Violet had planned a different course to return to her cottage at the western edge of the Burning Woods to make traveling easier for Cutter. She usually cut through the northern section of the Burning Woods on her trips to the Feilon to save a day's worth of travel, but it wasn't wise with a wounded and diseased soldier alongside her. Though the troublesome faeries of the Burning Woods were night dwellers, she knew other mystical creatures lurked in the underbrush and could pose a threat to both her and Cutter.
Rain clouds were forming in the west, and she predicted they had an hour before the sky would be overcast above them. I better set up camp soon, she thought, and looked behind her at Homer and Cutter. The horse didn't look tired—they stopped earlier and he had grazed on some crabgrass growing near the forest. Silas, on the other hand, had not eaten since morning and it was well past the midday meal. His long, gold hair fluttered from the bobbing of his head as Homer trotted slowly. She found him attractive and wished he had been awake for more conversation. His manner seemed very refined and not as gruff as other soldiers she had met before. As she strolled along the tall grass surrounding the Burning Woods with Homer in tow, Violet wondered if Cutter had a wife or maiden waiting for him in Aldron. She sincerely hoped not. Imagine her, a mere alchemist's apprentice, winning the heart of a commander in the king's army—her friends back in Tarshish would be jealous. Silas groaned softly, and she suddenly felt foolish for having such childish fantasies while the man was clearly near death. Her eyes fixed again on the dark clouds looming above and she quickened her pace, focusing on her errand.
Before the sun set and the clouds engulfed the sky overhead, Violet found a hill nestled on the edge of the Burning Woods to set up camp for the night. The hill overlooked the faraway city of Sylvania to the south, which had lit up its wall torches just as she set down her pack and Cutter's sword on the ground. A pair of elms on the hill provided her enough cover from the impending rain to start a fire without fear of it being snuffed out.
Violet woke up Cutter, and he groggily climbed down from Homer to lay on the grass. She then tied Homer to one of the elms and dropped an apple for the horse to feed on. After starting a fire, she checked on Cutter, whose breathing was slightly labored. She put her palm on his forehead and felt the heat of his fever. He opened his eyes halfway, looking up at her in a helpless expression.
"How far from your home are we?" Cutter whispered.
"Not far; we can make it tonight if we hurry. But you need to eat and rest a bit," Violet said as she pulled out a blanket from her pack and wrapped it around him.
"Do you think ... I'll survive?" Cutter shivered.
Violet watched the fire, avoiding his eyes. "Yes. Of course you will."
She pulled out a piece of cold, salted mutton wrapped in papyrus from her bag along with her frying pan. Once it was thoroughly cooked, she handfed the meal to Silas in small bits. He washed the food down with some water from Violet's canteen and rolled on his side to rest.
Thunder rolled in the distance and small drops of water hit the floor around them intermittently. Soon the patter of light rain became a raucous downpour. Violet pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, but it did little to prevent the rain from soaking her hair and shoulders. The fire flickered about wildly as raindrops fell on it, yet it stayed lit throughout the storm.
After a few minutes, the rain slowed to a drizzle, which continued to soak the already drenched clothes of the weary travelers. Violet waited awhile longer for the clouds above to clear so she could see the stars above to aid her in finding the way home. She looked over at Cutter and her chest tightened. He was curled up holding his wet blanket tightly and shivering uncontrollably. Dark circles had formed around his eyes, and he looked paler than before. She hated to wake him so soon, but there was no time to rest now; he needed medicine. After they were all packed and ready with Cutter on horseback again, they set out to their final destination. A grim feeling swept over Violet as she led Homer in the darkness—the realization she might be leading this poor man to a dark grave in the wilderness.
