ã€ŠBreath of Lifeã€‹


 Prologue

    The beast roared, his ursine throat straining as it broke into a dead sprint. A brown steed galloped down one of Kriedeberg¡¯s abandoned passes. For every hoof that hit the snow, the bear drew closer with terrifying speed.

    Aveline lowered her head, clutching the bundle of cloth. She drew her eyes tightly shut as the fabric wriggled in her arms. A tiny cry fluttered out like a candle¡¯s flame.

    Aveline jolted to a halt as the steed took its final steps toward a bottomless crevasse. The inconsolable wall of flesh and fur charged at her, stopping just beyond the tree line. The clacking of its jaw echoed in her bones. A smattering of drool dripped from a long lower lip. The bear pounced on the ground, swatting at the dirt. Deep, conscious eyes stared at Aveline. Her lips tightened as she raised a hand. The heavens above her thickened into a violent maelstrom.

    Tears clouded her vision as she felt the familiar pins and needles in her arm. The bear¡¯s claws pierced the earth, stampeding towards Aveline.

    Lighting arced between her fingertips. Fur fell away from the bear¡¯s skin, its paw taking the form of an outstretched hand. The horse began to rear as the once terrifyingly fast creature leaped at the saddle, hind legs taking the form of a man¡¯s. A golden band shimmered as fingers barely scraped at the cloak in Aveline¡¯s arm.

    Aveline¡¯s startled reflection stared at her through emerald eyes. The hairs on the man¡¯s arm stood on end as the heavens opened into a column of brilliant light.

    Flames erupted from his clothing. He smashed into a tree, its needles exploding into a cloud of white powder. His spine snapped against the trunk like the sinewy crack of celery.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.Aveline struggled to move. Her chest ached; her legs trembled. She raised herself off the ground, The cloak she carried sat limply by the cliff¡¯s edge. She pulled it towards her, but it crumpled in on itself. She heard her name as boots scraped against ice.

    The man reached out from the blood-soaked snow, teeth gritted. The rage and confusion turned to a muffled, half-empty scream of agony that Aveline couldn¡¯t tune out. She raised herself from the pink snow, nursing a savage burn in her arm.

    The man¡¯s crackled sobbing turned into short gasps, melting away into silence. He slumped into the snow as blood from his wounds crept across the mud beneath him. Snowflakes danced in the air, melting once they touched his molten skin.

    Torches illuminated the trees behind the broken body. The distant shouts of men were dampened by the thudding of snow as it fell from the pines. The clouds had cleared, drained by the tempest Aveline held in the palm of her hand.

    Aveline stared down at her fingers, reddened by searing burns. Her cheeks raised; eyes stuck in silent shock as a stifled whimper leaped from her lips. A voice hissed, poison seeping into her skull.

    Relinque eum. Mors misericordia.

    A ring of light appeared behind her. The snow hung in the air around her burned body. Aveline stepped into the ring, disappearing as the sun rose against a newborn horizon.

 Chapter 1

    A ball of sap slapped the side of the wagon, rebounding before being caught in a calloused palm. An arm pulled back like a trebuchet, launching the ball in a constant cycle.

    Catch. Throw. Bounce.

    Catch. Throw. Bounce.

    Ka-chunk. Ka-chunk. Ka-chunk.

    ¡°What about him?¡± Arthur pointed; the boy didn¡¯t seem to notice that he was the new center of attention. Sicchus put his hand on the back of his balding head, scratching out what few hairs he had left.

    Sicchus looked at the boy. He sucked his lips in, ¡°The boy?¡±

    ¡°How much?¡± Arthur insisted.

    ¡°Five sterna today, and three every day after.¡±

    ¡°A little steep.¡± Arthur put his hands on his hips, his thumbs resting against his belt. He tongued small bits of food stuck to his molars, ¡°Does he smith?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re paying for youth, not experience.¡± He pointed at one of the burlier men sitting by the butcher stall. Their eyes were hazed with from sweet succor of booze, ¡°You want a real smith? Perhaps-¡±

    ¡°Not a drunkard.¡± Arthur reached for a sack of coins at his side, ¡°The boy looks bored and sober. I¡¯ll take him.¡±

    A handful of Sterna appeared in Arthur¡¯s hands. The miserly merchant held out his hand expectantly. Arthur closed his hand abruptly, like a fine pearl shut away by a greedy oyster.

    ¡°Three sterna.¡± Arthur looked Sicchus in the eyes, juggling the coins in his fingers. Sicchus¡¯ mouth contorted, warbling like a toad.

    ¡°Finder¡¯s fee is five.¡± Sicchus said.

    ¡°I provide room and board until I no longer need him.¡± Arthur interrupted with a friendly tone, ¡°You still have your daily sterna and one less mouth to feed. I feel you owe me for the inadequate work your lackeys gave me.¡±

    ¡°Inadequate?¡± Sicchus scoffed.

    ¡°Do you want the sterna or not?¡±

    ¡°Boy!¡± Sicchus shouted, turning a few heads, but not the boy in question. The ball stopped bouncing. Roy exhaled, staring at the swirls in the wood of the wagon.

    ¡°Get up, you got work to do.¡± Sicchus turned away from Arthur, shaking his head as he snatched the coins from Arthur¡¯s hand. Roy lifted himself off the ground quietly. Eyes of emerald rust gazed up at the blacksmith. Before he could approach, Sicchus walked past, leaning in towards Roy.

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget the sterna.¡± Sicchus growled. He put his hand on Roy¡¯s shoulder, jostled it, then stepped off nonchalantly.

    Arthur was a tall man wearing coal-choked boots. His body was wrapped with thick muscles. A short blond beard lined his jaw and wrapped around his lips; his eyebrows were singed with a scar above his left eye.

    ¡°Arthur Schmidt.¡± The man held his hand out to Roy. The boy looked at his palm like it was alien to him. Roy was lightly dressed despite the cold.

    ¡°Roy.¡± The boy said bluntly. Arthur waited for a surname. It never came.

    ¡°Have you been around a forge before?¡±

    ¡°Once.¡±

    ¡°You work metal?¡± Arthur¡¯s head turned at the sound of a dog howling.  A gray mutt covered in mange snarled at working men in rags. The two men scoffed at the rope-bound beast, kicking a cloud of dust into its face as they laughed their way to Sicchus. Roy¡¯s eyes contorted, his nose scrunching at the sour act. His nose unwrinkled when Arthur turned back.

    ¡°What do you need done?¡± Roy asked.

    ¡°I need an extra hand.¡± Arthur said, ¡°The city of Keldengen has requested arms from me. Come, I¡¯ll take you to the forge.¡± Arthur waved, and the boy silently followed.

    Trees bulwarked the village of Mossglen, branches outstretched like calloused fingers. Frost nipped at wooden rooftops, and muddy puddles were covered in ice. A small boy hopped around them, crunching the ice with a happy splash until his mother scooped him up. She smiled, faking a lion¡¯s roar. The child burst into laughter as he was carried up the stairs into one of a row of stone homes.

    ¡°You don¡¯t talk much.¡± Arthur asked. He looked at Roy, who had become entranced by the child and his mother. He looked at his surroundings slowly.

    The two crossed a small bridge overlooking one of the many creeks in the area. It fed into a large lake that peeked between the trees. The tallest mountain range in Gairm, Kriedeberg, was visible from anywhere in the village.

    ¡°How long you been traveling?¡± Arthur asked as his boot crunched into the mud.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.¡°My whole life.¡± Roy said. Arthur nodded with satisfaction; he was finally getting a couple more words out of the boy.

    The two began their short trek over a tiny hill. When Roy could see overtop of it, the glow of the smithy shined out like a torch in the distance. A wooden awning housed the forge and all of its tools. The stone home¡¯s entrance was nestled between barrels and a workbench.

    ¡°Lord Becker has me making weapons for the garrison. Swords, daggers, that sort of thing.¡± Arthur explained, ¡°The village needs the smithy. I¡¯m spread too thin to help them.¡± Arthur approached his workbench, finding a whetstone and a spare rag. He pushed a finger against the stone, nodding when he found the correct grit.

    The forge¡¯s warmth crept into Roy¡¯s arms. His nose no longer felt numb from the cold. Coals glowed like tourmaline licked by the sun. The constant shivering stopped for the first time in what felt like ages.

    ¡°Roy,¡± Arthur called; the boy¡¯s eyes glowed a fiery orange as he stared into the smoldering pit. It was as though the embers were speaking to him. A shadow crept over the man-made caldera as Arthur stood in front of Roy, snapping his fingers gently. Roy blinked absently, looking up at Arthur. Arthur¡¯s forehead wrinkled. He wondered if picking this boy was a mistake.

    ¡°You sharpen blades?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Roy nodded, ¡°Knives.¡±

    Arthur nodded, searching through his list of jobs for something suitable.

    Roy put knives to the stone quietly, listening to the hammer strikes of the blacksmith across from him. The allure of the forge encouraged the boy to work, for if he did a good job, maybe he could bathe in its warmth a little longer. An hour turned to two, and two became six. Roy lost count of the time he had put into sharpening. He started with knives, but by the end of the day he was beginning work on scythes and sickles. An axe came along, and finally a sword.

    Arthur put his tools down when the sky became a rosy hue. The mountains looked like a field of pink blooms has burst upon them. He looked over at Roy. The boy nibbled away at his work without complaint.

    ¡°Here, sharpen this for me.¡± Arthur held a handle out to Roy. The boy took it without hesitation, holding the end of the tool to the whetstone. There was a notable klink before Roy noticed the smith had given him a hammer.

    ¡°We¡¯re done for the day.¡± Arthur laughed, patting the boy¡¯s sore back as he creaked away from the stance he had taken for hours, ¡°Hungry?¡±

    A thoughtful glimmer crossed Roy¡¯s eyes like sunlight through a mossy brown pool. Arthur had his answer. The boy stepped inside the warm confines of the home and was met with the glorious herbal aroma of stewing meats. His mouth watered as he saw the bubbling broth in the pot.

    Arthur reached for the ladle; a large fountain of steam billowed out from the spoonful as it was spilled back into the pot. He reached up to the mantle, pulling down three bowls. Roy¡¯s head tilted curiously.

    ¡°For my daughter.¡± Arthur said. He took a bowl from the fireplace mantle, scooping a large heap of meat and carrots into the bowl. Arthur put the bowl in Roy¡¯s hands, its warmth creeping up his fingers. Roy was pointed towards the table, where he sat quietly.

    ¡°There¡¯s food at the camp.¡± Roy said.

    ¡°You mean hard tack?¡± Arthur shook his head, ¡°You need meat, vegetables. The shit Sicchus gives you isn¡¯t enough.¡±

    The door opened. A girl roughly the same age as Roy barreled through with a start, huffing and panting as though she had run a race with a horse.

    ¡°You¡¯re late!¡± Arthur exclaimed, his voice taking an authoritative tone. He filled another bowl.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± Viola put her pack down on the table. A woody, sweet scent filled the air as small dried flowers spilled out, ¡°Luzie found me, she nearly talked me to death.¡±

    ¡°Your ears fall off?¡± Arthur chuckled.

    ¡°I sewed them back on.¡± Viola smiled. Her eyes turned to the boy in the corner. He looked at her while sipping at the broth in his bowl, ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡± She asked, pointing at the sheepish boy. He seemed to recoil at the sudden attention drawn to him.

    ¡°I hired someone to help us.¡± Arthur said, handing Viola her dinner, ¡°This is Roy.¡±

    ¡°Are you from the caravan?¡± She sat in the chair beside the boy. Roy nodded slowly, chewing away. Viola reached for her satchel, pulling dried yarrow from the pouch. The yellow blooms had long since lost their vibrancy. When Arthur pulled a teapot from the flames, she quickly stuffed the flowers beneath the lid.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Roy peeped between bites; the roar of the fireplace rendered his voice barely audible. Arthur turned and looked at the boy with a small nod. Viola stood up and grabbed a bowl. She filled it with stew, then shoved it into her father¡¯s hands. The table only had two chairs, so the smith sat on a chest near the fire.

 Chapter 2

    The fiery orange oak trickled light between its leaves, dancing across Roy¡¯s eyelids as his mind wandered. The trees rustled like waves crashing against the beach. The birds sang to their children before the overture of winter. For now, Roy found comfort in the coda of fall.

    The alluring scent of honeyed mead and stewing meat made his eyes heavy. He could feel the sun¡¯s warmth on his cheeks. The cacophony of haggling merchants and the creaking of covered wagons fell away. He waited just beyond the caravan¡¯s border, waiting for Arthur to return.

    Roy gasped, clutching his side as the toe of a leather boot left a deep muddy stain above his hip. Roy looked into the sunlight, unable to see the features of the assailant¡¯s face as the air filled with mocking laughter. The bully stared at Roy, trying to get a glimpse of his pained expression. Instead, Roy gazed up at him stoically. It wasn¡¯t the first time he was pestered by one of the village boys.

    ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t see you.¡± Samuel scoffed, ¡°You should watch where you laze about.¡±

    Roy groaned as he raised himself off the ground, using the tree as support, ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You and your cumberground friends shouldn¡¯t be here.¡± Sam continued, ¡°We don¡¯t need some lowborn drunkards and whores wasting away on our roads. Why don¡¯t you find another tree to cower under?¡±

    ¡°I am neither a drunkard nor a whore. I don¡¯t see how this applies to me.¡± Roy said, his eyes barely raising from their tired stupor.

    ¡°You don¡¯t belong here, Bjornshite.¡± Sam stepped closer. Bright blue eyes blazed against Roy¡¯s eyes of Emerald rust.

    ¡°Roy!¡± A young woman¡¯s voice pierced the tension, pulling Sam¡¯s attention away from his quarry. Roy¡¯s left Sam¡¯s intense gaze as though he were an afterthought.

    ¡°Father has more work for you. I came to fetch you.¡± She looked at Sam¡¯s crimson cheeks. His eyes glowed at the site of her.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± She asked, but neither of the boys responded. Sam looked back at Roy with disdain one last time before storming away.

    ¡°Fool.¡± She said under her breath, turning to Roy, ¡°Why is he tormenting you?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Roy said plainly.

    The way Viola¡¯s midnight hair shined gave Roy pause. Her eyes shimmered in an intense lavender hue. Viola stared at the mud splattered on Roy¡¯s side.

    Roy sighed, inhaling shortly as he picked up his things near the base of the oak. A leather satchel held everything he owned, clinging to his shoulders with a patchwork of spare fabric and leather holding it together.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to do that.¡± Roy said as Viola led him between village homes.

    ¡°No one else is doing it.¡± Viola said, ¡°It¡¯s not right. Come on.¡± She beckoned Roy away from the caravan. Roy unthinkingly followed her.

    ¡°I know.¡± Roy admitted, matching his steps with Viola¡¯s as they headed through town. Roy could hear the whispers of townspeople, but he had heard it all plenty of times before.

    ¡°What did you need me for?¡± Roy tried to keep up. He heard a woman speak to another as she beat the dust out of a rug.

    ¡°Sharpening, forge feeding, chicken chasing.¡± Viola smiled, ¡°Do you chase chickens?¡±

    ¡°I have.¡± Roy held his hands up, ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do when I catch them.¡±

    ¡°You eat ¡®em.¡±

    Viola gazed upon the azure waters, her cheeks changing to a rosy shade as Roy leaned on the railing beside her. There was an air of mystery about the boy. He was quiet and kept to himself, unlike the other boys of Mossglen.

    ¡°He wants me to use the forge?¡± Roy looked into Viola¡¯s eyes. His speckled cheeks lifted with intrigue as Viola grew more flustered with each breath. Every second spent in Roy¡¯s eyes was like getting lost in a deep verdant forest.

    ¡°I know more about trade.¡± Viola¡¯s voice cleared for a moment, ¡°I¡¯m not very good with the forge. I don¡¯t like the heat.¡±

    ¡°Why me?¡±

    ¡°You looked bored.¡± Viola said plainly, but Roy detected something more beneath the surface. What it was, he wasn¡¯t certain.

    Merchants of Mossglen lined the main path into the village, selling anything from fruits to foals. Luzie hung mugs on the fence in front of the inn, hearing the distinct long stride of Roy¡¯s steps.

    ¡°Roy!¡± Luzie smiled, ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were still here!¡± She walked down the steps that were the bane of drunkards everywhere. Viola held her breath.

    Oh no. She thought. Luzie.

    Roy nodded. Viola looked away from Luzie, withdrawing from the conversation. Luzie was a couple of years older than her, with large voluptuous breasts and lips stained red with raspberry mead.

    ¡°I thought you would be gone by now, I told the barkeep as much.¡± Luzie asked, ¡°I hear the paths westwind will get snow soon. Where were you headed next?¡±

    ¡°Keldengen.¡± Roy nodded, ¡°We¡¯re going to Kolibri in spring.¡±

    ¡°Kolibri?¡± Luzie¡¯s eyes widened in wonder, ¡°That¡¯s pretty far from here!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never been there.¡± Roy said.

    ¡°Well, It¡¯s beautiful. I hear they¡¯re doing Hummingbarb races in the spring. The lake is-¡± Luzie smiled, a man¡¯s shout roused her from her conversation, ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry, I need to go!¡± She waved as she returned to the inn, the door opening to the sounds of merriment, ¡°Anlun¡¯s blessings, you two!¡±

    ¡°Kolibri has dog breeders.¡± Viola said, ¡°Father told me about them. Horse-sized. They can carry a man.¡±

    A small noise hissed out of Roy. His lungs shifted, his voice raised in his throat, only to stop after a single sound. It was a chuckle, a small thing so rare that he had forgotten what it felt like to make one.

    Arthur raised a fresh blade from the murky waters, a distinct metallic hiss filled the air as he plunged a fresh sword into a barrel of water. A familiar laugh filled the air, rousing Arthur from the blade for a moment. Viola thudded down the wooden steps to the smithy, her feet landing in an alcove where the forge lay. Roy followed closely; his tempered face gave in to a few glimmers of joy. After a few seconds of stewing the blade was pulled from the barrel, adorned with dirty gray splotches. Arthur smiled to himself, a satisfied grunt ebbing from his lips as he turned the blade to get a better view.

    ¡°Father!¡± Viola called, the smith¡¯s smile growing near the edges of his face.

    ¡°Have you brought me a man, petal?¡± Arthur asked, peeking just past her. A boy hardly old enough to grow chin hairs stood beside her, fixated on the new blade on the workbench. He was unlike most boys in Mossglen; his ebony hair was in stark contrast to the sunny blond sprouting from the heads and faces of Mossglen boys.

    ¡°Close enough.¡± Arthur greeted as he checked over his shoulder, ¡°Morning, Roy.¡± He pulled a spare apron from his own stores, shaking it free of dust that had built up within the span of a few days. Arthur tossed the apron across the smithy. Roy caught it, fumbling it slightly. He pinned the apron against his thigh before it could touch the ground.

    ¡°Put that on. I think you can do some real smithing today.¡± Arthur glanced over at Viola as she left the smithy, shifting crates and barrels in preparation for the stall¡¯s opening. Townsfolk near the produce glanced at her as she grabbed a handful of sheathed blades like she would a bundle of sticks.

    ¡°I need daggers. You can do that, can¡¯t you?¡± Arthur asked, hammer held tightly in a balled fist.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never shaped metal.¡± Roy looked to the forge, feeling its heat despite a cold breeze rolling in from the southern mountains.

    ¡°I think you can handle it. I¡¯ll show you the basics.¡±

    Viola carefully raised a sword into its rack, hiding the sheathe beneath the table. Daggers and axes were hung up behind her. A painted shield leaned against the front of the stall to draw in customers. The glow of red-hot metal caught her gaze as Arthur placed it onto the anvil, hammering the molten iron flat.

    ¡°Every strike is purposeful. You want the metal to be even, but not too thin. You want to be consistent; Do not allow the metal to cool too much.¡±

    The loud ping of hammer on ore was interrupted by a strike to the anvil every few seconds. Arthur carefully monitored the thickness of the blade. He laid it sideways, tapering it. As the glow faded, he returned the metal to its fiery womb.

    ¡°Here, take this one.¡± Arthur took a pair of tongs and dug them beneath a pile of coal, pulling out an unshaped rod of metal. He pulled it out slowly, standing aside as Roy reached for the tool. A commanding hand swatted him away as Arthur stepped in sharply.

    ¡°Why are you reaching over the metal like that?¡±

    ¡°I was¡­¡± Roy trailed, waving his hand absentmindedly.

    ¡°Which one¡¯s your ruling hand?¡± Arthur raised his right hand confidently. Roy raised his left with less gravitas.

    ¡°Keep the hammer on the left side, don¡¯t cross over again. Strike as I showed you.¡±

    Roy inhaled, feeling the heat of the blade as he walked it to the anvil. He laid it carefully on the anvil, reaching for the hammer. His blows were slower, lacking the form of a seasoned blacksmith, but he mimicked Arthur¡¯s strikes, pausing to check his work. When the metal grew unruly, Roy placed the rod back into the fire, its shape closely resembling that of a blade. The two took turns on their blades, each taking roughly the same shape as the other.

    ¡°Not bad.¡± Arthur said, ¡°You have a few blemishes so far, but it¡¯s solid for a novice.¡±

    Roy¡¯s lips thinned as he looked between the two blades. Arthur¡¯s had a more refined shape, and Roy¡¯s had a few divots in the edges. Arthur took Roy¡¯s blade and cast it back into the flames, finishing its shaping. It didn¡¯t take long to erase the mistakes Roy had made.

    ¡°You just need to focus on even strikes, I can see you put more strength into a few of your blows.¡± Arthur said, ¡°You¡¯re getting tired, pace yourself, and you¡¯ll see improvement.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Roy nodded in appreciation, ¡°Where did you learn to smith?¡±

    ¡°I was in the Dragonguard¡¯s army. I apprenticed under a blacksmith during the war.¡± Arthur leaned away from one of his blades, admiring it for a moment before dipping it into the water barrel, ¡°Horseshoes, wagon wheels, swords, shields, we did everything.¡±

    ¡°Was there a lot of fighting?¡± Roy glanced at Arthur, quickly refocusing on his own project. His questions were short. Childlike. Arthur didn¡¯t expect it from a boy his size.

    ¡°I mostly stayed in the camps away from the fighting. I often saw the results, though.¡± Arthur¡¯s eyes narrowed, ¡°Never regretted it. Without it I¡¯d just be another crook in the Port of Kings.¡±

    ¡°I think I¡¯ve been there. When I was a child.¡±

    ¡°How old are you?¡±

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.    ¡°Fourteen, I think.¡± Roy said.

    ¡°You think?¡± Arthur asked. Roy nodded slowly. He lifted his blade from the anvil, placing it back into the fire.

    ¡°You still look like a child to me.¡± Arthur said, ¡°The older I get, the younger everyone else looks.¡±

    ¡°How did you end up here?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s where the work is.¡± Arthur answered bluntly. His head turned just enough to hide his eyes. Roy continued his blade once it regained its sickening warmth.

    ¡°For mother.¡± Viola smiled, listening in as an elder gazed upon the knives, ¡°She liked it here.¡±

    ¡°Viola,¡± Arthur shook his head, ¡°I would rather not quench my blades with tears today.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ sweet, though.¡± Viola sighed as Arthur hammered away with increased focus on his work. Viola looked as though she expected a story, only to be disappointed by Arthur¡¯s inability to tell it. A shadow seemed to creep into him, but it disappeared with the glow of the forge.

    ¡°How¡¯s this?¡± Roy called. Arthur placed his metal into the forge. As he drew closer his face lightened, eyes contorted in approval as he glanced over the blade. He took the tongs and spun the piece around.

    ¡°Better.¡± Arthur nodded, ¡°Much better.¡±

    As the minutes turned to hours, a pile of iron rods slowly took the form of daggers. Each one came out better than the last. Roy hammered by Arthur¡¯s side as Viola talked with villagers and passersby. The day drew to a close slowly, but Roy was left feeling satisfied with his work. Arthur let out a massive yawn. Viola heeded the unspoken signal as she began to pack the merchandise. Roy sighed, rubbing his forehead as he tossed the last of his dagger blades into a small pile. He pulled the apron off of himself, picking up his pack near the smithy entrance.

    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Arthur asked as the boy took his first step into the village.

    ¡°We¡¯re finished?¡± Roy asked.

    ¡°Aye, Viola says so.¡± Arthur shrugged, ¡°You haven¡¯t eaten yet. Dinner awaits.¡±

    ¡°Again?¡±

    ¡°Yes, again!¡± Arthur laughed, plopping his hammer onto the workbench, ¡°How else are you going to keep your strength up? We¡¯ve got more work tomorrow.¡±

    Roy¡¯s eyes widened. Again, he was surprised by the generosity of the smith. He was welcomed in once again, eating the same stew from the night before. He felt warmth, the melting of broth on his tongue, the genuine conversations of a father and his daughter talking about the day. Roy soaked it all in, and a sting rose up in his nose. His throat felt tight. For the first time, it wasn¡¯t fear or sorrow.

    It felt like floating weightless in an ocean of stars.

    It was bliss.

    ¡­

    Arthur¡¯s home was full of old war memorabilia. Swords, shields, knives; anything that could be used as a weapon adorned the smith¡¯s walls. Even the tantalizing aroma of stew couldn¡¯t pull Roy¡¯s attention from the beautiful longsword mounted above Arthur¡¯s bed. The handle had been made of a deep velvety leather, the pommel resembled the head of a lizard, and an inscription had been written along the back of a blade whose metal resembled steam hanging in the air of a distant alien forest. Roy squinted, trying to make it out, but it was in a language he did not seem to recognize. Arthur finished his bottle of beer, uncorking another for the night ahead. His ears had already turned apple red either from the alcohol or the heat of the fire.

