The War of the Masters

What can I do? Terra thought as Cyrus and T’Saunté closed in on the hideous beast.

She had no weapons, no combat training of any sort, but she couldn’t just let her friends battle the monster without her. Mentally assessing her attributes, Terra realized the only things she brought to the table were the Breath of the Masters and her telepathic powers.

Once someone—or something—had received the Breath of the Masters, it couldn’t be overpowered by another sibling’s Breath, and she had promised never to use that again anyway, so it really only left her with one option. The problem, however, was Terra had scarcely used her telepathy.

Her mental abilities were shared with one other family member: her grandmother, Jalinth. Terra hadn’t seen her in years, but she remembered the stories of how her grandmother had burrowed her psychic tendrils into her opponents’ minds, detonating their neurons or pushing them to the brink of madness. The King had been so afraid of what his mother could do that he imprisoned her.

Terra had been born with those same mental powers, but she had never revealed that to her father. The Princess’s earliest memory was of her mother strictly warning her to keep that hidden from Xyloth at all costs. For she knew that the King would not let her live if he discovered the potential within her. After Terra’s mother had died, Aimee had stepped in to help safeguard her secret.

The Princess’s mind flashed back to when she was twelve, to when she had very nearly lost her life . . .

“Look at you,” Terra’s father spat. “The first child in centuries to be born without a second power. You make me sick.”

A bolt of anger flashed through the Princess. She tried to ignore him, but Xyloth was in a worse mood than usual.

“You’ve brought shame to my bloodline,” the King continued. “And you don’t even care, do you? It doesn’t bother you that you’re a disappointment, does it?”

Tears formed in her eyes, but Terra didn’t meet his accusing gaze. She picked a spot on the floor and stared at it, trying hard to keep her cheeks dry.

“Look at me!” her father snapped.

She jerked, startled, then lifted her gaze to meet his. A defiance grew within her. “I still have the Breath of the Masters,” she said quietly.

The King’s eyes narrowed. “And what good is that to a weakling like you? Have you ever even used the Breath of the Masters on another?”

Terra couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. But even as they trickled down her face, the Princess held her head high, proud of her answer.

“No.”

“Of course not. You don’t even have the stomach to enslave your inferiors.” Xyloth shook his head in disgust. For the first time, Terra truly understood why other nations referred to him as the Savage King. “You’re an embarrassment to the family name. Powerless, and worthless.”

Worthless.

That last word hit Terra’s heart like an anvil. Her spirit felt crushed, as if chained down to an anchor and cast into the ocean. She had always known her father was disappointed in her, yet she had never understood just how much. Slowly she clenched her teeth, her hand balling into a fist at her side.

You want to see just how ‘powerless’ I am, father? I’ll show you.

Terra remembered her mother’s warning, but right now she didn’t care. She had never felt so hurt in her life. Long ago she had vowed never to lose her defiance, never to give in to his cruelty.

From deep within her soul she summoned her telepathic powers. Her skills were barely formed, but she had practiced enough in secret to project her thoughts into the mind of another as if she’d actually spoken them.

Tears still streaming down her face, Terra channeled her power. Just as she was about to unleash, she saw someone farther down the corridor behind the Savage King. It was Aimee.

The baker’s face was calm and assured. And ever so subtly, she shook her head.

The meaning was not lost to Terra, but it wasn’t what she wanted to see. A torrent of emotions swept through her. She felt hurt and betrayed; she couldn’t follow through with her actions now. Unable to bear the pain any longer, she stormed off, blocking out her father’s berating as she left.

Once her mind had settled down, Terra had come to thank Aimee for saving her life, more determined than ever to conceal her powers. But that time was over. Anything the Savage King was afraid of was a force to be reckoned with, even if she was only a beginner. She had to act now.

The Princess gathered her strength and reached out with her consciousness, peering into the monster’s aggressive but sluggish brain. She saw the Bloody Bones lunge at Cyrus with its outstretched claws, swiping wildly at his chest. The fisherman was agile, ducking and evading the strikes before lashing out with his knife. The miniscule blade cut a thin gash into the monster’s left wrist, but that allowed the Bloody Bones to get close enough to grab Cyrus by the shirt.

