King Of Souls (Book 2) (17 page)

Danielle gasped. “Why do you think that?”

“I saw a small red cluster of bumps raised on her shoulder.”

Danielle’s stomach sank. She knew how fast Dimrey’s Plague spread. If left untreated, the fever could kill every person inside Mara’s walls within a month. “Brees, roll up your sleeves. I need to see your forearms.”

“I don’t feel sick,” Brees said.

Danielle knelt before the shaman and held his hands. His skin felt warm and rough beneath her soft touch. She held his gaze, and her legs weakened beneath his stare. “Don’t be stubborn.” She curled back his sleeve to his elbow and turned his right arm over exposing the soft underside.

A scattered patchwork of red blotches streaked his arm ending near his wrist.

Danielle reeled and stifled her shock. “Brees, I think —”

The back door swung open, and a boy with close-cropped blond hair strode through slamming the door shut behind him. His blue eyes traveled up and down Danielle as if examining a drunken vagrant. “Who’s this?”

Brees stood, rolled down his sleeve, and faced his brother. “She’s from Misho Aren, I’m —”

“Where’s Catalin? I’m hungry.” Ignoring Brees, Aren moved to the stairway and glared upstairs as if his sister should read his mind. “Catalin! Bring me some figs and jerky! I don’t have all day!”

“Aren. Shut up!” Brees said.

Aren’s head snapped toward Brees. “How dare you speak to me like that.”

Aren stormed across the room until he stood before Brees glaring upward. “I could kill you where you stand.”

Under different circumstances, Danielle might have found the scene comical. She’d dealt with petulant children, and Aren showed all the signs.

“Go ahead. Let’s see how far you get.” Brees didn’t move appearing more bored than frightened.

Danielle hung her head and slid backward trying her best to disappear inside the crystal walls.

“What a waste.” Disgust touched Aren’s eyes as he stared at Brees, his face a mask of contempt and loathing. “Such potential thrown away on cowardice.” A sneering half-smile crossed his face.

“What do you want Aren?” Brees said.

Aren slipped into the bedside chair not sparing Keely a cursory glance. “I see you brought home another one of your projects.” His feet dangled from the chair, and he leaned backward.

“Never mind that. Why are you here?” Brees said.

“Can’t I come visit my family? Do you think I’ve no heart?”

Brees sighed. “I don’t think you understand the concept of family Aren.”

“Such noble sentiments.” Aren shook his head. “A bleeding heart just like father.”

“Why don’t you finish spouting your insults so you can get to the point,” Brees said. “I’ve got work to do.”

“The sultan has ordered you to the temple. He's gathering his forces for a raid.”

“Stealing diamonds from more farmers? I’ll pass,” Brees said.

“It’s nothing like that. These orders came straight from the emperor.”

Brees’s brow furrowed. “The emperor? Why would the emperor order Calag’s sultan on a raid?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Aren stood and glanced toward the empty stairs. “I’ll find my own dinner.” He flipped up his hood leaving his face shadowed and strode toward the door. Inside the entryway, he paused and faced Brees. “You have thirty minutes. If you fail to arrive, the sultan will issue a warrant for your arrest.”

Brees shook his head. “How will the sultan arrest me if I’m in the middle of the desert?”

Aren’s eyes softened by a fraction. “Just show up Brees. Don’t be a coward for once.” He opened the door and shut it behind him leaving silence in his wake.

Homeward Bound

Amid a dark gray sky, thick falling snowflakes blotted out the dragon’s fading shadows. They climbed a massive peak whose summit ended somewhere above the low-hanging clouds.

Ronan’s hands and feet turned numb as a knot of dread sat like a rock in his stomach. How had he lost Rika? The mighty king of Meranthia and keeper of Elan’s vaunted magic, shoved aside like a stumbling child.

Terrible thoughts entered his mind as he imagined what the dragons would do to her. He shuddered and pushed those thoughts aside. He’d come too far to let those feelings rule his actions ever again.

