Rise of the Blood Masters (Book 5) (6 page)

Tallin squeezed through a pair of saplings with their trunks wrapped around each other.

“There’s not enough room for me to pass here,”
Duskeye said, “
Perhaps we should go back.”

Tallin glanced back. “It’s too tight for you, but I can still squeeze through. I’ll continue for a while. Why don’t you fly back to the field and see if there are any animals walking through for a drink at that creek? Hopefully one of us will catch something.”

Duskeye hesitated for a moment, staring at his rider with narrowed eyes.
“All right, I’ll go. But be careful out here. There’s an energy in this forest that’s making me uncomfortable.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay,” he replied. “I’ll contact you if I catch something.”

Duskeye nodded and flew upwards, breaking through the branches above. Moonlight poured onto the forest floor. As Duskeye flew away, he heard the not-so-distant sounds of thunder.

Tallin grasped his sword and moved on. A gray mist lifted up from the earth and darkened the forest even further. Tallin squinted, trying to see deeper into the trees, but it was impossible. He felt more like prey than hunter here, and if it wasn’t for the glow of his sword, he might have given up altogether.

Tallin heard another clap of thunder. Carrack! The sound reverberated through the trees. The storm was definitely getting closer. There was another crash of thunder followed by a bolt of lightning.

His stomach rumbled so loudly that it almost drowned out the noise. 
I should have gone back with Duskeye and eaten those berries.
But what he really wanted was some meat, something that would stop the growling in his stomach. So he pushed forward.

The canopy closed overhead, forming a dark tunnel of vegetation. The foliage became so thick that the trees seemed to be joined. Tallin’s stomach growled louder, but he was ready to give up. The path disappeared.

Making it through the forest was impossible now that the path had vanished, and he knew that he would probably get lost if he continued.

With his sword in hand, Tallin sighed and turned around.  He’d have to settle for lingberries after all. He took one step and stopped, looking down at his hand. His sword was vibrating at an incredible rate, moving in his palm. Tallin’s eyes widened. A familiar buzzing started in his ears, like a hive of honeybees. His heart pounded and his breath quickened.

“Magic!”
he gasped.
There’s magic nearby, and it’s powerful.
Tallin sent a telepathic message back to Duskeye. “Get out of the forest and go back to Shesha’s nest. Wait for me there. Stay alert and remain on guard.”

“But why?
What’s going on?”

“You were right about this forest! There’s something wrong here. There’s magic, and it isn’t good.”

“Are you in danger?”
Duskeye’s voice was filled with alarm.

“No, I’m not. Not yet anyway. I feel a presence, but I’m not sure what it is. Wait! Something’s coming!”

A falcon’s cry pierced the sky. Tallin knew immediately what it was—a scouting bird, sent to survey the area. He ducked behind a patch of ivy, doing his best to stay out of sight while he waited for the bird to pass. Tallin stopped moving and tried not to make any noise. He ignored the temptation to scratch a spot where a leaf was tickling his cheek.

Peeking through a gap in the foliage, he got a glimpse of the bird as it flew overhead. A streak of lightning filled the sky with a flash of brilliant light, and he spotted a thin gold circlet around the falcon’s neck.

This wasn’t just any scouting bird. It was an elf spy. He watched the bird circle twice and then disappear from sight.

Even without the circlet around its neck, Tallin knew the bird was an elf spy. Elves could manipulate any animal to do their bidding, but they were notoriously picky about the appearance of the animals they chose.

Elves avoided using pigeons or crows, even though they were smarter and more efficient messengers. Instead, they preferred using golden-tailed falcons. Elves couldn’t resist beauty, and the falcon, even though it wouldn’t be
his
first choice, was breathtakingly beautiful.

Tallin sent a final message to Duskeye, telling him about the falcon, and warning him again to return to the nesting cave. Then he moved into the tall grass, sheathing his sword as he did so. He took each step carefully, like a thief breaking into a guarded fortress.

He didn’t cut any more branches. He didn’t want to create too much noise or draw attention to his location. If something blocked his path, he went around it. With every step forward, the ringing vibration in his ears grew louder.

