Reborn (The Dragons of Cantor Book 1)

by Lela Robichaux

  A twinkle of merriment lit the dwarf’s eye. Durlag dipped his chin; a barely perceptible nod to acknowledge he had seen her. Now she had the task of trying to pull him away from a fight. This wouldn’t be easy. Durlag prepared to swing the axe low, bringing it around easily with one hand. The man jumped at the last moment, avoiding the blow. Mey moved a little closer, trying to communicate her intentions to the dwarf.

  The rogue was covered with invisible midnight. Also carrying many pouches and a fine sword. These men were not amateurs. They knew what they were doing. One of those pouches surely contained the pay this one received to complete whatever job it was he was sent to do. Only a couple of more steps brought her closer to Durlag.

  “We want this one alive,” she said in low tones. “Retreat and let Elerbee lay his trap.”

  “Hmpf,” the dwarf snorted. Hoisting his axe once more as if to land an overhead strike on the poor man before him, he took one step back as his opponent’s sword came in. Barely missing the short-statured dwarf’s nose, the sword sang through the air. It was a fine weapon, with a glow of iridescent green light, hinting of magic. Whoever hired these men paid well and this made her ever more curious to know why that was.

  “Durlag, trust me,” Mey whispered. “Fall back.”

  Another snarl from the dwarf. Letting this go was hard for him. Dwarves never backed down from a fight. But, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him slowly moving away. The man in front of her laughed.

  “You filthy coward!” he yelled at the dwarf. “Leaving so soon?”

  Mey knew if she did not let Elerbee throw the spell, they would lose their chance. Durlag wouldn’t stand for the foolish taunt no matter how much his friends wanted the man alive. Knowing what was coming next, she prepared to throw herself into a backward roll. She would stop Durlag’s charge so any spell would not affect them as well. As she threw herself back, she yelled out, “NOW!” Her momentum took her straight into the dwarf’s legs and knocked him to the ground. His battle axe flying from his grasp to land somewhere behind them.

  Screams sounded around them as they tumbled and came to a stop about ten feet back.

  “Me drink!” Durlag had managed to hang on to the flask, sacrificing everything else to use both hands in securing its safe landing. “Dratted girl! What d’ye mean, nearly parting a dwarf from his spirits! Have ye gone daft?” His grumbling was lost in the wailing and maddening screams coming from the rogue.

  Mey looked over her shoulder, her mouth gaping at the sight. The man was on his knees, wailing, screaming and spouting gibberish. Her brow came together in a confused pucker and she immediately turned her attention to Elerbee, who looked very proud of himself.

  The others started raising their hands to their ears. The screams were continuous and becoming frightening. Mey watched as Durlag stomped past her and straight over to the man. Without a word, he drew his fist back and slammed it into the other’s face. The screams stopped instantaneously and the man fell with a hard thud to the ground.

  Mey was on her feet, uncoiling a length of rope from her pack. “Help me tie him up.” She looked to Elerbee. “How long will it last?”

  “Only an hour or so.”

  “What did you do to him?”

  “I-I only did what you asked of me.” Taking the defensive, he said, “I stopped him, didn’t I?”

  “Right.” She bit the word off before she said something she would be sorry for later. “Will he have his mind to give us the information we need from him?” Anger was beginning to surface. They couldn’t lose this chance to know what these men were after.

  “I didn’t drive him mad; only gave him a fit of screams. His mind will be intact.”

  His feelings were hurt, clearly. Damn. Well, he would just have to get over it. The world was not a kind place and sometimes you just had to do the job whether you liked it or not, then move on without regrets. Regrets would only slow you down. Truth be told, he reminded her of herself after her father left. She turned to help the others secure their prisoner.

  Bob was helping Thom to the campsite. It was obvious that this fight had taken a lot out of him. His power drew mostly from his own energy with help from the various gems and stones he carried. Durlag had suffered only a minor wound and that was from the fall he took when Mey barreled into him. In trying not to spill the contents of his flask, he had let go his axe and sliced his own arm in the process. Elerbee was more than willing to help heal the dwarf, but Durlag only grumbled something about nuisances and rummaged in his own possessions for what he claimed was a potion of healing.

  Only in this after-math could Mey focus on what had happened when she used the bone-handled dagger. As she gathered up the weapons she had thrown, she came upon that one last.

  She crouched next to the body that she had nearly decapitated. Forcing herself to look upon the man, she studied him, starting with his feet. She stopped briefly before letting her gaze continue to his neck and head. The injury was one of the most ghastly she had ever seen; and she had seen many, both received and inflicted. This, however, had more effect on her conscience. She had felt driven to take this man’s life, even as he begged for mercy. Her hand was guided by something more powerful than she had ever felt. Her eyes fell to the bone-handled, bejeweled dagger next to the corpse.

  Remembering that she had only bought this weapon because she felt drawn to it, Mey reached trembling fingers out to retrieve it. Her hand stopped, wavering above the weapon. She swallowed hard to rid herself of the lump of fear that had gathered in her throat. It’s just a damn dagger! But, she knew that wasn’t the truth. There was more to it. At first glance, one would assume this weapon was only for show. It was not practical to actually use with all the jewels set in its handle. When she thought about it, she didn’t remember this one feeling any different from the other daggers she used every day. It had fit perfectly in her hand.

