By Jenna Elizabeth Johnson
Copyrighted Material
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons and places is entirely coincidental.
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THE LEGEND OF OESCIENNE
-THE ASCENDING-
Copyright © 2016 by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Randy Vargas Gomez (www.vargasni.com)
No part of this book or its cover may be reproduced in any manner without written permission from its creator.
For more information and to contact the author visit www.jennaelizabethjohnson.com
In loving memory of my dear friend Patty Fish, whose Spirit has gone to the Stars but whose Song carries on in this World, inspiring me to continue weaving my own Melody.
The Winds of Change
Refuge from the Storm
A Lesson in Cards and Constellations
The Crossroads
A Narrow Escape
A Spy and a Familiar Face
Second Chances
The Red Flange
Cahrdyarein
A Tour of the City
A Dragon’s Pride and a Special Invitation
A Glimpse of the Enemy
The Equinox Ball
A Secret Meeting and an Unwelcome Surprise
A Recurring Dream and a Long Lost Memory
Dervit’s Discovery
Treacherous Allies
A Departure in the Dark
A City in Ruin
Through the Serpent’s Tomb
A Painful Betrayal and a Desperate Escape
Rescue, Recovery and Remorse
Dragons’ Rage
The City in the Clouds
Making Amends Once Again
Dining with the King
The Korli Dragon’s Tale
A Fading Hope
The Mystic’s Vision
Excerpt from Faeborne - A Novel of the Otherworld
-Prologue-
It is said among the ancient ones in Ethoes that the trees know the goddess’ secrets. Toward the clouds their branches stretch, and into the depths of the earth their roots reach, so how can they not? They do, however, keep these secrets close, revealing them to no one, for Ethoes understands her creation would not be able to accept most truths. Despite their loyalty and silence, the secrets the trees keep do not always stay with them. Where the trees guard confidences, the wind shares them. Laughing, crying, singing. The wind does not know the meaning of silence. Rising from the seas, coursing down the valleys, rolling through the grassy plains, dancing over the dry deserts, climbing the mountain peaks. The winds of Ethoes comb through the boughs of oak, pine, beech and fir, tickling their thoughts from their leaves and branches, carrying them across the lands for anyone to hear, so long as they know how to interpret the trees’ language.
However, the breath of the earth carries not only the secrets of Ethoes, but also bears the voices of those holding dominion over others. For those who know how to control and manipulate it, the winds can be very useful in conveying messages across continents. And, depending on the time of year, those loquacious gusts can prove useful to anyone wishing to communicate over a vast stretch of land.
In the Hrunahn Mountains of the west, during the thawing weather of early spring, one is likely to find an abundance of wind, fresh and cool and eager to spread its gossip. And it just so happened someone was waiting to take advantage of its garrulous nature …
Boriahs wrapped his threadbare cloak closer to his body and cursed the relentless breeze. Not only did it bite at his exposed skin and cause his eyes to water, but it also worked to draw information from him. Far to the east, his Master awaited news of his exploits, and he would not be surprised if the wind had already tattled on him.
Shaking aside his concerns, he continued his search for a small pool of water that wasn’t frozen over. He longed to be out of these accursed mountains, to be moving east again back to his desolate homeland of Ghorium. But he wasn’t too eager. The biting cold would be worse there, and he had yet to accomplish something to appease his merciless Master. Twice in Oescienne, he had failed to capture the human child, and then once again in Lidien. He had been mere hours from making his most recent move, a strike which would have been successful. Yet, that accursed Tanaan dragon had somehow discovered his plan, fleeing the city with the girl right under his nose. They were still moving, even now as he stumbled around in the forest, heading north toward the realm of the Creecemind. If it were up to him, Boriahs would have gone after them right away. But to change his plans without informing his Master would be suicidal. And it had already been several days since their last conversation.
Boriahs cursed, a long, nasty string of barbed words laced with magic. A cluster of small saplings nearby shriveled and turned black, the result of his careless language. The man sneered in perverse satisfaction. He did not like trees, and being in the tree-infested mountains of the west was only turning his mood fouler. But he knew the true reason for his anger and fear: his inability to capture the human child his Master so desired and the repercussions of that failure. Yes, Boriahs was frustrated, but more than that, he was afraid. The Crimson King had been patient for five hundred years, surely he could be patient for a bit longer. Boriahs, however, didn’t want to be the one to test that patience.
He kicked aside the ashen ruins of the trees which had played victim to his ire and ascended a few dozen feet more through a thick carpet of pine needle detritus, making it past one last rocky outcropping. He stumbled upon an empty glade a minute later, his heart clenching and giving a relieved flutter in the same beat. Several pools of frozen snowmelt littered the ground like icy mirrors. Boriahs was glad the strenuous hike was over, but he feared what awaited him. Seeking out the largest puddle, he trudged over, the muddy ground pulling at his boots. To his great relief, the pool had only a thin layer of ice covering the top.
This is the best you are going to get, he told himself as he picked up a rock and smashed away the film of frost. Cool, black water soaked into his gloves, and once the liquid settled, his reflection stared back at him, glowering. Stark eyes, unkempt hair and a slightly crooked nose suggested a life of hardship, but the most distinguishing, and telling, feature was the scar on one side of his face. Boriahs lifted a hand and brushed at the brand that marked him as the Crimson King’s slave. Years of suppressed memories and suffering rushed forth, almost stealing Boriahs’ breath away. He had joined the king’s army when he was young, his heart torn asunder for the loss of all those he loved. He had willingly given up his mortality and free will for the promise of vengeance.
His father had tried resisting the Crimson King when he’d first come to power. A simple tradesman in one of the coastal cities of Ghorium, he had helped lead a rebellion against the Tyrant in the north. But they would never gain their chance to challenge the king of Ghorium. Boriahs’ father and his companions were discovered and brought to ruin. The townsfolk had uncovered the men’s plot and had recognized it for what it was: a risky venture that would only result in angering the Tyrant who ruled over them. Boriahs’ father and his companions were captured and tortured.
Every single rebel was killed that terrible day, their dismembered bodies strewn throughout the town, a warning to those who still wished to draw attention to their city by provoking the Tyrant King. To make certain the townspeople never took it upon themselves to revolt again, the families of the usurpers were also dealt with, many burned to death within their own homes. Boriahs managed to escape, but not his mother and sisters. He had been sixteen years of age when he fled, and on the anniversary of the slaughter of his entire family, he’d returned to that sleepy little port with a contingency of the Crimson King’s army and a fresh scar burned into his cheek. He had watched in cold satisfaction as the men who had caused so much harm and pain succumbed to the same fate as his parents and siblings.
He had enjoyed seeing their suffering, but when the Crimson King’s men continued to burn and kill and raid their way through the entire town, Boriahs learned the terrible mistake he had made. For one single moment of revenge, he had forfeited his soul, pledging it to a madman controlled by the god of death and chaos. He understood, as he and the army left the ruined city behind to return to their new Master, that his life was bound to that of the king’s. So long as the Tyrant lived, so would he.
Taking a deep breath of the biting air, Boriahs tried to clear his thoughts so that he might get through his task. But the past’s dark memories clung tightly to him, their claws buried deep, and by the time he was in control of his own mind once again, the sun had broken free of the horizon.
Cursing a second time, Boriahs used his numb fingers to dig out his dagger. He had best hurry. His men would be waking soon, and he needed his next set of orders from his Master. Removing the glove from his left hand proved tricky, but he didn’t even feel the cold steel as he pressed it against his palm. One swift movement reopened the wound that could never quite heal. Fresh blood, dark red and tainted with poisonous magic, welled up. Boriahs released the dagger and used his free hand to pull a cord from around his neck. The pendant hanging from it was the color of yellowed ivory, a bloodrose carved from bone. According to the Crimson King, it was bone taken from the last king of the Tanaan before his people and descendants were transformed into dragons. Boriahs believed it was bone, but he had his doubts about where it had come from. Human, perhaps, or more likely bone from one of the Tanaan dragons his Master had captured and killed over the years. Regardless, Boriahs wrapped his bleeding hand around the talisman and held it over the pool of water. He gripped it tight, forcing the blood to bead and drip from his clenched fist. As the dark droplets met the surface of the water, he muttered ancient words of dark magic under his breath. His concentration was absolute, and soon the dark puddle was swirling and rippling, even though the wind had finally ceased its endless barrage.
Boriahs called upon his Master, both in mind and aloud. The undulating water began to churn, then bubble and froth. Putrid smoke rose from its surface and curled over the muddy earth. It was as if Ethoes herself knew who he conjured and fought against his vile presence.
Boriahs gritted his teeth and fought the ache in his head. The connection was a distant one, making it all the more difficult. Gradually, the water simmered down and smoothed out, the acrid smoke hissing against the ground. The puddle no longer resembled the muddy water it was composed of, but a window into another land, a cold, dark land. A face appeared out of the gloom, and Boriahs drew in a breath of relief. It was Cierryon, in his human form, not the demon god who controlled him. That meant Ciarrohn was at rest, and perhaps, he would avoid the god’s wrath today.
As the magic worked and the picture grew clearer, Boriahs took the time to study his king’s features. Golden brown hair, sprinkled with some gray, covered his head and fell to his shoulders. He looked to be approaching middle age, but the Crimson King’s servant knew better. Cierryon had stopped aging the day he’d struck that terrible bargain with the god of hatred. He had become immortal, a link, a puppet, for the god of death and despair. Without Cierryon’s consent, Ciarrohn would never have been able to consume him, to channel his vast power through the human king’s soul. Because of Cierryon’s greed and ambition, half the world had fallen to the dark god’s malice.
The water settled, and Boriahs shook himself free of his treasonous thoughts. If the Crimson King discovered how much his servant despised him, then Boriahs would be dead. Instead, he looked his Master in the eye, eyes that reflected the black pit where his soul used to be, the place where the demon god now lived.
“You have news for me, Boriahs,” the Tyrant said, his voice quiet, but resonant nonetheless.
It always made Boriahs shiver, for his king’s voice reflected everything he hid within. If anyone were to encounter Cierryon in his human form, they might not be able to discern just what he was if he remained silent. The moment he spoke, or the moment one looked him in the eye, however, would let them know what they dealt with. Boriahs had seen warrior elves and centaurs alike brought to their knees by a mere whisper from his Master’s lips.
Boriahs shook his head again and cleared his throat.
