by Olive Creed
Both Torrin and Briley paled. “I... beg pardon?” Torrin cleared his throat. “He... eats people?”
“’e used to. I dunno if ‘e still does. But yeah, ‘e is no good.”
“Well, the dragon did say it was unlikely he would agree. So..."
“So I shouldn’t have cause for concern.” Torrin handed his cane to Briley, mounting somewhat awkwardly. He really needed to work out more.
“You mount like an old man.” Raevyn huffed. “I still wish I was going. I’ve never been to Gashir.”
“I’m sure it’s just like any other town.” Torrin took the cane from Briley with a quiet ‘thank you’ and laid it across his lap. “Think of it this way. You’ll be here with your people just in case something happens.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “Soldiers, Shadows, I don’t know.”
She sighed, holding out her hand. “Don’t you dare get killed, alright?”
“I should just send you after King Corynth,” he teased, clasping her hand and shaking it. “You’d take him out and become the Achian queen.”
She grinned, extracting her hand and poking his knee. “I’m serious, though. Be careful.”
“You know I will.”
“We’ll be praying for you.” Briley gave him a quick smile. “Remember. Ace Pariah. Roscoe says he lives in Gashir. He should be easy to find.”
Torrin grinned. “Don’t worry about me, alright?” He hoped his own worries were safely tucked away. “I’ll send word back as soon as I find him.”
“We’ll be waiting.” Briley gripped Raevyn’s hand and raised her chin, her smile wobbling at the corners. They were both just as nervous as Torrin was.
He nudged the dragon and waved as they climbed into the sky.
The moment she settled into a smooth flight, he leaned his elbows on her back, keeping a sharp eye out for Shadows. You’ll be fine. Don’t mess this up. If you get yourself killed, Elyndia remains in the hands of a Slaver.
Torrin scowled. That kind of thinking was sure to motivate him.
They made camp at the edge of a little stream. The trialla dug a nest into the ground, licking up worms as she went. The summer night was almost uncomfortably warm. Torrin pulled off his tunic and dipped his head and shoulders into the cool water.
After a light supper of one of Briley’s biscuits and a slice of venison jerky, Torrin stretched out on his blanket.
A twig snapped in the darkness. He bolted upright, grabbing his sword.
“Worry do not, mi ken. Sangre it is.”
Torrin wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting Sangre to look like. He’d known the drake would be a giant lizard, but a lizard the size of a cow, with a row of spikes traveling from nose tip to tail tip and then crossing over his shoulders—and the shoulder spikes were nearly the size of swords and stained with blood—was the furthest thing from his mind.
The iina stopped, staring at Torrin with large, golden eyes. “Human guarding territory. Sangre killing him.” He thrust his whole head into the water, lapping it down.
Torrin blinked, glancing at the trialla—since when did people need dragons to interpret other beasts?
“Kill soldiers he did.”
Oh. Had one of them been Cyprian?
“There is Kyrnian watching camp.” Sangre folded his legs underneath him, blinking at Torrin. “He is no more.”
He swallowed hard, glancing at the trialla once more. The Kyrnian must have been upwind for her to not smell him. Torrin rubbed his neck. There would have been no way he could have stood against a Kyrnian and come out alive. “Thank you.”
Thanking a drake. Life had gotten strange lately.
“Sangre accompanying you to borders.” He laid his head on his front legs. “Sangre being guard. You needing it.”
Torrin laid down on his side, keeping his hand on his sword hilt. Sleeping next to a bloodstained iina would be like trying to sleep after Ryan had read—out loud—the gory legends surrounding the Yaki.
“You no worry keeping sword at the ready.” Sangre stared out into the night. “Sangre no attacking you.”
Unnerved at the dragon’s keen observation, Torrin rolled onto his stomach. It wasn’t like he could stop the iina from killing him if he wanted to. The fact didn’t help Torrin relax. He forced himself to close his eyes.
This was going to be a long night.
