In A Time Of Darkness

by Gregory James Knoll

  * * * * *

  Ristalln waited patiently at the door of the third level of Forgas, as did the rest of the group. All except Gort, the Dwarf still inside finalizing his goodbyes and trying to determine a starting place for them all. When he finally came out, each looked to him for answers, Lanyan noticing that his once empty belt was full with hammers once more.

  “So…?” Ristalln said, being the most impatient.

  “As he told Merial, he’s a dwarf of his word. He’s with us, all tha way: armor, weapons, and troops. He’s offered ta use Forgas as a training ground. Well tha back of it at least. Should provide us with some secrecy,” the Dwarf turned his eyes to the still groggy brunette. “Ya must have really impressed him, Mare.”

  She smirked and tightened her mouth, “I’m glad to hear it, but he didn’t need to yell and shake me so much. He should have been as affected from last night as I was.”

  Gort couldn’t help but laugh, backing away slowly as he spoke, “Drinking doesn’t hang onto dwarves tha next day as it does humans. I should have warned ye. He has a habit of doing that when other races decide ta drink with him.”

  “Well that would have been valuable information before I went in,” Merial glared and began stalking towards him, She almost got a hold of him when a sudden flash far off in the east drew everyone’s attention.

  “They’re heading back,” Ristalln stepped between Merial and Gort, still locked on the flare. “Come on Sunshine. You can settle this later.”

  Merial growled and shot a final sneer at Gort, “I don’t feel very shiny…”

  The Knight only laughed and winked at her, “I was talking to Gort.”

  He was first to the ladder, giving them time to catch up, as he knew they had a long journey to make. There was a tiny patch of trees between Forgas and the cave of Morgondeval. During the times of Highlace it stretched all the way to Davaina and was used as a lumberyard. Although it had faded and diminished over time, it served as a suitable landmark to meet the Champion. From there, they would travel north. Though Grahamas had not mentioned why, he said it was important and that was enough for Ristalln to understand. It was not, however, enough to squelch his curiosity and now he found himself eager for answers. So he was the first, followed by Gnert who looked just as energetic, then by Gort and Lanyan, leaving only Carsis, Merial, and Jeralyle up top. The Mage had kept his distance from the two since his encounter the night before, had tried not to make it obvious but Merial managed to notice. As Carsis made his way down the ladder he stopped at the top rung and looked up at her while she stared at Jeralyle. The Mage refused to even make eye contact, simply staring off into the horizon and then waiting a long time before making his way down. When he got to the middle level, he meandered there as well, then finally to the last.

  By the time Jeralyle was on the ground, the rest of the group was visible but well ahead of him, heading east. Not very eager to catch up, he skulked on his horse and sighed when he realized that Carsis and Merial were located at the back of the group. He was doing his best to keep things civil and friendly. He would never deny an attraction to Merial if anyone asked, but he had been raised to respect others’ boundaries. He would never act on it. Yet the harder he tried to maintain a platonic distance, the more protective Carsis became of her. Jeralyle wondered what he was going to tell her, if anything. For when he saw her speak to Carsis, untie and mount her horse to ride back to him, he knew she was going to ask.

  Surprisingly she didn’t say a word. Just rode past him to redirect on the narrow road before trotting up next to him. Things remained painfully silent until she finally blurted out, “Want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  “No. I really would rather not.”

  Abruptly, Merial’s hand reached over and grasped Jeralyle’s before he could react. “Please, tell me. Is it about your girl? Is that where you went a couple weeks ago?”

  He peered ahead to make sure Carsis wasn’t watching them, but he was. With a disapproving gasp, Jeralyle pulled his hand back. “There is no girl, Mare. I just said that so you wouldn’t think I was foolish for spending my entire life buried in books. I’ve never even kissed someone.”

  “Jer…I wouldn’t have thought any less of you. Is that what it is? Are you upset because you weren’t honest?”

  “I felt bad, but no, that’s not it.”

  “Then what?” But he shook his head, refusing to answer, “We’re friends…right?”

  At first he wasn’t sure how to answer that, “Without fail.”

  “Then as my friend, know you can tell me…whatever it is.”

  He sighed, still not wanting to discuss it, but when he looked over and saw the concern and compassion soaking her eyes, he broke. “It’s Carsis.”

