The Lost Alliance (Rise of the Drakens Book 2)

by Raven Storm

  “Who?” I pressed, but no one met my eyes.

  “I suspect you will meet one sooner rather than later,” Kieran finally offered, his eyes watching Benedict carefully.

  “Kieran, I swear—" I growled.

  “Mountain men,” Ronan said quickly, eyes flitting to Kieran then away again. I wrinkled my nose, hardly thinking that a real answer at all. Benedict started running, then took off into the air, no doubt to do another aerial scan of the area.

  “Men? As in humans?”

  The others didn’t seem to find this topic as interesting as me, instead lending their focus to setting up camp for the night.

  “Should we camp here if we suspect we’re being watched?” I seemed to be the last one to know we were potentially being followed.

  “We’ve been watched these past two nights—it won’t matter where we camp.”

  I whipped around, surprise lifting my brows as Astrid easily convinced two trees to bend forward with the air, their thick foliage forming a natural shelter on the ground.

  “Lovely. Shall I prepare dinner with the meager scraps that are left?” I said smartly, irritated at being left out of the loop yet again.

  “No need.” Benedict landed roughly behind me, grunting as his feet hit the ground hard. A freshly slain deer was across his shoulders, and he slung it to the ground. I sniffed.

  “Skin it and I’ll cook it.” I offered, then stomped away with my nose in the air. Benedict’s dark gaze followed me, but Kieran just laughed.

  “It’s moments like these where I’m reminded how perfect she is for you.”

  I pretended I didn’t hear him but did whirl around as another thought occurred to me.

  “AND YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO MAKE KIERAN SKIN IT!”

  Kieran’s laughter drifted over to me, and Astrid paused from scanning the horizon to roll her eyes. My questions would have to wait for another time.

  I awoke amidst shouting, Kieran and Benedict already in the air. I stumbled, tripping over one of the supply packs and falling on my face. I ignored the pain, flaring my wings and flapping hurriedly to try and join them. The shouts weren’t coming from us, or the fire witches. A group of wild looking men were fleeing from us as fast as they could, their long, brown hair flying behind them.

  “Mountain men,” Meruse hissed, spitting blood from her split lip onto the ground. Benedict dove from the sky, dangling a terrified man by one arm. He slammed the man into the ground, his back hitting the earth with a thud. The man lay stunned, the wind knocked out of him.

  “They went for the witches and ran when they saw us.”

  Meruse snorted as Astrid rolled her eyes.

  “Yes, because us poor womenfolk are so unable to protect ourselves.”

  I ignored them.

  “Did they know you were witches?”

  Farran sent a small ball of flame at the man’s feet, watching in glee as he shrieked in fear.

  “He does now.”

  She readied her hands for more flames, but something in the back of my mind was shouting, no screaming for attention.

  “Wait.” I held out a hand. Farran hissed but didn’t take another step towards the wild man. His dark, brown hair was dreadlocked, but with none of the braids, adornments, or care the sea witches used. His clothing was rough and poorly made, as if its owner didn’t have the time or means to simply sit and sew. His wild eyes were brown, as well as his skin. Everything about him was brown, just like—

  “Georg.”

  Benedict and the wild man jerked, snapping their gazes to me. The man said something, frantic and guttural in a language I didn’t understand. He reached for me, but Benedict kicked him down to the ground, one foot pressing painfully on the wild man’s chest. I remembered what Georg had said, though it seemed like years ago.

  “Benedict found me, said my parents were killed by a band of lykos. My mom hid me in a pile of leaves. I’m from the mountain folk that surround this range. We used to live together as a large tribe, but since the Demon Wars we all split up to give ourselves a better chance of survival, or at least that’s what Benedict said”.

  I shook my head as Benedict snarled, the man under his foot wheezing in pain.

  “Stop it!”

  I kicked Benedict in the bend of his knee. He stumbled, not expecting the attack. I dove around him as the wild man scrambled to me. My smaller, scaled hands found his large, meaty ones.

