They would have time to talk on their way to Istaria. Whether he would talk about it was the question.
“What of you?” Calli swallowed but waited for him to answer in some manner.
Jayson slid further inside the door, his brow furrowed. For a few seconds he was silent, his eyes down, probably wondering what the question meant.
Calli said nothing, hoping she would not have to be specific. If she asked what he felt for her and he said anything other than loving her, the awkwardness would be intolerable.
When he looked up, those blue eyes sparkled with mischief, lighting up the smile she cherished. “Always ready for another adventure. Perhaps next time, you’ll leave the dragon-fighting to me?”
Calli sighed and shook her head. She should have known. The whimsical sense of humor stayed with him. May you always find the good, Jayson.
He stepped to her and offered his hand. Calli set her hand on his, cherishing the steady contact and the confidence in his fingers around hers. He led her from the room to where the family held a new winter riding cloak and coat for her with the other winter gear. Jayson had shown her the burned cloak. Dragon fire was far hotter than she expected. She shuddered to consider what would have been of her flesh without the thick cloak between her and the fire. Duke’s hindquarters had been gruesome proof.
After long good-byes and many thanks to the family, Calli and Jayson joined Ellead in the bright sun of the day. The bitter cold of the last few days was gone, replaced by a hint of spring warmth.
They trudged a new path through the shimmering snow, sometimes wading through knee deep drifts. Calli glanced aside at Jayson at times, wishing they were alone so they could talk. A couple times he returned her looks, and glanced back at Ellead as if thinking the same.
Ellead led the chestnut horse laden with their supplies only a few steps behind, granting them no privacy. Questions plagued her, but she wished not to share them with the boy.
Jayson had told her about the magic of the sword but said nothing about how she used it, or how he used it. What had she done?
Calli reached down to touch the length of the sword strapped to her waist beneath the cloak. Had Phelan known of its power, or had that been of the smithy’s doing? Who made it? Not until the old Lôringai war prayer—a meditation, or spell, to help focus the power as Jayson explained—had she cared. The words had no power, but the intentions of the one speaking them did. She had borne that power, because she believed in the meaning of the prayer.
If not for the magic of the valley of Arronfel, she would not believe what happened to the sword.
And what of her father’s words? Was the dream a vision or a true visit to the spirit realm?
What did her father know of all this? She had to find out. After visiting Istaria, perhaps she would make the journey to her father’s homeland and learn more.
“Me thinks you lost again.”
Calli blinked back to reality at the teasing remark.
“I was wrong.” Jayson looked over his shoulder to Ellead. “She’s still with us.”
She restrained her first instinct to smack him. Instead, she turned to him with a scowl but could not hold it against the laughter struggling to escape. With his simple amusements, he lifted the fog of worries pressing her down. She could only shake her head at his antics. “This will be a long road with that tongue alive.”
“Would you rather it died?”
“Sometimes. Maybe. Have I other options?”
Jayson chuckled and filled the silence with amusing stories of his earlier years with the Sh’lahmar. Despite the mischief he described and the otherwise good humor, a cloud hung over his mood. He had told her what happened.
Calli forgot her concerns for a while as her thoughts shifted to what Jayson told her of Lusiradrol and the loss she inflicted upon him. It troubled him more than he let on in the presence of others, but he had let her see. He avoided that in his stories, sticking to hard-learned lessons under his teacher, Master Haiberuk, and the angst he caused his friends.
The stories made her shake her head in disdain. From what she knew of his uplifting personality, the antics he described in his stories gave her no surprise. However, she found his personality oddly light for one expected to kill.
But Jayson never killed if he could waylay his opponents with other means. For that matter, he had gone out of his way many times to avoid killing.
One more reason she enjoyed his partnership.
Phelan would not have gone so far as Jayson. In fact, the prince had once talked of killing several raiders when ambushed along the road.
Calli placed her palm over the seal hanging on the chain around her neck. Phelan. Her heart had longed for him for many years, yet she left when he finally gave her his attention. The distance from him had changed her.
She looked aside again as Jayson set his hand against a tree to stay balanced through a deep drift of snow. Birds sang high above in fewer numbers than the chorus that had accompanied them through the summer.
Jayson never tried to hold her back from anything. He supported her decisions, for good or ill, and offered his advice. He comforted her in bad times and amused her through all occasions.
From the first moment, she found his smile enchanting. She wanted to be closer. Those rare occasions he held her, including when she awoke from her recovery, she wished it would last forever. He made her feel complete.
With Duke gone—
Calli dropped her eyes, her heart heavy. She pictured the gelding snorting at a frog and bucking at the end of his lead after a swim in a stream. Her vision blurred at the memory from the summer. He had stood by her, always willing to take on whatever enemy attacked with an uncanny sense of what was needed of him.
Phelan’s gifts had served her well. For that she would always be grateful; but she could not deny her heart.
She stumbled over a branch hidden beneath the snow, and strong arms caught her. Calli sniffed but restrained the tears threatening to flow. “I tripped.”
