Bronwyn smiled at the blush on Agmunsten’s cheeks, and even King Valdorryn chuckled at the head realmist’s discomfit. But when the king spoke in a voice without mirth, Bronwyn flinched. “So, Bronwyn, the queen and I would like to have a talk with you and your creatura.”
Bronwyn turned and stared at the black dragon. Her smile evaporated faster than water in a boiling pot. Thoughts fought for dominance: Oh, gods, they’re going to lock me up again, but no, they won’t, or why would they have let me out? Maybe they’ll kill me when nobody’s watching? They couldn’t do that or we can’t beat the gormons.
Sinjenasta’s voice cut in. Bronwyn, shush! They’re not going to kill you. Calm down.
“Sinjenasta’s right, Bronwyn. We’re not going to kill you.” King Valdorryn turned to Agmunsten. “Finalize your plans and let me know in the morning. It’s time I took these two dragonslayers to see Queen Jazmonilly.” The king gestured towards Bronwyn and Sinjenasta. Bronwyn winced while following the dragon king out. Sinjenasta nudged her from behind as she battled unwilling feet. She wondered if she really would ever see Avruellen again.
Chapter 7
Klazich absently picked at his teeth with a sharpened ulna—courtesy of his last meal. He looked across the table at his brother. Squinting and blinking did nothing to improve the hazy view. The Third Realm wavered and shaded reality like a suffocating nightmare—nothing appeared clear. Feldich’s outline was revealed to him, and he could almost look into his eyes. He curled his clawed hand into a fist, resisting the urge to slam the table.
Feldich sipped from the glass of bevanda, his favorite mix of blood and acidic lake water, and burped. Many gormons had died trying to adjust to the acidic water when they were first banished to this dim, nowhere realm. “Ha, Brother. I might have just hit upon the only thing I’ll miss from this stinking realm. I suppose we might be able to acidize Talia’s water once we’re there. What do you think?”
“Whatever you want.” His raspy voice suited the gloom. “Right now, I couldn’t care less. If we don’t get out of here by the full moon, we’ll never get out. I don’t fancy dying on this shitty, gods-forsaken excuse for a realm.” Klazich placed the bone in his mouth and crunched down, snapping it in half.
“How long have we got?”
“The next-best window through the corridor is Talia’s next full moon. Embrax calculated that’s in sixteen First Realm days. He’ll watch the moon’s symbol as it grows brighter.”
“Only one corridor will be open?”
“Yes. I know it’s not ideal. We’ll all end up where High Priest Kerchex is. It will take longer to spread out and crush those usurping parasites. But we will do it. I won’t rest until every filthy human and dragon is dead.” Placing the rest of the bone in his mouth, he chewed, grinding the fragments into splinters. He hated the humans. He hated the dragons. Talia had once belonged to the gormons, and it would again.
Klazich stood, walked to the window and looked out. The dusty, bland landscape stared back at him through distorted, perpetual twilight. He craved clear sight. A hundred different hungers gnawed at him, but none could be sated here. He accessed a memory passed to him from his ancestors. Green grass, tickled by a warm breeze, waved around the legs of juicy, fat cows. No gormons in the Third Realm had ever seen green, or grass. The Third Realm palette consisted of gray, brown, and black. Light acted differently here. Anything worth appreciating was leached of beauty, not that gormons had much use for such things.
Feldich joined his brother as he gazed at the eyesore that was their imposed home. “I’ve done a head count. One-thousand-and-fifty-three humans remain. We are one-hundred-thousand gormons. Some will starve before we leave.”
Klazich growled. “I know that, idiot. We’ve already quarantined the older gormons. The killing will start tomorrow so there is still meat on their bones. When the two thousand are eaten, we will eat the humans.”
Feldich looked at his brother, the leader of the gormons. If only I were quicker out of the egg, he thought. He had some ambition but realized he wasn’t as smart as Klazich, and sometimes he preferred to sit around and do nothing. He begrudged his brother the extra food but not the work.
“Have you checked the progress of the Gate?”
“Yes. It will be ready in time—early, in fact.”
“How many can go through at once?”
“Four at a time.” They looked at each other. Neither needed the miasma to clear to grasp what the other was thinking. The gate would only be open for a certain amount of time—whether that was ten minutes or two hours, they didn’t know. How many of them would not make it?
