Return to Shanhasson (16 page)

Bitterness ground the
rahke
deeper into her heart, but she
nodded. If her daughters could see their fathers when their mother was forced
to abandon them, who was she to deny them such solace?

 
“You are correct, though. They shouldn’t spend
all their days on Vulkar’s Mountain. Time passes strangely there, and they must
participate in our world and make their own choices. Let them abide with me
awhile in perfect safety, and when Winter breaks, they’ll descend to live among
Khul’s family.”

“I’ll provide an escort—” Drendon began,
but
Kae’Shaman
smiled and shook his
head.

“There’s no need. Our
na’kindren
know the way. We’ll leave at
first light when Shannari returns to Shanhasson.”

She hugged her friends, murmuring her
thanks. They held the last bit of her heart and soul in their hands, and they
knew it.

“Your daughters carry the honor of the
greatest warrior the Plains ever knew as well as the new Khul’s personal oath
of protection. The Nine Camps will see them safe or writhe in the Three Hells.”
Drendon touched his fist to his heart. “
Kae’Shaman
,
do all the dead abide in the Tenth Camp?”

“Nay,” the old man squeezed her shoulder
again. “Merely the ones who swore they would never ride to Vulkar’s side until
their heart rode with them. They’ll wait for you in the Tenth Camp as long as
it takes, child.”

“I don’t…” A hard, cold knot of ice
caught in her throat.

He patted her shoulder soothingly and
then shuffled over to the tent flap. A stiff breeze whirled inside, so cold it
felt as though her Blood had given her a fierce slap back in the face. “When
you’re ready, they’ll still be there. They understand, child. You have a right
to grieve as long as you feel the need.”

* * *

THE DARK HOUR BEFORE DAWN was Mykal’s
favorite time of day. Although he still couldn’t remember as much as he’d like,
he suspected he’d spent many nights plotting into the wee hours. It was the
perfect time to kill a dragon sluggish after its feasting, as well as casting
nets out into the world long before any of his victims suspected a thing.

The Keldari enjoyed these dark hours,
too. Because of the miserable heat of the long daylight hours, they’d learned
long ago to accomplish as many tasks as possible in shades of night. However,
few men could have brought four powerful
tals
together without bloodshed.

He gave a small bow to each, lightly
touching his forehead, heart, and mouth. “May Somma’s waters cleanse us of our
devalki
.”

Eying each other warily, they repeated
the gesture.

After days of practicing with his
rav
, he’d learned how to decipher the
marks on each
tal’s
face. He didn’t
have to relearn, exactly; the knowledge was there. He simply had to filter it
through layers of silt. Occasionally, very disturbing memories filtered up
through the murky water of his past, little pockets of miasma that chilled the
marrow in his bones.

Nightmares
,
he whispered to himself.
Only nightmares.

I
am Mykal tal’Mamba and I have a purpose.

Not even hidden pockets of quicksand
could prevent him from achieving it.

Razul
tal
’Cobra gripped the hilt of wicked scimitar in one hand and a
short sword in the other. “If we’re to Dance the Blades at dawn, why meet now
without our
ravs
?”

“So he can set us one upon the other,”
Gana
tal’Tellan
retorted. His face
was so heavily tanned and lined by the punishing sun that Mykal couldn’t make
out his markings. It didn’t matter.
Tellan
claimed to be the holiest and purest of all tribes in the desert, the last
hope, the remnant that would be saved.

Yet they had proven to be the most
corruptible. So much precious White blood had been given to them in the
beginning, only to be squandered in their thirst to claim the title of
azi
, supreme
tal
’Keldar. As sands blew constantly in the face of the storm, so
had
Tellan
lost all they held dear.

“You don’t even bring a White to
sacrifice.” Nijar
tal
’Gaboon sneered.
“How can you hope to challenge us for
azi
?”

The Gaboon had been well named; the man
had very long fangs but less potent venom. Mykal smiled, holding his hands out
empty of all weapons. “You bring a White? A true White?”

“Absolutely.” Nijar drew himself up
proudly. “I have the granddaughter of the first
azi
.”

Razul hissed, muscles coiling for
battle. “You filthy jackal. You would sacrifice one of my blood after swearing
to treasure her?”

Shaking his head, Gana merely laughed.
“This child couldn’t possibly be the granddaughter of the great Zahak, for his
munakura
was barren. You should be a
slaver, Razul. How much water did Gaboon pay for your precious kin?”

“I can guarantee us a true, precious
White.” Mykal spoke softly, but his low voice carried, even to the bickering
tals
. Silenced, all three stared at him.

Gana finally voiced the question they
all burned to hear. “How?”

“There’s only one White Daughter left in
all the world,” Mykal whispered. “Only one who still smells of roses.”

Razul spat on the sands, a grave insult,
but Mykal noted the whiteness of the man’s knuckles on his weapons and the
grooves of strain about his mouth. “You lie.”

A faint shudder shook Mykal’s shoulders
at the memory. “Smoldering roses that grow thicker with her desire. Is that not
how a White should smell?”

Releasing a rumbling snort of challenge
dragon to dragon, Razul took a step closer and raised the scimitar over his
head. “How could you possibly know this?”

The creature inside Mykal stirred.
Scales slithered against his spine, claws clattering beneath his ribs. He
stiffened, fighting to keep his face smooth despite the rolling, prowling beast
crawling inside him. “I have my ways.”

“Keeping secrets, are you, Razul?” Gana
growled and unsheathed his short sword. “I should have known you’d have more
information than you’d share.”

“You’re the great and holy
Tellan
.” Razul shifted his weight to the
balls of his feet. “If anyone kept secrets of how to recognize a true White, it
was your tribe. Chanda the White filled your cursed Well of Tears to found your
tribe!”