“I have,” he answered.
“Very well. You have kept me waiting long enough. I will hear what you have to report.”
And without any further delay, Boriahs told King Cierryon everything that had taken place since his last reporting. He told him of his attack and eradication of the dragon Hroombramantu and the interference of the dragon Jaax in the kidnapping of the human girl. He spoke of the corruption within the Coalition and his dealings with the dragon Shiroxx. He told him about the rumor that had been spread about the girl’s questionable heritage and how the same rumor had called the dragon Jaax’s competence into question. And reluctantly, he divulged how the girl and her dragon guardian had, once again, slipped through his fingers.
Boriahs finished his tale with his head bowed and his eyes closed, anticipating the blast of angry magic that would most assuredly come. He waited, and waited a few seconds longer, but there was no reaction. When he dared to open his eyes, what he saw terrified him to the point of utter speechlessness. The human face had changed, warping into the skeletal visage of a demon. Burning red eyes regarded him under a forest of wicked, black horns.
“You try my patience, slave,” Ciarrohn hissed, this voice deeper, harsher than Cierryon’s.
“Forgive me, my lord,” Boriahs rasped, lowering his gaze once again. “There are spies I know nothing of aiding the girl and the dragon. They were warned before I could move. My men and I were gathered around the outskirts of Lidien. A day more, two at the most, and we would have had them.”
The demon’s ire burned with rage, his slit nostrils flaring as black smoke poured from them. Boriahs felt his bare hands dig into the mud, his fingers curling into fists, trying to grab hold of something to keep from shaking. Frozen air drifted up from the puddle and curled around his body like a giant hand. The icy breath passed through his clothes and seeped into his skin, closing in on his heart. Boriahs gulped for breath and his heart sped up, fear and frost waging war on his senses.
“You are too valuable to me to kill,” Cierryon growled, the last traces of the demon god fading from his visage, “but do not think anything less than capturing the girl and that dragon will garner my forgiveness.”
Boriahs shook his head, his eyes wide with terror. “N-no, your Majesty. I would think not.”
Slowly, the ice receded only to be replaced with the prickling pain of warmth returning to his body.
“Do not report to me again until you have accomplished something worthy of my attention. That you did away with that bothersome dragon in Oescienne will grant you my peace for only so long, Boriahs,” the dark voice murmured as it faded away, the resonant tones echoing in Boriahs’ mind.
Gritting his teeth and taking deep, ragged breaths, the Tyrant’s slave fought against the intense nausea that resulted in these magical exchanges. He fought it, but lost out in the end. On wobbly legs, he stumbled over to a cluster of rocks and retched behind them. Once he was done with the unpleasant episode, Boriahs gathered some of the chilly water into his hands and cleaned his face. It would do him no good to return to his awaiting men looking like a beaten drunkard.
By the time he rejoined his small army in the wide meadow they’d camped in the night before, Boriahs was much more presentable. He had managed to scrape most of the mud from his uniform, and even his churning stomach and the pounding in his head had eased. Boriahs hesitated on announcing his return. Instead, he stood behind a screen of fir trees and simply observed the men below. All of them had pledged their souls to Ciarrohn and shared a level of combat skill which elevated them above the thousands of others who had joined under the Crimson King’s banner. But he was their high commander. He held power over all of them.
Boriahs almost snorted at the thought. Yes, he may be their superior, but it came at such a high price. Not one of them had any idea what it cost him to speak with their common Master. In fact, he envied them all, going about the morning in such a normal way: starting fires, brewing coffee and tea, cooking porridge and telling bawdy jokes. Some of them tended to the quahna, the fierce beasts they rode instead of horses. With the teeth of carnivores, sharp, cloven hooves and large, powerful bodies, these animals provided transportation as well as an aggressive edge over their equine cousins. It also meant they posed a danger to those who handled them as well.
As Boriahs studied the creatures, two pulled free of their handlers and lunged toward one another, screaming their violent rage. The Tyrant’s favored servant wrinkled his nose in disgust. It took ten of his men to pull them apart, and even then, he counted no less than seven of them clutching arms or abdomens where the monsters had managed a bite or a kick. Yes, having such creatures was hazardous, but it also meant no one stood in their way. The small legion had been very successful raiding towns and settlements as they headed north up the coast. Yet, not once did they stumble upon the dragon and the girl, nor find any evidence of their passing.
Boriahs curled his lip in irritation. For a year, the human girl and her dragon had hidden behind the magical barrier surrounding the City of Light. Even now, after receiving vital information from that red she-dragon and with the help of his dark mages, he could not find a way into the city. No matter. The dragon and the girl were gone, so it was time for him and his men to move on as well. They would clear out as soon as he gave the order, this time splitting into groups to comb the wilds more thoroughly. No more wandering aimlessly through the endless mountain chains of the west. Not now. The dragon Raejaaxorix and his ward were heading for Nimbronia, and there were only so many roads that led to the great city of the Creecemind. The girl and her companion had a few days head start, but they were traveling on foot and if Boriahs could keep his men moving at a steady pace, then they would catch up to them sooner rather than later.
Setting his jaw in determination, the Crimson King’s assassin peeled himself away from the trees and continued down into the clearing. Those who saw him right away stopped what they were doing and offered him a salute. He nodded, but kept walking. When he reached the center of the campground, he climbed atop the trunk of an old fallen tree and raised his arms, his black cloak billowing out behind him. By this time everyone had seen him, their attention now trained on their commander.
“Listen, all of you,” Boriahs called out, his deep voice ringing through the meadow. “I have spoken with our Master, and he is not pleased with our failure with regards to the Tanaan scum and that girl.”
A low, worried murmur spread through the crowd, but Boriahs kept one hand lifted high above his head. “Fret not, for he has given us another chance. He is pleased with those of us who took the initiative and eradicated the old Korli vermin in Oescienne,” he paused and nodded his head to those of his troupe who had been present for that honor. “So, we fall still within his favor.”
A small round of relieved sighs and short laughs arose from the crowd, but Boriahs shouted, “Silence! Any failure, no matter how minute, is not something to be celebrated. Yes, we managed to rid the world of one more filthy dragon, but that is a minor detail compared to the prize he seeks above all. We will not rest, nor will we rejoice, until the girl and the dragon are quivering at the feet of our Master!”
Silent nods met his words this time. Better. He took one long look at those standing below him before going on. Ten groups of fifteen, plus one commander to keep them in order as well as a dark mage for each faction to take care of that which sixteen ruthless killers couldn’t accomplish. And, he was the Master of them all. Boriahs savored the sense of smug satisfaction unfurling within him, but not for the first time, the feeling was quickly replaced by the sting of his Master’s presence. A reminder to him that he was still a slave.
“We must move quickly, if we wish to overtake them,” he called out. “They are headed for Nimbronia, and we must capture them before they reach their final destination.”
He knew, just as every single one of his men did, that if the dragon and the human should move within the boundaries of Nimbronia, they would be untouchable. The magic that surrounded the city of the Creecemind was even more powerful than the magic guarding Lidien.
“Let us not waste another minute. We will break camp and be on the road in half an hour.”
The men, most of them descended from the mixed races of humans and elves, gave shouts of agreement, all of them thirsty once again for battle and bloodshed. As they scattered about, taking heed of their commander’s words, Boriahs was joined by a waif of a man dressed head to foot in brilliant crimson robes. Like Boriahs, he sported the brand of the Tyrant on one cheek. Unlike Boriahs, he was a wielder of black magic, the sort that required a blood sacrifice.
“Armauld,” Boriahs growled under his breath.
The dark sorcerer grinned, revealing his decaying teeth, and hissed, “The dragon and the girl are not alone in their quest.”
Boriahs turned cold eyes onto the dark mage. “Who travels with them?”
Armauld shook his head, his grin fading. “One whom I cannot detect.”
Boriahs cursed. “Then how do you know of his presence?”
The mage held up a hand and moved his fingers in a small dance. An orb of white light floated above his fingertips and within its center floated two bright sparks, one green and one blue.
“The dragon and the girl,” the mage whispered, indicating the two sparks.
Boriahs was about to strike the mage for wasting his time when something odd caught his attention. It wasn’t so much the presence of anything, but the fact that the two sparks came to a standstill, and in the next breath, the blue dot winked out for a split second before flaring back to life again. Then, the two dots began moving once more.
“Why did the spark blot out?” the high commander demanded.
“A third companion,” the mage sneered. “Someone capable of using very powerful cloaking magic.”
Boriahs gave him a look of impatience, so the mage continued on. “This person who travels with them is an extremely powerful mage. And he is using magic I’ve not seen in several hundred years.”
This time, Boriahs swore loud enough to startle the closest soldiers scurrying around him. He glared at them and barked a reminder that what they didn’t have packed in twenty minutes would be left behind.
“What does this mean, Armauld? Who is this phantom mage?”
This time, the dark sorcerer had the decency to forego his smug expression and replace it with a worried one. “I do not know, High Commander. But, we best not underestimate this dragon and the human girl. Or, the company they keep.”
Grinding his teeth together, Boriahs dismissed Armauld and continued walking briskly to the makeshift stables. His quahna was saddled and waiting for him, the largest of the beasts and as black as soot. The animal, naturally excitable and giving the men holding him as much trouble as a herd of enraged boars, flared its nostrils and calmed upon Boriahs’ approach.
Murmuring soothing words, the army’s high commander rubbed the animal’s forehead affectionately. Funny how he had so much trouble connecting with others of his kind, but this vicious beast behaved so well for him.
“There now, Andor,” he crooned. “I know you are eager to seek out your prey, but you must allow me to get settled on your back first.”
The beast squealed and snorted, slashing its hoof at the ground. Everyone, save for Boriahs, backed away. Taking the reins firmly, the squadron’s leader placed a boot in the stirrup and gracefully mounted the beast, throwing his dark cloak over the quahna’s hindquarters. The animal only protested a bit before Boriahs had him under control.
“To your own steeds!” he shouted.
Everyone scrambled to follow his orders, and soon, all one hundred and seventy of them were moving, their quahna screaming and snapping their sharp teeth at the excitement of a new hunt.
Boriahs waited for all of his men to move out before following after them. Armauld, as well as a few of the other squadron leaders and mages, fell back with him as their sights pointed north. A gust of frigid spring wind curled down the mountainside as they left the meadow in their wake. Boriahs shivered at the cool air moving through his hair and sending his cloak billowing out behind him. But the wind’s icy bite failed to bother him as he led his troops deeper into the mountains, their will set on capturing a Tanaan dragon and the young woman who, with the simple power of her existence, sought to change the world.
