Masters & Slayers

  As his feet touched bottom, a thin stream of thoughts trickled through his mind. Hold your breath. Father can’t swim. Don’t try, Father. Don’t try. Cold. So cold.

  A veil of blackness flooded his mind. Holding his breath no longer mattered. His chest seemed frozen, unable to draw in anything. Was he still underwater? Yes. So wet. So cold. How long had he been here?

  A sharp pain in his neck sent a jolt from head to toe. A sudden upward pull seized his body, followed by a splash and a blaze of light.

  He opened his eyes. The blistering wind snapped his mind awake. He was flying! Below, his father lay on his back in the snow, shivering, and the extane tank sat beside him, blowing its flame just over his body.

  Adrian looked up. A huge white creature carried him, too big and close to see clearly. A pair of clawed forelegs curled under its chest, but its head stayed out of sight. Wings whipped the air, and, flying in a slow circle, Adrian descended toward his father. His feet touched the ground gently, allowing him to stand. Seconds later, a white dragon landed in front of him.

  Adrian pushed his stiff legs and staggered toward his father. After getting what appeared to be a safe distance from the dragon, he stopped and called out, “What … what do you want from us?”

  “Get close to the fire,” the dragon said. “I will gather wood for you.”

  “Are you …” Adrian could barely push words through his frozen lips. “Are you the dragon who wanted the extane gas?”

  “I am not.” The dragon waved a wing toward the tank. “Warm yourself, or you will soon perish.”

  Adrian set his hands on his father’s soaked and shivering chest, allowing the jet of flames to warm his fingers. His teeth chattered so hard he could barely speak. “You … you rescued … him?”

  “I did. Although he was valiantly trying to save you, he would never have survived. And when I tried to snatch him from the river, he fought me. That is why you had to wait so long for your deliverance.”

  “Th … Thank you!”

  As the dragon nodded, his blue eyes shone. He lifted effortlessly into the air and flew over the forest.

  “Father!” Adrian called. “Can you hear me?”

  With his eyes tightly shut, he sputtered, “You’re … you’re alive!”

  “Shhh.” Adrian brushed ice crystals from his father’s brow and began stripping off his shirt. “We’ll be warm soon.”

  From the corner of his eye, movement caught his attention. He looked toward the castle. A dragon flew from between the center columns and lifted high into the air. As Adrian’s body shook, his vision shook with it. Could that dragon be Arxad? Someone rode on its back. Was it a woman? In the blur, it seemed that long hair streamed behind the rider, but nothing was clear. After a few seconds, the dragon and its rider faded in the distance.

  As soon as Adrian managed to get his father’s arms out of his sleeves, the white dragon returned, clutching a bundle of sticks in each of four claws. He deposited them next to Adrian and landed several paces away. “You must work quickly,” the dragon said. “Your father’s light is dimming.”

  Adrian rose on his aching legs and picked up a handful of sticks. As he set them in the gas flame, he looked at the dragon. “Can’t … you use … your fire breathing?”

  “I do not breathe fire.”

  The dry sticks caught the flame. Adrian staggered to the pile of wood and set the ignited sticks underneath. Slowly, the flame crawled from one twig to the next. Adrian held the kindling sticks in place until the pile began to crackle greedily. Then, he shut off the gas and dragged his father closer to the growing blaze.

  With his chest bare and his shirt and arms dragging underneath, his father felt like a corpse, except for his constant shaking. Once Adrian laid his father as close to the fire as he dared, he stripped off his own shirt and lay with him chest to chest. Ice crystals in his father’s nest of gray hairs popped and melted, wetting their contact point, and the aging man’s body continued to shake violently.

  Adrian pushed his arms around his father, pressed close, and breathed heavily, trying not to cry. Father couldn’t die. He just couldn’t.

  Cassabrie’s voice entered his mind. “You are a noble son, Adrian. I will see what I can do to add to your love.”

  The patch on his skin throbbed, again spreading heat across his chest. Adrian cringed. The stinging pain bit hard, but it didn’t matter. Cassabrie’s warmth helped.

