“Okay, Flux.” Avruellen turned to her companions. “Everyone, Flux has just given me some news. We need to tread very carefully on our way to the inn. We’re going to get our horses and leave as quickly as possible. Stay together.” Privately, to her brother, she said, If anything happens, defend Blayke, and I’ll protect Bronwyn, if she needs it. If we have to sacrifice anyone, let it be Corrille and Toran. I would hate to see anything happen to that young man, because he seems nice and Bronwyn likes him very much, but our children are more important.
I hear you.
Bronwyn shouldered her pack and drew her sword. “Auntie, is it okay if I hold some of the power, just in case?”
“Yes, dear. You don’t need to ask. You know the risks and you know what danger outweighs that now. It’s time you took responsibility for yourself.” Bronwyn’s mouth fell open as Avruellen led the way off the dock. Had she really just said she could make her own decisions? I never thought I’d see the day, she thought as she drew power from the Second Realm’s symbol-flecked darkness.
Corrille clutched Blayke’s arm as they walked. He held both power and sword. “It’s too quiet,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb the silence of the wharf. As they walked, he noticed two other ships tied to the pier—empty. No sailors loaded or unloaded cargo; there was no one cleaning the decks, no merchants with fancy coats strutting around watching their money being made. This was supposed to be one of the busiest docks on Talia, but not today. Even the seagulls stayed away. Blayke wished they had too.
Arcon, Phantom perched on his shoulder, led the way up the hill to the town, Avruellen and Bronwyn close behind, Sinjenasta protecting their backs. Everyone’s eyes scanned the surrounding shrubbery, looking for hidden danger.
As they reached the top of the rise and started on the sandy road into town, Flux’s ears lay back against his head, his hackles raised. Flux’s low growl reached Avruellen, and she tensed. They stopped when the first house came into view.
Nothing.
A northerly wind blew in their faces, whipping sand around their legs, sighing through the long grass that bent, throwing invisible arms to the south. Arcon stopped and held his hands up. Everyone halted. Sinjenasta and Flux padded to stand on either side of the realmist, noses poised to steal any scent they could from the breeze.
Arcon looked up as a shadow darkened the main street. A black smudge of cloud covered the sun; similar dark shapes quickly approached from the north, pushed in by the ever-increasing gusts. Flux and Sinjenasta edged forward until they were level with the first house, the realmists close behind. Sinjenasta spoke to all the realmists. I smell gormons.
Lightning flashed. Bronwyn, staring at the window of a house to their left, saw red eyes shine through the glass pane. Opening her mind fully, she drew from the Second Realm. With static lifting strands of her hair, she held her hands in front, as if she were holding a ball. Silver light filled the space between her palms. She shoved her hands forward, and the shining orb shot toward the house.
The energy exploded into the cottage. Timber splintered outwards—igniting—glass shattered, and pieces of roof speared into the sky. Two creatures, aflame and screeching, stumbled toward them. Arcon shot successive fireballs from his palms. The immature gormons fell to their knees, their skin hissing and crackling. “Run!” Bronwyn shouted, sprinting toward the inn, and hopefully to their horses.
The clouds layered themselves unnaturally, one atop the other, dimming the light—it was as if dusk had fallen. Avruellen, running to catch up to her niece, shouted, “What in the Third Realm were you thinking? Have you gone mad?”
“No, Auntie!” Bronwyn shouted back, turning her head without slowing. “You know gormons prefer to come out when it’s dark, especially before they’re adults. If we don’t hurry, we’ll be overrun.”
Ten feet from their destination, two hunched-over, but hulking, creatures scuttled out of the inn, blocking the realmists’ way. Bronwyn stopped, relieved to see Sinjenasta step in front of her, and, out of the corner of her eye, she could just make out Arcon to her right.
The gormons slowed, advancing warily.
The clouds, not content only to darken proceedings, opened up. Cold pellets of hail, some as big as a panther’s paw, pummeled them from above. Visibility reduced to almost nothing, and Bronwyn strained to see through the maelstrom—she knew the gormons were there, but it was impossible to see them. Her eyes wanted to shut against the tempest, and she tried to protect her head with her arms, but the ice battered her, one larger chunk cracking into her wrist. She swore.
