Swords of the Six (9 page)

After several moments, Miverē nodded. Barely above a whisper, he said, "Everything is
too
quiet. I haven't seen any insects for the last half-hour, nor have I seen any more bats. I don't like bats, fairest of the dragon's daughters, but they should be here . . . Maybe we should go back."

He shivered and leaned forward, holding out his tiny lantern toward the darkness ahead.

Dantress stopped. "All right, we'll go back. If sublevels exist then they have been well hid. This place is a little too fascinating for my nerves."

The fairy offered no objection, so she pivoted on her foot, intending to retrace her steps. But her foot shifted over a portion of the floor that felt like wood and that sloped down. She slipped, cried out, and fell backward. She somersaulted down the ramp and hit her head. A headache split her vision for a few seconds. Letting go of the sword, she held her face in her hands. The sword's light dimmed, and went out.

By some miracle, Miverē had managed to stay on her shoulder. The silver lantern glowed beneath his fist. It was their only light and an inadequate one at that. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head and groped for her sword. "Where are we, Miverē?"

"It cannot be the basement." He shook his head. "That is above us now."

"Then this must be . . . a sublevel? Miverē, we are
below
the basement! The rumors are true." Suddenly realizing how loud she'd spoken, Dantress hushed her voice. "I don't want to find out if there are creatures, too." Her fingers touched the cool metal of her sword's guard. She found the handle and drew it toward her. As the blade glowed in the darkness, she stood shakily and faced the direction they'd come. "Let's get out of here."

A rasping voice spoke from behind. "Leaving so soon? I think not!"

Three long, clawed fingers dug into her shoulder. She screamed and another three-fingered hand reached out and snatched at Miverē. He fluttered out of reach and pricked one of the fingers with his wand. It drew back. He landed on her shoulder, holding his wand like a sword, and pinned his lantern to her collar.

The first hand still held her with undeniable strength.

"Release me!" Dantress rolled forward, almost throwing Miverē off. But he held on. She spun to face her unseen assailant. The sword brightened as she gripped it with both hands, and begged it for more light.

Someone chuckled; that same raspy voice. "What is this: a rusted sword, in the hands of a young female human, and a fairy to fight by her side?" The unseen creature laughed. "What do you intend to do? Kill us perhaps?"

Two lithe, lizardian forms towered out of the darkness and rushed her from either side. They moved so fast that she did not catch a glimpse of their heads, but two clubs swung at her. She ducked. The clubs cracked against each other. Splintered wood rained on her hair. "Miverē"—she clenched her jaw—"hold on to me."

Dantress swung her sword at her assailant's soft-scaled underbelly. It pulled into the darkness before her blade struck. She thrust the blade uselessly. A bony black tail swept toward her. She ducked to the floor. The tail cut the air where her body had been and she stabbed upward. The glowing blade loped off two feet of tail, and one of the creatures rasped out a scream. The tail fell to the floor and twitched ineffectually. How glad she was for the hours upon hours of sword practice Albino had insisted upon.

"How dare you," a voice rasped from the darkness ahead. "You will pay for that, human!"

A broad, scaled chest penetrated her circle of light. Four clawed hands swept across the side of her head and two smote her in the stomach.

She doubled over, falling to her knees, and gasped for breath. Her sword clattered to the floor. Darkness crept in.

Miverē screamed and shot off her shoulder. Threads of energy bolted into the darkness. He furiously sprayed the bolts in all directions.

A leathery foot slammed into Dantress's chest. It pressed her against the floor. Sharp nails or claws dug into her chest. Warm blood ran from her cheek where one of the creatures' fists had rubbed it raw. Fear filled her heart and she prayed to God for strength. "It's going to be all right, Miverē." She forced the fear out of her tone, hoping to calm him. He alone, being small, had a chance to escape.

Miverē grew frantic. His toothpick wand waved wildly. In blind rage he charged the foot pressing down on her. But a claw hooked his wing in mid-flight. He cried out as if flames burned his very soul.

