As they walked, Braxton thought about his mother. The last he'd heard about her, she and his sister, along with his friend, Davvy's mother and sisters had fled the areas of heavy fighting back in his home kingdom and had plenty of coinage to get by. But that was back in Narvoza, which was somewhere on the other side of the world from where they were now. Hopefully, she would be alright until he could get back home. He told himself that Davvy would look after them, and knowing it was the truth eased his worry somewhat. The loss of his father and two brothers to the demon's army of trolls was fresh on his mind, as was the vivid memory of Nixy's headless body being hurled to his feet by the wretched demon. Braxton spent most of the morning fighting tears. It was a battle just to keep from crumbling into a fetal ball.
Thankfully, Cryelos gave him space while they walked. The elf also had losses to mourn. Vinston-Fret, Sorrell, and a few other elves died on the quest to best the demon. Prince Darblin Rockheart, and Big H, were among the hundreds of dwarves who also died in the battle.
At least a thousand gothicans and even more humans were killed on the battlefield by the demon's hand, too, many of them fighting for Braxton. He’d managed to kill Pharark, though, and as strange as it seemed, it all happened just over a day ago on a snowy battlefield outside of Camberly in Narvoza.
Cryelos shook his head in disgust, trying to force distracting thoughts from his mind. While they made their way through the green sea of chest-tall grass, he tried to remember what stories Xuniper had told him about Queen Aevilin and her powerful staff. After a while, when he was sure he had the story straight, he told it to Braxton while they walked.
"Aevilin was the queen of the elves," Cryelos began. "This was back when men and elves were not as friendly as they are now. We'd always fought with each other for the right to hunt the forests and over other trivial things, but our race kept it from becoming a bloody war. Then came the ogres. They came with magical fiends and made war against both elves and humans. They nearly defeated us all, but Queen Aevilin prayed to the forest god Arbor, and he granted her a staff that grew from a tree right before her eyes. It had the power to fight the evil beasts, and soon we drove them back to their own lands. For hundreds of years, peace was restored. Then a trusted and revered elven priest named Mardon-Hex murdered the queen and stole the staff. With it, he tore down the structure of elven royalty and, over time, the elves were led by false kings and queens, who were influenced by the priest and the staff he so easily misused."
"What happened to Mardon-Hex?" Braxton asked.
"Xuniper said that he inflicted much pain and suffering and it was he who caused the separation of my people. Even now, groups of elves are scattered all around the different lands." Cryelos paused and looked up at the blue sky, hoping it might seem as new and different to him as the moon and stars had the night before. "You don't know how bad I would love to find some of my people. We are so few on the Isle of Jolin, and so much of our heritage has been lost. Only Xuniper lives to remind us of how great the elven nation once was. Maybe now, with the promised land the Sapphire of Souls has given us, we will start to thrive again. It would be a grand thing to bring us all back together."
Braxton waited a few minutes, then asked again, "What happened to the priest, Mardon-Hex?"
"I don't know," Cryelos finally answered, "but remember, elves live a very long time. I think with the power of the staff, he could still be alive. He could be on the Island of Skorch. Or he could have died, but I doubt he would have died before parting with the staff."
"It must be a very powerful thing for him to have coveted it so much," Braxton said.
"Yes." Cryelos stopped them and looked at Braxton, his eyes conveying the seriousness of what he was about to say. "Xuniper told us that Queen Aevilin turned back ten thousand ogres by summoning the elements themselves with it. She called upon the wind and the rain, and the ground itself. She said the priest used it to make vile monsters and foul creatures that still roam the world today."
"Like the thing Taerak called the Rokkan, which guards the staff, maybe?"
"Maybe." The elf shrugged as they continued. "But the Rokkan could be a building, or even a group of people."
As much as he wanted those things to be true, deep inside, he figured Braxton was right. The Rokkan was more than likely a creature of evil design put in place by the priest to keep the staff from falling into the hands of those that would use it against him. The island was called the Island of Skorch, after all, no doubt named to sound menacing and keep the simple folk and the curious away.
