Whispers

OF

a

World

Breaker

Corey Ratliff

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Corey Ratliff © 2023

Guild of Fantasy Publishing © 2023

To my children, may your lives never become as cruel as Verilia. May you never have to make many choices I, and some of my characters, have made in life.

To my wife, I cannot put into words my adoration and appreciation for the life you have given me, the support you continue to push my way daily, and the love that no writer could bring to life.

To my beta readers, my books would be an utter dumpster fire without you. Thank you for always telling me when I’ve messed things up, or I could make things better.

To my readers, may you ever be enthralled by what I have created. Without you, this story would never be published. To ease you with this story, I have placed a pronunciation guide at the back of the book.

To the authors I have admired my entire cognizant life, to include Terry Pratchett, John Gwynne, Brandon Sanderson, and lastly, Christopher Paolini, who still stands today as my biggest inspiration, I thank you. Without you, I would never have dove into the worlds of fantasy. I would never have become a writer.

Content Warning:

As I set out to write this book, I planned to pen a young adult story. After all, that is the age group in which I was first introduced to this genre. However, once I set to writing this epic tale, I quickly realized I could not do this world, these characters, and this story justice if it was set in the age group of young adult, which generally encapsulates teenagers, though not always.

With that said, as a veteran, I understand the dark side of war. I wanted to showcase the brutality of this world. Even then, there were many times I held back. Where I did not hold back is where you, as a reader, deserve a warning of the contents within this story.

Throughout this epic tale, you will find quite a bit vulgar and crude language, as well as multiple adult themes—including murder, rape, theft, sex, discrimination, and manipulations. The violence is grim and brashly descriptive.

This is not my apology for writing what I have written. This is a warning for you, my reader. If you are bothered, or triggered, by any of the things I mentioned above, please, close this book. Turn off the ebook reader. Close out the audiobook. For this is not a story for you.

The Misty Scar had always been enough to shroud the sentinels of the Elven Court, even during the days when the orcs would venture far enough north to catch a single sniff of the dragon eggs. But decades had passed since then. And decades had passed since the last dragon hatched.

Though the elves lived for centuries—some for millennia—none had been chosen to become a rider of the skies in over a human generation. Few were the number of the coveted dragonmages these days. As such, they no longer soared through the clouds or watched over Verilia, keeping their ranks hidden in the forest city of Bör Mesari, or so it was told.

Chapter 1:

The Misty Scar

Aric Telendris stared at the ebony sword in his hand, no longer certain if it was forged with such color, or if the black blood of orcs had stained it over the past sixteen years.

He was knelt in a northeastern trench, broadsword clutched in one hand, an iron cup in the other. His raven locks, beard, and garb jutting out from beneath black chain mail were drenched from the evermist that encompassed The Misty Scar. He, along with two dozen other sentinels, was on guard. At that moment, they were at ease, resting more than they were ready for battle. And yet, they were always battle ready.

“They’re late,” said Captain Francil, a man with eyes the hue of sun touched spruce. Though he had always denied it, most of the sentinels had come to the conclusion he was a haförn, a half-human, half-elf.

Aric looked toward the haze above and listened. It was as silent as it had been for weeks. “They’re never this late, sir.”

Francil gripped the onyx handle of a dagger on his belt, his leather gloves groaning. “Maybe. Schedules are never set in stone." After a moment of pulsating jaw muscles, he took a deep breath. “Something has to be wrong.”

“Something’s always wrong, sir,” muttered Tanan Grayfirn. The scout for the sentinels was lying above on the ground beside the trench. His role was to keep the eyes open and the mouth shut until something breached the mist on the horizon. He was never great at the latter part of his job.

“Damn it, Tanan,” growled Moro, a hazel-skinned man with too many daggers for a normal man to carry. “Shut the hell up unless you see something out there. You do realize—we train ourselves to hear a scout’s voice over almost everyone-”

“In the squad,” said Tanan, interrupting Moro tauntingly. He poked his head over the edge of the trench and smirked. “You realize you tell me this everytime I speak.”

“And you-”

“Enough!” hissed Francil.

Aric fought a smirk by taking a sip of the ice-cold water in his mug. The chill of the liquid ran down his throat and into his empty stomach, sending a shiver up his spine. Standing, he shoved the sword into his back sheath. “Want us to run reconnaissance, sir?”

Francil rubbed the gray stubble on his chin and exhaled slowly through his nostrils. His eyes were downcast for a long moment before he looked at Aric. “That may be a good idea.”

“It would be,” said Calder, the youngest on the squad, “if we knew which exact direction the Court was coming from.”

“Honestly,” said a bulbous man with a thick red mustache. He grunted and stood. His heft was a mixture of his heavy stature and unnatural height, which could rival small orcs. “Why are we down here in the muck—doing this day after day, waiting for the Court to show up—most times off schedule and unannounced?”

“We’ve already been through this, Maddok,” said Aric.

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. The same conversations that riddled the sentinels became a bore at best. Most days, the deafening silence of The Misty Scar was welcomed. They hadn’t seen anyone besides the squad in weeks.

They hadn’t moved from the northeastern trench. There was no battle to be fought this time around. They simply waited. The anxiousness of the deployment had worn off by the fourth or fifth day.

“So the elves can build a rich city in the southeast, and one of the most fortified cities in the northwest, yet here we are,” said Maddok. He lifted his arms out to the side and slowly turned in a circle as he spoke. “They ran and protected Verilia for millenia. Yet, now their previous dragons are depleted, they grovel at the heels of man to serve their cause?”

“It’s all in hope the dragons will return,” said Francil. “It's a good cause, Maddok. Only dragonmages can stave off the orcs for so long.”

Aric took in the last of his water and tossed the mug down. He shifted to readjust his armor on his shoulders. “He does have a point, sir.”

“Not you, too,” said Francil sardonically.

“We live in peace—if this is what you can call peace,” said Aric, gesturing to the trench that was their home. “And that is only from the threat of dragonmages. You know as well as we all do that Bӧr Mesari just puts out the word there is a new dragonmage every year.”

“You don’t believe them?” asked Moro as he furrowed his thick brows.

“Not for a second,” Aric said dryly. He bent down and picked up his mail gloves. “You and I have been on the Elven Court for sixteen years—almost half of my life. Dragons grow rapidly, right? If there were as many hatched as they’ve told the world—told Paulus anyway—we’d have a sky full of dragonmages again.”

He looked up, sarcastically searching with his hand cupped around his eyes. “Nope. The sky is quiet.”

“Aye,” said Tanan. “I don’t believe it for a second either. Paulus doesn’t have to listen to the elves. He has an army strong enough to keep the orcs at bay, if they attacked the citadel of Grayhorn itself.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “Really, kid? Grayhorn is on the opposite side of Verilia as Az’ Grim. By the time any orc army made it to Grayhorn, it would be grinded down to a weak shell of its initial glory. Paulus isn't worried."

“Why this same muleshit again and again?” a short man in plate armor asked. His thick red hair was pulled back into a half ponytail, braided to match his beard.

“It’s not like there is anything else to talk about, Braelin,” said Moro.

“Politics, religion, and war," Braelin said with a scoff. “They’re all I ever fucking hear about, and only one of those things are any of us actually good at." He snorted and looked around. “There is one other thing I’m quite good at, but no—” he half sat up and shook his head with a grimace, “—we aren’t allowed to have them in the trenches with us anymore.”

Aric’s stomach churned. “You’re as much a monster as the orcs if you’re seriously bitching about that, Braelin. Lay your ass back down and go to sleep.”

Braelin sat up all the way and drew a long dagger from his boot. “Or what, Aric? Going to shut me up like you did the kid last season?”

Aric didn’t move, but his mind and muscle memory had him on the edge of reaching for one of the two ebony blades on his back. “If it falls on the same topic, then yeah.”

“Shut the fuck up, Braelin,” said Moro. He gestured at Aric. “He did the right thing. What if that would have been your kin getting raped?”

Braelin shrugged and nonchalantly slid his dagger back into its sheath. “Such is the life of wardogs. We eat, we breathe, we breed, we fight, and then we die.”

Aric clenched his fists, the chainmail covering his gloves digging into his palms. He kept his eyes on Braelin. “Sir, permission to remove this filth from our trench?”

“Denied,” said Francil. He glared sideways at Braelin. “Another word about your manhood yearning for something more and I’ll remove it and shove it up your trench. Is that understood?”

Braelin’s eyes widened. He glanced at the captain, then at Aric.

“Is that understood?"

Braelin cleared his throat, “Clearly...sir.” He shot another quick glance at Aric and rolled his eyes.

Aric shook his head and sighed. As much excitement as a scuffle would be at the moment, he knew Braelin was a competent fighter. The squad would be down one less man. “How about that recon, sir?”

“Take Moro, Calder, and Maddok with you,” said Francil. “Travel toward Velensmir. At least we know where the eggs are coming from. Once you’ve reached the edge of the Scar and have a semblance of open vision across the plain, fan out no more than five-hundred paces.”

Aric nodded at Moro, then looked at Calder. While the youngest sentinel would have been his last choice, he knew they all needed the experience, and thus Francil left it up to him and the other two to educate the kid. He looked at Maddok, whose sideways stare at Calder showed a similar unsettlement. “Ready?”

“Absolutely!” Maddok cheered, his face shifting in a flash to a smile. “Get me the hell out of this ditch for a bit.”

Aric led the reconnaissance team up the rope ladder just behind Tanan. He paused at the top and tapped the scout’s boot. “If you see anything-”

“Alert the captain,” said Tanan with a dryness of annoyance. “I know how to do my job, thanks.”

Aric shook his head and climbed onto the soft ground. He drew both of his swords slowly and squinted into the gray mist before him. While it was ever present, on this day, clouds must have been shrouding the sun for the wall before him was denser than usual.

“Damn it,” he hissed. Glancing over his shoulder, he whispered, “Roll your feet when you walk. Full stealth until we’re out of the thick of the fog. Watch for sticks and rocks. Keep your ears open as much as your eyes.”

The other three nodded as they drew their weapons. Moro held a dagger in each hand. Calder awkwardly carried a broadsword. And Maddok carried a longsword, resting it on his shoulder.

Together, they moved as a single unit, something Aric and Moro had practiced together for years. As they walked near silently, Aric kept his eyes darting back and forth, then to the sky, and back down. The pattern was repeated as his chest became tight. Any silhouette could be a friend or foe, but in The Misty Scar, few were friendly outside of the trenches.

After nearly twenty minutes of creeping, the mist thinned out. The dark patch of the horizon came into view. Aric held up his fist, halting the team. He scanned the ground again. Then the sky. Nearly a half minute passed as the squad scanned their perimeter.

“Alright, spread out,” he said quietly. “Wait until everyone is set before you move forward. Keep your eyes up. Valravs are as silent up there as we are down here.” His words were mostly for Calder. Moro had as much experience as he did.

Calder was the first to set. He gave a single, high-pitched whistle that resembled a starling’s call. Moro whistled second. Then Maddok gave his signal. Aric whistled a longer note, crescendoing to a higher pitch.

Continuing the stealth technique of stepping heel to ball, he moved again. He carefully slid one of the swords back into the x-shaped sheath on his back. While two were often superior for blocking, they were the enemy of finesse and practicality in a duel.

The outskirts of The Misty Scar were no less bleak than the dead trenches. The air clung thick with the rot of damp soil, or the leafless trees frozen in time. But Aric had to pay more attention to his footfalls now as brittle rocks riddled the dirt. Careful and slow were his breaths.

Another ten minutes of quiet steps passed, then a jolt of adrenaline was sent to Aric’s heart as something whooshed by ahead. He halted and widened his eyes.

The dark shadow darted behind a thick, lifeless pine. Fuck, he thought as he gripped his sword tighter. Should have brought a bow.

Clenching his jaws, he slowly exhaled through his nostrils, an attempt to relax his tensed muscles. He glanced sideways to see Calder moving forward. Slowly raising his sword, he glanced right. Maddok was still easing forward as well. His stomach twisted in a knot. They didn’t see it. Damn it.

Just as he lifted his foot to move forward, something cold and unnaturally sharp touched the right side of his neck, sending a chill down his spine.

He leapt to the left and half turned to the right, swinging his blade horizontally at torso level. His black sword whispered through the air. He jerked his head back and forth, searching for the assailant. Raising his weapon to the ready, he realized his neck was burning.

He hadn't felt the familiar warm tingle of blood running down his flesh, so he ignored it as a scratch. Though his first thought told him only an elf could move so fast, experience had taught him to never underestimate any of the species that inhabited Verilia.

Goosebumps crawled up his arms. He could hear his heartbeat thrumming in his ears now as he took a deep breath and held it. An eerie feeling someone was standing behind him raised the hairs on his neck. He spun and swung his sword again, this time faster with both hands.

Whoosh.

Aric sliced through nothing again. His chest grew tight, begging him to take deeper breaths.

“Impressive,” a voice called from behind him. “For a human.”

Aric jumped forward. His cheeks reddened as he landed. He realized immediately who had spoken, and who had tagged his neck. He could recognize her voice from any other elf. He shoved his sword back into its sheath as he turned. “Elandrea.”

“Rare is it to find a human with senses like that,” said Elandrea. She was dressed in what Aric had been told was mirinthiel armor, unblemished silver with golden swirls.

On each of her hips were curved daggers. A sword was fashioned on her back beneath a pale cloak. On each spaulder was a crest of a dragon emblem.

A grin tugged at the edges of Aric’s lips as he looked up and down at Elandrea. “Sixteen years I’ve been doing this, and you don’t look a day over five hundred.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, sentinel,” said Elandrea. Her lips pursed. Whether she was trying to hide a smile, Aric never knew. He only hoped. She looked to the horizon. “Where is your unit?”

“I have three other-”

“Your full unit,” Elandrea interrupted. “I have little use for a reconnaissance team on this endeavor.”

Aric narrowed his eyes and looked toward the horizon. “Captain Brinard Francil is back in the trench—a half hour’s walk.” He cocked his head. “What do you mean by this endeavor? Is there more than one egg this time?”

“Gather your team,” said Elandrea. “Stay here.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and spirited away, her steps nearly as silent as Aric’s were moments ago.

Chapter 2:

An Urgent Rendezvous

Watching the elf run away at the speed of a warhorse, Aric gave another long whistle. Calder and Maddok echoed the call and rushed back.

Lastly, Moro reached them. “What is it?”

“Elandrea decided to grace us with her presence for a moment,” Aric said dryly.

“You mean grace you,” Maddok said with a chuckle.

“Get fucked,” Aric teased.

“Is that your goal?” Maddok laughed. “She’ll put you through a wall.”

Aric grinned sheepishly. “I’d let her.”

Moro turned his golden eyes to the horizon. The sky to the east was glowing orange and red as the sun had begun to show its face. “Where’s the convoy?”

Aric exhaled deeply and shook his head. “Something’s off.”

“Off?” questioned Maddok. He gripped his long sword tighter and shifted his stance.

“Stand down,” said Aric. “They’re coming. It’s just—I don’t know yet.”

After five minutes of waiting, Aric began to grow irritated. “Gods damn it. Where are they? We’re a firefly glowing on a placid midnight lake here.” Then he saw it.

The silhouette of something massive and lumpy, like a weathered mountain, was moving toward them. The elven convoy’s armor shimmered like stars. Aric narrowed his eyes. “That—that can’t be…”

Moro squinted, then held his hand over his brows. “What is that?"

Aric took a couple steps forward as the bulk of the convoy slowly came into focus. There were no doubts of what he saw when a gargantuan wing flexed, then folded back down. His heart pounded in his chest.

“Is that a dragon?” asked Calder. His eyes widened as his mouth fell agape with a trance. “I—I’ve—never seen one before.”

“Aye,” said Maddok. He lifted his long sword and shoved it into a wide scabbard before dropping it into its holder on his back. Even with his height, it nearly reached down to his ankles. “You’re a kid. Course you haven’t seen one.”

Moro slowly smiled. “How long has it been, Aric?”

“About twelve years.” Aric pulled himself out of his daze and cleared his throat. “Look alive, men. Today is one of high rarity. I don’t know why a dragonmage would be risking the Scar, but it has to be far more important than a single egg.”

“Calder," Maddok said as he clapped the young sentinel on the shoulder. “Try to not soak your leggings. Mail tends to rust faster that way.”

Calder shrugged off Maddok’s giant hand. “Shut up.”

“Quiet,” Aric hissed. He thought about the arrival of a dragon in The Misty Scar. Why would they come this way? He narrowed his eyes. It’s not walking. His heart sank. “It’s injured.”

“How do you know?” asked Calder.

“Because it’s being ferried on a platform,” Moro said. He leaned closer to Calder and pointed. “See the sling drivers?”

“Horses?”

Maddok snorted. “No, the dogs.”

“What dogs?” Calder asked, squinting.

Maddok looked sideways at Calder and shook his head. “You’re hopeless, boy.”

“There.” Aric pointed at the center of the crowd moving swiftly toward them, a dust cloud blowing behind their steps. He glanced at Calder. “That lead elk—the white one—that’s a dragonmage.”

Calder furrowed his brows. “How can you tell?”

Maddok sighed. “You just get used to seeing them with the job, I suppose.”

Aric nodded. “Yeah. They’re just more poised than typical elves. Their armor is different. Swords, too."

One of the riders broke free from the formation and raced toward them. Once they were close enough, Aric recognized the fiery red hair immediately. His stomach fluttered. His face reddened. “Veranthia."

“Easy there, brother,” said Moro. He nudged Aric with his elbow and chuckled.

“Piss off,” Aric growled. He stood straighter and tucked his hands behind the small of his back. “Business as usual.”

“Uh huh,” mumbled Moro as he stepped in line with Aric and took the same stance. Maddok and Calder stood on either side of them and assumed the attention stance.

Riding a black-tailed buck, the elf approached. Before the elk slowed, she leapt from its back. Soaring twenty feet forward, she landed within a sword’s reach of Aric. Altogether, the sentinels bowed. “Sentinel Aric,” said the elf, her voice softer than Elandrea’s, yet somehow just as cold.

Aric straightened again and peered into her emerald eyes. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Lady Veranthia.”

“Elandrea tells me you are removed from your unit.” Her words were a statement, not a question, unemotional and dry. She walked around the quartet, looking them up and down. “Is that why the smell persists?”

Aric smirked once she was behind him, understanding the elf's dry humor. “My Lady, we were sent out as a reconnaissance team. Has there been trouble along the way to the Scar?”

Veranthia circled back around to the front of Aric. “Nothing the Elven Court couldn’t dispatch swiftly." Her eyes smiled, though she stayed relatively poised. “Impatience is not a trait we share with humans. If only your commander would have waited mere hours, we would be upon the trench."

Aric swallowed a lump in his throat again and looked past her shoulder. “My Lady, is that a dragon that approaches?”

“It is.” Veranthia’s mount strolled up beside her and halted. “Mistake not, sentinels, this is no ordinary convoy.”

Aric nodded. “I can see that. What would you have of us?”

Veranthia looked over her shoulder. “Once this task is complete, you will be subjugated to the Wards in the Vrelengard.”

Aric furrowed his brows. “We’re going to be memory wiped."

Veranthia stared at Aric for a moment. “It is imperative—as you will see.”

“It’s fine,” Aric said sternly, though he loathed the idea.

“Memory wiped?” Calder blurted. “You can’t just-”

Aric glared at the kid. “It’s fine.” He held his cold eyes on Calder until the younger downcast his eyes and fell silent.

“You have no mounts,” said Veranthia. “Stay ahead of the convoy on your return to your post. We will follow you to Captain Francil. Then, we will move due north to the Vrelengard."

Aric cocked his head. “Will we not be using the Scar to shroud our movements this time?"

She didn't answer his question with words, though a lingering look told him not to ask anymore. “Alert your commander of what is impending his squadron—and only him. Are my instructions clear, sentinel?”

Aric gave a slow nod. “As clear as Lake Tel, my Lady.” Without hesitation, he turned and marched back toward the trenches, his small unit closely following.

“What about stealth?” asked Calder.

“Ahead is our post,” said Aric. “Behind is a dragonmage, and what looks like a special convoy of the Elven Court. If anything attacks, it won’t go for us. That wagon carrying the dragon will be upon us before we reach Francil.”

Calder looked back over his shoulder, then glanced up. “What about the valravs?”

Aric rolled his eyes. “They hunt over the Scar by sound first.”

Calder scoffed. “Yeah. And they’ll hear-”

“That giant ass platform and the squad of elk hooves,” Maddok interrupted with a growling annoyance. “Just keep moving, kid.”

Aric glanced at Maddok's bulging gut and smirked. “Sorry, big guy.”

Maddok cocked his head. “For what?”

Aric broke into a jog. “We need to move faster.”

“Bloody—blasted,” Maddok’s voice fell behind the other three.

After nearly ten minutes of jogging, Aric looked back over his shoulder. Maddok had one advantage to keep up and that was his stride, which nearly doubled the length of an average sentinel. He couldn't help but chuckle at Maddok's awkward, clunky steps. “Keeping up?”

Maddok’s breaths were heavy, his face red and glistening with sweat. He waved a hand. “Keep…going. Can’t keep…me down…that easy!”

Moro laughed. “Never doubted you."

Aric's chest was growing tight beneath the mail armor. The worst part of being stuck in a trench for weeks at a time was the lack of exercise. And he was feeling it now. His legs burned. But a quick look over his shoulder only served to amplify his fortitude. “They’re still gaining on us.”

“They’re on bloody fucking mounts, Aric!” Calder huffed.

“Welcome to the role of a sentinel, kid,” said Moro.

Without warning, a black and purple bolt of shadowy energy soared past Aric out of the evermist. It crashed behind them, slinging chunks of dirt into the air. He quickly slid to a halt and drew his sword. He looked at the others with widened eyes. “Sangribör!"

Moro withdrew two daggers just as Maddok reached them and turned around, drawing his longsword. “A sangribör? Here?”

Aric whirled around. “Backs together! Move!”

Calder's face went white.

In the distance of the mist, a blood curdling scream came from an elk. “The convoy, Aric!” Moro growled. “We have to-”

“I know!” Aric hissed. He looked back and forth. The convoy began to erupt in vibrant flashes of green and purple light.

“What do we do?” cried Calder.

Aric glanced sideways at the kid, then did a double take as he realized Calder’s sword still clung to his hip. “Draw your fucking sword!” He rolled his eyes. “Better yet, Calder, you and Maddok run back to the trench. Tell Francil we’re under attack. Bring everyone!”

“I’ll go,” said Moro quickly. “I’m faster than Maddok—no offense.”

Aric’s stomach churned at the thought of separating from Moro. He shook his head. “No. I need your speed here.”

“Aric, just go!” Moro said sternly. “Francil is farther. We’ll back in no time.”

“Gods damn it!” Aric knew Moro was right, but they had never split up in a battle before. Not once. He turned and hugged Moro, squeezing tightly. “Go. Watch his back.”

He glanced at Calder. “Remember your training, kid. I know you haven't faced orcs yet, but you're about to. Swing your sword true. Don't hesitate."

Calder nodded, his arms trembling.

Moro nodded and without a word, they sprinted away.

Aric looked at Maddok. “You ready?”

“To fight sorcerers?” Maddok asked as he gripped both hands on the handle of his longsword. “Not really.”

Aric huffed. “Me neither. But there’s never any other reason to run toward a sangribör.”

“Aye,” said Maddok. “And no one else I’d rather fight beside. If war is upon us…”

Aric jogged back toward the convoy, finishing the sentinels’ motto, “Then war becomes us!”

Chapter 3:

The Choice

By the time Aric and Maddok came into a clear view of the convoy, a battle was being engaged on two fronts; four elves and the dragonmage—whom Aric had never seen before—were fighting the sangribörs with magic. The dragonmage was easier to spot than the rest of the elves in his scarlet armor and shimmering blood red sword. His spells were faster and brighter than the other elves as well.

At a quick glance, as he ran toward a massive hargrol, the largest of the orc types, Aric guessed there were four dozen elves. He barreled past the dragonmage, dodged a bolt of purple energy, and drove his black sword into the lower back of the olive-toned orc. He quickly pulled it out and stepped back as the orc released a deep and raspy scream.

Aric’s heart raced with a familiarity only a fight could bring. He ducked just in time to evade a massive rusty axe from the orc. He had seen these weapons sever men in two.

Before he stood, he shoved the tip of his right sword into the orc’s foot, producing another monstrous scream. Standing, he drew his second blade from his back and slashed the back of the orc’s shoulder.

Maddok caught up and buried his long sword into the orc’s leather-covered thigh. The blade made a muted thud as it struck bone. The eight-foot-tall orc dropped awkwardly to one knee and slammed Maddok in the chest with the butt end of his axe, sending him flying backward ten feet.

Aric seized the opportunity while the orc was turned to carve a diagonal line across the right side of the orc’s neck. Black blood sprayed into the air. 

The orc swung his axe low, lethargically and single-handed as he pressed his palm against the wound in his neck.

Jumping over the tribal weapon, Aric barely escaped the attack. As he landed, he swung both swords together in a downward angle. One blade sliced through both of the orc’s cheeks, clanging against teeth. The other sliced through the orc’s first three fingers and landed an inch above his first cut on the orc’s neck. It stuck in his dark flesh.

The orc turned his face skyward and roared, a rasped and gurgling cry of agony. His mouth split open from the gash in his cheeks, held together now by only the white ligaments of his jaws.

Aric ripped his sword from the orc’s neck and stepped back.

“I got him!” Maddok yelled as picked up his longsword and ran toward the orc. With a wide rotation and a bellow suited for their enemy, he removed the orc’s massive head. It landed with a dull thud in the dirt, bouncing awkwardly as the skull and jaw moved separately.

Without warning, something shimmered past Aric’s head with a metallic hum. Turning, he realized it was an elven short sword that was now buried in another orc’s eye. In a flash, fiery red hair whipped past him. “Veranthia, what’s-”

She was already forty feet away.

Leaping into the air, she landed on her target’s shoulder and locked her legs around its chest and back. She withdrew a second short sword from the armor on her back. Using both silver blades together like shears, she opened up both sides of the orc’s throat, spewing a rain of black into the air. As the orc fell, she leaped into a backflip, twisted gracefully, and continued running forward.

“We’ll just do that next time,” Maddok said with a sardonic laugh.

Aric looked back at the sound of deep roars. To the south, a massive shadow crawled across the land. His heart pounded in his chest, though now from fear. “They've never marched with these numbers before."

“Gotta be the dragon, yeah?" Maddok asked.

Looking back at the red dragon lying on the wagon, Aric realized what attempt was going to happen.

Spinning around, he found the dragonmage engaged with two sangribörs, matching them both spell for spell. Green fire roared to life from the elf, blocking a beam of violet from an orc. “That's why."

“They’re here to take the dragon!” Maddok said, obviously coming to the same conclusion as Aric.

The dragonmage furrowed his brows but kept his gaze on the fûrin magic erupting from the orcs. “Obviously, sentinel! Where is your unit?!”

“They should be on the way,” Aric bellowed over the cacophony of steel against steel.

“Aric!” Maddok yelled as he shoved Aric to the ground.

Something black caught Aric’s periphery. Whirling around and lifting his sword to block what he assumed was an axe or sword, he watched a long arrow punch through Maddok’s chest from somewhere up high.

It passed through the big man's chest, punched out of his back, and pinned his body to the ground. The long bolt held him halfway upright in an unnatural diagonal angle, as if he had fallen backward and time had frozen.

“Maddok!” Aric cried as he ran to him.

The air was filled with a blood curdling set of calls. Looking up with a new sense of rage, he noticed two dark patches in the sky. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he yelled to any elf who could hear. “Valravs!”

“Aric,” Maddok groaned. Blood oozed from the corner of his mouth. He breathed in, wheezing, and held his hand out toward his long sword.

“No, no. Leave it,” Aric said. He shoved his left sword into its sheath and took Maddok’s hand in his own. “Hold on, I’m going to cut it down.” Stepping back, he looked at the five-foot long arrow. It had more girth than his thumb. Maddok let out a long exhale.

“Shit.” He knew a chest wound from a valrav’s arrow was certainly fatal for a human. He looked into Maddok’s dull eyes, his stomach threatening to heave up his breakfast from earlier. Slowly, he lowered his sword and looked down.

Maddok was dead.

Aric’s chest pounded with heavy thrums of his heart. “I’m sorry, brother. May the Gods carry you into Vraelsorn.” He gripped his blade tight and looked up.

The valravs circled overhead, releasing arrow after arrow at the dragon, each deflected by elven spells. Looking at the beautiful creature on the wagon, he studied it for a moment. He saw no wounds. No joint was dislodged, nor were the wings torn. It’s not—injured, he concluded.

One of the sangribörs screamed behind him as its legs buckled backward unnaturally. Another orc was lifted into the air by black vines from the dragonmage, then thrown toward Aric. Before she stopped rolling, Aric drove his sword into her mouth, cracking the base of her skull as her mass crashed into him.

A second sangribör lifted his trembling hand toward Aric. Then a thin beam of red fire severed it before the orc could cast another spell.

“Move, sentinel!” called the dragonmage.

Aric shook his head, as if he were a wet dog, to call back on his focus. “Dragonmage. Valravs!” He pointed upward with his sword.

“Bu eshthara!” the elf yelled over the battle. He held his palm skyward. “Valravnr mote malektr!”

Aric nodded and looked back to see six elves climb into the backs of the slingers, the massive black horses mostly used to move catapults. As they released golden arrows into the sky, Aric heard the dragonmage behind him. “Kraf medtr fyl! Flis!”

The six arrows glowed bright orange, then exploded into dozens of shards just before reaching the valravs.

Taller than sangribörs, but thinner than hargrols, valravs were supernaturally agile and light. This allowed them to ride the valravn, dire wolves with the heads and talons of ravens.

Aric shook his head. “That won’t work!” He had known for years the orcs’ beasts outmatched everything in the air but dragons. With valravs in their saddles, they proved to be the highest threat to dragonmages in flight. They dodged the splinters of arrows with ease. Two of the valravs released arrows into the archers below with one managing to pierce through the back of a slinger horse.

“Make them explode!” Aric yelled.

“Silence, sentinel!” yelled the dragonmage. His face twisted as he slowly curled his fingers into a fist.

Aric turned back and watched the splinters change direction behind the valravs. Circling back toward the dragonmage, they ripped through the riders. With high pitched squalls from their mounts, the orc archers plummeted to their death. He looked back at the dragonmage. “Well done.”

“Tend to the hargrols, sentinel,” the dragonmage said coldly. “That is your duty.”

Aric clenched his jaws and drew his second sword back out. With a frustrated roar, he ran toward the oncoming orcish army.

Chapter 4:

General Thar’lok

After ten minutes of sprinting, Moro came to a halt as he heard something ahead in the mist. Grabbing the back of Calder’s mail tunic, he whispered, “Wait!”

Calder looked back with widened eyes, breathing heavily. “What is it?”

From the back of his belt, Moro withdrew two longer daggers. Squinting, he looked back and forth at the horizon ahead. “Listen.”

Calder's face flushed. He drew his broadsword. “What-"

“Shut...up!” Moro hissed. In the distance beyond sight, low grumbling echoed. Then a deep growl followed. A thump. Then came a mix of chain mail being torn apart and a guttural scream. It was quickly muted by another metallic thud and a gurgling sound.

Moro's heart pounded in his chest. Looking back over his shoulder, he cursed under his breath. They were too far away from the Elven Court now to turn back.

Calder stepped backward slowly, holding his sword with both hands. His eyes were wide. “Was that-?”

“Don’t say it,” Moro interrupted. His chest grew tight. He knew what the sound was, with every fiber of his being. Sixteen years as a sentinel had taught him many things, and forced even more to become habitual, instinctual.

“Should we turn back?” Calder asked with a tremble.

Moro swallowed and shook his head. He pointed a dagger forward. “The trench should be just ahead,” he whispered. “If we-”

A deep thump hit the ground in the mist. Then another. And another as it grew louder. Moro's stomach twisted. Few creatures held the mass to shake the ground as they walked. In the evermist, a dark shadow came into focus. With each step, it swayed back and forth. “Aim for the eyes,” he whispered softly to Calder.

Looking at Moro, Calder arched his brow. “What—is—that?” His sword trembled in his hands.

“A haraebaer,” Moro said as he slowly crouched in a stance of which he could move swiftly if need be. He twisted his feet back and forth, digging into the soft surface of the soil. “A war bear.”

The evermist swirled as the bear sniffed, then exhaled deeply. It halted and groaned, as if communicating.

Moro looked around. “Fuck.”

“What?” Calder asked.

Moro squinted. All around them was bleak and unchanged in the pale fog. “Where’s the rider?”

Without warning, a pulsating whoosh came from the right just before a massive axe came into view through the mist.

“Down!” Moro yelled. He dove for Calder—too late. The blade of the axe was the length of a human’s torso. It ripped through Calder’s shoulder, severing his arm completely.

The kid screamed as the force of the axe sent him flipping sideways through the air. He slammed into the ground and rolled several times. Dirt was packed around the bone jutting out of his shoulder.

Moro looked back from where the axe came from as heavy footfalls preceded a hargrol sprinting toward them. He glanced at the bear standing still. With a quick twist threw both daggers. The first stuck in the orc’s chest, the second hit him in the forehead with the handle.

Without hesitating, he drew two smaller throwing blades from his vest. Both of them stabbed into the orc with the second round of throws. By the time he drew two more, the hargrol was upon him.

“Where they be?!” the orc roared and dove head first, both of his thick hands outstretched.

Moro slid forward and ducked beneath the eight-foot tall hargrol. He lifted his knives, slicing into dull green flesh as the orc passed overhead. Quickly getting to his feet, he looked to see where the bear was.

“Mo—ro!” screamed Calder.

Whirling around, Moro’s stomach churned in a knot. The bear had bit down on Calder’s leg and was shaking him violently. It growled and thrashed its huge claws into Calder's back and hips until the kid’s leg was ripped off at his knee.

Calder screamed louder. His voice turned shrill as the bear dropped the leg and raked its claws across his side, exposing his rib cage. The mail and leather armor did nothing against the eighteen-hundred pound bear. A second swipe revealed Calder’s spine.

The orc stood up straight and laughed. “Ba'at maer drâka!"

Moro took a careful aim. “I’m sorry, kid.” He threw a dagger, landing it with a dull thud in Calder’s temple, silencing the screams.

This didn’t stop the bear from ripping off the other arm and tearing into his flesh as easily as if it were a pool of water.

Slowly taking out another knife, Moro looked at the orc, who now had his axe in hand again. “Come on!”

The bear reared its head toward Moro and sprinted toward him.

“Draenak!” the orc yelled, glaring at the bear. It halted in its tracks and turned its gaze to the ground. Licking blood from its snout, it let out a whine.

Moro watched with shock as the orc put his axe in a holder on his back. For the first time in his life, he got to take in the full view of a living hargrol up close.

Garbed in leather leggings, the orc had not a shred of fat on him. His arms were the girth of a man's thigh. A leather strap crossed his chest, holding the axe in place on his back. He was bald, with a thick black beard braided down to his chest, decorated with small bones and beads. More curved bones were pierced through his nose and ears. Four large canine teeth gave him the appearance of a slight underbite. Around his neck was a bone collar, the centerpiece a human jawbone.

“You have fear not for me,” said the orc. It was a statement, an observation more than a question.

Moro’s chest heaved and begged for deeper breaths. He gripped his daggers tighter and shook his head. His shoulder length dreads were drenched from the evermist and sweat. “I’m not afraid of you, no. And I’m not afraid to die.”

“I General Thar’lok,” said the orc, his voice a raspy baritone.

“And I don’t give a shit,” Moro growled.

Thar’lok pointed toward the trenches. “You men not fear for me, for Ba’at, too. Or death.”

Moro’s heart sank as he imagined the orc and war bear tearing through his unit. “Are they all dead?”

Thar’lok took a deep breath and nodded. “Are.”

Moro flipped his left dagger around for a reverse grip. “Then let’s finish this.”

Thar'lok looked back at Calder's mangled body. “You strong man. I think keep you, I will.”

Moro narrowed his eyes. “I think I'll pass. Where did you learn our language?”

Thar’lok cackled and pointed at Moro. He began pacing in a wide circle. Glancing at the bear, Ba’at, he snapped his fingers and gave a clicking noise with his tongue. The bear groaned and lay down. “We learn you language many moons past.”

“Yeah?” Moro asked, furrowing his brows. “Well, you fucking suck at it. Are we going to fight or have a shitty conversation?”

“You kill not General Thar’lok—” the orc pointed at the bear, “—or Ba’at. Why you want death for?”

“Captain Francil,” Moro said sternly. “Is he alive?”

“You halfbreed commander?” Thar’lok asked with a grin. “Ask her question. Want her show you?”

Moro felt a wave of nausea sending an ache to his jaws. Goosebumps crawled up his neck. There’s no way out of this, he decided. Without giving away any signs, he threw his right dagger. Then his left.

Thar’lok held up a hand and swatted the first blade away like a fly. He looked down at the dagger still in his chest. “Ah.”

Using two fingers, he pulled it out as if it were but a nuisance splinter. With a single swipe of his hand, he removed the other  dagger from his stomach. “You come with Thar’lok.”

“Never.” Moro bared his teeth and crouched, drawing another dagger from his boot. His last.

Thar’lok walked forward, holding his arms outstretched. “You fight what for? Elves?"

“I fight for what’s right,” Moro said. He pointed his blade at the orc. “Not for monsters like you who kill for the thrill.”

“You know lies,” said Thar’lok. He halted two steps away from Moro. “Ergoth show you way.”

Moro’s heart sank. The mention of the name sent a shiver down his spine, raising the hair on his neck. Az' Grim's warchief had a reputation for being one of the most dangerous orcs to ever have lived.

He swallowed a lump in his throat and stood up straight. “Ergoth.”

“Warchief bring truth to eyes,” said Thar’lok.

Moro shook his head and looked at Ba’at. The bear was staring at him intently, ready to pounce. “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.”

Thar’lok burst into a deep laugh. “I say I keep you. No kill. Come.” He turned and walked away, as a parent would expect their child to follow.

Moro’s heart crashed against his chest as it grew tighter. He could sense his death coming closer by the second. “No.”

Thar’lok slowly turned and glared at Moro. “I not asking.” With a gesture of his hand, Ba’at perked up and bared her teeth. A low growl hummed in her throat.

Moro took a deep breath. He let his body relax as he stood up straighter and held his arms out wide. He dropped the dagger to the ground. “Then kill me.”

Without a word, Thar’lok rushed forward and raised his axe high. Moro squeezed his eyes shut as he prepared for death’s embrace. A searing pain stabbed into the side of his head. A quick view of the giant over him flashed by as he opened his eyes. His vision blurred, then faded to black as he landed hard in the dirt.

Chapter 5:

Scars at the Scar

Aric’s face was covered in thick, black blood. A deep gash burned in his left shoulder, making his offhand rather useless. His ankle throbbed from tripping over a dead elf moments ago. Four elves stood before him, weaving green magic into the horde of orcs.

Breathing heavily, he watched as the dragonmage laid his hand on the scarlet dragon and closed his eyes. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Her,” corrected the dragonmage. “She is moments from releasing her egg.”

Aric’s heart jolted. “She’s—she’s pregnant?” One of the orcs broke rank and circled around the elves. “We need to-”

“Silence, sentinel!” yelled the dragonmage. “I must focus!”

Aric clenched his jaws. He rapidly grew tired of the elves' commands in battle. Fuck it, he thought.

With a roar, he ran, half limping toward the orcs flanking. As one swung an axe vertically, Aric turned and dodged. He brought his sword down on the orc’s fingers. Like sausage links, they fell to the ground.

The orc roared and stepped back, dropping the axe and blood squirted from four stubs. Shaking his hand, he lunged forward and grabbed Aric by the neck with his other hand. The orc lifted him off the ground with visible ease.

With an underhanded stab, Aric’s blade stuck into the orc’s eye. The monstrous warrior released him and cupped a hand over his face, roaring like a lion.

Without hesitation, Aric stepped diagonally to the outside and sliced across the orc’s knee with his sword, dropping him into a kneel.

Don’t let him grab you again, he told himself. You’re faster. He knows it.

Twisting back to the right, he swung his blade horizontally into the side of the orc’s head, splitting his ear in half and knocking him sideways.

With another full twist, Aric stepped toward him and shoved his sword into the soft underside of the orc’s chin.

The orc grabbed the hilt of Aric’s sword before it could be buried into his brain. Aric’s eyes widened. With a useless left arm, he thought quickly and let go of his sword. He stepped back.

The orc blindingly swung his hand outward, blood running down his cheek and neck. He growled as he slowly began pulling the blade out of his chin.

Aric leaned back, dodged the thick fingers, and saw his opening.

As the orc leaned away, Aric kicked the bottom of his sword handle, driving the black blade halfway into the orc’s head. With a single grunt, the orc dropped onto his chest, his face indenting the ground.

Looking to his right, Aric watched Elandreas leap onto an orc’s back, perform three quick cuts, then dismount the orc all within a second.

The orc clutched her neck and chest as she fell onto her knees, then her chest. A final gurgling exhale escaped her as she died.

Aric sagged his shoulders. “Really? Just—" he pulled his sword out of his dead orc, “—like that? Sons of bitches,” he muttered as he shook his head. Why am I even here?

As if he asked the question out loud, the dragonmage called. “You—sentinel. Assist with the clutches.”

Aric nodded and shoved his sword into its sheath as he quickly glanced over his shoulder. While he had seen dragons, even up close, it had been a long time. Their beauty was truly unmatched in Maerïnor. Turning to face her, his heart raced.

He approached cautiously and unfastened one of the clutches that were keeping the dragon from falling off of the wagon. He reached for a second clasp and the dragon roared. As she jerked, her stomach convulsed.

He paused and held his hands up, watching to see if she would thrash again. When she didn’t, he quickly unlatched the iron clasp.

The dragonmage and three other elves quickly moved around the wagon and released her. Aric quickly stepped backward as she rose to her feet, threatening to tip the wagon on its edge. She unfurled her wings, a stretch she no doubt needed after being confined.

Once she stepped off of the wagon, Aric’s eyes widened as he slowly backpedaled, taking in the full scope of her size. At full height, she wouldn’t fit in most of the smaller outlier villages. Perhaps the castle in Grayhorn was the only human structure with the capability to house her as she was taller than any two-story house. He guessed over twenty-five feet tall and forty feet long.

“Move sentinel!” yelled the dragonmage.

Aric snapped to attention and moved sideways as he realized the dragon had opened her mouth. She hissed like a great serpent. A glow quickly rolled up the softer front of her long neck before an immense flame erupted outward in a beam nature could envy.

Without warning, someone grabbed Aric’s jerkin and pulled him into the air. As he was thrown to his back on the wagon, he realized the dragonmage and nearly all of the elves had positioned themselves behind the dragon as she spit a long jet of flames into the oncoming orc army. How the hell did I not see them move? He shook his head.

“Get your shit together,” he told himself. For a moment, he lay still and watched the flames devour the orcs. Even still, they advanced. For every orc that stopped and burned, another stepped forward. Some of the larger hargrols used their comrades’ corpses as shields.

That forced Aric to his feet. A nauseating anxiety sent his stomach into his chest, laboring his breaths. “How long can she hold it?”

“Not much longer,” said the dragonmage. He reached his hand out and closed his eyes as he began muttering something that sounded to Aric like Velarian, the elf tongue.

Aric’s heart pounded in his chest as he noticed the orcs advancing faster than they were dying. On either side of her jet of flames, they began flanking.

“My Gods,” he whispered. From the top of the wagon, he could see the sea of orcs double-timing from the horizon. “How many are there?” He drew his sword.

Verlanthia stepped toward the edge of the wagon as her sword arm slowly fell. “Too many.” Her tone was drenched with defeat.

Elandreas called loudly from behind Aric. Though she spoke in Velarian, he understood one word clearly, anumak. It was one of the few elven words he had learned over the years.

Aric furrowed his brows and whirled around. “Egg? What egg?”

Elandreas kept her gaze on the onslaught.

Aric turned back around and looked at the dragon, then at the slinger horses. “She’s pregnant,” he whispered to himself. He spun around again and faced Elandreas. “Is she about to lay the egg now?”

Again Elandreas ignored his words.

His eyes darted back and forth, looking at the elves, then the dragonmage as he realized he was right. His stomach churned. “How asinine was it for you to bring her through here?!”

Elandreas’s eyes darted toward Aric. “Stand down, sentinel.”

Aric scoffed. “Fucking idiots!And I thought elves were supposed to be wise.” He shook his head. “Why not—Oh, I don’t know—take to the sea?” He rolled his eyes and turned back.

The flames began to diminish. The dragon’s legs trembled. The dragonmage opened his eyes and sank to his knee. “Neläe poilïani, Nakalaen.”

“Off the wagon, sentinel—now!” roared Elandreas.

Aric leaped forward as the dragon closed her mouth and turned. With two staggered steps, she fell into her side with a thunderous boom. The wagon rocked violently under her heft.

Under his own weight, Aric’s legs buckled. He rolled forward and returned to his feet, looking back at the fallen protector.

“Sentinel,” the dragonmage groaned.

Aric’s heart jolted as he turned to see the dragonmage lying on his back. He knelt down. “Sir.”

“Stay with the caravan.” The dragonmage’s voice was hoarse and weak.

Aric furrowed his brows. “I don’t-”

“Nunim nakansi!” Elandreas roared as she sped past Aric and the dragonmage, her sword held high. In a flash, most of the remaining elves followed her and charged into the battle.

The dragonmage sat up with a grunt. “We’re…moving.” As he slowly got to his feet, so too did Aric.

Just as they reached their full height, the dragonmage’s legs gave out from beneath him. Aric caught him around the waist. Despite their height, which was generally taller than any man’s, they were lighter than most expected them to be. “Easy, sir. Let me help.”

“Get me…to Nakalaen,” said the dragonmage, lifting a shaking hand and pointing at the dragon.

As Aric hoisted the dragonmage back to his feet, he realized his sword was gone. Shit.

The dragon lifted her head and roared as her stomach convulsed again.

“Felorae!” yelled Elandreas.

Aric looked over his shoulder just in time to see a thin black blur fly past him. Following it with his eyes, he watched a man-sized arrow stabbed into the roof of Nakalaen’s mouth. She screamed so loud that Aric felt as if his ears were about to explode. He dropped the dragonmage and covered his ears. Tears instantly filled his eyes.

“Nakalaen!” yelled the dragonmage. He had landed on his knees and screamed as he clutched his chest.

The great dragon fell silent as her head rolled back and landed on the ground on the other side of the wagon.

“Aë! Nakalaen!” cried the dragonmage, Felorae, as Aric had only just learned his name.

Aric’s chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. As he wiped his eyes, he spotted something shimmering, rolling toward the edge of the wagon. His stomach twisted as he realized the black and gold object was an egg. Without a second thought, he ran toward it. Leaping with his arms outstretched, he landed on his chest and grunted as the air in his lungs threatened to depart. The egg fell.

Before it could land, an elf dipped his foot out, caught it, then tossed it up to his hands in a single motion. “Stay with Felorae.” He turned and jumped onto the wagon, then bounded over the fallen dragon.

Aric furrowed his brows. Did he not want me to take the egg? He rolled his eyes and pressed himself up to his knees.

A hargrol broke through the line of the remainder of the elves and barreled toward Felorae. In a panic, Aric looked around on the ground for his sword. It lay just beyond Felorae.

As he scooped it up he heard a vicious roar. Two orcs charged through an elf with their axes, one removed half of her arm, and the other severed her torso in two. They barreled toward Aric.

Felorae grabbed Aric’s forearm. Immediately, Aric felt his strength whither. He dropped to his knees as his mind filled with an invisible fog. “Wh-what are you…doing?”

Felorae rolled to his side and faced the orcs. “Allis atlӧpr nitkla.” Swirling orange energy exploded from his palm. Two thin lines of glowing fire stabbed into the orcs.

Aric gasped as Felorae released him. Looking up, he watched both orcs halt and roar as they dropped their axes. Clutching their chest, they fell to their knees.

With horror, Aric witnessed the flesh of both monsters begin to boil as they clawed at themselves. Then, without warning, bright orange embers burst from their chests. Black blood sprayed into the air as they collapsed onto their backs.

Aric slowly looked at Felorae, who sighed and closed his eyes. “Sir, we have to move—now!”

Felorae sluggishly lifted his hand. “No, sentinel. You—you go. Take the…egg.”

Aric looked up at the elf standing on the wagon with the black egg tucked against his chest. “Someone has it, sir. It’ll be-”

“No,” said Felorae, waving his hand. He coughed and slowly opened one eye. “Naekni ne siravkut muvaska…äemis släe ne…käransael äespi samale.”

Aric furrowed his brows. “I don’t—I don’t understand Velerian, sir.”

Veranthia landed beside Aric and held her hand out. “Never grow a wishbone where there should be a spine.”

Aric shook his head and started to rise to his feet. “No. Help him. He’s more important.”

“He has made his choice, sentinel,” said Veranthia. “Nakalaen won’t survive and Felorae won’t have the strength to move for days. He will use his life to spare others.”

Aric’s stomach churned as he looked at Felorae. “No. I—” he paused and stood up straight. “I can help you, sir. Let me-”

“She’s…precise,” said Felorae, still refusing to open his eyes.

Aric swallowed a lump growing in his throat. “So you would lie there and face death rather than avenge your dragon?”

“You know not the ways of the bond between elf and dragon, sentinel,” Veranthia said sternly. “He will lose part of his soul with the passing of Nakalaen. And his magic. His time is draining rapidly. We must go.”

Aric’s heart pounded in his chest. He glanced over his shoulder and realized the orcs were slowly gaining ground again. Elves were falling left and right. “Then do something. Help her. Help the dragon!”

Veranthia took a deep breath. “I am no mage, sentinel. Unless you have some whimsical traits you have been concealing, helping her is a task neither of us has in our capability.”

“So, we’re running, is that it?” Aric asked rhetorically. He glanced to the west. “The other sentinels will be-”

“Dead,” said Felorae. “I can feel…the forces of life…around us.” His breaths came slow and heavy. “There are no humans…besides you…left for at least five leagues.

Aric’s heart sank as he thought of Moro. “No. Y-your power is fading, right? Perhaps you’re-”

“It takes him no effort to feel the forces of life so close,” said Veranthia.

“My Lady,” said the elf on the wagon. He glanced down at the egg. “Lady Elandreas has fallen. The charge lies with you now.”

Aric narrowed his eyes as they misted over. His breath caught in his chest. “No. He—he had to have survived.”

“Sentinel,” said Veranthia. “You heard Balorae Garost. I am all that stands now between them and the egg.”

Aric looked at Garost, standing on the wagon. “Why did he speak in my tongue?”

“So you would understand,” said Felorae. “All is not lost if you succeed with the task.”

A swell of rage grew in Aric’s chest as he thought about the sentinels he had left to die in the trench, as he thought about Moro, his lifelong friend and brother. He tightened his grip on his sword and glared at the orcs.

“Abandon your vengeance,” said Veranthia. “You shall find victory only in the quest of your own death. Weigh your chances. They are null.”

“Get me to her,” said Felorae. “We will supply you with a lead.” He opened his eyes and narrowed them at Aric. “Waste not…this sacrifice.”

Veranthia bent down and picked up Felorae, as a mother would lift her toddler. With swiftness and seemingly ease, she leaped onto the wagon and laid Felorae down.

Aric’s breaths became quick as he saw the last dozen elves fighting in a half circle, a barrier of flesh and steel between the orcs and the dragonmage.

“Fuck!” he roared, then shoved his blade back into the sheath on his back. He turned and ran to the wagon, climbed onto it and looked down at Felorae. “What will you do?”

“Something unseen…this century,” Felorae said with a rasp in his throat. Tears streamed down his face as he lay his hand on Nakalaen.

“We have to move,” said Veranthia. She looked at Garost. “Go. We will be behind you. Should you find yourself isolated, guide yourself toward Alanorae first.”

Garost touched his clenched fist to his chest and bowed his head. “Netrav atis mӓerhikoln.” Without waiting for a response from Veranthia, he leapt off of the wagon to the north and sprinted away.

“Now what?” asked Aric.

Veranthia swallowed and glanced at the orcs. “Now—” she looked at Aric, “—you try to keep up.”

Chapter 6:

Strangers in

Shadows

Aric’s legs burned as he forced his will into them to continue giving chase to Veranthia and Garost. Without warning, the ground heaved, quaking as a thunderous boom erupted behind him. Halting, he glanced over his shoulder. As if the sky had cracked open to the will of someone with power unnatural to this world, a thick, red pillar of fire stuck down and exploded the ground.

Then came another strike, followed by a fury of cracks. He looked toward the clouds to see where the fire was raining from. There was no other answer beyond magic.

Aric squinted as he watched the bright jet assault the horizon. Pieces of orc bodies flew into the air with chunks of ground. His stomach churned as he witnessed another bolt burn through the side of Nakalaen and explode the wagon. His heart pounded in his chest as a hand wrapped around his arm.

“We must go, sentinel!” Veranthia yelled. “That is the final wish of Felorae and Nakalaen.”

Aric began walking backward, keeping his eyes on the cascading mountain of debris, armor and soil. An orc climbed on top of the wreckage and held his axe high as he roared. “He—he didn’t kill them all.”

“No dragonmage could end them all,” she said softly. “Now—” her voice returned with vigor and command, “—we must go, so as to not waste the sacrifice at hand.”

Aric sighed and turned to follow Veranthia, though this time she moved at a human’s pace. Garost was out of sight beyond the thin mist. “How far until we reach the Vrelengard?”

“In the least, a straight path, it is thirty leagues.”

Aric scoffed. His lungs begged for reprieve. “I know you want me to go with you—even if just as a meat shield, but I can’t run that far. I don’t know how much more I can-”

“You are a sentinel, Aric Telendris,” Veranthia interrupted with a look over her shoulder. “You vowed to do what must be done.”

“Look,” Aric said sternly. “I’m human. We can’t do what you elves can.”

“Speaking that which we both know is moot.”

Aric stopped running and watched Veranthia slowly come to a halt. “Just go, My Lady. I’m never going to keep up with you. He has the egg. You can take it to-”

“Do you not know how far east we are, Sentinel?”

Aric furrowed his brows and glanced to the east. “I don’t—what does that have to do with-”

“We need you more than a shield.” Veranthia flexed her jaw muscles and shifted her feet, as if uncomfortable with a point she was trying to make.

Aric narrowed his eyes and glanced over his shoulder as he tried to calculate how far he had run from the trenches. “Directly north is—Direhallow.”

“Precisely,” said Veranthia. “Now you know. So we must move.”

Garost came back through the mist. “Why have you stopped, My Lady?”

“Some things need elaboration,” Veranthia said, keeping her eyes on Aric.

“Direhallow is—how far is that?” Aric asked.

“With you trailing?” asked Garost. He snorted.

Veranthia sighed. “We could arrive by sunrise if we are consistent in our steps.”

“Consistent in our steps?” Aric shook his head. “You mean not stopping.”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” Aric blurted and threw his hands up. “We’ll go. But humans need rest. We aren’t—” He halted as the elves turned around and continued without a word. He shook his head again and huffed. “Gods damn it.”

By the time the sun began to fade beyond the horizon, Aric was no longer running, or even walking at a normal pace. His moist feet burned, a feeling he had come to know as blisters over the years. His legs ached to the bones. His throat and tongue were dry, a result of mouth breathing. The sweat had stopped pouring from his flesh.

The evermist was an hour at their backs, broken and dead trees were their company now. Aric staggered to a stop and dropped to his knees. “I can’t…go anymore.” His eyelids were heavy. His stomach gurgled with starvation.

Veranthia and Garost turned around and walked back to him. “We are just over halfway,” said Garost.

Aric looked up to see the elves. They were unblemished by fatigue; as beautiful as ever. Garost shifted the egg from one arm to the other. “I need to rest. I need…water.”

“Of course,” said Veranthia. She looked at Garost. “I often forget the needs of humans to sustain their bodies.”

Garost sighed and rolled his eyes. “Hard to remember at times, My Lady; we require much less.”

You know gods damn good and well what humans need to survive, Aric thought.

“Gather him some water,” Veranthia commanded.

Garost gave a nod and handed the egg to her. Holding his hands up, he closed his eyes. “The Scar may be dismal, but it holds a key for human life.” His brows crimped low.

“What’s he doing?” Aric asked.

“Vaed mu’etföl,” said Garost.

Aric’s heart jolted as a cool sensation ran through his knees. He looked down to see the ground darkening rapidly. A sheen appeared on the surface of the soil, as orange as the horizon sky. “You can do magic,” he muttered.

After half of a minute, water droplets began flowing into the air and moving toward each other. Ten seconds later, a shining orb of water—more than enough to fill a canteen—appeared frozen in time. Garost opened his eyes. “Drink, sentinel.”

Aric’s eyes widened with excitement, and he shoved his face into the globe of water.

Taking in gulp after gulp, he felt the cold liquid travel through his body and into his empty stomach. He pulled his head back to take a breath, then returned to gorging. Once his stomach began aching, he stopped.

“Good." Garost let his hands fall.

The remainder of the water splashed Aric’s chest, forcing him to take a deep breath as chills ran down his spine.

Garost smirked. “Now we can move.”

Aric wanted to protest, to tell the elf water doesn’t reinvigorate the body instantaneously, but he thought about the journey that remained. The thought of staying at an inn in Direhallow gave him hope. He nodded and pressed himself up to his feet. “Let’s go then.”

Veranthia grinned at Aric, then handed the egg back to Garost. “You don’t require food as much as water, do you?”

Aric quirked a brow. “Why? Can he conjure me a deer?”

Whether or not the elves understood his humor, Aric didn’t know, nor did he care. He looked forward to nightfall. Regardless of the elves’ wishes, he couldn’t see in the dark like they could. That means we will have to stop and rest.

But once evenfall set in, Aric realized how famished he was. The sun had gone, and with it, its warmth. Knowing they would only risk exposure with a flame, he lay with his back against a dead tree. “Just a few hours,” he muttered, his eyelids already falling slack. “Then we’ll…rotate.”

“Stay your humility, sentinel,” said Veranthia. “We do not require rest just yet. Gather your strength. We will keep watch.”

He closed his eyes and smirked. “You can call me…Aric—by the way.” Despite the rush of battle flooding into his mind, he found sleep as if it were a candle in the dark.

Hours later, he yawned as he slowly opened his eyes. Furrowing his brows, he squinted toward the sky. The sun had not yet crawled over the horizon. A faint smell of smoke lingered from the flameless fire pit. Propping himself up, he habitually grabbed his sword lying on the ground. “Veranthia?” he whispered.

There was no answer. His heart immediately began racing. The air was quiet. His focus dialed in and his vision cleared.

“Garost?” he whispered harshly.

In a single movement, he stood and lifted his sword into a ready stance, left foot forward, blade running parallel with his line of sight.

Where the fuck are they? he thought, though his mind immediately settled on the idea they had left him throughout the night. “Guess I wouldn’t blame them,” he mumbled to himself.

Closing his eyes, he began to breathe slowly to calm his heart. He pressed his back against the tree. Think. Eight leagues or so from Direhallow.

He opened his eyes and shook his head as he lowered his sword. “They wouldn’t go to Direhallow without a human escort.” He looked to the west and furrowed his brows. “Alanorae is—a hundred leagues northwest of Direhallow.”

He cast his eyes to the ground. Can elves survive a week without food? No, but they’re elves. They can hunt and gather. Probably wouldn’t take them a week to reach it either.

This thought only served to amplify his feeling of isolation between The Misty Scar and Direhallow. “Shit.”

A light thud landed on the ground on the other side of the tree behind Aric, sending a shiver down his spine. He froze. Holding his breath, he glanced out of the corner of his eye. A slower step landed closer.

“S-s-sentinel?”

A jolt thumped Aric’s heart as he heard Veranthia’s rasped whisper.

He turned, lifted his sword, and gasped. Lowering his blade, he rushed forward and caught the falling elf. As her light body landed in his arms, she dropped the egg. It landed with a hollow thump and rolled. “My Lady? Wh—” he halted as he looked down at her mangled body.

As if she had been attacked by an adult dragon, her armor was ripped apart. Deep gouges were carved across her chest and down her right leg. Half of her right hand was missing, tiny bones jutting out of flesh like bloodied white saplings. The right side of her face, ear, and hair had been singed.

Blood trickled down onto Aric’s lap and arms. “What happened? Wh-where’s Garost?” He fought the urge to vomit as Veranthia’s hands began to tremble.

Tears flowed down the side of her face, fading from clear to red before they soaked into her hair. “El-elm”

Aric’s eyes were widened. “El…?" He shook his head. “What is it? What happened?”

“Take…egg,” Veranthia whispered as her brows twitched.

“I’ll get it,” Aric said quickly. “Veranthia, what—” he halted as she let out a long exhale, her body falling limp.

Breathing quickly, he inspected her wounds again. He shook his head. “No, no, no." What could have…done this?

His heart pounded in his chest as he looked over at the egg. Though he knew the risks of taking the oath of sentinel, and he knew with every fiber of his being what potential the eggs held, he had never seen the orcs fight this hard. Slowly lowering Vernathia’s body to the ground, he stood and gazed at the egg for a long moment.

Then an unsettling realization crawled into Aric’s mind. Was she running from someone—something? What if she didn’t kill it?

He quickly looked back and forth at the horizon, though it was nigh pointless; the sun hadn’t bathed the land yet. He could only see a few dozen feet in front of himself. “Shit. Shit. Shit."

His breaths became heavier the longer he stood, still squinting into the dark. Finding the will to move, he stepped backward toward his sword.

After four slow steps, he knelt down and padded the ground with his hand, keeping his eyes to the southwest. His fingers found cold steel.

Without looking down, he could recognize the smooth finish of the material more than any other metal. He was all too familiar with the fuller down the center of his blades. Sliding his hand down, his fingers brushed against the crossguard. Gripping the handle, he lifted the blade and stood.

Just as he turned his eyes to the egg, something whipped by in the distance, a dark blur. Aric pulled his sword in tight, the hilt a hand’s width from his chest.

Take…egg, Veranthia’s words ran through his mind.

Clenching his jaw, he cursed under his breath and made his move.

In two quick bounds, he reached Veranthia and knelt down to unfasten her cloak. While it would have been faster to snag the egg and bolt to the north, half of a life’s worth of engrained instinct told him to never touch a dragon egg.

“Human hands are unworthy to behold such an honor to their flesh,” Aric had been told on the second day after taking the oath to join the Elven Court with Moro.

Moro, Aric thought quickly as he tugged the cloak away from her body.

His heart sank at the mere thought of his best friend’s possible whereabouts.

With a quick twist, he threw the cloak over the egg and picked it up, found his footing, and ran. Like never before, he sprinted. He aimed north, pressed his boots into the soft soil, and ran without elves to protect him.

As he veered left and right to dodge deceased trees, Aric heard something impossible behind him, something that made him skip to a halt and turn around.

“Move your ass, kid!” a voice echoed in the dim light.

Aric’s heart leaped in his chest. He would recognize that voice from anyone. “Francil?" Without a thought, he turned back and sprinted in the direction of Veranthia’s body. “Where are-?"

His words were cut short as something hard stuck out from behind a tree and cracked him in the forehead. He landed on his back, his sword and the egg once again landing on the ground. The surface of his forehead burned hot. Pulsating agony rippled through his head as his ears rang.

Stepping out from behind the tree and standing over the top of him was Captain Francil, a giant branch in his hand. “Fuck.”

Bright starlets flickered before Aric’s eyes as he struggled to see clearly. Why did he hit me? His thoughts came slowly. Then, a single thought invaded his mind, washing away all other questions. Take…egg.

Groaning, he rolled to the side and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, painting it dark red. Lying beside him was the egg, unblemished still, albeit covered in dirt now. Slowly reaching out, his fingertips pushed the cloak to the side, and he touched the smooth surface.

A surge of hot energy filled his body. As if the sun had touched down from the sky and enveloped him in a searing light, he screamed. The pain in his forehead was but a scratch compared to the burning inside his chest. He clutched it, finding it impossible to suck in a breath as an invisible pressure crushed his ribs. Another scream barely escaped his breath before the world fell into darkness.

Chapter 7:

Infancy

Aric awoke with a gasping start. Jumping to his feet, he roared and pressed his hand against his chest as the pressure burned inside. His breaths were heavy and quick.

Birds chirped and flew away.  Critters scurried under the cover of thick foliage. As the pain quickly faded, his vision cleared, his mind focused. He was standing in a forest.

“Moro?” he whispered harshly. Did Moro reach the trench?

His throat was dry and scratchy, burning like the sting of fine liquor. He searched for his sword in the overgrowth that was hiding his feet. “Francil!”

“You’re awake.”

Aric whirled around, his fists elevated and prepared for a battle. He stood up straight as he saw the sharp eyes of Francil. “Sir? What happened? How did we get here? Where’s Moro and the others? Where—” his heart sank with panic, “—where’s the egg?”

“I’m happy to see you awake, kid," said Francil as he approached. “It’s been three days. Thought I might have killed you. But then…” he trailed off as he looked at the weeds behind Aric’s feet.

Aric vaguely remembered something solid as stone hitting him. He reached up and felt his forehead. There was no wound, no pain. “Then what?”

He cocked his head to the side. As he walked towards the captain, he narrowed his eyes and asked, “What in the everfuck is going—?” He paused as he heard a light patter of steps and rustling of plants behind him.

Turning around, he noticed the tall grass and weeds swaying side to side as something pushed through after him. It stopped. “Where’s my sword?” Aric whispered.

“Such was my reaction—initially,” Francil said with a sour tone. Bending over, he pulled the black blade from the grass by his feet. “Don’t know where your other one is.”

The brush parted and a small, black, reptilian head poked through and chirped.

Aric dove backwards, reaching out for the sword and tripped over his own feet. “What the fuck?”

With brightly glowing golden eyes, the charcoal-colored creature’s head was triangular like a lizard. But unlike a lizard, two small spikes protruded from the top of its scaly head. Four small, razor-sharp teeth stuck out from the crease of its mouth. It cocked its head sideways and chirped again, with the sound of a crow mixed with a cat's cry for milk. It was high-pitched and shrill, short but loud.

Francil grabbed Aric by the tunic and pulled him to his feet. “That, kid, is something that should be impossible these days.”

Aric’s eyes widened as he stared at the infant creature before him. Though he didn’t need it said out loud, he knew what stood before him; a baby dragon.

“I don’t know how to say it any other way; the elves are going to kill you.”

The dragon lowered itself to the ground with a flinch at Francil’s sudden burst of laughter.

Aric jerked his shoulder forward to remove Francil’s hand. “What the hell are you talking about? Why would they want to kill me? And what is that?” He pointed at the hatchling.

Francil cleared his throat. Pointing at the creature, he leaned towards Aric. “Never you mind that just yet. Just—think, kid. Telling me you don’t know what that-”

“I know what it is, captain,” Aric growled. “I mean what is it doing here? Where did it come from?” Even as he asked, he knew the answer.

“What happened now?" Francil asked sardonically. He cupped his hands on hips. “What does that look like to you?" He chuckled and cuffed Aric on the back. “Why don’t you try calling for it?”

Aric shot a glare at the captain. “Why?”

“It’s yours,” said Francil. “Or you’re his. Either way. Go on.”

Aric looked down at the small head. It reminded him of a snake, yet somehow held an ounce of cuteness. A memory sprang into his mind. The burning. The pain. He had touched the egg. “No.” He shook his head. “Tell me it isn’t what I think it is.”

“Alright, alright,” said Francil. He cleared his throat and sterned his voice. “If you won’t call for it, then back up.”

Aric looked at Francil. The agony he was in after touching the egg crept to his forethought again, but this time it felt foreign, as if he was looking at himself in the memory. He slowly turned his gaze to the creature before him.

His stomach churned as he thought of the only possible explanation of what sat before him. As Aric’s heart started racing, his eyes began to glisten. He shoved the sword into his sheath and swallowed a lump of emotions in his throat as he shook his head. “Can it...be?”

Just as his heart raced, a soothing energy filled Aric with warmth. He looked down at his chest. Without the need for explanation, and although he didn’t know how he knew, he was certain the warmth was from the dragon. There was a tingle in his mind that made him feel connected on a deeper level than he could understand at the moment.

He slowly knelt and held his hand out. Narrowing his eyes on the hatchling, he smiled. The dragon cocked its head and made a soft, high-pitched chirp. Its golden eyes flicked upward toward Francil. It sank low to the ground.

Aric furrowed his brows and glanced back at Francil. “I don’t think it likes you much, sir.”

Francil slowly nodded. “He doesn’t like half of me.”

Quirking a brow, Aric stood and turned to face the captain. “What do you mean?”

Francil took several deep breaths, his eyes darting back and forth to Aric, then the hatchling. With a long sigh, he interlocked his fingers behind his head and peered toward the canopy above. “I’m a haförn.” Aric’s brows raised slowly. “Half-elf, half-”

“I know what a haförn is, sir,” Aric interrupted. “I think we all speculated for some time.”

Francil looked down at the foliage and snorted. “Course you did. Being as it is, half elf means I have much knowledge of the elves.” He turned and muttered, “It's honestly probably why they keep me in the trenches.”

Aric cleared his throat and shook his head. “What knowledge do you have? Why-”

“Have you ever heard of the term Elmerïan?” Francil asked quickly. His jaws twitched as he locked eyes with Aric.

“No,” Aric said slowly, narrowing his eyes as he folded his arms. He shrugged. “What is it?”

“During the third age, there was an elven prophet named Teriaina,” Francil said. He looked at the dragon and took a deep breath. “She predicted something called an Elmerïan—a human dragonmage."

Aric rolled his eyes. He had heard of prophecies and fortune tellers in the cities. But he knew all too well it was a scam for coin. “Predicted, huh?"

Francil nodded. “She foretold of a great power even the elves could not counter.”

Aric stared at Francil for a moment, then found himself laughing as he turned and knelt toward the hatchling again. “Yeah. I’m sure that’s accurate,” he said.

The dragon’s head bobbed as it sniffed the air. As Aric held his hand out, the hatchling ran forward.

Aric’s heart jolted as the dragon ran head first into his leg. For a moment, he thought it might bite him. Instead, the dragon shook its head like a wet dog, then pressed up against him. He grinned. “I’ve never seen a hatchling before.”

“Humans were never meant to,” said Francil. “Despite the fact I am half an elf, my mother was human. So I tend to not share the same ideas as my father’s side. But this—” he paused and walked in front of Aric, pointing at the dragon as he shook his head, “—should never have happened. Perhaps he meant to hatch for Veranthia.”

Aric’s stomach churned. “Veranthia.” A flood of memories raced in his mind. “She—she was murdered.”

“That’s what orcs do, kid.”

Aric shook his head. “No, this was…something else. I’ve never seen wounds like that.”

Francil narrowed his eyes. “What do you think I was running from?”

A hot sensation of hunger panged Aric’s stomach. He curled up his lip as he clutched his belly.

“What’s wrong?” Francil asked quickly, his eyes widening.

Aric shook his head. “Just—feel like I’m starving.”

“You probably are,” Francil said. “And he probably is." He grinned at the hatching. “And you’re pushing it into your dragonmage, aren’t you?”

Aric quirked a brow and looked up, realizing Francil was staring at the dragon. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not a dragonmage,” Francil said with a light laugh. “But I think I know enough about them to teach you the basics.”

“I’m—” Aric paused and stood. The hatchling curled up between his feet, its tail wrapping around Aric’s ankle. “I’m not a dragonmage, sir. There’s just been some misunderstanding, or something.”

“Stop calling me sir,” Francil said sternly. He looked between Aric and the dragon again and sighed. “Whether you like it or not, dragons do not make mistakes when it comes to their choosing of a bond. When they first emerge into the world, they know who they’ve bonded with. They are fragile, therefore it is instinctual for them to shy away from anyone else.”

Aric held his hands up. “Just—stop, sir. Humans can’t be dragonmages. We—we learn that from a young age. Such foolish dreams of children. And even if there was a possibility-”

“Do you think dragons are like mutts people drag into their house and domesticate?” Francil asked, his voice louder than it needed to be. “Dragons choose who they want to bond with. It changes both dragon and rider. Did you feel a tinge of energy in your chest when you woke?”

Aric opened his mouth to speak, then halted, his mind filling with the painful recollection only moments ago. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been chosen,” Francil snapped, his eyes hardening as he pointed at Aric’s chest. “That pain you felt was a shock to the body from your new arte’daelir.”

Aric narrowed his eyes with confusion. “My new what?”

“Arte’daelir,” Francil said with a huff. “It’s Velarian. Means heart spark. Though most just call it an arte. It’s the physical manifestation of your power, locked away inside the soul connection of dragon and dragonmage.”

Another swell of hunger came. With an audible growl, Aric’s stomach boiled inside. “I need to forage—or hunt.” He looked down to find the hatchling staring at him.

“That’s a combination of his hunger and yours,” said Francil. “You’ll need to learn to separate those in your mind, less you’ll see yourself fall into insanity; dragons can eat almost a eighth of their weight in one sitting.”

“How do you know all of this?” Aric asked.

“When you’ve watched the turn of the century five times over, you find yourself obtaining knowledge you could never gain in a human lifetime.”

“You’re five hundred years old?” Aric asked, half not believing the captain.

“Just over,” said Francil. “The elves have for long thought haförns would side with them in any and all disputes. But even as I stand here today and talk of prophecies and destinies, I know you, Aric. And I don’t foresee you being the bane of Verilia.”

Aric pursed his lips and stepped back into a kneel. Reaching out slowly, he pet the top of the dragon’s head, which was barely wider than his fist, its length less than Aric’s forearm. “And what of Veranthia. Garost?”

“I don’t know what happened to Garost,” Francil said with a glimmer of venom. “He likely made to return home to Bör Mesari."

Aric thought about how mangled the elf’s body had been. “With word about Veranthia, no doubt.”

“I’d be more concerned about him.” Francil gestured to the hatchling. “You know what happens to a dragonmage if the dragon dies.”

Of course Aric knew that much. “Everyone knows, sir.” He shook his head. A shame it was to hear stories of riders who outlived their dragons. Lost in their mind, most simply became uncivilized and too dangerous. Many over the millennia were put down, like rabid dogs.

“Damn it, kid,” hissed Francil. “I’m no longer your superior in any political sense. You’re a rider now. And soon I’ll be inferior to you in every aspect of life and death.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. Another stab of hunger. He ignored it. “What do you mean?”

“You are dense.” Francil cocked his head to the side. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Not often,” Aric said.

Something chattered then moved beneath the shrub. The hatchling perked its head up and slowly turned around. Its head bobbed again as it sniffed the air. To the ground went it's pointed snout.

Aric’s heart started racing with excitement. He recognized at once that it was not his own feeling, but a foreign impulse influencing his body and tugging on his mood. And it was coming from a critter he couldn’t care less for at the moment.

But he looked down to find the dragon facing the disturbance. It was crouched low, its entire body dead still—with the exception of its tail whipping back and forth.

The weeds jiggled again. At once, the dragon leaped. Aric was impressed with the hatchling's agility, one that could rival a house cat. As it dove, it vanished into the greenery.

Aric’s eyes widened. He immediately felt an ominous sense of worry. “Hey!” he yelled, waving his hand back and forth. “Get out of there. Leave it alone.”

After five seconds of thrashing and high pitched growls, the dragon reappeared, walking backward as it dragged a squirrel in his jaws. The brown rodent was nearly half of its size, yet its weight held nothing to the obsidian hatchling.

Aric sighed and cupped his hands on his hips. “Really?”

The hatchling tugged, took a few steps back, paused and tugged again. At last, it dropped the squirrel several feet from Aric. It looked up at him and for a moment Aric would’ve swore the dragon was smiling, if he didn't know better. It let out a soft chirp and sank its tiny teeth into the squirrel again to drag it a little closer.

When the hatchling looked up at Aric, he realized what the infant was offering. Without a fire, game meat, especially of the rodent class, could be a fatal dinner if consumed raw.

“Oh,” he said with a grin. “You—you go ahead.” He looked at Francil who stood still with a wide grin. “What?”

“Still think it just hatched without choosing its rider?”

Aric pursed his lips and watched the hatchling rip into the side of the squirrel. Using its front paws, equipped with razor sharp claws, it tore into the skin, pulled back on the sinew of a leg until it removed a lump with a horrid sound.

“Whatever the case,” Aric said after a long moment of silence. “I can’t keep him.”

“Keep him,” Francil growled. “Aric, he isn’t a gods damned pet.” He scoffed and threw his hand up. “Here I am, offering my help—regardless of my confidence that Bör Mesari will want your head for this and you—what? You want to get rid of it?” His face was reddening now as his breaths quickened. “Perhaps he did choose wrong!”

“And what of my parents?” Aric snapped back. “If it is as you say, I can’t go on the run forever, especially dragging this thing around with me.”

Francil shook his head and took several steps away from Aric. “Of all of the sentinels I’ve ever been in charge of, I figured you would understand more than any other. Were you just…following orders? Is that all?”

“No," Aric said quickly, furrowing his brows. “I—" he paused and sighed, “—I believe in the cause." He looked down at the hatchling. “But this? This ain’t it, captain.”

“How is it not?” Francil growled, whirling around to face Aric with narrowed eyes. He pointed at the dragon. “Because you suddenly have more responsibility? Do you know how many other humans would kill to be chosen by a fucking dragon? Let alone the orcs.”

“How many elves still believe this prophecy about a human dragonmage?” Aric asked. Before Francil could answer, he added, “we’ll take it to Bör Mesari. They have mentalists that can determine the truth; that this is not my doing, nor is it something I want.”

Francil swallowed and walked back to Aric. “Kid, you’re going to get yourself, and a newborn dragon, killed. For nothing."

Aric’s stomach churned. “I don’t believe that. And I’d rather be up front, and in the open to the elves, than to have them hunt me down, potentially bringing my parents into this.”

A tingling feeling of guilt washed through him even as he said these words. He averted his gaze from the hatchling, even as he could feel the sensation of hunger dissipating.

Francil pointed a finger at Aric as he glared. “You’re making a mistake. Mark my words, kid.”

Aric sighed and knelt again. Cocking his head to the side, he studied the hatchling for a moment while it ate. “So strange—a baby dragon.”

The creature before him perked its head up and turned to face him.

A sensation creeped over his mind, though once again it felt distant, as if he was hearing a tale from someone in the far. It was muffled, echoing and nearly inaudible. But there were notes, like a song, perhaps a question. One thing was clear though; an idea.

Mine.

Aric’s heart began racing. Was the dragon naming himself Aric’s hatchling? Was he naming Aric as his own? Narrowing his eyes, he held his hand out toward the hatchling? “You’re definitely no dog.”

“I’m going to go gather some firewood,” said Francil. “If I can find any without treason.”

Aric largely ignored his former captain, though he knew what the halfborn meant. His eyes slowly panned to the forest. Dense evergreen trees reached toward the skies, reminding him of the first time he laid eyes on the Vrelegard Forest.

He looked back at the hatchling. “You need a name.”

Another flash of feelings washed over Aric’s mind, and then, a small voice. It was young, yet it felt adult. As it touched Aric’s mind, he jerked his hand back and stood. His heart pounded in his chest.

“What?” he blurted. He swallowed a lump in his throat and looked around for Francil, though the captain was already gone.

The hatchling jumped to its feet and flicked its head back and forth as it looked toward the trees. Aric felt a wave of fear fill his mind. “Hey,” he said softly to the dragon as he looked at the trees.

His hand naturally reached back for his sword as he scanned the perimeter. The dragon ran toward Aric and nestled against his ankles again. “It’s alright.”

With an easy pull on his sword to remove it silently from its sheath, Aric slowed his breathing. In the distance, dead ahead a hundred paces or so, someone ran between two trees. A chill creeped down his spine. Only elves can move that fast—or druids. We’re too far south for druids. Maybe one from the caravan made it this far.

Then Aric remembered Felorae’s final spell. None of the elves made it out of that alive. His heart jolted as he remembered one more elf who survived the raid. “Garost?”

Chapter 8:

Telton

Moro woke and winced as the full moon stabbed his eyes with her light. His temple pulsated with sharp, painful throbs. He was on his side. Something cold bound his wrists.

Grunting, he slowly sat up. He quickly realized he was on a wagon of sorts. Protruding from the sides were massive bones, reaching toward the sky like white fingers. The roof was made of wood. Looking down, he saw what the cold bite was on his wrists. Wrought iron shackles locked his hands closely together. They were tethered to a chain mounted to the floorboard.

He looked around, his pulse quickening as he noticed fourteen other faces, dimly lit by the pale light. While he knew by their armor they were sentinels, he recognized none of them.

“Wakey, wakey."

His heart jolted though as he made eye contact with the man across from him. He had a thick, black beard, and shaggy hair. “Aric?"

The man leaned forward. “No, lad. Reikan's the name."

Moro let his shoulders relax. “Oh. Right. Of course."

Reikan lifted his bushy brows. “Who might you be?"

Moro looked around the wagon as it lurched forward.  He looked to the front and saw the backside of a massive bear. She was harnessed like a stallion, pulling the cart across uneven ground. From the sound of wooden wheels against stones, he guessed there were at least four wagons.

He looked back at Reikan. “I'm Moro." In front of the wagon, he could hear other wheels on the rocky ground, but he couldn't see other wagons. “Where are we going?"

Reikan shrugged. “Who knows?"

Glancing to his right, Moro saw a woman whose skin was darker than his own. Her face was pointed to the floor, eyes closed. He looked down at his left hip, then turned and looked at his right hip.

“If you're looking for your weapon, friend, it's gone," said Reikan.

“Sit back and shut your traps, would you?" a woman called from the front of the wagon.

Something about the woman's tone sent a fire into Moro's chest. Words poured from his lips before he gave them a full thought. “Who are you?"

The woman, who was visibly older than the rest of the group, even in the shallow light, inclined her brows. She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes on Moro. “I'm Captain-"

“You're nobody's captain here," the woman beside Moro interrupted.

The woman at the front scoffed. “And you are?"

“Nisha," the woman next to Moro said dryly. The left side of her head was shaved down, while the hazel colored hair on her right side was smooth and ran down below her ear.

The older woman sank back against the bone railings. The moonlight shone against the silver streaks in her hair. “Well then," she said, her voice dropping to a reserved defeat. She glanced out into the darkness. “I was Captain Malaina of the southwestern trenches."

Moro took a deep breath. He was unsurprised by the hostility of the sentinels. He felt it in his bones, the drive to escape, to kill the orcs who had slaughtered his company. “We're going to get out of here."

Reikan snorted. “Down right doubt that'll happen."

“We will," Moro said, even as he doubted his own words.

“How?" Nisha questioned, whipping her face toward Moro as she leaned closer. “We have no weapons. We have fewer numbers. And in case you hadn't noticed—" she lifted her hands and shook her chain, “—we're slaves now."

Moro tried to imagine how the others were captured. He thought of Calder and heard the kid's screams all over again. It wasn't until he felt the bright burning of his nails digging into his palms that he realized he clenched his fists so tightly.

“How did they get you?" he asked, directing his question at anyone who would answer.

A man sitting diagonally across from him answered first. “Sangribörs burned our trench. I—I was a scout, so I was on the ground and…" He looked down and frowned.

“You didn't see them coming?" Malaina asked.

The man shook his head, though his eyes remained on the wagon floor.

Moro's heart sank. “Don't be too hard on yourself. Could any of your men fight sangribörs?"

“One of mine could have," said Malaina. “She was a witch."

Moro rolled his eyes. “Sure, sangribörs aren't as big as hargrols, or as fast as valravs, but they're the fûrin users of the orcs."

“No witch can match a sangribör," added Nisha.

Reikan quirked a brow. “A witch," he said with a smirk. “Not an actual witch."

Malaina huffed. “Sasha was plenty useful and valuable as a spellcaster."

As the warbear continued pulling the wagons, the sentinels talked about their journey until they had been abducted by the orcs. Moro began to realize how organized Az' Grim had been during their raid.

Several of the sentinels began dozing off. Moro looked around as a question formed in his mind. He gave voice to the thought. “Orcs don't usually leave survivors if they can help it. This wasn't about taking slaves."

“So?" Reikan asked.

Moro swallowed and looked toward the moon. “So what do they want with a few dozen sentinels, especially only one from each unit?"

The only response to his question was the subtle rattle of chains and wood against stone as the wheels continued on into the night.

After another hour, all of the sentinels were asleep, with the exception of Moro. He sat quietly and let the shifting weight of the wagon lull him into a waking dream of memories. Before he realized it, into the early hours of the morning, just before the sun was birthed into the sky, he too drifted to sleep.

“Up!” an orc roared and smashed a fist against the side of the wagon.

Moro jerked awake with a start. He squinted at the sun beating down above and lifted his hand to overshadow his face. Only then, he remembered he was shackled to the floor and couldn’t lift his hands higher than his shoulders. “Fuck,” he groaned.

Blinking rapidly, he looked around the cage and saw the other fourteen sentinels were awake and clear eyed. They’ve been awake for a while.

Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed a small town in the distance. The land was bleak and flat. Far to the north, he saw the ash colored Scar. They had traveled hundreds of miles. He racked his brain, trying to guess what town they had come to. “Morlin?”

“No,” Nisha said coldly. “Telton.”

“What are we doing here?” Moro questioned. Realizing none of the others would know, he turned around as far as he could within the limits of his chains. An orc stood six feet from the wagon, his massive back turned to the humans. “Why are we here?”

The orc barely turned his head—just enough to flash a bright green eye at Moro. He snarled and stepped back. “Silent, you!” He slammed his elbow against the bone wall, shaking the wagon.

Moro clenched his jaw and turned back around in his seat. He looked at Reikan, then Nisha. “Have any of you heard of orcs raiding human towns lately?”

“Never heard of it at all,” Reikan said.

Nisha cast her eyes to the floor. “I haven’t heard of it since before I joined the Court.”

Moro swallowed a dry spell in his throat. “When was that?”

“Eight years ago.”

Moro lifted his brows. “Eight years?”

“Stick around and you could last as long,” she said with a half shrug.

“Aye,” said Reikan. “Nearly there myself.”

“Most don’t last that long,” said Malaina. “They either get murked, or they quit. Either way, Sentinel of the Elven Court is not a position meant for longevity.”

“What about you, cap’n?” asked Reikan. “I see your silver.”

Malaina narrowed her eyes. “Twelve years.”

Moro cleared his throat, then coughed. If eight years seemed like a decent amount of time to spend with the Elven Court, and Malaina had been a captain at twelve years, he wondered what they would think of his sixteen years.

“Alright, Moro?” asked Reikan.

Moro pursed his lips and nodded. “Fine.”

Nisha turned her eyes toward him slowly. “How long have you-”

“Sixteen years,” Moro said, turning his gaze to Telton.

A silent tension filled the wagon for several minutes. It was palpable. Without looking, he knew the others were gawking at him now. The hairs on the back of his neck stood as goosebumps crawled down his arms.

At last, Malaina spoke first. “You were a commander as well?”

Moro exhaled, letting go of his breath he was unknowingly holding. He shook his head. “I was not. My brother—” he paused and thought of Aric. Where is he?

Looking at Malaina, he cleared his throat, something that was becoming more difficult to do as his mouth was dry. “My brother and I joined as soon as we were both sixteen.”

“You…joined?” asked the man sitting next to Reikan, whom Moro had gathered through conversations held the name Agram. He snorted and looked around the wagon. “Nobody joins. We’re selected and sent.”

Moro shook his head. Before he could protest, Reikan cocked his head and spoke first.

“Don’t you hear my accent?”

Agram furrowed his brows. “What of it?”

“I joined the Court—obviously, I’m not from around here,” said Reikan.

Such was true to Moro’s ears as well. He couldn’t place what region Reikan had been from, but he guessed it was not Verilian. “My brother and I joined together,” he said slowly. “Not my blood brother, but still…”

Heavy footfalls grew louder, bringing a silence to the sentinels’ conversation. They all turned their heads toward the rear of the wagon. Moro’s heart leaped as he saw General Thar’lok walking up to the back gate. “Shit.”

From his thick, black, leather belt, Thar’lok withdrew a set of keys. After a few seconds, he shoved it into a lock on the rear door. Then he opened the bone gate, letting it swing back all the way until it bumped on the orcs standing beside the back right wheel. “Out. All you.”

Moro’s chest grew tight. He wanted to protest, to fight. But he had learned the hard way such an endeavor was futile. Thar’lok was not an orc easily defeated. Regardless, he held up his fists and shook his manacles. “Then let us out.”

An orc walked behind Thar’lok, his face shrouded behind a wide hood. With a single wave of his hand, swirls of purple energy glowed inside the locks of the sentinels’ shackles. With a singular mechanical click, all fifteen pairs of restraints opened, then dropped to the floor. The chains rattled so loud, it was jarring.

“Now,” said Thar’lok. “Out.”

Reikan was the first to exit. Moro watched as Agram and Nisha followed. What he was waiting on, he didn’t know. But he sat as all fourteen sentinels moved out of the wagon. With a sigh, he stood. Reluctantly, he finally stepped down from the cart.

“Stretch legs,” Thar’lok commanded, pointing at the sentinels with a wide knife.

“What are we doing?” Malaina asked, pushing her way to the front of the group. The stiff chested stance she took showed the others an air of command that she must have had as a captain. She cupped her hands on her hips and stared up at Thar’lok, unafraid.

“Need things,” Thar’lok said. He pointed toward Telton. “Orcunae not buy. Human buy for orcunae.”

“You want us to go shopping for you?” questioned Nisha. She snorted. “Get fucked.”

“You go, or one die,” Thar’lok said. Swifter than anyone could react, he lunged forward and grabbed Agram by the throat. Hoisting the sentinel off of the ground with apparent ease, he set Agram down beside him.

Moro and the other sentinels gasped and took a step closer to Thar’lok. Moro had a half of a mind to turn and sprint toward Telton, only to continue running until he reached the Vrelengard. But it was a moot point. He’d never escape the valravns and their riders, the valrav. Until that point, he had only seen six pairings. But that far exceeded what they’d need to catch him, or worse.

Agram gasped and rubbed his throat. “Please! Just let me go.”

“No,” said Thar’lok. “You go,” he added, pointing his butcher knife at Malaina. Reaching behind his left side, he produced a leather satchel. He handed it to Malaina.

Turning, she looked at Telton from their distance. She sighed. “What do you want?"

“I get list," said Thar'lok. He gave the sentinels a stern glare, reattached the key ring to his belt, and walked away.

Moro observed with curiosity when a sangribör handed a large piece of parchment to Malaina. For all of their capture and melt forced rule under the orcs, he had begun respecting the former captain. Despite their situation, she hadn't hesitated to keep the orcs' focus.

Next, the sangribör, his face hidden beneath his hood, handed Malaina a pouch of coins. “Do not run. You will be executed."

Moro cocked his head. Even with the orc's quick words, he recognized a superior speech than that of Thar'lok, or even a few other hargrols. Once the sangribör walked away, he stepped closer to Malaina. “What's on the parchment?"

Turning slowly, she tapped the golden paper against the pouch. “It’s a merchant’s list.”

Moro furrowed his brows and whirled around to face the general, who was now several paces in front of the wagon. “Why the fuck should we do their bidding? They can’t go into Telton without causing mass chaos so they’d rather…us fetch their supplies?”

Nisha shook her head. “Fuck that.”

“We must,” said Malaina.

“What for?” asked Reikan. “We’re either slaves, or we’re dead. Are we not?”

Moro stepped in front of Malaina. Her eyes were downcast at the parchment and pouch. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“We have to do what they say,” she said softly. Finally, she looked up into Moro’s eyes. “You’ve been a sentinel long enough. You should know how shifting power and leverage works.”

“I do,” said Moro. “But I believe nobody should have the power to force others to their will.”

Malaina looked at the other sentinels in their group. “If we defy them, we die. Or, more likely, they’ll kill one of us. Then they’ll try again. Each death will be a point of leverage.” She shrugged. “There are enough of us to make it painful for the ones who survive.”

Moro folded his arms and grinded his teeth together as he rolled his eyes. Fuck. She’s right.

Agram stepped forward and held his hand out. “Give me that shit. I’ll throw it as far as I can.”

“So they can start killing us?” Malaina questioned with a growl. She scoffed. “Have you no sense of honor?”

“Honor is gone,” said Agram. “Our oaths are but whispers in the wind. Our duty is to none but ourselves. I say…we make a run for it.”

Reikan clapped his hand on Agram’s shoulder. “And I say you do just that. If anything, it’ll let us know how expendable we are.”

Moro cocked his head. “Expendable,” he muttered and narrowed his eyes. “You think there’s a reason we’re still alive—why they’ve taken us?”

“I do,” said Reikan. “Don’t think I’ll voice my ideas just yet, though.”

“Give it to me,” Agram said with a colder tone. When Malaina stood unmoved, he reached for the parchment and pouch. “I said-”

Moro grabbed Agram’s hand and twisted his wrist.

Nisha kicked the backside of Agram’s knee, dropping him into a kneel. As he fell, she wrapped her arm around his throat and squeezed. “Are you turning on your own kind now?” she growled into his ear.

Moro kept a strong hold on Agram’s wrist. “We are in this together, are we not?”

“None of you are part of my company,” said a man behind Reikan. He was younger than most of the other sentinels in the group. His shoulder length blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. The fluff on his chin was wiry and in disarray.

Moro had heard his name only once, and thus, had forgotten it. “We all took the same oath.”

“Stand down, Rayn,” said Malaina, pointing at the man who spoke up.

Rayn, thought Moro. “We are in this together, whether any of us like it or not. Look around. There are sentinels, and there are orcs. Is it any different than it always has been?”

Agram tapped Nisha’s forearm and coughed. She let go, giving him a shove as she stood to her full height.

Moro’s heart was racing, though it only occurred to him once Agram had given up on his argument. He looked down at the parchment clenched tightly in Malaina’s hand. “We’ll go. We’ll do what they want for now. If anything, only to survive.”

“If it comes to a fight,” Agram said, coughing as he stood. He rubbed his neck and glared at Nisha. “If it comes to a fight, I’ll kill every single one of you to save my own ass.”

Moro shook his head. “I’m not surprised. Just because we are all sentinels doesn’t mean we’re all good people.” He stepped closer to Agram and narrowed his eyes. “You step up to try to take charge of anyone’s choices again, and I’ll personally see you don’t catch your breath next time.”

As Malaina was the one given the list and pouch of coin, she departed the group and met up with a single person from each group. Now that they had stopped, Moro had a chance to fully take in the gravity of how many sentinels they were in the group. Six wagons were as full, or fuller, than the one he had been chained to. Though several had tried to leave their groups, hargrols quickly stepped in to keep them segregated.

An eerie feeling creeped up his spine. He shivered, recognizing the familiar feeling that he was being watched. Slowly turning around, he locked eyes with the hooded sangribӧr who had unlocked their shackles. The orc cocked his head, flashed a smirk, then turned away.

“What is it?” asked Reikan.

Moro stiffened. “Nothing. Just…need to pay attention what’s going on here.”

“What do you mean?”

Moro looked around. He had started counting how many hargrols, valravs, and sangribӧrs had been assigned to each wagon. “They have a system here.”

Reikan looked around. “Obviously. Don’t know if you can tell or not, but they aren’t exactly the mindless monsters we were led to believe. So what if they have a system? We’re just a number now.”

“We are,” Moro said. He took a deep breath and folded his arms. “But I intend to break this system they have.”

“You planning on escaping?” asked Nisha, walking up behind Moro.

Moro narrowed his eyes at her, then pointed at the valravs. Touching his finger to his ear, he hoped she understood his warning. Unlike the hargrols and sangribӧrs, the valrav’s ears were slightly longer and wider. This made their hearing extraordinary amongst hunters. And there was no better hunter than the valravs.

Nisha leaned back and looked around Moro and Reikan. “When?”

Moro swallowed a dry patch in his throat. “Soon. Need to pay attention for a bit. But…soon.”

Chapter 9:

The Halfblood’s Return

A head poked out from behind a tree. “Sentinel.” Stepping fully into the light, Garost walked toward Aric, though his head was on a swivel as he scanned his surroundings. “You live.”

Aric’s heart continued to race. He glanced down at the dragon. The feeling of fear, or the presence of an enemy—whatever was causing the hatchling to cower—was putting Aric on edge. He held his sword firm, its point facing the elf. “As do you, I see.”

Garost’s eyes fell on the hatchling and widened as he came to a halt. “It hatched.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me. You have eyes like the eagles that soar the sky. You saw him.”

Garost straightened himself, folding his hands together in front of his hips. His utter look of surprise faded. “So I did.”

“How long have you been tailing us?” Aric asked sternly, trying to force the fear of the elf into something darker, angrier. Fear was an old emotion that Aric had learned to burn out of his soul years ago. Fear causes hesitation and death.

“For whom did the dragon hatch?” asked Garost.

“Interesting you didn’t ask about Veranthia first,” Aric answered. “I know you elves aren’t the sentimental type but-”

“I found Our Lady Veranthia two nights ago.” Garost’s tone turned cold, emotionless. “I assume she is the one he chose.”

Aric quirked a brow. “He?” Glancing down at the dragon, he muttered, “so you’re a he.”

Garost scoffed. “Lowly minded sentinel. Of course he is a male. Yet another reason to fuel my suspicion that he is not yours.”

The dragon let out a growl—or Aric assumed it was a growl. If it was, it wasn’t threatening. But nonetheless, one thing was clear, he didn’t like Garost.

Aric slid a foot in front of the hatchling slowly and tightened his grip on his sword. “What happened to her?”

“She was murdered,” Garost said, his eyes flicking toward Aric’s blade.

“And you think I killed her?” Aric questioned. His blood began to boil with anger. “Where did you two go? I woke up and you were both gone.”

“We were scouting for food beyond the plague of the dead pine.” Garost looked at the dragon again. “She took him—still in the egg, mind you—and we ventured in different directions.”

“What’s going on here?” Francil called from the woods. Though he carried a bundle of thin, sickly branches, he had silently returned.

