Fresh lightning forked across black clouds and the thunder drowned out Brode’s words of flight.
With a heavy heart, Holt emptied his pack of what utensils and pans remained from the Crag to lighten himself. He kept the recipe book though. That he would not throw away.
Even performing such simple motions left him dizzy. He might have gotten something to eat but lack of proper sleep was starting to make him feel delirious.
“You aren’t strong enough to run, boy,” Ash said. “What choice do I have?”
It wasn’t like Brode or Talia could realistically carry him. But how would he keep up? He blinked, grinding knuckles against the corner of his eyes. Shook his head. Just staying awake was an effort.
Just then, Pyra smashed through the campsite towards him. She knelt on all fours and snaked her purple head around to face him. He met her glowing amber eyes.
“Get on, little one.”
Before he could think, someone grabbed him by the waist and hoisted him up onto Pyra’s back. It turned out to be Talia. Princess Talia was lifting him bodily into the air. Too tired to think any more of it, Holt scrambled into position between two of Pyra’s spinal ridges and clung on for dear life.
“Move,” Brode called.
And they were off, heading east at haste through the remainder of the forest. Talia’s blazing sword lit the way. Pyra no longer cared about stealth
and crashed through the undergrowth, likely drawing on her magic to smash obstacles aside. On occasion she and Talia burned a path for them. And all the while the clap of thunder hounded them.
A part of Holt, the servant in him, thought their effort folly. A servant might run from their master’s whip, but they’d be caught in time. They might outrun Silas for a while, they might even make it out of the forest, but if Silas had their trail, he’d catch them in the end.
But who was he fighting? Why was he calling on magic which would, and had, alerted them to his presence?
His addled mind fumbled considering it. It was about all he could do to stay seated on Pyra as she wove between the trees. Time meant nothing to him now. He only stayed awake by drawing on morsels of magic across his strained bond.
In his mind’s eye, Ash’s core flickered dangerously, like a candle at the end of its wick. Yet the beating remained. Always there. Beating fast now as Ash ran and fear held them in its grasp.
Holt couldn’t see Ash, but he could feel him close by, following Pyra as she carved out a path with brute force. The beat of the bond became frantic and Holt feared the effort of keeping pace with Pyra would be too much for Ash.
“You ran for me,” Ash told him. A memory of smoke, of fire, of screaming flitted across the bond. “I’ll run for you.”
They ran for hours and the world began to lighten, both from the approach of dawn and the thinning of the trees. Until, in what seemed a sudden burst from darkness, the endless trees dropped away, and the party emerged from the Withering Woods.
Brode and Talia came to a skidding halt. Pyra attempted the same but required a longer distance, gouging deep wells of earth as her talons dug into the ground.
Holt hadn’t a clue where they were. He wanted to ask the others, but he could barely open his parched mouth.
“I think we lost him,” Talia said jubilantly. She bent over, clearly exhausted and at the breaking point of her Ascendant’s body.
Yet even as she spoke, the storm clouds gathered. What little pale light of dawn there had been was snuffed out and a dragon roared. A roar of fury, of deep rage.
Brode raised his sword. Talia moaned and drew herself upright. Holt attempted the same out of solidarity, even knowing it was futile.
Silas had caught them.
Clesh swooped down from the clouds, landing with a monstrous thud, roaring all the while. Holt had not appreciated Clesh’s size before now. Four war horses could have stood side by side within his great frame. His tail was as long as his body, his wings great enough to sweep a company off their feet. His granite-gray scales looked as impenetrable as stone and his eyes lit with a fierce blue power. Holt had thought of Clesh as a venerable old dragon at first, but now, gripped in his full fury and power, Clesh looked more of a force of nature; a savage yet calculating beast.
Silver-blue sparks hissed in the air. A tingling ran over Holt’s body, causing the hair on his arms to stand up.
