by T P Sheehan
It was dark when Magnus and Catanya were finally ready to resume their climb to the Romghold. They had consumed more of their food and water rations. The whole time they ate, Magnus sat against the crevice wall with Catanya in his lap. Catanya looked at Magnus, played with his hair and caressed his bearded face. Her eyes seemed to have softened and had gentleness to them Magnus had not seen in a long time. Neither spoke much. Both were content.
The second half of the climb commenced. Catanya took the lead again, having orientated herself with familiar landmarks from her previous climbs. Once again, Magnus copied her every step and handhold. The stone cliff was warm and dry once clear of the clouds and the sky sparkled with the four realms of constellations against the pitch-black night. The moon was to the east beyond the cliff top, giving little light but the advantage of being able to climb in the shadows.
“We need to get as far as we can before the moon shifts into view. We’ll be much easier to spot once it is,” Catanya said. “I dare not use a gypsy’s eye without the cloud overhead to cloak us.”
“Aye.” Magnus was a more confident climber this night. It was as though his body settled into a rhythm. With the clouds below, he could almost forget how far beneath them the ground was and imagine that perhaps, should they fall, the clouds would provide a soft landing.
Several hours into the climb, the moon showed itself. They were half way between the clouds and cliff top and the extra light greatly improved visibility. To us and the dragons… Magnus shuddered. He made a mental calculation of the hour in which Liné made her pass the night before. “Catanya. Are dragons creatures of habit?”
“You’re wondering if Liné will pay us another visit? I’ve been thinking of little else.”
“I’ve been thinking of other things as we go,” Magnus confessed. Grinning, he glanced upward trying to get a take on Catanya’s expression but her face was a silhouette against the moon. Then she shifted at just the right angle affording Magnus a view of her smirking face.
“Concentrate.” Catanya smiled.
More hours passed without incident or sign of Liné, and with just over a hundred feet to go, the cliff bowed out over their heads.
“Follow me,” Catanya whispered as quiet as can be. “Around to the right and up as we go.”
The final part of the climb was more sideways than up, but a slow, careful hour later Catanya stopped just six feet from the mountaintop on a small ledge wide enough to hold them both. Magnus shifted beside her and Catanya placed her mouth to his ear. “We’re here. Over that precipice is the training field. It is often illuminated at night. There may be dragons sleeping on the green. Magnus nodded, swallowing hard. “Are you ready?” Magnus nodded again. Catanya kissed him on the cheek. “I think we should take a look. That is all—just a look.”
Together, Magnus and Catanya found safe footholds and hoisted themselves up until their heads peered over the Romgnian Mountain precipice to the Romghold’s training field.
SCOUTS
Austagia walked the moonlit canyon of the Corville Pass. He was appeased by the shadow that flew overhead, for as long as he could see the dragon, the dragon could see him. While he scouted at ground level, Färgd scouted the skies, and it was the safest way to get this done. Low flying through the narrow ravine of the Corville Pass would leave both of them susceptible to a wyvern attack from above. At least with Färgd riding high, the dragon would spot danger before it spotted him.
Austagia, though, was not alone. As he entered the pass from the north, a Ferustir named Simeon entered from the south, accompanied by a dragon named Braug. Should nothing untoward be encountered nor discovered, they would meet midway along the ten-mile canyon.
Austagia was in search of answers to a great predicament. During the Battle of Ba’rrat, many Quag clansfolk fled, and of these, a great number succeeded in reaching lands north of the Black Cliffs, through the Southern Wastelands and into the Corville Mountains. Scouts saw Quag warriors and wyverns enter the Corville Pass. However, in the ensuing days, none had ventured through the northern exit of the pass leading to the Southern Plains, south of the four realms.
So where are they? Austagia frowned.
With Ba’rrat reduced to ruins after a five day offensive, Austagia had sent Ferustirs and dragons scouting for signs of a Quag army gathering in the Corville Mountains. Eamon had Färgd take Joffren to Thwax where the healer named Marsala would oversee his recovery—if it were at all possible for him to recover. Once Färgd returned to Ba’rrat, he, Austagia, Simeon and Braug volunteered for the Corville Pass scout. This was predicted to be the most dangerous scout mission, for if there was a hidden enclave within the pass, Austagia expected they would be in great numbers.
