A cold breeze touched Alyssa’s cheeks, and she shivered involuntarily. Her bed was cold beneath her, but something warm lay close beside her. Someone.
Gram.
She remembered her surprise at seeing him enter the shop. Their reunion had been bittersweet. Within minutes of their meeting she had been forced to afflict him with the same terrible torment that she was suffering. And yet, despite knowing it was wrong, that the only person she truly loved was now doomed as well, she couldn’t help but feel joy at seeing him once more. Her selfish heart betrayed her. Now they were both doomed, but she still felt brighter for knowing he was with her.
At least they could enjoy one another again, for whatever time was left. Alyssa snuggled closer to him, ignoring the twinge in her shoulder when she moved. A lingering memento of her not quite fully healed wounds. Burying her face against his neck, she ran her hand up to feel the marvelously sculpted muscles of his chest.
Several things occurred to her then.
Her bed was not just cold, it was slightly damp, lumpy, and exceedingly uncomfortable. It seemed to be covered in grass as well, a sure sign that she might have made a mistake regarding her location. But that was not what troubled her the most.
There was entirely too much hair. Her face was buried in it, where she had expected a bare neck. Even worse, the flesh beneath her hand was definitely not thick muscle, or male.
Alyssa’s eyes opened, though she didn’t jerk or give any other sign of awareness. Without moving further, she scanned the area around her. Rough splintered wood beams and twisted branches covered the sloping roof above her, which appeared to be roughly thatched with still green grass. Her face was against a woman’s neck, and after a moment’s study of what she could see of the profile, she thought it was Moira Illeniel.
How did I get here?
Her last recollection was clearing a table at the Drunken Goat. She understood that she had once again lost some time. It wasn’t unusual to lose consciousness when the parasite took over, but she couldn’t figure out how she would have wound up in her current circumstances. A wash of horror passed over her as she realized that Moira must have been taken as well. Yet another friend had been damned along with her.
She swallowed and felt a strange pain in the back of her throat, and despite her best effort she began to cough. Turning to one side, she found a strange lump in her mouth, a large blood clot it turned out, once she had spat it out. Her throat felt raw now, and she struggled to suppress the urge to cough further.
“Ye look like ye’ve seen better days lass,” said a vaguely familiar voice. Her eyes soon confirmed her suspicion. Chad Grayson sat a few feet away, watching her with curious eyes.
“They’ve taken you as well then,” she said in a voice that sounded like a stranger’s. She was hoarse, and her words were almost unintelligible.
The older man gave a dark laugh, “I reckon if they had, they’d be payin’ someone to take me back by now.”
Alyssa frowned, “Then you’re in danger. You shouldn’t have tried to save me.” She winced at the pain of saying the words, it felt as though her throat was on fire.
“I ain’t been taken, more like I took you,” he replied. After a pause he added, “Not in the more intimate sense mind ye.” He thought for a few seconds longer. “Actually, it was the princess there that did the savin’.”
Her hand went to her throat, “Then…?”
The ranger nodded, “Aye. I think she pushed herself too far, though. She collapsed after takin’ that thing outta ye.”
A strange feeling swept over her, making her eyes water. Her eyes lit upon Gram, sleeping on the other side of Moira, “And…” She couldn’t manage the words, her throat was too painful now and swelling with emotion on top of the other injuries done to it. She gestured at the young knight.
“Aye, him too,” Chad reassured her. The hunter turned his head away, unable to bear the raw emotion on her face.
She thought she might have seen the beginnings of tears in his eyes to match her own. Alyssa began to cry, the feelings too much for her, but the pain in her throat put an end to that before she had sobbed more than twice. It was simply too painful, her throat couldn’t bear the strain. Choking, she fought to get herself under control.
“Just take it easy, lass. Here, drink some water. It might help,” he held out a leather water skin toward her. His eyes were dry, but the older man’s cheeks were pink from being scrubbed against his sleeve.
***
It was late afternoon when Gram finally stirred. He woke to find a dream staring down at him, a worried expression on her face.
“What happened?” he croaked.
Alyssa leaned closer and whispered in his ear, “Don’t try to talk. It hurts. Try not to cough either, or you might start bleeding again like I did.”
Confusion was written clearly in his face, but Alyssa put a finger across his lips. With one hand she gestured to Moira who lay close beside him before adding softly, “She took them out of us somehow. We’re free.”
Somehow her whisper managed to convey the depth of her joy at that revelation. Looking around he saw Chad nearby, sitting unusually close to the massive form of Cassandra. He couldn’t see Grace, but he felt her presence through their bond, and that realization brought with it an uncomfortable memory. He had ordered Grace to kill the other dragon. Well, the parasite had anyway. His memory of events ended shortly after that moment.
Grace?! he called with his thoughts. There was no reply, although he still felt her close at hand. Grace? Unable to get a response he looked back at Alyssa, “Where’s Grace? What happened?”
“She was hurt,” whispered Alyssa. “I didn’t see it. Your friend can explain.”
