The Blue Flame [Book 1 of the Daradawn Series]

by Barbara M. Hodges

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  Tigress Press

  Copyright ©2003 by Barbara M. Hodges

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  The

  Blue

  Flame

  Barbara M. Hodges

  Tigress Press, LLC

  Columbia, Missouri

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced electronically or in any form, or by any means, without the prior written consent of the Publisher and the Author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  No persons or places in this book are real. All situations, characters and concepts are the sole invention of the author.

  Copyright © 2003, Barbara M. Hodges

  Cover art © 2004, David Deen

  Print Book Format: ISBN 0-9740848-3-2

  Second Printing: December 2004

  Third Printing: October 2005

  Published in the United States of America

  Tigress Press, LLC

  2509 Morning Glory Drive

  Columbia, MO 65202

  www.tigresspress.com

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks to: Alayna and my sister Sandra, who were my first readers—I couldn't have done it without you; the Word Wizards, who were my shoulders to lean on; my mom, Jean Stites, who taught me the love of words at an early age; and my husband Jeff, whose support was, and is, always priceless.

  Thanks also to the staff at Tigress Press: my talented editor, Janet Musick, thank you again for making my words even better; and David Deen, my cover artist.

  Credits:

  Senior Editor: Janet Musick

  Cover Artist: David Deen

  Map Design: David Deen

  Books by Barbara M. Hodges

  The Blue Flame

  The Emerald Dagger

  The Silver Ange

  The Sword and the Flame

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  * * * *

  Chapter 1

  Queen's-commander Kelsey Cafferty stood on the dark overhang, head bowed, shoulders shaking. In the valley below, flames leapt, incinerating the mounded dead. Acrid black smoke billowed upward. After a moment, she drew her shoulders back and with head held high stepped into the choking cloud.

  Through burning eyes, she watched the myriad pinhead-specks of light and waited. Drawn to her glow of life, they floated toward her, surrounded her. Their touch tickled, spider silk against bare skin. She cocked her head, straining to hear the ethereal whispers. They spoke of anger, sadness, and hatred of Dirkk and his Ru'taha, but above all they whispered of fear of what lay beyond the beckoning white light. In none of the voices did she detect bitterness or hate directed toward her. No one blamed Kelsey Cafferty for their deaths, no one except Kelsey Cafferty. Had she been wrong to attack Dirkk's evil with an army of farmers and merchants that had more courage than experience?

  Coughs wracked her body and she stumbled back out of the smoke. Shivering, she hugged herself and stared upward at the pale moon. Here in Daradawn it was known as Kayla, not Luna.

  She freed the sword from its sheath and saluted the glowing orb. “I honor you, my fallen! May you at last find peace."

  Behind her, a branch cracked. She whirled. Gripping the sword waist-high in front of her, she searched the dark warily.

  Three pale nude figures slipped from the shadows into the moon's glow. Ru'taha. Each clutched a chain mace. Midnight-black almond-shaped eyes stared at her from chiseled faces of alabaster perfection. Kelsey stood six feet tall, but these creatures dwarfed her. Towering above her, they circled first left, then right, silently. They glanced at each other, then back at her, and paced three steps forward in unison. She shadowed them, sword held steady, wondering how they moved as one without speech.

  She drew in a shuddering breath. Three of the Ru'taha, and any one a match for six warriors more seasoned than herself. She smiled grimly. For once she should have listened to Angus and not slipped away from her royal guards. She was going to die. Well, so be it.

  With a defiant scream she sprang forward and buried her sword up to its jeweled hilt in the chest of the nearest Ru'taha. Its knees buckled. She jerked her sword free, ducked and rolled, feeling the kiss of wind as a mace narrowly missed her cheek. She leaped to her feet and backed away.

  The Ru'taha advanced, trampling over the still-thrashing body of their comrade. They swung their maces. Kelsey blocked with her sword, the shock of iron striking steel vibrating up her arm. The Ru'taha swung again and two lengths of chain whipped around her blade. With numbing fingers, Kelsey tightened her two-fisted hold on the hilt, but she knew it was useless.

