Dark Wood: Legends of the Guardians (17 page)

“Allos,”
Elizabeth called as she ran to catch up with him. “You’re back. Where is
Aryaunna? I’ve not yet seen her.” Stopping on a snow packed trail, Allos turned
to meet her. A slight smile pulled at his lips at seeing her, but it quickly
faded. “She’s not here, is she?” Fear filled her eyes as she placed her hand
flat over her stomach.

Raising
his hand, he touched to her shoulder to reassure her. “She’s safe. Aryaunna has
gone to see Reign.” Elizabeth’s eyes closed as she breathed out a sigh of
relief. “Your sister has been through a lot in a very short amount of time,
Elizabeth. Reign is her link, her friend. She needs him terribly this night.”

“What
do you mean? What happened? Did you save the prophet?”

“Yes,
she is alive, though her companions did not fare as well. The prophet is an Owl
Maiden. A form of Wood Nymph. They’re revered for their power. Not even I know
what all they’re capable of. She’s resting now, but she’s promised us an
audience and her favor.” He took a moment as Elizabeth absorbed these peculiar
facts to look her over. “You’re cold.” Unclasping his cloak, he pulled it from
his shoulders and draped it over her.

“I’m
all right,” she argued through a soft smile.

Lifting
her shoulders she shrugged it back, but he clasped it against her collar bone,
pulling the thick fabrics over around her. “Wear it for me then?” A slight nod
of her consent gave them each a faint smile, though brief as it was. “I need to
report to the elders on what has happened. Come with me. You need to hear this,
too.”

Aryaunna
woke slowly, more comfortable than she’d been in ages, if maybe ever. Which
seemed strange to her as she lay nude in a pool of water. All that covered her
now was the warm blue water of the spring.

Flames
surrounded her, burning in carefully dug pits throughout the cavern. It gave
the room more color than the shades of blue provided solely by the luciola.
Hung over a sparkling white stalagmite was a heavy piece of fabric. Sluggishly
she sat up, slowed by the heaviness of her head and the throbbing in her
temples.

The
air was warm, and she wasn’t chilled at all despite having laid in the waters.
Standing to her feet, she tested her strength carefully step by step before
looking down over her body. The gash on her thigh that had hit bone was
completely gone, the burn with it. The small cuts and bruises that covered her
were nothing but memory. Experimentally she flexed, her muscles stretched
without a single ache.

Walking
over to the stalagmite, she lift the rich black fabric to discover it was a
cloak. Pulling it around her shoulders, she looked to tie it but instead found
ebony clasps shaped like beautiful Dragon wings. “Reign?” she called out,
looking over the vast cavern for him.

“I’m
here.” The reply came from behind her, high above. The fire reflected off his
smooth serpentine body, glistening off scales as he climbed easily down from
his perch. Suddenly his body leapt forward. He wasn’t flying, but he glided
through the air as if he could control it. Landing gracefully beside her, his
body straightened as he looked down at her. “How do you feel?”

“Better
than I have in a long time, perhaps ever. How long did I sleep?”

“A
little over a day. Do not be worried. I’m quite certain everyone knows you’re
here, and that you’re safe.” His head rose as he looked over the cloak. “It
suits you. Come, I have a gift for you.”

“You’ve
done more than plenty for me already, Reign. I don’t wish to take anything more
from you,” she argued humbly.

“Then
don’t think of it as a gift from me directly. However, this is not a gift that
the Emissary can turn down. Come. Then we will eat, and you shall tell me what
all has happened since we were last together.” His body turned and walked
deeper into the cavern. The mountain was a vast system of caves. The grotto
here, fed by a vast artesian well, was but one of Dia’s mysteries.

Aryaunna
followed Reign into another alcove. Inside it was the last thing she expected
to find in a Dragon’s cave. The space was filled with trunks of all sizes. Some
were beautiful. Some were simple trunks, each one made to hold weapons of
various kinds and sizes. “Dia is no longer just my home, but yours as well. She
is your stronghold. If ever you seek shelter, she will give it to you. If ever
you need weapons, she will have them.”

“Is
this your hoard?” she asked, touching one of the beautiful mahogany trunks,
carved with intricate patterns.

“No,”
he spoke with some surprise. “It is yours. The Guardians have been waiting for
you for a long time, Aryaunna.” Turning his body, he sat down beside her,
wrapping his tail around his legs carefully. His head leaned forward,
investigating a massive trunk carved with a delicate touch. “Ah, yes. That’s
the one you need. Open it,” he instructed as he pulled back.

The
latch was large, but simple enough. The lid was heavier than it looked as she
lifted it, carefully laying it back. Inside were clothes. Not the type of clothes
most women would be excited to see. These seemed of simple make, though in
their simplicity they were beautiful. They were made for a warrior. This was
clear to her, because of the armor that lay alongside the folded pile.

Looking
back at Reign, he gave her a nod. Silently telling her to go ahead. “They’re
yours, Ary.”

