Rake continued grinning at them even when no one responded with enthusiasm in turn.
“Where are they taking Master Brode?” Talia demanded. With her strength back she’d regained her royal tone. Either that or she didn’t think Rake worthy of the same reverence as the Warden.
“They’re taking him to the Life Elder,” Rake said slowly, as if Talia were a slow child.
“And where is he?” Talia asked.
Rake shrugged. “Don’t give me that look. The emerald flight likes to move around. But I’m sure one as learned in lore as yourself knows that.”
“I’m just trying to—” She calmed herself. “Can it really be done?”
“He wasn’t fully dead,” Rake said. “There was still a fluttering of brain activity. The leaves of the emerald flight will keep him stable for a long time.”
“He was still alive?” Holt asked.
“Gracious no,” Rake said. “His heart stopped but the mind continues a little longer. The things you discover as a mystic! No, I’m afraid he’s a corpse but as fresh a corpse as the Life Elder could hope to receive.”
Holt wondered whether the Life Elder frequently received corpses but reckoned Rake was being dramatic. Despite his misgivings, Holt found himself drawn to the orange half-dragon.
“So,” Holt started tentatively, “this Life Elder can actually bring him back?”
Rake shrugged again. “If anyone can, it’s him.”
“The Warden said the Elder would refuse,” Talia said.
“The Elder can’t make a decision to a request that isn’t presented to him,” said Rake. “Besides, there may be other benefits to sending your mentor to the Elder.”
“What does that mean?” Holt said sharply.
“It means I hope I haven’t entirely wasted my favor with the Elder. Do you know how hard such things are to come by?”
“Why do it then?” Talia asked. “I’ve taken a liking to you.”
Despite Talia’s ire, Rake couldn’t remove his permanent curling smile. It wasn’t as if Rake had to fear either of them, even combined. He’d driven off Silas Silverstrike and from reading between the lines it sounded like Rake had been skirmishing with the Storm Lord for days. Rake’s insistence on helping Brode also made him trustworthy in Holt’s estimation.
Now Holt’s bond with Ash had been patched up by the Warden’s magic, he decided to try checking Rake’s core. Rake was unique to say the least and Holt wanted to understand more about him. Moreover, the constant checks from other people and dragons made the intrusion seem commonplace and he felt left out.
Gingerly, he pulled on a thread of magic from Ash’s core and crested his mind outward, slithering to inspect the dragon – or whatever he was. As he did so, he found something strange. Rake’s core was there but also not there, as though a transparent box hid something invisible inside of it.
Holt risked drawing on a little more power and focused harder. Straining, he didn’t get a glimpse of Rake’s core, but he managed to hear a few notes of his song. Or was it songs? There were two strands to the music, almost in harmony with each other but just slightly off as though one strand echoed the other seconds later. What little Holt heard spoke of a rich power but also discord written in long ago.
Not wanting to drain Ash’s depleted core dry, Holt stopped and opened his eyes.
“Have a good look did you?” Rake asked. “I don’t understand,” Holt said.
“You’re veiling your core… somehow,” Talia said. “I value privacy.”
Talia ignored him. “The emerald Warden was stronger than Silas. Not by much although it’s still amazing that he is at all. How do you compare to
him?”
“About equal,” Rake said. “But the Warden is at least thrice my age,” he added proudly. His smile dropped then, and he became serious. “I once was a human and rider like you. And yes, I am more powerful than a Lord, and in other ways not as powerful. My journey – our journey – ended in this half-life.”
Talia bit her lip, her brow creased. “There are no ranks beyond Lord.” “What about Paragon?” Holt asked.
“Paragons are the most powerful of the Lords,” Talia said. “You can’t possibly gain more power than, well, one hundred per cent of your dragon’s core.”
“How then do you account for the Warden’s strength or his Elder’s?” “A dragon’s core still grows,” Talia said. “Paragons are the eldest
surviving Lords, those who have had the time to Forge their dragon’s core to incredible heights. Old wild dragons might reach such power in time, but it would take them much longer.”
“Centuries,” Rake said. “Millenia for some.” “But you’re not a dragon, are you?”
“What am I?” Rake began. “A pertinent question for a keen mind. Not even I am sure. And I cannot be more than a Lord you say, and yet I tell you I am. However, I think these are questions for more peaceful times. In any case, you two have me at a loss. We’ve not been properly introduced.” Rake seemed cheerful at the idea of something so banal.
