Dark Hope of the Dragons (Elysium's Fall Book 1)

by Nikki Mccormack

The other party arrived with Chen. They bound him and left the two with a guard. They would have better odds of winning if they hurried out to intercept the other troop rather than giving them time to put a rescue plan into action. Their opponents would be planning an offensive. He would force them into a defensive position. If he was correct, it would not be what they expected, and it would give his troop an advantage.

  An eerie quiet filled the woods, broken by the soft shuffle of well-trained warhorses moving through the underbrush and the occasional snap of a twig that would hopefully be covered up by the sounds of the rescue party’s horses. His troop moved in a slow and cautious line stretched across the section of woods with him at the center. The first of his soldiers spotted the opposing troop through the trees. She signaled him with a convincing bird call. He gave the hand sign to charge, nodding approval as the signal passed quickly along both sides and a predetermined set from each end moved out further to circle around the enemy. They charged then, letting the sound of hooves now crashing through the brush be their battle cry. The fragrance of broken foliage rose up under the salt and hay scent of the horses and the oily perfume of polished leather.

  His troop drew their practice swords when he did, responding to his lead as if they had been doing so through years of hard battle. Their energy bolstered him, feeding into him like they were all connected in that instant on a new and deeper level. He felt stronger and faster than ever. When his mount surged ahead, he caught sight of Parthak. The commander was not just observing, she was calling out commands to the opposing troop. She was their captain. She had pitted herself against him, rather than putting command of the troop under another student.

  Dephithus aimed for the instructor.

  Parthak’s eyes widened in an instant of surprise, then narrowed, homing in on Dephithus as she kicked her mount into action and met the charge.

  Practice swords clashed. Dephithus heard the clash of real honed steel in his head and grinned when Parthak nearly lost her weapon before the force of his attack. Another student charged at Dephithus from the side and he nudged his horse’s hindquarters around into that attacker’s path while he thrust his blade at Parthak. The commander recovered with barely enough time to knock the strike away, but her balance was off enough to further her opponent’s advantage.

  Dephithus urged his mount into Parthak’s horse and struck again, checking his attack just fast enough to stop the blade against his instructor’s neck. Parthak lowered her own blade and nodded once. As she started pulling out the white kerchief on her shoulder to mark herself dead, Dephithus spun to face his next opponent.

  *

  Horses and riders were slick with sweat and numerous students bemoaned their bruises as they rode back to the stables, the dead still wearing their white kerchiefs on their shoulders. Parthak grinned back at Dephithus and his troop every few moments, beaming with pleasure. Myara, free of sweat or bruises thanks to her captivity during the battle, brought her mount close and leaned toward Dephithus.

  “Never in my life have I seen anyone so thrilled to be defeated. You think she would have preferred to win rather than be outsmarted and outfought by a student.”

  Dephithus laughed and shook his head in disagreement. “Parthak has been boasting to my den-father over what a fine soldier she was going to make out of me since I was six. I don’t think she sees my defeating her as a loss at all. As far as she’s probably concerned, I proved her right today.”

  He scanned the opposing troop. Well over half of Parthak’s soldiers and the commander herself were marked dead within a few minutes of the initial attack, having taken what would be fatal or debilitating blows from their enemies. His troop had followed his orders precisely and executed a flawless rout.

  “Well,” Myara scowled at him, “try not to be too modest.”

  He laughed again. “Can I help it if I’m perfect?”

  She rolled her eyes and shifted her focus to the youth moving up on his other side.

  Kathan tossed his head to get his overlong red hair out of his eyes and nodded a greeting. “Several of us were going to ride into town to my folks’ tavern and celebrate our glorious victory under your command. Would you care to join us, Lord Dephithus? You can bring the captive.” He added the last with a wink for Myara.

  Dephithus glanced at her. “Myara?”

  “I’m only the captive,” she remarked, “I’ll go where you please, oh magnificent warrior.”

