Key of Living Fire (The Sword of the Dragon) (10 page)

The children danced and leaped on the lions’ backs. The creatures raced down the mountain toward the trees, and he followed, running as if he too were a child. Beside him, all around him, the children’s feet seemed to float inches above the ground. They floated over the forest floor, and he raced to keep up.

He ran for hours on end. Yimshi set and the stars sparkled in the sky. Still he ran. The children’s laughter filled the mountains. They dispersed into the meadows and forests and stopped to pluck apples, pears, and oranges from trees in the valleys.

As he darted beneath a sprawling pear tree, he plucked a piece of fruit and bit into it. A little girl giggled and reached out to him with both arms. He chuckled and lifted her with his stub of an arm. With his help, she swung her legs over his shoulders. The juicy fruit coated his tongue, and he sang an ancient hymn that he’d not remembered in a long time.

Oh ’tis sweet to trust in God, to rejoice in his firmament

We sing, we sing to praise—let all creation sing with us

Oh ’tis sweet to feel his presence, to know his ordinance

We walk, we rise in joy—let all creation rise with us

Oh ’tis sweet to adore our God, with all creation we praise

We laud, adore our Lord—let creation proclaim his glory!

Bouncing the child on his shoulders, he spun around and ran through an apple grove. Deer and lions played with the children beneath the stars. There was no moon that night, but little birds with glowing yellow chests flew to the trees, providing a dim warm light as if they were large fireflies.

Late that night, he dropped into the grass and closed his eyes. His cheeks hurt from laughing, but that did not stop him from smiling again when a star shot across the heavens.

5

THE DRAGON RING

O
ganna opened her bedroom door a crack. Enough to see that the house rested quiet and dark. Rose’el’s labored breathing bordered on snores in the adjacent bedroom. Something scaled brushed her bare ankle, and she reached down so that Neneila could coil around her arm. The viper’s head nuzzled her neck and she smiled. She tiptoed into the kitchen to grab a piece of dried fruit, then hastened through the living room to the outside door.

Slipping outside, she broke into a run beneath a canopy of brilliant stars that twinkled in the warm sky. As she entered the forest, the tree leaves eclipsed the stars one by one. She held her hand in front of her and, with little effort, called upon her dragon blood. Her palm glowed bright blue, shedding light on the forest floor. She veered around trees and jumped over large stones, following the path she’d used since childhood, until she arrived at Matthaliah Hollow.

Descending into the meadow that lay before the cave, she approached the cave’s hidden entrance and sat on a boulder nearby. One glance at the sky affirmed the clarity of the night. She took off her slippers and beat them against the boulder, then set her toes in the moist grass. Suddenly the blades glowed blue where she touched them, and the glow rippled into the meadow until all of it glowed with an ethereal, magical quality.

How well she remembered the night she’d first found Specter in this clearing. She’d been only a child, but the memory had not faded. Night after night she had visited him, hoping to ease the loneliness his vigil over her certainly entailed. And as time passed his smile had come more readily, and he kept his hood off so that they could speak face-to-face. In contrast to Uncle Ombre’s jovial nature, this man had seemed tragic. What lay in his past he’d buried deep—deeper than he’d been willing to share with her.

For a couple of hours she waited, hoping he would return. She’d been fearful after leaving Netroth. The last she’d seen of Specter, he’d grappled with the Specter of Death, the vile being, that Grim Reaper. Together hero and villain had fallen off the great ramp to Ar’lenon Citadel—and though she’d searched the city for any sign of her valiant protector, she had found not even a trace of him. After the horrors she’d witnessed in Burloi, she chose to believe Specter survived the battle. Choosing to believe did not, however, make it reality. But Specter was not an ordinary warrior; surely he stood above his foes.

With a long sigh, she hung her head and stroked Neneila’s head. The viper closed its eyes.

When silence continued to fill the night, she stood. “He’s gone, Neneila. For all my childhood he was here. Now that I am grown, perhaps his task is complete.”

The viper blinked its eyes up at her and curled tighter around her arm.

“I guess this is one good-bye I’ll never get to say. But maybe it is better that way.” With a final glance at the concealed cave, she inserted her feet back in her slippers and walked out of the hollow into the forest.

When she arrived back at the house, she placed the viper on the hearth. The creature curled on the warm stones, slicked out its tongue, and closed its eyes. Oganna crossed the room to the short hallway and opened the first door. Upon entering her bedroom, she went immediately to bed. In the adjacent rooms, all but one of her aunts lay sound asleep. Caritha had accepted Ombre’s invitation to come see the construction of a new fort right on the coast of the Sea of Serpents. They’d left the day before yesterday.

The next morning Oganna woke early and stretched, put on her slippers and robe. She took an iron poker from the fireplace and stirred the coals until they ignited. Then she grabbed the split logs from beside it and laid them inside, crisscrossing them on top of one another. The viper reluctantly uncoiled itself and slithered out of her way, coiling to the side instead of before the flames. Sunlight beamed through the front window, adding unnecessary heat to the room. She opened the front door and kicked a wooden wedge under it. The door remained ajar as she rustled through the kitchen, grabbing cooking mitts, a cast-iron frying pan, and spatula.

