She turned. Caritha had drawn her sword and stepped around her to start down the stairs. Rose’el squinted at Dantress, her dark eyes boring into her.
“How do you know that he is down here?” Rose’el folded her arms. Her gaze diverted for a moment. Caritha stopped to look up at her.
“Rose’el!” Caritha snapped.
“Well,” Rose’el defended herself, “it seems to me that it is highly unlikely to find a warrior living in these ruins. Perhaps there may be clue here to lead us to him, but I very much doubt he is living in the basement.”
Caritha waved her hand, an edge to her voice. “Quit procrastinating! Dantress was right about the wing gates and she was right about the whole illusion.” She redirected herself back down the stairs, and drew her sword. “Give me light, weapon of the Six.” As the words left her mouth, the blade glowed dimly with reddish-orange light, illuminating the broad stone steps.
Dantress followed her down, whispering to the sword of Xavion, “Shine, oh my sword!” Its light joined that of Caritha’s and Rose’el’s.
Rose’el didn’t say another word until they had descended an inestimable number of steps and could no longer glimpse the light of day above them. She stayed behind Dantress, from time to time grunting when a bat or two were disturbed from their sleep. A couple of times, Dantress could have sworn she heard Rose’el scraping her blade along the wall.
When they reached the bottom, the light of their swords showed a mostly-smooth floor of stones. A few of them were broken, cracked, and worn. Dantress crouched and ran her finger along the floor. When she brought it up to inspect it under the glow of her sword, she could not see a single trace of dust.
Rose’el clacked her tongue.
“Someone,” Dantress straightened, “must be down here.”
“Hmph!” she heard Rose’el respond. “Someone, or something. Personally … I’m not sure I want to find out which is the case.”
“Someone.” Dantress raised an eyebrow. “That woman who appeared while you beat the gate? She disappeared this way. And I doubt she was a tramp. Her clothes were too well-fashioned and clean.”
Creeping forward, Dantress held her sword out so its light fell on the floor. The light of the rusted swords revealed stone walls on either side. Dampness filled the air around her, clinging coolly to her exposed arms and the back of her neck. A bat flew past her head toward the stairway she had just descended. Beneath her the floor vibrated. The farther she walked the worse the vibrations grew until she felt her feet slipping on the floor stones.
She jumped forward and rolled. Rose’el and Caritha did not react fast enough. As Dantress turned she saw the floor stones rotate to vertical positions and her sisters fell out of sight between them. Rose’el growled in a most unfeminine manner as the floor swallowed her out of sight and Caritha’s eyes startled wide.
The stones rotated back into position. The floor once again appeared solid.
Dantress stood shakily to her feet. She was alone now. The silent darkness sealing her in.
“You are a smart one,” a smooth, high voice stated from behind her.
Holding Xavion’s sword with both hands, poising it before her, Dantress turned around.
One by one, small circlets of harsh white light flickered on in the corridor, lighting up bronze and black striped walls. She could see wrought iron cobras attached to the ceiling high overhead, their ruby eyes glowing down at her.
Far down the corridor, rising almost twenty feet off the floor and circled by spears stuck upright, stood the statue of a man. Feathered wings, like those of an eagle spread behind him. His shoulders squared and he crouched, catlike, his arms reaching out. In his right hand he balanced a large globe, polished to a black shine, and in his left he held an egg the size of a large ball.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” A human figure standing in front of the statue lifted her arms, spreading them reverently. Her fur-lined hood slipped off her curly, golden hair and her smooth lips parted to show two rows of flawless white teeth. She closed her eyes, her face directed upward.
“Though he is long gone, the presence of my master dwells here still. His spirit is ever present with me, the voices of his counselors are ever in my ears.” She lowered her arms and her face. The light reflected off her sapphire eyes as she opened them to gaze at Dantress. “They know who you are,” she said. “They have warned me that you were coming. You cannot hide from them. The white dragon could not hide you from them … he could not see what lay here.”