In the two days that Lucius and Siegfried had spent in Naomi's cottage, the Evingrad exiles had plotted their course to the Grey Swamps to retrieve the mithras powder needed for the Requiem Sword. While studying a map of Azuleah, the brothers decided the quickest path to the Grey Swamps required traversing through the northern tip of the Burning Woods in order to reach the marshland beyond Jun-Jun Pass in the north. Of course, the quickest way was not the safest way, and Lucius had reservations about entering the mysterious woodland. The hostile faeries inside the forest could prove to be dangerous, but the alternative route—the northern stretch of the Barren Road leading to Jun-Jun Pass—held greater perils to their journey. Draknoir spies and highwaymen were common on the northern roads. And if Memnon or his minions discovered an heir of Cervantes sought to reforge the Requiem Sword, their entire mission would be for naught. Besides the obvious threat the northern road posed, Lucius also suspected Siegfried had other reasons for entering the Burning Woods. He questioned his brother about it several times over the last two days, but the stubborn elf merely told him he had unfinished business in the forest.
Aside from planning the trip to the Grey Swamps, Lucius spent some of his time helping Naomi prepare for her journey to Joppa. He wished to learn more about the attractive young woman, but his efforts at casual conversation had fallen flat. She seemed to avoid questions about her past and often changed the subject to talk about their present duties. Eventually, he gave up and resigned to speaking with her about the Requiem Sword or metallurgy, which Naomi was all too eager to discuss. Unlike Lucius, Siegfried did not seem interested in idle chatter. When he wasn't devoting his attention to examining maps of Azuleah, Siegfried took short strolls outside in the glade near the cottage, either to play the telyn or shoot arrows into tree stumps. Lucius wondered if Lumiath's words were still weighing heavily on his brother's mind. He wanted to ask Siegfried about it, but an opportune moment had yet to present itself.
On the dawn of the second day, both he and Siegfried were ready to set out for the Grey Swamps, but Naomi persuaded them to stay a day longer. She was very worried about her friend, Violet, since she had not returned the previous night as expected. Naomi feared something serious might have delayed her friend, and she did not want to assume the worst before waiting one more day. She hoped they would accompany her if Violet had run into danger on her trek and needed their help. Naomi also did not wish to travel alone to Joppa without a horse, and Violet rode the only steed available to them. Lucius knew Siegfried desired to leave, but the elf could not deny offering aid to someone in need, whether stranger or friend. Naomi pressed her palm to her heart and her face brightened when they agreed to stay.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully and slowly for each of them as they waited anxiously for Violet's return. Siegfried traversed the hills to the east of the cottage, examining different forms of plant life, while Lucius read the passages of the red scroll he had skipped or skimmed back in Sylvania. Naomi busied herself with the preparation of meals throughout the day, and occasionally, Lucius noticed her peering out of the kitchen window, searching for any sign of her friend. Soon the sun's brilliant glow faded to darkness and the dim light of the moon illuminated the woods and glade surrounding the cottage.
When Naomi had grown tired of waiting and busying herself in the kitchen, she bid Lucius goodnight and retired to her room. Siegfried walked through the front door of the cottage a few minutes later and looked around expectantly.
"No sign of Violet?" the elf asked.
"Afraid not," Lucius said as he sat on the bench near the hearth.
Siegfried sighed and pulled out the telyn from his pack on the floor.
"Don't play too loudly; Naomi has gone to bed," Lucius said.
"Do not worry yourself, brother," Siegfried replied, a half-smile formed on his face. "My music will not cause a mouse to stir."
Lucius clamped his lips together and s
hook his head. "No, but the birds will surely flock and sing along to your tune."
Siegfried ignored the remark and blew into the instrument before playing. Lucius turned to face the fire and watched the flames dance about wildly. Siegfried played a few notes softly on the telyn while leaning against a wall near a window. Lucius sat silently for an hour, contented to watch the fire and listen to the calm music of the telyn as they both waited for Naomi's friend to arrive. He wasn't sure when he closed his eyes or how long he dozed before the neighing of a horse in the distance stirred him awake. He straightened and gazed over at Siegfried, who stared intently out the window. Lucius stood up and marched swiftly to the door with Siegfried following close behind.
"Naomi!" Lucius called loudly. A few seconds later, the woman stepped out of her room wearing a silk gown with her headscarf still on.
She said nothing and immediately followed them out of the cottage. The clouds outside had hidden the moon and left a veil of darkness impenetrable to Lucius' eyes. He heard the sound of hooves walking on the grass a few feet away from the cottage. Lucius peered along the tree line of the Burning Woods for any signs of movement. He waited for his sight to adjust to the darkness, but his brother's eyes did not need such an adjustment.