Sangre was gone when Torrin rolled over at the first signs of dawn. He frowned, rising up on his elbows. He hadn’t even heard the dragon leave and he knew he hadn’t fallen asleep.
He splashed some water on his face and drank his fill, waiting for the trialla to finish eating roots and bugs. Once she was done, he strapped on the saddle and pack and climbed into the seat.
“This morning left early Sangre.” She grabbed a drink from the stream before leaping into the air. “No Achians around he will make sure there are.”
His tired brain took a moment to decipher what the dragon had said. He scanned the horizon. “I don’t see how he’ll—”
Three black shapes were flying straight towards them. Torrin gripped the edge of the saddle, flattening himself as best he could. “Those may be Shadows.”
The trialla snorted before folding her wings and diving for the treetops beneath them, spinning so that her body hid Torrin from view. He squeezed his eyes shut, ducking his head to try and breathe past the wind blasting his face.
Branches clawed at his hair and clothes as they crashed into the trees. He tightened his grip, pressing himself closer against her to avoid being yanked off. They landed with a thump that nearly knocked him from the saddle. He plucked leaves and twigs out of his hair and flexed his fingers, stretching the cramped muscles.
“We’re safe, I believe, think I but would it be wise to on land for now travel.”
He blinked. “Oh. Yes, you are correct.” He dismounted, stretching out the kinks in his back. As they walked, he dug the map out of his knapsack and unfolded it. If his calculations were correct, they would be crossing the border today. Then five days out was Gashir.
Five days crossing Achia. A country full of people who hated Elyndians and Shadows who would kill him on sight.
“I don’t see why we had to be the ones to hunt down this blasted iina,” Zell grumbled, stabbing their breakfast fire with a stick.
Cyprian drained the last of his coffee, staring at Gannon’s back as he spoke with Peter.
“Aw, stop bellyachin’.” Dawsyn stood and stretched. “We’ve been tracking him down for a whole day now and he ain’t left the ground once. Maybe this dragon can’t fly. That gives us a better chance at capturin’ him.”
“Still don’t like it,” Zell mumbled and, for once, Cyprian agreed with him. He eyed the rifle leaning against the tree. Gannon’s rifle. He was the only one in the group who knew how to use it and Cyprian hated the advantage it gave him over them.
Hated the simple fact the man was here. At least he hadn’t so much as said hello. Cyprian felt a wry grin pull at one corner of his mouth. Maybe he didn’t recognize his own flesh and blood.
“Alright, men, let’s move out.” Peter kicked dirt onto the fire. “The sooner we catch this beast, the sooner we go home.”
They packed up quickly. Cyprian wiped sweat off his forehead, grumbling to himself over the humid heat here in the forest. He was the only one still wearing his tunic, the scars from tough missions and punishments safely hidden. He shouldered his pack and followed Peter, being careful to stay between him and him. Trailing at the back of the group was Zell, who’d been assigned to drag the collapsible cage they would use for bringing back the iina. Mostly because that’s all he was good for.
The tracks headed straight northeast, as if the iina was on a mission, and stood out plainly in the ground. The dragon was confident enough to not worry about hiding his trail. Cyprian bit his lip, studying one pawprint. Small for an iina, which made the beast even more dangerous, in his opinion. The smaller ones moved quicker and were more likely to
attack a human than a bigger—and thus older and wiser—iina.
He glanced around the forest. They were two days out from Zaraya. Perhaps he could slip away from the group in a few days and inform King Torrin of what they were doing. If he knew about the iina, he could form a plan to protect the dragon. And if he didn’t, he’d certainly want to know.
Torrin watched the clouds float by as the trialla flew lazily over the treetops. If they kept up this pace, they’d reach Gashir in three days instead of five. Not bad. Though he was anxious to hurry up and get the ball rolling on helping his people.
The trialla pulled up sharply, nearly unseating him. “Humans there are there down. Hide we must.”
“Where in Elyndia are we going to hide?” Torrin leaned over, trying to see. The dragon must have smelled them, as he couldn’t see anything through the thick foliage. “Just keep flying. Perhaps whoever it is down there will think you’re just a normal dragon doing your own thing.”
