Whispered Magics

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Atarka need never know. Grandmother pinched her cheek. She didn't have a gentle touch, but the gesture was a sign of affection even though it hurt. She went out with Fec, leaving Rakhan and Sorya to soak dried meat from their provisions in boiling water. Baishya gave Naiva a questioning look as if to say, "What is wrong with you? Baishya heated water steeped with petals of Heart of the Earth flowers over the fire in a small copper pot.

She wrung out a damp cloth. Naiva snatched it from her but hesitated. Tae Jin's bare skin gleamed in the firelight. The thought of touching him, even with a cloth, made her breathe as if she was caught in a storm of beating wings. Tae Jin caught her eye and nodded to show it was acceptable to him to be tended by her. With the slightest wince, he pulled off his torn tunic, exposing the golden-brown skin and wiry muscles of his shoulders and chest. She cleared her throat self-consciously, aware of Bai's sly gaze on her shot through with mocking amusement. As if Bai wouldn't have felt a similar awkwardness!

Yet it occurred to her that she and her twin never gossiped about the other young people and whether they were attractive. Bai turned her attention to washing the damp blood off the tunic in a trough cut into the rock. That a young man's well-built torso was a subject of no interest to her twin gave Naiva a lift of confidence. Lips primly closed, she carefully dabbed away the blood from the shallow cut, working her way down its length, which cut across the shining mark. His breathing never skipped in its even in and out, although, once or twice, his eyelids flickered. After a bit, she handed the now blood-stained cloth back to Baishya and squeezed the juice of freshly picked leaves onto the cut.

His grave expression made her wish she had asked him a question that got him to smile instead. She is an educated, accomplished woman. As I said, she is one of the few scribes who served Shu Yun to survive the fall. She always knew her duty was to send me into the wilderness.

Chronicle of Bolas: Whispers of Treachery

Naiva knew this skill existed because the two girls shared everything, part of the bond of being twins. But evidently that was no longer true. He glanced between them, reading something in their expressions. They fear anything they think they cannot control or which does not belong to them. Or anyone, really, just for the sake of keeping old traditions alive. The dragons rule us now. Maybe it's better to discard what they've forbidden.

Better for the dragonlords, certainly. What about the respect and duty we owe to our ancestors? He cast her a sidelong look then shook his head with a frown. She'd disappointed him, and she glared at the ground to hide her chagrin. She wanted him to think well of her, and now, she didn't know what to say. In a cool tone he said, "Do you think it would be best for Atarka Dragonlord to kill your sister, as she did your mother? Is that what you propose? I just meant that everyone dies. Maybe we are trying too hard to keep alive the old ways when they would naturally die in the course of time," Naiva muttered.

They have been deliberately hunted down and killed by the dragons, piece by piece, memory by memory. By keeping them alive, we defy the dragons rather than accept defeat. Maybe it is a small thing. Maybe none of it will matter when generations have passed. But maybe it will. But only if there is something left to be found, however small, however unremarkable.

That is why my mother sent me into the wilderness. Baishya crouched on the other side of Tae Jin, offering him a needle and thread. I follow a similar path. What we keep alive is what sews us to the past. The future is unwritten. Do you want the dragonlords to be the sole arbiters of what comes to pass, Nai?

That's not what I meant.

How annoying to be shown up as wrong! Tae Jin reached for the needle. The shift of his arm and shoulder made him wince. Naiva leaned in and plucked the needle from his fingers. The two of them began cautiously to discuss their training, although it was clear they were both speaking obliquely, not willing to say too much about the secret lore of their respective traditions.

And especially not in front of anyone who wasn't a shaman! Naiva loved the lore of hunting because it was straightforward. Skill and experience mattered but the goal was simple and the outcome clear. Those who brought down game could feed others and thus be the most valued members of the tribe.

But she didn't know how to say that when Baishya and Tae Jin had clearly delved into lore and magic that she knew nothing about and would never comprehend. The thought of that lack plagued her like rats gnawing on her insides. With mouth pressed tightly, she set to work to repair the tunic. If she kept her hands busy, then she did not have to resent her sister. It was quiet in the shelter with the fire crackling and a pot of broth simmering. Sorya and Rakhan were hauling water from the river for a cistern carved into the back of the chamber, working to make everything secure.

