Dragons of the Dawn Bringer: The Goddess Prophecies Fantasy Series Book 5 Read online

  But he was afraid. Its cawing grated his ears and his white eye began to water and throb. He blinked the streaming tears from his eyes. Black wings filled his vision. The raven landed on his head, sharp claws scratching his cheeks and tearing at his hair as it tried to balanced itself. He tried to shake it off but his head wouldn’t even move. He began to pant in terror.

  The raven bent its head low, its dark eyes looking into his. He saw not himself, but the hideous form of Baelthrom reflected in them. Marakon opened and closed his mouth but couldn’t draw breath.

  I am not Baelthrom! What trickery is this?

  ‘He’s mine,’ Baelthrom’s voice howled around him. The Immortal Lord’s eyes blazed red. Cold flooded Marakon’s body and his breath came in short, ragged gasps. Madness filled his mind, scattering his thoughts.

  The raven tilted back its head, opened its beak wide and cawed raucously, the noise deafening so close to his ears. Then it angled its head closer, its long, sharp beak gleaming in the light. Fear trickled down Marakon’s spine.

  The raven lunged at his white eye. Searing pain exploded in his head. He screamed as it stabbed again. He couldn’t even move to shake it off. Blood and tears streamed down Marakon’s face as he felt it stab deep into his skull.

  The agony of its relentless, hateful, stabbing beak filled his mind and body, sending him mad with pain. He felt on the verge of passing out, and prayed that he would as there came a great pull—as if his entire brain was being yanked out of his eye socket—then the most terrible tearing pain. A blast of searing heat ripped through his body, and only then came blessed release.

  Something hot, heavy and wet slid down his face.

  Marakon passed out.

  Issa couldn’t keep Marakon in the realm of the dead for more than a few moments. Just long enough to break Baelthrom’s hold on him. As the man writhed before her, the shadow world jerked and faded. Baelthrom’s voice boomed and darkness engulfed her. Marakon screamed horribly, then the shadow world began to withdraw.

  Grappling with the Flow she tried to push back the darkness and remain in the realm of the dead where Baelthrom couldn’t reach her. She failed. The greener forests of Frayon materialised. There was blood on the grass at her feet, blood all over Marakon’s hands that covered his face. He was groaning and more blood trickled through his fingers.

  Ehka had something round, white and bloody in his beak. Issa fought not to vomit. The raven spat out Marakon’s eye and hopped back, keen to get away from it. The bloody white eye lying in the grass suddenly burst into red light. Issa yelled, lifted her boot and stamped on it. The hateful eye made a sickening squishing sound and a blast of black magic flared beneath her boot. The Under Flow fled away, and with it Baelthrom’s presence.

  Unable to control it this time, Issa leant over and vomited. She slumped to her knees, gasping, dropping the protective shield around them. Ehka wiped his beak on the grass and nestled beside her leg. Utterly spent, she watched the blindfolded woman run to Marakon and drop down to hug him. He bled heavily from his eye socket and she did her best to stem the flow. The half-elf commander wasn’t conscious.

  Issa tried to reach the Flow to help in some manner but the magic was wild and erratic and she was too exhausted to form any control over it. Besides, she didn’t pity him or any spy of Baelthrom. The man had betrayed them—how many times? How many lives had been lost because of him? She didn’t want to know. She’d placed her utmost respect and trust in him, and he’d been a spy of Baelthrom all along. She blamed herself for not guessing sooner.

  ‘How could you do this? You could have killed him,’ the blindfolded woman shouted at her. Her bear was by the river, drinking. The second bear had disappeared, and the third still lay unmoving beside the dead Dromoorai.

  ‘We could all have been killed,’ Issa said tonelessly. ‘It had to be done. By Baelthrom spying through him, countless lives have been lost.’

  The other woman pursed her lips.

  The shadows drew together besides Issa’s knees and Maggot’s ugly face peered up at her. His cold, little hands rested on her thigh and his big eyes darted fearfully to the other humans then back to her.

  ‘How did you know to come, Maggot?’ She smiled at the little demon despite the heaviness in her heart.