She sat in front of the fireplace and inserted a cooking rack. She shoved the pan onto it and threw in a chunk of butter. Before long she settled into a pattern. Stirring eggs, cinnamon, and milk in one pan, she soaked thick bread slices in it and flipped them on the frying pan.

“Mornin’.” Rose’el rubbed her face as she emerged into the kitchen. She tightened the drawstring around her green robe and dropped onto the bench, elbows on the table.

Oganna flipped two slices of toast a final time in the pan, and then transferred them to a plate. “Good morning!”

Laura, Levena, and Evela trooped out of their separate rooms, slowly closing the doors behind them. Evela smiled brightly and sat at the table. “That smells wonderful.”

“Indeed it does.” Laura quick-stepped to the fireplace, bent over the toast, sniffed and closed her eyes for a moment. “Thank you, Oganna.”

Levena squinted at Oganna in what came off as an attempted smile, then sat down with her sisters.

They all ate at the table, for a while not saying anything but simply glancing at each other and the food. Laura commented on the beautiful weather. Hasselpatch glided from the stairwell to perch next to Oganna.

“Psst! Psst!”

Oganna turned and shook her head at the viper as it showed its fangs to Hasselpatch. “She had this spot first, Neneila. Go back to the hearth.”

“Ssspit. I ssshould spit in thisss bird’s face!”

Oganna glared at the creature, and it slunk to the floor, averting its gaze. It slithered back to the hearth and coiled on the stones, then buried its head at the center of its coiled heap. Hasselpatch cooed and flashed her silvery eyes at Oganna, who set a slice of breakfast toast in front of the bird and held up the syrup jar. The bird bobbed its silver beak, and Oganna poured the sugary liquid on the toast.

Evela stood and walked around. “Would you like that in smaller bites, Hasselpatch?”

“I would indeed, mistress Evela.” The bird cuddled up to Oganna while the aunt cut the toast into smaller chunks. Evela stroked the Nuvitor’s head, then returned to her seat and resumed eating.

“So,” Rose’el said through a mouthful. “Your father has been gone a whole week. Any idea what is keeping him?”

Laura wiped her mouth with a napkin and brushed a crumb off her robe. “Caritha would know. If anyone would know, it would be her. Ilfedo tells her first, or Ombre, and she spends enough time with both of them to get the updates firsthand.” When Rose’el glared at her, she shrugged her shoulders. “What?”

“If I’d wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it.” The tallest sister scowled. “Humph!” She forced a large chunk of syrup-dripping toast into her mouth and turned to Oganna. “Do you know anything?”

“About father?”

Rose’el rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Maybe I’m just talking to the wind. Either that or no one listens when I speak up.” She set down her fork, swallowed her food, and crossed her arms. Her eyes narrowed at Oganna. “Yes, your father. Do
you
know what is taking him so long and why we haven’t heard from him?”

In all honesty, Oganna had no idea. She chewed her food, thinking that her aunt was right in her unspoken assumption that something major must have come up; otherwise her father would have returned home or at least sent a messenger. “No,” she said at last.

“See—that wasn’t so hard!” Rose’el reached out, pinched Oganna’s cheek, and then stood. “Well, I don’t know about everyone else, but I’m going to take advantage of this nice weather. I have some weeding to do in the garden.” She strode into her bedroom and closed the door, emerging shortly afterward with her hair tied in a bun and wearing a white blouse and brown skirt. With a sudden cheery smile at her sisters and Oganna, she exited through the front door. Oganna heard her whistling a catchy, unfamiliar tune and mentally noted that she would have to ask if there were words to go along with it.

But where was Father? Surely he was not attending another state banquet.

The fifty-one delegates around the grand mahogany table returned Ilfedo’s somber gaze. The garnished plates of food lay untouched before each of them. He folded his hands behind his back and sauntered to the windows. From here he could gaze from the castle’s heights. The gardens twisted about the structure, and beyond the city limits thirty stone buildings took shape. Carpenters and masons clambered like ants in a building frenzy. Gwensin, the capital city of the Hemmed Land; he could only imagine what it could look like in another twenty years. At this rate it would sprawl over every adjacent hill and beyond. But if relocation proved necessary, expansion of this city would come to a sudden stop.

Someone at the table cleared his throat in what came out as half-growl. “My lord, do you really think it will come to that? I mean, abandoning our country over a little weather crisis.”

“It is more than that, Vortain.” Ilfedo faced them and felt the familiar slap of the sword of the dragon on his leg. “Consider the extent of Resgeria. Miles upon uncharted miles of hot, dry sand. The current wind pattern has held for the past three months. In that time we have seen the desert advance half a mile into our border. And that wind continues unabated as we speak.”

Mayor Vortain shook his long blond hair and stood, pushing back his chair. “With due respect, my lord. Consider what you are saying! Consider the consequences. This land is all we have. It is all we know. Unless you propose we relocate our people to the now-abandoned land of the giants.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad option, Vortain.” A bald-headed man thumped his fist on the table and glared at Gwensin’s mayor. “It’s better by far than watching this land slowly die. At least Burloi is vast, watered, and there are enough buildings to shelter our entire population whilst we build new cities.”