Mogg scanned the area. “We have much to talk about. But this place is an ill thought. We need to find shelter. The sun will set soon.”
_____________________________________
It wasn’t as defensible as a cave, but the dense groves of trees surrounding the small hollow provided ideal protection from prying eyes in most every direction. Mogg scouted through the woods on foot for over half an hour while Trilyra sought to score some wild game to make up for their dwindling supply of fresh meat.
Arlon glanced across the open patch of ground over at Mae’Lee. The speechless, expressionless Princess had been forcibly seated at the base of a wide, gnarled tree. It broke his heart to see her strapped there like some sort of dangerous criminal. Mogg assured them that it was a necessary evil.
Arlon had done his very best to make the unresponsive girl as comfortable as possible. He even stuffed a few blankets behind her tender back and head to protect her soft skin from the rough, knobby bark. Hort pitched in by taking turns wiping her blazing forehead with damp rags every so often. She didn’t acknowledge their help. She rarely even blinked. But they still talked to her.
Every time.
Hort moistened a scarf with fresh water from his pouch. “Does she really have to be all tied up like this?” he asked. “She doesn’t look like she would go anywhere.”
Arlon strolled over and knelt down beside him. He stared into her unchanging brown eyes with a sigh. “I know it’s hard,” he replied. “But it really is for her own good. Mogg said that people with the Walking Fever have been known to wander off cliffs, or even drown in lakes and rivers. They can’t help it. They just don’t know what they’re doing.”
“Is she going to die?”
Arlon tried hard to piece together a convincing smile from what remained of his own broken heart. “Oh, no, no, no.” He brushed a few strands of black hair out of Mae’Lee’s flushed face. “She gonna get better. We haven’t come so far to lose her to something like this. Plus, she’s a strong girl. A royal. It’ll take more than a little fever to keep her down.” He slapped Hort on the shoulder. “The Princess is going to be alright.”
“Do you think this was from the snake bite?”
Arlon glanced down and studied the three red dots adorning her puffy ankle. “Well, Mogg said that that kind wasn’t venomous. I trust him to know his snakes in this part of the world.”
Paymer finished gathering sticks for a fire and dumped them into a messy pile. “Maybe they don’t affect the Kray,” he said as the sweat drained off his brow. “But we are not from around here. Or maybe the snake itself was infected with the same fever.”
Arlon shrugged. “I wish I knew, pal.”
Hort pointed at the firewood. “Paymer…are you sure that stuff’s not Dreadwood?”
“Well, it’s not yellow inside, and it doesn’t smell like mint, port-man. I’m pretty sure it’s oak.”
“Still…maybe we can have Mogg check it. Before you light it.”
Paymer nodded. “Whatever you say, my nervous friend from across the sea.”
After a fair amount of crunching, Trilyra pushed through the thicket with a furry load (of what looked like rabbits) slung over her right shoulder. “Who wants dinner?” she called out.
“I do,” Hort answered quickly.
“Well, good,” she said, laying them across a relatively flat rock. “Then you can help me clean them. Before it gets too dark.”
Hort tensed up. “But, I don’t know how to do that.”
She scowled at him. “Really?”
He nodded back at her like a guilty child.
“Well,” she began, “everyone needs to know how to do the Four C’s.”
“I don’t understand.”
She grinned and held up a closed fist. As she spoke each word, she raised a finger. “Catch. Clean. Cook. Chew.”
“I think he mainly likes the chew part,” Paymer teased.
Trilyra chuckled and pointed at his belly with her blade. “I think there is plenty of evidence of that.”
Hort massaged his stomach. “It’s not my fault. There wasn’t a whole lot to do on the island where I was raised.”
“Well, island boy, I’ve taught you about sword fighting. It’s time I taught you about the slightly-less dangerous skills of cleaning and cooking. Bring some water…and a knife, if you can find one.” She sliced along the largest rabbit’s gullet. “I hope you don’t mind a lot of blood.” _____________________________________
Mogg finished devouring every morsel of steaming meat he could scrape from the rabbit’s leg and then sucked the juice off the bone. He flicked it over his shoulder before staring out at the quiet faces seated around the small blaze. There hadn’t been much meaningful conversation.
