The Gems of Raga-Tor (Elemental Legends Book 1) (35 page)

“I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me. But I do have the feeling that, like Morengoth, she’s one of a kind.”

“Good. Perhaps they are destined for each other in the end.”

“It’s possible,” Raga said with a doubtful shrug.

“The man might look like something of a beast, but he does have a heart. After all these years alone, I have no doubt he’ll do everything he can for her. One strange creature deserves another, so why not? He has scales, she has wings. What better place than a haunted forest for two beasties to live?” Eris said.

“You know, sometimes I think it would have been better if the Sultan had cut out your tongue, then civility would be forced on you,” Raga said.

“And who made you suddenly the champion of compassion? Don’t forget, I know some of your legends, too, and Morengoth’s pale next to yours. Riza’s pits! Look at her. Wings? Pink tears?” Eris said exasperated. He ran his fingers quickly through his hair. His head ached with frustration. “Why do I even talk to you? You’re the same as they are." He grabbed up his blanket and strode from the cave.

Raga sighed and his shoulders slumped. It was going to be a long morning. He sighed again and knelt to awaken Anya.

Just as Eris pulled the last strap on the saddle, Raga brought out their gear and was followed by Anya.

“Why did you untie her?” he demanded, when he turned to take the bundles from Raga.

“I only untied her feet. How else is she to ride a horse?”

“I can think of any number of ways.”

“I know, that’s why she’s riding with me, not you,” Raga said, as he lifted her into the saddle.

“If she gets away from you, you’re going after her,” Eris warned, cinching down the bedrolls. He swung up into his saddle to wait for Raga to mount up.

Anya kept her gaze away from Eris and mumbled a thank you to Raga as he wrapped the warm fur cloak tightly around her. Raga offered up his cloak to Eris, who was now without one.

“Keep it for yourself,” Eris said, tying his own woolen one around his shoulders. “Conserve your strength. We still have a long road ahead of us. It will be three or four hours until we get back.”

Raga nodded and pulled his horse around to start the journey back.

As the day before, the morning was bright, sunny and a little warmer. The melting snow made the path muddy. Snow cascading from the higher branches made powdery avalanches when it hit the lower branches and continued to the ground.

Anya was awed by the massive, growing mountain and looked back from time to time to see how far they had come.

“Have you never been in this part of the forest?” Raga asked, noticing her curiosity mingled with fear.

“No. The legends have always kept me away. Do you swear you are telling me the truth? That this dragon won’t kill me?” she asked.

Raga gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I swear he won’t harm you. He would have come himself, but as I told you, his enchantment will only allow him to go so far.” He glanced at Eris, who rode as silent and resolute as the hard granite rising out of the earth.

They lapsed into an uneasy silence and the morning wore on equally silent and uneventful. Eris’ voice broke the stillness, when he announced that they were nearing the rock formation that indicated the location of the gates to Morengoth’s immense home.

From high on his balcony, the Dragon King watched and waited eagerly for their eventual approach. Catching a glimpse of them, he couldn’t believe that three riders returned, and that it was so soon. His heart soared with joy and great tears rolled down his noble face. Though he couldn’t see the woman they brought, he was sure that she was beautiful and he gathered up the gifts he had prepared for her.

Before descending to the lower depths of the stables, Morengoth hurried to the shrine of Tas-Moren and knelt before it.

“Oh, great lord of the once-proud Tamori, accept my praise and gratitude that you have ended my despair, but I am troubled great lord. How may I receive this companion, when my debt has not been fulfilled?” Morengoth implored of his god.

A deep silence descended on the small room, and then Morengoth heard the familiar susurration in the air around him.

“Not all is for you to know, my son,”
the voice whispered as it swirled around his head.
“Your Lady awaits you.”

As the last word was spoken, the sensation of the god’s presence vanished. The shrine was unbearably silent as Morengoth offered up yet another silent prayer. The sound of his retreating footsteps, unburdened from the weight of three, lonely centuries, rang out as the peal of great bells.

Morengoth was waiting anxiously in the stables, when the three tired, cold travelers made their entrance.