A shower of sparks rained down upon a nest of waiting kindling as Jahrra struggled to get a fire going. The icy sting of a single drop of precipitation hit the back of her neck and slid down her collar. Soon, others of its kind joined in, managing to break through the dense canopy of evergreens above to dampen the branches she was trying so desperately to set aflame. With renewed vigor, Jahrra struck her spare knife against the flint again and again, hoping to outrun the weather.
“Drat,” she muttered between clenched teeth. She wanted to pull the hood of her jacket up over her head, but it was more important to get the fire going first.
“Can I assist?”
Jahrra cried out and fell backward onto her rump. Growling with irritation, she glared up at the tall elf standing before her. In the few weeks they’d been on the road, she had yet to hear Ellyesce’s approach. He was as silent as a ghost and just as unnerving as one, too.
“I’ve almost got it,” she grumbled, climbing back to her feet and brushing off her pants. She reached for the knife and flint that had fallen out of her hands, then turned back toward the cold fire pit only to find the damp wood engulfed in a yellow blaze.
Jahrra glanced up at Ellyesce and blinked in surprise as the flames dancing on his fingertips slowly flickered out.
“Thank you,” she said in a begrudging tone.
She wasn’t all that grateful, truth be told. She really had been determined to get the fire going on her own. But no, Ellyesce had to step in with his elusive elvin magic and do the job for her. Even though her guardian clearly trusted this elf, Jahrra remained steadfast in her own doubts. He was too silent, too observant and far too mysterious for her liking. He’d arrived on their doorstep the night before their departure from Lidien, and despite having traveled together for several days, she had not yet warmed up to him. Not in the least.
Huffing out a breath of frustration, Jahrra pulled her jacket more tightly about her body and plopped down on a fallen tree limb to watch the fire dance and spit against the drizzling sky.
“Troubled thoughts?”
Ellyesce had receded back into his general quiet, so his voice startled her a bit. She glanced over at the elf, now leaning against a tree, his head and face hidden by the hood of his cloak. A few yards away, the horses whickered and shook rainwater from their necks. Jahrra cast a quick glance at Phrym, her marble grey semequin. Despite his unicorn lineage, he was much taller than his mother’s race and lacked the tell-tale horn protruding from his forehead. Nevertheless, he seemed well enough and looked to be in the same gloomy mood as she. Jahrra turned back to Ellyesce and shrugged.
“Of course not. Any eighteen year old girl would love to be sitting out in the wilderness, beneath a looming rainstorm, with an aloof elf for company.”
To her surprise, Jahrra’s sarcasm was met with amusement. Ellyesce barked out a small laugh, then turned his head so that he might see her. Jahrra’s eyes widened. Was that an actual smile on his face?
“I imagine you are not like any other girl your age,” was his jocund answer.
Jahrra bit her lip. She couldn’t argue with him there.
Taking advantage of the elf’s genial mood, Jahrra shrugged and replied, “No, I don’t suppose I am. However, this would be much more pleasant if it weren’t raining, or if we could be sitting in a nice, cozy cave instead. With plenty of good books to read.”
She couldn’t even draw in her sketchbook, what with the current damp weather. That, at least, would have given her something to do.
Ellyesce took a great breath and resettled his arms across his chest. He lifted his head and pointed it away from their campsite. “Perhaps Jaax will find a cave on his scouting mission.”
Jahrra didn’t think so, but she could always hope. Jaax had been gone longer than his customary hour, so maybe Ellyesce was right. She wondered if her dragon guardian had found any threats, and perhaps that was the reason for his delay. Jahrra clenched her teeth and willed herself not to worry. During their expedition north, her dragon guardian often left them for an hour at a time, three times a day, to make sure they weren’t being followed and to check that the road ahead was clear. Despite taking a more roundabout way to Nimbronia, the road they traveled was a wide one. It had to be, what with a dragon in their company. But they had been lucky so far to meet no one along the way. After all, it was only early spring, and winter still clung fiercely to the mountains. Most travelers and tradesmen would wait until later in the season to cross the peaks with their goods. And there was also the rumor that the Crimson King’s men had quietly infiltrated the Hruhnan Range, seeking out the human girl said to be residing in the great city of Lidien.
Jahrra shivered, but this time not from the cold damp that soaked into her clothes. It was an unnerving feeling, knowing that you were being hunted. Fortunately, she, Ellyesce and Jaax had managed to slip out of the city before the wolves could descend. Now, they just had to outrun them.
“Yours is a hard life, young Jahrra. I am sorry for it,” Ellyesce murmured from across the struggling fire, startling Jahrra a little.
She suddenly felt ashamed of her complaints from earlier.
“Life is hard for many,” she replied in a sober tone, then added with what she hoped was a nonchalant grin, “why should it be any easier for me?”
Ellyesce smiled, his teeth flashing from beneath his dark hood. “Aye, I won’t deny that. But for some of us, it is doubly hard.”
Jahrra cocked her head to the side. That sounded a little too familiar to her, as if the elf had survived his fair share of heartache and suffering. She would have contemplated it longer, perhaps asked him about it, but the beat of a dragon’s wings signaled Jaax’s return.
Jahrra released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and craned her neck to peer over the large boulders just behind her. In a nearby clearing, a large green, turquoise and copper scaled dragon was tucking his wings in close to his body. He lifted his head, his nostrils flaring as he tested the air for danger, before turning his silvery green eyes onto the partially hidden campsite. He regarded Ellyesce, and the two nodded a casual greeting to one another. Still, Jaax didn’t move. His eyes grazed the rest of the site, as if seeking something out. Jahrra stood, putting her back to the fire and rising above the boulder that blocked her from view. The dragon’s attention focused on her, and those hard eyes softened a little, the grim cut to his reptilian mouth relaxing ever so slightly.
Some of the tension in Jahrra’s body drained; relief at seeing her guardian safe and sound. It wasn’t too long ago, however, that she would have scowled at his return instead. All throughout her childhood, Jaax had been the bane of her existence. Well, one of the banes of her existence at least. When he was around, it was always business, in the learn-how-to-swim-by-jumping-right-in sense. He had never been gentle with her when it came to her training, and only in the last year or so had he finally given her a little more room to breathe. But now that they were on the road again, out in the wild where death could come from any direction, he’d taken up his old role of the domineering, overly protective mentor she remembered from her childhood.
Jahrra crossed her arms and inclined her chin. “Did you think I’d wandered off?” she asked, more humor in her voice than irritation.
The corner of the dragon’s mouth curved up ever so slightly. “That’s always a concern of mine, Jahrra,” he responded in kind.
Jaax stepped forward, fallen branches breaking under his weight. When he reached the edge of the clearing, right before the land dropped down into their little resting place, he curled his toes over the boulder Jahrra had used as a backrest of sorts. She always forgot Jaax’s potential for violence, until she saw those claws. She studied them now, and the scaly fingers they were attached to. On one was the ring she’d purchased for him as a Solsticetide gift earlier that year. A beautifully crafted piece fashioned from augrim, a rare, silvery gold metal. The ring was set with a cut spirit stone, a magical gem derived from her blood. Jahrra still couldn’t say what had possessed her to commission such a gift for this gruff, enigmatic guardian of hers, but the fact that Jaax never took it off warmed her. She chose to view it as a peace offering of sorts, just as the scale hanging from the chain around her neck had been the dragon’s extension of common comradeship.
Before she could let her mind conjure up any more memories from her past, Jahrra cleared her throat and asked, “So, did you find anything on your scouting mission?”
Jaax shook his head slightly and made to lie down in the clearing, his great reptilian form barely fitting between the stones and trees.
“Evidence that the Tyrant’s men had passed through, but all heading toward Lidien.”
Jahrra worried her bottom lip, and Jaax cast his cold gaze onto the fire. They had friends in Lidien, and the Coalition would be a target if the Crimson King’s men managed to penetrate the magical borders of the city. Jahrra could only hope that the magic held.
“Is there any safe way to draw their attention away from the city?” Ellyesce asked.
Jaax lowered his head and drew in a deep breath through his nose, releasing it quickly. He shook his head slowly.
“Too much distance separates us, and the last thing I want to do is give away our location.”
He gave Jahrra a quick look, the sort of look she had grown accustomed to during their year spent in Lidien. She lowered her own eyes, trying not to think about Torrell, Senton and Dathian, her three closest friends in the City of Light. She tried not to imagine what might happen to Anthar and his family, or Neira, the housekeeper who had been her ally and companion on so many occasions, if the soldiers breached Lidien’s borders. And she tried very hard not to think about Kellhor, the golden Tanaan dragon with no memory of his past who had become a good friend as well. The very dragon who now held Jaax’s old position as head of the Coalition of Ethoes.
In an attempt to seek comfort from her stray thoughts, Jahrra absentmindedly clutched at her wrist, her fingers brushing against the wooden beaded bracelet she found there. Carved from wood harvested from the sacred trees of Ethoes, the bracelet had been a gift from her defense trainers. Like her best friends Gieaun and Scede, Viornen and Yaraa were a world, and a lifetime it seemed, away from her now. She only hoped they remained safe and out of the Tyrant’s reach back in Oescienne.
Dashing away those forlorn thoughts, Jahrra shifted her fingers from the warm, wooden beads to the cool, smooth gems decorating the other bracelet she wore. But the beads on this trinket were no ordinary jewels. They were spirit stones, like the one in Jaax’s ring, but these ones were unique to the people who had created the bracelet for her. A gift from those friends she’d left behind in Lidien. In a way, having their spirit stones was like having them nearby; their strength and support readily available should her courage falter along this uncertain path.
“All we can do is continue on our current course and hope to stay clear of the enemy,” Jaax was saying. “And hope they lose interest in Lidien.”
Jahrra left her stray thoughts behind and glanced up at her guardian, sparing him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. She knew the dragon had many friends in Lidien, the majority of whom were active members in the Coalition. Although she didn’t care what happened to the traitorous Shiroxx and her companion, Rohdann, she did care what happened to the others.
“Now,” Jaax barked with a sudden shift in mood, “are we going to spend all afternoon sitting out in this gloomy weather?”
