Key of Living Fire (The Sword of the Dragon) (15 page)

Caritha exchanged a smile with Oganna. “Then we will go with him.”

“To that I will agree, and thank you for offering.” He crossed his arms and gazed southward over the thickly greening treetops. Fresh sunlight rendered a golden hue to the leaves. South was the direction he would soon go, the path he must take. But what waited for him beyond the sands of Resgeria? He had never visited the Megatrath tunnels, and though the prospect of stepping into the underground world Oganna and the Warrioresses had described lifted his spirits, thoughts of the unknown outcome darkened his mind.

Everyone returned his gaze as he looked at them. The ring dug into his finger and roared with uncanny strength so that even Ombre frowned. Grasping his now-burning finger, Ilfedo grimaced. “The great white dragon visited me last night, as Ombre and Caritha already know. I am to set out on a quest into Resgeria, and I have no way to know how long I will be gone.”

“Father, surely you don’t intend to leave this instant?”

He caressed her cheek with his hand, but the dragon ring reared its tiny head and shot a searing flame from its mouth against his skin. “I’m sorry, everyone. I’m sorry to leave so soon. I will be back, Oganna. Ombre and Caritha can tell you more of what transpired last night and how the dragon entrusted me with a vital errand. In the meanwhile, I leave you to oversee my affairs as you see fit.”

Turning to Ombre he said, “You said you are willing to undertake the task of looking to the west for a new land?”

Ombre grinned. “Oh yes! Just think of it, I’ll be the first to step foot in our new country.” He winked at Oganna. “That would make me a hero of sorts.”

Ilfedo somberly gazed at his friend. He envied the man’s positive outlook. “Begin the search for a territory suitable for relocating our people to. Verify what little information we have, and report back quickly if you find what we need. I will be back as soon as God allows.”

First his daughter threw her arms around him, then the sisters as well.

Ombre enclosed everyone’s necks in his arms and laughed. “The prophets have given you this mission, brother. Now go—and go with a cheerful smile.” He patted Ilfedo’s cheek. “Not this sullen frown.”

Evela marched inside the house and returned with the sheathed sword of the dragon laid across her hands. Caritha and Oganna ran behind her through the door. As they vanished inside, Evela knelt at his side and held the sword against his belt while Laura and Levena strapped it in place. As those sisters stood back, Caritha and his daughter stepped back outside with a pack.

Slinging the pack over his back, he kissed each of them and thanked them. “Pray I do not fail,” he said.

“We packed your clothes, Father. You will also see I put some rope in as well. Dried fruit and jerky too.” She embraced him again, kissed his cheek, and stood with everyone else as he set his feet southward and marched across the lawn into the forest.

As the trees swallowed his lonely self, he tightened his jaw. For several miles he walked, and then Seivar dove through the forest roof, landing on his shoulder. “I have wished my mate farewell, Master, and I will go with you if you so desire.”

“Oh, I do, my faithful friend. I do. But where I am going you might not be able to follow. And something tells me blood will be spilled . . . I do not want that blood to be yours.”

The bird rode on his shoulder for half a mile, then it squawked and nuzzled his neck. He stroked it and sighed. Why couldn’t he have remained a simple woodlander?

Seivar stretched his white wings and flapped, launching toward the treetops. Ilfedo walked on, but suddenly the bird dove, battering his face with its wings. Ilfedo stood still and batted away the bird’s wings. “Seivar, what in Subterran are you doing?”

The Nuvitor’s talons cut into Ilfedo’s shoulder. Its body whipped around to perch there with an undeniable grip. It stretched its neck, leering at him with both silvery eyes. The sunlight gleamed off its partially open beak. “I am yours until death, Master. You have underestimated that loyalty, and I pray you do not so again!”

“You are coming with me?” Ilfedo treaded through the grassy forest floor for a few miles. The Nuvitor remained on his shoulder, moving only to shift its weight. “Stay close to me,” he said. “We have a long and treacherous journey to take, like that of my childhood hero, the Count.” The day wore into evening and he pressed on. The evening waned into a starry night, and the dragon ring relaxed around his finger. He was going in the right direction.

7

MASTER ARTISANS

T
he three Evenshadows shone as ghosts when they trotted out of the dark forest and into the moonlit field. Their silver hooves sprayed glowing slivers in the grass, a magnificent carpet for the esteemed princess of the Hemmed Land.

Oganna held on to her stallion’s reins with one hand while clasping Avenger’s handle with her other. Her glowing silver dress fell gracefully over the horse’s rump as she rode sidesaddle. She had chosen a mount with spirit and with which she was familiar. Avernardi, she called him. She patted the stallion’s neck and he nickered. “Ease up, Avernardi,” she said.

Ombre rode a few yards behind her, wearing a dark hooded cloak with a gold clasp in the form of a wolf. Caritha rode sidesaddle on the third Evenshadow, but like Ombre she wore a dark hooded cloak.

They rode across the field for half a mile until gravel crunched under the horses’ hooves. There they paused to gaze across the stretch of grass to the city of Gwensin, surrounded on all sides by a high wall of white stone. The white-stone buildings behind the wall were beautiful, even more so with the moonlight playing over them.

They rode to the city gate, and the guards sent word into the city. “Oganna has come!”

Vortain marched out with the city council to greet her, and a contingent of twenty soldiers with dress swords belted to their sides and white capes clasped over their shoulders escorted her to the mayor’s residence. As they rode through the mansion gates, Caritha steered her horse close to Oganna’s and whispered, “We could have gone directly to Fort Gabel. There is no need to involve Vortain.”

