Cerisa's Quest: Quest for Riverhand, #1

In the days of old, dragons lived with and married the humans.

As time and disbelief entered the human realm, Dragons began to live apart, in their dimension, The Land of Drache.

A few humans still possessed the Olde Magik. These humans are the only hope for a grand and ancient species.

Chapter One

Over the forests near the village of Glasuisce...

Two figures flew in the sky over Riverhand, disappearing in the brightness of the sun. Their magic kept them safe from the prying eyes of the villagers and city dwellers. Today, they soared over her home forests, nearing their lands.

Cerisa Andersen loved her life, but there had to be more. More than training whenever someone made her or she found something she wanted to learn. More than flying about as far as her mother would allow her to go and being restricted as to with whom she could travel.

Why be trained as mage and warrior if you aren’t allowed to use the skills, she often asked her parents. Her strength resembled a true warrior’s. Besides, who cared about a little nobody from a nowhere village a day’s ride from everywhere?

The only thing special about her lay in her magic. A nervous bump jumped in the area of her gut when recalling how her magic had begun to change lately, but she shoved it back.

Normally, she resented the time spent training. Today, however, happiness drifted through her like a soft trickle of a creek flowing through the forest, feeding her, nourishing her, never the same. She enjoyed the freedom of gliding through the air, speeding to the next destination on the back of her best friend and dragon, Lucian.

Cerisa spent more time riding dragons than horses. Horses had to stay on the ground and took longer. She played with her magic as they flew, reveling in her feelings. Colors sparked from her fingertips, which created bubbles and streamed behind Lucian’s tail in a rainbow of colors. It released the tension which the chaotic magic built within her.

I can’t wait to tell Dad how I finally bested you with the sword. I’ve never done that before, she said, unable to keep quiet any longer. Pride lifted her happiness to a higher level. Besting a dragon was not an easy task. If only her parents would yield and let her go off for longer than a day or two. After all, what could happen with Lucian there to protect her?

And you wouldn’t have now if you hadn’t tricked me, Lucian’s deep, gravelly voice replied, his long spiked tail whipping through the stream of bubbles.

Cerisa laughed. Part of being a good warrior is knowing your opponent’s weaknesses, she intoned in a low, sing-song voice, accurately imitating her warrior father, Jaren.

Part of training to be a warrior is taking it seriously, Lucian shot back with another favorite saying of her father’s.

As if anyone would attack with Jaren, the greatest warrior in all the land, living there. I swear you talk like someone is on the verge of attacking. With a habitual wave of her hand, she brushed off the admonition. Who would want to attack our little village? We have had peace for ages, and I am stuck with limited mobility. Only when you or my teacher are with me, am I allowed to go beyond the boundaries my parents have set. I want to see the world, Lucian. I want to do things, she proclaimed, impassioned.

I am a trained mage and warrior, yet my mother acts as if it’s a royal offense for me to go anywhere without a bodyguard. Thank the gods for you, my friend. Without you, my life would have been boring. As you are well aware of, only Lord McCallum has taken me anywhere, and that was a field trip for my magic training, she whined, the old frustration bursting out of her.

Lucian just puffed some smoke at the familiar tirade, the only sign he listened. For a second, she felt bad about whining again, but then she threw her hands up in the air, gripping his scaly body with her thighs, letting the wind whip her long blonde hair around her heart shaped face and lithe body.

Most mothers are protective of their only child, little one, he finally replied, his voice even.

Lucian, she warned.

He knew she hated being called little one, even after his explanation of how long dragons lived, which he gave her whenever she protested. You are feisty this morning.

She absolutely knew he was grinning. She couldn’t see his maw, but his voice gave him away. She stifled a laugh. He wisely avoided the sore subject, so she did too.

I feel wonderful, Lucian. It’s been such a perfect day. I can’t wait to go home and share how well I did today. Maybe they’ll quit treating me like I’m twelve. I am old enough to be married and living on my own. I shouldn't be restricted so much or be made to continue in my warrior training. Why do I still need to practice? I’m not going to need it. By the gods, the petulance just sprang from her. The urge to leave, to be on her own and find her own destiny had lay strong within her lately, and her latest accomplishment only augmented that.

