Alexander swallowed as the light within the crystal pulsed with greater speed, growing brighter with every beat. He felt his pulse accelerate and sensed the heightened awareness of his fellows. He could hear hearts racing, feel perspiration gathering, feel breathing quicken. They all stared fixedly at the stone.
“Here we go again,” Damien muttered. The most handsome of all the soldiers spoke lightly, in his usual manner, but Alexander noted how he licked his lips with trepidation. It was unlike Damien to show any emotion, so Alexander knew he was terrified.
“You just want to find more hearts to break,” Iggy said in a teasing tone. Tall, young and lanky, Iggy was often under-estimated in battle, but he was of a lean build with fierce power. Alexander always thought of Iggy as a finely honed steel blade. His manner was playful and he would even banter in battle, which also encouraged opponents to miscalculate his abilities.
“Not a lot of time to break hearts with this stone around,” Ashe said grimly, folding his arms across his chest. Ashe was stocky and practical, son of a blacksmith.
“That’s why it has to be Damien to do it,” Tyrone retorted. “The rest of us don’t have a chance.” Tyrone was youngest of them all, an orphan who had virtually raised himself. He wasn’t one for emotion or undue optimism—and virtually any optimism was undeserved in his thinking.
Teasing Damien about his succession of romantic conquests was a familiar ploy used by them all to defuse a tight situation. Alexander was certain that the joking of more than one of the men—particularly the younger ones—was tinged with both jealousy and respect. Damien was nearly legendary for his successes with women.
“We should challenge him to make a conquest wherever the stone takes us, without being left behind,” Iggy said.
Damien snorted. “No woman could be worth that risk.”
They were all trying to make light of their situation, but Alexander could smell their fear and uncertainty.
All twelve of them were present and accounted for. Alexander refused to think of them as survivors. The important thing was that the light was flickering more quickly. He doubted he was the only one afraid to breathe.
“We need a new name,” Alexander said, hoping to distract his companions from their situation and the fear it created in them.
“The Survivors,” Ty suggested.
“The Last Pyr Standing,” Iggy replied.
“Careful what ideas you put into the world,” Peter advised grimly. “There might only be one of us left at the end.”
They collectively stifled a shudder. “The Dragon Legion,” Alexander suggested and felt them consider it.
“A Roman legion had more than three thousand warriors,” Damien noted.
“We are older than the Roman legions,” Drake said tightly. “And we are the best of the best. The last of an elite corps, tested by the challenge of men and of magic.”
The men nodded, and Alexander liked how Drake’s assertion made them stand straighter.
“The Dragon Legion it shall be,” Drake said with authority.
The light flared brighter and pulsed more quickly, silencing them all.
Thaddeus swore softly under his breath, then began to pray. Thad was both the most likely to find a practical solution to a problem and the most likely to invoke divine assistance. Alexander wondered, not for the first time, whether the combination was responsible for his consistent success.
“Any chance we can control it?” Orion asked. Orion preferred to take action, and was inclined to be impulsive and outspoken. “Maybe direct ourselves back to the others?”
Drake shook his head. “Any key lies in understanding what the darkfire is doing.”
“And maybe why,” Alexander added.
“It’s a primal force,” Peter complained. “It has no logic or reason.”
“Then maybe we should toss it away,” Orion suggested. “We could set ourselves free of its power.”
“And be trapped wherever it left us,” Ashe retorted. “Where are we even now?”
No one knew the answer to that.
“It is our responsibility to bear the darkfire crystal!” Drake said, his tone imperious. “That we do not know the detail of our mission is no reason to abandon it.”
“How do we know it is a mission?” Peter asked, and Alexander wished the other man would leave it be. Sowing dissent never aided a cause or a company of warriors.
The light flashed with sudden brilliance and Alexander gritted his teeth as he was momentarily blinded. He felt the shift in the air around him and groaned inwardly. He felt a warm wind and guessed it was happening again. Thad swore once more, then prayed with greater fervor.