The trialla nodded, very slowly flying forward and flinching every time the wind made the trees move.
An arrow shot out from the trees, very nearly piercing the dragon’s wing. She shrieked, spinning and darting off so fast Torrin fell from the saddle. He shouted, hanging onto the saddle for all he was worth.
The dragon’s trail wrapped around his waist, depositing him back on her back. All the while she flew through the air at breakneck speed.
Torrin ducked his head and focused on trying to keep breathing and ensuring he didn’t fall off again.
The trialla dove in through a clearing into the trees, weaving through the forest before dropping to the ground and digging.
“I don’t see how you’re going to dig a hole fast enough to escape whoever it was,” Torrin gasped out.
Within minutes, though, the trialla had a decent sized hole and was curling in it, brown scales blending in with the dirt.
Torrin scrambled to unstrap the saddle, tossing it into the bushes and crawling underneath her wing. It was hot and stuffy inside, dust tickling his nostrils. He covered his nose and thought about everything but sneezing.
Something heavy hit the ground outside. Torrin froze, holding his breath.
“King Torrin?”
That was Cyprian’s voice.
Torrin peeked out from under the wing. “Cyprian? What are you doing here?”
The kid glanced around. “Sh-Shadows coming. I-I-I’ll lead ‘em away.”
Torrin nodded, climbing out and grabbing the saddle and fumbling with the straps. “Come on, girl, you have to get out.”
The trialla didn’t budge.
Cyprian rolled his eyes, snapping his fingers at his own dragon and pointing. She huffed, scales flickering in annoyance as she bit the dragon’s tail and dragged her out. Cyprian helped Torrin get the saddle on, then pointed towards Achia. “Hurry. In, in, in, in Gashir, there’s—”
“A man named Ace Pariah lives in Gashir. Roscoe told me about him and I’m heading that way now.”
Cyprian nodded, making a shooing motion with his hand.
Torrin climbed into the saddle, puffing a little. “Come on, girl. Let’s go.”
The trialla took off, flying just a little faster than normal.
Cyprian watched them go, then got busy with Fury disturbing all the tracks in the ground, then set about making new ones in a different direction. A desperate attempt, but he only had a few minutes before the rest of them arrived.
Gannon was the first to arrive at the scene, scowling when he saw Cyprian. “What are you doing?”
Cyprian ignored him, pretending to study the way the bushes were bent in broken. Fury’s scales were pink as she watched them, ready to make more tracks should Cyprian give the signal.
“These ain’t the markings of an iina taking flight,” Gannon announced after a few minutes. “They don’t leave such obvious signs.”
“I could have sworn I saw it flying over us though,” Zell insisted as he trotted over, puffing and wiping sweat off his face with his discarded tunic.
“What you saw was another dragon. Likely a trialla, with how close we are to Zaraya.” Gannon rested his rifle against his shoulder. “And your scared little brain thought it was a grounded iina.”
Zell scowled at him and Cyprian would have snickered if he didn’t hate Gannon so badly.
Peter and Dawsyn finally caught up. While Gannon explained to them what had happened, Cyprian wandered off. The hair on the back of his neck prickled with the feeling of being watched. Had been since joining Gannon, but now it was stronger.
Fury came up beside him, nudging his side with her snout and growling softly.
He lay a hand on her head, the other resting on one of his daggers as he carefully scanned their surroundings.
“What is it?” Peter came up beside him.
Cyprian shrugged, turning to go back.
Right as he turned, he saw yellow eyes staring at him from the bushes.
“They’re tracking him.” Thunder stood beside his sire, watching the men turn and leave.
“Yes, I see that.” Aklin turned, glancing over his wolves. “Ylda, you are the fastest. Find Sangre, tell him we are in need of his assistance.”
Ylda, a young, brown female wolf, hesitated. “Sangre? The iina? How do you know he will come?”
“He owes me. Now go!”
She ran off, moving silently through the brush.
