Temple of the Dragonslayer (32 page)

And then Nearra remembered the feeling she’d had in the temple’s dining hall … how the image of Elethia in the mosaic had seemed almost real, as if she could reach out and—

Nearra turned and ran back inside the temple. She flew down the corridors until she reached the dining hall. There, in the
mosaic, was the image of Elethia, aiming the white arrow at the great red dragon called Kiernan the Crimson.

Nearra hurried over to the mosaic and reached out with trembling fingers. But when she touched the mosaic, all she felt were smooth stones.

“Please,” she said.

This time her fingers closed around a shaft of wood, and when she withdrew her hand, she was holding the true arrow of Elethia.

She didn’t have time to feel wonder and awe at the miracle that had just taken place. Her friends needed her.

She ran out of the dining hall, through the corridors and out to the courtyard, stopping only when she reached the tail of the green dragon.

“Slean!” Nearra shouted.

The green dragon didn’t release her grip on Raedon’s throat, but she turned her good eye to look at Nearra.

“Elethia sends her blessings!” And then Nearra raised the arrow and plunged it down point-first into Slean’s tail. There was a burst of white light as the holy weapon released its power.

Slean’s death scream was so loud it seemed to shatter the world.

S
indri hurried through the temple courtyard. He was following a very interesting butterfly. It was twice as large as an ordinary one, and the colors on its wings seemed to change with every flap. He wanted to get close enough to the insect to see if the colors really were changing, or if it was just a trick of the sunlight.

The kender was grateful for the distraction. It had been several weeks since they’d defeated Slean, and all they’d done was remain here while the injured finished healing and the clerics researched a way to help Nearra regain her memories. The healing had been completed a while ago, but despite all their efforts, the clerics still didn’t know what was wrong with Nearra or how to fix it.

The iridescent butterfly fluttered up to a tree seedling and landed on a thin, delicate branch. The courtyard had been transformed since the battle with Slean. Once nothing but barren earth, the yard was now covered with lush green grass, blooming daisies, and white birch seedlings.

The new growth had begun precisely at the spot where Gunna had cast her spell of entanglement. The remnants of the tendrils had taken root and sprouted, spreading throughout the courtyard at a fantastic rate. A true miracle, indeed, Sindri thought.

This butterfly was something of a miracle as well. Sindri approached it slowly, not wishing to startle it into flying away. Kender can move with almost supernatural stealth when they wish. Sindri was able to walk up to the seedling and sit down on the grass next to it without making a sound. The colorful butterfly remained on the branch where it had landed, undisturbed.

Grinning with delight, Sindri leaned as closely as he dared and watched as the butterfly’s wings transformed. Red turned to orange; green changed to purple, swirling and merging like the colors of a kaleidoscope. The effect was so beautiful it was almost hypnotic.

As Sindri sat mesmerized by the butterfly’s light show, his hands moved of their own accord through the grass. His nimble fingers grabbed whatever they might find: an odd-colored stone, a prickly weed. Then Sindri’s fingers brushed against something dry and crinkly. He snatched up the object and lifted it to his face.

“What’s this?”

He sniffed the rolled yellow parchment. Not only did it look old, it smelled old, too. It took Sindri mere seconds to untie the black ribbon binding the parchment and unroll it. The document was covered in writing, though Sindri didn’t recognize the language. Still, he knew it had to be important, or else why would he have conjured it? He jumped to his feet and ran toward the temple. He had to show this to the clerics!

Had he thought to look back at the butterfly, he would have witnessed an even more amazing sight.

The butterfly shimmered once more and then vanished without a trace.

“This is intriguing,” Feandan said. “The scroll tells of a village called Arngrim on the eastern slope of the Vingaard Mountains. According to this, the village is home to a group of powerful wizards.”

The companions and the four clerics stood in the dining hall, the scroll spread out upon a tabletop before them, the image of Elethia looking on from the mosaic on the wall.

Feandan continued. “The scroll goes on to say that these wizards specialize in countering the effects of magic, especially evil magic.” The cleric looked up at Nearra. “This could be exactly what you’re looking for.”

Davyn tried not to frown. It seemed there was no escaping Maddoc’s manipulations.

He had tried several times over the last few weeks to tell the others the truth about who he was and his relationship to Maddoc. But each time, his courage had failed him. He was afraid his friends—the only ones he’d truly ever had—would come to hate him if they knew the truth.

Now, somehow, Sindri had managed to “conjure” a scroll identical to the one Davyn had burned—no doubt left somewhere by Maddoc for the kender to stumble across. But there was no way Davyn could tell this to his friends.

“That scroll looks ancient,” Davyn said. “Even if Arngrim was ever more than a legend, I doubt it’s still there. It was probably destroyed in the Cataclysm.”

“The temple survived the Cataclysm,” Catriona said. “Perhaps Arngrim did, too.”

“If there’s even a chance that there are wizards in Arngrim who can help me, it’s worth traveling there,” Nearra said. “At least, it’s worth it to me.”

