Flame Singer (Fire Sower Book 2)

by Callie Kanno

  It is so familiar, Iona muttered to herself, and yet completely alien.

  Idris wanted to give his partisan more of his attention, but the rest of the group was moving on. He had to walk quickly to catch up with them.

  “This tower is a repository for all of the information we have collected on magical items,” Emeric was explaining. “A great deal of knowledge has disappeared through the centuries, and this place is our attempt to regain what has been lost.”

  “What kinds of information do you have?” Aherin asked enthusiastically.

  Emeric made a broad gesture. “Almost anything you can name. We have inventories of every item ever made, we have lists of their last know locations, we have histories of specific items, we have information on the magical creatures used to make items of power…” he trailed off suggestively.

  “What about these?” Aherin inquired, moving off to the side where there were a series of glass display cases.

  Idris went to stand by his friend, looking at the same item. It was a set of gauntlets made to look like the body of a hydra with the heads twisting up the arms of the wearer. Like all magical items, they were richly ornamented with gold, silver, and jewels.

  “Yes,” Emeric nodded, “we have many items of power stored here as well.”

  Hildar’s brow furrowed. “How are these items ever to find new masters if you keep them locked up in this tower?”

  “Some, like these gauntlets,” gestured Emeric, “are too dangerous to ever be used again.”

  “And the rest of them?” Hildar challenged.

  Master Emeric smiled, but without humor. “Items that are meant to be used will always find their master, young lady.”

  It seemed to Idris that Emeric was just trying to placate Hildar without really answering her question. Hildar’s dissatisfied expression indicated that she felt the same. They both turned their eyes to Captain Cowan, but he didn’t indicate that he saw anything wrong with Master Emeric’s evasiveness.

  Emeric walked on, continuing with his explanation of the tower. “We have men and women all over the world searching for information that we can add to our collection. If a valuable text is found, we try to acquire it. If it cannot be purchased, we have a copy made. We also keep records of rumors surrounding items of power, just in case it proves to be true.”

  “How very thorough,” muttered Hildar.

  “And you do all of this in secret?” Aherin asked.

  Master Emeric shrugged. “We do our best to keep to ourselves. Such knowledge is powerful. In the wrong hands, it could be used for great harm.”

  “How did you learn about this place?” Idris asked Cowan.

  “The royal family of Breen have helped keep this tower safe since it was established,” Cowan said.

  “They also provide funds, when needed,” added Emeric.

  “Queen Roana told me about Hollow Cry Tower when she first arrived in Marath,” the captain of the Royal Guard went on. “She was surprised that I had never heard of it, since I wielded a weapon of power myself. I was granted permission from my captain to come here and see what I could learn.”

  “A very pleasant year for you, if I remember correctly,” Emeric said with a sly grin.

  Cowan cleared his throat. “No need to bring up the past.”

  “What was her name…?” Emeric mused, ignoring Cowan’s hint.

  The captain of the Royal Guard turned, walking away with determination. “The section of the library we need is on the fourth floor,” he said.

  Emeric winked at the young soldiers and followed his old friend. A second set of stairs was located on the far side of the tower, which was where Cowan headed. The amused expression on Master Emeric’s face faded as Cowan’s words sunk in.

  “The far side of the fourth floor?” Emeric asked. “That is where we keep the information regarding the Forging process.”

  “Yes,” Cowan acknowledged.

  “Why do you seek such information?” Emeric inquired with a frown.

  “We seek to reforge Savion,” answered Cowan.

  Idris was surprised by the blunt honesty of his leader. He had been under the impression that they were sharing as little information as possible regarding their mission. Master Emeric stopped midstride. “I would not have thought you so foolish, Cowan,” he said in a harsh voice.

  Cowan didn’t slow his pace, forcing Emeric to catch up to him. “It is necessary,” he grated.

  “Why not just kill the girl now and be done with it?” snapped Emeric.