  This is ridiculous! Berating herself for her fear, she shoved her hand forward and grabbed the dagger. Makagesh…the word whispered through her mind. It was not one she recognized from any language she was familiar with. A breath hitched in her throat but she gritted her teeth and slammed the dagger back in the sheath hanging at her waist. As she stood and turned, her eyes caught Thom staring at her, a question in his eyes. He had seen and surely noted her struggle with the dagger. Avoiding having to answer any questions, she made her way to the next body, to search for any useful items.

  **********

  They all held their breath as they watched the man come awake, anticipating the screams. There were none. Enough time had passed for the spell effects to fade. His head lolled to one side and he groaned; eyes opening slowly. Mey wanted hers to be the first face he saw upon sliding back into the conscious world. She was eager to know what these men had wanted.

  Bob convinced her to let Thom question the man first. After all, he had spells that would pry answers even from the most stalwart.

  They all watched as he looked up. Immediately he tried to move his hands and feet, finding them bound. The set of his jaw changed, his eyes darting rapidly from face to face. He understood he was a prisoner. Thom knew this man would not give up information so easily. A spell to loosen the man’s tongue would help. He spoke the words quickly and carefully, while holding a small pearl.

  “Who are you?” Thom asked him.

  “Barton Johns.” Surprise colored his face as he answered. He had obviously not intended to tell them his real name. Such was the power of the spell; if you opened your mouth, the truth was going to come out, whether you liked it or not.

  Mey pushed forward. “Why are you here?”

  Thom held out a restraining hand discouraging her from getting any closer. Her moods seemed a bit unstable and he couldn’t chance her hurting or even killing this man before they gleaned the information they needed. She glared at him, obviously still hurt from his earlier rejection. He would definitely have to fix things between them, but right now, he had to find out what this thief wante
d.

  “Barton Johns,” Thom began. “What do you want from us?”

  The man shook his head, refusing to speak. He struggled with his bonds in a useless attempt to free himself.

  Leaning in a bit closer, Thom whispered, “I can strengthen this spell and dig the words from you mind, if you prefer.” Barton’s eyes widened, throat flexing as he swallowed hard. “So, I ask you again, what do you want from us?”

  Barton lowered his eyes as he answered. “We were sent for the mask.”

  Shock settled among them. They all turned to Thom in question about what this man was talking about. Thom was surprised, to say the least. When his gaze turned to Mey, she too, had a look of surprise. Could he mean the mask she and Garrin had stolen? Could the Mage’s Circle’s theory be correct? Did this mask have something to do with calling dragons back into their world? He had so many questions, and not nearly enough answers. Unfortunately, he would have to wait for those. His attention turned back to the man before him.

  “Who sent you?”

  Again the man struggled, his discomfort growing by each passing moment.

  Mey again made it past the others and before Thom could stop her, she was in front of their prisoner. “You will die either way,” she said to him. “You might as well make it a quick death rather than a slow agony. For, I promise you, you will beg for mercy as your friend did.” She gestured to the man whose head lay askew from his body. “It did him no good.”

  Thom could only guess the mention of this mask brought only pain for her. Her mentor and friend had died trying to secure the item. And no matter how much she tried to portray she was too tough to be hurting, he knew it wasn’t true.

  Eventually, Thom could attain his answers, but it would leave the man broken and his mind in a state which could never be healed. He had to kill him. It didn’t appeal to him, but he knew what had to be done.

  Turning to the others, he said, “I need a few moments with him. I will concentrate better alone.”

  He saw their looks of concern, unsure suspicions and, from at least one, desperation. One by one they turned and left him. Mey was the last, reluctant to leave.

  “He doesn’t deserve any comfort you may give,” she said, tipping her chin at Barton Johns. “Death surrounds this mask. Why should he escape unscathed?”

  “Mey,” Thom started toward her; she backed away, mouth set in a hard line. He looked her in the eye; her beautiful green eyes, liquid silver flowing through them. “Trust me.”

  “Garrin’s life was taken for that mask. He obviously has something to do with that! How can I let that go?”

  She had a valid point, but how could he let her see what he was about to do? “You have to let me do this. I’ll get the information we need. I’ll find out what exactly this mask has to do with us and our quest.”

  “Thom, all I want is a chance to find out why Garrin had to die.” An edge of pleading had come into her voice.

  “I will get what we need. I promise you.” His heart ached for her, of course it did. How could he ignore any pain she felt? What he really wanted to do was to take her face in his hands and promise her that everything was going to be alright and that she would never have to feel hurt ever again. But that was a futile thought – it would never be true.

  “He should die in agony,” she said.

  “I’ll take that into consideration.”

  Silence hung between them for what had to be an eternity. Finally, she gave in, but nothing in her face changed as she turned and left him.

  He went about this task unerringly, leaving no memory or thought unturned. The information he sought was there along with much, much more. Useful snatches of remembered conversations, accidental encounters with the right people at the right time. It seemed Barton Johns had been a lucky man; until now. His luck had abandoned him and his last agonizing breath gave Thom a bit of satisfaction. “For her,” he murmured as he watched the man’s life ebb out of his eyes leaving an empty shell.

