Valandra: The Dragon Blade Cycle (Book 2)

by Tristan Vick

  The dwarf merely shrugs and then draws out a hatched from his large belt. He marches over to where I am, then, in two quick thwacks of the hatchet’s blade, snaps my ropes. I topple to the ground. Satisfied with completing his task, he tucks his hatchet away in the back of his belt and saunters off in the same direction as the first dwarf.

  “Thank you,” I say out loud hoping he’ll hear me. But he ignores my words and leaves me all the same.

  I sit up on my knees and rub my wrists. My thumbs brush across the tender, red areas where the ropes tore my skin and I wince from the small measure of pain.

  Daeris takes notice of my discomfort. She raises her hands and merely claps twice. Instantly two slave girls manifest, as if out of thin air, and kneel at her side as they wait for her orders.

  One of the girls is dark-skinned and the other is fair-skinned, and they both have on barely anything but rags. Not even rags. Just strips of cloth banded around and tied off. Their midriffs are completely bare, as are their shoulders and legs. On each of their necks is a brand in the shape of a serpent devouring its own tail.

  “Help young Mistress Arianna inside my tent,” Daeris orders. “Bathe her and then bring her something proper to wear.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” the slave girls say in unison.

  They come over to me and help me up. But it seems all I can do is stare timorously at Daeris Darkthorne.

  “What’s the matter, dear?” she asks me with a quaint laugh. “It seems as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Or a devil,” I reply. I feel my eyes narrow and I keep a fixed gaze on her to let her know that I don’t trust her. Not even for a minute.

  “Yes. Or a devil,” she responds in an amused tone. She grins at me, showing me her sharp canine fangs, then continues, “But that’s neither here nor there. First, get cleaned up. Afterward we will sit down and sup together. As you can imagine, we have a lot to talk about.”

  With that said, she raises a slender hand and waves her fingers. To my surprise, they aren’t the talon-like claws I remember from my vision. Just regular fingers with black painted nails to match her dark eyes and dress.

  For the second time in as many weeks I find myself being attended to by a fleet of servants. They usher me into the tent, strip me bare, and help me into a steaming hot bath.

  The bathtub is made of ivory, from the tusk of one of the great mammoths from before the time of dragons, long since extinct. Upon it is carved intricate floral patterns that give it an inviting quality. Floating on the surface of the water are yellow-gown which add a sweet smell to the room.

  I sink into the hot water, and although I want to soak in it and let my bones thaw a bit from the lingering cold of the Shard, I am suddenly molested by tiny hands which scrub my skin raw with coarse horsehair brushes.

  One of the slave girls raises my left arm and begins to scrub my armpit. It tickles, and for the life of me I cannot prevent the giggle from escaping.

  Of course, I immediately catch myself and look around at them, embarrassed. They smile politely at me, pretend as though nothing happened, and continue about their business.

  Once the dirt has, quite literally, been peeled off me, the women scurry out of the room to fetch me clothes to wear. Finally having a moment to myself, I kick one leg over the edge of the tub and then sink down to my shoulders.

  I let the warm water soothe the aches of my frost-bitten arms and legs, close my eyes, and then take in a deep breath. A warm hot breeze enters the tent and laps at my chest and it feels good. That’s when I feel the cold steel of a blade pressed against my unguarded throat.

  “It really is a magnificent blade, isn’t it?”

  I open my eyes to see Daeris Darkthorne looking down at me and grinning. She holds my own blade, the Moon Blade, against my neck. Once we make eye contact, she pulls the sword away and holds it in the light and admires its metallic blue shimmer.

  “I’m naked,” I say.

  Darkthorne glances passed her shoulder at me, looks me up and down as if she’s inspecting me, and raises her eyebrow and smiles at me. “Yes,” she says. “As naked as the day the gods created you.”

  “Created me?” I ask, perplexed. “I was born of a man and woman.”

  “Are you so certain? Tell me, young one. What do you remember of your parents?”

  “They died when I was young.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she says with a grin.

