Prison of Supernatural Magic

by Laynie Bynum

  As they flew, Arc'homir’s thoughts brushed against Onen’s aura. Each time, he felt/heard Onen’s urgent need to go faster, and he’d urged the wing of dragons to fly faster. Then faster still. With each beat of the tremendous wings, they gained altitude quickly enough to make Onen’s stomach drop.

  Between the altitude and the speed, Onen was half-frozen by the time they landed, and he had a thin coat of ice in his hair. He spoke a word through chattering teeth: “Maelpereji.”

  A golden aura materialized around him, then the glowing haze retracted into him. The tiny bit of magic unleashed warmed him to his core. “Ahh, yes. It’s easier to think, fight, and move when you aren’t freezing me half to death, my friend.”

  Arc’homir’s shoulders lurched forward as he shrugged, a human gesture he’d picked up from Onen. You cannot die like an elf, Onen Suun, but you sure can complain like one.

  In half a candle-span, Onen felt his ears pop as they lost altitude, and he leaned far over to look down. The ground was much closer than it had been, and soon, Y’serra’s castle appeared on the horizon. At first, it was just a dot, but as they glided toward it, he could soon see the individual towers and spires jutting up. Usually, dragons only landed when they were still far enough away to avoid being seen by the inhabitants.

  This time, however, Onen said, “Can you land me at the castle walls, old friend?”

  You know very well that we stay out of view of the humans’ castles and cities.

  “Yes, to avoid terrifying the people and animals inside.” He patted Arc’homir’s neck affectionately.

  Perhaps. Or perhaps, it’s because we have so little use for your pet mortals. Which reason rings truer?

  Onen laughed out loud. “Let’s just say it’s both.”

  Arc’homir grunted, but didn’t argue. Soon, he skidded to a halt outside the main gate. If they stick me with their annoying darts, you’re plucking it out.

  “Deal,” Onen replied. “But the mortals who work for and around gods tend not to get spooked as easily. And they don’t even hurt you anyway. You’re too big for that.”

  It can wedge between scales, and it itches.

  “Now who’s complaining like an elf?”

  Laughing, Onen leapt from the dragon’s neck and used a trivial spell to slow his fall. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he walked across the field between where Arc’homir landed and the reinforced, huge gate.

  The guards opened it for him without coming down as they usually did, but he didn’t usually arrive on a dragon. Judging by their stunned expressions, up in the gatehouse, none of them had seen a real dragon before. Onen recalled that most mortals, even the long-lived elves, had never lived in a time when dragons were more than myths and legends.

  He made his way to Y’serra’s chambers in the central keep, but along the way, it seemed the casle was remarkably quiet. Usually, there were at least a few servants cleaning up or fixing things throughout the castle, no matter the hour. The quiet inside was eerie.

  As he climbed levels and still saw no one, he frowned and furrowed his brow. Something was wrong up there. He could feel it. Halfway to her chamber, he gave up on trying to look dignified and just ran. Where was everyone?

  Y'serra... His baby...

  He sprinted down the hallway, which ended in a “T”-shaped intersection. There, he turned down the corridor that led straight to her private chambers—

  A man’s body lay across the hallway and Onen had to leap to avoid stumbling over him. He skid to a halt, held out his left palm toward the man, and both his entire hand and both eyes glowed a faint blue.

  The man was still breathing.

  Onen rolled the man over and a cold chill ran through him, making his cheeks tingle. That man was no drunkard, but the spy he’d posted at the castle years ago to keep an eye on the stunningly gorgeous goddess. Usually, a woman as beautiful as Y’Serra was either timid or callous—they either disliked the attention or they grew to expect it.

  But now, that guardian had a dagger in his back. Onen spread his hand over the wound and let his energy flow into the man; muscles and veins and sinews stretched back to their intended positions, the ends knitting together, until he was healthy enough to survive what came next.

  As quickly as he could move while still keeping fine control over his movements, Onen drew the dagger from the man’s back and watched until he absorbed the last of Onen’s spell, ensuring that the only damage that would remain would be a simple scar.

