Dantress, her arms wedged under the sheets, let the woman kiss her on the forehead. “But what if the fairy’s story is true, Aunt Elsie? It sounded so … intriguing.”
“You listen to me, young lady: I’ve no intention of letting you wander the palace at night and you shouldn’t even consider it. Your father gave me clear instructions that no one is to wander the palace after bedtime … and I’d think that is especially pertinent at your age.” She reached out with her right hand and stroked the girl’s dark red-brown hair.
“Fairies tell tales that would make the ugliest troll sit and listen to them. But don’t waste your brain wondering about their stories, my dear, for even the wisest cannot say when a fairy tells lie or truth.
“This fairy you talked to …” she snapped her fingers, “What was his name? Mivere?”
Dantress nodded.
“Right! Don’t believe a word of what he said, child. He’s a member of the Bladegrass family and they have developed a—err—reputation for telling tales.” She yawned, long and loud, covering her mouth with her left hand. “The hour is late, Dant-ress. Your sisters have fallen asleep, and it is time you do the same.” She smiled, yawned again, and walked out of the chamber, closing the heavy oak door behind her.
The room settled into darkness and Dantress rolled onto her side. She knew that the Bladegrass fairies often misrepresented facts, but in her heart she trusted Mivere. And he would certainly never lead her in harm’s way. If he really had discovered a secret chamber … what she wouldn’t do to see it! It would surely be a welcome break from her daily routine.
She tossed and turned under her sheets. The room held her in its deep silence. At last the tinkle of a tiny bell in the bedroom wall warned her of a fairy’s approach.
She frowned. Should she stay in bed or risk meeting her little friend?
A flame appeared in the darkness; a tiny flickering flame like that of a match but housed in glass. It hovered toward her and Mivere’s impish face peered from behind its silver housing. The lantern swung from the fairy’s minute fists.
“Time wastes away, the hour draws late. Are you coming, fairest of the dragon’s daughters?”
Fluttering from the wall, gold light glowing from his silver lantern, the fairy landed on her chest. Mivere’s transparent oval wings beat slowly to keep his delicate frame balanced on the soft covers. He flipped his shoulder-length red hair over his back. His green eyes shone like jewels in the dimness, matching his green shirt and leggings flecked with gold.
Reaching behind one of his large pointed ears, Mivere fiddled with the tiny feather tucked there. It seemed only yesterday that she and the fairy fashioned that feather into a quill. It had proved quite useful, for Mivere employed it often to write her little notes and remained forever in her debt.
He tapped one bare foot impatiently on her chest and buzzed his wings. “Well? Well, are you coming, fairest of the dragon’s daughters?”
“Shush!” she whispered. “Do you want to wake the others?”
“No, no. We must race time, for the light appears at midnight. Come, fairest of the dragon’s daughters.” He hovered above the sheets, legs swinging in the air, and beckoned her to follow as he retreated toward the bedroom door.
Taking great care not to ruin the neatly tucked sheets, Dant-ress slid her body from under them and swung her feet over the side of the bed before slipping them into a pair of fluffy white slippers.
“Hurry,” the fairy urged, pulling a little glowing wand from his shirt and pointing it at the bedroom door to make it open as if of its own accord. “You will miss the light of the secret chamber.”
She pulled her robe around her shoulders and slipped as quietly as possible from the room. With a wave of the wand, Mivere closed the door behind her without a sound. She followed his bobbing lantern down the dark, marble-floored hallway to a broad stairs leading to the first floor. The hard and smooth wood of the stair railing felt cool under her fingers. She straddled it with her legs and slid down. When she landed Mivere hovered just ahead of her, looking back from moment to moment to see that she still followed him.
They touched ground level in the palace. Through one tremendous hall after another she followed the fairy, always keeping her eye on the light streaming in moderate beams from his lantern. It seemed forever until they reached the palace’s main hall. They followed it past the chamber in which she’d hatched, past the doors to the kitchens and dining hall on her right, past the mahogany grating on the left-hand wall—it prevented entry to one of her favorite rooms, the library. At last the hallway bent to the right.
