The War of the Masters

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Cyrus ground his teeth together. Was this an agent of Kane after them?

The man moved his bow slightly and released the drawn arrow. Cyrus instinctively ducked but the arrow zipped several feet above him. Craning his head, Cyrus followed the projectile’s path as it sank into the hide of a stampeding warthog, killing it instantly.

What’s going on here? Is this guy trying to help us?

“Two more on the way!” the man yelled.

Moving two steps to the side, Cyrus shifted his stance so he could see both the approaching warthogs and the cloaked interloper. For a moment he considered using the Akieres Legacy Blade, but immediately dismissed the notion. Springing the blade and chain free from its handle required energy—and if he used too much he’d find himself back on his death throes requiring the Breath of the Masters.

His hand slipped, instead, to the sword he’d taken from one of the Koh’Lahni soldiers. He held the blade out in front of him with both hands, trying to get a feel for the weight as the warthogs drew closer. T’Saunté jumped down from Terra’s arms but she quickly scooped him back up. The dragon was still wounded from their fight with the Dire Wolves, and she obviously didn’t want his condition worsening.

Cyrus squeezed the handle of his sword and charged forward, his father right beside him with a blade of his own. The warthogs leaped into the air, teeth bared viciously for the two men waiting to meet them.

Kendal thrust his sword high, catching the first warthog in his swipe and ending its life. Cyrus wasn’t so lucky. His blade glanced off the beast’s thick hide, tracing a long gash down its side but not enough to stop it. The angry warthog plowed into him at chest height, knocking him to his back. Cyrus grunted and fought desperately to keep its teeth from sinking into his neck.

He heard the crackling spark of an energy arrow whizzing by, and the warthog on top of him fell dead. His father helped him to his feet, and all eyes turned to the mysterious stranger. The teenager had hazel eyes and a thickset jaw. Black gloves garbed both his hands, and the vibrant purple energy bow he was holding suddenly shimmered, then fizzled out completely.

“Who are you?” Cyrus asked warily.

“I’m called Raiden, of the Tanis clan,” the young man said, bowing respectfully.

“Tanis, huh?” Madrina said, intrigued. “I thought I recognized your power. What brings you here?”

Raiden unslung a pouch from around his shoulder and retrieved a rolled up parchment from within. “I’ve been looking for you for some time now. I was sent by Admiral Lansing to deliver a message to Kendal.”

Cyrus’s father stepped forward. “You know Joel?”

“Yes. He tasked me with this personally.” Raiden held out the paper for Kendal. “He said it was urgent.”

Kendal cut open the tie around the letter and unrolled it. He read aloud:

“Kendal, my friend, I send you greetings from Cordova Castle. Too much time has passed since we’ve last spoken. How are the wife and child? Things are going well here in Cordova; I haven’t been this happy about a job since the time we snuck past Esmont’s border! If there is anything I may do for you, please be sure to contact me immediately.

Sincerely,

Joel Lansing

Kendal turned the paper over. The other side was blank.

Cyrus didn’t know who Joel was, but something about his wording seemed out of place. His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when his father declared, “Joel’s in trouble.”

“Who’s Joel?” Cyrus asked.

Kendal sighed and turned to his wife. Madrina gave a subtle nod and cleared her throat.

“We may as well start from the beginning,” she said. “Decades ago the Akieres were a peaceful nomadic people who roamed the eastern plains of the Bergion Empire. I was a healer, using my gift to cure the sick and help the wounded recover.”

“Whoa, come again?” Raiden interjected. “Did you just say Akieres?”

“Yes. My son and I are the last surviving descendants,” Madrina said gravely.

A look of shock crossed Raiden’s face, followed by disbelief. “You can’t be from the Akieres clan; they were all wiped out decades ago!”

Cyrus was thoroughly confused but he held up the Akieres Legacy Blade as proof of her testament.

Raiden saw the blade and gasped.

“What’s going on?” Terra asked.

A troubled look overcame Madrina. She took a deep breath before speaking. “I’ll explain everything. When I was a young woman, Bergion studied our people. They saw men and women of great power, like my father, and deemed us a threat to the Empire. The eastern governor, Dravus, sent a message to our people, luring the most powerful of us into a trap where they were massacred. The rest of our kind didn’t stand a chance. From city to city Bergion soldiers marched, slaughtering the Akieres without discretion.”