  “Carsis? What happened?”

  “He’s been trying to intimidate me for the past few days, and last night after I carried you to bed he…”

  “Wait… That was you?”

  “Aye. It was.”

  Merial focused on her fiancé, who quickly turned around. Wondering now why he lied to her—or if he had—as a memory from last night returned. “What did I call you?” She knew Jeralyle wouldn’t be dishonest with her, not with something like that, but she couldn’t imagine Carsis would either.

  “Um… Heh… You called me Jerry Berry.”

  She grinned and blushed but then her emotion grew sad, “I’m sorry Jeralyle.”

  “For what?”

  “Carsis. You see, a few days before you arrived we had a long talk about the past year. How he’s become more aggressive and more controlling, though I can’t begin to understand why. He may have been like that all along and I just never realized it. I saw him as nothing but compassionate. He was strong with others, but always gentle with me. I started to see less and less of the man I fell in love with, and a few nights before you came into our lives we were discussing why.” She bowed her head for a moment and her curly brown locks tumbled in front of her face. “When we got engaged, he wanted the wedding to follow quickly afterwards. I wanted to wait at least a while. We were just starting to establish both of our businesses, and I wished us to be comfortable before we were married and started a family. He did not. We got involved in this and the future seemed even further off. I didn’t want to make that unity in the middle of such turmoil. I wanted peace. No matter how many times I tell him that, he keeps pressing it. At times he can get very angry and extremely possessive. Usually it stays hidden, just not with you apparently.”

  “Why?”

  “That is something you should not ask, Jeralyle.”

  “He seems to think you are attracted to me, and I to you.” He waited for a response, for her to deny it. When she did not, he stooped his head to gain her vision, “Mare… That’s not the case is it?”

  She looked up and then straightened. “It’s what I keep telling myself…” Silence echoed between them. Neither looked at the other, until she finally broke. “Jeralyle,” she reached out again to take his hand, without him protesting. “Everything will work out I promise, I’ll talk to him. I don’t want there to be tension between the two of you and I don’t want to stop being friends. I lo…like you.”

  Unlike earlier, the smile Jeralyle wore on his face was genuine “I trust you.”

  She was forced to grin back, “That’s what I wanted to see.”

  The Mage chuckled and then cast away bashfully without saying a word. Nor did he need to. All was at peace.

  Far ahead, near the front of the line, the same could not be said. Diplomacy was being discussed. Gort, Lanyan, and Gnert heading the conversation.

  “You’re saying,” Lanyan began, seeming a tad agitated, “that the way Javal decided to help us was more suitable than the way Rasonius did?”

  “Aye,” the Dwarf nodded, a strange look on his face; eyes were glaring as his lips curled to a smile.

  “And you think it was handled with more poise?”

  “Aye!”

  Lanyan blinked, co
mpletely stunned. He gaped as though he was trying desperately to understand how Gort thought, but unable to voice his discoveries. “That’s insane!” He finally blurted out.

  “How do ye figure?”

  “My king sat with his council, weighed the pros and cons of the situation, determined a plan of action, and saw it through. Your king drank.”

  It was Gort’s turn to stammer. “How is it better? We made ourselves anxious, stated our opinions, and then left tha decision completely in their hands. At least Javal gave us a chance ta prove our worth. Rasonius just made us talk.”

  “Rasonius considered what was at stake. He took into account he affect this war would have, the lives that could be lost, and the damage on the land.”

  “So did Javal!”

  “When? We weren’t even announced.”

  Gort grew very serious; “He’s been considering it since tha day I left, Lanyan.”

  “Why did you leave, Gort?” Lanyan knew it was foolish, but he had to ask. Much like he did perhaps a dozen times over the past year.

  When Carsis met Elryia and asked Lanyan to join the group, Gort was already with her. He was her first and only companion. Over that year each member had shared the story of why they fought—all except Gort. Anytime he was asked, the Dwarf would avoid it—no matter who it came from. He was loyal and determined, and fought with a fire that few had; but neither Lanyan nor anyone else knew where that fortitude stemmed from. Perhaps Elryia, but she would never tell. “Yer following tha wrong tracks, Elf. It’s not important.” Lan shrugged, that was as close to the answer as he always got. “What’s important however is that I’m right.”