"You should not have interfered, little fairy." It was difficult to see by the light of the fairy's wand, but one of the creature's fingers appeared to wrap around Miverē's torso. Purple blood oozed from his fragile shoulders.

The blood within Dantress's veins began to boil. A volcano of rage built, demanding to be released. "No!" Her arm found new strength. She reached for her sword and took it. "You will harm him no further!"

New sensations raced through her body. And, as if out of a dream, she heard a voice in her mind say, "The day has come to see what you were made to be: a chosen seed of an ancient race." Her arm glowed with white light. She followed an instinct she had not found before. She obeyed its pull and shoved the foot off her chest, pain spiked her ribs, and her consciousness retreated into her mind.

The creature tumbled back into the darkness.

Dantress stood and the light of her sword revealed the long, sinewy arm of Miverē's captor. She did not physically strike out. Instead she focused her thoughts on making the arm release him. A thin beam of energy burst from her sword hand. Her sword clattered back to the floor. She did not retrieve it.

For a moment, Dantress thought she would faint. She stumbled and picked up her sword. Tears stung her eyes. "Hold on, Miverē. I'm going to get you out of here."

* * *

Dantress never knew how she managed to haul herself and the fairy out of the palace's basement. She slammed the door shut behind her and leaned against it. Some of her energy returned, but she felt strange, different. Instead of sensing only what her physical body felt, she sensed everything around her. Inanimate objects felt connected to her somehow and her spirit felt more than refreshed; it felt as if it had been resurrected to a new plane of existence.

Concentrating on a jar standing against the wall, she touched it with her mind. Its molecules seemed so pliable, so easy to manipulate. She separated them, closing her eyes to better focus. When she opened them, all that remained of the jar was a pile of broken clay.

If she could repair it . . . She closed her eyes and again reached out with her mind, picturing the jar whole. When she opened them, it stood again as it had been; against the wall, and unbroken.

If she could use her mind to fix it . . . things, maybe, just maybe—

Miverē was dying. She reached into his body with her mind and touched his life force, and sensed it ebbing away. The creature had damaged most of his internal organs and he was bleeding internally. His bright green eyes dimmed, his eyelids gradually closing in the sleep of death.

Should she try her new ability on him, on a living subject? What if she failed? She would not be able to forgive herself if she caused his death. But she knew that was nonsense. If she did nothing then he was going to die.

She tore her dress and hurriedly made a bed, laying him in it on the marble floor. His chest heaved a final time and she reached her hand toward him. His life force slipped farther away . . . If she could just grasp hold of it, take it, feed it with her own life before his left him, perhaps he'd have a chance.

Through the darkness that shrouded the little creature she searched for that final shred of life and found it, like a spark in the night. She connected with it, drawing on the love that she had for the creature and infusing it into him. She could see the damaged organs now, oozing purple blood. The life residing in the blood, flowing from his body.

She reached out with her hand and half-opened her eyes. Her hand glowed and a beam of white-blue light fed from it into the fairy's chest. One by one she healed his organs and stopped the bleeding, while still maintaining her hold on his life force. As the process progressed, she felt faint, her vision blurred, and she knew that she had done all she could.

Sleep took her and a dream wrapped her in its hazy fabric.

A man stood on the opposite side of a pool of water surrounded by forest near a small clearing. A waterfall cascaded down the face of a rock into the pool. She tried to see the man’s face. There was something about him, something that made her want to know who he was and why he stood there. But the dream faded, and she heard the voice of Patient, the shepherd.

“She of both races, gifted with heavenly beauty and fierce in strength.”

In place of the pool and the man, Dantress found herself standing in a large, smooth-walled room, reverberating with a myriad of colors. A scroll nestled in the center of the room, and upon it had been written her full name. Not the name by which her sisters and those around her knew her, but another name given to her by her father, the great white dragon. Beneath her name was the name of another, the name of a child. “Oganna.” As soon as she said it, she fell back as if stunned by an invisible opponent.

