Bird song woke him in the early morning. Blearily, Holt looked around the little cave. It took a moment to remember where he was.
Red hair fanned out before him, the tips of it nearly tickling his nose. Talia was still asleep and showed no signs of stirring. Even Pyra had succumbed to sleep in the end. Both she and Ash’s great breaths rang within the cave.
With a small groan, Holt managed to sit himself upright. With a further effort, he got to his feet and shuffled out into the dawn, blinking against the light as he headed for the nearby stream. He cupped his hands, dipped them into the water, gasped from the chill then splashed it onto his face. Gasping again, he at least felt awake and alert.
The singing chaffinch was perched on a branch of birch tree with its back to him. Holt looked at it for a moment, marveling that something so small and innocent had evaded the gathering scourge. It hopped along its branch, then turned to face him.
And Holt’s gut squirmed.
The bird was missing an eye. Its remaining eye was bulbous and green, its feathers oil slick from a dark slime and chunks of its plumage were missing. It chirruped as though nothing were wrong.
Before Holt could react, the chaffinch swooped down upon him. Holt waved his arms frantically to drive the bird away, slipped on the damp grass and fell by the water’s edge. The bird’s flapping wings grew quieter as it flew off. Suddenly breathless, and feeling none too ashamed of himself, Holt scrambled to his feet.
Clearly the influence of the scourge was still present in the area. He’d have to wake the others quickly and—
Rustling from the undergrowth made him spin to face it. This time he didn’t hesitate to draw his sword.
A horse with a half-rotting face and dead black eyes stepped silently into the little clearing. Still without uttering a sound, it pulled back its lips to reveal bloody, sharpened teeth. It would have been less terrifying if it had been screeching.
Holt’s breath caught in his throat. If it charged and caught him, he’d be trampled under its hooves. He didn’t dare call for the others in case this triggered an attack from the blighted horse. He tried to take a step back but more movement behind the horse made him freeze.
A pair of blight infected hounds came swiftly and silently in the horse’s wake. Across the stream, on the opposite bank, a wolf emerged, baring its own teeth and drooling a green ooze which hissed as it fell upon the grass.
Desperate now, Holt fought to steady his breath. He’d been caught off guard, but his Lunar Shocks could handle these poor creatures. Turning his focus inward he found the dragon bond had recovered during the night. Ash’s core was full of light.
Carefully, Holt began gathering lunar energy in his free palm; reassured by the heat of it. Still, he couldn’t help his heart hammering nor the fear racing up his spine. Something of it must have passed through the bond for he felt Ash stir but then the horse sprang forward.
Instinct took over. One blast wouldn’t be enough. Holt dropped his sword and brought his hands together for a combined attack. The dragon bond shook; power burned down both arms. A thick beam of the white light blew a hole through the horse. Momentum carried the horse on before it toppled over. Holt dove aside but the hounds were on him. He yelled and kicked out, striking one dog on its nose.
“Ash! Talia!”
His legs and arms flailed as he tried to right himself and keep the dogs off. A Lunar Shock required concentration and while sprawled on the earth with his hands occupied, he couldn’t summon one. He pulled on magic for extra strength just in time to catch a slathering mouth as it snapped at his throat. Yet the other hound was free.
Pain seared his leg. He fought back an overwhelming desire to vomit as teeth sunk deeper into his thigh. Tears boiled and fell. Only magic
prevented him from passing out from the pain of it. Screaming, he threw the hound he’d caught aside, sat up and punched the one at his leg. Both hounds squealed and retreated but continued to circle him, sensing weakness.
The wound on his leg sizzled from the toxins of the blight, and the veins around it turned green as it spread. He collapsed.
Desperate, Holt looked for his sword, but it was out of reach. And then the wolf came bounding over the stream onto his side of the bank. The hounds fell in beside it like two thugs.
Holt could not move his leg now. His vision blurred and it was all he could do to raise his hands for Lunar Shocks but even if he managed two of them, one of the three enemies would make it.
