Opal of Light_An epic dragon fantasy

by Norma Hinkens

  With a heavy heart, Orlla mounted her horse and set out along the treacherous trail leading to the humble shack that was to become their permanent outpost for the foreseeable future. Akolom rode directly in front of her, Abe resting on his left wrist. Daglin and Khor rode ahead of him, their eyes constantly sweeping the terrain for any sign of trouble.

  Before long, their path grew steeper, rocky shale slipping beneath the skittish horses’ hooves. They rode in silence, concentrating on keeping their mounts in check as they crested the trail and plodded over the slippery granite slabs that formed the only known navigable pass through the jagged mountains.

  Night was falling by the time they reached the cabin, swaddled in shadows from the surrounding stands of oaks. Bone-weary and sore, they dismounted and secured the horses in a nearby hollow sheltered by yew trees, before carrying their supplies inside.

  Daglin lit a tallow candle. “We’ll take shifts to keep guard.”

  Akolom and Orlla exchanged disconcerted looks.

  “We are perfectly safe here at the outpost,” Akolom said. “The veiling runes are well-fortified. No mainlander will be able to slip past them.”

  “We must maintain a vigilant stance until we have vetted the situation more thoroughly,” Daglin retorted. “Perhaps your Keeper craft may yet fail us, and you will have need of real warriors who know how to wield a sword.”

  Akolom’s eyes flashed with anger. “You may well deride the Conservatory, but I have learned that wisdom is a stronger asset than weapons of war.”

  “And I have learned to trust the blade in my hand more than any head that rests on a Keeper’s shoulders,” Daglin snapped back. He placed the candle in the center of the roughhewn table, stomped over to the settle on the back wall, and flung himself down on the seat.

  Khor cast a wary glance his way, then pulled out some hard-boiled eggs, nuts and seeds, and passed them around like a peace offering. Orlla wasn’t particularly hungry, but she was loathe to offend him when he appeared to be making an effort to placate them. She reached for a handful of pine nuts and munched absentmindedly on them, avoiding meeting Daglin’s gaze. Akolom pulled the sputtering candle toward him and began penning a missive.

  “Who are you writing to?” Daglin demanded.

  “Barhus, my fellow mentor,” Akolom replied without looking up.

  “Read it to me,” Daglin ordered.

  Akolom glanced up in surprise, quill hovering in mid-air. “I am simply informing him of our whereabouts and requesting that he represent Orlla’s brother at his impending trial.” He rose and handed the parchment to Daglin who frowned at it for a while before handing it back with a curt nod.

  When Akolom was done, and the ink had dried, he tied the missive to Abe’s foot and opened the cabin door. The howling of wolves from high up in the Angladior peaks filled the air as Akolom released him into the night.

  “Barhus will have it by midnight,” he said, returning to the table where Orlla sat. “I have directed him to defend Samten vigorously, leaning both on his father’s service as a master mentor, and your reputation at the Conservatory, for clemency, and to report directly to me on the proceedings. And I have instructed him to see to it that Grizel attends your father.”

  “Thank you,” Orlla rasped, her throat burning from the effort of holding back tears. She sensed the Protectors’ eyes on her again, judging her for her weakness, no doubt. But it wasn’t weakness that had brought her to the verge of tears, it was the strength of her love for kin. Could the Protectors understand a bond that went beyond loyalty and duty to the king?

  “What is your brother on trial for?” Khor asked, popping a whole egg into his mouth.

  Orlla shrugged. “A foolish prank.” Reluctant to elaborate, she quickly added, “Do you have a family?”

  “We are sworn to celibacy,” Daglin cut in. “Our loyalty is to the king as long as we remain in service.”

  Orlla nodded absentmindedly. Celibacy was not required of Protectors or Keepers, but most held to the creed once they had sworn their oaths. She had never given it much thought. Marriage was not a matter of great urgency for anyone born on Efyllsseum where eternal youth was a given. But, perhaps time would not be on her side. The blood that ran in her veins was Macobite and that lifespan was limited.

  She flinched at the sound of alarmed whinnying outside.

