Talia spotted Ash with ease. His white scales sparkled like water under even this drab light. At least he would be easy to find during the fight ahead.
Pyra glided down to join them. Ash appeared to be asleep as he didn’t stir at their arrival. Such a skinny dragon in truth, the likes of which she hadn’t seen before. Holt sat on the grass, his legs so tightly crossed it looked like he hadn’t moved for the past day or night. Plates and drained mugs beside him spoke otherwise.
“Get some rest, girl,” she said to Pyra. “The kitchens know you’re to be fed again.”
Pyra gave a hearty rumble and padded at a patch of grass before curling
up.
Holt didn’t open his eyes. Light burst from his shoulders in a wave that
trailed off into glistening dust.
Talia checked on Pyra’s core and winced. A thick veil of smoke obscured the bonfire. She would be hacking and spluttering her way through that for hours. No rest for her then. No meditation room, and no pre-built area for fire drakes to nestle around great braziers and drink the motes in. Hardly the preparation that was needed, but then the city was barely prepared as well.
“Where are the people from the Crag now?” Holt asked, still with his eyes shut.
“They’ve been taken to an eastern barracks in the central ring,” Talia said. “That’s as safe as can be when the time comes.”
Holt sniffed and said no more. She knew what was on his mind; her order not to aid the rest of the infected refugees. Did he think she found it any easier?
No, he doesn’t, she decided. That’s just the hunger and tiredness talking. “There isn’t much game in the kitchens,” Holt said. “Ash has eaten a little of it and then I suggested he have chicken until closer to the battle.
That way we can make the most of the boost to his power.” “A good idea,” Talia said.
Holt at last opened his eyes. “Are you going to join me?”
She realized then how awkward she was, standing on ceremony. She took up a space on the grass in front of Holt and felt the tiredness weigh upon her. Not on her body. That should last through the battle, assuming the swarm arrived that evening, but she was exhausted to her bones, nevertheless. Too much to process too quickly. Too much uncertainty and pressure before survival had even been achieved.
“I think I’ll wait until after I eat to Cleanse,” she said. There must have been something in her voice for Holt pressed his lips together, clearly concerned.
“The staff here have been excellent,” he said. “They’ve brought me nairn-root tea and molten cakes on the hour.”
“We’re not the first riders they’ve catered too.” Although we might be the last.
“If you aren’t about to Cleanse, I have some questions for you. Rider questions.”
Talia sat up straighter. At least this was an area she had experience in. “When Ash eats venison,” Holt began, “we find the swell from his core
hard to control. The first time was the worst, you remember?”
Oh, she remembered – remembered it fondly in fact. Their time in the woods, desperate though it had been, seemed quaint to where they were now.
She nodded and Holt carried on. “I wondered if I might help?”
“You could try pulling the raw motes into yourself,” she said. “Your enhanced body should soak it easily enough. Though as they are only raw, I’m not sure what good they would do you.”
“I see… I shall think on this.”
Talia supposed as the senior of the two she should have insisted on him calling her Master; that he should incline his head when wisdom had been imparted. But Holt wasn’t in the Order and she didn’t see the need for it.
A couple of months out of the ordinary and I let protocol and etiquette slip. What’s next?
She pulled at a clump of grass in a vain attempt to distract herself. “I have another question,” Holt said.
“Go on.”
“If our dragons benefit so much from their meat type, shouldn’t we eat it too?”
“Ah,” Talia began. She had asked this same question years ago. “When dragons eat their preferred meat, it doesn’t create more motes per se. I doubt beef contains motes of fire, or at least no more than is naturally in the world. But after eating their preferred meat the pull of their core becomes stronger, drawing in more ambient motes than usual.”
“Seems there might be some advantage if the rider eats the same meal – more motes might be attracted over should they be close together.”
“Motes are drawn to dragons, not us. We have no cores of our own.”
Holt frowned now. “Well, it sounds like I should be Forging while Ash eats.”
