Holt couldn’t think straight. Brode lay limp between him and Talia. “Brode?” Talia said, as though he’d only dozed off. “Brode?” Her voice
cracked like a breaking branch.
A shadow loomed over them, and Pyra and Ash growled. The creature in black planted the butt of its polearm into the ground and lowered its head.
“I would step away if I were you,” the creature said. Its voice sounded like a human nobleman but contained an edge of something dragonish; something larger than himself.
Holt did not.
“It’s for his own good, you know,” the creature insisted.
Talia got up first. She trembled but stepped away as the creature instructed.
Holt remained. He couldn’t move. Brode had been the only rider who’d ever treated him like a person rather than with irreverence. A bastard who had become a rider.
Beneath the creature’s hood, two huge blue eyes flashed like sapphires. Holt felt a presence cresting towards his soul again, but unlike Silas’s clawing reach this one was gentle.
“How curious,” the creature said. It offered out a hand to Holt. Up close the true nature of the creature became plain. It wore no plate armor. Those burnt orange scales were real and covered the whole back of the creature’s hand. Morphed human-like fingers, equally scaled, ended in blue fingernails thick as talons.
Ash came over and pushed on Holt. With that Holt got up but he did not take the creature’s hand.
“I see manners are still lost on youth.”
Holt ignored him. It felt wrong to leave Brode to die on the ground. Even as he thought this, roots sprouted from the earth. Huge perfect leaves blossomed and enveloped Brode, covering his face. They tightened.
He’ll suffocate, Holt thought. He tried to move but a swirling barrier of power blocked him.
“It’s helping him,” the creature said. “Be humble and respectful and he may live. The emerald flight has arrived.”
As soon as the creature announced this, dragons in all shades of green glided over the edge of the Withering Wood. Holt stopped counting after a dozen. They maintained a tight formation like a flock of birds until suddenly they scattered and landed to encircle Holt and the others.
No dragon had a rider, and they were all the same type. Emeralds empowered by nature magic. Holt had somehow found himself in the middle of one of the reclusive wild flights.
“Fear not,” the creature said.
“Are you with them?” Talia asked. “Who are you?”
“I’m not with anyone.” He lowered his hood to reveal a face caught somewhere between human and dragon. The human had won out, but there was a serpentine nature to his nose. Scales in shades of autumn leaves covered him like skin. Instead of hair he had sinewy blue flares and small ridges running down to the nape of his neck. When he spoke, it was clear his teeth were largely human except for two small fangs that hinted toward the dragon.
“My name,” he said with a flourish, “is Rake.”
Talia’s jaw dropped and Holt ground his knuckles into the corner of his eyes, unable to fully believe what he was looking at.
“I know,” Rake said, “do try to contain yourselves at my magnificence. I suggest you remain calm. The West Warden does not favor vivaciousness.”
Rake faced the center of the newly formed ring and took a knee. No one protested. Even Pyra lowered her head without a fight.
A pair of great wings beat in the air and a final emerald dragon appeared. This one was as large as Clesh and dark as pine needles. It landed remarkably gently in the center of the circle of lesser emeralds.
Rake spread his arms. “Hail the West Warden,” he began loudly, “it is my great privilege to have fulfilled the burden set by your Elder.”
The West Warden’s tail flicked much like Pyra’s did when she was annoyed.
“The Elder would have desired fewer losses.” The scorn in the Warden’s voice reminded Holt of riders speaking to subordinates when in a foul mood. “A good thing you sped so far ahead of the flight to see your task complete.”
“An excellent thing,” Rake insisted, without missing a beat. “And your timely arrival saves me having to find you in turn. A fine end to the days I spent hunting him.”
“Very well, soul-cursed. Your actions did prevent further harm to my flight. For that, I judge your bargain with the Elder fulfilled. You have earned our favor.”
Rake bowed theatrically. “Your fairness is matched only by your knowledge of birds.” Then he got up and seemed ready to leave Holt and Talia to their fates when the Warden called him back.
