"The weapon of which I speak is an ancient one—I find it unlikely that any of you have heard of it." He held their attention. "How many of you have heard of”—his stomach lurched—"the Dragon Stones?" It was difficult to continue as his stomach clenched painfully. "A thief has…has attempted to steal them." Whispers broke out, which rose to loud protests as the council members argued over their speculations
His stomach lurched again. His heart began to pound, as if it attempted to jump from his chest. Extreme pain seared him. It felt as if he had been stabbed. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out. His six Shields were bound to him. It felt as if one bond was being ripped from him.
His eyes were wide as he looked to Saffra. She was slumped in her seat, unconscious. The Council was too preoccupied to notice her blackout. Moments later she opened her eyes—they were wide and horrified. She immediately looked at him. What had she seen?
Another spasm of agony took him. He tasted blood in his mouth as he bit his tongue harder. And then as suddenly as it began, it ended, leaving him feeling empty. He immediately knew what it meant. He jumped to his feet.
"The King is unwell," Saffra cried. "This meeting will continue tomorrow. All of you—out!" Following her orders, the council room cleared. He was hardly aware of it in his daze.
“He’s dead!” he hissed through the pain. “Cyrus is dead!”
Tears poured down Saffra’s face. He turned his head away from her and cried out so fiercely it shook the walls of the keep. Then he rose and fled the room. Out on the balcony of his tower, he transformed into a great black dragon, releasing himself into the sky. There he let out many mournful cries. It was called the Death Cry of the Drengr for a reason. The eerie wailing reflected incomprehensible grief. Others heard the toll and joined him, jumping into the sky to pay their same respects. Soon the entire capital was alight with dragons—all keening mournfully.
Of the six brotherhood bonds, one was now shattered. He couldn’t bear it. There would be no more white dragon amongst his Drengr Fairtheoir—no more noble white warrior.
Cyrus was gone...
14
Battle Ground, Indiana
Claire was vaguely aware of estranged voices in her head. They were arguing. She wished they would shut up, and she did her best to ignore them. Her body shook with sobs as she draped herself over Cyrus. Nothing mattered anymore—she was numb to it all.
“Oh Cyrus,” she cried. “You’re dead and it’s all my fault.” Cyrus told her this would happen. He told her that his death was certain. Each warning was brushed aside and discarded. She refused to believe it before, and now she had no choice.
There were so many things she could have done differently! Maybe they could have gone somewhere safer together—somewhere the Vodar wouldn’t have found them. Maybe she should have insisted he go to the hospital and done everything in her power to get him there. She shouldn’t have waited so long before shooting the Vodar. If only she could have killed them faster. If only…
She was to blame for this, and that guilt was already eating her insides. Cyrus was her responsibility, her patient, and she had failed him. “All those days sitting around chatting,” she gasped between sobs. “I was so stupid! I wasted all your time with my stupid fantasies.”
She lifted her head and looked once more at his face, disgusted by what the poison had done to him. “I’m so sorry, Cyrus, so sorry.” She collapsed across his chest again. “I hope some day you can forgive me for this…”
You are not to blame…
“But I am!”
Reality had become disjointed and dream-like. It did not seem very odd to converse with the answering thoughts in her mind. After all, there were other voices in her mind, and she heard them just as clearly as if they stood speaking beside her on the lawn.
“Cyrus is there, Reyr!” said one voice. “I see him with my own eyes.”
She sat up and looked around, wiping her tearful eyes with her bloodied hands. She was being watched. Someone could see her, but she could not see them.
“Who is that beside him? His killer?”
Her eyes darted along the corn field. Certainly she was crazy. Cyrus’s death had finally cracked her sanity.
“Kiaya’s harvest! ‘Tis a woman! An evil Mage. Kill her!”
Now she was truly fearful. The voices in her mind seemed to have minds of their own.
“The moment we land, take her. Do not let her escape. Something ill is afoot.”
