Sennar's Mission (9 page)

“Row, men, as fast as you can!” Rool called out.

Between flashes of lightning they could make out a wedge of blue sky, and then a small segment of land, framed in green. Seen from their dark inferno, the islands appeared as some heavenly vision. Salvation was within reach, but the storm gave no sign of letting up. Waves and lightning made a constant racket against the barrier.

“Stay strong, Sennar! Just a bit longer!” Aires shouted, using all the breath in her lungs, but the force field was pressing against the prow and shrinking further.

All of a sudden, the barrier began to chip into a thousand silver shards and the sculpted wooden figure on the prow came once again face-to-face with the storm’s full fury. The ship began to swerve off course as the storm swallowed it up, plank by plank. The force field had grown as thin as silk, and the storm was steering the ship. They continued spinning in circles, first in one direction, then the other. Shouts, orders, confused pleas rose from the deck.

Of all that great cacophony, Sennar heard only a distant, muffled static. He could feel his strength leaving him, a strange languor taking hold.
I’m tired. I’m so tired.
He wanted only to let go, to be cradled by the empty space surrounding him—but something, somewhere in a dark corner of his consciousness, would not let him surrender. One last burst of energy surged from head to toe. His muscles tensed with the jolt, his hands raised, vibrating, toward the black sky, and the barrier returned to its full strength, enveloping the ship’s entirety once again. Then he closed his eyes and fell unconscious.

A peaceful archipelago stretched out before the ship. Behind them, the pitch black mass that had nearly swallowed the
Black Demon
was retreating rapidly. The crew burst into a roar of excitement; Rool wrapped his arms around his daughter. Benares wiped his face with trembling hands. They were safe.

Aires slid out from the captain’s arms and ran toward the mainmast. “Sennar! You were incredible, Sennar!” she shouted, full of joy.

No response.

“Sennar,” she called again.

Everyone on deck was struck with silence.

“Maybe he flew off,” Benares said.

Aires cast him an angry glance. “Don’t be such a fool!” she hissed. Forgetting her exhaustion completely, she began climbing the mast.

When she made it to the crow’s nest and looked in over the side, the entire crew was staring on attentively.

“You’ll never believe it,” Aires shouted down, smiling. “He’s asleep.”

Laio still couldn’t put any pressure on his injured foot, and the gash on Nihal’s shoulder burned. Pushing onward was out of the question, so they decided to rest until the first light of dawn. They distanced themselves as much as they could from the site of the battle and managed an exhausting climb up a tall tree. There, at least, they’d be safe.

Laio examined his friend’s wound with a careful eye. “I can disinfect it, if you’d like,” he proposed hesitantly.

Nihal raised her eyebrows at him. “And how would you do that?”

“I’ll show you.”

From the pouch hanging at his waist, he pulled out a few leaves and began to chew them. Then he took the moistened wad from his mouth and spread it over Nihal’s shoulder. “It’s only a scratch, but at least this way it won’t get infected. I worked for a little while as a kitchen boy at a tavern, and the woman who owned it knew all about the different properties of herbs. She taught me a few things.”

When he’d finished, Laio leaned back on the tree trunk and closed his eyes, exhausted.

Nihal did the same, though she was still plagued by one, insistent thought.

She picked up her sword and inspected it carefully. A dragon, sculpted by Livon, wound itself around the handle. Against the black crystal, its head stood out like a star on a dark night. It was carved upon a bright white gem, lit from within by a thousand colorful specks.

The Tear.

She was so used to seeing it, she’d begun to think of it as just another ornament. How could she have forgotten?

Nihal thought back to when she’d first decided to become a sorceress, at the age of thirteen. She’d begged Livon to find a sorcerer willing to take her on as a pupil. Initially, Livon was opposed to the idea, but she’d been so insistent he finally relented.

That was how Nihal had learned she had an aunt. Soana, her father’s sister, lived at the far edge of the Forest. She’d left Salazar as a precaution, to keep the Tyrant’s men from discovering that she was a member of the Council of Sorcerers.

Soana had taken her on as a pupil without any requirements apart from one small test of character. Nihal would have to spend two days and two nights alone in the forest, and prove that nature’s spirits had accepted her.