Holt crested out with his burgeoning magical senses, and felt a power so dense, so pure, it caused everything around it to seem dim. He hadn’t felt this when Silas arrived at the Crag, because he’d been blind to it then. This was the power of a Lord, and it was not something to contend with.
Great gobs of spittle sprayed from Clesh’s mouth as he roared one final time, subsiding into a satisfied growl. He’d cornered his prey. He folded his wings and Silas leapt from his back. Silverstrike near flew himself as he crossed an inhuman distance in one jump to land before them.
Silas hadn’t drawn his sword. The jagged, sparking blade remained on his back. He regarded them coolly, although Holt had the uncanny impression that Silas was taking a moment to catch his breath. His white wind-wild hair was matted and dirty, his breastplate scratched in thick lines. Somehow, he was as worn out as they were. Despite his toil, Silas smiled at Brode.
“I hoped it was you.”
“If you’re here to kill us,” Brode said, “be done with it.”
“Save yourself, Brode,” Silas said, his voice sounded sad now and tired; the musical lilt of his land was now strained. “I only need the girl.”
“Like you killed my brother?” Talia spat. A plume of fire blew back from her shoulders like a phoenix. “Blight take you.” Then she launched a jet of flames at Silas. He deflected it with a lazy wave of his hand.
“Lay your brother at my feet if you will,” Silas said, clenching a fist. Talia fell to her knees, caged and bound by lightning she could not push free of. “One more hardly matters now.”
At once, Pyra reared back and rushed forward. In answer, Clesh stomped closer, making Pyra’s footsteps seem like a child’s. A wave of his power hit Holt and the sheer force of it nearly knocked him out cold. For a second, he blacked out, knew how Ash saw the world, then came back to reality. Pyra had halted. Trembling, her neck was bent low to the ground.
Ash left the relative safety behind Pyra to come out and stand between her and their enemies. He flexed his talons, spread his wings and stood defiantly as though to defend Pyra.
“Who is this?” Silas asked.
Holt felt the Storm Lord bear into him, not with his gaze but through magic. An unwelcome touch raked over his soul. Holt winced.
“A Novice and a sick hatchling,” Silas said. He looked to Brode and nodded gently. “Of course, you would spare them. You always had a soft spot for the downtrodden.”
Clesh snarled and snapped his jaws. Lightning coursed around his dagger sized teeth.
Silas threw his dragon a glance. “Really? Must the hatchling die too?”
“The whelp is weak.” Clesh’s voice sounded like a raging storm. “Broken. An insult to our race. The Sovereign will not tolerate it.”
Clesh spoke of Ash as though he were a ‘thing’. Despite his fatigue, anger burned in Holt’s chest; anger enough to push the hateful presence of Clesh away.
He’d spoken of this ‘Sovereign’ as well. Talia’s theory may well be true. Though they weren’t going to live long enough to do anything with that information.
“Fine,” Silas said, his tone both harsh and resigned. Of the pairing it seemed the dragon was the dominant one. Was he forcing Silas to do this?
“Why do this, Silas?” Brode asked. “What’s in it for you?”
“I hope it ends the scourge or else it will all have been for nothing. A waste.” Clesh snorted, roared, clawed at the ground and the sky rumbled. Silas gave them a grave look. “Also, I’m afraid I don’t have a choice.”
“End the scourge?” Brode said. “You’re working with them, controlling them!”
Silas shook his head. “The Sovereign commands. My role was to remove all riders in the land.” He looked imploringly to Brode. “You’re not a rider anymore, not really. My offer stands. Leave while you still can. Don’t make the same mistake twice.”
Brode ran one finger up his blade. “Running is your way. Not mine.” Silas snorted. “You chose to stay behind that day.”
Brode remained surprisingly calm. “Our oath is to protect the innocent and fight the scourge. We’d never run before.”
Silas’s fury turned his face gruesome. A bolt of lightning struck the ground beside him, though whether on purpose or out of anger Holt didn’t know.
