Radiation, p.18
Radiation, page 18
part #2 of Of Cats And Dragons Series
"She is right about—" Templar started to say only to be interrupted by a dark glower from Avarice. He fell silent instantly.
"Templar is not your responsibility!" Avarice shouted. "Templar can take care of himself."
"I just wanted my own cat," Lilyth murmured glumly.
"Lily, if you wanted a cat so badly you should have just said something." Her father sounded reasonable and calm.
Lily's face twisted with incredulity. "I did—"
7 smiled. "I'm sure I can—"
"No!" Avarice barked.
Lilyth flinched as even her father fell silent. She hadn't been joking when she told Templar that, despite the differences in their power, Avarice was the one to be afraid of. And she knew her father well enough to know that if Avarice insisted on something, he would not go against her.
"No cat!" Avarice pointed a finger at her. "You're grounded, Lilyth Machelli Daenoth! No cat, no presents, no new clothes or toys or horses or shoes. No new anything for you for a year! You will stay home, you will focus on your studies, and you will not set one toe out of line. Does everyone understand?"
Lilyth gulped again, shock washing over her. She's more than just mad. She's furious. The fact that both her father and her brother silently nodded their heads in agreement made Lilyth hold any words of protest that might have escaped her mouth. She thought about the two men she'd knocked out, guilt washing over her.
"You could have died. Do you understand that?" Avarice pressed.
Lilyth nodded her head reluctantly. "Yes, ma'am," she murmured, knowing better than to talk back.
"Templar, thank you for keeping my idiot daughter alive, but I suggest you go home now before I ground you as well," Avarice bit out angrily.
"Yes, ma'am." Templar nodded in quick agreement. He paused before stepping onto the portal, placing a heavy hand on Lilyth's shoulder. "Sorry about the grounding," he told her politely. "But thank you for getting me out of the cage."
She felt him slip something into her coat pocket. She kept silent, forcing her expression to give nothing away.
"Before I go," Templar spoke to Avarice and 7. "The Venedrine know something is going on. I'm not much for mystics and seers, but they said their seers are all talking about the return of an ancient blood curse, and a lost boy. I'll do my best to keep any word about Kyr from being spread around, but you should all watch yourselves."
With that Templar stepped onto the portal, shot a cocky grin toward Omen, and then vanished from sight.
"Get to bed!" Avarice ordered, and Lilyth scampered from the room.
She raced through the hallways and headed upstairs to her bedroom, defiantly slamming the door shut. Anything more and she was afraid her mother might extend her grounding for another whole year.
"A year!" Lilyth stomped her feet and whipped her curls back and forth violently. Then she sank down on the floor in front of the fireplace, exhausted. One of the maids had already lit the fire, and the room was toasty warm — not that she was cold. She pulled off her gloves and stared down at the two rings on her fingers. Templar hadn't asked for either of them back, and considering she wasn't going to be receiving any new presents for a whole year, she wasn't inclined to return them.
"Those men will be fine," she told herself, hoping it was true. "They'll go to the Temple of The Redeemer, and the healers will help them." She didn't want to think about what might happen after that, not entirely certain she wished to know if they would be executed. Templar had said his grandfather would take care of them, and that he was a good man.
A knock at her door startled her. "Come in," she called.
The door opened and her father and brother peeked inside. "You all right?" Omen asked her, his eyes worried.
Before she could answer, a large, fuzzy orange form pushed his way past the two of them and barreled inside. Tormy flounced forward, all white and orange and shimmering. He flopped down onto his belly in front of her. "Lily!" he exclaimed. "We is all worriednessness, on account of the fact that we is not knowing you is missing, and Kyr is saying the stars is singing and lunch even though he is not being hungry. Exceptedness for cookies. We is always hungrinessness for cookies."
Lily leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the large orange cat, burying her face in his soft fur. "I don't know what that means," she mumbled.
"For some reason, Kyr seemed to know you were missing," Omen explained as he and 7 approached, kneeling down beside her on the floor. "He was very agitated."
"Maybe he's a mystic like all the rest of the Venedrine," Lilyth mused. Tormy's rumbling purr relaxed her. "Mother's really mad, isn't she?"
