Something strange happened as he shut his eyes and his fingertips met the tree. As though the very substance of the trunk was illusory—as if the tree itself were only a mirage—Kaleb continued to advance forward. He could not feel the wood against his palm, and when his eyes snapped open in confusion, he was greeted by an incomprehensible sight.
He was no longer standing outside the tree.
Kaleb blinked hard, his mind reeling and a shudder coursing through him. “What the...”
He stood in a large antechamber built of handsome wood. There were no torches or skylights built into it that might aid his sight, only a ghostly glow haunting the air like dust. This golden glow, like the gentle flashing of so many fireflies, gave him just enough light to see by, and revealed still more passages ahead, each of them curving independently from the antechamber.
“Where... where am I?” he asked—but his voice reached no ear. A quick perusal of his dimly-lit surroundings brought no signs whatsoever of either Minx or Mau. Where he had gone, the two of them had not been allowed to follow.
That was when he realized it.
This isn't a dream or a hallucination... this is real, isn't it? Somehow, I'm inside of Winterlimb. He reached out to touch the walls of the antechamber and marveled at their warmth and smoothness. Yes, that's it. I'm actually inside of him. The realization was a dizzying one. The existence of this place, sprawling as it was, within the trunk of the ancient tree, seemed to defy the laws of nature. Surely this space, far wider and more expansive than the trunk appeared from outside, was a physical impossibility.
And yet, as he took his first step further in, it all seemed perfectly real.
The glow followed him wherever he went, haunted him like a fog. Passing silently through the antechamber, he discovered that the proceeding passages were every bit as large and inexplicable as the prior space. Truly, there was an entire world within Winterlimb, a complex of corridors and rooms that followed the ancient tree's system of roots and branches.
This was where he'd been called. Winterlimb had asked him to seek out a treasure within this mysterious place. But where? Standing at a junction separating several different root paths of generous height and width, he tried to decide which one to take. One could get lost in here. I feel like I could spend all day taking different paths and still not see everything that this tree has to offer. How is this possible?
It was the accretion of the golden glow along the walls of one particular passage that ultimately helped Kaleb make his decision. The glow seemed brighter there, as if Winterlimb himself were offering a subtle hint. All right, let's try it. He proceeded through the highlighted passage, one hand pressed to the smooth wall. All the while, the glittering dust sparkled just ahead of him, leading him deeper in.
The nature of the promised treasure was a mystery to him. He and Minx had long wondered whether Torrent had any secret weaknesses to exploit; whether some force existed that could nullify his terrible magic, or else protect the territory from his influence. Up to that point, they'd come up empty-handed. Winterlimb, however quiet he'd been previously, seemed willing to stake his own survival on the power of this enigmatic treasure buried within him. What was it, and how had it come to dwell within Winterlimb, of all places?
The passages wound gently upward and downward in keeping with the placement of the tree's centuried roots. Other paths, leading to upper levels, corresponded with the ancient growth's web of boughs. The sheer number of passages was incredible, and it was only thanks to the persistence of that odd glow that he managed to make progress through the wooden halls. If not for that, he would have been left where he stood, mired in total indecision.
He passed great wooden doorways, spying through them chambers of immense size. There did not appear to be anything within them. Still others were fronted by locked doors, promising of secrets that the old tree was not yet ready to reveal. The sounds of his footsteps echoing against the soft wood struck him as almost musical; sections varied in their density, making his progress resonate at different timbres. Where are you leading me, Winterlimb? he asked the tree. He strained mentally to reach out, to coax an answer from the silent ancient, but none, except for the beckoning of the glittering glow, came.
With no other guides available to him, Kaleb went where he was led. He both rose and descended with the natural contours of the structure, took turns at a few junctions and kept his eyes peeled for anything that seemed meaningful.
When he had been walking for a long while, nervous that he was in fact becoming hopelessly lost in the network of passages, he finally came upon something that fit the bill.