    ¡°That¡¯s Moonfall steel.¡± Arthur said proudly, ¡°Ore was a wedding gift; I guarantee you won¡¯t see a blade like that anywhere else.¡±

    ¡°From the Dragonguard?¡±

    ¡°Aye, one of the last blades I made in their service.¡± Arthur smiled, ¡°When my mentor saw that blade he lifted it up and said-¡° Arthur raised empty hands into the air proudly, ¡°Boy, you¡¯ve surpassed the master. He was drunk when he said that.¡±

    He laughed as Roy looked back at the stew.

    ¡°Moonfall?¡± Roy¡¯s brows furrowed, ¡°Is that far away?¡±

    ¡°Across the sea.¡± Arthur answered, ¡°Beautiful country; lots of flowers, trees that look like big green spears ¡®out the ground.¡±

    There was silence as Roy stared at the pot, saliva covering his tongue like a wave battering boulders on a seashore.

    ¡°Quit pouting; Get another bowl.¡± Arthur demanded. Roy stood up, approaching the pot with hungry vigor.

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Roy asked, ¡°I don¡¯t want to overstay my welcome.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense.¡± Arthur shook his head, putting his bowl down. He snatched Roy¡¯s up, and refilled it for him, ¡°See how deep the pot is? Takes a real beast to reach the bottom.¡±

    Viola had just finished scooping her share and had seated herself near the fire.

    ¡°So, have you traveled outside Gairm?¡± Viola asked, keeping the conversation flowing. She already knew the answer.

    ¡°Oh yes,¡± Arthur smiled, ¡°To the twin empires, Lindyras and Metis, along the coasts of Alost and Westgate, even to Nizini. I¡¯ve sailed to Moonfall and the Ursine Isles, too. Never been to Khadina, though.¡±

    ¡°So many¡­¡± Viola piped up.

    ¡°When a country is the size of a single Gairman province, it¡¯s easy to travel to them all.¡±

    Roy stuttered, ¡°You¡¯ve been to the Ursine Isles?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Arthur nodded, ¡°And I did meet a lot of the Bjornborn on my travels. Some were mercenaries with the Dragonguard.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Oh, hell yeah.¡± Arthur smiled ear to ear, ¡°Warriors from the Isles were something else! I remember watching a drinking contest between the three of them, and by Anlun they can drink! A whole barrel gone for each man!¡±

    Roy sat with his stew, staring intently at Arthur as he acted out his tales with wide arm swings and a confident fire in his eyes. There were a few moments when it looked like his bowl was about to fall off his thigh.

    ¡°Imagine you¡¯re fighting in a battle against these massive soldiers, and you think you¡¯ve got one pinned. And he just-¡° Arthur took a massive swig of his beer, ¡°Turns into a fucking bear!¡±

    Roy¡¯s eyes widened. Viola¡¯s spoon fell into her hardly-eaten dinner. They were awestruck children, held tightly by Arthur¡¯s excited ramblings.

    ¡°There were dozens of them! And at the end of the battle, they¡¯d drink mead until they were scattered on the floor like a pack of fat dogs!¡± Arthur laughed, ¡°There was this one I met a couple of times; he would keep a flask of mead where his water oughtta be. When-when we¡¯d go barhoppin¡¯ in Gairm he¡¯d be able to smell out the good shit from miles away! You-¡± Arthur paused to take a breath.

    ¡°You kind of remind me of him, Roy.¡±

    ¡°I do?¡± Roy looked down at his meal, taking a thoughtful bite.

    ¡°Well, aside from you lookin¡¯ the part.¡± Arthur nodded, ¡°Yeah. You¡¯ve got a way about you. How you carry yourself.¡±

    ¡°Where is he?¡± Roy looked dead into Arthur¡¯s eyes. Arthur could see unfettered curiosity boiling up inside of the boy.

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know.¡± Arthur shook his head, ¡°This was, what¡­ fifteen¡­ twenty years ago? There was a whole group of them, but I could probably pick him out if I saw him again. You can forget a name, but you can¡¯t forget a face like that.¡±

    Roy slinked into his stew. He had forgotten.

    ¡°We parted ways. There¡¯s probably some Bjornborn still in Kriedeberg with the Dragonguard, but most of them went home to their families.¡±

    ¡°Were there children?¡± Roy asked, ¡°During the war?¡±

    ¡°Course there was.¡± Arthur smirked, ¡°You think men would-¡°

    He paused, remembering Viola¡¯s presence as she excitedly sipped at her soup. Roy¡¯s focus was more intense this time around. He was no longer listening to a jovial Ursine story; he was listening for clues.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Arthur¡¯s lips tightened as his forehead wrinkled, ¡°As far as I know, most of them went back home with their parents. Some stayed here, but-¡° He hesitated again, this time it was noticed by Viola, ¡°It was a war, Roy. Lots of battles, lots of orphans. To tell you the truth, you¡¯re not the first one I¡¯ve met. That honor goes to Gorm.¡±

    ¡°Roy looks nothing like Gorm.¡± Viola¡¯s eyes narrowed.

    ¡°Not all bjornborn look the same.¡± Arthur smirked, ¡°You got some who look Gairman, others look like they came from the sea of glass. They dress different, though. A-and they¡¯re pretty damn big.¡±

    Roy toyed with his food, entrenched in thought. Bjornborn in the Dragonguard. If he couldn¡¯t find his parents, he could at least find people like him there.

    ¡°Welp,¡± Arthur smacked his hand on his knee, throwing himself off the chair, ¡°I feel like I¡¯m going to pass out, so I¡¯m off to bed. Viola, can you get his pay?¡± He said.

    ¡°Yes, father.¡± Viola acknowledged, and without another word Arthur plopped into the covers beneath his Dragonguard blade and promptly began to snore. Viola approached a small lockbox, clicking it open with a key she wrestled from beneath a small hole in the fireplace stones.

    Roy was distant. He had finished his meal, but thoughts were nagging at him. The same ones that nagged him every night.

    He thought about his father again.

    He thought of what his father might think of him.

    Would Roy be seen as a child to be proud of? Or as some lowly thief or wandering nomad not worth a second glance? If his father passed him on the street would Roy even recognize him?

    These thoughts are pointless. Roy thought, Why do I keep wondering?

    There was always a small glimmer, shimmering in Roy¡¯s head like a coin at the bottom of a deep lake. He could see its luster, but he could not take it for himself.

    They¡¯re probably dead.

    If they aren¡¯t, they¡¯ve surely moved on by now.

    Maybe there are siblings Roy has never met.

    Maybe they¡¯re orphans, too. And they have no knowledge of their parents either.

    Maybe-

    ¡°Roy!¡± Viola tore Roy from his stupor. His bowl had landed on the floor, leaving a short trail of broth as its rim rolled across the ground. Viola sighed, picking it up without spilling the rest.

    ¡°Sorry.¡± Roy put his hand on his head, feeling like an utter fool.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± Viola asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡± Roy reassured behind a thinly crafted fa?ade. Viola laid a small pile of sterna in Roy¡¯s hands, which he quickly sequestered in the small coin purse at his side.

    ¡°Okay.¡± Viola accepted the answer but knew something was amiss. She did not pry, ¡°Well, I can make up a spot for you if you¡¯re too tired to walk back.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Roy smiled, ¡°You¡¯ve been kind. I¡¯m happy heading back to the caravan tonight.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Viola nodded, handing a small pile of sterna to Roy, ¡°Stay safe, then.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡± Roy took the coins, too distracted to count them.

    Maybe.

    Maybe they stopped looking.

 Chapter 3

    Siacus could taste the sour, acrid scent of terror. The rafters shivered; a chaotic thudding spurred him into action. He reached for an axe tucked in a corner with his possessions, strapping it to his waist. A stranger swung off of his hammock barefoot, trying to follow the man up the stairs to the deck.

    Something was happening on the deck.

    ¡°Don¡¯t let it touch you!¡± A deckhand yelled as his kin fussed with the net, a massive creature wriggling within its confines. Siacus stopped short as the net leaped towards him. A yellowtail¡¯s fin slapped the deck, nearly striking one of the men.

    The fish gasped, but not with silent open-mawed desperation. There was a voice in the gasping. The fin split apart, morphing into two scaled legs covered in old scars and bleeding cuts.

    A head raised from the pile of seaweed, hair dripping with seawater. A woman¡¯s neck strained against the open air. Small hands scooped water off the deck as she shoved it into the gills under her ribs. The deckhands looked on at the naked aquatic spectacle before them. One of them was forced aside by Siacus¡¯ large, stern hand.

    ¡°Kill it, it¡¯ll only mean death for another crew!¡± First Mate Cedric called out from his perch, looking over the men.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Siacus reached a man closing in on the woman. The man had pulled a knife from his belt, ready to stab her as she started to wilt under the warmth of the sun.

    ¡°Thing¡¯s dangerous.¡± Cedric snarled from the safety of his balcony, ¡°You know not a siren¡¯s fury.¡±

    ¡°But I know man¡¯s foolishness!¡± Siacus scoffed at the man, reaching into the netting. He tore it apart with his bare hands, using his axe to chop away at knots. The woman recoiled, unable to understand what was happening with the muffled yelling in her waterlogged ears. One of the deckhands reached for Siacus. He was pushed away with enough force to send him tumbling to the ground. To Siacus, it was a light tap.

    Siacus reached out to the woman, stopping short of her soft, lightly scaled skin. She looked up at him with eyes reminiscent of a bay seal, wide with black terror.

    ¡°She¡¯s not a siren.¡± Siacus said, ¡°She¡¯s a Nymph.¡±

    ¡°What bloody difference does it make?¡± Cedric stormed down the steps. He pulled a fish knife out from his bandolier, ¡°If we don¡¯t kill her, she¡¯ll come back with more of her kind.¡±

    Siacus guided a piece of net out of the woman¡¯s hair. His lips moved, but Cedric couldn¡¯t catch what the man was saying. He stood like a pale reed compared to the oak-bodied bjornborn before him. Siacus¡¯ eyes were emblazoned with rage. His head leaned towards Cedric, nose flaring like a beast. Siacus¡¯ teeth were pushed apart by growing canines. He clenched his fists, willing his teeth back into human form.

    ¡°They can¡¯t breathe outta water, either.¡± Cedric pointed at the woman¡¯s gills, trying to appear like Siacus¡¯ immense gaze had no affect, ¡°Looks like she¡¯s strugglin¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Because she¡¯s scared! You pulled her up out of the fucking ocean!¡± Siacus yelled, quieting when he noticed the woman flinch, ¡°I¡¯m freeing her.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care if you¡¯re the king of Gairm, I¡¯m the-¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have time for this!¡± Siacus waved Cedric away as though he were a cabin boy. The Nymph reached out with a shaky hand, barely able to lift her arm. Siacus scooped her out of the net, carrying her to the edge of the deck where a ladder was rolled down to the sea. He looked back at the men, shaking his head. He hoisted the woman onto his back, slowly descending towards the sea. Once the water tickled the woman¡¯s calves she let go of the stranger¡¯s neck, falling into the sea.

    ¡°Oi, did he really-¡± A man stared in disbelief. He couldn¡¯t find the words. The deck hands looked at one another, unsure of what had just happened.

    ¡°She had his neck right there.¡± Said another, ¡°She left nary a bite!¡±

    The sailors craned their heads up at Cedric, trying to make sense of it all. A siren would¡¯ve killed him on the spot. This one acted differently.

    Siacus hung on the side of the ship, looking over his shoulder at the woman. His left hand released the rope for a moment.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Siacus asked, his voice took on a paternal rumble. The woman nodded. Her toes touched the water. She felt the immediate comfort of the sea beckoning her.

    ¡°Go back home, be careful.¡± Siacus smiled, then looked at the front of the ship. A white foam stood, waiting for him like a pouncing beast. The impact blasted salt into his eyes. He lost his grip on the ladder, hitting the water with a bounce before sinking.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.The impact felt like pine needles pressing into his skin. The woman held on tightly as they fell into the sea, her legs forming back into a tail within moments of hitting the water.

    Siacus released the nymph as he spun in the current. Her tail swatted upwards, slicing into his arm as a gap formed between them. Siacus resurfaced as the ship started to crawl further away from him. He gave chase, swimming quickly back to the ladder. He saw a glimmer of the woman¡¯s dorsal fin as it slid into the ocean behind him.

    ¡°He¡¯ll never catch up.¡± Cedric said as his men hung over the side of the ship. Siacus reappeared shortly after a second wave cleared the stern.

    ¡°You mad? Where¡¯s the captain?¡± The sailor who had spoken to Siacus erupted, and soon the other men followed. Some questioned Cedric¡¯s order to kill the woman, others demanded he slow to give the bjornborn a chance to live. Some were already devising a plan to help the man float to safety.

    The Nymph inhaled deeply. The water caressed her like a warm bath. Her scales no longer itched from the drying sun; her hair flowed behind her. She dived down in time to avoid the wave. Siacus was forced under the ship, slamming his side into the hull. His head narrowly missed the rudder. Blood was pouring out of a wound in the man¡¯s forearm. He limped in the water like stuck prey. She watched his head disappear into the great nothing beyond the sea, his arms propelling him to the ship. He reached for the ladder again, missing it by a few feet. Every time he reached up his body dunked beneath the waves again. He ended up further from the ship.

    Every stroke was a fight against the weight of his own body. Saltwater began spilling into his mouth, and as he spat another mouthful took its place. The water reached his ears, and his head was pointed skyward. Exhaustion was setting in.

    The Nymph soared through the water like a hawk swooping onto a field mouse. Her tail spurned the sea behind her. Seal eyes focused on the man as she swam beneath him. Her chest faced his as she tried to push him upwards.

    The sudden presence of human hands from the deep startled Siacus, his heart leaping. As Siacus¡¯ ears fell beneath the waves he heard a clicking from the woman¡¯s mouth. It was like snapping small branches in a soft cave. Her head was turned away from him, staring into the abyss. As she held Siacus¡¯ head above the waves, he felt pressure right beneath his armpits. A second nymph had appeared. She looked older, with dulled scales and messy gray hair. Her tail looked just like the young nymph¡¯s.

    The sailors watched, fascinated as Siacus was pushed against the ship¡¯s current. They could see the shimmer of two tails on either side of Siacus¡¯ body. As they swam their fins grazed the surface like sharks. Siacus reached for the ladder, finally grabbing hold after what felt like an eternity at sea. Dozens of human heads peeked out of the water, their black eyes fixated on the ship.

    Siacus caught his breath, nestling his hand in the rope. The nymph paced with the ship, ensuring that he stayed on the ladder as he rested. The second nymph craned her neck up at the strange men, then flipped backwards into the sea.

    Siacus panted, looking up at the sky in relief. His eyes panned back down to the Nymph, who was staring at him with concern. Her eyes beamed, her cheeks red. Her nose under the water, resurfacing as she held a hand out.

    Siacus reached out, but she shook her head. She pointed at the arm with a gaping wound, and Siacus obliged. She held it gingerly in her fingers. She leaned in, pressing her lips against the skin. By the time she wiped the blood from her lips the wound had turned a silvery color, then disappeared.

    Siacus smiled as the nymph receded into the water, never breaking her line of sight with the man until seal eyes melted away under a veneer of water.

    ¡°Lookit.¡± One of the deck hands pointed, ¡°There must be half ¡®dozen of ¡®em.¡±

    Two men reached down from the deck towards Siacus as he slowly started his ascent.

    ¡°You crazy bastard.¡± One chuckled stressfully, ¡°What compels you to commit to such madness?¡±

    ¡°She needed the sea.¡± Siacus said, ¡°So I took her there.¡±

 Chapter 4

    The road was silent save for the distinct chatter of crickets and the mad ramblings of toads. Melancholy rumbled in Roy¡¯s mind uninvited, searing poisonous ideas into him. They had been plaguing him for days. Roy felt a burn in his throat. He could see a campfire surrounded by other nomads. He heard laughter and the strumming of a zither. Roy focused on the music, the warm feeling in his throat started to soften as the thoughts were left at the edge of camp. A mother sat with her child, holding her with one arm as she reached for a meal handed to her by a doting husband.

    Hungry dogs looked up at Roy curiously, growling until they recognized him. The hairs on their backs lowered. Their tails began to wag. Instead of an hand in anger swatting their emaciated bodies, soft fingers caressed their fur. Roy spoke in a low, comforting tone. The dogs melted into his hands. Roy smiled at a particularly mangy beast chewing on a sheep bone. It didn¡¯t mind when Roy approached to pet his balding head.

    Sicchus collected his daily income as usual. Men and boys alike approached him at the end of the day, handing their earnings to him. Their clothes clung to their bodies like torn blankets draped over fence posts. The gold in their hands were snatched up by a man wearing a gold-trimmed coat. Roy doubted he would notice being short three sterna.

    Roy snuck into the camp, stepping where the campfire¡¯s light was dimmest. His tent was set up near the herbalist¡¯s wagon. Roy entered the shambling abode. There was nothing inside save for a sheepskin bedroll and a backpack. Everything Roy owned fit on his shoulders.

    The pack sat near the head of his bedroll. He shuffled through it, searching for that which he held dear. When he failed to find it, he tipped the sack upside down in frustration, spilling out its contents.

    An empty corked vial rolled across the ground. Flint and a small scrap of fur fell into his lap, followed by a sheathed knife and some pieces of string. Roy turned his head erratically as he tossed the sack to the side, his panic subsiding when he saw a small leather-bound notebook beside an unlit lantern. Roy snatched it up and placed it next to his leg. He took a piece of flint and rubbed it at the lantern. It sprung to life on the first strike. Roy believed luck was at play.

    The notebook was filled with drawings. Trees, animals, birds, and flowers inhabited its pages. Some were jagged and imperfect, crafted while walking beside the wagons. He held his small bit of charcoal to a fresh page. He drew imperfect bears, men with armor, and mountains. He practiced his name again so he wouldn¡¯t forget what the letters felt like. They were the only ones he cared to know.

    Roy could walk and talk before he had a name. It was given to him by a stranger who misheard ¡®boy.¡¯

    Roy started drawing pictures of crows. His thoughts turned to campfire just moments before. He imagined the birds cawing away at the thoughts in his head. When they continued, he compromised.

    What would my father look like? He started simple.

    A man appeared on the page. Roy ran fingers across his face, funneling what he felt into the coal. He ran his finger down the bridge of his nose and mirrored it on the parchment.

    ¡°Boy!¡± A masculine voice boomed into the tent, a powerful hand shaking the supports. The charcoal snapped as Roy jumped, pressing it into the notebook. Roy tossed the book next to the lantern, ¡°You didn¡¯t put yours in.¡±

    ¡°My-¡° Roy hesitated, still shaking from the rattling of his tent.

    Roy stepped out of the tent. He could feel a few pairs of eyes on him as Sicchus stood outside. The man¡¯s unkempt jawline gyrated as he chewed on a tough piece of meat. Sicchus held his hand out demandingly, but Roy only stared at his empty palm. A few seconds passed, and a vein grew on Sicchus¡¯ sweaty forehead.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.    ¡°You daft?¡± Sicchus waved his hand like a nagging mother¡¯s soup spoon, ¡°Your purse.¡±

    ¡°I-¡°

    ¡°You got the gold or not?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Then what the fuck are you doing back here?¡± Sicchus closed his empty palm into a fist, ¡°Where¡¯s your share?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t get paid.¡± Roy said, trying to keep his eyes on Sicchus¡¯ massive squared face, ¡°I was offered food. Nothing more.¡±

    ¡°Food?¡± Sicchus sighed.

    ¡°Arthur hasn¡¯t paid me yet.¡± Roy felt a flush of heat on his face as Sicchus stepped towards him.

    ¡°I¡¯ve given you more chances than most, boy.¡± Sicchus said, ¡°Give me what¡¯s owed. Steal it from them if you have to!¡±

    ¡°I have nothing!¡± Roy shouted, startling himself. His eyes grew wide as Sicchus stepped up to him.

    ¡°You fuckin¡¯ liar.¡± Sicchus grabbed Roy¡¯s wrist, pressing his thumb deep into the center. Roy winced, trying to escape the deathly grip.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have it, I swear!¡± Roy begged, trying to pry his hand free. He was much weaker than the man standing over him. The grip only tightened. Roy felt as though the bones in his forearm were about to snap. He whimpered, his desperate attempts to get away only led to more pain.

    ¡°I find you, weak and defenseless, your naval string still stuck to ya. This is how you repay me? With lies?¡± Sicchus spat disappointingly, ¡°If it weren¡¯t for me, you¡¯d still be squirmin¡¯ around where your parents dumped you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Roy closed his eyes tightly, ¡°I¡¯ll pay! A-as soon as I get it.¡±

    Sicchus¡¯ release was like a breath of fresh air after a storm. Roy clutched his left wrist tightly, trying to stop the throbbing pain as Sicchus stormed away.

    ¡°Nine sterna. Tomorrow.¡± Sicchus¡¯ mouth contorted into a smooth, unwrinkled smile. He put a hand on Roy¡¯s shoulder, but it was about as comfortable as having an eel around his neck, ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me again.¡±

    Sicchus¡¯ grip on the boy¡¯s shoulder tightened. He released when Roy nodded in quiet defeat.

    The crackling of the bonfire grew louder until it overtook even the crickets and toads. Sicchus departed with heavy, beer-sodden footsteps as he laughed his way to the center of camp. Roy stumbled back into his tent, nursing his wrist. Sicchus returned to the fire pit, arms raised triumphantly as he laughed with his friends. Roy sat on his bedroll, slowly pulling his notebook back into his lap. He reached for the coal. His fingers felt numb.

    Roy sighed. His nose felt like he had inhaled water. He stared at the drawing, angling his chin upwards as he felt his eyes well with tears. He looked up at the tent ceiling. The orange flutter of the lantern was mesmerizing. He closed his eyes, his head falling between his shoulders. A tear fell onto his drawing. After a few moments, he smelled smoke.

    Roy looked over at his lantern. The small flame shrank, then grew to a size that gave him pause. Small embers leaped out from the open lantern door, scattering across the ground. A tiny flame stuck to a dried pine needle stuck to his boots. He swatted the flame with his hand, smashing it into the dirt. When he turned his palm towards himself a small ember stuck to his finger. His stomach churned as he tried to extinguish the tiny glow, succeeding after a few swats into the ground. A cold sweat ran across his body until the ember was fully extinguished.

 Chapter 5

    The first snow had come to Mossglen. The Village was muffled, its existence proved by smokestacks and frosted cobblestone. Roy shivered, rubbing his bare forearms. His lantern had gone out in the night. He rubbed his eyes, still red and puffy from the night before. The cold air crept along his skin as he left the warmth of the bedroll.

    The skittering of deer was the first sign of life as Roy reached the village limits. The camp was barely visible. Roy was far from the serpentine hand of Sicchus. Snow cascaded down a nearby pine, snapping all but the strongest branches. Roy looked beyond the Mossglen bridge, up the creek at a mountain hidden amongst the pines.

    Kriedeberg.

    It was rare to see the twin summit in winter, and rarer still to see the sunrise glisten off of it like it had been carefully painted by the hands of a god. Sunlight caressed the col, dispersing into a brilliant column that highlighted the sheer size of Gairm¡¯s greatest landmark. It was as though the mountain itself was watching. Trees rose and fell on it like rusted sewing needles peeking from white satin. Roy shook off the immensity of his view, moving towards the village.

    By the time Roy reached Viola¡¯s home the forge was already heated, and hammer strikes filled the air. Viola lifted her head off her fist as she jumped off a large barrel near the entrance, landing squarely on her feet.

    ¡°You¡¯re back.¡± Viola smiled, ¡°Apron¡¯s on the hook.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sharpening blades.¡± Roy looked to Arthur.

    ¡°You sharpened everything I had.¡± Arthur shrugged, ¡°If you want more work, you¡¯ll be working metal today. You can work metal, right?¡±

    ¡°Not sure.¡±

    ¡°You can handle it.¡± Arthur said, ¡°I¡¯ll watch you for a bit. Don¡¯t want you making any mistakes.¡±

    Roy grabbed an apron, tying it around his waist. He turned his wrist into one of the knots, wincing. He didn¡¯t care that it caught Arthur¡¯s notice. Arthur frowned. Roy sunk back into his work.

    ¡°Nasty bruise. Did Sam do that?¡± Arthur asked. Roy didn¡¯t answer. His eyes reached out to the smith like hands clutching the side of a capsized boat.

    Roy could no longer feel the biting cold as the hours passed. Instead, he was wiping sweat from his brow, his hair drenched. Viola had long since wandered back into the house, covering the windows and feeding the hearth fire. She would walk out into the smithy to take pieces of leather. After another hour, she emerged. She stopped behind Roy, watching him for a few moments.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Arthur asked, but Viola stepped by him, approaching Roy. Arthur¡¯s head tilted to get a better view as she tapped Roy¡¯s shoulder. The boy recoiled, jumping suddenly. He nearly dropped the red-hot metal on the anvil. As soon as he saw Viola his body relaxed.

    ¡°Give me your arm.¡± Viola said softly.