  I don’t like her intrusive question into my past and I certainly don’t appreciate her gawking at me like I’m some kind of tasty lambchops about ready to be served. I cover myself up and Darkthorne smiles, although I can tell the sentiment behind it is as empty as her heartless chest, and she turns and walks over to a large chest sitting in a dusty corner of the tent upon an ornate rug.

  The rug catches my eye, and appears to be woven from wool and silk along with the glimmering golden threads which make up the intricate botanical patterns which adorn it. Each end of the carpet is tasseled, adding to the lavishness of it. Such a fancy rug for such a beat up old chest, I think.

  Darkthorne gently places my sword upon it and then, without looking back at me, asks, “Would you feel more comfortable if I made myself vulnerable to you?” Unfastening a clip on her golden collar she lets her dress fall to the floor. Turning back around, she looks over at me with nothing on but the black paint that encases her dark, smoldering eyes. “After all, I have nothing to hide from you, Arianna.”

  Blushing, I reply “That’s not what I meant.” I try to sound more irritated than I am, but even as I do so I cannot seem to take my eyes off her. There is something hypnotic about the way she moves and speaks. The way she stands before me, baring all.

  Still, my thoughts find their way back to Alegra, who may be lying wounded on the battlefield near death, for all I know.

  When I look away, Darkthorne shrugs off my lack of interest, crouches down, and then pulls on her dress. Adjusting it, she secures her dress, tucks herself into place, and fixes her golden collar.

  “Well, now we’ve both been vulnerable together,” she says, “No lies, no illusions, just the bare-naked truth. You see, Arianna, if there is one thing you should know about me, it’s that I’d never lie to you.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that,” I say.

  Darkthorne shoots me a sharp look, as though I’ve hurt her feelings somehow. Which really would be a feat, considering she has no feelings to speak of inside the ice-cold chest of hers.

  “I think it’s worth observing that I could have killed you at any moment, yet didn’t.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “I’d sure hope so,” she says with a laugh. After a brief pause, she says something quite unbelievable. “You have nothing to fear from me, Arianna. Whether you believe it or not, that’s the truth.” Then, as though she were my trusted friend, she extends her hand toward me. “Now, come, let’s get you dressed and ready for this evening.”

  “Why?” I ask, hesitantly taking her hand. “What happens this evening?”

  “We dine,” she says warmly and, again, she smiles at me in a way that is both affectionate and disarming.

  “But my friends…” I begin.

  “Ah, yes. I knew you’d be worried about them.” Darkthorne turns and moves her hands about in a way that almost appears to be a sacred dance of some kind, and then, with a clap of her hands, she throws out an energy ring. The ring expands to the size of a large door and she widens it by throwing out her arms. In the opening is a shimmer of light, and then I see it. The battlefield. I see the dismembered bodies lying on the ground. I see the undead army pressing upon the last of the soldiers. I see Ashram, on his glowing eyed stead, bearing down on the outer wall of Sabolin.

  What happens next is truly shocking. Daeris Darkthorne leans toward the opening and whispers, “Desist, my brave warrior.”

  Ashram and the entire army of the dead stop in their tracks.

  “Pull back,” she says. And, on
her command, they do. The Valandrian and Belleran forces look dismayed as the army of the dead retreats toward the edge of the bamboo forest. Darkthorne turns to me, “Satisfied?”

  “I…uh…” I’m quite literally speechless, but luckily, she’s not looking for a reply.

  Darkthorne claps her hands twice, and the portal shrinks down, like a smoke ring that gets smaller rather than larger, until, finally, it completely closes.

  “Now, let your mind be at ease. And join me for dinner, won’t you?” She extends her hand for me to take.

  Seeing no way out of it, I concede to her strange request. The least I can do is hear her out.

  Holding her hand in mine, I climb out of the tub. Embarrassed, I stand before Daeris Darkthorne, my naked body soaking wet, and I don’t know if I should cover myself in a sense of humble modesty or just let her do as she wishes.

  Finally, she takes a fine cotton towel from a nearby table, and begins to dab my naked body, helping me to dry off—even as it is completely unnecessary.

