by A. Wrighton
“Nylan Bendran, Third Dredth Commander of the Lythgorian Dragonics. I am afraid we have a bit of a misunderstanding.”
Lanthar scoffed and rocked back on his boots, but spoke no words. Vylain stared blankly through him, his mouth slightly ajar. Vylain knew he had heard the man correctly; he knew they all had.
“Do we?” Alaister asked.
“We were told Rogues existed, but we always thought them a myth. But, if this Runic is here under no duress and willingly under your protection, then we are allies brother.”
Callon snapped, struggling against Drystan and Kyren’s touch. “Brother! Are you bretzing kidding me?”
“Easy, Commander,” Kyren said.
“Yes… Relax, t’ere Cal. Just hold ya still long enough so we can set t’at bone already.”
Alaister cleared his throat, refocusing Nylan’s attention. Nylan stared into the steel blue eyes until Lanthar grew unstill at the matched intensity between the two men.
“Allies, you say?” Alaister asked.
“We both want the same thing.”
“And that is?”
“Kalyna’s safety.”
“I see,” Alaister said. He cast a pissed glare at Kalyna for her flagrant indiscretion, but she did not make to explain or apologize. “I’m sure there’s logic to your statement?”
Nylan exhaled with a sharp nod. “We cannot stay here long to talk. My Dredth was following a Council patrol this way and mistook you for them.”
Lanthar faced Alaister and blocking view of his lips, leaned in close to Alaister’s ear. Nylan ignored the scene for the far more interesting view of the now exposed Runic. Kalyna was beautiful and unlike any woman he had seen before. She was not dark and fair like Lythgorians, nor was she light and tanned like the Solerans were supposed to be. She was an awkward mix of the two that resulted in a dauntingly unusual but beautiful woman.
To Nylan’s surprise, Kalyna glared back. She seemed to search him for something, but never vocalized a word or thought. She stood behind the three Rogues protecting her – or pretending to protect her – for if they knew the extent of her abilities, they would have known the futility in any attempt to hurt her without a Beast – and eyed him up and down. It was one of the only times Nylan had ever felt uncomfortable under the gaze of a Runic and under the gaze of a woman.
Nylan’s jaw clicked into a kind smile in reply to Kalyna’s visual assault. She was just as curious as he was and it pleased, flattered even. He had not expected her to speak again, but when she did, he was stunned at the feminine softness of her voice.
“He speaks the truth,” Kalyna said.
Alaister turned and locked eyes with her. “Kal?”
“Nylan speaks honestly. I can sense it.”
Nylan bowed deeply to Kalyna despite the Rogues’ glares. She flushed and returned with a curtsey that pleased only the Lythgorians.
“Kalyna, the Last Soleran Runic, it is a pleasure to find one of your Kind still—”
Before Nylan could take another breath, Alaister’s sword lay against his throat. “So it was you,” Alaister said. His teeth ground together as he spoke, his broadsword blade frighteningly rigid.
Nylan’s face tightened. The row of dismounted Lythgorian Dragonics behind him grew restless. “Here is not the place, Brother. I will gladly explain all to you once we are out of the open. Kaly—”
“Your entire Dredth cannot be accommodated, Commander.”
“Understood.” Nylan turned to find his two wingmen and a third, taller man standing immediately behind him, hands on their hilts waiting for word. Their three dark Beasts glowered in the falling sunlight that silhouetted their forms. The depth of the shadows clinging to them chilled.
“Tylus, Shayne. You two come with me. Draken, take the Dredth back home. Report what has happened and tell Lord and Lady Tryn that I will be in contact soon.”
Draken, the tallest of his men, scratched his reddish black hair in momentary doubt for leaving his Commander behind. With a second nod from Nylan, Draken nodded and accepted the command. He bowed to Kalyna and then saluted Nylan.
“May the Void protect you, sir.”
Nylan returned the Lythgorian salute. “And you.”
Draken turned to Alaister and saluted haphazardly with a short, “Solerans.” He then mounted a dark orange Beast in one stride and yelled the orders in a language that the Rogues had only heard in their childhood flights of nightmarish fantasies. As one, Draken and the men dispersed, their blackness fading into the darkening sky.