"There!" Siegfried cried, pointing toward the northern edge of the forest.
Lucius saw nothing at first, but after a few seconds, the approaching silhouette of a horse and a rider became visible. He also noticed a second silhouette walking directly in front.
"It's Violet," Naomi said. She ran barefoot on the damp grass toward her friend like a child running to meet her parents.
"I'll fetch an oil lantern inside." Siegfried raced back to the cottage.
Lucius ran after Naomi in the darkness, hoping Violet wasn't in any trouble. When he reached Violet, Lucius realized she was leading the horse and its rider. His attention quickly turned to the rider on the horse—a man wearing armor who looked to be on the verge of death.
"Naomi!" Violet caught the other woman in a tight embrace then held her at arm's length. "This man has been poisoned and could die at any moment."
"What?" Naomi glanced at the man. "What's happened—"
"There's no time," she cried. "Go boil some water and prepare a place for him to lie down. I need to make an antidote for Draknoir poison."
Naomi nodded and ran back to the cottage.
"You," Violet said, turning to Lucius, "do you have any knowledge of shrubbery or weeds?"
"He does not." Siegfried surprised them as he walked up with a lantern illuminating his face. "But I am familiar with the plants in the area."
"Please find a Potma weed. It is the only thing that will help counteract his illness."
Siegfried nodded and ran off into night toward the glade.
"Will you help me steer Homer to the cottage?" she asked.
"Yes, of course." He grabbed the reins, and they both trotted to the cottage.
Lucius helped her carry the man down from the saddle once they were near the open doorway. The man was drenched in sweat and trembled viciously in their hands. They carried him inside by hands and feet, making sure not to drag him on the ground. Naomi placed some wool blankets on the hardwood floor where they laid him down. A black pot filled with water hung over the hearth, and when the water came to a boil, Naomi grabbed it and poured the hot water into a basin next to the man's head.
Siegfried returned to the cottage carrying the Potma weed by its stem. The weed's dirty roots dangled like long, scraggly fingers. Siegfried handed the plant to Violet, who frantically searched the small pantry for something. She finally pulled out a jar filled with a dark liquid and ran back to the hearth to set it down next to the basin. She pulled the jagged leaves off the head of the Potma weed and tore them into small pieces. Lucius watched carefully as she mixed the leaves into the hot water along with a few drops of the dark liquid. They all watched her on their knees beside the man as she let the contents of the mixture dissolve in the boiling water. A pungent aroma filled the room, which smelled like cooked broccoli to Lucius.
"Can you please lift his head?" Violet asked Lucius, who was nearest to her.
"Yes," he replied, lifting the back of the man's head and holding it up.
Violet poured some of the mixture into a small cup that Naomi held out for her. Violet then grabbed the man's chin, opened his mouth, and poured the liquid inside. After half of it entered his mouth, she set the cup down and used her free hand to pinch his nostrils, forcing the ailing man to swallow. He coughed and sputtered some of the liquid from his mouth, but Violet gave him more until he drank without issue.
Lucius gently put the man's head back on the ground and stood back, waiting for some amazing recovery to take place before his eyes. But it never came. Violet grabbed a rag hanging from one of the benches and dipped it in the bowl to soak up the rest of the mixture. She asked both Lucius and Siegfried to take off the man's plate mail from his chest. When the man was bare-chested and his bandages were removed, she swabbed the festering wound on the man's shoulder. The wound looked horrid to Lucius—blackened and completely swelled around the edges. Violet was careful to dab the rag on the wound while Naomi fetched some pieces of linen to wrap around the shoulder. When the man was fully clothed again, they placed a wool blanket over him and let him rest by the fire, hoping their efforts had not been in vain.