  Akolom threw up his hood and stood. “It’s probably those howling wolves bothering the horses. I’ll check on them.”

  “No. I’ll go,” Daglin smiled with grim pleasure as he reached for his sword and a torch. “This is exactly why we’re here, master mentor.”

  Akolom bristled as he sank back down in his chair, his face a mask of controlled indignation.

  Orlla cut Daglin a reproving glare. “You may have need of a Keeper out there. If mainlanders have wandered into the mountains, the runes will require additional fortification to make sure the pass remains imperceptible to them.”

  Daglin eyed her with cool bemusement for a moment. “Very well, you shall accompany me.”

  He pulled open the cabin door with an ominous creak, peered around it, and then motioned with his sword for Orlla to follow him.

  Their footsteps crunched over dry leaves as they crept around the shack and adjoining workshop, studying the contoured shadows of the undergrowth and tree trunks for any indication of an intruder. Orlla focused her thoughts on the fabric of runes that screened the pass, detecting no weakness that would indicate mainlanders had wandered too close. Her eyes swept the darkness beyond them but nothing untoward moved on the surrounding ridges. “I dare say Akolom was right,” she ventured. “It was the wolves spooking our steeds. The runes have not been sapped of their strength.”

  Daglin grunted in reluctant agreement. “Let’s make sure the horses are undisturbed before we go back inside.”

  Orlla followed his guttering torch as he made a beeline for the hollow where their horses were tethered, her exhaled breath spiraling upward in the chill night air. Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness and she could just make out the animals’ outlines tethered among the yew trees. They approached cautiously, but the horses continued grazing, unfazed by their presence. Daglin searched the area carefully, crouching low to check for prints or tracks before turning to Orlla. “No sign of prowlers. Are you certain the runes are secure?”

  She nodded. “The fortifications remain robust. The runes have not been compromised.”

  Daglin sheathed his sword with excessive force and rubbed his upper arms briskly. “We’ve wasted enough time wandering around out here. Let’s get out of this unearthly cold.”

  Orlla cast one last look round the copse and then reached out a hand to pat her mare.

  She froze, her fingers hovering inches from its neck. A single white feather was wedged in the horse’s black mane. She stole a glance over her shoulder to make sure Daglin wasn’t watching and then snatched up the feather with trembling fingers and stuffed it inside a pocket in her tunic. Her heart slugged against her chest as her fist closed over the feather in her pocket—silky-smooth between her fingertips, like the Archipelago swan feathers she favored for her arrows. A swan that wasn’t native to the mainland. Was it foolishness on her part, or could it be a message from Samten? But how was that possible if he had been arrested? She loosed a ragged breath. In her heart she already knew the answer, because she knew what Samten was capable of. He had escaped.

  “Are you coming or what?” Daglin called through the darkness.

  Orlla hurried after him, her mind racing. How could she relay to Akolom what she suspected without alerting the Protectors? And what exactly would she tell him—that she’d found a feather in one of the horses’ manes? There was still a chance it meant nothing, that it was merely wishful thinking on her part.

  Khor and Akolom looked up expectantly when she and Daglin burst through the door, teeth chattering.

  “Nothing out there.” Daglin blew into his hands and rubbed them together. “The ho
rses are fine.”

  “And the runes have not been breached,” Orlla added, avoiding Akolom’s eyes. She wouldn’t be able to hide from his perceptive gaze that something was troubling her. But she didn’t want to alert him to her suspicions prematurely. Once the Protectors were asleep, she would slip outside again and search for Samten.

  For the next few minutes, they busied themselves unrolling their bedding and making up the cots.

  “Who wants to take the first shift?” Khor asked.

  “I will,” Orlla said, the words tumbling out too quickly.

  Akolom raised a curious brow.

  “I’m not tired after all that fresh air,” she explained, with a faint shrug.

  “Then I shall take the second shift,” Akolom said, eyeing Orlla with a look that projected his suspicion something was afoot.