  ‘Ever since you helped us in the Murk, I can feel when you’re in danger. The Great Carmedrak has done something to me. He says I must help you when I feel that.’

  Issa didn’t know why their Lord Carmedrak would be interested in her, but she was grateful.

  ‘Then you must thank him for me. You saved my life. If you had come a moment later I would have been captured or even killed.’

  Asaph stumbled out of the woods several yards away, sheathing his sword. He was dishevelled, his shirt ripped and left shoulder bloody, but he walked strong and upright. A wave of relief washed over her. On unsteady legs, she stood and embraced him, burying her face against his good shoulder. Maggot slipped behind her ankles.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ said Asaph, drawing back to look her over.

  ‘No, not really. Just shaken and drained,’ she said, looking up at him.

  Soldiers came bursting through the trees, their swords raised. Maggot melted into the shadows. Why hadn’t they come sooner? Dark magic had been at play, that was a given.

  The soldiers halted and did a double take on the strange group assembled, their eyes coming to rest on the body of the Dromoorai. Those closest to the bear raised their swords fearfully but the bear yawned and lay down placidly next to the blindfolded woman.

  ‘It’s all right, there was a Dromoorai.’ Asaph raised his eyebrows and laughed at his own words. ‘We took them out. There was only one. The Dread Dragon is impaled on the tree over there.’ He pointed.

  ‘Just one is enough,’ said a soldier, wide-eyed. The other soldiers nodded and gripped their weapons nervously.

  ‘Baelthrom could see through Marakon’s eye,’ Issa said, turning to Asaph.

  Asaph stared at the prone man, a look of horror spreading on his face.

  ‘How much?’

  Issa shrugged and kept her voice low, not wanting to alarm everyone. ‘Maybe everything. I think that’s how they’ve always known what we are doing, where we are and how to attack us so precisely. So devastatingly—’

  ‘And how they found you,’ Asaph cut in with the words she didn’t dare utter.

  She gave a faint nod. ‘More might come this very night.’

  When Jarlain first heard Marakon call her name from beyond the darkness of her blindfold, a great weight lifted from her heart. In her red vision, he had appeared through the trees as a white beacon of light leading her on. Despite her blindness, her heart had won and led her to Marakon. The terrifying, giant flying lizard in her vision could not have stopped her running to his side.

  Cradling his head in her lap, she stemmed the blood that flowed down his face with a ripped piece of her sackcloth clothing. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. She had found him at last. All the long days of suffering and the cold nights alone in an alien world had finally come to an end. The weariness in her body and soul lessened.

  The cloth she held to his bleeding head was soon soaked wet with blood, but despite the horror of his missing eye, that unmistakable uneasy feeling she had around him was gone. As much as she hated what the woman with the raven had done, the darkness surrounding him had disappeared. She murmured healing words and felt her hands grow warm, then laid them on his body bringing him back around.

  ‘Where am I?’ he said, his voice weak. ‘I feel so strange. Like I’m free, but my head hurts and I can’t see properly.’

  ‘Shh, you’re safe. You need a healer but you’ll be all right,’ she whispered.

  ‘Jarlain?’ His voice was filled with wonder. She felt his hand stroke her cheek then fumble with her blindfold.

  ‘Why? Are you hurt? Have you been blinded too?’ he asked.

  Without saying anything she bent to kiss him, tears soaking
her blindfold. He kissed her tenderly and she stroked the stubble of his cheek. He reached behind her head and, as easily as tearing paper, the blindfold fell away.

  With a soft gasp, she lifted her head and squinted into the painful light of the soldiers’ torches. Her eyes streamed with the pain of sudden light after so long. It was a pain she welcomed. She peered down at Marakon’s terrible, pale and bloodied face.

  ‘I was cursed, like you, but now you’re with me that curse is lifted,’ she whispered in wonder. ‘And I’m certain your curse has been removed for good. It is better to lose an eye than carry that evil within you.’

  ‘How are you here? I can barely believe it,’ he said. ‘So many strange things have happened.’

  ‘Shh, rest.’ She bent down to hug him close. ‘Now is not the time to talk. I’ve done what I can but you need a physician. You won’t believe it, so let me just say this: when I first met you and you lifted your eyepatch, I saw in your damaged eye my people destroyed and us together. And now both those things have come to pass.’

