by C. K. Rieke
“It's getting louder,” Roren said. “It sounds like dozens, a hundred even.”
Another imp shot in at them from overhead, but Burr scared it away with his Whiteblade and a loud grunt.
“The Sanzoral,” Roren said to Lilaci. “You’ve got to use it.”
“I can try,” she said, closing her eyes, and reaching deep inside.
“Wait,” Gogenanth said.
Lilaci opened her eyes slowly and looked over at her long-lost friend. He stood squarely with his broad shoulders back, lips slowly mouthing words she’d never heard before. He lifted his hand over his head, and two fingers glowed in a clear-water blue mist. As he brought his hand down in a circular motion, the mist trailed along from its path. The top of his head disappeared, then his widow’s peak, and his eyes.
“Everyone be silent,” Ezmerelda whispered.
Gogenanth and Ezmerelda had all but disappeared behind an orb of blue smoke and mist. Then a tattooed, auburn-colored skin hand emerged from the blue, and Lilaci quickly reached out and took it. Ezmerelda’s hand pulled her into the orb, which continued to expand out. Once she stood within the orb, Gogenanth and Ezmerelda were both fully visible, and he was continuing his chant. His strong arms continued moving in circular motions, the mists flowing out to broaden the blue orb hiding them inside.
The same tattooed hand pulled the others in quickly. Surprise was evident on Fewn’s and Roren’s faces, yet Burr seemed intent on watching the many eyes that were appearing more and more all around from the light of the Sanzoral.
“OK,” Ezmerelda said to Lilaci, placing her hands on her shoulders, “you can let him take over now.”
Lilaci let the Sanzoral ease away from her, and what little she was using to create the light subsided back to her conscious. They all watched as the eyes died away to the blackness again.
“Be silent,” Ezmerelda whispered, again. “We’re only invisible, not invincible. They can still harm us, but they can’t see us. Creep quietly, let's move.”
Gogenanth walked forward, and with him, the orb. All around them was the dancing, whimsical blue light of his magic, and it lit each of them in the same blue hue. But outside of the orb, all remained black, yet—the barking hadn’t faded, it was louder now than ever. An increasing number of barks echoed throughout the chamber as they all walked tightly next to each other.
A clawed foot of fur with black talons glided through the top of the blue orb, seemingly unaware of the group just underneath it. The foot was quickly gone again, but Lilaci knew if any of the imps cruised straight through the orb, they’d have to kill it, and quickly. Maybe even carry the corpse with them, as to not leave behind any clue as to their whereabouts.
As they moved on, their speed hastened, as the barking sound behind them—the area they’d just left—seemingly had become overrun with the imps as Lilaci heard them flying around each other, screeching out and clawing at the empty air.
It’s so dark, I don’t even know if we are going in the right direction. Straight is going to be an arbitrary idea, being blind like this. If we veer off even a little bit we could end up walking straight down the canyon, if we aren’t mauled by these winged beasts first.
Ezmerelda pointed in the direction they were moving, shaking her finger, telling them they were going to move quicker. And with that, Gogenanth, still chanting, although silently, picked up his pace, and they continued further into the darkness. Hoping, praying for an end to their journey through the canyon. Their knuckles whitened from sturdy grips on their swords, their brows dripping with beads of sweat not only from the stagnant air, but out of anticipation for whatever may lurch through the wall of blue hiding them. Fewn reached over with her free hand and grabbed Lilaci’s, who held her hand tightly, and shook it next to her.
Hold tight, we’re going to make it out of here. Just keep moving. For Kera. Kera’s out on the other side of this mess. Just keep going straight.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A reddening sun sank behind thick, dark clouds in the west behind them. Beyond the sounds of the rushing winds that flew past them, she could almost hear the sun breaking through the clouds of a dark-violet hue, lined with a hard-red glow. The sands underneath the sun from this height looked like the blades of a rough saw pointed upwards. Thousands of dunes could be seen, each with a shadow growing at its base.
Just below rushed past the tops of great gray mountains, the tallest of which had something Kera never thought she would see that close in her life—a special type of water that froze in flakes—snow. Even Commander Veranor who sat behind her on the back of the great Aridon, seemed at ease, relaxed for the first time in the short time she’d known him. She looked over her shoulder as his hard-edged eyes examined the great mountains below.
Kera had never been to this part of the world. They’d now flown past the Great Oasis of Noruz to the south and were flying over and into the Xertans. This mountain range was much wider and seemed sharper and more jagged than any mountains she’d seen. She wondered how would they ever make it through such a rough looking part of the world on foot? Rough by even the standards of the deserts of the Arr.
“It’s somewhere down there,” Veranor said. “Somewhere within those mountains.”
“Which one?” Kera asked, brushing her hair back behind her ear.
“That’s for you to tell us,” he said.
Kera’s gaze went back to the mountains below, growing darker with each minute that passed. She looked back behind to see the sun had become only a thin sliver of red light, being devoured by the saw-ridge horizon of dunes.
The Aridon—aptly named by Kera—Wrathwing, showed no signs of growing tired. Even carrying both of them on his back, and with Veranor being a sizable man of almost two-hundred pounds, Wrathwing had been flying most of the day, gliding at an unnatural speed—faster than any bird Kera had ever seen.
