Masters & Slayers

by Bryan Davis

  “Suddenly, she felt a surge of heat. She thinks she might have cried out, but she isn’t sure. For a while, everything went black, and she felt the sensation of floating. Then, she woke up in the castle in the state you witnessed. And all the others reported the same experience.”

  Adrian nodded, mentally counting the promoted servants he had seen—Serenity, an adult female; Vigilant, an adult male; and Deference. “So,” he said as he reached the top of a snowcapped rise, “Arxad knows exactly what happened.”

  “He does, but neither he nor the king will tell the Promoted slaves the details. They say there is no need. We are content now, so why resurrect the past?”

  “Then maybe you are like pets in the castle, something to entertain the white dragon.” When he reached the bottom of the slope and walked out onto a flatter area with fewer trees, he looked back. It seemed that the castle sat at the center of a plateau, like a bastion atop a frozen fortress. “Do humans have pets here?”

  “I have heard of pets in old fables, but I never had one, so I cannot say whether or not I am one. Some human children in the wealthier dragon homes feed crumbs to the birds, but adult humans scold them, saying that all scraps should be saved for the children in the cattle camp.”

  “The cattle camp?”

  Cassabrie sighed. “I would rather not tell you about that. When you see it, you will learn that it is impossible to describe how bad it is. Yet, I beg you to see the camp, for it will surely confirm that we must sacrifice everything to free our brothers and sisters.”

  “Then I will see the cattle camp.” Adrian looked at the region to the south. The snow extended only a few hundred feet before thinning and giving way to a lush, colorful meadow. It seemed that the cold plateau acted as a wintry cap atop a man wearing a springtime sweater. The abrupt change from an ice cap to a temperate zone seemed strange. Did that mean Dracon was a small planet? How much farther might it be to a tropical climate?

  Another river, this one slightly wider and flowing freely, bent to the southwest. Adrian mentally drew a line that stretched due south and, following that line, marched forward with a rapid pace. “Keep me going in the right direction, Cassabrie. I have a good inner compass, but I have no landmarks to go by.”

  “I have only a feeling that guides me, a pull upon my heart that leads me to the place where I died.”

  “Died?” The memory of Cassabrie’s appearance in the forest brought a chill in spite of her warmth. With cold, pale skin and bluish lips, she had seemed cadaverous. Had he been comforting and cuddling a corpse?

  He shook off a building shiver. “I think it’s time for you to tell me your story.”

  “It is long and complicated, and it grieves me to tell it. Perhaps I can simply answer your questions.”

  “Very well. Let me think.” Still looking southward, Adrian inhaled the crisp air. The sky seemed darker in that direction, as if the sun had already set in the lower latitudes. “If you’re dead, how could you breathe and walk on our home planet?”

  “When I passed through the portal, I gathered material from the ground that I generated into a lifelike representation of myself. I animated it with my life energy, but without any real blood, it carried no signs of life. I was able to simulate breathing, which was necessary for speaking, but if you had listened for my heart, you would have heard nothing.”

  Again, Cassabrie’s dead body came to mind along with the soldier’s announcement that she had no heartbeat. “Could you do that now? I mean, could you create a body here?”

  “I have tried, but here I am able to conjure only phantasms when I tell stories. I think it’s because Starlight somehow cripples my abilities.”

  Still striding quickly, Adrian pointed at the ground. “So you call this place Starlight, and my planet is Darksphere.”

  “Correct.”

  “How did you die?”

  Adrian detected a mood change. Cassabrie’s usual joyful infusion depressed to a melancholy burden, and the warmth she shed cooled to a tepid flow. “The dragons feared me, so they sentenced me to death at the cooking stake. I suffered for days before I finally died, but somehow Arxad was able to capture my spirit and take it to the Northlands.”

  With each word, an image coalesced in Adrian’s mind. Chained to a pyre, Cassabrie writhed in agony as she slowly roasted to a charred corpse. He shook his head, casting away the thought. “Why would the dragons fear you? You’re what? Five feet four inches tall?”

