Rage of the Dragon

CHAPTER 33

The City of the Fourth Daughter was almost identical to the City of the First Daughter, as least as far as Skylan could see. Like the City of the First Daughter, this city was also built inside an island in the middle of the sea; the only access to the city was far beneath the ocean’s surface. The oceanaids, with Wulfe tagging along, led Skylan and the Aquin warriors to the location of the dungeon area and indicated with gestures that this was where they had seen the warriors drag the young Vindrasi.

Manta thanked the dolphins and dismissed them, asking them to come back when called. The sea around the Fourth City was alive with fish and Aquins, going about their daily routines, much as the streets of Skylan’s village would be filled with people heading out to the crops in the fields or to the woods to hunt. Skylan noted the presence of a great number of warriors among the people of the Fourth City, many of them male. The men had their heads shaved and marked with the serpent tattoo he’d first seen on Raegar’s head. He guessed that like Raegar, these men were Aelon’s chosen-elite Warrior-Priests.

One group of Warrior-Priests was engaged in what looked to Skylan like mock battles. A warrior on land could hurl a spear at his foe. Below water, combat was entirely hand-to-hand and, interestingly enough, conducted without weapons. The warriors were being taught choke holds and various other means of subduing a foe without drawing blood. Skylan couldn’t imagine why at first. A moment’s thought provided the answer: pitched battle with armies of spear-wielding Aquins would end with both sides losing to the blood-seeking sharks. Skylan touched Manta’s shoulder to draw her attention and pointed to the training session.

She and her warriors watched the male warriors with amusement, judging by their derisive sounding clicks and squeals. Skylan shook his head, envisioning large numbers of these Warrior-Priests launching a swift and deadly attack on the First City, seizing those outside the safety of the city walls and either killing them or taking them prisoner. Once this was accomplished, the army would then move inside the city and put their spears and knives to use.

Skylan could envision this, but Manta and the Aquin warriors could not. He was glad he had come, if for no other reason than he could warn Queen Magali of the danger and she could train her people to guard against it.

The presence of large numbers of male Warrior-Priests ensured that Skylan and his warriors, wearing the armor adorned with the serpent, were not likely to be noticed-one small band among so many. Skylan kept close watch, but no one paid them any attention as the oceanaids led the group toward a cavernous opening below sea level.

Judging by the number of warriors gathered around it, Skylan assumed this must be their destination. Wulfe swam among the oceanaids. Manta tried, but, unlike the dolphins, the oceanaids were not about to be shooed away. They had never known such excitement and they swarmed around the warriors like silvery, voluptuous fish. Fortunately the Aquins were used to them and paid them no heed, ignoring them as they ignored the rest of the sea creatures that made this area their home.

Manta studied the terrain for long moments, then motioned Skylan to join her and the others in one of the many cavernous alcoves that dotted the island. Skylan broke through the surface of the water, took the tube from his mouth, and thankfully breathed air that didn’t come through a tube.

“That entrance the oceanaids showed us leads to the dungeons,” Manta confirmed. “Like our city, the dungeons are kept separate from the city proper. The young man will be well-guarded. How do you propose to free him? We will not fight,” she added, frowning. “We will not shed the blood of another Aquin.”

“Let’s hope Farinn’s Aquin guards feel the same,” Skylan said dryly.

“We are not like you land walkers,” Manta said, offended by his sarcastic tone. “You think of nothing except ways to spill each other’s blood.”

“Right now, I’m thinking of my man who is being held prisoner inside there,” said Skylan angrily. “You saw those warriors out there. What do you think they were doing? Playing games? Those warriors are being trained to kill. They are training for battle. The City of the Fourth Daughter is preparing to go to war-against your people.”

“You see what you want to see,” Manta insisted.

Skylan saw no point in arguing further. He swam over to talk to Wulfe.

“If I need your magic, what kind of magic spell will you cast?” Skylan asked the boy.

“Look at the bats up there!” said Wulfe, craning his neck.

“Wulfe, forget the bats. This is serious,” said Skylan. “We’re going inside the dungeon to rescue Farinn and I need to know what you plan to do with your magic.”

