by Lakshman, V.
A Dragon’s Quest
Work like a soldier,
create like a king,
command like a god.
- Rai’kesh, The Lens of Leadership
Dragor entered the tent indicated by the escorting guards with Jesyn right behind him. The assassin was there, strapped down to a board. The tent created a rectangular space big enough for six of Dazra’s men, a relatively enormous shelter when one had the comparatively diminutive size of the adepts. As they walked in they noticed Dazra and Tarin, along with two other dwarves who by clothing looked to be important.
The first introduced himself as Gedeon, and if one did not count Tarin’s unofficial rank as Dazra’s wife, he was the second-in-command of the dwarven forces here. Dragor nodded hello, feeling Gedeon’s cold appraisal wash over him. No doubt Dazra had already communicated his dislike to his second. Gedeon looked as if he’d rather be almost anywhere else except here in the same tent with Dragor.
The second was Naph, the embodiment of a dwarven axer brought to life. Armed and armored, the warrior gave the two adepts a cursory glance and then turned back to his leader, as if he’d seen everything he needed to in that brief look.
“You know what we face once inside the mountain,” Naph said.
Dazra nodded but held up a hand, as if asking to continue that part of their conversation later. “And what help can we expect from your brethren?” he asked Dragor.
Dragor took a slow breath, then answered, “We’d thought at least one more adept would join us, but he faced extreme danger and did not survive.”
Dazra looked at him, then his eyes flicked over to Jesyn. He must have noted the resolute look in her eyes, the restraint she’d placed over herself. For a moment, Dragor thought Dazra might speak with Jesyn directly, but the elder warrior somehow understood the fragile nature of Jesyn’s control and did not say a word.
Instead, he looked back at Dragor and said, “That is unfortunate, and I’m sorry for your loss.” He paused, then nodded to Tarin, who stepped forward to bring the two adepts up to speed.
“It should come as no surprise—the assassin is still held and unconscious. What you may not know is that we both use entats.” She pulled aside his vest and exposed his chest, which was covered in different symbols: geometric in shape, clean lines leading to intersections that delineated a complex map of what looked to be almost armor-like sections. The group moved forward, inspecting the lines.
Finally Dragor said, “Your entats are somehow more…” he looked up at her, at a loss for the word.
“Organic,” replied Tarin. It was a word he’d not heard before, and to his raised eyebrow she replied, “Arising from natural processes or nature itself, like the edge of a leaf rather than that of a forged blade.”
That he understood, but what did the difference mean?
“We’ve noticed this before,” Tarin continued, “but we’ve never been able to capture one long enough to do any analysis. With your permission, I’d like to see what I can find out.”
Dragor nodded.
Tarin looked at them both, then moved forward and pulled back her sleeve. The whorls of entats on her forearm grew quickly up her wrist and hand like living vines, finally touching the tip of her finger. At that point it sparkled like a small star. She touched that light to the man’s forehead and closed her eyes.
Dragor watched as something akin to black ink seemed to seep into the man’s skin, tracing out his blood vessels before fading from view. To his right he heard Jesyn’s indrawn breath and looked over at her. Her eyes were fixated on what Tarin was doing.
“Our entats become inactive inside the mountain,” offered Dazra softly, watching his wife.
Dragor asked, “Inactive?”
The leader nodded. “We don’t know why, but it puts us at great risk in any rescue endeavor. We lose many of our powers, including our camouflage and speed. Worse, we are unable to transition into phase. It has spelled ruin for the many who went in before this day.”
The adept was confused, and asked, “I don’t understand how you’ve never captured one of their men. You captured us. It would seem particularly easy with a little planning.”
Gedeon stepped forward and said, “You’re right Daz, this one is full of himself.”
Dazra held up a hand, silencing the warrior. “It is easy to trap them,” he said, “but they kill themselves if captured. If we manage to knock them out, another team usually comes within a few minits and recovers the body, using our shared ability to move through rock.”
