“Commander Jord,” Venneith then began, waiting until Jord looked to him before continuing. “How do you speculate the war goes?”
“The war?” he inquired.
“Yes, the current war, The Second Xanthian War,” he clarified. “My curiousness escapes me and I must know.”
Jord paused for a moment as he began to remember the latest thing he had heard on the subject before answering. “Last I heard our armies were beaten back from the Narrovinnian lands to the sea front. From what I heard the Lord had launched the next mass naval assault, yet the result of that action remains to be seen.”
“How many vessels were sent?”
“The exact numbers are not known to me, yet from what I’ve heard they say it is set to be the largest assault of sea vessels yet.”
“And the falconer,” Venneith then said. “How do you think him to be doing?”
“Quite well, actually,” Jord answered. “In fact he registered here to begin training next week, along with a collection of other young men and even a few women.”
“Redact the list,” the knight commanded as he turned his back, making way for the door.
“Exc…excuse me?”
“Redact the list and scrub his name,” he clarified as before, withdrawing a single gold coin and flicking it to Jord. “He’s the mentor of a nobleman after all. I’m sure you understand.”
Watching as the knight let himself out, the last thing Jord could muster was a subtle, “Oh.” At the very least he was left with a coin with a gold and clear sheen that impressed the commander greatly.
Taking to the back of Astregra, Venneith made his way down to the streets of the town in search of Kuri’s house with a sign that retained the carving of the eye of Rough. He soon found that very same house, for the knight wasn’t one to forget things so easily. After dismounting his Astregra and having the faith that she wouldn’t simply wander away, Venneith was at the front door of Kuri, the seer’s house.
He rested a hand on knob, ready to push through, yet he hesitated for a brief moment. He then tossed a glance to Nerr who seemed to recognise the place, if his sight and smell be any indicator, and seemed rather excited as he shuffled about atop Venneith’s shoulder, attempting to peer into any windows nearby. Raising his hand, Venneith prepared to knock, but the door suddenly opened just as the knight was about to bring his knuckle down upon the fine wooden surface.
It was Kuri herself standing there. She caught Venneith’s fist in her hand with the same judgmental, calculating look upon her face as she looked up to the knight and his visor.
“Did you know I would come?” Venneith asked as Kuri released his fist.
“No,” she simply answered. “I could smell you.” She then turned her attention to Nerr, perched upon Venneith’s shoulder, only for her expression to soften for the little beast as he reached out to her, daring to throw himself off balance and possibly fall from Venneith’s shoulder. However she was quick to take Nerr as she let the knight in, closing the door behind him. “Oh, you poor little thing,” she kindly whispered to Nerr before setting him down upon the table.
“I think you now see the purpose of my arrival,” Venneith began as he looked down to Nerr as he strutted about on the wooden surface.
Anyone who may have glanced at Nerr may not have immediately seen or noticed the true state he was in. When the dragon walked, his hind legs were slow to respond; often they dragged and struggled to keep up with Nerr as he walked about. His tail didn’t wave so high anymore, instead it limply dragged behind him, yet Nerr never seemed to care. He seemed perfectly content with those around him as he hobbled about, acutely lame from the waist down.
“I came to see if you had a remedy, perhaps,” Venneith first stated. “Being a rather small town you seemed to be the only person with quite a unique trade, yet I ask is there any aid you can provide?”
Softly petting Nerr on his head, she answered, “If it’s a quick method you’re after then there is nothing I can provide. I am only a seer and mighty fine cook, I might say,” she humbly boasted. “But this is beyond me. I’m sorry but there is nothing I can do for your dragon.”
“I see,” Venneith muttered. “Then I must apologize. I’ll see myself out then.”
“Don’t you forget, Venneith, I saw your future,” Kuri stated before Venneith could gather his dragon. “Perhaps if you weren’t so fearful of what might’ve been revealed I would have warned you directly of this.”
“I don’t believe in fate,” Venneith said. “Only decisions.”
“Yet Roughen isn’t a god of fate, only visions of what may and may not be in the hours, days, weeks and even years to come. In the future I saw, the Gypsy Seenth defended itself and put up quite a fight. In the future I saw, Varrult escaped the Centicada, leading to the ambush where I saw Maven killed and Trent injured. In the future I saw, your horse never ran off with your poleaxe before you slayed every ambusher, cutting their limbs away and beheading most. In the future I saw, you faced Voros alone while Joshein weeped for Maven. And in the future I saw, you received the mark of Zeuth for Astregra was safe beyond the pass, unaware to the peril you were in, with Nerr safely stored within her pack.”
“How do you know none of this came to pass?” the knight then inquired.
She tossed her head to the north before answering, “Trent told me all about his unfortunate adventure, but that is besides the point. You need a remedy for Nerr’s condition and in your future I saw there was one. Let me tell you of it, if you be unfearful as to what it may hold?”