Garost drew a dagger from behind his hip and spun to face Francil, dipping into a fighting stance. “Captain Francil? How splendid.” He stood up straight and began speaking Velerian.

“We can speak in common tongue in front of Aric,” Francil interrupted.

Garost’s eyes twitched. He took in a long breath and glanced at Aric. “Very well. Was this sentinel under your charge?”

“Nice of you to clean up the language in your translation,” Francil said. He walked toward Aric. “And yes. He was. But no longer.”

“Might I query as to the reason he is no longer beneath you?” Garost rolled his eyes and returned his dagger. “And why does he face me with ill intent, his blade at the ready as if he sees a victory?”

Aric held still, though his weight bearing leg began to burn. For now, he would ignore it. He knew the agility of elves and Garost was close enough to close the gap within a second should he wish.

“He is no longer under my charge because he is no longer a sentinel. Now, he is a dragonmage,” said Francil as he tossed the sticks down behind Aric. He looked at Aric for a moment before snorting. “And he’s ready to fight because he’s not a fucking idiot.”

Garost eyes widened. “You dare speak to—” He halted and jerked his head back, as if to reset his thought. “Pardon, but he is a human, yes?”

“I am,” Aric said dryly. “And I’m standing right here if you’ve a question to ask.”

Garost’s unblemished pale face reddened. His eyes twitched again. “Dragons do not choose humans. If he hatched, he has chosen an elf—likely Veranthia before you—before she died.”

Aric sensed the elf’s frustration. Regardless of some old prophecy, it was plain to see humans were not meant to be dragonmages. He forced a smirk. The sensation of fear faded slightly. “I don’t know what to tell you besides that is exactly what happened. Now, I didn’t ask for it. And I will make sure-”

Garost gave a quick and high chuckle. “But of course you did not seek such glory. It is fit to rest only upon the shoulders of the worthy. No human can muster the might of-”

“Shut the hell up, Garost!” Francil hissed. “You have no say nor inkling of what dragons desire.”

Garost’s face darkened as blood filled his cheeks. “I will have your-”

“Yeah, yeah.” Francil waved his hand. “Aric plans to present the hatchling to the Elven Court—” he looked sideways at Aric, “—against my opinion and advice—but regardless, he is the dragonmage. Do you find us so dull that we don’t know what happens when a dragonmage dies? If it chose her, then he would be dead as well.”

Garost looked back and forth between Aric and Francil. He opened his mouth to speak.

“He was the one chosen,” Francil said as he pointed at Aric. “I saw it myself.”

Garost’s brows shot up. “You—you saw it?” He shook his head. “Preposterous!”

“And my guess is even if he is found to be telling the truth, you won’t believe it,” Francil added.

Aric’s heart hammered in his chest. He would have never dreamed of speaking to a superior in such a way. Yet listening to Francil, it was clear where the captain’s loyalty lied.

Garost’s eyes darted back and forth. “You plan to bring him to Bӧr Mesari. Allow me to take the dragon—I…can move swifter and safer than the lot of you.” His tone was dripping with condescendance.

“No,” Aric said sternly. “For whatever reason, he chose me.” He stole a glance down at the hatchling, which stood as still as a statue. He couldn’t understand why at the moment, but he felt a burning urgency to protect the hatchling. He knew in his soul he would kill to save the infant.

“This is a dragon we’re talking about. I’m not letting him out of my sight.”

“As a member of the Elven Court, I lay claim to the jurisdiction of command here,” Garost said, his voice gaining in volume.

“You wish you had that authority,” Francil said with a chuckle. If he had any fear or worries, he was doing a solid job of hiding it. “There isn’t an elf in this world who holds jurisdiction over the Vrelengard. The groves would usher your head onto a pike for such claims alone.”

“We will take him,” said Aric. “You are more than welcome to aid us in our quest, if that would appease you.”

“No.” Garost took a deep breath and tucked his hands behind the small of his back. “It is dire that I report such an anomaly to the Court.”

“You do that,” said Francil with a narrowed-eyed nod. “And if any-”

Before he could finish, Garost threw his dagger. Francil lifted his hand in front of his chest. The blade pierced through with ease. He let out a cry of pain and spun around.

All Aric saw was a blur heading toward him. Before he locked onto something solid with his eyes, he swung the broadsword downward diagonally.

Garost ducked under the blade and slammed Aric in the hip with a palm, sending him flying sideways. The dragon was kicked into the air.

As Aric rolled, he kept a tight grip on his sword. Ignoring the pain in his left shoulder, he quickly got to his feet and lifted it. His heart sank.

Francil stood sideways beside the elf, the back of his hand pressed against Garost’s neck, the dagger through both his palm and the elf’s throat.

Francil jerked his hand away. Blood sprayed from Garost’s punctured vein. “I fucking knew it!” Francil yelled as he pulled the dagger from his hand.

Garost stumbled backward and clutched his neck, then dropped to a knee. His mouth opened and closed, like a fish suffocating on a lonely shore.

“See what I mean, kid?” Francil growled through heavy breaths. “They will kill you…both!” Turning the dagger around, he stepped forward, shoving Garost’s resisting hand away. With no mercy at all, he sliced across the elf’s windpipe. A waterfall of red spewed as airy gurgle sounds came for only seconds. Then the elf fell forward to his chest, his eyes frozen open.

Aric’s stomach churned in a knot. He slowly rose to his feet and lowered his sword. Eyes widened, he swallowed a lump in his throat. “You killed him.”

He immediately felt a pang of panic rush into his mind and shot a look over to see the dragon standing, seemingly unharmed. He ran over to the hatchling and knelt down. “Are you alright, boy?”

“You’re welcome,” Francil said with a mockery of a bow.

The hatchling chirped and looked over at Garost.

A new feeling and idea formed in Aric’s mind. It was similar when the dragon had caught the squirrel. He stood and fought the urge to vomit. “Are you insane? What? No. You can’t eat him. Elves are not food!”

Francil winced and threw the dagger at the ground. It stuck with a thud. “Probably tastes like…a bucket of fucks.” He dropped to his knees and began tugging bits of weeds out of the ground.

Aric curled up his lip. “A bucket of what?”

Francil shook his head. “Nothing. You should get a fire going. We’ll want a flame perimeter set up before nightfall.”

Aric nodded. “Yeah, I’ll…get on that.” He looked at the hatchling, then Garost. “We’ll need to rid our camp of the body as well.” He walked toward the pile of sticks and paused to look at Francil.

“Then I have a shit load of questions to ask you.”

Chapter 10:

Sentinel Anew

Aric cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at Francil on the other side of the fire. “Well?”

The captain was taking too long, eating a piece of rabbit that had crossed into their camp an hour ago. Using his front teeth, he picked morsels from tiny bones.

Aric stabbed his sword into the ground. “Sir!”

“I said-”

“I know what you said,” Aric growled. “Got your ravenous lips off that bone, didn’t it? Now answer me—please.”

Francil sighed and tossed the bone into the fire. “None.”

Aric’s stomach churned. He shook his head. “I don’t—I don’t understand. How could none of them have survived? Thousands.”

“None that I found,” said Francil as he rested his chin on his knuckles. “Maybe further west…some of the trenches were missed.” He shook his head and exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. I didn’t go that way. But the orcs came from the west. I’ve never seen anything like it—not in numbers or coordination.”

“Moro went-”

“I found a few of his daggers,” Francil interrupted.

Aric’s eyes began burning as they welled with tears. “Where?”

“Maybe half a league from our trench.” Francil sighed and looked toward the abyss above. “There was a lot of blood, kid. Tracks from a war bear as well and…”

Aric gripped the handle of his sword so tightly his arm began to tremble. “And what?”

“A leg,” said Francil. “I think it was Calder’s.”

“I should’ve made him stay with us,” Aric hissed. “I should have-”

“You’re not one of Gods of Fate, Aric,” Francil said as he leaned forward. “You couldn’t have known anymore than I did what was destined to fall upon us.”

A flood of memories filled Aric’s mind of him and Moro ranging from childhood to the warfront. “We grew complacent.”

“No,” growled Francil. “The fuck—we grew complacent? We were sentinels, Aric Telendris. Better than any knight from Grayhorn to Ambermead. No human matched us. Don’t do that to yourself, kid! The blame is on nobody’s shoulders but Az’ Grim’s.”

The hatchling began to whine and nuzzled against Aric’s leg.

As his sorrow deepened immediately, Aric sobbed. Then he realized his heartbreak was affecting the dragon. Wiping a tear from his beard, he bent down and picked up the dragon. It was heavier than he had expected.

While his spikes appeared sharp and solid as stone, Aric was surprised when he brushed his hands against them; they were only as stiff as a relaxed finger.

“It’s alright, boy.” Aric sniffled and took in a deep inhale. The dragon curled up on his lap, laying his head on Aric’s knee.

“I see you two are already melding intentions,” said Francil. He nodded. “That’s good.”

The words made sense to Aric. And though he had a thousand questions to ask about the dragon, his mind lingered on Moro. “Maybe he escaped—ran away or something.”

Francil nodded slowly. “Maybe. Perhaps we’ll find him yet. But for now, you need to decide what you’re going to do about him.”

Aric sighed and looked down. “He needs a name.”

“And he’ll give it once your arte is strong enough,” Francil said. “First week is always the hardest. There are no words he can say. At least…not any that you can understand. Once your bond strengthens, your mental link will allow you both to communicate properly.”

Aric shrugged. “So until then I just—what—wait?”

“Unfortunately,” said Francil. “He’s to become a mighty force of magic and wisdom. But for now, he’s a baby. He needs you more than you need him. One day, that may not be the case.”

Aric knew he was dodging the question. Even as he thought of the different outcomes. He thought of his parents in Ambermead. What would they say of Moro? They, who helped raise him for six years, would be crushed. He took a deep breath. “Dragonmages have magic, don’t they?”

Francil leaned back and narrowed his eyes. “They do. And you will. Though, I don’t think it’ll be the same as elven mages. The stories of an Elmerïan speak of raw power, raw energy.”

Aric’s chest grew tight. “Can you teach me?”

“Perhaps,” Francil said with a nod. “Not yet, though. I know a bit about magics—at least the principle and theory of them—but I would need to observe you for a while as your bond strengthens. If you’re truly different from the elven dragonmages, it may prove difficult. We won’t know until I witness how your power manifests.”

Aric sighed, deciding to come out with it. “I still aim to bring him to Bör Mesari. But not until I know I can protect him. I will not spend my life running or looking over my shoulder.”

“Kid-”

“I’ll face them head on.” Aric’s words were sharp, finite. A demand that was not up for debate. “I have to think of my parents.”

Francil rubbed his face and inhaled quickly as he stood. “When was the last time you saw your parents?”

Aric jerked his head back at the question. “Why?”

“How long?”

Chest growing tighter, Aric’s heart quickened its pace. “Just…over three years ago. Why?”

“I didn’t have the heart to tell you…” Francil trailed off.

A knot formed in Aric’s stomach. He started to rise to his feet, then halted as the hatchling stirred. “Tell me what?”

Francil chewed the inside of his bottom lip as he stared for a long moment at Aric. “Ambermead has fallen into war with Maervorna.” Francil lifted his brows. “They’ve—they’ve been at war over the territories of Nurniturn and Menrim. And now...”

Aric narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Ambermead and Maervorna have been at war—several times over the years. They’ve always fought for the land sprawled between them. I’ll see my parents again.”

Francil sat back down on his boulder. “Aric, Ambermead was evacuated.”

Aric’s heart sank. “Evacuated?” His gaze fell to the forest floor. “No. No, that can’t be right. Ambermead would never—Queen Fraeg would never-”

“Two months ago,” said Francil quickly. “They evacuated two months ago.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” Aric roared, his heart hammering with anger now. The hatchling looked up at Aric and chirped.

“Would you have abandoned your post?” Francil asked coldly. “Your oath?”

Aric opened his mouth to give his answer, then paused as he asked himself. He looked down. Would I have left? When he found himself answering in his mind, he shook his head. Grading the handle of his sword, he hissed between clenched teeth, “gods damn it.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Francil said softly. “I know you, kid. And I also know it would have torn you inside out with guilt and worry. So, I said nothing.”

Aric looked over at the hatchling. “Everything that has led to this—for what? What the fuck is going on out there, sir?”

“I wish I knew,” Francil said, his face solemn. “The orcs have taken the biggest step yet to seizing this land, even though they’d never migrate to the Scar. The elves are doing nothing. And Paulus hasn’t sent out a summons to Maervorna or Ambermead—as far as I know.”

“I never thought Ergoth would push beyond the Scar,” Aric said. He recalled stories of the orcs fearing the evermist.

“As far as I can see they haven’t,” Francil said as he picked up another small bone. He gnawed at it with his front teeth.

Aric looked into the dark surroundings. Beyond the torches he had spread out around their makeshift camp, a thick black waited. A chill crawled up his spine. Beyond the torches could be any number of things waiting until the evergreen resin burned away.

“Why do they truly not venture this far?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the perimeter. “I’ve heard stories but…they clearly have the numbers now.”

“Orcs are funny like that,” said Francil. “We know they follow the Chieftain, Ergoth, the Bane of Bearmaw. But they also have clans, generals under Ergoth, and a strong culture. They spread far to attack, but they dare not linger. Without a home outside of Az’ Grim—at least in Verilia—they will always attack, then return home.”

Aric narrowed his eyes on Francil. “How could they ever expect to win?”

“I never said they were wise,” Francil chuckled. “Besides, it’s in the orcs’ nature that the elves find security. Not just elves, but King Paulus as well.”

“King Paulus,” Aric groaned. “What a waste of a life.”

“Yet he’s seen as the human faction’s highest king above all,” said Francil. He sucked a piece of meat out from between his teeth. “After all, it is he who slept with the Bӧr Mesarians and gained their favor. It’s under his law that men and women are sent to the trenches.”

“That just makes him more of a shit stain,” Aric said with an eye roll. He mulled Francil’s answer over and snorted. “So the orcs are just too homesick to really go for it.”

Francil didn’t laugh. Not even a smirk crossed his face. “It’s been speculated for a long time that the orcs had their home stripped from them—wherever they came from.”

“Why would this information not be taught to humans?” asked Aric.

“I’m sure it is in the north,” Francil said with a half smirk.

Aric rolled his eyes again. “Anything on the other side of the Misty Scar should be safe. Right?”

Francil cocked his head sideways and lifted his brows.

Aric rubbed his beard and sighed. “We’re three hundred leagues from Bör Mesari.”

Francil looked down at the wound he had shoved weeds and dirt into. In the hours that had passed, the gash had sealed shut, an injury that would have taken weeks for a human to recover from. “We’ll never make it on foot.”

Aric quirked a brow. “Why not? Sure, it’ll take awhile but we’d have time to see what becomes of this dragon bond. And with any luck, I’ll develop a sense of magic. That way, if shit rolls downhill, I can at least fight—get him out of there.”

“Or you could simply listen to me,” Francil snapped. “Shit is going to roll downhill. And it's going to bury you both. This is stupid, kid.”

“I’m not arguing about this again,” Aric said firmly, his glare hardening on the captain. “You’re either with us, or you can haul your ass back to the mist.”

Francil’s jaws twitched. Slowly nodding, he said, “So that’s how it’s going to be. I tell you I’m no longer your superior and you throw a massive fuck you, Captain Francil.”

Aric huffed. “That isn’t exactly what I meant.” He thought about his words. His brows flicked upward. “But yeah, I guess I mean to say if you don't-”

“I know what you meant,” Francil coiled back. He ran his fingers through his hair, then threw his hand down. “If you want to go, so be it. I’ll accompany you—sure. But if you want my guidance with him, then you’ll listen to what I have to say.”

Aric glanced down at the hatchling. “Fine.”

“We won’t make it to Bӧr Mesari on foot because there’ll likely be a wave or more of the Elven Court coming through the Vrelengard.” Francil lifted his brows. “Unless you’ve forgotten that a dragon died.”

Aric swallowed. “I haven’t forgotten." He looked down. “Her hatchling is sleeping on my lap.”

“So,” Francil continued, “I think we should make our way towards Direhallow, snag us some mounts, and rations for a long journey, then head out. We stick to the forest—no worn routes or roads. If all goes well, we should be able to set a pace at ten leagues a day.”

Aric’s eyes widened. “That’s a month—of steady moving?”

Francil grinned tauntingly. “And it’ll probably be longer than that if you have any desire to rest or keep the horses alive for the entire journey.” He chuckled. “And you wanted to travel by foot.”

Aric sat still for a long while, mulling over the captain’s plan. After nearly a minute of silence, he nodded. “Fine. We’ll do that. But if the journey is so long, we’re going to have to make stops along the way.”

Francil sat up straight, his eyes rolling about as if he was lost in thought of his own. Finally he nodded. “Where were you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” said Aric. “We never take the eggs through the forest like that. I never made it up to Bör Mesari. It’s always just been straight up to Alanorae—which was a couple weeks journey from the Scar—then we always headed back to the trenches.”

Francil opened his mouth as if to say, “Ah.” He smiled. “That’s right. I always forget that you and Moro never reached Bör Mesari.”

Aric downcast his eyes to the ground upon hearing Moro’s name again. “Well, one day he’ll make it there as well.”

“So that’s settled then,” said Francil. He rose to his feet and stretched his arms to the skies with a groan. “We’ll head to Bör Mesari and prove you are worthy. Yeah?”

Aric nodded and yawned. “Sounds about right.”

“I feel I must warn you, Aric—though it shouldn’t need to—should anyone see him, anyone at all, they’ll need to be taken care of.”

Aric’s stomach lurched. He knew what taken care of meant. It was one thing for the elves to find them before they were ready to be confronted. It was entirely different for humans, the most social race in the world, to see a human dragonmage or a baby dragon. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” Francil said as he lay down on the ground. Tucking his hands under his head as his back touched the undergrowth, he muttered, “but you will.”

Aric looked down at the hatchling. “Why did you choose me?”

The next morning, Aric awoke to a scratching on his eyelid. With a start, he jumped up and reached for the sword sticking into the ground. A quick scuffle at his feet revealed the dragon staring up at him. An idea swam into his mind. Mine?

Rubbing his face, he realized the hatchling must have licked him. He chuckled and let go of the sword. “Yeah, boy. Mine.”

“He spoke to you?” Francil said.

Aric turned to see the captain sitting on his boulder, his hands hovered over smoldering embers. “Not—not exactly. I get these…ideas, or feelings through him. It was quite a bit clearer this morning though.”

“Hm." Francil stared at the dragon for a long moment. “So, I have a theory on something,” he said as he stood and rubbed his palms together. “Of course, only time will tell.”

Aric yawned and wiped the crust from the corner of his eyes. “What theory do you have?”

“Elven dragonmages’ bonds grow over time,” said Francil. “It’s said that their bond relies on wisdom and time. Elves are essentially immortal, some living for over five millenia.”

Aric shook his head and shrugged. “Alright.”

“I don’t think your bond will be the same.” Francil shook his head. “If I had to guess, your bond will grow with your connection.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Humans are emotional beings,” said Francil. He laughed. “Fuck, I’m half human and I can say that with ease—and pride. It makes humans who they are, for better or worse. I think your bond will rely on something like emotion more than wisdom, or simply time.”

Aric wiped the corners of his mouth. “I just assumed dragonmages—and I guess myself included now—would become stronger over time."

“Yes and no,” said Francil. “You can have a fifty year old elf with a ten year bond to their dragon easily outclass a six hundred year old elf who has just gained a bond, in every aspect of magic.”

Thinking about it jarred Aric’s morning brain. He looked down at the hatchling again, which sat still, wagging his tail like a dog. Aric couldn’t help but chuckle.

Another shift in mood came through the bond. “Yeah, yeah. You’re always hungry. I am too this time, though.”

“Just something to think about,” said Francil. “Most of the torches diminished throughout the night so we’ll just get a move on. However, I caution—make the damn perimeter flares last all night next time.”

Aric scoffed. “Next time I’ll find some shit to roll them around in. Perhaps some dead leaves to buff up the resin.”

“You see?” Francil said, pointing at Aric as he grinned. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”

Aric ignored the captain as he knelt down and held his hand out. The hatchling pressed his forehead into Aric’s palm. “We’ll get some food on the way.”

The journey to Direhallow spent most of the day; the sun was creeping down over the canopy of the evergreen by the time they reached the clearing and sanded road. They paused before venturing out into the pathway, hunkering down behind a thick spruce.

“Right, I’ll go in first,” said Francil. “So far as anyone is concerned, I still hold the rank of Sentinel Captain of the Elven Court. The title alone will allot me horses and food if King Paulus still has any overreach here.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Aric questioned.

Francil looked down. “Then we could have bigger problems. They hate outsiders almost as much as they hate elves.” He looked at the dragon. “Unfortunately with him—you’re not going to be able to hide him.”

Aric looked down and grinned awkwardly at the hatchling. “I don't think so. Nor do I think he’ll stay put.”

Francil cuffed Aric on the back of the head. “Never, ever let him leave your sight. That’s rule one. You know what he means for the elves. For humans, he is a lifetime's worth of coin.”

Aric quirked a brow as he rubbed the back of his head. “Are we setting official rules now?”

“If you insist on acting as a child would, then yes,” said Francil. “Now, let me find us some mounts, rations, and cloaks. We’ll set off and make camp a few leagues southwest of here. Yeah?”

Aric nodded, keeping the idea to himself that he hated Francil going into Direhallow by himself. It was moot to be spoken. “Just be careful—and quick.”

Chapter 11:

Twisting the Bonds

Five days had passed since the caravan had stopped at Telton. Moro and the other fourteen sentinels had shared their similarities and differences as they rode on the wagon across broken terrain. Mile after mile appeared the same. The Bearmaw Mountains never seemed to come any closer. Yet, as midday drew near, many voices spread out across the caravan. Moro stirred as he woke.

“I’ll be a mule’s blooded mother,” said Reikan, his eyes widening as he pointed to the northwest.

Moro quirked a brow and looked over his shoulder. His stomach lurched with excitement as he saw the vast shimmering waters of Lake Tel. As broad as the eye could see, the gray lake spread out toward the west. Though it had been years since he had seen it, it still brought a sense of wonder.

“I suppose that’s what all the barbs were for,” said Reikan, speaking of the large, curved spikes of iron the orcs had the sentinels purchase from Telton.

Despite a few rebellions from other caravans, which ultimately resulted in four deaths, the trip to Telton had come and gone without a hitch.

When Malaina had returned with a sack of dried liver chunks, a spool of rope, two heavy bags for storing meat, and four large whetstones, Moro had guessed the orcs were preparing for a hunting trip. However, once he gazed upon Lake Tel, he realized it was a fishing trip.

His mouth began to salivate at the thought of roasted topator, a gray and yellow striped fish with a spiky spine that he and Aric used to catch in the lake. The muscles of the topator were taut, unlike the flaky small game that danced in creeks or the Orador River. When slow cooked, the white meat was strong with a salty taste similar to smoked venison.

Then his heart sank as he recalled the dried cheese and stale bread chunks the orcs had occasionally thrown into the wagon. Most of the time it was out of the sentinels’ reach with their hands. And it was always far too seldom given. Suspicion had risen amongst the sentinels as for the reason they were nearly being starved; to keep them weakened. He sighed and turned back to Reikan. “I doubt it’ll be any different than any other stop.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Reikan with a wide grin. “Whether they lash me or not, I’m taking a dive.”

Moro snorted. “You’ll definitely take a lashing, or a valrav bolt through the chest. It’s not like you could—” he paused as a thought sprang to his mind.

Nisha looked over at Moro’s hesitation. “What?”

Moro had taken careful measurement of time and distance of the orcs’ movements of the past five days. If they continued their pattern, the orcs had unknowingly given the sentinels a window of opportunity. He shook his head. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

As they had suspected, General Thar’lok had steered the caravan toward the lake. Coming to a stop a few dozen feet from the shore, the sentinels were allowed out of their cages. A man and woman from two wagons in front of Moro’s had fled immediately. Without hesitation, another sentinel yelled, “They’re running!”

Without pause, a valrav flew skyward on his massive valravn and sent two of his five-foot-long arrows through the fleers’ backs.

Moro rubbed the dry skin on his wrists where the shackles had been scratching for days and watched the valrav swoop down to the sentinels. With apparent ease, he picked them up, flew them over the lake, and tossed their bodies into the water.

A fight broke out amidst the sentinels from where the man and woman had been. The man who had accused them of running was knocked to the ground before the corpses landed in the lake. A plume of dust swelled around them as they kicked and pommeled the man.

“Such is the life of war dogs,” Moro said coldly. While a part of him pitied the man being buried beneath boots and fists, he also understood the rage of his comrades. What interested him more was the thought passing by that the orcs would break up the fight. They did not. Within a minute, the man was dead.

Afterward, a single hargrol grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him to the lake and tossed him twenty feet out. He turned and threw his fist high into the sky as he let out a vicious roar.

If his plan was going to work, Moro had to make sure none of the sentinels in his wagon did what the accuser did. After seeing how Agram and a few others had used their feet to scoot cheese and bread closer to themselves like ravenous dogs, he had begun to realize who he could trust. That number was few, and even then, he truly only trusted himself now.

Regardless, he held his plan until the night encroached. After the warriors of Az’ Grim had built various hook and sling mechanisms for catching then storing fish in the lake, a grand fire was erected. The orcs gathered and cooked, leaving the sentinels by their wagons for the first time since Moro had been taken by Thar’lok. It was but a trap, however.

Seeing a glimpse of freedom and being too careless to have patience, four sentinels from one wagon, three from another, and two from the front wagon had all fled back to the east. Moro watched their small silhouettes dart into the shadows and shook his head. He nudged Reikan and pointed at the runners. “Fucking idiots.”

“They don’t even wait for the orcs to sleep?” asked Reikan with a chortle.

“They just needed to wait for the valravs to…” Moro trailed off as a loud screech filled the air, followed by three more.

In the dark sky, the half wolf, half ravens were invisible. Their wings beat quickly, battering the air as the rest of the orcs raised their fists high and cheered. The shadows on the horizon were filled with screams, both man and woman. Thumps rang out as the oversized arrows found their targets.

“Just needed them to be asleep,” said Moro.

“So that’s your plan.”

Moro twitched with a start as Nisha’s words crawled into his ear without warning. He hadn’t noticed she was close. “Gods damn it, woman.”

She sat beside Moro, leaning back against the wagon wheel. “That is your plan—right?”

Moro sighed, then nodded. “Aye. It is.”

“You want to wait until the sky hunters are down for the count and make a run for it?” asked Reikan.

Moro half turned his head and smirked. “Not quite a run, but a swim.”

Reikan snorted. “Right. You’re going to swim across Lake Tel. That’s thirty leagues if you head to the north shore—over sixty leagues if you head to the coast.”

“Well, I won’t be heading toward the coast,” Moro said quickly. “And I don’t need to swim all the way. Just need to get away far enough that I can get back out, then reach the Scar.”

“Why the Scar?” asked Reikan.

Moro rolled his eyes. “Those fucking cowards won’t cross there.”

“You’re talking at least forty leagues total,” said Nisha, “almost half of which are in the water.”

Moro nodded. “Yeah. Perhaps I won’t do it tonight. Need to replenish some of my strength first. Hopefully, they’ll give us some of that fish.”

“I doubt it,” said Nisha.

Agram walked over to the conversation and sniffed the air loudly. “Gods damn! You smell that?”

Moro’s stomach growled. It unnerved him that such a small thing could keep a hold over him. He had thought he was more disciplined. Then again, it had been over a week since he had gotten his fill. He looked up at the kid. “If they bring some over, you won’t be eating first this time.”

Agram slowly looked down at Moro and curled his lip. “Think so, do you?”

Moro turned his face until it was square with Agram’s. “I know so. Unless you feel like dreaming with the fish, I suggest you stop being an asshole and let someone else indulge for once.”

“It’s survival of the fittest, old man,” Agram grunted.

Moro started to rise to his feet when Reikan clapped him on the shoulder, pushing him back down.

“I got this, lad.” Reikan grinned as he stood. As he turned to face Agram, the kid didn’t give him a chance.

In a bold move, he smashed his fist into Reikan’s jaw, knocking him back into the wagon. “Like I said, it’s-”

Moro pushed against the ground, turned sideways and kicked Agram’s ankle. Nisha lifted her hips off of the ground and thrust her boot into the side of Agram’s face. A satisfactory crack sent the kid sprawling.

Moro got to his feet, expecting retaliation. Leaning to the side, he helped Reikan to his feet. “Thanks. I think you best stick to being a scout though.”

Reikan rubbed his jaw and nodded. “I never backed down before.”

“You don’t have to be scared to get your ass kicked,” Moro said with a half smirk. He turned and looked at Agram, who was getting to his knees. “Remember that, you little shit. You may be younger, probably faster—at running. But you won’t best me in a fight. Find your place in this unit, and stay in your lane.”

Agram spat out large globules of blood. “Fuck you!” He glared at Nisha. “You too, bitch. This ain’t no fucking unit. Look around. We’re play things for them!”

“Then learn to play right,” Nisha said. She had leaned up into a kneel, her eyes locked onto Agram.

“Whenever I get the chance, I’m gone,” Agram growled. “That means if I have to kill any of you, then so be it.” He spat again, then wiped his lips with his sleeve. “You think I’m the only one? Our oaths are garbage now. We’re not a unit. And we’re not fucking sentinels anymore.” He stood and marched back to the other side of the wagon.

“Now what?” asked Reikan, still rubbing his jaw.

“It has to be tonight,” Moro said. “If he gets another chance, he’ll fuck every one of us, and I don’t mean in a good way.” He sighed and looked up at the moon. As per every other night, he only had three hours left until the valravs would be retiring for the night. “Yeah. Has to be tonight.”

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

“What's the plan?" asked Reikan four hours later. In the pale twilight, his face held a childish glow of excitement.

Moro peered between the spikes of the wagon wheel. He lay beneath their ride on the cool grass. Nisha and Reikan were prone on either side of him. “I'm going to sneak around those bushes, and slip into the water." He pointed at a section of black shrubs growing on the bank.

“That's your plan?" Nisha questioned. She shook her head. “Why not just run southeast?"

“The best I could hope for is trying to hide in the woods and make it back to Telton," said Moro. He shook his head. “That's twenty-five to thirty leagues away."

“They wouldn't send a group after you through the trees though," said Reikan. “Concealment seems the best bet."

“When the sun rises and they see one of us missing, what then?" Moro asked. He looked at Reikan, then at Nisha. Neither answered. “They will get the answer they need from the others, then send a valrav. I can't hide from one of them. Three of us definitely can't."

“Well we definitely can't hide in the open," said Nisha. “There's nothing north of the lake. Except—" She paused and furrowed her brow. “You want to get to the trench."

Moro nodded. Several hours ago, he thought of the longest trench in the Scar. It lay closer to the lake than any other. “We may be able to hide better in the woods, but once we've been spotted, we'll have nothing to defend ourselves. I doubt they know about weapons caches in the trenches."

Reikan snorted. “So you want to fight a valrav? That's right stupid!"

“And what if two come?" Nisha asked.

“What if we had more people?" asked Reikan.

Moro's heart sank at Reikan's implication. He narrowed his eyes. “For what? A better chance?"

Reikan nodded. “It sucks, sure. But our choices are limited. We could tell others in the other groups on our way out."

Moro scoffed as he remembered the man who tattled on the runners. “So someone can warn the orcs again? Fuck no."

“Then let me warn them."

Moro's heart jolted at the harsh whisper of Agram. The kid must have been above them, dropping eaves. “Shit!"

With no warning, Agram leaped down from the back of the wagon and sprinted toward the bright fire by the lake. Moro crawled out from beneath the wagon as fast as he could. “Go, go, go!"

Behind him, he could hear Reikan and Nisha scrambling to their feet. They ran in a diagonal direction away from Agram, cursing him all the while. In the distance, he could barely see the outline of bushes. He pointed. “There!"

Nisha was the fastest. She barreled forward, leaving Moro and Reikan in her wake.

The only sound Moro could hear for nearly a minute was his breath and his heavy footfalls. He widened his eyes, trying to peer into the darkness. His heart pounded in his tight chest as he anticipated any sign of their ruse coming undone.

And then, with a blood curdling screech, valravs tore into the air. Moro halted and turned around. “Stop!" he yelled at Reikan. “It's pointless. Go back."

Reikan nearly ran into Moro as he came to a stop. “What?! No—we need to keep-"

“We won't make it now," Moro hissed. He grabbed Reikan's jerkin and shoved him back. “Go—before they catch us!"

Moro looked over his shoulder as he heard the ruffle of grass. Nisha had stopped running and was creeping back toward them. “Gotta go back," he told her gruffly. “If they–"

His words were cut short by the screams and cries of men and women. Turning back to Moro, he shoved once more. “Move!”

An eerie sense of vertigo washed over Moro as he sprinted in the dark. Without seeing the ground, the alternating terrain divots gave him a sense he was tripping with every other step. His heart pounded as he listened to the cries of sentinels. How many fled? How many did Agram warn?

The mix of so many sentinels’ agony was far louder and complex than it should have been. Moro’s stomach twisted in a knot. It’s my fault, he thought as the wagon came into view.

Peering through the bars, Malaina yelled, “What the fuck is going on?”

“Agram got a lot of people to try to escape!” yelled Reikan.

Before any more of Moro’s group could issue warnings or converse more, heavy boots rumbled across the ground. Two hargrols appeared out of the shadows.

“In cart!” one of them yelled.

“What’s going on?” Nisha asked.

The second hargrol swung his limp hand backward, slamming Nisha in the chest and knocking her fifteen backward into the wagon’s side. “On!”

Reikan grabbed Nisha by the arms. “Come on.”

Nisha shook her arms and stood. “Get the fuck off of me!”

Reikan held his arms up in a surrender gesture. “Just trying to help.”

She whirled around and glared at him. If looks could burn a hole through a man, she’d have done it then. She curled her lip in a snarl. “And how’d that turn out?”

Moro was the last to climb onto the wagon. Though they were forced onto their bench seats, none of the shackles were engaged. After several minutes, a sangribӧr walked by and locked the back gate with a glowing swirl of energy.

Moro breathed slowly, taking deep breaths as he attempted to slow his pulse. “I don’t get it.”

“What?” asked Malaina.

“Why would Agram do it?” Upon second thought, Moro looked around. “Where is he?”

Reikan shrugged. “Hopefully the little piss stain got himself run through with a valrav’s bolt.”

“We’re descending into madness here,” Moro said. He leaned his head back against the bone cage and sighed. “How easily it’s been for sentinels to turn on each other.”

“How many do you think died?” asked a man whom Moro hadn’t spoken to yet.

Moro shrugged. “Who knows?” He lulled his head to the side and noticed Nisha was rocking back and forth, her widened eyes downcast. “You alright?”

“Fuck you,” she growled. She leaned closer to him and looked up into his eyes. “This is your fault.”

Chapter 12:

Unleashed

After an hour, the finger-like silhouettes of the evergreens had covered the forest. The orange glow of the sun had all but vanished, leaving the town before them bathed in darkness behind the perimeter wall.

Aric sat with his back against a tall pine after he and the hatchling had moved further back away from the dark walls of Direhallow. Like human babies, the dragon had fallen asleep again.

Aric entertained the ideas of being a dragon rider that he abandoned long ago. He reminisced the countless times he and Moro played as children, attaching sticks and throws to bales of hay to sculpt their own dragons. Wooden staves and curved sticks were their weapons as they had imagined fighting in the war.

Then the reality of war tore away all fantasy and fun. While they once pretended, now Aric's life was a whirlwind of regrets. Guilt that had once faded from his coercion in Moro's choice to join the Elven Court came rushing back. But a part of Aric always knew Moro sought vengeance for his parents.

He stole himself away from his haunting remorse and sighed. A cool itch on his cheeks forced him to realize he was crying. He wiped his tears and sniffled. “I'll find you, brother."

After tossing small sticks and pine cones had lost its appeal, Aric began to grow impatient. His stomach growled, unsurprisingly since he had only eaten two squirrels earlier on their way to Direhallow.

The dragon lifted his head and yawned. He cocked his head and looked at Aric’s stomach. Letting out a chirp, he stepped closer and touched his snout against Aric.

Aric chuckled. “Yeah. Believe it or not I get hungry too.” He stroked the top of the hatchling’s head. A warm energy flowed across their bond. A strange relaxation settled over him. “I wonder if I can push my thoughts to you.”

Sitting up straighter, Aric leaned his head toward the dragon and narrowed his eyes. Focusing on his own name, he imagined the thought drifting into something tangible. He paused and chuckled. “Stupid. That’s obviously not-”

“Aric."

Aric’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if he had heard a voice of youth, or if he had just imagined it. He nodded. “Aric. Yeah, yeah. Aric."

He leaned his head closer to the dragon, who sat up and cocked his head again.

“Come on. You—you can say it, right?”

“Aric."

A wide smile came to Aric’s face as a flutter tickled his core. “Yes! That’s—I’m Aric,” he said, touching his chest. “Aric.”

The hatchling looked down at Aric’s stomach again. “Aric.”

“Uh—no,” Aric said with a chuckle. “That’s hunger. That’s just my stomach.”

The hatchling spun around, his appetite pushing through the mental link. Without warning, he pounced. As he landed, there was a crunch and a high pitched squeak. Turning back around, a grasshopper’s legs were sticking out of his mouth.

Aric curled up his lip. “Is that—good?”

The dragon took another bite and licked his snout. With a shutter, he flexed his wings and tail.

Aric chuckled. “Guess not. Know what we need? A big, fat, just-charred steak.” He closed his eyes and imagined. 

His jaw ached, his mouth salivating at the thought of a buttered slab of beef steak, spiced with salt, cracked pepper and onion slivers.

From behind him, the gate of Direhallow swung open. Several men were jeering and yelling. Aric ducked down and turned, keeping his chest mere inches from the ground. Though he couldn’t see any details, he recognized one of the voices; Francil. He was being ushered out of the village.

Aric’s heart jolted as a dozen guards rushed out. Francil ran straight toward the woods.

“Time to go!” Francil said. The haförn must have been able to see better in the dark because he turned and sprinted in a straight line toward Aric.

“Shit,” Aric hissed. Reaching back, he removed his sword quietly.

“Thief!” one of the four men who carried torches, lighting the way for a half dozen spearmen.

As Francil reached the hiding place, Aric noticed he had a massive pack on his back and a short sword in his hand. “What did you do?!”

“Get up, kid!” Francil said as he dropped the pack and turned to face the men coming for him. “Keep him back!”

Aric felt an immense pressure of fear through the bond. Combating it with anger—as he did before—he shoved down the feeling and called to the dragon. “Stay down, boy!”

His heart pounded in his chest as a second wave of fear washed over him. Only this time, he recognized it was his own. A single thought of the hatchling getting hurt, or even being taken away, sent an invisible pressure to his chest he had thought long gone. He clenched his jaw shut and gripped his sword tight. Nothing is going to touch him, he told himself.

A whooshing sound came through the trees. Aric hadn’t seen what it came from until Francil caught a spear with an outstretched hand, spun around and threw it back. A man roared with pain in the dark.

Nodding, Aric was certain what he had to do. The torch’s light glinted off of his black blade. They were close enough now to hear their footsteps.

Francil moved first, faster than any human could hope.

Aric didn’t hesitate. With a thunderous roar, he pushed forward. The men from the village brought torches to see, but that became their downfall. The orange light illuminated the Direhallow guards’ chainmail.

Aric ran straight toward a guard. As the man thrust a spear toward his chest, he turned sideways, letting the long shaft run between his sword arm and rib. With a backswing, he took the man’s head off mercilessly. Since they wore helms, his head landed with a metallic clang

Another speartip shined from the torches as it barreled toward Aric’s face. He parried it to the side and used the momentum from his sprint to slash across the second guard’s chest. Sparks erupted from the chainmail. Fuck, Aric thought.

Planting his foot, Aric slammed his shoulder into the guard, knocking him back several steps. As the guard lifted his spear to re-engage, Aric brought his sword down hard, aiming for the wooden shaft. In the dark, his aim wasn’t as good, which resulted in the guard screaming. His hand was removed from the equation.

Seizing the opportunity while the guard dropped his spear, Aric thrust his sword into the man’s throat. Without waiting to see if the man was dead yet, he pulled it out and turned.

Francil was engaging three spearmen and what appeared to be a local citizen wielding an axe. Then he heard a warning that wrenched his gut.

“Dragon!” one of the guards yelled. “There’s a baby-”

Aric threw his sword as soon as he locked eyes with the guard. While their chainmail was great for stopping slashes of a sword. It did little to stop Aric’s blade from piercing his chest. Running back to his hiding place, he slid in the weeds.He whirled around in a panic. The dragon wasn’t where he had left it. “Where are you?”

A chirp came from under another spruce.

The guard had succeeded in shifting the focus from the thief to dragon. Several of the remaining guards and the locals who chased after Francil were now spreading out around Aric and the dragon.

Aric jerked his sword free from the dead guard and took a low fighting stance. “Touch him and I’ll fucking gut you!”

“You three,” said another guard. “Get him!”

At once, the guards descended on Aric. He kept his eyes on the hatchling as five moved in toward the tree. “No!” Blocking a spear strike, he swung low, his blade slashing into the soft bend of the guard’s ankle. He fell backward, screaming.

A heavier wave of fear came through the bond. At the same time, the hatchling yelped, then cried out a piercing roar.

The energy in Aric’s chest, he had first felt the day the hatchling had chosen him, swelled hot. He locked eyes onto two spearmen who had run toward the dragon. Just before Aric reached the tree, a man grabbed the hatchling by the tail and dragged him out.

The man threw the baby dragon as if it were a snake, laughing maniacally. “It is a baby dragon!"

The hatchling landed in the weeds.

And now Aric was upon them, his heart hammering in his chest. The energy tightened in his chest. His vision blurred as he stopped before the man who threw the dragon. With a roar, he plunged his sword into the man’s chest. Time seemed to slow as his sword glowed bright white.

The energy that filled his chest rolled down Aric’s arm, into his hand and through the blade. As the point of the sword had touched the man, the light illuminated the forest around them. First, his tunic burned away, disintegrating as if in an inferno.

Aric watched with horror as the energy pushed through flesh as if it was a boulder moving through air.

The man’s chest and stomach ripped, vaporizing in a mix of blood and ash as it exposed his chest bone, then his rib cage. His organs exploded, spraying blood backward. Then time seemed to fall back to normal as the white energy disintegrated the man completely.

Two men behind him were reduced to bloody mist and ash as the power exploded in a bright beam, ripping down a wide curve of trees in its wake.

Aric staggered two steps forward, dumbstruck at what he had just witnessed. What he had just done.

Every ounce of strength left his legs and he fell to his knees. His skin felt as if it were on fire. He looked down. The black sword was gone. His right arm was bare, his armor and tunic had burned all the way up to his shoulder. “Fr-Francil?” he whispered as he collapsed forward into a bathing darkness.

Chapter 13:

Spark of Hearts

Aric screamed in pain as he woke. He clutched his chest, from where the agony burned the brightest.

“Hey!” Francil yelled. He quickly ran to Aric’s side. “You’re alright, kid. You’re alright.”

The pain quickly faded.

Aric sat up, breathing heavily as tears streamed down his face. “The dragon! Where’s–” He halted as he felt the bond first, then saw the hatchling sitting by his feet. He sighed, then pulled his tunic out to look at his chest. It was hairy, but otherwise unharmed. He wiped his eyes and saw his bare arm.

“I got us out of there after finishing off the Gray Guard,” said Francil.

Aric’s heart jolted again. “Gray Guard? Those—those were Paulus’s soldiers?”

“Aye,” said Francil. “Unfortunate it was to run into them.”

Aric closed his eyes and tried to remember what had happened. It all came back in a flash. He gasped. “That—what did I do?” He shook his head. “What did you do?”

Francil stood as his face reddened. Rubbing the back of his neck, he chuckled nervously. “Turns out the Elven Court has had a falling out of sorts with Grayhorn. I was trying to secure some mounts and ran into the Gray Guard.” He clenched his fists. “Apparently, there’s an arrest on sight order issued for elves of the Elven Court.”

“You had a bag,” Aric said. He looked around. It lay beside a thick pine tree. “There. What’s in it?”

“Food, some drinking spouts, a couple of cloaks.”

Aric looked up at Francil. “They were yelling—thief.”

“Yeah, well…like I said, my rank was no good,” Francil said matter-of-factly as he folded his arms. “Never mind that." He lifted his brows and grinned. “You used magic last night.”

The detailed memory of the man getting vaporized came rushing back. “That was not on purpose. I didn't do anything.” He thought about the precise moment when his fear had set off the burning in his chest. He would have done anything to protect the hatchling. He narrowed his eyes. “I…did do magic."

He looked up at Francil with a newfound excitement. “I did magic!"

“No shit,” Francil said as he knelt down. “You almost died doing it. But more than that, I was right—in part at least—because your magic is energy. Just raw, pure energy.”

“It burned.” Aric looked down at his partial sleeve at the shoulder. “My sword.”

“Gone,” said Francil. “You melted it. Or disintegrated it. It was near instantaneous; I caught just a glimpse of it. Lit up the forest like the sun and a beam of light shot out.”

“It wasn’t fast,” said Aric with furrowed brows. “I watched that man being undone before me. I saw every detail.”

“Interesting.” Francil rubbed his chin. “So you had an increased burst of speed too. That’s not unheard of amongst new dragonmages.”

Aric leaned forward, reaching out to the hatchling. “Hey, boy. I’m—I’m sorry. I told you nobody would hurt you.”

“Aric."

Aric smiled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Eldras."

Aric’s heart leaped. His eyes widened as he leaned forward. “What?”

“Aric. Eldras."

Aric looked at Francil. “I think he’s telling me his name. I—I think he’s actually speaking to me!”

Francil’s eyes widened. “Already?” He leaned closer. “I guess it kind of makes sense. Trials always push the bond to strengthen faster.” He shook his head quickly. “What did he say?”

“Last night he said my name,” said Aric. “I think he was confused on what it meant. But just now…he just said, Eldras.”

“Eldras,” Francil said quietly.

The dragon looked at Francil and chirped.

Francil grinned. “A solid name. It fits.”

Aric smiled. “Eldras. A pleasure to meet you, officially.”

“It’s close to Eld’ravs,” said Francil. When Aric looked at him and shrugged, he explained. “It’s Velarian for black fire.”

Aric took in the dragon as if in a different light. His dark scales gave him the appearance he was built for night, where shadows and secrets are of plenty. “Black fire. Eldras.”

“Eldras. Aric. Food."

Aric smirked. “Well black fire is hungry again.”

Francil snorted. “After last night, I’m not surprised. We’ll find something. The Vrelengard will always provide, so long as you honor the druids and treants.”

Aric thought of their journey ahead. Without horses, hope was all but diminished.

It would be winter before they reached Bör Mesari. Then his thoughts recoiled to the previous night. He shuddered to think about the elves trying to kill Eldras. “I don’t think—” He paused, second guessing himself. “I don’t think I want to go to Bör Mesari.”

Francil quirked his brow. “Got some sense knocked into you, eh?”

Aric didn’t join in on the humor. “I don’t know what to do." He shrugged. “I don’t know where to go." He kept his eyes on Eldras as he spoke.

“There is something about him, this bond, the meaning behind it all. I need to figure it out. But I need to raise him properly first. I need to grow our bond, figure out what’s going on with—” he shrugged as he thought about the power that erupted from him the night prior, “—whatever this magic is. I need to get stronger for us both. We can’t face the elves yet if there is a chance they’ll attack.”

Francil cleared his throat. “You do realize this is basically what I’ve been telling you for the past few days, right?”

“I know,” Aric said quickly. He rubbed Eldras’s snout. “I just assumed you were being superstitious about the old tale.”

“It’s a prophecy more than it is an old tale.”

“Still.” Aric smiled as the bond warmed inside. A feeling of joy, or relief, came through from Eldras. “I didn’t want to believe that I was anything worth choosing.”

“Nobody does,” said Francil. “Not truly. Even the elves look at their inner doubts, after centuries of feats and experiences. Everyone who has ever done anything worthwhile had their time, and will have their time in the future. Just because your story started when Eldras chose you doesn’t mean you weren’t alive for the first—how old are you again?”

“Thirty-two,” Aric said quickly.

“Thirty-two years,” Francil repeated. He stood and cupped his hands on his hips. “And we don’t know where your journey will take you, or me—or Moro, or fucking King Paulus for that matter.”

Aric nodded and grinned. “I think I understand. It’s not like I’m the first ever dragonmage period.”

“Exactly,” said Francil. He lifted his brows and cocked his head. “Honestly, I’m not certain there weren’t Elmerïan in the second or third age either. Let’s face it, the elves are the only ones who could still be alive since those times. They could have easily rewritten history.”

Aric nodded again. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Then where would you like to go?” Francil asked. “We can go almost anywhere you want, make a home, and I can assist you in your journey until he is big enough to fight. Until you're both strong enough to fight.”

“It’s gotta be somewhere south,” Aric said. “I can’t risk the elves discovering Eldras.”

Francil sucked in air between his teeth, as if he had just been caught doing something illegal.

Aric’s stomach twisted. “What?”

“One of the Gray Guard got away last night.”

Aric quickly rose to his feet. “You said you took care of them!”

“Yeah, well you’re welcome, you little shit,” Francil growled. “I had to fight off like six guards and four locals, then get your ass and his out of there.” He waved his hands dramatically. “Sorry, I missed one. It sure as hell wasn’t the plan.”

Aric turned his face toward the sky and shook his head. “So it’s only a matter of time until the elves find out anyway.”

“I’m sure the Gray Guard won’t keep that message in for long,” said Francil. “Likely, he’ll report to Paulus first. Then no doubt Paulus will try to use you as a bargaining plug to regain leverage against the elves.”

Aric narrowed his eyes on Francil. “Thought all of this out already, have you?”

“For the most part,” Francil said. “Someone has to think ahead here.”

“Then we’re right back to where we started,” said Aric. “I need to find my parents. We don’t have a really close relationship, but I’ll not see them tortured or killed because of me.”

“I’m much happier heading south and helping you look for your parents than I would be taking him to Bör Mesari.”

“I bet,” Aric growled sardonically.

“We still need to find mounts,” said Francil. He cast his eyes to the ground. “Dawn Harbor is the best in-between village. They nearly operate under their own rule these days. Coin flows through there like water fills Lake Tel from the Bearmaw.”

Aric sighed. “How far?”

“From Direhallow?" asked Francil. He looked to the east. “My guess is it’s a hundred leagues or so.”

Aric shook his head. “So that’s just over two weeks on foot.”

Francil looked up and forced a smile. “It’ll give you time to train and learn then. Won't it?"

“Fine,” Aric said dryly. He gestured toward the large sack. “Tell me you brought good meat at least.”

Francil’s smile grew genuine and wider. “Well, I didn’t waste the night completely. Get a fire going.”

After Aric gathered several dead branches, pinecones and a handful of orange pine needles, he set to bringing up a fire, small enough to not be spotted from afar, yet large enough to cook.

As he worked on building a bowstring to start the ember, he looked over to see Francil pull out two black cloaks. They were thick and heavy. Secondly, the captain pulled out a heap of white cloth.

Setting it on the ground, Francil dropped to his knees and began working on unwrapping the cloth. After the first layer, the next was pink. The third layer was darker. In the center of it was a slab of beef steak, big enough to feed a family of eight.

Aric’s eyes widened. “Fuck…yes!”

Francil furrowed his brows. “Stop gawking at it and get that thing made, kid. Less you are fancying raw meat.”

Aric snorted. “At this point, I’d probably take it.” A rush of hunger came through the bond. He looked over to see Eldras hunkered down, as if about to pounce. “Hey! No, Eldras. We’re going to cook it. Remember? Steak? Food?”

Eldras quickly looked up at Aric. “Food?" He wiggled his hind legs and locked eyes on the meat again, then leaped for it.

Aric dropped his stick and caught Eldras in the air with a laugh. “Hey, no. Wait.” He tried to push the thought through the bond. “Wait. Wait."

He set the hatching back on the ground and picked his stick up again.

Eldras licked his snout, his head bobbing in the air as he sniffed. He looked up at Aric again. “Wait."

“Yes,” Aric said. “Just wait. I promise, it’ll be better cooked.” He looked over at Francil, who simply stared back. Holding his hand out, he asked, “did you get a string?”

Francil furrowed his brows and cupped his hands on his hips. “No, Aric. I didn’t get a gods damn string. I was busy getting all of this and getting my ass chased out of there.”

Aric rolled his eyes and smirked tauntingly. “I was just asking.” Francil shook his head and pulled out a small block of salt and some dried peppers. “You get any butter?”

Francil dropped the salt rock. “Kid, if you ask me one more thing—" he held his arms out wide over the supplies. “If I got it, you see it.”

Aric set the stick between his palms and started spinning it back and forth, one end against a flat piece of bark. “You know…I’m a…grown ass…man,” he said through quick breaths and grunts.

“You’re under a hundred,” said Francil. “You are a kid to me.”

“So once we get…to Dawn Harbor,” said Aric as he continued to spin the stick back and forth to create friction, and hopefully heat. “How is it…going to be any…different from Direhallow?” Smoke started creeping out from the connection point of the pieces of wood as sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip.

Francil had the salt block in his hand now, shaving it with the edge of his short sword and letting the grains of salt fall onto a flat rock. “For starters, we’ll be wearing those,” he said, glancing at the cloaks. “We’ll be stripping off our mail and posing as passersby—drifters just looking to bargain.”

Aric pushed harder, the smoke thickening. “But we’ve nothing to bargain with, sir.” Francil shot him a sideways look. “Sorry. Old habits.”

“My hope is that we’ll get a nice buck or two to bring into town,” said Francil. “We can sell the meat and buy horses.”

Aric snorted. “They better be the biggest bucks Verilia has ever birthed.”

“It may take a day or two,” Francil said. He set the salt block down and picked up the dried peppers. Setting them on the rock, he began grinding them down with the blunt edge of his sword. “It will probably be better that way. We can’t both go into town. So setting up camp somewhere outside Dawn Harbor will be key.”

A spark of bright orange lit beneath Aric’s stick. He gasped, quickly pushed the dried tender over the ember and picked up the bark. Cupping a hand around the ball of scraped bark, he began blowing air into it.

The ember grew brighter. Brighter. Then, a small flame cracked to life.

Aric quickly set it down and set some of the pine needles and smaller twigs over the flame. It grew bigger, hotter.

“Heh,” he muttered and pointed at the fire. “Look at that. Still got it.” He looked at Francil who was still meticulously grinding pepper. “And what about the nomads and other drifters passing through Dawn Harbor?”

Francil lifted his brows. “Hopefully this sword stays sharp.”

Aric huffed. “I know we have to keep him a secret as much as we can, but we can’t just kill everyone who sees us. At that point we’re no better than the orcs, are we?”

Francil stopped grinding the peppers and leaned back. “Do you think many people will see you as a dragonmage and praise you? Have you thought about what kind of ripple you’re going to cause in these lands?”

Aric thought about the men from Direhallow. They were after Francil. Yet when they saw Eldras, their attention was shifted immediately—and their actions weren’t in admiration. “No,” he said softly.

“I'm not so naive to think every kingdom in this land shares in our belief in the Elven Court's cause. And I don’t think praise will be sung for our bond until we show where we stand.”

“And where is that?” asked Francil as he picked up a pinch of salt in one hand and a pinch of pepper in the other. He began seasoning the steak.

As Aric thought about it, he realized his faith in the Elven Court had been shaken with Francil's warning. “I don't know yet."

“The elves will hunt you down once word reaches them. I would hazard a guess, if they truly believe in the tales of old, that you would be more dangerous to them than the orcs. Of course Paulus will likely send his Gray Guard to cozy up to you in gaining his favor, assuming he forgives us for killing his men."

Aric rubbed his beard. “Just wait until the orcs find out. They’ve been trying to get their hands on dragon eggs for so long.” He glanced at Eldras and snorted.

“For years, I’ve fought to keep the eggs from them in hopes dragonmages would rise and burn away the scourge that’s plagued Verilia since before I was born. I thought it foolish that the orcs would want eggs. Eggs only hatch for elves—I used to say.”

“When he’s able to speak better,” Francil said as he turned over the meat and pressed the seasoning into it, “I would like to know his reasoning.”

“For choosing me?” Aric asked with a chuckle. “You and me both.”

Francil picked up the steak, then put the large flat stone onto the flames. As smoke rolled out, he said, “throw some more twigs around it.”

Aric was already moving before the captain spoke; it wasn’t his first cooking fire. Francil lay the meat down. Looking over at Eldras, Aric chuckled. The bond flared again with hunger. Within seconds, the aroma of the pepper filled the air.

“Just wait, little guy,” he whispered to Eldras. “It’ll be worth it.”

“Too bad there aren't any eggs to go with the steak,” said Francil.

Eldras’s eyes flicked toward Francil. The bond swelled with anger this time.

“Whoa, boy,” said Aric. He looked at Francil, then Eldras. “Chicken eggs.”

Francil’s brows shot up. “Clever little dragon, aren’t you?”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “Can they normally understand common tongue like that?”

“Dragons understand language by instinct usually,” Francil explained. “Whatever language its dragonmage speaks, it’ll generally understand. It can get confusing when they’re young.” He pointed at Eldras. “Never seen one understand like that in its first week though.”

Aric took a deep breath and pushed back on the bond, as if his thoughts of a calming emotion could cross into the dragon’s mind. “It’s alright. It’s alright.”

His stomach fluttered as the thick anger diminished. Eldras lay down, his head resting on Aric’s boot. “Interesting.”

Francil stared at Eldras for a long moment. “There’s something about him. About your bond. I’ve never seen one grow so fast.”

Aric looked up from the dragon. “What do you mean?”

Francil took a deep breath and sighed. “I mean dragons and their riders always have a bond from the moment the dragon hatches. But things like intention melding, communication, attachment…they usually come with time. With you and him, it’s as if you’re blazing through the bond’s swelling. Everything seems to be faster than normal.”

Aric quirked a brow. “How is it you know so much about dragons and dragonmages?”

Francil quickly looked down and cleared his throat. “Had a—I had a half-brother once. Full elf, that is. He was a dragonmage.”

Aric’s heart sank. A well of sadness tightened his chest. “Did he…?”

“He died,” said Francil. He took a deep breath. “He died protecting me from an orc raid. Been about three centuries ago now.” He looked up at Aric and sniffled. “That's why I joined the fight.”

“I thought—” Aric paused and second guessed his knowledge of history, “—I thought the war has only been going on for about a century now.”

Francil nodded. “In Verilia.”

Aric cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “You’re not from Verilia?”

Francil shook his head. “I was born in what's now considered the wastelands of Velrost. It was a kingdom of mountains. The orcs landed there about seven centuries ago. Back when there were still free dragons.”

“Free dragons?” Aric had never heard of free dragons. “Like wild?”

Francil shook his head. “They weren’t wild. They were intelligent, wise, and protected humans and elves alike. But they too met their end. There’s an old story from Velrost—a human who took in an orc child. He raised her like a daughter. The last free dragon of Velrost took them away. It was a story of hope amongst the locals. Maybe one day there could be peace.”

Aric shook his head as he thought of the orcs he had fought for the last decade and a half. “There’ll never be peace. Orcs only see war.”

“Unless there is someone who does something different,” said Francil. “When my family reached Verilia, there was peace. Orcs have it in their blood to conquer, but they have their own culture. Even Ergoth has an end goal.” He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes as he looked at the fire. “And I don’t think it’s to see these lands burned either.”

Aric thought about what it meant to be a human dragonmage, an Elmerïan. “Do you think a dragon would ever choose an orc—that’s why they want the eggs?”

Francil half smirked, but there was no humor behind it. His stared hardened. “I think it has long been a political game between the orcs and the elves.” He sighed and tugged on his gray beard. “And I think humans have sat idle for so long because they can’t do much against either race, in terms of warfare.”

“Yeah,” Aric said. He stared at the fire for a long moment as he thought of the war, the incalculable bodies that have lay dead in trenches and beneath the shroud of the Misty Scar. “We just throw bodies into the pyre.”

Francil nodded. “And the dwarves haven’t deserted their home beneath the Bearmaw since the rise of the orcs a century ago.” He looked at Aric and shrugged. “But, I think if you turn out to be half as powerful as any other dragonmage, things are going to change.” He smiled and looked at Eldras. “I think you two are going to change many things.”

Chapter 14:

Conquerors of Men

The wagon shook, rattling over jagged rocks. Moro had grown used to the missteps of Ba’at as she pulled their wagon. He looked over his shoulder at the lake shimmering in its slow fade into the distance. They were over five leagues away. He thought of the morning that followed his failed escape.

“You run, you die,” Thar’lok had said as he paced back and forth in front of forty-two corpses.

There was only one body Moro had been glad to see mangled; Agram. Still, more than half of the sentinels had died, and it was his fault. Only nine remained in his wagon now.

Ahead was the base of the Bearmaw Mountains, as it always was. The massive spires of Verilia would be visible all the way from the Vrelengard Forest if not for the Scar.

He lifted his shackled hands to scratch his dry beard, but the clasps tied to the floor prevented a full stretch. He leaned forward and dug his nails in. His lips were cracked and dried. He huffed and leaned back against the thick bones.

After another day and night of riding, Thar’lok called a halt. Holding his hand up high, he yelled back. “Fôrung’jarun! Nona manuf!”

Moro sat up straight and looked around. Just to the west, down a long steep bank was a village. “Morlin,” he whispered to himself. While he was awake, he had kept track of their movements. Their distance and direction were all but a map in his mind.

Thar’lok walked over to the cage and knocked against the bone behind Moro. “Lucky day you have.”

“Piss off,” Moro hissed, not giving the orc the satisfaction of looking at him.

“You get stretch of legs.”

Three other hargrols walked up to Thar’lok, each eight feet tall. Their footfalls sounded to Moro like horses. They each pressed a fist into a palm, dipping their heads low. “Nemalnut,” they said together.

“Div katar naraeb,” said Thar’lok. He rapped on the bone cage again. “Hear you? We take town. You fight.”

Moro clenched his jaw. He could recognize a predator playing with its prey when he saw it. With his best guess, the orcs desired entertainment. First, they wanted a supply run. The sentinels had complied. This was different. “I’m not doing shit for you.”

Thar’lok roared and slammed his fist against the cage, lifting two of the large wheels off of the ground. It landed back down and rattled. “You fight people!”

Moro repositioned himself in his place after nearly being tossed across the cage. Breathing heavily, he still refused to look at Thar’lok. “Give me a weapon, and I’ll take your head with it.”

Thar’lok burst into a deep, roaring laughter. “Good. You fight. Humans fight.”

The three lower commanders gave another salute and returned to their wagons. Moro looked out of the corner of his eye at Nisha. “They want us to raid for them.”

“No shit,” she said. She jerked her head back, throwing her hazel locks out of her face.

Moro flexed his jaw muscles. “If they give you a sword, or whatever-”

“I don’t need you telling me what to do with it,” said Nisha. In the daylight, it was easier to see that her skin was as dark as Moro’s, perhaps darker, though her accent was definitely northern Verilian, perhaps Alagaien or Dagger Point. “We were both sentinels, right? I know how to do my fucking job.”

Moro looked at Reikan. “What about you?”

“If they give me a sword, not much I can do, is there?” Reikan asked with a quick chortle. “I’m—well, I was a scout. Now, give me a bow with some arrows?” He lifted his brows and smirked as he looked around at the others. “I’ll fuck their world all up.”

“Could just do what they want,” said Malaina. “I’m still more curious to see where they are taking us, and why.” Her words were slow yet demanded attention with her rasp.

“You’re still not a captain here, Malaina,” said Nisha. “We’re all just fodder for their entertainment. I bet they’ll take us back to Az’ Grim, then make us fight each other. They probably get off on shit like that.”

Moro looked down at his hands. “If only I had my daggers.”

Reikan snorted. “If any of us had our weapons, we wouldn’t still be in this cage, would we?”

Thar’lok walked to the back door of the wagon and shoved a thick key into a slot. With a turn, three bones twisted, and one lifted. “Out. Out you get!”

Moro lifted his hands, the chains pulling taut against the floor. “How are we supposed to get out, you overgrown shit stain?”

Thar’lok quickly reached inside and grabbed Moro’s chains with one hand, jerking him forward. “Hold.”

Moro winced as the cufflinks dug into his wrists. He watched as Thar’lok fumbled with a small set of keys—far too small for his massive orc fingers. “All of those villagers are going to die of old age before you get these opened.”

Thar’lok seemed to ignore Moro’s words as he worked the shackles. Finally, after nearly thirty seconds, he opened the cuffs. “There.” He slammed the back of his hand into Moro’s chest, knocking him against the bones. “Watch mouth.”

Despite the sharp pain against his spine, Moro pushed off of the side of the cage. “How am I supposed to watch my mouth?” He stuck his lips out and looked down the bridge of his nose. “Like this?” He knew it was childish play, but getting a laugh out of the other sentinels was the goal. Anything to raise morale helped when hope seemed lost.

Thar’lok grabbed Moro’s arm and flung him out of the cage as easily as a child would throw a straw doll.

Moro landed on his knees in the dust, then fell forward to his chest. Under normal circumstances, he would have sprung back to his feet. But now, there was no point in defiance in his weakened state. He felt the malnutrition breaking down the fibers of his muscles. He barely had energy to stay awake for long periods of time.

He pressed himself back up to his knees. “How are we supposed to fight?” Moro called over his shoulder. Reikan landed beside him with a grunt.

A heavy set of feet appeared in front of Moro. He looked up to see a dark green orc garbed in a raggedy, oversized hooded cloak, the same orc who had brought the sentinels the meat. The same orc who had stared at him.

The sangribӧr’s garb was tattered, dingy, and faded purple. In one of his giant hands was a long crooked staff. “I will give you the strength to fight, sentinel.”

Moro looked up at the sangribör’s face. The dark magic user’s voice was raspy. He sounded older than the general. His common tongue was significantly better. “With your blood magic?” Moro asked with a snarl. He tried to spit at the orc’s feet, but his mouth was dry, leaving a pathetic attempt and embarrassment.

“You know nothing of this magic,” the orc said. He knelt down and turned his hand over. A black and purple flame ignited in his palm.

Moro’s stomach churned. “I know I’ve seen that destroy many of my friends over the years.”

The orc dipped his forefinger and thumb into the flame and produced a black dagger. The fire vanished as he held up the blade. “And how many of mine have you killed with such a weapon?”

Moro furrowed his brows. “How did you…?” He trailed. The question presented was one he had asked himself countless times. He looked into the orc’s eyes as a new feeling of guilt tightened his chest.

“At what point does it become revenge over warfare?” asked the orc.

“Muleshit,” said Reikan. “We don’t fight for revenge. Sure, we may revel in your deaths as atonement to those we’ve lost, but we fight for the dragons.”

Moro cleared his throat and nodded. “Exactly. You have been coming for the dragon eggs for a century. You want more power. After everything your kind has done to this land? And you want us to what—stop fighting?” He laughed tauntingly. “Nice try. You speak better than any orc I’ve heard, but you’re nothing brighter than an ember under the sun’s light.”

The orc sighed and looked down. “There was a man once—human—who spoke with such anger and disdain. And then he saved my ancestor.”

There was a scuffle behind Moro. He looked over his shoulder to see Nisha plant her heel into the side of Thar’lok’s head as she jumped from the wagon.

Thar’lok roared. “Bitch you!”

She didn’t run. She simply looked down at Moro and Reikan with a smirk.

The sangribör stood up straight and dropped the dagger in front of Moro. “We should all seek to learn who our enemy is in the garrisons. Only then, can we truly know who we face.” With that, he walked away.

Moro quickly grabbed the dagger. He looked up at the orc, then cast his eyes down as he stood. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the other two staring at him. “What?”

“Getting cozy?” asked Reikan.

Nisha reached for the dagger. “I’ll take that.”

With pure instinct and a spark of anger, Moro grabbed her wrist, turned her sideways and pressed the black blade against her throat. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

Nisha’s eyes widened. Her breaths grew heavy. She took a step back and held her hands up as Malaina was thrown from the wagon. “Looks like the orcs have a new dog.”

In the minutes that followed, the sentinels were lined up together. Moro had tucked the dagger in the back of his belt. His thoughts ran through the sangribör’s words over and over. We’re all just pieces on a game board.

Thar’lok paced back and forth in front of the sentinels. “Behind you lays town. You attack. We watch. Burn house. Kill people. Take loot.” He looked sideways at the other orcs and lifted his hand. At once, a thick chest was brought up from the rear of the caravan by two orcs, both valravs. As they set it down behind Thar’lok, he added. “Take blades. Make pain.”

Moro watched as the valravs opened the wooden box. At first, none of the sentinels moved. They all looked back and forth at each other. He stepped forward and glared at Thar’lok. “Why?”

“Because Ergoth wish it,” Thar’lok said. He cupped his hands on his hips and looked down at Moro, unapologetically unafraid. “You kill. You live.”

“So the choice is kill the innocent, or die?” Moro questioned. “If that’s so, I choose death.” He inclined his head. “I won’t kill the innocent for you—or anyone.” He thought of the sangribör’s words again. Or have I already been killing the innocent? Those forced to fight by their own leader?

“If I may,” said the sangribör, dipping his head low to Thar’lok. “Allow me to show what can be felt through this blood magic.” His last words clung to the air as he glanced at Moro.

Thar’lok flexed his jaws as he glanced back and forth between Moro and the sangribör. “Jeim udsum, Vig’ka.”

Moro narrowed his eyes. “Vig’ka,” he muttered to himself. Is that his name?

The sangribör stepped forward. “You shall be rewarded in more than just life, human.” He shoved his hand into his robe pocket and pulled out a tiny red seed. Crushing it between his thumb and forefinger, a small puff of purple energy swirled. As he did before, he turned his hand over and created a swirl of purple and black flame. “A taste. My power to you.” Without a warning, he thrust the flame into Moro’s chest.

Moro screamed and stepped back as a burning energy filled his body. Dropping to a knee, he clutched his chest and coughed. Then the pain dissipated. The energy shifted to ice cold, sending a shiver up his spine. His muscles tightened. His hunger vanished. Then he stood.

“Rakhlok,” said Thar’lok, keeping his eyes locked onto Moro. Another orc stepped up beside Thar’lok and saluted hand in fist. “Kill human.”

Moro’s eyes widened. “What?!”

He looked at the orc named Rakhlok, a hargrol who’s size rivaled his general. The orc unlatched his axe from his back and took one step forward.

Moro didn’t hesitate. Pulling the dagger free from his belt, he lunged forward. Unnatural strength fueled his push, sending him fifteen feet forward. The orc swung his axe sideways, as if to sever Moro in half.

Leaning backward, Moro found himself horizontal, soaring feet first toward the orc. He landed on his back and slid in the dust. Pushing himself back to his feet, he ran toward the hargrol and stuck the blade into Rakhlok’s hip. As the blade thudded against bone, Rakhlok was hurled in a violent twist through the air. He smashed onto the side of a wagon, breaking several of the bone railings.

Moro’s heart jolted. Breathing heavily, he stayed himself from standing and looked at the dagger, then his eyes drifted down to his arm. “What did you do?”

The sangribör, Vig’ka, grinned. Then, lifted his hand. “As I said, just a taste of your reward.”

The cold energy was ripped out of Moro. He screamed as it burned all over again, then collapsed onto his hands as the temporary strength left his body. The dagger clanged on the ground.

Thar’lok bent down. “You kill. You live.”

Moro realized then Thar’lok’s lack of understanding of the human language. Live? He means thrive. He pressed himself back up to his knees and looked at Rakhlok.

The orc grunted as he stood on one leg. His hand was pressed firmly against the back of his hip.

Vig’ka walked over to him and pressed a handful of purple fire into the wound.

“Why would you ever give humans power?” Moro asked.

“Your life ours now,” said Thar’lok. “You serve Ergoth now.”

Moro knew it was pointless to argue. With the power given by Vig’ka, he could have fought them. But just as easily, he took it away.

Sliding his foot forward, he stood. Pushing a strand of dreads out of his face, he gave Thar’lok a nod. I simply won’t kill anyone.

“You kill none, you die,” said Thar’lok. “Ergoth want strong alone.”

Whether it was Moro’s display of power, or General Thar’lok’s threat, it took less than a minute for the sentinels to arm themselves. Moro had taken three more daggers from the chest before it was shut. He looked around. Most of the sentinels had broadswords in hand, none of which looked new or sharpened.

As they were guided to the village of Morlin, Moro glanced back over his shoulder. Eight valravs were mounted on their valravn, their bows at the ready. Vig’ka and three other sangribör stood side by side. Where warriors had armor, they simply had oversized cloaks.

Arriving at the small village, Moro was surprised to see a small force standing before the gated perimeter. He looked at Reikan. “Those are Ambermead troops.”

“What are they doing in Morlin?” asked Reikan. “It’s a hundred leagues or more away.”

“Doesn’t matter, does it?” asked Maliana. She stood with sword in hand and chest pushed forward, chin tightly inclined. “This is war—nothing we’re not used to.”

Reikan scoffed. “Speak for yourself. I never had to fight humans.”

Moro was reminded of Braelin’s words yet again. “Such is the life of a war dog. When war is upon us, then war becomes us.”

“What?” asked Reikan.

Moro shook his head. “Nothing.”

Malaina shrugged. “You’re either fighting humans, or you’re facing the orcs.” She looked more fierce now than she had since being captured. “If you ever wish to find a way back, you’ll do what needs to be done. This is a long game of surviving now.”

Vig’ka and the other sangribörs walked down to the sentinels. “I shall return your strength for this raid. Er’goth wants only the strong. Survive, kill, and you will find yourself rewarded by Er’goth himself once we reach home.”

Moro braced himself for the burning energy. Only this time, the energy started cold as it washed over him. It was less than half the power he was given by Vig’ka the first time.

Glancing over his shoulder, he studied the sangribörs as they pressed purple flames into the sentinels. If it affected the orcs using fûrin, they showed nothing but strength.

Is this why the orcs are always so strong? Moro thought. He shook his head and looked down at the guards from Ambermead. Innocents I won’t kill. Soldiers have a chance to fight back.

“Earn your life,” Vig’ka said loudly. He lifted his staff in his air, a signal for the sentinels.

Moro’s heart jolted as the sentinels roared and ran down the hill toward Morlin. His chest grew tight as he gripped two daggers and looked back at Thar’lok. The general gave him a twisted grin and a nod. “Fuck.”

He charged after the sentinels, flipping his daggers to a reverse grip so he wouldn’t stab himself should he trip down the hill. One of the Ambermead guards lifted a pike high and roared. The armored soldiers ran forward.

Just as Moro spotted a row of archers rise above the perimeter barrier, four arrows flew from behind him, knocking four of them down. He recognized the long, black bolts; valrav's arrows. Another round was released into the Morlin archers. The sentinels cheered.

They're protecting us? Moro thought as the sentinels collided swords against shields, spears against flesh. Keeping his eyes to the front, he spotted a spear thrown in his direction. He ducked and spun his daggers upright. Closing in on the first soldier, he threw one, then the other. The first dagger struck perfectly in the soldier’s throat, just below his iron helmet and above his clavicle plate.

The second bounced off of the chain mail covering the soldier’s torso.

Moro pulled out a third dagger from behind his belt and shifted to a second target. Before he could throw his dagger, a sentinel from one of the other wagons stopped the man dead in his tracks with a spear thrust through his nose.

Pulling the spearhead out, the sentinel smashed into the soldier’s helmet, knocking it off with the wooden shaft. With a final spin, the sentinel issued a second stab into the soldier’s eye.

Another soldier came for the backside of the sentinel. “Hey!” Moro yelled and sprinted forward. He leaped into the air and landed a knee into the side of the soldier, interrupting his attack and knocking him sideways.

As he landed, he lunged forward and stabbed his dagger into the soldier’s inner thigh. Pulling out his last dagger reverse grip, he slit the soldier’s throat.

Within minutes, the sentinels had prevailed with no casualties—minimal injuries. Moro looked around. Dead warriors were expected in war. Sentinels had always been taught to stay unemotional when it came to death. But then came Thar’lok’s voice.

“Go! Kill!”

The sentinels seemed to lose all hesitation they had for the raid ahead. They lifted their weapons, roared and ran forth. Moro waited and sagged his shoulders. “Come on!” he yelled at the other sentinels. “Is this who we are now?”

The gate was no match. In seconds, it was pried open. Moro shook his head as a wave of nausea filled his stomach. He hung his head, then shook it. “I’ll die before—” he halted and turned around and glared at the orcs. “I’ll die before I kill the innocent!”

And then came a sound that wrenched his gut more than anything ever had in the trenches. A child screamed, followed by a woman’s wails. A wave of rage filled his chest.

He whirled around and ran into Morlin. As he entered through the busted gateway, he spotted a sentinel dragging a woman by her hair. Her child, a toddler, was screaming and chasing after them, calling for his mother. Moro’s heart pounded in his chest. Without hesitation, he threw a dagger, stabbing the sentinel in the back.

The man yelped and arched his back, letting go of the woman. She quickly scrambled to her feet, picked up her child and ran. The sentinel slowly turned around, trying to reach for the blade.

Moro was already upon him. His second dagger found its way into the soft tissue below the sentinel’s chin. As he fell, Moro took his sword. From the corner of his eye, he spotted another sentinel barreling toward him with a spear.

Moro couldn’t turn fast enough this time. The tip of the spear stabbed into the meat of his shoulder, sending a burning pain through his chest and back.

The sentinel who attacked was Nisha.

“Turning on your own kind now?” she growled as she pushed Moro backward.

Moro dropped the dagger in his right hand and grabbed the shaft of the spear. Planting his foot, he turned, ripping the iron from his shoulder with a cry. It burned more as the sharp edge sliced across his chest.

With the sword in his left hand, he swung wildly, aiming low. The blade found the outside of Nisha’s knee.

“This isn’t who we are!” Moro yelled as she limped backward a few steps. He could feel the warm blood running down his chest and ribs.

“It’s kill or die now!” she yelled, then winced as she shifted her balance to her good leg. “It’s war, Moro! There is no escape, remember?” She lunged forward with her spear. It was slow, sluggish.

Moro turned and parried the shaft of the spear downward. Twisting back to face her, he swung backward, his sword slashing across Nisha’s breast. She screamed as she was knocked onto her back. “Not like this!” he yelled.

From the ground, she surprised Moro by thrusting her spear again. The sharp point sliced into Moro’s calf muscle. “Fuck you!"

He roared and staggered back and dropped. Turning awkwardly, he aimed for her again. The sword was buried into Nisha’s stomach.

She groaned and grunted, then tried to lift her spear again. “They'll…kill…you."

He pulled the blade free and readjusted his aim. Another stab found her lungs. She stopped moving.

Moro growled and winced as he stood. Blood ran down the inside of his sleeve and trickled down his fingertips. His leg burned, but that cut wasn’t deep. He looked over his shoulder, his heart sinking as he realized the orcs could clearly see what he was doing. Breathing heavily, he pulled the sword from her chest, turned and faced them.

The arrows that should have found his chest for his defiance never came. The orcs didn't move.

Another scream from a young girl came from a house around the corner. Moro looked down at the blood soaking his hand now. He clenched his jaws and slung his hand downward, spraying blood into the dirt road. “Fucking…shit."

Just as he entered the house from where the kid screamed, he found a sentinel heaped over a teenage girl. Her tan dress was ripped open, exposing her breasts.

The sentinel’s leggings were pulled down, his hands holding hers to the floor. “Mother—” Moro ran forward, driving his sword through the sentinel’s back and lungs, “—fucker!”

He ripped the sword free and swung horizontally, removing the sentinel’s head. Dots of red covered the girl and his chest.

She screamed as the sentinel was knocked sideways. “No! Please!"

“Are you…alright?” He knew it was a dumb question. Of course she wasn’t. She screamed again and covered herself with the tattered remains of her dress.

Footsteps landed on the floor behind Moro. He turned to see another sentinel charging him, or perhaps her. “Help me with her,” Moro said quickly.

The sentinel grinned and ran forward, his eyes locked onto the girl. Moro finished turning to face the sentinel as he stood. He lifted his sword vertically, carving a deep gash from his groin to his face. Blood sprayed from the man’s nose and forehead as he stumbled backward, his eyes rolling back. He didn't even yell, shock taking over his body.

Moro followed the sentinel in his steps. As the man crashed against the wall, Moro drove the sword into his chest. The blade made a dull thud as it stuck into the wood wall. The girl scrambled to her feet and ran to the back of the single room house.

As he pulled the sword free, the sentinel dropped to the floor with a dull thump. Turning out, he winced at the pain in his shoulder. “Are you hurt?” The girl curled up in a ball, shielding herself with her arms. She could do nothing but whimper and shield her eyes from what she assumed was coming.

Moro pressed the point of the sword into the floorboard and knelt down to catch his breath, a near fruitless effort. He let go of the sword and clutched his right shoulder. Any pressure to slow the bleeding would help. He looked around the room.

The neighbor's house erupted in shouting over a clanging of metal. Moro huffed, rolled his eyes, grabbed the sword to help him stand. He grunted as he used the sword as a crutch. Now the pain in his leg was growing hotter.

“Stay here."

He bent down and picked up the second sentinel’s sword.

Turning around, he pushed the door shut and stabbed the sword into the floor, barring it shut from within. Moro quickly went to the north east window. With some grunting and sweating, he managed to climb out. Another round of clangs of metal and thumps rang out, barely muffled by the thin wall.

Moro creeped out the front of the house and peered through the smeared and broken window. Two sentinels were fighting each other. He immediately recognized Reikan.

The front door was hanging unnaturally from a single henge. He ran in and realized there was a family of five hunkered down behind Reikan. Without a word, Moro slashed the sentinel in front of him across the back.

The man cried out and turned to face Moro. Reikan stepped closer to the sentinel and ran him through the side with a short sword.

Moro drove his blade through the sentinel’s chest. He stood wide-eyed, staring at Moro.

Pulling his blade out, Moro locked eyes with Reikan, trying to hide his agony. “What are you…doing?”

He looked over the man who had been his cage mate for the last couple of weeks. Reikan had a deep gouge before his left rib cage, a busted lip and a cut across his ear.

“Can’t do it,” said Reikan. “Couldn’t let him hurt them, Moro.” He held up his sword. “And I won’t let you either.”

He looked at Moro’s shoulder, the blood running down his arm. Then he glanced at the sentinel on the floor. He narrowed his eyes on Moro. “What are you doing?”

Moro let out an airy laugh and relaxed his sword arm. His vision blurred as nausea filled his stomach. “You’re a…good man…Reikan.” His legs lost their strength and he collapsed. Unconscious.

Chapter 15:

Gro’nzael Grove

Aric held his hand out, his face twisted awkwardly as he aimed for a tree. Trying to draw on the power he felt over a week ago was like trying to pull a stone from the bottom of the sea, from the surface of the sea.

He could feel the bond to Eldras growing stronger, but the magic was untouchable. He let out the breath he was holding while concentrating. “Fucking—gods damn it!”

“It’s alright, Aric,” said Francil. “Once your bond grows-”

“Stronger?” Aric interrupted. “Yeah. You keep saying that. I just—I can’t do it.”

“We have time, kid,” said Francil. “We haven’t seen anyone for a week. You just need proper rest—and a proper meal.”

Aric glanced at Eldras. The dragon had grown quickly in the past week. Now he was the height of a small dog, though twice as long. The nubs on his spine had become harder, yet fuller in their golden color. His wings had become more proportional as well.

Their words had become tighter, more solidified in Aric’s mind. He realized there was a brush of fear pushing against his frustration. “I’m sorry, boy.”

“It’s alright,” said Eldras.

Aric felt another familiar sensation push across the bond as Eldras cocked his head. He smirked. “Hungry?”

Eldras perked up. “Food?”

Aric glanced at Francil. “Sorry."

“For what?"

Aric sighed. “For snapping like that. I’m just frustrated. And Eldras is hungry.”

Francil smiled softly. “I know you are.” He looked at Eldras and snorted. “I know you both are.”

He dug his hand into the sack he had taken from Direhallow and pulled out some smoked squirrel and deer meat from their fifth day of traveling. The salt had been all but used to preserve the meat.

“We can eat on the move,” said Aric. He glanced up at the sun. It was directly above them, filtering light through the canopy. While the Vrelengard was shaded, it was more humid than the open flatlands. “Sound good, boy?”

“Good,” said Eldras.

As the day grew on, Aric realized their makeshift waterskins were nearly depleted. “Is there a stream anywhere along the way?”

“Not that I’m aware,” said Francil. “Such is why I suggested we ration the water—if you remember.”

Aric had regretted drinking a quarter of the water after Francil brought it from a creek a few days ago while he and Eldras were hunting for more squirrels.

Unfortunately, Eldras’s clumsy steps had left Aric without a shot of his new bow. In fact, he hadn't had a chance to shoot anything with it yet. “How much further then?”

Francil sighed. “I’d say another five days and we’ll reach Dawn Harbor—or at least the skirts.”

“Then I have five days to figure out how to use this magic,” Aric said. After a long walk of silence, he asked, “what’s the difference between my magic and the elven magic?”

“We’ve already theorized this, haven’t we?” asked Francil. “Elven magic is innate. They use spells from a language lost upon this world to all except for themselves. It’s basic Velarian, but the summoning of the magic is different. Not all elves have it. But if an elf becomes a dragonmage, they certainly have the ability to tap into it with ease. And it becomes amplified.”

“Maybe it’s just the understanding of the word,” said Aric. He narrowed his eyes. “What’s the word for fire?”

Francil huffed and rolled his eyes. “It isn’t that simple, kid. The elves have a fundamental understanding of the truth of their spellweaving. It’s not as easy as saying, fire, even in their language."

“Perhaps,” Aric said with a smirk. “That’s why I chose fire. Almost everyone in the world understands fire; what it takes to make it, sustain it. Everyone knows that fire creates heat—light. So what is it?”

Francil stopped walking. “I’ll tell you, but I want you to try something else as well.”

Aric halted and turned to face Francil with resurged excitement. “What?”

“That twinge you feel, that spark,” said Francil.

Aric quirked a brow. “The bond?”

“If that’s what you insist on calling it, sure.” Francil pointed at his own chest. “I want you to focus on that. Focus on the power and the connection you feel to Eldras.”

Aric nodded. “Alright. What’s the word?”

“Ildur.”

Francil looked around quickly. “And just for the shits of it if it actually works, you may want to aim at something that won’t catch the forest on fire.”

Aric snorted and looked around. “Everything in sight is flammable.” More than flammable. The resin in the evergreens would fuel a small flame into an inferno.

Francil hummed, then looked down. “Best just aim at the soil then.” He slid his foot across the ground several times, clearing a spot free of pine needles. “Remember, focus on the arte—the bond first.”

Aric nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. He glanced at Eldras and grinned. “Ready to see something?”

“Yes.” Eldras ducked down, as if about to pounce.

Aric exhaled and looked at the darkened patch of ground. He focused on the bond, feeling Eldras’s excitement with his own. Holding his hand out, palm facing the dirt, he whispered, “Ildur.” He moved his hand out of the way to inspect the ground. Nothing. Not a spark or a puff of smoke.

He tried again. And again, nothing. He furrowed his brows and tried again. He focused on Eldras’s presence in his mind. “Ildur.” Nothing. “Ildur!”

“It’s alright,” said Francil. “I didn’t expect it to work.”

Aric focused on what the word meant. Fire. It needs air, fuel and a spark. There’s the air. He looked toward the orange pine needles on the ground. There’s the fuel. The magic is the spark.

“Ildur!” Again, nothing. He threw his hands up. “Fuck off!”

“You are not an elf,” said Francil. “In time, we’ll-”

“I know!” Aric yelled, then marched on.

“Aric?” asked Eldras.

Aric halted again. The soft, high-pitched voice of the dragon still reminded him of a child. A child he was now responsible for, whether he liked it or not. He let go of his anger as he felt a wave of guilt come through the bond. “It’s alright, boy. It's...my fault. Not yours.”

“I help?” Eldras asked.

Francil walked up to Aric and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, kid.”

Aric ignored Francil for a moment. “Can you help?” he asked Eldras. “How can you?”

Eldras walked up to Aric and pressed his nose against Aric’s palm. “Don’t move. Stay.”

“What’s he-”

“Shh,” Aric silenced his former captain. “He says he can help. I don’t know what—” His words were cut short as a blazing energy filled his chest. Every fiber of muscle in his body flexed, raising him up to the tips of his toes. His back arched as he cried out.

Then the world fell silent. Aric opened his eyes. He was no longer in the forest but in a building. Nothing was clear though. As if seeing through stained glass, he looked around. Two men sat at a too-perfectly cut table. They wore strange white cloaks and each had a leather-bound book in front of them.

“Energy is the flow of life,” said the first man. “Roughly, it has always been determined as the ability to do work. But if we break that down, it’s quite simple.”

“Energy can be transferred from one form to another,” said the second man. He picked up a thin stick and moved it across the parchment. It marked the page as a quill dipped in ink would. “If we can develop a way to harness it, then control how it is shifted, we have the potential to save the planet. We can stop them.”

Aric gasped as he was pulled back to reality. He landed on his hands and knees, breathing heavily and shivering. His body was chilled, as if walking in the snow all day. “What…the hell…was that?”

“I help,” said Eldras. “Memory from ancestors.”

Francil helped Aric to his feet. “Did he just meld minds with you?”

Aric shook his head. “What? Meld—what?”

“Dragons have the ability to share memories, thoughts, desires,” explained Francil. “Is that…?”

Aric nodded. “I think so.” He looked at Eldras again. “What was that?”

“Your magic,” said Eldras. “I feel it there. In memory.”

Aric pressed his palm against his temple. The memory seemed to linger for a moment. He could still smell the room, and hear the men talking. “Your ancestors' memory? How is that-?”

“Dragons have ancestral knowledge,” said Francil. “Memories passed down through their bloodline. They have many they can’t access until it’s the right time, or it’s dire to their situation.”

Aric shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“What was it?” asked Francil.

Aric explained the vision, though the details were fading now. “I think my magic has something to do with—” he narrowed his eyes and shook his head, “—this energy transfer, or energy harness.”

Francil looked down. “Well that doesn’t help at all.” He took a deep breath. “Elves call energy mana, or spirit sometimes. Regardless, they need it to perform magic. Their arte allows them to connect directly to a dragon’s energy."

Aric quirked a brow. “What does that mean for us?"

Francil huffed. “The bond is a steady flow of energy between dragonmage and dragon. That—doesn’t help understand how your magic is any different.”

“You’re telling me something I don’t know right now,” Aric said sarcastically.

“I help,” said Eldras again.

Aric nodded. Beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip and forehead. “Yeah, boy. You helped.” The bond shuddered, sending a wave of fear into Aric’s chest. “What’s wrong?”

“Aric,” Francil said quietly yet sternly. “Get out your bow—slowly.”

“They come,” said Eldras. He stepped closer to Aric, pressing against his leg. “They dangerous.”

Aric’s heart jolted. He slowly turned, sliding the bow off of his back. “Arrows. In the bag,” he whispered.

Francil pulled out his short sword and turned his back to Aric. “Easy, kid.”

Aric could feel the tension rising across the bond. A deafening silence filled the forest. “What is it, boy?”

“Wolves,” said Eldras, his inner voice trembling. “But different.”

Aric pulled out three arrows he had made and nocked one. “Where are they?”

“There,” Francil said, his eyes locked onto a point dead ahead in the woods.

Aric followed Francil’s stare. He couldn’t see anything but trees and bushes. He trusted the halfborn’s sight over his own though. So he lifted the bow. Please don’t break, he silently begged the bow as he drew the arrow back.

First, he saw the bushes move. He lined his eye up with the shaft of the arrow. Then, he watched with terror as the bush parted and a dire wolf stepped out, twice the size of any regular wolf. Even larger than the mountain wolves of Bearmaw.

“Hold,” Francil said slowly.

A second wolf appeared, slightly smaller than the first. Both of their eyes locked onto Eldras. And then, the strangest thing Aric had ever seen happened just as he was prepared to release the arrow into the thick chest of the larger wolf. The wolves dipped down in a low bow.

“Shit,” Francil said softly. He lowered his sword, then reached up and pushed Aric’s bow arm down. “They aren’t wolves, kid.” He looked around, then up at the sky. “I didn’t realize we had ventured so far north.”

Aric glanced at Francil with furrowed brows. “What? I can see them!” He lifted his bow up again, Eldras’s fear driving his own now. “So far north? What’s…”

As a mudslide flows and folds into itself, the wolves shrank down in size and rolled across the weeds. What stood afterward on two legs were not wolves, but a man and a woman.

They were garbed in patches of leather only covering their pubic areas, and the woman’s breasts. Their skin was as dull as ash, gray yet unblemished. Flowing down their backs were manes of bluish gray hair.

The man walked forward first and knelt, dipping his head low. He pressed one fist against his chest, and held the other out to the side. “By thee, honored dragonmage, my apologies for the threat to you and your honored dragon.”

The woman copied the man, kneeling and pressing her fist against her chest. Her other hand extended outward. “And I, honored dragonmage, apologize for the threat as well.” She looked at the man. “We did not know such grace had gained permittance to the Gro’nzael.”

Aric lowered his bow. He had heard the name before, but he had never laid eyes on the coveted Gro’nzael Grove. He quickly looked around. Nothing appeared different from the last fifteen leagues. “You’re druids?” He looked down for a moment, ridiculing himself silently for such a stupid question. Dumbass. Who else can shapeshift and has gray skin?

“You can stand, dear keepers of the grove,” said Francil, uncharacteristically professional and polite. “We apologize as well, for we did not recognize the Gro’nzael from the ground.”

Aric cocked his head and looked at Francil. His stomach churned. He had never seen the captain so pale, a face of a man who stood on thin and cracking ice. He looked down at Eldras. “It’s alright. I—I think they’re friendlies.”

“Friendlies?” asked Eldras. He stepped out from behind Aric’s leg. “What are friendlies?”

“Not the enemy,” Aric said. Once the druids stood, he realized they were at least a head taller than him or Francil.

“I am Tanaka,” said the man. He carried a deep voice and a tribalistic accent Aric didn’t recognize. Tanaka gestured to the woman. “This is my sister, Revan.” He smiled at Eldras. “Such a long time has it been since we were graced with the presence of a dragon. And we have never laid eyes on a hatchling.”

“You there,” said Revan. Her eyes were on Aric. “You bear a semblance to a human more than an elf.”

“Oh,” Aric said with a nervous chuckle. “I’m-”

“He’s always getting told that,” Francil lied. “I am Francil, Sentinel Captain to the Elven Court.”

Revan blinked rapidly and looked at Francil. “Is he your ward?”

Aric snorted. “No. I’m not. If anything, he's my ward.”

Francil looked sideways at Aric, as if to ask, “Really, kid?”

“What is your situation here?” asked Tanaka, his tone losing some of its hospitality. He glanced at Revan, then back at Aric. “We received no word of your arrival.”

“We’re only passing through,” said Francil. “As I said we didn’t recognize your grove. We can’t ride the dragon yet so we-”

“What is your name?” Raven asked, her gray eyes back on Aric.

Aric swallowed a lump in his throat. “Aric Telendris.” He pointed down. “This is Eldras.”

“Telendris,” said Tanaka with a hint of curiosity. “Such is no elven surname.”

“Shit,” Aric said to Eldras. His heart beat faster as he realized his mistake. “Maybe not so friendly, boy.”

Eldras backed up. “We run?”

Aric swallowed a lump in his throat. His right hand slowly put the tension back on his arrow, though he was careful to not draw it back noticeably. “If I say run, you run.”

“Are you lost, honored dragonmage?” she asked quickly.

“No,” Aric lied. “We’re just passing through to Dawn Harbor.” He quickly thought of another lie. “We have been summoned by King Paulus to—investigate something. Dragonmage business, you know.”

His heart was pounding in his chest now. A strange nervousness made his hand tremble. Tales of druids had spread for generations. And while he had never met anyone who had seen the Gro’nzael Grove, there were nightmares that were born from such a habitat. The Gro’nzael was known for being the most hostile of the druid groves. In truth, he had only heard stories of druids, but they were never happy tales. And they always ended the same; druids shapeshifting into ravenous predators and tearing people apart.

Tanaka cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Certainly you mean Queen Elsavaera.”

Aric’s heart sank. Damn it. The elf queen, not the human king.

“Of course,” said Francil. “He means he was summoned by Our Lady Elsavaera to investigate something on behalf of King Paulus.”

“Why don’t you come with us?” asked Tanaka. “We can provide you with a meal and clearer directions. It is the least we can do for the Elven Court and a dragonmage.”

Aric looked at Francil. There was something soft about the way the druids spoke. It washed away Aric’s fear, as if enticing. “I could use a meal,” he said. His eyes widened. Why did I say that?

“No, thank you,” said Francil. “Now that I know we're in the Gro’nzael Grove, I know which way to travel.”

Aric was relieved. Deep down, he wanted to run. He reached out for the bond. “Be ready to move—quickly.”

“Not friendlies?”

“Definitely not. They’re trying to compel me with magic…I think.” Aric’s heart jolted as he noticed Revan’s hand was slowly making circles.

“Please,” said Tanaka. His tone turned stone cold. His face hardened as his dark eyes narrowed on Aric. “We insist.”

Again, Aric felt the calming invitation of Tanaka’s words. “I…”

“We must decline and continue on our order,” said Francil. “We apologize for the trespass. But we really must get going.”

Eldras stepped out beside Aric and sniffed the air. “They have food?”

Aric furrowed his brows and looked down at the druids’ hands. They certainly had no food. Or at least, not with them. But now, he realized Tanaka was making rotations with his hand too. His heart sank. They’re definitely using magic, he thought. He shook his head. “Not friendlies, Eldras! They’re trying to lure us.”

“You,” Revan said to Francil. “You’ve deceived us.”

“He is no elf,” said Tanaka, looking at Aric. “But you are.”

Francil’s sword arm came back up. “I’m half. And you’ve broken accords with your witchery. He is a dragonmage.”

“He is human!” Revan hissed. Her eyes glowed bright orange and flickering like fire.

