The Horsk Dragon (Swords of the Bloodline Book 1)

by A. R. Wilson

Logan swooped forward, diving in the direction Arkose tumbled.

  Cale sped toward the horsk dragon, arms clawing at the air as though he might pull Helmsley to safety by sheer might of desire. They followed the awkwardly falling jumbled of dragons as it crashed through the trees into the base of the canyon. The creature thrashed, rolling into the wedge of a ravine.

  Once they landed, Jurren slid to the ground with sword ready. The horsk dragon writhed and jerked then went still. Jurren crept closer, waiting for the slightest sign that it might attempt to defend itself.

  Its mouth shuddered. Helmsley’s legs braced against the walls of the ravine, and he pulled free with a loud, sloshing pop! The emerald dragon trembled as he collapsed. In his clawed hand, he clutched a bloody tether pulled from the other’s mouth.

  “He pulled out its throat.” Cale’s voice barely registered in Jurren’s ears.

  “Helmsley?”

  “No! Don’t touch him.” Cale put a hand to Jurren’s chest, pulling him back. “The blood of a horsk dragon will turn you into a puddle of rotting ooze in a matter of seconds.”

  Jurren squinted. Steam rose from Helmsley’s eyes and nose. His green mouth fell slack, exposing abnormally long teeth dripping red.

  “He’s dying.” Cale looked at Jurren, pink lines forming in the corners of the dragon’s golden eyes.

  “Why did he do that? There had to be another way.” Jurren gripped his sword tighter.

  “He did the only thing he knew that would end this.”

  “That hulking beast is no match for your flying skills. We could have lost it in a few more canyons.”

  “Not with skinned riders.” Jurren balked, and Cale pointed to himself. “My scales can protect me from anything. But your skin is far too frail to endure fire. Helmsley knew the sacrifice he made. You dishonor him by not giving him the benefit of a thank you before the acidic blood melts his ability to receive it.”

  Jurren’s hands shook. He clenched his jaw.

  Dropping his sword, he cautiously made his way to the dead and dying dragons. Gargled wheezing came from Helmsley who still held the throat of his adversary.

  “You saved my life.” Jurren tripped over the last word and ran a hand over his face. “You saved us all. Because of your sacrifice I will live another day to try to save my daughter.” He took a deep breath. “Thank you... thank you.”

  A long, strained wheeze released from Helmsley’s steaming mouth.

  Silence.

  “He died knowing he was appreciated.” Cale walked up behind Jurren. “What better gift to give a friend?”

  Jurren shook his head. “How many more have to die?”

  “How many will die if you fail to capture the Sword of Einiko?”

  “Sometimes the truth doesn’t help.”

  “Truth reduces confusion.”

  “So you keep telling me.”

  Cale nodded.

  Wiping the sting from his eyes, Jurren looked at Cale. “This is the most I’ve ever heard you speak.”

  Thudding sounded behind them from Logan landing fast. “Arkose is badly hurt. Come with me.”

  Jurren glanced at Logan’s bare back and clambered aboard Cale. They rode over a few hills to where Kidelar sat kneeling.

  “How bad is he?” Jurren slid off the moment Cale’s toes touched the ground.

  “Pretty bad.” Kidelar straightened to give him a better view.

  Slumped on his side, blood pooled under Arkose’s jaw from a cut running from his temple to his throat. His breathing was slow and shallow. Lids rested half open and one leg sat at an odd angle. His right shoulder appeared dislocated from the travel pack resting lower than it should.

  Logan came alongside Jurren, lowering himself to eye level. “You must find your elven friend before it’s too late.”

  Nauseating heat rose in Jurren’s throat. “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t play coy for the sake of pride.”

  “What pride?” Jurren snapped the question harder than he meant to. “There is nothing those worthless people are going to do to help us and you know it!”

  “Please!” Cale’s hushed voice pulled in close behind Jurren. “We don’t have time for this. Logan, speak to him as you would any other son of man.”