Talia introduced herself first.
“An Agravain?” Rake said. “I think I met your great grandmother once or was it your great-great grandmother? Charming woman whichever ancestor it was. And a relentless tease.” Talia was spared a reply as Rake dipped into another theatrical bow. “Your Highness. A shame I hadn’t known ahead of time. Securing the promised favor of a royal is nothing to be sniffed at.”
“Come to Sidastra with us then,” Talia said. “Help us defend it against the scourge and I’ll ensure that my uncle rewards you, if that’s what you want.”
“Tempting, but I only want one thing and it’s not in the power of any human, whether monarch or pauper, to give.”
“Won’t you help us any way?” Holt asked.
Rake ignored the question. He instead crossed the distance between himself and Holt in that same, rapid, blink of an eye movement he’d used when fighting Silas. He dropped his polearm and got down on one knee. Even then he was still a towering figure.
“And you, Holt, who is your family?”
A sudden nervousness came over Holt. What if Rake dismissed him for his birth? After all, he’d been a rider once and a nobleman. Telling off the emerald Warden had felt instinctual to Holt. He’d been defending Ash and he hadn’t cared for the Warden’s approval.
“My family are Cooks,” Holt said. “I am Holt Cook. Son of Jonah Cook. We worked in the Crag’s kitchens.”
“A servant?” Rake’s blue ridges flared. “It’s good that you are used to toil. Your hard work is just beginning, Master Cook.”
“You don’t care?”
Rake extended a scaled finger and gently lifted Holt’s head so that he looked the half-dragon in the eye. Rake did the same to Ash and looked between the two of them.
“Once I would have,” he said, “but now, I know what it’s like to be different. An outsider.”
“Did it get easier for you?” Ash asked. It was one of the only truly sad tones Holt had heard Ash make. It caused an ache in his chest.
“No,” Rake said, “but I decided to stop defending what I was and merely present it forthrightly. No apologies. It didn’t stop the scorn, but I didn’t care so much after that.”
Ash inclined his head. “I will think on this, Master Rake.”
Rake smiled, genuinely this time. “So how did a commoner join the Order?”
“He stole Ash’s egg,” Talia said. “Really?”
Holt folded his arms. “I like to think of it as saving Ash’s egg.”
“Well, you have spirit that’s clear. And were it not for you we would not have Ash, so I applaud your madness.”
“Master Brode called it foolish.”
“There’s a fine line between a fool and genius. Clearly a genius in this case as you joined the Order.”
“They never found out,” Holt said. “I haven’t taken the oath yet.”
Rake’s eyes widened at that. Holt got the uncanny impression he was being sized up again.
“It’s a long story,” Talia said.
“I’d like to hear it,” said Rake. “The Warden may not care about human affairs, but I do.”
They explained to Rake everything that had occurred since the attack on the Crag, to the battle they fought at Midbell and the Wyrm Cloaks guarding the chasm in the woods. When they finished, Rake ran one hand up and down the shaft of his polearm, deep in thought.
Pyra stamped and belched flames into the air. “We should not tarry here with idle chatter.”
“Idle chatter?” Rake said. “But it is all rather exciting… with some minor distresses thrown in to be sure. Silas Silverstrike. Hero of Athra. Leading the scourge, working with Wyrm Cloaks and attacking wild dragons; although I suspect he came to the woods hunting you two and became… distracted. On their own, none of these things connect but they must. We’re missing something.”
“That’s what Brode thought,” Holt said.
“Then he was a wise man,” Rake said. “I fear these events are not isolated to Feorlen or Silas alone.”
“No incursions had been reported elsewhere,” Talia said. “Not from the Skarl Empire, Risalia, Brenin, or any of the Free Cities.”
“True enough,” Rake said. “I roam widely, and scourge activity has been low. Too low, I’d say. Unnaturally so for years now. And Silas isn’t the only rogue rider I’ve heard of.”
“What?” Holt gasped.
“Don’t be so shocked,” Rake said. “Riders have turned off the… moral path before now.”
