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

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  She forced herself to meet his eyes and wasn’t surprised to find them loaded with suspicion. Good thing she had anticipated it.

  “She didn’t seem all that tired earlier,” Jaax said very carefully, those eyes studying her a bit too closely.

  Denaeh gave what she hoped was a casual shrug.

  “She was yawning through our conversation, Jaax, and could barely keep her eyes open. If the king is angry, you can put the blame on me.” I’m already to blame for pretty much everything else, she groused to herself, this won’t take up too much more room in the bucket. “Besides, I told her we would fill her in later.”

  A long pause stretched between them, so long it nearly had Denaeh bursting from her own skin.

  Finally, the dragon drew a breath and asked, “And what of Dervit?”

  Denaeh fought against a sigh of relief. “He chose to stay behind with her and get some rest as well.”

  Jaax gave a slow nod, but made no motion to join the other Coalition members and allies in the throne room. Denaeh imagined they would have lingered in the hallway all night if the king hadn’t given his guards the signal to call the meeting to order. Those closest to him lifted horns to their lips and pealed out several blasts, indicating the crowd should grow silent.

  “Shall we then?” Denaeh asked, gesturing towards the wide open double doors.

  She was in no hurry to stand before the king and his advisors and all the others present. Mystics were a rare being in Ethoes these days, and people’s trust of them had faded, as had been proven during the earlier, much larger gathering. And she in particular was one to be greeted with suspicion. Especially by this court. But there was no escaping what was to come now. To run from those problems spread out before her would not mend them. As unpleasant as she anticipated the next few weeks to be, to avoid her duty would only put her friends in jeopardy.

  The throne room hadn’t changed since earlier that day, but the light pouring in through the floor to ceiling windows was richer, more golden as the sun started its descent in the west. Some of the faces were different, too, and she didn’t miss the barely covered whispers of surprise as one after another hissed something about Mystics to their neighbors. Even the ones who had seen her arrive with Jahrra and Ellyesce regarded her with new eyes. Which didn’t surprise her. No longer did she wear the rags of a traveling hedge witch, but the flowing, vibrant gown and cloak of a Mystic in her prime.

  Halfway down the long hall, Denaeh lifted her gaze, searching for Ellyesce. She found him easily in his beautiful court garb, standing to his brother’s left, just below the dais. His sharp green gaze was cold, and he refused to meet her eyes. She couldn’t blame him. The rigid stance of his body told her he was fighting his own internal battle. A flicker of hope unfurled in Denaeh’s heart. Had he simply been angry with her, he’d have no trouble meeting her gaze.

  Later, Denaeh, she told herself, later you will confront him again about what lies between you. Too much is at stake right now. You must focus.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she completed her walk to the king’s throne, stopping some twenty yards away. She curtseyed gracefully, the greeting one of her status was expected to offer a king and his queen. Behind her, she could sense Jaax’s presence as he offered his own bow.

  The king flicked his cold eyes over Denaeh, then glanced over her shoulder to address the Tanaan dragon.

  “Where is Jahrra?”

  Denaeh allowed Jaax to answer.

  “She is currently indisposed. The last days of her journey here were very trying, and she is resting.”

  King Vandrian arched an eyebrow at that as his eyes settled on Denaeh once more.

  Denaeh kept her expression smooth when she said, “Jaax speaks the truth, your majesty. I dropped by her suite on the way over to see if she and the limbit wished to walk with me to this meeting. She could barely keep her eyes open and swayed in her seat. I told her I would offer her apologies to you and the delegation on her behalf and bring back what I learn to share with her later.”

  Vandrian sneered, the corner of his mouth lifting to expose his teeth in a menacing expression.

  “Perhaps we should postpone this meeting, then, until tomorrow,” he mused aloud.

  Denaeh wanted to argue with him, but thought doing so would only cast suspicion on her. Fortunately, she did not have to.

  “Your majesty,” someone from the crowd called out, “time already runs short. Let us proceed as planned and allow the Mystic and the dragon Jaax to catch the lady Jahrra up when she has had a chance to recover.”

  A light conversation, stirred up by the courtier’s words, suggested the meeting go on as planned.