A scream of defiance bellowed from his left. Talia landed between Holt, the wolf and the hounds. Power radiated from her, lifting her hair like a billowing cloak. The blighted animals charged right as Talia stepped forward, driving her heel into the earth. A cone of fire erupted in front of her.
Her Flamewave ability, Holt thought.
The flames fanned out low along the ground, burning the grass and then the blighted animals. Only the wolf staggered through it and Talia met it, slicing down with her great rider’s blade, cleaving its head off in one smooth strike.
She spun, sheathing her sword upon her back in one movement.
“Idiot!” she declared. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Why didn’t you wake me up at once? What did you—” She’d seen his wound. In a blur of speed she was kneeling by his side, cradling his head.
“What happened?”
“Got bit,” Holt said through clenched teeth.
“It shouldn’t be spreading that fast or at all. You’re not sick or old or too young.”
Holt gave her an exasperated look. He didn’t think this the time for being curious.
Ash came galloping up, already gathering his lunar magic on the end of his snout.
“I’ll get rid of that.”
“Wait!” Talia said, throwing out an arm. Ash growled but halted a few feet away.
“He can get rid of it,” Holt said. There wasn’t much time. He could feel cold sweat over his entire body.
“You have access to Ash’s lunar magic yourself,” she said. “Push the power down to the wound.”
Holt gulped, not sure whether he’d manage it. A general boost of magic to his whole body to increase his strength or speed had been easy and until now he’d only channeled significant power through his arms for Lunar Shocks.
“Try it,” Talia urged. “You’ll thank me later.”
Gritting his teeth, Holt drew energy into his soul and then tried feeding it toward his injured leg. It wasn’t a smooth process. The magic required a pathway and he was carving out the river as he went. Initially he reached the outer spread of the blight before he lost focus, which at least halted it.
“Where’s that emerald Warden when you need him, huh?” Holt said, grunting back against the pain.
“Keep going,” Talia said. “Ash is right there if you need him.”
Huffing and puffing, wishing it would just end, Holt tried again. And again. Each time he carved the river out a little more but faced resistance every inch of the way, whether from his own body or the blight, he did not know.
Near giving up, he directed magic to his palm and raised his hand, intending to slam the lunar energy directly into the wound.
Talia grabbed his wrist and held it in an iron grip.
Holt screamed. Ash growled and seemed ready to knock Talia aside but Pyra blocked him.
Holt blinked; lights popped in his vision. He looked up to Talia, but she came in and out of focus. Only her voice was solid.
“Pain and trials. That’s how we advance.”
Though his head felt like lead, he nodded. Only deep trust in Talia kept him going, not that he could do anything else with her holding him down. And fearing his cries of anguish might alert every scourge beast within miles, he pushed on. Through the pain. Through the terrible effort.
At last, with a gasp of air as though he’d been choking, Holt forged a clear pathway for concentrated magic toward his leg. The blight was expelled, the toxin burned away as thoroughly as when they had cured the blacksmith’s daughter. And like her, Holt now sported a silver-purple
coloring over the previously infected area. Yet the bleeding entry points of the hound’s teeth remained.
“Lie down,” Talia said, even as she pushed him flat on his back. She ran off, returning seconds later in another blur of speed carrying her cloak. Ripping a large strip off with sheer strength, she pressed the material down on his leg with an alarming pressure. Holt groaned again but fought against the urge to squirm. Talia tied off the wound.
She sighed and sat down, her eyes returning to their regular green as she let the excess magic return to Pyra’s core.
Ash continued to keep his gathered magic prepared. He patrolled back and forth along the riverbank, his tail flicking dangerously, daring any other scourge creature to try its luck. Pyra stood vigilant beside them, her amber eyes narrow.
“You okay?” Talia asked. She helped Holt upright, and he winced.
“I think so,” he said hoarsely. “Why… why did you make me do that?” “For one, in case it happens again and Ash is far away on a battlefield,
you know you can cure yourself without wasting a full Shock. Second, your next ability involves channeling magic through your legs. Now you have at least one of the pathways open.”
“Couldn’t I have done that, you know, when I wasn’t in danger?”
