Storm Holt (The Prophecies of Zanufey Book 3) (24 page)

‘Are you all right,’ Asaph said, blinking.

‘Yes, sorry, I… Just too much right now,’ she tried to explain.

‘I’m sorry -’

‘No, it’s me. I got scared. I don’t know why,’ she cut him off before he could apologise.

‘I got carried away, you are so divine,’ he smiled.

She grinned back feeling her cheeks redden. ‘I need some water.’ she wiggled out of his embrace and went to find her water flagon.

‘Why don’t we do something fun,’ he said. ‘Like hunt for truffles and nuts. We might even make something tasty for lunch. After I can show you the best way to clean your sword, or something.’

‘Sounds like a good idea,’ she said. Glad to do something else rather than sit there feeling awkward. ‘The shield will hold until we take it down or the magic wears thin. The horses and our stuff will be safe here without us.’

All awkwardness forgotten, she followed him into the forest.

Cirosa had not left the place by the stream where she’d sensed strong magic and smelt that odd scent. Remaining in owl form she’d been hunting her prey for days, and come across that scent a day ago outside of the gates of Corsolon. Human, definitely human, and something else she had not smelt on a human before. Dragon. It smelt like Dread Dragon, only alive. It could be him, the Dragon Lord she’d been sent to find.

She had not seen the owner of this scent yet, despite diligently following the trail along the road north out of Corsolon. It was probably because she only hunted at night. An owl in the day was ripe for hunting, especially a white one. Besides, the bright sun really hurt her eyes now, something it didn’t used to do. The smell was strong here in this place by the stream, and at first it had confused her, for she couldn’t see any people and yet the scent stopped here.
 

Many times she’d circled above looking for where the people were or where the scent led off but found nothing. Only when she had flown close had she felt the energy in the air, the familiar feel of magic like static on the skin making her feathers feel fuzzy. They could be using magic to hide, so she stayed close, waiting to see if they revealed themselves, and now she dozed in the hollow of a tree.

‘See who can find the most mushrooms.’ A man shouted below startling her awake. Seeing it was day her owl-like mind tried to drift back to sleep.

‘Ha-ha. I’ve found another one.’ The man’s voice prevented her from falling back to sleep.

‘That’s not fair, I’ve only found one.’ A female voice came from afar.

Suddenly remembering her pressing task, Cirosa looked out of the hole. Below her a reddish-blond haired man was on his knees digging out mushrooms. She stared at him transfixed and moved a little further out of her hole to get a better look.

It was him, it had to be.
He fit the description Baelthrom had shown her in the amulet, a tall blond long-haired Draxian. And that strange smell, a mix of human and dragon, was coming from him.
She stared at the man, unable to believe she’d found him. She drew The Under Flow to her. She couldn’t hold much in this form, but it was enough to see the man’s aura. It was like fire, vibrant and alive.
The powerful aura of a Dragon Lord. You cannot escape me now, stupid man.
Baelthrom would reward her well.

She thought upon all the ways she’d planned to trap him, and how she would bring him triumphantly before Baelthrom. There were so many things to try, men were easy to seduce. That would be the best way to take him. Then she would tell her lord that she had him. It would be easy.

The man stood up, rubbed the back of his neck, and looked around. The smile on his face became a frown. His hand went to his sword. The white owl slunk back. The man turned to stare straight up into the trees. She froze. He seemed to be looking right at her. For what seemed like a minute they stared at each other. She couldn’t be sure he could see her through the leaves, and she was a long way up. If she moved he would definitely see her, so she stayed there frozen to the spot.

‘Hah. Look I’ve found four now.’ A young woman with long black hair ran into view and the man dropped his gaze.
 

Cirosa shuffled backwards, angling her head so she could just about keep her prey in view. Hatred for the woman surged in Cirosa’s veins, even in owl form, and a bitter taste flooded into her beak. She wanted to screech her hatred aloud, and only sheer hard will stopped her from doing so.
That bitch.
For a moment she couldn’t remember why she hated the woman, then she remembered Rance,
idiot of a boy,
and her life back on Celene. Her name was foggy in Cirosa’s memory, like so much was after her rebirth into the arms of her lord. It didn’t matter who she was anyway, Cirosa wanted to kill her, and could imagine the satisfaction of doing so right now.
Claw out her eyes and rip her flesh apart. I’ll take her man as she took mine and rip her apart in front of him.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked the man.

‘I don’t know, I…’ he began, looked up again, then shook his head. ‘I think we’re being watched. I felt it last night when everyone was asleep, but I only heard owls. Then I felt it just now, something watching us.’

The woman looked around the forest. ‘I don’t know, now you’ve said that I think I feel it too.’

‘Let’s get back under the shield and make some lunch. I hope father isn’t gone too long,’ the man said and turned to go.

‘Good idea. Race you there.’ The woman laughed and sped off.

‘Hey not fair, I wasn’t ready.’ The man tore after her.

Cirosa slunk back into her hole, seething with hatred. She consoled herself with a victorious feeling at having found her prey. She would not let them out of sight now. All she had to do was plan her attack. It would have to be perfectly timed. No mistakes or unforeseen things could destroy her chance to take her prize to her lord.

FIRST to arrive was Haelgon, dressed in purple silk robes that put Freydel’s own to shame. They billowed in a non-existent wind as his form took shape in the centre of the circle. His black skin glistened and his blue eyes blinked as he took in the surroundings.

‘Freydel.’ He grinned and walked over to him.

Freydel got up to greet the Atalanphian high wizard, and shook his old friend’s hand.

