The Ascending

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  The mage merely nodded as the two of them kicked their own mounts into a sprint. The sound of the beasts’ bellows and the thunder of their hooves disappeared down the canyon, but Jahrra’s attention was on the two soldiers who had remained and the terrified limbit still trying to make himself as small as possible.

  “What shall it be, Harol?” the taller man asked. “A beheading, or death by a thousand pinpricks?”

  “Or, we could have a little fun,” the other man replied. “Make the vermin run and let our quahna hunt him down.”

  Harol laughed. “Better yet! Let’s chase him up this tree and throw our knives at him until one sticks, then set the beasts on him when he falls.”

  Jahrra gritted her teeth as her stomach turned in revulsion. These two men, Nesnan by the looks of them, needed to be taught a lesson. She was aching to burst free of Jaax’s confinement and take aim at them with her bow. Surely, they could do something to intervene? The vast majority of the Tyrant’s men were half a mile down the trail by now, and if these soldiers treated all their victims like this, their squadron leader wouldn’t expect them for at least an hour or more. Plenty of time for her companions and herself to incapacitate them and be well on their way.

  “Jaax!” Jahrra hissed as loudly as she dared.

  “Wait just a bit longer,” he growled softly, the first time he’d spoken since pushing them against the hillside.

  “Can you reach your bow?” Ellyesce whispered.

  Jahrra nodded and carefully turned in the saddle. It was a tight fit, but somehow she managed to reach her bow and get one arrow in place. She took a deep breath, trying not to think too hard about what she was planning to do, then whispered, “Ready!”

  Ellyesce, too, indicated that he was ready to act.

  “On three,” Jaax murmured, his voice tight.

  Jahrra glanced down to where the two roads met once again and wondered if they had time for him to count. The soldiers had climbed down from their quahna, swords drawn, and were slowly circling the limbit, nudging him with their boots and trying to get him to bolt.

  “Three!” Jaax roared.

  Jahrra gave a shout of surprise, so engrossed in what was happening to the limbit that she had missed the countdown.

  The dragon threw his wings open and breathed a jet of emerald flame down into the clearing as Ellyesce took aim and released an arrow. A split second behind them, Jahrra did the same. Where Ellyesce’s arrow caught the taller soldier in the stomach, Jahrra’s arrow clipped the one with the eye patch in the arm.

  Howling in pain, the Nesnan man tucked his injured arm against his chest and darted toward his quahna. His partner fell to his knees, clutching the shaft of the arrow protruding from his abdomen. A great buffeting gust of wind hit Jahrra in the face, and she grabbed onto Phrym’s mane to keep from falling out of the saddle. The semequin let out a nicker of agitation, short stepping backward up the trail before Jahrra righted herself.

  The man with the eye patch was on his mount, digging his heels into the beast’s flanks to get him moving. Too late. Jaax was on top of him, using his sharp talons and strong hands and feet to tear the man from the saddle and crush the quahna’s ribcage. The beast bellowed in agony, and Jaax flung it against another rock outcropping on the other side of the meadow. The quahna squealed once and then slumped to the ground, dead. Its rider soon joined it, nothing more than a heap of broken bones and torn flesh. Jahrra swallowed back a lump of horror and then watched as Ellyesce, faster to get down the trail than herself, grabbed the remaining soldier’s hair. He quickly yanked his head back and slit his throat. Jaax, not wasting any time, located the second quahna, taking care of it in the same way he’d dispatched the other.

  In less than two minutes, the battle was over, but to Jahrra it had felt like several. She didn’t even realize she hadn’t moved from their hiding spot until Phrym whickered and tossed his head. Blinking away her bewilderment, Jahrra turned in the saddle to see Rumble, standing patiently behind them.

  “Don’t worry, old boy,” she murmured, reaching for his lead rope. Her voice was tainted with a hint of bitter disappointment. “Looks like I’m not much of a fighter, either.”

