by A. Wrighton
“I should’ve warned you.”
“You didn’t really have the chance.”
He nodded. “Welcome back, Kalyna.”
“How long was…”
“Not too long. You did better than I’d thought you would, considering Jaxin’s mood.”
“He always like that?”
“They all are.”
“They?”
Alaister laughed. “You still don’t believe it, do you?”
“You’re a desperate old woman’s story for hope and a future. I might have believed it once, but then you never came and I started to think that maybe she really was a little bit… you know. So yes, it is a bit hard. You aren’t supposed to actually exist.”
“I could say the same for you.”
Kalyna’s lips thinned illuminating a smile. “For all intents, I don’t.”
“Right.”
“How many of you are there?” she asked.
“Not as many as there once were. We’ve managed to maintain three full Dredths. We might achieve completion of a fourth soon – especially with the rate the Council is going.”
“The three lights in the window? Vee didn’t make that up either?”
Alaister fought back a snicker at Kalyna’s expense. Her stubborn refusal to yield belief was impressive. “Kalyna, were you and Vee it?”
“As far as I knew, we are the last ones. But Vee, the way she spoke, it was as if she knew that our kind still lived – somewhere. When I was younger I used to run out into the forest and disappear for hours looking for them.”
“Must’ve set Vee in a mood.”
“Not at all. She’s a Triad – Air, Water, Earth – she knew where I was at all times.”
Alaister stared at her calm expression. She was not as phased or frightened as he thought. She almost looked excited. Amused.
“Your Dragon looks like the one who saved me, but more orange. Vee said they’re related. Is that true?”
“Yes.” Alaister shook off a chill from another updraft of canyon air. “We should go inside; they’ll be waiting for us. Dinner time.”
Alaister patted his grumbling stomach and offered a smile, but Kalyna stood, hand on her hips, unamused and unsympathetic. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. Even in the growing darkness, the waves were unmistakably brightest flaxen color he had ever seen. Her disbelief in his words seemed to make her hair flicker and glow.
“Inside? It’s a canyon wall, Dragonic.”
The generalization reproached, but with a smile. She was just as savvy at wordplay as he was. Alaister stowed his smirk and crossed his arms, a deep sigh slipping from his mouth. “It’s Alaister.”
“Alaister…”
“Alaister Paine.” He caught Kalyna’s smirk and raised an eyebrow. Alaister shook his head forcefully. “Don’t even start. I’ve heard them all, Kalyna.”
“Call me Kal.”
“All right, Kal it is.”
“And it’s still a canyon wall, Alaister.”
“Things are not always what you perceive them to be,” he said as he walked to the edge of the canyon, smiled, and took a step off the edge. A gasp left her mouth the same time his foot hit the hidden stair. He gestured for her to follow, fighting the urge to laugh at her twisted face. “This way, Kal,” Alaister said.
Alaister motioned to a hidden carved staircase that sloped steeply down the canyon wall and extended his hand. Kalyna looked from the staircase to him and back again before taking his guidance. He walked at his normal speed, but it still lacked the speed to fend off the stinging bite of the wind. Alaister had grown more accustomed to it with time, but he knew it had to pain anyone unaccustomed to its burn. He hastened his steps and paused at the split in the stairs – the left path leading to the rear entry of the Monastery of the Sky.
Looking anywhere but forward, Kalyna collided into his back and gripped his arms for balance. Alaister turned and caught her copper eyes. Her cheeks were not wind-whipped red but a warm peach. She seemed, eerily normal and unbothered by their harsh descent and nipping wind. He pointed at the split in the stairs, fighting the wind in his burgundy cloak.
“This leads to the Monastery of the Sky, in case…”
“The Monastery of the Sky? I thought that was…”
“Real.”
“May I go see it?”
“Later. On my word Kal, but right now we must get to the Den.”
“Of course.”
“Nearly there.”
He turned back to continue watching his step as the carved stairs grew narrower, looking less like stairs and more like happenchance rocks. He stopped only when he could not hear Kalyna’s soft footsteps behind him. She had paused at the edge a few paces back and was glancing down into the canyon.
