The Mark Of Iisilée

by T P Sheehan

  “Semsdër…”

  Magnus blinked himself awake and sat up. He had fallen asleep, draped over Catanya’s abdomen.

  “She is stable,” Trax said. “You should leave her to rest.”

  “What more can I do?” Magnus blinked the grogginess from his eyes, wondering how long he had been asleep.

  “Nothing as far as Catanya is concerned, but we are not out of the woods yet. The surviving High Priest is a very dangerous man, guarded by a dragon who is undecided as to his feelings for you.” Trax stared at Magnus and pointed to Catanya. “I suggest you leave me to attend to her. Meanwhile, you see what you can do to form an alliance with Brue because if that priest finds a way of escaping, Brue is our greatest chance of overpowering him. Come.”

  Magnus followed Trax out of the healing room and into the daylight. Liné sat at the door with her right foreleg hugging her egg. Her piercing amber eyes looked Magnus over.

  “I’ve prepared food for you in the common kitchen.” Trax looked at Liné then spoke quietly to Magnus. “Perhaps discuss things with Liné for a start to familiarise yourself with dragon etiquette.” Trax nodded politely then excused himself and went back into the healing room, closing the door behind him.

  Magnus stared at the door for a moment. He wanted to help nurse Catanya back to health but knew he needed to trust in the old priest and so, with great reluctance and heeding Trax’s advice, he turned and gazed into Liné’s eyes.

  He thought of everything he wanted to say—everything he should say to Thioci’s mother. Liné’s large eyes flickered through a series of colours until they were the same as Magnus’s once again. Magnus opened his mouth to speak and then shuddered, realising Liné’s presence was already permeating through his mind, melding her thoughts with his. It was sudden and intimate and made him feel vulnerable. Liné had none of the doubts that plagued his mind, though. Magnus wondered if he would measure up to her expectations and perhaps she would think him not worthy of being the Electus.

  “Why are you not worthy? Have you changed so much since Breona vouched for you?”

  Liné’s confronting question triggered a myriad of uncomfortable memories in Magnus’s mind. Father, Xavier, Trager, Delvion… All these men had, at some stage, made judgment on him. He had often run their conversations over in his mind and the endless nights caged in the dungeon beneath Ba’rrat had allowed him to fester on their judgments. Then he remembered the last time he saw his father and how proud he had been of him, which made him feel a little better.

  “That last thought serves you no better.” Liné’s thoughts startled him from his reverie. “Show me your mind free of the opinion of others.”

  “Have you an opinion of me?” Magnus wanted to get an idea of what Liné thought of him as the Electus.

  “So what if I have?”

  Silence fell between them as if to emphasise Liné’s point. “So what if she has put value on my worth? It changes nothing.”

  “That’s better.” Liné swung her huge head around, touching her nose to Magnus’s forehead. Magnus felt the coarse touch of her scales and the smoky warmth of her breath. He was then drawn deeper into the dragon’s thoughts. It was as though Liné took Magnus by the hand and led him in to explore. Magnus trod as tentatively as he had within Thioci’s mind shortly before he died, but this was different. The depths of Liné’s thoughts seemed endless and without the darkness and delicacy that accompanied Thioci’s passing. Her thoughts intertwined with memories and emotions spanning centuries of time. There were the scars of painful memories, many healed with time and some in the process of healing. Each contributed to the dragon Liné was. It seemed, though, that the accumulation of such a vast span of knowledge had not jaded her. She held no resentments, although for some things she was sceptical. Above all, Magnus saw Liné was wise—an attribute she acquired from time, experience and an open mind.

  As Magnus retreated from Liné’s mind, he felt humbled. If every dragon’s depth of thought ran so deep, there was a world of knowledge he could draw on.

  “A world of wisdom, Magnus,” Liné reminded him.

  “Aye.” Magnus smiled.

  Magnus shifted his gaze from Liné to her egg. A burnished-orange colour, it sat in the safest haven in all Allumbreve—in the fold of its mother’s arm. “May I?” Magnus asked. He was sure Liné would be able to read his honest intentions. She extended her foreleg, exposing the egg.