She tensed. Her gaze moved upward. Just as she craned her neck around, she saw three giant dragons diving towards her, wings tucked to their bodies. She was filled with disbelief, with shock. Their bodies morphed into men moments later. In an instant, harsh hands gripped her forearms, pulling her up and away from her beloved Cyrus.
“No!” she screamed, trying to reach out for Cyrus. Her feet dragged along the ground as her captor pulled her away. She was then forced to her feet. The sharp edge of a blade met her neck in warning. Fear gripped her insides. She ceased all movement.
One of the men fell to his knees, beating the ground with his fists. “It cannot be!” he cried. His body shook with sobs. Another man stood beside him. This one gently placed his hand upon the kneeling man’s shoulder. She couldn’t see their faces, but their shoulders were hunched in defeat.
Realization struck her hard in the chest: These were friends of Cyrus! The one kneeling had thick golden hair. The one standing had brown hair with auburn highlights.
This whole time Cyrus believed himself forgotten. He thought no one would come for him, but they had. They were simply too late. Intense anger smacked her like a blast of hot air. Ignoring the sword at her throat, she began struggling against the iron grip of her captor.
“This is all your fault,” she hissed. It was easy to place blame in circumstances such as these, and she was eager for it. Grief can be a fickle fiend. “You’re too late! All of you—you’re too late to save him. He’s dead!”
“She dares to speak!” said a telepathic voice in her mind.
She clenched her jaw. Now she understood; the strange voices in her mind belonged to these three. What was more, they believed their conversation was secret.
“Her defiance is the mark of a killer. Find out what she knows, Reyr. Ask her why she did this and then kill her.”
The golden-haired man stood and turned to her with accusing eyes. “I would be careful were I you,” he said, frowning down at her. “Your circumstances paint you as a murderer. Watch your tongue.”
“Reyr, let me kill her and be done with it!” The sword pressed more firmly against her neck.
“Not yet, Koldis. Let me speak with her.”
“She deserves to die for what she has done, Reyr! How can you show her any leniency?”
“If she is his killer, the king should be the one to kill her. That honor belongs to him, Koldis. Do you disagree?”
The pressure of the blade lessened. “You are correct, Reyr. Forgive my rashness.”
“It is forgiven. We are all troubled by what lays before us.”
She did not appreciate being talked about. Why did she hear them? Was there something wrong with her?
“I—I know this looks suspicious.” Her voice was raw. “I didn’t kill him. I—I tried to save him.”
The men afforded her stony expressions. They were built just like Cyrus, with large muscular frames that towered over her. It was their wrath that frightened her the most.
“If you did not kill him, then what of this?” One of the men bent down and picked up the Vodar sword in the grass. “Is this the weapon you used?”
“It—it’s not mine. I swear.”
“Is that so?” The golden-haired man held out his hand to the other, who handed him the sword. He studied it for quite some time.
If ever there was a time to tell them everything, it was now. They needed to know about the Vodar, about the attack, about the dangers Dragonwall faced. They needed to know about Kane and the Dragon Stones.
Her mind rapidly formed an explanation. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. Scowling she tried again, this time pushing harder on her vocal cords. An audible croak escaped her lips. Her eyes widened. What was happening? Where was her voice? The Drengr men were oblivious to her inner struggle.
“Where did you get this sword?” the golden-haired man asked.
“I didn’t. It’s not mine. It came from…from…” Again she lost her voice. What the hell was going on? It was as though a spell had been placed upon her, rendering her speechless. “It’s not mine…” she whispered, suddenly realizing how helpless she was.
“Then whose is it?”
“She’s lying!” The man behind her tightened his grip on her arm.
The accusing voice belonged to the man behind her. He was the only one she could not see.
“I’m not lying!” she cried.
“Be that as it may, there are no others here to claim this sword.”
“Reyr, look at his skin. He has been poisoned.”
The man named Reyr lifted the sword to his nose and sniffed. “There is poison infused in this blade, Jovari. You are correct. It is the work of dark magic.”
