The Legend of Oescienne--The Reckoning (Book Five)

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  Nodding once, Jahrra glanced around the war camp one last time. Seven thousand men and women against a force more than twice that size, maybe even three times that number, not counting the Tyrant’s fleet of Morli dragons.

  If you were ever going to be with us, she thought, casting a silent prayer up to Ethoes, now is the time we need you the most.

  And, with that final thought, Jahrra stepped forward, following Ellyesce and Denaeh northward into the Ghorium wilderness and towards her awaiting fate.

  -Chapter Twenty-

  Into Enemy Territory

  Just before midnight, Jahrra, Ellyesce, and Denaeh crossed the West Noryen River, using stones and patches of dry earth peeking out from the sluggish water as a makeshift bridge. Fortunately, the moon had been full a few nights ago, so they had some light to guide them.

  “I don’t think the water is really toxic,” Ellyesce said, pressing the back of his wrist to his nose as he gingerly put his weight upon a half-rotten tree trunk wedged between two stones, “but it will leave a reek on your clothes.”

  Jahrra heard his words, but she was busy trying to avoid the pools of foul, stagnant water as well. They had been lucky so far, not running into any spies or scouts the entire night. In all honesty, if such a gift had to be earned with shoes that smelled of rotten eggs, she could live with it. Still, she wasn’t about to trudge through the sludge carelessly.

  In the end, all three made it across without incident. Jahrra breathed a sigh of relief once on the opposite bank, for the hills rose up from the moors almost immediately, hunkered low in the shadow of the Great Frozen Mountains, their rounded faces glowing beneath the silver moonlight. The black basalt mountains appeared even darker in the pallid light, and the snow capping their tops made them gleam like dragon’s teeth. She tried not to think of Jaax as the reminder of sharp teeth flitted through her mind. Instead, she pulled her cloak more tightly about herself, her teeth chattering a bit against the cold. It was late spring, yet winter did not want to relinquish its hold in this part of the world.

  “It’s a good thing we dressed appropriately,” Denaeh commented when she noticed Jahrra’s slight shivering. “But, let’s keep moving. Not only will it help us stay warm, but we still have miles to go, and we’d best get beneath the cover of those woods before dawn.”

  She indicated the narrow band of mixed forest marking the base of the foothills, leaving a few scant miles of barren land between the Noryen’s western bank and the foot of the mountains.

  The party of three traveled through the trees and mixed woodland until the sun broke the horizon.

  “We’ve come a lot farther than I anticipated,” Ellyesce said that morning as they hunkered around a fire. Both he and Denaeh were using magic to mask the light and smoke given off by the flames, so they nibbled on bread and cheese to replenish the energy their power swiftly burned away.

  “I think we’re here,” Denaeh added, pointing to a spot on the map less than ten miles from the castle.

  Jahrra glanced up at her, then flicked her gaze to Ellyesce. He sat apart from the Mystic, as he always had, but that great chasm between them had shifted, grown closer somehow.

  Turning her eyes towards the growing brightness of the emerging day, Jahrra said, “Good. That means we’ll get to the castle sooner rather than later and have the strength to fight, if we must.”

  The elf nodded, but said nothing more. They settled down to sleep shortly after that, though Jahrra could not find her rest, her mind awhirl with worry over Jaax.

  We’re coming, she thought as the sun blazed down from above. We’re coming for you, Jaax. Hold on.

  She must have drifted off eventually, because the next thing Jahrra remembered was being shaken awake by a firm hand. She jerked up into a sitting position, but it was only Ellyesce.

  “Time to go,” he said, voice and expression gloomy.

  She nodded once and quickly packed her sleeping roll. They had slept in their clothes, so in the span of ten minutes, they were on their feet again, eating a quick breakfast of hard oat bars. None of them spoke of what they would face soon enough, but the dread hung heavy in the air around them like the shadows of the deepening twilight.

