Before she could get too distracted by her wayward thoughts, Jahrra shook her head and glanced behind her to make sure Whinsey and Erron were still with them. Their sturdy mountain horse moved at an even quieter pace than Phrym, and Jahrra wondered if she had some magic in her blood. When Whinsey nodded at her and smiled with kind eyes, Jahrra took a steadying breath and turned back around. They had been traveling for a good hour, and she hoped they would reach the entrance to the Serpent’s Tomb soon.
The elf continued to lead them through tangled meadows, up rocky trails and between towering trees. Only when the sky grew light enough to see by did he raise a gloved hand to bring the travelers to a stop. Jahrra moved to stand up in the stirrups, but a quick scream of protest from her knee changed her mind. Biting her cheek to keep from crying out, Jahrra sank back down into the saddle. Phrym let out a small whicker of concern and turned his head, his smoky eyes kind and fretful.
“I’m okay, Phrym,” she gritted, still trying to crane her neck so she could see past Ellyesce into the semi-darkness ahead. “Ellyesce’s magic has made me forget my injury, that’s all.”
“The caverns begin behind those rocks,” the elf announced, his voice low and serious.
He moved his semequin aside so Jahrra could see. Up ahead, the trail curved and headed down into a wide crevasse as it continued to wrap around the mountainside. If the group were to continue moving straight ahead and not take the curve in the trail, they would find themselves wedged in between a collection of shattered slabs of rock, rubble and more trees. Jahrra could see no indication of a cavern entrance, but her eyes had played tricks on her before.
Wordlessly, Ellyesce guided his mount forward, disengaging from the trail and picking his way around the small boulders and shrubs standing in his way. Jahrra followed, encouraging Phrym to take the same exact invisible path. The group strayed off trail for about ten minutes, weaving through the trees and rock rubble, but sticking close to the eastern side of the slope. Eventually, Ellyesce’s semequin turned, as if climbing a switch back trail, and disappeared.
Jahrra had angled her head away, so when she glanced back up to find their leader missing, she sat stunned in the saddle for a few moments. Phrym continued moving forward, but she couldn’t locate where Ellyesce had gone.
“Jahrra?” Whinsey said weakly from behind her, “what happened to our guide?”
Jahrra only shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Mama?” Erron murmured quietly.
“Hush,” the Resai woman responded gently, nestling the boy closer to her.
Jahrra bit her lip and urged Phrym onward. “He probably just disappeared around a rock outcropping or something.”
Following the footprints of the horses who had been ahead of her, Jahrra managed to climb several more feet before bringing her semequin to a sudden halt. The entrance to the cavern appeared out of nowhere. One second, she was picking her way around loose rocks and scrawny fir trees, and the next minute a great, black, gaping hole yawned before her on the mountain side. Several tall, jagged shards of granite stood clustered around the cavern, creating a natural screen. No wonder they hadn’t seen the entrance. In fact, Jahrra was pretty certain that unless one knew where to look, they would never find it. Good thing they had Ellyesce with them.
Jahrra peered inside and a slight flicker of light caught her eye. Ellyesce, holding a freshly lit torch, sat atop his semequin several yards inside the tunnel. Rumble the pack horse was close behind him, a massive, shadowy outline. A pair of sparkling eyes appeared out of the dark, topped by two red, pointed ears. Dervit, turned around in the saddle, keeping a lookout for the rest of their party.
Jahrra searched the trail below for Whinsey and Erron, then called out as quietly as possible, “Up here!”
She waited for them to get closer before leading Phrym into the dark. The semequin balked at first, his nostrils flaring and his ears swiveling in every direction. She reached down to pat his neck, clucking gently to him.
“I know, it smells strange, but it will keep us safe from the enemy.”
When all of them were finally within the tunnel, Ellyesce turned, the torch held high, and said, “Stay close. Do not linger behind and do not panic if something should startle you. This narrow system of caves is very complex, and it is easy to become lost. Here,” he lowered the torch and fumbled with something tied to his semequin’s saddle. Jahrra tried to make out what the elf was doing, but it was too difficult to see in the dark.
