The Mark Of Iisilée

by T P Sheehan

  Trax looked at them both again.

  “We have supporters. Austagia, Jael, Färgd,” Catanya said.

  “You have Färgd’s support?”

  “More than that, he defends Magnus as the Electus and insists the priests and dragons support Thioci’s decision,” Catanya elaborated.

  Trax gently tapped a finger on the tabletop. “And here you are.”

  Magnus sensed they were at an impasse. The spicy air from the kitchen seemed to thicken in the silence. Would the priest lash out and attack him or would he alert the dragons and the High Priests? Magnus and Catanya had to be prepared for either.

  “There is a dangerous game being played here, Semsame,” Trax eventually said, eying Catanya. “A game of ambition and deception. No matter the outcome, blood will be shed.” He looked at Magnus. “For my part, I wish to do the right thing—right by the order, by the Couldradt Fire dragons, and by the people of the Fire Realm. I have sworn to do so as it is written—

  “The fourth of four realms,

  The last to bring bond and the power of fire,

  May give over to one of their choosing,

  Whose progeny shall forever inherit the power of the realm of fire…”

  Magnus recognised the words from something Catanya said to him in the dungeons of Ba’rrat. It was something from the ‘Murata Fara’—the priests’ sacred book.

  “It is of the dragons’ choosing. Not the High Priests’,” Trax continued. He gave an affirmative nod.

  “And they have chosen,” Catanya said. “Why then do Brue, Liné and Rubea support and guard the High Priests? Do they not know the truth?”

  “They do know. But more has come to pass and a lot is at stake. Liné has born a child. As is tradition, the unhatched egg was delivered into the custody of our order for safekeeping in the chamber rooms beneath the temple.”

  “Safekeeping?” Magnus asked. It seemed to him that a dragon’s egg would be safest with its mother.

  “Aye. Over the years, Delvion has exhibited irrational means to try and obtain the last remaining Electus power for himself. Even a dragon’s mother cannot be with its egg at all times.”

  Magnus understood. Long ago at the gates of Guame, Eamon told how Delvion killed Electus offspring and drank their blood in the hope of getting their power. Magnus cringed at the thought of him extracting an unhatched dragon for the same purpose.

  “After the first new moon, the egg was supposed to be given back to Liné for her to begin her hatching ritual,” Trax continued. “It was not. The egg is being held as collateral in exchange for your death.” Trax studied Magnus. “If the egg is not hatched after the second new moon, it shall never hatch at all. What’s more, Brue is the father.” Magnus and Catanya stared at one another, dumbfounded at the news. “As he was to Thioci,” the priest added.

  “More than one reason Brue tried to kill me, then,” Magnus realised.

  “No. One reason—blackmail,” Catanya said. “If Thioci’s death were your fault, he’d not have made you the Electus.”

  “Does Brue see it that way?” Magnus directed his question to Trax.

  “I would say sly words have leant suggestion that Thioci need not have died and that you are to blame,” Trax said. “I cannot see Brue acting as he did in response to blackmail alone.”

  “Why are you still here, Trax?” Catanya asked.

  “I was waiting for brethren of sound mind to return.” Trax looked at Catanya. “The egg is of great concern to me. It needs to be recovered and it is not something I can do alone.”

  “Once recovered, will the dragons turn on the entire order of Irucantî?” Catanya asked.

  “If we three present the egg to Liné and Brue, they will perhaps see the High Priest’s folly as their own and not representative of the entire order.” Trax’s eyes widened. “It could mean the difference between war and peace.”

  “Without the dragons, we’ll never end the war with the Quag,” Magnus said.

  “That’s entirely another matter and better addressed on the far side of our predicament.”

  Magnus was dressed in a black priest’s robe, wrapped and tucked about his body the way all priests dress when not in Ferustir guise. Beneath the robe, he still wore Eamon’s Ferustir suit with Lucas’s sword strapped low across his back. Outside the robe, he wore Catanya’s lance sheathed high across his back so as to appear as Trax did when he entered the kitchen half an hour ago.

  Magnus, Catanya and Trax had been quick to plan their infiltration of the Temple of Fire. A small window of opportunity was upon them.

  “Every morning before sunrise I bring a meal to the High Priests in the temple,” Trax had explained. “Wards about the temple are lifted to allow my coming and going.”