  “Ha! You didn’t prove anything.”

  “Neither did ye!”

  “Fine. Let’s ask the smart one.”

  Gort agreed and both sought Gnert, who tilted up to see them past the turtle shell helmet. With a deep breath and his furry, black eyebrows elevating, he unleashed his fury. “It is perhaps futile for one to try and discern the best process when both had the same desired outcome. At first perception, it would seem as though Mr. Rasonius’ logical and calculating approach was the wiser of the two. However, upon further examination, Mr. Javal’s tactic was a decisive—albeit uncouth—way to test our resolve and ambition.”

  Gort and Lanyan faced each other, trying to decipher what exactly the answer had been. “I told ye I was right,” Gort finally huffed after his head started hurting.

  “That is not what he said,” Lanyan argued. Gnert simply pedaled his GOmobile faster to pull away from the ruckus.

  Merial and Jeralyle, still hadn’t caught up with the rest of the group, yet could hear every word, both of them giggling as they listened.

 

  When the moment had passed, Merial turned an apologetic look towards Jer. “I appreciate you being honest about your past with me, so there’s something I need to tell you.” The Mage seemed almost nervous. “Do you remember Carsis’ story on how we came to be with Elryia?”

  “Aye.”

  “For the most part, it was true. At least how he met Lanyan. But it was he who followed us because of their friendship, not the other way around.”

  Jeralyle shifted. “You joined Elryia first?”

  “We did.”

  Again, Jeralyle saw that look of pain and longing in her face, and wondered if he should continue. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She nodded, though was initially reluctant to speak. “You recall me telling Javal of the bar?” He smiled slightly, acknowledging her. “I had been the owner for five years.” The woman’s eyes glossed over as she dug the memory out. “It was originally my parents’, and was given to me when they left Davaina to travel. It was beautiful, located in the town square—at the center of everything. The outside was solid oak with a long, wide porch and two tables on either side of the door. The inside was two floors. On the first stained-glass windows wrapped all the way around, except for the north side where the actual serving area was. A long, wide pathway led directly to it from the doorway, and rows of tables lined the left and right sides. The second floor had a large stage where talent from all over Eldonia would come to play, in front of it benches that were always full. It was left to me in…not so good of shape, but once I fixed it up it was a great business.”

  Though he could almost guess the answer from the look on her face, he pursued. “What happened to it?”

  “Idimus happened to it. Once word spread of how well I was doing, he began sending his tax collectors.”

  “What did you do?”

  “At first I paid him. It was only once a month and not too much money. Then it became twice, three times, and finally four. And each encounter, he asked for a larger amount. It got to the point where I was barely getting by. One month, Drogan and the collector came a fifth time, I broke and finally told them no.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing, at least not at that point. I thought they were going to arrest me or even kill me, but the collector simply said he was going to inform the King and went on his way. For days, no response. Until one night, I heard what sounded like the whole town outside. They were screaming and charging through Davaina as if they were going to lynch someone. When I ran out to see what was happening…” Merial dropped her head for a moment and Jeralyle reached a gentle hand out to her shoulder, swearing he saw a tear fall from her eye. “I found my bar burning to the ground, most of it already had been.”

  Jeralyle squeezed lightly and if they had not been on horses, he would have wrapped his arms around her. “Mare… I’m sorry.”

  She sighed and shook it off. “When the fire was finally out and I got the heart to return home there, on my door, was a note that simply said: ‘Next time pay your taxes.’” The distraught look on Merial’s face turned to rage and Jeralyle blinked, having never seen such a thing from her. “All that my parents had worked for their entire lives, everything I had… All gone within a night. No warning, no threat, no barter. He just burned it down to prove his point.”

  Suddenly Jeralyle reached out, grabbing the reigns of her horse as he stopped his own, leaning over and hugging her tight—uncaring if Carsis was watching or not. And her eyes went wide for a moment, but she sighed and leaned into him. He remained quiet, only holding her before he finally spoke again as he released his grip. “Is that why you’re with Elryia?”

