“Retreat,” he shouted, kicking his horse into motion, “that’s an order!”
There were a few moments of confusion as the men struggled to turn, but then they were galloping away. Iron was at the back, and he turned in his saddle to look at them before disappearing into the night. The Drameara’s arm around her waist loosened and she fell to the ground, coughing, while he walked over to the two fallen men and collected his weapons.
“He did not know you,” he said. Lark’s heart was still pounding in her chest as she looked up to see the last of the dust settle back onto the ground. Her own brother had not recognized her – had she changed so much? “Let’sss go,” the Drameara said, not waiting for her to rise. He snatched his bag and began marching away as she stumbled to her feet and slowly followed.
Chapter 27
Four days after they entered the desert, the sand finally began to give way to more shrubs, then trees. At first these were small and thorny, but after half a day of walking, they began to show a little more greenery, the leaves growing larger. For the first time in days, Lark heard the chirping of birds, and saw a mouse darting across a patch of open ground.
The only other animals she had seen were desert rats, one of which the Drameara had caught one evening for supper. It was tough, and a few mouthfuls were all she had managed of the dry and sinewy meat. There had been little else to eat, a situation that did not seem to affect the Shadow Warrior in the slightest but left Lark lightheaded and with a slightly aching stomach.
They had spoken little on their trip across the desert. The Drameara had consistently remained a few yards ahead, setting a pace that did not allow for conversation, while in the evenings, any talk had been limited to necessities and little more. The efforts of each day left her exhausted, and even as her fate loomed closer, she found herself falling asleep as soon as she lay down on the hard-packed ground, her cloak around her for warmth. The Shadow Warrior, however, was on constant alert, his glowing olive eyes scanning the ground around them while his tongue flicked the air constantly. He paid her no attention, not even looking up when she wandered away to attend to her needs.
The fifth morning was the first since entering the desert that Lark was not covered in a layer of sand when she awoke. It was a relief, but her heart felt constricted, knowing that the end of the journey was near and her fate was close at hand. Until her mind felt like it was twisted in knots she had tried to think of a way to escape what lay ahead, but no feasible idea presented itself. Her only escape lay in death, a solution against which every part of her rebelled.
The ground was no longer flat, and as she trudged behind the Drameara, she sensed that they were beginning the final ascent which would lead to the dragon’s lair. They slept that night in a rocky clearing, which left her feeling battered and bruised. The following day the path grew steeper, wending upwards as Lark trudged behind the Drameara. They reached the top of the path, and Lark stopped with a sharp intake of breath. Stretching out before her, crossing a wide ravine, was a stone bridge, three feet wide. A stone skittered over the edge, and she watched as it fell, disappearing into the shadowed depths.
“Arach’sss Bridge,” said the Drameara. Lark glanced at him questioningly. “Arach led the Ancients, along with his mate, Maugda.”
“Maugda?”
“My mistress’s mother.”
Lark looked back at the bridge. “Do we have to cross that?”
“Yesss. Are you scared?”
Scared witless, she thought. “No.”
His tongue flicked the air and he smiled in amusement. “Good.” He stepped onto the bridge as Lark looked over the edge, shuddering at the long drop that led to the bottom. “If you’re thinking of leaping to your death, let me assure you it will be an unpleasant end,” the Drameara said.
“But quickly over, unlike the end you plan for me,” Lark retorted.
“You think your life will be terrible, but you’ll have strength and ability you can only dream of now.”
“You think that is compensation? I will be a tool in the hands of my greatest enemy.”
“Once you’ve had her blood, you’ll begin to see the truth of the matter.”
“Even if King Valor was as treacherous as you say, how does that justify destroying all his descendants? And will she leave me alive once she has used me? I think not!”
Her gaze clashed furiously with his, and he turned away in silence and began to walk sure-footedly across the bridge. With a bracing breath, she followed. Although the bridge was wide enough that there was little danger of her falling, it was not until she reached the other side that she was able to breathe easily once more.
The night was passed in silence on an outcropping of rock that reached over a verdant valley filled with trees. A river wended its way along the valley floor, the water shimmering green-blue.
They continued walking before the sun showed its face over the eastern peaks. It was high noon when they reached the apex of a summit and the Drameara stopped to stare down into the valley beyond. Grassy slopes led to a wide valley, at the end of which rose a steep mountain face. The lower half was covered in grass, and built into the side were stone steps that led to the entrance of a large cave halfway up. The upper half was sheer rock face, with jagged edges that reached the sky.
People milled about in the valley, but they were too far away for Lark to see them clearly. “Who are they?”
“People who serve the Ancient.”
“This is the Ancient’s lair?”
“Aye. Shantina’s Vale.”
A shiver passed through Lark at the name, and she stared down at the scene as the Drameara began walking, picking a path down the mountain. Shantina’s Vale was a lush green, although areas of the valley had been trodden down to brown. A waterfall tumbled through a cleft in the rock on the opposite side, joining a stream that ran along the mountain edge, through the side of the valley. Thick bushes clustered around the water at one point, while along the furthest edges of the valley, yellow and purple flowers dotted the green.
