Offspring (The Sword of the Dragon) (22 page)

Come what may, he was confident of the future—and he had reason to be. Ombre had taken charge of forming the military with a zeal equaled by none. Honer was organizing centers of learning and overseeing the building of a national archive to preserve the ancient scrolls and texts passed on from their forefathers. Besides this, Ganning oversaw the local governments and ensured that they executed justice with mercy.

In the past many people had been executed after controversial verdicts in cases of theft and bigotry. With his three friends aiding him, Ilfedo had strengthened the trust and loyalty of the people.

The fort’s sentries acknowledged him with salutes from the guard towers. He approached and commanded them to open the gate. Wood creaked and an out-of-sight latch was lifted. The oversized double doorway opened outward, and he slipped inside, pulling Oganna with him. As the gates closed behind him, the sounds from the noisy streets without were cut off. He relaxed his stance.

A fist pounded on the gates, and they reopened. “Thanks for shutting the door in my face!” Ombre shook his fist at the guards, and they cowered out of sight.

“Sorry, Ombre.” Ilfedo laughed as his friend dusted his clothes.

His friend shook his head and waved his hand, indicating the interior of the structure. “What do you think?”

“It’s very nice. The walls look sturdy, the parade grounds—” Ilfedo lifted his eyebrows as he realized how roomy the fort was. “More than adequate.”

To his left stood a long, low building with barred windows. The musty smell of hay affirmed his assumption. “The stables?”

“Yes.”

On the right was a two-story barracks. The command center rose directly ahead of him. Stilts elevated it about eight feet off the ground, and a narrow ramp zigzagged from the ground to the door.

A rather plump man—but not a very short one—walked out of the command center and saluted before descending the ramp to address Ilfedo. “Commander Veil, at your service, my Lord.”

“Commander Veil is living up to his reputation as one of our best officers.” Ombre stepped next to the broad man and grasped his shoulder. “There is hardly another man in our army whom I would trust as much to safeguard our interests.”

“You flatter me, my lord,” Commander Veil said with a bow in Ombre’s direction. The fine chain mail he wore glittered in the warm sunlight. “I simply follow the orders of my lords, trusting them to do what is best for our people.”

Ombre slapped the man congenially then directed his attention to Ilfedo. “Veil has been assisting me with a personal endeavor.”

He led Ilfedo to the stable, opening the wide doors to permit Yimshi’s light inside. Fifty stalls flanked a broad aisle down the center. At least half the stalls appeared occupied. Whinnies filled the air, mingled with a few snorts.

Ombre proceeded half-way down the aisle and opened the door. Ilfedo peered in. The dark interior made it necessary to wait for his eyes to adjust to the light. A white stallion pawed the straw floor, spraying silver flakes from its hoof. Its mane appeared equally silver, glittering even.

“You caught him?” Ilfedo had heard Ombre tell again and again of the stallion that had saved his life and the unusual mares that had followed the stallion the night the Art’en attacked Ombre in the northward forest.

Ombre stepped into the stall and stroked the animal’s neck. It flared its nostrils at Ilfedo but nuzzled Ombre. “I didn’t really catch him. You could say he caught me. A most unusual animal, wouldn’t you say?”

Ilfedo noticed Oganna take an eager step toward the horse. He held her back. “You were saying, Ombre, something about an endeavor?”

“Yes.” Ombre patted the stallion’s neck and backed into the aisle, closing the stall door. He strolled to the next stall and rested his hand on the half-door. A white horse poked its head through, and Ombre ran his fingers through its silvery mane.

“Two of the same?” Ilfedo reached out, expecting the wild animal to pull back.

“Actually,” Ombre said with a chuckle, “this is the same breed. Only difference is, she’s a mare. You remember the night these animals protected me from the Art’en?”

“It is impossible for me to forget. They were magnificent in the wild.”

Ombre stroked the mare’s muzzle. She snorted and turned away. “Veil and I searched out these creatures and brought them here. It wasn’t exactly easy, but they are strong and more intelligent than ordinary horses.”

He led the way out of the stable and dropped to one knee in front of Oganna. “How’s my favorite little lady?”

“Can I ride one of those horses, Uncle Ombre? Please.”

“That would be up to your father.”

A fly buzzed in Ilfedo’s face, and he swatted it away. “Are they tame?”

“The mares? No. But the stallion rides gentler than a Nuvitor in flight. I’m breeding them. The mares seem more free-spirited than the stallion, surprisingly.” He patted Oganna’s back. “She’d be safe with me.”

“You said you are breeding them?”

“Evenshadow stallions would make invaluable mounts for the army officers, Ilfedo. I’ve tested these animals, and their strength and stamina is superior to ordinary horses.”

Ilfedo nodded. He’d heard that Commander Veil had an affinity for horses. “So you and Veil are looking to train young stallions for battle.”

“Precisely!” Ombre stood and tousled Oganna’s blond hair. “What do you say I take her for a ride?”

At that moment Caritha entered the fort. As the great doors shut behind her, she strode toward Ilfedo. He kissed Oganna’s forehead and shooed her toward Ombre. “Have fun but be careful, my daughter. And, Ombre, take care of her.”

Then he turned to greet Caritha.

“The Elite Thousand are ready,” she said to him, while casting a subtle glance in Ombre’s direction. “My sisters and I have taught them everything they are capable of learning. It is time to begin instructing our new pupil.”

He steered her toward the gates. “First, I want to see what the Elite are capable of.”

Commander Veil joined them at Ilfedo’s request. They left the fort and the town, making their way through the forest to the encampment of the Elite. Veil entered ahead of them. His orders rang from one tent to the next. “Lord Ilfedo wishes to test the soldiers. Every man, fall into line!”