Gold and silver tiles patterned the floor here in front of the Fairy Tree. Its bark glowed soft blue and shifted into white the farther it grew up the high, sprawling branches. The leafless tips of the branches glowed like hot pokers pulled from a blacksmith’s forge.
She stopped for a moment to stare at it, thinking of the fairy families that inhabited it. Mivere lived here too.
“Come, come, fairest daughter of the dragon.” Mivere hung his lantern on a narrow twig extending from the fairy tree, then beckoned with his wand, moving into an adjoining hallway branching off to the right.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“A little used servants’ corridor,” Mivere said. “This leads to the far end of the palace, but we will not go that far … Here, here it is!” He waved his wand. Flakes of light flew from it, outlining a brass latch cleverly hidden in the midst of an antiquated painting: six figures robed in white, wielding what looked to be swords made of transparent crystal.
Dantress tilted her head back for a better view. How beautiful. But what lay beyond? She reached out and pulled on the latch but it creaked in protest, and she released her hold.
The fairy laughed, a tinkling laugh, and flitted to her shoulder where he stood chuckling until she looked at him. “Are you afraid of being discovered, fairest of the dragon’s daughters?”
“I shouldn’t be here at this hour, Mivere. I’ll be in trouble if Elsie discovers me … You know how she is.”
“Unfortunately,” the fairy replied, rolling his eyes. Then he leaned forward, grinning, and tapped her cheek with his wand. “I like you, fairest of the dragon’s daughters, you are fun to adventure with.
“Come! See? The light of the chamber is revealed, for it is midnight. Is it not as I have said?”
Blinding white light flashed from the latch. Dantress raised her arm, shielding her eyes. An instant later the light diminished. She lowered her arm, gazing in wonder at the lighted outline of a very broad and very high door. Large enough, she reasoned, for the great white dragon himself to enter.
“Well, well? What do you think, fairest of—”
“Mivere, how did you find it? Where does it lead?”
His wings humming, the fairy flew off and spun in the air. “How did I find it, you ask? It was two years ago. I’d taken a nap one night on one of the lantern’s housings when I was startled to hear the great dragon burst past me.
“Being curious I followed him. It was around midnight. The door blazed with light, and he pushed it open. He entered and it closed behind him … I slipped in just before it shut. Do you want to see what is inside the chamber, fairest of the dragon’s daughters?”
“Even if I did, Mivere”—she put her hand on the cool wall, the hidden door now clearly visible—“I could never open it. It must weigh as much as an elephant and there are hand devices on the doors around the rest of the palace, but this door has no such device.”
“Push on it,” the fairy said, gesturing encouragement. “You will be surprised how easily it moves. And don’t worry; there is nothing evil hidden within.”
Dantress raised her eyebrows skeptically and gave the door a gentle push. It creaked inward on unseen hinges, swinging away from her like a lumbering giant. It touched a wall in the dark passageway behind it with a muffled knock and she swallowed uncomfortably. The passageway smelled slightly musty and the fairy’s wand did not cas
t enough light to reveal what lay inside.
But she took a brave step forward and Mivere flew ahead of her. He threw more dust from his wand, dropping glowing specks on the floor.
She followed him slowly down the passage. It was good that she did; rough stones composed the floor and it sloped downward. Moist dirt clung to the stones as evidence that Elsie’s broom and mop had never found this corner of the palace. Something about the air grabbed at her insides, as if she’d intruded on old secrets that did not wish to be disturbed. And she quickened her steps in order that she might stay close to Mivere’s friendly glow.
“And here we are,” the fairy whispered, zooming up and away into the darkness. He sparked a flame into an enormous lantern hung from the ceiling over thirty feet above her head, and then he dropped back down, landing with impressive grace on her shoulder, where he sat pompously. “See, fairest of the dragon’s daughters? What did I promise you?”