Braxton told Cryelos of the darkon corpses he'd seen in Chureal's homeland. They were very much like humans, but with pale skin and elongated skulls. They had teeth like an animal's, eyes that were split by vertical slits for pupils.
"And you think these darkons have something to do with the Temple of Drar and the staff?" Cryelos asked.
Braxton answered by telling him about the dead void warrior Skyla-Veltin and what little he knew about her quest to rid the world of the evil darkon creatures. He then retold Emerald's tale of how a female darka, who was the leader of all the males, had used some sort of magical concussion to stun Emerald into unconsciousness in midflight. The dragon crashed into the ground, killing Skyla near the farm Chureal was staying at.
Cryelos listened intently while Braxton went on to tell him that he figured they were here, where they were now, to carry on the fight against the darkons, for Chureal’s sake, and he suggested that, if the jewel revealed the staff to them, it surely had something to do with it all. Braxton went on to speculate that the only reason Cryelos was here with them was because the magic of their medallions intended it that way.
"Ultimately, Chureal and I are servants to the magic," he told Cryelos. "Maybe you could reunite the elves with the staff once we get it." Braxton wondered where those words had come from, for he hadn’t yet thought about retrieving the staff from the Island of Skorch, yet here he was making plans about what to do after it was done.
"Maybe this Rokkan will eat us for supper," Cryelos said with a smile. He tried but could not dismiss the idea of finding his people and the staff. He was too humble, though, to let his glorious thoughts wander, and his gnawing hunger kept him grounded and focused on the situation at hand.
"Here they come," Braxton said, pointing up at the rapidly closing dragon. "Maybe they've seen something."
"Knowing that wyrm, he probably wants nothing more than to ask permission to land and eat another cow."
Braxton had to think about that for a moment. Not really about what the young dragon wanted, but that Cobalt might actually think to ask him permission to do anything. Not even a full year ago, he'd only seen a dragon from the ground as it flew high overhead. Before that, he'd seen one other, and that was when he was fourteen or fifteen winters old. Now he knew not one, but three dragons personally, one of which he'd healed with power he still didn’t understand. For a moment, he wondered in amazement over how much his life had changed in such a short time. A brief flicker of joy flashed in his mind, but remembering those who'd been killed in the battle with the demon and his horde caused the emotion to fall into the open pit left in his soul. He was suddenly having to fight not to break down again.
Cryelos watched Cobalt's graceful approach with envy. He wanted to feel the wind flowing through his long hair as he soared over the world on the back of a dragon. He'd longed to do so since he'd seen Braxton and Chureal swoop over them on the back of the mighty green, Emerald, back in the Wilderkind Forest. He'd kept his desire secret until they were about to enter the dwarven kingdom. He’d told Braxton about it at the fire one night. Braxton simply suggested he ask one of the dragons to take him flying.
He'd planned on doing that as soon as he made it back to Jolin, where Emerald was healing from exhaustion and injuries. Then a thought struck him. It wasn't when he made it back now, it was if he ever made it back. And if he didn't, he decided it wouldn't be too long before Cobalt was big enough to carry him. Th
e young blue wyrm was growing easily a foot or more every turn of the big moon.
The long grass swayed and flattened and waivered around from the wind thrown by Cobalt’s wings. Insects fled when the dragon reared up and dropped his hind claws gently to the ground.
"Braxton. Hey, Braxton, Cryelos," Chureal said so excitedly that she was breathless. "There are some people still alive in the village, and we scared them, but we didn't mean to. They look hurt, and I want to help them, but you said we couldn't land so we didn't. We just flew by real close. Some of them fell to their knees and started yelling up at us, but others threw rocks and ran into the huts." She paused, but only long enough to take in a breath of air. "I mean the huts that weren't burnt down. Then we flew north. At least, Cobalt said it was north. I don't know my directions yet, but I saw —"
"Chureal!" Braxton yelled over her with a big loving smile on his face. "Slow down. How many people did you see in the village?"
