Talon the Black

by Melissa Mitchell

She nodded, exhaling in defeat. “Cyrus is gravely injured, Your Grace, perhaps dead…"

  King Talon was on his feet in an instant. His chair slid out from behind him, skidding across the floor. "What did you see?” he cried. “How do you know this?" He ran an agitated hand through his mangy hair, smoothing the thick tufts aside.

  She swallowed against the dryness of her mouth, trying to control her racing heart.

  “Well?”

  “I know what I know because the gods afforded me an answer to the question I sought.”

  The scars on his face turned silvery-white. “You have been Scrying…”

  “I have.” She proceeded to describe her vision exactly as she saw it, leaving no detail unaccounted for. She started with Cyrus, moving through each scene she witnessed before ending with the thief’s red eyes.

  King Talon ignored every part except for what concerned Cyrus. She could not fault him for it. “After Cyrus fell, did he live? Did he survive?”

  She shut her eyes, unable to bear his fear. Several tears slid down her cheeks. “I cannot say, Your Grace.”

  “He must be alive!” he insisted. “I would have felt his death. I would have known.”

  “You are certain?” She opened her eyes to find his.

  “I am certain.”

  She nodded. That alone was a mercy. “Your Grace…” She hesitated. “There is something else.”

  “Please, Lady Saffra, have you not subjected me to enough?”

  “I am sorry.” Her tears flowed freely now.

  King Talon reclaimed his chair. He slumped down in a very unkingly-like manner. “Very well. Out with it.”

  "Cyrus is no longer in Dragonwall.”

  “I do not understand your meaning.” His expression did not change as he gazed upon her.

  “My meaning is as I have said it, Your Grace. Cyrus is no longer in our kingdom. He is no longer in our world.”

  His eyes widened. “Impossible!”

  “I do not think so. Cyrus traveled through the Gate—I saw the Kengr Gate."

  The king fell silent. His eyes unfocused as he gazed back at her, unseeing. She wondered if he was communicating telepathically with his Shields—telling them of Cyrus. At last he spoke, “Why would Cyrus resort to such madness? Why would he travel through the Gate?"

  She gave no answer, for there was no sensible reason. The gates were portals. Each led Beyond. Laws against their use were put in place at the forming of the monarchy. Some said it was to keep people from disappearing. But the real truth was, it protected Dragonwall from whatever came through, which would then be killed in the name of the law. Not a soul knew what lands lay Beyond, and not a soul cared to learn.

  “And the thief?” his question brought her mind back to the present. “Do you think he is responsible for this mess?"

  "I only saw his eyes—his blood red eyes.” She could neither confirm nor deny the thief’s involvement. Red eyes in a vision offered little in the way of answers, but her gut feeling suggested he was to blame.

  The king shook his head and fell silent. She afforded him time to think. After a while he said more to himself than to her, “Cyrus may have simply been unconscious when he fell. If something rendered him unconscious, an injury perhaps, then there is hope. We must pray to the gods.”

  “I shall pray, Your Grace, I shall pray for his safe return.”

  “It would seem that Reyr is our only hope now.” The king sighed and turned his gaze towards the open doors; these led out to one of his many balconies (the king’s tower had seven). The fluttering curtains greeted the early morning’s sea breeze as it drifted in to caress their skin.

  She thought of Reyr. When Cyrus failed to return in a timely manner, the king formed a search party, sending Reyr, Jovari, and Koldis. With the four of them missing, only two King’s Shields remained in the capital. The king could not risk losing any more of his personal guards. “Reyr may be our only hope, Your Grace, but he has been gone an awfully long time.”

  “Indeed, far too long.”

  “Do you think he will know to follow Cyrus through the Gate?"

  "It is all we have to hope for now, Lady Saffra." There was a long silence.

  "So…what are we to do now?" she asked, utterly lost. Cyrus was like a brother to her. Her heart ached to know of his misfortune.

  "We must inform the Lower Council. We have hidden this matter long enough. I will need you present—to fulfill your duty." It was not a request.

