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

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  “Sapheramin told me a story in Nimbronia,” she finally said. “That you were found by the dwarves of Doribas, your parents slain and the eggs in their nest crushed. Only one egg survived, on the verge of hatching. That egg turned out to be you, Jaax. She said she’d heard this tale from Hroombra. Is that story true?”

  Jaax shrugged one shoulder, his features harder to discern in the growing darkness. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Because I think you, and Hroombra when he was still alive, worked very hard to keep some deep secrets from me. And you had me convinced that the biggest one of them all was my identity. You distracted me with the revelation of who I was before we left Oescienne, and the shock of it has kept me preoccupied for a very long time.”

  She paused to take a breath, the mist from a nearby waterfall cooling her skin.

  “And then, it came to light that Ellyesce was the Tanaan king’s Magehn. And shortly after receiving that surprising bit of news, Denaeh, almost as secretive as you and Ellyesce, revealed she is the mother of Cierryon. But I wonder if the biggest secret of them all really has to do with your identity. Who are you really, Jaax?”

  If she had hoped to surprise him, she’d been mistaken. The Tanaan dragon merely gazed down at her, expression unreadable. Bored, even. As if he had been expecting this question all along. After some length, Jaax huffed a small laugh and shook his head, turning once again to observe the valley below.

  “And I suppose you’ve come up with some idea on your own, have you now?”

  His tone was almost patronizing. Almost. And it set Jahrra’s hackles up.

  “Answer the question, Jaax,” she demanded. “We’re here, on the precipice of war against a mad king possessed by a demonic god, a powerful enemy I must still figure out how to defeat. The least you could do is be honest with me!”

  Hot waves of anger spilled from Jaax as he turned back to face her, his emerald eyes flashing.

  “You want to know who I am, Jahrra? I am Raejaaxorix, orphaned Tanaan dragon, former ward of the Korli dragon Hroombramantu, previous leader of the Coalition of Ethoes, and, most importantly, guardian of the human child prophesied to save us all.”

  Those last words grated against her nerves, the wrath behind them unchecked, raw even. He pulled back, his brow still furrowed, his jaw clenched, then turned towards the wide open doors behind them.

  “And is that everything, Jaax?” she called after him, still unsatisfied with his answer.

  Jaax whipped around so quickly Jahrra took a step back, almost tripping over the railing behind her.

  “Shouldn’t that be enough?” he countered, voice still a harsh hiss. He lowered his head and whispered in her ear, deadly teeth bared, “If you do not know me by now, Jahrraneh Drisihn, then you have never truly known me at all.”

  His words were so charged with emotion, so brutal, all she could do was stand there, worried that if she moved the very air might shatter around her. Jaax drew away from her again, but this time as he strode toward the door and the grand hall beyond, she did not call after him. Instead, she sorted through her thoughts only to discover his answers hadn’t satisfied any of her curiosities. They had only conjured up more. And, at the same time, left a bitter well of guilt in their wake.

  -Chapter Fifteen-

  A Dragon’s Fate

  Moonlight spilled over the mountaintops, filling Upper Dhonoara Valley with a silvery essence that stained the world white. Such a sight would cause any creature of Ethoes to pause and sigh at its beauty. But not the dragon Raejaaxorix. After leaving Jahrra standing on the terrace, he had charged trough the banquet hall, irritated and moody. Vandrian’s guests and courtiers had leapt out of the way in alarm, and even Sapheramin and Tollorias gave him room as he snapped out a terse farewell for the evening. Once free of the dining hall, he exited the castle upon the back terrace and spread his wings. Several guards cried out in alarm, but he was already airborne, his claws leaving grooves in the stone below.

  Jahrra’s questions had irritated him, but not because he didn’t want to answer them, but because she still suspected him of dishonesty. And in his mind, that meant a breach in her trust. Gods and goddesses of Ethoes, he needed her trust if he was going to protect her from the dangers still to come. If she doubted him, if she resented him for the secrets he held, secrets he could not share, then she was vulnerable. Jahrra could not be vulnerable when they faced down Cierryon and the god that possessed him.