They want you to practice regularly, so you will be ready to face any emergency which may come your way. He let out a sigh. Not only when you feel like it. None know the future. His gravelly voice became serious again, but Cerisa dismissed it.

Who’s going to come all the way to Glasuisce and cause trouble?

LAND OF DRACHE...

Queen Eilean sat with her Drachecroi, her mate, King Pythes, in the throne room of the Land of Drache’s highest court. Opulence surrounded her. Gold inlaid marble floors and pillars, bronze statues, and richly woven tapestries spoke of their wealth and status among their people. The few foreign visitors allowed to see the splendor had never failed to be overawed by the abundant beauty.

Usually, she enjoyed her surroundings, especially the bespoke tapestries. She appreciated the symbolism and stories so intricately woven into them, knew every word of the stories depicted by heart, and had since but a child.

However, today, they might as well have been blank for all the attention she afforded them. Her mind’s eye, and the rest of her being lay focused on her youngest son, Lucian, and his human charge, Cerisa.

I’m worried about Cerisa. We have watched over her since she was but a wee thing. When we sent our people out to watch over all suspected of being the real Ariel, I didn’t know we’d become so attached or that the prophets meant her. She’s become my favorite of all those we watch over. Oh, Pythes, Fate is asking too much of her. She is not ready. How can she be? And what about our Lucian? What will he do if something happens to his best friend?

The queen paced, currently in her dragon form. She was a green dragon—rare among her kind—with a deep red underbelly. Her scales glowed luminescent under the floating magical lights they used for scrying on other worlds and kingdoms, especially those linked to the Land of Drache by magic.

We can’t help what Fate is asking of Cerisa. We can only offer our support. Lucian is strong, my love. With his help and the teachings of her parents, Cerisa has grown strong in her magic.

Queen Eilean wanted to rail at the Fates, nonetheless. Just didn’t seem fair for a such a young girl to have so much put on her shoulders.

And Lucian can call on his older brother, Daniel or any of the other Draches we have in their dimension. We must not lose faith, King Pythes continued, following her with his head. He was black with a red tint to his scales and underbelly. Sleek like his wife, merely being in his presence made you cognizant of his power. The two of them often used their scrying orb, the Illessence, to observe their son and his charge.

The seers foretold that there would be untold bloodshed in Riverhand before the rightful heir to the throne reclaimed it, King Pythes said into the silence. "We knew this could happen. It’s why we have watched over all the Ariels in the human kingdom who were about the right age."

She glared at him. I am well aware of that. We’ve only four now, that we are monitoring. However, they also said Cerisa would be pivotal in these events. Events which will decide if all of the Land of Drache will continue to exist on this plane or not, or if the Olde Magik will return.  Not the current weak magic, but the real, deep Magik of the elements.

Strong disdain laced her words. She was old enough to remember the ways and power of the Olde Magik.

Yes, but that is all they agree on. Even now, they can’t do more than agree that Cerisa Andersen of Glasuisce is important to us, but we have known that for a long time. It is why we sent our son to protect her; she is our best hope. He sighed, the smoke curling out of his nostrils in small streams of gray. Already, she shows signs of having the Olde Magik.

She nodded her great maw. They’d covered all this many times. I am well aware, and a good thing for us! Lord Kyle Namred has been torturing and killing to keep his rule strong for many years. Even with his weak claim on the throne in the name of the missing heiress, he still has opposition despite the harsh punishment they receive for their troubles. Her voice cracked as her agitation increased.

I know. There has been much bloodletting in the human realm of Riverhand—again as was foretold. Our people have been hurt and have witnessed horrifying incidents, all of them hiding their dragon forms these past years as too many try to kill them. Whatever Cerisa’s role is to be, it will happen soon, he agreed.

