Dragons of the Dawn Bringer: The Goddess Prophecies Fantasy Series Book 5

by Araya Evermore

  Finally, he brought his knees up and rested his head on them. Thoughts of Issa filled his mind. Would she sense what was happening to him? The flame ring she wore linked them and she had come for him when he was trapped in Keteth’s prison. But that had been a prison of the soul. He was trapped here body and soul. The last thing he wanted was her coming here. The place was protected with magic too, no scryer could penetrate these walls.

  How foolish had he been to get himself into this position? Foolhardy and arrogant, he’d been so sure of himself. His ignorance would cost him his life. Again, he’d underestimated the power of Baelthrom. No, this wasn’t just Baelthrom, these were ordinary people turning to the darkness for some gain. There had always been people on Maioria willing to turn from the light, willing to hurt and kill others just to gain power and dominion. That they worked for Baelthrom made no difference. They would work for any fallen being who gave them power. They worked for death and darkness itself.

  Well, he would not go without a fight, he determined. But he was so weak, could he even fight? He reached for the dragon, feeling for it within him, but it was not there. It must be the magic on this place interfering with his connection. Even the Recollection was too hazy to read. Was Cirosa here? The thought made him sit up straighter. He recalled everything that had happened, fuzzy though it was. No, he hadn’t seen her, so perhaps she had left with the Dread Dragons. What about the sword? Get the sword. Nothing matters, only that I get the sword! The thought gave him purpose and having that helped to calm the horrible fear that he would die here.

  ‘They’ve gone, for now. That’s how I know it’s day,’ the man to his left said, shaking him out of his thoughts.

  Asaph glanced at him, pleased to hear a human voice rather than the harrowing whimpering of terrified victims. The man was sitting up and staring straight ahead, nerves and fear making him tremble a little but at least his voice was sane and logical. Asaph noticed his own body trembled too, with cold and anger mostly.

  The man looked at him. ‘They only do the sacrifices at night. Some say they kill twice as many when there are no moons—no goddesses to watch and condemn them.’

  Asaph stared at the man, noting his familiar fair hair that was tied back and his body covered in sinewy muscle. Though he was skinny, gaunt and wide-eyed, Asaph was certain he recognised him.

  ‘Leaper?’ said Asaph.

  The man grinned and smoothed back his hair with a bruised hand. ‘Yeah, that’s right. I recognised you as soon as they brought you in. A Draxian with that mark on your chest. It’s the last thing I saw when you knocked me out.’

  Asaph remembered the fight and felt bad. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Hah! Nah, don’t worry. Taught me a thing or two. You might not be able to do it again,’ Leaper winked.

  ‘How did you get in here?’ Asaph couldn’t believe they’d been able to take the best fighter in Carvon. From the people he had seen here, they seemed to prey mostly on the weak and vulnerable. Asaph had stupidly given himself up so he could get inside.

  ‘I was a fool, see,’ said Leaper. ‘Got drunk and fell asleep on a bench. Easy pickings for these vultures. They weren’t expecting me to fight though. I killed two of them but then they all descended on me like a pack of wolves streaming out of the shadows. I ripped the throat out of one, snapped the neck of another and took the eye of a third before they took me down.’

  The man grinned. In the dim light, Asaph noticed old cuts and bruises covering his face.

  ‘When you’re caught, that’s it. They’ll never let you go, it’s too dangerous. My punishment is sitting here for days on end in full view, watching them sacrifice anyone and everyone, especially children.’ His face had a strange look to it, bordering on grief and insanity.

  ‘No one talks down here because you get chosen faster. They would rather cling to the last few moments of life they had left. Who can blame ‘em, eh? I talk because I want them to pick me, but they never do. They hurt me though and the pain is more than I can bear. That magic makes it seem as if my skin is splitting and turning inside out. What he did to you when he put his hand on your head—well, it gets much worse than that.’

  ‘How long have you been down here?’ Asaph dared to ask. He couldn’t bear being here another minute.

