“What’s this?” Faeoris asked.
“Mah boys!” Angst said as he knelt. “What’s up, kids? We’re in a bit of a hurry.”
Angst focused, leaned forward, and aimed an ear at them. He heard the gentle buzz that could’ve been their odd method of group communication, or remnants of his hangover ringing away. Scar growled, and Angst glanced back to see his dog’s eyes flash a brighter red. Was the dog genuinely sensing a problem, or merely picking up on Kala’s own anxiety?
“Scar, no,” he called back before returning his focus to the gamlin. “You’re mine, remember,” he said firmly to them, concentrating on whatever magic tethered his mind to theirs.
The connection felt strained, like muscles that needed a good stretch after running around the world. He usually ignored that buzzing of communication like background noise, and sometimes felt it wouldn’t take much to cut it like a string, but the creatures made far better allies than enemies. They were invulnerable to everything but water, and his foci. They were the only creatures he’d seen successfully kill dragons. Not only were gamlin good little fighters, but they were everywhere, making them an invaluable source of information when he remembered to tap into it. But, they were also the first monsters he’d faced with Chryslaenor, so he didn’t completely trust them. They belonged to Earth, and even though she said the gamlin were his, how could he ever believe an element would be totally honest?
The smallest gamlin dove into the ground and popped out again mere feet away, the dirt rippling around it like a pebble thrown into water. He somehow sensed this one as Tori’s favorite. The cute little creature had traveled a long way to be here. It opened its small, human-like mouth and strained until a sound came out that sounded like, “Hort.” Its little head shook as it tried again. “Hort.”
“Yes, hort,” Angst said. He felt impatient, but there was something going on. “This isn’t how we usually communicate, buddy. I don’t speak hort.”
“How do you communicate with them, Angst?” Aerella asked.
“Not with any sort of language,” he explained. “It’s more a sense of things. You know that feeling like you’re being watched, just much stronger. Honestly, I haven’t had much time to explore—”
“Dort!” it called out, stomping its tiny feet in apparent frustration.
“Well,” Angst said, almost laughing at the funny sound. “That’s new. Look, guys, I’m sorry, we really need to keep going.”
“Dor...dan...” it strained, shaking its head violently. “Daaan-ger.”
Angst’s eyes went wide and his mouth opened. “What?”
The gamlin was gasping from the effort, but a small smile appeared on its tiny face. “Danger.”
“Danger,” the other gamlin replied. “Danger.”
“Not creepy,” Faeoris said sarcastically.
“What danger?” Angst asked.
The gamlin shook his head, merely repeating the word, “Danger.”
“I guess explaining the danger is a bit much, if that’s their first word,” Aerella said. “Is there anything else? Do you sense anything?”
“Yeah,” Angst said. “They’re scared.”
“I’m scared,” said Kala.
“I’ll protect you,” Faeoris said.
Everyone turned to look at the Berfemmian. She blushed at the attention and shrugged.
Angst knelt, his knee sinking into the soft, moist ash. He placed his hands on his thighs and leaned forward.
“Thank you for the warning,” he said. “I don’t know how much you understand, but the Princess Victoria, my friend...your friend. She’s in danger.”
“Danger?” it asked.
“Yes.” Angst nodded. “The only way to save her is if we go that way.”
The gamlin shook their heads, several horting and the others straining to say danger. They all dove in and out of ground until they ended up in a huddle. Now that he was paying attention, the buzzing in Angst’s head made him wince. As suddenly as they’d appeared, they dove back into the ground without another word, or hort.
“That was thoughtful, I guess,” Angst said. “But we should keep going.”
“Thoughtful?” Jintorich asked. “You think their effort to say words we could understand was just being thoughtful?”
He was right—right enough to make Angst’s stomach gurgle. They should still scout ahead. Kala had asked Faeoris to wait, the gamlin said danger, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that his Berfemmian friend should stay behind. Not to mention, Maarja was much better at direction than anyone. Still, he didn’t want his friend to be upset.
