Dark Hope of the Dragons Page 4

  Amahna briefly considered demanding that he attend them in Kithin, knowing that he would even leave his flock untended to do so. Then again, it would bring little satisfaction to cause disruption in the life of someone who stood only one station below those who served Theruses from within the cave and whose people provided many needed services to their lord.

  She dredged up a smile for him. “Keep at your duties, we will find someone in the village to assist us.”

  Just before he bowed his head to them again, Amahna saw a mix of relief and disappointment warring across his features. It was almost sad that she could relate to his conflict. The desire to serve Theruses was so great that she too was often disappointed to be left to her more menial duties.

  The village of Kithin was bordered on two sides by high limestone cliffs. Upon topping the rise, it appeared in the valley like a mirage against the green of the fields and the cold gray of the cliffs. The log buildings had a warm and inviting look to them and the village itself would have seemed quite welcoming if not for the peculiar black hair and eyes of all its occupants. They milled about on various chores like worker ants, an assortment of black heads bobbing along their way. The children played in the streets while their parents shook their heads and smiled if one got in the way. Kithin was such a friendly place most of the time that it reminded Amahna, a bit uncomfortably, of her old home in Imperious. It was simply a massively downsized reflection of that grand city.

  When they neared the village, a cry went up and most of the younger generations dropped what they were doing and raced out to greet the guests. Rakas shied away from the attentions, hanging back, but Amahna enjoyed their special treatment as they gathered about, eager to see who would be chosen to attend their visitors.

  Amahna smiled down at a lovely young woman with long, straight black hair, who stood quietly hopeful. “What are you called?”

  “Kara, my Lady and Lord.” She offered a graceful, if somewhat abrupt curtsy to each of them.

  “You will attend us Kara.”

  The young woman smiled up at Amahna, gratitude and pride giving a glow to her cheeks. Kara escorted them into the town with a bounce in her steps and found them a comfortable table outside the tavern to wait while she visited the shops where she procured the best foods and equipment and made certain that they were all packed efficiently onto the horses under her very serious supervision. While this was being done, other villagers brought them the finest foods and drinks to be found in Kithin so that they might refresh themselves.

  Amahna watched her chosen assistant with a growing sense of pride. The girl was lovely and athletic. She danced tirelessly around the village, enjoying her tasks, but making certain everything was done right.

  “I think I’m taking a fancy to her,” she commented sipping at the robust red wine they had been given.

  “Unfortunately for her,” Rakas muttered under his breath.

  Amahna ignored him, taking another sip of her wine. He was not worth the hassle of getting her ire up. She watched Kara and considered the young woman’s future.

  Once all was prepared and the riders nourished, Kara escorted them to the edge of the village.

  “I bid you good journey, my Lady and Lord.”

  Amahna reached down from her mount and placed a hand on the young woman’s soft pale cheek. “I will see that our Lord Theruses hears of your excellent service.” Then she turned her mare and they started off.

  “My Lady?”

  Amahna stopped her mount and glanced back.

  “What might I look like if I had not been born near the daenox?”

  “You would be a beautiful brunette with green eyes like emeralds,” Amahna replied without hesitation.

  Kara chewed at her lip then beamed up at them. “I gladly sacrifice that for the pleasure of serving you.”

  Enchanting. Amahna dismounted and walked up to the girl, placing a hand on each side of her face this time and gazing into black eyes that held no secrets.

  “I believe you.” She kissed the young woman’s forehead before returning to her mount and leading the way out of the village.

  “A quiet and charming young lady, don’t you think,” she remarked as they traversed the steep path to the graveyard.

  “Oh, certainly,” Rakas did not try to hide his bitterness and Amahna had no doubt he was rolling his eyes behind her.

  “You’re just annoyed because she said, ‘Lady and Lord’ instead of greeting you first. Perhaps Theruses would allow me a lady’s maid when we return.” She grinned smugly, knowing he was probably rolling his eyes again.