Pythes, we must do something more, Queen Eilean implored. She swished over the blue marble flooring, away from the Illessence. She changed into human form, swaying her hips and magically clothing herself from long practice. Her long, dark hair retained a green stripe from her temple. A reflection of her true color.

My love, there is nothing we can do from here. He changed to human form to match hers, his clothing as rich and striking as her own. Strong strides took him quickly across the room to her. He grabbed her hand. It is part of the checks and balances of the worlds that we are dependent upon the humans' equilibrium. They must have the proper authority on the throne of Riverhand in their dimension in order to exist beyond the gates of our lands. It is part of Fate's decree for us.

I hate it, she said, a rumble sounding under the words, despite her human form, emphasizing her frustration. It is not right that in order for us to exist beyond their imagination, the humans have to do things correctly. They are the biggest despoilers of all intelligent races. Even the damned Orcs seem able to keep their species stable compared to those incompetent, war-mongering humans!

It is not the Orcs, but those who oppose them that keeps those foul creatures in check. All races have checks and balances—someone more powerful than they are, in order to keep any one race from annihilating the rest of us. Humans are Fate’s choice for equalizing the scales, whether we like it or not.

Decidedly not, she said emphatically. We are more powerful than they, and we are not cruel. We are wise. We have found balance and peace in our disputes here in the Land of Drache. Why do we need them to balance us? I’m powerful enough to control any of us who aren’t willing to follow our lead. You are as well. Together, you and I have had a peaceful reign for almost a hundred years, despite the turmoil in their lands these past years.

It was not always so. There is good and bad in every species. At least it is the humans who balance us, he said. Even though they figured out long ago how to kill our kind despite our obvious advantages in a fight, forcing us to hide our true selves while in their realm.

Queen Eilean waved her hands as if to wipe out what he was saying.

He continued undaunted. We are fortunate that they are our balance because, although it is rare, we are able to breed with the humans. The ruling family has dragon’s blood in it, as it was meant to be from the beginning as our destinies are so entwined. Fates weren’t completely cruel in setting up our balance. They made sure that our needs would be felt by the ones in charge of keeping magic alive in the lands we depend on.

Of course, you're right. It could have been a much less compassionate race that held our lives in the palm of their hands. I’m afraid, though, Pythes. I am afraid that Cerisa may be too late in saving Riverhand. If that is the case, then it is too late for us as well.

The king and queen looked at each other sadly. He took her other hand in his. Do not give up hope, My Queen. She is strong in the Olde Magik as well as the new. Even in the weakened state while in their realm, I could sense it in her. She is also a warrior. We may not know why she is so important to the fate of us all, but we know that she will do her best when the time comes.

And if that is not enough? What then?

His silence answered her question. He moved back to the pulpit and gazed into the Illessence, as if hoping for a clue as to help his kind not become extinct. However, what they saw did not bring hope.

At times like this, she would gladly give his her eye to be able to hear as well as see into his scrying orb. For when she looked into the clearing where their son and his young charge lived, she witnessed something which brought terror and fear. Riverhand, and therefore the Land of Drache, may already be lost before the greatest war ever foretold had even begun.

Duty sometimes calls for the highest price to be paid. However, not even the wisest amongst us can foresee the real cost to the lands. Misery is a sad bedfellow, and therefore, we believe in others outside ourselves. Is it true that the Olde Magik has returned? Or is it a desperate last hope by a dying race?

Chapter Two

Near the village of Glasuisce...

The clashing of swords rang through the clearing, announcing a death toll to all within its boundaries.

Sunlight glinted off the metal, giving off rays of macabre irony to the rage and fear roaring from the two fighters. Both were skilled fighters, one on the ground, one on his horse, neither ready to give up.

The golden hair of the fighter on the ground gleamed like a beacon in direct contrast to the evil intent of the men surrounding him. He had little protection from the bite of the blade other than his own skill and wits.

His shirt fell in torn shreds, clinging to him in bloody patches where he hadn’t been quick enough to avoid the sting of Lord Kyle’s hatred delivered by sword. His face dripped with salty sweat, intermingling with the coppery blood as it ran into his open mouth. He tried to catch his breath as he maneuvered against his opponent, seeking an opening.

