by Diana Green
Tendrils of light coiled around the she-dragon, as her shape wavered. He forced her to shift, watching as her eldrin form grew fluid, limbs morphing and expanding. At that exact moment he halted the process, locking her mid-shift, with the drake just beginning to manifest.
Now came the tricky part. Holding her transformation static, he probed with magic sight, searching for the key to her dragon nature. Impressions flooded his awareness. Fear, agony, and striving to complete the shift, all surged through her, into him.
He brushed away the sensations, as if they were nothing but buzzing insects. Finding her dragon essence was the important thing. He had to dig deeper, right to her core.
Mouth opening in a soundless scream, she writhed, trying to resist his delving. It was no use. His power was unassailable, rushing through him like liquid silver. He would have his prize.
There it was, at last. He grasped for the brilliant flame, dancing at her center. Pure dragon soul, distilled.
But why was it so familiar? How could this alien spirit resonate with his own? He was a human man, born of human parents.
Wasn’t he?
Clenching her soul in the vice-grip of his spell, he turned within, searching for his own vital essence. He dove deep, sifting through the whirling energy at his center, reaching for the cord of brightest light, pulsing at the vortex of his power.
Memories of another lifetime broke through, overflowing the dam containing them. No longer hidden, they thundered through him, shaking his foundations.
He too had a dragon soul. There was no mistaking it, burning like an angry sun at his center. Vadin, born in the village of Graystone, child of a fisherman and a seamstress, was not his first incarnation in this world. He had also been Turrok, younger brother of Aurek the Great.
Though he fought against them, the memories would not be denied. The dragon, Turrok, was a part of him. All this time, he’d thought himself superior to the winged monsters, but he harbored the enemy within, his soul forever linked to a beast from the dawn of history.
Vadin sank to his knees, crushed under the weight of this revelation. Where could he go from here? Was there any way to banish Turrok’s corrupting influence?
His control over the she-dragon failed, as the spell shredded like smoke in the wind. She crumpled to the floor, unconscious, returning once more to eldrin form. A thin line of blood trickled from her nose, and her skin looked white as a swan’s wing.
****
Valla shaded her eyes, surveying the central market of Inbar. Under a cloudless sky, the wide square looked busy and colorful as a patchwork quilt. Buyers wandered from stall to stall, their baskets full of purchased goods, while hawkers shouted a constant stream of slogans and prices.
A high sand-colored wall framed the market, with arched entrances at each end. Inside this, a perimeter of palm trees offered welcome shade. It wasn’t even noon, and already the air shimmered with heat.
She wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow, wishing she and Hathos had cooler attire. Perhaps it would be worth buying some, for times like today when they took eldrin form. Leather armor might be fine in the northern mountains, but here she boiled.
Usually clothes didn’t matter, since they traveled in drake form. It was much faster that way and allowed them to easily hunt for food, as needed. The limited diet grew monotonous, but it proved less bothersome. Especially as she and Hathos were lousy cooks.
They’d kept to wild areas, as much as possible. In these lands, people hadn’t seen dragons, and their fear might prove dangerous. Valla didn’t want to meet any panic-stricken mobs.
Though she and Hathos had been traveling for weeks, it still wasn’t clear exactly where they were headed. His dreams of the gold she-dragon continued, but they didn’t provide much practical information. He learned her name, Oliana, and managed to converse a little. Unfortunately, she didn’t know where she was being held prisoner.
“By the sea”, and “windy old tower”, were her only words of guidance. It wasn’t much to go on and could easily describe a hundred different places. The time had come to gather more information.
Valla insisted they stop at a town, to question traders for news from farther south. She also liked the idea of staying at an inn for the night. A soft mattress and a bath sounded marvelous.
Hathos had been reluctant to slow their progress, but she talked him into it. Having a forceful personality came in handy from time to time. They needed a better sense of what lay ahead, and his dreams weren’t specific enough.
Usually the two of them flew at night, when the air cooled and the humans were tucked away in their beds. They rested during the heat of the day, finding hidden spots to make their camp. This morning, however, they’d shifted to eldrin form and trekked into the town of Inbar.
Tantalizing odors wafted through the market. Chicken frying in seasoned butter and garlic, sweet bread smothered in cinnamon glaze, the tang of fresh fruit, and the perfume of exotic flowers. Flamboyantly dressed merchants shouted the merits of their wares, from woven rugs, to pottery, to caged monkeys and parrots.
Valla soaked it all up, relishing the banquet of sights, sounds, and smells. Everything seemed new and fascinating, a world away from her northern home. If only Hathos wasn’t in such a hurry to leave. She could enjoy exploring Inbar for days.
“It’s overwhelming,” he murmured, clearly not enjoying the experience as much as her. “Where do we begin?”
“Over there.” She pointed to a troupe of performers, entertaining a small crowd at the edge of the market. “They’re sure to have traveled south.”
“Shouldn’t we try someone more discreet?”
“Why? Nobody knows who or what we are.”
“But we don’t exactly blend in.”
He was right. The local humans were olive-skinned and slight in stature. Most wore tunics and robes, in a bright rainbow of colors. A few men carried curved blades at their belts, but none of the women appeared to be armed.
