“Fifteen when the cave bear took her, only days from her birthday, a most frustrating circumstance.”
“Oh, yes … I think I heard about the upcoming birthday. So tragic.”
“Get on with it, Drexel. You are testing my patience.”
Drexel stroked his chin. “I apologize. I am simply contemplating the idea that Elyssa was spirited away just before you were able to legally take her by force.”
“I am a man of the law. Everyone knows that. I would never violate one law in order to enforce another.”
Drexel glanced at Prescott’s dead body. “Yes, I know. I learned from you the art of delegating the more, shall we say, unsavory jobs.”
“I did not agree to our little charade with Prescott in order to be strung along for time interminable.”
“Is not becoming governor enough of a reward for your participation?”
Orion’s voice deepened to a growl. “It will be enough when the Diviner burns at the stake, and I will see to it that you are included in the kindling if you continue to exasperate me.”
“I will trouble you no more, Excellency. My delay was caused by this revelation about Elyssa. Now I know why Prescott hid her in the dungeon’s lower level.”
Orion’s brow arched. “The witch is in the dungeon? At this moment? Prescott had her taken there?”
“Yes. I thought she was imprisoned for snooping in his affairs and Prescott made up the bear story to prevent sympathizers from seeking her release. But now it seems clear that he determined to hide her from you.”
Even in the dim light, the redness in Orion’s face shone clearly. “Well, his charade has ended in an appropriate manner. Do you have the keys?”
“I had them, but I gave them to Jason, Prescott’s bodyguard.”
A vein near Orion’s temple throbbed. “You did what?”
“Shhh!” Drexel looked at Prescott’s wife. She groaned once, turned to her side, and snored on. Leaning closer to Orion, he lowered his voice further. “Jason will let her out. Your first order as governor will be to assemble a search party, an army if need be, to track her down. When you catch her, she is yours. Then I will need command of your search party in order to conduct business of my own. Her temporary freedom is essential to my purposes.”
Orion shook a finger near Drexel’s nose. “If this plan fails, and the little witch escapes, I will personally hang you from the gallows by your wrists, slice you open from sternum to navel, and stuff a nest of hornets into your open belly.”
Drexel kept his eyes focused on Orion, resisting the urge to hold a hand over his queasy stomach. “You told me yourself you wanted the governorship, and I have delivered it to you.”
“I wanted the office only to have free reign to investigate witchcraft. Again, if this fails—”
“It will not fail if you follow my plan to the letter. If the litmus finger doesn’t lead Jason to Blackstone’s portal, then the Diviner will. You will follow their trail and wait. Of course, since they lack the genetic material, they will not be able to open the portal. The Diviner will be yours to feed the pyre, and Jason will be hanged for the governor’s murder. Carrying out both executions simultaneously would create quite a spectacle, would it not?”
“Yes … it would.” Orion stared in silence for a moment, giving Drexel an opportunity to touch the journal inside his tunic. Once Jason and Elyssa found the portal for him and were then taken out of the way, he would be free to use the genetic material he had collected to open the portal himself and enter Dracon. Then he would return with the Lost Ones, and his fame would spread beyond Mesolantrum. He wouldn’t bother settling for the governor’s office. He could be king of the domain and reside in luxury in the capital city.
Finally, Orion spoke in a low monotone. “How will Jason escape the dungeon?”
“Since we will lock the front entrance behind him, we expect the Diviner to lead him through the maze and out the back gate, which is why we left it unlocked for the time being.”
“So you expect him to walk right into the forest with the witch at his side.”
“Yes, Your Excellency, Governor of Mesolantrum.” Drexel grinned. “You must enjoy the sound of it.”
“Your sycophancy is naked, Drexel. Just make sure the plan works. That alone will garner my favor.” Orion looked at Lady Moulraine again. “What are you going to do with Prescott’s body?”
“I will let his wife decide. When Bristol returns in mere moments on his normal patrol, he will discover the murder and awaken her.”
