Legacy: Book #3, the Fire Chronicles

by Susi Wright

  Espira was silent, her eyes downcast as if she was ashamed to answer.

  After a time, she raised her gaze to lock with her father's. In her eyes dwelt a shining rainbow of colour, more brilliant than he had ever seen before; a mysterious glint crept in, as she shook her head slowly.

  “No, Papa . . . I need something much bigger!”

  Luminor smiled and nodded magnanimously. I should definitely have seen that coming!

  They left Ra to sleep awhile, setting off on foot into the forest. Luminor exerted what might be left of his paternal authority by insisting they stay together. After all, he was the only one with a sword.

  As they walked, Espira tried desperately to keep her mind off what it would mean if dawn arrived and they still had not found Ji.

  She sifted through a gamut of subjects for conversation, memories, stories, anything to connect her to the familiar. A favourite bedtime story came to mind.

  “Papa, remember . . . when I used sit on your knee, and ask you to tell me of the adventure we would have together, with our dragon?”

  “And here we are!” replied Luminor. “You knew, even then, Ra was always meant for you, just as the reins of the Alliance will one day be yours, with him at your side. He will be devoted to you, until either of you die!”

  Espira slipped her arm into the crook of her father's elbow. “Father, you're becoming too serious. Let's not talk of death! Can we not try to remember more of the good times? It seems to soothe the hurt, just a little.” They walked a few more steps, before Espira squeezed his arm. “Look at you, Father – Mama will be so pleased to see you well again! And, what do you think she will say when she sees a dragon?”

  “Dear Essie, living with us all these years, your mother is used to strange things. And, on our return, I fear she will have far worse to worry her! I doubt she will say much at all about a dragon!” His fond thoughts of reunion with Fralii, carried unavoidable regret for the terrible news he would deliver. The cost was so high, for him to live and to be with her again. But perhaps, they could help each other to bear the loss of their son. He had long thought himself to be the one who would not return from this quest! Either way, Fralii would mourn.

  The pair had been on the move for over two hours and soon it would be dawn. Well inside the burn-zone, crossing back and forth along the path Ji most likely took, their search had turned up nothing.

  Reminiscences, trivia and the like continued to be the subject of Espira's chatter; anything which touched on the immediate future was avoided, but gradually the spaces between became longer.

  “Now, Papa .” This time, Espira seemed to hesitate. “With all that has happened . . . perhaps this a stupid question . . .” She was rambling; it appeared she was running out of things to say.

  Luminor wondered at his daughter's ability to use her mind-sense, to search efficiently, while talking so much. However, he had learned long ago not to underestimate her talent. He gave her a patient look. “I have told you before, all questions are good!” He smiled to lighten his next words. “It serves a timely purpose, I suppose . . . that you have done little else but engage in small talk, for the past few hours! So, go ahead!”

  Eager to say anything, she pattered on. “Why do you always fly shielded? You are so good at it. Earlier today, I should have known you were coming, long before you arrived!”

  “Merely habit,” replied Luminor with a small smile. Then he looked up at the changing sky and became very serious.

  The conversation was over.

  He turned and reached out to lift Espira's chin gently, so she would meet his eyes, using all the intrinsic power in his gaze to soften the blow of reality. “It is dawn. The battlefield lies just beyond the next rise. You know now, as do I, there is nothing of him here! We must accept . . . the probability . . . that Ji is dead!”

  The final word was a paralysing blow. Espira stood stiff and still, like a statue carved of stone, supported at the shoulders between Luminor's hands. Her gaze clung to his, denial warring with the inevitable.

  Her eyes welled, as Espira let her father's influence wash over her, pleasantly numbing, even though the tears fell freely. For she knew that if she did not accept his help now, soul-searing despair would win, her heart would burst from the confines of her chest, fall broken in pieces on the ground and she would expire.

  The sun was well up, when Luminor and Espira trudged into camp, to cheers and chants of victory.

  Xandor, Sumar and Dak rushed to greet their returning leaders. Stolis and Jimbu weren't far behind.