  “Very well.” His eyes flicked to Denaeh, and she froze. “Many of you already know Cierryon’s movements in the north have led us to believe he readies his troops and Morli dragons for war. When he will strike is unknown, but this is the most activity our spies have noticed in decades. From what the dragon Raejaaxorix and the Korli dragons Sapheramin and Tollorias have told us so far, the Tyrant is aware of Jahrra’s existence and knows she means to confront him as the prophecy stated. This council,” he proclaimed, gesturing to all those present with a sweep of his arm, “has concluded that our best course of action is to attack first and not give him a chance to spread his evil beyond the borders of Ghorium.”

  A low rumble of approval and nodding of heads. Denaeh remained still. She had figured as much, had even seen glimpses of the armies of Ethoes charging upon Ghorium’s castle city of Vruuthun. Like Jaax behind her, she waited patiently for the boisterous crowd to quiet down.

  “What we don’t know,” Vandrian continued, “is whether we will be equally matched against the Tyrant or if we will be sorely outnumbered. Our troops now surpass five thousand, but instinct tells me Cierryon has at least twice that number waiting to slaughter us the moment we step foot upon the great tundra of Soehel.”

  This time, the response was louder, the war generals among the delegates making it clear they were ready for a good fight. Vandrian raised his hands, and the outburst died down.

  “I do not fear death in battle, my friends. But I will not march upon an enemy if one of his own mixes among us beneath the guise of a friend.”

  Icy dread prickled down Denaeh’s spine as the king once again pinned her with his full attention. The murmuring was more shocked now, and she could have sworn she heard the soft hiss of blades leaving their scabbards. Denaeh clenched her teeth. Vandrian could have at least had the decency to pull her aside in private to flat out accuse her of duplicity rather than announce it in front of the entire delegation of allies. She didn’t dare turn to gauge Ellyesce’s reaction, nor did she look to Jaax, either. She merely stood there, hands folded before her, head slightly tilted forward so the hood of her cloak hid most of her features.

  Finally, the king gestured for the crowd to settle once more.

  When silence filled the great chamber, he took a breath to speak, his voice pitched lower than before, “As some of you already know, before us stands the Mystic Archedenaeh. Five centuries ago, she was the most powerful Mystic in all of Ethoes. Loved, revered, respected. But she was corrupted by the Tyrant’s father, seduced into marrying him and becoming queen of Ghorium. And then she bore the child Cierryon, ushering in the reign of the Crimson King and the god he worshipped, Ciarrohn. Through that bond, Ciarrohn found a gateway back into our world, but this time, the great dragon Traagien was not available to cast him out of existence. The Tanaan king of the west, the last race of humans remaining in our world after Cierryon’s rise to power, attempted to defeat this new king. The result stands before you now.”

  Vandrian paused to nod his head toward Jaax and a few other Tanaan dragons standing at the back of the room.

  “The Tanaan became dragons, and the race of humans disappeared from our world. And Cierryon was allowed to live on. Fortunately, the power it took for him to curse the Tanaan humans drained him so terribly, he has been lying dormant for these pas
t several centuries, letting his power build up. Waiting for the opportune time to strike again and destroy every race of people who dare defy him. So now, my friends and allies, we stand on the brink of war against a foe wielding the deadly power of a god, all because of one woman’s weakness.”

  Vandrian glanced down at Denaeh, the bitterness twisting his face into an ugly expression. Denaeh glared right back at him. She did not need Vandrian’s lecture to remind her of her own failures and mistakes. She knew far too well, had held on to that sorrow and guilt for far too long, to allow an elvin king to bully her into feeling more shame than her heart already possessed.

  “We all know the story, Denaeh of Ghorium,” the king breathed after a while, “and I am not the only one who believes you deserve death for your treasonous acts. But we live in desperate times, and traitor though you may be, you are also a Mystic with a skill set the Coalition could benefit from. So, I will offer you this chance to prove yourself to be the ally you claim to be.”