“Stay, Rake. We are not done here.” Rake bowed graciously again. “What of the younglings?”
“Oh them,” Rake said as though he’d forgotten. “Yes. They had the pleasure of watching me save their lives, honored Warden.”
Green smoke puffed out of the Warden’s snout. “They are lower members of the Storm Lord’s Order. They must have been assisting him.”
“Not unless Lords train their juniors by attacking them with full force,” Rake said. “Then again, it has been a long time since I trained there myself.”
The Warden was not amused by this. He turned his attention to the group. A second later his eyes narrowed onto Ash.
“Blindness…”
Two emeralds advanced upon Ash, their teeth bared. Ash backed away and the bond began to thrum.
“Hey,” Holt cried. Throwing respect to the wind, he got up and ran to Ash’s side. “Keep away from him.”
Desperate, Holt looked imploringly to Rake. Their would-be savior gave him a look as if to say, ‘you’re on your own.’ Even so, Holt swore that Rake tightened his grip upon his polearm.
It was Pyra who acted. She ran in between Ash and the two emeralds, snarling and gathering fire.
“Back with you,” she cried, her burning power evident in her voice. It must be draining the last of her core to do so. “Back with you or face me. I who have inherited verses from the Fire Elder himself, he who bent the searing mountains to his will. This hatchling is under my protection.”
She ended by snapping at the air. Despite the danger, Holt beamed.
“You’d give your life for the hatchling?” The Warden asked. “Never have I known a daughter of fire to tolerate the weak.”
“He is the greatest weapon in the fight against the scourge,” Pyra said.
The Warden gave a hearty rumble of laughter. “I doubt that.” He lingered upon Ash. “Hmm… a song I do not recognize.” Next, his full gaze fell upon Holt. Once more, Holt had the sensation that someone was observing his soul. “And your connection… so pure…” This seemed to trouble him. “Prove what you claim.”
Another emerald from the circle came forward. This one had several packages hanging from vines around its neck. Each was a bundle of the same type of large leaves covering Brode. One of the vine straps snapped free and then slithered through the grass to lay before Ash. Finally, it unwrapped, revealing a cut of bramble bush. The bramble was more thorn than fruit and what blackberries remained were turning green and oozy.
“Are you strong enough?” Holt asked.
“I think so,” Ash said. “For something small.” White light – its core so bright that its edges appeared dark – gathered at his snout before he gently pressed it onto the bramble. As expected, the bush was cured. Its thorns shrank then fell off, its fruit swelled in size and ripened.
Every emerald in the vicinity began growling or rumbling in surprise.
The Warden’s eyes widened in shock. He inclined his head. “I have judged too hastily. Settle now,” he added with a look to the emeralds advancing on Ash, but they were already backing away, their heads also inclined.
Holt sighed in relief, as did Talia. Rake nodded and lowered his weapon.
“Excuse the actions of my flight,” the Warden said flatly. It was crystal clear he didn’t mean it.
“No,” Holt said. “I won’t.”
Rake winced.
“Holt…” Talia moaned.
It wasn’t smart, he knew. Brode would cuff him and tell him he was thinking with his heart again, but he couldn’t help it. If Pyra could change her attitude, so could these wild dragons.
“You shouldn’t just kill dragons like Ash. Admit it, you wouldn’t have stopped your dragons if he couldn’t cure the blight.”
He felt the Warden’s magic press against his soul again, more forcefully this time, like a healer conducting an examination.
“Perhaps you are right, child,” the Warden said, sounding almost sad. He recovered and continued. “These discoveries will be of great interest to my Elder. No emerald before has been born with such gifts. We sensed his power distantly in the woods. A fragment of the blight cleansed away. We believed only a Lord of your Order would have such power.”
“I am no emerald,” Ash said. “I am a son of the moon. My song is written at night.”