“Inbar sits at a crossroads,” she said. “They can’t be too squeamish about strangers passing through. Besides, I see a number of other foreigners around the market. We have nothing to worry about.”
He scanned the stalls and gave her a tense nod. “Very well. Let’s get this over with.”
They began making their way toward the traveling players, but Valla managed to sidetrack their progress more than once. First she bought spicy meat, wrapped in a pastry. Next she admired a table of glittering scarves and another of knives with intricately carved hilts.
When she paused at a fortune teller’s tent, Hathos protested. “Valla. Come on. We need to keep moving.”
“Relax. I’m just having a little fun. Life can’t be serious all the time.”
“If you had my dreams, you’d see how urgent this is. Any delay could cost Oliana her life. She gets weaker with each passing day.”
Valla followed him away from the fortune teller’s tent, swallowing the last bite of her meal. After they questioned the troupe, she’d have to buy another pastry. It had tasted delicious.
When they arrived at the far side of the market, the players were performing a musical number. Drums and reed flutes blended beautifully with the jingle of bells around the ankles of the dancers. The crowd swayed and clapped their hands, the sound amplified by a tight semicircle of wagons.
When the song finished, a musician stepped forward to address the audience. His eyes and hair were black as polished onyx, his rich voice intoxicating as wine.
“While we pass the hat for your generous gifts, consider this. The more you give, the longer we’ll stay in town. If you enjoyed our show, come again. And remember, we’re always happy to arrange a private performance.”
His gaze lingered on Valla, looking her over with obvious appreciation, giving a suggestive wink and a smile. Her own lips pulled into a grin, before she could stop herself. What a pretty young man.
“I’ll question him,” she whispered to Hathos. “You try the women. Dazz
le them with your good looks and charm.”
Hathos rolled his eyes but followed her suggestion, walking over to the trio of dancers. Before Valla could make a move, the dark-haired musician approached her.
“You have the look of a barbarian queen,” he stated. “There’s something wild in your eyes, like a hunting falcon. Am I lucky enough to be your chosen prey?”
She laughed. “So, you’re a poet?”
“I’m whatever your passionate heart desires.” He gave her a smoldering look, undaunted by the fact she stood at least three inches taller than him.
“A bad poet, I see.”
“But fabulous at everything else.” He swept a bow.
“Everything?”
“I’d love a chance to prove my skill.” Again he winked, his voice like crushed velvet.
“There’s no slow build up with you, is there?” She cocked her head, amused by his blatant attempts at seduction.
“Life is short,” he responded. “Why waste precious time, when we could be sharing paradise?”
“And this approach works on women?”
“Enough of them to keep me happy.”
“And are they also happy, afterwards?”
“Most definitely.” He moved closer. “Let me show you.”
“Tempting, but I’m not here for pleasure. I need information.”
“Ah, I see. What sort of information, and how much are you willing to pay?” He shifted gears without batting an eye, raising an open palm for money.
Valla had no intention of paying him. She considered whether to proceed with flirtation or intimidation. Both approaches had merit, though intimidation usually proved quicker. She rested a hand on the pommel of her sword and narrowed her eyes.
“I’m confident you’ll answer my questions for free.” Her voice carried an edge of steel.
The musician retreated a step, his smile slipping.
“Don’t bother with him,” Hathos said, returning from speaking with the dancers. “I have what we want.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Looks like I won’t need you after all,” she said, giving the musician a small wave and leaving with Hathos by her side.
As they walked through the market, he shared what he’d learned. Dragons were rumored to live in the far south, still hundreds of miles away. Trading caravans and traveling troupes wouldn’t venture past the Shinnari River, as they believed it to be the northern border of the dragons’ territory. No one knew what had happened to the humans who lived there.
Chapter Four
Vadin strode along the tower’s crumbling battlements, staring over a rolling gray-green sea. Gulls wheeled against a backdrop of stormy sky, their harsh cries blending with the keening wind. It buffeted him, raking his hair and clothes with invisible fingers.
He didn’t mind. The weather distracted him, offering relief from the plague of remembering. Since the night when he discovered his dragon soul, Turrok’s memories remained a phantom presence inside his mind. They came unbidden, maddening him with glimpses of another lifetime.
The flashbacks offered nothing useful, no key to ridding himself of the dragon influence. All they showed were random moments in time. He might experience Turrok’s massive talons sinking into an antelope’s back, as he hunted, or a sparring match with Aurek. Another time he remembered flying to a high mountain peak, joining a circle of dragons in fiery death rites for a fallen comrade.
In every case, he found it impossible to reconcile these primal memories with his current self. What did he have in common with a bloodthirsty beast? Surely, nothing. Yet he couldn’t ignore the truth. For better or worse, his was a dragon soul.
Now that he knew, the fact made a strange kind of sense. His dragon soul triggered the ice spell to imprison him. But it stopped short of destroying him, unlike the dragon city and all its inhabitants. Instead he was frozen alive, the same as dragons and trolkin who lived far from the apex of magic.
A portion of dragon lived within him, but it was only one part. The rest remained human. Apparently the ice spell had recognized this and spared his life. With that realization, one more puzzle piece fell into place.
