by Jordan Rivet
Latch raised a hand in greeting and spoke with him in the Cindral tongue, a trilling language that made Dara think of wind sighing through the trees. The men appeared to be acquaintances—perhaps from when Latch had spent time in the forest, learning about the Cindral dragons—though neither seemed entirely at ease. After a few minutes, Latch turned to Dara and Siv.
“We’re expected. Some of the people who escaped from Mirror Wells reached the Cindral Folk before us, and they’re willing to offer us shelter too. This is Gidon.”
Dara’s knees gave a little shake, anticipating the moment when they could rest at last. Maybe even somewhere dry. She had begun to wonder if she’d ever be dry again.
“We are grateful for your hospitality, Gidon.” Siv moved forward to offer his hand to the leader, dignified even though he too must be feeling relieved enough to kiss this stranger.
“You are welcome here, Sivarrion Amintelle.” Gidon accepted the handshake, studying Siv closely for a moment. Then his eyes flitted to Dara, and he spoke to Latch in the Cindral tongue again.
Latch raised an eyebrow. “Huh.” He waved Dara forward to join them. “There’s someone here who wants to speak with the two of you.”
Dara and Siv exchanged glances. He looked as confused as she was.
“Someone here knows us?”
“Who is it?”
Pine needles snapped nearby. “I think you are not expecting me,” said a gravelly voice.
And Berg Doban stepped out of from behind the giant tree stump.
“Coach?”
“Surprise, young Dara.”
16.
Cindral Folk
DARA and Siv strode on either side of Berg as the Cindral Folk led them through the woods toward their village. The rain continued to fall, but it felt less heavy now that they were on their way to shelter. Berg filled them in on what had happened in Vertigon over the past few months. Dara could hardly believe he was here, a physical presence as solid as the mountain itself. Despair had plagued her for days, but walking beside Berg was like waking up from a nightmare to find a sunlit morning full of hope. He was family to her. In many ways, she was closer to him than to her parents.
And it sounded as though he’d had several run-ins with Dara’s parents in her absence.
“Why did you leave Vertigon?” Siv asked when Berg finished recounting his activities in Queen Sora’s service.
“My business is not done,” Berg said. “You both must face the Lantern Maker. I am thinking you will need my help.”
“How do you know that?” Dara asked.
Berg looked down at her, his eyes solemn. “How can you not do this, young Dara? You know the truth of what he is.”
Dara held Berg’s gaze. He was correct, of course. She couldn’t avoid her father any longer. Not if she meant to do the right thing. And Rafe was almost within reach behind the walls of Fort Brach.
“For all we know, Khrillin has done our job for us by now,” Siv said.
“Khrillin?” Berg’s bluff face looked more surprised than Dara had ever seen it. “Khrillin of Pendark?”
“You know him?” Siv asked.
“It seems I will tell my tale for a second time,” Berg rumbled. “Let us take food and shelter, then we will speak of Khrillin.”
Siv gave Berg a curious look. “Fair enough.”
They arrived at the Cindral village, which wasn’t too far from where they’d been wandering. The homes were built of mud and timber and set low in the ground. Over time, moss and vines had crept over them, making it look as though the houses had grown out of the ground just like the trees. The hut windows glowed with the steady burn of Firelight. Vertigon traded Fireworks for Cindral woodworks and paper goods, and the sight of the familiar light was almost as welcoming as if they’d been transported directly home to Village Peak.
Gidon spoke to his silent companions in the Cindral tongue, and they dispersed to the huts to summon assistance. Soon, more Cindral Folk emerged to care for the horses and offer food and shelter to the newcomers. Their party looked rather pathetic after three days lost in the woods, but as the Cindral Folk offered their hospitality to Pendarkans, Soolens, and Vertigonians alike, the hope kindling in Dara’s chest strengthened.
Gidon approached Siv and Dara and gestured for Latch and Captain Lian to join them as well, clearly aware who the leaders of their party were.
“My friends will give warmth and bread to your men,” he said. “Please come. We can speak in my home.”
