by R. K. Ryals
Kye still stared at me. His eyes were the same, dark and very green. Why had mine changed? Because I’d tried to use magic?
“Is it so unsettling then?” I asked the prince.
Kye leaned toward me, his mouth near my ear.
“It’s beautiful,” he whispered.
I shivered despite the heat.
“There are rumors about the Sadeemian mages and light eyes,” Oran said suddenly from my feet, and I looked down at him. How he withstood the heat with his full coat was beyond me, but he seemed undisturbed by the sun.
“I don’t follow,” I said.
Oran looked up at me. “Could be, Phoenix, that your magic adapts wherever you are.”
Lochlen snorted and smoke lifted into the wavering heat. I was growing weary.
“Take your first water skin and sip often,” Kye ordered.
We all obeyed. It wasn’t until the skin was against my lips that I realized how parched I’d become. I had begun counting steps as I walked, and it had distracted me from the need to drink.
“Here,” I said, pouring some of the liquid into the skin’s lid so that Oran could drink from it.
His tongue lapped it up greedily. I placed a hand on his back, and loose fur covered my palm.
“It’s my winter coat,” the wolf explained. “It is beginning to shed.”
I stood, and we moved on.
For hours, we walked. For hours, the wyvers flew in circles above our heads. For hours, we worried and studied the sky.
It was a blessing when the sun began to lower, turning into a huge orange orb that caused wavering heat waves ahead of us. I saw things in those waves. Aigneis, even Raemon, his bearded face angry and red.
“Drink more, Stone,” Kye whispered, and I lifted the skin, swallowing before offering it to Oran.
“We’ll need to camp soon,” Kye said.
We had walked past many dunes that day, past odd desert plants and more sandstone, and we searched the landscape again as the sun dropped lower. Sunset came fast in the desert.
“There,” Maeve directed.
She pointed at a rising hunk of sandstone ahead, and we trudged toward it, sitting with multiple groans so that our backs rested against the heated rock. My feet burned.
Kye opened his pack. “Eat,” he told us.
We ate, our eyes on the lowering orange orb, on the shadows flying in front of it.
“They won’t attack now,” Lochlen repeated. “We have many days in the desert. They will wait until they think we are too weak to fight back.”
I looked at him. “I thought you said they weren’t bright creatures.”
Lochlen’s gaze met mine. “Not bright, but they are hunters. All predators are. They need not be bright to know that prey is easiest caught when weak or injured.”
“How comforting,” Maeve grumbled.
We ate in silence. Kye shared as much with the wolf as I did, but we were careful not to diminish our supplies.
It was Lochlen who finally spoke once the sun had disappeared, replaced by a beautifully vivid moon, bone white in the cloudless sky. It turned the desert sand pasty, draining it of color.
“Sleep,” the dragon said. “I will keep watch.”
Lochlen wasn’t as affected by the heat as we were. If anything, he reveled in the sun soaking into his scales, and I realized he was as suited for the desert environment as the wyvers. He just preferred the forest.
Out of fear, we didn’t pull our bedrolls out the first night. Instead, we wrapped our cloaks around us, settling our heads against the rock. It didn’t take long for sleep to come, my head sliding to Kye’s shoulder. One of his hands covered mine in the sand.
Chapter 7
I awoke to discover the point of a sword not far from my nose. It was near dawn, and a blush of light ran along the blade, running from the strong fist on its hilt to the sharpened end. My eyes widened. Kye stirred beneath me.
“What ...” Brennus swore.
From the corner of my eyes, I saw more swords, more points, and a loud roar that shook the early morning air. Lochlen!
Another peek, and I found the golden dragon caught underneath a net, thrashing as men and swords circled him. It was his struggling that had woken me.
“We mean no harm,” Kye said calmly from beside me, his voice hoarse with sleep.
I stared at the sword as Lochlen roared again.
“Kill it if you must,” a strange voice ordered, and I stiffened.
“No!” I called out.
No one paid me any attention. The men who’d spoken were not Medeisian, but I knew their language as well as I knew my own, and I struggled beneath the sword’s point.