‘It’s been a long time since last we met in person.’ Freydel smiled up at the tall man.

‘Indeed it has. I felt a faint call some time ago, but when nothing more happened I ignored it,’ Haelgon said. He glanced down at Arla in surprise. ‘How did a child get here?’

‘She is sick, it’s a long story, but I’ll explain everything when we’re all here,’ Freydel said, and indicated to the centre of the circle where the air began to shimmer again. Haelgon nodded and went to take the southernmost seat that symbolised Atalanph, his eyes never leaving the curled up child as he leant on his mahogany staff.

Drumblodd’s unmistakably squat but strong dwarven stature wavered before them. The exiled Venosian dwarf leant not upon a staff but upon a long bladed axe. A short purple cape draped across his wide shoulders. His red beard was heavily entwined with white - more so in the six months or so since Freydel had last seen the dwarf. His hard face was set in a familiar scowl that hadn’t softened with age. His scowl always made Freydel think that it was to hide the sadness and guilt that plagued the dwarves, knowing as they did that it was their kin the dark dwarves who’d helped Baelthrom rise to power.
 

Venosia had fallen to Baelthrom over four hundred years ago, and the dwarves had fled. They were tough, they managed to thrive wherever they went, even in the harshest of places. Some went to the sweltering deserts of Atalanph, but most went to the frigid Everridge Mountains that separated Davono from Lans Himay, and spread the entire length of the Frayon continent. In both places they built cities underground and managed to make a home.

Drumblodd blinked at Freydel and then Haelgon. ‘It’s good to see you both again,’ he said in a gruff voice and bowed to them. For all the months they’d not seen each other, the dwarf was, as always, of few words. They hailed him back and he turned to take his seat, heavy dwarven armour clanking.
 

Freydel wondered, and not for the first time, if the dwarf slept in his armour. He always seemed to be dressed in it, and it surely took more than half an hour to put on. Drumblodd was a novice magic wielder and had little patience for the arcane arts, preferring instead to skill himself in weapons. However, he was the current king of the exiled dwarves living in the Everridge Mountains.
 

Third to arrive was the elf, Averen. His violet eyes appeared in the mist before anything else. He was tall and pale with long coppery hair tied back in a silver cord. His face had not aged in fifty years, blessed as elves were with a long life and youthful looks even until death. Freydel was surprised to feel a pang of jealousy, knowing how the grey flecked his beard and the lines creased his face. The elf had that usual amused look in his intelligent eyes, and he took the longest to marvel at their surroundings.

‘It’s been so long… Woetala’s beauty is so pure here,’ he said, then saw Freydel. ‘Freydel.’ He came over and shook his hand. Averen’s purple robes shimmered with a silver hue, again putting Freydel’s own to shame. ‘Haelgon, Drumblodd, how wonderful to be together again. We really should meet up more often.’ His eyes rested on the sleeping child and he raised an eyebrow at Freydel.

‘All will be revealed,’ Freydel reassured.
 

The elf travelled a lot, frequently moving between the courts in Atalanph, Davono and Frayon, where his wisdom and music were always welcome. He needed no fixed abode or books or scrolls, but kept his wisdom in his remarkably sharp mind - managing to memorise a great many things just once and recall them easily. High Wizard Averen gave a graceful bow and seemed to glide as he took the elven seat of Intolana, a land also lost long ago to the Maphraxies.

Averen had been one of the few elves to stay behind when his people withdrew into the Land of Mists. Though he wasn’t as strong as the elf wizards before him, he was powerful enough to be a high wizard, just one rank below a master wizard. Of the elves that had remained, most found homes in the forests of Davono and Lans Himay that clustered around the mountains where the dwarves now lived. The truce between all three races; dwarf, human and elf, held only under the shadow of their shared enemy, Baelthrom. Freydel was aware that peace between them was a small blessing to take from their shared dire future.

Young Luren from Lans Himay was next to arrive. The scared looking, mouse-like man was a novice wizard, but his ability was such that he had the potential to become a high wizard, maybe even a master wizard with hard work. The man had been a young boy apprentice to Master Wizard Grenahyme, and was the most suitable person to take his master wizard’s place. His purple robe hung limply on his shoulders.
 

‘Greetings, fellow wizards.’ He smiled nervously at everyone, bowed deeply to Freydel and scurried to the seat of Lans Himay.

Navarr, King of Frayon and also a novice wizard, was next to arrive. The man was tall and stern with a short brown beard and hair. A scar ran down his cheek gained from a battling against the Maphraxies, it served to add to his ruggedly handsome looks. It was also a tribute to his bravery, Navarr was always keen to fight alongside his soldiers against the Maphraxies. Navarr would never be more than a novice wizard, and like Drumblodd he respected battle skills over mastering the Flow. This made the human king and the dwarven king great friends and strong allies. What skill he lacked in magic he made up for in the sword.

‘Freydel,’ he beamed. He grasped his hand, and then stared down at Arla. ‘How did she get here?’

Freydel smiled. ‘There’s a lot to tell, we’re nearly all here.’ Navarr raised an eyebrow, nodded, and turned to greet the rest of the Wizards’ Circle.
 

When his father King Thaban died, no one wanted the heir to the throne of Frayon risking his life in the Storm Holt, but the prince was adamant and no one could deny him entry when he chose to face his demons. Navarr was as impatient as he was ambitious. To say he had barely survived the Wizards’ Reckoning would be correct. But they’d all barely survived. The testing took you beyond sanity. It was up to you to return. And the prince had. And soon after became king.