  With a nod, Merial began riding again. “Yes. I actually met her weeks before. She was with Gort and as you can imagine, my bar was his favorite place to be. She was sweet and polite when I first met her, I had no idea what she had planned or the quest she had taken on. But only days after I found the note, she approached me and asked me in a very cold, monotone voice if I wanted vengeance. We’ve been together ever since.” Merial turned her eyes up to look at the approaching forest, then dropped them to Carsis. Again the man stared back at the two. “I am sorry that he lied to you, and I did not address it until now. I think he was just trying to spare me from recalling painful memories.”

  He reached across to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Do not feel guilt, as no harm was done.

  She reached up to cover his hand with hers, then shot a sharp glance towards Carsis, whose posture had visibly stiffened. “I… I should go.”

  Jeralyle nodded slowly, “I understand… I did enjoy speaking with you though, Merial.”

  “You too, Jerry Berry.” She laughed, playfully winking before she sped up, “Don’t be shy from now on.”

  “I will not. Promise.”

  Merial chuckled again, the sound quite faint to Jeralyle as she clopped away. Far ahead of them, an elf was silencing a rumbling, boasting dwarf as they drew closer to the patch of trees.

  “What?” Gort barked, upset he had been shushed, “What is it?”

  Without saying a word, Lanyan faced southwest, tightening his gaze. “Something is coming…fast.”

  Ristalln charged after seeing the concern written on his face, “What does it sound like?�
�

  “Wings… Heavy ones.”

  “How heavy?”

  “Like the ones we heard in Sharia.”

  Rist blinked and rushed back to the others as quickly as his horse would go, whispering harshly, “Into the forest everyone. Hurry!” As soon as he circled fully and they received word, he headed to the front of the line to lead the way.

  Although small, the forest was dense and would provide at least some cover. Once Ristalln had entered he remained at the edge, relaying orders as the others broke through. “Hide against the end and keep your eyes open.”

  Each nodded and slipped by him. Merial and Carsis ran to the other side, pressing through the only clearing there was, ducking behind two compacted trees. They ducked down, keeping watch on the outer side. As Lanyan, Gnert, and Gort entered, Rist directed them to the opposite area—the Elf and Gnome on one, the Dwarf on the other. Then finally, Jeralyle moved in and stood to the right side of Ristalln, the Knight’s hand on his sleeve telling him to remain where he was.

  Then everyone waited.

  Pulled Are The Strings Of Covetousness

  Most were peering out from the trees, Lanyan in them, and one tiny growling Gnome hid behind a shrub. Minutes stacked upon minutes and nothing changed. Growing anxious, Ristalln looked across the clearing towards Lanyan and the man held a finger to his ear, asking if he still heard it.

  The Elf leaned in the direction he originally caught the sound, but only shook his head. Ristalln considered that it passed them by, but they would have seen it. Before he freed everyone from hiding he was going to guarantee such a fact. The Knight’s finger raised again to Lanyan, then all others letting them know to wait. After they nodded, Rist crept to the edge of the forest slowly moving from tree to tree to cover himself. With his back to the companions and body inches away from the forest’s start, he eased over the side of a thick oak, peering out onto the road they just came from. But only clear skies and open fields were present, everywhere he looked. He held a moment, then another before he headed back the group’s way. He was ready to give the all clear when a soft, psychotic laugh came from behind him.

  “Oh…heroes. I know you’re in there. You may as well come out,” Valaira strolled into the clearing, raising her hand to glide it along the bark of a nearby tree, then digging her nails into it and flicking her eyes. Within seconds of her touch, the bark lost color, the leaves turned gray as the tree began to wither from the inside.

  By luck she happened through an area no one was hiding in, but only a few feet to the left of Ristalln and Jeralyle. When she stopped in the clearing, the ivory-haired woman smoothed her clothes out, and then tapped her foot impatiently. “I promise to make it quick. Not entirely painless mind you, but quick.”

  Ristalln cast his vision across the forest, making sure Valaira didn’t see him and Lanyan did. The moment Lan locked eyes on him, Rist tapped his left forearm, and then pointed at Valaira—giving the Elf a wordless order to shoot her, but holding his hand up letting him know not to do it yet. Lanyan pulled the crossbow from its resting position into his grip, slowly and agonizingly, determined not to make a sound. It was nearly there when a click escaped. The Elf winced and glanced up, but Valaira was on the other side, looking behind one tree and then a second. It took Lanyan only an instant to work the weapon completely into his hand and then flick his wrist to lock in one bolt. He then gave another nod to the Knight, signaling that he was ready.

