The king of the Creecemind pinched the bridge of his nose between two scaly fingers, willing the ache behind his eyes to leave him be. He’d been second guessing his decision with regards to the dragon Raejaaxorix. Long ago, he’d asked the Oracles who remained after Cierryon’s first rising how he would meet his end. They had told him it would be in a great battle, far from his own realm. The images they’d shown him had been of a bleak, frozen tundra, the ground stained red with what he perceived to be blood. The vision had come to him so many years ago, and since then, he’d found his queen and started a family. He had refused Jaax not because he couldn’t accept his impending death, but because he did not know how it would affect his mate and their two children. The Oracle was no longer here to ask. And now, this small stranger cloaked in red, a harsh reminder of that long ago premonition, approached so close on the heels of the Tanaan dragon and his plight. It felt very much like a bad omen to him.
The members of the king’s court sat back languidly, the Creecemind dragons taking up the most space but not so much so that the other dragons, elves and various beings residing in Nimbronia couldn’t find a place to stand. The conversation had been light, the combined voices of all those present creating a comfortable buzz that reverberated off the high ceilings. The lively chatter tapered away, however, as the diplomats and courtiers took notice of the newcomer making the long walk from the grand doorway to the front of the throne room. It seemed to take the red-garbed stranger ages to cross the hall, but finally, he stood at the base of the dais, a tiny spark of flame amid all the high class in their ice-toned formal court wear.
Dhuruhn drew in a breath, then drawled in his cavernous voice, “Come now, small creature, give me your name and your concerns and be gone. I grow weary of beggars pleading for aid.”
Beihryhn, sitting beside her husband atop the frozen throne, cast him a disparaging look before returning her pale eyes to the visitor in red.
“I do not come with a plea, your majesty,” a woman’s voice crooned from beneath the hood, “but with a warning.”
Dhuruhn furrowed his brow in puzzlement, but before he could make a reply, the woman lifted her gloved hands and drew back her hood. The dragon king hissed in a breath of shock.
“You have been unwise to deny aid to the dragon Raejaaxorix and his companion, Jahrraneh Drisihn of Oescienne.”
Dhuruhn managed to regain some of his composure, but it was clear to his subjects that their king’s solid, impenetrable bearing had been rocked on its foundation.
“Archedenaeh,” he spoke, somewhere between a growl and a whisper. “I was led to believe you were dead.”
Denaeh grinned up at the towering dragon, an expression holding no small amount of bitterness. “No, your grace, not dead,” she said. “We Mystics cannot die, remember?”
“Oh, everything can die,” he argued, with a predatory grin. “One just has to discover the secret to making it happen.”
“Very well, I will concede you that truth, but I can assure you, I do not plan on giving away such secrets anytime soon.”
“Then tell me,” the king snapped impatiently, “why do you come to my court when you have been absent from this world for so many years? What awakens your cold, ambitious heart now?”
Denaeh cocked her head to the side, whether trying to pick up on the whispered conversations blooming throughout the great hall, or to get a better look at the Creecemind king seated before her, Dhuruhn couldn’t tell for sure.
Finally, the woman drew in a breath, the air hissing past her teeth the way the wind sometimes cut through the icy mountain crevasses. “I have seen the end to all of this.”
The Mystic did not dramatically wave her hand to include the throne room and all its inhabitants the way one might imagine she would. Rather, she stood motionless, her back straight and her chin held high, her brilliant red hair curling down her back and blending with the blood red cloak she wore. A chill, far colder than the natural temperature of the Great Hrunahn Mountains, coursed through the Creecemind king’s veins. So, had it all come full circle then? Could she tell him what he’d been wondering about mere moments before? Might she be able to give him a better idea of what would befall him and his kingdom should he decide to follow Raejaaxorix to Ghorium after all? The idea of hearing her vision was a temptation his heart greatly desired. But, he would not foolishly display his greed to this woman who had become a legend in her own right. No, he would use diplomacy to draw the answers from her, if possible.
“So you say,” Dhuruhn finally said, his face carefully impassive.
“I have come to swear this before you, and to verify what I have seen through the roots of the Sacred Pine.”
Immediately, the murmuring of the courtiers intensified, the voices no longer the discreet whispers of curious gossipmongers, but the shocked entreaties of troubled onlookers.
The queen rose abruptly, her eyes blazing with blue fire. “The gift you claim to possess belongs only to the Oracles!”
Denaeh turned her topaz gaze onto the Creecemind queen. She had traveled a very long way to deliver this message, and she had overcome many challenges to stand before the sovereigns of Felldreim. But, she had made sure her power was returned to its full capacity before begging entry at the gates of Nimbronia.
Very slowly, the Mystic lifted both arms away from her sides as she let her magic swell inside of her. The heat suffused her blood, and the strands of her hair rose of their own accord. When everything around her appeared to be stained in hues of gold, she knew her eyes were blazing like burning embers. The voices of the onlookers grew more agitated as they pressed against their comrades to give her space. When the Mystic’s feet lifted from the floor, several of them let out gasps of shock.
King Dhuruhn growled low in his throat, and the queen bared her teeth, their dragon tails twitching in agitation and threatening to bring down the icy columns closest to their dais.
“Do you doubt me now, sovereign of ice and sky?” Denaeh asked, her voice nearly as deep and resonant as the king’s own.
“You should not exist!” Dhuruhn snarled, his voice dripping with aggression and slight horror. “You are nothing more than a myth! A legend that lives on only in the stories passed down by bards and poets!”
Denaeh smiled, showing her teeth in a grin that suggested violence. “I am far more than a simple tale to be told, your majesty,” she intoned quietly.
Just as abruptly as her power had gathered around her, it dissipated with a snap of energy. The shockwave radiated throughout the room, causing several of the enchanted stalactites to break away from the ceiling far above and come crashing down. Those standing beneath them screamed and dove, barely avoiding the dangerous projectiles as they exploded upon the frozen floor in small bursts of ice and glittering blue light.
“Now, will you take me to the Tree or not?” Denaeh demanded, her voice reverberating throughout the cavernous chamber once more.
Dhuruhn cast his wife a troubled look, then gazed down at the Mystic with ice fire in his eyes.
“Yes,” he conceded, menace, anger and even fear tainting his voice. “I will.”
The massive roots of the ancient tree twined and grasped at the rock it clung to, plunging into the ground and creating an intricate lacework pattern upon the walls and ceiling of the cave. The cavern itself was far too small for the king of the Creecemind to enter, but it was plenty big enough for Denaeh. She stepped inside, glad to be out of the freezing winds sweeping past the top of the world’s highest peak, and more than grateful to be off the treacherous path she had climbed to reach this point, at the very apex of the mountain. Although the cave now protected her from the wind, it was very cold inside, and Denaeh could see her breath hanging in the air.