Swords of the Six (8 page)

“Well, well, fairest of the dragon’s daughters, practicing
again
?”

Dantress ignored Miverē and evaluated her opponent. Standing in the center of the armory floor she stepped back and pulled aside the outer purple skirt that hid her scabbard. Her fingers felt their way around the familiar leather grip, and she drew out the sword, spraying flakes of rust into the air as she swung it upright in front of her eyes. With both hands she held it there, looking past it to her opponent.

A healthy rivalry had developed between her and her first-born sister. Caritha had excelled with weaponry, as had she.

Caritha stood with dignity and grace, much as a queen. But her eyes roved the room, betraying a busy mind. She ran her hand down the side of her purple skirt and opened the fold to reveal her own scabbard. With lightning speed she slipped the rusted sword from its scabbard and dashed toward Dantress, blade poised level with her shoulder.

They met halfway on the yellow sand covering the armory floor. Dantress struck first, feinting to the left but slashing on the right. Caritha’s blade clashed with hers, sending reluctant sparks into the air.

Thunder rattled the glass dome above Dantress's head. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a storm passing over the palace. Jagged electric bolts split thick, dark clouds. But she focused her attention on her sister.

Seemingly unperturbed by her silence and the clashing metal blades, Miverē appeared, flitted onto her shoulder and perched there, though she noted that he kept a firm grip on her neck collar. “It has been four and a half years since I showed you the secret chamber,” he said as she parried Caritha's thrust. “I am wishing I never showed you that place; then you would be playing with me.”

She whirled, ducking as she did so, and slid behind Caritha. As she brought her sword toward her sister’s throat to end the swordplay Caritha spun around and they crossed blades.

The red-haired fairy pulled his wand out and toyed with it, sending random colors from its tip in the form of smoke. “I liked you better, fairest of the dragon’s daughters, before you grew up. Don’t you ever—” he squealed with startled delight as Caritha’s blade sliced through the air above his head. “Don’t you ever want to play with me again?”

“Miverē,” she said between parries, “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

He sighed aloud and drooped his head.

Focusing on the contest, Dantress felt the power of her dragon blood surge. She directed her will into driving her sister back. Her blade glowed momentarily and a wave of blue energy struck Caritha. But her sister closed her eyes, and Dantress’s assault evaporated against her blade. A bolt of energy shot from Caritha’s sword and smote Dantress in the chest. She fell to the ground. Miverē rolled into the sand. Caritha held the tip of her blade gently against Dantress's throat.

Withdrawing the blade, Caritha held out her hand to assist her to her feet. “Give up!”

“All right, you win.” Dantress accepted the other’s assistance and then brushed the sand off her dress. “I guess that makes us even.”

“If you count last night’s challenges? Yes.” The corners of Caritha's mouth betrayed a faint smile. “Dinner will be ready shortly. Gwen told me to remind you of that.”

“I’ll be along in a moment, I need to talk to Miverē.”

Caritha sauntered through an exit door and left it open behind her.

“Miverē?” Dantress scanned the sand floor, but found nothing. She looked at one of the massive exit doors in time to see it close behind the green-clad little creature. Poor thing, he was so easily slighted.

She shouted after Caritha, "I'll be late for dinner. Tell Elsie, will you?"

"Of course." The eldest sister returned and closed the door.

Brushing sand from her skirt, Dantress set off after her little winged friend. It took a little while to locate him. He’d gone to the library and wedged himself between a book
Astronomy: Impractical Applications
and a large scroll yellowed with age. As she approached he stood and leaned against the book. His green eyes were bleary and red. Twin tears threatened to overflow his eyes.

“Miverē, what’s wrong? Are you crying?” She reached up and held out her hand so that he could climb onto it. Both tears rolled down his face as he plopped into her palm. He folded his wings down his back, wiping a fresh tear from his eye.

She dropped into the plush cushions of an easy chair next to the warm blaze in the fireplace. Fall had arrived and the weather had been cool of late.