    Roy held out his left arm. Viola carefully turned it face up. Her fingers touched his skin gently, but she could still feel his desire to pull away. A leather arm brace was placed, covering his forearm just shy of his elbow. Leather straps were crossed into the gauntlet, and as Viola pulled Roy felt the armor cinch together snugly. Viola released his arm. Roy¡¯s mouth was lax. His eyes looked glassy yet thoughtful. Viola looked at Roy¡¯s arm, noticing how much thinner it was compared to hers.

    ¡°I can¡¯t take these.¡± Roy shook his head. Viola reached for Roy¡¯s right arm.

    ¡°I can¡¯t pay you.¡± Roy argued.

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to.¡± Viola said, ¡°It¡¯s scrap leather. We would¡¯ve used it for handles otherwise.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what you were working on.¡± Arthur said, putting his metal into the forge. He walked up to Roy¡¯s station, and returned his darkened metal to the coals.

    ¡°This¡­¡± Roy sighed, nursing his wrist, ¡°Sicchus did this.¡±

    ¡°What? Why?¡± Arthur¡¯s eyes narrowed immediately as he tried to catch another glimpse of Roy¡¯s bruised wrist.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t pay him.¡± Roy said, ¡°We pay him daily. I¡¯ve missed a few payments. He¡¯s not happy about it.¡±

    ¡°How much does he want?¡± Arthur asked.

    ¡°It used to be three sterna.¡± Roy said, ¡°I lied to him, so now it¡¯s nine.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s wrong. Unless...¡± There was an unquenchable fire deep within Arthur, ¡°We can talk about this after dinner.¡± Roy simply nodded as Arthur patted him on the back.

    The sun slowly began its descent, with the anxiety of a return to camp creeping up on Roy like termites in his ears. Arthur looked up at the roof of his awning, groaning as he tried to stretch the muscles in his neck. Viola went inside, followed by her father and Roy. She immediately went to the teapot, pouring a soap-scented mixture into a wooden cup. She put it on the table, followed by a bowl of stew. Arthur sat in front of it with a smile.

    ¡°Thank you, petal.¡± He said endearingly as he scooted forward. He took a long drag of the tea, his eyes tightening at its bitterness.

    ¡°What¡¯s that for?¡± Roy asked.

    ¡°Drinking.¡± Arthur answered sarcastically. Roy leaned back in his chair.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look good.¡± Roy noted the crease forming in Arthur¡¯s eyes as the taste languished on his tongue.

    ¡°For my arms.¡± Arthur said a half-truth, trying to stave off the potent flavor of the yarrow. He held it out to Roy, but the boy waved away the offer.

    ¡°I know what Sicchus is doing.¡± Arthur took another sip, wincing as the bitterness crossed his lips, ¡°By Anlun, Viola, how much yarrow did you throw in this?¡±

    Viola shrugged, looking into the mortar and pestle she used. There was still quite a bit of flower left.

    ¡°What he¡¯s¡­¡± Roy served himself as Viola grabbed her own bowl.

    ¡°Do you want out?¡± Arthur asked bluntly. Roy looked away from his food. His stomach dropped, and he doubted his food would ever reach it.

    Out. As though it were simple.

    Roy looked at the bowl.

    Out.

    ¡°Out where?¡± Roy asked.

    ¡°Out of that shit situation you¡¯re in.¡± Arthur said, ¡°You have debts, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°How did you know?¡±

    ¡°How much do you owe?¡±

    ¡°Thirty¡­¡± Roy said. Viola stopped grinding the yarrow.

    ¡°What happens if you don¡¯t pay?¡±

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.     ¡°Bad things.¡±

    ¡°What would you do if that debt was paid?¡±

    ¡°Why would you do that?¡± Roy asked, staring at his new gauntlets, unable to comprehend the sheer selflessness of these strange people he had just met days ago. Arthur didn¡¯t answer right away. Instead, he leaned into his chair, looking at the flames that licked at the stew pot. He then opened his mouth as he drew a slow, thoughtful breath.

    ¡°I was born in the Port of Kings. Debts piled up. Couldn¡¯t pay.¡± Arthur pointed at the thumb-sized smattering of purple on Roy¡¯s wrist, a deep black crescent bordering it. Sicchus had pressed his thumb so firmly that his fingernails had been etched into the boy¡¯s skin, ¡°I¡¯ve seen that before, Roy. It gets worse.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t take that offer.¡± Roy¡¯s eyes darted away from anyone who looked at him, ¡°I don¡¯t want you to shoulder that burden.¡±

    Arthur let out a low breath, ¡°I see Sicchus and his men, but I don¡¯t see you being around them willingly. How about this,¡± Arthur leaned forward, his elbows pressed against his thighs, ¡°I take on your debt. I¡¯ll teach you what I know, and you can use it to pay me back.¡±

    Roy sucked as much air in as he could without making it obvious. His eyes burned; he could feel them welling with tears but he refused to let them fall.

    ¡°An apprenticeship?¡± Roy put his bowl on the table. Viola¡¯s eyes widened. She wasn¡¯t surprised at her father¡¯s generosity, but she was taken aback by Roy¡¯s new residency.

    ¡°My parents sat and watched me suffer for years.¡± Arthur scowled, ¡°I won¡¯t let another boy go through that.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say.¡±

    ¡°Yes or no, usually.¡± Arthur nodded, blinking slowly as he seemed satisfied with his stale humor. A tiny, easy-to-miss smile rose up on the corner of Roy¡¯s lips.

    ¡°I owe my life to Sicchus. He raised me.¡± Roy argued, ¡°Your offer is¡­ more than I could ever imagine. I don¡¯t know if I can leave.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not an easy choice.¡± Arthur tried to sip his tea, but the cup was empty, ¡°As a smith¡¯s apprentice, you would be under the protection of Lord Becker.¡±

    In a near instant, the scared pallor on his face started to deepen as he sunk into his seat.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Roy said.

    ¡°I¡¯ll need a third chair.¡± Arthur said. He walked across the room, reaching for a small box full of coins. He grabbed a few handfuls and stacked them in front of Roy. ¡°Give this to Sicchus.¡±

    ¡­

    As night fell upon Mossglen, Roy returned to camp. Sicchus stared into the flames, flipping a coin between his fingertips. He was the only one left untouched by the lull of sleep. He drummed up ideas in his head as to what exactly he would do to the Bjornborn brat once he got back. He would soon get his answer, as he noticed a shadow creeping just beyond the light of the fire.

    ¡°That you?¡± Sicchus asked. The silhouette stopped. A spiky head of hair turned to face the man whose pale visage was obscured by a curtain of flames. Two calloused fingers beckoned the boy, who hesitantly stepped into the light. Roy stared at Sicchus, whose eyes were the color of malice. Roy pulled a coin pouch from his belt, loosening the straps.

    ¡°You¡­¡± Sicchus put his fingers against the bridge of his nose. He took a swig of a bottle that sat by his foot, ¡°You better have answers.¡±

    Roy stayed still, trying to inhale without showing the fear that was beginning to boil up. His skin crawled. His face flushed, and his throat tightened. Roy had coins in his hands, but they weren¡¯t the answer Sicchus sought. The caravan master raised from the tree trunk he roosted upon. He swatted the coins from the Boy¡¯s hands. They landed near the fire, crowns shimmering in the presence of flames.

    ¡°Where have you been, boy?¡± Sicchus asked, annoyed at Roy¡¯s silence. He huffed in the absence of an answer.

    ¡°You¡¯re late.¡± Sicchus¡¯ head rolled in annoyance.

    ¡°I¡¯m paying my debt.¡± Roy pointed at the coins near the fire. His eyes left Sicchus¡¯ enraged gaze. Roy focused on the flames.

    ¡°How¡¯d you get this?¡± Sicchus asked.

    ¡°It was given to me.¡± Roy gulped, ¡°To clear my debt.¡±

    ¡°And?¡± Sicchus asked.

    ¡°If my debt is cleared, you¡¯d be rid of me.¡± Roy said, ¡°Isn¡¯t that what you wanted?¡±

    A knuckle dug beneath his chin as Sicchus¡¯ middle finger jammed into it. His thumb dug into the right side of Roy¡¯s jaw as he pulled the boy¡¯s head back to his eyes.

    ¡°You don¡¯t tell me what I want.¡± Sicchus breath reeked of beer.

    Roy tried to speak, but the grip on his jaw seemed to glue his teeth together. Sicchus felt the stunted breaths from Roy¡¯s nose as they flowed along the back of his hand. The boy¡¯s eyes widened; his eyebrows pulled upwards as though they were on a string. A tear streaked across his cheek.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you when I¡¯m done with you.¡± Sicchus said, ¡°Where would you go?¡±

    Sicchus pointed at the coins. Roy picked them up and put them in Sicchus'' hand like a dog retrieving a toy.

    ¡°You¡¯re a man, Roy. People rely on you here.¡± Sicchus slid the coins into his pocket. The man pressed a finger into Roy. His fingernail left another crescent-shaped divot in Roy¡¯s chest. Sicchus snickered, returning to his wagon. Roy walked to his tent, and in the corner of his eye, he watched as Sicchus nestled a fire poker into the warbling orange coals.

    ¡­

    Roy peeked out the small opening of his tent. Flames illuminated Sicchus drinking his beer, staring into the flames as they whispered to him. Roy on his satchel, trying to pack the things he spilled out earlier.

    Hours would pass before he heard Sicchus stir. The fire had died down enough to where it no longer left an orange shimmer on Roy¡¯s tent. Sicchus stood up, coughed, spat, and then turned away from the flames into the comfort of his wagon. He opened the door, crept through the curtains, then disappeared.

    Roy grabbed his things. He hooked the lantern to his belt. His bedroll had already been strapped to the bottom of his pack. Roy left his tent standing at the edge of camp. He was startled by the metallic rustle of his lantern. He stepped quietly into the grass. The flame¡¯s light touched the wagons beside him as their passengers slept. Roy avoided cutting straight across the camp and rounded the wagons quietly. When he reached the front where the dogs were tied to posts. They stared silently, refusing to alert the camp to his attempt at freedom.

    As Roy crossed the border between the caravan and Mossglen he stopped and turned back to the dogs. He put his things down, tip-toed towards the ropes that held them, and freed them.

 Chapter 6

    The days shortened as fall slowly rolled into winter. Roy adjusted to his new surroundings. No drunken yelling in the wee hours of the morning, no one to mistakenly fall into Roy¡¯s tent in the middle of the night. It was so quiet that Roy could barely sleep.

    The distant murmurs of two men roused Roy from his slumber. He groaned, looking up at the rich wooden beams that held the roof. His arms ached; his chest felt like it was about to burst into flames. Despite the pain, Roy hadn¡¯t slept that soundly in months. A slammed door snapped Roy¡¯s eyes open. Viola stepped into the hearth, tossing another log into the brick fireplace. She stabbed at it with a hot poker, rolling it deeper into the pit. Roy watched her, his head resting on his satchel. The carefree way in which she pranced about the home, the sweet flowery scent that came off of her when she passed by. Roy watched when she wasn¡¯t looking, heavy eyes comforted by her presence. When she turned to face him, Roy shut his eyes quickly. She walked towards the door, stopping for a moment to check on him.

    ¡°Is he awake?¡± Arthur smirked as Viola appeared from the hearth. She shook her head, stepping into the smithy with a shrug.

    ¡°He¡¯s out cold.¡± Viola said, ¡°Can we go easy on him today?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯ll get used to it.¡± Arthur chuckled, turning his gaze back to the man in dull plate armor before him, ¡°The daggers are nearly ready, Herr Klaus.¡±

    ¡°Very good.¡± Herr Klaus acknowledged with warmth in his cheeks, ¡°You have a visitor?¡±

    ¡°I took on an apprentice. He¡¯s been smithing with us for about a week, now.¡±

    ¡°I thought Viola¡¯d be your pupil.¡± Klaus asked.

    The door opened. A dark-haired child spilled out, stumbling down the steps. He yawned, blinked, then looked at Arthur like a geriatric horse. Cup in hand, he walked towards one of the water barrels around the smithy. Klaus was met with his emerald eyes and appeared disappointed. It was a look Roy had gotten many times before. He refused to let it bother him, adjusting the straps of his satchel.

    ¡°Not that one!¡± Arthur called out to Roy, pointing at the correct barrel. Roy tried to match the gesture, but his left arm stopped at half-height. Roy fastened an apron to his body. He inhaled deeply, ladling water into his mouth with his hands, ¡°And use the fuckin¡¯ ladle!¡±

    ¡°Becker expects the delivery in four days.¡± Klaus said.

    ¡°Of course, sir. I won¡¯t keep him waiting any longer.¡± Arthur nodded.

    ¡°Sir?¡± Klaus shook his head, ¡°I should be addressing you as such, Dragonguard.¡±

    ¡°Roy, you look like you returned from the dead!¡± Arthur called as the boy sat near the bucket, waiting patiently for orders, ¡°You up to the task today?¡±

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.    ¡°Yes.¡± Roy blinked slowly, ¡°What needs to be done?¡±

    ¡°Boy, the forge hasn¡¯t even been heated yet!¡± Arthur pointed at the pile of wood and coal on the side of the smithy, ¡°Your persistence is surprising. Let¡¯s see how long it lasts.¡± Arthur smacked the back of Roy¡¯s shoulder with a chuckle. Roy felt a shimmer of something in the back of his mind.

    ¡°I could¡­ light the forge?¡± Roy asked, but Arthur waved the notion away.

    ¡°I can handle it.¡±

    ¡°He likes fire.¡± Viola smirked, ¡°Best to leave now before he causes an explosion.¡±

    ¡°Just a little forge salt; it¡¯s harmless. Oh, Viola, meat for the stewpot tonight.¡± Arthur snapped his fingers. Viola¡¯s eyebrows raised, her head nodding in recollection.

    ¡°Be careful, Dad.¡± Viola said, ¡°You just got your eyebrows back.¡±

    Arthur stared at the boy from the corner of his eye before tapping him on the back, shoving a small purse of coins into his hands. Roy stepped past Klaus awkwardly as he walked brusquely to catch up with Viola. Roy¡¯s eyes gazed up at the captain for a moment. Klaus had a stern, unchanging expression. His eyes scanning the boy for every little detail as though he were sketching out a wanted poster.

    ¡°How long has that been going on?¡± Klaus asked.

    ¡°Roy¡¯s been here about¡­ two, three weeks? Started living with us not long ago.¡±

    ¡°Ursine, Arthur?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, what of it?¡± Arthur said, ¡°He¡¯s just a boy, Klaus. He¡¯s shown no ill towards us.¡± His confident expression did not dissuade the skeptical look on Klaus¡¯ face.

    ¡°You know him less than a month, now he lives with you.¡±

    ¡°What are you getting at?¡± Arthur crossed his arms, ¡°He¡¯s a good kid, a hard worker. I¡¯m not giving my skills away to a boy who won¡¯t respect it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re cheating local boys of a future by taking on this¡­¡± He shook his head, gesturing as he tried to find the word, ¡°Outlander.¡±

    ¡°Last time I let Sam help he nearly set a cask of forge salt on fire.¡±

    ¡°You just said it was harmless.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, in pinches. A handful of it could blow up the forge.¡±

    Klaus looked at Roy and Viola just before they crossed the bridge, well out of earshot of their conversation. Arthur could see the judgmental glare in Klaus¡¯ eyes, but he didn¡¯t care enough to bring it up.

    ¡°I would¡¯ve taught Sam, but he¡¯s too damn arrogant.¡± Arthur said.

    Klaus¡¯ mouth shortened. He inhaled deep enough for Arthur to hear, like a boar ready to charge at a moment¡¯s notice.

    ¡°Sam is predictable. Roy is unknown to us. You don¡¯t know what he¡¯s capable of.¡± Klaus said, ¡°The wandering masses often give birth to wicked souls.¡±

    ¡°Take those tomatoes off your eyes. You might be able to see a boy instead of some demon.¡±

    ¡°He will take advantage of you. This I know.¡± Klaus said, ¡°Watch your back, Arthur.¡±

 Chapter 7

    The Temple of Zemerra was visible from the port of Nakhata. The entire city was carved from ocean cliffs, providing shelter from the desert air blowing in from the west. Statues of a wormlike creature slithered up pillars and topped fountains. The people of the desert wore brightly-colored robes and ornate masks obscuring the bottom half of their faces. The dock master gazed upon the Gairman ship, a smile crossing his lips as he spotted a few familiar faces. As the ship docked and the boarding ramp was lowered, a man appeared. He donned a dark brigandine and silver pauldrons bearing dragons on either side. The dockmaster assumed this was a common Dragonguard soldier. If that was the case, where were the others?

    ¡°Always a pleasure to see the Dragonguard.¡± The dock master said, ¡°I did not know your people traveled alone.¡±

    ¡°I seek an audience with Amanei. Would you be able to point me there?¡± Siacus asked.

    ¡°For what purpose?¡± Replied the dock master.

    ¡°I¡¯m taking a pilgrimage to Zemerra¡¯s holy grounds.¡± Siacus raised a hand politely, ¡°I wish for the Pharaoh¡¯s blessing, as is the custom here.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± The dock master nodded, ¡°His palace is at the city¡¯s zenith.¡± He pointed at the top of a long flight of stairs. The palace was but a speck on a golden horizon.

    ¡°Very well. Thank you.¡± Siacus nodded, beginning his trek.

    Nakhata was the city of a thousand steps. It had been carved from the sandstone over centuries. It was full of aqueducts and gardens, homes chiseled through the rock and painted in a beautiful array of blues and reds. Entire markets sprouted up like an oasis in the desert, smelling of saffron. There were many new scents; Siacus had trouble smelling them all. They spun around him like flower petals in a whirlpool. Siacus could feel the pain in his legs as they neared the temple. By the time he reached the top, Siacus looked like he had just jumped into the bay. He wiped the sweat from his brow, panting as a small group of women looked at him curiously.

    Siacus took a large gulp of his canteen. The color in his cheeks mellowed back to normal as his knees lifted off the ground.

    I¡¯m not going back down until we¡¯re sailing home. He vowed, sneering at the stairs.

    ¡­

    The palace was immaculate. Large columns of sandstone were lined the hall with perfect symmetry. Stone carvings of a serpentine dragon crept up the walls. Flowers and offerings sat at the feet of each statue. A woman approached, her body covered in thin satin. She smelled strongly of beeswax and an amalgam of other scents that made Siacus¡¯ head hurt.

    ¡°Welcome to Nakhata, capital of Khadina.¡± She said, speaking in a tongue that was foreign to her. Men of Gairm were easy to spot, their attire was dull compared to desert fashion, ¡°His holiness was informed of your arrival, Lord O¡¯Mathuna. He is expecting you.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize I made that much of an appearance.¡± Siacus brows furrowed.

    ¡°Zemerra knows all. He has gifted us knowledge of your presence.¡± The woman smiled cryptically. She gestured for the man to continue down the elegant hall, swaying her hips hypnotically with each step. Siacus thought of the ways Amanei could learn of his whereabouts, but he fell short with each idea. He hadn¡¯t written any letters to him, and the ship he took was an independent vessel. He couldn¡¯t have known.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Amanei sat rigidly on his stone throne, hands gripping the armrests. He tried to retain his modest demeanor, but his eyes beamed with excitement at Siacus¡¯ arrival. A young boy stared at Siacus with a grin, standing beside his father as an adviser would. Palace guards studied the man as he walked down a long, vibrant rug towards the throne. Siacus could feel their eyes peering like hawks beneath intricate headdresses. Each had an ornate khopesh that loosely resembled a serpent.

    ¡°Your foresight never fails me, Khafra.¡± Amanei¡¯s eyes did not meet the boy, but he could feel the pride emanating from him, ¡°What is the purpose of your visit, Dragonguard?¡±

    ¡°I am Siacus O¡¯Mathuna, Lord Knight Commander of the Dragonguard. I wish for your blessing to commune with Zemerra.¡± Siacus said.

    ¡°You are straightforward.¡± Amanei¡¯s lips flattened, ¡°Zemerra only reveals himself to the holiest disciples. You believe he will give you his wise counsel?¡±

    ¡°I can be pretty convincing.¡± Siacus said.

    ¡°Your attire seems inadequate for the journey.¡± Amanei said, ¡°How do you plan on crossing his domain?¡±

    ¡°I have a few ideas.¡± Siacus said, ¡°I planned on traveling alone, if it comes to that.¡±

    ¡°Zemerra will not see you.¡± Khafra interjected. Amanei looked at the boy with intense focus, ¡°If you go to him, you will not survive.¡±

    Khafra¡¯s words were disconcertingly clear for a boy his age.

    ¡°My son is gifted. Many of his predictions ring true.¡± Amanei nodded, ¡°You should listen to him.¡±

    Siacus couldn¡¯t shake an underlying discomfort. It didn¡¯t help that since his arrival the boy had been staring at him unblinking. He stood like a statue. His eyes held something sinister.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I have to insist, regardless of the risk.¡± Siacus argued.

    Khafra¡¯s constant grin faltered. His deep brown eyes narrowed.

    ¡°What is so important that you would risk death?¡± Amanei said, ¡°The palace has a grand library. I would be willing to grant you access and spare you from the desert¡¯s venom.¡±

    ¡°I am honored by the offer, but no library has what I need.¡± Siacus nodded, ¡°There are rumors of a relic that maps the Kreuzung.¡±

    ¡°That is a Gairman word. You seek The Gates of Aaab.¡± Amanei asked, ¡°What use are they to you?¡±

    ¡°The Cult of Noxwiin is using them to travel the world. A week¡¯s journey only takes a few hours for them.¡± Siacus said, ¡°I want to learn how they work so I can stop them.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Amanei said, ¡°What makes you think Zemerra has the answers you seek?¡±

    ¡°The artifact is under his protection.¡± Siacus said.

    ¡°Your conviction is admirable, Lord O¡¯Mathuna. By my authority as Pharaoh; you have my blessing. I grant you a room in the palace until you leave for the sea of glass.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Pharaoh. I am eternally grateful.¡± Siacus said.

 Chapter 8

    A scream ripped Roy from his work. Pleas for help filled the air as a woman dragged a body across the bridge. The man was covered head to toe in crimson, his tunic in tatters. His head teetered limply as the woman stopped to cradle him in her arms. Roy turned at the sound of a hammer dropping, but by the time his eyes met Arthur, he was already sprinting out towards the commotion. Viola gasped, looking past the terrified couple into the trees.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± Roy asked, but Viola, too, was gone.

    ¡°Viola, healer, now.¡± Arthur barked as he tore his shirt into strips, reaching for the man¡¯s battered limb. Blood and meat poured from the man¡¯s forearm like a melted candle, his fingernails began to turn black. Roy stood in stunned silence as Viola ran past as fast as her legs could carry her. Arthur tied the cloth into a knot, the man whimpering and gurgling as he pulled tightly. The blood gushing from his wounds began to slow, but Arthur feared it was too late. He looked out into the snowy tree line, scanning for any sign of the creature that did this. He couldn¡¯t see the culprit, but he knew full well it was watching them.

    A villager approached, holding out a rag, but Arthur held a hand out to her, yelling.

    ¡°Stay back!¡± He demanded, ¡°Todesspucker!¡±

    The villager stopped. The air was silent. The man lay dying, his blood soaking the snow with a vibrant crimson. His hand was swollen, covered in bulbous blisters and black rot. A dozen large holes formed the imprint of a serpentine maw on his bicep.

    ¡°You¡¯re safe now.¡± Arthur said, leaning into the man¡¯s ear, ¡°She¡¯s safe.¡± He repeated as the man¡¯s wife tripped over herself, falling to her knees. The husband¡¯s tear-filled eyes gazed skyward at the clouds. His breaths quickened. In response to the news of his wife¡¯s survival. Arthur quickly jammed his finger into the snow, using the mud beneath to draw a border along the red splotches on the man¡¯s skin.

    The woman tried shaking her husband, but Arthur took her hand, pulling it away gingerly. Roy could see his mouth moving, but he couldn¡¯t make out the words. The woman¡¯s face grew pale, then red, then as tears filled her eyes she looked down at the man, bawling, gripping at his chest as he lay in a pool of his own blood. Arthur stood up, hammer in hand, scanning the trees.

    They could be anywhere. The treetops, the branches, the bushes¡­

    ¡°They¡¯re asleep!¡± The wife screamed, ¡°It¡¯s winter! They¡¯re supposed to be asleep!¡±

    Arthur let out a breathy sigh. He helped the woman onto her feet, checking her arms for wounds. Her dress looked relatively unscathed. Her husband¡¯s blood congealed in her hair in small specks. An aged herbalist followed Viola as Arthur stared at the body. The herbalist walked as quickly as his aged legs could carry him. Viola led quickly, but as soon as she saw the man¡¯s body her eyes dimmed like the collapsing of a cave. She dived into the smithy, averting her gaze.

    Roy quietly slinked back into the smithy, putting his tools away as Viola crossed the threshold. A bell rang out in the center of town, and villagers all around closed their wooden shutters and began pulling their doors tightly shut. Mossglen became a ghost town within seconds.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.    ¡°Todesspucker?¡± Roy looked out the window into the trees. Viola quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him further into the smithy.

    ¡°Spitters. Head of a snake, body of a drake.¡± Viola said. The woman¡¯s sobbing was barely muffled behind the thin wooden door.

    ¡°What about your father?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯ll be fine.¡± Viola reassured. She seated herself on the chest at the foot of her father¡¯s bed, sighing. Her face had grown pale.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Roy asked.