  An unexpected urge to take her somewhere they could be alone struck him. Swallowing hard and hoping no one noticed the sudden warmth he felt in his face, he turned to Kathan. “That sounds grand.”

  “Fantastic! I’ll see who else wants to join.” Kathan moved off then to talk to one of the other students.

  Myara pulled forward a lock of her hair and began to braid it, keeping her mount in line with leg cues. For the first time in his life, Dephithus was uncomfortable having her by his side. He stared ahead, chewing at the inside of his lip.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He shrugged, refusing to look at her lest she see something of his thoughts in his expression.

  “In less than a week you can start competing in the tournaments. You’re one of the best jousters I’ve seen. Aren’t you excited?”

  “I am,” he replied absently. He did feel the promised thrill that would come with finally entering tournaments, but it wasn’t enough to take his mind off her, especially given his mother’s focus on his future as a husband. He knew she was worried that he would have trouble finding a partner with his strange markings, but she had succeeded in disrupting a perfectly good friendship with her meddling.

  “Myara, if you were me, would you marry right away?”

  She stared at him for several strides, her hands pausing halfway through the braid. “Why worry over such things now? There’s no rush. I mean, you are almost guaranteed to be named heir to the throne, but Mythan is still young. He’s not going to be passing off the crown anytime soon.”

  He glanced over and caught the little frown on her face deepening as she fell into thoughtful silence, the braid forgotten. “It bothers you too, doesn’t it? The possibility that some woman might come between us. Not at first, but eventually I might become accustomed to waking up beside her. I might forget why I spent so much of my time with you. If we had a child, then I would spend even more time with them. You and I would fade away like a pleasant memory that offers no images, only a warm feeling.”

  Myara laughed and the muscles in his shoulders drew tight with self-conscious irritation. Warmth spread up his neck and into his face. She glanced at him and started to laugh harder, curling forward and grabbing the horse’s mane for balance.

  He gritted his teeth and stared hard ahead.

  Parthak glanced back at them with a raised brow and Myara sucked back the laughter, forcing composure, though the twitch at the side of her mouth told him she was fighting to keep it in.

  “What’s so funny,” Dephithus asked under his breath.

  “I went from being your best friend to a warm, fuzzy feeling in mere seconds and I didn’t even get to have a parting spat. Where’s the fun in that?”

  Laughter bubbled up in his chest and he clenched his jaw making a small snorting sound as he tried not to let it free. She was right. It had been silly.

  “I just want to know one thing,” she pulled a serious expression, “did you and your wife have a girl or a boy?”

  “Boy. I wouldn’t have a girl for you to corrupt.”

  “You think that’ll help? Being a boy doesn’t seem to have protected you any.”

  Dephithus only grinned and she nodded as if the subject were satisfactorily resolved. He wondered, as he watched her go back to braiding her hair with a charming moue, how he was going to go on spending most of his waking hours with her given the new feelings she aroused in him. How she would laugh at him if she knew.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Amahna gazed into the mirror pool, her lips curving in a plea
sed little smirk. While her reflection smirked back at her, she practiced using illusion to mask the strangeness of her nearly black eyes, restoring their natural color.

  Her skill with the daenox and her willingness to serve had lifted her high in favor with Theruses, but simple luck secured her position now. The dragon-child, Dephithus he was called, was the son of her half-sister, Avaline. The letter she sent requesting to attend the boy’s Dawning Day celebration was well received. Avaline’s sap-soaked response expressed grotesque enthusiasm at the opportunity to see Amahna after all these years and reminisce upon their childhood. As Amahna recalled, it was a forgettable experience, but she would endure anything for Theruses.

  Since the day of the dragon-child’s birth, Theruses favored no lover over her and she savored watching him turn others away for her. She yearned for him even now, but he was with Rakas. A necessary pairing to pass on the potency that would sprout the seed of daenox they were going to plant within the dragon-child. Still, it was rare that a man could satisfy Theruses, so she would wait for the inevitable call to sate her lord’s lust when they were finished. After that, she and Rakas would begin their journey to Imperious.

