Master's Mind: The Dagger of Dragon Rose: Book 1

by John M Leavitt

  "Taren, are you okay?" Shaunna called.

  "Yes, I'm fine,” He groaned. "Get to safety. I will find a way out of here, and I will join you as soon as I can.”

  Shaunna's face disappeared from the hole in the roof.

  Taren gingerly climbed to his feet. His chest hurt, but he was sure that he had not broken any ribs. The little that he had learned from his mother over the years made him think that the pain would be worse if he had.

  He found himself in a study of some kind. The room was devoid of furnishings, save for a single chair, a desk, and a large bookshelf that was laden with hundreds of large books, all bound in an identical fashion. There was a large book on the desk with a dried inkwell, a very nice feather quill, and a small dish of sand.

  He sat in the chair and examined the book. It was a journal of some sort. The date of the last entry was his birthday twelve years ago. It was written in a neat script that was easy for him to read:

  This past year has been very difficult without my beloved wife. The children are growing so quickly. The more time I spend with them, the more convinced I am of my certainty that they are the children of the prophecy. That being said, there must be hard times ahead of us all. I only hope that I will be able to protect them for as long as possible. Morganna, Tarea, Saria, and Taren. I love them so much, but I am afraid that my hope will be for naught. I have a sense of time creeping up on me, of the circle closing. I fear that the gypsy's words will soon come to pass.

  This was his father's journal. The last entry was made the day that he was killed. A single tear escaped Taren's eye at the thought. He looked at the bookshelf. Those must be the rest of the volumes that chronicled the great King's life. He didn't have time to sit and just read. He would have to remember where this room was so he could come back. This was the only way that he would be able to learn what kind of man his father really was.

  He grabbed the book from the desk and stashed it in his holding pouch. He may not have the time to read all of the books, but he could at least take this with him. The door hinges screamed as he opened the door. Twelve years of neglect had taken their toll on the metal.

  As he stepped through the door, the torches ignited in the hallway beyond. The walls and floor were a smooth, grey, material that he had never seen before. Directly across from the door a small trickle of water ran down the surface of the wall. The once smooth floor was now uneven and broken where roots from beneath had broken through the hard material, causing it to crack and fragment,

  The hall ran perpendicular to the room. To the left, the hall ran evenly. To the right, the hall ascended as it went. Thinking that he should take the route that leads to the higher ground, he turned right.

  The floor continued to rise as he traveled up the hall. His mind wandered slightly as he walked up the ascending hall. He was worried about Parel. He was fairly certain that she was still alive, it was rumored that the Mother Dragon liked to use live bait. The thought did little to ease his misgivings at her having been taken by the large black dragon.

  He wasn't paying attention until his foot hit a large root that had broken through the floor. Pain shot up his leg as he stumbled forward, catching himself on the bottom step of a narrow staircase. The stairs spiraled up into the darkness. A cool breeze blew from the top of the stairs, a sweet smell dulling his senses. He no longer felt the pain in his leg. He found it very difficult to think.

  "Where did this come from?" Taren wondered vaguely.

  The smell on the breeze was intoxicating. The only thought that he was able to hold onto was finding the source of that smell. He started climbing the stairs, not climbing as fast as he should have been able to. He felt no pain, but his leg was not able to support him as he ascended the thin spiral. He had no idea how long it took him to reach the top of the staircase. He had been able to speed the process slightly by crawling on his hands and knees around the mid-point.

  The breeze was stronger at the top of the stairs. The sweet smell caressed his senses, beckoning him forward, increasing the drive to find the source. Rising to his feet he used the wall to support him as he limped down the dark hall that led away from the stairs. There wasn't enough light for him to see, even with his ability to see in the dark. He briefly thought about conjuring a magic ball of light, but the thought faded almost as quickly as it had formed.

  A nagging feeling entered the back of his mind, it felt as if he should not be here. Something was wrong. There was great danger here.

  A sudden impulse triggered battle reflexes, causing Taren to dodge out of the way as a heavy sword landed where he had just been standing with a loud clanging sound. His mind was suddenly clear for a moment, but the sweet smell made the clarity fleeting.

  Taren dodged again as the creature swung the massive sword. As he rolled on the floor, his hand came in contact with the smooth surface of the purple glowing cylinder that was the SunFire sword. He closed his hand around the object, causing the sword to flare to life. As the fiery sword appeared, it was as if the confusion in his mind was burned away by the purple fire.

  The light of the sword illuminated the area, allowing Taren to see his attacker. The creature had to be at least nine feet tall. Long black hair covered the body. Tightly chorded muscles rippled under the course pelt as it raised the sword to its shoulder. Small, beady, eyes stared out from under bushy eyebrows. A large, bulbous, nose hung over a mouth filled with sharp fangs.

  "A Troll," Taren Spat

  "How you escape Gol's trap?" The troll asked, glaring at Taren. "Put sword away, it hurt's Gol's eyes.”

  Taren did not respond. He just stood staring at the troll in open defiance.

  Taren sidestepped as Gol took a lumbering step forward, trying to maintain the distance between them. He knew that the troll was purposefully making himself look slow. He knew that as soon as it got close enough, it would strike with the speed and accuracy of a poisonous snake.