  Logan closed his eyes and arched his neck. Taking a deep breath, he came back to eye level. “You trusted the seer because of the vision. Now trust me because of your vision. Seek out the elf Azredan while there is still time to help Arkose.”

  “I’m already here.” All heads turned to the dark-haired elf walking around from behind a tree. “As soon as I saw the horsk dragon I did my best to follow.”

  The elf walked toward Arkose.

  Jurren stood in his path. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to help your friend.”

  “How do you intend to help? The people of Chlopahn will not receive us regardless of our need.”

  “I have no intention of seeking their aid. Now please, step aside while there’s still time.”

  Arkose groaned. A high-pitched whine gritted through his teeth.

  Jurren pulled back. Azredan squatted next to Arkose, hovering one hand over the man’s head and another other his hip. Bowing his head, he spoke with soft urgency.

  “By the power of the Ever One I declare a fullness of healing. Restore this man to what he once was.”

  Arkose’s broken leg twisted into a more natural position. The strained gurgle of his breathing softened. Jurren moved to better see his friend. A nearly healed wound no longer bled on the side of his face.

  “How —?” Jurren stumbled back, trying to understand what he witnessed.

  “The Ever One and I are in communion. He empowers me to do that which helps most.”

  “Then come with us.” Jurren rushed to Cale. “You must help Helmsley as well.”

  “I will not.” Azredan stood, his eyes set like flint.

  “Why? If you can heal Arkose surely you can help him too.”

  “There is no greater act than to lay down one’s life for his friend. I will not deny him the crown awaiting him in the Beyond.”

  Jurren furrowed him brow. Was this elf confused or insane?

  Arkose coughed. “I just had the craziest dream.” Looking at the circle of faces surrounding him, his eyes drifted to the pool of blood beside him. “Perhaps it was more than a dream.”

  Azredan put out a hand to pull Arkose to his feet. “We must go quickly.”

  Slowly, Arkose received the gesture.

  Logan scratched at the ground. “It will be difficult to carry two riders, but we can manage.”

  “No.” Azredan walked to pat Logan on the neck. “It is time for you to begin your journey west.”

  “Isn’t that my call?” Jurren took a step forward.

  “The horsk dragon can smell your bloodline when created to do so.” Azredan turned. “Einiko probably birthed another one from the Predator’s Den the moment that one fell. Depending on his level of frustration, he may have conceived more than one.”

  “These smaller dragons can outmaneuver that filth. We haven’t a chance of escaping that thing while traveling on foot.”

  “I can protect you by guiding you along the quick paths.”

  The internal nagging within Jurren pushed hard enough to make him take a step forward. “The quick paths extend all the way to Einiko’s castle?”

  “Only as far as the foothills of the mountains. Once we reach Genevra, the horsk dragons will lose interest in us.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Jurren, you’re going to have to trust me.” Azredan extended his hand.

  For a moment, Jurren tried to search his gut instinct, but it was gone. A deeper knowing had taken its place. Each search for truth brought him closer and closer to the source of the vision that had taken hold of him. And each time he gave in to it, he came one step closer to finding Tascana and understanding why she was taken. Though each new detail sliced further into his soul, it also brought si
lent revenge to those who once betrayed him. The Elven Lords sought to allow the spread of Einiko’s reign in the hopes it would secure their own safety.

  Resolve like a steel helmet settled around Jurren’s mind. The vision’s prodding screamed a reality he could deny no longer. Perhaps Azredan had spoken the truth when suggesting Jurren descended from elves. This was a war that began with elves. And an elf needed to end it. The hell he lived through on Orison only had purpose when paired up against the path spreading out before him. Perhaps everything from that former life had prepared him for such a time as this. What if all those years weren’t wasted? What if rescuing his daughter could also right all the wrongs back on Orison?

  He took in a long, slow breath. After so many years of stuffing his past into the pit of his soul, it was time to start allowing it to rise. It was time for both wisdom and experience to guide him forward.

  “Logan, keep watch over Cale for me.”

  Purple scales pinched around saddened eyes. “And if the horsk dragon finds you?”

