At that moment she could not imagine anything more important than saving Kyrien and her people, but his thoughts left her weighted with responsibility. Though she knew not exactly what hung in the balance, she knew that it was partly hers to protect. Breathing deeply, she drew the energy and lashed out. Demon and dragon alike felt the fury of her wrath, and the darkness receded like twilight chased by the dawn. Slowly, gradually, they faded until only the cries of the dying filled the air.
When Catrin finally made it to the bottom of the stair, she fell to one side, unable to stand on her own without the aid of the railing. A man she didn't recognize caught her.
His eyes went wide, and she thought he might faint, but he stammered, "Are you. . I mean. . are you all right, Lady Catrin?"
"Almost," she said as another wave of dizziness overwhelmed her.
The man tightened his grip and kept her upright. "I need some help here! Need help for the Herald," he called out, and even in the chaos, people rushed to her aid.
From above came Millie's voice. "You're not going to die on me today, no you're not! Get some blankets around her before she freezes t'death."
Men scrambled to find something, and finally a man wrapped Catrin in a warm coat. In truth the cool air felt refreshing, but Catrin could not seem to find her voice. Her body trembled and her legs refused to support her. She continued to lean on the man whose name she did not know.
"You there," Millie instructed, "get some men and prepare a litter for Lady Catrin."
"That won't be necessary, Millie," Catrin said. "I'll be staying here with Kyrien."
Millie looked as if she would balk. A moment later she sighed. "Get up there and bring back blankets, tents, cots, everything we'll need for an infirmary. Tell Mirta we need all the bandages, stitching thread, and needles."
Wobbling, Catrin was grateful for Millie's efforts. She needed a place to sit down, but there were far more important tasks at hand, not the least of which was tending to the wounded. From the southern part of the valley, the silhouette of a man shambled toward them. A shout arose from men closer to that area, and Catrin felt an incredible sense of relief when someone said it was Chase. It was clear that he was injured, but she knew he was strong.
As the sun rose, the carnage became apparent, and guards were assigned the grisly duty of burying the dead and burning the bodies of the demons. When Catrin looked upon the demons, she found herself reminded of the Gholgi, yet these creatures were very different from what she remembered. Instead of lumbering brutes, these demons possessed delicate fingers and crude armor. The beasts she had encountered years before had seemed much more like wild animals. Bile rose in her throat as the wind shifted and the smell of death drifted around her.
Though her body screamed out for rest, she made herself stay awake. "Take me closer to Kyrien," she said.
"Are you certain that's wise, m'lady?"
"Wise or not, please do as I say," Catrin said, driven by need; everything she loved was at stake.
"Yes, m'lady."
"What's your name?"
"I'm Zander, m'lady."
"You may call me Catrin, Zander, and I'm sorry I didn't recognize you."
"Yes, m- uh, Catrin."
"You make toys, do you not?"
"I do."
"Sinjin loves your puzzles. Thank you, Zander," she said, laying her hand on his shoulder.
The man looked thunderstruck and did not respond. Catrin urged him toward Kyrien. With the exception of his breathing, which was short and shallow, the dragon appeared to be dead, and Catrin worried about him and Prios. When she placed her hands on him, she was transported to the astral plane, assisted by some natural ability inherent in regent dragons. She rode a dragon of flame and lightning, gouts of fire ready to be hurled at their enemies. While the battle in the physical plane had ended, there was still fighting on the astral plane, and it was worse than what Catrin had left behind.
Prios stood within a ring of the Gholgi-like creatures, defending himself with a sword of fire. He looked so handsome yet so very much in danger. Her heart leaped and longed for him. Kyrien roared and dived, dipping to fly directly over Prios, then went sideways. Pure darkness slammed into them, liquid eyes focused for a deadly strike. In a single heartbeat, it drew back and struck at Kyrien's flaming throat. Monstrous spherical sparks leaped into the air and scorched whatever they touched. Something akin to pain cut deep into Catrin's soul, and Kyrien reeled from the massive strike, but he flapped his mighty wings, turned, and dived. In the next moment he climbed sharply, and Catrin looked up to see the pale gray underbelly of the hulking wyrm.