  The weathered soldier sighed softly. “Do not be so dramatic. I wish to find all of the information I can regarding the process. Once we know what we face, Hildar can decide if she wants to proceed.”

  Emeric pressed his lips together for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose it does not matter. No one has seen a Forger in a century, and you cannot enact your plan without one.”

  Cowan nodded. “Yes, that is the first step. We must find where the Forgers were last seen.”

  “If it has been a century, how will we find one?” asked Hildar. “Will they not have all died by now?”

  “The Forgers are part-giant, which gives them a longer lifespan,” Cowan explained. “The real question will be if the secrets to Forging have been passed down or not.”

  “What if they have not?” Hildar murmured.

  Aherin patted her on the shoulder. “Let us first see what we can find. No need worrying prematurely.”

  While the group ascended the winding staircase, Idris felt his breath growing shorter. At first Idris was surprised that he had tired so quickly, but he soon realized that the reason lay elsewhere. Iona’s growing anxiety was like a bubble of pressure pushing on Idris’s mind. He clutched at his chest, feeling his racing heart. As they reached the landing to the fourth floor, there was an abrupt shift in Iona’s emotions. She suddenly became extremely excited.

  Idris! Keep climbing the stairs!

  The rest of the group was walking on to the fourth floor, discussing which texts to examine first. Idris froze in place, uncertain what to do.

  What are you waiting for? Iona demanded.

  “I…need to keep going up…” he said faintly.

  Aherin was the only one to hear him. “What? Why?”

  Aherin’s startled inquiry brought everyone else to a stop. Cowan frowned at his young student. “What is it, Idris?”

  He shook his head slowly, “I am not certain. Iona says I need to keep going.”

  Understanding flashed in Master Emeric’s eyes. “I do not think that is a good idea, young man.”

  No more talking, Iona shouted. Run!

  Idris had never heard her sound so desperate. He turned and sprinted up the spiral staircase. He started feeling dizzy from the circular motion of his running, but he dared not slow down.

  Keep going, Iona panted as if she was running, too. Higher, still higher.

  What is it? Idris asked his partisan. What has happened?

  He kept running until he reached the highest level of the tower. His lungs burned with the exertion, and his legs felt weak. He reached out to steady himself, using the stone wall next to him.

  Here, Iona whispered. She is here.

  “Who?” Idris gasped, struggling to catch his breath.

  My sister.

  Chapter Nine: Ismene

  “Your sister?” Idris asked in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”

  My sister, Iona repeated impatiently. One of the items of power that was created from the same magical creature as myself.

  Idris’s thoughts automatically turned to the vision he had experienced not long ago. He had seen the beginning of Iona’s existence, starting with a dragon sacrificing its own life to create the materials to craft five items of power. Iona had been made from the dragon’s heart. An eye, wing, claw, and some scales had made up Iona’s sisters.

  “Which sister?” Idris asked, amazement filling his voice.

  That way, Iona commanded. Go toward the wind
ow.

  Idris did as he was told, following the wall on his right until he came to a window that let in a fair amount of light. There wasn’t much of a view out of it—the window faced the wall of the ravine—but it was nice to have sunshine to see by.

  There she is, Iona blurted. That case right there!

  The glass case held a pedestal with a breastplate resting on it. The steel of the armor was plated with gold, with silver along the edges. It had been sculpted to look like a dragon was ready to burst from the breastplate, its mouth open in a roar and its wings extended. The scales of the dragon were made from tiny rubies and the eyes were two sapphires. The teeth were diamond chips, as were the claws.

  As Idris drew closer to the glass case, he noticed that something was wrong with the breastplate. In spite of the ornate decorations, the armor looked dull. The silver was tarnished, while the gold looked as though it had the residue from a fire on it.

  Ismene, Iona called to her sister. Ismene, answer me!

  “This is not right,” Idris muttered. “Something is wrong with her.”

  Silence, farmer, Iona snapped. Ismene! Ismene!