Madrina paused to wipe a tear and collect herself. Kendal put his strong hands on her shoulders and held her close.

“So how did you escape?” Terra asked.

“Two Bergion soldiers had me pinned down in a grain field. I had never used my ability to fight, so I knew I was a goner. That’s when I saw him.” She looked up at Kendal.

“I was a young officer in the Koh’Lahni navy at the time,” Kendal picked up. “It was before the Senate brokered the alliance with Candore. Koh’Lah was on the brink of war with Bergion, and my ship’s mission was to collect intelligence. We anchored in a secluded bay and the Captain—my friend, Joel Lansing—and I went ashore to see what we could find. Then the most beautiful woman with flaming red hair ran across the field in front of us.” Kendal gave a loving look at Madrina. “She was screaming for help. Joel and I sprang into action, attacking and defeating the two soldiers.

“Madrina told us about the genocide of her people. Knowing that we were risking the full wrath of the Bergion Empire, Joel and I agreed to take her back to Koh’Lah with us to keep her safe. He and I swore a vow of secrecy about your mother’s true heritage. Not even the crew knew your mother’s past or where we picked her up. Once we returned to Koh’Lah, I resigned from the navy to take up the life of a fisherman so I could stay close and protect your mother.”

Cyrus paused, his mind coming to terms with everything he had learned. His family history was far from what he had presumed. Maybe that was why his dad always seemed so happy with a calm fisherman’s life; peaceful times meant his family was safe.

Cyrus smiled. “Joel sounds like a pretty good friend.”

“The best. I have no doubt that if I stormed the stone spire of Candore, he would be at my side, fighting shoulder to shoulder with me.”

“Are you certain he’s in danger?”

“Yes,” Kendal answered. “A long time ago we set up a code—keywords embedded in the note to signal something’s wrong. The phrase, ‘snuck past Esmont’s border,’ means his life is in imminent danger.”

Kendal looked Cyrus straight in the eyes. “Joel risked his life getting us out of Bergion, and since then he’s kept a watchful eye on us. He’s like a brother to me; I have to help him.”

Cyrus grinned. “I’m with you a hundred percent.”

“Count me in!” Raiden piped up.

Cyrus cast him a surprised look. “Why would you want to come with us?”

Raiden returned the surprised expression. “I’m a member of the Tanis clan,” he said simply. “It would take an army of dragons to stop me from helping you.”

Cyrus looked at his mother. “What am I missing here?”

“Long ago, the brothers Akieres and Tanis vowed that their descendants would look after one another,” Madrina explained. “As brother clans we are sworn to aid and protect one another. It is our oldest and most important law.”

Raiden paused a moment before speaking. “Bergion sent me to protect the Magistrate of Cordova Castle, so I’m scheduled to return there, anyway. I can lead you.”

“We would be honored to travel with you,” Madrina said with a smile.

“Thank you,” Raiden replied. “Cordova is northwest of here, close to Bergion. But first we may as well eat the spoils of our victory.”

Cyrus could feel the temperature dropping as he and the others neared the mountains. He exhaled a cold, visible breath and looked ahead. Lucky was riding on the back of T’Saunté’s small, lizard-like form, leading the way as though it were a race. A day had passed since they’d first set out, and already Cyrus had grown to like the member of the Tanis clan.

“ ‘Cyrus the Prevailer’, huh?” Cyrus asked as they walked, raising an eyebrow.

Raiden grinned and shrugged. “That’s what people were calling you around Evidria. Word has already spread how you snatched your parents right out from under the Governor’s nose and then left the corpses of three Dire Wolves in your wake.”

Cyrus shook his head and smiled. “If they knew the truth, they’d probably be calling me Cyrus the Lucky.”

“You called?” the five-inch tall Leprechaun asked, stopping the dragon and puffing out his chest. “Am I needed for battle?”

“No, not you, Lucky—never mind.”

The Leprechaun shrugged and patted the back of T’Saunté’s neck. “Onward my noble steed!” he shouted boldly.

“So, you said you were from the Bergion Empire,” Cyrus said to Raiden, changing topics.