  When the summons finally came, she was pacing the passages of the cave system, her hands balled into fists on the fabric of her skirt to keep from chewing at her nails. The sudden relentless compulsion to seek him out, an even deeper need than her own desire, drove her to change her direction. She followed that inner need through the passages with complete trust. Theruses ruled her. He was all she wanted or needed. She could not recall when the unconditional devotion developed, nor could she be bothered to question it.

  Theruses awaited her in the immense chamber he called the Womb of Daenox. A space so vast and dark that even with a bright light one could not see any of the walls or the ceiling. Some daemon power had been bound to cast a faintly blue light over the center, where flowstone over an old pile of rock created a natural throne. Massive white columns that made up the back of the throne disappeared into the black above.

  Rakas wore an even deeper scowl than normal and Theruses didn’t appear any less irritable. The more Rakas succumbed to the weakness inside him, the more he and Theruses irritated one another, but Theruses allowed him to keep his place here in recognition of the many others, Amahna included, he had lured in to the daemon power to serve. Perhaps that weakness was all that aggravated the lord of the daenox now, that failing that demoted Rakas from his once glorious position as one of Theruses’s most favored and trusted servants. She would hope that was all it was.

  Glancing from one to the other, she could tell that she would not join with her lord before they left. Given the dark glower he wore and the violent twitching of his tail, she might not survive a pairing with him anyhow. Her nerves danced a little when she knelt before him in the low-cut, almost transparent red dress that clung in such a way as to leave nothing to the imagination, but his expression did not change. With a bit of a pout and a conflicting sense of relief, she stared at the floor and waited for his acknowledgment.

  “You will be gone from here within the hour,” he told them, not giving her permission to look up from the damp, dark stone at his feet. “The seed will be strongest if it is planted within the dragon-child on the night of his sixteenth birthday, as near as possible to the hour of his birth. That night, once your task is finished, you will return here without him. The seed will take root and bring him to us in time. As the seed grows stronger, it will draw out the daenox. We will watch and wait. I trust this task to you Amahna and I will know if you fail in any way.”

  The need to be away from him was suddenly overwhelming. He was compelling her to leave. Driving her away. It made her resent him, as much as she could resent he who was her life. It also left her confused. Did he seek to test her loyalty by making her angry with him before she left? Did he doubt her devotion?

  If so, she would prove to him that no other was as dedicated and reverent as she was. Perhaps he knew Rakas wavered in his devotion as his body failed to adapt to the saturation of daenox and he wanted to see how much influence that had over her by sending her off in this way. She had believed she loved Rakas once, but he was nothing to her now. They would be better off without him once this was finished. Perhaps she would help Theruses to see that.

  With a sly smile she ducked her head in a deeper bow, touching her forehead to the cold stone. Then she rose, swaying her hips suggestively as she walked from the chamber, using all her will to fight the compulsion to move faster and not bothering to check if Rakas followed.

  The outside world was a place she visited quite rarely. It had been perhaps seven years since her last visit to the surface. The procurement of supplies for life within the caves was a task left to the lesser servants. There was no other need to leave the cave system, so she stayed within, immersed in the daenox and the nearness of Theruses. The outside world was harsh and bright. She liked it a little less every time she visited.

  The cave entrance was a gapping maw at the base of the ragged limestone cliffs of the Dunues Mountains. Walking toward the entrance from within was like emerging from the throat of a sleeping giant, the brightness of the outside world searing her eyes and rampaging cruelly through her skull. The cave exhaled, air moved by the extensiveness of the passages within. Just inside that entrance, they made their careful way along a narrow strip of stone between two large pits several hundred feet deep that opened in the floor. For anyone without a connection to the daenox, the floor looked solid. An easy illusion used to deal with unwanted visitors.