Finally, Ellyesce finished his task and handed something back to Dervit. Jahrra got a clear view of it then. Rope.
“Do not tie it to yourself or to the horses, but hold it loosely. There is no guarantee the horses won’t make any sudden movements. If that is the case, drop the rope. But for now, this will keep us all together.”
“How long will we be in here?” Jahrra asked, shivering a little at the damp chill clinging to her.
The torch rose again, and she could see the glint of Ellyesce’s eyes. Suddenly, the memory of his face from the slave auction so long ago came flooding back, and she had to look away for a moment.
“A week, if we are lucky. Travel in the Serpent’s Tomb is a slow business. The terrain is rough, and there are many tunnels that branch off. I’ll need to take my time choosing the correct passages, and where to guide the horses so we don’t fall into one of the many deep pits hidden in the darkness.”
Behind her, Jahrra heard Whinsey gasp. She felt her own face go white, but she kept her mouth shut. If there was any other way to flee Cahrdyarein without drawing the eye of the Red Flange, they would have taken it. She knew they had no other choice.
“Well,” she said, her voice coming out harsh and brittle, “let’s get moving, then. The sooner we reach the end of this treacherous road, the better.”
And so they set off, one slow step at a time. Ellyesce had been right. The ground was rough and littered with sharp stones. Fortunately, Phrym was sure-footed and managed to avoid most of them. The horse behind her, however, sounded as if she tripped over every other obstacle she came upon. About two hours into their journey, Jahrra turned around to check on Whinsey and her son.
“I’m fine,” the Resai woman managed with a weak smile. “This horse has large feet, and she doesn’t seem too inclined to avoid the loose stones. She just plows right through them.”
Jahrra nodded and turned back around, focusing on the other two horses in front of her. Ellyesce’s torchlight helped a little, and she counted on his elvin eyes to see beyond the flame’s limit. As they traveled, Jahrra tried not to think about Jaax and Pendric fighting off the Crimson King’s army back in Cahrdyarein. To let her imagination run wild was to invite panic. She did not want that to happen. Instead, she took a deep breath and tried to study what little of her surroundings she could see. From what she had gathered so far, the cavern had curved walls, giving her the impression that it was shaped like some giant worm hole carved into the side of the mountain. Every now and again, she’d look up and catch a glimpse of daylight.
“There are several holes in the outer crust of the cavern,” Ellyesce told her over his shoulder when she asked about it. “There will be more the farther up the mountain we move, and we won’t need the torch anymore.”
“Did this cave system form naturally?” Dervit asked, pressing his hat to his head when Rumble’s hoof slipped on a stone.
“No,” the elf answered, his voice a little flat. “Legend claims that a giant serpent or dragon created it. The beast had done something to send a party of bounty hunters its way. To escape, it burrowed into the mountain, creating this very tunnel.”
“Did it get away?” Jahrra wondered aloud.
Ellyesce shook his head. “I do not know.”
The conversation ceased after that, and as the silence stretched on, punctuated by the steady rhythm of hooves striking stone and the occasional snort of the horses, everyone was left to their own thoughts.
* * *
Several m
iles away, at a lower elevation in the mountain range, the Tanaan dragon Raejaaxorix tucked his wings close and gained speed, heading back into Cahrdyarein. There had been more soldiers than he had anticipated. Many, many more, and he had managed to eliminate just a small portion of them in the handful of days he’d spent protecting the city from the Red Flange’s relentless wrath. A dragon could breathe only so much fire before he needed to rest and recuperate. He had finally reached his limit, and the Tyrant’s minions now poured past his defenses, heading up the treacherous road toward the city.