  A hushed silence fell upon the crowd as every eye in the grand throne room turned onto the small woman draped in scarlet. Denaeh stood before those gathered, a brilliant flame amid a circle of patrons garbed in the colors of their own houses and tainted with the pall of judgment. Not unlike the council she held with Dhuruhn of Nimbronia not too long ago. Only this time she wasn’t surrounded by Creecemind dragons. Yet, now she had much more to lose. She lifted her head and glanced around her once more, stubbornly holding the gazes of those who offered her harsh looks of condemnation. She studied those who may give her trouble later, and those who might have some pity, but such people were few and far between.

  Denaeh’s eyes circled the court again, making note of elves and dragons she recognized. These would be the ones to call to her side, if even such a thing were possible. These were the ones she would have to convince. Jaax, and his two Korli friends who weren’t present when she arrived with Jahrra, Sapheramin and Tollorias. They might be willing to listen to reason, though that would be a bitter fight to the end. Vandrian and his two eldest sons, Storian and Edinas, would be impossible to convince of her desire to help them. Evielle, however, had always been kind-hearted and understanding. If Denaeh could speak with her in private she might be able to win the queen over.

  Finally, Denaeh’s gaze fell upon Ellyesce and all else seemed to fall away, as if she and the Magehn were the only two souls in the cavernous room. She realized, then, that no one else’s opinion mattered, these kings and lords among them. Accused of disloyalty or not, she would do what she must, regardless of what they thought about her. She would let them hate her, blame her for all the evil that had spilled into the world, and she wouldn’t bat an eye. But Ellyesce … She had kept her distance from him on their journey to Dhonoara, had given him space, both emotionally and physically. She hadn’t even tried to reach out on a mental thread of peace between them. Granted, much of that silence had resulted from the shock of finding him alive. Alive!

  Denaeh thought back to her final day in Oescienne, when she had traveled to the cave Jahrra had once told her about. She had gone there thinking to find his remains, and had believed the farce he’d constructed. She’d gone as far as sending him off to his final rest, building a funeral pyre there on the beach, taking his ring with her and mourning anew as if she had lost him merely days ago and not decades. It had taken every ounce of her willpower to keep away in these past several days. Even at night, she dared not sneak over and touch him while he slept, if only to convince herself he was real. It was his regard, his good opinion, and gods help her, his love she desired to regain more than anything else. If she was to guide Jahrra and the Coalition into war against the worst evil Ethoes had ever known, to strike the killing blow against her own son, then having Ellyesce’s trust once more would make that journey so much more bearable.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Denaeh said aloud, “What his majesty just said is true. I was, and remain, the most powerful Mystic in Ethoes. I did marry Cierryon’s father and for a time, I was queen of Ghorium. Against the nature of being a Mystic, I became pregnant with Cierryon and gave birth to him. What you don’t know, however, is that his father had already been poisoned by Ciarrohn, and he then proceeded to corrupt my child, against my wishes. My own son was kept from me, and the husband I thought I loved, shunned me.”

  Tears clogged her throat, but she refused to shed them. How long had she tortured herself with thoughts of what she should have done to prevent the tragedy that came to pass? No more, she chastised herself. What is done is done. You can do nothing about the past. What you can do, however, is use every bit of your strength and talent to create a future free of Ciarrohn’s filth.

  “Had I been stronger,” Denaeh said, “had I been braver, I would have taken Cierryon with me when I fled Vruuthun Castle. But I was weak and foolish and afraid.”

  She lifted her eyes to the crowd and let the hood of her cloak fall back to pool around her shoulders.

  “I am still afraid,” she admitted, her voice growing tight, “but I am not as foolish as I once was. I never meant to bring Ciarrohn back into this world; never wished for my only son to become corrupted and used like a host is used by a parasite. I have returned now to set things right, and I will do everything it takes to purge this land of the evil that festers at its heart. With, or without your help.”

  She waited for the sneers and scoffs of those among the gathered to fill up the silence. They never came. A good sign, then. Perhaps these men and women, elves, Resai, and Nesnan alike, and the few dragons among them, had the sense to place Ethoes’ wellbeing above pride after all.

