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

  “Kehllor wouldn’t listen to us when we told him as much. But he was determined to try.”

  Jahrra’s heart had both swelled with pride and clenched with fear for her Tanaan friend. If he was successful, they would gain a great advantage having such powerful warriors, and their battle-trained war cats, on their side.

  And as Dathian spelled this out to those currently assembled in the throne room, Jahrra was pleased to learn the congregation was of the same opinion. Only one woman, a Nesnan warrior and chief of a clan not far from Dhonoara’s borders, spoke up in response to Dathian’s announcement.

  “Should we be concerned about those Coalition members in Lidien who hold ill-will towards Kehllor and his predecessor?”

  Jahrra flinched ever so slightly at the question, and Dathian flicked his eyes to her for a brief moment before returning his attention to the woman.

  “I think not, Chief Bethra. Only a small number of our Coalition members held a grudge against the dragon Raejaaxorix. I would imagine they wouldn’t wish to find themselves caught in the middle of a war against the Tyrant. They will continue their petty battles in Felldreim and not give us a second thought.”

  Jahrra only hoped his words proved true. She had a feeling Dathian had no idea how devious and ambitious Shiroxx was.

  The rest of the meeting went on smoothly with King Vandrian leading everyone in the plan of action for the following morning. Jaax entered the room fifteen minutes before the closing statements, and Jahrra watched him carefully as he came to stand beside Sapheramin and Tollorias. His eyes met hers, but she found no warmth there. Which only tightened that knot of dread in the pit of her stomach.

  Denaeh, who was seated between her and Dervit on her right side, brushed her fingertips against Jahrra’s arm. Jahrra jumped, snapping her head around to grumble at her friend. But Denaeh’s eyes held only sympathy, and Jahrra bit her lip in guilt. The Mystic had been strangely distant these past few days, leaving the castle early and wandering off into the city, traveling down into the valley, or hiking up into the mountains and staying there until after dark. Ellyesce had been the same, though he had attended more meetings than Denaeh. Jahrra wondered if something more had occurred between the two of them, but did not wish to pry. She had her own problems to sort out without stirring up more for her friends.

  Even Dervit, a constant source of optimism despite his sometimes nervous ways, had been lost in his own world of late. When Jahrra had asked him about it the other day, he had only shrugged and replied, “I think it’s finally hit me, the fact that we’ll be marching to war. I’ve never been to war, I’ve never seen a real battle. All this time, it’s been like a distant memory that hasn’t happened yet. Now, it’s real.”

  Jahrra had given his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. She knew exactly how he felt, for she felt the same way.

  “At least we have each other to lean on,” she’d replied, with a somewhat shaky voice.

  “Aye,” he’d whispered back, his eyes bright, “we do have that.”

  Before Jahrra could sink fully into her morose mood, King Vandrian called the meeting to a close.

  “We leave tomorrow before dawn. Those of you who need to send missives to your soldiers and generals, I have several pages and messengers standing by. For the rest of you, I hope to see you all in a few hours for a final banquet before we set off to confront the greatest enemy Ethoes has ever known.”

  A heavy silence settled over the assembly at those words, everyone present taking a moment to absorb the magnitude of what they were all about to do. Jahrra closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, sending up a silent prayer to Ethoes, and another to Hroombra and her foster parents. Help us defeat the Crimson King, she quietly entreated, keep my friends safe, and if our fate is death, may it be an honorable one.

  As the assembly rose to leave, Jahrra turned to tell Dathian, Denaeh, and Dervit she’d meet them in the banquet hall later. She wanted to catch Jaax before he left the room. They would be leaving for the northern region of Ghorium tomorrow, passing through the mountains, then crossing into Kahrparyum before eventually ending up in Soehel, the wide, semi-frozen plain just south of the Greater Frozen Mountains. Cierryon would be expecting an army from the southeast, so the council had decided taking this less obvious approach would be the best for them all. And knowing Jaax as she did, Jahrra didn’t think they’d find much time on the trail to talk. Not only would her guardian’s aerial skills be needed in scouting ahead, but there would be thousands more travel companions joining them, not just the two or three she was used to. She wanted time to talk to him alone. To apologize for her abrasive and accusatory words the other night. She wanted to make sure that the trust, and respect, between them was patched up in case …