“It is given to humanity to bear children after their kind,” a melodic masculine voice said. “Yet to the daughters of the great white dragon will be given the choice of joining with the race they resemble, the race of humanity. Their lives they must willingly give if they are to bring a life into the world. This curse is laid upon them, but it is a blessing in disguise. For in ultimate sacrifice is proven the ultimate love and a child born out of ultimate sacrifice will bring joy and not sorrow to the one that bears her.”

Was this a dream? It felt too real to her. She stood and watched the walls around her, and the scroll in the center of the room, vanish. A black void imprisoned her and a stone chamber, filled with raging flames, burst forth. A two-handed sword rose through the flames. The sword’s guard appeared to be semi-transparent, like a crystal, and a thin gold vine wrapped it then passed below to the handle, reinforcing the leather gripping underneath.

It was a magnificent weapon, unlike any she had ever seen or heard of. Flames writhed beneath the shiny steel blade's surface. They fought against the steel and pierced it, twisting out of the blade to wrap around it. This sword seemed to be in command of fire, rather than an agent of it.

“I am the weapon of the ancient and wise One. I came from the ends of the world, and I will arise a weapon of living fire to vanquish the wicked. I speak to you, daughter of the dragon, for you are the child of promise, and it is to you that my prophecy is addressed. Understand what I have said and consider the wisdom that I give you.

“This life you have been given and a path to humanity you will follow. But the day will come when you will desire more and you will have to decide whether or not you are willing to pay the price of ultimate love. Your sacrifice will seed a new race, humanity born of dragon and human blood. Or your life will follow a vastly different course and, eventually, lead to the end of the world and all that is dear to you.

“Remember my instruction, daughter of the dragon. Remember my warning: a life you may bring into the world, but the price of that life is your own.”

The weapon receded from her, engulfing itself in flames. Everything vanished and she drifted back onto the plane of normal existence . . . where dreams were part of sleep.

* * *

“Out! Out! All of you! Gracious me, I’ve got a sick girl on my hands and the presence of you five is not helping matters. Out, I say!” Dantress, groggily stirring from her strange sleep, heard the patter of her sisters' feet as Elsie closed the door after them.

The woman snapped her fingers, remembering something. She opened the door and called down the hall. “Gwen, bring me more of that herbal cream. Dantress still has a few scratches, and I don’t want her skin to scar.”

“M’st certainly!” Gwen’s muffled voice replied. “I’ll get it right away, Mum.”

“And bring my apron while you’re at it.” Elsie closed the door. “Dantress, you’re awake? No, no! Don’t get up,” she pushed Dantress’s head back to the pillow. “You’ve been unconscious for two days, so you had better take it slow.”

“Miverē . . . how is he?”

“Fully recovered, my dear. No need to worry. He’s been at your bedside almost every hour for the past couple days. Keeps insisting that you saved his life and that he's at fault for what happened to you.”

“What?” Dantress sat up.

Elsie pushed her back down with a gentle hand. “We know the fairy isn’t to blame, Honey. And the dragon has commended him for his quick actions on your behalf. Miverē came to him very shortly after you collapsed, and he led us to you.”

Relieved, Dantress let out a long breath. “Good, I was afraid Father would be angry.”

“Angry with the fairy? No. With you, on the other hand . . . Well, that may be an entirely different story.”

The door opened, and Gwen hurried in. “Here’s the cream, Mum. Oh, and your apron." She smiled at Dantress. "Your Highness! It is good to see you awake.” She grinned and bowed low. “Are you feeling better?”

“Thank you, Gwen. I’m feeling weak, but fine otherwise.”

“Well you look wonderful, and the color is coming to your cheeks.”

“Out with you, girl.” Elsie shooed her toward the door. “You can discuss things with Dantress later.
When
she is back to full strength.” She closed the door behind the taller woman and shook her head to get her straying red hair out of her eyes.