The green Tanaan’s wicked grin was a rare display of good humor. Ellyesce arched a dark brow and turned his pale gaze upon Jahrra. All she could do was shrug.
“Come, let us leave this place,” the dragon continued, standing up and shaking like a dog. Streams of water flew from his leathery wings and drenched their make-shift camp.
Jahrra stood and gasped, flicking icy droplets from her fingers. She frowned at the charred, smoking wood that had once been a small, but warm fire. So much for any chance of keeping the chill at bay. She narrowed her eyes and glared at her guardian.
“Do you know how long it took to get that fire going?” she demanded, one fist pressed to her hip, the other gesturing toward the smoking fire pit.
Jaax only grinned, a glint of something mischievous in his eyes.
“Cheer up, Jahrra. I’ll build you a new one once we get to the cave.”
Jahrra forgot her ire and looked to Ellyesce. The elf’s usual grim face held a slight smile.
Jaax stepped back toward the clearing above, squeezing between his ward and his elvin companion.
“I spotted it about a mile up the trail,” he threw over his shoulder. “It’s large enough for all of us to fit, even me and the horses.”
Jahrra beamed. Well, that was good news indeed.
“I consider it a gift from Ethoes herself,” the dragon said, “because there is a larger storm brewing in the west and heading this way. It should reach these mountains by nightfall. That gives us plenty of time to settle in and get a real fire going.”
Jahrra wasn’t entirely certain, but she thought she heard a small snort from Ellyesce as the two of them eagerly left the small hollow place behind and headed for the horses. Phrym, as always, was pleased by Jahrra’s attention and so was Gliriant, Ellyesce’s white horse, by the looks of it. Jahrra still hadn’t decided if the elf’s mount was a semequin, like Phrym, or just an ordinary horse. She supposed he was. He was tall and lean, but well-muscled like Phrym. And he seemed to be just as loyal to the elf as her semequin was to her. Gliriant also exuded a bright intelligence whenever she looked into his dark eyes, an acute awareness she’d only ever seen in Phrym.
Like obedient soldiers, Jahrra and Ellyesce followed Jaax farther up the mountain, sticking to the rocky trail that was narrow in some places and wide in others. Oftentimes, Jaax had to maneuver his massive body between the ancient and sturdy pine trees that frequented this part of the world. Along the way, the freezing, light rain which had been pestering them all morning receded into a cold drizzle, then stopped altogether.
“The calm before the storm,” Jaax murmured, nodding his head toward the west.
Beyond the endless mountain peaks, Jahrra spied what he was talking about. Huge, dark clouds piled on top of one another like a raucous horde, hurtling over the mountains in their race to reach the next range. Already, brilliant white and pink streaks of lightning crackled across the sky, a beautiful yet deadly display of nature’s power.
“How much farther is that cave?” Ellyesce asked from somewhere behind Jahrra.
“Not too far,” the dragon answered.
Jahrra took that information with a grain of salt. ‘Not too far’ could be anywhere between a hundred feet and a few miles, but it turned out, in this case, it was a much shorter distance than what she had anticipated.
The trio crested one more rise before the trail widened out and sloped back down into a small, secluded canyon. A narrow ribbon of water trickled across the relatively flat space before gravity carried it farther down the mountain side. A few dozen yards in from the edge of the small fall, and well hidden by a mix of conifers and deciduous trees alike, was the entrance to a dark cavern. Jahrra gaped in amazement. Jaax had been right. This cave, if it was even twice as deep as it was tall, would very easily fit all of them.
“Will no one think to check this cavern for us?” Ellyesce asked quietly.
Jaax shook his head. “It is unlikely. This road we take is not the main one connecting the mountain cities, and only a fool would be traveling with that storm approaching.”
He turned around and grinned at both of them. Jahrra only curled her lip and inclined her eyebrows. Well, if he was calling them fools, he was calling himself a fool as well. Regardless of Jaax’s meaning, Jahrra was glad to know they would be safe in this new haven, at least for the night.
The dragon started forward again just as a gentle breeze rustled the leaves and branches of the trees above.
“Jahrra, Ellyesce, take the horses inside. I’ll look for some fire wood.”
Jahrra nodded and dismounted Phrym, leading him toward the gaping mouth of their sanctuary.
“I’ll go first,” Ellyesce murmured, pulling his own horse and Rumble, the large bay gelding loaded with their gear, past her.
Jahrra wanted to bristle, but it was smart to let the elf lead. He had some magical abilities, after all, and would probably be able to search for danger without risking discovery, or injury.
When Ellyesce’s all-clear echoed back out to her, Jahrra encouraged Phrym forward. She trusted Ellyesce’s judgment in this, but when Phrym gave no protest, she felt even more confident about the safety of this place.
The cave, not surprisingly, was almost bone-chillingly cold and smelled of damp, ancient stone. She and Phrym stepped into the darkness, and Jahrra wondered how they would find their way around without torches. As if reading her thoughts, Ellyesce conjured up a mage light, a glowing ball of pale blue luminescence floating just above his fingertips. This was the magic Jahrra had grown used to in the past few weeks, this subtle yet unnerving power. Yes, she knew magic existed. After all, it was her own race, the human race, who’d been transformed into dragons because of a magical curse cast five centuries ago. She’d caught small glimpses of sorcery in Lidien as well, and had even experienced it in the company of the Mystic, Archedenaeh.
A twinge of sadness pierced Jahrra’s heart at the memory of Denaeh, the strange woman she’d befriended as a child in Oescienne. Not a witch living in the Black Swamp, waiting to devour the next child who ignorantly wandered into her domain, as local legend had claimed, but a Mystic, a powerful woman blessed with the gift of far seeing. She had followed them to Lidien, even though her guardian had no love for the woman. Jahrra hadn’t seen her since just before they left, and she secretly added Denaeh’s name to the list of people she hoped were still safe within that great city.
“We’ll have to rely on this until Jaax returns,” Ellyesce commented, indicating the sphere of light floating just out of reach of his fingertips.
Jahrra nodded grimly and strained her eyes to see into the darkness that disappeared deeper into the cavern. And she tried very hard not to think about the types of creatures that might be lurking just out of the light’s reach.
“I’m going to wait closer by the entrance,” she said, reaching into Phrym’s saddle bag and pulling out her journal and a pencil.
“Don’t sit too close to the opening. The storm’s still a ways off, but lightning has a far reach, especially up here in the mountains,” Ellyesce answered, wrapping his cloak more securely about himself as he found a worn-down stalagmite to sit on.
Jahrra waved a hand and strode the remaining fifty feet or so to where the filtered sunlight made it possible to see. Mimicking Ellyesce, she found a flat-topped rock to use as a seat. Peeling her journal open with care, she spread the well-loved tome out upon her lap and carefully leafed through the pages. She’d had the small book for years, adding drawings and thoughts to it as they came to her. Lately, she’d been spending time sketching. The last several pages had been filled up with all of the unfamiliar plants and animals she’d seen since leaving Lidien. Jahrra smiled as she traced her fingers over the intricate antlers of a small-footed rhoon, the pointed ears and long, rabbit-like legs of a memmit, or the beautiful spots of her personal favorite, a Saem River water cat. The river cats fascinated Jahrra because although they were considered mammals, they made their nests in trees and laid eggs. A rare sighting even along the river they were named for, water cats were shy and scarce. When she had reported the sighting to Jaax, he had raised a skeptical brow and suggested it was most likely something else. But Jahrra had been certain. Now, she worked hard to remember the details of the creature, so she could include them all in her drawing.
Jahrra remained at the cave’s entrance until Jaax returned nearly an hour later with enough firewood to last them a week. By then, the sound of the thunder had grown deeper, like a giant rising from a nap only to grumble about his aching joints. The clouds, too, had proved their determination to cross the wide valley separating their range from the one just to the west. Soon, it was almost too dark to see.
“Perfect timing,” Jahrra piped, snapping her journal shut and standing up to stretch. She should not have sat cross-legged for so long atop the boulder, but there was nothing she could do about it now.
Ellyesce unfolded himself from his cloak and stepped forward, conjuring another mage light.
Once Jaax had one of the great logs positioned where he wanted it, he breathed a great emerald flame over the damp wood until it caught. The low fire that resulted didn’t add much light to the cave right away, but at least it heated the frigid air.
Jahrra sighed in delight as the flames worked to chase the ice from her fingers.
“I didn’t think I’d ever be warm again,” she breathed.
Jaax only snorted while Ellyesce smiled, extinguishing his mage light for good as the flames grew and brightened.
The Tanaan dragon used his fire once more to blast away the dampness from the floor. As soon as there was dry earth beneath their feet, Ellyesce and Jahrra worked to lay out their sleeping blankets. Jahrra chose a spot as close to the fire as possible and stretched out. She really should offer to help make the meal for her and Ellyesce, but she was so tired that even her growling stomach couldn’t encourage her to get up.
“I’ll see to the dinner,” Ellyesce finally murmured.
A pang of guilt swept through Jahrra, and she rolled over on her bedroll.
“Let me help,” she started, placing one hand against the ground to push herself up. The elf held up a finger and gave a slight shake of his head.
“No, you rest. I can manage.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but Jaax gave her a hard look. Not having the energy to argue with him, Jahrra released a huff of breath and plopped back down. Not for the first time since Ellyesce had wandered into their lives, did she wonder about his presence and his relationship with regards to her guardian.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Jahrra drew upon the memory of waking up one night only to spy the elf moving across the hilltop towards Jaax’s house. She had been out of bed without anyone’s knowledge, and she’d overheard part of the conversation shared between the two. Only problem was, the exchange had been spoken in another language, but not in Kruelt. The dragons’ language she knew well enough, but whatever her guardian and his strange midnight visitor had discussed was unknown to her. The following days had been even stranger. Jaax had fallen back on his old habits, becoming the domineering, cold dragon she had remembered from her earlier years. There had been a tightness about him, an ever watchfulness with regards to his elvin friend. Jahrra had wondered exactly how the two knew each other and why Ellyesce made Jaax so uneasy. Her guardian seemed to be glad of the elf’s presence, but it was a forced gladness, in the manner a subject must be gracious in paying homage to a sovereign they did not particularly like.
