One haughty, scaly brow lifted in amusement. Jahrra clamped her mouth shut, anger and fear churning in her stomach.
“You won’t allow it?” Jaax queried softly, his tone laced with laughter. He gave a quick bow, a movement of grace and elegance that surprised Jahrra, if only a little. “Pray, do tell, your royal highness, just how you plan on stopping me?”
Jahrra was tempted to stomp her foot, preferably on one of his toes. Maybe she could dislodge another scale to match the one hanging from the chain around her neck. Only her own stubborn pride kept her from flinging her fists down by her sides and marching off into the woods to scream her frustration. Well, her pride and the fact such behavior would entertain Jaax even more when his suggestion was anything but humorous.
“We cannot separate,” she pressed, trying to leak some calm into her voice. “What if we are attacked by boarlaques, or dremmen wolves or an entire legion of the Crimson King’s Morli dragons? It was you, after all, who said those dragons have a habit of flying west. And just because Farian told you the Tyrant’s soldiers are moving through the middle of the continent doesn’t mean there aren’t any taking our intended path as well.”
“And that is exactly why I will be sticking to the southern side of the mountains. To draw any stray troops away from you, Ellyesce, and Dervit.”
Silence stretched between them for several heartbeats, the early morning chatter of birds only accentuating the emptiness. Not just in the space around them, but in Jahrra’s heart as well. Jaax had insisted she and the others travel to Nimbronia without him when the Red Flange attacked Cahrdyarein. She didn’t like it then, and she liked it even less now. That same cold unease settled in her stomach, but if anyone was more stubborn than her, it was Jaax.
“I don’t like it, Jaax,” she finally muttered, the hand not clutching Phrym’s reins clenching and unclenching by her side. “I don’t like not knowing where you are and if you are safe.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his, only to discover his visage had softened into one of his unreadable expressions she so often tried, and failed, to decipher. Something about that look took what shreds of bravery Jahrra clung so hard to and shattered them into a thousand pieces. Unable to face him any longer, Jahrra turned on her heel and tried to climb into Phrym’s saddle. The panic struck her so swiftly, she didn’t know what hit her. One moment, Jahrra had slipped her foot into the stirrup, the next she was falling backward only to land on her rump in the icy mud.
Cursing, she shoved at the ground, standing back up so clumsily Phrym nickered in alarm and stepped to the side, almost making her fall again. Still, the tightness in her chest, the dizzy swirling in her head, the shortness of breath causing her heart to race…
“Jahrra,” Jaax said, his voice low, calm.
It was too much. The fates were demanding too much of her. She couldn’t do this. No. NO! She would not succumb to this weakness. She would not give in to despair and hopelessness. She owed it to her foster parents, to Hroombra, to everyone who had fallen beneath the Tyrant’s cruel shadow. She must be stronger, braver, fiercer than her fear …
“Jahrra,” Jaax tried again, his voice battering against that wall of panic crashing down upon her.
“I have to fight,” she breathed. “I can’t give in. Can’t. I can’t ...”
Jaax took a step closer to her. If he had been a smaller dragon, he might try to tuck her in close to him, but he feared his claws would end up hurting her.
“Jahrra, stop. Look at me.”
She swiped at the mud coating her pants in a frantic effort to remove it. The only trouble was, her arms were now covered, and she only ended up spreading the grime with her actions.
“No, I need to get the mud off first.” Tears gleamed in her eyes, and her voice grew thick.
“Jahrra, look at me!”
This time, Jaax put steely resolve behind the words. Jahrra stopped her erratic movements, her hands falling to her sides as she sank back to the ground, too worn out to care about the mud any more. As if it ever was about the mud. Her breathing was heavy, and she trembled a little as she tried to calm herself. Finally, after a long spell of silence, she glanced up at her guardian. Pure anguish stared back out at him from her face, and Jaax had to fight the urge to claw something. He had known, from the moment he joined the Coalition, from the day he found Jahrra in Crie, that someday in the future, she would have to face an unbearable evil. He had hardened himself against emotion, he had focused so purely on his goal, on the Coalition’s goal, that he hadn’t allowed himself to get attached to anyone. He couldn’t afford to, but it had happened anyway. And he had promised not to leave Jahrra to deal with it on her own. He still wasn’t leaving her, not really, but that’s what it felt like. A betrayal of sorts. To both of them.
