The War of the Masters
Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

This seems too good to be true, Cyrus thought. A woman from Candore just happens to be here and knows how to heal dragons? There’s got to be more to this.

Though he had a bad feeling about the situation, Cyrus knew they didn’t have a choice. T’Saunté was going to die if they didn’t do something, and any hope was better than none. Naabrea didn’t appear to be lying, but Cyrus knew a way he could replace out for sure.

As they headed up the stairs toward their room at the inn, he nudged Raiden with his elbow and whispered, “Be ready for anything.”

Raiden nodded, and Cyrus summoned his power into his left hand, charging his fist with enough energy to crack a brick wall in case she tried anything.

He held his breath and opened the door.

“Naabrea?” Terra said in a startled voice. “What are you doing here?”

The Princess didn’t seem to be alarmed. Cyrus let out his breath, but didn’t lower his guard. He still didn’t know for sure.

“Terra! I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl,” Naabrea said with a wide smile. “Your friends told me your dragon was in trouble. I came to see if I could help.”

There!

Cyrus cast his eyes toward the Luduan, but the truth-detecting creature didn’t shake in the slightest; Naabrea was telling the truth.

The woman walked over to T’Saunté and gently touched his torn wing with her hand. The dragon snarled, but nothing more as Naabrea examined him.

“I didn’t know you were living out here,” Terra said softly. Cyrus still wasn’t sure on the nature of her relationship with Naabrea.

“I don’t. I followed Jalinth here,” the elderly woman replied matter-of-factly.

“My grandmother? You mean she’s in the town, too?”

Naabrea paused. “I guess you could say that. Years ago your father became . . . apprehensive. Although Jalinth stepped down from the throne like the laws of Candore mandate, he was still afraid your grandmother would make a move against him. With her powerful telepathy, Jalinth had the ability to destroy his mind in an instant. Unknown to her, he spent years researching a way to counter her power.”

“Did he succeed?” Terra asked nervously.

“Yes, but I have no idea how, dearie. I was gone the day he attacked. Once I found out he captured your grandmother, I dropped everything and returned to Candore. But I was too late; he had already smuggled her out of the country. After years of searching and following leads, I’ve finally pinpointed her location.”

“Where?”

“She’s being guarded by Magistrate Hispen, at Cordova Castle.”

“So you haven’t seen Jalinth in several years,” Terra surmised. “That means the Breath of the Masters has worn off, yet you’re still loyal to her?”

The elderly woman smiled. “Heavens yes, dearie. Even without the Breath, I would follow your grandmother anywhere. I’ve been here in Cordova the last few months, trying to replace a way past the castle’s defenses. Unfortunately, things have only gotten worse since General Dameon arrived.”

From the corner of his eye Cyrus saw the blood drain from Terra’s face.

“Who’s General Dameon?” he asked.

Terra answered instead. “Dameon is one of Lozarrik’s top henchmen. The fact that he has a name is trouble enough; Lozarrik usually calls his creatures by their species. Only his most powerful does he give a name to. Even some of my siblings would be reluctant to face Dameon in open battle.”

“People around here say he’s crazy,” Naabrea chimed in. “Some say he’s calculating, but all agree that he’s ruthless. He showed up a few weeks ago at Cordova Castle and formed an alliance with the Magistrate.”

“That’s the same time I was sent to protect the Magistrate,” Raiden interjected. “Something fishy is going on. Do you know what the deal was?”

Naabrea shrugged, still examining T’Saunté. “No one knows. But one thing everyone agrees upon: things haven’t been the same since.”

“What do you mean?” Terra asked, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

“Several people have gone missing, and since then strange sounds have been coming from the castle.”

“And you think Jalinth is at the castle,” Cyrus surmised.

“I’m almost sure of it.” Naabrea stood up. “You were right,” she said, still speaking to Cyrus, “the venom is spreading quickly. I can tend his wounds but T’Saunté will need to rest for at least twenty-four hours.”

Cyrus was relieved to hear the dragon would be all right, but at the same time he wasn’t sure how they could infiltrate the castle without T’Saunté’s help.

We’ll just have to think of something.

Cyrus and Raiden accompanied Naabrea as she gathered supplies to treat the dragon’s injuries. Once they were back in the room with everyone, Cyrus sat down in a chair and began to plot their next course of action.

“Raiden, what can you tell us about the Magistrate and the castle?”

“Not much, unfortunately. They’ve had me patrolling the grounds at night, so I don’t know any of the layout. But word on the street is this deal is very important to the Bergion Empire. Why, I couldn’t say, but the more I hear, the more I don’t like it.”

“I don’t know why we’re still waiting around here,” Lucky chimed in. “I’m ready to storm that castle now!”

Cyrus shook his head. “We’re talking about a heavily guarded fortress. Without T’Saunté, we could never fight our way through. We’ll dig up as much information as we can about security. Then we’ll make our move.

“The bartender pointed out a couple that may know more about the castle,” Cyrus added, remembering his earlier conversation. “They may still be at the tavern.”

