by Ben Wolf
“How many men are coming with us?” Garrick asked.
“Twelve.” The fire on Falna’s swords extinguished, and the red blades issued a hint of smoke. She sheathed them, one on her left hip and the other over her right shoulder.
“We don’t need that many men,” Garrick said. With Falna involved, commanding twelve of Lord Valdis’s men, Garrick couldn’t help but wonder if he was being set up for an early demise.
“I don’t believe Lord Valdis cares what you think.” Falna grinned at him and batted her eyelashes. “And the longer you argue, the farther away our quarry gets.”
Garrick would’ve cut her down right then and there if he could have. The battle-axe in his hand urged him to do it, too, but he resisted.
Given the anger in Kent’s eyes, he might’ve done the same. Was the flail suggesting violence to Kent like the battle-axe was doing with Garrick?
Instead, Garrick looked at Lord Valdis again. All he received was the same malevolent stare he always got, resolute and unshakeable.
“Fine,” Garrick grunted. With that, he turned away from all of them.
As Garrick headed out, he glanced at the dragon, which continued to tear into the dead guards with its teeth and talons. Was it just his imagination, or had it already grown some? How fast did these things grow, anyway?
Somehow it had already cleaned the flesh from one of the guards, leaving a reddened, chewed-up skeleton in pieces on the bloodstained floor. Now it was halfway through yet another guard.
What would happen once it was full-grown? What would it be capable of then?
And what would Lord Valdis become after stealing its essence?
Garrick shook the thoughts away and continued storming toward the throne room doors. Just survive, Garrick.
The moment Garrick turned back and made for the exit, Kent turned and followed him. He preferred not to spend any more time in Lord Valdis’s presence than he had to—or Falna’s, for that matter, though he knew he couldn’t avoid her for long.
Of all the people Kent had ever met, few had ever truly intimidated him. Lord Valdis was both the most recent and the most notable exception.
Something about him, particularly his possession of vast power coupled with his unwillingness to demonstrate it, sent concern rippling under Kent’s skin.
As he passed the remains of the dead guards in the throne room, his gaze locked onto the dragon’s glowing red eyes. It had already nearly doubled in size from when it had hatched only minutes before, which made no rational sense to Kent. But there was no denying its growth.
It stared at him, unblinking, with its black snout and face dripping blood and gore. Bits of flesh hung from its pointed teeth, and in the relative silence of the throne room, Kent could hear it breathing short, sharp breaths through its flared nostrils.
Everything within Kent cried out to kill it right then and there, and so did the phantom steel flail in his hand. He had everything he needed to get the job done. Given the dragon’s size, he wouldn’t even need the flail—he could’ve just crushed its head under his boot.
If the legends were true, then this dragon was a creature capable of mass destruction—cities burned to ash, buildings crumbled under the beats of its wings, and its teeth and talons could pierce even the thickest armor—if the legends were true.
And allowing Lord Valdis to harvest its essence would create an entirely new type of monster.
It would be so easy, he mused. He could take hold of it, snap its neck, and be done with all of this once and for all. The flail’s influence seeped into his mind, urging him to do it as well.
But Kent couldn’t do it. Not with Lord Valdis watching. Not if he wanted to survive the next five minutes of his life. Not if he wanted to make it back to his brother, Fane, and deliver him the reckoning he was due.
The time wasn’t right. He needed to be able to kill the dragon and Lord Valdis in quick succession, or none of it would matter.
So Kent walked past the dragon, and it resumed its feasting.
Beyond the dragon lay Kent’s sword. The guards must’ve collected the dragon sword he’d left beside it, but they’d left his basic steel sword behind. He picked it up and slid it into the sheath that still hung from his belt.
As he headed out of the throne room after Garrick, amid the sounds of the renewed rending of flesh, Kent stared down at the flail. The moment he’d taken it into his hand, he’d sensed it pulling at his magic and trying to convince him to use it, to empower himself with it.