  While the men settled into their cots and curled up beneath their heavy cloaks, Orlla sank down at the table and stared at the flickering candle that had almost burned out. Was it possible Samten was here on the mainland? He would have had to steal a boat and single-handedly helm the vessel to get here, but he certainly had the strength and determination to pull off such a feat. She drummed her fingers lightly on the table, frowning at the dancing flame as it clung to life. If he had escaped, he was in worse trouble now than ever. Her only option would be to persuade him to turn himself over to the Protectors—that’s if she managed to find him. Any hope he had of graduating the Conservatory had been rendered null and void. At best, the court would deign to let him labor in the fields instead of languishing in a dungeon in Tansk.

  When a discordant trio of snores filled the cabin, Orlla quietly opened the cabin door and stole outside into the bracing, night air. The moon, a milky-white wafer spilling a cottony shaft of illumination over the saw-toothed mountains, sufficed to light her path.

  She retraced her steps over the uneven ground to the copse of yew trees where the horses were tethered. “Samten?” Her cracked whisper cut through the air. She waited for a bit before calling out his name again. When there was no response, she pushed through the surrounding brambles and thickets hoping she might find him sleeping nearby. She checked the ground for any trace of footsteps but could find nothing that indicated he had been there. Cold and shivering, she headed back to the shack, defeated and doubting herself. It had been foolish of her to think Samten had fled to the mainland—he knew nothing of it. He was likely sleeping rough in some secluded forest on Efyllsseum.

  When she entered the cabin, Daglin was stirring. He propped himself up on one elbow and eyed her suspiciously. “What were you doing out there? Did you hear something?”

  She shook her head. “I just needed some fresh air. I was growing sleepy.”

  “I’ll take over for now,” he said gruffly. “I’ll rouse Akolom after a bit.”

  Too weary to argue, she nodded her thanks, climbed into her cot, and curled up beneath her cloak. She couldn’t shake her suspicion that the feather meant something. Come morning, she would comb the area one last time. If she came up empty-handed after that, she would have to let it go. Hopefully there would be news from Barhus by dawn that would put her suspicions to rest once and for all.

  Orlla was kneeling at a nearby stream washing her face the next morning, when she spotted Abe circling high overhead. She jumped up and ran to the hollow where Akolom was rubbing down the horses. “Abe has returned!”

  “Don’t alert the Protectors,” he urged, pulling on his gauntlet. “Daglin has no business meddling in Keepers’ affairs. He doesn’t trust us, and the sentiment is mutual.” He extended his wrist, squeezing a piece of jerky between his thumb and forefinger, and whistled for Abe.

  Seconds later, the falcon plummeted to the ground, impaled by an arrow.

  Chapter 5

  Orlla watched in horror as a black-gauntleted fist reached down and scooped up Abe’s feathery carcass.

  Daglin!

  He stomped toward them, his eyes blazing orbs of fury behind his mask.

  “What have you done?” she screamed at him.

  Akolom stood hunched by the horses, frozen with shock, his face contorted as though the arrow had gone through him instead of his precious companion. Orlla instinctively wrapped an arm around his crumpled frame, half-afraid he would keel over with grief.

  Daglin came to a halt in front of them, the dry forest litter crunching beneath his leather boots. He ripped a tiny scroll from Abe’s foot and then shoved the dead falcon against Akolom’s chest. “Unauthorized missives are not permitted, by edict of the king.”

  “You insufferable fool!” Orlla raged. “This is Barhus’s response to the missive Akolom sent last night.”

  “Then we will open it and read it together—inside where Khor can hear it too,” Daglin growled.

  Akolom clutched Abe’s still warm body to his chest and stroked the falcon’s feathers tenderly, fixing a look of cold fury on Daglin. “You may wear the Opal of Light upon your helm, but you do not carry its essence in your black heart.”

  “Nor do I speak in riddles, master mentor. I am a man of action, and a Protector of the king’s interests.” Daglin snorted in contempt and retreated to the cabin, missive in hand.

  “I’m so sorry, Akolom,” Orlla said in a subdued tone. “I don’t understand why he would do something so cruel and senseless.”

  Akolom loosed a heavy sigh. “The price of the king’s protection is incalculable. It is clear the king does not trust us.”

