by Marc Secchia
He should have Rhyl look at stitching that torn wing membrane. Otherwise, how would it heal?
When she gave him the tongue-lolling look, Keir said, Oh, I’m the funny man now, am I? How’s about you lend a paw here, your Majesty?
Retying the back legs, he made ready to slide the creature back to the cave. Auroral Storm Diamond trotted ahead, tail high and wings ruffling self-importantly every now and again. Clearly, she was the mighty hunter and he must consider himself her pack animal.
Who wanted to be a Dragon Guardian now?
* * * *
Two days of slogging through slushy snow later, sometimes having to wade waist- and chest-deep, the party finally came to the head of the ravine which led to the final descent into Garrikar Town. To Keir’s surprise, his father proved the best trailbreaker of all. Even Elves could not skate across this type of snow unless they had used the skis now hopefully languishing in King Daryan’s care, and even then … he theorised that underground thermal activity had made the slopes unstable and the snow semi-melted.
Kalar made himself the indefatigable trail blazer. His great weight plowed steadily up slope and down, taking three steps for every one taken by the Elves filing along behind him as he shovelled the soft snow aside and trampled it down. Keir estimated the snowfall to have been four feet in the most exposed places, and up to twenty feet gathered in the dips and hollows. The dragonet amused herself by chasing snow flurries occasionally kicked up by the fickle winds.
Now, the nape of his neck itched anew.
Nothing to do with his dragonet neck-warmer, her new favourite position – curved over the top of his shoulders, her tail lightly clasping his neck for additional balance.
He exchanged meaningful glances with his father. Nothing to see, yet once again, he had that inkling that the mountains were too quiet. Clouds had shrouded the peaks and valleys during the night and showed no sign of lifting. Visibility was less than thirty feet. The wind-still morning was strange enough, but the grey mistiness made it feel particularly eerie. An army could be hiding out there and they would be none the wiser.
Looking about, Keir noted at least seven Elves who held arrows nocked to bowstrings, or had drawn their swords. Aye. Catching, these nerves.
“We move forward, scouts twenty yards ahead,” Kalar decided aloud. “It’s all we can afford in this infernal weather. Keep each other in sight. Children and parents in the centre of the formation. Everyone armed. Stay alert.”
Keir shivered as he considered his father’s grave expression. This was the place they had picked for an ambush should the enemy have decided to come up from Garrikar Town, having been alerted to the Elves’ escape from Amarinthe. Certanshi? Human? They could only speculate who exactly was behind what they had experienced, or how far Certanshi elements might have penetrated the Human Kingdoms, related or unrelated to this Bloodfang fellow. They might not be Certanshi at all. Elven politics could be murkier than Darkfall, as Councillor Varanthyal was wont to say.
He itched at the bandages on his arm, hating the feeling of being a fly struggling in an invisible web.
The Elves ghosted into the mists.
Keir scouted the deepening ravine side-to-side several times, but found no trace of Human or other tracks. Too much recent snowfall. As an hour passed and then two, he found himself beginning to relax and fought back against the feeling. Always a danger. It was the nature of people to hope for the best survival outcome, and a Commander’s job to ensure he was always alert for the possibility of the worst. That was what his father had taught him. Think broader. Deeper. Put yourself in the enemy’s boots …
The snow bridge. Where exactly in the length of the ravine had that been? He could not ascertain the height of the walls. Surely it must come soon, if they had not passed it already? The deep snow here made progress a difficult slog, especially for the younger members of their party. Kalar kept calling to the group to stick together, but that might just make them more of a target, might it not?
He trotted over to speak with his father. They had no materials this time to fashion a decoy, but perhaps a different approach might reap dividends.
Feeling responsible for lives was one matter. When they were his own family and people he had known all his life, this whole situation made him itch in nasty ways. How did father cope? How had he dealt with riding into battle after battle with the full knowledge that in all likelihood, some or even many of the soldiers he led might not be coming back?
