“There was a young man named Finnbar, who was gifted in magic. He left his home in search of learning and traveled for years with a powerful sorcerer from another land. When he’d learned everything the sorcerer had to teach, he went home to Ireland and lived as a hermit, helping others with his magic.
“One day, after many years, the sorcerer came to Finnbar’s home, looking like he’d traveled hard without rest, and suffered a great and terrible grief. And he carried with him two priceless treasures.
“One was a small statue, an idol of solid gold, looking like a man and yet not a man. Finnbar was amazed, because he had never imagined anything so valuable existed outside stories, or maybe a king’s treasure-hoard.
“The sorcerer begged Finnbar to take the idol and hide it, telling him that it contained the spirit of a powerful sorcerer. He told Finnbar to gather all the strongest magic-users he knew, and form a Circle to keep the idol safe. One day, he said, in a time of great danger, the statue would awaken and speak.
“And when it did, a great and beautiful power would awaken with it, and Finnbar’s descendants would save the world from unspeakable evil.”
She gazed at Thorne. “But it was a lie,” she said quietly. “Whatever… spirit… is in this statue isn’t some benevolent force waiting to help our coven save the world. It is the evil.”
“How did you find out?” Zane asked softly.
Her eyes got a faraway look, and he could feel the old, old pain that haunted her.
“One day when I was about twelve, the son of our coven leader heard the statue speak to him.” She turned to Zane. “Silas Turner,” she said. “The one I told you about. He was older than me—eighteen at the time. He was powerful and handsome and a natural leader. Everyone knew he’d take over the coven one day.”
Zane nodded. “Was he the one doing that sick animation spell?” he asked. He turned to the others. “He was projecting his spirit through some poor sucker’s body. Burning it up, probably.”
The others looked slightly ill. “That’s fuckin’ dark,” Tyr muttered.
Blaze nodded. “Back then, though, he wasn’t like that. Kind of arrogant, maybe, but he’d always been kind to me, ever since I was little. He used to play with me, teaching me spells, and I looked up to him…” She broke off and took a deep breath. Zane put his hand over hers and squeezed gently.
“Anyway,” she said, “he told the coven that the idol said the time was coming when we would be needed to fight, and we should begin to prepare. Over the next few years, he and the Inner Circle—including his father and my parents—held special rituals, rituals that he’d been told about by the idol.”
Zane winced, knowing what was probably coming.
“I was too young to be a part of it, but as far as I can piece together they were doing dark spells. First just to gather power, but then to take control over others, to eliminate rivals who Silas claimed could no longer be trusted. Then it was blood magic—first using their own blood, then the blood of enemies, and then shifters and other sorcerers.”
Her voice grew low. “My father changed,” she said. “So did the others. At first so slowly that I didn’t realize what was happening. But they grew more arrogant, harsher, more distant. More afraid of anyone who wasn’t in our circle, and more hostile.”
She bit her lip. “My mother resisted, after a while. But it drained her—made her so ill she wasted away. She died when I was sixteen.”
Zane held her hand, feeling the pain that coursed through her. He knew what it felt like to lose your family. Nothing could fill that hole.
She went on, “Finally, they targeted a group of shifters who lived in a rural community in the hills not far from us. Panthers—not dangerous to anyone as far as I know, except that they had a couple of powerful sorceresses in their clan.
“The coven went after them. Claimed that they were performing dark magicks and trying to eliminate everyone who might find them out.” She looked down at the table. “But it was my coven who had become the dark sorcerers, who’d become paranoid. My people. My family.”
Her voice broke, and Zane could feel her heart breaking along with it. He rubbed the back of her hand gently, knowing that nothing he could do would help.
“I had a friend named Jerome. We were too young to go on the raid, but we were terrified of what was happening. We did a scrying in the fire, watching the raid with our magic.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “It was a slaughter. Nearly all the panthers were killed, even those who had no magic, who didn’t fight.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Even the children.”
