Duality (27 page)

Everything went smoothly until Dara had to find a mount. Because of her draconian nature, she now knew why no ordinary horse would let her near it. As the war steed herd was sentient and able to reason things out for themselves, the elven royals assumed there would at least be a small handful of volunteers.

Apparently they’d assumed wrong.

“Shall not one of you help us?” Loren’s voice rang out across the field. “She cannot walk to the Isle of Myst. What we go to do affects all creatures of this free world. Shall not one of you help her?”

The young stallions shifted. Behind them, the mares whickered amongst themselves.
“Dragons eat horses.”

“Not onesss we know.”

Clad in the squire’s armor of Loren’s youth, Dara yanked away from Loren’s restraining hands. “Release me. I would answer them.”

He bowed and stepped back.

Dara’s eyes locked with those of the stallion at the head of the standoff. “That charge is true. So, which am I? Am I dragon, come to devour and destroy, or am I mortal and fellow prey? You do well to wonder, for that is the question I now face every day.” She fingered the torque around her neck. The blood stirred, but she forced it to be still.

“And what is your answer?”
a deep voice called from the rear of the herd. Mares and stallions parted and up the opened pathway strode perfection incarnate. Gleaming white, with a broad chest and deep girth, he stood a little taller than the rest, with more muscle and bone and presence to spare.

“Which am I, dragon or woman? Destroyer or savior? I am Dara Kahn Androcles, the daughter of queens of dragons that were, born to mortal men who are, here and now.” Dara’s voice rang out in the clear air of the early morning.

“I am both, my lord, with all the strengths and weaknesses and conflict my blood must bear. I must now conquer my very nature every day of my life, and by finding a balance within myself may I find the balance for us all.”

“Stand easy, daughter of queens.”
The stallion strode forward. “
I carry you myself, as far as you need go.”

She placed one hand on his muzzle, the other on his neck, under his mane. “I name you Gloreriell, for by ‘Flamebearer’ will history remember you.”

“‘Flamebearer’ shalt I be. My life is yours, ’til journey’s end.”

The group prepared to depart within the hour. To Dara’s surprise, Deane came from the palace in full ceremonial battle gear. When Loren raised an eyebrow, his older brother scowled. “The king should have battle experience. I have studied. We
are
going through the Shadowlands.”

Cianan snorted. “This is no classroom exercise. The Shadowlands mean real goblins. Real fighting. Real blood.”

Deane turned to Pari. “Are we free to choose?”

Pari nodded.

“Then I choose to go.”

He intended to become a hero, Dara realized. He still sought to compete with his brother, in a contest that was not a fair one. Loren had actual field experience; Deane fenced with men who let him win. The difference was a dangerous one. She looked to Lord Elio.

He nodded back. “Cianan, get him some proper armor.”

Deane looked down at his breastplate. “What is wrong with my armor?”

“You look like a beacon,” Dara snapped. “Might as well paint a target on your chest and be done with it.”

“Less shine, more substance,” Lord Elio agreed. “Come, my lord. Go with Cianan. He knows what warriors wear.”

Deane’s eyes lit with a fanatical light. Dara watched him return to the armory with Loren’s best friend. “He’s a liability,” she murmured to the stallion as she double-checked Gloreriell’s girth.

His ears swiveled.
“He is not a warrior. He wants to be.”

“He is an idiot
,” Hani`ena snapped from across the compound.
“He rides that bloody palfrey.”

They all stared at the flashy but non-sentient chestnut stallion with high-stepping parade gaits.

“Better this than open war,”
Gloreriell countered.
“Mayhaps we shalt have no problem.”

“You don’t believe that,” Dara argued.

“I have…reservations
.”

Cianan returned with the re-fitted heir in his wake. Deane was now dressed in plain, practical armor, like everyone else.

“Riders up,” Lord Elio ordered.

Cedric and Lorelei came down the walkway to see them off. The dowager queen stared at her husband and her eyes shimmered. “Thou art too old to camp with these younglings. Linger not. Get the book and hurry home.”

Pari snorted. “We shalt be eating Elio’s cooking. If that doth not induce one to rush the journey, then naught else shalt.”

“Better mine than thine,” Lord Elio retorted. “At least
I
know the difference betwixt hukoberries and alderill berries.”

Loren rode Hani`ena over to Gloreriell and grinned at Dara as she pulled herself into the saddle. “You have tasted hukoberries. Alderill berries are less sweet and have a bad cramping effect on the stomach.”

His nonchalance after last night’s passion made her blink. What was he thinking? Was it just to prove a point, his actions, or had it meant something more?

Pari swung up into Eryl’s saddle. “Everyone should be allowed one mistake every few centuries,” he grumped.

Even Cedric almost cracked a smile. “Lady’s blessings upon thee. Return home safe.”

Deane trotted Torgon over. “See you soon, Father. I shall make you proud.”

Single file, Lord Elio in the lead, Cianan in the rear, they rode out.

All through the Shadowlands, they rode with hands on their weapons. To Dara’s relief, all appeared normal. Birds sang and flitted here and there among the branches. A rabbit hopped across the trail. Torgon shied, but Deane was an expert rider and did no more than sway in the saddle.

Her backside went numb. Gloreriell was stockier than Hani`ena, with a shorter stride. For all his strength, he moved less fluidly than the smaller mare. For hours they rode, eating cold rations in the saddle, stopping only when someone’s call of nature couldn’t wait another moment. A dream, she was doomed to ride forever under the mist-shrouded trees.

Near dusk the trees thinned out to a ragged, rocky coastline. Across the water, barely visible in the fog, was the hulking dark shape of an island. Dara stared at it.

“Welcome home, little queen
,” the voices said.