Kalyna stared with wide eyes trying to catch the flight patterns of the Beasts below. “The Dragons….”
Alaister reached her tilting form in two strides and gently pushed her back along the canyon wall. “They live in the canyon. Rule number one, Kalyna. Stay the Udlast away from the Dragons. They only listen to their Riders and without us around, you’re nothing but a tasty, walking snack.”
“I understand.”
“Take my hand – last one’s a bit of a jump.”
Alaister extended his hand for Kalyna and turned to proceed. She did not take it. He heard her whisper something, and before he could question her a breeze, warm and sweet, eddied through his cloak and around his scabbard. He jerked around, but Kalyna was gone. He snapped forward and found Kalyna across the gap waving sheepishly. Smiling. He could not decide if he wanted to scream or shake her.
Kalyna’s face fell with a shrug. “It is just air, Dragonic.”
He shook his head and leapt across the gap, arriving at her side. His eyes met hers. “Alaister,” he corrected.
“Right. It’s just air, Alaister.”
He exhaled and nodded. They were told that Runics had been peculiar. Alaister gestured to a gap in the rocks. “In here.”
Alaister led her through the hole into a dark and damp passageway between the rocks. The passageway thinned and squeezed before it broke out into a large cavern. Oil lanterns hung along the sidewalls, exposing with flickering firelight the banners of the Rogue Dragonics. The banners wavered in the thin wisp of fresh air that slithered in from the passageway and down the hole at the cavern’s top.
The Hall of Heroes had always been Alaister’s favorite cavern – a source of pride. Honor. The Hall was a solemn place, but the lack of fresh air made it feel as somber as it looked. The banners for the three Dredths hung proudly in the tepid shadows and, had their colors been anything other than dark and earthy, they would have morphed into the gray of the rock. The banners were woven with dark oranges, reds, and blacks and hung from high up the cavern wall and cascaded down, nearly touching the ground. The luxurious fabrics draped tiredly as they neared the floor. Beside the banners, another wall housed the saddles of Riders who had departed in the line of duty. The wall of empty saddles hit hard.
Alaister saw the marvel on Kalyna’s face. He came to the Hall so often he had forgotten how devastating a sight it truly was. He gave Kalyna another moment before gesturing for her to follow him through the Hall’s center and past the podium that encased a document signed in blood and kissed with Dragons’ breath. Alaister followed Kalyna’s gaze to the case. “The Verdict of the Original Six.”
“Your banners… they look so… sad.”
Alaister stared at his Dredth’s banner. Across the burgundy center, in a fading gray was the outline of a Dragon claw gripping a sword. The deep orange trim of the banner nearly looked brown beside the second row of black trim in the firelight.
“They’re hard banners to carry.”
“Someone has to.”
He nodded.
“Which is yours?”
“Burgundy begets black.”
“He wore that too.”
“Well, the son normally inherits the father’s colors, doesn�
�t he?” Callon mocked.
Kalyna turned to face the growingly familiar features of the duelist. Callon’s eyes sparkled with unrivaled amusement, much to Alaister’s dismay. Mischief untapped was never a good thing in Callon.
“Hello, Cal,” Alaister said.
“Welcome back, Al… Kalyna.” Callon winked at Kalyna before gesturing to the large hallway between the main Rogue banner and the smaller Dredth banners. “We’re all waiting for you and we’re all quite hungry. Bad form to keep us waiting, Al. Bad form, indeed.”
Alaister laughed but conceded. He followed Callon and led Kalyna into the hallways keeping pace with Callon’s speed. A few turns deep, Alaister turned and caught Kalyna struggling to track their movements. It was pointless, but he did not have the heart to tell her so. The Halls were a maze, and to try to track where someone was or how to get there on their first visit was not only futile, but also impossible. Callon quickened his stride until she nearly jogged to match his pace. They rounded a corner and Kalyna burst through a massive rock archway into the Great Hall, a smile crossing her lips. She stopped herself from slamming into Alaister, who had paused to wait for her.
Her copper eyes flitted manically around the massive cavern.