Tylus and Shayne approached Nylan’s side, their hands itchingly near their waists.
“Is this number more suitable, Commander Paine?”
“Surrender your weapons.”
Tylus lurched and teetered back. “Over my dead—”
Nylan growled. For all his docile looks – white hair and a height that towered even above Nylan – Tylus was a complete oaf when it came to social protocol and standards. Nylan grabbed Tylus’ sleeve and yanked until he caught his vapid brown eyes. “Enough. Do as he asks.”
The rich clang of metal echoed off the cliffs as Nylan and his men unhinged their weapons in a pile in front of Alaister. Lanthar knelt and collected them, passing them back to Vylain.
“I expect you’ll take good care of those… uh…”
Vylain exhaled, unamused by the protocol on display. “Atkin,” he said before binding the weapons in spare linens.
Nylan watched Alaister’s men with admiration. They were a fine lot – just what the legends had spoken of – though a little worse for the wear. But, they had done it. They had found a Runic. The Runic. And she was beauty herself. His chest pounded at the discovery and opportunity until his gaze caught Lanthar’s eyes. Lanthar stared back emptily and for a moment, Nylan thought that perhaps he could not speak or maybe only spoke in a peculiar tongue. It would make sense for him to do so, as to Nylan’s eyes, Lanthar looked unusual compared to the other Rogues. There was a possibility in his lack of similarity.
Lanthar laughed and shook his head. “No,” he said to the unasked question.
Alaister eyed them both. “Introductions are best done in safety, Commander Bendran.”
“As you wish.”
“There’s a large cavern at the base of Mount Lynae. It’s a short flight ahead. We’ll stop there for the night. Lanthar, Vylain, Gage – escort these men. Callon?”
Callon looked up from inspecting Drystan and Kyren’s work. His arm was now bandaged and braced making his struggle to stand harder. He took a moment to find his footing and balance but once he did, Callon felt the Lythgorian’s stares.
Nylan found him massively impressive as well, not only for his apparent physical strength but fairytale appearance. Callon looked as how Solerans were supposed to look – sun-warmed skin, rich colored hair and eyes, and a definitive sense of overdue, imprudent entitlement.
Callon scowled at the Lythgorians before turning to answer Alaister. “Yes?”
“Can you fly?”
“Of course.”
Alaister’s gaze fell to the pair of medics resituating Callon, despite his attempts to bat them away.
“Doc?”
Drystan stared between Callon and Alaister and then Kyren. The black haired shrewd medic shrugged. Drystan did too. “Short distance done be fine for him now, sir.”
Callon beamed. “See?”
“Lead the way, Cal.” Alaister turned and extended his hand to Kalyna. “Kal?”
Nylan caught the flinch Alaister made as her hand made contact. The Solerans really had forgotten everything about their Runics. Alaister’s steeled pain commanded admiration, despite the ignorance. Kalyna’s skin would be searing hot and painful to touch, as Fire Runes still lingered within her. Nylan hid his laughter with a cough.
A Soleran Runic.
Alive.
His command back in Lythgor would never believe his report and he could not blame them for that. Nylan followed his men and mounted his Beast to take wing and
follow the improbable and impossible.
This changed everything.
MYRAL RIDGE CAVE
SOUTHERN SOLERAN MOUNTAINS, SOLASTI
Alaister strode into the massive cavern of stalagmites. He flagged Gage down and before he could issue a command, Kalyna’s voice broke through his stoic demeanor.
“They exist,” she whispered excitedly.
“Yes,” Gage said as he tried to coax Kalyna away from Alaister.
Kalyna refused, rooted to where Alaister stood taking full advantage of him not having the heart to shoo her away, yet. The Lythgorians had yet to land and they could enjoy unrestricted communications for a brief while longer. Awe danced across her face and dawned in her eyes.
“You knew?” Kalyna asked.
“I’m Pyranese. We’ve always known they existed,” Gage said. He smiled amused at the detached ignorance of the other Kingdoms. “You all just never believed us.”