  "Very well. May I be excused?" She rose before allowing the king to answer, discarding his cloak upon the chair.

  "Yes, of course." His voice sounded pained and far away.

  She curtsied and bid him farewell, but he failed to notice. Then she fled the room for the open corridor wishing none of this had happened. Would that she could leave it behind as easily as the king’s tower, from whence she exited.

  It was early dawn, and the sun was not yet free of the horizon. The breeze through the corridor dried her remaining tears. With a tormented mind, she crossed through the south wing’s courtyard and made her way back to her chambers. Once inside she felt smothered—she might burst into tears all over again if she did not find something to occupy her mind.

  Deciding on an early start to her day, she summoned Jocelyn. With her welcome aid, she dressed quickly. “I think I will go to the archery range this morning. The Fall Tourney will be upon us before we know it.”

  “It is terribly early to practice archery, my lady. Won’t you rest here and let me bring you some chamomile tea?”

  “I am fine, Jocelyn. Truly. Fresh air will be the best remedy for me.” She refused to speak of the reason her spirits were frayed.

  When she reached the practice field, the keep was still quiet and dawn light was just breaking upon the horizon. She picked out her favorite target range then set up her bow. Withdrawing the first arrow, she loaded it. In one fluid motion, she drew the bowstring then released. She could hear the arrow whistle through the air. It landed with a thud on the target. Her aim was true. The goose-feathered arrow struck dead center, as always.

  There was a time when she was terrible at this. She remembered it well. Had it not been for her superb trainer, she never would have reached the level of skill she now possessed. Daxton was an expert in all matters of warfare, specifically that of dealing death efficiently.

  She fondly recalled her first lesson with him. She was only ten, and he a soldier of nineteen. Even then she admired him despite his brazen attitude, his excessive cockiness, and his disdain for teaching a female, especially a little girl, in matters that were better left to men.

  Her mind raced backwards in time. It was scarcely a year since her arrival at the keep. The Grand Mage gifted her a bow and set of arrows as a positive distraction, so that she might have an outlet for her mind. He also hired Daxton to be her archery tutor. He was to train her once per week.

  It was no surprise then that she took to him immediately—all women did—and despite her young age, such a thing could not be helped. The day he introduced himself, she remembered watching him demonstrate the use of a bow. Worshiped was be the best way to describe how she studied his strong arms and broad chest.

  Needless to say, she performed terribly that day. How embarrassed she had been! He made her so awfully nervous. Yet, her poor performance left her more determined to prove herself. In time she did, but he never got to see it: Daxton went off to defend Dragonwall in the Gobelin Wars shortly after their lessons began. By the time he returned, he was surprised to see that she had become quite good.

  Her mind moved back to the present. The sun—now free of the horizon—cast its golden rays upon the grass, illuminating the field in a beautiful glow. It did not take her long to fire all of her arrows at the target. When the quiver was empty, she retrieved them and began anew.

  No number of arrows could quell her worry, though the activity certainly helped. With the proper distraction, such as thinking about Dax, she could somewhat divert her
mind. And so she fired one after another, each landing in the cluster at the center of the target.

  She was in the middle of pulling her bowstring taught for the umpteenth time, when a deep voice sounded behind her. “Determined this morning, are we?”

  She smiled as she released, holding her form. Her eyes watched the arrow soar high into the air before it landed beside the others. Only then did she take up her most alluring smile and turn to address the speaker. “Good morning, Commander.”

  He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, eying her with amusement. His dark burgundy doublet was sleeveless, showing off his tanned arms so full of strength. The vest clung to his body just enough to exemplify his broad, seasoned chest. Embroidered in silver on his right breast was the Drengr monarchy’s sigil—a dragon head.

  “Commander? Must I always insist that you to call me Dax, my lady?”

  She chuckled. “Until you call me Saffra, Commander, I will continue to use your proper title.”