“What do we do?” an older wolf with one eye asked. “We are not getting involved, are we?”
“We are.” Aklin turned and sat down. “The brown-skinned alpha is far worse than the little pale alpha ever was. We stand a better chance with him than we do the brown-skinned one.”
“Since when do wolves and kens work together?” he grumbled.
“Since I have decided to help them,” Aklin growled. “On your feet. We’ll follow these men. Ylda will pick up our trail.”
They’d only flown for maybe ten minutes when Torrin heard a wolf howling.
The trialla slowed to a stop, looking around. "Be that Ylda."
Who? A wolf? The dragon communicated with wolves?
Torrin yelped as she suddenly banked to the left, dropping through the trees and snapping several smaller limbs in the process.
A brown wolf sat there, tongue hanging out. She yapped at the sight of them, bounding over and growling.
The trialla bobbed her head, growling and chirping back, then turned to look at Torrin. "The men she says following are Sangre ambush will wolves with."
Torrin stared at her a moment before shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but I don't follow."
The wolf crept over, ears perked forward as she sniffed Torrin’s boot. "You don't smell mean."
"I... beg your pardon?"
She looked up with a doggish—wolfish—grin, tongue lolling out. "You smell nice."
"Thank you?"
"We're here to save you from the men tracking you." She sat down to scratch at her ear, then trotted around, sniffing at the bushes. "I brought Sangre."
Torrin looked around quickly, spine tingling. He did not like the drake being anywhere around. “Where is he?”
The wolf bobbed her head, tongue lolling out of her open mouth. “He’ll be here in three shakes of a flea’s tail.”
That... didn’t make sense, but Torrin wasn’t about to argue with a wolf the size of a small horse.
Sangre walked over, trailed by Aklin and several other wolves. "I am hunting who?"
"Trailing after us Shadows are."
"So we kill them." Aklin licked his lips.
Torrin swallowed. "No, we need to proceed with caution. One of the Shadows is helping me and he's with them."
"So what do we do, mi ken?" The brown she-wolf wagged her tail when Torrin looked at her. "Do you have a plan?"
"Not... not at the moment." Torrin dismounted, rubbing at his scars as he paced. How could he ensure that Cyprian wouldn't get hurt if they ambushed the Shadows?
"Are you able to tell the difference bet
ween races?"
The she-wolf nodded. "We can! Some races are friendlier than others so we have to know."
A tailless wolf scratched behind his ear. "They smell different."
Torrin nodded slowly. "What are your names?" There were too many wolves to simply call them 'wolf' and if he was going to be working with them—which was a rather unnerving thought—he needed to know what to call them.
"I'm Ylda," the she-wolf said. "The tailless wonder is Dawn, you know Aklin, that's his mate Torna, their pups Thunder, Lycus, Esena, and Moon, my mate Cloud—"
Cloud growled softly, nudging Ylda with his snout and speaking in a strange language.
"I'll do my best to remember everyone's names." Torrin scratched at his cheek. "Okay, our Shadow friend is an Elyndian. I don't know if there are other Elyndian Shadows, so I suppose if there's ever a question bring them to me."
"When we killing them?" Sangre growled.
"I think it would be best if we could get them at noon when they take lunch." He flexed his mangled hand, staring at the empty spots where fingers should be. "That's in an hour or so, I think."
All of the animals looked confused as to what an hour and lunch was. Torrin suppressed a sigh. How in Elyndia could they pull this off?
"Ylda, Cloud, Dawn, following the humans and letting us know when they settling down." Sangre glanced at Torrin before turning to slink off. "I being around."
Torrin jumped as Ylda nudged his shoulder with her muzzle. “The men have settled. They have a rabbit over the fire.”
He nodded, scrubbing sweat off his face and raking his hair back. “Okay. Have the wolves surround them. On my signal, we’ll..."
Kill them. They couldn’t simply run them out of Elyndia.
They would have to kill the Shadows. And while he’d known that deep inside, it hadn’t fully registered until now.
“You okay are?” The trialla nudged him with her snout.