  Magnus dropped to a knee and extended an arm to touch the smooth, satin-finished shell. The shell radiated heat—a lot of heat. It was not the surging burn of dragon blood he was used to, it was more like a stone lifted from the embers of a fire that still holds fast to its heat. Like a Juniper stone, Magnus considered, only the egg was a living, evolving thing and the heat came in pulses, beating with the unborn dragon’s heart. ‘A Zenith dragon…’ he remembered Trax explaining. Liné’s pupils pulsed. Magnus was reluctant to let go, but feared he may enter the mind of the unborn dragon. A creature still developing, he felt, should not be exposed to his curious thoughts. He took a step back and looked up into Liné’s eyes again. “Thank you.”

  “Thanks to you and Catanya for bringing him to me.”

  “You’re most welcome.”

  Magnus stepped away, unsure of the common courtesy when departing the company of dragons. He nodded politely, walked around the side of the temple and down the wide steps to the common. Part of him felt that Liné was still with him, in his mind, though he could not be certain. Whatever it was, he felt glad of taking the first step in forging a relationship with her.

  From the common, Magnus looked down the long path to a row of three prison cells. The High Priest that survived the siege of the Temple of Fire was in one of them. Seated in the middle of the path, was Brue.

  Magnus walked from the common down the eastern path toward Brue. The long-tailed dragon turned away, as if wanting to avoid conversation. He lifted a paw to his face. As Magnus drew closer he realised Brue was trying to hide his nose—the nose Magnus had badly wounded in their altercation back in Ba’rrat. A sickening wave of guilt washed over Magnus, soon replaced with a hot flush of resentment when he recalled, for the thousandth time, the memory of Brue scalding him with his flames. It was no good—Magnus knew this. Brue and he needed to make amends. They needed to move on. He decided to make a passive attempt at conversation.

  “Thank you for your help before.” Magnus was not at all sure what to say. “In the temple, I mean… with the priest. I’m pretty sure he would have got the better of me.” Hearing his own words, they sounded rather shallow, particularly as he knew what the pressing issue between them was. Magnus took a breath and gathered better words. “I am sorry for your loss, Brue. From what I know of Thioci, he was magnificent. And… well… he saved my life. I hope someday you can teach me more about him.”

  Magnus hesitated a moment, hoping to get some acknowledgement for his efforts, but it never came. With an awkward nod, he turned and walked toward the common kitchen. He felt pleased with himself for making the effort with Brue, even if the dragon was not interested in getting to know him. And why should he? Brue had just got his unhatched son back and was standing guard beside the man who held him to ransom. Another time…

  BRUE

  Catanya’s breathing was stable and her heart rate strong, but she was still unconscious. Having eaten, Magnus sat vigil with her in the healing room for the rest of the day. He checked the wounds to her neck and chest and was intrigued with how well they were healing over. It was nothing at all like his own healing abilities, but certainly better than could be expected from medicines and healing wraps alone.

  Catanya continued to mumble. A lot of it was incoherent. Sometimes she called for Magnus, but she was most stressed in her unconscious state when she called for Hannah, which was often. Magnus wondered what the High Priest had put her mind through in the dark chamber beneath the temple. Be it a mental game or for real, he knew if Catanya thought her sister was in trouble, she would
head for Nuyan as soon as she was well enough to leave. At this stage, he hoped it encouraged her to regain health.

  Trax split his time between monitoring Catanya’s wellbeing and checking the security of the High Priest locked in the prison cell. As evening came, Trax returned to the healing room with supper and looked Catanya over again.

  “Catanya is safe and stable, Semsdër,” Trax assured Magnus. “You should retire and rest in her room beyond the common. If there is a change, Rubea or I will let you know.”

  “It seems every time Catanya and I are separated, some disaster befalls us.” Magnus thought of the artisans’ camp where they were taken captive. “I’m happy to rest here, on the floor.” He turned his attention to Catanya again, needlessly adjusting the healing wrap over her shoulder wound.

  “Very well, I think I will check on our prisoner again.” Trax slipped out the external door once again.