Raga felt Anya suddenly press against him as she beheld the Dragon King’s overpowering presence. He was dressed in a white, silk shirt open at the neck that allowed his shimmering scales to show. His deep-blue breeches were tucked into his boots at the knee, and a sash of golden cloth that he wore at his waist matched the short cloak that hung from his shoulders at a jaunty angle. He wore no jewelry except for the signet ring that was the symbol of his kingship. There was no mistaking the joy that lit his face.

Raga suddenly recognized, and knew he should have done so sooner, the similarity between what was happening now and the recent events in Reshan. Aside from knowing the beating Eris had taken in capturing Anya, Raga felt a strange sense of compassion toward him and understood what had made him so ill-tempered. The situations were too alike and the memories had no time to fade.

Eris, on the other hand, was in control of himself and had accomplished the task set before him. He had no other thoughts than honor had been upheld, yet he braced himself to endure another of Anya’s piercing shrieks should Morengoth take one step closer.

Before the silence and awkwardness became too unbearable, Eris felt compelled to dismount and stand before the king.

“My Lord King,” he began as the words came unexpectedly to him as before. A fog of dullness settled over his mind. “We have accomplished your desire and honor was upheld in your name. If it is your wish, I shall present the bounty of our hunt.”

“By all means,” Morengoth said.

Eris turned toward Anya unsure if he was still under the influence of the subtle power or not. He lifted her gently down from the saddle, relieved that Raga had cut the rope from her wrists. Given the situation at hand, it was a wise move on the sorcerer’s part. He escorted her several paces forward.

“My Lord, may I present to you the Lady Anya,” Eris said, and was compelled to bow before Morengoth; a sight Raga wouldn’t have believed had he not seen it.

Raga dismounted and stood behind Eris, who had backed away from Anya leaving her to face the Dragon King alone. Both of them looked expectantly at Morengoth, who suddenly seemed to be at a loss for what to do next.

“Anya, my Lady,” he nearly stammered, “welcome to my home. It is my hope that you will soon call it yours as well. I have waited many years for you to come and most especially now as your winters songs have filled my heart with longing to see you.”

Anya said nothing and took a step back from Morengoth, who frightened her more than Eris. Yet, his words were kinder, gentler. She turned to focus her round, blue eyes on the men behind her. Fear haunted her child-like face.

“Please,” she implored them, “take me back to my home. I can’t stay here. I'm afraid. My friends won’t know where to find me.”

“Friends?” Morengoth questioned. “You may bring them here if you like. There is plenty of room.”

“They’re not here now. They have gone south for winter,” she said sadly.

“What friends?” Morengoth asked Eris, who had a puzzled look on his face.

“I have no idea,” Eris replied, but stepped behind Anya. “Perhaps this will tell you something.”

He took the fur from around her shoulders to reveal her crystalline wings that sparkled and cast a rainbow of light on the ground. Anya bowed her head self-consciously, but Morengoth seemed quite pleased by them and shrugged his shoulders.

“I have no idea what they might mean, but perhaps, in time, she will tell me,” he said kindly. “Come now, all of you. I have prepared a table for us and there is dry, warm clothing.”

Morengoth approached and held out his arm to Anya. She looked to Raga, who gave her a smile and a nod. She put her slender hand on Morengoth’s arm. He led them back to his living quarters where they found a table laden with many dishes. Fine wax candles burned in golden sconces, and golden cups and plates, unused for three centuries, gleamed brightly in anticipation of a royal feast. Raga smiled and rubbed his belly. It would be a magnificent feast that rivaled his.

“Anya, I have a gift for you,” Morengoth said. He went to a small table, picked up a wooden box and opened it. He withdrew a necklace of tiny sapphires and diamonds set in the shape of a golden flower that hung from a fine gold chain.

“The beauty of these gems pales in comparison to you and the joy I feel in welcoming you here,” he said sincerely, and fastened the chain around her neck.

Eris felt a lump rise in his throat and turned away from the sight. Anya was welcomed as a queen, and when he would have been queen, he was treated like a slave. His memories were too raw, too clearly etched in his mind to watch it again. He limped across the room to be alone with his thoughts.