The fabric was smoother and thinner than any cloth she had ever touched before. We use hides and felt. A few of the elders have wool cloaks they use for sleeping since it's hard for them to keep warm. We don't weave such cloaks ourselves. We trade for them from your people and the Dromoka.

A smaller, domesticated goat that lives alongside humanoids. They're hardy creatures who thrive in the mountains where I come from. I mean, how did you know the way? Did the dragon chase you the entire time?

Publisher's Summary

Or did it come after you later? She came over, leaning on her spear, looking exhausted.

Both girls sprang up at once to take hold of her arms, one on each side. They settled her on the mantle made from Anchin's pelt. She leaned back against the rock with a weary sigh. My bones are old. For a terrifying moment Naiva thought she had fainted, but she was just resting. He pulled on the repaired tunic. The damp spots where Baishya had washed out the blood spatter steamed in the fire's heat.

The wind was picking up outside, heard as a plaintive moaning down the entry tunnel. Smoke drifted upward to the cracks in the rock chamber, and as he began to speak, it seemed to Naiva the tendrils of smoke twisted and coiled to the rhythm of his telling as if to bend into images of the tale itself, for voices and words carry a magic that allows listeners to see what they have not personally witnessed. I suffered through a miserable night washed by successive waves of sweating and shivering as the venom's potency slowly faded.

No wonder four dragon skulls had joined that of our sister, Merrevia Sal, as adornments atop gates. They need only wound their target and then track it as it weakens. But I was made of sterner stuff, or perhaps only fortunate enough to receive but a scratch rather than a deeper injury where venom could reach my hearts. By dawn I felt sluggish, but at least I could extend and retract my claw without pain, although a numbness persisted in my foreleg.

Watchfires had blazed all night far below. We had heard a distant buzz of activity as if we had shaken ants out of their nest. As the light changed, the great fires were doused. Horns blared with shrill eagerness. Nicol had spent all night in silent contemplation, perched at the apex of the mountain. At the sound of the horns, he chuckled softly as if he found it all terribly amusing. I wasn't amused at all. A hiss of fire steamed from his nostrils.

A lone traveler climbs toward us. What frail human would dare? Curiosity piqued, I flew up out of the shadows to join him. The rising sun flooded my vision. A small shape trudged steadily upward, picking its way through a long scatter of rock that was the debris from an ancient eruption. As the biped drew closer it waved merrily and, with a curiously relaxed grin, kept climbing toward us. I'm developing subtler methods. Anyway, I don't think it is a true humanoid at all. This place is no longer safe for our kind. Nicol settled on his haunches with a huff of annoyance. Nicol cast a glance at me to see how I would respond to this remarkable statement.

Where should I start? The human face wears expressions like clothing, casting emotion on and off at whim. With a frown, Rhuell shook his human head disapprovingly and tapped his fists together. Their chief is an old man who hunted a dragon when young and still gloats of it endlessly while sitting on a chair made of its bones. He has decreed that any person who kills a dragon will join the ranks of his heirs. Nicol gave a low rumble, as if the answer contented him. I would have asked what he meant by saying it was "convenient," but Chromium Rhuell had already gone on.

The chief claims that divine favor elevated him above his lowly subjects. Those who are touched by dragon's blood, or who drink or eat it, are considered holy and may live a life of ease and plenty while the less fortunate serve them as slaves. His sly amusement troubled me. These are the first humans I have seen who have not disgusted me with their feebleness and unctuous groveling.

With a snarl of sparks, I turned on him. How can you speak so approvingly of people who murdered our sister? I thought you returned here to avenge her death. I thought you favored tedious bouts of meditation and Arcades's bland dominion. In truth, I don't like this tone of contempt from you. Especially considering I saved you from Vaevictis's jaws! I expected him to snap back at me in a temper, but instead, he sunk his head between his forelegs and half closed his eyes. Someone who didn't know him well might think he was basking in the sun, relaxed and easy, bored by our exchange.