“I suppose in an ideal world,” Talia said. “It was rarely something we did at the Crag. A handful of extra motes might make a difference to a hatchling’s core, but as the dragon and core matures the gains from such small intakes diminishes.”
“But if you could do everything – if Ash ate his food at night under the stars while I Forged—”
“You’d get better results for the time, sure, but that can’t always be arranged. Steady work over time will still increase your rank.”
“Why not rank as fast as possible?”
She had wondered at that herself. Indeed, she’d pushed as hard as she’d been allowed at the Crag but was ever told be patient, calm and mindful. Yet Rake – that powerhouse with his mysterious veiled core – had been anything but patient. Perhaps Holt had a point. On the other hand, Brode, in his rare moments of openness, had also made good points.
“It’s a long life, Holt,” she said, recalling what Brode had once told her. “Do you wish to slave away at this all day, perhaps for a hundred years or
more? You’re not wrong, but the differences you’re speaking of would be marginal at best per day.”
“Shouldn’t we be aiming for the best?”
There was an edge in his voice Talia found worrying.
“Don’t berate yourself,” she said. “You’ve only just begun—” She broke off as his eyes drifted off beyond her, a hurt and longing plain in his wistful stare.
Well, she thought. I can’t blame him. It comes to us all in the end. The guilt of not being strong enough. Of not helping enough. The shame of letting others down, whether justified or not. It just got to him fast. And hard.
“Commander Ysera told me of an interesting technique,” she said in a hurry, hoping to distract Holt and herself. “Lords – or some Lords at least – have such control over their mote channels that they can keep magic circulating around their body without using it. Takes an absurd amount of concentration or else it will erupt from them like any of us, but if they maintain it they have a store of energy ready to use in a split second or even if separated from their dragon – what?”
“You were smiling,” Holt said. He shrugged and made a mild attempt at a smile of his own. “Was good to see that.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts, pot boy. Any more questions?”
“Many,” Holt said. “I thought about pushing myself to carve a mote channel to my other leg. I feel my second rank ability would benefit from using both legs at once.”
“It would but like always you’ll have to weigh up the cost on the bond and the drain on Ash’s core with having extra power in the ability. When I’ve tried it, it doesn’t double the power of the ability as you’d expect but still costs twice as much magic. So no, I wouldn’t torture yourself to open the channel right now.”
Holt looked relieved then sheepish. “And… can your abilities be altered?”
Talia frowned. Her weary mind had only just caught up with his meaning. He’d already tried out his Ascendant rank ability without her – the idiot. She was just about to open her mouth when he stood up.
“I’ll show you.”
Light began to pulse beneath his foot.
Talia jumped up then backwards to get out of range. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Rather than stop he kept going, and rather than stamping his foot, he pressed hard into the grass. The soft ground sunk under his strength and jagged lines of shining white power cut across the ground.
What had he done? It should have come out in a blast of energy. Stranger still was the way the light lingered in the ground, pulsing as though it had a heartbeat.
“Why didn’t you wait for me before trying this?”
“I needed a way to cure multiple people at once,” Holt said. “It worked, Talia.”
“But—” She didn’t know quite what to say.
“Well, it healed those with a mild infection, whereas blasting the power out would probably just knock them over.”
“And you’re worried it won’t be effective in combat?”
“It does hurt the scourge,” Holt hastened to add. “I tested it in the throne room. It seems to slow and weaken them, as well as inflict a light burn. It should make it easier for me to work with my sword.”
“Hm,” Talia mused. Riders liked instantaneous effects, raw damage to clear an area or root enemies to the spot with ice or earth. Yet if it gave Holt an advantage over the bugs and ghouls with his blade without drawing on extra magic to do so, then the benefits might work out. He needed that help. And the effect seemed to last a long time for the magic he had put into it. Only just now had the lunar power winked out. Where the light had been, the grass was now stark white, purple or silver.
“I say you keep it,” she said.
“You are sure?” Holt asked. “I… worried I might have done something wrong and broken it.”
