“Was it a human of the Resistance?”
“No, it was a small one. Riding a pale dragon.”
“What did you say?”
“A pale dragon.”
“Find him and bring his body.”
“The army is ready. We attack in the morning.”
Thomas listened with growing dread. What was he to do? Then his heart stopped as he heard Fion’s voice echo through the canyon.
“Thomas!”
No! Thomas’s mind reeled. What have I done? God, forgive me for my stupidity! If anything happens to Fion… He couldn’t finish the thought.
He heard a sword being pulled from a scabbard.
Thomas peeked over the boulder and saw one warrior standing with weapon in hand.
The other stood like a statue with its bow drawn and arrow nocked aiming up the canyon.
Fion was flying into an ambush! What could he do?
“Thomas!” Her voice closer now.
Then he saw her on Ember winging into view.
Thomas scrambled, searching, and his hand closed on the biggest rock he could find.
He stood clutching the rock.
“Hey!” Thomas shouted and hurled it with all his might.
The warrior with the sword spun at the sound, but the dark archer didn’t budge, he was locked on his target.
The rock whizzed through the air and hit the helm of the archer with a clang. But still he loosed the arrow, and it flew.
It missed Fion but sunk into Ember’s side, who screamed in pain and fell from the sky. Fion tried to manage the fall but the injured Ember careened to the rocky beach and crashed, finally skidding to a stop in a cloud of sand and debris. Thomas watched as the force threw Fion from the saddle like a tiny doll. She arched through the air, hit the ground and rolled many times before smacking into a boulder.
Thomas screamed. “Fion!” But no response. She lay still.
The archer picked her up like a sack of potatoes and threw her over his shoulder.
“I’ll take this one back to Captain Necron.” It hissed. “You bring the male child.”
“Dead or alive?”
“It matters not.” And it swung into the saddle, throwing Fion’s limp body across the neck of the beast. Then with a shriek his beast leapt into the sky.
“No!” Thomas screamed, watching his friend being taken. Then turned his attention to the remaining enemy.
Hissing, the shadow warrior approached. Its wicked sword glinted in the night.
Thomas franticly searched and then saw a piece of driftwood. He grabbed it and ran screaming toward his enemy, swinging wildly. The warrior’s blade expertly sliced thought the air, hacking Thomas’s driftwood in half. The useless pieces fell from his hands. The warrior took a step, closing the distance, and shoved Thomas. He fell.
Thomas scooted backwards until a boulder blocked his path. He searched for any escape as the warrior strode forward, lifting his sword for the final blow. Thomas groped the ground and his fingers closed on a more substantial limb. The warrior’s eyes burned and he gurgled his awful laugh, then swung just as Runt leapt over Thomas and snapped on the arm of the shadow warrior!
The warrior screamed, and its sword clattered uselessly to the stones. The warrior struggled, but the little dragon had its arm in his vice like jaws.
To Thomas now, this shadow warrior, this black thing represented all that Thomas hated of the evil in this world. Power, cold, dark and lifeless, sucking the joy from this beautiful world. Hurting his friends. Even crossing over into his own world. A relentless evil that must be stopped. Nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide. It was time to stand.
Thomas struggled to his feet and stood and faced his enemy.
“Who are you, child?” The warrior hissed.
Thomas considered the question. And suddenly he knew.
“I am no child.” Thomas tightened his grip on the stout limb. “I am Thomas, the Otherlander!” And he swung with all his might.
Sixty-Nine
“Thomas? Fion?” A voice called in the darkness. Thomas turned from cinching Runt’s saddle and saw a dragon circle above him. He squinted, then breathed a little easier when he realized it was not a shadow warrior’s beast. The rider leapt from the saddle as his dragon touched down. Thomas recognized him from the dragon keep but couldn’t recall his name.
“Thomas, I’m Collin, Master Shepherd sent me to find you when you didn’t return by dusk. You’re beyond our lands. Call Fion, we must return now.”
It was all Thomas could do not to yell shut up.
He took a breath. “Fion is taken.”
“What?”
“Shadow warrior scouts ambushed us.” Thomas’s voice broke as he forced himself to repeat the horrible reality. “They took Fion.”
“Her dragon, Ember?” Collin's eyes darted about the rocky boulder-strewn beach.
“Ember is alive.” Thomas threw his leg over Runt and settled in the saddle. “He was brought down by an arrow. He hit hard. He’s on the other side of that large outcrop.” Thomas indicated. “You’ll have to get help.”
Collin stepped forward and grabbed Runt’s bridle. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”
“I’m going after Fion.” Thomas gazed hard into the distance. “And you can’t stop me.”
“How’s that, little man?”
“Listen. We overheard the scouts talking. Darcon plans to attack tomorrow at dawn. Someone has to go back and warn the Resistance. And someone has to go after Fion.” Thomas patted Runt on his neck. “Runt knows Fion, and I am counting on him to track her.”
The little dragon roared and shook his head.
“Now if you’ll let go of my dragon’s bridle. Time’s wasting.”