“It’s going to be dark soon,” Kera said. “I’m not going to be able to see anything. Should we fly down and rest, to wait for the light of morning?”
Veranor thought about that for a long moment. “I’m not sure you’re going to be looking for anything. Maybe you should be feeling for something. One of your visions told us to come here, is there anything telling you where we should be going from here?”
Kera looked around at the countless mountains that stretched out fully into the horizon before them. “It could be in any one of these . . . I’m trying to feel for anything out of the ordinary. As you know I’ve never been able to call for any of these voices to tell me what to do, they only come when they want.”
“Then we can wait,” Veranor said. “I’ve got a little food if you’re hungry.”
“I’m fine now.” She continued scanning the mountains as they rushed back beneath them.
Twenty minutes passed, without either of them speaking. Each of them only looking below, but even the snowcaps were beginning to darken. Kera let out a loud yawn then, at the end of which was a cute, high-pitched sort of sigh. That was the first time Wrathwing turned its head to look back at her with his right eye, a golden yellow with a thin black slit for a pupil.
“I think the Aridon is checking on you,” Veranor said. “He may be seeing if you want to go down to take a rest.”
“No,” she said, brushing her sleepiness off with a shake of her head. The Aridon turned his back to continue flying forward. “I’m not tired, we need to keep looking. I’ll be fine.”
No more than ten minutes later Kera was fast asleep, laying back with her head resting on Veranor’s arm, her arms hanging loose on both sides of her. “Continue flying,” he said to Wrathwing. He didn’t know if the Aridon would listen to him or not, but he’d rather the mythical creature continue their flight where it was safe.
Kera let out another yawn, and turned to lay on her side, wrapping her arms around Veranor’s forearm, and fell right back asleep. He looked down at the innocent girl, a seemingly harmless kid who’d done nothing to stir trouble in the world. Her only m
istake was being born with the birthmark of the dragon’s tooth on the back of her shoulder. All of this turmoil now was because of her, and the gods’ fear of her. She was as beautiful as Veranor had ever seen. Such innocence, and such power.
Veranor, now a fugitive and the most hunted man in all the Arr, was free for the first time in his life, and free to make his own decisions. The closest thing he’d had to family since he was young, and they were taken from him just as every family was taken from every Lu-Polini—was Lilaci—and now Kera. He understood what it was that made Lilaci turn away from him and the Scaethers. Kera not only carried a certain magic about her, she had an aura that enchanted those around her. Or maybe it was just she was a kind, gentle child.
Veranor looked up then to the growing number of sparkling white and blue stars around the crescent moon before them. “If this is the path that takes me to my end,” he said to himself. “Then that will be a truly honorable end to have. In this, I am blessed. For the first time, there is real meaning in my life. Not some name, not more power, not the favor of the gods. This is my first true mission, and possibly . . . my last.”
A snore that came from his own nostril startled him awake, and he opened his eyes to see a golden glow slowly rising into the blue sky before them. Thin white clouds like pipe-smoke drifted evenly across the horizon, and still the high-peaks and ridges of great mountains floated under them like coral washing under a ship on a clear sea.
Under his chin still slept the girl, her black hair flowing delicately against her pale face and closed eyes. He reached up and ran his callused hand atop her head, showing her small widow’s peak pointing down at her nose.
“Kera, wake up,” he said. “The sun is rising.”
Her eyes opened, and she was startled for a moment, looking out at the high skies they were riding on, and that she was laying in Veranor’s arms. She sat back up on the Aridon and scanned the mountains again. “We flew through the night?” she asked. “The whole night?”
“Yes,” he said. “Wrathwing must be a magical creature. I don’t know exactly how long a dragon can fly, but I find it hard to imagine even a dragon could fly almost a full day without tiring.”
“Thank you, Wrathwing.” She petted his soft black fur. His broad white-feathered wings rattled, and he let out a purr that shook down his back. “Did you see anything down there? Any clues?”
“No, I’ve seen many caves, but it would be a waste of time to check any one of them, as there are tens of thousands in this vast range,” he said. “It's wiser to wait and see if something comes to you.”
“What if the gods come after us before we find it?” she asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to go down into the Xertans if we need to hide?”
“There may be no hiding if the gods come after us,” he said. “They may be able to find me, even if you are veiled from their vision. But the good part of this is we still have days left before they should be out after us. Remember, Dânoz still thinks I’m taking you to him in Erodoran.”
“I’m thirsty,” she said, moments later. “I don’t know if Wrathwing needs to drink or not, but he may be getting thirsty too.”
Veranor didn’t respond, yet Kera could feel him tense up. He dug his fingers into the Aridon’s fur.
She looked back up at him, his eyebrows angling down toward the two crisscrossing scars on his nose. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“The fountain . . .”
“The fountain?” she asked, her voice was soft, and trailed off with a high pitch.
“No, the fountain back in the cave where you found Herradax.”
“Yes . . .” she said.