She smelled them before she saw them—a warm, sickly breath of stale air washed up her nose. Too late, Bronwyn realized the gormons were only inches from her. Sinjenasta leaped for one of the seven-foot beasts. Bronwyn screamed as the panther’s powerful legs torpedoed him toward the gormon’s spike-studded throat. “No! Sinji, no!”
The gormon, who could see better in darkness than they, swiped a clawed hand at Sinjenasta.
The sound of the deafening storm retreated as Bronwyn desperately focused her attention on coalescing a spear of ice, which she aimed at the monster. She couldn’t use lightning because if the gormon touched Sinjenasta at the wrong moment, he would be fried too. Within a second, she had released the shard, which caught the gormon’s arm, just as one of its claws touched Sinjenasta’s fur, pinning its forearm to its shoulder.
A piercing wail rent the air.
The giant cat sunk his long fangs into the gormon’s throat as it lashed out with its free arm; its brother attacked from the side, slicing a chunk out of Sinjenasta’s side.
Arcon, master of the fireball, spun one out of Second-Realm power and launched it at the second gormon, which caught fire, the oil on its hide igniting in a gush of flames despite the rain. It staggered, bellowing an ancient curse, and Arcon and Bronwyn thought they heard the name “Drakon.”
Sinjenasta’s grip on the gormon’s throat was slipping, undermined by the gormon’s blood and the rain, and his side burned as if someone had stuck a scorching branding iron in it. Dizziness threatened, and he almost let go, but he would suffocate this monstrosity if it was the last thing he did.
Bronwyn created another shard of ice and let fly. It sped silently, pushing its round cousins out of the way as it neared the target.
The gormon’s deadly hand was on the panther’s back, its claws sinking through fur then flesh. Sinjenasta’s blood streamed down the gormon’s arm to its elbow and then the ground, where it was carried away with the torrent of water. As Sinjenasta’s jaw relaxed and the gormon lowered an ugly head to take a bite, Bronwyn’s spiky pillar of death pierced it between its red eyes.
Jolted back, it froze, Sinjenasta sliding off its claws to collapse onto the sodden ground. The gormon fell backward, and Bronwyn heard the crack when it fell on its tail, breaking it.
With Arcon at her side, watching for more enemies, Bronwyn ran to Sinjenasta. She knelt in a cold stream of water and put her hands flat upon his side, using Second-Realm power to delve inside and see what was damaged. The panther’s blood was warm under her palms, the tears hot on her face.
His eyes remained closed at her touch.
To Bronwyn, the labored rise and fall of Sinjenasta’s chest felt more like the last pained half flutter of a butterfly’s wings rather than the beat of an eagle in flight. As her awareness sunk through pelt, muscle and bone, she found torn veins and an artery that leaked his life in ever-decreasing spurts. Channeling the power, she knitted the torn vessels together, cell by cell, and when she had erased every tear and slash, she melded the rents in his skin—the only proof that he was ever injured was the bald patches where his fur had been torn away.
Bronwyn felt a light touch on her shoulder. “You’ve done your best. There’s nothing else to do but wait for him to regain his lost blood. He may not wake for a while. But he’s still alive.”
Were Arcon’s last words a question or a statement? She put her head on her creatura’s chest and li
stened. The faint thud of his heart was not her imagination. When she smiled, tears salted her tongue. Sitting up again, she shouted to be heard over the downpour, “Now what? Where is everyone?” The hail had stopped, replaced by pouring rain, and she could see, maybe, twenty feet away.
Arcon, while careful to keep watch for gormons, leaned down to Bronwyn to be heard. “I sent them ahead to grab the horses—if they’re still there. We might have a long walk ahead of us. Looks like we’ve stumbled into a nest of newly arrived gormons. Maybe they’ve eaten the horses—who knows. Those gormons were almost fully matured. We’re lucky we had this fight today and not in a week. They’ll be much stronger then.”
“How can you tell?”
