The Legend of Oescienne--The Reckoning (Book Five) Read online

  Drawing in a deep breath, Kehllor rose to his feet and stretched out his amber wings. This mission of his could very well lead nowhere, but he had to try. He had made it clear to his fellow Coalition members that he couldn’t stand inaction any longer. And so, he had left them, in a bit of an uproar, too. Jaax would probably be angry when he received word the dragon he’d left in charge abandoned his post. But Kehllor couldn’t let that cloud his judgment. War was upon them, and he didn’t have the luxury, or the time, to worry over possible mistakes. He had acted on instinct, on gut instinct, and that, at least, had never led him astray before.

  With one final perusal of the ruins rising like a spiked crown around him, Kehllor stepped to the edge of the wide terrace and leapt out into open space. For several seconds he plummeted, the wide floor of the Great Rhiimian Gorge, with its twining blue river, rising fast. One second. Two, three … then he threw open his wings and banked right, following the river south towards the Gold Dust Dunes. Kehllor guessed it would take him two more days to reach his destination, the desert city of Pahrdess. Time he hoped his friends still had.

  Hours passed, and the day approached late afternoon. Kehllor had been flying nonstop for most of the day, adjusting his direction every so often to make sure he stayed on course. The one good thing about this part of the world, he mused, were the gentle winds at his back that kept him aloft with little effort on his part. He could lock his wings in place and simply glide for miles. A shame it was such a tedious journey with no change in scenery to entertain him, however. He had made it past the boundaries of the infamous Gold Dust Dunes, those cursed mountains of pure gold that were said to lead many greedy elves, dwarves, and men to their deaths. But Kehllor had no interest in gold, dragon though he was, and he had not set foot upon them.

  The winds died for a split second, and Kehllor was forced to flap his wings to stay in the air. The stiffness in his joints drew a wince from him, and he decided the next tall rock or hill he spotted would be his bed for the night. He didn’t have to wait too long. A half an hour later, a large pile of stones cresting a low hill broke free of the shimmering heat waves blurring the horizon.

  Kehllor pulled his wings in and began a gradual descent. His feet sank into deep sand when he finally touched down, the hill more of a sand-covered pile of rubble than anything else. The stones, he realized upon further inspection, looked as if they’d belonged to a fortress once. Some of them were as tall as his back, others were half-buried in the rust-hued sand. The golden dragon glanced over his shoulder to watch the sun touch the horizon, spreading its crimson glow over the barren landscape, casting the dunes in an even deeper shade of scarlet.

  Barren of the usual trees, plants, and animals I’m used to seeing in Felldreim it may be, he mused, but the desert holds its own form of beauty. And, he added as an afterthought, it also hides its dangers from the naked eye.

  He knew this, of course, from personal experience. Giant scorpions that buried themselves just below the surface of the sand, venomous reptiles with excellent camouflage, and the spotted lennux, that great desert cat the Nephaari used as their war steeds. Kehllor shivered at that thought. Those cats not domesticated by the desert tribes hunted at night and could snap a dragon’s neck while he slept.

  Kehllor located a good spot amid all the rubble and curled up like a dog, watching the sun blink out over the western horizon. Only those desperate or crazy enough to wander around in the desert after dark would find him now, and he hoped any nearby prides of lennux weren’t out hunting tonight.

  As he waited for sleep, Kehllor thought about his friends, wondering if they were on the road to Dhonoara Valley by now, wishing he could be with them.

  You will join them soon enough, Kehllor, he reminded himself. Tomorrow, you’ll meet with the Nephaari, and Ethoes willing, they will see the danger the Crimson King poses to the world and will agree to march to the north with you.

  With those determined thoughts, Kehllor allowed his weariness to pull him into a deep, much needed sleep.

  * * *

  It wasn’t quite midday the next morning when Kehllor passed over a wide patch of wetlands fed by a sluggish river, the only splash of green and blue in the sea of endless red and golden sand. Knowing the scarcity of water in the desert, he looped back around and landed several feet away from the marshland’s edge. As he approached, long-legged, brightly-colored wading birds squawked in warning to their friends as they lifted to the sky in clouds of pink, turquoise, white, and shimmering black.