“And Prescott’s son?”
“Bristol will take care of everything. Randall will be coaxed into joining a hunt for Jason, his father’s presumed killer, and meet his own death in the process, which, of course, will also be blamed on Jason. Randall will never reach the age of ascendancy, and you will remain governor.”
Shaking his head, Orion sighed. “I am uncomfortable with all these deaths, Drexel. I just wanted one soul cast into hell, and now the toll is mounting. What if that madman’s portal is just a dream? Maybe he deserved to be put away in the lunacy ward.”
Drexel clasped Orion’s shoulder. “If I may be so bold, Governor, I ask you to look me in the eye. You are a shrewd judge of a person’s inner soul. I am risking everything, so I am either certain of the truth of these legends, or I am as mad as the one who concocted the wild stories.”
Orion stared at him for a moment before looking away. “You are not mad. You are simply evil. And I see that you truly believe this, whether it is true or not. Yet, with all that you have learned of these legends, it seems strange that Blackstone never revealed the portal’s location.”
“He was counting on his son’s memory, and failing that, the litmus finger is here to guide us.”
“Yet the litmus finger is not part of the original legend.” Orion stared toward the rear of the palace, as if looking beyond the wall. “What is your theory about the madman in the dungeon, the one who goes by the name Tibalt? He seems to know quite a lot about the legends. Wasn’t Tibalt the name of Blackstone’s son?”
Drexel laughed. “What crazy idea did he put in your head? That he knows where the portal is? He will say anything to get out of the dungeon.”
“Yet, he makes me wonder. He recites intriguing poetry that belies our madman theory.”
“Madman or no, I checked his birth records. He is not really Uriel’s son. The elder Blackstone named at least six of his disciples Tibalt, and they all swore by that name until the day they died.”
“Still, before I call up a search party, I would like to pay our Tibalt another visit. If he does know something, a bit of painful persuasion might convince him to provide some information.”
“If it pleases you, Governor.” Drexel gestured toward the door. “Now that we are in agreement, and I have your trust, shall we proceed?”
Orion sighed. “Trust is a fragile flower, Drexel. If I find that any part of this plan has gone awry, I will withdraw my support and go after the Diviner in my own way.”
EIGHT
MARCELLE grasped her tunic. Particles of sparkling light clung to her and then spread out, like ice melting and forming pools of radiance. The pools transformed her skin and clothes into transparent blotches, and each one tingled, not painful, but buzzing, like the numbed sensation of a sleeping limb. Soon, the blotches merged, and her entire body disappeared.
Yet, her eyesight stayed clear. Only three steps away, Cassabrie’s shining frame continued to spin slowly, and the collection tank, also covered with spreading blotches, remained in place, though the ground beneath it vanished, leaving a dark void.
Marcelle lifted her hand and set it in front of her eyes, but only the slightest glimmer appeared, an appendage with barely discernible fingers, each one just a two-dimensional outline drawn by strokes of light.
Soon, patches of skin grew on her hand, dirty and bloody, and sleeves covered her arm, still damp from rain and sweat. The tank rematerialized, as did the ground, but instead of mudd
y grass, a layer of white supported the metal cylinder from underneath.
Cold air filtered into Marcelle’s senses, much colder than the stormy wind she had left behind. She turned and looked for Cassabrie, but she had not yet reembodied. Something was there, an outline, much like her light-sketched hand and fingers, nothing more than a wisp, yet it resembled Cassabrie’s slender frame.
A few seconds later, Marcelle’s surroundings came into view—a forest populated by firs and spruces, though considerably less dense than the previous woods. As she lifted and lowered her feet to test her legs, a blanket of snow crunched underneath. Ah! That explained the cold. But where was Cassabrie? Even the outline had vanished.
It was daytime here, perhaps midmorning or late afternoon. No surprise, really. After all, this was a different planet. Who could tell how its rotation compared to Major Four? The residents here might have very short or very long days compared to those back home.
