The Legend of Oescienne--The Reckoning (Book Five)

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  The feathered creature finished one more chorus, then with a chirp, it leapt from the redwood branch it had been resting on and flitted off into the forest surrounding the hill. Kehllor peered beyond the treetops and caught a glimpse of the great bay, the distant peninsula growing less gray as the morning’s sunlight flooded the world.

  Taking a deep breath and letting it out through his nose, Kehllor stood and exited the study as quietly as he could. If he remembered correctly, the Coalition would be meeting later in the morning, and his presence would be expected. The Coalition of Ethoes had been convening more often of late, and although he loathed being around so many arguing and angry people, he understood the necessity for their frequent gatherings. Jaax, their previous leader, had given up his position in order to flee the City of Light with Jahrra, the human girl foretold by the Oracles. And they had not gone without a nice dose of controversy. Before leaving Lidien, a rumor claiming Jaax to be a liar and his ward to be a fraud had spread like wildfire through the city. And Shiroxx, the very dragon who had fostered Kehllor for so long, had played the lead role in stirring the pot.

  Kehllor’s upper lip curled in disgust. He knew the red Tanaan dragon was somehow responsible for spreading the lies, but he couldn’t prove it. Besides, before leaving for Nimbronia, Jaax had dismissed her from the Coalition. Unfortunately, he hadn’t dismissed her co-conspirator, Rohdann. Although not as ruthless as Shiroxx, the black Tanaan dragon was her puppet. He would do anything she asked, and he had a knack for turning suspicion away from himself.

  The savory scent of cinnamon and butter distracted Kehllor enough to forget about Shiroxx and Rohdann and all his other worries for the time being. He stepped out into the hallway and headed for the common room. A fire burned brightly in the great hearth, and soft morning sunlight spilled in through the south-facing windows. The common room was quite large, providing plenty of space for a dragon and his company. Long tapestries, thick carpets, and stuffed furniture for the non-dragon guests decorated the space tastefully, complimenting the green-flecked flagstone floor and granite walls. Kehllor took a moment to appreciate his current position in life. For so many years, he had been under the thumb of Shiroxx, owing everything to her simply because he had not known any better. He couldn’t remember much of his past before the red dragon found him wandering the desert region of the south. Some traumatic experience had erased it from his mind, and if not for Shiroxx’s kindness, he’d have no life at all.

  No, he corrected himself bitterly, it wasn’t out of kindness that Shiroxx found me and took me under her wing. I’ve been nothing but an instrument to her. A tool to be used to get what she wants.

  It had taken Jahrra’s patient persistence to teach him that not everyone was his enemy and that there were such things as real friends to be had. Despite all he had gained and learned in the past year, however, he couldn’t help but wonder where he had come from and what his life had been like before forgetting it all. The dream, still lingering in the recesses of his mind, pushed its way forward once more. He wanted to forget it, for it only made him anxious, yet he was also determined to puzzle it out. Where had he been in that strange nightmare? And why had he witnessed events from another’s eyes? And what had been that terrifying presence he and his companions had been so determined to defeat? Perhaps it was a vision of the past, or more likely, the future. Could he be some sort of seer and not even know it? And if that was the vision of the future, whose eyes had he been seeing this future through?

  A cold dread filled his stomach as a new revelation occurred to him. The demon in the dream. Could it be the enemy that the Coalition, that Jaax and Jahrra, wished to defeat? A terrifying visage of the Crimson King, perhaps. Or more precisely, the demon-god who possessed the Tyrant’s body. Why on Ethoes would Kehllor be dreaming about a battle with Ciarrohn?

  With a shudder, the golden dragon cast the disturbing thought aside. He would eat whatever wonderful breakfast Neira was preparing, then he’d venture into the city to listen to another long session of Nesnan and Resai diplomats bickering with one another. The very thought made his back teeth ache. He grew weary of staying put and doing nothing, but Jaax was counting on him to lead the Coalition.

  “But we are getting nowhere,” he whispered aloud to no one.