  “Praise the Ancestors! Sumar and Dak were right! You have returned safe and sound!” exclaimed Xandor, grinning at the two.

  Both nodded in acknowledgement, but neither could muster a smile. Was it only a day? It seemed so long ago that they had all gathered, not far from here, to plan the battle.

  To the captains who had congregated to welcome them, their heroes looked hollow, drained, almost on the verge of collapse.

  “We must get you a little something to eat. There might be a morsel or two left from the morning rations,” suggested Stolis, gesturing to one of his men. He turned back with a worried expression. “My lord, Ji is still missing . . .”

  Beside Luminor, Espira's knees buckled and she was only saved from the fall by his strong grip on her arm. Stolis noticed, fearing the worst for his favourite cavalryman. “Did you see any sign?”

  Luminor held Espira protectively close to his side, partly to still the trembling of her body, while he answered. “We searched all night – it is most likely, he is dead!”

  Stolis made the sign of the Ancestors. “Brother Ji single-handedly saved more than a dozen extra lives! He even brought Shuul to safety, but I fear the brave Cymbian is also now close to death. After that rescue, Ji was seen going back one last time to save a child, even as Xandor signalled the retreat!” He shook his head sadly, “A tragic loss . . . a true hero!”

  The commander moved to Espira's other elbow to offer his support, since she seemed almost overcome. The trio were soon surrounded by a cluster of attendants. Amid this delegation, the cold and weary pair was ushered towards a campfire, where several cavalrymen quickly vacated a log for them to sit.

  A thin Baramese boy approached, holding two small bowls of boiled grain. He appeared to be far too young to be a soldier; like many, he had lied about his age to join the quest. His face was marred by a long gash down his left cheek and his head was bandaged with a linen strip. Almost worshipfully, he thrust a bowl each towards his heroic lord and lady, before backing off a respectful distance, to watch them eat. Beside him, near the tents, a small crowd was forming.

  Other soldiers moved away from the circle of logs, allowing the five captains to take counsel with Luminor and Espira while they broke their fast, but Luminor merely picked at his and Espira held her bowl numbly on her lap. The men lingered within earshot, quickly joined by others, who had not missed the grave expression on Lord Luminor's face; it was to be expected, there would shortly be a Telling of legendary nature.

  Commander Stolis spoke up with warm affection. “My Lord Luminor, I cannot tell you how pleased I am, that you are back with us . . . and in such good health. And, my Lady Espira, I am utterly humbled and inspired by your courageous part in this victory! You have saved many lives, young mistress!” His eyes were solemn and sympathetic, when he asked about Ardientor and his men. “I take it . . . something happened out there?”

  Luminor nodded. “Beris and Lor fulfilled their duties most bravely! They ride as I speak, and should be with us before dawn. But that is the only good news I bear!” Luminor sighed heavily. His eyes roamed sadly over his men. “Ardientor will not be coming back!” he stated, pitching his voice to carry. Espira sat close to his side, head bowed, tense and silent, too choked with emotion to speak.

  He continued. “For some reason, known only to Fate, my son chose to give his life for mine! The circumstances are tragic and wrought by black art. We were revisited by an evil we beli
eved was gone forever!

  “Some of you will remember the Battle of the Fires, witnessed the banishment of the dark magic which possessed Lord Xian. Ever since then, as you know, traces of the poison, and apparently the spell surrounding it, remained in my body. During this quest, I was forced to use Fire on an unprecedented level. This, as it turns out, was the catalyst for the return of that evil.

  “Only yesterday, I came to understand one part of it – that devious necromancy connected my physical weakness to the Eternal Flame. The Wardings of Fire have been upheld by the Guardians, since time began, to keep all banished evil from Existence. Incredibly, for one moment, a warding must have fallen, allowing the dark wraith to escape . . . to find rebirth here! At first, his evil essence inhabited a wild animal . . .” Luminor swallowed against the pain of the memory. Nevertheless, Ardi's heroism had to be told. “Suffice it for us to know, Destiny alone is the author of all this. My courageous son, with his unique ability, drew the darkness into his own being and bound it there, as only he could.