  A handful of hours later, just as the bright moon crawled up over the eastern portion of the Great Frozen Range, Jahrra, Ellyesce, and Denaeh crested a small hill and found themselves looking down on the wide valley of the Noryen’s delta. The river splintered apart in a spider web of many narrower channels that meandered to the northern sea, the rivulets like silver threads against the dark earth. Behind them, one portion of the mountain range tumbled off to the west, but to the east, more black mountains rose and trailed away, like the jagged edge of a sword blade nicked from hard use in battle. And where the mountains and hills came to an end just above the river, there rose an enormous castle carved right into the stone.

  As far as Jahrra could tell, the Tyrant’s castle was more of a square fortress with only a few squat, round towers marking its corners. No turrets pierced the sky, but then again, the shadows cast by the mountain peaks themselves hid much of the Crimson King’s domain. Only what must have been flickering torches marked the line of the rooftop, and an occasional dot of brilliant orange against the deep black gave away windows and doorways.

  “The city must be deserted,” Ellyesce murmured just beside her. “There are no fires and no smoke rises from the dark. Look.”

  He pointed a finger, and Jahrra followed its path. She never would have known a city existed beneath the castle if Ellyesce hadn’t told her. Pale moonlight tripped over sharp angles and rough edges as it spilled down the mountainside, but only upon closer inspection did Jahrra make out slanted roofs and separate buildings amongst what might just have been the natural, rocky edifice of the wide slope.

  As Jahrra studied the silent city, a flicker of movement fluttered in the corner of her eye. Denaeh hissed, and they ducked beneath a thick shrub growing on the hilltop. The castle was still miles off, but she could see well enough, despite the hour of the night. A large, black shadow dropped from the sky and came to rest behind the crenellations of the castle roof. The beast appeared no bigger than the tip of her pinky at such a distance, and although she could not make out its features or even its true shape, she knew what it was. Ice water snaked through her veins as she whispered harshly, “Morli dragon.”

  Ellyesce grunted beside her. So, the wide, flat roof of the castle made sense now, and from what she could tell, that space could hold two dozen Morli dragons sitting at attention, ready to be dispatched. Did such a fleet rest there now? Waiting to take flight and rain fire down upon the legions of the Coalition’s army?

  Swallowing back her unease, Jahrra angled her head just enough to peer south where the wide valley parting the ranges opened up to the endless flatlands of Ghorium. There was no army on the southern horizon, at least, no army she could see, but from the base of the Greater Frozen Mountains in the east there stretched mile upon mile of rocky moorland dotted with glowing campfires. The army of the Crimson King slept now, but when daylight broke, they would swarm about like ants, busy with the duties required of them as war loomed ever closer. They would have quahna with them instead of horses, those awful, fanged creatures with cloven hooves. The same ones she had once faced in Oescienne, then later in the mountains below Cahrdyarein. Morli dragons, like the winged shadow she had seen land above the castle, would rise up from between the campfires of the organized legions and make their way towards the fortress far above. It was difficult to see them now, in the dark, but she imagined how they would look when the Coalition’s army arrived. Those winged monsters would blacken the sky with their presence, scorching dragon, elf, and beast alike, and her friends, people she loved and cared about, would perish, despite their great courage and battle prowess. Jahrra shuddered, and fought against a sudden onslaught of panic. She had known the Tyrant’s army was vast, but to actually see it in person, to picture in her mind what this force would look like when the
battle had truly begun, was enough to force the breath from her lungs.

  “Our battle won’t be down there, Jahrra,” Ellyesce whispered beside her, making her jump.

  She shook her head, freshly formed tears trailing down her cheeks.

  “No,” she said, voice rough with emotion. She turned to look Ellyesce in the eye and wasn’t surprised to find his composure matching hers. “But our friends will be down there.”

  Dathian, his brothers and his father, the two princes, Haedron, Sapheramin, Tollorias … Dervit. All the other good, honorable elvin men and women she had met since arriving in Dhonoara. They would all be down there, fighting against a force they could not match. Engaging in a war they could not win. They would be slaughtered. All of them.

  Gentle fingers came to rest on Jahrra’s shoulder, and she drew in a gasp of breath.

  “Do not think of the worst,” Denaeh murmured, her voice a balm upon Jahrra’s aching heart. “All you can do is fight your fight and let them fight theirs. Every single person you’ve met along your path, up until this very moment, is here for a reason. They fight for the same thing you fight for, Jahrra, even if their battle is different than yours.”

