Everyone bowed, and remembering herself, Ember dropped to one knee and lowered her head.
“Enough of the formalities,” said Raya. “I’ve brought my favorite daughter a gift.” She held the reins out to Ember. “This steed is yours to keep, dear one. He is from Torr’s stables.” She grasped the spiraling silver horn protruding from the animal’s wide, inky forehead. “He is special, but what makes him even more valuable is that he has rare glass eyes. Take good care of him. In return, he shall protect you.”
“Thank you, good Raya,” Ember said, awed. “He is more than handsome…and very large.”
Raya’s laughter rang out over the stable yard, startling a covey of pigeons scratching in the dirt. With the loud flapping of wings and disgruntled coos, they flew away into the shadows. “Indeed he is,” said the goddess, “but his size will deter those who might be inclined to harm you or those in your traveling party.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Torr said he is called Hoggr, which I believe is appropriate for such a special steed.”
“Give Torr my thanks as well,” said Ember and knelt again.
King Roahre stepped forward. “To give thanks to you both, I shall burn offerings this morning.”
Someone grasped her about the waist. The world turned into a kaleidoscope of colors as the goddess swung Ember up on Hoggr’s back. Blinking from her high perch, the world swaying slightly, Ember looked down at her traveling companions, but stared eye-to-eye with Raya.
“Do not offer anything to me, good king,” Raya said without looking at him. “You’re daughter is offering enough. I have the utmost confidence that she shall solve the Ebon Weapon’s riddle.”
The queen stepped forward and clasped Ember’s calf, placing her head against it. “Be safe, sweet daughter.” Unshed tears hid in her voice. “I shall pray for your safe return.” She looked up at Raya as she spoke, her gaze direct.
Shocked at her mother’s boldness toward the goddess, Ember reached down and smoothed an unruly lock of hair back from her mother’s face. “Be at ease, Mother. I shall return as soon as possible and will think on you every day.”
Honey’s gaze shifted from Raya’s face to Ember’s. “I love you, dear one. Dikartha shall go with you.”
“Ach,” Hestbone grumbled as he stomped over to his pony. “Two women underfoot is a pain in the backside, but three?” He muttered a few curses under his breath.
“Be still, little underdweller,” said the goddess, her tone amused. “Ember is a princess, and every princess has at least one lady-in-waiting.”
Snorting, the dwarf adjusted his sword sheath, careful to keep his gaze averted.
Minutes later, with teary farewells and calls of safe travel behind them, Ember and Raya led the band of diplomats through Verdfauna’s gates. The first golden rays of dawn filtered through the tall trees of the Great Wood. Both wonderment and fear squeezed Ember’s chest. She’d often viewed the massive trees from the palace roof, but now that she was actually among them, the forest filled her with awe.
Every so often, the goddess tossed her a curious look. “You will see many marvelous things on your journey,” Raya murmured. “Take heed, though. The world has just as many dangers.”
“How will I know where to look for the Ebon Weapon?” asked Ember.
“That is part of a quest,” Lady Evanesce stated as she directed her steed around a stump. “You will not always know how to proceed, so you will need to watch, listen, and ask questions.”
“And ask those in the South what they know,” Sir Hestbone answered to her right. His pony snorted and chewed on its bit. “They will know the most since the Ebon Weapon is destroying their land first.”
The princess glanced down at him. His drab brown pony sidestepped, head tossing. The dwarf cuffed him alongside one ear.
“And am I to go alone into the Southland?” Ember asked him.
“No,” he replied, shifting in the saddle, his leather armor creaking. “I shall go with you.”
“And I,” Sarenkesh called from behind them.
“What about Masters Jorgus and Kaedric?” she asked.
“My father shall return to our village, but I shall go with you too,” Kaedric said, riding behind Sir Hestbone.
“And I am with you, dear one,” said Dikartha, who tried to steer her steed away from the rump of the pony. Her horse bared its teeth and nipped the pony’s hindquarter.
“By Torr’s sword!” Sir Hestbone fought to keep his steed from bucking.
Trying not to laugh, Ember met the goddess’s bright gaze. “And you, good Raya?”
