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Prologue:

12.6 pc 936

(twelfth day of the tenth moon cycle in the 936th year post confederation of the kingdom of Cavatar)

In the dark of the quiet chamber, the steady drip of moisture echoed.  The cool of night rose from the cut stones to fill the void of the high-walled ruins.

Lusiradrol stood in the center of a circle of candles, her hair blacker than ebony and her hooded mantle a close match.  Her thoughts had created the darkness surrounding her, twisted by thousands of years trapped within a human body.  The emptiness of her soul absorbed all light, leaving only the stain of her malevolence.

In equal spacing in a circle on the floor, nine candles flickered.  Their light barely penetrated the gloom.

Within the circle, Lusiradrol had placed nine dragon scales, the only ones she could gather in her quest.  The scales represented nine of more than a hundred of her clan that had lived at one time.  Dragon scales were almost eternal, but long ago men of the First Race had gathered all they could find and ground them up as ingredients in the metal of their weapons.  The shadow of magic within them imbued the objects with far greater durability and strength than they would otherwise possess.  Luckily, with the First Race went those secrets.

In the void of her dragon heart, Lusiradrol resented the humans for all they had done.  Her Red Clan should have wiped the world clean when they had the chance.

If only the others had not stopped them.

She desired revenge.

Tonight she would have it.  The alignment of stars in the heavens fell into place, after thousands of years of waiting for this moment.

The time had come.  A faint smile gleamed on black-red lips.  Soon, we will be reunited.  Soon, my clan.

She began the spell to resurrect the proud and terrifying red dragons.  Focusing her mind on the always twisting, almost tangible threads of magic, she sat within her candle formation and spoke her intents.  Using the scales, she could focus on those individuals who had shed them.

Not long after the white dragon had cursed her to human form, she realized that hearing her intentions spoken aided the process of working complex magic.  As a dragon, she had no voice, except through the mindspeech of magic.

"Come to me," she whispered.  Her voice sliced through the silence, sending the air quaking as if she spoke in a tongue of thunder.  "Send your spirits to me.  Rise from your graves.  Together we will destroy this world and take our vengeance upon the others and their magi.  Come forth and live again!"

A sudden gust of wind whipped the candle flames.  Two blew out while the others beat angrily at the air.

Lusiradrol smiled in satisfaction.  I await your arrival, she thought and concentrated deeper.  The magic swirled about her in a torrent, chasing the target of her desires.  She reached out for the spirits of her dead clan--

Emptiness.

Her smile dropped into a frown.  What was this?

Again, she called for the spirits.  If they were dead, they should have arrived ready for the next turn of magic--giving them solid bodies.

"Come to me!"

When the wind of touching the spirit realm died down, she rose from her place.  Why do you not come when summoned?

Only one answer satisfied her question--they were not dead as she had thought.

"Where are you?  What trickery has he pulled over my eyes?"  

In the battle between her clan and the other clans, she had realized at the last moment the true power held by the old mage, an athêrred rî Lûmea¹ of great power.  In his hand he carried a staff topped by dragon’s tooth, which held a special crystal.  Though she knew not what mastery he possessed, the confidence of his manner and the intensity of magic that emanated from him had warned her.  She had fled before he completed his spell.

"What less than deception can hide you from me?"

Anger simmered inside her.  Had the wizard not destroyed her clan as she had thought?  Had she waited an eternity for this night when she might have revived her clan sooner?

How could this be?  How dare he do this to me!

Lusiradrol looked up.  In the old ruins, the ceiling had rotted away and many of the stones had toppled, but she had made a few repairs.  She made it her home, a place of solitude that satisfied her cold heart and her human needs.

"Damn them all!"  Her words crackled in the confines of the ruins.  If the other dragon clans had not killed her clan as she thought three thousand years ago, where were they?

She would find them, starting with the old man who had stolen her clan and hidden the secret of the white dragon.

When she found her clan, she would have her revenge, on the white dragon and the mage.  None of her enemies would realize the prophecy of the white dragon’s return.

Chapter 1:

5.2 pc 937

Calli's eyes fixed on the veiled princess as they had the last two days since leaving the security of Setheadroc, which surrounded the palace, their home.  Deep in her heart she mourned.  Istaria Isolder had been betrothed to the son of the governor of Cavatar's far northeastern province .

As her friend and personal attendant, Calli swore not to leave her side.  However, she mourned for the palace.  She could never hope for Phelan Isolder to see her as more than her younger sister's servant.

Beneath the veil, Istaria's cheek twitched in her sleep.

A faint tingling touched Calli.

Istaria's white hair almost glowed with an inner light.  The princess twitched again and whimpered.

Calli leaned forward with the intent of calming her friend, but decided against it and sat back.  She had never seen beneath the veil.  The queen forbade it, and her friend had never offered to show her face.  After eleven years, Calli had learned to ignore her curiosity out of respect for her friend.