  Jahrra shook her head, not willing to finish that thought. She shot her eyes toward the corner where Sapheramin and Tollorias stood, but the Korli pair of dragons were now talking to one of the generals and his second in command. She spun in place, her gaze circling the room, but Jaax was nowhere to be found. Squashing her disappointment, Jahrra joined the others as they filtered into the hallways, each of them seeking their rooms to prepare for the feast before the fight.

  * * *

  The hour was late, but Jahrra could not sleep. Her soul was too troubled, her mind a whirl of anxiety. Jaax had not been at the grand feast, and she had spent most of her time not enjoying the company of friends, old and new, but worrying over where her guardian might be. The atmosphere at the banquet had been so much brighter than that of the final meeting with Vandrian, and many an ally of Ethoes, soldiers, generals, grand lords and ladies alike, had offered up songs of honor, or toasted to victory with a great bellowing war chant. Laughter and boisterous claims of heroism filled the air as veterans recalled their tales. None of it had brought any cheer to Jahrra’s heart, or kindled any courage in her soul, unlike Dervit and Dathian, who had cried out among the best of them, ready to break down the castle gates of Vruuthun.

  Denaeh, as always, had taken notice. As she had done so with the handful of meetings and communal meals she’d attended, she stuck close to the walls of the hall, pressing herself into the shadows when they were available. The people of Dhonoara did not treat her with the same disdain as before, but they also made a point to keep their distance in respectable silence.

  “What troubles you, Jahrra?” she asked, when the young woman in question moved ever closer to the edge of the room.

  Jahrra had felt her approach, so she merely heaved a great sigh and told her the truth.

  “I exchanged angry words with Jaax two nights ago and have yet to speak to him about it.”

  Denaeh lifted a brow at this, and Jahrra elaborated. “We had an argument, and I hate the idea of going into battle cross with one another. I was hoping to get a chance to apologize before we left in the morning.”

  The Mystic nodded, then placed a hand on Jahrra’s forearm.

  “Perhaps you should retire early, then. Get a good night’s rest, and if, for any reason, you have trouble sleeping, I have found a stroll through the Memory Garden at night works wonders on the troubled soul.”

  Taking her friend’s advice, Jahrra had bid a silent farewell to Dervit, Dathian, and Haedron before leaving the noisome dining hall. On her way out, she managed to catch Ellyesce’s eyes as well, smiling lightly and giving him a wave. He returned the gesture, then continued his conversation with King Vandrian. Just as she slipped through the door, Jahrra had glanced back at Denaeh, only to find the Mystic staring at the Magehn, her face a mask of resigned sorrow.

  Perhaps, then, that was part of the reason Jahrra found herself reading the same few pages over and over again as she waited for exhaustion to call her to bed. For two hours, she tried to convince her body it needed sleep, but thoughts of the future weighed too heavily on her mind. Remembering Denaeh’s suggestion, she rose from her chair and slipped a cloak over her shoulders. Donning the silk slippers she’d worn the first night of her stay in Dhonoara Castle,
she crept out into the corridor. Guards stationed at intervals along the way pointed her in the direction of the Memory Garden, and when they offered to escort her, she only shook her head and gave them a weary smile.

  “I would like to be alone with my thoughts, but thank you,” she told them.

  Eventually, her feet took her outside the castle, onto the northeast terrace, and then, out along a path that circled around a sunken garden. Jahrra bundled her cloak tightly about her, for there was still a touch of winter in the air despite the time of year, and the water misting up from the river cast a chill over the valley and Dhonoara City.