She cupped her hand to her ear, another smile forming on her lips and her eyes half-closing. “Your journey here was such a waste. I have the power of my master, the power that they gave him. Can you not feel it? Can you not sense it growing up around you?”
Goosebumps formed on Dantress’s skin. The floor around her froze, every drop of moisture turned into ice and shattered against the stones. Her limbs stiffened as the temperature continued to drop.
“Now you see, don’t you?” The woman laughed, only to stop abruptly and sigh. “It is unfortunate that you have the dragon’s blood in your veins. You might have become a rather powerful ally. But as a child of the enemy”—she shook her head—“you pose too great a threat.”
Drops of sweat formed on Dantress’s forehead. Some ran into her eyes and froze on her eyelashes, blurring her vision.
God, help me! Almost as soon as the plea left her mind she heard the words of the great white dragon echoing in her mind: “Do not fear … I will be watching over you even when you cannot see me.”
Father, help me. I am failing.
But you will not, my child. Draw upon the strength in your blood, my strength. Use it! It is what this woman fears.
In the depths of her soul, Dantress heard him roar, and warmth flooded her being. The cold left her, resistant and painful, tearing at her.
But then she perceived that fingers formed in the air; cold, tangible fingers that slid off her arm. She could feel them. She swung her sword but it passed without resistance through the air. Nothing was there, or, if it was, it could not be touched by mere physical weapons.
She felt as if a hundred eyes were boring into her.
The woman laughed again. “You are a strong one! You felt them; I saw it in your eyes! But you can do nothing. They are not of our world, nor of any other.” She walked forward, her hand reaching under her cloak. “Join us, daughter of the dragon. Commune with them. It is an experience like no other, power unimaginable—all of it placed into your hands so that all who come against you will fear even to sound your name.”
Withdrawing her hand from under her cloak the woman held out a small orb, black as coal. The light around it dimmed and indeed, darkness overcame it until Dantress could no longer see the woman but only a great darkness shielding her from sight as if it had swallowed her out of existence.
In that moment Dantress felt something strike her face, hard and fast, leaving a million needles in her flesh.
She dropped to the floor. Who or what had struck she could not be certain. The floor iced over a few feet from her. She focused on that spot of the floor, holding her hand out. As the power within her surged and her palm glowed blue she heard the woman scream. Dantress shot the energy from her hand in one sudden blast. It exploded against the wall, opening a hole large enough for a small person to pass through. She saw a richly furnished room beyond radiating warm yellow light.
“Nooo!” a voice rasped in her ear. And a cold breath struck her. She rose waveringly to her feet.
Something touched her arm and she screamed, swinging her sword every which way.
“It is useless, oooh yes! Utterly useless! Commune with us! Join us in the darkness. There can be no turning back. You have come too far! You are alone, helpless. Let us in! The dragon has abandonedyou, hope has abandoned you, your sisters have fled; you are alone!”
Was it true? She couldn’t help thinking that it was. She truly was … alone.
“Given up already?” another vo
ice whispered in her ear. She caught the sound of footfalls behind her. “What are you made of? Fight them! Do not give in!”
Light flashed past her face, a long pointed blade with a gentle curve. It pierced the cold and darkness, snagged something dark and formless. A strong hand pushed her from behind, shoving her through the hole she had blasted in the wall.
She stumbled into the room, leaving the cold behind. Hissing, whispers and wails filled the corridor behind her. A shiver ran down her spine, but the air around her felt warm again.
The woman stumbled after her just as the hole collapsed. The stones piled on top of one another to cover the opening.
Dantress poised her sword, just in time to block a bolt of white-yellow energy sizzling from the woman’s hand.
The woman stepped back and screamed, piercing and harsh. She loosened her cloak from around her shoulders and let it fall to the stone floor. Red leather wrapped tight around her torso, and a double layer of black leather hung about her shoulders. She wore matching red leather pants laced with gold. Her smooth feet were bare.
“I know what you seek, dragon daughter. But you will not have him. I will not allow it!” She approached Dantress, drawing a dagger from her belt. Its long blade materialized for an instant and then vanished.
