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  “We should all look,” I said as I stood. The silt was difficult to balance upon and I had to shift frequently to keep it from swallowing my feet.

  We remained silent for quite some time as we slowly spun to study the distance. Boulders, boulders, silt and sky. I didn't want to admit to the others that I wasn't much use for this particular task. I was slightly nearsighted, and although it wasn't bad enough to affect my daily life or keep me from safely navigating a forest road, I was useless as a scout.

  “Anyone see anything, or am I gonna need to pick a random direction and hope it goes somewhere better than this shit?” Ragan asked, scratching behind his lowered ear.

  Repeated whispers of No stuck to the silt for a moment before oozing into the ground.

  “That way. The horizon is higher that way. Trees, maybe, or hills. Everywhere else is flat,” Iefyr said as he pointed to the northwest. He lowered his arm and shrugged. “Don't look at me with that shock in your eyes, Marita. I'm not as pretty as Shan, but I'm still half-elven. Excellent vision is one of several positive things I inherited from my mother. Kind of beneficial for an archer don't you think?”

  “Don't be rude, Marita,” Ragan mumbled. He stood next to Iefyr and scanned the horizon. “Faeline eyes, even half-Faeline, are shit for bright light and distance. You sure about this way?”

  “He's right. Northwest.” Marita rubbed the back of her neck before sitting down. “I don't know what it is out there, but it's different from here so we might as well go that way.”

  The horses snorted and huffed. Some stood while the others remained on the ground.

  “All right, get yourselves together,” Ragan said, still staring at the horizon. “We'll go soon. Right now I don't give a damn why we're here, who put us here, or how. I just wanna get the hell out of this place.”

  “Likewise,” I murmured. The eeriness of the desert was amplified both by the silence and by Shan's revelation that the stones were intentionally shaped and placed. We were supposed to be in the forest on our way to Anthora, but instead we were who knows where for who knows what reason. We couldn't linger and figure it out. We needed to leave and find somewhere with food and water . . . and something, anything that made sense.

  Chapter 13

  When I was a child, maybe six or seven, I dreamed of travel and adventure. I wanted to see the world and everything in it. Now all I wanted to do was go home.

  I suppose my early wanderlust resulted from having a mercenary for a mother. She was sometimes gone for weeks at a time and then she'd come home with strange treasures and even stranger stories. I was envious of the adventures she was having while I was stuck at home with Shan and our extended family. Mom stopped working as a mercenary as soon as she became pregnant with my little brother, and that's when the travel fantasy faded. That's when I noticed the scars her adventures had left her with, and when I first felt the deep fear that if she left again it would be forever.

  Ragan also dampened my desire for exploration. He continued to work for his father as a hired sword for the duration that he lived with us, but he refused to take any jobs that would require him to spend more than two days away from home. He told his father that family was more important than anything else, something Mordegan Vale, who liked to keep all of his children close, understood without question. Then Alon died, the fragile balance crumbled and disintegrated, and Ragan left us.

  I tried not to blame him for that as we rode between the alabaster spheres. It was a mutual decision he and Mom came to, and he'd made it obvious over the last few days that he still cared for us. I suspected Shan remained resentful of him, but Shan needed to work out his own issues before he could deal with anyone else. I needed to let my brother be selfish if that was what carried him through this day so he could take on the next.

  We rode for several hours before coming to what Iefyr had seen from our waking spot. It was a thick ring of strange and enormous trees. The canopies were high and shaped like umbrellas, the trunks were curved like drawn longbows, and the exposed upper roots embraced alabaster spheres nearly as tall as me.

  The trees and spheres became smaller as we walked the horses toward the center of the ring. Once we reached a circle where the tree roots embraced stones only as high as my thigh, we found ourselves looking upon a round expanse of black water. As we drew closer, I realized that the water itself wasn't what was black. The water was as clear as water could possibly be, and brightly-colored fish swam through a seaweed pasture. It was the stonework containing the pond that was black.