“Our abilities are not set in stone,” Talia said. “Lords can manipulate their magic in ways we never could. The reason we focus on perfecting several key abilities is to make them more efficient. Our mote channels adapt to how we use them, you see. The more you perform a technique the more proficient you’ll become in it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means over time you’ll need less magic to generate the effect and cause less strain on your bond. You could force the mote channels in your arms and legs to work in other ways, but it would be costly. And if you
wished to change the style of a frequently used technique forever, then the channels would sort of reset. You’d go back to square one. Paragons are said to have such robust channels it does not matter but for everyone else
—”
“I understand,” Holt said. “I’ll keep it then. Aside from hurting the scourge in battle, I also think I get a boost when I’m standing on the Lunar Quake.”
Talia blinked. “What did you say?”
“When I stand on the ground, I gain a slight edge whereas the scourge are weakened—”
“No, no – the name you said. Lunar Quake? Is that what you’re calling
it?”
Holt flushed.
From beneath her wing, Pyra snorted then spoke privately to Talia,
“Well, he couldn’t be remarkable in every way.”
“What would you call it?” Holt asked, only a little defensive. She considered. “How about Consecration?”
He looked blankly at her.
“Trust me, it sounds like a real ability now.”
Further discussion was halted by the arrival of a group of kitchen staff. As Holt foretold there was nairn-root tea and molten cakes for the riders, as well as chicken and beef for the dragons. The spices from Pyra’s dish would have once made Talia choke but she inhaled them deeply now. Ash awoke with his nose sniffing at the air and stalked over while Pyra waited for the servants to come to her.
Talia realized how hungry she was after taking her first bite. Steaming cheese oozed from the center of the meaty scone. Holt blew on his and picked at the edges while she devoured two in quick succession.
She took a hearty swig of the steaming tea and wrinkled her nose in distaste. They had added extra sugar to it to suppress the spice. Many did prefer it that way, in fact she had once preferred it that way. Had they remembered her order? Well, she had taken on some of Pyra’s preferences since then.
The remainder of the meal passed in an amicable silence. And as the warmth of the food and tea mixed with the renewed glow of her dragon bond, Talia almost felt relaxed. Perhaps she would get some sleep after
Cleansing. It would be wise to do so. But there was so much to do; so little time to do it in. Would such an exertion on her part even help in the end?
“We’re not well prepared,” she said, as though Holt had asked her to explain the situation. “Turns out Osric wasn’t doing a good job at overseeing the defenses.” She snorted. “Probably just killing time, going through the motions until the full swarm gathered to hit the city hard. My brother did send messengers to Brenin for aid, but I imagine Osric ensured they never made it. There aren’t enough troops, thanks to his ploy with the western garrisons and an unacceptable amount of the ballistae need repairing. Those who migrated to the city as per our incursion strategy have been erratically sheltered. Almost none of the civilians on the western isles have been moved east for their own safety, so we’re rushing that now. And too many of the soldiers are inexperienced – the cream of the standing army fell in the Toll Pass year. That was Osric’s doing too…”
Just how long had this been planned for?
As bleak as things looked, it felt better just to admit it. To everyone else she had to present a brave face. With Holt she could be honest.
“Won’t the Order send more riders to help?” Holt asked.
“How would they know we’re in danger?” Talia said. “They already sent us help, remember, or they thought they did. Silas was supposed to be our aid. The swarm seemed a small thing for the longest time. One Lord should have been enough with the Crag’s riders at his back. Falcaer will assume no news is good news.”
“How long until no news becomes bad news?” Holt asked. Talia shrugged. “Will be too long for us, I know that much.”
She could fly herself to Falcaer, but it was out of the question. She’d return to find Sidastra a ruin and all her people turned to ghouls or worse.
“Well,” Holt began, as optimistically as he could, “the defenses around the palace did a good job. Just look at how many stingers and carriers got shot down trying to get Osric out.”
“There’s a difference between a strike force and the whole swarm – you saw how many bugs chased us on our way in. From all I’ve read about the sieges at the peak of incursions, the battle comes down to commanding the sky. With only two riders, and no Champions or Lords to help us, I don’t see how we’ll manage it. Truth is if the bugs want to take an area by brute force, we can’t stop them.”
