Chapter 10 #2
Merriweather gave a regal bow, then said, “’Tis an honor to serve ye, Lady Lyla. The magic ye stirred with the apinlyre made our hearts sing.”
“Aye, my lady,” Percival said, pushing forward so as not to be overlooked. “The sound was wondrous, my lady. Absolutely wondrous.”
“The apinlyre is very enjoyable to play,” she told them, still sounding a bit light-headed. “You did a wonderful job in creating such a beautiful musical instrument. It’s the perfect combination of a piano, harp, and organ.”
The Twanes beamed with such pride that they glowed brighter than the afternoon candles.
Still eyeing Inuk, Lyla tucked in tighter against Magnus. Whilst he knew he should reassure her that none in the fortress would ever cause her harm, he couldn’t help but enjoy the way she instinctively sought his protection—as she should.
She disappointed him by easing away and squaring her shoulders, obviously fighting to appear more composed. He didn’t like this determination she possessed, a determination to be independent.
“Is there a place where all the sick dragons stay, or are they in their homes?” she asked.
“We can visit the closest pair of mates I know of with eggs and possible hatchlings,” he said.
“Their lair is within the fortress’s protective curtain wall because…
” He didn’t quite know how to put it. Frostborn and Bastion needed and deserved the safety and protection of the keep.
After bravely battling Kcirred and his ilk for more hectrooms than any other warriors or guards of dragonkind, the injuries they had sustained over the ages had left them unable to defend themselves.
They had earned the protection of the fortress and deserved every respect and honor that could be afforded them.
Many had also feared that their injuries had rendered them unable to produce offspring, but finally, last autumn, the two honored veterans were blessed with a clutch of eggs.
Those eggs were due to hatch at any time, and the entire Realm looked forward to greeting the younglings of the greatest warriors the kingdom had ever known.
“Their lair is within the fortress because of what?” Lyla prompted him. “Is there something I should know?”
“Frostborn and Bastion defended the Realm against Kcirred for many seasons.” He glanced at Inuk, who bowed his head and turned away.
“They are verra proud and rightly so, but they are weak now. Something which we do our best to never remind them of. Because of their injuries, this is the first and only clutch of eggs they have ever managed to produce. Those hatchlings mean everything to them.”
“They are disabled veterans who deserve respect and assistance.”
“Aye.” Magnus breathed easier. Thankfully, she understood. “Yer plane of time has such warriors?”
“Yes—but sadly, they are not always honored as they should be.” She hooked her arm through his and tugged. “Come on. Let’s make sure their babies are okay.”
Her immediate willingness and determination to help gave him hope.
Now that she had the vulnerable to save, she had forgotten all else.
All her frustrations, her struggle to accept the truth, the fate and destiny she persistently denied—it was as though none of those had ever existed.
He prayed this would pave the way to her heart, enabling her to listen to the needs of her soul and embrace all they could become.
“Inuk—see to the instruments. Entrust them to those who will treat them with the greatest of care.” With Lyla on his arm, Magnus paused at the doorway and turned to Merriweather and Percival. “Well done on the apinlyre. Well done, indeed.”
The Twanes bowed, then rushed over to the black cases. “We would be most honored to carry our lady’s music makers,” Merriweather said. He nodded at Percival, who bobbed his own head up and down in agreement.
“Aye, mighty chief.” Percival picked up the smaller cases, tucking one under each of his stubby arms. “Service to the prophecy’s blessed healer is our greatest honor.”
Merriweather hugged the largest of the cases, carrying it with an awkward waddle since it was nearly as tall as he was. “We shall do our best to create an apinlyre small enough to be carried, as well. Now that we know the basics of our design are sound, we can improve upon them.”
“Ye have inspired them, my lady,” Magnus told Lyla as he led her down the wide hallway to the stairwell that would take them to the great hall and onward to the outer bailey. “Ye’ve lit the fires of hope and creativity within them.”
She smiled and barely tucked her chin, the hint of a rosy blush kissing the lovely high curve of her cheeks. “I just played a simple little song.”
He covered her hand with his. “Nay, my love. The magical sound ye created soothed our souls. There was nothing simple about it.”
“I can’t imagine a world without music of any kind.” She slowly shook her head as they descended the spiral staircase in the central tower. “And no birdsong or animal sounds? Did he silence anything rhythmic or pleasing to the ear?”