“But a dragonmage nonetheless!” Francil roared. “Where is your God?”

Aric took aim at Tanaka’s bare chest, ignoring Francil’s strange question. “You were trying to compel me with magic!”

“It was a test,” said Revan. “One you’ve failed!” With her last word, she shifted back into the form of a wolf.

“You’ve stolen a dragon,” growled Tanaka. He slowly shook his head. Turning his face skyward, he let out a high pitched howl. “You’ve condemned yourselves by coming here.” In a blur of gray swirling hair, he shifted back into the massive wolf. From behind dozens of trees, more wolves stepped out. Three massive cougars descended from the evergreens.

“Eldras, run!” Aric bellowed through the bond. He was once again surprised at the dragon’s agility as Eldras darted south.

“Don’t kill one,” Francil said from behind Aric.

“What?” Aric questioned over his shoulder as they ran after Eldras. “Why?”

“They’ve seen you with a dragon,” said Francil. “Give me that bow.”

Aric held it out. “And?”

“And if you kill one—as a dragonmage—you’ll shatter the accords between elves and druids.” Francil took the arrows and released them rapidly behind him. Two found their mark in druid chests.

“I’m not with the elves,” Aric yelled back. He stole a glance over his shoulder. Three wolves and one of the cats were flanking to his right.

“Yeah? Well, they don’t know that,” Francil reached back and pulled out the last three arrows from his pack. Half turning, he released them in rapid succession. Two more druids were felled with whimpers of agony. “Now do they?”

Aric’s heart pounded in his chest. “How far will they chase us?”

“I don’t know!” yelled Francil. He pulled his short sword out again. “But move your ass faster!”

Aric glanced to the right again. The druids were cutting diagonally through the woods, getting closer by the second. He looked at Eldras and felt the wave of panic through the bond. The spark that burned in his chest outside Direhallow twinged, then warmed, and progressed to a hot flame inside. He clutched his chest. “Eldras!”

From the right, a dark gray wolf leaped forward, landing on Eldras’s back. The dragon roared, his voice breaking as he and the wolf rolled. “Aric!”

As if Eldras had shouted through cupped hands directly into his ear, Aric heard the cry of his dragon resonate through his entire body. The energy within burned as his heart pounded. In a second, he caught up to the wolf, now standing over top of Eldras. “No!” Aric screamed and swung his fist as hard as he could at the druid’s head.

There was a loud crack, as if a tree limb had been snapped in half. Aric’s punch carried so much momentum, he fell beyond the druid. Landing sideways, he lost his balance and rolled. Back to his feet in a flash, he jerked his head backward. The wolf stood still, but something was off, twisted.

Aric looked down at his fist. His hand and wrist were red, glistening with blood. His stomach twisted in a knot as he realized what he had done. Realized that his fist went clean through the druid’s head—with ease. The other two wolves and the cat stopped.

Francil turned around and gasped. “No! What did you do?”

“Help!”

Another wave of panic pushed through the bond. Aric stepped forward and kicked the druid in the side, sending it rolling across the foliage. He knelt down. “I got you, boy. You’re alright.”

Aric looked up at the druids staring at him. The fire in his chest dwindled, but it remained present. One by one the druids began transforming back to their bipedal forms. Then the body with a mangled head shifted.

Aric’s heart sank. Lying before him was Tanaka. Or it almost looked like Tanaka. When Revan cried out and ran to her brother’s side, Aric picked up Eldras and stepped back. He was heavier than expected, but Aric didn’t care.

“Why?” asked Francil. “I told you—he’s a dragonmage!”

Revan looked up with tears streaming down our face. “You…broke the accords. Your kind shall answer to the groves. You will be sentenced to death.” She looked over her shoulder at the awaiting druids. “Take them.”

Aric halted. “You saw what happened when you tried that the first time!” He winced as the bond flared again. “Don’t…do this,” he grunted.

“Put me down,” said Eldras. “I help. I fight.”

Aric was reluctant to put Eldras down again, but he knew his options were slim. “Stay behind me. I’m actually going to have to set you down to fight.”

“Everyone, just…calm down,” said Francil. He lowered his sword. “Yes. We deceived you. But we’re not with the Elven Court—at least no longer are we with them. And he is a dragonmage. A human dragonmage. Eldras chose him and-”

“Seize them!” Revan roared.

Aric quickly set Eldras down, the glare burning hotter inside. “Don’t—” He cried out as the agony brought tears to his eyes.

One of the druids seized the opportunity and lurched forward. With a roar, she landed in a wolf form, then bounded toward Aric, black, shiny claws first.

Once more, time slowed for Aric. He held his hands out to catch the wolf. The energy from within pushed down his arms, shredding his left sleeve into dust. Bright, white light filled his hands then exploded outward. Unlike the first time, the energy erupted in a wide cone. The wolf’s lips blew back, exposing her razor sharp teeth before her flesh peeled back, flaking into particles.

Her gray eyes swelled, then exploded with black liquid. As her skull cracked open, her front legs and chest melted. The small bones in her legs crumpled like dried dirt.

Normal sense of time returned as the power spread out like a fan. Altogether, seven druids were diminished to a bloody mist in the blink of an eye. The pine needles on the ground caught fire as the trees swayed backward and cracked from the force of Aric’s magic, stripped free of their needles. Soil was torn free and scattered away.

Then the pain stopped.

Aric fell to his knees, weakened and light headed. His vision blurred as a high pitched ringing filled his ears. Someone was pulling him back to his feet. Someone was saying something, but he couldn’t understand the words. He was being dragged backward, Eldras running close to his feet.

“We gotta go, kid.”

“Francil,” Aric mumbled. His body was weakened. Without success, he tried to get his feet underneath him. “Eldras.”

“He’s here.”

Aric struggled and caught a glance over his shoulder. Druids were running around as a bright inferno was devouring the evergreens.

“Take energy,” said Eldras. “I help.”

Without warning, Aric found his senses clearing. The ringing stopped. His eyes focused and he realized his arm was around Francil’s neck. He tried to stand again, but his legs were useless. “What’s—what’s wrong…with my legs, sir?”

“You’ve depleted yourself,” said Francil. He looked sideways at Aric. “Again! I said don’t kill one. And you’ve just burned down a fucking grove!”

“I had to…do something,” Aric said. He felt a heavy sense of guilt and embarrassment as his boots dragged the ground.

“I know you did,” said Francil. “Gods damn it, I know you did. But you may have just started another war.”

Chapter 16:

Move, or Be Moved

Aric and Francil sat beneath the canopy of dense cedar trees. Neither had spoken for the past hour. The aroma of burning evergreens had died down three leagues ago.

Eldras looked up at Aric. “Is Francil angry with me?”

Aric sighed. “No, he isn’t mad at you, boy.” He looked up at Francil. “He’s got me to be angry with.”

Francil threw a stone he was fidgeting with. “I’m not mad, Aric. Disappointed perhaps. I just…I’m thinking.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been quiet since we left the grove.”

“I’ve seen your power twice now,” said Francil. “I’ve seen a lot of magic in my time on Maerïnor, but what you have is something different entirely. It’s so—powerful. And I can’t help but believe the tale of the Elmerïan just a little more.”

Aric let out a slow breath and shook his head as he thought of the prophecy. If he was this powerful by accident, and so early into his bond, how strong would he become? When, if ever, would he gain control. “It’s frustrating. I know war. I know how to fight. But this…"

“You’re used to being the one who gets things done,” said Francil. “And now you’re out of your depth. There's no comfortability or familiarity. Is that about right?”

“Look at what happened,” Aric said. He shifted uncomfortably as he thought about the damage he had caused. “What if that happens by accident—because I can’t control this power inside me? What if what I've become never amounts to anything but what the elves fear?”

“Well,” Francil said as he stood. He cupped his hands on his hips. “That’s what I’ve been thinking about. You have only tapped into this power twice. And both times when he was in danger."

Aric nodded and looked at Eldras. “It's strange. I never had something to care for beyond my parents and Moro. And none of them did I have to protect. With him, it's like something inside me forces me to be his shield, his protector."

“I think it’s like a muscle," Francil said. “When you’ve been attacked in the past, you’ve had experience and reflexes to rely on. Honed by years of combat.”

“It’s not like a muscle,” said Aric. “It happens upon me like—" He paused and shook his head. Words could not describe the sensation. “I don’t even know. I can feel it before it unleashes. The bond flares up and it fucking hurts. But I can do next to nothing to stop it.”

Francil took a deep breath and looked at Eldras. “Can you feel your bond with him as it happens?”

“As the power came out?” Aric asked. He shook his head. “I—maybe. It sort of melds together, the power and the bond. Then it feels like I swallowed a torch.”

“The first time, it looked like a beam of light,” said Francil. “This time it was accompanied by heat. Now, I’m certain of what I said before; you’re unleashing raw energy, just like the prophets say." His voice softened. He took a deep breath. “Energy can be in many forms; light, heat, even sound. I think that’s where the understanding of your power lies.”

“How does that help me now?” Aric asked quickly. “I can’t control it.”

“Maybe you summoned it by reflex,” said Francil. “Just as you would block a sword by instinct. You were protecting Eldras.” He sighed and narrowed his eyes. “Can you push your arte in any direction in your mind?”

Aric shook his head and shrugged. In truth, he hadn't tried. “I don’t know. It’s just there. I can feel Eldras as if he’s in my mind—or connected to my soul.”

“Close your eyes.”

Aric cocked his head. “Why?”

“I want you to close your eyes and focus on your arte, your bond,” said Francil. “Try to feel beyond Eldras’s presence. That spark of life within. That’s what you want to reach.”

Aric huffed and folded his arms. Closing his eyes, he reached out for the bond with his mind. It had become easier to find over the last week. It was as if he was peering into a dark room. He could feel someone else standing beside him. All around him. Eldras.

“Dig deep,” said Francil. “Dragonmages always learn to find their center first. Without it, their magic exists, but it can't flow.”

Aric slowed his breathing and pushed his mind into the presence in the dark, imagining himself walking into the abyss. And then, he spotted it. A tiny dot of light, iridescent and flickering. In his mind, he moved toward it. “I see something.”

“Can you touch it with your mind?”

Aric imagined himself as a physical being in the darkness. His hands came forward, though he couldn’t see them. He reached out and passed through the speck of light as if it were air.

Though he couldn’t feel it in his mind, a warm energy pushed into his chest. He squeezed his eyes tighter as he anticipated the blazing heat again. It didn’t come. The warmth was comforting, welcoming almost. “I—I think so.”

“Good,” said Francil. “That’s the center of your spark. Once you can reach it, you can let your magic flow. Or at least that’s what I understand of elves.”

“What do I do now?” asked Aric. The fragment of light shimmered with alternating colors.

“Imagine that energy fueling what you want it to do,” said Francil. “Don’t pull too harshly on it. That’s your mana. I think both times you used too much.”

As he was instructed, Aric imagined a fire again. He held his hand out, focusing on the pine needles at his feet as the fuel.  Then warmth in his chest expanded to his shoulders. As if pushing water through a channel, he forced it down his arms, into his wrists and then his palms. He pushed outward, imagining the energy igniting the pine.

He opened his eyes. Once again the ground was untouched by his power. “Fuck!” he yelled and threw his hands up. “This is muleshit!”

“Hmm,” Francil hummed. “What was it the men said in the memory Eldras shared?”

Aric’s heart pounded in his chest. “I don’t know! Something—something about energy being transferred or something.”

Francil folded his arms. He sank back and looked around. “Can you feel any energy around you? The sunlight? It could be heat or light.”

Aric looked up and squinted as a ray of light stabbed his eyes. He held his hand up and closed his eyes. It was there. He hadn’t noticed before, but a sensation of energy similar to the bond, yet significantly weaker, touched his palm. “I think so.”

“I think what you have been trying to do is create,” said Francil. He chuckled. “Of course. Why didn't I see it before?"

Aric looked at Francil and lowered his hand. “Can I not create things with magic?”

“Maybe,” Francil said as he nodded. “One day perhaps. But I think it will be a different way than the elves create. Try to pull on the energy of the sunlight. Look deep into the energy. Do you see a spark of power within the light?”

Aric sighed. Closing his eyes, he lifted his hand again and focused. In his mind he could see waves in the light. Tiny specks of glowing energy. Millions at least and glowing like a river toward the world from the sky. His heart hammered against his chest with excitement. “There is!”

“Try to move them,” said Francil.

“I can help,” said Eldras.

Aric furrowed his brows. “Can you see what I see?”

“I feel it,” said Eldras. “I will help you push.”

Aric focused his mind on gripping the particles of light, then moving them to the right. As leaves would blow across a field, he felt the particles shift away from his body. The warmth on his arms from the sun vanished. He kept his eyes closed. “What’s it—is it doing anything.”

“Focus on doing what you’re doing,” said Francil. “But open your eyes, kid.”

Keeping his mind on the task, Aric opened his eyes. A shadow covered his body. He looked up and saw the sun’s ray bending, as it does in water. He smiled widely and slowly lowered his hand.

The light resumed its line. The sharp stab temporarily blinded him. “Shit!” he hissed and looked down. He quickly looked up at Francil. “Was I doing that?”

A sensation of glee washed over the bond. He looked down at Eldras. “Were you doing that?”

“I helped,” said Eldras. He stood up as tall as he could on all fours, puffed his chest out, and lifted his head high. “I helped. We did it with our hearts.”

Aric laughed. “Let’s not boast just yet.”

“That’s quite something,” said Francil with a wide grin. “I think now I understand how your power works. That energy—” he pointed at the rays of sun, “—is something you can manipulate. Your power isn’t meant to create like the elves. It’s manipulation of energy.”

Aric chuckled and cupped his hands on his hips. “Interesting." He thought of the contrast in power he had felt when comparing the core of his bond to the sunlight. “So the bond, the mana you were talking about?”

“I think it’s just pure energy you can tap into,” said Francil. “I think you can use the energy from your arte to manipulate the energy around you. That’s how you made fire. You pushed the particles of the air. The light was the heat.”

“I didn’t—do anything,” Aric said. He thought of the fatigue that followed the first time he used magic. “Did you get weak like me after the first time?”

“Not like you,” said Eldras. “But I felt it. Our heart spark wavered. For a moment, I thought it would die.”

Aric knelt down. “Was that where your fear came from?”

“Mostly.”

Aric shook his head. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“If that’s the case,” Francil said, lifting his brows, “I’d like to see what forms of energy you can absorb.”

“I was shamed,” said Eldras.

“I wonder if-”

“Sir, please,” Aric interrupted, holding his hand out to the captain.

“Oh, you were talking,” said Francil. His face grew red.

“Why would you be shamed?” Aric asked. “Because you were afraid?”

“Yes.” Eldras lowered his head.

Guilt pushed across the bond. Then Aric’s own sense of guilt churned his stomach. “Eldras, nobody is without fear. Not even me.”

“You’re brave,” said Eldras. “I sensed it even inside my egg.”

“Is that why you chose me?” Aric asked. He reached out and rubbed Eldras’s forehead. Some of the guilt washed away to a warm energy across the bond.

“I sensed your courage and your truth,” said Eldras. “I sensed you doing the right thing even—” he looked up at Aric. “—Even if it meant you could die.”

Aric looked up at Francil, then back at Eldras with a sigh. “Did you know I was a human?”

“Yes.” Eldras stepped forward and brushed against Aric’s leg. “That’s the other reason I chose you. I saw in my ancestor’s memories of elves. They are unattached from emotion. The memories feel…cold.” He looked up into Aric’s eyes. “You felt warm.”

Aric grinned. “So you chose me because I’m emotional.” He nudged Eldras playfully.

“In part, yes.”

Aric glanced at Francil again. “He chose me because I’m a human.”

Francil’s eyes widened. He looked at Eldras. “You know you might have condemned yourself?”

Eldras looked at Aric. “Condemned? What does this mean?”

Aric took a deep breath. “Do you have any ancestral memories of a human dragonmage?”

“Yes,” said Eldras. “There have been many dragons who bonded with humans.”

Aric shot a glance at Francil as his heart jolted. “When? Wh-where?”

“I don’t know when,” said Eldras. “But I think they were here, on this land.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Francil.

Aric stood. “He said there have been many human dragonmages.”

Francil’s brows crimped low. “I think he might be mistaken.”

“Or—like you said—the elves could have rewritten history,” Aric said.

He downcast his eyes and thought of Francil’s story of the Elmerïan. “It would make sense, wouldn't it?"

Francil lifted his brows and shook his head. “What?"

“Think about it," said Aric. “What if being a human dragonmage always granted this kind of magic and not the elven magic. An Elmerïan would have always been seen as a threat. You saw what I could do by accident." He shrugged. “What if the elves simply eliminated the threat?”

Francil’s face flushed. He shook his head slowly and sat down. “Can’t be. That can’t be right. That means they would have had to kill dragons.”

Aric’s heart wrenched in his chest. “Oh. Francil—” he knelt beside the captain, “What if that’s why dragons haven’t been hatching.”

Francil looked up with widened eyes. “We don’t know they haven’t.” He looked back down with a scorn. “But that could explain why their numbers have dwindled.”

Aric turned to Eldras. “Do you know anything about why dragons haven’t been hatching?”

“No,” said Eldras.

“Aric, we need to find out how much weight this holds.”

“How?” Aric asked.

“Bör Mesari isn’t the elf city we need,” said Francil. “We need to go to Velensmir.”

Aric quirked a brow as he felt a brush of excitement across the bond. “Do you know of Velensmir, Eldras?” He looked at Francil. “Why would we go to a different elven city? I thought they-”

“I have…very old friends there,” Francil interrupted. “If anyone will tell us the answers, it’ll be them.”

Aric smirked. “You have friends?”

“A few.”

“Velensmir,” said Eldras as he chirped. “My ancestors are from Velensmir.”

Aric thought of Felorae and Nakalaen. “I met your mother once—and her rider.”

“You did?”

Aric looked down. “I was there when your egg—when you were born. When your egg was laid. I was there when she died.”

“I understand,” said Eldras.

Aric waited for a moment. There was no shift of emotion. “Are you—unbothered by that?”

“Why would I be bothered?” asked Eldras. “Should I be bothered? I didn't know them."

Aric opened his mouth to speak, then paused with confusion. He looked at Francil. “Do dragons not care for their young?”

“Free dragons do,” said Francil. “Not bonded dragons. It’s usually expected for them to grow with their chosen dragonmage. Why?”

Aric shook his head. “No reason.” He looked at Eldras. “So if we’re going to go to Velensmir-”

“I’m going into Velensmir,” Francil interrupted. “It’s important, yes, but you’ll still be a threat, a target.”

Aric pressed his lips and nodded. “Of course.”

He tried to remember tales of the elven city from when he grew up in Ambermead. He recalled travelers from Grenvil speaking of its magnificence. “So how far away is Velensmir?”

Francil looked up at the sky and released a long exhale. “Top of my head, I want to say two months.”

Aric’s eyes widened. “Two months?!”

Francil sighed. “It’s an elf city in the farthest southeastern region of Verilia, buried a hundred leagues in the deepest forest on this continent."

“Right," Arirc said dryly. He didn't know what else to say.

“And because we’ll need to go north after Dawn Harbor.”

Aric swallowed a lump in his throat. “Velensmir is south. What’s north?”

“Carcel.”

Aric rolled his eyes. “And what’s in that shithole?”

“Another old friend,” said Francil. “A swordsmith.”

Aric shook his head. “I can grab a sword on our way through Dawn Harbor.”

Francil huffed. “He's not just any swordsmith, Aric. I’ve known him since—well, a very long time, we’ll just say that. And have you never laid your eyes on a dragonmage’s sword?”

Aric remembered Felorae’s blade. It was shimmering and scarlet, unlike any other sword he had ever seen, now that he thought about it. “Felorae’s sword. I saw it. I just—didn’t think too much about it. We were under attack. It matched Nakalaen’s color. Don't most of them just match the dragon's colors?”

Francil waved his hand. “That’s often just a side effect of the magic used to make them.”

Aric furrowed his brows and cocked his head. “Wait. Dragonmages’ swords are made with magic?”

“The haförn who makes them uses a special kind of elven magic. He connects it with the bond of a dragonmage and a dragon,” Francil explained. “The coloring doesn’t always match the dragon, but what is certain is no matter how strong you become physically, you won’t dull a dragonmage’s sword’s edge...ever. You will never bend that steel into a fold. No fire will warp it.”

“I got it,” Aric said with a grin. “It’s indestructible.”

“We have time before we get there for you to learn to tap into your arte,” said Francil. “You’ll need to be able to do that at least.”

“But—” Aric shook his head. “This hafӧrn who crafts unbreakable swords, won’t he refuse since I’m a human?”

“Elmerïan,” said Francil. “We might as well get used to the name. Once the elves discover your existence, that’s what they’ll call you. Word will spread like the wildfire that burned the Castil Forest a decade ago. Verilia will come to know you as such.”

“Won’t this hafӧrn refuse an Elmerïan?” Aric said with an eye roll.

“No,” said Francil. “Not as long as I’m with you, that is. I’ll tell him to make you one. He serves the dragons. More accurately, he serves the Oath of The Dragonmages, not the elves.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “And…why would he listen to you?”

“Because I’m going to bring you straight to him,” said Francil. “And once he sees Eldras, he will have no choice under his oath but to forge a new blade.”

Aric took a deep breath and imagined having an indestructible sword. “If you say so. For now, let’s just focus on getting to Dawn Harbor. Pack your bag, old man.”

Francil lifted his brows. “Should I go back to expecting sir?”

“You’re not my captain anymore. I’m a dragonmage now,” Aric said matter-of-factly. He chuckled and looked at Eldras.

Francil grinned. “Yes, you are.”

Aric and Francil soon discovered they had traveled out of the way, far too far south in their evasion of the druids. The evergreens of the Vrelengard had begun to thin out, which meant they were getting closer to the southern border.

“Son of a bitch!” hissed Francil.

Aric leaned against a tree, disheartened they had wasted time and energy. “Well, at least we know we’ve lost the druids. Surely they wouldn’t come this far south.”

Francil let out a mocking laugh, then pointed to the northeast. His cheeks were red. “Let’s go.”

“Certain you know the way?” Aric teased. During his time as a sentinel, he had learned that humor—no matter how twisted, dark, or outright uncalled for it may be—had a way of lightening the mood.

Francil turned and pointed toward Dawn Harbor. “Move, or be moved, kid.”

“Got it, captain.” Aric lifted his brows and began walking. At least humor worked for most of the sentinels.

They quickly fell into a steady pace. Within a couple of hours, the next league looked like the last. Without mounts, they were forced to keep their pace until the sun fell behind the trees and darkness consumed the Vrelengard.

After the fourth day of mostly steady moving, Francil called a halt. Without needing another word, Aric dropped to his knees, exhausted.

They had run out of food the day before. And without water, Aric had quickly grown fatigued. His head pounded with agony. His legs ached from countless steps. His feet, well he was certain they had blisters by that point without bothering to check.

Each night while they camped, he had been practicing touching the bond in his mind and trying to manipulate the energy around him. But as fatigue set into his body, he quickly discovered it became more and more difficult to hold his focus. No matter how strong he desired the practice, he became unenthusiastic in his efforts. On this particular night, he didn’t even try.

He looked up at Francil, his eyelids barely halfway open. “Are we here?”

Francil didn’t look exhausted at all. In fact, now that he had called a halt, his face lit up with a wide smile as he turned around. It was the happiest he had looked in weeks.  “We’re close enough. Rest. I’ll continue on and go into town for some things, and hopefully I’ll secure some mounts. Is there anything in particular you want?”

Aric grunted as he slid himself back against a tree. “Food. Water. A nice fluffy bed. Hot shower. Think you can bring me those, captain?”

“Food?” asked Eldras. He perked up and looked back and forth between Aric and Francil. “Did you find food?”

Aric hung his head as his stomach growled. “Soon, boy. Soon.”

King Paulus Lenistrom stood over the balcony of the Grayhorn Keep. To the benefit of the commoners below, the wall was solid. He stood with a chalice in hand, but he was otherwise bare-bodied as he watched the insects walking up and down the street. The morning was humid. All the better to take in the breeze without a barrier of cloth around his body.

A hand slowly slid around to the front of his chest, another cupped his cock. Despite his forty-nine year old body’s natural arousal, he ignored the woman behind him; he had something else on his mind.

The woman’s hand began stroking. Paulus grabbed her wrist. “Not now. I’m busy.”

The woman let go and walked around to his side. She was as bare as he was. Her blonde hair blew in the breeze. “What would you have me do, my Lord?” She slowly sank to her knees, her hands finding their way around his thigh.

“I said no, whore!” Paulus roared and shoved her. She fell onto her back with a grunt. “You’re but a dismissable servant, Noina. You should know an order when you hear one.”

Noina’s chest heaved as she looked up at Paulus with a glint of fear. “Apologies, my Lord. Should I depart your chambers?”

Paulus sighed and leaned over the railing once more. “Yeah,” he grunted. “You do that.” He glanced down at his chalice. The red wine was nearly at the bottom. “Fetch me another first.”

Noina quickly ran into the chamber room and grabbed a vase of wine. Bringing it to Paulus, she filled his chalice, bowed and ran to the bed. As she grabbed a long robe, she asked the man lying on the circle bed, “Are you coming? He said-”

“He told me nothing of the sort, Noina,” said the man. Beneath the thick fur blanket, he lay nude. “Honestly, have you no dignity—even for a servant?”

Noina huffed, dressed herself and rushed out of the room.

Paulus rolled his eyes as the chamber door slammed shut. “You should work on your diplomatic skills, Donalis.”

Donalis scoffed. “Maybe I should have shoved her to the floor like a dog.”

“Don’t condescend me,” Paulus said over his shoulder, his tone switching from playful to daunting in two breaths.

“You weren’t complaining last night,” said Donalis with a wide grin.

Paulus ran the message through his mind again for the fifth time since he had awoken. A message that had salted his mood. “You were there.” He turned and looked at Donalis. Taking a sip of his wine, he studied Donalis’s body. True it was there was no finer specimen in all of Grayhorn. But the locals looked past that for their disposition. “What do you make of the Gray Guard’s message?”

Donalis snorted. “That there is a human dragonmage running amok in the Vrelengard?”

Paulus didn’t return a grin. “I thought about it throughout the night. No reason would he have to lie. Nothing.” He shook his head and took another sip of the wine. The tangy bite of strawberries burned going down his throat. “He would gain nothing by constructing a story like that.”

“Perhaps his mind—” Donalis smirked as he tapped his forehead, “—cracked under the pressure. Clearly someone assassinated your guards in Direhallow. Someone skilled? Yes. Perhaps a rogue sentinel? Who knows?” He sat up and narrowed his eyes. “But a human…dragonmage? That can’t be. The guard said he witnessed magic too. But how he described it isn’t even the way dragonmage’s use magic.”

Paulus rubbed his beard. “Perhaps.” He took a deep breath and turned back to the city. “Regardless, something needs to be attended to in Direhallow. A show of affection to the folks there will keep the trades unhindered.”

Another thought was running through his mind as he watched Grayhorn waking. He turned back again to face Donalis, who was up and dressing.

Donalis chuckled. “You don’t give two shits about the folks in Direhallow…my Lord.”

“True, but they don’t need to know that, so long as the coin flows.” As he looked upon Donalis’s form, Paulus found himself jealous of a frame he no longer had. “You truly are a blessing to the eye, Donalis.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“If—if—this turns out to be a subject of truth,” Paulus said with a sensation of excitement as he walked toward Donalis. “And this human dragonmage is not part of the Elven Court—” his tone turned sour, “—then we will need to extend our welcome before the highborns.”

“For what gain?” asked Donalis as he tied the front of his robe.

“For what gain?” Paulus asked with a jerk of his head. “You are Grayhorn’s Knight Lord, are you not?”

Donalis swallowed. “I am, my Lord.”

“Then certainly you of all of my subjects can see the power behind having a dragonmage on our side for a change.”

Donalis looked down. “The accords we have are fracturing, my Lord.”

“Had,” Paulus corrected. “That fucking blood bath in the Scar has shown the elves’ true colors.”

Donalis smiled, though not out of humor. It was clearly forced. He bowed his head. “Of course, my Lord, I can see the benefit of having a dragonmage in our court.”

Paulus snarled. “Thousands of coin wasted.” He walked back to the balcony and emptied his chalice over the side, pouring it seventy feet below to the garden beds. “Hundreds trained to be sentinels and for what? In a single day, Az’ Grim descends on the Scar and wipes them out?”

“My Lord,” Donalis said cautiously. “Permission to speak frankly?”

Paulus gave a nod. “Hm?”

“Shouldn’t you be saying thousands of people lost?” asked Donalis. “Most of them were from here.”

Paulus waved a dismissing hand as he turned around and glared at Donalis. “If we are being truthful, our alliance fractured the day the Elven Court halted their attempts to bolster my sentinels. Too long have we waited, and wasted, and continued to feed from the hand that no longer serves our best interest. Yes, we lost our people. We lost fathers and daughters, brothers and sisters.”

Donalis took a deep breath and folded his hands behind the small of his back, a proper knight’s stance. “What will you have me do, my Lord?”

Paulus’s heart raced in his chest as he nodded. Too long had he sat idle. “It’s time Grayhorn shoves its boots up Bӧr Mesari’s softened ass. Send another wave of Gray Guards to Direhallow. Man the roads leading to Dawn Harbor and Carcel. If this is a rogue dragonmage, I want him on our side. Give a high coin to the best tracker you can find.”

Donalis bowed. “Yes, my Lord.” He turned and walked toward the door.

“Oh, and Donalis,” said Paulus. Donalis halted and turned around. “Just you tonight. Servants these days have lost their grace in the sheets.”

Donalis grinned and bowed again. “My Lord.”

After donning his leather armor, hip sword and cloak, Paulus stood before a floor-to-ceiling mirror. He sighed, imagining his late queen beside him. Though they never had children, he felt as if she was with him always. Would she recoil at what he had become? He stiffened and clenched his jaws. “Do I even care anymore?”

He picked up the day crown from his rack, a thin, golden ring with a symbol of a lion inset in the front. As he set it upon his head, he narrowed his eyes upon his reflection. “It’s a new dawn.”

Chapter 17:

A Hunter’s Mark

As the day wore on, Aric fought to stay awake. The humid summer air was thick beneath the evergreen trees, tall pines reaching for the sky. Blue green spruces fanned out wide. He looked around for any sign of a landmark. How did he know where we were?

While he wanted to continue practicing reaching his arte and manipulating the energy around him, the sun had sapped but all of the energy he had regained from the previous night’s sleep. Focus was unbecoming. His forehead was clammy as his sweat was suckled from his flesh.

Aric looked over at Eldras. “You’re quiet today.”

“I’m thinking,” said Eldras. “My memories of your magic are slowly coming. I—I think I can force them out.”

Aric wiped his forehead with his forearm. “You—you have memories of human magic?”

“I think so,” said Eldras. He laid his head down and huffed. “I felt something familiar when you moved that light. Something felt-”

“Like you might have a memory of it,” Aric said. A sense of longing came across the bond. He reached out and rubbed Eldras’s snout. “Is there something else bothering you?”

“I just look forward to the day I can fly,” said Eldras. “Many of my ancestors’ memories are of the sky.”

Aric hadn’t given much thought to  riding Eldras. He looked up and imagined being in the sky. His stomach fluttered and looked at Eldras’s back. “One day,” he said. “We’ll both be stronger. And one day, we’ll fly.”

“I look forward to the battles ahead,” said Eldras.

Aric clenched his jaws. While according to most standards sentinels were exceptional in battle, and while according to the sentinels' standard, he was exceptional in battle, he didn't share the same sentiment. Running for his life didn't seem any less daunting, but he couldn’t help but keep his mind on the future. He wondered what it would hold for him, and Eldras.

Knowing more than he cared to admit they would have to fight again and again, he sighed and ran his hand down Eldras's back. “I think we’ll have plenty of battles ahead of us.”

Eldras blew air out of his nostrils as a sense of caution crossed over the bond. “Will they change us?”

Aric thought of how weak his swordsmanship was when he first joined the Court. A blade was clumsy to his younger hands. Yet now, he feared no other with a blade, even if they were visibly or reputably better. War had become natural to his thoughts and preparations in most aspects of his life. When they weren't sentenced to the trenches, sentinels were free to go home until they were called again.

He and Moro had rarely gone back to Ambermead. More times than not, they latched onto other trenches and stayed in the Misty Scar. A few times, they had traveled to Lake Tel. But travel meant time. And they never had enough time before their responsibility took precedence.

He leaned his head back against the tree. “I have no doubt the battles ahead will mold us into a pairing the orcs will fear.” It was as hopeful as he could make it sound.

Eldras moved closer to Aric and lay beside him, resting his head on Aric’s leg. “And the elves?”

A shudder of fear quickened Aric’s heart rate. He knew it wasn’t his own feeling. Or was it? “We’ll deal with the elves when we get to them. Unless they find us first. If it is sooner rather than later, I promise I will do what I can to protect you…whatever I have to.”

Eldras lifted his head and looked into Aric’s eyes. “Would you kill a dragon?”

Aric took a deep breath, almost a gasp. It was a question he hadn’t thought about. Could he kill the one thing he believed had the potential to turn the tides of war?

As he looked into Eldras’s golden eyes and felt the lingering question across the bond, he knew. Deep down, he already knew the answer, though he hadn't said it. Already with their bond, he couldn't think of anything besides his family he wouldn't kill to save Eldras. He gave a single nod. “For you, I would.”

Eldras blinked. Another wave of guilt. “And I…would kill one of my own to protect you. Not that—not that I actually could, but I would try.”

“All we need is each other then,” Aric said with a forced smile.

Eldras cocked his head. “And the old halfling.”

Aric laughed and nodded. “And the halfling.” He rested his head against the tree again. Between hunger, his thirst, the heat and the deepening fatigue, he found himself fighting to stay awake.

“Sleep, Aric.”

Aric shook his head and blinked rapidly. “No. I need to stay awake in case-”

“Sleep,” said Eldras with a finite tone. “I have the heart spark to keep me awake. I will keep watch.”

Aric yawned. “I have the bond too, you know?”

Eldras stood and walked up to Aric, touching his snout to Aric’s chest. “Sleep, Aric. I have better senses than you. I will help.”

Aric sighed his submission and closed his eyes. Sleep came almost instantly.

In what seemed like a blink, a burst of energy in his chest woke him. He gasped as he jerked awake. Instinct threw his hand to the side for his sword. “Eldras?”

“Someone’s coming,” said Eldras.

Aric realized Eldras was hunkered down around the tree behind him. His head was elevated as he sniffed the air. “Beasts. I don’t know their smell.”

Aric’s heart was pounding now. He slowly sat up and got his feet underneath him. He couldn't have slept long because the day was still bright. But the adrenaline running through his body cleared his focus and repelled the fatigue.

He knelt down beneath the evergreen branches. Fear pushed through the bond. He pushed back on it, as he had been doing for the past few days whenever Eldras got scared. “How many?” Before Eldras could answer, he heard a clopping of hooves that he'd recognize over any animal. Horses?

“Three,” said Eldras. “Wait.” He perked his head up higher, then rose to his full height as he sniffed, his head bobbing in the air. “I think it’s the halfling.”

Aric narrowed his eyes toward the sound of the hooves. Through the branches of pine and cedar, he spotted them. Two black horses. Leading them with reins was none other than Francil.

Standing and ducking beneath the branches, Aric stepped out into the open. “I was beginning to think you had gotten yourself arrested.”

“Arrested?” asked Francil with a laugh as he led the horses around a wide cedar. “Why would I do that? Got a kid and his dragon out here in the woods who need my protection.”

Aric snorted. “You mean you’ve been protecting us?”

“I don’t think I want to eat them,” said Eldras, who was cautiously sniffing the horses, albeit keeping his distance.

Aric’s stomach churned. “Uh, we’re not eating them, boy. These are our mounts.” He suddenly felt guilty for assuming Eldras would walk the entirety of the journey.

“Good,” said Eldras. “They smell funny though.”

Aric walked around the horses and inspected them. They appeared healthy, well fed, and strong. Even brushed. In the southern parts of Verilia, this was a rarity. Farmers seldomly took care of their horses properly, and the warhorses were often wounded from abuse and neglect. The two before him now were pristine in comparison.

On both of their backs were saddles with leather side satchels. “What did these cost you?” He quirked a brow. “How did you even pay for them?”

“I said I didn’t get myself arrested, didn’t I?” Francil asked with a smirk. He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t nic a couple of the harbor’s patrol horses.”

Aric’s eyes widened. “You stole them? You stole again? You must have forgotten about Direhallow already."

Francil chuckled. “Getting quite good at stealing," he said as pet one of the mares. “If all of this goes ass up, I think I've found my calling, don’t you think?”

Aric didn't join in on the humor. He folded his arms. “I thought the point was to stay out of sight and hidden and—all that. And I'm a kid.”

Francil took a deep breath. “Yeah. Well, I didn’t have any coin. And I didn’t have the time to work for any either. I traded my sword and the waterskins for the satchels and bigger waterskins.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “You made those shitty waterskins. Who would trade for bigger ones?”

Francil furrowed his brows. “Hey. They held water, didn't they?" He inclined his chin and smirked. “Besides, I have a way with words.”

Aric lifted his brows. “Really?”

Francil swallowed and petted the other horse. “Right. Maybe I just…traded them without a deal.”

“So you stole them, too,” Aric said dryly.

Francil pointed at Aric. “I left them something in exchange.”

Aric shook his head. “And now we have no blade. Why would you give them your sword? It wasn’t a proper trade. It was borderline moronic.”

Francil opened his mouth to speak, then clamp it shut, cocked his head and hummed.

Aric rolled his eyes and gestured toward the satchels. “What’s in them?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, so I'll just show you.” Francil walked around the right horse, the taller of the two, and opened one of the pouches. “I’m not sure how a patrolman managed to get his hands on this, but has our luck ever provided like this before?”

He walked back around to Aric. In his hands was something Aric had never seen before. He handed it over. “This will be our meal ticket."

Aric studied the object. On one end was a curved and carved piece of wood. It was sanded smooth and stained with a symbol etched into it. Attached to the wood was a metallic tube with a small black bead attached a thumb’s width from the opened end. A thin piece of metal stuck out by the wood, attached by a pin.  “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s—” Francil paused and sagged his shoulders. He quickly took the piece out of Aric’s hands. Holding onto the wooden part, he pointed the metal tube toward a tree. “You never heard of a firerod?”

Aric arched his brow and shook his head. “Nope.”

Francil sighed. He lowered the firerod and walked back around to the satchel. He dug around and pulled something out Aric couldn’t see. As he walked back around the horse, he was shoving a thinner metal rod into the end of the tube. “I assume you’ve heard of the Hrôvarga?”

Aric jerked his head back. “The dwarves—in the Bearmaw? I thought-”

“They were just stories?” Francil interrupted. “I assure you they’re very real. Haven’t seen a hair or hide of them since the rise of Az’ Grim, but most elves believe they still live in the heart of the mountain.”

He shook his head like a wet dog and waved the firerod. “Anyway, this is a firerod. It’s very old. They were used during the third age and most likely before then. What does it do? I’m glad you asked.”

Francil pointed the firerod at a pine tree. He pulled back on the piece of metal jutting out by the wooden handle. As he lifted his thumb, the piece of metal slammed down on the tube. He quirked a brow and looked at Aric.

“How is that supposed to help us?” Aric asked.

“It’s—” Francil huffed and tapped the side of the device. “That’s not what it was supposed to do.”

“Maybe it's a cheap copy,” Aric said with a chuckle.

Francil cleared his throat and held the firerod out again. Once more, he pulled back the small piece of metal and let go. It slammed down with a click. Then, in a flash, a bright orange spark kicked out, followed by a horrendously loud boom.

Something shot out of the end of the tube and exploded the bark of the tree, ripping through it with ease. The force threw Francil’s arm back.

A thick wave of fear came over the bond as Eldras ran up to Aric and slid in between his legs. “It’s alright, boy,” Aric said. “It’s just a—just something loud.”

He looked up at Francil, who was smiling widely. Then he glanced at the tree. A bright patch of torn bark exposed a white trunk. He imagined what the object would do to chainmail, or even plate armor. “Why are those things not being used in the war against the orcs?”

Francil walked back over to the horse and put the firerod back into the satchel. “They’re rare. Very rare. Well, the powder is what's rare. Without it, a firerod is mostly useless. I don’t know how a patrolman came across one, but it is fortunate I found it.”

“Stole it,” said Aric quickly.

“Stole it. Found it.” Francil shrugged and patted the horse on the back. “Did you see?” He cocked his head toward the horse. “They didn’t flinch. Whoever had the firerod trained these mounts to not be afraid of the noise.” He shoved his finger in his ear and wiggled it.

“I forgot how damn loud they were, though. Oh, and there isn’t much left of the obsidian dust either. So we’ll have to use it wisely.”

Aric stepped over Eldras and knelt down as he pushed back on the dragon’s fear. “It’s alright. I promise.” He looked up sideways at Francil. “Maybe he should have given us a warning.”

“It stinks,” said Eldras. His limbs were trembling, but he stood to his full height. “Did you feel it?”

Aric snorted. “It didn’t hit me.”

“I mean the energy from that spark,” said Eldras. “Did you feel the power of that spark?”

Aric furrowed his brows. “I—wasn’t paying attention nearly fast enough for that. It caught me by surprise.”

“I felt it,” said Eldras. He sniffed the air again, then shook his head as if catching a whiff of chicken feces. He sneezed. “I think I have an idea for when you next practice your magic.”

Aric nodded. “Alright.” He thought of his latest failed attempts at magic, then remembered he was parched and starving. He turned to Francil, who was climbing onto the taller horse. “Did you bring food?”

Francil pursed his lips and shook his head. “I...didn’t really have time to look for food. Just got the water.”

Aric quickly moved to the smaller horse and opened the satchel. As the captain had said, there was a much larger waterskin sitting inside. He pulled it out, unlatched the sleeve and pulled out the tubing.

Tipping up the waterskin, he took a long drink, lowered it to catch his breath, then took another guzzle. When he was satisfied, he held it down to Eldras. Slowly squeezing the sides of the container, the dragon drank for nearly a minute.

“Alright,” said Francil. “Don’t drain it all in one go. The only water from here to halfway to Carcel is seawater. And you don’t want to drink that.”

Aric nodded and returned the waterskin. “Are you alright with walking?” he asked as he climbed onto the saddle.

“I’d rather walk than sit on that smelly thing,” said Eldras.

Aric chuckled and looked at Francil. “We should probably move quickly now that you’ve alerted half of the Vrelengard of our location with your new toy.”

“Yeah." Francil swallowed and nodded. “Probably wasn’t the brightest idea I had.” He took a deep breath and looked up at the sun. Pulling his reins, he turned his horse to the north. “Now, let’s go get that blade.”

Chapter 18:

Fireborn

Besides halting every several hours for rest, Francil kept them moving at a slow but steady pace. It was significantly faster and less taxing than walking. Traversing the forest without a properly worn path proved difficult. Several times, they had to backtrack and navigate around sections of overgrowth and evergreens. They rode north until the sun sank behind the trees. At last, they paused for the night.

Aric winced as he climbed down from the saddle for the last time of the night. His legs ached. His back and hands were stiff. He and Francil tied off the horses to a stripped hemlock tree limb. Groaning, he muttered, “I’ll get a fire going.”

“Wait,” said Francil. He dug into his satchel and pulled out a small leather pouch bound with sinew. “Just get tinder and some kindling.

Aric thought of the spark from the firerod and could guess the captain's plan. He nodded with excitement, relieved he wouldn't have to spin a bowstring.

He quickly pulled a section of bark off of a red cedar and began scratching the underside of it, creating tiny fibers. He gathered a few smaller branches and a handful of needles. Laying the needles on the tinder, he broke the twigs up into tiny pieces.

Francil opened the pouch and knelt down. A small, thin piece of stone was held with his teeth. He poured out a thumbnail size pile of what appeared to be black sand. Handing the pouch to Aric, he held the firerod down by the tinder, and set the thin stone inside the opening of the metal piece jutting out of the wood. With a quick pull back and release, several sparks erupted and ignited the cedar.

“Ha!” Aric cheered. “No more sweating my ass off making a fire!”

“You wouldn’t need to work so hard if you could tap into that power,” Francil said with a laugh. “You did set a druid grove on fire, if you remember.”

Aric stood and cupped his hands on his hips. “No. I don’t remember that. Besides,” he looked at Eldras, “we need food. I can’t even focus on finding the arte. And if I close my eyes for too long, I’m going to fall asleep.”

Francil sighed and laid the broken twigs on the small flame. They crackled as the flame grew brighter. “I know. You’ve been dropping weight fast too. That’s no good for fighting either. You’ve been getting weaker by the day.”

“You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know,” said Aric.

“We’ll spend the morning hunting,” said Francil.

“Yeah that’s a—” Aric paused as his heart jolted. “Did you lose my bow?”

Francil cocked his head. “Days ago. I lost it on our run from Gro’nzael. Thought you knew that.”

Aric sighed and looked down. “My days are running together.”

“Get some rest,” said Francil. “I’ll fashion a bow in the morning if I can. If not…” He tapped the firerod and grinned.

Aric nodded and lay down beside the fire. Eldras cuddled up next to him, providing warmth to his backside. Once more, sleep was easy to reach.

The next morning, he woke to a gassy rumble in his stomach. He opened his eyes and groaned at his hunger. Lying between his legs was Eldras, his head on Aric’s hip. As he reached down to rub the dragon’s snout, he took in Eldras’s size. His head, which was now bigger than Aric’s opened hand, had become more elongated, his jawline sharper.

His tail stretched down past Aric’s boots. That meant he was nearly four feet long, snout to the tip of his tail. More spikes had formed on his tail, though they were less gold than before, more ivory now.

Lying on the other side of the smoldering fire pit was Francil. His head was lulled back, his mouth wide open.

Aric sat up slowly, trying not to wake Eldras. Managing to get his hands under himself to brace up in a seated position, he looked around. Scarlet rays filtered through the evergreens. It was early. Though his legs still ached slightly, he finally felt well rested, and ready to satiate his hunger.

Looking over at the horses, Aric spotted two bows and a stack of rudimentary arrows leaning against a tree. “Good,” he muttered. He was relieved he wouldn’t have to hear the firerod go off this morning.

Eldras jerked himself awake and scurried backwards, stepping onto the dull and smoking embers. A spark of fear crossed the bond.

Aric’s eyes widened. Twisting, he pushed Eldras backwards. “Careful!”

Eldras tripped and stumbled over Francil, who woke with a roar. “Why you push me?”

Aric pointed at the embers. “They’re still hot!”

Francil sat up, looked at Aric, then glanced down at the coal. “Bloody hell. Are you that ignorant?” His voice was groggy and low. “Dragons aren’t hurt by embers. They breathe fire.”

Aric's face reddened. Of course, he thought to himself. With a nervous chuckle, he got to his feet. “Sorry, boy.”

Francil narrowed his eyes. “Why were you so quick to push him?”

Aric’s chest tightened. “It’s nothing.”

“It is not nothing,” said Eldras. “The bond sings with your short nerves.”

Francil lifted his brows. “Have a bad experience with fire?”

Aric rubbed his eyes, digging out the tiny, golden nuggets that grew every few nights. He had never figured out what caused them, not that its importance was ever pressed. He sighed. “When Moro and I were about twelve, we used to play this game of bounty and hunter. One would commit a crime—pretending anyway—and the other would run a hunt.” He grinned as he let the memory flow through his mind.

“Only this time,” he continued, pausing to suck in a deep breath, “we wanted to up the stakes.”

Francil folded his arms. “Up the stakes…how?”

“We decided to add legitimacy to the bounty,” Aric said with a shudder. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Long story short, we ended up going to the guild hall up in the northern corner of Ambermead. Heard there was a set of gold plated stag antlers.”

“Did you steal it?” Francil asked with a smirk.

“We did,” Aric said quickly. “Only—we got caught before we made it out of the hall. Moro ran, and I followed. We sprinted up the stairs, as stupid as that was, and found ourselves cornered by the guild charter master.”

Francil shook his head after Aric paused again. “And? What happened?”

“I found a shuttered window and kicked it open,” Aric said. He downcast his eyes and sighed. “What I didn’t know was that particular window overlooked the cook’s chambers. The pieces of shutter fell into a boiling pot of lard. It splashed into the flames beneath and caught fire. The cook, Wane Maret…”

“He got burnt,” Francil said softly.

Beads of sweat formed on Aric’s upper lip and brow as he remembered the screams of Wane. He nodded. “Half of his body was scorched and half of the chamber caught flames.” He flexed his jaw muscles by working it back and forth. “We ran. Threw the antlers down and just…bolted.”

“It was an accident,” Francil said. He snorted. “You were children.”

“Old enough to know better,” said Aric. “Two days later, the people of Ambermead learned about what happened by news of Wane’s passing.”

“Oh shit,” Franicl muttered.

Aric nodded. “After that, we never stole again—even in play. And ever since, fire is just something I’ve tried to keep in control wherever I go.” He slammed his eyes shut when he thought of the druid grove engulfed, turning his face to the ground.

“Me stepping into the embers set off your memories,” Eldras said. It wasn’t a question, but a voiced observation.

Aric nodded. “I’m sorry, boy.”

Eldras walked over to him and pressed his forehead against Aric’s brow. “I’m glad you told us.”

“Well, we’re up now, aren't we?” growled Francil as he stood. With an arched back stretch, he yawned and looked at the hunting weapons. “Um…did you see?”

Aric followed his line of sight, happy to change the subject. He took a deep breath and shook his head, as if to rid himself of the memory. “You made some bows.”

“I did.”

“Where did you get the string?” Aric asked.

“Mix of their tail hair,” Francil said, pointing at the horses, “some resin and fibers of the satchel covers.”

Aric looked at the arrows. “Those from cedar trees?”

“Red cedar,” said Francil with a nod. “Lightweight, flexible, yet durable.”

Aric narrowed his eyes and looked around. “Are we not in danger of stripping trees around these parts?”

“No. The Gro’nzael was the last grove until about a hundred leagues northeast of Grayhorn.”

“We are hunting this morning?” asked Eldras. A flutter of excitement transcended the bond.

Aric grinned. “Time to get a proper meal—or at least some meat.”

“Eldras,” said Francil, “if we leave the horses, can you smell them enough to find our way back here?”

“I could smell them for miles now,” said Eldras. He shook his head and blew air out of his nostrils. “I don’t think I could lose their scent if I wanted to.”

Aric snorted. “He’ll find them.” He knew why the captain wished to leave the horses. If the targets were squirrels, there would be no worry of the horses’ hooves stomping around. Quiet movement was only necessary for bigger game. “Are we hunting deer?”

“I certainly hope so,” said Francil as he made his way over to the horses. Opening the left satchel, he pulled out a small knife. It was a mockery of any tool they could use, but it would work for dressing their kill.

Aric walked over to the bows and picked one up. Pulling back the string, he tested the draw. It would kill if the arrow flew straight. He slid his arm and head between the bow limb and the string securing the bow to his back. Leaning against the tree were fifteen arrows. He grabbed seven. “Ready?” he asked Eldras without looking at him.

“What am I to do?”

“I hope you can help us find a deer,” said Aric.

“Want me to kill one?”

Aric chuckled. “They’re bigger than you are. And, I hate to say it, but they’re faster as well.”

Eldras perked his head up and puffed his chest out. “We will see about that!”

Aric noticed there was a change in Eldras’s voice. It was no longer one of childlike innocence, but like that of an older teenager. It was lower than it was two weeks ago. More confident. Aric smiled and teased. “Now if you could fly, that would be a different story.”

Eldras puffed out a breath and lowered his head. “But I can’t fly yet.” He picked up his front paw and flexed his four toes and claws. “I have these.”

Aric walked over to Eldras and rubbed the top of his head. “And one day, those alone will be terrifying to any foe.”

Chapter 19:

Life Siphon

After making sure the horses were secure, Aric followed Francil’s lead. Through the Vrelengard they headed northeast. Francil kept his eyes on the ground, seeking any hint of treaded paths or bedding areas. Tracks would be near impossible to spot in the overgrowth less they planned to move at an ant’s pace.

After an hour, Francil halted and held his hand up. Kneeling, he pointed at a section of weeds that were flattened in a trail leading to a grove of bushes. He pointed without a word and secured an arrow to his bowstring.

Aric slowly removed his bow and set an arrow. His heart raced and his stomach growled, though that was partially due to Eldras’s hunger pushing over the bond as well. He glanced down at the dragon.

As if he were a large, scaly cat, Eldras was squatted down, holding unnaturally still. His wings were tucked in tight to his back and his tail was lying flat on the ground. “I smell something. I—I can feel its energy. I hear its heart beating. It—knows we’re here.”

Aric swallowed a lump forming in his throat as a thought came to mind. He tapped Francil on the shoulder. He kept his voice to a whisper. “It’s in there. But I want to try to feel it first.”

Francil looked over his shoulder at Aric with furrowed brows. “What if you make it flee?”

Aric hadn’t thought of that, only trying to test himself. “I don’t think it will,” he whispered.

Francil rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Careful.” He lifted his bow and drew back the arrow.

Whether it was the excitement of the hunt, or the anxiety of trying to use his magic regardless of how little he knew, Aric’s heart raced in his chest, feeding blood to his muscles and sharpening his focus.

He closed his eyes. The spark of light was larger than it had been the first time he sought it out, though not by much. In the least, it was simply easier to find this time. Touching the power, he pushed his mind outward as he had done with the rays of sun. He could feel Eldras first, waiting with equal anticipation. Then he felt energy just before him.

It wasn’t as powerful as Eldras’s fleck of light, but it was there. He knew that was Francil. Squeezing his eyes tighter, he pushed his mind outward. On the ground, fractions of energy rippled across the ground. The weeds, he thought. Imagining himself walking forward, he pushed his mind toward the bush ahead.

And there, hidden in the dark of Aric’s mind, he felt the energy of something. It was brighter than Francil’s light. “I feel it!” He reached out with his hand while keeping his focus on the wave of energy ahead. “I can feel it.”

“Can you move it?” asked Francil. “Like the light?”

Aric pushed his mind further, focusing on pushing the waves of energy, the spark of life. It moved, then amplified.

“It feels you,” said Eldras. “Its heart quickens.”

“I can,” Aric whispered, but held his mind still. The last thing he wanted to do was scare away the first proper meal in a week.

“Try to pull the energy into your body,” said Francil. He must have turned toward Aric, because his voice was clearer now, as if he whispered directly into Aric’s ear.

Aric swallowed and focused on pulling the spark into his core. He imagined the waves of energy flowing into the core of the bond.

Just as the light had shifted away from his body during his first attempt to control his magic, this time the light in his mind turned toward him. He could feel a warmth surge through his chest.

“I can feel that,” said Eldras. “You’re doing it!”

As if Aric’s mind had an iron grip, he took hold of the strands of energy and pulled hard. The energy amplified once more. Then he heard the bush ahead shaking.

“Damn it,” muttered Francil.

Aric opened his eyes just as a buck jumped out of the bush. With a quick thought, he slammed his eyes shut again and reached out with his hand. Finding the spark was easier this time even as the deer ran west. Pulling with all his might, he felt the energy siphon out of the buck.

“What are you doing?” Francil asked. “We have to move. We have to-”

Aric pulled harder, grunting as he held his breath. The energy was slipping away quickly. It’s going to get away.

Digging his mind deeper into the spark, he pulled it back to the bond. And then, the energy was gone. He exhaled and doubled over. “Shit.” Though the deer got away, he felt empowered by the energy, as if he had just eaten and slept with a proper dosage of recovery.

“Aric,” said Francil. He tapped Aric’s back rapidly. “Aric, look!”

“I can’t feel it anymore,” said Eldras. His head bobbed the air. “I can still smell it though.”

Aric stood, his heart racing. His chest grew tight as he saw it. Lying seventy-five yards ahead in the bush was a light brown hunch of fur and ivory antlers. His eyes widened. “Did you shoot it?”

Francil’s mouth fell agape. He looked at Aric and shook his head. “I think…" He slowly grinned. “I think you killed it.”

Aric could still feel the warmth in his chest. He rubbed it. “I think I took all of his energy.”

“You stopped his heart,” said Eldras. He stood up, his tail wagging back and forth. He looked at Aric, then to the deer, then to Aric and back. “Can we eat it now?”

Slowly walking toward the deer, Aric said, “I think we should cook it first.”

Francil grabbed the back of Aric’s cloak. “Kid.” He walked around Aric and turned to face him. Pointing over his shoulder at the buck, he said with a cautious tone, “That is why the elves will try to kill you. Between the devastation you can cause, and your ability to sap the life out of something—or someone.”

Aric’s heart sank. He cast his eyes to the ground and thought about how he would be perceived. “This power. It’s a threat to them even if I don’t intend it to be.”

Francil cupped a hand on Aric’s shoulder and with the other hand, touched his chest. “This power inside you. It’s a threat to anyone who dares to stand against you. And if you continue to push and gain control over it, if you continue to grow and get stronger, everyone…will stand against you.”

“I think I’m starting to understand the weight of my situation,” Aric grumbled. He shook his head. “Everyone will either stand against me, or they’ll want to control me.”

“We won’t let anyone control us,” said Eldras in a finite tone. It was stern, as if nothing more needed to be said.

Aric thought of the energy sitting in the core. It lingered, as if waiting to be released again. He looked past Francil at the deer. “If I can do that, nobody will ever get close enough to try.”

Chapter 20:

Unconventional

Moro slowly opened his eyes. “Reikan.”

His voice was raspy, his throat raw. With a wince, he reached toward his right shoulder. Something covered the wound he gained from Nisha. He looked down and squinted at the sunlight filling the room. On his shoulder was a green leafy wrap, tied with what looked like baling twine. His tunic had been removed and a thin sheet of cloth covered his legs. Now that he thought about the stinging in his calf, he was certain his leggings had been removed as well.

Sliding himself up into a seated position, he winced from the pressure he placed on his arms. Sucking in deep breaths, he waited until the pain subsided slightly before looking around the room. Once he did, he noticed it was a small, circular shaped structure.

The roof was almost a dome as four massive bones curved and reached toward the peak. They were fastened together at the top, their bases buried into the ground. The walls appeared to be thick leather from inside the room.

Moro had heard stories when he was a boy about structures described precisely like this one. His heart sank as he realized where he was. “Az’ Grim.”

The air in the building, if that’s what it could be called, was dry and salty. Another indication to Moro that he was south of the Bearmaw Mountains, close to the sea. He sucked air through clenched teeth as a sharp pain stabbed at his temple. He pushed his palm against the side of his head and closed his eyes.

The door, which was merely a slit in the leather wall, was pulled back, allowing more sunlight to flood into the single room. Moro lifted his hand to shield his eyes as he looked up to see a tall, thin orc stepping inside.

Clad with leather leggings, his chest was bare with the exception of a cross strap and a quiver on his back, exposing his dark, olive green skin. The quiver was full of five foot long black arrows. Running along his shoulders and onto his chest were dark tattoos, twisting and winding in a tribalistic manor that reminded Moro of the way thorny vines wove throughout the trees south of Ambermead. In his hand was a long recurve bow.

“Awake you?” asked the orc.

Moro knew immediately the orc was a valrav. His voice was gruff, as were most orcs’, but he sounded younger than any other he had heard on the battlefields before. He was too thin to be a hargrol. And no sangribör would wield a bow.

Moro’s days as a prisoner were far from over yet. He sighed and shook his head. “No. I’m still asleep. You’re just dreaming.” He let a half fatigued grin cross his face. One thing he learned during his time as a sentinel was that humor more often than not made up for sour circumstances.

The orc snarled and whipped the door open again, departing as bright sunlight filled the room once more. Moro shook his head and looked around again. Besides a flat and hard bed, the dirt floors were bare. There were no tables, no chairs or even wash basins. “Fuck me with an iron gauntlet.”

He held his breath and anticipated the pain in his shoulder as he braced himself. He twisted and swung his legs off of the bed, if that’s what it was meant to be. The flap opened again and General Thar’lok stepped inside, ducking his head to fit through the doorway. “No want to die, do you?”

Moro’s heart started racing. He thought of Morlin and the savagery that befell the sentinels’ choices to raid the town. He thought of the woman who was nearly raped. She would have been if he had gone into a different house first. Then he thought of Nisha’s spear stabbing into his shoulder. He looked down at the wrap. He would never admit to being afraid of another warrior, but Thar’lok shook his confidence in battle. The giant bastard of an orc hadn’t even flinched at his daggers buried into his chest and stomach. And then there was the bit with commanding a war bear like a dog.

“I thought I was going to,” Moro said. “And I was prepared to die if I could stop those animals.” He looked at the general and held his glare.

“You not like others,” said Thar’lok. He stepped forward and poked Moro’s shoulder.

Yelping as the pain burned and throbbed through his back and chest, Moro shoved Thar’lok’s giant hand away. “What the fuck?”

Thar’lok snorted. “You strong. Not orc strong, but strong. Ergoth seek the strong.”

Moro narrowed his eyes. “Then he doesn’t want me. I had half a mind to bury those daggers in your throat.”

Thar’lok laughed, a deep bellied raspy laugh that filled the small hovel. “You no understand. He want strong people. You fight humans to save humans. You no change from fear. You no waver from self. You—strong.”

Moro’s stomach churned. “Not strong enough if I’m still here.”

“I say not orc strong.”

“You’re the reason the Gods invented the middle finger,” Moro said as he hung his head and showed him the Gods’ invention. “What about the others? I killed sentinels.”

Thar’lok cocked a head at Moro’s gesture, a look of confusion on his face. After a moment, he shook his head and folded his arms. Strains of muscles bulged like serpents bound in leather beneath his flesh. “You kill humans who not like you. You good are. Like orcunae.” He tapped a fist on his chest.

Moro furrowed his brows. A swell of anger filled his chest. “You’re not good. You have killed thousands of innocents over the years. Your kind forced us to raid an innocent town. The people of Morlin want nothing to do with your war. You’re not good. You’re monsters, you halfwitted fuck.”

“We save Morlin,” said Thar’lok. “We end their suffering by slaying humans bad.”

Moro looked down at his shoulder wrap again. Someone had bandaged him. His heart sank as he realized it was almost definitely an orc who patched him. But why? He narrowed his eyes on the general. “You…killed the sentinels?”

“Most,” said Thar’lok. “There others like you. Outside.”

“Reikan,” Moro muttered as he recalled the last thing he could remember before fainting.

“Reikan,” said Thar’lok. “He the one with your cage?”

Moro nodded. “Aye. He was in my wagon. He was fighting the sentinels, too.”

Thar’lok nodded. “He outside. He strong, too. Not you strong, but strong.”

Moro’s stomach twisted in a knot. “I don’t understand. You have waged war for a century. You have killed thousands, including dragonmages and dragons. You have come for the eggs over and over.”

He shook his head again and looked at the dirt floor. “Why would you save the people of Morlin after you set the sentinels upon them? You could have just left them alone.” He looked deep into Thar’lok’s eyes. “You have created countless orphans.”

“Orphans,” Thar’lok said. He arched his brow. “What orphan mean?”

“Someone who has lost their family and their home,” said Moro. “You stupid orcs. You think you’re good? You create chaos and death everywhere you go.”

“You know not orcunae,” said Thar’lok quickly. He furrowed his thick brows, a crease forming between them that gave him a menacing appearance like he wanted to devour Moro right there. “You know what you mean to see.”

Moro laughed, trying to taunt Thar’lok. Then he winced at his shoulder pain again. “You mean to tell me that I only think you orcs are a certain way because—what? Ergoth is sending a false message?” He leaned forward and snarled. “I’ve seen your kind destroy my kind, elfkind and dragonkind for half of my life, you piece of shit.”

“You see Ergoth ways,” said Thar’lok. “Vig’ka come to check you later. Come to the sun. It help you. Eat. Drink. Breed. Tonight, we celebrate growth.” With that, he shoved the flap open again and left.

Moro took a deep breath and lay back, sideways on the bed. He rubbed his eyes with his palms. “What the fuck is going on?”

For a long time, he lay still, expecting Thar’lok to return. Or any orc. An hour must have passed as he lay there sweating. The room was quickly growing stuffy and stale. Throbs of pain matched his steady heartbeats. He huffed and sat up again, looked at the doorway and thought about what awaited outside. He thought of the stories merchants would often tell of Az’ Grim during their travels when he was a boy.

Finally, he gathered enough courage to get up and see for himself what awaited. The air was dry, hot, and salty. The sea air enticed him to take a dive. For all he cared, the seas could swallow him whole.

The sun bit at his cheeks as if he were standing next to an opened oven. Unhindered by clouds, a brightness bathed the land with its full wrath. He held his hand up to shade his eyes. As they adjusted, he quickly recognized dozens, if not hundreds, of dome structures similar to the one in which he had woken up.

The horizon was blocked by the massive peaks and jagged teeth of the Bearmaw Mountains. Though he spent years seeing them from the city of Ambermead, or even the entire journey from Lake Tel, he had only ventured this far southwest once before. Before his parents were killed, they had lived in the small village of Feorum. But by his tenth year, they were gone like the dust that blew across the Fanged Steppes, and Aric’s family had taken him in.

Seeing the Bearmaw up close was something one couldn’t prepare for. He looked up to the highest peak and tried to imagine what creature could make that climb, or if any could at all. Then his eyes adjusted. His senses and focus cleared. A steady chatter slowly became clear, and it wasn't a common tongue to the humans of Verilia. He was surrounded by orcs.

“Moro!”

Turning, Moro spotted Reikan walking toward him. He had bandages like Moro’s; green leaves tied with twine.  Blood-stained cloth was fastened to the side of his face as well.

Moro held up his hand—the wrong hand—and winced. Still, a sense of relief came with the sight of Reikan, another human.

“You alright?” Reikan asked. He stopped several feet before Moro. “You’re one tough bastard. I thought you were going to die back there.” He had an accent not of this land. Perhaps he was one of the former slaves brought over from the Gnarm Isles to the northeast. During Moro’s first few years as a sentinel, many of the ones sent to the trenches were former slaves freed by the migration to Verilia, where slavery was mostly outlawed. More accurately, it was just frowned upon.

Moro thought of his wound, then looked up and down at Reikan. Though he had lost a lot of blood, he thought he looked the better of the two. He thought about Morlin and shook his head. “What—what happened? I passed out.”

“Shortly after you fainted, they came in—the orcs,” said Reikan. He looked over his shoulder, as if checking for eavesdroppers. “Then they started killing all the sentinels who were doing what they were told.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Bloody mad they are.”

Moro narrowed his eyes. “But you weren’t doing what you were told. You were shielding the people.”

“So were you,” said Reikan. “And for whatever reason they get their rocks off, they let us live.”

Moro nodded and told him about Thar’lok’s explanation. “The question is, what do they want from us?” He looked around again. The orcs seemed to be paying them no mind, as if they themselves were orcs. “We’re never going to be orcs. We’re never going to be with them. They have to know that. They have to have a purpose for us.”

Reikan took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes. He pursed his lips into a crooked smirk.

“What?” Moro growled. He was in no mood for more humor, or riddles.

“You should talk to them,” said Reikan. “I don’t think they are exactly how we’ve always thought.” He leaned closer and lifted his brows. “How we’ve always been told anyway.”

Moro cocked his head and looked past Reikan. “They are the same enemy I’ve known for half my life. No amount of conversation or—” he glanced down at his dressings, “—strange treatment of their prisoners is going to change that.”

Reikan held up his hands and gave them a few twists. “No more shackles.” He lifted his brows. With a bob of his head, he looked back at Moro’s hut. “Do you feel like a prisoner now?”

“We’ve literally just come—” he paused and thought about how he must have been brought across the Bearmaw. “However many days it took to get here from a village we were literally threatened into raiding. Our weapons and our armor have been stripped. Without our oath, we wouldn’t even be sentinels anymore.”

“We’re not, Moro,” said Reikan. He cupped his hands on his hips, visibly unconcerned about their situation. “Least not anymore. Our oath died with the-”

“Mine didn’t,” Moro growled as he stepped forward and poked Reikan in the chest. “Whatever you think you are, forget it. You’re still a prisoner. Look around you and actually think about it. Can we leave? Or will they hunt us down?”

Reikan clenched his jaws and took a step back. His right eye twitched. “What if I don’t want to leave?”

Moro scoffed. “And what could they possibly have offered you for you to throw away your oath to the Elven Court. Did you never care for the dragons? Or to end this war? To see peace?”

“Did you?" Reikan hissed.

Moro's stomach fluttered. He took another step closer. “Why else would I spend my life in the shit?"

Reikan swallowed, his cheeks flushing all the while. “Most people who stay in the fight…live for the fight.” He rolled his eyes and walked away, shaking his head. Over his shoulder, he said, “just talk to them, Moro. You’ll see who Verilia’s real enemy is.”

Moro stood still, his heart pounding in his chest. He watched Reikan walk down a flat path between two jagged ridges and disappear into a scarlet hut. The scout's observation ran through his mind. “No," he said toward his self doubt. “I still believe in them."

He looked at the four gargantuan bones jutting out of the tops of the huts. What did they kill for those?

Behind him, Moro heard heavy footsteps getting closer. He turned to see Vig’ka walking toward him, crooked staff in hand.

“I see the gods did not wish to take such a human,” said Vig’ka. He smiled, baring his four enlarged canines.

Moro sighed. “Maybe the gods have more in store for me on Maerïnor. Or perhaps I've just really fucked up and this is my Hel.”

Vig’ka halted within reach of Moro. “Of the first statement, I have no doubt. But this is no Hel. It's home.”

Moro laughed sardonically. “Looks like Hel."

Vig'ka looked at Moro’s wrapped shoulder and held out an upturned hand . “May I?”

Moro looked down at the leaves. “Who did this?”

“Fraegun,” said Vig’ka. “She’s one of our healers. Afraid she doesn’t have the touch of fûrin, but she can keep things cleaned. Uninfected.”

Moro’s stomach twisted. He cocked his head. “Why?”

Vig’ka cocked his head. “You would rather your arm dismiss itself from your body?”

Moro shook his head and huffed. “No. I mean—why treat me? Why spare me? I defied Thar’lok’s threats and commands. I've killed more of your kin than I can remember. Certainly you must know I will try to escape again one day. Probably take out as many of you as I can along the way."

Vig’ka took a deep breath and looked around. “You were chosen—a special selection as a test in Morlin. Over the years, there have been many chosen. But now, you are free to leave.”

Moro’s heart sank. “What?!”

Vig’ka chuckled. “It is rather…unconventional, as you would say, but orcunae do not care for the imprisonment of others. We came from an enslaving clan across the seas. Many of us have lived long enough to remember. We would wish that on no others.”

Moro’s heart raced in his chest. “But you did imprison us. And those you didn’t, you killed.”

Vig’ka sighed. “Why did you make war with the soldiers protecting Morlin, then choose to not join the raid?”

Moro swallowed a lump in his throat. “The soldiers were trained. They had a chance to fight. If they would have killed me, so be it. War is honorable. But the innocents…”

“Have you ever heard of orcunae killing anyone who was not already participating in the war?” Vig’ka asked. “You have not," he added before Moro could answer. “And if you have, you have been deceived.”

Moro glared at Vig'ka. “My village was pillaged by orcs. My parents never had an ounce of energy for the war."

Vig'ka shifted, as if uncomfortably. “I am sorry. They were not under Ergoth's orders, I assure you."

Moro started to argue, call the orc out on his lie, but then he paused. He had heard stories of sentinels and guards doing the same. “You can’t compare what I’ve done—what humans have done—in defense with what your kind has done. You seek power and control.”

“You know what you have been told to know,” said Vig’ka. He shrugged. “As I have said, you are free to go. You are strong-willed and honorable. We orcunae understand war more than most, but we have honor. We seek honor in others. You demonstrated integrity in Morlin. You could have died, but it mattered little to you if others lived.”

“I still don’t care if I die,” Moro said dryly.

“You care now,” said Vig’ka. “If you are being honorable and fighting, you may not. But in the garrison, few beings seek death like an old friend. There is life and love. There are chances to become—more.”

Moro gently rubbed his shoulder as it ached. “If I’m free to go, then that is the choice I make.”

Vig’ka turned sideways and gestured toward the Bearmaw. “Then go. Ergoth will be disappointed, but he will respect your choice.”

Ergoth, thought Moro. He narrowed his eyes. “What is his end goal? Why seek out humans at all?”

Vig’ka fidgeted with his staff, looking down as he twisted its tip into the dirt. “If it is the answer you seek, then stay. Speak with Ergoth.”

Moro chortled and shook his head. “Do you think what you’re doing is right? You’ve been killing and trying to steal dragons for so long.”

“Do you think we have not succeeded in taking dragon eggs?” Vig’ka asked.

A jolt of panic made Moro’s heart skip a beat. His face flushed at the thought. He furrowed his brows and shook his head. “You—you haven’t. You couldn’t have.”

Vig’ka grinned softly. “You have confirmed a speculation Ergoth has had for a long time; that the elves embellish. They either bluntly and boldly lie, or they’ve smeared the truth like whale oil over the servants of their beloved Elven Court.”

“You’re trying to wash my mind clean,” said Moro. “You wish for me to soak it with your lies.”

“I wish for your peace,” said Vig’ka. He lifted his brows and waved his hands slowly, gesturing the whole of the land. “I wish for peace over Verilia. But the true enemy must be snuffed.”

Moro’s mind remained on the dragon eggs for a moment. He thought of the different ways in which the orcs could have gotten their hands on them. “No. That’s impossible. I have served the eastern trenches for half of my life. We’ve never lost an egg.”

“The eastern gorges throughout the Misty Scar have been the one thing to slip our grasp for nearly a century—until now.” Vig’ka narrowed his eyes and turned fully to face Moro. “Did you think the eastern trenches were the only ones responsible for ferrying the offspring of the purest species in the world?”

Moro’s stomach grew heavy with nausea. “The eggs come from Velensmir. They—they wouldn’t pass up the sentinels closest to them.”

“The eggs come from Velensmir,” Vig’ka said with a mocking smirk. “You have no idea where they come from.”

Moro’s hands began to tremble the more he thought of the possibility of Vig’ka’s revelation. “So…you’re telling me you have stolen eggs.”

“Over the past century?” Vig’ka said, laughing now. “Of course we have. Though none have hatched for us.”

It was Moro’s turn. He burst into laughter at the thought of a dragon hatchling for an orc. “Now I know you’re delusional. They would never choose you. They chose elves.”

“And humans,” Vig’ka said dryly, his face becoming hard as stone.

Moro laughed again. “Right. And I suppose the dwarves that supposedly live in this mountain will come crawling out. Sea beasts really do devour entire ships. And treants will one day seek to take back the Vrelengard. Blasphemous dreams of children."

Vig’ka’s eyes widened slowly as a grin creeped onto his face. “How far your race has fallen to believe any of that is folly.” He took in a quick but deep breath. “Would you like to see the eggs we have confiscated from the elves? Would that entertain your doubts?”

“Sure,” Moro said as his laugh died down. “If I’m not your prisoner, and I’m free to walk as I please. Show me these dragon eggs. If they’re here, I’ll do the honorable thing of speaking with Ergoth—let him enlighten me.” He clutched his shoulder as a tinge of pain reminded him of his wound again.

Vig’ka nodded. “Do you want me to heal that first?”

Moro looked down at the leaves. Part of him wanted to say no, that he should heal as any mortal man should. But if he discovered he was free to leave—even if it was some game of the orcs—then he should be recovered as much as possible. He gave a reluctant nod.

Vig’ka dug his hand into his ragged robes pocket and withdrew a teardrop shaped seed. With his forefinger and thumb, he crushed it. Purple smoke flowed out of the seed and soaked into his palm.

“That's twice I've seen you do that," Moro said, narrowing his eyes on Vig'ka. “Is that the source of your power? Seeds?"

Vig'ka sighed. “If you choose to stay, in time I will tell you." Reaching up, he pressed his hand against the bandage on Moro’s shoulder. He bowed his head and closed his eyes.

A hot energy filled Moro’s arm, shoulder and into his neck. He winced for a moment, but the pain quickly faded to nothing, taking with it the warmth of his wound. He looked down at Vig’ka’s hand, then to his declined head. Why would you heal me? What the fuck is going on here?

Vig’ka pulled his hand away and took a step back. Turning his hand over, the seed that was just there had turned to gray ash. “Observe yourself.”

Moro pushed on the leaf. There was no pain. He quirked his brow and pulled on the twine. Again, painless. He quickly tugged on the twine until it loosened. He pushed it and the leaf off of his shoulder. A silvery scar remained where Nisha had speared him.

He rolled his arm and shoulder around. It was stiff, but otherwise appeared to be healed. He looked up at Vig’ka. “Thank you.”

Vig’ka grinned. “You would thank your captor?”

Moro looked across the village. Several orcs, mostly hargrol, were marching around. They were armored and armed in a way that showed they were still ready for battle. “I am a free man, right?”

Vig’ka nodded.

“Then yes,” said Moro. He thought of the effort Vig’ka had put in to showcase the orc’s motives. Or in the least, he had spun a tale that Moro couldn’t help but wonder about. He narrowed his eyes and looked at the hut Reikan had entered. Has he been shown the truth?

“I’ll see your eggs first. Then, I shall speak with Ergoth.”

Vig’ka smiled, then chuckled. “Good. If afterwards you still feel the need to go, you may.”

Moro nodded, though he still wasn’t convinced of Vig’ka’s words. For all he knew, this was all part of the orcs’ entertainment. He thought about where he would go should he be able to leave. He thought of Aric. “How much of the Elven Court was weakened by your recent raid?”

Vig’ka took a deep breath then sighed. “This was the largest scale in which we have moved for the better part of five decades. I’m afraid your trenches only run with blood now. The force that was the Elven Court has diminished. What you saw in the wagons was all that we left alive. Though there are reports from the eastern flank saying a few elves escaped.”

Moro shook his head, rage swelling in his chest. “Why are you telling me all of this? Shouldn’t you keep such reports hidden from your enemy? Or even anyone who isn’t in command?”

“You are not my enemy,” Vig’ka said calmly. He shrugged his thick shoulders. “That is what I have been trying to tell you.”

“I—” Moro paused and shook his head. “I don’t understand your kind.”

Vig’ka smiled. “I am aware. But you are not as confused as you will be once you get to Az’ Grim.”

Moro quickly looked around at the huts. “Is this…not Az’ Grim?”

“This is the perimeter of our home.” Vig’ka held his hand out, gesturing to the orcs. “They are armed, are they not?”

“Yeah, but-”

“You will see,” Vig’ka laughed. Then he halted immediately. “I…fear even if you go, your duty as a sentinel is over.”

Moro nodded. He thought as much. “Then I have nowhere to go but home.”

“Unless you stay,” said Vig’ka, his tone softening. At that moment, he reminded Moro of his grandfather. “If you stay, Az’ Grim will welcome you as any home could.”

Chapter 21:

The King’s Task

Sir Donalis held his hand on the door for a long moment before entering the tavern. Though he would no longer be caught dead in the slums of Grayhorn for anything social, he had an order to follow. The taverns, whore houses, and even bath houses were the best place to find who he was looking for; a tracker.

A tang drifted through the windows from inside the tavern before him, bringing a scent of spirits and mead. His jaws ached from a long past addiction. He stifled and cleared his throat as he remembered why he stopped mingling in the slums of Grayhorn. And of course, once upon a time, he wasn't in charge of Paulus’s military forces.

Within the five years after he had become knighted, his secret had come out. And though most in the castle were fine with his inclination to bed men, or at least they put on the face of a friend, those below the smooth walls of the throne house were less inclined to socialize with him now. Most folk north of the Misty Scar found it strange, even though he slept with women as well.

He often thought of relocating to Maervorna, where it was more common. Or Ambermead, he thought. Though given my rank of Knight Lord of Grayhorn, who could blame them? They all think I'd fuck any man that would give me the time of day.

Truth be told the Knight Lord of Grayhorn wasn't nearly as likely to be found in bed with another any more than the average commoner. His duties more often than not took his time and buried his mind. After his highest promotion, he had moved into the castle and could respectfully request fun in the sheets any time he pleased.

I wonder what they'd think of their king? he pondered as he took a deep breath and opened the thick door.

The stench of tobacco and spirits stung his nostrils, sending a nauseating wave of nostalgia to his mind. Beyond the serving utensils and coin lying on card tables, Donalis’s attire of silver plate armor was the only thing shining. The daylight filtering through the filmed windows glinted off of his shoulders, giving him the appearance of a fabled paladin bathed in holy light.

On Donalis’s left hip hung a broadsword. On his right, a dagger. Hanging down his back was a black cloak embellished with the sigil of King Paulus, a lion head between two upturned swords, all encircled with a jewel-studded crown.

Most of the townsfolk silenced their conversation and looked toward him. The bard, a man with flaming red hair, stopped playing his tune.

“Citizens of Grayhorn,” said Donalis, turning  on his diplomatic and confident tone, “I have come at the behest of King Paulus in a quest to find a tracker of the highest quality. Should you uncover what the king seeks, you will be greatly rewarded with coin and status elevation.”

A man rose from his chair. Standing tall with a neatly trimmed beard and leather clothes of a higher standard than nearly anyone else at the tavern, he turned to Donalis. “What’s our Lord need found…sir?” he asked with a tang of poison on his tongue.

Donalis’s heart pounded, but he would show nothing of the sort to commoners. He walked toward the man, whom he towered over, even without his boots. “Are you…a tracker?” He kept his voice as emotionless as possible, dry and stern.

The man looked around at the others sitting at his table. Each hand a handful of cards and impatience painted on their face. “Depends on what needs to be found.”

“If you do not wish for the task, then carry on,” Donalis said with his own condescending spite. “I will not discuss the details nor the terms in the open.”

The man snickered and turned his back to Donalis. He chuckled as he picked up his cards. “Seems you weren’t afraid of the open when you ascended, Donalis. Why stop now?”

The group at the table laughed. Two of them threw their cards down and threw in quiet jabs, something akin to childish insults.

Donalis sighed, abating his anger. He had mentally prepared for this. “Sit down, sir.”

The man threw his cards back down and turned back. He smirked and stepped closer to Donalis—close enough for Donalis to smell the whiskey on his breath. “Or what? Going to take me in for declining a quest of our Lord?” He threw his arms out to the side, as if inviting the entire tavern to laugh.

Donalis gripped the hilt of his sword, then his dagger. In his hands, a broadsword was deadlier than most in Grayhorn. But he gripped the knife because the sword would be too slow to draw with a reverse grip. “No. You wouldn’t be worth the report.”

The man stepped closer again. “Bet you like taking men down to the dungeons and-”

In a flash, Donalis drew his dagger, stepped closer and pressed the edge against the man’s throat.

The man snarled, but otherwise stood still. “Testy, testy.”

Donalis narrowed his eyes as his heart pounded with rage. “Speak not another word, lest you desire to be tongueless.”

“Alright,” said the bard, the tall but rather thin red-haired man. He slowly squeezed his hand between Donalis’s chest and the man standing still with widened eyes. “Jacher didn’t mean all that.”

The drunk named Jacher took a step back, swaying all the while. His eyes were red and glossed over.

The bard moved in between them, lyre in hand still. He looked into Donalis’s blue eyes. “There we go, sir. Easy now. He’s an asshole, and he’s past his limit on the drink, but he means none of it.”

“Fuck if I don’t,” said the man. He pointed at Donalis. “I’ll not be taken lightly just because you’re a prat and a knight now. Used to be a pathetic stableboy.” He spat on the floor, then pointed at the bard. “And piss off with you, Nathalior.”

“Knight Lord,” said Donalis.

“And I’ll not be cuffed by some man loving-”

Nathalior’s lyre smashed against the side of the man’s head before anyone else could react. It exploded into dozens of pieces of wooden shrapnel as the strings twanged. Jacher was knocked out cold before the other side of his head hit his chair.

Nathalior let out a thick exhale and looked down at his instrument, or what was left of it. “Well there’s that.” He turned and lifted his brows at Donalis. “Apologies, sir.”

Donalis leaned to the side to see around the bard, Nathalior. “Apologies…unneeded.” He pointed at the man, who had known for years, lying unconscious. “Jacher the Eye was one of the best trackers, was he not?”

“Was?” asked Nathalior. His eyes widened and he turned to look at Jacher. “Didn’t kill him, did I?” He looked back at Donalis and gave a nervous chuckle.

Donalis sighed and returned his dagger to its sheath. “Unfortunately, he’s still breathing.” Without another word, he turned and departed the tavern. With a show of force like that, even if it wasn’t from him, would deter anyone else from talking to him. There were other establishments on the northside of Grayhorn he could try. But, just as he stepped out into the broken street, the door opened again.

“Sir, if I may.”

Donalis turned to see Nathalior standing behind him, red-faced. “That was quite the most chivalrous yet ignorant thing you could have done. They will not pay a single coin for you to return no matter how praised your sagas may be.”

Nathalior rubbed the back of his neck. “May…uh…need to lie low for a bit. I might just search Dawn Harbor for a place—unless you still need that tracker.”

Donalis’s stomach twisted. “A bard. That’s your profession, isn’t it?”

Nathalior shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be. And—and it’s really only been temporary. I’ve been a lot of things in my life.” He lifted his brows. “I’ve been a tracker before.”

Donalis narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. The tone of the man before him showcased all but professionalism. “And where were you a tracker?”

“I come from Maervorna.”

Donalis took a deep breath and sighed. “Got papers with you?”

Nathalior slowly shook his head. “Afraid not.”

Donalis nodded. That much he figured. The bard looked like he was homeless, or if he roomed in the taverns he swooned with song. “Without credentials here—no offense—you could not be tasked with a King’s Order.”

“Then how about we strike a deal,” said Nathalior. He held his hand up, as if making an oath of old. “I’ll not receive a single knucklet until I find what you want.”

Donalis chewed the inside of his lip. “That’s fair, I suppose. But make no mistake, I intend to hire a real tracker, a hunter of men for this quest. If you aren’t opposed to competition-”

“I’m not,” Nathalior said quickly with a grin. His eyes widened as he shoved his hand outward. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Donalis cleared his throat. Such an incel, he thought. “I haven’t even told you the details. You would accept such a task before you know what it entails?”

Nathalior looked down, then quickly back into Donalis’s eyes. “I would. I could use the coin.” He shrugged. “And a distraction.”

Donalis grabbed the man’s hand and shook it once. “Very well. A man attacked and killed a squadron of Gray Guards outside Direhallow.”

“Do I need to kill him?” asked Nathalior with a tremble. “I—I’m signing on as a tracker, not an assassin, yes?”

“You’ll only need to find him, and report back to me,” said Donalis. “Only me.”

Nathalior furrowed his brows. “By the time I return, he’ll have moved on most likely.”

“I just need confirmation of something,” said Donalis.

Nathalior swallowed and looked around. “Alright?”

“I need to know what his company is.”

Nathalior cocked his head. “Sorry. What?”

“I need to know everything he travels with, both personnel and creatures,” said Donalis. The last thing he would do is repeat the rumors of a human dragonmage, least of all to a bard he had just met. The bastard would likely just write a saga about the offer. “Do we have a deal?”

“Strangest quest I’ve ever heard.”

Donalis squeezed his hand tighter and narrowed his eyes. “Do we have a deal?” he asked with a harder tone.

“Y-yes,” said Nathalior.

Donalis let go of the bard’s soft hand. “Good. I expect you will find his trail south of Direhallow. I needn’t have to tell you not to repeat this, yeah?”

“Aye,” said Nathalior as he rubbed his hand.

Donalis nodded. “Then I bid you good luck, tracker.” He turned and began walking back to the northeastern side of Grayhorn. Over his shoulder, he said, “Another tracker will be en route soon.”

Chapter 22:

An Assessment

As nightfall drew closer, Aric noticed, for the first time in weeks, the evergreens were thinning out. Greater became the distance between the trees. The foliage gave way to hillside after hillside. Ridges had spawned from the soil which broke up the monotony of the trip.

To their surprise, Aric and Francil found a pool of water two days prior. After boiling then sifting the stillwater with their cloaks, they had enough potable water for a night of camping and the journey ahead.

Over a week had passed since the deer had met its end at the hands of Aric’s magic. Even with rationing, the meat was nearly gone. Aric had been eating enough to keep his strength and focus, but even more so now that he had access to the ability of siphoning energy from living things. Even when fatigue creeped in from the long days of travel, the little spurts of energy were welcomed. Though, he had yet to master leaving small game and trees alive.

Each night, he continued to practice magic. He and Francil would spar with sticks as their swords, and they would sit and discuss a wide variety of things from warfare and tactics, to history of the world, magic, and the factions spread across Verilia. Finding the core of his bond to Eldras had become instinctual. It was as easy as if it had always been a part of him. What was once a speck of light, a glitter in the indefinite dark, was now closer to a candle in a large hall.

“We should arrive by midday tomorrow,” said Francil as he pulled on his reins, coming to a halt.

Aric had been looking forward to getting a new blade, especially one forged in the fire of magic. But as they grew closer to another settlement of people, he grew nervous. This time, he would not be expected to hide Eldras, but bring him into the light. And the hatchling was no longer a hatchling, but a wolf sized lizard with wings.

“Are you certain this is the right thing to do?” Aric asked for the fifth time.

“You need a sword,” grumbled Francil. He climbed out of the saddle. That this would be their camp for the night didn’t need to be said. “You’ve gotten control of feeling your power. If you can manage to control it, especially in the heat of battle, then you’ll need a sword. You have more experience with a blade than most and can sustain battle with it. You haven’t even begun to strengthen your body yet. But once you do-”

“Wait,” Aric said, turning and climbing down from his horse. “What do you mean by strengthening my body?

Francil cocked his brow. “Dragonmages. They naturally become stronger over time with their dragons growing, but they can also increase their physical strength with magic. Ability, durability, senses. Surely you knew that much.”

“If I knew that, I would have been practicing that,” Aric said as he shook his head. Walking his horse over to a tree, he tied the reins with a hitch knot. He had named the horse Pebble, due to a gray dot on her chest. “Honestly, we’ve been out here for how long now, and you didn’t think to even mention this?”

Francil shrugged as he tied up Dranlin, his horse. “Sorry, kid. I thought you knew that much about dragonmages. It may not be the same for you anyway.”

Aric rolled his eyes as frustration sent his heart racing. “Francil, I’m a sentinel at heart. What is one aspect a sentinel has a damn near mastery of?”

“Combat,” said Francil.

“Which is a physical thing, and—” Aric paused as he realized it was not his own frustration he was feeling. Such a thing as their argument was trivial at this point. He turned and looked at Eldras. “What’s wrong, boy?” He tried to push back on the emotion running through the bond.

“Nothing.”

Aric sighed and cocked his head. “So we’re lying to each other now?”

“What’s wrong?” asked Francil. “If it’s about the magic-”

Aric held up a hand. “It’s not.” He walked over to Eldras and took a knee. The dragon was now tall enough to look Aric in the eye at this height. He reached out and rubbed Eldras’s snout, fighting his frustration with joyous thoughts.

“I’m tired of walking,” Eldras pouted.

Aric’s heart jolted. “We—we can try to get you up on the-”

“I don’t want on that smelly creature,” Eldras quipped. He blew air out of his nostrils and shook his head. Then he stretched his wings out wide. “I want to fly!”

Aric clenched his jaws and looked at Francil. “How old are dragons when they fly for the first time?”

Francil looked at Eldras somberly, as if he understood. “Most can flutter, like a chicken, after their first few months.”

Aric pursed his lips and gave Francil a hardened stare. He quickly glanced at Eldras, then back.

“Usually four or five months. Sometimes six. It—” He paused as Eldras huffed and flopped down on his stomach, legs sprawled out like a child. Francil looked at Aric and shrugged. “It just…depends on the dragon. They all develop differently.”

Aric looked at Eldras and couldn’t hold back the dragon’s sadness and frustration any more. “Do you have memories of flying, like enough to figure out how to do it?”

Eldras blew another puff of air, sending flower petals off of their stem. “Yes.”

“Then why don’t you try?” Aric asked.

“You need to practice magic,” Eldras said, his voice still in a childish pout.

Aric bent down and looked Eldras in the eye. “I’ve been practicing connecting to the arte for weeks. We can spare a night or two to see if you’re ready to fly.”

Eldras lifted his head. A jolt of excitement washed away the frustration. He flexed his wings out wide, then shuttered them as he folded them back down. “Really?”

Aric felt his own heart rate quicken. He smiled and nodded. “Really. We’re in this together. You need to be able to fly just as much as I need to learn magic.”

Eldras jumped up and spun in a circle, his tail whipping back and forth.

“What did you say?” asked Francil in a parental and disapproving tone.

Aric shrugged. “He wants to try to fly. So…that’s what we’ll practice tonight.”

Francil opened his mouth to speak, but halted. He looked back and forth from Eldras’s excited jig to Aric’s knowing face. He simply nodded with a half grin.

After they settled down into a makeshift camp for the night and created a fire, Francil pulled out some deer meat, leaving just enough for one more day. Though salted, the strips of meat would have to go without the spice of dried pepper flakes, as it had for days now.

Regardless, Aric was thankful for the food and water. Yet he longed for a hunk of bread and cheese, potatoes and perhaps some greens. His mouth salivated at the thought.

Without proper cooking ware, they were reduced to skewering strips of meat and holding them over the open flame, which was always kept small to minimize the light.

After eating, Aric closed his eyes and held his hand out to the flame. Waves of heat and light energy passed into the bond, filling his chest with warmth. He knew the additional energy would fuel Eldras’s muscles that much more.

He opened his eyes as his chest grew tight. He let out a breath he had been holding while channeling the flames. A grin crawled into his face as it noticed the flames had dwindled, but otherwise resumed their normal waves.

“What?” asked Francil.

Aric pointed at the fire. “I didn’t kill it this time.” He looked at Eldras. “Can you feel it—the energy?”

“Good,” said Francil. “Very good. Control is the most important first step.”

Eldras looked up, a strip of meat hanging out of his mouth. “I can.”

Aric nodded. He had already guessed the energy was shared through the bond. “See if you can use it to strengthen your wings.”

Eldras wolfed down the venison, then spread his wings out wide. For a moment, he closed his eyes and shuddered.

Aric could feel the energy he had pulled from the flame diminish from the core. The tightness in his chest relaxed, allowing for a full, proper breath. “You’re going to have to show me how you do that.”

Eldras looked back at his wings. Where his body was covered with stone-like scales, the bulk of his wings were leathery. Charcoal in color, thin veins of gold shimmered in the fire’s light. “All I do is push the energy through my body. I move it where I need it.” He flapped his wings once, sending a gust of wind across the camp, nearly snuffing out the fire.

Aric cocked his head. “I can move the waves of energy into the arte. That’s about it.” Another blanket of excitement pushed across the bond.

Eldras stepped back and turned away from the fire. Lifting his wings, he pushed them down again, this time harder, sending a gale across the weeds. Then another flap. Another. He began flapping them faster and harder.

Aric’s eyes widened as Eldras front legs lifted off of the ground. “You’re doing it. Go. Go!”

Francil stood and walked over to Aric. His eyes were wide and a grin slowly came.

Then Eldras stopped. He dropped to the ground as his wings lay back. “I can’t do it.” Spreading them out wide, he began pushing again. Once more, his front elevated, then he stopped. He dropped onto his belly, breathing heavily. “I—I can’t.”

Aric felt the same wave of sadness through the bond as before. He walked over to Eldras and knelt down. “It’s alright, boy. You’ll get it.”

“That’s quite something,” said Francil. “Almost every dragon struggles at first, but I’ve never seen one get off of the ground before younger than three months, and you almost did it!”

Aric smiled. “See? You’re already ahead of other dragons.”

“I guess,” said Eldras. Even as he sunk his head low, most of the somber waves through the bond diminished.

“Tomorrow when we’re heading into Carcel, work on strengthening your wings,” said Francil. “Just flap them like that over and over. Every bit of exercise helps.” He looked at Aric. “Did he use the mana from the fire?”

“He did,” said Aric.

Francil nodded. “Then maybe we’ll work on siphoning more. He will always be able to take in more than you. So even if you think you’re about to explode, just wait. Let Eldras pull it into his body. Then you can siphon more.”

“Fire is easier to pull from,” said Aric. He turned and looked at the flames. “It’s a continuous source if I don’t kill it. Plants and animals are different. I need to figure out how to be able to see how much energy something has.”

Francil scratched the back of his neck and walked back to the fire. Taking a seat, he asked, “does the fire have a center—a source at its core?”

Aric furrowed his brows. “I—I don’t know.” He glanced at Eldras. “Did you feel anything?”

Eldras walked toward the fire. “I didn’t feel a center, but there is a strange feeling of sorts of its power. When you pulled on it, I could feel it wither. Then it healed and came back to health.”

Aric narrowed his eyes on the fire. “Maybe I need to focus on two things at once; siphoning the energy while trying to watch how much it has left.”

Francil nodded. “If you can feel the power draw into your arte, then maybe you can focus your mind on other things.” He looked at Eldras. “Can you draw in the energy?”

“Only to my body,” said Eldras. “Not to our bond.”

“He can’t draw it into the bond,” Aric said.

Francil folded his arms. “What if you worked together? Aric, you pull it into the bond, and Eldras draws it into his body.”

“Can you pull it into your body as I siphon it?” Aric asked.

Eldras inclined his head. “I can try. I still can’t access the right memories of my ancestors. They’re there but…they’re not.”

Aric gave Eldras a playful shove. “We don’t need them. We’ll figure it all out ourselves. Who knows. Maybe you can get enough energy to fly.”

Eldras gave a hum as his tail wagged back and forth. “Let’s try it.”

Aric closed his eyes and held his hand out. Immediately, he could feel the waves of energy from the orange light and the heat, two separate sets of channels. At the center of the fire, each strand of the energy rippled and folded into each other. Above the flames, the waves spaced out then dissipated into air.

This much he would have guessed as he understood how heat flowed into the air and cooled. He drew on the waves, directing them into the bond. After a few seconds, he couldn’t feel the normal warmth in his chest.