“I am always watching, favorite one.” She stopped and issued a shrill whistle that brought the panthers bounding back to her side. She patted Hoggr’s neck. “Be ever watchful and trust no one save for your faithful steed.”
White sparks whirled around the goddess. They climbed from her feet up along her body until they reached the crown of her head. The panthers pressed close to her legs. The light danced across their ebony fur, their eyes glowing eerily. A gust of wind swept through the trees, and in a blinding flash, Raya and her pets vanished.
Chapter Four
That evening, the group camped outside Queen Honey’s home village of Hazzenshoke. Sir Hestbone thought it better to allow Kaedric to escort his father home while the rest of them waited. For the time being, they needed to avoid drawing attention to their presence.
“I have not been in this area since you were but five summers old,” Dikartha said to Ember as she tied her steed to a Torrny shrub. “It would be nice to visit the pub and partake in a hot meal.”
“We must keep our presence quiet, woman,” Sir Hestbone snapped.
Ember’s aunt threw a look of irritation over her shoulder. “There is nothing wrong with uttering a desire,” she returned, brushing dust and horsehair from her skirts. “It would also be nice if a certain oversized horse dropping would cease moaning like an old woman about every little thing.”
“Ye gods!” Hestbone threw his thick arms out to his sides. “Must you take offense at everything I say?”
“Aye,” said Dikartha, “for as long as you persist in opening your mouth.”
Ember bit her lip to keep from laughing and led Hoggr to an old stump. There she climbed atop it to unfasten the massive saddle. How she’d put it back on him was beyond her, but neither could she leave the saddle on him all the time. She tugged on the saddle, but it, the blanket, and packs began sliding toward her. The weight of everything pushed her backward, and with a shriek, she fell off the stump. The saddle and all its accompaniments crashed down on top of her.
Pinned to the forest floor, she blinked away bright pinpoints of light. Sir Hestbone’s shaggy face loomed over her.
“Ye still alive after that wondrous display of grace?” he asked. A slight smile tugged at his yellow beard.
“Aye.” She wheezed.
The dwarf grabbed the saddle horn and heaved the monstrosity off of her. “This thing will be a bastard to put back on your mount.”
Sarenkesh hooked his hands under her arms and hauled her to her feet. “Are you well?” he asked, his fathomless eyes full of concern.
She nodded, her cheeks flaming, skin tingling where he touched her. “Only my pride is injured.”
Lady Evanesce waved her over to the fire, her face a gentle mask of amusement. “Come, child. Rest and be at ease. Let us have something to eat.”
Hooking her arm through Ember’s, Dikartha led her over to the campfire.
They ate rich, orange cheese and Cook’s spicy black bread. Sir Hestbone passed around a flask of moonbeam wine. Sarenkesh shared his block of cheese with Ember. Each time his fingers brushed hers, lightning-like sensations zipped along Ember’s arm. His attempts to enchant her seemed twofold now, but she knew seduction was the way of the Gloaming Elves. They lived to woo, but never to love—at least that was the tale. From time to time, Ember had seen an occasional Gloaming Elf visiting Verdfauna but until now had
never spent time with any of them. Sarenkesh always fascinated her, bemused her, but she could never quite figure out why. There were many male Gloaming Elves who were handsome, beautiful.
A banshee shrieked deep within the woods, the sound ghostly and ear-piercing. The crickets, frogs, and other nightlife hushed.
“I shall cast a ward,” Lady Evanesce announced. “The last thing we need is a group of banshees wreaking havoc on our camp and our nerves.” She stood, her white robes flowing about her, and walked a large circle around the camp. At each nearby tree, she placed a smudge of gray powder drawn from one of the many tiny pouches hanging from the silver belt at her waist. “Inya, ta, shaivoka!” she cried in her native tongue. She threw a handful of powder over the fire. The air shimmered briefly. “There,” she said. “No ill spirits shall bother us this night.”
“I’m going to retire,” said Ember. She struggled to her feet, her ass and thighs sore from riding all day. She looked at Sir Hestbone. “Shall we break camp at dawn?”
