Soul Bonds: Book 1 Circles of Light series

by E.M. Sinclair

Fenj had been overwhelmed by the arrival of his first born son. Brin was a wanderer since soon after his hatching. Always curious to know what lay beyond those peaks, where that river might lead. Cycle after Cycle of Seasons passed, and still Brin never seemed to develop the steadiness expected in a mature Dragon of the Treasury.

  His wanderings took him further, he was gone for longer at a time. Fenj had not heard word of him for several human generations and had resigned himself to never setting eyes on this son again. And yet, here he was. As massive as Fenj, his crimson scales shimmering in the sun, his eyes blazing still with dreams of adventure. Kija looked at him, then at Farn, and she sighed. A watch would need to be kept on the pair of them, despite the great difference in their ages.

  Brin explained he had been “far away south”, but as he journeyed back towards the Ancient Mountains, he had begun to hear rumours of strange events. ‘I heard that hatchlings had bonded with two-legs.’ He looked at Farn and Ashta with great interest. ‘Then I heard of Nula.’ Fenj and Kija hissed, and Brin amended quickly: ‘I heard the Forsaken was attacking farms and herders’ camps. I was near enough to her at one time to hear her thoughts.’ He looked around at his audience. ‘She is mad. She killed and ate the two of the Kin who served her. She mutters to herself, over and over, most makes no sense. She is mad,’ he repeated.

  ‘None of this explains why you decided to come after us,’ Kija snapped. ‘And we would prefer a sensible answer, Brin – no nonsense about adventures.’ She glared at him, her eyes frosted gold. ‘I could always fly faster than you when we were hatchlings together, and I daresay I could still deal with your silliness.’

  Brin’s laughter rumbled through their minds. ‘Oh I remember Kija! I’ll behave myself!’ He grew serious. ‘I have journeyed far through all these many Cycles. I have seen many things I had never heard tell of, and I think you have not either. I have even travelled far to the north.’ He let that information sink into their minds. ‘Yes,’ he continued, looking to his father, ‘Dragon Kin live still in the north.’

  Fenj became greatly agitated. ‘They cannot.’ His eyes were slate grey now. ‘The cold and the Shardi make it impossible for us.’ He explained to the two-legs: ‘Long, long in the past, it was less cold, so the Kin did dwell further north. But since my mother’s mother’s time, none have done so.’ He raised himself above Brin. ‘The Kin can NOT live there.’

  ‘But they do,’ Brin replied calmly. ‘They have changed themselves a little to help them master the cold, and they share their lives with a race of two-legs.’

  Kija, Fenj and Gan were listening closely now. None of them knew of any race of two legs in the north, only the Guardian’s servants and a few renegades and runaways. Except Shardi. As that idea dawned, Brin rattled his wings. ‘No, no. Small, very small. They live inside the mountains mostly.’

  ‘And you have met these northern Dragons and the two-leg race?’

  ‘Yes.’ Brin swung his head from side to side. ‘I, erm, went a little further north than I had intended and had to shelter in an ice cave from a great storm. I was greatly weary and I slept. When I woke, the cave was blocked to an extent I could not break through, even using fire.’ The company was leaning closer so as not to miss a single word. ‘The back of the cave suddenly grew a hole, and there was a two legs and a Snow Dragon.’

  ‘So there are tunnels in the northern-most ranges?’ Gan asked. ‘Which would perhaps allow us to approach closer to the Guardian’s Realm without exposure to the cold and storms?’

  ‘Well, it was quite a while ago,’ Brin explained, ‘and I was not with them very long. I had no reason to ask where their tunnels led.’

  ‘You have given us much to think of, Brin.’ Gan looked skyward, somewhat surprised by how much time had been spent listening to Fenj’s son. ‘I think we may as well stay here, and make an early start tomorrow.’ He turned suddenly, staring at Tika and Jeela. ‘You hear that?’

  ‘Yes!’ Tika was pale. ‘Shardi are attacking your Guards!’

  ‘We cannot reach them in time to help, we have allowed them to get too far ahead,’ Jeela added. Both she and Tika, and then Farn, gasped.

  ‘Trem is injured, he –’, and Tika crumpled at Gan’s feet.

  The Shardi did not merely seem more numerous as they attacked the Guards, they were. Soran guessed, in the first charge the Shardi made from the sides of the overhanging cliff, that there were at least fifty. The sentries yelled, in the same instant the Shardi rose, screaming from the rock cover. The men and officers, including Soran, froze for seconds that felt eternal.

  Then the mounted Guards swung into their saddles, fengars already shrieking defiance back at the Shardi. The foot Guards formed into their groups, between which the scarcely controllable fengars charged. Men ran to light torches and distributed them through the company. Swords were already in action, it was too late to use crossbows. The rank smell of the Shardi was a weapon in itself; men gagged as the stench rolled over them in advance of the hairy bodies.

