The final night of their journey was a restless one. Partly because the discovery of Mirk and Biter made the danger they faced deadly clear, and partly because today Holt would discover the fate of his father. While on the road he’d been able to fend off his fears and anxieties, pushing them into the unknown future. Yet soon he’d have to face reality whether it be good or ill.
And he wasn’t sure what he would do in either case.
If his father hadn’t survived, that would make things simple, if unbearably painful. He would be free to join Brode and Talia in their quest without hesitation. Yet if his father was still alive, what then? Could he just abandon Brode and Talia? The Princess would prefer that. Not having a hatchling and an untrained rider in tow would give them the best shot at countering the scourge. But he and Ash would be bereft of training – easy prey for Silas Silverstrike. And, if Silas was hunting riders, then Holt would put his father in danger by staying with him.
No path seemed easy.
Thus, Holt was wide awake when Brode stirred in the gray dawn light. Ash took some cajoling to wake. He seemed to have grown again overnight; his wings developing rapidly if still too small to allow take off. He also devoured the very last of their meat after Pyra had her portion. Holt hoped the fort was still standing just so they wouldn’t have to worry about supplies. The three humans ate a simple breakfast of the remaining bread, jams and cheese, then shouldered their packs and began marching again.
It was not a pleasant day. The sky darkened and broke in a drizzling rain long before they came within sight of the walls of Fort Kennet. Underfoot the ground became slippery, and the air enveloped them in a muggy embrace. Holt still had his heavy branch, and now used it as a walking stick to help negotiate the terrain.
Around mid-morning they arrived at the fort. Holt had imagined it to be some great stone behemoth he’d heard tale of in distant lands, unyielding to time or assault. Perhaps it was another check on his fantasies or perhaps it was his weariness, fears or the dreary day, but Fort Kennet looked so… ordinary.
The walls were no larger than the town walls of the Crag, and were made from wood not stone, but they were stout and studded with numerous crenellations and canopies for archers to take shelter. Behind was a higher inner wall, with ballistae sitting atop tall towers. One tower was half a ruin, its platform collapsed and useless. The whole fort stood upon a raised mound of earth, not quite a hill, but high enough to command the surrounding land.
Before the walls, however, was something quite unexpected. Dirtied tents, dozens of cooking fires ringed with huddled figures in tattered cloaks.
“Could they be from the Crag?” Holt asked.
“Could be,” Brode said. “At least the fort is standing and that is a positive sign. Although I see there has been some attack. We’ll soon find out.”
They approached the fort, negotiating the muddy slope to the gates with care, and drawing the eyes of every man, woman and child they passed. Many shouted praise and gave thanks that dragon riders had come, although a few asked bitterly where they had been.
Holt became aware of their stares, feeling their worry and their disappointment as they took him in. Just a scrawny boy with a stick and a little dragon. What good was he to them?
Still, he tried to get a good look at everyone they passed, hoping to find his father in the crowd. He didn’t see him. Nor did he recognize any of their faces. None of them were from home.
As the party drew close, the gates of Fort Kennet opened. Out came a small retinue of the most armored men Holt had ever seen. Their entire bodies were encased in plate armor, with shields upon their backs and longswords at their sides.
“They rattle and scratch when they move,” Ash said.
The man at the head of the retinue was clean shaven and had a single bloodstained bandage wrapped over one ear.
“Honored Rider, your arrival lifts my heart.” He annunciated his words perfectly, sounding more like Princess Talia than anyone Holt had met. He looked to Brode expectantly. “You’re just in time!”
“In time for what, exactly?” Brode asked.
“To join us in our sortie against the scourge. That fire dragon of yours will be their bane.”
Pyra ruffled at the insinuation of belonging to Brode. Talia patted her gently then moved to stand before the armored giant. She had to tilt her head back to speak to him.
“Pyra is my dragon, Sir Knight. Master Brode here is our mentor and guide.”