“Prepare the order. Strongest first. The few eggs we have will have to be left behind. Now go and tell Vark. Get organized. Report back to me in two days.” Klazich turned his back in dismissal. There was no way to tell night from day in the Third Realm. They watched the waxing and waning of Talia’s moon in the Second Realm.
Klazich used his mind to call Embrax, his Realm Master.
Yes Klazich? Embrax’s mind-voice contained a hint of annoyance.
Am I interrupting you, brother? Klazich’s tone was like shards of glass grating a gormon’s leathery skin.
Ah, no. Forgive me, Malevolent Father. I was trying to calculate the gate’s duration. I feel like I almost have the answer. What can I do for you?
That’s better, Embrax. Do not forget yourself. We can’t all go through the gate. They weren’t telling the other gormons. There was no need to start a panic. Gormons were likely to start killing each other to guarantee their own place through the corridor to Talia, and with their skill at serving out death, there would not be enough gormons left to conquer Talia. Klazich would not risk failure—not when the Third Realm would be the outcome for the loser.
Get High Priest Kerchex.
Yes, Malevolent Father. I’ll let you know as soon as I have contact. Will that be all?
Yes, Embrax. Klazich let the link die and thought of High Priest Kerchex. When the gormon priest on Talia wasn’t feeding, he was using his powers of compulsion to plant seeds into the minds of a whole town of humans. When the gormons went through the corridor to Talia, their bodies would not come with them. They would come out in the cave where High Priest Kerchex waited. The only way they could leave that cavern was in the bodies of humans. They would be vulnerable until they metamorphosed. Secrecy was their weapon. He chuckled, his mirth spilling over his black lips like dripping blood. Sixteen First-Realm days to go. The countdown had well and truly begun.
Chapter 8
Bronwyn stood in the stone doorway to Queen Jazmonilly’s chambers, reluctant to breach the threshold. A necklace of delicate snow-star flowers traced the frame’s edge, carved and painted white, so realistic that Bronwyn thought she could smell the syrupy nectar. Sinjenasta stood protectively in front of her, and Bronwyn wondered at his lack of fear. The young realmist chewed her fingernails and considered if she could draw enough of the natural power to make herself invisible: a crooked smile broke through her anxiety for the briefest of moments.
A sharp “tap tap” sounded from an inner room—clawed footsteps drawing nearer. Sinjenasta’s tail twitched, and Bronwyn gripped the doorframe to keep from running out. King Valdorryn entered first, his black girth seemed to fill the high-ceilinged room, and Bronwyn felt like even the air had retreated in his presence. She gulped two desperate breaths. Sinjenasta spoke in her mind, Stop it, young cub. I won’t let anything happen to you. He turned from the king, and his luminous eyes met Bronwyn’s. She let go of the stone and grabbed the generous fur at the nape of his neck.
King Valdorryn’s commanding voice drew their immediate attention. “I would like to introduce to you my wife, the light of Vellonia, Queen Jazmonilly.”
In spite of herself, Bronwyn’s mouth fell open. Silver scales glimmered in the candlelight like the sun firing lustrous diamonds on the harbour on a brilliant day. No dress could be more beautiful, no scene more breathtaking, than this creature who po
ssessed an elegance Bronwyn would have thought impossible for someone so large. Bronwyn curtseyed.
The regal dragon flared her substantial nostrils and cast a stern eye on the young woman. After an uncomfortably long silence in which Bronwyn chewed the nails off four fingers, the queen spoke. “So, what have you to say for yourselves?”
Sinjenasta spoke, and his words, to Bronwyn’s chagrin, were not chosen carefully. We are sorry if our actions have upset Your Majesty, but we did what needed to be done. I will take full blame, as the realmist was doing what she could to save her creatura. We all know instinct can be overwhelming at a time like that. I suggest you find it in your heart to forgive us, Queen Jazmonilly, for we acted in Talia’s best interest.
Sinjenasta settled his furry bottom on the floor, calmly lifted a paw to his mouth and fastidiously licked in between the leathery pads.
Small spikes on the back of the queen’s neck rose, punctuating her words with a dangerous energy. “You are not in a position to suggest anything. Why did you kill my nephew?”
