“Here,” said Max, pressing more coins into Fletcher’s hand as they entered the town green, which was lined with iron lampposts and quaint cottages. “Get at least a week’s worth of dried meat, fruit, seeds, anything that will keep our energy up. I’ll deal with the rest.”
“I don’t—” Fletcher began, but Max was already striding away. He stared at the gold glinting in his palm. He’d never dealt with Allentrian currency. Before he had crossed Shivnath’s Mountains, he hadn’t even known about the concept of money. The Aerians had traded for everything, or made whatever they needed for themselves.
Fletcher wandered until he found the butcher’s shop, marked by the cured meats hanging in its windows. He knocked on the door, and a slot in the solid wood slid open to reveal a set of angry blue eyes.
“What do you want?” said a gruff voice.
“Sorry, I—I need to get some provisions,” Fletcher stammered.
“It’s late. We’re closed.”
“Please,” said Fletcher, “it’s urgent. I have money.”
“Come close, let me see your eyes.”
Fletcher leaned forward for the butcher to inspect him. After some deliberation, the man shut the slot and opened the door.
“Can’t be too careful these days,” he said, standing aside to allow Fletcher in. “The bogspectre’s on a rampage. It’s roaming the Galantasa, coming into towns in its own form. This is the boldest it’s ever been—I’ve a cousin way up north who’s seen it himself!”
“Oh?” said Fletcher, fighting to keep his tone conversational. He knew more about the bogspectre than he cared to admit. Keriya had saved its life, and it had given her that magic sword in return.
He tried to change the subject, asking the butcher for as many dried meat strips as four gold derlei would buy, and for directions to the grocer and granary.
“Hah! Edora’s too small for that. We get our produce shipped from Irongarde,” said the butcher. “Tell you what, I’ll sell you some of my personal stock for the rest of those coins. I’ve got loads in the shed out back. Wouldn’t want you to head to the city at this hour. Bogspectre’ll have your guts in a heartbeat. More attacks this past month than in the last five years combined!”
“Really?” said Fletcher, his stomach tightening with unease.
“Word is,” the man continued, lowering his voice, “it’s searching for something. I know it sounds crazy, but my cousin swears on it,” he added, misinterpreting Fletcher’s horrified expression.
The butcher rambled on about bogspectre conspiracy theories as he bustled out the back door, but Fletcher knew the truth. The monster was looking for something. The same thing Necrovar and Tanthflame were looking for, the same thing Keriya would be looking for if she didn’t have Thorion to worry about.
The monster’s ancient hadn’t simply vanished. Someone—or something—must have taken it. But who, apart from an agent of the Shadow, would have broken into Indrath Olven to steal it? Who could have?
“There’s some fruit and nuts, some dried lakeweed, and I threw in a few honey sweets,” said the butcher, returning with two bulging packs. Fletcher accepted them and thanked the man for his generosity.
“You got somewhere to stay tonight?” the butcher asked, taking in Fletcher’s thin frame and bedraggled appearance.
“Yes,” Fletcher lied.
“Good. These aren’t the times to be traipsing about on your own. The town council’s thinking of contacting Irongarde, having the Dragon Speaker and Lord Thorion deal with the bogspectre. Did you hear how she defeated Necrovar? I reckon she’ll have that monster’s head on a platter within a week.”
Fletcher took this as his cue to leave. He hefted his bags and bade the butcher a hasty goodbye as he slipped outside.
He froze on the wooden porch, stomach sinking. Five Irongarde soldiers were riding through Edora’s main gate. Their horse-like mounts had wide webbed ears, reminiscent of the fins of a spinyfish, and matching webbed feet that spread across the snow. Ropy, muscular tails curled cautiously behind them.
“I just remembered,” said Fletcher, darting back inside. “You, uh, don’t have any spare boots, do you?”
“You don’t have any more derlei, do you?” the man asked. Fletcher shook his head. He glanced out the window and saw, by the light of the lanterns, that the soldiers were getting closer.