There had been little warning of the approach of Lord Kyle and his men. Jaren had hidden his wife, grabbed the sword, and hurriedly advanced to meet the threat. Without enough time to put on his armor, he only had the leather armbands he wore daily. He dropped back, trying to assimilate everything.

Jaren Andersen’s clear blue eyes stared up at the man he knew to be the father of Cerisa, the girl he had raised and trained to womanhood. Lord Kyle, Namred, scourge to all the lands. The traitor didn’t know he’d fathered a child that fateful night, and Jaren wanted to keep it that way. They’d taken great pains to make it harder to hide Ariel, paying many couples to be Ariel, with different husbands’ names, including Jaren. However, their luck had just run out.

He hoped Cerisa and Lucian did not return from their training session until Kyle and his men were long gone. One look at her and Kyle would know the truth. That is, if he possessed half the intelligence attributed to him.

Jaren watched as Lord Kyle’s powerful horse pawed the ground then sidestepped. The man controlling the horse sneered down at him with thin cruel lips. Kyle gave a mock salute to Jaren with his sword.

Your death has long been a goal of mine. Today, I will succeed. Too bad Ariel is dead, or I would claim her as I did before, greatly solidifying my position on the throne. He cruelly threw out jibes meant to hurt and cause Jaren to lose control, jabbing with his sword for good measure.

Jaren knew Kyle wanted a response, so he took great care to school his face to an uncaring mask. If Ariel were truly dead, he’d have nothing to dread. He worked hard to keep that out of his expression.

Lord Kyle was no fool. He would know if Jaren lied and would find Ariel if he perceived the smallest whiff of fear from him. She had ducked undercover, albeit under protest, as soon as Jaren heard the pounding of hooves. That many horses heralded trouble in their small valley. Even with her magic abilities, she was no match for an army.

He parried and parlayed more with Kyle, but as a warrior, recognized it as a losing battle.

Ariel might be hidden, however, her place of concealment could easily be found if the band of marauders which accompanied Lord Kyle searched carefully.

Jaren swung again, his sword clanging against the metal of Kyle’s greaves as he made to upper cut the horse when Kyle deflected the shot. His glance cut over toward the cottage and back, his mind worried Ariel would run out of the impromptu hiding place. There hadn’t been time to find a better one, and Jaren could only hope that she would stay secreted away and not choose this moment to use her magic and attack.

He needed to turn Kyle’s attention away from that direction, so slowly circled him, making small jabs at the horse and forcing Kyle to face him. He worked up a sneer, calling on feelings from the past. You have been denied the real prize of your desire. If I die here, I will die happy knowing you were thwarted yet again. He gave a crooked smile to cover his apprehension. Time to get this over with. The men would not leave until his life force soaked the ground.

Above all else, Cerisa and Ariel must stay safe.

He spoke in gasps between thrusts of his sword. I had many happy years with Ariel. You cannot take that away. He forced a taunting smile on his face. No small feat as anguish filled him. He knew what the consequences of his death would be, knew his beloved Ariel would be forced to face her past as well as her future without him at her side to help her.

Hardest of all, she had to tell Cerisa the truth about her father and the heritage which shaped her future. Cerisa was headstrong and stubborn. She hated lies, and her mother’s lies would be the hardest to stomach. He only hoped that Cerisa would rise above the strong emotions and live as he had taught her.

He pulled his thoughts back into the present and concentrated on Lord Kyle. He had to keep him diverted from the facts and somehow force the evil man out of the clearing before his men found Ariel—or Cerisa came back.

Even with his skill at side stepping and ducking, he had many slashes already. His blood soaked parts of him, ever weakening him.

He was losing the battle.

All battles required intent, purpose of the mind, but his kept splintering between his need to protect his daughter and wife in their separate locations. The focus needed couldn’t be contained, especially when part of him thought the only way to ensure their safety was to die.