  The fire began to roar. Warmth radiated across their bodies, a glorious sensation that dried their clothes and drew sweat from their pores.

  After a minute or so, Adrian rose to his knees and grabbed a pair of sticks that had not yet caught fire. He plunged their ends into the ground and hung his and his father’s shirts on them to dry.

  Again Cassabrie spoke. “It is time to speak to the king, is it not?”

  “The king?” Adrian sat down and looked at the dragon. He had backed away several more paces from the fire but still sat close enough to listen.

  “Yes. He is Lord of the castle and King of the Northlands. When I called to him, he rescued you.”

  Adrian glanced at the castle. “How could he hear you from that far away? And how could he get here so quickly?”

  “The king watches. He knows. He waits for our call, a shout from the heart, a cry from the bosom. The appeal ignites his fire.”

  “But he said he has no fire.”

  “Not so, Adrian. He said he doesn’t breathe fire. There is a difference.”

  He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Can I ask him questions?”

  “Whatever you wish, but I have learned that he doesn’t always answer in the way I expect.”

  “What is his name?”

  “He reveals his name only to those he chooses, but you may call him ‘my king’ or ‘gracious king’ or whatever suits you.”

  Adrian looked at his father. His body had stopped shaking, and color had returned to his cheeks. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

  Turning to the dragon, Adrian offered a polite nod. “O King, may I ask you something?”

  The king nodded in return. “You may.”

  “Do you know why we are here?”

  “I do.”

  The dragon’s head tilted, and his triangular ears rotated. He seemed to be asking his own silent question, something like, “Why wouldn’t you know that I know?”

  Staying seated, Adrian shifted his weight from side to side. He felt like a child asking questions of a scholarly professor. “So do you understand that I intend to rescue my people from your own kind, even if I have to engage them in battle?”

  “I know your mission better than you do, and what I consider my own kind likely differs from your interpretation of those words.”

  Adrian let the dragon’s reply percolate in his mind for a moment. It was obviously meant as a riddle of sorts, something he would have to figure out later. “Arxad told us to go to the castle, but I think I saw him flying away a little while ago.”

  “You did. Yet, I wonder how you learned his name. He did not want you to know it.”

  Adrian looked down at the melting snow. The dragon didn’t really ask how Arxad’s name was revealed. Maybe he wasn’t expecting an answer. “So,” Adrian said, drawing a line in the slush with his finger, “what are we supposed to do now?”

  “Ah! An excellent question, but one that is best answered after you learn more about this land.”

  Adrian waited for the king to continue, but he just stared with his flashing blue eyes.

  “Well,” Adrian prompted, “what do we need to learn?”

  “I will tell you only the essentials now, and you will learn much on your own later, for experience is a far better teacher than words alone.” The king looked in the direction Arxad had flown. “The souls you wish to rescue live to the south. I cannot leave my realm at this time, and Arxad will not return for a few days, so you have no air transport. Therefore, you will have to devise your own method of getting there.” He let
out a merry chuckle. “I advise, however, that you refrain from riding on gas tanks, though I am gratified that the incident brought about our meeting.”

  New warmth flowed in Adrian’s cheeks. This mission to find the Lost Ones was proving more embarrassing than exhilarating. “My father is still unconscious. Do you know if he will be able to make the journey?”

  The dragon extended his neck, bringing his head closer to Edison, but still several feet away. “He is feverish. I have servants who will nurse him back to health, but it will likely take more than a day or two.”

  “But Marcelle is already gone. I need to—” Adrian bit his tongue. Did this dragon already know about her?

  “You need to help your friend right away,” the dragon said. “I agree. If you set out immediately and leave your father with us, she and the Lost Ones will benefit greatly.”

  “You know we call them the Lost Ones?”

  The dragon’s white scales seemed to brighten, as if his emotions shone through them. “Your passionate thoughts are particularly loud, human from another world.”

  Cassabrie giggled.