His progress slowed to a crawl. The forest seemed to grow quieter, until he couldn’t even detect the buzz of insects. It was eerie. The stillness felt unnatural, as if the forest was holding its breath. The noise from his boots tramping over dead leaves sounded deafening in the silence. The buzzing in his ears remained, and it kept getting louder and more insistent.

Tallin didn’t think it could grow any darker in this part of the forest, but he was wrong. He stepped into an inky blackness so profound that he could not even see his hands in front of him. After several minutes of fumbling around in the darkness, he came to a small clearing in the trees, where a splinter of moonlight was visible.
Which way now?
he thought.

Just then, a family of doves shot through the trees. Tallin jumped with surprise, his eyes darting in every direction. He took a deep breath and moved back into the shadows. He could hear joyful birdsong in the distance. It was faint, but it was there. He smiled.
Now, at least, I know where to go.
He followed the sound of the birds, knowing they would lead him closer to the source of the magic.

Black clouds rolled over the moon, and soon, rain began to fall, soaking through his clothes. Lightning, bright and jagged, flashed nearby. Despite the freezing torrent chilling his skin, Tallin was thankful for the storm, as the pounding of the rain and the crashing thunder masked his footfalls.

Another hour passed before he saw a glowing arc through the trees. Holding his breath, Tallin crept forward, making his way toward the light. He peered through the trees, desperate to see something that would explain the unbearable din in his ears. He blinked, and a chill swept through his veins.

Elves.

They were in a tiny clearing, surrounded by a bubble of light—Carnesîr, Amandila, and Fëanor.

The elf dragon riders.

They were back on the mainland, but why? They were alone.

What are they doing here?
And why aren’t their dragons with them?  None of this makes any sense.

The elves stood in a semi-circle, talking quietly. The ground was bone-dry below their feet, and no rain fell anywhere near them. Carnesîr held a large black bag in one hand. They were arguing about something, their voices sometimes became heated.

Cautiously, Tallin crept closer, trying not to make a sound. He stopped inching forward when he could hear what they were saying, but just barely.

Carnesîr set the bag on the ground and opened it. One by one, he drew out ten oval stones. They were polished alabaster, smooth and milky white. Tallin watched as Fëanor stepped forward and swept his hand over them. The stones glimmered for a second, then transformed into a range bright colors.

The ten stones looked exactly like dragon’s eggs.

Air rushed out of Tallin’s lungs. He froze, breathing hard, wondering what to do.

Be silent!
His brain screamed at him.
Control your breathing! They must not discover you here!

Carnesîr pointed at the stones. “Lovely, just lovely. These decoy eggs shall serve us well. Our spies confirmed the number, and our baser cousins have revealed the location of the birthing cave. Those dull-witted tree sprites are good for something after all.”

The other elves began to laugh, but Carnesîr held up his hand. “Queen Xiiltharra has made her desires clear. She wants them all. If the glamour is preserved, the female dragon will be completely fooled. Switching the eggs will be easy.”

“It might not be as easy as you think. Switching the eggs is a risky gamble,” Amandila warned, with a voice so high that it sounded like a rabbit. “If all the eggs fail to hatch, the dragon riders from Parthos will get involved. They’ll discover the decoys. You know their spellcasters are competent enough to remove faerie glamour. And then they’ll suspect us. We should leave a few real eggs in the nest. If one or two of them hatch, the female will be less likely to suspect anything. After all, in the wild sometimes the eggs don’t hatch.”

Carnesîr scratched his chin thoughtfully. “You've make a good point. I would prefer to avoid trouble with the mortals.” Carnesîr turned to Fëanor, who was leaning against a tree. “Fëanor, what do you think? Should we leave a few eggs behind?”

Fëanor gazed up at the sky and shrugged. “I don’t know. None of our options are very good.”

“Oh, come on, Fëanor, don’t be so difficult. I’m asking for your opinion.”

“You know my feelings on this matter,” Fëanor replied, irritation creeping into his voice. “What does Xiiltharra hope to accomplish with this little undertaking? If we steal the eggs, we’ll anger the dragon riders of Parthos. Even our own dragons are angry. Blacktooth isn’t even speaking to me now; he’s so upset about this whole thing. This mission is a bad idea. I don’t like any of it.”