"It will be fine," her father assured her. "She was frightened. You could have been hurt, or killed."
"I'm the dangerous one." Lilyth blinked heavily as she tried to fight back tears.
"Lily, we are very strong," 7 agreed. "I told you and your brother that. That's why you have to stay in control of your powers, so you don't hurt someone truly helpless. But those men weren't helpless, and they would have killed you if they'd seen you. And you did save Templar. That's what your powers are for. To protect yourselves and those around you."
She nodded and gave a deep heartfelt sigh. "Am I still grounded for a year?"
7 and Omen both laughed at that. "You know we can't change your mother's mind." 7 smiled and gave her a tight hug before rising to his feet. "Now get some sleep. You've had a long day."
Omen and Tormy rose as well, all three of them heading toward the door. "You shouldn't have snuck out of the house," Omen told her, then he grinned. "But it was pretty brave what you did. Reminded me of me." Lilyth stuck her tongue out at him as they left.
She turned to stare into the flames of her fireplace, her mind churning with the events of the night. She remembered then that Templar had slipped something into her pocket. Reaching for it, she pulled out a small leather bundle. She recognized it immediately — it was the leather pouch that contained Templar's set of lock picks. Opening it up, she stared at the neat row of small metal devices of various sizes that lined the pouch — several dozen of them for every type of lock imaginable.
Lilyth bit her lip to keep a smile from growing. If she learned how to pick locks, she could get herself into and out of all sorts of things. And if she opened enough doors — sooner or later she was bound to find a cat on the other side.
Chapter 16: Sundragons
OMEN
Heavy winter coat bundled around his shoulders, Omen stood on the western cliffs of Melia, overlooking the ocean. A stone staircase led down from the upper gardens and patios of Daenoth Manor to a grassy plateau. From there, another longer staircase wound to the beach.
White sand spread out in a crescent before tipping around another peaked outcropping on the northern point. Beyond it lay the busy city port. On that far outcropping, the enormous glittering form of one of the Melian Sundragons perched beneath the winter sky. Heedless of the cold, the dragon watched over the port and any ship that might brave the winter seas.
Omen raised one hand to shade his eyes against the glare of the icy sky. The distant dragon's golden scales gleamed through the mist blowing in off the water. Omen could even see the sparkle of the dragon's underlying gemstone color. Sky blue — that's Sundragon Amar.
Anyone raised in Melia, as Omen had been, knew the twelve Hold Dragons on sight in both their human and draconic forms. Melian children had all the dragons' secondary under-scale color memorized by the time they were four.
High-pitched giggling recaptured Omen's attention, and he turned his gaze back to the three forms of Kyr, Tormy, and Tyrin, who all sat upon the top step of the long stone-cut staircase.
"Watch them carefully," his father had said.
Airy huffs of laughter came from Tormy, who lay belly down on the ground, front paws dangling over the side of the top step. Kyr, wearing one of Omen's childhood coats, hunkered beside the large cat and marveled at the sea. Little Tyrin leaned into the boy's other side, trying to buffer himself from the cold.
Tormy's and Tyrin's fur looked alive in the wind — shimmering waves of orange and white rippled beneath the winter sunlight. The stocking cap upon Kyr's bony head hid his current lack of hair, but his painfully thin, bare neck poked out from the gape in the too-large coat.
Omen shivered in sympathy. He doubted the cats were truly cold, their thick fur protection enough. But Kyr has to be freezing. He needs a scarf.
The boy made no indication of discomfort, or any sign that he wanted to go inside. He loves the sight of the sea. Two days ago, when Kyr had first seen the vast ocean from their lower balcony, the boy had stared in unmoving awe. He'd been beside himself with delight, viewing the crashing waves. While neither Tormy nor Tyrin shared his enthusiasm for water, they were more than happy to sit outside with him and enjoy the panorama.
"There you are," a familiar voice greeted.
Templar was making his way down the upper staircase from the house. It had been three days since his kidnapping, and he'd made himself scarce, no doubt afraid of incurring Avarice's wrath.
Omen had known that Templar wouldn't stay away for long; the prince grew bored easily and seemed to enjoy the Daenoths' company.