  “That was unnecessary,” he called out to them. “I’ve been snacking on sand lizards the past few days, so I have no appetite for you.”

  Not surprisingly, the birds ignored him, so he shrugged and approached the gently lapping waters of the shallow lake. He stepped past the cattail and papyrus, sighing in bliss as his feet, slightly scorched by the hot sand, sank below the water’s surface. Kehllor allowed his eyes to drift shut as he listened to the gentle ripple of the water and the distant cries of the shore birds. The wind had slowed, but the cool caress of the water against his scales helped make the heat more bearable.

  Kehllor was about to dip his head low to take a drink when the tall reeds rustled and parted. In the span of thirty seconds, the Tanaan dragon was surrounded by no fewer than twenty Nephaari, each one of them sitting atop a well-armored, sixteen-spotted lennux. His hot blood went cold, and he grew absolutely still. Of all the beasts of Ethoes, only the lennux and a few spare others had claws and teeth sharp and strong enough to cut through dragon scales. One of the great cats, urged forward by his master, stepped into the water, tail twitching and teeth bared. The Nephaari warrior sitting behind the lennux’s shoulder blades pointed a spear at Kehllor and spoke something in Nephaarese. Kehllor had known a bit of the language, long ago, but had since fallen out of practice.

  When he furrowed his scaly brow, the Nephaarene said in heavily accented common tongue, “What brings you to our realm, sky lizard?”

  Kehllor curled his lip in distaste, but remembered that the Nephaari had no term for his kind. Calming his nerves, he drew in a breath and got straight to the point, “I come bearing news of the outside world, and hope to beg a boon of your Phaaron and Phaara.”

  The creature’s jackal face twisted into an expression of surprise, his great, pointed ears swiveling forward in slight interest. Kehllor fought against a smirk. This warrior didn’t expect the ‘sky lizard’ to know about Nephaarene titles.

  “What care we of the outside world, and who are you to beg a favor of our Most High Phaaron and Phaara?”

  Kehllor surprised the warriors again by sketching a bow, left forearm clutched to his chest. A gesture of respect among Nephaari-kind.

  “I mean your people no harm. Take me to your Phaaron, and you will be privy to my news soon enough.”

  The warrior narrowed his shrewd eyes at Kehllor, his sharp, canine teeth clenched tight in his jaw. With a sniff, he turned to speak to his comrades in clipped Nephaarese. The conversation lasted less than a minute, and when the Nephaari male faced Kehllor again, he said, “I am Jaski of Tribe Ferex. You will come with us, sky lizard.”

  “Kehllor,” the dragon replied.

  Jaski only stared at him.

  “My name is Kehllor,” Kehllor repeated. “Tanaan dragon of the Coalition of Ethoes.”

  Jaski snorted, then said, “The journey to our city will take two hours as the lennux runs.”

  Kehllor ducked his head. “I will fly behind you, then.”

  Jaski grinned and lifted his spear.

  “You will fly between us.” He turned and barked out orders, some of his words mimicking the cries of the Samenbi jackal. Only when they had moved into position, ten Nephaari fanning out in front of him in a semi-circle, the remaining ten mirroring their brethren behind him, did Kehllor understand. He was to be given an escort. Like a criminal being brought back to stand trial. He tried not to think of it in those terms, but as the Nephaari cried out to their mounts to start moving,
he splashed out of the water with the rest of them and carefully lifted into the sky. He knew to fly only twenty feet above them, not only to avoid being skewered by a well-aimed spear, but also to earn their trust.

  See, he thought, I am going with you, no resistance whatsoever on my part.

  Kehllor expected the desert cats to grow weary, or to need several breaks along their fast-paced journey, but like the sleek horses found along the bottom of the Great Rhiimian Gorge, these lennux appeared to possess unflagging stamina. They didn’t stop once, nor did their pace slow, and before he knew it, Kehllor was gazing upon a beautiful, sprawling city constructed of pale, polished stone. Pahrdess. The seat of the Nephaari Phaaron and Phaara. Like the tiny oasis he had found just a few hours ago, this settlement was built up around the delta of the Grethni River, the waterway now three times wider than the section he had just left. Palm trees, papyrus, reeds, and other marsh plants painted the shore in shades of jade, emerald, and lime. Water lilies and lotuses floated atop the gently rippling water, or sent up blush pink flowers with golden centers. A cool breeze rustled the cattails, and multi-colored dragonflies flitted about like strands of gems on wings. More of the colorful birds Kehllor had disturbed earlier foraged amid the forest of papyrus, and mottled frogs the size of small dogs leapt into deeper waters as the Tanaan dragon and his escort emerged from the sand dunes to breach the outer reaches of the city’s boundary.