Chureal touched her cheek with her finger and cocked her head. "Fifteen maybe. More like ten."
"How many were hurt?"
"Three or four," said Chureal after taking a few deep breaths. "Let me finish telling you what I saw to the north." She put her hands on her hips and started in before Braxton could stop her. "There were men on horses wearing armor like this," she touched the heavy steel chest plate she wore and made a distasteful look by scrunching up her face. "They looked like they were going away from the village, and they had people in a cage built on the back of a wagon. And —"
"Did they see you?" This time, Cryelos cut her off, and he did so sternly.
"I don't think so." She gave Cryelos a look that showed she didn't appreciate his rudeness.
The elf ignored her expression. "How many?"
"How many what?" she asked with a huff.
"How many men? How many horses? How many wagons? How many people in them?"
"Twelve mensss," Cobalt answered. "Smore in cages. Twenty horses and two wagons." The dragon gave Cryelos a look that showed that he, too, did not like him being rude to Chureal. "They did not see usss."
"How badly were the people in the village hurt, Chureal?" Braxton asked.
"I think pretty badly," she started, "but it was hard to tell from the air. I think I should go back and heal them but—"
"How far is it to the village?" Braxton asked, this time directing his question to the dragon.
"Half the dayss for you onss foot."
Braxton knew Chureal could heal them like the way she made apples from stones, she just could. At least most of the time her touch healed. Sometimes it caused a merciful and painless death instead.
Braxton didn't want to let her go, but those people might not have the half a day it would take he and Cryelos to get there. Even if they ran, it would take a quarter day. He looked to the elf for help, but Cryelos was thinking about something. Braxton's gaze landed on Cobalt, who looked as impassive and unconcerned as ever.
"Can you protect her if she helps them?" Braxton asked the dragon.
"Yesss," Cobalt hissed and puffed out his chest proudly.
To someone who hadn't seen a dragon before, Cobalt would be a terrifying sight. But to both Braxton and Cryelos, who had witnessed the battle between Cobalt's mother and a mighty red dragon, both grown, ferocious, and ready to fight to the death, Cobalt wasn't quite so intimidating. It was his confidence that swayed Braxton to let Chureal go and try to heal the people.
"All right, Chureal, you can go, but be careful," Braxton mothered. "And as soon as you heal them, come right back so we don't have to worry."
"Wait," Cryelos said harshly enough to keep the dragon from leaping back into the sky. "Why don't you come down and take off that bulky chest armor," the elf said. "That way if you have to, you can get back on Cobalt's back in a hurry."
Braxton started to object, but the elf held up his hand. "She has chain mail underneath, and the villagers will probably be so scared of Cobalt that they won't dare harm her."
"All right." She huffed. And though she tried to act disgruntled by the delay, her excitement of being allowed to help the people still showed through. The idea that she wouldn't look like a big fat dwarf with a tiny little head when she climbed down into the village only added to her eagerness.
After a short battle, in which it looked for a while like the heavy plate top piece might win, they finally got it, the greaves, and shoulder pieces off her body. She was left in an ankle-length, long sleeved shirt made of light chainmail, the sleeves of which hung down past her hands. Chureal started to pull it off, too, but Braxton stopped her.
"No," he said with fatherly concern, or motherly worry; he wasn't sure anymore. "Leave the chainmail on. You can move about freely in it and it is not so heavy that it will stop you from being able to remount Cobalt."
"Yes, Chureal," Cryelos added with a grin. "It will also stop a blade or an arrow long enough for you to turn your attacker into a fruit basket."
Braxton gave Cryelos a half-hard stare, but soon smiled for it was sort of funny, as was his over protectiveness. After all, what kind of harm could some defeated villagers do to a young clever girl who flew into the village on a dragon? She could probably blast them all into dust with a blink of her eyes if she wanted to.
"Go, Chureal, be safe and hurry back," Braxton finally said. Then to the dragon, "You better protect her."
Cryelos helped her back onto Cobalt's back, where she scooted snuggly between two of his spinal plates. The dragon took two awkward strutting steps, and then leapt into the air, his heavy wing strokes flattening the grass around them.
