By Ways Unseen

by Daniel Dydek

  Geoffrey turned quickly toward her. “You sound like we might have trouble with him.”

  “I know you’re going to have to put Uv Fehn behind you,” she said, fixing Geoffrey in her gaze. “And you’re going to have to learn to be able to take my advice, and accept that just because you might know one thing that I don’t, that doesn’t mean you know everything.”

  As she continued into the barn, Geoffrey watched her go. Surely it was more than pride that changed her mood so quickly, and made her release his arm. He glanced at his sleeve; the cloth was still wrinkled where her fingers had held him. He sighed and shook his arm, erasing the proof of her touch.

  *

  Later that night, as Geoffrey sat beside Pladt with his sword across his lap and Sarah’s words across his mind, the archer’s eyes fluttered open. He glanced across the ceiling, down to the bed, then at Geoffrey.

  “Good morning,” Geoffrey said with a small grin.

  Pladt glanced at the window. “It’s pitch dark,” he replied. Then, after a moments’ pause, he asked: “How long have I been laying here?”

  “Since late Evening,” Geoffrey replied. “Though, you went unconscious at Evening.”

  “Great.”

  Pladt fell silent, studying the ceiling. Geoffrey watched him for several moments. Finally, he said: “Pladt, you have been silent a lot these past few days; ever since we arrived in Frecksshire, even.”

  “What would you like me to say?” Pladt replied. “I don’t speak Rinc Nain.”

  Geoffrey glanced sharply at him. “What does that matter?”

  Pladt sighed. “It’s just like back home; no one wants to hear me speak, hear what I have to say. Just keep killing those hydras, Pladt, we’ll take care of the important things.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Finally that had changed, when I came along with you and Haydren. Now we’re in Coberan Province, where I don’t speak the language everyone else does. And you and Haydren are perfectly fine to go on in Rinc Nain with everyone else. Now look at me,” he said, glancing down at his bandages. “I can’t even use my bow effectively to help protect Haydren.”

  “Pladt, are you upset that you can’t speak Rinc Nain, or that you have had a string of ill fortunes?” Geoffrey asked.

  “I’m upset that people don’t take me seriously,” Pladt said, turning and looking at Geoffrey. “Back in Werine, I was old enough to save them week after week from hydras; but let me try to enter one conversation, and suddenly I’m too young to know anything. Now you guys don’t bother to translate for me, or speak in a language I can understand: why? Is it not worth your time? Can’t I help with anything?”

  Geoffrey laid a hand on Pladt’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Pladt,” he said gently. “I guess you were so quiet, we never thought about it. You are still an important part of Haydren’s company, I promise you that. Your skills with a bow will not go unused. I get the feeling Haydren’s journey is far from over, and he’s going to need all of our help to finish it.”

  Pladt laid his head back against the pillow. “Okay,” he replied. “Just don’t leave me out of you guys’ plan-making, okay? I do know a little bit about protecting people.”

  “You and Sarah should talk to one another,” Geoffrey muttered. When Pladt glanced sharply at him, he smiled. “We won’t, Pladt,” he said in normal tones. “And I know you do, just as well if not better than anyone else.”

  Pladt smiled too, with only a little hesitation. “Thanks, Geoffrey. So what’s next?”

  “You need to rest,” Geoffrey replied. “In a few days, the poison should pass, and we’ll be on our way to Jyunta.”

  Pladt craned his head up once more. “How is Haydren doing, anyway? I haven’t really talked to him, which is kind of strange for just being the four of us.”

  Geoffrey glanced at Haydren’s sleeping form and sighed. “He’s surviving,” he replied. “Still confused and struggling, but surviving. It seems like we should have died many times over by now; but still he keeps going; and despite the obstacles, he continues succeeding. Whatever I may have said back in Frecksshire,” he said, glancing at Pladt – but the archer had fallen asleep. Geoffrey smiled, and finished, whispering to himself: “I would follow Haydren only to see what he can accomplish, even if nothing else.”

  The next day, storm clouds slid back in, drenching the low moors ever more. Pladt gained strength with each hour, as Haydren continually refreshed the bandages, and gave the archer several more swallows from a bottle of poison-reducing hilsop.