“Then we focus our attention,” said Holt, as though it were the easiest thing in the world. “You can’t boil an egg and fry it at the same time.”
“Do you always think in terms of food?”
“What I mean is, if we can’t cover enough ground we shouldn’t try to.”
Talia smiled wryly. “Where do you think I’ve suggested the civilians be moved to?”
Holt’s eyes widened. “What here? To the palace grounds?”
“The palace grounds, and as much of the central ring as we can. I didn’t just give the Crag folk special treatment.”
“And the nobles are okay with commoners cramming into their space?” “Some protested. There are whole outer islands largely left empty to
accommodate people during a Summons, but we have other plans for those. Harroway didn’t protest actually. I think he still fears I’ll take his head.”
“The commoners are always pushed to the fringes of siege cities,” Holt said. “The first to fall to the blight or a ghoul’s teeth. Talia, I’m—” He seemed genuinely lost for words.
“It’s the right thing to do. I’m only sad it took strategic necessity and dire circumstances to bring it about. Even so, we’ll still have a lot of ground to cover. I think we should stick together and shore up the weakest points where we can. Their stingers can only do so much. The real threat is when they hold an area without resistance and so their carriers can begin landing ghouls unchecked, bypassing walls altogether.”
“And the water,” Holt added.
“Sidastra’s main advantage is also it’s weakness. All the islands and bridges create choke points for our troops to make the enemy’s numbers count for less, but it makes it equally hard to retake positions that are lost. Still, the city can lose its fingers long before a limb or the body becomes endangered.”
Holt nodded, though his eyes looked distant.
“Are you following this?” she asked. “I need you to know in case I—” “Don’t say it.”
“Then answer me.”
“Yes, I follow,” though he looked miserable at the thought of being the last one standing.
Talia rolled her shoulders and carried on. “Ballista points are crucial. Even those guarded with stone roofs will be vulnerable to Silas’s lightning if he unleashes a full attack on them.”
“Silas…” Holt said. “If he comes at us head on—”
“I can’t see him risking himself needlessly,” Talia said. She said it to convince herself as much as Holt, but she’d thought on it for the better part of two days. “Why bother attacking if the swarm will handle it all? With any luck, he’ll sit out for most of the fight.” She looked to the black clouds that pressed upon the city. “I’ve never heard of such a covering for a swarm. If it’s all Silas and Clesh’s work, then a lot of their power will be going into it. If they do attack, they’ll be weakened, I’m sur—”
“You should have let me finish. I was going to say I hope we kill him. He needs to pay for Brode. For everything,” he ended in a tone most unlike himself, deep and sinister.
She hadn’t been expecting that.
“You should stoke that fire in his belly,” Pyra purred. “Burn away his fears with it.”
“Yes,” she said, an edge to her own voice. “If he comes, and we can, we’ll kill him. For Brode.”
“For my father too.”
They shared a look of fury.
“Are you not afraid?” she asked.
“Of course. But not in the paralyzing way I was when things turned sour at Midbell. There’s a whole army at our backs here. So, there is a chance… unless Sovereign himself turns up.”
“If he wanted to do that he’d have done so already,” Talia said. “Seems he likes to stay afar and keep his puppets on long strings.”
“He has a long reach indeed if he could control Osric from, well, wherever he is.”
She sensed his worry and shared it. Sovereign’s power was unlike anything she had experienced. Enough distance between rider and dragon should nullify a bond. Proximity was needed to channel magic efficiently. Therefore, Sovereign was either close enough to Osric that he may well enter the battle himself, or he was so vastly powerful that the thought of resisting him really did seem futile.
Back in the throne room, she had tried in vain to fight back against his will. Yet the voice in her mind telling her to stay put, so light and so sweet, and so compelling, had rooted her. Pyra had fared worse, for he’d spoken to her directly.
“Did he speak to you?” she asked.
“To me and Ash,” Holt said. He explained what Sovereign had demanded.
“He demanded the same of Pyra.”