Jayson eyed her with suspicion but said nothing. He walked close to her from that point, his shoulder occasionally rubbing hers, granting solace through his presence.
They trudged through the snow in the chill air until fatigue settled in. A short time before nightfall, they found a fallen trunk as wide as a horse’s girth. One end lay over a large boulder to form a shelter blocking the wind. Snow only dusted the ground beneath while a ridge of white closed off most of the open side. It made a suitable shelter for the night with a steady fire to keep them warm.
After her turn keeping watch over the horse pawing for grass blades in the snow while she kept the fire stoked, Calli woke Jayson. When she laid down, she slept lightly. Her dreams returned to the wyvern and its bloody jaws. At one point, she screamed out, but the fear abated with a calming touch. Familiar words whispered through her mind, chasing the nightmare away. What dreams came after placed her in the old orchard playing games with Istaria in the palace.
Soon she would see her friend again.
__________
Istaria
Istaria smiled at the antics of the young green dragon. About the size of a grown horse with wings, it chased the small cloud of drakin. Though the dragon vastly outsized the birdlike drakin, its enormous wingspan gave it speed. Unfortunately, the drakin could dart like insects away from their larger cousin’s lumbering mass.
From the chair next to the tall window in the hidden study she watched. A book lay open in her lap, or what remained of her lap. The bulge at her middle continued to grow and expand over most of her front. Gaispar had supplied her with several gowns that hung loose over her expanding middle. Where she found them, Istaria could only wonder.
With a sigh, Istaria returned her eyes to the tome she read. The Unnamed One recorded the history of the world, including his wisdom and knowledge of magic. A wise decision that aided her learning, once she perfected using magic to translate the text; though she needed it less and less as she grew
accustomed to the language of the Majera.
The organic style of the text reminded her of the crystal palace in which she sat. Curves like vines with leaves marked the language as unique to anything she had ever seen. She thought it beautiful to the eye, almost as if it were meant as a design rather than words. It made Ayrulean look blockish and awkward.
The magic translated word for word, which required some mental reorganizing for her to understand. With practice, though, the translation flowed smoothly.
She wished she could share the secrets of the tomes with Darius, but Sethirngal warned that, while much of the history he knew, not all was meant to be shared. Some knowledge was denied to the Sh’lahmar and the Lumathir, and other knowledge to the dragons. He explained it as a way to keep it out of Lusiradrol’s hands.
Istaria wondered why, if Darius stayed there, that she could not tell him. He was former Sh’lahmar and they were protected in the Second Realm.
Sethirngal made her pledge to say nothing, and she kept that promise, though she longed to share the wonderful tales she studied. They seemed harmless.
She spent her recent days in the secret chamber reading. Though the task proved tedious in the beginning, the stories of great warriors and the creatures of the world captured her imagination. Through those stories, she traveled into the past to the events.
Istaria currently followed the flowing script on the journey of Trafen, the hero who sought out the “celestial maiden”. The love story was the first she found after five thick tomes about the creation of the world, the dragons, and the two races of men, and their use by the Majera to counter the demons of the Darklord.
After creating dragons, the Majera created humans. Istaria found the first humans mundane in their perfection. When their numbers dwindled, the Majera decided to create another race of humans, the Second Race, intended to be more perfect than the First Race.
When the Darklord introduced corruption into the Second Race, the stories turned. Wars erupted among the humans, until all knew only conflict. From those stories, however, grew the legends she learned as a girl, the stories told to children thousands of years later. Time erased most of the details. Not until reading them as recorded by the hands of the Unnamed One had she realized the full extent of those stories.
Trafen’s tale was the first love story she read, titled Afmajî, or “The Magi”. She could not set aside the book until she followed it to the end, particularly since she read of no mage to that point.
On his way home from a horrible battle in which the Darklord’s forces ravaged his army, Trafen spied the maiden of Light by a pool in the forest. His heart melted when she turned her radiant smile to him, her blue eyes sparkling like sapphires. Before he could utter a word, the forces of the Darklord sent to hunt him frightened the woman away. She vanished in a flash of light. Trafen was knocked unconscious to wake up in a dank, lonely prison.
My lady.
Istaria gasped and her heart slammed against her chest. The child inside her kicked out. Reaching out with the magic, she found the presence calling her. The calm she met eased her startled mind. Through their intimacy, their connection allowed them to communicate long distances with each other.
She rubbed her belly to reassure her child as much as herself and replied, I am here.
I’ve something for you.
She smiled, picturing Darius with a new carving. Since her news, he made numerous wooden toys from animals to puzzles.
Jaren has returned. That changed matters.
Split between the story and any news Jaren brought back from the First Realm, she hesitated. After a few seconds of indecision, Istaria marked her place in the book and set it aside.
The story could wait. News from her home could not.
Since she could not teleport in or out of the secret chamber, she walked through the illusionary wall. Istaria exited through a brief shimmer to the semicircular anteroom beyond with its tall, vaulted ceiling. The cloudy blue crystal chimed softly with each step she took, singing a melody as she crossed the floor to the double doors with their accent of gold vines and leaves.