  Time passed and Catanya seemed to settle. The air in the healing room became cool and Magnus took it as a sign that outside the windowless room, their first day in the Romghold was coming to its end. Magnus could hardly believe it was only a night ago they were still climbing the cliff face—so much had happened since then. He laid a blanket over Catanya and opened the external door to let fresh air in. With the door partially open, Magnus saw Brue strolling toward the training field. The setting sun in that direction rolled its reflection across his bronze scales and his long talons clicked across the common’s cobblestones. To Magnus, Brue seemed more settled than the night before when he stood upon the towering steeple. The urgency in his manner had waned, his need for alertness abated. Magnus gazed until the dragon had moved beyond the temple walls and out of sight.

  “Go.”

  Magnus glanced at the source of the voice in his mind—Liné. She was still holding vigil beside the healing room door. Her burning amber eyes were slightly open and against the shadows of the dying light of day, they glowed like furnace doors left ajar.

  “Go to Brue. Resolve your differences.”

  Magnus glanced back to Catanya, who was still sound asleep, then closed the door behind him. He nodded to Liné and made his way around the temple, rubbing thumbs nervously over tight fists. To his left he could see Trax had taken Brue’s place overseeing the High Priest’s prison cell. He was seated on one of the kitchen stools, reading a book. Further along the temple steps, Magnus looked through the open temple doors, through the narthex and into the nave, were Rubea was still guarding the inner healing room door. She too cast a fiery glance at him. There was nothing more for Magnus to do. All was at peace and everyone seemed safe. And so then, Magnus looked over the training field.

  The green lawn of the field was streaked with golden beams of afternoon light and the soft lime glow of the lanterns. Pink gladioli bloomed at the perimeter attracting a dance of summer bugs. At the far side of the field, perched atop the cliff, was Brue’s large silhouette, peering out to the setting sun. Balgur’s words from the Red River came to him again—‘Heal wounds, forge bonds.’ Magnus walked across the field. When he reached the cliff face, he sat to Brue’s left in silence. Together, they watched the sun shift beyond the vast expanse of Froughton Forest.

  Magnus sighed as the sun stole away the violence of the previous night and in its place, gifted an evening of peace. He wondered how many magnificent sunsets Brue had seen from this precipice in his long years. He imagined the dragon’s memories spanned centuries as Liné’s did and in time, he hoped to bridge his differences with Brue. For now, he would sit beside him in peace.

  Dusk turned to night. Trax allowed the training field’s lanterns to continue glowing as Magnus and Brue continued to sit beside one another in silence. Neither shared a thought. The silver constellations slid across the sky and Brue tilted his head upward, watching their procession for endless hours. Magnus did the same, but as his neck grew sore, he lay back and continued his watch.

  What a thing, he dared to think. To watch in awe, the stars for a night. As the night aged, the moon moved and Magnus’s eyes grew heavy. He glanced to Brue who was still stargazing. Magnus followed his gaze toward the Couldradt constellation—Brue’s namesake’s constellation.

  Magnus sensed Brue was longing for something and considered what it may be he longed for. Perhaps he longed for the heavens of his kin, among the stars with the god of fire. It was this god who gave the Couldradt Fire dragons life to guide and protect the people of the Fire Realm. ‘Sworn in guardianship.’ Magnus’s father would quote from his large brown book—the ‘Couldragda’. ‘Four breeds of dragons bestowed upon the realms, one for each, sworn in guardianship.’ Was Brue longing to join Thioci in the stars? Was he longing to return to the Fire Realm and his people? Was he regretting his assault on Magnus? Whatever it was, Magnus decided he would not leave Brue’s side. Heal wounds…

  It was something Magnus had never done before—remain awake for an entire night to consider nothing more than the world around him. He had done it, and in the company of a fire dragon. ‘Good morning, Brue,’ Magnus considered saying, but only thought it in the silent crevices of his mind. It felt presumptive to assume he had proven worthy of Brue’s trust from a single night’s vigil. As the sun began to warm his back, Magnus heard the soft padding of footsteps across the training field. Trax came and stood between him and Brue.

  “Good morning, Semsdër. Good morning Brue,” Trax said in a gentle manner as if not wanting to disrupt their vigil. “Would either of you care for a morning meal?” Magnus felt a delicate brush of thought cross over him that he gathered was meant for Trax. Trax tilted his head to Brue and gave a single nod, then turned to Magnus.