  **********

  When he approached the rest of the group later, he couldn’t help but feel the heavy burden of what he had done. He had the man’s blood on his hands, not literally, but he had mercilessly killed him all the same. Looking at the expectant faces, he only nodded to indicate his task was successful.

  Mey pushed past him, heading for the spot where they had left Barton Johns and Thom.

  “Mey, don’t…” he began, but then had to sprint to catch up to her. He didn’t want her to see what he had had to do.

  When he finally got to her, she had come upon the body and was standing still as stone in front of what used to be Barton Johns. He couldn’t see her face and he reached out to grasp her shoulder.

  When she turned to him, she did not have the look of disgust he had imagined she would, but rather, she was smiling.

  Opening his mouth to speak, he found he had no words. He should have been repulsed by her elation at the twisted face of the thief. Mouth open in a silent scream, the skin of his face torn where he had dug his own nails in trying to remove the intruding force from his head, Barton Johns had definitely died agonizingly and in sheer horror.

  As she left the clearing, she reached up and touched her hand to his face. “Thank you.”

  Her touch was always like an electrical shock to him. His breath caught in his throat. He watched her move around the others, who had all followed them, until he could no longer see her.

  The group of faces looking at him now showed mixtures of awe and respect. Shouldn’t killing this man in such a manner be something he loathed? It wasn’t right that he used his power that way. The thief had been defenseless against it. But everyone seemed to approve of the ghastly scene before them.

  “Ye got what we need, then?” Durlag asked.

  Thom didn’t trust himself to speak yet, so he only nodded slowly. The dwarf clapped him on the back as he followed the same path Mey had taken, getting as far away from this place as he could.

  That night, as they camped, he made contact with the Mage’s Circle. Familiar faces and voices assailed him as the spell carried him across time and space. He found himself seated in the middle of their sacred Circle. Careful to open only the parts of his mind that he wanted them see, he began to speak.

  “You were right. The mask has something to do with our journey and bringing the dragons back. I don’t know yet exactly what it does.” He described the attack on their camp leaving out the details of how he gleaned the information, he told them the rogues were sent by a sect of priests of Yenoh that would stop at nothing to make sure dragons did not return. They believed that, if returned, dragons would destroy the world; that only darkness would follow them into this realm and the priests would lose their hold over the people. These priests were zealous in their beliefs that dragons were unnatural creatures and had no place among the other races of the world. Mostly, they feared the power that dragons would bring with them.

  “We travel now with a priest of Sirrah. Apparently, Sirrah blesses this quest and his worshipers are on our side. Elerbee is not one of those intent on destroying our mission. I will work on getting more from him, but I believe his particular sect is intent on lending their aid to us.”

  “Be careful, Thom,” the old man warned him. “At this juncture, no one is to be trusted.”

  “Mey’s uncle has also joined us. He is a warrior of great skill and has been most helpful with her history.” He opened his mind and let them see the group, as he knew them.

  “The dwarf could pose a problem,” a female voice rang in his ears. “I see he carries the Flask of Aruk. That clan is not so fond of dragons.”

  “He is not like other dwarves we have met. I believe his life has been a hard one and has shown him more compassion than most dwarves see in a lifetime.” Thom smiled. “I think he likes us.”

  The old man laughed. “You will have to explain yourselves to him soon enough.”

  “And what of the girl?” another voice interrupted. “How is she coming
along?”

  He had to be careful here. “She changes more and more every day. She fights against it. Acceptance comes slowly.” He tried to keep his voice calm and even, all business. He couldn’t allow his feelings to show in front of his superiors. His heart thudded in his chest and he was sure it would betray his true feelings.

  Thom continued, “She carries a dagger made of dragon bone. I’m not sure, but when she used it today, I think something happened. It looked as if she were afraid to touch it again. I will question her further about it and report back.”

  “Where are you bound next?” another man asked.

  “We must cross the Dahrst Hills into Sorga. From there we can make our way into the Barren Lands.”

  The stone walls around him wavered. Thom knew he was tiring and the spell wouldn’t last much longer. The others sensed it as well.

  “Thom, study the mask. See if you can discern some of its properties.” The old man was stern. “There can be no mistakes when the time comes. You can find me away from the Circle if need be; I can always relay your information to them.”

  What? He couldn’t be sure, it was all slipping away so fast, but was that an invitation to meet alone with the Head of the Circle? Confusion clouded his thoughts as he slid back among the dirt, trees, and sky of the camp. He knows! Surely, he wasn’t thinking straight, the spell had sapped most of his energy. He was so careful to keep the image of kissing Mey out of his thoughts. How could he know? Well, he couldn’t very well contact the Head so soon after expending his energy, he could barely lift himself from the ground to find his bedroll. And as much as he was sure his thoughts were separate from him, they surged at him as he closed his eyes to sleep; her warm lips and smooth skin against him. He wanted to lose himself in her and the world be damned! He knew he didn’t have the strength to deny her again.