by Joseph Lallo
From the looks of things, they had made it quite far into the woods before she had become aware of it. The weary girl pulled herself to her feet. She had to move away from the trail that they had made thus far, and, alas, abandon the horse. As long as it seemed that she had remained on the steed, the pursuers would follow the hoofprints. All that needed to be done was to move a fair distance without leaving tracks.
This was no simple task, though. The rain had muddied the ground. Tracks would be easy to find. She led the horse to a stream, the bed of which was composed of smooth stones. As it took a well-deserved drink, she stepped ankle-deep into the icy water. Myn looked with curiosity. It took a bit of coaxing for the dragon to join in the unpleasant but unfortunately necessary activity. After more than enough time to thoroughly numb her feet to the knees once again, she left the stream in an area too covered with pine needles to permit tracks to be left behind. A thick, full tree served as shelter as she collapsed on the driest patch of ground she could find. Myn fell on top of her and almost instantly dropped into a sleep of utter exhaustion.
#
Slowly, hazily, a dream came. It was like the stark, bleak field that had haunted her in nights gone by, but somehow different. She was lost, on her feet and wandering. Somewhere nearby, a faint, almost imperceptible light loomed. Stumbling and shuffling, she moved closer to this weak and quickly fading glow. A deep sense of desperation grew in her heart as the light slipped away from her. In this colorless field it seemed to be the last bastion of light against the overpowering dark. She had to find it, she had to touch it and know light once more before it was gone forever. It was near. So near.
#
When her eyes opened, the memory of the dream was gone, but the feelings she had felt lingered. There was something within reach that she had to find before it slipped away. She turned her eyes to some indistinct spot in the distance. Something was calling to her. Myn was still asleep, as hers was a more physical exhaustion. The girl sat and waited. Once again, a days-old hunger was burning at her, but she could not bring herself to wake her friend. The cold, wet day of rest had seized her muscles and joints with a terrible stiffness. She stood and tried to stretch it away.
It was night again and the woods were silent. The ever-present cloud cover and impenetrable canopy made it difficult to see more than a few paces in front of her, but she managed to spot something that made her smile. There was a cluster of arrowroot. It was very rare in this area. She pulled out her knife, one of the few things she'd had the presence of mind to bring with her, and dug them up. They wouldn't be enough to fill her, but at least they would take the edge off of her hunger.
As she chewed the roots, she remembered when she was a little girl and she would hunt for them any chance she could. It was a more peaceful time, and having a little slice of it at a time like this made it all the more disturbing to her that things had changed so much. In those days, the only things she had to worry about were her assignments and when her father would get home. Now she was freezing cold with no hope for shelter, digging for roots for sustenance instead of for fun, and constantly looking over her shoulder for a team of soldiers with specific orders to find her.
Myranda shook the thoughts from her head and dug the knife into the earth to pull out another root. When she did, she noticed something that the scarce light had hidden from her before. There was an impression in the ground--almost undetectable, but undeniable. It was a footprint. The rain had nearly washed it away, so it must have been left before the sleet and rain had started. From the shape, it could only be a boot print. Nearby there were a few more accompanied by hoofprints as well. They could have been left by anyone. Perhaps hunters or woodsmen who had moved through the area a few days earlier. Deep inside, though, Myranda knew that there was something sinister behind these prints.
While she pondered the worst, Myn stirred, padding over to Myranda and flopping down again, offering her head for the usual stroking while she gnawed at her new toy. This helm was different from the one she had left behind. It was more carefully detailed with gold, with a nose guard in the shape of a dragon's head. The dragon had focused her attentions on this piece in particular and managed to snap it off in short order. Before long Myn's hunger got the better of her and she trotted off to seek out a meal. Myranda called after her.
"Don't forget your old friend! I'm hungry, too!" she called, immediately scolding herself for making so much noise.
Before worry could rush back into her mind, Myranda busied herself with the preparation of the fire. She gathered the driest tinder and kindling she could manage, as well as a few thicker branches to feed the fire later. After clearing a place and laying out the wood properly, Myn had not yet returned. With nothing else to do, she picked up the dragon-head piece that had been left behind. Most of the details were intact. It had a gold-bronze color and, like the rest of the helm, was exquisite. There were even eyes carved of amber mounted in the head that were uncannily alike in hue to Myn's own eyes. The piece of armor must have cost a small fortune. One of the dragon's teeth had managed to punch a hole just below where the piece had broken from the rest of the helmet. Myranda pulled a thick thread from her uncle's old cloak, now rolled up as a keepsake in one of the new white robe's pockets, and pulled it through the hole. Instantly, she had a new pendant.
Myn marched proudly back a few minutes later. The dragon must have heeded Myranda's words, because with her she brought two freshly killed rabbits. The dragon lit the fire quickly before gulping her meal down. Myranda cooked her own meal as quickly as possible, and extinguished her fire before eating. The wet wood created copious amounts of smoke and she feared that she would be found if she let the telltale flames burn for too long. As she ate, Myranda felt the vague feeling of uneasiness return. She glanced to the south, then to the footprints. She couldn't explain it, but the tiny yearning, like an itch she could not scratch, soon consumed her. It pushed all other thoughts aside. Before long, she found herself manufacturing rationales for moving southward.