  Shan knelt by the pond's edge and dipped his hand into the water. Still on his knee, he twisted to speak to us. “Well this is definitely artificial. The stones are onyx. I didn't know there was such a large quantity of onyx anywhere in Bacra. I don't know, maybe it's crafted onyx. I've read about techniques for dyeing chalcedony.”

  “This place gives me the shivers,” Ragan said. His eyes darted between the trees and settled on the opposite side of the pond. “There. See that big tree over there? It's out of place for the rest of the pattern, only big tree in the center circle. Before we settle down to break anywhere, we need to be sure we're the only ones here.”

  The trees were silent. No birds, no small animals, only a rainbow of fish swimming in circles and ignoring the world above the surface. Every footstep on the black stonework reverberated like thunder, so we avoided it in favor of the golden silt.

  The stone beneath the large tree wasn't like the stones held by the roots of the other trees. It was primarily pink with dark veins running through it, rather than white with gray flecks. More striking than the stone itself was the door inset into the surface facing the pond. Colorful glass scattered the sunlight so I wasn't able to discern the pattern until we reached the shade of the tree. In textured glass and solder, a rainbow-hued scarab held a yellow goblet above its head. I'd never seen such a symbol before and I searched my memory to find a meaning for it. I regularly engraved personal, family, and cultural symbols into my commissioned silver pieces, and Velker kept a book of patterns that I often referenced. The elves of the Auran Desert, where the Goldtree family originated, often used the scarab as a symbol of immortality or reincarnation. The goblet was a broader symbol with multiple meanings depending on the culture, so I wasn't sure what significance to assign it.

  “Well, that's a whole lot of weird,” Iefyr mumbled. He stopped a short distance away from the pink boulder and stared at the glass door.

  “Weirder, weirder, everything always gets weirder,” Shan said with a sing-song intonation. “Pour out the chalice, drown the beetle, and the world drowns with it.”

  “Don't you go doing any spellwork right now, Shannon,” Ragan said. He drew his battle axe and planted the hook in the silt. “I dunno if anyone is in there, but I'm gonna knock on the door, so better get your blades out just in case whatever's inside isn't as friendly as you lot.”

  I coaxed Serida off my shoulder and into my jacket hood. She'd be safer on my back if this door opened into an attack. She nipped at my nape, then settled into the pocket of the hood. I unsheathed my sword and looked at Shan. Lumin peeked over his shoulder from the safety of his own hood.

  I slipped around Iefyr so I could stand next to my brother. I nudged his side and said, “I think whoever or whatever brought us here wasn't interested in the dragons or they would have just killed us and taken them.”

  “That's the only thing I'm certain of for the moment.” Shan bowed his head and forced a smile. “It will be all right. We'll get through this.”

  “Are you trying to reassure me or yourself?”

  Shan paused for a moment before whispering, “Both.”

  Ragan was at the glass door. The rest of us crouched and raised our weapons.

  The door swung open before Ragan could touch it. Beneath the threshold stood a slight, elderly woman with a gnarled staff in her equally gnarled hand. Long, silken white hair and a pair of spiraling horns crowned her head. Her stooped shoulders sprouted into iridescen
t scarab wings and a furry white tail flicked the darkness behind her.

  Ragan slowly lowered his sword while Rose bowed her head. The woman was clearly Fae, but she was unlike any Fae I'd ever seen before. Usually their appearances aligned with a single animal, not with several. The few who displayed multiple traits were hybrids, which is what I assumed this woman was.

  Rose straightened her head and gazed reverently upon the old woman. “Good day, Sibyl of Concord. We have been brought to this plain against our will and would be honored if you could tell us where we are.”

  Shan leaned against me so he could whisper in my ear. “She's a Concord Sibyl. I've read about them. They're not just Fae, but a mixture of many Fae. They are born into the order, required to birth three more Sibyls, and once they reach a certain age, they are sent into the world to live solitary lives. They're all over Bacra, but so rarely seen that some of my books claim they're a myth.”

  “She doesn't look like a myth,” I said. I returned my sword to its sheath but kept a tight grip on the hilt. “Are they benevolent?”

  “They're neutral. That's why their order is called Concord.”

