Maiden's Saber

by Marion Faith St. James

  Darkness and evil will feel the heat of our blades, as our unbreakable alliance is forged in truth and bravery.”

  All is quiet as those gathered facing each other, bow their heads. Smiles radiate from everyone as they clasp arms and backs. Each warrior, man and woman alike knows the other will die for them if need be.

  A rustling from beyond breaks the spell as they turn to see the dragon watching them with cold eyes. His mouth is slightly open showing razor-sharp teeth.

  Amari speaks with her thoughts to the beast. “Well flyer of the air and breather of fire—thou are awake.”

  The others are watching the Maiden with furrowed brow, as she must be using her mind-speak to talk to the dragon.

  There is a long pause before it answers. “Witch, why did you pull my spirit back to this realm?”

  “Tybalt, spawn of Ulliam, I bid you greetings. It is not in our hearts to portion out ill-will to one that has been hunted to extinction. We only drew bow and shaft when it was reasoned we were under attack from you. When I could see your thoughts after we landed, I saw that you thought it was we being attacked. If you thought it was your kind carrying us off, why did you attack your kin?”

  “If my kind still exist then it is those slaves to man and then only evil roams the skies. You carry the scent of my ancestor which draws me to you.”

  Amari remembers the leather sack hung at her side. “Tis true, I do have the scent of your kin within this pouch. It was taken from your father long dead in the tunnels of the Dragon’s Grave. He was killed many years ago by a knight of this realm. He too is long dead. I only took the scent pouch from the slain dragon as it has remarkable healing properties.”

  The beast gives a slight snarl and it says within her mind. “It was the very same which guided me to you and your companions. I had to know why that scent was familiar to me.”

  The dragon turns his head one way then the other. He touches the place of his neck wound with a clawed hand.

  “When I was just a hatchling, I wandered away from my nest and was lost in the dark tunnels. I lived on whatever small creature I could sniff out in the darkness.

  I have no reckoning, of how long I searched before a way out was granted me. I emerged from the earth upon the coast. I stayed hidden in the high mountains, gaining strength and learned to fly. I often wondered about Ulliam who gave me life.”

  Natsha taps the Maiden on the shoulder and makes a questioning gesture. “What is the lizard saying?”

  “Do you want to hear our conversations?” She turns to the others gathered around. “Do you all want to hear what is being said?

  Heads nod in agreement.

  Amari raises Katana and gently touches everyone’s forehead with the flat of the blade, while speaking mystic words. She turns back to the dragon who now has risen to all four feet and swinging horned tail.

  “Tybalt—these are my sword brothers and sisters. To these warriors of virtue I owe my devotion, body and eternal spirit.”

  The dragon bows to each in turn. “Companions to the Maiden of the Light, do I bid you greetings. I am Tybalt, the only surviving gray dragon. I am the last of my kind. Many days have I watched and followed your adventures through this land.”

  Natsha speaks with her thoughts. “It was you that day on the beach as we left for Yerin. I thought someone or something was watching.”

  “Yes human woman. It was I who saw you stop and look back. I blended well with the high-crag rocks. You all were to be meat for my belly, but a strange familiar scent rose to my breathing. Until I could know whence it came from, I stayed my talons against your flesh.

  It was only this past rising of the sun did I remember my kin carried the same smell.” The dragon stops speaking and looks hard at Natsha. His eyes become fiery red and the scales on his back rise up. “It was your arrows that entered my body?”

  “True scaled one,” Natsha answers. “If my aim were better, I would have put them through your eye. I am truly sorry for causing you pain Tybalt, but we also thought yours was an attack on us. Ours was defense only. If you gave way and halted your attack, we would not have pressed after you.”

  It takes a few minutes of time, but the dragon’s eyes soften again to a grayish-blue. “All is forgiven woman. My wound is healed; what manner of magic is used here?”

  Amari smiles at the dragon. “Actually, except for my magic sight to guide the wizard’s blade, only his poultice and sharp threaded needle provided the cure.”

  “My gratitude to you wizard and your skill…I cannot feel where the arrows pierced my skin.”

  Holl-tu simply bows and smiles at the winged death.

  The Maiden steps forward again. “Mighty Tybalt, you as well as we, do not owe each other allegiance. However, if you join those gathered here on this quest, I promise adventure and meat for your talons. We have journeyed far and still have many leagues to go before our journey is finished.

  This land is overrun with evil and the shade. We seek the other two swords of the Kcaj. Their combined strength and magic will help us defeat the Druids who are behind all which trouble this land. Will you join us?”

  The dragon shifts his eyes from one human to the others. “Witch—this quest of yours is not mine to enter. I do not take sides against the dark or the light. I care not the troubles you humans heap upon each other. Mine is to find the entrance to where you say my kin lies in eternal sleep. I have searched these many years since I escaped. There will I lie beside Ulliam and wait for death to take me. I am the last of my kind—I have not the will to live alone.

  The mighty beast spreads his wings. The wind tugs at the leathery skin.

  Just before it leaps into the sky, Amari sends one last thought. “You may be the last of those called dragons, but you are not alone. We here call you brother if you take up our cause and banner.”

