Dragon Aster Trilogy (3 page)

“Get that halberd out of my face before I shove it through yours,” Jru threatened the lead guard. “The High Priest goes with me, or not at all.”

“Our orders were clear.”

“Then we will be leaving,” Kas said as he turned to do just that, before the lead guard called to him to wait.

“Lord Vanir will allow this one to come with you.”

“It’s Master Jru, you furless heathen,” he scowled back at the phelan somnus, harsh enough to turn the guard’s eyes to orange in fear. “Remember that in case the Atrum Lord decides to be as welcoming as you have been so far.”

“Jru,” Kas said as he touched his mentor’s arm and held him back. “We are here to talk peace, not start up a fight.” A childish part of him couldn’t help but wish for his Armsman to show the guards a thing or two on the threat. If Jru were fifty years younger, he could stand back and watch. But even in old age, the power and force of a free soul almost always won over those who served blindly out of necessity and lack of virtue.

What the guards saw in his Armsman as barbaric and uncivilized, only proved how uneducated they were. Within Jru was a storm of virtue that continued to build up in waiting for the day where it could be unleashed. It was the same virtue that had help protect, build and sustain the Sanctus after the death of Kas’ mother.

Kas admired his mentor for that. Jru had taught him many things, like a real father might have. Only the weak bowed to anyone other than a cael. Only the weak in spirit bowed to those who lacked any kind of strength in their own, and the blessing and protection of a god over their soul.

Jru kept a careful eye on the guards as they were led inside and through the main hall and up the main stairs to the throne room.

The castle hadn’t changed much since the last time they came inside. When Vanir offered peace talks with him before, Kas had taken it on himself to be the youngest-ever to pass his Trial of Somn. He wasn’t intimidated by Vanir when he didn’t have his phelan somn, and he was anything but intimidated with one now. Nor was he still a child, which hadn’t stopped him from standing up to his father before.

But in the end, he only felt more of a victim to the Atrum Lord’s scrutiny in having passed his Trial. Now with the somn of a black-furred, blood-hungry monster, he looked just like the even-darker side to his father. He couldn’t help but ponder on how it was likely a part of Vanir’s plan for him all along. How much easier to embrace a Prince of his blood when Kas now had the ability to take the form of the future Vanir wished for this Empire. An Empire that accepted all monsters into it; chimera and demons alike. At least as long as the inevitable war with the Torian Continent would last to make them useful.

As they were escorted down the hall to the throne room, Kas stopped at the sight of an ayame who had been framed and sewn into an image with pluma Thread. He didn’t remember it being there on his last visit.

“Your mother was beautiful,” Jru sighed, as his mood changed and lifted the deep, dark wrinkles on his face.

Kas had seen what his mother looked like from the psis of her Custos Pack, who had fallen under his command after her death. But it was the first time he had seen her hung up like a painting. His eyes weighed her features against his own, until the image proved to be less real than the memories the Custos had given to him. So he walked on.

The guards positioned at the tarnished metal doors confirmed who they were by scent and sight before opening the room for them.

The Armsman stepped in first and looked around the heavily guarded room, as a couple dozen phelan somnus lined the walls around the throne from where Vanir sat patiently.
“Outnumbered always lifts my spirits.
”

“I trust that you had no trouble crossing the border, my son?”

Kas stepped up beside Jru and looked to the Atrum Lord, as his father’s red eyes gazed down on him. Red was a color that phelan somnus couldn’t see, but understood it to be there. Vanir had long mastered the ability to mirror from his eyes the weaknesses he saw in others.

It was the same look he had given him since the day he was saved from the brink of death. Pity. He knew in his heart that if he had been eighteen years younger, the word ‘son’ would mean equally nothing to him. “You ceased being my father the day you killed my mother.”

“Of course,” Vanir said as he shifted in the dark wood of the intricately carved chair. His straight, black hair draped over it like a cloak. “You are here to talk about peace. That being the case, I would like to offer you your rightful title of Prince.”

Jru looked at Kas, with a glance that suggested he was worried he might actually consider it.

“Why now? Why after denying that I am of your blood for so long?” Kas asked.

“One of my Callers had a Vision of the Asterian Caelestis’ return. If it is accurate, as most of hers are, it will be soon. Hence why I believe that settling the dispute between the Sanctus and the Atrum would serve both our interests.”

“Is that concern in your voice I hear? After all these years has your conscience finally surfaced from its withering darkness to see that my mother was right?”

“Your mother was the finest of my Callers, until she lost her way. It seems only Kira’s Visions have proven to withstand Time and stay their course,” Vanir said.

“If the Sanctus is nothing but a symbol for the lost to you, then perhaps you are happiest lost and in waiting. You forget that I too can foresee the future, only I never needed you or anyone else to tell me what I already knew was right. When the Caelestis returns, I will not share her for a title, or for your Empire, or with you.” Kas looked at Nyx then, who was Vanir’s High Caller now, and no longer one of the Sanctus. She did not hold onto the memory of Kira like so many others had, or her friendship to his mother. She only stood in silence behind Vanir’s seat, adding nothing to the conversation. “When the Caelestis returns she will come to the Sanctus. All the bribes you have will not bring me any closer to your corruption any more than it will her.”

“One of your former Custos has seen the potential in allying with me and brings her back as we speak,” Vanir replied.

“I pity the fools you sent for her then, because they will not live long.”

“If the caels are returning to Aster, then the true fools are those who sit and do nothing while waiting for redemption.” Vanir leaned forward and rested his hands and arms on his legs. “They will bring us only death.”