  The Shardi were a quarter as tall again as the humans, some even taller. Their stooped shoulders and ungainliness belied the extreme speed with which they could move. Soran had no time to see how his groups held, as a Shardi burst from the crowd, rushing straight towards him. Its hands, with their long curved claws, reached for him. He choked as the foetid breath from its screaming mouth engulfed him and he fell back a pace, panic boiling through him. He caught desperately at that panic, even as he raised his sword to force away one of the outstretched arms.

  Yellow eyes glared at him as he thrust forward sharply and then danced back out of reach. The Shardi looked down at itself. Blood was soaking through the white hair of its belly. It snarled, baring discoloured, but by no means blunt, fangs at Soran, and surged forward again. Claws ripped along Soran’s forearm but he scarcely noticed. His sword was deep in the Shardi’s chest, too deep. He drew his dagger with his left hand, still gripping the sword hilt despite being unable to pull it free of the Shardi’s body.

  The Shardi’s eyes were glazing but it still pressed towards him. Soran backed, the Shardi staggering after, in a macabre dance, until they were in a melee of fighting men and Shardisi. Human shouts and yells mingled with the fengars’ shrieks and the Shardisi screams – a deafening, mind numbing cacophony.

  At last, the Shardi Soran had impaled stumbled to its knees and he was able to wrench free his sword, his foot on the Shardi’s face to gain leverage. For a moment, Soran looked at the blank eyes, the realisation that he had actually destroyed one of them filling him with elation. As he looked around to see how the Guards were faring, he saw the Shardi were withdrawing. Guards began to chase the shaggy retreating backs until Soran roared for them to halt. He ordered them to regroup, tally the dead and injured, check their weapons and stand ready.

  He was amazed to see fifteen dirty white shapes sprawled motionless, several of them charred where burning torches had been thrust at them. Fifteen Shardi dead! But as his eyes encountered the growing line of Guards’ bodies being laid gently together, he saw what fifteen dead Shardi had cost his band of Guards. Four of his ten officers were among the dead, three more were injured, one of those severely. Trem was one of the injured, unconscious but with no obvious mortal wound.

  No fengars were dead, although a dozen were crippled, the muscles of their backs and rear legs torn by swiping Shardi claws. They were all still at a high pitch of battle rage and their handlers and riders needed all their strength to calm them. Soran felt as if his legs were suddenly made of water in the reaction to this first taste of murderous battle, but he forced them to obey him, moving from group to group of Guards.

  He praised them all on standing firm, one man raising a slight laugh when he told Soran: ‘Warn’t so awful as what them Seniors put in our ‘eads, Sir!’ Soran joined the laughter, resting a hand lightly on the man’s shoulder. ‘I think I am inclined to agree with you, Kran!’ As Soran took the proffered mug of steaming tea from his officer, Baras, the screaming
began again from beyond the boulders. Soran dropped the mug and hurried to the front groups.

  Four more times in that long night, the Guards faced Shardi attacks. As the Shardi fled for the fifth time, Soran saw that the sky was faintly streaking with dawn. Most of his surviving Guards sank exhausted to the ground wherever they stood; a very few men still on their feet offered assistance to fallen comrades. Soran lent on his sword, his head bowed for a moment. ‘By the stars, no more,’ he prayed fervently.

  As he raised his head and straightened his aching back, a hand touched his sleeve. ‘You must get your wounds attended to, Sir.’ He glanced round, seeing with relief, Trem, standing beside him. Trem was very pale, a purpling lump showing under the hair on his forehead, but he was alive, thank the stars.

  ‘Have the Healers see to the men first Trem, I only have scratches.’

  ‘No Sir, this sleeve says there are more than scratches here.’ Trem pulled gently at Soran’s sleeve and he saw with considerable surprise, the sleeve was quite sodden with blood. Stunned with weariness, he found himself being led back into the overhanging shelter of the cliff.

  ‘And you Trem?’ he asked. ‘When did you awake? Are you all right?’

  Trem managed a smile. ‘I have a headache worse than any hangover, Sir,’ he said. ‘But I was able to use my sword in the last two Shardi attacks.’

  Soran gestured at the sky. ‘Day is coming and Shardi prefer the darkness.’ He sank onto a cloth stool where the Healers were working on wounded Guardsmen. Trem squatted beside him.

  ‘I thought they only attacked in small numbers – but there were fifty, if not more, in that first charge Sir. Maybe these Shardi will not keep to their preference for only fighting at night, either?’

  Soran stared at him, appalled. ‘I pray you are wrong Trem.’ He groaned. ‘But get the fittest men prepared and on watch immediately.’