“Faeoris,” Angst said. “Would you keep them safe while I run ahead with Maarja to look around?”
“Of course,” she said. “But hurry, and be careful. Both of you.”
35
Rohjek
Despite her size, Maarja moved with the grace of a gazelle, quick and silent. Angst in his armor on top of his steel ram swifen sounded like the precursor to Armageddon. They’d tried walking, but Angst had the stealth and tact of a dropped dinner plate. Maarja said it was pointless when the smallest steps created plumes of ash that were only sometimes hidden by random pockets of dark smoke. Now his traipsing was a combination of armored everything and larger plumes of ash but greater speed. They must’ve looked like an oncoming storm.
Maarja stopped abruptly, holding up a hand that almost knocked Angst off his mount. She waved him closer, so he dismissed the swifen while still mounted and dropped to the ground. He’d never remembered it being quite so loud.
“We’re close to something. If you can’t be quiet, you should remove your armor and sword,” she whispered sharply.
“Did you want to just feed me to the dragons raw?” he asked. “Or is this a ploy to get me naked?”
She actually smiled, sort of, before pointing to a red glow in the distance. It was impossible to make out through the thick air, but the light seemed inconsistent. Flickering in and out, reminding Angst of a darkening campfire. Without words, Maarja moved forward at a pace he could follow. He snorted at the thought of them stalking, only to be instantly shushed by the enormous woman. But it really was funny. She couldn’t fit in his house, and he had a sword the size of his own body. They weren’t sneaking so much as walking with hope.
“Maybe the dragons nearby are deaf,” he said, frowning with determination at her glare.
She shook her head, and they continued forward.
Normally he would welcome a quiet moment such as this. Scar wasn’t yipping, Kala wasn’t nagging, and Jintorich wasn’t squeaking out questions. He liked Aerella, but found it frustrating that she said so much without getting to the point. Faeoris was his favorite distraction, when she wasn’t beating on him. Maarja was always the quiet one, but it was impossible to appreciate that in their eerie surroundings.
He had the vain hope that this short time with the Nordruaut would bridge a gap. Angst didn’t get the sense that she hated him. Intolerance may have been a better description. But here they were, traveling together, their means combined to the same end. He really felt they should get along on the same level as the others. That there should be a connection of some sort, if not a friendship. And she was pretty.
Ash hung in the air, making it feel close, like they were in a small room with people he didn’t like. Angst’s eyes watered, blurring his vision. Something crunched noisily underfoot, far louder than it should have. Her large head turned to face him with the look of his very patient mother just before pulling out her hair. She shushed him again, and he fought the urge to sigh.
“Walk heel to toe,” she whispered brusquely. “Try not to step hard.”
“Right,” he said. “Thanks.”
There was a noisy crunch as he shifted his weight. He smiled at her with all his teeth, and she sighed as she turned around and continued toward the red glow. How was it possible that a woman so large could move so quietly? Was it even necessary right now? They were completely alone out here, their target
was a long way off. This was really his only opportunity to talk, even though she may shush him to death.
“Were you in Unsel to see Tarness?” he whispered, far too loudly.
“What?” she whispered sharply, turning to face him again. “No.”
“Then why were you there?” he asked.
“To find you,” she said, looking about nervously.
“Me?” he asked. “I thought you liked Tarness.”
“I wasn’t there because I like you!” She took a deep breath to compose herself. “I think of him, but I was sent on a mission from Nordruaut—”
“So, you weren’t there to see Tarness?” he asked, not believing her for a second.
She stared at him now with the combined impatience of his mom, his wife, and Faeoris. “I did hope to see Tarness. It’s why I volunteered.”
“I knew it,” Angst said cheerfully.
“Yes, you’re a bright human,” she said. “Now can we go back to being quiet?”
“He talks about you,” Angst answered.
“He does?” she asked, her lip almost curling into a smile.
“More than he means to,” Angst said. He’d always sensed that Tarness longed for Maarja more than anyone. Maybe this was a chance to put his buddy in good standing. “He’s one of my closest friends. I can tell that he wants something more with you.”