Every emerald present reacted to that revelation. If dragons could exchange shocked whispers, these emeralds were doing so. They growled lowly, rumbled in their throats and twisted their heads from side to side to look at one another.
“Lunar?” the Warden mused. “A magic of light. Yes… that may explain it. Step forward, Ash.”
Tentatively, Ash did so. His oversized blue eyes were fixed on a point somewhere far past the Warden’s right wing. The Warden then lowered his head, as though he might glean information from proximity.
“Ah, yes, I can hear notes akin to the moon and stars. Immature yet there as the songbird chirrups his first melody. Yes, you are a son of night.”
“Now that is quite something,” Rake said. He looked to Holt again with a great interest. It reminded Holt of his father scrutinizing a new and exotic recipe, and he didn’t feel entirely comfortable about it.
“A new flight is born, and the world grows,” said the Warden. He threw back his head and roared; roared as though the whole world had just bent before him. For a dragon this was joy unbounded. His latent power became tangible around them. Petals bloomed from thin air; rock and stone burst from the ground, rising as though untethered to the world; and tremors ran through the earth.
As quickly as it began, it ended. The Warden regained his composure, although he too had a hearty rumble in his throat now.
“My Elder spoke wisely. I should not have lost faith in the natural world to grow a solution.”
“If I may ask, honored… Warden,” Talia began carefully, “why were you in the Withering Woods?”
“The blight affects all, child. This troubles my Elder deeply. Yet centuries of attempting to undo its rot have been in vain. The power of the Life Elder can reverse the corruption of the scourge, but it takes a great deal of his strength to do so, and then only in a small way.”
Holt gasped. This Elder was surely one of the most powerful beings in the world, attuned to the natural world, and even he struggled to do what Ash could.
“Harmonizing our collective songs can achieve more than one of us alone, yet even if we spent eternity doing so, the spread of the blight would win.”
“You mean, it’s constantly spreading?” Talia asked.
“Piece by piece it conquers the land. The woods first, which are our home. But the truth is worse. The blight burrows, its grasping roots run deep. Poison leaks at the ocean floor, and in the cellar of the world dark things move unseen. When news reached us of a new presence in this land, we were sent to see if the corruption is abolished easier when fresh. Alas, not by enough. It gladdened my heart when I felt a portion of the horror in the woods vanish in an instant.”
“It was just one tree,” Holt said.
“A drop of water during a drought is gratefully received.”
“But why Ash?” Talia asked. “Why his powers rather than fire or the healing possessed by some emerald or mystic dragons. We don’t understand.”
The Warden snorted, drew his head back, seeming to look at the horizon. At last he seemed to decide upon something.
“What do you know of the origins of the scourge?”
“Very little,” Talia said. “Only when the first incursion attacked the world and the riders formed. That’s almost a thousand years ago now.”
“I remember it well.”
“You were there?” Talia said in awe. “But of course, you were, mighty Warden,” she added hurriedly. She even curtsied.
Rake smirked.
Talia’s face went bright red, but she soldiered on. “Do you know something of how the scourge began? Some reason why lunar magic would be so effective?”
The Warden looked to Talia, then to each of the others ending with Holt in turn, and quickly looked away. “Much of the scourge remains a mystery.”
Holt thought that a lie. The Warden had clearly hesitated. It was a common enough thing Holt had noticed in his time. Powerful people, important people, were less subtle around their subordinates than they thought they were.
“However,” the Warden continued, “the scourge is not natural. We should know. Foul powers took an existing race of insects and turned them into the bane of the world. Do you know of which race I speak?”
Talia and Holt exchanged a look.
“Their venom rots their victims, for that’s what they desire to feed upon.
They prefer darkness below ground.”
Talia had the tell-tale face of trying to wrack her brain for an answer. Holt hadn’t a clue. There were probably loads of insects he’d never heard of.
“The vethrax.”
Realization crashed into Holt. “Omens of death. They tried to take our rotting meat in the forest. Brode… Brode said they hate daylight.”
