by Toni Cox
Without breaking contact, the group moved over to the other side of Midnight. With this wing spread out, it was a lot easier to see exactly where the injuries were and it went a bit quicker. The wounds on this side of Midnight’s body were as severe as on his left side and by the time they had reached the hind legs and she was healing the last, large gash, she felt a sudden drop in energy.
Immediately she stopped and told everyone to rest, drink and eat. They would not be strong enough for the type of wound she suspected Midnight had on his stomach. Tiredly she sat next to Midnight’s head; she would have to get him to wake up, so he could turn onto his side for them.
“How is he doing?” Jaik asked as he sat beside her.
“He is still very weak,” she replied, “but his heartbeat is more even and his breath is coming stronger. I can feel a flicker of awareness from him, but he has not responded to me in any way yet.”
“All right, let me know when you are ready. There is no more Silva, but we have rations of travel bread and meat. Let us hope it will be enough.”
“Let us hope,” Maia repeated in a whisper.
Jaik rose and went to join his men. Rothea had taken a seat not far from Maia and gave her an encouraging smile. Maia nodded her thanks and then concentrated on Midnight.
Awake, o mighty dragon, she thought. Flattery always made him feel good. You are strong and we need you now.
She waited and then repeated her thoughts. Eventually she was rewarded with a deep breath from Midnight that stirred the grass in front of his head. Encouraged she kept up her stream of thoughts. But when Midnight eventually came out of his stupor, his first thought caught Maia off guard.
Calm-Blue-Waters?
She did not have to reply; Midnight was instantly aware of Maia’s feelings and a deep rumble emanated from his chest. There was a murmur of encouragement from the people around her.
It was another half an hour before Midnight finally managed to get his legs underneath his body. He stood there for a short moment, his great bulk wobbling dangerously, before he eventually settled on his right side, exposing his stomach. Maia sucked in a sharp breath as she beheld the mess the white dragon had made. Midnight’s stomach was in shreds; flesh hanging off in large chunks and in more than one place Maia was able to see an organ showing through.
Someone gagged behind her and Maia herself felt like throwing up; they would not have the strength to heal this. With shaking hands, she approached the tattered mess in front of her and reached out to lift a flap back into place. It squelched as the sticky, bloody meat slipped off Midnight’s stomach.
“Bring the horses,” she finally commanded, but she did not turn to see who followed her order.
She tried to shield her thoughts from Midnight, but he was well aware of the extent of his injuries. It was him that now calmed Maia and let her know that he had faith in her. She waited impatiently as it took nine men to bring the frightened horses close to the dragons, smelling not only the predators before them, but also the blood in which they lay. She reached out with her mind and tried to gentle the frightened animals, but there were many of them. She only managed for them to stand still, but was unable to alleviate their fears.
“Everyone take a horse,” she commanded the men. “Do not just hold the reins; it will not work that way. You will need to be in contact with their bodies. So, use one hand to touch your horse and the other to touch your neighbour. Do not break the chain; we will need every bit of energy we have to make this right.”
Everyone nodded in agreement and then, still trying to maintain calm amongst the horses, she set to work on Midnight’s stomach. Wolf came to sit by her and she used his strength too.
It was grisly work; the underside of a dragon was criss-crossed with muscles and sinews, as well as veins and arteries, and she had to mend them all. Finally conscious, Midnight growled in pain as she worked and more than once did he frighten the horses by emitting clouds of thick smoke. Everyone had to work together to hold the horses, hold the contact and maintain a constant stream of energy. The work went painstakingly slowly and even with the horses’ extra energy, Maia soon felt tired beyond words. By the time she set the last pieces of skin into place, everyone was pale with exhaustion and the horses were sweating and shaking.
Carefully Maia severed the link that drew on their energy and all around her people and horses collapsed.
There was nothing she could do for them now; she was as exhausted. She took one last glance at Midnight, who had his head up and was inspecting his underside, and then she closed her eyes.