  The stone trail eventually led into a covered alcove clearly constructed by the elves. To her left, smooth walls painted and carved with images and words wrapped around the spacious gardens, while columns rose to her right to support the partial ceiling protecting the wide lane and the artwork housed there. More statuary, carved likenesses of elves, dragons, unicorns, and the famed Dhonoaran mihrcor stood like guardians amid the flower beds and topiaries in the wide open section of the garden. The moon was so bright this night, it painted the walls of the half chamber Jahrra walked in pale white, the murals washed out but not entirely free of color. She came to stop before one image in particular, a scene that was oddly familiar to her. The picture was painted between two half columns protruding from the wall, their surfaces etched with what looked suspiciously like the branches and blossoms of a bloodrose. The fresco between the vines depicted a great battle.

  “You might know that scene,” a familiar voice said softly from behind her, “for it matches the one that once covered a castle wall in Oescienne.”

  Jahrra jumped and spun around to find Jaax stepping from the garden path into the covered portion of the hall. He was a contrast of dark jade scales and silver moonlight, and he moved with the grace and strength she had come to know over the past several years. No tension making his steps short. No twitching tail to imply a hint of worry. But then again, Jaax was always so good at hiding his emotions. Why would that change now, approaching war or not?

  Jahrra turned back to face the mural again, her eyes narrowing. She pretended to study the detail and color of the image, but she was far too aware, far too distracted, by Jaax looming just behind her. She had thought of what she’d say to him, how she would apologize, but all those words had skittered right out of her head the moment he’d spoken.

  Finally, she managed, “How do you know this is the same mural?”

  Jaax moved in closer, ducking his head to avoid the low ceiling. He drew in a breath, then exhaled a thin stream of emerald fire into a cavity carved in the wall. Jahrra stepped to the side when he repeated the action on the opposite side of the painting. For a few heartbeats, nothing happened, then a soft, glowing light, fire burning behind thick glass panels, lit the entire corridor. Jahrra gasped in wonder as the colors in the mural came to life.

  “I see it now,” she breathed, tracing over portions of the picture that matched the ones she’d seen in the crumbled Castle Ruin back in Oescienne.

  “I was told that this particular fresco was painted shortly after the one in Oescienne was completed. The elves of Dhonoara, you see, are lovers of the past and stories. Every important event in Ethoen history is recorded here for their children, and those visiting this grand city, to study.”

  Jahrra pressed her palm flat against the painting, not paying much attention to where it rested until she stepped away from the scene. A shiver coursed through her when she realized her hand had covered the image of the last prince of the Tanaan, the king’s youngest son. Here, she could see his face, unlike the weathered version in Oescienne. Curiosity piqued, she stepped in closer once again, eyes narrowed. His features were handsome, as any prince’s features ought to be. At least when they were depicted in legends and stories. His hair was blond, like hers, only darker. It was harder to make out his eye color, but his features were fierce, determined, and a little sad. The artist had done a good job capturing all the emotions a vengeful, heart-sore young sovereign might be feeling after losing his entire family.

  Jahrra would have stood there all night, staring at the prince, the lost sovereign of Oescienne who had yet to be found, or revealed, but Jaax’s words broke the spell.

  “What are you doing up so late, Jahrra?”

  She turned to look at him, his features much more readable since lighting the strange lanterns. So, there was some worry there, in his eyes. Perhaps that was why he had been so aloof of late. Maybe he was having just as hard of a time coming to terms with what they might lose in the weeks to come.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted with a shrug. “You?”

  He gave her a wry grin, and the worry faded a little from his eyes. That alone warmed her heart.

  “The same,” he admitted. “I have been walking this garden every night since arriving here. It brings me peace. Would you care to join me?”

  Jahrra grinned brightly at that. “I’d love to.”

  For several minutes, the two of them walked the labyrinthine paths of the garden, the distant sound of Dhonoara’s many waterfalls the only disturbance to the comfortable silence hanging between them. Jahrra found it strange, that she could so easily slip back into a state of contentment with Jaax, especially after all the anxiety she’d bottled up worrying about finding that time to talk to him. Well, now that time had presented itself, thanks to Denaeh’s foresight, she realized. Yet, she enjoyed just walking with Jaax, her guardian careful to take fewer steps so as not to leave her behind. And she knew in her heart that should they bid goodnight without sharing another word, they’d be back to where they had been before their argument. Friends, confidants, partners with no ill feelings between them. But Jaax deserved an apology, nonetheless. A few more minutes, then she would offer that apology.

