The Dragon's Lover (15 page)

“Wait,” the blond elf commanded, and the group
stopped obediently in front of the cave.

Silence descended on the settlement. Even the clank
of the hammer and anvil had ceased. A few birds chirped off in the
distance. The tension grew and Lorifal shifted uneasily. A bead of
sweat ran down his back, making him itch. An insect buzzed about
his head, and in frustration, he swatted at it.

The flitting of the arrow through the air was so
sudden it was barely comprehended before reacted to. A fidgety
young elf had accidentally loosed the arrow at the dwarf upon his
sudden movement. It was completely unintentional and he gazed in
horror before his eyes could grasp the end result.

The arrow had not struck its target but rather was
being held in the palm of the blue-eyed woman, her arm extended,
her head having not budged a whit in order to stop its flight.
Raine had caught the arrow from the corner of her eye and snatched
the missile from the sky before it could pass her. Lorifal
swallowed hard staring at the point of the arrow which would have
pierced him through the eye.

The circle of guardian elves took one large step
backward, and all weapons, which before had been trained on the
group as a whole, now were trained entirely on Raine.

Feyden chuckled softly. “It won't help,” he told
them.

Fortunately, some commotion at the entrance to the
cave distracted everyone. Two older female elves, both dressed in
elaborate robes, exited from the darkness. They appeared to be
seidr, sorceresses, or perhaps priestesses or some combination of
both. They were greeted with respect but the assembly still had an
air of expectation. The two attendants stopped, awaiting the one
that followed them.

A tiny, wizened old elf came from the shadows. She
was old, old even for the Elvish who could live for a thousand
years. Her skin was wrinkled, her hair was white, but her green
eyes shone like emeralds from that craggy, lined face. She
supported her weight on a gnarled wooden staff carved with
filigree. Her robes were simpler than her attendants yet
beautifully mystic, woven with ancient, arcane symbols, the glyphs
of the natural world. The vibrant green of her cloak set off her
white hair and green eyes in a magnificent and intimidating
way.

Y'arren took the measure of each in the band. Her
eyes settled on the two knights first. They were typical sons of
men, brash, head-strong with little respect for the old ways due to
their short life-spans, but remarkably brave despite that fact. Her
green eyes moved to the bard. Lusty but soft-hearted, a romantic,
but a strong one. Y'arren turned to the high elf. Handsome,
taciturn, a little cynical, but deeply noble at his core. She
looked upon Lorifal. The dwarf was unpolished, a bit crude, but
loyal and fearless. Her eyes lingered on Elyara. One of her kind,
talented, but always tempted to play with the dark side of
magic.

Y'arren turned to Idonea and her eyes lingered even
longer. Mixed blood in this one. Power. Ambition. Dark magic. And
an uncertain path ahead of her.

Each member of the band stood quietly under the
ancient elf's scrutiny. And finally, the tiny wizened creature
turned her attention to the last member of the band.

“Raine,” the high priestess said with obvious
pleasure.

Raine stepped forward, all astonished eyes upon her,
an expression of quiet joy and respect on her fine features.

“Y'arren'ikad'qeri,” she said, using the revered
one's full title. She went to a knee, not so much in obeisance but
rather to get down to eye-level with the diminutive creature. “May
warmth find you in winter and the cool breeze in summer.”

Raine spoke in flawless Elvish, much to the surprise
of everyone present, including her two elven companions. But the
next conversation would shock them even more.

“No,” Y'arren said, “We will speak in the ancient
tongue.”

“As you wish, so it will be,” Raine replied,
switching to the archaic language which no one could understand,
not even the two attending the high priestess.

The language was slow, lyrical, elaborate, and
exotic. There were parts of it that seemed familiar to those
straining to decipher it. But it pre-dated their current language
by thousands of years and was all but forgotten, except for,
apparently, by the two in front of them. And most would be stunned
to know that Raine had learned it from Y'arren.

Y'arren examined the beautiful creature in front of
her. Beautiful inside. Beautiful outside. A slow smile stretched
the corner of her mouth as she placed her hand on Raine's chest
over her heart.