“Why do you tell me this?” she said, crossing her arms. “Why does he not tell me this?”
“I tell you because he would want you to know,” Angst said. “He doesn’t tell you, because he’s not here.”
“Then you are a good friend,” she said crisply.
“I try,” Angst said. “Always.”
“Then try to be my good friend,” she said. “And walk quieter.”
He made the mistake of wondering if there was a spell to walk quietly. There was, and Chryslaenor shared a complex revelry of earth and air and magic that made his head spin. Out of nowhere, Dulgirgraut suggested another spell that combined just air and magic. The swords argued, and his head wrenched. The only thing that saved him was the noisy crunch of another step. Maarja said nothing, but her broad shoulders tensed.
“Please, Angst,” she said, with surprising politeness. “You need to be quiet from here, or you need to stay behind.”
He took her words in stride and nodded sincerely. As quietly as he could whisper, he said, “Wave me off if I make too much noise, and I’ll wait. I promise.”
She nodded appreciatively and took a large, silent step forward.
There is an art to certain skills, that Angst had always appreciated. Whether it’s painting, or bricklaying, or singing, or walking silently when every step screams for attention. It requires more than knowledge. There’s experience and ability behind those endeavors, and almost a passion that can make it come to fruition. Maarja had all of those and sounded like she walked on feathers. Angst sounded like he was kicking the feathers off a bird. But the rest of his steps were careful enough not to bring a bevy of dragons down on them, and she only winced with every third step. Progress.
A hot breeze cleared enough smoke to reveal a mass of enormous red crystals rising from the ground. Rohjek was known for using small crystals in jewelry, and Angst vaguely recalled Heather wanting a necklace or something, but he’d never heard of this. It was a structure, of sorts, that easily took up the space of the Unsel training grounds, maybe 75 or 100 yards across. Chryslaenor sang in his head, a tune that brought him chills despite the heat. They moved forward slowly, studying the mass of crystals in awe. The shards varied in size—the smallest no larger than most men, the largest rivaling his Nordruaut companion. From a distance, the crystals appeared to jut out randomly, but up close, they seemed almost organized, as if circling around something that glowed brightly.
“What is it?” Maarja whispered, so quietly he barely heard.
“It’s what we’re looking for,” Angst said, pointing at it accusingly. “That’s got to be the danger my gamlin were warning us about, and exactly what we need to avoid. Now we can head back to the group and lead them through Rohjek while staying away from everything giant, red, and glowy.”
There was a loud crunch, and Maarja frowned at him.
“It wasn’t me,” he said, holding both hands up defensively. “I didn’t move.”
Someone moaned from the other side of the crystals. Were there people ahead? Could there possibly be Rohjek survivors in this thing? His jaw set as he reached for Chryslaenor. Something about this wasn’t right. The gamlin warning them away, Chryslaenor’s wary song, giant red crystal structures, and now crunching and moaning. He moved forward and bumped into Maarja’s outstretched arm.
“This is a trap, human,” she whispered.
“It would be their mistake,” Angst said through clenched teeth.
“Let’s not make it ours,” she said, lowering her arm.
“There could be survivors,” he said, no longer whispering.
“Yes,” she said, looking around worriedly. “But we can’t save everyone. Our job is to find a safe path to Nordruaut. We don’t have time to save your friends, your princess, and what’s left of Rohjek.”
He fought back his growing frustration with grinding teeth. This situation was setting him on edge, and her reluctance made it worse. She was right. They couldn’t save all of Rohjek. But maybe, just maybe, they could save some of Rohjek.
“I need a way over,” he said. “People are on the other side of this thing.”
Maarja’s eyes darkened, and she made fists like she was going to pummel sense into him. They heard another crunch followed by a weak cry, and her expression softened.
“We can’t climb it,” she said. “Can’t you magic yourself there?”