  Clenching his teeth against the broiling flood of displeasure heating his blood, Jaax beat his great wings and circled the valley. He had left Denaeh on the terrace of the North Grotto, and she hadn’t been at the banquet. If he knew the Mystic at all, then he would guess she’d need some peace and quiet after all that was said before the king’s council and their allies.

  Shaking the aggravation and worry from his limbs, Jaax narrowed his eyes and scanned the trail leading away from the grotto. Thank goodness for his dragon sight, for it didn’t take long for him to pick up a tiny prick of dark red standing tucked against some stones bordering an open ledge. Just as Jahrra had done a few minutes ago, he would now press the Mystic for more than what she was willing to let go. But unlike his ward, Jaax would not fail. He would not leave the Mystic be until she told him what he wanted to know.

  Denaeh did not attempt to hide her presence as Jaax came in for the landing. He slowed his descent by flapping his great wings, tossing the branches of nearby shrubs. The Mystic was forced to pull her cloak more tightly about her, but no other harm was done. Jaax tucked in his wings and turned his angular head in Denaeh’s direction.

  “You are as predictable as ever, Mystic. Retreating into the seclusion of nature so that you might keep your knowledge out of the king’s reach,” Jaax growled, the nasty mood from his discussion with Jahrra still chafing.

  “And you are a determined and pesky thorn in my side,” was Denaeh’s terse reply.

  Jaax gave a feral grin, taking her insult in stride. He had, after all, invited her sourness by bringing along his own.

  “So,” Denaeh said on a heavy sigh, “I suppose you are here to badger me for more information.”

  Jaax arched a brow. “Reading my mind, are you? Can Mystics do that?”

  Denaeh was silent long enough that Jaax actually grew a bit worried.

  “Not precisely,” she finally admitted, “but sometimes you are so very easy to read, my dear Raejaax. If only Jahrra didn’t let her temper get in the way, she might be able to read you as easily as I can.”

  The dragon responded with a derisive snort. But wishing to avoid the subject of Jahrra for the time being, he admitted, “I want to know what, exactly, you saw in that vision.”

  Denaeh closed her eyes and let her chin drop to her chest. Like him, he imagined she was so very weary of the world and all its woes. And the Mystic Archedenaeh had far more troubles on her mind than most. He did not envy her part in all of this, but he was also not fool enough to let his guard drop with regards to this particular woman, the binding magic of the ceremony of Truths and Lies or not. He believed her words. It was her intent he wasn’t so sure about.

  Denaeh did not speak right away. Instead, she stepped away from the tall stones piled against the mountainside, then came to sit upon a boulder several feet in front of him. Before them, the valley wall dropped a thousand feet or more. The Chloress River shone as a silver strand of thread beneath the full moon, curving and twining through the verdant upper valley before spilling into the lower. Dhonoara Castle, a beautiful palace of spires and glittering windows, many of which glowed golden yellow as the preparations for war carried out within its confines, sat perched on the cliff beside the river. Everything was bathed in pale moonlight, the vibrant colors of this magical place dulled but no less resplendent.

  “I spent many years here,” Denaeh finally said, her voice like a soft, passing breeze. “Learning the ways of the Mystics under Ellyesce’s tutelage.” She smiled then, at Jaax, her eyes bright. “They were some of
the happiest days of my mortal life, but I was too stupid, or too naïve, to realize it then.”

  Jaax arched a draconic brow, no trace of amusement or sympathy in his expression.

  “I did not mean to hurt Ellyesce,” she managed, her throat tight. “I did not mean to drive him from my life.”

  “But can you blame him for his current regard?” Jaax finally asked, reluctantly joining the conversation.

  Denaeh faced him, her topaz eyes a deep amber in the darkness. “Becoming the Magehn to the king of Oescienne was a bit extreme.”

  Jaax shook his head. “It may seem like a betrayal to you, but in the grand scheme of things it was only fair. A betrayal for a betrayal. And who better to spy on the new Tyrant in the east but the man who loved the woman who had so easily fallen prey to Ghorium’s charms?”

  The Tanaan dragon’s tone was clipped, and the sting didn’t fall short on Denaeh.

