Jahrra lingered outside for a while, watching him disappear up the street, then stepped into her cabin to find Dervit and Ellyesce playing a game of Astral cards.
Ellyesce turned to look at her and arched an eyebrow. “Have a productive day?”
“Yes, actually,” Jahrra answered easily. “Keiron took me to walk the wall, and then we sparred for a few hours in the practice yard the regent’s guard uses.”
She huffed a breath and collapsed on the couch next to Dervit. She turned to her friend and grimaced.
“Sorry I left you behind,” she said, “but Keiron caught up to me in the stables, and as soon as he mentioned sparring, I was lost.”
Dervit smiled amiably and said, “That’s okay. I was worried when you didn’t return, but the boy at the stable told me where you’d gone.”
“We’ll go out exploring tomorrow, just the two of us,” she promised.
The limbit smiled brightly then asked, “How did the sparring go?”
Jahrra beamed. “It felt great to work out with a sword again.”
“I’ll bet,” Ellyesce commented, deftly snatching two cards from his hand and switching them out for two others.
Jahrra felt exhausted from the day’s efforts, but craned her neck forward to watch their game. “Can you deal me in the next round?”
“Sure can,” Ellyesce said cheerily.
They played Astral until Jaax returned around sunset. He looked irritated and just as worn out as Jahrra felt.
“So, how was your day?” she asked her guardian through the open door.
“Nightmarish,” Jaax grumbled, flopping down onto the ground outside like a hound returning from a daylong hunt. “I spent the morning playing the gracious guest to Morivan, then the rest of the day scouring the surrounding mountains for the Tyrant’s bloodhounds. Not a trace of them anywhere.”
Jahrra stilled, remembering what Keiron had said to her on the wall. She glanced back at her cards and chose the three she wanted to exchange before looking back at her guardian.
“Keiron told me the men disappeared around the bend in the road after you breathed fire on them,” she said.
Jaax lifted his head from where it rested on his feet to focus on her. “When did he tell you this?”
Jahrra shrugged. “Today. This morning. He found me in the stable with Phrym and invited me to walk along the wall with him, and then we headed to the sparring field to get some practice in.”
Jaax grew suddenly still, and Jahrra could feel the aggression rolling off him.
“I would not have allowed you to go had I been present when he asked you,” Jaax said, his voice low and soft. Unyielding.
Jahrra set her cards down slowly, their faces pressed against the table so Dervit and Ellyesce couldn’t see them. The two of them were busy arguing over the value of their card combinations, so they were unaware of the conversation taking place between Jaax and Jahrra.
“Jahrra,” Jaax said, in that same chilling tone, “how could you make yourself so visible by walking along the top of the wall? On the day after we struggled to get you safely behind it?”
“Keiron said,” Jahrra began, her throat closing up.
“I do not care what Keiron said! Have some sense! I cannot believe you were unable to figure that out yourself!” he hissed. “The Crimson King’s men are not normal soldiers. They have dark mages with them, magicians capable of all manner of tricks and illusions! Had one of them seen you and wanted you dead, it would have been as simple as snapping their fingers. One well-placed arrow would have taken you out. How do you think their arrows were able to reach you from so far away yesterday? Those mages aided their flight with magic. You cannot be so careless again!”
By the end of his tirade, Jaax’s voice had risen loud enough for Ellyesce and Dervit to notice. Their game forgotten, both the elf and the limbit turned their heads in the direction of their other two companions. They did not speak, but regarded their friends in cautious silence.
Jahrra’s face burned from her guardian’s reprimand. She wanted to grit her teeth and tell him he was being ridiculous and overbearing. But deep down, she knew he was right. She had let Keiron charm her, and she’d brushed aside her better sense when it had told her that walking in plain sight of the enemy was a mistake. Keiron hadn’t meant to put her in danger, she was sure of it. He had wanted to impress her maybe. Make her like him. Well, that was working. She did like him. But she should have listened to her instincts from the beginning.