“The water in it had great healing properties,” he said, turning to her. “It was a magical fountain, with magical water. That magical water was what kept the dragon alive in that cave for so long.” His gaze then went to Wrathwing. “The Aridon seems to be magical in itself. Perhaps instead of relying on you to find the egg, maybe . . .”
“Maybe if I ask him,” she said, her voice vibrant, “he will be able to find the egg!” She petted the back of the long, great beast with her delicate hands. “Great Aridon, Wrathwing I’ve named you, I ask of you one more favor. My many thanks for bringing us to this place, but I need your help to find what it is I need to raise another of my dragons, and with it, perhaps another of your kind—a female even.” Kera was startled to hear the Aridon let out a great roar, like the one he let out back when he was trying to kill the both of them. He then turned his great head around to look at her again, his gaze was intent, piercing into her silver eyes. He didn’t flinch.
“Help me,” she said softly, “help me to find a magical well of fresh drinkable water that heals all wounds. A well that would keep a dragon egg alive for many years.”
The Aridon quickly turned his head forward and sniffed the air. He took deep breaths that filled his lungs, and Kera felt her legs widening atop its back. Then the sniffing suddenly stopped, Wrathwing veered to the right and started a slow ascent.
“Veranor,” she said excitedly. “He’s got the scent!”
Their descent lasted for over an hour, with every inch they continued forward creeping hopefully closer to the egg. Finally, they could tell that they were headed to one mountain of no visible significance—it wasn’t the largest or shortest, or marked with any different color or shape. And as they glided down toward a section at the middle of the mountain, they found Wrathwing was taking them down to a ledge only wide enough for the two of them to stand on.
“Is that it?” she asked. Veranor didn’t reply. “It doesn’t look like a cave.”
But the Aridon continued flying down, and once they arrived at the ledge, it hovered in the air next to it. It clearly wasn’t large enough for them all to fit on, so Kera hesitantly stood to move to jump to the ledge, but then Veranor tapped her on the arm.
“Let me carry you,” he said. She nodded, and he lifted her in his arms, and with a leap, flew from the back of the Aridon to the ledge. He landed softly for such a big man, and promptly let her to her feet. They both quickly found that just around the backside of the mountain face was a slender cave, from which a cool, stale wind blew out from.
Before going in, they both looked back out to the sky to see Wrathwing flying back out into the air, his great wings outstretched, flying swiftly away.
“Thank you!” Kera yelled out, waving her hands at him.
“Well . . .” Veranor said. “Are you ready?”
With her eyebrows lowered and a hard glare in her eyes, Kera took a strong step forward into the cave, quickly disappearing around a sharp turn.
Veranor took a deep breath and followed Kera into the cave.
Part V
Where Evil Dwells
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A sweet, pungent floral aroma wafted down the long rows of flowers of lush reds, vibrant yellows and the purest of whites. Planted in dark, rich soil held in rectangular boxes of heavy light marble with black streaks like spider’s silk, the flowers flowed with the high winds as they flowed over the golden pyramid of Erodoran. The greens that were held in the royal garden made this place look like they were on a different continent completely. It was made to be that way, long ago.
Queen Lezeral Serinaas walked slowly down the center row of flowers, gazing at the tall statues on each side of the garden. Statues carved masterfully in white stone of kings and queens of ages past. She paused to look up at the freshly carved statue of the late King Gofgenden Serinaas, first of his name, and her late husband. Only recently was he killed by Gorlen, the late Witch Queen.
“Oh, Gofgenden,” she said. “So much blood shed already. That girl is going to bring about open war upon us. How many are going to die because of this war? At least before she was born, and there were no dragons, the gods lived by certain rules. They seemed content in the way things were.” She sighed, looking down at the soft, green grass that crept up through her toes and bare feet. “You could have lived to be
by my side in all of this, had Gorlen not killed you.” She clenched her fists. “I don’t care if the gods hear me now, I always despised that goddess. So much evil in her. She enjoyed poisoning you. You could have lived, and she still would have died at the hand of the Dragon’s Breath.”
The queen stood there in her long black robes of soft silk that fell to just below her ebony ankles. Her long, voluminous auburn hair bounced and tickled at her left shoulder in the winds, beneath her thin, golden crown. She then heard the creaking of a door behind her and looked over to see one of her advisers approaching out from behind the dark-wooden door.
He approached quickly, with his bald head and robes of blue and yellow, pausing in a kneeling position in between the two Queensguard that had been following her. “My queen,” he said. “A raven from the city of Godan.”
She extended her hand to him. “Bring it here, then.”
He rose and rushed over, handing the roll of parchment to her only a few inches wide and with the royal seal of Godan still unbroken upon it. She broke the seal and unrolled the thin parchment, scanning the fine calligraphy thinly-spaced down the roll. After reading it, she reached up and rubbed her right temple with two fingers in a circular motion.
“What does it say?” the adviser asked.
“Leave me,” she said.
The adviser paused, bowed, then went off to the door that led back into the golden palace.
“I require some space,” she said to the two Queensguard in their heavy silver armor with long spears and a single black plume on their helmets. “Light the blue torches.” They took large steps in unison backward toward the door, as to not turn their backs to their queen. They went and lit four blue torches that surrounded the royal garden.