The room had gone silent; everyone was watching her.
“I had just turned sixteen, and at the full moon I was going to be initiated into the coven. I couldn’t let myself be initiated into that. So instead, at the dark of the moon I sneaked into the coven’s ceremonial space and stole the statue. I put the most powerful bindings I knew on it, and then I ran.
“I disappeared into the city, made myself invisible. I magically severed all ties with the coven, and changed my name every few months. When I could afford it, I created a whole new identity for myself.” She reached out her hand toward the spell cage sitting on the table. “I hoped—I hoped that when the statue was gone, its influence over the coven members would be gone too. That somehow, they could reclaim who they were.”
She said sadly, “My father was a good, kind man once. All these years, I hoped he’d find his soul again. That the whole coven would find their souls. But I always knew there was the chance that Silas would come after me instead.”
She gave a bitter smile. “And now you’re trying to tell me that this—” she flicked her finger at the idol— “is some kind of conduit to an evil Draken Lord who’s about to break out of his tomb. So, instead of keeping it in Ireland, far away, we brought it right to him?”
She shook her head. “I’m thinking this is not at all what Finnbar’s sorcerer had in mind.”
Chapter 28
The room was silent for a moment. Then Tyr said, “Maybe it was.”
Zane wanted to smack his brother. “For fuck’s sake, Tyr, can you be any less sensitive? That thing annihilated her whole family.”
Tyr gave him the side-eye. “Yeah, that last thing you just said was super-sensitive. Way to go.”
Oh, hell. “Sorry,” Zane murmured to Blaze. His idiot brother Tyr was still talking, though.
“Anyway, yeah, the sorcerer inside the idol is evil, sure. He’s been hanging out with nobody but Vyrkos for centuries. But…” Tyr trailed off. He was shoving stacks of folders around, pulling ancient books and scrolls out from under them, glancing at them, and shoving them aside again.
“But what?” Thorne said impatiently.
“But I don’t think that’s what Finnbar’s guy was talking about.” He looked at Blaze. “What was the second treasure?”
“What?” Blaze stared at him.
“You said the sorcerer came to Finnbar with two priceless treasures. What was the second one?”
“Oh.” Blaze sat back in her seat. “Actually, no one knows. It was one of our favorite things to make up stories about, when I was little. The mysterious second treasure.”
At that moment, the elevator doors opened and a tray full of food floated out, all by itself. It sailed over to the conference table and hovered next to Blaze. She looked up, and when she saw the tray moving of its own accord, she startled and shoved her chair away, feet scrabbling on the ground.
“What the hell? Is that a spell?”
Oops, Zane thought. He should have warned her. “Sorry to freak you out,” he said. “It’s just a zefir.”
“A what?”
He’d lived with zefirs all his life. He’d never had to explain one before. “Um, a type of air elemental, I guess? They’ve served dragons for—well—ever. They cook, and do housework. And stuff.”
“And… they’re invisible?”
Blaze watched, mouth open, as items began seemi
ngly to unload themselves from the tray. A bowl of thick meaty soup, a baguette with a dish of butter, a pot of tea with creamer and sugar bowl, napkins, utensils, and cups. And an entire chocolate cake.
“Not exactly invisible,” Zane said. “They’re incorporeal. No bodies.”
“Then how do they carry things?”
Zane frowned. He’d never thought about it. “Beats the hell out of me. But they keep me supplied with cake, so who am I to complain?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I thought the cake was for me.”
“But you’re the type of person who shares.”
“You must have forgotten the pepperoni debacle.”
That made him smile. It seemed that just the idea of food was making her feel better. He thanked the zefir and it left with the tray, Blaze watching it until the elevator doors closed.
Zane poured Blaze some tea and added more sugar than she probably wanted. It was good for shock. Then he buttered some baguette for her while she dug into the soup.
Tyr stopped searching through books and papers and watched him, a speculative look on his face.
“What?” Zane asked.
“Nothing,” he said slowly. “Just gathering evidence for my theory.”