Shaking her head and trying not to let it bother her, Jahrra decided that after dinner, she could help clean up. While she waited, she lay back down to rest her eyes a bit. Only, when she opened them again it was already late into the night. Just in front of her, the embers of the fire had died down to mere sparks, the heat not as intense as before. For a moment, Jahrra wondered if the cold had woken her, but upon further inspection of her surroundings, she realized she wasn’t cold. She turned over to peer out of the cavern entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse of lightning, but something huge and dark mostly blotted out the sky. Jahrra almost screamed. Some monster, the master of this cave perhaps, had returned to its home only to find it overrun with a small troupe of travelers. But then the shape took in a great breath, letting it out with a flicker of emerald flame. Jahrra mimicked the shadow and sighed with relief, her heart rate slowing. It was only Jaax, guarding the entrance to the cave. Of course.
Feeling ridiculous, Jahrra turned over and tried to go back to sleep. The rumble of thunder and the rush of a gust of wind rippling through the trees outside reminded her of the perilous journey that awaited her. So turbulent and uncertain. Not the best thoughts to have while trying to fall asleep. Sighing again, Jahrra tried to focus on something else. The soft whiffle of horses breathing echoed strangely in the cavern, and she wondered what Phrym and his companions might be dreaming about. Hopefully, warm, green meadows and a long stretch of open land to race across. Jahrra smiled, but even those images didn’t help her much.
As she waited for the darkness to take over, she peered across the smoldering coals and caught a glimpse of Ellyesce, an indiscernible shape lying still on the other side of the fire. She thought once again about the strange elf who had so abruptly stumbled into their lives. She recalled his haggard appearance and his frantic exchange of odd words with Jaax. And most of all, she wondered why, from the moment she had seen him in full light, he had seemed so familiar to her.
Thoughts to ponder during the long hours of daylight travel, she told herself. Now, you must sleep. With the not so distant grumble of thunder echoing across the mountaintops, and the occasional crackle and pop of a hot coal nearby, Jahrra finally let go of her tumultuous musings and drifted off to sleep.
For two days, Jahrra, Ellyesce and Jaax stayed put in their cavern. The storm, having reached their side of the mountain that first evening, raged on, pelting the landscape with lightning, wind, rain, and at times, hail. By midday on the second day of their retreat, Jahrra was ready to leave, storm or not. She couldn’t imagine staying much longer without losing her mind to boredom. Her sketchbook and other volumes only held her attention for so long, and she was dying to get away from the clinging darkness of the cave.
On the morning of the third day, the travelers woke up to sheets of sleet that gradually turned to snow. Jahrra groaned and raked her fingers through her hair in aggravation.
Jaax, displaying the frustratingly calm patience only a dragon possessed, gave her a dubious look.
“Will this weather never cease?” she complained wearily.
“Eventually,” the dragon commented, “but likely not today, or the next. I anticipate at least two more days of captivity.”
Jahrra glared at him. His voice had a chipper note to it, and she couldn’t tell, for the life of her, why.
“Because the longer we stay hidden in here,” he answered when she asked, “the more likely the Crimson King’s men will grow weary traipsing through the snow. Besides,” he added with a sniff, “the snow itself will cover any tracks we’ve left behind. The weather, though foul, is a godsend.”
Jahrra didn’t completely agree with him. True, the snow covered their tracks, and yes, only someone who was mad would be out looking for them in this mess. The problem was, the Crimson King was mad and the longer they stayed in one place, the more likely their enemy’s servants would find them, in her opinion. However, she knew better than to start an argument with her guardian. Especially when they were confined to a small space together, and she had nowhere to escape to should the conversation grow as unpleasant as the weather.
Apparently done with their discussion, Jaax curled his neck around his body and proceeded to take a nap. He’d stayed up the entire night before to keep watch, despite his claim they were well hidden from scouts and spies. The storm had blustered on, dumping enough snow in the doorway to nearly block it completely. Jahrra wrinkled her nose at the wall of snow and reconsidered her earlier musings. Perhaps, the cave would be difficult to locate in the aftermath of last night’s blizzard, after all.
Jahrra stood and moved to sit closer to the cave’s clogged entrance. She crossed her legs and placed an elbow on one knee, setting her chin in her hand. In all honesty, she didn’t mind resting for a few days more. Despite being in shape from her sword practice with her friends back in Lidien, she had grown unaccustomed to long-distance traveling, and her achy muscles appreciated a break. She just wished she wasn’t so bored. She’d added all the details to the animals she’d seen and sketched on their journey so far, Phrym had been brushed and pampered so thoroughly his coat gleamed like silver, and she had read all of the stories in the books she’d brought along with her.
Just as Jahrra stood to polish her sword, for the fourth time, Ellyesce made an appearance at her side. She yelped and almost fell from her boulder. Gods and goddesses of Ethoes, why must he keep sneaking up on her? The elf didn’t seem to notice her agitation, however. He crouched down and pulled a box from somewhere in his cloak and held it out. Jahrra eyed it with suspicion.
“What’s that?” she asked, taking deep breaths to slow her racing heart.
Ellyesce simply grinned, the only feature visible from beneath his hood. “Astral cards,” he responded.
“Huh?” Jahrra said.
Ellyesce settled himself on a rock next to Jahrra and carefully cracked open the lid. He held the box out to her, and she peered inside. Stacked neatly together was a pile of paper cards, slightly yellowed with age, but otherwise, in good shape.
Intrigued, Jahrra lifted a hand, wanting to pick them up and look at them. Her fingers froze before touching the topmost card, however. Clearly, these cards were treasured by their owner.
“Go ahead,” Ellyesce encouraged. “There is an ancient magical charm cast upon them that keeps them safe from normal wear and tear.”
Jahrra gave him a dubious look, but shrugged and gently lifted the first card. The back consisted of a beautifully crafted design of thorny vines and red flowers, bloodroses she realized, set against a parchment with what looked like Kruelt writing on it. She narrowed her eyes and tried to make out what the words said, but the letters were small and covered in some places by the flower motif.
When she flipped the card over, Jahrra couldn’t help but smile a little. On two opposing corners of the card there was a small floral symbol. The face was pale green in color, and the center featured a pattern of stars with a faded dragon superimposed over it. The word Traagien was printed in an archaic, flowing script on the lower right, and likewise in the upper left, but written upside down. Jahrra realized why when she rotated the card around.
“May I?” Ellyesce asked, reaching out a hand.
Jahrra placed the card in his palm.
“Ah, the Dragon in spring. A very good card. Only the signs of magic could beat him.”
Jahrra quirked an eyebrow, and Ellyesce smiled, pulling his hood away from his face.
“How would you like to learn how to read and play Astral cards?”
Jahrra blinked. A game? Ellyesce was going to teach her how to play a game? She nearly salivated at the idea. Finally, something new to drive away her boredom!
She smiled brightly. “I would love to learn how to play.”
“Good,” Ellyesce chuckled and scooped up the rest of the cards. “These have been resting in Gliriant’s saddle bags for far too long now.”
He began laying the cards out on the floor between them, with the bloodrose image face down. Jahrra’s eyes widened with interest. Each card displayed a picture of a star pattern with a name. Some of them were green with that flower symbol she’d seen on her card, others were blue with snowflakes adorning each corner or red with leaves. She recognized a few of the star patterns, but several were only vaguely familiar to her. After a while, the patterns on the cards repeated, only the color of their backgrounds changing.
By the time he was finished, Ellyesce had made five rows. Four of the rows included sixteen cards each, while one of the rows, the cards that were purple in color, only contained four cards. The elf took a few minutes to explain the basics of the game to Jahrra, pointing out the different colors, symbols and constellations featured on each card and telling her the value of each one. The values changed depending on the color of the card and the symbol featured in the corners. Jahrra listened carefully, and after a few test runs practicing a few different versions of the game, Ellyesce invited her to try her hand without his help.
For the next handful of hours, Jahrra played Astral cards with Ellyesce. They went at a slow pace, the elf giving his human companion time to study each card in her hand; to decide its worth and its value compared to the others. For the first few rounds, Jahrra struggled, placing her cards in the wrong order against Ellyesce’s. Every now and then, they would switch the strategy of the game and before long Jahrra found she was able to keep up with less trouble than before.
When they both grew tired of the game, Ellyesce scooped up the cards and carefully tucked them back into their wooden box as if they were made of paper-thin glass.
Not for the first time, Jahrra wondered where he had gotten them, so she asked.
The elf grew suddenly still and slowly looked up at her. Jahrra hadn’t noticed before, but throughout the game, his customary hard, obdurate features had softened, the coldness in his eyes yielding to warmth. The lines around his mouth had disappeared, and his pale complexion had gained some color. But now, those lines and that ice was back. And some deep-imbedded instinct told Jahrra the Astral cards, and her question, had something to do with it.
Ellyesce relaxed his posture a little, then closed the lid to the box and gently tucked it into a pocket of his cloak.
“Astral cards can no longer be found in Ethoes, or they can’t easily be found,” he commented drily, his tone oddly detached.
So that explained why she had never seen or heard of them before.
“Why?”
The elf sighed and ran a hand through his long, dark hair. “Because of what they stand for.”
Jahrra leaned back against her boulder and considered him.
Ellyesce let out another breath and mimicked her. “Astral cards were invented by the Korli race of dragons, specifically to teach the human race about the stars and their importance. You see, Ethoes gifted her world with the stars so that no matter how dismal life became, we would always have some evidence of her guidance and inspiration. Furthermore, the stars and the constellations tell the stories and the history of our world. The cards became a very popular game shortly after their creation, but when the Crimson King rose to power in the east, he sought to destroy everything having to do with Ethoes. Except for the bloodrose, of course.”
Jahrra interrupted, repeating something she’d learned as a child. “The flower’s habit of sprouting over a battlefield holds great appeal to him.”
Ellyesce nodded. “Precisely. He views it as a symbol glorifying death and bloodshed.”
“But to Ethoes, the rose symbolizes that blood is the essence of life and that new beginnings can arise from sacrifice,” Jahrra put in.
Ellyesce smiled and tilted his head at her in agreement. Shortly after, he continued, “The cards remained popular after the fall of the Tanaan humans, but once the Tyrant learned of this, he had them destroyed. Not too many sets survived, and no one has bothered to create them once again. Perhaps, one day, they will make a comeback, when the Crimson King no longer threatens the people of Ethoes with his poisonous hatred.”
Jahrra shuddered. That only made her think of her purpose in this world and that wasn’t something she wanted to dwell upon at the moment. She cleared her throat.
“So, where did you get your cards then?”