Flames spread in the lantern and the light reflected in several mirrors set in the ceiling, revealing an oval chamber about a hundred feet long and almost as wide. Red liquid filled a tarnished silver basin set on an iron pedestal at the room’s end. Six short swords, held in place by rusted clips, hung behind and above the basin.
She tiptoed toward the weapons. Something drew her to them; whether simple curiosity or some other unexplainable desire she could not tell. The lantern light flickered on the grimy stone walls of the chamber, a few cobwebs swaying from the ceiling. Mivere, surprisingly, said nothing.
Dantress stopped a few feet in front of the basin. Rust covered the swords’ pommels and the interweaving vines etched into them. But leather wrapped the swords’ handles so that one could hold them without fear of getting cut. However, grime covered the leather, making the handholds most uninviting. Moisture droplets speckled the sword blades with red and leaked from their tips, running into a tray draining into the basin. The crimson liquid filled the basin to the half-way point.
“Disgusting,” the fairy said. “Creepy, too.”
Tilting her head, Dantress peeked from the corner of her eye at the little figure still sitting there on her shoulder. She arched her eyebrows. “It’s only rust, Mivere.”
“Rust, fairest of the dragon’s daughters? Rust you say?” He raised his tiny fist, bent a narrow finger, and pointed. “Look again … ‘tis blood in that basin.”
“Blood?” She reached out, determined to touch the substance in question. But the fairy jumped up and flew to her hand, swatting it with his wand before she could do so.
“What are you doing?” He shook his head and frowned. “Don’t you realize what this is?”
“Mivere! That hurt!”
“I hope so, fairest daughter of the dragon! This basin is filled with the blood of the innocent slain by these swords. I heard the dragon say so himself, the night that I followed him inside this chamber.”
“And what does that have to do with me?” She rubbed the burned spot of flesh upon her hand and narrowed her eyes.
He sighed, shook his little head and crossed his arms, nodding toward the basin. “Did you read the curse?”
Dantress looked at the basin’s outer edge, to the letters etched in it.
Cursed be the one who disturbs the blood of the innocent, And blessed is she that restores the sword of the captain to its former purity
Horror filled her. She turned from the sight, struggling not to let her nausea overcome her. Blood! A whole basin of it.
Racing from the chamber, Dantress wheeled around and pulled on the edge of the massive door. It swung toward her and the fairy flitted through just as it closed. She leaned against the hidden door, unanswered questions crisscrossing each other in her mind.
“Mivere,” a voice rumbled from the pitch black hall as soon as the massive door thudded shut “return to the Fairy Tree; I will speak with you in the morning.”
The fairy froze. He must have recognized the voice of the great white dragon. “Yes, of course, your Majesty. But, please understand … I meant no harm—”
“This is not up for discussion, Mivere. Return to the tree. I will speak with you in the morning.” The white dragon’s head penetrated the small circle of light created by the fairy’s lantern. The dragon’s words were smooth, patient, yet they were decisive.
Mivere flew off as he was bidden, casting Dantress a cautious glance.
Darkness fell upon Dantress as soon as the fairy left. She couldn’t see her hand if she held it in front of her face.
Four streams of white-hot flame shot from the dragon’s toothy mouth, penetrating the darkness and lighting up Albino’s pink eyes so that they appeared to glow. The streams of fire— two from his lower jaw, two from his upper—coalesced into his upheld hand. When a ball of bright fire accumulated between his fingers, Albino stopped breathing flames. “Come with me, my daughter,” he ambled down the hall, the ball of flames lighting his way. “We have much to discuss.”
The dragon approached the mahogany grating and it slid up without him so much as touching it. The doors also, behind the grating, opened as if of their own accord. He extinguished the ball of fire in his hand. Dantress groped her way into the dark room and the dragon closed the doors behind them. She could see nothing.
But Albino’s claws clicked on the smooth marble floor as he strode around her and forged through the darkness. A few moments later a tongue of white and yellow fire pierced the darkness. It arced from his open maw and struck the oil-soaked wicks of an ornate, gold chandelier swinging from the ceiling far above.