Yet, he could not despair. Even though their combined efforts were failing, Jaax had held the larger portion of the army off for nearly a week while Pendric’s soldiers and archers picked off those who had managed to sneak past him. But the dawn of each day only brought more of the black and red soldiers within Cahrdyarein’s gates. Like mice sneaking in through a knothole in a barn wall. Only, now thanks to Keiron, there were too many holes for Pendric and his men to keep track of, and the enemy was slowly gaining the upper hand. Jaax knew they were losing and that his time to flee to Nimbronia was at hand. He had done all he could to save this great city, but there was only one more promise he intended to keep.
The great dragon beat his wings several times, gaining speed as Cahrdyarein came into view. His heart sank as he tucked in his wings and rolled to the side, barely missing being impaled by a large spear fired by a ballista. Smoke rose from several wood buildings, and the top of the wall was swarming with soldiers, both in the silver and blue tones of Cahrdyarein and the black and red of the Crimson King. Jaax flew low over the edge of the wall, taking out a catapult and a pack of the enemy soldiers with his tail and claws, but it was like swiping a hand across a line of ants. They were gone for now, but many more would arrive to take their place.
The roar of battle rang clear in his ears, sending his mind spiraling back to another time when he had been called to fight. Jaax shook the thoughts away before they could sink their teeth deep. Those were not happy times, and he needed a clear head. He studied the scene below with an ever growing dread. There were at least five red-clad soldiers for every warrior of Cahrdyarein.
“And there are three times this many still on their way,” he whispered to the early morning air. The city was truly lost. He knew it, had known it would happen, but it was still hard to take.
He needed to find Pendric. He had to find the captain of the guard and keep his promise to Jahrra. The very thought of his ward was like a lance through his heart; as if that spear hadn’t missed him after all. That girl had better be far, far away with Ellyesce keeping a close watch on her. But knowing Jahrra, she might have found a way to slip free and return to the city. Either to help Pendric, or to search for that worthless Resai elf who had brought all of this down on their heads. Rage boiled through Jaax once again, and he released a few jets of emerald fire, carefully aimed at the enemy.
The Tanaan dragon flattened his wings and banked right, starting a new lap around the city. The shouts and screams of the battle below engulfed him, urging him to leave the chaos behind and head for Nimbronia. But first, he had to find the captain of the guard.
-Chapter Eighteen-
A City in Ruin
Pendric clenched his teeth as his knees cracked against the hard stone of the wall walk, the two enemy soldiers restraining him making no effort to be gentle. For five long days, he and the brave Resai men and women of Cahrdyarein had fought hard against the invading army of the Crimson King. Dervit’s warning nearly a week ago had given them a slight advantage, but like a sailing crew working desperately to patch up a sinking ship, Pendric and his soldiers had been spread too thin trying to guard every hidden entrance into Cahrdyarein. With Keiron’s help, the city had been breached, and it was only a matter of hours now before it belonged entirely to the invaders.
The captain of the guard tried not to let that despairing thought seize him as his captors continued to press heavy hands onto his shoulders. He resisted their attempts to force him down any farther. His hands were bound behind his back, and he was already kneeling. He would not bend and touch the ground with his forehead, no matter how hard they tried to get him to do so.
Despite being on the losing side in this outcome, he would not forget his pride in front of the soldiers who still looked up to him for leadership. Well, what soldiers that remained, at least. As Pendric knelt, waiting patiently for the blow of an axe or a sword, he forced himself to breathe deeply through his nose. They would execute him. He had no doubt about that. But, he would await his fate bravely and without fear, as his predecessor had taught him.
Minutes passed, and still nothing happened. Pendric closed his eyes and let his other senses take over. The first thing he took note of was the sound of battle raging on all around him. The clash of steel, the soft swish of arrows gliding through the air, the low rumble of a thousand or more voices crying out for blood, vengeance and death. A very primitive war song disrupted only by the occasional fierce cry of someone experiencing sudden pain. Pendric breathed in deeply, the air tinged with the sharp, metallic scent of blood and the acrid stench of smoke. He wrinkled his nose, realizing the wooden roofs of houses weren’t the only victims of fire. The cold morning air chilled his sweat-soaked skin, and he had to fight a shiver. He would not let the filth that held him in place think he feared them.
