Kathir's Redemption (Book 6)

by Kristian Alva

  There was unspoken hope in her voice—she was being sincere. The meeting had gone better than anyone expected, but they all knew that the most difficult task was still ahead of them. The orcs had proven themselves clever and dangerous, and if they couldn’t find a way to deal with them, then they would lose this battle.

  Utan clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “It seems that we have achieved more today than in all the time since the clans arrived. I’m disturbed by some of what I’ve heard here, especially about Mistress Bolrakei. But if there’s no actual proof of Bolrakei’s treachery, then I’ll leave it there.”

  Skemtun knew there would never be a better moment to ask for more. “What about the dwarves stuck out outside? Will ye allow all the dwarves to come inside now, before the weather turns even colder?”

  Utan looked at Skemtun, and the weight of his gaze crushed him like a stone. But then, slowly and deliberately, Utan nodded. “All right…any dwarf who wishes to come into our mountain can carve a place for themselves, as long as they agree to come in harmony. But they’ll have to do their share of the work—and pull their own weight. My people aren’t going to do all the hard labor anymore. Those days are over.”

  Skemtun opened his mouth to say thanks when he felt Kathir’s hand on his elbow. “We leave now,” he said softly. “It’s best to stop while we’re ahead.”

  They all walked out of the mountain quietly. Although the air was cold, the sun was shining brightly.

  “You did well in there,” Skemtun said once they were outside.

  “Thanks, but we can’t get smug about this,” Kathir said. “It’s only a small victory. Bolrakei will continue to cause trouble, you can bet on that.”

  “Even if nothing else comes of this, ye still got all the clans inside the mountain. My clan finally has a warm place to sleep, thanks to ye. I won’t forget that. And I won’t forget the part ye played, either, mate.” Skemtun clasped Kathir’s forearm in a tight grip. “I’ll go now, and start packing for the journey.”

  Kathir watched him go back to his tent. Skemtun held his head a little higher, and his shoulders didn’t seem as slumped as before.

  Kathir turned, and saw Councilor Delthen approaching him out of the corner of his eye. “We won’t forget what you did either, mercenary,” he spat. “Your smart mouth has caused a lot of trouble here today.”

  “I helped the dwarves,” Kathir replied. “That’s what you hired me to do, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t play stupid. That’s not what we hired you to do—and you know it. Watch better yourself,” Delthen said menacingly. “Right now, you’re just one wrong move away from having a knife in your back.”

  “Don’t threaten me,” Kathir replied.

  Delthen looked over his shoulder to make sure there was no one listening. “You must do what we discussed before. You must be ready to step aside when the right moment comes. Skemtun has become a liability for all of us.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought you were getting what you wanted! After all of this, you still want Skemtun dead? But why?”

  “Don’t question me,” Delthen hissed. “I don’t pay you to think! I pay you to follow orders.”

  “You’re making a big mistake,” Kathir insisted.

  Delthen’s gaze went icy. “Shut up! You will obey me, or by the gods, I promise that you’ll live to regret it.”

  12. Old Wounds

  They set out on their journey the same day. Komu and Delthen’s wagons formed the heart of their small convoy and rattled along the roads from Highport with a kind of relentless certainty. The wheels spun at unusually high speeds, and they never seemed to get snarled in the mud the way ordinary carriages would have. Their magnificent horses never seemed to tire, and they only stopped to rest in the evenings. They were faster than any carriages that Kathir had ever seen, and he knew that Delthen and Komu were using their magic to speed things along.

  Kathir choose to ride his horse rather than sit inside one of the carriages, as he enjoyed the independence that riding alone offered.

  Sela and Elias rode their dragons they rode their dragons in a circle high in the air. E ach dragon was outfitted with a full complement of armor, which they had taken with them just in case. Nydeired was as white as a pearl, while Brinsop gleamed a rusty red in the dazzling winter sun. The dragon riders monitored the road for threats while they circled overhead. They also hunted occasionally and brought food when their caravan stopped to make camp.