  “No. But thank you.”

  “Catanya is recovering well. I shall inform you when she wakes.”

  “Thank you, Semsü,” Magnus replied, using the formal Irucantî address for the first time.

  Trax’s eyes moved from Magnus to Brue and back again. “With respect, ‘Semsame’ is more appropriate.” He smiled then left.

  Magnus felt a second brush of thought from Brue. It was subtle, yet tainted with feeling. Was Brue sympathetic to Catanya’s condition? Did he respect Trax’s insistence that Magnus address him with a familiar title? Magnus checked himself and tempered his thoughts—this was not about him, it was about Brue.

  The day passed slowly. The sun reached its zenith and passed into afternoon. Magnus found his mind wandering back to Balgur at the Red River. ‘The High Priests are exceptionally well trained,’ Balgur had said. ‘You will learn a lot from one of them, the other will be slain.’ Balgur was right to predict the death of one High Priest. Now, I am to learn from the other? The thought seemed ludicrous to Magnus. How was he to go about this? Through a haze of doubt, Magnus strategized. First, he would need to reason with the High Priest and try to figure out whether he would try to kill him the second the prison cell door opened. Magnus shook his head. He could not see it working. Even with three dragons, Trax and a fully recovered Catanya supporting him, the High Priest would seize the chance to fight back. The only way this will work is to negotiate with him, Magnus decided. The priest would want something for himself—of that Magnus was certain. Could they find common ground? Could the process be of benefit to both of them?

  “You must be careful.” It was Brue. His thoughts were directed at the forefront of Magnus’s mind—sharp with warning. “He cannot be trusted.”

  Magnus’s mouth dried and his tongue became so woolly he doubted he could respond in physical words if he tried. But this was the opportunity he had waited for—to communicate with Brue. “Should I give him the benefit of the doubt?” he asked.

  “You’ll not get a second chance if you’re wrong,” Brue responded.

  Magnus tried to contain his excitement—Brue was speaking to him. He wanted to forget about the danger of the High Priest but he knew if Brue was breaking his silence over the matter, then the matter needed his attention. Balgur’s prophecy or not, Magnus would not gamble with the lives of those in
the Romghold without Brue’s support.

  “You’re right. I’ll afford him no such benefit without your consent,” Magnus shared as a thought.

  Silence fell between them but a short time later, Brue spoke again—“Catanya will recover?”

  “Aye.” Magnus looked over his shoulder toward the temple. Liné was still guarding the entrance to the healing room. She turned and looked at him. “I’m sure she will wake soon,” Magnus hoped.

  “In the meantime, will you keep sitting with me?” Brue said.

  Magnus smiled and breathed a gentle sigh of relief. “Aye, Brue. I will.”

  RACE TO THE ROMGHOLD

  Färgd was riding the afternoon thermals along the Romgnian coastline. Eamon looked to the western skies at a small black dot in the distance. It was coming toward them from the Corville Mountains.

  “Wyvern?” Eamon squinted, trying to discern what manner of creature it was.

  It took a moment for Färgd to confirm. “Nay. That’s Braug.”

  “Thank the gods. I’ve had a gutful of Delvion’s black rats.”

  “Black rats… I quite like that description.”

  “I’m glad you approve, Färgd.”

  Eamon looked over Joffren’s body tied firmly across the saddle behind him. It will be good to see this chapter over, for there are far more pressing concerns afoot, Eamon lamented. He was hoping he would make it to the Romghold before Magnus and Catanya ran into trouble. Anxiety churned in Eamon’s stomach. He coughed it free and mumbled under his breath—“Hope for the best, Eamon… hope for best.”

  Soon, Braug’s flight path intersected them. Eamon could see he carried two riders—Austagia and Jael. Braug banked to the north and fell into flight formation with Färgd. A wave of nostalgia washed over Eamon and not for the first time. He had not ridden a dragon for two decades. Flying in formation was yet another memory. The two dragons quickened their pace. Braug took the lead, allowing Färgd to conserve energy in the younger dragon’s slipstream.