by K. C. Julius
“Your fates are intertwined, as are Ilyria’s and mine,” said Rhiandra firmly. “In order to complete the bindings, you both must pass this final test.”
Leif had not spoken another word after that. Even as they neared their chambers, he was still as pale as parchment.
“We’ll find a way, Leif,” Maura said stoutly.
He nodded, but she knew that in both their hearts, the fear of failure lay heavily. The dragons had reminded them they had their companions to aid them, and she could only hope that Whit or Halla would offer some inspiration.
Only time would tell. And time had suddenly become a precious commodity.
Chapter 33
Halla
“Shhhh!” hissed Halla. “Must you clomp about so?”
She glared back at Whit, stomping behind her along the forest path. He’d been in a foul temper ever since the wizard had left a fortnight ago. Master Morgan, rather than providing him with the personalized magical instruction he’d anticipated, had merely left him a tattered book bound in aubergine leather. Still, she noticed Whit carried it with him everywhere.
Halla was usually able to keep her distance from her cousin. She spent her mornings on the training ground with Maura and Leif; the two then went to Whit for some sort of academic instruction in the afternoons. She’d been surprised to find the arms work with her two pupils was rewarding, although they differed greatly in their abilities. Maura’s gentle nature and petite stature made it impossible for her to wield a sword with any conviction. Halla had nearly despaired of teaching her anything until she discovered the girl was not bad with a short blade, and showed some aptitude with a bow. They trained hard with both, and Maura was on target now more often than not. And the girl was agile, which would work to her advantage should she ever have to actually fight. Apparently, her only childhood companion had been her younger brother, who’d had a passion for walking on his hands and tumbling. At any rate, Maura could turn a graceful cartwheel and do handsprings with the agility of a cat.
Like an å Livåri, Halla realized, when she discovered this hidden talent.
Despite the difference in their upbringing, Halla felt a bond of friendship growing between her and the girl from Branley Tor. Perhaps sharing the deep disappointment of discovering their mothers put their own interests before their daughters was what had brought them together initially, but there was more to their relationship now. They sat together at meals, laughing at the wiles the elven youths employed in an attempt to win their favor. And although Maura didn’t often speak of the brother she’d lost, she loved to hear stories about Halla’s Nolan, Gray, and Pearce.
Leif was never far from Maura’s side, so Halla was often in his company as well. Even by elven standards, his natural charm was difficult to resist. On the training ground, his skills were developing impressively, and his high spirits kept their sessions lively. He was light on his feet and quick as a snake, prized qualities in a natural swordsman. She supposed this was due to his elven blood.
Halla had ceased to wonder why, when any number of the elves were more skilled in the arts of war than she was, the wizard had insisted that she be the one to instruct Maura and Leif . Nor had she worked out why they even needed arms instruction in the first place. Maura was never going into battle, regardless of whether she was the daughter of a prince or a pauper, and while Leif might prove able, he seemed more likely to dedicate his life to learning the elven songs and stories he so loved. Yet when she’d said as much to the two of them, they’d exchanged a strange look. What was their mysterious secret?
Whatever it was, it had led Whit and Halla to this unlikely alliance on the forest path. Every evening, their two pupils disappeared for hours, and would not say to where. So when Whit proposed to follow them and find out why, Halla needed no urging to join him.
Whit crouched down beside her as she dropped to peer through a dense clump of bushes. “Can you still see them?” he asked, not bothering to lower his voice and oblivious to her glaring disapproval.
Halla noted with irritation that his grooming was, as always, meticulous to a fault. His dark hair was drawn sleekly back with a velvet ribbon, and he was dressed in fine Gralian suede from his fawn doublet to his soft, low boots. He looked more suited for court than a woodland trek, and was clutching the ever-present book.
“They’ve gone off to the right,” she whispered. “Why don’t you wait here and catch up on your reading, while I see where they’re headed.”
“Why don’t I go ahead and you wait?” he suggested obstinately.