The great dragon huffed a breath and settled down beside her, like a loyal hound lounging beneath a shady oak tree with its master. Jahrra, in response, pulled her knees up and hugged them close to her chest, resting her cheek on the top. Not caring about the muck pressing into her skin.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Jaax,” she whispered, the fear rising so much closer to the surface than he’d ever seen it before, even more so than those handful of nights ago beside the Hrwyndess River. And that alone terrified him; made him want to reconsider his decision to take a separate road into Dhonoara.
Jaax swallowed back his own trepidation and said, “Yes, you can. If anyone in this world can face the Crimson King, Jahrra, it is you.”
His young ward snorted and drew in a deep breath. “What about you?”
The dragon smirked and glanced down at her, the smear of mud on her chin reminding him of that headstrong girl she had once been. Still was, if he was being honest with himself. She was watching him, some of that anguish having melted away from her eyes as the panic subsided. Good. That wasn’t his Jahrra. She was too strong to let the despair get to her. And, if she wasn’t strong enough to fight it, he would lend her some of his own.
“Oh, I might be able to take him on as well,” the Tanaan dragon drawled. “But he doesn’t fear me as he fears you. I am but another pesky dragon to be squashed like a bug. You, well, you are something the goddess herself promised the world. You are the one who will find a way to defeat him.”
“But how, Jaax? How?” She smacked her hand against the ground in frustration. “Does it say in the prophecy how I am supposed to defeat a god? How can I do the impossible without any guidance? And that is what frightens me, this not knowing. This walking into the greatest challenge of my life unprepared. Well, that and losing all my friends and dying.”
Jaax had no answer for her, so he simply sat there for a while listening to the remnant breezes of the broken storm dance through the pine boughs above. A pair of squirrels scurried over the rocks, flinging insults at one another and making a great ruckus. The world breathed around them, shivering a little at winter’s meager attempts to fend off spring’s eager approach, miraculously untouched by the evil king in the east. At least, not too severely if not yet. But one day, it would all wither away and die if he and Jahrra and their other companions didn’t find a way to destroy that evil cancer in Ghorium before it had a chance to spread.
“We will find a way, Jahrra,” Jaax promised, “Before this is all over, we will find a way.”
-Chapter Seven-
Confronting a Shadow
Jahrra watched Jaax fly away, his dragon form winging southward from where she sat atop Phrym, until he was nothing more than a dark green smudge against the pale blue sky. When she couldn’t see him anymore, she slammed the door on her heart’s attempt at letting its sorrow leak out, then encouraged Phrym to canter down the road after her friends. Ellyesce and Dervit hadn’t made it far. A quarter mile down the road they waited for her, their expressions wary. Jahrra forced a smile, even though she held no joy in her heart. She was glad to see them, at least, and didn’t want them to worry about her.
Dervit drew in a breath, opening his mouth
to speak. Jahrra held up a hand. “I’ll be fine, Dervit. Let’s just keep moving. The sooner we get to Dhonoara, the better.”
By late afternoon, the three travelers reached a wide valley where the North Parting Range met up with the Kourhiont Mountains.
“We’ll take that pass,” Ellyesce said, indicating a gap between two of the higher peaks, “but we’ll wait to do so until morning.”
The evening passed mostly in silence, the three companions lost in their own thoughts before they sought their bedrolls.
The following morning dawned clear and cold, the sun shining brighter than Jahrra’s dismal mood. Ellyesce took the lead again as they climbed up through the mountain pass, the horses having little difficulty with the surprisingly easy terrain. By early twilight, they were through the gap separating the ranges. The drier, scrubbier landscape of eastern Felldreim changed as well. As soon as they crested the pass, the pines grew shaggier, the high altitude deciduous trees more plentiful. Damp, green moss and ferns carpeted the ground beneath the trees, and a thick mist obscured the view to the north. Even when the path trailed past long stretches of land where no trees grew, Jahrra, Dervit, and Ellyesce could not see more than thirty feet in front of them. Only a soft rumbling of waves far below gave evidence to the shore at the mountains’ base.