Winter wind howled through towering pine trees. The evergreens creaked and groaned in sharp protest.

Ronan stood and trudged through waist deep snow until he reached the peak’s rocky base. He stared skyward through a blur of melting snow that streaked his transparent spirit shield.

A jagged wall of sheer black rock flecked with pockets of ice and snow stood daunting and impenetrable.

How in Elan’s name could he reach the peak’s summit? He couldn’t grow wings and fly. He didn’t know for sure if the dragons took her to this peak. They’d could’ve taken her anywhere, but what other choice did he have?

The slight wind blowing inland from the sea shifted. A swirling current blew drifting snow westward through the heavy pine forest. With the gust came a faint whiff of wood smoke.

Ronan jerked his head toward the scent and channeled spirit heightening his sense of smell. He inhaled, pulling in a deep lungful of cold mountain air and with it, the undeniable scent of campfire smoke. Standing here wouldn’t lead him anywhere. Ronan turned and trudged westward following the smoke trail.

An hour of traveling through hip deep snow and a towering pine forest found Ronan standing atop a steep downward slope.

A half-mile below, the slope gave way to a flat snowy plane. It stretched outward a quarter-mile before rising again on the valley’s far side. Sparse pine trees littered the bowl-like valley. Smoke curled from the chimney of a log cabin nestled near the valley’s heart. On the far slope, surrounding the cabin, a half-dozen smaller log buildings stood still and quiet. Well-worn paths connected the smattering of buildings providing more evidence of human presence.

Ronan enhanced his vision and studied the makeshift village.

Nothing moved anywhere among the scattered collection of log buildings. He reached for his sheba blade reassured at its presence and walked ahead, making his way down the slope.

Twenty minutes later, Ronan laid a leather gloved hand on the nearest building’s rear wall.

Smoke curled from the stone chimney of a larger lodge-sized cabin a dozen feet down the slope from Ronan. Nothing stirred, and nobody came outside to greet him.

Ronan cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hello!” His warm breath sent spiraling puffs of steam skyward while he waited for a response.

Blowing wind and winter’s vacant silence returned his greeting.

Ronan followed the path to the lodge two-dozen paces ahead. He paused at the bottom of a short three-step rise ending in a snow-covered porch. Sparing a quick glance over his shoulder, he climbed the stairs and knocked on the front door.

A silent minute ticked by, and Ronan reached for the wooden door handle. He jumped backward when the door groaned and cracked open an inch.

Ronan’s hand curled around his blade’s hilt and he froze.

A woman who’d seen at least eighty-five seasons stood huddled in the door frame. An avalanche of rich furs and heavy quilts adorned her shoulders. “I’m glad you’ve finally arrived.” Her voice, like the rusty hinges, creaked, and she opened the door wide. “Now please come inside before you freeze to death.”

Ronan stood gaping at the ancient stooped woman.

Deep lines crisscrossed a face kissed by decades spent under the sun. Her wisps of thin white hair shimmered like a cotton field when a gust of wind picked up blowing into her face. “I’m afraid I don’t care for the cold. Please, come in and warm yourself.”

Speechless, Ronan nodded and stepped through the open door.

A great fire crackled inside a massive stone hearth built into the lodge’s far wall. A long handled cooking pot hung from an iron lug pole where yellow flames danced inches beneath it. Steam curled from the pot sending the rich aroma of beef stew drifting through the cozy room.

Ronan’s stomach groaned when the stew’s delicious aroma hit his nostrils. Sharp hunger pangs gnawed at his empty belly. As he entered the room, he nodded to the old woman. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

The old woman eased the door shut with a loud click. “I put on the pot as soon as I saw you come through the woods.”

Ronan couldn’t imagine how the woman had seen him, but he thought it impolite to ask. “I’d certainly be willing to pay you for the trouble Mrs…” He waited for the woman to offer her name.

The old woman laughed with a sweet melodic tone. She sounded more like a twenty-year-old than a woman four times Ronan’s senior. “You may call me Moira if you please, and I’ve no use for coin out here young man. No, there’s no need to pay me, but thank you all the same.”

