Swords of the Six (16 page)

Suddenly the creature yelped and rolled to the side. Dark blood ran from a gash in its side and its four eyes darted around as it growled and slashed the air. The other beasts ceased feasting on the dragon and darted through the fallen trees toward their companion.

Laura did not wait to see the outcome. The clouds slid across the moon again and she ran as fast as her sore and tired legs would allow. She climbed a large tree at the edge of the undamaged forest and perched on a thick limb, holding another branch for support with her right hand.

The furry creatures jumped around their fallen companion, slashing the air with their razor claws. All of them now made the horrible gurgling sound. Then, as she watched the wounded creature that had attacked her, its head separated from its body. She blinked, unsure she had correctly judged what had happened. The creature’s body collapsed, its four-eyed head rolled on the ground.

Another of the creatures dropped. Blood ran from its jaws. The remaining creatures continued to attack the air as if seeking an invisible opponent and she thanked the Creator that she was no longer down there. More of the hairy beasts emerged from the forest. They swarmed over Glandstine and, within half an hour, left little more than his bones.

The beasts left and quiet settled over the area. She drew her sword and hacked branches off the tree. She used them to build a makeshift nest in the sturdiest branch. She laid her sword in front of her and curled up, then she closed her eyes. The wind howled through the forest, an owl hooted somewhere in the distance. One of the creatures gave a gurgling call. With those creatures about it would be foolhardy to try and find her way back to her sisters’ camp in the darkness. Her mind and body weary, she fell asleep.

* * *

The poor old woman knelt in the mud at Dantress's feet with her grimy gray hair clinging to her face. “You have saved me from a fate worse than death,” she whispered, looking up into her eyes. “The secret of Ostincair Castle is safe. The devil worshipers have fled.” She grasped Dantress’s skirt and smiled as Dantress set her sword on the ground and knelt in front of her, gently holding her arms.

Caritha and Rose’el walked up behind Dantress, one on either side of her. Tears welled in Dantress's eyes as she noted the cuts on the old woman’s arms and the bruises on her face.

“Do not weep for me, dear children,” the old woman said. “A long life—and a fulfilling one—I have lived. Look now to yourselves and beware: these forsaken lands should not be trodden lightly.

“What b-beautiful and honorable young ones you are! I have not seen your equals in all my lifetime and now, while death draws near, I thank you . . . You would have died for me. I know it, for I saw it in your eyes. And I am a mere stranger to you. Fortunate are the ones who are numbered among your friends and cursed be those that make themselves your enemies!”

Gently Dantress laid the woman on the ground and closed her eyelids with her fingers. “We couldn’t save her. We were too late.”

“It doesn’t seem right!” Rose’el kicked her foot into the mud, spraying it on her clothes and those of her sisters. “I say we go after that creature—that
It’ren—Drusa.
She and that dragon are going to pay for whatever they do to Laura, and for this deed.”

Caritha raised her right hand and shook her head. “No, Rose’el. Revenge is not ours to deal out, at least not while we have a mission to accomplish.”

“But that creature and the dragon have taken Laura!”

“And we do not know
where
, Rose’el,” Caritha snapped back. “Remember what Father promised: he is watching over us . . . Laura is on her own now unless we come upon her along the way to Al’un Dai.

“We have a mission to accomplish—”

“With the
four
of us?” Rose’el harrumphed. “In case you haven’t noticed, my
dear
sister, Laura is gone and Levena is quite unwell and we have here the body of an elderly woman that needs burying.”

“No, Rose’el. Not four of us. Evela must remain behind with Levena, that leaves you, myself, and Dantress.” She walked away and whispered something into Evela’s ear.

Evela set her mouth in a tight line and wiped her blade on her dress. “I will do as Caritha says,” she told Rose’el.

“What? No, I insist this is foolish—”

Dantress stood up, cutting her sister off in mid-sentence. “To Al’un Dai we will go.” She patted her taller, frowning sister on the shoulder and then swept past her, whispering into her ear. “Father promised to watch over us, Rose’el. Have faith . . . We can do this. We have to!”