  “Fair enough.” A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I must say, I am surprised to find you here at this early hour, and alone. Is it your determination that spurs such motivation, or something else? Perhaps, someone else?”

  His hint did not go unnoticed. Her eyes circled the practice grounds only to find that they were indeed alone. “I might ask you the same question, Commander. Should you not be breaking fast in the barracks with your men?”

  “We both know I am the first to arrive on training days.”

  She knew this: Dax was always the first to the practice field on training days. Aside from his duties as a war commander, he oversaw the drilling of all new recruits in the king’s army. “I suppose you are correct, sir. You do often arrive first.” Again she smiled sweetly before turning away from him to draw another arrow. She refused to admit to her ulterior motives—that she wished to see him, for that was often why she visited the practice fields.

  Dax wasted no time. Before she could properly nock her arrow, his arms were around her, tightly pulling her back against his chest. She giggled, hardly surprised by his behavior.

  “Commander Daxton! Someone might see us!” She tried to struggle away from his iron grip, but his loving arms did not relent.

  His breath was warm against her ear. “I am happy you came to see me this morning, my lady, but I must warn you against it: If you continue with such behavior, others may become suspicious. I insist that from now on, you be more careful when placing your affections so openly.”

  “Me? How can you say such nonsense?” She was nearly breathless as she spoke. “It is your grip I reside within.”

  “Is that so?” He nuzzled his nose tenderly against her neck before releasing her. “I suppose you are correct.”

  She staggered away from him, drunk with happiness. Once more, her eyes quickly searched the grounds. They were still alone.

  Dax took the remaining steps towards her, closing the gap between them. Taking her face in his hands, he planted a gentle kiss upon her lips, making sure to brush her nose with his before pulling away to bestow upon her a look of seriousness. “Tell me truly. What brought you out here this morning?”

  She sighed as the memory of Cyrus came flooding back. She wanted to tell him what she had seen, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak of it again. It was too painful. Instead she shook her head. “I no longer wanted to be in the keep.” It was partially true. “I was hoping for a distraction—one that only you could offer.”

  He afforded her a bashful smile. “While I am ever so glad to oblige your desires, my lady, it is best to avoid temptation.” He placed another kiss upon her lips. “Now, if you do not object, I must prepare. I have a class to teach.” His sweet smile turned into a mischievous grin. With that, he sauntered off to the sword-work area. At that very same moment, his students began to arrive. She was left to watch his retreat and admire him from afar.

  11

  Battle Ground, Indiana

  Claire cringed every time she saw the blackened skin on Cyrus. The poison was spreading too quickly. It crept up his neck to just below his chin. She tried not to look at it or think about how much pain he was in. He hid his hurt like a champion, finding other things to distract him, such as talking about Kane.

  After hearing about the evil sorcerer, she hardly slept. Her mind was too preoccupied with the alarming details Cyrus had given her. She often found herself pacing back and forth, going back over every aspect of Cyrus’s retelling: Kane had three Dragon Stones. No one knew anything about Kane or his existence. No one knew of the dangers that awaited Dragonwall.

  Worse than her lack of sleep was her increasing paranoia. She had taken up Cyrus’s habit of checking the windows to ensure the yard was quiet. Her face could often be found peeping out of them, especially at night.

  It was midafternoon on the seventh day of his stay when things took a turn for the worse. The sun was still hours from the horizon. She had convinced Cyrus to sit outside with her on the porch swing overlooking the west field—the one she had found him in. They sat side by side, sipping their sweet tea. The humid afternoon air was less stifling as they swung back and forth.

  “What else did you see in Kane’s mind?” she asked. When they spoke of Kane, she often picked his brain for more information. Cyrus was a Mind Bender. She had discovered this when she realized how strange it was that he knew so much about his attacker’s plans. After putting two and two together, she discovered that he had read her mind as well. He did it their first morning together. It infuriated her to know he had betrayed her privacy, but he’d since apologized for it, so she forgave him.

  “Well, you already know about the wild dragons,” he answered. “Have I told you of the Vodar army Kane plans to build?”