  “Sacrificing his own mortal life, Ardientor returned the demon, to the Flame, where he will stay for eternity! My son found his purpose and peace . . . I pray that, one day, I will gain the wisdom to understand more and find mine!

  “I can tell you all now, with absolute certainty, what I foretold some of you long ago, when I received the first insights . . . this is the Legacy of the First Fire. . ,” he trailed off, staring into the flames.

  Deep silence descended and endured for the longest time, the only fitting tribute for Ardientor's courage and sacrifice.

  No one moved a muscle until, without warning, Espira pitched forward in a dead faint towards the campfire and Luminor lunged to catch her.

  Chapter 41 : HERO

  In the pitch darkness, at the bottom of a deep shaft in the earth, a child cried in pain and fear.

  Far above, the flames of battle roared and surged across the opening, sucking the air from the cave.

  The little one squirmed in panic, held firmly in the arms of another, a man, who squeezed even tighter as he stirred to conciousness.

  Underneath them both, wheezed and panted the loyal animal that had softened their fall and now lay sprawled and badly broken, unable to move.

  Ji's pulled his face from the tufty mane and groaned, at once realising the extent of Storm's injuries. The samblar nickered weakly in response to his master's voice, tried to lift his head but failed. He snorted in intense pain, every breath an effort. Ji stroked the heaving neck sadly, trying to offer comfort to his trusty steed, while his mind warred with his heart.

  Compassion was at odds with itself.

  Ignoring for the moment the wails of the child, Ji strengthened his grip to prevent further injury to the leg. He quickly searched his pocket to confirm the metal vial of lubio was still there, relieved that the powerful sedative would be at his disposal when he splinted the limb.

  He spoke gruffly in Morvian. “Hush, child! Though you think it, you are not dying. I will attend to you soon!”

  The soreness in his ribs was trivial. Well-protected by his armour, Ji had only gotten a few bruises. At this moment, he was more concerned about his samblar, as he leaned down to rest his cheek on Storm's sweat-flecked neck. The brave animal had saved them not once but twice in one day, at enormous cost. It seemed there was no saving him. No real choice in the matter.

  “Thank you, my friend,” whispered Ji, “For carrying us to safety. You could have thrown us, galloped off at twice the speed – saved yourself! I know you would have spotted this pothole. You are sure-footed enough to avoid it. You leapt in anyway – the only safe place for myself and the child!”

  After a few moments, Ji sighed heavily, his mind and heart finally in accord.

  “I am sorry your last breath is to be here in this dark hole . . . not at a ripe old age, in a comfortable stable, your mouth full of sweet-beet! At least I am here with you now. I will carry the memory of your faithful service to my grave. I wish you greener pastures, my friend!”

  Steeling himself, Ji drew his dagger and with one precise, fluid stroke, put a quick end to the suffering. Sighing, he squeezed his eyes shut and rested his forehead on the sleek warm hide.

  The child fidgeted and groaned, drawing Ji's attention. With a heavy heart, he turned to attend to the boy.

  “Now, little hop-a-long, let's take a look at this leg of yours, shall we? But before we can do that – open your mouth for the medicine,” Ji cajoled in his best Morvian. Never a real scholar, especially in language, his recent knowledge had come partly by osmosis during this mission. He hoped not to frighten the child by the inadvertent use of profanity. The low-Morvian spoken by the other soldiers was full of it.

  The child heard, 'Let's take off this leg of yours . .' from the foreign stranger with a bloody dagger still poised in his hand. He whimpered louder with the pain of movement and shrank away from Ji, crossing long, thin hairy arms across his chest defensively as he jammed his lips together. In Morvian, 'medicine' and 'poison' sounded confusingly alike, distinguished only by inflection. That was Ji's mistake.

  Belatedly, Ji realised he should sheath his dagger, but the little devil kept screaming and crying alternately. Ji admitted to himself, he had far more patience with a samblar than a Morvian child, or perhaps any child. In his limited experience, watching parents everywhere grappling with their offspring, it was obvious they were all totally non-compliant, at times more unpredictable and challenging than a feral animal. Even his uncle, with the Supreme Power at his fingertips, had difficulty.