“There now”—she held the fairy to her bosom and stroked his bony back—“tell me. What has made you cry? I wasn’t trying to ignore you in the armory, but if my silence hurt your feelings then I'm sorry . . . I really am.”

“Oh, it is not that, fairest of the dragon’s daughters! I do not cry because you were unkind for you are never unkind, but fair and gentle. For this I love you as my best and trusted friend.”

“Then what is wrong? Something must be, or else you would not be crying.”

The fairy accepted her handkerchief, drying his eyes and blowing his nose with a corner of it. “I was in the throne room this afternoon, cleaning the drapes, when the shepherd and the dragon entered.” He drew in his breath. “Is it true that you are going away?”

“Yes, I suppose so. Father wants us to be ready first; he wants us to understand the swords intimately before we do anything
and
he wants us to be able to work as a team. So we will not be leaving soon.”

Blowing his nose again, Miverē shook his head. “The great white dragon told the shepherd you are ready, that you are
all
ready. But, but he said that your first mission will be difficult, a lot more difficult than he had planned on assigning you to.”

“Well, Miverē, I am not afraid to go. I am a daughter of the dragon, and he will watch out for us—”

“But he said things, terrible things, things that sounded like prophecy. You must not go! I beg you, stay in Shizar Palace where you will be safe. I don’t want to lose my best friend!” After this the little fellow started to cry again.

She stayed with him for the next half hour, telling him not to worry but to have faith. “Do you really believe my father would send me if he didn’t think it was for the best?”

“N-no, I guess not.”

“Well, there you are then! Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. Besides”—she smiled—"the Creator watches over all His creatures. He will be with me wherever I am."

The fairy stood and flew to her neck where he embraced her. “Be safe, fairest of the dragon’s daughters.”

Kissing the fairy’s forehead she rose from the chair. “Come on. Let's go exploring . . . in the basement. You've always said the rumors of sublevels in the palace are true.”

“But isn't the basement forbidden to us? Besides, I have no proof; no evidence that such secret chambers were built—"

"Ah," she interrupted him. "But you were right about the chamber with the swords. Besides, Father never forbade me to go down there. I've heard him tell the maids not to clean down there, but he's never said anything to me or my sisters.”

Miverē's face broke into a gleeful, extra-broad smile. “Then let's go. Oh, but first, I left my lantern at home."

* * *

The Fairy Tree’s branches spread above Dantress, and the glass dome far above in the palace roof allowed her to see the lightning zipping through the storm clouds. This storm had lasted all day, an unusual occurrence . . . as was the absence of rain. With all the fuss that the storm put up a deluge should hit the palace at any moment. But none did.

Dantress touched one of the Fairy Tree's butter-soft branches.

Fairies, sitting in their family groups, covered the glowing branches. Every time lightning flashed they exclaimed in unison, "Ooh!" Then thunder clapped, and they cried, “Aah!” until it died away.

Four fairy families lived in Shizar Palace and all of them dwelled inside the Fairy Tree. Miverē’s family, the Bladegrasses, boasted the most members. A healthy rivalry existed between them and the next largest group, the Leaflets. Then there were the Clovers and the Stems.

The Clovers stood on a high branch, the men with their arms crossed and the women with their hands folded behind their backs. They were known to be a bit on the strict side, the males dominating more than a little. But they were faithful servants of the dragon and Dantress had seen them shoot recklessly down the halls on more than one occasion to answer his bidding.

Partiers by nature, the Stems came next. A merry group of about twenty of them sat on a branch halfway up the tree, their long gangly legs and distinctive green hair swaying with the movement of their bodies as they toasted each other’s health and drank wine from tiny glasses.

On a lower branch sitting primp and proper were a dozen Leaflets, all female. To this family had fallen the blessing and the curse of short stature. Blessing because the male fairies of the other families found the petite females quite attractive, and a curse for the Leaflet males because they often found it difficult to woo females. Dantress stifled a giggle upon seeing one of them casting furtive glances at one of the Bladegrasses on a nearby branch. The lady fairy glanced back at the male from time to time, feigning disinterest and flipping her wavy hair behind her back.