  The Sibyl set aside her staff, then reached up a brown hand to touch Ragan's chest. She grimaced and said, “Half Faeline and half human. Oh, you poor child, why would your parents have done such a thing to you?”

  “I didn't have a choice in the matter,” Ragan said. To his left, Rose scowled and turned away.

  “Indeed.” The Sibyl scuttled past Ragan, her tail and long pink robe dragging in the silt. She paused in front of Iefyr, then circled around the rest of us. I caught scents of hickory and thyme as she passed me. “Such strange visitors I have. I don't remember the last time I had visitors, so it seems fitting the desert would send me strange ones. Or did the shadows send you? Elf-human, elf-orc, feral elf, halfling, Cat Fae, and you.” She circled back to me and pressed her pointed fingertips into my sternum. “You don't know what you are. Barely human, barely more than a child, and a dragon sits both upon your back and within your soul. Wait until you find out what she is doing to you.” She withdrew her hand from my chest and placed it on Shan's. “Half-brother to the human, also dragonbound. And shadowbound. Shades dance upon your shoulders and you cannot see through them to know what you have done. You are a fool, child, and not an honorable one.”

  “What's she talking about?” I asked.

  Ragan sputtered his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing. She's a raving old crone who's been alone too damned long. Let her keep talking and maybe she'll give us something of use.”

  Rose approached the Sibyl and cautiously took her hand. “Sibyl, can you tell us where we are?”

  “You're here. Right here. Right here and right now,” the Sibyl said with a forcefulness I didn't expect from someone so slight and frail. She withdrew her hand from Rose and shook her head. “Shadowbound Cat Fae. Did it hurt when your own soul ate you alive? It will hurt more when your secrets come to gnaw at your marrow.” She smiled at Iefyr as she reached forward to touch his face. Her uneven fangs glittered in the sunlight. “You've got an inferno hiding in your heart, child. With luck you'll never meet it. Come inside. Have some tea. Find your way. All except you and you.” She pointed a knobby finger at Shan and then rotated her wrist until her finger landed back on Rose. “No warlocks in my home. Stay outside.”

  “But–” I started.

  Shan grabbed my arm. “No, it's fine. We'll wait out here. Go on in and see if you can figure out where we are.”

  Serida clung to my neck as I followed the others through the scarab door. The darkness was an illusion that was replaced by the soft lighting of intricate candelabras as soon as we crossed the threshold. We followed the Sibyl down a ramp and into a large, round room. A complex network of tree roots trussed the ceiling and black stonework clicked beneath our feet. Overstuffed bookshelves and scroll baskets lined the walls. In the middle of the room, several large, round floor pillows sat around a fountain with a spitting white dragon as its centerpiece.

  “Don't touch my things,” the Sibyl snapped. She shuffled toward the center and pointed her staff toward the pillows. “Sit. Sit. Stay.”

  We complied, choosing to share two pillows next to each other rather than spread out. The Sibyl disappeared through a narrow doorway between two bowed bookshelves.

  “Do you think Shan's okay out there?” I asked Ragan as he settled between Marita and me. Iefyr and Nador sat opposite us. Their eyes darted about the chamber and their shoulders flinched at every echoing noise.

  “He's fine. He and Rose can take care of their own damned selves,” Ragan said. He leaned forward over his knees and his shoulder brushed against mine. “Gods-damned Concord Sibyls. Mom told me about them when I was a kid. Strange folk. They're an inbred hodgepodge of random Fae and many are born too malformed to survive but they keep on birthing them anyway 'cause they're required to have three living kids apiece. Be on guard. This one's been on her own too long and she may see us as a threat.”

  “We are a threat,” Iefyr said.

  “Don't let her know that.” I held up my hand and Serida climbed out of my jacket hood to settle on my forearm. I held her up so she could nuzzle my nose. “Don't offend her, any of you, please. Let's just see if she can tell us where we are so we can figure out where to go.”

  Marita giggled and shook her head. “You're asking these three not to offend someone? That's like asking the moon not to rise.”