THIRTEEN
Machinations
Lord Memnon watched the sunrise from the west tower of the citadel inside Nasgothar. He had no need for sleep, though nocturnal in nature, his hunger for war kept him awake in the daylight hours, and there were important matters at hand requiring his attention. The dragons of Ghadarya had finally agreed to a gathering at his behest. A day prior, an envoy from the Kroshen Wasteland had returned with tidings from Albekanar, the appointed leader of the six dragon clans and the younger cousin of the Black Dragon, Kraegyn. According to the envoy—a smaller female dragon named Seeth—the dragons had been in hibernation for the past decade underneath the Maguna Mountains in the northeast. They intended to sleep until Nergoth awakened them from the abyss and their hellish leader rose from the ashes once more. Something had awakened them earlier than expected. Memnon believed their awakening to be a gracious omen from Nergoth himself. Memnon's summoning rituals and pagan sacrifices on Nergoth's altar had awakened the dragons' slumber and perhaps won him favor in the eyes of the dark god. The dragons are awake and ready to retake the western lands at last; he relished the thought. An alliance between dragons and Draknoir would greatly aid his campaign to annihilate mankind and conquer the peoples of Azuleah. The army at Nasgothar was a hundred thousand strong—enough to trample Aldron, but not obliterate it. The dragons are the key. It is time.
Once the sunlight had penetrated the dark sky, he climbed down the circular steps from the citadel's tower to a short hallway leading into the Chamber of Deliberation. Nasgothar standards and grotesque statues adorned the walls of the dim room. On a daily basis, Lord Memnon, General Genghis, and the highest ranking Draknoir commanders met in the Chamber to plan the war against Joppa. The priests of Nasgothar also visited regularly for advice from their lord on how to better serve Nergoth and hasten the campaign.
A single table carved from onyx sat at the center of the chamber where Genghis and six Draknoir commanders hovered over it examining a large map of Azuleah as they awaited their lord's presence. Memnon approached the table with his head held high, running the claws of his right hand across his left breast in a mock slash signifying the Draknoir salute. His subordinates mimicked the motion, but with their heads bowed to him.
"What news from the outpost at Feilon, Gramme?" Memnon hissed as he addressed the shorter Draknoir with multiple spikes protruding from his jawline.
"The Aldronian prince has not been captured yet, my lord," Gramme replied, fidgeting with his hands. "But one of our spies saw a woman crossing the Dulan River a few days past traveling with a man on horseback."
"And whe
re is the woman now?" Memnon asked incredulously.
"We are not yet certain, your Eminence. I have sent warriors to trail her and find out if she is harboring the Dragon Slayer."
"Keep me posted, Gramme," Memnon said. He drew close to Gramme and glared into his eyes. "You know what failure will cost you."
"Yes, my lord. The woman will be found, and the prince shall be captured." Gramme bowed his head and slammed his claws into his chest, allowing droplets of blood to ooze out. "By Nergoth's blood!"
"By Nergoth's blood, indeed." Memnon shifted his attention to the other Draknoir, who met his gaze. He saw faces conveying both fear and reverence. It pleased him. "Many of you are well aware the dragons of Ghadarya have agreed to a gathering near Lake Ein. In centuries past, our ancestors aligned themselves with the Black Dragon and ruled their lands with an iron claw. The elves—those insipid followers of D'arya—exiled themselves to the West from the terror brought forth by Ghadarya and Nasgothar. We were mighty and prosperous in those days."
Genghis and the commanders all shook their heads in agreement. Memnon knew how much they all longed for the glory days. A new era for the Draknoir was on the horizon; he felt sure of it.
"In their quest for power, our ancestors and the dragon clans built the fortress of Arkadeus," Memnon said, clasping his hands behind him. "But the stronghold of Scipio and Kraegyn could not withstand the rise of a lesser, insignificant race in this world. The combined power of Ghadarya and Nasgothar was usurped by men—by a defiler well known to us as Cervantes Nostra. He tore down the foundations our lords created and banished the Black Dragon from this world into the Abode of Shadows."
Memnon pulled a dagger from his cloak. The eyes of all the Draknoir in the room grew wide and some shifted uncomfortably on their feet. He often made object lessons of commanders and warriors in similar assemblies to motivate the Draknoir to victory and punish failure. Sadism and torture were effective tools in spurring his soldiers to such ends, but he resisted the urge to shed any of their blood. For now least.
The Blade Heir (Book 1) Page 13