But I had often seen him lounging about watching Arcades and the humans in just this manner, and a niggling apprehension clawed at my gut. My recommendation is that we destroy the chief, his heirs, and his acolytes, burn all the temples, and salt the fields. We will need the cooperation of our siblings and cousins to manage it. In a soft beguiling voice, Nicol said, "Brother Rhuell, let us not be too hasty in raining down fire. Wouldn't you be the first to say there is something to be learned from them? To be avoided is the truth of it!

After the disappearance of three dragons I came to this place to find out what was going on. I saw the Chief's hunters trap and kill a small dragon, recently hatched and thus young and vulnerable. Besides the ballistae, whose bolts can pierce our scales, their magic workers have instilled sorceries into a venom to make it strong enough to poison even our flesh.

The threat to all of us is dire, should they share this knowledge of how to slaughter us with other humanoids. Nicol blew a thread of smoke from his mouth with a sardonic smile. Cut off the head and kill the monster. Destroy their chief's house and temples and force them to move away from our birth mountain and our cousins' bones, that's what I mean.

Those with weapons can still forge a path out of the destruction and cut their way to a new foothold elsewhere. They are sapient creatures and can manage their own destinies as long as they do not take their dragon-killing ways with them. The human eyes flashed with a pulse of annoyance, a glimpse into Chromium Rhuell's hidden power. I do not interfere with how they behave among themselves.

One law for them, and a different law for us. But our elder brother's rage flared in a flash of staggeringly bright blue light. The air around us swirled. A strong gust shoved me backward like a blow. When the blinding-white haze faded, Chromium Rhuell in all his draconic magnificence loomed over us, shining like a mirror ablaze with light. His wings were spread wide and the flat crest of his face reflected the sun in my eyes so I could barely see.

You twist words to whatever shape you wish them to make, then twist them again to suit your wishes. You are the least of us, last fallen, not even a whole dragon but only half of one, bound as you are to Ugin. Do not ever again attempt to challenge me or you will regret it. In a clamorous rush of wings, he flew, catching an updraft off the heights and spiraling quickly up and up into the heavens until even our keen sight lost track of him. He said nothing, staring still at the heavens, shifting his gaze to the sun's sky-altering brilliance. Humans could not look upon the sun for long, or they would blind themselves, but we dragons can stare into its luminous splendor for as long as we wish.

As Te Ju Ki had once told me, all creatures depend on the sun for life, but dragons are the only creatures who, like the sun, can burn without consuming themselves. With a thoughtful expression, he bent his head and scraped his horns on the ground to leave a mark, the sign of his presence here high upon the rocks of our birth mountain. Then he stretched up from his hind legs. Our enemies are coming. Let us go down to meet them. A large group of armed people had left the main settlement, led by a company of scale-clad warriors on horseback and a curtained sedan chair carried by six strapping young men.

This small army was accompanied by mules harnessed to haul four ballistae mounted on wheels. The well-fed and well-clothed inhabitants stood on scaffolding to toss flower wreaths down over the warriors. The ill-clothed, thin, overworked people knelt on either side of the roadway, heads bowed, hands over their eyes, calling out praise in rote phrases: Singing a robust martial tune, the proud warriors strode along a road cut through the forest that led to the base of the mountain. Here, in a clearing on the lower slopes, a handsome log palisade enclosed a large rectangular area divided into three separate sections.

The ballistae were drawn up outside the palisade. The rest of the army filed into the outermost section, passing under a gate carved in the shape of a dying dragon. On this large assembly ground, the foot soldiers formed into ranks and knelt, bowing with hands pressed over their faces. The mounted contingent rode under a second, more elaborately carved and painted gate depicting a man clad in blood holding a spear in one hand and a dragon's claw in the other.

Here, grooms took the horses into the shelter of open-sided stables while the dismounted riders accompanied the curtained sedan chair on foot to the third and final gate. Here, they too also knelt and covered their faces in submission, all but two: These two were each wearing a helmet adorned with a crest of dragon's teeth.