“Kill it!” the voice ordered again.
“No!” I cried in Sadeemian.
The men paused. The sword at my throat lowered. I dared not look up.
“Please,” I begged.
I knew, even in Sadeemian, my voice squeaked. The sword lowered more, falling from my throat to my chest. I risked a glance upward, my eyes finding the strong face of a middle-aged man with short sandy hair and blue eyes. He wore the unadorned blue cloak of the Sadeemian guard. There was no crest or design, only a rich blue cloak covering a plated armor I’d never seen before.
“Who are you?” the man asked.
I fought not to flinch.
“Who are you?” I responded. “To be so close to the Medeisian border, surely we should be more concerned with your presence than you are with ours.”
The man stiffened, his rugged face tightening. Kye’s hand found my wrist and squeezed.
“And yet,” the Sadeemian soldier countered, “you appear to be fleeing your country for ours. Spies are sentenced to death across our border. Are you aware of that? There is no clemency.”
Lochlen still thrashed from his place beneath the net as Kye lifted one of his hands. A sword came down instantly, pressing against the prince’s tunic, but he showed no fear.
“We are no spies. We are refugees seeking an audience with your king,” Kye declared, his use of the Sadeemian language more accented than mine, but passable.
The soldier’s eyes narrowed.
“Refugees? Traveling with a dragon? And a wolf?”
Oran snarled, and I dug my hand into his fur.
“Even the animals in Medeisia are refugees now,” Kye said.
Lochlen snorted as he thrashed, indignant even in captivity over being called an animal, but Kye was right to do so. The words seemed to calm the soldier, though no weapons lowered.
“And you seek our king, why?” the man asked.
Kye met his gaze evenly. “Because the Medeisian king plans ill will toward your king, and we can prove it.”
The soldiers all froze.
“What mean you?” the guard asked, his voice tense. “Let us see this proof.”
Kye shook his head. “We will only speak to the king.”
The guard’s eyes roamed over our group, his gaze narrowing on the wolf and dragon before he stepped back and nodded.
“Then come,” he said,” but, as of now, you are prisoners until I decide otherwise. Understood?”
No one nodded. I’m not sure we were meant to.
“Bind them!” the guard ordered.
I shook my head wildly, my gaze going to the curious shadows in the sky, dark against the rising sun.
“No,” I breathed. “The wyvers!”
Bound, we would be unable to defend ourselves if they were to attack.
The man laughed. “We’ve traveled much in this desert, young one. Be thankful I don’t offer you as food to them now.” He looked away. “Bind them and return to the main camp!”
The soldiers obeyed, lifting us each roughly before turning us so they could bind our wrists.
“What about the dragon, sir?” one of the Sadeemian men asked.
The middle-aged man waved a hand dismissively. “He is a danger to us. Kill him.”
I struggled. A sword bit into my back, and still I flailed.
“No!” I shouted. “He is a refugee as much as the rest of us. He seeks mercy, not death. He can turn into a man if you prefer. He would be less threatening thus.”
The sandy-haired soldier paused. “A man you say?” He snorted, his eyes on the dragon. Smoke curled from Lochlen’s nostrils.
“Transform then,” the guard ordered. “Turn, and I will spare you.”
Lochlen opened his mouth, his pointed teeth obvious as angry smoke billowed up into the desert sky. His long black pupils dilated.
“Lochlen, no,” I called out. “Do as they say. It is for the best.”
We’d left Medeisia in order to stop an assassination and seek an audience with the Sadeemian king. It wasn’t our right to question why King Freemont had men within the desert. We had maybe a month until the Greemallian princess made the journey to Sadeemia. If she died because one of Freemont’s men believed he’d been ordered to assassinate her, there would be war. War and chaos. Our country would be lost, our men forced to fight a power war for our crazy king. It would only get worse for the rebels, not better.
Lochlen lowered his head, his yellow-green eyes meeting mine before he finally stilled. Magic encircled his body as he transformed from dragon to man. At first, he was naked, and I heard Maeve squeak as more magic swirled. Clothes cloaked his frame. His eyes did not change.