“Aye,” he said, nodding. “The earlier we begin, the farther we will travel and the sooner we can return. I do not relish being in the Southerner’s land any longer than I must.”
Soon, the others prepared their bedrolls too.
“I’ll keep watch until the moon is high,” said Sarenkesh.
Hestbone nodded and pitched a thick pad of fur on the ground close to the fire. He removed his weaponry belt, placed it next to his body as he reclined, and closed his eyes.
The sounds of nightlife resumed with chirps, croaks, and squeaks. A breeze whispered through the branches reaching toward the half-twilight with questing, green fingers. High above Ember’s head, fireflies blazed a path toward Torr’s kingdom, their pale glow showing the way for those on their spirit journeys.
She stared through the breaks in the great canopy, her mind on the palace and its occupants. What are Enigma and Eternity doing? The threesome had never been separated before. Do they miss me yet?
A twig snapped.
Ember rose onto one arm, her gaze meeting first Hestbone’s wary eyes, then Sarenkesh’s, who placed a finger over his lips and scrambled to his feet to scale the giant tree he’d been leaning against. Silently, the dwarf drew his short sword. He shifted into a squatting position, poised to act if needed.
From under her bedroll, Ember withdrew her dagger and gripped it tightly.
Another branch sounded in the forest, its crack loud and startling. Ember flinched. The forest noises ceased, the following silence palpable. Above the camp on his sturdy perch, Sarenkesh turned in the direction of the noise, his face a mask of concentration, gaze focused on a point in the darkness.
The sound of rustling in the undergrowth reached them. Sitting up, Ember swallowed hard, her heart flailing against her ribs. Perhaps it was only Kaedric, but he wasn’t due to meet them until first light. The lady had said no ill spirits would bother them, so had her spell failed?
Snap!
Sarenkesh stayed them with his hand and moved through the wide, sweeping branches to the next tree and the next until the gloom absorbed him.
Blood thundered in Ember’s ears. Should she wake the women? No, it would only traumatize her aunt and the lady. Where she could defend herself, she knew Dikartha could not, and she had no idea if Lady Evenesce possessed even a small knife. There was no sense in upsetting them if the intruder turned out to be a stag or a wandering bear.
A thud sounded far away, followed by a sharp cry.
Nearby, Dikartha stirred. She raised her head, her long braid pooling on the furred bedroll. “What be that noise?” she asked.
“Silence, woman,” the dwarf whispered.
Ember met her aunt’s worried gaze and placed a finger to her lips.
Across the fire, Lady Evanesce sat up. She reached for her travel bag and withdrew a long, slender dagger with a wavy blade.
Rustling grew louder, and several twigs snapped as footsteps drew near the camp. Sir Hestbone stood ready to swing his sword.
The fire light revealed Sarenkesh and a tall, gangly adolescent behind him.
“Beron!” Jumping to her feet, Ember tossed her knife down and ran to him. “By Raya’s power, Father and Mother will be so furious with you for following us!” She enveloped her brother in her arms.
“Father is the one who sent me, dear sister,” he said into her hair. “Mother is the only one who is angry, but it is with Father and not me.” Humor lurked in his voice. “I imagine she won’t be speaking to him for several days.”
“Father sent you?” she asked. “But why?” She held him out at arm’s length, studying his expression, and his eyes.
Worry settled over his features. “He said that if I can read the future, then I need to be with you to help guide your way.”
“And what do you see, lad?” asked Sir Hestbone.
Beron shook his head, his eyes troubled. “Only that there is disaster on the horizon. I see fire, charred bodies, and chaos.”
The captain of war blew out a disgusted sigh. “Lot o’ good that does us.”
“Fire?” Ember looked deeply into her brother’s eyes. “Will a Southland army raze a town?”
He shrugged. “I know not, dear sister. You know how powers of foretelling are always more symbolic than forthright visions.”
Troubled, Ember drew in a deep breath and then released it quickly.
“We will be ever careful, then,” Sarenkesh admonished. His worried gaze met Ember’s. A protective light shone in them. “You will stay close to us and not wander off, understand?”
“I can take care of myself,” she said.