  They circled each other for several moments, Taren trying to keep the distance between them; Gol moving ever closer with each step, but not as close as his large legs should have brought him.

  Sudden realization flooded into Taren's mind. Gol was trying to keep him moving. The blasted troll was trying to tire him out. He lunged at the troll swinging his sword in a tight arc.

  Sparks flashed as the swords met. He had expected the troll's strength to be too much for him, and the troll had though the same thing based on its surprised grunt. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, and Taren saw a mixture of hatred and respect in the glare that the creature was giving him.

  As they pushed away from each other, Taren dove between the monster's legs. Spinning around, a slashed the back of the enormous leg. His sword passed through muscle and bone with no resistance.

  Screaming in rage and pain the large creature fell heavily to his knee, his leg no longer able to support his weight. He swiped his sword savagely at the smaller combatant.

  Taren dove towards the troll, narrowly missing the blade of the weapon. Rolling to his feet, he thrust the blade of his sword through the hairy abdomen of his opponent. Fire erupted from the wound, quickly engulfing Gol in blazing brilliance.

  The smell of burning hair, mixing with the agonized screams of the troll, filled the hall burned away both the sweet smell and any chance that the mind-numbing need to find the source of the intoxicating smell.

  The pain in his leg returned as the adrenaline of the battle left him.

  The torches in the hallway ignited, as the troll burned into ashes. Taren extinguished the sword and placed the cylinder into the pocket where it usually was stored. The light of the torches illuminated the bones of several creatures scattered on the floor. Some of the bones looked brittle as if they had been here for quite some time. Others gleamed with newness in the bright light.

  As Taren turned to continue down the hall, he found his way barred by a large metal door. A heavily corroded lock hung from loops that connected the door to the wall. He pushed against
the door with all of his might, but the old lock held.

  He examined the lock. It was rusted beyond any possibility that he would be able to pick it. Pulling his short sword, he hacked at the lock. After a few minutes with no results, he stopped. The blade of his sword was now nicked in several places where it had hit the lock.

  "Oh, no, it’s going to take me days to smooth those out,” He groaned looking at the ornate blade of the sword that his Human father had given him. Shaking his head he thrust the sword back into its scabbard

  If only Cyan were here. He could freeze the lock to make it brittle. Unfortunately, the sword had not been with him when he fell into the study. He examined the door to see if there was any other way that he could possibly get it open. The hinges were on the other side of the door. The door was solid metal with no trace of any rust at all. There was no way that he could see to get past the door itself, so he turned his attention back to the rusty lock. If he'd had access to a full set of thieves tools, this would have been easy. A little acid and the lock would not have been an issue. Unfortunately, the nearest thieves guild that he knew it was three days march to the west; if they had even bothered to rebuild it.

  No matter how he looked at it, the only option was to continue to hack through the lock with a sword. He wasn't about to use either of the swords that he had gotten from Jarno, he had already damaged one of them in the attempt. That left one option. He pulled the crystal cylinder out of the pocket where he kept it stashed. As he wrapped his hand around it the mystical sword formed. He swiped the sword in an arc, expecting the same resistance that he had experienced with the other blade. He was unprepared for the ease at which the sword sliced through the rusty metal. He was unable to compensate for the over-exertion and fell hard against the door, yelping in pain as he came down too hard on his injured leg. The large door swung silently open, causing him to fall to the floor dazed.

  He lay there for several minutes. This was going to be a very long day, he could tell already. After he sufficiently regained his composure, he climbed to his feet.

  He was in a large room that was empty, except for a dais in the center. On the dais there was a pedestal that had a bright light shining from the top. In the light two objects revolved around each other. Glowing runes adorned the floor around the dais.

  Curiosity got the better of him, so he decided to go and see what was floating in the light. As he reached the first rune, there was some resistance to his progress. It was as if the air itself was condensing to impede his progress, but it did not stop him. He struggled to move forward, feeling as if he were trying to walk through deep water. The resistance ceased after he passed the large glyph, allowing him to move forward unimpeded, much like a diver emerging from the ocean.

  Part of his mind told him to leave, to flee this place before it was too late. Another part told him to continue, for this was what he had come here to find. On the off chance that this was what he was looking for, he continued on.

  The objects that were floating in the light appeared to be a pair of gloves: one black, one white. He reached towards them, but his hand was repelled as soon as his hand touched the light emanating from the pedestal. As his hand was pushed back from the light, a message appeared at its edge :

  Seeker beware

  The talons shall grant thee great power if donned appropriately

  If donned inappropriately, calamity shall by thy doom.

  If thou still seekest their power, remember the order of conflict

  What were the talons? What kind of power would they provide? The questions were innumerable. He stared at the gloves floating in the light trying to decide if it was worth the risk. Hope had said that he had found something. Here was something that Taren had found. It would be worth collecting both items, just to be sure.

  He started trying to puzzle out the riddle of the light. He found that he was able to figure things out better when he vocalized his thought process. There was no one here to hide from, so he did just that.

