by Megg Jensen
Bastian knew he would stay in the Dragonlands. He would fight. He might lose his newborn son and his daughter to the sea. He would send them, along with the others, to find safety in another land. If he survived, then he would make his way to them.
Bastian stalked back to the church. The others were still inside the interior room, deep in conversation. He cleared his throat, and they looked up, surprised to see him. "I will stay and fight."
"I knew you would," Blythe said with a smile. "You are the warlord prophecy spoke of. If there is any chance for us to succeed in escaping, it will be in thanks to you."
Connor's grim expression didn't give Bastian any clue as to what his friend was thinking. It was Hazel, whose hand was clamped on Connor's arm as if she was trying to pull him back from the brink that told him what decision his friend had made.
"Though I would like to think differently, I am no warrior," Hazel said. "I will go with the children across the sea."
Bastian nodded at his friend's wife. He turned his gaze back to Connor. He wanted his friend to declare his position without prompting. It had to be Connor's choice.
"I will stay," Connor said. "You need me. I can fight. I also know more of what lurks underground. I want to be of help."
Bastian clapped his friend's shoulder. "I don’t want to force you."
Connor's hazel eyes locked on Bastian's. "It’s the right thing to do." He glanced at his wife, whose grip on Connor's arm had only grown tighter. "And Hazel understands."
"There are no easy decisions to be made," she said. "The day the two of you walked into the fog, I didn't stop you. I will not stand in your way now. I will do just as I did then: believe I will see you again one day. I will await it eagerly."
"Good," Jakob said. "Then it is settled. The first group will leave with the dawn. We will send out groups until everyone who needs to flee does so. Those of us who remain will send emissaries to the Black for their assistance. We will need all the allies we can muster in this uncertain time."
"I volunteer to be one of those emissaries," Bastian said before he could really think on it. All he knew was that Tressa was in the Black. He needed to speak with her. There were things that had been left unsaid that needed to be expressed now.
"No," Blythe said. "I will not allow it. You will stay here in the Meadowlands with us. You are our warlord. We need you here. Connor can go."
Bastian wanted to argue, but he held his tongue. Blythe had a point. He had agreed to be their prophesied warlord. He would hold up his end of the bargain. Surely he'd see Tressa soon. She would never run from a fight, much less a battle for her homeland.
Chapter Fifteen
Tressa woke, the sunlight beating down on her face. She inched out of her bedroll and stood, stretching her arms into the warm summer morning air. She looked over at Alden, who had stood guard over her all night. Tressa waved to the ghost dragon, then made her way to the nearby stream.
As she performed her morning cleansing, Tressa pondered her next move. She could ride east to Ashoom or northwest to the Meadowlands. Her friends might be at either place. Maybe even northeast in the Charred Barrens. The only place she knew not to look was the Sands. There would be no reason for any of them to travel to the home of the Yellow. Their leader and only dragon, Destrian, was still in the custody of the Black.
Tressa sighed. She was out in the middle of nowhere, close to her home that now lay abandoned. She wanted to track down Donovan, but alone, she had no prayer of success. Even her ghost dragons wouldn't be enough. They couldn't engage in a physical fight with Donovan. Tressa was essentially helpless without her friends.
What will you do? Alden asked.
Tressa didn't answer immediately. She glanced at the horse grazing quietly not far away. Riding a horse around the Dragonlands until she found allies wasn't appealing. Nor would the horse appreciate it. Riding the same one for days would only injure it. Tressa would need to get a replacement horse soon.
She hated admitting defeat. She'd ridden away from the Charred Barrens with a clear goal: reach her friends in Hutton's Bridge. Now she honestly didn't know what to do.
"Are you sure everyone was gone from Hutton's Bridge?" she asked Alden.
The ghost dragon stepped closer to her. His companions flew in the sky above them or lounged on the ground in the distance, content to let Alden act as their mouthpiece. I am. It was completely deserted. The surrounding forest was dead. Only a few sheep and cows grazed in the village.