Again, the elf hesitated, his entire demeanor retreating to some faraway place. The past, most likely, because his eyes grew so distant. Not for the first time, Jahrra wondered just how old Ellyesce was. Hundreds of years? Thousands? Had he been alive when the Crimson King rose to power? When human beings, her kind, had still existed in this world?
When he finally spoke again, his voice was so quiet she almost missed his words.
“A dear friend gave me the cards,” he said. Ellyesce drew in a deep breath and released it. “Someone who was lost to me long ago.”
Now that was a rather depressing, and intriguing, thing to say. Before Jahrra could come up with an appropriate comment, or think of a way to ask the elf more without insulting or upsetting him further, Jaax stirred from his nap.
The dragon blinked inquisitively in their direction.
“So,” he asked after a great yawn. “How did the two of you keep yourselves occupied while I slept?”
Ellyesce turned, brightening a little. Gone was the melancholy elf and back was her cheerful card playing companion. The way he could switch from dismal to chipper in the blink of an eye was enough to make Jahrra dizzy. And suspicious. Anyone who was able to mask their emotions that quickly, and that drastically, wasn’t someone she would normally trust. Only because of her guardian’s faith in this elf did she even bother trying.
Someday, I’ll figure you out, and figure out why my subconscious insists I know you from somewhere, she told herself. Then, I can truly start trusting you for your own sake, and not my guardian’s.
“I’ve been teaching Jahrra how to play Astral cards,” Ellyesce said, answering Jaax’s question.
Did Jahrra imagine it, or had that been discontent flashing in her guardian’s eyes?
“Astral cards?” he asked, his tone wary. “Where on Ethoes did you find a set of Astral cards? They were outlawed and destroyed several hundred years ago.”
“This set was gifted to me before that time, and I have been careful to keep them safe.”
Jaax furrowed his brow and tilted his head, studying the elf the way he sometimes studied Jahrra when he suspected her of lying. Jahrra knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of that look, but she said nothing. Instead, she watched the two of them, the dragon clearly trying to enforce his will upon his friend, the elf taking it in stride.
Finally, Jaax drew in a breath and addressed Ellyesce in that strange language she had heard them use before. Although Jahrra had no idea what was being said, Jaax’s tone clearly expressed his irritation.
Ellyesce crossed his arms and replied, his own tone stubborn and harsh. Their argument lasted less than two minutes, all the while Jahrra stood glancing between them, wondering what on Ethoes had caused the sudden friction. Why was Jaax so peeved? It was just a card game. He couldn’t possibly be worried about anyone finding the cards on them. After all, if they were captured by the Crimson King’s men, a set of banned playing cards would be the least of their worries.
“Do as you will,” Jaax growled, speaking in the common tongue once again, “but think about what I said.”
Ellyesce gave a terse nod.
“Understood,” he replied, shortly before turning on his heel and heading back toward the horses.
“Is there a problem?” Jahrra asked her guardian.
Jaax regarded her with his silvery green eyes, a lingering hint of unease, as always, the most prominent emotion residing there. He let out a breath tinged with smoke, then pinched the space between his eyes with his scaly fingers.
“Nothing for you to be concerned about,” he murmured.
“Was it about the cards?”
Jaax shook his head and gave a wry grin. “Yes and no,” he replied.
Jahrra continued to stare at him, but his attempt at ignoring her was short lived.
“It’s not the cards themselves,” he eventually said, a slight growl to his tone, “but the history behind them.”
“A history you can’t share with me,” his ward deduced.
Jaax only lifted his eyebrows a fraction of an inch in response.
Irritation prickled at Jahrra’s nerves, but she brushed it aside. Instead, she said, “In the future, I’d appreciate you talking about such things elsewhere and not right in front of me. Even if you are using a language I can’t understand, it’s rude.”
Jahrra sniffed and headed over to check on Phrym. When she approached the horses, she noticed that Ellyesce had strung his longbow and removed the quiver from the pile of their traveling bags.
“I’m going out to hunt for game,” he said simply.
Although the snow seemed to have finally stopped falling, Jahrra very much doubted he would find anything wandering about. In fact, she imagined the only reason he was going out at all was to get some fresh air and perhaps some separation from her guardian. She was half tempted to ask to join him, but she of all people could tell when someone wished to spend some time alone.
Jahrra grabbed her journal from Phrym’s saddle bag and walked over to where Jaax was still reclining.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
Jahrra nodded, and her guardian proceeded to roll a log into their charred fire pit before breathing emerald flames over it.
Jahrra huddled in closer to the heat of the welcome flames and cracked open her journal. She flipped back to almost the beginning where she had drawn crude images of the constellations so long ago. The memory of sitting in the Castle Guard Ruin and listening to Hroombra tell her stories as she tried to get the stars aligned just right came back to her. Tears formed in her eyes, but she caught them quickly, willing them to disappear. Crying would do her no good now.
“I enjoyed learning about the Astral cards,” she murmured. “They reminded me of Hroombra.”
Jaax made a humming noise in his throat before saying, “Hroombra once had a set of Astral cards, long ago. They were sized for a dragon, and he used to play with me when I was younger.”
Jahrra sat absolutely still, her ears perking up. Jaax very rarely talked about his past. In fact, she couldn’t remember him talking about it at all.
“After lessons, he would always promise to play a round or two with me. In actuality, I think the only reason I ever paid attention or strived to do so well was for that one reward.”
“What was he like then?” Jahrra asked quietly. “I mean, when you were younger?”
Jaax furrowed his brow. “He had more energy, and he could still fly,” he answered wistfully.
This time Jahrra almost did cry. One of the reasons Hroombra had died was because he couldn’t escape from those who had attacked him. If he had been able to fly, he might still be with them today.
“But that is all I can think of. The one thing about Hroombramantu was that you could always count on his constancy. He was always fair, always patient, far more patient than anyone has a right to be. I used to grow so frustrated before we finally found you. Moving from one place to the next to examine a child some village claimed to be human. It never bothered Hroombra. He would always shrug and tell me that perhaps the next child would be the human girl we’d been waiting for.”
Jaax remained silent for a while, the sound of the crackling fire filling up the empty space.
“I’ve never been patient enough with you, Jahrra, and I am sorry for that.”
The comment was so sincere, and so unexpected, that Jahrra wondered if she’d imagined it. She blinked and looked up at her guardian. His eyes weren’t on her, but on the fire. Yet his awareness surrounded her, engulfing her like one of the gentle waves spreading out along Oescienne’s shoreline. Before she could come up with any sort of response, however, her guardian drew in a great breath and murmured, “There are times I wish you knew everything I did; times I wish I could tell you certain information. But I cannot. It wouldn’t be fair to you, to unload my burdens and troubles onto your shoulders. You have enough of your own worries to contend with.”
For a few short moments, Jahrra’s heart swelled, and she wanted to tell him that yes, he could share his troubles with her, but the idea was fleeting. What sorts of memories haunted Jaax’s past? She imagined they were great, and from his almost desperate tone, she figured they might haunt her dreams as well. As curious as she was, she decided to stick to what she had promised herself not too long ago.
He will tell you what he needs to, she reminded herself. I will trust him despite the secrets that stretch between us, because he has proven himself more than worthy of my trust.
“You don’t have to share your worries with me to retain my support, Jaax. You know that,” she said instead.
Jaax only chuckled at that. “If Hroombra could see us now,” he said with a smile. “Getting along so well and understanding one another. He would be very proud.”
Jahrra smiled and ran her finger over the sketches she had drawn when just a small child.
“Yes, he would be, wouldn’t he?”
The sound of someone approaching the cavern entrance stole their attention then. Jaax growled low in his throat and began to rise, but when Ellyesce’s familiar face showed above the mound of snow, he relaxed.
“That was quick,” Jahrra commented.
Ellyesce smiled, though it did not reach his eyes.
“Looks like I wasn’t the only one who fancied a walk after the storm.”
He lifted his arm, a large mountain snow rabbit dangling from a rope in his hand.
“It won’t be enough for you, Jaax, but I thought Jahrra and I might enjoy some fresh meat for a change.”
“You needn’t worry about me,” Jaax answered, standing up and stretching as best he could in the cave. “I managed to take down a deer while scouting yesterday. I shouldn’t need to eat again until tomorrow.”
“Good,” Jahrra answered with relish. “I’m starving.”
* * *
By the time the moon rose over the horizon into a dark sky free of clouds, Jahrra was fast asleep. Jaax made sure of it before heading toward the cavern entrance where Ellyesce stood, watching the stars come out.
“She doesn’t ask too many questions, Jaax” Ellyesce said quietly, using that archaic language just to be safe.
“She wants to ask them,” the dragon answered just as silently, his keen eyes alert and scanning the shadows cast onto the snowy landscape outside. “But part of her is afraid to. And, she also knows I will not answer them.”
Ellyesce nodded. “It’s much easier to ignore the big picture, to pretend like this is just another adventure to another city, than to think about why this particular journey is necessary.”
Jaax snorted. “I do believe you are right. She will have enough to weigh on her mind once we get to Nimbronia.”
The Tanaan dragon thought back to his conversation with his ward earlier in the day. Oh, how easy it would be to share his own worries with her, but it would do no good to have both of them on edge. He needed to remain focused, to keep up his façade of strength and bravery. If not for all those they would be fighting for, then for Jahrra alone. He knew what he asked of her, what Hroombra had expected of her and he wanted to keep that impossible responsibility away from her as long as possible.
“Sometimes, I wish I knew the future,” Jaax murmured. “I tell myself it would be easier that way. But then, the more rational side of my brain reminds me that if I did, I might struggle to change it, and in struggling, I would wear myself out and be unprepared when it came to me. I don’t want Jahrra to be unprepared, either.”
“Then, it’s a good thing I am no Mystic,” Ellyesce said dryly.
Jaax studied the elf carefully, his eyes narrowing as he tried to read his friend’s face. An impossible task. Giving up, he took a breath and said flatly, “Yes, a very good thing.”
“Besides,” Ellyesce added with a touch of vitriol, “Mystics are the last sort of people you’d ever want to trust.”
Jaax only nodded. In that regard, he couldn’t agree more.
The next morning, Jahrra woke to a stream of brilliant sunlight pouring in through the cave entrance. Already, there were signs of melting snow all around them, the least of which was a small puddle that had accumulated beneath Jahrra’s sleeping blanket sometime in the night.