  Before that time came, however, Jaax asked, “Shall I escort you back to your room?”

  Jahrra blinked up at their surroundings. She had been so lost in thought, so calmed by this time spent with her guardian, that she hadn’t realized they’d arrived back where they’d started.

  “Yes, please,” she said. “But before we head back into the castle, there is something I’d like to say.”

  Jahrra cast the Tanaan dragon a wary look, but his expression, now darkened by shadow once again, remained placid. Scraping a few loose strands of hair behind her ears, Jahrra dropped her gaze to a clump of azaleas framing the garden’s edge.

  “I want to apologize, for the other night. For what I said, and the way I said it.” She swallowed back a sudden lump in her throat, but pressed on before Jaax could interrupt her. “Of course I know who you are, Jaax.”

  She lifted her eyes to meet his, sudden tears blurring her vision. She was so afraid, so very afraid of what was to come in the next week. Not just for herself, or rather, especially not for herself. She had been haunted by images of Ellyesce, Denaeh, Dervit, and Dathian being scorched by one of the Morli dragons, or falling beneath a rain of the enemy’s arrows, or being run through by a sword or spear. She had woken a few times, when she was able to sleep during the past couple of nights, her heart racing, her breathing harsh, after having terrible dreams of her friends suffering some terrible death in Vruuthun. But she feared for Jaax the most, because she knew, deep down she knew, he would sacrifice himself for any one of them. She could scream, beg, attempt to make him swear not to do it, but in the end, he would think nothing of putting himself in harm’s way if it meant saving one of their lives. And she was struggling to come to terms with that very real possibility. So, more than her need to apologize, she needed this time with him to have one good, lasting memory in case the worst happened.

  “You are my best friend, Jaax,” she whispered, pushing past the pain and fear, “and I am sorry if my words, my actions and accusations, ever made you think otherwise.”

  The gentle sounds of night descended upon them, filling up the significant silence that followed her declaration. The light rustle of leaves in
the trees stationed along the valley walls, the gentle burble of the silver water spouting from the garden’s many fountains, the soft sigh of the wind rushing over the valley floor. Night blooming jasmine perfumed the air and large, winged insects buzzed past, visiting the flowers smiling up at the nearly full moon.

  When Jahrra couldn’t stand the silence between them any longer, she braved a look at her guardian. He stood half in shadows, with the pale moonlight revealing only the tips of his toes and a slash across his face. She could clearly see his eyes, far more silver than green in the subdued light. His entire focus was trained on her, as it often was, whether she wanted to notice it or not. Whether she wanted to admit it or not. He was looking at her the way he sometimes did, with that strange intensity she could not place. It made her nervous when Jaax looked at her this way. She could not tell if he was angry, concerned, or lost in some distant past she could not reach, that place where he kept his secrets hidden deep.

  Finally, he spoke, and if Jahrra didn’t know any better, she’d say his tone held as much emotion as hers had. “Nothing you could say or do would ever convince me to lose faith in you, Jahrra. Nothing. I was charged to protect you from your birth, a responsibility I accepted in the name of Ethoes and the Coalition, but that is not why I hold true to that vow.”

  He lowered his head, so that his eyes were level with hers. Now, they flashed emerald, reminiscent of the fire he breathed. “I cannot make your path any easier for you, but I will walk it by your side. And I swear, Jahrraneh Drisihn, that I will defend you, protect you, until my very last breath.”

  This time, the tears pricking the corners of Jahrra’s eyes spilled free to track down her cheeks. She sniffled, wiping them away with the heel of her hand, for once not embarrassed for revealing this small weakness to the Tanaan dragon. Jahrra stepped forward and pressed her palm to his forearm.

  “And I swear, small, fragile human I may be, to defend and protect you until my very last breath, as well.”