As they descended the winding ravine, Keir sensed the cloud cover beginning to lift and lighten. Spires of rock began to materialise from the drifting veils of whiteness, while the narrow walls lengthened toward the sky as if the stone were possessed of an inexplicable urge to grow. The scouts responded perfectly, extending their range to the fore, while he camped at the rear. The family groups between were often hidden from his sight now as the ravine twisted like a dyspeptic earthworm. Ghastly contortions. The laden goods carts had not enjoyed this section – how well he remembered it!
Suddenly, claws pricked his shoulder.
Keir shrank into the cover of a nearby boulder, and after a moment’s consideration, chirruped the warning of a snowlark’s call to his father, up ahead. He glanced upward. The huge, precariously poised snow bridge was still intact, just seventy yards ahead. It had extended over the months since he had been here, spanning this narrow corner along to a wider section just out of eyesight. Such a strange formation – how had it even come to be?
A hand clutched his left ankle!
To say that he nearly lost a decade off his life was an understatement. Not only did the icy hand appear to be disembodied, lunging out from beneath the snow, but he fully expected it to be followed by an arrow introducing itself to his heart. He was just swinging his own bow downward, reeling, on the cusp of shrieking in terror – undoubtedly the most idiotic thing he could have done – when Auroral Storm Diamond leaped down off his shoulder. She did not go for the kill. Instead, she knocked aside his desperately unsteady hands and his reflexive arrow shot buried itself a hairsbreadth from his foot.
Close one.
The dragonet hissed, Keee-irr, nnn … ough!
Enough? That was a new sound. He paused and looked more closely at the hand. A Human left hand. The way it was twisted –
“Lead Ranger Garla!” he gasped. “What the –”
How had the dragonet known? Could she have picked up on some instinct buried so deep within his unconscious, he had not known it himself?
Digging frantically at the mound of snow, he bumped an arrow shaft and heard a muffled groan beneath the snow. He and Storm cleared her face rapidly. Garla was so cold she could not even blink her eyes. “Come on, ye. Dinnae ye give up on me now. What happened?”
“Kee … uh.”
Her mouth was hardly open a crack. How could she even speak, or breathe?
Gathering herself, the Ranger moaned again, “Kuh …”
“What is it, Garla? I’ll get ye help. Just ye –”
“Nae. Kuh … nae …”
“Nae what?” Tugging off his gloves, he tried to wipe the ice off her cheeks. “Garla, please. Stay with me.”
In a ghastly, near-inaudible whisper, she roused herself enough to say, “The P … uh. Puh! Following. Nae … Pri …”
Her voice trailed off into a hiss.
Breath did not pass her lips again. He checked. Pulse. Breathing? She had been shot in three places, once deep in the right side of her chest, another shaft in the lower stomach, and one arrow had skewered her upper right leg. Amarinthian arrows. Traitors!
Gone.
He began to ask, Auroral Storm Diamond –
At the same instant she turned to him, and he marked a darkness, a sorrowful depth in the fires of her eyes different to anything he had seen before.
Shaking her muzzle, she said, Keee-irr, nrrr.
She knew the spark of Santazathiar’s fire had fled. Her sadness communicated so clearly, an answering lump of heated
rawness developed in the back of his throat. Garla had been tough, but never unkind. He respected her immensely. No-one deserved to die like this, alone in the snow – she must have been here for some time, considering how deep she had been buried. Or at least, since that last Darkfall. The scavengers had not found her, and shadow wolves or Wyverns would not have been shy about supping on her body in her current state.
Voices. Loud, rough voices, farther down the ravine. He could not quite make out what they were saying, but the tone was clear.
Belligerent.
Bow in hand and burying his sadness for the moment, Keir crept forward and then remembered to check carefully behind him before he proceeded. Behind was clear. To the fore, a contingent of heavily armed soldiers threatened the Elves, who had all been herded together beneath the snow bridge – he counted swiftly – aye, all. His ploy had failed. He glanced upward. With the mist still clearing, he was able to measure the snow bridge by eye at perhaps twelve to fourteen feet thick. Pray nothing they did dislodged that huge load. He eyeballed the rim of the ravine either side before deciding that it would be sheer foolishness for anyone to be up top just now.