  Kehllor went over the past several Coalition meetings in his head, sifting through the information pouring from a variety of sources outside of Felldreim. Checking the borders for weaknesses took off some of the edge, but as the dreams grew more vivid and more frequent, and as more evidence of the Tyrant’s growing power leaked in, Kehllor was beginning to feel trapped. He was aware of the armies being forged throughout Ethoes, troops of soldiers and farmers and merchants alike, willing to fight against the evil growing in the east when the time came. Anyone and everyone ready to defend the last threads of freedom the world possessed. He also had an idea of their numbers, and those weren’t too impressive. And there was no guarantee Jaax and Jahrra would convince the Creecemind to join their cause. Without the ice dragons of the north, the Coalition and her allies stood no chance against the Crimson King’s army and his Morli dragons.

  Kehllor ruminated over breakfast, then all the way to Essyel Hall in the heart of the city. By the time he reached his place at the head of the massive meeting room, an idea had begun prickling at the back of his mind. It was almost ludicrous, but the longer the Coalition’s new leader considered it, the more appealing it seemed. He had spent much of his life in the southern part of the continent and had come to know the people who lived there. People the rest of the world ignored. But maybe, just maybe, these people understood the threat Cierryon posed as well. And just like that, a plan blossomed to life.

  “This could be the answer to our troubles,” he whispered under his breath as the great hall filled with boisterous Coalition members, “especially if it works.”

  -Chapter One-

  Down the Mountain

  Somewhere, far above the trail Ellyesce and his companions traveled, a rock the size of an apple tumbled down through the snowdrifts, followed by several more smaller stones. The elf drew in a sharp breath and turned swiftly in Gliriant’s saddle, his eyes darting frantically up toward the source of the infinitesimal landslide. The rocky crags and steep slope of this side of the mountain were gray and stark, the white streaks of snowy buildup the only other color against the darkening sky. Despite the innocence of the scene, Ellyesce was taking no chances. Not with Jaax still off on one of his routine aerial checks. The Tanaan dragon had left Jahrra and their most recent travel companion, the limbit Dervit, in his care. And he took his responsibilities seriously.

  “Protect Jahrra above all else,” the dragon had whispered to him in Kruelt. “She is the reason for all of this.”

  As if he needed reminding of that fact. If the ancient prophecy proved true, then Jahrra was key to defeating the Tyrant king of the east. A difficult task if the elf and the dragon couldn’t even get her there safely. And that was another thing to think about. They were leading Jahrra into a land of perpetual cold and immeasurable danger. The Tyrant would be watching for them, watching for her, and Ellyesce was certain the vicious Morli dragons weren’t the only weapon the king had in his arsenal. Furthermore, there was the corruption and lack of support among their own allies to consider. Unrest amongst the members of the Coalition had been the driving force behind their departure from Lidien, and the Creeceminds’ stubborn refusal to see Jahrra for who she was had been a hard blow to take. Now, the four of them were headed to Dhonoara, the valley of the elves of the east, to see which of their allies would join them on the battlefield against Cierryon and the god who controlled him. These thoughts, and many others, weighed heavily on Ellyesce’s mind, so it was no wonder he was on edge.

  “Are we going to linger in the middle of the trail all night long?” Jahrra called wearily from somewhere behind him.

  Ellyesce turned to regard her, a tall figure atop a dapple gray semequin. Only the tell-tale silho
uette of fox ears jutting out from behind her gave away Dervit’s presence. Ellyesce narrowed his eyes, drawing on his elf’s vision. Yes, that was a nervous look on the limbit’s face. It was twilight, with full-dark fast approaching. Perhaps Jahrra had a point.

  “We’ll stop as soon as I find a place suitable for camping.”

  In other words, as soon as he could find a protected alcove or ring of stones shaded by thick conifers to cloak their presence should any of the Tyrant’s spies or soldiers happen by.

  Jahrra rolled her eyes and Ellyesce grinned, more a forced smile to offer her reassurance than a reflection of his current mood, then turned back around. She had probably assumed he couldn’t see her in the dark, but he had only just started utilizing his magical abilities in the past few months and she wasn’t yet entirely used to them.