Dantress reacted without thinking. Letting go of her sword with her left hand, she reached to her own belt, grasped the leather elbow of the weapon she’d found amidst the ruins, then spun, lashing out with it.
Blood ran from a clean cut on her adversary’s cheek. The woman exclaimed with surprise and touched her hand to her wound.
“You gave me no choice,” Dantress cried out. “Stand aside! I don’t want to hurt you!”
Ice formed on the woman’s wound and a wicked voice whispered incoherently.
“Foolish child,” the woman laughed. “You may have caught me by surprise, but it will take more than tricks if you are going to survive against me. Do you not know who I am? Did the dragon not tell you? Or was he afraid you would not come if you knew?
“I am the beginning of this place. I am the reason it stands! My master called it by my name.” Darkness wrapped around her and hid her. “Can the offspring of the great dragon stand alone against me?” She cackled.
Something struck Dantress in the shoulder and she fell to her knees. Another blow hit her chest and she gasped for breath.
Total darkness surrounded her. She could hear her adversary but could find nothing to strike.
“Dantress?” Caritha’s voice penetrated her restricting universe, and a beam of blue energy shot through the veil of darkness.
Dantress heard her attacker cry out. The darkness dissipated, allowing her to sit up. Her eyes felt weary, and she had trouble focusing her vision.
Caritha’s blurred form rushed against the woman.
Rose’el followed, making a vicious stab. “Witch! You dare to attack my little sister!”
The battle lasted a few moments. Dantress regained enough of her wind to stand—just as the same swirling darkness that had enveloped her enveloped Caritha and Rose’el. Her sisters fell. Blows thudded against their bodies and they writhed helplessly on the floor.
“Get away from them.” Dantress advanced, though she suspected her attempt to help would prove futile. She threw the boomerang. But it sailed through the dark mass and clattered to the floor. The witch rushed at her, leaving Rose’el and Caritha where they’d fallen. The two sisters’ eyes pivoted to stare at Dantress, but their bodies appeared stiff.
The witch advanced. Cold fingers clamped over Dantress’s wrists. But three more figures burst into view from Dantress’s left. Laura, Evela, and Levena drew their rusted blades and touched them together, sending another bolt of blue energy into the witch’s shroud of darkness.
“Curse you! Curse you all!” the witch screamed. Apparently disabled, she fell to the floor. “No one stands against me! No one!”
Suddenly the woman withdrew three long darts from beneath her leather shoulder pads and flung them simultaneously. Levena fell first, a dart protruding from her arm, and Evela dropped next, stuck in the chest. But Laura twisted out of the way as the third one shot toward her.
Dantress spotted two more darts as they solidified from thin air in the witch’s hand. She jumped to the side. A dart sped through the space where her head had been. She swung back to face the fallen witch. Too late, she spotted another one cutting the air in her direction.
It pricked her leg, burning it with intense pain until numbness set in. She knelt on the floor. Laura deflected yet another of the projectiles with her sword, then rolled forward, and shot up next to the witch. She stabbed, wounding the woman’s throwing hand before backing off. She kept a watchful eye on the witch as she retreated to each of her sisters, pulling out the darts sticking in their flesh.
Once the dart was out of her leg, Dantress focused inward, isolating every bit of the alien substance. Gathering it together, she drew it from her system. It collected in her hand and formed into an orb. She threw it away from her and then directed her attention to her sisters.
From her hand Dantress shot narrow bands of energy that latched onto Caritha, Rose’el, Evela, and Levena. The witch’s poison withdrew from their systems, collecting into another small deadly orb floating between her hands. It hovered there until she finished the process, then she cast it against the far wall where it splattered.
One by one the sisters stood, and they converged on the prone woman with their glowing blades.
TRAITOR’S END
The sisters drew near, the witch’s face paled ghastly white, and they grasped their swords. Drops of red liquid collected at the blades’ lowered tips and splattered on the stone floor.