He had already been away longer than he had planned. He was anxious to get back to Maia; if the attack on Stoneloft was anything to go by, the rest of their army would not be far behind. He was weary; the past few Quarters had sapped his strength, but he pushed on through the mountain. He would shadow travel as soon as he was on more even terrain, as it was simply too dangerous in the mountains. Once out on the plains he would make up the time, but he would take a boat across the lake; shadow travelling over water was not something he wanted to experience again.
The scenes within the courtyard of Stoneloft kept repeating before his eyes every time he closed them. How could he have let it happen? In the past, there had been situations where the Prime within him had taken over; always in self-defence; but never had there been innocent casualties before. He cursed his lack of self-discipline. The news would surely reach Lord Longshadow long before he managed to get there and Maia would be lost to him forever. Twenty-four innocent people dead. Surely even Maia would hate him for that.
He wandered through the wilderness of the mountains; not seeing the beautiful vistas of slopes of evergreens, or towering waterfalls, or the herds of mountain goats balancing gracefully on the sharp rocks of the cliffs above him. He saw nothing but his own failure and he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Going back to Shadow Hall would not end well; somehow, he was convinced of it; but he had to warn them, tell them everything he had learned. Even if Maia never spoke to him again, he would still protect her if he could. One day, he would redeem himself, even if it took him a lifetime to accomplish.
Within six days, he reached the lowers slopes of the mountains. He made camp that evening in the shelter of a tall cliff, which was surrounded by thick brush. He allowed himself a fire and even roasted a hare. If he wanted to shadow travel across the plains he would need the extra energy. It was over a hundred miles to the coast, but he would be able to cover it in less than an hour. Once there, he would take a boat to Crook Island, shadow travel to Crook Harbour ,and then take another boat to Braérn. Both sea voyages took only a few hours, but would give him a chance to rest and once in Braérn, he would be able to reach Shadow Hall within two to three hours. In Braérn, he would rest and eat again; without sufficient energy, shadow travelling such distances could kill him. He tried to calculate; one hundred and twenty miles to the coast, one hundred and seventy miles from Arrow to Crook Harbour and then two hundred and sixty-five miles to Shadow Hall.
He had never shadow travelled such distances before, so his rest periods in between would be crucial. He had nothing to trade with, except his weapons, which he would need to trade for passage on the boats. Therefore, he would need to hunt for food every time he had the chance and, without a bow, he would have to hunt as the wolf. The longer he thought about the journey ahead of him, the more harrowing it seemed. Nevertheless, getting to Maia on time was most important right now; there was no time to lose.
Early the next morning he erased the signs of his camp and was about to leave when he felt a disturbance. The feeling was strangely familiar and the hairs on the back of his neck stood erect; this was whom he had been hunting in Shadow Hall. This was the elusive one that had given the order to attack the delegation of Stoneloft. This was the one he had warned Maia about.
This man had slipped through his grasp so many times before that Blaid now proceeded with extra care. He silently took his clothes off and stashed them withi
n the shrub next to the cliffs, then changed into the wolf; his senses were sharper.
It took him over an hour of tracking before he discovered the man’s camp. It was well disguised and had it not been for his keen sense of smell he might have missed it. There was a peculiar disturbance in the air around the camp that made it almost invisible to the passing eye. Blaid had to focus hard to see the man hiding behind this curtain of distorted air. Blaid finally realised how the man had managed to slip through his paws so many times and cursed himself for never having mastered the art of invisibility himself. There was a lot he could do with Air, such as shadow travel, but his old master had died before he had been able to teach him how to manipulate the air to make one invisible.
Carefully he circled the man’s camp, stalking on silent paws through the trees. Even through the hazy curtain of air, the man seemed familiar, as if he had met him before. Blaid wondered if the man would notice if he broke through the barrier, but if he wanted to catch him, he would have to take that chance.