“It adds up with what Rake said. About Clesh trying to recruit members of the emerald flight to the Sovereign’s cause. He wants dragons, not us, but he’ll accept riders too if that’s what it takes. He especially wants Ash.”
Talia watched as Ash blasted a few moonbeam breaths at the corpse of a large carrier at the base of the island wall. His aim was fine on a stationary target at least.
“Ash represents a threat to the scourge,” she said. “It only seems natural that the Sovereign would want Ash on his side instead of fighting against him.”
“I suppose,” Holt said, though he didn’t sound wholly convinced. Talia sighed and rubbed fiercely at her eyes. It was all so much.
“I think we’re only cracking the surface of this you know,” she said. “If Osric is this dragon’s rider and he’s as powerful as a Lord then they must have been partnered for years, although I have no idea how it was kept a secret for so long.”
“I don’t think Sovereign bonds in the usual way,” Holt said. “Osric is as much a tool as anyone else.”
Talia gulped. Even a morsel of hope that all had not turned to rot was enough for her to seize on. “Don’t say that just to make me feel bette—”
“I heard him, Talia. Osric. The real Osric. For a moment, just before he left, I think he took back some control and spoke to me. He told me… he told me to tell you that he’s sorry. He’s sorry for everything.”
It was too much. Heat prickled at her nose and a single tear fell before she could help herself. She sniffed, tasted the salty tear and then wiped her face. If true, he might be saved. A third chance for her.
“What’s the point of it all?” she said. “Why is he doing this?” “Something about the scourge fulfilling its purpose,” Holt said. “Do you
remember him bellowing that at the end?” “The scourge has no purpose.”
“Other than to kill everything,” Holt said.
“If the Sovereign killed everything and everyone, he’d be king of only ashes.”
“Perhaps he is mad,” Holt said.
“Maybe the Order will know more. When we tell them. After the battle.
If we win.”
If we win, now that is a mad thought.
“I thought,” Holt continued, “that we might return to the Withering Woods for a time. If we make it. I know you hoped to work with your brother to stem the blight in those woods and though he’s gone that dream doesn’t have to die with him.”
“I’d like that. I’d like that very much.” Then, catching up to his words she added hastily, “What do you mean ‘for a time’?”
“Before Ash and I… move on.” “Don’t be cryptic.”
“Leave.” His voice deepened again, losing much of the naïve upbeat flair she’d found so irritating at first. “I am banished after all. Nameless.”
He isn’t worried about that, is he?
“That proclamation wasn’t properly sealed by Osric, and even if it had been, Holt, who in the world would abide by it?”
“The sentiment was clear,” he said, still with that harsher tone. “I am a chaos bringer, a rank breacher. I’m as bad as the scourge in their eyes.”
“No one has asked you to leave sinc—”
“Because they need me,” Holt said. “Need us. Funny how the rules apply until people get desperate. I understand it. I agreed with all of it. Even while I picked up Ash’s egg and carried it down the steps of the Crag, I understood it. But let’s be honest. If Osric hadn’t fled I’d be in a dungeon right now.”
Talia bit her lip. The truth of it was the worst part. She’d known it from the moment she’d learned what Holt had done.
“Who cares what they think?” she said. “You can still join the Order.
Then it won’t matter.”
But Holt shook his head. “Ash and I need hard training. His powers offer hope but we’re so fragile right now.”
“The Order will protect and train you!”
“Not fast enough,” Holt said. “Not nearly enough. They have their own rules and pace and they can’t push beyond the boundaries of Lord – we know that’s possible now!”
“Holt—”
“I can’t sit reading scrolls or practice sword stances while people die of the blight. I can’t let it happen again. I can’t bear it. Every time I close my
eyes, I see his gaunt face staring back at me.”
A lump formed in her throat. She understood, better than anyone. “But where else will you go if not to the Order?”
“I don’t… I don’t know. Just somewhere else. Far away from here.”
He looked sheepish. She knew then exactly what he had in mind. “I don’t trust Rake.”
“He saved our lives,” he said. “And he all but offered to train Ash and
I.”
