Dragons of Destiny Read online

  To his surprise, a feral plains cat called a unyx stood there, about to be punctured through. Without a second thought to giving away his position, Xavian tapped his Elemancy. He raised his hand, collected the air around the speeding arrow, and ignited it. An explosion of fire scorched the still night air, and the arrow fell harmlessly into ashes. The unyx snarled at Xavian and loped away into the shadows of the surrounding buildings.

  As he had anticipated, two shadowy figures landed on his rooftop and charged him in unison. Tossing his bow aside, Xavian pulled forth his two short swords that rested on his hips and leapt to meet the attackers. Both of his stalkers wore peculiar masks with six glowing eyes, and each was armed with a bevy of weaponry. The taller, stouter figure flanked him to his left. He brandished two handheld axes that a normal man would have had difficulty wielding with both hands. The much smaller and leaner of the two twirled a quarterstaff that was tipped with a wicked spike.

  Xavian dove for the leaner assailant, trying to get inside the long reach advantage that she held. The quarterstaff shot out, speeding by his head. Luckily for him, it missed him by the narrowest of margins. Xavian jumped and flipped while simultaneously sheathing his swords. He landed smoothly, grabbed hold of the elongated weapon being swung at him by his opponent, and spun. He used its momentum to throw the slighter duelist into the mountainous brute, who was doing his best to plant those axes into whichever body part of Xavian’s he could reach.

  To his chagrin, the larger aggressor didn’t even slow in advancement. In an amazing display of strength, coordination, and improvisation, he lithely snatched his partner out of the air and nimbly tossed her back in Xavian’s direction. The quarterstaff was leveled directly at his heart, so he had to tuck and roll to avoid the unorthodox missile hurling his way.

  Xavian just barely had enough time to get his blades back out as the gargantuan rogue was upon him, raining down a heavy dose of axe blows. It took every ounce of strength and speed that Xavian possessed to keep those axes away, and he barely registered it as the quarterstaff caught him in the back of the head, rendering him unconscious.

  Xavian awoke for the third time in as many nights to smelling salts.

  “You did much better that time, lad.”

  Xavian cursed under his breath. His head was throbbing terribly as he opened his eyes to see Spector’s brother, Jeriacor. He pulled off his mask and smiled at him. Turning his head slightly, Xavian grinned back in spite of himself at what he saw. Sitting by a fire surrounded by Wanderers was Spector. His heart fluttered and began to beat rapidly at the sight of her. As if she felt his gaze, she turned in his direction and smiled.He blushed and a thrill of excitement shot through him.

  “Any man who is capable of single-handedly wiping out the largest pack of Slayers I have ever seen has my blessings, but it’s just not right to fancy someone who bludgeons you for fun, lad,” Jeriacor joked. “I don’t care if she is my sister or not.”

  “Are you ready to join us by the fire then? We brought all your weapons from the village,” she called over to him.

  Without waiting for an answer, Jeriacor hauled Xavian to his feet. The giant Joran clapped him on the shoulder with a warm, booming laugh. Xavian stumbled slightly under a spell of dizziness, but the good-natured colossus kept him stable as they approached the fires that sat at the base of the towering Nomad Fortress.

  Looking back over his shoulder, he could see the abandoned village of Rivenshore, which sat a half mile from the Fortress. The abandoned town was where they had been conducting these nightly sparring sessions. There were a hundred deserted villages just like it all around the continent of Gaelaria. Xavian turned away from Rivenshore and smiled yet again as he watched the firelight burn in Spector‘s eyes. She was the most gorgeous thing his eyes had ever seen.

  Behind her in the distance, Xavian spotted the two mighty Machi. The giant herd animals drank from the river that cut Rivenshore in half. It still amazed him that the creatures were what pulled the Nomad Fortresses.

  “You must have a concussion, lad,” Jeriacor stated in mock concern. “You keep smiling like an idiot.”

  Laughing slightly, Xavian shook his head and immediately regretted it. His vision swam, and a sharp pain pushed and pulsated behind his eyes. Groaning, he lifted his hand and felt a considerable bump on the back of his head.