Walking from the northern entrance of the Corville Pass, Austagia looked for a hidden cave entrance in the towering vertical cliffs that separated the eastern and western ranges of the Corville Mountains. Austagia’s thoughts, though, were elsewhere. His mind was troubled—far more than an Irucantî should ever allow one’s mind to be troubled. He was thinking of Catanya. It was hard for him not to regret what had come to pass in the previous month or so, since he told Catanya that her lover—Magnus—was in fact the Electus. This had escalated into a deadly game of deception and confusion. What troubled Austagia most was Demi’s attempted assassination of Catanya. How did Demi even know where to find her? All evidence seemed to suggest Joffren was the source of betrayal. But, again—How did Joffren know Catanya was in Brindle?
Austagia was missing something. His only confidant was Jael and they shared an unbreakable loyalty to one another. Their loyalty was forged over time, beginning when he found Jael years ago—an abandoned child beside the Traas River. She was only thirteen, traumatised and beaten having escaped from some peril she never spoke of, even to this day. It was unorthodox to take someone so young to the Romghold, yet Austagia vouched for her and gave her a home. He helped Jael heal and he taught her to read and write in both common tongue and Fireisgh—the native tongue of the Fire Realm. She learned the philosophies of the Murata Fara—the Irucantî book of teachings. She worked in the kitchens and with the gardeners. Each evening after supper, Jael took to the training field to train with Austagia under the glow of lanterns surrounding the field just as a Semsarian would during the day. Finally, after three years and having convinced the High Priests of her worthiness, Jael was inducted into the order of the Irucantî at the age of sixteen—a year younger than any other recruit. She became Joffren’s Semsarian and Austagia was as proud as any father.
On a fateful night a month ago, Liné returned to the Romghold with Jael and the body of her dead dragon youngling—Thioci. Jael was once again traumatised and beaten, having once again escaped from some peril she was yet to speak of. It was then that Austagia realised how unbreakable Jael’s loyalty was to him. That realisation came with a hidden message that Jael dared only share with Austagia. She handed him a bracelet. The bracelet was made of his family’s traditional pousse-plaited leather. Then Jael whispered to him a fateful secret the elders of his order should never know—‘Whoever wore this bracelet is the Fire Realm’s Electus.’
That evening, Austagia summoned Catanya to his quarters. He spoke truths about the bracelet, about Magnus and about Catanya’s mother wanting her protected. Austagia had promised Alessandra he would protect her. Bringing Catanya into the fold of the priesthood was meant to achieve this, but it had posed as great a threat to her life as the war in Nuyan perhaps would have. There were truths Austagia had not told Catanya or Jael, nor was he sure he even would. Such truths, therefore, remained within his heart—One of them was the daughter he never had. The other was the daughter who filled her place.
Lost in thought, yet keen of eye, Austagia glanced upon a slim fissure in the eastern cliff face. From within the fissure, two ghostly eyes peered back at him. As soon as they did, they disappeared. Austagia waved a signal to Färgd, who banked to his left, came back around and assumed a figure eight flight pattern d
irectly above Austagia’s position.
Austagia squeezed through the fissure in the cliff face. On the other side, he was standing in a cave. It was narrow yet deep and widened the further he dared venture. He drew his lance. The cave grew colder and darker the further from the fissure he went. Worse still, there was a horrid smell. It was not the dankness from the weeping walls, nor was it the rotting remnants of half-consumed carcasses strewn across the ground. No, it was blood both old and new and a wheezing, hidden breath from something in the dark.
Austagia heard a distant cry. It was a single screech whose pattern of reverberation revealed a large, cavernous space further ahead. Then he saw the ghostly, unblinking eyes again. Further cries and more sets of eyes appeared. Austagia drew a tight fist around his lance, igniting it and revealing his presence with a loud crack and splaying of light from the bronze shaft between his fingers. Austagia swept his six-foot lance, using the pommel’s light to survey the cave walls closest to him. To his left was a complete armoury stacked with Quag blades, archery weapons, spears, wyvern and warhorse saddles and more, stretching beyond his sight. He swung the lance forward again. Dozens of worgriels were coming at him fast and were soon making a deafening cry. He stood his ground as several leapt at him with jaws open and claws extended.