  The Ru'taha jerked their maces back. The sword flew from her nerveless fingers, and she screamed as white-hot fire arced through her right shoulder.

  She dove to the left, rolled, and came up on one knee. Her chest heaving, her right arm dangling useless, she scrambled to her feet. With a feral grin, she beckoned them. What would they do if she kicked them in their jewels? One thing was certain; she'd make them cut her to pieces. There would be nothing left of her body to be formed into one of them. No soldier could look into the eyes of a Ru'taha and not wonder if what had once been a friend looked back.

  "Come on. Fight, you refugees from hell!"

  The Ru'taha lurched forward.

  "Nak'iha auk Ras'pota.” The words, more growl than yell, grated in the night air. Kelsey jerked her head to the right. An axe-wielding blur charged from the darkness. With the axe's first pass, a Ru'taha's pale head sailed, the neck-stump spouting blood before the knees hit the ground.

  "Girl, drop."

  Kelsey did, feeling the deadly breeze as the battle axe swept within inches of her head. She rolled, screaming as her arm struck the ground. Teeth clenched, she levered herself to a sitting position with her left arm. The Ru'taha, its guts trailing like rope sausages, towered above her. It raised its mace.

  Kelsey caught another movement out of the corner of her eye as the Ru'taha's arm was separated from its shoulder. The monster swayed, stumbled backward, then toppled toward her. She dug in her heels and crab-walked to the right. The Ru'taha landed with its head at her right hip. Against her will, her eyes sought its face, seeking but fearing recognition.

  "Is it your arm again?” Angus Bladeheart asked, unspoken reprimand sharpening his voice.

  Flat on her butt, her eyes were on the same level as the dwarf's. His gleamed, like newly minted shekels, with disapproving rage.

  She refused to look away; she was his commander now, not his student. “Thank you, friend."

  He ripped a length of cloth from his tunic and silently bound her arm to her side. Then he moved to her left and waited. Bracing herself for the wash of pain, Kelsey placed her left hand on his shoulder and pushed upward. She gasped, her vision graying at the edges.

  "Lean on me. We will go to Helena."

  Kelsey breathed deep. “Peter is to meet us here. A few more minutes will make no difference."

  Angus swore beneath his breath. He wiped the blood from her sword with the tail of his tunic, then presented it to her hilt-first. She took it from him and he spun on his heels and strode to the butte's edge.

  Staring at his rigid back, Kelsey pulled her dented helm from her head. Honey-blonde hair cascaded to graze the top of knee-high, scuffed leather boots. The
wind grabbed her hair, whipping it into her eyes. With a soft curse, she pulled the curls together and stuffed them beneath the neckline of her chain mail vest.

  "I have decided that you will go for Regan tonight instead of in the morning,” she told the dwarf.

  Silence stretched and her lips tightened.

  "If agreeable to Peter, I will go,” Angus said at last.

  "No. You will go, no matter what Peter decides."

  The dwarf whipped around to face her. She met his gaze, unflinching.

  "I obey, Queen's-Commander."

  He made the title sound like an insult, and Kelsey felt hot blood flood her cheeks. The dwarf saluted, bowed from the waist mockingly, then presented his back to her.

  "Angus."

  The jangle of harness stopped her angry words. Peter Canterville, High Mage to Queen Tessa, rode into the clearing astride his white stallion Skylar.

  The mage looked from Kelsey's face to the dead Ru'taha, then back again. His left eyebrow rose in question. She started to shrug, but knifing pain rushing through her shoulder changed her mind. Peter sighed, shaking his head as he slid from Skylar's back. They stepped over the dead Ru'taha and walked to stand beside Angus.

  Peter on her right, Angus on her left. How many times had they stood shoulder to shoulder and counted burning mounds? Kelsey closed her eyes as smoke and embers drifted toward the stars. “So many dead, Peter, so many."

