The Second Symbol Page 11

  That was years before Taren had come into his life. Things hadn’t been the same since. Zamna’s life had become more complicated, and he was no longer able to kill without remorse. Though he thought of Taren as naïve to the ways of the world, the young man’s pure heart had changed him. There were better alternatives out there. If a poor boy destined for life as a servant could grow up to be a master wizard, maybe a tough kid from the streets could change his life as well. Maybe nothing was impossible.

  His new life hadn’t been all that easy. His former profession was well-known to many. La’kerta wasn’t a big enough island to hide on. Everyone knew everyone, and no one expected an assassin would ever wish to change his scales. Once a criminal, always a criminal. Trust had not come easy. But Ynaja had welcomed him with open arms, despite knowing his full history. She believed in him, and Taren believed in him. That was enough for Zamna. Right now his friend needed a favor, and he would do what he could to help. Taking a deep breath, he entered the shrine alone.

  Chapter 12

  “Son of Dragons!” a voice rang out. The Cultists snapped to attention, forming a wide arc around the La’kertan.

  Zamna allowed the door to bang shut behind him. Keeping his back straight and his eyes focused, he tried his best to look imposing. In truth, he felt ridiculous. He was no dragon, but these Cultists were too high on narcotics to know any better. They want a show, he told himself.

  Lifting his arms high, he reared back his head and let out the deepest roar he could manage. “I am Zamna, Son of the Dragon,” he announced. “Who is your leader? I will not converse with a servant.”

  The Cult leader stepped forward, and Zamna fought back the urge to roll his eyes. These people were far too easily manipulated.

  “I am Jarraluc, leader of these brethren,” the elf said, bowing. “Forgive me, I did not see your eyes before. The humans were a distraction. I swear I will not make the same mistake again.”

  Crossing his arms, Zamna eyed the elf closely. His eyes glowed red, the same as the La’kertan’s, but the elf’s pupils were dilated wider. The Cult’s leader had a wild look to him. Zamna suspected he was some sort of lunatic before finding his way to Ayumai.

  “You are welcome here, Son of Dragons,” the elf went on. “Please, join us.”

  Raising an eyebrow ridge, Zamna considered the invitation. He could probably take over the place and get these gullible men to do whatever he asked. All of their wealth could be his, and he could send them out to do the jobs he no longer wished to do. Fortunately for them, Zamna wasn’t in that sort of business anymore. He had no desire to take over as leader, nor did he want to remain here any longer than he had to.

  “I have traveled from afar,” Zamna said, his voice booming. “I bear an offering for my dragon brethren.” Elevating them to his level seemed the best compliment he could give them. Hopefully he now had their full attention. “My human companions and I have brought a gift of lophophora to aid in the rituals of the dragon.”

  The Cultists exchanged glances, muttering among themselves. They seemed to be weighing the value of his gift. The leader held up his hand to silence them. “This is a generous gift you bring,” Jarraluc said. “No doubt, you will require something in return.”

  “My human kinsmen would like to enter your shrine,” Zamna replied. “And we would like to converse with the dragon who dwells among you.”

  Jarraluc twitched a finger at one of the elves, who shuffled over to the entrance. With a nod from his leader, the elf opened the door, allowing Taren and Imrit inside.

  “Greetings,” Jarraluc said. “You are welcome here as guests of the Dragon’s Son, but only so far as you mind your manners.”

  The pair said nothing, instead waiting to hear what Zamna would say next. He had already gained their entry. There was only one thing left to do.

  “Master Imrit,” Zamna said. “Our friends are ready to receive their gift.”

  Unstrapping his pack, Imrit retrieved the coffer and placed it on the floor before the Cult leader. He then backed away respectfully. Jarraluc flipped open the chest, his eyes gleaming at the round, green specimens before him. There was an ample supply, enough to last through several rituals.

  “A generous gift,” Jarraluc said, shutting the chest. Snapping his fingers, he summoned one of his brethren to take the coffer away.