Austagia’s lance tore through flesh, every blow culling another worgriel. The hides of the worgriels were too thick to thrust into and recover in time for the next one. The most efficient blows were short stabs at the throat and weighted sweeps at the eyes. Three were slain, then four. A fifth creature latched onto his chest armour with both front claws and drew its head forward with a wide, open jaw. Austagia thrust his lance deep into its throat. Enough, Austagia judged. The worgriels were able to draw too close to maintain a defence and a large pack were clambering over one another for the prize of being first to kill him. Austagia knew there would be no more cave exploring this day.
Soaked in worgriel blood, entrails and mucus, Austagia fled back toward the cave entrance, letting out a loud whistle in a pattern of four sharp sounds. He repeated the pattern over and over again. The worgriels were catching him—some clambering across the ceiling overhead. Austagia leapt sideways then sprung off the cave wall, using his momentum to slay another black beast on the run. Another dropped from the ceiling, blocking his path. Austagia drew a throwing knife and buried it in the worgriel’s forehead, pulling it free again as he passed the wounded beast. The deafening, collective screech was insufferable, but the narrow entrance drew closer. Moonlight pierced through the fissure in a thick beam of promising blue light. Six, eight, then ten worgriels overtook him and fell across his path. Austagia persisted with his loud whistling. The light through the fissure fell to darkness.
Austagia drew to a halt. A moment’s silence fell across the cave. The worgriels knew they had him trapped, yet trepidation held them at bay, for prey is never more dangerous than when trapped. Suddenly, every pair of ghost eyes turned to the cave entrance. In the light of his lance, Austagia saw a massive paw reach through the narrow fissure. Claws gripped the rock wall and tore it apart, creating a gaping hole. Through the hole came Färgd’s enormous head with open maw. A guttural thump formed in the depths of the dragon’s throat. Austagia smiled, for he knew what came next. “Namon suma feera meo…” The quickly whispered spell protected Austagia from the roar that tore through the cave and would otherwise have ruptured his eardrums and reduced him to an unconscious mess. The worgriels’ responsive screams were barely audible. Those closest to Austagia scuttled away. Austagia threw himself through the cave entrance, rolling beneath Färgd who stood on all fours.
Färgd shoved his head into the cave entrance again and released a torrent of fire. Austagia stood at Färgd’s side, listening as the burning worgriels released their final, harrowing scream.
The Quag lair had been found.
MESSAGES
Eamon released the Ahrona swallow and unfurled the small piece of paper. He recognised the purple-inked handwriting immediately and read with anticipation—
“Dear Eamon,
This note comes with unfortunate news. Joffren is deceased. For two days I administered milk of elkwood, rhuderburry extract, Paragon weed and hourly thimbles of thöe. I placed a rather brusque Cantomine spell over him to hold fast his internal bleeding. He was at peace but this morning he woke, delirious and aggressive, and tried to kill me. I am sorry Eamon, but there was nothing I could do to stop the priest. I killed him in self-defence.
For too long you carried the burden of his blame for leaving him during his training, but I believe Joffren allowed his resentments to corrupt him. His blame goes with him to the grave and is no longer yours to bear.
Know that Magnus and Catanya are well and have one less threat to negotiate.
If you’ve time, please have someone come to assist with Joffren’s burial—not for moral support, but to help me remove the tall priest from my kitchen floor.
My thoughts are with you,
Marsala.”
Eamon scrunched Marsala’s note into a ball and held it aloft in the palm of his hand. “Fara ginparshin-ar,” he mumbled. The paper ignited into flame and burned. He watched as the glowing embers floated gently off into the breeze of the night.
Eamon felt an eerie sense of quiet as he often did when learning of the passing of a friend. It were as though time paused so that he may sit upon the precipice between two worlds and for a moment, feel the soft breath of peace as that friend passed from one to the other.