“Lovely,” she grumbled, swiping her hand down her damp clothing in a feeble attempt to get rid of the icy water stain.
“At least the storm has passed, and the weather is improving,” Ellyesce commented in his usual, no-nonsense way.
Jahrra turned in her bedroll and peered at him. He was already dressed and busy packing their traveling gear onto Rumble, the pack horse. Jahrra wrinkled her nose and rubbed her eyes, still feeling a bit groggy.
“Where’s Jaax?” she asked.
“Scouting ahead and checking the surrounding area. Once he returns, we’ll be on our way. Here.”
He tossed her one of the trail biscuits they’d been eating for breakfast the past several days. Jahrra was sick of them, but they obviously weren’t going to stick around to cook a hot meal. She took a bite out of the hard-packed granola and climbed out of her bedroll.
Once she was finished eating and dressed in clean, dry travel clothes, Jahrra approached Phrym and got him ready for the road.
“Our rest is over,” she murmured, feeding him a handful of oats. “Time to get moving once again.”
He whickered and tickled her palms with his lips. Jahrra bit her bottom lip and fought a smile. “I’ve heard that Nimbronia is a great city perched on a mountain peak far above the rest of the land,” she told her semequin. “The palace and all the buildings are made entirely of ice and ruled over by dragons far bigger than Jaax. Can you imagine that, Phrym?”
He shook out his dark mane and nudged her with his head, searching for more treats. Jahrra laughed and gave him a hug.
“I can’t wait to see it, but Jaax says we have to stop in Cahrdyarein first.”
Jahrra let her mind wander back to the conversation she and her guardian had shared during the first few days of their journey. Cahrdyarein was a mountain city partway between Lidien and Nimbronia. They would be staying there for a few weeks at the most before the real ascent into the mountains began. She found it hard to believe that the mountains could get much higher past Cahrdyarein. It felt like they were nearly on the top of the world as it was.
The familiar wing beats of a dragon brought Jahrra back to the present, and she turned to watch her guardian come halfway into the cave.
“No sign of any activity,” Jaax announced, “and already the river far below is swelling with snow melt. I imagine we will be seeing the signs of spring in a few days if the weather remains fine.”
“That is both good and bad news,” Ellyesce answered, as he led his semequin and the pack horse from the cave.
Jahrra performed one more sweep of the area, checking for forgotten items, then followed after them with Phrym. As soon as they were out in the sunlight, Jahrra took a deep breath of the fresh, crisp air. It felt so good to be out in the open once again and not trapped in that dark, dank cavern.
For the next few days, Jahrra and her companions made their way deeper into the heart of the Hrunahn Footmountains. By the third day, only a few patches of snow lingered, and Jahrra was able to find a somewhat dry place to spread her bedroll when it came time to camp. Each night, either Jaax or Ellyesce stood guard, refusing to let Jahrra take over the task, despite her protests.
“You need more rest than us,” Jaax would tell her.
She wanted to argue, but she knew better. A dragon could go a few days without sleep until it took its toll on him. She wasn’t so sure about elves, or maybe Ellyesce was just one of those people who had a hard time sleeping. It would explain why he always looked so haggard and worn down. Despite all this, it still bothered Jahrra that she couldn’t help out in this manner. Instead, she often saw to preparing the meals and sometimes, if Jaax and Ellyesce felt they were in a safe area, she took up hunting duty.
The mountain forest was awash with early spring life, the snowstorm from a few days previous having few lasting effects. The brilliant green leaves of the deciduous trees growing this high up were bursting free to soak up the sun, and the sweet melody of birdsong filled the air. On the finer days, Jahrra would take her bow and arrows and slip into the deep thickets seeking out rabbits and deer. She was careful to hunt only the males, if she could identify them from a distance. The last thing she wanted to do was deprive a litter of young of their mother. During her first hunt she was unsuccessful, but the next time she went out, she was able to take down some wild fowl big enough to feed her and Ellyesce with some meat leftover to dry and store away for later.
A week after they left the cave behind, the band of unlikely travelers came upon a wide meadow dominated by a small lake surrounded by lush grasses. Jahrra sighed in wonder at the beauty of the scene. Violet and sky-blue wildflowers, as well as spindly willow trees, dotted the lake’s edge. On the opposite side of the water, granite mountains rose like stalwart sentries, their peaks dusted with snow.
“I think we’ll camp here tonight,” Jaax announced, leading the group to a coppice of pines crowning a small hillock to the east.
Jahrra couldn’t agree more. Once the horses were settled and happily grazing on meadow grasses, she wandered around, gathering wood for a fire while Ellyesce used his elf magic to conjure up some fish from the lake. By sundown, the three of them were settled around a cheery fire, the scent of roasting trout filling the air.
“I could stay here an entire week and explore,” Jahrra murmured, her hands linked behind her head, her eyes tilted skyward. The stars were brilliant this high up in the mountains, like diamond dust scattered across an unfurled bolt of inky velvet.
“See any constellations you recognize?” Ellyesce asked.
Jahrra furrowed her brow, then let her eyes wander the sky, at least the parts of it that weren’t blotted out by the pine boughs above. Eventually, the bright sparks of light formed into familiar patterns.
She pointed to the northern section of the sky. “There, just on the horizon. Traagien, and Atrova, the dragon’s heart.”
Jahrra outlined the shape of a dragon in flight, her finger lingering on the glimmering pink star, the largest one in the constellation, at the center. She continued to point out a few more patterns, the Pine and Essyel, the Guardian, to the south and the Bloodrose and Noiramaebolis, the northern star, resting far above Traagien. Her study of the night sky brought back fresh memories of Hroombra, and her heart began to ache once more.
None of that now, Jahrra, she reminded herself. He would not want you to dissolve into sorrow every time you think of him.
“Those Astral cards have been a blessing after all,” Jaax mused quietly, with some humor. “It has been far too long since either of us have glanced at the stars.”
Jahrra had to agree with him on that account.
“Shall we sharpen those skills some more, then, over a game of Astral?” Ellyesce suggested.
Jahrra sat up in an instant, her memories forgotten for the time being. She was eager to improve her skills at this card game she’d quickly come to appreciate.
“Absolutely!” she exclaimed.
Even Jaax couldn’t complain as Ellyesce began to deal the cards out. Jahrra felt a little bad her guardian couldn’t really take part, but he informed her that watching the game unfold between the two of them, and knowing what cards each of them held, was entertainment enough. They played well into the night and by the time they settled down to sleep, Traagien had crested the dome of the sky and was beginning his descent into the west.
Jahrra rose early the next morning to find Jaax gone and Ellyesce, for once, fast asleep in his bedroll. She couldn’t tell what had woken her, but her head ached and she desperately needed to relieve herself. Grumbling against the cold, she snuck off to find a place shielded from the campsite but still within view of the horses. When she returned, she realized that she wasn’t as tired as she thought she was. Not wanting to wake Ellyesce, she quietly removed her coat from Phrym’s saddle bag and made her way to the lakeshore. The semequin, always curious as to what Jahrra was doing, pricked his ears forward and gave a soft nicker.
“Not now, Phrym. I’m just going down to the shore for a little while. I won’t be gone long.”
To her great relief, he made no more complaints.
The air was thick with mist and held a chill that seeped deep into her bones. No matter. Jahrra had her warm coat, the one Jaax had given her for this journey. She buttoned up the front and stuck her hands into the wool-lined pockets, her breath joining the grey fog around her. Her steps fell quietly on the dark earth, heavily padded with years upon years of pine needles. Once she was within a few dozen yards of the lake, however, the loamy soil gave way to gravel and water-smoothed stones. Her boots crunched noisily over the soggy pebbles, the sound seeming to echo throughout the small valley. Jahrra didn’t mind, and she didn’t think it would wake Ellyesce, though it might draw Jaax’s attention if he was nearby.
Spotting an ancient fallen pine, she turned on her heel and headed farther down the lakeshore. The bleached wood lay partly submerged beneath the lake, its great roots poking out in every direction like a sea star standing on end.
Jahrra grabbed onto one of the remaining branches and hoisted herself up onto the trunk, walking out onto the portion of the log that wasn’t submerged beneath the water. She had every intention to simply stand there and gaze up into the fog-shrouded mountains as she breathed in the beauty of the silent morning. Unfortunately, fate was not in a docile mood.
Across the lake, some seventy or so yards away, a great crashing sound erupted from the greenery. Jahrra almost lost her footing as the noise cut through the serene stillness, frightening a doe and her young fawns farther down the marshy shoreline. It took Jahrra several seconds to realize what had made the noise. Geese. At least twenty or more geese, all of them in varying shades of white and grey, came bursting, and honking, through the reeds and rushes.
A flash of red and white flickered in the corner of her eye, and Jahrra was no longer puzzled as to what caused the ruckus. A fox. A fox had disturbed a flock of geese and was doing its best to capture one.
“Take flight!” Jahrra breathed from her precarious perch. “Why don’t you just fly away?”
She narrowed her eyes, trying hard to find the predator, but it was difficult with the distance and all the movement.
Finally, some of the geese splashed into the water, their wings flapping and their necks arcing as they trumpeted their mutual distress and triumph. A dozen more joined their brethren, then a few more after that. Within the reeds, the fox chased after a few stragglers. Some of the birds, it seemed, weren’t as bright as the others.
Jahrra furrowed her brow in confusion. Even she could have caught the slower ones by now. Maybe the fox was just a kit.
A minute passed, and two more geese made it to the water. Another flicker of a red fox tail and the remaining five geese sprinted free of the cattails, honking and beating their wings as they took to the air.
“Oh, now they decide to fly?” Jahrra breathed.
But they never made it so much as a foot off the ground. They careened into the water, honking and flapping in outrage. And then it occurred to Jahrra that these geese weren’t wild but domesticated. What were they doing up here in the mountains? And where had they come from?
Her question was answered in the next second. Someone burst through the screen of reeds, his hat falling to the ground as he tripped over a tangle of plant life. This person wasn’t very tall, maybe three feet at the most. Jahrra blinked in confusion. Was it a young boy?
Jahrra narrowed her eyes and moved farther out onto the log, trying to make out the individual’s features in the weak, gray light. It was difficult because he was still struggling to free himself from the reeds.
“Accursed birds!” he screamed. “Nothing but trouble and not even worth the down to stuff a pillow with!”