  Jahrra let her eyes drift shut, absorbing the kind comfort her friend offered. It didn’t chase away the pain and fear completely, but her words had helped.

  “Perhaps, we should keep moving,” Ellyesce suggested, voice a little shaky. “It would be better to cross the river under the dark of night, even if the moon is bright enough to outshine the sun. Our path should remain clear until we reach the eastern bank, at least.”

  It was then that Jahrra realized he had used magic to probe their surroundings. He must have overextended himself a little because he wavered a little on his feet. Denaeh removed her hand from Jahrra’s shoulder and reached into a pocket. She took Ellyesce’s hand without a word and pressed something into his palm. He did not protest, only closed his fingers around the object and gave a slight nod before tucking the item into his own pocket. Denaeh stepped away from him then, giving him space.

  Jahrra only blinked between them, unsure of what to say.

  “Ellyesce is much stronger in mental magic than I,” she murmured by way of explanation. “It will be his skills we’ll need the most from now onward. He ought to have the mage diamond. I am strong enough to help out where I can.”

  The rest of the journey down the hill was a silent one, all three companions keeping their ears, eyes, and minds sharp for any movement they might have missed. Ellyesce and Denaeh thought their magic would be better served blocking both mental probes and questing eyes, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be heard by the enemy. Upon reaching the base of the hills, Jahrra used her memory of the maps to silently lead the Mystic and the elf to a location along the river bank that had appeared passable. Fortunately, this far north, both sides of the river were relatively low, and as the delta started to fork away from the main tributary, there were plenty of areas where crossing was made easier.

  Still, it took them an hour to make it to the opposite side, using thick patches of marsh grass and debris the river had carried from its source as a means to keep their feet dry. Every so often, a Morli dragon, either leaving or returning to the castle, would pass overhead, its broad shadow making Jahrra flinch. And now that they were approaching the enemy’s side of the river, and now that dawn was not so far off, small troops of soldiers clad in red and black and sitting atop quahna passed by just as frequently. In any case, Jahrra had to constantly remind herself the dragons and soldiers alike could not see her because of Ellyesce’s magic, but there were just some things that curdled her blood and had her diving for cover based on instinct alone.

  Once on the eastern side of the river, Ellyesce led the small party to an outcropping of large rocks. Tundra shrubs grew thick nearby, and Denaeh decided it was safe enough to lower her shield. Ellyesce, on the other hand, kept his firmly in place.

  “The trees and rocks can hide our physical selves,” he explained, “but they can’t keep the skurmages’ probing magic from our minds.”

  They rested a quarter of an hour, consuming more of the quickly dwindling food supply. Jahrra ate very little, which drew disapproving looks from her two companions.

  She waved a nonchalant hand. “You need it for your magic. Besides, I’m not very hungry.”

  It wasn’t a lie. In fact, she was surprised she was able to eat anything at all. Her stomach was tied so tightly in knots, it was an effort simply to put one foot in front of the other. Only the image of Jaax, chained and surrounded by men wielding spears and axes, pushed her onward. She only hoped they would make it in time, and when she finally faced the enemy she had heard about her entire life, Ethoes would somehow show her what she had to do. Before it was too late.

  * * *

  The three mile journey from the rocky outcrop to the base of Cierryon’s mountain was one of the most harrowing of Jahrra’s life. The uneven terrain with its scattering of jagged rocks and thorny shrubs made travel difficult, and the freezing, relentless winds blowing off the nearby sea and barreling down the valley sapped her energy faster than she expected. Ellyesce and Denaeh were struggling, too. A half mile from the outer walls of Vruuthun City, the trio stopped to finish off the last of their food supplies.

  With grim eyes, Ellyesce said, “If we don’t eat it, they will take it from us.”

  Jahrra drew in long breaths, hoping to settle her nerves, but to no avail. She had known all along they would not reach the heart of the castle without being dragged there by the Tyrant’s soldiers. But until Ellyesce said the words aloud, she had somehow managed to hang onto a tiny thread of hope that maybe, just maybe, her friends’ magic would get them into the castle undetected.