“Which is what?” Thorne snapped. “At this rate, Vyrkos is going to erupt out of that mountain and burn down the city before you finish your goddamn sentence.”
“Ah,” Tyr said, pulling out a book. “This is it.” Zane could hear the excitement in his voice, and he knew what was coming.
He recognized the book, and by the look in Thorne’s eyes, he did too.
This was about to get ugly. And loud.
Tyr turned to Thorne. “I think the second treasure was one of the Seals. I think the sorcerer who taught Finnbar was Arkyld, and one of the first Keepers of the Seals was in the Silver Raven coven.”
Thorne threw his hands up. “Where are you even getting that from? You’re fucking obsessed.”
“No I’m not. Well, yes I am, but I’m not wrong.”
He turned back to Blaze. “I’m a student of Draken lore and legends,” he said. “I used to go all over the world, hunting for whatever books and fragments they left behind. So when Thorne begged me to come here and help look for the Seals—” Thorne snorted— “I agreed, under the condition that I could search the Guardians’ archives.”
Blaze nodded.
“And I found this.”
Blaze looked at the book. It showed a drawing of three women, each holding a round object in their hands. One had a dragonfly on it, one had a dolphin, and one had a phoenix rising from the flames.
“Are these the three Seals?” she asked.
Tyr lifted one shoulder. “They’re representations,” he said. “Nobody seems to be sure what the Seals actually look like. It might be that they can take different forms.”
“Which is why finding them is something of a challenge,” Thorne put in. “But if you have anything tucked away in a drawer that looks like that…” He gestured at the book. “Feel free to hand it over.”
“Sorry,” Blaze said. Thorne snorted in disgust, shaking his head.
Tyr said, “There are a number of different versions of this story, but the ones I found here in this house are the oldest and closest to the source material. And they tell the story of how the Seals were removed from Vyrkos’ tomb.”
Thorne opened his mouth, but Zane shook his head at him. He wanted to hear where Tyr was going with this. Thorne pressed his lips together and threw himself back in his chair, growling in frustration. Zane cut a piece of chocolate cake and handed it over to him.
“Cake? Seriously?” Thorne muttered. Zane passed him a fork, and then cut a piece of cake for himself. Thorne stabbed his fork into the cake and began eating.
Cake could improve almost any situation.
Blaze nibbled on a piece of baguette, and Tyr launched into his story.
Long ago in the dawn of this world, there lived a beautiful sorceress named Maia. She and her coven were descended from humans who came from another world, to live side by side with the Draken Guardians in a green river valley in a great wilderness. Together, their purpose was to guard the tomb of Vyrkos, one of the ancient and evil Draken Lords.
Maia was the fairest of the coven, with hair the color of fire-gold, that which Draken hold the most dear. She was powerful, yet good, and beloved by the Draken, especially the Midnight Draken, Arkyld.
But love between Draken and humans was forbidden, and Arkyld never spoke his love. Maia was pursued by another sorcerer, named Corwyn. He was handsome, but arrogant in his power. Unbeknownst to the others in the coven, Corwyn took to visiting the tomb of the Draken Lord, dreaming of the kind of power that Vyrkos once had. The power to shape the earth itself, raising mountains and channeling great rivers.
The power to be lords over humans, animals and shifters, to be worshiped and feared.
And as he sat in the Draken’s tomb, night after night, he began to hear the Draken’s dreams.
Those dreams were dark and full of death, but also full of power and glory and treasure beyond imagining. Treasure that he could take to other worlds, where there were great shining cities, and not the filthy hovels that passed for civilization on most of this primitive, backward world.
So Corwyn kept returning to the tomb. Eventually, as he walked in the Draken Lord’s dreams, Vyrkos became aware of his presence. And one night, Vyrkos spoke to him.
He saw the darkness in Corwyn: the power and the weakness, and he flattered him and coaxed him, promising Corwyn magic, riches, and power beyond measure, if he would only set Vyrkos free.
