by C. M. Hayden
Kurian swallowed hard. Behind his bright eyes, his mind seemed to be racing.
“What use is it?” Praxis asked, looking at the crystal as if it were a toy.
Fenn was decidedly more impressed. “The Overlight was forged by Lorendamu himself in the fires of the sun. It guides the flow of time and space, gravity, and other cosmic forces.”
“And so I repeat, what use is it?” Praxis asked. He made a motion to grab it, but Kurian pulled away.
“Don’t touch it,” Kurian snapped.
Praxis raised his hands in a faux calming motion. “Just curious.”
Arangathras turned his attention fully to Praxis. “You needn’t worry about what use it is. You won’t be accompanying them.”
“What?” Praxis asked, momentarily taken aback. “You can’t just—”
“You see, while we have a treaty with the Endrans, we don’t enjoy such a pact with the Helians.” He raised one finger, and two dragonkin guards entered, both slightly smaller than Arangathras himself, clad in bronze armor. They seized Praxis by the shoulders. The magistry cuffs he still bore prevented him from doing little more than struggling.
“I’ve done nothing wrong!” Praxis shouted.
Arangathras’ eyes darkened. “Oh, little human, I remember you during my confinement.”
“I don’t understand. We’ve never met.”
Arangathras leaned forward, and tapped his finger to his ears. “You couldn’t know this, but draconic hearing is amazingly sensitive. Even among the agony and humiliation your blessed father put me through, I listened. I heard everything.”
Praxis swallowed his next words. “I…”
“Everything, Praxis,” Arangathras repeated. “I made a promise to myself that if I escaped, I’d burn Helia Edûn to the ground and every one of the Shahl’s wretched children with it. But the more I listened, the more I realized how much sway you had with your father. So, I’ve narrowed the focus of my vengeance a bit.” He looked to the guards. “Take him to the water cell.”
“No! You can’t do this!” Praxis thrashed and shoved, but was utterly unable to phase the dragons hauling him out. “You need me!”
“I don’t think so,” Arangathras said. “And I wouldn’t feel comfortable having you lurking around my son.”
When Praxis’ cries were little more than a distant noise, Arangathras turned his attention back to Taro and the others. “I trust you remember the date and time Vexis will be in Nir Daras.”
“Midnight, thirty-three days from now,” Kyra said.
Arangathras nodded. “Get there first.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Abandoned
The first leg of the company’s journey through Caelis Enor was thankfully quiet, almost dreamlike. To Taro, it was a welcome change of pace from the insanity of the past few weeks. No fighting. No politics. Just clear skies, crisp air, and the long road ahead.
The snow-capped mountains seemed to roll on forever, standing like statues in a sea of green pine trees. The beautiful scenery was almost enough to make Taro forget their final destination: Nir Daras, deep in Helian territory.
Lokír took on the role of navigator, riding at the front of the group. He’d lived in Caelis Enor his entire life, and knew every hill, rock, and secret pass. He cut a full day off their journey by ignoring the map they’d been given in Castiana, and simply riding through a shallow river directly into the foothills of the Sethon mountains.
Kyra would remain with the group for as long as possible, before their paths diverged. The plan was for her to continue south to Endra, while Taro, Kurian, Fenn, and Lokír traveled southwest to Nir Daras. Though the way to Endra was longer, the path was much easier to traverse. There were merchant routes, small towns with inns that Kyra could stay at.
The road to Nir Daras, while shorter, was considerably more treacherous. Nir Daras was in the middle of nowhere, on the edge of the Caeris Sea, past the great Helian desert.
As they rode, Taro listened to Kurian, Fenn, and Kyra catching up on four years of lost time. They talked about every small thing since their magister’s trial. Magister Ross’ betrayal, Magister Briggs’ death, Vexis, and other serious subjects, but most of the conversation was lighthearted banter.
“Seriously, four years in that hellhole?” Fenn asked, gesturing while awkwardly trying to hold on to his horse’s reins. “How did you stand it?”