Striking as quickly as she could, she sent only a small burst of fire, but it struck just under the beast's right wing. To Catrin's astonishment, the shadow dragon rolled over and crashed to the ground, crushing demons beneath. A writhing mass seethed around the spirit of Prios, and black blades with gleaming edges leaped from the battle seemingly at random. She could not imagine how he had found such strength, but then she considered the possibility that it was the same place she found her own strength: the love of her spouse and son. This brought a battle cry to Catrin's lips, and she rolled from Kyrien's back. As she plummeted toward the battlefield, her vision focused on one of the beings at the fore. It was bigger than the others, its weapon poised to strike. Tucking her knees as she flew, Catrin drove her heels into the creature's chest. The throng parted. The big one fell, and the black tide flowed back in as if the big one had never been.
Catrin wondered if she existed, and a familiar numbing feeling crept over her, soaking her slowly then accelerating. Dark hands grabbed her, and blades bit into her aura, yet she barely felt it. Once again the mass parted, and when Catrin forced her head up to see what had happened, her eyes landed on Prios. He looked horrible, his energy looking to have been sliced to bits, but the determination in his eyes drove the darkness back. He opened his mouth to roar, and though no noise came out, Catrin watched the demons retreat from his silent cry. Catrin drew on the energy around her, and painful tingling rushed in to drive away the numbness. Catrin told herself the pain was better even as she cried out.
Prios knelt down and brushed her hair away from her face. With extreme effort, she turned her eyes to meet his. He smiled back and winked. In the next breath, he was spinning and roaring at the Gholgi. The dragons retreated and Kyrien helped drive off the last of the demons.
Zander stood holding Catrin's limp body, his legs trembling and his heart skipping. How had he found himself here, holding the Herald of Istra next to her dragon and watching other dragons drop from the sky? It was the most surreal and bizarre thing he had ever experienced, and he wasn't certain he could handle it. His back ached and his legs shook. "Help," he said far too low to be heard over the cries of the wounded and those trying to help them. "Um, I think I need some help here," he said a little louder.
He steeled himself when Morif turned. The old warrior was fearsome to look upon, and everything about him made Zander uncomfortable, his long hair and beard, metal rings braided into them, just highlighted the sunken place where his left eye had once been. Truly, Morif could look a man into the grave.
When he saw Catrin, the look on the grizzled face softened as much as Zander had ever witnessed. "We must get her back to the infirmary!"
"No!" Zander said involuntarily, and he nearly dropped Catrin as he choked.
"What is it?" Morif asked, his face no longer anything but hard. "Speak up, man."
"I. . don't know. . I don't know why, but I just know she needs to stay with Kyrien. She asked me to hold her, but I can't do it any longer."
Morif stepped forward to take Catrin from Zander's quivering arms, and Zander saw something he would never forget: Morif turned as pale as a whitefish, and his eye went wide. Zander saw it for only the briefest instant, as Catrin suddenly went rigid in his arms. Doing his best to hold on to her and not fall, Zander took two steps backward and bumped into Kyrien's side. As he looked up, a pair of massive eyes g
lared back at him, and it was more than he could stand. Zander fainted.
Holding his ribs, Chase took one step at a time. As he turned a corner, he found his way blocked by what had been the Upperton Apothecary, now a large pile of firewood partially obscured by the body of a dragon. Fear overcame Chase, even knowing the beast was dead. This was a super-predator, a killing machine. He would need to learn as much as he could about these feral dragons as fast as he could. Climbing over the dragon's tail was terrifying and painful. He didn't think anything was broken, but he was severely battered.
Beyond, he saw a very alive Kyrien supporting Catrin with his maw as another man fell to the ground. The bodies of dragons, men, and demons littered the valley floor. Amid the chaos, Morif brought order. Already the wounded were being loaded onto litters and carried up to the hold. Chase's second in command stepped in to support Catrin, who was now standing on her own. Chase moved faster despite the pain, tears gathering in his eyes.
