Kathir's Redemption (Book 6)

by Kristian Alva

  The crowd cheered as the hangman’s noose was fitted around Skera-Kina’s neck. A black sack was placed over her head. Skera-Kina stood motionless as she waited for the inevitable. There were thousands of people packed into the square now, and every face was upturned with morbid anticipation.

  The High Priest was waiting until the last possible moment to give the final order; drawing out the spectacle. He smiled down at the crowd, enjoying their chants.

  Tallin felt a mixture of anxiety and disgust. The High Priest raised his right arm to give the final order, and the executioner placed his hand on the lever to release the trap door.

  Tallin held his breath.

  All of a sudden, there was a bright flash in the sky. A dazzling explosion split the air, causing a sound like thunder. It was so loud that it rattled the ground beneath their feet. A few people in the crowd screamed, but others applauded, thinking that it was all part of the show.

  “What’s going on?” whispered Amandila.

  Tallin smiled. “The dragons are coming to save us. I can feel it. Somehow, Duskeye made it past the wards.” A feeling of intense relief washed over him. Duskeye was alive!

  Through a cloud of dust, a group of dragons materialized in the sky. The High Priest looked up and screamed.

  Leading the pack was the elf queen, Xiiltharra. She was riding on the back of a magnificent emerald dragon that Tallin didn’t recognize. Duskeye, Nagendra, and Blacktooth followed behind her in a triangular formation. Blacktooth opened his mouth and sent a river of fire toward the crowd. People scattered, and the crowd started screaming.

  “Guards! Guards!” the High Priest shrieked. “Arrest them! Catch them!” Dozens of soldiers ran up the stairs to defend the hysterical old man.

  Duskeye pulled his wings in tight and landed on the platform with his forelegs outstretched. He roared, swiping at a guard with his enormous clawed foot. Blacktooth joined him, and together the two dragons fought the stream of soldiers bounding up the stage.

  Forgotten by the guards in the chaos, Tallin and Mugla muttered simple release spells, causing their ropes to fall away. Mugla smiled, but she was clearly exhausted from lack of food and sleep.

  Tallin reached out to help his aunt, but she waved him off. “Don’t help me! Go help Skera-Kina! I’ll free the elves—I’m strong enough to do that.”

  Tallin ran up the stairs and attacked a guard, stripping him of his sword. The guard fell backwards and knocked the lever back for the trap door, causing Skera-Kina to fall through it. Her body jerked violently as the hangman’s rope went taut around her neck.

  Tallin rushed forward to grab her and support her weight. Her body was limp and slippery; her back and shoulders still slick from the whipping. Tallin reached up and severed the rope around her neck. He removed the black bag from her face and laid her limp body on the floor.

  “Skera-Kina? Can you hear me?” he yelled, slapping her cheeks. She did not respond. Her eyes stared forward blankly, and her face and lips were blue.

  Tallin tried to check for a pulse, but someone pulled his leg sharply and knocked him to the ground. He glanced over his shoulder to see a solider with a sword aimed at his head. Tallin twisted his body and avoided the killing stroke by rolling out of reach. The soldier swung again, and this time, Tallin rolled off the platform, twisting in midair to land on his feet on the street below. The soldier growled at him from above and jumped down with his sword in his hand, ready to fight.

  Tallin ran towards to the guard and thrust his stolen sword into the man’s chest. The guard collapsed, shocked at the speed with which he’d been cut down.

  Mugla freed both of the elves. They were all fighting side-by-side now, holding back an endless stream of guards trying to get on the platform. Mugla was holding on, but her face looked very pale. The elves still looked dazed from the iron poisoning, but they fought fearlessly all the same.

  Mugla then remembered the magical sleeping powder Chua had given her, still hidden in her bosom. She drew the little vial out quickly and poured the powder into her palm. A dozen more guards approached them, and she waited until they were just footsteps away before she flung out her hand, casting the powder into their eyes. “Take that, ye dirty buggers!”

  The sleeping powder hit the guards in varying degrees. Two merely stumbled, but the rest collapsed to the floor as if they had been hit over the head with a mallet.