Jovari bent down and picked up Cyrus’s Sverak, studying it. This was becoming a nightmare. These men believed she was guilty. Worse still, they had a weapon to prove it. And every time she tried to explain what happened, her voice disappeared.
“It is time to explain yourself,” snarled a voice in her ear.
“I didn’t kill him!” she cried, trying to struggle against him. “You must believe me. It was the…the…” Her lips mouthed the word ‘Vodar,’ but again she was forced into silence.
“Speak up, girl, I cannot hear you,” he taunted, his mouth nearly touching her ear.
“I’m trying!” she insisted. Tears of frustration began flowing down her cheeks.
You made a promise. The magic binds you to it…
The realization hit her hard in the stomach. It was the magic of her promise that rendered her speechless. “I—I’m not allowed to say. I promised Cyrus that I would take this matter to the king—to your king.”
“What do you mean?” Reyr’s bright blue eyes pierced her own.
“I made an Unbreakable Promise. I am bound to it—to Cyrus. I cannot tell you about what happened here. I must speak with your king.”
It wasn’t until now that she realized how unfair Cyrus had been. It wasn’t a mere promise she had made. When he said Unbreakable Promise, he meant unbreakable in every sense of the word. Magic bound her to her word. There would be no backing out, no running away. She was a prisoner.
“An Unbreakable Promise? You cannot be serious.”
“She lies again, Reyr! Can you not see?”
“You must believe me!” Her eyebrows were drawn so tightly that her forehead ached. “I promised him. I didn’t do this—I didn’t kill him. I cared about him. I took care of him. You must believe me! You’re all in great—” The wind was swept from her lungs. She was going to say ‘danger,’ but even that word was against the terms of her promise. At last she was forced to give up. There was nothing her promise permitted her to say that would erase her appearance of guilt.
“The Unbreakable Promise is rare magic.” Reyr set the sword upon the ground and crossed his arms, still watching her. “For more reasons than one, I find it difficult to believe Cyrus would resort to such measures.”
“He didn’t think you were coming!”
“Well that is nonsensical, is it not?” Jovari also crossed his arms, eyeing her with suspicion. “Of course we would come for him. He should have known that.”
“He didn’t…” She all too keenly recalled Cyrus’s sadness when he believed himself forgotten.
Reyr ran a troubled hand through his golden locks. “This matter is out of my hands. I think it is best if we let the king decide her fate.”
Both men erupted into objections against Reyr’s suggestion.
“Silence! Both of you. We have flown a vast distance to get here, only to fail. I think it is time we rest for the evening. The sun is quickly setting. Our journey can wait one night.”
“You truly wish to bring her back with us?” Jovari was surprised and outraged, so was Koldis.
“What choice do I have?” Reyr asked. She followed the telepathic conversation, pretending to hear nothing.
“Listen, Reyr, let us be done with this suspicious woman. She hides too much from us, and I do not like it. I am sure the king will understand our decision in time. I say we kill her here and now. I need only slip my sword. It will be less to carry—less to worry about.”
“Come now Koldis, calm your wrath. Look at the poor girl. She’s distraught. She’s crying. She certainly hasn’t fought back with any magic since our arrival. If she were a great Mage, she would have already tried. I am beginning to find it hard to believe her capable of besting Cyrus. Think about it.”
Sudden hope welled up inside of her. Reyr was defending her. For all the harshness he had shown, he was clearly the most reasonable one in the group.
“I do not like it, Reyr, but I trust your judgement. After all, you are my superior. I should not question you.” Koldis sounded reluctant to admit this, but nonetheless, he complied.
Reyr spoke aloud for all to hear, “We will rest here for the night and begin our journey in the morning with this woman and Cyrus.” Little did Reyr know, she had already heard everything.
Relief washed over her. This was exactly what she needed. Perhaps their distrust was a blessing in disguise. Had they believed her innocent, they would have simply departed with Cyrus. Instead, because of her guilt, they would take her with them.