The Drameara had already walked twenty yards when he turned to face her, his cat-like gaze meeting hers. The tips of his tongue flicked the air, and his lips parted as he tasted it more fully. A breeze ruffled her hair, and he breathed in deeply, his eyes never leaving her.
“Let’sss go,” he finally said, but he made no move to continue walking.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “Why did you not just kill me, as you said you would?”
He cocked his head, then slowly walked back to her. “I couldn’t kill you,” he finally said.
“Because she told you not to?” she asked bitterly.
“No. Because something in your blood called to me. Our livesss are intertwined, princessss.”
“What does that mean?”
“We are nothing more than piecesss in a much larger game, and we both have a role to play.”
“Then why did you bring me here?”
“Because this is where it beginsss.”
“We’re on opposite sides of the fight, Kalen.”
“Not for long.”
“Even if I am forced to drink her blood, I will never serve your queen, Drameara. You and I will always be enemies.”
He was silent for a moment, his gaze holding hers. “Let’s go,” he finally said. He began to walk, and after a moment, she followed. There was no escaping him, or what lay in store.
They followed a narrow but well-worn path down the slope, and as they walked, Lark began to make out more details. In one corner, seated between the wildflowers, a woman and a young girl sat, laughing as they wove chains of flowers, oblivious to the men who clustered in groups, going through various training exercises. Like the Drameara she traveled with, these other Drameara were well built, their bodies tightly honed, while others were in the guise of Shadow Warriors, their skin varying shades of gray, their fingers clawed. A tall wall, around ten feet wide and at least thirty feet tal
l, rose along one section of the valley, and three Drameara were scaling up it, moving so fast they barely seemed to touch the wall. As soon as they reached the top, they dropped down to the ground and began again. Others were paired up, fighting in deadly earnest with broadswords that could part a man’s head from his body in one blow. They fought with a sword in each hand, spinning and lunging, the swords a blur as they sliced through the air. Metal clanged against metal, echoing through the valley, as each opponent blocked the blows, moving as fast as the swords. At times they leaped upwards, seemingly running on air as their swords glinted in the sunlight.
A short distance away, a Shadow Warrior was throwing daggers, whipping them into a wooden board so fast Lark could not see his hands move, while further down the valley four boys were racing through an obstacle course, leaping over logs and stones before dropping to the ground to crawl on their bellies beneath a fence made of thorn bushes.
“Where do they come from?” Lark asked, her eyes fixed on the boys.
“They’ve been orphaned by your Crimson Guard.”
“Do they drink the Ancient’s blood?”
“Yes. They are training to become Drameara.”
“Does she make all the children she rescues drink her blood?”
“She gives them strength, power, and a new life.”
“Is that what happened to you? She brought you here and turned you into a nameless fighter.”
She glanced at him when he remained silent. “I wanted what she offered,” he finally replied.
She looked back at the people scattered across the glen. “Who are they?” she asked, nodding in the direction of a pair of women who were walking through the valley. Their black hair shone in the sun as they laughed between themselves.
“The Ancient doesn’t just rescue boys, but girls as well.”
“Does she give them her blood and train them as well?”
“Some of them train.”
“And those that don’t?”
“They serve in other ways.”
She glanced at him, but he did not look her way. They were nearing the valley floor when she suddenly stopped, her eyes drawn to a figure she hadn’t seen before. Like a Shadow Warrior, its skin was gray with claws instead of fingers, but a thick tail grew from the base of its spine, and a pair of horns rose from its skull. “What’s that?” she whispered.
The Drameara followed the direction of her gaze. “Dragona,” he said. “He’sss the second most powerful creature, after the Ancient.”
“Where does he come from?”
“He was one of the first boys she found.”
“He was human?” Lark could not keep the shock from her voice.
“Once. Not for a long time.”
“But how did he get like that?” She glanced at the Drameara. “Will you end up like that?”
“Me? No. Only her most favored are offered an immersion, and most do not survive. He is the only Dragona.”
“What do you mean, immersion?”
“Immersed in her blood.”
Lark shuddered. “That’s horrible.”
“It isss an agonizing change, or so I’ve heard.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
He shrugged. “Power. Strength. To become an Ancient.”
“He’ll turn into a dragon?”
“Perhapsss. None has yet, but the Ancient believes it’s possible.”
They reached the bottom of the path, but Lark kept her eye on the Dragona as they walked. He was larger than any of the other men, and while his tail did not quite reach the ground, it was thick and heavy. His horns were around four inches long, curving over his skull. His tongue flicked the air, and he turned, his yellow eyes going to Lark before moving on to the Drameara, who met his gaze. As though by some secret signal, the others stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the Drameara, then moved on to scrutinize Lark, their expressions showing varying degrees of hostility. It was clear from her features that she was Cambrian, but Lark suspected that these men knew exactly who she was, and she suppressed a shudder.
The Dragona strode over to them, gleaming yellow eyes fixed on Lark.
