Ghostflame (The Dragon's Scion Book 2)

by Alex Raizman

  “Grejax?” Duke de’Monchy frowned. “That sounds draconic.”

  Tythel nodded. “It is. Technically, Grejax is my ancestor. He annihilated Dor’nah for some slight or another, but if Karjon’s texts were right, he did so with ghostflame. It would have left the buildings intact. He laired there until his death in the year 7124, as the dragons count years. That’d be…4219 years before the founding of the current calendar. No one disturbed it for millennia afterwards out of fear.”

  “Fear of what?”

  “Grejax dabbled in Necromancy, infusing both light and shadow to animate corpses. Superstitious people believed his corpse still wandered the ruins. By the time humans had forgotten to fear him, they had forgotten Dor’nah ever stood there. Which means it should be undisturbed.”

  “Undisturbed except for five thousand years of forests growing,” Duke de’Monchy frowned. “It could be worth investigating, but we’d be exposed the moment we left this plateau.”

  Tythel nodded. “Then how about a small force? I’ll take them, I know the way. We’ll move quicker in the forest anyway. If we find anything work taking, we can come back with a larger force to delve into his lair, and we can bring back Dor’nahid writing for Armin to compare to the cypher.”

  “No,” Duke de’Monchy said. “You’re too valuable to risk, your highness. You can write directions down.”

  “And what if something happens? What if they encounter Alohym?” Tythel could feel heat rising to her cheeks, anger and frustration mingling.

  “What if the Alohym attack here?” he asked mildly. “If you want to protect people from the Alohym, you can do far more here.”

  “And if you want to slay them,” Lord Devos added, “You’ll find more of them to kill here. We can’t stay hidden forever.”

  Tythel could already tell she was going to lose the argument. It wasn’t even an argument, not really. Duke de’Monchy mind was set. He doesn’t want to lose you, she thought bitterly. You’re too useful.

  So instead, other people were going to go and delve into the forest that covered the ruins of Dor’nah. Other people were going to hunt for a treasure five millennia old, based on half remembered scraps of Karjon’s teachings from an era he had only covered as far as it related to their family line. Other people could die because Tythel was hoarding bits of things that would never be used otherwise.

  “Fine,” Tythel said with a sigh. “But I’ll need a couple days to write the instructions down. I’ll need up-to-date maps, and I’ll be comparing from lore I don’t remember all that well.”

  It was agreed. They’d send an expedition into the woods to find if the treasure of Grejax remained, and if they could find any of the writing of Dor’nah.

  The truth was, Tythel could have written what instructions she knew in a matter of an hour. But the two days bought her time to think. Time to decide. Could she really risk the living to preserve her father’s grave? Or, for that matter, could she stand to see her home despoiled to fight a war?

  Right now, she honestly didn’t know.

  Chapter 3

  Haradeth had never before seen the lands of Sylvani. Few had. Even his own mother had not been here – or if she had, she hadn’t told him. Then again, there’s a lot she didn’t tell me, he thought with a bitter twist. Eighteen was an adult by mortal standards, but a child by the standards of the demigods. There was much his mother had left to teach him. Please, please be alright.

  The Sylvani had claimed a stretch of forest on the northernmost tip of the continent, where it was warmest. It wasn’t his woods, but this forest still sung to him as he wound through the trees that towered overhead. The life, the energy that infused this place was different from what Haradeth knew, but also familiar. The great cat that stalked behind them, trying to decide if Lorathor and Haradeth were predator or prey, felt different from the cougars of his home forest, but also similar. The raptors that flew through the trees, small creatures that hunted the great dragonflies of this wood, still held the same intensity in their pursuit as the falcons he knew.

  The strangest were the apes that watched them from the trees, scattering when they noticed their feline pursuit. They felt like the beasts Haradeth was most comfortable with, but they also felt like men, a strange blend of the two. Haradeth resolved to seek one out before he left these woods.

  That resolve was distracted when Lorathor pushed aside some low ferns ahead of them. “We’re here,” the Sylvani said simply.

  Haradeth gaped at what he saw. The homelands of the Sylvani were in a great sinkhole in the middle of the forest, one so wide he could scarcely see the other edge, overflowing with vegetation – but no trees. Instead of trees were great spires of woven green and silver metal, topped with domes of glass that overlooked the valley below. At the parting of the ferns, a metal bridge began to grow out of the side of the sinkhole, twining its way across the vast empty space towards the nearest of the glass domes. It was far more advanced than anything ever built man, and far more beautiful than anything ever crafted by Alohym hands. Lorathor grinned at Haradeth’s open mouthed expression. “I never get tired of it, either,” he said simply, then began to scamper across the forming bridge.

