by Bryan Davis
“And what of the other prisoner?” Arxad asked.
“After I have interrogated him, I will let Zena kill him. She will enjoy that.”
“Must she? His only crime is wanting his people set free.”
“He has served his purpose,” Magnar said. “His story is preserved.”
As if summoned by Magnar’s words, Zena appeared, a dagger again in hand. Arxad and Magnar were nowhere in sight, and Uriel sat close to Cassabrie, still bound by chains.
“Have you come to cut out my heart?” Uriel shouted. “Thirteen days I have suffered under the cruel sting of this viperous globe. You will do me a service to end my life, for I will go to be with my dear family who already rest in the glory of our Creator.”
Zena’s smile seemed to crack her face. “You will not be so brave when my blade slices into your skin.”
As Zena stalked past the sphere, Cassabrie took in a deep breath and called out, “Look at me, foul sorceress!”
Zena stopped and turned. Cassabrie stared at Zena, parched hair dangling in front of her reddened face.
“What is it, Starlighter?” Zena crooned as she drew near.
Cassabrie pushed against the chains and, with a puff from her bleeding lips, blew back her hair. “What do you see in my eyes?”
Zena bent closer and stared. “I see the green of envy,” she said in a mocking tone, “envy of a woman who will continue to live in luxury while you die a horrific death. I see anguish that although you possess tremendous power, you are impotent. You cannot save yourself or your friend. And, finally, I see despair. You will die young, never loving a man, never holding your own baby in your arms, and never seeing the liberation of the slave race.”
As she riveted her stare on Zena, Cassabrie’s voice exploded with passion. “Then hear my prophecy, sorceress of the underworld:
This view of light will be her last;
Her eyes will darken, sight is past.
Unless she holds my hand in faith
She staggers blind, a hopeless wraith.”
Beams of light shot out from Cassabrie’s eyes and into Zena’s. The blistering rays locked in place, and when they finally turned off, Cassabrie’s head and shoulders slumped.
Still clutching her dagger, Zena stumbled backwards, smoke rising from her eyes. She fanned them with her hand and screamed, “What did you do to me?”
Cassabrie stood limply. If not for the supportive chains, she likely would have crumpled to the floor.
Zena charged toward her, swinging her dagger violently. “I will cut your eyes out! I swear it!”
“No!” Uriel struggled against his chains. “Oh, great Creator, send us aid! I am helpless to save her!” He jerked and squirmed but to no avail. “Arxad!”
The sound of beating wings filled the room, and a draconic shadow covered the floor. Uriel looked up. A white dragon descended from the sky. As he landed, he knocked Zena down with his tail.
Arxad flew in from the corridor. When he saw the white dragon, his wings faltered, and he dropped to the floor in a slide. He quickly scrambled to his haunches but kept his head low. “My king!”
The white dragon grasped Zena’s arm with a foreclaw and jerked her to her feet. “Begone, sorceress, before I give you everything you deserve.”
With a sweep of his wing, he pushed her away, and she vanished from the scene.
“Arxad,” the white dragon said calmly, “the happenings of late are not beneficial to our cause.”
Arxad kept his stare aimed low. “I have been unable to convince Magnar of our strategy. He trusts in powers from an inferior source.”
“And what of this Starlighter? Why did you allow her to suffer?”
“I made a vow, foolish words uttered in my youth. I am a priest in a cage, constructed with iron bars that I put in place, and only Magnar or the power of death holds the key.”
“Indeed. Your ill-advised vows have brought you troubles and heartaches.” The white dragon set a wing under Arxad’s chin. “Rise and look upon me, my faithful servant.”
Arxad lifted his head and gazed into the white dragon’s bright blue eyes. “What must I do?”
“You will continue in service to Magnar, thereby keeping your vow, but when it comes to choosing to save an innocent life, you are bound to a higher calling: that is, your vow to serve me. You can have only one master.”
Arxad shuffled toward the sphere. “Then I will release the Starlighter immediately!”
“There is no need.”
Arxad halted and stared at the king. “No need?”