Normally he would have asked Terra to accompany him, but with their bounties posted it would only place her in unnecessary danger. He and Raiden would have to go back alone.

“Are the rest of you going to be all right while we check it out?” he asked.

Lucky answered for everyone. “Of course! I’m here!”

“Right, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

As Cyrus opened up a conversation with the couple at the Sidewinder Tavern, Raiden kept his attention focused on the other patrons. The young woman they’d seen earlier was still here, and from the looks of things she was trying to subtly scoot closer to listen in on their conversation. Raiden looked her in the eye and shook his head, issuing a silent warning that he knew what she was up to. The woman met his gaze and immediately returned to her drink.

“. . . might know about the castle,” Cyrus finished.

The man and the woman looked at each other, then back to Cyrus. The woman spoke first. “My husband works as a guard there,” she blurted out. “Our son went missing two days ago.”

“I can’t prove it yet,” her husband added, “but I’m sure he’s being held there somewhere.”

“What’s his name?” Cyrus asked.

“Dustin.”

“I need to get into the castle,” Cyrus said plainly. “If your son is there, I’ll replace and bring him back to you.”

“Oh, thank Heaven,” the wife said, tears forming in her eyes.

“What’s Dustin look like?” Cyrus asked softly.

The husband answered this time. “He’s eighteen years old, with blond hair and a slender build. But most importantly, he should have a silver pendant he wears around his neck. He never takes it off.”

“I’ll replace him,” Cyrus said in a compassionate voice.

“Thank you, mister . . .”

Raiden nudged Cyrus’s shoulder, hoping to silently convey that people were listening in.

“Phillip.”

“Thank you, Phillip. There’s a drain pipe that feeds into the west side of the castle through the dungeon. I’m afraid you’ll have to climb part of the mountain to get up there, however.”

Raiden saw Cyrus’s shoulders slump. Grinning, Raiden tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the grappling hook slung around his back. Cyrus returned the grin with one of his own.

“We’ll replace it,” Cyrus said, turning back to the couple. “And as soon as I know something, I’ll meet you back here.”

“Thank you again,” the wife said in between tears. “Please bring our boy back to us.”

“I will. I promise.”

Magistrate Hispen strode down the spiraling stone stairs and into the hidden dungeon buried within his castle. The prisoner had proved remarkably resistant to their interrogations, but Hispen was determined to change that.

When he’d first received this castle as promotion to magistrate, Hispen never dreamed he would attain more power within his lifetime. That is, until the Bergion Empire had approached him.

For reasons unknown to him, Bergion wanted the nation of Koh’Lah under its flag . . . badly. But Koh’Lah’s alliance with Candore made things difficult for even the mighty Empire. Instead of conquest, they turned to subterfuge, and that was where he came in.

An underground force called the Liberation Movement sought to usurp control of Koh’Lah from the inside, and thus, Candore would have no way to interfere. The Magistrate had promised the Empire he would supply this Liberation Movement with enough forces to propel the uprising. In exchange, once Bergion took control of Koh’Lah, he would be crowned governor of the entire territory that had once been the country. Rather than one pitiful, frigid castle, he would have a full district under his fist.

And that day was rapidly approaching.

Hispen stopped at the entrance of the black stone cell. A single sputtering torch provided scant illumination, but he could still see his prisoner well. The Admiral was restrained with iron cuffs at his wrists, connected to chains attached to the ceiling. Arms held wide, the rest of his body sagged forward, and the fresh cuts and burns on his body were indicators that his torturers hadn’t let up in days.

The Magistrate folded his arms. “Joel, Joel,” he said with a sigh, not even giving him the respects of his title. “It doesn’t have to be like this. I know you got a message out before we captured you. Tell us what it said and who you sent it to and we’ll end your suffering.”

The Admiral raised his head with what appeared to be monumental effort. “You’ll get nothing out of me, you swine.”

“Pity. But not unexpected. That’s why I brought in a specialist.”

Hispen moved one step to the side and allowed a pale, slender man to enter. As he often did, General Dameon wore a cruel smirk. He appeared to be in his late twenties with chalk-white hair, a crooked nose, and chilling violet eyes.

“One moment, General,” the Magistrate said. “As requested, I’ve brought more people for your experiments.”

“Very well,” Dameon said without taking his eyes off the Admiral.

The Magistrate rubbed his hands in front of his chest. In exchange for his test subjects, Dameon had promised to send an entire regiment to the Liberation Movement, giving them the extra muscle they would need to overthrow their own country.

“Then I take it you’re ready to deliver our troops?” Hispen asked anxiously.

Dameon turned his gaze toward the Magistrate, his lips curling into a half-smile. Unyielding violet eyes bore into Hispen as if he could read his entire soul. The Magistrate swallowed nervously.

“Almost. But first, my employer wants to make sure the Admiral didn’t leak any information that will jeopardize his plans.”

“Of course, General,” Hispen relented.

“I won’t talk,” Admiral Lansing said defiantly.

“Oh, you will,” Dameon assured him, removing the glove from his right hand. The General reached out his open palm and placed it on the prisoner’s head. “After all, you and I go way back . . .”