by Colt, K. J.
Hour after long, weary hour passed. The growling of Myranda’s stomach fairly echoed off of the walls. Myn seemed to take a more concerned attitude now. There was something in the air that she did not like. Myranda marveled at how well she could understand the thoughts and feelings of her friend, even without words. Indeed, without sound at all. Solomon, a small dragon in Entwell, was the only other dragon she had really known, and he spoke both her language and one of his own, along with no doubt countless others. Myn rarely made a sound.
Myranda frowned at the thought that, perhaps, growing up beside a human was robbing Myn of something, some language native to her kind.
The worrying thought was still on her mind when, off in the distance, the faintest glow of daylight could be seen. Myranda’s heart leapt, and she would have run if she’d had the strength. Instead, she crept along at the same pace, though wary of Myn’s deepening concern. All of a sudden, Myn stopped and absolutely would not proceed.
“What is it, Myn?” she asked.
The little dragon’s body went rigid, tail straightening and teeth bared. There was an enemy. Judging from how protective Myn had been in the past, it might have simply been anyone, but on this side of the mountain, anyone was as good as her worst enemy. She doused the light and moved near to the wall, attempting to remain unseen.
Myn stalked, slowly and silently. When the mouth of the cave was near enough, Myranda saw what Myn had smelled. Not one but two of the Elites were standing dutifully at the cave’s mouth. Elites, after all of this time!? A contingent of the small but legendary force of veteran soldiers had followed her here, but that was months ago. Surely they should have given up by now. Myranda’s eyes darted about in near panic. They landed on Myn, who seemed ready to attack.
“Myn, no,” Myranda whispered insistently into her friend’s ear. “We can’t. If we kill them, then when they do not report in, their superiors will know something has happened. Why else would Lain have left them alive? We have to get by them somehow.”
Myranda quietly wished she had just an ounce of the stealth that Lain had. He had surely slipped by them with no trouble at all. Her mind turned to the spells that she had at her disposal. No disguise would do, and she doubted that she would be able to create one that was convincing, regardless. Invisibility would work, but Deacon had yet to perfect it, and Myranda had been less than successful at casting what little of it he had mastered. She had learned sleep, but simply dropping them into unconsciousness suddenly would be a clear indication that someone had passed. If she was to do this, she would have to do it with care.
Slowly, almost not at all, she passed her influence toward them. She made their eyes just a little heavy. With the utmost of care and restraint, she increased the spell. Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly. She noticed one of them waver, catching himself, and the other yawn. Slowly. One of the men moved to the wall to lean against it. A few minutes later, he slid to the ground to sit more comfortably. The other did likewise. In a few minutes more, the pair was asleep on opposite walls of the cave. As far as they knew, it had been their idea.
After reminding Myn to leave them be, Myranda walked past the unaware soldiers. Thankfully, there were no other soldiers in sight. There was, however, a two-man tent, a pair of horses, and a separate supply tent. Myranda peeked her head into the supply tent to find it mounded with all sorts of rations and equipment. The men had been stationed here for nearly half of a year, and they were equipped for months more.
She selected a coarse brown blanket from a stack of them near the back, and one each of the rations available, not bothering to see what, precisely, she was taking. She was far more concerned with her selections escaping notice. With the blanket wrapped around her and the supplies stowed in her bag, Myranda stalked off into the forest, directly away from the mouth of the cave.
Looking upon the landscape was a grim reminder of the life she had left behind when she entered the cave. The world was overwhelmingly white. Any color from evergreen leaves, lichens, or sky was muted to a sterile gray by frost. The air had a biting cold to it, one that the damp tunic and rough blanket did little to turn away. She forced the unpleasant sensations from her mind and quickened her pace. When she felt she had moved far enough to avoid discovery, she cleared a patch of ground, threw together a pile of frozen wood, and conjured a smokeless fire. She sat cross-legged and allowed Myn to crawl onto her lap before wrapping the blanket around the two of them.
When their combined body heat had made them at least somewhat comfortable, Myranda pulled the spell sheet from the bag. She held it in one hand while petting Myn with the other. The dragon’s skin and scales felt more leathery than usual, and she had noticed that the little creature had a dingier color, but she could not spend any thoughts on that now. She had to focus on the spell.
The black letters on mahogany paper were barely visible in the light of the fire, but her eyes adjusted as the sun’s light crept from the sky. Deacon had, alas, not cast a translation spell on this page, so she was left to her own knowledge to decipher it. While she had at least a loose understanding of the spoken languages of Entwell, the written ones had never been explained. This page, mercifully, must have been one of the few written by someone besides Deacon, because it was all in one language. Deacon had a mismatched patchwork language he tended to use when writing that took an expert to follow. Myranda wondered if perhaps that was the language he spoke when she was not around. Regardless, the spell seemed to be in the same alphabet as Northern. That at least would allow her to speak the words. Perhaps then she could understand them. She spent a fair part of the night sifting through the procedures described in the page until a particularly loud growl in her stomach actually woke Myn.
