The Ascending

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  “Why?” Pendric bit out, the word grating against his throat.

  His face and head ached to the point of distraction, and his arms were growing numb from being tied behind his back for so long. The icy stone of the wall walk pressed uncomfortably against his knees, but through all the pain and discomfort, he managed to keep a clear head. But now, with Keiron’s confessions, the captain’s thoughts began to haze over.

  Keiron’s mouth twisted in disgust, and the ugly brand on his cheek only amplified his look of rage. “I just told you, you half-wit! They were holding me back from reaching my full potential, just like you!”

  He balled his fists and kicked the captain in the ribs. Pendric grunted and folded into the blow, wondering if he could now add cracked ribs to his list of injuries. He knew he should have been angry, but for some bizarre reason, a bubble of laughter rose up.

  “That is just the problem,” he breathed, with a dry chuckle. He lifted his eyes so they met Keiron’s. “You never had much potential to begin with.”

  Pendric expected another attack from the regent’s son, but Keiron only sighed and wove his fingers in front of his face. That strange hot tingling sensation whispered over Pendric’s nerves again and the brand vanished. So, some sort of magic was involved to keep the mark hidden. Apparently, the Tyrant didn’t want everyone to know about his little puppet quite yet. The captain of the guard wondered how many others were like Keiron; slaves to the Tyrant, but hiding in plain sight. Icy dread cut through Pendric’s stomach. How many of his soldiers had been working for the enemy? Had they been present when Jaax and Ellyesce had spoken of the caverns the elf would use to guide Jahrra and his family to Nimbronia?

  Keiron’s next words gave him some comfort, however.

  “Enough with the small talk. You are alive only because I need information from you. Where is Jahrra?”

  Pendric clamped his mouth shut and focused on breathing through his swollen nose, trying to ignore the sharp pain each breath caused. He had not fought so hard, nor sacrificed so many of his soldiers, to give in now. Several moments passed, the sky growing ever lighter with the waking dawn. The city was lost. The soldiers who had served under him to keep Cahrdyarein safe for so long were scattered and broken. And his city, this great jewel of the mountain peaks, would become a stronghold for the most hated and feared malevolence Ethoes had ever known. It was no longer a question of if the Tyrant in the east was waking up, it was a certainty. But, he would not bend. If goodness should prevail and blot the scourge in Ghorium from the face of the earth, then he would be remembered as one of several thousand who refused to break under the will of Ciarrohn. He owed it to his wife and his children. And he owed it to Jahrra, the young woman who had proven her honor and worth to him and so many others.

  “What? No longer in the mood to talk? Very well,” Keiron sneered, then added, “Keep silent all you want. I sent my men to your home, and they should be back any minute. I wonder if you’ll talk when I’m holding a knife to your wife’s swollen belly.”

  Pendric laughed again, spitting blood from his mouth.

  “I doubt that very much,” he growled in defiance.

  Keiron stepped close, and the captain tensed. The soldiers holding him in place tightened their grip.

  The regent’s son lowered his face so that it was almost level with Pendric’s.

  “What was that, slave?”

  The captain of the guard turned his eyes to meet Keiron’s. For a brief moment of sadness, he regretted whatever evil power had driven Keiron onto this destructive path. Not for the first time since learning of Keiron’s betrayal, Pendric wondered just how long the evil had been brewing in his heart. At least since the age of ten, he reminded himself.

  “I asked you a question!” Keiron hissed, kicking Pendric in the ribs once again, sending a spike of pain up his side. If his bones hadn’t been fractured from the previous kick, they surely were now.

  Pendric coughed, choking a little on some more blood, then spat at Keiron’s feet.

  “I said,” he wheezed, “I doubt you’ll be able to get my wife to talk.”

  Keiron’s eyes blazed like blue dragon fire. Before he could say anything more, five soldiers dressed in the crimson and black garb of the Tyrant’s army shuffled up the stone steps behind them. The regent’s son gave them a quick glance, then his face contorted with rage once more.

  “Well?” he demanded. “Where is the woman and child?”

  The soldiers’ faces grew ashen.