  That night, Haydren had the watch; he took a position beside the archer, sword on his lap. He gazed into the fire, alone with his thoughts; a quick yawn cracked Haydren face, and he shook his head trying to clear cobwebs from his mind. Why was he suddenly so tired? He glanced down at his sword, and the flames along the blade were pulsating with faint light. Another yawn, and his eyes fluttered closed. Though his mind shouted a warning at him, he could not seem to keep his eyes open. He got out a muffled “Sar—” before a final yawn devastated him; the last thing he saw was the flames blazing a little brighter, and then darkness closed around him.

  When he awoke, Aerithion was still in his lap, and Pladt still rested comfortably in the bed beside him. Geoffrey and Sarah were stretched out on the floor near the fireplace, where they had been last night.

  But their packs, which had been arranged by the door and ready for departure, were gone. Haydren sighed, stood, and sheathed his sword.

  “Wake up, you two,” he called.

  Geoffrey stirred, and looked up at him. “I dreamed Faschek – or whoever – came back and took our things,” he said, his voice thick. “I was trying to go after him, but he turned into a rat and crawled away.”

  “Then next time go to sleep with a net, so maybe you can catch him,” Haydren replied. “Because he did come and take our stuff.” He gestured angrily to the blank wall where their packs had been. “He must have cast some kind of sleeping spell on me, because in three breaths I went from wide awake to fast asleep.” He glanced down at his sword. “Aerithion tried to warn me, but…”

  Sarah sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Aerithion?” she asked.

  Haydren swallowed. “My sword,” he said. “I don’t – the name came to me, at Dasillion’s house, in a dream. I can’t say for certain – I mean, it may not be—”

  Geoffrey waved him to silence. “I’m certain it is, Haydren. Memories come from strange places. Well, the sword must have done something, or else why didn’t he kill us all? He didn’t hesitate to try and kill Pladt, even with you standing right there.” He yawned and threw the covers off. “Do you think Pladt can travel today? We shouldn’t stay here too long.”

  “I think so,” Pladt called from the bed, where he now sat up with his feet resting on the floor. “It would have been better if what’s-his-name had given us another day, but I’d rather be dead tired than just dead. Ha!” His bark of laughter ended with a cough; but his three companions smiled.

  “I’ll gather the horses,” Sarah offered, standing and heading outside.

  “Glad to see you’re back, Pladt,” Haydren said.

  Pladt waved him off and stood shakily. “Any more of the yummy pond water you’ve been feeding me?” he asked. “I usually feel a little stronger just after taking it.”

  “Sure,” Haydren replied, retrieving the bottle for him.

  “Are you sure that’s what’s in there?” Pladt asked, peering into the bottle’s mouth. “I can’t understand what’s-his-name only taking our packs and nothing else.”

  “I think we can call him Semmelle,” Haydren said, taking the bottle back and sniffing it; after touching his finger to the rim, he gingerly tasted the liquid. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Tastes like it’s supposed to,” he replied. “Perhaps Geoffrey’s right: our packs were right next to the door.”

  Sarah returned, empty-handed. “So, it seems he took our horses,” she said.

  Haydren handed the bottle back to Pladt; there was not much left, and the arc
her drained it quickly.

  “Well that makes leaving that much quicker,” Geoffrey said, strapping on his sword. “We’ll leave the bedrolls here and get new ones in Jyunta.”

  Pladt stood and picked up his bow and quiver, and with nothing else to carry they set off northward.

  Pladt’s energy flagged quickly, and by Noon they had barely traveled ten miles. On the horizon, the speckled line that had marked their vision since leaving Dasillion’s house solidified once more as the land rose from the low moors on its way to Jyunta. After a quick lunch provided by Pladt’s bow, they were on their way, and soon reached dry land. Somewhat dramatically, though driven also by exhaustion, Pladt fell to his knees, then onto his side upon reaching firm ground again, and rolled onto his back.

  “Land!” he exclaimed as Sarah, Haydren, and Geoffrey watched in mild confusion. Smiles broke out on their faces, and they followed Pladt’s gaze skyward to a pale blue expanse marred only by a few tall white clouds that drifted lazily on high breezes. A shadow raced over the plains, enveloping them as a cloud blocked the sun; but behind the shadow, the sun ran toward them once again as the cloud drifted away.