Arlon decided to break the ice. “So, what were you going to tell us, your Excellency? What can we do for Mae’Lee?”
Mogg didn’t respond right away.
Arlon couldn’t help but feel both desperate and frustrated. “Or do you really know?”
More silence.
“We have to know,” Paymer demanded. “Is there any hope?”
Mogg straightened up. “Is the life of one…worth the lives of all?”
Trilyra squinted and leaned forward. “What does that mean? What are you asking?”
“There is hope,” Mogg announced (with about as much enthusiasm as a condemned man heading for the gallows). “But at a great price.”
“We have plenty of gold,” Hort offered. “Lots of it.”
Paymer slanted to his right. “I don’t think the esteemed Vish’tar was talking about money, port-man,” he whispered.
“Oh.”
“The Walking Fever in the young woman can be cured.”
Arlon grinned. “Thank the Zho. And where do we get this cure? We will go anywhere, do anything. Whatever it takes.”
“Will you give your life, Arlon of the Kla’aven Soteria?”
That searching question caught the young man by complete surprise. All eyes immediately shifted over to him. Nobody took a bite. Nobody made a sound. Even the horses seemed extra quiet.
“Well, I, uh, I would think that I…I—“
“Is it well-spoken? Or is it an ill thought?” Mogg pressed.
Arlon swallowed hard and looked over at Mae’Lee. “I…I will do whatever it takes. So, yes, it is well-spoken. I would give it. Yes. My…life.”
“Then that is one,” Mogg said with a nod.
“What exactly are you getting at?” Trilyra asked.
“There is a cure for the Walking Fever.”
She waved her hand. “Yes, yes, I know. We know. You’ve already told us that.”
“It requires a flower. The Arriphyll.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad. Where is this flower found?” Paymer inquired.
“To the west and north. At least a two-day journey. In the Plains of Gilmoth.”
Paymer raised his eyebrows. “Gilmoth? I’ve heard of this place…I think. Let me guess…that’s still in the land of the Kla’aven Skree?”
“It is…well-spoken.”
“Oh, so that’s what you meant,” Trilyra muttered. “When you asked if the life of one was worth the lives of all. You’re saying that it might be suicide for all of us to go in there.”
Mogg took a sloppy drink. “It is well-spoken, woman of the south.”
“Wait,” Arlon interjected. “What if just one or two of us went in to get the flower? Surely a couple of people on horseback could get in and out without getting caught.”
Mogg lowered his water pouch and stared into the fire. “That is also well-spoken,” he agreed. “But time is not on the side of the young woman. It would appear that the fever has been with her for some three days. She will not live to see another three.”
“Then one of us will have to take Mae’Lee to the flower,” Arlon said with some urgency. “I volun—“
“It would have to be me,” Mogg declared, cutting him off. “I alone know where to loca
te the Arriphyll. I alone can survive an incident with the Skree.”
Trilyra folded her arms. “I hate to say it, but he’s right, Arlon. Except for that last little part about the Skree.”
“But…no. I, uh, I can’t let her go without me.” Arlon took a long look over at the immobilized Princess. “I just can’t. I made a promise. If you go, then you’re gonna just have to take me with you.”
Paymer wiped his greasy fingers on his shirt. “Well, if three of you go…then it might as well be four. If we’re voting again, then count me in, pal. We’ve survived everything so far. How could it get any worse?”
“Thanks, Paymer. Really.” Arlon dared to make casual eye contact with Trilyra. Paymer did as well. She bit her bottom lip and stared into her lap.
“Look, boys…maybe the Avdirian Princess was right. Maybe I should’ve gone home. You know…if I leave now I could be at the river by morning and charter a boat back south. I could be back in Ammodis in three days.”
Arlon crawled over beside her before motioning towards Mae’Lee. “Listen…you know that wasn’t the Princess talking. That was the fever. She doesn’t really feel that way. She didn’t mean any of it. And I hope that you didn’t mean any of that nonsense you just said either.”
