Bridge of Souls by Fiona McIntosh Page A

summoned his courage. With Knave and Roark’s whispered encouragement, he opened his eyes and looked upon the King of all the beasts. There was no doubting that royalty stood before him, no wondering if this glorious creature was worthy of such exaltation. Fynch held his breath as every fiber of his being suddenly felt newly alive, restored somehow in the presence of such grandeur.
    Like everyone else who looked upon the dragon pillar in the Pearlis Cathedral with awe, Fynch had believed the warrior dragon to be just legend. Associated with the Morgravian sovereign, it was the most impressive of all the mythical creatures but no more real than the winged lion. But now the King of Kings stood in all his glory before him, as real as Fynch himself.
    Faith Fynch, the King said. Be welcome.
    “Thank you, your majesty,” Fynch stammered, bowing. “I am proud to serve you.”
    And we are indebted for that service, child, which is given so bravely by one so young.
    Fynch said nothing. He had no response to such generous praise.
    The warrior dragon continued: And still we ask more of you.
    “I will give my life if it is so required.”
    The King regarded him through dark, wise eyes. We shall do everything in our power to prevent you relinquishing something so precious.
    “Please tell me, my king”— my true king, Fynch thought to himself—“what it is that you ask of me.”
    The beast wasted no further time. The King of Morgravia brings shame to his kind. He is of the warrior clan—of my blood, you could say—but he disgusts me.
    “Celimus is indeed shameful,” Fynch agreed quietly.
    That said, there have been Kings before who have disappointed and we have ignored them. The Thicket and its creatures do not meddle in the affairs of men, child. We have watched you kill one another for centuries and we have not involved ourselves. But on this occasion we have been drawn into the struggles of mankind because of the misuse of magic.
    “You speak of Myrren’s Gift, your majesty.”
    The King hesitated briefly. That included, yes. It was wrong of Elysius to channel his power through his daughter to such a vengeful end. His power, once we granted him access to the Wild, was to be used only for the good of the natural world.
    Fynch felt compelled to defend Elysius. “I don’t think he fully realized what the repercussions would be, your majesty.”
    Magic is always dangerous, Fynch, even when used with the best of intentions. There are always repercussions, although sometimes we are unable to see what they are until it is too late. That is why the Thicket and its magic have been deliberately shielded from men. Myrren’s Gift has already claimed four lives. Wyl Thirsk should have died; instead he is abroad and carrying a deadly enchantment. None of us knows where it could end.
    “Wyl didn’t ask for Myrren’s Gift, your majesty,” Fynch mumbled, trying not to sound petulant.
    I know, my son , the King replied gently. I feel great sorrow for Wyl, who is one of the best among men—as was his father. It is the magic that troubles me, and how it will reverberate through the world of men. I mean to end it here.
    “You don’t mean to destroy Wyl?” Fynch exclaimed.
    In a way he is already dead, the creature answered.
    Fynch did not like the resignation in the Dragon King’s voice. He grasped for placation, desperate to prevent this powerful being from hurting Wyl. “The Thicket and its creatures have asked me to kill Rashlyn, your majesty, and with their help I will endeavor to rid the land of the destroyer. Both brothers will be no more. The magic will end.”
    Not really, child, for now you possess it. Rashlyn wishes to control the natural world. He is a corrupter of natural things. He wants power over the beasts. But Celimus is just as dangerous. He too wants power, although of a different kind. I fear that if we do not destroy Rashlyn, these two ambitious men might join together. I know how the minds of greedy men