Alaister should have been surprised too. But, unlike Kalyna, it was not his first introduction to the existence or probable existence of Lythgorians. While he had never placed much confidence in the ramblings of his father’s logs, containing rumors and whispers of the Lythgorian people, Alaister knew of them as more than a nightmarish bedtime story. In Kai’s logs, Lythgorians were always mentioned in such fantasized and romantic terms that they were unreal and tangible. Improbable.
The Lythgorians were neither the fancy of a romantic writer nor the fantasy of a seasoned commander. They were there – alive and very real. Alaister’s shock had only lasted as long as the initial breath taken while first looking at them and their Beasts.
Alaister felt for Kalyna. She had only just digested that Dragons, the Monastery of the Sky, and the Rogues existed, and now she had the most over-used, well-told Soleran story to process as a definitive truth. She looked tired. Drained. Alaister shot a glance to Gage.
“C’mon now Kaly, let’s check on Callon until Alaister is through talking things over with them,” Gage said as he turned Kalyna the other way. “By the way… mighty impressive there.”
Alaister bit back his agreement. His anger presided at her stupidity in acting against what he had commanded, even if it was to save Callon. He knew he could have gotten there, or Lanthar, or Vylain. Maybe.
They had always gotten by before her and they had no need for her to blow her cover. Or push her control. From the mass and intensity of the firestorm, Alaister knew she had almost lost it. She had almost let her powers drown the goodness of her heart and safety of her mind out of the matter. Had she lost it completely, they’d all either be charred beyond recognition or, if the Riders had been Council, they’d all be drawn and quartered in traditional fashion before being burnt alive for good measure. The Council loved to make examples of captives and an uncontrolled Runic would receive a zealous prescription.
Kalyna looked to Alaister before acknowledging Gage’s comment. It was not an apologetic look. It was a prying one. Alaister was finally grateful that cycles of leading the Rogues had erased almost all emotions from showing on his face. He had no reaction for her. No prescribed command.
Kalyna flinched and sighed. “Thanks… I think.”
“I’ll come get you when I’m done, Kalyna,” Alaister was glad when she winced at the use of her full name. At least the hardheaded woman understood that way, if no way else. Alaister looked to Gage and saluted before pivoting to intercept the approaching Lythgorians. Flanked by Vylain and Lanthar, both with their swords sheathed but hands ready, the dark trio approached rapidly.
Alaister saluted his officers and chose his words carefully. He did not know much of how Lythgorians acted or what Code they might follow, but he settled on using the Soleran Dragonic Code to treat their assailants turned tepid allies. “I give you leave to provide your explanation, Commander Bendran.”
Nylan blinked twice before smiling. His eyes were unnervingly dark – a black blue from the darkest hours of moonless nights. His skin frighteningly pale – pale like Kalyna’s complexion with a twinge more frostiness to it. Nylan was tall, nearly as tall as Alaister but with a denser muscular structure. Formidable. Dangerous.
“Is this leave with or without bias from your stories? You have heard them, I am sure?” Nylan asked.
Alaister blinked and looked at Nylan. He blended in well with the Rogue Dragonics and with his assured confidence, it was easy to see why he was a commander. The Rogues could not take their eyes off him – a born leader that men were drawn to follow. They followed Nylan’s every move, every instinct, every posture. Nylan nodded at some passing Rogues and though warmed to his kindness, Alaister knew none trusted him.
They had all heard the stories. Darklings. It was a child’s favorite bedtime story, if you were brave – your least favorite, if faint-hearted. No one wanted to believe that Darklings existed. No one wanted to believe that Darklings actually did the things they did in the story – especially Alaister. He could not afford that luxury as a Darkling stood right before him. Full on in boots, living and breathing as he did and looking like a paler, darker eyed version of himself though, if tales were true, the Darkling would be faster and perhaps a bit nocturnal in natures. But, they were human. They were Dragonics. Riders.
“Yeah,” Alaister sighed. “I've heard the stories.”
Nylan scoffed. “Ah, me too. You see, we have stories about you.”
Callon scrunched his face. His detest hung loosely in the air. “Oh? Do we suck your blood too?”