  He left the man there to awaken in a few hours and sprinted to Y’serra’s chambers. With a flick of his finger, the door flew open just before he would have crashed into it, but it was dark as night inside. He drew his sword and said its name; with that single word, it began to glow, becoming brighter and brighter until the room was well-lit in a few moments.

  No Y'serra. No note. She was gone. He looked around for any clues. Where had she gone? She had his baby. It wasn’t just her decision where to live, anymore, or what to eat or drink. She had to consider the baby, now—

  Onen did a double-take, looking back at the nightstand beside her bed. Something white.

  “No, no, this isn’t what it looks like,” he said. He didn’t believe himself.

  He took two steps toward the table beside her four-poster bed, and his heart skipped a beat as his throat tightened at what he’d found. On her nightstand. It was a white necklace of hazy diamonds, rough-cut and then tumbled for days and days to smooth out every sharp edge, creating the highly-desired white haze effect everyone seemed to want anymore.

  On it, an amulet hung. It was a disc as wide across as his thumb, edged in cobolt though the center was of gold and silver lines that spiraled out from the very center toward the edges, going entirely around the disk face four times before they reached the cobolt rim. Onen’s own glyph was etched into that disk on both sides, the etching filled with crushed ruby and sapphire that glowed faintly when pointed in his direction, getting brighter as he and it got closer.

  He’d given it to her when he asked her to be his betrothed, and she never removed it, not even when bathing.

  Today, however, that jewelry masterpiece lay across her nightstand, not her neck and chest. “Damn it all,” he said, and his voice was hoarse and tight. Well, there was no one around...

  Onen clenched his fists to the sides of his head, and he screamed. And screamed. It dragged on and on for about fifteen heartbeats, until he ran out of air. Then, as he took a gasp of air back into his lungs, he let himself fall back to sit on her bed,

  Why had he left her, even though his gut had been uneasy about it? He always listened to his gut. It was far more observant than he was, but it apparently spoke only softly when it came to the people who mattered to Onen Suun.

  Arc’homir’s voice reached him, buzzing in his head faintly due to their distance and the fact that he was Onen was no dragon. The ur'gels... Were they but a lure to get you out of the way?

  Onen desperately wanted to believe it, but he couldn’t, no matter how badly he wished it were true. He muttered, “But even then, why would she leave the necklace? That’s not it. Or it’s only part of it.”

  Onen sat on the bed and picked up the necklace, fingering the amulet. He felt... Flat. Numb. Hollow inside. His chest had an empty sensation, almost the way it had felt getting smashed against a brick wall by a bull between its horns had felt, when he ran with the bulls in the far southlands. But if anything, this hurt worse. His betrothed had left him, taken their baby, and she had left behind the one item that would have made it possible for him to find her, or at least for them to talk about it. The symbol of their commitment to one another had been left haphazardly tossed onto her nightstand on her way out the door

  For once, he had no idea what to do, nor where to even begin looking for her and their unborn baby. A new question came to mind then as he looked at the necklace in his hand

  Chapter Nine

  Onen hated being around so many people, except while leading tro
ops in battle. It was necessary, though. He'd already sent riders to all the allied realms on a quest to find Y’serra, but he had also organized his scouts to track down the ur'gels and already sent them out.

  Now, he sat on his throne in the great hall of his castle, ready to hear his Scoutmaster’s report. When the woman came in, Onen saw she bore a new scar across her left cheek, not even fully healed yet.

  She walked forward, somewhat stiffly, until she stood at the foot of the marble stairs up to his dais. There, she fell to one knee and placed her left fist over her chest.

  “Rise.”

  If so, many had been at his castle, they'd have left tracks. When the report came back, it was clear that they indeed had left tracks of people in the thousands, probably, wearing the hob-nailed sandals of Dag'draath's armies.

  The trail led southwest, splitting the distance between Onen's and Y'serra's castles. From there, though, the scouts reported the entire army's trail had gone cold. Impossible, but he didn't dare just dismiss the report out of hand. That army was somewhere, and he had to find it.

