Third Starlighter (Tales of Starlight)

by Bryan Davis

  “I’m no snitch.” Marcelle cringed at the words she planned to utter next. “I’m just a girl.”

  “So you are.” He stopped at a double doorway on the right and turned toward her. The lack of light kept his face in a dark shadow. “I will tell you this. There is one rule in government that I have never seen violated. No matter what a new leader promises, very little changes. Oh, window dressing, maybe, but the rulers always see to themselves first. They will do whatever they must to stay in power. I have never seen an exception.”

  “Power? Does Leo already control the army?”

  “Not yet, but he will soon. He already has power the generals can’t resist. They will either obey or die.”

  She nodded toward him. “And what about you? Will you do what Leo says?”

  “Without a doubt. I’ve learned to lay low and mind my own business. Another governor will be along someday to replace this one. They come. They go. Just do your job, and keep the rope from biting into your neck.”

  Marcelle redoubled her effort to sound like a young girl. “Even if the governor tells you to do something wrong?”

  The guard laughed nervously. “Listen, Ophelia, I think you’re a bit young to be questioning governmental ethics. You haven’t been in my position to—”

  “I don’t mean to judge you, sir. I’m just curious. I want to know more about guards and soldiers.” She gave him another quick bend of the knee. “Do you think my new father would agree with you?”

  “Captain Reed?” The guard stroked his chin. “He has more integrity than is good for him. Eventually it will prove to be his noose.”

  “His noose? Why do you say—”

  The sound of tromping footsteps echoed from the lobby. The guard lifted a hand. “Wait here.” Then, he hurried back down the corridor.

  Marcelle followed, staying back several paces. When she reached the end of the hall, she peered around the corner. Maelstrom marched her way, a soldier wearing a Tarkton uniform accompanying him. Their boots clopped, and the Tark’s scabbard clinked against his belt. He carried a coil of rope over his shoulder that looked darker than the rope that had bound her at the stake, though crystals embedded within glimmered in the light. “We have a spy following him,” the Tark said, “so we will soon learn his plans.”

  The palace guard stepped in front of them. “May I help you?”

  They stopped and glared. “Who are you?” the Tark asked.

  “Kordeck,” he replied, bowing. “I guard the rear entrance. But you need not worry about security. I locked it before leaving.”

  Maelstrom’s face bent into a scowl. “Yes, I know. I wanted to exit that way. I don’t yet have the key to that door, so I was looking for you.”

  Kordeck reached for his key ring. “I will be glad to open it now. If you’ll just follow—”

  “Are you ill?” Maelstrom asked.

  Blinking, Kordeck glanced between Maelstrom and the Tark. “I feel fine. Why do you ask?”

  Maelstrom nodded toward the hallway. “I thought you might have been at the infirmary.”

  Marcelle leaned back and flattened herself against the wall. This was getting too close for comfort.

  “I was guiding an orphan there,” Kordeck said. “She came to my post looking for Captain Reed, her new father.”

  “An orphan? Why would an orphan be lurking about the rear entrance at this time of night?”

  “I didn’t ask, your eminence. She was wearing an orphan’s cloak, and with rules so strict regarding orphans, I didn’t want to risk—”

  “Your excuse is as lame as a crippled cur,” Maelstrom growled. “I gave strict orders to watch for any strange female, and now one tricks you with a simple cloak.”

  A slapping sound echoed into the hall, followed by the Tark’s shout. “You fool! Disguising herself as an orphan was the only way she could enter without showing her face, and you fell for it.”

  Slowly drawing her sword, Marcelle backed toward the infirmary. With every step, the hallway grew darker. Maybe a hiding place among the beds and cabinets would allow her to spring at them without warning.

  “But she didn’t fit the description,” Kordeck said. “I saw her eyes. They didn’t glow green at all.”

  Marcelle stopped at the door. Glow green? Since when did her eyes glow?

  Kordeck’s voice shook with fear. “So she couldn’t be who you think she is, right?”

  “She is a mesmerizing witch,” Maelstrom said. “She could easily have manipulated you with her powers. That’s why I ordered every undocumented girl to be detained.”