  “I cannot! Farewell humans—may the gods protect your path.”

  In a great rush of wings, the dragon springs into the air and is gone. In the distance a final roar is heard, then silence.

  The band of heroes watches the skies for another few minutes, before Gareth finally says. “Amari, you gave it a worthy try, but that beast follows his own path. True, his claws would have been a force that would scatter our foes.”

  “I don’t know my brother,” Natsha says. “I have a suspicion, we may see Tybalt again.”

  The seven warriors gather their belongings and prepare to travel. They go in the direction Lanz Tarris told them where to locate the ruins of the ancient castle.

  Before departing, they make certain, no one knows a camp was here on this spot. The fire is put out with water, and the pit covered with dirt. The ground is swept with tree branches to remove footprints. Amari even uses a little magic to unbend the grasses in the glade where it was trampled, or where they slept.

  On the third day of cautious travel, a narrow overgrown road lined with statues comes before them. Many of the stone effigies are broken and fallen into ruin. The path they now follow leads into a jungle of sorts. Broad-leaved trees and vines attempt to block their trail. When the Maiden pulls Katana, the vines slither away like snakes. The branches and young saplings part and bend as if bowing to the White Witch and her companions.

  While they walk upon the old road, the warriors look at several of the still standing statues. Stone eyes follow their movements.

  “Maiden,” Dian asks. “Is there magic here to bewitch us? I can almost feel these stone guardians are watching me.”

  “No sister. They were meant to line the road to welcome travelers. That is all they are.”

  The road twists and turns for a half a league until they come to the ruins of a castle. As described by the old man, a single spire in the middle of rubble is all that remains.

  Near the top under the roof overhang is a window. The opposite side is gone. We can actually look through the window and see the sky and clouds on the other side. The remaining sides are sheer and unclimbable. Thorn bushes are about the entire
base of the tower.

  “How are we to get up there?” Truk asks. “Your ability to fly?” he says to Amari.

  “I do not think we have to.” Natsha says. “Remember the riddle. Moon neither wax nor wane; comes the darkness one must face. Stand and count the hour three for the key to gain. Circle center where fairies dance. Eye the dead pain and look to its shadow cast; be quick as only one chance is given.”

  Gareth rubs is temples as it is almost painful to think. He scans the faces of the others. “None of that riddle makes any sense to me sisters. It may be just the ranting of an addled mind?”

  “Oh but it does make sense my brother.” Natsha says. “Have any of you figured out parts of it yet?”

  “Some” Amari says.

  Dian speaks up and gives her interpretation of one verse. “Moon neither wax nor wane, can only be a full moon. As fortune is with us; tonight one such will come.”

  Holl-tu adds his thoughts. “Circle center where fairies dance—can only be a fairy circle. We must look for a ring of mushrooms.”

  They all fan out to search.

  Truk finds what they seek as he tramples several of the toadstools beneath his large feet. “My friends, I have found seven such circles of the small white fungus growths.”

  The warriors quickly join him.

  “What are we to do now?” he asks.

  “Circle center,” Natsha says. “One must stand in the center.”

  “There are so many—which one?” Dain asks.

  Amari moves her hands across each of the fairy circles in turn. “They are all the same.” “None reveals magic or enchantments. It is just a place to stand and wait for the next verse to make sense.”

  “Then how do we know which one is from the riddle?” Mimna asks joining the conversation.

  Amari smiles at a sudden thought. “Don’t you all see what is before you? It was destined that we are joined as friends and warriors for a reason. There are seven of these rings and there are seven of us. Everyone choose a circle and stand in its very center. Now we must wait for night and decipher the rest of the puzzle.”

  After a time, they all sit down in the fairy circles. Night comes quickly and the moon rises.

  Natsha speaks up. “The next passage is stand and count the hour three for the key to gain. That could only be the third hour of early morn. This is going to be a long night my friends. We need to stand and face the tower as it speaks of a dead pain.”

  “Ok, I am confused?” Truk says. “What are we looking for now? Dead pain…there is pain in death, but once dead, there is no more pain. How can this be?”

  They look to each other, then back to the tower and ponder the meaning of the verse in the riddle.

  Natsha speaks. “We had better find an answer soon! The moon is almost to the top of the spire. I can see the edge of the moon peeking through the window.”

  Natsha rolls her eyes and giggles. “Of course, it makes sense now. The riddle spoke of dead glass. It is the tower window. It is not pain as in suffering, but a window pane. Where the tower casts its shadow, the outline of where the window falls will be the entrance we seek.”

  “Well done! Gareth says. “I am glad you found the answer, as my head throbs from all that thinking.”

  “It is near the third hour,” Amari exclaims. “The moon is behind the tower, which means the shadow will be behind us. We have to be missing something.”

  It is Dian, who sees the solution. “We are tired and have become addled brained. Natsha, what comes next in the riddle after the moon, neither wax nor wane?”

  “Comes the darkness one must face;” Natsha voices.

  “Do you not see the simplicity in the verse? Dian says. “Face the darkness.”

  “Of course” Amari says. The sun comes from the east and the darkness is driven to the west. We must turn around and face the opposite.”