Shivering, she pulled her bag from her back, set it on the snow, and opened it. With no one around, now would be the perfect time to add an extra layer, but she would have to put the dry tunic underneath.
She stripped off her shirt, threw on the fresh one, and buttoned it from bottom to top while bouncing in place. It was cold, too cold to do the same with her spare trousers. This would have to do.
After putting on the damp shirt, she reattached her bag and surveyed the area in more detail. Crystalline stakes encircled her, driven into the ground like tent pegs. They glittered in the scant sunlight, cast by a reddish ball floating above the horizon, a sun much like Solarus. Was it rising or setting? Time would tell.
Perhaps an hour’s walk in the distance, a castle lay nestled in the recesses of a snowcapped mountain, apparently constructed from ivory-colored stone, except for three turrets on the third and highest level. From her vantage point, these appeared to be red, but the sun’s rays might have skewed her perception.
A shadow passed overhead, large and winged. She looked up. A dragon flew toward her, diving down with its wings beating furiously.
Marcelle whipped out her sword. The dragon shifted to one side and smacked it away with his tail as he passed by. The sword flew into a snowdrift, and the dragon landed just beyond the circle of crystalline pegs.
As soon as his wings settled, he glared at her, gray smoke pouring from his nostrils. “Who are you?” he asked in a throaty rumble.
Marcelle glanced at her sword, too far to make a run for it. She set her hands on her hips, letting a finger touch the scabbard that held Darien’s viper on the other side. “My name is Marcelle, and I am from Mesolantrum on Major Four.”
His scaly brow bent downward. “Did Cassabrie allow you passage?”
“No. I forced my way through. We had a deal—”
“Do you often barge into abodes uninvited?” He took a step closer and extended his neck, bringing his head within five paces. “Or is your rudeness today reserved for a special occasion?”
Marcelle grasped the viper’s hilt. “Come no closer, dragon, or—”
“Or what?” He took another step. “Has a great dragon slayer come to this land? Is the best Darksphere could send a dirty little woman who shivers like a frightened lamb?”
She glanced at her filthy clothes. “I am not just—”
“Are the men in your land all dead? Sick? Crippled? What plague or pestilence has brought about this devastation?” Two new lines of smoke burst from his nostrils. “Or are they all cowardly?”
She drew the dark blade and pointed it at the dragon. “Some are cowardly, to be sure, but those who are not, no matter what their gender, will do what it takes to secure freedom for all.”
The dragon let out a low chuckle. “I will give you credit for verbal confidence, but it will take more than mere words and that little blade to slay me.”
“I did not come here to slay you.” She set her hand on the collection tank. “I came here to make sure payment for this gas tank is made in full.”
“And I have come to ensure that what you delivered is what I purchased.”
“So you’re the dragon who arranged the gas deal.”
“I am.”
“And you sent Cassabrie to make the transaction?”
“I did.”
Marcelle looked him in the eye. Obviously this was Arxad, but was she supposed to know his name? If he wanted her to know, he likely would have introduced himself when she told him hers. Maybe it would be better to stay quiet about it. “Where is Cassabrie now?”
A toothy smile spread across Arxad’s maw. “Are you saying you cannot see the young maiden standing at your side?”
Marcelle tightened her grip on the hilt. The dragon’s smile might have been designed to make her feel at ease, but it sent a wave of chills across her body. Still, her fear subsided. If Arxad wanted to kill her, he would likely have done it by now. “We tell jokes in our world,” Marcelle said, “but they are usually accompanied by a wink or a nudge to the ribs.”
“After watching humans, we dragons adopted the wink, but I am not telling a joke. I assure you, Cassabrie is near you at this moment.”
“That’s nonsense. She is as tall as I am, has red hair, and is wearing a white dress and blue cloak, or at least the dress was white until—” She thrust the viper back to its sheath. “Oh, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Of course she’s not here.”
“Very well. Believe what you wish. I must be about my business.” He shuffled past her and stopped at the tank. As he studied it with his flashing red eyes, the end of his tail flicked back and forth, and his ears flattened.