“Who else apart from Silas do you know about?” Talia asked eagerly. “In the here and now?” Rake asked. “There are no names. Only vague
stories. But the wild flights are angry. Each has lost members of late – drakes are disappearing or turning up dead. They move in groups now like the emeralds you just met. They’re afraid – yes,” he added when Pyra snorted smoke, “even dragons can be afraid.”
Holt looked to Ash, remembering the attack on the Crag. “I know they can.”
“And the emeralds were afraid enough to ask for your protection,” Talia said. “Better you risk yourself than send more of those Wardens.”
“Spoken like a pragmatic leader,” said Rake. “And yes, something like that. Honestly the Life Elder may have just wanted to get rid of me. I’ve been entreating for his aid for years and, I think, under pressure to improve safety for the group heading west, he saw an opportunity.”
Holt knew Rake wasn’t telling him the whole story. Had he really been working for years to secure something from the Life Elder only to drop it the moment he ran into Talia, Pyra, Ash and himself?
“But why would Silas or any other rogue rider attack wild dragons?” Talia asked.
Holt’s head started to hurt from all of this. Nothing added up. Everything seemed backwards. Cultists famed for killing dragons of the Order were trying to recruit them, while rogue members of the Order were killing wild ones.
“I don’t think attacking is their first priority,” Rake said. “I managed to arrive in time to save one group of emeralds from the Storm Lord. They told me that his dragon – gray fellow, what’s his name?”
“Clesh,” Talia hastened to answer.
“Well, apparently Clesh had urged the emeralds to join a cause for all dragon kind.”
“The Sovereign.” Both Holt and Talia said the name together. “The cultists mentioned him,” Holt said.
“And Silas did too…” Talia said. “Something about the Sovereign commanding him.”
“Yes,” Rake said. “The emeralds under my care said the same. Slowly the curtain lifts. Too slowly, I fear. This puppet master has long been at work. He has powerful servants and been hitherto unnoticed. To refuse the invitation to join him is to die.” He scoffed. “I’m offended I haven’t been asked yet.”
“This person,” Talia began hesitantly, “I mean, well, it cannot be a person, can it? The cultists wish for dragons to rule. Wild dragons would not follow a human either.”
“Talia thinks a dragon is behind this,” Holt said.
“It makes the most sense,” Talia said. “Doesn’t it, Rake?”
“Don’t go seeking my higher authority. If you’re sure, then stand by it.”
“Okay,” Talia said, a little hesitantly. “Then, yes, I do think a dragon must be behind all of this.”
“I agree,” Rake said with a wink. “Not that this helps us understand their motives, or anything about them, or what their goal is in all this. Quite the mystery!”
“Do the wild flights think another dragon works against them?” Holt asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Rake said.
“Seems like the emeralds should have stayed to help,” Holt said. There was a mountain of chores to get on with, so to speak, and many hands make light work.
“It’s not their place,” Rake said.
“And what does that mean?” Holt said. “Sounds like they are trying to get out of the job just because it isn’t strictly theirs to do. The stable hands and maids would pitch in to help us with the extra work during a feast.” He felt a heat rise to his cheeks. Old frustrations with the rigidity of the system he’d grown up in had sprung up with renewed vigor. Dragons were meant to be better than this. “What does it matter whether the Order are supposed to deal with the scourge alone – it affects the wild dragons too doesn’t it? We need help. Now.”
Ash puffed his chest out and roared in agreement.
“They can’t just act as they’ve always done,” Holt said, “if it means everything burns.”
He saw the ruins of the Crag, the ash falling, the burned town and the bodies. The same would happen everywhere if nothing changed.
“What would you do about it?” Rake asked.
“I… I don’t know,” Holt said. His outburst fizzled.
“In my time,” Rake said, “I’ve discovered that change must be hard earned. No rider of the Order can progress in rank just because it would make sense to do so. They must fight for it. And you must fight for it.”
“I just don’t understand,” Holt said. “Dragons are part of the Order.
They know how important this is.”
“Chaos spreads now,” Rake said. “And when chaos comes, people cling more desperately to what order they do have. Dragons too. This Sovereign threatens to destabilize everything. I must go and find out what I can.”
“You’re leaving too?” Holt said. He couldn’t believe it. Not after all of that.
“An enemy unseen cannot be struck.”
“Please, Rake,” Talia said. “I know we are the ones who owe you our lives, but the lives of all the people of Feorlen are at stake.”