Then she approached Evela and embraced her. “Laura may return soon. And I wouldn’t think a spider bite”—she pointed into the hollow log wherein Levena slept—“can keep her down for long.”

“Don’t worry.” Evela cleared her throat and forced herself to stand straight. “I’ll take care of things here. Just you be careful.”

“And please bury the old woman,” Dantress wiped a tear from her cheek and turned, looking at the pitiful sight. “Poor thing. She didn’t stand a chance.”

* * *

Laura woke when the first rays of sunlight struck her nest and the cries of birds filled the forest around her. The birds’ screeches were not soothing; they came as throaty threats from several hundred vultures standing on and about the dragon carcass. She pinched her nose against the smell of putrid flesh and sheathed her sword.

Little remained of the fearsome Glandstine. Shreds of black, scale-covered hide hung from the clean white bones of his ribcage. For the most part, the ground had absorbed his green blood. Already the birds had stolen his eyes from their sockets.

Still she could not guess what had happened to the creature that had attacked her. She could see its severed head lying between the fallen trees, its body next to it. Only bones remained.

Perhaps another creature roamed these forests. One that could remain unseen and yet still be lethal and cunning enough to slay the beast? She descended the tree and headed north, away from the vultures. She drew her sword and listened to every sound that reached her ears. Last night had been a close call and she did not want a repeat.

Thus she passed through the forest without incident, ever northward until she chanced upon a tree that she recognized as one that she and her sisters had passed the day before. She headed west, retracing the route to the scene of her kidnapping. Her sore body complained, but she paid it no heed; she had to find out what had become of her sisters. Were they still alive? Before she’d been knocked out she'd seen several dragons moving against her sisters. If they had been overcome—as had she . . . She quickened her pace and tossed stray strands of her long and dark, red-tinged hair out of her face.

Chapter 8: Mistress of the Ruins

A stiff, cool wind blew in from the east. Caritha, Dantress, and Rose’el stood with their backs to it, looking upon the ancient fortress of Al’un Dai as the sun's rays peeked in and out of the puffy white clouds dotting the sky.

The black metal and stone structure rose from the midst of a vast depression, a hollow bristling with wild shrubbery, vines, and dead, twisted trees. Broken walls of stone crumbled around the structure, and the deep moat that had once formed the outside perimeter was bone dry.

The structure was enormous with jagged towers rising in defiance toward the sky. Large sections of the towers and the fortress walls stood with gaping holes in them. A heap of rubble filled the structure’s center—the remnants of a much larger tower that had once stood there.

The wind howled through the trees behind them and a sudden ringing of metal caused Dantress to glance to her right. Scowling, Rose’el held up her blade and thrust it at the temple.

To Dantress’s left, Caritha took a few steps forward and then bent down to part the fold in her outer skirt and slide her rusted blade from the concealed scabbard. She raised the sword before her eyes, grasping its leather handle with both hands, and looked past its blade to the fallen fortress. “Draw your sword, Dantress.” She glanced at her sideways. “The weapons of the Six must avenge the innocent.”

Dantress started to reach down for her sword then stopped, shaking her head, looking back up at the fortress, its ancient drawbridge lowered over the empty moat. “Violence should be our last resort, my sisters, not our first choice. We are here to find Kesla and persuade him to repent—”

They made their way into the hollow along a beaten path, Dantress leading. The path took them between scraggly trees and under the limbs of broken and dead trees. Many of them stood out stark white, stripped of their protective bark. Strewn in ghastly fashion between them, lay helms and shields, halberds and spears, chain mail and solid breastplates, tarnished and rusted—enough weaponry to arm a sizeable force.

“Spooky,” Rose’el whispered. She tiptoed past a complete suit of body armor half-buried at the base of a dead tree as if afraid to disturb the dead man’s ghost. “I wonder why there aren’t any bones.”

“Who knows,” Caritha said, “this battle probably took place a very, very,
very
long time ago. The skeletons probably turned to dust ages ago.”