  Everyone quickly turns. They all see the shadow of the tower as it moves across the ground and away from them. Amari closes her eyes for a brief moment as if to sense an inner clock. “The third hour is at hand. Does anyone see the entrance?”

  The shadow continues to move away into the distance. The edge of the cast shadow is almost to a forest—hazy in the dark as fog is rolling in.

  “I have it!” Natsha shouts. “It is over there near that great tree.”

  “Which tree? Truk asks. “I see perhaps a dozen great large trees.”

  Natsha thinking quickly loads a steel dart into her crossbow. She aims and sends it in the direction of one tree, as tiny dancing lights go up and down the trunk. The trickery of lights is only visible while standing in the correct fairy ring. The others do not see it.

  The shaft embeds in the thick tree with a loud twang.

  Holl-tu reaches into his pack and retrieves a large acorn. He throws it in the direction Natsha shot her bolt. The nut reaches its arc, and as it descends slowly, bursts into a brilliant light.

  The ground and the tree before them is bathe in white.

  “Nice work” Dian says.

  “Thank you small one. I for one want to see where I be placing my feet.”

  Amari and the warriors leave their respective mushroom circles and move toward the tree with the protruding arrow above their heads.

  As they draw near, a weak moaning can be heard. It sounds more like a painful groan than a danger. Still, all draw swords and face the tree where the sound seems to be originating.

  Fearless Gareth moves in front of the others and approaches the giant tree.

  “Be careful brother,” Natsha says to his back.

  Gareth does not hear as his full attention is discovering whom or what may be near their goal. As he begins to circle the massive trunk, he can see it is really four trees, which have grown together at the base. A full ten meters up from where he stands, the four trees twist around each other and rise into the dark night sky. It has all the appearance of a braided strand of rope. Smaller branches and trunks grow from the center. Leaves abound from every twig and stem.

  The moaning can be heard again. Continuing around the base, he comes upon the source of the sound. A small tree elf is sitting on the ground with his back against the trunk. The miniature head bobbing as it is hard for him to hold it up. His clothes are tattered, and one of his legs is at an odd angle. The matted hair has a red tint as blood oozes from his scalp.

  Gareth yells to the others. “It is ok. It is a tree elf—more dead then alive.

  Chapter 16 – The Greek Amulet

  The Warriors of Light gather around the tiny child-size being…just barely alive. Puffy red eyes look back at them. A weak smile crosses its face. He tries to talk, but his voice is feeble and strained. Amari brushes the matted hair from around his face and holds a finger to his lips. “Do not try to speak small one. We are not here to harm you. Rest and we will attend to your body.”

  By an unspoken command, the warriors split up and go about setting up a camp.

  Gareth starts a fire after collecting several armloads of dry wood. He then proceeds to circle the encampment several yards out using the tree as the center.

  Truk watches Gareth as he parts the brush and disappears into the forest. “He always takes the watch and provides security to his friends.” The dwarf muses.

  Dian and Holl-tu set out to discover the entrance to the underground river. Mimna and Truk prepare food. Natsha stays and helps Amari tend to the elf.

  Amari inspects his cuts and deeper wounds. “He looks like some animal mauled him. These are teeth and claw marks on his face, arms and legs.”

  Natsha unrolls her sleeping cloth next to the prone elf. With Amari helping, they gently lift the wee man up and place him on the blanket.

  “I carry a quiver of arrows heavier than this one weighs” remarks Natsha.

  As Amari puts a small pack under his head, he opens one eye and with a shaky arm and hand, points behind them.

  Natsha stands and looks out into the night. Something in the semi-darkness reflects from H
oll-tu’s light spell. It has a glint of metal in the artificial light. Drawing near, she can see it is a miniature sword. It is the same size as Natsha’s dirk at her waist.

  Most of the steel is buried in the neck of a wolf. She grasps the hilt and pulls it out. Blood drips from the blade. Natsha gives the wolf a nudge with her foot to make sure it is truly dead. She wipes the blood-soaked steel on the side of the animal until the blade is clean. Around her are two more dead wolves.

  “What is it?” Amari asks, when Natsha walks back to the tree.

  “I found the source of this one’s misery,” gesturing to the wounded elf. Natsha holds up the miniature sword. “This small blade was hilt deep in a large Gray Wolf. There were others there as well—all dead! Our little friend won the battle against three large wolves.”

  “I am not so sure he has won anything. His wounds are grave and thanks to the filth of the animal; those slashes are greatly infected. Who knows how long this elf lay here dying?”

  “Can your magic not help him? Natsha asks with almost a pleading tone in her voice.

  Amari eyes roam over the elf’s wounds. “Purification spells will work to some extent, but the magic relies on the strength and will of the one I use it on. This imp lay here much too long. I will try the best I can.

  First, we must clean and cover those wounds. I have a salve in my bag over there,” as Amari points to where everyone has dropped their gear. “It is a black metal tin with a red dot on the top.”

  Natsha retrieves the bag, rummages around and finds the requested salve in a side compartment. She returns and kneels beside the Maiden. “I hope this one is not shy,” mouths Natsha. “We need to remove all these soiled clothes, right down to his loin covering.”