  The man shrugged. ‘Hard to say but I think three or four days. That’s how I know they don’t do sacrifices during the day. People in the temple might hear the screams. Most prisoners only last a day. They want me to suffer but I’m beyond it now. I’m so numb…’ He dropped his head and his shoulders shook, though he made no sound.

  Asaph had a hundred questions. ‘How long has this been going on for? Does the king know?’

  ‘Some says weeks, others say years. Who knows? It seems in the last month or so it’s turned a lot worse. There are more red-robes than white now. I wondered where all the tramps in the city had gone. Jeffo disappeared two weeks ago, and he never missed the Monday free meal at The Black Horse.

  ‘Some say people in the king’s aide are part of it. I don’t think the king knows or has anything to do with it though. I’ve never seen him down here.’

  ‘What do they want?’ Asaph frowned, he couldn’t work out what it was all for.

  When Leaper looked at him, his face seemed paler. ‘Well, from what I see, they take a victim and tie them to the altar there. They do this horrible chanting, it’s dark runic or dwarven or something. Then a black spiral opens, like a doorway to another place, a terrible place. Shadows reach out of it, these long hands like this, and touch the victim. Horrible things I can’t quite describe but they seem to emanate terror itself. To see them makes me wet myself. It’s uncontrollable. When they touch them, they begin screaming.’ Leaper swallowed and struggled to contain himself. His voice shook when he spoke again.

  ‘They hold their knives up, little curved sickle-shaped ones, and…you know. Ugh. They start cutting the victim quickly in many places. There is so much blood… it gushes into rivets on the altar and then pours out of little fonts. They catch it in those cups they all carry.

  ‘The priests drink the blood and it gives them some kind of quickening or power. Shadows surround them, auras visible even to the naked eye—I can’t use magic. Their faces look beatific for all the horrors they have just committed. I think they feed on the terror of the person. Fear does something to the blood. They feed on that.

  ‘The black vortex bulges and sucks on the writhing victim, not their blood but something else, their life-force maybe. You can see their soul—a beautiful shimmer of light—being dragged into the vortex by the shadows. Then the victim’s body, still convulsing, begins to turn black and fragment. It becomes dust that is also sucked into the vortex and then the whole horrible thing just disappears as if it never was.’

  Asaph felt sick and fought not to retch.

  ‘Just before you came they changed it though. Oh great goddess, I’ve heard of ‘em but never seen one before. It was massive, this Dromoorai. Black armoured and terrifying, though not as bad as the things in the black vortex. At least this beast is solid.

  ‘Well, instead of using their sickle-knives to kill the victim, now they have this Dromoorai with a sword to do the killing blow. They still cut ‘em up for the blood letting, but the Dromoorai kills ‘em. Why they changed it, I don’t know.’

  Asaph mind worked hard. ‘What does this sword look like?’

  ‘It doesn’t look like black iron like the rest of their weapons, no. It’s got this blood red pommel and blade that shines almost blue.’

  Asaph held his breath, anger rising. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They were using the Sword of Binding—a symbol of unity and peace—to do unimaginable evil. He said nothing, struggling to comprehend the evil of this place in the heart of Carvon. He wanted to tear it all down and fight them all to the death.

  Leaper continued speaking though Asaph barely heard him through his anger. ‘…Now these sickle-knives, they’re shaped funny like cresce
nt moons. We all know the crescent moon is a symbol sacred to the Mother Goddess. I guess they like to use them to kill, to take away the life the goddess gives to us. Twisted bastards.’

  ‘Why children?’ Asaph asked quietly.

  ‘They love children the most,’ Leaper continued, quite matter-of-factly, though every now and then he trembled. ‘All those ones you hear about going missing? Well, they come here. They use tramps and drunks for fun, but it’s the children they want most. It’s the purity you see. Young children have the purity of innocence. Their terror tastes sweeter. I don’t think that vortex and where it goes cares what age the victim is though as it all happens the same. But when the priests drink the blood of children, it’s more powerful. Makes me wonder about those awful rumours I heard, that they hold humans captive and breed sacrificial children underground, but I can’t be sure of that.’

