Dragon Flight: Sisera's Gift 3 (Dragonblood Sagas Book 5) Read online

  The old wizard hopped and turned then began to walk toward the tall rock. Kai could now see the dragon’s wing had pushed out creating a darkly shadowed entrance way. Oshri did not look back as he disappeared into the darkness.

  “It’s a portal,” Kai said, seeing Jaime’s sour facial expression.

  “I can see that. That’s not the problem. Where did he come from?”

  “I don’t know but I would like to find out. It makes sense because this is where I left him but I really didn’t picture him staying here for this long.”

  “Well, we came to do a job, so let’s do it. I want to spend as little time with him as I possibly can,” Jaime said.

  Kai laughed. “He’s really not that bad once you get to know him. I like him because of his quirks not in spite of them.”

  “Well, Kai Woods,” Jaime said as the two men walked toward the dark portal, “That is why you are a better man than I.”

  2

  “Do you really think that now is the time for a party?” Isabella asked impatiently as she planted her hands on the arms of the intricately carved chair and pushed herself to a standing position. “Sisera is sick with worry about Caritha, who is lying in some hidden cave and refuses to leave, let alone eat or move. Besides, the battle was less than a fortnight ago. I just don’t think it would be appropriate, Mother.”

  Amelia nodded and her face took on a serious look. She took her only daughter’s hands and looked her directly in the eyes. “I know, dear, but you must think about the many, not just the few. That’s what it means to be a great leader. Yes, the battle was less than two weeks ago but look at what we have accomplished since then. We’ve recovered the scattered villagers, the ones that wished to remain with us, and moved everyone up to the mining town. No small feat. Everyone worked hard, and together, which is nothing short of a miracle. And, they did it all because of you. For you. You are the Dragonblood Princess and with that title comes re—”

  “Responsibility. I know, Mother,” Isabella said angrily and dropped her mother’s hands. She turned away to hide the tears that were forming in her eyes. Truly, she had nothing to hide from the woman who gave her life but, in that moment it felt like the right thing to do.

  Isabella knew the rage she was feeling was not all her own. Some of the emotional torrent was leeched from Sisera, the gold-purple dragon with whom she had shared a magical bond for the past two years. The dragon was worried about her brood-mate, Caritha, a large white-red beast, who was bonded to another Dragonblood girl named Shayla Finch.

  Isabella had met Shayla only three months ago when they were introduced by Apophis, the leader of the dragons. Shayla had been brought to the small island off the west coast of Droll to teach Isabella and help unlock her potential as a Dragonblood. Isabella was in awe of the girl from the moment she met her. The girl with fire-red hair was only five years older than Isabella but her understanding of magic and her prowess in battle gave her a maturity Isabella envied.

  When Isabella returned to Seron after reports reached Apophis of the Sacred Blood’s attack, Shayla accompanied her and fought as if she were protecting her own home. She had even sacrificed herself to save Isabella when the young girl was captured by the evil High Priest of the Sacred Blood, Tarak Kader, during the battle. That was the last time she saw her new friend.

  Tears began to stream uncontrollably from her eyes. The familiar arm of her mother wrapped around her and held her close as she wept. Her anger subsided to be replaced by unfathomable sadness.

  The Battle at Mara, as it was called during barroom recounting of the tale, was just as violent and bloody as the stories told. There was no need to exaggerate the savagery that took place. The Tower of Mara, Isabella’s home and stronghold, still reeked of death although the hundreds of corpses had been moved to a huge pit, dug with the help of Sisera. Many of the Daxrah, Isabella’s personal army, were counted among the dead which put a lot more of the workload on the remaining villagers. A group of women, all from the village that had quickly risen up around the Tower when Isabella moved in, volunteered to cleanse the Tower, and remove as much of the bloodstain as possible which was no easy task, even for a small army of hardworking women.

  Shayla was not the only friend Isabella lost. Another new friend, a dragon called Tyrath who had led her to Apophis, was also killed that day, slain midflight by the High Priest himself.