“Exactly,” Talia said. “Very quick of him to do so. What does he have to
gain from it? He’s… he’s—” “Different?”
“A rogue element,” she said, happy with her phrasing. “He clearly defected from the Order.”
“Or they kicked him out.”
“Master Rake had great power,” Pyra chimed in. “He would have much knowledge and skill to impart.”
Talia rounded on Pyra, annoyed that her own dragon wouldn’t support her. “You were just besotted with him.”
Pyra flicked her tail and curled up with a snort.
Having seen off the challenge from that quarter, Talia returned to Holt. He seemed defiant. She gave him a stern look. There was being honest and then there was being stubborn.
“You should join the Order. It’s what should be done.”
“Is that what you’ll do if we win? There is no Order in Feorlen anymore. You’d be forced to fly off to Athra, Coedhen, maybe Fornheim, and leave your home behind – could you do that? After everything that’s happened?”
Talia sat straighter, stiffened. Had he meant to prod this most tender spot, the decision she had blissfully thought out of the question and out of mind until a day ago?
She’d sworn her oath, that bound her to the Order. She was as nameless as Holt would have been if the sentence had held. Her duty would be to rejoin the Order, be dispatched to her new post and serve in defending that country.
All while her homeland bled.
By her leaving, Feorlen may survive the incursion only to descend into civil war. Her mother would return to Brenin, and the great families would
vie for succession and if no unanimous decision could be reached then swords would be drawn. By adhering to order she might leave more chaos behind her. Brode had been right yet again. Royals were not supposed to be riders for a reason.
“I know my duty,” she said at last. “That isn’t an answer.”
“That is my answer,” Talia said.
“Why are you trying to pretend like you don’t care,” Holt said. “Brode cared. We’re still human, whatever the oaths say.”
That was all well and good for him to say. He hadn’t sworn them yet. He did not have to choose between honor; between the right thing and the easy thing; and she wasn’t even sure which option was right or easy anymore.
When she didn’t respond he carried on, a cold edge to his voice. “Maybe we’re different but I can’t just turn away like you can.”
A fire rose in Talia, this time of her own making, as did a great desire to slap the stupid pot boy. She understood the pain he must be in right now, better than most, but that did not give him an excuse.
“If that’s how you feel, you don’t need me here.”
At least Holt looked ashamed of himself, but he didn’t bring himself to offer an apology either. Talia pushed her anger down and decided it would be better to let it slide for now. There was a battle coming up after all.
“None of this will matter unless we win,” she said. “So, we Cleanse and Forge. And rest.”
With that she got up and stormed off. “Talia,” Holt called out.
“Cleanse and Forge alone,” she called back without turning.
There was a scuffling sound as Holt got to his feet. Pyra stirred then. A wave of hot air rippled out from the purple dragon and she kneaded the ground menacingly with her talons.
“Careful, little one.”
Judging by the lack of a follow up, Holt must have remained where he was. Good. Talia stopped on the other side of Pyra, so she was out of sight of Holt then sat down, crossed her legs, jammed her eyes shut and began to Cleanse.
Before she could even begin to calm herself down, Pyra reached out to
her.
“He may need less to stoke the fire than I thought.”
“Thinking with his heart alone will get him killed. Brode was right on that front.”
“My worry is for you, child. You can’t look out for everyone.” “Child? I’m twelve years older than you are!”
Pyra tittered across their bond as though dealing with an amusing infant.
“There are notes in my song—”
“—since the fires of creation, I know. Ash doesn’t act so high and mighty, you could learn from him.”
“The hatchling is the first of his kind,” Pyra said. “He writes his flight’s first song even now.”
A pang of unexpected and intense pity welled in her for the white dragon. She had lost most of her family, but Ash had none. Only Holt.
“I’m right to worry about them going off on their own,” Talia said.
“Hm,” Pyra hummed. “For now, let us concern ourselves with the battle ahead. Matters will brighten when we triumph.”
“You know what else you are, girl? You’re too confident.” “I know, child. I know.”