  Across the clearing, Rist still held one hand in the air, fingers stretched to the sky. His other dragged his blade out even slower than Lanyan had armed his crossbow. “Do you know any offensive spells?” he whispered to his right, where Jeralyle stood.

  “One.”

  “Good. Cast it. And when I give the sign, set it loose.”

  The Mage bowed his head and extended his fingers, whispering. His mutters turned to chants and Ristalln saw one flicker of lightning, and then two.

  “I’m bored now,” Valaira hissed, drawing dangerously close. “You no longer get the option of quick! It’s going to be long…and painful. I’m going to draw it out as much as possible.”

  “Ready…” Ristalln heard Jer whisper, and the raised hand of the Knight went from spread fingers to a clenched fist. An instant passed when he heard the twang of Lanyan’s crossbow and watched a bolt streak across the forest and embed between Valaira’s shoulder blades.

  “There’s your sign,” Ristalln quipped as he leapt out, hand gripped tightly around his blade.

  Valaira, caught off-guard, turned to the direction the arrow came from, giving Jeralyle the perfect opportunity. He rushed from the forest and thrust out his hands, a long stream of blue lightning exploded off his fingers and found its way to the woman. Perhaps it was luck, possibly skill, but the end of the charge landed directly on Lanyan’s bolt, grounding it, driving the charge straight into Valaira. That was enough to stun even her. She fell to her knees and the quick Knight was on her before she could recover, blade pressed tight to her pale neck.

  The woman smirked and smiled deviously, flicking her lavender eyes down at the blade. “Impressive, Valiant. That actually hurt. Tell me, did you plan it that way?” Her gaze moved from the weapon to his face with a deep stare, intense, as though she were looking for something. She then grew unimpressed and turned to Jeralyle with the same scrutiny.

  Behind her, Lanyan closed in, aimed at her back while Jeralyle moved to her left and resumed his chanting.

  Ristalln dug the blade a bit deeper and leaned down to whisper harshly, “Quiet, and maybe we’ll let you leave… Let you live.” He smirked, taunting her. He had no real intentions of letting her do either.

  “No!” A voice echoed around the forest, so loud it startled even Valaira. “She’s not leaving and she’s not living.”

  Ristalln glanced at it for a second—perhaps even half of one—and when his eyes returned, Valaira was standing, looking down at the bow aimed harmlessly beside her and the sword intimidating the air. Further down her gaze fell to a tiny vine working its way around her ankle. With a snarl she raised up, tugging her foot free while her mouth contorted back to its usual smirk. “Hmm… I wonder. Who could possibly belong to that voice?”

  The devious woman’s orbs found Lornya stalking through the trees, teeth clenched. “You know, and you knew in Sharia.” Her stare blazed as brightly as her hair, “You would have to be mad to come back here knowing that.”

  “Mad? Me? Far from it actually. Someone who was crazy would do this…” A sinister smile crossed her lips and she turned to Ristalln, “I don’t prefer the way your friend is looking at me. Carve his eyes out.” Rist blinked and his hand twitched, his expression opening wide, fighting the urge that Valaira had planted in him. “Now…” she ordered.

  Despite his control, Ristalln could not stop his left hand from rising up, the tip of his blade aiming for Jer’s face. Valaira lit up with morbid amusement, Jeralyle’s visage covered in fear. Lornya’s attention dashed from Valaira’s to Ristalln’s hand and her head jerked up in a quick motion. A vine, much like the one that had eased around Valaira’s leg burst from the ground. This one much faster and higher, lashing around the Knight’s wrist tightly, stopping him and his blade from advancing. A sigh of relief exited the Knight’s lungs and the Mage pried one eye open, thankful that it still worked.

  “That was petty,” Lornya stalked, planning something.

  “Aye. But it was fun,” as Lornya’s stare went around her, Valaira’s went around the Goddess to Grahamas and Elryia who rushed in behind her. “Ah… There’s my girl, and the Champion as well. Tell me, True… Do you have something for me?”

  “Aye.” Grahamas let a snarl slip as his sword out scraped out, “You’re welcome to come get it.”

