Holt half-awoke to the pale light falling upon his face. His eyes were heavy and closed again before the pain in his head became too much to ignore. Unable now to close his eyes, he sat upright and clutched at his temple, feeling as though someone had taken a mallet to it.
Where am I? Where is Ash?
Panicked, he reached for the dragon bond. It wasn’t right. Each beat sputtered like a broken kettle. He could only catch a glimpse of Ash’s core as though seeing it through a broken, dirtied window. The light flickered. This hardly helped his worry but at least if it was still there, in some form, then Ash must be too.
Then – as though his senses were delayed – he realized he was on something soft. Very soft. A bed with plump pillows and the smoothest sheets Holt had ever felt in his life. The whole room was one of luxury. A polished decanter sat on a tray with bunches of grapes by the window, and a pile of folded clothes lay on a chair by the fireplace.
And sitting atop the bedside cabinet was the leather-bound recipe book. Miraculously it was intact, its gold embossed front unblemished. Holt breathed easier. Somehow, seeing it there made things okay.
He got up, swayed from the effort, then pulled on the clean new clothes: they were the sort of white shirt and tanned trousers that nobles wore. He grabbed the recipe book, stumbled to the door and carefully negotiated a staircase leading down to a stone courtyard.
Ash bounded to him and nearly knocked him over.
“You’re awake!” His voice had returned to its lighter, happier state. “I told them you were up! I told them!”
“Easy, Ash,” Holt said, blinking against the light reflecting off the dragon’s white scales. “I don’t think you know your own strength anymore. And told who?”
“Told us,” Brode called.
Holt found Brode and Talia sitting at what looked like a workbench laden with food instead of tools. The courtyard was so large that even Pyra sat comfortably inside it. Lining the space were flowerbeds blooming red and yellow petals while brass bells and windchimes hung in bunches above.
“How do you feel?” Brode asked.
“Like I’ll never have a clear head again.” Holt blinked and raised a hand against the overbearing daylight.
Brode came to his side. “You’re lucky to be alive. But you two seem to live by luck. Come and sit down. Eating will help.”
Holt allowed Brode to navigate him over to the workbench-cum-dining- table. He sat opposite Talia and began picking at a bread roll.
“What happened?” Holt asked.
“I have a suspicion,” Brode began. “You were clearly drawing on Ash’s core but still collapsed. Did you cut it off?”
“Ash asked me to.” “I thought as much.”
Holt understood from Brode’s tone this wasn’t good. Then again, he understood that well enough from his own aching head.
“Next time,” Brode continued, “you have to ease it off. You can’t just sever ties to the core while your body is saturated with its magic. Even if it does grant Ash more power in the moment.”
He faced Ash next.
“And you, young dragon, don’t go powering a single attack with the entirety of your core unless you too want to be knocked out cold.”
Despite the seriousness of his words, he wasn’t scorning them. Rather, Brode tossed Ash a thick slice of ham.
“What happened was an easy mistake to make at Novice rank but one you should not repeat lightly.”
“Saving the day through a mistake,” Talia said. She scrutinized Holt as she had back at the fort, and again Holt couldn’t tell whether she admired or hated him.
“Well, Ash saved the day really,” Holt said. Ash gave a throaty, happy rumble.
“How long was I out for?”
“Almost two days,” Brode said. “I would have been worried, but Ash woke up first and let us know he could feel your health returning over the bond.”
“The bond doesn’t feel healthy at all,” Holt said. “Is this what a ‘frayed’ bond feels like?”
“It would have felt even worse a day ago,” Brode said. “Can you see anything of Ash’s core yet?”
“Sort of, but it’s hard to do so and looks… blurry?”
“Then it’s already recovering. A truly frayed bond makes it impossible to see or draw upon the core. Means you can’t Cleanse or Forge either which isn’t helpful after a battle. It’s unwise to push the limits of your bond unless absolutely necessary. Bear it in mind for the future.”
“I will,” Holt said. “But wait, you said Ash spoke to you? He must be getting stronger. And what was it that he… blasted at that giant flayer?”
“Some sort of light or energy,” Talia said. “I’ve never seen nor heard of anything like it before. Neither has Master Brode.”
Holt couldn’t help but grin through the pain. He and Ash did have a useful power after all, and not just for healing the blight. It seemed they could do some real damage too.
A swift sharp pain to the back of his head knocked the smile from his face. Brode had cuffed him.
“I wouldn’t be so pleased with yourself,” Brode said. “You almost got yourself killed. Fool. But,” and he softened now, “I do thank you for being a fool in that moment.”