  3

  Swords and Armour

  ISSA walked the subdued streets of Carvon.

  After harrying the enemy as far as they dared, she’d returned to the city with Asaph and several units of exhausted soldiers. They were all glad to rest in proper beds and eat rich food whilst seated at tables.

  In the city, there wasn’t the usual laughter of children, the chatter of women or the bellows of hawkers. People went about their business in silence or speaking in hushed voices. Most worked on a section of the city wall that had been destroyed by Dread Dragons, or on clearing the debris of fallen roofs and broken glass covering the streets.

  The taverns were mostly empty too. Today, people needed sobriety and clear thinking. The enemy had reached them and they knew they could be attacked at any time. Now, everyone understood that the days of the Free Peoples were numbered unless they fought with everything they had.

  But despite the sombre, weary faces she saw everywhere, Issa noted there was a firm set to their chins, a hard look in their eyes. They were determined and resolute. The enemy could come but they sure as hell would fight back.

  But would it be enough? Issa doubted it. To defeat the enemy, they had to come up with a different plan. They had to counter-attack; take the offensive and start trying to regain lost lands.

  Lost in her thoughts, she found herself at Edarna’s door without knowing exactly how she’d got there. She rapped the heavy, rusty door knocker. There came the subtlest shimmer of earth-based magic and the door swung open.

  Issa grinned and went inside. The old wooden stairs creaked loudly under her feet. At the top, she paused at the open door.

  ‘Hello?’

  She walked into a small room that was stuffed full with two beds. Rammed up against the window was a cooker with two hobs.

  ‘There she is!’ squealed Edarna. The plump, old witch emerged from what looked like a closet.

  Mr Dubbins meowed loudly and sprung into Issa’s arms. She laughed and cuddled the blue cat, then set him down.

  ‘Hmm, I think you need a bigger place,’ said Issa.

  ‘Indeed. I need a whole shop! I’ve been thinking on names. “Higglesworth Enterprises” or “City Witches” or “Coven Accessories”.’

  Issa suppressed a giggle at the dreamy wonder on Edarna’s face.

  ‘Yes.’ The witch nodded, her green eyes bright as she clapped her hands together. ‘It’s all on the up. Oh, imagine all the witches coming together again. Hah!

  ‘Now then, Dearie.’ She looked over her half-moon spectacles at Issa with a serious expression. ‘No matter what wizards, seers or even witches might teach you, you still need to wear physical protection in your line of work. Whatever people might like to believe about the Raven Queen, the prophecies clearly state she was a warrior, probably with a sword, armour and other stuff. So, I’ve been busy. Here’s an extra special gift for you—you’ll find nothing else like it in all Maioria.’

  The witch passed Issa a large parcel wrapped in brown packing paper.

  Issa wondered what on earth was Edarna giving her as she took the heavy bundle. She hoped it wasn’t any more of her foul-tasting potions. She squeezed it gently. Thankfully the package felt soft and not hard as if filled with vials. Intrigue replaced her concern and she set it down on the bed and undid the ties.

  Inside was the strangest, black metallic material she had ever seen. There were two pieces; leggings and a long-sleeved jerkin both made of leathery scales sewn expertly together and lined with soft fabric. The surface was like snake skin in texture, but tougher and more flexible. The scales varied in size, from being as small as one of her fingernails, to bigger than her head, and each one was perfectly woven on to the next.

  ‘You made this? It’s exquisite. And the craftsmanship…stunning!’ Issa stroked the smooth surface. It glimmered with many dark colours; green, purple and black, like oil.

  Edarna grinned.

  Issa traced one of the larger scales with a fingertip. She stopped when recognition of what she stroked dawned on her. ‘I know this material. It’s…it’s…Dread Dragon.’ She almost dropped the jerkin, feeling suddenly faint.

  ‘Now don’t you go worrying about where it came from.’ The witch shook a finger at her. ‘This material is fire resistant, incredibly strong, and if torn it will mend itself and you along with it. These days you gotta fight fire with fire resistance! It can’t harm you, you know, so why not use it to protect yourself?’