Terra gasped and forced her eyes shut. As long as she was watching the battle, she couldn’t concentrate completely. Drawing upon her will, she locked on to the monster’s mind and let loose a deafening scream within its head.

Cyrus was grateful that, if nothing else, he was fast. Snatching squirming fish from hooked lines over the years had trained his hand eye coordination to be swift and exacting. When his knife carved a long slice into the Bloody Bones’ wrist, he felt a sudden surge of triumph.

His elation didn’t last long. He realized too late the monster had purposefully taken the blow in order to snatch its claws around his shirt.

The monster snarled and pulled the fisherman up face to face with its hideous form. Its breath was warm and putrid. Fear wracked Cyrus’s body, paralyzing his muscles as he stared straight into the fanged mouth of the Bloody Bones. The monster ripped open his shirt and placed one rotting hand against his chest.

Sweat poured out of him, but rather than dropping to the ground, it converged into the Bloody Bones’s hand—leeched in through its outstretched palm. Cyrus could only stare in shock as the creature began to sap all the water from his blood. His heart slowed. His mind felt dizzy. A scream ballooned within his throat but had no way to escape.

For the second time that night he realized he was about to die.

Suddenly the siphoning stopped. Cyrus blinked twice and watched as the Bloody Bones wrenched its foot around, kicking the quietly approaching T’Saunté into a tree hard enough to splinter the trunk—evidence that the Bloody Bones was much stronger than it appeared. The dragon looked dazed but relatively uninjured.

The Bloody Bones turned back to Cyrus. Its eyes abruptly flew open and a howl of agony elicited from its throat. The monster released its hold on him and pressed its hands against the sides of its head.

Cyrus stumbled back, taking in deep gasps of air, literally drained from the exertion. But he was alive, his knife still clenched tightly in his right hand. The Bloody Bones’s fanged mouth flew open in a silent scream as if trying to drown out some unknown noise.

This is my chance! he thought.

Cyrus forced his haggard body forward. Closing the distance between them, he slashed his blade diagonally across its chest, cleaving several of the green, mucusy scales in two. The monster’s hands fell from its ears to its sides, claws bared outward. A look of pure rage filled its crimson eyes and it swooped forward, bringing its right claw down in an overhead slash at Cyrus’s face. The fisherman rolled to the side, but two of the razor sharp talons snaked across his back, tearing his shirt farther, and cutting into the skin. Cyrus cringed as blood trickled from his back. The wound was nothing life threatening, but painful nonetheless.

His roll brought him to a crouch, one knee down as the Bloody Bones brought another heavy handed claw at his face.

Raising his crescent blade high, Cyrus caught the swipe in the crook of his knife, blocking the blow. The Bloody Bones lurched its hand forward, attempting to seize his neck and finish what it had started. Cyrus stepped to the side, using the creature’s own force against it to wrench its claw toward the ground. He followed with a heavy slash to the exposed elbow, ramming the blade so hard against the decaying joint it nearly severed the monster’s arm.

A tormented scream emerged from the Bloody Bones. It pulled its now dangling arm from the ground and stumbled back . . . right into the waiting jaws of T’Saunté. The dragon’s jagged teeth tore deep into monster’s ankle, and T’Saunté yanked back with all his might. The sudden momentum dropped the Bloody Bones face first into the grass. Cyrus leapt in, plunging his fishing knife into the monster’s raw head. The Bloody Bones howled one final time, then went silent forever.

Breathing heavily from the fierce exertion, Cyrus pulled out his knife and stared wide-eyed at the corpse for nearly a minute before his adrenaline began to fade. His muscles burned with fatigue, and a tired, lethargic feeling draped over him.

Terra rushed to him. “Cyrus! Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, still feeling the sharp pain in his back. “It barely got me. How’s T’Saunté?”

The dragon gave a quick yelp and jumped into Terra’s open arms. “He’s fine,” she said, petting the back of his neck.

Cyrus turned his gaze to the sky. “Do you think the Wild Dragons heard us?”

Terra flicked her eyes skyward. For a moment they stood in silence. When nothing happened, she answered, “Hopefully the roar of the waterfalls drowned out the battle. I think we’re okay.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Cyrus sheathed his fishing knife. “How many siblings do you have?”