According to the fairies their tree had once grown along the banks of a river called Eiderveis but the wizard Hermenuedis had built his temple of Al’un Dai very near that river and when his war on Subterran had begun the Fairy Tree stood in the midst of it. The great white dragon had pulled the tree—roots, fairies and all—and flown it out of harm’s way, planting it in Shizar Palace.

Miverē popped out of a knot in the tree’s trunk with his lantern, a happy smile on his face. She smiled back. It felt good to act like a kid again. She looked forward to exploring the palace basement. The great white dragon disappeared down there a couple times per year and, she hoped, she'd discover why.

* * *

Dank air clung to Dantress as she descended into the darkness. A shiver ran up her spine. Never before had she ventured into this place. True, it constituted a part of the palace, but what purpose it served besides supporting the main structure . . . no one had ever told her.

Miverē stood on her shoulder, the tiny silver lantern held in his outstretched hand. For her part, she held Xavion's sword and its blade glowed enough to reveal a few yards in all directions.

Every step she took, disturbed layers of dust on the stone floor. Visibility outside her circle of light equaled zero. She glanced over her shoulder, and noticed the fairy followed her lead. "We should make sure that we can find our way out of here," she said.

The fairy laughed. "I hope we get lost! This is fun."

"Rose'el would say that this is foolhardy." She looked into his glimmering green eyes, and laughed with him. "But you are right. This is fun."

He pulled out his glowing wand and pointed it behind them. A tendril of white light stretched from its tip, broke off, and wafted down to the floor, painting a glowing line in the direction they had come. Twice more he did this and, when the three strands lay together, they formed a distinct arrow. "There, now we won't get lost."

Slowly, Dantress walked forward. The floor appeared bare for a dozen feet or more, then the light exposed an old trunk. She saw a large chest beside it, and then another, and another. Rusted locks hung from each and every one of them, as if whoever had locked them had done so long ago and had never returned to examine their contents.

She ventured close to one of the smaller ones and tried to lift it, but it didn't even budge. The trunk had been made with wood but its boards were reinforced by bands of hammered iron. They wrapped over its lid and around its base. What could be hidden inside? Or, was it empty? Curiosity prevailed upon her and she pried at it with her blade. But the lid remained immovable.

Reacquiring her position via Miverē's last arrow, she faced in the opposite direction. She walked deeper into the basement. Spiders and other critters skittered out of her path. Cobwebs proliferated in the area. Miverē faithfully twisted on her shoulder, from time to time, to drop glowing arrows in her wake.

The chests and trunks continued to unveil themselves in the darkness. Only they appeared progressively more ancient. Certainly they grew larger. One of them she could have stood in.

Rounding a bend in the path between stacks of chests, Dantress came face to face with a bat hanging from one of the trunks. She screamed. The small creature opened its eyes and snapped at her with its fangs. It fluttered its leathern wings, dropped from its resting place, and flew off.

She slowed her breathing and nervously laughed. Miverē emerged from behind her neck. He cleared his throat and shivered his wings.

"Fairest daughter of the dragon, do not do that again."

Patting her hammering chest, Dantress breathed deeply and exhaled. "Have you had enough for today? Should we go back? Dinner will be ready—"

"But we have only begun," he said. "What about the sublevels?"

"Do you think there really are sublevels?" She didn't expect a definitive answer. The fact that the dragon came down here from time to time had to mean something of interest brought him. But what could it be; the old chests? Or, maybe what was inside them?

Miverē hadn't answered her question. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him scanning the dust and rust-covered chests with his eyes.

"You know"—she stepped over a small metal box lying on the floor—"I overheard Elsie telling Helen and Gwen that there are deadly creatures hidden in the sublevels. She thought that was why Father forbade her to clean this place. The creatures, according to her, guard something; something they've been watching over for
hundreds
of years." She shook her head. "It sounded like fiction, but what if it is true?"

She stubbed her foot on a broken band of twisted steel that had escaped her notice. She kicked it aside. "You are too quiet, Miverē." Then she lowered her voice and glanced about. "Everything is quiet."