by T P Sheehan
“Worgriels and wyverns.” Magnus said.
“Exactly. Still, I don’t think they’ll cross the river to get at us.”
Out of caution, they stuck to the Romgnian Mountain side of the river.
“I can smell it,” Magnus mumbled, sniffing the air around the Red River. Its blood-water had a scent—a metallic, ashen scent. It was the same scent others smelt on him. Magnus found the river alluring. If not on horseback he would have knelt to it and let his fingertips break the surface of the water. What would it feel like? Magnus asked Catanya if she has learned anything more of the river from the Couldradt Fire dragons.
“It’s a place of remembrance.” Catanya had been resting her head on Magnus’s back as Tilly walked the Red Pass. She sat up in the horse’s saddle, explaining some more—“They seldom talk about it, except Rubea. She was one of the few who weren’t a part of the Battle of Fire, so is not so troubled by it. That and being young makes her curious.” Catanya chuckled then paused before speaking again. “Further north at the Southern Plains, you’ll see. I’ll show you where Balgur fell. Here, the place speaks to you. I’m certain you will hear it.” Catanya pointed northward, past Magnus. “The river will lead to the south-eastern border of Froughton Forest. I’ve been there numerous times with Rubea, but never this far south.”
“Here is not the place to stop, then.”
“No, it is not.”
Magnus kept an eye on the peaks of the Black Cliffs until they travelled beyond them into the Southern Wastelands. The ground became a swirling mixture of dirt and dust, orange and rust, scooped by the winds, spinning into a formless brown haze that blinded them to anything more than a few feet away. Tilly tilted her head forward and kept a steady pace. The only reference point was the river to their left. The dust seemed to draw all moisture from the air leaving Magnus parched. He drew Marsala’s coat around his body leaving only his hands and face to be pummelled by the dust like a thousand stinging needles.
By mid afternoon, Catanya insisted on taking her turn at the front of the saddle. Magnus said he would be looking over her shoulder and copping the wind all the same and that she may as well stay protected behind his back. “Besides, my beard affords me protection.” Furthermore, having her hug him from behind gave him comfort. Magnus thought of when he passed into the wastelands via the Corville Pass long ago as a prisoner. Sarah had embraced him while he was in the sickening throes of Anunya. He had found Sarah so comforting. Little did he know at the time the sickness would continue, on and off, even to this day. If what Marsala said was true, his mixed dragon blood could do battle within him for some time to come. Would some resolution eventually be found? Would one Electus power win out over the other? Balgur told Magnus an Electus inheritance came with an obligation. Was he torn between conflicting obligations?
With nightfall came lethargy, but the winds waned and travel was easier for Tilly. Magnus sensed the mare was more than happy to get beyond the northern borders of the wastelands, and so they pushed through. The Red River guided Tilly through the next section of the Red Pass—the divide between the Corville Mountains to the west and the Romgnian Mountain ranges that continued unbroken to the east. Catanya shifted to the front of the saddle and nestled against Magnus’s chest, getting well-needed sleep. Magnus felt little need for sleep. Waves of lethargy would abate with a flush of warmth bathing his muscles, mind and would-be-tired eyes. It was as if Balgur himself was saying—“Keep moving”.
Magnus kept one eye at all times on the peaks of the Corville Mountains until they passed beyond them and into the soft green pastures of the Southern Plains. As the sun rose the following morning above the Romgnian Mountain ranges, they had done several days worth of fair travel in a day and a night. Magnus looked behind him to the Corville Mountains one last time and thought he saw the figure of a man cloaked in black, high atop a mountain crag. Magnus turned away, unsure of what he saw and then looked back to the black figure a second time, but it was gone. To the north, however, he could just see the dark border of Froughton Forest.
Catanya woke, sat upright and pointed to the forest. She turned to Magnus. “Froughton Forest.”
“Aye.” Magnus smiled back.
“You’re beautiful.” Catanya continued her stare at Magnus until she drew his attention away from the forest and looked into her eyes. “You are. You’re beautiful.” A smile slowly crept across her face.