  Pladt sat up, shaking a fist at the moors. “If I never see them again, I’ll still die a little upset for having trekked through them to begin with,” he said, flashing a smile at his companions.

  “Well if you don’t get up, we’ll leave you here to keep staring at them,” Haydren replied, not unkindly. Pladt stood all the same, and the four began their march northward once again.

  Their day ended early, for Pladt’s strength had not yet fully returned; they set up camp as the sun’s rays began slanting over the plains, casting long shadows that reached toward the darkening horizon. By the time the eastern stars began appearing, they had made beds of cut grass and wrapped themselves in their cloaks to ward off the early summer-night’s chill. Their progress the next two days was slower than typical, but better than Haydren anticipated. Though he did not have his maps – yet another thing for which to promise revenge upon Semmelle – he felt sure they would reach Jyunta the next day.

  The next day was, by Pladt’s estimation, a perfect summer day; the sun was warm, but a fresh breeze blowing from the south cooled them as they walked. And though he had quite liked riding horses, Pladt was back into walking shape, and the company made good time as the land continued to rise, along with their spirits. Anticipation at reaching Jyunta propelled them past dinner and into the night; a Progenitor Moon – the first full-moon of the year – had risen, casting the grass in spectral silver, but still Jyunta did not mar the horizon.

  Here, the land was no longer flat, and hidden valleys – shallow, maybe twenty or thirty paces deep in the center – began carving themselves out of the terrain. The grasses were dry, and only knee-height; few trees broke the horizon, flourishing instead in the valleys. As they continued, a deep scar appeared; into that scar they descended, deeper and deeper, and trees loomed out of the shadows. A small rock-pool fed by a spring was at the valley’s center; after refreshing themselves from the cold pond, they mounted the other side of the valley.

  As the surrounding plains came into view, a light flared up ahead. Dark against the sky was the squat silhouette of a large fortification. The torch which had been lit upon the ramparts was thrust into a sconce on the outer wall. Soon, another torch was lit, and another; and those too were pinned in sconces, until the entire castle wore a ring of torches like a glistening crown.

  “I suppose we’re there,” Pladt remarked as the four stood abreast upon the edge of the valley.

  “I don’t see much of a gate,” Geoffrey said.

  Pladt gazed ahead, whistled low, and shook his head. “No, there isn’t one,” he concurred.

  “Strange,” Sarah said. “We should be very careful—”

  She was cut off by a sudden and familiar flash of orange, and bright white light just to the north-east. Without looking, the companions knew Paolound had reappeared; Haydren and Geoffrey drew their swords, Pladt nocked an arrow, and a tuft of wind swirled Sarah’s cloak.

  From the white pillar strode the dragon; he did not make for the city, which was nearer, but rather for the four companions. The fire from his mouth began in his eyes; he had come to finish what he had started a month ago.

  “Stay far apart,” Haydren said in a low voice. “And watch for his tail.”

  Pladt immediately sprinted right; Geoffrey, left; Sarah and Haydren held their ground. Paolound paused, watching them; he was too far away yet to spew his fatal flame. But the man in front of him held The Sword, so his measured steps moved forward once again.

  An arrow hissed through the darkness, piercing Paolound’s eye, and he bellowed rage as flame burst from his mouth. Pladt, finding more strength than the archer knew he had, jumped and tumbled out of the way. Geoffrey charged in from the left; Paolound began to swipe at him with a paw. Haydren could see the dragon’s tail beginning to twitch.

  “Watch his tail!” he shouted. Geoffrey ducked the slashing talons, hurdled the tail, and Follus hummed as it bit into the dragon’s flank. Not pausing in his dash as Paolound roared greater anger, Geoffrey ran past the dragon and back into the night, flame chasing him in vain.

  When Geoffrey was well clear, a great fist of lightning cracked against Paolound’s back, punching him to the ground. He moaned anger and staggered to his feet again.

  Haydren sprinted forward. Aerithion pulsed in his grasp, its red light shimmering down the blade. Haydren whispered its name, and the Bultum surged; pure red light shone forth and the flames seemed almost to dance as if alive. Paolound turned, eyeing the madly dashing swordsman who bore his doom. He cried out in anguish, in fear; he did not want this, but the whisper in his head compelled him. Razor talons grasped; Bultum cut them. Fire shot forth, and was met by Cretal defense. Paolound screamed; Haydren shouted. Another arrow from the darkness completed the dragon’s blindness, and searing, stabbing fire erupted in the dragon’s heart.