That was when Nihal came across a community of wood sprites for the first time in her life. Phos, their leader, had given her the stone. “It’s a sort of natural catalyst,” he’d explained. “It strengthens spells and extends their effect. I thought it’d make a nice gift, for when you become a sorceress.”

Nihal shook herself from her reverie.

Sorceress … I never became a sorceress.

But then, what happened earlier? Where had that force field come from, that explosion?

She promised herself she’d think more about it later. Then exhaustion swept over her, and she slid into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Their return journey to the base was free of surprises. They encountered not one trace of the Tyrant’s troops, though they were very careful in their movements. Laio limped the entire way and never once complained. In the end, it took them one more day than they’d anticipated to make the trip. When the guard saw Nihal approaching with another figure, he was momentarily alarmed.

“I can vouch for him,” Nihal called out right away. “He’s an old army pal of mine.”

The news spread like wildfire around the base.

“She’s come back with someone. …”

“A boy, smaller than she is. …”

“Must be her lover. …”

“What do you mean, lover! Have you seen him? Nihal eats guys like that for breakfast. …”

“I heard from someone that he was her brother. …”

“Yeah, you’re dead on. She with the blue hair and pointy ears, he chubby and blond. Two peas in a pod.”

Nihal headed straight for Ido’s hut. Laio followed behind, feeling somewhat ill at ease. In every direction he looked, he found curious eyes fixed on him.

“What are they so busy staring at?” Laio whispered to his friend.

Nihal shrugged her shoulders. “Just ignore them.”

Ido was waiting for her in the doorway. “What happened? Are you all in one piece?” he asked, as he drew near to greet her.

“Everything’s fine. It’s just a dumb scratch,” she replied, but the dwarf had already turned his attention to Laio.

The boy lowered his head and blushed so deeply that his hair nearly turned red.

Laio was sent to the infirmary to have his foot checked and Nihal was left alone with Ido.

The dwarf shoved a seat toward her. “What’s going on here? Who is this big baby you showed up with, anyway?”

“Wait, Ido. Let me explain. He was with me at the Academy.”

In a single breath, Nihal recounted the history of their friendship. She knew that the moment she stopped speaking Ido would explode. All the while, smoke puffed from his pipe more frequently, more anxiously.

Then she arrived at the crucial point in her story.
Come on, just tell him. It’s pointless to beat around the bush.
“In other words, he wants to become a squire, but obviously his father will never approve. I have to help him, Ido. He was the only one who stood by my side at the Academy, a true friend. Which had me thinking … maybe
you’d
like to take him on as a squire. It’s a good idea, don’t you think?”

An ominous silence filled the room.

“Sometimes I have to ask myself if you’re incredibly clever or just a complete fool,” Ido said calmly.

“I don’t follow.”

“Nihal,” the dwarf huffed. “Have you the slightest idea who this boy’s father is?”

“What do I know? Like I’ve heard of every Dragon Knight out there.”

The dwarf leaned forward in his chair, knitting his brow. “Well then, let me explain. Laio’s father is a man named Pewar, a descendant of the most ancient family of knights in all the Overworld. We’re actually not sure which came first—his ancestors or the dragon egg! His family’s been riding dragons since the dawn of time. As it stands, Pewar is in charge of operations in the Land of Water. And he’s extremely close friends with Raven.”

Nihal was unimpressed. “Which means?”

Ido jumped to his feet. “Which means that if Pewar finds out his son is my personal squire, he’ll eat me alive! Raven already despises me as it is. A scandal like this would be just what he needs to boot me out of the Order.”

An argument flared. Their voices carried throughout the base. Having returned from the infirmary, Laio sat down outside the hut, his nerves on edge. Now and then a soldier stopped to listen in on the commotion, and soon a hoard of curious onlookers had formed around the hut.

“Is all this screaming and shouting about you?” a squire asked Laio.

Laio shrugged. “I think so.”

“And who are you?” a soldier cut in.

“A friend of Nihal’s from the Academy,” the boy murmured.

When Nihal came out, her face pink, the little gathering dissolved in an instant.

“Everything okay?” Laio asked.

“Get in here,” was all she said.