  Barely able to breathe, Haradeth followed. What shocked him most was the feeling he was getting from these vines of metal as they grew to grant them passage. They felt alive, somehow, although it was a strange form a life. Living metal, growing like a plant, and with a strange amusement that suggested sentience. It’s like stepping onto another world. Even the animal life within the sinkhole felt different. Strange and wonderful, alive with the same desires as the creatures they had left behind. He managed to catch a glimpse of one that flittered up to study him and Lorathor as they walked across the bridge. It fluttered like a hummingbird, but instead of wings, it hand webbing stretched between tentacles that it undulated to hold itself aloft. Its beak was akin to that of a bird, but ringed by six more tentacles, two of which ended in eye stalks that blinked curiously at Haradeth. He sensed confusion coming from it.

  He glanced ahead to asked Lorathor what he was looking at and almost fell off the metal vines in shock. “Who the flath are you?” he shouted at the thing that had taken his companions place.

  It was a hunched creature, standing on two thick tentacles. Its forelimbs were three tentacles each, wrapped into a tight bundle and ending in fingers. The face was flat and featureless, save for a beak much like the fluttering creature that had scattered at Haradeth’s voice. The eyes however…those were undoubtedly the curiously shaped irises of a Sylvani. “I should have warned you,” the creature said in Lorathor’s voice, “but I honestly wanted to see your reaction.”

  “Lorathor?” Haradeth asked, his jaw threatening to drop so hard it hit the valley below. “I…how?”

  “This is my natural form,” Lorathor said. “When we travel among humans, we shift our bodies into the ones you know. Here, though, there’s no such need to contort ourselves.”

  “You…hide what you look like? Constantly?”

  The skin around Lorathor’s beak stretched in a way that reminded Haradeth of a smile. “It’s hard enough to travel safely among humans looking as much like them as we can. They never do adapt well to the new and different. It’s safer for us – and for them.”

  Haradeth swallowed hard. “I…suppose. It’s just hard to…I’m not used to this.”

  Lorathor chuckled and shifted back to his more human appearance. As he did, Haradeth could see the way skin folded to hide the tentacles as arms, the way the beak was folded into a slit and pulled back to hide itself as a tonsil, the way the legs lengthened and contorted to give the appearance of musculature stretched over bones. “I wanted to show you before you met my people. Here, now, in this time, they will not hide their appearance for the sake of an outsider.”

  “What do you mean now? Did they used to?”

  Lorathor nodded. “You’ll see. I said it would be difficult to get my people’s aid, and there’s much that’s ta
boo for me to say without Her approval.”

  “You’ve mentioned Her a few times. Can you tell me yet who She is?” Haradeth asked with a frown.

  “No. But soon. You were going to ask me something?”

  “Oh…yes. The creatures. Why haven’t they spread to the rest of the forest?”

  “We keep them contained.” Lorathor said.

  Haradeth waited for Lorathor to elaborate, and Lorathor declined, instead beginning to walk down the twisting vines of green metal again. Haradeth began to walk to keep up. “How can you keep them contained? Even my mother couldn’t keep all the creatures within our forest if she asked them.”

  “You don’t ask,” Lorathor said cryptically. “You just make it so they can’t leave.”

  Haradeth ground his teeth. “You’ve been enjoying the mystery, Lorathor. When do we get some answers?”

  “When you stop bellyaching and speak to Her.” Lorathor rolled his eyes, an impressive gesture with his unusual irises.

  “Is she in the dome ahead?” Haradeth asked.

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  Haradeth bit back another snappy reply, instead taking a deep breath. “Can you tell me how many of your people there are, at least?”

  “Yes.” Lorathor said, looking over his shoulder – which, Haradeth reminded himself, was no more an actual shoulder than Lorathor’s smile was actually a mouth.

  “…and?”

  “And I can tell you,” Lorathor said. “But you’re impatient and can be rude, so I’m not going to.”

  “If you think I’m impatient and rude, why bring me? Why not…why not anyone else?”

  “Because you’re semi divine. Anything less would be an insult to Her. Few gods have ever set foot in our refuge, Haradeth.”

  Haradeth opened his mouth, then took a deep breath. “Thank you for the compliment.”

  Lorathor beamed at him. “Good, you can learn. Now, come on.” Lorathor motioned for Haradeth to follow, and they continued along the branch of woven metal to the dome of impossible glass.

  As they drew closer to the dome, Haradeth could begin to make out what was inside. There were buildings in there, small versions of the towers that rose from the depths of the sinkhole. More of the strange animals, too. He could see a few creatures that he now knew were the natural form of the Sylvani, peering through the glass and waving their tentacles. As Haradeth watched, their skin rippled in a rapid display of colors. There seemed to be some kind of pattern in the shimmering of their skin, but Haradeth couldn’t pinpoint it. “They seem agitated,” he commented to Lorathor.