Omen was glad for it.
"I'm still not taking Kyr to the Night Games," Omen stated without preamble.
"I know!" Templar grumbled as he came to stand next to him, taking a moment to fasten the buttons on his long leather overcoat as a strong gust of icy wind hit him from just over the rise of the cliff. He stared at the cats and Kyr on the lower steps. While they were obviously deep in conversation, from this distance it was difficult to hear their words. Not that Kyr was likely saying anything.
"What are they doing?" Templar asked curiously.
"Kyr wants to go down to the beach," Omen explained. "The cats are insistent that they wait until the tide goes farther out. Don't want to get their paws wet. They're currently negotiating. I think they're trying to explain the concept of tides to Kyr."
"He understands the fuzz-faces?"
While Kyr had picked up a few words of both Sul'eldrine and Merchant's Common from the two cats, he'd spoken very little himself. The lack of a shared language, however, didn't seem to bother the cats in the slightest. The cats chatted blithely while Kyr pretended to understand.
"He's learning," Omen told Templar. "And Tyrin's picking up Merchant's Common remarkably quick. He's extremely clever."
"Smarter than Tormy?" Templar asked in amusement.
Omen said nothing, refusing to make such a comparison.
"Did you ask them about the whole twin thing?" Templar pressed.
Omen stifled a chuckle, not wanting to draw the attention of the cats. "They insist they are identical and continue to be utterly astonished at my ability to tell them apart."
Templar and Omen shared a grin. There were times when there was nothing more to do but to accept the absurd.
"So how's Lily holding up?" Templar asked after a few moments of silence.
"Constant temper fits," Omen replied. "Not in front of my mother of course. But a year-long grounding — that's bad, even for her."
"How long is that year likely to last — a few weeks? A few months?"
"A year." Omen didn't have to think about it. "My mother doesn't joke around about stuff like that. If she said a year, it will be a year. End of story. What about you? Did you get in trouble?"
"You know, contrary to whatever assumptions you made, I didn't actually do anything wrong," Templar pointed out. "I was the victim in all this. I was attacked, injured."
"By someone who wanted you to play in the Night Games?" Omen shook his head, bewildered.
"I assume that was the reason." Templar gave an indifferent shrug. "There were two cages — one for you as well. The pirate captain never said exactly what they were doing, so it could have just as easily been someone who wanted to extort money from our fathers."
A low rumble thundered in the distance, and both of them paused to look around. While the sky was grey with winter mist and fog, there were no signs of a brewing storm. The cats too had stopped their chatter and were looking northward along the shoreline toward the distant outcropping where Sundragon Amar had lifted his great head.
"The dragon is moving!" Templar hissed, still wary of the massive creature.
"I'm sure it's—" Omen started in on his typical reassurance that no, the dragon wasn't dangerous, but before he could finish, the dragon opened his jaws, enormous teeth gleaming in the light, and let out a trumpeting bellow that echoed across the land in all directions.
Sundragon Amar rose, enormous wings unfurling and catching in the wind. From eastward across the city Omen heard an answering roar like the blaring of distant battle horns.
"That came from one of the Holds!" Omen felt alarm wash over him at the sound. He'd never heard the dragons roar before. The sound was a mixture of bone-shaking low frequency and the high musical tones of flutes and pipes that reminded him of summer concerts in the park and the warm firelight of the winter hearth. Though he could not make out the meaning of the roar, he was certain there were words embedded deep in the trumpeting notes.
Another roar came a moment later, from farther away, southeast across the city. That came from the direction of Lord Darshawn's Hold and the other sound had to have come from one of the Deldano Holds.
A moment later he heard the pealing of the temple bells sounding through the city — not the delicate musical tones of the winter blessing, but the repetitive warning clangs of alarm. While it was not something Omen had heard in his lifetime, he knew the sound was a warning to all Melians.
The glittering shapes of dragons appeared in the sky.
Sundragon Amar launched himself into the air, the great wings unfolding as he rose to meet the other forms circling high over the city.
Omen gaped in shock.