"How do you know they weren't in the village hall?" Tressa asked, desperate for a chance to see her friends again soon.
There was no one, Alden said. No fires burned in the hall. No smells of cooking meals. No sounds from the children who should have been playing. Nothing.
Tressa's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Then I will head back to the Charred Barrens. I will hide under the ground, just another coward among many."
Maybe we can stop at the tower to the north. You can ask if they saw where your friends went. Alden's suggestion intrigued Tressa.
"Tower? What tower? It's just empty land between Hutton's Bridge and the north." She'd traversed it enough, both by air and land, since leaving the fog.
Alden shook his great scaled head. No. There is a tower. I saw it on my scouting trip to Hutton’s Bridge. I don't recall having seen it before, yet there it stands. It appears old and something tells me I should remember it.
"I honestly don't know what you're referring to," Tressa said. "But if there are people nearby, then perhaps we should head there. If they saw Connor and Bastian leave, maybe we can head in the same direction." Tressa whistled and snapped her fingers.
The horse looked up at her with a mildly curious look in its eyes, then it dipped its neck toward the ground, ripped a bouquet of grass with its square teeth, and chewed slowly, all while staring at Tressa.
"Fine." Tressa stomped over to the horse. She hoisted herself onto its back. The horse continued to chew. Tressa depressed her heels into the horse's ribs. "Come on. Let's go."
The horse didn't move.
"Alden?" Tressa asked.
With a smile, the great dragon blew a cold breeze on the horse's rump. The horse looked up at Tressa, her eyes accusing, then she began to trot.
Alden led the way toward the tower he'd claimed to have seen. Tressa didn't doubt its existence. It was possible she'd missed it, or even overlooked it. She was always in a hurry when traversing the Dragonlands. If there was even one person who could tell her where her friends had gone, then it was worth a try.
They rode until the midday sun hung above them. Sweat dripped from Tressa's brow. She slowed the horse, slid off, and guided the mare toward a stream. They both leaned down, taking a long drink from the fresh, cool water.
Do you see it now? Alden asked.
Tressa stood, her hands still wet. She looked across the stream. There was nothing but grass swaying in the gentle breeze.
It's right in front of you. Just over the stream.
Tressa squinted. What did the dragon see that she couldn't? No one could see the ghost dragons but her. Perhaps he was seeing something she couldn't. Tressa closed her eyes, took three breaths, and opened them again.
The air shimmered. Then a great, round tower rose into the clouds. The dirt-encrusted stones had crumbled edges. Ivy spiraled up and around the round tower toward its peaks. Large birds circled the top, cawing loudly.
A man stood in the entry to the tower. He waved at Tressa, encouraging her to approach. She lifted a foot to step into the stream and was surprised when her boot landed on a solid wooden bridge she hadn't seen just a moment ago. She traversed the bridge, cautiously approaching the man, who had a grimace on his deathly pale face.
"What do you need?" he asked.
Tressa looked up at the tower. Standing so close, she couldn't even see the turret on top. "I was wondering if my friends passed this way. They would have had a lot of children with them. They would be hard to miss."
"They
passed over our tower just a day ago, heading northwest. There were three dragons carrying many children on their backs, as well as two smaller dragons." The man crossed his arms over his chest. He wore a gray cloak, just like the one Donovan had worn.
"Thank you," Tressa said, backing up a couple of steps. He didn't seem friendly, and she had no interest in taking up any more of his time. Her friends had headed toward the Meadowlands. That was now her destination. She turned back to her horse and ghost dragon friends when the man coughed.
"I'm sorry. My hospitality is lacking. Won't you come inside for a warm meal?"
Tressa hesitated until a breeze carried the scent of potato soup toward her. "Well, I don't want to impose." Her stomach growled.
The man finally cracked a smile. "Really. Please. We would be honored to have you. It isn't often that a traveler happens upon our tower." He stood to the side of the doorway, holding an arm out.