There was a doorway to his right, its borders set aglow by the golden lights, whose door was ajar. He paused before it, nudging the door open with his palm. Within, quickly elucidated by the bright haze, was a small chamber—an intimate space—whose rearmost edge featured a sight of great interest.
There was a large, ornate chest situated against the far wall. It was made of thick wood and boasted a gilt lid. Approaching it hastily, he studied the intricate golden designs on its top—and discovered between the motifs of great dragons on its right and left, a small teardrop-shaped fixture.
From deep within the tree came that calm, low voice.
You have found it, said Winterlimb. This is the treasure I have spoken of. Provided that you are descended of the ancient dragons, a member of their bloodline as I assume... you should be able to open it.
“A descendent of the ancient dragons?” uttered Kaleb, staring down at the lid. “I'm a dragon of the Pyra Clan, a Royal Dragon.” He touched the chest and attempted to open it, however its golden hinges would not budge.
Only one of the old bloodline may open it, warned Winterlimb. It has been reserved for one of that esteemed lineage and cannot be opened by outsiders. Place a drop of your blood within that mark on its lid; if you are in fact descended from the ancients, the spell will be broken and you will be able to open it.
“I see...” Kaleb peered down at his thumb and, taking it beneath one of his canines, pierced it. Expressing a single drop from the new wound, he pressed his thumb to the teardrop-shaped impression in the gold and then returned it to his mouth, nursing it.
A few moments passed in utter silence.
Uh-oh... It didn't open. Does that mean it's hopeless? Maybe I don't have the right stuff... Winterlimb, you may have called in the wrong man for the job...
Suddenly, as if by a spring mechanism, the lock was undone with a loud click and the lid of the chest opened by a few degrees.
You are indeed of the ancient bloodline. This has been reserved for you by your ancestors—a treasure to be used in purging evil from the world. An inheritance, said Winterlimb.
“An inheritance from the ancients?” Kaleb carefully took the lid in his hands and eased the chest open. “They set this aside for me? How could they have known that I would be here some day?”
The darkness that threatens Aleio is not new. In their wisdom, your ancestors knew that the evils now plaguing us would emerge and threaten the world they had built. So that such evils might be destroyed, this treasure was entrusted to me and hidden away. It is now time for you to take up the mantle your ancestors have left you...
He opened the lid and peered into the chest. Within sat a large hunk of silvery metal, smooth and unshaped. It was neither iron nor steel; the finish of this metal was quite unlike anything he'd ever seen. He reached down and touched it with his fingers, its coolness inciting him to shiver. “What... what is this?”
You and the Fae that you love—the two of you must use this metal, instructed the wise old tree.
“Minx and I?” Kaleb plucked the ore from within the chest and was amazed at its weight. The thing was incredibly dense. “What are we supposed to do with it?”
Use it to forge powerful weapons, continued Winterlimb. Fighting together with weapons made of this precious metal, the fire of your love will consume the Dark Mage. However powerful Torrent may be,
weapons wielded by pure-hearted lovers as yourselves will destroy him utterly. I expect the material will be difficult to work with for its incredible hardness, however. You must hurry to get the weapons made at once, lest this path, too, end in futility.
Kaleb tucked the slab of metal under one arm and turned to leave the room. “All right, so we make weapons out of this and take on Torrent together. You're saying that's all we need to do to beat him? This will really work?”
This time, Winterlimb didn't reply. The ancient tree had passed on his instructions and cared little to repeat himself. Moreover, the wise old thing knew better than to make promises in matters such as these. His silence was weighty, instructive. It said, “Do as I've told you. It's the only chance you've got.”
Kaleb exited the chamber, looking up and down the winding root passage he'd previously been following, and for a moment his stomach dropped at the prospect of his having to puzzle his way out of the network of doors and passageways. Thankfully, that reliable golden glow wafted through the air to his right, seeming to lead him back in the direction he'd come.