  She bared her teeth and said, “I made a mistake, Jaax! Five hundred years ago. And I’m paying for it every day, still. I did not lie to you when I said I wanted to make amends for all that I did. For the part I played in bringing the Crimson King into this world. Why can you not believe me?”

  “You are wrong, Denaeh. I do believe you, but I also think you are a selfish creature, always have been, and no matter what the outcome, your motives will always be self-serving.”

  He stood abruptly and moved to stand at the edge of the cliff, his gaze on the castle far below.

  “Unbelievable,” she managed, rising and stepping just behind his shoulder. “Your hypocrisy is far greater than my own, Raejaaxorix.”

  She crossed her arms, silently daring him to refute her. He did not, and she thought she felt a bit of the haughty tension leak away from him.

  “Enough,” he said gruffly. “We may have very little time left in this world. It makes no sense fighting.”

  “No,” she agreed, losing a bit of her own anger, “it does not.”

  He turned his head, his silvery green eyes hard as flint. “Why are you hiding up here, Denaeh?”

  “I am not hiding. I came here to reflect, away from the noise and emotions of the castle.”

  The corner of Jaax’s mouth curved, but it was not accompanied by humor.

  “And just what is it you reflect upon?” he murmured.

  Denaeh remained motionless. She took a breath to say something more, but her silence had been answer enough. Before she could speak, he said, “Tell me what you have Foreseen, Denaeh.”

  The Mystic licked her lips and drew in a ragged breath. “Jaax . . .” she began wearily.

  “No,” he growled, teeth clicking tightly together. “Enough of this evasion. I want to know what fate awaits us.”

  “Why would you ask such things on the eve of battle?” the Mystic threw back at him. A desperate attempt to avoid answering his question.

  “Because I would not march into that same battle unprepared when you possess the very knowledge that may or may not mean victory over defeat. And by the way you are behaving, the way you cringe every time you think about that vision of yours, I know it is not a happy one. I’d rather face my fate head on, knowing what to expect, than to go into battle blind.”

  He whipped his head back around, his eyes cast over the still valley. What it must be to know such peace in one’s heart, he mused. He wondered if he’d ever find that peace for himself, for Jahrra. For the world.

  Jaax’s words were rough when he spoke again. “You have seen something dire in the future, Denaeh. I know you have. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. Feel it cloaked all around you like a water-sodden cape, pulling you deeper into a turbulent river.”

  “Jaax–”

  He turned to face her, sitting back on his haunches like some great, reptilian hound. And without taking his eyes from hers, he stated the question he had been so afraid to ask, “Which one of us dies, Denaeh?”

  The Mystic’s face drained of color, going pale as a snowfield beneath the moonlight, and he knew he had been right in his suspicions.

  “Is it Jahrra?” he pressed, his voice holding such unrestrained terror it hurt to take his next breath.

  For several long heartbeats, Jaax felt Denaeh resist, sensed her desire to remain silent. But in the end, she relented. Perhaps she had finally grown weary of holding everything in, or maybe she came to the conclusion that sharing this information with Jaax would finally ease his suspicion of her. That was not about to happen, but whatever her reasons, that thick wall of resistance finally crumbled.

  “I have not seen Jahrra’s death,” she reluctantly breathed.

  Jaax swayed with relief. “Thank the gods and goddesses of Ethoes,” he rasped, shuttering his silvery-green eyes.

  “I won’t rule it out completely, for the vision may change tomorrow,” Denaeh added quickly. “But I have seen the final battle many times, and she is always there in the end. She will be hailed as a great heroine. A radiant young woman, with the heart of a warrior. But, you already know all that, don’t you?”

  Jaax said nothing. He didn’t need to.

  “There is more you aren’t telling me, Mystic.” His voice was a mere whisper, the cool, frosty breath of winter. Silent, deadly, capable of doing great damage in the deep dark of night. “You never answered my initial question. Which one of us dies?”

  Perhaps it was that returned stillness engulfing her, or some deeply ingrained instinct lying dormant in his heart until the subtle shift in Denaeh’s demeanor stirred it awake. Either way, Jaax knew the answer.