  “Where is she now?” the Tark asked.

  Marcelle grasped the door’s handle and pulled, then pushed, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “I was just about to unlock the infirmary for her. I told her she could sleep in there until—”

  “Silence, fool!”

  The snick of a blade against a scabbard followed. Marcelle retreated farther into the corridor until her back pressed against a wall. Now in complete darkness, she crouched, her sword ready. Battling three men at once might be impossible, but there seemed to be no choice.

  “Go and retrieve her,” Maelstrom said. “If she dissolves, you should be able to capture her with the crystalline rope. Cassabrie must not escape.”

  Marcelle furrowed her brow. Cassabrie? They think I’m Cassabrie? She nodded. Of course! They believe Marcelle is dead.

  “Light the rope.” Maelstrom’s voice echoed in the corridor. “We need to heat up the crystals. Soon Cassabrie will suffer Marcelle’s fate.”

  A clicking sound reverberated, then the crackle of fire. Kordeck and the Tark appeared at the end of the corridor, each with a sword drawn. The rope stretched between their hands, burning and sizzling, the slack making it look like a flaming smile. Only the ends stayed free of fire.

  Marcelle clutched her hilt tightly. Between their fear of Cassabrie and their preoccupation with the burning rope, maybe she stood a chance. They probably didn’t expect her to have a sword at all. Maybe she could dash past them and avoid a battle, but once she reached the lobby, what would Maelstrom do? Why wasn’t he watching or lending a hand? Maybe he showed his fear of Cassabrie in ways beyond sending his lackeys into battle for him. The fact that he turned pale in the Starlighter’s presence might indicate something more than mere fright. His own fear might be her best weapon.

  As the two swordsmen drew closer, lighting up the corridor, Marcelle altered her voice to a ghostly moan, loud enough for anyone in the lobby to hear. “Leo, beware! The last time we met, I dissolved and left you unharmed. Do not test me again, or the consequences will be dire.”

  Kordeck glanced back for a moment, his legs trembling. Marcelle leaped up and charged. Dropping to her backside, she slid under the rope and rode her momentum to vault back to her feet. As she leaped again to run, her cloak caught, snapping her body back. She fell to her bottom, spun on her tailbone, and looked at the guards.

  The Tark, standing on the edge of her cloak, shouted, “Throw it!” He and Kordeck tossed the flaming rope toward her. With a quick backwards somersault, she jerked free of the Tark’s foot, flipped away from the rope before it could land, and fell on her stomach. The rope slid across the floor and stopped inches from her face. Heat flashed across her cheeks, and the melting sensation from the burning stake returned.

  “No!” As she pushed against the floor to back away, the Tark chopped down at her with his blade. Like a rolling log, she whirled toward him. When the blade smacked against the floor, she hacked at his ankle with her own sword, slicing to the bone, then rammed the blade up into his chest.

  As he stumbled backwards, she whipped the sword out and whirled just in time to block Kordeck’s blade. His momentum carried him over her body, his legs straddling her as he passed. With an overhead thrust, she shoved her blade into his belly, then jerked it out, ducking to the side to avoid the blood.

  She rose slowly to her feet and stared at the carnage. In the glow of the burning rope
, two men lay motionless, barely visible in the dim corridor. Normally after a battle, her heart would be pounding and her chest heaving. Now she stood without feeling, numb to the surroundings—death—senseless, avoidable death. But for some reason, it didn’t matter, not a whit.

  Marcelle touched her tunic where Arxad’s scale lay underneath. Where had the callousness come from? Had witnessing so much cruelty in a few short days desensitized her to a coldness that matched her frigid skin? Or had the union with a dragon made her see the human tyrants and their guardians for the vermin-like predators that they were?

  Closing her eyes, she tried to summon an appropriate emotion, just a hint of regret for the loss of life, but nothing arose. She had become a heartless, bloodless, tearless monster. Too much tragedy had squeezed her heart dry.

  She snatched up an end of the rope and dragged it with her. Ultimately, Maelstrom was to blame. Even if he had stayed to witness the battle, he was probably long gone now. The coward sent surrogates to bleed while he kept his silk and satin spotless.