Through the shifting shadows of the warm firelight, Arlon noticed that she was trying to blink away a rising round of tears. He touched her arm. “Trilyra…I don’t want you to go. Please don’t go. I need you. We all need you. You were right…we would be dead right now if not for you. Many times over.” He forced a smile. “I’ll even do sword practice with a stick until my arms fall off. Whatever you want.”
Her chin and ear-chain plopped down to her chest as her first teardrops splashed onto the dark dirt below. “Look…I’m not like you guys,” she whispered. “I’m not a…a Chosen Child. I’m nothing special. And I bet my bow that I don’t have anyone out there looking for me. Face it…I don’t belong here. And now that Pelias is gone…I don’t really belong anywhere.”
Arlon was stunned. “What’re you talking about?! You think that having some little birthmark on our skin makes us special? Well, it doesn’t. We were rejected by the Dragon—every one of us—on the only day that mattered. This little campfire here, this is nothing but a campfire surrounded by rejects. But now, now we have a chance to do something truly special. If we stick together, all of us, we can find a way to end this curse…to save our kingdoms. And our Kla’aven.”
He paused to try and stay ahead of his racing thoughts. “And you know what? I think that maybe the Zho chose you. I think that He chose you to be there on that very first day, from the very beginning of this journey. And who knows? Maybe the Zho has chosen you to be there on the last day, too. As the one who will vanquish the Seventh Dragon.” She finally looked up at him. “But if you choose to leave now, Trilyra, then everything—all of this—every bit of it, might be for nothing.”
He pointed at her heart. “It’s not about having some worthless mark on the outside. It’s about having courage way, way down deeper. Where it really matters.” He rose to his feet and kept gazing down into her eyes. “I’m going north to Alaithia...but first I need to go west, with my friends. Into some pretty bad and dangerous places I’m told. It might get rough. We’re gonna need help. Will you go with me? Will you go with us? We need you. Desperately.”
Trilyra wiped both of her wet cheeks and slowly stood up. “Two things,” she said after a few thoughtful moments of silence. “One…you talk too much. Way too much. And two...” she looked around. “…can someone else ride at the rear of the group? I’m getting tired of staring at all of your horses’ butts.”
A quiet chuckle and a few nods rippled throughout the group. A grinning Arlon reached out his right hand and clasped hers. “Deal. If you want, I’ll ride in the back the whole rest of the trip.” He swung his head over to the left. “What about it, Hort? Time to vote. Are you in or out?”
Hort pointed his meaty, half-eaten rabbit’s leg over at Trilyra. “Hey, I go where she goes. That’s all there is to it.”
“We have a saying about that back in Orania,” Paymer observed. He cleared his throat. “’If you find a woman who is both a great warrior and a great cook, stay with her.’”
Arlon locked his eyes on Mogg. “It looks like you’re stuck with all of us, your Excellency. What’s the plan?”
The Therion king began kicking dirt into the campfire in an apparent bid to squelch the flames. “Get some sleep,” he ordered.
“We ride in three hours.”
CHAPTER 27
It was an awkward arrangement, but Arlon knew that it had to be done. If they had merely continued a leisurely trot, Mae’Lee could have been safely perched atop her own tethered horse, but Mogg insisted that they travel swiftly, and primarily at night. The Princess’ horse, now an unnecessary liability, had been turned loose, and Mae’Lee was seated behind Arlon, before being strapped to him.
He tried to keep his catatonic passenger as comfortable as best he could on the difficult night flight. Arlon arched forward so that her hot, sweating head could rest on his back, but hours of bouncing along on moonslit trails (that weren’t really trails) proved a very painful commitment.
And then there was meal time.
It was nearly impossible to get her to eat in the ordinary sense. After much trial and error, they finally resorted to boiling meat scraps and bone marrow, and then forcing her to drink the thick, warm broth. It seemed to work. Most of the time. But everyone knew that food and comfort were the least of her real needs.
And so they rode on.