  Above them, Xiiltharra and her emerald dragon remained in the sky, throwing fireballs and lightning bolts down at the terrified crowd below. More people fell, consumed by dragon fire. Others were trampled by the screaming crowd trying to flee the square. It was complete pandemonium.

  Finally, the elf queen circled down and landed on the platform. She raised one ivory hand. “Enough!” The word echoed into the distance. Her voice seemed amplified somehow.

  Everyone on the platform froze, and the remaining crowd fled away from the square. Only a few guards, two assassins, and the High Priest remained. All of the High Priest’s entourage had abandoned him.

  Tallin kicked another soldier to the ground and barreled up the stairs again. This time, he was able to reach Duskeye and embrace him. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, old friend! That was a close call! How did you find us?”

  Duskeye licked his scaly blue lips. “You can thank the elves for that! Xiiltharra is the one who contacted me—her powers are very strong. I was waiting for you on the coast, unsure of what I should do. I heard Xiiltharra’s voice in my head, and soon enough, I saw her riding her dragon in the sky. I followed her here with the others.”

  “Xiiltharra is a dragon rider? For how long?” It was a shock.

  Duskeye’s great blue head dipped down low. “For some time, now, apparently. Her dragon’s name is Atejul. As you can see, he’s gigantic—quite difficult to miss. I’ve never seen an emerald dragon so large. Nagendra and Blacktooth were accompanying them.”

  Tallin looked over at Xiiltharra’s dragon. “I don’t understand—was Atejul simply hiding in Brighthollow this whole time?”

  Duskeye chuckled. “No, you’ve seen him before. You just don’t remember.”

  Tallin gave Duskeye a quizzical look. “I honestly don’t remember — no. He looks so young. Did he flee the desert before the war?”

  Duskeye shook his head. “Atejul is Nagendra’s hatchling. You met him in the desert when he was just a fledgling, remember?”

  Tallin’s jaw dropped open. “Nagendra’s hatchling—well, by Baghra, then he’s your son!”

  Duskeye nodded, and the look on his face displayed the great pride he felt. Female dragons never revealed their mates, but since there were so few dragons left, it was obvious who Atejul’s father was.

  “Amazing,” said Tallin. He then remembered his dragon stone and pulled it out of his pocket. He placed it against his chest and flinched as the stone embedded itself once again into his tender skin. Despite the pain, it felt good to be whole again.

  At that moment, the other dragons, Nagendra and Blacktooth, flew below and reunited themselves with their riders. The dragons purred and nuzzled the elves, who laughed so elatedly that it seemed they would burst with happiness.

  Everyone paused and waited as the elf queen slid delicately from her dragon’s saddle. Xiiltharra was very tall, and she towered over everyone else by at least a head. She wore a rich emerald-tinted gown that shimmered with gold as she moved. The garment seemed designed specially to display the dragon stone embedded near her throat. The glittering emerald caught the dim light with a fiery luster. Xiiltharra’s strawberry-blonde hair fell in loose waves down her shoulders. Her skin was extremely pale, but her lips were very red. Her eyes were such a light shade of blue that they looked almost colorless from a distance.

  Xiiltharra looked like a young woman, but everyone knew that she was hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years old. Mugla stepped over the bodies of the guards
around her and walked up the stairs. She went over to Skera-Kina, knelt down, and placed two fingers on her neck to check for a pulse.

  Tallin headed over to his aunt. “Is she still alive?”

  Mugla nodded, but her expression was grave. “She’s still alive, but barely. Her neck is broken. It’s beyond my power to heal an injury this severe.”

  Xiiltharra tried to walk over to where Skera-Kina was lying down, but she was blocked by several guards. The elf queen sighed, as if deeply irritated. She turned to the High Priest. “Call off your guards. Now.”

  Despite his fear, the priest shook his head. “I will not! Who are you to speak to the High Priest of Balbor in such a manner?”

  The elf queen’s jaw clenched, and her eyes narrowed. “I am Xiiltharra, Queen of Faerie, and by the terms of the Brighthollow Pact, I am your sovereign! You will obey me, whether you like it or not!”