Tressa stepped inside the dark entrance. A large room was lit by dozens of candles, and a fire burned in the center hearth. Four men sat at a table, eating their soup. They looked up in surprise.
"Who is this?" a man with a long mustache asked.
"I am Tressa, a simple traveler from Hutton's Bridge," she said, even though it was the farthest thing from the truth. She wasn't even sure how to introduce herself anymore. Who was she now?
Another man, with a rose tattooed under one eye, laughed. "There is nothing simple about you, Tressa Webb. We know who you are and why you have come. Do you think just anyone can find the Vulture's Tower?"
The name sounded familiar to Tressa, but she couldn't remember where she'd heard it. In one of Granna's books, perhaps. "I'm sorry, but I’m not sure what you mean."
"Those who are weary. Those who are lost. In their time of greatest need, the Vulture's Tower arises," the tattooed man said.
Tressa snapped her fingers. "I remember now! The Vulture's Tower is a place of myth. Granna read me stories when I was just a little girl. In them, someone would always fall into their darkest hour, and that's when they would..." Tressa trailed off, looking around her in disbelief.
"That's when they would find us." Another man, with hair as black as the dark of night and skin of the deepest brown, smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the candlelight. "What do you need, young lady?"
Tressa laughed uncomfortably. She was standing in a child's tale come to life. The noble knights of the Vulture's Tower, sworn to protect anyone who needed them. She now remembered how Donovan had claimed to be one of them, but Tressa knew everything he’d said were lies. "Can you help me save the Dragonlands from a very evil man and his beastly minions? He wears a cloak exactly like yours, too, though I doubt he is of your order."
The man with the dark hair stood, his face suddenly grim. "Our men are all accounted for. He is not one of us. No one poses as a knight from the Vulture's Tower without paying a price." The other three men stood, their faces just as grim. The man at the door resumed his surly face. "We will come with you, and we will kill this man."
"I appreciate your help," Tressa said. "I'm not sure five men will make a difference. If you'd like to join me, you must know that you will be facing grave danger. Some of you may not make it. This is not a fool's errand to destroy one man."
The tattooed man laughed. "There are more than five of us. We number in the thousands."
Tressa glanced up at the spiral stone staircase climbing into the heights of the tower. "Thousands?"
"Things are not always as they seem, my dear," the man at the door said. "We will aid you, and we will win."
Chapter Sixteen
Tressa needed as many allies as she could muster to defeat Donovan once and for all, and the warriors of the Vulture’s Tower appeared willing to help. The more that were fighting for the Dragonlands, the more time she would have to find and rescue Fi.
"I've heard your story before," Tressa said. "Donovan claimed to be from the Vulture's Tower. My people naively believed him." She looked around, still stunned she'd happened upon them at all. "How am I to trust any of you?"
“First, I will give you my name. I am Rynth.” The man with the tattoo bowed, then pointed up the stone staircase in the center of the circular tower. "There are thousands of us here, willing to fight for the Dragonlands. It is unlikely you will fully trust us until we can prove ourselves to you."
"And, tell me, Rynth," Tressa said, "how have thousands of you lived in this tower when it's invisible to the rest of the Dragonlands? I've flown over this spot multiple times, even ridden through on a horse once or twice, but I've never seen you until today."
“I’m Krom.” The man with the dark hair nodded. "Of course it's confusing to you. Our tower is under a spell. Not one of vision, but one of time. You didn't see us because we weren't there. You see us now because we are."
"That makes no sense," Tressa said. She eyed the men again, looking for any sign of insanity, but they all seemed very much in possession of their faculties.
"It wouldn't to the uninitiated," Rynth said.
"How old are you?" she asked. None of them appeared much older than her. Maybe they had lived twenty-five years. Thirty at the very most.
"We don't know," Rynth answered. "We have lived only for a couple of decades, but we are centuries older than you."
Their cryptic answers didn't assuage Tressa's concerns one bit.
"The less you ask, the more you will understand," Rynth said.