“It is too late for her.”
Arxad drew close to Cassabrie’s body and set an ear next to her mouth. “Has she drawn her last breath?”
The white dragon lowered his head. “Yes … she has.”
“No!” Uriel moaned. “Oh, my dear girl!”
A single tear on Arxad’s cheek glistened. “What must I do now?”
“We have discussed another of the sphere’s properties before. Just as it absorbs energy, it has also taken her spirit. After I leave, examine the crystal. You will see. Let wisdom guide you from that point.”
“Wisdom?” Arxad said. “I have none. I have proven it time and again.”
“You have much more wisdom than you realize, but your use of it has not always been consistent. If you will let love and light guide you rather than fear, then your path will be straight.”
The white dragon beat his wings and lifted into the air. After orbiting the room once at a low altitude, he swooped down, grabbed Uriel in his claws, and hoisted him into the air, his chains crumbling into dust. “I have need of this one.” He ascended through the open ceiling, and seemed to float for a moment in midair. “I trust you, Arxad,” he called. “Do not fear. Do not doubt. You will need your faith, for the collapse of protection here will prevent me from returning for a long while.”
With a great flapping sound, the white dragon flew away.
Instantly, the entire scene melted. Koren stood where Cassabrie had been, her blue cloak flapping in the breeze. Above her head, a white dove flew into the trees and disappeared among the branches.
Uriel sat next to Koren and let out a long breath. “Whew! You must be tired!”
Koren let her shoulders slump. “I am. I have never told such a lengthy tale, and the details have never come to life so vividly.”
“Your power is increasing,” Uriel said, pointing at her. “Soon you will be as capable as Cassabrie was.”
Koren held a corner of her cloak between her fingers. “Did I tell it accurately? The scenes and words just flowed from my mind, so I had no idea.”
“My memory is not as good as it used to be, but it seemed that every time I thought about the words that ought to be spoken next, they came to pass in one of the ghosts, though you spoke them yourself. However, I might have embellished my role a bit. I’m sure I added the part about thirteen days and the viperous globe and whatnot.”
Koren smiled weakly. “Thank you for your help. It must have been a horrible experience, and to relive it again …”
Uriel waved a hand. “It was nothing. I have relived it hundreds of times during my captivity.”
Jason reached out and helped Uriel to his feet. “So the white dragon never told you why he took you prisoner?”
“He told me very little, only that he had further use of me and had to keep me alive until that time.” Uriel spread his arms. “So here I am, wondering what this future use is. Since he released me, I should be doing something, don’t you think?”
“You already have done something,” Koren said. “Pulling us up to the boulder probably saved our lives.”
“I think you would have survived without my pitiful aid. In any case, even as valuable as your lives are, I think the white dragon might have something bigger in mind. Don’t you think he could have arranged a rescue in a way that is simpler than keeping a man alive for many years past his normal life’s span?”
“You act like he’s some s
ort of deity,” Jason said. “He’s just a dragon.”
“Perhaps. Arxad certainly treated him with great respect, but I think his reverence fell short of worship or prayer. You might call it admiration or high esteem.”
“Have you ever seen a dragon pray or worship?” Jason asked.
Uriel tilted his head upward. “Not that I can remember.”
“I have,” Koren said. “Well, heard, not seen. I have walked by Arxad’s room in the middle of the night and heard him praying. Most of the time it was just mumbling, but once in a while I could make out words. He talked mostly about his mate and his daughter and asked for their safety, which confused me, because his tone made it sound like something terrible could happen at any moment.”
“Did he ever give his deity a name?” Jason asked.
Koren shook her head. “None that I could hear.”
Jason stretched out his arms and yawned. “Well, that story wore me out, and I was just watching. I’m sure you must be exhausted.”
“I am now. I didn’t feel tired while I was telling it. I almost didn’t feel anything at all.”
Jason walked back to the tree and sat down. “Speaking of prayer, it’s about time I did some praying, and then I’ll sleep a little while.”
“You should.” Koren untied her cloak, folded it, and pushed it behind his head. “It’s damp,” she said, smiling, “but so are you.”
