a dragon permanently, but you can do so for yourself." The wizard finished and glared at the dragon, crossing his arms over his chest again.
"What do you mean? I can't perform magic!"
"Bah, sure you can. You were tested to have some of the strongest potential since my ... since your ancestor Ulrick. You didn't think that sort of talent never showed up again, did you?"
"Tested?" Sondra looked over at her parents, and both nodded before the king answered.
"It was a long time ago, before the Woods incident. After that you wouldn't even hear the word magic spoken without having a fit, so we never brought it up again, nor did we send you to the Academy when the time came."
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"Sondra, in case you have forgotten, you didn't even believe in magic and tried to disprove its very existence," Sarai found the courage to answer.
"I see. So how do I change then, how do I make myself into a dragon?"
"Well, first you must get your belief back. It is faith that gives you power.
You had a great deal of it when you were a child, but you lost it in the Woods.
She has kept it for you; all you must do is ask for it back. But ask nicely, she gets a little temperamental, you know." The wizard winked as he gestured to the Woods looming darkly behind him.
Sondra nodded, swallowed her discomfort, and moved to the edge of the Woods, the hairs on her neck prickling at all the eyes fixed upon her. She reached the Woods, and tried not to feel foolish as she addressed the murky darkness within.
"Pl---please, um, Woods. I beseech you to return my belief. I'm thankful that you have kept it safely through all these years, but now I find that I must have it back in order to find happiness." Silence greeted her request. Sondra glanced back at the group of people and one dragon watching her and shrugged.
The wizard motioned for her to turn back to the Woods. When she did so she stumbled back in fright. Fairy lights deep within the gloom of the woods formed into the image of a woman's face, a stunningly beautiful and, at the same time terrifying face. More fairy lights formed a hand, and the hand lifted to the lips of the face, which parted on a sigh, pursed, and then blew. A swirl of dancing, giggling breeze swept toward Sondra, engulfing her in a joyous feeling of wonderment. Suddenly she was a child again and the lights surrounding her were all fairies, beautiful tiny people with gossamer wings that whirled around her and tickled her cheeks.
The image faded, as did the fairy lights, back into the gloom, and Sondra touched her cheek where the wings had brushed, finding it wet with tears. She took a moment to compose herself and turned back to everyone waiting, a new lightness in her step. She felt years younger and the whole day seemed brighter and more magical.
"Now, Wizard," she addressed the old man, unaware that her family was stunned by the change in her appearance; her hair bounced and sparkled as if it had a life of its own, her eyes glittered, her skin glowed, and her dress was replaced by a glittering robe. "Please tell me what I must do next."
"Perhaps Tolmac should show you what to do next," the wizard replied.
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Sondra turned to her dragon where he waited so patiently, still and silent as an obsidia statue. She walked over to him and lovingly laid one small hand on his scaly jaw. She looked into his eye, and suddenly they were together again, flying high, soaring, their auras entwined even though their bodies didn't touch. She didn't hear the gasps of her parents or siblings as they watched a blazing violet light engulf her body. She felt nothing but the joy of being a dragon again: the stretch of wing, the flex of muscle, the caress of aether over her scales. She didn't know that her family saw her body change, until before them crouched not one but two dragons, cheek to cheek.
Tolmac finally broke their gaze, and Sondra returned to herself to find her body greatly changed from only moments before. She was a dragon again, this time permanently. She gazed at Tolmac with love, and then turned to her family. They didn't shy away, after having seen her change; they now knew that she was still their Sondra, whom they'd known all her life, just in a different form. She reached out to them mentally and spoke within their minds.
"I love you all, which will never change. I will still always be a part of your life, for no matter where I may travel, I will always return to Ariva. This is my home, and it will always fall under my protection till the end of my days, this I vow."
Her mother gave in to her tears; her father realized that he'd never felt prouder of his daughter than at this moment; and her two sisters nodded at her, their own eyes glossy.
Her brother said, "Can you give me a ride on your back? I want to know what its like to fly!"
Everyone laughed tearfully, and Sondra turned back to Tolmac.
"We must go now," she said, "I'm eager to return home, to our home." Tolmac nodded, and they readied themselves to leap into the air when a thought occurred to Sondra. She addressed the wizard.
"Why did this transformation happen so painlessly and the other time hurt so badly?" she asked.
"Ah, well ... yes, you see ... we 'charlatans' may get the words slightly wrong in a spell; you know how it is." The wizard turned away and headed back into the Woods.
Sondra huffed in outrage, and she heard a deep masculine chuckle in her mind.
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"He did that on purpose?"
"I'm guessing he didn't appreciate the way you spoke to him."
"Oh! Why, that old ..."
"Careful, my dragon princess, wizards have excellent hearing." The royal family watched the dragons leap into the air, spreading their massive wings and ascending as they caught the aether drafts. They soared into the sky, and the entire city watched them go.
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The skies overhead exploded with color, and Elona, racing her new horse after the soaring dragons, laughed at the delighted shouts emanating from their backs. Sergen clung to Tolmac's back, whooping in joy. On Sondra's back, a young boy, a mere three rotas old, struggled to stand up in his specially made saddle just like his uncle as he giggled and laughed in glee at the dragon ride. He tried to wave to his mother below, but it was diffi
cult to see her unless his aunt banked to the right.