“I don’t know,” said Wulfe. He shrugged. “Magic isn’t something you plan. It’s something that happens-like a sneeze.”

Skylan glanced hurriedly at Manta and the other Aquin warriors, hoping they hadn’t heard that the magic that might save their lives was like a sneeze. The Aquin warriors were huddled together, talking in earnest. Skylan hoped they were finally taking what he’d told them to heart.

Skylan gripped Wulfe’s shoulder. “Going in there will be dangerous, especially for you. If Raegar gets hold of you, he’ll kill you-”

“He won’t get hold of me,” said Wulfe with a grin. “Maybe you, but not me.”

Skylan gave up. He considered the situation and thought that of all the challenges he’d faced in his life, this was undoubtedly the greatest. He was entering a dungeon filled with Aelon’s Warrior-Priests thirsting for his blood alongside a group of warriors who had vowed not to fight and a fae child who didn’t know what spell he was going to cast because magic was like a sneeze.

Skylan touched the silver amulet at his neck and prayed. “Torval, I know you never venture into the ocean and I can certainly understand why, but if you could make an exception, I need your help!”

His prayer dispatched, Skylan swam back to Manta. “You know what to say?”

She looked annoyed. “We have gone over this many times.”

“We have to get this right,” said Skylan.

Manta sighed. “I am a messenger from Priest-General Raegar. He has ordered that the young man be taken to the Temple of the Spirit Priestesses”-Manta stumbled over this title-“so that they may restore the tattoo on the young man’s arm that allows the slave to again receive the wisdom of Aelon’s counsel.”

Skylan nodded his head. “Good.”

“But what if these worshippers of Aelon don’t have these Spirit Priestesses?” one of the warriors asked.

“They will,” said Skylan with more confidence than he felt.

Logic dictated the presence of Spirit Priestesses among the Aquins. The Warrior-Priests were marked with Aelon’s serpent tattoo and, at least in Sinaria, that could be administered only by the Spirit Priestesses. The danger was that the Aquins might call them by a different name.

“What if they hand over Farinn, then decide to send an escort with us?” Manta asked.

“I will deal with any escort,” said Skylan.

The Aquins glanced at each other.

“You mean you will kill him,” said Manta in cold and disapproving tones.

“Farinn is my man and he was taken from your protection,” said Skylan in grim tones. “I’ll try my best not to kill anyone, but I will do what I must to recover my man. If you don’t like it, you can all swim back to your city. I’ll go alone.”

“With me,” said Wulfe. “I’m going.”

“The fae princeling is not coming!” said Manta. “He can wait for us here.”

“He’s coming,” said Skylan.

The Aquins were not pleased about any of this.

“If something goes wrong, the boy will provide a diversion. Like I said,” Skylan added, “you can all swim back home.”

The Aquins exchanged glances.

“We will come with you. Our honor is at stake. If there is trouble, we will deal with it in our own way. Once you have your man, you will return immediately to the First City. The dolphins are waiting to carry you.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to stay down here any more than you want me down here,” said Skylan. “The sooner I can breathe real air and feel the sun on my face, the better.”

Manta’s frowning gaze went to Wulfe. “About the fae princeling-”

“He’s coming,” said Skylan flatly. “He’s here in case something goes wrong. And nothing’s going to go wrong.”

“Something always goes wrong,” Wulfe whispered.

“Shut up,” Skylan muttered, and put the breathing tube back in his mouth.

* * *

Skylan found himself in an unusual situation, one he didn’t like. All his life, he had been in command. As a child of eight, he and Garn, Bjorn, and Erdmund and the other boys spent their leisure time forming a shield wall and charging into imaginary foes. Skylan had been their war chief then. He had been their war chief when he and his friends stood together in a real shield wall. Now, for the first time, he wasn’t in command.

Manta had made it clear before they left on this mission that none of her warriors would serve under the leadership of a male and Skylan had been forced to agree to accept Manta as his commander or abandon the mission. Although he had boasted to the Aquins that he could do this alone, he hadn’t truly meant it. He would have tried, of course, because Farinn was his man and he wouldn’t abandon him, but he knew quite well he would have failed.