“Western Bergion. Born and raised.” Raiden must have noticed the inquisitive look on Cyrus’s face, because he continued. “Although all of Bergion is technically under the rule of the Emperor, the western and eastern regions are overseen by two very different governors.”

“What’s Western Bergion like?”

“It’s a beautiful, peaceful place. Home to the Imperial City, it is a beacon of what people can accomplish when they work together. Just over the past few years we’ve had some manufacturing breakthroughs—although I’m sad to admit, they’re mostly centered around warfare.”

“What about Eastern Bergion?” Cyrus asked.

“Aggressive. Always trying to expand the Empire. Which is why they’ve been looking for any chance they can get to seize Koh’Lah.”

“Then I take it Eastern Bergion was responsible for wiping out the Akieres Clan,” Cyrus guessed.

“Yes. Swiftly and brutally. By the time the Tanis clan realized what had happened, the genocide was already over.”

Madrina jumped into the conversation. “But we sent a letter requesting the Tanis’s aid. They never came.”

Raiden looked surprised. “You did? We never received anything from the Akieres.”

Now it was Madrina’s turn to look surprised. “What? You mean you never got it at all?”

“No. Whatever was sent never reached us.”

Madrina looked down. “Someone must have intercepted it. That would explain why no support ever came.”

Raiden stopped walking and turned to face her. “I’m so sorry,” he said earnestly. “We had no idea what was happening. When my people hear the truth, you will have our full support, as it was always meant to be.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

“Faster, my steed! Faster!” Lucky urged loudly to the dragon. “We’re losing ground!”

Raiden looked back to see that the pair had, indeed, fallen behind. Terra walked over to T’Saunté and knelt beside him.

“Cyrus!” she squealed a moment later. Everyone stopped and gathered around the Princess and her dragon. The tear in T’Saunté’s wing oozed the black venom from the Dire Wolves.

“His wing . . .” Cyrus murmured. “It looks even worse than before. Didn’t you say dragons healed naturally over time?”

Terra nodded. “He should be. But it looks like the poison’s not only preventing that—it’s spreading through the rest of his body . . .”

Cyrus turned to Raiden. T’Saunté had already saved his life more than once; He was going to do everything in his power to return the favor.

“How close are we to Cordova?”

“It’s in the next valley, just below the mountain. Maybe a ten minute walk from here.”

Cyrus analyzed their situation. “All of Koh’Lah’s still looking for us,” he said, indicating Terra and himself. “If we all stroll into town we’re sure to attract attention.”

“What if you and I went in alone?” Raiden suggested. “Once we find an inn and pay for a room, we can come back for the others.”

“Make it fast,” Kendal suggested. “Nightfall is almost here, and the temperature’s going to drop below freezing. None of us are dressed for that.”

“All right,” Cyrus said, his features set in grim determination. “Let’s go.”

Cordova was a small town consisting of only a dozen houses, a tavern, an inn, a church, and two shops. Raiden kept his hands in his pockets, shielding them from the biting wind screaming down from the mountain’s base.

He opened the door to one of the shops and stepped inside, grateful to be out of the cold. The owner, a slim man with graying hair and a thick mustache, greeted them immediately.

“Welcome!” he said cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”

“How much would five coats cost?” Cyrus asked, wasting no time.

The owner seemed surprised they didn’t want to look around first. After a moment he answered, “Thirty gold.”

From the corner of his eye Raiden saw Cyrus cringe at the price. Without a word, Raiden opened up the coin pouch hanging from his belt and paid the full amount with plenty to spare.

Cyrus’s mouth nearly dropped open. “I—I’ll pay you back as soon as I can,” he stuttered, caught off guard by the sudden generosity.

Raiden waved a dismissive hand. “Not necessary, my friend. If you want, I’ll even buy you some additional armor to go with that chest piece. It might help . . . in the future,” he said, remembering the shopkeeper was still in the room.

Cyrus looked hesitant to accept such a gift, but Raiden knew they’d need every advantage they could get to infiltrate Cordova Castle. Turning to the shopkeeper, he asked, “How long would it take to fasten a back to this breastplate?”

The owner looked the armor over. “Hmm. Depends on what you want. Hardened iron would take about five days, but a leather back I could have finished by tomorrow.”

“How much?”

“Another ten gold.”