Carnesîr flushed, a scowl spreading over his features. “You’re speaking quite candidly about our queen. You should consider holding your tongue.”

Fëanor gave another shrug. “Well, you asked my opinion, didn’t you? I’m just being honest. Let’s suppose Xiiltharra makes a mistake about taking these eggs.”

Carnesîr shook his head slightly. “Our queen always reacts cautiously with regards to mortal affairs. It’s always been this way. Now she feels the time has come to intervene.”

Fëanor shot him a disgusted look. “And what are we going to do with the eggs once we get them? You know that dragons can’t mate in Brighthollow. Elf magic suppresses their fertility. The eggs probably won’t hatch there either. Are we going to just hold onto them forever?”

Amandila nodded her head in agreement. “Fëanor is right. Dragons can’t mate in our land, but we could have saved some eggs before, when the nests were more plentiful, returning the eggs to the desert after the human wars were over. Now, it’s too late. Only a handful of dragons remain. We could have saved more if we had acted sooner. Why did she wait so long to do anything?”

Carnesîr opened his mouth to respond, but Fëanor cut him off.

“See! I’m not the only one who feels this way!” he cried. “Xiiltharra takes her position of neutrality too far. The dragons are almost gone, and this is the first nesting female we’ve seen in ages. Xiiltharra’s strict policy of non-interference with mortal affairs didn’t cause this catastrophe, but it made the situation a whole lot worse. Xiiltharra waited too long to act. You know it, and I know it. This action will only serve to make everyone angry. It’s a mistake.”

Carnesîr frowned deeply. He took a deep breath to calm himself. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, but the serenity didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ah, I understand your concern, I really do. But there’s no changing the past, is there? What’s done is done, and complaining won’t help. We need to think about the future.”

Fëanor snorted. “Fine. What do you want me to say? Take the eggs, then. Take them all. Simple as that. But either way, it’s still horrible.”

Carnesîr paused and glared at him. “I need solutions that work, not a lecture. Understand?”

“I’m not lecturing you,” said Fëanor. “I’m telling you, this mission will have disastrous consequences if it gets traced back to us. If the other dragon riders discover our involvement in this affair, they’ll declare war on us. You know how serious they are about saving the dragons; Parthos has declared war for less than this. You know how humans get when they're angry. Mortals aren’t good for much, but they’re remarkably good at getting angry, starting wars, and killing each other over nothing. I’m not quite sure why Xiiltharra wants to go to war with Parthos over some stolen dragon eggs.”

Carnesîr puffed out his cheeks. “Xiiltharra doesn’t want to go to war, Fëanor! This isn't about the humans. Why are you being so obtuse?”

Amandila interrupted their argument. “How about a compromise?” This time, she spoke so softly that Tallin had to strain to hear her. “What if we only take half the eggs? We could take five to Brighthollow, and five could stay here. That’s more reasonable.”

Crouching directly behind the elves, Tallin listened anxiously in the bushes. He needed to get a message back to Duskeye—to tell him what was about to happen, but it was impossible for him to concentrate, especially with the constant buzzing in his ears. As he continued to listen, the fear kept creeping up his spine.

Carnesîr shook his head. “A partial solution isn’t going to work. Xiiltharra won’t be happy, and neither will the dragons. A compromise that only makes things worse isn't a great idea.”

“Maybe our dragons were right,” Amandila whispered, her head down. “This just feel so wrong. My dragon said that stealing the eggs is a great cruelty. She believes we should leave the hatchlings with their mother. I tried explaining our motives, but she didn’t want to talk about it. She refused to come with me. She’s never refused to come with me on a mission before.”

“Blacktooth said the same to me,” said Fëanor.  “Deep inside, we all know this is wrong, no matter how we try to justify it.”

Carnesîr gazed up at the branches. The rain had paused, and a glimmer of stars started breaking through the trees. “Look… it’s not
wrong
. It’s just an unpleasant task. We’re doing this for the greater good. The dragons will understand in time. We’re doing it to save them.” Then his face brightened. “Just think about it—if this plan works, we’ll get the credit for saving them! Won’t that be wonderful?”

Fëanor rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course!” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what a
hero
you’ll be in the eyes of our queen. Your motives are always so pure.”