He mustered up his concentration and began to fight in earnest.

He did quick footwork, his sword a blur as he pushed the horse and its rider to the edge of the circle his men made around them, before dropping back. His breath came out harsh. The exercise combined with his emotional distress, making things harder for him. A good warrior, probably still the best warrior their lands had seen in a millennium, but he was outmanned. If he could unseat Lord Kyle, the fight would be more equal, but then his men would step in.

Frustration and heartache gripped him. No getting around it.

He’d have to die.

And he needed to make it look good. Having trained with him in the Royal Guard, he knew Lord Kyle would be as aware of the armor’s weakness as much as Jaren. If he made a believable last effort aimed at the armor’s weakness, Lord Kyle wouldn’t recognize the sacrificial move for what it was. Jaren calculated the distance between himself and the horse’s hooves, planning his moves and putting his wife and the daughter of his heart to the back of his mind.

Jaren attacked, exploiting the chink in the armor as planned. He parried a thrust and followed it up with a jab, the tip of his sword sinking into the upper thigh of his opponent, near where the armor bent at the hip. The man laughed down at him.

The tinge of evil in Lord Kyle’s laugh came as no surprise to Jaren. His lips tightened as he thought of the repeated rape of his then young wife, Ariel Gunthana, before he married her. Jaren had never avenged the suffering she had endured by this man. Over the years, that frustration had bit at him often. He struck at Lord Kyle’s face the way he’d always wanted. He had waited for this day for more than twenty years. Against his better judgment, Ariel had made him promise not to seek Kyle out to extract the coveted revenge.

But Kyle had come to him.

A burst of speed while he smiled garnered him a good strike. He managed to scrape Lord Kyle’s nose and knew a spurt of satisfaction. Yes, he’d kept his promise, although it went against everything he was, everything he believed in.

Now, he would have some of his honor back. He would die to protect her, as he had sworn to do when they were married, his honor intact, exacting some punishment on the bastard.

He unleashed his fury and thrust hard at Lord Kyle’s horse, trying to cut the tendons to lame it and bring Lord Kyle down to a more equal level before dying. Rage tore through him when the horse sidestepped, and Lord Kyle easily maneuvered the horse out of Jaren’s reach, laughing again.

Jaren parried Kyle’s counter attack, not ready to give up. He cut across the horse’s head, banging against the shaffron when he attempted to cut the reins. He tried again, but Kyle had backed the horse away from his sword’s reach.

The only thing left to do was try to save the other players who could stand up to the tyrant and win the war. Hopefully, he’d trained Cerisa enough to defend herself against any attacks she might endure as the next in line.

He took another glance around, reassessing things, hoping to find a chance, any way out of the predicament. What he saw did nothing for him. The men hadn’t dispersed. Instead, more than a hundred warriors surrounded his stone cottage. The small wisp of smoke coming out of the chimney seemed to emphasize his isolation. He knew the only reason he fought one swordsman instead of lying trampled to death under the hooves of a hundred warriors and mercenaries was the personal enmity between them. Jaren had won Ariel, despite his lower rank. Lord Kyle had never forgiven, or forgotten. He’d use that.

Jaren shaded his eyes as he scanned the thick forest surrounding his home. Cerisa, his beloved girl, would be home at any moment, Lucian with her. The dragon would protect her to the best of his ability; this Jaren was sure of. However, too many of the enemy stood battle ready for him to chance it. He reluctantly brought his attention back to his nemesis.

Kyle may have donated his genes, but it was Jaren who had loved and raised her. Anger, love, and anguish all washed through him as he attacked again.

The two men fought hard, again and again, the swords glaring in the sunlight as they swung through the air in a grisly dance of death. Back and forth they went, Jaren stabbing at the horse whenever Kyle used the horse’s body to try to gain advantage. The sweat began to show on the horse, but the rider appeared as cool as ever.

He feared Lord Kyle would kill Cerisa as soon as look at her before recognizing her importance. He couldn’t allow her to walk into the den of murderers the clearing had turned into. Despite the warrior