“Five brothers and two sisters.”

“Can we expect attacks like this from all of them?”

“Not necessarily. My eldest brother is bolder than the rest. Arrogant, even. I expect some of the others will have a more subtle approach.”

Cyrus nodded gravely. Things only seemed to go from bad to worse.

“But they’re also fighting each other,” she pointed out. “They’ll be more worried about Lozarrik than us. Especially—”

“Hold on,” Cyrus whispered, cutting off her words. “Listen.”

A moment later they heard a loud squawk as one of the Wild Dragons flew overhead. The trio instinctively froze, but the dragon didn’t circle back, nor did it raise the alarm.

“We can’t stay here,” Cyrus insisted once he was sure it was gone. “We were lucky this time, but we can’t risk them spotting us on another pass.”

“Back into the trees?” Terra suggested.

“Not yet. There’s a small cave over there,” he said, pointing. “That should provide us more cover.”

“If nothing is using it for a home,” Terra countered.

“Good point. How well can T’Saunté see in the dark?”

“Better than we can, but not perfectly.”

“Can you have him scout it out for us?”

Cyrus expected a growl from the small-formed dragon, but none came. Terra set him down, and T’Saunté crept silently into the cavern. A moment later he returned.

“It’s clear,” Terra said, understanding the dragon through their mental bond.

Walking over to the cave, Cyrus put a hand against the irregular limestone walls as he ducked inside. The full moon lit the interior well enough that he could make out the dusty, skeletal remains of a human. Lying beside the bones was the front of a breastplate, black with the silver insignia of a ship emblazoned across the center. On the other side of the skeleton was a partially rusted long sword.

“Someone must have been using this cave as a home,” he murmured.

“But how did they get here?” Terra questioned. “As far as I know, no other country but Candore has ever attempted to tame the dragons.”

“I don’t know, but judging by the design he was probably wealthy. Do you recognize this crest at all?” he asked, pointing to the silver ship on the front of the plate.

“No. I don’t think it’s from Candore.” A second later she shrugged. “I guess we’ll never know for sure.”

Cyrus explored farther into the cavern, double checking to make sure there wouldn’t be any surprises before turning back to the breastplate.

Even though the back’s missing, it would still be nice to have a little extra protection in case something else attacks us.

Pulling his belt tightly against his waist, Cyrus took his fishing knife and hewed through the loose strap at the end. He lifted up the breastplate and pressed it against his chest. Using the strap he tied a knot behind his neck to hold the top of the armor in place, then fastened the bottom through the belt around his waist.

“What do you think?” he asked, turning to face Terra.

The Princess gave a short laugh. “I don’t think it fits quite right,” she said, indicating the way it hung loosely from his chest.

“Well, not yet,” he said, turning slightly red, “but if I can find a blacksmith it will.”

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t take it,” she replied, smiling beautifully. “What about the sword?”

“I’m leaving it behind. It doesn’t have a scabbard, and I’d rather not hold on to it as we—”

T’Saunté’s head snapped up as though he’d heard something. An instant later, the dragon sprang out of the cavern. Cyrus and Terra exchanged a nervous glance before following behind him, afraid they had been discovered.

T’Saunté veered past the trees and to the edge of the floating island. He began to growl as Cyrus and Terra caught up to him.

“What is it, T’Saunté?” Terra asked in a hushed voice, but Cyrus had already seen what had drawn his attention.

Just above the cloud line were four Dragon Riders flying west. At first Cyrus thought they were circling the islands, waiting for the trio to depart from their hiding spot. But the Riders never slowed, and a moment later they were beyond his field of vision.

Cyrus swallowed hard. “They’re heading for Koh’Lah,” he realized.

Terra’s eyes widened. “But I never told my father who you were, or what city you were from!”

“Looks like’s he’s determined to find out,” Cyrus muttered grimly.

A frightening realization dawned on him. It wouldn’t take long for Xyloth’s men to find out who he was. If they captured his mother and father it would force him and Terra to return to Candore . . . right into the Savage King’s hands.

Terra must have seen his face growing pale; when she spoke her voice was etched with concern. “Cyrus, what’s wrong?”

“We have to go to Koh’Lah,” he announced. “They’re after my family. We have to find them before Xyloth does.”