Chronicles of the Four: The Complete Series

by Marissa Farrar

  His brothers had been sent to attend the Passover in previous years, and both had come back victorious, bringing gifts for the kingdom home with them, as well as achieving what they needed. Vehel had hoped to do the same, if not more. He’d wanted to use his own journey as an opportunity to prove to his father that he was worthy of his love, the same as his brothers, but instead he’d done the opposite. In his head, he imagined the Elvish court and how, when news got back, everyone would shake their heads and whispers would run riot, everyone saying how much of a mistake it had been to let Vehel represent them in the first place.

  His brothers would probably take pleasure from the news. Not only had Vehel managed to make them look even better than they already were, he expected they rejoiced at the news of war. They were both too young, as was he, to remember the First Great War, but some men thrived during times like this, and he was certain his brothers would be those kinds of men.

  If they had already heard the news, his father would be putting armies together, and Vehel knew his brothers would be at their heads. Did they all assume him dead? What would they think when they got word he was still alive? He doubted it would bring them any joy. Perhaps his mother would be pleased to hear he was still alive, but even she wouldn’t be allowed to show any outward happiness at his continuing existence. No, his father would see to that. She would be shamed if she showed any sign of joy at the news.

  This night would be long, and Vehel knew he would spend most of it awake, gazing up at the stars and lost in thought. He doubted any of them would be getting much rest. They were sleeping on the hard ground with no shelter or comfort. The discomfort was further added to by the remains of the black sludge they’d been forced to wade through. It wasn’t as though they’d come across anyplace where they were able to clean off.

  Orergon must have been feeling the worst. He was encrusted from head to toe with the black sludge, which had now hardened to a crust. The Moerian had managed to wipe the worst of it from his face, but it was crusted in his long black hair, and his leather clothes had hardened into a strange type of armor.

  Warsgra and Dela weren't quite as bad off as Orergon, but they had both plunged arms and chests into the sludge to try to save him, and though their hair and faces only had a splatter of the goop, their clothing was thick and hard with it as well. At least Warsgra being bare-chested meant he was able to pick off the crust. Turned out it was far easier to clean bare skin than clothing.

  “I’m hungry,” said Dela as they lay there, waiting for sleep to come.

  “Aye.” Warsgra nodded. “Me, too. But an empty stomach for one night never killed anyone.”

  “Sympathetic as always, Warsgra,” Orergon said, but there was a teasing note to his voice.

  “Just pointing out the facts.”

  Dela sighed. “Warsgra’s right. We should be happy to be alive. I shouldn’t moan about being a bit hungry.”

  “Thirsty, too,” Oregon added.

  She grinned at him ruefully. “That as well.”

  “Now, that’s a lot easier to die from.” Warsgra cocked an eyebrow.

  “You’re not helping,” Orergon said. “Anyway, we’ll find fresh water tomorrow, I’m sure of it. We’re heading in the direction of the coast. Let’s just try to get through tonight.”

  Warsgra slipped his arm beneath Dela’s head, offering his chest as a pillow. Despite the kiss they’d shared, Vehel didn't mind the Norc’s proximity to Dela. All that mattered was that she was safe and comfortable. It didn't matter who gave her those things, as long as she was all right. And the more time they spent together, the more Vehel started to think she needed them all equally. And that was okay with him.

  Chapter Three

  Warsgra

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Warsgra woke to find his chin pressed against the red gold hair of the Dragonsayer. Her head rested on his chest, her small body curled up against his, her arm around his waist, one knee hooked over his thigh. Warsgra ducked his face and pressed his lips against her hair. A rush of protective emotion swelled inside him, and mentally he tried to pull himself back from it.

  He wasn’t used to feeling anything for a female, especially not one he hadn’t even fucked yet. But even that word didn’t feel right when it came to her. He’d never had a problem letting women know exactly what he wanted in the past. If this had been a Norc woman in his arms right now, he’d most likely have already grabbed her hand and shoved it on to his rapidly hardening cock. But with Dela, he found himself angling his hips away so she didn’t notice his reaction to having her so physically close.

  Other needs commanded Warsgra’s attention. His mouth was so dry his lips stuck to his teeth, and his tongue felt like a thick, furry insect in his mouth. The taste of the fire mountain coated the back of his throat, and he imagined the others would feel equally as bad when they woke. He needed water, but from where? They were still close to the fire mountain, but he hoped they’d find some in the next few hours.

  The sun had almost fully risen now, and he was able to get a better look at their surroundings. Even this early in the morning, the sun held promise of another hot day. He missed the cool climes of his homeland of the Southern Trough. His kind was never meant to be this far north.

  The other two men, as well as Dela, still slept, the sound of their soft snores filling the air. The ground Warsgra had slept upon was hard, and that, combined with the events of yesterday, had left his muscles stiff. Moving carefully, not wanting to disturb Dela, he edged his arm out from under her head and carefully lowered her to the ground. She moaned slightly in her sleep and shuffled around to get comfortable. When she didn’t find his body to cuddle into, she switched to her other side and found Vehel there instead. Still sleeping, the Elvish prince moved toward her as well, so they met each other in an unconscious embrace.