He climbed the stone stairs that led out of the water and up to the dungeon level, keeping in the rear, staying out of direct light, for he didn’t want the guards to get a good look at him. The breathing mask on his face, the harness around his shoulders, the clamshell attached to his back, and the serpent armor over his chest provided some disguise, but anyone looking at him closely would see that he wasn’t an Aquin.

He glanced over his shoulder, back down the stairs and into the water. Wulfe’s head bobbed on the surface, along with the silvery heads of the oceanaids, trying to see what was going on. The oceanaids had no love for Aelon, according to Wulfe, who said they had heard about his depredations among the fae from their cousins, the dryads. The oceanaids had offered to help if there was trouble. Skylan, more frightened of this than he was of the Warrior-Priests of Aelon, had issued a strict order that the oceanaids were not to get involved. Wulfe had only grinned. Skylan had left the boy and his fae friends with the gloomy feeling he was doomed.

The dungeons of the Fourth City were exactly like those in which Skylan had been imprisoned, only larger. He could see the prisoners hanging in nets suspended from the ceiling.

Aquins were by nature a peace-loving people, fond of simplicity and order in their lives, and the dungeons were not very crowded, for not many Aquins broke the law. There was no thievery because the Aquins kept nothing of value to steal. The idea of murder, of one Aquin taking the life another, was impossible to imagine. Aquins who did break their society’s few laws were brought before the Queen, who passed judgment on them, which meant they spent a few days in a net to think over their wrongdoing.

Skylan counted twenty prisoners hanging in nets, compared to no more than a few in the First City. Skylan guessed that the expansion of the prison of the Fourth City was occasioned by the need to lock up those dissenters who did not find Aelon to their liking. They were probably being held captive so the god could convince them of the error of their ways.

He quickly spotted Farinn, whose blond hair and fair skin stood out in contrast to the bluish-green skin of the Aquin prisoners. The young man was in the second cell and lay curled up in a ball of misery in his net, paying no heed to what was going on around him.

Having located Farinn, Skylan turned his attention to the guards. They were all males and one of them was a Warrior-Priest with the serpent tattoo on his head. Skylan sucked in a breath. The Warrior-Priest was wearing a sword made of brass, so that it would not rust. The sword hung from a belt around his waist. He had no sheath for it. Judging by the unblemished surface and high polish, the brass sword was brand new. The hilt was wrapped in leather, either whale or shark skin. The blade was slender, made to suit the hand of the lightweight Aquins. In a realm where a brass key was a rarity, this sword must be worth a fortune.

A Warrior-Priest with a valuable sword was no lowly prison guard, Skylan realized. This priest was a high-ranking officer. Why was he here? Skylan kept an uneasy eye on him.

Manta walked forward confidently, with a bit of a swagger. The Warrior-Priest advanced to meet her. Skylan had been taught from an early age to look at how a man, any man, handled his weapon. A friend could turn to a foe in an instant and then Skylan had better be ready to fight. He noticed without even being aware that he was noticing how the Warrior-Priest fidgeted with the sword’s hilt. The man was unsure of himself, his grip shifting, trying to find a comfortable hold. When the Warrior-Priest walked forward, he got the blade tangled up in his legs and nearly tripped himself. Skylan grinned behind the mask. The sword was newly-forged and so was the swordsman.

The Warrior-Priest eyed Manta. “What are doing here? Did you bring a prisoner?”

Manta launched into her explanation.

“You have a Vindrasi prisoner,” she said, and continued on with her speech. She stumbled again over the word “priestesses,” which made Skylan wince, but otherwise she did well.

Skylan shifted his gaze from the priest to Farinn. Manta had spoken loudly. The prison cells were quiet and Farinn could hear her quite clearly, especially when she said “Vindrasi prisoner” and mentioned the Spirit Priestesses. He remembered these women and the hateful tattoo. Farinn rose to his feet, his hands on the net.

Skylan shuffled a little nearer to the cell, to let Farinn get a look at him. Farinn clung to the net, straining against it as though he would rip his way through it, sucked in a deep breath, and shouted with all his might.

“Skylan, run! It’s a trap!”