He wasn’t sure how long ‘minits’ were but he could clearly infer it was quick. “Why hasn’t someone come this time?”
The dwarven leader shrugged. “That is what we’re asking ourselves. Perhaps it’s something you did, maybe the way in which you immobilized him also blocked whatever calls his people?” He motioned to Tarin. “She’s trying to unravel it.”
It was then that Dragor remembered how many dwarves were stationed around the tent. Coming in he assumed they were awaiting word from Dazra, but now their vigilance and alertness spoke to a much more exigent reason, protection for their leader from any kind of surprise attack.
In a few more heartbeats Tarin fell back, a look of exhaustion on her face. She was caught and helped to a seat by Halp, the man who’d been assigned to watch Dragor as he’d convalesced. Halp had appeared from out of nowhere. It seemed the gruff old warrior just blended into the background. Likely a very useful trait in more than one circumstance.
Dazra made his way over and knelt, stroking his wife’s face. Her return smile made something unclench within Dragor, a knot of concern he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. After a few more moments, she sat up and took a drink of water, then looked at the group.
“I can’t read his thoughts, not the way these adepts can. However, I understand now why our entats fail.”
Gedeon moved to the other side of Dazra and said, “Sister, be careful what you say.” His warning was a blunt and open declaration of his mistrust of Dragor and Jesyn, certainly rude and only a hair’s breadth away from being openly hostile.
Tarin took his hand and squeezed it, then said, “You forget that the young one has already been accepted by the centrees. She has our gift within her, as Dazra commanded.” She gave her husband a look that Dragor could not decipher, but then her expression cleared and she said, “What use will it be if we do not share our knowledge?”
The look Gedeon gave Dragor made it clear nothing Tarin had just said had changed his mind. Then he looked down and said, “I’ll defer to your wisdom, Lady.”
Tarin nodded and then addressed the whole group. “Dawnlight is alive, every nook and cranny subject to Sovereign’s rule here in Edyn. We’ve seen this with the way in which the mountain rearranges its interior each time we reconnoiter it. For the same reason, our entats won’t work because we are not recognized by the mountain as family.”
“Family?” Dazra inquired softly. “But we are family, we live in Dawnlight.”
“Not this Dawnlight,” Tarin corrected. “Our mountain is wholly different from this one.” The dwarven woman thought for a moment, then added, “ ‘Family’ is the closest definition I can come up with.”
“So we go in without our entats,” declared Gedeon. “It won’t be the first time. At least we’ll have this latest map, and an idea of where important things might be.” He glared at Dragor, as if getting the map was the absolute least he could have done for them.
“You forget that without our entats we can’t phase through rock. We will be at the mercy of their blacknights… and worse,” the dwarven healer said, clearly tired.
Dazra sighed and said, “Then there’s no way to find our people.”
“Not exactly,” replied Tarin. “I’ve extracted some of this blacknight’s markers, things in his entats that are unique to him versus us.”
Dazra leaned back, concern in his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”
A moment passed, then two. Fina
lly Tarin said, “I release the unique markers into my bloodstream. It will mask me, making the mountain think I’m part of Sovereign’s family.”
“You’re joking,” he replied. “What if it kills you, or erases your memory, or makes you into one of them?” He put a hand on her shoulder. “What if we have to kill you?” He searched her eyes, then stood up suddenly and cursed.
Dragor looked down, not understanding. “He’s right Tarin, you don’t have to do this.” There was silence, into which Tarin gave Dragor a soft, sympathetic smile.
It was Dazra who finally turned and said, “She’s already done it, Adept.” His jaws flexed as he ground his teeth in frustration.
“What?” exclaimed Dragor. He looked back at Tarin and asked, “Why?”
“He would have just said no.” She looked up at Gedeon and Dazra and said, “For what it’s worth, it’s working. I can feel myself realigning to the mountain’s energies.”
“And what if Sovereign can track us wherever we go within the mountain?” replied Dazra, his fear erupting at her. “Worse, what if he can kill you with a thought?” He stepped back again, shaking his head, “You’re willful and stubborn and I accept that, but this is too much.”