  Orlla lowered her voice. “Daglin must pay for what he has done.”

  Akolom shook his head. “I will not tie myself to him in an act of revenge.” He walked over to the workshop and laid Abe gently down on a bench.

  “Can’t you use a rune on him?” Orlla asked.

  Akolom shook his head. “He is beyond healing, and the dragons did not reveal to us the runes that govern the breath of life.”

  After removing the arrow and snapping it in two, he straightened up, his face betraying no emotion. “Come, let us find out if Barhus is willing to advocate for your brother.”

  Gathered around the table inside the cabin, the Keepers and Protectors eyed each other uncertainly, the strained atmosphere thick as stew. Daglin tossed the missive on the table in front of Akolom and gestured to him to pick it up. “Read it aloud.”

  Akolom unrolled the tiny scroll with steady fingers. Orlla smoothed her sweaty palms on her tunic as she waited to hear Barhus’s response.

  “To the venerable master mentor,” Akolom began, his dignified voice unwavering. “I am at your service and will forthwith endeavor to conduct a worthy defense of Samten for the sake of his heritage and your protégé as you have requested in good faith. The proceedings are scheduled to commence tomorrow morn. Fare thee well as I fare. Your ally, Barhus.”

  Akolom rolled the parchment back up and handed it to Daglin before getting to his feet. “And now, if you will excuse me, I must bury my falcon before the wolves get to him.”

  Orlla shot to her feet and narrowed her eyes at Daglin and Khor, daring them to stop her as she followed Akolom outside to the workshop.

  Tenderly, he picked up Abe, and reached for a spade leaning against the wall before setting off at a brisk pace through the brush.

  “Must you go so far?” Orlla called to him after they had walked a half furlong or so.

  He pulled up short and darted a searching glance over his shoulder. “This should be far enough to ensure we won’t be overheard.”

  Orlla furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about?”

  Akolom knelt and laid the dead bird on a litter of leaves, then put his foot to the spade and began to dig. “The king has sent an assassin after Samten,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

  Orlla’s eyes widened. “But, the missive—”

  “I fabricated what I read aloud.” He leaned an elbow on one knee and stared earnestly at her. “Isn’t it obvious to you by now that the Protectors can’t read? The king surrounds himself with warriors without le
arning, and scholars without brawn, and fuels discord between them. And for good reason. Neither the Academy nor the Conservatory could overthrow him without enlisting the other’s help.”

  Orlla’s skin tingled. “King Ferghell’s no better than the despots on the mainland if he’s willing to drive a wedge between his own people to protect his power, and willing to kill any who might threaten that power.” Her instincts about the feather had been right all along. The only credible reason the king would send an assassin after Samten was if he feared he had escaped to the mainland and might expose the island of Efyllsseum in exchange for sanctuary.

  “As a fugitive, privy to the mysteries of the runes,” Akolom continued in a low voice, “Samten must be eliminated before he sells those secrets, or they are tortured out of him by a power-hungry Brufus or Hamend.”

  Resolve welled up inside Orlla. “I will not let my brother die at the assassin’s hands. Granted, he’s a foolhardy youth, but he does not fully understand what he has done. He’s young and misguided, as good as orphaned, with only me to care what becomes of him.”

  “Hounds traced his scent to the shoreline,” Akolom said. “And a fisherman reported a skiff missing to the bailiff this morning.”

  “He is here,” Orlla said voicing the words that both warmed her heart and struck terror in it. “He was outside the cabin last night. He left a white feather in my mare’s mane—it’s how he used to tease me about my hair when we were children.”

  “I feared as much.” Akolom’s shoulders sagged.

  “We can’t let the Protectors know about this.” Orlla cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. “Can you divert the assassin down by the port? Convince him Samten fled a different route through the mountains.”

  Akolom frowned as he resumed his digging. “What are you planning to do?”

  “I’m going after my brother. He won’t listen to anyone else.” She hesitated and then added. “I suspect he will try and enlist in the war. He longs to be a soldier, not a Keeper.”