  With a gentle nudge to Gliriant’s flanks, Ellyesce had his own semequin pacing down the narrow path once again. They had been on the road for a week, but had barely made headway down the eastern side of the mountain that the Creecemind dragons called home. A late storm had crept up on them a day after they’d bidden farewell to Dhuruhn and the royal family, the force of the storm’s wind and might pinning them to the side of the mountain like autumn leaves plastered against the trunk of a tree. Now, they were moving once again. Behind him, Jahrra and Dervit rode Phrym. Dervit had started out on Rumble, the packhorse, but whatever unseen danger or idea of danger that had put Ellyesce on high alert must be prickling the limbit’s instincts, too.

  Grim thoughts, Ellyesce, the elf reminded himself as his mouth curved downward in a frown. An invitation for trouble. Best focus on something positive.

  Fortunately for him, and the rest of the travelers for that matter, a suitable campsite fell into their path not fifteen minutes later. Both Jahrra and the limbit appeared haggard and worn to the bone when they slid from Phrym’s back. Ellyesce couldn’t blame them. It had been a particularly grueling day, for they had risen before dawn and had only stopped along the way for a few respites to eat and let the horses rest. Jaax, the ever-paranoid Tanaan leader of this rag-tag group, was anxious to get them to Dhonoara Valley. At least in the famed valley of the elves, they would be somewhat safe, despite its proximity to the realm of Ghorium.

  Ellyesce sighed as he led his own semequin over to a sheltered section of the small clearing. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to return to his homeland, to the place of his birth. He had fled centuries before, wanting to escape the pain of a past he had hoped to someday forget.

  But there are just some memories of your past you can’t ever seem to shake, he reminded himself bitterly, no matter how hard you try to outrun them.

  Gliriant nudged his master’s shoulder, reminding him of the oats he’d promised earlier. Chortling softly, the elf replaced his frown with a loose smile as he rubbed the semequin’s nose.

  “Alright, old friend, you’ll have your treat.”

  The small, narrow hollow that had become their shelter for the night was nothing more than a dry gully now clogged with ice and snow. Had the weather in these high mountains matched that of the lower footmountains just below them, the snow and ice might already be melting. A blessing in disguise, actually, for if that were the case they’d be bedding down in a stream bed.

  The deep, buffeting whoosh of a pair of great, membranous wings announced Jaax’s arrival. Ice crystals and small chunks of earth, presumably wrenched loose from dragon’s claws digging into the lip of the culvert, rained down and Ellyesce had to leap back a few steps to miss the greater portion of them. When the fall of debris settled, the elf glanced up to find a triangular head and one emerald eye regarding him through the growing gloom of twilight.

  “How did you find us?”

  Jaax huffed out a breath of air and settled down into a reclining position so that his forearms rested just at the edge of the culvert. “It took me a while,” he admitted. “But whatever magic you are using to hide the footprints in the snow is working. I had to rely on my nose.”

  The dragon smirked and tapped one clawed finger against his snout.

  Ellyesce grinned as he got back to work removing Gliriant’s saddle. Somewhere behind him, Jahrra was attending to her own semequin, Phrym, and Dervit was doing his best to help.

  “How far are we from the footmountains?” Ellyesce asked.

  Jaax rolled one large shoulder. “Not far. We’ll reach them before midday tomorrow. They should prove easy terrain to cross after the time we’ve spent in Nimbronia.”

  The dragon’s tone of voice had been even enough, but his brow remained furrowed. Ellyesce knew what he must be thinking, and it was probably best to leave his friend to his thoughts. Unfortunately, he didn’t always follow his own advice.

  “We did all that we could to sway Dhuruhn, Jaax. And he may change his mind yet.”

  The Tanaan dragon snorted, and Ellyesce was glad to be out of his reach. The fir tree closest to him suddenly dropped a profusion of parched needles. It wouldn’t take much to get scorched in Jaax’s presence when his mind was too preoccupied to take into account the more delicate beings around him.

  “I should not have had to sway him,” the dragon gritted, his tone bitter. “As king of Felldreim, his first duty is to protect his people. Allowing the Tyrant to go unchecked in the east when fate places the answer to all our troubles before his very feet should have had him leaping from the mountain peaks and winging eastward with his fellow ice dragons.”

