by Renee Wildes
Deane’s eyes lit with a fanatical light. Dara watched him return to the armory with Loren’s best friend. “He’s a liability,” she murmured to the stallion as she double-checked Gloreriell’s girth.
His ears swiveled. “He is not a warrior. He wants to be.”
“He is an idiot,” Hani`ena snapped from across the compound. “He rides that bloody palfrey.”
They all stared at the flashy but non-sentient chestnut stallion with high-stepping parade gaits.
“Better this than open war,” Gloreriell countered. “Mayhaps we shalt have no problem.”
“You don’t believe that,” Dara argued.
“I have…reservations.”
Cianan returned with the re-fitted heir in his wake. Deane was now dressed in plain, practical armor, like everyone else.
“Riders up,” Lord Elio ordered.
Cedric and Lorelei came down the walkway to see them off. The dowager queen stared at her husband and her eyes shimmered. “Thou art too old to camp with these younglings. Linger not. Get the book and hurry home.”
Pari snorted. “We shalt be eating Elio’s cooking. If that doth not induce one to rush the journey, then naught else shalt.”
“Better mine than thine,” Lord Elio retorted. “At least I know the difference betwixt hukoberries and alderill berries.”
Loren rode Hani`ena over to Gloreriell and grinned at Dara as she pulled herself into the saddle. “You have tasted hukoberries. Alderill berries are less sweet and have a bad cramping effect on the stomach.”
His nonchalance after last night’s passion made her blink. What was he thinking? Was it just to prove a point, his actions, or had it meant something more?
Pari swung up into Eryl’s saddle. “Everyone should be allowed one mistake every few centuries,” he grumped.
Even Cedric almost cracked a smile. “Lady’s blessings upon thee. Return home safe.”
Deane trotted Torgon over. “See you soon, Father. I shall make you proud.”
Single file, Lord Elio in the lead, Cianan in the rear, they rode out.
All through the Shadowlands, they rode with hands on their weapons. To Dara’s relief, all appeared normal. Birds sang and flitted here and there among the branches. A rabbit hopped across the trail. Torgon shied, but Deane was an expert rider and did no more than sway in the saddle.
Her backside went numb. Gloreriell was stockier than Hani`ena, with a shorter stride. For all his strength, he moved less fluidly than the smaller mare. For hours they rode, eating cold rations in the saddle, stopping only when someone’s call of nature couldn’t wait another moment. A dream, she was doomed to ride forever under the mist-shrouded trees.
Near dusk the trees thinned out to a ragged, rocky coastline. Across the water, barely visible in the fog, was the hulking dark shape of an island. Dara stared at it.
“Welcome home, little queen,” the voices said.
She couldn’t imagine a less welcoming image. Dark volcanic rock, with a jagged silhouette and a few stunted trees. She cursed the loss of her senses and willed that unknown metal mage to hurry.
“How do we cross?” Cianan asked.
Pari pointed up the coast. “I left a boat chained to a mooring, when last I wast here. It shouldst still be there.” He turned to the group. “Howbeit, the boat seats three. Dara, Loren and I shalt go. The rest of thee guard the way back.”
Lord Elio dismounted. “We shalt make camp here.”
“Get a fire going,” Deane ordered.
“Aye, Highness,” one of the rangers responded.
Cianan smiled at Dara. “We shall be fine. We shall be right here when you return.”
Pari led the way to the oilskin-covered boat. He flung the cover off, revealing a stout little skiff. He got in the rear, Dara followed to perch in the middle, and Loren pushed off and hopped into the front. As her two companions turned the skiff around and began paddling toward the island, Dara clutched the sides.
“Relax,” Pari told her.
“I can’t.” All the water was…unnerving. “I can’t swim.”
“Do not worry,” Loren said. “This boat is stable, and we would not let you drown. Granther and I both swim very well. I shall not let anything happen to you. Trust me.”
A twinge of need at those words made her face flame all over again. The last time he’d spoken those words… He drove her insane.
They made it to shore and, after securing the boat, Pari led the way up a winding cliffside trail to a boulder-covered opening. “We are here.” He backed away for Dara to take the lead.