  So, as he would with an injured wild thing, he tackled the creature with its best interest in mind and, closing his ears to the screams, forced some lubio between his lips, pinching the throat to make him swallow.

  The desired effect was quick. The drug was powerful. In seconds the struggling ceased, with the child in an induced sleep, and Ji was able to splint the leg with a piece of fallen timber from the floor of the shaft. He removed his armour, followed by his linen under-tunic, which he tore into strips to secure the makeshift splint in place.

  The situation was calmer when the child woke: the effects of the lubio would last several more hours. He watched, quietly subdued, when Ji offered him a broken biscuit from the saddle-bag.

  The young Morvian reached out to take the dry morsel. His pleading gaze told Ji, he was also desperately thirsty.

  “Sorry . . . nothing to drink. The water-skin split in the fall.” Ji smiled apologetically. His tone became lightly teasing. “Tell me your name, or I will have to call you 'Little Hopping Thing'!”

  In the child's language, that was a disgusting slimy insect. His young pride at stake, he quickly obliged to set the record straight.

  “I am La-poo – 'sand-ferret'.”

  “Nice,” offered Ji, with a twitch of a grin. That's still a little 'beastie'. But then, he had a soft spot for all creatures. He chided himself for the sarcasm. Lightness of head and dimness of wits often followed when the high adrenaline of excitement subsided. He recalled some of the ridiculous banter exchanged with his peers, over evening campfires, even after the loss of brothers in battle or disaster. It was a way of coping in the aftermath.

  He glanced sadly down at his dead steed, once so vibrant and spirited. A samblar-man counted the loss of his loyal partner equal to a brother. Now, all the action and reaction had given way to calm, Ji felt it keener than most, but he would not let melancholy bring him down.

  One thing alone kept him positive. Not for a second, through this terrible day, had he doubted that Espira would succeed in her mission and come out alive. He, being human, could never rely on the gift of mystical visions and the like, but he was certain of his love for her and the power of it. There was something unbreakable between them which would endure beyond death. He did not question it. He had known she was safe, when he saw her soar into the sky riding the dragon . . . and he was sure of it in his heart now. They would be together again in this life!

  Aft
er all the mayhem, it was strangely quiet now. The roaring fireball overhead had subsided while Ji was attending to La-poo's leg. Fresher air had descended and a weak, hazy sunlight filtered down from the opening.

  “Now, La-poo, I think we should try to get out of here, don't you? I believe the battle is over!”

  'Try' is definitely the right word! Ji looked up, assessing the distance to the top of the shaft. He studied the rock walls for a way up, eyeing the gaps between footholds. Climbing was the only choice. It would be difficult at best, impossible carrying a child. He had a coil of rope, but it was nowhere near long enough. His equipment was frugal: on this quest, most heavy items had been forfeited for speed. No grappling hook, then.

  His thoughtful gaze fell upon Storm's lifeless body; the saddle and bridle were still in place. There were various leather straps and buckles employed in the tack; they could be removed and used for other purposes. He set about dismantling stirrup leathers, cinches and bridle and rejoining them end to end. He finished by tying one end of the rope to the cinch ring, which completed a modest ten metre extension.

  A bit more hopeful, he strapped on his leather armour and slung the coil over one shoulder, turning an accomplished grin on the little Morvian. He leaned down to encircle La-poo's waist with the last wide cinch, clipping it firmly in place and adding a shackle. Then he showed the child the matching clip at the free end of his extended rope, demonstrating how it joined the waist cinch. “Now, if I throw the rope down to you, do you think you can do this?”

  La-poo looked unsure, but nodded anyway.

  “Come, show me!” insisted Ji, handing his clip to the child. “Your life depends on it! No time to be sleepy or scared!”

  More alert than he seemed, La-poo mimicked Ji's actions, successfully joining the two shackles correctly at the first try, then detaching them just as easily. Obviously the drug had more of a physical than mental effect on a Morvian.