“I suppose I ought to eat and continue in the morning,” she spoke quietly to her companion.
Myn seemed to want to get out from the blanket and retrieve a meal for her friend personally, but when she ventured a claw out into the bitter cold, she changed her mind and retreated back to beneath the covers.
The rations in Myranda’s bag were many and varied. A rock-hard biscuit of some kind. Some salted meat. Dried fruit!? Myranda had heard that the best food was set aside for the troops, but aside from the apple that she had grown herself, the closest thing to fruit that she had seen in years was the awful wine that taverns served. That, she decided, would be for a special occasion. She chose some of the biscuit, ate it quickly, and propped herself against a tree to drop off to sleep.
In the morning, she woke and returned immediately to her task. Myn slipped from her blanket, stretched, and trotted off to get her own breakfast while Myranda gnawed on more of the biscuit. Myn returned with a rabbit and dropped it in front of Myranda. She prepared it as best she could. When she was through eating, Myn snapped up the rest.
Myranda deciphered more of the spell. It seemed that when she cast it, the item used to track the person in question would be drawn toward them. The strength of the attraction would indicate their distance. The duration would change depending on the will of the target. Myranda stood and removed the tooth from her neck. She held it by the strings in one hand and held her staff in the other. The spell was small but complex. She tried several times to cast it, with her final attempt prompting a tiny tug to the southwest. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Myranda wrapped the blanket about her shoulders, stowed the spell, donned the tooth, and moved to the southwest.
As days of walking passed and Myranda’s stolen rations began to run low, she began to wonder what she was thinking. She couldn’t enter a town with Myn, and the dragon simply would not leave her side. She could make do with the meals Myn brought her when the food ran out--but sooner or later, she would need warmer clothes at the very least. Even if she could convince Myn to wait while she entered a town to do business, she had no money, and no way to get any.
She remembered Lain’s words. He had spoken of her as a creature of cities and roads, while he was of forests, mountains, and plains. Well, now she too w
as out of place in the world of humans. All the better, though. If this was where Lain was to be found, then it was where she must be.
Nearly a week of southward travel had led her to be comfortable with the sounds of the woods while she slept, though when a snowfall came, she missed her hood. Each morning she checked Lain’s location with the spell. She knew that he would be traveling by night while she traveled during the day. This way, at least, he would not be moving when she cast the spell. It was becoming easier. He was getting closer. She had been heading almost entirely due south for the last few days. Lain had likely been keeping to the edge of the woods to remain unseen. Now, though, she checked to find that he was due west of her, traveling across the open plains.
Looking out across the plain, Myranda saw a thin, sparsely wooded area off in the distance. It was a bit less than half of the way between herself and the edge of Ravenwood, the massive western forest that was still visible at the base of the mountains on the horizon. The dangling tooth pointed her to the trees; they rustled with a stiff and constant breeze in the distance. Thus, she proceeded in that direction, carefully scanning for anyone who might spot her. For once, she was glad that the plains of the north were almost deserted. She hurried across the field as quickly as she could. As she did, she wondered why no roads led through this plain. There were at least five small towns nearby, yet the nearest road ran far to the west and circled completely around the plain to reach the furthest of the towns. A second road through this place would cut the travel time in half.
Myn seemed distracted. The slowly strengthening wind carried either the scent of Lain or something else, and it was making her anxious. When they reached the trees, Myranda noticed a handful of small brown creatures scurrying across the ground. Suddenly Myn froze. Myranda began to ask what might be the matter, but her voice caught in her throat when she realized the source of her friend’s concern.
There was not merely a handful of the little creatures. Behind them there were dozens, perhaps a hundred. Each had the small size and long body of a weasel, but their eyes seemed absent, with slight indentations where they ought to be. They had six legs, each tipped with a trio of short, stout, cruel-looking claws. There were clusters of them, sniffing madly at the ground around her footprints.
The pair was surrounded by the things, and more were popping out of scattered burrows by the moment. As they each sniffed the air, row after row of needle-sharp teeth were bared in anger. They did not like the scent of the intruder. The creatures approached one at a time. Myn tried to frighten them off, but as she pounced at them, they scattered, keeping just out of her reach. In moments, the two of them were completely surrounded.
A chill of fear ran up and down Myranda’s spine as she held her staff ready. She decided a spell of fire would hold them at bay, but she would need a minute or two to produce enough of it to protect her, while the fear burning at her mind increased that time greatly.
“Myn, fire!” she cried.
Myn tried to obey, but somehow the things with no eyes were able to avoid the flames, only a few getting even remotely singed. The creatures were swarming about Myranda’s legs. With no spells swift or safe enough to ward them off now, she swatted at them with the staff, knocking a few away. Just as the first of them sunk its teeth into the girl’s leg, there came a piercing whistle. The small creatures scattered. An instant later, the blanket about the young woman’s shoulders was torn from her back.
