Dark Wood: Legends of the Guardians Read online

  Allos watched Aryaunna ride toward the Dark Wood. She was going to Reign. “She’s going to see a friend. Sita will see to it that she makes it safely.”

  Sita huffed every few moments as she rode on at a steady stride. The Dark Wood was no threat to either of them now. While she knew it was important to speak to the prophet, she hadn’t thought twice about where she was going. Sita rode at such speed that Aryaunna had to keep laid flat against the mare’s neck to avoid the trees.

  Blood stained the mare’s side where Aryaunna’s leg hung limp now. The moon was at its peak when they reached Dia.

  Aryaunna let out a deep sigh as Sita panted heavily from her run. Aryaunna hadn’t pushed her at all. Sita just had her own pace she liked, when she liked it. Some might say their bond was just so strong that Sita knew when it was vital to make haste, and when leisure was optional.

  “Well, friend, not sure either of us are up for the mountain just now. Perhaps we should take a rest first, eh?” Sita let out an argumentative snort, and trekked on up the same path they’d taken last time. “You’re stubborn,” Aryaunna grumbled.

  Sita was well on her way up the path when a strange shadow cast over them, shielding them from the light of the moon. A shadow of lace formed of bone. Aryaunna wouldn’t have been able to tell if the pattern hadn’t danced over the rocks just after drifting over them. Looking to the sky, she wasn’t surprised to find it empty. She’d seen it though, she was sure.

  Sita came to a stop moments later. The shadow had indeed come from above, as Reign scaled down the mountain with skilled majesty. His white body blended in with the stone so well that she hadn’t noticed the movement along the side of the mountain until he leapt from one cliff and landed as gracefully as such a massive creature was able in front of them. Sita backed up just a step, though she didn’t seem frightened by the Dragon.

  “What’s happened?” Reign sniffed the air, as if testing to be sure he was right. A step forward brought him inches from the mare and her rider. “You’re injured. I thought it was Sita when I saw the blood that soaks her.”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Aryaunna insisted as the Dragon brought its head close to her bleeding leg. Her pants were blackened with blood that still ran freely and the char from the fire. Black smoke and ash stained her from head to toe.

  Folding his wings back, he turned his body to move flush against Sita’s. “It will take her too long to reach the cavern. Climb onto my back.” Aryaunna looked down, not willing to admit she was hurting. Stubborn, she slid herself off Sita down the other side. “Walk the distance yourself and you’ll bleed to death before you ever reach the caves.”

  Sita backed up, as if to force Aryaunna’s hand further. Reign laid his body as flat as he could, and stretched out his forearm to aid her the best that he could. His wing came out so that she could keep a hold of something as she climbed to his back. “Pride does not suit you, girl. The color of it is ugly, and the taste is bitter,” his tone was gentle though he lectured as she climbed into place.

  Despite the size of his body, Reign was agile and fluid as he climbed the mountain as if it were no challenge to him at all. What would have taken Aryaunna hours to do, even healthy and able, took Reign minutes.

  Reaching back behind him, he extended his talons to her as she climbed carefully down. She bit back the painful cry as she moved her leg wrong, and punctured her lip in doing so. Her grip on him tightened as she swallowed down the urge to cry out and continued her way down more carefully.

  He’d carried her to the beautiful spring that seemed to glow blue for the reflection of the luciola. “Lie down,” he bid her. He kept his hand extended as she did so slowly, lending her his strength as she needed it. Carefully, his sharp claws tore back the soft leather of her pants around the wound. Some of the cloth had adhered to the wound itself as the blood thickened and from the flames that had touched her. “Is this your only wound?”

  “If only I’d been so fortunate.” The rest were small cuts, or bruises. Nothing near as serious as the deep gash on her thigh that still bled openly and the burn that started just beneath it and marked her entire thigh an angry red. The pain was exhausting her. Slowly her lids close, wishing she could sleep.

  “These waters will help you heal. I shall tend to your leg, but then you must soak in the spring. It will allow your body to heal completely.” Curling up, he laid his body next to hers so he could work easier. A soft sigh of his breath sounded before he looked up to her. “I fear this will hurt.”