“It’s working,” said Eldras.

Aric pulled harder. The strands of energy weakened and spaced out.

“Easy now,” said Francil. “Try not to kill the flame.”

Aric nodded and relaxed his draw. The fire grew a little more, returning to its steady waves of light and heat.

“There you go,” said Francil. “Alright, now I want you to try to draw in everything. Observe the source of the fire—the energy it’s giving off. If my theory is correct, you should see the energy die.”

“Everything?” Aric questioned. “You want me to kill the fire?”

“Aye,” said Francil softly. “We can always make another.”

“Are you ready?” Aric asked. He could sense Eldras right beside him.

“Ready.”

Pulling harder on the energy than he had with the deer, Aric anticipated an inferno in his chest. The waves of heat and light poured into the arte’daelir as swift as dust would be swept away in a storm. His chest grew warm.

Then the waves of energy vanished from the flame. In his mind’s eye, only thin traces of energy lingered from the weeds in the ground. He could still sense Francil and Eldras on either side of him.

“Aric…”

Aric opened his eyes. The fire pit was dark. Not a single ember glowed. He looked at Eldras. At the base of his neck was a glow beneath his scales. “Are you alright?”

Eldras staggered a few steps to the side. “I—don’t feel good.”

“Do you see that?” asked Francil. “That’s fire in there. Eldras, release it.”

“How?” Eldras asked. His head craned backward as his eyes rolled. “It hurts.”

“How?” Aric repeated Eldras’s question quickly.

“Like you’re trying to vomit,” Francil said.

Aric stood and walked to Eldras’s side. His heart raced with panic. “You—you have to let it out, boy. Throw it up. Do you—do you know how to do that?”

“It was too much,” said Eldras. He began heaving, his sides constricting with each convulsion.

A sharp pain stung in Aric’s head and chest. He cried out and fell to his knees. Cupping his hands against his head, he lay down on his side. “Fr-Francil!” Then, the pain vanished at once. He opened his eyes.

Eldras dipped his head low and opened his mouth. A thick jet of blue flames shot out from his throat and bathed the ground, pushing outward in a circle.

Aric jumped back as the ground glowed orange. Weeds and soil were scorched. He crawled backward as the fire licked his boots. He could feel the warmth in his chest simmer.

He watched with widened eyes for several seconds as the fire crawled over the ground like a flood. Just as quickly as Eldras started, he stopped and closed his mouth. A sense of relief filled their bond, though Aric didn’t know who felt it more.

Francil walked around the small flames lingering on the ground, stepping on the burning weeds and glowing embers. “You’re something entirely different,” he said with a wide grin as he pointed at Eldras. “Most dragons can’t breathe fire for at least their first half-year. Yet here you are—doing it by instinct.”

Aric’s breath was still heavy as he returned to his feet. “Are you alright?”

Eldras looked up at Aric. “I am now. Let’s…let’s not do that again.”

“That was stupid,” Aric said to Francil. “It was too much for him.”

Francil smirked. “Trials tend to push things along faster.”

Aric shook his head. “You’re an asshole.”

Francil nodded. “But why did you scream?”

“Because I felt it,” Aric said. “It fucking hurt.”

Francil chuckled. “Check on your arte.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. He wanted to say piss off, but it was a good idea to keep an eye on their arte’daelir. As he went to search with his mind’s eye, he barely had his eyes closed and saw it. He opened his eyes.

For the first time, he could see the light of the bond in his mind while seeing the world around him with his eyes. He couldn’t help but smile back. He looked at Eldras. “It’s stronger. Brighter.”

“Did it change at all?” asked Francil. Aric nodded. “You’ve strengthened the bond between you. As I said, trials…”

“You need to work on your mentoring skills,” Aric grumbled. He rubbed his chest.

“The elven dragonmages don’t train like this,” Francil said. “ They’re never in danger while they are learning.”

“I’m guessing they don’t attempt shit beyond their capabilities either,” said Aric.

Francil lifted his brows and pointed at Aric. “That they don’t.”

“I think I can feel something new in the heart spark,” said Eldras. He walked over to Aric. “It’s—it’s like the blue flame is still there, inside me. But it’s small, like it’s resting.”

Aric knelt down and rubbed Eldras’s snout. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“I think that’s enough training for the night, boy.” Aric glanced at Francil. “Agreed?”

“Most definitely,” said Francil. He walked back over to his spot by the fire pit. “Progression like this is unheard of. A break would be wise. Pushing your arte too much, too quickly, can damage it, weaken it. Then you’ll be spending a week trying to repair it.”

Aric arched his brow. “How would we do that?”

Francil sighed. “That’s…something I don’t know.”

Aric’s stomach churned. “Yeah. Maybe somebody in Velensmir will.”

Francil pulled out a small pouch from his pocket. From it, he produced a pinch of the obsidian powder. As he turned to pick up the firerod, a burst of blue fire hit the black dust, reviving the campfire with a small explosion. Francil leaped backward with a yelp. “Oi!”

Aric felt a sense of pride through the bond. He chuckled. “It’s that easy now, huh?”

“I don’t think I can do another one,” Eldras said with a playful tone.

“That was a little close to my hand,” Aric said as he shoved Eldras and laughed.

“I could’ve saved that dust if I knew you were going to do that!” said Francil. “You could have blown my hand off.”

“He said he’s sorry,” said Aric.

“No I didn’t,” Eldras said. A low hum vibrated in his throat.

“Well,” Francil said as he dusted himself off. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night. Don’t you?” He pulled his cloak out from underneath him, wrapped it around himself and lay on his side. “Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

Aric unlatched his cloak and wrapped it around his bare arms. “Do you think we can procure some new clothes tomorrow?”

Francil groaned. “Maybe. At the least you should have a wash.” He chuckled.

Aric furrowed his brows. “Ass.” He looked at Eldras.

“He isn’t wrong,” said Eldras. He walked in a circle three times, then flopped down beside the fire.

Aric rolled his eyes and scoffed. Then, making sure Eldras and Francil weren’t looking, he bent his head down and sniffed his armpit. Good fucking gods.

“Told you.”

“You just lay there and go to sleep, Eldras.”

“You sleep, Aric,” said Eldras. He lifted his head and looked back. “I’ll stay up and keep watch.”

“You should sleep,” said Aric. “You had a big day today and-”

“That’s why you need to sleep. I’m still too excited. I almost flew. Then I breathed fire.”

Aric knew it was pointless to argue. Instead, he focused on the bond and pushed back on the excitement as he lay his head on the ground. He sighed as he folded his arms beneath the cloak and looked up at the stars. The tops of the trees were illuminated with a blue hue from the waxing moon’s light. A few more days and it will be full, he thought as he yawned. Sleep took hold quickly.

Chapter 23:

Carcel

The next day, Aric was nudged awake by Francil. He jerked with a start and sat up quickly. The sun had yet to rise above the trees, so the camp was barely lit yet darker than it had been under the moon. Yawning, he pushed his hands high into the air and stretched his arms and back. He turned to see Francil had sat back down in front of a low fire; one that he had to have made within recently.

Besides his waterskin, all of Francil’s things were gone, presumably put away in the saddle bags. “Want to eat now or later, while we move?”

Aric looked at Eldras and lifted his brows. “Up to you, boy."

Eldras lay low to the ground, sliding his legs outward as he yawned. His tongue curled as he made a low groan. “We can eat now.”

“Of course,” Aric said as he snorted. “Now would probably be better.”

Francil walked over to Dranlin and opened the side pouch. “We’ll need to get these girls some water as soon as possible—even if we have to give them ours.”

Aric nodded, understanding. The horses hadn’t drank water since the morning before. Since they were on the cusp of arriving at Carcel, he would gladly give Pebble the rest of his water.

Francil returned to the fire with the last of the venison. He set it on one of the outer rocks of the fire pit and walked over to a cedar tree. “How are you both feeling today?”

Aric stood, then shrugged as he returned his cloak to his back. “I feel fine. Feel really good actually.” He looked down at Eldras, who was still stretching like a cat, his back arched downward as he extended a leg forward. “What about you, boy?”

“I feel great. I slept well after the halfling woke up and took care of the watch.”

Aric quickly shot a glance at Francil. “You stayed up?”

Francil snapped a thin branch off and walked back to the fire. “Not all night. I woke up a few hours ago and told him to get some rest. And I would have let you sleep longer—” he paused and pulled out the small knife from the back of his leggings, “—but we need to move if we want to reach Carcel at a decent time.” He began carving out a skewer for the deer meat.

As time always seemed to be of the essence, the trio ate quickly. Aric and Francil gathered their supplies and picked up their journey northeast again. The trees continued to not only thin out, but vary as they traveled. Sporadically, the evergreens gave way to maples, oaks and beeches.

Aric found it a pleasant shift in color. No longer were they surrounded by the same shades of green needles. The wilds gave way to patches of plains here and there between spurts of trees. This helped break up the monotony of the trip.

And within four hours, they found a beaten trail. It struck Aric as strange now to see a path leading to…anywhere. For over a month, they had traveled through the Vrelengard Forest, mostly unhindered by civilization. His heart started racing as he suddenly remembered the plan. “So, just to get this straight—one more time—we’re just going to march right in there and…demand this half-elf to make me a dragonmage sword.”

Francil chuckled as they came to a halt. “Not quite like that. I’ll go in first. Find him. Then we’ll probably have to sneak you in through one of the back entrances.”

Aric looked ahead. In the distance, still a mile or more away, were the unmistakable edges of a village perimeter. Like nearly every town in Verilia, it had dark walls surrounding it, several gates and guards by each one. Unlike most towns, however, Carcel had no towers jutting into the sky. No castles or houses of worship. Most of the rooftops barely crested above the tall barrier. Those that did were likely taverns or whorehouses.

Aric thought about a brothel. He hadn’t been to one in somewhere close to forever. Then he thought about Eldras being in his mind every waking second, and shuttered.

“Are you…alright?” asked Eldras.

Aric cleared his throat quickly with a start. His heart jolted. “Fine,” he said out loud, then realized Francil was still staring at him. He pushed the thoughts of a woman out of his mind. “Right. Well, let’s not dally on the subject. We have a long way to go.”

Francil looked down at Eldras, then cocked a brow at Aric. “Why’re your cheeks red?”

“They aren’t,” Aric said quickly and sent Pebble moving. His stomach churned with embarrassment, an emotion he tried to force away by thinking of everything that made him the opposite of aroused.

“Mhm,” Francil hummed and made a clicking sound with his tongue to send Dranlin forward again. Fifteen minutes later, they halted. Carcel was within distance now to see the shimmering mail of guards posted outside the southern entrance. “Something is wrong.”

Aric cocked his head. “How do you know?”

“Carcel has never been under the protection of Gray Guards,” said Francil. He swallowed. “At least they weren’t the last time I was here.”

“How long ago was that?” asked Aric.

Francil sighed and bobbed his head back and forth. “About seven years.”

Aric’s heart sank. “You’re telling me it’s been that long since you were even here, and yet, you expect this swordsmith to still be here?”

Francil shrugged. “Well, kid, they say you always go with what you know. And Belrad lived here for at least five decades. When—when I met him about three decades ago.”

“Unbelievable,” Aric muttered.

Francil grinned awkwardly. “Only one way to find out, eh?” With that, he clicked his tongue and sent Dranlin forward again.

“What am I supposed to do until then?” Aric yelled after him.

“Lay low!” Francil yelled back, waving his hand in the air. “I’ll be back.”

“Gods damn it,” Aric hissed. He looked down at Eldras. “I’m sick of this waiting shit.” Without needing to be told, he moved Pebble into a small patch of trees, dismounted, and leaned against an elm.

Eldras lay down in the weeds. “Would you rather us be caught unaware and thrust into danger?”

Aric furrowed his brows. The thought initially didn’t sound too bad. It would be more exciting at least. Then he remembered his magic unleashing itself on poor souls. A flash of a man vaporizing in front of him came back to the forefront of his mind. “No. This is fine. This is safe.”

“I think it would be best if we avoided a fight in there—especially since that town is full of people. If you were to lose control…”

“I know it’s the right thing to do,” Aric mused. “Just sucks. I always feel like we’re in the dark here.”

“But it’s daylight,” said Eldras. A wave of confusion pushed across the bond.

Aric chortled. “That’s not what I mean, boy. I mean it feels like we’re always the last to know what’s going on.”

“Oh.”

Fortunately, Aric didn’t have to wait as long this time. Within a half hour, he spotted Francil riding back out of Carcel. Out of curiosity, he reached his hand out and connected with the arte. Even from a quarter mile away, he could feel Francil and Dranlin’s strands of energy. Even depleted, the horse’s source of power dwarfed Francil’s.

“Alright, do you want the good news, or bad news?” Francil asked as he brought Dranlin to a halt before Aric and Eldras. His face was red.

Aric rose to his feet and huffed. “There’s always bad news, isn’t there?”

Francil nodded with pursed lips.

Aric shook his head. “Then let me have the bad first.”

“Good news first,” said Eldras.

Aric looked down at Eldras. “You always take the bad news first. Once you’re over the initial shock of it, the good news always feels better.”

“Oh,” said Eldras. He sniffed the air. “The bad news then.”

“The bad news,” said Francil with a disappointed look, “is that the locals say Belrad has been arrested for forging weapons for the Elven Court.”

“What?” Aric blurted. “I thought he doesn’t work for the Elven Court.”

“It seems times have grown hard for many people,” said Francil. “This only adds to the speculation that he hasn’t had a new dragonmage to forge a blade for in quite some time. The Elven Court was typically the main faction that paid him.”

“Must be an expensive sword,” Aric said with a snort.

“Seeing as less than five people in the last century have had the knowledge to forge them, I’d say so.”

Aric’s mouth fell agape with a thought. “Francil…how were you planning on paying him? And why the fuck was he arrested? Isn’t Paulus an ally of the Elven Court?”

Francil shook his head. “It seems that with the final raid of the orcs, Paulus finally pulled his head out of his ass and cut ties with the Elven Court and Bӧr Mesari altogether. He claimed control over the land spreading in the north to Nalta and all the way to the western town of Nordert. If things go the way he is pushing, he’ll likely try to take Dawn Harbor next.”

Aric’s stomach lurched. “That’s nearly a quarter of Verilia.”

Francil sniffled. “See why they call him the High King of Verilia?” He looked back at Carcel. “Those guards at the gate are here under Paulus’s orders. Anyone caught in alliance with the elves is to be arrested.”

Aric interlocked his fingers behind his head and let out a long sigh. “I guess it’s true what they say about Paulus and his power then.” He shook his head and tried to imagine the level of organization it would have to take to run such a kingdom. “Alright, so we need to break Belrad out.”

“That’s treason,” said Francil. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Are you ready to go that far, kid?”

“I’m most likely running from the elves already,” said Aric. “What more could it hurt to have Paulus on our ass? Besides, if we succeed, we’re heading south, right?”

Francil nodded. “We will eventually be out of his reach, yes.”

“Alright,” said Aric. He glanced at Eldras, then back at Francil. “We’ve come this far for something you think is invaluable. It’d be stupid leaving without it at this point.”

“Good,” said Francil. He smirked. “Then treason it is. I never liked the bastard king anyway.”

Aric looked toward Carcel. From the Gray Guards standing at the gate to the perimeter barrier, he found he wasn’t too intimidated. “We’ve been through worse.”

“Aye, we have,” said Francil. “But look, kid, it is going to take both of us to do this. Eldras will need to-”

“He’s coming with us,” said Aric. He knew the precautions of keeping Eldras hidden, but he also knew the truth was going to eventually come out; there is a dragonmage roaming free in Verilia. “Now, what’s the good news then?”

“Oh,” said Francil, chuckling nervously. “There are signs he’s still here.”

Aric dipped his head and rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

“That is good news.”

“How heavy is the pound guarded?” Aric asked. Ironically, now more than ever, he wished he had a sword. His mind quickly drifted back to the buck. “We have a way to fight now.”

“I counted a dozen swordsmen of the Gray Guard,” said Francil. “And maybe six archers on the rooftop.”

“So what’s your plan?” Aric asked. He imagined running into Carcel and sucking the life out of the guards. But if he took in too much, or someone attacked Eldras, his power could prove far too grand for such a task.

“Well you can’t just go in and blast a beam of light through Carcel if that’s what you’re asking,” said Francil with inclined brows.

“I wasn’t asking that,” said Aric dryly. “I wanted to know your plan for taking out a bunch of Gray Guards with what—a potato knife?”

“I think if you get close enough, you can pull enough energy from them to put them to sleep,” explained Francil. “But Eldras will need to transfer the energy from your arte to his body.”

“I can do it,” said Eldras. “And if things get too hard, I’ll scorch their cloaks.”

Aric snorted. “Right. Well let’s hope I can do it from afar. Otherwise, it’ll be fisticuffs and praying to the gods my power doesn’t decide that it wants to come out to play.”

Francil took a deep breath. “One more bit of bad news then.”

Aric’s heart jolted. “Now what?”

Francil sighed and looked over his shoulder at the town. “The pound is all the way on the northern wall of Carcel.”

A thought occurred to Aric and he grinned. “That isn’t bad news. Is it against the northern wall?”

“Almost,” said Francil. He quirked a brow. “Why?”

“And is there a gate to the north?”

“No,” said Francil. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we make a hole,” said Aric. He looked down at Eldras again, who was now sitting on his hind legs. “If I can muster enough energy from outside the village, can you burn the wall?”

A nervous tinge of energy washed over the bond. “I think so. But I don’t think I can burn a hole through it fast enough for us to get in.”

“You won’t have to,” said Aric. He looked up at Carcel again, his eyes following the southern border. “If we create a diversion, the Gray Guard will have no choice but to protect the town, right?”

Francil’s eyes widened. “You want to burn down the walls, don’t you?”

Aric grinned. “I just want to make a little bit of noise.”

Chapter 24:

Casualties of War

“I can’t believe you ride these things.”

Aric refrained from laughing as they approached the northern wall of Carcel. While it wasn’t illegal to wander around the perimeter of most cities in the north, he kept Eldras underneath his cloak nonetheless. At a glance, anyone who spotted them would likely assume Pebble was merely carrying a load.

“Almost there,” said Eldras. “I can smell the Gray Guards.”

Aric scanned the twelve-foot-high wall. It was made from thick wood but otherwise looked unguarded from the outside. “How can you smell them? I mean how do you know they’re Gray Guards?”

“Their armor smells different. Unique.”

“Huh,” Aric muttered. “I wonder if they use a different ore. Probably an alloy.”

“There,” said Eldras. “Just beyond that wall. I can hear their hearts beating.”

“This is it,” Aric informed Francil. His chest thumped from his accelerating heartbeats. They both halted their horses. Climbing out of the saddle, Francil scanned the west, and Aric looked to the east.

Carcel was less than a half mile wide, its outer walls set in a near-perfect circle. Aric mused for a moment on why the village wouldn’t have an entrance to the north. Probably because the pound is set by the northern walls. If the prisoners died first in an attack from the north, then so be it. But they’d have to get through a lot of prison guards first.

Convinced the open range to the north was barren, and their flanks were clear, Aric pulled the cloak off of Eldras. In a flash, he jumped down. Pebble whinnied as the dragon’s claws scratched her back.

“Easy,” Aric said, quickly pulling tight on her bridle. He shot a look at Eldras. “You have daggers on your feet!”

“Sorry,” said Eldras. A sensation of guilt pushed through the bond.

Aric looked at Pebble’s back. “She’ll be alright. It’s just a scratch.” He looked at Francil. “What are we doing with them?”

Francil looked at Dranlin and clenched his jaws. Scoffing, he looked down.

“You didn’t think of that, did you?” Aric asked.

Francil shook his head. “They may just stay here. They were patrolmen’s horses.”

Aric’s stomach twisted at the thought of them going through with this plan, and succeeded, only to depart the village on foot. “They better. Else we’re going to be stealing two more.”

Francil gave a single nod. “Alright. This is going to have to be quick. Draw on their energy. Eldras, take it all in and burn the wall. But head further back east. We don’t want to be fighting guards and an inferno.”

“How will we know which cage Belrad is in?” Aric asked as Eldras began walking to the east.

Francil lifted his brows and nodded. “It’ll likely be the most secure section.”

“That makes sense,” Aric muttered. He sighed and swallowed a lump of nerves in his throat. He walked over to the wall and placed his hand against it. Looking back toward Eldras, he felt a flutter of excitement through the bond. “Ready?”

Eldras stood two hundred paces away, slightly crouched as if ready to pounce. “Ready.”

Aric closed his eyes. The arte was more difficult to find this time. The light seemed to be buried deep in the dark of his mind. He made a mental note that it was likely due to the distance between him and Eldras.

From inside the town, he could feel the waves of energy from over a dozen beings. He took a deep breath and began pulling with his mind. He found it more difficult this time to pull the life force into the bond. This, he speculated, was due to the fact he was siphoning through a thick, wooden wall. He squeezed his eyes tighter and pulled harder. Most of the beings inside had a surge of energy amplified. Their waves grew brighter.

They sense it, Aric thought. “They’re scared.”

“They should be,” said Eldras. “I can feel them. Pull harder or we’re going to get caught.”

Aric’s brows crimped as he focused. Three of the beings’ energy dwindled fast. He quickly let go of them. “Let’s not kill them if they don’t know what they’re fighting. That isn’t honorable.”

“Agreed.”

From the others, Aric continued to siphon. He could sense their panicked pacing as their sources of light darted back and forth, some above the others. As their life force dimmed, their movements slowed. One by one, he released them before their light died completely. He opened his eyes and stepped back, letting out his breath. “Is that enough?”

“More than…enough,” Eldras said as if he were straining to speak.

Aric’s heart jolted. “Shit.” He glanced at Francil. “Too much. He took in-”

His words were cut short as a bright blue explosion of flames bathed the barrier. Eldras moved his head back and forth slowly. A sharp pain tinged at Aric’s mind and chest. He winced but managed to stay upright this time as he leaned against the wall. Just as quickly, the pain stopped.

“Eldras!” Aric yelled across the bond.

The blue flames shifted into orange as the wall took on the role of food for the flames.

Aric’s heart sank as he saw three heads pop up over the wall on the other side of Eldras. One of them pulled back an arrow on his longbow. For whatever reason, the man didn’t release the arrow. He was shouting over his shoulder into Carcel.

Eldras’s flames halted. “Aric!” He quickly turned and raced back toward Aric and Francil.

“How are we getting in now?” Aric quickly asked in a panic.

“Watch your landing!” Francil said.

“What-”

Aric didn't get the chance to finish his question when Francil stepped forward, grabbed him by the chest and threw him into the air. With his arms flailing chaotically, he darted over the high wall. Turning in the air, he spotted the back of a stone structure just before landing hard on the ground. His legs buckled beneath his weight and he crashed onto his shoulder as he rolled.

Hot pain shot across his shoulder and chest. “Fuck!”

“Look out!” Eldras called.

Aric looked over his shoulder to see Eldras coming over the wall. He flapped his wings frantically, which slowed his descent. Fortunately, landed with far more grace than Aric had. “Are you alright?”

“I was almost flying!” said Eldras, a burst of joy pushing through the bond.

Francil came over the wall with the prowess of a full-blooded elf. He landed on his feet and held his hand out to Aric. “Sorry, kid. Didn’t figure you’d like that part of the plan.”

“You still could have told me!” Aric winced as he took Francil’s hand and was pulled to his feet. “Why the fuck didn’t you just plan on doing that—instead of having Eldras burning the wall?”

Francil’s face reddened. “Are you alright?”

Aric rolled his shoulder around. It was painful, but otherwise the joint seemed to be unhindered. “I’ll be fine. We need to move—fast.” He decided to let the burning question of the plan go for the moment.

Francil looked up at the building. “This is the pound. Good.” He pulled out his small knife. “I’ll lead.” He poked his head out to check around the side and, without a word, continued moving.

As they rounded the corner, Aric heard several men yelling. His heart raced in his chest. He could really do with a sword. Francil took the next corner without a pause. Before Aric could see anything, he heard the crashes and thuds of combat. One man cried out as another grunted.

Aric rounded the corner, struggling to keep up with Francil. As he did, he was met with a staircase to his right. Two Gray Guards lay dead and the captain was out of sight. With a sense of relief, Aric saw one of the Gray Guards had lost their sword. He quickly picked it up, finding its weight to be significantly lighter than his broadswords had been.

As he bounded up the stairs, he turned his focus halfway on the bond. Eldras was right at his feet.

The steps led to an open roof, barely ten feet off of the ground. As Aric and Eldras reached the top, two men yelled at the bottom.

“Stop!” yelled the first.

“D-dragon! He’s here!” cried the second.

Aric spotted Francil running across the rooftop with a sword in hand. In a swift flash, the captain disposed of two more guards.

A guard called out to Aric’s left. That’s when he noticed there were two more sets of stairs. This was a guard platform, not just a rooftop.

“What do we do?” asked Eldras.

While this was not the enemy Aric had hated and fought for years, he was now a dragonmage. No longer was he sentinel of the Elven Court dispatched by King Paulus of Grayhorn. He had no affiliations with these men. And the Gray Guard were ordered to arrest him—although they knew nothing of his allegiance to the elves, or lack thereof. His focus cleared as a rush of energy strengthened his limbs, a sensation he had known all too well in every battle as adrenaline. The sword was gripped familiarly. This was a fight he had confidence in.

The guard to his left was upon Aric quickly. “You’re under arrest!”

“Take them out however you can!” He parried the guard’s side cut and stepped to his right. Using the momentum from the block, he twisted his new sword around and slashed at the man’s mail armor. The two metals sparked, but the blade didn’t cut through.

He hadn’t expected it either. Strong chainmail should stop the slash of a sword. If these were Paulus’s personal soldiers, they would be well equipped. But still, the force of Aric’s blow forced the guard back a few steps.

Looking for weak points in the armor was near hopeless. The Gray Guard were garbed with chainmail on their torso, plate armor on their shoulders and helm, and a mix of leather, mail, and plate on their wrists and hands. At the sound of Eldras’s high-pitched roar, the Gray Guard turned his head.

Aric spotted a flash of tan skin beneath his helm. “The neck! Go for the neck!” Though he couldn’t see Eldras down the stairs now, he could feel the dragon through the bond with every movement. He worried, but he could tell Eldras wasn’t injured.

Another guard appeared in the second stairwell and slowly began moving parallel to the first. They looked at each other and nodded.

A smile tugged at the corner of Aric’s mouth. “I have killed hargrols a hundred times over. If you think you have it in you, let’s be on with it.”

Both men moved at once. One swung high to the left, the other low and to the right. Aric leaped backward and dodged both swords. The guards nearly collided with each other. Without giving them a chance to recharge their strikes, he lunged forward and thrust the tip of his blade into the first guard’s neck.

The second attacked again, this time a downward strike.

Aric turned sideways and dodged again, pulling his sword out of the man’s neck with a bright spray of blood. The man cried out and dropped his sword in exchange for holding his bleeding artery.

The second guard’s sword clanged against the stone rooftop. Aric clamped it down with his boot and slammed the butt of the sword handle into his helmet.

As the guard fell, his helmet unseated and rolled off of the backside of the building. Aric halted midswing as he realized it was just a kid. Probably an adult. But to Aric, he was a kid. One who had flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as he held his arms up to block.

Aric’s stomach churned. Paulus has forced the youth to serve. Or I’m just getting too old to tell the difference. Lowering his sword, he held his hand out and felt the guard’s waves of energy. Pulling them into the core of the bond, Aric watched the man’s eyes droop.

“What are you…” His head sank slowly and his eyes closed completely.

Aric let go of the waves of energy and clenched his jaws. It struck him right there that every guard was someone’s child. For all he knew, they were someone’s husband, or father. He hated it. Unease filled his stomach and sent it lurching. How strange it was now for him to think of such things.

I was someone’s child once, he thought. But such is the life of wardogs. If war is upon us, then war shall become us. He tightened his grip on his sword and rushed another guard entering the top of the stairwell. An enemy is an enemy.

“Thanks!” Eldras boasted.

Aric whirled around to see the bright blue glow of Eldras’s flames. Immediately, several men cried out. Turning around, he saw Francil dissecting an archer in half. At his feet were more than a dozen men. “Where is he?”

“Downstairs,” Francil called, then leaped off of the roof in a sideways flip, throwing his butter knife into the narrow slit of a guard’s helmet. It buried itself into the man’s eye and silenced him before he could cry out.

“Fuck!” Aric hissed and quickly ran down the second set of stairs. As he reached the ground, he saw Eldras standing in a low crouch, his teeth bared in a predatory visage he had never seen before. More men yelled out from behind him. He whirled around to see a gate had been busted and caved inward.

Without a word, he ran forward and realized the gate led underground. “The building is a ruse.”

Eldras let out a ferocious growl, though nothing in comparison to a full-grown dragon, and ran past Aric. “There is another halfling down here. Can you sense him?”

Aric sprinted after Eldras, squinting in the dark stairwell. At the bottom, a long hall was lined with flickering torches on the walls. Six more of the Gray Guard were dead.

“Aric!” Francil yelled from a different room at the end of the hall. There was a pang of fear in his voice.

With a tightening chest, he ran forward after Eldras. Stepping over the dead was nothing new to him, but seeing they were humans—and most likely young men at that—was more unsettling than any dead orc could have been. He reached the end of the corridor in seconds.

“He’s…he’s not here,” Francil said through gritted teeth. “Where the fuck would he be then?”

A chill ran down Aric’s spine. He turned to see Eldras’s wings lifting and realized the ominous unease was coming from the bond. “What is it, Eldras?”

Eldras dipped his head low and growled. “Gray Guards.”

As the dragon’s words cut into Aric’s mind, the sounds of hooves and boots echoed down the stairwell. It had been years since Aric had heard any organized cadence or march, but he knew well enough there were far more men outside than he had faced moments ago. “It’s the Guard.”

Francil slammed the iron door shut and looked back at the flat wall. “Fuck!” He smacked the stone, his breaths coming in heavy waves. He marched ahead of Aric and passed Eldras.

Reaching out, Aric grabbed Francil’s arm. “What are you doing?”

Francil jerked his arm free and whirled on Aric. He pointed toward the light flooding down the steps. “They did something with him—to him.”

Aric swallowed a lump in his throat. There was a gleam to Francil’s cold eyes he hadn’t seen before. “We’ll find him. It’s just a sword. We need to figure a way out of here first.”

Francil stepped forward and thrust his palm into Aric’s chest. “It’s more than a gods damned sword, Aric! He’s my brother!”

Aric froze, his heart hammering in his chest. He looked back and forth at Francil’s misty eyes. “Wh-why didn’t you tell me that?”

Francil clamped his jaws and turned back around. He flexed his hand open and closed around his sword handle. “It doesn’t matter.”

Aric decided to let it go for the moment. He looked at Eldras, then glanced up the stairs. “We’re going to get out of here, then you’ve got questions to answer.”

“This is Lieutenant Moutais of the Gray Guard of Grayhorn,” a man yelled from outside. His voice was high and clear, dripping with arrogance only an officer or noble could acquire.

“Shit,” Aric muttered. He looked around the hall. If ever there was a trap so easily placed, they had found it.

“Come out with your hands toward the sky. The pound is surrounded, so there…really is no need to continue this claptrap.”

“What are we going to do?” Aric asked.

Francil’s heavy breaths began to quicken. He started shaking his head slowly, then violently. “No, no, no!” He turned around and stared wide-eyed at Aric.

Aric furrowed his brows. The former captain had the look of a man full of regrets. “What is it?”

“There’s only one way out of here,” said Francil. The anger had washed from his eyes, only to be replaced with somberance.

Aric could see the plan formulating in Francil’s mind. He stepped back and shook his head. “No!”

“Do you have any other ideas?” Francil asked.

“I’ll kill every fucking one of them before I let them take you,” Aric said quickly. His stomach twisted. “I’ll blow a hole through the ceiling.”

Francil shook his head again. A tear streamed down his cheek. “We’d only be buried under stone. Not a death I’d wish for.”

“Can we trick them somehow?” Eldras asked.

Aric thought about the options before them, slim as they were. “We’ll walk out, play along for a second so they don’t spear us on sight and then-”

“What?” Francil interrupted. “Are you going to hit them with a wave of energy?”

Aric lifted his brows. “Uh, yeah.”

“What if there are archers on the roof to our backs?” asked Francil. Aric opened his mouth to speak. “Or they’re fanned out so far that any single one of them could land a hit.” He jerked his head to the side, toward Eldras. “What if one hits him.”

Aric’s heart skipped a beat. “Then I’ll-”

“Exactly,” Francil said quickly. “There is a town full of people out there. If you react by instinct…”

Aric’s eyes began to well with tears as he tried to think of another way to escape. Every thought was brought up short. He knew there was no easy route. “I’ll do it.” His stomach churned as the words left his mouth.

Francil narrowed his eyes and grabbed Aric’s shoulder. “No, kid.” His voice returned to a soft tone. He shook his head slowly. “You have so much blood on your hands already. Destroy a town of innocent citizens and your name might as well be the same for the humans as it is for the elves.”

“We will burn you out if we must,” Moutais said.

“Let me surrender,” Francil said. “Go to Velensmir. They’ll have the answers you seek. Gain an audience with King Aglorion and-”

“Pyres!” yelled Moutais.

Aric’s heart hammered in his chest. Every thought that ran through his mind, he couldn’t find the strength to voice. We’re out of time, he thought. Clenching his fists, he yelled toward the stairwell, “Alright!”

“Hold!” came Moutais’s command. “Come out now—hands skyward.”

Francil nodded. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Aric. “I’ll get you a distraction. You run like the Bearmaw is falling down around you.”

Aric wrapped his arms around Francil. Before he could squeeze tight, the captain pushed back and ran up the steps. He followed Francil and halted halfway up the stairs. Eldras was at his heels.

“There has to be another way.”

Aric glanced down at Eldras. “We aren’t running. We’ll get away but not too far. We’ll get him, boy. Don’t worry.”

“Where is Belrad?” Francil called out at the doorway.

Aric held still and stared at Francil’s back, waiting for him to make his move. “Get ready to run.”

“I’ll follow your lead.”

Without a warning to Aric, an arrow buried in Francil’s back. “No!”

Francil stumbled out of sight, growling as he swung his sword.

Before Aric reached the top of the steps, he heard two clangs of steel and a half dozen thuds. His chest grew hot as he stepped into the light. The sight of Francil facedown with five arrows in his back and side caught his breath. “Francil!”

“There’s the dragon!” a man called out. Four archers released arrows from atop the pound.

A sharp pain burned in Aric’s shoulder as an arrow pierced through the backside and stuck out through the front. He screamed and whirled around just as an arrow ricocheted off of Eldras’s side. The energy in his chest burned like a hot iron being shoved into his heart.

While time did not slow as it did before, the energy spread from his chest and rolled down his arms. He aimed for the archers and thrust both hands forward. Twin beams of light cut through the men and exploded the pound. Stone and rubble filled the air with a mix of dust and blood.

“Take him down!” Moutais roared.

Aric stumbled forward as his energy dwindled. For a brief moment his vision blurred, a mix of the magic and his tears. He glanced back at Francil.

A dozen Gray Guards moved in around the captain’s limp body.

Spotting a sword on the ground, Aric stepped forward and picked it up. As he turned, he bumped into Eldras. Only then did he take in the full scope of the militia surrounding them. His heart sank. There were no less than fifty by his quick guess. He couldn’t fight them. He looked at Francil and fought the urge to vomit. “Burn them.”

“Now?” Eldras asked. Even mentally, his voice broke as if he had been crying.

“Now!” Aric said. “We have to get out of here. Put a wall between us!”

Eldras took a step forward and opened his mouth. Bright blue flames bathed the ground in a semicircle as he waved his head back and forth. Several arrows pierced through the veil of fire, instantly becoming immolated. A number of the men cried out as they caught fire.

Aric turned to see a massive hole in the wall from his spell. “Let’s go!” Eldras ran ahead, creating a barrier beside them. Aric stole a glance back to where Francil lay dead. He could barely see through the flames and heat waves for a brief moment before the blue turned to orange and engulfed the area surrounding the pound. It devoured everything in its path, including the former captain.

Chapter 25:

The Shifted Path

“When?” Moro asked impatiently.

“Soon.”

Moro shook his head and glared at Vig’ka. “You know what I think? I think you’ve been dragging me along. Two fucking days I’ve waited. Speak with Ergoth, you said. Listen and learn, you’ve told me.” He shook his head. “Ergoth still isn’t back. And I can’t see these so-called dragon eggs without his permission?”

“Do humans often lack patience?” asked Vig’ka.

“No!” Moro yelled. Two hargrol stood from their bench beside the massive scarlet hut. The warchief’s home.

Vig’ka looked sideways at them and held a hand down low. The orcs sat back down.

“Mhmm.” Moro pointed at the guards. “Feeling real welcome here. I think I’m going to take that option of freedom now.”

Vig’ka grunted. “As you wish.”

Moro narrowed his eyes. Then he glanced at the hargrols. “You’re just going to kill me, aren't you?”

“If I even wanted you dead, you would have been gone already,” said Vig’ka. “If Thar’lok wanted you dead, he would have killed you in the Misty Scar, and then he would have fed you to Ba’at. But he did not. Correct?”

Moro clenched his jaws. Pressing his face into his hands, he shook his head. “What do you want from me? What does Ergoth want from me?”

Vig’ka took a deep breath. Slowly turning toward the guards, he said, “Telôrn rem repvost.”

The two hargrols looked at each other with widened eyes. They stood and bowed their heads to Vig’ka. “Tilv telôrn org sneitr.”

Moro arched his brow as he watched the two guards walk back down the path he and Vig’ka had taken to Ergoth’s hut. “What are you-”

Vig’ka held out a hand. “Wait.”

Moro understood Vig’ka wanted the hargrols to be out of sight first. For whatever reason, he waited to judge. Once they were gone, he whispered, “what are you doing?”

“We will not have time to linger,” said Vig’ka as he turned to face Moro. “If you think for a moment you are here by chance—alive by chance—you are wrong. You have been chosen, like the others. I will show you the dragon eggs. I am trying to get you to see that orcunae are not the darkness of this land. We are the light.”

Moro swallowed a lump in his throat. He looked around, half-expecting to see another orc coming back up the trail. He looked into Vig’ka’s eyes and nodded. “Fine. Show me.”

Vig’ka took another look around, then quickly moved to the door. He dug his hand into his robe pocket, then pulled something out. Shoving his palm flat against a black wooden door, the only actual door Moro had seen in Az’ Grim, an explosion of purple smoke erupted from his hand.

“What did you do?” Moro asked. His heart jolted at the thought that Vig'ka had just broken something important.

No sooner did the words leave his lips when the smoke rolled down and slithered under the door like a serpent and the door slowly opened. A mechanical clicking sound rang out, then the door slowly opened.

“Quickly,” Vig’ka whispered as he shoved Moro inside. “Do not touch anything.”

Moro scoffed as he caught his balance after nearly tripping into the hut from Vig'ka's strong usher. As he looked around, he realized the inside of this scarlet structure was significantly bigger than the one he stayed in the past two days. A lofty bed fit for a human family sat against one side. Large curved bones made up the headboard, adorned with iron bands around them.

On either side of the bed were large square tables. And at the foot was a thick bench carved out of a wide log. Lanterns were placed evenly on tall iron stands. Across the hut was a desk too tall for a human, and a thick chair that could seat Moro and two others.

Vig’ka swiftly moved around the desk to a cabinet. He pressed his palms against it. Another burst of purple smoke pushed out between his fingers, then moved into the crack of the cabinet doors.

Moro furrowed his brows. “Is it locked with magic?”

Three mechanical clicks sounded. Then the door opened slowly with a creech.

“Ergoth does so well to protect few things,” said Vig’ka. “It may seem strange to you, but orcunae aren’t thieves amongst ourselves. Here, there is little reason for protection. Especially these. Orcunae know to leave this place be. But should another find themselves inside this house…" He opened the cabinet door the rest of the way.

Moro’s stomach dropped as his mouth fell agape. He slowly stepped forward. Sitting on plump heaps of cloth were five dragon eggs. While people had been known to make replicas, merchants usually, and sell them, he could always tell the difference between a fake and a real egg. He had spent half of his life guarding them from the orcs.

No artist could smooth the surface like real eggs. And as far as he knew, they had no way to blend layers of coloring. However, beyond the Scar, he had only seen one, and that was still while on guard with the Court. Yet, there lay five.

One was green with golden swirls, one blue with veins of aquamarine, one red with tendrils of orange, and two were nearly identical. They were dark purple with waves of fuschia fading from the bottom.

Moro reached his hand out. “It can’t be…”

Vig’ka smacked his hand, a little too hard. Moro yelped and glared at him. “Do not touch them!” He turned, stepping between Moro and the cabinet. “You have to earn one. That is why you are here. And that is the truth.”

Moro narrowed his eyes and jerked his head back. “Earn one?”

Vig’ka turned around and shut the cabinet. With a wave of his hand, three more mechanical clicks confirmed it was locked. There was no keyhole on the outside. “Ergoth wants the strongest of humans to fulfill a prophecy of old.”

Moro shook his head. “What prophecy?”

“Long ago,” Vig’ka said as he turned around and gestured toward the door with an outstretched arm, “I heard the story as most of my people did. An elf prophesied a dragonmage. She gave him a name; Elmerïan.”

Moro glanced at the cabinet one last time and walked toward the door of the hut. Vig’ka opened it and poked his head out. “What’s an Elmerïan?”

Vig’ka pushed the door open the rest of the way, bathing the hut in sunlight. He stepped outside and turned. “A human dragonmage.”

Moro walked outside and snorted. “Yeah. That will never happen.”

Vig’ka waved his hands in a strange movement, as if he were rubbing them over an invisible orb. The door closed and latched with a metallic clank. “The reason Ergoth isn’t here is because he has been moving things around. Shifting the power from elves to orcs for years—decades. He has pushed orcunae to retrieve eggs. And he has pushed the elves back to their forest. It took a long time to wither the waves of dragonmages.”

Moro clenched his jaws as his thoughts drifted back to the war, to his oath. “Dragons are the protectors of Verilia. Why would you kill them?”

“Dragons are like any sentient being,” said Vig’ka as he began walking toward the path between two high ridges that led from Ergoth’s hut. “They have thoughts, feelings and a mind. They can be swayed by magic just as any other creature can. The elves are not the only ones dragons will choose. But they have made it so they are the only ones who get the chance.”

Moro followed Vig’ka down the path and through the bends of the mountain. Where he would normally turn left at a fork to return to his hut, Vig’ka turned right. Moro looked to the left for a moment, then continued to follow.

“Dragons have ancestral knowledge,” said Vig’ka. “They know the elves have been selfish with the eggs. And they stopped choosing elves years ago.” He halted and turned about. “Why do you think that is?”

Moro halted six feet away. “I assumed it was because they were tired of dying at the hands of orcs.”

“Orcunae,” said Vig’ka. “More than one orc would be orcunae.” He turned back and continued walking. “And you are sadly wrong.”

Moro looked up at both sides of the jagged rock. He concluded the orcs—orcunae—had snuggled into the ridges and valleys of the Bearmaw more-so than they cut away the mountain. “So this…Elmerïan—Ergoth wants the prophecy to come true? Why? How would that help him? Or the orcs? If that were even possible, if dragons really would choose a human, wouldn’t that only serve the humans? Or the elves if they got to him—” He paused as Ergoth’s plan dawned on him.

Moro ran forward around Vig’ka and turned to face him. The orc halted. “That’s why you’re trying to butter me up! You want this supposed Elmerïan to have an alliance with the orcs—orcunae.”

Vig’ka let out a laugh that would have shaken one of the huts. “Nobody is being lathered up. We simply want to expose the truth to you, to Verilia. To Dranghem. To Ortaer." He held his arms out wide. “To the world. You’re still free to leave when you want. My aim is that you will see the truth and bolster Ergoth’s plan. But mistake nothing, Moro of Ambermead, you must first be tested, thrice over.”

Moro’s chest grew tight. “So Ergoth thinks himself worthy of knowing what dragons seek when they choose their rider. You have five eggs. If this is all true, who’s to say any of them will choose who he chooses?”

“Not even Ergoth claims to know the will and desires of dragons,” said Vig’ka. “But he does seek the best. You and the others have proven yourself in your first test. Thar’lok will be carrying out the second test in the absence of our war chief. You may join the others, or you may go.”

Moro swallowed a lump in his throat. Vig’ka walked around him and continued down the path. “Where the fuck are we going?”

“To enlighten you a little more of the orcunae ways.”

Moro looked up at the sky. While the sun beat down on his face, he closed his eyes. Can I really leave? Where to go? Home? Are the orcs insane? Probably. Elmerïan. He opened his eyes as his heart jolted. Something about the prophecy, the coddling of Vig’ka, the freedom he seemed to have to go about in Az’ Grim. Why else would they be tricking me?

He rushed to catch back up to Vig’ka again, who had taken another sharp turn down a steep and narrow path. He held his arms out to balance himself down the valley. Looking up, he realized Vig’ka’s wide steps were on the elevated sides of the valley. Must be nice to be a gods damned giant.

“This second test—what is it?” asked Moro.

“Thar’lok calls it the Teeth of Man,” said Vig’ka. “We have tested your morals. They are as solid as the Bearmaw. Now, we must test your fortitude.”

The valley widened for a few hundred feet then leveled out. Moro halted as his widened eyes fell onto hundreds, if not thousands, of the same structures he had spent the past couple of nights in. Though many were conjoined, creating a long section of scarlet and tans ripples that followed the terrain. Smooth roads ran between large sections of houses, for that is what they truly were.

And on the roads were hundreds of orcunae. Male, female, children. The old and the young bustled about as any human would do in a poor city, such as Direhallow, or Dagger’s Point. Moro took it all in from afar. “This—this is Az’ Grim,” he mused.

“You have only seen our warfront forces for so long,” said Vig’ka. “I can only assume that is all you know about orcunae. Let me show you our home, our people.” He began walking toward the widest road.

Moro’s heart raced in his chest. More than ever he wished for his daggers. He moved quicker, now keeping only an arm’s reach from Vig’ka. He imagined being torn apart. But these orcs had no armor. There were no weapons in sight. Then he spotted Reika playing with three orcunae boys. Playing.

Reika kicked a rugged ball of sorts above the boys. One of them leaped ten feet into the air and caught it and threw it back before he landed. Reika grunted as he caught it, nearly being knocked down from the force. He laughed and the boys cheered.

“What the fuck?” Moro whispered. A sense of vertigo overcame his mind as he looked about. There were orcs, the monsters he had come to loath for so long, humbled as any man would be. Females held infants. He realized with a heavy heart there were far more females than males. Whether it was because the males were on the warfront, or they had died in the raid, he did not know. Suddenly, it occurred to him that his daggers had taken the lives of fathers, sons, even mothers or daughters. His eyes burned with anger. Such is the life of wardogs, he thought, recalling the words of a more vile man than he. But this was not war. This was a home, a city founded on the love and caring of an entire clan of orcs.

“Here,” Vig’ka said as he turned toward a house. He pulled back the curtain. “This is my home.”

A tall orc woman stepped out into the light. She was thin for her height. Her smooth, muted green skin took in the sun’s rays. She wore a leather strap shirt and leggings that were too short to go down to her bare feet. Her raven hair was pulled back in a braided ponytail. “Rodûrf,” she said with a smile at Vig’ka.

“This,” Vig’ka said as he pulled the woman into an embrace, “is Trenara.” He looked at Moro and grinned. “My beautiful daughter.”

Trenara’s cheeks reddened as she shoved Vig’ka playfully. “We have another human, I see,” she said, speaking in the common tongue.

“Trenara, this is Moro,” said Vig’ka. “He is my pick for Ergoth’s task. Strong, brave, and good-hearted.”

“Your pick?” Moro questioned, keeping his eyes on his daughter. “Why?”

“Each leader has chosen a human,” said Vig’ka. “As I am the Sangribӧr Elder, my choice was last.” He smirked at Trenara. “I believe it is because my choice was the most important.”

“Of course, father,” said Trenara, a full smile crossing her face. Her canines were smaller than most of the males that Moro had seen.

He found his chest growing tight as he looked at Trenara. He had seen all sorts of orcunae faces. But he never laid eyes on an attractive orc before. He looked down. It was wrong. They were monsters. Monsters, he told himself. He couldn’t help but steal another glance, his eyes falling on her legs and moving up to her chest before meeting her eyes. His heart jolted. Fuck.

“Moro will be joining the Teeth of Man trials,” said Vig’ka.

Moro snapped out of his daze. “I didn’t say that.”

Trenara looked at her father, then at Moro. “But, you are still here.”

Moro opened his mouth to speak but halted. She was right. Why was he still there? Now that he had taken notice of Trenara, he could think of at least one reason to linger a bit longer. He grinned. “I am…surveying my choices.”

Trenara furrowed her brows as she looked at Vig’ka. “Is he not free like the others?”

“He is,” said Vig’ka. He looked at Moro. “As I have said, you may leave whenever you wish.”

Moro looked back at Reika. What if it isn’t a trick? Could he be telling the truth? he thought. With a swallow, he turned back to Vig’ka. “Maybe I’ll do the test, after all.”

“That is pleasant to hear,” said Vig’ka.

Moro looked out across Az’ Grim, a place far different than he had ever imagined. There was no vegetation, but it was mostly clean. The huts were designed intricately, perfectly spaced and congruent to each other. The roads were smooth, a task that no doubt took ages to complete.

He turned and watched children playing while other orc women sat in rocking chairs conversing, curved tankards in hand. Tall orc men stood in circles talking and smoking something out of a long stick they passed back and forth. The sounds of Az’ Grim reminded him of Ambermead, of home. He closed his eyes for a moment and listened as the sun beat down on his arms.  They’re just like humans.

“Walk with me,” said Vig’ka. As he headed toward the center of Az’ Grim, Trenara smiled and headed back inside.

Moro lingered for a moment and waited for her to vanish behind the curtain. His heart and stomach fluttered as one.

“Did I mention she is my daughter?” Vig’ka asked directly into Moro’s ear.

Moro jumped back and yelled. “Yeah. You said so! What?”

Vig’ka grinned and turned around again. “Come.”

As they passed Reika, he gave a flimsy wave and a smile to Moro. Down the road Moro followed Vig’ka, taking in every sight. None of the merchants or storytellers back home described Az’ Grim like this. They turned down two more roads. Moro looked around. He was in the middle of the town now.

The huts were larger here. Some were two-stories with stairs wrapping around them. Where most of the outlying houses were made of leather, the houses in the middle appeared to be more permanent, either carved of stone, or built with clay and rocks.

“Here,” said Vig’ka. He opened a round-top door of a vast building, the second door he had discovered in the mountains.

It reminded Moro of the town hall in Ambermead. As he followed Vig’ka inside, he realized that was exactly what it was. A strong bite of alcohol filled the air. The smell of smoking meat caught his nostrils, sending his stomach growling.

Thick pillars held the main supports of the building. Around them were curved and twisting tables. It looked as if every piece of furniture was salvaged from old trees, rather than crafted. At the far end of the room was another human. A woman. Moro hadn’t seen her before, but he guessed she was one of the five sentinels who had been spared. Four chairs down from her was a face he’d never forget.

“Thar’lok,” he muttered.

“You see,” said Vig’ka. “I wanted to show the joy and love we orcunae have for each other. The honor we have to our bloodlines. And the ways of our people. It isn’t everything. It isn’t extravagant. But it is home. We are a strong people. But war is not who we are.”

Moro’s stomach twisted in a knot. Thar’lok wore no armor. His axe was nowhere in sight. Instead of menace and strength, he appeared relaxed, a massive tankard in his hand that Moro realized was made from a horn.

His chest grew tight. Could I have been wrong about them my entire life? No human knows what they’re like. What else have I been wrong about? He thought of the elves. Learning about them and seeing their home were two different things. Upon a second thought, he had never seen the elves outside of the war either. Was he to believe they were as noble and poised as they presented around the Scar?

“How did you know he would be here?” asked Moro.

“General Thar’lok enjoys a fiery drink like most others,” said Vig’ka with a laugh. “Usually, he comes here after a long watch.”

“What is he drinking?” asked Moro. He thought of the desolate ground and the mountain. “What am I smelling? How do you have anything out here?”

Vig’ka laughed harder and clapped Moro on the back. “We are a coastal clan. We fish, or at least spear hunt. We forage down by the seas. And further east we have gardens, fruit trees, livestock. I suspect you had no awareness of this either.”

Moro shook his head in disbelief. “How long have you been expanding?”

Vig’ka cocked his head. “We have never expanded beyond the land we claimed when Ergoth brought us here. We were worried for our farmers with the war to the east a couple of months ago.”

Moro narrowed his eyes. “What war? The war?”

Vig’ka’s facial expression shifted, as if someone just revealed the worst of all melancholy to him. “Did they not tell you—about your home?”

Moro’s heart jerked. “Ambermead? What happened?”

Vig’ka glanced back at Thar’lok. The general was laughing with a young male orc now. Sighing, Vig’ka looked at Moro. “Ambermead and Maervorna engaged in war. Many perished. Most of Ambermead was lost.”

Moro’s heart sank. “Amber—Ambermead lost? They’ve never lost a battle to Maervorna.”

“It was more than a single battle,” said Vig’ka. “The conflict waged for months. We worried it would spill into our territory and that we would have to provide a show of force to keep the humans away.”

Moro’s mind immediately drifted back to Aric and Aric’s parents. “Where did they go? Do you know?”

“I do not,” said Vig’ka. “What I do not understand is why your command wouldn’t tell you.”

Moro thought of Francil. “Our captain most likely figured we wouldn’t abandon our post. Logically, there is nothing one man can do to stop a battle, or a war. It would have just eaten at us.”

“Us.” Vig’ka narrowed his eyes. “You’re referring to your brother?”

“He’s not my blood brother,” said Moro. “But in every other way, he is my brother. His parents took me into their home in Ambermead.”

“Hmm.” Vig’ka smiled, his sharp canine teeth showing brightly. “This is the orcunae way of life. We are all family here. We too have suffered great loss.”

“I just hope Aric’s parents made it out.”

Vig’ka folded his arms. “Do you think he lives? ”

Moro’s heart jumped in his chest as he thought about Aric’s whereabouts. “I—I don’t know. He wasn’t in the trenches.” His stomach churned with a sickening thought as he recalled the last time they saw each other. He looked up at Vig’ka. “But if he is dead, your people killed him.”

“I am sorry, Moro.”

Tears began to well in Moro’s eyes. “How could I align myself with the ones who tore apart my people, and killed my brother?”

“Such is life for a human,” said Vig’ka. “You live, you die. And in a very short span of time. Forgiveness is the path to freedom of mind and heart. For I would ask you a reflection of your question. How many orcunae died at your hands? How many wives and children have lost their husbands or fathers to your blades?”

Moro’s chest grew tight. He looked around the hall. “I asked myself the same, honestly.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why they would forgive me. We’re born enemies.”

Vig’ka lay a hand on Moro’s shoulder. “We are not born enemies. We are forged like blades in the fires of war. But to answer your question? Forgiveness. They already forgave you and you haven’t even met the ones here who were left behind. We are not a people of grudges. We forgive and live on.”

Moro quickly wiped a tear that rolled down his cheek. “He…uh—” He cleared his throat and furrowed his brows. “He might not be dead anyway.”

Vig’ka lifted his brows and nodded. “Hope.” He touched a finger to Moro’s chest. “Hope keeps the light burning in the darkest of nights.”

Moro wiped the moisture from his face. Something about Vig’ka’s words and soft demeanor sent a calm over him. “When is this Teeth of Man trial?”

Vig’ka smiled. “Three weeks.”

Chapter 26:

Of Aether and Light

“You should eat.”

Aric stared at the flames before him. He knew deep down Eldras was right. He should be eating, and moving. Three days had passed since they had left Carcel blazing. Without the captain’s guidance, he found himself without a desire to do anything but exist. The world around them would move on.

But through the numb, a stinging thought occurred regularly. Francil would want us to keep moving. His last wish was for us to go to Velensmir.

He looked up at Dranlin. Then Pebble. The horses were a reminder of what was now missing. The past two and half months would have been nothing the same without Francil. The older, wiser hafӧrn had pushed his training, kept them safe and out of harm’s way for the most part.

Aric looked down at the sword lying beside him. It was no dragonmage sword. If anything, it was a reminder of the worst failure he had lived through. “How quickly his light was snuffed out.”

While death had always been a part of being a sentinel, Francil’s death had struck him as a revelation of how quickly things can be done and undone. He had weeped for the captain. In the days that followed their trip to Carcel, he cried in a way he hadn’t since he was a small child. His thoughts drifted between memories and dreams, desires and waking nightmares.

He wept for his parents who, while they may not have died—at least not that he could confirm—he hadn’t seen them in years. It was a regret he was learning the longer he traversed the Vrelengard. Life had little meaning before beyond the war. Now, he knew life was precious. It was feeble and fragile. 

“Then don’t let it be for nothing,” said Eldras. “I don’t understand human emotions like you do, but I feel your pain. Your grief is tearing you apart inside and it’s tearing me apart. Don’t let his death be for nothing, Aric. You have to keep training, and we have to keep moving. What do you want to do?”

Aric took a deep breath and looked up at the stars above. They seemed to be the same every night. And true it was they had only traveled for the first day before he lost the motivation to continue, he had felt safe. More accurately, he didn’t feel scared, or in danger where they were.

Aric gazed into Eldras’s golden eyes. “I want to kill every fucking orc that plagues this land. This war…everything they’ve taken from good people…”

“You can’t do that if you are starving,” said Eldras. He moved over to the only bow remaining, picked it up with his teeth and walked it over to Aric. Dropping it at Aric’s feet, he sat and nudged Aric’s shoulder with his snout. “You need food. I need food.”

Aric looked down at the bow. He thought of what Francil would be saying if he was still with him. He snorted humorously as he imagined the captain saying, “Get your ass up and hunt, kid.”

He laid his hand on the bow and nodded. He leaned his head to the side and rested it against Eldras’s snout. “Alright, boy. In the morning, I’ll hunt.”

“Then we move?” asked Eldras.

Aric sighed and sat up straight. More than ever, he appreciated the bond they shared. “Then we’ll move.”

He looked into Eldras’s eyes, a parallel sadness and guilt weaving through his mind as he recalled the chaos of the attack. “I’m sorry, boy.”

“For what?”

“I screamed at you,” said Aric. “When we were with Francil.”

“You were in pain, and in a panic,” said Eldras. “It’s alright, Aric. I’m here for you. I will always be.”

Aric’s heart sank in his chest, drawing his breath tight. “I hope so, boy.” He looked at the flames again. “We’re going to continue to Velensmir.”

“Are we taking the long way around to stay out of sight?” asked Eldras.

Aric shook his head. “No. I’ve wasted too much time already. And I no longer give a shit who sees you—who sees us. We’re a dragon and dragonmage bonded together for the world to see. It’s time we show Verilia we’re here to stay. Besides, you’re getting big enough to hunt for yourself if I need to go into a town for anything.”

A nervous, yet excited squelch pushed through the bond. Eldras cocked his head. “Do you trust me that much?”

Aric nodded. “I do.”

“Then we will need to train harder than ever,” said Eldras.

“It’s time we push ourselves,” Aric agreed. “We will need to stay more vigilant and be constantly ready for a fight. No more hiding. You’ll be able to fly soon. I know it.”

A push of excitement rippled through the bond. “Do you think so?”

Aric nodded. “You almost flew when Francil threw you over the wall.” He grinned. “I know you have memories of flight from your ancestors. Use them to learn what they did. How they flew. How they fought, with tooth and claw, wings and tails.”

“I will,” said Eldras. He sniffed the air and peered to the south.

“And I will keep pushing myself,” Aric said solemnly. A long moment of silence passed between them as each thought about the future.

Eldras cocked his head and sniffed the air. “Do you know which way to go?”

Aric shrugged. “Southeast.” He nodded, reassuring himself. “Velensmir is the most southeastern city, right? I’m sure once we reach the Castil Forest, we’ll know better which direction to go. But if it is the southeasternmost city, we damn near can’t go wrong, can we?”

Eldras yawned, stretching cat-like as his tongue stuck out and curved. A low rumble filled his throat. “Good.”

Aric couldn’t fight his own yawn. “We’ll both need sleep. Until the temperature begins to drop in the fall, I think we should put the fire out each night. It’ll suck, and could potentially be an invite for predators. But we will both get sleep and the fire won’t be a flare for those that could really threaten us.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for the past couple days,” said Eldras. He lay and wrapped a wing over his body. “I think very soon I could carry you. And if so, you can keep watch at night while I sleep. Then you can sleep while I walk.”

Aric glanced at the horses. “You want to be my horse?”

“No,” Eldras said with a tone of disgust. “How foul of you to suggest such a thing. Dragons are no witless horses. But you are going to be a dragon rider, are you not?”

Aric lifted his brows, taken aback by Eldras’s quick sneer. “I guess so. I just never pictured me riding you around like that yet.”

“And how did you imagine riding?”

Aric swallowed. He thought of flying and shuttered at the thought of being the one place humans were not meant to be; in the air. “I just imagined flying. Not riding you around on the ground for…long stretches of time.”

Eldras huffed, a plume of smoke shooting from his nostrils. “If you can get used to the balance on my back, would it not be better to learn as soon as possible? You’ll need experience holding on with your legs and feeling how I walk or run regardless, right?”

Aric lifted his brows and stared sideways at the dragon. “Yeah. But-”

“We are together in this, after all,” Eldras interrupted.

“Fine,” said Aric. He folded his arms. “Until you're big enough, you could just lead the horses while I rest.” He chortled.

Eldras looked at Pebble and Dranlin. Another puff of smoke blew from his nostrils as he jerked his head upward in a scoff. “Fine. I can guide those stinky beasts.” He laid his head down. “Goodnight, Aric.”

“Goodnight, boy,” Aric said, shaking his head at Eldras.

As the hours of the night crawled away, Aric’s mood darkened once again. He continued to replay the memory of the arrows in Francil’s back. Why didn’t Francil let me try to kill them all? Why? The final question was all that mattered. Was he so important to live where others may be forced to die?

By the time he realized the fire was out, the sun had crested over the trees. His arms were numb and tingling from keeping them folded for hours. As he sat up straight, he blinked rapidly, finding them burning from staring at nothing for so long. His legs and the muscles in his ass ached. Rolling to the side, he grunted. “Damn.”

Eldras stirred, then pulled his wing back. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Aric rubbed his buttcheek. “Sleep well?”

“Like a rock,” said Eldras. He stood and stretched the same way he always had. “You didn’t doze off?”

Aric slowly made his way to his feet. “No. Even the horses were robbed of sleep with your snores.”

Eldras let out a low hum. “I’m glad to see you back on your feet.”

Aric nodded, knowing well what Eldras meant. Three days of grieving for a man who, for the past sixteen years, had looked out for him was never enough. But because of those sixteen years fighting through the shit, the blood of orcs, the evermist, and the long days, he knew the captain. And he knew Francil would be beyond frustrated with him sitting around and growing weak.

“Well, we best get a move on then,” he said to Eldras. “We’ll need the sun to navigate properly and I’d rather not waste any more sunlight.”

Walking over to the horses, a knot formed in Aric’s stomach. Navigating two horses through the forest would only slow them down. He knew it in his heart and yet, he had not freed Dranlin yet. She had been the last piece of Francil he had.

“Hey, old girl,” he said softly as he rubbed Dranlin’s neck. “You were good for him. Your service is, um…it’s fulfilled.” He unlatched the bridle first, then moved to the saddle. Opening the saddle bags, he found Francil’s waterskin.

His breath caught in his chest. Secondly, he found the small knife Francil had stolen. Aric laughed to himself as he recalled his initial reaction to the blade. It served us well.

He left the waterskin, but shoved the knife into the back of his belt. He moved around to the other saddle bag and found it empty. Unlatching the saddle, he pulled it off and set it on the ground. “You’re free, Dranlin. Go.” Tears tugged at his eyes as she hesitated. “Go!” He slapped Dranlin’s rear end. The horse bolted into the forest.

Pebble stirred, her eyes widening as she stared at Aric.

“Hey, girl. It’s just you, me, and the dragon now.”

Pebble let out a short, deep winnie. She bobbed her head up and down and snorted as she bounced left and right.

Aric grinned. “I know. I miss him too.”

“Are you leaving his saddle?” Eldras asked.

“I might try to modify one to fit you if I can,” said Aric. He shook his head. “But carrying it around until you’re big enough could be a chore.”

“So I’ll be a winged horse then,” Eldras said sardonically.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aric said through a laugh. “Winged horses are a myth.” He picked up his saddle and turned around. “Besides, unless you wish for your scales to fuck my legs all the way up, I’ll need it. I saw that arrow bounce off of you.”

Eldras hung his head. “I guess so.”

“All dragonmages have a saddle for their dragons,” Aric said, trying to soften his tone.

Eldras blew a puff of smoke from his nostrils. “Fine. But I’m not holding that thing in my mouth.”

Aric laughed again. “Not like it would keep you from talking anyway.”

“I’m serious. I’ll bite it in half.”

Aric nodded. “No bridle. Got it.” 

After slinging the bow and quiver to his back, he looked down at the sword. “I need a sheath for this damn thing.” He sighed and knelt down beside the saddle.

“Are you going to make one?” Eldras asked with a tilted head.

“Might as well use the leather for something,” Aric said. He hesitated as he knelt beside the saddle. Part of him hated the idea of molesting Francil’s saddle for something so simple. The other part of him knew Francil would tell him to use it and not let it go to waste.

Deciding there was nothing to make a full cover, he settled on stripping some of the leather off and making a holster of sorts. As he stood, he tied it to his belt.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he realized the blade would cut through the wrap with ease. He decided it would be easier to slide into the slot in his saddle bag for now. When they had the chance, he would strip some trees and spend time making a proper sheath he could wear on his back, where it was the most comfortable to him. He cursed more that he had truly wasted Francil’s saddle. 

The heavy bag was all but empty; a few strips of old beef and the last hunk of venison were all that remained. He fastened it to the back of the saddle. Lastly, he packed in Francil’s waterskin and firerod, along with the small satchel of black powder.

Eldras sniffed Francil’s saddle. “It’s useless now you’ve shredded it.”

Aric snorted and shrugged. “Didn’t want anyone else having it anyway.” A sting of guilt and grief quickly washed away his humor. He knew Eldras felt it through the bond, though the dragon hadn’t commented on the subject anymore since the previous night.

He took a deep breath and tried to push the emotions away. He had always been trained to leave emotions behind. They only caused distractions. Now, he understood more than ever why the captain had neglected to tell him about his parents and his home.

“Nobody else would have been worthy,” said Eldras. He walked over to Aric and rubbed against his leg. Aric wrapped his arm around Eldras’s neck. For a long moment, they stood still, holding each other in a state of support.

“Well, we best be going,” Aric said finally.

Eldras slowly backed up and took a deep breath. With a quick flutter of his wings and tail, he said, “I’m ready when you are.”

Aric glanced over his shoulder at the empty quiver. “We’ll go until midmorning, then we’ll try to hunt. Need to make more arrows first.”

He wrapped his hand around the horn of his saddle and paused, taking one last look at the camp. They had stayed there longer than any other place since he had left the trenches. But the truth was loud and clear now; they had to continue.

After several hours, Aric pulled on the reins and brought Pebble to a halt. Sweat beads littered his forehead as the sun pelted down from the clear sky. Sliding out of the saddle, he grunted at the ache in his legs. “You’d think I would have gotten used to riding by now.”

“You lack the food to heal your muscles,” said Eldras.

Aric pulled the sword out of the saddle and walked over to a pine tree. As it was the first time he had swung a sword since Carcel, he imagined the branch before him was a Gray Guard’s neck. With a grunted swing, he hacked off a branch thicker than they had ever used to make a campfire before. It landed with a crash. He could feel a burning curiosity through the bond, but Eldras said nothing.

He hacked the smaller twigs away from the branch, then stacked them neatly. Pointing the sword at the logs, he said, “I’ll let you have the honors.”

“With pleasure,” said Eldras. He opened his mouth as a glow rolled up his throat. A bright burst of blue fire ignited the logs.

Aric grunted as he eased himself to the ground. The burning in his legs amplified as he stretched the muscles. “Fuck—me! Gods damn it. I’m getting old, boy.” He let out the breath he was holding as he sat.

Eldras walked around the fire with his head down. “You have a long life ahead of you.” He lay down and rested his head on the ground. Pine needles blew into the fire as he sighed.

“Once you have your growth spurt, I’ll get stronger too. Right?” Aric asked.

“If my memories serve me right,” said Eldras.

“And if my body is stronger, it must heal faster as well. And if it heals from the exercise, I’ll get stronger. Right?”

Eldras groaned. “I suppose.” He perked his head up and sniffed the air. “Do you know where we are?”

Aric looked around, as if any of the trees would alert him to their location. “Not really. But if we go too far to the east, we should end up in Dawn Harbor. If we continue the way I think we’re going, which is more directly south, we should end up in Everton. But, that’s probably a week or two away yet.”

“And what if we go too far west?” asked Eldras.

Aric stopped rubbing his legs and swallowed a lump in his throat. “If we go directly west from here, we’ll end up in the Misty Scar. And if we go southwest, we’ll land in the Fanged Steppes. But that’s a month away.”

Aric spent the next few hours securing the proper branches and finding loose feathers or bush leaves to fashion arrows. He had learned quickly he needed just the right length and stiffness of branches to make the arrows flight straight.

Once they were finished, he scouted for tracks and game trails. There was nothing for a mile in any direction of their camp. Traveling any farther than that meant he might lose sight of their campfire and would be forced to make a new one. He concluded another night would have to pass before venturing farther.

After the sun retired for the night, Aric opened the heavy bag and took out the beef. In the firelight, it appeared golden-gray in color. He sniffed it, then quickly pushed it away from his face as a knot formed in his throat. “Damn. I think it’s safe to say that’s bad.”

He tossed it to the ground then pulled out the last of the venison. Just for safe measures, he smelled it as well. Assured it was still good due to its redder color and gamier scent, he pulled out the pan and the tub of lard, which was nearly depleted as well.

As he turned to the fire and placed the pan onto the logs, he sensed a satisfied energy filling the bond. He turned to find Eldras licking his snout.

“Tastes fine to me,” said Eldras.

“Did you—did you eat that?” Aric questioned as he curled his nose up. “Ugh. Nasty, Eldras. What if you get sick?”

“Dragons often eat raw meat,” said Eldras matter-of-factly. He inclined his head. “I won’t get sick.”

“There's a difference between something raw, and eating what’s rotting." Aric shook his head and returned to cooking.

Twenty minutes later, he was enjoying a properly cooked and seasoned venison steak. He gave half of it to Eldras. As he chewed his last bite, he thought of how much food it would take to fill a full grown dragon. Neither he nor Eldras had experienced a full belly in weeks. He leaned back against the saddle he had removed from Pebble, and folded his arms.

“When you’re grown up, it’s going to take a whole herd to feed you, you know?”

Eldras let out a vibrating hum as he laughed. “If I’m big enough to take down a cow, I might just eat the whole thing. I think I could do that now.”

Aric chuckled. “I think I could."

Eldras turned and looked through the woods. “I'm nervous to hunt on my own."

“You can feel me through the bond," Aric said. He picked a piece of meat from his teeth. “If you think you're too far away, or in danger, you can haul ass back to me." He laughed. “First thing I saw you do was hunt. I think you’ll be a natural.”

Eldras lowered his head to the ground. “It will be good to be able to do some things on my own, I guess."

“Alright,” Aric said after several minutes of quietly observing the dragon, again reminded of his youth. “You should try to fly now. Be good to keep practicing and get yourself strong. And I need to get a better grip on this magic.”

“I wish we could understand it more,” said Eldras. “There has to be more to it than light and heat.”

“I’d say so.” Aric sat up straight and pushed his mind outward to see the energy of the flames. “Francil thought my magic was based on energy manipulation. I’ve thought a lot about it. If I can change the energy, the particles in the air, the ground, water, then I think I can create, like he said. I just need to…figure out how to shift the energy.”

“Maybe think of it like the fire you tried to create the first time,” said Eldras. “You can see the energy waves of the fire there. But can you make out the individual nodes? There are different…things…in the flames.”

Aric furrowed his brows. “I can only see the particles moving, rising and dissipating in the air.”

“Try to look deeper,” said Eldras. “Look closer at the particles. They are different. I don’t know what they are though. I can see them."

Aric squinted as he pushed his mind toward the fire and concentrated on a single wave of energy as it ascended. His heart leaped. He could see the particles, but they were moving so fast, he couldn’t understand the difference in them. But, he could feel it. He laughed to himself. “You’re right.”

One type of particle was hotter than the others. Another type was more dense. Then, a thought occurred. “Maybe, maybe I don’t need to see them in order to control them.”

He held his hand out and focused with his mind on the dense particles first. Pulling on the arte, he began forcing the thicker fragments to move faster toward the tips of the flames. Smoke filled the air and the fire, nearly killing the flames. He stopped. “Those are what has been burnt already. They’re pieces of the coal, the embers. The wood. I think that's what smoke is.”

Eldras dipped his head closer to the fire as his excitement filled the bond. “And the other ones?”

Aric switched his focus to the hotter specks. They felt lighter, nearly hollow. They were harder to move, but after a few tries, he locked onto a few thousand and pushed them back down toward the base of the campfire. The flames roared to life, brightening and growing hotter. The pine crackled and popped loudly. Aric’s heart jolted. “That’s air. That’s what happens when you pump air into a forge fire, or try to get a fire going with just an ember.”

“Can you see them outside of the fire?” Eldras asked.

Aric turned his eyes away from the flames and pushed the same amount of focus into the air. He smiled slowly. “They are there. Smaller, but they’re there. And moving a lot slower.”

“I see them,” Eldras said as he turned his eyes skyward.

Aric held his hand out. “It’s the aether. It's what we breathe.”

“You should name it so we don’t forget it,” said Eldras.

Aric’s eyes widened. “I’ll just call it the aether. It’s what it is. Do you see the different particles in the air?”

“Yes,” said Eldras. He sniffed wildly. “They are very similar to each other. Light, hollow and invisible to my eyes. But I see them with my mind's eye.”

Aric twisted his hand and focused on grabbing ahold of thousands of the particles this time, moving them closer together. “I wonder.” Using the energy from the arte, he thrust the particles forward. A thick gale of wind blew through the trees. He smiled as he watched other aether flecks moving into his force, flying forward with the others in a wave of energy. He laughed. “I can make wind!”

He let go of the aether and lowered his hand. Turning to look at the flames, Aric realized he had the right idea from the beginning. “Air, a spark of magic, and heat.” He shook his head. “I’ll be damned.

“What is it?”

Aric held his hands out in front of him. “I can make heat by concentrating the light. Which also acts as a spark. Pulling the aether into it…” He focused the light with his left hand, just as he had when he burned the arrow out of the air in Carcel.

As a beam of light burst forward, he stopped the light from traveling more than a few feet in front of his palm. “Heat. Spark.” His hands began to tremble as he struggled to focus on two different things. “Air.” Just as a gust of wind came from his right hand, the light died.

He took a few deep breaths. “Shit.” He wiped his forehead with his bare arm and found it saturated with sweat.

“Don’t push it too much,” Eldras said cautiously.

“I know,” Aric said. He turned his focus on the core. The bright ball of light hadn’t dimmed at all. “Let me try again.” He turned his focus on both things at once. The light was easy to create now. The wind became easier to manipulate once he understood the air was full of the particles. This time, he didn’t try to stop the light from traveling. He simply aimed lower.

Looking back and forth at his outstretched hands, Aric imagined both tasks being done at the same time. “Alright.” He nodded. “Here we go.” He tugged on the arte to fuel the light and heat.

With a push of the light, and a pull of the aether, an explosion of flames blew forward like dragon’s breath. It was bright orange and illuminated the forest.

“Ha!” Aric cheered as he lost his focus. The flame was a quick burst, but it traveled several feet forward and caught a section of pine needles on fire.

Aric laughed as he ran forward and started stepping on small flames and embers. “Holy shit! Did you see that?”

Eldras fluttered and leaped into the air. “You made fire. You're like a dragon, Aric!”

Chapter 27:

Teeth of Man

Moro’s arms trembled as he slowly pushed up from the floor. Sweat dripped from his brow onto the dirt floor of the hut, vanishing into the dark spot where his sweat had been soaking in for the last five minutes. Once his arms were fully extended, he grunted, “ninety-six.”

Slow was his method. Back down he went, easing himself to the dirt, counting steadily. He exhaled through pursed lips as he descended. His body shook. His back and abdominal muscles trembled harder going down. He halted with his chest two inches from the ground and counted again. One, two, three, four, five!

He clenched his teeth as he ascended again, taking another ten seconds to rise. The back muscles on his arms, and the upper part of his chest muscles burned. “Ninety…seven.” He collapsed, expelling the air from his lungs.

The soil was cool against Moro’s bare chest. He lay still for a moment, pressing his cheek against the damp dirt. For twenty-one days, he had trained, harder than he ever had before leaving home for the trenches. He laughed as he thought of the strange looks the hargrols had given him on the first day when he started running up and down the warfront.

Up and down the smooth road he jogged, then sprinted, then lunged, and finally walked. This cycle was repeated for an hour each morning before training in the hut. He practiced the movements he had learned over the years, though he no longer imagined only orcs as enemies. It disturbed him greatly at first that he had begun seeing elves before him. Agility and stamina had become his goal. Then, after burning his muscles, he would head off to breakfast.

Each morning he had walked down to Az’ Grim to find most of the same orcs inhabiting the town hall. There was no sense of money. Bartering with crafts or labor were the monetary exchange amongst the orcs. However, Vig'ka had informed him the sentinels would pay nothing while they were guests. That was, until the trial.

Tonight was the night; The Teeth of Man.

A knock came on the bone framing of Moro’s doorway. He rolled over and sat up, his stomach muscles aching after the exercise. Standing, he brushed the dirt from his chest. It only smeared with his sweat. “Come in.”

The flap of his doorway opened.

“If orcunae had will of you, they be stronger.”

Moro sighed and nodded. “Thar’lok.”

“Ready for test?” asked Thar’lok as he leaned against the door frame, picking at his thumb.

Moro walked over to a water basin he had requested to be made on his third day. Dipping his hands in the cold water sent a ripple of goosebumps up his arms. He looked down at his body. He now had more muscle, and more definition than ever before. He felt light, but strong and energized.

He took a deep breath and threw water onto his chest and began washing the dirt away. “I still don’t know what the trials entail.”

“Entail,” said Thar’lok. “What mean—entail?”

Moro rolled his eyes. How could Vig’ka speak so well, and the General sounds like a fucking toddler? He pushed water up his neck. “I mean what is involved? What do I have to do?”

“Ah,” Thar’lok mumbled. “Can’t say you yet. That seen as cheating. But, I hope for you, sentinel.”

Moro snorted. “Thanks.”

Since he had decided to stay, he had come to know Thar’lok as more than the brute from the Scar. He was two different people in the same flesh; the mighty General of Az’ Grim's forces, and the gentle orc in the town hall.

He had a way of being two separate people depending on his surroundings. The hargrol, valrav and most of the sangribörs respected him highly. And in the town hall, he made many orcunae laugh. He was gentle, if that was possible for orcunae.

But here, on the outskirts, with the frontline orcunae, he wore his armor. His axe was fixed to his back. And Moro was reminded of Calder’s screams as Ba’at tore him apart. The ruthlessness of the general was something he could not forget, nor would he forgive.

“I thought as much—that you couldn’t tell me,” said Moro. He turned around, water running down his chest.

“That’s why I’ve been training so hard,” Moro continued. “Even if I haven’t spoken with Ergoth yet, I have questioned too many things now. I don’t have a lot of faith in the possibility of a human dragonmage.” He pulled a tunic off of the back of the chair beside the wash basin. “But I do have questions. And if this entire war has been about exposing the truth—doing what’s right by the dragons—then I’ll give it my all.”

“Shall see,” said Thar’lok. He slid his hand behind his back and pulled something out of his belt. Bringing it around to the front, Moro saw it was a leather wrapping. Something was bundled together. He laid it on the ground. “These for tonight. My son make for you.” He gave a nod, his eyes lingering on the dirt floor for a moment before he turned out of the hut without another word.

“Son?” Moro whispered. “You have a son?” He narrowed his eyes. If he didn’t know Thar’lok any better, he would have said he saw a flash of worry on the general’s face.

Thar'lok flashed a sharp toothed grin. “Mon'lokr."

A shiver ran down Moro's spine as he once again was reminded that his enemy had families. He shook, snapping out of his momentary daze, then put on the tunic one of the orc women made for him weeks ago. It was light, letting the breeze pass through it while still covering his skin.

He looked at the rich brown leather bindings, then sat in the chair. As he slid his boots over to his feet, he looked at it again, trying to guess what was inside.

After he was fully dressed, he walked over to the bundle and picked it up. Stamped on the front of it was a skull of sorts. Moro cocked his head. “Is that a jaw?” He shook his head and unwrapped the thin leather strip. Unfolding the leather, his eyes fell upon two daggers. They were roughly forged, but the edges appeared flawlessly smooth. The handles were black bones. His heart sank as he looked up at the doorway. He gave me a hint.

He picked up the right dagger. Etched in the blade were the words, pat tifr rirof. On the left dagger’s blade were the words, rudim re’ge. Moro shut the wrapping. “Of course it’s in Ôernthuk.” He wrapped the leather strip back around the binding. “So it’s going to be a fight.”

Thar'lok lifted his thick brows. “I not say so." With that, he shoved off the door jamb and left the hovel.

As the night rolled in, a full moon illuminated the ridges of the Bearmaw, casting shadows on the jagged rock and giving it the appearance of elder faces looking down upon Az’ Grim.

Not two hours ago, Moro was called upon by a valrav to rendezvous at the southern border of Az’ Grim’s stretch two hours after the moon showed its face. In other words, he was to walk to the shore of the Halandrun Sea. South of Az’ Grim was the one direction he hadn’t ventured yet. Without a gauge on the distance, he took food to go from the town hall.

As he headed down a steep valley, he could see the moonlight shimmering off of the sea. He looked up at the star soaked sky. “Shit. How long has it been?”

Quickening his steps could have proven hazardous for whatever trial lay before him. If it was combat, a twisted ankle or split flesh wouldn’t do. Regardless, he decided it was with the risk. He turned his eyes back to the ground and accelerated. By the time he reached the bottom, he was winded. He halted and looked around. Farther down the coast, he spotted the tiny flickering of a torch. “Fuck.”

Moro took a deep breath and ran again. As he neared the torch, he recognized Reikan and Branlin, a sentinel woman from one of the western trenches. Standing before them were five orcs. Moro recognized the build of two; Thar’lok and Vig’ka. One of the others was wrapped in dark robes like Vig’ka’s. And the other two were hargrols. He hurried to stand beside Reikan.

“About time you joined us,” Reikan said coldly. “Didn’t think you had it in you to face us.”

Moro clenched his jaws. Over the past three weeks, he had isolated himself from the other sentinels under the belief that talking with the other humans would make him doubt his already shaky faith in Ergoth’s cause. It would make him miss home, or any home beyond the orcs.

And if there was a chance he could become the Elmerïan of lore, then he would fight for it. Unfortunately, the other four sentinels who regularly ate together, trained together and spent much of their time together, didn’t see it as such. Their waves slowly disappeared, only to be replaced by snarls and eye rolls, whispers and cold shoulders. But Moro was disciplined. He had a goal to achieve.

“Quiet,” said Vig’ka. He half turned and nodded to Thar’lok.

“You here with us now for Teeth of Man,” said Thar’lok.

Moro had to stifle a smirk. Now it makes sense why it’s called that.

“Time to show strength, mind and spirit,” Thar’lok continued. “We have test for you. Which of you bring me Ba’at will face final trial.”

Moro’s stomach twisted in a knot. “Ba’at? Your bear?”

“Quiet!” hissed Vig’ka.

“Ah.” Thar’lok nodded. “My bear. Bring her me, and you shall find reward.”

Moro stole a quick glance at Reikan, who quickly looked away from him. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

“Must bring her to north of Az’ Grim,” said Thar’lok. “Where warriors greet you as blood.”

“Any questions?” asked Vig’ka.

Moro took a step forward. “Yeah. How are we supposed to bring a bear up the mountain?”

“The answer I cannot give,” said Vig’ka. “However, this will be your one and only hint. This trial is to test your inner fortitude. Those who persevere shall find their victory tonight. Any other questions?”

Moro sighed and shook his head. He looked back. Reikan and Branlin said nothing.

The other sangribör turned and walked, followed by the two hargrol. Vig’ka gave a low bow, then followed the other orcs. Thar’lok stepped toward the humans. “At sunrise, if none bring Ba’at, all have failed. You be released.” He turned, took a step after Vig’ka and halted. “Ah, and a thought. Ba’at has no food for five days.” With that, he continued, following the other orcs.

Behind him, Moro heard a sliding sound that was unmistakable; metal against leather. He turned and pulled his daggers from his belt. Reikan had a small knife in his left hand. It shimmered, as a thick liquid dripped from the blade.

Moro furrowed his brows and looked at Branlin. With a quick and short inhale, she fell to the rocks. Moro immediately recognized dark splotches growing on her tunic. She had been stabbed in the lower right abdomen twice and once in the neck.

He slowly looked back at Reikan, dumbstruck at his sudden change in morals. “Why?”

“I’ve been fed the same story you have,” said Reikan. “If you weren’t such an asshole, you would have discovered what we all had. Five sangribörs were assigned to us—one each.” He wiped the blood from his blade on his tunic. “All of us saw the dragon eggs, Moro.”

Moro’s heart sank. “No.”

Reikan laughed. “Thought you were special, did you?”

Moro shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “I guess I’m not surprised. But why kill her? And the other two—where are they?”

A wicked grin tugged at the corner of Reikan’s mouth. “They uh…well, let’s say they couldn’t make it.”

Moro swallowed a lump in his throat. “You killed them.”

“The thing is, lad, we’ve been played,” said Reikan. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in what they’re trying to accomplish. Fuck the elves. Fuck the kings of Verilia.” He tapped the blade against his chest. “It’s time for the human dragonmage to rise again.”

Moro narrowed his eyes. “Again?”

Reikan lifted his brows and a full smile crawled across his face. “So your warlock didn’t tell you everything then.” He chuckled and shook his head. “The story…of the Elmerïan. It’s an old tale. And it already happened. Came and went nigh on a millenia ago.” He laughed harder. “They really didn’t tell you.”

Moro stood unmoving. “So what?”

“So Ergoth wants to make it happen again.”

Moro tightened his grip on his daggers. He never pictured Reikan as the murderous type, especially after Morlin. But he wouldn’t underestimate the ex-sentinel now. “Why did you kill them?”

Reikan laughed and began pacing in a wide semicircle. “To be the one. Obviously. All I have to do now is kill you, and get that fucking bear back to camp.”

Moro’s heart was racing now, sending a rush of blood to his head. His senses focused as adrenaline filled his limbs with a boost of energy. He slowly lowered into a forward fighting stance. “Get it over with then.”

Reikan roared and lunged forward.

Chapter 28:

The Castil Forest

“We can’t just walk in there,” Aric said as lay on a hill overlooking Everton. Beside him lay Eldras, though the hill barely shrouded him. If the three weeks following Carcel had proven anything, it’s that Eldras’s growth had made traversing the forest more difficult. Aric understood why dragonmages used to fly almost everywhere they went. It was unobtrusive and faster.

The midday sun was hidden behind thick clouds. But with fall approaching within the coming week, the humidity had grown exponentially. And soon, the southeastern stretch of Verilia would surrender to the era of rain.

Aric had visited Everton once before, but he was young and the town had swelled since then. Now, it was unrecognizable to him. Unlike most of the towns in the north, in the Vrelengard, southern towns lacked perimeter walls and barriers. There were no high towers. The highest roof he assumed belonged to the town hall. The main section of living was small and congested.

Houses were clumped together and built from solid wood. Thatched roofs covered nearly every structure. Spreading out for miles upon miles beyond Everton were farmlands. The distance from the most eastern farm was over six miles from the westernmost, Aric had guessed.

“What was it you said about not caring if we’re spotted?” Eldras asked with a playfully mocking tone.

“That was before we were close to anyone,” Aric said with a laugh. “Besides, that was a bold statement not thought through in depth. What if they attack?”

“Then we’ll subdue them,” said Eldras. He lifted his head and looked around. “At some point, we need to make ourselves known. Best start with smaller towns.”

Aric sighed and wiped the sweat from his upper lip with his forearm. “Perhaps. But if I give you the signal to get out of there, you run. Do you hear me?”

“I’m not going to leave you if we get into trouble,” said Eldras. He leaned his head down and nudged Aric’s arm. “We’re in this together.”

Aric was relieved, though he didn’t show it. If they were about to get into a scuffle, he’d rather have Eldras right by his side. “Fine. But we need to push our mind outward. It’ll be difficult to move and focus on everyone’s energy, but I would rather not be caught off guard. And if shit falls apart, we leave. We’ll ride south immediately. Deal?”

A sense of joy mixed with apprehension filled the bond. Eldras looked back at Everton. “Deal.” He slowly lifted his head and sniffed the air. “Something smells good.” His hunger pushed through the bond.

Aric thought of a hot meal and a cold tankard of mead. He always did when Eldras’s hunger pushed through to the forefront of the bond. And that was all too often. “If only we had coin. Then, we wouldn’t have to steal.”

“What about the firerod?” asked Eldras.

Aric’s heart skipped a beat. “What about it?”

“You could try to sell it…or trade it.”

Aric looked down at the grass as he thought about the weapon. “There isn’t much of the powder left. Not like I’d use the damn thing anyway.”

He crawled backward down the slope and stood only when he was certain he was concealed behind it. He hurried to Pebble, who was tied to a lone leafy tree, and pulled the firerod out. It was always heavier than it appeared. He stared at it for a moment, hesitating to rid himself of Francil’s prized possession. With a shrug, he shook his head. “Fuck it.”

“Well let’s make sure we get the heavy bag filled then,” he said as he lay back down beside Eldras, sword in one hand, firerod in the other. “Chicken wouldn’t go amiss certainly—with the crushed pepper. Maybe some pork. Shit, I can’t remember the last time I had chicken. Or fish.”

Eldras groaned. “Oh, can we just go already?”

Aric laughed as he stood. “In and out. No hanging out this time. See if they have a sheath for my sword, or at least cured leather and twine. I’ll make it myself if I have to.” He looked at Eldras. “Anything you want?”

“Just food for now,” said Eldras, his tail flicking back and forth. “Good food. Maybe you could get different seasonings.”

Aric shook his head and smirked as he stood and moved toward Everton. “Getting picky are we?”

Before they reached the town, dozens of folks were starting to make their way to the north side of Everton. Aric’s heart jolted alongside Eldras’s as the bond inflated with anxiety. “It’s alright, boy. Just stay calm. We best get used to a crowd. You’re strange to the average Verilian.”

“And you’re not?” Eldras asked with a puff of smoke from his nostrils.

A man on a horse barreled around a house and raced toward them. He halted the horse a hundred feet ahead of Aric and Eldras. “State your business, dragonmage!” His last word was dripped with a poisonous loathing.

Aric stopped walking and quirked his brow. “Either that’s how they address dragonmages around here, or something is wrong. Not very noble if it’s the former.”

“We won’t be loved or welcomed everywhere,” said Eldras. “Remember, they don’t know you’re a human either. Maybe they just hate elves.”

Aric narrowed his eyes, focusing on the horseman. Whether he was a commander of Everton’s guard or not, Aric didn’t know. But, he wore pewter-colored armor and had a shortened poleaxe in his hand.

Aric snorted. “Looks like an asshole.”

“Probably is,” Eldras said with a nervous laugh.

Aric held his hands in the air. “We mean you no harm. We just come to get-”

“Didn’t you take enough already?” the man cried. “Leave us be. Or you’ll have the whole of Everton to face down this time.”

Aric looked at Eldras. “Uh…I’m not sure what you’re talking about, sir.” He looked back at the man and tried to add a touch of calm to his voice. “We’re just passing through. Did…did another dragonmage pass through here?”

The man slid off of his saddle. “Pass through?” He took several steps toward Aric and pointed his poleaxe. “Pass through?! She killed two of our folks’ boys! And I told her—we ain’t hiding no gods damned dragon here—young or old!” His eyes narrowed on Eldras and walked forward, holding the reins of his horse. “He’s quite small. How old is he?”

“That isn’t your concern,” Aric said sternly. “Now, you’re telling me a dragonmage came through here looking for a dragon? Why did she kill the two boys?”

The man walked the horse forward, only halting fifteen feet from Aric. His weapon was gripped tight at the ready with both hands. “She wrongfully assumed Everton was under her command, as if we were some charge of the elves.” He spat on the ground, then took several deep breaths. “Things got—out of hand.”

“She was looking for me,” said Eldras. “Wasn’t she?”

“Are you—” The man’s eyes widened. “You’re no elf!”

“I am not,” Aric said. “But-”

“You—you stole a dragon?” His eyes darted to Eldras, then looked back over his shoulder. With a jerk, he lifted his poleaxe high.

“What are you doing?” Aric questioned. “No, I didn’t steal him.”

“You’re the one she wanted!” The man glanced from Eldras to Aric, then to Aric’s sword. His face drained of color. He softened his tone as he held his free hand out. “C-come with me, sir. It’s alright. We’ll protect you from him.”

Aric burst into laughter and looked at Eldras. “Go on then, boy. Run off. You don’t have to suffer with me anymore.”

A low hum vibrated in Eldras’s throat as amusement filled the bond. “Finally, someone has rescued me.”

Aric shook his head as he stopped laughing. “I’m not a prisoner. I’m a dragonmage. That means he hatched and we bonded.”

The man’s face paled as his eyes flicked back and forth. “Lies. You—you’re a human. That doesn’t—you can’t-”

“Yeah, well it happened,” Aric said quickly. He took a deep breath and looked back at the villagers. “Look, I’m sorry for your loss here. That wasn’t my doing. And I’m not with the other dragonmages.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “You’re not with the Court?”

The answer would take longer to answer than Aric cared. “No,” he simply said. “I just want to buy some meat, and a few other things if we can. Then we’ll be on our way.”

“I don’t believe you,” the man growled. He swallowed and slid a foot back in a fighting stance.

Aric huffed. “Fine. Then we’ll just go.”

“But—”

Aric shot a quick look at Eldras. “I’d rather not do more damage here. They’ve obviously suffered enough already.”

“Fine.” Eldras sulked and blew smoke out of his nostrils.

The man took a step backward. “You come here with your blade drawn and expect me to believe that?”

Aric looked down at the sword. “It isn’t like that. I don’t have a sheath for it.”

The man swallowed again and shook his head rapidly. “I can’t let you go. If she comes back and you’re not here…”

“Then tell her we’re heading to Velensmir,” Aric said sternly. “Trust me, you’re better off letting us go, then dealing with her later. If she returns, tell her we came after she left. Send her our way.”

“Why would we do that?” asked Eldras, a sting of anxiety filling the bond and sending both of their hearts racing.

“Because she’ll likely escort us straight to Velensmir. That’s better than another fight breaking out here,” Aric said aloud. “Now, we are not here to make trouble. If we can sell this, then buy what we need—” he shook the firerod, “—we’ll be on our way.”

“No,” the man quipped. He shook his head again. “I—I can’t just let you go. No offense, but you’re not an elf, and your dragon—if it is yours—is nowhere near as menacing as hers. I have to keep you here.”

Aric huffed and folded his arms. “Yeah. Look, we’re not gonna do that. You already had a scuffle with the elf and people got hurt. Is that what you want to happen again?”

The man looked over his shoulder and let out a high pitched whistle with visible impatience. “I’m sorry, but we’ll take our chances with you over her.” From behind one of the buildings six more horsemen rode out to them.

Aric’s stomach twisted. “Shit. Stay back, boy.” As the men approached, he was relieved to see spears, swords and shields rather than bows and arrows. He pointed over his shoulder. “Right. We’re just going to go. I’m not an elf—you’re right—but, I was a sentinel for half of my life. This isn’t a fight you want.”

The man’s chest rose and fell quicker as his face flushed. As the men halted behind him, he took a step back. “This is the dragon that bitch was looking for. We’re taking him to the cellar.”

Altogether, the six men dismounted.

Aric thought of his odds. These were no soldiers before him. Their garb was that of farmers, merchants perhaps. Their weapons looked old and rusted. He may not be an elf, but this was no fair fight still. “Just stay back, boy. I got this.”

Eldras let out a low growl that seemed to shake four of the men. Two moved back cautiously. “I’ll step in if I have to.”

Aric patted Eldras’s neck and tossed the firerod several paces behind the dragon. He lifted the hand and a half sword. “Fine. But remember, you wanted this. Not me.”

The leader of the men gestured toward Aric. “Take him.”

Four of the men moved at once. Two thrust their spears forward, the other two flanked Aric on both sides with swords.

Aric’s heart surged with energy. The world became clearer as adrenaline pumped through his veins and invigorated his muscles. In less time than it took to blink, his senses heightened.

He leaped backward, dodging the spears. Just as his feet touched the ground, he lunged to the left and slammed his palm into one of the swordsman's chest, knocking the air from his lungs.

Before the swordsman crashed into the ground, Aric twisted back to the right, kicking the shaft of a spear, which flew sideways into the second swordsmen’s face. With a dry crack, the man’s nose sprayed with blood as he was thrown to his back. It wasn’t on purpose, but he wasn’t about to apologize.

A sharp sting bit into Aric’s arm. He hadn’t noticed the other spearman had thrust his spear. Fortunately, it wasn’t an accurate attack and only scraped the side of Aric’s upper arm. He looked down at the bright mark of red as he side stepped away from the man. He turned his glare to the spearman, who took a step back with widened eyes. The leader and the remaining two men with swords moved forward.

“You see?” the leader said with a cackle. “He’s human. He bleeds!”

“Everyone bleeds,” Aric growled and whirled his sword in a flashy rotation. “Humans, orcs, even elves. Now, I gave you a chance to let us go. But no—you wanted to make war when there was no need for it. Now, Everton is going to lose seven more men.”