  Despite her unease regarding the violence below, Jahrra was secretly chastising herself. She would be facing far more bloodshed in her future, and many more foes, and what had she done when confronted with only two challengers? She’d balked and missed her shot, then watched mutely as Jaax and Ellyesce dispatched the enemy with calculated ease. All her years of training with Viornen and Yaraa, and she’d faltered like a trainee on her very first day of practice. What would happen when they faced the Crimson King and his army? A spiraling black funnel of terror threatened to overwhelm her then, but Jahrra clenched her jaw and fought against it. No! Not now. Think of something else! Quickly!

  Fortunately, at that moment, the limbit, who had remained in his curled position during the entire battle, lifted his head and stared around the broad clearing in dazed wonderment. Jaax and Ellyesce didn’t seem to notice him, as if they’d forgotten their reason for attacking the two soldiers and their quahna. In a flash, the limbit was up and sprinting, heading for the closest tangle of underbrush on the edge of the crossroads.

  “Wait!” Jahrra shouted, trying to encourage Phrym to move faster down the slope. “Stop!”

  The limbit either didn’t hear her or was ignoring her. By the time she made it to level ground and was off Phrym’s back, the limbit had disappeared into the shrubs.

  “Jahrra,” Jaax said, his voice cracking like a whiplash.

  She didn’t stop to listen to what he had to say. Her focus was entirely on the one positive thing that had resulted from the massacre: they had saved the life of the creature who’d done them a priceless favor.

  “I want to explain that we were just trying to help him,” she shouted, not looking back as she pressed herself into the shrubs.

  A second later, she jumped back, cursing. Not shrubs, but some sort of thorny brambles. How had the limbit slipped through with such ease?

  “Thank you!” she shouted as loudly as she dared. “For not turning us over!”

  Jahrra stuck the end of her thumb in her mouth, hoping it would take the sting from the thorn prick away. Though, her disappointment in the limbit’s hasty retreat bothered her more. She’d wanted to thank him properly for taking such a risk.

  When she turned back around, Jaax was busy breathing flames over the bodies of the soldiers and their beasts. The queasiness from before threatened to return.

  To distract herself from the carnage, Jahrra moved to stand beside Ellyesce. The elf was tracing his fingers over the ground, his brow furrowed in concentration.

  “They’ve been tracking us since we left Lidien,” he murmured. “Only one of many squadrons. The Red Flange.”

  Jahrra squatted next to him, her curiosity slightly greater than her unease.

  “The Red Flange?” she repeated.

  Ellyesce nodded. “Specially trained men who work for the Crimson King. They can be of any race. Nesnan, Resai, elf. It doesn’t matter, so long as they pledge themselves to the Tyrant. You can always tell them apart from the others because of the brand they wear on the inside of their left wrist. Some will bear the brand on their faces.”

  He traced a finger down his cheek, his neatly trimmed beard the only thing marring his skin.

  “The man who killed Hroombra,” she said, her throat tight, “he had that brand. But I don’t remember if the others with him did.”

  Ellyesce shook his head. “Most of the Tyrant’s soldiers bear their brand on the wrist. Only his most loyal are marked more obviously. The larger brand on the face means they’ve given over their very souls to serve him. Nothing pleases them more than bringing glory for the Crimson King.”

  Jahrra shuddered. The thought of people pledging their souls to the Tyrant made her ill.

  “Have any dragons joined the Red Flange?” she found herself asking.

  An image of Shi
roxx and her companion flashed through her mind.

  Ellyesce looked up at her with cold eyes. “Not that I’m aware of. The Crimson King has bred his own race of dragons. Brutal, fierce and easily molded to their master’s bidding. The Morli dragons. But it is possible, I suppose, for other dragons to join him, though highly unlikely. Dragons despise the Crimson King and his ilk. It is in their nature.”

  “What about Tanaan dragons?” Jahrra pressed. “They possess human nature too, don’t they?”

  Ellyesce nodded. “That they do. Still, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  Jahrra wasn’t so sure. After all, it had been Shiroxx’s nasty lies that had driven them from the city. But was she capable of stooping so low? To join forces with the Crimson King himself? It took Jahrra all of ten seconds to decide her answer. Yes. She was capable of such depravity.

  Jaax, having finished with his task, turned to face them. “We had better move on,” he said. “That limbit risked much to throw the Red Flange and their dark mage off our trail. It would be unwise to waste such an opportunity.”