Since reading the tomes, she understood the reasons for the style of the floating castle. Plants were the base of support of life. Therefore, the Ancients incorporated them into their designs out of gratitude for the sustenance. The Unnamed One created the crystal castle based on the same principles.
She transported herself with her growing powers to the house at the edge of the forest, where Darius stood at the door waiting for her. Jaren rested on his shoulder, his long tail wrapped around Darius’ upper arm.
“I knew you’d come.” His warm smile greeted her.
She met him with a quick kiss.
“How go the studies?”
Much better. The books are not all boring, she said.
“More than you said a few days ago. Good.”
What have you news from home? How odd. She phrased the question as if she spoke it in the old language of the tomes.
Darius said nothing about it but turned to Jaren.
Me? The high pitched voice resounded in her mind.
Darius’s nod was encouragement enough, but it took so little to make the drakin talk. Jaren spread his claw-tipped wings in a gesture of agitation. All is not well in your realm, Lady. The Red Clan has turned much to ash, but they have spread themselves thin over the world, not just the land outside the gate; and their appetite is large, though they must rest a while after such. You’ll not see me or my kind eating a horse whole, but see— He opened his jaws no bigger than a hawk’s beak to expose tiny white teeth with which he ate insects and berries. I found the slaughter despicable, although the drakes here cull their herds in such fashion, but at least—
“Jaren.”
The drakin ducked his head in shame from Darius’s scolding tone. Forgive me. I sometimes forget and enjoy telling stories so that I know not what you wish me to not say. He paused before continuing. Oh, yes. The elder drakes have been able to spare a few lives by interrupting the feeding of the Red Clan. Lusiradrol called them away too, so that few are in the land outside the gateway.
Jêrafînas thinks they headed over the mountains to the Lumathir, but I know not the land so I could not confirm this, although I would enjoy the snow, especially as it falls when no wind blows hard and the cold I can leave alone.
“Jaren.”
He chirped his objection, to which Darius gave him a stern look.
That is all. The master bade me return to you.
“You may go now,” Darius said.
The drakin squawked and spread his wings.
Thank you, Jaren, Istaria offered.
I am pleased to serve, Lady. He flapped off into the air.
Istaria watched him disappear into the trees and wrapped her arms around her middle. I wish I could do something. When Darius embraced her, she laid her head against his chest.
“You are doing something. You have the most important job. Remember—the future depends on you.”
She sighed and buried her face in the warmth of his chest. The musky odor of his body distracted her for a moment but no more. Her job was simple but so complex, and it restricted her from using the knowledge she learned. I understand that. But I wish I could join the dragons. I wish I could help them in the fight against the Red Clan. I wish… I wish Calli or even Gaispar could be here now.
Where was Calli? The last news she heard of her best friend was that the redhead had left the palace to search for her. From what Gaispar gathered from gossip, Calli made a nuisance of herself for Tyrkam. Istaria found some comfort in that. But the news was old and none of the messengers brought anything new for several moon cycles.
She needed the company of friends, especially with the child in her now kicking with life—kicking hard at that. With Gaispar only stopping for a few days at a time, they barely shared any time together. Besides, Gaispar usually steered any conversation away from the pregnancy.
“Concentrate on learni
ng what you can of magic and the old ways.”
What else could she do? Istaria felt helpless, but at least the books distracted her from it. She could enjoy the history of the mages and the story of Trafen and his maiden, but her heart weighed heavily with worry for those she cared about in that time. I wish I could do more.
__________
Marjan
The sun sliced over the snow-capped peaks. Marjan shaded his deep-set eyes and gazed out from the third level of the fortress. On the valley floor, his men completed their chores. Horses grazed at the opposite end of the long valley, separating themselves from the humans who used half of the fertile land for crops. The army would grow strong to reclaim Cavatar. Tyrkam’s oppression would not last long.
Many years had he served Lord Isolder, and many more he swore to his heir; wherever he was.
Until the day came that the rightful heir of Cavatar stepped forth to claim the throne, he would continue to rebuild the army loyal to Cavatar. When the day came for Phelan Isolder to take his father’s place, he would have an army ready to serve him.
This valley was the key to their efforts. What luck that the Lady Calli had found it and shared it with him.
He owed her much.
He wished she had stayed in the sanctuary of the valley, his mind troubled by the length of time she spent away. More than a moon cycle had passed since she and the others left. Although he expected them gone longer, he hoped they would have returned already, or sent someone with news. Where were they?
Marjan sighed heavily, aware of footfalls behind him. By the lightness of the steps ringing off the walls as much as by the routine established, he knew who interrupted his thoughts.
“Sir.”
Marjan shifted his weight and turned. The crimson cape of his leadership position slipped over his broad shoulders with the motion.
His attendant stood two strides away. The short man wore the robes of one meant to watch battle from afar. The green and brown fit his small frame, the brown robe belted at the waist beneath his cloak with its fancy black and red embroidery.
Legends Page 13