  A leather-bound book sat on a stand next to the display case. The title of the book was imprinted on the cover with gold foil.

  “The Gifts of Calaris”

  “Look,” Idris pointed to the book. “It is about my nation.”

  Do not be a fool, Iona said in a distracted tone. Calaris is the name of the dragon from which I was born.

  Idris stared at the cover of the book. “You mean King Lyndham named his kingdom after that dragon?”

  He could feel Iona’s impatience crackling. Yes, farmer. Lyndham was a recipient of one of my sisters. He knew of his debt to Calaris and wished to honor her. Now be quiet while I try to reach Ismene.

  Idris slowly opened the book to a random page. He had been reading for less than a year, so it wasn’t easy for him to understand all of the words. Even so, he felt compelled to try.

  There were those who prompted Marlais to use all five gifts for himself, but he declined. He stated that the task was too great for a single man to accomplish. The gauntlets were given to Gavril Ironfist, the breastplate was given to Tarak Fireshield, the bow was given to Amitola Flamedart, the circlet was given to Lyndham Farsight, and the partisan was kept by Marlais Dragonspear.

  Idris was startled by how few of the names he recognized. He had considered himself somewhat knowledgeable when it came to stories surrounding Marlais Dragonspear, and yet, he didn’t know the people who had fought beside him. He glanced up at the breastplate in the display case with a frown. “Do you know what happened to Tarak Fireshield?” he asked Iona. His partisan didn’t answer, so he flipped to a different page and started reading again.

  Amitola was the first to gain mastery over her weapon. It is conjectured that this is because it was she who had shared the strongest bond with the dragon Calaris. Others theorize that Amitola’s aptitude is due to the fact that she possessed mixed blood from her ancestry. Others still…

  Idris stopped reading, turning to a page nearer to the end of the book. If there were any answers on what had happened to Ismene, it would have been after Marlais and Iona had been separated. He scanned the pages, searching for the name of Ismene’s master. His stomach jolted when he spotted the name at last.

  Tarak Fireshield tried to intervene, but was soon overwhelmed. He received the attacks of two dozen dark weapons, which was more than even his breastplate could bear. Ismene was burned away and Tarak was instantly killed.

  Idris frowned at the words. “Iona,” he said hesitantly, “what does it mean for a weapon of power to be burned away?”

  The silence was so heavy that Idris could feel the weight of it on his chest. Iona’s emotions were a torrent on the edge of his mind. He understood instinctively that she knew what he had read in the book.

  She is dead, Iona moaned softly. My sister is dead.

  The sorrow the partisan felt was crippling. Idris sank to his knees, unable to escape sharing in her feelings. Tears overflowed from his eyes before he had time to recognize that they were forming.

  Oh, my sister, my sister, Iona sobbed. What have they done to you?

  A firm but gentle hand pressed on Idris’s shoulder. He looked up into the face of Master Emeric. The old man’s eyes were filled with compassion. “I am sorry you had to learn of this, lad. If I had a choice, I would have hidden it from your partisan forever.”

  Idris shook his head. “You would have been wrong to do so,” he choked.

  “Perhaps,” allowed Emeric, “but I would have done it all the same. I did not realize Iona would still be able to sense Ismene.”

  “They always had each other,” Idris wept quietly. “They always had each other…”

  Emeric nodded. “Yes, I know.”

  He helped Idris get to his feet, then he led him back down the stairs of Hollow Cry Tower.

  Chapter Ten: Unexpected Meeting

  Idris awoke early the next morning in an unfamiliar room. He sat up slowly, staring at his surroundings. A washstand and chair stood in the corner opposite to the door. The cot he had been sleeping on was low to the ground, furnished only with a wool blanket. Idris’s bag of personal belongings sat on the ground at the foot of the cot. A small square window above the bed filled the room with the grey morning light.