“I do not do this for you,” Lochlen growled in Sadeemian, his gaze on the guard.
To the man’s credit, he did not gawk, although his men did.
“Impressive,” the soldier said instead. He turned while motioning at his men. “Gather their supplies. We’ll need them.”
The men did as they were told, picking up our packs, our weapons, and the water barrel we’d so carefully filled.
One guard tied Lochlen’s hands behind his back while others prodded us from behind.
“The wolf?” someone asked.
“Leave him be!” I called out. “He is as tame as a dog and follows only me. He will harm no one.”
The group’s leader, their captain, turned to look at me.
“Do you lead these refugees, woman?” he asked.
I’d never been referred to as a woman, and my cheeks heated.
“No,” I answered. “I-I only lead the wolf and the dragon.”
Again, Lochlen huffed, the sound indignant.
The captain’s eyes narrowed, moving first from my face and then to Kye’s. “Then you lead the refugees?” he asked.
Kye nodded.
I noticed the way the man’s eyes traveled along the scar on Kye’s temple before dropping to the ones that covered his neck. There was no doubt Kye was a fighter, and a fierce one.
“Leave the wolf be,” the man ordered finally. “But watch him.”
He turned and marched. We followed, shadows falling over us.
“What do they say?” Daegan asked. He couldn’t speak Sadeemian.
A sword prodded him in the back, and he started in surprise.
The captain’s cloak flailed in the hot desert breeze as he walked, throwing sharp sand into our faces.
“It’s okay, Aleck. Let them speak. I understand them,” the captain said.
It was as much a warning as a reprieve. We could talk freely amongst ourselves, but the man wanted us to know he understood every Medeisian word we said.
Kye looked to Daegan, who relaxed once the sword at his back lowered.
“We are being escorted to the Sadeemian king,” Kye replied.
Daegan huffed in disbelief. “We be prisoners,” he argued.
Kye didn’t flinch. “Aye. We are. We are prisoners until we’ve had our audience with their sovereign.”
Daegan glanced at the guards, his face strained, but he knew as well as we did that we would have been taken prisoner at some point anyway. We just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon, and certainly not here.
“Why are they in the desert?” Maeve hissed.
Kye shook his head, and Maeve said no more. Lochlen fumed before speaking in the dragon tongue, his voice sounding like snarls to the men in front and behind us. I couldn’t understand him, but Oran could.
“He says these men are mages,” the wolf translated. “They used power to sneak up on him, power to keep him under the net.”
“Hush! Stay quiet!” the blue-cloaked captain ordered Lochlen. Only I could hear the wolf.
Lochlen quieted. The dragon could have killed the men. Even being held with magic, he could have taken out the Sadeemian soldiers with a simple breath, but he’d held back. He’d held back because he’d seen the men’s armor, their sandy hair and blue eyes and knew they were Sadeemians. Not all Sadeemians were blond and blue-eyed, but many of them were.
The sun beat down on us. Sweat built up under the rope on my wrist, causing it to slide along the skin. I grit my teeth.
“May we have water?” Kye asked.
There was an order, and a pause. Water skins were forced against our mouths, and we gulped before they were jerked away.
“The wolf!” I insisted.
Someone filled a strange looking bowl, offering it carefully to the wolf before backing away. Oran drank, and we were shoved forward again.
We marched, and we marched, and we marched some more. We walked until I thought my feet would bleed, my body so hot, it was desperate for relief. None came. We halted often to drink, and to eat, but it didn’t help with the heat. The soldiers wore hooded cloaks, but the material looked thinner than ours, more comfortable.
We stopped to relieve ourselves, too. My cheeks burned with humiliation until I discovered the soldier who held a sword at my back as I squatted was a woman. I stared at her even as I knelt in the sand. The wind had blown back her hood, and I’d noted the delicate face and long, braided blonde hair before she’d pulled it back up again.
“You’re a woman!” I exclaimed.
She’d looked at me, her gaze confused.