Rose’el stepped over an exposed tree root and raised one eyebrow. “Have you ever wondered how old Father is? I mean, look around! He was here when this place was undamaged, right?”

“I suppose so,” Dantress interjected. She contemplated the dark structure ahead. Only a few hundred yards to go and they would reach the drawbridge. “Father is very powerful and very wise, Rose’el,” she said. “We all know that. But I believe there are some things we will never understand about him. His age?” She took another step. “I doubt we are meant to know that. What matters now is finding out if that man—Kesla—is still here. Then, we can go home.”

Stooping to examine a breastplate near the path, Dantress swept the grime from it with her hand. The figure of a white dragon spewing fire from its mouth gleamed back at her. Beneath the dragon's feet flames twisted up, entwining its legs. Thick black smoke billowed around it as if it walked, unscathed, upon the surface of a lake of burning oil.

Though the image on the breastplate must have been ancient the colors appeared vivid, fresh even. Bits of the image had started to flake off, but overall it seemed unaffected by the countless years sitting out in the open air, exposed to the elements.

She walked on a little farther, in the direction of Al'un Dai, then stooped to grasp the edge of a round shield. The same image—the white dragon spewing fire and walking on a lake of burning oil—met her gaze.

The colors, the mystery behind the depiction, the magnificent creature, all intrigued her beyond anything she had thus far seen, except perhaps her encounter with the sword that had spoken to her. If the dragon shown in this painting was the great white dragon that she knew, then what story lay behind it? It was her heritage, her past . . . it should be a part of her future.

Her sisters peered over her shoulders until Caritha bid them stand. "We must move on," she said, pulling Dantress to her feet. "Come on, let's find out what's inside the temple."

* * *

The cold metal of the drawbridge plates crept through the soles of Dantress’s leather shoes, and an equally cold chill ran up her spine when she saw what should have been impossible. The towers of Al’un Dai stood as they had in ancient times; whole and unmarred. Gratings now covered the multitude of windows set in the black stone towers that had been in ruins. The fortress’s outer wall rose a hundred feet high. Its iron gates, made to look like giant, feathered wings, were closed and bound to each other by chains fashioned in the forms of enormous cobras.

They had almost crossed the drawbridge. The chains were rising slowly from the dry moat and clattering into position as they stretched from the drawbridge’s end to the temple’s outer wall on either side of the gate. But suddenly the chains rattled faster along their runs and the drawbridge rose under the sisters’ feet.

Dantress fell forward onto the ground, and Rose’el tumbled off the side of the drawbridge. Because she too had fallen, Dantress could do nothing. She bit her lip. Tears of frustration burned in her eyes.

Caritha fell beside her and returned her gaze for a moment, then she looked back at the drawbridge. She bolted to her feet, ran to the moat's edge, parted the fold in her garment, and drew her rusted sword.

A giant serpent rose from the moat and leered down at them. Its blood-red eyes gleamed. It did not open its mouth, but two fangs dripping thick, clear liquid protruded from its upper jaw. Its eyes narrowed to near-slits.

Atop the serpent’s gray head, Rose’el struggled not to fall off. The serpent bucked. Rose’el grunted, her hands holding desperately onto the creature’s scales. “Are you—two—going—to—help me?” she asked through clenched teeth.

Let her down!
Dantress knew as soon as she communicated her thought to the serpent that it had heard her. It jerked its head to look at her, eyes wide and Rose’el fell off.

The serpent narrowed its eyes again. Dantress thought she spotted a line of ridged hairs rise on its neck as it slipped into the murky water of the moat.

She stood. Rose’el, with Caritha's help, struggled to her feet. Dark red blood ran from several minor cuts on Rose'el's hands where she had gripped the serpent’s scales.

A cold, like the one she had felt while walking the drawbridge, crept into her back, only this time she knew it was a cold not born of temperature . . . but of something else.

A quick spin brought her to face the wing gates. They were still closed but now a rough-stone path could be discerned beyond them. A silent human figure cloaked in blue-gray cloth stood in the way. A narrow band of gold ran down the cloak’s front. Long, curly blond hair showed beneath the black fur-lined hood.