Dragon Child
This story takes place between Dryad Eyes 18 and 19.
The walk back to the keep was a quiet one. Not surprisingly, many people got out of the way when they realized who was walking past. She couldn’t blame them; after all it wasn’t every day that the dead walked. Then again, if she hadn't bothered to restore the glamour after speaking with Geran no one would have recognized her. It was easier to be known, and she admitted feared, than it was to have to fight/bully/bribe her way back to her chambers.
Yes bribery worked in the 'enlightened society' of Keeper’s Gateway, much better than it did in her own kingdom of Calthair. Apparently enlightened people shared their ill-gotten gains with their superiors. Sometimes she wondered what the others thought about it. However the system did have its advantages. More than a few officers found bonuses in they pay sacks each month for passing on seemingly useless information regarding events happening in and around the keep that would otherwise avoid official notice.
It wasn’t long before Kimera found herself closing the door to her chambers behind her. As always the deep colors and soft fabrics soothed senses abused by the sights and sounds encountered outside of the keep proper. With a shiver of pleasure she released the illusion spell that kept people from seeing the true extent of the changes her resurrection had wrought.
She had spent a good part of her afternoon and evening in the taverns, disguised as her former self, listening to the anti-dryad stories and tales. The anger and hatred had, as always, bothered her but she indulged herself in the guilty pleasure that at least this time she wasn’t the target. That small indulgence had allowed her to keep listening, searching for the source of the problem, the heart of this nasty tangle that threatened her friends… her family.
Especially popular had been those detailing the depravity of the original Battle King. Most of the stories were horse manure to her way of thinking; but she was too familiar with the ways and means of manipulating public opinion to be surprised at how the common people believed every word. They acted as if the gods had come down and spoke before them while bathed in glory. The whole spectacle was sickening but predictable. The combined lessons of her own experience, and the spirits within, had taught her that the average human being was easily frightened by the unknown or unfamiliar, and that when people feared something, it wasn’t long before hatred followed. It was the mentality that had made her a slave in her previous life; and it was that mentality that the conspiracy was counting on to bring the Battle King’s house down around them all.
For the hundredth time Kimera wished that the trail back to the conspiracy hadn’t shown her Charis as the keystone connection. While that narrowed the field as to who was involved, it also made things a bit too ticklish for her piece of mind. Knowing that Geran’s soon-to-be bride was in such a dangerous position meant knowing that his heart was as well. The Blade-Dancer would have been heartbroken at the mere mention of Geran’s choice, and probably found satisfaction in seeing them suffer. The Lady Calthair just wanted to see her friends safe from the possibility of harm by an unknown hand. With a sigh she allowed the heavy brocade dress to slip from her shoulders as she crossed her sitting room to the full length mirror in the bedroom.
Gone were the familiar features that marked her as Kimera ni Togita ‘ti Rahl. Its reflection showed her new body illuminated by the spill of moonlight coming through the tall windows. Silver hair fell in a torrent to well past slim hips, contrasting against golden skin. She was smaller now than she had been before; lithe, even elven, would be among the words she’d use to describe herself. She had the high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes of the people who made their home in the wastelands between Keeper’s Gateway and Calthair. With the right clothing she could have easily been mistaken for a woman of the steppes if it weren’t for her eyes, they were a brilliant violet instead of the deep browns of the tribal women. The only other tribesman she knew of that had violet eyes had been Ulric. Again she wondered what had happened to him and yet again she forced the question aside. Tonight there were more important matters to attend to. From beneath the bed she brought out a intricately carved ebony chest, laying it open on the mattress.
Multicolored silks, folded neatly and surrounded by jewelry, waited patiently for her. She dressed quickly. The bustier fit tight against her ribs, and cut low across her spine; the matching skirt, long but completely open in the front to show an Egyptian-style loincloth in pale gold that protected her modesty while hinting at everything it concealed; the shoulder guards, decorated with gold-bound flags of translucent fabric that served her in place of a cloak; it all fit as if it had been made for her, which of course it had. Slipping on the supple dyed suede boots, she turned her attention to the jewelry still waiting in the chest. Every piece was made of fine gold, glowing mellow in the candlelight. They were meant to be worn together. Carefully she donned the pieces, the metal a cold shock to bare skin before soaking up heat from her body. After putting the chest away a look at her reflection assured her that she had forgotten nothing. Judging the time by the moon outside her window, she leaned forward, touching the smooth surface of silvered glass.
“Unus ianua, unus semita, unus domus.” With satisfaction she watched as her reflection vanished from the mirror, replaced by a shimmering blue glow. In a matter of heartbeats, the glow was itself replaced with a place all too familiar to her eyes. The throne room of Calthair Keep lay just beyond the newly opened gateway.