“He did. Destroyed anything that might be perceived as music. ’Twas a wonder any of us can still speak aloud.
The bastard could verra well have cursed us into complete silence, limiting us to communicating by thought only.
Thankfully, for whatever reason, he was unable to carry his evil that far.
” Years of pent-up rage and fury boiled within Magnus.
“And he is a coward, never emerging from the safety of Thornpitch and its impassable walls. None of us even knows what he looks like.”
“We need to figure out a way to get in there and get him.” Lyla gripped Magnus’s arm tighter and lengthened her stride as if ready to charge into battle.
“Aye, we do.” Magnus decided to use the moment to his advantage, to the advantage of them all. “But we’ve but fourteen days and nights with ye, my lady. Hardly enough time to accomplish all that could be done with the prophesied healer at my side.”
She pinned him with a side-eye glare. “That is dirty pool.”
“There are no dirty pools within the fortress. The water dragons keep them in pristine condition.”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it.” But her scolding was gentle and contained no barbs. That gave him hope.
A heartbreaking wail from across the outer bailey interrupted them. Magnus’s heart plummeted. “Frostborn keens for her young ones.”
“We can’t be too late.” Lyla tore free of him, caught up her skirts in both hands, and ran toward the sound that shattered the quiet of the cobblestone courtyard.
But when she came to the sealed entrance to the mighty warriors’ tower that connected the curtain wall to the mountain, she halted and looked back at him.
“Is there someone to let me in if I knock?” she shouted over the dragon’s pain-filled bellows.
“I’ve got to get in there. Her crying is killing me. I’ve got to help her.”
Humankind and dragonkind, all those who served and lived within Kindred Fortress, streamed into the courtyard, brought forth by Frostborn’s mournful keening.
But as they saw Lyla and knew her to be the one of the prophecy, all dropped to their knees and bowed their heads.
Silence fell among them, but was shattered over and over by Frostborn’s sobs and Bastion’s agonized roars.
Eyeing all those gathered, Lyla backed up tighter against the doorway, appearing uncomfortable with their reverence to her.
Magnus shoved his way through the throng, bringing the Twanes with the musical instruments with him.
Before they entered the warriors’ lair, Lyla needed to prepare herself for what awaited.
He caught both her hands in his and bent close, locking eyes with her.
“Bastion is a great Welsh dragon. Fearsome with blood-red scales and much larger than Inuk. Frostborn is an Icelandic white. A polar dragon. Equally large, but white and icy as the name of her breed implies. She is blind now and, in her anguish, may lash out. Stay close to me, ye ken? She knows my scent and will hopefully have enough of her mind about her to not attack.”
Standing there with a fearlessness that made his heart ache with admiration and something he feared might be love, Lyla nodded. “She is a mama in pain. We must grant her every grace. What she does will be by reflex only.”
“Verra well, then.” He stretched and flattened his palm on the pale crystal embedded in the center of the entrance’s gleaming onyx door. Closing his eyes, he reached out to Bastion and Frostborn with his mind. “I bring the prophesied healer.”
“It is too late!” Frostborn roared as the door to the entrance dematerialized, evaporating as if made of mist and shadows. “My babies are no more.”
“Two are too weak to even hatch,” Bastion moaned from deeper within the darkness. “The daughter who made it through now lies limp and lifeless in her mother’s arms.”
“Dragons don’t die, right?” Lyla whispered. “Isn’t that what you told me?”
“Aye, but once they enter the final sleep…” He feared they had come too late.
Completely forgetting that he’d warned her to stay close, she charged forward. “Let me see them. Please.”
“Leave me to follow my young ones,” Frostborn bellowed. “Leave me in my pain!” Flames exploded through the stone structure, roaring and crackling with the intensity of the bowels of hell.
“Lyla! No!” Magnus threw up a wall of shielding magic, praying it had surrounded Lyla before it was too late. Keeping the Twanes behind him, he made his way forward and found her coughing and slapping at her smoking hair.
“I’m okay,” she told him. “Just a little singed.”
“I told ye to stay close to me, ye ken? Frostborn is mindless with pain.” He took hold of Lyla’s arm and gently tugged. “We should go. There is naught to be done now but honor their suffering.”
She jutted her chin higher and glared at him. “No. Hand me my guitar.”