  ‘Yes but, it’s the skin of my enemy!’ Issa said, still horrified.

  She looked back at the tunic, slowly realising that the material she held had strength in more ways than one. Strong, flexible, fire-resistant armour. The first of its kind. ‘I guess it is the perfect protection. But where did you get the scales from?’

  ‘Well, you don’t come across a perfectly fine dragon corpse very often now, do you? Dread Dragon scales are priceless to a witch. You wait and see; in a few months, I’ll be the richest witch that ever lived. Now go on, go on; try it on.’

  Issa stared at her, dreading the thought. But she couldn’t turn away such a gift so she reluctantly undid her royal blue velvet cloak—another gift given to her by King Navarr—then slipped out of her leggings and tunic dress and put on the dragon scale clothing. It was strong enough to have to be tugged firmly over her hips and shoulders, but as soon as she had done up the last of the buttons and zips, the material pulled around her snugly, moulding perfectly to her form like a second skin. No other clothing had ever fitted her better.

  ‘Perfect,’ Edarna grinned. ‘Just like I thought. The scales know exactly what to do.’ The witch yanked hard on the tough material, checking her own stitching and nodding approvingly.

  The armour was cool. Issa had been expecting it to be hot and constrictive but it was the exact opposite. She felt very strange, wearing the skin of her most hated enemy, but for all the grisliness, perhaps the witch was right. It would protect her, she was a warrior, and these were evil times. She stroked the material, mesmerised by the oil-slick sheen.

  ‘And here are your boots,’ Edarna said proudly, passing her a pair of calf-length boots of the same material. ‘The cobbler only just finished ‘em the other day. And no, I don’t need payment. Like I said, soon I’ll be far richer than you anyway. Consider this a gift to protect you from our enemy. Just make sure you destroy those bastards wherever you find ‘em.

  ‘Now, where is that mirror.’ Edarna disappeared off into the closet room.

  Issa slipped on the boots. Again the fit was uncanny as they moulded to her feet and calves. They were the most comfortable footwear she had ever worn.

  Edarna reappeared from the closet and, wearing a beaming smile, held up a long mirror.

  ‘Now then, look at you. Just as I thought you’d look…’

  Edarna’s voice faded into the background as Issa stared disbelievingly at her reflection. She stroked the black scales and took a hesitant step towards t
he mirror.

  ‘Maion’artheria,’ a voice whispered faintly.

  Tears filled her eyes. She was her, the warrior woman in the sacred mound; the Raven Queen. Could it really be? The armour was exactly as she had seen it, black and shimmering and clasped in the same places.

  She gripped the mirror. Was she afraid? No, I’m terrified. There was no going back, there never had been since she’d first decided to follow the raven through the doorway into the sacred mound.

  ‘A fearless heart can conquer all,’ a voice whispered in her mind.

  Issa blinked back the tears.

  ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?’ Edarna sounded worried.

  Issa shook her head, lost for words, remembering the first time she had met the Night Goddess on the desert plains of Aralansia.

  ‘I have become that which I saw in the mirror, saw in my dreams. I have become the Raven Queen.’

  Edarna dropped her gaze. ‘That is as destiny must be. I do not envy you. But we will give you all the help we can. I saw you in that armour long before I even knew who you were. Why do you think I knew I had to make it?’

  Edarna took the mirror from Issa’s hands and set it against the wall. With a sigh, she sank onto the bed. She appeared really tired, perhaps from making the armour or, most likely, from the recent attacks. It angered Issa that an old woman should suffer from such violence. It reminded her of Fraya, her mother in all but blood, who died when the Dread Dragons came. They couldn’t even leave a bed-ridden woman to die peacefully. Thoughts of home came flooding back.

  ‘I’m sorry you lost your home like I lost mine. It’s as they say, they will come for us all in the end. Every day I struggle with it, with who I must be,’ Issa said. ‘Sometimes I wish for all the world that I could return to Little Kammy and how it used to be. Other times I’m so angry, so vengeful, I can barely contain the rage. I wish I felt the fearless certainty of the warrior I’m supposed to be. I feel so helpless most of the time. I’ve done nothing but fight skirmishes when what the world needs is a hero.’