    ¡°The spitters, they-¡° She closed her eyes, ¡°They scare me.¡±

    Sitting by the side of the door was a simple wood hatchet. Roy picked it up, ignoring the pain in his wrist. The glassy fear in Viola¡¯s eyes compelled him to stand by the door. He looked out through the slit-sized windows of the smithy, out into the forest where the man¡¯s body still lay motionless. Roy¡¯s grip was so intense that Viola thought his bones would shoot out of his knuckles.

    Time was at a standstill. Roy refused to pull his sight away from the man¡¯s body. Arthur, hoisted the man over his shoulder, assisted by the wife as the herbalist quickly whisked them away. Roy stared, even when the snow¡¯s luster began to warp and twist his eyes. When he closed them, he could see the silhouettes of trees stained into his eyelids. Viola sat quietly, scratching at her arms like they were covered in ants. The gashes in the man¡¯s arms were new to her, but the tips of his fingers were familiar.

    An hour had passed. The smithy steps creaked as a shadow crossed the threshold towards the forge. A soaked hand opened the door, followed by the sloshing of wet clothing. The faint stains of blood coated Arthur¡¯s tunic. The smith slid through the door, walking past Roy. He was unphased at the boy wielding an axe at the door.

    ¡°They¡¯re at the temple now.¡± Arthur answered a question unasked, pulling Roy away from the window, ¡°Nothing we can do.¡±

    Arthur slid the tunic off his arms. Ancient scars adorned his forearms. There was a large divot in his left arm where muscle once sat, and his right was covered in deep cuts. A large serpentine brand sat above his hip, slithering up to his lower ribs. Roy¡¯s mouth loosened; his eyes fixated on the wounds. Arthur walked to his wardrobe. His head lowered, swaying left and right before he threw his right fist into the side. There was a sudden high-pitched huff as though Arthur were fighting his own throat.

    Viola jumped up from the chest, tears falling down her cheeks as Arthur fell onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. His face was red as an apple orchard, his nose curled with unfettered rage. Viola, understanding yet a touch embarrassed, stepped into the alcove near the stew cauldron. Her lips parted; she wanted to explain, but she didn¡¯t want to trouble Roy. Her lips sealed as she took a hot poker, stoking the hearth flames.

    ¡°Viola,¡± Arthur called, ¡°I- I¡¯m sorry. I need to write.¡±

    ¡°Right now?¡± Viola asked, ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sending word to the Dragonguard.¡± Arthur said, ¡°I¡¯ll send it out tomorrow. They¡¯ll stop the todesspucker for good.¡±

 Chapter 9

    Dirt cascaded down the deep recess, covering the small wooden box that housed what was left of the widow¡¯s husband. Father Nils recited from a large gold-trimmed tome in his hands.

    We send this brave spirit to you, Anlun.

    Watch this soul on his journey from this world.

    O¡¯ Hallowed Golden Guardian, we weep, yet we know your light shall shine through.

    May he meet a fortuitous fate in the world-after.

    The book slowly closed as the hole became a small mound. Nils reached into a pocket in his sleeves, handing the disheveled woman a small flask containing a handful of ash. The widow bit her lip, her face blushed. She sucked in air like she was drowning.

    Roy¡¯s eyes narrowed. He looked at the dirt he had just shoveled into the pit. Arthur put his spade down, patting the sweat off of his forehead. He looked just as angry as before. Nils stepped towards the grave, looking up at Arthur.

    ¡°Thank you for helping her. ¡¯Tis a shame.¡± Nils sighed. Arthur¡¯s lips shrunk as he nodded.

    The priest looked at the young boy beside Arthur. He inhaled, then turned back to the new widow.

    ¡°Stay at the temple as long as you need.¡± Nils said quietly. Arthur looked out beyond the trees as though something still lurked in them.

    ¡°I¡¯ll need to work overnight to get that order done.¡± Arthur said bluntly, ¡°You didn¡¯t need to be here. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s Viola?¡± Roy¡¯s question was met with a finger pointed down the cemetery fields, heading towards the lake.

    ¡°Good question.¡± Arthur said, resting his chin on his knuckles as he held the spade¡¯s handle, ¡°Follow that path down to the lake.¡± He unstrapped the dagger on his side and handed it to Roy.

    ¡°You¡¯re not coming?¡± Roy asked.

    ¡°Can¡¯t.¡± Arthur said flatly. Roy started his trek to Viola, burying the end of his spade in the grass.

    The path to the lake winded unevenly past headstones, most being wood or stone that cracked over the years. Roy pressed on into the trees until a small grove appeared. Moss and mushrooms filled the area, and a single beautiful half-oval slab sat by the lakeside. It looked across the frozen lake, basking in it¡¯s crystalline beauty. Finger marks swiped pine needles and dirt away from the foot of the marble. A small gathering of purple berries lay at the base. A name was inscribed on the left side, while the right was left blank.

    Yue Schmidt

    1503-1523

    It was one of the finest headstones Roy had ever seen.

    A stick cracked. Roy turned towards the lake. Viola stepped along the lake shore, completely unaware of his presence. She was far away enough to skew the features of her face. She looked up in trees and down at stones. She meandered, plucking needles off a branch full of Junipers. As she drew closer, a mellifluous serenade touched the air. The silent snow only added to the ghostly beauty of her voice. When she stopped, steamy breath flowed back into chestnut hair.

    Roy lingered on her beauty. His grip on Arthur¡¯s dagger loosened. It slipped from his fingers, smacking the snow. Viola turned, looking at the grave. Roy¡¯s piercing eyes startled her soon after. Roy scooped up the weapon, frost biting at his bare fingertips.

    ¡°It¡¯s done then?¡± Viola asked, stepping away from the lakeside.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Viola was quiet and reserved. The mere presence of her mother¡¯s final resting place took the color out of her voice, ¡°I¡¯m worried about father. He doesn¡¯t react well to things like this.¡± She said, picking the juniper needles off of the branch.

    ¡°How often does this happen?¡±

    ¡°It happened last summer.¡± Viola placed the berries on the grave, ¡°And autumn before that. My father kills them when he can.¡±

    ¡°They take people? Just like that?¡± Roy stood near Viola as she knelt, head turning on a swivel at any rustle or crunch.

    ¡°They do now.¡± Viola said, ¡°Father thinks the war made them bold. They got the taste of blood from the battlefields. When the corpses ran out, they got closer and closer to the villages.¡± She quieted, ¡°That¡¯s how they got my mother. She was picking wild yarrow.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Viola reassured, ¡°I was little, I don¡¯t remember her.¡± She looked straight into Roy¡¯s eyes, ¡°You don¡¯t have to stay here; I¡¯ll be home before dark.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving you here.¡± Roy said firmly.

    ¡°Todesspucker don¡¯t stray this close to the village.¡± Viola said, ¡°They don¡¯t like the temple.¡±

    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°Too many people.¡± Viola said, ¡°Spitters don¡¯t like challenging hunts.¡±

    Viola tried to find the words, but it was difficult. Roy checked his surroundings, looking for something to pull her from such dreadful thoughts. Evergreen shrubs covered the earth, snow smothering the barren spots where flowers once bloomed. He walked away from the grave, weaving between two thin pines. It was there he found a bunch of vibrant red blooms. Their petals tilted upwards, embracing one another like cupped hands.

    ¡°Look.¡± Roy pointed, ¡°We can use these.¡±

    Viola approached. Her eyes filled with wonder upon seeing the tiny patch.

    ¡°Blood of Anlun.¡± Viola smiled. Roy knelt down, reaching for one of the flowers. Viola quickly put her hand on his shoulder. Roy stopped, his neck craning up at her curiously.

    ¡°We should leave them be.¡± Viola said, ¡°They¡¯re sacred.¡±

    Roy looked back at the flowers. He tried to stand up, but the ice beneath his feet made it difficult. Viola held out her hand. When Roy took it, she pulled back with her entire body.

    ¡°A flower? Sacred?¡± Roy asked.

    ¡°The Canticles of Anlun say that upon his death, the first queen of Gairm scattered his ashes across the great plains.¡± Viola stared at the blooms, enchanted by them, ¡°Where the ashes fell, Blood of Anlun bloomed.¡±

    The blooms swayed gently as a breeze tickled the pines above. Roy couldn¡¯t look away from them.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t the caravan teach you any of this?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Roy laughed to himself, ¡°Sicchus doesn¡¯t care about Anlun.¡±

    ¡°What does he care about?¡±

    ¡°Money.¡± Roy scoffed, ¡°When he found me, he thought I¡¯d be profitable later.¡±

    ¡°Sicchus raised you?¡±

    ¡°Sicchus didn''t do anything. Others tried to raise me, but they didn¡¯t stay long. A Sister of Anlun taught me how to speak. She was closest to a mother I ever had.¡±

    ¡°She sounds like the old innkeeper. When my mother died, she helped my father take care of me. My father worked from sunrise into the late hours of the night. What happened to the Sister?¡±

    ¡°She left.¡± Roy said, ¡°They all do.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t go with her?¡±

    Roy¡¯s brows furrowed. Darkness permeated his eyes as he gazed out at the frosted lake. Snow fell silently on the ice like feathers, and the trees sagged under the weight of their own branches.

    ¡°I tried to.¡± Roy said, ¡°By the end, she grew distant from me. Sicchus said I scared her.¡±

    ¡°Why would she be scared of you?¡±

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Roy said clearly as though he had said it many times before. It sounded rehearsed.

    Roy¡¯s mouth opened slightly as he took in the scenery. Viola spotted an odd twitch beneath the crease of his lip. He stared as far out into the white lake as he could. He inhaled deeply, trying to find solace in the heavens instead. He turned, spotting a small green patch. The moss had defied the encroaching snow, leaving a perfect spot to rest. He sat down beneath the tree¡¯s branches, looking up at them. They resembled a thousand wagon spokes, all infected with tiny green needles. Roy reached into his satchel, pulling a small leatherbound book.

    Viola tossed a small stone across the frozen lake. It skittered until it fell through the thin ice towards the center of the lake. Viola spotted the notebook in Roy¡¯s hands. The right page was blank, but the left was full of drawings. The sketch of a man drew her attention. He flipped backward from winter foliage to fall leaves and finally to spring, where he had captured a dozen images of flowers. There was even a deer staring at him with charcoal eyes.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Viola asked, picking a branch of needles from a tree.

    ¡°Drawings.¡± Roy said, flipping through the pages.

    ¡°Did the Sister teach you that?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Roy shook his head, ¡°I figured it out on my own.¡±

    Viola was captivated by a woman immortalized in coal. She was beautiful, with long, dark hair. Her smooth, elegant face was devoid of unique features. It looked like he experimented by rubbing leaves and dirt to get a muddied green texture in her irises. The drawing had many imperfections, but there was a soul in her gleaming ursine eyes. A water stain soaked the bottom corner of the page.

    ¡°Is that her?¡± Viola asked. Roy shook his head.

    ¡°No.¡± He answered. Viola looked at him, expecting more. It never came.

    ¡°She kind of looks like you. Your mother?¡± The moment Viola¡¯s words touched Roy¡¯s ears he closed the book. His cheeks reddened.

    Viola tossed the branch away, kneeling on the moss Roy rested on as she leaned forward to get a better look. She twisted her body, sitting in the space beside him. As she relaxed into the moss she slipped downward, her head falling against Roy¡¯s shoulder as her boot dug into the snow. Roy freed his right hand, awkwardly pulling her back by her forearm.

    Roy sat quietly like a deer listening to a snapped branch. He wanted to recoil, to flee from the heat in his gut. Roy¡¯s heart pounded in his chest, and the burning he felt transformed into a strong, insatiable desire to crawl toward the lake and eat the ice that coated the surface. A small cloud crept from Roy¡¯s nostrils, and his shoulder felt hotter than it had before. She lifted her head away, embarrassed at the slip-up. The details of Roy¡¯s drawings were far better up close.

    What started as thick, uniform lines and simple shapes morphed with each season. When spring fell away into summer, the plants he drew livened. In the fall, his coal created a gradient of blacks and grays that formed depth. Every drawing looked like it was smeared from left to right, resembling the oil paintings in Mossglen¡¯s temple.

    A man appeared at the start of winter. His face was more defined than the woman¡¯s. While the woman¡¯s portrait faced the front, the man¡¯s was angled like he was looking to the left. Viola was so entranced by his art, that he could feel her breath on his shoulder as she melted into the pages.

    ¡°Can you draw that?¡± Viola asked, pointing out beyond the lake, the twin peaks of Kriedeberg towering over the pines.

    ¡°I think I have.¡± Roy flipped around in the book. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to recall, ¡°We were¡­ In Krober¡­ south of the mountain.¡± Roy fussed until he spotted the page. He opened it, holding the book towards Viola.

    The mountain was magnificent. A prairie was laid out before Kriedeberg, a river running along a narrow path.

    ¡°I think we were near a smaller mountain; Silberberg.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen that side before.¡± Viola scanned the horizon, ¡°Cliffs?¡± She looked at the real mountain but failed to see them.

    The drawing showed two steep drops. One was near the base of the mountain, and the other was near one of its twin peaks. They were not visible from Mossglen.

    ¡°You have the north side, now.¡± Viola looked out at the mountain.

    Roy detected encouragement in Viola¡¯s voice. He nodded, adjusting himself as he reached into his satchel for the last chunk of coal he had left.

    Roy carefully held the tiny sliver of charcoal with three fingers, struggling to get a decent grip on it. The chunk was barely the size of a juniper berry. Viola watched as the tendons in Roy¡¯s hand bulged and receded, changing the darkness of the lines he created. He scratched at the paper, creating thick black lines that seemed to be placed at random. Viola didn¡¯t make sense of them until he suddenly drew downwards, forming the trunk of a pine tree. Dips and dots formed stones on the lake shore, and little sweeping motions created waves. Roy was posturing with a pebble of coal.

    Roy tried to think of new things to add. More stones, more trees, maybe even detailing that would draw out the texture of the snow. He looked to the sky for inspiration. There was overcast. He ground the coal into the paper. He used his fingers to smudge a dreary gray sky. Large splotches remained untouched, imitating snow. He licked the tip of his finger, adding more texture to the heavens.

    Viola scooted closer again. Roy felt a flush of heat across his arms. Sweat stuck to his ribs, and he could smell the yarrow scent coming off of Viola¡¯s skin. He powered through it, focusing his nerves on the snowcapped peaks.

    Viola could feel her eyes growing heavy.

    ¡°How long has it been?¡± Roy asked, noticing the sun was much higher in the sky than before. He could see its light through the clouds, lining up with the lower summit.

    ¡°Long enough to worry father.¡± Viola sighed, putting a hand on her forehead, ¡°We should head back.¡±

    Viola lifted herself away from Roy, feeling the sudden return of the biting cold. A pout creased Roy¡¯s lips. Viola shivered, turning to Roy. His saddened expression quickly faded as he closed his notebook and placed it into his bag. She reached out for him, pulling him off the ground.

    Roy gazed into her deep violet eyes. He couldn¡¯t seem to sit still; his face twitched a little as he tried to wave away nerves through his fingertips.

    Viola¡¯s warm smile goaded him into doing the same. When he did smile, her pupils grew like flowers blooming. Just as Roy barely lifted a foot to step towards her, she left for the path back towards the market. Roy stood there, watching as she walked away. He looked at the lakeside, then back at her. He tried to find something to say, but there were no words for what he felt. He quickly reached back into his bag.

    ¡°Viola.¡± Roy called, pulling out his notebook, flipped to the mountain, and tore it cleanly from the spine. Without another word, he held the drawing out to Viola.

 Chapter 10

    Just beyond the evergreen shrubs, a pair of blue eyes watched as Viola slowly walked up to Roy. She reached for the paper. Her mouth moved, smiling ear to ear, but it was just a series of mumblings. Samuel¡¯s nose crinkled in disdain.

    Roy¡¯s eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar tunic. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

    ¡°I thought I¡¯d find you here.¡± Samuel said. He stepped up to Viola, snatching the paper from her hands.

    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Samuel asked, pulling the corners straight. Viola swiped at the page, only for Samuel to spin away from her, ¡°Kriedeberg? I was expecting poetry.¡±

    ¡°Give it back!¡± Viola yelled, reaching again. Samuel turned his shoulder towards her.

    ¡°You want it back? Fine.¡± Samuel drove the paper into her chest with enough force to push her back. A hand dug into his collarbone, shoving him towards the lake shore. Samuel regained his balance, surprised by Viola¡¯s frailty.

    ¡°How¡¯d you find us?¡± Viola asked.

    ¡°Dark-haired outlanders stand out. I want to know what you see in this peregrine Bjornshite.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t listen-¡± Viola put her hand on Roy¡¯s arm, pulling away quickly. His body felt like the bottom of a boiling pot.

    ¡°Don¡¯t touch her again.¡± Roy said.

    Viola jumped, surprised by the sharp, deep voice Roy commanded. She spun around, running to the village. She was stopped by two more boys, one shoving her to the ground. Her shoulder blades dug into the mud, and her head narrowly missed a large stone in the silt. Roy felt a jolt in his spine as he felt the impact through his boots. Samuel took a step towards him like a cat with its head lowered, a wry grin on his face.

    ¡°You dare?¡± Samuel said. His face contorted into rage. A closed fist smashed into Roy¡¯s stomach, sending him staggering towards the tree line. His eyes had become the yawning mouth of pitch black cave lined with moss. He jumped back, avoiding a heavy hit to the jaw.

    ¡°Sam, stop!¡± Viola screamed as Roy¡¯s body hit a series of saplings. Viola charged in, taking hold of Samuel¡¯s arms as he stared into her eyes. He swung his arms free, sending her crashing to the ground. A shuffling in the leaves brought Samuel¡¯s attention back to the wall of anger crashing towards him. A crater formed where Samuel fell, fists barraging his forearms as he shielded himself from the snarling Bjornborn. Roy held his fist in the air like a sword, halting as Samuel panted. For a moment, he could see his own rage in Samuel¡¯s eyes. A knee shot upward, smashing into Roy¡¯s groin. He yelped, hunching as Samuel threw him to the side. Samuel could no longer hear Viola screaming for them to stop. He could feel the soft skin of Roy¡¯s neck beneath his fingertips. The pressure intensified as Samuel leaned into it, his thumbs digging into the sides.

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.     ¡°You¡¯re killing him!¡± Viola tried to pry Samuel from atop Roy.

    Roy could feel a quickening inside of him like flames crawling along bark. Anger crackled and burned. His throat burned, his stomach churned. Roy sucked in cold air like a pike, punching at Samuel as the corners of his vision shrunk away into blackness. He felt the sun¡¯s heat despite its glowing majesty being cast in a cloak of clouds.

    Roy kicked at the Samuel¡¯s leg, missing by a hair. Roy gasped, a high-pitched grunt shot from his lips. His arms grew heavier with each second. His right hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Samuel¡¯s forearm. Samuel tried to pull his hand out of Roy¡¯s grip. Roy stared into the boy¡¯s eyes, shaking as tears fell down air-starved cheeks. His vision blurred; his teeth ached. A rush of cold brushed Roy as the heat became unbearable. It immolated his insides like liquid metal poured into a pig¡¯s stomach.

    Viola stared as smoke billowed from Roy¡¯s fingertips. Samuel released his grip, screaming as the smoke enveloped him for a few seconds. Samuel was released from Roy¡¯s volcanic grip. Roy gasped heavily, flipping onto his stomach as he coughed black bile.

    Samuel turned, sprinting towards the lake. He crashed into the ice, whimpering and stuttering as he tried to cool his blazing arm in the newly exposed patch of lake.

    Viola ran towards Roy, falling into the snow as she leaned down to meet his eyes. Roy staggered as Viola placed her hand on his back, his tunic shuddering violently as his voice cracked from the pain. Roy stared at his hand as though it were made of a million ants. Disgust filled the air along with the scent of burned flesh.

    ¡°What are you?¡± Samuel asked, wincing as he nursed his arm.

    Roy looked up the length of his arm. It felt as though he had just shoved his arm up to his chest in a forge.  He put a hand above his heart. It was scorching hot. He put his head in his hands, struggling to think. The trees blurred, and a new sensation enveloped him as the heat faded. He could hear Viola¡¯s voice, but her words didn¡¯t make sense. He only heeded the roaring of water in his ears and the knives in his throat.

    Samuel, holding his wrist, sprinted into the forest. Viola stayed by Roy as he fell onto his side.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Roy groaned.

    ¡°You¡¯re a mage.¡± Viola whispered.

    ¡°No.¡± Roy coughed, more black tar spilled from the corners of his lips.

    ¡°Just¡­ please, don¡¯t move.¡± Viola said, ¡°You need to rest.¡±

    Roy stared out at the lake. His head was angled so that the trees reflected off the ice with perfect symmetry. It was as though the forest itself had formed one massive pine. Kriedeberg loomed overhead.

    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±

 Chapter 11

    Nakhata palace was much larger than what Siacus was used to. He looked out the balcony attached to his room. The desert air was surprisingly crisp at night. The moment he sat on the soft bed his eyes fixated on a mirror across from him. He was cleaner than he expected, especially after falling off a ship. His hair was swept in all different directions. He didn¡¯t look like a lord; he looked like a drunkard who had been fished from the bay. His clothes reeked of the sea. He dragged a large pack towards him, shuffling around for clean clothes. All he had was a modest tunic and trousers. He looked at the still-soaked boots his wife bought for him. The smell would probably never wash out.

    Siacus longed for the end of his journey. It had been many months since he last saw his betrothed, but he couldn¡¯t risk his trail going cold. He stared at the massive scar covering the left half of his body. It scorched his skin, branching out like an oak in winter.

    ¡­

    Silk curtains danced in the winds between large sandstone pillars. Most of the palace was exposed to the elements except for bedrooms or bathing areas. Siacus stepped along, admiring the art on the walls. Statues had been carved and painted, immortalizing past nobility in stone. They wore beautiful handmade robes and intricate headdresses bearing the serpentine form of Zemerra. Siacus noticed how prominent the living god was in everyday life here. Nakhata¡¯s dedication to a particular god was similar to the village Siacus grew up in. Instead of an axe-wielding hero of old, however, the folk of Khadina venerated a beast of unimaginable power.

    Siacus turned the corner, spotting the veiled visage of a woman in the distance. Every inch of her body was concealed in thick brown satin. She wore sandals that concealed her toes, and long sleeves obscured her hands. Her attendant wore far less. A shawl draped her head, but did not conceal her natural beauty. She was adorned in golden jewelry that shimmered in her dark hair. As Siacus closed the gap, the veiled woman looked at him. Her eyes were but tiny white beads behind a thin veneer of fabric.

    ¡°You must be Pharaoh¡¯s wife.¡± Siacus smiled, ¡°I am Siacus. I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met.¡±

    The woman didn¡¯t respond. Siacus¡¯ greeting hung in the air like smoke. His jovial expression fell away into an awkward impasse.

    ¡°The consort is not ready for visitors.¡± The attendant swatted Siacus¡¯ propriety away, ¡°Good evening.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I-¡± Siacus was interrupted by the consort walking past him. She smelled of myrrh and cinnamon. The attendant hovered behind her. Siacus was left in a quiet corridor. He didn¡¯t understand; his tunic was clean, his trousers free of dirt. His boots no longer reeked of the ocean. There was no odor coming off of him. He huffed, blowing off the interaction as he headed for the dining hall.

    ¡­

    ¡°The temple has graciously accepted your offering. You have been exceedingly generous this year.¡± A nameless priest spoke to Amanei in high regard across the table. Amanei sat patiently, waiting for his meal to be served for him. Khafra sat beside him, drawing on paper with a stick of beeswax dyed with saffron. The prince looked up at Siacus as he entered the room.

    ¡°Ah, you¡¯ve arrived.¡± Amanei nodded. He held a hand out to the last empty chair in a room full of local dignitaries and rich supporters.

    ¡°The man has a weapon.¡± Said a wealthy merchant, pointing at the axe on Siacus¡¯ hip. The lord hesitated as Amanei¡¯s guards looked at their Pharaoh, expecting orders.

    ¡°My guards can handle him.¡± Amanei gestured to Siacus reassuringly, ¡°Sit, Siacus.¡±

    Siacus couldn¡¯t help but glimpse at the art Khafra was making. It was mostly incoherent scribbling, but there was the sense that it had some unseen meaning.

    ¡°Please, Zuberi, continue.¡± Amanei said.

    ¡°I simply wished to ask what made you increase your offering this year?¡± Zuberi asked. Amanei took a sip from his cup as the servants began placing food on the table.

    ¡°Zemerra has gifted my family with an oracle.¡± Amanei looked to his son with adoration, ¡°For that, they have my wealth as well as my eternal servitude.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± The priest nodded, ¡°You have been met with great fortune.¡±

    Siacus caught a murmur from Khafra. He turned his attention to the boy.

    ¡°What?¡± He asked, his attention pulled away from the adults at the table.

    ¡°What are those?¡± Khafra pointed at the branch-burned skin peeking out from Siacus¡¯ sleeve.

    ¡°Scars.¡± Siacus said. It wasn¡¯t unusual for a child his age to ask questions. Amanei continued to speak as though the conversation next to him was an illusion.

    ¡°Yes, and no amount of wealth in the world will equal my gratitude.¡± Amanei smiled. The table didn¡¯t notice the small conversation Siacus was making with the young prodigy.

    Khafra flipped his paper over and started to draw the shape of Siacus¡¯s scar upside down.