“Thank you. This will help a lot.”
She stooped and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for all you did in the flood. I have never seen anyone act with such chivalry. I’ll never forget it.”
Jason gazed at her sincere face, barely visible in the darkness. Her kindness needed no answer. Adding anything to her words of grace would spoil the moment. He just smiled and closed his eyes. With every muscle spent and his mind awash in dizziness, sleep would come soon, so his prayer would have to be quick.
“Creator of All,” he whispered, “thank you for rescuing us from the raging waters and the fierce storm. Watch over us and show us the way. Keep your protective hand over Father and Mother as they wait for us in …”
As his words faded, images of Mesolantrum drifted into his mind. He and Adrian marched away from home—Adrian beginning his search for the Underground Gateway and he making ready to take Adrian’s place as the governor’s bodyguard. Their father called out, his wood-chopping axe poised on his shoulder. After all three said their good-byes, Jason’s view followed his father back to his pile of wood. As soon as he and Adrian were out of sight, Father hurried into their communal home, limping on his war-wounded leg. He changed into hunting trousers and tunic, strapped on a sword and scabbard, and kissed Mother tenderly.
“I will return to you,” he said, wiping a tear from her cheek. “You have my word.”
“With Frederick?” she prompted.
“Either alive or with news regarding his demise. I can promise no more.” He touched his nose. “I still remember his scent. Perhaps I will find traces of it yet remaining. Trust me to use every available clue to find him.”
She nodded and laid a hand on his broad chest. “In your heart I trust, but I don’t trust the men who have sent Adrian on this quest. Be wary of Drexel. I see evil in his eyes.”
“I have no doubt that Drexel seeks Drexel’s glory and nothing else. Yet, if we can use his self-promotion to our advantage—”
“No!” Mother covered her mouth, surprised at her own sharpness. “I apologize, my dear. I merely beg that you heed my advice. You know that my judgment of character is rarely wrong.”
“I know.” With an arch of his eyebrows, Father pointed at himself. “You married me, didn’t you?”
She gave him a playful push. “Go on with you now. If you’re not out of my sight before I can say ‘Mesolantrum’ three times, I’ll go after our sons myself.”
He bowed, then backed out of the room, his gaze still on her. “May the Creator of every world watch over us until I return. No matter what happens, you will be my first and best thought.”
With the closing of the door, Jason’s dream ended. Drifting toward wakefulness, he half opened one eye and peered at Koren sitting next to him. With her brow low and her stare fixed on her folded hands, she seemed pensive, concerned.
Jason closed his eyes again. Sleep. He needed sleep. He would ask Koren to share her worries when he awakened. For now, it would be better for all if he regained his strength. Who could tell what dangers lay ahead? They needed him to be ready.
Soon the images of Koren’s amazing lifelike tale swirled in his mind. As the same hypnotic daze flooded his thoughts, Jason drifted off to sleep.
six
With his wrists bound by a rope, Randall shuffled behind the guard, dragging the chains that shackled his ankles and attached him to Tibalt, his fellow prisoner. The poor old man had sacrificed so much. After decades in the dungeon, he risked his life to help free the Lost Ones from the dragon planet, and now he faced prison again.
“I’m sorry,” Randall whispered.
“For what?”
“For making you go with me to the palace.”
“I’m not one to say ‘I told you so,’ but …”
Randall sighed. “You deserve it. Go ahead.”
“Nope,” Tibalt said, shaking his head. “I’m going to set my noggin’ on what we did that was good. Nothing else. Just seeing the happy faces on those little ones is worth another fifty years in the dungeon.”
“If you say so.” Randall recalled an image of the Lost Ones they had rescued from slavery and how he and Tibalt had hidden them in various communes. Smiles reflected the joy of freedom the Lost Ones had never known before, and hugs from the children, who would no longer have to worry about dragon whips, once again filled him with warmth.