  Again Adrian’s cheeks flushed hot. Having an indwelling girl and a huge white dragon reading his mind was more than uncomfortable. He had to shake it off and concentrate on the task at hand. “How will I find my way?”

  “Cassabrie will guide you. She has not been in the Southlands for a long time, so she is eagerly anticipating the journey. Is that not true, Cassabrie?”

  She spoke into Adrian’s mind. “It is true, O King. Although it is a pleasure to serve you, I long to see my people again.”

  As the dragon nodded, Adrian focused on the source of Cassabrie’s voice. Since it seemed to come from inside his brain, how could the dragon hear what she said?

  “And Cassabrie,” the king prompted.

  “Yes?”

  “Remember the reason I have commissioned you as Adrian’s guide. It will be difficult and heartrending, but you are the only one who is capable. No matter what happens, you must never forget your purpose.”

  “I understand.” Her voice seemed quieter, more somber. “I will obey.”

  “Now, Adrian,” the dragon continued, “I will take you to my home. My servants will feed you and your father, and they will provide you with all you need.”

  Adrian raised his eyebrows. “Will we ride on your back?”

  “Do you have other means?”

  “No, but I was wondering about something. If there really is no way to reach the castle without air transport, then why did you not send Arxad to come and get us?”

  The dragon drew his head closer and gave Adrian a piercing stare. “Why do you think?”

  As Adrian looked into the dragon’s eyes, odd questions bubbled in his thoughts. Did the crazy river-crossing scheme come to his father’s mind for a reason, an idea devised by the king to bring about this meeting? Was Cassabrie’s ability to enter a person’s body similar to this thought infusion? Maybe that was the way things worked in this world—influences and voices could meld into the minds of willing listeners.

  Not only that, a new realization merged with his questions. For years, dragons were the demonic enemy, the evil captors of innocent humans, slave drivers who needed to submit or die, and now the first dragon he had ever met seemed to be kind and trustworthy, a far cry from the dark visage the legends had painted.

  “I think,” Adrian said slowly, “that I have a lot to learn.”

  “You are a wise young man indeed.” The dragon waved toward his back with a wing. “Please climb on, and I will carry your father underneath. Since he is unconscious, he will not be uncomfortable.”

  Adrian rose again. This time, his legs felt more limber. After putting shirts back on himself and his father, and warming his hands again near the dwindling fire, he scaled the king’s ivory body. Delicate streaks of red ran across his scales, like a network of thin blood vessels, invisible until examined at close range.

  Once on the dragon’s back, Adrian looked around for something to hold, but the scales lining the backbone pressed so close together, the gaps between them were too small. He would just have to lean against the dragon’s body and ride out the bumps, but after the tank ordeal, his confidence in his balancing abilities had sunk pretty far. Still, excitement surged. After all the stories about dragons, actually riding on one was like a dream come true.

  Of course, the legends said that dragons had spines along their backs as well as fiery breath, so the fact that this dragon had neither came as a surprise. Yet, that didn’t matter. The talebearers of today had no way of knowing the truth, and battling the dragons that enslaved the Lost Ones would be easier this way. No fire-breathing meant no incineration. Who could complain about that?

  As they rose into the air, Adrian watched the fire, now shrinking in the distance. With an alabaster wing beating at each side, and snow and ice blanketing every inch of ground, the scene looked like a white canvas with a spattering of paint here and there. Splotches of blue appeared along a serpentine line where the river’s ice had broken, and the tops of green trees protruded in forest pockets. What a beautiful sight to behold!

  He leaned over, trying to see his father, but with nothing to grasp, he quickly straightened, again locking his palms against the scales. He would just have to trust the dragon, a concept that seemed improbable only minutes ago—a dragon with integrity and nobility.

  Cold wind tore through his clothes, raising a chill and a bitter bite. As if on cue, Cassabrie spoke into his mind. “Would you like some heat?”

  “If it causes you no pain or discomfort.”

  “On the contrary, providing warmth for you is a pleasure.”