“I-I’m sorry Jaax,” she managed. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking it through.”
Jaax clenched his jaw and breathed through his nose. He nodded once, then added in a much less formidable voice, “Do not scare me like that again, Jahrra. Please. You must think every single one of your actions through from now on.”
There was a time, not too long ago, when the two of them would have stubbornly refused to compromise about such things. Jahrra would remain angry at Jaax because he was revealing truths she didn’t want to accept, and he would refuse to bend even an inch when doing so would cause no harm to either. It wasn’t like that anymore; it couldn’t be like that anymore. This dangerous game they’d been training for for so long had finally been put into motion, and they could no longer let their headstrong, stubborn demeanors stand in the way of their progress.
Jahrra ducked her head once, then tried to get back into the card game. Only, Ellyesce and Dervit were cleaning up, the awkwardness of Jaax’s volatile reaction to Jahrra’s news weighing too heavily upon them. Jahrra sighed, disappointed but sympathetic as to why they were ready to call it a night. Besides, she was practically falling asleep where she sat, the exhaustion from the training and the emotional whirlwind she’d just experienced taking their toll. She had made a mistake today, but tomorrow she would do better. She would practice with Keiron in the morning and that was all. She would not let him coerce her into doing anything so reckless again.
* * *
Boriahs crouched upon the granite shelf suspended above the only road leading north into Cahrdyarein. The sun was just cresting the jagged peaks in the east, its brilliance piercing his bloodshot eyes and conjuring an ache in his head. He gritted his teeth and placed a palm to his brow, the blood from the wound in his hand staining his hair. He had managed to find a scrying pool, but, as he had suspected, his Master was not happy with the news he’d reported.
“We nearly had them, Master,” he’d murmured, his knees pressed against the top of the solid granite monolith he’d climbed before dawn.
“Not good enough,” the demon god had snarled, using Cierryon’s lips to speak.
Boriahs had witnessed many horrors throughout his long life, but nothing turned his stomach so terribly as gazing into the dead eyes of the Crimson King.
“They are within the wall,” he heard himself saying. “But–”
Before he could continue, the ground rumbled and a chunk of rock fell, shattering just beside him. A shard of granite shot through the air, burying itself in his cheek. Boriahs winced, but dared not move to remove it.
“I do not care for your excuses,” the god-king snapped. “Contact me no more until you have something worthwhile to report.”
And then, the puddle shuddered, and the image of his king vanished. Boriahs reached up with his injured hand and wiped away the blood trickling down his face. When he pulled his hand back, it was stained red, but he could not tell from which injury the blood had come, his cheek or his hand.
Rising like an old man in winter, he limped to the opening in the rocks where he had first begun his climb. Boriahs looked down and felt his lip curl. It would be a lot more difficult climbing down than up. Fifteen minutes of careful maneuvering had brought him to the granite shelf he now rested upon. It was at least another fifty feet before he’d reach the road, and the members of the Red Flange who had not succumbed to the dragon’s flames.
The Tyrant’s servant gritted his teeth again. It had been brilliant, his plan, but it had
failed miserably. When Armauld first warned him of the powerful elf-mage’s presence alongside the dragon and the girl, he had been outraged. Tracking them had been unfathomably difficult, and now he knew why. And the elf was sure to keep just far enough ahead of them to stay out of reach, but close enough to sense their own movements. When he’d realized what the elf was up to, he turned to his own magicians.
“Armauld, summon your mages,” he’d growled to his companion.
The dark mage had only looked at him, his expression curious.
“We will stay just beyond the elf’s range of magic. Let them believe one squadron is after them, so that when we do catch up, they’ll be overwhelmed.”
Armauld had grinned wickedly and closed his eyes to pass the message on. For five days, they trailed the dragon and the human girl, staying just out of reach of their companion’s magic. The elf was aware of the first squadron, but not the rest of them. Until the morning one of the other squadrons moved too close.