  The plan was to have each of them, and the dragons, enter the temple whilst the wards were lifted. They were now ready.

  “Shall we go over the plan?” Trax suggested.

  “I enter the temple disguised as you, carrying the High Priests’ morning meal,” Magnus said.

  “Move with purpose,” Trax warned. “If Liné catches your scent, you are done for.”

  “Once in the nave, Magnus hurries to the third door along the eastern wall and lets me in through the healing room,” Catanya added.

  “Correct,” Trax said. “By which point I’ve approached the temple as myself, also carrying a tray of food, thereby raising the alarm as to an imposter.”

  “Liné is closest and will be the first to follow you into the nave,” Magnus said.

  “I imagine Brue will be close behind,” Trax added. Magnus shuddered at the thought.

  “The commotion will alert the High Priests, by which time I will be hiding behind the statue of Balgur,” Catanya said.

  “Correct.” Trax rubbed his palms together. “At this point, chaos will ensue. Brue will have spotted you, Magnus. Rubea will be the last dragon into the temple and the two High Priests will have entered the nave through the second door along the western wall.”

  “I will keep the High Priests from killing me,” Magnus added.

  “As I try to reason with Liné. If she knows you are the Electus, she may keep Brue from killing you.”

  “In the chaos, I will enter the fourth door along the western wall,” Catanya said.

  “Correct. Now listen closely, Semsame.” Trax was wide-eyed again. “This door leads to a spiral staircase that ends at a curved corridor.” Trax drew on the tabletop with fingers as he explained. “It will be disorientating, but know that at the end of the corridor, as it opens to a chamber, you face south. The chamber itself is circular with twelve doors evenly spaced about it as hours on a clock. Liné’s egg was born at the midday hour, so her egg will be stored in the chamber room behind the twelfth door.”

  “Chamber room twelve—got it,” Catanya confirmed.

  “The doors are not labelled numerically,” Trax warned. Catanya stared at the old priest. “The twelfth door is directly north—behind you as you enter the chamber.”

  “Directly north—got it.”

  “There is something more you should know, Semsame. A fire dragon egg born at the midday hour is a ‘Zenith’ dragon—preordained to be the most powerful of dragons. The sun is at its zenith at this hour—the most powerful hour of the Fire god—‘Couldradt’. The last Zenith dragon born was Balgur.”

  “You’re saying Liné’s egg is to become the most powerful dragon born in hundreds of years?” Catanya asked.

  “In five hundred years, yes.”

  “Got it.”

  “Hopefully, with the High Priests distracted by myself, the Electus and three dragons, Catanya will return through the fourth door with Liné’s egg and the High Priests will have lost their leverage for favour.” Trax’s eyes shifted back and forth from Magnus to Catanya.

  “We play things by ear after that,” Magnus concluded.

  “Indeed.”

  Magnus walked out of the kitchen and nearly missed the step. He stumbled slightly, recove
red quickly, but continued to shake nervously. He steadied the tray of food that permeated more heat and stronger spices than usual—something Trax cleverly thought would help mask Magnus’s scent.

  With his hood pulled well forward over his face, Magnus took deliberate breaths to match his short steps as he tried to emulate Trax’s walking style. He walked across the cobblestones of the common, eyeing a still-sleeping Rubea on the training field. The temple stairs came into sight, then the Temple of Fire itself. Liné was lying six feet from the tall, black doors he was going to walk through in just a moment. “Move with purpose…” Magnus remembered Trax’s warning and quickened his pace, reaching the bottom step of the temple. He dared not look at Liné, or Brue, who was surely looking down on him at that very moment. Does Trax take one or two steps at a time? He cursed himself for not asking. He assumed the old priest took one step at a time whilst carrying the food tray, and so did so.

  One, two, three, four… Magnus counted every step until he reached the top of the stairs. Liné stood tall and Magnus lifted his head without thought. Her amber eyes flashed briefly at him, then looked away. Magnus lowered his head again and moved quickly through the portico arch to the temple doors. One was ajar, but not enough to squeeze through with the tray. He pushed it with his foot and the bulky hinges groaned as the door opened the few extra inches he needed. Magnus was in the temple.