"We really ought to keep moving," she said aloud to Myn. "If we remain here, they are likely to find us soon. After all, we slept here. Days could have passed for all we know. The Elites could be just out of sight. South is as good a direction as any. What do you say?"
Myn's interest rested solely on the leftovers of Myranda's meal. Once she had snapped them up, she could care less what she did, so long as she did it with Myranda. As the creature happily munched, Myranda presented her with the pendant. Myn had earned it, after all. The string was tied about her neck tightly enough that it would not fall or become tangled. She seemed pleased, shaking her neck a bit to feel the weight of it before snatching up the rest of the helm and making it clear she was eager for whatever was next.
With that they were off. The routine of the next few days was a strenuous one. Sleep would come during the comparatively warm daylight hours. Upon waking, Myn would fetch food for Myranda and herself if she so desired. Then the remains of the fire would be eliminated or hidden and they would move at a brisk pace southward. The sheer density of the forest assured that, even if the Elites were to search nonstop, they would not stumble upon any evidence of Myranda or her dragon for days. Although once they found what they were searching for, they would easily be able to follow her, Myranda convinced herself that so long as she was careful and continued her southward trek, she could remain out of their reach.
One curse and blessing of their chosen direction was the fact that the wind was always at their backs. This was helpful in that it did not burn at their faces or make walking more difficult. Myn, however, was near madness from the scent of the Elites that was carried by the constant breeze. The little dragon's uneasiness became a gauge of how near the soldiers were. When her restlessness turned to defensiveness, it was time to quicken the pace. In this way, the soldiers were always kept at least out of sight. Though they were a constant threat, Myranda soon found that she had a more pressing concern.
The footpr
ints that she had found before had only become more numerous, and slightly fresher. Whatever group had been here before, it had followed the same path. Had she been in her right mind, she might have changed direction to avoid trouble. Such a choice would not be made. The intuition that had led her this far had only become more insistent. Whatever was out there, she had to find it or be driven mad by doubt.
As if the uneasiness wasn't enough to addle her mind, the nights on the cold and often wet ground were affecting her health. The stiffness that came to her muscles during rest lingered longer each day, and her breathing was reduced to wheezing at times. She knew what it meant. At least once a year she began to feel this way. It generally signaled the beginning of a long illness.
Myranda smirked. Not this time. She knew the words that could cure her, but she had been warned not to cure an illness before it had become a burden. If a body was cured of disease too quickly, too often, it would weaken, and eventually cease to fight disease on its own, Wolloff had warned. Indeed, many a wizard, kept alive well past the time that nature had intended, had died for precisely this reason, he claimed. Myranda decided that once the wracking cough that invariably came appeared, she would cure it. That should give her natural defenses the practice they needed.
Perhaps five days of constant travel had passed. She had not traveled due south, or the Elites would have surely found her. Instead, she zigzagged along rocky ground and thatch, anything that could obscure her tracks. She was walking the bank of another pebble-bottomed stream when she noticed something in the distance. Myn noticed it as well, and rushed to chase after it. When the creature was flushed out into the open, Myranda caught a clear glimpse of it before it galloped away. It was a horse. A horse just like the one the Elites who pursued her were riding. The image had burned itself into her mind--there could be no doubt.
But how? How could one of their steeds have gotten past her without either of them noticing? And why did it have no rider? Perhaps it was the horse that had run away from the leader of the Elites when Myn had scared it during the rush to the Locke's Woods.
Her mind turned to the footprints and hoofprints. If there was an Elite horse here, then perhaps the Elites had been in this place, days before, leaving behind those traces. But how? They had to be behind her! Myn proved that! Unless they had split up, but then they could have confronted her days ago! None of this made sense! Myn trotted back, pleased that she had frightened away the assumed threat.
"Myn," Myranda whispered, "this is very important. How near are they? The bad ones."
Myn did not understand. Myranda took a series of sniffs to illustrate what she meant. The dragon imitated, but seemed no more disturbed by the scent than usual.
"Again! You need to be sure!" Myranda demanded as a change in the wind brought a blast from the south.
Myn caught a whiff of this new wind. Instantly, her eyes shot open. She turned to the south and took off like a bolt, sprinting across the ground like a creature possessed.
"Myn! No! Not now!" Myranda called out uselessly. She hurried after her friend, following the deep claw marks left by her sprint. This could not have happened at a worse time.
Minutes of running as fast as her legs could carry her had aggravated her ailing lungs severely. She stopped briefly to catch her breath, leaning against a tree. When she took her hand away, she felt something sticky. She looked to the culprit and found her hand reddened with blood. Fresh blood. She rushed on, determined to not to stop until she found her dragon and the thing that had stirred her so. There was danger afoot.