  Idris didn’t remember lying down to sleep. Honestly, he didn’t remember much from the night before. He looked down and saw his hand resting on the shaft of his partisan. It was lying on the bed next to him. “Iona?” he said gently.

  He could feel her presence in his mind stirring, but she didn’t answer. The aching sorrow in her soul echoed in Idris. He didn’t urge her to speak to him. Instead, he got to his feet and strapped the partisan to his back.

  “Let us go for a walk,” he suggested.

  Stepping outside of the bedroom showed him that he was on the ground floor of the tower. The doors lining the hall must each lead to a sleeping area, he surmised. Idris walked down the corridor to where he knew he would find the spiral staircase. As he approached, he noticed a simple door on the opposite side of it. Idris paused for a split second, then changed the direction he was heading. He walked up to the door and quietly pushed it open.

  The room beyond was a large rectangle, with an enormous fireplace on each of the long sides. Only one fire burned; the other hearth stood empty. The walls were filled with alcoves where food and cooking equipment were stored. A long, narrow table stood in the center of the room where meals could be prepared or eaten.

  As Idris stood in the doorway, studying the room, a figure appeared from the pantry on the opposite side. It was a young woman, carrying an armload of firewood. She walked straight to the fireplace, feeding the wood to the flames one by one. She didn’t notice Idris, which gave him the opportunity to get a good look at her.

  She looked to be close to his age, maybe a bit older. Her clothes were simple—a pale blue dress with a belt cinched around her ribs, leaving the skirt to flow freely as she moved. Her long hair was a rich shade of red, loosely braided down her back. Her form was lithe but strong, and her skin was as fair as porcelain. The left side of her face had a gold nose ring, which was linked to a ring at the top of her ear by a fine golden chain.

  Having finished with her task, she turned away from the fireplace, catching sight of Idris. Her eyes widened and her mouth parted slightly. Idris had planned on saying something to excuse himself, but every coherent thought fled his mind as he got a clear view of the young woman’s face.

  She looked like a piece of art brought to life. Idris felt rather foolish thinking something so sentimental, but it was true. Her heart-shaped face was perfectly balanced with each of her stunning features—her dark blue eyes and full lips drawing Idris’s attention first. He was confident that he had never seen a woman as beautiful as this one.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  A surge of heat flooded his face as he realized he
was staring. Idris stumbled over his words in his haste to apologize. “Forgive me…I did not mean…that is, I was only…”

  Her expression softened into a kind smile. “Are you new to the tower?”

  The young woman’s pity made Idris feel even more flustered. “No. I mean, yes. That is, I am just visiting.”

  She nodded, pulling a large basket of eggs out of one of the alcoves. “That explains why I do not recognize you. I was certain I knew everyone living in Hollow Cry Tower.”

  “Do they let you leave the kitchen that often?” Idris asked, immediately cringing at how foolish he sounded.

  The young woman paused. “Excuse me?”

  He hurried to explain himself. “I am friends with one of the kitchen maids at the Water Palace, and she says that sometimes she feels like she never gets to leave the kitchen. I mean, I know that this place is not like a palace, but if it is just you working here then you must be busy. I suppose I do not know how many people live in this tower…so maybe the work load is not too great…” he trailed off.

  A small smile touched the corners of the young woman’s mouth. “I suppose I do spend a great deal of time here, but the scholars come down often. There are no group meals, so they tend to appear whenever they remember to eat.”

  Idris frowned, feeling resentful on her behalf. “That must make a lot of extra work for you.”

  She shrugged. “I just make a large batch of something that they can eat whenever they are hungry.”

  Idris watched as the kitchen maid cracked several eggs into a bowl and began to beat them with a fork. “Can I help you with anything?” he offered.

  She glanced up in surprise. “If you wish. I am making some egg tartlets…”

  Idris began gathering ingredients and setting them on the table next to the maid. She stared at him with eyebrows raised. “Do you know how to cook?” she asked him.

  “A little,” he answered. “I have seen my mother make these before, though, so I know what is needed.”