“No, it cannot be.” The witch tried to rise to her elbows, but she fell back. Her sapphire eyes fastened on the swords and she swallowed. “This cannot be,” she repeated, still gazing at the sisters’ rusted weapons.
Caritha’s hand shook as she raised her blade, holding it over the woman’s heart. A tear formed in her eye. “Please,” she said, “do not make us do this. Let us continue on our way. I don’t want to kill you.”
“What?” Rose’el snarled, glancing at Caritha. “You’re going to let her live? After—after she tried to kill us?”
“Mercy? You want to show me mercy?” The witch laughed. “You have not the courage it would take to strike me down, daughter of the dragon, and I deign not to accept your mercy. I will kill you—and your sisters—before you set one step farther into my chambers.”
Rose’el reacted so quickly that she took Dantress by surprise. “Hmph!” the sister said, flipping her sword upside down and grasping it by the blade. And she struck the sword’s pommel against the side of the woman’s head.
The witch’s eyes rolled back into her head, her body fell limp.
Rose’el flipped her sword’s blade pointing it up and grasped its handle, “Now, that ought to take care of that nasty tongue of hers.” She nodded at Caritha.
Her older sister stared past them to the far end of the room and did not respond. Dantress followed Caritha’s gaze. A large oval bed stood in the midst of white and red strips of cloth hanging from the ceiling. Fluffy white pillows scattered over its thick quilt-like cover. Six bronze posts supported the bed, each of them fashioned in the form of a King Cobra ready to strike.
A baby cried.
Dantress’s sisters grabbed her shoulders to hold her back, but she pulled away. The baby’s cries led her around the bed to a crib made of dark wood. She touched it and it rocked gently, leaning over to watch life’s little miracle.
“Shh, don’t cry.” She reached down. She had never held a baby before. Its face was red, and its tiny, tiny hands were balled into weak fists. And it had thick, dark hair.
“Dantress, what are you doing? We shouldn’t linger here.” Caritha walked around to the opposite side of the crib.
But Dantress reached down anyway, pulling the little one from its loneliness and ho
lding it to her bosom. The child’s cries softened.
“Can I see?” Evela approached and pulled aside the child’s wrapping. “Ooh, it’s a boy.”
Levena smiled. “He’s cute. Wonder if he has a name?”
“Girls!” Caritha bit her lower lip. “What do you think you are doing? Don’t you realize what that is?”
“I think they know perfectly well.” Laura stood next to Dantress and ran her finger along the infant’s naked arm. “He is the son of a witch.” She turned to point at the prone woman. “That witch.”
Rose’el scraped the tip of her sword blade on the stone floor and then cleared her throat loudly. “And who is the father?”
When Dantress looked at her, she saw Rose’el raise an eyebrow. “You don’t think”—Dantress redirected her attention to the child—“that this is the son of—”
“He is my son.” There was no mistaking the strength behind the deep voice.
All the dragon’s daughters gazed back at the place where the witch still lay. A man stood over her, a black metal staff balanced in his white hands. Thick, curly black hair fell to his shoulders, framing his ghastly white face.
He knelt next to her, touching her neck, then let out a slow breath and stood. He had to be at least six-feet tall. He stepped toward the sisters in one long, effortless stride. If his skin had not been so white, he might have been handsome.
Dantress looked up at him, the baby fell asleep in her arms and she held it close.
The man returned her gaze, then glanced at her feet. The rusted sword of Xavion still lay there. He appraised the other sisters one by one, his eyes lingering on their swords. Dantress’s heart skipped more than one beat, waiting for him to strike at her and her sisters.
But the blow never came. The man lowered his gaze and his shoulders drooped. “He sent you … Didn’t he? He sent you here to kill me; it was inevitable. I’ve been expecting this.”
A tear formed in the corner of his eye and he wiped it away with his hand. “Do not be afraid, children.” He turned his hand over, inspecting the tear. “I could have killed you before now, if I had wanted to do so, but I will not.”
Swords of the Six (The Sword of the Dragon) Page 14