He circled further until he was behind the man and waited there for a short while, watching as he drank his tea. Bile rose to Blaid’s throat; how could the man sit there so calmly when all around him Grildor was in danger. He was a traitor and suddenly Blaid wanted nothing more than to rip his heart out of his chest.
With a low growl, he jumped through the curtain of air and immediately the man was on his feet and turning towards him. At the last moment, Blaid saw the glint of metal in the man’s hand and turned in his jump, narrowly missing being impaled by a sword.
Landing lightly, he faced the man, who stood before him in a crouch with his sword held out before him. They considered each other for a moment. Almost at the same time, they recognised each other.
Kanarel Swiftfisher, Blaid thought. He was the son of Lord Swiftfisher of Braérn, a noble born. What would drive a man of such status to betray his own people? Although he had few dealings with the man, he had never much cared for him. Blaid remembered the time Maia had visited Braérn and Kanarel was Maia’s table partner for the welcome celebration. It was obvious to him that Maia had been bored with the man’s table talk and Blaid had thoroughly enjoyed revealing himself at that time, which had promptly ended the evening for Maia. He wondered how she had spent the night, as he had lain awake thinking about her.
He also knew Kanarel went to Shadow Hall as an ambassador from Braérn, as he had seen him there attending the many meetings in their Elder Hall. Now, as he thought about it, it all made sense. As ambassador, Kanarel would be privy to all information and would have known plans, routes, and numbers. It was the perfect disguise for a spy; no one would have expected such a thing from such a weak-minded individual. Blaid had to hand it to the man; he had played his role well. It was obvious that Kanarel was a man of many talents and well versed in the art of his magic. Blaid wondered what other magic besides Air the man possessed and now watched him warily.
“So, Death, you have finally found me,” Kanarel sneered at him.
Kanarel's thin, reedy voice scraped at Blaid’s raw nerves and he growled.
“And what will you do with me now?” Kanarel asked. “Eat me?”
Blaid watched as Kanarel drew a hunting knife from the sheath on his belt. Now, with his sword in his right hand and the hunting knife in his left hand, Kanarel carefully approached.
“Or maybe I shall just make a nice rug out of your fur. It would look really good in front of my fireplace.”
With a vicious growl, Blaid sprang at him; Kanarel’s blades narrowly missing his hide; and he sank his teeth deep into Kanarel’s shoulder. The man screamed and dropped his sword, but then swung with his left arm and sliced Blaid across his back.
“You filthy mutt,” Kanarel screamed at him as they separated again and pressed his hand against his bleeding shoulder.
Blaid smelled the man’s blood, but also his own. He felt the sharp pain of the cut on his back, but it was not so deep as to be serious.
They circled each other again and Kanarel tried to retrieve his sword. Thinking quickly, Blaid made the change and, as a man, picked up the sword and faced Kanarel. Blood run down his naked back.
“Ah, so you are a man.” Kanarel taunted him. “And who will come for you when I kill you?”
Without answering, Blaid went on the attack. Kanarel’s sword was of the best craftsmanship and well balanced in his hand. He briefly noticed that the hilt was adorned with gems and bound with silver. Kanarel only just managed to parry the blow with his hunting knife, which jarred his arm, but the man knew how to fight. Even with his inferior weapon, Blaid had to apply all his knowledge to keep Kanarel at bay.
He wondered where Kanarel had learned such swordsmanship or how he managed to keep up his strength. They clashed blades for what seemed like eons and when Kanarel showed no signs of faltering, Blaid changed his tactics. Fighting amongst Elves with magic was dishonourable, but for this man he would make an exception; he was as vile as the Vampyres he served. He did not want to kill the man right away, he wanted answers first, therefore did not use lethal force. With a quick mental flick, he flung dust into Kanarel’s eyes. The man staggered back, but then caught himself.
“Is that how it is going to be then?” he rasped, his throat choked with dust. “I, too, can play that game.”
Before Blaid could react, Kanarel shoved his hands out towards him and Blaid felt the air hit him with a force that took his breath away. He almost dropped the sword; he had not expected Kanarel to know how to use his magic for fighting. It was time for Blaid to stop being nice.