The scrape of a boot heel against stone cut through the general cacophony around him, and the captain snapped his eyes open, only to narrow them as a burning sense of anger and betrayal coursed through his veins. A young Resai elf stood before him, dressed in the nondescript but fine clothes of a noble. He wore an untarnished breastplate over a tunic of chainmail, his pale hair and equally pale skin untainted by the horrors of battle. The Resai’s cool blue eyes held a burning, haughty loathing that promised violence.
Pendric met those eyes, his own hooded but hard. Keiron had been his pupil and his friend, and the captain of the guard would have pledged his allegiance to him the day he took his father’s place as regent over Cahrdyarein. But not anymore. Betrayal of one’s people was the worst sort of treachery Pendric could think of, and Keiron had definitely betrayed his people.
The young elf lord held both hands behind his back, one clasping the other as he began a slow stroll around the captain, surveying him as if he were a feral dog afflicted with disease. Regardless of his easy gait and casual stance, Keiron was brimming with violent tension. Even before he made the move to strike him, Pendric knew the blow was coming. He tried to brace himself, but the Crimson King’s men had him pinned too securely. Keiron’s arm lashed out, his fist making contact with Pendric’s face.
The captain grunted as his head snapped to the side, but before he could recover from the strike, Keiron hit him again, and then again. After the fifth or sixth blow, the young man ceased his attack. Pendric coughed and drew in a ragged breath. Blood poured from a cut in his forehead and dribbled down his lips. His nose was most likely broken, but that would heal. At least, it would if he lived long enough to give it a chance. But, he knew he wasn’t long for this world.
At least Whinsey and Erron got out, he thought.
A deep pang of sorrow cut through him, hurting as much as his bruised and broken skin. He would never know his unborn child, would never know if it was a boy or a girl. He clenched his teeth, lashing back at the regret. You were able to save them and give them a future. That’s what matters, he reminded himself. He only wished he could have done the same for the rest of those living in Cahrdyarein. Hopefully, they will find the passages through the caverns and discover a safe haven beyond our city walls.
“Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?” a cool, condescending voice asked, breaking through Pendric’s thoughts.
Not far below, the clamor of battle continued on into the morning. Swords clashing, bowstrings snapping, wood, stone and bone cracking and breaking under the onslaught of battering rams, catapults and war hammers. The shouts of the soldiers intermi
xing with the screams of horses and the Red Flanges’ horrible quahna. Pendric had been rendered nearly deaf from all the noise, yet he had no trouble hearing the precise, ice-quiet voice of his one-time pupil. The captain of the guard turned hard eyes onto the young Resai elf.
“What?” the regent’s son snarled. “Not in the mood to guess? Then, I’ll tell you.”
Keiron snapped an arm out and grabbed Pendric’s throat, leaning in to hiss at him, “Ever since the day you threw me in with the commoners.”
The traitor released him and he coughed, drawing in air. When he regained his composure, Pendric looked up at him in stunned disbelief. Keiron had wanted to beat him since … since his tenth birthday? As the captain of the guard, Pendric oversaw the training of all the young men and women of Cahrdyarein. He took on private students who were younger than the age of ten, but once they were old enough, they had to join the regular classes. This rule applied to everyone. Good gods and goddesses of Ethoes, Keiron had been holding onto this bitterness for ten years? How had he not seen it coming?
“Your father,” Pendric rasped, using his voice for the first time.
“Is dead,” Keiron answered, without a mote of emotion, “along with my mother. I killed them first. They were holding me back, and their misguided self-importance was tedious. Besides,” he added, retreating into himself a little. “I have a new father now.”
Pendric felt a strange tugging on his senses, as if all his nerve endings went numb, then hot at the same moment. Keiron pulled aside the hood of his cloak, exposing one side of his face. Like a bruise rising on the skin, a mark slowly became clear. No, not just a mark. A brand. If Pendric hadn’t already been horrified at Keiron’s act of parricide, the image of the Crimson King’s brand appearing on his face would have definitely sent him over the edge.
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