  Ellyesce watched his friend’s silver green eyes flick in Jahrra’s direction. She hadn’t yet come over to their side of the canyon, but he knew she was straining her ears to listen. He’d noticed that about her since first meeting her in Lidien. Clearly, she had learned in her years spent in Jaax’s company that he was not one to carelessly divulge information. She had discovered how to pay attention.

  Not wanting to press Jaax into an even fouler mood, Ellyesce changed the subject. “Are we still planning to take a more southerly route?”

  Jaax shifted his shoulders, sending more snow tumbling down the low slope. “Let’s get to the base of the Hrunahn Footmountains first,” he answered, “then we’ll decide from there. It all depends on what the elves of Hrunah have to report.”

  Ellyesce nodded in agreement, though his stomach tightened at the thought of meeting the elves. They were not of his people, not like those native to Dhonoara. The elves of Hrunah were forest elves and built their homes high in the trees of the deep wood, trees that grew so tall and wide their tops could not be seen from the ground. It took nearly an entire village, linked hand to hand, to circle the base of their trunks. Once, in a part of his past he’d sooner forget, he had corresponded with these elves on behalf of another. He wondered if they would remember him, and if so, what they might reveal.

  It was his turn to flick his eyes in Jahrra’s direction. There was still so much she did not know. Could not know, at least not yet. And he wondered if meeting the elves of Hrunah would unveil some of those secrets.

  Nothing you can do about it now, Ellyesce reminded himself, removing the final bits of tack from Gliriant. And besides, it is all coming full circle. Your days of hiding are dwindling, and there is no point in keeping some secrets so close now.

  The elf cast a glance up at Jaax, who had returned to his distant musings, his eyes focused on something beyond the top of the canyon. Perhaps the dragon was having the same thoughts. Perhaps not.

  Full dark had finally settled upon them by the time Jahrra and Dervit managed to get a good fire going, and soon the conversation turned to more pleasant topics. At least, as pleasant as they could be considering how uncertain the future might prove to be. After a few rounds of Astral cards, all of which Dervit won, the small party was ready to settle down for bed.

  As the stars turned above them, the late spring constellations spangling the sky with their presence, another set of eyes, ancient and shrewd, watched the same stars from a rocky outcropping much farther up the mountain. And like the elf and
his friends, this being also hoped and dreamed and yearned for a future that did not hold sorrow, pain, and death.

  * * *

  Boriahs, the Tyrant King’s most trusted mercenary, jerked awake, gasping for breath. The moment he drew in the frigid mountain air, however, he regretted it. It was as if a river of ice water had poured into his lungs. Coughing against the discomfort, then wincing as that action drove spikes of white-hot agony through his skull, he groaned and sat up. He was lying upon the cold stone floor of a cavern, one large enough to shelter the two dozen or so soldiers who’d managed to survive the attack on Nimbronia’s bridge. The memory of the human girl slipping from his fingers set the embers of anger burning through his blood, driving away the initial cold. He’d had her. He’d had her in his grip, and she had escaped. No one would have expected her to leap from the bridge’s edge the way she had, but his master didn’t accept excuses.

  Gritting his teeth, Boriahs rose, careful not to upset his knee. He had either sprained it or strained it as he and his men scrambled from the bridge to avoid the wrath of dragon flame. If he was being honest with himself, he’d admit he was lucky to be alive. Hard to feel grateful when his entire body, even days after the incident, still ached and protested his every movement. The cold, something he had been used to when he worked more closely with his master in the icy city of Vruuthun, was not kind to him now.

  As he limped past snoring forms, he gave two of them a hard kick. His only remaining skurmages. The rest had either fallen to their deaths from the bridge, or had been finished off by the elves living in Nimbronia and dragon flame.

  “Get a fire going,” he growled, heading deeper into the cave. “I must report to our Master.”

  The red-robed skurmages scuttled to their feet, eager to do his bidding before he got it into his head to invite them along. They all knew Cierryon would be furious with Boriahs’ failure. With their failure. Best not to be nearby when he received the news.