“Our oath is to defeat the scourge. We can’t do that if we’re dead. Clesh and I stopped the incursion at Athra. And for what?” He spat those last words. “So that years later we fight them all over again. Now that is a waste.”
Holt could hardly believe what he was hearing. Silas spoke of fighting the scourge, yet he worked with them now; he’d killed so many of the Order. The smoking bodies of Mirk and Biter were all too clear in his mind. And then he saw his father’s face, the moment when he’d thought Holt was speeding off to safety.
His anger boiled over. He jumped down from Pyra’s back and staggered forward. Reaching Ash, he placed a hand on the dragon and felt stronger for it.
“The real waste was ever respecting you.” Silas frowned. “I don’t recognize you, boy.”
Without warning, Ash jerked his head to the side. “Someone is coming.
From the forest. I hear their… heart?”
“Cultists?” Holt asked, finding telepathy easier now their bond had grown a little.
“His name,” Brode said loudly in answer to Silas, “is Holt Cook.”
“It’s not human,” Ash said. “But it’s not dragon either.”
“He worked in the Crag kitchens,” Brode continued, “and he’s more a rider in his fool heart than you’ve ever been.”
Clesh bellowed in fury at that and began gathering power at his mouth.
“There’s no time. End them!”
Silas unsheathed his sword.
Brode looked at them all. “Goodbye,” he said, then started running, right at the Storm Lord. Talia’s scream was muffled by her lightning cage. Silas’s magic kept her encased, and Pyra was still cowed by Clesh. Desperately, Holt tried to summon power for a Lunar Shock – anything at all to help.
But he should have learned by now, like Brode had told him, things were not going to just work out.
Brode screamed Erdra’s name as he charged. He may have had the body of a Champion, but he lacked a bond and access to magic. He reached Silas, attacked, and met only air. Silas side-stepped – making Brode look as clumsy as Holt at sword craft – and in one fluid motion ran his blade up Brode’s back. Blood spurted, and Brode’s black travelling cloak fell, cut clean away.
Before Brode could even fall to the ground, Silas caged him with silver lightning as he’d done to Talia, lifted him high and threw him aside. Holt watched in horror as Brode’s prone form flew as far back as the tree line of the forest.
Talia cried out again. Pyra let loose a chilling growl. Ash wailed.
Holt was too stunned to do anything. He couldn’t take his eyes away from Brode’s smoking body, even though Silas was seconds away from killing them all.
Suddenly Ash went quiet. “It’s here.” He spoke with the same reverence as Holt had once held for Silverstrike. And then Holt saw it.
He wanted to say someone, for the figure that emerged from the Withering Woods wore a cloak with the hood drawn. Yet it wasn’t a cultist cloak, and judging by its sheer size – at least seven foot tall – it could not be truly human. Still, it had a human frame, and its cloak was so dark that it reminded Holt of the harvester of souls from children’s tales. Instead of a scythe, the figure held a tall spear with a glassy orange blade that looked like a rider’s sword attached at its tip. Its hands were covered in what Holt took to be scaled auburn plate armor.
Stranger than the mysterious figure, was the reaction of Silas and Clesh. Both stepped back as though in fear before Clesh unleashed the full might of his gathered breath at the new arrival.
The creature in black spun its polearm and a hazy, transparent veil formed in front of it. Clesh’s lightning bolt crashed into the swirling veil and dissipated. Clesh attacked again but the figure kept moving, pushing back against Clesh’s might. Silas raised his sword and lightning struck from above, over the creature’s magical shield, yet the creature rolled to evade at blinding speed. Then, in what seemed the blink of an eye, the creature closed the distance in a single blurred step. One moment it was thirty feet away, the next it was right before Silas and bringing its polearm down. Silas
blocked it. The boom when those strikes met was a thunderclap all of its own.
