Masters & Slayers (Tales of Starlight)

by Bryan Davis

  When they reached the other mesa, Drexel pulled out Blackstone’s journal and turned to the page showing where he hid the portal-opening crystal. After angling it toward the moonlight, he read the entry and searched the base of the mesa for a gap in the solid rock. Supposedly, Uriel had dug out a hole and hidden the crystal deep within, but he had also tied a rope to it so he could fish it out when necessary.

  “This is odd,” Orlan whispered, pointing toward the ground.

  A skinny rivulet ran from the stream to the mesa where it struck a boulder that appeared to have been placed there to direct the flow away. Water coursed around the boulder and branched off in several directions, fingerlike runnels heading back toward the stream.

  Drexel walked behind the boulder and crouched at the mesa’s base. A hole had been excavated, and the surrounding grit and sand was damp, as if the rivulet had at one time been channeled into the hole. Using his fingers, he dug through the wet silt and found a thin rope, exactly as Uriel had described. He pulled it toward himself, hand over hand, until he found the end, an empty loop tied with a knot.

  He cursed under his breath. The crystal was gone! Someone must have known it was here and used the water from the stream to flush it out. Now there was no way to open the portal from the dragon world.

  Leaning to the side, he peered around the boulder. Orlan and Cassandra were looking at the rising moon, oblivious to the catastrophe. Only one chance remained. Maybe someone left the portal open.

  He rose to his feet and whispered to the children. “Stay here. I will return very soon.” Walking in long strides, he hurried to the exit hole where he had emerged from the mesa and hustled down the staircase leading to the portal. Now in darkness, he knelt and rubbed his hands along the floor. After a few seconds, his fingers came upon one of the crystalline pegs. He followed the line of crystals until one fingertip dropped into an empty hole. It wasn’t there.

  Mumbling a stream of profanity, he hurried up the stairs and stalked back toward the children. What could he do now? Kill them and try to blend in with the slaves, hoping to get information about the crystal? Maybe a slave discovered it and didn’t know what it was for. If he could locate it, encouraging some other pitiful waif to accompany him to freedom would be easy enough.

  As he closed in on the children, who were now standing in the shadow of the boulder, he withdrew his sword. Killing these two would be an ugly business, but, of course, necessary for the long-term goals. The cost of a few lives paled in comparison to the reward of freedom for hundreds.

  Orlan stepped out of the shadow and pointed toward the moon. Drexel glanced that way. The silhouette of a dragon crossed the glowing disk.

  When Drexel drew near, Orlan eyed the sword and whispered, “Good. You already saw him.”

  “I did.” He pulled Orlan back into the shadow and stood between him and Cassandra. He laid a hand on a shoulder of each child, the sword still in his grip as he rested it on Orlan. “It would be better not to fight such a beast in the dark.”

  “What about our escape?” Orlan asked.

  “Bad fortune has come upon us. The door to freedom is closed and locked, and I cannot find the key.”

  Orlan pulled away. “What? I thought you said—”

  “I said I knew how to find our way to freedom. I know the path, but the way is blocked, at least for now.”

  Orlan looked at the sky again. “I don’t think he’s coming this way, but we’d better hide soon.”

  “What are our options?”

  “This mesa or the other one, but those hiding places won’t last long. Someone will find us eventually.”

  “Are there uninhabited areas?” Drexel asked. “Mountains? Forests?”

  Cassandra piped up. “The wilderness!”

  “Yes,” Orlan said. “There is the wilderness. Some slaves run away there, but it’s probably too dangerous. No one has ever returned.”

  Drexel watched the patrolling dragon. It had passed them by, but it appeared to be swinging around for another sweep. “I wouldn’t expect runaways to return to their chains.”

  “True, but we thought they would at least try to get a message to us.”

  “And risk their freedom? Not likely.” Drexel looked out over the terrain, flat except for the other mine’s mesa and a few boulders and stunted trees. “Tell me how to get there.”