“Beware,” the voices warned.
She stared at the sealed entrance. “It’s guarded by more than one element. You can’t enter.”
Pari unshouldered his pack. “This be where I come in. Music or passwords?”
“Musssic,” the voices ordered. “Music,” Dara repeated.
Pari pulled out his wooden flute and played a simple melody. Dara saw the notes shimmering against an invisible shield—yellow, blue, pink, green, violet. Every note flared against the shield, little by little thinning it into nonexistence.
Dara stepped up to the barricade and studied the runes above her head. She’d seen their like but once afore, on the bottle of dragon’s blood she’d held in prison. “What’s it say?”
“Enter here, all ye who fear not death. Bow to thy queen and live.”
Dara frowned. “You have some arrogance issues.”
They did not reply. “Place thy left hand over the blue clawed hand on the wall. Sssay thy full lineage name back ssseven generations to identify thyssself as one-who-belongsss.”
Dara announced herself. A golden glow emerged from the stone, and with a rumble it swung open.
“Bow to thy queen and live,” they reminded her.
Pari found an unlit torch just inside and handed it to Loren. The former king stared at Dara. “Thou must be the one to light it.”
She gulped. “You jest.”
“You have done it afore,” Loren told her.
“That was different. I was angry. I had no control. I’ve never done it on purpose.”
“Well, at least now you know you can,” Loren replied. “If not for that little demonstration, you would have thought us mad did we suggest it to you now.”
“We can help. It mussst be dragon-fire.”
“Of course it must. Naught ever comes easily.”
“Visualize,” Pari suggested. “I wouldst wager thou didst something similar during thy time with Jalad.”
Dara nodded. “Like the snowflakes.” She glanced at her sleeve-hidden slave brand. “When I got this.”
Loren’s jaw tightened.
Dara pictured flames, a campfire, a lit hearth. When she had the image in her mind, she looked at the torches, picturing fire springing from the oiled ends. The voices chanted in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t hear actual words. Heat built within until sweat broke out across her brow. Her stomach churned. Gasping for air against the rising acid, she pointed at the torch in Pari’s hand and focused hard. “Go.”
The oil-soaked end of the torch burst into flames, then settled into a bright flicker. Dara staggered against Loren, who steadied her with a hand on her arm. Dara turned to the elves. “The doorway translates into ‘Enter here, all ye who fear not death. Bow to thy queen and live’.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t think the warning is a jest.”
Pari shook his head. “Nay. Thou must be on thy guard.”
“You’re not coming with us?”
“This is thy quest. I but opened the door. I shall wait here, guard thy way back.”
Dara led the way. Loren followed close behind with the torch. Just inside the entrance began a long dark passageway. “Light the wall sconces as we pass them,” Dara instructed at the torque’s prompting.
Loren did so, revealing colorful pictographs of dragons flying over forests and sea cliffs. Dara stared at the images, entranced. They were rendered in exquisite detail. She saw flowers
in the grass and fruit on the trees. The dragons themselves were every shade of red, orange and gold. Belatedly she recognized the unnamed spirit creature she’d seen in Badger Cave, during the healing ceremony. A dragon. A guardian. Farther down the passageway, she saw flame-haired humans, both male and female. They walked among ordinary humans and other peoples too. She recognized elves, but there were others, as well—grey-skinned giants with huge bulbous noses, short, stout people with long, curling hair and beards and a small hunchbacked race.
“Trolls, dwarves and goblins,” Loren identified. “This looks like a history of this world.”
The pictographs changed. They showed the races fighting bloody wars amongst themselves, then breaking apart and going their separate ways, the building of the barriers. The final scene showed the dragons flying away across a vast ocean, from a flaming forest toward a half-sun. Dara did not know whether it was rising or setting, and the voices were silent on the subject. Her throat tightened and tears threatened. “They left. They’re all gone.”
“We know not for certain,” Loren protested. “They left, aye, but all and sundry? They may be like you, scattered throughout these lands.”
“Trystan should see these,” Dara said.