“Honestly, it wasn’t being confined that was the worst part—though, admittedly, that was pretty awful. It was the idea of never getting to see my friends again.”
Fenn feigned a swoon. “Aww, isn’t that sweet?”
Kurian rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. In five hundred years your great-great-grandchildren would be dust. I’d never see you again.”
“Not all of us can be eternally young dragons,” Fenn said.
“How old are you, exactly?” Taro asked.
Kurian brushed some of his long black hair from his eyes and shrugged. “We’ll say twenty.”
“Uh-huh,” Taro said, not quite believing it.
The group neared a clearing of redwood trees and Lokír paused at the edge, pulling the reins of his horse and looking intently at the tangle of foliage inside. He dismounted, and shook the snow from his beard.
“What’s wrong?” Fenn asked, pulling his horse beside Lokír.
“Nothing,” Lokír said, looking up at the sun setting over the horizon. “The pass through the mountains is on the other side of Svenhild Forest.” He gestured to the trees in front of him. “It’s dangerous to travel through at night. Bears. Beasts. Darker things. We should make camp here, and continue in the morrow.”
Nobody argued. They’d been riding for hours with no break, and just dismounting from his horse proved difficult to Taro. His legs ached, and he practically fell to his knees when he touched the ground.
Kurian, in a dizzying display of acrobatics, jumped backwards from his horse and landed firmly on the ground without so much as batting an eye. The move was so casual and graceful that he seemed, for a moment, as if he were flying.
“I’ll fetch some firewood,” Kurian said easily, stretching his arms over his head and starting toward the forest.
Lokír held one of his beefy arms out, stopping Kurian in his tracks. “Going alone is dangerous. In the North, we learn the rules of travel at an early age.”
“Don’t wander off alone,” Fenn interjected. “Don’t travel at night. Keep food covered. Don’t eat any strange plants. Always carry a weapon.”
Lokír gave an appreciative nod to Fenn. “So you have been listening, Fennrick-ama.”
“I’m good at that, sometimes,” Fenn said.
Taro sighed and pulled himself up on his staff. “I’ll go with him.”
Kurian shrugged. “Fine by me.”
Lokír glanced up at the sky. “Hurry back. There’s a storm coming.”
The edge of the forest was strangely linear, with a hard transition between the clearing and the line of trees. Taro and Kurian entered together, though Kurian was much too quick for Taro to keep up with. Even with the magistry runes on Taro’s prosthetic, it was difficult to keep pace with an average person. Kurian was on another level entirely. He’d leap over long stretches of ground effortlessly, vault over overturned trees with barely a touch, and jump over rocks and crevasses without missing a beat.
A few hundred yards into Svenhild, there were more dry patches, and some areas with thicker cover that yielded dryer wood. Taro was picking through dry scraps, brushing away skittering insects, when Kurian hopped down from a treetop, landing silently beside him.
“Any old wood will do,” Kurian said, cracking his neck.
“It needs to be dry enough to light,” Taro said.
“No need. Kyra knows an enchantment that’ll take care
of it.”
Taro grimaced. “Then why’d we come so far in?”
“Sorry,” Kurian said. “I’ve been cooped up for so many years. I needed to move around.”
Taro nodded apologetically. “I didn’t think about that.”
Kurian gestured toward Taro’s prosthetic. “At first, I didn’t realize you had an artificial leg. You move so well.”
“Yeah, I’m used to it. The runes on the heel help a lot.”
Kurian leaned down. “Do you mind?”
Taro shook his head, and pulled up his right trouser leg slightly, exposing the wooden heel and glowing magistry runes.
Kurian nodded appreciatively. “Runic magistry isn’t my strong suit, but this looks like clever work. Have you ever considered talking to Magister Briego about getting a mechanical one? The Artificium can craft some amazing—”
“I used to have one for a while, Kyra made it for me. It didn’t work out.”