“You carry another here.”

Raine smiled, her calm joy radiating outward as
Y'arren absorbed the energy from the contact. She was pleased with
the images that filled her mind.

“Ah, that explains why we have had so few reports of
slaughter and rapine of late.”

“I've been keeping her busy,” Raine said,
laughing.

“A perfect match,” Y'arren said with
satisfaction.

Raine stood, and Y'arren turned to address the
assembly, now speaking the common language that everyone
understood.

“These are our guests. You will treat them with
hospitality.” She turned to Raine once more. “I would speak with
you this evening, then you may depart on the morrow.”

Raine bowed low. “Of course. Thank you for your
kindness.”

Whereas before the band had been looked at with
disdain and distrust, now they were looked upon with uncertainty
and curiosity. Dagna particularly garnered a good deal of attention
because most elven women were small and delicate, not generously
endowed as was she. Elyara was happy to blend in with a group of
healers and alchemists, and Feyden and Lorifal began discussing the
various merits of weaponry with the smith. They were joined by
Bristol and Gunnar who, uncomfortable at first, quickly fell into
the conversation about swords and shields. Even Idonea was somewhat
sociable as she was fascinated by the arcane markings on the
surrounding architecture and found a smitten young scribe who was
willing to answer her every question.

Raine, however, garnered the majority of attention,
and probably would have even without the extraordinary recognition
bestowed upon her by the greatly revered high priestess. Many
apparently forgot that she spoke both Elvish and the more ancient
form of their tongue that they didn't even know. They loudly
speculated that she must have some elven blood in her due to her
angelic beauty. There was also much talk of the spectacular feat
with the arrow, and much speculation on magical abilities.

Ignoring the attention, Raine found a grindstone and
sought the opportunity to see to her weapons. She methodically
sharpened each sword and dagger one by one, and the elvish warriors
gaped as the number of weapons she removed from her person seemed
to increase without end. She then removed her bow, snapped it
outward, and began to sharpen the melee edge. This caused a great
deal of consternation because no one had ever seen a collapsible
bow, let alone one that required sharpening.

When finished, Raine set out for a quick hunt, joined
by Feyden and a few of the wood elves. The wood elves were highly
skilled at hunting and the group brought down several deer, some
hares, and even one large boar. When they returned to the
settlement, the food was consolidated and several elven chefs set
about to prepare the evening meal. The resulting stew was
delicious, accompanied by a honeyed brew that brought relaxation to
everyone. The camp minstrel began to play his lute and Dagna joined
his performance, much to the merriment of everyone.

Raine leaned back on her pack, watching the merry
scene, and soon felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. One of Y'arren's
attendants was there, silently gesturing for Raine to follow her.
Raine rose quietly and slipped away from the assembly
unnoticed.

A warm glow emanated from the cave in the side of the
mountain, bathing the steps in soft light. When Raine entered the
cavern, she was greeted by dozens of candles that burned brightly
while giving off a wonderful scent of sandalwood. Y'arren sat in
the center of the circle of light on a pile of soft furs, and Raine
took a seat near her as the attendant silently bowed out of the
room.

A look of pleasure softened the wizened face of
Y'arren. “It is good to see you so happy.”

“Well I am not completely happy as I am separated
from my love, but it is necessary.”

“Yes,” Y'arren replied, nodding sagely. “I had feared
you would never find a suitable match, being the offspring of two
such disparate people. But now I begin to understand the ebb and
flow of purpose in your life.”

“What do you mean by that?” Raine asked
curiously.

“I think had you been purely Scinterian, you would
have become Talan's ally, but not her lover. The fact that you are
also Arlanian made the romantic bond inevitable, and that will have
profound consequences.”

“What do you mean?” Raine said, still not
understanding.

“You are now the Dragon's Lover,” Y'arren said,
speaking the last two words in the ancient tongue as if the phrase
were a title.

This meant nothing to Raine. “Dragon's Lover? You say
that as if it has some significance.”