  Starting with a mild sting at the center of the skin patch, heat spread across his chest again. Ahhh! It felt so good, like a steaming bath after hauling firewood on a winter’s day. Yet, there was more. There was Cassabrie. Her presence. With every pulse of warmth, it seemed that she breathed with him, as if his body fed her sustenance, and her emotions bled into his. Her love flowed with her warmth. She infused his being with her passion for life, as if her loss of a body no longer mattered. Her spirit now had a place to reside, and all her longings—walking, dancing, and basking in sunshine—could be realized in the muscles, bones, and skin of another. Maybe that’s what she meant by pleasure.

  “Cassabrie?” he whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “What would you like to do? I mean, what would you like to do through me?”

  For a moment, she stayed silent. Then, as the warmth pulsed ever hotter, her voice returned, broken by emotion. “Can we … can we spread our arms and feel the glory of the wind?”

  Adrian looked at his hands, still pressed on the scales. As he lifted them and stretched out his arms, heat radiated to the tips of his fingers, and with it, pleasure—pure joy, exhilaration. Cassabrie was flying.

  He closed his eyes. Tears flowed. He laughed out loud, not his own laugh but rather hers. Soon, his own joy blended in. He and this lovely girl flew together, she on the back of her beloved king and he on a newly found trust. Both had discovered the joy of fusion—hearts and minds once separated, now acting as one. And the ecstasy could be expressed in only this way—tears, laughter, and outstretched arms.

  TEN

  MARCELLE looked down at the scene below, interrupted every few seconds by the dragon’s slowly beating wings. Mile after mile of landscape flew by. The blanket of snow thinned and vanished, replaced by an artist’s masterpiece—high ridges of green trees and amber stone spilling blue waters into valleys of emerald grass, sprinkled with flowers of gold, crimson, and sapphire. Breathtaking!

  The air lost its biting cold, allowing her to enjoy every moment. What change the last hour had brought! She had leaped from her familiar world and landed in a realm of strangeness. She had come with two swords, ready to skewer dragons, and now she rode atop one of her targets. She expected to find humans much like herself, but instead met a shining vapor of a girl. Such odditi
es belonged in dreams, not in waking reality.

  An hour passed, then two. The sun hovered low, casting the sky in dimness. Had evening arrived, or had they simply passed into lower latitudes where darkness had already begun falling? Arxad flew on, never changing direction. Below, the vibrant colors faded, leaving only hints of the spectrum in stony outcroppings and thin forests.

  Near the southern horizon at a somewhat higher elevation, a wall snaked from one side of her view to the other, too far away to tell how high it rose, especially in the waning light, but it had to be massive to be seen from such a distance. Beyond that, a river ran from somewhere out of sight down to the wall, but there was no sign of it exiting on the near side.

  “Hold on,” Arxad said. “Secrecy demands that we descend quickly. You will feel a sudden loss of weight, and the lower air levels will become increasingly warmer.”

  Marcelle wrapped both arms around the spine. During the flight, she had gained the courage to ride without hanging on at all, but now it was time for a different kind of courage. The real adventure was about to begin.

  As Arxad folded in his wings, he tipped forward and dropped. Marcelle’s bottom lifted from his back. She squeezed his body with her legs and swallowed as her stomach rose toward her esophagus. The warm air buffeted her face, whipping her hair and clothes. The bag with the video tube thumped against her back, and the swords flared out like a pair of wings, making her belt ride up her waist.

  She reached back and held the bag in place. The tube had to survive, at least until she had a chance to view it.

  As the ground zoomed toward her, Marcelle blinked away tears. The wind’s friction stung terribly, but at this rate, the ride would be over in seconds.

  Finally, Arxad fanned out his wings. They caught the air and billowed. Marcelle slammed against his back, making her grunt, and the swords clanked against his scales.

  When he hit the ground, a series of thumps shook her body. Finally, Arxad slowed to a halt near a copse of gnarled trees and rested on his belly. “Dismount quickly on my left side.” His voice was low, though not quite a whisper.