  “Hmm, I think the key to this is in the last line. Remember the order of conflict. Conflict..,” He sat on the floor staring at the gloves as they spiraled around each other, much as he and the troll had circled during the battle. He had always been good at puzzles and riddles, so he wracked his brain. "Conflict is usually instigated by an unwholesome force threatening, whether they want something or just want to pillage. Then the opposite force comes to defeat them,” Folding his arms he glanced down at his legs. "Black is usually linked to evil or unwholesomeness. Based on that, I should put the black glove on first,” He sat for several minutes checking and rechecking his logic. Not seeing any other possible answer, he climbed to his feet.

  He reached towards the light again, and his hand passed through with ease. He snatched the black glove and pulled it towards him. The glove was much heavier than he thought it would have been. He was apprehensive about what he was about to do. He was hoping that his logic was sound. What if he was wrong? Was he really willing to risk the promised calamity for this unknown power?

  He thought about his father, Paron Elloy, killed by the mother dragon. He thought about Zorah and Jarno, the only parents that he had ever known. He thought about Parel, taken by the Mother Dragon. If donning this new power would give him greater ability to protect his loved ones, then yes he was willing to take the chance.

  Closing his eyes, he slipped his left and into the glove.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard a scream, “TAREN, NO!”, but he didn’t think very much about it. All he could think about was the power that was suddenly coursing through him. He felt as if he could accomplish anything. The power was all-encompassing, and yet it was incomplete somehow. There had to be a way to get more power. He looked around the room until he saw the white glove and he knew that he had to have it. This was the key to ultimate power. He snatched the white glove out of the light and greedily jammed it on his right hand as quickly as he could.

  He didn’t realize how tired he had become. As the power evened itself out, his head began to hurt. He had experienced headaches before, but this was something new. It felt as if something had reached into his head and removed part of his brain. He slumped weakly to the ground, cradling his head in his hand. Wasn’t there supposed to be something that he was supposed to be doing? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that his head hurt.

  A loud thump reminded him of the friends that he had left. What if they had not been able to find safety? This thought forced him to his feet. There was no way out of this room, except the way that he had come in, so he went out the way he came to find a way back to the surface.

  Shaunna turned back from the hole in the ground that Taren had just fallen through. She had called down to make sure that he was all right; he had said he was, but she wasn’t sure that she believed him. She would have Hope check him out when they were all back together. Hope, Narissa, and Shaunna continued their path toward the cliff face. The weapons had kept up a steady barrage against the Mother Dragon, but they had been mostly ineffectual. The attack that was most effective was the bolts of light that Shaunna knew were coming from her crossbow, Eric. While the attacks against the dragon were not doing much damage, it was keeping the dragon’s attention towards the weapons and away from their wielders.

  Hope led them to the cliff face. There was an old torch holder bracketed rock. He reached up and pulled the metal fixture. It pulled forward, but nothing happened.

  “That was impressive,” Shaunna said sarcastically.

  “What? There is a door here. I know there is,” Hope said, pulling on the bracket again. Still, nothing happened.

  Shaunna pulled her daggers out and dipped them into the deadliest poison she had. “Well, my friend. I guess today is a good day to die.”

  Hope slowly pulled his sword from its scabbard. The sound of the metal sliding out of the casing echoed eerily through the ruins. The Mother Dragon seemed to hear the sound. As she turned toward Hope, Shaunna, and Narissa, a stre
am of white light shot from the trees. The stream was much brighter and much more powerful than the bolts of light that Eric was shooting. The light hit Silax directly in the eye as she turned. Blood flowed from the wound, dripping on the ground and igniting the foliage underneath.

  “What was that?” Shaunna and Hop asked in unison.

  Narissa grinned as she dropped the pack that she had been carrying to the ground. “That was Amber,” Without another word of explanation, she changed into her tiger form.

  Shaunna and Narissa charged at the Mother Dragon. Hope was less eager to face her. He had never actually seen her before, but he had listened to the stories that his mother had told. He was not eager to rush headlong into battle against a superior foe, but he knew that Shaunna was right. It would be better to die fighting than to do so cowering in a corner. With his mother’s battle cry upon his lips, Ularen Hope ran to catch up with the others.

  By the time that the women had reached the dragon, the Crystal Blades had broken through the cover of the trees and were physically attaching the dragon now. Every now and again, a bright stream of light would shoot out of the tiny star hitting the dragon and opening new wounds. Scales rained from black sides of the beast, and blood flowed freely from several wounds. Fires were burning in, what had once been, the Gardens of Night.

  Shaunna was the first to reach the dragon. She swung both daggers as hard as she could, but the dragon was too fast for her. Silax jumped out of the path of the attack. Shaunna was extremely graceful, so the inertia of the attack did not throw her off balance, but the ground shaking under the dragon’s weight did.

  Hope saw Silax jump and had to jump out of the way of Mother Dragon's trajectory. He dropped as the Dragon’s clawed foot almost took his head off. A large drop of dragon’s blood landed right next to his head. Counting his lucky stars that the blood had not fallen any closer to him, he climbed back to his feet. He remembered how his mother had told him that the ancient Elven smiths had used Dragon’s blood to forge their swords. The Elven steel and the dragon’s blood often resulted in the swords having special powers.