  Delthen and Druknor occupied the front carriage. To everyone’s surprise, Bolrakei had joined them. She insisted on being a part of their expedition to Mount Velik at the last minute. Inside the carriage, the three of them colluded and conspired, whispering plans together inside the privacy of their lavish coach.

  Just before nightfall, the dragon riders signaled that it was time to stop. Normally, they only did so when it was time for the group to rest in the evening, but it was early, and there was still plenty of light to travel by.

  “Why are we stopping?” Skemtun called out. “Is there something wrong?”

  Kathir shrugged as he reined in his horse. “I don’t know. The dragon riders have stopped. That’s all I know.”

  The carriages followed along the road until they reached a meadow filled with high grasses where the dragon riders were waiting for them. The clearing was large enough that even the enormous Nydeired didn’t look crowded. The enormous white dragon stretched his wings in the evening light. Sela stood by Brinsop, looking up at the sky as though she were waiting for something.

  “What are we stopping for?” Kathir asked as he rode up to her and dismounted.

  “Tallin, Mugla, and the elves are close by,” Sela said. “We shall rendezvous with them here.” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose as though she had a headache.

  “Are you all right?” Kathir asked.

  “I’ll be fine in a minute,” she replied. “Tallin sent me a brief telepathic message, and mind contact is difficult for me. We’ll camp here for the night and wait for Tallin and the elves, then continue on in the morning.”

  Kathir nodded and helped set up camp. By now, they had a pretty solid routine in place. The dragon riders collected wood and got the fire going. Komu’s aides would help set up the tents. Kathir and Skemtun would tend to the animals.

  Delthen, Druknor, and Bolrakei usually did nothing to help—they just sat down in a circle and talked. They watched and spoke together in hushed tones while everyone else worked.

  After the camp was set up, there wasn’t much to do but wait, so Kathir decided to explore the surrounding forest for a while.

  “I’m going out,” Kathir said. He set off into the forest on foot, glad at the chance to get away from Bolrakei’s angry stares.

  It wasn’t long before he saw fresh tracks and animal droppings. Kathir followed them until he came to the edge of a swollen creek, where he found a small pig stuck belly deep in the mud. Kathir moved towards the terrified animal and brought it down with a well-placed arrow through the heart. He was dragging the animal back to camp when he saw the other dragon riders arrive.

  He was surprised to see four dragons flying over the treetops above him. Two were red, one was a deep onyx, and the last one was a bright sapphire. None were as large as Nydeired, but they were still impressive.

  Kathir sighed and looked away. It had been a long time since he’d seen so many dragons in one place. It brought back terrible memories—memories that he had tried to forget. Memories of those dark days, years ago when Kathir had be forced to work as a dragon hunter. His past filled him with great shame.

  Kathir had been lucky walk away from that life, but seeing these dragons now, it was impossible for him not to think back to it. He deeply regretted those days, but he hadn’t had much of a choice back then; as a former slave with obvious slaver’s scars, he was forced to take whatever wo
rk he was offered.

  Kathir picked his way through the forest and rode back to camp. By the time he got there, the new dragons were already on the ground with their riders standing beside them. There was a shrunken old dwarf woman there, a much taller dwarf with fiery red hair, and two pale-skinned elves, a male and a female. Sela and Elias were talking with the newcomers.

  Kathir threw the boar’s carcass over his shoulder, and made his way toward the fire. He patted Skemtun on the back, sat down, and started to dress the boar in silence. He wasn’t important enough to warrant the newcomers’ attention, and he wanted to spend as little time near Druknor and Bolrakei as possible.

  “So, is anyone going to make introductions?” Druknor said. “I’m sure we’re all eager to meet the new dragon riders.”

  Sela gave him a hard look.

  Druknor smiled. His eyes had a wicked gleam. “Listen…we’re all going to have to get along if we’re going to make this happen.”

  Sela sighed pensively and inclined her head in Tallin’s direction.