“There’s no way of knowing how dangerous the journey may be, but so far we’ve managed to hold our own. I think it’s a risk worth taking,” Catriona said.

“Me, too,” said Sindri. Elidor nodded.

They all looked at Davyn, and he knew there was no way he would be able to dissuade the others without revealing the truth to them.

He forced a smile. “Arngrim it is, then.”

“Are you certain you won’t come with us?” Catriona asked.

“It won’t be the same without you,” Nearra said.

The companions and the four clerics stood in the temple courtyard. It was a bright, sunny morning with few clouds in the sky. Though it was late summer, there was a crisp scent in the air that hinted at autumn’s approach.

“I am certain,” Jax said. His voice wasn’t quite as deep as it had been before he’d inhaled Slean’s chlorine gas. Jax had nearly died, and though Nysse had managed to heal him, he had been left with a higher-pitched, raspy voice. But otherwise, he was as strong and healthy as ever.

“Without the protection of the mystic barrier, the temple needs a guardian,” Jax said. “I used to make my living guarding trading caravans. It will be satisfying to guard something more important than a merchant’s wares for a change.”

Despite the minotaur’s gruff manner, Davyn had grown fond of the man-bull, and he would miss him. Davyn knew there was more to Jax’s decision than he’d said. The minotaur’s people lived by a strict code of honor. Jax believed he owed a debt to Nysse for saving his life, and he was determined to repay it. Davyn also thought that remaining to guard the temple was a way Jax could honor the memory of his cleric ancestors. Perhaps the minotaur would even become a cleric himself one day.

“No matter how long it will be until we meet again, remember that you will always be my friends.” Jax’s eyes twinkled and he almost smiled. “Even the kender.”

Sindri grinned, but his own eyes were moist with tears.

Catriona turned to the clerics. “Will you continue to try to restore the mystic barrier?”

“We have given the matter much thought,” Feandan said, “and we have decided not to attempt to recreate it. It is possible the barrier was meant to come down. It protected the temple during the centuries it was abandoned. Now the four of us have
arrived here, and we want to make it a center of healing and wisdom once more. Such a place should not be separated from the rest of the world by a barrier of any sort.”

“You do not have to leave just yet, you know,” Gunna said. The elderly cleric had softened toward the companions during their stay, almost becoming a surrogate grandmother to them. “The passage into the Vingaard Mountains will be long and difficult. You shall need to be in full health to make such a hard journey.”

“We’re fine,” Nearra said. “Thanks to the care we received from the four of you, we couldn’t be more healthy.”

“And we need to enter the mountains while it’s still summer,” Catriona said. “Or else we risk the way to Arngrim being blocked by an early snowfall.”

Davyn had no idea if Arngrim was real or just another of his father’s lies.

Still, he was determined to keep a close eye out for Maddoc’s trickery. His father had failed to cause the Emergence this time, but Davyn now knew he would never give up.

Davyn glanced at Nearra. She had a streak of black in her blond hair, a sign of how close she’d come to undergoing the Emergence. The clerics had theorized that the change had somehow been caused by Nearra wielding the blessed arrow. After all, Elethia had possessed black hair. But Davyn knew better.

A shadow passed over the courtyard, and they all looked up in time to see Raedon come gliding in for a landing. The copper dragon’s flying skills were still a bit wobbly from the wound he’d sustained to his wing, but otherwise he was fully healed.

“I had a feeling you little ones were going to be leaving today. Where are you off to now?”

“A place called Arngrim, on the other side of the Vingaard Mountains,” Nearra said. She went on to tell Raedon about the wizards who were supposed to live there.

The dragon frowned. “Arngrim. It sounds familiar. But I can’t remember anything specific about it. That’s a long trip for folk
who can’t fly. I could give you a ride there one at a time. It would save you all a great deal of time and effort.”

“No offense,” Elidor said, “but I don’t quite trust that wing of yours yet.”

“It’s strong enough that I don’t have to hop everywhere I go anymore.” Raedon flexed the wing in question and winced. “Still, perhaps you’re right.”

The clerics had tried to heal Raedon’s wing after the battle. But they were injured themselves and they’d spent so much of their strength fighting Slean and healing the companions that they’d had only minimal success.

“If I can’t perform as your steed, then I’ll be a watchdog instead,” Raedon said. “I’ll try to fly by from time to time to see how you’re progressing on your journey. How does that sound?”

Nearra patted Raedon on the snout. “That sounds wonderful—thank you.”

“Whatever happens to us along the way,” Elidor said, “it cannot possibly be as bad as burying Slean. My lower back still aches when I think about it.”

It had taken all of them working together, along with help from Raedon, to dig a pit large enough to hold the body of the green dragon. They’d chosen to bury her in the temple courtyard out of sheer practicality; she was too big to move elsewhere. Her burial mound was the only place in the courtyard that wasn’t covered with new growth. The ground there remained barren and cracked.