  "Yes, many. But perhaps all of Daradawn, if not for you."

  She opened her eyes and faced him. Her gaze shifted to his left cheek. She saw it clearly in the moonlight—the one-inch blue flame. The mark the Power seared into the skin of its chosen at birth. “But with Regan it would've been less,” she murmured. “So what's your decision?"

  He avoided her eyes. “Dirkk will send more Ru'taha and Black Vipers against us at daybreak. You will need every man."

  Kelsey motioned across the valley with her good arm. “Look what today's victory cost! More than ever we'll need...” Her voice cracked and she swallowed before continuing. “Your power isn't enough, but combined with Regan's..."

  "If she will not come? What then? You have been missing for seven years. You must know your sister thinks you are dead."

  Kelsey winced, imagining the pain Regan had been living with all that time. If she'd been able to prevent it, she would have.

  She reached beneath her chain mail, jerking a milk-white pendant free and pulling it over her head. Her hand clutched the stone for a moment before she handed the pendant to Peter. “Show her this. She'll come."

  "And Jack? From what you said, he has no love for you and will attempt to stop her."

  Kelsey stared out over the valley, a bitter smile curving her lips. “I didn't even stick around for their wedding. If I'd turned down that photo assignment..."

  "We would still be bottled up behind the walls of Raya starving to death,” Peter finished.

  Kelsey's gaze returned to the pendant. It had not left her neck since her mother had given it to her. She felt naked, vulnerable, without its comforting presence. “Regan will know it's from me."

  Peter shook his head. “Too many Ru'taha still prowl. Tomorrow is soon enough."

  Kelsey drew herself up to her full height and stepped away from Peter. She had feared it would come to this. “No. For seven years I've been trapped here, waiting for the rift to re-open. At sunrise, Angus will be at the Mountain of the Devil to go through. If not with you then with someone else."

  A muscle jumped in Peter's jaw.

  She held out her hand. “If you're not going, then give me the map I drew to Regan's house. I'll give it to Angus."

  He stared at her outstretched hand. “No one knows the area as I do.” He turned his back on her. “I will go."

  Kelsey touched Peter's arm. “Bring my sister to me. We need her."

  "Why do you not go through the rift yourself?” Peter demanded. “Our world is not yours."

  Kelsey stiffened. “I promised Queen Tessa. A Cafferty does not go back on her word.” And how could she ever leave Rourk, she added to herself. She turned away from Peter, afraid to say more.

  Angus still stood with his back toward them. He held his battle axe before him, his gaze sweeping the area.

  "Angus,” she said. He turned toward her. “Guard the rift well, friend."

  The dwarf nodded. “You will seek Helena now, then your tent and find rest."

  "Helena, yes, but rest? What's rest?” Kelsey picked up her helm. She stared at Peter for a moment, turned to walk away, hesitated. “Peter, does Rourk live?"

  "I left him only moments ago with the horses."

  She forced a smile. “See, I have Rourk. All will be fine until you and Regan return. Now go."

  For a long moment, Peter stared down into Kelsey's eyes, then he reached out and pulled her close. His shirt smelled of sweat and smoke. The coarse weave chafed her forehead. “Take care, my friend,” he whispered into her hair.

  She rested against his chest for a moment, then pushed away.

  To their right, the brush shook and Angus jumped forward. Three soldiers burst into the clearing. Seeing the dead Ru'taha and Angus's glowering face, they skidded to a halt.

  The tallest stepped forward. “Forgive me, Lord Angus,” he said. “She gave us the slip again.” The man cast a quick accusing glance at Kelsey.

  Angus glared, then marched silently through the middle of them. The man paled.

  "It was my fault, Richard,” Kelsey said. “It's me Angus is angry with, not you."

  "As you say, Queen's-Commander,” Richard replied, “but stick to you like honey we three do from this moment on."

  And after tonight I just might let you. She turned to Peter. “Safe journey."

