"Why did you bring them here?" Bradir also wanted to ask why the beacon drew the pack to Eosorheim, but that question could wait.
"The destruction of Aern's orb was a service to the people of Aernheim. I did not wish them to suffer needlessly. Bringing the skinwalkers to the glade ensured that they would no longer terrorize Aernheim."
"And what of the pack? We are not like the rabid skinwalkers. Why bring us here?"
"Do you know the history of the carcaern orbs?" Hurn then spoke of how the First Priest and the others entered the realm of the gods and imprisoned them inside orbs, and thus they'd become 'Guardians'. The wraiths were Eosor's creations, the spirits of those men and women merged with the great beasts of the Mikill Mountains. "Eosor renewed what was evil and made it good. It is this renewal that all gods would do, except they are imprisoned within the orbs. Eosor only remains within the orb for as long as is necessary. Soon, he will be free. The cleansing will free all the gods from their crystal prisons. Then, the world will be as it once was."
Bradir had certainly never heard this version of history. His mother had told him that the First Priest had been a great man who'd brought salvation to the people. The God Wars had left the land incapable of raising crops, and women bore deformed children with the heads of serpents. Only the Guardians in their orbs—the new gods—had made the land fertile again.
"If the Guardians are the old gods imprisoned within the carcaern orbs, won't they begin the God Wars again?"
Hurn frowned. That question seemed to annoy him. "Do you serve the gods or not? This gift you've been given, by becoming more than human, was granted to you by Eosor. Without his gracious hand, you would be like them." Hurn peered at the rabids in the warded circle. Having feasted on the hunters' corpses, they milled about mindlessly. "The cleansing needs soldiers. Will you be one of the first? I have already spoken to Alfric and Cyne. They are eager to help."
"You're no god," Bradir said. "I owe you no obedience."
Hurn smiled. "No, I'm not. But I am Eosor's servant."
"As am I."
"Then you ought to listen to what Eosor desires."
"If Eosor desires it, and it's not some foolish plan dreamed up by a mad sorcerer."
"Do you not believe me? You may meet with Eosor yourself."
Bradir followed Hurn through the forest until they came to a glade, the floor made entirely of pink crystal. Without a word, Hurn extended his arm toward the stone steps. Bradir ascended them, all too aware that his feet now trod on sacred ground. He came to the top and shielded his eyes with a palm. The orb pulsed with light, and Bradir knelt before it.
"My beacon called many," a voice within the orb said, "but you are one of the few who answered."
"Are you Eosor?"
"It is I."
Bradir's fingers tingled with elation. Here he was, kneeling before the very god who'd called him. "Thank you for granting me these gifts."
"Hurn has told you of my plans?"
"I know not whether the sorcerer truly serves you."
"He does. Will you also serve me?"
Before the wraith had taken him, Bradir had been a bandit. He'd been excellent at that profession, but it had always lacked a purpose beyond thieving and plundering. This was his opportunity to do something greater. Eosor had personally chosen him for the cause.
"I will," he said. "Before this all happened, I led the Old Boys. Then when the wraiths took us, we were the pack."
"And now you shall be the first of Eosor's Army, but you will not be the one to lead it."
Startled, Bradir looked up. A blinding light streamed from the orb, and he was forced to cover his eyes again. He didn't need to be told that his sudden doubt had displeased Eosor.
"Will you serve with Alfric as its general?" Eosor said.
"I know nothing of wars and battles, but neither does Alfric. Why him?"
"Because he has been chosen by another god whose powers will prove useful in the coming war."
"What of me? I haven't been chosen by any god."
"Until now. Bradir, will you serve me as one of my chosen?"
A tingling sensation ran down Bradir's arms. "I will do whatever you ask."
"That pleases me. If Alfric sways from the path of righteousness, it is you who will correct him. Be my eyes and ears in Dragir. When you find the dragon soul, ensure that it is brought to me. Only then will I grant you my power."
"What of the sorcerer Hurn?"