    ¡°Does it hurt?¡± Khafra whispered. Siacus shook his head. Khafra drew a line across the page. It tapered downwards towards the end.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.¡°Did you cry?¡± Khafra asked, ¡°Did it bleed?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t remember.¡± Siacus said, ¡°It was a very long time ago.¡±

    ¡°You remember.¡±

    Amanei¡¯s conversation melted away. Siacus sat at the table, watching Khafra as he drew quietly. The boy spoke up again.

    ¡°You did cry.¡± He started drawing a small tree.

    Khafra watched Siacus swallow from the corner of his eye. His left hand clenched, and his bicep bulged as he tried to remain stoic.

    Amanei reached for his fork, glimpsing at the drawings in front of Khafra. The boy didn¡¯t eat. He stared at Siacus. His eyes narrowed, his face scowling. Amanei looked at the rest of the table, hoping they would begin to eat as he did.

    Memories started to flood back into Siacus. He tried to build a dam before they spilled over. The boy¡¯s questions and accusations managed to get under Siacus¡¯ skin with little effort. He didn¡¯t know why they were so potent. Khafra drew a crude figure on the right side, just where the line dropped off the page.

    ¡°You cry.¡± He said.

    Amanei called the boy¡¯s name as his attendants ate. The boy folded the paper and shoved it into his robes, pulling his dinner close as though nothing happened. Siacus sat quietly, staring at his meal. The soup smelled heavenly, garnished with onion and roast duck. The bread was still warm from the oven. Siacus looked over his shoulder as a servant lowered a platter of sweet cakes onto the center of the table.

    Khafra frowned. He looked at the ring on Siacus¡¯ finger.

    ¡°I noticed the consort is not here. Will she be joining us tonight?¡± Priest Zuberi asked. Amanei shook his head.

    ¡°Oh, no.¡± Amanei smiled, ¡°She eats her meals in the garden. She has been doing much better. She shows little sign of illness.¡±

    ¡°That is wonderful news. Khafra¡¯s blessing was a welcome one, indeed.¡±

    ¡°Khafra is a healer?¡± Siacus asked.

    ¡°Yes, a fantastic one, at that.¡± Amanei answered.

    Siacus took a sip of the broth before him just as it began to cool. An aromatic scent permeated the meal. The broth had hints of onion and a spice Siacus hadn¡¯t tasted before. It smelled earthy, the taste spread warmly through his mouth. A note of citrus brought memories of home.

    ¡°I read about your journeys in Gairm.¡± Amanei said, ¡°How did you end up leading the Dragonguard? It seems quite the accomplishment for a man of your standing.¡±

    ¡°I was apprentice to the Knight commander at the battle of Die Wirbels?ule. It¡¯s a large canyon in Gairm, your people would call it ¡®The Spine.¡¯

    ¡°We were fighting the king¡¯s forces. We were winning until another army came through with a dragon. He wiped out entire battalions with a single breath. A pyromancer managed to will the flames away from us while the others burned alive. Without her, we would¡¯ve lost not just the battle, but the entirety of the Dragonguard¡¯s forces.

    ¡°By tradition, the longest-standing member of the Dragonguard becomes the next knight commander. It was me.¡±

    ¡°I assume it would¡¯ve been the oldest member.¡± Amanei blinked, ¡°You look very young.¡±

    ¡°Well, our most experienced warriors all died with Luhan.¡± Siacus said, ¡°I had twelve years with the Dragonguard. Most of the survivors had a fraction of that. I was eighteen when I took the oath.¡±

    ¡°Being with them for so long, you had to have seen some conflict.¡± The priest said, ¡°Even as a child.¡±

    ¡°Luhan kept me away from the battlefields when he could. The bloodshed I saw happened¡­ before.¡± Siacus held the lip of the bowl to his mouth, drinking the broth like beer. The elite at the table looked at one another, then to the prince. Amanei looked at him, perplexed. The Bjornborn appeared unaware of noble etiquette. Siacus put the bowl down and nodded as though he were saying a quiet prayer. He looked around at the men staring at him. He patted his chin as though something had stuck to it.

    ¡°What?¡± Siacus asked, but the men continued the conversation.

    ¡°You have piqued my interest, Siacus.¡± Amanei said, ¡°I would like to share stories before you leave for Zemerra¡¯s domain.¡±

    ¡°You seek Zemerra?¡± Zuberi¡¯s eyes lightened, ¡°My brothers and I are heading there to pray upon his shrine. Perhaps you could join them? The Sea of Glass is unkind to lone travelers.¡±

    ¡°Can I go?¡± A small voice asked. Khafra tugged at his father¡¯s robes, ¡°I want to go.¡±

    ¡°To the shrine?¡± Amanei leaned towards his child. Khafra¡¯s voice was small and sweet, unlike the words he spoke earlier, ¡°When you are older.¡±

    ¡°When do your brothers leave?¡± Siacus asked.

    ¡°A storm is making its way across the desert. We plan on leaving in the morning.¡± Zuberi said, ¡°The journey is not long, we should be back before nightfall.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a good idea. I¡¯d be honored to join you.¡± Siacus said, looking at the empty bowl before him, ¡°Is there any more of this?¡±

    Amenai raised a hand, summoning one of his attendants. Siacus smiled at the new bowl as it was slowly lowered before him. As he ate he answered many questions and told many tales. Khafra stared at the man as he spoke, showing neither interest nor derision.

    Khafra studied him as he studied every stranger that came. He had seen craftsmen from Metis, the gold-clad knights of Nizini, even scholars from lands where sugi trees outgrew the mountains. Men with hearts of steel who faced immeasurable foes, and felled them without a second thought.

    But Siacus was different.

    Siacus cries.

 Chapter 12

    ¡°Roy, we need to get you home.¡± Viola tugged on the unscathed part of his left hand, avoiding the bruise on his wrist. She struggled to get through to him as he circled in his mind like leaves down a drain.

    The trees crawled away from him. He was standing behind himself. The birds were silent. An intangible ringing dominated his ears. He couldn¡¯t catch his breath. His stomach ached. The snowy earth took on a violent blue hue as his mouth became soaked with saliva. Viola was calling for him, but despite his greatest efforts, he couldn¡¯t open his mouth to speak. She tried to reach out to the wandering boy. He walked back and forth, unable to comprehend what had just happened. He couldn¡¯t stop looking at his hands.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a mage.¡± Roy said, ¡°I don¡¯t know what that was.¡±

    ¡°It was an accident.¡± Viola said.

    ¡°It was on purpose.¡± Roy said, ¡°I wanted to hurt him. I burned him!¡±

    ¡°Roy, he would¡¯ve killed you!¡± Viola said, ¡°I want to go home. Father needs to know what happened.¡±

    ¡°Viola, no. If he learns about this-¡±

    ¡°He was Dragonguard, Roy! He lived with mages for years! If anyone will know how to help you it¡¯s him!¡±

    ¡°What if he can¡¯t? I¡¯ve seen people disappear over this!¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t disappear.¡± Viola said, ¡°Please, listen to me.¡±

    Viola put her arms around his waist. She could feel him trembling violently through his tunic. The muscles on his sides shivered, his stomach so tight she felt the quivering muscle.

    ¡°My father will know what to do, but first we need to go home.¡±

    Viola raised her hands to his upper back. His breathing, once erratic and unstable, became a bit more rhythmic. His shoulders softened, but his heart continued to race. He didn¡¯t want to put his arms around her; he didn¡¯t want to burn her, too. Roy closed his eyes as the searing magma in his heart began to cool. Viola¡¯s embrace only tightened. Her head brushed against Roy¡¯s jaw. His hands still sat at his sides. He didn¡¯t want to burn her.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± Viola slowly slid her hands away, but suddenly she felt Roy¡¯s on her back. His elbows rested beside her ribs, his hands between her shoulder blades. His forehead stopped on her shoulder.

    ¡­

    Arthur scanned the fine details of the blade. The forge became his only source of light as night fell on Mossglen. He shook his head in frustration as he tried to pull the imperfections from it. A voice roused him from his work. His skin jumped at the sight of his little girl, her linen dress ripped and covered in splotches of mud.

    ¡°What the fuck?¡± Arthur dropped the blade. It sizzled into the ground, bent as it soaked in the impurities of the wet earth beneath it. He cursed, putting his hands on both of Viola¡¯s shoulders as he scanned her for injuries.

    ¡°By Anlun, what the hell happened to you?¡± Arthur asked. He looked at Roy, flames illuminating the bruises on the boy''s neck. Red bags accentuated bloodshot eyes.

    ¡°Sam attacked Roy at the lake.¡± Viola said as Arthur tugged on her arms, checking for wounds, ¡°He tried to kill him.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Arthur looked at Roy.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Roy said.

    ¡°Get inside. You¡¯re telling me what happened.¡± Arthur said sharply.

    ¡­

    Arthur sat quietly, his face twisted in thought. Viola lay in her bed. She lay awake as the boy sat with Arthur and a crackling fire. Arthur walked over to the teapot, pouring the yarrow-stained water into a cup.

    Roy nodded. A cup was placed in front of him. His brows raised.

    ¡°This is yours.¡± Roy said stubbornly.

    ¡°Why did Sam attack you?¡± Arthur asked.

    ¡°He pushed Viola. I pushed him back.¡± Roy said, ¡°It got out of hand.¡±

    ¡°Obviously.¡± Arthur said, ¡°You feel dizzy at all? Lightheaded?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Roy¡¯s lips lifted, ¡°He¡­ kicked me.¡±

    ¡°I could tell by how you waddled over here. I¡¯m more concerned about the head on your shoulders. A good stranglehold can kill you even after a battle.¡± Arthur looked at the marks on Roy¡¯s neck. Bruises had begun to form on either side, just below the jaw. He held Roy¡¯s head with two fingers as he inspected the intricate web of veins, ¡°Just neck and dick, then?¡±

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.Roy looked over at Viola. She stared at him from the bed.

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Roy said quietly. Arthur¡¯s chair creaked as he stood up, looking into the flames. He sniffed, then walked towards his bed.

    ¡°Job¡¯s nearly done. I¡¯ll let you run light tomorrow. Viola, can you work?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Viola pulled her blankets over herself.

    ¡°Good.¡±

    Roy lay staring at the rafters. Thoughts danced around in his head as they always did. A deep gnarled root grew deep down in his soul, lingering in a place he didn¡¯t recognize. He heard Arthur begin to snore, signaling the right time to escape the house. He got out of his bedroll, glimpsing over at Viola as she slept like a newborn lamb. His shadow crept across the beds as he crossed the still-roaring fire.

    Roy stepped out into the cold night. His boots crunched into ice as he quietly latched the door shut. He wandered far from the faint glow of the sleeping forge, into a small clearing behind Arthur¡¯s home.

    He knew the parlor tricks; cards, dice, hares harvested from hats. But the real, tangible magic? Affluent nobles and brothers of Anlun had that gift, not worthless orphans of uncertain birth. Who would teach him? Who would believe him?

    Roy blinked away the thought. He had to stay focused. He became fiercely aware of the presence of his own hands. He felt a sense of disconnection as he flexed his fingers. He could feel every muscle.

    These hands were someone else¡¯s. Thoughts stuck to Roy like moss.

    This is the power of princes, preachers, and kings.

    Not orphans.

    Roy balled his hands into fists. The noise wouldn¡¯t stop. His chest was burning. Roy swallowed, breathing heavily. His stomach churned like it was full of worms.

    There had to be a trick, a trigger to make his hands burn again.

    Roy held out his left hand, trying to channel whatever he was feeling. He could feel the burning intensify when he straightened his arm.

    Warmth crept into his fingertips from his palm. It grew hotter. Roy stared in a mix of horror and intrigue as his veins glowed like gold in the sun. Small flames crept from his pores like stone aqueducts overflowing with molten gold. It wasn¡¯t long before Roy¡¯s entire hand was engulfed. The flames grew higher, then shifted from red to a vibrant orange. Roy stared at the back of his hand. He could see a tree of life sprouting from his wrist up into his fingers.

    Roy waved his hand, trying to scare away the flames. He blew on them. The flames from his body refused to die. Roy quickly shoved his hand into the snow, burying it with the other. The cold seeped into his clothes. When he removed his extinguished hand, the flames were born anew.

    Roy started to feel dizzy. His eyes blurred, it felt like magma was being poured into his ears. He started to panic as the flames finally licked at his tunic, spreading to his forearm.

    Roy tried to will the flames back into him. He felt the heat leave his fingertips, but it lingered at his forearm. Flames erupted on his sleeves, creeping up his arm. Roy patted violently at the flames, but they perked back up like cockroaches. Roy threw his right side into the snow, his arm hissing and whining as the flames began to die down.

    Roy felt a nauseating lump in his throat. The flames slowly receded as Roy inhaled sharply through his mouth. He coughed violently, blackened saliva spewed from his mouth, followed by whatever remained of the dinner he ate.

    When Roy was finished he looked at his once fire-infested hand. There were no burns. Roy sat on his knees, panting. Tears streamed down his face. He reached up to wipe the vomit from his mouth, but instead, he found the thick grit of soot coating his trembling fingertips.

 Chapter 13

    In the days following the fight, Roy felt an ache in his chest. His hands were numb. He could feel immense pressure behind his eyes. Sunlight glimmered from the snow like the glint of polished silver. Viola outpaced Roy, her boots kicking up powder. The dirt path weaved between the trees like a needle through the soft fabric. Clouds spilled over the hills. Roy felt great unease as he peeked between the trees, searching for danger.

    ¡°Viola, do you hear that?¡± Roy asked as the two rounded the lake.

    ¡°Hear what?¡±

    Roy stood still, closing his eyes. A chittering flavored the air like the cacophonous crunching of beetles devouring a tree. It was different this time; deeper.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°We should go home.¡±

    The chittering continued. Roy thought of what it could be. A squirrel chewing on an acorn, deer running across fallen branches, beetles chewing on the pines. It made the hairs on his neck stand on end. His arms felt like they were being brushed by thistles. An odor hung in the air like rotten meat and puss. Roy could smell it even through a stuffed nose.

    Cocky footsteps pulled Roy¡¯s ears out of the forest.

    ¡°You¡¯re joking.¡± Samuel shook his head, ¡°The fucking Bjornshite, Viola?¡±

    Samuel stared at Viola with an intimidating glare. His first two steps were slow, then quickened.

    ¡°If you touched her I-¡° Just before Sam could reach Viola a hand dug into his collarbone, shoving him back. Roy, startled by the boy¡¯s sudden presence, stared at him with cold focus.

    ¡°The fucking Bjornshite.¡± Samuel repeated in disbelief, ¡°What do you see in this monster?¡±

    Something was churning inside of Roy, bringing with it a nauseating unease. It quickly faded when Samuel opened his mouth.

    ¡°You¡¯ll jump on anyone who¡¯d give you time of day.¡± Samuel scoffed, ¡°But this? Are you really stupid enough to fall for this? He burned me!¡±

    Roy¡¯s brows furrowed, and he felt waves of heat through his arms and legs like a sunburn radiating from the inside out. He saw a shimmer from Samuel¡¯s belt. A short blade formed in the boy¡¯s hand, retched from its scabbard. A finger lined its spine.

    ¡°I¡¯m not letting you have your way without a fair fight.¡± Samuel growled. He held out his arm, covered in bandages. He winced when he straightened his wrist, ¡°Cowards use magic.¡±

    Roy took a step, but Viola grabbed his arm. Heat rolled out of his skin like sun-touched metal. She relented for a moment, reaching for the cloth at his waist instead.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± She said. Roy locked eyes with Samuel. Roy¡¯s eyes darted to the side as he heard more noises.

    Steps in the grass. Branches bending but not snapping. The small waves at the lakeside were noticeably quieter. The acrid scent of pus and rot.

    Hissing.

    ¡°Look at you defending her. Is that what you wanted, Viola? A pet?¡±

    ¡°Sam, shut up.¡± Roy said sternly, his ear to the forest once more.

    Roy smelled the rot in the air again. He turned to Viola, ¡°Something¡¯s wrong.¡±

    ¡°Roy, what are-¡°

    A tan blur pulled the three out of their squabbles. A noble, gaunt face growled as the slender body of a mountain lion slid out of the bushes. Roy pulled Viola out of the path of the coming predator, only to watch as it bolted right past them.

    The chittering had become so loud that Roy felt it creeping along the back of his neck.

    ¡°Viola, go!¡± Roy yelled as he saw glowing orbs of light in the trees, following them. A monotonous hiss filled the air like locusts. An ink blotch dashed between the bushes. Roy ran down the icy path, taking Viola by the arm. The ice thickened as they drew closer to Mossglen. Roy felt his grip on Viola slip, and she tumbled to the ground. Reluctantly, Samuel helped Roy lift Viola off the ground. One of her shoes slid off as she stumbled out of the muck.

    A beast the shade of midnight stepped out from the foliage. Viper teeth bared as its wolf-like body skittered down the tree. Scales formed raised hackles on emaciated shoulders.

    Another creature appeared from an outcropping of rocks.

    One crept from the bushes.

    One slinked by a signpost.

    Within seconds, Roy was overwhelmed by the cacophony of hisses and clicks between the four black drakes. Samuel stared at the two, separated by another beast.

    Todesspucker. Sickly yellow eyes followed the vulnerable young girl beside Roy. The boy¡¯s dagger arm faltered; there were too many. He looked over at Samuel, who was the least interesting to the spitters. Roy pulled Viola behind him. Her head dug into his shoulder blades as she tried to hide from the creatures. She was shaking, unable to contain whimpers of terror.

    Samuel¡¯s vision blurred. He huffed, looking between Viola and the monsters. He turned to the village and sprinted down the path away from the Todesspucker¡¯s new victims.

    ¡°Samuel! You fucking coward!¡± Roy screamed. A forked tongue waved like a slime-soaked flag. The Todesspucker bolted to Roy. He raised his boot, smashing it into the creature¡¯s face. A fang broke off and splattered into the mud. The creature wriggled itself upright. The taste of its own blood narrowed its slit eyes. The others watched cautiously, heads lowered.

    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.    ¡°Roy?¡± Viola called worriedly.

    ¡°The tree behind us.¡± Roy whispered, worried the creatures could hear him, ¡°Climb it.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± Viola shook her head. A serpent lunged at Roy. He backed up, pushing against Viola.

    ¡°You have to.¡± Roy stepped again, nudging Viola towards the trunk. He flexed his left hand, inhaling through his nose. He reached for a small dagger tied to his hip.

    Viola turned. She dug her hands into the tree, leaping towards the nearest branch. Roy roared as a serpent came at him from the left. It jumped, its rear legs ripping into Roy¡¯s thigh. The weight of the beast shoved the boy backward. Fangs honed in on his eyes. Roy screamed like hot coals had been dumped on him, jamming the dagger into the serpent¡¯s neck. The Todesspucker fell away, running off into the trees.

    Viola reached up for the second row of branches. She threw her legs upwards as a spitter clawed at the bark. It snapped like a crocodile, drawing closer to her foot.

    Roy gritted his teeth, trying to think of anything but the red-hot pain that had been driven into his back. Blood flooded his trousers. He could feel it pooling in the soles of his boots. Chunks of bark fell away from the tree like puzzle pieces clattering on a table.

    Viola looked back. Roy¡¯s face was pale, his eyes black voids. Lifting off the ground with a pained yell, he shoved his body against the Todesspucker, pinning it against the tree. It rumbled with a throaty hiss as it threw its claws into Roy¡¯s forearm. Roy took a dagger to its stomach, stabbing it over and over until the beast stopped moving. The creature convulsed in the ice, kicking its legs until it lay dead.

    Roy panted heavily. Steam rose from his mouth. His teeth ached. His chest was about to burst. The blood flowing down his leg ran cold. He hardly noticed the beast¡¯s blue blood staining his hands.

    Minutes of thrashing and screaming shifted as the Todesspucker grew more aggravated by the stubborn prey. Viola she tried to climb up another branch. She wrapped her fingers around the tree, steadied herself, then pulled.

    There was a crack. Viola tumbled to the forest floor. The Todesspucker bolted towards her. Roy grabbed one by the tail and tried to throw it off balance. Instead, the monster was thrown off of its feet. Viola screamed as the other jumped at her, one claw digging into her breast while the other landed on the inside of her hip. She stumbled away, collapsing into the mud. Roy ran to her, tearing the spitter away. His hand erupted into flames. He threw a fist into its jaw. It popped like crushing a seaweed bulb. He straddled Viola, his head lowering just as the creature recovered, its face charred. It stumbled left and right, an eye leaking sizzling white puss as it slumped onto the ground.

    Viola¡¯s face was pale. She groaned, and when Roy looked down, he could see blood pooling in the water around them. Roy¡¯s eyes blurred. He whimpered with each labored breath.

    The trees rustled. The hissing doubled. Spitters appeared out of the woods like termites.

    Roy yelled at the creatures, they flinched, but drew closer. Viola¡¯s eyes started to flicker like a candle nearing its end. Viola lay with her muddied hair surrounding her like a halo, her glimmering eyes becoming unpolished amethyst. Her fearful expression faded into a blank forward stare. The hissing faded away as Roy looked at her ghostly face.

    Roy screamed with every fiber of his being. He ran for the closest beast. He threw a flaming fist into its face. He wanted them to burn. He wanted every drake in the glen crushed beneath him. His throat was singed, his chest tightened, his bones ached, and his eyes burned like salt had been dumped into them.

    An otherworldly flash of light turned night to day in an instant. A thunderous roar echoed through the Mossglen.  The song of sparrows filled the air, their eyes tricked by false daylight. As the light faded into night, their song stopped. Dogs howled. Horses kicked and neighed in their stalls, stomping at the ground. Crows all cried out in the hundreds, soaring away from the incandescent blues and greens that slithered across the sky like serpents.

    Roy writhed on the ground, gripping his stomach tightly. His feet slid against the mud as he tried to pick himself up. Coughing pinned him to the ground. Each breath he took reeked of ash. Roy¡¯s eyes squinted at the ground. His muscles felt like they had been pulled out and torn. The snow had melted. Trees crackled and wasted away, covered in glowing red scars. Pines rang like crystals trapped behind a bark veneer. The mud had dried, leaving soil that crunched beneath Roy¡¯s feet. He powered through the pain that shattered his body, crawling to Viola. Her head was turned away from him, blood stuck her hair together like the bristles of a crimson brush. Roy coughed, gasping between breaths. Soot shot into the roof of his mouth like sand.

    Roy didn¡¯t have the stomach to gaze up at the burned out grove around him. He could hear the absence of life. He could smell the smoky musk of desolation all around him.

    He fell backwards, landing in the dirt. The aurora soon faded, and the rain returned.

 Chapter 14

    The day after the fight, Roy felt an ache in his chest. His hands were numb. He could feel immense pressure behind his eyes. Sunlight glimmered from the snow like the glint of polished silver. Viola outpaced Roy, her boots kicking up powder. The dirt path weaved between the trees like a needle through the soft fabric. Clouds spilled over the hills. Roy felt great unease as he peeked between the trees, searching for danger.

    ¡°Viola, do you hear that?¡± Roy asked as the two rounded the lake.

    ¡°Hear what?¡±

    Roy stood still, closing his eyes. A chittering flavored the air like the cacophonous crunching of beetles devouring a tree. It was different this time; deeper.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°We should go home.¡±

    The chittering continued. Roy thought of what it could be. A squirrel chewing on an acorn, deer running across fallen branches, beetles chewing on the pines. It made the hairs on his neck stand on end. His arms felt like they were being brushed by thistles. An odor hung in the air like rotten meat and puss. Roy could smell it even through a stuffed nose.

    Cocky footsteps pulled Roy¡¯s ears out of the forest.

    ¡°You¡¯re joking.¡± Samuel shook his head, ¡°The fucking Bjornshite, Viola?¡±

    Samuel stared at Viola with an intimidating glare. His first two steps were slow, then quickened.

    ¡°If you touched her I-¡° Just before Sam could reach Viola a hand dug into his collarbone, shoving him back. Roy, startled by the boy¡¯s sudden presence, stared at him with cold focus.

    ¡°The fucking Bjornshite.¡± Samuel repeated in disbelief, ¡°What do you see in this monster?¡±

    Something was churning inside of Roy, bringing with it a nauseating unease. It quickly faded when Samuel opened his mouth.

    ¡°You¡¯ll jump on anyone who¡¯d give you time of day.¡± Samuel scoffed, ¡°But this? Are you really stupid enough to fall for this? He burned me!¡±

    Roy¡¯s brows furrowed, and he felt waves of heat through his arms and legs like a sunburn radiating from the inside out. He saw a shimmer from Samuel¡¯s belt. A short blade formed in the boy¡¯s hand, retched from its scabbard. A finger lined its spine.

    ¡°I¡¯m not letting you have your way without a fair fight.¡± Samuel growled. He held out his arm, covered in bandages. He winced when he straightened his wrist, ¡°Cowards use magic.¡±

    Roy took a step, but Viola grabbed his arm. Heat rolled out of his skin like sun-touched metal. She relented for a moment, reaching for the cloth at his waist instead.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± She said. Roy locked eyes with Samuel. Roy¡¯s eyes darted to the side as he heard more noises.

    Steps in the grass. Branches bending but not snapping. The small waves at the lakeside were noticeably quieter. The acrid scent of pus and rot.

    Hissing.

    ¡°Look at you defending her. Is that what you wanted, Viola? A pet?¡±

    ¡°Sam, shut up.¡± Roy said sternly, his ear to the forest once more.

    Roy smelled the rot in the air again. He turned to Viola .

    ¡°Something¡¯s wrong.¡± Roy whispered.