Thomas could see Collin thinking. Thomas understood his predicament. The man probably had children himself, and a wise father would not send his son away in the middle of the night into enemy territory to chase a shadow warrior back to his army encampment.
Collin shook his head. Then, with a sigh, released Runt’s bridle.
Runt turned and snapped at him for good measure.
Collin set his jaw grimly. “The Creator be with you, my young friend.”
Thomas smiled, sadly. “And, with you.”
And with that, he nudged the little dragon. “Up, Runt!”
As the pale dragon took to the sky, Thomas turned back and shouted over his shoulder. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot. There’s a shadow warrior laying on the beach without his helmet. Be careful, he might wake up.”
Seventy
Thomas leaned hard in the saddle, attempting to shelter his face from the bitter cold of the night air.
“Runt, find Fion, understand? Find Fion.”
The little dragon barked his affirmation, and his wings beat even faster.
They stayed low in the canyons, but that made it hard to see anything above the dark granite walls. Thomas considered flying higher out onto the plains. There he might see farther and possibly glimpse Fion and her shadow warrior captor in the distance. But he dared not risk it. At that altitude, any shadow warrior scouts on patrol would easily spot them.
Thomas knew attempting to navigate this maze of canyons without his little dragon would be impossible. He hoped the short time that Runt had spent with Fion would have been enough for his dragon to track her. Runt flew on, focused on their invisible quarry somewhere ahead of them in the darkness, like a bloodhound on the scent of a fugitive.
What would he do if he caught up with them? He wasn’t sure. But he somehow knew that he was being guided, directed, pushed on by the Creator. The same God who knew him and helped him in his own world was helping him now in this one.
His gaze lifted to the night sky. The moon was a sliver of silver and sparkling stars littered the sky like glitter spilled on the floor during an art lesson. Seeing those bright heavenly objects caused a Christmas hymn to run through his mind. He remembered the last Christmas Eve when he trekked through the snow with his
mom and dad to the small stone church in their English village. Garland draped the opening and candles lit their way inside. The small sanctuary jostled with the faithful all bundled in their coats and wrapped in bright Christmas scarves. He snuggled between his mother and father. And they lifted their voices together with the rest and sang.
O holy night, the stars are brightly shining
It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth
Long lay the world, in sin and error pining
‘Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn
Fall on your knees
O hear the angels’ voices
O night divine
O night when Christ was born
Thomas’s vision blurred as tears pushed their way to the corners of his eyes, then slid down his cheeks, leaving cold trails in the bitter wind.
Runt turned his triangular head and howled, somehow sensing the pain of his young friend.
Thomas shook his head and willed the tears away. “I’m okay, boy,” he said stroking his pale dragon’s neck.
He had to focus now. Focus on Fion. Focus on his friend. No time for a pity party, his mom would say. He set his jaw like flint and leaned back down and urged the dragon on.
“Runt, find Fion. Find Fion!”
Runt put his head down and soared on like an arrow in the night, seeking its target.
Seventy-One
Fion came too, slowly. It was dark and cold. She had a great pain in her side, her arm was tingling most uncomfortably and her head was throbbing. She opened her eyes. Vertigo immediately struck her as she stared down into the abyss. Where was she?
Wait. Thomas, in anger and hurt, had flown off on Runt. She had followed. Then something had struck Ember, and they had crashed to the rocky floor. After that, she knew no more. She must have hit her head. That was why it was throbbing so. She tried to move her arm, then realized she was lying on top of it and that cut off the circulation and caused the tingling. Her senses slowly returned. A horrible screech pierced the darkness like a terrible exclamation point to her living nightmare. Now she knew where she was. She was hundreds of feet in the air laying over the neck of a shadow warrior’s beast.
Fion lay still. No need to draw the attention of her captor. It would give her time to think.
Thomas? Where was Thomas? Fion could hear only the wings of the beast that carried her and could not make out any others. She offered a quiet prayer to the Creator for her friend.
She could see the moon over her shoulder and just make out the bottom portion of the constellation known as the warrior. That meant she was heading south. She shivered. It was getting colder, so she knew they were gaining altitude. If they were going south at high altitude, then they must be flying over the Jagged Range of mountains.
Just then they crested the ridge and spread below them like their own stars were thousands of campfires covering the valley floor.
So many. How could they ever fight such an army?
The shadow warrior brought his beast in for a landing.
The sounds of war preparation assaulted her ears: Shouts of men, screeches of the awful beasts, ringing of anvils and the trumpet of battle horns. And everywhere the gurgled hissing of the dark shadow warrior’s speech.
They were close to an assault. They must be with all the frantic readying in the camp. Being the daughter of General Deacon Stormcloud, she knew what battle preparations sounded like and felt like—almost an electricity in the air. Probably tonight or tomorrow morning.
Her captor swung from the saddle and seeing a grimy soldier pass by hissed, “You! Maggot. Take this woman child and throw her in with the rest.”
Fion’s mind spun. Should she fight? Should she run? At the last moment as the man approached, she made her decision. She went limp, feigning unconsciousness. No need to risk any more injuries. And this way she could gather more intelligence. How she would get any of that information back to her people, she had no idea.