Taro’s voice must’ve conveyed his feelings on the matter, and Kurian immediately changed subjects. He stood, stretching one arm, then the other. “Kyra. She’s something else. Simply brilliant.”
“She is,” Taro agreed.
“You and her are pretty good friends?”
“We had some shaky moments,” Taro said, drastically understating the point, “but things have gotten better.” Taro decided to prod a bit for information. “She seems to like you a lot. Were you two…?”
“Together? No, not really. But…damn, she’s perfect,” Kurian said, looking up with a boyish smile. He scratched the side of his hair, blushing a bit. “Sorry, it’s just…the thought of her was the only thing that kept me sane these past four years. And being with her again, it’s almost too good to be true…it’s like fate, or something. Do you believe in that?”
Taro leaned his staff on an old frayed stump. “I didn’t use to. But I’ve gotten out of way too much craziness to not believe there’s a purpose to everything.”
Kurian smirked. “Dragons don’t believe in fate.” He held up his hands, framing a square with his thumbs and forefingers. “It’s all about the big picture. There are likely futures, and there are less likely futures, but nothing is set. That’s what my dad says, anyway.”
“And what do you say?”
“Like I said, dragons don’t believe in fate.”
“You look as human as anyone I’ve ever met.”
Kurian beamed. “Fancy that.”
A flake of snow managed to fall through the thick canvas of pine trees overhead, and landed on Taro’s cheek. “We’d better get back,” he said, pulling himself up.
Kurian stood gracefully, but just as they prepared to head back, something caught his eye. He squinted, peering off into the distance. “What’s that?” he asked.
Taro looked, but saw nothing. “Where?”
Kurian pointed. “Right there.”
There was nothing but a tangle of trees and rocks as far as Taro could see, but when Kurian started deeper into the forest, Taro followed.
“What is it?” Taro asked as they walked.
“An abandoned tower, maybe.”
There was indeed a manmade structure exactly where Kurian said it would be, but it was an easy mile away through thick cover. Taro couldn’t begin to understand how Kurian could’ve seen it. When he asked, Kurian tapped his temple. “Dragon eyes,” he said simply. “Kind of like that lens my father gave you. All dragons have true sight, even a lowly half-breed like myself.”
The structure was much more than a tower, it was a small hill fort. Practically a castle, though it seemed a strictly military installation. It was made of dark gray stone, and set on a small hill. It’d been abandoned for some time, and the front gatehouse was collapsed, but there were a few crumbling holes in the outer wall that Taro and Kurian were able to climb through.
What was left of the inside was severely weathered. Some swords, spears, and other assorted weaponry hanging from racks were rusted to the point of being unusable. The wooden door to the main tower was rotted, and the iron braces had rusted to reddened dust. The main tower held officer quarters, an eating area, and a storage room. There were four other smaller buildings inside the walls, too. A blacksmith, two barracks, and a stable.
“Long abandoned,” Kurian said as they explored.
“It doesn’t look Nuren to me,” Taro said, brushing some snow off an overturned wagon. “We should show the others.”
Kurian nodded. “If nothing else, it’ll be a good place to wait out the storm.”
They brought everyone to the abandoned hill fort, horses and all. The group climbed through one of the openings in the walls, and fanned out and exploring every inch. It wasn’t a terribly large fortification, but large enough for three dozen men to be housed comfortably.
Taro lost Lokír momentarily, then caught up with him in the main tower. He and Kyra were attempting to look through some of the garrison commander’s papers, all of which were either destroyed, or so brittle they couldn’t be handled.
“This place shouldn’t be here,” Lokír said as one of the papers dissolved at his touch.
The entire tower creaked and cracked as the snow and wind picked up, lashing the sides of the structure, and sending tiny bits of straw and snow falling from the ceiling.
“It’s lucky Taro and Kurian found it,” Kyra said. “It’s getting pretty bad out there. Not sure our tents could handle it.”
Lokír mumbled something in his own language, shaking his head. “I’ve hunted in these woods since before you were born. And my father before me. And his father before him. There’s never been a hill fort here.”