“The transparency of their skin and their size. I studied the books at the Isle of the Dead Souls. They were rather helpful. I’ll just find out where your aunt is. Hold on a moment.” Arcon, straining his eyes through the downpour, hoping to see any enemies before they were too close, sent a mind message to Avruellen. Where are you? Is everyone okay?”
We’re all safe, but it’s not good news. Blayke and I killed one gormon and we’ve discovered only one horse in the stable. We’re just leaving now, but we’re taking it slow, letting Flux sniff out our path. We’ll meet you at the north end, where we came in when we first met up. Are you and Bronwyn all right?
We’ll be fine, but Sinjenasta was almost killed defending Bronwyn. He’s still alive but barely hanging on. Can you bring the horse here? I think we’ll have to put him on it.
Not the safest idea, but okay. We’ll make our way back. Be there soon.
With one hand on the panther to feel for every rise and fall of his chest, and the other ready to throw Second-Realm power if necessary, Bronwyn turned her head from looking out for gormons to Sinjenasta. Her awareness was drawn tight, her eyes open as far as they would go. She could feel a mild throb at the back of her head—the beginnings of a headache—and realized she was clenching her teeth.
Then, through the gauze of rain, came a haze of light: a ball shape bobbing in midair moved toward them. It’s us; don’t attack. Avruellen’s words sounded clearly in Bronwyn and Arcon’s minds. Bronwyn stopped drawing power for the ball of fire she was about to manifest and wiped her sodden hair off her face instead.
Arcon knelt next to the panther. “Bronwyn, help me get Sinjenasta on the horse.” The rain streamed from the ends of his hair and beard.
Nodding, she drew power and placed fingers of energy under the panther, lifting him out of the puddle, before carefully raising him to the back of the horse Avruellen had led to them.
Arcon, as used as he was to schooling the expression from his face, could not hide the shock of watching Bronwyn effortlessly move the heavy panther in a way that had never been done before. The realmist waited until Sinjenasta was safely lying over the horse’s back before he asked, “How in the Third Realm did you do that?”
Bronwyn blinked and looked at him through the rain, which had started to ease to a consistent, but softer, flow. “I don’t know. I just asked the power to weave into a kind of mat, and it did.” Without warning, Bronwyn hunched over and vomited. She shut her eyes at the sudden intensity of her headache.
“I think she’s overdone it with the channeling,” said Arcon. “Blayke, help me get her on the horse, behind Sinjenasta.”
Bronwyn didn’t argue when Arcon and Blayke held her arms and assisted her onto the beast. She looked down at them and could see Avruellen, Corrille and Toran standing nearby, all nervously looking around. “Thanks.”
After loading Bronwyn and Avruellen’s packs onto the horse, Arcon took the reins from his sister. “Let’s get going. We have a lot of ground to cover, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to stay anywhere near any gormons one minute longer.”
There were no arguments, and they departed for Vellonia. Once they reached the city, they would be preparing for war. Arcon involuntarily shuddered. He felt, in his veins where power had surged and flowed for so many years, that the coming war would bring them much heartache. Even if they won, a heavy price would be paid. And when, after many hours of trudging, they stopped under a clearing night sky, Arcon managed to sleep three fitful hours.
In his dream, he watched Phantom plunge out of the sky, a gormon in pursuit. Blood-covered, the once-white owl glistened red as he plummeted toward Arcon. Phantom’s screams sounded so real that they woke him. When Arcon rolled over and saw Avruellen asleep next to the subdued fire, he saw blood smeared on her face, dribbling out of her nose, saturating her clothes. His heart racing, he pushed quickly to his feet then blinked. The blood was gone, but the image remained, seared into his mind.
Sensing the future hurtling toward them like an incensed dragon, Arcon wiped the sweat from his brow and resisted the urge to call on Drakon, the god who had gotten them into this. The realmist spoke quietly to himself. “But why are we the ones who always have to pay?”
Chapter 5
The sun rose, its yellow-tinged rays coloring the undersides of the scattered clouds. For breakfast, Zim and Warrimonious enjoyed a stolen sheep between them while the realmists ate leftovers from the previous night’s dinner. They sat on the edge of a field, which bordered a cattle and dairy farm that seemed, Arie thought, to be on the coast but in the middle of nowhere.