  She waved her hand in the air, and all the guards flew backwards off the platform as if they had been struck by an invisible fist. All of them hit the ground below with a hollow thud. The queen then turned to face two assassins who were standing before the priest.

  “Now get rid of these two,” she ordered.

  The High Priest recoiled in fear, but he did not obey. Instead, he pushed the assassins forward. “Kill the elf witch! It’s your duty to protect me!”

  The first assassin drew a poisoned knife and pointed it at her.

  Xiiltharra chuckled lightly. “A poisoned blade? Against me? You must be joking.” She made a circular motion in the air with her index finger. The assassin twirled around rapidly before she cast him down to the street below. The assassin landed on his head with a loud crack and did not rise again.

  Xiiltharra addressed the High Priest again. “You are trying my patience, priest. Call off your last man, or I’ll kill him, too.”

  The remaining assassin moved forward cautiously.

  Tallin stepped forward to help, but Mugla grabbed his elbow. “Don’t go—Xiiltharra doesn’t need your help, believe me.”

  The last assassin proved more stubborn. He struck out and was able to graze Xiiltharra’s sleeve with his blade.

  “Kala!” she shouted, her voice booming through the cold air. The assassin shrieked and stumbled back. A blue spark shot from Xiiltharra’s palm and embedded itself in a tiny spot of bare flesh on his shoulder.

  Flakes of snow formed on the assassin’s skin where the spark had touched him. The ice expanded instantly and spread across his skin. He screamed once with shock and pain. Seconds later, his entire body was frozen.

  The queen swept by and pushed his frozen body as she passed. She watched emotionlessly as the assassin’s frozen body tumbled to the ground and shattered like a block of ice.

  The elf queen smoothed her dress and walked toward the High Priest, who was trembling violently. Her expression was no longer angry or troubled. “That’s better. Now we won’t be interrupted. Tell me, priest...what is your given name? The name you were born with?”

  The High Priest said nothing, mute with fear.

  “Answer me, or I’ll rip your tongue out of your mouth,” she said. Her expression remained totally calm.

  “Fereroaz! My name…is Fereroaz,” he croaked.

  “Fereroaz, eh?” She rolled her gaze upward and tapped her chin with her forefinger. “And what of Civodous? What happened to him?”

  The High Priest looked confused for a moment. “Civodous? Why, Civodous was my great-grandfather. He died many years ago.”

  The elf queen clucked her tongue. “So soon? Ah, you mortals. Your lives are so short. You don’t live very long at all.”

  “I don't understand,” said the priest. “What do you want from me?”

  “In due time, my dear. Be patient. For right now, I just want you to be quiet.” Xiiltharra paused and looked around. “Where is the daughter of Carnesîr? I know that she is here.”

  “That’s her,” said Tallin, pointing in Skera-Kina’s direction. “She’s badly injured.” Skera-Kina was lying on the ground, her breathing was shallow and uneven.

  Xiiltharra walked over to where Skera-Kina lay unconscious. She reached down and touched Skera-Kina on the cheek. “Good. She is still alive.”

  Xiiltharra drew a small vial of white liquid from her bosom and poured several drops into Skera-Kina’s mouth. “Rise, forgotten daughter of Carnesîr, elfling child.”

  At that moment, Fëanor rushed up the stairs. He looked alarmed. “Your Royal Highness! Stop! This woman is a murderer. She’s the one who killed Carnesîr!”

  Xiiltharra shot him a withering look. “I know what I’m doing, Fëanor. Are you questioning my judgment?”

  “Uh…no,” said Fëanor, looking confused. “It is just that I do not want you to make a mistake."

  The elf queen smiled. “I do not make mistakes. This female is an elfling, a product of an elf mating. She carries our blood, even though she is tainted… with the blood of a dwarf. I warned Carnesîr countless times about his little indiscretions. He made the choice to lie with mortal women. And worse, he did it under a magical glamour. I warned him not to trifle with mortal women, and this is why.”

  “But why would you save her life?” Fëanor sputtered. “She’s a danger to us all!”