  Jaski led his warriors onto a wide, sandstone path running straight into the heart of the city. Stone houses, pergolas, and storefronts dotted the sandy landscape, their roofs, windows, and front verandas shaded by linen awnings.

  Kehllor strode down the center of the wide path, his blue gaze raking over the beautiful, exotic scene. Rich spices and the scent of roasting vegetables and simmering meats reminded him that those small desert lizards had only kept his hunger at bay. But he ignored his rumbling stomach and instead studied the Nephaari gathering along the road to watch him pass. They were all so very tall, taller than the elvin races he had been used to working with these past months. Not only that, but the Nephaari were more wild animal than anything else, what with their long canine hind legs and arms. The fact they walked upright did little to soften that particular fact. Even now, as they watched him, the men, women, and children made him feel like an injured desert gargouth, surrounded by a pack of jackals. Their dark eyes were hard, their long muzzles clamped shut. A few of them, especially the younger ones, tested the air with their noses, those long, pointed ears of theirs twitching with curiosity.

  Kehllor tightened his own jaw, training his gaze on the massive structure rising like a desert phoenix several yards ahead of him. It appeared to be a stone temple of sorts, but there were no walls or a roof, only columns supporting a few cross beams draped in that gauzy fabric he’d seen along the main thoroughfare. Stone steps bordered the fortress on all sides, making it look like several flat slabs of stone in decreasing size piled upon one another. Carved statues resembling the Nephaari and standing taller than him flanked either side of the main columns marking the entrance. As he moved closer, he took note of the stone throne and the Nephaari guards lining the stairs.

  As soon as Jaski and the others reached the base of the platform, they handed off their lennux to awaiting servants. Jaski then climbed the dozen or so steps, his brethren close on his heels. Kehllor was instructed to follow after them by those standing behind him. When he reached the final steps, the throne he’d spotted earlier came into full view. The backrest rose several feet above the seat, and lounging there was a Nephaari male holding an ornate staff, his form bedecked in robes of teal, black, and gold. The Phaaron, then, for no one else was dressed so richly. A headdress of precious stones in colors matching his garb rested between his ears, the majority of it falling behind his head only to flare wide along the sides of his neck. The effect was striking and made Kehllor think of the giant indigo cobras found in the Ghoeb Basin. Beside him stood a female just as regally dressed, her coat a faint cinnamon compared to the Phaaron’s richer brown coloring. They both had pale throats, but hers was adorned with a wide choker to match her smaller headdress, a near twin to her husband’s. The robes she wore were the palest blue, and a gold belt settled above her waist to keep the fabric from flowing too freely.

  The Phaara, though silent, gave Kehllor every ounce of her attention, her dark eyes assessing him the way an expert in court politics would. Clearly, she had learned that listening and studying body language was far more valuable than analyzing words. She might prove more difficult to win over than her husband, but if Kehllor could appeal to the queen, then maybe the king would follow. Information he tucked away to use later.

  The Phaaron regarded Kehllor with a curious, yet domineering look, then said something terse in Nephaarese.

  Jaski responded quickly, then added, “The sky lizard speaks only common tongue, Phaaron Amonen.”

  With a slight tilt to his head, the Phaaron drawled, “A dragon in the desert realm?”

  His voice was deep, resonant, and Kehllor knew that this sovereign would not make things easy for him if he so much as blinked disrespectfully.

  “Yes, your grace,” he replied, unsure of which title was proper, but suffusing his words with as much humble obeisance as he could muster. “I am Kehllor of Felldreim.”

  Amonen’s lip curled, revealing a line of sharp, white teeth, a stark contrast to his dark russet fur. “Dragons do not venture into Terre Moeserre. You must be lost.”