“Don’t you think I took precautions?” Tarin said. “I analyzed the markers and correctly integrated them into my entats. I am the only doctor here,” she added as if that last bit justified her skill. “You’ll just have to trust me, something I know you hate doing with anyone.”
When neither of them spoke, it was Jesyn who finally stepped into the silence. She looked at the assembled dwarves, her appearance drawn and haggard. “I lost a friend, someone I loved.” Her face fell and her head bent forward. “I’d like to bring meaning to his death. Finding out what brought these assassins to our home, why with his dying breath our lore father named his brother… it’s the only reason I’m here.” To Dazra she said, “Don’t waste time being angry at someone you love. You may not get another chance.” Then the young adept excused herself and walked out into the cool night.
An uncomfortable silence followed in her wake. Finally Dazra cleared his throat and said, “Well… I,” he stuttered at Tarin. “You know I’m only angry because of the chance you’re taking.”
“We don’t have much choice, and so far I don’t feel any ill effects,” Tarin replied. “I can tell it’s working, and can transfer the marker to the rest of us quickly.”
Dazra nodded, but Gedeon coughed, looking pained. He looked from his leader to Tarin, then finally he said, “It would be better if you transferred the marker to a few spread out amongst us… just in case.”
Tarin looked confused for a moment, then understanding dawned and she simply nodded.
Dragor realized the warrior was trying to limit the casualties should Sovereign be able to retaliate against those with the marker, just as he’d worried would happen to her. The dwarven leader said to Gedeon, “Assemble everyone.”
The man saluted, fist to chest and left. It was the first time Dragor had seen anyone do anything remotely militaristic, and it seemed somehow out of place in the tent.
After Gedeon left, Dazra turned to Dragor and said, “Is Jesyn able to accompany us?”
Dragor thought about it, then replied, “Probably better she does. It will take her mind off of her loss, and we need her strength.”
He began to move to the tent exit when Dazra put a meaty hand on his chest and said, “My concern over Sovereign taking the life of one marked is not without precedent.”
Dragor looked at the man, not sure where he was going with this, so he remained silent.
Dazra continued, “We haven’t trusted outsiders in a very long time. Precautions were taken to insure your compliance.”
The adept realized this was no idle banter. Dazra was saying something vitally important and his mind quickly jumped through various possibilities. Then it hit him, the word “compliance.”
“You gave Jesyn an entat,” he said softly, his eyes searching Dazra’s own.
“And though it will pain me greatly now that I know her heart, I will end her life if you show the slightest hint of betrayal.”
Dragor surged forward in a flash of amethyst, knocking the dwarven leader down and climbing onto his chest, his fingers stiffened for a strike. “Release her!”
Two guards had already leapt to Dazra’s defense, pulling the adept off and throwing him back. Dragor let them, and rolled lightly to his feet. A dim part of his mind knew he threatened Jesyn’s life with even this small action.
Tarin stepped between them and with upraised hands said, “If you truly mean us no harm, then Jesyn is safe. I swear it, Adept.”
“Swear it? We trusted you,” replied Dragor, quenching his flameskin with effort.
“And we trusted you. Believe me, this is not unique to only Jesyn. Dazra can end any of our lives if he so chooses,” Tarin offered.
Dragor looked at her for a moment, cursed, and said, “Then take it out of her and put whatever it is in me.”
Dazra must have understood. He picked himself up and shook his head. “It is plain to see you would sacrifice yourself for your former pupil, but will you let her do the same? I think not.” The dwarven leader brushed himself off. “I’ll excuse your behavior this time, but there’s no love lost between us. Walk the line carefully, Adept. You hold Jesyn’s life in your clumsy, ignorant hands.”
“And what if Sovereign says the same to you? Your wife for our lives,” Dragor retorted.