“Shhhe awaitsss you,” he said to the Drameara. His tongue flicked the air. “Shhhe will de-sss-ide what to do with Valor’sss daughter.” His voice was thicker than the Drameara’s, his hissing more pronounced. His gaze flicked to the Drameara, who inclined his head, and then he looked again at Lark; his eyes were a bright yellow around the black slits of his pupils. His face was angular, reptilian. Lark could not suppress a shudder at the menace evident in his expression. She was the doe in a valley of lions; she could only hope the lion at her side would stop her from being ripped to shreds.
The Drameara continued walking, and Lark hurried to keep up with him. Slowly, the men began to resume their exercises, the sound of clashing metal ringing out once again, but one strode over to them, and the Drameara stopped.
“Took you long enough to get here, Seven,” the man said. “Our mistress is getting impatient.” Lark frowned; she recognized the man, but it took her a moment to place him. He had been at one of the taverns they had passed through, she finally remembered. His gaze flicked over her. “She’s still alive.”
“Asss you see.”
“Was it worth it?”
The Drameara shrugged. “I suppose I’ll find out. I saw Guardsss in the desert.”
“They grow desperate. They think if they can find us, they can destroy us.”
“The commander’s a fool.”
The man’s gaze flicked to Lark once more. “What about his daughter?”
The Drameara looked at her, his gaze appraising. “She might prove to be lesss so.”
He continued walking, and Lark quickly fell in with him as he headed to the stairs rising up the side of the mountain at the far end of the valley. Built of stone, each riser was a foot high, and Lark found her legs aching within a few steps. She didn’t dare fall behind, however, and pushed herself to keep up as the Drameara mounted them with ease. The stairs zigzagged up the slope, and when Lark glanced back, she saw that they were high above the valley once more. The stairs came to an end and they entered a cave, but as Lark’s eyes adjusted to the light, she saw that it was actually an enormous tunnel, with branches leading in different directions, a veritable maze beneath the mountain. He took a tunnel to the left, and she followed after him. Along the length of the tunnel, lamps cast a dull light that did not reach more than a few feet into the darkness. She slowed down to look at one more closely; it was not a flame, as she first supposed, but a piece of rock that glowed from within. The Drameara glanced back at her.
“Dragon lightsss,” he said.
“What makes them glow?”
“They’re powered by the Ancient. As her power grows, so too will the strength of the lights.”
Lark looked at him, surprised at the knowledge he had just shared, but he turned and continued walking. His footsteps rang loud against the stone floor of the tunnel, echoing down its length.
“How do you know where to go?” she asked.
“I’ve lived here for the last fifteen yearsss. I know every tunnel in this labyrinth.” He glanced at her. “You, however, would get completely lost.” His implication was clear, and she looked away.
He made another turn, and she looked about in surprise. The tunnel they had turned down was no longer bare rock but had wooden doors along its length. They walked past the doorways and he turned again, but this time, it was not into another tunnel but into a large cave. A pair of women sat on a couch in the center of the cave, where other chairs and a few small tables were also placed on a large rug. The women both rose and touched their hands to their foreheads. “Warrior,” greeted one of the women. She was slim and short, with eyes that looked at Lark sharply, narrowing slightly as she took her in. The Drameara flicked his tongue, then turned to the second woman.
“Thisss isss Star,” he hissed.
“You will take care of her until I return for her.”
“Care of her?” the first woman asked, her voice incredulous.
“Yesss. She needs to bathe, something to eat, and a change of clothes.” He met the gaze of the second woman. “You can see to it?”
She bobbed a little curtsey. “Yes, Warrior.”
“Good.”
“How long will that be?” Lark demanded.
“Until I am ready for you,” he said. Lark heard an intake of breath, but she frowned.
“What is –”
His hand was over her mouth before she had finished, and he leaned close to her ear. “Watch yourself. Don’t forget that Cambriansss are not well liked around here. A non-argumentative and compliant spirit will earn you fewer foesss than arguing with a Warrior.”
His tongue flicked her ear, and she shuddered slightly before pulling away to glare at him. He met her gaze for a moment then turned and disappeared out the doorway. She turned slowly to see the first woman glaring at her, but the second stepped forward with a gentle smile.
“I’m Cenoa,” she said. “Come with me, and I’ll assist you.”
Lark looked at her gratefully; she did not expect kindness in this den of Ancient followers. Cenoa led Lark through the doorway and into the tunnel, going in the opposite direction to the Drameara. “Don’t worry about Gladis,” she said. “She doesn’t like many people.”
Cenoa did not look like she was more than eighteen. She was about the same height as Gladis, with plump curves and dark hair that reached her shoulders.
“Where are we going?” Lark asked.
“The baths. They are just at the end of the tunnel.” She gave Lark a shy glance. “Would you like me to fix your hair, as well? It looks a little ragged.”
Lark smiled. “Thank you, that would be wonderful.” They walked in silence for a moment. “Why are you here?” Lark finally asked.
Cenoa sent her a surprised look. “Same as you, Star. Although, I must say that I am surprised to see a Cambrian serving the Ancient. You must be the first.”
“I’m confused.”
Into the Shadows Page 22