“Deal,” Raiden agreed before Cyrus could object. “And how much would a full set of leather armor cost for my friend here?”

“That will run you another forty.” To Raiden’s surprise, the offer was quite reasonable; the owner hadn’t hiked up the price in an attempt to take advantage of his wealthy customer.

Cyrus looked bewildered by the amount of gold, but Raiden simply grinned and dropped the amount on the counter. His time as a soldier had paid well, and he had found very little to spend his earnings on until now.

The shopkeeper vanished into the back of the store and reappeared with the set of armor. Cyrus unhooked the straps he’d made with his belt and handed the man his breastplate before changing into the black leather armor.

“Not bad,” Raiden said, admiring his new attire. “You look like a champion.”

“Thanks,” Cyrus murmured. “I’m hoping it’ll help me look more intimidating. Our best chance to get through this is to avoid fighting whenever possible.” To the owner, he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to know a doctor around here, would you?”

“Yeah, actually. Name’s Naabrea—usually hangs out at the tavern like everyone else.”

“Great. Thank you very much, sir.” Turning back to Raiden, he asked, “Do we have everything?”

“Think so. I’ll run these back to Terra and your parents while you book us a room at the inn.”

“Gotcha. Meet back there.”

After booking a room for the night under an assumed name, Cyrus diligently inspected the quarters they’d been given, searching for any hidden traps or assassins. Only once he was certain everything was safe had he allowed the others to come up and rest. Though every muscle in his body ached with fatigue from the long hike and lack of rest, Cyrus knew he had to find someone soon who could heal T’Saunté if the dragon were to live much longer. The venom had spread from his right wing down into his arm, raising thin black lines against his blue scales. With each passing minute, Terra looked more and more distraught.

“T’Saunté’s going to be all right,” he assured her, rubbing a hand across her shoulder. “I promise.”

Terra nodded but didn’t meet his gaze. She continued to stroke the back of T’Saunté’s neck, trying to comfort the miserable looking dragon.

Cyrus looked at Raiden. “Why don’t we let everyone relax in the room while we dig up some information at the tavern.”

“Right behind you,” Raiden replied with a grin.

Taking the steps two at a time, Cyrus and Raiden descended to the bottom floor of the inn and left the building.

“I’ll try to find this Naabrea while you see what you can learn about the castle,” Cyrus said.

“Better switch that around,” Raiden suggested. “I’m already supposed to be guarding the Magistrate; if someone recognizes me, they’ll wonder why I’m asking those kinds of questions.”

“Good point. All right, you look for the doctor, then.”

A thin, flimsy sign hung outside the tavern with the words, The Sidewinder scribbled onto it. Cyrus opened up the heavy wooden door and took a quick look around the room. A group of four men were playing cards at one of the tables, an elderly woman sat by herself in the nearest corner, a young woman sat at the bar, and a middle-aged couple sat together at another corner.

And posted on the wall right beside Cyrus was a wanted poster with a rough sketch of him and his name in big black letters. Next to it was a poster of Terra. The reward for their capture: one thousand gold each.

Too bad I can’t turn myself in, he thought. I’m worth a nice chunk of change.

All eyes were on him, but he hoped it was due to his full armor rather than recognition. Projecting a look of confidence, Cyrus walked up to the counter, plopping down on a stool two spaces to the left of the young woman.

“What’ll it be, stranger?” the pretty bartender asked as she dried the inside of a glass.

“Grape juice,” he replied with a mellifluous smile.

The bartender reached under the counter and pulled out a thick glass mug. As she poured his drink, Cyrus said in a casual voice, “That sure is a nice looking castle up the mountain. Know anyone who might be able to give me a tour?”

The woman laughed and slid the mug over to him. “That’s a military castle in use by the Magistrate and some General. No one’s gonna be touring it anytime soon.”

Cyrus drained the juice in one long draft. “Who’s the General?” he asked after setting the mug down.

The bartender raised an eyebrow, no doubt wondering why he was so curious.

“What’s your name, stranger?”

“Phillip,” Cyrus lied.

“Well, Phillip, what’s your interest in the castle?”

“I’m looking for work,” he answered, rapping his knuckles against his leather chest piece.