Marcelle resisted shivering. The shed’s remains had dried her pretty well, but the biting cold still penetrated her inadequate tunics and trousers. She would need to find shelter soon, and a thousand questions demanded to be asked. What is this place? What are those crystalline pegs? Where are the slaves? But it would probably be better to wait for this dragon to finish what he had come to do.
Arxad’s head drifted back and forth in front of the valve—a three-foot-long pipe that extended from the tank’s end and curved at a ninety-degree angle before ending at a nozzle. A small wheel was attached to the pipe at the bending point. “I assume I should turn this wheel to release the gas.”
“Yes. Are you able to do that with your … uh … hands?”
“Hands is an adequate term for the clawed ends of my forelegs. We call them something else in our language.”
“Your language?”
“Of course. Are humans on Darksphere so arrogant that they believe all creatures speak only their language?”
“I just thought—”
“No, you did not think. That is your problem.” Arxad set his hands on the wheel and wrapped his claws around it. Grunting, he tried to turn it but to no avail. “It seems that my claws do not allow for a firm grip.”
“Here,” Marcelle said, reaching for the valve. “It was designed for human hands.”
While Arxad kept his head hovering close, Marcelle grabbed the wheel and pushed her body into the effort. The valve turned, and a slow hissing sound emanated at the nozzle. Arxad set his snout close and sniffed the escaping gas.
“Extane is odorless,” Marcelle said. “It is—”
“To humans, I suppose it is, as is pheterone.” Arxad shot a tiny jet of flames from his mouth. The extane ignited, sending an orange and green plume of fire rocketing from the tank.
“Stop!” Marcelle lunged and shut off the valve, snuffing the fire. “What are you trying to do? Kill us?”
“I assumed you could close the flow.” Arxad took in a long breath through his nose and exhaled. “It is definitely pheterone. The color of the flame, the distinctive flavor, and the invigorating effect prove it.”
“Good!” Marcelle slapped a palm on the tank. “We did our part. Now you do yours.”
“You mean allow your entry?”
“Exactly.”
Arxad gave her a quizzical look. “I find your demand rather od
d. You are already here.”
Marcelle crossed her arms over her chest. “Not just me. I hope to bring two others.”
“I see, but I fail to understand how they will help. Unless you can bring hundreds of warriors of larger stature, you are better off by yourself. In fact, your size and gender are beneficial for a stealthy operation.”
Marcelle fought back an emerging scowl. The dragon’s words were likely true, but his tone seemed condescending rather than helpful. “I left my compatriots in a dangerous situation. If they stay where they are, they will likely be captured or killed.”
He averted his eyes, as if studying the sky. “That is not my concern.”
“It should be. If they’re captured, we won’t be able to deliver any more gas.”
Arxad let out a long humming sound. “I see your point.”
“Then send Cassabrie back with me, and we’ll bring them here.”
His pointed ears flared and stood at attention, as if listening to a distant sound. His long neck carried his head slowly around until he looked directly at the castle. After a few seconds, he nodded and turned back to Marcelle. “I will send Cassabrie, but you must come with me.”
“With you? Why?”
Arxad stared at her for a moment, his red eyes dimming for a brief second. “Because you will soon freeze to death. Your lips are already turning blue, a poor sign for human health.”
Marcelle let herself shiver. Her teeth chattered as she replied. “How do you stay warm? I mean, you’re … well …”
“Naked?” Arxad laughed. “Human modesty is charming. You even hesitate to say naked. I have always enjoyed that about humans, yet I have not fully understood the inconsistencies you display. Young children sometimes run around naked without shame, while adults stay fully clothed in public, and in the breeding rooms they often show great shame when exposed to one another.”
Marcelle furrowed her brow. Breeding rooms? That would be another question to add to her list. For now, she had to press on. She really was about to freeze to death. “You didn’t answer my question about staying warm.”