King Valdorryn rubbed his nose on Jazmonilly’s shimmering neck. “Please let it go, love. We can’t bring him back, and I know you have delved into their hearts and see no danger or malice there. If Drakon has let this happen in our own home, you know it was for a reason.”
“What reason, my king? I see no good reason to kill my beautiful nephew. He was a good dragon. There are so few of us left, and the future appears grimmer by the day. Why did he have to die? Why? I want answers. Someone needs to be punished.” Her nostrils flared in and out, over and over. Danger filled the room, and Bronwyn feared Jazmonilly would incinerate her husband, closely followed by the murderers.
“Enough!” A thundering voice resonated around them. Bronwyn jumped, but recognized the voice. “Jazmonilly, my daughter, you will not punish anyone. Is that clear?”
The dragon queen, realizing Drakon had spoken, managed not to faint as she had last time he had made an appearance. When she replied, nose haughtily raised, Bronwyn couldn’t believe her courage. “So, you’re the culprit. Why did you kill my nephew? Aren’t there few enough of us as there is? What god kills his own creations?”
“I have my reasons, none of which I care to explain. That is all.” As suddenly as he had appeared, he disappeared.
Jazmonilly buried her head into Valdorryn’s neck. Bronwyn stared at the ground. The dragon queen’s sorrow was unexpected and something the realmist didn’t want to witness. This creature she had feared was as vulnerable as she in some ways. The mighty dragons, the fiercest beings on Talia, their allies in the coming war with the gormons, were not as invincible as she thought. Suddenly the gormon threat seemed more menacing.
Bronwyn trusted in her aunt and The Circle. She knew the gormons were coming, but felt it was a matter of course—they would fight them, win, and go back to doing whatever it was they had done before the invasion. Realization of the danger had alighted, and it wasn’t a feather touch: it came with the weight of ten dragons, and Bronwyn knew, for the first time, that life was uncertain, as was Talia’s future. She flinched from the thought, but it was there now, and hiding would not make it disappear.
Bronwyn stepped from the doorway and went to Queen Jazmonilly. She spoke through lips that felt frozen. “I’m sorry for killing your nephew.”
Jaz lifted her head and looked at the small human.
“I didn’t want Sinjenasta to die, and I didn’t want to kill the dragon, but it was a choice, and I did what I had to. I see your nephew in my dreams and in my waking thoughts. I hear his screams and see his blood. I don’t know why it happened, but I do know Sinjenasta wouldn’t lie to me. He said Drakon had ordered it.” Bronwyn stepped closer and shocked everyone by attempting to circle her arms around Jaz’s belly—the only part she could reach.
The queen laughed: out of shock or amusement, no one could tell. “Are you embracing me?”
“Yes. I’m sorry for your pain. In my world, when someone is hurting, this is what we do.” Bronwyn let go and looked up at the silver dragon.
Sinjenasta shook his head and shared a look with the king, neither believing what they saw. If the panther had his old hands, he would have rubbed his eyes. The thought brought a yearning to be human, and he held a painful breath as he watched Bronwyn. It had been hundreds of years since he had touched a woman with his human fingers, had looked in a mirror and seen a man staring back at him. He had believed himself accepting of his life by Drakon’s side, but now a tremor loosened foundations built on reluctant necessity.
Jaz smiled with a closed mouth—she found humans sometimes mistook a toothy smile as a threat and figured it had something to do with her bountiful, sharp teeth. “Eventually I will find out why Drakon saw fit to murder one of his own, but I will let it rest for the moment. I won’t say I’m accepting of what happened to Symbothial, and I am still upset, but I do forgive you, Bronwyn, and Sinjenasta. I can imagine you have been placed in a situation where no decision was favorable. You have my pardon.”
“Thank you, Queen Jazmonilly. I appreciate your forgiveness.” Bronwyn curtseyed again, and the panther bowed his head.
King Valdorryn spoke up. “Now that’s all sorted, I think it’s time you two were off to bed. I’m sure you have a lot of work to do with my daughter while you’re here. I understand she’s teaching you the secrets of Talian magic.”
“Well, she’s teaching me. Sinje already knows how to do it.” Pride in her creatura shone in Bronwyn’s delicate smile.