  In the meadow at the top of the path they navigated carefully around the graves. This near to the daenox prison it was not unlikely for the dead to come visiting, so they made a point of treating the mounds with respect. At the far side of the meadow the dragon, Siniva, waited helpless in his prison. His stature was very proud, his forelegs straight and settled between and just in front of his hind legs. His neck was arched and high so that his slender head looked out over the graveyard like a king surveying his realm. It was unnerving how noble he looked despite his dismal circumstances, as though he had nothing to fear. As though his power hadn’t been ripped away from him by a cruel betrayal. As though the threat they posed to the dragon’s future hope for freedom didn’t matter.

  Amahna suppressed a shudder and bit the inside of her lip. Such thoughts had no place here. They had a job to do and her nerves were not going to get in the way.

  They stopped the horses at the Siniva’s feet and Amahna watched while Rakas focused in on the power of the dragon web. Even in this form, the dragons retained a limited connection to their web of power, though not enough to do much of anything for themselves. Anyone who knew it was there and had the power to access it could tap into the dragon web. It linked the dragons like a spider web running though the ground in such a way that she and Rakas could travel along it, but such manipulation took time, usually a day or more, and a great deal of energy. They had broken up the trip in such a fashion that Rakas would take them to Derg, then Amahna would take them to Kuilen while Rakas recovered his strength. Rakas would do the final leg to Imperious so that Amahna would have her wits about her when it was time to present themselves to her sister and the other nobles.

  The ground trembled beneath them so violently she could feel it through her mount, the raging of Siniva in his prison, unable to stop them from using the dragon web for their own ends. The travel experience itself was like falling asleep. You could even have dreams, but it was still exhausting for whoever controlled the process. The risk of losing awareness in the open always made Amahna’s palms sweat and lit her nerves on fire, though she knew that the power moved them in a realm that could not be seen just as sound could not be seen by the naked eye. Before she even knew the traveling had begun they snapped awake in a different graveyard and she had to quickly calm the horses with a touch of daenox. It was noon or just before the next day and they were not alone.

  A young lad stumbled back from the grave he had been kneeling at, his mouth hanging open, his blue eyes wide with fear. Rakas did not have the energy left to do anything about it, so she drove her heels into her mount and took after the boy when he began to run. She threw her dagger straight and true, a skill she had learned in the Imperious Legion, and sunk it through the back of his neck. The lad dropped instantly and Amahna jumped down to retrieve her weapon, wiping it clean on his shirt. They could not allow anyone to witness their passage.

  Rakas exhaled heavily and shook his head as if to apologize for not helping, his eyes glassy with exhaustion.

  “It is done. Let’s hope our arrival in Imperious is not so disagreeable.” She turned her attention to the stone dragon behind them. “Shall we?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dephithus leaned back in the comfortable crook of a big branch of the old Mother Tree and grinned down at his companion. They were both winded from racing to the meadow as they often did. Myara, who had lost the race, jumped
up, grabbing hold of his boot toe with a war whoop and hauling him off the branch he had claimed. Dephithus landed on hands and knees in the damp grass by the brook. In seconds, he was on his feet again and charging after Myara as she struggled to get up higher into the tree before he could catch her. Like a hungry wildcat, Dephithus crouched and sprang, catching hold of the branch he had been pulled from. With a playful snarl he pulled himself up, his arms trembling with the exertion of their prolonged roughhousing.

  Myara had claimed a seat and held her hands up in surrender, gasping for air. “Mercy,” she cried, breathless, as he climbed up to her branch.

  “It’s about time,” he replied, dropping back onto another branch with a sigh of relief. “I was afraid you were going to win.”

  “Sure, Dragonkin, as if that is even possible.”

  “You win races all of the time,” Dephithus argued.

  Myara turned her nose up and looked away, not pointing out that her victories were typically due to his letting her win.

  He stuck his tongue out at her. “Fine then. Nobody asked me if I wanted to be a throwback to my mother’s long dead ancestors.”