  Quiet rage boiled within Asaph. He fought to control it, readying it for the time he would need it. ‘That sword is the Great Sword of Binding. Forged from the blood of Slevina, and the symbol of unity between dragon and man. It marks the birth of the Dragon Lords.’

  Leaper looked at him for a long time then nodded slowly. ‘I remember the legend. Didn’t believe it was real. That’s why they use it then. A powerful symbol of good. Well, see, they love to desecrate, foul and despoil all pure, good and true things. It makes what they do more fun, more meaningful. That’s why this evil infects those dedicated to the goddess. Turning a pure symbol to evil is part of their dark magic.’

  ‘You know a lot,’ said Asaph.

  ‘I’ve seen a lot these past few days, enough to make me wish I’d never been born. And you don’t stay ignorant for long as a fighter on the streets.’ He grinned a little, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was pain there instead—a mad, torturous pain Asaph could barely imagine.

  Asaph sat in silence for a long time thinking about what was going on here and wondering how on Maioria he was going to get out. It was hard to control his anger just so he could think straight. The sword was here, somewhere, maybe just beyond that wall. Why had they brought it here, to the centre of Carvon of all places? It made no sense. “If you want to hide something, hide it in plain view,” so the old saying went. It was not a good saying. It spoke of evil and deceit. What else had been hidden in plain view? Spies and traitors. Even Marakon himself didn’t know he carried the eye of Baelthrom.

  They would hide the sword here because it is the last place anyone would ever think to look. The city of Carvon, the heart of the lands of the Free Peoples. And the protective force around this place…No one would have ever felt its presence, certainly not me. Thank the goddess he had come here when he had. It was a shame he was likely to die here.

  Would he be killed by his own sword? The thought made him laugh. Let them try. He only hoped they didn’t know he was a Dragon Lord. That Cirosa wasn’t here was a huge relief. He doubted he could fight her even just one on one.

  Perhaps, when his moment came, he would be able to reach the dragon within. It was a weak hope. He couldn’t even feel the dragon sleeping. He thought through all his options, limited as they were, and considered all the outcomes. He hung his head. Was this how he was to die? Was this what Coronos died for? Would everything he had done up until now been for this, been for nothing?

  Swallowing against his parched throat, he closed his eyes and leant his head back against the wall. What would Coronos do if he were here? Coronos Avernayis Dragon Rider, my beloved Father, if you can hear me, help me find a way out of this.

  Slowly, Asaph recited the Fire Sight in his mind, over and again, seeking to reach the solace and guidance Coronos had always taught him to find. Each repetition instilled within him greater calm and clarity. He still had his rage but it was controlled and channelled. Beneath the burning thirst and weakening hunger, the Fire Sight finally brought him the strength that he sought.

  23

  Queen Thora

  ISSA waited in the anteroom seated upon a red velvet covered chair.

  Highly polished dark green marble covered the floor and huge gold-gilded frames housed pictures of richly dressed Royals in seated or standing poses.

  The chandelier above was lit by at least twenty candles that cast flickering light everywhere. Domenon hadn’t left her seated there long when one of the massive, ornately carved, wooden doors opened and he reappeared.

  ‘The Queen will see you now,’ he said.

  She smoothed her dragon-scale armour, which she had changed into after dinner, adjusted the raven talisman tucked in her belt and stood.

  On the other side of the door was an enormously long chamber, easily large enough fit several cottages within it. Issa reminded herself not to gawp. The floor was decorated with square blue and red tiles formed in a checkerboard style. Arched windows, like those of the Temples, reached from floor to ceiling all the way to the end of one side—which was almost hazy with distance. The heavy red curtains weren’t drawn shut, surprising Issa since it was dark outside.

  The biggest fireplace she had ever seen dominated the other wall. If she stood inside it, she doubted she would be able to reach the top. It wasn’t lit, which was very strange because there was a definite chill in the air and she’d wished she’d worn her cloak even over her armour.

  Giant floor gas-lamps flowed up either side of the room, creating a nice up-lighting effect. Her eyes travelled over to the blue and red marble steps that led up to two large thrones. The dark wood chairs were exquisitely carved with lion paws for feet and lion heads for arm rests.