“I thank you too,” Pyra said. “I was wrong to doubt your heart. You have spirit like one of our own.”
Holt turned to tell her she was welcome face-to-face. “You’re hurt,” he said instead, seeing a ragged tear in the sinew of her folded wing.
“One of the stingers managed to get a claw into her,” Talia said. “It wasn’t so bad but the fight with the flayer made it worse. It’s my fault.”
Holt turned back around. “How is it your fault?” “I wanted to help Midbell,” Talia said.
“So did I,” said Holt.
Talia looked downcast all the same. Holt recalled Brode telling her it would be a chance for her to gain experience of commanding a large force. He also remembered how her nerve gave out when addressing the troops before the battle. She needed a lift.
“You and Pyra were inspiring,” Holt said. “The way you charged into that group of stingers was amazing. And you two did most of the work taking on the flayer. Ash’s magic might not have been so effective if you hadn’t cut a gap in its armor.”
“For once Holt speaks sense,” Brode said. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, girl. You did more than anyone of your rank would be expected to.”
Talia smiled weakly but seemed unconvinced. She returned to picking at her food.
Feeling more words would only make things worse, Holt started on a roast chicken leg. After picking the meat down to the bone and taking a long drink of water he began to feel human again.
A strong breeze picked up in the courtyard, whipping in from the archways behind them. The windchimes rang pleasantly.
“Bells ring across the town,” Ash told him. “I take it we are in Midbell,” Holt said.
“At the house of Ealdor Ebru,” Brode said. “Specifically, her carriage house. The carriages have been removed to allow Pyra in.”
“It seems very grand,” Holt said.
“Well,” said Brode, “the Ebrus, Midbell and its citizens find themselves in your debt, Holt.”
“Ash said the swarm would weaken if we killed the queen but that was a flayer unless I’m mistaken.”
“A giant flayer,” Talia said. “But smaller swarms like that are often led by the biggest, brutalist bug. Queens lead true swarms. The ones that level cities and kingdoms. You’ll see one at Sidastra… if we make it.”
Holt gulped. That flayer had been bad enough. “So, killing the flayer had a similar effect to killing a queen? The swarm dispersed?”
Brode’s face darkened. “Removing the controlling bug – even a little one like that – sends the swarm into a state of confusion.”
Holt swallowed his mouthful of chicken, hard. He hadn’t failed to register Brode’s comment that the flayer they’d just faced was a ‘little one’.
“The death of the flayer spurred the last defenders of Midbell to ride out and join us,” Brode continued. “But we lost many soldiers in that rout. More than I anticipated,” he ended darkly.
Holt focused on his food. Talia too had nothing to say.
“Such is war,” Brode told them. “Especially war against the scourge.” Brode carried on but Holt wasn’t paying attention.
So much death, so easily. Out in the open the scourge, it seemed, had every advantage. And his father was out in the open, on the road to Sidastra, if he was even still alive. Holt placed a hand upon the recipe book for comfort, wishing then that humans could form connections like the dragon bond. If they could, then he’d at least know if his father was alive.
“Holt?” Brode was trying to get his attention. He faced the old rider. “I’d like you to try drawing on the core again.”
“But my bond is still recovering.”
“Just a trickle,” Brode said. “I know you’re still weak, but Ash’s magic has matured. Show him Ash, shoot your breath skyward – not too strong now, we don’t want any damage.”
All turned to watch the young dragon.
Sure enough, Ash parted his lips, showing his growing teeth and forked tongue. White-purple light gathered at his mouth, then he tilted his neck up and released.
The light was otherworldly and pale. It traveled straight and true, without a flicker like fire and struck one of the bunches of bells. They rattled, suggesting the light had a force behind it. About ten feet farther the light dissipated but the beam, such as it was, was maintained until Ash closed his jaws. The metal of the bells was left slightly singed.
“What are you?” Talia asked aloud, more to herself than the others. “That light is close in color to Silas’s magic,” Holt said. “Perhaps he is a
storm dragon?”
Brode shook his head. “We tried all the food. Nothing worked for him. And storm dragons deal in lightning or wind, not pure light. No, Ash is something new. Something special.” He had an eagerness about him Holt had rarely seen. “But as his dragon breath has awakened, your first main ability with magic will also have unlocked.”
“My ability?”
Talia flew into an explanation. “While the core grants the rider general manipulation of magic, a few key abilities come more easily, requiring only
a small amount of magic to power with practice. New abilities unlock at each rank as you’re able to draw more efficiently on the magic.”
She began counting off on her fingers.