  His mind, though, was on Y'serra and her unborn child—and his, too. The thought brought a brief smile to his face until, a moment later, he remembered she'd fled. From him.

  "But she left only to protect you, sire," said his court weirdlock, Ednund. The powerful wizard had a gift for picking up people's surface thoughts, Onen's included, a gift he somehow shared with many of the dragons Onen knew.

  "It made no sense, but yes. That changes nothing, though. I still have to find her."

  Ednund bowed his head, but said nothing more. Perhaps he also sensed his lord's turbulent mood. He was always polite, in that way, and used to Onen’s regular need for solitude. It was part of why Onen liked him so much.

  There was another bothersome thought was just as much a mystery as Y'serra's whereabouts. Why had the Ur'gels left? Knowing Dag'draath, they'd been sent only to lure him away from Abercem Secer. They had to have marched while he was there, after all, to have been here yesterday. Did they know what he looked for, there?

  Too many questions and no answers.

  Pacing, he froze mid-step. He hadn't been at Abercem Secer when the news arrived. He'd been with the high dragons. Luring him from them made a lot more sense than trying to pull him away from a mission Onen himself had barely understood, and had failed at. If the dark one was focusing on dragons, they could be in grave danger, even being as hidden and as powerful as they were.

  Power. That's what Dag'draath craved with every fiber of his being. Onen’s enemy wanted him away from the dragons. But why? The dragons had always refused to join in this war only to fight for men or elves.

  "What could he hope to gain by antagonizing dragons? More importantly, how would he try to gain it?" He resumed his pacing. He had to think this through, figure it out—

  "My lord," Ednund said, interrupting his thoughts. The weirdlock bowed low and stood motionless, waiting.

  "What is it? You don't need to wait. Just say what's on your mind. I value your ideas."

  "It seems to me that you don't need to know what they are after in order to stop it. You only need to ensure the dragons remain your allies, and to stay safe from any of the dark one's schemes. Dag'draath has plots within plots, secrets inside lies. It could be anything. But bring the dragons to you, where you can safeguard them, and he can do nothing."

  As much as Onen felt a burning need to know and to understand what his enemy was up to, sometimes that simply wasn't possible until the plot revealed itself. Ednund was right. "Yes, perfect. Thank you, my friend. You earn your place with me, I promise you that. Sent a messenger pigeon to Mid'thras, please and thank you."

  The weirdlock bowed again and left, his thick, olive-black robes sweeping around behind him as she turned away.

  Just as Onen was about to resume the comforting habit of pacing, the doors flew open again. A castle messenger burst in, carrying a small scroll.

  "What's this?" Onen said. "You know I'm busy. Is it a report from our scouts?"

  The messenger pulled up short at the base of the dais where Y'serra's throne sat, on which Onen had been pacing for hours. "Lord Suun, news. The last riders have reported back. They say the ur'gels have been spotted."

  "What? Where are they?" Onen hurried down the steps to the waiting messenger and took the scroll, unrolling it. It showed that the ur'gels were marching, all right, but straight through Veilthorn in the lush northwest.

  That was Onen's territory. Not an ally's, but his, personally. "This is an unmistakable challenge," he muttered. Poor Y'serra—that was her favorite place on Iynia. The damage that army would no doubt cause could take human generations to heal.

  Then, he saw the last paragraph. "No, that's not right," he said, louder than he'd intended. A quick flurry of emotions came over him—anger, hurt, shock, disbelief...

  "What is it, my lord?" the messenger asked. "I'll send out your orders."

  Onen shook his head, and suddenly, his knees gave out, landing him square on his backside on the bottom step. "Leading their army... It's Y'serra."

  For the first time in at least a century, a god's stomach threatened to flip. She hadn't left to protect him, after all, but to betray him, his cause, and even her own people.

  "By my sword. Everyone I love betrays me..." He put his head in his hands struggled to come to grips with this betrayal. Why had she done this? Why did she tell him about the baby if she only intended to raise it without him? So, he wasn’t good enough, butut she could raise it with Dag'draath...