Braxton and Cryelos walked on in silence, each in their own world of grief and concern. They trudged ahead like that for a long time, then Braxton finally spoke. "I hope she is alright. How long have they been gone?"
Cryelos, who had only a tiny bit more faith that Chureal and Cobalt could stay out of trouble, shook his head for he had been thinking the same thing. Instead of adding to Braxton's worry with his own concerns, he looked at the sun for a moment, and then tried to change the subject.
"What do you make of riders with cages full of people and a large herd of horses?" he asked.
"I'm not sure yet, but I've got the feeling we are going to find out as soon as we get to the village. Probably slavers, horse thieves, or both." Braxton stopped and looked at the sun and wondered a moment himself, judging its position in the sky. "How long do you think it has been since she left?"
"I don't see any crops out here," the elf said evasively. "I wonder what kind of people those villagers are?"
"Hopefully not the kind who abduct little girls." His concern was beginning to turn into worry.
"I meant do you think they are hunters or nomads," Cryelos looked around. "I don't see any sign of large herds, but I imagine that this grassy plain sustains quite a bit of life." He smiled at Braxton's worried look. "Maybe they are gypsy child snatchers."
"That's not funny." But after he saw Cryelos smile, he couldn't hide his own. "It's not funny at all." A few more moments passed, and he asked again. "How long do you think it has been since they left us?"
Cryelos shook his head and had to bite back a laugh. "Not even a full turn of the glass Braxton," he answered, and he wasn't lying. It had been less than half that since they'd gone.
Chapter Three
The midday sun glinted and reflected off Chureal's chainmail shirt, making it look like a shimmering gown of sparkling fire. Along with her honey-gold hair and the bright medallion hanging on her neck, it all caught the light just right when Cobalt came swooping down out of the sky.
It was clear that the simple folk watching her thought she was some sort of goddess sent from the heavens. When Chureal slid off Cobalt's back, they stood stalk still, not sure whether to be relieved or worried.
Two of the injured people Chureal had seen from the air were lying in a wagon near one of the unburned huts. A third man was being helped toward the wagon from across the cart path that served as the tow
n's main road. All of the people who were in the path when Cobalt landed had now fallen to their knees and put their heads to the ground, all save for the injured man. He just stood there, shivering from either pain or fright. One of his legs was wrapped in a black, blood-soaked bandage and he teetered back and forth, fighting to stand upright since the two women who had been helping him were now kissing the dirt near his feet. As Chureal strode toward him, Cobalt reared up to his full height and spread his wings wide, partly to intimidate and show his might, but partly to gain a better view of the area Chureal was approaching.
Chureal strode to the trembling man, and with a touch, healed the vicious sword wound that ran the length of his thigh. He was so stunned by the sudden lack of pain that he fell to the ground and cried out what sounded like praises in a language she didn't quite understand, but weren’t unfamiliar to her. His words sent a murmur through the townspeople, and as Chureal cautiously approached the wagon containing the other two wounded people, a young man bolted away from one of the half-burned huts.
Chureal's heart fluttered through her chest, for he startled her. He ran away to the north down the road as fast as his legs would carry him. In the blink of an eye, Cobalt came down, landing hard in front of him. The dragon reared up and blocked his way, and then the young man fell to his knees, but only for a moment, and not to praise Chureal or the dragon. As soon as Cobalt looked toward Chureal, the man got back to his feet and darted between two smoldering piles that had once been huts and continued out into the grass. He kept on running until he was out of sight.
Chureal ignored him and climbed on one of the spoked wooden wagon wheels and looked into the cart at a middle-aged man who was badly burned from the waist up. His face was swollen and blistered, and it was obvious that the skin around his eyes, nose, and ears had been charred crisp. Beside him lay a young woman of maybe sixteen or seventeen years, bleeding from the stomach. She was sweaty, red, and clearly fevered. Her head yanked to and fro violently, and the moaning sounds coming from her were pitiful to hear.
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