The dragon nodded its head, “I have a boon to ask of you both,” Soltin sent in reply.
“I think I already know what it is and we are agreed, we grant your boon, but you must find a willing partner,” Matra sent, his tone reflecting his serious expression.
“Even then you may fail. There is risk involved to both. There are reasons why we have succeeded,” Cara added firmly.
“I’m willing to take the risk. I know someone who may also be willing to share the risk with me,” sent Soltin, raising his head proudly as Matra and Cara stood silently, passing the information needed directly to Soltin’s mind. Soltin looked a little surprised when they had finished. “Is that possible!” he sent, his tone sounding doubtful. Cara nodded.
“You have placed great trust in me. I thank you for that.” Soltin’s tone implied he would keep that trust.
“And a great burden, for no one else must learn of this yet,” returned Cara with a note of weariness. Soltin nodded his head in acceptance.
Six dragon soul foci materialised around them, shimmering globe-like shapes that gave an eerie light as they seemed to waver in and out of existence.
“The time for decision has come, Cara Beldragor. We request your presence immediately,” sent one of the dragons formally.
“I will come.” Cara bowed her head regally while Matra and General Sandar looked on. The general looked a little startled.
“Emeldra!” Matra suddenly shouted, his face going deathly white.
“What is wrong?” Soltin sent as General Sandar turned from overseeing his men in time to hear Matra explain that the red dragons had abducted the princess.
“I will come with you, Matra,” Soltin sent, his tone bristling with outrage. His head moved from side to side as he let out a frightening roar, startling the general and his soldiers.
“No, for now, you must follow your own destiny. We will meet again, Soltin,” Matra returned, his tone commanding.
“As you wish, but know you have but to ask my help and I will come,” Soltin replied. He scrambled across the ground, his talons making deep marks in the wet snow and dislodging loose stones. As the soldiers made way for him, he took flight.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Estan Sandar asked, regarding Matra and Cara. His face showed lines of weariness yet his expression remained determined.
“For now, Estan, it is best you look after yourself and your men. Tulata needs you,” Cara replied, “and I must go elsewhere, for now. The heavy and probably hardest burden is Matra’s.” Cara answered as the soul foci disappeared.
“You mean the princess? You seem to think her central to what’s happening,” Sandar said, frowning.
“I must go until we meet again, General, Mother,” Matra said and ran into the open, quickly changing form as soon as he had some open space. Sandar turned back to Cara after they had waved Matra goodbye. He waited for her to answer his last remark. Aware too that she had called him by his first name.
Cara briefly told Sandar about the prophecies. At last Sandar remembered where he had heard the name Weaver of Destiny before; he had once found an old book, its cover battered and torn pages missing or so badly faded that they had become unreadable. One page concerning the dragon prophesies he had just managed to read. Though he found it fascinating he had dismissed it as pure fantasy.
After one last check on Gan to make sure he was recovering properly, Cara said her farewells and left. Estan Sandar watched as the gold dragon flew over the valley, heading further northward. He watched until he could see her no more. Then resolutely he turned to organise his army, it would be a long ride back to Naya.
King Faldarin paced the castle walls anxiously, a worried frown on his face. Since reading the note Matra left he had put the castle on full alert, expecting an attack any moment. Men at arms stood on the battlements, eyes straining out into the gathering gloom. Everywhere about the castle soldiers and knights patrolled; the ordinary people stayed nervously at home behind barred doors.
Chapter Sixteen
A tense, expectant atmosphere seemed to fill the air. King Faldarin went through the preparations again in his mind; something was not right about all this. The scouts he had sent out had reported no sign of any Paenalirs. Still, he had not ruled out the possibility of an attack by dragons alone. To that end, he had posted lookouts to watch the skies as well the surrounding countryside.
Again he considered the red dragons’ strategy. Tulata was not strategically important on its own. There did not seem any good reason for starting a campaign in Tulata unless they intended to attack Ladlian at the same time. Castle Talmon was the key if they could take it; they could consolidate their host army before pushing towards Cyomatro and Deryl, both of which had larger and more formidable armies.