“All light.”
“But the scourge can move by day or night,” Talia said. “They favor the night, in fact. It doesn’t hinder them.”
“The powers which enhanced the vethrax made their poison strong. Strong enough to negate the effect of the sun or moon that their lesser brethren cannot bear—”
“But a magical light would even out the power difference,” Talia finished. “Just as it takes an Ascendant to equal an Ascendant in physical strength.”
“Ash throws much into question,” the Warden said. “What now? What of the Storm Lord and his Sovereign? I must inform the Life Elder at once.” As he spoke, the leafy case containing Brode rose and floated over to land before him. “This one carries an echo of our flight. Distant. Notes of
sorrow. Yet from afar I assumed him to be the one we sought. Alas, soon those notes will pass forever.”
A lump formed in Holt’s throat.
It was Talia who managed to speak, “The man you speak of is our tutor.” She fell to one knee again. “He was gravely wounded by Silas the Storm Lord. Will you not help him?”
“Only my Elder has such power.”
“There must be something you can do,” Talia said. “Your servant, Rake
—”
Rake threw up his hands. “I made no such guarantees.”
“I hope not,” said the Warden. An edge had returned to his voice again.
“Nor would any such promise bind to me or my Elder. Rake, soul-cursed, is no member of our flight.”
Holt dropped to his knees too and clasped his hands like a beggar. “Please, we need him.”
“To claw life back from death disrupts the natural order. It is a desecration. Even if I possessed the power, I would not do it.”
Talia sobbed, burying her face in her hands. Holt desperately wanted to cry, but no tears came, only painful gasps for breath. His eyes felt raw, and his nerves were on edge.
The emerald dragons began taking off, one by one.
“At least help us,” Holt pleaded, his voice hoarse. “Help us fight against the scourge and Silas.”
“We do not interfere in human affairs. That was the pact made when your Order was established.”
Holt couldn’t understand what an ancient agreement had to do with their current situation. He was about to protest—he had nothing to lose by trying—when the Warden spread his wings.
“I am sorry for your loss,” he said. “As a parting gift, my flight will banish your weariness and heal what time would heal.”
A wave of power radiated from the Warden. Holt felt it pulse through the air. When it struck him, all the aches in his body vanished, his hunger dissipated, and he felt as refreshed as if he had awakened from a deep, dreamless sleep. Even the dragon bond felt whole again, though Ash’s core remained unreplenished—the Life Elder couldn’t simply transfer lunar motes, after all. Still, Holt could hardly complain. He hadn’t felt this good since Ash had hatched.
Pyra was especially pleased. Her wounds from the battle with the Wyrm Cloaks healed over, leaving no scars. She stretched her now mended wings, flexing them with a nervous energy.
“Go forth and do your duty as I must do mine.” The leaves around Brode began to unwrap. “As for you Rake, come in your time and seek an audience with the Life Elder.”
“Actually,” Rake said, thumbing his polearm as though this were all causal, “I’d like you to grant me my favor now.”
One emerald dragon actually stopped mid-take off at those words.
The Warden narrowed his eyes. “I cannot give you what you have asked for.”
“Well then, it’s a good thing I’m changing what I’m asking for.” Rake smiled, threw Holt a wink and then nodded toward Brode’s body. “I’d like the old man there to be healed.”
The Warden snorted green smoke and the grass beneath his talons grew then shrank at an alarming rate. “You waste your favor on this?”
“You said your Elder had the power, after all.”
“He will not do this thing.”
“Ask him anyway. My mind is made up.” Rake bowed again, too theatrically to be entirely respectful.
“So be it.” At once the leaves regrew around Brode’s pale body. The West Warden growled at one of his subordinates and the emerald picked up Brode in its talons before joining the others as they climbed higher into the sky.
With that, the Warden took off without another word.
Rake turned his back on the flight, smiling mischievously at Holt and the others.
“Finally, we’re alone.”