“I’m Ronan Latimer. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” He removed his hat and bowed.

Moira smiled and returned his bow with a slight nod. “Such a polite young man. Please find a seat by the fire and rest. Trudging through that heavy snow must have left you exhausted.”

Ronan felt no more tired than when he and Rika had awakened earlier that morning. But, he wouldn’t argue with a woman providing such generous hospitality. He crossed the room to one of two large pine-framed sofas stacked with thick layers of bear, wolf, and deer hide. He sat and perched his rear end on the sofa’s edge while he waited for Moira to join him.

“The stew will take a few minutes longer. I hope you’re hungry because I couldn’t possibly eat that much food alone.” She eased backward into the cushioned sofa facing Ronan and dropped the final few inches. Her shoulders eased, and she leaned back, relaxing into the tapestry of furs. “That’s much better. Now, why don’t you tell me how you ended up in our little hamlet.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’d be happy to tell you the whole story, but might you provide some directions for me first? It’s rather urgent.”

“Oh?”

“You see, I’ve lost my friend.” Ronan’s gaze drifted toward a black bear hide lining the wooden floorboards.

“Where did you lose him?” Moira said. “If he’s lost in the woods, I can fetch John, and he can help you search.”

“I wish it were that easy,” Ronan said. “I’m not sure how to say this next part without coming off as mad, but it has to do with the dragons roaming these mountains.”

Moira stared at Ronan as if in expectation, and she furrowed her wrinkled brow. “Yes, what about them?”

A wave of relief washed through Ronan’s body. “They’ve taken my friend.”

Moira glared at Ronan as anger flashed in her eyes. “Ronan, if you’re going to dabble in fiction, you can find another house to keep you warm.”

Heat spread through Ronan’s cheeks and neck. “I’m sorry Moira, but I wouldn’t lie.”

She stared into Ronan’s eyes as if appraising him for a full thirty seconds before she spoke. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“Why? They weren’t too happy with Rika and me earlier today.”

“This Rika, is she your friend?”

“Yes, ma’am. She is.”

“Ronan, the dragons have protected our village for many decades,” Moira said. “They could carry any one of us away at a moment’s notice, but they don’t.”

Ronan leaned back into the sofa’s plush furs and surveyed the frail old woman. “Moira, how did you end up here?”

“How did any of us end up here?” Moira smiled. “The dragons of course. They rescued us.”

Ronan couldn’t decide if senility had eaten away at her mind. He turned a skeptical look on Moira. “Rescued you?”

“I was a little girl when they found me.”

“Where did they find you?”

“We’re all from Porthleven Ronan. Every survivor in this village.”

A cold chill swept along Ronan’s spine as he recalled Master Montgomery’s story. “You were an offering?”

Moira nodded. “So, when you tell me the dragons whisked away your lady friend, I have a hard time believing it.”

Ronan shook his head. “I’m not sure what to tell you. I saw what I saw. Do you know where they could’ve taken her?”

“I’ve no doubt they took her to Dragon’s Peak.”

Hope swelled in Ronan’s chest, and he leaned forward. “How do I get there Moira? Please, if you know, tell me. I can’t lose Rika.”

“How do I know you won’t hurt them?”

Ronan stared at Moira as if she’d grown wings and took flight. “Me hurt them? They seemed to have no problem protecting themselves.” Ronan shifted in his seat. “But, as long as Rika’s unharmed, you’ve my word. I promise not to hurt them.”

“It’s a long hard journey Ronan. Are you sure, you —”

“Yes.” He gave a short, hard nod. “I’m sorry to interrupt you Moira. I’m just eager to find her.”

Moira’s ancient blue eyes held Ronan’s as if assessing him. “You love here then?”

Ronan nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Very much.”

“We can’t leave tonight,” she said. “It’s too dangerous.”

Ronan’s jaw fell open. “We? Moira, you aren’t taking me up the mountain. I don’t expect you to do that. I can manage. Just point me in the right direction.”