  Ellyesce nodded and climbed back onto his semequin. Jahrra mimicked him and found Phrym. Once they had gathered the pack horse, they continued on northward at a brisker pace than before, their ears and eyes sharp in case the enemy squadron decided to double back. As they left the crossroads behind, Jahrra sent up a prayer to Ethoes, asking that their small savior find a safe haven where he could live out the rest of his life in peace.

  The trio didn’t stop again until well after dark that night. Only when Ellyesce used his magic to perform a thorough scan of the area, three miles in each direction, did he risk building a fire, and even then it took some intense arguing with Jaax to risk even a small one.

  “The light will act as a beacon to any who seek us,” the dragon stated, a bitter hardness to his tone.

  “The Red Flange is still far to our south,” Ellyesce insisted, “and they’ve stopped moving for the evening.”

  The dragon cast him a sharp look. “You haven’t been this precise before.”

  Ellyesce grinned and pulled something from his pocket. It looked like a stamped piece of metal; a charm or a token, hanging from a string of leather.

  “What’s that?” Jahrra asked.

  “I removed it from one of the men at the crossroads. Since it’s been with the group, I can use it to show me where they are.”

  Jahrra’s eyes widened. “Really? How?”

  Jaax snorted, making his opinion clear.

  Before answering Jahrra’s question, Ellyesce addressed the Tanaan dragon. “We are tucked back into an alcove. Unless someone wanders far off trail and finds the entrance in the dark, they will not see a fire.”

  Jaax’s jaw tightened, but he said no more. Jahrra almost leapt with delight. The night promised to grow cooler and already she was shivering. Besides, Ellyesce had managed to out-argue Jaax. That, in of itself, was something worth celebrating.

  Before moving over to a darker corner of their little nook, Jaax bent low to Ellyesce and breathed, “If we are discovered, this will be on your head. Those soldiers we encountered earlier today are not the only ones looking for us.”

  The elf merely nodded, not smugly or sarcastically, but with the air of a man who knew that his decision posed a risk, no matter how small.

  Once Jaax turned away, Ellyesce lifted the charm again. “This item holds memories, and a reflection of the life force of the man who owned it, as well as those he came into contact with every day. I am simply exploiting that connection by following the thread that is most tightly attached to one of this dead soldier’s companions.”

  Jahrra scrunched her eyebrows together, the curiosity plain on her face. She had often wondered about his magic, but had not pried too much. She had not known where to start.

  Ellyesce, picking up on her silent interest, released a breath and set the charm down. “Magic, Jahrra, can sometimes be a living thing. In this case, it is. Live magic is often sticky, clinging to the objects we use every day. This particular object,” he gestured to the trinket, “was handled often, and before becoming the property of our unfortunate soldier, it passed through the hands of several of the other members of his squadron.”

  “You can tell all that using magic?” Jahrra asked.

  Ellyesce nodded.

  “Can you see it?”

  “Not precisely, no.” He tapped his temple with a finger. “I can picture it, in my mind. Like the shadowy images on the edge of a dream, the magic I detect isn’t always clear to me. But it has a different feel to it.”

  Jahrra opened her mouth to ask another question, but Ellyesce lifted a hand and cut her off before she could speak.

  “I can’t really describe it, but I know it when I sense it. And this magic is letting me know the Red Flange is still very far away and like us, they are settling in for the evening.”

  His face broke into a wicked grin. “They spent a good part of their day chasing after us on the eastern road. Their leader is not happy.”

  That was some good news, at least. Soon afterward, they settled in for the evening, Jaax insisting on keeping watch all night. Neither Jahrra nor Ellyesce argued with him, for he was in a foul mood, and both she and the elf were tired.

  That night, Jahrra’s dreams were plagued by images from the fight with the Tyrant’s men. She woke up groggy and feeling sick the next morning.

  “It’ll wear off once we get moving,” Jaax told her. “Ask Ellyesce to fix you a cup of tea. You can drink it in the saddle.”

  A thick fog had moved in during the small hours of the morning, sending its long, cool fingers into every crevasse of the mountains. The tea Ellyesce brewed was strong and sweetened with honey, and Jahrra savored its flavor and the warmth it brought to her numb hands as they rode.