With a smile, she stepped through the gateway.
The walk back to the keep was a quiet one. Not surprisingly, many people got out of the way when they realized who was walking past. She couldn’t blame them; after all it wasn’t every day that the dead walked. Then again, if she hadn't bothered to restore the glamour after speaking with Geran no one would have recognized her. It was easier to be known, and she admitted feared, than it was to have to fight/bully/bribe her way back to her chambers.
Yes bribery worked in the 'enlightened society' of Keeper’s Gateway, much better than it did in her own kingdom of Calthair. Apparently enlightened people shared their ill-gotten gains with their superiors. Sometimes she wondered what the others thought about it. However the system did have its advantages. More than a few officers found bonuses in they pay sacks each month for passing on seemingly useless information regarding events happening in and around the keep that would otherwise avoid official notice.
It wasn’t long before Kimera found herself closing the door to her chambers behind her. As always the deep colors and soft fabrics soothed senses abused by the sights and sounds encountered outside of the keep proper. With a shiver of pleasure she released the illusion spell that kept people from seeing the true extent of the changes her resurrection had wrought.
She had spent a good part of her afternoon and evening in the taverns, disguised as her former self, listening to the anti-dryad stories and tales. The anger and hatred had, as always, bothered her but she indulged herself in the guilty pleasure that at least this time she wasn’t the target. That small indulgence had allowed her to keep listening, searching for the source of the problem, the heart of this nasty tangle that threatened her friends… her family.
Especially popular had been those detailing the depravity of the original Battle King. Most of the stories were horse manure to her way of thinking; but she was too familiar with the ways and means of manipulating public opinion to be surprised at how the common people believed every word. They acted as if the gods had come down and spoke before them while bathed in glory. The whole spectacle was sickening but predictable. The combined lessons of her own experience, and the spirits within, had taught her that the average human being was easily frightened by the unknown or unfamiliar, and that when people feared something, it wasn’t long before hatred followed. It was the mentality that had made her a slave in her previous life; and it was that mentality that the conspiracy was counting on to bring the Battle King’s house down around them all.
For the hundredth time Kimera wished that the trail back to the conspiracy hadn’t shown her Charis as the keystone connection. While that narrowed the field as to who was involved, it also made things a bit too ticklish for her piece of mind. Knowing that Geran’s soon-to-be bride was in such a dangerous position meant knowing that his heart was as well. The Blade-Dancer would have been heartbroken at the mere mention of Geran’s choice, and probably found satisfaction in seeing them suffer. The Lady Calthair just wanted to see her friends safe from the possibility of harm by an unknown hand. With a sigh she allowed the heavy brocade dress to slip from her shoulders as she crossed her sitting room to the full length mirror in the bedroom.
Gone were the familiar features that marked her as Kimera ni Togita ‘ti Rahl. Its reflection showed her new body illuminated by the spill of moonlight coming through the tall windows. Silver hair fell in a torrent to well past slim hips, contrasting against golden skin. She was smaller now than she had been before; lithe, even elven, would be among the words she’d use to describe herself. She had the high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes of the people who made their home in the wastelands between Keeper’s Gateway and Calthair. With the right clothing she could have easily been mistaken for a woman of the steppes if it weren’t for her eyes, they were a brilliant violet instead of the deep browns of the tribal women. The only other tribesman she knew of that had violet eyes had been Ulric. Again she wondered what had happened to him and yet again she forced the question aside. Tonight there were more important matters to attend to. From beneath the bed she brought out a intricately carved ebony chest, laying it open on the mattress.
Multicolored silks, folded neatly and surrounded by jewelry, waited patiently for her. She dressed quickly. The bustier fit tight against her ribs, and cut low across her spine; the matching skirt, long but completely open in the front to show an Egyptian-style loincloth in pale gold that protected her modesty while hinting at everything it concealed; the shoulder guards, decorated with gold-bound flags of translucent fabric that served her in place of a cloak; it all fit as if it had been made for her, which of course it had. Slipping on the supple dyed suede boots, she turned her attention to the jewelry still waiting in the chest. Every piece was made of fine gold, glowing mellow in the candlelight. They were meant to be worn together. Carefully she donned the pieces, the metal a cold shock to bare skin before soaking up heat from her body. After putting the chest away a look at her reflection assured her that she had forgotten nothing. Judging the time by the moon outside her window, she leaned forward, touching the smooth surface of silvered glass.
“Unus ianua, unus semita, unus domus.” With satisfaction she watched as her reflection vanished from the mirror, replaced by a shimmering blue glow. In a matter of heartbeats, the glow was itself replaced with a place all too familiar to her eyes. The throne room of Calthair Keep lay just beyond the newly opened gateway.
With a smile, she stepped through the gateway.