  “No doubt about the concussion. Your sister rang my head pretty good that time,” he mumbled, managing to chuckle at himself.

  “That she did, but it was no less spectacular than the other three times she did it this week.” Jeriacor’s mirth echoed into the night.

  The Joran led him to a spot by the fire directly across from Spector, where his bow, quiver and short swords were all piled neatly and waiting for him. Surprisingly gentle for his size when he wasn‘t trying to slice him with axes, Jeriacor helped lower Xavian softly onto the grass.

  Joining them at the fire this night was Elder Sulsovan, who was the leader of this band of Wanderers. His wife Preah was at his side. Both were into their middle years and looked an extraordinary amount like each other. They had the same mousey hair and the same slightly upturned nose as well. Gray touched their temples slightly, and they both had a congenial smile for all. A few of their grown sons attended a roast on a spit they were rotating slowly over the flames of the fire. The succulent smell wafted in the air towards him, making Xavian realize just how hungry he was.

  “You dropped this, by the way,” Spector chided, tossing Xavian his canteen over the roast. He snatched it out of the air and popped the top off, proceeding to finish its contents in one gulp.

  “How often do you travel to the abandoned towns and villages, Sulsovan?” Jeriacor asked quietly, though his baritone voice still sounded like distant thunder.

  “Oh, very rarely.” Sulsovan’s ever present smile remained, but sadness touched his brown eyes and his voice as he spoke.

  “We come to remember a better time, that is all. That’s the funny thing about life, isn’t it? In youth you spend all of your time dreaming of the future. Yet when age has settled into your bones, you do nothing but look back into days and memories long past. We so seldomly ever just live in the moment, do we?”

  The Elder clasped his hands under his chin and stared into the flames, seemingly lost in thought after his sage statement. The silence stretched on, and the only sounds were the log and the roast crackling as the fire danced in a slight breeze.

  Preah broke the quiescence, speaking so softly that Xavian had to strain to hear her. “We come to the abandoned villages and cities to remind ourselves that we have no place in this new world. It is our constant reminder that we’ve been left behind by society and that all we have left is each other.”

  Preah and Sulsovan shared a melancholy yet knowing smile with each other. They slid their hands together, visibly taking comfort in each other.

  “I understand that you disagree with The Circle of Seven’s politics. Trust me, there was a time when I did as well. Before I joined the Gaelarian army, I was a mercenary, and my lone allegiance was to the highest bidder. That all changed when I saw firsthand what Dantron was capable of.” Xavian explained.

  Xavian watched the Wanderer children playing around the dozens of surrounding campfires and the women tending cook pots. He tried suppressing a shudder, but couldn’t. Contemplating the vile nature in which Dantron and its Duncar hordes conducted warfare sent shivers through his body.

  He was no stranger to warfare. He had fought in innumerable campaigns during the Succession Wars, after all. But in those battles he had never witnessed anything like what he had seen from the tyrannical masses that waged war for Dantron. The Dantronian’s held no quarter and showed no mercy for anyone, including women and children.

  Especially women and children.

  They had spent the last ten years raping and slaughtering their way across entire continents like a swarm of locust zealots, leaving nothing but shattered dreams and broken souls in their wake. He had seen
it time and time again while trying in futility to aid Tryss and the other outlying countries that had been Gaelaria’s allies.

  “I assure you that the Seven Cities are the only places where you’ll be safe once the war hits Gaelarian soil,” Xavian continued. “It will be a matter of weeks, if not sooner before the invasion forces begin to arrive. If you remain among the Nomad Fortresses, you will all be slaughtered!”

  He let his words trail off, realizing that he had been shouting in vehemence towards the end. Sulsovan and Preah watched him with unreadable expressions on their faces. Their sons who were tending the roast had stopped turning it and were gaping at him openly. Jeriacor stood with his arms folded across his broad chest, staring off towards Rivenshore and muttering to himself. Xavian couldn’t quite make him out, but he caught snatches of it.