    ¡°Roy, what are-¡°

    The chittering had become so loud that Roy felt it creeping along the back of his neck.

    ¡°Viola, go!¡± Roy yelled as he saw glowing orbs of light in the trees, following them. A monotonous hiss filled the air like locusts. An ink blotch dashed between the bushes. Roy ran down the icy path, taking Viola by the arm. The ice thickened as they drew closer to Mossglen. Roy felt his grip on Viola slip, and she tumbled to the ground. Reluctantly, Samuel helped Roy lift Viola off the ground. One of her shoes slid off as she stumbled out of the muck.

    A beast the shade of midnight stepped out from the foliage. Viper teeth bared as its wolf-like body skittered down the tree. Scales formed raised hackles on emaciated shoulders.

    Another creature appeared from an outcropping of rocks.

    One crept from the bushes.

    One slinked by a signpost.

    Within seconds, Roy was overwhelmed by the cacophony of hisses and clicks between the four black drakes. Samuel stared at the two, separated by another beast.

    Todesspucker. Sickly yellow eyes followed the vulnerable young girl beside Roy. The boy¡¯s dagger arm faltered; there were too many. He looked over at Samuel, who was the least interesting to the spitters. Roy pulled Viola behind him. Her head dug into his shoulder blades as she tried to hide from the creatures. She was shaking, unable to contain whimpers of terror.

    Samuel¡¯s vision blurred. He huffed, looking between Viola and the monsters. He turned to the village and sprinted down the path away from the Todesspucker¡¯s new victims.

    ¡°Samuel! You fucking coward!¡± Roy screamed. A forked tongue waved like a slime-soaked flag. The Todessspucker bolted to Roy. He raised his boot, smashing it into the creature¡¯s face. A fang broke off and splattered into the mud. The creature wriggled itself upright. The taste of its own blood narrowed its slit eyes. The others watched cautiously, heads lowered.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.    ¡°Roy?¡± Viola called worriedly.

    ¡°The tree behind us.¡± Roy whispered, worried the creatures could hear him, ¡°Climb it.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± Viola shook her head. A serpent lunged at Roy. He backed up, pushing against Viola.

    ¡°You have to.¡± Roy stepped again, nudging Viola towards the trunk. He flexed his left hand, inhaling through his nose. He reached for a small dagger tied to his hip.

    Viola turned. She dug her hands into the tree, leaping towards the nearest branch. Roy roared as a serpent came at him from the left. It jumped, its rear legs ripping into Roy¡¯s thigh. The weight of the beast shoved the boy backward. Fangs honed in on his eyes. Roy screamed like hot coals had been dumped on him, jamming the dagger into the serpent¡¯s neck. The Todesspucker fell away, running off into the trees.

    Viola reached up for the second row of branches. She threw her legs upwards as a spitter clawed at the bark. It snapped like a crocodile, drawing closer to her foot.

    Roy gritted his teeth, trying to think of anything but the red-hot pain that had been driven into his back. Blood flooded his trousers. He could feel it pooling in the soles of his boots. Chunks of bark fell away from the tree like puzzle pieces clattering on a table.

    Viola looked back. Roy¡¯s face was pale, his eyes black voids. Lifting off the ground with a pained yell, he shoved his body against the Todesspucker, pinning it against the tree. It rumbled with a throaty hiss as it threw its claws into Roy¡¯s forearm. Roy took a dagger to its stomach, stabbing it over and over until the beast stopped moving. The creature convulsed in the ice, kicking its legs until it lay dead.

    Roy panted heavily. Steam rose from his mouth. His teeth ached. His chest was about to burst. The blood flowing down his leg ran cold. He hardly noticed the beast¡¯s blue blood staining his hands.

    Minutes of thrashing and screaming shifted as the Todesspucker grew more aggravated by the stubborn prey. Viola she tried to climb up another branch. She wrapped her fingers around the tree, steadied herself, then pulled.

    There was a crack. Viola tumbled to the forest floor. The Todesspucker bolted towards her. Roy grabbed one by the tail and tried to throw it off balance. Instead, the monster was thrown off of its feet. Viola screamed as the other jumped at her, one claw digging into her breast while the other landed on the inside of her hip. She stumbled away, collapsing into the mud. Roy ran to her, tearing the spitter away. His hand erupted into flames. He threw a fist into its jaw. It popped like crushing a seaweed bulb. He straddled Viola, his head lowering just as the creature recovered, its face charred. It stumbled left and right, an eye leaking sizzling white puss as it slumped onto the ground.

    Viola¡¯s face was pale. She groaned, and when Roy looked down, he could see blood pooling in the water around them. Roy¡¯s eyes blurred. He whimpered with each labored breath.

    The trees rustled. The hissing doubled. Spitters appeared out of the woods like termites.

    Roy yelled at the creatures, they flinched, but drew closer. Viola¡¯s eyes started to flicker like a candle nearing its end. Viola lay with her muddied hair surrounding her like a halo, her glimmering eyes becoming unpolished amethyst. Her fearful expression faded into a blank forward stare. The hissing faded away as Roy looked at her ghostly face.

    Roy screamed with every fiber of his being. He ran for the closest beast. He threw a flaming fist into its face. He wanted them to burn. He wanted every drake in the glen crushed beneath him. His throat was singed, his chest tightened, his bones ached, and his eyes burned like salt had been dumped into them.

    An otherworldly flash of light turned night to day in an instant. A thunderous roar echoed through the Mossglen.  The song of sparrows filled the air, their eyes tricked by false daylight. As the light faded into night, their song stopped. Dogs howled. Horses kicked and neighed in their stalls, stomping at the ground. Crows all cried out in the hundreds, soaring away from the incandescent blues and greens that slithered across the sky like serpents.

    Roy writhed on the ground, gripping his stomach tightly. His feet slid against the mud as he tried to pick himself up. Coughing pinned him to the ground. Each breath he took reeked of ash. Roy¡¯s eyes squinted at the ground. His muscles felt like they had been pulled out and torn. The snow had melted. Trees crackled and wasted away, covered in glowing red scars. Pines rang like crystals trapped behind a bark veneer. The mud had dried, leaving soil that crunched beneath Roy¡¯s feet. He powered through the pain that shattered his body, crawling to Viola. Her head was turned away from him, blood stuck her hair together like the bristles of a crimson brush. Roy coughed, gasping between breaths. Soot shot into the roof of his mouth like sand.

    Roy didn¡¯t have the stomach to gaze up at the burned out grove around him. He could hear the absence of life. He could smell the smoky musk of desolation all around him.

    He fell backwards, landing in the dirt. The aurora soon faded, and the rain returned.

 Chapter 15

    Leaves crumbled to dust beneath Roy¡¯s feet as he dashed through the field of ash. His hands burned like stars; his eyes ached as though he had stared at the heavens for hours. His thoughts raced with the hissing of demons; the ripping of flesh scorched his mind. The flames were unberable.

    I did this. The thought repeated over and over.

    Roy screamed away the thoughts, running  into the hollows of burned-out oaks. He stumbled across hills and valleys littered with deer carcases. Birdsongs ended in a smoldering orange note. The clouds made way for a crescent moon that basked Roy in a desolate darkness that crept across the glen. He kept running, hardly able to catch his breath.

    What am I? Roy was desperate for an answer. He didn¡¯t know who he was anymore. The flames erupting from his body were not his.

    A branch caught Roy¡¯s satchel, wrenching it as he tumbled to the ground in agony. His ankle dug beneath a thick root, twisting under his weight as he fell. He wriggled his foot free, but a warm sensation crept from the top of his foot down to his toes. He buried his face in his hands, closing his eyes tightly. Amid his panting, he thought of Viola¡¯s smile near the creek bed, her laughter, the brightness of her eyes cut short by sharp talons.

    No more. Roy thought as he turned onto his stomach, his ankle freeing itself as he sat on his knees. He smashed a fist into the earth, a cloud of ash puffing up into his mouth.

    Please. The thought felt like a prayer. To what, Roy didn¡¯t know. He begged for the pain to stop.

    Roy continued to assault the earth. He halted when the soil glowed before him. A small pool of gold arose from the ash, floating before him like a curious ball of pollen. Roy¡¯s glassy eyes followed the speck, and soon two more rose from the ash. One appeared from the cinders of a pine tree. Soon a field of gold had formed around him.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.    Roy¡¯s bloodied face was streaked with tears, illuminated by the brilliant specks as they drew closer to him. A particularly brave ball floated over to his arm. He reeled back, falling onto his elbow as he held his arm out. It was then he noticed large blackened gashes in his forearm, seeping with disease. He felt around his body, and found two puncture marks in his shoulder. He couldn¡¯t remember where they came from.

    Viola was dead. The forest was in tatters.

    Roy kept his mouth shut, fighting his voice as it cracked and clawed at his lips. His neck strained; his eyes burned. He covered his face with hands soaked in blood and mud.

    Dying alone was an act of mercy for what he had done.

    Roy¡¯s arm ached, but a warmth was seeping in. The ball of light had roosted on his wound like a golden dove. The black rim of Roy¡¯s injury slowly receded, returning to a raw pink color. The creature seeped into his wound. As the poisonous bile faded, so did the little wisp. Blood flowed, but it was cleansed. Roy sniffed as another of the wisps hovered low, settling for three gashes in the boy¡¯s back. Another wisp seeped into his leg. Roy held his wounded left hand out, and another wisp hovered like a wingless bumblebee, taking a few clumsy attempts to land. He had never seen a creature so elegant, yet so intangible.

    Voices echoed through the hellscape. Light could be seen in the distance, held in the hands of men as they swung them in different directions. Their swords cast shadows on the trees as they walked past. Their words were alien, with the only intelligible thing being Anlun¡¯s name.

    Roy crawled into blackened bushes, skittering away from the men. He looked at his hands, feeling the warmth in his palms despite the bitter cold. He groaned as the burning discomfort blossomed in his chest. Roy looked up where the forest canopy once stood. Between the charred fingers of the forest were the horns of Kriedeberg. A blanket of snow was laid over the mountain, illuminated by oceanic moonlight. The Dragonguard sat between the peaks.

    If they couldn¡¯t help him, they could at least contain him.

 Chapter 16

    Viola¡¯s name echoed like a tattered melody, spoken by a cracked voice. Three men walked down the desolated forest path, eyes glancing up at treetops and along dried up creek beds. Birds lay lifeless in the trees, held up by crackling branches. Horns jutted out of the desiccated corpse of a deer, its felted fur reduced to raw meat and seared bone. Flat yellow teeth grimaced as large boiled eyes stared in the direction of the lake. Its body appeared to be trapped mid-hop.

    Arthur called out again, panting. His eyes grew heavy as sunlight began to peek out from the forest like a flame rising from between the ribs of a giant. Samuel couldn¡¯t pull his eyes away from the death that surrounded him.

    ¡°Keep up, son.¡± Klaus said stoically as he squinted at a hostile-looking bush.

    ¡°It was in this direction.¡± Arthur¡¯s breathless voice was shockingly loud amidst the sinister silence of the pines ripped bare, ¡°The trees, they bend away from the explosion.¡±

    ¡°Arthur,¡± Klaus called, but the tired man continued to stumble down the forest path. Samuel had never seen him so disheveled. His shoulders hung low; his back slouched as the weight of even the lightest leather armor weighed him down. A shaking hand rested on a dragon¡¯s-head pommel. Boots began to drag as exhaustion set in.

    ¡°If you keep going like this, we¡¯ll have to carry you back to the village.¡± Klaus urged.

    ¡°If we don¡¯t find Viola, you won¡¯t have to.¡± Arthur took another step. Samuel couldn¡¯t stop staring at the violent trembling of Arthur¡¯s fingers.

    ¡°What about Roy?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯d be together.¡± Arthur said sternly, ¡°He wouldn¡¯t leave her in¡­ this.¡±

    Klaus stopped, holding an arm out to his son. Samuel halted, watching as Arthur slowly disappeared into the darkness.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t we going with?¡± Samuel asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t like this.¡± Klaus shook his head, ¡°Listen. Do you hear it?¡±

    Trees swayed silently, no leaves to sing in their branches.

    The winter arrangement of insects ceased like a dozen bow strings held at the end of an orchestra.

    The birds lost their voices.

    The earth itself dared not speak a word to the travelers treading its skin.

    Samuel had become intimately aware of his own breathing.

    ¡°Arthur!¡± Klaus called out, but the blacksmith was gone. Samuel took a cautious step, but Klaus¡¯ scolding glare kept him from continuing. In the silence of the corpse-ridden conifers, a sour, rotten sound shattered the silence.

    Samuel had never heard anything like it. He could hear the voice tearing apart, a throat being ripped to pieces like stones scraping against the neck of a violin. Klaus sprinted towards the sound, drawing the blade on his hip. Samuel pulled his blade, expecting some creature lurking deeper in the woods.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.The voice shattered, losing all semblance of humanity. Every morsel of air that filled Arthur¡¯s lungs was used to call Viola¡¯s name.

    Arthur¡¯s calloused fingers split the blood-coated hair in his hands. Viola rested lifelessly in his arms. Viola¡¯s body was covered in cuts in gashes. Samuel couldn¡¯t see her face, but he saw a glimpse of her forehead as Arthur pulled her into his chest like a broken doll. Where her back once lay, wet grass remained.

    Klaus approached, his sword dropping into the dirt. He counted the bodies lying around Viola. There were five Todesspucker, the largest pack he had seen in years. Their eyes were boiled, their skin cracked. The thoughtless, hunger-driven beasts lay with their mouths frozen in twisted agony.

    Samuel¡¯s knees sunk into the mud as he pressed his hand into a tree. The bark was still warm to the touch. There was no smell, no ichor of death, but he still felt the need to vomit. One of the Todesspucker looked as though it had been burned by the sun, and then exploded.

    ¡°Arthur.¡± Klaus called quietly. Samuel wasn¡¯t sure if the smith could hear him as he drowned in his sobs. A hand touched his shoulder. Arthur¡¯s skin shrunk away, his elbow shooting towards Klaus, narrowly missing his thigh as he backed away.

    ¡°Arthur.¡± Klaus pleaded, ¡°Look.¡±

    Small, bloodied fingers dug softly into the dirt. Arthur leaned his ear towards her mouth. A breath creaked out. Arthur reached out for Viola¡¯s hand, pulling it away from the soil. His sobbing paused as he tried to listen. He called her name. A small whimper dripped from her lips.

    Arthur lowered her back onto the earth gently. He pulled a knife from his belt, and cut at his tunic. He took off the sleeves, slicing them into strips. He carefully wrapped Viola¡¯s arms and legs. He wiped a stream of blood that drew too close to her eye.

    ¡°Get the healer. There¡¯s time.¡± Arthur said, his shambled voice became eerily clear. Klaus nodded, picking up his sword. Arthur scooped Viola up, grunting as he stood. Her head rolled towards his chest. Klaus used his free hand to carefully tuck Viola¡¯s dangling arm.

    Samuel stared. He couldn¡¯t will his feet to move. His body resembled that of the pines, rigid and still. He swayed towards his father when he called. The sight of the Todesspucker stained his eyelids even when they were closed.

 Chapter 17

    Father Nil¡¯s words were muted by the snow. Flakes fell gingerly onto a wooden post. The grave held no body. Samuel refused to acknowledge the people around him; the innkeeper, the merchants, his father. He felt Arthur¡¯s seething anger throughout the quiet ceremony.

    A defeated, held-back huff sprouted from Arthur. He leaned against the trunk of a maple tree, his body teetering front and back like he was inebriated. The corners of his lips tightened, and his eyes were made of glass. It was anger, but it took a form Samuel had not yet seen.

    Klaus stood midway between Arthur and the new grave. Bark popped and crinkled off the tree as Arthur slid down its trunk, looking out at the lake. As the ceremony slowly drew to a close and people left one by one, Klaus held his son¡¯s shoulder as though he were chaining the boy to the consequences of his actions. He felt the disappointment in his father¡¯s fingertips.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Klaus turned to Arthur. Samuel stared out at the lake, ¡°None of this should¡¯ve happened.¡±

    ¡°Days.¡± Arthur said, ¡°It was days between attacks. It¡¯s getting worse.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t know that.¡± Klaus shook his head, placing a hand on the hilt of his blade, ¡°It was an accident.¡±

    ¡°Klaus, that boy is dead.¡± Arthur waved towards the grave, ¡°How many children have to die before you realize the spitters are out of hand?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m aware of the danger, but finding answers takes time.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me to drink tea and wait. Even the fucking Nizinski did more for their villages than you have!¡± Arthur shook his head, ¡°We¡¯re vulnerable; the todesspucker know that. I warned you of this. Now the Dragonguard¡¯s on it¡¯s way.¡±

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.¡°You told them?¡± Klaus¡¯ brows furrowed.

    ¡°I wrote to them as soon as I brought that man to the church.¡± Arthur scowled, ¡°Right after I comforted his wife. After his death!¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t think to tell me?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll do nothing.¡± Arthur shrugged, ¡°How long until they cross the boundaries into the village? How long until they start crawling through our windows? If I wait on you, more people will die. I won¡¯t watch another child die.¡±

    ¡°That will not happen, Arthur.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit! It¡¯s happened more times than I can count! Your inaction resulted in my daughter getting mauled!¡±

    ¡°What do you expect of me?¡± Klaus threw his hands out, ¡°There¡¯s too many of them for the guard!¡±

    ¡°I expect you to tell Lord Becker! Warn them of these attacks!¡± Arthur said, ¡°How am I going to tell her about this?¡± Arthur pointed at the grave. Klaus stared at the grave. He was silent, but there was no sign of introspection in his cold eyes.

    ¡°Answer me, god dammit!¡± Arthur yelled.

    ¡°Gentlemen, please.¡± The priest approached, ¡°This is not the time for hostility. What¡¯s done is done.¡±

    ¡°Forgive me, father.¡± Arthur blinked. His nose burned. He was met by silence as Nils turned away, walking up the small path towards the church. Arthur waited for Nils to leave before speaking again.

    ¡°Klaus, we¡¯re at the center of something bigger than ourselves.¡± Arthur said, ¡°The lights in the sky? The fire? It was visible for miles.¡±

    ¡°What do we do now?¡±

    ¡°We wait.¡± Arthur said, ¡°Either the Dragonguard will arrive, or another group will take its place.¡±

    ¡°Nizinski?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±

 Chapter 18

    Khafra hummed as he lay on the floor of his room. Drawings were scattered around him. He spoke to himself, muttering incoherent words as he used an ink-dipped reed stick to get his imagination on paper. The moon illuminated his room through a stone window, a lantern lit his parchment. He made the shape of a four-legged creature over and over, stopping when the door creaked open.

    ¡°Khafra, you have a visitor.¡± An attendant called. A man appeared in the doorframe. He wore the casual clothing of a bjornborn; a brown tunic and trousers were accented by a cloak made of bear¡¯s fur. A golden clasp held the cloak together, its once intricate design warped to appear like melted wax.

    ¡°Good Evening, Khafra.¡± Siacus¡¯ voice was that of a caretaker. His tone lifted as he smiled, ¡°I heard you wanted to see me.¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± Khafra smiled excitedly. He stood up, leaving his drawing half-finished, ¡°I want to talk about dragons!¡±

    ¡°Will you need anything else, Khafra?¡± The attendant tried to conceal a smile. It was improper for her to do so in the presence of nobility.

    ¡°No.¡± Khafra looked at the woman, who stepped out of the room. She left Siacus with the boy alone in his room. It was odd that she left a visitor alone with the prince of Khadina. Khafra¡¯s behavior was different from before. His mannerisms were unrefined, his expressions were that of a child.

    ¡°Dragons?¡± Siacus held his hands out, ¡°I¡¯m the perfect person to ask. What do you want to know?¡±

    ¡°I want to talk about the one you fought.¡± Khafra walked over to his bed, climbing into it, ¡°The red one.¡±

    ¡°The red one?¡± Siacus¡¯ brows furrowed, ¡°You mean Telestis?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± Khafra nodded, ¡°you talked about him at dinner.¡±

    ¡°How did you know it was red?¡± Siacus asked. Khafra scanned the wall behind his bed. Drawings were scattered all across his room. Some lay on the nightstand, others surrounded Siacus¡¯ feet. He pointed at a child¡¯s interpretation of a red creature with two wings and four large legs.

    ¡°It sounded red.¡± He said, ¡°I drew him. What was he like? Was he big?¡±

    ¡°Very big.¡± Siacus nodded, ¡°He was the size of a house.¡±

    ¡°Wow.¡± Khafra¡¯s eyes glimmered, ¡°Did he talk?¡±

    ¡°He did.¡± Siacus said, ¡°Though he didn¡¯t say much to me.¡±

    ¡°Do all dragons talk?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know. I haven¡¯t spoken to them all yet.¡±

    ¡°Zemerra can.¡± Khafra said, ¡°He talks to me.¡±

    ¡°What does he say?¡±

    ¡°He tells me secrets.¡± Khafra said.

    ¡°Like what?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t tell you. It¡¯s a secret.¡± Khafra whispered, then leaped off the bed to his drawings. He took his reed stick and continued his most recent masterpiece.

    ¡°You like to draw.¡± Siacus noted, then gazed upon the dozens of pictures on the walls.

    ¡°Father says the priests use these to help people.¡±

    Siacus could see five doglike creatures. One of them had circles for eyes, while the other had black holes. All of them had sharp teeth and spiked backs.

    ¡°This is a dream of yours?¡± Siacus asked, ¡°It looks scary. Do you have a lot of dreams like that?¡±

    Khafra looked up, nodding as his eyes met Siacus¡¯. He looked nervous.

    ¡°You know about dragons.¡± Khafra said, ¡°What are they?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, Khafra.¡± Siacus said, ¡°Can you describe them?¡±

    Khafra looked at the door. It was slightly ajar. Darkness peered from the other side. Siacus noted the boy¡¯s discomfort and slowly closed the door. He sat on the floor across from Khafra.

    ¡°They¡¯re¡­ like dogs.¡± Khafra said, ¡°But they have skin like crocodiles. Black like ink. They had very large teeth. It¡­ hurt.¡±

    ¡°Did they bite you?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Khafra said.

    ¡°They can¡¯t hurt you here.¡± Siacus shook his head, ¡°You¡¯re brave for telling me this. I think I have something that¡¯ll make you feel better.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    Siacus looked around the room, imagining it covered in a blanket of stars. His lips vanished beneath his goatee as he focused. He put his palms together, raising them above his head.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see if I can still do it.¡± He said, then he released his palms. Dozens of little lights spread out like grains of rice, falling like snow upon Khafra¡¯s drawings.

    ¡°Wow!¡± Khafra smiled as the little lights bounced across the floor, then faded.

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s not what I meant to do.¡± Siacus chuckled, ¡°I¡¯ll try something smaller.¡±

    Siacus repeated the hand motion. This time, a stunning array of colors were weaved between his fingers like a woman¡¯s veil. Blue and purple weaved together, shifting into green and gold. Khafra was so entranced that he seemed to have recovered from his fear.

    ¡°I could make animals.¡± Siacus smiled, ¡°Maybe I can still do birds?¡±

    His arms flexed as he willed the small ribbons of light into a familiar form. Tendrils turned into wings, then a beak, and soon a spectral sparrow appeared. It fluttered around the room silently, soaring around the boy¡¯s drawings. It illuminated the walls as it passed by. Siacus started to feel the strain on his body. He quickly hastened the bird¡¯s return to him, and he caught it in his palm to maintain the illusion of control. He opened his empty palms. Khafra was ecstatic.

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.¡°How?¡± Khafra asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s magic.¡± Siacus said, ¡°I learned it many years ago. I wanted to show my children stories.¡±

    ¡°Can you tell me one?¡± Khafra asked, ¡°I want to watch.¡±

    ¡°I have one about dragons.¡± Siacus said. He didn¡¯t even wait for an answer. Khafra could barely sit still.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you the tale of Anlun and Noxwiin.¡± Siacus closed his eyes. He wanted to decimate Khafra¡¯s expectations. He inhaled, preparing the story. He exhaled as lights streamed from his body. A rotting dragon flapped it¡¯s wings, emerging from Siacus¡¯ back. Stars appeared in the room.

    ¡°Long ago, the dragons ruled the skies. They did not care for man, instead they caused us great harm. We built cities within the bowels of the earth to protect us from their evil. From the eastern shores of Khadina to the highlands of Gairm, the shattered cities lied deep beneath the very earth we walk today. It was in one of these great cities that Anlun was born.¡±

    Siacus conjured large stone columns out of light. When they vanished, he revealed a man covered from head to toe in golden armor. His winged helmet looked up at the dragon flying above their heads. A cross-shaped visor glared at the beast as the man raised his blade.

    ¡°Anlun wished for an end to his people¡¯s suffering. An artifact of incredible power was created, gifting Anlun with abilities that only the dragons could wield. He used his new power to fight Noxwiin, a great darkness that held dominion over all Dragonkind. He locked Noxwiin away, banishing him from our realm.

    ¡°Alas, The power was too great for Anlun. Shortly after his victory, Anlun transformed into pure magic. We no longer lived beneath the earth, and we were free to build kingdoms that touched the sky.¡±

    ¡°Does Luhan like dragons?¡±

    Anlun faded into a shower of sparks. Noxwiin nosedived into the floor with a shimmering splash.

    ¡°Who told you that name?¡± Siacus asked, his smile faded. The happy wrinkles of his eyes vanished.