His eyes scanned her face. Clearly she wanted to say more, but her expression was apologetic, whether because of her difficulty speaking or because of her lack of direct knowledge he wasn’t sure.
Sitting up, he found his body was remarkably free of injury, although his back twinged from lying too long across a lump in the uneven grass. Gram’s throat felt raw, but as he approached Chad he managed to croak, “Tell me everything.” He didn’t bother saying more, it hurt too much.
Chad nodded, “I don’t know the full story myself, lad, but after we parted ways I stalked you for a while. After yer confrontation with Grace, I followed her to where our little princess was leadin’ some sort of breakout. Half the town was after ‘em, and yer dragon was apparently chasin’ after the bigger one. Then some sort of metal monster showed up and starting destroyin’ everything.”
The ranger sighed deeply as he remembered, “It had weapons like I’ve never seen, magic I guess. It moved on four legs, and it had this weird box that it would just point at things and boom, they blew up. It shot Moira with it, an’ I think it damn near killed her.
“It had another weapon too, on the other side. I think it used that one more cuz the first one took time to reload or something, but it was almost as bad. It would point that thing, and it would light up, like fire was comin’ out, along with this continuous thunderin’ sound, but it wasn’t like a wizard’s fire. The fire was just near the weapon, like it was just a side effect. Somethin’ I couldn’t see was hittin’ everything it pointed at. Anything in front of it just died, whether it was ten feet away or a hundred.”
Gram nodded before looking down at Moira, “How did we get here?”
“Our little princess managed most of it,” answered Chad. “Somehow she got back up and not only healed your dragon but got us out of the city. The things she did…” The hunter shuddered as he remembered the invasion of his mind. “…well I don’t really understand it, but she got us out. Once we were outside, she fixed you an yer wh…” He stopped abruptly before rephrasing his words, “…yer girlfriend there. That must’ve been too much for her, though. She collapsed afterward. All three of you have been sleepin’ like babes for the past couple of days.”
“How did you move us after that?”
Chad shrugged, nodding at the dragon over his shoulder, “After that the big girl here took turns flying us to the hills.” He didn’t see any point in mentioning the last desperate fight. It had really just been a footnote to the entire escape.
Cassandra lifted her large head, “Don’t let the old man sell himself short. At the end there were still more after you. He fought like a demon to protect you until I could get you all clear.”
Gram met Chad’s eyes, seeing the embarrassment there; after a second he nodded and the older man inclined his head for a moment. Words weren’t necessary between them. Trying to spare his voice, he pointed at the stranger who lay on the other side of his position under the lean-to, raising his brows to indicate a question.
“The good baron, the one who went to the palace with Moira—I know he don’t look much like himself anymore,” said Chad by way of explanation. “I ain’t had the story from her, but considerin’ how much blood’s been let out of him, I think he didn’t do much better with his king than she did.”
The man in question didn’t much resemble the nobleman whom Gram had met a few days prior. His fine coat was gone and the rags he wore now spoke more of blood and dirt than nobility. His hair was thick with dirt and what might be mud or dried blood. The Baron had no shoes or boots, and close examination showed that the tattered clothing that covered him was actually the remains of his underclothes. Someone had stripped away his finery.
The ranger saw the thoughts passing across Gram’s features. “I figure they must’ve locked him up with our lady. Guards usually take anything good from their prisoners. I dunno who stuck him, though. She must’ve healed the wound. There’s a big silver scar on his ribs. I been tryin’ to get water in him, in drips and drabs, but I don’t think he’s long for this world, if he don’t wake up soon.”
Gram sighed and then took a few steps, walking away from the improvised shelter. Circling around Cassandra, he found Grace’s quiet form nestled gently against her side. The slow rise and fall of her ribs was the only sign of life in her. He ran his hand over her shoulders, feeling the warmth there, and then he looked down the hillside, across the plain, toward Halam.
The capital of Dunbar wasn’t visible from their current campsite, but a smudge on the horizon probably represented the smoke that rose from the many chimneys in the city. Raising his forearm before him, he gazed at the tattoo that Matthew had put there. With a thought and a word that was barely more than a whisper he summoned Thorn, feeling the great sword’s comforting weight in his hands. Another word sheathed his body in shining enchanted steel. The armor looked like scale mail, being composed of countless small interlocking pieces, but it was far better than that. Unlike normal mail, this armor locked in place when confronted with blows, becoming rigid to protect its wearer. It combined the flexibility of chain with the protection of plate, and its enchantments made it nearly indestructible.
It covered his face as well, although the parts that covered his eyes were invisible, allowing him full vision. Despite enclosing him completely, it allowed air to reach him as well, though Matthew had never explained the parts of the enchantment that allowed that particular miracle to occur. In truth, he didn’t care. It made his head hurt whenever his friend had tried to explain the various workings of what was probably a masterpiece of the enchanter’s art.
“Your father will be proud when he sees what you have created, Matthew,” he whispered to himself. “And I will be sure to show it to him—after I’ve demonstrated it for King Darogen of Dunbar.”
The great ruby set in Thorn’s pommel pulsed with crimson light, as though the sword agreed with that sentiment.