  “We found no sign of them, my lord,” one of them answered grimly.

  Keiron let out a stream of curses, then wheeled around to face Pendric.

  “Where are they?” he demanded. “Where are you hiding them?!”

  Pendric only shook his head and smiled, which earned him a few more punches from those who restrained him. By the time he was ready to address Keiron again, his vision was swimming and his skull felt as if it’d been cracked like an eggshell.

  “You won’t find them,” he rasped. “They’re gone. They have left the city. They are beyond your reach.”

  Keiron’s face paled, and then slowly turned red with fury. The spell hiding the mark of the Crimson King wavered, revealing the harsh black grooves of the bloodrose scar for a split second before it settled back in place again. He lunged forward and grabbed Pendric by the hair, wrenching his head back so that his neck arched.

  “Where are they?”

  Each word was released as a slow, formidable hiss.

  Pendric ignored the ache in his neck, and refused to answer.

  “Tell me, curse you, or you die now!”

  He was dead anyway. He would not betray those he loved. He tried to swallow, but the angle of his neck made it difficult. Keiron dug his fingers deeper into his scalp and shook his head a little, growling at his former sword instructor. As the dizziness passed, Pendric took a breath and began speaking. He would not tell Keiron what he wanted to know, but he refused to leave this world calmly. He thought of the dragon Raejaaxorix, at that very moment doing what he could to cleanse the mountainside of the enemy horde. The captain of the guard reached deep into his memory and pulled from it an adage he had once memorized years before.

  Pendric wet his lips and took one more ragged breath, then began reciting, “May the fire you breathe be meant for warming,”

  “What?” Keiron snarled, yanking his captive’s head back even farther.

  Pendric gasped, but continued on. “M-May the beat of your wings lift also your spirits. May the scales upon your hide not guard you from kindness,”

  “Very well,” Keiron said with a cold finality, “if you refuse to give me the information I want, I no longer need you.”

  He reached out and grabbed the closest weapon from one of the soldiers standing nearby. He lifted it above his head, ready to strike.

  Pendric drew in one last breath and said, “And may the strength of your presence be that of justice.”

  As the sword sliced down, the sky above exploded in a torrent of fire. And then Pendric knew no more.

  * * *

  Archedenaeh woke with a jolt, sucking in long, deep breaths of air as her heart thudded against her ribcage. As she waited for her senses to adjust and for her panic to evaporate, she tried to think of why she might have awoken in such a state. Had she stopped breathing in her sleep? Had she been trying to escape some horrid nightmare? Gradually, her memories returned: the weeks she and Milihn had traveled ever higher into the mountains, the Red Flange and their commander’s plans, the landslide she had created to delay them … Denaeh lifted a weak hand and pressed it to her forehead. Her skin was cold and clammy, and her head pounded. So, she had called upon her deep magic. That would explain her current ailment. It had happened before, she recalled, whenever she summoned her ancient power and needed to go into this semi-hibernation to replenish.

  Groaning softly, she tried to swallow, only to find her throat swollen and her mouth dry. Well, there was only one thing to do then.
She must fight through the aches and find some water and search for something to eat. As carefully as she could, the Mystic rolled onto her side, flattening her hand against the ground to steady herself. Her fingers dug into dry pine needles and soft earth. She opened her eyes and blinked several times. Darkness flooded her vision, but it wasn’t because she was about to pass out. A circle of light loomed several feet ahead and it was then Denaeh realized that before she lost consciousness, she’d been able to find shelter. The alcove wasn’t large, but it had protected her from the elements and hidden her from view.

  Slowly, she dragged herself toward the mouth of the niche. Once there, she very carefully studied the outside world with her eyes, ears and nose. She couldn’t see anything dangerous, nor could she pick up any faint sounds of creaking leather armor or chinking chain mail. The air was fresh and clean, smelling of snow and not smoke or horses. It was safe to exit her hideaway.

  It took Denaeh a few minutes to walk the short distance from the alcove to a comfortable looking log several feet away. Once she was sitting, she released a deep sigh and wrapped her blood-red cloak more tightly about herself. Judging by the light and the direction it was coming from, the hour was just past dawn.