  “You know Georg, don’t you?”

  His brown eyes found mine, and he went very still. Then he repeated the only thing we both understood, the only thing that mattered.

  “Georg.”

  He touched a weathered, leathery hand to his breast. It was a hand that had not only braved the elements but had survived them. I inhaled sharply, turning back to Benedict.

  “You said his parents died.”

  Benedict shook out his leg, frowning.

  “They did. I saw the bodies myself. Lykos.”

  The man spoke slowly, but it was no use; his language meant nothing to any of us. Sensing my frustration, he paused, and again put a fist to his heart.

  “Georg.”

  I nodded seriously, to show him I understood.

  “Well, he clearly knows him. What now?”

  The man reached tentatively for my hand, his worried face on Benedict. Benedict growled, and the man moved away. Meruse snorted.

  “The mountain men are thought by some to be little more than savages; a once-mighty empire that scattered and hid to escape the fate of the rest of humanity. With their short lifespans, it only took a few generations for a proud race to turn into...this.”

  Meruse looked down her nose at the man. Something in me snapped, furious that anyone would pass judgement on how someone else chose to survive. If she thought that poorly of this poor man, what would she think of me? We all did what we had to.

  “Tell me how you really feel.”

  Meruse pursed her lips, not liking my tone. She sighed and looked away.

  “They have survived this long in small groups, so clearly they know how to fight, or at least hide effectively from the hordes.”

  Benedict huffed, knowing where this was going.

  “Savages and witches: how the Overlord will tremble with fear. The answer is no.”

  No one bothered contradicting him. It was no use when he was in this mood. I turned towards the wild man, grabbing his hand and squeezing it as tightly as I could. His long, dirty nails scraped against my skin. He glanced up at me, no fear in his eyes at my wings, my claws, or even my strangely reflective skin. I owed him for that alone.

  “I will bring you to Georg.”

  Benedict jerked.

  “Wren, NO—”

  I was already gone, wrapping the shadows around me and the wild man, vanishing back to Lyoness. The air closed around us, and I felt a resistance—a large force that pushed back against me. I grit my teeth and pushed harder, my will to feel the ground of Lyoness under me greater that the foreign force. With a large pop I made it, gasping and falling to my knees. I was vaguely aware of the large forest that surrounded me, even as part of my brain reeled at how much the earth witches had done in the short time I’d been gone. This lush, green land couldn’t be Lyoness, could it?

  “Wren? Are you alright?”

  Trego, the draken’s name was Trego—dropped the axe he’d been wielding, a stack of precisely cut beams stacked nearby. I looked up at him, but it was hard to see his face as it kept swirling around. He bared his fangs and growled at the wild man, who fell back, afraid.

  “No! Leave him… alone. Get Ronan and…Georg.”

  The wild man didn’t let go of my hand, even when Trego bared down on him. I gave him a thankful smile and passed out.

  Ronan was there when I opened my eyes, concerned but not suffocating me like Kieran or Benedict would have. He held my hand, his eyes furrowed with worry. I sat up quickly and regretted it almost instantly.

  “I’m fine, I just...that’s never happened bef
ore when I’ve shifted.”

  I looked around, taking in the cozy interior of the treehouse I had only spent one other night in. I stood slowly, my feet taking a moment to find purchase on the wooden floor. I stood at the window, inhaling in surprise at the activity going on in the village below. drakens and witches lived and worked side by side, talking, even laughing.

  “Turns out most of the drakens prefer the treehouses. Just one of the many commonalities we have found with the witches.”

  The wind blew through the trees, the rustling of the leaves a luxury I didn’t know I had missed while living in the mountain.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Soon there will be birds, and then other animals will come. The island will be filled with the sounds of life, again.”

  He grasped my hands, his face full of such pure joy it tugged a smile from my tired lips.

  “I’m starting to understand why I have three mates.”

  He blinked, confused.