Erisa’s accusing voice railed at him saying he was just as guilty for doing this to Anya as were those who had misused him. Had he learned nothing that he could intentionally condemn another creature to imprisonment such as it was, and a creature that likely lived more freely than he? The sound of the golden manacles closing around his wrists rang loud in his memory.

He was almost to the balcony, when Morengoth’s voice called to him and drove the nagging conscience away.

“Eris, my friend, forgive me. I didn’t notice you were injured,” he said. “What happened?”

“I took her dagger in my leg,” Eris answered. He tried not to limp as he walked to the small table where the Dragon King stood. It was no use. The cold of the ride had set in. He pulled the silver dagger from his boot and the broken palette from inside his shirt.

“An accident?” Morengoth asked. His gaze flickered to the slender girl and watched her fidget under his reptilian gaze.

“Hardly. I’m just glad it was my leg. This palette of paints is also some kind of weapon. Neither of us really understands how it works, but she paints pictures on trees and somehow they come to life,” Eris answered, not quite sure where the meanness he felt toward her was coming from. “The silver dagger can destroy her creatures readily enough, if you have it, and some monstrous, ax-wielding beast isn’t bearing down on you.” His shoulder twitched at the thought of the sizzling energy coursing down his arm. “I suggest you not let her paint until you’re sure she won’t try to kill you as well.”

Morengoth raised an eyebrow. Erisa’s accusing voice tore through Eris demanding to know why he should defend himself, but not Anya? By relating the information, he had just condemned her to suffer the wrath of masculine pride. It was only fair warning, Eris argued with his conscience.

Raga spotted the telltale flaring of the combs on Morengoth’s neck and knew he felt some displeasure.

“At least she has spunk,” Raga said in her defense, which also brought him a vague, lesser recollection of Reshan than Eris. “And I'm sure our unexpected appearance frightened her greatly.”

“Perhaps this is so, but I will take no chances until I’m sure,” Morengoth said. He picked up Anya’s weapons and walked to the far wall. A panel in the stone wall suddenly popped open. Eris wondered what sort of clever mechanism was concealed in the stone to allow that. Once the items were securely stowed, Morengoth led them all to their rooms and set Eris, with a bundle of clothes in his arms, on the path to the springs below.

Eris took his time walking down to the healing pools and was glad for the chance to be alone with his thoughts. The dark, emptiness of the passages eased and quieted the conflict that tore at him.

Once back in the chamber, he stripped off his torn and muddy clothing and stepped into the warm water. Almost instantly he felt its soothing effects as the water rose higher on his body. As Morengoth instructed, he swam out to where the spring bubbled up and sank under the water remaining there as long as possible. He felt the swelling in his leg lessen and the wound heal. The ache in his shoulder floated away with the cold and stiffness in his joints. He wondered how he had ever survived the after-fatigue of battle without something as miraculous as this spring. It would be hard to accept the ways of mortal men after this, he mused. Perhaps some magic had its usefulness. As before, his hard edges were softened by the spring’s gentle waves of peace and complaisance.

Healed and refreshed much more quickly than expected, he reluctantly exited the water. There were probably penalties for overstaying the welcome. There always were. Perhaps it was just as well, he thought, as his stomach growled loudly and his mind drifted to the pleasures of the feast above.

He pulled his clothes on quickly and wondered just where Morengoth had found the clothes, not to mention how he had single-handedly prepared the feast, though he knew it was better not to ask. He supposed that living under the ministrations of a god for three centuries did have certain advantages. He was even more pleased to see that Morengoth had provided him with a new, green sash. A god could be useful after all.

Taking the stairs two and three at a time, Eris hurried to the upper chambers. He had just come to the long hall that led to the living quarters, when he heard the sound of Anya weeping quietly. As he approached her door, the pungent fragrance of clover drifted out. He paused at the doorway and looked into the room.

Anya sat at a little table in the full light and warmth of the sun’s rays that shone through a small window. She had brushed her hair until it shone like spun gold and complimented the pale yellow of her gown. Her wings moved listlessly as she stared down at her hands folded in her lap.