Holt couldn’t help but let out an awed breath. “A real knight…”
He’d never met one at the Crag. The riders commanded the soldiers there so there was no need for them. These were brave men, riding into the fiercest battles without dragons by their side or magic at their command. Holt looked again to his branch, and quickly tried to hide the embarrassing piece of wood behind his back.
“Apologies, Lady,” the knight said, inclining his head to Talia. “My name is Alexander Knight, captain of this fort. At your service.”
“Talia Agravain, at yours,” she said.
“Agravain?” Alexander said, shock breaking across his face. He fell to one knee, as did his companions. “Your Royal Highness, I am sorry if I offended—”
“Please stand,” Talia said. “I am a dragon rider and swore the oaths. My uncle Osric currently holds position as regent, although you may call me Princess as many find it easier to do.”
Alexander stood. “As you will, Princess. May I offer my condolences on the death of your late brother? I also fought for a time under your father during the war against Risalia. They were both good men.”
Talia nodded. It seemed like she wanted to say more but hesitated. Brode stepped in for her. “Captain, what happened here?”
“We came under attack the night before last, only hours after refugees from the Crag arrived seeking shelter. We had enough time to prepare the walls and man the ballistae, and that might have saved us. Another of your
Order, Lord Mirk stood with us that night and was of great service. He took off the morning after the assault in search of the swarm. He may have passed you on the road.”
“Unfortunately, we did pass him,” said Brode. “We found him dead last night. Killed by the scourge.” He gave Holt a sharp, piercing look, and Holt understood to be silent on the matter of Silverstrike. “Do you know why Lord Mirk chose to abandon the fort?”
“It seemed a scourge risen drake, or some other winged creature was among them. It scorched one of our towers but backed off when we turned the other siege equipment its way. I believe he went to investigate.”
Or draw Silas away from the fort, Holt thought. Lord Mirk rose in his estimation.
Brode nodded along as the knight confirmed many of his theories of the night before. “Did you get a sense of the size and strength of the swarm?”
“Hard to say given they struck at night, and with such a gathering of storm clouds along with them. It can’t have been a true swarm, for their forces lacked juggernauts and abominations, else I fear the gates would not have held.”
Holt was anxious for them to get onto the topic of the refugees. People from the Crag had arrived but where were they now?
“You did well, Knight Captain,” Brode said. “Do not waste that good action now and abandon the safety of your walls to meet the scourge in the field.”
“We have no choice,” Alexander said. “The swarm moved south east towards the town of Midbell. The town was already suffering according to the reports we received a week ago. With fresh enemy forces they may not last.”
“Is the garrison even strong enough?” Talia said. “Half your men will have marched for the capital. My brother sent the Summons before he died.”
“We were preparing to march but the Master of War sent revised orders. The western garrisons are not to march to Sidastra but remain at our posts.”
Talia’s face was a picture of confusion. Even Brode was surprised. “That’s unorthodox,” Brode said.
Alexander inclined his head again. “I agree, but respectfully, Honored Rider, those are my orders. It is breaking them enough to ride to the aid of
Midbell but what are we to do? Allow Midbell to fall? A town of that size
—”
“I quite agree, Knight Captain,” Brode said. “I must speak to my pupils on the matter of joining your expedition. We have urgent matters of our own.”
Alexander’s expression stiffened but he inclined his head without protest.
“We set out tomorrow,” Alexander said. “A skeleton garrison shall remain. You may resupply as best you can before setting off, if that is your wish. Dragon riders have their oaths but so do knights, and I shall not forsake mine; whatever the cost.”
Alexander took his leave.
Holt couldn’t restrain himself anymore. He started forward, the words spilling out of him. “What happened to the people from the Crag?”
The Knight Captain turned. He eyed Holt curiously, taking in his ragged clothes, and his evident lack of a nobleman’s voice.
“Many left after the attack, heading east towards Fort Carrick and from there onto Sidastra. The summons to gather in the capital did go out after all. Only the troops in the west are to remain.”
“Did my father go with them?” Holt asked in his haste and worry, knowing immediately such a question was foolish. The knight would hardly know. “His name is Jonah Cook.”