The man he had knocked back first was still gasping on the ground. The one who was struck by the spear shaft was back to his feet, though he was occupied with his injury, holding his head back and pinching the bridge of his crooked nose.

“Circle him,” said the leader. He pointed with his poleaxe left and right. The men hesitated. “Move!”

“We’re still doing this, huh?” Aric said with a mocking tone. He shrugged. “So be it.” He didn’t wait for the men to take their places. He darted to the left at a swordsman. With a quick upward flick of his wrist, his sword cut halfway into the man’s hand.

The swordsman screamed and stumbled backward, holding his wrist as blood squirted out of the severed artery. He blade dropped with a thud on the grass.

Aric quickly recovered the man’s sword. It was a broadsword with an obsidian stone for the pommel. It reminded him of his old blades. Holding both swords in a side fighting stance, he kept his mind on the men, ignoring the screams of the man.

The leader’s eyes widened on the one-handed man. “Stop! That—that’s enough!”

Aric stood up straight and sagged his shoulders. “That’s all it took? Seriously, he could have done with an earlier call.” He pointed the sword at the screamer.

“Just leave,” said the leader. “Your kind isn’t welcome here any longer!”

“There is no kind like me.” Aric walked over to Eldras. He held up the man’s sword he had just retrieved. “I’m keeping this.”

The leader ordered his men to mount up and go back to town. Two of them helped broken nose onto his horse. He waited until their backs were to him then looked at Aric. “The two boys killed here, they attacked her—the dragonmage. But you—” he shook his head and sighed, “—you don’t fight like she did. She went straight for the kill. Ruthless. Used magic and her blasted elf speed.”

Aric took a deep breath and sighed. The idea of a dragonmage killing humans without a second’s thought was strange. More and more, his memories and admiration of dragonmages had become tainted. “No, I’m not like her. I think most aren’t either.” He shook his head. “I gave you a chance to be civil. You squabbled it. At least you have a story to tell her should she return.”

“Who are you?” the man asked.

Aric opened his mouth to say his name. Nobody will know my name. Especially the elves. He rubbed the back of Eldras’s neck. “If anyone asks, tell them the Elmerïan was here.”

“Won’t they hunt us down more than ever now?” asked Eldras as he turned toward the southeast.

“Better us than innocent people who have nothing to do with us,” said Aric. “We’re not all alike.”

The man said nothing.

For several minutes, Aric rode in silence as he reflected on what had happened. “I wonder who she was.”

“I don’t think I want to meet her—or her dragon,” said Eldras.

Aric pondered the outcome of fighting a dragonmage. Even with his magic, it was a fight he knew he would be underhanded in. “I have a feeling we’re going to meet her whether we want to or not.”

For several hours, they traveled southeast. Aric tried to remember the count of the moon phases, but it eluded him. He knew it had been over three months since Eldras hatched, but some days it seemed like a lifetime ago. Other days it felt like it was merely weeks ago.

Civility was something he hadn’t experienced somewhere close to forever ago. He thought of a soft bed, a whore house, a tankard of mead, and a quiet home. “I can’t wait to bathe.”

“Me neither,” said Eldras.

Aric laughed. “How does a dragon bathe?”

Eldras hummed. “I mean I can’t wait for you to bathe either.”

Aric laughed harder. “You poor sufferer. I can only imagine what I smell like with your nose.”

“It’s—” Eldras halted and looked up. A cold wave of fear washed over the bond. “There’s—something is coming.”

Aric closed his eyes and focused his hearing as the arte sent his heart racing. Faintly, he could hear wings flapping. And it was quickly getting closer.

“That’s not a set of valravn wings,” said Eldras.

“No,” said Aric as he opened his eyes. “Those are dragon wings.” He pushed his mind outward to see any sign of energy. A gasp escaped his mouth involuntarily. There on the horizon was a bright sun of energy rapidly moving toward him and Eldras. It was unlike anything he had seen before.

Chapter 29:

A Lesson and A Choice

“Don’t do this, Reikan.” Moro’s breaths were controlled, whereas Reikan’s were heavy as he clutched the wound in his ribs. Moro felt a drop of blood from his blade land on his boot. He ignored it as he kept his focus on the man before him.

“You think you’re so fucking special here,” said Reikan. He winced and transferred his knife to his right hand. “I’m the one who took out the others. I’m the one who made it this far. No gods damned trench rat is going to stop me now.”

“You think you have what it takes to get Ba’at up the mountain?” Moro asked. “I’ve seen her in action. She ripped into one of my trench mates with ease.”

“And your cowardly ass just sat there, watched it all happen?” questioned Reikan. He spit on the ground between them. “You didn’t kill her, else we wouldn’t be here now, would we?”

“I was busy fighting Thar’lok,” Moro said. “You know—the General. And no, I didn’t fucking watch. I ended his suffering—before she could prolong it.”

“So, you’ve killed sentinels,” said Reikan. He winced. “Even before Morlin.”

“I put a kid out of his misery, you piece of shit!” Moro growled. “I didn’t murder him. And it wasn’t for my own selfish gains!”

Reikan roared again and lunged, thrusting his knife toward Moro’s stomach.

Moro stepped back and slammed his right forearm into Reikan’s wrist. With his left hand gripping the dagger, he stabbed Reikan in the joint of his shoulder and arm. “Fuck—you!” He kicked Reikan in the lower stomach, buckling his hips backward.

Reikan landed hard on his ass, then bounced backward onto his back as he let out a scream of pain. He rolled to the side and clutched his shoulder

Moro took several deep breaths. “I never wanted to kill you, or any other sentinel! It goes against everything I stand for. But then again, what you’ve become—just like the ones in Morlin—is everything I hate. Those who would seek to take from others. To put others down, and hold yourself above them.”

Reikan screamed again, this time muffled behind clenched teeth.

“Does it hurt?” Moro asked. He flipped his dagger around, grasping it by the point of the blade. “Then I’ll show you what I did for Calder!” He roared and threw the dagger with full force. It flipped once and stabbed Reikan in the temple.

Reikan’s body thumped against the ground as he stopped screaming.

Moro shook his head and paced back and forth, thinking of what had led him to this point. He shoved the other dagger back into the gap of his belt behind his hips. His hands trembled. He clenched his jaws, opening and closing his fists.

Flexing nearly every muscle in his body, he turned his face toward the sky and screamed, “Fuck!”

After a few seconds, he pushed his mind toward his task. He walked over to Reikan and stepped on his neck as he pulled the dagger from his head. “You deserved worse.”

Moro looked down at his dagger, thinking of what damage he could do to Ba’at. Not shit. I’m going to have to bait her.

Squinting, he looked around. If his scream didn’t alert the war bear, he could only think of one other thing that would.

“At least you’ll serve a purpose,” he muttered to Reikan. He turned and looked at both bodies bathing in moonlight. “Gods forgive me for this.”

He rolled Reikan onto his back and pulled the dead sentinel’s sleeve up. Taking his dagger, Moro sliced him from wrist to elbow. Blood oozed out slowly, much slower than someone whose heart pumped the elixir of life through the body.

Taking a few deep breaths, Moro put the dagger away and dipped his fingers in the warm blood. For the next thirty seconds, he proceeded to paint his own face and dye his tunic in Reikan’s blood. “If this doesn’t get that bitch’s attention, nothing will.”

As if on queue, a bear roared farther south toward the shore. Moro’s heart jolted. He turned and ran north, climbing the steep and jagged incline. His only hope now was that Ba’at was shit at climbing mountains, just as he was.

He was barely starting up the hill when another roar came. He stole a glance over his shoulder and saw Ba’at chewing and shaking Reikan’s body. With a pull, she ripped his arm off.

Good, thought Moro. She didn’t spot me yet. He continued to climb higher and higher. This side of the mountain was nearly vertical compared to the path he had taken to get down to the shore. He was forced to climb with both hands and feet to gain ground. Once, he paused, flat against the rocks, and looked over his shoulder. “Come get me, you ugly bitch!”

Ba’at looked up and dropped Reikan’s foot from her mouth. A deep growl tore from her throat as she barreled toward the mountain.

“There you go,” Moro muttered to himself. “See if you climb—” he halted as he watched Ba’at run toward the west. She’s going around. Of course. She knows this fucking cliff!

Faster than before, Moro began to climb the vertical, ignoring the cuts that were quickly carving into his hands and knees. His heart pounded in his chest. “Come on. Come on! How high is this damned hill?”

Another ten minutes passed as he climbed. No amount of pushups or running had prepared him for climbing. His hands and forearms burned with each hold. His feet began cramping with each flex as he stabilized himself. In the glow of the moonlight, he spotted the peak of the hill. A rush of relief and excitement pushed through his muscles. One more pull.

A massive paw swung down as Ba’at roared from atop the hill.

Moro ducked and yelled. His foot slipped, then his hand. He dug deep to find the strength to hold on with one hand and a single foot for a brief moment. His stomach lurched as he looked out over the shore from a hundred feet up.

He climbed down one step and looked back up as his heart pounded. His hands were sweating. They were sliding off of the rocks.

Ba’at stuck her head out of the edge and roared, swiping again with her long claws.

Moro took a deep breath and looked down. He was directly above a sharp and jagged deathbed below. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He looked up. Ba’at roared again, peaking over the ledge. Her snout was glistening with the blood of her food.

Moro pushed his toes closer to the wall and reached back to withdraw his right dagger. His left arm trembled furiously as he strained to hold on with one hand. Sweat was running down his neck now. He quickly put the blade in his mouth and grabbed hold of the side of the mountain with his right hand again. “Think, Moro.”

I can’t climb back down, he thought. She’ll just run down and I’ll be back at the start. She doesn’t behave like a normal bear. She’s a war bear. He looked up. “Or doesn’t she?” His mouth salivated as his teeth pressed hard into the warm steel of his dagger. 

Moro had heard plenty of stories of men hunting bears deep in the Castil Forest. Some bears could be scared away. Maybe the smaller black bears. But not the great brown bears, especially ones trained for war by orcs. He glanced down over his shoulder.

She outsmarted me once already. He turned his focus to the test at hand. Was it a trick? “Get her back to the top. Can’t carry her even if I kill her.”

He looked up and saw Ba’at’s nose jutting out, her hot breath blowing out of her nostrils. Saliva dripped from her powerful jaws.

“No. Can’t kill her anyway,” he muttered to himself. First test was Morlin. I thought they wanted us to kill the people there. I was wrong. We were tested and tricked. This test is about fortitude. Courage. Think.

Moro took a deep breath as an awful idea sparked in his mind. “Shit.”

He nodded. Deciding on the test being a ruse again, he began descending the mountain.

“Be right. Gods let me be fucking right here.” His heart pounded in his chest.

After thirty seconds, rocks were kicked from above. His stomach churned in a knot as he knew, without a doubt, Ba’at was running back around to the shore.

Several minutes passed as Moro climbed down, a feat that proved to be harder than climbing up. His hands became slippery from sweat and blood. Before long, he saw the ground and leaped.

As his boots landed on the jagged rock, he heard Ba’at’s roar. It sent a shiver up his spine. His bladder threatened to explode in his leggings.

Moro took the dagger out of his mouth and drew the second dagger out from his belt as he locked eyes with her. Her massive legs shook with each step as she raced toward him.

Moro’s breath caught in his chest. He held his daggers out to the side and braced his feet in a forward stance. “Come on.”

In just a few seconds, Ba’at closed the distance. She roared again as she ran straight for Moro.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Moro threw his daggers to his sides. They clanged off of the rocks. “You win!”

Ba’at’s hot breath blew in his face. His heart hammered against his chest. But there was no burning pain from her claws tearing into him.

Ba’at let out a low groan, almost a whine, as if disappointed.

Moro slowly opened one eye. Her giant nose was inches from his face. She sniffed a couple times, then licked his cheek. It was hot and wet, like a massive dog’s tongue. She took a few steps back. Moro opened the other eye and exhaled slowly.

Ba’at bobbed her head up and down, making a woofing sound.

Moro stared wide-eyed at the bear. Gone was the monster that ripped Calder apart. As if it were all a show, now before him stood a giant pet. He was alive. He couldn’t help but grin, then laugh. “Fucking gods damned orcunae.”

Still, he found himself reluctant to test the second part of his rash plan; leading her up the mountain. Looking down at his foot, Moro slowly slid his boot sideways. Ba’at let out another woof. He halted, his stomach twisting again as he held his hands up in a surrendering gesture. “Can I…go?”

Ba’at jerked her head in the air and huffed.

Moro took several deep breaths, then eased one of his hands forward. “I’m not going to hurt you. So long as you don’t try to eat me.”

Ba’at jutted her head forward and sniffed at Moro’s hand. Then she licked it.

What discipline she has, Moro thought as she licked the blood from his palm. Standing face to face with her, he realized if she were to rise on her hind legs, she would stand ten feet tall or better. He took a slow step forward, his hand cresting her wet nose. She dipped her head down and walked toward him, pushing into his palm like a cat.

Moro smiled wider. “Does this mean you won’t eat me?” He glanced sideways toward Az' Grim. “Vig'ka, you son of a bitch."

Ba’at woofed again and turned sideways, nearly knocking Moro over as she pressed against him.

Moro ran his hand down her side, then back. Her fur was softer than he had imagined. A section of shapes around her back and chest were evidence of her armor and saddle. For a moment, he felt bad for the bear. Then he remembered how vicious she could be. Does she enjoy it? he thought.

He turned. “Alright. I’m—I’m going to go now. Can you follow me?” He rolled his eyes and sighed. As he started walking, he muttered, “probably can’t understand common tongue.”

Once again, Ba’at ran in front of him and turned her side to him. She let out another huff and looked at her back.

Moro furrowed his brows and looked at the imprint of her saddle. He realized what she wanted. He grinned and shook his head. “No, that's alright.” He chuckled nervously and stepped back. “I’m not doing that.”

Ba’at roared and tilted her head toward him.

Moro swallowed a lump forming in his throat. He glanced up at the mountains. “Shit.” He thought of the task again. Bring her to the top. Bring—her. Sons of a bitch.

He nodded. “Al-alright. Um.” He stepped closer to her and put his hands on her back. Ba’at sank down lower. “This is insane.” He lifted his brows. “This is insane."

Taking a deep breath, he used her like a vault to host himself up onto her back. As he landed, she quickly stood. Moro grabbed two handfuls of thick fur.

Ba’at bobbed her head up and down as she let out a low roar. Without warning, she raced forward. Her strides were long as her powerful legs pushed forward, her massive paws moved across the jagged ground with ease.

Moro held tight onto handfuls of her thick fur and squeezed his legs tight, which he found difficult enough with her girth. In fifteen seconds, she rounded the bend and began climbing the ascent. For the first minute, he squeezed his hands until his knuckles whitened. He kept his eyes wide on the terrain ahead. His heart raced in his chest.

I’m riding a bear, he thought. A smile slowly crawled on his face as he relaxed slightly. His fear shifted into exhilaration as the nausea in his stomach gave way to a flutter of joy. Part of him felt like a child again. He recalled the joy he felt riding on his father’s shoulders. In his own way, Lorm Githron was like a bear.

Tears welled in Moro’s eyes as he remembered the silent oath he had made to his parents. I will avenge you.

His mind shifted through memories of his parents, then Aric’s parents and lastly, Aric. He had no evidence Aric was alive, but he could feel a sense, a strange tingling in the back of his mind, that he was out there somewhere. Maybe he is in Bör Mesari. Oh, gods. Does he think I’m dead?

Before he realized it, Moro heard a whooping and applause ahead. Ba’at leveled out as the valley transitioned to a smooth path. They made it to the top. Standing in a line were the five orcunae who were at the shore, along with Trenara and several denizens. A bright smile was painted on Vig’ka’s face.

As Ba’at came to a halt, Moro slid off of her back. “Another trick? Really?”

“You show courage,” said Thar’lok as he walked up to Ba’at. He rubbed underneath Ba’at’s chin. “She know what to do.”

Vig’ka approached Moro. “You see? You have not failed to surprise me. Yet, somehow, I knew you would prevail.”

“That was dirty,” Moro said with a tone of disgust. He looked at Ba’at and Thar’lok. “She could've eaten me!"

“She’s quite intelligent," said Vig'ka.

“And does she always follow your commands?”

“Always,” said Thar’lok with a grin.

“Thought so,” said Moro. “I guess I can’t lay the blame of Calder’s death on her then.”

“Careful,” Vig’ka warned softly. He lifted his brows slowly. “You passed the test. You and the others will-”

“They’re dead,” Moro said quickly. He looked down at the blood staining his tunic. “Reikan killed them. Then he tried to kill me. So I turned that against him and put him out of Maerïnor's misery.”

Thar’lok eyed Moro garbs. “Such go life. Live, make war, and die.”

Moro narrowed his eyes. “What about love? Family? Honor?”

“Without those things,” said Vig’ka, “we are not truly living. Life without love, and a purpose, is meaningless.”

Moro shook his head. “Your ways of thinking are fucked. You know that, right?”

Vig’ka cocked his head. “Our way of life is our way. Whether we suffer or prosper, our soul can rest when we perish. But only if we have fulfilled a life worth meaning.”

“Ergoth home now,” said Thar’lok. He continued to rub Ba’at’s neck. “Want you to speak with him?”

Moro’s heart sank. He looked at Vig’ka, who gave a simple and slow bow of his head. “I—” he paused and looked down. What he just went through was to pass a test, to become chosen by the orcs in hopes of being chosen by a dragon. But it was nothing without an explanation from Ergoth. He had done everything while he waited to talk to Ergoth. And now that chance had come, his stomach twisted at the thought of it.

“I think so,” said Moro hesitantly. “I want to know the truth and I want to understand what all of this is for—the raids, the stealing of dragon eggs, the war, the prophecy and my purpose, here.”

Thar’lok nodded. “Come then. I take you meet Ergoth.”

Moro’s eyes widened. “Now?”

“It is rather wise to make yourself available for Ergoth when he is available,” said Vig’ka with a nod.

“Come,” said Thar’lok. “I take you.”

Moro stole a glance at Trenara. In the moonlight, she was pale, her brow glistening. Was she worried about me? he mused. He wanted to talk with her. He always wanted to talk with her. Instead, he pressed his lips into a grin and simply nodded. She flashed a nervous smile.

With the exception of gravel grinding beneath their feet beneath the moonlight, Thar’lok, Moro, Vig’ka, and the other orcs walked up around the bend to the west of Az’ Grim silently.

Chapter 30:

Warchief Ergoth

Moro kept his head down as several orcs, male, female, even children pointed at him on the outskirts of town, as if they waited to see who had come back from the test.  Through the valley, and up the path leading to the biggest hut, not a word was spoken.

As he rounded the last section of the ridge, Moro halted. An orc sat outside the hut in a large rocking chair. A smoking pipe was in his left hand, a black dagger in his right. Moro turned and looked at Vig’ka. “Is that him?”

“That is our warchief, Ergoth.” Vig’ka walked around Moro and saluted Ergoth, as did the others, pressing their fists against their chest.

Moro’s heart raced in his chest. For all he had heard of Ergoth, he looked too young to hold such wisdom and reputation. “H-hello, sir.” The words escaped his lips before he had time to process what he was speaking.

He slapped a hand over his mouth. Regardless of which faction held Moro’s allegiance, a leader is a leader. A show of respect is demanded for their rank alone, even if it wasn’t genuine.

Ergoth narrowed his bright green eyes, which appeared to glow even in the shadow beneath the overhang of his house. His pipe hand slowly raised off of the arm of the chair and lingered. Then, just as slowly and nonchalantly, he pointed it at Moro.  “Moro Githron of Feorum, son of Lorm and Genest Githron. I welcome you to Az’ Grim—officially—as you have passed not one but two tests. Such a gift it is to meet an honorable and sharp-minded human, such as yourself. None before you survived the test of fortitude.”

Moro found himself transfixed by the invisible aura of Warchief Ergoth. His skin was unlike any other orc, bronze in color and unblemished by time or battles. His accent was not of Verilia. Of that, Moro was certain.

A thick mane of hair ran down behind his iron spaulder armor. An equally thick beard was braided and laid halfway down his chest.

Moro found his feet planted. “H-how do you know where I’m from? My parents?”

A burning rage began to swell in Moro’s chest. The memory flashed in his mind. The one that used to rob him of sleep and sanity. The one that forged him in the fires of grief and anger, driving his motives for the past decade and a half. His hands began trembling.

“That is how I know who you are,” said Ergoth. He brought the pipe to his mouth slowly and took a long drag. Hot orange embers illuminated inside the bowl end of the pipe.

Moro shook his head. “You—you see my thoughts?”

Ergoth blew out a long exhale of white smoke. “Thoughts, memories, emotions. Is it wrong of me to invade the privacy of those I deem with impossible tasks? Perhaps. It is necessary.” He sat the pipe on the arm of the chair and stood. His movement seemed as if he moved at half speed. But it was smooth, unlike the elderly who jitter and grunt as they rise from a long sit.

“Fra visôrn,” Ergoth said, holding his arms out wide, the dagger still in his right hand. The orcs knelt down on one knee, placed their fists against their chests again, then rose and turned away without a word.

Moro looked at Vig’ka for any sign of guidance. But the orc walked by him with his eyes on the ground before him. Moro’s stomach twisted. Something is wrong.

“You have not been completely honest with them,” Ergoth said once the others were out of sight. He slowly cocked his head to the side. “Have you?”

Moro tried to step forward. No amount of force from his mind would move his legs. He grunted and pushed. “Let me go.”

Ergoth stared at Moro for a long moment. Then he gave a nod.

Moro nearly fell forward as the force keeping him in place vanished. “What do you want from me?”

“I wish for you to fulfill the third test,” said Ergoth. “What you have sought for so long stands before you.” He threw the dagger down at Moro’s feet.

Moro quickly picked up the dagger. “You think just because you take a glance into my mind that you know me? You are not who I have sought all these years! You aren’t fucking special! I aim to kill as many orcs as I can, for you are the ones who took that from me which I cannot replace. You took my life.”

The words poured from his mouth without filter, without regard for anything other than to say them out loud. He had no control of the darkest thoughts creeping to the front of his mind. His eyes widened and misted over. He's controlling me!

“And now you are being dishonest with yourself,” Ergoth said calmly. He ran his fingers down his braided beard. “You seek to end this war. Not by bringing peace to this land. You, who are broken and barricaded behind your own numbness of steel. You seek destruction…of the world.”

Moro’s heart jolted. From his eyes fell tears. His breath froze in his chest as it grew tight. “N-no. That’s not-”

“Do not attempt to deceive me with false words,” said Ergoth. “I have lived ten human lifetimes. I was more powerful than all of the dragonmages before our orcunae left Ez’ Obakh and came to Verilia.”

Moro narrowed his eyes, the tears shrouding his clarity of vision. His feet were bound again. “You were already here before they came.”

“You haven’t been honest with them,” Ergoth said again. He rubbed a finger down the arm of his chair. “But neither have I. If it is destruction you seek, then leave this place. Find your way as a drifter, a monger of war. Daggers for hire with blood as the only payment you’ll accept, wash yourself clean with the elixir of life.” He pointed at Moro. “But bring more war to my home, and I will reduce you to ash before you can blink.”

Moro’s stomach twisted, threatening to throw up everything he had eaten and drank. He looked down at the dagger. He had truly always sought destruction. Such was the reason for following Aric into this war. “It's true."

But now, even as he admitted what he had told no one before, something else tinged his mind. It played into the child deep inside; the child full of wonder and hope. He thought of the stories his father had told about the dragons and the mighty dragonmages. “And...if I seek something else?” he asked, slowly looking back at Ergoth. He blinked hard, forcing the years to clear his vision.

“Pretend it is for heroism,” said Ergoth. “I do not care. This is also false pretense. The other part of you that doesn’t long for death dreams of power. Power that you can wield over others. Power—so that none may take from you again.”

Moro’s breathing had become labored, heavy. “Aye. You’re right. I—I do seek power.”

“Then I cannot allow you to continue with the third test,” said Ergoth.

Tears streamed down Moro’s face. He could do nothing against this warchief, who had an unknown magic, an unseen power over his mind and body. Yet he was now faced with the rejection of something more.

He looked down at the dagger and recalled Vig’ka’s words. Beyond Aric, he had no love. Even Aric’s parents had received Moro’s lies. He had no affection for another. “Then I have no life worth living.” He dropped the dagger on the rocks. As it clanged, he thought of Trenara. Or do I?

Ergoth folded his arms. “You are, and always have been, misguided by your blind rage, your drive for vengeance, and the mask you’ve pulled over your own image. Be free of them now, and understand this; you are a result of your own sculpting. If you have found yourself lost within, then reforge your heart into something that resembles nothing of what you were.”

Moro scoffed. “If it was so easy, I would have done it long ago.”

Ergoth shook his head and snarled. “Lies. You haven’t found something worth changing for.”

Moro shrugged. “What the fuck do you want from me? Huh?! You give me this dagger for what? I can’t kill you—obviously. I don’t even know what you are. You look like an orc, yet you don’t. Your magic is different. Or was the blade for me to slit my own throat?”

“It was a token of trust that I bestowed upon you,” said Ergoth. “You are lost. I aim to guide you, hammer out the weakness that is your hatred for life. Only then will you be enlightened to what I am trying to achieve.”

“You want orcs to have their own marionettes of dragonmages,” Moro spat. “Fuck you. You can’t just trick people into forgiveness. It doesn’t work like that. Let me leave, and I promise you I will kill every last one of you bastards until you finish me off.”

“I do not seek to control,” said Ergoth. “I seek to punish those who have wronged my people for so long. And I seek to shed light on the shadows of lies that the elves have wrought into this land for centuries.”

“And the one you seek,” said Moro. “This…Elmerïan. How are they supposed to help with that? By killing the other dragonmages? Is that the punishment you seek? To kill those that had nothing to do with your suffering?”

“The dragons did as the dragonmages,” said Ergoth. “They are a casualty of this war, true. But they make their own choices as well as any man, orc, elf, or dwarf for that matter. No, Moro Githron. I do not want to control a new dragonmage. I want them to see the truth and make the decisions for themselves. That is why I seek the morally righteous. That is why I tested your fortitude. This war at hand is about to begin its next stage. Whoever shall be chosen by one of my dragon eggs needs to be strong enough to make the decisions that are morally just, even if it means taking a dark path to reach the destination.”

Moro shook his head. “You do have magic, don’t you? That’s how you see into my mind. That’s how you held me in place.”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you get off of your lazy ass and fulfill your own desires?” Moro yelled. His hands shook as his heart pounded harder in his chest.

He fought internally to show grace and respect, but his tongue had been poisoned with something unseen to only spill his truth now. “You see? You want someone else to do your bidding. A gods damned coward. That’s what you are.”

Ergoth took a deep breath. “I need help with my desire. I’m not strong enough to see it through on my own—or even with the sangribӧrs we have. That is the truth. Now for one more truth. Do you want to know what I am—who I am?”

Moro took several deep breaths as he thought of this question. “Yes.”

“If destruction, rage, vengeance and pain are no longer your choices,” said Ergoth, “what direction would you travel?”

Moro’s anger grew at the tears streaming down his face. He wiped his eyes with his sleeves. “I don’t know. There is nothing for me.”

“How about a hero?” asked Ergoth. “How about you turn yourself around? With the truth in mind, you could be the one to save this land.”

“The truth,” Moro muttered. “That the elves have been selfish about the dragons?”

Ergoth shook his head. “No. I mean the truth of the Maerïnor. This rift between orcunae, elves, dragons, dwarves, treants, all of the factions of the world, began millenia ago. Your kind sought a better life. Then the dragons came.”

Moro shook his head again and narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“The truth,” said Ergoth. “The truth the elves have buried. Humans ruled this planet for thousands of years. But what they couldn’t conquer was death. In an effort to do just that, they created the elves. The elves created orcunae. War after war ripped into this world. The dwarves buried themselves in castles and mountains across this world. The druids and treants took to the forests in which they could hide. And the dragons chose to side with the elves. A bond and a pact they made through lies.”

Moro held his hands up. “I have no idea what you’re rambling on about.”

Ergoth sighed and nodded. “Then choose.”

Moro swallowed a lump in his throat as Ergoth’s tone dropped to ice cold. “What?”

“Do you wish to continue on this path without a sense of purpose, or do you wish to be something more akin to a savior?”

Moro took a deep breath. “I’ve always wanted more power. And I’ve always wanted death and destruction. I can not simply change my mind after twenty years.” He looked down. “But, if there is a chance that I may leave my mark on this world, and prevent others from suffering what I have, that is the path I would rather choose. So long as it involves power to stop those who may wrong others, and that includes orcunae.”

Ergoth folded his hands together and looked down. “I believe you. I believe your heart is tainted, but it is mendable.” He looked up. “The third test was reflection of truth. You know who you are, through and through. Embrace it and never hide from it. Embrace the darkness inside you—with the light. Your love for Aric, your brother, shows me how much you can care. Discover the truth of millions who have suffered more than you could fathom for millenia, and I believe you will find your calling.”

Moro’s stomach fluttered, though with a burst of excited nervousness. He cocked his head. “I want to learn the truth. And I think—” he paused and looked up at the stars, imagining sparing so many from the pain he had experienced in his youth. “I think I want peace.” He looked back down at Ergoth. “More than peace. I want fairness. I want suffering to end.”

“Suffering will never end,” said Ergoth. “Not to humans. Death is inevitable and part of life. Humans have the shortest lives of all of the races and factions. But it is a necessity for the appreciation of life. Alas, agony is as constant as time itself if you look for it.”

Moro swallowed a lump in his throat. “Then if I can use my knowledge of war to bring myself a sense of peace, I can die knowing I’ve fulfilled my life, in a full circle.”

“Then find your worth,” said Ergoth as he turned sideways and pointed inside the hut. “You’ve seen them already. Now, you may touch them. See if the dragons find you as worthy a savior as I do, and as Vig’ka does. As Thar’lok does. I choose you. Now, let us see if a dragon chooses you.”

Chapter 31:

A Visitor from the Court

“What do we do?” asked Eldras, his youth shining through as he whimpered. Nothing had scared Eldras this much. His legs and tail trembled as he slowly hunkered down.

“Nothing,” said Aric. “They’ve already spotted us. We can’t outrun them.” He looked to the south. Ahead was a dense evergreen forest. “Unless…”

“The woods!” Eldras took off in a full sprint.

“Fuck!” Aric hissed and kicked his heels in Pebble’s sides. She chased after Eldras. The wind fought her every effort to defy the laws of nature.

Ahead, Eldras tucked his wings back and dove between two trees. Aric was closing in fast. So was the dragon and dragonmage.  Four hundred feet. Three hundred. Two hundred.

A flash of green light exploded on the ground before him. He pulled the reins and turned Pebble sideways, coming to a stop. New trees ripped out of the ground and grew to their full size in seconds. Vines burst from the soil. They slithered like serpents as they wrapped around and wove in between the trees, creating a wide barrier. Pebble winnied and swung her head back and forth.

Aric looked up as a dark shadow covered the cloudy sky. A gust of wind threatened to knock him down as an emerald dragon descended. In the sky, it looked barely larger than Eldras. But as it neared the ground, Aric realized it was at least four times the size of Eldras, larger even than Nakalaen.

“Eldras!” Aric called out. He could sense Eldras moving quickly down the edge of the forest. “Stay there!”

Aric’s instinct told him to kick the mare and move. But he was frozen by fear. His pulse quickened to an alarming rate. No elf or dragonmage had terrified him before. But as he looked up to see a rider on the dragon's back, a female elf nonetheless, Francil’s words and warnings echoed in his mind.

The elf leaped from her dark green saddle, drawing her sword from her hip in midair. She landed gracefully and quietly despite the sleek armor covering her from toes to neck. It was plate armor, but it was colored light green and seemed to form closely to her body, not like a knight’s armor, or even the Gray Guard. Her pine green cloak flapped in the wind behind her as the breeze settled.

“You!” she hissed. Her sword was still in hand, but lowered to her side.

Aric knew she didn’t need to keep it raised. He opened his mouth to speak, only to find himself mute.

The elf’s blonde hair was pulled back in a braided ponytail. Her high cheekbones accentuated her beauty. But there was hatred in her emerald eyes as they flicked toward the forest. “Call him out.”

Aric’s flabbergast shifted into fear again. “N-no.” He shook his head and looked up at the massive creature before him. The underbelly of the dragon was a milky green and faded upward into pure emerald on its sides and back. Huge spikes jutted out of its spine and ran down to its tail, of which the top was jagged as its scales protrude outward. Its scales were also ridged across its snout and back of its head. Upon its back was a dark evergreen colored saddle.

“You can’t, can you?” asked the elf. “You are human.”

“I’m an Elmerïan,” Aric said quickly. He clamped his mouth shut as if he heard the words in an afterthought.

The elf’s eyes widened, then narrowed as she scrunched up her nose and lifted her sword, tucking the pommel back by her shoulder as she pointed the tip at Aric. “Where did you hear that name?” The dragon behind her lowered his head and growled.

Aric could feel the vibrations of the dragon’s threat in his chest. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “It doesn’t matter, I’m not calling him out. He’s safer in there.”

The elf looked back at her dragon.

Aric watched her face shift expressions several times in a couple of seconds. He realized that’s what he and Eldras must have looked like to other people when they were mentally communicating. “Look, I didn’t do anything wrong. I was-”

“Didn’t do anything wrong?” the elf questioned sharply. “So you’re not the human running around with a dragon burning down druid groves?”

Aric’s heart leaped. “Oh shit.”

“You were mistaken by the Gro’nzael druids as a dragonmage,” she said with a strong condescending tone. “As if a human could be such a thing.”

“I am a dragonmage!” Aric growled. “Quite tired of having to repeat that, honestly.”

“We will discover the truth in Bör Mesari,” she said. “Call him out, or I can retrieve him myself. The choice is yours.”

“Don’t fight them,” Eldras said. “She is too powerful. So is the dragon. I’m coming out.”

“No!” Aric demanded Eldras. “If they-”

“She will hurt you,” Eldras said. “Then they will get to me regardless.”

Aric heard branches breaking behind him. He turned in the saddle to see Eldras ripping through the new trees and vines with impressive ferocity. “Gods damn it.”

“Take him,” the elf said as Eldras made his way out into the open.

“No!” Aric yelled, drawing energy from the bond by reflex. He glared at the green dragon as his hand glowed with a bright white light. His heart leaped as he realized instinct had taken over again, and yet, he felt more in control than ever before. The power begged him to unleash it, but he held it still.

The elf’s mouth fell agape. “That’s impossible.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“You have magic,” the elf said.

“No shit,” Aric hissed. “I told you I’m-”

“Take him now,” the elf said as she moved forward slowly.

Aric pulled the reins and steered Pebble in front of Eldras. He pulled out a sword. “We aren’t going to Bör Mesari!”

The elf stopped, her eyes widening on Aric’s blade. “You would die for him?”

“As you would for him,” Aric said, gesturing to the massive dragon behind her.

The elf gasped, her brows slowly lifting. “If you were a dragonmage, you would know he would die as you did.”

“I know he would,” Aric said sternly. He shook his head. “But if he would die, I wouldn’t want to live on either.”

She looked back at her dragon for a long moment, undoubtedly conversing mentally. When she turned back to Aric, she returned her sword to her hip sheath. “Where were you going?”

“Velensmir,” Aric said. He lowered his blade and turned Pebble square to the elf.

“You claim to be a dragonmage yet you’ve no desire to go to Bör Mesari,” the elf said. “Instead, you seek to tread in the muck. What is it you seek from lower elves?” Her tone was full of disdain.

“Fran—” Aric paused as he choked on the captain’s name. “Um…a friend of mine said they would have the answers I’m looking for.”

The elf slowly smirked as if a joke had been whispered in her ear. “And what answers do you seek?”

“I wish to know everything there is to know about being an Elmerïan.”

The elf flinched. “That word—is not what you are, human. It’s—you can’t be him.

“Why not?” Aric asked the elf.

“You just…can’t,” she said with a nervous laugh.

Aric thought of Velensmir and Aglorion. Francil was certain the elven king had the answers he sought. “My friend—his name was Francil.”

The elf’s cheeks flushed. “Captain Francil, as in the former Sentinel Captain of the Elven Court?”

Aric looked down at the ground between them. “Yes.”

“When did he tell you this?” she asked. Her eyes darted to Eldras, who remained as still as a statue. “How old is he?”

Aric looked at Eldras. “Just over three months.”

The elf looked back at her dragon with widened eyes. She nodded. “He is quite large for his size. But—that matters not. Three months ago was the raid on Nakalaen and her rider, Felorae.” She narrowed her eyes on Eldras and cocked her head. “Is this dragon from the egg she was carrying?”

Aric’s chest grew tight. He saw a glint in her eyes as she connected the picture. “He is.”

“The Court assumed the orcs had succeeded in taking the egg,” she said quietly, as if thinking out loud.

“Look, this is all one big misunderstanding,” Aric said. “I was there when Nakalaen—when the orcs attacked. I was a sentinel. Veranthia and Garost took the egg and headed for the Vrelengard.”

“Lady Veranthia was found five days after the raid,” said the elf. “Her body has been fed on, torn up and mauled.”

Aric sighed and shook his head. “She was maimed before she died. I don’t know what else could have done it besides…” He trailed off as he realized there were only two things that could have ripped into Veranthia like that.

“Besides what?” asked the elf.

“It was either magic, or claws,” Aric said, his eyes flicking toward the emerald dragon’s massive claws.

“So perhaps a wolf,” she said.

Aric half turned his head. “Be ready to run.” He shook his head. “No, I think not. Elves are fast enough to kill wolves. She was separated from Garost. Something separated them and attacked her. She had Eldras’s egg when she came back to camp.”

The elf narrowed her eyes. “I am going to choose to hope you don’t stand to accuse a dragon of killing Lady Veranthia.”

Aric’s heart raced as he realized something important. “Were you there—at the raid?”

“I was not.”

Aric’s breathing became labored. “When do elves get the rank of Lady, or Lord?”

“When they have been ascended,” she said. “Either by Queen Elsavaera, or the death of their superior. Why?”

“You said Lady Veranthia,” Aric said cautiously. His hand tightened on his sword. “Lady Elandreas was in command when the raid happened. She was killed.”

The elf nodded. “Therefore the rank fell to the next in line—Veranthia.”

“You didn’t know,” Aric said. “You weren’t there, right?”

The elf shifted her weight onto one foot. “We found Lady Elandreas’s body, along with dozens of others who perished. It’s safe to assume if Lady Veranthia wasn’t at the Misty Scar, she would have taken up the rank.”

“Her heart is racing fast,” said Eldras. “She’s either nervous or enraged.”

Aric’s left hand began to tremble as his stomach twisted in a knot. “Did the Elven Court dig into Nakalaen to see if the egg was laid?” He knew the answer already as he recalled a story about dragon deaths and the ceremonies held by elves. They were to be burned to ash. Always.

“Absolutely not,” the elf said quickly.

“So you just assumed the egg was laid and the orcs took it,” Aric said.

“Your tone suggests you lay the blame somewhere for Veranthia’s death.” The elf cocked her head and took a step forward. “Do you want to know what I think? I think you killed her and took the egg. How did one human survive when countless sentinels perished?”

Aric furrowed his brows. “I just told you I was with-”

“Dragons do not choose humans!” she shouted.

Pebble took a step back.

“He did,” said Aric.

“I think you aim to deceive,” she said, her voice turning cold. “Do you know why? Because Captain Francil also survived the raid. He has been at Bör Mesari ever since—under a new command.”

Chapter 32:

Looking Inwards

Moro clenched and unclenched his clammy fists as he walked into Ergoth’s home. His breath was quick as his heart raced in his chest. What if it’s all true? he thought as he turned to face the tall cabinet. There was no sense in denying what the warchief knew already. He knew exactly what lay behind the wooden doors.

Ergoth followed Moro inside. With a wave of his hand, the cabinet opened. “For too long I have waited for this moment.” He stepped to the side. “Choose wisely.”

Moro quickly looked at Ergoth. “I have to choose which one to touch?”

Ergoth laughed. “You have to choose which egg to touch first. It may make a difference.” He shrugged. “Maybe not.”

Moro looked at the eggs. “The dragons inside them—how do they know who is touching them? How to choose?”

“A great conversation that will end only in speculation I am afraid,” said Ergoth.

Moro’s chest swelled with excitement, yet fear. His eyes naturally fell on the egg with the hue of fire. Lines of orange streaked across the red surface. He reached out and paused as the blue egg beside it caught his attention. He pulled his hand back, then looked at them all once more.

“Is it difficult?” asked Ergoth.

Moro swallowed a lump in his throat. “How do you know which is the right one?”

“Now you understand my dilemma in choosing a potential rider,” Ergoth said. He walked across the room to the giant desk and pulled out the chair. Taking a seat, he folded his arms. “Choose with your heart, not your eyes.”

Moro nodded. “Alright.” He looked down at the floor. The red egg came to mind first. He imagined a great scarlet dragon beneath him and beside him. He imagined power coursing through his veins and overwatching the cities of Verilia. He looked up and took a deep breath.

Reaching out, he touched his fingertips on the egg. It was warm and as smooth as glass. Cupping his palm around the nearly forearm length egg, his breath caught in his chest. Then nothing happened. He glanced over his shoulder at Ergoth. “How will I know?”

“You’ll know immediately,” said Ergoth. “That one does not wish to bond with you. Try another.”

Moro moved his hand to the blue egg with aquamarine tendrils. Again, nothing happened. He sighed with frustration. Then, he touched the next egg, which felt rougher than the other two, as if it was covered in calluses, but again, nothing happened.

He dropped his hand to his side. Doubt began to set into his mind. “I’m never going to be worthy of a dragon’s bond.”

“You never will be in your own mind,” said Ergoth. “Dragons see things differently. Try the next.”

As Moro lifted his hand, he heard the chair creak behind him. He glanced back to see Ergoth leaning forward now. “Here goes nothing.”

He touched the first of the two identical eggs, purple on top and fading down into a bold pink color. Nothing happened. Moro shook his head and looked at the last egg. “It’s all muleshit,” he whispered with defeat. Then, he laid both hands on the last egg.

“Interesting,” Ergoth muttered as he sat back in his chair. “It seems I am not worthy to judge what dragons seek in a rider.”

Moro bit the inside of his lip to stifle the sting of sorrow. He took a deep breath, stepped back and shut the cabinet doors. He didn’t want to see the eggs anymore.

“Now what?” He turned and faced Ergoth. “I’m unworthy so I must die, right? Like the others?”

“You may be unworthy of those dragons, Moro.” Ergoth sighed and stood. “But that says nothing of your value as a whole. Your worth depends on who is looking at you. And what I’m looking at is a man broken and exhausted. A dreamer, and an achiever, who needs a chance to prove himself.”

“So you’re not going to kill me,” Moro mused. A part of him felt disappointed. What would his worth be to the orcs now?

“You have been repeatedly informed of your freedom,” said Ergoth. He gestured toward the cabinet with an upturned hand. “This was never a do-or-die task. It was a test. You didn’t pass their test. But you didn’t fail any of mine either. You are strong of heart, passionate. Be unafraid of who you truly are. Be unapologetic about your heart and your fears. You are free to leave—or stay. The choice is yours.”

Moro shrugged. His face grew hot as his fingers tingled. He wanted to smash his fist into a wall, or a skull. He wanted to run. He wanted to flee, and die. He wanted to live and burn everything in sight. His eyes welled with tears as sorrow tugged on his bottom lip.

“And what good am I to you here? If I stay and fight, I’d never keep up with the hargrols. I’ve no magic like a sangribör. And I’m fairly certain no human could match the valrav with their abilities.”

“You are correct on all points,” said Ergoth. “But who is to say a human can’t be a sorcerer?”

Moro snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s basically the rules of this cruel world..”

Ergoth stepped forward and touched his finger against Moro’s chest. “And once again, you have been misinformed, misled as the history of this world has vanished with the sands of time.”

Moro’s eyes widened. His heart surged with excitement again. “So it’s possible?”

“I think your worst characteristic is being lost,” said Ergoth. “You seek glory, yet you see no way to achieve it. You seek power, but do not believe you can obtain it. You’re lost, Moro Githron. I believe you just need a guiding light.”

“And you’re going to be that light?” Moro asked with a quirked brow. A tear streamed down his cheek. He quickly wiped it out of shame.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Ergoth asked as he folded his arms across his chest.

Moro looked at the floor. “I just—never had anyone to guide me.”

Ergoth cocked his head. “What about your friend, your brother? Aric was his name, yes?”

Moro’s stomach churned. He nodded and turned to face the front door. “He is my brother. But he doesn’t know my motivations for joining the Elven Court.”

“You aimed to kill as many of my people as you could,” Ergoth said dryly. “Such is a fickle matter only humans would endure for so long.”

Moro turned back and narrowed his eyes on Ergoth. “Says the warchief who has spent a century building up to avenge your people.”

“My people are still suffering at the hands of elves,” Ergoth said quickly. “The choices made in the lands of the elves have carried on to this day. It is not a grudge as much as it is a war for our freedom, and for fairness in this land.”

Moro looked down and rubbed his hands nervously. His darkest memory surfaced once again. He winced at the replay of his parents being torn apart. Closing his eyes, another tear ran down his face. He wiped it away. “Why did orcs kill my parents?”

Ergoth took a deep breath and slowly sat back down in his chair. He exhaled slowly and shook his head. “Feorum was never a town targeted by my command. General Zhik’lor made the decision to raid places he desired. In his mind, he needed no command or permission to unleash his devastation upon the innocent. Feorum, Ambermead, Nurniturn, Menrim; they were all targeted by him.”

Moro furrowed his brows. “Where is this General Zhik’lor now?”

“He is out at sea with his commanded orcunae,” said Ergoth.

“So you just sent them away after he made a decision without the permission of the warchief of Az’ Grim?” Moro questioned. He wanted to find a ship and track down this general at once.

“Zhik’lor is not sailing,” said Ergoth. “I eliminated his entire regime two days after I discovered what he did. General Thar’lok—then a commander—helped greatly. His reward was a title less than five have had under our people’s flag in the last three centuries.”

Moro’s mouth fell agape. The orcs’ blood would never soak his daggers. He found himself dumbstruck without a purpose now. “You killed them. You killed the ones who killed my parents?”

“It was not only your parents killed that day, but hundreds,” said Ergoth. “And yes, for that injustice, the only response I could see viable was death.”

Moro turned his back to Ergoth and buried his face into his palm. For so long, he sought out the ones responsible. After several years, he simply blamed orcs. And now, all along, it was the orcs who had avenged his parents. “If, uh—if I decide to stay, what would I be doing? Where would I—” he cleared his throat. “Where would I be going?”

“If you choose to stay,” Ergoth said as he rose from the chair once again, “I will do all I can to see you as powerful as any sangribӧr. Human witches once roamed these lands before any orc, elf, or dragon set foot on them. Only then can you help me take back what was meant for all factions; the dragons’ right to choose their bonded rider.”

Moro wiped his eyes again and sniffled as he half turned and looked at Ergoth sideways. “Where is it you plan to strike?”

Ergoth took a deep breath and looked around the large hut. He slowly nodded, as if confirming something in his mind. “When we are ready, and when you are ready, we’re going to move beyond the Scar like never before. Once we get past it, we’re going to liberate the thousands of eggs that lay unbound. We aim take the one place where the few remaining dragonmages reside; Bӧr Mesari.”

King Paulus slammed his chalice down on the elongated council table. “I knew it! Townsfolk have been raving mad about the human dragonmage. We need to intervene. Knight Lord Donalis, how soon can we ready a force?”

Donalis looked around the council table. Most were sitting in the same chairs they had when his father was a boy. Old, decrepit men and women with a knack for self service above all else. They turned to look at him.

A sense of pride swelled in his chest. There was little within the walls of the Paulus house that he could do or sway. But when it came to terms of the Gray Guard and the defenses, it was his decision above all of the old bastards that stared at him with sunken eyes.

“My Lord,” Donalis said slowly, choosing his words wisely. “Have you read the reports concerning the town of Carcel?”

Paulus stared blankly at Donalis. He lifted his chalice and took an obnoxiously loud sip, like a child stirring the pot of annoyance. Setting it back on the table, he cleared his throat. “I have. I hope you choose your knights and archers better from here forward.”

That stung. Donalis swallowed a lump in his throat. His time with the king in Paulus’s chamber was never to be discussed or played upon in the open. The rules of the game were simple; in uniform, he was a servant under the Grayhorn guidon. In the sheets, neither of them were lesser than the other. As such, he had to take whatever words the king threw at him, no matter how sharp they were or if they were laced with poison.

For a year, he had a secret relationship with the king, though it was almost exclusively physical. In the bed, he could suggest, manipulate, and sway the king. But here on the floor of the council, Paulus was as cold as the depths of the Alegarian Sea to the north.

“My Lord, with all due respect, this is a dragonmage we are speaking of,” said Donalis, again keeping his wits about his choices of words and tone. Professional and noble were the common facade in this room that could easily house four dozen of the starving families surrounding Grayhorn.

“As such, we must proceed with the utmost caution,” Donalis continued. “I sent two scouts to follow and survey this dragonmage. One managed to send a parcel to me, confirming the dragon and the dragonmage. They were traveling with another, an elf, he believes. However, they fled south.”

King Paulus shrugged. “And the other scout?”

Donalis’s heart sank. He knew the answer would only serve to soil his credibility of his title. Nonetheless, he prided himself on honesty on most things, whether the denizens of Grayhorn tolerated it or not. “She’s dead.”

Paulus flicked his brows upward. “So tell me then; where are they now?”

Donalis looked down at the table and tapped it with his fingers. Sighing, he realized the order would be given with or without his approval. Glancing up at Paulus, he said, “I think he is heading to Velensmir, My Lord.”

The council looked back and forth at each other, their knowing eyes saying what they thought. Paulus picked up his chalice and tipped it up, draining the last of it. As he lowered it, he spun sideways and threw it across the room. It crashed against the wall a foot to the right of a servant’s head.

“And when…did you discern this?” Paulus roared, his eyes widened.

Donalis heart jolted. Despite the churn of his stomach, he remained poised. “I received the parcel two nights ago, my Lord.”

Paulus narrowed his eyes. “By which way was it sent?”

“Falcon, My Lord,” Donalis said quickly. “The tracker I sent still follows the target.”

“And where was this falcon sent from?”

Donalis took a slow breath to calm his heart. “Dawn Harbor. So it was most likely sent a week ago.”

“Most likely,” said the king with a snarl. “Could have been longer, correct?” His words cut through his clenched teeth.

Donalis swallowed and nodded. “Yes, My Lord. At this point he could be nearing Everton, Gorm or Wilshir.”

“So again—I ask,” Paulus said, his voice turning to steel as he leaned on the long table. “How…long…would it take for you to retrieve them?”

Donalis looked around at the council. “I can prepare a squadron to depart at first light—so long as the staff can move fast enough. If I send four dozen, they just might-”

“If you are sending four dozen,” Reliandra Commerstad interrupted, “you best be certain they can achieve victory.”

“I understand your concern—as the treasurer of this house,” said Donalis, “which is why I am suggesting four dozen.” He looked at King Paulus. “And a ship.”

“A ship?!” blurted Captain Delimor Gran.

Donalis had already expected the outburst from the naval commander. “Yes, captain. I need a ship.”

Delimor shot a glance at the king. “My Lord, is he really the best option for-”

“I earned my rank!” Donalis bellowed as he slammed his fist on the table. While he would soak in Paulus’s facade of cruelty, he would answer to nobody else. “If you’ve come to the conclusion you have a say so in my decisions as Knight Lord of Grayhorn, you are mistaken. This pertains to the war effort, and bolstering our forces. I command the Gray Guard.”

Delimor’s eyes widened as he looked at the king. “My Lord-”

“Have you grown deaf, Captain Gran?” Paulus asked coldly. “I believe you have just been served your place. Stay in your lane, Delimor. Sir Donalis is your superior. And yes, he is the best option, and the best man for the job.” His eyes lingered on the captain for a long, awkward moment as the tension in the room became palpable. Delimor looked down and swallowed. Paulus turned to Donalis. “You were saying?”

“A squadron of this size will not catch up to the dragon and dragonmage on land,” said Donalis. So I need a ship—” he glared at Delimor, “so we have the advantage of speed. Whatever the case may be, he must not reach Velensmir. I don’t think I need to explain why.”

He looked back at Paulus. “We can cut through the northern part of the Castil Forest and catch him before he rallies any other dragonmages, or worse, the elves.”

Paulus looked around the table. His eyes fell upon Saera Betarmor, the foreign policies leader. “Lady Betarmor, how goes the scuffle between Ambermead and Maervorna?”

“It has dwindled, My Lord,” said Saera. “Ambermead has regained control of Feorum, but barely. They lost many citizens and have categorized the short war as a loss on their part. And I fear it has lost its ties with Nurniturn, which Maervorna seized.”

“Good,” said Paulus. “I don’t want any surprises from King Randton or Queen Fraeg from the west. If their forces haven’t spread, do you believe you can reach the dragonmage in time?”

Donalis nodded. “If the cooks and stable houses can have everything prepared in time, I believe the Gray Guard will cut him off. With a heavy enough attack from the archers and spearman, they can bring him back.”

“Not they,” said Paulus. He leaned forward and grinned. “You will be going with them.”

Donalis’s heart jolted. “But…My Lord, the forces here still need-”

“Choose someone then,” Paulus interrupted, as if he knew what Donalis was going to say.

Donalis clenched his jaws. He looked down at the table and took another deep breath. “Yes, My Lord.”

Chapter 33:

A Rock and a Hard Place

“That’s impossible,” Aric said.

“She is either telling the truth,” said Eldras, “or she believes what she is saying.”

“The only thing impossible here is you, a human, becoming a dragonmage,” said the elf. Her hand slowly moved back toward her sword.

Aric shifted his weight as he anticipated an attack. He glanced up at her dragon. “Ask him.”

“What?” the elf asked as she looked at the emerald dragon.

“Eldras has ancestral memories,” Aric said quickly as he thought of a way to show he wasn’t lying. “If all dragons have them, he’ll know. He’ll see them in history—human dragonmages.”

“He might not have access to those memories,” said Eldras. “If it doesn’t pertain to him or his rider, there is no reason for her to have those memories. Remember?”

“Shit,” Aric muttered to himself.

“He doesn’t,” said the elf. “Now, surrender your weapon. We are taking you to Bör Mesari. If you are deemed worthy enough to live for your crimes, so be it. Either way, you’re coming with us.”

“We won’t,” said Aric, hardening his words. “I’m going to Velensmir. They can test me all they want.”

In a flash, the elf pulled her sword and thrust her other hand forward. With a quick spell, more vines burst from the ground and wrapped around Pebble’s legs. The mare winnied and jerked upward as if to buck, but to no avail.

The elf closed the distance between them in a single bound.

Aric looked down as he felt her emerald blade against his throat. His heart pounded in his chest, but he remained still. He had been in the game long enough to know when someone is an executioner or a lackee of another. The fact she wanted him to go back with her suggested doubt in her beliefs, or an order. He hoped it was the former.

Eldras growled and crouched as if ready to pounce.

Aric held his sword out to the side. “No, boy! I’m alright.” He looked at the dragon as the glow faded from his hand. With his distraction, he lost control over his magic. “If she was smarter, she would have tied my hands.” He pushed back against the fear flooding into the bond.

“You’re fast,” Aric said with a taunting smirk.

The elf stepped back, holding her arm out at full length with only the tip of her sword touching against his windpipe. “You will answer to Bör Mesari. Not Velensmir. Drop the sword. You must have stolen the dragon. I will no longer entertain your lies!”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “I thought elves were wise. Look at him. Does he look like he’s a prisoner? A captured pet?”

The elf’s eyes flicked back and forth from Aric to Eldras, then back. “You are a human.”

Aric sighed while drawing energy from the arte. Holding his left hand out to the side, he focused on pushing the energy down his arm in the form of light. A glowing white beam shot from his palm and burned into the ground. Chunks of dirt flew into the air. “Shit.”

The elf’s eyes widened as she leaped backward. “What was that?”

Aric rolled his eyes. “It’s like I’m talking to a tree here. And not a treant.”

“That power is…”

“It’s magic,” said Aric. “Do humans have magic like that?”

“Humans can wield the mystical forces,” she said.

“Not like that,” Aric said. He nearly decided to draw on her energy, something he thought no witch or warlock would ever be able to do. But a quick glance at her massive dragon deterred such an impulse.

Her face flushed as something settled in her mind. “It’s—it’s true? The prophecy? It can’t…be.”

Aric watched her face shift expressions rapidly. “I can’t say if I’m the one from the prophecy. But I do know I’m a dragonmage.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You’re meant to be the world breaker.”

Aric sighed and lowered his sword. “The only thing I’ve ever destroyed is a bunch of orcs while serving the Court. I don’t care about some prophecy. I know who I am.”

Her brows crimped as she raised her sword. “You’re right. You can’t go to Bör Mesari. You will be our undoing and—” Her eyes darted to the woods. “Who were you meant to meet?”

Aric quirked a brow. “What are you talking about?”

The emerald dragon stepped forward and growled. Eldras turned to face the forest. “Someone is coming. Many—many are coming, Aric,” he said with a panicked tone.

Aric slowly turned and focused his hearing. He could hear nothing. He closed his eyes and pushed his mind outward. Shining bright, three quarters of a mile ahead was a group of people. “Fuck.” He opened his eyes and turned back to the elf. “They aren’t with us.”

The elf rotated and leaped backward. Pushing off her dragon’s knee, she propeled herself up to the saddle. As she slid her boots into stirrups, she sheathed her sword. “We will see how much truth there is to your words.” Without warning, the emerald dragon took flight.

“She’s going to kill them!” Aric slid out of his saddle. “I’ll be back, girl,” he told Pebble. He knew she wouldn’t be going anywhere as she was locked in place. He raced forward and dove through the hole in the vines that Eldras had created.

“There are so many!” Eldras said as he crawled through the hole and followed Aric. “I think they’re human.”

Trees whipped by in blurs and flashes as Aric sprinted through the forest. He could hear Eldras leaping, flapping his wings, then landing again before repeating. He had grown so large now that the forest had become too tight to run in. But he was still small enough to duck between branches and leap between bushes.

“We’re never going to catch up!” Aric called out in a panic. “Eldras, go ahead. Lead me right to them, but stay out of the way. If the elf and dragon attack them before I get there, come back to me.” He could feel the panic through the bond but he couldn’t fight it this time. There was a long hesitation. Aric stole a glance over his shoulder. Eldras was still staying close to him. “Go, Eldras!”

At first, Aric thought it was a good idea. If he could save anyone, it would be worth it. But as Eldras gave him a pained look and leaped straight up and disappeared into the canopy, his heart sank. What if he gets hurt? It’ll be my fault. He leaned forward and dug his boots into the ground harder, fighting to gain speed. Eldras landed a dozen paces ahead, ran forward and leaped into the trees again. “Eldras!”

“I know,” said Eldras with a surprisingly calm tone. “I’ll be careful.”

Aric’s chest began to heave for deeper breaths. But his heart pounded too fast for that to be a focus. He inhaled quickly, and exhaled slowly. He let his mind push forward for a moment. He could see Eldras less than two hundred feet away from the elf and her dragon, which shone brighter than anything ahead. They were hovering above more than four dozen people.

After another couple of minutes, Aric saw them with his naked eye. Gray Guard, he thought, his stomach churning. “What’s she doing?”

“I think she’s studying them,” said Eldras. Without warning, he swooped down through the trees and landed a hundred feet in front of Aric.

Aric stopped sprinting, then stopped jogging, and lastly halted before Eldras. The Gray Guard squadron was moving slowly, methodically. “They know she flies above them. She can’t hide the thunder of her wings.”

“Should we warn her?” asked Eldras. “They have archers.”

Aric paused for a moment to think. “She was about to kill us.”

He narrowed his eyes on the Gray Guard. Most of them wore the same type of plate armor, expensive and strong. But one man stood out more than the rest. His silver armor shined bright. He rode a mighty steed and held himself with an air of grace and power. “I think that might be Grayhorn’s Knight Lord. They’re probably still pissed about Carcel. I bet Paulus sent them to keep me away from his bases.”

“Actually,” a voice called behind Aric.

With a surge of energy to his heart, Aric whirled around, and leaped toward a man. He halted just before the blade could sever his head from his shoulders. The man had bright red hair and a lute hung off of his back. “Who are you?”

“Ah,” said Nathalior. “The name is Nathalior. And I am a bard.”

Aric pressed the edge of blade harder against Nathalior’s neck. “Muleshit! What’s a bard doing in the middle of a forest with the Gray Guard.”

Nathalior looked down at the blade. His expression wasn’t one of fear, as it should have been. It was more one of amusement as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, I am a bard. But I am also a tracker. I followed you, but it was more difficult than that, you see? I had to keep my distance from you once I learned about your nifty ability to sense a man from a great distance away. So I had to track you.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “You’re a tracker.”

“For the right coin, there are few things I’m not,” said Nathalior with a grin. He pointed at the Gray Guard ahead. “All I did was send a message back to Grayhorn. And…well, as they say; don’t kill the messenger.”

Aric stepped forward and shoved Nathalior against the tree and leaned in close. “Do you hear that?” He pointed in the air toward the elf and the emerald dragon. “You’ve just invited forty Gray Guards to their deaths.”

Nathalior looked down at Aric’s hand. “Did I mention I am a man of many talents. I have been many things in my life.” He looked up into Aric’s eyes. “Best unhand me now.”

“Shut up,” Aric said coldly. He turned and looked back at Grayhorn’s soldiers just when a sharp pain stabbed into the side of his neck as something struck him.

He staggered sideways and specks of white stars danced in his vision. He looked back at Nathalior. “Did you just hit me?”

“Pinched a nerve in your sword arm,” said Nathalior. “Fairly well lost techniques here in Verilia. Combat is something of necessity rather than art here.”

“What the fuck are you…talking about?” Aric’s jaw began to ache as the pain crawled up to his temple. He opened his mouth wide and flexed his jowls as a numbing sensation crawled down his arm. He lost strength in his grip on the sword. His neck began to send waves of pain down through his shoulder, chest and arm. He winced and felt Eldras’s fear shift to a state of angered protection. “Wait, boy. I’m alright.”

Eldras bared his teeth and growled at Nathalior, who backed into the tree with narrowed eyes.

“Lucky you,” said Nathalior. “Got that baby to protect you. Shame really he’s-”

Aric leaped sideways and slammed his good fist into Nathalior’s jaw. With a dry crack, his body fell limp like soft noodles. The man had immediately gotten under Aric’s skin. “Shut the fuck up.”

“You should have killed him.”

Aric sighed at the sound of the elf woman. “Should have known you’d come down to enforce your emotionless wit and power. Let them be.” He turned to face her, finding her twenty feet up in a tree. “They have come for me.”

“I thought you said they weren’t with you,” said the elf.

“They aren’t with us,” Aric said sternly. “They’re here to do what you are; to attempt to steer me off of my course. King Paulus apparently demands my presence.”

“He will have to learn to accept disappointment then,” said the elf. “Though, I’m certain he was adjusting to that well enough already.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “I’m most certain he has since the Court left the sentinels and you dragonmages left the caravan to die in the Scar.”

The elf narrowed her eyes. “What did you just say to me?”

“You dragonmages,” Aric said. He picked up his sword and walked toward her. “Fucking cowards. Hiding away to protect your dragons? I at least understand that much now. But refusing to fight? Refusing to use your gifts and your power to save anyone’s asses but your own?” He shook his head. “You elves want what you want, and it’s fuck everyone else, right?”

“You are an imbecile,” she said with a shake of her head. “We haven’t been hiding. We have been training the new generation of riders to rise up against Az’ Grim’s reign.”

Aric thought of the Gray Guard coming their way. Soon they would be spotted. But the longer he could distract her, the better chance he would have at sending them away. Otherwise, he was almost certain she would simply slaughter them.

“Training for what? This war has outlasted every human in Maerïnor that was alive when it started. You know how to fight. And you have the power to do so.” He was actually growing angry now at her excuse for the dragonmages’ absence for the past decade or better.

“We’ve been training for a fell sweep of the orc clan,” said the elf. “It has all been for the preparation of the extermination of the scourge that dwells in Az’ Grim.”

“And the dragons thought you—and the other dragonmages—would be worthy enough to share a bond with!” Aric looked at the Gray Guard and spat on the ground. The Knight Lord had spotted them and kicked his horse into a full canter as the men roared. “You’re pathetic!”

The elf half-turned as the Gray Guard archers sent forth a flurry of arrows. “J’nereth!” she yelled as she drew her sword from her hip and leaped higher into the trees, bounding off of branches as she ascended like a squirrel until she vanished above the canopy.

Aric ran around behind the tree, dragging Nathalior with him. Resting his back against the tree, he glanced at Eldras to make sure he was out of the way of the arrows as he drew power from the core of the bond. While his scales had grown into little overlapping plates of armor, his wings and underside were no match for the dagger tips of the silver arrows. Many whizzed past the tree while others stuck with thuds.

“He’s still hovering,” Eldras said. He ducked and moved closer to Aric. An arrow ricocheted off of his side. He growled, though Aric sensed annoyance in the bond more than pain.

“She’s waiting to see what happens,” Aric mused. He pushed his mind outward. Behind him, he could sense the energy signatures of forty-nine soldiers and five horses. “Shit.”

“What do we do?” asked Eldras. He peeked around the tree, then quickly ducked his head as another arrow flew past.

Aric’s heart pounded in his chest as he thought of his options. “I’d rather take my chances with them than her. If we run, she will just stay on our ass and cut us off when she gets the chance again.”

“We’ll never make it to Velensmir with her trailing us, will we?”

Aric’s stomach twisted as he looked at Eldras’s wings. “Unless she can’t follow us fast enough.”

Eldras cocked his head. “Whatever you are thinking, I don’t like how it feels. But I trust you. Whatever it is, do it fast.”

Aric stood and rotated, keeping his body close to the tree. He looked up and for the first time, realized many of the trees around them weren’t evergreen, but deciduous. “Gods forgive me for this.” He focused his mind’s eye toward the sky and immediately spotted the emerald dragon’s bright light.

As his chest grew warm, he pushed the energy down his arms and into his palms. Focusing on thin but powerful streams of raw energy, he pushed the power outward. He gasped as the energy obeyed his command.

Twin beams of white light burned through several branches, causing a monsoon of wood to rain down on the ground between Aric and the Gray Guard. Moving his hands back and forth, he kept his mind’s eye focused on the dragon for he still could see her with his naked eye through the canopy.

Then, a solemn sound filled the forest. The emerald dragon screamed, roaring with a high-pitched cry of agony as she broke through the treetops, crashing through dozens of thick branches until she slammed into the ground on her side in the middle of the formation of the Gray Guard. The elf hit the ground hard and rolled several feet before kipping up to her feet. “J’nereth!” she yelled, sprinting back to the dragon.

Aric poked his head out around the tree and saw the Gray Guard had now shifted their focus to the elven dragonmage and the dragon with a nearly severed wing. His jaws ached as nausea settled deep into his core. He imagined Eldras sustaining an injury like that. “I’m sorry.”

“We have to go,” said Eldras.

Aric slammed his fist into the tree with frustration. Once upon a time, he would have disemboweled anyone who had done such a thing to a dragon. “Fuck!” He turned to the south and ran.

For nearly an hour, Aric pushed forward. Eldras bound ahead. Together, they kept alternating using their mind to scan their surroundings. Aric’s body had set a pace that was harder to keep for the first few miles than it was the last few. But the drive had given them plenty of distance from the Gray Guard. He knew they couldn’t keep this pace all the way to Velensmir once his legs and lungs burned. He cursed himself for leaving Pebble behind but fear showed him no safe path back to her.

“I think we’ve lost them, boy.”

Eldras swooped down ahead of Aric and landed smoothly. “Good. I’m exhausted.”

Aric stopped and leaned against a dead pine. The forest had grown denser as evergreens dominated once again. “Did you see any towns or clearings ahead?”

“There may be something,” said Eldras as he took deep breaths. His wings sagged a little more than usual on his back. “But it is at least twenty leagues ahead. Further east too.”

Aric nodded. With his forearm, he wiped sweat from his brow. “Good. We’ll keep moving for now until nightfall. No fire tonight. We’ll wake in the morning and keep moving. I don’t want to rest for a couple of days.”

Eldras groaned with a low hum. “Can’t we just stop for a day?”

Aric walked forward and patted Eldras on the side of his neck. “I wish, boy. But we still have a dragonmage on our asses. We need to keep moving.”

Eldras sagged his head again.

“Were you flying?”

Eldras lifted his head. He turned and looked up at the trees. “More like gliding.”

Aric smiled and shook his head. “No, boy. I saw you ascend several times and flap your wings. You were flying!”

Eldras stood still for a moment as the bond filled with excitement and anxiety. “Was I?”

Aric laughed and wrapped his arm around Eldras. “You were doing it. Who said you ever needed help?”

“And you controlled your light magic perfectly.”

Aric nodded and stepped back to look at his hands. “Yeah I guess I did, didn’t I?”

The next two days drifted by slowly as Aric’s legs weakened beyond the point of fatigue. He could feel himself falling weaker as his body weight plummeted evermore.

Over the course of the last three months, his leggings had become baggy around his thighs. He had to make new holes for the latching around his waist. Though that could have been from overuse as well as the weight loss. Without proper meat again, he recognized his muscles weren’t healing back to full strength.

A few hours after midday the following day, Aric’s heart jolted as he smelled something smoking; venison. He slowed his steps and crept behind a tree. “How far did you say the next clearing was?”

Eldras tried to hunker down, but there wasn’t a tree in the northern parts of the Castil Forest wide enough to hide him now. “I guessed about twenty leagues.”

Aric realized he hadn’t paid attention to the distance they had trailed. “I don’t think we’ve walked that far.”

“Want me to fly up and see?” asked Eldras. “I can—I can stay low.”

Aric smiled softly. “No, boy.” He wafted his hand toward his nose. “Do you smell that?”

Eldras lifted his head and sniffed the air. “I smell meat, smoke…and a human.”

Aric’s brows shot skyward. “A human?” He leaned around the tree and focused with the arte, seeing the forest in a mixture of light and energy waves. Not even five hundred feet ahead was a bright form, hunkered down by a bright fire.

“Are we going to go to them?” asked Eldras. His hunger pushed across the bond.

Aric laughed. “Do you want to meet them or eat their venison?”

Eldras lowered his head and hummed. “Both?”

“We can’t just walk up to people and expect them to share their kill,” said Aric. He looked back at Eldras. “And did you forget you’re a dragon?”

“How could I forget?” asked Eldras. “And if someone is out here, then we must not be all that far from the next town.”

“You might be correct,” came a cold and calm voice.

Aric’s heart jolted as he spun around to see five elves standing behind Eldras. They were dressed in long silver and gold robes, each with a thin crown on their blonde heads. He lunged forward and pulled the sword from the saddle. “Run, boy!”

“No,” the elf in the middle said calmly. His voice was smoky and smooth, and it carried an enticing power.

Eldras slowly said to his full height. “I don’t…want to.” His voice was dull, as if his words were not his own.

Aric furrowed his brows and drew on the energy from the bond. Just as he lifted his hand, the elf raised his own hand.

“Easy,” said the elf. “Come with us.”

From within his mind, Aric heard the elf’s voice. His arm slowly descended, and he found himself calming. He lowered his sword next. Despite a distant voice deep in his core, this elf’s voice now controlled his motivations. He nodded. He found he wanted to go with the elves. He stepped forward. “Come, boy. We’re going with them.”

Chapter 34:

Velensmir

All was quiet and peaceful as Aric and Eldras followed the elves. Occasionally, Aric would have spurts of clarity, and panic would crawl back in. His mind screamed for him to run. But just as swiftly as his focus cleared, his mind became muddied again by an invisible force, drawing him in to do whatever the elf said.

Worse yet, Aric was growing detached from Eldras. He was watching his physical form obey the silver-tongued elf as he fought to break free in his mind.

Jarring it was to Aric to feel enraged and yet at peace simultaneously. And for hours, they walked. Not swiftly, but casually, as if the sands of an hourglass were meaningless.

The sun perished to the east beyond sight. Still, they continued. Through the night and the next morning, they kept a nonchalant pacing. Rarely did any of the elves speak. Aric felt a sting of hunger in its stomach. A surge of energy filled his mind. “I’m—I’m hungry,” he said. The words were difficult to form, his true mind buried deep behind the curtain of the elf’s words.

The only time the elf who had put him in a trance spoke was to reiterate his cold suggestions to Aric and Eldras. He turned and walked backward, licking eyes with Aric. “Your hunger has been satiated. You feel at ease. Do you not?" He grinned softly as he turned back around and continued.

With those words, Aric’s body relaxed. His hunger vanished.  “Yeah. Come to think of it, I’m not hungry at all.” He furrowed his brows with a jolt of frustration. Why did I say that?

“Almost there, Honored Dragonmage,” the elf called over his shoulder.

Aric’s head nodded. Stop that! he yelled internally at his body. It was pointless. His limbs continued to follow whatever instructions he was given. He continued to follow.

The process continued for nine days in the same fashion. Whenever Aric felt tired, the elf assured him that he was wide awake. Then so he was.

When hunger stabbed at his stomach, the elf made him feel full and satisfied. Only four times did they stop so Aric could relieve himself. Even that was awkward, for the elf’s mind was locked into Aric, controlling his movements to unlatch his leggings, pull out his cock and piss. It was unnerving and violating.

On the tenth day, the elves halted. A female with silvery blonde hair turned and walked up to Aric. She rested her soft hands on Aric’s cheek. “We will take you from here. Now, you are in desperate need of sleep. You can no longer keep it at bay.”

Aric felt his legs grow weak, and his body heavy. He collapsed on the forest floor. For a few seconds, he looked up at the sky. Slowly, his vision blurred, then faded to black. His eyelids closed and this time he welcomed the compulsion. He welcomed the darkness of rest.

In what seemed like a blink, he opened his eyes to see a wooden ceiling, curved in a round room. The wood was smooth, with dark brown grain contrasting the swirls of light tan. He sat up quickly, grunting as he found his body drained of energy. “Eldras?”

“He’ll be with you soon.”

Aric spun, nearly falling off of the bed he realized he was on. Sitting in a vine woven chair hanging from the ceiling was the blonde elf who had forced him into a slumber. Aric looked around for a weapon.

“There is no need for hostility,” said the elf.

Aric’s heart pounded in his chest. “Where the fuck is he?”

The elf held up her hand. “Please, be calm.”

Aric relaxed, once more recognizing the presence in his mind controlling his body. He took a deep breath and sighed. He was calm, but his mind was once again his own. “Can you stop doing that?”

“So long as you keep your civility intact,” said the elf. She sat cross-legged in the chair, her robes stretched tight over her knees.

Aric nodded. As the elf waved her hand, Aric felt his heart rate rise again. He took another deep breath. “Where is Eldras?”

“My name is Trenifel,” said the elf. “You have slept for nearly two days. But, your dragon is safe. He is with the other seers.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “Seers.” His eyes lingered for a moment on the elf. Though all elves were more attractive than humans, her beauty sent a chill down his spine and a flutter in his stomach.

“Yes,” said Trenifel. “We possess power over the mind. We can see, feel, experience and coerce all that your mind has to offer if you are untrained to prevent such a thing.”

Aric looked around the room. He realized everything was connected. Nothing sat on the floor. Everything was part of the floor, walls and ceiling. The bed, a chair and table against one of the walls, the chair in which Trenifel sat, and a narrow spiral staircase ascending somewhere unseen were all part of the same wooden structure; a tree.  A large circular window overlooked a deciduous grove. “We made it to Velensmir,” he mused to himself.

“Yes,” said Trenifel. “Ordinarily, you would have been executed for nearly the highest treasons against the Elven Court—twice.” She stood and brushed her robes down.

“Wh-what?” Aric blurted. Then he remembered the emerald dragon. “What do you mean twice?”

“You were thought to have stolen an egg.”

Aric rose to his feet. “I didn’t steal shit!”

“Yes,” said Trenifel. “We know that now. You were quite fortunate enough to rely on your companion to stay hidden from the Elven Court. We do not fear the prophecy as they do."

Aric furrowed his brows. “You don’t?” Trenifel shook her head. “Why not?"

Trenifel opened her mouth to speak, then paused. She smiled. “We have our reasons."

“Then what do you want with me?" Aric asked. “I mean—I was coming here to speak with King Aglorion, but you came to us."

“Regardless of our beliefs, you still committed a crime, an atrocity moreover, in attacking a dragonmage and wounding her dragon. However, a few weeks ago, we learned from our scouts in the west that Az’ Grim’s Warchief, Ergoth, plans to attack Bör Mesari. Ergo, your life has become more valuable than your death.”

“They'd never go past the Scar," Aric said. He blinked rapidly and held up a hand as he pieced together Trenifel’s meaning. “Wait, so I’m alive because…why?”

Trenifel sighed. “Because of the very thing that placed a threat on your life in the first place; your bond with Eldras. Your magic. Despite the bolstering of morale, dragonmages are far too few now.”

Aric folded his arms and thought of the dragonmage's words regarding training a new generation. Lying bitch, he thought. “You mean elves have been lying this whole time? Color me surprised,” he said sardonically with an eye roll.

Trenifel looked down and took a deep breath. “Your life as a dragonmage is potentially invaluable to us in what is to come. In Bör Mesari, you are as good as dead, or worse. They’ve only just dealt with the druid grove, which you destroyed, and who threatened to wake the ancients. It was only in your categorization of a traitor and murderer that the high elves still live.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “The ancients. The treants? So they are actually real?”

“Yes.”

Aric lifted his brows. “And they have the power to destroy Bör Mesari?”

“If they were to unite,” Trenifel said. “Regardless, Bör Mesari is being threatened by the orcs now, and you will be needed.”

Aric scratched his beard methodically. “It sounds like I have no choice.”

“You are mistaken,” said Trenifel. Her voice hardened. “Your choice is life or death.”

“Oh,” Aric muttered. He forced a laugh. “Stupid me. Of course I have a choice. Let me think about it for a bit.”

“While you are considered an enemy of the high elves, we Velensmirans are excited for your existence. It is both a change of form, and yet reverting back to the days of old."

Aric was beginning to get the idea that the elves of Bör Mesari cared little for Velensmirans, and vice versa. This only served to humanize them. He thought of the dragonmage in the forest. “Is she going to come for me—the dragonmage and the dragon I injured?”

“Most likely all of the remaining dragonmages will aim to take you back to Bör Mesari to stand trial, or study you,” said Trenifel. “But she will not venture beyond the border and into Velensmir. She is not foolish enough to seek her own death.”

“I don't get it," Aric said. “You're both elven. Why do you have a relationship regarding the dragons, but have animosity about everything else?"

“Why do human kings and queens put up walls and yet assemble their own armies?" she asked. “Why do orcs and dwarves have clans? We are people divided by past trespasses."

“Eldras!” Aric called out with his mind, seeking to use her distraction to find the dragon.

“You will be reunited soon.” Trenifel stood and folded her hands behind her back. For the first time, Aric noticed a small dagger and a small green pouch hanging on the rope around her hips. “First you must meet with King Aglorion—a chance, mind you, no other human would get besides kings and queens.”

Aric thought of Francil’s words, his warning of Bör Mesari. Then he remembered the dragonmage’s words regarding the captain. His stomach twisted in a knot. “You—you saw my memories, right?”

“Correct.” She looked down and sighed. “I cannot give you the answer you seek regarding Captain Francil. Unfortunately, Bör Mesari holds that information alone.”

Aric huffed and shook his head. “They want my head on a pike. Why the fuck would I defend it from the orcs?”

Trenifel opened her mouth to speak, then paused as she smiled again. “I have seen your memories. You love dragons. You have the heart of a warrior and you have always desired to protect them.” She held up a finger as Aric opened his mouth. “In addition to that, your friend wasn’t completely wrong. Truths have been hidden, buried for centuries. You are not the first Elmerïan, nor do we think you are not the one the prophecy spoke of. That time has already passed, and the World Breaker with it.”

Aric’s heart sank. “He—he died?”

Trenifel simply nodded.

Aric narrowed his eyes. “Even that has been kept from elves in Bör Mesari. The dragonmage acted like I-”

“You are correct again,” said Trenifel. “I won’t say much more until you’ve spoken with the king. But your friend, the halfborn, was wise. He knew things he should not have.”

Aric rubbed his temples as he processed several things at once. “So I’m supposed to help protect the high elves of Bör Mesari.” He folded his arms. “And if I don’t?”

Trenifel clenched her jaws. She looked down, then walked across the room to Aric, halting an arm’s reach away. “One way or another, you are going to Bör Mesari. You can be a dragonmage and do what is expected, or you can go as a prisoner.”

Aric recalled his oath to the Elven Court. He rolled his eyes and sat back down on the bed. “Fine. But I don’t know how much I can help. I mean—” he held up his hands, “I barely know anything of my magic, and Eldras isn’t big enough to ride yet.”

“Your doubt will vanish in a single conversation with our king. I am sure of it.” She turned and walked toward the door. “Come.”

Aric felt the invisible force on his mind again. He stood without trying. “St-stop! I can manage myself. Gods damn.” Trenifel’s power withdrew as she departed the room. He regained control. “Fucking puppet, am I?”

He followed Trenifel out of the room. Looking down a short hall, he realized there were several doorways. Each room was connected the same way in which everything in his room was molded together. “Is this a tree?”

“Of course,” said Trenifel. “Most of our homes and halls are a cooperation between elves and nature.”

Aric hummed. His eyes darted back and forth, then fell on Trenifel’s form. He looked down, watching her hips sway. Without trying, he imagined her without the robe. He wondered what elves looked like when they were bare. His face reddened as he quickly remembered she could hear his thoughts. “Sorry.”

“It is alright,” said Trenifel. She looked over her shoulder. “Humans are much more social creatures than elves. We know your ways.”

“That…doesn’t make me feel any better,” Aric mumbled.

He continued to follow Trenifel down winding stairs and two more halls until they reached the bottom. The tree opened wide at the ground, filling the stairwell with sunlight. He squinted as he walked outside, letting his eyes quickly adjust to the sharp light. There he paused. His mouth fell agape as he looked up.

Standing every inch of two-hundred feet tall were massive trees, some with their leaves the size of Aric’s torso. Each one had cutouts, and sections of railings on porches jutted outward.

Vines swooped and dipped lowly, connecting tree to tree. The pathway laid before them was wide. It curved around the trees in random directions, paved with white stone.

Bright flowers were grown at the base of the trees, contrasting against the earthen tones of Velensmir. Aric turned around in a full rotation as he took in the beauty of the whimsical city. “I have never seen anything like this before.”

Trenifel looked up. “It’s…home.” She pointed to the west, then continued. “This way."

As Aric followed, he had to keep speeding up as his attention was pulled in every direction. Strange birds with long, thin tails perched on branches. A huge cat ran past him down the road. “What is that?”

“A mörcat,” said Trenifel. “They’re rare on Maerïnor, but they are said to exist on many realms in the cosmos.”

Aric cocked his head. “In the—what?”

Trenifel laughed. It was short, but it was there, a rarity among elves. “It is a common tongue word, a human word. It means, beyond this world.”

Aric looked up. The sky was mostly blocked with thick branches and wide leaves. “There are other worlds?"

“Many," she said. “We can see memories passed down through dragons, mörcats, and many other creatures. There are worlds with ingenious technologies. Others with human mages that control the elements of nature itself. We have learned a great deal about nature and our own magic from such memories."

Aric tried to imagine traveling beyond Verilia. He shuddered to think of other worlds, entire planets existing beyond Maerïnor. “How did they get here then?”

“A mystery in itself,” said Trenifel. “They may have originated here. Such information is lost to the sands of time.”

As the road opened up wider, Aric halted again, his eyes widening. A massive crescent shaped set of stairs led down to the heart of the city.

Before him were hundreds of structures, many tree-like in their design that spread out for leagues. Tall towers with conical tops overlooked the greater part of Velensmir. Each tower had circular windows symmetrical in spacing.

White, light pink, sky blue, and light green roads painted the pathways between buildings in what adjusted to be a valley. And in the center of the structures was a gargantuan stone building, asymmetrical in its shape, as if the stone had been found then carved out by the elves.

“Come,” said Trenifel.

Aric walked down the steps. For another fifteen minutes, he followed her into the thick of Velensmir. She turned into a doorway built into an upturned log. He curled a brow as he realized the door led to a stair descending into the ground. Small candles lined the walls of a carved staircase.

Seventy-seven steps later, and the bottom leveled out to a smooth wall with a door. On each side of the door were six elves, each garbed in milky golden armor similar to the dragonmage’s emerald armor. They each held a polearm in their right hand. They were adorned with a curved sword on the left, and a long dagger on the right.

Aric swallowed a lump in his throat. “Is Eldras-”

“No,” said Trenifel. She turned to face Aric. “Before you await a decision, and a fate. This is where I leave you for the time being.”

Aric’s heart started racing. He looked at the door, matte black wood with glowing runes carved into the surface. “What’s in there?”

“King Aglorion,” said Trenifel.

Chapter 35:

King Aglorion

“This is the Vault of Secrets. Not a single person will bother you, nor will any word or thought escape this room. Be mindful, be truthful, and most of all, be courageous. Trust yourself. I have seen your pride, your faults and all of your shadows. But I have seen your light. It shines brighter than most. Lean into it.” With that, she quickly turned and ran up the steps, bounding four at a time.

Aric watched her dart up the stairs silently, replaying her words in his mind. My light? he thought as he took a deep breath and turned back to the guards. “Uh, what am I supposed to do now? Go in? Do I just…go in?”

None of them moved. As cold and stiff as statues, they remained poised. Aric nodded. “Awesome. Good talk.” He looked back and forth at them. Nothing. He reached for the golden knob, expecting one of them to stop him. When they didn’t, he grabbed and turned it. Bright, orange light flooded into the stairwell.

Aric entered. A room twenty feet tall lay before him. Tall pillars thicker than Eldras’s body, of what looked like roots made of stone, stretched from the ground to the ceiling. Troughs of liquid burned around every wall, casting a soft light in the room.

A stone set of steps led to a throne across the room, upon which sat an elf.

Aric knew it was the king immediately, without a confirmation needed. The elf wore similar armor to the guards outside, and a sword lay across his lap—Aric’s sword.

As Aric approached, his heart sank. “That’s mine!” he blurted, then slapped a hand over his mouth. Running forward, he bowed. “I apologize, Your Majesty.”

“Rise,” said Aglorion after several awkward seconds of silence.

Aric stood, but kept his eyes downcast. “Your Highness, there’s—there’s something you should know.”

“I know all about your mishaps and misfortunes from the seers.” Aglorion’s voice was deep and gritty, for an elf. He stabbed Aric’s blade into the stone between them. It was buried like a hot knife into lard. How it didn’t bend or snap Aric never knew.

“My son sent you to me, did he?”

Aric’s mouth fell agape. “N-no, Your Majesty. Captain Francil of the-”

“Quiet!” Aglorion roared. Aric could’ve sworn he felt the ground quiver beneath Aglorion’s yell. “He cherished you like a friend. I saw that in your memories; the way that he looked at you, taught you, protected you.”

Aric looked up finally, his eyes locking onto the king’s gray eyes. Regardless of the king’s centuries worth of experiences, his flesh was unblemished, and untouched by age. “I’m sorry. Are you talking about—”

“Francil,” said Aglorion. “He spent his last breath defending you. If ever my son was something, he was an extraordinary judge of character.”

“Francil was…your son?” Aric questioned. His heart jolted. “Captain Francil…was…”

“I understand he never discussed his heritage with you,” said Agolorion. “We were not close, ever since his mother passed.”

Dozens of questions ran through Aric’s mind. How could Francil be a prince? Why would he have kept that from me, of all things? He looked at his sword and thought of Eldras again. He decided quickly that was the most important question. “Where is Eldras being held?”

“He is safe,” said Aglorion. “He is being well taken care of at the moment.” He took in a deep but quick breath and narrowed his eyes on Aric. “I must say, I am quite curious; why did my son want you to come to me? Why would he think I knew any more than he did?”

Aric swallowed. Was no memory of his safe from the seers? “I think Francil just believed you could help answer my questions—regarding the Elmerïan. But now it makes sense. He’s…your son.”

Agolorion’s face twitched, as if a nerve had been pinched in his face. He rubbed his cheek slowly with the back of his hand. “The Elmerïan was a prophecy made a lifetime ago. Not long after, it came to pass.” He looked down at his hand and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “What I am about to tell you must never be repeated. This is history long forgotten. But it does pertain directly to you.”

Aric blinked rapidly and cleared his throat. “I—I can’t promise I won’t repeat something I have yet to hear. Or that seers won't discover it. If it’s important-”

“There was a man named Tirian Roclorn,” interrupted Agolorion. “He was a commander of the Velrostian Outpost, part of the Craestia Islands to the north beyond the Adorstus Sea, all but abandoned now. It was a time when more than half of the dragons on Maerïnor were free. Orcs and humans coexisted on the Craestia Islands, though not peacefully.

Tirian was presented with an orc youngling to care for.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “Francil told me about this story.”

“My son never learned the truth of how the story ended,” Aglorion said. He sat up straighter on his stone seat. “He partnered with a dragon named Carn, the first free dragon to bond with a rider. And so it was that Tirian became the first human dragonmage. He took the orcling far from the Craestia Islands to raise her as his own. The motivation was love. He set his sights on ending the feuds between the factions of orc and human. And the dragon was meant to be the key to joining with the elves. Global peace was the goal.”

Aric shook his head. “Then what happened?”

“About a thousand years ago, the orc woman was killed,” said Aglorion. He cast his eyes down and sighed. “She was killed by a group of elves voyaging across the seas in search for better resources than we had here.”

Aric’s stomach churned. “Why did they kill her?”

“She was an orc,” said Aglorion, as if that answer was meant to be enough.

Aric shrugged. “And? What did she do?”

Aglorion swallowed and shook his head. “Nothing. She did nothing wrong. And the aftermath of Tirian’s rage was a catalyst for a long war between human dragonmages and elven dragonmages. There were very few Elmerïans then, five perhaps. But their power was that of the sun. A prophecy rose to state that an Elmerïan, a World Breaker, would be the end of the elves."

“Was it right?" Aric asked.

Aglorion shrugged. “Impossible to say. But we hunted them all down. And in the final battle, Tirian’s dragon was killed protecting him. And Tirian fled. Afterward, four continents had been completely decimated of all life. We hunted him across the world. Nearly a century later, we found him. Unlike elven dragonmages, he was stronger after his dragon died. Perhaps he never reached his full potential when Carn was alive. Or the fact that his dragon had a life before their bond. We never knew how."

Aric’s eyes widened. “You were there?”

“Many of us elders were.” Aglorion sighed. “Now, I do not have the time to answer all of your questions, but I can tell you this; this information was lost to the seas and the crumbling of lands and ash across Maerïnor a millenia ago. Almost all of the elves alive today have never known the truth.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “But you continued to tell the story of the prophecy.”

Aglorion nodded. “For the sake of keeping elves in line, and to keep them here in Verilia, where we have made our home. It keeps them from believing we are the mightiest race Maerïnor can muster.”

“So for elves, the Elmerïan is the yagag ba'man,” said Aric, recalling the scary story he learned when he was a child.

“Unfortunately,” said Aglorion with a nod.  “It has been a thousand years since a human was chosen by a dragon.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “I’d like to know more about that, Your Highness. Why were humans never given an opportunity to be chosen?”

The king laughed. “Did you lapse in your mind and forget what I have just said?”

“No.” Aric shook his head. “You just…confirmed my suspicion. The dragons stopped choosing elves. Right?”

Aglorion narrowed his eyes. “Careful, Elmerïan.”

“You use the word Elmerïan to mean human dragonmage," Aric said. “But you use it to describe the World Breaker of prophecy."

“Aye."

“Then am I to be seen as this destroyer of the world?"

Aglorion stared silently.

Aric found he couldn't hold the king's gaze for long. He held his hands up in a mock of a surrender. “Fine. One more question; where do the eggs come from?”

Aglorion leaned forward and rested a hand on Aric’s sword pommel. “From here.”

“From which dragon?” Aric pressed.

The king smiled and leaned back in his seat. “You humans are fickle creatures, aren’t you?”

Aric half turned his head. “I don’t think so.”

“One human is as dull and thick as the grime at the bottom of Lake Tel,” said Aglorion. “Then the next is as sharp as a dragonmage’s blade.” He took a deep breath and smiled poisonously. A chill ran down Aric’s spine. “I can not divulge such information to you just yet.”

Aric clenched his jaws. “Then I can no longer support you elves. I believe you have lost your sense of judgment on what is best— for the dragons.”

King Aglorion glared at Aric. “You realize you are nothing but an ant to a bear. You are not in a position to negotiate. You will help defend the Elven Court, as you have for so long, or you will be overturned to Bör Mesari. And there, you will-”

“I got it,” Aric interrupted, throwing royal etiquette to the wind now. The confirmation of Aglorion’s words and the story of Commander Tirian had left a sour taste in his mouth.

He had been serving and protecting hypocrites for half of his life. “I’ll fight. Not for Bör Mesari, but for the dragons. And if we win, I'll fight just as hard to bring justice to every unhatched dragon who had their choices ripped from them.”

“Help us stave off the orcs,” said Aglorion. “Then, we shall discuss your oath to the Court, as well as your role in Velensmir.”

Aric’s heart sank. Just say what he wants to hear, he thought. This isn’t the place for us. He nodded, then stepped one foot forward and bowed his head. “I haven’t forgotten my oath.”

“That is wise,” said Aglorion. He looked at the sword. After a long moment, he leaned forward and pulled it from the stone. “This is a good blade. But it is not meant for a dragonmage.” He held it horizontally and looked up and down, inspecting the weapon. Then he outstretched his arms and looked at Aric. “You will be given an amnesty pardon whilst you remain in Velensmir. Swear fealty to our faction until we see the end of this war.”

“Will this new fealty protect Eldras and I from the highborns?” Aric asked.

“So long as you are a subject under my throne, you will be diplomatically equal to any Velensmiran.”

Aric sighed. “Then I accept. Anything to keep him safe.” He placed his hands under his sword.

After letting go of the blade, Aglorion stood. “I have your word?”

Aric looked down and contemplated this decision. At least I won’t have to run anymore, he thought. Taking a deep breath, he looked into the king’s eyes. “You have my word, Your Majesty.”

“Good.” Aglorion looked up and down at Aric. “Then the seers will unbind the mental block to your dragon. We don’t know when Ergoth will summon his army into Bör Mesari, so we must hurry.”

Aric lowered his sword to his side and cocked his head. “Hurry for what?”

“You and your dragon both need proper training and armor,” said Aglorion.

“Oh,” Aric muttered. He wouldn’t let the king know he had just insulted a former sentinel. Then again, the king showed a lack of emotion. “May I ask you a question?”

Aglorion quirked a brow. “Proceed.”

Aric cleared his throat. “I know elves aren’t as emotional as humans, but you seem unbothered by the news of your son’s passing.”

“Elves are not without emotion,” said Aglorion. He pressed his lips tight together and sighed through his nostrils. “I have, and will, grieve in my chambers, in my solitude, elsewhere.”

“I see,” Aric mumbled. The thought gave him a sense of humiliation that he had spent days grieving Francil’s death. He thought of Eldras and longed to feel his presence, to hear his voice. “Well then, I should get to it.”

“You have been weighed and measured already,” said Aglorion. “As well your sword has been molded for a sheath. When you arrive back at your den, you will find new drapes and armor. You’ve had an arduous journey. Rest for a bit. Overmorrow we will begin your training.”

Aric looked down at his hand. “And what about my magic?”

Aglorion looked at Aric’s hand. “Unfortunately, for that, there is no such mentor. But soon, Eldras will have his own armor. Take what my son has taught you. If time was on our side, I would swiftly move to have you train under our wisest. Alas, we do not have the luxury. We must remain vigilant. When we are called to battle, be ready.”

Chapter 36:

The Blood Shift

“It is time,” said Vig’ka.

Moro’s heart jolted. “He’s really ready for me now?”

Vig’ka looked at his daughter sitting across the table from Moro. He sighed then looked back at Moro. “You are certain this is what you want?”

“It’s been six weeks since I agreed to do this,” Moro said with a nervous laugh. “If I was going to leave, I would have then.”

Vig’ka grinned. “Oh. Back when you thought you were not free to go?”

“I’m glad you stayed,” said Trenara.

Vig’ka shot her a sideways glance.  “Are you now?”

Moro laughed. If Vig’ka had something serious or personal to say to her, he would speak in Ôernthuk. But common tongue meant he was allowed to hear it. “Well, if it works, and Ergoth really has gathered what he needs to do this…experiment, what better orcunae to teach me magic than you two?”

“I agree,” said Vig’ka. His eyes remained on Trenara for a moment before he looked at Moro. “Finish your breakfast then. I will see you at the warchief’s house.”

Once Vig’ka left, Moro slid his hand back across the table, resting it on the back of Trenara’s hand, wrapping his fingers around hers. “Everything will be alright.”

Trenara nodded, but the solemn look returned to her face that was present before her father had walked in. “At some point, we need to tell him about us.”

“We will,” said Moro. He squeezed his fingers gently. She returned the embrace. “I just think I should have a way of defending myself when he tries to kill me.”

Trenara glanced up with a playfully questioning look. “If you wanted to survive my father, your chance vanished with the dragons passing on you.”

Moro snorted. “Ouch. Tell me how you really feel.”

Trenara chuckled. “He is the most powerful sangribör in Verilia.”

“More powerful than Ergoth?” Moro asked.

“The warchief isn’t a sangribör,” Trenara said. “We’ve already talked about that.”

“I know. I know,” Moro said, recalling the confusion he had regarding Ergoth’s magic. He wasn’t alone in that amongst the orcs either. If anyone knew what Ergoth’s magic was, or how he came to possess it, they weren’t sharing with anyone else. He looked at the doorway through which Vig’ka had exited. “I wonder how it will be received across Az’ Grim.”