But she did know this deep in her heart of hearts. Thomas was alive. He had to be. And he would come for her and they would thrust their enemy down. The Otherlander would rescue them as he had before.
That thought warmed her as she was effortlessly hoisted, then flopped over the shoulder of the huge human and carted off through the encampment.
Seventy-Two
“Rider approaches!” A sentry announced as Collin brought his gold Dragon, Quill, in toward the massive door of the Dragon Keep. It cracked open with a resounding boom that echoed through the canyon. No sooner had Quill folded her wings and slipped through the opening did the chains and gears reverse and the door swung closed with a mighty thud.
Collin had seen the extra security as he made his way up the canyon to the Resistance Stronghold. Their torches lit the way through the dark canyon. He dreaded the conversation he was about to have with Dragon Master, Shepherd.
As Quill stretched out her talons for landing, Collin’s heart skipped a beat. Master Shepherd was there sure enough. But next to him like a granite statue with his arms crossed across his chest stood the general of the Resistance, Deacon Stormcloud.
Collin leapt from his dragon.
Shepherd’s brow furrowed, and his great mustache twitched. “Where are the children?”
Collin found it impossible to meet his stern gray eyes. “They…”
“Spit it out, man.”
Deacon reached over and put his hand on the younger rider’s shoulder.
Collin almost whispered. “They were ambushed by shadow warrior scouts.” He swallowed forcing down the lump in his throat. “They took Fion.” Collin felt the iron grip of his General tighten.
“What of Thomas?” said Deacon.
“Thomas went after Fion.”
“How could you allow that? I gave you strict orders!” Shepherd said.
“I know sir, but I had to bring back information.”
“What information?” Deacon demanded.
Collin for the first time met his General’s gaze. “They attack at dawn. Darcon’s forces attack on the morrow at first light.”
Seventy-Three
An iron-barred trapdoor opened, and Fion was dropped into a dirt pit like a bag of rubbish. She landed with an “oof” and would have been injured except for a body that broke her fall. She scrambled to her feet and quickly took in her surroundings. It was a crude hole dug in the ground about 10 paces square. The drop was about that as well; she reckoned. She rubbed her backside and gave quick apologies to the old man she landed on.
“It’s all right, wee lassie,” said the old man, rubbing his head. “I’m getting used to it.”
A filthy band of men and women, boys and girls, young and old, stared back at her from the darkness. The place stank, and Fion fought the urge to cover her nose with her hand. She felt that would be rude. It wasn’t their fault they hadn’t bathed.
Fion curtsied, for she was still a General’s daughter and her mother taught her well. “My name is Fion, Daughter of Deacon and Ellie Stormcloud.
The old man struggled to his feet and gave a tired smile. “I am Boyd. Welcome to our humble home.” The crowd responded with halfhearted laughs and coughs and mumbles.
“Who are you all?” Fion asked.
“We are all that’s left from the villages of the plain.” Boyd shook his head. “Darcon’s human army has grown as the wild men of the South have joined it. They swept across our plains, pillaging and burning, destroying anything in their path like a swarm of locust. Nothing could stop them. They gave us a choice: join them or…” He shrugged his shoulders and motioned to the small band standing about him.
Boyd then stood a little taller. “We are the final freedom. Darcon can throw us in a cage, but he can’t cage our souls. Our allegiance is to the true King, the Creator and to him alone do we bow.”
The rag tag band mumbled their affirmation.
F
ion nodded. “There are more of us. In the North we still stand. The Stronghold there is solid.”
Boyd shook his head. “Darcon grows stronger every day. The plain is now full of his army.”
Fion thought of the fires that dotted the plain and knew that what Boyd said was true.
He continued. “The rest of the shadow warrior army are still in the South, waiting for the call to come forth and assist in the last surge against the North.”
“There is still hope,” Fion said trying to sound brave.
A woman clutching a small girl that could have not been more the 6 summers, laughed roughly. “From what quarter will this help come but dying and joining our ancestors in the land where our freedom can never be taken.”
Fion understood her desperation but then spoke with even more conviction. “No, there is yet hope for us in this life and in this world. Just as Darcon was defeated 14 years ago. One has come who will thrust down our enemy.”
“Who is this warrior?” Boyd asked.
Fion took a breath. “The Otherlander.”
Somewhere behind old Boyd, a voice spoke. “What did you say?”
Fion peered into the darkness as a cloaked figure pushed through the group and stood before her, his face obscured by his hood.
“What do you know of this, Otherlander?” The stranger whispered.
Fion puffed out her chest. “He is my friend. Thomas, the Otherlander. Have you heard the tales?”
“Yes, I lived them.” The stranger pushed back his travel-stained hood. “I am Daniel Colson. Thomas is my son.”
Seventy-Four
“Deacon, they outnumber us three to one. And that doesn’t take into count the shadow warriors.”
General Deacon Stormcloud, leader of the Resistance, nodded at his brother-in-law and noble friend John. “I know. That is why we must attack now.”
The war room was silent as each man considered the reality of their general’s statement.
Otherlander: Through the Storm Page 15