Her promise required her to travel into Dragonwall. Finding Dragonwall alone was impossible. These men would show her the way—they would take her exactly where she needed to go. If that required feigning guilt, then so be it.
15
Battle Ground, Indiana
Claire was not thrilled about her new house guests. They were not patient like Cyrus. Koldis looked at her as if she were a monster, Jovari avoided her gaze altogether, and Reyr simply wore an expression of defeat. They hardly conversed, and when they did, they did so telepathically to exclude her.
Cyrus was no longer in the yard beside the corn field: His comrades wrapped him tightly in blankets secured with twine. He now rested on the porch. Koldis insisted on standing watch beside Cyrus all night, probably because he couldn’t stomach being around her. She was happier for it, eager to be rid of his ominous gaze.
Long after dark, she cooked dinner for everyone. She hoped it might win them over, but she was wrong. The only one who thanked her was Reyr. Of the three, he had the gentlest heart. Overall it was a very miserable night.
When she finally retired to her bedroom, she cried herself to sleep. Her dreams were filled with strange scenes, strange people, and strange events. It was as if her brain no longer belonged to her. It was as though her mind had met another’s.
In the morning, she woke to find dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. Inside, she felt dead, and she didn’t know how long it would take to heal.
Your sadness will not last an eternity…
It certainly felt like it would.
The Drengr were eager to depart as they gathered in the kitchen for their morning meal. After their ungrateful display the night before, she didn’t bother cooking them breakfast. They could scrounge up their own damned food for all she cared.
The Drengr hid their grief by arguing. This morning, she was their sole topic. Neither Koldis nor Jovari wished to bring her back to Dragonwall, despite Reyr insisting upon it just the day before.
“Why should we burden ourselves with this woman?” Koldis asked. “She is hiding something.”
Jovari was no better. “You know the laws regarding the Gates, Reyr. Are you truly willing to take such a risk?”
When that didn’t work, their tactics changed. “Are you not ashamed to carry this human
upon your back?” Koldis asked with a sneer of contempt intended for her. “I mean truly, Reyr. It is an abomination to carry this human! What would your Gemma think? What will other people think? Other Drengr?”
Her face burned. They said these things to hurt her. Reyr displayed his annoyance. “What choice have I, Koldis? You expect me to carry her in my claws? We have a long way to go before reaching Kastali Dun, and she’ll slip through my grasp long before that.”
“I’m not that heavy.” Her angry mutter was hardly a whisper; she did not expect to be heard.
“It’s not your weight but rather Reyr’s dignity that is at stake.” Koldis glared at her. She scowled back at him.
Be patient with them. Grief has clouded their judgement…
How was she supposed to be patient when they were being so mean? Furthermore, why was she arguing with the voice in her head? Was she really that crazy?
“To Undirfold with my dignity!” said Reyr. “Have I not already failed? My dignity is lost. Claire comes with us, end of discussion.”
Once the unnecessary argument was settled, they prepared to depart. To her relief, they allowed her to pack some belongings. “Make it quick,” Jovari said.
Taking Jovari’s advice, she jumped up from her seat and rushed upstairs. Once in her bedroom, she frantically began gathering her belongings. When she had a pile of stuff, she inventoried it: protein bars, candy she found lying around her room (she was a sugar addict), bottles of water, at least ten pairs of undies, a couple of bras, two changes of clothes that included her sturdiest pairs of denim, a travel pack of toiletries (and other girl stuff), the bedroll she used for hunting trips with her dad, the revolver and its extra ammunition, and finally, the leather pouch containing the Dragon Stones.
The Drengr had searched for the Dragon Stones the night before. She witnessed their panic when the they could not be located. They expected Cyrus to have them, and when he didn’t, they accused her of stealing them. She denied it, because she did not physically have them. Koldis insisted on searching her, patting her down with his harsh hands. Only after they failed to find them were they satisfied with her word. Little did they know, the Stones were safely locked in the house safe. She did not retrieve them until it was prudent to do so.
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