He also understood why his body didn’t age normally. Decades had passed since the ice spell had broken, but he looked only a few years older. When he woke from the long cold sleep, his hair had been leached of color, as if the energy required for such vast sorcery drained him. But his face showed barely a wrinkle, and his limbs remained hard and strong.
A long life-span might be the one silver lining of having a dragon soul. But he would sacrifice it in an instant, to be free of the monstrous taint. If only he knew how.
Wearing his mood like a dark cloud, Vadin turned away from the battlements and descended the stairs into the tower. Weeks had passed since he captured the young she-dragon, and he remained just as far from his goal. The answers he’d found only raised more questions. He felt trapped in a maze with no escape in sight. What if there were nothing but dead ends ahead?
He stalked into the kitchen, trying to push his churning thoughts aside. Regardless of thwarted plans, he still had to eat, and so did the she-dragon. He built a fire in the cook stove, gathered supper ingredients, and brought water from the well.
The simple act of preparing a meal helped soothe him, grounding him into the here and now. Whatever puzzles might torment his mind, warm food provided comfort. He ate a generous portion before taking a plate to the prison cell.
The she-dragon refused to look at him or acknowledge the supper he slid through the bars of her cell door. She huddled motionless in the corner, eyes downcast, tangled hair falling over her face.
“You need to eat,” he said.
“Why? I don’t want to go on living like this.”
“But you can’t desire death.”
She gave a barely perceptible shrug, causing concern and shame to stab through his armored heart. Had he really brought her so low?
“I could force you to eat.”
“I beg you not to.” Her voice broke, and she lifted her face to look at him. “I hate it when you control me with magic.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Please, you must have pity.”
Her words triggered an unexpected memory. It rushed into his awareness, sweeping him away from the present moment. He was Turrok again, standing on a high hill, overlooking a grassy plain.
Beside him stood an exquisite eldrin woman, her hair the pale gold of winter sunlight, her eyes like amethysts. He remembered her name was Asahni, and she meant everything to him. She turned, stroking a graceful hand down his long scaled face.
“You must learn pity,” she said, “before I will teach you the ways of magic.” Her voice and sweet smell caressed his heightened dragon senses, filling him with longing. “There is good in your savage heart, Turrok. But magic requires restraint, compassion, and balance. Without these, it is too dangerous. Do you understand?”
He nodded, ascent rumbling from deep in his throat. To win her favor and learn her sorcery, he would agree to anything. She was breathtaking, delicate yet powerful, a goddess in the flesh.
“Good.” She smiled, her features radiant and lovely as the dawn. “But first, I must show you how to take a form more similar to mine. Magic requires subtlety of gesture and speech. I’m afraid, in your present state, it would be impossible.”
The memory ended abruptly, leaving Vadin shaken. He leaned against the stone wall, taking slow breaths, trying to regain his composure. Turrok’s emotions had been so intense, his desire for the eldrin woman and her magic, overwhelming.
Who was this Asahni? He must find out. Never before, in any place or time, had he seen a more beautiful creature. Her presence was magnetic, drawing him like the moon pulled the tides.
It seemed she was the one who taught Turrok to shift. Perhaps he, not Aurek, had been the first dragon to learn the art and pass it to future generations. What if other dragon myths were also false, misunderstandings handed down from
a forgotten era?
He shook his head, struggling against an uncomfortable sense of disorientation. How many more surprises awaited him in Turrok’s memories? Could the man he was now survive them intact?
****
Where are these blasted dragons, anyway? Valla sent the question to Hathos, mind to mind, as they flew through a twilight sky. In the east a sliver of moon hung over a range of dry hills. To the west a vast ocean stretched to the curving horizon.
Patience, he responded. We only crossed the Shinnari River yesterday.
Ha. Patience. Look who you’re talking to.
Her dragon laughter helped soften the aggravation in her voice. She’d never been one to take her time or wait with grace. Even now, she flew as if pursuing prey, her great blue wings surging with power and speed. It took considerable effort to keep up with her.
We’ll find them soon, he assured. It’s almost as if I can feel them, just beyond the reach of my vision.
She huffed in frustration. I’ll have to trust you on that. You’re the seer, after all, not me.
Hathos understood her mood. Valla preferred to lead, the role coming as easy to her as breathing. Now she had to play second fiddle to his dreams and intuition, following without knowing what lay ahead.
Perhaps we should travel during the day, she sent. It might increase our chances of meeting them. Since dragons aren’t usually nocturnal.
Excellent suggestion.
I’m glad to be of some use.
Don’t be silly, Valla. Having you along makes this journey ten times better.
Why? Her question carried considerable force. What good have I been? We haven’t encountered any danger, so it doesn’t seem like you need me.
Of course I do. We still have the sorcerer to deal with, and there could be others working with him. I’m sure they won’t give up easily. Your skill as a warrior may make all the difference.
Good point. She sounded pleased at the prospect.
Hathos didn’t share her enthusiasm. The sorcerer would be far from simple to defeat, and the conflict might prove deadly. It wasn’t in his nature to take such things lightly.