  “Oh, poor Dephithus,” she replied teasingly with a shake of her head and a crooked grin. “So, tomorrow night is your night. Are you excited?”

  “This again.” He took a moment to adjust his position and pluck a leaf from the tree. Though Myara still gasped for her air, his breathing had already begun to regulate. As the intoxicating burn of his muscles began to fade, a twinge of the old guilt for his unusual physical abilities crept in, not that he had any control over them. Lacking interest in Myara’s choice of subjects, he began to study the veins of the leaf as he answered. “I really don’t see a need for all of the fuss. It is only a birthday.”

  Myara plucked a leaf and balled it up, using it to bomb the leaf he was inspecting out of his hand. His gaze followed the lost leaf as it twirled dancingly down to the grass below, then he plucked another leaf for inspection.

  “Just a birthday.” She rolled her eyes and he scowled mock anger at her as she bombed him with another leaf, hitting the back of his hand this time. “It’s your Dawning Day. You can enter in tournaments now and marry all those girls and boys that swoon after you.”

  Dephithus chuckled as he let go of the new leaf, letting it float to the ground, forgotten. “Yes, and I can be called to stand gate guard or honor guard at any time. I can have kids and spouses to nag at me.”

  “What is wrong with being called to duties? You always enjoyed standing with the guards when you were younger.”

  True. He used to stand with the honor guards for fun as a child, staring up at them with reverence and dreaming of the day he would be one of them.

  He plucked another leaf and another, crushing them into balls and piling them along the branch next to him. Myara observed this and began storing up her own ammunition while they talked.

  “I don’t know.” Dephithus hesitated on one leaf, staring at the myriad veins weaving through it for a moment before crushing it down into another bomb. “I just enjoy our outings. I won’t have as much time for this kind of thing once they start calling on me.”

  Myara tossed a leaf bomb, hitting him on top of the head this time. “In a few more months I will be joining you at those duties.”

  “It won’t be the same.”

  Myara smiled over at him and he was caught up for a moment by the way the sunlight piercing through the leaves sparkled in her eyes. He sighed and bombed her shoulder to distract from his straying thoughts and her smile broadened.

  “Shall we run away together?”

  Dephithus shook his head with a serious frown, though their silliness made a giddy laughter bubble up, threatening his charade. “No. It’s a fine idea, but I’m still tired from the last run.”

  Myara pummeled him with green leaf balls and he returned the onslaught, laughing as he tried to dodge her shots without falling from his perch. When they were each out of ammunition, they leaned back, grinning proudly at their own foolishness. Then she closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun. He watched in silence.

  It would not be the same. He would be proud to do whatever duties he was called to and he would do them to the best of his ability, but he would long for their time together. They would have training together again once she had her Dawning Day, they just would lose much of the free time they spent enjoying each other’s friendship. Marriage was an entirely different problem. He would be expected to wed soon, within a year or two at least, and the only woman he wanted to be with was Myara. There was the obvious solution of marrying her, but that might change their relationship as much as if he married another.

  The sound of approaching horses drew their attention as a young serving lad rode into the meadow. He wore the blue and silver livery of the Elysium palace stables and drew behind his mount two geldings from Lord Mythan’s private show stock decked out in royal finery.

  “Lord Dephithus,” he hailed as he pulled the horses up at the foot of the Mother Tree.

  “Yes,” Dephithus crushed a leaf in his fist. Their childhood together was nearing its end. The sixteenth anniversary of his birth was upon them.

  “Your mother requests your presence at the palace. She asks that you come prepare to ride to the inner gates with her.”

  It was exactly what he had expected. His mother’s half-sister, whose name he had never even heard before a few weeks ago, was supposed to be arriving with the noon sun. It was odd enough that she had not contacted Avaline in nearly sixteen years, not even to let her sister know she was alive and now she suddenly wanted to attend her sister’s son’s Dawning Day. His mother was excited, so much so that his birthday was the only thing she talked about more, so he would do his best to please her and hide his misgivings.