  Instead of pressing her again, he hissed between clenched teeth, “How?”

  Denaeh’s flinch was a mere, fleeting twitch, but minute as it was, Jaax knew he was right. He would have thought that learning about his impending death would strike fear and panic into his heart, but the world seemed to slow down instead. A long, weighty silence fell between them, the distant rush of the Chloress spilling from the mountains filling Jaax’s ears like cotton.

  “I don’t know,” Denaeh murmured, her words thick with emotion. If Jaax were capable of being surprised at the moment, the Mystic’s tone would have done the job. “The vision hasn’t revealed that detail. All I know is, I’m standing on the open rooftop of Cierryon’s castle, blood-stained and battle worn, and I can see Ellyesce, and Jahrra, and many others. But I cannot see you.”

  A sob broke free of Denaeh’s throat, but she did not turn to the dragon for comfort, nor did he offer any. He had gone numb. Cold and empty and numb.

  When Jaax finally spoke, his voice emerged from the dark like the lingering, final words of a ghost, “Don’t tell her. Even if she asks you.”

  Denaeh lifted her head to regard his shadowy features, and blinked away her remaining tears. Jaax remained still as a statue, a stone monster carved from the granite mountains surrounding them. He could not discern Denaeh’s expression, but her tone held bitterness when she asked, “Hasn’t that always been your rule with her?”

  Jaax did not feel the sting of her accusation. He merely ducked his head and said, “And I ask that it remain so. Until the war with the Tyrant is over and Jahrra is once again safe in Oescienne.”

  He turned to pin Denaeh with his sharp eyes, more silver than green beneath the dark veil of night. Now, a bit of anger snapped free, making the Mystic step back in alarm.

  “Then, you can tell her everything, because I won’t be there to stop you.”

  Before Denaeh could voice a response, Jaax stood, spread his massive wings, and pushed off into the night, winging west towards the bright face of the moon.

  * * *

  Jahrra sat with all her friends gathered around her. Dervit, Denaeh, Ellyesce, Dathian, Sapheramin, and Tollorias. Their presence, however, brought her no peace. The immense, royal hall of Dhonoara, like Nimbronia, had been built to accommodate dragons, but Jahrra felt as if the walls were closing in around her. Only King Vandrian, his sons, and his most trusted advisors were currently present, the generals and other lords who’d
been pouring into Dhonoara and the northern reaches of Terre Moeserre had been sent to ready their troops to march on Ghorium.

  A cold lump of dread and unease settled in the pit of Jahrra’s stomach. Not only were they less than a day away from leaving the relative safety of Dhonoara behind to engage in full out war, but two days had passed since her argument with Jaax on the banquet terrace. Two days since she’d last shared more than a handful of words with him. Both of them had been too busy in the interim to have any sort of conversation, just a terse greeting in the morning or a quick hello as they passed one another in the grand corridors. They had attended many meetings together, assemblies of warlords and generals, advisors and diplomats, to discuss their plan of attack. But that had left little time for private discourse.

  Jahrra sighed and tried to focus on the current topic of conversation. Something about other potential allies. A scrape of wooden chair legs against the stone floor just beside her had Jahrra glancing up to find Dathian rising to address all those assembled. In his usual, confident manner, he reiterated what he’d told her the day before with regards to Lidien and the Coalition members headquartered there. There was corruption, and some members hungry for power. Not news to Jahrra. What had surprised her was his report of Kehllor’s mission to seek more aid far beyond the borders of Felldreim.

  “Who does he hope to recruit?” she’d hissed under her breath.

  The two of them had been conversing quietly during a short lunch break between assemblies in the king’s dining hall. There was plenty of busy chatter, provided by the ever-gossiping courtiers, but neither Dathian nor Jahrra wanted to risk being overheard by the wrong person.

  Dathian had flicked his eyes around the room to check for potential busybodies, then he’d murmured, “The Nephaari of Ehrann.”

  Jahrra’s mouth had dropped open. She didn’t know much about the Nephaari, but she had heard they were fierce in battle and never ventured beyond their borders. When she mentioned this to Dathian, he’d only shrugged.