  They walked from the entrance to the bottom of the rocky dirt slope that rolled down toward a nearby ravine. Behind them, a mountain mist, also enhanced by daemon power, quickly obscured the cave mouth from view and a brief pang of loss twisted in her chest, an orphan without Theruses. Forcing calm, she squinted against the painful brightness and focused her awareness on the herd of horses that she knew would be near. They would use daenox to lure the stallion into range and fog his awareness enough that he wouldn’t notice a couple of his mares wandering away.

  The pounding of hooves preceded the herd as the stallion drove them through the valley, breaking through the mist with the dramatic roar of rolling thunder. Amahna breathed in the beauty of their natural strength, almost forgetting to select a mount until Rakas pulled his out and stopped it a few feet from her. Picking out a lovely bay mare who ran close to her magnificent sire, Amahna drew her from the herd and over beside the buckskin Rakas had picked. The stallion would notice that his herd had gotten smaller when the daemon power wore off, but they would be well out of his range by then.

  Quickly, they equipped the horses with light tack pulled out of a storage chamber. The lord of the daenox was no fool. He kept what supplies he could within the cave and was well aware of the benefit of things he could not keep in his underground realm. Storage chambers were maintained for weaponry and other useful equipment, but he did not have the facilities to keep a full army within the cave’s passages. What he did have was the ability to seduce people to his cause with the daemon power if the need should ever arise.

  Amahna swung into the saddle, the motion a bit awkward after so many years without practice. She kept her wild mount calm and still with a soothing flow of daenox and smiled, feeling the warmth of that power flowing through her. True power. When the world returned to the old way, when daemons roamed free again, she would be on the winning side, and this time there would be no dragons to balance the daemon powers.

  Without waiting for Rakas to study their map she kicked her mount ahead. He had always been challenged when it came to directions, but these mountains were her home and she needed no maps to navigate them. Cursing, Rakas hurried after her, folding the old map he carried as he bounced uncomfortably on the mare’s back, at least as out of practice in the saddle as Amahna.

  They would stop first in Kithin, a small mountain village that swore allegiance to Theruses, aiding him when needed in exchange for protectio
n from rockslides as well as the rare roving daemon spawned by the concentration of daenox in the nearby caves. All the residents had black eyes and hair due to their proximity to the daemon power’s prison, but they stayed here because they were shepherds and the mountain meadows were lush grazing for their herds. The shepherds of Kithin would provide food and other supplies for their journey.

  Using daenox, it would take about three days to cover the several hundred miles to Imperious. Their second stop would be at the graveyard a couple of miles outside of Kithin. There, Siniva, the Fire Dragon, was entrapped in his stone prison. They could use daenox they had accumulated within themselves over the years in the caves to tap into the deep web of dragon power there and use it transport themselves to the graveyard in Derg where Cylan, the War Dragon, was imprisoned in his stone cell. Amahna and Rakas could travel all the way to Imperious this way using four of the stone dragons. They would go from Siniva to Cylan, then Cylan to Tikat, the Hope Dragon in Kuilen, and from Tikat to Vanuthan, the Mother Dragon in Imperious. It would be such a pleasure to use the dragon’s own powers to foil their plan for freedom.

  Amahna directed her mount only when necessary, letting the mare guide them around cliffs and other hazards hidden by the thick mountain mist. With her head held high, she let the moisture of the mist collect on her face and hair. It felt wonderful. Such things as this and many others—the color of the grass, the smell of the horses—they were things she loved, but somehow, she could not recall missing them when she was in the cave. Perhaps the wonder of the daemon power, the beauty of the cave, and the magnificence of Theruses himself were enough to compensate. It must be so, for even now, as she enjoyed the world around her, she was eager to return home to the cave and Theruses.

  Not far out of Kithin, they encountered a shepherd tending his herd. The man knelt respectfully as they approached, his black hair falling into his face, and rose only once they had stopped before him and bid him do so.