Y'arren breathed deeply of the sandalwood scent
around her. “Many ancient stories are allegories, myths without
true manifestations. Some are meant as warnings, some as guidelines
for behavior. Some are merely cultural artifacts from the Old
Times.”

“And others?” Raine prompted her.

“Others are prophecies.”

“And what particular prophecy would you be referring
to?” Raine said, furrowing her brow.

Y'arren shifted on her pile of furs. “There is a very
ancient saying that when the end of the world approaches, only the
Dragon's Lover stands between life and total destruction. It is
very lyric and obscure, but the truest translation is ‘the Dragon’s
Lover, felled by the closest of allies, carries into death without
dying that which saves all worlds. There is a final line to the
poem, but it has proven too difficult to translate.”

“Really?” Raine said, “It specifically used the
phrase 'Dragon's Lover'? And you think that refers to me?”

The wizened expression darkened. “I do, my dear.
Although dragons are a lusty lot and there are tens of thousands
who theoretically could fit such a description, there is only one
that is actually bound to a dragon. And only one like you.”

“Does Weynild know this?” Raine asked, troubled.

“It is likely Talan knows of this prophecy. And she
may have realized its relevance as your bond has strengthened. But
given the great love she has for you, I believe had she known its
significance early on, she would have fled from you and spared you
that fate.”

“I would not have let her flee,” Raine said
darkly.

Y'arren smiled. “I know my dear. And she would not
have escaped you. Not even with her great skill.”

Raine sighed, and with the Scinterian pragmatism that
ruled her life, shrugged her shoulders. “Well, destiny is destiny.
I can flee from fate, but I will only meet it on the road I took to
avoid it, probably under less favorable circumstances. You cannot
run from it, you cannot run to it, you can only meander your way
until fate tires of waiting and sweeps you from your feet. You may
think you can control your destiny, but none of us influences it in
any way.”

“You are wise even beyond your advanced years,”
Y'arren said, “although you are still a youngster to me.” She
raised an eyebrow. “And I imagine you are quite a youngster to
Talan as well.”

A smile stole its way back on to Raine's face, and
the somber mood lightened. “I have never had much of an attraction
to anyone. But apparently I like older women.” She paused, and the
smile grew larger. “As long as they are also dragons.”

CHAPTER 10

Although their entry into the elven camp had been
less than auspicious, the band left the clan with great reluctance.
The short respite from their journey had been wonderful for all.
Y'arren had appeared once more, highlighting the importance of
their quest by bestowing her most profound blessing on them. The
travelers then departed, picking their way through the thick
forest.

It was two days before they made it to the flat plain
area and Lorifal was once again happy to be on his horse. Although
the open land made travel far easier, the open sky above made
Gunnar nervous, as did the wide swathes of land around them.
Although they could see for miles in every direction, there was no
place to hide or even flee to if they were attacked.

They passed blackened, diseased areas where roots had
crawled to the surface as if trying to escape, their twisted,
tortured positions bespeaking the agony of their attempt. These
stretches of land looked like scars on the countryside, filled with
dead wildlife, dead plant life, dead everything. Occasionally, a
mortally wounded animal or bird could be found limping along the
blackened earth and Raine would dispatch these quickly, her blue
eyes dark with sadness and her jaw clenched.

Elyara noticed that Raine began to look to the sky
with increasing frequency, and when she followed her gaze she saw
the gigantic hawk that she had seen before.

“Is there a story behind the hawk?” Elyara asked,
“Like the one behind the wolves?”

Raine's eyes again went skyward, and she seemed
preoccupied. “Yes,” she said, “it's somewhat similar. Baby bird.
Rescued from certain death. Raised to adulthood. Taught to fly.
Turns out it is one of Freyja's children. I have the most profound
luck that way. But we really don't have time for the full story
right now.”

“What is that?” Feyden said, squinting towards the
horizon. It looked at first like a storm front, but it was too low
to the ground and the sky above it was clear. He realized it was a
cloud of dust.