“And?” she’d queried brusquely before shoving me back toward the group.
It seemed Sadeemia didn’t have the same constraints on women as Medeisia did. Not if women were allowed in their army. I stared at the blonde-haired soldier often as we walked after that. She noticed my stare and fidgeted.
“How long until we reach your camp?” Kye asked many hours later. He looked as overheated as I felt.
The captain looked over his shoulder. “Two more days after this one,” he responded.
I fought not to cry. Two more days!
The sun bore down on us. We drank water, we walked, we ate, and we relieved ourselves. I wished I could remember more about the desert other than the heat, but honestly, all I wanted to do was curl up in the sand and die.
“So hot,” Maeve breathed. Brennus moaned in response.
The wyvers that flew above us didn’t seem like such a threat anymore. The heat was our enemy, and a mighty one it was.
Chapter 8
For two days, we walked. Our guards were silent companions, and anything worth speaking was out of the question. The Sadeemian captain spoke our language, and we feared anyone outside the rebels knowing our plan. As it was, only Kye, Lochlen, and I knew everything about King Raemon’s plot to assassinate the Greemallian princess.
And so, we walked. Day bled into night. Night bled into day. Everything took on a hazy, yellow appearance, a dream-like quality covered in wavering heat waves. I walked, and I begged Silveet for rain. Surely, the Goddess of the Forest had some control even in the desert.
“Silveet,” I murmured.
I stared down at the sand, my eyes meeting Oran’s dark gaze.
“You pray to the wrong god, Phoenix. Surely only Igneet rules here,” the wolf complained.
The God of Fire. I was certain Oran was right.
“The camp, sir,” the female guard said suddenly from behind me, and I looked up, my gaze hopeful. Camp?
On the horizon, hundreds of white tents, large and billowing, were set up in the sand. People moved among them. Heat made them blurry,
but even from a distance, it was obvious a small army camped there. My gaze slid to Kye’s.
“By the gods,” Maeve breathed.
The blue-cloaked Sadeemian captain glanced over his shoulder, his hood shadowing his face. “That has nothing to do with your gods, Infidel.”
There was an unmistakable gleam in his eyes, pride and confidence. Awe mingled with fear in my veins. I had read once that the Sadeemian army was mighty. I had even overheard my father tell an emissary from the capital that Sadeemian soldiers were impeccably trained warriors who knew dozens of ways to kill a man. I knew better than to trust word of mouth. I had always considered my father an honest man, but a good story never sounds quite as good without a little embellishment.
Shadows fell over us, and the desert wyvers lowered, their eyes on the camp. I started to yell, but Lochlen growled and I paused.
“Look,” he said.
I squinted, but Lochlen’s eyes were much better than mine, and I could see nothing past the mirages thrown up by the sun.
“They’re feeding them,” Lochlen murmured.
My eyes widened. “The wyvers?”
Kye looked fascinated. “Does it keep them from attacking?” he asked.
The captain waved us forward, his eyes on our group. “It doesn’t guarantee anything, but it lessens the risk of attack.”
It was a smart scheme, even if it wasn’t a certain fix. The captain had said his people traveled much in the desert. It was such a foreign idea. The Ardus was a cursed place, hot and lonely. It seemed wrong that any man would want to venture there.
“Ho!” a man called out from the camp beyond. He was nothing more than a shadowy silhouette standing in front of a harsh, afternoon sun, but other voices lifted with his. The greeting cries were met with raised fists and swords. Our guards relaxed, their shoulders slumping.
“Ho, Ryon!” the captain responded, his sword high.
We neared the camp, and our group was immediately surrounded by hard-faced men and women, many of them with light hair and skin. They wore loose white shirts and black and brown pants made of leather. Women tied back their hair, and almost all of the men were clean shaven. It was odd and captivating. In Medeisia, most men preferred facial hair, and women rarely wore their hair up except for special occasions. Only rebel women braided their hair, and only because long hair hindered them in a fight. Medeisians were olive-toned people with brown and green eyes. Height varied.