Arie had his back to the dragons, not wanting to see fresh blood decorating their claws and faces. Unfortunately, he couldn’t shut his ears to the noisy crunching that signified bones snapping. Each loud chomp caused him to pull a face that looked like he was either in pain or constipated.
“Something bothering you, lad?” asked Agmunsten, his face straight.
Arie cringed again at a snap, crunch. “No. I love to hear the chorus of breaking bones in the morning. Don’t you?”
Zim said through a mouth full of mutton, “You should try it sometime. Mmm. Juicy and warm.”
Warrimonious interrupted. “Zim, is that a hoof sticking out of your mouth? Please don’t talk while you’re eating; it’s baaa-d manners.” The dragons and realmists, with the exception of Arie, laughed.
Without turning to face the dragons, Arie said, “That’s just going too far. You’re going to be responsible for a child’s nightmares. I’m telling your mother as soon as I see her again; you’re going to be in so much trouble.” The young realmist stood and walked away from the group, only stopping to sit when he was out of earshot. He enjoyed the rest of his breakfast in silence until Astra came to get him.
“We’re leaving in a minute. Now’s the time to have one more bathroom break.”
Arie stared at her and sighed loudly. “What is it with adults? You’d think I was too stupid to think of going to the bathroom myself. I’m not a baby, you know. I’m twelve. In some cultures I’m old enough to be a father.”
Astra snorted laughter. “Second Realm help us if that happens in the next couple of years. Just thought I’d remind you; it’s no reflection on your ability to take yourself to the bathroom at the appropriate time. See you back over there when you’re done.”
When Arie joined them, the dragons had cleaned the blood from their mouths and claws. The young realmist inhaled the early-morning dew-laden air before mounting Zim and pulling his hood tight.
Already sitting astride his saddle on Warrimonious, Agmunsten said, “The next leg is going to be tough. Our next rest stop is over twenty hours away—an island in the middle of the Western Sea. Arie and Astra, stay low on Zim’s back to cut wind resistance. We may need to resort to Second-Realm power if the dragons become tired, and at this stage, I don’t know if it matters that the gormons know where we are. They’re here and they’re a danger, but I think they’re too busy getting ready to assault Vellonia, so I won’t bother shielding. Are we ready?”
Dragons and realmists answered “Yes” before launching into the air.
At about lunchtime, Arie’s fingers and hands ached from holding on so long, and his shoulders were sore. He had taken to letting go with one
hand, wiggling his fingers and rotating his wrist before grabbing on and then letting go with the other. While he did this, he clenched his knees against the saddle as tight as he could, worried he’d fall and take Astra with him.
He asked Agmunsten, mind-to-mind, Are you sure we can’t stop for a rest break before tomorrow? I don’t know if I can keep holding on for that long, and what about sleep?
You’ll just have to do it, lad. No one said this was going to be easy.
Arie swallowed hard and told himself, Okay, it’s not that hard. You can do it. As the sun moved laboriously over their heads and midafternoon descended, Arie spoke again. I’m starving. How am I meant to eat? You haven’t thought this through very well, Agmunsten.
I beg your pardon? Of course I’ve thought it through. Dragons are not made for water landings; well, they could probably land, but there is no way they’d be able to take off again.
He’s right, interjected Zim. I’m not even sure whether I’d float after landing, or sink. It’s not a good idea.
Trying to ignore his aching limbs and grumbling stomach, Arie said, But there must be somewhere to stop—even a little island or a rock. I’ve seen pictures, in one of the books at the academy, of mammoth rocks jutting out of the ocean. Surely we could find one of those.
Astra spoke into their minds. Can we tie ourselves onto Zim with Second-Realm power and then grab some food out of the bags and eat?
If you can figure out how to do it without killing yourselves, please let me know, but right now I have some thinking to do. Agmunsten’s mind-voice was in his “this conversation is finished or else” tone.
Well, Arie, it looks like we’re going to have to figure this one out for ourselves, because I’m with you—it’s time to eat.
Realm Of Blood And Fire (Book 3) Page 3
