After putting the mourner’s cloak on again and sliding the note into her pocket, she jogged to the forest edge and emerged onto the path. With thicker clouds moving in, the open area seemed every bit as dark as the forest. Torchlight flickered at the distant palace, but it didn’t help at all.
Keeping her footfalls as quiet as possible, she crept closer. When she reached the gate, she peered inside, again listening for the sounds of dragon respiration. As before, gentle rumbles drifted past. But which dragon was closer? Arousing Magnar wouldn’t be a good idea.
A low whisper glided with the rumbles. “I am glad you have come.”
Marcelle gripped one of the gate’s bars. “Arxad?”
Two eyes appeared, framed by a dark shape that swayed from side to side. “Yes, it is I. I assume you are wondering why I focused on you earlier without signaling my king.”
She nodded. “You are very perceptive.”
“That is part of my occupation.” He drew so close, his hot breath caressed her cheeks. “That is why I have also discerned that there is great political turmoil here. Orion walks and speaks like a threatened man. I assume there is a potential usurper who would wrest away his power.”
“Right again. But I’m afraid it’s more than just potential. He might already be in control. And he might be more powerful than we can handle.”
“Trust me. I understand. We have the same problem in our world.” Arxad’s head stopped swaying for a moment. A few sparks spewed from his nostrils and drizzled to the ground. “Perhaps your race will provide the solution to our crisis, and our race can do the same for yours.”
“What do you mean?”
“We need your military presence in order to conquer a usurper, Taushin by name.”
Marcelle nodded. “I overheard the story.”
“I must return to my world in order to ensure that Taushin’s schemes are averted, but if Magnar returns by way of the Northlands portal, he will unleash a curse that will have unpredictable consequences.”
“Are you saying you want to leave him here on Major Four?”
“To help you battle your usurper. Surely he is not more powerful than Magnar.”
Marcelle tilted her head. “Why would Magnar help us? He hates humans.”
“Hatred will fuel his passion. The question is whether or not we can find the proper motivation to direct and control his destructive power.”
“Well, if the usurper obstructs us from mounting an army that will go to Starlight, wouldn’t Magnar want to help us?”
Arxad’s head lifted an inch. “Is such an obstruction likely?”
“I think so. We believe Maelstrom, our usurper, hopes to use our military to strike at the heart of our kingdom so he can become king himself.” She glanced past Arxad, but no other dragon was in view. “You mentioned Magnar’s power, but I’m afraid Maelstrom has a lot as well. He not only can absorb energy, he is able to persuade to an almost miraculous degree.”
“Interesting. I have heard of such a creature.”
“Whatever he is, he’ll be able to convince the military leaders of an invented pretext for invading.”
“Then you have a pretext of your own that needs no invention. It would be better for all involved if Maelstrom is empowered to obstruct your plan, thereby creating the impetus we need for Magnar to eliminate him.”
Marcelle nodded. “I understand, but what do we do with Magnar after that?”
“By then I will have been able to arrange passage through a portal in a mining mesa in our own region. Magnar knows how to get to the location of that portal in your world.”
“Since that portal leads straight into your region, can we use it for our military? Avoiding the Northlands would be helpful.”
“Perhaps, but my ability to open it soon is not guaranteed. It would be better to plan on going through what we know to be open rather than risk marching to a closed door that would surely demoralize your men. They might not be willing to try a second one.”
“That’s true.” Marcelle gazed into Arxad’s sparkling eyes. They seemed so sincere, so truthful. Yet one part of the plan remained unaddressed, and it would take a dose of insincerity from Arxad to make it work. “How are you going to trick Magnar into staying here?”
Arxad blinked, momentarily shielding the sparkle. “I am uncertain if I will be able to do so, but there is one person I could use to bring about our desired purposes. She is unpredictable, so my uncertainty is warranted.”
“Unpredictable?” Marcelle couldn’t hold back a smile. “Let me guess. Cassabrie.”
“Correct. She is supposed to monitor the portal. If she sees us and materializes there, I might be able to persuade Magnar to stay away for the time being. She is very powerful, and, although Magnar denies it, he fears her. Then while he is away, perhaps we can pass through the portal and leave him behind.”
“Won’t that get you in trouble with Magnar?”
“A great deal of trouble, but no more than I have endured in the past. If at the end of our conflicts he is once again king of the dragons on Starlight, his wrath will be appeased.”
Marcelle lifted her sword and propped it on her shoulder. “Just remember, as long as one human slave remains on Starlight, our wrath will never be appeased. Our armies will never relent. And my blade will find Magnar’s belly. They will all be set free, or else.”
Arxad’s head bobbed. “Our ultimate goals are the same—freedom for your people, survival for ours, and peace between our worlds.”
“So be it. As a representative of the human species, I pledge to fight for your cause, to unseat your usurper.”
“A pledge without condition? Even if all the human slaves have already been freed?”
She nodded. “Even if.”
“In spite of the dangers presented by a possible disease in my land?”
“I heard you talking to Randall about the disease. Since my people are in danger as well, I must take that risk. It won’t stop me from keeping my word.” Marcelle sheathed her sword and reached between the bars. “Do dragons shake hands?”