“Then off with you.” The butcher made a shooing motion at Fletcher. “It’s late, and—what’s all that, then?” He spotted the riders and shuffled to the window, squinting at the street.
“Helkryvt’s blood,” he swore under his breath. “They’ve got the kelpies—they’re on the hunt. It can’t be the bogspectre again, so soon?”
“You know,” said Fletcher, thinking fast, “my friend and I were coming in from the north, and we heard something funny outside the town.” He pointed in the opposite direction from where Keriya and the others were hiding.
“And you didn’t think it worth mentioning to our guards, boy?” blustered the butcher.
“Someone should go tell them about it now,” said Fletcher, his voice quivering. He didn’t like lying his way out of things—he found it better to trust in the truth. It was just bad luck that he constantly found himself in situations where the truth was far more dangerous than falsehoods. “It might be worth investigating.”
“It might,” the butcher agreed. He opened the door, storming toward the kelpie-mounted men. “Hello there! You—yes, you, sir. I’ve a bit of information concerning the bogspectre.”
Fletcher ran to the back of the shop, shoved open the door, and stumbled into the night. Slogging through drifts of snow, he staggered away as fast as he could. He had to warn the others. They must have seen the guards approaching—surely they’d have enough sense to hide, wouldn’t they?
“Of course not,” he wheezed. Keriya had as much sense as a wooden spoon. She was probably arguing with Effrax and Seba right now, wanting to storm the town to make sure Fletcher and Max weren’t captured.
Raised voices echoed through the streets. He suspected the butcher had learned who the guards were really after. It was only a matter of time before they discovered Fletcher’s footprints.
Just as he was about to return to the green, a shaggy horse and cloaked rider appeared in front of him. He yelped and fell backward.
“Whoa,” said a familiar voice from under the hood of the cloak.
“Max?” Fletcher breathed, scrunching his nose. “Is that you?”
“Shh.” Max rifled around in one of his bulging saddlebags and tossed a white coat to Fletcher. “Put that on, draw up your hood and take the reins,” he hissed.
Fletcher didn’t ask questions. He donned the coat, threw the hood over his head, and grabbed the horse’s reins. Max heeled the animal forward and Fletcher was tugged along.
“Halt!” The same guard who had allowed them entry now blocked their exit. “Edora’s under inspection.”
“Stand down, soldier,” said Max. He showed his left hand to the man. On one of his fingers was a sapphire ring Fletcher had never seen him wear before. It was inscribed with a crest—the same symbol the Galantrian flag bore. “The vaecount has summoned me to Indrath Olven. I am to meet with him regarding the dragon’s escape.”
The guard’s eyes widened and he bowed. “Best of luck, Your Grace.”
Max nodded curtly, and he and Fletcher walked through the gates uncontested. More shouts rang through the night, and Fletcher fought the urge to bolt. If they ran now, the Edoran guards would alert the Irongarde guards, who would come after them with those kelpies, who looked much better suited to running in the snow than the mulish brute Max had bought.
They rounded a bend in the path. Max removed the sapphire rung, hiding it in a pocket. “Climb on,” he whispered.
With Max’s help, Fletcher hoisted himself onto the horse’s back. Once he was s
eated, they veered into the woods. Max conjured a breeze behind them, which dusted powdery snow over their trail.
When they arrived at the patch of ferns, the horse made a startled braying sound and reared up at the sight of Thorion. Fletcher clung to Max to keep himself from falling.
Roxanne ran to meet them. She reached for the horse and it quieted under her touch, allowing her to stroke its neck and murmur soothingly in its ear.
“Thank Shivnath you’re alright,” said Keriya. “We saw the riders. How did you escape?”
“Never mind that,” said Effrax. “What did you get for us?”
Max dismounted gracefully and began pulling things out of the saddlebags. Fletcher slid sideways and landed face-down in a pile of slush with his purchases.