Boriahs wanted to roar his fury at the men’s stupidity, but he could not afford to lose face at this point in the game. Instead, he took his rage out on the squadron’s leader. The commander smiled wickedly. The other man’s bones would be picked clean by the canyon vultures within a few days’ time. Had the foolish man waited a mere twenty minutes longer, they could have overtaken the dragon and the girl, but no. Instead, Boriahs had led his men around the corner, only to find the Tanaan dragon lying in wait and the girl and the elf gone. He had lost more men than he could afford to the filthy reptile’s fire, and even now, several more were wounded severely enough to be a burden to his army.
No matter, Boriahs thought, forcing his anger into submission. More are on the way.
A cough and the sound of someone kicking a fellow soldier below drew Boriahs’ attention back to the present. What remained of his ten squadrons were stretched out along the road, just behind the protruding mountain of granite that hid them from Cahrdyarein’s view. He would wait. He must wait. And unlike many of those beneath him, he possessed greater patience.
Feeling the need to move, but regretting it meant rejoining the incompetent swine below, Boriahs continued his treacherous climb back down the mountainside. Armauld was waiting for him, the hood of his dark red cloak pulled over his head. The soldiers of the Red Flange stepped aside as the skurmage passed, like oil pulling away from water. Although there was a handful of other dark mages scattered about the small legion, Armauld unsettled them the most. Boriahs couldn’t blame them. His most powerful magic wielder had done … things to others that even the army’s high commander didn’t like to think about.
A sickly sweet smile shone out at him from beneath the dark hood. Armauld tented his fingers and gave a slight bow.
“What is their progress?” Boriahs growled, nodding to those who acknowledged him as they moved through the sleeping bodies in search of firewood.
“The reinforcements will be here in two weeks, three at the latest,” the mage answered, his voice almost a hiss.
Boriahs jerked his head in understanding. He didn’t like the idea of camping out on this unprotected road for that long, but there was nowhere else for them to go. At least there was the cover of trees a mile or so back down the road, and the skies, so far, remained clear of foul weather. So long as they stayed behind the granite monolith, and as long as no one came looking for them from Cahrdyarein, they should remain unseen. The mages’ spells helped in that quarter.
A dark shadow passing overhead drew forth a curse from Boriahs’ lips. He ducked his head instinctively, his eyes searching the sky furiously.
“Peace, Boriahs, peace. My spell holds strong. The dragon will not sense us.”
Boriahs wanted to curse again for looking so foolish. But he had good reason to fear the shadows of dragons.
“Does the shield extend beyond the granite point?” he asked, standing back up as if falling to the ground like a sniveling child was something seasoned warriors did all the time.
Armauld cocked his head to the side. “No, but if you wish to view the wall from that point, I can extend it for a short period of time.”
“Then let us walk,” Boriahs demanded, brushing past the mage, his black cloak streaming out behind him.
The company of Red Flange squadrons had retreated quite a ways back down the road after yesterday’s battle, so it took Boriahs and Armauld nearly an hour to reach the point where they could catch their first good glimpse of the black wall of Cahrdyarein. Their pace had been slow, what with Boriahs’ injuries from the fight and the mage’s tendency to take frequent rests. When the lingering scent of seared flesh and the black scorch marks left behind by dragon fire assaulted their senses, the skurmage held up a hand.
“Halt here, High Commander,” he drawled.
Boriahs obeyed and turned away as the mage muttered some nonsense that he assumed would keep them hidden from sight.
“You may turn the corner now,” Armauld said after a while.
The high commander continued forward without so much as a nod of thanks. The road curved wide around the tower of granite, and when he came out on the other side, Boriahs had to hold his arm up against the glare of the sun. Once his eyes adjusted, however, he tilted his head and peered up at the obstacle that he and about two thousand soldiers would crash against in a fortnight’s time. Rising up from the rugged mountain side was a massive wall, nearly as black as his Master’s eyes. The stone used to build the wall, legend claimed, had been mined from the heart of the Hruhnan Mountains, some of the most ancient, and magical, material in all of Ethoes. Doubt crept into his heart then. Would the might of the Crimson King’s army be enough to breach the wall? And if so, would the dragon and his human still be in the city when it came time to initiate their attack?