The lines hastily formed with a precision Veil could be proud of. The afternoon sun left few shadows, and the dirt crunched dryly under Ilfedo’s boots. He drew the sword of the dragon from his side. Every soldier gazed upon him, emotionless.

As the flames sprang from the blade, Ilfedo fondled the crystalline handle. It felt incredibly smooth, even soft. “One by one Commander Veil will call you forward,” he said. The armor solidified on his body, rippling light that challenged the day. “Those of you who are called will individually step forward and demonstrate to me that you are capable of not only wielding your weapon but that you know how to defend yourself from fire by using its power.”

Unrolling a scroll and holding it before his face, Commander Veil called out the first name. “Ezekiel Madon!”

A burly, short fellow stepped from the ranks and marched between them to face Ilfedo. He was garbed in nothing more than a long-sleeved black shirt, gray pants, and leather shoes. But he drew his blade from its sheath with great speed. Light flashed from his sword, and his body glowed a moment, decking him in white armor—a metallic breastplate and greaves and white-leather garments underneath. A white helm adorned his head. His sword never ceased to glow with white light.

Ilfedo took aim with his weapon and sent flames from its blade. The fire raged toward Ezekiel Madon but funneled into his blade, leaving him unburned.

Running forward, Ilfedo struck Ezekiel’s blade with his own. The Elite warrior struck back, held his own. For several long minutes Ilfedo beat on the man’s sword until, satisfied it would not break and the man could hold his own, he stepped back and bowed. “Return to your place in line, Ezekiel Madon. You have passed the final test.”

Striking his chest with the pommel of his sword, the man sheathed his weapon, the armor vanished, and he marched back into line.

“Benediah Hilthan!” Commander Veil called out.

And so the afternoon progressed. Every man merited Ilfedo’s sincerest respect. When evening came and Yimshi settled behind the hills, the Elite Thousand drew their swords, and the plain in which they stood radiated with beautiful light.

Ilfedo stood apart from them and exhaled slowly. “Magnificent.”

Oganna grinned at Uncle Ombre, and his eyes twinkled.

“Are you ready, little one?” He knelt in front of her, poked her stomach, and hopped to his feet again. “Someday I want to have a little girl just like you—”

“You do?”

His gaze wandered after Caritha as she walked alongside Ilfedo. “Unless your aunt softens toward me it will never happen.” He sighed.

“I like you, Uncle Ombre.”

“And I like you, little one.” He bobbed his head toward the stable. “Want to go riding?”

She jumped, and he caught her, swinging her legs over his strong shoulders. He glided into the stable, ducking once to keep her from hitting her head on the doorframe. The Evenshadow stallion whinnied and kicked the stall door.

“Anxious, aren’t you Midnight?”

“Is that his name?” she asked.

He chuckled as he opened the stall door and lifted her off his shoulders onto the magnificent creature. “Yes, my little princess. Midnight is his name.” Her legs barely held on to the animal’s shoulders.

Ombre patted the Evenshadow’s shoulder and stroked its neck before slipping the bridle over its ears. He swung up behind her, his knees gripping Midnight’s sides. The stallion’s body quivered, and its muscles rippled beneath them. Ombre held her firmly with one arm while managing the reins of their mount with the other.

He leaned forward. “Fill your hands with his mane, Oganna.” She grabbed handfuls of the long silvery hairs and tightened her fists.

Midnight lunged out the door, and she felt as if she’d left her breath in his stall as he raced through the courtyard.

“Open the gates!” Ombre called.

Four swordsmen put their bodies against the doors, forcing them open ever so slowly. Midnight screamed. He darted through the narrow opening between the gates. The people in the streets divided before them. At last they left civilization and raced through the fields. The rush of air cooled her face, startled birds flew past her head, and Yimshi’s rays turned the greenery into gold.

Midnight’s hooves beat methodically, pulling and driving him forward until he came to the forest’s edge. The horse did not slow its pace. Reaching the tree line, it slipped between the trunks and fled over the forest floor.

Ombre leaned over Oganna, and his body pressed her against the stallion’s neck until silvery hairs whipped around her head. He guided the stallion left, avoiding a large tree. A fallen tree lay across their path at eye-level, and she ducked her head until they passed beneath it. She raised her head.

The underbrush a dozen yards ahead of them appeared too thick to let them pass, but Ombre steered Midnight through at breakneck speed. She buried her nose in the flailing strands of mane—not harsh, but soft and comforting—and leaned forward.

Ombre wheeled the stallion around another tree and brought it to a halt. Golden beams streamed through the branches above, and vibrant green grass shivered in the meadow before them. Blue grass grew in small patches all about.

He kicked off the horse, then helped her to the soft ground. As her feet landed, they stirred pollen into the air. The fragrance of flowers filled her nostrils. She bent down, pulled a clump of blue grass by the roots, and ran her fingertips over the fuzzy blades. At night the blades would glow. She had seen it happen.

“Beautiful, is it not?”

She nodded and swatted a mosquito with her free hand.

“That stuff used to be a rarity. However, it seems to be spreading as time goes on.”

Placing the grass in the dirt, Oganna nodded vigorously. “Father told me that some people are purposefully transplanting it. He said they want it to spread because it is so pretty.”

“Like a beacon of hope after our clouded history.” He smiled and patted Midnight’s glistening coat. The stallion blew through its nostrils and galloped into the forest. “He’ll be back after he finds a cold stream.” Ombre gazed after his mount. Then he waved his hand toward the curious patch of plucked grass. “People want to spread this stuff for two reasons, not just for its visual appeal. They are anxious about the Art’en. They think that by spreading this around the floors of our forests they can illuminate the shadows of night, thus keeping those winged men from sneaking upon them.”