They wove in and out of forests, trudged through gravel bars, and even skirted the perimeter of another massive city that looked as deserted and dilapidated as Tar’tain. Mogg prohibited anyone from taking even a short jaunt inside the collapsing, vine encrusted walls.
On the second night of travel, a steep, rocky slope, combined with intermittent moonslight, forced the weary riders to reduce their speed considerably. Arlon took the opportunity and encouraged his horse to draw alongside Tempest. He readjusted Mae’Lee’s arms before glancing over at Mogg.
“What was the name of the flower we need?”
Mogg kept his voice down. “Arriphyll.”
“Ar-ri-phyll. What does it look like?”
Mogg swiveled his head from side to side and then peered off into the distance. “I would show you, but I do not yet see the Arriphyll, Arlon of the Kla’aven Soteria.”
Arlon fought back a smile. “You know, I appreciate how nice and important you make my name sound, with all that ‘Kla’aven of Soteria’ business, but really…it’s just Arlon. Arlon.”
“Arlon.”
“That’s it. You see how nice and easy that just rolls off your tongue? No need to make things difficult.” He paused. “Your Excellency.”
“Mogg.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your Excellency.” He spread his hands apart. “It is an ill thought. Mogg.”
“Oh, yeah. Wait…are you sure? Just Mogg?”
“Mogg.”
“Okay, Mogg.”
“Okay…Arlon.”
This is good. Keep it going, Arlon.
“And the redhead. The freckled boy back there. The funny man. That’s Paymer. He’s from Orania. North of the Kla’aven Skree.”
“Pay-mer.”
“And then the round-face boy with his hair shaved on the sides? That’s Hort.”
“Sort.”
“Oh, no, no. It’s…Hort. Hort.”
“Hort.”
“Yep. He’s from Thilasson. An island kingdom.”
Arlon pointed behind him. “And my shadow here, this is the Princess. Her name is Mae’Lee.”
“Mae…Lee.”
“You got it. Her father is the King of Avdira. It is far, far to the east. And then there is—“
“Trilyra,” Mogg interjected.
“Yeah, Trilyra. The woman of the south. She is from the Kingdom of Ammodis.”
>
“Let me ask you, Arlon…are all women of the Vice trained as warriors such as she?”
“Well, no. Not really. Trilyra is kind of a special case. Hey…did you know that her brother was a Dunamai? He had the Mark of Power.”
Mogg didn’t reply, or if he had, Arlon certainly didn’t hear him.
“Yeah. But, uh, he was killed. By the Dragon. It was terrible. I was there. All of us were there. I will never forget it. I am just sorry that Trilyra had to see it.”
Mogg sighed. “I understand her anger. I also saw my father die. I also will never forget it. Arlon.”
“I am so sorry, Mogg. Really.”
Mogg nodded discreetly and patted both of Tempest’s necks. “Tell me of your father, Arlon.”
Oh, no. Not that.
“That…is…a difficult subject,” he replied.
“Does your father live?”
Arlon squirmed. “And that is also difficult.”
Mogg pivoted in his saddle. “Arlon does not know if his father is living or dead?”
“Uh…well…no. It is an ill thought. You see, I’ve never met my father. Or maybe I did when I was a baby, but I don’t remember him or anything. So, yeah, it’s kinda…difficult.”
“Now Mogg is sorry.”
Arlon blushed. “Oh, don’t be. I’m okay. My mother…she is really great. Really, really, really great. I have had a good life. A happy life. A better life than most, I’m sure. At least, until the last couple of weeks or so.”
“Your life has changed, Arlon?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s changed. In a big way.”
“My life has changed, too.”
“How so?”
“Until a few days ago, Mogg had never met a Vice before, Arlon.” He paused. “We feared the Vice. We…hated the Vice.”
Arlon couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Why is Arlon laughing?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that I just now realized that the Vice and the Kray are not all that different. You see, I was raised to fear the Kray. Just like you grew up fearing us…the Vice.”
Tempest stumbled a bit and Mogg pulled the reins tighter. “Tell me…does Arlon fear Mogg?”
The Dragon Wrath: Book Two of the Arlon Prophecies Page 16