  Jurren shrugged. “Then I’ll catch a real fast ride back to my daughter.”

  “Jurren, are you certain?” Kidelar dug a hand into his hair.

  “I saw the elf guiding us through the barriers in my vision. He will take us safely to Einiko’s castle.”

  “I didn’t see an elf in mine. Only sand.”

  “I’ll explain how to better understand the vision as soon as we’re safe.”

  Azredan nodded. “There will be time for questions later. With a horsk dragon in pursuit, the only thing that matters is getting out of its range. We must walk a very strict path,” he looked at Kidelar, “and you’re not steady enough to follow.”

  “You don’t mean.” Kidelar put a hand to his chest, leaning into Logan.

  Jurren moved next to Kidelar. “Actually, he intends something very different.”

  “Jurren, don’t you dare.” Kidelar pressed back.

  “No time for discussion.”

  Gripping him at the waist, Jurren heaved a shoulder into Kidelar’s hip and hoisted the man up. The scholar cried out his protest from being slung like a child, and Jurren ignored it.

  “Lead the way, Azredan. Show us the path to the labyrinth around Einiko’s castle.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Tascana didn’t sleep that night. Fear of the dream and that single word kept her too jittery to even dare to try. But dawn brought its own struggle. Should she go to Arnya’s house?

  Birds chirped their insufferably cheerful song outside.

  If she stayed in her room, people would know something was wrong. They might guess that she figured out part of The Master’s plan for her. Or worse, they might want to talk about it.

  Her mind churned, afraid to hope for an escape from this place. Only an oracle could help her. And yet, she needed to learn how to project a vision to have any possibility of speaking to an oracle. Even then, how would she find one to send a vision to? Could mastering Arnya’s meditation give her the tools needed to try? It was thin and brittle, but it was a thread of hope.

  She got out of bed.

  Her feet wobbled a moment, then a spur of dizziness rocked her from the depression-induced fast. She put a hand to her forehead. A kettle of stew would be waiting in the hearth downstairs as Revel’s leftovers always did. She would be fine once she reached the kitchen. Leaning a hand into the wall to steady herself, she headed downstairs.

  Dellia waited at the table. “I actually woke up before you this time.”

  Tascana forced a grin and nodded. A stack of bowls rested on the mantle above the hearth, and she filled one.

  “You missed a great time yesterday. Everyone asked where you were.”

  Shoving a spoonful into her mouth, she nodded again, praying the girl would take the hint and drop her attempt at a conversation.

  “Arnya gave you the day off today. Something about needing to focus on a vision.”

  Tascana swallowed a lump of potato.

  “I could take you to see those stone carvings at the south end if you like.”

  Or you could shut up and go away. Tascana took another bite, choosing to remain standing by the hearth.

  “Several dallests asked about coming over today. Revel offered to put together a dinner party of sorts.” Dellia looked sideways at her. “Which is why I thought you might want to go on a walk instead.”

  “Sure.” The lump in her stomach began to soften. She was hungrier than she first realized. “That does sound like the better option. I just need to eat something first.”

  “I’ll pack a good lunch to eat once we’re there.”

  Dellia moved swiftly, wrapping bread in scraps of spare cloth. In a knapsack, she placed the bread and a few apples. Tascana lowered her eyes to her food as the girl busied herself around the room adding other items.

  Ten minutes later, they were ready to go. Sunrise had barely crested, giving them the cover of early morning shadows to slip out of the village. Traveling south gave a different view of the valley than the westward direction of studying with Arnya. Fields of varied grasses sloped downward for almost an hour as they walked. The field butted up against a lazily organized orchard of apple and nut trees. Then row after row of grapevines stretched out with a stream running through the middle. Beyond the vineyard ran wild brambles of berries, littered with a few storage sheds.

  “Feel free to take whatever you like.” Dellia snapped off a branch clustered with raspberries, her hand still gloved from her performance. “These bushes are overdue for pruning.”

  Tascana plucked a few raspberries, mindful of the thorns. They had walked for another hour and she was starting to get hungry again. “How much farther?”

