“
“I miss the life I had before I chose to come here. I miss the times I had with Arak, who is now an utter stranger to me. Yes, please. Dance with me,” Galani begged, nodding once. As she did, the wind suddenly came to life . . . and with it also came a gentle music, the music of the stars and moon, of peace and love.
The elf drew Shade forward, not permitting him escape. She guided him around, showing him how the music flowed. The robes fluttered, but they seemed to do so in time with the notes.
Galani and the warlock danced . . . and so Valea danced with Shade also.
She had danced with Kyl, but somehow those times paled with this. Kyl danced like a drake, moving with perfect but martial steps. The tall figure before her danced differently, his movements not only following the music, but adding to it a hint of something else. Shade danced as one more than well-versed in the art; he danced as someone who loved life to its fullest.
If Galani’s cheeks grew crimson, Valea thought that surely it was because of her, not the elf. Something in Shade now touched her, drew her to him as she had never been drawn to anyone. She looked into the hood, saw a bit of the vague features, and desired truly this time to see the face that should be there.
She raised a hand to his cheek. She,
But at that moment, two silent forms leapt over the hedge to their right.
Shade threw Valea/Galani to the opposing side just before the figures overwhelmed him. Valea had a glimpse of an armored fighter wielding not a sword or ax, but rather a staff with a curved, open end that glowed faintly.
With a hiss, the first attacker slapped the curved end onto the back of the warlock’s hooded neck. Shade howled when the peculiar weapon touched him, then dropped to the floor.
Without thinking, Valea cast a spell. A burst of light illuminated the intruders-savage, fork-tongued drake warriors with a faint purple tint to their otherwise dusky green forms. Startled by the intense glare, the one wielding the magical weapon dropped it-just before the sorceress’s second spell threw him into the foliage.
The other drake charged at her, a short sword drawn. He leapt with a speed Valea had never witnessed in drakes wearing a humanoid form. She wondered why the pair just did not transform into dragons or at least cast spells, then forgot such questions as she defended herself.
In her eyes, lines of force suddenly crisscrossed over every part of the visible world. As she had been trained by her parents, Valea drew from the nearest, touched upon the natural magic and pulled it within herself.
The drake swung at her, crimson orbs glowing malevolently within the false dragonhelm.
Pure magical force threw him into the air, threw him beyond the maze, and even beyond the grounds of the Manor. Unwilling to slay, Valea sent him far away, so far he would be no trouble for months to come. It would take him that long simply to reach his own master . . . who would not be so gentle after such an abysmal failure.
As the spell waned, a garbled, horrific sound made the sorceress turn back to the first drake. To her horror, she saw him struggling futilely to free himself from a hedge that seemed determined to devour his armored form. A gauntleted hand tore uselessly at the enshrouding limbs of the tall plant while the other stretched forth in desperate plea to the figure nearest.
But Shade did nothing as the hedge inexorably pulled its victim within.
Valea charged forward, but the warlock blocked her with his arm. The drake let out one last hiss . . . then the hedge enveloped him, leaving no trace.
“The master of the Libraries delved well and deep for this treachery,” Shade uttered.
At first, Valea did not know what to make of his words, for why her parents’ friend the Lord Gryphon would send drakes to attack the Manor was beyond her . . . but then she recalled that the leonine ruler of Penacles, City of Knowledge, did not yet even exist. The sorceress also recalled the colorings she had seen when the light had been strongest, a faint purple tint to the green scale.
Purple . . . the color of the Dragon Kings who had ruled Penacles until the Turning War, two hundred years prior to Valea’s birth.
Shade waved one hand at the hedge that had devoured the drake. The foliage shimmered briefly, then resumed its normal appearance.
“But how-” Valea stammered. “It’s impossible! How can they pass through the barrier?”
The shadowed visage turned to her. “It is said that any answer can be found in the books of Penacle’s magical libraries . . . if one knows how to phrase the question.” He leaned forward, a specter that suddenly blanketed the night. “You are well versed in power, Galani. My gratitude.” He took her hand. “One would say your power rivals even that of Arak. I am surprised. You have said your powers were minute.”
Only then did Valea realize what she had done.
Or had she? Perhaps her actions had just been akin to those that Galani would have chosen. Surely it was not possible for her to-
“What is it? What happened out here? Galani! Where are you?”
Shade’s hood lifted. “We are here, Arak!”
A green glow rose from elsewhere in the maze and the hedges before them abruptly separated. Hand up, Galani’s cousin stalked toward them, eyes surveying everything in search of a foe.
“What happened? I heard shouts and felt spellwork!” He seized Valea, practically tearing her from the warlock’s grip. “Cousin! Are you all right?”
“She is well . . . and quite capable, I might add.” Shade pointed at the ground, where the peculiar weapon used by the one drake still lay. “A possession rod. Designed to make its captive pliable through pain. I believe it was meant for you, not me. Lord Purple planned well, but did not take in account my resilience.”
The elf was aghast. “Penacles? There were drakes here? Within the barrier?”
“You know that of all the Dragon Kings he has the wherewithal to find a way inside. Fortunately, some sacrifices had to be made. Neither drake could shapeshift or else we would have been overwhelmed by dragons. The two could not cast spells, either, I believe. They must have seen your cousin run out to the hedge and assumed when I joined her that I must be you.”
“‘Ran out to the hedge’ . . .” Arak stared down at Valea, who chose to say nothing. A look of contrition spread over the male elf’s countenance. “Galani, I am so very sorry. If I-”
“They must be after the Wyr Stone,” Shade interjected.
All thought of apology vanished from Arak. “You think so?”
“What other reason?”
“Then . . . my decision is made for me. Their tyranny must come to an end.”
Valea desperately wanted to ask what the Wyr Stone was and what it would do to the Dragon Kings, but suddenly her head pounded horribly. She swayed and would have fallen if not for Arak suddenly catching her.
“Galani! Galani! Gal-”
“Mistress Valea! My lady! Please awaken!”
Moaning, Valea opened her eyes. A rounded, elderly woman in brown, one of the human servants, leaned over her. The woman’s face was flushed and she had obviously been trying for some time to awaken her mistress.
“Cora . . . what’s . . . what’s wrong?”
“Mistress Valea! ’Tis nearly dinner! You’ve slept all night and all day!” Cora felt the younger woman’s forehead. “And you’re cold to the touch! Do you feel ill?”
Her head throbbed and Valea felt hungry, but otherwise she seemed all right. She told Cora so.
With an expression worthy of Lady Bedlam, the senior household servant shook her head. “Well you’ll still stay in that bed while I get someone to bring you some good broth. If you can down that, we’ll see about hardier food. Wouldn’t do for your parents to come home to find you on death’s door, would it?”
Knowing better than to argue, Valea lay back on the pillow, watching as Cora fussed about for a moment before departing to find her mistress some healthy food. The young sorceress marveled for a moment that she with all her trained and natural skills still had to rely on someone without a single iota of ability when it came to magic.