  “They are.” Lorathor frowned. “They’re yelling at me for bringing an outsider here, especially now.”

  “I can’t hear them,” Haradeth said with a frown.

  “They aren’t yelling in words. We don’t speak amongst ourselves. We shimmer. If you knew how badly they’re cursing me right now…” Lorathor sighed. “They’re even angry I’m still in this form.”

  “Should you shift?” Haradeth asked with sudden concern.

  “No. I was going to shift back eventually. They need to be reminded of…well, of what’s here.”

  “I don’t understand, Lorathor. Any of this.”

  “I know.” Lorathor gave him a sad smile. “But you will.”

  When they reached the end, a doorway opened in the glass. There hadn’t been any break before, Haradeth was sure of it. Two of the Sylvani levelled what looked like arcwands at them, but made of that same woven metal that seemed to be what constructed everything out here. “Lorathor. You’ve gone too far this time,” one of them said.

  “Elder Shaaythi,” Lorathor said, ducking his head in a very human bow. “Last time you said that, She agreed with me.”

  Shaaythi shimmered dark, rippling patterns of blue and purple and black. “You cannot speak of Her with an outsider!” she shrieked.

  “Yet you are speaking aloud for his benefit,” Lorathor mentioned, “and speaking of Her yourself.”

  “Only because you brought her up!” Shaaythi wrung her tentacles together and turned her eyes towards Haradeth. “Forgive me, human. Lorathor has gone outside of his remit, but it is hardly your fault. You are not expected to know our customs.”

  Haradeth bowed towards the Elder. “No apologies needed. And you need not apologize for being incorrect about my race. I’m only half Human. My mother was Lathariel.”

  Shaaythi turned her eyes back towards Lorathor, and her colors were now mixes of reds and golds, making her skin look like it was aflame. “What are you planning here, Lorathor?”

  “She will want to speak to him,” Lorathor said calmly.

  “You presume to know what she wants?” Shaaythi snapped.

  “You presume the same,” Lorathor said simply.

  Shaaythi glanced around at the others and motioned for them to lower their arcwands. Haradeth let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. “Son of Lathariel. You are welcome among our people. It has been some time since we had a guest, but we will do our best to accommodate you.”

  “Thank you,” Haradeth said simply, not sure what else to do.

  “Unfortunately, Lorathor has made promises he cannot keep. She does not speak to outsiders.”

  “Who is She?” Haradeth asked.

  Shaaythi shuddered. “She is…she is to us what your mother is to humans, in a way. Our goddess. She Who Is Born of Light.”

  Haradeth nodded slowly. “I understand why she would not ordinarily speak to me,” he said, “but these are hardly ordinary times. You live apart, but you share the world with us. The Alohym-”

  As soon as he said the name, every Sylvani save Lorathor began to shimmer in the red and gold colors Haradeth now associated with anger. “They should not be spoken of!” Shaaythi said. “Such things are forbidden.”

  If she had told Haradeth that she was going to sacrifice him on an altar, he couldn’t have been more shocked. “Shouldn’t be spoken of?” He asked. “They invade our world! They have conquered the humans! They are slaying the gods and the dragons! And you want us not to speak of them?”

  “Elder Shaaythi,” Lorathor said gently, “perhaps we should ask Her if she’ll speak to Haradeth.

  “I…” Shaaythi hung her head. “It’s not permitted.”

  “Not even to ask?” Haradeth asked.

  “Not even to ask.”

  Haradeth fought the urge to grind his teeth. Has Lorathor taken me all this way for nothing? He glanced sideways at the Sylvani. If Lorathor was fazed or surprised by this turn of events, it certainly wasn’t showing on his face.

  “Very well,” Lorathor said before Haradeth could start the argument again. “I assume we can still grant the normal rules of hospitality?”

  Shaaythi glared at Lorathor. “For your guest, yes. You, Lorathor, have violated ancient laws by-”

  Lorathor interrupted her with a quick snap of his voice. “Her name, Haradeth, is Anotira. She is the Luminous One, our goddess, and she guides us from-”

  “What are you doing!?” Shaaythi shrieked, raising her strangely beautiful Arcwand again.

  “-within the walls of our Domes, where she is absolute and-”

  “Silence or I will cut you down!” Shaaythi said, and Lorathor clamped his mouth shut. “Lorathor. Explain yourself.”

  “Haradeth is our guest. Per our laws, that makes him a temporary citizen, does it not? And the laws against sharing information about our origins are very clear – we must not do so with a human, or an Underfolk, or a Dragon. We can only do so with citizens of our realm. And we cannot talk about it outside the dome.” Lorathor beamed at her. “Haradeth is not purely of those races, he is a guest and therefore a citizen, and we are within the dome.”