The soldiers were too wet and tired to care about being left alone. Dara, Siv, Latch, Captain Lian, and Berg followed Gidon to his moss-covered house at the base of the biggest tree in the village. His wife, Belna, met them at the door and welcomed them in with steaming mugs of bark tea and warm blankets.
The moment Belna saw there was a woman among them, she bustled Dara into an adjoining room.
“You will be well when you are dry,” she said with the firm certainty of a prophetess. She gave Dara a soft green dress to wear and insisted on helping her loosen the knots in her hair.
“Thank you.” Dara settled onto a low stool before the Cindral woman with a sigh. She never knew how life-changing clean, warm clothes could be.
“So pretty.” Belna smiled as she ran quick fingers through Dara’s golden hair. “Your mother must be very proud.”
Dara swallowed a lump in her throat, adjusting the ties of the green dress, and didn’t answer. Hearing about what her mother had done from Berg didn’t fully alleviate the pain Dara felt at the thought of her. Lima had never approved of Dara’s choices, but she was still her mother.
“No?” Belna said softly.
“No.” Leaving the mountain hadn’t allowed Dara to fully escape Lima’s specter. She knew she’d have to face her mother as well as her father one day.
A look of sorrow crossed Belna’s face. She took a beautiful wooden comb from her pocket and worked it gently through the tangles in Dara’s hair. Her patient tending made Dara think of Vine, and that only made her throat tighten more. She missed her friend, and she hated not knowing what had become of her.
When Dara and Belna returned to the main room, the men were huddled around the various Fireworks in the home to dry. Gidon was talking to Latch by the Heatstone in the center of the hut and apparently hadn’t thought of getting everyone else some of his clothes to wear. Belna gave an exasperated sigh and bustled off to find dry garments for everyone after dispatching Dara to tend the bubbling Firekettle. Belna had a short, wide frame, and her movements were nimbler than her build suggested. Dara couldn’t think of who Belna reminded her of until Berg settled in beside her, a thick blanket spread over his shoulders like a cape.
“She is my sister,” he said.
“Belna?”
“She was very little when I left,” he said. “I am not seeing her for many years, but she has welcomed me in her home.”
Dara looked at Berg’s sister, and she could see some of Berg’s cantankerous mannerisms but also the affection as she chided her husband. On the whole, Gidon was more reserved around the newcomers. Dara wondered if the Cindral Folk would have taken them in at all without Berg’s urging.
“Can we trust them?” she asked in a low voice. She remembered all too well when another couple had welcomed her in at a farm near Roan Town. She and Vine had relaxed into the warmth of Yen and Roma’s family life, even played with their children. And the father had turned out to be a Rollendar informant. Dara didn’t want to make the same mistake just because this Cindral woman showed her the motherly kindness that had been sorely lacking from her childhood.
“I trust no one,” Berg grumbled. “But yes, you are okay here.”
After everyone was warm and dry at last, they gathered on rugs piled on the floor and ate dinner while Berg told them the story of how he came to Vertigon. Dara had never heard about Berg’s time in Pendark and his history with King Sevren before. Her coach had been such a constant presence in her life that she sometimes forgot
he hadn’t always lived in Vertigon. But his dedication to protecting Siv made more sense as he revealed how much King Sevren had meant to him.
Siv himself listened raptly as Berg recounted the mercy his father had shown as a young man after the assassin tried to kill him in Pendark. His eyes shone brighter than usual as Berg described how Sevren was every bit as good as Siv had always believed him to be. Dara watched him, unable to shake the envy curling through her. Her father didn’t feature in this story at all, but he lurked beneath it as the villain who had ended the life of that good young prince far too soon. Her father inspired fear, not devotion. Despite the warmth and comfort of this little hut, she still had a cold reality to face before long.
After the meal, Belna brought out more tea and a platter of sweet biscuits coated with thick berry jam. As they relaxed in the warmth of the Heatstone, Gidon explained that the Cindral Folk were even more wary of strangers than they used to be after the invasion of Commander Brach’s force.