Abruptly Alexander was swept up by a wind, one that swirled around him with savage force. As each of the other three times, he was filled with terror at his powerlessness. He reached out and snatched for Thad, who had been beside him, but his hand closed on empty air. He didn’t dare to breathe, for he didn’t know what surrounded him. It seemed that he was swept in a whirlwind and buffeted by changing winds for an eternity. He couldn’t hear or sense the others and the sense of solitude was even more frightening than having no control.
Just when Alexander was certain he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, he was flung downward. He felt almost discarded by some superior force, though he shared Peter’s doubt that there was intelligence behind the mystery of the darkfire. He landed with a thud on his hands and knees, then greedily took a gulp of air. He knew he’d have bruises on his knees, but he was aware that the air was hot and dry. The dirt beneath his hands was sandy and arid, with no vegetation. He opened his eyes warily, then quickly counted his companions.
Still twelve. They’d mastered that detail, at least.
Then Alexander glanced around to see where they were. He couldn’t believe that he recognized the hills.
“Merciful Zeus,” he whispered, easing to his feet to stare.
“Zeus is anything but merciful,” Drake muttered, but Alexander ignored him.
It couldn’t be.
But he knew this village, knew it as surely as he knew the lines on his own palm. He knew the hills of Boeotia, the curve of the road, the fact that that the sea was just beyond the lip of that hill. He knew the village spread at his feet, the names of the occupants of each house, that a potter’s wheel stood in the courtyard of the one house that drew his eye.
Home!
Maybe there was intelligence guiding the sorcery of the darkfire crystal. Alexander had yearned to return to this place almost since his departure, all those years before, and here it was before his very eyes.
He blinked and rubbed his eyes, but the sight before him didn’t change.
“We’re home,” Alexander said with awe, gesturing to the village. His voice rose higher in jubilation and his heart clenched with unexpected joy. Katina would be here! “We’re home!”
The rest of the men turned to look and Alexander saw wonder dawn in their expressions.
“It can’t be,” Iggy whispered.
“We should find out,” Orion declared.
Peter, predictably, was the first to doubt his eyes. “It must be a trick...”
Alexander didn’t care. He wasn’t waiting for any of them. This was his village. His wife was here and his son. If he was home, there was only one detail of importance.
Katina.
His heart thundered at the prospect of the reunion they would share. Their marriage had always been passionate, even after the spark of the firestorm had been satisfied.
Alexander started down the hill with purpose.
“Halt!” Drake shouted from behind him.
“I must know!” Alexander spun to declare with heat. “I must see her, regardless of the price. She’s my destined mate. We had a firestorm!”
“We mustn’t break rank!” Drake insisted. “It could be a trick, or a lure. I don’t want to lose another man, especially not my second in command.”
“Are you even sure she’s there?” Pe
ter demanded. “Who knows how long we’ve been gone. She could have left.”
Alexander took a deep breath, focusing his attention on the house he knew as well as the lines in his own hand. He inhaled slowly, dissecting and identifying the scents that were common to any village. When he identified his wife’s particular scent, the intoxicating mix of perfume and fired clay and her own body’s scent, his heart leapt. “She’s here!”
“No. I forbid you to break rank,” Drake commanded, his tone making Alexander pause. “All of you! Pledge!”
Drake put out his right hand, his fingers clenched in a fist and his palm down.
“The Dragon Legion stays together,” Damien said, placing his hand on top of Drake’s. The others followed suit quickly, except for Alexander. He yet stood a dozen paces away and he felt a muscle tick in his jaw.
Everything he had ever desired was in that village.
He had left once to serve with his own kind.
Wasn’t his duty fulfilled?
“Together,” Drake repeated with force and Alexander felt his leader’s gaze upon him.
“I have served my obligation as a Pyr,” Alexander said with resolve. He held Drake’s gaze. “I left my wife and my destined mate to heed your summons, as I had pledge to do.” Alexander swallowed. “Don’t ask me to do as much again, I beg of you.”