  Denaeh craned her neck to glance at Jaax over her shoulder. His jaw was set, his silver green eyes hard. Perhaps she imagined it, but the ever-present disdain he always held for her seemed to have faded. If she could earn this particular dragon’s respect again, it would be almost as healing as earning Ellyesce’s esteem. The Tanaan dragon Raejaaxorix, after all, was the closest being to Jahrra. And although Jahrra trusted Denaeh, the dragon still had a rather strong influence over her, whether the young human woman wanted to admit it or not. Here and now, with all of them growing so close to the final confrontation with the Tyrant and his army, the chance of Jahrra putting aside her own pride and heeding Jaax’s words was almost a guarantee.

  The Mystic had watched the two of them during that brief meeting upon their arrival in Dhonoara. She had listened carefully to the way Jahrra had spoken of Jaax as they crossed the Kourhiont Mountains, and as far back as that chance meeting outside of Lidien. Jahrra was no longer that headstrong girl determined to be a thorn in Jaax’s side, and he was no longer the overbearing, overprotective guardian ready to put Jahrra in her place. Well, he was still overbearing and overprotective, and Jahrra was still headstrong, but both time and experience and the exposure to danger had honed their sharpness in different ways. They were no longer two swords battling against one another, but almost a single blade wielded by a master swordsman. A weapon forged beneath heat and pressure. Deadly, precise, versatile. No, at this point in the game, Jahrra and Jaax may still argue and butt heads, but they had both grown to respect one another and to understand they were stronger together than apart. If Denaeh wished to remain in Jahrra’s inner circle, she would have to make her peace with Jaax, one way or another. And that softened glance of his, not entirely accepting, but perhaps ready to listen, really listen to her, gave her hope.

  And with that hope, she was able to take the next step on this treacherous path of hers. If she wanted their trust, their respect, their help, then she must give them honesty. Even if it was a terrible risk. I have to give them everything or nothing, she told herself.

  Drawing in a deep breath for courage, Denaeh let her eyes drift shut and in a strong voice, she stated, “I have one more tale to tell you, one that will leave some of you despising me when I’ve finished. All I ask is that you understand my only desire is to help Jahrra fulfill her destiny and to rid our world of Ciarrohn’s evil presence
once and for all. But I cannot tell you here, within the oppressive stone walls of this castle. I wish to continue this meeting in the North Grotto.”

  Silence permeated the room like a wave of heat pouring forth from a fireplace, followed shortly by the low hum of muttering voices.

  “What do you have planned, Mystic?” Vandrian demanded, standing from his throne.

  “Nothing, your grace,” she said smoothly. “I only wish for the peace the lovely alcove can offer me. Please. That is all I ask.”

  Vandrian trained hard, aquamarine eyes on her for several moments, searching for the reason behind her desire for a sudden change of venue. Oh, Denaeh had her reason, one she prayed to the gods wouldn’t come to pass, but she wasn’t about to tell the king of Dhonoara. And besides, it was only a precaution. If she was very lucky, she would come to the end of her tale and any more demands for proof of her loyalty would be left alone. Eventually, Vandrian tightened his jaw and nodded his head once.

  “Very well. We shall relocate to the North Grotto. And you will lead us, Archedenaeh, in case you plan some treachery.”

  Denaeh bristled at the accusation, but tamped it down as she turned to leave the throne room.

  “Guards, four of you stay close to her.”

  Two pairs of the king’s soldiers peeled away from the walls and fell into place, two on either side of her. Denaeh was tempted to make a sudden lunge for the door, just to see how everyone would react, but she was treading on thin ice as it was. She doubted any of the congregation would find her antics amusing. Instead, she bore their presence as best she could as she made her way from the throne room, a throng of curious, chatting onlookers trailing after her.

  Once in the main hallway of the castle, she turned right and headed away from the grand entry, instead seeking the western exit of the fortress. Curious servants and courtiers not important enough to attend the meeting of the allies paused in their tasks to watch the procession. Denaeh ignored them all, using her memory of the layout of the castle to find the double set of massive doors leading out onto the wide back terrace. Crenellated walls occupied by a set of guards every hundred feet pressed into the steep hillside where a barricade some fifteen feet tall had been built. A barred gate of iron, large enough for a Tanaan dragon to squeeze through when it was thrown open, blocked the trailhead of a wide path that twined up a tree-lined culvert.