  “Gods-damned cockfestering moon has no business rising when I tell it not to,” Ragan muttered. His grin faded as he gazed up at the dragon fountain. “This doesn't feel right. Mom told me Sibyl crones live in hovels. This is no hovel, and she didn't haul all this shit out here on her own. Nor did she carve and place all those boulders. She's gotta be a high priestess or something . . . something important to the Concords.”

  “Is this where the important ones come to fade and die?” I pondered as I let my eyes wander. The books on the shelves were free from dust and the fountain showed no signs of mildew or algae. The heavy woven fabric covering the pillows was unworn and unstained by age. She could not have acquired such things in a lonely desert hole. “Something isn't right about this. Don't eat or drink anything she brings us.”

  “No shit.”

  “That falls under being rude to a Sibyl,” Marita said. She shivered and her hand traveled to the dagger on her belt. “There is magic here. Too much magic. It's humming in my nerves and rattling my bones. I bet that's why she didn't want the warlocks in here. Witches feel magic, but educated warlocks can see it.”

  I shifted away from Ragan so I could inspect the base of the fountain. A single brick was etched with Dwarvish runes. I ran my fingers along the inscription, rubbing away small bits of debris that obscured the individual runes. I sighed and said, “This doesn't sound good. At least for me.”

  “What doesn't” Ragan asked.

  “This inscription. 'The underground rises as the dragonbound bring darkness to light. The sun fades between golden wings and the talons of night claim the land as its own.' It looks like there was more, but the brick is damaged.”

  Iefyr snorted and rubbed his wide jaw. “That has nothing to do with you, Tessen. It's old history, a reference to the Midnight Wars. High King Reldarian's dragonbound elves allied with the northern orc clans to defeat the pysakees and goblins that emerged from the caverns beneath the Mordova Mountains. Bloody fight, went on to span a generation. It turned out that two of the dragonbound were traitors. They were twin bastard children of the High King who enlisted the help of the subterranean races so they could take Bacra for themselves. I suppose they had a right to it, considering by ancient decree, the firstborn of a High King or Queen is the heir, no matter their status. Was supposed to keep the High Kings faithful, but instead it led to hundreds of thousands of dead and the forced relocation of all orcs to the southern realms at the command of Reldarian's sole surviving heir, his niece High Queen Ranadora, the first of the Lightborn dynasty.
The two traitor dragonbound were on the top of the corpse pile themselves by the end, and the queen Bacra was left with was a cruel and brutal zealot who the elves choose to remember only as a hero.”

  “Didn't know you were such a history aficionado,” Nador said. She made a swishing sound in the back of her mouth, as if she meant to spit but at the last moment thought better of it.

  “Couldn't escape it in my house.” A chill crept across Iefyr's shoulders. His nose twitched as he shook it away. “My parents made sure we knew about the times elves and orcs worked together for the good of all. My father was especially keen on it. Too many elven prejudices about the supposed savagery of orcs, and too many orcan prejudices about the not-so-supposed arrogance of elves. My siblings and I . . . we were both and therefore neither.”

  “Didn't know you had siblings, either. You mentioned your little sister a couple times, but you didn't tell me there were others.”

  “Oh yes, there were.” Iefyr closed his vibrant blue eyes and tilted his head toward his left shoulder. “I had four, all younger. Taria, Farak, Serna, Ieki. Our parents took great measures to protect us after our grandfather's fury revealed itself immediately following my birth. He ripped me from my mother's arms and tried to drown me. An elven Lord such as himself could not have a half-orc grandson. Mom saved me, and then Dad took us away to his clan village. Tidegarden, in the Pearl Realm. We were always outsiders, but the orcs left us in peace and bore us no ill will. Then I turned sixteen and my mother's family found us. Her brothers set our home on fire and slaughtered my parents and siblings. I killed my uncles to protect my youngest sister, but I was too late for the rest of them. Ieki is sixteen now and doesn't remember our parents. She was raised by my father's brother while I developed my fighting skills. My family was butchered by elves, but I ended up working for one when Duke Goldtree enlisted me to assassinate my grandfather. There is a spectrum of honor even among elves, and he understood what it meant for me to avenge my family.”