“Because,” hissed Halla, “then they’ll think a herd of coilhorns is pursuing them!”
She stalked down the trail without a backward glance.
The last of the light was gilding the budding forest. In the rest of Drinnglennin the trees were still bare, but here in Elvinor’s realm, spring was near. It had always been Halla’s favorite time of year in Lorendale, when its meadows were carpeted in wild flowers and the air ringing with birdsong. At least she could enjoy it here in Mithralyn, instead of in dour, wet Cardenstowe. She’d eluded that fate—for the time being. She took some comfort in knowing Whit was every bit as averse to a betrothal as she was.
Maybe by the time the Twyrn was held, the ailing Urlion would name his heir, and Master Morgan might deem it safe for the four of them to leave Mithralyn. Privately, Halla doubted any of them were under consideration for the High Throne. It wouldn’t be Leif—he wasn’t of the Konigur line. And although Maura was the daughter of Urlion’s late brother, she claimed to be also half å Livåri, which would surely rule her out as well. And despite the hateful rumors, even Master Morgan doubted that Urlion was Halla’s or Whit’s father—the High King had never even shown any interest in, let alone a preference for, their branch of the family.
She dropped into a crouch when she finally spotted Maura and Leif. They stood in a clearing, as if waiting for something. Perhaps they’ve befriended a fawn, or a litter of fox kits, thought Halla, for she’d learned Maura had an uncanny way with animals.
The leaves crunched noisily beside her, and she whirled around to see Whit, looking across the clearing, his mouth unattractively ajar. She reached up to haul him down, but froze when she saw what had attracted his attention.
“Drakus fant!” she whispered, her mind struggling to register the massive creatures lumbering out of the woods.
It was Whit who put a name to them. “Dragons?” he said in a strangled voice.
“But they’re not… Aren’t dragons only the stuff of legends?” Halla’s throat had gone dry as a bone.
The beasts, in all their terrible magnificence, advanced toward Maura and Leif. The bronze was the bigger of the two, the tips of its wings tinged with the same jade as its glittering eyes. Its fearsome head was spiked with three horns on each cheek and crowned with two more, and a ridge ran from the back of its neck to its sinuous tail. The blue was smaller, with frilled ears and a single horn protruding from its broad forehead. Its aurulent eyes glowed like new fire.
Amazingly, Maura and Leif stood their ground. The dragons closed on them, and for a moment, Halla thought their intent was either to trample or devour their prey. But her cry of warning died on her lips as Maura raised her free hand and laid it gently on the bronze dragon’s snout. After a moment’s hesitation, Leif stepped forward to do the same with the blue. Low rumbles grew in the monsters’ throats.
“They’re… they’re petting them!” Whit squawked.
To Halla, it looked more like a strange ritual of communication. She felt as if she were intruding on something deeply intimate, and an uneasiness crept over her. “We should go,” she said quietly, and began to back up.
“Halla, wait!” called Maura. They had been seen. “Don’t leave! We’ve permission to introduce you.”
Halla’s heart skipped a beat. She threw Whit an appraising glance. “Well? You heard her. Are you coming?”
Whit blanched, and Halla guessed the only thing keeping him from bolting was his insufferable pride. Leaving him to grapple with his fear, she cautiously approached the dragons. She was keenly aware of their fulgent eyes and of the treacherous talons projecting from their horned toes. Their enormous tails undulated lazily back and forth, stirring the grass beneath them. They were arrestingly, terrifyingly beautiful.
The bronze released a plume of smoke from its cavernous nostrils, and Halla heard the release of a long, shaky breath behind her. “So it’s true what they say about dragons,” Whit whispered. “They can breathe fire!”
Halla kept moving forward, drawn by the dragon’s green eyes. She’d heard nursery tales of their hypnotic powers and now knew them to be true. She couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried.
“You’re quite safe,” said Leif as she drew abreast of him. “They would no more do you harm than one of us would.”