“The dead can still hear prayers. I know death will not touch myself or those who seek shelter in the Sanctus. So enjoy your reign of fear while it lasts for it will not be for much longer. I am High Priest of the Sanctus, son of Kira and leader of the Custos. Your words are of the same nothing to me that they were to my mother.”

Jru followed after Kas as he turned and left. The guards looked to Vanir to hold them, but he allowed them to leave and the doors were opened. When the throne doors closed behind them, he let out a breath of relief for not having to cut an escape with his sword. “That went rather well.”

“Could you feel it?”

“Huh?” Jru asked.

“Nyx was scared. The Animus around her was of a much stronger estus energy. She was concentrating a great deal of her focus to shroud Vanir’s concern as well.”

“The Atrum Lord is a lot of things, but I don’t think he fears anything in this world.”

“No,” Kas said as they reached the bottom of the stairs, “not on this world.”

Cirrus watched the ship approach in the distance, coming for where he sat at his post on the southeastern Torian beach. The GLORIA was early, and it usually kept to a strict schedule of arriving every two weeks. Then its sailors would take what they wanted and could carry from the dragon’s lands and leave on the fourth tide.

It was usually the healing plants and herbs that were infused with aeri that they came for. To his knowledge, the Suzerain Continent was that of sickness and darkness under the energy of the Atrum’s estus Aur. He didn’t care for the mercy he allowed them. Cirrus only allowed any of it for the amusement the crew usually gave him. The Awl was his favorite one to torment.

He pulled his invisibility around himself, letting his wind stir the white sand under him, and let his mind wander off. The sailors had seen him before. His presence was enough to remind them to make their stay short and pleasant.

Cirrus thought of their King. The aeri of the Animus around him moved and soon he found himself before the memory of Simera; as clear as reality. But the blue eyes of the black dragon that looked back at him was only the Thread mirroring his own memories back to him.

The King sat still and motionless, as if his senses tuned into every detail and aspect that was not of their world. The waves of lightning and sparks from the Eternal Waters as evening settled in washed under him in bursts of jagged purple and rose bolts that could kill a full grown dragon. But for Simera, it was seemingly effortless to balance the two opposing energies at the same time through his body, and not so much as flinch.

The ocean’s storm settled as the energy that was caught violently between the sky and water fell like pink flower petals. The waves that drowned them in estus energy left some of those stringed together to float peacefully for a few moments longer.

As he watched Simera, a part of him wanted to see the wonders that existed beyond their lands. He wanted to explore past his duty as a High Guard, and see the world. But even if he could fly the distance to the other Continent and make it before the storm’s rising, there was no escaping their Laws or the fact the phelan would spare him no less than he had. His wings and trail of carnage had given him the nickname the ‘White Death’ by the same sailors who now paddled in smaller boats towards the shore.

Their wood and plated ship was like a deeply curved shield covered in silver griffin metal. The metal was a combination of several, that channeled the powerful energy of dawn and dusk into the masts. Then the sail would safely release the energy over and behind the ship into a brilliantly colored, long-haired flower, which was nothing more than collected pluma Thread. When the storm ceased, the Thread sails were twisted away like a flower blossom. Then the white, fabric sails were raised to once again to catch the winds and allow the sailors to continue their journey.

He was only eighteen when he saw one of the ships for the first time and remembered mistaking it for a massive eminor. But whether or not eminor could actually sing, it was what ultimately saved the ship from his father’s fiery wrath and hatred for anything of a phelan scent.

The bottle of wine that was thrown at Dyaus’ eyes when he stalled from the human female’s song, also helped.

He looked back to Simera as the black dragon opened his blue eyes and brought his senses into focus on him.
Are you well?

His memory’s portrayal of their King took a moment to adjust to the dim light before fully recognizing Cirrus.
“Yes. Despite growing weary of this world split by fire and uncertainty.”
Simera stood up to stretch his long, powerful wings, before unsomning into his human-like form. The dark mist encircled and consumed his black scales, before dissipating along the beach with the leave of the ocean’s tide. Simera’s long, dark mauve waves fell around his knees, and his blue eyes dimmed in their glow on his old, but determined face.

Dragoons aged like humans and would gain wrinkles and even grey hair over time, but the King defied Time from taking his beauty. Even in his human-like form, he stood as still and wise as an Ancient. Forever unyielding to the mortal world that was nothing more than a weak chaos of constant change that pestered him.

You had us all worried for a while. I didn’t know you had changed your place of meditation.

“My Vision was disturbing again. Just as most of them are now,”
Simera said as he looked across the dark water that had been void of all its rightful light.
“I cannot stay here and wait any longer.
”

You mean your Visions of Earth? But my Lord, Serena’s Visions have never been wrong. If she has seen the Caelestis return to Aster, then she will. Would it not serve us better to wait?

“We are out of time, Cirrus. The phelan stroll through our fields and forests as if it is their own and I grow too old to waste any more of my days just waiting around. Now I just need the will to do what needs to be done and hold onto the prayer that we might still have a chance. But I will not wait around till our enemies hand me Asil’s body, and shatter the last of our hope that Aragmoth might spare any of us from his wrath.
”

Simera, we need you here now more than ever. If the Atrum’s Army finds out that you’re gone, they will not waste a breath going straight for Toria.

“There will be a day when I no longer have the strength to fly, but it won’t be for some time yet. So I will use my powers where I believe they will serve us most. I am not staying here to die to grief. It may be some time before I return.
”