  “Of course. Thank you. We will take the horses.” Dephithus dropped from the tree, landing light on his feet and spooking the showy animals. He took the reins from the youth who bowed his head respectfully and cantered back the way he had come. The horses were a perfect match, dark blood bays with black stockings and thick black manes and tails. Their delicate, pointed ears perked forward with curiosity and, though their build was more refined, they were not much smaller than the Legion mounts. Overall, they were beautiful, but they each sported some flaw of conformation or temper that was not obvious to his untrained eye or they would not be gelded.

  Myara dropped down beside him, landing harder and spooking the horses again. “Does this mean I’m invited?”

  “It would seem so,” Dephithus replied, nodding his head to the violet rose that had been fastened to a brass ring on one of the saddles.

  She smiled at the thoughtful present, a bloom from her favorite rosebush, then swung up into the ornate saddle. Both mounts were garbed in black equipment worked over with blue and silver embroidery and adornments. When Dephithus swung up, the high-strung steeds made as if to bolt, but they held them back, forcing them to keep a reasonable pace.

  Myara fingered a petal of the rose. “Do you ever wish Mythan was your blood-father?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t see where it would change anything. My father spends most of his time with his other wives in Derg and, since Mythan is sterile, I’m the closest thing he has to a true heir. Besides, Mythan also has the distant Dragonkin lineage, so most people think that somehow I really am his son.”

  She nodded, still gazing at the rose, pensive. “Do you think that’s possible?”

  “What, that Mythan could be my father?”

  She nodded again.

  He shrugged. “It is a strange world sometimes, I suppose anything could be possible.”

  Dephithus had considered the possibility many times. Avaline said there were rumored to be many history books stored in the library archive about the Dragonkin, though she herself had never seen them. Supposedly, the Dragonkin sometimes possessed unusual powers in addition to their enhanced strength and speed. Nothing truly exceptional, just subtle ways to
manipulate things. Perhaps, if Mythan wanted a son badly enough, the distant Dragonkin blood in him could have made it happen. However, there was always so much to do being a student of the Legion, the undeclared heir to the throne, and a friend to Myara, that he never seemed to have time to ask about the library archives. Even if he did have the time, he was not sure he could convince Mythan to give him the key.

  They picked up the pace, allowing the horses to move out into an easy trot. Anything faster might throw dirt up on the fancy trappings the animals wore and that might irritate Mythan, who clearly meant to make a good impression on their visitors. Outside the stables a line-up of twelve more horses, all decked out in formal gear, waited with the stable hands, shifting about impatiently. Their approach stirred up a chorus of snorts and whinnies among the waiting animals.

  Six mounts would be for honor guards and two were for Mythan and Avaline. The other four were for Kent, Avaline’s third husband, their two daughters, and Kent’s husband, Vicard. His half-sisters, Kinny and Cinda, were both younger than Dephithus and lived primarily with their father and his husband. Lornin, Dephithus’s blood father, would be arriving tomorrow to stay for a few days and attend the Dawning Day celebration.

  They left their mounts with the others and went into the palace to change into more formal attire.

  The palace was a towering structure with an open design. The entrance a wide sweeping staircase with low steps leading to the massive double doors. An elaborate half-wall ran along the sides of the staircase carved in the shape of waves rolling gently in toward the doors, done in stone that was a warm and welcoming beige color. The walls and floors beyond the doors were also done in soft elegant colors. Muted tans, greys and blues. The grace of the craftsmanship, the lines all done in gentle wave-like curves with no harsh angles, made it seem not so much as if the walls were flowing but as if the person walking there were flowing past them. The clumsiest of men could feel graceful within those walls. The structure was designed to exude welcome. Everything was crafted in such a way that the palace embraced the people who entered there, giving off the illusion it had been designed specifically for each individual who set foot upon its floors. People stood taller and walked with pride when they passed through that grand entrance.