  Valaira only stepped back, still tossing her intent gaze around—searching for something. Ristalln had long since dropped his blade as her thrall had faded on him, and he wasn’t about to give her a second chance. With one final step, Valaira stared behind the
m all, looking to the sudden rustle created when Merial and Carsis broke through, hoping to surround her.

  Lornya feared she would try to escape through the back and a quick hand gesture closed the trees behind her, giving the woman a smaller opportunity.

  Yet Valaira didn’t move. Barely even seemed to breathe. Only stood unwavering, like an elegantly morbid marble statue. Something was written on her face, something no one would ever imagine seeing from her. It was shock—complete and utter. Not a momentary surprise, or a sudden jolt—it was a soft, serene realization. Oddly pure for a woman of her nature, as though she was witnessing her own death.

  All saw it. Some stopped, others grew curious, and several worried that she was plotting. Carsis, the one she stared at so intently and who seemed to be the cause of all of it, was just as still.

  “Nwour…” she whispered, almost inaudible as she continued her backward stride. “Nwour!”

  The moment he saw Valaira, Grahamas knew the Dragon would not be far behind. So when he fell from the sky and dropped into the clearing, the Champion was ready for it. However, what he did not expect was the Dragon’s attempt to crash directly on top of them, and he was forced to adjust his strategy. Turning, he wrapped one arm tight around Elryia’s waist and clutched her to him; his other arm went around Lornya. Once he had a firm grip on both, he leapt forward to safety, taking them with him. Ristalln and Jeralyle pulled back, a well-timed arrow from Lanyan stuck behind the dragon’s crooked leg. A distraction that gave Grahamas enough time to stand and gain a safe distance.

  “You hurt?” Grahamas asked Elryia first.

  “No.”

  He then turned to the Goddess, “You?”

  “Ha. I found that more pleasurable than harmful, Graham.” She winked, forcing the blushing Champion to focus on Nwour, expecting to see him ready to strike. But the creature had its back turned battling away one hammer then another from Gort. “Valaira? Where did she go?” Almost frantically, Lornya scanned the forest though there was no sign of her. The sudden disruption had caused every bird in the trees to let loose to the sky. Valaira was mixed within them now, and all she could do was mutter, “Damn.”

  The Champion, though he would have wished to capture her as well, had other concerns. Mainly keeping Gort and Lanyan from trouble, both now hurling their respective weapons at the Dragon.

  “Stay back,” Grahamas pressed, drawing both blades from his back and rushing forward.

  “I’m helping,” Elryia retorted, remaining right by his side.

  As did Lornya, “So am I.”

  The Champion turned to look at one and then the other, growling, “Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me?”

  Ahead of him, the Dragon slapped away another hammer and then took massive reverse strides in order to keep an eye on both the Champion and the Dwarf. Nwour cracked his tail like a whip down at Gort, but Lanyan shoved him away just in time.

  “Grahamas…” Nwour’s dingy yellow eyes fell on the Champion and blinked, “How I’ve waited for this day… We all have.”

  Nwour tightened his stare as his head swayed back and forth, prompting Grahamas to crouch and raise his sword. “We?” He asked, wondering if he would get an answer.

  He did, but it came in the form of Nwour cranking his neck one last time and thrusting his head forward and mouth snapping at the Champion, much like he did in Sharia. This time, Grahamas was not distracted. He was focused and instead of getting his mouth around the Champion, Nwour got the Champion’s blade stuck in his jagged, half-rotted nose. He blinked, then shook his head as his wings flapped out halfway before crushing to his body, pursuing Grahamas. With his back fully on Lanyan and Gort, Nwour crawled along, slowly stalking Grahamas. Ristalln picked his sword up, creeping to the Dragon’s side, Elryia extended her hands, cold dominating the air, Lornya—on the other side of the Champion—had her fingers pointed and dancing above the ground, vines began to creep out of the earth. Each was prepared to stop the Dragon’s current advance.

  But he yielded on his own accord.

  The sky grew black above them, a low growl erupting over all. Both Grahamas and the Dragon tilted their heads up to look at it. The Champion reached his hand out to both Elryia and Lornya to halt their advance, and each jerked to a sudden stillness.