  “The lad is right; these people won’t stand a chance.”

  Sulsovan spoke up loudly. “Jeriacor, why don’t you tell me of the Joran? I must admit that I’m woefully ignorant on the subject.”

  Jeriacor smiled at the Elder.

  “It would be my pleasure! The first thing you have to understand is that we’re not quite human. Oh, we start out that way, but there’s this science that comes into play that changes our genetic makeup called Alchemy. We were made by Naska of the Circle of Seven, and she bestowed upon us great strength and agility through our masks…”

  Xavian had heard all of this before, so he wasn’t really paying attention. He had eyes only for one person. Spector stood gracefully and strode around the fire pit towards him. Though she had been born completely blind, she had a natural lissomness to her step. Jeriacor had told him that the masks that they wore gave her vision of a sort, but Spector had learned to use all her other senses so keenly that she didn’t need the mask’s aid to get around. Xavian felt abashed at his outburst and was on the verge of apologizing when she knelt down, whispering softly into his ear.

  “Would you like to take a walk with me, Xavian?” She said his name like a soft wind caressing the leaves of a delicate flower.

  Xavian looked to Jeriacor, who gave him a wink and a nod. “There’s nothing else in the world I would rather do,” he whispered back.

  “Bring your weapons.”

  After collecting his bow and swords, she offered him a hand up which Xavian accepted gratefully. The few weeks he had spent with Spector, Jeriacor, and the Wanderers had done wonders for his recovery. He felt nearly one hundred percent again. After their sparring sessions, he always felt a tad sore and fatigued, but it became less so each time they exercised, which reminded him that it was almost time for him to return to his duties.

  That thought had started to create great turmoil within him lately. Brushing his arm against hers, offering to stroll along hand in hand earned a snort of derision, and she shoved him playfully ahead a few steps from the congregation around the cook fire. Stumbling, Xavian clutched his sore ribs and couldn’t help but laugh, a rarity from Xavian since he was so often very solemn by nature.

  Spector was unlike any woman he had come into contact with. She had a knack for bringing out parts of his personality that even he didn‘t think existed. She, on the other hand, was coy and sly with a brilliant sense of humor. She was also the strongest and most wonderful person he had ever met.

  As she caught up to him, Spector wrapped her arm around his waist, and Xavian did the same, entwining his arm around her. After they had put sufficient distance between themselves and the others, Spector asked in a playful voice, “And where shall we walk tonight, General?”

  “Please don’t call me that. It just makes me think of my duties and obligations.”

  In truth, the last two weeks Xavian found that he could think of little else besides Spector. Those thoughts overwhelmed everything else. Against his better judgment, he found himself thinking constantly about how easy it would be to turn his back on everything except her. He thought about how simple it would be to find someplace where the two of them could live out their lives together away from turmoil and strife. It had become the ultimate dream to him.

  The third moon was coming up, and the glow of it illuminated her in a celestial way that made his heart beat out of control. Before he could stop himself, Xavian blurted out the words that had been on the tip of his tongue for days but he had been too afraid to express. It all came out in an undignified rush.

  “Come away with me, Spector! We can just leave everyone and everything behind. I knew it from the moment I awoke and found you watching over me after I had been injured that I wanted to awake and find you there always, to have your face be the first thing I gaze upon in the morning and the last thing I see before I lay to rest. Nothing else matters to me.”

  Spector’s grip on his waist tightened, and she flinched at his outpouring. She didn’t say anything for several minutes as they walked slowly along in the night. She was totally expressionless, giving away nothing of her feelings. Terrible anxiety began to course throughout Xavian. In that moment, he wished more than anything he could have those words back, knowing that nothing would be the same between them again. His heartbeat was deafening in his ears, and it became extraordinarily difficult to swallow. It was the longest silence of his life.

  Finally, after what seemed an eternity and then some, a crestfallen expression formed on her face. Shaking her head from side to side, Spector said only one word.

  “No.”