  Her anger seeped back when she thought of the evil man who took so much from her. He wanted to capture Isabella herself and he very well could have. She was firmly in his magical grip, betrayed by the very armor she wore. The gear had been a generous gift from her family but the creator of the cursed armor had been in collusion with the Sacred Blood, who had infiltrated the village of Mara many months before. The very material was woven with magic so intricate and foreign that no one saw it until it was obviously too late. Tarak Kader had her immobilized and suspended in the air. She had been completely helpless.

  What hurt Isabella the most, though, was this evil man had somehow corrupted her oldest friend in the world, Raven of Solotine, and had her performing his will. Seeing the foreign warrior woman, who had been her protector since birth, fighting at the command of the masked and hooded devil broke the young girls heart.

  Her tears began to flow more intensely when she thought of Raven. The warrior woman had recently been romantically involved with a man called Jaers, who was the father of Isabella’s own love interest, as well as a Sacred Blood infiltrator. She knew in her heart that Raven had not turned on them but was somehow being controlled by the dark magic of the Sacred Blood priest.

  Thinking of the traitor brought about thoughts of Makal, the boy she thought she loved but now she was not so sure, which made her heart hurt even more. She had met the boy through Raven and he was unlike anyone her age she had ever met before. He suffered loss as she had which made him seem more mature, a quality sorely lacking amongst all the other fifteen-year olds she knew. He was handsome and strong, like his father. Isabella feared he had been playing her the same way his father played Raven but she could not ask him as he has been missing since the day of the battle.

  “Probably run back to his traitorous Order,” Adina, the healer, had said when Isabella brought it up the first time.

  Not knowing the truth is what hurt Isabella the most. He could be dead, for all she knew, then she would never know if he truly had feelings for her. Isabella’s tears rushed forth with a renewed vigor.

  Amelia held her daughter tightly while the girl sobbed. As tough and powerful as she was, Isabella was still just a child and a mother’s embrace was just what she needed at that moment.

  “I understand what you are feeling,” Amelia said in a soothing tone. She drew Isabella to arms’ length and looked intently at her daughter’s face. She had grown so accustomed to the gold-purple scales covering most of her offspring’s face she could barely remember what the girl looked like before. “It is hard because, yes, you have a greater set of responsibilities now but remember you must try to stay true to yourself. The girl I raised could set her own emotions aside, even for just a short while, and consider those around her. These people, your people, are all working their fingers raw so we can someday go back to a normal life. They need some respite from the mundane work and to celebrate the lives of those we lost that day.”

  Isabella knew her mother was right. The woman had been a well-respected leader for much longer than Isabella had even been alive. She slowly wiped the tears from her face and nodded.

  “You are right, Mother. I was being selfish. A celebration would be a great way to lift the spirits of the villagers. As well, it will be a great opportunity for us to meet and thank the monks who are graciously putting us up.”

  Adina had worked out a deal with an old friend of hers whose order kept a private refuge for those afflicted with a terrible sickness. The refuge was funded by a special mine that was located in the village. The mine was special because what was dug from it was not gold or jewe
ls, but vividus crystals; mysterious purple stones that were coveted and collected by magic-users. Adina had constructed a magical growing house for rare herbs and flowers in the Tower of Mara that was powered by the crystals.

  The growing house.

  Memories of the final battle on that horrible day came rushing back to Isabella, nearly knocking her to the floor. She gripped her mother’s arm to steady herself. Isabella had chased the High Priest into the growing house which is where he sprung his trap, capturing her. Kai and Shayla had followed her in shortly after but were held at bay by Tarak’s grip on Isabella. Shayla offered to take her place but the offer was refused although it did actually come to pass.

  Isabella had never seen a more intense light than of the magical explosion that took place before her that day. She had just been released from the High Priest’s grip when the sparking blue orb grew in front of her, enveloping Raven and Shayla as well as the High Priest and his companion. It had only lasted for a very brief time and, when it subsided, the four were gone and suddenly the battle was over.