  The dawn gradually lightened the sky, making the scene of the fighting clearer, but much worse. There was a total of twenty-three Shardi bodies, but more than a hundred dead Guards, and twice that number of injured. The Healers had given Soran a bitter drink that numbed his whole body as they dug deep into the great gouges on his arm. He had not realised he had been similarly clawed across his back, until the Healers began cleaning and stitching there as well.

  Now he went to each of his injured men, speaking to those who were conscious, murmuring a prayer for those the Healers shook their heads over. Then he went to the silent, still rows of his dead. Salak, his most junior officer, was listing the names of these dead as Soran approached. He looked up at his commander, tears gleaming on his cheeks in the fingertips of sunrise light. ‘Sorry, Sir,’ he stammered, coming to attention and rubbing his sleeve across his eyes.

  ‘No, Salak, you do well to grieve for these brave men.’ Soran looked squarely at his junior officer. ‘Even I, your commander, have never seen so many dead from one night’s fighting. There is no shame, Salak, in weeping for these comrades, no shame.’ Soran swayed as he finished speaking, and as Salak reached out to him in alarm, Trem appeared at his side.

  Trem helped Soran back to where the Healers worked. There, he sat him down on a stool again. A moment later, Trem had Soran’s bed roll spread for him and eased him on to it. ‘No.’ Soran’s voice was the faintest whisper. ‘I must speak to the men, praise them. I will rest later.’ He made a feeble attempt to rise.

  ‘No, Sir, I will speak to the men. You must sleep.

  ‘Maybe an hour Trem. Just an hour, then waken me.’ Trem did not bother to answer. Soran was asleep already.

  There were no more attacks as the daylight grew. Trem assembled the uninjured Guards and praised their valour. He ordered that they should ready their weapons, then get hot food inside them. And double watches were to be maintained around the camp. He detailed a rota for all the men to take a turn preparing burial places for the dead.

  A Healer stopped him as he passed, handing him a drink. ‘Your head pains you badly still Trem. This will help.’ Trem looked at the dark thick liquid dubiously.

  ‘I would gladly take a potion to ease this headache, but I will take nothing that makes me drowsy.’

  ‘This will not, I swear by the stars.’ Trem drank it, grimacing at its unpleasant taste, and returned the cup to the Healer.

  ‘Is Lord Soran still sleeping?’ he asked.

  The Healer nodded. ‘He has some fever but we will give him a herbal tea when he wakes. Sleep is the best medicine for most of the wounded, him included. Did you see him Trem? The whole night through, whenever we looked out at the fighting, Lord Soran seemed everywhere at once.’ The Healer’s voice dropped further. ‘He killed a Shardi alone, you know.’

  ‘How could I know?’ Trem retorted. ‘The flat of someone’s sword hit my head in the first minutes of the first attack!’

  ‘Thank the stars Trem, it was the flat of the sword!’ The Healer smiled. ‘Why do you not sit beside Lord Soran? If you too sleep, it will do you no harm.’

  Trem had opened his mouth to reply when his eyes went blank. The Healer was at first alarmed then quickly realised someone was far speaking the officer.

  Trem did not recognise the female voice calling his name. When she knew she had his attention, she told him she was called Jeela, sister to Farn. His mind wobbled slightly as he realised a Dragon was bespeaking him. He had thought that only the People could mind speak widely, with only an occasional human, such as himself, being able to communicate with the People. It had never occurred to him that other races had the ability. Jeela was asking him urgently what had befallen the Guards, and was he badly hurt?

  How did she know he had been knocked unconscious, he wondered in amazement. He tried to marshal his thoughts. Briefly he told of the five attacks they had withstood, the many Guards dead and injured. As he sent that thought, the actuality of the events he was describing crashed upon him. But Jeela said: ‘We are nearly to your camp, Trem. We will talk then. You seem to be still hurt – Tika is still sick. Soon we will be there.’ And her voice was gone from his mind.

  Trem blinked, seeing the Healer standing before him. ‘Was Lord Gan able to speak to you from so far?’ asked the Healer.

  ‘No,’ Trem replied. ‘It was Jeela, one of the Dragons.’

  The Healer’s eyes widened, then he took Trem’s arm, leading him to where Soran lay. Trem hardly noticed as he was gently pushed down on to a stool, all he could puzzle over was what, by the stars, had his being hurt to do with the Lady Tika being sick?

  It was nearing midday. Trem had sat quietly for an hour beside the still sleeping Soran, then roused himself. His savage headache had dulled to a manageable throb – as long as he did not turn his head too fast. Looking at the injured, Trem realised they would be forced to stay here at least another night. He found Baras and Salak and the three officers organised the Guards to drag some of the rocks closer to the overhang. He wanted a fairly solid wall of stone, half circling the camp. Three narrow gaps were left: Trem thought the Shardi might be stupid enough to try to enter the camp through these spaces rather than climb the rock wall. If they did, it would enable the Guards to deal with them singly as they attempted to enter.