“Ah,” said Valdorryn, “that’s to be expected, I suppose. Oh, how the world moves on without me. I can’t remember the last time I ventured out of Vellonia.” He sighed.
Jazmonilly patted his arm. “We like it here. It’s not like there’s anything to see out there that’s superior to our beloved home; is there?”
“No, love, you’re right. Anyway, enough of my complaining. You two have a good night’s sleep, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”
Sinjenasta and Bronwyn thanked the dragons again and left. “I told you everything would be okay, didn’t I?”
“Yes, Sinje, you did. Thanks for being so strong. What would I do without you? Hmm. Actually don’t answer that question. I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place: I’d be somewhere with my aunt. I hope she knows I’m okay.”
“Agmunsten will tell her, and I’m sure Drakon would have let her know. And I should have told you this before, but don’t tell anyone Drakon talks to us. You never know what secrets are revealed by seemingly harmless words.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry. I won’t tell anyone anything. I thought it was a good thing you’re related to Drakon somehow.”
Sinjenasta coughed and said nothing. Bronwyn had a lot to learn.
***
Two days had passed. Realmists and creaturas reclined in the cool grass of Vellonia’s valley, under the retreating afternoon sun, awaiting Zim’s return. Blayke breathed honeyed spring fragrances and snapped verdant grass blades between slender fingers. “Arcese is such a slave driver.”
“I’m not complaining. Just look at everything we’ve learnt.”
“You would say that, Arie,” said Blayke. “You’re the fastest learner I’ve ever seen—not that I’ve seen much.” He laughed.
“You’ve got that right, lad,” Arcon’s blue eyes crinkled at the corners.
“Ha, ha, you’re so funny,” Blayke quipped, overjoyed at having his uncle back from the edge of death. Arcon’s strength grew daily, and after the latest review from Agmunsten, it had been decided they could leave Vellonia in another two days. Blayke’s brow furrowed when he remembered what he was trying not to think about—tonight they would have to undertake the first stage of the unlocking for his piece of quartz. When Zim arrived, he would be carrying the mineral that held a drop of blood—whose or what’s blood, no one knew.
Bronwyn quickly rose from her position resting back against Sinjenasta. “I think I see Zim!”
Her eyes squinted into the azure sky. The othe
rs looked up.
“How can you tell it’s him? That dragon’s too far away to tell anything.” Blayke placed a hand at his forehead, shielding his eyes from the glare.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not him, but I think it is.”
Arcon stood and observed everyone watching the dragon’s gliding descent. When he had finally woken the other day and seen his nephew sitting by his bed, enormous relief washed over him. That none of them had died seemed a miracle. Talia still had a chance, although with Leon’s greed and stupidity, it was yet to be seen whether they would stand united before the gormons arrived.
He looked at dark-haired Bronwyn and thought it a miracle that no one had asked questions. Well, they may know soon enough, but he wasn’t about to tell anyone their secret. Maybe when they caught up to Avruellen, the truth could come out. Goodness knew Bronwyn would have many questions, and her aunt would be the best person to answer them.
He flexed his fingers and felt an ache he knew would take a few more days to dissipate. Shielding for so long had almost killed him, but it had saved Blayke. He would have to teach his nephew how to do it. Maybe there was a less dangerous way to shield using Talian magic? He would have to ask Arcese.
“See, I told you it was Zim.” Bronwyn’s comment jerked Arcon out of his reverie. He saw the black dragon that was almost upon them. It was now clear it was the prince.
Zim, sixty feet from the ground, swept in an arc parallel to the valley floor, beat his wings down with gusting, powerful strokes and dropped the last fifteen feet to the ground, crushing the flowers unlucky enough to be growing underneath. “Ah, I have a welcoming party.” His teeth-revealing smile caused the younger realmists to shiver. “So, you must have missed me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. We needed some fresh air after being cooped up inside that mountain. We hadn’t even realized you were gone.” Agmunsten winked.
“Well then, you don’t want to receive the news I’ve brought, or the pendant I carry. Never mind; there are others who love me.” Zim sniffed and carefully wiped an invisible tear from his eye with the back of a clawed finger.
A Time of Darkness (The Circle of Talia) Page 4