Pulling
the cloak from her shoulders, she laid it over another of the many trunks. It
was impossible not to wonder what was inside them all. She dressed herself in
the sleek black clothes. They fit close against her skin, were thick, but
easily flexed with her body. The tunic and trousers hugged her body. A tunic of
pure ebony suede came low on her hips. The sleeves were long, covering her
wrists. The collar was wide cut, exposing her collarbone and part of her
shoulders. The trousers fit her well. She’d never worn pants with buttons
instead of ties. It felt strange as they were closer fit than anything she’d
ever worn before.

Leather
gloves were long, nearly to her elbow, but they were fingerless, and made to
lace up the side so they could be tightened. She had to set them down a moment
before putting them on. “Something wrong?” Reign inquired.

“Not
in the way one would think,” she admitted. “They fit perfectly. Everything.
They’re beautiful. Perfectly made. Fit, warm, but easy to move in. Strange, but
plausible. Then I find these.” She nods from him to the gloves. “I cut the
fingers out of all of my gloves. Where did these clothes come from, Reign?”

“They
came from the Guardians. Trunk after trunk has been showing up since you left
here last.”

Taking
in a deep breath, she tugged the gloves on one at a time. The strings up the
side were easy to synch tight. They fit her as well as everything else had. The
boots were tall, coming just above her knee. They hugged her calves, but held a
special space inside each boot. Sheaths for knives. She’d never had new boots.
Or even ones that fit her feet so well. The soles were thick and hard.

“There’s
still more,” she exclaimed, surprised. Reign chortled as she reached back into
the deep trunk. A hooded cowl wrapped around her neck, covering her exposed
flesh from the shirt. It was thicker than the rest, lined in fine black fur.
After that she pulled on a thick but soft black leather vest. Small pockets,
loops, and straps lined the inside. “What are these for?” she asked while
buttoning the thick black buttons, etched with the most incredible detail.
She’d had to stop for a closer look when she noticed. They, too, were carved
with Dragons.

“Whatever
suits you. Weapons, supplies and the such,” he explained.

Lifting
a belt from the trunk, she strapped it around her waist. It hung well, and was
sheath ready with loops and hooks. “What weapons does this hold?” she asked
while buckling it.

Leaning
his head closer, he looked down into the trunk. It was finally empty. “Hmmm.”
There were almost thirty trunks, and more seemed to show up every day, he’d
said. “Ah, I know. Close your eyes,” he instructed.

Her
brow arched in suspect, but her eyes closed. “Don’t see it in your mind’s eye,
but feel it. Feel the hilts in your hands. The weight of the blades. Imagine
how it feels to swing your sword in battle.” Instinctively her fists tightened.
“Good. Feel them in your hands, Ary.”

Her
eyes opened. An eager smile spread her lips as she walked past him and went
straight to a long sleek black case. It was wide and flat, etched with a
pattern she could only describe as Dragon scale. The latch looked like her
cloak, Dragon wings. Sliding them apart, she lifted the lid carefully. Inside,
laid upon white silk was a collection of the finest weapons.

Twin
scimitars were in the center. Slowly, Aryaunna lifted one sword from the case.
The sheath was intricate in design with beautiful silver scrolls crafted over
black polished wood. The hilt, black in color, fanned out, cast like a Dragon’s
wing. Its base was complexly covered in braided leather. Gently she slid the
blade from its sheath. Lifting it closer for examination she looked over the
flat of the ebony blade. “What language is this?” she asked in a whisper, not
looking away from the incredible silver design.

“Drackon.”

She
turned the blade to him, tip closest to Reign so that he may see it better.
“Devils fear not, for we shall take you home.” A slight smile spread over her
lips.

“Turn
the blade.” Carefully she turned it over in her hands. A beautiful, detailed
Dragon was scalded into the other side of the blade. “All of these weapons are
crafted by Dragons’ fire, from mithril.” Smoothly, she sheathed the sword and
set it down. Her fingers brushed over twin daggers, long, impossibly sharp, but
thin. Boot blades. Another dagger was held in a wide black leather sheath.
Lifting it, she drew the blade. The hilt was a cross of braided metal, the
blade was krissed.

Sheathing
it, she set it down. Two bracers sat next to a small belt knife. Simple,
but black. Reign looked over the room as she strapped the black mithril braces
over her forearms. They latched into place with dragon tails, and it was the
bodies of the dragons that formed the design over the surface of each.
“Everything is black. The clothes, the weapons.” Her brow arched in question as
she looked up at him.

“That’s
a question for the Guardians. Not I.”

“Do
you think they’re all that way?” She looked around at the other cases
curiously.

“It’s
possible. I haven’t looked. These are all your things, Ary. That is how you
knew which chest to open first. It is how you knew which chest held your
weapons. I do know that these weapons here are special. They were meant for you
especially.” Lifting his head he looked over the cavern aglow from the luciola
above. “It’s my assumption, given how many crates are here, these are weapons
for an army.” He looked back at her. “Your army.”

“Will
the war come soon?” There was no fear in her voice. Just bitter resolution.

“I
cannot say for certain, but I believe there is time yet. Besides, haven’t seen
any real battle armor sent from the Guardians yet,” he tried to make light.

“Perhaps
I shall ask the prophet.” His scaled brow arched at her comment. Grief washed
over her face as she looked down at the casket of her weapons. As she put each
into place, strapping the sheaths to her belt and sliding the daggers down into
her boots, she told him what all had happened over the past many days.