Whit finally sidled up beside her, although Halla noted that he kept the others between him and the dragons. “What are we supposed to do now?”
“You could properly introduce yourselves,” said the blue, in a voice like low thunder.
Halla gave an awkward curtsey. “I’m Halla… Halla of Lorendale.”
She waited for Whit to say something, and when he didn’t, she jabbed him with an elbow.
“Uh, I uh… L-Lord Whit of Cardenstowe,” he mumbled, making a belated bow.
“I am Rhiandra,” growled the dragon, fanning her creased wings like a great peacock.
“Ilyria,” said the bronze, inclining her stately head. Her gaze held sharp interest, making Halla wonder what it was that dragons ate.
“Aren’t our dragons magnificent?” said Leif proudly.
“Your dragons?” said Whit.
“It would perhaps be more accurate,” said Rhiandra reprovingly, “to describe yourselves as our humans.”
Whit’s eyes widened. “You mean…?”
Maura and Leif nodded in unison.
Throughout this exchange, Halla remained in the dark. “What are you all talking about?”
Whit looked dazed. “They’ve been made… They’re…”
“We’re not—not yet,” Maura said. “We have to first prove ourselves worthy. Master Morgan said you two would help us.”
The bronze dragon made a soft, burring sound. “I would not have chosen you had I not found you worthy.”
“Worthy of what?” Halla demanded.
“To become dragonfast,” said Whit. “Surely even you know what that is.”
Halla vaguely remembered the story of a dragonfast hero that her father had told her, before he’d shifted the lion’s share of his attention to her younger brothers. The hero had been somehow connected with his dragon, but she couldn’t recall ever learning how.
“It means we’re bound to these dragons,” Leif explained, “for all our lives, provided we can pass the test to which they’ll put us. It’s to protect them from being controlled by dark magic.”
Whit’s eyes lit up at the mention of magic. “How does it work? Are you bound by a spell?”
“No,” said Maura, and a haunted look darkened her violet eyes. “The dragons pierced us with their talons… through our hearts.”
Halla felt her stomach lurch. “Yet it seems you remain on good terms,” she remarked, unable to keep the quaver from her voice.
“Well, of course,” said Whit. “It’s a great honor to be made dragonfast. But… why you two? I mean no offense, but neither of you strike me as…”
“Warriors?” said Leif. “No, but that’s where Halla’s training will help.”
Halla felt a sudden prick of envy. She was the only one of them who longed to distinguish herself in battle. She was as good as any elf with her broadsword, and only Whit came close to her skill with a bow. Maura and Leif had only learned the rudiments of combat in comparison. And yet, dragons—dragons!—had chosen to bind with the two of them.
The bronze stretched her sinuous body, arching her back and digging her talons deep into the soil like a great scaled cat. “You may approach us,” she rumbled.
Maura held out a hand to Halla. “Dragons respond to touch,” she said. “It’s another way in which we can come to know one another better.”
Tentatively, Halla rested her palm on the dragon’s breast. “Oh! I expected it would be cold and wet.”
Ilyria snorted disdainfully, and Halla quickly withdrew her hand.
“It’s all right,” Maura laughed. “She won’t bite.”
Perhaps not, thought Halla warily, but she could scorch me to a crisp with her breath.
Whit had come no closer, but his eyes were still filled with wonder. “So you’ll complete your bindings once you pass a test? What does it entail?”
The smile faded from Maura’s lips, and Leif looked as solemn as Halla had ever seen him.
“Well, out with it then,” said Whit. “What is it you have to learn to do? Recite the Falgian Table of Elements? Or something more challenging? If I need to teach you Hemmin’s Theories of Transmutation, you’ll be in your dotage before your binding is complete.”
“It’s not that kind of test,” said Maura, her voice barely above a whisper. “We don’t need to know anything.”
“We need to do what dragons do,” said Leif, the words tumbling out of him in a rush.
Halla looked blankly from one to the other. “Which is…?”