  Ultimately, the question became clear. Why bother fighting this war at all, anymore? Everything he fought for was crumbling around him. No, not just crumbling, but betraying him.

  He roared at the ceiling, his voice full of rage and grief, while outside, fat drops of rain began to fall from the cloudless, azure sky.

  Chapter Ten

  As the light of dawn overtook Gleet’s blue hue, Onen looked up into the sky and waited alone on the platform, save for four bodyguards. He could certainly handle far worse than they could, but their role wasn't to fight for him. It was to die for him. If anyone attacked, they were to catch the enemy’s first, surprise attack.

  Around the platform, hundreds had gathered, including most of the people who lived or worked in his castle and those who lived within an easy walk or ride. After all, it wasn't every day dragons came to town, and after the uproar caused by Arc'homir's last visit, everyone wanted to see what the fuss was about.

  When the high dragons did arrive, a few people panicked. The giant creatures flew in, dozens of them, all spiraling inward as they slowed and lost altitude, and shortly before the first landed, their wings practically blocked out the sunlight below.

  Arc'homir was the first to land. He came in at a steep angle, wings folded back, and spread them at the last instant. This jerked him to a complete halt for a moment, giving everyone a sudden, awe-inspiring view of the truly mighty creature. As he settled to the platform, though, he became a blur of motion for an instant, and when the blurring stopped, the dragon high king appeared as a tall, mightily-built man in scale armor, with fur boots and fur-trimmed leather cloak. His actual fur and wings, compressed and shifted.

  The king's greeting came to Onen's mind at the same time his now-human mouth spoke it. Well met, old friend. We've come, as you asked.

  Behind him, a series of dragons repeated the process until well over forty people stood on the platform with him, facing Onen. When the last dragon landed, they all bowed as one, high king and all, to their god.

  Onen laughed and roughly embraced the aging dragon king. Others gathered around him too, smiling, and that went on for a few minutes.

  The crowd, meanwhile, stood staring and awe-struck. Their lord really had known dragons. The old legends were true. Few could have imagined the sheer size of a high dragon before seeing it with their own eyes.

  Another dragon said in a lilting voice, now you've done it, Onen. It'll be a century before
we can go out in public again, even in human form. She smiled as she said it, her rows of sharp teeth revealed as her lips curled back. At least they got a show, though. Life must be dismal for them, right now.

  One of them, Onen didn't see which, replied, Hush, Ambreth. Have you forgotten the reason we don't mingle with their kind? His voice was most certainly not raised in good cheer.

  Ambreth lowered her head and stepped back into the crowd of now-human dragons. I forget nothing.

  Onen cut the argument off at the pass. "Nor do I. Distrust them, but remember, they're living beings, too—with feelings and hopes and dreams, most of which have been crushed for years now thanks to the war. But this is not about them, is it?"

  Arc'homir turned and snarled. Enough of that. We're Onen's guests, not theirs. We came because of Dag'draath, not them.

  Onen spread his arms a bit. "Welcome, all of you. I'm pleased to have you as my guests. My servants will show you all to your chambers."

  He waved to one side of the platform, and a line of people came forward, stopped near Onen, and eyed the dragons warily. Then, two-by-two, they and their dragon assignment left for the stairwell entrance at one corner on the platform and disappeared into the depths of the castle.

  Arc'homir watched them go and, still looking in that direction. So, Onen. You do remember we like to sleep as we truly are, right? We don't regenerate or recharge, if we sleep in human form, nor can we keep that form for long.

  "Of course. Most of this hill is a warren of huge bedchambers, as you well remember. I had them cleaned and aired out before your arrival. But come, let's go to my lounge, and I'll have breakfast brought."

  Together, they walked to the steps leading down from the platform, curious onlookers staring as they crossed the courtyard. They entered the keep itself and once inside, the great hall greeted them with its several fireplaces, lit wall sconces, and long tables with dozens of seats. They sat at the head of the table, of course, the human-form dragon taking the chair to Onen's right.