Dazra didn’t look back, but it was Tarin who answered, “Then I die, Adept. I will sacrifice all I know and love for my people and Dazra will do the same.” She met Dragor’s eyes with a gaze as emotionless as her voice and asked, “Will you?”
When the adept didn’t answer, she dropped her eyes and followed Dazra out of the tent and into the night. Her look made him realize what had been the unspoken thing between her and her husband earlier during the talk of Jesyn’s entat. Despite her steadfast support of Dazra, it was clearly a ransom that did not sit well with her. The guards remained, ostensibly as escorts but Dragor knew when he was being monitored.
He watched them go, not sure what he could do at this point. The dwarven leader and his wife, for all their outspoken nobility, had skillfully maneuvered him into a difficult position. Without knowing how the entats worked, it was doubtful he could reverse what had been done to Jesyn.
He looked over at the assassin, still in his enforced sleep. Was there any option there? Nothing came readily to mind that did not also endanger their quest. He’d already read the assassin and any other act would only accomplish firmly cementing the negative opinion forming in Dazra’s mind about him, not to mention bring potential harm to Jesyn.
What about his other capabilities? The Way was strong here near the mountain, almost as if the granite peaks were the center of a fountain of power. It did not bring his capabilities to that of Silbane or Kisan, but did it need to? He looked closely at the assassin again, his mind working through other possible opportunities besides a mindread.
When a possible solution came, it was sudden and unexpected. He thought about it again, looking at it from different angles, then his face slowly broke into a cautious smile. It was not perfect, but what in life was? His job was to find Armun and keep Jesyn safe. Once he felt confident in the possible outcomes, Dragor made his way out of the tent. He still felt frustrated by the situation they found themselves in but encouraged by his new options. He remembered Silbane often saying, “Patience opens doors that anger doesn’t.”
When he finally found Dazra, the dwarven leader had assembled his men in a small clearing. Dragor saw Jesyn standing to one side and moved to stand beside her. She acknowledged him with a small nod but kept her eyes to herself. He understood, and took stock of their surroundings.
He was surprised to see only about thirty or so men and women in this raiding party. Hadn’t Dazra said a legion had come? Then he remembered that the vast majority of the dwarves had escaped to t
he version of Dawnlight that existed in phase, neither wholly in Edyn nor Arcadia. These folk represented volunteers to gain intelligence about their enemy, and effect a rescue of their missing brothers and sisters, should the opportunity present itself. Who knew how many times a party like this had tried to breach Dawnlight, found themselves unable to phase through the mountain as corridors rearranged themselves around them, and finally went missing.
Dazra held up his hands for silence. To his left stood Tarin, and to his right, Gedeon and the hulking Naph. When everyone had quieted, he began, “We attempt the mountain again. This time, we have some advantages.”
He took a measured gaze across those assembled and continued, “You’ve noted the two halflings who have joined us as guests. They captured one of the accursed blacknights and from him have extracted information and a detailed map of the interior of Dawnlight.”
He held out a hand and a small version of Dawnlight, transparent with tunnels demarcating its interior, sparkled into being in the air above his palm, slowly rotating in place. “We’ll use this to find our brothers and sisters.”
One man raised a hand and said, “The map is vital once we enter because we’re stuck using the corridors. Without our entats we can’t phase.”
“The mountain seems to recognize those who are part of its…” Dazra looked at Tarin and finished, “family. We may have a way of disguising ourselves as such, but it carries risks.”
Dazra’s wife stepped forward and said, “I can disguise us with a marker I extracted from the prisoner, but that may also give Sovereign the ability to track you, or worse.” Silence greeted that declaration, and to Dragor it seemed that everyone already knew what was meant by “worse.” Rather than belabor that point, Tarin went on to say, “To minimize the risk, only those who want the marker will be given it.”
Gedeon then moved forward and said, “We’ve asked a lot from you, so this mission is voluntary. If you want to go home, do so now with no blemish on your service. Those who stay will be organized into teams, each with an objective. Our goal will be to explore the mountain and locate our people. Once that’s done, you leave.”