  “After that dragon flies by again, the way should be clear. I’ll lead you to it.”

  “Just give me directions. I assure you that I can find it.”

  Orlan shook his head. “I’m making sure you still need me. And once we get there, you’ll probably need help figuring out which vines will give you a rash, where the forest vipers hide, and which fruit is poisonous.”

  “Ah, yes, my cunning little friend. You are correct in your assumptions of my ignorance.” Drexel slid the sword away and bowed. “I acquiesce to your plan.”

  After waiting a few minutes for the dragon to fly out of sight, Orlan led Drexel and Cassandra into the arid field. They crossed the stream twice, wading up to Drexel’s thighs and Cassandra’s waist, but, with a firm grip on her hand, Drexel whispered constant assurances. Of course, picking her up was out of the question. He had to save his strength for the wilderness.

  They traveled up a barely perceptible incline. To the left, mountains loomed, and to the right, a line of lights danced in the breeze, perhaps lanterns in a distant village. About an hour later, the trees grew taller and more densely packed. The canopy above provided a comforting umbrella but also dimmed the forest floor. Soon, the path disappeared, and thick underbrush blocked their way.

  “I have never been past this point,” Orlan said, his voice now at a normal level. “You could use your sword to cut a path, but then we could be followed.”

  Drexel peered at the obstacles in the dimness ahead—thick ferns, vines draped from tree to tree, and moss-covered logs. “You mentioned vipers.”

  “I did, but everyone says they only come out in the daytime.”

  “Everyone says that? I suppose ‘everyone’ includes all the runaways who never came back to report what they saw here.”

  Orlan glowered at him. “I’m just telling you what I’ve heard.”

  Drexel withdrew his sword and pointed ahead. “Lead on. We’ll try not to leave much evidence of our whereabouts, but I assume after we are deep within the wilderness we will be freer to cut a path.”

  “I think so.” Orlan bent a thorny bush to the side and held it while Drexel and Cassandra passed. They ducked under hanging vines, stepped over knee-high ferns, and squeezed between trunks where the trees grew as thick as grass.

  After another hour, Drexel began slashing with the sword—slicing vines and hacking off thorny protrusions from any bush that dared to get in their way. With grunts and snapping vegetation, he raised quite a racket, but the surrounding jungle seemed to absorb every sound.

  Soon, Orlan stopped and pointed at the forest floor. “A path.”

  Drexel bent over. Indeed, the underbrush appeared to end abruptly at each side of a narrow strip of trampled ground. “What do you think it means?”

  “Runaway slaves. Some of us think they set up a place to live.”

  Something sharp poked Drexel’s back. He stepped forward to move clear of the thorn or whatever it was, but it stayed in place.

  “Drop your weapon.” The voice was deep and commanding. “And raise your hands.”

  Drexel spread out his fingers. His sword fell and thudded on the ground. As he raised his hands, he looked at Orlan and Cassandra. Both children stared with wide eyes.

  The stinging point pulled back. “Now turn around slowly.”

  Sliding his feet, Drexel turned. A man stood before him, dressed in clean but tattered clothes. His tunic, dark olive with thick material and perfectly sewn trim, was surely a modern garment from Mesolantrum. No slave would have access to such clothing. Drexel studied the stranger’s face. A thick beard covered chin and cheeks, hiding his features.
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br />   “Well, if it isn’t my old friend, Drexel.” The man slid the sword into a hip scabbard. “What brings you to this God-forsaken planet?”

  The stranger’s voice finally pricked his memory. “Is that you, Frederick?”

  “The same.” Frederick bent over, picked up Drexel’s sword, and pushed the hilt into his hand. “You’ll need this. I’ll explain later. First, tell me your story.”

  Smiling, Drexel leaned the blade against his shoulder. “Well, of course, ever since you disappeared, the Underground Gateway has searched for a way to follow you into this world. A dragon delivered your courier’s tube to us, so we knew you might still be alive.”