Sir Halwain stopped in mid-conversation with Marcus Lanton and looked skyward as a dark shape descended towards the courtyard, landing smoothly on the platform. Moments later Matra came running towards them. One of the lookouts who had called in warning called out again that it was only Matra returning.
The look on Matra’s face as he stopped in front of Sir Halwain and the magician left no doubt he had bad news. King Faldarin watched his two advisors approach, arguing over something. He knew something was wrong, judging by Matra’s demeanour as he followed his head held low. But as they stood in front of him, Matra looked up. The king could just make his face out in the gathering darkness as they stood and Sir Halwain explained about the princess’s abduction. Matra’s blue eyes seemed to glow with cold fire: he stood rigid, his whole body tensed like a coiled spring.
“I will be leaving at first light to find her,” Matra said, his voice like ice.
“By the creator, I’m going with you, and I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way,” the king exploded, his face turning red with anger.
“No! You cannot. It has to be me, she was under my protection. You are needed here, Your Majesty. I swear I’ll bring her back alive and well or die in the attempt,” Matra said, his voice still coldly determined.
“What!” the king exclaimed loudly, his whole body shaking visibly with frustrated anger his eyes looked haunted by a lifetime of hard-made decisions and worry about the rights and wrongs of choices made.
Matra sensed the king blamed himself for sending Emeldra to her cousins. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time. “The whole point of the attack on Tulata had been to divert me and get me out of the way while they kidnapped your daughter. It’s my fault, I should have seen it, Your Majesty,” he said, looking at the tormented figure of the king beside him. Sir Halwain and Lanton pleaded with the king to heed Matra. At length, the king stopped shaking and looked into the eyes of his friends, sighing resolutely.
“You are right. For now, I must stay. Bring her back, Matra.” The king stared at Matra, resting a hand firmly on his shoulder. “Why Emeldra?” he asked in conclusion.
“I think it’s time you told the king about Her Highness,” Matra said, turning to Marcus Lanton, then he left, his back stiffly erect. A light drizzle began to fall as he descended the steps into the courtyard. Matra ignored it, his mind set firmly on the task ahead. There was still the heartstone, he thought as he entered the castle, heading for his room.
Deep within his mountain lair, the being known in legend as the Dragon King returned his focus and sighed deeply. Now the real test would begin. The fate of dragonkind and humanity alike would depend on whether the Weaver of Destiny could survive the hardest test in her life yet; even her protector could not help now. But if either faltered in their resolve, all would be lost. He watched patiently as a ship moored off the island and small boats brought men and supplies ashore. He continued watching as men busied themselves sorting supplies and choosing living quarters in the ruined city. He noted one man in particular who was not what he seemed. The man gave the appearance of a dirty vagabond, with slumped shoulders and eyes that darted nervously about as if something was going to jump out and bite him. But behind the ou
tward appearance, he sensed a powerful muscular frame with a sharp, well-disciplined mind to match. The Dragon King nodded in satisfaction and turned his attention to the dragons. There were many red dragons on the island, of which the most powerful were busy setting up wards and traps around the island.
Emeldra’s eyes fluttered open immediately. She shut them again against the glare of the sun. She groaned. Her mouth felt dry; her head pounded with every movement. Opening her eyes again, realising she was tied and draped over a horse like so much baggage, she bristled with furious indignation, calling out to her captors to at least let her sit up on the horse. She heard several men speaking what sounded like Paenalir, followed by harsh laughter. She tried twisting her head round to see her captors. A rough hand reached across from somewhere close, slapping her face hard; her head hit the flank of the horse, biting and cutting her lip. She felt and tasted the salty wetness of blood in her mouth; a thin trickle ran down her chin. Fighting back nausea and fear, Emeldra considered her predicament. From just behind she thought she heard a moan that sounded like Senion. From the voices around she gleaned that not all her captors were Paenalirs. Some sounded like Ladlian and Cyomatron; probably bandits or mercenaries, she deduced. It was also obvious that they were crossing the Paen Desert since all she could see looking down was endless sand. She could not tell for sure in which direction they were headed but guessed it to be north-east. She got constantly buffeted by the movement of the horse; both her hands and legs were tied, and the ropes cut into her skin. Behind her, she could hear Senion whimpering.