“Effrax, medicine for your leg,” said Max. “It should also lessen the effects of the evasdrin. Seba, proper clothes for you. Waterproof bedrolls for everyone. Fletcher, you have the food, yes?” Fletcher nodded and hoisted the bags. “Better than nothing, I suppose. Where’s the rest of the derlei?”
“The . . . rest of the derlei?” Fletcher repeated.
“I gave you eight gold pieces.”
“The butcher sold me as much meat as four gold derlei would buy, and he sold me some fruits and nuts for the rest,” said Fletcher. “He even threw in some honey sweets.”
“You got swindled, Little Lordling,” said Effrax, who was fighting to hide a smile. “The lot of that wouldn’t be worth two gold derlei.”
“Leave it to a peasant,” Seba muttered.
Cheeks burning, Fletcher dropped his gaze. How was he supposed to know the worth of things? The royals might not know he was from Aeria, but anyone could see by his clothes that he’d never had two gold pieces to rub together in his life.
“It’s enough for us to survive,” said Thorion. “Thank you, Fletcher.”
Fletcher lifted his eyes and flashed the dragon a grateful smile.
“We need to be as far from here as possible by the time the guards leave Edora,” said Max. “Kelpies are excellent trackers. Seba, you’ll ride. Who’s good with animals?”
“I am,” said Roxanne, taking the reins from Max as he helped the princess into the horse’s saddle.
“Roxanne will lead,” said Max. “Keriya and Thorion will go next—”
“I think it would be better if they went ahead of us,” Roxanne interrupted. “You know, so we can keep an eye on Thorion. The horse is nervous enough as it is.”
“Fine,” said Max. “Keriya, Thorion, you first. Roxanne and Seba next. I’ll go last and cover our tracks.”
“Where are we going?” asked Thorion.
The quiet, frenzied motion of the company stopped. Fletcher stared around at his friends. They’d decided to find a unicorn, but how would they go about doing it?
“We should have some semblance of a plan,” said Effrax, looking at Keriya. She mumbled something under her breath about being bad at planning. “We can’t do what we did with Thorion. We wandered all across the Galantasa looking for him.”
“A unicorn can’t be rarer than a dragon,” said Fletcher. “Thorion’s the only dragon in the world.”
“You didn’t find me,” Thorion growled. “Keriya summoned me.”
“Then we’re back at square one. We can’t summon a unicorn,” said Keriya.
“Actually,” said Roxanne, fiddling with the reins, “we could do that.”
Everyone looked at her. Fletcher scrunched his nose in confusion, but Thorion had a dawning look of comprehension on his face. Effrax even smiled approvingly.
“Care to explain what you mean?” said Max.
Roxanne started to reply but was interrupted by another far-off shout from Edora. “I’ll tell you once we’re out of earshot,” she promised.
Keriya and Thorion wove through the bamboo and Roxanne led the horse after them. Fletcher followed, shivering as snow melted into his boots once more.
It looked like they were in for another sleepless night.
CHAPTER TEN
“Live on hope, die of starvation.”
~ Moorfainian Proverb
Roxanne crouched in a snowdrift, peering beneath the ice-frosted fronds of a bush at the obstinate snowfox that hid there.
Two-legger leave. Must hunt, can’t hunt with two-legger nearby.
The fox’s thoughts were manic and disjointed. Images darted through Roxanne’s head with every twitch of his whiskers. She’d have to be patient with this one.
I will leave, but only after you’ve answered my questions, she replied.
The snowfox squirmed. Roxanne, whose telepathic powers had developed significantly since she’d arrived in Allentria, could sense he wanted to scamper away and hide in his burrow. She locked onto his round, beady eyes with hers. Stay. Be calm.
Now that she’d revealed her secret to her friends and was communicating with animals daily, she was getting better at exerting her will over smaller creatures—a facet of her magic that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with, but which had come in handy.
We’re looking for a unicorn. Roxanne focused on the mental image she’d created based on the descriptions Max, Effrax, and Seba had provided: a white horse with cloven hooves and a long, thin tail. Its most distinguishing feature was the silver horn in the center of its forehead. Have you seen one?