The chandelier lit the room with a steady light, not too bright not too dim, just right for reading. Rising in sculpted majesty, his white membranous wings folded to his scaled sides, was her dragon father.
Books and scrolls rose all around him, on shelves and in bookcases that rose at least eighty feet to the ceiling. Albino spat flames into the mammoth fireplace on the back wall, igniting the logs therein. They soon crackled pleasantly.
“Come, my daughter, sit and talk with me.”
She swallowed. She’d been wrong to follow the fairy; she knew that. But, somehow, acknowledging that fact did not appease her conscience. Albino had every right to be angry with her.
“So,” the dragon began, his voice a gentle rumble, “Mivere found the chamber containing the Swords of the Six and he told you about it. I presume you went willingly.” His pink eyes twinkled at her as she sat uneasily in a red chair by the fire. He grabbed a wooden pole and playfully jabbed it in his best imitation of a fairy. “Or did he force you at wand point?”
He laughed and Dantress laughed with him. She breathed a sigh of relief; he did not seem angry or disappointed. “No, Father.” She shook her head. “He did not force me; I went of my own accord.”
“I suspected as much.” He leaned the pole against a bookcase and turned to face her. “Thank you for being honest with me.” He pulled a scroll down from one of the shelves and rolled it in his claws. “I’m not angry with you, my daughter, but your action was not wise … Show me your hands.”
Obediently, she showed them to him. He sniffed them once and looked them over. “Good, you did not touch the blood. I was afraid you might have.”
“Mivere stopped me. I was going to touch it,” she admitted, lowering her head. “But I didn’t know any better.”
“I’ll have to thank that mischievous little fairy for that; he might have saved your life.” The dragon snaked across the room, glancing at the giant clock. The hour hand dipped below one o’clock. The library doors opened. Twisting his massive head, he gazed down at her. “I did not realize the time. Come now; it is way past your bedtime, my dear. I’ll see you back to your room. Tomorrow we will talk about the swords, when your sisters are awake, for this matter involves them as well.”
Dantress yawned and followed him out of the library. He brought her back to her bedroom door and opened it with one claw. “Goodnight, little one. Go to sleep this time.”
Dressed in identical dresses of
royal purple bound at the waist with white sashes, the six daughters of the great white dragon stood in a half-circle, uncomfortably facing him in the moist chamber and taking turns glancing at the basin of blood and the rusted swords on the back wall. How close Dantress and her sisters resembled one another, Albino mused.
All of them had long dark brown hair, tinged with red. Their black eyes looked around intelligently. But Rose’el rose a few inches taller than the rest and Dantress bore a superior beauty. Perhaps it was her smile, bright and playful. Or maybe the grace of her neck and the way her eyes seemed to gaze into your soul. Albino put those thoughts aside and focused instead on their similarities; in that lay their strength; their great potential. In order for his plan to succeed he would need them to work as one unit.
He reached for one of the swords, the sword of Xavion. Slowly he growled and, keeping his pink eyes trained on the rusted weapon, held it forth for his daughters to see.
“Keep your ears attentive, my children, for what I am about to reveal has serious consequences for you all. It is the reason I brought you into the world. It is the reason these swords now rest in solemnity.
“A very, very long time ago …”
Albino hurtled toward the rocky slope. His maw opened with a roar of agony and anger so profound that the stones shattered and the five traitorous warriors dropped their swords to cover their ears. Xavion, his noble face mutilated beyond recognition, sprawled on the ground. His blood pooled around him and Letrias cowered next to him.
The young prince of Prunesia was gasping for air and Kesla’s face streaked with tears as he lifted his head to see the dragon.
“My poor boy … forgive me,” Albino heard the man say. But the deed was done; Brian pulled his white-bladed scimitar to him and broke its blade broadside across his knee.
Albino’s heart flared inside his chest. The pain of loss exploded from his innermost being in a roar that knocked Auron, Hestor, and Clavius to their knees.
Swords of the Six (The Sword of the Dragon) Page 5