“They are already talking,” said Trenara. “Why do you think my father’s eyes linger on me so?”

Moro took a deep breath and shrugged. “Well when he finds out, at least he won’t be taken completely by surprise.” He picked up his mug and paused before sipping on the water. “Silver lining and all that.”

“Just make sure the spell works,” she said as she laid her other hand on top of Moro’s.

“How am I supposed to do that?” Moro asked. “I’m just going to be laying there.” He picked up his spoon and scooped another mouthful of the creamed oats in his mouth. As he swallowed it, he laid the spoon down and picked up the remains of his bread. He dipped it in the sweet and salty oats and wolfed it down as he stood.

Trenara stood and let go of his hand. She looked down at him and took a deep breath. “It really is that time.”

More nodded and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Time for me to lose some of my humanity.”

Trenara smiled sheepishly. “Not too much though.”

After a long hug, Moro quickly rushed out of Vig’ka’s house for fear that if he stayed any longer, he would never leave her.

Working his way down the road and up through the jagged valleys, he finally rounded the bend and halted. His heart raced as he stared at the scarlet hut ahead. Vig’ka, Thar’lok and Ergoth stood with four other sangribörs Moro had met over the past month.

“Come,” Thar’lok said. “Warchief wait long time for you. Where you be?”

“Easy, General,” Ergoth said, resting his hand on Thar’lok’s shoulder. He tapped his fingers. “Fate is never early nor is it late.” He looked at Moro and smiled. “Last chance to test if you are truly permitted to depart this garrison.”

Moro brushed his locks back and took a deep breath. “I am ready to move forward, Chieftain, not backward.”

Vig’ka smiled, though it looked forced. His eyes didn’t smile. They held a sense of paternal worry.

Moro walked over to the group. “Let’s do it.” He looked down and shook his shoulders, as if that would push away the nerves.

“Lie on your back,” said Ergoth.  He turned to a table behind the orcs and picked up a horn flask with a wooden stopper.

Moro lay down on the dirt. “Hopefully this isn’t a funeral ceremony,” he blurted with a nervous chuckle.

“If it is, it shall be your rebirth,” Ergoth said, turning back to face Moro.

On his right side, Vig’ka and another sangribör knelt. On his left, the other three sorcerers took to their knees. Ergoth sat by his right shoulder. “Thar’lok.”

The general walked around and knelt by Moro’s head. He placed his hands on Moro’s chest. “Hold.”

Moro’s stomach churned. His chest tightened. “What are you doing?” He looked at Ergoth. “Why is he holding me?”

“Your body will likely fight the elixir,” said Ergoth. “ Thar’lok is insuring you do not break your neck, or spine, if you thrash.”

Moro began breathing heavily. “Alright.” He swallowed a lump growing in his throat as all of the what if questions came rushing in. “Just…give me a minute.”

Ergoth nodded. “When you are ready, drink this.” He pulled the stopper from the horn. Scarlet steam rose from its opening, filling the air with a pungent and coppery scent.

“What is it?” Moro asked as he curled his nose.

“I will not lie, it has blood in it,” said Ergoth. “It has my blood.”

Moro’s jaws ached as nausea swept over him. “And I have to drink it?”

“Either that, or we can cut open your stomach and pour it in,” said Vig’ka with a half grin.

“You can heal it though, right?” Moro asked, his eyes widening.

“I was teasing,” said Vig’ka. “You must ingest it on your own free will.”

Moro blew air out through pursed lips as he groaned. “Fuck.” He nodded. “Alright. Let’s just—let’s just do it.”

“As he drinks,” said Ergoth, looking at the other sangribörs, “pour your magic into his body.” He looked down at Moro. “I will work on your heart and mind, trying to keep you calm.”

“Alright,” Moro said quickly. Ergoth brought the horn down and Moro lifted his head off of the ground a few inches. As soon as the thick liquid touched his tongue, he nearly gagged. But Ergoth kept tipping it up. Moro closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. The horn seemed to drain for several minutes, though it wasn’t but several seconds.

The elixir was thick as syrup, with a metallic, salty, and meaty taste simultaneously. Once the horn was empty, Ergoth tossed it aside.

Moro opened his eyes and breathed slowly. “Is something supposed to happen now? How long does it—” he halted his questions as a sharp pain twisted inside his stomach.

He screamed as the pain shot up into his chest. All four of his limbs flexed involuntarily. His back arched. He screamed again as tears filled his eyes.

Thar’lok pushed Moro back down to the ground. “You strong. Be strong, like bear.”

“Now,” Ergoth said to the sangribör.

As five streams of purple energy flowed into his body, Moro felt an overwhelming chill. Goosebumps crawled up his spine and neck. Another surge of agony grinded in his head. An invisible pressure built inside his ears.

Frigid energy filled his chest. He fought to catch his breath, as if he had fallen backward into ice cold water.

Ergoth placed both hands on Moro’s chest between Thar’lok’s hands. “Almost there. Just have to find…the connection.” His words came in grunts as his face twisted into a mirror of Moro’s pain.

For an hour, Moro’s body shifted from ice to fire. He shivered, then began sweating. Repeatedly, his muscles tensed, threatening to push Thar’lok off of him as his back and core arched.

His legs writhed as pain dug deep into his bones and joints. After several outcries, he began sobbing. His jaws ached, reminding him of teeth cutting through his gums when he was a child.

The sangribörs had to keep pausing to destroy seeds as their energy woredown. No words would come to Moro’s mouth to tell Ergoth to stop.

I’m going to die, he thought as his body convulsed again, stealing the breath from his body. And then, in a jarring sensation of numbness, his body relaxed. His head rolled to the side with fatigue as he let out a long breath.

Ergoth lifted his hands. “Krag’ot.” The sangribӧrs withdrew their hands and their magic.

Vig’ka leaned over and turned Moro’s face toward him. “Are you alright?” he whispered.

Moro’s strength was gone. He lay still, wishing to never need to move again. “I don’…freel good,” he mumbled. His tongue and lips didn’t work properly to form words clearly.

“Take him home,” Ergoth said in an exhausted tone. “He needs rest…as do I.” He slowly made his way to his feet and staggered into his house.

Moro looked up at the sky and thought of the gods he once believed were overlooking Maerïnor. Didn’t want me yet, eh?

“I’ll take him,” said Vig’ka. He slid his arms underneath Moro and lifted him off the ground.

Moro watched the jagged stones pass by, barely halfway paying attention as his vision faded in and out. But as he saw the city, he realized Vig’ka wasn’t taking him home to his warfront hovel. “Where are we going?” he asked slowly, his voice barely a whisper.

“My home,” said Vig’ka. “I promised Trenara she could care for you when it was done.” He halted and let out a high pitched whistle.

Trenara opened the flap of leather that was the door. Her eyes fell on Moro and widened. “Moro! Father, what’s-”

“He’s drained,” Vig’ka interrupted. “Prepare a bed.” He looked down at Moro. “You will be staying here for a while.

“Trenara,” Moro whispered as she ran into the house. His head rolled back as he gave in to the fatigue. Sleep overcame him immediately.

Several hours later, he opened his eyes.

Pale light poured inside from the moon. Loud snores filled the room, which was the pantry before a bed had been placed in it.

He sat up and looked to the right. At the back of the long room, Trenara and Vig’ka leaned against sacks of seeds and flour, their mouths wide open. Moro grinned. His mouth felt strange.

Moving his tongue around, his heart jolted. His four canines were swollen. He reached up and felt them with his finger. Sharp as dagger points and one and half times the size they were.

His heart started racing. He ran into the main serving room of Vig’ka’s house and darted to the water basin. Lifting the small candle off of the stand he held it up to his face and leaned over the water.

As his reflection started back at him, Moro gasped and stepped back. His stomach twisted in a knot. He looked toward the back room as his breath quickened. Leaning over the water basin again, he looked at the creature staring back at him. His ears had grown slightly, tapering to a point. They weren’t as stretched as elven ears, but they were no longer rounded like humans. His cheek bones protrude outward more than before, giving his face a sharp angle.

But the most jarring change of all was his eyes. They were now orange, shimmering like fire in the lantern’s light. Altogether, his appearance now resembled that of a nocturnal predator. “What the fuck?” he whispered.

He shook his head and backed away from the basin. What have I done? he thought as he looked toward the back room.

“Moro.”

Moro spun around to face the front doorway. There was nobody there, but he recognized the warchief’s voice without question. “Ergoth?” he whispered.

“Come outside,” said Ergoth.

Moro furrowed his brows as he touched his newly formed ears. He creeped to the large leather flap and pushed it outward. Poking his head out slowly, he saw Ergoth. His stomach fluttered as he recognized a visible shock on the warchief’s face. He stepped outside and looked down. “So it’s not just in my head, huh?”

“I should have warned you about this,” said Ergoth. “You have my apologies.”

Moro shot a quick look at the warchief. “You knew this would happen to me? Look at me!” he hissed, trying to keep his volume down.

“Yes,” Ergoth sighed and walked closer to Moro. “You are not the first to experience a blood shift.”

Moro opened his mouth to speak, but his mind juggled several thoughts at once. He took a deep breath. “Where—where are the others?”

“They perished a long time ago in a distant land,” Ergoth said. A tinge of sadness sparked in his eyes. He cleared his throat and placed his hands on Moro’s shoulders. “You have been loyal to me, to us. Your physical appearance means nothing to-”

Moro stepped back and narrowed his eyes. “It means something to me. It’s all I have besides my name as my identity. It’s—it’s me. Now I’m…something else. You’re right; I’ve been loyal. This—” he paused and looked around at Az’ Grim, “—is my home now. And you’ve lied to me.”

“I did not lie,” said Ergoth. He shrugged. “I did withhold information.”

“That’s—” Moro paused, realizing he was yelling now. He leaned closer, throwing his hand down. “That’s the same thing!” he whispered.

“Come to my house,” said Ergoth. “Until now, I admit, I did not fully trust you. But you have shown loyalty and honor to my people despite your history with us. I am ready to tell you everything.”

Moro narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Like what? Your plans?”

“They are not only my plans,” said Ergoth. He looked around in the moonlit streets. “I have my own orders to follow.”

Moro stepped back. “But you’re the Chieftain of this clan.”

“I am,” said Ergoth. “I am not being forced to follow him. I believe in his cause. We have a similar goal and dream.” He looked down and sighed. “Even still, I could never defy him if I wanted to. Not even I am powerful enough for that.”

Moro’s stomach twisted at the thought of someone being more powerful than Ergoth. “Who is he?”

Ergoth pressed his lips into a shallow grin. “Come.”

Moro swallowed. He looked back at the Vig’ka’s house and thought of Trenara. “I will come see you in the morning hours.”

Ergoth nodded. He turned, as if to leave, then paused. He looked over his shoulder at Moro. “My people had a name for your kind. In ôernthuk, you’re known as a bog’akh.”

Moro quirked a brow. “And what does that mean?”

“Bloodshifted.”

Moro narrowed his eyes. His nose scrunched at the title as it sounded like a disease. “Oh—thanks. I’ll just stick to Moro.”

Ergoth grinned and continued his departure.

For a long while, Moro waited, turning his head back and forth as his ears picked up different sounds throughout the mountain. If he focused, he could hear snores coming from several of the houses.

Crickets chirped in the distance. He couldn’t help but reach up and touch them every so often. His vision had been enhanced as well. Though he doubted he could see as well as orcs in the night, he was certain it should look much darker. The light from the crescent moon shined brighter in his eyes than it ever had before as it cascaded onto Maerïnor.

After many thoughts of his decision to stay in Az’ Grim, as well as thoughts of Trenara’s lips touching his the first time three weeks prior, Moro’s eyes began to burn from exhaustion. He yawned and stretched. He regretted his appearance, and hoped she wouldn’t. But he sighed at last with the decision that he still saw Az’ Grim as his home. The orcunae were now his people. He was no longer human.

Turning in for the rest of the night, he climbed back onto the bed, which he realized when he returned to the back room was just several layers of stitched stacks of seeds.

Then the morning came. When he opened his eyes next, the sun was shining bright into the storage room. He half squinted. Then a shadow blocked out the golden rays. “Trenara?” he asked as he raised a hand over his brows.

“Do not be alarmed, Moro,” said Trenara. “You—you might find yourself looking different today.”

Moro thought of telling her he was fully aware of his deformities. But upon second thought, he jumped up. “What do you mean?”

Trenara knelt in front of him. “It isn’t much of a difference. But you,” she took his hands, “you should see for yourself.”

Moro painted an expression of shock onto his face and ran around Trenara, darting over to the water basin. Though it was a joke, he had also half hoped his features had returned to normal. When he saw they hadn’t, that his ears were still pointed, and his eyes glowed like many of the sangribӧr’s eyes, he whirled around and let out a loud yell as he slapped his hands to his cheeks.

Trenara’s eyes widened as she let out a loud yell. “It’s alright, Moro. Please!”

Moro burst into laughter.

Trenara’s mouth fell agape as she shook her head. “I do not…understand.”

“I know. I saw this beast last night.” He looked down at his reflection again, his humor dying, fading into regret and pity.

Trenara quickly crossed the room. She took his hands in her own. “It is not bad.” Her eyes scanned his face, then she looked up at his ears and rubbed one. “It doesn’t change how I feel about-”

“You two?” asked Vig’ka.

Moro’s heart jolted. He shot a glance toward the entrance. “Vig’ka!”

Trenara quickly stepped back and gasped, her cheeks darkening. “Father, I-”

“It has been interesting watching you two,” said Vig’ka quickly. He leaned against the doorway of the hut. “But, the secret is out. Most of Az’ Grim knows.” He looked at Trenara with a softened smile. “Did you really think I would not know my own daughter?” He looked at Moro. “And you, would I have let anyone else into my home, the way I have with you?”

Moro shot a quick glance at Trenara, his heart racing in his chest. “Uh-”

“Have you seen anyone else come and go as they please?” Vig’ka asked as he cocked his head. “Yes, I have known—for weeks. Perhaps before you two really knew what was going on between you.”

Trenara dashed across the room and knelt before Vig’ka. “Forgive me, father. Forgive us.”

Vig’ka grasped Trenara by the shoulders and lifted her to her feet. “There is nothing to forgive. Trert rutôdr asti pa.” He pressed his forehead against the top of her head.

Moro’s feet were frozen to the floor with shock. “You—you are alright if we’re talking?”

Vig’ka laughed. “You have been talking since I introduced you to each other. Whatever is going on between you two, whatever has been going on between you two, you need to figure out for yourselves. Embrace it. Let it be known to all of Maerïnor if you are unashamed.” He gave Moro a wink and a wide grin as he pushed open the flap. “Before our people start to create their own versions of what you two have been up to.”

Moro’s cheeks flushed. He coughed as a lump formed in his throat. “No. We haven’t-”

Vig’ka held up a hand and turned out of the house, laughing loudly.

Moro looked at Trenara as she slowly turned back around. He chuckled sheepishly. “Well, that…went better than I had expected.”

Trenara nodded, still kneeling, her eyes unfixed on anything in particular. “Lucky we are.”

Moro walked forward and took her by the hands. He leaned down, shoving his face into her line of sight, which was downcast and wide. “Hey, it’s alright. Right?”

Trenara swallowed loudly. “I think so. It—it is just strange. Unexpected.”

“I’m just glad he didn’t decide to use me as a sacrifice for his magic,” Moro said with a laugh.

Trenara snorted. “He would have had to use the entirety of your potential to lock me away forever if he did that.”

Moro’s stomach fluttered. Though, he didn’t know if it was from her words, the situation, or hunger. He remembered the midnight meeting with Ergoth. “Speaking of magic, I have to go meet with the Chieftain this morning.”

Trenara cocked her head. “Did he send a word to you?”

Moro shook his head, then recounted the events of him waking up to discover his new features and Ergoth standing outside.

Trenara looked down. “He must have sensed you stirring.”

Moro nodded. “I thought as much.”

“Then go to him.” She smiled softly. “He has taken a liking to you in a way I have seen in only a few orcunae.”

“What about breakfast?” Moro asked in a teasing tone.

“If my father is heading to Ergoth now,” said Trenara with a quirked brow, “I would suggest you try not to be too far behind him.”

Moro took a deep breath. “Right. He’s given us a pass already this morning.”

“Go,” said Trenara. “I will be here when you get back.”

“Then I will see you—sometime today.” Without thinking, Moro started to turn away, then turned back, stood on his tiptoes and kissed her. Without waiting to see her response, he darted out of the house. He smiled for half of the walk to Ergoth’s house.

As Moro came around the bend, he heard Vig’ka speaking harshly with Ergoth. He halted and pressed his back against the rock wall. It was pointless. He couldn’t understand Ôernthuk. He eased out from behind the rock and stopped dead in his tracks as he heard two words, clear as a cloudless sky, from Ergoth.

“Aric Teledris.”

Chapter 37:

A Temporary Oath

Aric walked down the path leading to a tree that looked like many, many others. Recounting his steps, he grew frustrated. There were no markers in the woodland homes. From one turn to the next, everything looked the same. He stopped twice to ask for directions, only to discover the elves didn’t wish to speak with him; they quickly walked away before he finished his question.

“Aric?”

A surge of energy filled Aric’s chest upon hearing Eldras’s voice. He halted and whirled around, his senses gradually heightening as the bond became tangible again. His breath caught in his chest. “Eldras! Where are you? Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

Eldras’s laughter came through the bond. “I am alright. They would have paid dearly if they tried to hurt me. I don’t know where I am. It’s a tree. I can smell your presence here.”

Aric grinned widely. “Did they just take you there?”

“They did,” said Eldras. “Then, they just left. Strange folk, these elves.”

Aric pushed his mind outward and gasped. Overhead, and all around, waves of energy pulsated and shimmered like a thousand suns and stars. The trees were vibrant in Velensmir with power, where the pines in the Castil and Vrelengard were not. Beneath the soil, tiny creatures stirred and traveled alongside deep roots.

“Are you walking?” asked Eldras. “I feel you getting closer.”

Aric blinked rapidly and turned around, as if Eldras was speaking from behind him and into his mind. He found a beacon amongst the white and golden light that he knew without mistake was Eldras. Dragons held more power in their bodies than he could fathom. He saw it with the emerald dragon. He ran forward, letting his mind return and his vision clear.

As he darted around trees, he spotted Eldras. A rush of longing and euphoria filled the bond simultaneously. “Eldras!”

“Aric!” Eldras yelled as he let out a loud roar.

Aric didn’t stop until he nearly crashed into Eldras. If his smile could stretch any more it would swallow his face. Two steps before he reached Eldras, he jumped forward and wrapped his arms around the dragon’s neck, careful not to cut him with his sword.

Then Eldras dropped to the ground with Aric still holding on. He rolled as he let out a pulse of hums. “It feels like it’s been forever!”

Aric laughed, then grunted as Eldras rolled on top of him. “Watch the…sword!”

After a long moment of rejoice, he realized several elves were now standing outside the tree houses, staring, perplexed. He quickly got to his feet and brushed himself off. “What?” he questioned as his laugh faded. “We haven’t seen each other in like…four days.” He lifted his brows and shook his head. As the elves walked away, he turned back to Eldras. “Where have you been?”

“Being pampered in a tall tree like a prince,” said Eldras amusingly. He looked up at the trees. “Not unlike these, actually.” He looked back at Aric and cocked his head. “Were they as good to you too?”

Aric chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not exactly, boy.” He looked up at the tree to his right and pointed at an opening leading out to a small porch. “That’s my room there. Or—I think it is anyway. Want to fly up?”

Eldras let out a low hum of excitement, then leaped up, with a quick two flaps of his wings, he landed on the loft.

Aric grinned. “Show off.” He ran up the stairs, trying to recall the direction he had followed Trenifel. The first door he thought was his was locked. Then he turned and saw another door. “Shit.”

Opening the second door, he sighed with relief. Walking over to the steps, he glanced at a stack of neatly folded black garb and various pieces of black armor on the bed. He lay his sword down and ran to the curved stairwell.

The steps led to a balcony and, as he stepped out into the sunlight, something dark caught his eye to the right. He looked over and burst into laughter. Eldras was perched on a different porch. “What are you doing?”

“You said this one,” Eldras said, a flush of embarrassment filling the bond. He leaped catlike onto Aric’s porch. The tree creaked under his weight.

Aric patted him on the side of the neck. “We made it.”

Eldras sat and looked down over the railing made of twisted branches. “There are so many of them.”

Aric nodded. “This is their home.” He looked at Eldras and grinned. “And it’s our home now.”

Eldras turned and looked at Aric. “Did you speak with the king?”

Aric nodded and looked down as he thought of Francil, then the dragonmage’s word in the forest. “I did.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “He’s Francil’s father.”

“What?!”

“Yet another secret he kept from us,” Aric said. “I don’t think we’ll ever understand his motivation behind the lies and secrets. But we can’t dwell on it now. Aglorion is probably the only one who really knew him and they weren’t on the best speaking terms.”

“I wish he would have trusted us more,” Eldras said.

Aric nodded. “So do I. But…I don’t think it would have changed him. He was a good man. We can’t let ourselves think that anything but Francil made his choices. He would have protected us all the same.”

“Still,” Eldras said.

Aric looked around at passing elves. “We need to keep our eyes and ears open. That dragonmage was certain she knew Francil has been in Bӧr Mesari since the raid. And I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“What did Aglorion say?” asked Eldras.

Aric rubbed his eyes. “There wasn’t much in the way of secrets with those seers. Still, he doesn’t have an answer.”

“What if we were the ones fooled?”

Aric’s stomach fluttered. “What? Like a druid or some sort of skinwalker?”

“Perhaps.”

Aric thought of the journey to Velensmir and shook his head. “No. I knew him. Served under him for a long time. He knew things about me that no imposter could know.”

Eldras hummed. “What did the king say about your magic then?”

Aric sighed. “Not much. Seems like that information is unreachable now, lost to time. But he did confirm I’m not the first Elmerïan, and that the high elves up north want me dead. I fucked up at the Gro’nzael. Apparently I did exactly what Francil said I did; I started a new war.” He glanced at Eldras’s golden eyes. “They worked it out with the druids of sorts, but now war is coming to Bӧr Mesari. The orcs are planning to conquer it.”

Eldras shifted uncomfortably. “It never stops, does it?”

Aric shook his head. “And King Aglorion wants us to help.”

Eldras groaned. “Why am I not surprised?”

“It’s the only reason we’re sitting here chatting right now,” Aric said with a sarcastic laugh. “Otherwise, they would just send me up to Bӧr Mesari to be tried for, apparently, treason and attacking a dragonmage of the Elven Court.”

Eldras downcast his eyes. “I did not like those elves getting inside our minds like that. They blocked you out.”

Aric nodded and hugged Eldras’s neck. “We’re going to figure out how to stop that from happening again.”

“How?” asked Eldras.

Aric took a deep breath and looked back toward the doorway leading down to his room. He thought of the armor on the bed. “King Aglorion wants us to train more. I may not have the same magic as elves, but there has to be a way of shielding our minds.”

Eldras blew smoke out of his nostrils. “I bet he wants us to train, too. We’re about to be Velensmir’s war trophy.”

Aric looked down at the street, then to the other trees. He thought of the elves distancing themselves from him and Eldras. “Something about this place…”

“It doesn’t feel right, does it?”

Aric slowly shook his head. “Feels like we’re being used, or…manipulated.”

Eldras huffed through his nostrils. “I agree. I don’t like it. I want to leave.”

Aric swallowed a lump in his throat. “I hadn’t really thought of what we would be doing after we reached Velensmir. The plan was to hopefully learn about being an Elmerïan and…”

“I don’t believe the dragonmage’s words about Francil,” said Eldras. “At least, I don’t believe the one who traveled with us was anyone other than Francil.”

Aric nodded. “I know it was him.” He narrowed his eyes. “But how would someone impersonate Francil? A druid would be the most logical answer, but why? And furthermore, what would they stand to gain with the elves by residing in Bӧr Mesari for the past few months?”

Eldras turned toward Aric, a jolt of fear crossing the bond. “We shouldn’t talk about it here.”

Aric furrowed his brows, then realized. “The seers. We really need to learn how to block them out. But first, we need to start training. Practicing with elves will boost our abilities. We can practice magic on our own terms and increase our physical prowess with them.”

Eldras looked down and sighed. He turned away from Aric as a wave of sadness crossed the bond. “There are no dragons to train with.”

“Hey,” Aric said softly, rubbed the back of Eldras’s neck. “That means nothing. Are you the absolute best flier you can be?”

Eldras hummed. “No, I’ve barely flown and it wasn’t really flying.”

Aric nodded. “And do you think you are the best at ground combat yet?”

“Anything else you want to get off of your chest?” Eldras snapped as he looked back.

Aric chuckled and leaned over the railing. “I’m just saying…we both have a lot of room for improvement. I’m still not used to this magic yet. Shit, I’m not even at full strength yet—seeing as we’ve been damn near starving for months. And if you have a growth spurt like Francil said, we’ll both get stronger physically. That’ll take some adjustments as well.”

A touch of guilt brushed against the bond. “They…fed me…quite well,” said Eldras. “Really well actually.”

Aric gave him a playful shove. “You little revered bastard.”

“Sorry. I thought you ate as well.”

“It’s alright.” Aric rubbed his stomach at the thought of a solid meal. “I’m sure they aren’t going to starve me.”

Eldras laughed. He turned and looked at Aric’s doorway. “I don’t think I’m going to fit in your room.”

Aric turned. “Bör Mesari is the city with the dragonmages but it seems they’d have to have accommodations for dragonmages here as well. I’ll ask them about it—whenever they decide to come get us for training.”

“Speaking of training,” said Eldras, a spark of excitement filling the bond. “Are they going to give you more armor?”

“Oh! Right!” Aric said quickly. “ They did. And iIt looks expensive.” He snorted. “I’ve never had well made armor before.”

“You do need to see if it fits to your liking.”

Aric spun around as his heart jolted. “Fucking Hel!” Trenifel stood in the doorway where he had just looked.

“Apologies,” said Trenifel. “Armstead Drögeln would like to see you at the training grounds this evenfall.”

Aric glanced at Eldras, finding it strange neither of them had sensed her income or presence. “And where is this training ground?”

“I will show you,” said Trenifel. “Audition your set pieces first. I will be back in an hour to inspect it. Then I will take you to eat. We have prepared a special celebration now that you have agreed to stay.”

Aric grinned. “You’re taking me to dinner?”

Trenifel cocked her head. “You are hungry. Yes?”

Aric tapped the side of his head. “I figured you already knew that.”

“You are mistaken,” said Trenifel. “I am no longer required to see your thoughts since you have sworn allegiance to King Aglorion and Velensmir.”

“Really?” Aric questioned. He glanced at Eldras. “Do you believe her?”

“I don’t know,” said Eldras. “Elves are weird. They seem to be without emotion.”

Aric nodded and folded his arms. “Fine. We’ll be ready in an hour.”

“Very well.” Trenifel gave a quick bow and turned.

“Um, one other thing,” Aric said quickly. “What about sleeping arrangements?”

Trenifel halted. “Does your room not suit you?”

“Suits me fine,” said Aric. He pointed at Eldras. “It isn’t fit for a dragon though. Does Velensmir not have quarters for dragonmages?”

Trenifel looked at Eldras. “We do. Only I had assumed you would desire relaxation after your journey.”

Aric shook his head, then shrugged. “Yes and no. The room is nice. But, without Eldras by my side, I just—I can’t feel relaxed and whole.”

Trenifel looked back and forth between Aric and Eldras. “Very well. I will see to the quartermaster you will be boarded together down by the shore; that is where the dragonmage living quarters are located.”

Aric bowed his head. “Thank you.”

After Trenifel departed, Aric went down the stairs and looked about the room. “It is really nice. I wish you could just stay in here with me.”

“I can make the hole bigger,” Eldras said with a laugh.

Aric looked up at the ceiling, the way everything was connected. “I bet this tree would swat you down like a fly.”

He walked over to the bed, upon which lay the armor and his sword. “If this is custom made, they are ridiculously fast at their craft.”

“Elves seem fast at everything,” said Eldras. “And yet, they never seem to be in a hurry.”

Aric picked up the largest piece; the torso plate. “They are strange indeed.” The armor was thin and light. “This doesn’t look like it would stop a blade’s slash, let alone an arrow.”

“It’s elf-forged,” said Eldras with a laugh. “I have some memories that would argue.”

Aric rolled his eyes and mouthed a mockery of Eldras. “We’ll see.”

He turned it around to put it on and noticed a thin slit in the top of the piece. Narrowing his eyes, he pulled it closer. He glanced at his sword. No way that’s…

Picking up his sword, he lowered the torso armor. Shoving the point of his sword into the slot, the armor morphed as he the blade descended into it. Where the blade would have pierced through the bottom of leather armor, the black plate armor shifted like liquid scales around the steel, solidifying into a perfectly tailored sheath.

His eyes widened. As he pulled the sword out, the armor returned to normal. He shoved it back in, this time quicker. The armor transformed once again to cover the blade. “Holy shit.”

He pulled the sword out and lay it on the bed. “They had to use magic to make this. It—it moves.”

Confusion crossed the bond. “Moves?” asked Eldras.

“I’ll show you,” Aric said as he lifted the armor plating and slid his arms into the side holes, then put his head in. At first, it wasn’t long enough to cover his lower abdomen. Then, just as the back sheath had morphed, the front liquified, extending past his groin.

“That’s fucking wicked,” Aric muttered to himself. He quickly kicked off his boots and pulled off his leggings. He put on the new black armored leggings and, just as the torso plate did, they transformed to fit him perfectly. He lifted his right knee as high as he could. The material stretched with his movement as winter garb would. He looked down and laughed.

He sat on the bed and slid on the new boots. This time, however, they were a perfect fit. Standing, he picked up the bracers. As he slid them over his hands and wrists, they morphed, crawling around his wrists and forearms comfortably. The armor peeled back and allowed his fingers and thumbs to jut out. He laughed again and clenched his fists. “This is something else.”

He looked down at the bed and cocked his head. Three things remained; a long black cloak, his sword and a sheath. He picked up the cloak and threw it over his back. Glancing down at the corners, he realized there were no straps, no end-ties.

He pulled it back off and held it out in front of him. “How the fuck…”

Throwing it over his back again, he felt the left clavicle of his armor shift. The corner of the cloak melded into the armor. He smiled and lifted his brows. “Sons of a bitch, they must have thought of everything.”

He looked to the right and rested the other corner onto the torso plate. It formed together. He shook his head. “What sorcery is this?”

“Having fun?” asked Eldras. “It feels like I’m bonded to a child right now.”

Aric picked up his sword and the sheath. Why would there be a sheath if it’s meant for the back?

He shrugged and tossed the sheath back onto the bed.  Reaching the sword behind his back, he looked over his shoulder to see the slot. As the point of the blade neared the slot just above the cloak, it moved, shifting to where it needed to for the blade to fall right in place. And once he let go, the sword uprighted itself.

“Definitely magic,” Aric said after he climbed the stairs and stepped outside. He held his arms out wide and turned.

Eldras leaned his head toward Aric. “Now—now you look like a proper dragonmage. With the exception of the beard.”

By the end of the hour, as she had said, Trenifel returned to the tree. She walked through Aric’s room and up the stairs. “Very well. I see the avle’stretr fits.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “The what?”

“Avle’stretr,” said Trenifel. “In your common tongue, it would translate—loosely—to living steel.”

Aric looked down at the armor and snorted. “That makes sense.” He glanced up at Trenifel. “Tell me, do all elves invade privacy? Or is that not a thing here?”

Trenifel’s eyes twitched. “What do you mean?”

“I mean my room,” said Aric, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You just walked right in.”

Trenifel opened her mouth to speak, then paused. She looked at Eldras, then back at Aric. “I do apologize if I have misstepped, honored dragonmage. I simply-”

Aric laughed. “I’m joking.” He looked at Eldras and pointed at her. “Found something that made her stumble a bit.”

Eldras cocked his head and looked back and forth between Aric and Trenifel. “What is this feeling you have for her? It’s…filling the bond. It’s awkward. Uncomfortable.”

Aric stopped chuckling immediately and cleared his throat as his cheeks reddened. “Nothing. I was just messing with the elf.”

“Sure,” said Eldras. He climbed onto the rail and opened his wings. “Because we don’t share emotions with each other.” He leaped into the air and glided down to the ground.

Aric felt a sting of frustration through the bond. Then something else that was strange. He leaned over the rail and looked down at Eldras. “Is that jealousy?”

“No.” Eldras didn’t look up.

Aric grinned. “Now who’s being secretive?” When he received no answer, he followed Trenifel downstairs. However, he kept his eyes averted from her hips this time, even if she wasn’t hearing his thoughts.

For the long walk across Velensmir, they didn’t speak. Hundreds of elves passing by stopped and stared at Aric and Eldras. If Aric understood their facial expressions were the same as humans, many held a silent sourness as they eyed him.  They wove in and out of nature pathways and streets, all decorated with painted stones and bright flowers. And then Trenifel halted by a half-house, half-tower. The tall cylindrical tower jutted high into the sky.

“Maybe this one will tickle your fancy.”

Aric shot Eldras a warning look. “Knock it off.”

Eldras let out a low grow and flexed his wing open, knocking Aric ten feet across the road. “You knock it off. You started it. Get her out of your mind, would you?”

“Everything alright?” asked Trenifel, pausing mid-knock on a door.

Aric forced a smile. “Fine.” When she turned back and knocked three times, he furrowed his brows at Eldras. “What’s wrong with you? She’s an elf. And she’s beautiful. I can’t help it. I’m a human, and a man at that. It’s been awhile since…well, never mind.”

Eldras let out a puff of smoke from his nostrils. “Disgusting.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “Oh, like dragons don’t go in heat?”

Eldras puffed again and whirled around to face Aric. “We are not dogs.”

“You’re right,” said Aric, holding his hands up. “That was low. But don’t dragons get…you know?”

“Lustful?” Eldras questioned. Then he quickly looked away from Aric. A flush of embarrassment filled the bond. “We do.”

“Alright,” said Aric. “Then what am I to do when we get to Bӧr Mesari and you want to mount up on one of those lady dragons?” He walked over to Eldras. “And am I to judge you?”

The door opened to reveal a tall, raven haired elf. His eyes were blood red. And for an elf, he was abnormally plump. His eyes darted back to Aric, then Eldras.

“Honored dragonmage,” he said, placing his first three fingers to his forehead as he bowed. Standing, he looked at Trenifel. “De’elthil veler mar, oglavorun?”

Trenifel looked back at Aric, then the dark haired elf. “Barum va’alorae.” Turning to face Aric, she said, “This is Gnamil. He is Velensmir’s quartermaster.”

“Oh,” Aric muttered. He stepped forward and extended his hand. “Aric Telendris.”

Gnamil looked down at Aric’s hand and cocked his head. “Am I to present you with something, honored one?”

Aric’s cheeks reddened. “Uh, no. It’s—never mind.” He pulled his hand back.

“They don’t know human customs?” asked Eldras.

“Apparently not,” Aric said. He cleared his throat and looked at Trenifel. “I thought we were going to eat.”

“Gnamil will take you to the dragonmage quarters,” said Trenifel. “We will send one of the haförns to you with food. You likely would not find elven dining appetizing. We do not eat that which has or had a spirit.”

Aric’s stomach twisted. “I see," he said slowly. “Do you not hunt here?"

“Rarely," she said. “And never food consumption. But we will partake of the hunt for you and your honored dragon."

Aric nodded and looked at Gnamil. “Well then.”

Gnamil looked at Trenifel and pressed his lips together. He nodded, opened the door and stepped outside. He turned around and locked the door with a weight iron key. “This way, honored one.”

Aric turned and followed. He glanced back and noticed  Trenifel didn’t move with them. He paused. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I am not,” said Trenifel. “You will be escorted down to the training facility once you have satiated yourself.”

“You’d like to satiate yourself with her, wouldn’t you?” asked Eldras with a laugh.

Aric’s cheeks flushed again. “Right. Good day then.” He quickly turned and trailed after Gnamil. Eldras’s jab came with a sense of play this time instead of envy and anger. Aric shook his head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I’ll be honest with you,” said Eldras. He had a bounce to his step now, almost a prance. “I don’t know what that means.”

Aric shook his head. “I’m not surprised.” He gave Eldras a shove and laughed.

Chapter 38:

The Citadel

Every time Aric got close to Gnamil, the elf quickened his pace, as if he was repulsed at the thought of walking beside Aric. The city faded behind them as they traveled southeast.

Thick deciduous trees gave way to the evergreens Aric had grown used to. Stone roads faded into dirt paths. And gone were the vibrant flowers after the first half hour.

“Where exactly are we going?” Aric asked Gnamil.

“These paths wind and twist in ways my ancestors crafted,” said Gnamil. “Though, for dragonmages, it isn’t something you should get used to from the sight of man but from bird.”

Aric quirked a brow and looked at Eldras. “What is he on about?”

“He’s saying dragonmages don’t typically take the ground paths,” said Eldras. “They fly.”

“Is it by the coast?” Aric asked. He rolled his eyes as he remembered Trenifel saying it was.

“Aye,” said Gnamil, keeping his eyes forward. “Long it has been since an honored dragonmage graced the dwelling ahead. After the fallout, Bör Mesari became the grounds of life for dragons and their riders.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “What fallout?”

Gnamil halted so quickly Aric nearly wrecked into him. “Do humans teach nothing about history anymore?”

Aric swallowed a lump in his throat. “Not—not about elves they don’t.”

“Hmph!” Gnamil turned heel and continued at a quicker pace. “It is not for me to tell a human.”

Aric shook his head. Asshole. He looked at Eldras as a sensation of agitation crossed the bond. “Elves will always fancy themselves better than humans.”

“And dragonmages will always be a notch higher than elves,” said Eldras.

Aric narrowed his eyes. “You know I’ve sworn allegiance to Velensmir. This is meant to be my home now.”

“Is that so?” asked Gnamil.

“Aye. So you could tell me,” Aric quipped with a smirk. “Teach me about your history. I am a dragonmage, after all.”

Gnamil hummed, bobbing his head back and forth. “I think that would suffice for qualifications. The fallout is what strikes your curiosity. Yes?”

“Yes,” said Aric. “That and a lot more. Humans don’t really get to learn about elves much. So, I’m a blank book here. Fill me in, if you will.”

“Very well,” said Gnamil. “1,437 years ago, no division of elves existed. We were all equal. We lived in harmony across many regions, not just Verilia. Humans have consumed most of them since the fallout. But alas, conflict was inevitable. Elves can be as greedy as any other species.”

“What happened?” asked Aric.

“Queen Isilnör sought to control which elves were granted the grace of becoming dragonmages,” said Gnamil. “But the elders argued that the respect of choice should be of the dragons alone."

Aric lifted his brows. “I agree with the elders."

“She warned they would one day retaliate," Gnamil continued. “But, the queen continued to pry and extend her power. What is now known as Bör Mesari was once the mating grounds for dragons.”

“So there was a battle,” Aric mused.

“No,” said Gnamil. “War would be a light description of what rained over this land for the better part of two centuries.” He paused at a fork in the path. He looked left, then right, then pointed to the right and continued.

“So the two sides split,” said Aric.

Gnamil nodded. “After the ash had settled, an elder named Fraelorna led many elves south, as far from Queen Isilnör as possible whilst still retaining some sense of relationship with the dragons. We settled deep in this forest.”

“I was a sentinel,” Aric said. “I’m trying to piece together how all of this fallout mess ended up with Velensmir having the eggs, then they get transported to Bör Mesari. Why? If the feud between two different sides ended with a faction split over control over the dragons, why would Velensmir keep sending eggs to them? They call themselves High Elves up there, you know?”

“I know they do,” said Gnamil. For the next four hours, Aric and Eldras followed. They listened to tales woven throughout time, though mostly about the elves. Still, the elf would not relinquish the information regarding where the eggs came from.

At last, Gnamil halted. “Ah. We are here.”

Aric looked up as a salty tang touched his tongue from the air. “We’re that close to the sea?”

Through the trees ahead, he could see an old citadel, or rather the ruins of one. Enormous waves crashed against gargantuan rocks at the base of the structure, throwing white water into the air. Aric slowly moved forward, narrowing his eyes.

The forest ended abruptly a thousand feet from the building. Remnants of a dragon statue lay in pieces on the ground. Cracks in the stone floor of the grounds had moss and various wiry plants sticking out.

“What happened here?” Aric asked, a sour nausea filling his stomach.

“Time," said Gnamil. “Pirates and bandits, too."

“And we’re supposed to stay here?”

Gnamil cocked his head. “Trenifel said you requested the dragonmage’s quarters as a preference to the living forest.

Aric looked up at the building. Large cutouts were carved, or perhaps at one time were built into the citadel. No longer were the edges sharp of any stone. Regardless, its size rivaled any castle he had seen before. “How long has it been since a dragonmage lived here?”

Gnamil looked up toward the top of the citadel. “There have been none in the last century.”

Aric nodded. “No shit.” He looked at Eldras, realizing some of the sickness was coming from the bond.

“It is a disgrace to dragonmages,” Eldras said. He looked at the building sideways. “How little respect Velensmirians have for us, Aric.”

Aric looked back at Gnamil. “Fine. That will be all. We’ll stay.” He narrowed his eyes. “Maybe fix it up a little. Don’t forget to send food.”

Gnamil opened his mouth, then paused. He closed his lips and bowed. With that, he turned and walked away, quickly vanishing into the forest.

“Dragonmage or not, they’re never going to trust me,” said Aric. “Let alone respect me. I’m human.”

“We’ll earn the respect,” said Eldras.

Aric snorted and walked toward the citadel. “You’re quite optimistic.”

The main entrance to the dark structure was a black hole, ominous and gloomy, fifty feet high and arched to a point at the top. Wide steps fanned out in a semicircle leading to the entrance. There was no door. Carvings of runes and dragons decorated the once smooth face of the citadel.

Aric and Eldras stepped inside and looked up. Five floors were evident on each side as dark rooms were blocked off by rails, like balconies overlooking the dreary hall below. Moss grew on the floor and crawled up the walls. The air hung heavy with a musky odor.

In the center of the hall was an old crest-shaped fountain inset with twenty-foot-tall twin dragon statues. Each had large emeralds for eyes.

They continued walking, their heads swiveling back and forth, up and down. Beyond the fountain was another set of curved stairs that forked at the top, leading to the second floor. The steps were white marble, with swirls of black giving it the appearance of smoke.

“This place must have been beautiful,” said Eldras. A large rat scurried down the wall and dove into a hole in the stone. “A very long time ago.”

Aric headed for the staircase, then halted as an invisible force sent a chill up his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood. He pushed his mind outward, taking in the spectrum of energy signatures throughout the citadel. Three floors up, there were thirteen pulsating beacons.

“Someone is up there,” he said to Eldras. “Why wouldn’t Gnamil say anything? Are they elves?”

Eldras’s tail straightened and froze as he looked up. “Elves, yes. I can smell them.”

“You couldn’t smell them before?” Aric questioned.

“I just assumed it was Gnamil,” said Eldras. “Or this place.” He cocked his head sideways. “Their hearts beat quickly.”

“They’re nervous,” said Aric. “Maybe it’s just some kids or something.”

“Did you see any elven children in Velensmir?” asked Eldras.

Aric took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. He reached back and eased his sword out of the slot on his armor. Even as the blade scraped the living steel, it was silent. “I’ll go up the stairs. Go outside, and around. When I tell you, can you fly up and meet them?

“I can try,” Eldras said cautiously.

“Good,” Aric said. “We’ll catch them off guard from both directions.”

Eldras bowed his head and slowly walked backward, keeping his eyes on the stairs. “Be quick, but be careful.”

Aric turned the point of his sword upward. He grasped the handle with both hands and pulled it back against his right shoulder. Walking with stealth, he slowly rolled his boots across the ground, heel to ball deliberately as he stayed in a half crouch.

Ascending the first floor, he realized the steps didn’t just curve around to the next floor, but split around a cylindrical pillar and forked again. One set of steps continued upward to the third floor without a proper landing for the second floor.

He continued upward, reaching the third floor with a slower pace. Once again, another pillar jutted to the next floor up, splitting the stairwell.

Aric stepped off onto the third floor and pushed his mind outward again. The bright energy of the elves remained still. Three rooms down, two hundred feet ahead. “Ready, boy?”

“Which room?” asked Eldras. When Aric explained which room he saw the energy, there was a short pause. “Found it. I’m ready.”

Aric quickened his pace, however keeping his mind on the sounds of his boots, or lack thereof was important. He could only hope Eldras could fly so high and gracefully at that. An ambush wasn’t an ambush if they knew he was coming.

Approaching the doorway, his heart began racing in his chest. He heard faint whispers. He pressed his back against the wall and closed his eyes to listen.

“Remember, the spell has to be locked in before we eliminate him,” one of the elves whispered. “Or else, the dragon will perish with him.”

“And if he dies before then?” asked a female elf.

Aric opened, then narrowed his eyes as his chest grew tight. “Can you hear them?”

“I can,” said Eldras. “Can you understand them?”

Aric turned his head toward the doorway and quirked a brow. “What? They’re speaking in common tongue.”

“No, they are not,” said Eldras. “They’re speaking a different language. It isn’t Velerian either. How can you understand them?”

Aric’s heart jolted. He leaned his ear closer to the door. “How can I not hear that it’s a different language?”

“It must be…I don't know,” said Eldras. “But I can’t understand them.”

“Aglorion has notified the Sky King of his arrival,” said another elf.

“And if we fail?” asked another female. “The Great Mother will reduce us to ash.”

“The Great Mother?” Aric questioned Eldras. “Does that mean anything to you?”

A burst of anxiety and panic filled the bond. “Aric, get out of there…now!”

“Why?” Aric asked. “What’s wrong?”

“The Great Mother can’t be alive,” said Eldras. “If she is, we’re in terrible danger here. Get out of there.”

Aric pursed his lips. Just as he turned to go downstairs, a dark blur caught the corner of his eye.

An elf with glowing orange eyes lifted her hand. “Gra’laerith al volu-”

Aric whirled around, drawing on the power in the bond. He thrust his hand forward, swiftly pushing the energy down his arm in the form of light and heat as he had when he attacked the emerald dragon.

A bright white burst exploded in a jet that slammed into her chest. She was knocked through the railing and tumbled down toward the main hall out of sight. “Eldras, run!”

Chapter 39:

A King’s Secret

Aric turned and sprinted toward the stairwell. Just as he lay his hand on the railing to anchor his pivot down the stairs, a cold vine of black energy tied his hand and arm down. He jerked back on it, but it was locked. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the group of elves.

They wore overexaggerated hoods and charcoal gray robes, concealing their identities. “What do you want?”

“Call on your dragon,” said one of the elves in the front. Her eyes glowed beneath the shadow of her hood with the hue of glacial ice. “Or you can both die for nothing.”

“Don’t worry!” Eldras yelled and roared. “I’m coming anyway!”

“No!” Aric yelled, holding his hand out. Too late.

From the doorway, Eldras burst onto the balcony, tearing through the small entrance to the room with seemingly ease.

The elf channeling magic lifted his hand. “Now, say goodbye.”

Aric cried out as his inside burned, like he had just swallowed a red-hot fire poker. “Eldras! H-help!”

Another tendril of black energy rose from the floor and wrapped around his sword hand, binding him in place. A cold energy surged through his body, locking his legs in place. His mind was assaulted by an invisible force, like daggers tearing through his thoughts.

His limbs tensed involuntarily, sending pulsing waves of pain through his veins. As his eyes started to roll back, he saw a bright flash of blue. Immediately following were the howls of the elves.

The pain stopped.

The black coils fell to the floor like boiled noodles.

Aric took a deep breath and looked at the group before him. Several were engulfed in fire. He looked back and shoved the sword into the slot on his armor. The blade would do nothing against their magic.

He drew on more power from the arte. Aiming for the elf who had tied him to the railing, he threw both hands forward, pushing the energy through his shoulders, down his arms, and out of his hands.

Twin white beams of light burned through the elf. A flash of red erupted as blood, pieces of bone, and lungs sprayed the other elves behind him.

Aric felt a sting in his chest. The spell had drawn on his core more than he had anticipated. As he pressed on his torso armor, he realized the magic hadn’t destroyed the sleeves this time.

“You haven’t eaten much,” said Eldras. He lunged forward and swiped his claws through a burning elf’s back, silencing his scream. “We don’t have a fully charged arte!

He unleashed another torrent of blue fire, narrowly missing four of the elves, who darted out of the way.

Aric clenched his teeth and growled his frustration. “Fine.” He reached over his shoulder to withdraw his sword again. “I actually prefer it this way.”

Two elves rushed forward, mirroring each other as they twisted and kicked Aric in the chest. He flew backward twenty feet and busted through the pillar splitting the stairwell.

Just as his head was about to hit the stone, his cloak wrapped around the backside of his skull and solidified. Inside toward his head, it remained soft, while the outside hardened into steel. Regardless, the blunt force rattled his teeth. Bright stars filled his vision as he tumbled down the stairs to the second floor. Uncontrollably, he twisted in his descent and slammed his side into the next pillar, coming to a halt with a grunt.

Even with the armor, pain filled his side. His temples throbbed with sharp stabs. He pictured Eldras alone with the elves and a sting of adrenaline sent his heart hammering. He ignored the agony and got to his feet.

Despite the jarring impacts, the living steel was unblemished. Aric started back up the steps and realized he had dropped his sword. “Fuck," he grunted.

His heart pounded in his chest as he ascended the stairs in two quick bounds. He spotted and picked up the sword lying on the third floor. He pressed his foot against the bottom of the pillar that he had broken with his back.

Shoving off, he turned and dove across the balcony. His stomach lurched as twenty feet passed in a flash. His sword found the soft spot below an elf’s windpipe. The stone wall cracked behind her as the blade punched through. He stood dumbfounded for a brief moment with his mouth agape. What the fuck just happened?

Aric pulled the sword out and grabbed her by the robes. With a quick lift and turn, he used her as a battering ram to knock another elf out of his way. Both of them tumbled over the railing and fell to the ground floor with a delayed thud.

Eldras lunged forward and sank his teeth into the shoulder of another elf. With a twist, he let go, sending him over the railing. “I don’t feel too good.”

“What’s wrong?” Aric asked as he turned back to the left to cut down another female elf. Another foot was planted in his chest again. This time, it was his turn to go over the broken railing.

Down three floors he fell, landing on the rim of the water fountain and breaking through the smooth stone.

“Aric!” yelled Eldras. He leaped over the railing and glided down to the main hall.

Aric groaned as his entire body seemed to be bruised. He imagined it was what getting trampled by a horse felt like. He slowly pressed himself up, only to fall off the fountain to his hands and knees. He craned his head to the side and sat up. Moving his arms and flexing his back, he was relieved nothing was broken. How that was possible, he could guess it was the living steel. “I’m alright.”

Looking up, he saw four of the elves about to jump. Without thinking, he threw a hand up, commanding the power inside to unleash. He sent a bright burst of white energy.

The balcony exploded, sending stone and dust into the air with elven bodies. For several seconds, rocks and debris fell down to the main hall. Three of the elves survived, albeit not unscathed.

Aric huffed as he felt the immediate draw on his energy. His arms fell with fatigue. He could sleep the world away right then, even as the dangers were returning to their feet.

Eldras opened his mouth and bathed the elves and the pile of rubble in blue fire. The elves didn’t scream for long. Clamping his jaws shut, he ended the inferno. The citadel was quiet once more. He staggered a few steps sideways and sank to the floor.

Bodies became torches as they continued to burn for a while after the blue flames halted.

Aric sat still for several minutes, replaying what had just transpired, over and over again. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, boy. Are you alright?”

Eldras sniffed at the air. “Sorry for what?”

“I thought we were safe here,” Aric said. He looked up at the vaulted ceiling of the citadel. “This place was never meant for us. Fuck this place. Seriously. Fuck these elves.”

“I don’t think we should stay here any longer,” said Eldras.

Aric told him what the elves had said about King Aglorion, and their plan to kill him. When Eldras said nothing, Aric stood and cupped his hands on his hips. His back groaned with pain. “You want to explain to me what this Great Mother is?”

Eldras took a deep breath and began pacing in a stuttered circle. Both fear and dread filled the bond.

“Eldras, stop,” Aric said. He walked over to the dragon and lay his hand on his neck. “You know you can tell me anything. You’ve never kept secrets before. Just talk to me.”

“Not that you knew about it,” said Eldras. He paused and looked up at Aric, then continued to pace. “It was the first memory I got after I hatched. The Great Mother is the one who created the Misty Scar. She is an ancient dragon. Might be she was the first dragon in this world. She was capable of laying eggs at will. But she was extremely against dragons bonding with humans.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “How ancient is she?”

Eldras swallowed with an audible gulp. “She was here before the orcs.”

Aric’s stomach twisted. “She can’t still be alive. She’d be…thousands of years old. She’d be huge.”

“Like a mountain,” said Eldras. “Even in my memory she was. After she had grown so large, she couldn’t fly. But, she eventually gained other abilities no other dragon had, like laying eggs whenever she wanted. In a month’s time, she could create her own thunder of dragons.”

Aric narrowed his eyes as he realized what Eldras had said. “Did you say she created the Misty Scar?”

“I did.”

Aric shrugged. “How could she do that? And why?”

Eldras downcast his snout. “That much I don’t know. But her power still lingers there.”

“The evermist,” said Aric. He ran his hand over his face. “There are too many gods damned questions.” He looked over at the blackened corpses, which were still smoldering and pervading the air with a stomach wrenching stench. “Why can’t we just have some time to relax? Why is it always a fight?”

He ran their whispers through his mind again. “I think they wanted to separate us.”

“That’s…not possible,” said Eldras. “Once a bond has been made, it’s for life.”

Aric shook his head and turned with a huff. He sat, leaning his back against Eldras’s leg. “We’re never going to be free in this land, are we?”

“Some day, we may be,” said Eldras. “You’d know more than I would.”

“Yeah,” Aric muttered. “I was just thinking out loud, I guess. I just—I don’t get it. The Great Mother, King Aglorion warning the Sky King? Who the hell is that?”

“I don’t know,” said Eldras.

The furrow in Aric’s brow deepened. “Maybe they meant the high king. Even though Verilia doesn’t have a high king, most consider Paulus to be the most powerful. That slimy shit stain. It’d make sense. But Aglorion wants me to help them fight the orcs?”

“Everything is twisted,” said Eldras. “How do we even know who we can trust?”

Aric looked up at Eldras. “We don’t. So we trust only each other.”

“What are we going to do about this?” asked Eldras. “If this wasn’t Aglorion’s doing—which I doubt it was—then he should be alerted. This may be a rogue group.”

“More like a cult if they’re following what they think is the Great Mother,” said Aric. “Any dragon that old would be legendary across the world. She can’t be alive still, right?”

“I don’t know,” Eldras said slowly. “But no. I don’t think…she couldn’t still be alive after all this time.”

“And if Aglorion is in on this,” Aric said, pausing at the thought of what game they were being forced into, “we can’t go back to Velensmir. They’d kill us on the spot, or at least try to do whatever they were trying to do here. There is nobody I trust to get answers from. The Elven Court’s dragonmages are a bunch of fucking cowards who want me dead or something worse. We can’t go to Bӧr Mesari, even if they didn’t want to kill me. They wouldn’t let us be as the other dragonmages.”

“What about Grayhorn?” asked Eldras.

Aric looked up with a quirked brow. “What about it? Paulus isn’t going to help us.”

“He sent the Gray Guard to fetch us,” said Eldras. “Maybe an alliance with him is exactly what he wants. It would be best for us as well, would it not—to be with humans instead of elves?”

“Of course he wants an alliance with us,” said Aric as he rolled his eyes. “Grayhorn’s allegiance to the elves has crumpled to the ground. After the raid on the Scar, Paulus has no reason to keep funding a war that really doesn’t bother Grayhorn. They’re the farthest from it. If anything, Paulus would let Verilia burn to the ground before he’d take action. So yeah, he’d love to have a dragonmage to leverage against the elves.”

Eldras hummed, then blew smoke through his nostrils. “Is that necessarily a bad thing? We could be free there, and we could set our own boundaries.”

Aric sighed. “No. We can’t let this land die because we seek safety. Besides that, we would have nobody to learn dragonmage things from.” He looked down at his palms. “I guess we never had anyone else though, did we?”

For the first time in months, he thought about trying to find his parents, and going home to Ambermead. “Where are we going to go then?”

“I just want a home,” said Eldras with a tone of sadness.

Aric’s heart jolted as he felt Eldras’s anxiety flare up again. “What is it?”

“Someone’s coming,” said Eldras, turning to the entrance of the citadel.

Aric quickly got to his feet. “Shit. My sword.”

Eldras walked toward the entry. “Where did you have it last?”

Aric looked up at the ruins of the third floor balcony. “Up there.”

He looked around at the pile of rubble and bodies. A pommel barely stuck out beneath a smoldering cloak of an elf. He bent down and pulled it out with a humorless snort. “Got it.”

“You might want to get over here,” said Eldras.

“Yeah, yeah,” Aric grumbled. He jogged back to the entrance. Cool ocean air blew into the main hall. He pushed his hair back, taking a quick note of how long it had grown in his neglect of a trim. It had extended to his shoulders.

Then, his breath caught in his throat as he saw the bright armor of King Aglorion coming through the trees. He narrowed his eyes and looked around the wood line. “Is he alone?”

“I think so,” said Eldras.

Aric sheathed his sword and walked outside. Eldras walked beside him as they continued down the curved steps. He kept his eyes scanning back and forth, anticipating a squadron of elven warriors to jump out.

Aglorion approached quickly. “What happened here?” He drew his sword from his hip.

Aric looked over his shoulder at the dragonmage’s keep. The stench from inside wafted into the open air. “Sir, I-”

“Where is my daughter?” Aglorion interrupted. He marched past Aric, pushing between him and Eldras. In a single bound, he skipped the steps and halted. His sword dropped to the ground, making a loud metallic clang.

Aric’s stomach twisted in a knot. “Daughter? Please tell me we didn’t just kill a fucking princess.”

Chapter 40:

A Knife in the Back

Aglorion ran into the citadel and dropped to his knees before he reached the pile of rubble and bodies. He screamed. “NA! Balethuil aver bealorn! Balethuil!” He sank forward, slamming his fists into the stone.

Aric slowly made his way up the stairs. “My Lord, I was only defen-”

“I am not your lord!” Aglorion roared as he sat up and twisted around to face Aric. Tears glistened in his eyes. “You swore fealty! My son was one thing! My daughter—” his voice broke, and he whimpered.

Aric’s chest grew tight. “They attacked us.”

“Lies!” Aglorion yelled. He sprang to his feet and rushed out of the citadel.

Aric’s stomach twisted in a knot as he followed. “Sir, please. I didn’t know.”

Aglorion picked up his sword and whirled around. Pointing it Aric, he bared his teeth. “I knew—I knew you were not fit to wear the mantle of a dragonmage. A defective dragon is the only kind that would choose a lesser!”

Aric’s chest grew warm.

“Easy, Aric,” said Eldras.

Aric looked down and realized he was pulling energy from the arte as his fist was glowing. He took a breath and let it subside. Looking at Aglorion’s sword, he gave a nod. “I’m going to ask you to put that away, sir. I didn’t know you had a daughter to begin with.” He tried to sound calm, though it came out drier than he had wanted.

“Two of my children have perished at your hands!” Aglorion hissed. He lifted the sword. “No. I will not put down my blade.”

“I didn’t kill your son!” Aric yelled. “But if that is your daughter in there, then she got what she came for, which was death.”

“Do not speak of her!”

Aric’s breath quickened as an invisible presence brushed his mind. He sensed someone behind him, as if someone was touching his mind. “Is that you, Trenifel?”

“It is,” Trenifel said in his mind.

“They attacked us,” Eldras said as he turned.

Aric kept his eyes on the king. “I’ll not be labeled a murderer when I defended my dragon and my role as a dragonmage.”

“You are no dragonmage,” said Aglorion, his words coming with a sob now.

“I see the memory,” said Trenifel.

“Then tell him that,” Aric said, clenching his jaw tight.

Trenifel walked silently past Aric and Eldras, and he wondered if she had an uncanny ability to render herself undetectable.

She was accompanied by two other elves, one of which was the male that put Aric under a slumber spell and forced him to walk for days. She leaned close to Aglorion and whispered to him, then bowed.

Aglorion’s brows quivered as a tear fell. He slowly looked at Trenifel. “The Dark Flight?” He looked down and slowly shook his head. His face grew red as he snarled. “Na.” He glared at Trenifel. “Etru felor…belastundt!”

Her face twisted in a pale shock. Her eyes widened. “Bel ethilum din, ag velash nar." She pointed at Aric. “Dra engael strät brandor bela."

Aglorion muttered something inaudible. With a swift and unwarned twist, he lifted the sword diagonally and removed her head.

Throwing his left hand sideways, the king whispered something quick in Velerian. A wave of green energy pelted the other two seers in the back, pulling them toward him. He spun backward, slashing his blade clean through one of their torsos. Bringing his sword forward, he buried it halfway in the third seer's chest.

Aric watched in shock as the horror unfolded before them. Drawing his unnamed sword, he leaped backward off of the landing, flying past the steps to the ground below. He ignored the oddity of his increased strength for the moment.

Eldras flew upward, baring his teeth.

If it had been any other moment away from the chaos, Aric would have whooped and cheered as he watched Eldras fly up and hover in the air.

“I will remove your head like hers before you can summon a flame,” Aglorion threatened.

Aric felt the arte sting in his mind. It begged for a release. His heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to tell Eldras to fly high and get away from the king. But he had just witnessed Aglorion’s swiftness. Eldras was no match for the king’s speed. In a panic, he knew he needed to control the aim of the king. “I killed that bitch.”

Aglorion turned his glare toward Aric. “Then allow me to return the favor. You have removed those that I care about from this world. Now, I will remove something you care about.” He lifted his sword and leaped upward toward Eldras.

Aric’s chest grew hot as the energy from the bond filled his body. He threw the power forward, aiming for the king’s sword. The flash of light pelted the king, sending him flying thirty feet toward the citadel. He crashed onto the floor and rolled several times.

Aric ran forward and leaped back up the steps. “Eldras, get out of here! Go!”

Aglorion cried out as he pressed himself up to his feet with one arm. Then he looked down and let out a throat burning scream.

Aric’s stomach twisted in a knot as he gazed at the stub that remained above Aglorion’s right elbow. His arm had been severed below the joint. It was blackened. His forearm and hand were nowhere to be seen.

Aric took two steps forward involuntarily. He had missed his aim and overextended his attack. “Oh shit.”

“You….murderous…swine! Gra’no bauli fa…acto morn!”

“You took off his arm,” Eldras said.

Aric’s heart sank, hammering against his chest. “Not on purpose! We have to go—now!”

“Get on,” said Eldras.

Aric shook his head. “You can’t carry me!”

“I’m not leaving you!”

“Stay low,” Aric said quickly. “I’ll draw energy from the bond and push it into my muscles. Fly north—directly north. We’ll go around Velensmir.”

Eldras turned and faced Aric. “But-”

Aric held up his hand. “No buts. Move your ass, Eldras.” The dragon stared at him with lingering worry. The bond filled with nauseating anxiety. “Please.”

“Stay right below me!” With three flaps of his wings, he ascended and soared over the tree line.

Aric looked at the king. “I’m sorry about your children. But this was your doing.” He glanced at Trenifel and the other seer corpses. “If this is how you treat your allies, I’ll take my chances with the high elves.”

Aglorion roared and sprinted toward Aric.

Aric cursed and pulled energy from the arte again. Lifting his left hand, he thrust a bolt of white energy into the king’s chest, though he had time to focus on weakening the attack.

The surge knocked Aglorion fifteen feet backward in a flip. He rolled just inside the citadel, coming to a stop on his back. Holding up the stump of his limb, he screamed toward the skies above. But he made no further attempts to return to his feet as he cried out.

Why didn’t he use magic? Aric thought as he turned and ran north.

After the first half hour, his legs had fallen into a steady pace. The dread of the run swiftly faded. Every few miles, he pulled energy from the bond to clear his focus. His body screamed, begging for him to stop.

As the forest floor gave way to smooth ground and greater distance between the trees, he focused on pushing the energy into his legs, just as he had moved the hot energy through his arms and out of his hands.

After the fifth attempt, he felt the aches wither. The cords of muscles beneath his flesh were reinvigorated. The energy washed away the fatigue. That’s how Eldras does it.

With each thought of halting, he heard Aglorion’s scream echo in his mind. It motivated him to tell Eldras to continue. But after the second hour, he could no longer let fear drive him. And the arte was growing weaker rapidly. Between the lack of food, the use of magic, and the long run, he was spent.

“Stop,” he said as he crashed against a tree and sank down to the ground. Laying sideways, he rolled to his back. His sword pressed against the dirt uncomfortably, so he pulled it from the back of his armor and lay it beside him, panting heavily.

Eldras landed. His wings sagged unnaturally. They looked like two giant blankets thrown over his back. With a loud thud, he dropped onto his belly. “I thought you would never stop. Where are we?”

Aric leaned his head back, taking in long and slow breaths. The world was upside down and spinning. He knew not know where they were. Without a map or any recognizable landmarks, he was lost. He tried to calculate the distance he had run, but it was pointless. He lost track of the miles, miles ago.

He sucked in a deep breath, his chest burning for air. “We have to be…somewhere northeast…of Velensmir by now.”

“Where are we going to go?” asked Eldras.

Aric looked at Eldras and remembered his words. I just want a home. He relaxed his head and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. His hair was drenched in sweat as he ran his fingers through it, brushing it back. He stared at the canopy of the Castil above. “Grayhorn. It’s one of our last options.”

“You think they will welcome us?”

Aric shrugged. “At this point, I’m not holding out on hope. But at least I don’t think Paulus will try to kill us.”

“That we know of,” said Eldras.

Aric shook his head and laughed humorlessly. “I don’t know shit yet.” His eyes burned as sweat clung to his eyelashes. He thought of the journey back to Grayhorn. “Fuck.”

Eldras perked his head up. “What’s wrong?”

“It’ll take a month to reach Grayhorn.” Aric looked down and dug his fingers into the soil. “It’ll be fall before we get there.”

“Is that at a steady pace?”

Aric nodded. “As steady as our journey was to Velensmir.” He scoffed as he thought about how things had turned out. “What a fucking waste of time. Francil died for—for nothing.” He slammed his fist into the ground.

“Not nothing,” said Eldras. “He died so that we could live. He understood his sacrifice was for our survival, and he believed in us.”

Aric sat up and leaned forward. He buried his face into his hands. “I’m in no hurry to get to Grayhorn.”

“Then what will we do?”

Aric looked up, scanning the forest for nothing in particular. “Could just—live off the land, maybe go to the coast up by Illidrun. It’s far from anyone we know. We’ll learn more about magic as you grow. We can get stronger.” He shrugged. “What’s the point of it all anymore if we’re constantly on the run?”

“The point is you’re a dragonmage,” said Eldras. He stood tilted his head toward Aric, as if to glare. “You have a responsibility now and you know it.”

Aric lifted his brows and shook his head. “For what? I’m rather shit at magic unless it requires me to destroy everything I don’t intend to destroy. And even then, it’s only a few bursts. I can’t fight other magicians, let alone dragonmages if they come for us again.” He took another deep breath. “You aren’t big enough to ride yet. We can’t scout. We can’t go village to village and protect them. We can’t join the war.” He paused and thought of Aglorion’s warning of the orcs. “The war.”

“What?”

“I have to do something about the war,” said Aric. “The orcs are going to try to take Bӧr Mesari. The dragons will be killed.”

“Have you no faith in the other dragonmages?” asked Eldras, blowing smoke out of his nostrils.

“I lost faith in them years ago,” Aric said with a defeated huff. “They aren’t the force they used to be. The orcs have only grown stronger.” He pressed his fingers into his temples and rubbed small circles. “Regardless, I can’t just let the dragons die.”

“Then we go to Bӧr Mesari,” said Eldras. He lifted his head and puffed out his chest. “We make them see that we are as worthy a bond as any other dragonmage. And when the orcs show up, we’ll make them see what we can do together.”

Aric snorted. “Yeah,” he said sardonically with an eye roll. “They already know what we are capable of, remember? That’s why they fear us.”

“Then they need to see we aren’t a threat to them.”

“Are you forgetting about the Gro’nzael, and how the high elves want to hand me over to the druids now?” Aric asked. “I’m as good as dead if I get near Bӧr Mesari before the orcs arrive. Besides, that’s assuming we could even get there in time. That’s a two month journey at least—maybe three.”

“Did Aglorion say when they thought the orcs would attack?”

Aric furrowed his brows and tried to remember the conversation. “No. No, I don’t think we got that far in our chat.” He grinned at his dark humored joke. “But if I was leading the orcs, I’d wait until the first frost.”

“Why?”

“Orcs do well in the winter,” Aric said. “Better than perhaps any other race. They’re used to the mountains and desolation. Elves lock themselves indoors for the cold. As the plants begin to die, they seem to slow down on everything, including bringing eggs through the Scar. Probably why they bury themselves in evergreen forests.”

“I don’t think they’ll be bringing any more eggs through the Scar.”

Aric narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly. “Yeah. I wonder where they’ll take them now.” He shook his head. “Don’t even know where they come from.”

“Do you think the orcs will wait that long?” asked Eldras. “Until winter?”

Aric looked up at the spruce tree hanging over him. He thought of the raid on the Misty Scar. “Yeah. They had to plan out that attack that led me to you for months, maybe a year even. They’re patient. And taking Bӧr Mesari is a far grander prize than taking a single dragon. They’ll want every advantage they can get.”

“Then we head toward Bӧr Mesari,” Eldras said again. “We should arrive just before the first frost. Then we can wait, gather our strength and be ready.”

“Are you sure?” Aric questioned. “I think Grayhorn is where we will be the safest. By the time we can get there, you’ll be about five months old. You’ll likely have your next growth spurt around that time. We can have a home.”

Eldras lifted his wings and folded them back. “We have a duty to the people of this world, and that starts right here in Verilia. We’ll have our home eventually. Right now, we need to focus on what’s right, not on what is safe. Others need a home too. How far will the orcs go if they succeed in Bӧr Mesari?”

Aric snorted. “Gods damn. When you put it that way, I look like a coward.”

“You are not a coward, Aric,” said Eldras. “Quite the opposite. Remember? That’s part of why I chose to bond with you.”

Aric flexed his jaw muscles as he pondered the prospects of what lay before them. He rubbed his eyes and grinded his teeth. “Fine.” He looked up at Eldras. “Then I guess it’s back to the fray.”

Chapter 41:

Knowledge is Power

Moro pressed his back against the rocks, his chest constricting as he listened. Ôernthuk was a language he had not yet begun to learn. Whatever Vig’ka and Ergoth were speaking about eluded him. But every few sentences exchanged, he heard it. A name.

Aric, he thought. His eyes welled with tears. You’re alive, brother. He took several deep breaths and moved onto the path. “Did you say Aric Telendris?”

Vig’ka whirled around, widening his eyes. “Moro.” He chuckled. “You have certainly gained a new height of stealth.”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” said Moro. He narrowed his eyes and looked at Ergoth, who remained as calm and poised as ever. “Aric. I heard his name. Is he alive?”

Ergoth gave a single nod.

Moro’s heart sank. “How do you know his name?”

Vig’ka downcast his eyes, then slowly turned to Ergoth. “I will leave this to you, Warchief.”

Ergoth folded his hands together in front of his stomach and sighed. “As it appears, the raid on the Misty Scar was not all but lost, and in vain, as we had thought. The Elmerïan has risen again—or rather an Elmerïan. The red dragon we sought died at the hands of her own rider.”

Moro narrowed his eyes. “No.” He took a step back and shook his head. “A dragonmage would never murder their own dragon.”

“You are correct,” said Ergoth. “She was wounded by our people first. Fierce, she was. A warrior, like Verilia hasn't seen for decades. If every dragon fought as she did…” he looked down, sadness glooming over his face.

Moro furrowed his brows. “You—you regret her death?”

“Of course I regret her death!” Ergoth barked. “The goal was never to seek her death but her life. Why do you think we sent so many? We aimed to bring her home. Free her.”

Moro shook his head. “Free her? She’s a dragonmage’s partner. She chose to hatch for her rider. She wasn’t a prisoner looking to be freed.”

Ergoth rubbed his nose and took a deep breath. “Perhaps. However, you are mistaken. I meant we aimed to free her from the Elven Court.” He waved his hand and huffed. “Regardless, she laid an egg before her death. We had hoped to bring her back to Az’ Grim before then but alas, it got away. And as the Gods have provided for our people, so have they found a way to bring us to our goal. The egg found its way to a human.”

Moro’s heart jolted as he realized the connection. His stomach twisted in a tight knot. “Aric,” he whispered. He swallowed a lump in his throat as his hands grew clammy. He couldn’t help but grin. Then he chuckled. “That bastard was always too stubborn to die. Of course the dragon chose him.”

“Which brings me to you, Moro,” said Ergoth. “We would like you to bring him home.”

Moro’s brows ascended. He snorted. “Bring Aric…home?” He rubbed his eyes and thought about how Aric would react to his brother’s alliance to the orcs, their old enemy. “I want to go to him. I want to see him—I do. I thought he was gone for a long time.” He pointed at his face, his new transformation, and shook his head. “Aric views orcunae the same as I did when you—when I first came here.”

“Do you believe you can alter his mind? Show him the truth as we have shown you,” said Vig’ka.

“If he will come,” said Ergoth, “I think he will be as moved as you were.”

Moro laughed. “No offense, Warchief, but you don’t know Aric. He isn’t moved easily toward a positive light. He’s a doubter of many things, including himself. He’s rather independent, the stubborn ass.” He laughed again, thinking of Aric. “Where is he?”

“Can you get him and his dragon to come to Az’ Grim?” asked Ergoth.

“I—” Moro paused and sighed. “I doubt it. But that doesn’t matter right now. Where is he? And how did you come by his name? I would assume he made it back to the elves, or he was traveling with them if he survived the raid.” He narrowed his eyes and looked back and forth at Ergoth and Vig’ka. “Wait. Do you have a spy among the elves?”

Ergoth quirked a brow and looked at Vig’ka. “You…could say that.”

Moro waved his hand, dismissing his concern. “Where is he?”

“Will you run to him?” asked Vig’ka. “Given your new oath to orcunae, your new flesh, I would think you would wish to grasp control of the power you now have access to; fûrin magic.”

Moro looked down at his hands and imagined the purple and black magic flowing from them. “Do I need to?”

“Do you need to?” questioned Vig’ka. “Does a child need to learn to hunt or swim?”

Moro swallowed a lump in his throat. He had never heard such a chilling tone come from Vig’ka. It was as if Moro had just insulted him. He cleared his throat. “No. A child will either learn on their own or die. A bird isn’t taught to fly. Fish are not taught to swim. It is who they are.”

“Blood shifted is not how you were born,” said Ergoth. “You should not compare what is natural to what is unnatural. Make no mistake—” he pointed at Moro and cocked his head, “—I would not advise you to run free into the wild with absolutely no control or training of your power. You were well off in arms combat before. But you will quickly find you have ascended the possibilities of what humans can do.”

“And each time you kill now, the potential of what you sever can be absorbed into your spirit, and into your body,” Vig’ka added. “Without the knowledge of how to control it, you could die an excruciating death, destroying everything around you in your wake.”

Moro’s chest grew tighter. “You could've just said you agreed with him.”

Vig’ka chuckled. “You misinterpret the importance of what you are now. Who you are.”

“You are not a sangribör,” said Ergoth. “You never will be. Nor will you have the body of the valravs. Or the strength of a hargrol. But you are superior in every way to your former self.”

Moro scoffed. “So, in other words, I’ll be just under a sangribör in magic, weaker than a hargrol, and yet not as equipped as a valrav.”

“That does not mean you can’t wield fûrin now,” said Ergoth. “More so than simply wielding magic, you are now a blood shifted; half human and half orc. This means you will be physically stronger than a human. Able to wield magic. And your senses will be on par with hafӧrns. You can do what valravs cannot. Your senses can be honed beyond that of hargrol. And you could defeat sangribörs with prowess they could never master.”

“Sangribör are born with magic,” said Vig’ka. He touched his chest. “Like myself, and Trenara. It comes from lineage.”

Moro’s heart jolted at the sound of her name. He looked toward the east and imagined what she was doing at the moment. “But I could never be as powerful. Right?”

“That is entirely up to you,” said Ergoth. “If you stay and train, move with us, and do as I ask, you may be more powerful than all of the sangribörs in Az’ Grim.” He looked at Vig’ka and shrugged. “Am I correct?”

Vig’ka bowed his head. “You are correct, Warchief. No blood shifted has ever reached their full potential, unlike sangribörs.”

Moro thought of Aric again. “Where was he spotted last? You certainly don’t have spies in Bör Mesari, so that leaves the human villages or—” He halted. Several memories and ideas zoomed through his mind. The eggs. His experience in the Scar. Conversations of the past. “Velensmir,” he mused.

“You are quite clever,” said Ergoth. “We have someone on the inside. He has yet to arrive in Velensmir, but that is his destination before the dry season ends.”

Moro narrowed his eyes. “So not spies, trackers.”

Ergoth cocked his head to the side. “Not quite. In due time, all will be revealed to you. However, for now, I need your word. I need your oath that you will speak nothing of this to anyone but Vig’ka and I.”

Moro’s brows shot up. “What about the general?”

“Thar’lok knows what he is meant to know,” said Ergoth. “He is an excellent war leader, but the garrison is not his specialty. Nor is magic, diplomacy, or—how to say—the larger plan ahead of us.”

Moro looked at Vig’ka. “So you will be training me, after all.”

“I will be one of your mentors,” said Vig’ka. “For fûrin, that is.”

Moro quirked a brow. “I don’t understand. One of my mentors?”

“The dragon eggs did not choose to bond with you,” said Ergoth. “That means we must push your limits twice as hard if we are to take Bӧr Mesari in the season of frost.”

“Season of frost?” Moro questioned. “You’re going to hit Bӧr Mesari in the winter?”

“We are seeking every advantage we can get over the elves,” said Ergoth. He held up his hand, palm facing himself. “We will crush the elven city.” He quickly clenched his hand into a fist. “From the ashes, we will be Az’ Grim anew. We may never obtain the chance for a dragonmage as elves have, and as humans have. But what we seek is a far greater glory than something so trivial.”

“If we are to destroy Bӧr Mesari,” said Vig’ka, “Then we aim to make it our home. The forests around it will provide us with far more than we can gather here in these desolate rocks.” He stepped forward and pointed at Moro. “We simply can not win without your help now. You are an important part of the plan.”

“I am?” Moro blurted. He cleared his throat nervously. “I mean, what am I to do? Learn magic? Train to fight?”

Vig’ka looked back at Ergoth and sighed. He slowly turned back to Moro. “If you cannot convince Aric to join us, he will likely join with the elves.”

Moro’s breath caught in his chest. He looked down. “We’ll be…against each other.”

“It is my belief that once he sees you with us, he will hesitate to kill you,” said Ergoth. “That is when we strike down the dragonmages. It will be a two-part attack; magic, then arrows.”

A thick wave of nausea filled Moro’s stomach. “He—I don’t think he would—but I couldn’t kill Aric.” He looked past Vig’ka at Ergoth and shook his head. “I won’t kill him.”

“We are not asking you to kill him,” said Ergoth. “But there is a high chance he will try to kill you. Either way, you will be leading the charge with Vig’ka to eliminate the dragonmages and disband the Elven Court. General Thar’lok will lead the front on the ground.”

Moro shook his head again. “What about home? Here? I—I can stay back if I learn to use magic to heal and-”

“You did not sacrifice your body and life to be a servant,” Ergoth said sternly. “You seek power. Now you have some. Help us take Bӧr Mesari, and you will have the power of a human king. I will see to it personally.”

Moro thought of confronting Aric. He was stronger and faster now, but Aric was a dragonmage now. Gods damn it, Aric, he thought. He gave Ergoth a nod. “I will fight with you, and I will help reclaim some of the life orcunae deserve. But I won’t kill Aric Telendris, my brother, in this battle. That is my one stipulation.”

Ergoth pressed his palm against his chest. “Very well. See to it that you are ready to fight before we move then. You have just over two months. Our journey will be arduous as we move the whole of Az’ Grim across Verilia. Once we begin, there is no turning around. For the first time ever, orcunae will leave this home behind.”

Moro widened his eyes and glanced toward the village, though he couldn’t see it. He thought of all of the orcs. “Everyone is moving together?”

“It is the only way we can assure victory,” said Ergoth. “Many of our sisters and mothers, even children will be called to fight. This is the beginning of our final steps in this land.”

Moro thought of Trenara and looked at Vig’ka. “Trenara won’t-”

“She will,” Vig’ka interrupted. “She knows what this means for our legacies ahead.”

Something strange stabbed at Moro’s heart. It was cold, yet unflinching as he thought of Trenara in battle. He had never felt worried for another like this before. He nodded. “Then I will train harder than any orc ever has.”

“I do not doubt that,” Vig’ka said with a grin. He clapped his hand on Moro’s shoulder. “Come, we will begin with magic.”

Moro looked at Ergoth, who simply nodded and turned back to his house. Turning as Vig’ka lead him back toward the path, he asked, “Is that it? Now I go train and then what? Am I part of the ranks now?”

“You will not be part of the lower ranks of the frontline,” said Vig’ka. “If anything at all, you are already above most of the orcunae. You are about to embark on training for three separate roles.”

“Is it possible to train on three separate fronts and succeed at any of them with the time restraint of winter’s approach?” asked Moro. “Honestly, for now, I’m alright in combat. You have seen that. I just need training in magic.”

Vig’ka paused and sighed. “Fûrin is easy to understand, but it is difficult to master. It is the simplest form of magic in all of Maerïnor. You take the life and potential of one living object, absorb it, then you have power to wield as you please.”

“That’s it?” Moro questioned with a cocked brow.

“The difficulty lies in gauging how much power you have absorbed, and how much you can transform such a force to do your bidding,” explained Vig’ka. He nodded and continued walking down the jagged path.

Moro threw his hands up. “Then why do I need to train with valravs and hargrols?”

“Because you will choose your mount yet,” said Vig’ka over his shoulder with a laugh. “You will not be ground-ridden for the battle. You will take to the skies yet.”

Donalis threw an ivory oar onto the small life boat. Reaching over his right shoulder, he unstrapped his dented spaulder. “Fucking—” he chucked it into the water, “—dragonmage!”

Footsteps thumped on the dock behind him. “Where in the bloody fuck is my ship? My crew?”

Donalis took a deep breath and slowly turned around. Standing on the dock was the last person he wanted to see, yet the first he had expected to tangle with; Captain Delimor Gran. The naval commander was clad in his usual skimpy armor. But his chest and collar were adorned with medals and ribbons. “I’ll do my briefing with the king,” he said with a steel sourness.

Delimor’s eyes widened. He snarled, his silvery mustache curling under his nose. “Where…is my-”

Donalis whirled around and leaped onto the dock, grasping Delimor by the collar. He pulled him in close in a way he guaranteed the naval commander hadn’t been handled in decades. “I said,” Donalis spoke slowly, his eyes boring into Delimor’s, “I will do a briefing with King Paulus. Is that clear—captain?”

Delimor’s eyes narrowed slightly as they darted back and forth mere inches from Donalis’s face. “Yes, sir.”

Donalis shoved the captain backward a couple steps and looked at the small boat. “Get your shit and come with me.”

Sitting at the back of the boat and looking not a smidge worried was Nathalior. He stood and grabbed the front of his tunic. His boots were standing in water, which was steadily pouring into the cracked hull. Wringing his clothes, he stepped out of the boat and followed without a word.

Donalis kept his eyes locked onto nothing, as cold as ice as he marched up the winding stairs leading to the ports. He said not a word to Nathalior, who’s boots squeaked with each step, wet leather sliding against soaked leather.

Through the backdoor of the dockside barricades, Donalis continued at a pace which would wind the average man. But his fury had kept his focus as strong as quartz for the last two days of heavy rowing while Nathalior kept the sea at bay from inside the boat.

Up another flight of hand hewn stairs, Donalis pushed past the lower deck kitchens, the smell of stew almost forcing him to stop. But he had the stomach to fight his stomach, the discipline to tend to desires after his responsibilities were dealt with. After several more minutes, he reached the council room. Pushing open the door, he realized it was empty with the exception of two Gray Guard. “Where is he?”

“Who, sir?” asked the younger of the two guards.

“The bloody fucking king!” barked Donalis. “Who else?”

“He should be in his chambers,” said the guard. “Shall I send for a servant? Is it urgent, sir?”

Donalis clenched his jaws and looked back at Nathalior. Taking a deep breath, he rolled his eyes back to the Gray Guard. “I’ll find him myself.” He pivoted and marched out of the council room, this time at an even quicker pace.

“Can we maybe slow down a bit?” asked Nathalior. “I get it; you’re this badass Knight Lord and all, but I’m a shit show bard. Not used to-”

“I saw you fight the elves,” Donalis interrupted, halting and spinning around. He jammed his finger into Nathalior’s chest and recalled the attack in the forest. “You’re unlike any bard or tracker there is. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a sentinel at one point.”

Nathalior snorted. “Right. That’s why I’ve been slumming it up in the taverns, pulling suicide tasks from the king, and fighting against elves in a part of these lands I don’t belong.”

Donalis looked back and forth at Nathalior’s eyes. He always had a certain feeling, knowing when someone was lying. As of yet, Nathalior seemed honest. Perhaps you’re just that good, he thought. He scoffed and whirled around. “Keep up, bard. That’s an order.”

Nathalior laughed. “Last time I checked, I’m not one of your Gray Guards.”

Donalis’s chest jolted. “The last I checked, you signed on for a King’s Quest. That makes you liable and bound by orders of House Paulus until your mission is complete .” Without looking back at Nathalior, he continued forward.

Nathalior cursed under his breath, but otherwise made no other comment.

“My Lord,” Donalis said as he knocked on the king’s quarters door after the long walk to the high tower.

A servant opened the door, a young man Donalis was certain had been keeping the king company in Donalis’s absence. “Good day, Sir Donalis. Did you need-”

“Move.” Donalis pushed the servant out of the way. He spotted Paulus leaning over the railing facing the heart of Grayhorn. “My Lord.”

Paulus turned. “Is it true you returned on a row boat without the men you took with you?”

“I did, My Lord,” Donalis said calmly. While anger ran through his veins, it would not do to show animosity towards the king. He glanced back at Nathalior. “Do you know what awaited in the Castil Forest?”

Paulus narrowed his eyes on Nathalior. “Speak your business.”

Nathalior’s cheeks reddened. He bowed. “My name is Nathalior, my Lord. I was tasked with your quest to find the dragonmage."

Paulus narrowed his eyes. “Ah, the tracker. Glad to see you survived."

"My Lord," Donalis said quickly, “I left nine in the infirmary in Dawn Harbor."

Paulus flexed his jaw muscles. “So the dragonmage is more dangerous than we thought—already."

Donalis shook his head. “We didn't engage with the target. Another dragonmage showed up."

Paulus's eyes widened. “He's aligned himself with the elves. The motherless bastards."

Donalis swallowed a lump in his throat and glanced back at Nathalior. “He attacked the dragonmage, my Lord. We were attacked by elves—Velensmirans."

Paulus's face flushed. “What?!" he barked. He looked at Donalis's chest. “Did you remove your insignia?"

Donalis's chest tightened. The audacity of the king to ask the Knight Lord such a question. “No—my Lord." He glanced down and huffed. “They knew it was us."

Paulus leaned to the side and looked at the servant. “Gather the council." He looked sideways at Donalis. “This is an act of war."

Donalis stepped forward. “No, my Lord! This—it was-”

“A mistake?" Paulus questioned as he narrowed his eyes. “Bör Mesari has turned their backs on us. Now Velensmir attacked? This is no coincidence. Gather the Gray Guard, Knight Lord. We are going to Velensmir in full force."

“Sir, if I may, we cannot defeat Velensmir alone," Donalis pleaded.

“Then we'll align ourselves with others!" Paulus yelled, throwing his hand down. “The godsless bastards will answer to humankind once and for all. Ambermead, Maervorna, Dawn Harbor, I don't give a fuck who we gather!" He took a deep breath and pushed his chest out. “The day the elves run Verilia is over."

Chapter 42:

Unraveled Truths

Aric knelt by a shrub. His heart raced in his chest. “Do you see her?"

“Not yet," Eldras said as he swooped overhead, flying above the canopy.

“She's about a hundred paces ahead of me," said Aric.

A thick sensation of guilt and dread washed over the bond. “If I land, I can catch her."

Aric clenched his jaws. “If you land, she'll bolt. Now, I haven't fasted this long just to see a doe get away. Let me-"

“I'll get her," Eldras growled with frustration. “I can see where you are through the bond. Just need…a clearing."

Aric kept his eyes on the doe. She was grazing on overgrowth until she perked her head up, flicking and rotating her ears. His stomach churned and growled at the same time. Fuck this, he thought. He lifted his hand and started to reach out to feel her energy when a heavy crash came through the trees.

The doe leaped as Eldras crashed to the ground, his front claws barely missing her hind quarter. “No!" he cried as panic filled the bond.

Aric reached out with his mind, feeling and seeing the doe's bright waves of energy. Just as he started to pull her energy into the arte, a bright burst of blue bathed the Castil Forest.

“Stupid…deer!" Eldras cried out as he engulfed the doe in fire. She bleated, then screamed a low guttural cry as her hair was singed. Bolting chaotically trying to escape the flames, she ran headfirst into a cedar tree. Her legs buckled.

Eldras pounced forward like a large cat and sank his claws into her hind. Cutting off the flames, he clamped his powerful jaws around the backside of her head. With a quick twist, he snapped her neck.

Aric quickly stood and fell silent, aghast. “Shit,” he muttered at the viciousness of Eldras. Then, the bright orange flames crackled to life as they began devouring evergreens. “Eldras!"

Holding his hands out, Aric began pulling the energy from the fires. He closed his eyes and pushed it into the core of the arte. The waves of heat and light energy faded quickly, leaving the forest with a thick campfire aroma. Smoke trailed into the air.

Eldras turned, the deer clenched in his jaws still. “I told you I'd get her." A blanket of pride filled the bond. He looked around at the blackened ground and trees. The pride shifted to guilt once more. “Oh."

“It's fine," said Aric. “I put it out before we had another Gro'nzael incident." He looked at the deer and sighed. Then, he gazed at the charred trees and laughed. “At least we have food."

Later that evening, after the deer had been stripped and butchered, Aric prepared a cooking fire and began searing venison strips over hot stones.

“Shame about the heavy bag,” Eldras said softly as he stared into the bright flames.

“Shame about Pebble,” Aric said.

“And the seasonings,” added Eldras.

Aric broke his gaze from the fire and picked up the sword lying beside him. It was still covered in the doe’s blood, small chunks of meat clung to the flat of the blade. Holding it up, he thought of his ebony blades that had served him for many years. The blade in his hand was rudimentary in comparison. The balance was slightly tipped toward the hilt and the blade was narrower. “Too bad the elves didn’t give me a new sword. Sooner or later, I’ll have to get a better one. If I continue to get stronger, my blade will need to be as well.”

“Are you still adjusting to your new strength?” Eldras queried as he cocked his head.

Aric nodded, then cocked his head upon second thought. “Yes and no. I don’t feel like I’m at full strength even now.” He pointed at the venison. “Hopefully this helps. But…it is strange.”

“The more I grow, the stronger you will become,” said Eldras. “I’ve seen it in some of my memories. There was a human dragonmage who could stave off a dozen elves with blade and body alone.”

Aric narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Who was he?”

“She,” Eldras corrected. He let out a huff. “But her identity I can’t see.”

Aric turned the sword over and laid it flat on the ground. With a few drags, he halfway cleaned it. “Should I name it? Don’t know if I’ll get another one before we reach Bӧr Mesari.”

“All of the dragonmages have named their swords,” said Eldras. “As well as other weapons imbued with magic. Orcs have named weapons of chaos and destruction. Humans did as well—or at least in the first age.”

Aric cocked his head. “What do you know about the ages of man?”

“I have memories that come to me here and there,” Eldras said softly as he eyed the venison. “Of course you know that, but there are many that seem to be…useless. I don’t understand how they pertain to you or us at the moment. But I have seen glimpses of the first age of mankind. Or at least, memories of someone else’s memories.”

“What was it like?” asked Aric. “The world before…all of this?”

“The memories I have of the time before elves and dragons was riddled with war, famine and disease,” said Eldras. “But it was nothing in comparison to what came after the elves.”

Aric’s heart sank. “You mean humans were here on Maerïnor first?”

Eldras turned to Aric. “Would you like me to show you?”

Aric swallowed a lump in his throat. He slowly nodded. He pulled the venison off of the rocks and set them on a makeshift platter he had crafted by weaving evergreen branches together. “Yeah. Show me.”

Eldras stepped closer and leaned his head down. He pressed his forehead against Aric’s and closed his eyes. “Relax and let me control the heart spark for a moment.”

Aric took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had shared a memory with Eldras before and had learned not to resist. The darkness behind his eyelids turned red, as if facing the high sun with his eyes closed. Then all faded to white. He slowly opened his eyes.

The sun, high in the sky, was brighter and clearer than ever. The sound of voices slowly came into focus. Aric turned around. Before him was a building tucked away in the forest. It was unlike any structure he had ever seen before; the walls were smooth, gray stone. Windows were perfectly square, filled with black glass.

The roof was covered with olive-colored, shimmering steel. Aric cocked his head. “Eldras, can you see this–what I'm seeing, I mean?"

“I can," said Eldras.

Two men walked past Aric, then a third passed through him. He gasped and stumbled backward. “What the fuck?"

“It's a memory," said Eldras. “You aren't really there. But you can move around and witness everything."

Aric furrowed his brows. “That's not a memory if I can walk around and go anywhere, Eldras. It's–it's more like a glimpse into the past." His heart began racing at the revelation. “What is this place?"

“It's best if you see for yourself," said Eldras. “Go through that door."

Aric walked toward the building. The front door had a window in it, with white lines in a perfectly squared crisscross pattern. He opened it and squinted. Bright, blueish white lights lined the ceiling. He stared down a long corridor. The walls were smooth and bright white, lined with wooden doors.

He arched his brow and inspected the lights. “What kind of lanterns are those?"

Eldras laughed in Aric's mind. “They are not lanterns, but lights powered with lightning. Humans used lightning to power their cities and many other things. They called it electricity."

“Electricity," Aric mumbled to himself.

“Go to the end of the hallway and turn left," said Eldras. “You will see what this place was."

Aric narrowed his eyes. “Have you spent time in these memories?”

“Many nights I have, yes.”

Aric did as he was instructed. As he turned left at the end of the hall, he halted. A wide window was stuffed where there should be a wall. Beyond it was a massive room, fifteen feet high. Inside the room were a dozen people, men and women dressed in the same white overcoats he had seen in the first memory Eldras showed him.

And on a silver flat table was an elf. She was naked, her eyes closed. Her blonde hair splayed out without a braid or bead, her pointy ears jutting out. The people in white stood around her with flat pieces of wood in one hand, a thin stick in the other.

One of the men stepped forward and grabbed her cheeks. With a squeeze, he opened her jaws and gazed into her mouth. With a thumb, he pulled her upper lip up and examined her teeth. “Notice the double set of elongated canines.”

“And how did you come to the conclusion this was a necessity?” asked one of the women.

The man who was bent over the elf shook his head and released her. She didn’t move. “We didn’t. The strands of coding just…decided it was necessary for longevity.” As he stood, he gazed upon her breasts. “Fascinating.”

A second man walked around the table and gestured to the elf. With a quick pull, he spread her legs open. “Notice anything different?”

Two of the men and one of the other women in white coats blushed. “N-no, doctor. What am I missing?”

The man holding the elf’s legs looked up at his colleagues from under his brows. “Nothing. It is the exact same—inside and out, down the reproductive organs.”

“So at least some part of us transferred over,” said the first man. “Now, if we can select these changes to the coding and inject them into our own DNA, bind them with the right combinations, we may be able to start seeing these changes directly from birth.”

Aric's stomach twisted in a knot. “What the fuck are they doing to her?"

“They…" Eldras trailed off.

Aric's chest grew tight. “They what?"

“They made her," Eldras said. A sensation of disgust filled the bond.

Aric narrowed his eyes. “Made her?"

“Humans sought to defeat death and disease," said Eldras. “They used to have methods of doing things, and understanding things in this world. They created something stronger than humans that they could take apart to study humans' weaknesses.”

“They created something that would destroy the world,” Aric said without thinking. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “How long ago was this?”

“It was near the end of the first age of man,” said Eldras. “Nearly ten thousand years ago.”

Aric looked down, averting his eyes from the nude elf and barbaric humans around her. He wanted to run in a disembowel every one of them. Elf, orc, or human it mattered not. What she was being subjected to was vile. He sighed as he realized he could do nothing. It had already passed. He let go of his guilt and shook his head. “How do I get out of here?”

“Just will it be so,” said Eldras. “See yourself back in your own physical form.”

Aric closed his eyes and did as he was told. A cool breeze blew his hair across his face. He opened his eyes to see the Castil Forest once more. Shaking his head, he rose to his feet. His heart hammered in his chest. “This world has been full of bastards and victims longer than the elves have walked the dirt.” He laughed dryly, sardonically and turned to face Eldras. “Nothing we do is going to change a damn thing.”

The dragon brushed against him, a sense of calming filling the bond. “What we do may not matter so much in a millenia. But here and now, we can spare savagery and prevent victims. We can help many people.”

Aric chewed the inside of his lip as he picked up his sword, which must have fallen in his trance. “And here the elves think I’m going to destroy the world.”

“Maybe the prophecy does name you.”

“What do you mean?”

“It could mean you are a World Breaker in a way that you will destroy a way of life,” said Eldras. “Maybe you aren’t the bringer of literal death. If you destroy the hatred and the wedge between factions and races, then you fulfill that prophecy. You will be a destroyer, while being a savior.”