  “I … I prefer not to discuss this any further. My heart is breaking, and I wish to enjoy our time together.”

  Adrian pushed his hand under his cloak and laid it over the glowing patch of skin. “Then enjoy, Cassabrie. I will ask you nothing more about your trials. Walk with me. Tell me what delights you. Talk to me about what brings you joy.”

  After a few moments of silence, heat reignited and surged throughout his body, and her voice spiked with energy. “I love vibrant colors, both when they blend together in a lovely tapestry and when they clash as if in battle for chromatic supremacy in a mosaic of strife. I love music, the melodies, the harmonies, the way the rhythm commands them to march together.”

  Adrian passed the snow boundary line and entered the meadow he had seen from the higher elevation. Flowers scattered a million colors in a sea of green, some with petals so large they appeared to be dangling tongues of pink and purple, others with cottonlike heads of blue, and still others with hundreds of spindly hairs, each having no apparent color. When combined, however, they shimmered with crimson.

  A breeze swept across the field, brushing the grass and flowers into a sway. Like waves on an ocean, the colors undulated, as if inviting him to wade into the flow.

  Adrian sucked in a breath. It was all so beautiful. Surely this was the tapestry Cassabrie had mentioned. “Do you see it?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes! It is the spectral season. Now all we need is a song. When music and visual art combine, the ecstasy is beyond compare.”

  Adrian drank in her words. Even her natural prose seemed poetic. How could a former slave girl be so eloquent? “I would love to hear you sing.”

  “Once you learn the words, will you sing with me? Then I will add a harmony. Your marching footsteps have already given us an excellent rhythm.”

  Adrian glanced at his boots as they brushed through the grass one after the other. “I’ll do my best.”

  Cassabrie began a sweet, lilting melody, perfectly in time with his steps. Then, she added words to match.

  A splash of rainbows, colors splayed

  Across a sea of emerald grass;

  O let this season never fade,

  Forever bloom and never pass.

  And now these colors live in me

  The spectrum stage of holy art;

  I give these hues and shades for free

  To paint your grace upon each heart.

  The grace of mercy, love on high,

  Creator’s blessings, splendor’s splash;

  Where rainbows end, the flame draws nigh,

  Creator’s winds disperse the ash.

  Replacing red with eyes of blue,

  Replacing scales with wings of love;

  And shedding all his gifts of hue

  The dragon king becomes a dove.

  Cassabrie repeated the stanzas twice, and when she started yet again, Adrian picked up the tune and joined in. After the first line, she switched to singing a harmony that blended in beautifully. Then, when they came back to the beginning, she added a descant, high and sweet, like a piper’s call flowing in the wind.

  After the fifth repetition, Cassabrie sighed. “Your singing is lovely, Adrian Masters. Thank you for giving me such joy.”

  “The pleasure is all mine.” Adrian couldn’t stop smiling. It seemed that Cassabrie’s elation fed his own, and then his brimming happiness circulated back to her, a cycle of upwelling emotion that made him feel like he was about to burst, or at least break out into song again.

  After a few minutes of si
lent marching, Adrian looked out over the expanse before him. It seemed endless. Before they left, the king didn’t say how long the journey would last, only that travelers could decide to take risks that might speed them along. So far, no such options had arisen, at least none he could detect.

  Soon, the river came into view again as it bent back toward them. With the meadow now declining in elevation, the flow had transformed into rapids, churning and white-capped. The sun had disappeared behind the tree line, signaling the approach of evening. Soon it would likely be too dark to continue.

  When Adrian reached the water’s edge, he stopped and studied the surrounding trees. Many were small enough to chop down with a hatchet, and thick vines hung in others, low enough to reach. Building a raft would take a while, but it would probably save many hours in the long run, especially if they could drift at night. “Will the river continue flowing south?” he asked.

  “For quite some time,” Cassabrie replied. “In fact, it will continue in the general direction for most of the remainder of our journey. It will eventually join a north-flowing river at a point where both tumble into a steep waterfall that turns them west.”

