Swords of the Six (18 page)

In the depths of her soul, Dantress heard him roar, and warmth flooded her being. The cold left her, resistant and painful, tearing at her.

But then she perceived that fingers formed in the air; cold, tangible fingers that slid off her arm. She could feel them. She swung her sword but it passed without resistance through the air. Nothing was there, or, if it was, it could not be touched by mere physical weapons.

She felt as if a hundred eyes were boring into her.

The woman laughed again. “You
are
a strong one! You felt them; I saw it in your eyes! But you can do nothing. They are not of our world, nor of any other.” She walked forward, her hand reaching under her cloak. “Join us, daughter of the dragon. Commune with
them.
It is an experience like no other, power unimaginable—all of it placed into your hands so that all who come against you will fear even to sound your name.”

Withdrawing her hand from under her cloak the woman held out a small orb, black as coal. The light around it dimmed and indeed, darkness overcame it until Dantress could no longer see the woman but only a great darkness shielding her from sight as if it had swallowed her out of existence.

In that moment Dantress felt something strike her face, hard and fast, leaving a million needles in her flesh.

She dropped to the floor. Who or what had struck she could not be certain. The floor iced over a few feet from her. She focused on that spot of the floor, holding her hand out. As the power within her surged and her palm glowed blue she heard the woman scream. Dantress shot the energy from her hand in one sudden blast. It exploded against the wall, opening a hole large enough for a small person to pass through. She saw a richly furnished room beyond radiating warm yellow light.

“
Nooo!”
a voice rasped in her ear. And a cold breath struck her. She rose waveringly to her feet.

Something touched her arm and she screamed, swinging her sword every which way.

“
It is useless, oooh yes! Utterly useless! Commune with us! Join us in the darkness. There can be no turning back. You have come too far! You are alone, helpless. Let us in! The dragon has abandoned you, hope has abandoned you, your sisters have fled; you are alone!”

Was it true? She couldn’t help thinking that it was. She truly was . . . alone.

“Given up already?” another voice whispered in her ear. She caught the sound of footfalls behind her. “What are you made of? Fight them! Do not give in!”

Light flashed past her face, a long pointed blade with a gentle curve. It pierced the cold and darkness, snagged something dark and formless. A strong hand pushed her from behind, shoving her through the hole she had blasted in the wall.

She stumbled into the room, leaving the cold behind. Hissing, whispers and wails filled the corridor behind her. A shiver ran down her spine, but the air around her felt warm again.

The woman stumbled after her just as the hole collapsed. The stones piled on top of one another to cover the opening.

Dantress poised her sword, just in time to block a bolt of white-yellow energy sizzling from the woman’s hand.

The woman stepped back and screamed, piercing and harsh. She loosened her cloak from around her shoulders and let it fall to the stone floor. Red leather wrapped tight around her torso, and a double layer of black leather hung about her shoulders. She wore matching red leather pants laced with gold. Her smooth feet were bare.

“I know what you seek, dragon daughter. But you will not have him. I will not allow it!” She approached Dantress, drawing a dagger from her belt. Its long blade materialized for an instant and then vanished.

Dantress reacted without thinking. Letting go of her sword with her left hand, she reached to her own belt, grasped the leather elbow of the weapon she'd found amidst the ruins, then spun, lashing out with it.

“Foolish child,” the woman laughed. “You may have caught me by surprise, but it will take more than tricks if you are going to survive against me. Do you not know who I am? Did the dragon not tell you? Or was he afraid you would not come if you knew?

“I am the beginning of this place. I am the reason it stands! My master called it by my name.” Darkness wrapped around her and hid her. “Can the offspring of the great dragon stand alone against me?” She cackled.

Dantress heard her attacker cry out. The darkness dissipated, allowing her to sit up. Her eyes felt weary, and she had trouble focusing her vision.

Caritha’s blurred form rushed against the woman.

Rose’el followed, making a vicious stab. “Witch! You dare to attack
my
little sister!”

The battle lasted a few moments. Dantress regained enough of her wind to stand—just as the same swirling darkness that had enveloped her enveloped Caritha and Rose’el. Her sisters fell. Blows thudded against their bodies and they writhed helplessly on the floor.

“Get away from them.” Dantress advanced, though she suspected her attempt to help would prove futile. She threw the boomerang. But it sailed through the dark mass and clattered to the floor. The witch rushed at her, leaving Rose’el and Caritha where they’d fallen. The two sisters' eyes pivoted to stare at Dantress, but their bodies appeared stiff.

The witch advanced. Cold fingers clamped over Dantress’s wrists. But three more figures burst into view from Dantress’s left. Laura, Evela, and Levena drew their rusted blades and touched them together, sending another bolt of blue energy into the witch’s shroud of darkness.

“Curse you! Curse you all!” the witch screamed. Apparently disabled, she fell to the floor. “No one stands against me! No one!”

Suddenly the woman withdrew three long darts from beneath her leather shoulder pads and flung them simultaneously. Levena fell first, a dart protruding from her arm, and Evela dropped next, stuck in the chest. But Laura twisted out of the way as the third one shot toward her.

Dantress spotted two more darts as they solidified from thin air in the witch’s hand. She jumped to the side. A dart sped through the space where her head had been. She swung back to face the fallen witch. Too late, she spotted another one cutting the air in her direction.

It pricked her leg, burning it with intense pain until numbness set in. She knelt on the floor. Laura deflected yet another of the projectiles with her sword, then rolled forward, and shot up next to the witch. She stabbed, wounding the woman’s throwing hand before backing off. She kept a watchful eye on the witch as she retreated to each of her sisters, pulling out the darts sticking in their flesh.