Ido was seated at the table, puffing nervously on his pipe.

Nihal had backed him into a corner. It was he, she’d pointed out, who’d taught her to fight for an ideal, and that everyone’s path to self-realization was unique. How could she just slam the door in the face of a friend who was willing to give it a shot, she’d asked.

Ido gave Laio a once-over. Pink cheeks, grey eyes, awkward bearing. What could be done with a boy like him?

“What do you know how to do?” he asked flatly.

“I studied for two years at the Academy,” Laio whispered.

“Speak louder, boy,” the dwarf growled. Nihal shot an angry glance at Ido.

Laio turned pale. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. I studied for two years at the Academy. I know about the properties of herbs. And I know how to keep a weapon in good shape.”

“And what about dragons, how are you with them?”

“With dragons, well … I’ve never had anything to do with them, sir,” Laio responded feebly.

Ido ran a hand across his face and sighed. Then he stood up and walked out of the hut without a word.

Nihal’s lips curled into a sly smile.

“A squire?”

Nelgar was astounded by Ido’s request. Up until Nihal’s arrival, Ido had always been the solitary type. Now, out of nowhere, he was asking for company.

Soon Nihal would be a knight, he muttered, and then he’d have no one around to polish his armor.

“You can’t take care of that on your own, the way you used to?” Nelgar asked.

“Enough with all this. Will you allow me a squire or not?” Ido said, cutting the conversation short. “According to the regulations, all knights have the right to keep a squire. Why shouldn’t the regulations apply to me, too?”

Nelgar left it alone. Regulations were regulations.

Laio threw himself with all his heart into his new role as squire, taking scrupulous care of Ido’s weaponry. One morning, Ido found Laio sitting cross-legged behind the hut, the dwarf’s entire arsenal of weapons spread out around him, furiously polishing an axe that Ido had never once picked up.

“Do as you please, but don’t even think of touching my sword,” he’d said. “I’ll take care of that on my own.”

Laio lifted his head from his work for a moment. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” Then he returned to polishing.

The boy was diligent; Ido had to admit that much. His armor had never shined so brilliantly. Now it was time to see what Vesa thought of him.

Ido approached the subject without introduction. “Tonight you’ll need to feed my dragon.”

Laio’s cheeks went from pink to white. “To-tonight?”

“Yes, why not tonight? Did you have other plans?”

“No, sir. It’s just … I’ve never fed a dragon before.”

“There’s a first time for everything. Nihal will show you the ropes.”

It took Nihal the entire evening just to convince her friend to enter the stables, a towering structure at the center of the fortress. Once inside, she made her way calmly to the back, to Vesa’s stall. Laio, on the other hand, wouldn’t budge, standing there paralyzed at the mere sound of the dragons breathing.

Things went better the following night. Laio, clutching Nihal’s arm, walked the entire length of the stable, stall after stall, his eyes glued to the floor.

“Here we are.” Nihal stopped.

Laio saw an immense creature in an enormous cavern that had been carved out of the rock. The dragon’s head alone was bigger than he was. The flame-red beast was curled on one side, her gigantic membranous wings resting on her flanks.

“Vesa, this is Laio. Be nice to him, now.”

The dragon gave a baffled grunt.

“And this, my dear squire, is Vesa,” Nihal went on, as she attempted to shake her friend off her. “You should probably open your eyes, Laio.”

The boy lifted his eyelids wearily, just enough to make out a large, red dragon looking back it him with clear disdain.

From then on, Nihal took Laio to the stables every evening. The aspiring squire tried with all his heart to build up courage, following Nihal’s advice to the best of his ability.

A week passed, and he reached out to touch Vesa’s scaly skin. Another, and he finally managed to roll the cart of meat up to her snout.

And then, suddenly, things became easy. Once he overcame his fear, Laio appeared to be a born dragon handler. Vesa took a liking to him, and Laio fell in love with the great beast.

Oarf was far touchier than Vesa, but in the end, even he came around to Laio. Both dragons were equally enormous, though Oarf was far older, a seasoned veteran of the war. And apart from the red-hot coals of his piercing eyes, he was entirely green from head to tail, every shade imaginable.