  “Imagine where we’d be if Benedict oversaw the drakens and the witches. We’d be still sleeping in the ashes, fighting with each other.” I laughed and kissed him.

  “You’ve done amazing work here, truly.”

  Ronan preened under my praise, then his shoulders drooped.

  “I’d much rather be with you.”

  I reached up and gave him another kiss, this one lingering. The tension bleeding out of his body as he just held me, savoring the feel of my lips on his. I leaned back, my eyes searching his golden ones.

  “You are needed here, just as Kieran and I are needed with Benedict. I swear there was never a more stubborn creature born.”

  He smiled, leaning forehead so our heads touched. I could have stayed forever like this, but there was business I needed to attend to. My body ached and twinged with every movement.

  “What happened to me? Why do I feel like I’ve been dropped from the mountain?”

  Ronan pulled back, his shoulders tightened with worry.

  “Despite the appearance of the island, not all is well.” His eyes flicked to the sky, even though the roof over our head blocked his view.

  “The hordes have continued to place barriers over Lyoness. I am confident they have no plans on invading the island—the sacrificial wards have seen to that. Instead, they plan to trap us in. If you stay out much longer, I worry you, Benedict, Kieran, and Astrid will be trapped outside. You need to tell them as soon as possible.”

  I swallowed heavily—that wasn’t good news. I stood, ignoring the slight swaying of my legs. I had to try and eat something quickly before I left. My eyes scanned the small hut, and I grabbed some fruit, nearly moaning as I stuffed it into my face. Ronan raised an eyebrow, impressed.

  “I know you liked fruit, but—”

  I ignored him, unable to get enough once the first bit of juice hit my tongue. I didn’t stop, eating the oranges, apples, pergainsa, and everything else until the bowl was empty. I burped once and sighed happily. I scowled at Ronan’s questioning glance.

  “What? It’s draining work breaking through demon barriers.”

  Ronan’s eyebrows rose further towards his hairline. I rolled my eyes.

  “I have to go—I need to warn the others we have limited time to return. Where is Georg? I never got the name of the man I brought here.”

  “Your wild man? See for yourself.”

  Ronan took a step out of the house, onto a beautiful deck that had been built since I’d last been here. Then he leaped off the edge, opening his wings and gliding to the thick grass below. I followed, immediately spotting Georg conversing with the old man. I landed somewhat accurately, if not gracefully in front of them.

  “Wren!”

  Georg ran to me, arms spread wide. We embraced, then I pulled back, laughing.

  “You must stop growing! You are nearly as tall as I am!”

  Georg blushed then looked back to the man. He said something in their language, waving him over.

  “Wren, this is… well, he says that he’s my grandfather—in our language, Supa.”

  I squinted; the man didn’t seem old enough to be a grandfather, but when I looked closer, I noted the streaks of grey woven in between the braids. Meruse’s comment about their short lifespans flitted back to me, but I pushed it away. I bowed my head and he fell to one knee, once again clasping his fist against his heart.

  I grasped his hands, pulling him up.

  “Tell him his thanks is completely unnecessary, since it was Benedict who saved you as a child, not me.”

  Georg ducked his head, his hands rubbing the back of his neck.

  “I have. He insists on repaying you somehow. I’ve tried to explain, but—”

  My eyes lit up.

  “Ask Supa what he knows of the demon hordes, and their history.”

  Thirteen

  Supa knew quite a bit, it turned out. He talked animatedly, gesturing frequently with his hands as he kept up a steady dialogue. Georg frequently had to hold a hand up for him to stop, taking a moment to listen before translating to the rest of us. Within an hour, we had an entire crowd of drakens and witches gathered to hear his stories.

  “We have many oral songs and legends, and most of them are about the demons.” A draken brought Supa a wooden cup full of ale, and the old man took it thankfully, warming to the drink and the audience gathered. I couldn’t help but laugh; Georg’s Supa was a showman at heart.