With Winterlimb guiding him out of the dizzying complex, a hasty return to Minx was assured. He began sprinting through the corridor, the dazzling metal clutched in his hands. “All right, Minx, here I come! Let's hope ol' Winterlimb is onto something with this!”
He had entertained many false hopes in recent days and knew better than to give himself over to optimism. Nonetheless, he had a good feeling as he followed his effusive golden guide. We've been searching far and wide for something to help us turn the tables. Is this it?
There was only one way to find out.
Chapter 21
Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest as she witnessed Kaleb bursting from Winterlimb's trunk. One moment, nothing had been amiss; she and Mau had merely been standing beside the great tree, perplexed at the dragon shifter's bizarre disappearance. Several minutes had elapsed and the two of them had begun to panic. Just then, passing suddenly out of the tree and stumbling into the grass like a ghost, Kaleb re-appeared with a large hunk of silvery metal in his arms.
“Where have you been?” demanded Minx, staring at him in abject disbelief. “You vanished, and we were starting to worry that something serious had happened! We thought that someone had cast a spell on you, or...” She took a deep breath, drawing close to him and inspecting the load he carried. “What is that?”
Kaleb loosed a long sigh and held out the ancient metal for both her and Mau to see. “This, I think, is our ace.”
The Faelyr approached, sniffing the metal suspiciously. This is just a lump of steel or something, isn't it? Where did he get that and what does he plan to do with it?
“Where were you?” asked Minx, reaching out to touch the stuff. She was surprised at its coolness, and at its entrancing silveriness in the fading sunlight. “Winterlimb called you out here, right? Did he give you this?”
Kaleb nodded. “Don't ask me how,” he began with a grin, “but I was able to enter Winterlimb, to wander around inside of him. It was a weird place—full of passages and rooms... much larger than it looks from the outside. Anyway, he led me to a chest where my ancestors allegedly stashed this rare metal for me. We're supposed to use it. Torrent will be susceptible to weapons made from this stuff.”
“He will?” remarked Minx, taking a second look. “Well, what is it?”
“I'm not sure. It was reserved here by the great dragons of old for an emergency like this one. Winterlimb says that we're supposed to make weapons out of it... He also mentioned, you know...” He trailed off a bit, chuckling. “Our love, or something, will make them extra effective. So, there's that.”
Minx felt her face grow warm, and she averted her gaze from him. “Oh, I see...” It was almost unbelievable to her that Winterlimb could possibly know about her relationship with Kaleb. The ancient tree was ordinarily silent, but apparently he paid close attention to the things going on all around him. Their love had been plain enough for him to notice it—and it was now to be used in this final push against Torrent. “So... What are we supposed to make out of this, exactly?”
“He didn't give me any strict guidelines,” explained Kaleb. “I know my way around a sword, though, and we ought to have plenty left over for several arrowheads. How does that sound?”
She nodded. “All right, though I should warn you that I don't have any experience with forging weapons.”
“Neither do I,” conceded Kaleb, “but surely someone in Pan does. Do you think that the First can introduce us to a local metalsmith?”
The ranks of the Fae had been so horrifically thinned as of late that she couldn't be sure any such expert still existed. Nonetheless, if a sword-smith was still available, the First would know it. “There isn't much time. We should speak to him immediately. Even if we can find someone to make these weapons, it's going to take awhile.”
“I'll say,” replied Kaleb, giving the hunk of metal a shake. “This is dense stuff. It doesn't strike me as very malleable. Hopefully someone out there will know what to do with it, though.”
The three of them departed from Winterlimb and sought out the quarters of the First. They wove through the tree city of Pan, bringing the lump of metal discretely to his doorstep and appealing to one of the guards posted at the towering tree where the First made his home. “Would it be possible for us to speak with the First?” chanced Minx. “We have important news—a new weapon in the fight against Torrent.”
The guard wasted no time, marching up the wooden steps and rapping gently on the door. Within moments, the familiar clacking of the First's plate boots sounded on those same steps, and he appeared before them with a sharp expression, still beleaguered from their last tussle with Torrent. “Minx, I'm told you've stumbled upon a new weapon?” He looked to each of them, his gaze settling on the lump of metal in Kaleb's hands. “What is it?”