  THE HIGH PRIESTS

  Using the same foot, Magnus closed the temple door but was careful to leave it an inch ajar for Trax to follow him in. Turning, Magnus found himself in the temple’s narthex. There was a second set of open doors just ahead. Magnus walked briskly toward them and peered in, realising at this point he was still carrying the tray of food. He cursed under his breath and placed the tray off to the side before entering the nave.

  The nave took his breath away. The floor appeared to be a smooth surface of water as he stepped tentatively onto the black marble. Haste… he reminded himself. Third door on the eastern wall… Magnus sprinted across the floor to the third door and slid back the steel locking bolt. He entered the white-walled healing room. On the far side, he slid the second bolt and pulled that door open, too.

  Catanya jumped through the door and closed it behind her, leaving this door ajar as well. Coming back through the healing room, Magnus pulled Catanya’s sheathed lance from his back and handed it to her, then discarded the priest robes he was wearing and re-sheathed his sword over his left shoulder. They entered the nave just as an explosion of noise erupted through the temple doors from the narthex. Magnus and Catanya exchanged quick glances—glances full of hope and dread—and assumed their positions. Catanya leapt behind the white marble statue of Balgur at the back of the nave. Magnus came about and stood at the very centre of the vaulted room as Trax came charging through the second set of doors with Liné’s bellowing roar and hulking body right behind him.

  Trax leapt at Magnus and turned about when he reached him. “I just had a thought! Do something to show yourself!”

  “What do you mean?”

  You are the Electus! Show it!”

  This was not part of the plan, but Magnus knew what Trax meant. Magnus clenched hands into fists and tried to conjure fire but was quickly distracted. He could see a second dragon entering the nave behind Liné—it was Brue. Trax intercepted Liné. She was half way across the nave floor with a horribly familiar burbling sound rising in her belly. Magnus knew what the sound was pre-emptive of and grew concerned for Catanya’s safety should the nave fill with fire. Will the statue of Balgur protect her?

  As Trax predicted, Rubea was entering the temple behind Brue. Then the second door along the western wall opened. Two black-robed figures moved like apparitions into the confusion. In a blur of fire-bronze, the two High Priests drew weapons and twirled them about in a fantastic display of skill. As their weapons drew still again, Magnus saw they were not holding lances—they were holding fire-swords.

  As if reacting to the forsaken weapons, Liné twisted her head to one side and released her surge of flame over the High Priests. Magnus reeled from the searing heat. The flames wrapped around the priests but could not penetrate the air within two feet of them. Both High Priests were mumbling spells. Amidst the fiery attack, one of them pointed an arm at Magnus.

  Assuming the worst kind of sorcery was to come, Magnus pointed an arm of his own back at the High Priest. The pores in his arms and hands bled seeds of fire that merged and spun into an eddy of flames about his arm. With a flick of fingers, the flames launched toward the priest. Before Magnus could see what effect they had, a dazzling white light filled the nave and Magnus was blinded. It lasted just a moment but his eyesight was slow to regain its focus. When he did, he saw the High Priests had moved into offensive positions and were whispering at a furious rate. One focused on the dragons, the other was looking at him. Beyond them, Magnus saw that the fourth door from the left was open—Catanya got past the priests!

  Catanya sprinted down the spiral staircase that ended at the descending curved corridor. Trax was not lying—by the time the corridor opened into the circular chamber she was completely disorientated. There were twelve doors, evenly spaced about the cylindrical walls of the chamber, with little to tell them apart. The darkness did not help with the confusion. There were sconces mounted over each of the doors, but only seven of them had torches lit and dimly at that. They each cast strips of light across the chamber floor that would have formed a star-like pattern of twelve yellow blades if all the lights worked. It seemed odd that the temple above was magnificent and meticulous in every way when this hidden underground chamber was drab and neglected. Catanya saw this as a metaphor—like the High Priests who are virtuous on the outside, yet poisoned with ambition within.

  “Twelve doors…” Catanya shifted to the centre of the chamber. Even this far below ground level, the foundations trembled with the dragon battle happening overhead. “Focus.” It was difficult to do so knowing Magnus was in the middle of it all. Catanya bounced on the balls of her feet. She spun about to face the corridor she had come down and looked directly at the door in that direction. “North. Trax said the twelfth door faces north.”