Seven times as wide and thrice as tall as the entrance cavern, the Great Hall was illuminated by hundreds of oil lanterns wedged into sporadic places along the walls. Three large circular chandeliers of hanging oil lights outshone the lanterns and cast a sparkling, dazzling glow. Three abnormally long, wooden tables faced north, while one smaller, shorter table faced west. Behind the smaller table was a massive cutout into the canyon that, framed by thick curtains, exposed the varied ledges and roosts of the Beasts. Alaister nudged Kalyna through the pathway between the middle and far right table and guided her to the small table in front of the window.
“Don’t be afraid. They don’t all bite...” Callon smiled as he gestured towards the entire force of Rogue Dragonics who now, instead of clamoring with each other and the short-handed staff of devout Resistance supporters who lived at the Den, held a solid gaze on Kalyna. “Just the ones from Lanthar’s Dredth do.”
“I can hear you, Caldenian.”
Alaister managed to retain a straight face at their playful banter. Truthfully, he wanted to join in, but had never had the talent or knowledge of where to start. He was an expert negotiator but a terrible joker. He settled on watching the amusement between Kalyna and his men as he ushered her to a seat.
“Ah, here we go again. Good evening to you, Lanthar! How was your flight in?”
“Hello again, Lanthar,” Kalyna offered from between the two men.
“Milady.”
“Kal,” Kalyna corrected.
Lanthar smiled and nodded. “Welcome, Kal.”
“Have a seat between Lanthar and Callon, if you wouldn’t mind. It might make everyone’s meal a much more pleasant experience,” Alaister said.
Callon and Lanthar raised their chins with indignation and Alaister eagerly waited for combative replies. But, before they could muster any retort, the cavern fell silent at the appearance of a stringy old man that clung to his cane with unusual force. The three officers smiled.
Synge.
Yet again, Old Man Synge managed to maintain the peace without trying. Gingerly hunched over, and scarred beyond recognition on the lower left side of his face, Synge walked slowly through the tables, patting men on the back as he went. Synge’s hazel eyes skirted about with a youth much like his fellow occupants. Had he been judged on his gaze alone, Synge would have passed for young. But, the depth of his eyes betrayed experience and his hair had not been truly gray in almost a decade; it was as white as a calming Fire Dragon’s breath.
Alaister knew Kalyna would be drawn to Synge. He was one of the only men that could draw a commanding silence and amount of attention anytime, anywhere. Alaister fought the squeezing urge to rush to Synge’s side and confirm everything. He waited patiently for the Old Man to make his way to the table on the strength of his own feet. Catching Kalyna’s curious stare, Alaister nodded an encouraging smile. Then, he withdrew the Old Man’s chair to his left. It was then he noticed the unusual look on Synge’s wrinkled face.
Synge was staring.
Synge stared at Kalyna unabashedly and without accord. And, he seemed disturbed by what he saw; it was a pleasant sort of disturbed that unsettled. Synge looked at Kalyna as if he knew her and she him and, the longer he stared, the more of the men followed suit. Even Alaister followed the gaze and returned his eyes to her pleasant form and odd looks.
Kalyna was truly different, different from any woman he had ever seen, and she maintained a high caliber of humor and wits. His father could not have chosen better. She commanded and accepted the attention of his men without hesitation or fear. He dared to think that she liked being publically known as a Runic.
She smiled and bowed her head at Synge without understanding the magnitude of the Old Man. Synge nodded and then diverted his eyes to Alaister, who helped Synge find his way into his chair with a simple, “Oof.”
All eyes lingered on Synge. His lips sputtered before they found words.
“Rogues, tonight we rejoice.”
There were mutterings of agreement and small coos of whooping from the tables.
“We rejoice in the recovery and safe delivery of our continent’s last Runic. It is a discovery that has great implications. We are now called to action. Change is on the horizon Rogues. So, I suggest we eat heartily, for tomorrow we may not see the coming of another plate,” Synge said before turning to Alaister with a hidden smile and nodded.
Alaister stood, stein in his right hand. “To the Gods. To each other.”
“To the Gods. To each other,” the men echoed.
“Begin.”
THE HALLS
THE DEN, NORTHERN SOLERAN MOUNTAINS
“A word, young Runic?”