  Now, as the protective stones rose head high, a watchman called to Baras: ‘In the sky Sir, the Dragons!’ All stopped their labour, watching as the Dragons neared. Six Dragons rather than the five they had seen at the Lady’s House only two days ago.

  Black Fenj landed within the rock walls first, Gan instantly slipping from the massive shoulders and hurrying towards Trem and Baras. Kija and Brin landed next, with the three young ones close behind them. Gan had seen from above the rows of fresh turned plots of ground marking so many burials and his eyes were still drawn to the place, but he said: ‘You have done well indeed – we will hear everything soon but Healers are needed for the Lady Tika and Farn.’

  Now the Guards all saw the pale green Ashta was half supporting Farn. The silver blue Dragon’s eyes were dull, his head lowered. As they watched,
Mim slid carefully from the back of the great crimson Dragon, holding Tika’s body in his arms. Healers were hurrying from the overhang as all the men drew closer.

  ‘Trem.’ Gan spoke urgently. ‘What happened to you? You were telling us of the Shardi attack and broke off suddenly. Tika said you were hurt and that is when she collapsed. We have been unable to awaken her since.’

  Trem frowned, then winced as the skin on his brow pulled tight. ‘It was the Lady Tika I called Sir. The Golden Lady told me to call her in an emergency, as she was the most powerful far speaker or listener. It felt as if she was standing right beside me Sir. Then I was hit on the head.’ He indicated the dark lump on his forehead. ‘I was unconscious for several hours Sir. I know no more than that.’

  Gan turned to the Healers. ‘We believe Tika expended too much Power in sending her mind here. She saw with Trem’s eyes – something we rarely achieve, as you are aware. The Shardisi attack was shock enough, but combined with Trem’s sudden loss of awareness, we fear her mind has lost its way back to her.’

  The Healers looked grave as they examined Tika. ‘We need one with more Power than we possess Lord Gan. Is there such a one, among the Dragons perhaps, who could work with us?’

  Kija said at once: ‘Fenj is known for his gifts of Healing.’ She looked towards the black Dragon.

  His eyes were whirring the shadows-on-snow colour. He said: ‘I have been afraid to try – I have no knowledge of the ways of the minds of two-legs. I would gladly offer my strength to use through your Healers now though.’

  As Fenj moved closer to the group around Tika, Motass went to Farn. He stroked the long drooping face, offering what comfort he could to the stricken blue Dragon. Sket and Lorak, the latter clutching several leather sacks, stayed beside Brin. Fenj reclined beside the Healers.

  ‘Will your Healers mind if I enter their thoughts Gan?’

  ‘Please Lord Dragon,’ one of the Healers bespoke Fenj. ‘We hear you now. We will be grateful for any assistance you are able to give.’

  ‘Bring Farn close before we begin,’ Fenj directed. It seemed a huge effort for Farn to move even the few paces forward. ‘Lie beside her Farn,’ Fenj said gently. Farn fell rather than lay at Tika’s side, his head with the prismed eyes now so very colourless, near hers.

  The Healers knelt on Tika’s other side, clearly about to begin, when a small orange Kephi stalked between men’s legs, up Tika’s body and crouched upon her chest. One of the Healers seemed about to say something but changed his mind after a glare from the Kephi.

  ‘Gan, you also must help,’ said Fenj. ‘You have more of the Power. These Healers are strong but they are human, not of the People.’ Gan squatted at Tika’s head.

  Then began a strange time. The Healers were astonished at the web of Power within Tika’s mind. But it was as dull as were Farn’s eyes, where both should be sparkling. Fenj poured his strength steadily through the Healers, as Gan tried to focus on where to repair Tika’s mind. The Dragons and Mim followed it all, but the human Guards saw only the Healers kneeling rigidly, perspiration rolling like great tears down their faces.

  Suddenly the Kephi did her hind-end-up, front-end down stretch, and the stillness was broken. Tika moved, groaned, faint colour tingeing her cheeks as her eyelids fluttered open. Farn’s eyes began to show gleams of sapphire as Gan gently raised Tika, letting her rest back against his shoulder. Fenj spoke rapidly in direct speech to her, explaining what had been done. She looked at Farn, putting an arm round his neck to bring the beautiful face close to hers.

  ‘Well,’ she replied to Fenj. ‘At least I will know to be more cautious another time!’

  ‘Indeed you will!’ Kija snapped. ‘And kindly remember that my son is your soul bond and thus he suffers with you!’

  Chapter Nineteen