  She nodded. It was a frightening idea—a Vodar army. A few Vodar wraiths were bad enough. The thought of an entire undead army left her stomach feeling as though it was full of worms.

  “And you already know about the Gobelins.”

  She did. In fact, she knew all about the frightening creatures Dragonwall faced. Wild dragons were cousins to the Drengr. According to Cyrus, these blood-thirsty cousins disappeared thousands of years ago. The alarming fact of the matter was, somehow they had returned to Dragonwall and were ready to do Kane’s bidding.

  Like dragons, Gobelins were nasty too. However, these were green-skinned creatures no taller than a man’s waist, who loved gold and riches more than anything in the world. Where the dragons were large, Gobelins were small. Their size easily fooled people. Gobelins had pointy black teeth perfect for ripping flesh apart—which helped explain why they smelled so badly. The most important thing to remember was they were quick little creatures.

  “Never try to outrun a Gobelin,” Cyrus warned her. She had no intentions of doing so. It was a blessing the creatures were stuck in his world, not hers.

  Cyrus continued on, trying to find something they had not yet discussed. “What about Kane’s Nasks?” he asked. “Have I told you about them yet?”

  “Yes, but I’ll hear the story again if you don’t mind.”

  Cyrus had grown very forgetful in the last day, many times telling her things she already knew. It was a sign of the poison’s increasing hold on him.

  “Tell me again about the Nasks.” She encouraged him to speak. It helped distract him from the pain.

  “Nasks are puppets. Kane uses them to do his bidding. It is impossible to tell who is possessed and who is not.” Cyrus shook his head. He blamed himself. Kane’s Nasks had fooled everyone including him. “Kane has two of them—right under our noses! I never would have guessed. It makes me sick to think the king is probably sitting down with them at this very moment, going over battle plans, oblivious to the fact that Kane is pulling their strings.”

  The king had two councils—the Upper Council and the Lower Council. The Upper Council consisted of the king’s six Shields, and the Lower consisted of twenty nobles who represented each of the twenty Dragondoms. Dragondoms wer
e smaller territories within the four main territories of Dragonwall.

  There were two Nasks sitting on the king’s Lower Council. Cyrus failed to spot them and the guilt was eating him alive nearly as much as the poison. It wasn’t until Cyrus was in Kane’s head that he discovered how far the sorcerer’s deceit went.

  “What will the king do when he finds out he’s been betrayed?”

  “He will never find out. Not unless you get there in time to tell him—before it is too late.”

  She scowled. “Cyrus, for the umpteenth time, I don’t know the way to Dragonwall. Even if I did, how would I find the king’s castle? Surely you are mistaken in your beliefs. I am not meant to protect the Stones.” How could she possibly travel across a country full of wild dragons, Vodar, Gobelins, and everything else?

  “Never you mind that. Your instincts will guide you.”

  She sighed. Even if she did know the way to the king’s castle, she couldn’t simply run away and disappear into a foreign world simply because he asked her to. Or could she? There was no denying the allure Dragonwall held. Perhaps she could...

  She considered the hypothetical possibility for a moment—really considered it. In all truth, what prospects did she have here in boring Battle Ground, Indiana? The one thing she had really wanted, the internship in Washington D.C., turned out to be nothing more than a failed pursuit. Her relationship with Jake was toast. She had no job lined up, and a long list of applications to fill out. And then there were her student loans.

  Why not run away? Why not ditch this life for a better one? Anyone in her shoes would. Why not do this for Cyrus? But no, that would mean he would die. It was too much to think about. She simply couldn’t accept it.

  Cyrus sat silently in thought. So did she. After a moment, she saw the real flaw in his plan. “Cyrus, isn’t it against the law to travel through the portal—through the Gate?”

  He shrugged.

  “Well? Won’t I—won’t I get in trouble or something?”

  “Perhaps. I have not yet worked that out. But I trust the gods to get you there safely. You are resourceful. You will think of something.”