“I see no reason why he could not someday visit here with you, if you have no objections. You are in charge of all this now.”
Dara blinked. “I am, aren’t I?” It was a strange sensation, realizing this sanctuary was her own personal property and responsibility.
The passageway opened to a room so vast the torch did not pierce the gloom to the other side. Dara hesitated at the edge. “‘Enter here, all ye who fear not death. Bow to thy queen and live’. If there’s a trap in those words, it’ll be here. I can feel it.”
“A queen bowsss to no one.”
“Whatever is in here, my best guess says it passes over our heads.”
Loren dropped to the floor. He handed his torch to Dara.
Dara started forward, Loren following in her wake. A sudden gust of wind blew from nowhere, and a furnace blast of heat as flames shot at them from all sides. They flared above Loren’s head.
“Bow to thy queen and live.” A disembodied feminine voice echoed throughout the cavern.
Dara stood tall, the flames swirling around her. “A queen bows to no one. I am Dara Kahn Androcles shena Sheena Kahn Androcles shena Lena Kahn Androcles shena Ilya Kahn Androcles shena Rala Kahn Androcles shena Vana Kahn Androcles shena Mystria Kahn Androcles and you will let me and my companion in.”
The stone in the blood torque shone with the brightness of a red sun. It caught the flames and fired them back into the darkness. The flames swept through a web-maze of torches, and the entire chamber became illuminated.
Dara handed the torch back to Loren as he rose to his feet. They stared at the ancient, charred bodies littering the cavern floor. Dara swallowed hard. This was the price of pride.
Loren touched her shoulder. “You can do this,” he assured her. “You were meant to do this.”
Her gaze followed the flame-bordered pathway. An enormous gold dragon with ruby eyes lay curled amongst a vast treasure horde. Odd how she was able to identify whose treasure was whose. Mystria’s gold and jewels, Vana’s weapons, Rala’s tools, Ilya’s musical instruments, Lena’s fabrics and furniture and Sheena’s books and scrolls. Dara wondered what her own contribution would be.
“Welcome home,” the voices sang.
Dara strode forward. The voices chanted in the back of her mind. Beneath the idol’s sinuous neck stood a stone altar covered with a blood-red cloth. A slight tug and the silken cloth slid off a leather-bound book two hands thick. A circle of draconian runes wreathed in flames was stamped in pure gold into the cover. Dara caressed the runes. She could almost read them…
“‘The book of ssspellsss’.”
Dara stared at the curious five-holed lock.
“A clawed hand. One for each of the five elementsss.”
Dara flexed her own clawless five fingers and held her right hand out over the lock. “Water,” she named the first, placing her little finger against a hole. “Air,” was her ring finger. “Metal,” for her middle finger. “Earth,” for her first finger. “And fire,” she finished, placing her thumb over the last hole.
The stone in the blood torque pulsed with the beating of her heart. For long moments naught happened. Then a flare of light beneath her hand revealed a shining gold pentacle. There was a clicking sound, and the leather strap fell away, leaving the book free to be opened by the last guardian queen.
Loren rested his free hand on her shoulder. “No more doubts, guardian. This is your destiny. You were never just a common peasant girl. Embrace who and what you are.”
Dara flipped open the cover. The smooth ivory pages did not feel like either papyrus or paper. Whatever they were made of, they were thick and heavy. The ink was a liquid that had dried rust-brown. She shuddered. “This was written in blood.”
“Dragon’sss blood. Each of usss wrote our own ssspellsss in our own blood. Blood magic. Power.”
Loren stood aside her. “We must return. We cannot linger.”
Dara noticed the amber-colored stone on a gold chain, coiled aside the book. She picked it up, and almost dropped it. The stone was body-warm. “What’s this?”
“A seeing stone, looks like. Granna has one. It can be used for reading ancient text. It works with the power of thy mind to translate the unknown into the known. Best take it and the book with us. We must leave this place.” He laid his hand against her cheek. “You show such strength, in all you accept. You constantly amaze me.”
She blushed at the praise. All her fears, insecurities, and he thought her strong? Dara slipped the gold chain around her neck and closed the book, locking it. She picked it up and clutched it close. “I’m ready.”