“These woods are huge,” Kyra said. “You must’ve just missed it.”
Lokír grimaced, looking unsure. “I suppose it matters not. We should camp in one of the single-story barracks, though, not here.”
The storm got progressively worse as the night went on. It wasn’t as bad as the Endran tundra, not by a long shot, but it was just warm enough in Caelis Enor for the storm to be comprised not only of snow, but a healthy mixture of rain and sleet. It pattered and shook the small barracks they made camp in. They did a quick patch-job on some of the holes in the walls, and hung tarps over the broken doorways and windows.
To their surprise, while the beds were utterly destroyed, there were usable blankets, and even lanterns with oil still inside them. The floor of the barracks was just packed dirt, and in the center they built a small fire and huddled around it for warmth.
Kyra rummaged through her pack, pulling out Magisterium ration packs and tossing one to Fenn, Taro, and Lokír. Magisterium rations came in a lacquered envelope, with a waxy seal on the outside. They could keep for weeks in a variety of environments and were easy to store.
Inside each was a mixture of dried meat, rice, beans, and vegetables with seasoning. The packaging had an enchantment on the inner lining that made it non-flammable. All one had to do was add water, place the envelope in the fire for several minutes, and a hot meal was ready to eat.
When Fenn explained how to use them, Lokír was practically dumbfounded.
“Extraordinary!” he exclaimed as he downed the steaming contents of the packet in a few quick bites.
Kurian sat closer to Kyra, almost touching her. He leaned in, looking into her bag. “I don’t suppose you have any for me?” he asked.
Kyra shuffled through the ones she had, finally shaking her head. “No, sorry.”
Kurian tapped his hand against his leg. “I’m going to be honest here, I’m starving.”
“Why can’t you eat the rations?” Taro asked as he ripped off his packet and poured some water from a canteen into it.
Kurian smiled sheepishly. “I don’t eat meat.”
Taro thought it was a joke for a moment, then realized Kurian was serio
us. “But you’re a dragon.”
“Half dragon. And I don’t eat meat.”
“Does it make you sick?” Taro asked.
“No…I just don’t like the idea of eating some poor defenseless woodland creature. The thought of it makes my skin crawl. I mean, if there’s nothing else, I’d do what I have to do, but…”
“Well,” Taro said, untying his travel pack and picking out two apples and some dried fruits. “Today’s your lucky day.” He tossed some food to Kurian, who dove in like a starving man.
“You’re a godsend,” Kurian said, biting into one of the apples with ravenous hunger.
“You should save some of that,” Fenn said. “It’s a long road ahead.”
Lokír finished the last of his rations, shaking the envelope to get the last bit at the bottom. “Fennrick-ama is correct. If this storm passes tonight, we’ll be at Thrain’s Pass by midday.”
Chapter Thirty
The Stranger
Taro awoke in the dead of night a bit dazed. At first, he thought a noise had woken him, but in his semi-lucid state, he couldn’t tell if the noise had been real or just a part of his dream.
The storm seemed to have let up, and all was quiet and dark. He glanced briefly at the sleeping forms of his company, all of whom were motionless. Lokír was propped up against a bedpost, his beard ruffling as he snored; Kyra and Kurian were near the dwindling fire; and Fenn was face-down an arm’s length away. All seemed fine, but when Taro turned onto his side to get comfortable, he saw a person standing in the entrance of the barracks. It was little more than a blurry shadow holding up the tarp they’d hung to keep out the wind and snow. When the figure noticed Taro staring, it ran.
Taro strapped his prosthetic on as quickly as he could and grabbed his staff, hurrying out into the night air. Moving over the ruined walls of the hill fort, he peered into the midnight forest. The snow glowed in the moonlight, making everything bright despite the late hour. Taro saw the figure move through the trees, and followed as quickly as his prosthetic would take him. With the recent snowfall, the figure made perfectly trackable footsteps.