“But he didn’t,” Blaze said. “Right? Because… still here.”
“He tried,” Tyr said.
Corwyn searched the Drakens’ archives and learned the secret of how the Seals were made—and how they could be destroyed. All he needed was a piece of the Draken Lord’s treasure hoard, the one piece that had not been buried with him. The piece that had been used to connect the original Guardians to him, and cast him into his eternal sleep. So he planned and he schemed, and one night, he stole the one final piece of Vyrkos’ hoard and sneaked off to the tomb to set Vyrkos free.
Maia, the beautiful sorceress, followed her lover to the tomb, and saw what he was about to do. When Corwyn began the spell to destroy the Seals, Maia confronted him. She pleaded with him to consider what he was doing, how many people could be hurt, but Corwyn was too dazzled by Vyrkos’ promises.
Corwyn attacked Maia, and she fought him, magic to magic. But they were evenly matched, and she realized that she couldn’t win—but as long as she never gave up, neither could he.
But Corwyn used the piece of Vyrkos’ hoard to connect with the Draken Lord, funneling his essence through it to try to burst open the magical seals. Unable to stop him with her magic, Maia took a dagger and stabbed her lover through the heart. She killed his body, but his soul still lived, trapped in the piece of gold from the dragon’s hoard.
Corwyn called to Vyrkos, and the Draken Lord began to wake. Seeing the Seals begin to crack, Maia made the ultimate sacrifice. She turned the dagger on herself, but with her dying breath, she funneled her own essence into the Seals, strengthening them with her magic and her life force. The Dragonfly Seal, the Dolphin Seal, and the Phoenix Seal. Corwyn was defeated, and Vyrkos slipped into slumber once more.
The Draken Guardians felt the battle raging, but got there too late to save Maia. The best they could do was remove the piece of gold from Vyrkos’ hoard and place it within a protective circle, so Corwyn’s spirit went to slumber with his master’s.
Arkyld, devastated with grief at Maia’s death, took the seals from the tomb—the only remaining vestiges of her spirit. He cursed the Guardians, for he believed that if he had been allowed to mate with Maia as he wished, he might have been able to save her.
So he left the green river valley with the Seals, and he was never seen again.
The Guardians tried everything they kn
ew to find him, but to no avail. And then one day, after centuries had passed, a young Draken came with a message.
Arkyld had died, but before he did, he had a vision. Corwyn’s spirit would wake, and Vyrkos would rise again. In order to defeat him, the Guardians would have to find three female Draken: the Rogue, the Rebel and the Storm. Each had one of the Seals, but she would only give it to the Draken who could win her heart. The Seals could not be stolen or taken by force, but only given freely by the female to the male.
These females were the Guardians’ Three Mates of Destiny, and would become the treasures of their hearts, dearer to them than caves of gold. And the power of Maia’s love, working through them, would allow the Draken to seal Vyrkos’ tomb, defeating him and Corwyn utterly and forever.
Tyr’s voice faded, and with it the magic of the story. They were just four people, sitting in an underground cave filled with electronics.
And ancient memories.
Everyone was silent for a moment. Then they all turned to look at Blaze.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “You don’t think I’m one of these Three Mates of Destiny, do you?”
“Yes,” said Tyr.
“No,” said Thorne.
She looked at Zane. He said nothing, just looked down at his cake. Dreams, she thought. Years and years of dreams. How many years? she suddenly wondered. He was a dragon, after all. He could be centuries old.
“She can’t be one of them,” Thorne said to Tyr. “The Three are Draken. The story says so.”
Zane snorted. “So now you believe the story?”
Tyr said, “That’s what most versions say. But as I went back, digging through the files, I found what I think is the original version of the story. The word used to mean ‘female’ was translated as ‘female Draken,’ but if you look at the etymology, I believe it was mistranslated. I have the sources—”
Dragon's Rogue (Wild Dragons Book 1) Page 15