“If none of us can be
azi
without a White,” Mykal said,
keeping his hands well away from his own weapons, “and your captives aren’t
true Whites, then why battle each other to the death when we could work
together to accomplish the same goal?”

“Speak for yourself,” Nijar growled.
“I’ll offer my sacrifice and see how White her blood proves to be.”

“So be it.” Mykal shrugged. “You will
fail. You will all fail, for the only true White remaining alive and breathing
in our world is Shannari dal’Dainari, the High Queen of the Green Lands.”

“
Munakura
.”
Gana’s lip curled with distaste. “We’ve raided their lands to no avail. They
have even fewer Whites than we do.”

“Of course,” Mykal said with a small
smile. “They kill theirs off as quickly as we sacrifice ours.”

“What do you suggest?” Nijar toned down
his belligerent attitude. “If she’s royal, we’ll never get close enough to take
her. We’ve never raided farther than Far Illione before turning back.”

“We ride to Shanhasson, the High Court,
and we approach her directly.”

Razul laughed. “
Iyeh
, we’ll simply ride through thousands of soldiers, pass through
her Shining Walls magicked with her blood and Yama only knows what sort of
traps, drag her across our endless sands, and toss her into Agni’s Rock.”

Mykal shook his head slowly, quirking
his mouth into a broad smile. “We’ll
soar
over those Shining Walls. We’re dragons after all, aren’t we?”

Stunned, the
tals
stared at him. None of them liked to remember the
dra’gwar
blood burning in their veins.
Someday, they would succumb to the Fire in their blood and a fledgling dragon
would tear itself out of their bodies. A dragon cared about nothing but
feasting: people, horses, other dragons, it didn’t matter, as long as its food
was alive and kicking when he started to rip out the choicest pieces.

If they were even half as terrified as
he was of the slithering, murdering beast inside him, then they would do
anything to atone for the great sin before they could be torn apart from the
inside out.

“Sands swallow you,” Razul cursed.
“You’re a fool if you think such a plan will work. I’ll kill you now and save
myself the trouble at dawn.”

The other two
tals
stepped back, giving them plenty of room to Dance the Blades.

Mykal inclined his head slightly at the
man, keeping his eyes low and hidden so the man couldn’t see the rising dragon
burning in his eyes. His heart raced and an iron fist slammed into his stomach,
twisting his innards viciously. He’d known at least one of the
tals
would likely have to die to win the
others to his cause. The others would be forced by their doubts and own dark
secrets to conspire with him.

Wells
,
he didn’t want to do it this way, despite the logical reasons.
Somma, be merciful.

Massive claws sliced his abdomen open,
peeling back the human body to reveal glistening black scales and silver-tipped
talons. He screamed out a roar of pain, fury because they’d driven him to this,
despair that this was the doom waiting for them all.

Images flashed through his mind: soaring
through a night sky, the sands of Keldar spread out below; puny tents huddled
together like children afraid of the dark; spurting blood, tearing meat, the
screams of his victim feeding him as much as the body.

The two-leggeds shouted, waving their
tiny false claws at him, but he ignored them, focusing instead of the lone man
with blades in both hands who had challenged him. The man muttered words, as
though any prayer could ever save one from a dragon’s hot hunger.

Charging with scimitar cocked back over
his head, the man opened his mouth on a mighty roar for one so small.
Dance the Blades with me, human. Feel my
claws.

He let the man come in close for the
kill, twisting at the last moment to slither away from the curved blade.
Clamping his jaws on the back of the man’s neck, the dragon picked him up and shook
his head, snapping the spine like a twig. Ever so gently, now, he laid his food
out on the sands. Eyes huge, shining with terror, the man could do nothing but
watch as the dragon lowered its head to the feast.

Ah,
here is the Well of Tears, and the Wadi of Blood.

He buried his snout in the man’s
abdomen, eating the tenderest bits first. Screams filled the night, curling
through his dragon mind like bits of a tasty dream. Even the reality of
scalding fresh blood dripping from his muzzle couldn’t compare to the memory of
her
scent,
her
blood. The moon glared at him from the sky, slowly growing to
its full shining eye. With a snarl, he backed away from the body.

My
purpose shines like a beacon in the night. I must not fail.

Gathering his will, he wrapped leathered
wings tight about his body. Midnight scales burned and hissed, sands blowing
around him, swirling in a maelstrom of shadows and blood. The sacrifice had
been made, driving the dragon back to its cage inside the fragile human body it
despised.

Head down, Mykal crouched, hands buried
in the sands as his body convulsed, wings shriveled, and scales melted into his
flesh. Pain burned along his spine, bones cracking back into shape. Even his
fingers hurt. He yanked his right hand free of the sand and held it up,
deliberately letting his opponents see the transformation taking place.

Six-inch-long talons sank within each
fingertip, leaving only a welling drop of blood.

“That…” Gana’s voice quivered, “is
impossible.”

“With enough sacrifice, anything is possible.”
Mykal forced himself upright and glanced down at his arms. In the lightening
dawn, faint black scales still gleamed in his skin, some as dark as tattoos,
marking him for what he was.
Dra’gwar
,
dragon warrior, closer than ever to flying the night sky.

“How…” Nijar sounded just as shaken. The
two
tals
shared a long glance, and
Mykal knew they were his. Hope burned in their eyes when the turned back to
him. “How did you learn to draw the dragon back?”

“I saw it in a dream.” He neglected to
mention that in the dream, the black dragon had eaten him. Bending down, he
snagged a bit of black cloth that he’d worn and wiped his face clean of the
blood. It burned in his stomach, and the dragon gave a satisfied purring
rumble, curling up for a nap. “Now then. Are you prepared to soar over the
Shining Walls with me to win the greatest prize of all?”

The two
tals
looked at each other again, nodded, and both sheathed their
weapons.