  Only one chair was occupied and Issa’s eyes settled on an emotionless, white-faced woman who stared at her without blinking. Her pale face was a stark contrast to the swathes of black she was wrapped in. Black skirts covered her legs, beneath which poked black boots. Her high-necked, long-sleeved tunic was black as was her shawl. She even wore a fine black cowl with three small diamonds above the brow that served to keep her straight black hair back from her face.

  ‘May I present to you Issalena Kammy of Little Kammy. Otherwise known as the Raven Queen,’ said Domenon, bowing deeply. The queen made no movement, not even with her eyes. ‘I shall leave you, my Queen. Please ring if you require anything else.’

  The queen didn’t speak as Domenon closed the door quietly behind him. Issa knew she should have felt uncomfortable under the intimidating woman’s scrutinising gaze, but she didn’t. It was her determination for the mission that made her brave. If anything she felt intrigued by the woman. Seeing the empty throne beside her made Issa feel sorry for the Queen too. Perhaps that was why she wore black and seemed so lifeless. Her beloved King Sott taken by death. She knew all too well what it was like having a loved one linger on in pain for so long and then, when they were gone, nothing. Bless you, Ma.

  Issa took a step forward, remembered herself, and bowed deeply. She hated curtseying but saw no reason not to show respect.

  ‘I’m sorry about your husband—’ she began.

  ‘No, you never knew him, so how can you be?’ said the Queen matter-of-factly. Her voice was strong and, despite her words, lacked malice.

  Issa checked herself and closed her mouth. The Queen sighed almost imperceptibly and produced from her pocket a thin, fluted black stick. Into this, she placed a shorter, thin brown stick. Issa saw that she wore long, black velvet gloves and on one finger was a gold ring with a bright sparkling ruby.

  ‘I demand honesty,’ said the queen. She held what looked like a round ball the size of an egg out of which protuded a silver lever. When clicking the lever, a flame appeared on top of the ball. Issa blinked, she could detect no magic. This device that created fire was some kind of clever mechanics.

  The Queen pushed the brown stick into the flame and sucked on the end until it smouldered, just like Bokaard used to do with his cigars only without the extra black stick. It smelt the same as a cigar, only was much thinner.

  ‘Come closer, child,’ said the Queen, wafting her smoking stick. ‘T
his is only an Atalanphian cigar and won’t hurt you.’

  Issa dutifully stepped forwards, suddenly feeling like a child. ‘I have an Atalanph friend who also smokes these “cigars” and I quite enjoy that cedar-wood smell.’

  Issa paused before the dais and could see the Queen clearly now. She looked to be in her fifties though she was supposed to be past sixty. Despite her grief, she was ageing well. Her dark eyebrows arched over clear brown eyes and her cheekbones were high. She might have been attractive had her hair not been pulled back so tightly and her face not drained of colour. Maybe laughter in her eyes would have made her prettier, but there was none.

  ‘… “When the dark moon rises, nothing will be as it was before. Either we descend into darkness or we will ascend into the light.” Do you know of the Prophecies of Zanufey?’ asked the Queen lightly, her eyes never leaving Issa’s as she twirled her cigar between finger and thumb.

  ‘I have read some of them, Queen Thora. Mostly I choose not to think about them. I don’t want to be ruled by something I did not write.’

  ‘Hah!’ barked the Queen, her voice echoing in the empty hall. ‘Who does, Issalena? Or should I call you Raven Queen? Queen to Queen.’

  ‘Issa is better. I do not presume to rule over ravens—they are my friends,’ she said simply.

  ‘You know how to call them and they come when you call?’ asked the Queen.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Interesting. No one has ever done that before.’

  ‘It’s a small thing given what is required to save this world,’ Issa shrugged.

  The Queen’s eyes sparkled with sudden humour. ‘And have you come up with ideas to “save this world” when no one else has?’

  ‘I will try, my Queen,’ said Issa, lifting her head higher and feeling none of the confidence her words suggested.