“Do you believe everything you read, Soleran?”
Callon cracked his knuckles and then his neck. “Naw, just the good parts. You know what they say… if you hear it enough, it must be true.”
Nylan shook his head and smiled. “I do believe that's the mentality that got your people into this trouble in the first place.”
Callon reeled and before he could move towards Nylan, Alaister stood between the two. He cut Callon a harsh glance before turning and extending his hand to Nylan. They shook hands.
"We have to start somewhere,” Alaister said.
Nylan exhaled and shifted his weight about as he swept back the velvety purple cloak that was eerily similar to the Rogues’, despite a lack of cultural interaction or trade. Nylan’s cloak hung, instead of over one shoulder as the Rogues’, over all of his back with a little gathered fabric flushing out the neckline. It was not a fabric Alaister recognized and his inner curiosity screamed to touch it; he gripped his hilt instead.
“I again apologize for earlier. We don’t quite know how to tell the difference between you and the Council Dragonics and on my word, we really didn’t think you still existed.”
“We do,” Lanthar said coolly breaking his silence.
Nylan nodded an acknowledgment. “We’ve been searching for the last Soleran Runics. We’d word from ships that there might still be one left.”
“Ships?” Alaister asked, waiting for the confession.
Nylan did not flinch. Instead, he chuckled and leaned back amused. “Your people really don’t listen to the Pyranese, do you?”
Alaister blinked. “The Pyranese say lots of things. Mostly stories.”
“Like the tales you’ve heard of us then?” Nylan’s smile boasted perfectly white teeth. “I’d dare say we’re even.”
Vylain lurched forward closing the distance between his and Nylan’s face. “You almost killed one of our officers and we have several injur—”
Alaister squeezed Vylain’s shoulder. He shared his anger but Vylain’s temper – for lack of understanding how it suddenly appeared – had to be calmed. Vylain never hid the passion of his actions, but the anger was new. Alaister was unusually jealous of the compassion, or the unkempt rage of betrayal, or the joy of loyalty that Vylain could show. But commanders were required to keep a level head. To keep cool. If Vylain was to become the Fourth Dredth Commander, once they had the bodies, he’d best learn how to maintain and dull his emotions. He would have to start now.
Nylan remained still �
� unaffected. “We did not walk away unscathed. Surely, you understand that this is the nature of our situation. Both of our situations.”
“We do.”
“I know, Commander Paine, that this is a lot to take in.”
“A bit. The hardest part for me to swallow is that the men who escalated the state of turmoil and distrust in our Realm are suddenly the ones dying to be our allies.”
“A misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding!” Callon scoffed but remained still much to Alaister’s appreciation.
“Tell that to the Creitalli Crown Princess and the Prince of Pyran,” Alaister growled. “You slaughtered them like cattle.”
“I did not.”
“Semantics,” Lanthar scathed.
“You don’t deny it?” Alaister asked.
“No – but you must understand our reasoning. From what we knew, your kingdoms were all responsible for the genocide of the Runic race in your realm. That makes you all equally accountable for that crime. Save the Rogues, naturally.”
“They were innocents,” Vylain seethed.
“I humbly disagree. As with the victories, the sins of our fathers must ride squarely upon our shoulders.”
The silence that ensued from the staring stand-off burned and every man found his skilled hand close to his hilt.
Alaister knew it was best to diffuse the situation before they would have to relocate on account of the abundance of blood and bodies everywhere. “Enough,” he said as he ran a hand through his short black hair. “We waste time speaking in circles. Why are you here, Commander Bendran?”
“To find if the rumor of a last Runic is true and to save that Runic before your people kill them, too. We are here to protect your last Runic. Same as you.”
“Why now? Why not the near twenty-five cycles ago when the Collection first started?”
Nylan exhaled slowly. He shook his head, looking at the ground. He had asked that very question once and he had not liked the answer just as Nylan knew Alaister would not like his reply. “That was never my call to make,” he said. “The art of Lythgorian politics is more difficult and constrained than even yours. I cannot say why we did not come sooner, only that we are here now. We are here and willing to help. We want to help.”