The knight was silent in his answer as he first looked to Nerr, who cast an almost childish, excited look to Venneith before the knight nodded to Kuri’s proposition.
With an eager sigh of relief, Kuri took a short moment to collect her words before giving her insight. “In the future I saw, you ventured for an entire year. In that time Amyth followed as well as Trent too. In that time Nerr learned many things, though he was hindered by his acute lameness. However, it wasn’t until you traveled south to Agrenal that you found a physician capable of mending Nerr’s condition. Fortunately, unlike the god of fate many accuse the god Roughen of being, you shouldn’t have to travel one whole year before bringing Nerr to wellness, for with this wisdom you can go there now and have him well within the month. Will you?”
“Of course,” Venneith hastily answered.
“Then by your decision the future has been made,” she stated. “This is the gift of Roughen as he allows us to mend the future in the way we wish. But I will not let you part yet, for there is more to know. Roughly after a year from this day you will set Nerr free, for he will have grown and come to know the world and its people. You will set him apart to become a Page and he shall make the pilgrimage to Carthol to begin his journey to becoming a knight of the people like to his protector, Venneith Cornease.”
“Tell me, Kuri,” Venneith quite nearly begged. “What was the last memory I had of Nerr?”
It was here Kuri hesitated as she attempted to recollect what she had seen three days ago within the eyes of Venneith Cornease, and the future that was revealed to her. When she remembered, she began by saying, “You…standing before a field rent by a furious battle unseen in many years. The death of men is numerous as the carnage is great. Before you stands a Kindred of Gyr — or is it Gyr himself manifested as he adores? It is Gryphons you fight, it is Gryphons that waged war on Carthol, beating its people back to Xanthian insomuch that we, the Carthinnians, might become extinct. You fight, but you’re not alone. Beside you stands Nerr and together you weave one final Xull, whereupon your future then grows dark forevermore.”
Dragon Kindred: Epilogue
In the dusk of the day, with the sun lingering above the horizon, timidly biding its time before night falls on the land, a carriage bound west for Carthol traveled along with two infantrymen hauling a single prisoner within. They had traveled for a good portion of the day, fulfilling their duty in taking this particular prisoner to Carthol
where he would be judged according to his crimes listed in the testimony that they too were tasked to guard throughout their journey.
“How much daylight you reckon we can lose before we call it a night, Dowe?” the first man asked rather drearily.
“It’s not as if we’re in for a long journey, Koulnein,” the other began by saying. “We should reach the transfer point by late morning, sooner if we continue into the night. Then it’s back from whence we came where we can continue to lead the easy life, out of danger and free from death.”
“Heh, I can’t say it’s what I expected when I was stationed at Fort Eastwood,” Dowe said. “I thought such a place would be as blood-ridden and sword-struck as any other assignment I’ve been given.”
“Aye,” Koulnein agreed. “If this is all the Lord requires then I sure shall forego being at mercy of the sea or another man’s land.”
“I hope it lasts. Twelve more years and I can return home again. Oh, how much everything will have changed, I can’t begin to imagine.”
“Aye, agreed.”
A brief moment passed between the two, leaving the ambiance of the forest as well as the creaking of the carriage as it sauntered along the poor dirt road to fill the silence. Yet it didn’t last long before a third party spoke saying, “To think I would’ve been like you.”
“Hey!” Dowe spoke as he turned to face the cage containing Alban, chained with iron gloves entrapping his hands. “There’s no speaking on the Prisoner Express!”
“Eh, let him spew his ignorance,” Koulnein insisted. “It’s not as if we have any greater entertainment.”
“Ignorance?” Alban questioned. “That’s a matter of perspective. When you look to me you see nothing more than an abandoner of the call, yet when I look to you I see delusion.” Dowe was ready to retort and belittle the criminal before them, but Koulnein ushered for him to do no such thing in favor of hearing this man out. “You’ve been misled, your agency is an illusion and the only thing keeping you from these same shackles is your willingness to obey and act without question or objection, with nothing offered in return but the enticement of things only promised after death.”
“That’s enough, kid,” Koulnein than said. “No more speaking.” Not a single moment passed by after Koulnein had spoken before the carriage suddenly and abruptly came to a standstill.
The guards were nearly thrown forward, yet they stayed seated as Dowe muttered, “Damn, the wheels must’ve snagged a stone. You should’ve been watching the roads, friend.”
“Just go take a look and sort this out,” Koulnein instructed as he eased on the reins, ensuring their horse wouldn’t persist in pulling fruitlessly away.
Hopping over the side, Dowe left to investigate what might been the cause of their hindrance.
“Tell me, Koulnein,” Alban then spoke in a hushed voice. “How much is glory worth when no one remembers you after death? How much is loyalty worth when those you return to don’t remember your face nor your name?”