They were allowed to cross under a gateway that was, to my horror, the curved spine of our sister held together with wire and leather cord. The innermost courtyard contained a beautiful temple, perfectly proportioned in an exact square, with a cunningly built stack of three roofs, one above the next, each painted with alternating eyes and suns.

The sedan chair was carried up steps to the temple's forecourt and set down, after which the bearers immediately retreated to a small closed shed.

The two attendants drew aside the curtains, and a stout, white-haired man clambered out with their assistance. He had a greedy expression and the thick, grasping hands of a man who has grown accustomed to taking whatever he wants. Beneath the wrinkles and age spots and double chin lay the vaguely familiar lineaments of the leader of the hunters who had killed Merrevia Sal.

By human measure, it had happened a long time ago, for he had been a young, strong, hale man then. It was difficult to reconcile my memory of that forceful hunter with the blustering, impatient chief who excoriated the two younger people who attended on him because they did not seat him quickly enough on a padded couch set beneath the temple's portico. They suffered the abuse without blinking, only once exchanging a glance, and that glance held its own ripe tension like two tigers stalking the same prey. Whispers chased through my head as the wind moaned over the peak.

She is younger than you, and the chief likes her better because he thinks she's bolder and braver.

She intends to outlast you and have you throttled when he dies. He doesn't trust you and never has. He considers you an upstart, unworthy, fickle, and he'll have one of his spies stab you in the back the moment he sees an opportunity. A cloud briefly covered the sun, shaking my mind loose from these vexed imaginings. Far below, a priestess whose eyes had been burned out ventured forward from the dark interior. She brought a cup carved from dragon bone. The cup held dragon's blood, congealed and musty, yet the chief drank it down with relish and offered the dregs to his two companions.

More priestesses hastened out to wash his swollen feet and flushed face. Bells rang and drums clapped. The warriors in the outer courtyard howled with a screech that, even from this distance, shivered horribly through my bones. Bones that these terrible humans wished to use to adorn their palaces and temples. Those two who attend him so assiduously are two of his heirs. He chuckled and did not answer.

I'm disappointed in you. He gave a thundering roar and leaped into the sky, wings spread. He was so sure I would follow him, and I did. Chromium Rhuell might speak sensibly, but I had no reason to trust him more than I trusted Nicol. He wasn't my twin, after all, just a wingbeat sibling who wasn't any too respectful of Nicol and me regardless. That comment about us two being "the least of the fallen" had stung me too, even if it had been meant for my twin.

We flew toward the farthest flung heir's settlement. Messengers had been sent out from the chief's home compound during the night. When Nicol caught sight of a youth running at a steady pace in the same direction we were heading, he swooped down, caught up the youth in his claws and, as the young human screamed and struggled, bit off his head. With casual disregard, he dropped the body into the forest. Does it still hurt?

Audio Editions

Is your flesh still numb? Or would you like the entire countryside to be raised against us when these messengers reach them? To spread their customs and knowledge to other humanoids? I am doing what is best for all of us. Isn't that what you want, too? With time running out, Riley and her family must rely on two people more likely to stab them in the back than actually help. UF fans are in for a treat as Pharaoh Francis returns with the fourth installment in her original and gripping Diamond City Magic series.

Dark times may be heading towards Diamond City so the intensity level of this book is off the charts! This book is a real game changer. Riley must make some hard decisions and will need a little help from both her family and friends. Things in Diamond City are about to change in a big way and Riley will be in the middle of it all. Relationships will be tested, lives will be put on the line, and a new threat will enter into the fray making for a highly intense, compelling, and gripping read.

I love this dynamic duo and the world Ms. The chemistry between Price and Riley is off the charts, and I love the way they banter back and forth. Price gives as good as he gets from Riley which keeps her on her toes. Be forewarned, however, that this one ends abruptly in a huge cliffhanger. I highly recommend this series. This series is destined for my keeper shelf.

After escaping the FBI, Riley and her family have become fugitives, and not just from the law. Every bad guy on the planet wants a piece of Riley. Gregg has been kidnapped. She has little time to worry about any of that before all hell breaks loose in Diamond City, and she finds herself smack dab in the crossfire. If she succeeds, she makes herself an even bigger target.

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