  Pulling away from him, Xavian reached out for her, but that one word had rooted him to the spot. Despair welled up inside his chest, and it felt as though the place where his heart was had become an empty chasm.

  “It can never be and you know it, Xavian. How dare you even ask that of me! You said it yourself back there at the fire, war is coming. Yet here you stand speaking of running off like idiotic young lovers without a notion of reality. People like you and I cannot afford to forget about the world. Don’t you understand that?”

  “Spector, please.” Xavian tried to stymie the anguish in his voice, but couldn’t.

  Sighing, Spector reached out and gently cupped his face.

  “Go back to Jenukai City. Jeriacor and I are heading out in the morning at first light for Qudai. You are well enough now that I won’t have to worry that you will be on your own. After seeing that massive pack of Slayers that stalked you so far from the Core, we have to plead our case to Naska of the Circle of Seven for more Joran to be created to help us keep the nightmares that reside there inside its boundaries. If the monsters get loose, then I’m afraid Dantron might find Gaelaria already decimated when the invasion does come.”

  Turning away, she walked back toward the Wanderers. Before she had gone ten paces, she turned back to him.

  “When this is all over, Xavian, I promise I’ll find you. When that day comes, then mine will be the face you see first every morning. Until then, take care of yourself. You will never be far from my thoughts.”

  Xavian didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. The words died on his tongue as surely as his hopes of her going away with him had. Instead, he watched her until she had settled herself back with Jeriacor and the Wanderers.

  Steeling himself, he turned away from the Nomad Fortress and Rivenshore, away from Spector. He jogged away at a brisk pace for a few miles until he was back among the long grass of the plains. He didn’t care that he wasn’t quite fit enough to keep up the pace. He simply needed to be away and to think while he was doing it. By the time he was completely out of breath, he called to Rotu through the Link for retrieval.

  He stood there for a long time and stared at the moons, replaying the conversation he had just had in his mind. By the time Rotu’s shadow cut off the moonlight and the Blue dragon had circled and landed, all three of the moons had reached their apex. As he mounted his steed and the dragon took flight, speeding their way back to Jenukai City and reality, only one thought coalesced Xavian’s mind.

  Once this war is over, Spector, we can finally cast aside responsibility and live for each other.<
br />
  Chapter 17

  Landran tensed as the first warning toll of the bells situated atop Jenukai Fortress rung loudly, shattering the quietness of the predawn. Lately, Landran had taken to coming up to his study well before Kania woke up. Ever since she had taken the position as Second Voice, he couldn’t make himself confront the fact that her life would now be dramatically shortened once she actually Linked into the Circle of Seven. He had been avoiding her trying to find the right words. The sword cackled at him, sensing his inner strife.

  The closeness of the bells sent a shockwave that reverberated in his study. One toll meant returning Gaelarian’s or allies, while two meant an invasion force. A stress-packed moment passed without a second toll, and he allowed himself to let out a long sigh of relief.

  “Must you always be so cowardly?” The sword mocked him constantly as it was propped against Landran’s writing desk. If a lifeless hunk of steel was ever said to be sneering, the skull that rested on its hilt was surely doing so now.

  Looking down at his remaining hand, Landran realized that he was gripping the edge of his desk tightly. His knuckles stood out stark white, and the veins upon the backs of it pulsed along with his racing heart. Taking another deep breath, he wiped his brow of the cold sweat that had begun cascading down his forehead.

  Between his grief over Kania and knowing the war was coming, he was on edge to say the very least. He would need to relieve that stress soon. He felt the sword’s equivalent of a smug smile as it read his thoughts. The witches would have to wait, for now.

  Landran had accepted that the war was coming long ago, but that wasn‘t what had his nerves frayed. It was the knowledge that it could be knocking on his doorstep any moment now. It had always seemed a far off thing as Dantron took its time conquering the rest of the world while leaving Gaelaria time to fortify and increase their defenses. Ten years had passed in that time. Now it was a matter of weeks, if not days before the invaders came to his home soil. The idea of losing Kania to the Circle of Seven was unbearable, but to have her killed in this war was a worse thought by far.