“I don’t know how to create portals,” he said, his mind racing. He reached into the earth for something solid enough to lift him. “I can’t make a platform out of the ground beneath us. It’s too soft and would break apart.”
She looked at him curiously.
“If a rock or boulder is solid enough, I can stand on it and lift it into the air for a short distance,” he explained.
“You can fly?” she asked, her pretty eyes wide with wonder. “Do you need rocks? What about using your armor?”
“I can’t fly, I can make rocks go up and down, and make air shields to stand on,” he explained. “But I can’t guide them. And I’ve already tried using my armor to fly.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“It, uh, well, it left bruises for weeks,” he said, glancing at his crotch. “I almost couldn’t sit down.”
She covered her mouth and closed her eyes, her stomach clenching as she held back waves of laughter.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” he whispered.
“What do we do?” she asked, her eyes glossy but her demeanor becoming more sincere.
“This looks like a wall,” he said. “Can you toss me over?”
“That would be a bad idea,” Maarja warned, her large eyes bearing down on him. “How will you land?”
“I’ll figure something out,” he said.
“I’ve wanted to throw you many times,” she said, now very serious. “But not like this.”
“Hey,” he said confidently. “I’ve got this!”
Maarja shut her eyes and shook her head before looking around. They were still alone. The large woman cupped her hands and bent over. He stepped onto them and crouched to jump. She looked at him with concern, and he felt self-conscious standing on her palms, so close to her face. The Nordruaut may’ve been larger than him, but that certainly didn’t take away from her beauty. Angst brushed a platinum blond strand of hair from her eye and nodded.
“Not too much,” he whispered. “Go!”
She stood fast and lifted up. Angst jumped from her hands at an awkward angle, launching high into the air.
“Too much,” he cried. “Too much!”
His flight turned into an ungraceful somersault as he descended, landi
ng with a noisy crack that must’ve been his spine. Whatever he’d landed on made him roll over several times until he stopped on his side. The object that had broken his fall made the hairs on his neck rise. A slick, diamond-shaped leathery head popped out of a glowing red egg the size of his bedroom. The head lolled to one side, like a chick unprepared to leave its shell. He wanted to stare on in wonder, but Chryslaenor’s song said go! Without hesitation, Angst blurred forward and sliced off the creature’s head. Liquid dragonfire spilled from the monster’s neck, melting the side of the egg. There were easily twenty more, all wiggling with anticipation. His heart raced as he searched for an exit. This place was large enough that he couldn’t see all the way across through the smoke. He carefully backed away to the edge of the enclosure, his gaze darting from egg to egg, until he bumped the edge. The crystal behind him was warm and smooth to the touch. Could he climb over? He didn’t want to turn his back to the eggs.
“Kill me,” a raspy voice whispered in his ear. “Please, kill me.”
Angst whipped about to see the face of a woman. Her cheeks were puffy and her eyes orange with sick. Those eyes begged him to set her free. Hers wasn’t the only voice—there were more. People, trapped in red crystals, begging for death. They surrounded him with their nightmarish pleas. One voice was cut short with a disgusting wet gurgle.
“Angst,” Maarja called out. “Are you all right? What is this?”
The diamond-shaped head of a young, red dragon turned away from a distant croaking wail. Unlike the mother of all dragons with her insanely thick hide, this creature seemed fragile. Fragile like an elephant. He heard a crackling sound, followed by several more. Baby dragons’ heads reached out from their eggs. Some yawned, some licked lips, but eventually all eyed Angst as their first meal.
“It’s a nest!” Angst shouted, his words clipped.
“Angst,” she cried. “Get out of there!”
A burst of wind crashed down on him, kicking up ash and dirt. The wind settled as a fully grown red dragon landed on the edge of the nest, its enormous claws clutching shards along the top. Mom was home. Her scaly head lowered to nuzzle the dead hatchling. Angst swallowed hard. The beast was so large he could barely take in its entirety. The baby dragon didn’t move, and two wide, golden eyes peered at him. It reared back, taking a deep breath.
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