“Please, call me Kalyna.”
The Old Man bristled but nodded, his thick white hair shaking with the sway of his head. Synge looked helplessly shorter now that he stood closer to Kalyna, even though he was a chin taller than her. Kalyna knew from his wide shoulders and the deep respect paid to him by the men that a great while ago he had stood as tall and proud as Alaister and the others. He had the look about him; he had ridden Dragons.
“There is much to discuss," Synge said.
Kalyna glanced back at Alaister, who was perched in the cavern archway, one arm propped on the threshold, watching. His steel blue eyes did not falter or flitter with any clue as to what the Old Man spoke of. Kalyna frowned at Alaister’s patient nature. He was full of calm steadiness and reinforcement. He smiled for added reassurance but did not move to follow them.
Kalyna quivered with the recognition that for a man Udlast-driven to keep her near and well supervised, the old man required no further special observation from Alaister. Synge either held a high card of command or deep respect – or both. But, who he was exactly evaded her. Vee had told her nothing of an older Rogue or man of any such importance to the Rogues. To Kalyna, he was a gentle old man with a hunched back and twisted cane. He was harmless. Useless. She looked to Alaister for explanation and shrugged expectantly.
“Kal, this is Former Commander Synge Heftin of the Second Dredth, Rogue Dragonics,” Alaister said.
“Formality, Al.”
Alaister smiled and shrugged. “We all call him Old Man Syn.”
The Old Man emitted a low grinding noise within his throat. “Syn is fine,” he said.
“He’s our walking history lesson; you’d do best to listen carefully to whatever it is in that old skull of his he has to tell you.” Alaister patted him hard on the back – hard enough that Kalyna thought Syn would knock over from the force of it. The Old Man blinked his hazel eyes and nodded a farewell to Alaister’s retreating shadow.
“Pray tell, your mentor, how old is she?”
“Pardon?”
“Your Vee.”
“I… I do
n’t know. I never… I never thought to ask. Do you think you know her?”
The Old Man’s face showed no emotion. “That old, eh?” he asked.
“No.” Kalyna blushed. "But she knew quite a few of the Rogues, so perhaps she knows you without you knowing of her..."
“I wouldn’t venture such a guess, young Runic. Back in my day, when the Original Six founded the Rogues, I by far was one of the oldest members of the Resistance. It was our business to know and cultivate all in our community. I know every soul that has ever trespassed and came to live under the protection of the Order in this Den – be they Riders, lovers, or civilian followers. I would’ve known her if she truly knew us...." Syn paused thoughtfully and caught the confused pain on Kalyna’s face. He quickly shrugged. "Perhaps my old age slips, but I do not ever recall meeting a Runic named Vee.”
Kalyna bit her lip to hide her disappointment. Vee had no reason to lie over matters such as these and she had already proven to Alaister that she had known his father. It had to be the old man’s age. There was no other explanation. Kalyna looked up from the stone ground and rushed to follow after the Old Man who walked at a startlingly fast pace down the maze of the halls. She struggled to catch his words as he walked, bobbing and weaving at seemingly inopportune, but appropriate times.
“Although... There was one named…. Ah, here we are.”
“Named what, sir?”
“It’s Syn.” He smiled warmly from under his whitening beard. Synge gestured to the widening path at the back right of the hall’s end. “Your room will be through here – nearest the Monastery passage. They have the most delicious Library at your disposal, which you must only visit at night. Never during the day’s light. For safety, you understand.”
“Of course.”
The Old Man paused mid-thought and Kalyna sensed he wanted more. The questions or possibility of questions danced behind his eyes, but to what end, Kalyna had no idea. Possibly, it centered on her and Vee. But, she would not be of much use to the ancient man then. Kalyna had never really been told anything about her mentor’s past and never thought to ask. It had never mattered before. Vee had been the aged woman who found her wandering the Swamps starving, taken her in, and been her constant companion ever since. She had always been older, gray, and mute about past. Kalyna frowned. She did not even know if Vee had a last name. She had never thought to ask for it as she, a girl without one of her own, had no use in knowing another’s surname. To Kalyna, she was just Vee.