  Warsgra got to his feet and took a couple of steps away from the trees to get a better view of their surroundings. It had been dark by the time they’d bedded down, and he hadn’t been able to assess their location properly. It was certainly far greener here. He hoped they’d soon come across something in the way of food as well as water.

  He was relieved there were no signs of the dragon. Few things in this world made Warsgra nervous, but the dragon was definitely one of them. A beast like that could raze whole armies to the ground in a matter of minutes. There was no doubt in his mind that whoever controlled the dragon—or even dragons, if there proved to be more than one—would also be the one in control of Xantearos. The question was, whose side would Dela take? She was human, after all, and weren’t humans the enemy here? He didn’t think she would work against them, but what if her family back home was threatened? People always had a weak spot, an area that would be used against them, so what was Dela’s weakness? It occurred to him that they may be helping Dela to gain control of the dragon when there was a chance the day might come when she would use the creature against them.

  He looked back to where she slumbered. No, she wouldn’t do that, he felt sure. They could trust her. She hadn’t understood what the Treaty meant for them all, but now she did. She’d unite them, not drive them farther apart.

  And yet, as he watched her sleeping face, he was filled with the strange certainty that he knew her somehow—knew her from before. Dela had told him this was the first time she’d ever left the city of Anthoinia, and it was a place he’d never been himself, so how was that possible? Maybe he’d dreamed of her, just as she’d dreamed of the dragon ...

  Was such a thing even feasible?

  Warsgra tore his gaze from her face and looked out in the direction where the ocean lay beyond the hills and trees. They had at least a day or two to travel before they reached the coast, and they needed to find food and water before then. The land ahead looked lush with trees and vegetation, and he felt sure they wouldn’t have any trouble finding what they needed. He hoped they’d also come across pools similar to the ones they found before reaching the fire mountain. The stink of the sulfur
clung to his skin, as did the remnants of the goop they’d been forced to fight their way through. Warsgra wasn’t a vain man, and while journeying or fighting with neighboring clans, it would often be weeks before he thought about washing or a change of clothes, and yet he’d have given anything for clean clothes and a bath right about then. Was it simply that he was uncomfortable, or that now Dela was around, he was a little more conscious of how he looked and smelled?

  The sun grew higher in the sky, and the others began to stir. Dela sat up, rubbed at her eyes with her hand, and then grimaced and looked down at her black encrusted skin.

  She wrinkled her nose. “By the Gods, I stink.”

  Warsgra held back a smile. At least he wasn’t the only one.

  Orergon and Vehel also woke, stretching out stiff limbs and rolling their heads on their necks to flex their spines. The hard ground, even with the layer of fallen leaves and mosses, hadn’t been gentle on any of them.

  Warsgra nodded in the direction they needed to go. “I’m sure there will be water to the west. Look how green it is.”

  Orergon moved to push his hand through his hair and grimaced as his fingers met with nothing but hard crust. “I’m sure you’re right. It wouldn’t be so green unless there was a good water source nearby.”

  “It might be underground,” Vehel said from where he sat, his arms hooked around his shins.

  “Even underground water needs to come out somewhere,” Orergon replied.

  Dela’s tongue sneaked out as though to wet her lips, though her lips were left dried and cracked. “I hope it comes out sooner rather than later. I feel horrible. My brain feels like it’s thumping against the inside of my skull.”

  Warsgra frowned at her in concern. “Are you all right to walk?”

  She smiled, but it was forced. “Of course. I didn’t say there was anything wrong with my legs.”

  He grinned back at her feistiness, but they were all struggling, and things would only get worse unless they came across water soon.

  They gave Dela some privacy to relieve herself behind the trees, and then the males took their turn. The Norcs tended to use their piss to mark their territory back in the Southern Trough, but he didn’t think either Orergon or Vehel would appreciate him spraying all over the tree. He held back a smirk at the thought. Vehel in particular would turn up his nose, though Warsgra’s initial dislike of the Elvish prince had faded. Warsgra had at first believed him to be spoiled and soft, but so far during this journey it had been Vehel who had stepped up and saved them. He got the impression Vehel’s family didn’t think much of him—and Warsgra had seen it for himself, too, in the way the other Elvish riders in the Southern Pass had treated him—but so far Warsgra didn’t think the prince had done anything other than things that would make them proud ...

  That was if they ignored the whole ‘breaking the Treaty’ part, of course, but then even that would hopefully prove to be a good thing. He knew Dela hated the idea of war, but Warsgra had been named after it. In the Norc’s ancient language, his name meant, Man of War. It was a tongue that had long faded out of existence, but a few of their older names remained.

  With each of them having done what they needed, they set off in the direction of the westerly part of the northern coast. From their vantage point on the side of the ridge, high on the fire mountain, they’d been able to spot the sea peeping through the range. But here, on lower ground, the ocean felt like a long way away, and they still had some distance to travel. Warsgra wasn’t even sure what they’d do when they reached the coast. If they were to reach an island, they’d need a boat, and it wasn’t as though people just left them lying around.