“Senion, are you all right?” Emeldra called out. It was a stupid question, she knew, but she felt the need to know if they had done any real harm to her friend.
“I think so,” she answered in a muffled tone.
“No talking,” said a voice and Emeldra got another slap across her face. She yelped in pain, her head ringing with the blow. Laughter sounded nearby; she resolved not to cry out again no matter how hard they hit her.
Emeldra could not understand how they had got so far so quickly. The only explanation seemed to be that they must have come part of the way on dragon back, which posed another question: why change? Why were they now travelling by horse, why didn’t they just take them to wherever they were going by a dragon? A horrible realisation dawned on her; they were expecting to be followed. At least by Jason at first, then eventually Matra. Maybe even her father would come after her. It had to be a trap, the Paen Desert was the home of the Paenalirs. There had to be a thousand or more tribesmen, probably just waiting for whoever followed them and an unknown number of red dragons also.
“Oh dear creator, give me strength. Somehow I must escape,” Emeldra thought. Fighting to keep control of the rising panic she forced herself to calmness. “There is still the heartstone. Maybe later, if they untie me, I can contact Matra and warn him.” She felt the heartstone hot against her neck. Sweat soaked her clothes and ran down her face and neck; her lips started to crack with the heat. The smell of stale sweat and horse mingled together with leather from the saddle. Sand seemed to get everywhere, she would give anything for a bath and laughed aloud that she could still think of such normal matters in her present predicament. “Let them think I’m losing my mind,” she thought bitterly.
She wondered if, in fact, the heat was addling her brain. She quickly put aside such thoughts and tried to think clearly, feeling the need to relieve herself but she held it back, hoping they would stop for a break soon. Maybe then she would think of a way to escape but where to! They were in the middle of the desert. For the first time in her life Emeldra felt very alone and vulnerable.
Matra found Jason and his men riding at full gallop; both men and horse looked near to exhaustion. The young knight had aged a lot since they had become friends. As he glided down in front of them, he shapeshifted before touching the ground, not having enough room on the narrow trail to land. He fell the remaining distance, landing on his feet as Jason brought his men to a halt. His jaw was set hard, his eyes had a haunted look as Matra approached.
“Matra I—” he stumbled on his words, unable to bring himself to admit he had failed in his duty. The princess taken and Senion with her. He had been unable to stop it, racked with guilt and shame, fearful that the princess and Senion would die at the hands of the Paenalirs or may be already dead because he failed them.
Matra grasped Jason’s shoulder as he dismounted and looked him straight in the eye.
“Jason, I know it wasn’t your fault. You did your best, no one could’ve done more.” Matra glanced at one of the knights at Jason’s side; the slight shake of the head and the look he got back told him all he needed to know. Jason had pushed himself and his men close to the limit. “They are still alive, Jason, and you and your men must rest. You won’t be much help when I need you if you’re exhausted and unable to go on,” Matra said firmly.
“You think so; you think they are still alive?” Jason asked, his expression bleak as he stared almost blankly at Matra, his eyes lit with a glimmer of hope.
“I would know if they were dead, there is the heartstone, remember,” Matra said confidently. Although he did not feel all that assured, he knew the magic in the heartstone was keyed in such a way that he would know instantly if the princess were to die. Matra waited long enough to help Jason set up camp and organise the return of the wounded to Castle Talmon.
“I will return once I have found them, Jason, and I will transport you and your men within striking distance,” Matra stated as he prepared to leave.