  Adrian mentally sketched her description. Could someone riding a raft get off in time to avoid the falls? Surely Cassabrie would be able to warn him in time. “You enjoy exhilarating experiences, right?”

  “Indeed, I do. So far, the delight has been beyond description.”

  He opened his cloak, revealing the hatchet on his right hip and the sword on his left. “Then get ready for another one. I’m going to build a raft.”

  “Do you intend to ride the rapids?”

  Adrian cocked his head. “Is that ill-advised?”

  “There are rocks. You might get cut or pummeled.”

  He withdrew the hatchet from its harness. “I have to find Marcelle, the quicker, the better.”

  “One adventure in the river wasn’t enough? This one is not frozen, but it is still dangerous.”

  Adrian wrinkled his brow. Why was Cassabrie probing him with such questions? Was she trying to discourage him for some reason? Did she want to slow their progress so she could spend more time enjoying the flowers? That seemed far too selfish. It didn’t match her character. “If you mean the gas tank,” he replied, “there wasn’t any other way to cross.”

  “You could have chosen not to cross.”

  “True, but then I wouldn’t have made it to the castle.”

  “Who said you had to go to the castle?”

  “I thought you did.”

  “No, Adrian. I merely told you that Marcelle was at the castle. It was your decision to try to find her, and if I had known the river crossing was impossible, I would have done more to dissuade you, but I can go only so far. Remember, I am your guide, not your mistress. You choose where you wish to go and by what conveyance, and I will do my best to help you get there.”

  Adrian looked out over the darkening landscape. “I see only two conveyances—on foot or by the river. On foot is slow, and it will soon be too dark to see any ditches or other hazards. The river is also risky, but I don’t mind taking risks if they’re beneficial.”

  “Ah! The faster the conveyance, the bigger the risk you are willing to take in order to use it.”

  He nodded. “I think that’s a fair statement.”

  “Then how do you gauge when the speed is worth the risk, or otherwise when it becomes too risky?”

  Adrian gazed at the sky again, now purple and filling with stars. This conversation had grown complicated, philosophical, and time consuming. Was this the same Cassabrie who enjoyed the simplicity of riding the wind? “I’m not sure,” he said, looking at the river again. “It’s more of a guess than anything.”

  “Ah! You act on faith. If you are willing to take a risk that will speed along your sacrificial mission, you assume that all will be well.”

  Adrian nodded again. “That also sounds reasonable.”

  “But …” Cassabrie paused. As the river rushed past, it seemed that the rhythmic splashing of water against the rocks counted the seconds. “If Marcelle stood at the bottom of a chasm,” she continued, “about to be slashed by a swordsman, would you jump down to get to her quickly?”

  Adrian glanced at his side as if to address his inquisitor. “How deep is the chasm?”

  “Let’s say two hundred feet.”

  “Of course not.” His voice sharpened, his new tone unbidden. “That would be suicide.”

  “Oh, please don’t be angry with me, Adrian. I’m not trying to expose flaws in your character. I’m just trying to see if there are limits to your faith.”

  “Limits to my faith? Isn’t that the same thing as flaws in my character?”

  “No, Adrian. You have already explained why a limit is not necessarily a flaw. If the reason for your risk does not warrant taking it, then who would fault you for declining? Surely you wouldn’t risk your life to save a grasshopper, would you?”

  He furrowed his brow. “Marcelle is not a grasshopper.”

  “And that’s exactly my point. The greater the value of your goal, the more risk you are willing to take. If the goal is valuable enough, even if the risk rises above reasonable limits, your faith will incite you to act.”

  “Even a two-hundred-foot jump?”

  “Perhaps. I cannot tell you. You have to decide if the goal is valuable enough, and if your faith is strong enough. Who can tell where the line should be drawn between a faithful risk and suicidal foolishness? My guess is that a mother trying to save her baby would draw the line at one place while a warrior trying to save a fellow warrior would draw it at another. Faith seems to grow along with the value assigned to the goal.”