  “Pain does not frighten me,” she assured him truthfully.

  Holding her wounded leg in his grasp, he licked the blood clean carefully. Though she kept her silence, tears ran freely from her eyes. Though it hurt, she knew the worst was yet to come. His serpentine tongue cleared the filth and drying blood away, even the remnants of cloth blood-flued to her wound. With this he took with it the infection that was sure to have settled in. His tongue was warm and smooth. When he was done, her leg was clean, but still bled. He’d been careful of the burn just beneath the cut, but there was no way to be careful enough of it.

  By the time he was done Aryaunna found it impossible to open her eyes. She was exhausted from not only the lack of sleep, but the blood loss. “Ayaunna, can you still hear me?” She gave a grunt to acknowledge him. “What I must do will be very painful. It will make you sleep. But when you wake, you will be well again. Do you understand?”

  “I’m ready,” she whispered.

  Holding her leg in his grasp carefully, he took in a deep breath and concentrated. Breathing out slowly, he used great focus as he shared with her a gift he’d not used in the better part of a millennia. The fire that came from inside of him burned white and pure. It was nothing like the fire of the pyres.

  A sharp gasp took her and her eyes widened. Despite the pain she did not yell out. In the next instant she fell back, losing all thought and consciousness.

  “Allos,” Elizabeth called as she ran to catch up with him. “You’re back. Where is Aryaunna? I’ve not yet seen her.” Stopping on a snow packed trail, Allos turned to meet her. A slight smile pulled at his lips at seeing her, but it quickly faded. “She’s not here, is she?” Fear filled her eyes as she placed her hand flat over her stomach.

  Raising his hand, he touched to her shoulder to reassure her. “She’s safe. Aryaunna has gone to see Reign.” Elizabeth’s eyes closed as she breathed out a sigh of relief. “Your sister has been through a lot in a very short amount of time, Elizabeth. Reign is her link, her friend. She needs him terribly this night.”

  “What do you mean? What happened? Did you save the prophet?”

  “Yes, she is alive, though her companions did not fare as well. The prophet is an Owl Maiden. A form of Wood Nymph. They’re revered for their power. Not even I know what all they’re capable of. She’s resting now, but she’s promised us an audience and her favor.” He took a moment as Elizabeth absorbed these peculiar facts to look her over. “You’re cold.” Unclasping his cloak, he pulled it from his shoulders and draped it over her.

  “I’m all right,” she argued through a soft smile.

  Lifting her shoulders she shrugged it back, but he clasped it against her collar bone, pulling the thick fabrics over around her. “Wear it for me then?” A slight nod of her consent gave them each a faint smile, though brief as it was. “I need to report to the elders on what has happened. Come with me. You need to hear this, too.”

  Aryaunna woke slowly, more comfortable than she’d been in ages, if maybe ever. Which seemed strange to her as she lay nude in a pool of water. All that covered her now was the warm blue water of the spring.

  Flames surrounded her, burning in carefully dug pits throughout the cavern. It gave the room more color than the shades of blue provided solely by the luciola. Hung over a sparkling white stalagmite was a heavy piece of fabric. Sluggishly she sat up, slowed by the heaviness of her head and the throbbing in her temples.

  The air was warm, and she wasn’
t chilled at all despite having laid in the waters. Standing to her feet, she tested her strength carefully step by step before looking down over her body. The gash on her thigh that had hit bone was completely gone, the burn with it. The small cuts and bruises that covered her were nothing but memory. Experimentally she flexed, her muscles stretched without a single ache.

  Walking over to the stalagmite, she lift the rich black fabric to discover it was a cloak. Pulling it around her shoulders, she looked to tie it but instead found ebony clasps shaped like beautiful Dragon wings. “Reign?” she called out, looking over the vast cavern for him.

  “I’m here.” The reply came from behind her, high above. The fire reflected off his smooth serpentine body, glistening off scales as he climbed easily down from his perch. Suddenly his body leapt forward. He wasn’t flying, but he glided through the air as if he could control it. Landing gracefully beside her, his body straightened as he looked down at her. “How do you feel?”

  “Better than I have in a long time, perhaps ever. How long did I sleep?”