  Adina was familiar with the description of the light and suggested it resembled that of a portal spell used by ancient wizards. “Oshri would know for sure,” she had said so, at Isabella’s request, Kai, accompanied by Jaime, left for Droll to try to find the truth of the matter.

  Isabella suggested Kai may need some time away to clear his head, having just lost the bulk of his men and his mentor during the battle. Amelia seconded the idea and it was presented to him. They left as soon as he was cleared by Rosalie and released from the infirmary.

  Suddenly, Amelia gripped her arm tightly.

  “What is it, Mother?” Isabella said, turning her head to see what her mother was looking at. She twisted against Amelia’s tight grip. “Why are you holding me so tightly?”

  Then, her heart nearly leaped from her chest when she saw him standing in the doorway of the hall, surrounded by guards.

  Makal.

  3

  Tarak Kader had endured excruciating pain many times over the course of his thirty-seven years on the world but nothing compared to being ripped through an unexpected magical portal.

  Just hours earlier, he was in the middle of a heated confrontation deep within the enemy’s stronghold. He had the powerful Dragonblood Princess firmly in his magical grip when the other filthblood started throwing fireballs around which destroyed a device powered by magical stones and, seemingly anyway, caused the portal to take them to who knows where.

  There were four of them pulled through the portal. Tarak Kader, High Priest of the religious sect of the Order of the Sacred Blood; his older brother and second in command, Santaal Kader; a bulky barbarian from the foreign barrens of Solotine called Raven, who was the Princess’ personal bodyguard until the Sacred Blood poisoned her so she could be mind-controlled; and a young girl with long, fire-red hair who claimed to be a Dragonblood, a claim substantiated by a claw-shaped blemish that marked her as such.

  This Dragonblood, Shayla Finch, had not been his initial quarry when the Sacred Blood had planned their attack on the Tower of Kings at Mara on Seron. Her father had been a prolific wizard and known Dragonblood. The Sacred Blood had spied on their family for years and even went so far as to kidnap this girl and torture her for information. That was before the dragons had returned and she had bonded with hers. She was strong and had taken revenge on many factions of the Sacred Blood ever since. The network of spies the Brotherhood controlled had trouble keeping track of her so to find her on Seron was quite the surprise. Tarak knew Shayla’s power was dwarfed by that of the Dragonblood Princess but considering the circumstances, she was better than nothing.

  Tarak had remained conscious through the whole event though he was thankful he could keep his wits, the pain he had endured was sure to haunt him for years to come. The blue light that engulfed them seemed to have a gelatinous thickness to it that caused them to suffocate under its building pressure. It seemed, though, just as quickly as it began, the light released its hold and disappeared into the nether, leaving them in a dark cavern. He had fallen unconscious soon after for an undeterminable amount of time but still woke before the others.

  The cavern was a dome shape with long stalactites hanging from the high ceiling. The dim light was coming from a pool of shimmering water that covered the back half of the cavern, which was of great interest to Tarak’s insatiable appetite for all things magical, however, any discovery had to wait.

  When his senses had returned to him, Tarak immediately rushed to Santaal’s side. There was breath still in the older man’s lungs as well as a steady heartbeat but Tarak could not wake him. The High Priest of the Sacred Blood knew very few healing spells but he attempted all of them and all of them failed.

  Tarak began to grow concerned as he attempted spell after spell with no results. Basic cantrips, such as Ball of Light, that were mastered by even the greenest magelings, failed him. He reached into one of the many secret pockets of his custom-made forest green cloak and retrieved packets of spell components but even that avenue of magic failed him. After a few experiments, Tarak found he could still perform alchemy but anything requiring mana, the mystical energy that was drawn to power spells, was ineffectual.

  Frustrated and exasperated, Tarak threw himself down with his back against the cavern wall to regroup and think. He looked around at his three companions, all of whom remained limp, and thought he should check on the condition of the women. He found them to be in the same state as his brother, although the Dragonblood girl had a broken left arm, a condition Tarak had failed to notice until now.