  As the elf disappeared around the corner, Zamna couldn’t help but wonder if some of the lophophora wouldn’t make it to wherever it was stored. The gleam in the elf’s eyes spoke volumes. Zamna’s scales itched to be done with this place. Unfortunately, there was still one demand that hadn’t been met. “When may we speak with the dragon?”

  “The great Iracidae grants her presence only to those who are worthy.” Jarraluc said. His tone was almost apologetic.

  “Then tell us how to become worthy,” Imrit said impatiently.

  “Worthiness cannot be bestowed upon a human,” the leader replied. “Forgive me, but it is beyond your kind.”

  “It is not beyond me,” Zamna announced. “I will speak with Iracidae.”

  Clasping his hands together, Jarraluc said, “That is acceptable to us. You will be presented before her, and she will choose whether to show herself or remain hidden.”

  Imrit started forward, a protest burning on his lips. Taren grabbed the old man’s arm, his eyes pleading for silence.

  “You have to be the one to speak with the dragon,” Imrit whispered to him. “Zamna doesn’t know enough about our needs.”

  “We’ll tell him now,” Taren said. Turning to the La’kertan, he said, “There is a tome we require. It’s an ancient book that tells about enchantments forged in dragon fire. We must have it. Tell Iracidae we’ll give her whatever she wants in exchange.”

  A quiet grunt sounded in Zamna’s throat. He would much rather force these Cultists out of the way and send Taren in to do the talking. He didn’t understand the symbol. That was Taren’s line of expertise. Zamna wanted nothing to do with it. “You’re sure this book is all you need? You won’t need to ask the dragon more questions once you have the book?” One trip into the dragon’s lair would be enough to last a lifetime. He didn’t want to be sent back again and again as a messenger.

  “I don’t know,” Taren replied honestly. “Ask for the book, and ask if she will speak with a human. Let her decide rather than these men.” It was the best solution he could come up with. The look on Zamna’s face revealed his discomfort, but there was no other choice. Only Zamna could enter, at least on the first visit. If there had to be more visits, Taren would find a way to speak with Iracidae himself.

  “Fine,” Zamna said. “I’ll see if she’ll talk to you, and I’ll ask about the book.” Silently, he added, Let’s hope I’m not roasted alive for my trouble.

  “If you’ll follow me, Son of Dragons,” Jarraluc said.

  Sparing a glance back at his companions, Zamna sucked in a deep breath. Passing through the line of Cultists, their weapons now sheathed, he felt revered. Not only did they bow, they averted their eyes. He hoped it was a sign of respect for his scales, not some ritual for those soon to leave this world. Being eaten by the dragon was still a very real possibility. He had no weapon on his person, with the exception of his bare hands.

  On the far end of the shrine, they headed down a long corridor. Painted images of dragons in various states of battle aligned the walls. Stopping at a golden door, the elf reached for a torch and handed it to Zamna. Waving his hand over the top, a flame flickered to life.

  “You’ll need this until you reach Iracidae’s chamber. Then you may set it aside.” After a quick bow, his eyes shifted nervously from side to side. “Good luck to you, Son of Dragons.” In a swirl of red robes, he hurried back the way he’d come.

  Taking a moment to gather himself, Zamna prepared for the task ahead. His scales tingled, every bone in his body screaming for him to turn and run.

  As a child in the La’kertan jungle, Zamna had never heard a pleasant tale about a
dragon. They were temperamental, greedy, and generally malicious. Mothers warned their hatchlings that if they strayed too far from the nest, a dragon would swoop down and rip them to pieces, leaving their mothers to mourn them eternally. In those stories, a dragon would never do a La’kertan child the courtesy of consuming him. The mangled body was always left behind and stumbled upon by the siblings.

  In stories for older children, that was not the case. Tales of valiant warriors charging into battle against dragons almost always ended with the consumption of the warrior. On occasion, his lady love was consumed as well. Zamna hated those stories. He shuddered at their memory, wondering why parents wanted to frighten their children so.