After settling the former slaves, Tibalt argued that they should go straight back to the dragon planet to help Elyssa, but Randall ached to bring his father’s murderers to justice. Not only that, he had searched for his mother without any success. Had she gone into hiding? Been imprisoned? Some clues indicated the latter, so he begged for just a few minutes to search the palace. If they could figure out what Drexel, Governor Prescott’s head sentry, knew and why he had conspired to kill the governor, maybe the entire conspiracy could be exposed, and his mother would be safe.
Randall strained against the rope. It loosened but not enough for him to pull free. With a sigh, he glared at the soldier leading them through the palace’s marble- laden corridor as they headed toward the courtroom. This Drexel loyalist, a friend of Bristol—the palace’s interior guard and murder conspirator—had spotted them sneaking into Drexel’s quarters. No amount of persuading could turn him aside from dragging them to Viktor Orion, who, by law, had assumed the governorship after the death of Randall’s father.
A sentry opened the courtroom’s tall door and led them inside. They passed between two sets of benches, which were often filled with people when an interesting trial commenced, but this hearing had been arranged quickly and quietly. Only the arresting guard and two skinny, young clerks sitting in the front row would witness the proceedings.
On a platform at the front, Governor Orion sat behind a desk and peered at them overtop a pair of narrow eyeglasses. His piercing eyes, sharp chin, and pointed nose accentuated his stare, as if every facial feature took aim directly at them.
Randall tried to hide a shiver. If only he weren’t so close. During higher-profile cases, the governor usually stood behind a podium at the side while lawyers battled verbally in front of the platform. It seemed that no one bothered with formalities today.
Orion gave the solider a shooing motion with his hand. “You may go. And take the clerks with you.”
The solider attached the prisoners’ leg chain to a ring on the floor, bowed, and marched back toward the door, motioning for the clerks to follow.
When the door closed with a clacking echo, Randall trained his gaze on the new governor. Was this man involved with the murder conspiracy? H
ow could the one who benefited the most from his father’s death be innocent?
Orion rose from his seat and walked to the front of the desk. Still elevated by about three feet, he stared down at Randall, his long body making him look like a perching vulture. “My guess is that your intrusion comes from a desire to uncover the conspiracy that led to your father’s death. This consuming passion has caused you to throw caution to the wind and walk straight into the jaws of that conspiracy. Am I correct?”
Randall shot a warning glance at Tibalt. They had agreed earlier that he would stay quiet.
“As heir to my father’s estate,” Randall said, “I am also heir to his office when I come of age. Therefore I have rightful access to every room in this building. I have done nothing illegal.”
“And I have not accused you of a crime, but as the legal steward of this office, I have to protect myself from the rash behavior of the former governor’s son, who likely thinks I was somehow involved in his father’s death. How could my guard know that you weren’t here to seek revenge?”
Randall gritted his teeth. This pompous cornstalk of a man was blowing smoke, a verbose disguise. “I was going after Drexel, not you. I was trying to figure out his motivation.”
“Ah, yes,” Orion said, pressing his fingers together. “The passion to learn the truth has driven many men toward acts of folly.” He walked to the side of the platform, strode down the three steps, and approached them, his fingers now intertwined. “I once had a similar passion, an obsession really, that pushed me to the brink of insanity at times. Now that I am governor, the responsibility of judging the acts of others has allowed me to view things from a new perspective. I was cold, unyielding, swift to condemn, and I fear that my harsh behavior has been the cause of many ills of late, including the departure of Jason and Elyssa—acquaintances of yours, I believe.”
Randall nodded. There was no use hiding that information. It was common knowledge.
“So I am willing to negotiate,” Orion continued. “I sent the usual witnesses away, because I wish to make a secret pact with you. I can tell you what I know about Drexel if you will go on a journey for me. I have learned that Jason and Elyssa have likely passed through the gateway to the dragon world, putting them in grave danger. I know the secrets behind the obstacles that prevent access to the portal, so you will have an easier time than they did. I want you to go there and retrieve them. Tell Elyssa that she has nothing to fear. I have given up my pursuit of witches and Diviners, and she is welcome to live a life of peace without fear of persecution.”