  Frederick stroked his hairy chin. “A dragon. Must have been Arxad.”

  “Perhaps. I never learned his name. In any case, I overcame many obstacles and found the secret.” Drexel patted his tunic. “I came into possession of Uriel Blackstone’s journal. Although there were many puzzles, I managed to solve them.”

  Frederick tilted his head to the side. “You came alone? Why?”

  “As a test. Because very few believe in the existence of this world, the Gateway needed someone to prove that the journey was possible, so why not me? My idea was to rescue one or two slave children and then return.” Drexel touched Cassandra’s head. “Who better to rouse the passions of our soldiers than an undernourished little girl?”

  Frederick nodded. “I can’t argue with that, but why are you here in the wilderness?”

  “It seems that my plans have run into an obstacle. Uriel’s book tells of a crystal that opens the portal, but it is missing from its hiding place. Because of other unfortunate circumstances, we have run afoul of dragon laws and are now fugitives.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Orlan said. “He killed a dragon and blew up mine number two.”

  Frederick laughed. “Blew it up? How did you manage that?”

  “Yes, well I …” Drexel replayed the events in his mind, including the killing of the miners and guiding three children into the dragons’ snare. What parts could he tell without risking the loss of Frederick’s support? “It’s like this. You see—”

  Frederick waved a hand. “Never mind. You can tell me all about it later.” He grasped Drexel’s arm. “Come. I have something to show you.”

  Leading with his sword, Frederick marched down the path. Drexel and the two children followed. At one point, a coiled snake rose up and struck at Frederick, but in a flash of metal, he sliced off its head before its fangs reached his leg.

  A minute later, a low, catlike growl sounded from deep in the forest. Frederick paused and listened. “Only one,” he said with a sigh before marching again. “Good fortune is with us.”

  After a few minutes, the path narrowed and disappeared. A primitive cabin stood nestled in a dense stand of trees, shaded by a network of branches and vines in the forest canopy above. The single moon, now rising higher into the sky, barely shone through and coated the roof with dappled light. A breeze filtered down and rustled the roof’s huge leaves. Tied together with thick vines, they wore a slick, dark green skin, apparently waterproof.

  Frederick laid a hand on one of the cabin’s exterior walls, a stack of logs with thick, mudlike paste wedged in the gaps. A proud smile spread across his face. “How do you like it?”

  “A wilderness lodge?” Drexel asked as he drew closer.

  “You might call it that, and from above it’s practically invisible.” Frederick pulled open a knob-less door, a collection of bark and thick leaves apparently glued together by the same mortar used on the logs. “If you don’t mind sharing floor space, there is plenty of room.”

  “Who else lives here?”

  “Just me and four children, two boys and two girls.” Frederick walked inside and beckoned them to follow. “They’re under eight years old, so they don’t take up much room.”

  When all had entered, they sat on the floor, an assortment of leaves, similar to those on the roof, covering an uneven foundation. With no windows and just a hint of moonlight entering the door, the interior gave away only the outlines of the four sleeping children.

  “Are you hungry?” Frederick asked. “Thirsty? It’s dark, but I’m sure I can find something.”

  Drexel waved a hand. “We can wait until morning. I am much more interested in hearing about your situation here.”

  “Well …” Frederick rubbed his fingers along the rough floor. “I decided to build this little house so I could rescue a few of the children from slavery. Every once in a while, I journey into the dragon village at night and try to get more information about portals while I forage for supplies. After learning nothing over all these months, I had nearly given up trying. But now that you tell me of my tube’s appearance—”

  “And your hat, the tricornered one.” Drexel raised a pair of fingers. “Two separate events.”

  Frederick laughed. “Well, it seems that old Arxad knows more than he was letting on when I last saw him. I’ll have to pay him a more forceful visit.”

  While the two continued talking, Orlan and Cassandra lay down and listened. Drexel absorbed Frederick’s words and asked question after question about this strange, new world. Maybe if they put their knowledge and experience together, they could find a way back to Major Four with six children in tow.