  “This is my fellow dragon rider, Tallin Arai,” she said. “This is Tallin’s aunt, Mugla Hoorlick. She’s the oldest and most respected dwarf mageborn.”

  “Not respected by everyone…” Bolrakei muttered.

  Sela ignored Bolrakei and continued. “The elves are Fëanor and Amandila. They’ve been sent to assist us. Tallin and the elves have just returned from a mission on Balbor.”

  Druknor raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You’ve just returned from Balbor? That’s quite… surprising. How did you escape the island?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” said Tallin. “We barely escaped with our lives. However, we were able to accomplish our mission. The High Priest has been replaced.”

  Druknor stared at him, obviously puzzled. “A new High Priest? But who—”

  Tallin gave a short shrug. “I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.” He smiled coldly. It was nice to know that something could wipe the look of perpetual arrogance from Druknor’s face. “Will this news make your slaving business more difficult?”

  Druknor’s mouth dropped open.

  Sela touched a hand to Tallin’s shoulder and gave him a guarded look. “Not now, Tallin,” she whispered. “It’s not the right time.”

  Sela changed the subject and quickly introduced the others. Councilor Delthen gave a courtly bow. Komu talked nonsense about woodland fairies until Issani and Blias quieted him and guided him back to sit at the campfire.

  “Lastly, we have Skemtun and Bolrakei. They are clan leaders of the dwarves,” Sela said.

  Tallin said nothing, but Mugla stepped in front of her nephew and jabbed an angry finger at both of them. She spoke through gritted teeth.

  “So! Skemtun and Bolrakei! You helped push the Vardmiters out of Mount Velik, but now the shoe is on the other foot! How does it feel? Perhaps this hardship will teach ye a lesson in kindness and humility.”

  “What do the Vardmiters have to do with this? We didn’t deserve to be attacked by orcs! Mount Velik is rightfully ours!” Bolrakei said.

  Mugla continued, “Bah! You’ve had time to change, but you’re the same as before—greedy and selfish. The mountain gods have punished ye for your wicked nature and yer foolish pride. Ye did get what ye deserve!”

  Skemtun was calmer. “Please, Mugla. What’s done is done. We’re here to stop the orcs, not fight with you.”

  “Humph!” said Mugla, frowning.

  Sela interrupted and introduced the dragons last.

  “This is Duskeye, Nagendra, and Blacktooth,” Sela said as she pointed to each dragon. She looked over at Tallin. “And I assume that the other dragon is Shesha? I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Shesha reached out and touched Sela with her snout, sniffing her carefully. Sela touched her cheek gently and whispered a few words in dragon tongue. Shesha responded with a razor-sharp smile.

  “Yes, this is Shesha,” Tallin said. “A wild dragon from the desert. She is not bound to a rider, but she has agreed to help us.”

  Sela called out to Kathir. Smiling, she waved him over. “And this quiet one is named Kathir,” she said. “He is Skemtun’s bodyguard.”

  Kathir stood up and raised a hand in greeting.

  Suddenly, Shesha made a deep sound in her throat. Tallin and Sela looked at each other with confused expressions on their faces. The dragon growled. “There is something familiar… about this human. Those scars… that smell…” Then the dragon’s eyes went wide with shock and rage. “Murderer! Murderer! I’ll kill you, fleshling!”

  Shesha roared, and that was all the warning Kathir got. His old instincts came to life as he threw himself backwards. A hot burst of flame struck the spot where he had been standing. The intense heat broke over Kathir as he rolled away. He jumped to his feet and then dove again to avoid a second blast.

  “Stop!” cried Kathir, but Shesha kept advancing. The horses were frightened beyond belief and bucked wildly.

  Shesha reared up to blast Kathir again.

  “Bjarg-Risa!” Sela called out, and a wall of frost rose up to stop the next spear of flame.

  A shield from Elias blocked the next attack, and Nydeired maneuvered his huge body between Shesha and Kathir. Shesha paced back and forth, growling and snapping her jaws.