Oganna leaned in her saddle to better speak in a low voice. “But he, along with his councilors, truly wants what is best for the Hemmed Land,” she said. “His artisans are the ones I will be dealing with when we reach the coast, and there is no need to shut him out from these events. I think his support will be most useful. He is a bit hard to deal with, but if I play this diplomatically he will turn over the initiative to me.”

“I do not know if I agree, but this is your call.” Caritha pulled her mount back a couple of yards.

With her chin held high, Oganna pulled her Evenshadow to a halt and slid off its back. By entering the city in this manner she had forced Vortain’s hand. She was now his unexpected yet honored guest. He would be expected to listen before speaking and to give her whatever rest she required after her journey—before ever broaching a subject of interest to himself. She would instruct him of her desire to make Fort Gabel a magnificent monument to the giant who saved her life, and he would willingly grant her wish. After all, his artisans had, with his backing, proposed the cylindrical keep, and they were the best in the land. She was the power key that he needed in order to see the job done in the manner he desired, and his artisans alone could accomplish a cylindrical keep in a manner that would please her.

Vortain strode up to her, offered his hand, and bowed. “Princess, this is unexpected, but you are always most welcome in our city. Please! Come inside and refresh yourself.”

She smiled, laid her hand in his large one, and followed him up the wide steps. The double doors swung open as she approached. Tonight she would rest, even though her journey had not been long. Tomorrow she would depart with a troop of artisans and soldiers, an impressive display to lift the citizens’ spirits and remind them of her station in relation to Vortain’s.

The night passed uneventfully, and the next day she rode out with the artisans and soldiers she required. Yimshi’s rays bathed the city in a fierce heat. Vortain walked ahead of her, leading her Evenshadow by the bridle. Behind her a dozen trumpets blew, and from a balcony above the street a harp strummed. Only the sweat on her brow and the memory of her father’s dire prediction of resettlement lessened the glory in that moment. The possibility of abandoning their homeland to nature’s unforgiving changes seemed borderline cowardice. But in reality there was nothing that could alter, stop, or slow the changes soon to come.

8

WHERE THE DRAGON DARED NOT GO

S
pecter cut the water in his dive, plunging into yet another beautiful lake. As the cold depths swallowed him, cooling his sweaty body, he blew bubbles and sat on the muddy lake bottom. Eyes open to the aquatic world basking in afternoon sunlight, he watched a dozen small people dive after him. The children settled onto the lake bottom, mimicking his position and blowing a few bubbles of their own.

He smiled at a little black boy, and the child smiled back, accidentally opening his mouth. The boy clutched his hand to his mouth and rapidly swam for the surface. For seventy seconds—he counted—the remaining children held their breaths. He could see the concentration in their little puckered faces as they glanced at him, no doubt waiting for his breath to give out.

A laugh formed in his chest and almost upset the balance of his stasis. But he concentrated on his bare feet sifting the greenish mud and held his breath. A volcano of bubbles erupted, and he looked up to find the remaining children racing for the surface.

He chuckled to himself. Good, at least he could still hold his breath longer than they. But his chuckle boiled over into a laugh, forcing his last air from his lungs. Standing, he pushed off of the lake bottom and beat the children to the surface. As his face emerged into the open air, he gulped it in and swam for shore. A thin line of other children jumped up and down, cheering him or their comrades on. Sometimes he could not tell if they rooted for him, or their companions, or for all at once. It mattered not. Life here had proved peaceful beyond his imaginings. He could stay here forever—that is, if he could get Auron out of his mind. As he pulled himself onto the sandy beach and the children embraced him and laughed, he thought of the misery his fallen pupil had caused him. What misery he could still cause if given another opportunity.

The children encircled him, dancing around and around.

“I stayed underwater longer than you, Master Specter!” said one of the girls. She grinned as broadly as she could and extended her brown hand. “But I will play with you again. Maybe then you can beat me. Next time, that is!”

She could have been no more than ten years old. He shook her hand, putting on a defeated expression as best he could. It was getting harder to fool these children. He could easily have stayed underwater for a few more seconds, but he enjoyed the pleasure victory gave them. Though this time, he’d almost genuinely lost. “Congratulations, Regina! You were amazing down there.”

She giggled and moved off, mingling with the crowding children.

The children ran into the lake and he followed. They began to swim with swift, even strokes, steadily crossing the broad body of water. With his one hand he pulled himself after them, relying on his strong legs to propel him forward. His stub of an arm splashed with almost useless regularity.

When he reached the opposite shore, the children had already raced into the trees. Gleeful lions trotted after them, though a couple remained, drinking from the lake. A particularly large lioness ambled over to him, and he stroked its velvety back. What a majestic animal! It purred and nuzzled him, then sauntered under the shade of a sprawling tree while he lay in the grass.

As the sunlight dried his clothes, he could hear distant laughter float from each of the mountains rising from the lake’s boundary. Again his thoughts turned to Auron. He recollected the traitor’s gloating face. “I am safe, my old master,” the traitor seemed to taunt. “No one hunts me. I am safe. Not even the great white dragon would dare enter this place!” And he stepped through the portal to the mountains of ice, safe from justice.

Suddenly the grass around Specter began to grow at an accelerated rate. The green stalks blossomed, turning into thousands of white flowers. The nearby trees blossomed, then shed their leaves and grew new ones. He stood and gazed around. The lake began to bubble as if filling with oxygen, and the lions meandering near the shore settled down and fell into slumber.

A cool breath washed over his back and he turned—but there was nothing there. No man and no creature. He sighed and shook his head. It felt as if someone were watching him—and not the children. He closed his eyes. Something powerful resided in these mountains. He had felt it pass by, heard the children speak of it. It would have to be benevolent; otherwise, the children would not remain. And it must have great power; otherwise, this paradise could not have lasted long. He reached out with his hand and a bony snout pushed back, then pulled away. He opened his eyes but still saw nothing.