  She moves the towel up my back, softly dabbing up each water droplet until she comes to my shoulders. Suddenly I feel her breath on my neck followed by the soft touch of her hands. Daeris begins massaging my back and I unintentionally let out a pleasure-filled moan. Embarrassed, I cover my mouth and try recoup and modesty I may have once had. What would Alegra think of me if she knew I found pleasure in the touch of another woman?

  Flustered, I take the towel from her and say, “It’s quite all right. I can take care of it myself.”

  “As you wish,” she replies.”

  Again, her smile is cold and unfeeling. But it appears she is a creature of etiquette, and feels obliged to give it all the same.

  “She’s very beautiful,” Daeris says, unexpectedly.

  My eyes pop wide open and I turn and look at her in wonder. “I beg your pardon, but who, exactly, is beautiful?” I ask, still uncertain as to what she means.

  “The girl you can’t stop thinking about. She gorgeous. A fine specimen of an elf girl if I’ve ever seen one,” and touching her own pointy-tipped ears, she adds, “I ought to know.”

  “You looked into my mind?” I ask, in a complete state of shock. “You can’t do that!” I hope that my scolding her will teach her not to invade my innermost private thoughts.

  And, assuming she can see my thoughts clearly, since she is already in the habit of inviting herself into my head, she knows exactly what I’m thinking right now.

  “I apologize,” she says, acknowledging that she was in the wrong. “I didn’t think it would bother you so much.”

  “No, you didn’t think,” I snap. Perturbed, I wrap myself up in the towel to conceal my exposed flesh from her prying eyes and fasten it tight.

  We stand staring at each other for a moment, a strange intensity building between us, and then she raises her hands and claps twice.

  I flinch, not knowing what will happen by that gesture, but to my relief the only consequence is that two servant girls enter the tent. The same two servant girls who attended me earlier come rushing into the tent. Almost as soon as they’ve entered they drop to one knee and kneel before Darkthorne, bowing their heads reverently. Submissively.

  “See to it that Mistress Arianna is properly dressed for this evening. Pick something out from my private collection. Something cheery.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” they reply in unison.

  “I’ll see you shortly,” Daeris says to me, then she turns and walks over to the entrance. She reaches up and pulls back the fold of the tent and allows the sunlight to stream in. Before she exits the tent, however, she looks back at me one more time and smiles. “We have a lot to talk about, you and I.”

  “Talk about?” I repeat, hoping to hold her attention long enough to solicit a quick answer. “About what, exactly?”

  “About ruling Valandra by my side,” she says warmly. “As my Queen.”

  That, I wasn’t expecting.

  But before I can even find the words from the jumble of emotions and frenzied thoughts racing through my mind, she exits the tent and disappears through the gaping white opening of its mouth.

  8

  My dress is a see-through turquoise chiffon one-piece with an off-shoulder design that tapers into a sweetheart cut. I spin in front of a tall standing vanity mirror and admire the tailoring. It’s a striking dress, and complements my dark tan skin and brown hair. Submissive, the two slave girls simply kneel to either side of me.

  “Do you like it?” a voice calls from behind. I turn to find Daeris admiring my outfit as much as I am.

  “I love it,” I say, clutching my hands to my chest and trying not to act like a giddy school girl.

  “Walk with me,” she says, extending her slender hand toward me. I take her hand and she guides me out of the tent.

  We step outside where the two dwarves are waiting for us. They’ve prepared a chariot, which is made of gold and ivory, and have a train of three horses standing by.

  Daeris helps me up into the chariot, then taking the charioteer’s position, she picks up the reins and looks at me with a diminutive smile. She says, “Hang on.”

  With a snap of her writs, she yells out, “Hee’yah!” and the fleet of horses agitate, snort, and then break into a brisk trot.

  Daeris steers us down through the work camp and entire legions of workers take a knee at her approach. But although I know she is powerful, none seem to be submitting to her out of cowering fear but rather true veneration of her greatness.