Turning quickly to discover the culprit, she found Lain, dressed in the black tunic of Entwell, holding his white cloak in one hand and her brown blanket in the other.
“You!” she cried furiously.
Myn scampered to him, leaping about joyfully.
“Pick her up,” he ordered.
Before Myranda could object, Myn obligingly leapt into Myranda’s arms. Lain threw his cloak about her shoulders and hurled her blanket into the mass of creatures who were already beginning to venture closer. The very moment that the blanket landed, the creatures converged on it, tearing it to ribbons.
“Quickly, this way. And do not speak until I tell you,” he said, marching forward with purpose while the creatures were distracted.
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AFTERWORD
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JOSEPH R. LALLO BOOKS
THE BOOK OF DEACON SERIES
Book 1: The Book of Deacon
Book 2: The Great Convergence
Book 3: The Battle of Verril
Book 4: The D’Karon Apprentice
Other stories in the same setting
Jade
The Rise of the Red Shadow
THE BIG SIGMA SERIES
Book 1: Bypass Gemini
Book 2: Unstable Prototypes
Book 3: Artificial Evolution
THE FREE-WRENCH SERIES
Book 1: Free-Wrench
Book 2: Skykeep
FORGED IN BLOOD
Jonas, Book #7
by
K. F. Breene
CHAPTER ONE
A FIST GLANCED OFF OF Shanti’s jawbone. Her head whipped back, the blow forcing her to backpedal. Fists slammed into her ribs before a blow hit her stomach, chasing away all her breath. She wheezed, throwing up her hands defensively as she staggered away to the side. Wide shoulders blocked out the light as he advanced, another fist arcing through the air.
Shanti ducked. A kick ripped her legs out from under her, sending her body toward the ground. Her butt smacked the hard dirt before her head followed. Stars swam in her vision as she fought with everything she had not to use her Gift.
A foot smashed into her thigh once. And again.
She curled up into a ball, begging the Elders for this to be over before she gave in.
She could kill them all with her power. This would stop immediately if she made it.
Clenching her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut, she shut off the pain. She shut off the feeling of a foot repeatedly crashing into her body. Her head throbbed. Her back spasmed in agony.
“Sayas, enough.”
Shanti sucked in a ragged breath at the whip-crack of a command. With a shaking hand, she wiped the tears out of her eyes and uncurled. Sayas stood over her with relief relaxing his features. He winked at her and thrust a hand down. “You did it. I thought I was going to be blasted.”
Shanti took the calloused hand and felt her muscles both ache and stretch as she was hauled up. On wobbly feet, she palmed her sore ribs and tried for a neutral expression. Hoping she’d succeeded, she met her grandfather’s sharp blue eyes. She’d completed his instructions.
His gray head nodded. The severe expression didn’t melt into pride. Or even approval. “That is all for today. You are learning.”
Shanti felt a flash of irritation. That was it? After that beating, she’d only earned “you are learning”?
Careful not to scoff, she nodded with a clenched jaw.
“Good work.” Kallon, the best fighter in their group, took a balanced step forward and stuck out his hand. His soft blond hair was tied at the nape of his neck. Not one hair was out of place, nor did one smudge mar his handsome face, even though he’d had a practice battle right before her.
Shanti rolled her eyes and turned away. Kallon was the better choice for leader, and everyone knew it. Her grandfather only insisted she try to fit the mold because of the other title she’d been slapped with.
Ridiculous.
Halfway home, she heard, “Mess up again, turd?”
Larnin sneered with his arms crossed in front of his chest, leani
ng against a large tree trunk.
Her hands curled into fists before she realized she’d slowed, staring hard at Larnin. She really needed to go home. She shouldn’t get into any more trouble, and now that she was training with the top-level fighters—for some reason—she wasn’t supposed to fight outside of training.
So many rules. Did no one besides her want to think for themselves?
Larnin saw her balled fists. “Oh, what are you going to do? Get your filth all over me?” He uncrossed his arms and straightened up slowly.
“Just be grateful I don’t cave your head in.” Shanti forced herself to keep moving.
“Think you’re better than me because your grandfather got you into the higher level? I’ve got news for you—everyone thinks you’re rotten. You can’t win a fight, you can’t control your Gift, and you sure can’t lead anyone.” He smirked. “I heard your grandfather is just trying to give you your one shot so he can fulfill his promise to your dad. You’ve been failing for, what, a week? I’d say you’ve got one more before you get tossed.”
Heat filled her core. The need to punch his ugly face made her fingers tingle. Shanti cocked her head and looked at the sky, willing her temper to simmer down.
“They are moving me up because I can’t learn anything more in your level, idiot. Everyone starts out at the bottom of a new level. I’m not failing, I’m learning.”