Magnus chuckled. It was enchanting to see Catanya content and it felt wonderful to be that much closer to home. He would have returned the sentiment, but instead, chose to bask in her flattery. He embraced her and right there by the Red River, he thought of the conversation they shared before Catanya was taken by Austagia to join the Irucantî. He repeated what he said to her then.
“We could run, Catanya.”
Catanya smirked. “You know, I was thinking of that exact conversation. We had decided to go to the Ice Realm—to your mother’s people.” Her smile faded, her demeanour hardened. Magnus knew it reflected his own. Thoughts of his mother, of Catanya’s mother, Hannah, even Xavier.
“And now, we just want to go home.”
“Aye,” Catanya agreed. “But we can’t.”
“Not yet.”
“Soon, though.”
Magnus turned from Catanya’s eyes and considered the continuous range of the Romgnian Mountains. “How long until we reach the Romghold?”
Catanya followed Magnus’s gaze. “It depends on our approach. By mid afternoon, Tilly willing, we should be directly beneath the Romghold. I think we should use the forest for cover once we reach it. A dragon can spot us from the mountaintop. If Liné and Rubea are there as Joffren revealed to you, they will be patrolling the borders from the air. I would guess that one will patrol the skies, the other will guard the temple.”
Magnus gave an affirmative nod. It was sobering to think a dragon could be watching them at that very moment, wondering at their intentions. Magnus knew the closer they were to the Romghold, the more obvious their intentions would be. As they rode toward the fringes of Froughton Forest, Catanya gave Magnus a detailed description of the Romghold. He formed an image in his mind of the Temple of Fire—the temple he saw a brief vision of when he shared Joffren’s thoughts back in Ba’rrat. In these thoughts, Magnus saw the two High Priests in the temple under protection of spells and two dragons guarding the temple doors. Catanya explained the training field, the accommodation quarters and other buildings laid symmetrically about a paved common. It was here they were headed—here they were going to confront the High Priests. This was Magnus’s intention ever since Brue and the three Irucantî tried to kill him, but he was no closer to knowing how he would do it.
A mile from the southern border of Froughton Forest, Catanya insisted—“We should stop here. You need to see the river at this point.”
They alighted and Magnus fed carrots to Tilly and served her water from the skin strapped to her saddle. Catanya took time to stretch her hamstrings and back muscles. Magnus simply cracked his neck to one side then walked to the river’s edge. He squatted by the Red River and peered through the flowing water. It was opaque from its redness and only at its shallowest could the pebbles resting on the bottom be seen.
“This is where Balgur fell,” Catanya said.
Magnus rolled forward onto his knees but kept his hands to himself, tempering his desire to touch the water. “He fell here?”
“Aye.”
Magnus’s thoughts were of Eamon. Steyne… Where was he standing at the time? Was he far from Balgur? Why couldn’t he reach him in time? He thought of every possible scenario that could lead to Delvion possessing Steyne’s sword and even then, not finding a way to prevent the lethal blow. He could only conclude there was more to the scene than he was able to piece together—more warriors, more violence, more at stake and… more to the story than has been spoken. Magnus recalled Marsala’s words on the matter—‘You must learn Balgur’s side of the story… Beyond Eamon’s sorrow and Delvion
’s ego. With Balgur you’ll find the truth.’
Catanya knelt beside Magnus. He put a hand on her thigh, still gazing into the water.
“Some are afraid to touch it, others bathe, hoping it has healing properties,” Catanya said.
“Have you touched it?” Magnus hoped she had. He wanted an excuse to do so himself.
“Joffren wouldn’t touch it.” Catanya seemed to come to a realisation of some kind as she said it. She stared at Magnus.
An involuntary smile came to Magnus’s face. “You want to touch it now, don’t you!” he said.
“I sure do. Same time?”
“Same time.”
Both Magnus and Catanya reached fingers to the water’s edge. With hands almost touching each other, their fingers breached the surface of the water. The effect was immediate.