  To keep us from situations like this, he told himself. What am I doing here? Was there really a dragon at the end of this tunnel, or were the Cultists too impaired by drugs to know fact from myth? His free arm clutched the doorframe as he searched for his courage. Sniffing the air, he detected a faint trace of something familiar. Whatever was down there was reptilian.

  Ahead of him a series of steps led down into the darkness. Landing on the first step, his torch lit the passage ahead of him. These walls were not decorated with dragons but with Cultists. Slowly he proceeded forward, studying the paintings. They appeared to be performing various rituals, all of them involving the dragon statue he’d seen at the center of the shrine. Smirking inwardly, he realized that if a real dragon were here, then she must not be all that bad. After all, she put up with those elves. If she didn’t harm them, she wouldn’t harm him. He almost convinced himself of his safety, but not entirely. Still, his steps grew more confident, and a dark shadow lifted from his mind.

  Pausing midway, he studied a painting of a Cultist transcending to the form of a dragon. It showed his various stages of transformation, one of them strikingly similar to a La’kertan. No wonder they thought me the son of a dragon. Apparently he was born in a form they aspired to. At the end of the line of metamorphosis, the elf emerged as a fully fledged dragon, fire erupting from his open mouth.

  Zamna doubted that was how he would exit the dragon’s presence. He planned to come out the same as he’d gone in. The Cultists could keep their aspirations to themselves. Still, he wondered what those elves would think if they found themselves on the island of La’kerta. Surrounded by supposed dragon’s sons, they’d probably never want to leave. Knowing that, he was glad they seemed oblivious to his true origins. Despite all their studies, they had neglected to learn geography and culture.

  The images ceased halfway down the staircase, leaving Zamna to wonder why. The echo of his feet against the stone gave him a good idea. He was approaching the end, and no elf wanted to stand this close to the mouth of the cavern beneath. Ovoid in shape, the reinforced doorway appeared to open into a massive system of caves. Realizing he had journeyed to the very heart of the island, he stopped to take it all in. He stood inside the past, within a cave that had formed over millions of years. Before Ayumai thrust itself above sea level, this cave already existed. What wonders might he encounter within these walls of stone? Creatures never before seen by La’kertan eyes likely lived and died here, perhaps long before his people came to be. It was an impressive thought.

  Within the cavern shone beams of light, their source entirely unknown to him. He was too deep for a shaft to lead to the top. Or was he? Maybe these elves knew a thing or two about drilling. A bracket jutted out of the wall near the cave entrance, so Zamna placed the torch inside it. Keeping his hands free was a wise precaution.

  The cavern stretched on, alternating between sections of complete darkness and sections of light. His pace slow, his heart pounding, he felt like he’d walked miles when he’d traveled only a few feet. Squinting in the pale light, he made note of the cavern wall to his left. It sparkled with a million tiny deposits of some unidentified mineral. To his right and straight ahead appeared to be an endless void.

  Zamna pressed on, swallowing his anxiety and forcing his feet to keep moving. He sniffed the air again, the scaly scent drawing nearer. It was ahead somewhere in the dark. A sound from his feet caught his attention, the feeling of cold metal beneath his toes. Kneeling, he ran his hand over the item and picked it up in his hand. Turning toward the nearest beam of light, he observed an aged coin decorated with the face of some long-dead sovereign. With a quick bite test, he confirmed it to be gold.

  Rather than risk the anger of both the dragon and the Cultists, he tossed it back to the ground. There would be no souvenirs taken from this place. He would retrieve only the book, assuming the dragon allowed it. Zamna had never been much of a thief, and he wasn’t going start by robbing a dragon.

  Farther and farther, Zamna moved deeper into the cave. At one point it narrowed, the walls nearly closing in around him. He sucked in a breath, fearing the air would soon be stolen away from him. Darkness enveloped him, his fingers running along the wall to help him keep his bearings. Luckily, the way ahead was brighter.

  Hundreds of light shafts illuminated the deepest chamber, the scent of ocean water strong on the air. A round point of light on the distant wall revealed an opening. With a sigh of relief, he realized where he was. This must be the final chamber, which opened to the cliff face surrounding the shrine. A second way out had just revealed itself. Unfortunately, he didn’t know how far he would have to fall before he hit the water below.