    ¡°The healer.¡± Khafra answered, ¡°She told me.¡±

    ¡°The one that helped your mother?¡±

    Khafra hummed with affirmation.

    Siacus was right. It was Aveline.

    ¡°Mother!¡± Khafra¡¯s excited voice broke Siacus¡¯ trance. Khafra wrapped his arms around his mother¡¯s waist. The fabric sunk in further than Siacus had expected. The Queen looked at Khafra. The boy listened to unspoken words.

    ¡°But I wanted to go¡­¡± Khafra¡¯s mouth lowered, his eyes watering. He looked at Siacus.

    ¡°I must go to bed. Mother will take you to your quarters.¡± Khafra whimpered as he released his grip on the queen¡¯s cloak, crawling onto his bed.

    The carved faces of nobles stared as Siacus walked down the hall. The Queen¡¯s footsteps were eerily silent compared to the muffled click of Siacus¡¯ boot heels.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for keeping your son up so late. He wanted me to tell him a story.¡± Siacus said, knowing the queen couldn¡¯t respond, ¡°He¡¯s astute. You must be proud of him.¡±

    The Queen exhaled. It sounded like relief mixed with pride. Words did not come to her, but she found other ways to speak. Siacus had to say something; thoughts of Luhan made his chest feel heavy.

    ¡°You need not worry about me, my lady.¡± Siacus said, ¡°I can find my way back.¡±

    The Queen turned two corners into the guest hall. Siacus recognized the door as his room, but before he could reach for the handle something was slid into his fingertips. He looked down, the queen¡¯s hand stretched beyond the sanctuary of her sleeves. Her fingers were gaunt. The skin looked like dried meat. Siacus didn¡¯t look at the object until he entered his room, closing the door tightly behind him. The Queen¡¯s hand remained outstretched, slowly lowering like a branch weighed down by snow.

    Siacus unraveled the note. He was surprised to see the Gairman script carefully laid out on the parchment. Every letter was painstakingly scratched out with a shaky hand. As Siacus took in the words his eyes started to darken. Concern wrapped him in a cold veil. Upon finishing the letter he looked up, staring at the wall. He sat for an hour. He looked at the tiny flame dancing from an oil lamp. He raised the corner of the letter towards the flame, and stared as the orange glow crept upon the words like cancer.

 Chapter 19

    The canter of three horses slowed to a trot as Volk and his men rode into Mossglen. They passed the market, heading for the temple by the lake. A priest appeared from its sacred walls, signaling the men with a raised hand. Their horses headed for the small path to the temple¡¯s outer fence.

    Volk released the reins of his horse, placing his left hand on its neck. The priest looked up at the man, shielding his eyes from the setting sun. The mare had a wavy black mane that had been meticulously brushed away from the eyes.

    ¡°Bravo, Grav.¡± Volk smiled. When he dismounted the priest noticed his right arm was missing. Volk continued to speak with a soft, caring tone, but it was in a language alien to the priest. He reached into one of the saddle bags, pulling out a small apple. He placed it into his mouth, chewing off a large chunk before placing the apple onto his shoulder. He used his cheek to hold it in place as he removed the chunk from his mouth, giving it to Grav. One of his men approached, holding a hand towards the apple. Volk shook his head, grabbing the apple and taking a bite for himself. He swallowed before speaking to the priest who had just crossed the fenced church grounds. His accent was light, but resembled pirinia blooming in the fields of the northern lowlands.

    ¡°I am Ser Volk, Seeker of the Dragonguard.¡± He said, stepping towards Nils.

    ¡°I am Father Nils, you stand before my sanctuary. I take it you saw the blast from Nizini?¡±

    "Blast? What-¡± Volk was interrupted by Grav swinging her jaw into his shoulder, ¡°What blast?¡±

    "Happened last night. A girl was hurt; she¡¯s in the church house."

    ¡°I knew nothing of this.¡± Volk said, ¡°May I see her?¡±

    ¡°I doubt she¡¯ll be able to speak in her condition. We had to leech venom from her body, she¡¯s still recovering from the effort.¡± The priest stepped towards the temple. Volk followed, as did his men. When he crossed the threshold he put a hand at the base of his neck, bowing slightly. His men did not share in this small act of reverence.

    ¡°We have balms for her cuts and yarrow for the pain.¡± The priest replied, ¡°Her father is watching over her.¡±

    Volk turned to his men. A small wave of the hand kept them in the sanctuary as Volk followed the priest to the private rooms. He knocked on one of the doors, quietly opening it when he heard Arthur¡¯s voice on the other side. The powerful scent of herbs came over the men as Nils opened the door.

    ¡°Arthur,¡± The priest called, ¡°You have a visitor.¡±

    The smith rested on the chair in the bed chamber, his head in his hands. Upon hearing his name, Arthur slowly looked up, spotting Volk and the men behind him. They wore black tabards bearing the silver dragon, but small accents that gave insight to the men¡¯s origins. A Khadinan had a small sporran with a snakelike creature burned into the leather. The Alostian wore tartan trousers that peeked where the tabard ended and his boots began. A pendant bearing the silver blood of Anlun was tied to Volk¡¯s right side, its leather cord interwoven with hemp. It was dainty, likely worn by a woman. Above it, layers of plate mail lined his ribs, and scale covered the stump his arm once sprouted from.

    ¡°I know what you¡¯re here for, seeker.¡± Arthur said.

    ¡°You know what I am.¡± Volk¡¯s voice lifted.

    ¡°I do.¡± Arthur stood up, facing the man as the priest quietly stepped away, ¡°I wrote a letter to the Dragonguard a few days back. I assume you¡¯re here for the todesspucker.¡±

    Grief bled from Arthur¡¯s eyes like resin from freshly cut cedar.

    ¡°My priorities have changed for the moment.¡± Volk spotted Viola laying in bed. Her breaths were surprisingly strong for how battered her body was, ¡°The todesspucker did this?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I¡¯ll tell you what I know, but¡­ not here. She needs rest.¡± Arthur said. He adjusted Viola¡¯s covers, speaking softly to her before leaving the room. The door shut with a defeated groan.

    ¡°There was an explosion. Big sweeping lights. They hovered in the air like smoke.¡± Arthur began, barely leaving time for Volk to speak.

    ¡°The spitters were just charred corpses when we got there. Some of them had knife wounds in the head and chest. It looked like¡­¡± Arthur strained, trying to think of anything remotely comparable. There was nothing else like it, ¡°They were spit-roasted. We found Roy¡¯s dagger and signs of struggle in the trees.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re attacking out of season.¡± Volk said, ¡°Scarcity makes them bold. Likely not enough deer.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to talk around the porridge with you.¡± Arthur said, ¡°The todesspucker here behave unlike anything I¡¯ve seen. They¡¯re almost maddened.¡±

    ¡°You mentioned Roy. Was he a friend?¡±

    ¡°He was a new apprentice of mine. He was with Viola when-¡± Arthur inhaled, blowing air between his lips, ¡°We couldn¡¯t search for him. Viola was dying, if we lingered she wouldn¡¯t make it.¡±

    ¡°I understand, as terrible as it is.¡± Volk said, ¡°Had it been my daughter I would do the same. This boy; what does he look like?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s roughly chest height to me. Dark hair, greenish-brown eyes.¡±

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.      ¡°Prior history of magic?¡± Volk stepped towards a fire sparked within the temple hearth. He pulled his glove off with his teeth, shoving it into his coat.

    ¡°No.¡± Arthur said.

    ¡°How old is he?¡±

    ¡°Fourteen, I think.¡±

    ¡°You think?¡± Volk¡¯s brows furrowed.

    ¡°Orphan. Nothing else to go on.¡± Arthur said, ¡°Three of you won¡¯t be enough. There are whole packs of spitters in the forest. They¡¯ll ambush you.¡±

    ¡°I can find their nest. Keldengen would have forces to destroy them for good.¡± Volk said.

    ¡°Look, it isn¡¯t much.¡± Arthur fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a few sterna, ¡°You find a solution, you end years of despair. Get something to eat.¡± He held the coins up to Volk. He refused with the wave of a hand.

    ¡°I need to speak with the guard captain. Do you know where he is?¡±

    ¡°His home is on the other side of town where the creek splits off.¡± Arthur said, ¡°I haven¡¯t seen him in a couple of days.¡±

    <hr>

    The stone steps peeked from the snow. Boot prints led up to the door and stopped beyond the threshold, then looped around the home. Volk followed the path, walking past coop full of quiet chickens. Beneath the cover of a goat shelter he spotted a single black boot attached to a snoring lump. One of the goats laid at his feet, ears pointed forward as its eyes spotted the stranger.

    ¡°Captain!¡± Volk called, his voice commanding knightly authority. Klaus did not respond. Volk called again, but it was to no avail. A rustling peeped out of the window of his home. Volk spotted a pale blur behind the glass. The door opened, and Samuel approached him. His hand rubbed against droopy eyes as he spotted a lean figure standing over Klaus.

    ¡°Hello.¡± Volk said, turning to face the boy, ¡°Is this your father?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. You can¡¯t wake him up.¡± Samuel groaned, ¡°He¡¯s drunk.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see about that.¡± Volk said. He left the homestead, snatching a bucket from a hook on the fence. Samuel stared at his father¡¯s boot as it peeked between snow-covered hay. Volk walked up to a well sitting between a cluster of houses. He filled the bucket, then returned to Klaus.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Samuel asked, ¡°Who are you?¡±

    ¡°Captain!¡± Volk shouted, lightly tapping the goat¡¯s rear end with the toe of his boot. The goat hopped away as water cascaded over Klaus¡¯ legs. The captain gasped, jolting up as he cursed.

    ¡°God dammit, damn you! What? What do you want?¡± Klaus blinked, rubbing his eyes as the morning light trickled into the glen.

    ¡°I need your help investigating the attack.¡± Volk said, ¡°You know where the explosion was. You¡¯re taking me there.¡±

    ¡°Fuck, I¡¯m spinnen¡­¡± Klaus groaned. His words were slurred.

    ¡°Come on, up.¡± Volk ordered. He grabbed a shovel and began poking at Klaus¡¯ thigh.

    Klaus stumbled, using the goat shelter as leverage. He swatted the shovel away.

    ¡°Fuck off.¡±

    ¡°I come here seeking help and you¡¯re drunk as a mother.¡± Volk huffed, ¡°How are you supposed to help your village this way?¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t.¡± Klaus¡¯ head swayed, ¡°Leave me be.¡±

    ¡°I have questions.¡± Volk threw the shovel onto the ground. Klaus repeated Volk¡¯s speech, mimicking his accent.

    ¡°You talk like a lowlander. You Nizinski?¡±

    ¡°Very observant.¡± Volk said, ¡°How long have these attacks been happening?¡±

    ¡°First we get Bjornshites now we got a god damn-¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re being ugly.¡± Volk¡¯s voice raised, then lowered softly, ¡°I don¡¯t tolerate ugly people.¡±

    ¡°Then get out of my sight!¡±

    ¡°Do you want to save lives or not?¡± Volk said, ¡°I can not rid you of the todesspucker if I don¡¯t know where they are. Surely the village reports sightings to you?¡±

    ¡°What? A man of the Dragonguard can¡¯t follow a fucking burn scar?¡±

    ¡°Captain, children were hurt. I do not have time for this dishonorable display.¡±

    Klaus shot up stepping up to Volk with anger in his eyes, his knuckles clenched, ¡°You dare question my honor in my home?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not in your home.¡± Volk said, ¡°Oh, my mistake. This must be a Gairman home. Is this your bedchamber? Did I wake your wife?¡±

    Samuel gasped as Klaus¡¯ balled fist flew upwards. Volk caught Klaus¡¯ forearm with his left hand, pulling the drunkard hard enough to stagger him. Klaus stubbornly slumped against the side of the house, panting.

    ¡°Don¡¯t do that.¡± Volk said.

    ¡°What? Dragonguard running out of good men? They had to send a cripple to help us?¡± Klaus spat.

    ¡°I¡¯m willing to save a village from a pack of wild beasts. Be a man and defend your people. Don¡¯t just sit here reeking of piss while a cripple does your job for you.¡± Volk waved his hand, turning towards Sam. He was moments away from stepping out of the goat pen when a voice gurgled.

    ¡°You¡¯re not leaving.¡± Klaus leaned into the wall. He blinked heavily, heaving.

    ¡°Good idea, spew and sober up.¡± Volk said, ¡°We¡¯re leaving from the temple tomorrow morning. Like it or not, you¡¯re coming with us.¡±

    ¡°And if I don¡¯t?¡± Klaus spat again. He shook his hand as Volk reached for the shovel, trying to avoid the seeker¡¯s wrath. Volk¡¯s boots crunched into the snow as he walked away.

 Chapter 20

    Volk lowered his arm as he rested upon his steed. The road stretched on through the snowy glen, dancing between trees like a sewing needle gliding between an widow¡¯s fingers. Hot steam left Volk¡¯s lips as he adjusted his coat, reaching into the fur interior. He pulled out a small vial, uncorking the top as he threw a thick liquid into the back of his throat. It had a burn similar to alcohol, with a soft metallic taste to it.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think there were any villages this far north. Not in Gairm, anyway.¡± One of Volk¡¯s men, a Khadinan, peeped above the silence of the snow, ¡°How close are we to the border?¡±

    ¡°Not far. Trska is just beyond the ridge.¡± Klaus interjected.

    Volk felt the need to correct Klaus¡¯ pronunciation, but he thought it inappropriate. He continued to pet his horse when her hooves dug into the earth. She stood silently, eyes like glass. Her body was still. Volk held his tongue, looking into the forest. A small woah was all he could do to try to calm her. Volk¡¯s men immediately stopped, looking into the treetops.

    The respect Volk had for his steed was palpable. He spoke softly as a father would reading to his child. Grav was normally a quiet, peaceful horse. Not once had she bucked him off. She didn¡¯t bite nor did she kick. She was an angel in equine form.

    Grav started to huff. She stepped with one hoof, her eyes glancing side to side exposing the whites of her eyes. Petting wouldn¡¯t calm her. Volk leaped from Grav¡¯s back, throwing his legs over first. He held onto the saddle with his left arm. Volk pulled his sword from the scabbard tied to the saddle, looking into the snow for any sign of life. His men dismounted. Their horses started to fidget and paw at the ground nervously.

    The forest was grinding. It was like teeth raking against bark. A slobbering, hissing sound gurgled nearby. Volk stepped away from his horse, walking down the road. He looked down a small hill, and between the trees growled a lone drake. The spines on its back flexed up and down erratically, its head shaking as it smashed its body against the trees. Its yellow eyes were sick with madness. Tears ran down its snout as drool formed puddles beneath its feet. Volk crept up to a nearby pine, crouching down behind it. The drake started to dig its claws into the snow, shoveling at the dirt beneath. It scooped up leaves and branches with its mouth. It stopped, craning its neck up towards the heavens. It panted, forked tongue protruding from between its fangs. It ran into the forest, stumbling its way between the trees.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with it?¡± Volk¡¯s Alostian soldier asked, kneeling beside his superior as the drake disappeared. He lifted himself as he returned to his horse. There was no answer that would satisfy the man¡¯s question.

    ¡°The explosion happened over there.¡± Klaus pointed, ¡°Maybe that¡¯s what¡¯s got it acting up.¡±

    The impact area was massive. Trees were charred and bent backward from the blast. The bodies of the Todesspucker were beginning to fester and rot, their corpses inedible to most wildlife.

    ¡°By Anlun¡­¡± The Alostian knelt, inspecting one of the corpses. It reeked of smoke. Liquid poured out of its eye sockets, leaving behind burned sinew and exposed bone. Its tongue appeared to bloat before bursting from the heat. One of the beasts was cut open, while the other was stabbed dozens of times and laid up against a tree.

    ¡°That¡¯s where we found her.¡± Klaus said. Volk followed the captain¡¯s arm.

    A patch of grass sat at the epicenter, finger marks burrowed into the dirt and left clumps nearby. Footprints led away from the verdant bed. The tree directly above the patch was untouched by flame and stood tall among it¡¯s crooked brethren. Green needles still clung to its branches.

    Bootprints wandered away from the grass, sliding around in the mud. Volkov stood up and followed the trail. Hand prints appeared after a particularly nasty fall. Volk entered the tree line and stumbled upon smatterings of blood on the bark.

    Volk planted his foot into the soil, but it fell into a charred void where tree roots once sat. He reached out for one of the trunks. He slid downwards, his rear crunching into dry branches.

    ¡°I¡¯m alright!¡± Volk called out as his men called him.

    He traveled further into the forest. The charred remnants of the explosion soon fell away to a skeletal blanket of shrubbery. He could feel thorn bushes dragging against his pants as he walked. The boots became harder to follow as ash layers thickened.

    There was an odd-looking object in the path. Volk reached down, pulling up the straps of a ripped satchel. Its contents spilled out into the forest floor. He scooped up the items, spotting a deep hole where the boy had fallen again. There was blood and soot mixed into the mud.

    ¡°Ser! Men approaching!¡± The Khadinan called out, ¡°Nizinski colors!¡±

    Volk sighed, turning back towards the epicenter of the blast. He could hear hooves traveling through the trees, though he couldn¡¯t pinpoint from where until he spotted four men riding from the north. Volk returned to his men just as three armored knights appeared, watching the Dragonguard through small horizontal slits in their helmets.

    ¡°Well armed for guards.¡± Klaus said, ¡°Is that what they all look like?¡±

    ¡°Those aren¡¯t guards.¡± Volk said, ¡°Those are The Zlatni. The Gold Ones. Let me talk to them.¡±

    As the Zlatni approached, the embroidery of their blue gambesons gave insight into individual achievements. Volk recognized a few. He spoke to the Zlatni, his words unintelligible to Klaus and the others.

    ¡°Anlun¡¯s blessings.¡± Volk said, ¡°You seek answers?¡±

    One of the Zlatni took charge. His eyes were obscured, but Volk knew he was looking at the pendant tied beneath his shoulder. He was being studied, likely in an attempt to discern whether he was friend or foe.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.     ¡°May his radiance light your way.¡± The Zlatni said, ¡°we seek the mage responsible for this. He is a threat to Anlun¡¯s faithful in Trska.¡±

    ¡°How do you know of this?¡±

    ¡°Men from Trska spotted a boy running away from the blast area.¡±

    ¡°When was this?¡±

    ¡°Last night.¡± The Zlatni said, ¡°You sound surprised.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m investigating the aftermath of a Todesspucker attack.¡± Volk looked at Klaus, then back, ¡°I was told he was dead.¡±

    ¡°We must find him.¡±

    ¡°Agreed. You are free to join us, but I cannot allow you to take him.¡±

    ¡°You defy one of Anlun¡¯s chosen?¡±

    ¡°I am Dragonguard. If he is a Gairman mage, he must come with me by law.¡±

    ¡°This boy is dangerous, he must be taken to the citadel.¡±

    ¡°You would punish an innocent boy? He has been given the blessing of the Zlatni ?uvar. Spare him, and I will ensure he finds his way.¡±

    ¡°Zlatni ?uvar¡­ You speak not as Dragonguard, but as a brother. Who is your commander?¡±

    ¡°Siacus O¡¯Mathuna.¡± Volk said, ¡°Lord of Kriedeberg, I am his seeker.¡±

    The Zlatni leader¡¯s helmet lowered in thought. It raised, scanning each of the men in Volk¡¯s party.A

    ¡°The boy was seen heading south, towards the twin sisters.¡± The Zlatni pointed to Kriedeberg, ¡°My brothers are at the border. They are culling drakes near Trska. I should return to them.¡±

    ¡°Peace to you. I wish you luck on your hunt.¡±

    ¡°And to you, Dragonguard.¡±

    The Zlatni held up his hand, signaling his men to follow as his horse turned away from Volk. Without another word, the knights made their way back to Trska.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe a fourteen year old did this.¡± Klaus shook his head, ¡°My son¡¯s that age. To think that he- Sam couldn¡¯t do this, right?¡±

    ¡°I doubt Sam would have any abilities of his own. You have shown no affinity for magic. Roy is different.¡± Volk said.

    ¡°What did you find?¡± The Khadinan glanced at Volk¡¯s bulging pouch.

    ¡°Roy had a journal with him.¡± Volk raised his hand, revealing a leather-bound tome covered in snow and mud. We should head back. This may have more answers.¡±

    ¡°What about the Todesspucker?¡± Klaus said, ¡°You seem more focused on Roy than the drakes. Why is he so important? He¡¯s dead!¡±

    ¡°You never found his body. If he¡¯s alive with powers that can wipe out a forest, he can¡¯t roam free.¡± Volk said, ¡°He may be more dangerous than the Todesspucker. I will send word to Lord Becker, and request more guards for Mossglen. That should give you the strength you need to face them on your own.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re leaving us?¡±

    ¡°If this happens again, Nizini will send more knights. I¡¯m trying to avoid a conflict.¡± Volk said.

    ¡°Fine.¡± Klaus waved his hand, ¡°This was a waste of time.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Volk raised the journal, ¡°This is exactly what I need.¡±

    ¡­

    Volk shuffled through his pack, reaching for a vial. He lifted the lid with his thumb, pouring its contents into his mouth, a bit of red staining the corner of his lip. A feeling of calm washed over him as the warmth cascaded down his throat. It was like a breath of fresh air after being trapped under a thick blanket.

    A wet notebook sat open at the lip of the fireplace. Arthur approached the seeker. He wore a deep blue tunic and pants unlike what he wore upon his arrival. He inspected items in the satchel, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary until he felt fuzz on the bottom of the pack. He pulled it out, revealing a patch of thick brown fur. A musty smell lingered off of it. It was torn and warped.

    ¡°I found the burn scar.¡± Volk said, as he felt Arthur¡¯s presence behind him, ¡°I saw what happened to the Todesspucker.¡±

    ¡°Did you find Roy?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Volk reached over, tapping the book¡¯s surface. After hours of warmth, it had finally started to bounce back from the elements. Volk pulled the book away from the fire, resting its spine on his lap. Volk had hoped the notebook would hold clues. Instead, it housed a zoo of different plants and animals. Kriedeberg appeared, then streams and rivers. Arthur looked over the seeker¡¯s shoulder. The man appeared enamored with the drawings.

    ¡°These are good,¡± Volk said, ¡°he doesn¡¯t write. That¡¯s a shame.¡±

    ¡°Seeker? What did you find?¡±

    ¡°The explosion may have been the result of latent pyromancy.¡± Volk flipped to the back, noticing a page had been torn clean. His thumb loosened, releasing the previous page, ¡°It attracted the Zlatni.¡±

    ¡°Were they hostile?¡±

    ¡°Hostile?¡± Volk said, ¡°They wish to take the boy to the Citadel. These are¡­ not the Zlatni I know.¡±

    ¡°The citadel?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s where they send mages and the inhuman. If that boy is alive, the Zlatni will take him there.¡±

    ¡°What do we do now?¡±

    ¡°I will return to Kriedeberg. Once I send word to Keldengen, you will have soldiers to destroy the nests.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Volk.¡± Arthur said. There was a tinge of disappointment in his voice, ¡°Perhaps lord Becker will listen if the Dragonguard is concerned.¡±

    ¡°I only hope that help comes in time.¡± Volk said, ¡°I would hate to hear of another attack.¡±

    ¡°I wish you luck in your search.¡± Arthur said, ¡°I¡¯ll gather the information I have for the guard. Keep his satchel; If you find Roy, he¡¯ll want his things back.¡±

    Arthur stepped away from the seeker as he leafed through the notebook. He looked for anything of note in the boy¡¯s drawings; words, names, places.

    Volk spotted the boy¡¯s name. A man appeared beneath it. Focused eyes were set in a rounded face. A goatee enveloped his lips. His nose maintained a perfect diagonal line as it rounded off towards the bottom. Volkov closed the notebook, putting it down to free up his only hand. He put his elbow on his knee and rubbed his jaw.

    He recognized the man in the drawing.

    <hr>

    End of Part One

 Part II: Chapter 21

    There was no mistaking the mystifying aura of Sonnenflamme. It stood proudly by its owner; its ornate axe head was accompanied by a hook resembling the tail of a hummingbird. The spear tip stopped shorter than most halberds, taking the form of a soaring wing.

    Evelyn stood before a great crevasse, breath steaming in front of her. She was kept warm by a red gambeson. Black patches had been sewn in as the piece endured each battle. Gold-lined gauntlets adorned her wrists, and a matching pair of greaves accompanied them. She stood a hair''s breadth away from the edge of the abyss, eyes closed as sunlit hair flowed in the frigid breeze like feathers fluttering out of an empty nest.

    ¡°Lady Evelyn!¡± Ziva shouted, panting as she climbed halfway up a steep slope, ¡°Come quickly! It¡¯s urgent!¡±

    Evelyn was pulled from bittersweet ruminations, the abruptness akin to holding a child¡¯s hand only for them to pull away sharply. She inhaled, sighed deeply, and turned to see what Ziva had found.

    Silent sapphires peered down a steep decline. A body lay half-buried in soft powder. Snow melted on his tunic like crystalline butterflies landing for the last time. His walnut hair shimmered with a light brown in just the right light. Intense shivering wracked his body, his breaths cut down the moment they took root in his lungs.

    Ziva slid back down, kneeling beside the boy. She scooped snow away from his arms and legs. Evelyn felt her chest shudder.

    Another boy lost to the mountain. She thought.