  “A little over a day. Do not be worried. I’m quite certain everyone knows you’re here, and that you’re safe.” His head rose as he looked over the cloak. “It suits you. Come, I have a gift for you.”

  “You’ve done more than plenty for me already, Reign. I don’t wish to take anything more from you,” she argued humbly.

  “Then don’t think of it as a gift from me directly. However, this is not a gift that the Emissary can turn down. Come. Then we will eat, and you shall tell me what all has happened since we were last together.” His body turned and walked deeper into the cavern. The mountain was a vast system of caves. The grotto here, fed by a vast artesian well, was but one of Dia’s mysteries.

  Aryaunna followed Reign into another alcove. Inside it was the last thing she expected to find in a Dragon’s cave. The space was filled with trunks of all sizes. Some were beautiful. Some were simple trunks, each one made to hold weapons of various kinds and sizes. “Dia is no longer just my home, but yours as well. She is your stronghold. If ever you seek shelter, she will give it to you. If ever you need weapons, she will have them.”

  “Is this your hoard?” she asked, touching one of the beautiful mahogany trunks, carved with intricate patterns.

  “No,” he spoke with some surprise. “It is yours. The Guardians have been waiting for you for a long time, Aryaunna.” Turning his body, he sat down beside her, wrapping his tail around his legs carefully. His head leaned forward, investigating a massive trunk carved with a delicate touch. “Ah, yes. That’s the one you need. Open it,” he instructed as he pulled back.

  The latch was large, but simple enough. The lid was heavier than it looked as she lifted it, carefully laying it back. Inside were clothes. Not the type of clothes most women would be excited to see. These seemed of simple make, though in their simplicity they were beautiful. They were made for a warrior. This was clear to her, because of the armor that lay alongside the folded pile.

  Looking back at Reign, he gave her a nod. Silently telling her to go ahead. “They’re yours, Ary.”

  Pulling the cloak from her shoulders, she laid it over another of the many trunks. It was impossible not to wonder what was inside them all. She dressed herself in the sleek black clothes. They fit close against her skin, were thick, but easily flexed with her body. The tunic and trousers hugged her body. A tunic of pure ebony suede came low on her hips. The sleeves were long, covering her wrists. The collar was wide cut, exposing her collarbone and part of her shoulders. The trousers fit her well. She’d never worn pants with buttons instead of ties. It felt strange as they were closer fit than anything she’d ever worn before.

  Leather gloves were long, nearly to her elbow, but they were fingerless, and made to lace up the side so they could be tightened. She had to set them down a moment before putting them on. “Something wrong?” Reign inquired.

  “Not in the way one would think,” she admitted. “They fit perfectly. Everything. They’re beautiful. Perfectly made. Fit, warm, but easy to move in. Strange, but plausible. Then I find these.” She nods from him to the gloves. “I cut the fingers out of all of my gloves. Where did these clothes come from, Reign?”

  “They came from the Guardians. Trunk after trunk has been showing up since you left here last.”

  Taking in a deep breath, she tugged the gloves on one at a time. The strings up the side were easy to synch tight. They fit her as well as everything else had. The boots were tall, coming just above her knee. They hugged her calves, but held a special space inside each boot. Sheaths for knives. She’d never had new boots. Or even ones that fit her feet so well. The soles were thick and hard.

  “There’s still more,” she exclaimed, surprised. Reign chortled as she reached back into the deep trunk. A hooded cowl wrapped around her neck, covering her exposed flesh from the shirt. It was thicker than the rest, lined in fine black fur. After that she pulled on a thick but soft black leather vest. Small pockets, loops, and straps lined the inside. “What are these for?” she asked while buttoning the thick black buttons, etched with the most incredible detail. She’d had to stop for a closer look when she noticed. They, too, were carved with Dragons.

  “Whatever suits you. Weapons, supplies and the such,” he explained.

  Lifting a belt from the trunk, she strapped it around her waist. It hung well, and was sheath ready with loops and hooks. “What weapons does this hold?” she asked while buckling it.