Minx took the ancient ore from Kaleb's grasp, holding it out for the First's appraisal. “Sir, this is a gift from Winterlimb. It's very old, a treasure left behind by dragons, and we've been told to shape it into weapons. Weapons made from this metal will defeat him—or, at least, that's what Winterlimb alleges...”
The First arched one of his dark brows, touching the metal with a few fingertips. “This came from Winterlimb?” He suddenly waved over one of his guards. “You will require a forge, yes? And a metalsmith? My personal weapon-smith, Haemon, has survived the recent attacks, and will be able to fashion whatever weapon you like from this. He lives close-by. I would ask you to accompany him to the workshop on the edge of Pandling Grounds.” He paused, his expression tightening with angst. “Unless, of course, it has fallen to Torrent. You see, the Royal Workshop is located near the site of his most recent attacks. It's possible that the area will fall under his control, and that the creation of your weapon will be interrupted.
“I can send a small contingent of men to defend the area while the work is being done, but...” The First couldn't help but shudder as he recalled his most recent brush with the Dark Mage. “Our remaining forces can buy only a bit of time, I'm afraid.” He regarded the metal once again with evident curiosity. “Did Winterlimb really give this to you? Does it possess some magical quality that will nullify Torrent's power?”
Kaleb smiled sheepishly, collecting the lump of ore from Minx. “Truthfully, I have no idea if it'll work. But at this point, we have nothing left. Winterlimb called out to me and told me that this had been left with him by my ancestors for a situation just like this one. All we can do is hope that the elders knew what they were doing.”
The First nodded firmly. “All right. I will summon Haemon and a force of ten men to stand guard outside the workshop as he toils. He may require assistance, seeing as how there is little time—perhaps I ought to ask him to bring one of his apprentices.” He turned, giving several orders to one of the guards posted near his home.
A guard was dispatched to seek out the blacksmith Haemon and an apprentice, and a further nine me
n were gathered in front of the First's lodgings.
The role of the promised tenth soldier would be filled by the First himself. “I can't in good conscience cower in the city while our last hope is being forged. For the good of my people, I will stand with you during this time—come what may. This will be our last stand.”
Within minutes, a haggard middle-aged man and a boy of fifteen or sixteen were brought into the fold by the dispatched guard. The former, salt-and-pepper-haired and paunchy, was Haemon. The young lad, his assistant, was on the shorter side, with dark brown hair and a gentle disposition. “What are we working with today?” asked the blacksmith gruffly, pushing past the guards to get a look at the ore in Kaleb's hands. Upon sighting it, he furrowed his brow and wrenched it from the dragon shifter's grasp. Shocked at its weight, he lowered it to the ground and immediately set about examining it with scientific closeness. He knocked upon it and used a steel implement on his tool belt to test its hardness, grunting all the while. “Now, this is a strange ore...”
“Can you make something out of it?” chanced the First.
Haemon glanced up at him with a wicked grin. “Of course! But if we're being honest, I've never seen anything like it.” He pointed to his assistant, adding, “Thom, I hope you're ready to work, boy. This is just about the densest metal I've ever laid eyes on. We're going to be hammering this mess all through the night!”
Kaleb picked up the chunk of metal and fell into step behind the First and his men. “How far is this workshop?” he asked.
“Only a few miles,” replied the First, marching behind his guards. “It's located on the side of a hill. Less than a mile away, Torrent's forces were seen attacking the shields. I don't believe they've broken through... yet. But they will, in time. The workshop is defensible, thanks to the hill... but hopefully we'll escape his notice altogether.”
Minx and Mau stayed close to Kaleb, keeping to the hurried pace of the marching soldiers, but suddenly halted as the Faelyr noticed someone standing nearby. Hold up, we have company!
How to Bond a Mage (Heir of Dragons Book 3) Page 11