  After leaving the corridor, she stopped in the lobby and looked around. The glow of wall-mounted extane lights reflected on the pristine marble tiles, but no shadow of Maelstrom interrupted the sanitized shine.

  She slid her sword away and stamped out the rope’s flames. With each press of her shoe, the fibers popped and sizzled. If only she could do the same to the foul usurper, but she had to let him flee. As Arxad advised, it would be better to let Maelstrom have his way for now so that Magnar would be motivated to destroy him.

  She picked up the charred rope and ran her fingers along the hot, sticky fibers. All but the ends had been doused with some kind of fuel to make the rope burn easily, and much of the fuel remained. Since Maelstrom used this rope for hanging, for tying her to the stake, and for attempting to capture Cassabrie, it was clearly his favored device. Maybe using it against him would create a lovely irony.

  Marcelle wrapped the rope around her waist and tied it in place. Then, closing her eyes, she let her muscles relax. Patience. The plan required time and trust. Somehow Maelstrom would meet his end, even if it took an enemy dragon and a dragon sympathizer to do the job.

  * * *

  EIGHTEEN

  * * *

  ADRIAN set the cart down under the boughs of a tall tree. Resting comfortably curled in the cart’s nest of straw, Marcelle could continue sleeping under the deerskin while he and his fellow travelers rested. The darkness of the night hours had provided cover for travel, but with dawn coming soon, it made sense to stop at a sheltered spot. The tree’s low limbs and dense green foliage would block the rising sun quite well, and Trisarian, now drifting toward the western horizon, provided enough light to allow them to prepare a campsite.

  Training his eyes and ears on the surrounding forest, he surveyed the landscape. A stream they had followed ran about thirty paces to the east, and beyond that, a meadow stretched out as far as the eye could see. To the west, the forest grew darker and denser, likely continuing for miles in that direction. A bird flitted from branch to branch, but no other sounds disturbed the serenity of the closely packed woods.

  During the night, something had lurked behind them nearly every step of the way, something far stealthier than the cat in the swamp. No matter how many times he stopped and looked back, the subtle noises instantly evaporated. The crunching of forest debris was too consistent to be caused by the wind. An echo of their own footsteps? Maybe. In any case, they had to be on guard.

  Shellinda plopped down next to Marcelle’s cart, crinkling a carpet of fallen leaves, and set a hand on its frame. Now clothed in double layers, beads of sweat dotted her upper lip. “I don’t smell anything. Do you?”

  Adrian shook his head. “I think she’s clean. She hasn’t eaten anything, and I couldn’t get her to take more than a swallow or two of water.” He slid his flask’s strap from his shoulder and took a long drink from its spouted end. Carrying Marcelle over such a long distance had drained his body of energy and hydration.

  “She’s probably comfortable,” Regina said, her eyes closed as she leaned against the tree. Thick, wool-like material covered her arms and legs, and stockings and sandals dressed her feet. “Being asleep all the time, she probably doesn’t need much.”

  Clutching the hilt of a sword in a hip scabbard, Wallace strode up to Adrian. Wearing a thicker tunic and trousers, his slavery-toned muscles seemed to bulge all the more. “You rest first while I keep watch.”

  Adrian raised a pair of fingers. “Two hours. Then you can have two hours. After that we’ll see if it’s safe to travel in the daylight.” He turned to Shellinda. “Will four hours of sleep be enough for you girls?”

  Shellinda nodded. “I slept at the cabin. I’m fine.”

  “Me, too,” Regina said. “I’m not sleepy at all.”

  “Regina and I will take Marcelle to the stream and check her clothes,” Shellinda said. “And we can fill our flasks.”

  Adrian pointed at the sword in Wallace’s grip. “Can you make the next mark for Jason?”

  “Sure.” Wallace glanced at Solarus. “I figured out your system.”

  “Good.” Adrian sat next to Shellinda at the tree and gave her his flask. “It should be safe if you go together. The stream’s not far.”