Myranda stumbled into a clearing. She could barely breathe. Her eyes scanned the surroundings. It was a gruesome sight. Soldiers, Elites, a dozen or more, were scattered about the ground. They had been slaughtered, armor pierced and torn. It was as though a wild animal had been let loose upon them. The sight brought painful memories of the battleground she had stumbled through when Myn had run last time, though now the injuries seemed somehow more savage. These were not the clean slices of a sword, but the horrid punctures and tears of a spear or a lance.
The bodies, like the blood she had stumbled upon earlier, were fresh. They had likely been killed just as the sun was setting earlier that day. At the opposite edge of the clearing was Myn. She was nosing a figure that was hunched against a tree. It was difficult to tell just what it was that she was looking at when she finally approached it, so covered was it in all manner of injuries. Perhaps it was some sort of monster. It had arms and legs like a man, and some shreds of clothing, but the numerous tears showed a horrid red fur. Myn was blocking the head, but from what Myranda could see, this creature was as dead as the soldiers that littered the area.
"Myn, get away from there! We need to leave this place--now!" Myranda ordered.
Myn looked up pleadingly. Slowly, the fallen creature weakly raised a hand and placed it on the neck of the dragon. It was alive! Myranda dropped to her knees and more closely inspected the stricken creature. As she did so, it managed to raise its head.
"L-Leo?" Myranda cried out, as the battered face of the malthrope she had met so many months ago stared vaguely back.
"Leo, what happened? Did the soldiers do this to you?"
The near-dead malthrope tried to focus on the hazy form in front of him. His free hand grasped painfully at a cruel-looking rusty spike, nearly as long as his arm and clearly the weapon that had taken the lives of the other soldiers.
"You? Myranda . . ." he said, before drifting into a weak, delirious laugh that ended in a series of coughs. "Irony . . ."
His head dropped back into unconsciousness. Myranda clutched her gem and surveyed his wounds. Many deep slashes striped his arms and chest. The fresh injuries were joined by recent scars, as well as every stage of healing in between. He must have been under constant attack for weeks, or longer. Aside from the lacerations, his legs appeared to have been broken and poorly healed. One eye was swollen shut, a crust of dried blood showing between the lids. An ear had been slit all the way through. In truth, there was not a part of his body that did not suffer from some malady or another. Even the long hair that he'd displayed when she first met him had been rendered a scraggly mess, as though it had been cut away with a dull blade. This, coupled with the scrawny, malnourished appearance of his muscles and the patches of blackened, almost charred fur, told the undeniable tale of torture.
Myranda set her mind carefully to the task of healing the most grievous of injuries first. After forcing him into a deep healing sleep, she spoke the words to close the wounds that still leaked blood. When they had been tended to, she relieved the smaller cuts and swelling. Each spell robbed her of more of her own strength, but the months of training had brought her enough stamina to perform the task at hand. By the time she had cast the last spell she could manage, Leo was far from healthy, but he was most assuredly out of danger. She leaned dizzily to the tree he was slumped against and slid to the ground. Myn, who had watched the whole spectacle with nothing short of angst-ridden worry, curled up between the girl and her patient.
"I may not be able to stay awake, Myn. I need you to be vigilant," Myranda said.
The dragon did not fully understand, but she scarcely needed to be told to protect her companion, perpetually in a defensive position whenever the slightest threat emerged. For Myranda, the world faded in and out for some time while her mind recovered. It was a strange near-sleep that she found to be quite unsettling. She was utterly helpless, not enough of her mind left to form a cogent thought. No less than three hours of such a state passed before she was shaken from her trance by the movement of Leo. He was painfully struggling to his feet. Myn, joyful to see him rise, managed to knock him back to the ground in her enthusiasm.
"Easy, little one," he said, as the elated beast rubbed her head on the weakened warrior.
"Sit, Leo. You shouldn't be awake. Not yet," she said, trying to shake the cobwebs from her head.
"I shouldn't be alive. Those wounds were dire. I should know. I have delivered m
ore than a few myself," he said.
"I healed you," she said.
"Healed me? I don't seem to remember you speaking of such a talent when last we met," he said.
"There was no such talent to speak of at the time," she replied.
"And the remarkably affectionate dragon?" he asked.
"That's Myn. I found her a few months ago. As for the affectionate part, you are the first person she has ever been anything short of hostile toward," Myranda said, as Myn rapidly scampered from her lap to his and back again before running off toward where she had dropped her chewed-up helm to retrieve it.
"Well, I have a way with animals," he said, slowly scanning the battleground.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"My mind is not what it should be. I count twelve bodies. Am I correct?" he asked.
"I am not thinking very clearly either, but I believe so," she said.
He released a sigh and slumped against the tree.
"Finally . . . that is all of them. After all of this time, I don't have to look over my shoulder anymore," he said. He tried to raise his hand to his forehead, but winced in pain and let it fall again.
"You must have a broken bone that I missed," Myranda said, reaching for her crystal. A surge of dizziness assured her that it would be foolish to attempt to speak a spell right now.
"You seem unwell. Can I help?" he offered, noticing her wavering posture.
"Don't mind me. You are the one who needs help. Can you move your fingers?" she asked.
"Somewhat," he answered. "And it only hurts when I move it. It is not broken; I have broken it often enough to know the difference."