He conjured up a fireball and flung it at Kanarel. The man dodged it, but Blaid was already flinging another. Using his Air, Kanarel managed to deflect most of the fireballs flung at him, but some of them found their mark. Soon Kanarel’s clothing hung in tatters and patches of his skin were burnt. Blaid watched as Kanarel tried to conjure up his own fireballs, but each time the flame within his palm fluttered out again. Air was definitely his stronger power. Blaid kept firing the fireballs mercilessly until he felt Kanarel weakening. Then, just when he thought the man would falter, Blaid felt a pressure within his mind.
“I am no animal you can control, Kanarel. Your mind tricks will not work on me.”
Kanarel shouted something at him that sounded like Nayleran and then ran at him with a scream, his hunting knife held out in front of him like a lance. Blaid, knowing this was one last, desperate attempt at defending himself, decided to end it. When Kanarel was only a stride away, Blaid leapt high into the air and flipped over Kanarel’s head. Kanarel’s momentum carried him forward another two steps, before he realised that Blaid was no longer in front of him, but by then it was too late. Blaid grabbed him from behind and held the sword to his throat.
“Enough,” he shouted at the man, putting all the force of his Prime behind the word.
Kanarel immediately went limp within his hold; there was no more fight in him.
“What do you want? Why don’t you just kill me?”
“I want to know everything,” Blaid said as he dragged Kanarel to the nearest tree.
“I have nothing to say.”
“You will,” Blaid answered as he used his Earth magic to tie Kanarel to the tree with its branches.
With Kanarel secured, Blaid laid aside both weapons and then searched through Kanarel’s meagre belongings. It looked like the man had left in a hurry, as he only carried a small pack. It contained a black cloak with a hood, which Blaid now threw over his naked body. It was too far to retrieve his own clothes now; he could pick them up when he was done here. The cloak was of a fine and light material, soft against his skin and surprisingly warm. Again, he wondered why someone who had everything in life could possible want to destroy it all. No one among Elves ever went hungry or without, but the nobles did lead a much richer life than most others did and the Swiftfishers were the most influential family in Braérn. What had driven this man to betray his own kind?
“Why?” he asked as he turned
back to Kanarel.
The man looked up at him in disgust. “Why what?”
“Why would you betray your own people? What do you have to gain from it?”
“Everything I have done was for the good of our people,” Kanarel spat at him.
“How is killing thousands of Elves good for our people?”
“You should be happy, Death. Do you not gain strength with the number of people you help into the next world?”
Clenching his jaw, Blaid closed the distance between them and then put his foot on one of Kanarel’s burn wounds. The man screamed.
“The affairs of Primes are of no concern to you,” he hissed. “Every Elf is precious and life must be preserved at all cost.”
“Ha, that is rich coming from you. I know about the Elves you have already killed.”
Blaid hesitated only for a moment; there was no way Kanarel could already know about the carnage he had left behind at Stoneloft. “The Elves I killed were all working for you, were they not? They were traitors just like you.”
“Traitors? We are working for the advancement of the Elven race. And it was you who put me in power. Last year you killed my predecessor during the time that our princess,” he spat the word, “was visiting Braérn. Had it not been for you, I might even now be married to her and I could have been Lord Regent of Grildor without the war.”
Blaid blinked a few times, attempting to understand what Kanarel was saying. He remembered the Elf in Braérn, but he had not killed him. He had reeked of Vampyre, but when he tried to question him about it, the man had taken his own life. The thing that puzzled him though, was that Kanarel honestly thought that Maia would have married him. Even if she had, that would not have made Kanarel Lord Regent.
“You want to rule?” he asked.
“I want change. For all of us. Elves have stagnated into this old-fashioned rut of a life. We are still doing things the way they were done ten thousand years ago. We have no currency, no industry, no machinery. Other planets are so much more advanced than we are and we are being left behind.”