  “That far.”

  Tascana followed the gesture. Across fallow rock-strewn meadows stood a wide swath of boulders stacked against the mountain. The Soldiers of Basagic kept vigil around the quarry.

  “Do others come here too? I remember you saying there were masons working here.”

  “No one has come out this way in almost three years. There are only so many things you can make out of stone before you have all the stone objects you need.” She turned to give a sympathetic smile. “How many statues can a person collect?”

  A twinge of pity flowered from the vine within Tascana. What a senseless existence to live forever.

  At the base of the quarry, hundreds upon hundreds of unfinished bowls, plates, busts, vases, and trinkets piled everywhere. Some with chevron designs, some with swirled carvings, some rubbed smooth. It was like finding the store room of an extravagantly spoiled child. All of the objects discarded. Unwanted.

  Tascana stooped to finger through some of the random items. Lifting away a cracked plate, she found a falcon’s head next to a matching body. The detail around the eyes drew her in. It reminded her of Daddy’s pet falcon Zemarick. She pulled it to her chest.

  “I’m never going to see my family again, am I?”

  The girl squatted next to her, picking up the shard of a vase. “Not as long as you remain here.”

  Her tone had taken on the same quality of resolve it had during Tascana’s first meeting with Arnya. When the dallest brought up the story of life before The Master, Dellia’s voice became soft, almost sad.

  “What?” Tascana turned her gaze from the clutched falcon to the girl.

  “Arnya speaks the truth when she tells you the only way you can be safe is to stay here. It is the only refuge for all of us. But if you wanted to try to escape, I would show you the way.”

  Was she trying to trick her? “Why?”

  “Why? Because everyone looks at my smooth skin like somehow I mock them by having a human form. Because I have lived in this valley for 105 years and have no hope of finding a mate unless I settle for Revel or Chalance. And because my life has no purpose.” She used the shard to pick at a half-carved bowl. “You still have purpose, Tascana. You still have a home. And maybe if I escape, I can have a home too.”

  “But how? The
only way out it is through The Master’s castle.”

  “I have a map. It shows all the catacombs leading to the far side of the castle grounds.”

  “Where is this map?”

  “Hidden.” She paused her hand. “My turn to wait in the tunnels for an escapee comes up in four days.”

  “And?”

  “And it would be the perfect cover to get a head start.”

  “What about Jerricoh?”

  “I told you, I have a map.”

  “How did you get it?”

  The corner of her lip tipped up. “I used to be Arnya’s assistant in the castle.”

  “Why haven’t you tried to leave before?”

  “I need help. We need help. Revel and Chalance are good enough with daggers. I’m good with a sword. But we need someone who can use magic. Someone to create an illusion for us once we get past the castle grounds. We can’t risk being seen until at least a two day journey separates us from The Master.”

  The vine in her gut flinched. “I can’t.”

  “Arnya trusts you. She thinks you want to stay. If she believes you want to learn her magic to help protect the dallests of Tretchin, she will teach you her spells. She’s already taught you how to seek a vision. Now you just need to learn how to project what you see.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “When you didn’t come downstairs yesterday, Arnya told me about your vision. About being kidnapped and feeling safe in this valley. That’s why she uses the seeing sand during your meditation lessons. To see what you see when you have a vision.”

  The vine thrust out a tendril. “She watches my mind?”

  Dellia let go of the shard and leaned back to sit flat. “Yes, she watches. And if I knew her motives, I would tell you. I know she thinks you had another vision and that’s why you hid in your room yesterday.”

  Searing droplets tickled in Tascana’s throat.

  “Whether or not you did, it works to your advantage.”

  Her ears were ringing now, making it difficult to hear. “W-what?”

  The girl took a deliberate sweeping glance over her shoulder. “Arnya thinks you had a vision two nights ago. She also thinks I’m taking you on a tour of the valley to show you what a fabulous paradise we live in. As a matter of fact, she asked me to. If you return to her with a conviction to stay, she will trust you to start as her apprentice.”