Boriahs snarled his frustration, letting his impatience loose where no one could see it. Once his fit was over and he felt, if not better, less wound up, he took a deep breath and let it out. He needed to get back to camp and begin planning, and thinking, about what they were going to do. Before he turned to go, however, he glanced up at the accursed wall … and caught his breath. There she was. Standing in the gap between the crenellations decorating the top edge of the rampart. The human girl, as plain as day. The other men would be furious at this display of arrogance. They would scream for permission to act, to send a dozen arrows in her direction. But unlike most of the men under him, Boriahs realized acting rashly would get him nowhere. He knew exactly what waiting until the opportune moment would do for him.
“Very well, little human,” he murmured under his breath. “You are safe now, but just wait until you discover what I’ve got planned for you.”
Suddenly, the burning ache of the slice across his palm didn’t hurt so much anymore, and the familiar hunger of impending victory flooded his heart. With a malicious grin, he tore his eyes from the scene far above him and turned to head back to his camp, to plan and to wait.
-Chapter Ten-
A Dragon’s Pride and a Special Invitation
The morning after her talk with Jaax, Jahrra woke up to find Dervit standing patiently beside her bed. Jahrra, still somewhat dazed from sleep, arched a confused brow at him.
“Is something wrong?” she yawned.
Dervit plucked at the hat in his hand, then cleared his throat and said, “I want to come along with you this morning.”
When Jahrra’s brows lifted even further, he pressed on, “I promised Jaax I’d watch out for you.”
Jahrra only smiled and shook her head as she climbed out of bed. “That’s kind, Dervit, but you don’t have to feel obligated to follow me everywhere. I know all these elves make you nervous. I’m sure I’ll be fine with Keiron.”
After Jaax’s chastisement, she was ready to tread more cautiously around the young Resai elf. She just had to keep her guard up and not let him talk her into doing anything foolish.
“I’d like to see you practice,” Dervit admitted. “And, and I wouldn’t mind learning a thing
or two myself. Do you think they’d teach me defense?”
He glanced up with eager, brown eyes, his scattering of freckles only making him appear more innocent.
“Dervit! Why did you never say you wanted to learn how to fight?” Jahrra cried.
The limbit shrugged, his expression sheepish. “I didn’t know I did until just recently.”
Jahrra bent down, her hands resting against her knees.
“I’m sure we can find someone willing to teach you,” she assured him, ruffling his hair a bit. “Now, do you mind stepping outside for a while? I need to change into my practice clothes.”
Keiron met them outside a half an hour later, his usual, disarming smile in tow. When he noticed the limbit, however, his easy confidence lost a bit of its flare.
“Dervit wants to learn how to fight as well. Isn’t that wonderful?” Jahrra asked, pulling her small friend against her hip in a half-hearted hug.
Dervit only blinked up at her, and Keiron had no choice but to declare the idea perfect, even though the tightness to his smile suggested otherwise.
The walk to the practice field was much more interesting that morning, what with Dervit finally shaking off some of his anxiety and conversing freely. He kept them all entertained while he listed off more of his people’s superstitions as they passed busy shops and crowded lanes.
“Oh, that’s not good,” he’d say, pointing to a sign with a broken board. “Means the business will change owners within two years.”
Keiron gave Jahrra a skeptical look, and she only shrugged, biting her lip as she tried not to smile.
“Very well, young limbit,” Keiron said, his gaze searching the wide lane before them, looking for anything that might be considered superstitious.
Eventually, his gaze fell upon a young boy holding the leashes of two eager hounds. Clearly, the dogs were in control, for he was being dragged along behind them.
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