Back to the encounter. The soldiers looked familiar – men of Amarinthe, he assumed, mixed perhaps with mercenaries from Garrikar Town? All the styles of body armour that gleamed beneath their thick, furry winter cloaks were unfamiliar to him, besides which, most of those soldiers looked miserable due to the weather.
Not mountains men and women, then.
From the rising babble, one note struck clear above all the others, Rhyl’s shrill, “Zyran! Nae!”
* * * *
Prince Zyran? What the …
The chill that gripped his neck and raced down his spine was like the frozen talons of Darkfall itself. He just could not imagine how the Prince could have made it here ahead of them – which one was he? Peering through the clearing mist, he tried to make out who was who in that ring of steel surrounding the Elves. A burly man with his back to Keir stood in a commanding posture, threatening the trapped Elves. No Zyran, he. Nor could he spy that familiar lanky frame amongst any of the other soldiers, until his gaze dropped upon the bundle at that burly fellow’s feet. Tied. Dumped in the azure snow, a mere eight or nine feet from Kalar’s snow-encrusted boots. That must be the Prince. His eyes flicked to the bright blade that the fellow palmed so casually now, moving the tip to rest upon the prone man’s neck.
He understood, now.
The big fellow standing there had to be Prince Garyan. Keir knew his physique. Therefore, the one on the ground must be Zyran. Or … no. Could one be Certanshi? Or both men, the double-bluff – could they be pretending to be the Princes? Surely, it was impossible for any non-winged creature to reach Garrikar Town before the Elven party, given that Darkfall they had seen … his mind raced. The King’s warning echoed clear in his memory. Shape-changers!
He narrowed his eyes in calculation. This was the perfect position, the perfect cover, from which to place an arrow shaft in that broad back despite the difficult distance.
How could the real Garyan be the betrayer?
Many lives depended upon the decision he must make in the next few seconds. What did they want? The Dragon, her Dragon Guardian, or the wanton slaughter of his kin?
Hiding in the lee of his father, Arami drew her dagger. One brave kid.
Forty hostile soldiers.
“Give us the Dragon!” snapped the burly man. Garyan’s tones? Or did he detect a slight thickness to the accent? He could not tell for certain, despite that the ravine’s stillness conveyed the speech to his aghast ears. “Where is yer half-breed whelp, Commander? Tell us where the Dragon is, or I swear I’ll run this royal fool through.”
Kalar spread his hands in a peaceable gesture. “The lad was scouting ahead. Mayhap ye missed him in the mists?”
“Now’t passed us by!” Garyan snapped. The air crackled with antagonism. “Come, dinnae ye play with yer family’s lives, Commander. Hand over the lad and we can part without bloodshed. Dinnae want to see my precious brother sacrificed – d’ye agree, little Elfmaiden? Had ye feelings for this Princeling?”
The sword point dug in further. A crimson rivulet trickled onto the snow.
Rhyl’s deathly pale lips moved. “Zyran …”
“Dinnae ye betray him, lass,” the younger Prince rasped. “It’s now’t worth it.”
“Shut it!” The prone man gasped as his brother kicked him brutally in the back – but the response, the sound, almost decided Keir. That was too heavy a thud, was it not?
“Scum! How dare ye betray our father like this?”
Zzz-rrrin? Wirrit, Zzz-rrrin? the dragonet asked anxiously, her brightness increasing by the second as clear battle readiness gathered within her.
Still ye, darling, he cautioned. Just give me a moment –
The burly man made a crude gesture. “Very well. If they won’t talk, we’ll put arrows into yer children, one at a time.”
Few of the soldiers looked comfortable with that command. Their bows and swords did not waver, but Keir could read the expressions of those facing toward him. These were soldiers of Amarinthe, not cold-blooded murderers. One tensioned his bow, lining up a child behind Arami.
“Nae!” Kalar pulled his wife and children behind him. He was trying to shield them all with his huge bulk. “Prince Garyan, be reasonable, please. What changed yer mind –”
Zzz-rrrin? Auroral Storm Diamond turned an agitated circle around his bent legs. Rrr … riril … Zzz-rrrin, wirrit, Keee-irr?
They may not be –
Zzz-rrrin!
No, stop! Keir made a despairing grab as the dragonet launched herself toward the distant confrontation. All he caught was a handful of snow behind her tail. Storm, no!