"I'm sorry," Krom said, "my brothers spend too much time playing with words and phrases. They find it amusing." He glared at his fellow warriors in the gray cloaks. "What you can count on is our desire to help those who live in the Dragonlands. No matter what age, no matter what time, we are here in your hour of greatest need. If you did not require our help, you wouldn't have found us. It is that simple."
Simple? Nothing they said was simple. If they were telling the truth and willing to fight, then she would accept their offer.
"I don't know what we're facing," Tressa said. "So far, it's only rumors. There have been signs and portents, but I don't know exactly what they mean."
"Then tell us the facts." Krom motioned Tressa to join them at the table.
She took a seat. He offered her a cup of steaming soup and she took it, thrilled to get something warm in her stomach. "Thank you."
They waited quietly while she took a few sips of the hearty soup.
"There is this man, Donovan. He told me he was a warrior of the Vulture’s Tower and from Desolation, the land over the Barrier Mountains, and he offered to help my friend and I find a way to defeat a giant demon being held captive under the Red castle in the Hills of Flame. Now I find out he's an ancient being, bent on destroying the Dragonlands." Tressa took another sip of the soup, even though her stomach was roiling with anger. She had trusted Donovan so easily. He'd done as he promised, taking her and Fi to Desolation. It was there Tressa had found her ghost dragon army. In fact, Donovan had led her straight to them. Why? What did he have to gain from it? There were too many missing pieces. Tressa couldn't see the whole picture and had no idea what Donovan was planning.
"I wish I could tell you more," she admitted, frustrated with her lack of knowledge. "I know so little. But I do know that the blood moon was enough to scare the Black into hiding. Their leader's dragon was ripped from him, and now he is as human as I am."
"The blood moon concerns me, as well," Krom said. "It is an unusual phenomenon. One that has only happened one other time. It was five hundred years ago, when the dragons came to this land. The blood moon preceded them by a few days. It was then our tower was asked to leave."
"Asked to leave? Your order was asked to leave, right? Not the tower?" Tressa tried to clarify.
"Well, yes," Krom said, laughing. "The new rulers asked us to leave the land, which was now being called the Dragonlands. Until that time there were no dragons. Just normal humans. Some with magic, some without, but all living in peace. We had no interest in leaving our land behind for good
, so with the help of a few brilliant mages, we managed to hide ourselves in time. We promised we would return when there were those who needed us. Until then, we waited here."
"And that was five hundred years ago?" Tressa asked.
"Yes and no." Krom took a drink from his cup. "To you, it was five hundred years ago. To us, it was only yesterday. This soup? This water? Today's midday meal for us, but from your perspective it was made centuries ago. Tasty, isn't it?"
Tressa rubbed her forehead. Their story no longer upset her. In fact, she was beginning to understand what they were saying. "So have I traveled back in time?"
"Don't concern yourself with the when, Tressa. Just the where. You are exactly where you are meant to be." Rynth smiled.
Tressa forced a weak smile in return. Very little magic made sense to her. Growing up in Hutton's Bridge, magic hadn’t been more than an old tale. She'd managed to accept most of it since exploring the Dragonlands, particularly the magic that had allowed her to be a dragon for a short time.
"Then you'll fight with us?" Tressa asked, after draining the remainder of her ancient soup. "I can't guarantee we will succeed. I don't know how many will die, or even what our odds of success are. All I know is that I can't sit by while evil tries to take over my homeland."
"We pledge ourselves to your cause." Krom thumped a fist on chest. "We are warriors, trained to fight. Let us prove ourselves to you and save our land together."
"If we are victorious, you should allow your tower to be seen again. Live in this time, this place. No one here would oppose it. In fact, I know many would welcome you." Tressa thought of the simple people in the Dragonlands who needed protection. Those in Ashoom, who had always relied on their Blue leaders to care for them. They were orphaned, just as those in the north who had been under the thrall of the Red Queen. The Yellow's only leader was still held captive in the Charred Barrens. Yes, there were many who needed the protection of good soldiers.