  A light cackling traveled through those gathered, like night predators celebrating an inevitable kill. It took Kehllor a minute to realize it was laughter. His mouth tightened, and he tilted his chin up ever so slightly. Groveling respect be cursed. He would not let them press him into complete submission. They could trade insults all day, but it had taken him over a week to reach this place and for all he knew, time was running out for Jaax, Jahrra, and all his other friends.

  “Yes, I once wandered your desert for many years, lost and alone, forced to fend for myself. Your people helped me then, but I don’t come to you now for my benefit alone. I have come to warn you of the growing threat in the north, to beg a favor, and to form an alliance, one I hope will bring lasting peace to our world.”

  The Phaaron regarded him with narrowed, olive-hued eyes for several moments longer, then heaved a weary sigh and proclaimed, “The Crimson King poses no threat to the Nephaari. The Great Samenbi Desert separates our two kingdoms, and I doubt he would bother wasting his time trying to conquer a realm his cold-hardy subjects would find uninhabitable. There is no reason for my people to leave our lands and declare war against a brooding king who sits on a pile of ice doing nothing.”

  A chorus of whoops and snarls followed this statement. Kehllor fought the urge to roar. Instead, he took several deep breaths, and when the outburst was over, he stated as clearly and patiently as he could, “The Tyrant is like a volcano, where all who live beneath its shadow believe it to be dormant. It is not. Though the mountain looks safe from above, beneath the surface lava boils and brews, ready to burst forth at any moment. We must strike before the full power of the Crimson King has a chance to erupt.”

  The Phaaron’s gaze narrowed, those shrewd jackal eyes of his sharpening even further. He leaned up to whisper to his queen, who had settled herself on the armrest of his throne. A casual pose on the surface, but Kehllor wasn’t fooled. Her expression remained unchanged, her eyes not leaving the dragon in their midst as she tilted her ear towards her husband. As they spoke, Kehllor’s guess that she was the true ruler of Terre Moeserre was all but verified. It was clear to him, at least, that the Phaaron was receiving advice.

  Finally, Amonen lifted a hand and stood from his throne. The crowd, which had begun murmuring amongst itself, quieted immediately.

  “I have heard this dragon’s words, and my queen agrees he speaks truth. She has been meeting the priestesses for months now, and has left the temple each time with a feeling of foreboding and an unclear answe
r to the riddles they recite after consulting with the gods. Phaara Batheda now believes the priestesses have been farseeing the events in Ghorium.”

  Kehllor’s eyes widened. He had expected to parley with the people of the desert for days. But the king’s next words put an instant damper on that tiny flame of hope.

  “However,” Amonen continued, “I do not wish to plunge our people into an unnecessary war.”

  He leveled his gaze onto Kehllor, the dragon’s blue eyes simmering like fire.

  “You like analogies, yes?” the Phaaron asked, pointed teeth snapping together. “I have one for you as well. The Tyrant may be like a dormant volcano ready to erupt, but we have seen no smoke rising from Ghorium. We’ve felt no tremors nor scented the noxious gasses that precede such cataclysmic events. There have been no reports of the Crimson King’s soldiers sniffing along the edges of our territory. All has been quiet to the north of us. My Phaara may also speak truth, but what care do we have for a volcano erupting leagues upon leagues away? At most, the ash cloud will make our weather cooler for a season or two, not a terrible thing for the desert.”

  Kehllor opened his mouth to protest, but Amonen slammed the butt of his staff against the hard tiles, the sound cracking through the hot, balmy air like a whip.

  “We liken troublesome rulers to hornets’ nests. A nuisance they may be, but if left undisturbed, little harm is done to those living nearby. There will be the occasional sting, but nothing akin to the swarm that will burst forth if the nest is unnecessarily disturbed.”

  Amonen took a breath to continue, but his wife’s hand snapped out and closed upon his forearm. The king shut his mouth with a click and sat down. Phaara Batheda rose from her makeshift seat, tall, elegant, her angular ears pricked forward, her gauzy gown drifting in the light wind. It grew so silent, the sound of the workers singing in the distant fields could be heard more clearly, their songs soft and mournful.