  A moment later they discovered why. In the same manner as Nwour had, another dragon dropped onto the ground. This one alive, and seeming the exact opposite of Nwour. Instead of oily black scales he had soft white fur. The spikes at the tips of his wings were blue not red and their membranes gray as opposed to crimson. Lanyan watched, nearly in a panic as he clicked another arrow into his bow, aiming at the new dragon.

  “No,” Ristalln whispered, placing his hand on the weapon and pushing it down. “This one’s a friend,” Lanyan relaxed and stood still, maintaining distance from Nwour’s dangerous tail. Grahamas pulled back. Lornya knew Nallar, but Elryia gave a curious look. Graham only shook his head, wrapped his hand under her arm and eased her back, watching.

  “Hello…my brother,” the black dragon hissed, hunched over, his head only inches away from the ground, swaying like a pendulum as his murky eyes stared up.

  Nallar took a step back and lowered his head to make contact, “Nwour…”

  “How I’ve…missed you,” Nwour chuckled deep in his throat, one that exited when his mouth opened, then snapped shut a second later as he attempted to clip the other’s white nose.

  Nallar raised his head quickly to avoid the bite and then dipped back down to release one of his own. He, however, connected right onto the other dragon’s shoulder. From it, Nwour growled and jerked back. “I always wondered if you would crawl your way out of that hole the Champion put you in,” Nallar spoke the moment he loosened his teeth from his black brethren.

  “And now I have…I hope you weren’t waiting around all this time simply for me.”

  “What a foolish thought. Then again, you’ve always been dense. Even amidst your rotting flesh I could smell you all the way from Davaina.”

  Nwour slinked back, blinking before his blackened tongue flicked out, “Fly all the way here to say hello?” His eyes narrowed as a demonic smile took over him.

  “To put you back.”

  The Dragon looked almost terrified. “You can’t kill your own kind. Our code…”

  Nallar growled, bowing his head as though he was going to secede. “The way I see it…you’re already dead!” He snapped and then let his massive legs lead him forward, until they sprung and launched him towards Nwour. His front paws jutted out, one wrapping around Nwour’s neck as the other dug into his shoulder. The sudden charge and massive weight forced the black dragon over and onto his back. Nallar raised his head before letting it fall upon Nwour’s unoccupied shoulder. When it landed and his teeth sank in, Nwour let out a roar of agony, instinctively raising his front claws to keep Nallar above him—to miss a second bite. As Nallar attempted to dig further, Nwour expanded his wings and flapped them out, using them as leverage to turn himself over and flip the other onto his back. The black dragon had aimed its maw at his neck, but Nallar’s hind legs had found their way to his brother’s stomach and extended, shoving him into the air. On his ascent, Nwour attempted one last snap, but his mouth chomped only air, far too high to reach anything else. As the black dragon landed on his feet, the white dragon sprung back to his.

  El and Grahamas watched, both tempted to step in. Neither would. Elryia worried that she would accidentally hit the white dragon in the tussle, Grahamas worried that he would get crushed in it. Gort and Lanyan nearly did. As Nallar chased after his fleeing brother, both tumbled and rolled to the left side of the forest—exactly where the Elf and Dwarf were standing.

  “Watch it!” Ristalln hollered, jumping forward and yanking them both out of harm’s way.

  Nallar continued on, landing both of his massive hands on Nwour’s shoulders again, and digging his nails in. The black dragon made an attempt to capture his attacker’s neck in his mouth, but
Nallar intercepted and drove his nose into the rotted, skeletal side of Nwour’s jaw causing another frustrated growl to bellow from his throat. Despite the claws rending into what little flesh there was left on him, Nwour managed a vengeful, almost regretful look at Grahamas before he scraped and slid away from the white dragon’s grip. What blood he had—black and vile—was oozing out, forcing him to realize this was a fight he would not win. Once free, he got to his feet and faced the trees, then charged through them. Most cracked, splintered, and toppled from this massive weight. Moments later, the companions watched Nwour take to the skies. Grahamas gave a quick nod to Nallar when he looked back at the group. Seeing that the companions were safe, he turned and crushed through the remaining timbers, soaring his way up to catch his twisted sibling.

  Each and every eye within the forest—from Ristalln to Lornya—watched until he was no longer visible. All except Grahamas, who had turned his narrow gaze towards Carsis, as a dreadful thought entered his head, caused by Valaira’s earlier panic.