"We need help over here," Morif shouted and Chase almost laughed; leave it to a one-eyed man to see him first. Morif always found a way to surprise him, and this day was no different. "Are you all right, sir?"
"Sort of," Chase said. "I think I'll live."
Morif grinned. "A little pain is a good thing. It reminds us not to be reckless."
Chase had often uttered the maxim himself, and he couldn't deny the truth of it.
"It took you long enough," he said when he reached Catrin.
She almost smiled.
"Prios is back!" came Millie's shout from above, and Catrin did smile briefly. The destruction around them defied optimism.
"You have that look on your face," Chase said to Catrin. "What is it?"
"Kyrien is injured," Catrin said. "We've got to figure out a way to protect him. If the ferals come back, he'll be defenseless."
"They will come back. There's a big one that has claimed this as his territory. We're not sure where he sleeps, but during the day, he keeps a constant watch on this valley. The people call him Reaver."
"All the more reason I need every able person down here now. We need to build fortifications around Kyrien to protect him."
"There are no fortifications we can build that will keep them out, Cat."
"Well, we have to do something!"
"The only things that've worked so far are spears and fire. I'll get people working weapons and training. In the meantime, we need to get you back in the hold. You look horrible."
"You're not looking your best either," Catrin replied. "And I'm staying here. Kyrien needs my protection." Chase looked Catrin in the eye and knew that arguing would do no good. Then he saw a look of pain and guilt flash across her face. "Sinjin?"
"He's fine," Chase said. He saw relief in Catrin's eyes, but the guilt was still there. "And Durin as well."
"That ornery rascal could survive just about anything, I do believe."
"Get back in here. I don't care who you are. You need rest!" Millie's shouts drifted down to those below.
"I believe that would be your husband coming now."
Chapter 7
Followers are like leaves before a strong wind. Leaders are the wind.
— Morif, soldier
Nearly a fortnight passed, and the darkness pressed them no further, though the dragons kept constant daylight vigil. It seemed they were waiting for something, or someone. The thoughts haunted Catrin. Prios was busy running a hold in turmoil and under siege, though the times she saw him, there was tenderness in his eyes. As they passed in the hall, he would reach out to her, their hands caressing each other, ever so briefly. Sometimes she'd see Sinjin trailing her husband, watching everything he did. Catrin had seen less of Sinjin, and it pained her. There was guilt in his eyes, and she couldn't seem to convince him that she would forgive him for whatever it was. Something haunted his eyes, and that troubled her more than anything else. Knowing she needed to concentrate, Catrin quieted her mind.
Squinting, she winced at the pain of pushing her needle through the supple but thick leather once again. She could have given this task to the seamstresses, but it would have been impossible to convey to them the image in her mind. She often wished for Kyrien's skill at communicating in images and feelings. Catrin could see every detail from any angle, as if he had implanted the memory of this object directly into her head. A saddle! Catrin could hardly believe it. She was working on a saddle for Kyrien, and it was unlike any saddle Catrin had ever known. Certainly the seat, cantle, pommel, and horn were similar, but there were no stirrups. Instead there were multiple cups of leather and iron on the flaps that could be used in a similar fashion to stirrups.
So many details had flowed into Catrin's mind. A collection of girths made with thick strands of wound cotton waited in a corner, but none of Catrin's many straps were complete. First she needed metal rings with a flat edge on one side, which only Strom could provide. Her childhood friend was far too busy, yet he refused to take on an apprentice, saying he was still an apprentice himself, though none would argue his skill with metal and fire. He had mastered the art of bringing things to life from only a picture in his mind. Wielding his hammer like a paintbrush, he created works of art. Now, though, much of his time was spent making pot stands, candleholders, and anything else needed by the hundreds if not thousands of refugees now forced to live in the great hall.