It still pulled at him, but he dared not fuel it. He had no idea what it could do—or what it might take from him in the process.
He’d trained with a flail in the past, but it had been years since he’d picked one up. The weight felt appropriate in his hands, if not a bit on the light side.
But given the choice, he’d prefer to stick with his magic and his sword. And he most certainly would not be using it against Mehta and Aeron.
His resolution to stand against Lord Valdis’s schemes could only progress as far as he could control the situation—specifically Garrick. If he couldn’t convince Garrick to see reason, Kent would have to face him.
And possibly even kill him.
The appearance of Falna had driven yet another wedge between Garrick and Lord Valdis, though. Perhaps Kent could find a way to make use of such a conflict. He certainly had no qualms about doing away with Falna if it meant restoring cooperation with Garrick.
Whatever happened, Kent determined he would do something about it. Now he just needed to figure out what that something was.
Outside Valdis Keep, twelve soldiers and fifteen horses awaited Kent, Garrick, and Falna. The howling winter wind chilled Kent to his very soul, and he pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders.
So much colder than Muroth ever was.
“What happens now?” he asked Garrick.
“We head south to Govalia,” Falna said from behind them. She trudged past them through the snow and into the courtyard, which was still tainted red in places from Mehta and Aeron’s escape. “Get the girl back.”
“You burned their family’s house to ash.” Garrick shook his head. “They won’t go to Govalia.”
“Valdis’s men saw them flying south, Garrick.” Falna sneered at him. “They’re from Govalia. Where else would they go?”
It was bad enough that she had tried to kill Kent months earlier, but her tone alone made her thoroughly insufferable. What, Kent wondered, had transpired between her and Garrick?
Instead of responding right away, Garrick just stared at her. Finally, he replied, “You’re welcome to head to Govalia if you want, but I’m not going there.”
Falna glanced between Garrick and Kent. When Falna had first appeared in Lord Valdis’s throne room, Kent almost hadn’t recognized her.
When she’d attacked Aeron and Kent, her eyes were molten and surrounded with charred skin. Now absent that frightening effect, her blue eyes were set into a pleasant enough face.
Kent scowled at the memory of that day. If his hand hadn’t been so freshly burned from pulling Kallie out of the hearth, that fight would’ve gone very differently. Kent was certain of it.
“Then where are you going?” she asked.
“West,” Garrick replied. “Toward Etrijan.”
Etrijan? That made no sense, but perhaps Garrick knew something Kent did not.
“Why?” Kent asked.
“Because I’ve been to Mehta’s village. It’s the only place they would think is safe,” Garrick replied. “It’s on the border of Etrijan and Xenthan. And Mehta doesn’t know that I know. They’ll have no idea we’re coming.”
To Aeron’s surprise and relief, it only took them about a day of flying to reach the village beyond the cratered mountain. He’d expected it to take longer, especially after flying south for a good distance first, to throw off any potential pursuers. What’s more, Wafer, Aeron’s wyvern mount, had to haul nearly triple the weight he usually carried.
They’d stopped a few times for Wafer to get some rest and to try to eat something, but for the most part, they’d traveled onward, harder than Aeron normally preferred to push Wafer. They needed to put as much distance between them and Valdis Keep as possible, and Wafer understood that.
Normally, Wafer and Aeron could execute crafty maneuvers while airborne—loops and spins and sudden drops—but with Mehta and Kallie joining Aeron on Wafer’s back, Wafer’s sole focus centered on staying airborne.
Heavy, came the impression from Wafer.
Aeron had bonded with Wafer at the moment of Wafer’s hatching, forging a connection on a deep, personal level. While Aeron was near Wafer, the bond also served as a means of communication, albeit crude and simplistic.
Tired, Wafer sent next.
Almost there, Aeron sent back.