  “I can hear it.” She slid the strap over her shoulder. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  After the girls carted Marcelle away, Adrian closed his eyes and imagined Wallace and the girls taking care of the details. Wallace needed to find a tree near the stream that Jason would be likely to see should he be traveling between the Northlands and the Southlands. There Wallace would etch a symbol in the bark on the north and south sides, indicating the angle of Solarus in the sky as well as the number of days since the two of them parted company on Major Four. Maybe letting Jason know where he was would help somehow, even just to provide a boost that his brother was still alive and thinking about him. And maybe, just maybe, Jason could use the symbols to bring about a reunion between them, but that would take a miracle.

  His arms aching, Adrian let them fall limp. Dizziness took hold within seconds. Still marching through the underground tunnel in his mind, his eyes throbbed with every step as he relived the recent journey. Because a torch he had made lost its flame early on, they were forced to journey through darkness once again.

  Heaving a sigh, he pushed away the pain. Sleep would come soon. It had to. An exhausted warrior couldn’t protect himself, much less those who depended on him. Marcelle needed him. The children needed him. And they still had a long way to go.

  He drew a mental map—the route he had taken from the Northlands to the barrier wall. Although only a few days had passed, that journey seemed so long ago. Since much of it had flown by, either atop a raft or in the clutches of a dragon, it seemed impossible to tell how long it would take to arrive in the Northlands from this point. They had recently passed the waterfall, so they were perhaps a sixth of the way there, maybe less.

  With so much at stake, traveling during the day was essential, in spite of the risk of being spotted. It seemed a small risk now. They hadn’t sighted a dragon since their exit from the underground stream just north of the barrier wall. Still, caution had to prevail. It would take only one dragon to ruin their plans.

  Adrian fell into a pattern of dozing and being startled awake by various sounds—Wallace’s feet pressing down the leaves, an occasional owl-like hoot somewhere above, and the flutter of wings that, in the midst of his sporadic dreams, grew draconic in volume and fury. Finally, a girlish whisper brushed his ear.

  “Adrian. You have to come and see this.”

  He opened his eyes. Shellinda leaned close, nearly nose to nose. “Come,” she said, taking his hand. “It might go away.”

  Adrian shot to his feet and, with Wallace trailing, followed Shellinda’s guiding hand toward the stream. When they arrived, Regina stood at the water’s edge, facing the field on the other side. A spherical object hovered above th
e grass. It appeared to be quite large, but the darkness made its exact size hard to determine.

  He glanced at the cart, now sitting a few steps from the stream with its front wheel pointing toward the forest. Marcelle rested within, her hair wet, apparently freshly washed. As he crouched next to Regina, Shellinda pressed close from his other side. “What do you think it is?” she whispered.

  “I have no idea.”

  Her eyes closed, Regina breathed out, “Exodus.”

  “Exodus,” Adrian repeated. “Cassabrie mentioned that name.”

  With her eyes still closed, she spoke in an eerie whisper. “It’s a star. So bright. So lovely.”

  Adrian gazed at her face, illuminated by Trisarian’s pale yellow glow. “It’s not bright at all. If not for the moon, I wouldn’t be able to see it.”

  “Oh, but it is bright, and it’s speaking to me. That’s how I know its name.”

  “Can you answer?” Adrian asked. “Can you ask why it’s here?”

  “I already tried. I don’t think she can hear me from this far away.”

  “She? Exodus is female?”

  Regina shook her head. “Exodus is the star. The girl is inside. She is a Starlighter.”

  “A Starlighter? Is her name Cassabrie?”

  “She hasn’t said her name. I don’t think she’s said anything out loud at all. Words are coming into my mind. I don’t hear them with my ears.”

  Shellinda pointed. “Look! It’s glowing.”

  A white aura formed around the sphere, making its size and position clearer. Hovering about twenty feet above the ground, it appeared to be ten to fifteen paces in diameter. Its semitransparent skin, radiant and pulsing, allowed a view of the inside. A girl stood within, her arms spread out, as if stretching after a long nap. Then, the sphere’s light blinked off.

  Adrian blinked as well, trying to refocus on the darkened star. It lifted higher and began drifting toward the barrier wall. Soon, it floated out of sight.