After draping a roughspun sheet over the saddle, Catrin left her workshop, pulling the rawhide curtain to cover the doorway, not wanting rumors to spread. She also didn't want to worry Sinjin, unable to imagine how he would feel about his mother riding Kyrien with the ferals and demons guarding the valleys.
The cool air turned warm as Catrin walked toward the forge, and with every step, the heat became more oppressive. Sweat ran into Catrin's eyes well before she reached the smithy. Within stood Strom and a man Catrin knew she should recognize, but she could not recall a single detail about him. Hoping he would not engage her, she stepped into the smithy. She needn't have worried. Though people seemed to fear Catrin less these days, she rarely had to wait for anything. Those in her path leaped to get out of her way, and it sometimes frightened her. What had she become?
"If one more person asks me when their commission will be done, I'll throttle 'em," Strom said by way of greeting.
Catrin smiled. "I'm sorry you have to make everyone else wait so that my requests are fulfilled." She turned her head so he would see her grin. "I know that must be terribly difficult for you."
"What makes you think I've made anyone wait on your account?"
"Well," Catrin said, knowing she was risking not getting the parts she needed anytime soon. "I figured there must be some reason everyone was asking when their commissions would be ready. Something must be slowing you down. I figured it must be me."
Strom's dark skin glistened as he breathed heavily, and Catrin saw his face darken even more as he flushed. "You've no idea how much time it takes to do what I do! The next person who questions how long it takes to do things can forge their own cook pots! Ungrateful lot. To the fires with all of you!"
Catrin could no longer hold back her laughter, which only seemed to fuel Strom's anger.
"And you just stuff a melon in it. I've heard about enough out of you. Why, I ought to melt these down and put you to the back of the line!" He stuffed a heavy bag into her hands, and she could hear the sound of rings and buckle pieces clinking against one another.
"Thank you, Strom."
"Get out of here before I change my mind! If not for the fact that it would just make more work for me, I'd do it. Now git!"
"I still need a sword, Strom."
"Don't make swords."
"Strom."
"The only thing swords are good for is killin' people. Don't make swords," Strom said and turned his back to Catrin, returning to his anvil and a rod of metal glowing red and white in the forge.
"Swords can protect as well. You know I don't want to kill anyone. I just need to be able to defend myself."
<
br /> "Why not retrieve that staff of yours? It seemed to serve you quite well."
"I can't," Catrin said. "It's. . alive now. I can't just yank it up, cut away the growth, and walk off with it, now can I?"
"I'll make you a new staff, then."
Catrin sighed. They'd had this argument before, and never had she won. "Not even one as talented as you could re-create that staff. It lay dormant for thousands of years and then bloomed when I planted its heel in stone. No. Not even you can replace the Staff of Life." Part of her knew she was being unreasonable.
"I never said I'd create you another Staff of Life. You must have rocks in your ears, and perhaps between them as well. I said I'd make you a new staff."
"But a staff is not what I need. Now I need a sword."
"Did the voices in your head tell you that?" Strom asked, not looking at her.
"It's not like that. I just know I need a sword. That's all."
Strom waved a hand and grabbed his tongs. There would be no more words spoken about it today, and she left him to his work, knowing she'd been partly correct about her requests causing him grief from his other customers. If it weren't so important, she would have waited her turn, but this meant everything. She didn't know exactly why; she just knew. With Kyrien so close by, she'd begun to wonder which thoughts were her own and which belonged to her dragon. Though many of these strange, new thoughts surprised her, she always seemed to agree with the course of action Kyrien desired. It didn't seem to matter.
Strom's comment about her staff had been well aimed. Part of her wanted nothing more than to rest her hands in the grooves left by her own fingers. The memory of her grip biting into the flesh of the staff was one she'd rather not relive, but that event had linked her to the Staff of Life forever. By some magic, she'd planted the Staff of Life within the Grove of the Elders, at the center of the destruction she herself had wrought. The staff had given her the greatest gift of all. It had taken root and bloomed. Twenty-one acorns it had yielded, just enough to replant the mighty trees she had destroyed.
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