Catanya’s breath was caught. She was choking. Heat shot up her arm, through her body and filled her heart to the point of near explosion. She pulled her hand free and her breath returned. She took deep breaths to try and ease the heat in her chest but it persisted and starting radiating through her body. Catanya spun around, looking for Magnus. There was no trace of him anywhere. He had vanished.
“Magnus?” Catanya’s voice ricocheted in her own mind but was silent to the world around her. She began to hear voices in her head, bouncing back and forth, each voice staking its claim for attention. Catanya tried to control the voices but they just became more confusing. She gripped the sides of her head and lay on the riverbank in the foetal position. “STOP!” she pleaded.
“STOP,” a dominant voice spoke, subduing all other voices to a still-present background hum. “Follow me as I go.” the voice said. It was an ancient, cavernous voice far beyond the age and depth of any person’s. Catanya was sure it belonged to a dragon and here, with her fingers dampened by the Red River, the voice could only belong to one dragon…
“Balgur?”
“Come,” Balgur said as if confirming who he was.
In one swift motion, Catanya was pulled deep into the Red River and drawn downstream. The great dragon was pulling on her mind, drawing her forth. She wanted to protest but they were moving so fast it startled her to silence. This is not real, this is in my mind, she told herself, trying to regulate her breathing, all the while knowing it was futile if she was in fact underwater.
“Come,” Balgur repeated.
Just go with it, Catanya. She asserted repeatedly that this must be a dream and like all dreams she would soon wake, unharmed.
Catanya was pulled through the river as it branched to the right along a narrow stream toward the Corville Mountains and then branched of again into a tiny rivulet that travelled beneath the mountain and through channels in the stone. The tiny waterway, barely more than a finger’s breadth wide, worked its way deeper and deeper underground until it surfaced in a narrow tunnel, trickling down as a thin stream that seeped through more stone before finally dripping through the ceiling of a cave. Catanya knew she was not really there, yet her mind had travelled here for a reason.
“Where are we?”
“In the Caves of Cuvee,” Balgur said.
It was dark. All the voices in Catanya’s head were silenced but one. It was a voice that was going to affect her somehow—why else would Balgur bring me here?
“Listen,” Balgur instructed.
Heeding the dragon’s warning, Catanya concentrated on the one voice. It was a deep, insidious voice that jarred her mind in a way only one man’s voice had done so before—when he spoke before his people in Ba’rrat’s arena. “Delvion…”
Delvion’s voice seethed with anger—with the need for vengeance. The bravado Catanya saw the Quag King flaunt in Ba’rrat was gone. It was replaced with absolute hatred. Through Balgur, Catanya sensed not so much his words, but the malice in Delvion’s heart. The Quag King was embracing this malice to cope with the death of his second son—Crugion—and his own failure to obtain the one remaining Electus power he had hungered for since the Battle of Fire two decades before. Worse still, Delvion knew Bonstaph of J’esmagd was Magnus’s father. Bonstaph had slayed his sons. Magnus was now the Electus. Delvion’s need for vengeance against the J’esmagd family was more than palpable. His thirst for power had been reinforced with a ravenous hunger for revenge. Delvion was determined to see Bonstaph, Magnus and all they held dear perish. This would pre-empt his final war against the realms of Allumbreve.
As quickly as she arrived in the malevolent Caves of Cuvee, Catanya felt herself pulled away. Out of the darkness of the Caves, Catanya could see again, albeit as a moving blur. Balgur led her back through the confluence of waterways to the Red River, northward to its termination at the Traas River and westward into Froughton Forest. Catanya felt a violent shudder as they entered and passed through what she could only guess was The Core of the forest. Do the OhUid folk have wards protecting The Core’s boundaries? Catanya hoped she would never have to find out.