“It is over, my old friend,” Eamon whispered at the precipice.
Ba’rrat had been eerie these past few days. The town was brought to its knees under the fiery battle of dragons and wyverns, Ferustirs and Quagmen, amidst the backdrop of a city screaming in terror. But it was over. Austagia had taken the mantle of leader among his brethren in the absence of the High Priests. Färgd had done the same among the fire dragons. Färgd, as the most elder dragon among them, was not to be questioned by priest or dragon and it was something many of the priests took a while to come to terms with. Three priests and one dragon had attempted to kill Magnus. Magnus had slain the priests. Brue had fled—wounded. In a way, it had played as a warning that the Electus was not to be reckoned with. An unfortunate warning, but necessary, Eamon believed.
Ash and black smoke rose from the scorched black granite buildings into the night sky. To the northeast, Eamon saw an approaching shadow gliding through the stars. It was Färgd returning with Austagia. Eamon sighed and pulled his stout smoking pipe and tobacco pouch from his duffle bag. He pinched a portion of the tobacco from the pouch and stuffed it into the pipe, then whispered the Fireisgh spell once again to ignite the tobacco. He took several long draws on the pipe’s mouthpiece and expelled the smoke from his nostrils. “What a shame,” he said. “What a terrible shame…”
“What is the shame, Eamon?”
Eamon turned and saw Jael approaching down one of Ba’rrat’s narrow, cobbled streets toward the quadrangle at the Eastern wall where camp had been made. Eamon frowned. “I’ve regrettable news and regret having to tell you, Jael.” Eamon knew Jael was Joffren’s Semsarian before Catanya was. Although this all happened after Eamon’s departure from the order, he had learned of such things from the conversations he had shared with Jael in the days following Magnus and Catanya’s departure.
“What is it?” Jael asked. Eamon hesitated and Jael shifted with unease. “It’s Joffren, isn’t it?” Her piercing dark eyes knew.
Eamon buried a thumb in the chamber of his pipe, extinguishing the flame—he had no appetite for smoke, after all. “Aye. I just received message. He has passed.”
Jael stood as if to attention—a pose that seemed to guard against her feelings. “If I were to guess, I’d say he died awake, rather than in his sleep.”
Eamon knew this to be true. “Pray tell, why would you guess that?”
Jael looked to the ground in thought, then tilted her chin up to speak. “His conscience. I
t gave him nightmares when asleep—harmless enough. When awake… it was at odds with his convictions.”
Eamon was intrigued at Jael’s observations. “His ‘convictions’, you say?”
“Aye. He was devoted to our order, yet never at peace.”
What of your convictions? The words hung to the tip of Eamon’s tongue, but he resisted letting them go. Jael stared at Eamon. Her eyes were sharp—alert. Jael was reserved, yet unyielding in her own convictions, whatever they were. Furthermore, Eamon sensed a quiet determination. He long believed ones eyes were windows to truth and somewhere in Jael’s fine, dark eyes was a story that gave rise to such determination. He had wondered before now what Jael’s origins were and wondered all the same how much Austagia knew of her past—before he took her into his care.
Eamon smiled. “You are a very perceptive woman, Jael.” Jael’s stare lingered before looking away at something that made her frown.
“What happened to you?” Jael called. Eamon turned. Austagia was approaching.
“We’ve found the Quag lair. It seems they are hiding in the Caves of Cuvee.”
“You were in the Caves of Cuvee?” Eamon asked. Austagia’s filthy state suggested he had been somewhere disagreeable.
“Not intentionally,” Austagia grimaced. “A fissure in the eastern cliff face along the Corville Pass gave access to a network of caves. Quag are storing armoury here. Packs of worgriels make access challenging.” He rubbed a bruise on his neck and then appeared to notice something was wrong in his companions’ expressions. “Jael. Eamon.” He looked from one to the other. “What news in my absence?”
“Joffren has passed,” Jael said. Eamon looked at his pipe, suddenly in the mood to smoke again.
“That is bad news, but… not entirely unexpected.” Austagia licked his lips, as though cleansing his palate of distasteful words. He stepped closer to Jael. “How are you?”