Why you ask? The fox’s thoughts had a petulant color to them.
“Because I’ve asked every animal we’ve found in this tronking rainforest, and they’ve all pointed me this way,” she hissed through clenched teeth. Give me something to go on and I’ll be happy to leave.
No onehorn seen since I was a kit, it thought. Many, many moons ago. No good looking here, no onehorns here.
What? Roxanne leaned forward excitedly and the fox growled. Does that mean you’ve seen one? No one else has seen one, they just told me to go north and west!
Yes; go more far-cold, to the place of always-snow, in the direction of sun-down. The onehorn lives on a mountain there.
Roxanne examined the fox’s mental image of the unicorn. It was beautiful and sleek, much more delicate than what she’d pictured. Its horn wasn’t so much silver as it was gossamer crystal, air and light spun together into a shining, deadly point.
Thank you. She released her mental hold on the fox. He darted through a tunnel hidden in the deep snow, hissing in indignation.
She stood and brushed herself off, a hopeful smile threatening to break across her lips. For the first time in the fortnight they’d spent trundling through the rainforest, she had a solid lead. She slid down a steep hill and kicked her way through a snowbank to return to her friends.
“Any luck?” said Max.
“Yes,” Roxanne said breathlessly. “I found an animal who’s seen a onehorn! I mean a unicorn.”
Max’s brows rose in shock, but Keriya brightened at once.
“That’s great!” she exclaimed. “Where did it tell you to go?”
“Uh . . .” Roxanne’s face fell. “North and west.”
“That’s what all your bloody animals have said,” Seba snapped from her seat on Emyr, the irascible woolly mule.
“The others told me that if I wanted to look for a unicorn, I’d most likely have to go north and west. This snowfox told me he saw a real unicorn living to the north and west, on a mountain. That means we’re getting close.”
“That’s good enough for me,” said Keriya, smiling at Roxanne.
“There are a few big peaks north of Sairal,” said Max, sounding doubtful.
“Big enough to have snow on them year-round?” asked Roxanne.
“In colder years.” Max looked at Keriya. “Think it’s worth looking into?”
“Of course,” she said, seeming insulted that he would ask such a question. She nodded to Thorion and the two of them set off. Max shoo
k his head and followed, leading Emyr.
Roxanne’s excitement faded, her moment of triumph cut short by the looming prospect of the long journey they had ahead of them. She watched Thorion trotting along ahead. The dragon found a rock formation that jutted through the forest canopy. He scaled it with ease and spread his wings when he was free of the tangled branches. His skin membranes caught and held the warmth of the pale sun, making them glow like gold.
Thorion sprang into the air, and with three powerful wingbeats he was soaring toward the clouds. In this deserted corner of the empire, he was free to fly whenever the weather permitted. Watching him twirl overhead with such obvious joy brought an unexpected twinge of sorrow to Roxanne’s heart.
Somewhere within him, the shadow-cancer was spreading.
They moved slowly that day, crunching through tracts of crusty snow and slogging through swamps of slush. In the afternoon, clouds rolled in and dusted them with freezing rain. Fletcher cursed as he toiled across the half-frozen ridge of a tiered waterfall. Roxanne lent him a hand, helping him past a slippery boulder.
“Watch out,” she said, pointing to a patch of black ice. “One slip and you’re done for.”
“It really is Shivnath’s Mountains all over again,” he wheezed. “But there’s no Shivnath to save us this time.”
Keriya had told Roxanne and Fletcher the full story about her relationship with Shivnath, from the moment she had met the dragon god to the night she’d fought Necrovar. After the battle with the Shadow, Shivnath had demanded the bogspectre’s sword, and Keriya had refused to give it to her.
Personally, Roxanne thought Keriya had shown an astounding lack of good judgement doing that—especially given how every lunatic in Allentria suddenly wanted the weapon. The sword was clearly full of dark powers, and it would have been much safer in Shivnath’s claws.
That night they found a dry cave to make camp. Roxanne gathered soggy kindling and Effrax set it aflame.
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