Once the dart was out of her leg, Dantress focused inward, isolating every bit of the alien substance. Gathering it together, she drew it from her system. It collected in her hand and formed into an orb. She threw it away from her and then directed her attention to her sisters.

From her hand Dantress shot narrow bands of energy that latched onto Caritha, Rose’el, Evela, and Levena. The witch’s poison withdrew from their systems, collecting into another small deadly orb floating between her hands. It hovered there until she finished the process, then she cast it against the far wall where it splattered.

One by one the sisters stood, and they converged on the prone woman with their glowing blades.

Chapter 9: Traitor’s End

The sisters drew near, the witch’s face paled ghastly white, and they grasped their swords. Drops of red liquid collected at the blades’ lowered tips and splattered on the stone floor.

“No, it cannot be.” The witch tried to rise to her elbows, but she fell back. Her sapphire eyes fastened on the swords and she swallowed. “This cannot be,” she repeated, still gazing at the sisters’ rusted weapons.

Caritha’s hand shook as she raised her blade, holding it over the woman’s heart. A tear formed in her eye. “Please,” she said, “do not make us do this. Let us continue on our way. I don’t want to kill you.”

“What?” Rose’el snarled, glancing at Caritha. “You’re going to let her live? After—after she tried to kill us?”

“Mercy? You want to show me mercy?” The witch laughed. “You have not the courage it would take to strike me down, daughter of the dragon, and I deign not to accept your mercy. I will kill you—and your sisters—before you set one step farther into my chambers.”

Rose’el reacted so quickly that she took Dantress by surprise. “Hmph!” the sister said, flipping her sword upside down and grasping it by the blade. And she struck the sword’s pommel against the side of the woman’s head.

The witch’s eyes rolled back into her head, her body fell limp.

Rose’el flipped her sword's blade pointing it up and grasped its handle, “Now, that ought to take care of that nasty tongue of hers.” She nodded at Caritha.

Her older sister stared past them to the far end of the room and did not respond. Dantress followed Caritha’s gaze. A large oval bed stood in the midst of white and red strips of cloth hanging from the ceiling. Fluffy white pillows scattered over its thick quilt-like cover. Six bronze posts supported the bed, each of them fashioned in the form of a King Cobra ready to strike.

A baby cried.

Dantress’s sisters grabbed her shoulders to hold her back, but she pulled away. The baby’s cries led her around the bed to a crib made of dark wood. She touched it and it rocked gently, leaning over to watch life’s little miracle.

“Shh, don’t cry.” She reached down. She had never held a baby before. Its face was red, and its tiny, tiny hands were balled into weak fists. And it had thick, dark hair.

“Dantress, what are you doing? We shouldn’t linger here.” Caritha walked around to the opposite side of the crib.

But Dantress reached down anyway, pulling the little one from its loneliness and holding it to her bosom. The child’s cries softened.

“I think they know perfectly well.” Laura stood next to Dantress and ran her finger along the infant’s naked arm. “
He
is the son of a witch.” She turned to point at the prone woman. “
That
witch.”

Rose’el scraped the tip of her sword blade on the stone floor and then cleared her throat loudly. “And who is the father?”

When Dantress looked at her, she saw Rose’el raise an eyebrow. “You don’t think”—Dantress redirected her attention to the child—“that this is the son of—”

“He is my son.” There was no mistaking the strength behind the deep voice.

All the dragon’s daughters gazed back at the place where the witch still lay. A man stood over her, a black metal staff balanced in his white hands. Thick, curly black hair fell to his shoulders, framing his ghastly white face.

He knelt next to her, touching her neck, then let out a slow breath and stood. He had to be at least six-feet tall. He stepped toward the sisters in one long, effortless stride. If his skin had not been so white, he might have been handsome.

Dantress looked up at him, the baby fell asleep in her arms and she held it close.

The man returned her gaze, then glanced at her feet. The rusted sword of Xavion still lay there. He appraised the other sisters one by one, his eyes lingering on their swords. Dantress’s heart skipped more than one beat, waiting for him to strike at her and her sisters.

But the blow never came. The man lowered his gaze and his shoulders drooped. “He sent you . . . Didn’t he? He sent you here to kill me; it was inevitable. I’ve been expecting this.”

A tear formed in the corner of his eye and he wiped it away with his hand. “Do not be afraid, children.” He turned his hand over, inspecting the tear. “I could have killed you before now, if I had wanted to do so, but I will not.”

No one replied to him, but he placed his staff on the floor and stepped closer to Dantress, arms outstretched. “May I have my son now?”

She lifted the child up, astonished to see three tears form and drip down his face. He had the look of a warrior, a man hardened by his experiences, but his sorrow seemed to outweigh all else.

“You are,” she heard the words whisper from her mouth, though she had not intended them to, “Kesla.”

Her sisters’ mouths opened, their eyes widened.

The man stroked his son’s dark head and gazed upon him. “Almost a thousand years ago I was like you, my son. Innocent and good. But evil has a way of finding those it wants. It destroyed me and it will surely destroy you if you stay here.

“Your father is a bad man,” he sobbed, wiped more tears from his eyes, but then smiled sadly as he looked at the infant. “My path is laid before me and I cannot turn from it, but, my son, you must not follow in my steps. You must learn goodness, justice. And you must hold to them."

He looked down at Dantress and held out the child. “With the blood of a witch and the blood of a traitor in his veins, he is more vulnerable than any other child I have fathered. There is only One whom I trust to watch over my last son; One who will teach him to love the Creator and pursue righteousness.

“Take him, servant of the dragon. Take my son. Please! I beg of you. Do not let him fall as I have! Bring him to my old master, for this is all I have left to give in recompense for my wickedness.”