  Warsgra would never have admitted it out loud, but the prospect of being on the ocean made him nervous. His homeland of the Southern Trough was nowhere near the sea, and he preferred to have his feet on solid ground. Though he wasn’t a man who scared easily, the thought of being on water, with unknown depths containing only the Gods knew what, made him anxious.

  The group kept going, mostly in silence, each of them picking their way across the increasingly green terrain. The sun grew high in the sky, beating down on their heads, but the increase in foliage at least offered them some shade. The leaves of the trees grew large, and thick, and glossy, the veins running through them as wide as a man’s finger. The insects that had been absent near the heated vents of the fire mountain now returned in abundance—though thankfully none were as large as the Hunter fly that had taken Dela. With them came the birds, flitting high in the branches, calling to one another in a myriad of twitters and chirps. It occurred to Warsgra that they might be able to hunt one of the feathered creatures, but the group’s energy levels were low, and they might end up expending as much energy as picking the miniscule meat off one of the birds would offer. But they needed to find water soon. The dehydration and heat would kill faster than the lack of food.

  He watched as Orergon slipped his arm around Dela’s waist to offer her support. The Moerian had almost died twelve hours earlier, and yet he was still willing to give up his own strength for her. Were they all like that? Were all three of them willing to give her whatever they had so she would make it? Did they feel that way simply because of her abilities and the difference she might one day make for each of their races, or was there something more ... simple ... in their actions? The actions of a male who cared for a female.

  Orergon had been leading the way, but he suddenly stopped and craned his neck upward.

  “What is it?” Warsgra called out to him.

  “It’s the Agu-Agu tree. Look.”

  Warsgra frowned. “The what?”

  “The Agu-Agu tree,” he repeated. “It has giant fruit filled with water. The flesh of the fruit is delicious, too.”

  They all came to a halt around Orergon and lifted their faces upward. Far above, nestled in the branches of the tree, hung clumps of large, green fruit. Each one was about the size of a child’s head.

  Dela nodded. “I know them. We get them in the markets sometimes in Anthoinia, but only in the height of summer. They don’t grow any other time of year.”

  “It’s warmer this far north,” Orergon said, “so they probably grow all year around.”

  Warsgra jammed his hands on his hips. “That’s great. But how are we going to get them down?” He looked to Vehel. “Any chance you know a good magic trick that involves getting fruit out of a very tall tree?”

  Vehel screwed up his nose. “Not one in particular, but I can try something.”

  Dela looked to him hopefully. “If you could, Vehel. I don’t think it’s going to be safe for any of us to try to climb up.”

  The Elvish prince nodded. “Like I said, I’ll try, though my magic still feels weak after using so much of it on the fire mountain.”

  Her face scrunched up. “Maybe you shouldn’t, then. We might need it for something more important.”

  Warsgra stepped in. “This is important. We need fluids. There’s no point saving magic if we’re all going to end up dead within the next few hours anyway.”

  Orergon nodded. “He has a point.”

  “I have to admit, the thought of being able to eat fruit right now is tempting.” Dela’s tongue flicked out across her lips, and her throat moved as she tried to swallow.

  Warsgra pressed his lips together, his nostrils flaring. “That’s decided, then. We’ll try to get the fruit.”

  “Everyone needs to stand back,” Vehel said. “Those things dropping a good distance could break your skull if it hits you.”

  Obediently, each of them stepped back, away from the bunch of Agu-Agu fruit hanging from the branches closest to the trunk.

  Vehel’s eyes slipped shut, and he lifted his hand in the direction of the tree. A breeze whipped up around them, and the leaves of the tree began to tremble. The wind grew stronger. Vehel frowned, his teeth digging into his lower lip as he concentrated. The branches began to sway, and with them, so did the fruit.

  “It’s working,”
Dela squealed with excitement, her hand finding Warsgra’s forearm and giving it a squeeze.

  “Shh,” he admonished her, though he liked the feel of her fingers on his skin. “Let Vehel concentrate.”

  She glanced up at him, her eyes bright. Something in Warsgra’s chest contracted. He hoped this would work. Not only did he want them all to have food and fluid in their bellies, he also wouldn’t be able to handle the disappointment on her face if it didn’t.

  The wind Vehel created continued to grow in strength, and the branches swayed. It was a strange sight to see only one tree moving, while all of its neighbors stood still. The tree looked as though it had come alive and was now wiggling and shaking its branches in some kind of fit.

  The group below looked up, wide eyed and tense with hope, each of them silently praying this would work. For too long a while, it didn’t look as though the tree was going to release its bounty, but then one of the large fruit worked its way free and dropped to the ground with a heavy thunk.

  “Stand back.” Warsgra used his arm to push each of them a step or two away. There was a moment’s pause before a second fruit also hit the ground, and then it was like a sudden squall of a storm as the fruit rained down on them. A number of the fruit split open upon hitting the jungle floor, its precious contents soaking into the ground, but many more remained whole.

  Vehel let out a breath and slumped over, his hands on his thighs, his head bent.

  “You did it, Vehel!” Dela cried. “You did it!”