  “They live on the opposite side of the mountain, far from where it was rumored the drakens dwelled. They have worn passages through the mountains, and frequently leave, traveling further north across the desert sands and beyond. He has never seen more than a legion of demons at once.”

  I nodded; that made sense if they truly couldn’t stand to be in our lands for long.

  “Supa says our people used to be mighty; the stone fortress the demons reside in was built by their ancestors, hewn by hand and their sweat and blood. We are proud of our lack of magicks, relying instead on hard work and sweat.”

  Georg paused, hesitating.

  “What did he say?” I probed. Supa prodded Georg sharply, and he relented.

  “Alright, fine! He said… he said the home of the drakens was his birthright, and that you stole it from them. From us.”

  The drakens nearby twitched, their wings flared in surprise and irritation. Pain and anger radiated from Supa’s eyes, and I felt for him. I couldn’t imagine living in the breeding house as a slave all my life, then finding out my family had built it. It had to hurt.

  “Is that true? You didn’t build Dark Haven?” I asked everyone around me. The drakens looked away, not meeting my eyes.

  “We made improvements; made it bigger, grander, but the fortress itself was there when we were banished. It was empty, though. Were we supposed to let it just crumble when we were in need?”

  Ronan shot that last bit towards Supa and Georg. Supa narrowed his eyes, fury in his tone as he went on a diatribe, pointing at all the drakens and standing in anger. Our eyes all swung to Georg, who ran his hands through his hair nervously.

  “He...he says it’s awfully convenient the drakens were banished to their empty fortress right after the Overlord attacked and scattered our people, pushing them out.” Georg paused, then said something to Supa in their own language.

  “He said they braved the cold and harsh climate of the mountain to get to the gates—they begged the drakens to be allowed back into their homes.”

  There was a shocked silence, and then Ronan tried to answer.

  “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. No one ever came! This is the first I’ve heard of it.” Ronan looked around at the other drakens, who nodded in agreement. Supa’s brown eyes filled with rage and grief. I turned to the few drakens who were watching, snarling. They quickly dispersed, finding other things to do.

  “The show is over.”

  Supa kept taking, kept shouting. Georg winced.

  “He says—he says that’s not possible. There was an oral account, pas
sed down. His forefathers passed down the tale of our last king, crawling on his knees to his own front gates, begging an audience. A monster greeted him at the door—so terrifying, so cruel, and he was sent away.”

  A horrible, sinking sensation curled in my stomach, even as I desperately turned to Ronan. His face was pinched, but still composed.

  “This...monster. Did your legends describe him?”

  Georg passed along the message and then listened closely, his skin paling dramatically. I buried my head in my hands.

  “The monster was massive, with fangs and dark claws. His wings and body were covered in blood, his voice magicks formidable. Nothing else would have persuaded our people to give up our homes.”

  “The SCALE COLOR Georg!” Ronan demanded, even as I shook my head back and forth frantically, as if I could stave off the inevitable. Deep down, I already knew the answer before Georg responded.

  “Amaranthine, fading into pitch blackness.”

  The word was unfamiliar, and I had hope for a split second. Then I saw Ronan’s crestfallen face.

  “Amaranthine, like the ones your people mined from the ground. The richest shade of violet seen in Dorea.”

  I shook my head—refusing to believe it. Benedict wouldn’t be so cruel. I knew he wasn’t that cruel.

  “What if it was D’Arcy?” I said desperately, clinging to whatever false hope I could.

  Ronan whirled on me. “He would have said so, Wren. Purple and BLACK! Only one draken alive has that coloring!”

  I backed up at his vehemence. Georg was looking between us and his Supa, horror written in his eyes. He talked rapidly as Supa listened, an ugly look on his face. Georg ran a hand through his dark hair and looked at me.

  “I told him you aren’t allies of the Overlord; I was involved in your battles! I think...I think I need to return with him and sort this out. I don’t want my people thinking you’re the enemy because you’re not. I don’t believe Benedict would turn his back on my people like this. He wouldn’t have saved me otherwise!”