Nevertheless, the sensation of someone watching her increased with the faint halo around Istaria.  It had to be Calli's imagination.

Istaria jerked and sat up, the halo fading.  Sniffles from beneath the veil tugged at Calli's pity.  The princess put a hand to her throat and straightened on her carriage seat.

Calli leaned forward from her seat and touched her friend on the leg.  Although she could only imagine what Istaria had dreamt, she had a fair idea.  Istaria didn't want to marry.  "I'm here."

Istaria lifted her hands to her face beneath the veil and leaned forward, her shoulders trembling.

Upset by her friend's distress, Calli made the quick jump to Istaria's side and pulled her close.  Istaria pressed her veiled face to Calli's chest, her body shaking with sobs.

Istaria had been a friend since their childhoods.  When Calli's father, Kaillen, had been awarded the status of training the palace guard, he moved Calli and her mother with him to Setheadroc.  While her mother had taken over cooking duties, Calli, at only six years old, had been made the personal attendant of the then five-year old princess.  Though Calli knew nothing of her mistress’s affliction nor had seen her without the veil, she had accepted Istaria without question.  A childhood of friendship bonded them as sisters of uncommon spirit, a relationship stronger than blood.  

"It'll be alright.  I'll not leave you."  She paused.  "I hear Derek is a good man."

Silent tears choked her friend.  In all the time they had known each other, Istaria had never said a word.  The queen, Damaera Isolder, had said she lost her voice a year before Calli arrived.  Istaria had hidden in the cavern on the palace grounds sealed since that incident, which had also turned her hair white.

Despite her words to soothe Istaria, a foreboding sense darkened around them.  Never in her life had Calli experienced such a chilling sensation.

Istaria sat up and reached beneath her veil to wipe her eyes.

"Something's not right."

Calli pulled back the curtain from the nearest window and peered out.  The squeaks and groans of the carriage drowned out any animal noises.  Nevertheless, the trees around them with their branches barren of all but new leaf buds hid a secret.

The soldiers accompanying them rode in closer.  They must have sensed it too.

Calli turned back to Istaria, but her friend had pulled the nearest curtain aside.

Before she could warn the princess to sit back, something thumped into the side of the carriage.  Outside, a horse squealed.

"Milady!"  Calli pulled Istaria to the floor of the carriage, which lurched to a stop.

A second later, an arrow ripped through the curtain of the opposite window and implanted itself in the door.  A man chastised another for risking their reward.

Istaria gripped Calli tight.

The fighter inside Calli desired to join the soldiers, whose voices rose to a raucous level with the shouts and hollers of their attackers.  Her father had been the best warrior, perhaps because he had come from another culture with better martial training.  He had trained her in his ways, until his death three years ago.

Unfortunately, he had taught her to use the moves for defense, not attack.

Calli would do best to stay with Istaria and protect her.

The clash of metal on metal rose outside.

Calli risked lifting her head and peeked out the window.

A group of bandits engaged the royal guard.  However, rather than bumbling through their attack, they coordinated.  Already half the soldiers lay dead or mortally wounded.  

"Driver!"  Calli sat up and pounded her fist on the side of the carriage.

No response.

One of the gruff men outside fixed his eyes on her.

Calli ducked back inside and hunched with the princess.

Istaria clutched to Calli's gown.

"I'll not leave you."

The door of the carriage burst open, and the gray light of a spring day poured in.

The man standing in the open door leered at them.  "What have we here?"

Before he could enter, he slammed against the carriage and fell to the ground.  One of the guards gave them a look and closed the door.

Calli swallowed her relief and took a deep breath to calm her heart.

The fighting subsided, but by the voices outside, she feared they had lost.

When the door opened, a man with the cunning look of a warrior in his eyes grinned.  "My ladies," he said with exaggerated politeness.

Calli scowled, realizing the reason for the satisfaction in his grin.  "You'll not have us."

"Pardon me, girl, but you're not the one I want."

The cool of his voice sparked her temper.  Calli peeled Istaria's hands off her.

The brute watched her closely and leaned in towards them.

Calli kicked at his hairy face with all the force she could amid the fabric of her dress.

It gave her only a moment, not long enough.  He snarled and grabbed her.

Calli fought with him, intent on keeping him from touching her friend.  However, in the confines of the carriage interior, she had no room to maneuver.

When he slammed her against the side of the carriage, her head rang.  Spots danced in her vision and the distant sound of voices jumbled into darkness.

2 Cavatar is divided into five provinces that form a confederation joined under one ruler, a king.  However, the Advisory Council to the King of Cavatar is composed of provincial representatives, each with equal voice and veto power of the laws over their lands.  Since the Isolders are the heirs to the leadership position, they have no binding loyalty to any one province. 

images and text © 2007 by Melanie Nilles
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