  “Are you suggesting we surrender?” Jahrra asked weakly.

  Ellyesce pinned her with hard eyes, his expression bleak, but also slightly offended. Perhaps she had misinterpreted his words.

  Before she could offer an apology for thinking of giving in, a cold, vaguely familiar voice intoned, “It is either that, girl, or die here and now, choking on your own blood.”

  A sharp, icy blade of terror sliced into her heart and twisted, drawing a gasp from Jahrra’s throat. She turned, along with Ellyesce and Denaeh, to find a semi-circle of soldiers, Red Flange based on their attire, resting atop armor-clad quahna. Torches flickered to life in the hands of all but one of the men. Jahrra’s attention narrowed in on him, and she took in his bedraggled, shoulder-length hair, the scar upon his face, the firelight flickering against the smooth image of a bloodrose, the cold malice pouring from him, more biting than the frigid wind. She knew him. He was the one they called Boriahs. A slave of Cierryon, but his most trusted mercenary. The man who had once tried to steal her away from Oescienne, those many years ago, and the same one who had nearly captured her on the bridge outside of Nimbronia. She had escaped his clutches before, out of some twist of fate or mere blind luck. Now, however, Jahrra knew she was good and caught.

  “Kneel before the general of his majesty’s army, you filth!” one of the men snarled, whipping out a wickedly sharp blade and aiming it at Jahrra’s throat.

  Terrified as she was, Jahrra hardened her resolve, tightened her fingers into fists at her sides, and stood up straighter. She would not break before them, no matter what threat they offered. She owed it to the people she had led here, the army that, even now, marched in her name. She owed it to her elvin trainers in Oescienne, and to the memories of Hroombra and her foster parents. And she owed it to Jaax.

  When she didn’t immediately obey, the soldier demanding her obeisance snarled, “Dorreth,” and jerked his head at the man seated next to him.

  Dorreth dismounted his quahna, jumping out of the way as the demon horse snapped its sharp teeth at him, and came to stand behind Jahrra. With a quick nod of his head, the man barking out orders directed Dorreth to act.

  Pain burst above Jahrra’s calves as the soldier kicked her hard, forcing her knees to
give out. The momentum of his blow had her staggering forward as well, and she was forced to throw her hands out in front of her to keep from sprawling across the ground. Denaeh hissed in anger, and Ellyesce made to dive to Jahrra’s aid, but more steel flashed, sword points threatening vulnerable necks.

  “Come along, little girl,” Boriahs growled, a wicked light gleaming in his dark eyes, “my master has been waiting for you.”

  Jahrra was dragged to her feet by a gloved hand grasping her hair. She bit back a cry of pain, but her fingers shot up to claw at her captor. More pain burst across her face as he backhanded her.

  “His highness said he wanted you alive, but he gave us no limits on the amount of damage we could inflict,” he breathed, his threat so close to her face his fetid breath threatened to upend her stomach.

  As the small troop of Red Flange soldiers led their captives towards the dark gates of Vruuthun, Jahrra wracked her brain, trying to figure out how these men had crept up behind them without the slightest hint of their approach. The soldier called Dorreth still had her by the hair, her neck stretched back at an almost uncomfortable angle. But it allowed her to gaze up the towering buildings, all the way up to the castle far above. The sky was finally growing light, dawn not too far away. And maybe that was why she noticed the unnatural black wisp of smoke, rising and mingling with the thick clouds above. A storm was swiftly brewing, the clouds moving in from the north as the moon plunged toward the western horizon. Appropriate for the situation, Jahrra thought with no little amount of irony.

  In the distance, lightning forked from those menacing clouds and she could have sworn, as the flash of light blazed across the sky, something hidden in the depths of that strange smoke grew clearer. Or maybe she had just imagined it. Either way, the image she’d seen forced the bile churning in her stomach to rise to the back of her throat. The lightning had revealed the visage of a creature with long limbs and a skeletal head crowned with rows of wicked horns. It was the silhouette of a demon. The same demon she had once seen in the nightmares that haunted her as a child so long ago.