Lurking around the side, Dowe had to struggle without much light to spy what might be the issue. He first checked under the carriage, hoping to see a visible cause to their conundrum, yet he found none. If a stone wasn’t causing the hindrance then what was?
“What is it worth when the land you own goes under and you return only to find it to be another man’s land with your family gone? My leader, Voros Ohtoros, he offered something else, something greater. Not just honor or the vague fruits and riches of a life of long servitude.”
“What could he have offered, prisoner?” Koulnein questioned doubtfully.
Dowe then circled around the back, keeping a close eye on the wheels before nearly tripping over an unseen entity. Before him was a rope, no, a cord, entangled within the wheel’s axle, with weighted ends as the cord stretched from the back of the carriage, past the road, and into the forest where it was secured to the trunk of a tree.
“Tranquility,” Alban answered. “So that we may find ourselves calm and collected even in the harshest of circumstances. Clarity so that we may know truth within ourselves, others, and in the world around us. Furiosity so that we may find conviction in our actions and control over ourselves and our decisions.”
“Koulnein!” Dowe called as he slowly backed away from the cords.
“Voros offered us something great. We were worshipers—”
“Koulnein, we’ve been sabotaged!”
“—of Gryalphaimy!”
Dowe was then struck in the chest by a crossbow bolt, killing him instantly, before Koulnein could react to the situation or aid him in any way. Confused and caught off-guard, Koulnein’s first reaction was to immediately go to his aid rather than figuring out where his attacker came from. He ran around the back, only to see Dowe laying lifeless before him with a bolt facing skyward, indicating he had been struck from the north, yet it was too late.
Before he could use this information in his favor, his leg suddenly collapsed from beneath him, causing him to fall in excruciating pain as a bolt struck the fold of his leg. Unable to stand, he had only one instinct compelling him to crawl away and escape. Unable to fight or defend, it was the only logical course of action, yet he hadn’t gotten far before his shoulder also became struck through by yet another bolt.
“Now I’m going to ask for your cooperation,” spoke a new voice Koulnein wasn’t familiar with as he lay in the dirt, unmoving, very injured, yet nowhere near death it seemed. “Give me the key to this carriage and you may be fortunate enough to be picked up alive by the next carriage that comes through these parts.”
As he listened, Koulnein heard this stranger go through the process of reloading as his attacker rested the stirrup of this crossbow against the ground before drawing back another bolt, locking it into place.
“The key,” he said again as he stood over the immobile infantryman, no doubt setting his sights on the back of his head.
“It’s…it’s on Dowe’s waist,” Koulnein weakly answered. “He has what you want.”
Looking down to the dead body, he indeed saw the brass metalwork hanging from the man’s waist. “Much appreciated,” he said before hanging to crossbow across his back and reaching down for the key.
“Dettetcheny?” Alban finally spoke as he leaned against the iron bars of the cage to gaze at a familiar face. “Your…” he nearly gasped in surprise upon officially spying his being. “Your arm…”
“It was necessary, Alban.” Placing the key in the lock, he twisted it. The door swung open, letting Alban free.
It was true, Alban’s vision had not deceived him. Dettetcheny’s arm was missing below the elbow, yet that wasn’t the only bodily mutilation he had sustained. The shape of a hand was burnt upon the left side of his face, with his nose, cheek and brow burnt beyond healing. His eye was the only area that remained unaffected as the knight’s fingers had stretched over his socket the moment he marked him.
As Dettetcheny undid the chains and restraints around his peer’s hand did Alban ask, “Where did you get the crossbow?”
“A weapons cache,” he simply answered. It must also have been where he obtained the new set of bolas, and although Alban refused to accept this parcel of truth, those swords Dettetcheny wore around his waist were the swords of Denjin.
Alban couldn’t imagine the things Dettetcheny had had to do just to survive the few weeks before he was to be sent to Carthol and made a slave. How long did he wait, how long did he observe from the shadows of the forest simply so he could rescue and free him once the opportunity was right? He looked to be in good health despite his physical condition, but no one could doubt that Dettetcheny didn’t still feel the sting upon his face where such a horrific burn had been applied.
“Now, come, Alban,” Dettetcheny said once he freed the chains from his hands. “There will be much for us to do.”
“But, Dettetcheny,” Alban began as his friend turned to the carriage. “Voros has left us, there’s no place to go now.”
“It’s tr
ue, Alban, Voros did leave us,” he simply stated. “Yet he hasn’t forgot us. He will return, this much is true, and when he does many more will be enlightened by the teaching of Gryalphaimy. They will know true loyalty and in time we shall be transfigured and rule the world. Twenty and one years until his return…that is a long time. Let us not waste even a moment of it.”
Mounting the carriage they rode away, leaving Koulnein alive and in agony to wait and be fortunate enough to be picked up by the next person who happens to wander on by.
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