“It’s quite simple.” The bluewing flicked her tongue out from between her terrible teeth. “To complete the binding, Maura and Leif will need to learn to fly—on their own.”
“Fly?” cried Whit. “But… that’s preposterous! They’re not dragons! What you ask is impossible!”
Rhiandra rumbled menacingly, but it was Ilyria who replied, “We would not ask it of them if it were. Dragonfast through the ages have accepted and met the challenges put to them. Some have breathed fire, while others have found gold or slain a monster. We have selected flight as our test of Maura and Leif’s mettle.”
For once, Halla wished Whit would argue further, but he seemed to have been struck dumb.
Ilyria swung her great head toward Maura. “If you believe in yourselves, anything is possible.”
Maura raised her chin. “We will find a way,” she said. She sounded bold enough, but Halla saw the doubt in her eyes.
“It is well,” pronounced the dragon. Ilyria lowered her snout, and Maura once more placed her slender hand upon it. Leif reached toward Rhiandra to do the same, although the blue submitted to only the briefest of contact before swinging away.
Then, folding their wings close, the magnificent beasts disappeared into the golden forest of Mithralyn.
Chapter 34
The encounter with the dragons had sparked a total transformation in Whit’s attitude. He now seemed to view it as his sole responsibility to solve the question of how to enable Maura and Leif to fly, and had holed himself up in Elvinor’s library. He appeared only at meal times, and when his nose wasn’t buried in his infernal book, he looked dazed and dreamy. At table, he stared transfixed at the moths fluttering around the candles, his spoon halfway to his mouth, and then scribbled illegible notes before returning to consult the tome.
Halla couldn’t understand his obsession with the book. She’d glanced at it once and had found it filled with symbols and notations she wouldn’t even pretend to understand. There was nothing in there that appeared to be of practical use—to help one cultivate a field or cure an illness—and she highly doubted that the curious squiggles described lessons in magical flight.
When a few days later Whit sent word that his lessons with Maura and Leif would have to be canceled until further notice, Halla could contain her exasperation no longer. She confronted the two would-be dragonfast at breakfast.
“What are the two of you doing to f
igure out how to achieve this impossible task?” she demanded. “Didn’t your dragons say you were supposed to work it out?”
“They did,” Maura replied, “and Leif and I have been wracking our brains for ideas, to no avail. But the dragons and Master Morgan also insisted on you two as our mentors, and that we should turn to you for counsel. Whit’s so bright, he’s sure to come up with something.”
Halla decided not to take this as a slight. “You put too much faith in my cousin. In my experience, he only serves his own interests.” She saw her words distressed them both, but they had to face the facts.
Maura had given up any pretense of eating, and Halla noticed for the first time the dark circles under her violet eyes. “In truth,” the girl said solemnly, “we have to put our faith somewhere.”
Halla couldn’t argue with this, since she had come up with no ideas of her own.
She continued to work with Maura and Leif on their skill at arms, although the lad’s mind, in particular, was clearly elsewhere. After a week in which neither of her pupils made any significant progress, Whit burst onto the training ground, a stack of books in his arms, and nearly stumbled into a thrust Halla was demonstrating.
“By the gods, Whit!” she shouted, springing back. “I nearly skewered you!”
He merely grinned. He smiled so rarely, and Halla was surprised to find that he looked almost handsome.
“I think I’ve worked it out!” he cried. “How to—” He glanced over his shoulder, then mouthed the word: Fly!
Leif’s sword clattered to the ground. “You have?”
“Well… yes and no. You won’t really be flying per se.” He plunked down on the ground, for once heedless of his fine garments, and laid out several diagrams and a finely drawn map. “These formulae describe the path of a body moving under the influence of given forces, and—”
He stopped when he saw their blank expressions.
“Let’s skip the formulae, shall we, and get straight to the plan? What it boils down to is, you can fly—if only for a little while—if you’re wearing special garments that I’m already having made up for you.”