“Once a Novice has matured their bond, the dragon breath will indicate their magic type. Pyra is a fire dragon, so I can cast a Fireball as my primary attack.”
She tapped a second finger.
“At the rank of Ascendant, the rider can push their magical attack out in a radius around or in front of them. It’s a weaker attack than focusing on a single target but you can hit multiple enemies that way so it can come in handy. I’m still getting the hang of my Flamewave ability, but I can send out fire about twelve feet in every direction if I really push.”
Holt blinked. That seemed very powerful indeed, and not just for fighting the scourge. It was certainly a good thing the riders didn’t partake in other wars. Then he thought about Silas and wondered just what other devasting abilities a rider at the rank of Lord would have at their disposal.
“What comes after the rank of Ascendant?” Holt asked.
“At Champion rank things begin to vary rider to rider,” Talia said. “Unique cores and experiences lead to unique songs – every dragon is different after all. It alters the later abilities, but they remain within your school of magic of course.”
Holt looked to Brode, who’d gone rather still as Talia spoke, as though expecting Holt would ask this of him.
“You want to know what my abilities were at Champion rank?” Brode asked.
“No,” Holt said quickly. “I mean, yes. I mean, only if you—”
“It’s all right,” Brode said. He put down the heel of bread he’d been tearing into and picked at something stuck between his teeth. Anything to delay the answer it seemed, but at last, he did tell them.
“Erdra was an emerald dragon; as wild as a thicket yet more beautiful than all the gardens of Coedhen. And she had an affinity for the earth. Her magic wasn’t aggressive so much as it allowed me to control a battlefield. I could sink the ground beneath a juggernaut’s feet, ensnare a group of ghouls in the mud. When I advanced to Champion, I found I could raise the earth to block the paths of enemies or defend our flanks.”
“Wow…” Holt said. That sounded like it was extremely useful if he was supported by other riders. Perhaps it had been. Silas Silverstrike had fought
beside him. And then he had left Brode and Erdra to die.
Holt could hardly believe he’d been excited to see that man not long ago.
Brode seemed to feel he’d said enough. He returned to his heel of bread but just turned it over and over in his hands.
Talia looked to Holt expectantly. “Don’t you want to try yours out?” Holt flexed his fingers. “I do,” he said warily.
“Carefully reach for the core,” Talia instructed, “and instead of allowing it to flood your entire body for strength, focus it into one hand.”
Holt raised his right hand.
“It’s better to practice with your left,” Talia suggested, “so you can learn to wield magic while still holding your sword.”
Holt swiftly switched hands. He stood up, moved away from the table, and took a deep breath. He really didn’t want to pass out again. With caution, he reached out for the dragon bond. In its damaged state, he perceived the light of Ash’s core like a lantern glimpsed through a cracked door at the end of a long hallway. But he could just make it out.
A strong breeze swept through the courtyard. Bells chimed, and the windchimes clinked softly. Then, for a moment, an echo of music played lightly. Ash’s song must have gained more notes after the battle; there was something reminiscent of a lute’s plucked string in it.
Carefully, he drew in a slender strand of light from the core. Even this small piece of power sought to surge through him, but this time he resisted, struggling to direct it toward his outstretched hand. It was difficult, like trying to steer the tide.
His arm began to shake. “Easy,” Talia said.
Pyra snorted and raised her head, perhaps checking on whether she ought to move out of harm’s way.
Holt continued to struggle, feeling a heat gather on his palm and then the same white light of Ash’s breath began to gather there. The shaking grew worse. He couldn’t help it.
“Holt!” Talia began moving towards him. “Aim up!”
The heat in Holt’s palm grew unbearable. He heard Talia running. He tried to move his hand, but it was numb with pain. He grabbed at his left wrist with his other hand, desperately pulling it upwards.
He was too late.
Light shot from his palm, as quick as an arrow. It hurtled through the air, towards an archway. Towards the man who had just stepped into its path.
“Look out!” Talia gasped.
The man yelped. Holt’s heart skipped a beat as the man dove to the ground. The light flew over his head and crashed harmlessly against a distant wall.
“You idiot,” Talia said to Holt.
“I’m sorry,” Holt replied. He turned to the stranger. “Sorry! Are you all right?”
“Y-yes,” came the breathless reply. The man got up, brushed himself down, and tentatively edged into the courtyard. He wore fine leather riding garments, a rich wine-colored cloak and held a letter.
Talia stepped forward, her expression one of shock. “Nibo, what are you doing here?”
The man, Nibo, bowed low. “Your Royal Highness. I bear you a message from your brother.”