Drake’s lips tightened even as his gaze filled with understanding.
“Maybe this is why we’re here,” Alexander suggested. “Maybe the crystal is letting us repair the wounds of the past. Maybe that’s the point.”
The others caught their breath and looked at Drake.
“No. You can’t know that,” Drake argued. “You can’t know what you’ll find in that village...”
“That’s why I have to go.”
The two men stared at each other.
Drake was the first to blink. “Go,” he commanded quietly. “But return quickly to tell us what you’ve found.”
Alexander laughed. He saluted Drake, then marched down the hill to the village.
“We will wait,” Drake called after him, his tone level.
This was a gift Alexander hadn’t anticipated. He surveyed the village, taking satisfaction in how similar it was to his memories. He found himself striding quickly closer, anxious to be reunited with Katina again.
He hadn’t taken a dozen steps when Alexander smelled the stone heating again. He paused to glance back. He saw the dread in his Drake’s expression as he opened his hand to display the stone. His commander’s features were illuminated by the flashing light of the darkfire crystal.
“Not again!” Peter said.
“Alexander!” Orion cried. “Come here!”
A new fear seized Alexander, a fear that this chance would be stolen from him forever. Maybe that was the trick of the stone. Maybe it would tantalize him with a possibility, then steal it away.
He wouldn’t be cheated. He had to see Katina, no matter what the price.
Alexander pivoted and ran down the hill, racing toward the village as quickly as he could. He had to be far enough way from the crystal to escape its pull.
He had to be left behind.
He heard his companions cry out, shouts of protest that had no hold over him. He felt rather than saw the bright light of the stone, as brilliant as an explosion behind him.
Alexander halted at the perimeter of the village and looked back, his chest heaving. He saw only a fading blue-green flash of light and no soldiers. His companions had disappeared, as surely as if they had never been.
Drake and the others were gone.
Alexander was shaken by his sense of solitude.
He was alone, for the first time in years. Only when it was too late did he realize how much he had come to rely upon the counsel and company of the other Dragon’s Teeth Warriors. They had shared the same strange experiences and understood each other. That camaraderie would no longer be part of his life.
Even though he’d achieved his purpose, Alexander was momentarily terrified. What if he was wrong? What if he’d sacrificed everything for nothing? What if he truly was lost from everyone and everything he’d ever known?
No. He checked his wild thoughts. Terror achieved nothing. Alexander exhaled and calmed himself. He’d made his choice, and now he’d make the most of his fate, whatever it was.
Katina held his fate in her hands.
* * *
Your future lies in fire and earth;
The world’s in the son you birth.
The words of the Pythian oracle had echoed in Katina’s thoughts for almost nine years and still the prophecy made no sense to her. She couldn’t help feeling that she must have missed the point, because she certainly wasn’t happy.
Just as her parents had anticipated.
When she’d been refused as an offering at the Korykian Cave of the Nymphs, the Pythia at Delphi had provided the enigmatic verse as explanation. Katina had believed the greater purpose served when she met Alexander in the temple of Apollo where the Pythia sat. Their passion had been instant and their marriage quick. Her parents had been relieved. After she bore Alexander’s son, he had been the one to suggest that she should learn the trade of a potter, to fulfill the rest of the prophecy. She remembered how her life had seemed to be filled with promise.
But Alexander had left soon afterward, never to return, and now her son was gone, too.
And it was an inescapable fact that she was a failure as a potter. After eight years of relentless practice, her pots were still the ugliest to be found. The prophecy had to be a test of her persistence.
Katina both dreaded and yearned for days like this one, when she remembered every detail of her time with Alexander with perfect clarity. She was tormented by her memories of him—her first glimpse of him at Delphi and the magical sparks that had lit the air between them. She’d have noticed him even without the extra illumination, for he was so tall and dark and strong. So handsome. The strange fumes in the oracle’s grotto had made their first meeting powerful and memorable, but Katina believed they would have found each other somewhere and sometime. No matter where or when, that first glimpse would have been unforgettable.