  Tough girl, he thought as he remembered how Shayla had offered herself to him in exchange for the younger, more powerful filthblood during the confrontation. She did not seem like she had been hindered by the injury as she fought against Raven and Santaal in the magical growing room of the Tower previous to the blinding explosion that transported them to who knows where.

  This one is tough for sure, he thought as he looked over Raven’s tall, well-muscled form. Ample bruising but nothing more severe covered the beautiful warrior. Tarak wondered what it would be like to battle such a creature. A barbarian woman was not a common sight in this part of the world and by all reports this one was especially fierce in battle. Her large size and shapely curves held a certain appeal to Tarak although his vows would never allow such a prospect, should such a prospect ever be possible.

  Tarak removed his dark cloak and laid it out on the stone floor in front of him. He scoured the secret pockets to retrieve anything useful, which wasn’t much considering his new found magical restrictions. He found he only had one useable dose of the mind-control formula that was imperative to keeping the warrior woman under his control which saddened him a little but it would have to do until he could find or make more. He then pulled one of the twin long-bladed daggers from a scabbard fixed to the back of his belt and began to cut long strips of fabric from the cloak, a feat only accomplished because of the sharpness of the black-steel blade. As he cut, he noticed the blade still had remnants of dragon’s blood on it but cleaning it was a task for later. He then took the fabric strips and bound the two women lest they come back to themselves and attempt to take him by surprise.

  When the women were bound and Santaal was set in a more comfortable position with a bundle of tattered robe as a pillow, Tarak set about cleaning his twin daggers. With the events of the battle happening so quickly, Tarak almost overlooked the fact that he, himself, had killed an actual dragon, single-handedly.

  He had been at the top of the Tower, which the Brotherhood had already taken weeks earlier, when the dragons attacked. He was creating an illusion so the ground troops could not coordinate with the flying lizards or their filthblood riders. It worked brilliantly until the dragons began attacking the tower. A large bronze-yellow beast spat an electrical orb toward him and it hit not far from Tarak’s position, causing a disruption with his magic. The beast saw him and attacked immediately, hovering just
meters from the balcony and spitting electrical orbs at him. Tarak couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when he remembered the way his warrior instinct took over and he launched himself on the dragon’s back. What was I thinking?! It was akin to an out of body experience, Tarak figured as it was like he watched from above as he plunged his daggers repeatedly into the dragon’s neck and back until the beast fell from the sky. Thanks to the defensive spells he already had in place Tarak walked away from the hundred-yard fall virtually unharmed. The dragon was dead even before it slammed into the ground, instantly killing a large group of combatants from both sides.

  Tarak carefully cleaned blood from every crevice on the weapons in case the sticky liquid had a long-term corrosive effect. When he was satisfied they were as clean as he could make them, he slid them back into their scabbards with practiced ease.

  After he had accomplished his task, Tarak sat on the lip of the shimmering pool and stared into the glowing liquid. The light seemed to come from the water itself and Tarak wondered about its magical qualities. Curious, he took some in his cupped hand and fed it into the Dragonblood girls mouth, holding her nose to force her body to react and swallow the liquid. After a few moments, he was satisfied the water was pure.

  He pulled at the strings holding his dark mask in place and allowed the leather covering to fall from its normal position and into his hands. He looked down at the once powerful relic and wondered how something containing so much power for so long had been rendered utterly impotent. The Mask of Garron was an artifact that was passed down between those who held the position of High Priest. It increased the power of mana when used in spellcasting, amplifying the spell exponentially. Now it was just making his face hot. Tarak tossed it aside with more than a little remorse.

  Tarak leaned over the pool and dipped his hands into the cool liquid. He took a few long swigs of the sweet water before dousing his stubble-covered face and long dark hair. Feeling refreshed and, interestingly enough, instantly revitalized, Tarak set about investigating the cavern further.