  He looked at Frederick’s sword, now unhitched from his belt and lying on the floor. Of course, it wouldn’t do for him to come along. Sharing the glory simply wasn’t part of the plan, and Frederick would never agree to Drexel’s assumption of the throne by threatening the people with the specter of another dragon coming to steal more slaves. He would not understand that the people, nobles and peasants alike, needed a strong yet benevolent hand guiding their destiny. Only fear, and his assurance of protection, would elevate such a ruler.

  While Frederick rambled on, sincerity and trust in his eyes, Drexel smiled. Yes, this would work. Although the plan might be delayed by many days, establishing an alliance with this valiant warrior would be the next step, for only fools and close allies are vulnerable to a stab in the back.

  NINETEEN

  WITH three moons setting and a single, larger moon rising on the opposite horizon, Marcelle skulked up a rocky hill, following Shellinda. The little girl had slowed quite a bit. Her poorly fed muscles had likely spent their last morsel of energy while running through the forest.

  When they reached the top, Shellinda squatted and pulled Marcelle down. She pointed toward a series of flickering lights in the distance, probably lanterns with wicks turned up to illuminate the way for evening travelers. After catching her breath, she whispered, “The grottoes.”

  “Caves in the hillside?” Marcelle asked.

  Shellinda nodded and shifted her finger to the right. “Lattimer lives in the cave closest to the dragon village. As the night watchman, he will go on duty, but not real soon.”

  Marcelle let her gaze drift to the right, beyond the cave Shellinda had pointed out. Brighter lights raised a glow over a series of buildings in the distance, some tall and oddly shaped. “Which one is the Zodiac?”

  “See the spires?” Shellinda asked, pointing again.

  Marcelle followed a line from the girl’s finger to the village. A series of tall spires rose high above a domed building, creating crisscrossing shadows in the light of the moons.

  “So that’s where Adrian is,” Marcelle said. “How do we get in?”

  “Lattimer can probably help with that, but it will be difficult to contact him without getting us all in trouble.”

  “Unless Scott gave him the word. He knows to look for us, so maybe he will come. We can wait for a little while.” Marcelle sat down fully and looked up. It seemed strange to gaze upon so many moons, especially with a backdrop of familiar constellations. Apparently she was still in Major Four’s planetary system, and the stars were the same ones she had watched since childhood, shifted only slightly from their usual formations.

  She pointed at one of her favorites—fou
r stars in a vertical line and five arcs sprouting from the top, each arc consisting of three stars. “The Tree of Life,” she whispered.

  When Shellinda looked up, the moons’ glow highlighted the smudges on her face. “The one with the long straight line and then curved lines?”

  “Um-hm.”

  “The Dragon’s Whip.”

  “Oh.” Marcelle frowned. What a sad existence. Not even the simple pleasures of sky-gazing could—

  “Psst!”

  Marcelle grasped her sword’s hilt and shot to her feet. “Who’s out there?”

  “It’s me. Scott.”

  Bending low, Marcelle scooted toward the voice. Scott emerged from the shadow of a boulder, sweat glistening on his bare arms. He took a deep breath. “I have bad news. Lattimer is dead.”

  “What? How?”

  “Maximus, guardian of the Basilica, killed him last night. There are many rumors about why.”

  “Then what do we do?” Marcelle asked. “Is there another patriarch?”

  “His wife will speak with you. She is just as knowledgeable, but I fear that you will not get very far.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You will see.”

  Shellinda pulled on Scott’s trousers. “How is Tamara?”

  He pushed her hair back from her eyes. “She is doing better. Thank you for asking.”

  Marcelle sighed. Such a tender display. This young man knew how to treat a little girl. “I’m sorry. I should have asked about your sister.”

  “She is not the worse for your lack of asking.” Waving an arm, he bent low and hustled toward the grottoes. “Follow and stay quiet.”