“It’s a shame we can’t see the channel,” Dervit sighed, as they made camp for the night.
“Perhaps tomorrow the fog will clear,” Jahrra offered over her shoulder. She had dismounted Phrym and was attempting to start a fire. A bit difficult considering their damp surroundings.
Ellyesce slid from Gliriant’s back and grabbed his bow and quiver.
“I’m going to see if I can find us dinner. I won’t wander far, but I want you two to stay here.”
They had found a small, sheltered canyon far enough away from the main path to avoid any passersby, if anyone happened to be wandering this far out into the wilderness.
“Hopefully, by the time you get back, I’ll have a fire going,” Jahrra replied. She bent to blow on a few sparks she’d cast with her flint, but all she got was smoke.
“Take your time,” Ellyesce threw over his shoulder as he climbed a fallen tree up to the canyon’s lip. “I’m going to check for potential enemies while I’m at it.”
Jahrra sat back on her heels, hands pressed to her thighs as she gave the fire a perturbed look. “Any chance you can use some of that magic to help me start this fire?”
She wished Jaax was with them, but purged that thought from her mind as soon as it tried to take root. Thinking about Jaax would have her worrying about him and that would do none of them any good.
Ellyesce shook his head with a wry grin. “I could try, but my elemental magic isn’t nearly as good as my mental magic.”
Jahrra flapped a hand at him and resumed her task, while Dervit scurried about looking for kindling. Trusting that the two of them would be safe enough for an hour or so, Ellyesce continued his climb and disappeared into the mist. It was still a bit early for the dusk animals to be out seeking food, so he instead scouted for a good place to work his craft.
Fifteen minutes later, he came upon an outcropping of stones that rose above the fog. Waning afternoon sunlight prodded his eyes, but he lifted a hand to shield his vision as he gave his surroundings a quick perusal. Once satisfied only rocks, trees, and the occasional chipmunk lingered nearby, Ellyesce stepped up onto a relatively flat slab of granite that rose above the tops of the nearby pines. It was risky, making himself so visible, but his magic worked better from a high, open place. Besides, he had the fog to mask him from any potential spies lurking on the mountainside below.
He sat cross-legged, his bow and quiver lying nearby, and allowed his eyelids to drift shut. Ellyesce drew in one long, deep breath, then let it out. Over and over again, he repeated this, letting his other senses take over. Eventually, he entered that state of mind that allowed his magic to pour forth more freely. Like rings expanding from a pebble thrown into a pond, it rippled outward in unseen waves, bypassing anything it deemed benign or nonthreatening. It moved past trees, rocks, wild animals large and small. It expanded upward toward the sky, flowing past birds and clouds, and downward through the earth, its gentle caress not disturbing roots and burrowing animals as it sank deeper.
The elf continued to draw in long, steady breaths, his arms loosely held open at his sides, his eyes closed and his face turned up to the spring sky. The rings of his magic remained clean of any taint, so he pushed his awareness out farther to a fifteen-mile radius. Sweat broke out on his forehead as a sliver of pain pierced through his head. He could keep this up only a few moments longer.
On the very edge of the perimeter he sensed them, the Crimson King’s soldiers. Not moving, but keeping still. He could not tell if they meant to follow him and his companions, or if they were just another one of the many troops making their way east along the southern base of the Kourhiont Mountains. All he knew was that these soldiers were somewhere behind them and that his own company should not spend any days lingering on their side of the mountains.
Ellyesce drew in a breath of chilly mountain air, then started to call his magic back to him. He would need to eat an extra helping of dinner tonight, and he would have to retire early in order to recuperate his strength. As the ripples of power pulled back towards him, one of the rings tripped over something, jerking him to attention. One of the waves snapped and fizzled red against his mind’s eye, and he gasped, clutching both sides of his head as he fell forward. Bright sparks ignited behind his eyes, and the throbbing pain spiked, forcing a wave of nausea to wash over him.