Chapter 18: Death Fall
WHEN AURORAL STORM DIAMOND had an idea fixed in her head, Keir was beginning to learn, few forces in Tyanbran could be relied upon to dissuade her. He certainly did not know how. What he did appreciate was that his family was in deadly peril. Only one course remained open to him. Full assault! As the brilliant diamond blur streaked across the snow, he burst out behind her, nocking an arrow to the string without breaking stride. It sped past her, true to target. Since the man standing up might indeed be Garyan – Santazathiar help him – Keir aimed low, at the next-largest target. His backside.
Even as the arrow plugged into flesh with a woody-sounding thunk! a second arrow sped toward the man on the ground. But that fellow was up in a flash, clearly not half as well-tied as everyone had assumed. The shot missed by a hair and buried itself up to the fletching in the snow.
Most of the soldiers hesitated, but not all. That was telling. Some attacked as if they had expected or even hoped for trouble.
Go! Go! He ran flat out.
Keir found himself sucked away once more by the little storm’s hunting passion. Her instinct to protect her own, her tribe, was as clear as summertide skies above the peaks. This time, he viewed the scene with preternatural clarity and reacted with rapidity not born of Human or Elvish flesh, but of pure lightning. Three arrows took flight as Auroral Storm Diamond closed the gap with the second man, the one who had been lying down. The burly one danced in agony. One arrow pierced his calf and dropped him in the snow. Two more flew beyond, homing in on alleged soldiers who had not reacted like the others. One’s bowshot snapped aside as an arrow pierced his hand, and the shot buried itself in Laran’s shoulder rather than striking one of the children. The third arrow took out a soldier intent on ambushing the Elves from the rear, but as Keir knew from experience, the Certanshi did not die easily.
That soldier fell upon the Elves, his sword hacking in all directions.
Suddenly, pandemonium reigned. Kalar’s new axe whistled through the air. Shanryssill darted about in his shadow, spearing the supposed Zyran in the leg with her long, slim dagger. Arami’s hand curled around their father’s thigh, hurling a dagger into the face of another man opposing him. The blade scored his chee
kbone, making the man flinch. The axe man’s backhanded stroke took the man in the throat.
Separate fights broke out in four places as Certanshi mercenaries ambushed the disbelieving Amarinthian soldiers. Then he was among them, somehow far quicker than he would have imagined possible, flowing into an attack above Auroral Storm Diamond’s slicing talons. Together, they felled the fake Zyran, but he rebounded from the ground as if possessed of fake springs. Kalar’s meaty paw smashed him in the jaw. The man blinked, and laughed. The haft of the axe stove in his teeth and drove down his throat. What was that? He had never seen an axe fighter reverse his weapon to attack with the pommel of the weapon!
He flowed in tandem with Storm. Striking out with talons and ska’etaz, they discovered a duet of motion unlike anything he had ever experienced before.
Rhyl, evidently paralysed by the idea that the man must be Zyran, reacted far slower than usual. As the one with an arrow jutting out of his behind fell upon her, Keir lunged in to intervene. The man punched his arm exactly where the half-healed wounds from the creature below the Dragon Kings peaks had macerated his flesh. The pain jolted him brutally; the dragonet cried out in concert with him.
“For Amarinthe! For the King!” roared the soldiers, mobbing the traitors. The Elves broke apart like a flower, lending their speed and skill to the fight.
The Certanshi soldier took Rhyl down with frightening speed.
He bared his teeth. Not happening!
Seizing the man by the scruff of his neck, Keir hauled him off his cousin with strength not his own, and with a bellow of rage, hurled him ten feet farther away. “FOR AMARINTHE!”
The man landed awkwardly on the back of his neck, and stayed down.
How had he just done that?
Despite the frenzy of battle and the unfamiliar emotions raging in his breast, the half Elf paused, tasting the air with his tongue. Where was this new threat he sensed?
* * * *
Above! Keir’s head snapped upward. This location would have been chosen for a reason. A shadow moved up on the rim. A blur of green swung down like the clean blow of a wood axe. For the longest time, he did not understand what had happened up there.