  By the time they stopped for lunch later that day, the mist had mostly burned off, and Jahrra was feeling much better. Their road had taken them just above a steep, narrow valley splitting two ragged ranges, and an exceptionally tall peak rose above the point ahead where the two ridges met. It was the last of the chain they had spent three weeks crossing, the last and tallest of the Hrunahn Footmountains. Beyond that, the greater mountains they’d seen before rose even higher, piercing the heavens with their snow-capped peaks.

  “A few more days and we should be in Cahrdyarein,” Jaax murmured, eyeing the horizon in a similar fashion. He turned to Ellyesce. “Where are those who follow us?”

  Ellyesce placed his hand in his pocket and closed his eyes. After a few moments, he opened them up again, his face grim.

  “They have discovered our campsite from the night before.”

  Jaax swore, causing Jahrra to jump and Phrym to move uneasily underneath her.

  “How are they moving so quickly?” the dragon demanded.

  “They have quahna,” the elf answered, his face serious, “and they do not have a cumbersome dragon walking with them.”

  To Jahrra’s great surprise, Jaax did not react to that. He cast his eyes toward the mountain at the end of the valley and said, “I would fly ahead if I thought it would be of any use, but then you would be left unprotected, and their scouts might see me.”

  “I am quite capable of defending myself, and Jahrra,” Ellyesce retorted.

  “I’m not entirely helpless, either!” Jahrra insisted, though the memory of her fumbled attempt at taking on the Crimson King’s soldiers at the crossroads had her biting her cheek.

  “That may be so,” Jaax said, “but if the Flange should catch up to you, or, Ethoes forbid, another troop of the Tyrant’s soldiers join them, you will need a dragon’s fire if you wish to have any chance at all.”

  And, of course, he was right.

  “We will just have to move faster, travel longer into the evening, and rise earlier.”

  Jahrra gave a mental groan but knew if they wanted to reach Cahrdyarein before their enemy, they’d have to outpace them. But once they arrived, would they have any sort of reprieve? Would
the mountain city become overrun by the dozen or so squadrons that trailed them? Were she and Ellyesce and Jaax only bringing danger to the citizens of Cahrdyarein? She hoped not.

  “Then, we had better get moving,” Ellyesce said, nudging his semequin forward with his knees. Rumble, always even tempered no matter the situation, followed along without complaint.

  Their path ascended from the valley floor, soon becoming a narrow strip of granite carved from the side of the mountain. Far below, a river, the water white from its swift movement, raced past in a hurry. Jahrra wished she and her friends could move as quickly, but when Jaax’s foot slipped, causing him to lean into the rock wall to regain his balance, Jahrra reconsidered her desire to pick up their pace.

  “Be careful,” he called over his shoulder. “Too many of these rocks are unstable.”

  She didn’t need the reminder.

  Finally, just as dusk began settling in, the trail widened and entered a shaded wood. Jahrra breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to be away from the treacherous path. Jaax pushed them on for another few hours, and only when the horses became uneasy with all the sounds of prowling night predators did he call a halt.

  “We won’t build a fire tonight,” Jaax stated, in a tone so final no one even thought of arguing with him.

  They unpacked only what they wished to eat for the evening and their bedrolls. Within twenty minutes, everyone was quiet, doing their best to fall asleep. Ellyesce had done a check of their surroundings, and although the Red Flange was at a safe distance behind them, they hadn’t yet settled in for the evening. This had Jaax growling like a grouchy bear just risen from hibernation.

  “They are slowing,” Ellyesce reassured him, “as if they are just waiting to find a suitable place to camp.”

  Still, the dragon was on edge all night, scenting the air every few minutes and straining his ears and eyes for any sound or twitch of movement. He hadn’t told his comrades, but Jaax had the strangest feeling they were being followed by more than just the Red Flange, and that whoever was following them was closing in.

  * * *

  The Mystic Archedenaeh, in her youthful form, lifted her face to study the few bright stars pushing their way through the dwindling daylight. She had spent so many long years confined to her cave in the Black Swamp that all this camping in the open had her giddy with delight. But she had to be careful, even now, for the world wasn’t quite ready for her to emerge entirely from hiding.