Bryan Davis - Eye of the Oracle

Naamah took a step closer to Morgan. “He still looks like a teenager,” she whispered, “and he’s really rather dashing.”

“Yes,” she whispered back. “I was hoping you would think so. It will make your job more pleasant. You will sing songs of doubt and treachery into his mind, but this isn’t the time or place to explain.”

Elam threw down his club. “I’m not going to stand here and be gawked at.” He began stalking away. “If you have anything to say to me, I’ll be at the kilns.”

Naamah chuckled. “He’s got spunk. That’s for sure.”

“Yes, and we’ll use that against him.” Morgan raised her arms and began transforming to a raven. “Come now,” she said, her voice changing to a squawk. “It’s time to return.”

Naamah reverted to a bat and followed Morgan upward, leaving the light of the world below and plunging into darkness. As they rose, they battled the downdraft that swept air from the prison cell above, now a tiny light in the distance.

Finally, they burst through the current and landed in the cell. Naamah flittered around for a moment, then planted her sharp claws before shifting to her human form. Brushing her hair with her fingers, she watched the raven stretch upward and reshape into the tall, slender frame of Morgan.

“If you wanted Elam’s blood,” Naamah said, “why didn’t you just take it from him instead of holding him prisoner?”

Morgan shook her hair back behind her shoulders. “I already told you. It’s not his blood I want. He will just provide the way to get Sapphira’s.”

“But why don’t you just get Anak to kill her? He’s expendable.”

“Because he is not able to kill her. Lucifer’s spies learned that an oracle of fire cannot be murdered unless she is betrayed by someone she loves. Sapphira didn’t speak up for Acacia when she took the bread, so Acacia lost her protection.”

Naamah smiled and winked. “So you have to get Sapphira and Elam to fall in love?”

“No. Romantic feelings have nothing to do with it. We need absolute trust and sacrifice. Only complete trust generates the brutality of real betrayal.”

Naamah knelt at the edge of the trapdoor and gazed into the darkness. “But with Elam down there, how will you get them to love each other like that?”

“When someone eats out of the hands of another, both the giver and the taker trust each other without reservation.” Morgan eased the trapdoor past Naamah’s head and closed it with a loud thud. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes. I was surprised that you let them get away with that.”

“It’s all part of the plan,” Morgan said as she headed for the exit. “And now we need a singer of dark lyrics to break that trust, little by little.”

Naamah rose and followed her. “Not a problem,” she said, winking again. “The words are already forming in my mind. If this song doesn’t make him doubt, then nothing will.”

Edward sat uneasily on Thigocia’s back, shifting his weight to keep the tough scales from pinching him. To his right, his friend Newman sat on Makaidos, looking even more uncomfortable as he adjusted his breeches while balancing his body with his shield. To his left, four other dragons waited, three of them with riders who sat tall and motionless, the trio of elderly warriors that Makaidos had brought out of retirement.

In the distance, a blanket of mist shrouded a huge swamp, and a high mound protruded from the waters like a swollen womb. A small building sat on top, a humble, thatched-roof house of worship with a rugged, stone bell tower at the front. Far to the left, a smaller hill rose above the swamp, its western slope stretching to the mainland. Weary Hill, they called it, the resting spot for Joseph of Arimathea after his long journey from Jerusalem. The bridge that once spanned the two hills was gone, destroyed by the invaders, and wood fragments still floated about the swamp, occasionally washing to shore.

The mist hovered in place, not a breath of wind to stir it, a perfect shield for the enemy troops that might approach again from the north. Edward nodded toward the water’s edge. “Newman, stop pulling on your pants. The king’s coming.”

King Arthur marched toward the line of dragons, his sword and shield in hand. He stopped in front of Makaidos and bowed. “Your presence is most welcome, King of the Dragons.” As his eyes met those of the aged warriors, he smiled. “I recognize these human heroes of my childhood, but please tell me the names of your dragon soldiers so that I may properly address them in battle.”

Makaidos nodded toward the others. “In order from your left to your right, the king has at his service, Thigocia, my mate; Valcor and Hartanna, twins born to us since my arrival here; Legossi, a daughter of Maven; and finally, Clefspeare, Goliath’s and Roxil’s only son.” Each dragon bowed in turn.

“Greetings, noble dragons, and welcome.” Leaning over, Arthur sketched a map in the drying mud with his sword. “Sir Devin’s scout tells us that the Saxons are massing behind the great tor, and they seem to be migrating toward Weary Hill.” With rapid strokes, the king drew a credible likeness of the two hills and the surrounding swamp. “We will counter them here,” he said, stabbing one side of Weary Hill.

Sir Devin pointed at the map with his own sword. “But wouldn’t that open up our flank to a water passage between the hills?”

Arthur scratched a line next to Devin’s blade. “The dragons will be able to sense any approach, so they will guard that side.”

“Your Majesty,” Devin said, sliding his sword back into its scabbard, “I beg you to fortify all sides with humans. I know you do not trust the dragons as much as you appear ”

“King Arthur!” Makaidos interrupted. “I sense danger!”

Arthur straightened, raising his sword with a tight grip. “How near?”

“It is strange,” Makaidos said, his ears twitching rapidly. “Somehow the danger lies between the two of us, yet there is no one here.”

“An invisible enemy?” Arthur asked. He sliced his sword through the air, then back again. “If he is here, he has no body that my sword can cut. Perhaps a ghost?”

“Even as you move the blade,” Makaidos said, “the focal point of danger seems to move.”

Arthur held up the blade and squinted at it. “The sword is dangerous?”

“I have heard of swords that seem to have a life of their own,” Makaidos said. “Where did you get that one?”

Arthur held it close to the dragon. “This is the very sword I pulled from the stone as a lad, but it is no more alive than the stone was.”

Edward cleared his throat. “Sire, if I may be so bold. .”

Arthur nodded. “Speak, squire.”

“While you were scratching the mud, I think I noticed a slight quiver in the blade. Could it have been damaged during this morning’s skirmish with the enemy’s scouts?”

Arthur gazed at Edward curiously, then bent down and banged the sword against the ground. The blade broke cleanly away from the hilt.

Makaidos stretched his neck and sniffed the broken blade. “Yes, that must have been the danger.”

Arthur shook his head. “If this had happened in battle, I would have been helpless.” He rose and bowed to Makaidos, then to Edward. “I am in debt to both dragon and squire,” the king said.

Edward took in a deep breath, swelling his chest. He couldn’t resist the feeling of pride. He had made another step toward proving himself worthy of his father’s name. Now, if he could only get another shot at Goliath.

The king threw the worthless hilt on the ground. “It seems that I need another sword.”

Instantly, the sound of a dozen swords sliding out of their scabbards rose into the air. Edward thrust his forward first. “Take mine, Your Majesty.” His words echoed from the lips of every knight within earshot of the king.