  “Shesha,” Tallin called out. “Why are you doing this? Calm yourself!”

  Kathir looked at Shesha. The dragon looked hauntingly familiar. There was only one thing that would explain her violent reaction to his presence.

  “What is it? Why is that dragon acting crazy?” Skemtun demanded. He jumped to Kathir’s side, eager to help his friend.

  “I think I know the reason,” Sela said quietly.” Shesha attacked Kathir because she recognized him.” Her expression was grave.

  Kathir’s shoulders drooped, and he stood up. His face was filled with trepidation. “Yes. It’s true. She recognized me from my days as a dragon hunter. Shesha knows me, because… I killed her hatchlings.”

  13. The High Priestess

  Back in Balbor, Skera-Kina explored her new suite of private rooms. The former living quarters of the High Priest were far more opulent than those Skera-Kina was used to.

  The inner chambers where the High Priest slept were luxurious; all the rooms were filled with expensive silks, golden ornaments, and soft cushions. Even the room’s location seemed to have been chosen more for its beauty than for any practical purposes. Here, in these decadent rooms, it was easy for Skera-Kina to wonder whether she had ever truly believed any of what the priests had told her.

  Skera-Kina walked to her desk and shuffled absently through piles of reports, letters, and missives. A few of the letters were sealed with wax and written in a foreign script. Others gave details of spies and bribed officials. Still others were more mundane—one letter from a merchant demanded increased prices for his smuggled spices, and another requested more guards to protect a cache of ancient weapons in the northern part of the island. Skera-Kina didn’t read through them all—there were too many.

  A quiet knock on the outer door interrupted her.

  “Enter,” she said.

  Her former apprentice stepped into the room with his head bowed. She noticed that though his arm was still swollen, his shoulder had been set. Perhaps he had done it himself.

  “Gron, do you know why I have summoned you here?” Skera-Kina asked.

  “No, Mistress.” The young man kept his head bowed, but Skera-Kina could still see the faint trembling that betrayed his fear. Once, Skera-Kina would have despised him for that weakness, but now she had a different perspective.

  Her apprentice was no threat to her, and it would do him good to remind him of his station. Still, she felt no need to be cruel. “You were in the crowd jeering at me, when I was a prisoner in that cage.”

  Her hand fluttered to the hilt of her knife o
ut of habit. There had been some in the last few days, who had not been willing to accept her rise to High Priestess. The common citizens had accepted her ascension without question, but the other mageborns were not so quick to do so.

  There were a few challenges, but when she fought other assassins, the shadowkey protected her. So far, Skera-Kina had come through unscathed.

  “Please, Mistress…” he went to his knees. “Please, I did not mean it.”

  “You called for my death. Don’t bother trying to deny it. I heard your voice in the crowd. So the question becomes—what am I going to do with you?”

  The apprentice bowed his head in submission. “I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

  Skera-Kina looked down at the unfortunate young man. She could feel the shadowkey pulsing in her chest, protecting her heart. She reached out, grabbing the apprentice’s injured arm at the shoulder. He gasped and winced.

  “Curatio.” It wasn’t a spell that Skera-Kina hadn’t used much for others, but she used it now. The healing magic flowed from her body, pouring into her former apprentice. She felt his damaged flesh move back into alignment. It was quick. For several seconds after the healing, he just knelt there, panting softly.

  “Come on, get up,” Skera-Kina said. “You have work to do.”

  “Work?” the apprentice wobbled to his feet.

  Skera-Kina gestured to the notes and letters. “You can read, can’t you? I am not going to spend my time going through all this paperwork. You are now my personal assistant.”

  The young man’s face brightened considerably. “Oh, that would be a great honor, Your Grace!” Clearly, this meeting had turned out better than he expected.

  “I want you to read through all these reports and letters,” Skera-Kina said. “Tell me what’s important—anything that requires a real decision to be made. You will provide me with the information that I need to know, and you will do so honestly, because I will be checking. And If I ever discover that you have lied to me or have withheld anything from me…”