"That's Varanth and Geryon!" Omen yelled over the noise. While it was not unusual to see one dragon fly overhead from time to time, it was rare to see multiple dragons in the sky. Omen also knew that Lord Geryon was one of the few Hold Dragons who actually preferred to remain in human form — for him to have transformed into his draconic shape and take to the sky meant that something was wrong.
The three Sundragons circled like hunting hawks.
"What's happening?" Templar asked, hand moving to his side where his two bone swords hung. Templar wasn't Melian and like all foreigners was leery of the dragons, seeing them as more predator than protector.
"Kyr! Tormy!" Omen hurried toward his brother. The boy was staring at the flying dragons, his face fixed in wonder at the sky. The enormous beasts circled overhead in tight spirals.
Another bellow rang out from a Hold all the way across the city.
"We is not doing anything, Omy!" Tormy proclaimed. "We is not waking the dragons up, honest, honest!"
"We have to get inside!" Omen barked out, wishing that he had thought to bring his sword. Standing in his own gardens, he hadn't felt the need to arm himself.
He heard a sharp shout and turned to see his mother standing at the top of the stairs near the patio garden, Lilyth beside her. Both of them were clad in riding breeches and boots, with matching velvet coats of emerald green, each wearing their long dark hair in braids. They had been out riding earlier — Avarice's attempt at keeping Lilyth occupied and out of further mischief.
"Inside!" Avarice shouted down to them, a razor's edge to her voice.
Omen grabbed hold of Tormy's ruff, tugging him up. "Get up the stairs! You too, Tyrin! Run!" he ordered the cats. He grabbed Kyr's thin arm. "Come on Kyr!"
Kyr might not have understood the words shouted out in Common, but he certainly understood the urgency of tone. The boy scrambled to his feet.
But no sooner had they spun around toward the house than a sharp force ripped Kyr from Omen's grasp.
Absolute terror scorching through him, Omen pivoted to see a black shadowy mass forming around Kyr and lifting the boy away. It tossed him several feet across the rocky cliff to land near the edge of the plateau.
The dark shadow loomed over Kyr. The seemingly incorporeal creature was made of living black mist, thousands of ropey tendrils and swirling limbs flailing through the air. One of the long black coils wrapped around Kyr's throat, holding him pinned to the ground as he clawed at the overpowering horror with desperate hands.
"Kyr!" Without hesitation, Omen rushed to his brother's defense. Pounding music pulsed through Omen's mind as he summoned the first psionic pattern he could think of — a force of sheer crushing power, which he aimed at the shadowy mass harrowing Kyr.
Omen's force of energy struck the creature, and for a moment it seemed as if the shadows swirled and moved around the pulse in a chaotic dance of wind and fog. But the blow passed harmlessly through it, and the black misty rope around Kyr's throat tightened.
"Omen!" Templar shouted.
Omen looked, hand raised. Templar had drawn both of his bone blades from their scabbards and tossed the larger of the two swords toward Omen. A crackle of lightning raced around Templar's body as he summoned his magic.
Omen caught the bone blade out of the air and swung it with all his might at the shadowy creature even as Templar's blazing flash of blue lightning struck the shade.
The creature shimmered and flared backward. It momentarily released Kyr, who rolled to his side and clawed at the dead winter grass as he coughed desperately and gulped for air.
Omen and Templar pressed forward, striking the shadow again and again, swords bashing through its flimsy form with every hit. Omen put the full force of his psionics behind each blow, hitting the creature with enough force to crush bone to dust.
For a moment he thought their attack successful. The creature reared back like a billowing curtain and swirled away in a gust. But then it solidified and hardened, blacking out the sky as it swelled with an ear-splitting hiss. It lashed forward and struck both of them, pounding each square in the chest.
Omen felt the force of the blow lift him up and throw him through the air. Briefly airborne, shadows swirling over his skin, he switched the song in his mind to one that raised a physical shield around him. A glimmer of light had already begun to form around his body even as he fell to the ground with bruising force. He brought up his shield not an instant too soon as his body impacted against a sharp boulder with terrible violence. Had he been unshielded, he would have broken his spine. The breath fled his lungs, and he gasped for air. Painfully, he twisted to his side and tried to roll to his feet. The shadows withdrew to attack elsewhere.