“How do you propose to transport men and horses by yourself? Surely it will take too long?” Jason asked, feeling more like his old self now he had rested a little.
“You’ll see. Trust me, my friend. You’ll see,” Matra answered enigmatically
Dusk was falling when Matra found the princess with the band of Paenalirs and other assorted mercenaries, moving north through the Paen Desert. Matra detected warding spells around them that cloaked them and would make an attack difficult. It had all the earmarks of a trap, but an obvious one; Var was taunting him! Matra returned to Jason to find him breaking camp.
“Move your men into that clearing ahead, Jason, and keep them close together,” Matra said before running ahead. When Jason and his men arrived, Matra stood in the centre of the clearing, awaiting them. Men and horses grouped tightly together as Matra concentrated his will. What was he about to do had never been done on such a scale before.
To move such a large body of men and horses through the blackness of the void, he hoped he would not fail for to do so might strand them all in the void forever; Matra finally unleashed his will; a black hole opened up in front of them. He stood at the edge of the ebony disc, waving Jason and his men forward; men and horses disappeared into the void.
Emeldra tugged on the rope so the dark-skinned woman would give her a little more leeway. When the woman played out a bit more rope, she managed to squat behind a small dune out of sight of the men. The woman could still see her though, and she watched dispassionately as Emeldra answered the call of nature. The woman tugged on the rope as she stood again, pulling her back. Emeldra said nothing but studied the woman carefully.
There were at least a dozen like her travelling with them, and they seemed to hold the Paenalirs in equal contempt with herself and Senion. Emeldra had heard of other lands across the Braken Sea where other peoples lived. She remembered childhood stories of a dark-skinned race who were supposed to be very fierce warriors and wondered if that’s where these women originally belonged.
Emeldra fell in beside Senion again, and they staggered along on foot, tied to ropes which the dark-skinned women held. Most of the Paenilars were on foot also. The mercenaries and the dark-skinned women had horses. Looking up, Emeldra held a hand up to shade her eyes from the sun’s glare. Feeling herself grow dizzy, her lips cracked, and her face burned. She looked at Senion, seeing she fared no better than herself.
All thought of escape had gone for now a
ll they could do was try and stay alive in the searing desert heat. Their captors gave them enough water to survive on and very little food. She had tried to use the heartstone to contact Matra, but it didn’t seem to work; neither could she use any significant magic of her own as the heat drained her strength too much and her hands were tied most of the time. She also felt that dragons were not far away, even though they hadn’t seen any since they woke to find themselves captives the day before.
Suddenly a halt was called Emeldra listened to the talk of the mercenaries, as they stopped, and stood about waiting, she caught the word ‘dragon’ mentioned several times.
Chapter Seventeen
“What’s wrong, Emeldra, why have we stopped?” Senion asked nervously. Emeldra was pleased to see her friend speak again as she had hardly spoken since their capture.
“I think we are about to have a visitation,” Emeldra forced a cheeky smile trying to sound more confident than she felt. The Paenalirs started to get excited, talking and pointing ahead; Emeldra followed their line of sight until she saw the dot on the horizon, gradually growing bigger until a red dragon appeared. The dragon landed at the front of the column and seemed to disappear. They began to move off again, and the dark-skinned women yanked on their ropes.
Senion fell, and Emeldra helped her up as their captors shouted at them. They set off at a faster pace than before without waiting for water to be passed around. The sun blazed down mercilessly. Emeldra’s mouth felt woolly and it became difficult to swallow. Salty sweat stung her eyes. She held on to Senion, both supporting one another as they stumbled along, the dark-skinned women half dragging them as they pulled on their ropes.
A small shaft of light appeared, far off as if looking down a long tunnel. There was no describing the void Matra walked through: nothingness surrounded them! Just empty blackness engulfing all, even the sound of the knight’s voices as they spoke in nervous whispers seemed swallowed up no sooner than the words left their mouths.
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