“It’s not easy to do,” Talia said. “Master Brode never had time to explain mote channels to you. Most new riders drag the process of opening new ones out. I thought the urgency would spur you on. And it did.”
“Must riders always be in peril to advance?”
“No,” Talia said gently, “but you heard Rake. Only by pushing ourselves to the limits will we reach our potential.”
“Thank you then, I think.” Having seen Talia display her second main ability got him thinking. “Now I’ve opened up that pathway, can I send out magic like you just did?”
“You’ll need to reach Ascendant first to make it safe,” Talia said. “It pulls on a lot more power to use than your single target attack and your bond needs to be strong enough to hold up when using it.”
“I hope that’s soon. Being able to blast a wave of power would have been useful there.”
Talia gave him a piercing look and Holt felt her presence brush up against his soul, inspecting the bond.
“Rock solid,” she said, only now she sounded impressed rather than frustrated by it. “You and Ash have something special. And you’ve been through hell compared to most Novices. Might advance sooner than you think.”
“Here’s hoping,” Holt said. He couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement at the idea.
“Just remember what Brode tried to teach you,” Talia said. “You shouldn’t rely on magic for everything in battle.” She picked up his sword. “What happened to this?”
“Dropped it,” Holt said, not meeting her eye. She gave him a look so reminiscent of Brode that he almost did a double take. “Thought I ought to blast the horse with double the power.”
“Hm,” she said, handing him back his sword. “Skilled blade work and weaving in single Lunar Shocks would have done just as well there as an area ability. You must conserve your magic for when it’s needed most. It’s no good if your bond frays mid-combat.”
“I know,” he groaned. “I’m not… well I’m not used to this yet.” “Nor am I. Not really.”
“And I don’t think I’ll be doing much sword work until this is better.” He tried moving his leg and white-hot pain shot through it.
By the riverbank, Ash suddenly froze; his whole body growing taut as it had done when he’d heard the Wyrm Cloaks approaching.
“I hear the buzzing of great wings. All over. Some coming closer.”
Talia cursed. “Stingers.”
Pyra clawed at the earth and her tail stiffened. “We need to move. Can you still fly, Holt?”
“If I can sit, then I’ll manage.”
“There will be a great deal of pain.”
“I’ll manage,” he insisted, meeting her great amber eyes. Pyra rumbled approvingly.
Talia hoisted him up with one arm as though he weighed nothing, and he threw an arm over her shoulder.
“Ash, come here,” Holt called.
He bounded over and lowered himself so Holt could be more easily pushed up and onto his back. With a pang, he realized this was the second time in almost as many days Talia had to lift him onto Ash and inwardly vowed never to let it happen again.
She needed him to be stronger. His father would need him to be strong too.
With another powerful jolt in his stomach he remembered the recipe book.
“My bag,” he began in a panic. “My father’s book—”
Talia ran off and back in another blurred flash. He hoped she hadn’t strained her bond too much already today.
“Thank you,” Holt said, when she returned. He took the bag and strapped it safely over his shoulder. He sagged, partly from the relief of remembering the recipe book, partly from his leg.
“I’m worried for you,” Ash told him privately.
Holt replied mentally. “You just fly as fast as you can, boy. I’ll hold on.”
Ash sniffed, probably sensing Holt’s pain over their bond, but they had little choice.
“They are closer now,” Ash told the group. “Many to the south.”
“The swarm gathers,” Pyra said sagely as though she’d witnessed the great swarms of a dozen incursions. Maybe she had, from the memories passed down to her through her dragon lineage. “Their bodies are tough, but their wings are frail.”
Ash unleashed a burst of lunar light. “We shall see how strong their hide truly is.”
Holt rubbed down Ash’s neck then began the sense-sharing process. This time, along with the usual increase in his sight and hearing, Holt found the pain from his leg dulled. It seemed to have been shared as well.
“We don’t stop now until we reach Sidastra,” Talia called.
And with that, they took off. Everything else had been left behind. All they had left was themselves, their weapons, and one old family cookbook.