"He is my most faithful servant. But he, too, can be replaced. Serve me well, and you will live forever. Now, step into the pools."
Bradir glanced over his shoulder. He had been so enraptured by the altar that he hadn't noticed the pool. He stepped into it. As soon as his feet touched the water, it began to bubble.
"These are the waters of the Infernal City," Eosor said. "You must be at your strongest before you enter Dragir."
"What of the others? Will they also bathe in this pool?"
"Alfric might be the one to lead, but you, Bradir, are the strongest. If Alfric sways from the right path, you'll bring him back. This pool will grant you more than enough power to do so."
28
Fryda
The door lurched open, and light flooded into the cell. Fryda rubbed her eyes until her vision settled.
Seeing the elf standing in the doorway sent a ripple of fear through her. After the nornthread had been tied around Fryda's wrists, the elf had commanded her to give up the dragon soul and enter the cell. She'd been unable to do otherwise. The taint of another presence in her mind was like an itch inside her skull, an unspeakable violation that made her want to scream.
After crying uncontrollably, she'd passed out from exhaustion. When she'd awoken, a plate of dried meat and fruits sat in front of her, and she'd devoured them.
Another figure entered the doorway's light.
"Tursn!" Fryda cried, running toward the wyvern.
He held up a wing. "You're being released."
"Where's Naeth?"
"She waits in the Cave of the Sunless."
Ever since Fryda had met the wyverns, Naeth had seemed to want nothing more than for Fryda to leap from Tursn's back and fall to her death. It seemed that only the dragon soul had kept Fryda alive. She couldn't say she was sorry not to see Naeth again.
"Come," Tursn said, "let us leave this place."
Fryda followed the wyvern out of the building. The morning sun hung low in the sky against the white-stoned buildings with red-tiled rooftops.
"Are we free to leave Dragir now?"
Tursn shook his head. "No one leaves."
"The queen has the dragon soul." Fryda wanted to leave Dragir and find Alfric. She couldn't see why they would want her to stay here. "I brought it to her."
"She wishes to know more about your friend, and how he obtained the dragon soul."
"She should be thanking me!"
"A queen does not express gratitude."
Fryda clenched her jaw and held up her wrists. "At least release me of these bonds. They're of no use to you anyway." The golden thread around her wrists glimmered in the sunlight.
"They should not have bound you with such things." Tursn narrowed his eyes at them. "The nornthread is much like the suppression stones humans use to control dragonkind, mined from the same magical stones. They are an abomination. Yet you escaped from me once. The queen did not take to that kindly."
Fryda sighed. "I won't run." She couldn't think of anywhere else to go. The city was built like a maze. The last time she'd run, it had ended with a fight against a troll.
Tursn held out a paw and, with an extended claw, severed the nornthread bonds. The blanket dulling Fryda's senses vanished.
They entered a crowded street. Tursn led the way, and the elves and drakens allowed them to pass. The buildings to either side grew more stately, with many more levels and a statue of the Witch Queen in every entrance courtyard.
Within one courtyard, a draken waited upon her elven master as he sat
beneath a pink-blossomed tree. Grime stained the slave's toga and purple bruises marked the flesh between her scales. The draken passed her master a cup. The elf raised the cup to his lips. He cursed and hurled the cup and the draken.
Fryda paused in the middle of the street and watched the events play out.
The slave cowered before her master as he uncurled a whip with the slow and methodical twisting of his fingers. He passed the whip to the draken slave, and his necklace glowed.
"The queen awaits," Tursn said.
Fryda moved on, trying not to hear the crack as the whip met scales.
"That elf forced his draken slave to whip herself," she said, gritting her teeth.
"You sound surprised."
"Slaves are not mistreated like that in Indham.” There were so few slaves, and all were treated well. They were practically just workers. “In fact, they are even given a wage for their work."
"And that is why you shall never be as the First Empire was. You do not adhere to the natural order ordained by the gods."