They’d finally passed over the cratered mountain which, despite its lack of a true peak, was still the tallest mountain in the vicinity. Far below, log-constructed buildings intermixed with conifers and other trees down in the valley beyond, all of it covered with a layer of perfectly white snow.
As they drew closer, it all coalesced into a village of sorts, albeit small and unimpressive. But it had an open, central point, and it was the best spot for Wafer to land, especially given the thick, snow-covered forests surrounding the village.
Aeron usually preferred not to touch down in the middle of such a crowded space, but he’d seen no better options, so he guided Wafer in for a landing. Wafer set down on the cobblestone streets harder than usual, and with considerably more buffeting of his wings while landing, but it got the job done.
As Wafer landed, brown-skinned villagers scattered away from them. Some of them shouted and raised their hands or makeshift weapons toward Wafer.
But when Mehta dismounted and raised his brown hands, which matched those of the villagers around them, the scene calmed from frantic fear to nervousness. Around Wafer, those reactions represented the two usual extremes, at least apart from battle, so Aeron was grateful for Mehta’s influence.
Some of the villagers asked Mehta a few questions as Aeron moved to help Kallie dismount, but Aeron didn’t hear any of their conversations. He took hold of Kallie, practically lifted her off of Wafer’s saddle, and set her on the ground.
The act sent shooting pain through his back, thanks to an old injury. It had never truly gotten better, so he’d started taking magic mushrooms to help him deal with the pain.
He was definitely due to take another, but he had other concerns to deal with first, so he dug his knuckles into his lower back, just beneath the lower edge of his torso armor, and tried to knead the muscles.
Kallie was still barefoot and running quite hot despite the cold weather, but at least she was no longer steaming whenever she touched snow.
She still wore the red Crimson Flame robe with their cursed, fiery emblem emblazoned in gold on the front. It was the exact opposite of subtle, especially in an impoverished village like this.
But Aeron still wasn’t sure what, if anything, she had on underneath, so he couldn’t just tell her to remove it. They’d resolve her wardrobe issues soon enough. For now, Aeron’s mind still whirled as to how she’d ended up in this predicament in the first place.
Maybe now that they were safe, far away from Lord Valdis and the Crimson Flame, he could finally get some answers.
For the time being, Wafer couldn’t really stick around. Nervousness among the villagers was fine, but eventually nervousness birthed curiosity, and he didn’t want anyone messing with Wafer. So he collected his spear and his pack and told Wafer to go find shelter nearby.
Wafer leaped into the air with a huge flap of his wings and soared away from the village, much quicker than he’d been flying toward it, now unencumbered by riders.
He loosed a short, reptilian cry from overhead, and sent an impression to Aeron through their bond: Hungry.
Aeron rolled his eyes. Wafer was always hungry.
So go eat, Aeron sent back.
He could already feel their bond wavering, as it did whenever they got too far away from each other. But Aeron still had the Wafer whistle—a hollowed-out wyvern tooth—hanging from his neck. One blow and Wafer would hear it and come swooping in.
Kallie moaned, and Aeron shifted his attention back to her. He no longer needed to worry about his wyvern; Wafer would keep busy hunting rams, elk, deer, or whatever else occupied these mountainous forests. It was time to start worrying about his little sister again.
“How do you feel?” Aeron asked her.
She shook her head and moaned again. “Drained. Confused. Where are we? Where are Mum and Pa?”
Did she really not remember everything that had transpired? He couldn’t explain it all to her now, here in the middle of Mehta’s village. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters. I’ll take care of you.”
Kallie looked up at him with those blue eyes of hers, just like Mum’s. She showed off her crooked-toothed smile, although only half-heartedly. “You’re a good brother. You know that?”
Aeron smiled back at her. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”
Kallie pulled him close and kissed his cheek, then she recoiled a bit and wrinkled her nose. “But you stink like wyverns.”
There she was. The old Kallie had made an appearance, even through her haze.
She was right, too. Aeron couldn’t remember the last time he’d properly bathed.