Those wonderful memories stood in stark contrast to her present reality.
No wonder he haunted her.
Katina turned the simple gold ring on her finger, the one set with a single cabochon carnelian. She’d never taken it off, not since Alexander had placed it on her finger. She knew Cetos wasn’t happy with that—she also wore the much wider golden ring that he’d given her, but didn’t remove the carnelian. The russet stone gleamed in the gold setting, making her think of the fire and clay of her pottery.
Katina shaped the pot and reminded herself of her good fortune. She had a home. She had food to eat and wood for the fire, blankets for the night and a few ornaments for her hair. Her son was strong and healthy, even if he was gone. There were others less fortunate than herself.
The clay rose between her fingers, coaxed by her touch to take the shape of a bowl as she turned the wheel with her foot. She tried to find the joy in her craft, but it eluded her. The pot looked heavy and graceless, just like all the others she’d made.
Would Alexander have blamed her for letting their son be taken away? She doubted it. He’d been from Sparta, and they were a tough breed of warriors. Alexander had never been afraid to face difficult choices or to fulfill his duties. In fact, he’d probably endured the same separation and training as a boy that Lysander now faced. He probably would have thought it right for Lysander to go.
He certainly would have kept the pledge to his kind. As much as she had admired his sense of honor, there had been times when she felt Alexander dispassionate.
He could be so still and impassive that she’d wondered more than once if he was made of stone.
Was that why he hadn’t come back? Had their marriage been a duty for him? Had he thought his obligation fulfilled when their son had been born?
Katina wanted t
o believe otherwise. She wanted to believe that she’d given herself to him with a love that had been returned.
But as the years passed with no word, she had begun to doubt.
She closed her eyes as she formed the rim of the bowl, letting her fingers find the way, and let herself daydream. She savored the sense that Alexander was close to her, maybe hovering on the threshold, watching her with that little smile on his lips.
When she opened her eyes and turned, he’d be there, she told herself. He’d be there on the threshold, watching her in silence, that familiar heat in his eyes. The sign of his desire had always made her heart leap. In bed, she’d never had any doubt of his passion for her, even if it had been carefully hidden away otherwise. In his embrace, she’d never doubted his feelings.
What she wanted was to be with him again.
That wasn’t going to happen. Katina’s daydream shattered and she forced her eyes open. She surveyed the bowl before her without satisfaction. It was, at best, functional. Maybe it needed a pair of handles. Maybe she should roll the clay back into a ball while it was soft.
“A customer, my lady,” the young slave girl, Zeta, said. “A gentleman.”
Zeta’s tone showed her surprise, and Katina was surprised as well. She didn’t do a bustling trade, not by any means. A sale, even one of compassion, might lift her spirits. She draped the bowl with a damp cloth, then wiped her hands with care.
“How can I be of assistance, sir?” she asked, trying to work a last bit of clay from beneath her fingernail.
He said nothing, although she felt his presence. The hair prickled on the back of her neck, her memory of Alexander coming uncomfortably to the fore. Katina frowned with impatience at her own whimsy. There was no point in dwelling on the past.
She pivoted to face the client, a polite smile curving her lips.
It faded at once.
For Alexander did stand on her threshold.
Katina stared. Alexander had changed and not changed. She would have known him anywhere, that was for certain. His hair was still ebony and wavy, so unruly that she longed to push her fingers through its thickness. It was a bit shorter than it had been, but looked tidy and crisp. It suited him. He was tanned to a deeper shade of brown and his clothing was odd, presumably because he had traveled far. She ached at the weariness in his expression and the lines of exhaustion around his mouth. He was still tall and broad and seemingly immovable, a man who might have been a statue—save for his eyes. Her heart clenched with painful force, then began to pound when she saw the heat in his dark eyes.