  I have a feeling she wanted me to see that, as to prove she’s not as evil as the stories make her out to be. And I can’t help but wonder if she is as powerful as the stories claim her to be.

  “I know you don’t want me looking into your mind,” she says cautiously. “But even when I’m not trying to see things random images sometimes seep into my own mind. I couldn’t help but notice you’re thinking about me right now. At least, I think that’s right. Like I said, I’m not looking per se, it’s just more of a feeling really.”

  I brush a loose clump of hair behind my ear and look over at her. “I guess I was sort of thinking about you. Actually,” I laugh, “the truth of it is, I can’t stop thinking about you. I was told you were this evil force to be reckoned with, but so far you’re been nothing but gracious to me.”

  “Oh, don’t dismiss everything you’ve heard in the stories,” she says with a coy grin. “The bits about me being a magnificent lover are all true.”

  “I’ve not heard those stories,” I say naively.

  “Well, maybe I’ll have to show you sometime,” she says flirtatiously.

  That’s when I catch on. Albeit a bit late. I blush and look away.

  “I’m just teasing,” she says, and slaps me in the arm playfully.

  It’s so unexpected I practically jump out of fright, but then I touch my arm where she hit me and smile. It’s weird, but it feels like I’m hanging out with my best friend and not my mortal enemy.

  Of course, this wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong about someone’s character. I was wrong about Lord Dathrium. He wasn’t an evil monster. He was just another victim in a much bigger game of which the rules aren’t always clear.

  “The thing you said earlier…” I begin, but Daeris holds up a finger and silences me.

  “We’ll have plenty of time to talk about that, but first let’s dine.”

  Riding out in to a patch of packed sand with nothing but patches of thread grass and red dirt, Daeris pulls back on the reins and brings the chariot to a halt.

  She climbs off, her sandals sinking into the sand, and then walks out into the field. “Are you coming?” she asks, looking over her shoulder at me.

  “I thought we were going to have dinner,” I say.

  She looks at me and smiles. “We are.”

  Suddenly, standing in front of her is a red door with white trim and a brass lion-head-shaped knocker. It reminds me of the baker’s door in the cottage district of Valandra, but I swea
r it wasn’t here a moment ago. It just appeared out of nowhere. Magically.

  I step down from the chariot, amazed by the sudden appearance of a mysterious door in the middle of a patch of arid desert. “Was that there the whole time?”

  Unfazed by the strangeness of it, Daeris merely smiles at me and waits patiently as I walk around the door, inspecting it. I want to see if it leads anywhere, but it’s merely a door standing erect in the desert.

  Circling back around, I stop next to Daeris and laugh. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  Her smiles grow even wider, her fangs appearing in the corners of her mouth, and then she reaches over and grabs the handle, twists, and opens the door. “No. It’s no joke,” she informs me, swinging the door wide open for me to see. “It’s all quite real.”

  The door opens onto a pale white landscape of a rocky terrain unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. The sand is a light gray that sparkles, as though it is a crystalline powder. About twenty feet in the center of our view there sits a table set for two. It has a candelabrum with seven candles and a red tablecloth, which is the only color in the monochromatic setting. Upon the table are two silver covered trays and a loaf of bread between them with a tray of butter resting by next to it. Finally, there is a bottle of wine and two empty wine glasses begging to be filled.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  “You’ll soon find out,” Daeris says. “But first you need to put this on.”

  She pulls out a gold necklace with a turquoise amulet in the center. She reaches around my neck to fasten it. As she searches for the clasp, her hair brushes up against my cheek, and I am forced to hold my breath until she finishes so as not to allow myself to be flustered by the strangely intimate moment.

  “There,” she says, finally finding the hook. Her delicate fingers fasten it. Her hands pull back and she makes sure her fingers brush against my neck softly, arousing my flesh and sending a thousand waves of titillation through my skin.

  I look down, clasp the amulet in my hands, and pause to admire the jewelry she has adorned me with. Then, unexpectedly, her hand grabs hold of mine and she tows me behind her.