Balgur speared Catanya through a network of rivers, emerging from Froughton to the west via the Nuyan River. At speed faster than a diving dragon, Catanya was thrust through her homelands where she heard the chattering of her people and the shouting of war cries. She tried to grasp onto something here—a familiar voice perhaps—but is was not what Balgur needed to show her and she was pulled away before she could get a firm grip. Balgur’s journey took them further and further north to the northern Realms End and into the Ice Realm. The Nuyan River became the Whytfé River and Catanya felt the water temperature drop rapidly. The Whytfé River entered the broad lake of the same name. Catanya was pulled through its depths. Its chilly waters saturating her mind, making her head ache from the cold. Beyond the Whytfé Lake, the river ascended the mountainous Ice Breach. The further they went, the more the river turned to ice until forced into separate rivulets that navigated through the Northern Highlands and finally terminated at the Ice Seas and its shores—the home of the Rhydermere.
The Ice Seas were beyond Catanya’s dreams. At its surface, the crystal sea shimmered under a blinding white sky, but as Balgur and Catanya dove through the seas depths, the seas shifted through infinite shades of blue from sapphire to azure, cobalt to midnight, yet always keeping its crystal clarity. Looking up, Catanya watched powerful walls of waves furl over and bash against craggy chunks of pearl-white icebergs, then fold over and under in flowing perfection.
From the Ice Seas, Balgur led Catanya upstream through water channels that traversed streets made of white granite cobblestone, leading to a tall wall of ice. The ice formed the outer structure of some kind of fortress, or castle, or—an ice palace? Catanya considered. There was barely a moment to take in its form before she was drawn along waterways in the ice wall just as she was through stone in the Corville Mountains. The darkness returned and she was blind again, giving over to acute hearing. The cold ache in her head persisted but she tried to ignore it as Balgur drew her toward another voice as focused as Delvion’s had been in the Caves of Cuvee.
It was the voice of a woman. It echoed as though projected through a great room in the ice palace. As she spoke, a thousand murmurs were silenced. Unlike Delvion, her voice was beyond fear and despair, beyond tragedy and remorse. She spoke concisely of plans and tactics. She knew what she wanted and her subordinates were listening intently. Her commands would be obeyed—that much Catanya knew. The voice spoke of the need for governance and to strip Allumbreve of all power not under the direct control of the Ice Realm. Catanya knew by the voice and location that she was hearing the woman Marsala spoke of—it was Magnus’s mother.
“Alavia…”
As if to confirm what he had shown Catanya, Balgur’s voice rang through her one last time—“I have shown you two great threats to Allumbreve. Use discretion with this information.”
“I will,” Catanya said. Her mind, near frozen by the waters that traced veins in the ice palace walls, was thrust back the way she came. In a blinding, dizzying moment, Catanya was beside the Red River again, still shiv
ering from the cold of the Ice Realm. She was kneeling beside the river, dry, with her fingers a hair’s width from the water surface. It was as if she had never left but for the chill that lingered in her body on the hot summer day.
“Magnus!”
The moment his fingertips broke the vermilion surface of the Red River, Magnus was pulled down into its depths.
Completely submerged, he clawed frantically at the water, desperate to get back to the surface. Magnus’s vision blurred and he began to panic. The more he struggled, the deeper he sank until his boots hit the riverbed. Straining at the end of his breath, Magnus’s lungs heaved in protest until the scorching heat of dragon blood took control. His lungs were soon relieved of the burden to breathe at all. Magnus’s vision began to return and the water became transparent.
The heat passed and Magnus felt invigorated. He looked up and could see the wavering silhouette of Catanya kneeling by the waters edge—her fingers immersed in the water. She appeared frozen in time. Magnus reached for her. Something knocked his hand as it swam past. It was a trout, swimming against the current toward a waterfall a hundred yards upstream. ‘What then… when you reach the waterfall?’ Magnus realised it was a memory—a lamentation from the past. He looked up again, this time seeing himself standing on the opposite side of the riverbank to Catanya. His arm was outstretched—he was dropping something. A flower landed delicately on the surface of the water. It was a purple iris—another memory… Magnus looked down to the riverbed. Resting on a large stone was a bloodstained arrow. Blood rose from the arrow, swirled toward the surface and drifted downstream with the current, where it slowly dispersed into the red of the river. Magnus recalled—the blood was Thioci’s and the arrow was Quag. It had wounded the dragon youngling in Froughton Forest.