“Ah! A human’s sign of solemn agreement.” Arxad’s head swayed from side to side. “We do not share that symbol.”
She drew her hand back. “Then how do you seal a vow?”
“For an unbreakable vow, we rip off a scale bordering our vulnerable spot and offer an exchange. Since the wound we make is raw, the new scale adheres and stays. In fact, I am wearing one of Magnar’s now, and he is wearing one of mine. It is said that if we break the covenant, the scale will fall off, and we will be easy prey, but the truth is more immediate than that. As long as we possess the scale of the one with whom we have made a covenant, we are constantly reminded of it, because the scale never feels natural. Its presence prods. Its foreignness pricks body and mind. For as long as I have lived, I have never known a dragon to break such a vow.”
“That is a poignant symbol, but—”
A soft grunt sounded. Then Arxad’s clawed hand appeared between the bars with a body scale covering it.
Marcelle gasped. “You … you didn’t have to do that!”
“Yes, I did.” He extended it farther. “Take it.”
She picked up the palm-sized scale. “Where should I put it?”
“It is still moist,” Arxad said as he withdrew his foreleg. “It should adhere to your skin wherever you choose to place it.”
Marcelle cringed. This dragon, a member of the cruel race that had enslaved and tortured her people, scourging the backs of children with razor whips, now wanted her to wear a symbol of his species. In a sense, he was asking her to become one of them, to step into his scaly hide, to put on, as it were, his draconic likeness.
She drew the scale close and studied its surface. As she tilted her hand back and forth, the scale shimmered in the failing moonlight, like a mirror coated with condensation, clear enough to provide a phantom reflection, yet warped and indistinct. With each new angle, her image bent and twisted, becoming less and les
s humanlike.
Turning, she looked toward the palace and its flickering torches. Within those walls sat a human—a twisted, warped human who wielded a whip of his own. Like Prescott and Orion, this dragon in human skin rested in plush comfort while others bent their backs to provide the cushions, all the while threatened with the pillory, the dungeon, or the gallows should they try to shrug off the load.
She blinked at the reflection, now almost completely dark. Maybe this was part of the answer, a visible symbol that a courageous member of each species would wear as a reminder of their stated goal. This mutual recognition could serve as a propitiatory pact, a treaty signed by the ambassadors of the warring factions.
“Marcelle,” Arxad said, “your hesitation is understandable. If you wish not to—”
“No, no, that’s not it. I know just the place for it.” She reached under her tunic and pressed it over her left pectoral. It stung for a moment, feeling like a hundred needles pricking her skin. Then, as she lifted her fingers, the sensation eased, though it still pricked her skin. “I put it over my heart. May the heart of Arxad and mine be one in purpose, to bring justice to our worlds and to set every captive free.”
Arxad’s eyes shimmered. “Well spoken. I make the same vow. Your heart and mine are now one.”
“But …” She touched her stomach. “But I have no scale to give you.”
“My knowledge of human anatomy is fairly complete. If I could make a suggestion …”
“By all means.”
“As scales protect a dragon, so do skin and hair protect a human. Yet, as I have given up part of me that protects my most vulnerable spot, you should provide something that makes you more vulnerable.”
“And that is . . . ,” Marcelle prodded.
“When an attack comes, you raise a hand in defense. It is a human’s first instinct.” His head drew close enough for his snout to protrude between the bars. “Give me skin from your palm. It will not be an effective replacement for my scale, but it will be worthy enough to consider our vow complete.”
Marcelle looked at the palm of her hand. Obviously she would have to peel enough skin to make the symbol a real sacrifice, but …
Furrowing her brow, she flexed her fingers. It wouldn’t be a sacrifice at all, not with a hand that bore no real skin. It would probably regenerate on its own. In fact, telling him that she had placed his scale over her heart was misleading. Although her heart might be there, how could she be sure? It never stirred within her breast. “Arxad, I have a problem. It’s hard to explain, but this isn’t my real body. I conjured it from the soil of this planet.”
“Ah! You are like Cassabrie. I am familiar with how she appears in this world.”
“Right. So if I gave you skin, it wouldn’t be real. It would crumble to dust, and you would have no replacement for your scale.”
“I see.” Arxad’s eyes dimmed. “It seems that I have made a hasty gesture.”
“I just don’t know what else to give you. They couldn’t burn me at the stake, so maybe I’m not physically vulnerable at all.”
“Are you emotionally vulnerable? Spiritually vulnerable?”
“Not really. My mother taught me to be strong, to not let anything …” Her words trailed away. Mother had made her emotionally strong, and her death had sealed that instruction forever. Even now she carried a reminder of her emotional strength.
She reached into her cloak’s pocket and withdrew the mirror. Swallowing, she gripped it tightly. “I have something …” Her voice cracked. “You might find it … worthy.”
“Marcelle …” Arxad’s voice grew soft and gentle. “If it is worthy to you, it is worthy to me. I sense great emotional turmoil in your voice that is far more profound than words.”
“It was my mother’s. She called it a manna mirror. When I carry it, I remember her love, and I feel protected. If I were to lose it, I would wonder if the blessings of the Creator had departed and left me without a shield.”