That red tail swished through the air again, and Jahrra felt her jaw drop. It was his tail she’d seen? The strange creature gave one final tug at the reeds and pulled free, shaking himself like a wet dog. That’s when Jahrra noticed not only did he have a fox tail but a pair of ears to match. She gasped in utter surprise as a memory from one of her school lessons popped into her head. This wasn’t a small boy, or even a dwarf, but a limbit!
The limbit stood in the shallows of the lake, cursing and screaming at the geese, who only seemed to laugh at him as they paddled away.
“If you don’t come back here this instant, they won’t let me back into the village! And you’ll most certainly perish out here on your own! All sorts of nasty things living in these mountains. Boarlaques, dremmen wolves, mogrums!”
The geese didn’t seem to care. Eventually, the limbit stopped his fuming and swept his hat up from the tangle of reeds. He placed his hands on his hips and shook his head, then glanced across the lake and froze.
Jahrra had been so engrossed in the entire scene that she’d forgotten she was standing on a giant log for all the world to see. For several long seconds, she and the limbit just stared at one another. From what she could tell, she guessed his head would reach just past her hip if they were standing side by side. His hair was a ruddy color, but closer to brown than the burnished red of his fur. His fur. That was another characteristic she found quite interesting. From the waist down, he looked like a fox, legs and all, but he had a torso like hers and he stood upright. His upper arms bore flesh as hers did, but from elbow to fingertip they were covered in more red and black fur. His ears, however, were the most intriguing of all his features. They pointed straight up like those of a fox, but were attached to the side of his head, similar to where an elf’s or a Nesnan’s or Resai’s ears might be placed.
Jahrra could have spent all morning studying this strange yet fascinating creature, but a great buffeting wind from above soon directed her attention elsewhere. Jahrra glanced up and nearly had to duck as Jaax glided in for a close landing. He didn’t quite miss the water, his feet and tail splashing down.
What on Ethoes? Jahrra stood up again and glared at him. He’d almost knocked her off the log!
Before she could open her mouth and shout accusations at him, he whipped his head around.
“Jahrra! Why did you leave the campsite?”
That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. An apology maybe, for nearly careening into her. She would normally respond with flippancy, but something in his tone put her nerves on edge.
“I just wanted to go for a short walk,” she answered, her voice compliant.
“We need to leave. Now,” he snapped, his keen eyes narrowing, as they perused the lakeshore.
Jahrra immediately jumped down from the fallen tree, landing with a dull crunch in the gravel below. Her curiosity about the limbit would have to wait.
“Why? What happened?” she breathed as she worked to keep up with the dragon’s long strides.
“The Tyrant’s soldiers. About three miles to the southeast of us.”
Jahrra stopped her forward progression, only to have Jaax turn and give her an exasperated look.
“I thought Ellyesce could detect them up to ten miles away,” she said, her eyes wide. Another aspect of the elf’s magic she didn’t understand. So far, Ellyesce had proven capable of keeping them well out of reach of their enemy.
“Yes, but it isn’t an exact science,” Jaax growled. “Other factors can affect his range.”
“Like bad weather?” she asked, walking briskly once again.
Jaax nodded. “Or a stronger spell of magic overriding his own efforts.”
Jahrra shivered. She imagined the Crimson King’s soldiers had a mage or two in their company. If he was determined to find her, then he would use his best resources.
“Do you think we can evade them if we hurry?” Jahrra wondered aloud, trying to keep control of her panic.
“We can only try,” was her guardian’s answer.
When they reached the small hill hiding their camp, they found their supplies packed and the horses ready.
“I’m sorry, Jaax,” Ellyesce breathed, looking more ashen than before.
The dragon only shook his head. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. I’m just glad I spotted them. They are taking an even more remote route than us, but the trail they follow will meet up with ours in a few miles. We want to be through the crossroads before they get there. They might be delayed for an hour or so, and we have a head start, but still. The sooner we get moving, the better.”
“Why will they be delayed?” Jahrra asked, climbing atop Phrym.
Jaax grew still for a moment, then turned cold eyes onto her. “They are raiding a village.”
Jahrra gasped. “Jaax! You have to stop them!”
He shook his head dismally. “It’s too late. By the time I flew over, I discovered no signs of life, other than the raiders.”
Jahrra felt her shoulders slump. An entire village, destroyed because they were looking for her.
Jaax moved in close so that his head was level with her. “Do not blame yourself for the Tyrant’s cruelty, Jahrra.”
She knew she shouldn’t, but she still felt the sting of guilt. Knowing it would help no one, however, she shoved the remorse aside and gave Jaax a hard look. Jahrra nodded once, and the dragon relaxed just a bit.
“We had better get moving,” Ellyesce intervened. “We need to make it through that pass as quickly as we can.”
He indicated a gap in the mountains on the other side of the lake. The snow was still thick up there, but at least the sun was out, and there was no threat of more snow or rain.
The trio circled half the lake with relative ease, then began their climb up the mountain. The trail Jaax picked for them was narrow and winding, shaded by pine and sycamore. Loose rocks and tree roots made the climb more difficult for the horses, and Jahrra wondered how Jaax was faring up ahead. About a half hour into their journey, the trail widened but clung to the side of the rocky mountain. Jahrra had to remind herself more than once not to look down as she encouraged Phrym as much as possible. She thanked Ethoes on more than one occasion that not only were the horses sure-footed, but seemed unaffected by heights as well.
Just past midmorning, Jaax shouted down to them from the top of the trail.
“What is it?” Jahrra asked, her stomach knotting up.
To her great relief, Jaax grinned. “The trail down the other side looks much less treacherous,” he said.
Jahrra encouraged Phrym to finish the final several yards of the path to stand by Jaax’s side, Ellyesce and the pack horse just behind them. Once at the top, Jahrra gave a small sigh of appreciation. The mountains, of course, continued on, but in the distance she spotted something that took her breath away.
“The Great Hrunahn Range,” she murmured with reverence.
Jahrra could only stare. A few of the jagged peaks in the near distance reached higher than the one their road skirted, but a group of massive mountains several miles away stretched even farther into the sky than all the snow-capped summits below them. They were twice, if not three times as tall as the mountains they’d been climbing through for the past two weeks. Great, deep shadows stretched away from the monoliths and some of their peaks even disappeared into the clouds scudding high across the sky.
“Cahrdyarein is on that peak,” Jaax murmured, pointing out the tallest of the smaller mountains, some three or four summits over.
Jahrra nodded, imagining it would take them another several days to reach it.
“And Nimbronia?” she asked, suspecting she already knew the answer.
Jaax grinned, but Ellyesce answered for her, “The domain of the Creecemind dragons is located on the tallest of those immense mountains. It will take us at least a week or more from Cahrdyarein to reach it, if we encounter no obstacles.”
“It’s a good thing we aren’t traveling in winter, then,” Jahrra added.
Ellyesce barked a laugh. “Oh yes, no need to worry about snow storms. Well, at least not really bad ones. The Hruhnan Mountains have their own weather pattern, one that is more suggestive of winter, but it should be relatively calm in these parts for the next few months.”
They rested for ten minutes, but not a moment longer. Jaax was still determined to get beyond the crossroads before the Crimson King’s men. The trail down the mountain proved easier on the group, and Jahrra was grateful. They traveled no more than a quarter mile before the land leveled out once again. Alpine aspen and cottonwood trees grew thick here, and Jahrra reveled in the sound of the mountain breeze rustling through the new leaves. A small rivulet, no more than snowmelt running away from the mountain, had accompanied them down the slope, gradually transforming into a swift stream. At one point, the trail came to a stop before plunging down another steep and rocky canyon. The stream, on the other hand, hadn’t the patience of those wishing to descend at a reasonable pace. Instead, it gushed onward, rushing off a small precipice and crashing into a wide pool below before continuing its sprint to the valley floor. Inland redwood, cedar, oak and bay accompanied the cottonwoods, aspen and sycamore trees, providing ample shade for the group as they picked their way between the rocks.
About halfway down the slope, the trail widened once more into a shelf of land, and Jaax came to a stop. There was just enough room for Jahrra and Ellyesce to join him on their semequins.
“Why’d we stop?” Jahrra asked, trying to peer past Jaax’s wing.
The dragon noticed and pressed the large appendage closer to his flank so that Jahrra could see. Below them, in a small meadow, there stood a great wooden sign fastened to an old, dead tree. Jahrra tried to read what the sign said, but it was too far away. The tree was marking the intersection of two roads, one wide and broad, the other narrow and winding. They were on the meandering trail that ran north and south, the one that would take them to Cahrdyarein and eventually, Nimbronia.
“The crossroads,” Ellyesce offered, pulling on the rope to get the pack horse closer to them.
“Do you sense anything?” Jaax asked the elf.
Ellyesce closed his eyes and took long, slow breaths. But before he got the chance to reply, something small and vibrant red in color came flying past the rock precipice on their left and into the clearing below.
Jahrra gasped and felt her eyes widen. It was the limbit she had seen at the lake earlier that morning. It had to be, for he had on the same woolen hat and vest he’d worn then. What was he doing here?
“What on Ethoes?” Ellyesce muttered, his concentration disrupted.
Jaax didn’t say a word. He merely stood there in stone silence, gazing at the creature as if it had ruined his day. Jahrra knew that look. It was the same look he had given her when she was younger.
The limbit came to a skidding halt and pressed a hand against the dead tree, his shoulders heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
Is something chasing him? Jahrra wondered.
In that moment, the small creature glanced up, his eyes falling upon the dragon, young woman and elf staring down at him from a hundred feet up the trail. He started in surprise, but before anyone could react, an arrow sliced through the air and buried itself into the bark of the old tree with a dull thud.
The limbit jumped a foot in the air and swung his head around. Oh yes, something was definitely after him. Jahrra’s first instinct was to jump off Phrym and run down there to help, but Jaax was even quicker to react than her.
“Against the side of the hill, now!” he hissed, pushing her and Ellyesce and the horses with his wings and body before Jahrra could even take her next breath.
Phrym gave a huff of protest, but Jahrra spoke calmly to him as he stutter-stepped to keep from tripping over the loose stones scattered across the trail. In less than fifteen seconds, she and Ellyesce were pressed into the moss-covered granite, their horses tense but obeisant, as the great dragon curled his tail and body around them.
The last thing Jahrra saw before her guardian’s wing cut off her view was a pair of large brown eyes staring up at them from a face gone pale with fear.