In a sudden movement, Rake lowered his polearm and lunged at Talia.
She had no chance to defend herself, but Rake held back his strike.
“It has been a frightfully long time since I left the Order, but I wasn’t aware their teachings had softened. What have we just discussed? Will it make you stronger if I fight your battles for you?”
“There are tests by combat and then there is suicide,” Talia said, not taking her eyes off the pale orange shard inches from her face.
“All the more impressive should you survive,” said Rake. “And all the greater your strength will be for it.”
“If I wasn’t a rider, it would be my kingdom – my people.”
“Your kingdom?” Rake purred. “Your people? Hm. That sounds like a reason to fight as hard as you can.” He withdrew his weapon, straightened, and tightened his cloak about himself. “Besides, I am hardly welcome in polite society. And you’ll reach Sidastra quicker without me. I can’t fly.” He looked seriously at Holt. “I gambled away a chance to get the one thing I want on you. I need you strong if it’s to pay off. Fight hard. We will meet again.”
And with that, Rake left them, running east at a pace that would shame a horse.
Holt, Talia, Pyra and Ash were on their own.
At length, Talia spoke. “Fine then, we’ll go on alone.” She spun on the spot as though to gauge their bearings. “I can’t say where we are for sure but somewhere on the eastern edge of the woods. Sidastra lies to the south but by flying it shouldn’t take us more than two days.” Pyra growled eagerly and spread her wings, ready to take to the skies she yearned for.
Holt hesitated. He and Ash had only taken short flights up to collect lunar motes. They were hardly ready for a journey.
“It’s like Rake said,” Talia began, “we’ll grow faster if we push ourselves.”
“What if we crash?” Holt said.
Talia shrugged. “Then you crash, pot boy. What’s the alternative? Stay out in the open for Silas or the scourge to get you?”
“Brode said you couldn’t outfly Silas if he did find you.”
She gave him a hard look and said again, “What’s the alternative?”
She was right. Holt drew a deep breath and readied himself. “Okay.
Okay.”
“Stay close to Pyra and if you’re in trouble have Ash reach out to us.”
As Talia mounted Pyra and prepared herself, Holt looked for Ash only to find he had slinked off. However, the dragon was already returning from across the meadow, carrying a dark, dirty bundle between his teeth. It turned out to be Brode’s travelling cloak that had been ripped off in his brief encounter with Silas.
“Good idea,” Holt said. “It will be nice to have some reminder of him.”
“I had something else in mind,” Ash said, dropping the cloak at Holt’s feet. “I wish to cover my eyes.”
“What for?”
“They call me weak,” he said. “I was not supposed to hatch—”
The knot of guilt twisted horribly in Holt. “Don’t say that—”
“I will say it. I won’t forget it. Other dragons never will. They sense my blindness and wish me gone. You were right not to accept the Warden’s false apology. Were we not of value against the scourge they would not care. Rake is different too, but he does not cower or beg. Nor shall I. Cover my eyes so that everyone who looks at me will know, and I will show them I am just as capable.”
Holt understood the strength of Ash’s conviction on this. It crossed the bond and made him stand straighter and pull his shoulders back. Taking the knife from his belt, Holt cut a strip of black cloth from Brode’s cloak. It was frayed and uneven at the edges but thick enough to cover Ash’s eyes. He was about to wrap them when he stopped.
Although he understood why Ash wanted this, Holt found it a shame that those icy blue eyes would be covered; the eyes he’d seen when Ash could still fit in the crook of his arm. The eyes that had taken his heart.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Just… getting my bearings. Lower your head right down. That’ll be easier.”
Ash did. Holt stepped behind the dragon’s head, placed the strip over Ash’s eyes and secured it. Ash raised his head and Holt took a step back to admire the effect. He had to admit it worked. Before, Ash’s off-center focus or looking entirely in the wrong direction had made him seem submissive, very much a young hatchling in an oversized body. The black blindfold fixed that. Not being able to see the dragon’s eyes made it harder to read
him. And it was unusual; the unknown. People feared the unknown. Ash had turned his weakness into an asset.
“I think you look more intimidating.”
Ash bared his teeth and growled in mock menace. “Ready to fly for real this time?”
“I’ve dreamed of flying since before I hatched. I’m ready.”