Leaning to the side, Ellyesce heaved, purging the contents of his stomach as the pain intensified before returning to a dull ache. He knelt upon his rocky perch for several moments, taking in deep, clean breaths as his limbs shook, and his stomach churned. Fortunately, the sick feeling in his gut abated, but his headache did not.
“By the gods and goddesses of Ethoes,” he breathed, his voice coming out as a rasp against his own ears. That anomaly along his path of power wasn’t an unfamiliar one. He had felt this presence before. Many times before. Shrouded against his magic, following him and his companions these past weeks. Always hidden from him. “Who are you that follows us so closely, and why can I not discern your identity?”
And why was their presence affecting him so violently now? Perhaps, this stranger was getting closer, not just physically, but magically as well. Had he the strength, Ellyesce would have sent his magic out again, but this time instead of gentle waves, he’d throw a spear. Swift, pointed, precise. He would again try to cut through the murky veil of magic so he might catch a glimpse of who this mage was. If only he had the power he’d push past the shield and that blurred shape, moving like a brilliant red butterfly in a windstorm, flickering and darting through his mind, would grow still long enough for him to examine it.
“A color not to be trusted,” he murmured to himself, cool dread icing his heart as he remembered the scarlet pulse of power that taunted him. A color too closely connected with the Crimson King.
Shaking off his apprehension and what remained of the intrusive magic rattling his nerves, Ellyesce stood on wobbly knees and picked his way back through the trees. When he returned to the campsite it was to find Jahrra and Dervit settled comfortably around a crackling fire, deep into a game of Astral cards. Not wanting to alarm them with his somewhat harried appearance, the elf put on a smile, hoping it hid the worry in his eyes. The effort, it turned out, was ill placed. The crunch of dead branches beneath his boots alerted his arrival, and Jahrra lifted her blue-gray gaze to his. Her mouth started to curve in a smile of welcome, but stopped abruptly, her eyes growing wide.
Ellyesce tensed. Oh no. What does she sense?
She set her cards aside and pointed a finger at his face.
“Your nose! What happened? Did you encounter trouble?”
Ellyesce’s hand jerked to the appendage in question. Something warm an
d wet met his fingertips and when he pulled them away, they were stained red. Blood. Ellyesce clenched his teeth as he fished a cloth from the pocket of his deerskin coat. Foolish. He should have checked himself before returning to camp.
By the time he wiped his face clean, Jahrra was standing, arms crossed over her chest, one dark blond eyebrow arched high.
“Well?”
Ellyesce sighed. There really was no point in lying to her, at least not anymore, not when it came to this. He had kept enough secrets from her, and this particular one affected her directly.
“My magic encountered something very powerful, and unexpected,” he admitted, shrugging as he picked up the water kettle to settle over the fire.
Jahrra cast Dervit a glance, and the limbit swallowed, his brown eyes going round.
“Explain,” Jahrra demanded, taking a seat on the rock that had acted as their table.
“Let me get some tea brewing first. And we’ll have to fix something for supper from our stores.” He’d forgotten to hunt for food on his way back to camp.
As Ellyesce added tea leaves to the boiling water, Dervit dug around in one of their packs and came up with some dried meat, cheese, and bread. Once settled comfortably around the small fire, sipping their honeyed tea and nibbling on sandwiches, Ellyesce began his explanation.
“Someone, or something, has been following us since we left Lidien,” he stated, his words tumbling into the cool evening air and mingling with the soft whisper and crackle of the fire.
Ellyesce didn’t look up at his companions, instead, he gazed down at the tendrils of steam rising from the dark liquid in the mug tucked between his curled fingers. They had been ice cold when he’d returned to the tiny culvert, and hadn’t warmed much further since, even with the hot tea to heat them. This constant shadow of theirs had nagged at his mind, like a tenacious mosquito who stayed always out of his reach, and he had been imprudent in thinking their follower had lost interest after arriving in Nimbronia. What frustrated, and frightened him most, however, was his inability to discern this person’s identity, even though the magic, at times, felt so familiar to him.
The Legend of Oescienne--The Reckoning (Book Five) Page 9