Pyra and Talia began to stir, their cages gone now Clesh and Silas were distracted. Talia scrambled upright, half choking as she fought to regain her breath. She eyed the fight, but Holt thought she ought to stay well back. Whoever or whatever the creature in black was, it was going toe to toe with Silas and Clesh at the same time.
It may even be winning.
“We need to go,” he called to her. Talia looked between him and the titanic fight and nodded.
Holt called for Ash and ran to check on Brode, stumbling on legs as stable as jelly. Pyra could carry Brode’s body. They could get away.
Stray lightning struck in Holt’s path and sprayed him with dirt. He ran on. He made it.
Brode was lying face down; his back a bloody, torn mess.
Holt dropped to his knees. “Master Brode?” He turned the old rider over. Brode’s eyes were closed but he still drew shallow rattling breaths.
“Help!” Holt called as Talia joined him. “Get him onto Pyra.”
Talia dropped down to join him. She took Brode in her arms but didn’t stand.
“What are you waiting for?” Holt said. “It won’t help.”
“He’s not dead!” But Holt’s words were lost amidst the crack of thunder.
“His heart barely beats,” Ash said. “What then?”
No one had an answer for him.
A howl of pain from Clesh brought Holt’s attention back to the duel. The creature in black had pierced Clesh’s side. It pulled the orange blade free and spun aside to avoid Silas’s counterattack. The creature’s cloak lifted as it moved – revealing a reptilian tail.
It slid back and readied itself in a guarded stance, but Silas did not advance. He ran to Clesh instead and jumped onto his dragon’s back. The Storm Lord then took off, dispensing a storm of lightning at the figure on the ground to cover himself.
This at last seemed to make the creature sweat. It wove deftly but was struck, grounded by the power of the strike. Recovering, it stood, raised and
aimed its polearm as if intending to throw it after Silas. But as Clesh shrank into the distance, the creature thought better of it and lowered its weapon.
Clouds parted, revealing the beautiful morning they’d been hiding. Light stung at Holt’s tired eyes and he raised an arm against it. Something slick ran off his forearm onto his head. Blood.
Brode’s blood was on his hands.
That thought he couldn’t escape. If he and Ash hadn’t been with the group, Brode and Talia might have flown to Sidastra long ago. If he’d never stolen the egg, Brode and Talia would at least be safe and well. He, Holt, would have fled with his father from the Crag and been with him right now. Ash sensed his turmoil and sent him comfort through the bond. The beat was steadying now Silas had gone, although the mysterious creature might just as quickly turn on them. It remained in place, as though guarding
against Silas’s return.
Holt felt Brode stir. The old rider reached out a hand and Holt took it in his own. He didn’t know why he did that. It just seemed the only thing to do. Talia mirrored him, taking Brode’s other hand. She had blood on her too.
With a great effort, Brode half-opened his eyes.
Holt seized his chance. “I’m sorry,” he sniffed. He wanted to cry but his drained body couldn’t muster the tears. “I’m sorry.”
Brode shook his head. “You two have a job to do.”
“Master Brode,” Talia managed to say through falling tears. “Get to Sidastra. Warn the others. Save the kingdom.”
They nodded, although the task was insurmountable.
Holt felt Brode’s grip slipping. Brode struggled to speak now, each breath wet and choking.
“You can’t die,” Holt said.
“I died once already,” Brode rasped. “Everything since has been borrowed time. It’s been too long.”
“We need you,” Holt said. “We’re not ready,” Talia said.
Something dropped to the grass nearby. Ash stood over Brode’s sword and nudged it toward them with his snout. Brode struggled to speak but his smile conveyed it all. Holt tried to pass it over the bond so Ash could understand but it was too hard to focus.
“He says thank you,” Holt said.
Ash started a sad rumble in his throat and Pyra joined him.
Talia reached for Brode’s blade and placed the hilt into his hand. Holt brought Brode’s other hand to the hilt as well. With the last of his strength, Brode grasped his sword and then his fingers fell limp. He let out a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes.