  The unmistakable glint of gold shone before him, covering the floor as far as he could see. Heaps of it, in every form imaginable: coins, goblets, and medallions among them. Red, green, and blue sparkled as well, dazzling gems of great value strewn about carelessly. Nearly overcome with dizziness, he had to press himself against the wall to remain upright. Never in his life could he imagine such wealth. No king could claim such a hoard. This dragon was rich beyond all measure.

  As he pondered the golden heap, he noticed a shadow moving toward him. Slow and steady, it crept his direction, coins and jewels tumbling beneath it. Two green eyes glowing in the darkness stared out at him. It was no shadow. Blue-black scales glimmered before him like the night sky lit by a full moon. Iracidae, the dragon herself, stood before him.

  Chapter 13

  Zamna’s mouth gaped open, a mixture of fear and awe rendering him speechless. His breath came in raspy squeaks, his every muscle clenching at the sight of her. She was beautiful and ferocious at the same time. Her scales gleamed beneath rays of sunlight filtering into the cavern. Accented by a pile of gold and jewels, she appeared more regal than any monarch ever could.

  Her presence was imposing; he could look nowhere else. His mind raced as he attempted to process the reality. In front of him was a dragon, a rare and fascinating creature, straight from the fairy tales he’d heard as a child.

  “Where are your manners, lizard?” Iracidae’s voice boomed. “Why do you gape at the sight of me?”

  Zamna shook his head in a feeble attempt to snap out of it. Blinking rapidly, he managed to say, “You’re certainly something to look at. I meant no offense.”

  Iracidae’s massive form shook with laughter. “Yes, I suppose I am a wonder to you. I cannot blame you for marveling at me so.”

  Feeling himself shrink as the dragon looked down on him, Zamna managed a step backward. Remaining mindful of his footing, he avoided the embarrassment of slipping on loose gold pieces. “This is where you dwell?” he asked, not quite knowing how to begin a conversation.

  “Yes,” she replied, lowering her head for a closer look at him.

  Green eyes seemed to pierce through him, his stomach flipping upside down. He swallowed hard, fighting the urge to flee. Iracidae had shown no sign that she intended to attack. So why were his hands shaking? Clenching his fingers tight against his palm, he tried to force them to stop.

  “All this gold belongs to you?” he asked. With each word, his throat grew tighter, his voice almost disappearing. Telling himself to relax didn’t seem to help. He wished for one of Taren’s potions. Surely there was one that would make him feel less
terrified.

  “Every bit of it, and the jewels too,” Iracidae responded. Pointing with a clawed finger, she said, “And the pearls and various other trinkets. You’d be surprised what kings and queens will give to sate a dragon’s lust for treasure.”

  To his surprise, Zamna heard himself laugh. “Kings and queens love themselves above all. To save their scrawny hides, they’d trade half the people in their kingdoms.”

  “Quite true,” the dragon agreed. “Lives are easily thrown away by those in charge. They do hate to give away their baubles, though. That’s the finest way to punish them. Demand a share of their wealth, and you’ll strike a chord they’ll never forget the sound of.”

  “Do you disapprove of all monarchs?” Zamna wondered.

  “I do,” she replied. “These brethren who tend my needs follow a much better system. They are all equals, sharing everything they have.”

  “They do a have a leader,” Zamna reminded her. Now more comfortable, he felt he could speak freely. Yes, she was imposing, but she had a casual nature about her that put his mind at ease.

  “Jarraluc is only leader of the rituals,” she replied. “And he deals with the outside affairs, sparing the brothers such trivial responsibility. He gains no additional favors because of his station. In fact, he probably suffers more for it.”

  “Did the brethren fetch all this treasure for you?” the La’kertan asked.

  “Of course not,” Iracidae responded. “I traveled a thousand years collecting these wonders.” After a pause, she added, “Some of them were gifts from the brethren but not many. They were quite poor by the time they made it to this island.”