  Adrian shook his head, feeling very strange, alien, even insane. He was standing on a planet an unfathomable distance from home, speaking out loud to a dead girl dwelling inside his body, all the while planning a raft ride down a dangerous river, risking his life to save people he had never seen.

  After a few seconds of silence, he let out a sigh. “Okay. Marcelle is a fellow warrior, so my risk should be in keeping with that goal, saving a fellow warrior.”

  “I am merely asking questions, Adrian. I don’t know where your faith begins and ends regarding her or anyone else, nor do I pretend to be your teacher on the matter.”

  “But there is a purpose to your questions.”

  “My purpose is to help you consider how your heart speaks to your circumstances. As you sojourn here, this lesson will likely be crucial, because, quite frankly, your mission is very nearly impossible, and learning where great faith and brutal practicality meet might be your only hope.”

  As he gazed at the water splashing against the rocks, he let her words sink in. They were eloquent, piercing. “How did such a young woman learn so much wisdom?”

  “I am not as young as I appear, and the king has taught me a great deal. I am communicating the kinds of questions he asks. He believes that one of the greatest treasures is learning how to think, and pointed questions plant seeds that sprout and grow into wisdom.”

  “I think I understand.” Adrian stripped off the cloak and lifted the hatchet. “I have constructed rafts and ridden them on many a wild river. I think that risk is well within reach of my faith.”

  “Then so be it.”

  For the next half hour or so, Adrian chopped down small trees, stripped their trunks, and cut down vines to fasten them together. Since the trunks were relatively slender and uneven, he constructed a craft with three vertical layers to close every gap while making the layers long and wide enough for one person to stand or sit upon without capsizing.

  Evening faded into night, forcing him to work in the dim glow on the horizon, perhaps a rising moon. When he finished tying the last knot, he slid the raft into a quieter section of the river and set a foot on the center, pressing down with most of his weight. It floated well, quite well in fact.

  He slid the hatchet back to the harness and wiped sweat from his brow. Yes, th
is would work fine.

  After collecting a few extra vines, grabbing a leftover branch to use as a steering pole, and laying the cloak on the wood for padding, he stepped fully onto the raft and sat facing downstream. It sank for a moment before lifting again and floating with the current. Ahead, the river exploded into a sea of white splashes flying into the air and glittering in the brightening moonlight.

  Gripping the pole with one hand and the side of the raft with the other, he took in a deep breath. “Are you ready for a really wild ride?”

  “I am with you heart and soul, Adrian.”

  The raft hit a sudden dip and then an upsurge that sent the front of the raft flying. The rear kicked up, and the raft flew through the air for a few seconds before splashing several feet downstream. The momentum sent the raft’s front edge knifing into the water, swamping the surface.

  Adrian let out a whoop and hung on, riding out the dips, bumps, and eruptions. The raft sped along, sometimes smacking against rocks, but it held together. Of course, he became soaked, but with every mile the river carried him, the air seemed to get warmer, bringing comfort to his wet skin.

  Cassabrie added warmth as well. With each surge and fall, heat pulsed through his body, as if expressing her emotions in exclamations of feverish delight. When she gasped, he sucked in the cool, wet air. When she sighed, he expelled her breath, warm and saturated with pleasure. Her spirit had crept into his, and the two had become one.

  Hour after hour, the river drove them southward, and three moons rose high into the sky, giving light to their surroundings. Mile after mile of dimly lit scenes passed by on each side—meadows bursting with flowers, forests brimming with lush evergreens, and deciduous trees dressed in muted autumn colors, making him wish he could see them in daylight.

  The current eased in places, providing more casual views of violet sky, rocky beaches, and densely packed woods. Here, Adrian pushed his pole against the riverbed to overcome the lack of current, but these doldrums never lasted long. The land soon dipped down again and sent them into another surge of white water and exhilaration, and each time they regained the rush, the ecstasy very nearly burned his skin.