  Kelsey watched as he swung up onto Skylar's back, then followed Angus into the dark. She waited until she could see him no more, then looked east toward the Mountain of the Devil.

  "Regan, listen to Peter with your heart, not your mind,” she whispered. “Come to me."

  Chapter 2

  PETER STOOD IN the center of the lot, surrounded by rusted cans and empty brown bottles, staring at a red-and-white metal sign. “Coming soon, another Safeway to serve your neighborhood.” His shoulders slumped.

  "What now?” He looked eastward toward the Mountain of the Devil. “Kelsey, I have failed."

  "You looking for Regan? Or that no-good ex-husband of hers?” a voice shouted at him.

  Peter's eyes snapped open and he turned. Across the street, a tiny wisp of a lady leaned against a weathered fence post, a fluorescent orange and yellow shawl wrapped around her.

  "I seek Regan."

  She beckoned him, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder. “Well, get over here. I don't plan to tell the whole world where Regan lives. I might not even tell you."

  He walked over to her. When he was still three feet away, she held up both her hands and stepped back.

  "Just who are you?” she demanded, pulling the shawl closer.

  "A cousin. Regan and I have never met. I am from far off."

  "Mother Reynaldo, who are you talking to?” a feminine voice asked from inside the house.

  "No one,” she snapped, not taking her eyes from Peter. She cocked her head sideways and eyed him up and down. Her gaze paused at the waist-length tail of hair that hung over his shoulder, then lifted to the mark on his cheek. “Are you one of those throw-back hippie types?"

  "Hippie?"

  "You know, free love, save the animals, that kinda stuff."

  "Save the animals? Yes, very much so."

  Then she smiled. “Well, I like your eyes. The eyes are windows to the soul, you know. Wait here. I'll get you Regan's new address."

  She darted toward her house. From inside he heard a sharp question, and a sharper response, then she returned with a piece of paper.

  * * * *

  Peter sighed. He had wasted an entire day walking hilly streets crowded with smoke-belching steel wagons, jostled and pushed by horde
s of people, constantly accosted by beggars, and breathing noxious air that burned his lungs, even in the dampness. He shook his head. What had his grandfather seen in this city to speak of it with so much passion? Of all the rifts his grandfather traveled, why the yearning for this San Francisco?

  Now at the new address, he stared at the house, pulling his tunic closer around his neck. White fog ebbed and flowed around him. In the wan glow of a streetlight, he shivered as frigid drops trickled down his neck. For a moment, the haze shifted. He strained to see the house numbers lit by the oval porch light, then glanced down at the piece of paper he gripped. A light came on in an upstairs window, and a curtain was drawn aside. He stepped back into the shadows.

  * * * *

  The upstairs Bay window of the Victorian house opened onto a balcony decorated with scallops and miniature spindles. Regan Cafferty stared down through the lace curtains into the darkness, wiping a pane clear of fog with her palm. She thought she had seen a figure step back into the shadows. She opened the window an inch. “Jack, that better not be you, or I'm calling the police.” She waited, but no response came. Damn him. Why couldn't he leave her alone?

  Turning, Regan pried pins from her swept-up hair. Sighing with pleasure, she combed her fingers through it as she crossed to the dressing table.

  Frowning at her reflection, she loosely braided the auburn mass and then rummaged among the silk scarves and perfume bottles until she found a hot-pink elastic band. She stuck her tongue out at her reflection, then grinned at her silliness. She should get it cut, but decided it suited her. She'd been born way too late, she thought. She should have been a medieval princess with a score of knights begging for her hand, after slaying dragons and winning tournaments, of course. Then the most handsome would take her in his arms and whirl her around the dance floor.

  She curtsied to an imaginary suitor and waltzed around the room, dipping and swirling, faster and faster, until she toppled onto the unmade bed. The movement jarred the nightstand, and sent a stack of unopened mail onto the floor. It snapped her mood. Why did reality always have to get in the way of her fun?