The bartender seemed to buy his response. “If you really want to know, you might ask the couple over in that corner,” she said, gesturing in their direction. “I believe he’s one of the Magistrate’s soldiers.”

Cyrus flashed another smile. “Thank you very much, ma’am.” He left all his money—one gold—on the counter top. “Keep the change.”

The woman scooped up her earnings and hid them under the counter.

The tavern door suddenly breezed open. At first it looked as though no one was there, but when Cyrus’s gaze dropped down he saw the unmistakable form of Lucky sauntering inside.

Oh, great. If anyone has a hard time keeping a low profile, it’s Lucky.

The tiny Leprechaun marched through the tavern like he owned the place. Cyrus looked away and cringed, hoping Lucky wouldn’t spot him. After a few moments, he heard the gentle pitter-patter of Leprechaun feet trying to scale the stool next to him. Sighing, Cyrus helped him up the rest of the way, nonchalantly whispering into the Leprechaun’s ear as he did.

“Remember, don’t call me Cyrus around here. My name is Phillip, okay?”

“Oh, sure!” Lucky said enthusiastically. “I already took care of it.”

Lucky pointed at the wanted poster of Cyrus. Scribbled on it—with all the skill of a five year old—was a long handlebar mustache, stretching past his cheeks and curling on each end. Terra also had a new mustache, even more extravagant than his.

Cyrus groaned. Are you kidding me?

Lucky grinned. “I got this!”

“When did you get a chance to do that? I only looked away for a minute.”

“You’re forgetting who you’re talking to here! I am the Legendary Leprechaun after all.”

With a shake of his head, Cyrus set Lucky down on the counter top. The five-inch tall Leprechaun swaggered over to the young lady and leaned back against the glass she was drinking from.

“Hey, beautiful, did Cyr—oof!”

Cyrus flicked Lucky across the shoulder, cutting off the rest of his words. The young lady’s eyes dilated with interest at the near mention of his name, but she didn’t say anything. The Leprechaun massaged the aching spot on his shoulder, then started again.

“I mean, did my friend here tell you how I saved his life by single-handedly slaying an elite soldier of death?”

Cyrus rolled his eyes.

“Yep, that’s right!” Lucky continued. “I am Lucky the Leprechaun, loved by many, mostly by women!”

Without so much as a glance at Lucky, the young lady picked up her drink and flicked drops of condensation at him.

I sure hope Raiden’s having better luck than I am.

Ironically enough, Raiden signaled to him at that very moment. Cyrus stood up to leave, hoping Lucky could keep quiet about their true identities.

“Excuse me, what were you saying?” the elderly woman, Naabrea, asked Raiden. Until that moment, he had been wondering just how long it would take the Leprechaun to climb his bar stool.

“Huh? Oh, the guys over at the poker table told me you were the local doctor.”

“Yes? And?”

“I, uh, encountered an unusual poison yesterday and I was wondering if you could synthesize an antidote.”

“Perhaps. May I see the patient?”

Raiden had been expecting the request, of course, but he hadn’t yet come up with a good answer. He gestured to Cyrus and the young fisherman came over to their table.

“Cyrus, this is Naabrea. She may be able to help us.”

“Nice to meet you,” Cyrus said politely.

“Yes, yes,” the woman said impatiently, “do you have a sample of this poison?”

“It’s a venom, actually. From the fangs of . . . an animal.”

Naabrea leaned back in her chair. She crossed her arms and cast her gaze around the tavern. “Are you from Candore?” she asked at last.

Raiden saw Cyrus tense. Immediately he glanced across the area, scoping out all the escape routes in case they needed to make a hasty exit.

“No,” Cyrus said at last, his voice quiet and serious, “but the dragon that’s infected is.”

Naabrea simply smiled, and Raiden felt sure the entire tavern was about to turn on them. Gathering his power inside him, he prepared to materialize a shield of energy at a second’s notice to cover their escape.

The elderly woman stood from her table, causing Cyrus to bristle.

“I’m from Candore as well,” she said tersely. Noticing the stances Raiden and Cyrus had taken, she quickly added, “I’m not going to turn you in for the reward—please take me to the dragon and I’ll see what I can do.”

Looking at his new friend, Raiden saw that Cyrus still looked coiled, as though sensing a trap. After a long pause, he said reluctantly, “Follow us.”