"You yourself do not like this order. Was it not a half hour ago that you said the nornthread was detestable? You have experienced what it's like to be a slave. Indham's warriors took you with their suppression stones and imprisoned you in the dragon hold. Had they not abandoned it, you would have been a slave of war, fighting in King Beorhtel's army. All this has happened to you, and still you believe that enslavement is good?"
"The right order of things," Tursn reiterated, an edge of anger in his tone. "The drakens are enslaved because they are lesser. You humans, the lowest of rational creatures, enslaved wyverns and dragons. Wyverns might be less than dragons, but we are far above humans. When the Witch Queen conquers the world, all humans will be enslaved."
"She cannot leave. You said so yourself."
"The dragon soul will allow her to travel once more."
The Witch Queen now had the dragon soul. It was a magical item of some kind, and it must have great power. Now Fryda knew what someone who ruled such a monstrous city intended to do with it. The whole world would become like these drakens, enslaved and forced against their will by the dreaded nornthread.
First, the wraiths had come to Aernheim, now this terrible ruler would extend her army across all the other lands. Fryda couldn't escape. She had to get the dragon soul back.
But what could she do? She was just one woman in a city filled with drakens and elves, and she was about to ascend a mountain with dragons and a witch queen at its peak.
As they drew closer to the mountain, more armored elves occupied the streets. They watched the passersby closely, their hands massaging their spears as though they were expecting an attack. Was the queen afraid of something?
They passed through a gate that signaled the end of the city. A bridge formed from natural granite stretched from the gate to the mountainside. A drop of thousands of feet reached from below the bridge. The city had been built on a slop that stretched toward the mountain, the nature of its construction meaning Fryda never realized she had been traveling higher and higher as she crossed the city.
Grass and plantain weeds grew over the top of the granite. Unlike the city, which for all its faults was unusually clean, this place seemed untouched by any cultivating hand.
"I think it's better that we fly to the queen rather than cross this bridge," Fryda said. "The guard had said that you were forbidden from flying in the city, but not here."
"The Witch Queen will not allow me to take you. You must climb the mountainside." He shoved her with a wing.
Fryda placed a careful foot on the first step. Immediately, it crumbled, the pebbles tumbling off the escarpment and skittering along the jutting stones. She turned to Tursn. "This method of getting to the mountain's peak hasn't been used much, has it?"
"For good reason," Tursn said. "Those who meet with the Witch Queen must prove themselves worthy."
Another glance at the dangerously ancient staircase made Fryda's blood freeze. "I don't want to meet her. Why do I need to prove anything?"
Tursn unfolded his wings, as though he would fly away and leave her there.
"Where are you going?" She had thought that perhaps he would shadow her on the journey, to ensure that if she did lose her footing, he would catch her.
"To fly the rest of the way."
"I'll surely fall. What good will I be to her then?" Fryda couldn't understand the logic of it. Why would the queen want her to climb the mountain? It would mean risking death.
"Anyone who attends an audience with the queen must prove themselves worthy,” Tursn said. “I have passed my test. Besides, what you have to say is worth nothing. I have already told her everything you told me."
Tursn leaped from the escarpments, and his wings beat together with powerful strokes. He climbed the air until he was a speck among the clouds.
She slinked across the bridge, pausing whenever a gust of wind threatened to throw her. Agonizing step after agonizing step, she reached the other side.
Fryda stared up at the journey she was about to take. At least the city had been built on the slopes, so she'd already inadvertently climbed most of the mountain. Still, she could barely see the mountain's peak for the clouds. Swallowing, she began her ascent.
Fryda's clammy fingers clung to a rock. The winds thrashed against her, and her hand slipped, but the other grabbed another rock just in time. Gasping, she repositioned with her back to the open air. Her left hand hadn't yet healed from when the dragon enclosure’s sharp walls had cut it. Any time she gripped a stone, the wounds screamed.
Clouds surrounded her. Through the white mists, she could just make out the city below. The red-tiled rooftops were tiny from so far up.