  Denaeh sat for several minutes, trying to encourage the chill to leave her bones and will away the lingering aches. She wondered how many days she’d been out, and if her efforts with the rockslide had helped Jaax and Jahrra in the long run. She dearly hoped so. Of all the visions she’d received over the years pertaining to the great war, Jaax and Jahrra had always made it as far as Ghorium. Beyond that, she hadn’t seen much. She was hoping that with this journey, not only would she be able to keep an eye on the dragon and his human girl, but perhaps she would be permitted to visit the Seers’ Temple on the peak above Nimbronia. It was a sacred place, fiercely guarded by the Creecemind dragons, and if she played her cards right, she might find the opportunity to get a much clearer idea of what the future held.

  The Mystic took a shaking breath through her nose and tried to picture the Temple. Even being one of the few Mystics left in the world of Ethoes, she had never seen the place in person. The ancient texts and scrolls described it as a small cave with an ancient, gnarled pine tree, Ethoes’ Sacred Pine, growing above it. Inside the cave, a huge hunk of granite stood with a basin carved in its center. The depression was filled with water that never froze and never evaporated. It acted as a scrying pool, but the type of scrying pool which offered a glimpse of the unchangeable future, if seen with the right eyes. No common elf, Resai, Nesnan, dwarf or any other being in Ethoes could use the scrying pool properly. Only Mystics and Oracles could. It was meant to be a power enhancer, and Denaeh shivered at the thought of what the Temple’s scrying pool could do to her visions. And when a vision was seen in the pool, there was no questionable interpretation about it. Should she look into the water and see a scene unfold before her eyes, then it was guaranteed to happen.

  Think of the things you could verify, she mused, think of what you could know if you were given the chance to ask …

  A sharp caw from above broke Denaeh’s concentration. She shot her head up and smiled when she found Milihn sitting on the drooping branch of a pine tree. Hanging from his beak was the carcass of a skinny rabbit. He fluffed his feathers and dropped from the branch, gliding down into the tiny meadow. The bird landed a few feet away and hopped the rest of the distance, dragging the rabbit behind him like a toy.

  Denaeh reached out and smoothed the feathers on his head. The korehv grumbled contentedly, his black eyes closing as he reveled in the attention of his master.

  “Shall I check to see if the soldiers have cleared out?” she asked him. “Would hate to start a fire and draw unwanted attention.”

  The Mystic sat straight once again and tilted her head back a little. She took long, slow breaths through her nose, closing her eyes and letting her conscious drift free. Her magical senses reached out, searching the adjacent peaks for signs of the Red Flange. First, she checked the area where they had been camping, but all she found were empty fire pits and the bones left behind of animals they’d hunted and eaten. She let her other sight travel up the mountainside, close to where the landslide blocked the road. There she sensed death and ruin. Cringing a little, she pulled back and scanned the high mountain forest in a ten mile radius around her alcove. Discovering that a small fire to cook the rabbit and get warm would be safe, she returned all her senses to her body.

  Denaeh opened her eyes and gave Milihn a mournful look.

  “There was a great battle,” she told the korehv as she started gathering kindling. “I do not yet know the outcome.”

  Soon, the fire was crackling, and the rabbit was skinned and spitted over the flames. Despite the prospect of food, and the presence of a small spring Milihn had led her to, Denaeh couldn’t help but feel troubled. She still hadn’t discerned the current location of Jaax and Jahrra, and her efforts to search the area for spies had depleted her magic once again. She would have to make her way to Cahrdyarein and see for herself what had become of the girl and the dragon.

  Denaeh feared what she might find in the mountain city. She closed her eyes once again, drawing in a deep breath. The air was now spiced with the scents of smoke and roasting meat, but she wasn’t trying to test the air for intruders. Instead, she brought to the surface of her mind a vision she had seen recently. Jahrra stood on the great wall of Cahrdyarein with a young, handsome man beside her. No, not a man. An elf perhaps? The scene melted away, like sugar dissolving in a hot cup of tea. The next vision showed her Jahrra again with the elf, only this time his hands were bound and several dark figures surrounded them. Then the Mystic’s vision warped a third time, displaying that same young elf looking enraged as he stood on the great black wall as the city burned behind him.