“He moved on our main city—in your lands you’d barely call it a town—where most of the dragons live. He left this village alone because we didn’t have any of the creatures he needed.”
“You don’t have any dragons here?” Siv said.
“Didn’t,” Gidon said. “Some who escaped have taken refuge in a ravine not far from here. They have been highly agitated of late, as if they sense something is wrong with the balance in the continent.” Gidon crumbled a sweet biscuit in his knotty hands. “The dragons are our partners, not our possessions. We don’t keep them in pens like common horses. The Brachs have a long relationship with them too.” He glanced at Latch. “Lord Brach acted as a partner and a friend to them at first. But after he learned to bend them to his will, he took them as slaves to serve in his war.”
Siv leaned forward, the light of the Heatstone making his face glow.
“Couldn’t the dragons refuse him?”
“The creatures can be compelled by those with the talent,” Gidon said.
“What talent?” Siv asked.
“It’s the Spark, isn’t it?” Dara said. “The Watertouch, the Air Sense, the Firespark. It’s all the same ability if you know how to use it.” The pieces had been slowly coming together in Dara’s mind for a long time. “The ability to affect the magical substances can also be deployed to control the dragons.”
“I believe that is correct.” Gidon looked her over with renewed interest. “They respond to its call. This skill is a gift to Cindral dragons and Cindral Folk, and Commander Brach has abused it.”
“He’s paying the price for it,” Latch said. The shadows on the wall behind him moved like a prowling beast as he shifted angrily. “Or at least his men are. The campaign failed. We have persuaded my father to return to Soole.”
“Persuaded?” Gidon said sharply.
“We’ve been in contact with him,” Siv said carefully. “We agreed to protect Fort Brach and the Watermight vent from the Fireworkers. In exchange, Brach will relinquish his claim on the Far Plains and return home.”
Gidon raised an eyebrow. “You promised to protect the fort, did you?”
Siv’s cheeks reddened. “Our mission hasn’t gone as planned.”
“So I see,” Gidon said. “And what about this Water—”
“Gidon!” A Cindral man burst into the hut. He spoke rapidly to Gidon in their trilling language. Latch sat up, his face going gray.
Siv frowned. “What are they say—?”
“Shh. Let me listen.”
Gidon asked the newcomer a few questions. After hearing the answers, he cast a quick look at Latch then turned back to his countryman.
“Bring the messenger to us,” he said in the common tongue. “They must all hear this news.”
The man disappeared into the pouring rain.
“Did I understand that correctly?” Latch said. “Khrillin has taken the fort?”
Gidon nodded.
“Already?” Siv said.
“The Fireworkers lost?” Dara didn’t understand. She hadn’t truly believed that Khrillin would succeed in taking Fort Brach from her father and his army of Workers. Did . . . did that mean he was dead?
“That is correct,” Gidon said. “The man who brought the news was found wandering in the woods. He asked for you specifically, Dara.”
“Me?” Dara blinked. There was a faint ringing in her ears. Her father couldn’t be dead.
The door opened again, and the Cindral man returned, escorting none other than Tann Ridon.
“Rid! You found us!”
The tall Truren looked even more bedraggled than they had when they arrived a few hours ago. He’d grown a scruffy beard, now thick with mud and leaves, and looked as if he hadn’t slept or eaten in days.
“I never thought I’d be happier to see y’all,” he said. “Is that tea? I’ll give you my firstborn son for a sip.”
“Sit down and tell us everything,” Siv said, leaping up to serve Rid’s tea himself. “You saw what happened at Fort Brach?”
“Saw it fall twice,” Rid said. “I’ve lived just on the other side of the mountains my whole life, and I never ever thought Fort Brach would fall. First to Fire, then to Watermight.”
“Did you see Ruminor?” Siv asked. “Did Khrillin kill him?”
“No,” Rid said. “The darn Lantern Maker wasn’t even there.”
Dara looked up. “What are you talking about?”
“There weren’t that many Fireworkers, truth be told,” Rid said. “They surprised the fort with maybe three of the bastards and their shiny gold razors and boiling balls of Fire. Probably had no more’n two dozen soldiers with ’em. I reckon that’s how they got there so quick.” Rid shoveled a few bites of food into his mouth before noticing that everyone was staring at him. “Didn’t Gull tell you?”