“Trust me, boy,” Aric said solemnly as he sheathed the sword. “If it comes to war on you and I from the elves, and it is looking like so—even if we help them—I will be that destroyer they fear.” He turned and looked at the dragon. “I’ll kill every last fucking one of them to protect you.”

Eldras dipped his head low. “Then we have to have hope that it comes down to peace. We show them our power, our usefulness, and our honor.”

Aric snorted and shook his head. “Not a damn one of them elves care about the honor of a human they’ve promised to execute or turn over to the druids.” He walked over and laid his hand on Eldras’s shoulder. “We will do what we have to in order to protect what’s right. We’ll do what’s just by the dragons, by magic.”

He downcast his eyes and swallowed a lump in his throat as a sense of dread filled his tightening chest. “But they aren’t going to forgive. And the druids won’t forget just yet. Our deaths are but a gift to the tree lovers, and a convenience to the elves now. Two birds and all that shit.”

Eldras stepped forward. He was now nearly as tall as Aric. He pressed his forehead against Aric’s. “Things will work out. We will show the world we belong as much as any other. And if all fails—and we have to kill them all—then we don’t have to stay in Verilia. There is a whole world out there.”

Aric wrapped his arm around Eldras’s neck and held him tight for a long moment. Time seemed to stand without motion. The world faded away. And just as it did, his heart raced with fear of Eldras’s death. “So the fate of the fireborn is tied to the fate of the Elmerïan.”

“Since the moment I chose to bond with you,” said Eldras.

Aric thought of everything and everyone he had survived and outlived. A single tear rolled down his cheek. He quickly brushed it aside with his sleeve and cleared his throat. “We should go as soon as possible.” He released Eldras and turned away from him. “It’s a long journey ahead.”

“You don’t have to do that,” said Eldras.

Aric walked around the fire and picked up his cooking stick. Flipping the venison over, he asked, “Do what?”

“Act tough and strong,” said Eldras. “I can feel your heart spark, remember?”

Aric looked back over his shoulder and nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered. “But if I act strong, and trick my mind into believing I’m tough, it’s easier to make the hard decisions. It’s easier to be the destroyer I need to be, to whoever I need to destroy.”

Chapter 43:

Heritage Taken

Donalis shook his head. “They are not ready, my Lord.”

“They have had more days to train for this than most regimes get to go into full frontier battle, Donalis,” said King Paulus. “When?”

Donalis took a deep breath and folded his arms. He overlooked three-hundred and fifty-seven Gray Guards. Most had been recalled back to Grayhorn from various, smaller outposts. “Another week or two.” He nodded. “Truthfully, only the breakers needed to train more. But their job in securing the dragonmage and his dragon was the hardest. We can not afford to have them mess up.”

“You’ve a day,” said Paulus.

“Sir,” Donalis blurted, then halted.

“Are you forgetting the diplomatic side of this mission?” asked Paulus. “You have planned for a two week sail south, then a five day trek through the Castil Forest. Then, we march to Maervorna and from there, onto Ambermead, where I begin to stroke the ego of King Randton and Queen Fraeg, respectively, of course. How much time should I spend on this campaign?”

Donalis cleared his throat. “My Lord, you do know they waged battle over the territories of-”

“I do not giving a flaming fuck about their trivial squabbles over land,” Paulus growled. He turned toward Donalis and jammed his finger into his chest. “We leave overmorrow. Figure out how to make that happen, Knight Lord.” He turned and walked away. Over his shoulder, he said, “Even if you have to train them on the fucking ships.”

Donalis’s heart raced in his chest. He sighed and leaned over the railing overlooking the training court. “Fuck.”

“Sorry,” said Nathalior behind Donalis. “Couldn’t help but overhear-”

“There is a difference between dropping eaves and happening upon a conversation,” Donalis interrupted. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Your eaves were dropped on purpose. So spit it out.”

Nathalior chuckled nervously. “It…sir?”

“What do you want?” Donalis asked impatiently as he turned to face Nathalior.

Nathalior cleared his throat and looked down. “Right. Well, be it as I am still on the King’s Quest to track down the target, I thought once we reached the southern coast, I could go into Velensmir under the cover of night and-”

“There is no cover of night with elves,” said Donalis. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “They see in the dark.”

Nathalior rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Well, if he made to Velensmir, I should like to volunteer to scout ahead and-”

“Your job is laid out before you, bard.” Donalis turned back and watched the men and women training below. “Once we make landfall, you will seek out the target. You will inform us if he indeed did reach the elven city. If he has, then we will take it.”

Nathalior opened his mouth to speak, then halted and nodded. He sighed and sagged his shoulders. “Yes, sir. Hmm."

Donalis could feel the bard's eyes boring into him, an unpleasant sense he had come to know too well. He rolled his eyes. “What is it?"

“Sir, I—I haven't been completely honest with you."

Donalis's heart jolted, but he wouldn't show it. He casually turned around. “About?"

Nathalior's cheeks reddened. “I have—had—my own reasons for taking on the King's Quest."

Donalis for his arms. “Aye? Spill it."

“My sister is in Velensmir…sir.” Nathalior sighed deeply, as if relieved to finally have the information shared with another. “She’s a servant there and—well, she can’t leave.”

Donalis took a deep breath and cocked his head. “Your sister. You swore an oath to King Paulus of Grayhorn, the most powerful king in Verilia…for your sister? Not to necessarily earn her freedom— as you haven’t requested such—but to find a way to get close? Do I have that right?”

Nathalior looked up at the sky and cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. I will rescue her myself.”

Donalis shook his head. “Humans are not granted to the elves for servitude beyond our military efforts.”

Nathalior nodded and licked his lips. He cocked a brow. “She isn’t exactly human. A hafӧrn.”

Donalis’s chest tightened. “A hafӧrn,” he said softly. “Do you share the same mother or father?”

“We—” Nathalior paused and bobbed his head back and forth as his eyes focused on nothing and everything at once. He chuckled nervously. “We share both.”

Donalis’s heart sank. “Both,” he said as he furrowed his brows. “Speak clearly now, bard. If you are saying what I think you are, that’s borderline treason; showing up as a human to do human’s work with the blood of elves flowing through your veins. The blood of our enemy.”

Nathalior cocked his head. “Enemy?”

“The elves are the enemy now,” Donalis said sternly. “Tell me the truth. Are you a fucking hafӧrn?”

Nathalior cast his eyes down, his face twisting like a child who had just been caught doing something afoot. “Yes, sir.”

Donalis clenched his fists in preparation to break Nathalior’s nose. The blame will equally fall onto me for hiring the bard. The tracker. The bloody fucking hafӧrn.

“Gods damn it, Nathalior.” He rushed forward and pressed his hand against Nathalior’s chest, driving him backward fifteen feet until he was pressed into the wall. “Do you have any idea the kind of shit you have put me in for this?”

He looked at Nathalior’s ears, then reached up and touched them. “As round as a human’s ears. Face isn’t as sharp. Nothing about you is evident you’re a hafӧrn.” With a shove, he pushed Nathalior aside and turned back around. “You’re lucky.”

Nathalior’s eyes were wide as he stared at Donalis. “Are you going to tell the king, sir?”

Donalis waged a battle in his mind over the morality of the situation. He sighed and stepped back. “No, I’m not going to tell the fucking king. I would be in just as much trouble as you.”

“Then you’ll help me,” said Nathalior, his brows raised.

“The fuck if I will,” said Donalis. “You are on your own with this little side quest.” He glanced over his shoulder, then wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “But, once you’re inside Velensmir—” he paused and shook his head, “—I cannot say what you will do. And if you decide to dance in the dark, it had better stay in the fucking dark.”

Chapter 44:

Inferior

Moro winced and clutched his side as pain burned his right rib. Still, he bent over and picked up his dagger. “Again.”

“Two weeks, you do bad,” said Thar’lok. His axe was held over his shoulder, resting as he pointed at Moro. “You have will. You have skill. You want go better? Lose spread knives.”

Moro stood up as straight as possible without adding more pain to his side. “They aren’t spread knives. They’re daggers. And with a vest full of them, I could cut you into many pieces.”

Thar’lok laughed, which caused the other five hargrols behind him to laugh. He lifted his axe. “I make pieces with this itself. Need no more axes.”

Moro glanced up at the human-torso-sized curved blade of the axe. “Yeah, but you’re a fucking giant. I couldn’t wield that.”

“You no like swords?” asked Thar’lok.

Moro thought of Aric’s ebony blades. “Sentinels are put together by their unique skill set. Mine was daggers. Only now, I have but two. If I throw them, I’m down a weapon.”

“Change skill then,” said Thar’lok. “We make you axe. You half orc now. Be like orc.”

Moro looked down at the daggers he was gifted. “I suppose…I am stronger now.” He shoved the blades into the sheaths on the small of his back. “So the last two weeks of training were for nothing.”

“You learn nothing new,” said Thar’lok. “You fight orcunae many years. We make axe you. You fight new.”

“Will that be all for today then?” asked Vig’ka from behind Moro.

Moro spun around with a natural smile. “Always ready to train with you, Vig’ka.”

“Good,” said Vig’ka. He bowed his head. “I will take him from here, General.” Thar’lok gave a nod and turned toward the hargrols. Vig’ka lay his hand on Moro’s shoulder. “Walk with me.”

As the orc walked away, Moro narrowed his eyes. “Where are we going?”

“You will see,” said Vig’ka.

Rather than walk down the path to a small encampment Moro had been training for the past two weeks, Vig’ka led him higher in the mountain. For nearly a half hour, they climbed steadily. The path was too narrow for Moro to walk beside him, so he trailed silently behind him.

Once they reached the top of a steep hill, it flattened into a plateau. There was a wide square pin of sorts with small, black, winged creatures in the middle. Seven valravs sat astride their valravn. “What is this place?” asked Moro.

“You learned the basics of fûrin quickly,” said Vig’ka.

“Not much to learn,” said Moro with a shrug. “You take the life of something and turn that potential into raw power. The bigger the death and potential, the more you can do with it. Might just be the easiest type of magic I’ve heard of.”

“General Thar’lok seems convinced you are more orc than human now if he insists you take up axe training.”

Moro smirked and shrugged. “Daggers won’t get me very far in combat now, will they?”

Vig’ka halted and looked sideways at Moro. “That depends entirely on you. You have the strength of an orc now. Maybe not a hargrol, but much, much stronger than a human. That means you can be faster, like the valravs here.”

“They couldn’t fight a hargrol without their bows,” Moro said with a laugh.

“Then you do not know valravs,” said Vig’ka. He turned and continued walking forward. “This is where they train.”

Moro looked around with a new light. “They train here? I figured they’d train somewhere with lots of targets.”

“Our targets are too far for one stretch of land,” said a tall and thin orc.

Moro halted and turned to see who had spoken to him. “I often forget how powerful your ears are.”

“It is not the ears,” said the orc in the middle. He nudged his heel into the side of a valravn, sending it forward. “It is patience. The patience to understand what sound is. What smell is. We hone our skills from the skies, from afar.”

Moro shoved his hand out. “Moro.”

The orc looked at Moro’s hand and narrowed his eyes. “You must earn that, hav’fjod.”

Moro shook his head as he lowered his hand. “What does that mean?”

“It means halfblood,” said the orc. He pressed his fist against his chest. “I am Everdrom the Patient. I will be teaching you about the valravn. When yours is ready, you will learn to soar as we do, as the dragons and their riders do.”

Moro couldn’t help but grin. He shot a quick look at Vig’ka, who simply nodded. “I’m ready for that.”

“You are not,” said Everdrom. “You haven’t even chosen your valravn yet.”

Moro’s eyes widened. “I get to choose?”

Everdrom laughed menacingly and walked past Moro. “You must choose!”

Moro’s stomach twisted in a knot. He looked at Vig’ka. “That sounded like a command.”

“It was,” said Vig’ka. “Nothing happens on this point with the valravs and valravns without the consent of Everdrom. He has led them for five decades. There is none wiser than him on the matter. Do as he says. You will master magic soon, then ground combat. But this—” he paused and looked around, “—will take most of your focus. And your valravn will take much of your time.” He gave Moro another nod. “Go with Everdrom. Choose your valravn.”

Moro swallowed a lump in his throat. He had never so much as cared for a dog, let alone a creature that could grow to four times his weight and look him square in the eye while on all fours. He slowly made his way to the pin, watching a dozen valravn pups wrestle and run amok.

Everdrom leaned over the railing of the fence surrounding the nursery. “You must choose what is in your heart. Choose not which looks best. Choose what feels best.”

Moro watched with amazement at the valravns’ agility even at such a young age. He glanced at the valravs sitting on adult valravns. “How old are they?”

“Just weaned,” said Everdrom. “With proper training, assuming they grow well, they’ll be flight ready in just over a month.”

“Just over a month,” Moro said quickly. He thought of the fight ahead of them. “That’s-”

“When you will need the valravn the most,” Everdrom interrupted without looking at Moro. “I will leave you here for now. In one hour, I will return. And you will choose.”

“An hour?” questioned Moro with furrowed brows. “Why an hour? I can just pick one now and we can get started.”

Everdrom shook his head and leaned toward Moro. “And what if none of them pick you? Then you must earn the bond. If they don’t want you, they won’t fly for you. Valravns are some of the most fierce, yet some of the most stubborn creatures in the world.”

Moro narrowed his eyes on the pups. “How am I supposed to earn their choice?”

“You will know,” said Everdrom. He walked away, muttering over his shoulder, “in an hour.”

For what seemed like an eternity, Moro leaned over the fence and watched the pups. Some of them ate raw meat in a wooden trough. Some drank. Some slept. Some played. After a while, he noticed a fairly small valravn. It was backed into the far corner of the fence by three larger pups. They nipped at her, whipped their tails in her face, and nudged her to the ground. Before long, a fight broke out.

Moro’s heart jolted as he watched three more valravns rush to take down the runt of the pack. “What are they doing?”

“She’s the weakest,” said Vig’ka.

Moro turned around with a start. “I didn’t realize you were still here.”

“I too am a patient orc,” Vig’ka said with a smirk. He walked over beside Moro and leaned on the fence. It groaned under his weight. Pointing at the runt, he sighed and shook his head. “They’ll kill her, probably eat her. The pack is as strong as the weakest of them. She’ll hold them back.”

Moro’s chest grew tight as he watched the runt dip her head low and growl, a screech akin to a dying wolf and a raven’s caw mixed. She would lung forward and grab one of the larger pup’s legs. Just as she would land an attack, two more would knock her down.

“No,” Moro said. “Look how she fights.” He pointed at a plump little pup sleeping fifteen away. “You’re telling me an orc would rather have that one than her? She-”

“Is a runt,” said Vig’ka. “The smallest always die.”

Moro shook his head and began climbing over the fence. “Not this time.”

“What are you doing, Moro?” hissed Vig’ka. “It is not time for you to choose yet. Everdrom will-”

“If I wait, she’ll be dead,” Moro called over his shoulder as he sprinted to the far corner. As he approached, the pups turned their teethed beaks toward him and screeched. He kicked the dust and rocks at his feet. “Get back. Get back—you little fucking cowards.”

A thick pup lunged at Moro’s ankle. He kicked it, as he would a small ball. It yiped like a dog pup as it rolled across the ground. “Aye!” an orc yelled from behind Moro.

Turning, Moro realized two orcs had climbed over the fence. “I’m taking her,” he said, pointing at the runt.

“Isn’t how we work!” yelled one orc, removing his axe from his back holster.

“You don’t pick!” growled a shorter orc, although he was still a hargrol and had two feet on Moro’s height.

“I am picking,” Moro said through clenched teeth. He drew the daggers from his belt.

“Moro, don’t!” Vig’ka called from across the nursery.

The orcs marched quickly toward Moro. His heart pounded in his chest. Is this worth it? he questioned himself. He stole a quick glance back at the runt. Her tormentors had fled now. Will they just kill her?

“She is inferior,” said the first hargrol. “She will die and get others killed.”

Moro’s anger flared now. “You’re just afraid she has more fight in her than the others.” The orcs were almost upon him now. The first lifted his massive axe. Without hesitation, Moro threw a dagger underhand. It stabbed into the orc’s leg.

The orc roared and dropped to his wounded knee.

Moro leaped forward and jumped over the orc just as the second swung a rusty axe horizontally. As he passed over the hargrol, he slammed his knee into the orc’s nose, spraying black blood with his enhanced strength. As he landed, Moro tripped and fell forward. Attempting to scramble to his feet, he realized nearly all the valravs were now surrounding the fence, watching a human fight two orcs.

He rolled over just in time for the second orc to grab his foot and sling him like a toy into the air. Moro smashed against a fence post, upside down. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs and sent a bright burning of pain through his spine before he landed on the top of his shoulders and collapsed like a sack of potatoes onto the dirt.

Two pups ran to Moro, screeching as he nipped at his limbs. He swatted at them, but they only dodged, then recharged their attacks. “Piss off!”

“Inferior she is,” said the orc. “Just like you. Maybe she is a good fit. I’ll kill you both.”

Moro turned himself rightside up and pressed his back against the post. One of the pups leaped forward and bit his hand. Without a thought, he grabbed it by the neck swiftly and heard a pop. He broke the pup’s neck.

The orc roared something in Ǒernthuk and ran toward Moro.

Dropping the pup’s limp body onto the ground, Moro held out his hand and focused as he had practiced to siphon the potential out of his kill. The veins in his left hand turned dark beneath his skin. Just as the orc was upon him, he thrust his hand forward, imagining the power as five shards of stones. From his palm, a black and purple cloud burst, then quickly solidified into jagged rocks.

The shards rocketed forward at an alarming rate and passed through the hargrol. The orc was thrown backward, his body rolling twenty feet across the ground. His arms and legs flail about unnaturally until he slid to a halt on his face. He was dead before he stopped moving.

Moro quickly looked up at Vig’ka, who’s eyes were narrowed, his face twisted in a glooming disappointment. Moro’s heart sank as he slowly looked around. “I’m sorry. I—he was trying to kill me.”

The first orc stood with a grunt and pulled the dagger from his knee. “You killed a hargrol. A human…” He trailed off as he looked at the valravn runt.

“She’s yours,” said Everdrom.

Moro spun around to see Everdrom leaning against a small arms shed. “I didn’t mean-”

“Perhaps she fights like you and we will all be surprised.” Everdrom looked at the dead orc. “If the Gods will it, we will gain victory with your help.”

Moro swallowed a lump in his throat. For the first time since he had arrived in Az’ Grim, he felt he was in the wrong. Guilt sent a wave of nausea through his stomach. He turned and looked at the valravn pup. Kneeling, he held his hand out. At first, she backed into the fence, craning her neck to stay as far away as she could.

Moro nodded, keeping his focus on the pup, and not the eyes he could feel were upon him now. “Come on, little girl. I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

“She will not understand your tongue,” said Vig’ka as he walked down the fence line. “She was born by orcs.”

“How old is she?” Moro asked.

“Two months,” said Vig’ka. “Maybe less.”

Moro reached out his hand toward the pup. “Nothing in this world is born with language, Vig’ka. She’ll learn what she is taught.” The valravn sniffed the air and inched closer to Moro’s hand.

“You are going to teach a valravn the tongue of man?” questioned a valrav by the fence.

Moro turned to see a tall, thin orc with dark olive colored skin. Three white lines were painted on his face. Like most of the riders of the valravn, he wore a sleeveless leather vest, leather leggings, and fur lined boots. A long, bone-like bow was strewn across his back.

“I will teach her what’s best for us as a pairing,” said Moro. He glanced at Vig’ka, who had a shallow grin, before looking back at the pup. “Come on, little girl,” he said softly, turning his palm skyward. “You’re safe with me.”

She kept her head low, her rear down, as she slowly moved closer. She pressed her beak against Moro’s hand. Quickly, she fluttered her feathered wings and leaped backward.

Moro smiled. “There, there. You’re alright. Come on.”

The valravn moved forward again, her dark beady eyes trained on Moro’s face. Bobbing her head up and down, she sniffed the air. At last, she touched his palm and held still.

Moro smiled wider. He slowly moved his hand around her head and petted the side of her neck. She was no larger than a medium sized dog, whereas the other pups were both taller and thicker. Carefully, Moro slid his hand under her belly and lifted her. She didn’t squawk or kick. Moreso, she went limp as he picked her up.

Pulling her close to his chest, Moro cradled her softly. Strange it was to feel fur and feathers on the same creature. Her front paws had talons, like a raven. Yet her hind paws were wide and thick, padded with sharp claws, like a wolf. She nestled against his chest.

“What will you call her?” asked Vig’ka.

Moro stood and turned. She was lighter than he had expected her to be. “I don’t know yet. I’ve never had to name something besides my daggers before. That seemed silly. This is-”

“It is never ridiculous to name a weapon,” one of the valravn interrupted. She had long red hair, braided down her back. On her hips were four daggers. “Weapons are but an extension of ourselves, and yet they are their own device. Without them, we would perish, would we not? We name them, as we would name our offspring.”

Moro gave the orc a nod. He looked at the other valravs standing across the training grounds. “What about the valravns? How do you view them?”

“As a dragonmage would view their dragons,” said the first valrav. He looked at the red-haired orc. “Ca’lisi chose me as much as I chose her.” He looked at the hargrol still lying on the ground. “And no orc has chosen a valrav like that before.”

The second valrav spoke softly. “She has taken a liking to you already. Most do not like being held. Treat her well, give your heart to her. And when battle comes, she will wedge herself between you and death, if she needs to.”

Moro looked down at the pup. She looked up at him, sending a flutter to his stomach. Something about her made him feel an affection he had never felt for another creature before. His chest swelled as he thought of the other pups attacking her. Turning, he looked at Vig’ka.

“When can I start training her?”

Chapter 45:

Presence of Mind

After nearly two weeks of steady travel northwest, the Castil fanned out as the evergreens gave way to small hills. Then the small hills opened up into larger hills that grew jagged the more Aric and Eldras crossed them. After two days of walking across rocks, Aric turned and looked back. Trees were now a thing of the past and distant future. Desolation existed now as their only company.

After the third day, Aric halted. “We should camp here,” he said, pointing at a shallow cave.

Eldras looked up and down at stone teeth jutting out of the walls of massive rock claws. A dim sense of fear leaked into the bond. “What is this place?”

Aric looked up, turning in a full circle to inspect the valley they were in. “This is the Fanged Steppes.” He took a deep breath and walked into the cave. “Not a place we want to stay for longer than a night.”

“Wait!” Eldras barked. A sense of panic flooded into the bond.

Aric’s heart jolted as Eldras sped past him into the cave. He removed his sword without a second thought. “What is it?”

“Someone…someone has been here,” said Eldras. “Recently. And a lot.”

Aric narrowed his eyes and slowly walked forward toward the darkness. His vision slowly adjusted to the belly of the cave. Flat rocks were piled neatly in the form of a bed. Charred rocks lay in a small pile, though no signs of ash remained. He held his free hand out and reached out with his mind. Nothing in the cave gave off a sense of energy. It was void, lifeless as stones beneath his feet. “There was a fire, but it’s cold now.”

“I can smell it.” Eldras’s head bobbed up and down as he sniffed the air. “Human. But…there was magic too.”

“Magic?” Aric whispered.

“Magic,” another voice whispered into his ear.

Leaping sideways with a start, Aric swung the blade horizontally. “Shit!” The blade whooshed through the air above a man who ducked.

Eldras turned and growled. He opened his mouth, releasing a burst of blue fire. The man held his hand up. An invisible barrier stopped the flames from biting into his flesh.

Aric’s eyes widened. The man was fast enough to dodge his slash. Now he was performing magic, holding back Eldras’s flames at that. But the worst part, the part that sent a chill up Aric’s spine was the ice blue eyes of the stranger that stared directly at him, disregarding the dragon as if it were a fly. Taking a few quick breaths, Aric summoned the energy from his core.

Pushing the power down his arms, Aric illuminated the cavern with a bright jet of light. This too the stranger stopped midair. Aric shoved his sword back into the sheath and thrust his second hand forward, unleashing the power forward.

The man began to slide backward, both of his hands held outward. “Very good,” he said with a raspy voice. With a flick of his wrist, Eldras was thrown to the back of the cave. He slammed into the wall and roared with pain.

Aric shot a quick glance at Eldras as panic filled the bond with a new surge of power. His chest grew hot. He knew the power as familiar now. Whatever this man was, Aric would not stand to let him hurt Eldras. He stepped forward toward the stranger and thrust harder, pushing the full might of the burning energy forward.

The man dropped his hand and leaped sideways thirty feet.

The twin beams of white light smashed through the wall of the cave, devoured the ground outside, burned through several more layers of sentiment and continued on toward the sky. Before Aric could turn to face the stranger, the man was at his side.

“Sleep,” said the man as he touched his index finger to Aric’s temple.

Aric felt his magic drain, withering to nothing in a snap. His strength vanished as he collapsed. Darkness took over his mind. And he slept.

Sometime throughout the night, Aric woke slowly. His entire body ached, but a single thought sprang to mind. He sat up quickly. “Eldras!”

“He’s fine.”

Aric turned on the ground to see the stranger sitting on a boulder. He reached back for his sword and grabbed at nothing.

“Just—wait a moment,” said the man.

Aric clammered to his feet and spotted Eldras lying at the mouth of the cave. “What did you do to him?!” he yelled as he ran to Eldras.

“He slumbers as you did,” said the man. “A stream of fire that powerful will take its toll on such a young dragon.”

Aric fell to his knees beside Eldras. The armor protected his fall. “Eldras,” he whispered as he lay his hand over the dragon’s midsection. Eldras breathed deeply, inhaling with a loud snore. Aric looked over the black scales but found no visible injury in the moonlight.

“As I said,” the man mused, “he slumbers.”

Aric swallowed a lump in his throat. “Who are you?” The man didn’t answer immediately. Aric stood and turned. “Who are you?”

“I think it’s best if you come sit,” said the man. “The answer is not so simple as a name. It never is. Is it, Aric Telendris?”

Aric stared at the man across from him. A shallow fire fed on not but magic. The stranger’s magic. “How do you know my name? And what are you? Did you make this flame? I can see the energy flowing out of you to sustain it and yet…you’ve shown no sign of fatigue.”

“What you see is the truth,” said the man. He whittled away at a small stick. Pausing for a moment, he looked up at Aric. “My name is Tirian. You already know my story.”

Aric’s stomach twisted in a knot. Tirian.

“Yes, Tirian,” said the middle-aged-looking man. Few gray hairs decorated the sides of his head, but most were still youthfully brunette. Unkempt, but youthful nonetheless.

“You can hear my mind,” Aric mused out loud.

“I can,” said Tirian. “Though, it is not necessary.”

“Then don’t,” Aric said sternly.

Tirian lowered his stick and the small blade. “You are an anomaly to this world.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “I’ll be honest with you; I don’t know what that word means. Just get to the point.”

Tirian cocked his head and grinned. “And which point is that?”

“Who are you?” asked Aric. “What are you?”

Tirian flexed his jaw muscles. “I have already told you who I am. You know my story, my history. You know what I am.”

Aric scoffed, then laughed sardonically. “Fine. I’ll entertain the idea. What do you want with me?”

Tirian cocked a brow. “Pardon?”

“Why did you knock us out?” Aric asked.

“You stepped into my home,” said Tirian. “Lest you forget.”

“If you are Tirian—the first human dragonmage-”

“Elmerïan,” Tirian corrected. He downcast his eyes for a moment, then looked at Eldras. “You know the name.”

Aric’s chest grew tight as he watched Tirian stare at Eldras. He quickly stood and moved between them, effectively blocking Tirian’s view. “I know the elves killed the Elmerïan and covered it up. They let their race continue believing in this…prophecy.”

“Killed me,” Tirian said with a dry chuckle. “They certainly tried.” He reached behind his back and pulled out a dagger. It was jagged, as if it had broken at some point long ago. The blade and handle were bone white, the hilt a wiry black iron. He turned it over and held it out in his palm.

Aric’s heart jolted. He immediately recognized the handle and glanced over at Eldras. It was a dragon spike. He leaned down and looked at the handle. “What is this?” he asked anyway.

“It is what remains of Carn,” said Tirian, his voice growing tight. “Dragonmage swords are forged by parts of a dragon and its rider.” He sighed and paused for a long moment as he stared at the handle. “In a way, they did kill me.” He returned the broken sword behind his back.

“What—” Aric paused, finding himself speechless. Tirian’s magic was like his own with Eldras. He had a dragon’s spike handle. He shielded himself from the full might of Eldras’s flames. “You—you’re really him? The Elmerïan?”

Tirian took a deep breath and nodded. “I was. No more. Elmerïan is an old word, crafted by even an older people. Elmerïana dru skanakt bӧr.”

Aric returned to his boulder on the opposite side of the fire. “What does it mean?”

Tirian gazed at the fire, then held his hands out to it. “It was taken by my fellow riders to mean lesser traveler of the skies. Elmerïan meaning traveler.” He looked up at Aric. “It was revealed later that there was nothing lesser about human dragonmages. We were more powerful than the elves. We fought disease better than the elves, the dwarves, the veremun, and the marsaeri.” He sniffled. “Certainly better than the atomin, the human witches.”

Aric cocked his head. “Veremorn and marseri?” He shook his head.

“Veremun and marsaeri,” Tirian corrected. Beings from other lands. Blood wraiths and wolf people.”

“I’ve never heard of them,” Aric said.

Tirian lifted his brows. “Nor should you have. But we Elmerïan loved, which is a far cry from what the elves feel for each other. And we fought with more vigor and intestinal steel than any other race or faction.”

Aric glanced at Eldras. He thought of the story of the first human chosen by a dragon. The part about continents being destroyed sprang to mind. He narrowed his eyes, unsure whether or not he should ask about it. I have to know who sits before me, he thought. He cleared his throat. “And the worst parts of the story. Are they true?”

Tirian slowly looked to the stone floor. He took a long breath, then sighed. “I fear telling the truth anymore—be it to myself or any other. But yes. I became what they feared I would in the beginning. I was the bringer of death and destruction. I was everything they said I would be, except the breaker of the world.” He looked at Eldras, then Aric.

“I aim not to make excuses,” he continued. “I only wish to give explanations. I, along with my dragon, was being hunted across the world.” He shook his head and furrowed his brows. “Not just us, but all human riders.”

“They said you destroyed multiple continents,” Aric said unemotionally, trying to keep his face straight.

“Yes,” said Tirian. “Elmerïans’ power stems from emotion. If pushed continuously, rigorously, the bond forces a dragon to evolve, to adapt. It forces both dragon and rider to become stronger—faster. And with that comes an incalculable increase of power. Not so much the first few. But after a year…two years? That power is hard enough to control at first. But to be constantly tested. Six times.” He nodded. “I—” He paused and took another deep breath, his cheeks flushing. “I lost control of my power six times during Carn’s growth bursts. Six times they found us, ambushed us. And in the end, he died for nothing.”

Tirian’s eyes welled with tears. He looked away and sniffled as he wiped them away. He cleared his throat. “You know not what it is like to lose such a thing. I pray the Gods never force you to endure what I had to.”

Aric’s heart twisted in his chest. He understood the lashing out of his own power. He tried to imagine if he and Eldras were attacked more often, how many would have died at his hands. Then he tried to imagine the level of power it would have taken to destroy continents. “You didn’t lose your magic though, did you?”

Tirian narrowed his eyes, then scoffed. “As if magic is what this is all about!” He stood and turned away from Aric.

Aric stood, realizing his words sounded accusing. “That’s not what I meant. I just—I need to understand. They’re hunting us now.”

Tirian sniffled again and turned his gaze toward the ceiling of the cave. “No. I didn’t lose all of my magic. About half of my power died with Carn.”

Aric’s brows inclined involuntarily. “Half? You are so much stronger than I am. And you’ve got to be like a thousand years old.”

Tirian turned around. “A side effect of being chosen; immortality.”

Aric’s stomach churned, as if he had been shoved off of a high cliff. “Immortality. That means-”

“That you must watch everyone you love and care for die,” Tirian interrupted. He nodded and rubbed his forehead slowly. “Not everything is a blessing.”

“Why did they stop hunting you?” Aric asked. “How have you remained hidden for so long?”

Tirian looked at Eldras again, as if checking on him. “Even though I lost much of my magic, I retained my knowledge of it all. Elmerïans train together. We learned how to control our power together.” He folded his arms. “You do not have anyone now, do you?”

Aric slowly shook his head. He gestured toward Eldras. “It’s just me and him.”

“In a perfect world,” said Tirian, “that is all you would need.”

Aric clenched his fists as he thought about the war, and the looming attack on the elven city. “But the world isn’t perfect, is it?”

Tirian shook his head. “Afraid not.”

“Then teach me,” Aric said sternly. “I don’t mean to try to push you into something but—to me—it seems there is a reason you’re still here.”

“Oh, I most certain believe there is,” said Tirian. His jaw muscles flexed as he sighed. “But it is not to train you, at least not yet.” He shook his head. “I cannot—I will not train you now. There is so much for you to learn the hardest way possible; on your own.”

Aric swallowed a lump in his throat. Something about Tirian’s voice came with a shadowed warning. “You’re afraid I’ll do what you did.”

“You will do what I did,” said Tirian. He looked down solemnly. Taking a deep breath, he looked at Eldras. “It is all but a matter of time passing before someone or something threatens him enough to force your power to show itself. And when that comes, there is no control. There is only management.”

Aric quirked a brow. “You seem to control it just fine. You’re more powerful than I could be, even with my dragon.”

“I am a shell of what I was,” said Tirian. “After so long of having the same amount of power, you learn to control it in many ways. But you are mistaken; I am not more powerful than you could be. You simply do not know what you are capable of yet. Grand and terrible things equally.”

“Then why not help me?” Aric demanded, glaring at Tirian. “What have you got left to lose—no offense.”

“No offense taken,” said Tirian. “I know my wealth. It is null but these rocks and this cave. Home is where I lie, hunt and roam. What I have to lose is what Verilia has to lose; this world. And this world has birthed such atrocities that must be eradicated first. Until then, I cannot strike.”

Aric’s stomach churned. “I don’t believe that. I mean, I don’t believe I’m capable of destroying this world. And I definitely think if it came to my power unleashing, I would stop it before it went too far.”

Tirian’s brows flicked upward. “Such are the words of every Elmerïan that came before you.” He took a deep breath. “I will help you now…but only once.”

“You’ll train me,” Aric said, a demand more than a question.

“No,” Tirian said sternly. He stood and pointed his finger toward the cave ceiling. “I will answer one question. Only one. Then, I fear, you must leave this place. I know where you are going. He is not large enough to fly but he will be soon. A day cannot be wasted here whilst your destiny awaits out there. A day—that is all that is needed to win or lose a battle. And even as the dust settles around a victor, a single moment can alter the course of a thousand lives.”

Aric slowly stood and cupped his hands on his hips. “One question. One?”

“Only one.”

“How detailed is your answer going to be?” Aric asked.

Tirian shrugged.

“Shit,” Aric hissed. “Alright. I want to know exactly how my magic works.”

Tirian cocked his head. “Daring, are we?”

“Curious,” said Aric. “Driven and curious. After all, I have a battle to join. I’d much like to survive it if at all possible.”

Tirian sighed and narrowed his eyes as a grin slowly tugged at his lips. “So be it. I gave my word. You posted your question. Unfortunately—” he paused and cocked his head. “You know what your magic is. You just lack the understanding of transforming one power to another. Essentially, that is our power. Elves use an ancient conjuring language to cast spells. Orcs use a sacrifice to power their spells. Druids call on the forces of nature. Dwarves are bound by honor and light. Witches weave threads of chance. Veremun and marsaeri have magic flowing through their bodies that increase them physically. Treants are bound to Maerïnor, and as eternal as she is herself.”

“Dwarves have magic?” Aric asked quickly. “I get that they’re real. They just…always seemed like a myth to me.”

“They’ve kept themselves hidden,” Tirian said. “Yes. They have magic. A light magic. Some used to call it divine. Less prone to violence and attacking, dwarves are the best healers and protectors in the world. Always have been. They’ll emerge one day and show this land why they were once mighty clans that ruled with cunning and intellect. Their ability to craft is unparalleled.”

Aric shook his head in disbelief. “I doubt that.” He took a deep breath. “Then how does this magic actually work?”

“In your memories, I have seen you use both heat and light energy to send forth bursts of energy.” Tirian smiled. “And you figured out how to make fire. A brilliant revelation to discover on your own, might I say.”

Aric’s heart leaped. “There are other forms of energy though, right?”

Tirian nodded. “The words are long forgotten to this world. However, knowledge still exists in parts of the world. There is movement, particle, magnetic, and alchemical. Each one can be harnessed in its raw form of power, then transformed into another form.”

Aric quirked a brow. “I used the heat from a campfire to reproduce a burst of light and heat.”

“Yes,” said Tirian. He chuckled as he glanced away, as if remembering something unbeknownst to Aric.

“Movement energy,” Aric said. He thought of a horse pulling a plow first. Then, he thought of the method of moving massive stones with logs. “It’s the energy that comes from leverage, or momentum, right?”

Tirian narrowed his eyes. “Nearly. I think it’s best if I show you.” He held his finger up. “This is it, though. I won’t show you the other forms of energy. Master movement, light, and heat, and you will devastate in every battle you enter—if you don’t sap yourself of mana.”

Aric’s heart began racing. He nodded and took a step toward Tirian. “Fine. I’ll take what I can get.”

Tirian gave a nod and stepped forward. He held his hands up. “Give me your hands.”

Aric hesitated for a moment as his chest grew tight. Then, he held his hands up.

Tirian pressed his hands against Aric’s palms. “When I push, focus on the energy I am using to try to move you.”

Aric closed his eyes as Tirian pushed. Concentrating on the arte, he tapped into the core of his power. He could see small strings of white energy against his hands. It was insignificant compared to the power that emitted from a flame. Regardless, it was there. That meant he could harness the waves of energy and pull it into his core. “I see it.”

“This amount of movement energy is nothing,” said Tirian. “But it is there. And it is everywhere. Wind pushing against you, a large boulder falling from a mountain, a spell designed to throw you back.” He paused for a moment and pushed harder. “Even someone trying to push you down. You can harness this power—steal it, and stop it. But that means you can also reproduce it with mana from your heart's spark.”

A sharp sting of panic filled Aric’s mind and chest. He opened his eyes and turned to see Eldras rising from the cavern floor.

“Aric!” Eldras roared and unfurled his wings. With a quick snap, he flew across the cave, his mouth wide open.

“Eldras, no!” Aric yelled.

Tirian turned and held his hand out before him. “It is alright.”

Eldras froze in midair, as if he were floating in invisible water. He flapped his wings harder and snapped his jaws. “Aric! He’s got a hold of me!”

“Let him go!” Aric roared, his stomach twisting with fear.

Tirian glanced at Aric, nodded, and dropped his hand. Eldras crashed to the floor.

Aric lunged forward and knelt. “Hey, boy! It’s alright. He was teaching me magic.”

Eldras rose and growled. “Magic? What is he?”

Aric swallowed a lump in his throat and looked back. “This is Tirian, the first Elmerïan.”

Eldras snapped his head backward. “Tirian? The—the-”

Aric looked back at Eldras. “Yes. He was helping.”

Eldras dipped his head low and growled again. “Then why did he attack us?”

Aric snorted. “It’s his cave, his home.”

Eldras straightened up slowly. His eyes turned back to Tirian. “I don’t like him.”

Aric nodded. “You don’t have to. He offered a single lesson, but he won’t teach me how to properly use my magic. He’s afraid I’ll become what he was. He’s afraid I’ll fulfill the prophecy after all and destroy the world.”

Eldras shifted uncomfortably. “Why would he…”

“You two may stay for the remainder of the day,” said Tirian. “I have given as you asked; the answer to one of your questions.”

Aric stood and whirled around. “Not exactly. You showed me where I can find another source of energy, not how to manipulate it, how to transform it, or how it works. I asked…how it works.”

Tirian huffed and chewed the inside of his lip. Back and forth, he glanced at Aric, then Eldras. “Very well. I will show you how to alter the state of energy. You know how to find it. You know how to harness it. This is the last step. Then, you must go.”

Aric cocked his head. “You just said we could stay for the remainder of the day.”

Tirian scoffed. “Such naivety. This will take the remainder of the day.” He gestured to the large boulder. “Sit.”

“Careful,” Eldras said as he followed Aric back to the large rock. Plopping down beside Aric, he stared unblinkingly at Tirian.

“When you finally understand what links one source of energy to another, how one form can be used as another, you will find your current state of confusion and ignorance amusing.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. Ignorance. What an asshole. You’ve had a thousand years of magic, AND you had other Elmerïans with you. He flexed his back straight and took a deep breath. “Let’s just get on with it. Then I’ll be off to Bȍr Mesari.”

“Don’t you think it’s odd, Aric?” asked Eldras. “This is Tirian? The Tirian? The first human dragonmage from a thousand years ago? Why is he not dead? Why is he here of all places? How do the elves not know he is alive?”

Aric took a deep breath. He kept his eyes averted from Eldras as he intertwined his fingers and pressed them against each other, releasing a series of cracks from his knuckles. “He can also sift through my memories. I have concerns as well.” He craned his neck to the side. “We’ll talk more after we leave. Promise.”

Eldras dipped his head low and blew smoke from his nostrils. “Fine. He should learn privacy though.”

Aric couldn’t help but smirk. “Now, where were we?”

“I revealed the movement energy to you,” said Tirian. “The trick to it, however, is not to rely on the force pushing against you personally. You will be extremely limited from where you can build your mana.”

Aric furrowed his brows. He thought of the sunlight when he first started trying to see the energy waves. “So I can draw movement energy from anywhere that has force behind it.” He shook his head. “There has to be another name for it.”

“There are names of each in the old language of this world,” said Tirian. “Light is called laegr. Heat is fojorn. Movement is kanodt. Magnetic is zinbral. And particle is atroni.”

Aric couldn’t help but smirk. “Here I thought you weren’t going to train me.”

“I am not,” Tirian said matter-of-factly. “Rather I am informing you of nonsensical, or more accurately put, useless information.

Aric shrugged. “Call it what you will. So to get down to it. How do I use movement energy. Kanodt—is that what you called it?”

“As I said,” Tirian said with an eye roll. “It is beyond simple and you already know how to do it.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. He thought the first time he moved energy from the deer into the core. Glancing at Eldras, his chest tightened. “What about the increased speed? The first time I used magic, time seemed to freeze.”

Tirian snorted. “Aye. Do not rely on that. It is instinctual, yet it is unexplainable. I’ve always thought it was natural for new dragonmages to experience. It will pass.”

Aric cocked his head. “It’ll pass?”

Tirian nodded. “It won’t last forever. And it isn’t something to be harnessed, or controlled. Your power will increase with time, and with power, so too will your physical form become…more. So, do not rely on things outside of your control.”

Aric cast his eyes down as he thought of Carcel, then he nodded. “I just have to…know how to harness and release. I have to know how to release it to achieve what I want.” He looked at Tirian with widened eyes. “Like with fire.”

Tirian grinned softly, then laughed. “Now I ask you; did I train you?”

Aric smiled. “I suppose not.” He thought of how he could use this revelation in the inevitable battles ahead and a thought struck his consciousness. “But…I don’t know how to get my magic to do what I want it to do. Sure, I figured out how to make a fire. I can blast heat and light together, but there has to be more to it than that.”

Tirian stopped laughing and nodded. “You have yet to scratch the surface of the abyss of your abilities and potential.” He downcast his eyes and sighed, his shoulders sagging, as if in defeat. “Alas, I will not guide you down into that darkness.”

Eldras lifted his head as a low hum rumbled in his throat. “Then he doesn’t care if we live or die in the battle ahead.”

Aric glanced sideways at Eldras, then looked to the cave floor. “Do you not care if we live or die?”

Tirian looked up at Aric, then turned to Eldras. For a long moment, his face twitched as he chewed the inside of his lip, then adjusted in his seat. He cleared his throat and finally spoke. “I care if you live under what are considerably false pretenses that you will change the world for the better. But, it is not so simple. Your life almost guarantees the end of so many other lives. You are—and will become even more so—a force of devastation.”

Aric’s eyes misted over. He slammed them shut and shook his head. “No. I keep hearing that, but it simply—” he opened his eyes and narrowed them on Tirian. “I won’t become you.”

A jolt of cautious apprehension swelled through the core. “Careful.”

Aric took a deep breath. “I don’t mean that to offend you. I mean that to give you hope. I will fix what has been broken. I will amend the tears in this world. And I will protect those who cannot protect themselves, even if I’m the only dragonmage doing it.”

Tirian flexed his jaw muscles. “I certainly hope so. For what it’s worth, this world is my home. But Verilia is more yours than mine.” He stood and shook his head. “I was going to show more. Explain more about this power. But I think this is a path you need to walk as I did—alone. This land is not large enough for two human dragonmages.”

Aric slowly rose to his feet. Tirian’s words clicked in his mind. “You’re leaving?”

Tirian slowly nodded and looked out through the mouth of the cave. “If I don’t, they’ll eventually find me. They always do. And I’m afraid one day, they will send you after me. Should that happen, this world will shatter.”

Aric’s heart began racing at the thought of being alone again, or at least only in the company of a dragon. “Where will you go?”

Tirian shrugged. “Who knows. There is a golden land across the seas. A land once vibrant with proud people. Of course, that was before it was stolen and reclaimed by others. Nonetheless, its beauty remains.”

Aric stepped forward and offered his hand. “For what it’s worth, thank you. You could have killed us without blinking.”

“You, yes,” Tirian said with a half smirk. He turned to Eldras as he took Aric’s hand in a firm grip. “But not you, Honored Dragon. I could never kill another dragon.”

Aric let go of Tirian’s hand and watched the older mage gather a large stick and a cloth sack, then depart from the cave. His stomach was still in fits at the words and warnings of Tirian.

“Be still, Aric,” said Eldras. “You are not him. And you may  not be some chosen one, bound by fate and fire. I chose you to be my bonded one for you. No prophecy will change what I knew then and know now, that you are a great man, honorable and just.”

Aric forced a smile and clapped Eldras on his thick shoulder muscle. “Thanks, boy. I think I needed to hear that.”

Chapter 46:

Honored Rider

Moro scratched beneath the feathered chin of Sage, just below and behind her beak. She purred as the jet black feathers on her back ruffled down to the fur on her tail, yet she kept her eyes on the small piece of fish in Moro’s hand.

Slowly, he lifted the fried meat higher, and higher. A smirk slowly crossed his face. “Easy,” he said slowly, a near whisper.

Sage inclined her head, her beady black eyes focusing. She halted, a miniature statue of the mighty valravns that roamed the skies.

“And—” Moro tossed the meat toward the ceiling, “—take it!”

Sage leaped skyward in a black blur and snatched the fish. A single flap of her wings and she landed almost silently.

Trenara sighed, shook her head, then chuckled.  “You are supposed to be training her, not spoiling her.”

Moro grinned and pet Sage’s head. “I am training her. She needs meat to grow. We’re working on commands and discipline as well as her strength.”

“If the valravs could see you now, you’d be the laughing stock of the orcunae,” Trenara said as she broke off a chunk of the gronklin. The massive, spiny fish the orcs often caught in nets just south of the shoreline was prepared in boiling salt water before being fried in hog lard.

Moro shrugged. “And when we take to the skies, we’ll be the legends of sagas.”

Trenara lay her hand on the back of Moro’s, though hers was the size of one and a half of his. “You are already destined to be in the songs of our future generations.”

Vig’ka cleared his throat.

Moro turned to see him standing in the doorway of the hut. “Good morning.”

Vig’ka cocked his head. “What…are you doing?”

“Father,” hissed Trenara. “We have spoken of this already. You know that we-”

“I am not referring to your hands, but of the pup—” Vig’ka’s eyes narrowed, “—in my dining room.”

Moro’s stomach sank. He glanced at Trenara, then back at Vig’ka. “Are you—do you not allow animals inside?” He thought of a dog a neighboring farmer had when he was a child. It had always gone in and out of their house.

“No,” Vig’ka said quickly. “Get him…out.”

Moro stood. “Her.”

“What?”

“He’s a she,” Moro said. Vig’ka let out a growl as his nostrils flared.

Nodding and picking up Sage, Moro moved quickly outside and set her down beside the hut. She had grown several inches over the last two weeks. But as Moro quickly noticed, she hadn’t accumulated the growth of any of the other pups in the nursery, which led to him bringing her home the previous night.

“Stay.” He turned and walked back toward the entrance of the house then stopped as he heard steps behind him. Slowly turning around, he glared at Sage, who was standing less than a foot away. “I said stay.” She sat and let out a whimper, then a high pitched chip. Moro smiled. “Good girl.”

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As the next few weeks sped by, Moro found himself in a series of repetitions; wake up, feed Sage, take her to the nursery, train with the other pups and valrav trainees, bring her home, eat supper, spend a couple hours with Trenara and Vig’ka practicing magic, then sleep. With each passing night, sleep came easier and easier, and it was never enough.

At six weeks old, Sage had grown large enough to look Moro in the eyes whilst on all fours. Her wingspan stretched to over eight feet. This day was an important day for the pups and for the valravs, with the addition of Moro as a rider in training.

He took a deep breath and scratched Sage’s favorite spot, just below her beak. “Ready, girl?”

Sage stood up straight and puffed her chest out. Her bushy tail wagged back and forth. She let out a low hum, then looked behind her. Her tail slowly dropped.

“Hey,” Moro said quickly, pulling her head back to face him. “Don’t do that. Don’t look at them. Don’t worry about them. You are faster. They are stronger. Just like the orcs are stronger than me, but I’m faster. Besides, I have this.” He overturned his hand and produced a small purple flame in his palm.

Over the past couple months, he had learned to siphon and hold sacrificed potentials in his mind and body. Though it would never be as extravagant or as elegant as elven magic, fûrin could be just as devastating. The only limit to the darker magic was potentials drawn in, and the mind of the caster.

Though the flame used most of the reserved power, Moro knew Sage would understand; they were both different from the other valravns and valravs. Showing his confidence was Moro’s way of convincing Sage she had nothing to worry about.

She bowed her head, shook it and let out a chirp. Then, she gazed back at Moro and unfurled her wings. Opening her obsidian beak, she let out a fierce cry that forced Moro to turn his head. He winced as her scream was amplified in his blood shifted ears. Patting her neck, he gave her one last nod, then a shove. “Show them, girl.”

Sage turned and pranced toward the center of the fenced-in nursery. Toward the other valravns.

“Are you nervous for her?” asked Vig’ka as he walked up to the fence and leaned on top of one of the posts.

Moro stared at Sage for a lingering moment, thinking of the test she was about to undergo. He slowly shook his head. “No. She’s fast.”

Vig’ka snorted. “Maybe one of the fastest valravns I have ever seen. Strange too, is it not?”

Moro looked down, but he didn’t turn to Vig’ka. He knew what the older orc meant. “She’s smaller than the others. But the fight she has inside her is twice as much as theirs.”

As Gra’lik, one of the valrav and valravn trainer, stepped into the center of the nursery, he held his hand up. Nine orcs waited around the outside of the fence, though none close to Moro.

“Want me to translate?” asked Vig’ka as Gra’lik began speaking in Ôernthuk.

Moro nodded. “If you would, please?”

Gra’lik spoke first, then Vig’ka repeated in the common tongue of Verilia. “As you all know, this is a test of agility, endurance, and the first step to seeing if your—” he paused and leaned closer to Moro, “—basically saying valravns, are capable enough to carry you all into the skies. Should they fail this test, they will be sent to the Southern Isles of Braedonthia to live out as free valravns.”

Moro furrowed his brows. “What?” he hissed.

Vig’ka cocked his head. “What did you miss?”

Moro narrowed his eyes and shrugged, his chest growing tight. “The part about Sage getting sent away if she fails this test.”

Vig’ka quickly looked away from Moro. “That was always a part of it. Remember?”

“No,” Moro said through clenched teeth. “You said if she fails the first test, she’ll have to train more if she’d ever hope to fly with me on her back.”

“And she would,” Vig’ka said slowly. “Only…not here.”

“Then I’m not—we’re not doing this.” Moro’s heart pounded in his chest as he started to climb over the fence.

Vig’ka grabbed Moro’s tunic and pulled him back to the ground. “What are you doing?” He pointed at the valravns. “This is tradition. If you want to be a valrav, this is the way to earn it.”

Moro shoved Vig’ka’s hand off of his shirt. “I’m not a valrav and never will be. I’m blood shifted, but I’m still half human. Can the valravs use magic?”

Vig’ka’s eyes flicked back and forth from Moro to the pups. “No.”

“Do the hargrols have my speed?”

“No.”

Moro stepped closer to Vig’ka, looking up into his eyes. “And can the sangribӧrs fight with a blade like me?”

Vig’ka tilted his head down. “Some can.”

“I’m not a gods damned valrav, Vig’ka.” Moro pointed at Sage. “She’s not supposed to be alive according to your traditions either, is she?”

Vig’ka clenched his jaws and took a deep breath. “No. But she-”

“Get her out of there,” Moro said sternly. “If she fails-”

“If you have such little faith in her,” said Vig’ka, “then you are right; you will never be a valrav, or fly into battle with the valravs. Whatever you choose to be to us, to Trenara, let it stand that you believe in your cause. Let the valravn take this test. If she passes, you will have passed not one, but three tests of three different roles.”

Moro thought of the hargrol test, in which he bested four hargrols in a bladed battle. Though the axe was different from daggers, he had quickly grown used to its weight in his hands. His speed and smaller frame made up for the battle with the giant orcs. Two weeks later, Vig’ka had given him the test of fûrin, which proved to be the easier of the first two tests.

But as he looked at Sage being dwarfed by the other valravns, his stomach churned. He had spent more time training her than he had Trenara over the past month and a half. He slowly nodded. “Fine. I’ll let her be thrown into the mix. But if she fails, she isn’t going anywhere.”

Vig’ka opened his mouth to speak, then halted. He gave Moro a single nod. “Very well.” He leaned on the fence post once more. “It is about to begin. Five archers will release their arrows. She must make all of them miss.”

Moro’s eyes widened as he realized it was a group of valravs that would be shooting at her. In his years as a sentinel, he had learned the prowess and accuracy of these archers. They could hit a man from a quarter of a league away. He tightened his grip on the top post rail. “She’s got this.”

“Dar tra’loktun,” said Gra’lik. The runt.

Moro’s heart sank. He knew the words well as a nickname Sage had gained from the orcs. She was a joke to them. He often wondered how much laughter they had behind his back. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he let out a crescendoing whistle.

Sage turned and bowed her head to Moro as the other valravs gave their unique whistles to call their valravns to the fence. She unfurled her wings and leaped into the air. Hovering in place, she let out a ferocious screeching roar.

“Rekht aed!” Gra’lik yelled.

Without warning, two of the archers released five-foot long black arrows. Sage rolled to the left and flapped her wings twice, doing a sideways somersault. The arrows soared past her.

Moro sighed and nodded. “Come on,” he whispered.

Several long seconds passed as every valrav, Moro and Vig’ka kept their heads turning back and forth between Sage and the archers. Then another released an arrow with no warning.

With a hard thrust of her wings, Sage rose above the arrow. Just as she paused, a fourth arrow was released. She dove to the side as the jagged arrowhead nicked her forehead. Screeching, her head was thrown backward. Then the fifth arrow was released, aimed directly under her chin where Moro had always scratched.

Moro’s stomach churned. She isn’t looking!

Sage turned her beady eyes downward just in time to see the arrow. She darted across the sky and tucked her wing. As if hit by a battering ram, she rolled sideways and roared, her wings folding inward as she raced toward the ground in a series of flips.

“No!” Moro yelled and jumped over the fence. Cheers erupted from the valrav trainees. Just before Sage hit the ground, she opened her wings and gave a hard thrust, kicking up a wall of dust.

Moro turned his face and covered his eyes as a thump hit the ground. No, no, no! Looking back, his heart leaped.

Sage was standing on all fours with the last arrow in her beak. She glared at the final valrav archers and growled. With a quick snap, she broke the arrow in half. Moro cheered with laughter and ran to her. Throwing his arms around her neck, he ignored the inevitable jeers from the trainees. No doubt many had come to watch her perish.

“You did it, girl!” Moro said as he hugged her.

One by one, valravns lifted off the ground and outmaneuvered death-by-archers. Moro watched with bated breath as the test finished and the trainees were called to the middle of the nursery.

Cheers and whoops rang out as  Gra'lik announced the first iteration of trainees to have every valravn pass in over a decade. Moro rubbed the thick feathers and fur on Sage's back as he smiled. Looking over at Vig'ka, his heart leaped. Standing beside her father was Trenara, a wide smile on her face.

“Two more steps," Vig'ka said as they walked back to their house.

Moro nodded. His focus for the past six weeks had been on the longest training the orcs had; to become a valrav. He knew the three phases from the beginning. “I think I'll pass archery," he said with a chuckle. “I've been shooting bow and arrows since I was a child."

“Not like a valrav," Trenara said as she wrapped her fingers around his hand. “You're something else now. The next test will take your senses to their limits. And it—" she paused and glanced at Vig'ka.

Moro recognized the look of worry on her face. He looked at Vig'ka and arched his brow. “What?"

Vig'ka sighed and cupped his hands on his hips. His brows crimped. “This test…is not like Ergoth's tests. Quite the opposite almost."

Moro thought of how he had to prove his morality to Ergoth. His stomach churned as the opposite of sparing a life would be taking one. “Do I have to kill something?"

Trenara turned and faced Moro. “Someone. An elf."

Moro let go of Trenara's hand and stepped back. “Why?"

“They are our enemy," said Vig'ka.

Moro glared at Vig'ka. “You were my enemy until I learned what is right."

“This is something Ergoth allows," said Vig'ka. He looked toward the sky and huffed. “Does that make it right? Who is to say?"

“No!” Moro growled. He looked at Sage and imagined flying her over Bör Mesari whilst he released arrows into the elves, the enemy.

“It doesn't. You want me to kill an elf? How do they even get elves here? Kidnap them from their families? Then what—tie them up and have me shoot them as if they are cattle?"

“No," Trenara said quickly, stepping toward Moro. “It's a test of your skill against theirs. Every elf is an archer. Many elves have magic. They will not be tied up like cattle. They will be armed with a bow, and arrows."

Moro's heart sank. His breath caught in his throat. “They—they'll be hunting me?"

“We are orcunae, Moro," Vig'ka said. “Have you already forgotten our honor?" His question came with a heavy filter of disappointment.

Trenara took Moro's hands again. “The test is not only about your ability with a bow. Whoever you are to kill…will be trying to kill you."

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The next two weeks passed slowly. The air had begun to grow colder at night as autumn set in. Moro spent less time with Sage, and more time with Trenara, shooting arrows at various targets ranging in distance from three hundred feet to a thousand. Never did it cease to amaze him at the distance he was now able to reach.

With each arrow he released from his custom bow, he imagined the targets as an elf. He had to. He wouldn't be hunting prey. He would be facing another predator, like himself. Though it didn't take away his reluctance, it helped knowing his life was on the line.

In his valrav training, Moro realized which of the orcs were the toughest. He had always seen the hargrol as the most elite orcs. But he would wager everything he owned a valrav would assassinate a hargrol with ease.

They had superior vision and hearing, agility and swiftness, and a range outside that of which most sangribörs could reach with a spell. And those that could sling a purple bolt of chaos, a valravn would simply dodge it.

“I would ask if you are nervous,” said Trenara as she handed him a three-foot-long arrow. “But I know how nervous I am for you."

Moro shrugged as he nocked the arrow. He kept his face unemotional. “It's combat. It's war. If an elf is trying to kill me, I won't hesitate." He narrowed his eyes. “If war is upon us, then war becomes us.”

Trenara lay her hand on his shoulder. “Why do you do that?"

Moro glanced at her sideways. “What?"

“Pretend you are fearless."

“I'm not afraid," Moro said dryly. He pulled back the arrow and aimed at a red bag sitting on a rock. The cacophony of waves crashing against the shore was a focal point for his distraction against his thoughts. He released the arrow. It knocked the bag off the stone.

“We are all afraid of death," she said as she took a step back.

Moro lowered the bow and turned to face her. “At one point, I wanted to conquer death, to control who I sent it to. Then, I welcomed it. And now—" he took a deep breath, “—I have something to live for. I have you. And I have a purpose."

Her eyes misted over as she stepped closer to him. “I will not be permitted to watch tomorrow, but you promise me you will come home to me before the sun falls behind the Bearmaw."

Moro swallowed a lump in his throat. “I can't."

Trenara's brows furrowed as a tear streamed down her cheek. “Why?"

Moro reached up and wiped her tears away. He set the bow on the ground and took her hands. “I won't make a promise that I can't keep. Death has no prejudice. And nobody owns heartbreak for themselves. But I can promise I will do everything in my power to return to you."

She leaned down and kissed him, wrapping her hands around his head. Moro wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Without warning, she picked him up and for a long time, they stood frozen in time, locked together at the lips and their hearts.

The next morning, Moro woke to an empty house. He remembered Trenara's words after they spent the night entangled in their bed. I will not be here when you wake. I will wait for your victorious return by the shore.

He walked out into the dining room and rubbed his lips, where mere hours ago hers were pressed against. He smiled and recollected the path he had been thrown upon that led to this moment. Luck had never been something he believed in. But as he sat in front of his breakfast plate, he couldn't imagine being anywhere else. How lucky have I become?

After finishing his bread, game meat and salted water, which took a month to get used to, he walked outside to see Sage lying on her dried grass bed. She chirped and rose to her feet.

Moro had a near permanent grin this morning as he weighed his privileges against the life of war he had known for so long. Though he knew a battle was rapidly approaching, he had faith in Az' Grim's victory. “Good morning, girl."

Sage had grown another foot taller since her own test against death. She now stood a head higher than Moro. Walking over to the fence, she leaned her head down.

He ran his fingers beneath her beak. “One last test for me, then it's us. You and me." He looked toward the overcasted sky. “Up there."

She turned her beak skyward and let out a low chirp, as if she understood. With a flap of her wings, she leaped over the fence and landed beside Moro.

He wanted to jump on her back, and ride her all the way to the northern plain beyond the Bearmaw where he would face down an elf. He was yet to be permitted that right until after his next brush with death.

Sage wrapped her neck around Moro. A final farewell until their next reunion. She wouldn't be permitted to come. Only the trainees and Gra'lik were allowed. With a final hug, he moved away quickly. He grabbed his bow and shoulder quiver leaning against the fence as he passed. The village quickly faded from sight.

Three hours later, he arrived at the valley leading down to the plains. He was the last trainee to arrive.

“You arrive beyond time," said Gra'lik, his common tongue on par with Thar'lok's.

Moro took that to mean he was late. He pursed his lips and nodded. “Apologies. I got turned around at a few of the paths."

Gra'lik, and the trainees, stared at him for a moment as they tried to decipher his apology and explanation. The valrav commander turned and snorted. He pointed down the valley. “Go."

Nobody moved. All of the young orcs whispered to each other and looked around. Gra'lik turned around slowly and pointed at Moro. “You. Go." He turned back and pointed toward the bottom of the valley.

Moro's stomach twisted in a knot. Every feeling of fear he had denied was brought to the surface. “Why am I first?"

“First," said Gra'lik with a nod.

Moro scoffed at the orc's misunderstanding. “Oh, get fucked, you old…” His words trailed off as he noticed a figure standing atop a rock fifteen hundred feet across the relatively flat land.

Gripping his bow tightly, Moro began walking down the valley, careful to keep half of his senses on his feet. Tripping over a rock and falling down the hill would not only be an embarrassment, but it could prove fatal.

After several minutes, he reached the bottom. To the north, the figure stood amongst a row of massive boulders. Tall, golden weeds filled the plains knee-high.

Moro quickly looked around. He had no cover. As permitted, he had five arrows, black as night in his quiver. He could only hope the elf had orcish arrows, and not their own elven arrows, which were far superior.

The elf in the distance held up his bow. It was a recurve and shimmered in the daylight.

Moro knew then he was wrong. “Shit."

Pulling out an arrow, he moved in a diagonal jog. The weeds made it harder to move, but he realized he had concealment at his feet. If he needed to, he could at least hide. Without giving any warning to the elf, he turned and loosed the arrow. It flew straight and true. But just before it reached the elf, they darted to the side.

Moro knelt as he saw the elf move in a twisted motion. And again without warning, his black arrow was returned. It stuck in the ground two feet in front of him. He flinched and fell backward. Gods, if I've ever done anything to deserve a victory, let it be this one.

Recalling Vig'ka's words, Moro sat up and ran his fingers through the weeds.

“You can not kill the elf with anything but an arrow," Vig'ka had told him. “But you can fight with anything and everything you have in you."

With every intention of using magic, Moro dug his hand in his pocket and removed two scarlet seeds. Cherry trees, he thought of Vig'ka's teachings. Fruit tree seeds have the greatest potential as they provide a source of life for many creatures in Maerïnor.

Pressing them against his palm with his thumb, the seeds cracked and frayed, then turned to mush. Closing his eyes, he focused on the strain of power emitting from the seeds, and pulled it into his core. A warm sensation filled his chest.

As he opened his eyes and sat up, his heart sank. The elf was gone. His eyes widened as a knot formed in his stomach. Running his hand through the weeds, he focused on the energy and imagined a spark. As he did, purple embers shot out from his hand. Immediately, smoke and fire crackled to life.

“What about fire?" Moro had asked Vig'ka weeks ago. “It has to have an ungodly amount of potential."

“But nobody can control that much power at once," Vig'ka had told him. “Never try it. The potential mana will consume you, burning you into a slow, painful death."

Moro stood in a crouch and ran as fast as his bent legs would allow, keeping his right hand downward to fuel the fire. The potential mana from the seeds ran out quickly. He knew it would. The amount of mana he could carry and use was still inefficient compared to Vig'ka, who could spend five minutes fighting with magic pulled from a single seed.

Closing his hand, he released the embers before the spell could begin drawing from his own physical energy, which would only serve to slow and weaken him. Turning south first, he ran back toward the valley, then cut back to the east. Within seconds, he was behind a wall of flames and smoke.

Moro squatted down in the weeds again. Can't stay here, he thought as he watched the fire rapidly devouring the dried vegetation. Where are you?

Digging his hand into his pocket, he pulled out three more seeds. Crushing them, he siphoned the potential. Just need to hit him.

Staying low, he moved further east. Without warning, the fire was extinguished. He dropped to his knees. Does he have magic?

Looking over his shoulder, Moro could see the orcs laughing at the top of the valley. Fuckers. Of course he has magic. They want me to fail.

This was something Moro had come to understand over the past six weeks. He was different. And while Ergoth wanted him to be different for the battles ahead, the other orcs, especially the valrav trainees, were not as open to his cross training between the three warring roles of orcs.

The smoke from the fire began to grow, thickening into a white haze as the field was engulfed in something akin to the Misty Scar. Moro's heart leaped. He nocked another arrow as his vision became limited to five feet in front of him.

Looking over his shoulder, he realized he was surrounded by the smog. What the fuck is this?

Something sharp touched the back of his neck, sending a chill down his spine. Without looking, he knew it was the tip of an arrow, or a blade. He slowly held his bow out to the left as he moved his right hand toward the ground. He pulled on the power in his core. “This only ends in one way."

“What did you do?"

Moro's stomach twisted. It was not a male elf, but a female. He turned his head to see her from the corner of his eye. Realizing she could sense his power, or she noticed his slightly pointed ears, he understood the question. “I evened the playing field."

“Blood shifted," she said, a tang of poison on her tongue. “How could you? They are sacred!"

Moro cooked his head. “I was human and—wait, who is sacred?"

The elf pushed the sharp point harder against his flesh. “The dragons!" she hissed.

Moro furrowed his brows at the accusation. “I didn't do anything to a dragon."

The elf lay her hand on the back of his head. Then she gasped and stepped backward. “You do not know? How could—" She sighed and removed the point from his neck. “Orcs. Of course." She took several steps backward. “Face me."

Moro clenched his jaws. At the moment, he found himself at her mercy. But why? He took a deep breath and stood, keeping his arms out wide. He turned to face her.

The elf's fiery red hair and emerald eyes gave her a sense of beauty only elves had. Silver armor covered her torso and legs. In her hands was a white recurve bow, a silver tipped arrow pointed at Moro's chest. “Teeth."

Moro narrowed his eyes. “What?"

“Show me…your teeth."

Moro curled his lips back like a dog to bare his elongated canines.

“You think your deformities come from the orcs," she said. “They are the result of a dragonborn. That's what elves call creatures like you."

Moro's heart raced in his chest. He anticipated her arrow driving into his chest. Then he thought of Trenara. I won't die here.

“Dragonborn," he said as he looked around at the fog. “What is it?"

The elf narrowed her eyes. “I do not have time to explain it to you, but I've seen your mind." Her face shifted into something solemn. “You once protected dragons."

“I did."

“You still care for their well being."

Moro swallowed a lump in his throat. He had heard of elves with the ability to see into the mind. Bör Mesari had elves who could erase memories. He couldn't lie to her. He nodded. “I do, yes.”

“Then you should know they used unborn dragons to fuel the dark spell that transformed you into this." Her brows furrowed. “Which means orcs have dragon eggs."

Moro's stomach felt as if it had turned inside out. He lowered his arms as his face flushed. “They—used what?"

The elf lowered her bow and huffed. “They used a dragon and orc blood to mutate you, and to give you access to fûrin magic."

Moro's chest grew tight. He slowly shook his head. “No. They—they wouldn't do that. They-"

“They lied to you," she said. “They lied and manipulated you. Come with me. Leave this place. Your friend—the Elmerïan—is in danger. He's killed the princess of Velensmir."

Moro's head became light as a thick dizziness settled over him. “No. No, you're lying."

“Why would I lower my weapon and-"

Without giving a warning, Moro sent a blast of purple fire into her face. As she stumbled backward and screamed, he sent an arrow into her throat, silencing her. In quick succession, he sent three more arrows into her chest.

After a long pause, he collapsed to his knees. Tears filled his eyes as the fog dissipated. Digging his fingers into the soil, Moro hunched over and pressed his forehead to the ground. “They’re just like…the elves,” he sobbed. “Fucking…liars.”

Chapter 47:

Skyborn

Aric stumbled forward, his chest writhing with pain. “Eldras.”

“I can’t…control it.”

Pressing his hand against Eldras’s side, Aric held still for a moment. But he knew he had to move. Two days after they had left the Fanged Steppes, Eldras began to grow ill and weak. Halfway between the jagged rocks of the Steppes and the Scar was one of the worst places it could have happened. There was no cover. No concealment.

“You need to move away from me,” Eldras said. Even as he spoke, his voice was growing faint in Aric’s mind. “It’s why our bond…has been straining…for days.”

Aric nodded slowly, his body getting weaker by the hour. “I just need to get…you behind something. Hide you somehow, boy.”

“If we are…meant to die…then so be it.”

Aric’s eyes misted over with tears. “No. Absolutely not, Eldras. We live. We will live…through this.” He looked around. The sun would be setting within hours. To the northwest, a wall of white blocked the horizon. To the south and east, shadows frayed out from stones in the distance. “Gods damn it.”

“Go,” said Eldras. “I will be fine. I can…survive it…but only…if you survive…too.”

Aric clenched his jaws. He wanted to wrap his arms around Eldras and never let go. But he recalled the stories from Francil about dragons’ growth spurts. “After we make it through this, we will…” His words trailed away as he felt Eldras slip away from his mind. He could no longer feel the arte in his core. He tried to draw on it even as he stared at the black dragon. “No.”

Eldras craned his neck around and looked at Aric with widened eyes. Stepping sideways, he unfurled his wing and pushed Aric backward. He let out a deep roar and covered the ground between them with flames.

Though he knew it was time to leave Eldras, Aric didn’t want to move. As if he could withstand a blast of energy from a dragon’s growth, however detrimental that could be, he reached out for Eldras.

With a mighty roar, Eldras snapped his jaws together and leaped away. With labored and staggered steps, he ran, leaped into the air, then crashed onto his chest. Once more, he leaped and flapped his wings.

Aric’s heart pounded in his chest as tears streamed down into his beard. “You’ve…fallen away, boy. I can’t—I can’t feel you anymore!” His throat burned, as if someone had shoved a white hot iron down his throat. He found himself struggling to breathe. His stomach convulsed.  Run, he told himself. Beads of sweat formed on his brow and upper lips.

Slowly, he stepped back. “I’m sorry, boy.”

Eldras let out a final roar as he landed, turned away and began walking toward The Misty Scar.

Aric followed, though he kept his distance. A cold sensation filled his chest, like a frozen blade had severed away a part of him. His chest tightened even more as Eldras dropped to his stomach thirty feet away. “No!”

Just as he started to run forward, a near blinding light exploded from the dragon. The ground shook as a translucent ring of energy ripped outward. As the wave hit Aric, a gale drove him fifteen feet backward. He held his hands up as the wind buffeted his face. His cloak bellowed behind him. He leaned forward and took another step. “Eldras!”

A second explosion rippled outward with the ferocity of nature itself. As if the sun had crashed into the ground, a bright white light expanded in all directions. Aric screamed as his face was burned from the eruption. Immediately, he was lifted off the ground and sent flipping uncontrollably.

Soaring over a hundred feet backward, he landed on his back and gasped as the air was expelled from his lungs. His cloak wrapped around his head and held his neck firm as he rotated head over ass backward, sideways, and backward again. Something snapped in his arm and bright pain burned through the chaos. His spine jarred and threatened to sever as he rolled uncontrollably backward. With one final twist, he landed on his stomach and slid several feet in the dust.

Then a third wave of white hot energy lifted him off of the ground and threw him another thirty feet back. He bounced and rolled over, and over again. When he slid to a stop on his back, his body became numb and frigid. His vision faded. With Eldras on his mind, a longing for something he couldn’t explain with words, he fell into a dark slumber.

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The dry dust blew across Aric’s face. He slowly opened his eyes. He squinted as the sun stabbed at his pupils, then rolled over to his side. He tried to remember the last thing that happened before he passed out. “Eldras?”

As he thought of the dragon, his heart jolted. “Eldras!”

Rolling over to his chest, he pushed himself up. With a yelp, he immediately found himself flying ten feet into the air, flipping backward. Landing on his back, he anticipated a sharp bite of pain. It didn’t come. Furrowing his brows and breathing heavily, he sat up again. “What the fuck?”

This time, he spotted Eldras and cautiously got to his feet. He narrowed his eyes. “Eldras?”

The dragon in the distance stirred, then it stood. “Aric?”

Aric’s heart jolted. “What…” he breathed slowly as his body began moving forward involuntarily.

Standing well over twelve feet tall on all fours, Eldras turned. His spikes were more pronounced than ever before. The barbs protruding from the tops of his wings had become curved, like those of Bearmaw sheep.

“Aric?” Eldras’s voice was stronger than ever, deep and bold.

Aric couldn’t help but run. In six quick steps, he crossed fifty feet of ground and turned sideways, sliding to a halt. “Damn it!” he hissed and looked back to where he had woke. He glanced down at his hands as he remembered flipping and tumbling across the soil during the explosion.

Eldras turned and craned his neck around to look at his body. Unfolding his wings, he spread them out wide like a king’s banner upon a mighty ship. “Look how big they are!” He whirled around and looked down at Aric. “Why do you look so small?”

“Small?” Aric laughed as he walked toward him. Once he got close, he had to look up at Eldras. He held his arms out wide and smiled. “You’re fucking huge!”

“Not as big as the other dragons,” Eldras said as he turned in a full circle, his steps nearly a prance as amusement filled the bond.

Aric snorted. He paused for a moment and welcomed the return of the connection. The barrier between them was brief, but it pained as if he had been torn in two. Now, it felt stronger than ever, nearly tangible. “But no longer a dirt dragger either.”

He looked up and cocked his head as he examined Eldras’s changes. He noticed small spikes protruding from the sides of Eldras’s jowls, giving him a more pronounced jawline. Knots had formed above his eyes like bumpy, hairless eyebrows, making him appear much older, and brooding. The onyx scales had grown larger, and now had less of a sheen to them. “You have to be pushing twenty-five to thirty feet long now.”

Eldras folded his wings in and stood up straight, puffing his chest out. “Do you feel the heart spark?”

Aric turned his focus inward and immediately felt the warmth in his chest. Closing his eyes, he saw the core of the bond. Once a flickering star in an abyss, it was now a beacon, something akin to a full moon.

He opened his eyes and looked up with a smile. “I never want to do that again.”

“We’ll have to endure it many times over in the years to come,” Eldras said. “So long as you come back to me, I welcome the changes and strengthening.”

Aric turned and studied the area. “How long were we unconscious?”

Eldras sniffed the air. “I don’t know. Something tells me it was days.”

A lump formed in Aric’s throat. “We shouldn’t linger any longer.” He found himself missing Pebble as he looked across the bleak horizon. “If only you had a saddle, boy.”

“You can ride without one,” said Eldras.

“I don’t mean to just ride upon the ground.” Aric looked toward the sky. “I mean a saddle so I don’t fall from up there.”

Eldras let out a low hum and shook his head. “You won’t fall. And even if you do, I can catch you.” He tilted his head. “I think.”

Aric snorted and quirked a brow. “That isn’t reassuring at all. You’ve barely been flying and now you’re going to try some fancy flying with my life on the line?”

“I…have memories to teach me.”

Aric shook his head. “That’s not enough. You need practice.”

“You need practice,” Eldras said in a mocking tone.

Aric quirked his brow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Eldras quipped with a jerk of his head.

A pang of hunger washed over the bond, making both Eldras’s and Aric’s stomachs growl. Aric shook his head and held his hand over his belly. “We need to find food before we worry about flying.”

Eldras sniffed the air. “There is nothing out here but soil and rot.” He blew a plume of smoke out of his nostrils. The hunger in the bond faded as annoyance pushed through.

Aric sighed. He had already known this much from years spent traversing The Misty Scar and the surrounding areas. Two options lay before them; travel back to the Castil Forest and hunt, or push past the Scar and move north into the Vrelengard. He weighed the options. “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Eldras.

“We’re going to have to move north if we want to get any food,” Aric said as he cupped his hands on his hips.

Eldras huffed. “You’re kidding.” His voice was full of sarcasm.

Aric cocked his head. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m hungry,” Eldras said curtly.

Aric sighed and narrowed his eyes, trying to calculate the distance they had yet to cover before they reached the forest in the north.

Eldras turned to face him. Leaning his head down, he looked Aric in the eyes. “You’ll starve before we reach the Vrelengard.”

Aric tightened his jaws and nodded in agreement. “I know.”

Eldras stood up straight again. “Unless we fly. If I can carry you, which I think I can now, we could reach the Vrelengard by sunset tomorrow.”

Aric snorted. “Think you’re some sort of sky racer now?”

“Have you never seen a bird fly?” asked Eldras. “Even simply gliding over the land in a straight line, no horse could keep up.”

Aric had no argument. He imagined Eldras gliding, the land passing by a mile below. His stomach churned. “Yeah. But-”

“And that’s a fucking bird,” Eldras said. He blew out another cloud of smoke and jerked his head to the side. “What are you so afraid of?”

Aric’s eyes widened. His heart leaped in his chest. “What did you just say?”

Eldras slowly turned and looked at him again. “You heard me.”

“Oh,” Aric said with a laugh. “I see we’re all grown up now, eh? I think I’ve worn off on you too much. No cursing. Not from you.”

Eldras cocked his head to the side. “You do it.”

“Yeah,” Aric said, then paused. He took a deep breath. “But I— I do it to get my point across better. I don’t just throw out shit randomly.” He looked down as he realized his words, then he laughed again. “Alright. Maybe—maybe I do.” He looked up and pointed at Eldras. “But none of it from you, you hear? You’re still just a hatchling, not even six months old yet.”

“I will be six months old in two weeks.”

Aric shook his head. “Unbelievable.” He started walking north. “It’s like I got a fucking teenager on my hands now.”

Moro ignored the quiet jabs and sideways glances from the valrav trainees as he silently followed the four surviving orcs back to Az’ Grim. One thing Vig’ka was truthful about was their  honor; the elves that had proved victorious  were free to leave. The walk back to the village was long.

The elf's words swirled in his mind, coupled with a recollection of the spell that had transformed him. Vig'ka was there with Ergoth. They have a word for creatures like me. Creatures.

The word she has used to describe him gave him a newfound self-reflection of something similar to how he had once viewed the orcs. Maybe I was right all along. Vig'ka had to have known. And Trenara.

His heart gripped in his chest. Does she know?

As the rounded the last bend before the Bearmaw descended toward the shore, Moro spotted Vig'ka, standing with a wide smile on his face. Moro paused where the others continued.

Vig'ka must have seen a grim look on Moro's face because his smile switched to a wide-eyed, furrowed-brow look of confusion. He walked toward Moro, exchanging a few words with Ga'lik as he passed by.

“Did you know?" Moro questioned Vig'ka as he approached, bypassing their typical greetings.

Vig'ka halted. “Did I know what?"

“How I became this monster." Moro's breaths became heavy and quick as his heart pounded. He took a step forward as Vig'ka downcast his eyes. “Did you know?!"

His yell had gotten the attention of the trainees. They stopped and looked back. Ga'lik said something to them, and they continued to follow him.

Vig'ka looked over his shoulder as the other orcs faded from sight down the hill. He took a deep breath. “I know. I knew then—even before you chose to become blood shifted."

Another swell of anger tightened Moro's chest as his eyes welled with tears. He turned his back to Vig'ka and shoved his hand into his pocket. Grabbing a handful of the seeds, he squeezed with rage-induced strength and pulled the power into his core.

Vig'ka sighed. “I am sorry that I-”

Moro whirled around and drove his fist into Vig'ka's chest, summoning the full power of the seeds' potentials. An explosion of purple fire erupted between them, sending them both flying backward away from each other forty feet.

Moro landed awkwardly on his shoulder. As he bounced forward, he shoved off the ground and flipped forward. Landing on his feet, he stumbled. He knew the pain in his shoulder would hurt significantly more after his anger subsided. For the moment, he didn't care.

Vig’ka had already regained his footing as well and now stood with a glowing swirl of purple energy in his palm. “Do not do this, Moro. You have been like a-”

“Don’t you fucking say it,” Moro interrupted. He marched forward. “I’m nothing to you beyond a piece of whatever game you’re playing.”

From over the crest of the hill, Ga’lik and the trainees returned. “Vig’ka! Dra unlik da’rakt?”

Vig’ka squeezed his hand into a fist, killing the purple energy. He held up his hand, although he didn’t look back at the Valrav Captain.

Moro marched toward Vig’ka. “After everything I’ve told you about my life. After thinking I had finally found a home, it’s come to this.”

“Az’ Grim is your home,” Vig’ka said with a hint of disbelief. He shook his head. “We did not lie. We only withheld information from you.”

“That’s the same gods damned thing, Vig’ka!” Moro yelled. He jabbed a finger in the orc’s direction. “You deceived me! All I ever wanted was to fight and protect the dragons!”

Vig’ka’s brows furrowed. He narrowed his eyes as a flare of anger flashed across his face. Without warning, he threw a purple and black smoky orb at Moro.

Moro darted to the right and dodged the attack. Drawing on the reserve energy in his core, he thrust his hand downward, focusing on the rocks at his feet. With an underhanded swipe, purple energy lifted the stones from the dirt and sent them rocketing toward Vig’ka.

Holding up his hand, Vig’ka cast a light violet sphere around himself. The rocks shattered against the shield. “You did not only desire the protection of dragons! You desired power! We gave it to you!”

Pulling the rest of his core mana forward, Moro threw both hands forward, creating twin jets of purple fire. It was no match against Vig’ka’s shield. “Fuck you! I never asked to be this…thing!”

Vig’ka lowered his hand and dropped the shield. Throwing his right hand out, palm forward, he sent an arc of purple lightning into Moro’s chest.

The force of the strike was unlike anything Moro had been hit with before. Simultaneously as the bolt threw him backward twenty feet, every muscle in his body tensed. He was helpless as he smashed into a tall stone jutting out of the ground. Burning agony bit at his back as he landed on his side.

Moro lay still for a moment. Power. You wanted…power.

He thought of Ergoth’s plan to destroy and conquer the elven factions. He had planned to help, knowing all too well what was entailed in such a sweep. Pressing his knuckles into the rock hard ground, he pressed himself up into a sagged kneel. “No. I wanted…”

“You wanted power,” Vig’ka repeated as he slowly walked toward Moro, his tone returning to the calm that Moro had grown to know. “You have it. You know what the dragonmages have done, and will continue to do if nothing or nobody stops them.”

Moro’s eyes blurred as they filled with tears again. “Did she know?”

Vig’ka halted. For a long moment, he said nothing. “My daughter knows nothing of your transformation beyond the result of what she sees everyday. She loves you for you.”

Moro sobbed with relief. “Why didn’t you just tell me, Vig’ka?” He looked up and a tear streamed down into his beard. “Why?”

Vig’ka swallowed. “Would you have stayed? Would you have gone through with it?”

Moro downcast his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“That is why.” Vig’ka moved closer to Moro and knelt in front of him. “We need you, Moro. At first, I saw a strong man. Then I saw an honorable man. Then I saw you as a promise to our people. And then I saw you—” he paused and furrowed his brows as Moro opened his mouth to speak, “—I am going to say it. I saw you as a son.”

Moro looked up at Vig’ka again. His heart pounded in his chest. “I haven’t changed my view of dragons. You could have just…told me.”

Vig’ka slowly reached out and lay his hand on Moro’s shoulder. “It appears that you are not the only one who has changed. This battle ahead, we aim to ravage the elven land. I did not want dragon’s blood on your hands. Yet still, we need you. You do not quite understand what is at stake, nor do you know what you are capable of yet.”

A shiver crawled down Moro’s spine. He turned his face toward his boots and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Vig’ka.” He sniffled and looked up into the emerald eyes of Trenara’s father. “I just don’t know what to say.”

Vig’ka shifted uncomfortably and lowered his hand back to his side. “Say you are with us, Moro.”

“I won’t kill a dragon,” Moro said softly. “They are the link to every race in this world.”

Vig’ka’s jaw muscles flexed. “In time, you may find you see that differently. But for the moment, I honor your choice.”

Moro swallowed. He nodded then looked toward the sky. “Then, I’m…with you.”

“And say you will never raise a fist at me again,” Vig’ka said with a half grin.

Moro snorted and shook his head. “Don’t ever hit me like that again either.”

Vig’ka smiled widely and lay both hands on Moro’s shoulders. “It is a deal.”

“All I’m saying is I don’t think he was lying about everything,” Aric said an hour after they had started walking north. “He clearly had more power than I do, which is baffling.”

“You aren’t tremendously powerful yet,” said Eldras with a puff of smoke from his nostrils. “I have memories-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aric interrupted with an eyeroll. “You have memories of badasses back in the day.” He chuckled. “I’m just saying he was significantly more powerful. If his dragon died, he would have to be very, very old to have that kind of power and control—which he is. And to have that control you need a deep understanding of what you are doing. I mean…he put us to sleep as easily as snuffing out a candle with a bucket of water.”

Eldras grumbled, a quick growl in his throat. “I didn’t like that at all.”

“I didn’t either, boy.” Aric ran his fingers through his hair, for the first time in months taking in how long it had grown. It was now hanging on his shoulders over the folds of his cloak. He thought of everything that led to their destination. “Still think we’re doing the right thing?”

Eldras halted and tilted his head. “Why?”

Aric stopped and turned around to face him. He shrugged. “Just curious. I mean—if we think about it—we could help win this oncoming battle just in time for the Elven Court to hand us over to the druids. Or they could just kill us.”

Eldras scoffed with a jerk of his head. “They could try.”

“That’s my point,” Aric said. “It’s a possibility that’s exactly what they’ll do. So why save them? Why fight with them, or for them?”

“We have a responsibility.”

“Do we though?” Aric questioned. He cupped his hands on his hips. “We are meant to be protectors of this world. But how do we know the rest of the world gives a shit about dragonmages, or us? Furthermore, if they choose to execute us on the spot, what good will our responsibility be? Do we kill the remaining dragonmages to save our own hides?”

“If we must.”

“Then how are we different?” Aric asked. He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. “If we kill the last of the dragons and their riders, who will remain to watch over Maerïnor?”

Eldras puffed his chest out, making himself appear much more dense than he was. “They haven’t been watching over the world. They haven’t even protected this continent alone. They sit in waste. Besides, there has to be dragonmages outside of Verilia.”

Aric smirked. “I’ll give you that one. But then what? Say we win this battle. That doesn’t end the war. War is inevitable. If the orcs fall, someone will come along soon enough to take their place. Power and leverage will always shift like the sands of a desert.”

“Is that not part of life?” asked Eldras. “Why does anyone ever fight for anything beyond their lifespan? The present is all that matters.”

Aric rubbed his beard and sighed. “No, boy. The future matters. The chance to do something to make the world better for others is the true hero’s call. If given the power to better someone else’s life, only a coward would deny the opportunity.”

Eldras looked toward the horizon for several seconds, a sense of wonder pushing across the bond. “Then let that be our reason to fight. If we can end the reign of the orcs, wouldn’t Verilia be a better place, even if we die doing so?”

Aric chuckled. “I never claimed to be a hero, though.”

“Some things don’t need to be declared out loud.”

Aric couldn’t help but grin, though he turned back and continued walking. A sharp pain of hunger rolled in his stomach.

“Can we just fly already?” asked Eldras. “I think we’ve come to an agreement that we are indeed going to Bӧr Mesari. Yes?”

Aric nodded. “We are.”

“Then let’s fly, Aric,” said Eldras. “We can reach the Vrelengard faster, hunt something tasty, get a belly full of food and water, and continue. It’s not like we’ll get the opportunity once we have to traverse the forest.”

Aric halted. He hadn’t thought ahead that far. But Eldras was right; once they began traveling through the dense evergreens, they would be in druid territory, or worse, within sight of elves. Flying overhead, they would stick out like a rusted rivet on a silver platter. He mouthed a curse and hung his head. “How?” he asked as he turned to face Eldras. “We don’t have a saddle.”

“I told you already-”

“What if my legs get royally fucked and I can’t even walk?”

Eldras cocked his head. “You should heal faster now.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “That’s not—that doesn’t help at all.”

“I won’t let you fall.”

Aric sighed at the pleading of the dragon. Though he towered over Aric now, he was reminded once again how young Eldras was. He recalled the desperation to fly when he was small. He rolled his eyes. “Fine. But if you drop me and I die, I’ll haunt you for eternity.”

“If you die, I die.”

Aric swallowed a lump in his throat as the mood turned grim. Thoughts of Eldras dying were some of the worst Aric could have. He nodded and walked over to Eldras’s side. “Right. So I just climb on like when we’re walking, yeah?”

Eldras hummed. “Y-yes. I think.”

Aric cocked his head. “You think? You’re the one with all the memories of these amazing riders.”

Eldras hung his head. “They…all had saddles.”

“Fuck me,” Aric blurted. He pointed at Eldras’s back. “Of course they did! I’m not doing this.”

“Do you trust me?” Eldras asked.

Aric opened his mouth then paused. Deep down, he knew how bad Eldras wanted to fly with him. He lulled his head back and growled. “Yes. Yes, Eldras. I trust you.”

“I won’t let you fall,” said Eldras. “Promise.”

Aric scratched his head animalistically. “Damn it.” He pointed at Eldras’s face. “You better not.”

He turned and leaped onto Eldras’s back, immediately discovering his legs had to be spread farther apart than before, which gave him less leverage to squeeze. He grabbed onto the spike in front of his groin. “And you better not go fast either.”

Eldras unfurled his wings as a sensation of excitement filled the bond. He leaned back and pushed off with his thick hind legs, thrusting his wings downward at the same time. He laughed as a vibrating hum filled his chest. “Then how will we ever reach the Vrelengard by nightfall?”

As Eldras gave another two thrusts backward, Aric had to squeeze the spike tightly to keep from falling. Even then, the force of their acceleration slid him backward several inches. He tightened his legs around Eldras’s sides and leaned down.

Chapter 48:

A Dark Horizon

Moro shoved the rest of his clothing into a shoulder bag a week after the final valrav test, which came three days after he had killed the elf. The once filled hut of Vig’ka was now sparse. Most of Az’ Grim had spent the last week packing for the move. He tightened up the drawstring and paused to look at Trenara. The sweat dripping down her cleavage made him wish they had one more night in their bed.

She must have sensed his stare, for she glanced up and smirked. “I see you desire a break. Are you exhausted?”

Moro smirked back. “Not as exhausted as I’d like to become.” He winked.

Trenara cocked her brow and smiled. “Really?”

Moro's cheeks flushed. “Mmm." He shook his head. “As much as I'd love to lay you down right now, I would hate for your father to walk in."

Trenara looked toward the doorway quickly. Then she chuckled. “We will have plenty of time alone out there." She looked down at the wooden crate in her hands full of bread and fruit.

Moro sighed. “It's going to be a long trip. Not looking forward to the walk, if I’m being honest."

Trenara snorted. “Who said we were walking?"

Moro narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “How else are we getting to Bör Mesari?"

Trenara opened her mouth to speak, then paused. She smiled. “You will have to wait and see."

“I don't like being in the dark on things," Moro said. He picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulders. “There are only three ways to travel. If we aren't walking, and there aren't enough valravns to fly all of Az' Grim, that leaves the sea." He laughed and shook his head. “I've never seen ships on our coast."

Trenara moved the crate to the door, beside which was a stack of various heavy bags of meat, crates of eating utensils, plates, and horn mugs. “Well, you have never seen them because Ergoth would never keep the ships on our coast."

Moro recalled the story from Vig'ka about how the orcs arrived in Verilia. “The island? Where orcs first docked when they sent scouts."

Trenara set the crate down and turned around with a grin. “Yes. Ergoth had all of the ships moved back to the island a few decades ago. There is a sub clan of sea-bearing orcs that keep them maintained."

Moro hummed as he thought about sea-bearing orcs. He couldn’t imagine the bulky hargrols swimming with any hint of grace. “Are they coming here, or…?"

“They should be arriving now."

The flap covering the door was pulled back. Vig’ka stepped into the room. He wore a new burgundy set of robes. A leather bag was strapped to his back. In one hand was a crooked staff with a sapphire attached to the head. “Are we ready?"

Moro looked around the room. With the exception of the stack by the door, the furniture,  and the cabinetry, the hut was cleared out. “I…think so."

His stomach rolled at the thought that everything he had prepared for over the past several months was now upon them. “How long will the journey take?"

“We should reach the elven coast by the end of  two weeks."

Moro quirked a brow. “That won't put us in Bör Mesari in the winter."

Vig'ka shook his head. “No, it will not."

Moro looked back and forth from Vig'ka to Trenara, then paused. “I don't understand. I thought the point of hitting them in the winter was to give us an advantage."

Vig'ka nodded, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We will attack Bör Mesari first."

Moro's stomach twisted. “Are we striking Velensmir too?"

Vig'ka nodded again. “We will strike down Velensmir toward the end of winter, just before the trees bloom and the grass turns green.

“After we have established a foothold in Bör Mesari," added Trenara.

Moro swallowed a lump in his throat. He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes.

“Is…something wrong?" asked Trenara.

“I just—I just didn't think we'd be fighting so much, so fast."

“Ergoth has planned this for a long time," said Vig'ka. “When he says it is time to attack, it is time. He is a patient Chieftain."

Moro nodded. “Alright. Then what will be the plan for the people? Will we make Bör Mesari our home? Or Velensmir?"

“Both," said Vig'ka. Whoever decides to live in one place or the other, will be under a new clan. Az' Grim will be no more. We will be two clans, with new Dûr taking the thrones of both while Ergoth remains the Chieftain."

Moro quirked a brow. “What's a Dûr?"

“In ancient times, it was the commander after the Chieftain," said Vig'ka. “Some clans to the north and across the western seas still use it—from what I have heard.”

Moro hummed a dry note. He tried to imagine how other orc clans would have taken the news of his transformation. Would they have welcomed him as Az’ Grim did?

He shook his head. “I assume Thar'lok would take command."

“General Thar'lok is the War Commander," said Vig'ka. “Like we have spoken about before; he is no leader of a people."

Moro lifted his brows for a second and shook his head. “Well, alright then. This is all above me. I just go where you or Ergoth tell me."

“When we reach Bör Mesari, you will fly with the valravs," said Vig'ka. He sighed and looked sideways at Trenara for a brief moment. “Ergoth, General Thar'lok, and I believe you will be the tip of the spear. Your ability to see like the valravs, coupled with your magic alone will not be foreseen by the Elven Court."

“What if he runs into the dragonmage first?" asked Trenara, a hint of worry in her voice.

Vig'ka grinned. “We have something special for you, Moro. Once we are on the ship, I will show you." He tapped his staff on the floor. “For now, we must be moving. Most of Az' Grim is already at the shore. Sage will ride with the other valravns."

Moro shook his head. “No. She can't."

Vig'ka furrowed his brows. “Why? We have a stable ship going with the valravns, the war bears, and the dire wolves."

“If she's left with the other valravns, we're going to have a flight of mounts not worth taking into battle."

“You fear they will hurt her."

Moro looked at Trenara. “I know they will. More than that, she fights better than them." He looked at Vig'ka and lifted his brows. “She’ll fuck up at least two or three." He shook his head again. “No. She needs to ride with me. Or I'll fly her myself to Bör Mesari."

“Do you think one week of flying with you was enough to strengthen her wings for such a journey?" Vig'ka asked sternly.

“No, I don't." Moro cast his eyes down and clenched his jaws. “So I guess she's going to be riding on the deck."

Donalis landed knee deep in salt water. Unlike his normal plate armor, he now wore black chainmail, an order from King Paulus despite the Knight Lord's insistence it was a lesser armor. On the plus side, years of wearing heavy steel had strengthened his body. The mail was significantly lighter and allowed for easier movement.

A splash landed behind him. Reaching back, he grabbed the tunic of Nathalior. Looking at him from the corner of his eye, he said quietly, “Stay behind me at all times until we reach the city. The king has been under high alert and is not expecting us."