  Catanya ran to the door. There was no lock. She held the large brass knob attached to the chunky latching mechanism and lifted the latch away. The door pushed inward to a trapezoidal shaped room about ten-foot deep and broadening width as it deepened. The room was eerily sparse yet lit by a ring of six fist-sized fire orbs floating ten feet from the ground, surrounding the centre of the room. At this centre was a black marble plinth standing waist high with a shallow, spherical depression in its top. Within this depression sat a two-foot long, burnt-orange dragon egg. Catanya stepped into the room, walked beneath the ring of orbs and reached for the egg. There was no time to lose and so without a second thought, she held the egg between her hands and lifted it from the plinth. The egg was heavier than Catanya expected, but more surprising was the heat it radiated. She held it close to her body for fear of dropping it, walked out of the room, into the chamber and almost dropped the egg at the sight before her. Someone was standing at the centre of the circular chamber, partially hidden in shadow but with yellow strips of light highlighting the familiar features of her body and face. She was holding a single purple iris. It was Hannah.

  “That will do it!” Trax shouted to Magnus after his fire display—ineffective against the High Priests as it was. Trax maintained his position between Magnus and the dragons. His arms were wide and he stared at Liné. Magnus saw Liné’s eyes changing colour, flashing through a myriads of variations before settling on brown to match Trax’s. He had seen the fire dragons do this before—first with Thioci and then again at the gathering in Ba’rrat. Magnus was certain it meant Liné and Trax were sharing thoughts. This has to be a good sign…

  All of a sudden, Magnus’s own thoughts felt as if they were being twisted. He felt confused and disoriented. He looked to Brue, who was circling around the eastern wall, focused on Magnus. Rub
ea was doing the same toward one of the High Priests in the other direction. The other High Priest was staring at Magnus, his mouth still moving rapidly. He is making a mental assault… Magnus deduced. He stared back, searching his own mind for an area yet to be dominated by the priest. He hoped he could establish a stronghold with which to anchor and work to regain control and block the priest from his head. A memory of Thioci came to mind. Färgd was there, talking to the young dragon. It was when they were at the eastern wall in Ba’rrat. He felt Färgd’s joy as well as his sorrow and his acknowledgement that Thioci had chosen him to be Electus. He held fast to the memory, for the High Priest was quickly encroaching on the rest of his mind with sorcery. It was as if everything was becoming a mangled vortex of confusion. Magnus tried hard to resist the mental assault. Then came the heat.

  Dragon blood raged through his mind faster than even before. Magnus concentrated on working with the heat—pushing back against the priest’s sorcery, allowing his mind to burn the effects free. He kept pushing, but the High Priest was well skilled and his mental manipulations persisted. Magnus eyed the High Priests’ fire-swords. He was of the understanding that only one such sword still existed—Steyne’s sword. They were considered a curse and were all thought to be destroyed after Balgur was slain with Steyne’s own sword in the Battle of Fire twenty years ago. What madness made the High Priests bring those to the fight? Surely they knew they’d make instant enemies of the fire dragons? Then, in some portion of his brain free from the priest’s assault, it dawned on Magnus—arrogance is their weakness. They don’t believe their own dragons would attack them while they hold Liné’s egg to ransom. Facing the dragons must have come as a surprise to them. Magnus knew Liné’s fiery assault on the High Priests was testament to this. Good, Magnus thought. A weakness I can exploit…

  With his addled mind, Magnus fumbled awkwardly over his shoulder for Lucas’s sword. Although it was partially made with fire-bronze, its most lethal component was fleu-steel, represented no ill will to Liné, Brue or Rubea. He clawed for the sword’s pommel, slowly drawing it from its red scabbard with thumb and gnarled forefinger. The effort was excruciating with the High Priest’s sorcery working hard against him. With a final effort and guttural yell, Magnus freed the sword and held it aloft. The High Priest reacted as Magnus hoped he would. The mental assault waned slightly and the High Priest raised his fire-sword. Both Brue and Rubea roared at him. The priest slipped his grip even further over Magnus’s mind and Magnus felt a soothing shunt of heat clear away the weakening mental assault. Alas, and despite the dragons’ aggressiveness, the High Priest came at Magnus.