Sarai, heavily pregnant with her second child, stood on one of the new balconies her father had ordered for the castle, and used Sondra's far-seeing tube to watch the play, while her own baby daughter napped quietly in her chambers. She alternated watching the aerial stunts of the dragons overhead with peeking down at the training grounds where her husband, former general and new Warlord of Ariva's armies, put his soldiers through their paces. Her heart swelled with happiness at the sight of Heinrich, so strong and handsome, even bearing the scars he earned in the battle of Ulrick Pass.
The king and queen held court in a newly refurnished throne room, feeling great pride at the wealth of even their lowest citizens, and at the new projects the king implemented: open parks, shrines of healing for even the lowest citizens, and learning centers where skills and trades were taught in an organized and regulated fashion. All these resulted in a better quality of life for Ariva's citizens. Everyone in the kingdom seemed happy.
At Ulrick Pass, the Duke of Arivale stood with his men, once again examining the massive, uncharged ginacite obelisks ordered by the Queen of Vanguard. The cart used to transport them was huge and well built, but the 251
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lengthy journey to Vanguard through Halidor still concerned the Duke, which is why he personally escorted this shipment. He glanced up at the new sentinels built on either side of the Black River Chasm, an obsidia dragon on one side and a ginacite dragon on the other. Rumor had it that if any threat passed this boundary to Ariva, the real guardian dragons of Ariva would sense it through those statues and come to the aid of the Kingdom. The Duke didn't know if the rumor was true, and he made it a point not to dwell on dragons in general.
He personally hadn't sighted either dragon since he'd left the capital three rotas earlier to assume his new title.
The Duke of Arivale and former Warlord of Ariva took one last look behind him at the valley before crossing the black bridge. It would be a long journey to the border kingdom of Vanguard, and his steward would handle his business and his lands until his return. How long that might be lay in the hands of the gods. Lord Derek didn't really care if he never saw Ariva again, his sharp vision spotting what appeared to be very large birds dipping and gliding over the capital city far to the north.
He turned back to the shipment, pushing away the sting of sadness that still pierced his heart from time to time as he recalled a princess with a magical smile. He signaled to his men, and then urged his horse forward. The carter whipped the massive bullocks lashed to the huge cart. The creatures lowed and strained at the yoke until the cart rolled over the bridge behind Lord Derek, the two sleek statues rocking and swaying with their labored progress.
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Academy of Magic: a school of magic on the border of Vanguard and Empiron kingdoms in the South
Aether: the magical life force of the Cosmos Alverian Empire: During the war, Alverian wizards unleashed a transformation spell intended to change their soldiers into warriors with animalistic attributes to improve their fighting. However, the power of the spell caused it to destroy the wizards and break free, causing chaos and ultimately destroying the Empire.
Aquea: goddess of water
Back gardens: gardens where only royalty are permitted for reasons of privacy
Brood mother: a female dragon, parent of a chick or chicks Centerlight: midday
Centernight: midnight
Centrotations: one hundred rotations (years) Coatdress: a heavy woolen or brocade dress made to button over an underdress of lighter material such as linen
Changing lands: lands were wild magical spells randomly transform people into human--animal hybrids
Chipbark: cheap material for making hats; bark from a common tree that comes off in chips
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✥ Susan Trombley ✥
Citizen's Force: police force for individual towns Clutchmates: fellow chicks in a dragon clutch Cycles: a complete day, from centerlight to centerlight of the following cycle Commons: copper coins used in Ariva Courtdress: a highly decorative and bejeweled gown that fastens over an underdress
Faelins: the word used to describe magical winged creatures similar to faeries Flaxweed: the flaxweed is used to make a common fabric Ginacite: a stone whose resonance allows magical energy to be stored and which can be changed to release the energy Lantis seed: seeds from a jagged, thorny plant with unusual healing and dying properties
Logic: science
Migrations: when Tolmac travels to another world Moon-cycle: a month span; one cycle of the moon Morbidon: god of death
Nobles: silver coins used in Ariva Obsidia: obsidia
Overdress: see coatdress
Planar corridor: a corridor just to the left or right of the existing plane, used by unicorns to travel around obstacles
Reapers: specter servants of Morbidon Retiring closet: toilet room
Rota: one year's time. The Arivans believe that all aspects of life and death are cyclical, and rota is short for rotation of the seasons, one rotation of the seasons equaling one year.
Royals: golden coins used in Ariva Simples: the underdress, usually made from silk or fine linen for royalty Solendar: the first dragon
✥ Th e Princess's Dragon ✥
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Spidersilk: silk harvested from spiders Sunbirth: sunrise
Sundeath: sunset
Ten-cycle: ten days time, comparable to a week on Earth Terroc: god of earth
Thunder Mountain: A mountain at the north end of the ring of mountains called Terroc's Ring that is said to house an ancient dragon Vivacel: goddess of life
The Circle: a society of warped dragons The Woods: A forest north of Ariva that is so old it has no known name; that never seems to remain the same, and can never be mapped. Only the old hermit knows what lives there.
Void: he unfilled emptiness left by the creation of the Cosmos Wizard Wars: a war over a thousand years previous in the Southlands that destroyed the Alverian Empire
Document Outline

Cover
Title Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
EPILOGUE
GLOSSARY OF TERMS

Table of Contents