    ¡°He¡¯s alive.¡± Ziva held her ear to the boy¡¯s chest. His tunic was soaked, ¡°Barely breathing.¡±

    Surprise glimmered across Evelyn¡¯s face, followed by a wash of relief. She leaned her halberd against a tree, sliding down the steep grade with her heels. Ziva dug through blood-soaked ice, scooping it off the boy¡¯s limbs. His hands had turned red. One of his legs was bent higher than the other. Evelyn unbuttoned her gambeson, shuddering as the cold ran into her linen shirt. The warmth slowly crept out of her arms as though the very earth was willing it from her. She tapped into a will of her own, restoring warmth to her pale skin.

    Evelyn touched the boy¡¯s blood-soaked cheek. He leaned in on instinct, lured by the warmth of her hand. He smelled of smoke, but there was no sign of a fire anywhere. She wrapped the gambeson around the boy, tucking his arms into the fur-coated interior. Roy groaned as her hand grazed the slash on his back. He could feel his flayed skin shift.

    Piercing eyes of emerald rust were set methodically in a light sienna face. Brown flecks danced across soft cheeks. The boy¡¯s gaze met Evelyn¡¯s, unable to fathom the wintery world around them. Evelyn¡¯s lips parted, but she halted her tongue the moment it pressed against the back of her teeth. A name came to her, and for a moment she was no longer puppeteered by sheer instinct. She tried to check the boy¡¯s belongings. He had very little. Every time her fingers grazed his cold, bloodied skin it upset her deeply. He didn¡¯t even react.

    Evelyn¡¯s concerned expression intensified, her face drawing closer as she unfastened her scarf to cover his head.

    It was expected that the mountain would try to sap his heat away, but the boy sank into the snow like a hot stone. Evelyn pulled his shoulders onto her knees. His head fell limply against her stomach, his lips mouthing words that made little sense.

    ¡°There¡¯s no one else out here.¡± Ziva said as she checked the boy¡¯s injuries. Cuts and scrapes covered his face and neck. There were gashes in groups of three on each arm. Evelyn inspected the boy¡¯s hands. A long cut lined up with the middle joints on each finger. Soot mixed with blood sat in the crevices of his palm.

    ¡°I can warm him.¡± Evelyn sighed, ¡°But he¡¯ll get feeling back.¡±

    ¡°Do it.¡± Ziva puffed out steamy air, ¡°Better he be in pain than dead.¡±

    Evelyn¡¯s eyes dimmed, but she knew Ziva was right. She closed her eyes, inhaling the bitter air. Her breath steamed, vanishing as the snow around her melted away. Ziva could feel a light warmth radiating from her like a campfire. Roy stirred, startled as warmth resonated inside the gambeson. It was like being dropped into a warm bath. He groaned weakly as feeling returned to his limbs. Pins and needles cascaded down his limbs like marbles rolling down stairs. As pain returned Evelyn could hear small pained whimpers ebbing from the boy¡¯s mouth. She reached for the boy¡¯s hand, gripping it softly. The boy¡¯s palm fidgeted, his fingers shaking from the pain.

    There was an unmistakable scent of citrus and muted pine. When Roy focused on it, his eyes grew heavy. Evelyn¡¯s shoulders dropped as Roy¡¯s breaths lengthened. The shivering slowed, but she could hear the pain in his throat.

    ¡°How long has he been out here?¡± Evelyn asked, slowly lifting the boy off the ground. She sat on her knees, resting the boy¡¯s head on her thighs.

    ¡°I have no idea!¡± Ziva sighed, ¡°We need to get him off the mountain.¡±

    Evelyn leaned into the boy¡¯s chest in an attempt to pick him up. Ziva watched her stumble and came to assist. They slowly returned to the path they walked moments before. Nestled at the edge was a carriage full of supplies. Barrels of mead accompanied sacks of wheat and rice.

    Evelyn and Ziva carefully pulled the boy up the hill, their boots slipping in the ice. Once they reached the top Ziva checked on the boy. The two women rested Roy on the road as they cleared space from the wagon. Evelyn laid out the sacks in a row, and with Ziva¡¯s help she hoisted the boy on top of them. The boy winced as his leg dragged against the wooden lip of the wagon. Ziva quickly picked it up as Evelyn leaped into the carriage and pulled him inside.

    Evelyn returned to the tree by the path and took the shaft of her halberd, resting it on her right shoulder.

    ¡°It looks like he came from Ripen.¡± Ziva stared down the mountainside at a series of smokestacks. She climbed the side of the wagon, sitting at the reins.

    ¡°A local wouldn¡¯t dress like this.¡± Evelyn argued, staring at the boy¡¯s patchwork of clothing. It barely covered his arms. ¡°Where¡¯s his coat?¡±

    ¡°We need to get him to the fortress. Poor boy¡¯s exhausted.¡± Ziva said, clicking at the horse. The sudden shift pulled a weak groan from the boy¡¯s lips as the wagon slowly climbed the pass back to Kriedeberg Fortress.

    <hr>

    The fortress was dug into the treacherous mountainside, its tallest tower mirroring the height of the nearest peak. Not a touch of moss nor mold grew upon its stunning fa?ade. Guards peeked over the battlements, noting the dragonguard crest on the carriage. Ziva sat on the bench, waving her hands at the guards.

    ¡°Open the gate! We have wounded!¡± Ziva yelled, her voice booming up the mountainside. A large drawbridge dropped to cover a crevasse bordering the Dragonguard¡¯s sanctum. Evelyn looked up at the battlements as the wagon passed through the gate. Roy stirred as the shadow of the arch crept across his face.

    ¡°Where do you want him?¡± Ziva steered the wagon up a small incline.

    ¡°We¡¯ll take him to my chambers.¡±

    ¡°Not the infirmary?¡± Ziva asked, confused. This wasn¡¯t the normal course of action.

    ¡°No. I can keep a closer eye on him there.¡± Evelyn waved away the thought. Her face was pale like Edelweiss, her head regularly turning to the boy. She felt he would disappear if she didn¡¯t keep her eyes on him. Members of Evelyn¡¯s honor guard stood watch at the great hall. They spotted Ziva first, then Evelyn. They were moved into action by the sight of a snow sodden boy covered in blood. The moment the wagon halted the men approached the back of the wagon, the visors of their helmets craned up at Evelyn. The lady pointed at the great hall, commanding her men with a single gesture.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    ¡°Please, he needs help.¡± Evelyn said, ¡°To my chambers.¡±

    <hr>

    Evelyn approached the great hall with urgency, stepping directly past the Dragonguard throne. She bounded up a flight of stairs on the right, and the men quickly followed suit. When she arrived in her quarters she pointed at the fireplace. Cinders erupted from her fingertips as a blast of heat caused a pile of logs to burst into flame.

    A lump had formed on Evelyn¡¯s bed, rising and falling intermittently. Evelyn pulled the blanket back from her bed, revealing a gargantuan creature slumbering beneath them.

    ¡°Gro?.¡± She called, but the beast grunted, snorting as its head raised onto the pillow. She reached for the beast¡¯s neck, rubbing it until Gro?¡¯ massive head lifted. His tail wagged, moving the blanket like a napkin.

    ¡°Move!¡± She demanded, trying to push the pile of fur and drool onto the other side of the bed. Evelyn¡¯s feet slid back against the wooden floor.

    ¡°Evelyn, why here?¡± Ziva¡¯s brows furrowed.

    ¡°It¡¯s warmer.¡± Evelyn pointed at the fur-covered portion of the bed. The guards carefully lowered the boy onto the bed. They looked to Evelyn, who dismissed them with brief thanks. Gro? huffed as the boy was pushed towards him.

    ¡°Good boy.¡± Evelyn threw the thick blanket back over the creature¡¯s body. Gro? happily obliged, snorting loudly through his jowls.

    Evelyn dove into a massive wooden chest. A purple dress with gold inlay was tossed like nothing as she dug towards the bottom of the chest. She pulled out a bag of medical supplies, tossing it next to the bed. Ziva failed to remove her shoes in the bedroom, tracking mud across the carpet as Evelyn stripped Roy bare and threw a blanket over him.

    Ziva pressed her fingers into the boy¡¯s neck. He recoiled, straying away from the cold of the woman¡¯s hand. Ziva quickly inspected his wounds, trying not to expose the boy to the cold anymore. Speckled arms were torn open by massive claws, and his ankle was twisted and bruised. The palms of his hands were burned.

    Ziva closed her eyes. She took a breath, then released as she willed the boy¡¯s cuts closed. They slowly glued themselves shut. Rashes on the boy¡¯s legs faded away. Thorns in his skin were spat out as the wound beneath healed.

    A shivering whimper choked out of the boy¡¯s mouth. Evelyn¡¯s focus turned to him as his fingers gripped the bed. Ziva¡¯s magic wouldn¡¯t be causing pain. Once he thawed enough and concentration returned to his eyes, they started to fill with tears. With pain no longer at the forefront of his mind, his thoughts turned to the debilitating pain of loss.

    ¡°He¡¯s waking up.¡± Evelyn watched Ziva close more wounds.

    Ziva¡¯s face grew pale as she tried to will every ounce of power she had. The deep gashes in the boy¡¯s arms were particularly difficult to work with.

    ¡°Ziva.¡± Evelyn called, but the woman kept going. Her lips began to turn blue, ¡°Ziva!¡±

    Evelyn pulled the woman¡¯s arms away. Ziva¡¯s lips pinkened slowly. The color in her face bloomed once again, but the boy winced as the cut returned to its normal size. Ziva crept to a nearby chair, throwing herself down like a farmer after a long day in the fields.

    Evelyn held the boy¡¯s arm gently. She turned it to check for more cuts. She found teeth marks on his forearm, near the shoulder.

    ¡°Whatever it was, the bite is deep.¡± Evelyn inspected the holes where fangs penetrated the skin. A greasy film was laid on the boy¡¯s skin, but the bite showed no irritation, ¡°Two points of entry. Discharge around the wound, but not in the wound itself.¡±

    ¡°Odd.¡± Ziva panted.

    ¡°Claw marks in pairs of three.¡± Evelyn observed, ¡°Rules out wolves. The puncture marks are deeper, too.¡±

    ¡°What about his hands?¡± Evelyn pointed, noting the soot, ¡°Coaldrake?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Ziva argued, ¡°Coaldrakes woud¡¯ve gored him. Most of these wounds are on arms and legs. They were immobilizing him.¡± Ziva pulled out a tiny bottle from her pocket. A tan powder rolled around like waves when she walked over to Evelyn.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Evelyn asked as Ziva uncorked the vial. A strong earthy scent emanated from the lip as Ziva tapped a few grains onto her fingertip.

    ¡°Spyashta mr?sotiya. Sleeping Dirt; A mushroom from Nizini.¡± Ziva said, ¡°The boy will sleep. We can continue.¡±

    Ziva held her finger to Roy¡¯s nose, pressing the powder into his nostrils. The boy sniffed and recoiled. Ziva corked the vial, then stuffed it back into her dress as the boy fell into a deep slumber.

    ¡°I count three deep cuts, we can sew them up.¡± Ziva pulled a needle and thread from the medical kit. Evelyn blinked. She was distracted by the boy¡¯s face. ¡°Evelyn, we need honey for the dressing.¡±

    ¡°Yes, of course.¡± Evelyn nodded, then disappeared out the door.

    Evelyn walked down the steps, veering off towards the kitchen. Her mind was so full of thoughts that her vision narrowed. Impossible thoughts raced in her head.

    How did he survive out there? How did he stay warm? Evelyn thought to herself. She barely cleared a corner, her elbow striking the wall. Despite the surprised gasp of a servant, she didn¡¯t react to the pain echoing up her arm.

    There was more to the boy than the Bjornborn color of his eyes and hair. She recognized him. She couldn¡¯t place it, but she wanted to hold him. The urge made her hands weak. He was hurting, and it made her sick. He was a hummingbird sitting in a flowerpot, wings splayed out but unmoving. Its stillness a sign of its suffering.

    ¡°Oh, Lady Evelyn.¡± A light, feminine voice called from the kitchen as a streak of blonde hair sped through, heading towards the herbs, ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Evelyn sputtered, scanning the shelves for a jar she had reached for many times before. It was no longer there.

    ¡°Honey?¡± Evelyn asked, head darting left and right.

    ¡°Yours is in Khadina, I¡¯m afraid.¡± The servant joked, but she quickly shifted to concern when Evelyn turned towards her, tears welled in her eyes. The servant¡¯s jovial expression fell away. She jogged up to a shelf, pushing spices aside. A small brown jar fell into her hands, and she handed it to Evelyn with urgency.

    ¡°My lady, are you well?¡± She asked, but Evelyn darted out of the kitchen before she could answer.

    Evelyn didn¡¯t know she was running. The urgency was intense. She leaped up the stairs and back to the bed chamber. Ziva turned when she heard Evelyn¡¯s boot slip on the carpet, sliding out from under her. She caught herself before she could topple over. She placed the honey on the nightstand. Ziva had already begun pulling the boy¡¯s flesh back together. Her years of practice made wound stitching as simple as breathing. A glimpse of Evelyn told her that the woman was beginning to feel faint. She panted, eyes unmoving from the boy¡¯s face. Ziva pulled the jar out from her fingers. They were rigid.

    ¡°Evelyn?¡± Ziva called for the second time. The lady inhaled. Her eyes focused on Ziva reluctantly, ¡°You need to sit down.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Ziva shook her head, ¡°You¡¯re pale. Sit.¡±

    ¡°Is he going to be okay?¡± Evelyn shuffled, unable to sit still.

    ¡°It¡¯s too early to know for certain.¡± Ziva said, ¡°I¡¯ll do everything I can.¡±

    Evelyn sat with Ziva for hours. She hardly noticed as the gray daylight shifted into night. The boy¡¯s pained groans lessened. He shook less from the cold and more from pain. Ziva stood up, stretching her back.

    ¡°That¡¯s all we can do for now. We¡¯ll let him rest as long as he needs to.¡± Ziva looked to Evelyn. The same stare from hours before still dominated her round face. It was pretty clear to Ziva what she was thinking about.

    ¡°What are we going to do with him?¡± Ziva asked. When she didn¡¯t get an answer, she called to the woman, ¡°Evelyn-¡°

    ¡°We figure out what happened.¡± Evelyn interrupted unintentionally, ¡°He was attacked, that¡¯s clear. But the soot on his hands¡­¡± Evelyn bolted up, standing still as her eyes were awash in blues and blacks. She blinked the dizziness away, ¡°His mouth, we need to check his-¡±

    ¡°His mouth?¡± Ziva questioned, ¡°Sit down, Evelyn!¡±

    ¡°Trust me.¡± Evelyn sat as Ziva¡¯s maternal voice commanded her, ¡°The boy reeks of smoke, there¡¯s soot and blood on his hands.¡± Evelyn tried gripping with the realization as it came to her. The words didn¡¯t feel real, ¡°Check his mouth. Please.¡±

    Ziva nodded despite her reservations. She reached for the boy¡¯s mouth, carefully pulling his lip downwards. She inspected the small crevices where his teeth met. There wasn¡¯t a single scrap of food in his gums. Instead, there were remnants of a black substance stuck onto his teeth. Ziva looked at her finger after touching it. It looked like she had touched a charred piece of wood that sat out in the rain.

    ¡°It¡¯s like your magic¡­ snaps. Like a rope held taught that¡¯s cut suddenly.¡± Evelyn put a hand at the center of her chest, ¡°It gets caught up in you.¡±

    ¡°This is in his lungs?¡± Ziva held up the soot-soaked finger. Evelyn nodded regretfully. Her head darted around the shelves. She stepped towards her nightstand, pulling open a small drawer.

    ¡°Keep him here.¡± Evelyn said, readjusting the boy¡¯s body. She lifted his head, propping it up with pillows, ¡°I¡¯ll watch him. I know what to look for.¡±

    The boy¡¯s pained expression faltered, and his breaths deepened.

    ¡°I¡¯ll see if Miruska can relieve you tonight.¡± Ziva said, ¡°You can¡¯t watch him forever.¡±

    Evelyn was reluctant. She couldn¡¯t watch him forever, but she would try.

 Chapter 22

    Roy gasped, clenching at the cuts on his forearm as fangs cut into his mind. Gnashing teeth and hissing echoes filled his dreams with dread. He rubbed his eyes, relieved at the sight of sunlight peeking through large red curtains. As he felt the fabric in the bed, he realized he was no longer languishing on the mountain. He sensed an overwhelming feeling of relief like a warm blanket.

    ¡°Bad dreams?¡± A voice chimed from the fireplace. Roy looked out as a woman stood by a roaring fire. Her sapphire eyes watched him as though he were made of porcelain.Gro? yawned, hopping up on the bed. The boy winced as the bed shook his wounds. Gro? lowered to get a better look at the boy. A barrel-sized head was staring with droopy red eyes.

    ¡°That¡¯s Gro?.¡± The woman smiled, ¡°He hasn¡¯t left your side since you got here.¡±

    Roy stared at the dog silently, holding his breath. Gro? got up and leaned forward, nose flaring like a heartbeat before a large huff of air blew Roy¡¯s hair. A tongue the size of Roy¡¯s forearm lapped his cheek gently. Roy smiled, turning his head away as he tried to push the dog¡¯s head away from his mouth. Gro? huffed, licked his lips, then rolled onto his side. When he exhaled, air bubbled between his jowls.

    ¡°He¡¯s clean enough!¡± Evelyn walked around the bed, combing her fingers through the dog¡¯s tawny hide, ¡°You gonna leave him alone?¡± She pressed inward, her hands forming wrinkles across Gro? skin. His mouth opened, and with it came an excited growl. Ears flopped back and forth as Gro? mouthed the woman¡¯s wrist.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Roy asked quietly.

    ¡°I¡¯m Evelyn.¡± The woman smiled. Somehow, it felt warmer than the flames across from him, ¡°Welcome to Kriedeberg. I wish it were under better circumstances.¡±

    ¡°Kriedeberg?¡± Roy looked out the window. A gray sky dotted the heavens, dipping down to cover the mountaintops. Roy pawed at his arm, gazing upon a foreign assemblage of paintings and gold-trimmed curtains. Bandages had been freshly laid across his arms and back. A honeyed scent lifted from them when he moved.

    Roy¡¯s voice was not what Evelyn expected. He was quiet. Every word was methodical. As he looked at his surroundings, Evelyn watched his more subtle actions. The rising and falling of his chest, his fingers touching themselves and his palms, and even the skin on his collarbones were of note when he turned his head. These were normal human movements, but Evelyn couldn¡¯t look past them. His eyes had an uncanny wisdom to them, like a century of summers had found its way into them. Evelyn exhaled. She turned towards the fireplace as Roy noticed her gaze. Her eyes were glassy, her hands firmly gripping the cup as though her life depended on it. She looked like she had spent the night sobbing. Roy stared at his free hand, wriggling his fingers, rotating his wrist.

    Evelyn fumbled with a kettle, removing it from the fire with her bare hands. She poured the hot liquid into a cup, filling the room with a sweet, floral aroma. Roy¡¯s eyes widened as Evelyn approached him, holding the teapot from the bottom. The glimmer of her wedding band flashed in Roy¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°How are you-¡± Roy stuttered as the woman¡¯s palm laid flatly against the boiling kettle, ¡°Put that down!¡±

    Roy¡¯s face beamed crimson, his eyes glazed with concern for Evelyn¡¯s hands. He reached out, pain gripping his ribs. He whimpered, arm falling back to his side. Evelyn gasped. She looked left and right for a pot cover, then hastily put the kettle on the nightstand.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± Evelyn held her hands up, ¡°Magic! See? No burns.¡±

    ¡°Normal?¡± Roy¡¯s brows furrowed. Evelyn¡¯s hands were completely unharmed. When he reached for it, Evelyn guided his hand away.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you want to touch that.¡± Evelyn said, ¡°It was boiling.¡±

    ¡°How did you do that?¡±

    ¡°It comes naturally to me.¡± Evelyn poured the drink into a cup, handing it to Roy, ¡°For your lungs. It helps with the pain.¡±

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.Roy reached for the tea carefully, his left arm a tapestry of bandages and inflamed skin. His hand trembled beneath the weight of the cup. Evelyn held the bottom, guiding it towards the boy¡¯s center.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Roy said meekly. His voice was calm, with a small growl that cleared once he took a few sips. The steam smelled of lemon. He coughed into his elbow, a small smattering of black landing on his bandages. The sight of it made him uneasy.

    ¡°No blood, that¡¯s good.¡± Evelyn reassured, ¡°You¡¯ll be coughing like that for awhile; the soot gets in pretty deep.¡±

    ¡°Soot?¡± Roy looked at the black spit, ¡°From the fire?¡±

    ¡°Fire?¡± Evelyn shook her head, frowning, ¡°We didn¡¯t see any fire.¡±

    ¡°I made it.¡± Roy said, ¡°I think.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± Evelyn noted the small freckles creeping up the boy¡¯s arms. They gathered at his elbows, spreading across his cheekbones and dotting themselves sporadically on his chest and back.

    ¡°How did you learn to do that?¡± Roy asked.

    ¡°What? With the kettle? I just match the heat with my own.¡± Evelyn¡¯s brows furrowed. She looked at her reflection between bits of tea leaves. They clumped together in the middle of the cup, resembling a tree. They dispersed when she took a small sip, ¡°Is¡­ this new to you?¡±

    Roy stared into the creases of his palms, eyes burning. He felt the heat return. The corner of his mouth upturned in dismay. The pain in Roy¡¯s eyes told her all she needed to know.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay. Your magic responds to stress.¡± Evelyn spoke softly. ¡°It¡¯s a lot to take in.¡±

    ¡°Stress? That¡¯s all it is?¡±

    ¡°As far as I know.¡± Evelyn sipped.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to die.¡±

    ¡°Die?¡± Evelyn was about to take a second sip, but halted. Evelyn saw steam rise from the teacup in Roy¡¯s hands, ¡°What do you mean? You¡¯re in no danger here, far from it.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to do it. I wanted to save her.¡±

    ¡°What happened to you?¡± Evelyn seemed to whisper. Roy appeared more shaken with each passing moment. She could feel the heat coming off of him. It was like walking past an oven.

    ¡°They attacked.¡± Roy shuddered, ¡°Todesspucker.¡±

    Evelyn sat up. It was far too cold for Todesspucker to live in the mountains of Kriedeberg. They lived in the north, where Gairm met the Nizini border. Evelyn reached for the cup gingerly, the warm touch of her fingers overwhelmed by the startling heat of the boy¡¯s hands. She knew if she recoiled it would scare him. Her palms covered his shivering fingers, holding them as though they were made of fragile seashells.

    ¡°I can¡¯t stop it.¡± Roy tried to pull back as he did in Mossglen. It made him feel sick. Pain radiated from his wounds. A small crack formed on the clay cup¡¯s surface, ¡°Please, help me stop it.¡±

    Evelyn stared at the steam, at Roy¡¯s terrified eyes of emerald rust, his chest shivered. Liquid started to flow from the crack. Small bubbles simmered to the surface. Evelyn pulled the cup away, keeping one hand firmly clasped onto Roy¡¯s.

    ¡°How did you get here?¡± Evelyn tried to look into Roy¡¯s eyes but he avoided her gaze.

    ¡°They killed her.¡± Roy coughed, his lip twitched as he held his free hand out, ¡°I tried to stop them. I failed.¡±

    Evelyn¡¯s stomach dropped. A question burned inside of her, licking at her tongue like newborn flames. She couldn¡¯t ask. She didn¡¯t know how.

    Roy was frustrated by the sudden surge of emotions that coursed through him. He didn¡¯t cry when Samuel dug a heel into his ribs. He didn¡¯t cry when he watched the Todesspucker rip into his friend. Why was he crying now? He coughed again, clearing some of the gritty muck. He looked away from Evelyn, shrinking into himself. There was a despondent sadness in his eyes.

    ¡°You were protecting her.¡± Evelyn said. She could hear the dripping of tea as it seeped out of Roy¡¯s mug. She slowly coaxed it from his fingers, placing it on the nightstand. Her eyes beamed with a care he had never seen. They were waves breaking against coastal cliffs; a sea that was unfathomably deep yet warm. She put her arms around the shivering boy, resting against his shoulders. Roy¡¯s breathing stuttered as her hands stopped between his shoulder blades. He tried to force his sorrows into his fists. He blinked away tears. He sucked in air, causing a small whimper to creep from his lips.

    He felt the fabric of her tunic. Her hair draping over her shoulders onto him. He could smell citrus and pine from before. As he lay there, something else crept up on him. An intangible warmth crept out of his chest like an outstretched hand. Roy leaned into Evleyn¡¯s embrace, focusing on the heartbeat in her neck as his racing thoughts slowed to a halt.

    It was unlike anything he had ever felt. His chest grew heavy in a way he couldn¡¯t describe. It felt like an ache, but there was no pain. It was heavy. It was numb. It was like laying in the shade of a grand tree and feeling the warmth of the sun dance against his eyelids in deep crimson light.

    Evelyn took in everything. Roy melted into her collar as she lifted a hand, barely crossing towards the back of his neck.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Evelyn asked.

    ¡°Roy.¡±

    Roy waited for more questions, but there were none. Evelyn felt the tunic around her waist tighten. Roy¡¯s hands held the fabric tightly, bunching it in his fingers like a child pulling at a tablecloth. She didn¡¯t think he could hold her any tighter.

 Chapter 23

Warmth.¡± Ziva said, ¡°That¡¯s all you can give for now.¡±

    An overreaction. She thought. Her assumptions flew around her.

    Raw?¡±