  Denaeh snapped her eyes open as dread filled her heart. Had Jahrra been betrayed? Was she now under the power of the Red Flange? Was that how she would eventually come to be in Ghorium, as a prisoner of the Crimson King? And where was Jaax? How could the Tanaan dragon let this happen to her?

  Denaeh drew in a rattling breath as fear and darkness threatened to pull her under. Instinctively, she lifted a shaking hand to her neck, seeking out the cord tied there. With trembling fingers, she drew the thin rope out from beneath her clothing, grasping onto the spirit stone ring that hung at the end. The Mystic sat still for several heartbeats, allowing the ring’s presence to bring her some comfort.

  “If only you were here with me,” she whispered, her throat aching. “I could use your counsel and your strength. What I wouldn’t give to see your face again. To hear your voice.”

  But she only had herself, and Milihn, and no one else. Hers was a solitary life, one without friends or family, and although it had been her choice those many years ago, it still left her feeling empty.

  Denaeh clenched her hand into a fist, the ring slowly warming beneath her fingers. After several seconds, she took one more long breath and released her grip. She could not afford to let memory and past regrets cloud her judgment. She still had a job to do if she wanted the future to remain on the path she had envisioned.

  “Come along, Milihn,” she murmured, standing up and brushing mud and grit from her dirty cloak. “We’ll eat as we walk. I’m not up to my full strength, so if we want to see what has become of Cahrdyarein, we must get moving now.”

  The korehv grumbled and flew onto her shoulder. Denaeh picked up the stake the rabbit had been spitted on, kicked wet earth over the fire, and headed away from her campsite. For several hours, she climbed along the western side of the mountain ridge, following game trails to reach the city and guaranteeing she wouldn’t run into any red soldiers. It took her and Milihn the entire day to reach Cahrdyarein, and just before sundown she found herself gazing upon the settlement that had once been a worthy stronghold of the Great Hruhnan Mountains. What she saw made her heart sink like a dark stone to the bottom of a deep well. Cahrdyarein was in ruins. The wall sti
ll stood, and so did the stone buildings that made up the many layers of the city, but smoke billowed from several roofs and even from her lofty view, she could see the fallen soldiers of Morivan’s guard, their silver-blue uniformed bodies littering the streets.

  She hissed slightly. So many.

  Along the wall walk, more of the Tyrant’s soldiers scurried about. They resembled black and red ants, agitated after having water directed down their ant hole. Several more of them crowded around the base of the wall outside the city, waiting for their comrades to open the gates and let them in.

  “So, the city has been taken by the Crimson King,” she murmured to Milihn, who sat stoically upon her shoulder.

  Denaeh wondered where the army’s high commander was, the cold man who she’d overheard speaking with his skurmage outside of Lidien. Perhaps he was in the regent’s house, celebrating his victory. Was the young elf from her vision with him? Did they have Jahrra? Had they captured Jaax?

  A cold chill coursed through Denaeh’s blood. She had known the dragon Raejaaxorix for a very long time. He would never let them capture Jahrra without a fight. Denaeh squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples, too many scenarios racing around in her mind. A cold wind gusted by, tugging her brilliant red hair free from the hood of her cloak. Milihn grumbled his discomfort but stayed put on his master’s shoulder. The ledge they stood on was nothing more than a massive hunk of granite jutting out from the small peak adjacent to Cahrdyarein’s mountain. A collection of spindly, twisted conifers provided some cover among the pile of rocks the Mystic and korehv used as cover, so no one should be able to see them. Nevertheless, Denaeh was no fool. Her cloak and hair transformed her into a small flame of color, and she was always cautious to remain hidden behind whatever barrier she could find.

  At the moment, however, her entire concentration was focused on summoning a vision of the future. She could not risk entering the city, or even coming within a mile of it. Even standing still on this ledge was dangerous. Now that the city was taken, the Crimson King’s men would begin patrolling the area. She had to get her information and get out of there fast.