“Aye, to a point, Princess,” Sir Hestbone replied. “But if you should wander off and find yourself in trouble, one sword is pointless against many.”
Ember couldn’t deny the dwarf’s claim. She’d sparred with four opponents during sword practice and had been beaten many times before winning a four-against-one battle. A tendril of fear tightened around her heart.
“Come to the fire, Beron,” said Dikartha. She drew the young prince to her side. “Have you eaten?”
He nodded. “Cook packed me a food bag.”
***
As the darkness crept toward dawn, Ember worried about Beron’s visions of the future. His intuition spoke of fear, anguish, and chaos. Throughout the night, she tossed from side to side on her furs and dreamed of dark places that suddenly erupted in vibrant yellow, white, and orange flames. Rolling over yet again, she pounded a lump out of the tunic she’d bundled into a pillow and closed her eyes for the hundredth time. She laid half asleep, her thoughts centering on her brother’s esoteric words once more. She dreamed of a noose about her neck, and her lungs strained for air. In the distance, an animal’s shriek cut through the gloaming.
Over with the horses, Hoggr issued a furious squeal. The thud of hooves permeated the ground, the vibrations penetrating Ember’s bedroll. She roused, her eyes flying open. With his head covered by a black hood except for his eyes, a man peered down into her face. He tightened the twine about her neck. A scream rose into her throat, but the heavy cord prevented anything from leaving her mouth. Her heart thundered in a manic beat, and she flailed her legs, tugging fruitlessly at her throat.
The dagger!
She groped at her bedroll, seeking its edges with her fingers, and slid her hand beneath it. She grew still, praying her assailant would think her fading away, but as her lungs screamed for air and the pain in her neck and throat escalated to excruciating proportions, Ember focused her attention on the dagger.
Her fingers brushed its warm metal. She clasped it and pulled it from under the furs. Allowing her head to loll to the side, Ember waited. Her attacker thought her dead and loosened the tension on the cord.
Arm snapping in an upward arc, Ember drove the dagger into the man’s ribs. He let out a howl of pain.
Sir Hestbone and Sarenkesh scrambled to their feet, swords raised. The dwarf leaped across the fire, knocking Ember’s assailant off he
r and into the leaves.
Dikartha and Beron rushed to Ember’s side, but she pushed them away, sat up, and gasped for air, drawing in great, cooling lungfuls. Fiery pain swept through her throat.
Sarenkesh subdued the assassin and pressed his sword to his neck. He pulled the black hood from the man’s head.
Sir Hestbone jabbed his short sword at the man. “Why is an assassin of Flame Mountain sent to murder a young Fae lass?”
Blood soaked the attacker’s dark blue tunic. The handle of Ember’s dagger still wedged between his ribs. His breaths shallow, each one obviously pained him. On his knees, he glared back at the captain of war, his eyes conveying his hatred and his refusal to speak.
“Answer him!” Sarenkesh shook the man and pressed his sword dagger to the assassin’s neck.
A smug smile twisted the killer’s lips. He raised his right hand, grabbed Sarenkesh’s hand clasping the knife’s hilt, and in one swift movement, drew the blade’s edge across his own throat.
“No!” Sarenkesh leaped away from him, but it was too late. Blood poured out of the man’s throat, spilling down his shirtfront in a crimson wave. He flopped onto his side, the leather handle of Ember’s embedded dagger jutting toward the treetops. The malicious gleam in his onyx eyes dimmed as his blood spread around his head and shoulders in a malignant puddle of hatred.
A gasp rent the night air. “Why would he do such a thing?” asked Dikartha, her arms around Ember’s shoulders.
Hoggr moved to Ember’s side and nuzzled her with his great, velvety nose, his soft nickers soothing.
Sir Hestbone yanked the blade out of the assailant’s side. “Ach, insanity, if you ask me. ’Tis better to die with his secrets.” He rummaged through the man’s clothing and found a small bag of coins, a scrying stone, and a few small weapons. “He not only intended to kill her but desired to leave a message by how it was done. He obviously knew Hoggr was a steed of Torr’s, thus the magic barrier to confine him while the assailant murdered his mistress.”
The Dragon God's Kiss Page 4