This climb was meant to make her feel lesser. She could see that now. Tursn's words about humans being the lowest of rational creatures rang loudly in her ears, spurring her onward as the daylight was fading.
Fryda breathed and shut her eyes.
The mountain's peak was a small jump away. The thought of Elmyra enslaving the entire human race never left Fryda's mind. She didn't know how she would stop the Witch Queen, but she had to do something.
Fryda tested a number of rocks with her feet, searching for a foothold. When she thought she'd found a suitable spot, she pressed down with her left foot and leaped. Her right hand shot out, aiming for the next rock. Her fingers glanced against it and slipped.
Her arms flailed as she met empty air. Before she could scream, she was swept up. A draken held her in their arms. They carried her to the to the mountain's peak, and let her down. She turned to face them.
It was the draken fighter, Lopyl.
"I shouldn't be doing this," she said. "Adrek talked me into it. He said you wouldn't make it all the way up here. Guess he was right." With a shrug, Lopyl turned and started walking toward the cliff's edge.
"Wait!" Fryda said. She needed advice about what was to come.
The draken didn't turn. She jumped and disappeared into the clouds.
Feeling completely out of her depth, Fryda walked through the courtyard, shadowed by the giant marble statues of every kind of dragon. Two elven soldiers stood at the entrance to a cave, spears planted on the ground, gilded shields held at their hips. Around their necks were the golden necklaces that allowed them to control anyone wearing nornthread. They didn't acknowledge Fryda as she entered the cave, and she was glad to no longer be wearing nornthread.
A frescoed dome rooftop allowed no sunlight to enter. Strange plants grew along the hall’s edges. They were the only source of light. It seemed strange that there were plants growing without sunlight, but then Fryda had never seen glowing plants, either.
Dragons flew in and out of the hall through giant holes in the walls above. The sound of their beating wings echoed.
"I see you made it up the mountainside."
Fryda whirled around. The wyvern, Naeth, stood behind her. Her green wings were folded backward, their feathers reflecting the light of the plants. Even
though she was larger than Tursn, she was still small compared to the dragons flying above.
"No thanks to Tursn," Fryda muttered under her breath. "What is this place?"
"The Cave of the Sunless," Naeth replied. "It is the home of Dragir's dragons, and the Witch Queen Elmyra."
Drakens wandered about the marble floor, their eyes always looking downward. Fryda was reminded again of how she couldn't let the queen bring her barbaric form of slavery to the world outside Dragir.
"If I were you, I would have thrown myself from the mountainside. Better to die a quick death than whatever it is the queen has planned for you."
"The queen wants to speak with me about Alfric and the dragon soul. Not kill me." As Fryda said the words, she could hear the confidence in her voice disappear.
Naeth chucked dryly. "Is that what Tursn told you? My brother is a master of deceit. Nevertheless, I have come to speak with you before you meet the queen. You and I have a mutual enemy. Follow me and we will speak further."
Fryda walked after Naeth into an enclave with frescoed walls and a garden of glowing plants. A granite pillar stood in the center.
"You will have me attend your audience with the queen," Naeth said. "If I can get close to her, I will bathe her in dragonfire."
"I don't want to kill her. I simply wish her not to get the dragon soul." One of the frescoes caught Fryda's attention. It depicted the Witch Queen with hundreds of creatures kneeling before her. Humans, dwarves, elves, orcs, trolls, giants, and dragonkind. There were other creatures, too, their names unknown to Fryda.
"She will not give it up. The only way you can get it is if she's dead."
Footsteps drew near.
"The queen approaches." Naeth slinked into the glowing plants until she was completely hidden among their leaves.
A lone draken wandered into the enclave. Tilting her head, she appraised Fryda. A crown of glittering crystal rested on her pointed ears. Angular lines marked her face with beauty. Harsh lines formed high cheekbones. Most surprising were the shimmering wings that stretched from one side of the podium to the other. With a graceful flutter, the wings folded.
The Dragon Soul (Vagrant Souls Book 2) Page 19