  The whisper vanished with a hollow shriek; the dragon’s veins collapsed; muscles gave way; and the great Paolound crumpled to the ground. Haydren, gasping, barely leapt out of the way of Paolound’s lifeless head as it crashed to the plains.

  Geoffrey approached into the light, sheathing his sword. “Do you know what you have done?” he asked.

  Haydren’s chest heaved as the fire in Aerithion reduced to bare embers. A shout echoed from the top of the wall; a cheer swelled from within them. Haydren gazed toward the walls, seeing them crumbled and broken. Runacron’s stories of war had not been limited to Paolound; hopefully the townspeople’s hope would not rise too high on them alone.

  “It wasn’t just me,” he said, quenching Aerithion in its sheath. Sarah and Pladt came forward, chests heaving from exertion and awe as they all gazed at the still form of the dragon.

  A procession poured out of the gap in the wall where the gate should have been, enveloped them, and carried them forward into the castle with deafening cheers and resounding thumps on their backs.

  It seemed the entire city was alive, though there were barely as many people as Haydren had seen at one time in Hodp.

  The impromptu parade dropped them in front of a large stone building near the center of town where a large man dressed in rich clothing stood at the top of a short flight of stairs. Torches held high lit the square to daylight proportions, and cheers and chants of “Dragonsbane!” echoed up and down the street, in defiance of the large man’s raised hands of protest.

  As the townsfolk up front finally noticed the large man, the silence slowly flowed down the street, until it seemed the entire town waited on his words with bated breath. He lowered his hands and glanced around at the crowds until his gaze finally came to rest on the four in front of him.

  “We welcome you heartily to Jyunta tonight, friends and dragon slayers!” he said. Immediately, the cry of “Dragon slayers!” echoed up and down the streets.

  “I am Lord Garoun,” the large man continued once sile
nce had again been restored. “Our city cannot thank you enough for your salvation this night. Though we had seen the Pillar of the Dragon many nights to our south, we dreaded the day he might approach our walls. But on this fateful night, when it seemed the dragon would finally devour us, saviors have appeared!”

  Haydren glanced around as the people cheered once more; Paolound had never approached the walls, and it seemed clearer to him that Paolound had arrived to attack him and his friends than the city of Jyunta.

  Suddenly, above the cheers, a scream sounded from down the street. Haydren craned his head, as did his companions. The people, oblivious, renewed their cheering. But more screams echoed through the night, and the cheering scattered and broke off.

  “Goblins!” came the first coherent word. It was picked up and shouted in fear. The parade became a mob as women, children, and old men scrambled to empty the square. Lord Garoun disappeared into the building through the door behind him; shaking his head, Haydren drew his sword. So, lords were the same no matter where you went.

  Sarah had already gone, her instinct for protecting the city returning instantly. With Geoffrey and Pladt by his side, Haydren moved down the street toward the sounds of a mounting battle. Geoffrey pointed to a ladder beside a low building; Pladt scrambled up to the roofs to gain a better vantage point. Geoffrey and Haydren continued side by side, with Pladt in support above them, until they reached the fighting.

  Two soldiers with halberds waved their weapons in the faces of three goblins, trying desperately to keep them at bay in the narrow street. As Haydren and Geoffrey neared, two other goblins stepped into the road behind the soldiers. With a shout, Bultum and Follus thrust forward, quickly ending the threat. Now, with help behind them, the Jyuntan soldiers wielded their halberds with greater confidence, dispatching two of the goblins before them. The third broke and ran, but moments after a sharp twang from overhead, it fell twitching to the cobblestones.

  A sharp crack of lightning thundered throughout the city; glancing up, Haydren and Geoffrey caught the last flickers of lightning stabbing into the town. More shouts erupted down the blocks; all four men moved at once, with the archer scampering nimbly across tiled roofs. They reached a group of five men encircled by eight kobolds; arrows rained, Bultum sang, and Follus hummed – but not before two of the embattled Jyuntans fell slain. The others paused, hovering quietly over their fallen friends, until Geoffrey gripped them by the shoulders.