“Turns out Gull had an agenda,” Siv said. “She let us believe we had no chance of reaching the fort before the Fireworkers or taking it without the vent. Gave Khrillin time to catch up.”
“I was wonderin’ where he came from,” Rid said. “He turned up yesterday in a riverboat with enough Water magic to hydrate an army. That handful of Vertigonians didn’t stand a chance.”
“And you’re sure my father wasn’t with them?” Dara asked.
“Not so far as I know,” Rid said, reaching for more food. “I asked some Soolen refugees I came across. They never saw him.”
“So where is he then?” Dread had begun to burn in Dara’s stomach like Firetears, and the ringing in her ears hadn’t abated. “And where are the rest of his forces?”
“Beats me. Y’all seemed so certain he was going to be there.”
“Was that because of Vine?” Latch asked. “She was the one communicating with the Sensors in Trure.”
Dara frowned, thinking through the information they had received. “No, Vine only learned that he was marching away from Rallion City. The King of Pendark received word that he was going to Soole—or at least that some Fireworkers were going to Soole.” So how had they decided her father was marching on the fort with his entire force? They’d hoped to head him off in Trure long before he made it this far south. But their plans had changed when . . .
“Fiz,” Siv said suddenly. He leapt up and began pacing around the crowded hut. “Gull and Fiz warned us that Khrillin might be interested in Fort Brach, and it was Fiz who brought the news that the Lantern Maker and his army were even closer than we realized. In Fork Town, remember? We tore off down the Coast Road on Fiz’s information. Khrillin must have sent him and Gull to get us to lead them to Latch’s vent.”
Captain Lian raised a hand. “But how did Khrillin know anything about the Lantern Maker’s movements?”
“He wouldn’t have to know anything,” Siv said. “All he cared about was getting hold of Latch’s knowledge—and his family’s Watermight holdings. Gull and Fiz tagged along until they got the information. They must have decided it would be easier if they hurried us along a bit.”
“We led him strai
ght here thinking we had to race the Lantern Maker to this big confrontation,” Latch said.
“But Ruminor was never here at all.” Siv’s shadow chased him along the wall as he paced faster. “He must have sent a few Workers to secure the fort in Commander Brach’s absence, never dreaming they’d have to face a greedy Pendarkan Waterlord.”
Dara felt as if she’d been hit in the head again. She turned to Berg. “Do you have any idea where my father might be now?”
“This I do not,” Berg said. “But everywhere I looked on my journey I saw fear and Fire. He must be stopped, young Dara.”
“He will be.” Dara stood up and faced the others, stopping Siv’s frantic pacing with a hand on his chest. “This is good news,” she said. “I say we gather whatever power we can and head for Trure. We’ll follow the trail of ashes to my father’s army.”
“You just want to leave the fort in Khrillin’s hands?” Latch said.
“Of course I don’t want to,” Dara said. “But what can we do to help?”
Latch jumped to his feet, fists clenched. “Of all the faithless—”
“Latch, it’s a discussion,” Siv said. “Let’s at least consider our options.”
“If you abandon—”
“I don’t want to abandon the Brachs,” Siv said. “I think we need to see this through. We have to remove Khrillin from the fort.”
“That’s not our fight, Siv,” Dara said.
“It is now.” Siv turned to the others, who had remained seated around them. “My sister Selivia is with Commander Brach. Even if I wanted to abandon Fort Brach to Khrillin—which I don’t, Latch—I couldn’t risk her safety. Besides, it’s the only way we can get Commander Brach to return to his own lands peacefully.” He locked eyes with Gidon. “I think we all want that.”
“Do you really believe you can remove Khrillin from Soole and defeat the Lantern Maker in Trure at the same time?” Gidon said. “And you mean to control Lord Brach as well!” He leaned forward to study Siv, as if worried someone was playing a prank on him. “I wonder if you are this arrogant or only this foolish?”