He looked down at his armor. It had several new scratches and dents compared to before he’d signed on with Garrick, Kent, and Mehta, and some of its teal coloring had worn down to the raw steel underneath, but it had helped to keep him alive.
Good enough for now.
A couple of magic mushrooms, a bath, a hot meal, and a good night’s rest would do him some serious good. Whether or not he’d find the latter three in this village was disputable, but the shrooms, at least, he could manage.
He reached into his pack and pulled out a mushroom with yellow spots. It gave off a slight blue hue—evidence of the magic imbued within it.
Aeron popped it into his mouth, chewed it up, and swallowed it. The yellow ones tasted earthy and weird, and he still couldn’t quite get used to their taste, but they worked wonders for him, so he kept taking them. It immediately got to work on numbing his back pain.
“We should move along.” Mehta was standing next to Aeron, but Aeron hadn’t realized it until he’d said something.
By now, the sun was starting to set beyond the mountains to the west of the village, but there was still plenty of light for them to see without needing torches. And somehow, despite the ample light, Mehta had managed to sneak up on Aeron anyway.
It was a Xyonate thing. Mehta was just good at sneaking in general.
Killing, too. Without Mehta’s help, Aeron never would’ve gotten Kallie out of Valdis Keep alive.
“We’ve drawn too much attention already,” Mehta added.
Aeron looked around. Rugged, brown faces stared at Kallie and him, and for the first time, Aeron realized how out of place they were among these mountain villagers. Aeron had always been light-skinned—he was so white, he was practically clear, he’d often joked—but he’d never felt so starkly pale as he did in that moment.
“What now?” Aeron asked.
“Follow me.” Mehta headed north into a cluster of buildings.
Aeron took Kallie by her hand, wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, and gently helped her follow Mehta.
Wherever Mehta was taking them, it beat staying out in the open, and it was definitely better than trying to take Kallie back to Govalia. They couldn’t go back there. It’s exactly what Lord Valdis would expect.
Mehta led them up the cobblestone streets between the timber dwellings and trees until they reached a sturdy-looking house made of pine and stone that overlooked a good portion of the village.
Kallie shuddered against Aeron’s body as they approached the home.
“We’re almost there,”
he told her. “You’re safe.”
Then the door to the house opened.
Chapter Three
Mehta stopped as a blonde-haired girl, no more than nine years old, ran out of his family’s house toward him.
Ferne.
Mehta smiled.
Ferne flung herself at him, clearing the last several steps between them in the air. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him tight. Mehta hugged her back.
“You’re home!” Ferne squealed.
For the first time in months, Mehta’s heart felt at peace, and the thirst wasn’t raging at all. This little girl was good for his soul. She had been ever since they’d met back in Sefera. “Yes.”
“Are you staying?” she asked.
That was indeed the question, wasn’t it? With Lord Valdis still out there, could Mehta live in any real peace knowing he’d failed his final commission? What if Lord Valdis’s men returned to the village?
None of that mattered now. Mehta didn’t know much about children, but he knew what longing felt like, better than perhaps anyone else on the continent. He knew what Ferne needed to hear.
“Yes,” he replied. “Indefinitely.”
She squeezed him anew, and he returned her embrace.
When Ferne finally let go, she looked up at him with those sparkling blue eyes and said, “I got so much I gotta to tell you.”
Ferne took him by his hand and opened her mouth to speak, but she froze when she saw Aeron and Kallie standing behind Mehta.
Mehta turned back and looked as well, and he escorted her over to them. “Ferne, this is Aeron and Kallie. They’re brother and sister, just like Palomi and I are.”
Ferne rolled her eyes and put her tiny hand on her hip. “I know what brothers and sisters are, silly.”
Mehta tilted his head at her. She’d gotten a little sassy in the months he’d been gone. It didn’t bother him, per se, but it certainly caught him off-guard. Maybe she’d picked it up from Palomi.