  Leaning his head closer, he looked down into the trunk. It was finally empty. “Hmmm.” There were almost thirty trunks, and more seemed to show up every day, he’d said. “Ah, I know. Close your eyes,” he instructed.

  Her brow arched in suspect, but her eyes closed. “Don’t see it in your mind’s eye, but feel it. Feel the hilts in your hands. The weight of the blades. Imagine how it feels to swing your sword in battle.” Instinctively her fists tightened. “Good. Feel them in your hands, Ary.”

  Her eyes opened. An eager smile spread her lips as she walked past him and went straight to a long sleek black case. It was wide and flat, etched with a pattern she could only describe as Dragon scale. The latch looked like her cloak, Dragon wings. Sliding them apart, she lifted the lid carefully. Inside, laid upon white silk was a collection of the finest weapons.

  Twin scimitars were in the center. Slowly, Aryaunna lifted one sword from the case. The sheath was intricate in design with beautiful silver scrolls crafted over black polished wood. The hilt, black in color, fanned out, cast like a Dragon’s wing. Its base was complexly covered in braided leather. Gently she slid the blade from its sheath. Lifting it closer for examination she looked over the flat of the ebony blade. “What language is this?” she asked in a whisper, not looking away from the incredible silver design.

  “Drackon.”

  She turned the blade to him, tip closest to Reign so that he may see it better. “Devils fear not, for we shall take you home.” A slight smile spread over her lips.

  “Turn the blade.” Carefully she turned it over in her hands. A beautiful, detailed Dragon was scalded into the other side of the blade. “All of these weapons are crafted by Dragons’ fire, from mithril.” Smoothly, she sheathed the sword and set it down. Her fingers brushed over twin daggers, long, impossibly sharp, but thin. Boot blades. Another dagger was held in a wide black leather sheath. Lifting it, she drew the blade. The hilt was a cross of braided metal, the blade was krissed.

  Sheathing it, she set it down. Two bracers sat next to a small belt knife. Simple, but black. Reign looked over the room as she strapped the black mithril braces over her forearms. They latched into place with dragon tails, and it was the bodies of the dragons that formed the design over the surface of each. “Everything is black. The clothes, the weapons.” Her brow arched in question as she looked up at him.

  “That’s a question for the Guardians. Not I.”

  “Do you think they’re all that way?” She looked around at the other cases curiously.r />
  “It’s possible. I haven’t looked. These are all your things, Ary. That is how you knew which chest to open first. It is how you knew which chest held your weapons. I do know that these weapons here are special. They were meant for you especially.” Lifting his head he looked over the cavern aglow from the luciola above. “It’s my assumption, given how many crates are here, these are weapons for an army.” He looked back at her. “Your army.”

  “Will the war come soon?” There was no fear in her voice. Just bitter resolution.

  “I cannot say for certain, but I believe there is time yet. Besides, haven’t seen any real battle armor sent from the Guardians yet,” he tried to make light.

  “Perhaps I shall ask the prophet.” His scaled brow arched at her comment. Grief washed over her face as she looked down at the casket of her weapons. As she put each into place, strapping the sheaths to her belt and sliding the daggers down into her boots, she told him what all had happened over the past many days.

  “You did what you could to save them. They won’t be the last to leave blood on your hands, Ary. Though I wish I could say otherwise. Truly, I do.” Reaching out one clawed hand, he lifted her cloak and carefully draped it across her shoulders. She clasped it against her collar bone and looked up at him without saying a word. “What weighs on you the most? The boy or the burnings?”

  “My feelings about the boy are complicated,” she confessed. “I feel as if I should be more bothered by what I’ve done. He was under order by the clergy. The things he was forced to do were… well, they were awful. At some point this became so customary to him that he began to find enjoyment in the acts themselves, beyond just the rewards bestowed upon him.”

  Turning away from him, she shut the empty trunk. “I have no regret in killing him. Just some regret over his making. If not for the Magistrate and the Church, I never would’ve had to kill him. How many more are like him in this world?” she asked to the world and not Reign, for it was a question without answer. Lifting the heavy case, she carried it over to the side of the room and set it down. No point in leaving it in the way of the others when it was empty, she figured, though she thought she might like to keep it for herself.