  Xiiltharra continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “I’ve decided that Skera-Kina shall live. She will be a living reminder for all of you. Carnesîr’s actions had consequences. He did not understand the price of his recklessness until it was too late. It seems fitting that Carnesîr’s coquetries cost him his life. Carnesîr’s child will live a very long life…and remain a constant reminder of his foolishness. That is Carnesîr’s legacy and his eternal shame.”

  Fëanor nodded and lowered his head. “I—I understand, My Lady. If I may ask, how did you learn of Carnesîr’s death?”

  “Carnesîr’s dragon, Poth, felt his partner’s death from afar. Poth collapsed and died in Brighthollow from the shock. That’s when I decided to intervene. I called the dragons to me, and we crossed the sea. We passed through Balbor’s wards with the shadowkey.”

  Fëanor stepped back and said nothing more. Behind them, the moon was rising over the top of a jagged cliff, its light turning the sky a creamy blue.

  Skera-Kina’s eyes fluttered open. “Where am I? What happened?” Her voice was barely a whisper, hoarse from the grip of the noose.

  “You were hanged,” said Tallin. “Your neck was broken. The elf queen saved your life.”

  Xiiltharra smiled. “Nonsense! Don’t scare the poor girl. It wasn’t as bad as all that.” Gently, the queen put her hand on Skera-Kina’s back and guided her to an upright position. “There now, my pet, let’s sit you up.”

  Skera-Kina stared at the queen with disbelief. “Who are you? Why did you save my life?”

  Xiiltharra smiled in a way that was probably intended to be motherly, but which only looked frightening. “I am Queen Xiiltharra, monarch of Brighthollow and the northern lands, descendant of Llewellenir. I am also your sovereign leader, by the terms of the Brighthollow Pact.”

  Skera-Kina looked even more confused. “Who am I to you, then?”

  Xiiltharra smiled again. “You are a means to an end. Each person has a unique purpose. That includes you, Skera-Kina. Your purpose is about to be fulfilled. Observe, and you shall understand the wisdom of my decision.”

  Xiiltharra turned her attention back to the High Priest. “I am here under the terms of our Pact. This is the second time in the last thousand years that I’ve had to return to this forsaken island in order to enforce our agreement. I grow weary of this eternal game.”

  The High Priest stared at her in horror. “The Brighthollow Pact? I thought that was only a myth!”

  Xiiltharra’s feral blue eyes narrowed. “Yes, that’s what one of your predecessors said too, before I killed him. I will teach you your place,
as I did him. The Balborites are strictly forbidden from owning, breeding, or raising dragons. The pact is explicit and binding, and yet you have attempted once again to steal dragon eggs for breeding. That is a direct violation of our pact. As such, your life is forfeit.”

  “But I didn’t know,” the High Priest whispered. “I didn’t know!”

  Xiiltharra went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “Now, normally, I do not meddle in mortal affairs, but I cannot allow this crime to go unpunished.”

  Skera-Kina stood up and touched her swollen throat. The rope left a bright purple bruise around her neck. She walked over to the elf queen and addressed her without fear. “Why did you save me? I chose this path, and my oaths cannot be broken. I no longer wish to serve the priests…or anyone else, for that matter.”

  Xiiltharra smiled at her. “I think I can convince you to change your mind.”

  “I took a blood oath—it cannot be broken. I am forced to serve the Temple until the end of my life. My only escape from this bondage is death.”

  Xiiltharra held up her other hand to silence her. “You misunderstand your oath. It is not set in stone and can be changed if necessary. Today, you will get to choose between slavery and freedom.” Then she turned to the High Priest. “You have broken the pact with faerie by attempting to steal dragon eggs. Your crime is indefensible, and frankly, I have indulged the stupidity of your people long enough. Thankfully, I believe I’ve found a solution to all my problems.”

  “By the gods! What are you going to do to me?” he cried.

  Xiiltharra lifted a finger, and the High Priest’s mouth clamped shut like a vise. “Silence. Do not speak.” The High Priest tried to open his mouth to respond, but all that escaped from his lips was a choking sound.

  Xiiltharra removed a silver chain from around her neck. A black key, carved from volcanic glass, hung at the end of the chain. It was so black that it seemed to radiate darkness. Xiiltharra slipped the key from the chain and pressed it into Skera-Kina’s palm.