“A Cook?” Alexander’s eyes widened further as he took in Holt’s scraggy appearance once more, then looked to Ash standing by his side.
“Ash has bonded with me,” Holt said.
“If he dares insult you, he will be sorry,” Ash declared. Although such threats coming over their bond alone lacked real bite.
“Has he indeed, Honored Rider,” Alexander said in a curious tone. “These are strange times indeed. As for your enquiry, I’m afraid I have no knowledge of your father. Perhaps those camped outside our walls will know. He may still be here himself. Alas, I cannot spare the men to search for him. We must make ready.”
Holt nodded and clenched his jaw. It wasn’t bad news, but it wasn’t good news either.
“The lad understands,” Brode said. “That will be all, Sir Knight.”
“Very well,” Alexander said. “Princess,” he added with a bow before sweeping off.
Brode, Holt and Talia closed into a huddle, or as close as they could with two dragons also vying for space.
“I can’t believe you, Brode,” Talia hissed. “Master Brode,” he reminded her.
“To question going? What is the point of the Order if not to help those in need such as at Midbell?”
“The point of our Order, princess, is to defeat the scourge. For the good of the whole world. Not just for one town. Not even for an entire kingdom. It’s why royals are generally forbidden from joining.”
“Why? Because we care about our own people?”
“Precisely. Sacrifices must sometimes be made. You’ve done well not to let your heart lead you thus far, do not let it now.”
“Are you going to order me not to help these men?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“On this occasion, no.” Talia blinked in confusion.
Holt too felt taken aback, as did Ash.
“The elder one speaks often in riddles.”
“I don’t like the idea of being in the thick of things, it could bring Silas down upon us,” Brode said. “But, should Midbell fall, the western regions will be overrun with risen ghouls. The swarm will grow out of control, and whether we make it to Sidastra in one piece or not won’t matter. I don’t like it, but the garrison will march with or without us. Better they have a fire drake with them.”
Talia opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
“I think it’s the right idea,” Holt chimed in. “We should help those people if we can.”
Brode rounded on him. “You would say that. Your heart leads you along at a hundred miles an hour. In any case, it is decided. We’ll help relieve Midbell. But if there should be consequences of revealing ourselves, may it be a lesson to both of you.”
“Thank you, Master Brode,” Talia said. “I won’t let you down.” Then she dropped her voice, almost to a whisper. “There’s something I don’t understand. Why would orders be sent to the western garrisons not to march to Sidastra? There’s no way my uncle would do that. He’s too experienced a general and this will cut his army down by almost a quarter.”
“Did your mother say who the new Master of War is?” Brode asked.
Holt wondered when Talia had last spoken to the queen, or rather, the queen mother, or… well, he wasn’t quite sure what her status was now. Perhaps she had sent a private letter to Talia.
“The curia appointed Lord Harroway,” Talia said. “I’d find it hard to believe he’d be involved. He was my uncle’s closest advisor during the war with Risalia. They won the Toll Pass together.”
Brode frowned. His face remained stoic, but Holt thought he saw a flicker of worry in the old rider’s eyes.
“Nothing is unfolding as it should,” Brode said. “Order should prevail over chaos, but we’re engulfed in chaos, and if we’re not careful, it will consume us.”
He looked at Holt as if the turmoil were somehow his fault. And perhaps it was. Perhaps Pyra had been right. By stealing an egg and bonding with a dragon, Holt might have disrupted the natural order. Maybe he should have stayed out of it.
The moment passed, and Brode continued. “For now, Talia, go find armor that fits and gauge the strength of the garrison. I’ll take young Holt into the camps and see if we can find a trace of his father.”
While glad Brode was taking the issue of his father seriously, Holt rankled at being called ‘young’.
“I’m not much younger than Talia,” he said.
“And yet still the youngest here, setting the hatchling aside. Now, we have much to do and still take what rest we can. By this time tomorrow we’ll be on the road again.”