“Such a gift will surely suffice.” Arxad’s scaly hand appeared again, his claws looking sharper than before, more bestial than ever.
She lowered the mirror toward his palm but snatched it back. “It’s breakable.”
“Excellent. Your risk is even higher, heightening your vulnerability.”
She turned it over to the mirror, then back to the manna wood. “Which side would you show, the mirror or the wooden backing?”
“Which is more appropriate?”
She rubbed her fingers along the smooth wood. “It … it has a verse from the Code on the back. It says, ‘Your heart is reflected by the light you shine. How great is your light when you sacrifice all you have for those who have nothing to give.’”
“I have heard these words before. They are great wisdom.”
“Yes … yes, they are.” She turned it over once again. “The mirror reflects what is physical, and the verse reflects what is spiritual, so I suppose you should place it so the mirror faces outward and the verse faces inward.”
“More wisdom. I will do as you suggest.”
With a quick motion, she set the mirror in his grip and stepped back. When his foreleg drew away, she flexed her hand, its emptiness feeling like a great void. “I have a lot to do, so I’d better get going.”
“Yes, you do.”
She turned toward the path but quickly pivoted back. “When you get to Starlight, will you do something for me?”
“If it is in my power.”
“Adrian’s on his way to the Northlands, and he’s carrying my body.”
“No doubt you seek to be restored.”
“Well, that wasn’t what I was thinking, but do you know how to do that?”
“There is a way,” Arxad said, “but it is quite dangerous. It involves ingesting a potentially deadly substance, but there is no need to go into detail. By the time you arrive, perhaps I will have a plan in place to restore you.”
“Thank you.” She stepped forward and grabbed the bars. “What I really need you to do is give Adrian a message. If you see him, tell him I love him and that if he meant every word, then I meant every word. He should know what that means.”
“I will do more than you ask.” The warm breath carrying his words seeped into her skin. “Along with my vow to do all I can to free your fellow humans, I will never rest until your spirit is reunited with your body.”
“Then I will be in your debt.” Marcelle backed away and placed her hand over the scale on her chest. “Until we meet again, noble dragon.”
Gripping the hilt of her sword to keep it still, she turned and jogged up the path toward the palace. Although clouds still shielded the moon, enough light shone through to reveal any obstacles. When she reached the dungeon’s front entrance, she stopped and set her hands on her hips. Returning to the escape tunnel would be the safest option, but safety had to yield to necessity.
She pulled her cloak’s hood up and drew it low over her eyes. Since none of the guards knew of her disguise, maybe she could discover Maelstrom’s whereabouts as well as whether or not he had taken control.
After covering the sword with her cloak, she marched toward the palace, its torches and ever-burning lanterns guiding her way. When she drew close to the rear steps, she slowed to a furtive pace and eyed the guard at the door, a tall, unfamiliar man. With a wall-hanging lantern casting a glow across his body, a long shadow painted the porch’s floor with a dark copy of the guard’s relaxed posture.
Marcelle kicked a stone. The guard’s neatly trimmed mustache flinched, and he grasped a sword hilt at his hip. “Who is there?”
Clutching her cloak closed, she stopped at the bottom of the steps, her head low. “Excuse me, sir,” she said, again using her younger voice. “My name is Ophelia. I am an orphan who is supposed to be adopted by Captain Reed. Do you know where I might find him?”
“Oh, yes. I heard about you.” He relaxed his grip on the sword. “It’s no wonder that you are unable to locate your adoptive father. The new governor
has sent messengers who have been looking for him for hours.”
“The new governor? You mean Orion?”
The guard smiled. “Things change quickly these days, Miss. Leo has assumed the governor’s seat.”
Marcelle dipped into a shallow curtsy. “Begging your pardon, sir, but I saw Governor Orion only this morning. What is the nature of his departure? And why the haste to install a new governor?”
“Now don’t trouble yourself with political affairs, little lady.” The guard gestured toward the door. “Come. I will take you to the infirmary. You can sleep there until we find your father.”
Marcelle ascended the steps, careful to keep her face and sword concealed. The guard lifted a key from a ring attached to his belt and unlocked the door. After pulling it open and allowing Marcelle to enter, he relocked it from the inside and marched down the center hallway. “This way, please.”
As they walked, Marcelle scanned the corridor. The governors’ portraits had all been removed. Only bare walls with faded blue paint remained, save for the rectangular shapes of more pristine blue where the portraits once hung. “What happened to the pictures?”
“The governor wishes to purge the corruption of past administrations along with memories of the corrupters. He claims that his rule will be a new dawning of justice, equality, and openness.” The corridor ended at the front lobby. After crossing the spacious room to the left, they entered another corridor, void of extane lights on the walls. Although light from the lobby illuminated the first part of the new passageway, it grew dimmer as they continued.
“Do you believe Leo?” Marcelle asked. “Were the other governors corrupt?”
He laughed. “Every guard knows not to question the governor, unless you want your neck stretched a bit, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m no snitch.” Marcelle cringed at the words she planned to utter next. “I’m just a girl.”