She couldn’t imagine a less welcoming image. Dark volcanic rock, with a jagged silhouette and a few stunted trees. She cursed the loss of her senses and willed that unknown metal mage to hurry.

“How do we cross?” Cianan asked.

Pari pointed up the coast. “I left a boat chained to a mooring, when last I wast here. It shouldst still be there.” He turned to the group. “Howbeit, the boat seats three. Dara, Loren and I shalt go. The rest of thee guard the way back.”

Lord Elio dismounted. “We shalt make camp here.”

“Get a fire going,” Deane ordered.

“Aye, Highness,” one of the rangers responded.

Cianan smiled at Dara. “We shall be fine. We shall be right here when you return.”

Pari led the way to the oilskin-covered boat. He flung the cover off, revealing a stout little skiff. He got in the rear, Dara followed to perch in the middle, and Loren pushed off and hopped into the front. As her two companions turned the skiff around and began paddling toward the island, Dara clutched the sides.

“Relax,” Pari told her.

“I can’t.” All the water was…unnerving. “I can’t swim.”

“Do not worry,” Loren said. “This boat is stable, and we would not let you drown. Granther and I both swim very well. I shall not let anything happen to you. Trust me.”

A twinge of need at those words made her face flame all over again. The last time he’d spoken those words… He drove her insane.

They made it to shore and, after securing the boat, Pari led the way up a winding cliffside trail to a boulder-covered opening. “We are here.” He backed away for Dara to take the lead.

“Beware
,” the voices warned.

She stared at the sealed entrance. “It’s guarded by more than one element. You can’t enter.”

Pari unshouldered his pack. “This be where I come in. Music or passwords?”

“Musssic
,” the voices ordered. “Music,” Dara repeated.

Pari pulled out his wooden flute and played a simple melody. Dara saw the notes shimmering against an invisible shield—yellow, blue, pink, green, violet. Every note flared against the shield, little by little thinning it into nonexistence.

Dara stepped up to the barricade and studied the runes above her head. She’d seen their like but once afore, on the bottle of dragon’s blood she’d held in prison. “
What’s it say
?
”

“Enter here, all ye who fear not death. Bow to thy queen and live.”

Dara frowned.
“You have some arrogance issues.”

They did not reply. “
Place thy left hand over the blue clawed hand on the wall. Sssay thy full lineage name back ssseven generations to identify thyssself as one-who-belongsss.”

Dara announced herself. A golden glow emerged from the stone, and with a rumble it swung open.

“Bow to thy queen and live,”
they reminded her.

Pari found an unlit torch just inside and handed it to Loren. The former king stared at Dara. “Thou must be the one to light it.”

She gulped. “You jest.”

“You have done it afore,” Loren told her.

“That was different. I was angry. I had no control. I’ve never done it on purpose.”

“Well, at least now you know you can,” Loren replied. “If not for that little demonstration, you would have thought us mad did we suggest it to you now.”

“We can help. It mussst be dragon-fire
.
”

“Of course it must. Naught ever comes easily.”

“Visualize,” Pari suggested. “I wouldst wager thou didst something similar during thy time with Jalad.”

Dara nodded. “Like the snowflakes.” She glanced at her sleeve-hidden slave brand. “When I got
this
.”

Loren’s jaw tightened.

Dara pictured flames, a campfire, a lit hearth. When she had the image in her mind, she looked at the torches, picturing fire springing from the oiled ends. The voices chanted in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t hear actual words. Heat built within until sweat broke out across her brow. Her stomach churned. Gasping for air against the rising acid, she pointed at the torch in Pari’s hand and focused hard. “
Go
.
”

The oil-soaked end of the torch burst into flames, then settled into a bright flicker. Dara staggered against Loren, who steadied her with a hand on her arm. Dara turned to the elves. “The doorway translates into ‘Enter here, all ye who fear not death. Bow to thy queen and live’.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t think the warning is a jest.”

Pari shook his head. “Nay. Thou must be on thy guard.”

“You’re not coming with us?”

“This is thy quest. I but opened the door. I shall wait here, guard thy way back.”

Dara led the way. Loren followed close behind with the torch. Just inside the entrance began a long dark passageway. “Light the wall sconces as we pass them,” Dara instructed at the torque’s prompting.

Loren did so, revealing colorful pictographs of dragons flying over forests and sea cliffs. Dara stared at the images, entranced. They were rendered in exquisite detail. She saw flowers in the grass and fruit on the trees. The dragons themselves were every shade of red, orange and gold. Belatedly she recognized the unnamed spirit creature she’d seen in Badger Cave, during the healing ceremony. A dragon. A guardian. Farther down the passageway, she saw flame-haired humans, both male and female. They walked among ordinary humans and other peoples too. She recognized elves, but there were others, as well—grey-skinned giants with huge bulbous noses, short, stout people with long, curling hair and beards and a small hunchbacked race.

“Trolls, dwarves and goblins,” Loren identified. “This looks like a history of this world.”

The pictographs changed. They showed the races fighting bloody wars amongst themselves, then breaking apart and going their separate ways, the building of the barriers. The final scene showed the dragons flying away across a vast ocean, from a flaming forest toward a half-sun. Dara did not know whether it was rising or setting, and the voices were silent on the subject. Her throat tightened and tears threatened. “They left. They’re all gone.”

“We know not for certain,” Loren protested. “They left, aye, but all and sundry? They may be like you, scattered throughout these lands.”

“Trystan should see these,” Dara said.

“I see no reason why he could not someday visit here with you, if you have no objections. You are in charge of all this now.”

Dara blinked. “I am, aren’t I?” It was a strange sensation, realizing this sanctuary was her own personal property and responsibility.