“I have no doubt.” Loren led the way out. At the tunnel they stopped. Dara turned around. “Sleep and watch. Let no one pass.” One by one the lights snuffed out, returning the cavern to suffocating blackness. She led the way out. One by one the tunnel’s torches darkened as she passed. Once outside, she placed her hand against the boulder. “Close and guard. Let no one pass, on pain of death.”
The doorway swung shut until it was just another part of the mountainside.
The sun was setting when the three of them climbed down the cliffside to the boat and rowed back to the opposite shore. Cianan and Lord Elio met them at the water’s edge.
“Prince Deane took the men hunting,” Cianan reported. “We must camp here tonight. It is suicide to attempt crossing the Shadowlands at night. We shall leave at first light.”
“Agreed.” Pari nodded. “I hope our return is as quiet as our coming.”
To Dara, the former king sounded doubtful and worried. Remembering the pictographs, she’d have to agree.
Chapter Twelve
The company broke camp first thing in the morning. Hours later they reached the edge of the Shadowlands again. Cianan now took point, followed by two other rangers, then Pari, Dara, Loren, two more rangers with the pack horses, Deane, Lord Elio, and the last two rangers as rear guard. Dara recognized she was in the relative safety of the middle. She gritted her teeth. Without her powers, still acclimating to the voices and bearing the book of spells, she realized they saw her as a liability. But the warrior within her still bridled at the implied, albeit unintentional, insult.
Loren nudged Hani`ena up to Gloreriell’s side. He reached out to touch her hand. “We mean no disrespect. You are our greatest hope. We but protect the treasure you are.”
He thought she was a treasure? Her heart flipped at the notion, and she frowned. How was she to keep her distance if he kept saying things like that? Pretty words and passion. She’d never find the strength to leave.
Heavy mists swirled through the forested valley, and Dara just discerned the curve of Eryl’s white tail ahead of her. The fallen needles in the mud muffled the horses’ hooves. Beneath her, Gloreriell shook his
heavy mane and tossed his head.
The unnatural silence of the place grated on Dara’s nerves. Weapons and armor clanked despite the riders’ many attempts at quiet. Where were the birds? The animals? A sense of being watched prickled at the back of her neck as she strained to see, to hear. “Something is here,” she whispered to Loren. “It waits.”
“They, not it. Goblin raiders,” Loren whispered back. “We shall be ready.”
“Look out!” Cianan barely got the words out afore a shower of short green-fletched arrows descended through the mist-shrouded trees. He’d loosed three arrows of his own by the time the column stopped and wheeled to face the threat.
Loren raised his shield betwixt the goblin raiders and Dara. “Stay behind me.”
“We are under attack.” Deane moved Torgon to the relative safety of the rear of the column.
Gloreriell reared, nearly unseating Dara, who clung to his mane. One of the goblin arrows streaked under his neck where he’d stood but a moment ago.
Pari loosed an arrow of his own, right through the throat of a distant black form, which crumpled to the leaf-strewn ground. The old king was no slouch for all his years away from the battlefield. “Rangers to me.”
Loren drew Justice, a gleaming white beacon of Light, and moved Hani`ena betwixt Dara and the hill. “I mean it. Stay behind us.”
Dara burned to join in the fight. Rot it, she was a warrior, not some helpless lady he had to defend. His nobility choked her. She eyed Deane with contempt. Every other elven warrior and Pari fired arrows back at the goblins except the heir. He seemed to have forgotten he possessed a bow. Some hero. She looked up the hill at the descending horde and saw her first goblin. The pictographs in the cave had been vague. The creature plunging down the steep incline at her now was short, dark and lean, with a hunched back, short wispy hair on its round head, and black, empty eyes too close together. Its facial features were almost human, with a flattened nose, flared nostrils and a tiny slit for a mouth. It wore a loincloth, and there was no way to tell if it was male or female.
“Male.” Hani`ena’s mind was focused on the enemy, hard and bright as Justice. “They do not permit their females to fight.”