Nathalior swallowed and nodded wide-eyed.

Donalis scanned the coast ahead of the archer line. It was quiet beyond the splashes of soldiers landing in the water. The night sky was overcast. A chill clung to the air. He turned around and gave a nod to the six Gray Guards standing in front of Paulus.

Shifting left and right, the guards made a hole. Paulus stepped forward, clad in black plate armor. He was the only one armored so heavily. A broadsword hung on his hip, not that he had much experience with it. “Get me to the city, Sir Donalis. Get me to King Randton. I will do the talking."

Donalis nodded. “Yes, my Lord." He turned back to the land before them and rolled his eyes. He's going to get us all killed.

Moving in a wide spread line, the forces of Grayhorn measured over six hundred strong. Fifteen ships had been pushed up into the shore and anchored with ropes to iron stakes.

Ahead, a thick section of the Castil Forest sat like a shield wall in the black. Donalis kept his eyes moving back and forth as he followed two dozen archers, who were behind twenty shielded guards. He pitied the Gray Guards who moved in the open. If they were compromised, they would never see the arrows falling until it was too late.

Behind Donalis, Nathalior marched quietly with a tall Grayhorn guidon. He was garbed in dyed leather. A short sword clung to his hip, along with two daggers.

Seconds turned to minutes as the horde of Grayhorn advanced closer to Maervorna. Rumors of their victory over Ambermead had spread to the north, which only served to send a chill of nerves down Donalis’s spine. They had just spent months fighting each other over land. Over control. What makes Paulus think they’ll fight together for more land?

As the Gray Guards reached the forest, he called a halt. While the final word lay with the king, the soldiers would obey the Knight Lord’s orders without question or hesitation, regardless of how they felt about him personally. Professionally, they were disciplined.

Walking back to Paulus, Donalis kept his voice quiet, a harsh whisper at most. “According to the maps, Maervorna lies just beyond this forest edge. Roughly a half hour on foot. How would you like to proceed?”

Paulus rubbed his cheeks with one hand, the other gripped tight to his sword. He took a deep breath. “I shall play the diplomat when we reach the king. But this—” he pointed at the forest, “—is your expertise, Donalis. What do you advise?”

Donalis sighed and looked back toward the black wall before them. “I think if they are still on high alert from the fallout of Ambermead, they will attack on sight. This is their land. Their forest. Their city. We will not only be outmatched, but outmaneuvered, my Lord.”

“Sounds…pessimistic,” hissed Paulus, a malice to his tone. “If your advice is to turn back, then someone else should take your charge.”

Donalis’s heart jolted. “Not at all, my Lord. On the contrary, I suggest we flank with the archers. Keep the shield wall back here. The smaller we can make ourselves the better our chances of not catching a flight of arrows to the chest.”

Paulus narrowed his eyes, as if in deep thought. After a long moment, he nodded. “Let us move then.”

Donalis glanced toward the east. The sky held a deep shade of blackish blue. “We’ll need to move fast, my Lord. Time is of the essence. If we aren’t set by sunrise, we’ll be sitting geese.”

Paulus nodded and tapped his chest. “I can keep up. You set the pace. They’ll fall in line.”

Donalis looked sideways at Nathalior. Even in the dim light, he could see the scout’s face was flushed. He grabbed Nathalior’s arm. “Stay with me. Stay between me, and the king. Got it?”

Nathalior nodded. “Got it.”

“Is he coming with us all the way through?” asked Paulus.

Donalis turned. “Aye, my Lord. He is a highly skilled scout and tracker. He can be of service.”

Paulus snorted. “I’ve seen you two on the ship. I know what kind of service he can be.” He let out a grunted chuckle.

Donalis’s stomach fluttered. How could he know? He turned back, trying to keep his voice calm and void of emotion. “He’s just a scout, my Lord.”

“Aye,” Paulus said with a smirk.

After relaying the message to a few archers, then waiting until the order was given down the line of soldiers, he pointed toward the forest with two fingers. The archers moved in a v formation, like a wedge pushing through the evergreens.

Their movement was slower than Donalis would have liked with the sun lighting the sky to the east. At their pace, the archers wouldn’t lead Donalis and Paulus into the city for an hour. But upon entering the Castil Forest, the squadron was immediately met with crackling branches. A swift pace would sound like a herd of deer trampling through the forest floor. So he kept his mouth shut.

As daylight began to filter in through the trees, casting a hazy blue to the woods, a chill ran through the air; the cold before the day’s warmth bathed the ground. One of the archers held up his hand and pointed ahead. He quickly turned to face Donalis. “Torches.”

Altogether, the group halted. Soon, not one but sixteen torches came into view, the bright orange a stark contrast to the blue. The archers ducked behind trees while Paulus and Nathalior stepped behind a shrubbery bush. Donalis drew his sword and knelt, making himself a small target, a black smudge against the shallow light. He lay his blade flat on the ground to mitigate any sheen. His heart pounded in his chest, though he remained as poised as a statue.

For several long minutes, the Gray Guards watched the torches bob in between trees as they moved west. Another five minutes after the orange flickers were gone, Donalis ordered a continuation of their march. And soon after, a dark wooden wall came into view. Donalis halted again. He looked east, then west. No entrance was in sight. “Shit.”

“Now what?” asked Nathalior.

Donalis closed his eyes and remembered the map he had studied for most of the trip. “There should be a main gate—east, I think.”

“You think?” questioned Paulus.

“My Lord, we must have veered west in our path,” said Donalis, trying to contain his annoyance. “We move east. There will be a gate.”

“What happens when we get to the gate?” asked one of the archers.

Donalis looked at Nathalior, then looked up at the Grayhorn flag. “Then we move inward together with our arms up, waving that guidon.” He turned and looked at Paulus. “And we pray to the Gods that nobody decides to execute us right then and there.”

“They wouldn’t kill me,” said Paulus with a scoff. “As I said, Donalis, I’ll do the talking from there.”

Donalis gave the archers a nod and pointed to the east. “Even if you see a soldier, or an archer, do not engage. If we kill one of them on their own soil, this is all for nothing.”

Along the wall, they moved in a tighter formation than before, with half of the men in front of Donalis and Nathalior, and the other half to the rear of Paulus. The wall was old and covered in moss in many spots. It reeked of rotten bark. Besides their careful footfalls, the forest was quiet. If anyone was on the other side of the wall, they were either sleeping, or remaining silent.

Donalis kept his eyes widened and moving back and forth from the top of the twelve foot tall wall to the ground around them. Barely five minutes later, someone yelled out from atop the wall. Before Donalis could issue a reaction order, a dark arrow was released.

Chapter 49:

A Decision of Power

Aric winced for the thousandth time. At least, it felt like the thousandth time. The wind had continued to push his hair back, and forced him to squint as his eyes ran with tears.

The first hour of the flight had filled him with rolling nausea. His arms had cramped more than once from prolonged holds on the spike in front of him.

After a while, he realized Eldras was flying fairly straight, like that fucking bird, his wings outstretched wide to catch every warm updraft. Only then did he sit up straight and breathe properly. Looking down from the corners of his eyes, he became overwhelmed with exhilaration. Maerïnor swayed far below. Details blurred into earthen colors of greens and browns.

The five hours that followed, however, had left Aric’s legs burning with fatigue from the clench around Eldras’s wide back and ribs. While the living steel remained unblemished, chafing became a different sensation as his legs constantly rubbed the insides of his leggings. “Alright. That’s enough. I need a rest.”

Eldras looked back over his shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

Aric huffed. “I’ve been hurting—for hours."

“I'm sorry," Eldras said with a laugh. His back vibrated beneath Aric. “I was just in a daze, enjoying the flight."

“Nice," Aric said with slow, dull sarcasm. “I've been up here suffering, and you've been ignoring our bond."

“I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?” Eldras asked sternly.

Aric rolled his eyes and sighed, grateful that they would be on the ground soon.

“Do you see that dark part on the horizon?" Eldras asked.

Aric squinted through the tears. “Barely."

“That's the Vrelengard," Eldras said. “We're almost there. Can you hold on-"

“Eldras!" Aric interrupted as his heart sank. “We were supposed to land before it came within sight."

A sense of panic blanketed across the bond. Eldras dove toward the ground. “I forgot!"

The descent was so swift for a brief moment that Aric lifted off of Eldras's back. He squeezed the spike in front of him and pulled himself back down. His heart hammered in his chest as he imagined free falling. “Damn it!"

Guilt flooded the bond as Eldras craned his head back and slowed their descent. “I'm sorry! I was…just trying to go down."

It took no more than half a minute to reach the ground. Eldras spread his wings out wide and glided over the ground for fifty meters or more before flapping them once, twice, and finally, with a third thrust, he touched back to the soil and landed with a hefty thud.

Aric pushed against the spike to keep himself from getting impaled as he slid forward, though he doubted the spike would penetrate the living steel. Without hesitation, he slid off of Eldras’s back. His legs buckled as his boots landed on the ground, dropping him to his knees.

Hot pain shot through his knees, upper leg muscles, and the ligaments connecting toward his groin. He groaned and sank forward, resting his forehead on the dirt. With both hands, he rubbed the insides of his thighs. “Never…again…without a saddle."

Eldras dipped his head low. “I understand."

Aric continued pushing his palms into his legs as he looked around, rolling his head side to side. Stretching behind him for several miles was the familiar white of the Misty Scar. “We need to get out of the open and under cover. You're not a hatchling anymore."

He recalled the first moment he laid eyes on Eldras and snorted. The tiny reptilian head poking through the bushes had begun a journey he couldn't have foreseen. He sat up and looked toward the sky. I am a fucking dragonmage, he thought. Laughter burst from his chest before he could contain it.

Eldras looked up and tilted his head. “Are you alright?"

Aric looked down at his armor. He lifted his hands and gazed at his palms as he looked inward to his arte.  “I'm a dragonmage!" he said with a continued laugh, as if the revelation had finally sunk in. He grunted with pain as he stood, his legs feeling half numb and out of control. They shook and protested his commands.

“Did you not know until now?" Eldras questioned, his voice shaking with a chuckle.

Aric stumbled forward and wrapped his arms around Eldras's neck. “We were flying, boy. Humans haven't done that in like…a thousand years."

Eldras's chest vibrated as he hummed and wrapped his neck around Aric. “We were always fated to be different."

Aric thought of his parents. He wondered where they ended up. Given the news of Ambermead's war with Maervorna, he couldn't imagine what his home looked like now.

Then he thought of Moro. His eyes misted over as tears welled. One ran down into his beard and he squeezed Eldras tighter. “Thank you, Eldras."

“For what?"

Aric let go and stepped back to look up into the dragon's eyes. “For giving me a life…that so many only dream about."

“It hasn’t been without difficulty though," said Eldras. He downcast his eyes. “If not for me you would probably be-”

“Dead," Aric interrupted. “The sentinels fell before you chose me to be your rider." He shook his head. “You saved me."

Eldras's chest vibrated as an overwhelming sense of relief washed over the bond. For the first time, a raw, fully tethered sense of love filled the bond with a warmth. Their pulses quickened together. He stepped forward and pressed his forehead against Aric’s. “We saved each other."

Aric returned the embrace. Francil's words about hiding his emotions rang in his mind. And while it had been commonplace amongst the sentinels to follow that advice, he no longer wanted to shield his emotions from Eldras. Moreover, he could not hide them any longer. Their souls were so intertwined that their hearts and sparks beat and shined as one.

Francil, he thought as he was reminded of the elven dragonmage's claim that he had been in Bör Mesari since the mass raid. He stepped back. “We have a lot of questions to ask when we get there." His heart jolted as a thought came to mind. “I—I may have an idea."

“What?"

“Instead of hoping the elves don't deliver our heads to the Gro'nzael, why don't we bargain for our freedom."

“How are we going to do that?" Eldras asked.

Aric took a deep breath. “Let's head into the forest." He thought of the plausibility of the newfangled plan. They walked together, albeit slowly as Aric walked as a nearly crippled old man.

“If we let the orcs attack, and—as bad as it sounds—let them kill many elves if they can, then we can offer our help in exchange for immunity."

Eldras walked beside Aric. For several seconds, he was silent. Then he halted. “What if the orcs aren't enough?"

“Aren't enough?" Aric asked with furrowed brows. “They drove the dragonmages back to their hole in the forest. They've been holding onto this war for a century. Trust me, Eldras, they're enough."

“In the open they're enough," said Eldras. “I have no memory of any race overrunning the elves in their homes. The forest gives them an advantage of cover and concealment—and it aids their magic."

Aric chewed the inside corner of his bottom lip. “Well, I guess we'll just have to hope they’re enough then. If we simply show up and fight, the Court might just throw us in with the enemy, and kill us. Or worse, they'll use us as orc fodder, then turn us over to the druids afterwards regardless. Whatever the case, I don't trust them anymore."

Eldras huffed twin wisps of smoke from his nostrils. “Neither do I. But if we can turn even a single dragonmage to our side—or a dragon."

Aric followed Eldras and cocked his head. “Do you think you can sway a dragon? How exactly do you communicate with them?"

“Bonded dragons can converse like you and I do," Eldras said. He looked back over his shoulder. “Free dragons are a bit more difficult. They lack most of our social abilities."

For nearly an hour, they walked and talked about the journey, their questions that remained unanswered, and the plan. Aric attempted to get more information out of Eldras about the Great Mother, but he was only refused.

He didn't push it. They had time, if they could survive the inevitable battle ahead.

Together, they paused at the edge of the forest. The sweet smell of pine mixed with the spiced aroma of cedar and gave Aric a sense of calm. It was a familiarity in which he had grown accustomed to seeing the Vrelengard as his home. Many nights had been spent in the forest over the past five and half months. Only now, the forest floor wasn’t meant for dragons.

“Do you hear anything?” he asked as Eldras ducked under a few branches.

Turning his head to the side, Eldras paused and held still. Then, he slowly swung his head to the other side and closed his eyes. “Nothing.” He lifted his head and took in a deep inhale through his nostrils. “Strange. I don’t smell anything beyond the trees.”

“That’s good,” said Aric. He started to step forward again when Eldras leaped in front of him.

“No,” Eldras said quickly. “I don’t see or smell anything. No beasties. No critters. No birds.”

Aric’s stomach twisted. “Maybe they’re just not in this area,” he said, switching to mental conversation. “How far east do you think we are?”

Eldras cocked his head. “Judging from what I saw while we were flying, I’d say we’re about halfway between Carcel and Bӧr Mesari.”

“Shit.” Aric drew his sword and looked around with widened eyes. His armor shifted into place. Holding out his offhand, he began siphoning energy waves from the pines around them, pulling them into the arte. “If I say fly, you fly up. Do you hear me?”

“No,” said Eldras. “We’re in this together. I shouldn’t have to keep telling you that. You’re worried about the druids, aren’t you?”

Aric shook his head. “I mean…yes. But I’m more worried about what the druids protect.” He looked up at Eldras. “What they worship.”

Eldras scanned the trees, a sense of fear washing over the bond. “Treants.”

Aric nodded and pushed back on Eldras’s emotions. He slowly stepped into the woods. “Try to keep yourself calm, boy. Push your emotions back so I can focus entirely on our surroundings.”

“Why would there be no animals?” asked Eldras.

Aric furrowed his brows as the canopy above swallowed the bulk of their daylight. “Areas where the treants roam are sacred. Druids protect groves, sections of the forest. I’m guessing since treants don’t move often, the druids devour any and every type of creature while they sit with their gods. But, I don’t know. I used to think treants were myths.”

“Or everything is wise enough to run,” Eldras said. He sniffed the air again. “I don’t smell any druids either.”

“I’ve heard stories,” Aric said as he weaved in between sections of trees methodically. “People have said treants give off a strong scent that conceals the druids. They protect each other. In turn, if the treants stay strong, the druidic magic flows better.”

“You mean how they transform,” said Eldras.

“That’s their main trick, yes.” Aric paused. “Magic. They have magic.”

“Um…yes?”

Aric closed his eyes and reached outward with the arte. Immediately, he opened them back up as his heart jolted. He dared not even turn to look at Eldras. Like a statue, he froze. His heart crashed with rapid beats against his chest. “We’re surrounded.”

“What?” Eldras asked as he looked around frantically.

“Hold…still,” Aric said slowly. “I just looked for energy waves. Can’t see them with our eyes, but they’re all over the trees. And not a hundred feet ahead…is a massive white source of power.”

Eldras held still, like a cat about to pounce. “A treant.”

Aric slowly exhaled as his stomach lurched. He lifted his sword and eased it back into the built-in sheath. “I can see you,” he said cautiously. Once his sword was set, he lifted his hands up high. “I’m not here to harm any of you—quite the opposite.”

He focused with his mind’s eye. Several of the shifting waves of energy darted amongst the trees. Yet, nothing had responded. “We’ve come to aid Bӧr Mesari against the incursion that’s coming.”

Again, no answer.

He looked at Eldras from the corner of his eye. “Get ready to fly. If I can get on your back, you fly us straight up and away from here.”

Eldras didn’t move, but a sense of fear and anger swelled across the bond. “You don’t have to tell me twice. Say the word and we’ll be gone.”

Aric swallowed a lump in his throat as a shiver crawled up his spine. “I—I don’t know if any of you are from the Gro’nzael Grove. But, if you are, I am truly sorry for what happened. I had no control of my magic then.”

A deep voice filled the forest, rattling the trees and the ground beneath Aric’s feet. It was far too voluminous to be from anything human-sized. “You…desecrated…sacred…land.”

Aric’s heart pounded in his chest. His breaths quickened. He knew without question the voice came from the bright aura of light, the treant that stood sixty feet tall. He lowered his eyes and bowed his head. Whether the treant understood his gesture of respect, he never knew. “M-my power acted on its own accord to protect Eldras, my dragon. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“I…know…youngling.”

“Aric!” Eldras hissed. “Look!”

Aric narrowed his eyes and slowly looked up. Whatever shield had blocked his view of the druids before was gone. Many of them were transformed into large cats. They sat on thick branches, their tails swaying playfully. He swallowed again. “Are—are you still seeking atonement, or—punishment?”

“This…is…not…the…Gro’nzael.”

Aric’s heart jolted. He hadn’t realized until he saw minute movement along the bark of the treant that the ancient monstrosity had a face. Elongated and withered like an elder, the giant tree had two black eyes, and a mouth.

Every fiber of his being screamed for him to run. But he couldn’t. “We need to get to Bӧr Mesari.”

“We need to make amends,” said Eldras. He finally moved, turning to look at Aric. “If these druids understand, surely the Gro’nzael will as well.”

Aric pursed his lips with annoyance. Taking a deep breath, he dared a step forward. A few of the druids rose to their feet on the branches. He halted. “How far away are we from the Gro’nzael Grove?”

“It…is…gone, child…of…the…lands”

Aric’s heart sank. “No,” he whispered. Looking sideways at Eldras, he whispered, “I killed them all.”

“No,” said the treant. His word clung to the air like the fog in the Scar. “They…were…punished, for…their…own…pride.”

Aric furrowed his brows. “Pride? I—” He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

One of the blue and gray leopards pounced from a branch twenty feet high and landed in front of Aric. With a liquid-like twist, it shifted into a humanoid form, a woman with gray skin. She stood at least two heads higher than him. “The Gro’nzael dared to wage war against the Honored Dragonmages. They were dismissed from their physical forms and sent to the aftermath.”

Aric couldn’t pinpoint where he had heard such an accent before, if he ever had. “You killed them?”

The druid gave a slow, single nod. “They had hearts of black vengeance. It was not honorable. It served none beyond themselves. They destroyed all hope and worth to appease the Gods. Our God, Versuchtor, would never find such aberration appeasing.”

Aric took Gods to mean the treants. Peering up at the face in the treant, he realized the gargantuan tree, the God, must be Versuchtor. He let out a long exhale of relief, then looked back at Eldras. The bond relaxed its blanket of trembling fear. “So…just to be clear, no druid groves want me dead?”

“Many want you dead, Elmerïan,” said the druid. Then she grinned. “But none would step foot in that direction without the call of the Gods. If they deem your life spared, then find yourself blessed and be ever grateful.”

Aric nodded and smiled. Then he laughed without meaning to. He cut it short and bowed again. “I am. I’m forever grateful.” He stood, chuckled with disbelief and bowed low again. As he stood, a thought occurred. “Oh.”

“What…is…it, child?” asked Versuchtor.

Aric swallowed. “When did this happen—with the Gro’nzael?”

“Four moonturns after the fire purged from the heavens,” said the druid.

Aric looked back at Eldras, a sharp sting of worry sending his heart racing. “The elves.” He swallowed for a third time and looked back at the druid. “In Velensmir, they said Bӧr Mesari had planned on killing me, or at least turning me over to the druids for my crimes against their grove.”

The druid woman looked back at the treant. With an inaudible command, she turned and shifted back into a massive, spotted leopard again. Without a word, she leaped onto one of Versuchtor’s limbs, his arms.

“The…Elven…Court…seeks…your…death, youngling,” said Versuchtor. “Not…the…Vrelengard.”

Aric turned around and cursed under his breath. “I should’ve fucking known. They’ve been moving us around like game pieces. If the druids were taken out of the picture almost immediately after…we would have never gone on the run like we did. Or at least not as far. The elves want us dead. We’re a threat to them, not the druids. Fucking cowards.”

Eldras turned his snout toward the ground. “We already knew they wanted us dead based on the prophecy and Tirian alone.”

Aric nodded. “Thank you.” He turned and bowed once more to the druids and their God. “If we are permitted to pass through the Vrelengard, we should like to be on our way.”

“You…may,” said Versuchtor.

“What of the wards?” Aric asked.

“What…wards?” asked Versuchtor.

Aric narrowed his eyes. “The Court always said any human who reached their city would be subjected to wards—druids who can wipe away any memory.”

Several of the druids made cackles and hums.

Aric realized, after a few seconds, they were laughing. He furrowed his brows. “What’s so—” He paused, realizing what had been the answer to many questions he had of late. “They lied, didn’t they?”

Moro rubbed Sage’s back as the salty air pushed his locks back. The air drifting over the sea was cooler than he ever expected it to be. When he was younger, he used to envision the oceans as a constant warmth. A thud landed behind him. He turned to see Vig’ka.

“Do you know how privileged you should feel right now?”

Moro glanced at Sage. He nodded. “I do. I gave Ergoth my thanks for letting me bring her on the deck. On the plus side, she can dive and feed herself.”

Vig’ka looked at the blue stone on his staff. “I do not mean you are privileged for your permission to bring her aboard a passenger ship—though you are. I mean this.” He tapped the staff on the damp deck.

Moro narrowed his eyes and half shook his head. “I don’t—what is it?”

Vig’ka sighed and walked over to Moro. “This is something very old. Older perhaps than the orcunae themselves. It’s a dwarven creation called a strakt’ver. In your tongue, it would be increaser, or…no, amplifier.”

Moro understood the word, or at least its meaning. He looked at the jagged sapphire. “Dwarves made it?”

Vig’ka nodded. “When we settled on the southern parts of the Bearmaw Mountains, we found many dwarven artifacts. For a long time, none knew what this was. Until a sagribӧr touched it.” He shoved it forward. “Take hold.”

Moro looked at the stone for a moment and swallowed a lump in his throat. As he wrapped his hand around the wooden staff, a warm sense pushed through his chest, a similar sensation just after he had siphoned potentials many times over. He let go. The warmth vanished. “What was that?”

Vig’ka chuckled. “It is a gift from Ergoth. He wants you to use it.”

Moro furrowed his brows. Thinking of the axes on his back, he tried to imagine carrying a staff as well, let alone on the back of Sage. “I can’t wield that. I won’t be able to fight.”

Vig’ka shook his head. “I do not want you to hold it. I want to attach it to you. It is a gift. When an orc gives something, it is permanent. This staff, the gem, the entire strakt’ver…is yours.”

Moro narrowed his eyes. “I don’t get it. How are you going to attach it?”

“The shaft is useless,” said Vig’ka. “The gem itself is the real power. It amplifies all power you have in you, be it potentials that you have conquered, or your own mana. If you will, I aim to use pieces of it on you and me.”

“I…still don’t understand what you mean by attaching it,” Moro said slowly.

“I can put pieces of it just beneath your flesh, like bones.”

Moro opened his mouth, but no words escaped. The thought of embedding jagged pieces of a gem into his skin sounded not only excruciating, but potentially harming. “Is—is this something that’s been done before?”

“With a gem?” asked Vig’ka. He shook his head. “No. But with other stones, or small bones, yes. Orcunae have a traditional ceremony with marriage in which each mate chooses something to bind them together.”

Moro’s cheeks reddened as he thought of Trenara. He quickly rubbed his forehead.

“Yes,” Vig’ka said with chuckle. “You and Trenara will do the same one day—I hope.”

Moro had never given marriage a thought until that moment. He had never had someone who he would gladly give his life for before he met her. He nodded. “Then I’ll do it. If I may one day have to do it for her to seal our bond, then I will do it with this to seal my allegiance to Az’ Grim.”

Vig’ka smiled, not amusingly, but something akin to paternally. A smile of pride and happiness. “Good. That is good.” He glanced toward the doorway leading down to the bunk house below. “Because Trenara is setting up two tables as we speak.”

Moro’s heart leaped. “What?”

Vig’ka laughed and walked to the door. “Come. I will show you how we become stronger.”

Moro pet Sage underneath her beak. “I’ll be back, girl.”

Following Vig’ka down into the boarding hull, he was thankful Ergoth had given Vig’ka his own ship, though he knew it was more for him than the orcs. Whatever the Chieftain had seen in Moro to grant him special abilities and privileges, Moro wasn’t going to take it for granted.

He smiled brightly at Trenara. She was clad in a long, dark purple set of robes. Her hair was pulled back in a braided ponytail. On her wrists were thick bracers adorned with topazes and sapphires. It was not the same attire she had on that morning.

Moro walked over to her and grabbed her hand. “A special occasion, huh?"

Trenara leaned down and kissed Moro. Standing up straight, she took his other hand in hers. “This may be the last of the  special occasions before we make landfall."

Vig'ka laid the staff on one of the tables. He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the room. “Now, this may be painful at first. Likely uncomfortable for a time. Which is why we shall do this now. We are only three days from the shore."

Moro turned, his heart rate rising as he looked at the staff. Then he looked down at his arms. “Where will the shards go?"

“Where do you feel potentials the most when you siphon them?" asked Vig'ka.

Moro glanced up at Vig'ka as his stomach rolled. “In—in my chest." He looked up at Trenara. “Surely, by the Gods, you're not about to shove them into my chest."

Trenara chortled as she let go of his hands. She reached up and unlatched his tunic. Running her fingers just below both sides of his collar bones, she smiled. “They will go here." She traced a semicircle, dipping down to the lower part of his sternum.

Moro felt a tingle in his groin at her light touch. While she spoke, he was reminded of her touch in their bed. He glanced up and down at her body and smirked. “Will you be doing it?" he asked, if for anything else to switch his focus.

“I will," said Trenara. “The gem will connect you two to each other. I think—" She glanced at her father. “We think…the closer you stay together, the stronger you will become."

Moro turned to Vig'ka and smiled softly. “Like a bond."

“Precisely," Vig'ka said with a nod. He turned the staff until the sapphire faced him. Shoving his hand into his pocket, he removed a handful of seeds. Holding his hand over it, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Squeezing his fist, he crushed the seeds and arched his back.

Moro swallowed a lump in his throat. He had never seen any of the other sangribör siphon so much potential at once.

Vig'ka grunted, then roared as he opened his eyes. He gripped the gem with the other hand as bright purple energy shone between his fingers.

Moro could have sworn for a brief flash, Vig'ka's irises glowed violet. His heart pounded as he heard a loud crack.

Vig'ka gasped and fell backward.

Moro leaped fifteen feet across the room and caught Vig'ka before he could crash against the hull. He nearly collapsed as he misjudged the weight of the orc, or the power behind the stone's explosion. Standing him up, Moro asked quickly, “Are you alright?"

Trenara was beside them in a flash as well. “Father!"

Vig'ka breathed heavily, but otherwise appeared underneath. He nodded and looked at the sapphire. “Look."

Lying on the table were sixteen small fragments of the gem. The shaft of the staff was blackened and smoldering.

“You did it," Moro whispered.

“I did the first part," Vig'ka said. He held up his hand.

Moro noticed Vig'ka's palm was black and red, raw as if he had held it over a flame, just before he lowered it. “You're-"

“It is nothing," Vig'ka interrupted and stepped toward the table. “We must be quick, lest the stone tries to bind itself back together."

Moro quirked a brow. “Can it do that?"

“We are in the realm of theories now," said Vig'ka. “This is ancient dwarven magic. We do not know what it will do."

“Remove your tunic," Trenara said quickly. “On the tables—both of you."

Moro stripped off his shirt and lay on the table. He flexed his back as the cold wood touched his flesh. “Do I need to do anything?"

Trenara shook her head as she moved to the pieces. She poked one quickly with a finger and stepped back. Then she snorted. “Only checking."

She took eight pieces of the sapphire and laid them around the area she had traced on Moro's chest. They were hot, yet not unbearable. She turned and walked over to a small cup on a shelf. From it, she removed a bulk of seeds.

Moro watched her above his head, albeit upside down. Though she had extensive knowledge of fûrin, he had only seen her use it twice before. “Hey."

Trenara held up a handful of the seeds and paused. “Yes?"

Moro's stomach fluttered as the thought formed. “In case this—you know—in case I die or something, just know, I love you."

Trenara's mouth fell agape. A series of different facial expressions flashed before settling on a soft smile. “And I love you, Moro." She glanced at Vig'ka and gave a soft chuckle.

Moro swallowed and looked over at Vig'ka, who had a wide grin on his face. “And there's nobody else I'd rather be bound to."

Before anyone could say more, and before Moro saw Trenara move, she crushed the seeds, siphoned the potentials, then slammed her palms onto Moro's chest.

As if someone was pressing eight white hot irons into his chest, Moro screamed. He tried to turn but Trenara held him still.

“I am sorry," Trenara cried.

Moro's vision faded, then came back as the urge to vomit sent an iron tang into his throat. He gasped. He couldn't breathe. He tried to inhale but his body denied his mind's command. Tears filled his eyes as his vision blurred. The agony slowly increased. The next time his vision faded, he fell unconscious.

Chapter 50:

Burning Skies

Moro woke to a bright pain in his chest. He sat up and gasped.

Trenara threw herself over Moro and squeezed him in a tight embrace. Gone were her robes in exchange for leather armor. A large axe was clung to her back. “I thought you were dead!"

Moro didn't get a chance to speak before she kissed him. He could feel moisture on her face. When she stood, he realized she had been crying. “What the fuck happened?" he questioned as he sat up. His heart sank upon the sight of ankle deep water on the floor.

“Up!" yelled Ergoth from the deck. “The Gods shine light on you yet! Get up here!"

Moro's heart immediately began pounding in his chest. He looked down at his body. Someone had dressed him in black leather and bronze mail. His belt had four daggers attached at the hips. Two more blades were strapped to the outside of his boots.

With widened eyes, he looked around the room as Trenara ran toward the stairs. The table beside him was flipped on its side. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them, shaking his head meanwhile like a wet dog. This was no dream. What the fuck?

A deep boom rang outside. Two seconds later, the ship jerked with a loud crash. Moro jumped up and sprinted upstairs to the deck. The last he remembered, they were days away from landfall. He slid to a halt on the wet deck as he saw a watery battlefield the likes of which he had never seen.

Fourteen ships were lying sideways unnaturally, their sails and poles snapped. Dozens of orcs were floating, a red aura of blood drifting around them. From the evergreen wall five hundred meters ahead, Moro saw a bright orange explosion. A black ball soared through the air and smashed through the deck of another ship.

More than twenty ships were docked on the shore. Overhead, three dozen valravns dove and dodged flurries of arrows as they fired their own toward the forest.

“Moro!" Trenara yelled.

Snapping out of his daze, Moro turned to see Trenara tightening the saddle on Sage. He ran to them. “Where's your father?"

Trenara jerked her head backward, gesturing toward Bör Mesari. “Inland already. You need to get in there."

Moro turned around and noticed Ergoth standing at the helm of the ship. He was moving his hands in a slither fashion as green energy swirled between them. Looking back at Sage, Moro grabbed the reins.

Trenara moved to the other side of the valravn and picked up a bow and quiver full of arrows. “Here. My father is just inside the woodline. Help him. Please!"

Moro swung the quiver over his shoulder and head, then climbed onto Sage's back. As he took the bow from Trenara, he leaned down and kissed her. As he sat up, he realized more than half of the ships were missing. “Where is the rest of Az’ Grim?”

“Caught in a storm two nights ago,” said Trenara. “We think they ventured farther northwest. We will find them. Go!”

Moro glanced back at Ergoth again, knowing she was safer on board with him than anywhere else. “Stay with the Chieftain. I love you."

“I love you!" Trenara called back as Sage leaped into the air and raced toward the woods.

Moro didn't have time to process what had happened since he passed out. He knew three things were certain; the gems were working, because he felt more powerful than ever before even without siphoning potentials yet. Next, he was certain the three days had passed. He felt no pain in his chest where the pieces were embedded, which meant he had healed already. And lastly, the battle had already begun—and they were losing quickly.

Passing by several other valravns, Moro ducked twice to dodge arrows. Once, Sage dove and twisted below a handful of arrows released together. As she came back to level, Moro narrowed his eyes. While he could see the arrows, he couldn't see the archers. “Faster, girl!"

Sage dipped her head as she flapped her wings harder. They raced toward the bank. Just before they reached the ground, she opened the wings out wide and curved to follow the terrain below. The dive had accelerated their movement.

Moro looked up to see an explosion of purple light inside the woods. “Vig'ka!"

Reaching back, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it on the bowstring. “Forward, girl!"

Sage flapped her wings furiously, sending them barreling toward the evergreens. Moro thanked the Gods he had worked on vocal commands for Sage. It allowed him to keep his hands mostly free if he squeezed his legs.

As they came up on the trees, he spotted an elf wearing dull green armor, a perfect concealment in the pines. He pulled the arrow back and released it. The well practiced shot sent the black arrow into the elf's exposed throat. She flipped backward out of the tree, bouncing off of six branches before she landed face first, breaking her back.

The forest floor was spotted with elf corpses. Many had been burned. Others were dismembered. Four orcs lay dead on their backs with arrows sticking out.

Another explosion of purple vibrated the greenery. “There, girl!" he said as he pointed the bow toward the magical fight ahead. Rotating the bow around, he fastened it to his back. He unlatched and removed one of his axes from the side slot of his saddle.

Sage dipped low under branches as they went deeper into the forest, weaving left and right, up and down. Moro turned around and looked up just as an arrow nicked his shoulder.

Throwing his hand skyward, he pulled mana from his core and sent six bolts of purple energy into the trees. The forest groaned as a dozen trees were destroyed. Several elves fell seventy feet from the treetops to their deaths.

Something behind Moro made the hairs on his neck stand up. He turned in the saddle as Sage landed. A massive, ship-sized comet of green fire collided with the side of the Vrelengard a thousand feet to the west. The flames carved a twenty-foot-wide opening into the woods, tearing down pines in its path.

“Ergoth," Moro whispered with a sense of relief as an inferno rose to life. Sage roared and sprinted forward.

Another fifty feet into the forest, Moro spotted Vig'ka, General Thar'lok and three dozen orcs. Five of them were sangribör.  He had an axe brandished in one hand while the other was steadily releasing bursts of purple fire into the semicircular formation of elves atop a small ridge.

Unlike the archers, most of the elves on the high ground wore gold and silver armor, sleek and shimmering. Five elves threw their hands about with magical precision.

A vine ripped out of the ground and wrapped around a hargol's neck, then pulled him to the ground to strangle him. A sky blue bolt of lightning cracked across the battleground and pierced through one of the sangribör as a blue blur jetted overhead.

Moro pulled his feet from the stirrups and leaped onto his feet. He hooked the axe to the hook on his back and removed two daggers from his belt. Jumping off of the saddle before Sage halted, he threw one dagger, then the other. As he landed in the formation of orcs, he watched as both knives found their mark; one in an elf's neck, the other in one of the magic weaver's eyes.

Vig'ka turned and grinned. He threw his hand forward, sending out a violet shockwave across the ground, smashing through the hill. Four elves fell backward and jumped to either side of the new crater.

Moro unlatched his axe. “What's the plan here?"

“We make hole to queen," said Thar'lok. “We kill queen!" He roared and ran forward. The hargols followed without a command.

Moro shook his head. According to Ergoth's previous plan to sneak through the forest, the inner city was another several miles northeast. He looked at Vig'ka. “What's the actual plan?"

Vig'ka moved forward with the four remaining sangribörs. “Get to the city. We need to find their queen and eliminate her.”

Moro narrowed his eyes. He glanced back at the carnage to the south. They had been ambushed, turned off of their plan, scattered, and now they were outnumbered. “Seriously, what's the plan to get there?"

Thar'lok and the hargrols overtook the hill in less than thirty seconds. Once the elves wielding magic were killed, the others were no match for the hargols.

“Shit," Moro hissed. He turned back and ran to Sage. Without halting, he jumped over her head, turned in the air, and landed on the saddle. Sliding his feet in the stirrups, he returned the axe to its slot. “Up, girl. Go above the trees."

After flying for nine more hours above the Vrelengard—and no longer worrying about druids—Aric and Eldras had stopped for the night, just before dusk. Within minutes of landing, Eldras smelled an elk, which proved to be no match for either of them at this point. They had a much needed supper, and slept for one last night in peace, letting the stars sparkling through the pine canopy weigh down their eyelids.

The next morning, they had moved on foot toward Bör Mesari before the sun rose. Aric insisted on his legs taking a break from rubbing against the inside of his armor as he squeezed them around Eldras's back the previous day.

They halted six miles from the city when Aric spotted the energy signatures of four elves. They were high in pine trees, unmoving with bows in hand, as if they were parts of the forest itself. It reminded Aric of the druids the day before.

“What do we do now?” asked Eldras. He was hunkered as low as his massive frame would allow.

The elves’ height was an advantage and disadvantage for them. While they were concealed with elevation and watching the ground below, they also had everything else at significant distance out of their own sight.

Aric knelt and thought for a long moment. “If they see you, they’ll know immediately who we are.” He looked around, focusing his senses on his surroundings. “Stay here for a moment. I’ll walk through. If they see a human, they’ll have questions, but I don’t think they will release an arrow.”

“Are you sure?” asked Eldras.

Aric blew air out of his nostrils and grinned. “No. I’m not.” He stood and moved forward. “Just be on guard. Watch out around you. Don’t focus on me.”

“But-”

“I can handle four elves,” Aric said, halting and pointing toward the trees to the west. “Stay here, boy. Watch your back. We may not be alone out here.”

Eldras groaned quietly and turned his head away from Aric. “Fine.”

Aric took a deep breath. He hated leaving Eldras, even if only for a moment. But he was safer sitting still than making himself known to the elves. Walking toward the energy waves in the trees, Aric thought about his armor and halted. “Shit,” he said.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m wearing living steel,” Aric said, rolling his eyes. “I’d have to strip down to nearly my bare ass to not be seen wearing elven forged gear.”

“So now what?” Eldras asked with a laugh.

Aric huffed and shook his head. “I guess they’re either going to listen to me, or they’re going to die.”

“Are you going to kill them?”

Aric didn’t answer as he pushed on. His heart started racing as he approached the trees. He kept his eyes to the front, as if he didn’t know they were above him. The power stored in the arte was easier to draw on than ever, as simple as walking.

He heard light steps on branches and quiet movement. Then he heard long hair whipping through the air before an elf landed in front of him. She drew back a golden tipped arrow.

“Halt, human!”

Aric stopped and held his hands up. “I need to get to the city and warn the queen.”

“Of the impending attack?” asked the elf. “I assure you, human, she is more than aware. Your permittance is denied.”

“Look, I know there’s a-”

“Where did you get that armor?” she interrupted.

Aric clenched his jaws and sighed. “Here we go,” he told Eldras. Lowering his hands, he pushed part of his focus into the trees. The other three elves were lower now, their arrows aimed at his face.

“This may sound crazy, but I’m a dragonmage,” Aric said. He half expected her to laugh, or release the arrow at once.

Instead, she let the tension off of the bowstring, then lowered her bow. She looked up at the others and gave a high pitched whistle. They dropped from the trees and put their bows away. Bowing low, they said altogether, “Honored Dragonmage.

“We have heard you may be arriving to help.”

Aric’s stomach dropped. “W-what?”

“We received a note from Velensmir that you may be on route to aid us,” said the first elf.

Aric opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came. He was dumbfounded. “What the fuck?”

“Does that mean I can come out?” Eldras asked.

“Wait.” Aric swallowed and shook his head. “You’ve been expecting me? And—you want my help?”

The elf gave a forced smile. “Do not take our alliance against the orcs to mean all is forgiven. You pose a threat to our kind and you have trespassed against King Aglorion. However, you pose a threat to our enemy as well. In this instance, our enemy’s enemy shall be our ally.”

Aric furrowed his brows and looked at each of the elves. If he wanted to, he could end them all here and now. Then, they could proceed to the city and find the truth. But having an escort could speed up their movement through Bӧr Mesari.

“Alright,” he said cautiously. “I’m going to call on my dragon now. If I find we’ve been deceived, just know you’ll suffer in ways you can’t fathom.”

The male elf to the far right swallowed. “Please. We are setting aside our differences for what we are about to face together.”

Aric smirked sarcastically. “I guess we can kill each other later.”

A loud boom echoed across the forest from the west. The first elf whirled around with widened eyes. “Please. Summon your dragon. We must go, now.” Without waiting, the four of them turned and ran toward the city.

“Now, boy!” Aric called. “I think we’re too late.”

Within seconds, Eldras landed beside Aric. “Should we fly ahead?”

“No,” Aric said as he climbed onto Eldras’s back. “If we arrive before the elves, they may try to kill us right there. We need them to explain our arrival.”

Fortunately, they were following elves, who could pace with the average horse. Eldras would have been faster in the air, but he managed to keep up. He leaped over branches that hung too low to duck, and jumped and twisted in between trees that were too close together.

Ten minutes later, Bӧr Mesari came into view, or at least the front barrier. It was crafted from twisted vines and trees shaped unnaturally, just like Velensmir. Three more booms rang out. Beyond the wall, elves shouted and screamed commands back and forth.

Before the elves reached the barrier, two of the trees parted. The vines unwound themselves from branches and created a hole for them to run through. Eldras barely fit before it closed back.

Aric’s heart leaped as he took in a dreamscape that dwarfed Velensmir. Where the southeastern faction had trees shaped into structures, Bӧr Mesari had vast buildings carved from metals and stones. A massive building in the center of the city towered over small huts and houses.

A louder explosion sounded from the southwest and shook the ground. The elf scout stopped and turned around. “Follow me. I will escort you to Queen Elsavaera.”

Aric looked around at dozens of elves running this way and that, many of them nearly tripping themselves as they stopped and gawked at him. “They act like they’ve never seen a dragonmage before.”

“Maybe they’ve never seen a black dragon,” Eldras said as he took off after the elf.

Aric tried to ignore his surroundings and focus on the battle waged on what sounded like the coast. Down four winding roads, they turned and were presented by the vast building in the center of the city. Another explosion rocked the ground.

Aric looked to the south. “Tell your queen we’re here,” he said to the elf. She stopped running and whirled around. “We need to get down there now.” He tapped his heels against Eldras’s sides. “Go, boy!”

The ground shook harsher yet as a massive gold dragon landed in front of Eldras just as he turned to the south.

Aric looked up thirty feet to see an elf leap off of the dragon’s back, drawing his sword on the way down. He landed fifteen feet away, but in less than a second, he lunged forward and held his golden blade against Aric’s throat. “Queen Elsavaera will see you now, world breaker.”

Aric wanted to protest. He wanted to kick the dragonmage in the teeth. He wanted to do anything other than waste time. But one more look up at the huge dragon sent a shiver down his spine, partially from Eldras’s fear pushing through the bond.

Aric nodded and slid off of Eldras’s back. He turned and looked down at the sword, then gave the coldest eyes he could muster to the dragonmage. “You want to wait for the orcs to kill all of your people, that’s on you.”

Eldras cowarded in the shadow of the larger dragon. “Careful, Aric,” he said slowly.

Aric held the dragonmage’s glare. “Either way, get your blade out of my face before I shove it up your ass.”

The scout elf gasped.

“Aric!” Eldras yelled, turning to look at him.

The elven dragonmage narrowed his eyes. “The whole of my race fears what you may become one day.” He stepped forward, bending at the elbow to keep his sword against Aric’s neck. “Do not let yourself be confused, human. None fear what you are at the moment.”

Aric smirked tauntingly and shoved the dragonmage’s blade aside as he turned to follow the scout, then he gave him a shove backward. The elf lunged forward again, swinging his sword. Aric whirled around, removed his own blade, and smacked the flat end of the blade against the back of the elf’s hand.

The dragonmage dropped his golden sword. As if every sound of the battle waging in the distance had decided to halt, the sword clanged loudly against the stone.

Aric’s eyes widened. His speed had been unexpected. Or rather, he expected the elf to be faster. To block or dodge.

The massive dragon opened his mouth wide and struck like a great serpent toward Eldras.

Aric summoned a bright white glow of energy to his hand and aimed it at the dragonmage. “He dies, you die!”

The larger dragon halted, his mouth hanging open for a moment before he stood erect again.

Aric looked back at the elf, whose eyes were bulging now, staring at the power of the Elmerïan. He closed his fist and let the energy withdraw back into his core. Bending over, he picked up the gold blade. “I’m not your enemy,” he said as he handed it over to its owner.

Without warning, a loud horn shook the ground from the south. The dragonmage spun around and leaped onto the tail of the golden dragon before swiftly climbing up to his saddle.

“What is that?” asked Aric, his stomach churning.

The elven dragonmage looked down. “They have breached the perimeter.” He glanced at Eldras, then back at Aric. “If you are a dragonmage, then come. The queen can wait while we protect her.

The southern wall of twisted trees and vines exploded with vibrant purple energy. Aric’s heart sank. “Sangribӧrs. Run—” He looked at Eldras. Part of him wanted to follow through with his motto of old. He would have never faced down a sangribӧr as a sentinel. But he was no longer a sentinel of the Elven Court.  “No more running away.”

Hurling himself up onto Eldras’s back, he felt miniscule against the mighty golden beast before him. “Where are the other dragonmages?” he called up to the elf.

The elf looked down again. “They are holding back the forces to the west.”

Aric looked to the west. He hadn’t heard any explosions from the cannons or magic. The sky was clear of dragons and valravns. “What’s to the west?”

“The other half of the orcs.”

Chapter 51:

The Forces of Gray

“Down!” yelled Donalis. “Into the woods. Get off of the wall!”

“Halt!” roared Paulus. He ripped the guidon out of Nathalior’s hands and thrust it into the air. An arrow ricocheted off of his spaulder and darted into the woods.

“My Lord!” Donalis yelled at the king. He lunged forward to shield against archers. “Gods damn it. This is why I said you should have stayed back at Grayhorn."

The king's eyes flared.  “I am King Paulus of Grayhorn! Stand down lest you invite the full wrath of my Gray Guard!"

Donalis anticipated the piercing of his armor by an arrow,  the hot sting of an arrowhead biting into his flesh. But it didn’t come. The flurries of arrows stopped. After a few silent seconds, someone called out from the wall.

“Wave that flag about!” said the man, holding a torch over the wall.  “Can’t see the crest!”

Donalis grabbed the guidon from Paulus and held it up higher. “It’s Grayhorn’s crest, you fuck! We’re here for a parlay with King Randton regarding the impending battle against Velensmir.”

“Impending…what?" The man looked back into the city, then looked back at Donalia. “King Randton passed away months ago."

Paulus furrowed his brows. “Who is your king now?"

“Queen Mara has charge over Maervorna now," said the man.

Nathalior stiffened. “No."

“Shit," hissed Paulus.

“The Mara?" asked Donalis.

“His daughter." Paulus sighed and lowered his head.

Donalis had heard of Mara in passings around Grayhorn. Folks spoke of her beauty outweighing her wit tenfold. “She's a child."

“No," said Paulus. “She's of age. But I have no ties to her. That means no leverage."

Donalis wondered what Paulus had previously held over Randton's head that could result in an alliance. Regardless, that power was gone now. A new council would need to be formed. Alliances needed to be recreated. Of course, it didn't help that Paulus refused help to both Maervorna and Ambermead during their squabble.

“Let us convene with Queen Mara then," said Paulus. “She needs to be concerned about what is about to befall this city."

“Um…a moment, please." The man disappeared behind the wall.

“You were acquainted with her father," said Donalis. “What do you know of his daughter?"

Paulus took a deep breath. “Close to nothing beyond her youth and tales of her beauty. Same muleshit as everyone in the north knows, I suppose. But youthful means malleable."

“My Lord," Nathalior spoke softly.

“Not now,” Donalis growled. He looked back at the king. “If she’s malleable, that means we need to have something we can leverage, my Lord.”

Nathalior held up a hand. “My Lord, if I-”

Donalis grabbed the front of Nathalior’s jerkin. “Just because we are not in the garrison of Grayhorn does not mean you may have the gumption to interrupt!”

Nathlior kept a straight face, something most men wouldn’t have been able to do while staring so close at Donalis’s glare. He slowly reached up and grabbed Donalis’s hands. “I know Queen Mara."

Donalis narrowed his eyes. Something was starting to give him the impression Nathalior had far more experience and knowledge of the known world then he was letting on. He released the scout. “How?"

Nathalior's eyes darted to the king, whose brows were lifted in curiosity. Then he looked back at Donalis. “My sister, sir."

Donalis's heart jolted. The halfbreed.

“Your sister?" questioned Paulus. “Who is your sister to have affiliations with nobility?"

Nathalior swallowed. “They were…um…"

“What?" asked Donalis. “Spit it out. Were they friends? Was she a servant to the queen?"

Nathalior's cheeks reddened. “Lovers, sir."

Donalis thought of the logistics. Though he knew the answer, he asked, “And where is your sister now?"

Nathalior's brows furrowed. “She—she's in Velensmir, sir. You know-"

“A slave," Donalis interrupted before Nathalior drew more attention and questions from the king. “Lovers or just intimate?"

Nathalior swallowed. “Both, sir." He bowed his head, as if disappointed to be relaying such information.

Donalis looked at Paulus. “There is your leverage, my Lord."

Paulus smirked at Nathalior. “I see why you've brought him."

“Well, I didn't know about-"

“Oh, shut up, Donalis," Paulus growled. “How thick do you think I am? I know Velensmirians do not take human slaves. But half humans are a different story."

Donalis's chest grew tight. “My Lord, I can expl-"

“You certainly will explain," Paulus said sternly. He looked at Nathalior. “So you have tagged along in an effort to spring your sister from the elven clutches. Good on you, scout—if that’s what you are. Do you abide by my house and colors?"

Donalis took a deep breath. He doesn't know about Nathalior's bloodline.

“I…” Nathalior slowly cocked his head as he narrowed his eyes. “Grayhorn is not my home, my Lord.”

“Then I am not your Lord,” Pauls said with malice. “Which begs the question; who is your Lord?”

Nathalior swallowed audibly. “I have no Lord as I have no home.”

“Aye?” Paulus asked as he cocked a brow.

“I had no idea about Mara becoming the queen, my Lord," said Nathalior.

Paulus pointed at Nathalior. “You did know about her being a princess, though." He looked at Donalis. “I'm disappointed you hadn't explored that avenue of intel."

Donalis nodded as his face grew hot. The fiery haired scout bard was standing here, hiding his true nature to Paulus, and yet somehow had the stones to get the blame shifted to the Knight Lord of Grayhorn. Anger swelled in his chest for a brief moment before he took a deep breath, then swallowed it down, as he had practiced over and over again. He bowed. “Apologies, my Lord."

“Fifteen hundred paces down the wall is a gate," yelled the man atop the wall as he and another man poked their heads out. “If we find you imposterous, you will be executed where you stand. Are we clear…Lord Paulus?"

Paulus grinned. “Understood." As they began to move, he gripped Nathalior's shoulder. “Stay with me when we approach. Try anything stupid and I’ll disembowel you myself."

Donalis looked back over his shoulder. The smirk on Paulus's face sent a shiver down his spine, like a predator about to play with its food. “My Lord, someone needs to head back to the battalion on the shore. Then, if all goes well, we need a signal sent to the marine company."

Paulus nodded. “I agree. If Queen Mara chooses to help, Maervorna will be our base of operations for a few weeks until we get a party together to reach Ambermead."

Donalis cocked his head and fell back to walk beside Paulus. “Do you intend to stay the whole campaign?"

“I do," said Paulus. “I intend to see Velensmir fall personally. And afterwards, Bör Mesari."

Donalis halted as the squad continued forward. “What about Grayhorn, my Lord?"

Paulus held up a dismissal wave. “That's why we have the council, Knight Lord. Fear not for our homeland. We are on the verge of shifting the power in Verilia."

Chapter 52:

The Reckoning

Moro crested over the tall pines and soared skyward, keeping his eyes to the west, where he had heard a series of explosions. Though he had no experience in mounting or firing cannons, he suddenly became aware of the deep history of the orcs.

On the horizon, no less than forty ships were in a wide formation, staggered to allow their cannon balls to soar freely into the city without causing intersecting fatal lines of fire. Mounted on six ships were large twin ballistae. From those, several orcs were launching bolts twice as long as the valravs’ arrows. Glad we never had to fight them on the seas, he mused.

“Steady, girl," he called as he rubbed Sage's neck. She leveled out and hovered. Just as his excitement formed, his heart sank. To the west, five dragons flew toward the ships. No! The valravs are too far away.

He looked down at Vig'ka's group just as they breached the thick brush wall of the city. Torn between helping Trenara's father, or flying to the forces to the west, he opened his mouth to steer Sage toward the dragon's when he spotted a massive golden dragon below.

Behind it was a smaller black dragon. He pulled his bow off of his back and nocked an arrow. Narrowing his eyes, he drew back the arrow and aimed for the softer scales of the golden dragon's neck, just as the valravs had killed dragons during his time as a sentinel of the Court.

His heart pounded in his chest as he thought about killing the dragon. His eyes misted over as his heart began breaking. “No." He shook his head. I can’t do it.

Releasing the pressure off of his bow and holding both bow and arrow in his left hand, Moro grabbed the reins with his right. “Dive, girl! There!"

Sage roared and tucked in her wings. They plummeted toward the ground. Just as they were about to reach the forest canopy, something shimmering and blue caught his eye. Looking up, he spotted a sapphire beam of flames. “Up, girl!"

Sage twisted and flapped her wings, climbing back higher as a blue dragon flew underneath them. Its rider threw his hand upward and screamed something in Valerian. A bright arc of lightning burned through the air.

“Barrel right!" Moro roared as let go of his bow. Sage tucked her wings and rolled to the right.

Moro held his hand out and sent a thick wave of purple energy toward the lightning. The two bursts of magic collided, exploding in a cascade of violet embers.

As Sage uprighted herself, Moro pulled on the reins and squeezed his legs. “Back tuck!"

Sage lifted her head and performed a wide backflip, letting out a vicious screech.

“Dive!”

She dove toward the dragon's tail. Moro ripped the small satchel of seeds from his belt and crushed them, still inside the pouch. Siphoning the potentials, he felt his chest grow hot.

The dragon turned over upside down and craned its head toward its belly, firing two bursts of blue fire. As it came upright again, it dove to the right and raced groundward.

“Bank right!" Moro yelled. Sage lifted her left wing higher and lowered her right wing. The flames seared past them.

He slid the bow onto his back, dropping his arrow all the while. Cursing, he pulled his right hand back and channeled a thick bolt of power. As it swirled and grew hotter, he took careful aim of the dragon's shoulder blade. It has to pull up, he thought as he watched it race to a certain death.

As if on queue, the dragon opened its wings out wide and arched its back, coming rightside up.

Moro threw his hand forward, sending the bolt forward. The spell exploded against the dragon's left wing, just to the left of the dragonmage.

With a loud cry that seemed to buffer the air itself, the dragon tucked its injured wing and descended into the woods. It crashed through the evergreens in a cacophony of cracks and screams, carving a path through the Vrelengard.

“Follow, girl," Moro said as a tingle of guilt sent his stomach into hurdles. This is…war, he told himself as Sage dipped down through the branches. It's them or us. If war is upon us, then war becomes us!

As Sage landed, Moro leaped out of the saddle and landed with a few staggered steps. The thirty foot long dragon lay on its side. The dragonmage was already knelt next to her, green magic flowing from his hands into the hole in the wing.

“Don't move!" Moro yelled. He stepped back and pulled his axe from the saddle.

The dragonmage looked up, tears flowing down his pointy face. “You are not an orc." His eyes widened. “Ortis nerev!" Without giving a hint to his movements, he pushed off the ground, leaping backward. He soared fifteen feet into the air and sent another crack of lightning toward Moro.

Jumping to the side, Moro followed across his shoulder. As he came back to his feet, he saw the elf disappear on the other side of the dragon. “Up, girl!"

Sage chirped lowly, her version of an argument. She lowered her head and growled at the dragon.

“Up!" Moro yelled as he drew a dagger from his hip. “He’ll kill you! Go!” She let out another low growl, then flew straight up.

Whatever battle was taking place on the southern front of the city was heavily muted by the thick forest. The trees groaned in the cool breeze. Holding his axe forward and his dagger back, chambered to throw, he slowly walked toward the dragon. His heart sank. It wasn't moving.

The elf dove over the dragon. “Baerlor garöm vala straet!" he hissed, throwing a green jet of fire at Moro.

Leaping to the side, Moro dodged the spell. He threw the dagger with enhanced strength, but the elf was faster. Spinning in midair, the elf caught the blade and threw it back.

Moro barely moved fast enough as he backpedaled and knocked it out of the air with his axe. He turned and thrust his left hand forward, sending a series of purple bolts toward the elf.

The elf jumped fifteen feet into the air, twisting and throwing his hands forward. “Amaelas atok ba alaora!" Twin bolts of lightning erupted from his palms.

Moro turned, escaping one of the bright blue arcs. The second hit him in the rib, burning hot as it threw him sideways with the force of a stallion’s kick. His boots caught the ground first, rotating him headfirst in a sideways flip. His shoulder slammed into the ground and sent him rolling across the foliage. The axe bounced ten feet away. Tall weeds scratched his face and neck.

Agony thrummed through his shoulder and back. A sense of vertigo weakened his vision. He groaned, clenching his jaw as he rolled to his back.

The elf pulled a blue sword from his back sheath and lunged toward him.

In a panic, Moro focused a wide explosion of energy from his core. A sphere of violet energy pushed outward in all directions from his body.

The elf took the brunt of the power and was sent flipping backward through the air.

The ground beneath Moro exploded, pushing him upright, and sending chunks of dirt and undergrowth into the air. As he landed, he staggered forward, barely catching his balance. His legs were weak. The spell had drained the last of his potentials, and more.

His hands trembled as he picked up his axe. Reaching down to his hip, his heart sank. His seeds were gone.

The dragonmage had landed beside his dragon and was slowly getting to his feet. His smooth armor was covered in a dark smudge. The right side of his face and hair was singed.

Moro drew his last hip dagger and sprinted forward as fast as his fatigued legs would allow. Range was no longer an option, without his magic. He was reminded of Vig'ka's warning to never use more magic than he could store. Death would be the result of such a feat.

Closing the distance, Moro threw the dagger.

This time, his attack hit the elf in the chest. His sapphire armor wasn't even dented, but the force of the throw sent him backward a couple steps off balance.

Moro roared as he swung his axe sideways, aiming to cut the dragonmage in half. The curved blade smashed through the armor and into the elf's rib. It stuck. His eyes widened as he watched the elf's irises shaft from golden to ocean blue.

The dragonmage's face flushed white as a tear fell from one of his eyes. “Please. She…can not…die."

Moro's heart gripped in his chest. He looked at the dragon and, for the first time since landing, he noticed a thick, broken pine trunk had punctured through her underside.

Before he saw any movement, Moro felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder. He cried out and jumped back. Looking down, he saw a small blue knife sticking out. “Gods damn it!" he hissed as he wretched it from his shoulder.

The elf dropped to his knees and turned to the dragon. “Ni'par minlorn…Mov'laer."

Moro stepped forward and grabbed the axe handle. In two swift movements, he ripped the blade free, then swung it sideways, removing the elf's head. The dragon let out a guttural roar that forced Moro to drop the axe and cover his ears.

The ground shook as the dragon dropped its head.

Moro's breaths were heavy as the forest grew quiet once more. He stared at the dragon for a long moment, tears welling in his eyes. It was beautiful. The elf's headed body lay draped over its tail. The dragon had been a gift to Maerïnor.

And he had just killed it.

Something warm nudged his hand.

He turned to see Sage. Her head was bowed low, as if she shared his guilt. He threw his arms around her neck and sobbed. “What have I become, girl?"

Chapter 53:

If War is Upon Us

Aric squeezed his legs tight around Eldras's sides and gripped the spike before him. “Now is our chance to prove our worth, boy!"

Eldras pushed off of the ground and followed the golden dragon. “Hold on!"

Rushing through the hole in the perimeter was a large group of orcs. Aric locked eyes with a massive hargol wearing an overly large bone necklace. A small group of slightly smaller hargrols were on his tail, each with a gargantuan axe.

From seemingly nowhere, Aric noticed a squad of elves below running toward the orcs. Most had swords, some had spears.

He pulled energy from his core, aimed for the squad of grunts, and threw a beam of mimic sunlight. Before it exploded into the lead hargrol, a sangribör sent a wide burst of purple energy into the air. The spells met and exploded.

Aric's stomach rolled. “He blocked it?"

The golden dragon opened his mouth and engulfed the ground between the elves and orcs.

“There we go!" Aric told Eldras. “Just burn them, boy."

Eldras flew underneath the larger dragon and sent his own beam of blue flames.

Aric threw his hand forward, channeling a beam of bright white through the fire. In the distance, he saw a valrav flying toward them. “Valrav!" He watched closely for a black arrow. Before anything came, a blue dragon darted in from the west and became entangled in an aerial battle

“Go to the ground," he said as he drew his sword.

“You're safer up here!" Eldras cried as fear washed over the bond.

“I can't help much from up here, boy." Aric pushed back against the fear, driving his will power through the arte. “Go down!"

Eldras hummed and dove. As he touched down, he said, “Be careful!"

Aric slid off of Eldras's back and looked up into his eyes. “You be careful. Fly up high and watch for valravs." Without waiting for a response, he turned and ran toward the smoldering ground. A flash of gold alerted him that the other dragonmage had dismounted as well.

A group of sangribör released waves of fire across the gap between them and the elves. The front line cried out as they were incinerated nearly immediately.

Aric's heart pounded in his chest. He halted and thrust his offhand forward, focusing on the wave patterns in the air. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the different forms of energy.

Pushing the small particles forward, a gust of wind rushed and snuffed out the flames. His cloak flapped around him as invisible pressure pushed him from behind.

He opened his eyes to see the orcs covering their faces as dust and embers blew toward them. That was his opening. Drawing more power from the arte, he forced the darker particles in the air to collide with the smaller ones. A single burst of white energy completed the spell. A massive explosion erupted in the center of the orcs.

Eight-foot tall bodies scattered, flipping awkwardly backward toward the perimeter as Aric's wall of fire died. Some of the orcs smashed through trees. Others had managed to stand their ground.

His heart sank as he realized in the middle of the flames, a sangribör wearing dark robes had a purple or around him like a shield. “This sangribör is powerful!"

“How powerful?" Eldras asked as he swooped past Aric and released a stream of blue flames. The orc’s ball of energy expanded, creating a wide dome over his comrades. The fire didn’t touch them.

Aric furrowed his brows. “I don’t know. Really fucking powerful!” He slid his sword into the living steel, then pulled both arms back, drawing the power from the core. In his mind, he noticed the miniature sun within had dimmed, yet it was far brighter than the first time he saw it.

As several elves began sending flurries of green spells, the dome brightened, taking the bulk of the damage.

“I need to kill him,” said Aric. “They’ll never get to the other orcs until-”

His words were cut short as a dragon roared farther southeast. A chill ran down Aric’s spine. The blue dragon, he thought. “Eldras! Pick me up!”

Eldras was already swooping back toward Aric. Without touching down to the ground, he turned sideways in the air, letting Aric leap onto his back. “She’s…she’s dead.”

Grabbing hold of the spike in front of him, Aric’s chest grew tight. “How do you know?”

Eldras flapped his wings, climbing higher into the air. “I can just…feel it.”

As they ascended, Aric spotted four valravs flying toward the direction the roar came from. “Go, boy!”

Eldras tucked his legs back and raced forward. In seconds, they passed over the orcs. Below, a deep gorge had been carved into the forest. From up high, Aric could see a blue dragon on its side. Behind it, a valravn and its rider stood over a corpse. “Dive!”

Eldras growled and shoved his head downward. His body followed in a steep descent. As they neared the ground, Aric prepared to sear a hole through the valrav when the stranger turned and looked up.

Time seemed to freeze as Aric laid eyes on a ghost. “Stop!”

Eldras arched his back and leveled out. “What?”

Aric’s heart pounded in his chest. Even at fifty feet above the ground, he could see his brother plain as a clear skied sunset. “Moro?”

“Aric?” Moro shouted.

“Go down, boy!” Aric said. His stomach fluttered with excitement. Eldras slowly flew to the ground. Before they touched down, Aric turned and jumped off of his back.

He walked slowly toward Moro, his eyes widened as they fell upon the valravn. Shaking his head, he halted. “You—you’re alive? What—how are you…?”

Moro smiled widely, though his face had changed. No longer was his cheeks rounded, but narrow and sharp. His canine teeth were elongated, giving his upper lip the impression he had been punched in the mouth. His ears were now pointed, not quite like an elf, but significantly more than any human. Stranger yet, were his eyes, which glowed like smoldering embers.

“I thought I might run into you again one day,” said Moro. He ran forward and held his arms out wide.

Aric took him in a deep embrace, finding himself surprised at Moro’s strength. Tears filled his eyes. For the first time since he had met Eldras, he felt the world had grown brighter. “What—what happened to you, brother?”

Eldras dipped his head low and growled. “He’s tainted with dragon’s blood.”

Aric looked back at Eldras. His heart skipped a beat as he gazed upon the feral visage before him. He had rarely seen the dragon with such an animalistic posture, as if he were about to pounce and rip Moro apart. “Hey, boy. Easy. This is Moro. Remember Moro? I told you-”

Eldras let out a deep roar, silencing Aric. He began pacing back and forth, blowing smoke from his nostrils. It wasn’t anger or fear that filled the bond, but pure rage.

Aric had never felt that strong of emotion coming from Eldras. “What is wrong with you?”

“Doesn’t like me, eh?” Moro asked with a laugh.

Aric slowly turned. The valravn dipped her head and let out a low growl. “Moro,” he said sternly, giving his best friend another examination. His eyes moved past Moro, onto the blue dragon. Her dragonmage lay headless over her tail.

His heart began pounding in his chest as pieces of an invisible puzzle began to merge into a picture in his mind. “Six months.”

“Let me explain,” said Moro, holding up his hands. “They lied to us, Aric. Nothing was-”

“Did you kill them?” Aric interrupted.

Moro looked over his shoulder, then glanced at Aric before downcasting his eyes. “He was trying to kill me, brother. I just-”

“Because you have a fucking valravn, Moro!” Aric roared. Anger tightened his chest. “You—you killed a dragon? Are you—” He paused as the question caught in his throat. Breathing became harder by the second. “You were taken by the orcs.”

Moro sighed, then nodded. “Aye. But it isn’t what-”

“Are you with them now?” Aric questioned. He looked around, unable to focus on anything particular as he tried to wrap his mind around the situation. “What the fuck?”

“It isn’t what you think,” said Moro, a slow cautiousness to his voice. “At first, I was a prisoner. But then I learned the truth.” He shook his head and stepped forward.

Aric stepped back and drew his sword. “No!”

He looked up and down at Moro again. Though he was the same man, he was not the same. “Something has been twisted inside you, brother. You barely look human anymore.”

Moro looked at Aric’s sword, straightened his posture, and sniffled. He narrowed his eyes as his jaw muscles flexed. “It’s like that, eh, brother?”

“What happened to you was a cleansing of your mind,” Aric said as he slid a foot backward. “You’re not my brother.” His eyes burned with rage. Tears weighed on his bottom eyelashes. “My brother died the moment you decided to join them!”

“Yeah?” Moro yelled back. “And what about you?” He pointed at Eldras. “You’re a fucking dragonmage now?”

“I didn’t choose to be a dragonmage!” Aric roared, his voice booming in the confines of the forest. “But you bet your ass I am one now.” He looked at the valravn. “In every way, he’s better than that fucking monster you have beside you!”

“I fell in love!” Moro yelled, tears streaming down his cheeks as he beat his chest and stepped forward. “I—” He paused and took a deep breath. His words returned to a calmer demeanor as he swallowed. “I learned…that we were lied to all along. And I fell in love, Aric. I did. I shouldn’t have, but what I’ve gone through has been an awakening to me on so many levels. No longer do I have a heart full of rage and a mind set on vengeance.” He looked down. “She gave me that. They gave me that.”

The thought of any human loving an orc nearly caused Aric to vomit right there. His sword hand trembled. “You’re so lost you don’t even see it.”

“Moro!” a deep voice bellowed from the other side of Eldras.

Neither Aric nor Eldras had seen a sangribӧr had followed them.

As he turned, Aric channeled his energy to his palm. He was too slow. The orc was ready and sent a jet of purple energy across the forest. Preparing to siphon the power, Aric held his hand out. In his mind’s eye, he couldn’t see a bright source of energy as he had with every other form of life. It was as if a darkened void raced toward him. It was the opposite of energy. And he couldn’t manipulate it. He couldn’t stop it.

The thick bolt exploded against Aric’s chest, sending him flipping through the air. His back smashed against a tree, sending a jarring pain through his body. Landing chest first, he gasped. A cold energy filled his upper body.

“No!” Eldras cried out as he released a roar that would send any human running.

Aric grunted and gulped for air, but his lungs refused to obey. He pressed himself up and saw a bright purple bolt pelt Eldras under his wing, throwing him on his side with a heavy thud.

“Vig’ka!” Moro yelled. “No!”

“Kill the dragon, Moro!” yelled the orc. “It is what you trained for! There are only a handful left!”

“No!” Moro yelled. “This is Aric!”

A surge of clarity ripped through Aric’s mind. His chest grew hot as the orc hit Eldras again. He drew in a deep breath and clutched his side as a deep ache set in. The dragon screeched in a way he had never done before.

Aric reached out and grabbed his sword. He pulled on the arte and sent the energy into his limbs, filling them with renewed strength.

Eldras screamed again, both with a roar and with a mental cry. “Aric!” He opened his mouth and sent a jet of blue flames forward.

The orc leaped to the side, rolled across his shoulder, and sent another thick bolt of purple into Eldras’s jaw, turning the jet of fire toward the trees. Instantly, orange flames roared to life, devouring the evergreens as it climbed and spread.

“Nooo!” As the word left his mouth, Aric pushed his foot against the tree he had crashed into and thrust himself across the clearing. With a single spin, he swung his sword horizontally. It passed through the orc’s neck without slowing it down.

The fûrin magic died with the orc.

“Vig’ka!” screamed Moro.

As Aric landed, he rushed over to Eldras. The dragon’s right rib cage was smoldering, his scales glowing red hot. Several of the black scales were broken and warped like smelted glass. They were no match for the orc’s spell. “Hold on, boy. I’ll get you out of here. Just, stay with me.”

“I’m alright,” Eldras whimpered.

Aric turned to face Moro, who had run over to the headless orc. He was on his knees, crying uncontrollably.

“You,” Aric growled. “What have you done?” Approaching Moro, he lifted his sword. His heart gripped in his chest as he thought of killing Moro there. “You should have died a long time ago, brother. I’m sorry.”

“He was her father!” Moro cried, leaning back and draping the orc’s body over his legs.

Aric took two deep breaths as tears fell into his beard. “I’m so sorry, Moro. I should have never left you in that raid. Look at you now. You’ve—you’ve become a monster.”

His heart pounded as he gripped his sword tight and closed his eyes. A thousand memories ran through his mind of their childhood, leading up to their service to the Court. They stopped with the final memory of seeing Moro running back to the trenches with Calder. “Forgive me, brother.”

“Aric,” Eldras said softly, as if distanced. “Someone’s coming.”

Aric glanced over his shoulder to see four hargols barreling through the trees.

“Moro!” yelled the largest of the four, wearing the bone necklace. “We go! We losing fight! Where Vig’ka?”

Aric looked back at Moro one last time, then glanced at Eldras, who was struggling to get to his feet. “You’ve lost yourself, Moro. I don’t know what you are—who you are anymore.” He started walking back to Eldras. “If we face each other across the battlefield again, I will kill you.”

“We have to go,” Eldras said.

Aric clenched his jaw as he stared at the back of Moro’s head. He fought against the battle raging in his mind regarding his brother’s fate. If the orc he had just killed truly meant something to Moro, he would no doubt retaliate.

Regardless, they had been raised together since they were children. He chose to hold onto the hope that Moro was still inside the creature before him.

“Can you fly?”

Eldras opened his wings, stretching them with a groan. “Enough to…get back to the city…I think.”

Aric ran past Eldras a few steps and sent a blinding explosion of white energy into the hargrols. As they scrambled, he turned and climbed onto Eldras’s back. With haste, they climbed above the treetops.

Aric watched below as the orcs recovered and picked up Moro. They set him on the valravn’s back, along with the sangribӧr’s body. He leaned to the side and looked at Eldras’s wound. Dark blood seeped through the cracks in his scales. “I’m so sorry, boy.”

Looking out across the southern perimeters burning, Aric’s stomach convulsed. The golden dragon lay just inside the woodline, a large spot of red on its throat.

“What have I done?”

Chapter 54:

The Path Forward

Moro was numb by the time Sage landed on the coastline. The first person he saw running toward him was Trenara, which only shattered his heart even more. He looked down at Vig’ka’s body and couldn’t control his sobs.

Trenara halted as she laid widened eyes on her father’s body. She fell to her knees and screamed.

Moro slid out of the saddle, easing Vig’ka to the ground. He ran to her and dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m so sorry.”

Trenara grabbed hold of Moro and buried her face into his chest. “What—why?” she cried. “No, no…NO!” Her voice broke with her last rejection of reality. She pounded her fist into his chest. Hard at first. The second and third strike lost their strength as she sobbed.

Moro held her in a long series of weeps between them both for what seemed like hours, but could have just as easily been seconds. A large hand gripped his shoulder. He looked up to see Ergoth standing over them.

“Come,” said Ergoth, a calm comfort to his voice, a hint of sympathy. “We need to regroup further east, bury our dead so the Gods may take them into Clor’domr.”

Moro shook his head. “We lost.”

Ergoth sighed and looked out across the shore. “We have suffered a loss. That is not the same as losing. This will be our home. We will take what we have learned and strike again, now that we have all of Az’ Grim back together.”

Moro looked around as Trenara sat up. The ships that had drifted farther northwest had returned to the fold. The bodies had been pulled from the sea and were lying covered with leather throws.

“Let me stand,” said Trenara. She sucked in a deep breath.

Moro stood still on weak legs, his arms wrapped tightly around her as she rose to her feet once more. Her tears glistened with the waves of torchlights along the beach. He thought of Aric. A rush of rage filled his chest. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Who?” asked Ergoth.

“The Elmerïan.”

“You faced him?” questioned Ergoth. His tone was soft, as if both in awe and full of regret.

Moro clenched his jaws. “Not exactly. Vig’ka…” He couldn’t finish the recollection.

Ergoth nodded. He cupped a hand on Trenara’s shoulder. “I am sorry for your loss. Both of your losses.”

Moro thought to say thank you, but the words were weightless. There were no sounds beyond agonizing weepings that could explain the loss the orcs had suffered. Fathers lost children. Children lost their mothers. And siblings were torn from each others’ embrace. And so, he simply nodded.

“Time is of the essence now,” said Ergoth. “While I would never wish to pressure you now, more than any other time, I must ask something of you.”

Trenara swallowed. “What?”

“There is none that could take your father’s place,” said Ergoth. He looked down and rubbed his hands together.

Moro’s stomach churned. “You want her to take command of the sangribӧrs.”

Ergoth shook his head, then looked back and forth between them. He narrowed his eyes. “No.” He looked up at Moro. “I want you to take that charge.”

Moro furrowed his brows. “M-me?”

Ergoth gave a single nod. “And I want you—” he looked at Trenara, “—to take the dragon eggs back to the Bearmaw. Back home.”

Moro’s heart jolted. “No. She—what?” He stepped forward, as if he had the power in either magic or ruling to reject the warchief’s order. And yet, it felt more like a favor being asked than a command. “No. She can’t go all the way back to-”

“I understand,” said Trenara.

Moro looked sideways at her. “I don’t. No.” He took her by the hands. “There is nothing back there. We’re—we’re all here!”

“We need to secure our future and our possibilities,” said Ergoth. “If we fail here, we need a home to return to. I fear the Bearmaw has already awoken in our absence.”

Moro cocked his head. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Ergoth looked at Trenara. He took a deep breath and sighed, then looked back at Moro. “When we arrived in Verilia, we pushed a clan of dwarves deep into the Bearmaw.”

“You think they will emerge now that our people are gone.”

“I do,” said Ergoth. “Things went awry here, to say the least. We had not planned for the outcomes of what passed. Half of our people, half of our warriors fell adrift. We must plan for every outcome now. I need to consult with someone regarding the Elmerïan. If Aric has joined the Elven Court once more, this will not be an easy victory.”

Moro swallowed a lump in his throat. “Whatever happens, I will kill Aric.” He looked at Trenara as a rage filled tear trickled down into his beard. “I will avenge your father.”

Chapter 55:

This is Where

You Die

Aric climbed down from Eldras’s back, careful not to cause him more pain. He rubbed Eldras’s neck. “We made it, boy.”

“Quite the spectacle, Elmerïan.”

Aric couldn’t place a finger on why, but the woman’s strong voice sent his stomach in hurdles. He turned and saw the elf clad in silver armor, though it appeared more of an aesthetic than protection. Her breast plate was adorned with golden swirls and jewels. Her silver hair was pulled back, braided, folded twice through, and beset with a thin crown. A long, white cloak flowed behind her.

Without asking, Aric knew she was Queen Elsavaera. He bowed. With a second thought, he dropped one knee to the ground. “Your highness.”

“What bravery it took to come here,” said Elsavaera. She began pacing in a large half circle. “A proper introduction to the Elven Court is…necessary.”

As Aric stood, he saw five dragons slowly descending toward the city square. Two blue, one red, one orange, and a green dragon with a hole in its wing. His heart jolted as he recognized the dragonmage from the Castil Forest. Shit.

“Tell her we mean to help them,” said Eldras.

“For whatever reason Eldras chose me to become a dragonmage,” Aric said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I aim to aid this city, and the Elven Court., if I am permitted.”

“Do you?” Elsavaera asked, almost sardonically. The dragons landed behind her. “And what of the strife you have caused at the Gro’nzael Grove?”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “They’ve been—we’ve been freed of that.”

Elsavaera halted her pacing and cocked her head. “So you have. But it begs the question; what if that was Bӧr Mesari?”

Aric swallowed. “But it wasn’t. And I had nearly no control over my power then.” Eldras groaned. “Please, can some of your healers help him?”

“Afraid not,” said Elsavaera. “You claim to be in control of your power, yet mere weeks ago, you murdered the princess of Velensmir, did you not?”

“No!” blurted Aric. His eyes widened as he realized he had shouted. “I’m sorry. But…no. I didn’t murder her. She attacked me with her group. Something about the Great Mother.” An eruption was birthed at the mouths of dozens of elves surrounding the spectacle. Three of the dragonmages leaned closer.

“The Great Mother is a myth,” said Elsavaera. “And you really expect us to entertain the idea that the heir to the throne would dally with a rogue group of fanatics?”

“It—it’s true,” said Aric. His heart was racing now.

Elsavaera took a deep breath, then sighed. “It matters not. My decision is final. While we appreciate your help in this battle, you have overstayed your welcome in Bӧr Mesari already. No.” She shook her head. “You have overstayed your welcome in Maerïnor. We simply cannot allow your power to rain destruction upon this world again.”

Aric clenched his jaws. “You won’t even listen to me.”

“Correct,” said Elsavaera. Her eyes hardened as she stared at Aric. “It is unfortunate a dragon chose you for that is one less dragon the world could have been gifted with.”

“This war isn’t over!” Aric growled.

“It is for you,” said the queen.

Aric nodded and looked back at Eldras. “So it is.” He drew his sword slowly.

Elsavaera let out a dry laugh. “You are mistaken. This is not your chance to prove yourself. You have accomplished that already.” She looked up at the dragonmages atop their dragons. “No. This is where you die.”

“Don’t do this,” Aric warned as he focused the full power of his core. “I can’t let you do this. It will be the end of us all.”

Elsavaera nodded. “We shall see.” She looked up at the dragonmages. Kill them both.”

“Wait!” yelled a familiar voice.

Aric’s heart sank. “Francil?”

Pushing between two of the dragons and the crowd gathered, Captain Francil stepped into the open and bowed to Elsavaera. “My Queen, I implore you to reposition the newest dragonmage.”

Aric had a thousand questions running through his mind at once. His mouth fell agape as he stared at the man he had watched die. He wanted to embrace him, yet strike him down. It couldn’t be the same man who had guided him for months through the Vrelengard. It can’t be.

“I understand he was once one of your subjects, commander,” said Elsavaera. Her tone turned frigid. “For that alone, I will forgive your overstep. His sentence is final. Kill them.”

Aric panicked. “Tirian is still alive!”

The elves gasped altogether, the resemblance of a breeze forcing its way through a crack in a doorway. Elsavaera turned slowly and snarled. “You would dare…speak of such an atrocity to prolong your inevitable execution?”

“It’s the truth,” Aric said quickly. “I don’t know how or why. But he’s alive. He—he’s stronger than I am—by leagues. If you don’t believe me, take me to the wards. Hand me over to your mentalists. I don’t care. My memories are there for you to see.” He now knew the wards were a fabrication of the elves. But they didn’t know he knew that.

The queen stood for a long moment, far past the point of awkwardness. A battle in her mind was visible on her face.

Aric waited with bated breath. After seeing all elven eyes on her, he chose his words carefully. “I swore fealty to King Aglorion not long ago before his daughter, the princess, tried to kill me and Eldras in the name of the Great Mother. I am loyal to him first and always. But I offer the same allegiance to you, my Lady.”

She continued to stare. Aric swallowed a lump in his throat. “Let me help you end this war. Please. If serving Verilia is the last thing I do, I’ll gladly be on my way to Vraelsorn.”

Elsavaera finally looked away from him as she turned to Francil. “You have a new command. Take him to the stockades. Take the dragon to the Fortress of Broken Wings to the north. They will not be able to communicate or feel their bond if he is there. And the dragonmage’s magic will be diminished next to nothing.”

She could have spoken in Valerian if she wanted to. She wanted Aric to hear the worst news—worse yet than death.

He and Eldras were to be separated.

Chapter 56:

The Sky King

A steel hatch opened in the center of the door. Inside reached two hands holding an oval serving dish and a tankard. Steam wafted into the air from potatoes, a shucked ear of corn, and a small dish of tan liquid. The platter was set on a ledge five inches below the hatch.

Two torches, one on either side of the door, brightened. Then, a deep set of green eyes peered inside the room. “Will you eat today?"

Aric fought the pain of hunger as the aroma of freshly cooked vegetables drifted into his nostrils. He kept his gaze averted to the floor, attached to which were iron shackles tied to his ankles.

“You may defy Queen Elsavaera's choice," said the elf through the hatch. She furrowed her blonde brows. “You can not defy the natural order of life. And if you shall perish, so too shall Eldras."

Aric clenched his jaws tight and glared up at the elf. “I won't die."

“Twelve days," she said, then paused. “By all rights, you should already be dead. No human can survive so long without sustenance."

Aric knew her words to be false. Once, he had heard the saga of Bal Aharon the Bold when he visited Telton. The hunter had fallen ill after getting bitten by a wolf deep in the Castil Forest. So went the saga that Bal Aharon had survived twenty-two days on water alone.

He let his head sag back down. Fatigue made it easy to surrender to most things. He thought of Eldras, though he could no longer feel him. The dragon's words hadn't filled his mind in what seemed like an eternity. His eyes welled with tears everytime he thought of the bond that was lost.

The elf sighed and pulled the hatch closed. “Alas, no change, my Lady,” she said to someone out of view.”

A mechanical click filled the room. The torches resumed their dim flicker.

Aric closed his eyes and pushed his mind inward. It was dark and cold. No particle of light existed. Or if it did, it was hidden. He groaned and furrowed his brows, pushing his mind's eye deeper within.

For several minutes, he remained as a statue, searching in the abyss. He called out internally. “Eldras!"

Only echoes responded. Then he withdrew with a long exhale and opened his eyes. His heart jolted as he jumped backward in his chair. Standing in the dark corner of the was a figure. Aric squinted, came to the conclusion another elf must have entered while he was buried in his mind, and sank in his seat again. “What do you want?”

“I did not enjoy you throwing my name in the wind as you did when you arrived,” said the figure.

Aric leaned his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “Francil?”

Stepping out of the shadow, Captain Francil grinned. “I’ve been trying to get back in here to see you.”

Aric’s heart raced in his chest now. He shook his head. “No. I—I watched you die. I mourned for you.”

“Touching,” said Francil. “I assure you, whomever you traveled with was not me.”

Aric studied the captain, looking up and down. “What did you mean? I threw your name in the wind?” Francil tucked his hands behind his back and smirked. There was something different about him that Aric couldn’t place a finger on. He furrowed his brows. “You’re not Captain Francil.”

The man before him slowly shook his head. “I am not.”

Aric thought about who’s name he had announced when he arrived in Bӧr Mesari. Then, it came to him with a flood of nausea. His eyes widened. “Tirian.”

Francil cleared his throat and waved his hand between them. In a flash, gone was Captain Francil. In his place was the old man Aric had met in the Fanged Steppes. Drabbed in long tan robes, his beard was thick and braided, his head shaved clean. But his face was unmistakable.

“I have been waiting to get to this part in your journey. So much time planning.” He looked down and chuckled. “So much effort over a century to have it culminate into one final moment—” he looked back up at Aric and lost his smile, “—that is yet to come.”

Aric wished he had magic more than ever at that moment. “What the hell do you want? Why are you here?”

Dangling his hand to the side, Tirian swirled it in a circle. White energy swirled, then solidified into a stool that appeared to be glass. He pulled up the bottom of his robes and sat. “There is more to talk about than I have time, if I’m being honest.”

Aric’s breaths were heavy as he stared at the first human dragonmage. “Why are you parading around as Captain Francil?”

Tirian stared for a long, awkward moment. He crossed his feet at the ankles at last and took a deep breath. “I have been known by many names, by many people. As for your former commander—my condolences by the way—it is simply for convenience. They trusted him, so they trust me.”

Aric shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why are you here—in my cage?”

“I am here to free you, of course.”

Aric’s heart sank. He thought of Eldras. He nearly stood and agreed to whatever Tirian wanted right there. But he paused. “I’ve seen your power. If you wanted to free me, you could have done so the first day.” He shrugged. “What about the battle?”

“It wears on,” said Tirian. “Though, at the moment, Az’ Grim waits on the coast. I suspect things are about to…heat up soon enough.”

“Meaning what?” questioned Aric. Then, he held up a hand, swatting away his query. “No. First, why do you want to free me?”

“The same reason the rest of the world wants you,” said Tirian. “Your power, your potential, and your leverage, is everything right now. Az’ Grim seeks to draw you into their clan to retaliate against the elves for trespasses long gone. The elves fear you, but that is my fault.”

“You were the one in the prophecy,” Aric said.

Tirian nodded. “Aye. Once they see you are not me, they will seek your allegiance to bolster their command in Verilia, perhaps beyond. And the humans will always seek to gain your favor for they have never had a champion who could contend with the other factions.”

Aric lifted his arms and rested the wrist shackles behind his neck. “And what is it you want from me?”

“I seek to remove the elven race from this world,” Tirian said with a sharp sting of poison.

A wave of nausea filled Aric’s stomach. The tang of bile creeped up his throat. “For what they did to you.”

“For that and more,” said Tirian.

Aric thought about Tirian’s desire for a long time. “Why now?” He leaned forward and unhooked his arms from his head. Resting his elbows on his knees, he asked, “Why did you wait?”

“I have planned everything until the moment you arrived on the front of this battle,” said Tirian. “Not everything has gone to plan, but still, you surprised me by coming here after they chose to label you a monster. After the Velensmiran king ran you off. After all the betrayal despite everything you have done for them.”

“You couldn’t have planned Eldras choosing me to be his bonded rider,” Aric said.

Tirian shook his head. “I did not. But I did push the egg toward you. Even when the elves took it and ran, I made sure it returned to you. And if it had not, I would have taken it myself. I have taken others that I intended to find riders for.”

Aric’s hands began trembling. “You killed Veranthia.”

“I did,” said Tirian. “I have done this many, many times over the last century. Only one other human was chosen—sixty-three years ago.”

Aric quirked a brow. “I never heard of that!”

“Of course not,” said Tirian. “The Elven Court executed her and the dragon, mere days after she hatched.”

Aric looked down and clenched his jaws. “They are cruel, selfish, and entitled. I’ve seen their wickedness up close. But still, what if I don’t seek your dream of eradicating them?”

Tirian smirked, then fell into a long series of chuckles. “No, dear boy. You have not seen their wickedness yet. But you have tasted it.” He lifted his hands to gesture at the prison. “This is why I waited. I wanted you to see; they will keep you here as long as they can. They will keep you and Eldras separated for as long as they can. Such is their ability to control. And in the end, I think you too will see their ways. Your brother has been shown the light.”

Aric’s chest tightened. “Moro?” Another knot formed in his stomach. “What did you do?”

“I simply pushed Warchief Ergoth to give him a chance,” said Tirian. “And though the orcunae’s eggs did not choose him, he has been given many gifts that will aid my plan.”

Aric shook his head. “How much have you been manipulating?”

“Have you not been paying attention?” Tirian questioned, his voice turning cold as ice. “I have planned this since before the war started. For nigh on a thousand years, I have set my heart to destroy those who have taken from me and this world!”

Aric swallowed. Then nodded. “Fine.” He held up his shackles. “Free me then, if you can. But tell me, what is the plan here?”

“I will release you,” Tirian said with a smile. “Together, we will free Eldras. I shall return to the shadows while you escape together. Then, I will train you properly.”

Aric cocked his head and lowered his hands. “Return to the shadows? Why?”

“There are many pieces to this game of war.” Tirian folded his arms. “You are not the only man who needs guidance.”

Aric narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t train me before. And I probably wouldn’t be in this situation if you had.” He looked down. “But then I guess…it wouldn’t have gone according to your plans, would it?”

Tirian grinned. “That it would not have.”

“And the battle?” Aric asked.

Tirian’s eyes twitched. “As I said, things are about to heat up. Neither the elves nor the orcunae are ready for what is about to befall Verilia. The seas stir to the north. The mountain has awakened in the south. The druidic gods are about to rise once more, just as the elves are to pay a heavy price in the southeast.” He shook his head. “Nothing will be the same in Verilia after this.

Aric sat still for another long moment, mulling over Tirian’s words. The choice was clear and obvious, even if it didn’t sit right with him. “If it’s between being a prisoner or being a dragonmage, I’ll choose to fly.”

“Then be free of your bindings,” Tirian said. Waving his hands, the iron shackles released and clanged to the floor. The door jerked with a metallic click, then caved outward as it was ripped from the henges and thrown into the hall outside the prison room.

Aric rubbed his wrists. “How do I regain my bond with Eldras? He’s more special than you know.”

Tirian smirked. “Than I know?” He shook his head. “There is nothing about your bond I do not know, Aric. I was a human dragon rider, if you recall. And there is nothing special about Eldras.”

“Now I know you don’t know my dragon.”

“Because of the rate of his growth?” asked Tirian, narrowing his eyes. “Because how quickly he learned to breathe fire and fly? Or do you think he’s special because of his color?”

Aric opened his mouth, then clamped it shut without a word.

“You are an Elmerïan,” Tirian said sternly. “Mistake not, all human bonded dragons were as Eldras is now.” He bobbed his head to the side. “Perhaps not color or affinity, but everything else. You aren’t special, Aric. You aren’t unique to the world—just Verilia.”

Aric’s heart jolted. He sat upright. “What did you just say?”

Tirian lifted his brows. “You heard me correctly.”

Aric opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut. Then, he opened it again and paused to roll the idea around in his mind. How could it be possible?

“Ask,” said Tirian. He slowly craned his head to the side as his face fell into a statue-like, emotionless facade.

Aric swallowed. “Are there others like me in the world now?”

Tirian gave a single nod that sent a chill down Aric’s spine. Queasiness filled his stomach.

“Where?”

Tirian drew in a slow breath. “Baranthia. The Isles of the Seven. Far to the west.”

“I…see.” They were the only words Aric managed to form as the revelation set in. With this information, he knew not what to do. On one hand, he now had a people. There were others like him, with whom he could train and bond. Yet, on the other hand, he could see a war brewing in Tirian’s eyes. They were cold and seemed to lock onto everything that passed into the voids of his pupils, and yet nothing at all.

“And when we liberate the horde of eggs beneath this city, the world will see more humans astride the mighty backs of dragons.”

Aric swallowed a lump in his throat. “So…your plan—it’s twofold.”

Tirian let out a quick cackle. “Closer to ten.”

Another shiver ran down Aric’s spine. How deep has he planned the fall of the elves? What will it cost Verilia? Maerïnor? More than ever, he simply wanted to escape this prison. To find Eldras and fly away from the forsaking city. His stomach lurched as he realized the only path to reach that short term goal. “How do I get my magic back?”

Tirian stood. “Let us free your dragon first. Then, I will show you what you are truly capable of.” He gave a sharp grin. “I will show you why they all fear you.”

The Battle for Verilia will continue in book 2.

pieces will fall into place. alliances will shatter.

Pronunciations:

Characters

AricAR-rik

EldrasEL-druhs

MoroMORR-oh

SageSAY-j

Vig’kaVIG-ka

TrenaraTrah-NAH-rah

Thar’lokTHARR-lock

ErgothAIR-goth

FrancilFRAN-sill

TananTah-NANN

MaddokMAD-uck

CalderCALL-derr

VeranthiaVer-ANN-thee-ah

King AglorionKing Uh-GLOR-ee-uhn

King PaulusKing POW-luhs

DonalisDON-ah-liss

NathaliorNah-THA-lee-or

Queen ElsavaeraQueen ELL-suh-VEER-uh

BraelinBREE-linn

TrenifelTREN-uh-fell

ElandreaELL-unn-DRAY-ah

GarostGAH-rost

MaraMAR-uh

RandtonRAN-tuhn

DranlinDRAN-linn

PebblePEB-bull

RevanREV-uhn

Versuchtorvare-ZUK-terr

Places

MaerïnorMARE-uh-nor

Veriliaver-IL-ee-uh

The Misty ScarThe MISS-tee SCAR

DirehallowDIE-er-HAH-low

Dawn HarborDaw-n HAR-ber

CarcelCAR-sill

Grayhorn GRAY-horn

Bӧr MesariBOR meh-ZAR-ee

AmbermeadAM-berr-mee-d

TeltonTEL-tuhn

MorlinMOR-linn

Maervornamare-VOR-nuh

VelensmirVEL-uhn-z-meer

Feorumfee-OR-umm

NurniturnNUR-nih-turn

BaklinBACK-linn

EvertonEH-verr-tuhn

IllidrunILL-uh-drew-n

AlanoraeAL-uh-NOR-ee

NordertNOR-dirt

NaltaNAL-tuh

Az’ GrimAZ-GRIM

Fanged SteppesFANG-d STEP-s

Bearmaw MountainsBARE-maw Mountains

Vrelegard ForestVRELL-uhn-gard Forest

Castil Forestcass-TILL Forest

Afterword

There are about 160,000 words in this book. Even though I’ve written all of them and more, I cannot put into words how grateful I am for you, my reader. Without you, and others just like you, I would not do this. I would not spend nearly two years building such a world to tell such a story. Well, maybe I would.

However, I wouldn’t publish it. Books and storytelling are spectator passions.

Without the reader, a story sits and gathers dust. With a reader, entire worlds can soar and become timeless, characters can live on, unless I’ve killed them off, and stories can become as immortal as the elves.

Whether or not you finished the entirety of this epic story, I have to say thank you so much.

I hope, if you did indeed reach the end, that you have many questions. If I did as I intended, you certainly do. Mistake not, they will be answered. This series will be an epic saga that encompasses everything I love about fantasy, and it will only grow from here.

Reaching back to my childhood, I fell deeply and madly in love with fantasy. There was no going back once I dipped my toes into the water. I tested the temperature, then dove into the abyss. Dragons, elves, orcs, treants, druids, dwarves, fae, wyverns, magic of all sorts, werewolves, vampires, skinwalkers and so much more have all gained my attention. So many of these will grace the pages of this epic series before it is finished.

So, I suspect, if you have just read my story, we have something in common. We dream of the whimsical.

Now, I have a final favor to ask you, my reader. If you did enjoy this book, I kindly ask you to go to Amazon, or Goodreads, and leave a review. Tell your friends.

Let the world know what you thought. Many readers don’t think about reviewing books and that is quite normal. However, many readers do not understand the massive help that comes with gaining reviews. Not only does it help others find this book, it helps tell everyone so much more than I can say with my limited blurbs and synopsis.

And if there is something you are looking forward to in sequels—or something you’re hoping I can change—let me know. If there are things I can do better, don’t hesitate to tell me. I am giddy with each and every honest review I read.

If you have personal questions for me about this story, these characters, or this world, I will gladly answer what I can without spoiling future plans.

If you ever want to chat, tell me why you loved my book, —or hated it— or if you have questions, you can find me on the sites below.

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