The Reckoning: An Epic Fantasy Dragon Adventure

The Legend of Oescienne

-The Reckoning-

By Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

Copyrighted Material

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons and places is entirely coincidental.

THE LEGEND OF OESCIENNE

-THE RECKONING-

Copyright © 2018 by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

All rights reserved.

Cover art by Randy Vargas Gomez (www.vargasni.com)

No part of this book or its cover may be reproduced in any manner without written permission from its creator.

For more information and to contact the author visit www.jennaelizabethjohnson.com

For my nephews, Huck and Amos –

No matter what the future holds for you, always remember these three things:

One, know that you are loved. Two, remember there is always room for more happiness. And three, don’t forget that kindness is never, ever wasted.

So, go forth into this great, magnificent world and have your grand, epic adventures. Make your mark and become the best versions of yourselves you can be. But don’t forget to be kind, don’t forget to love, and don’t forget that happiness is best enjoyed when shared with others.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

The Birth of a Leader

ONE

Down the Mountain

TWO

The Great Forest

THREE

The Elves of Hrunah

FOUR

The Last Magehn of the King

FIVE

Rest, Revelry, and Rumination

SIX

Into the Wild

SEVEN

Confronting a Shadow

EIGHT

The Mystic’s Tale

NINE

Bitter Hearts, Hapless Fates

TEN

To Forge an Alliance

ELEVEN

Dhonoara Castle

TWELVE

Treachery and Trust

THIRTEEN

Truths and Lies

FOURTEEN

Vows Set in Stone

FIFTEEN

A Dragon’s Fate

SIXTEEN

The Battle of Kahrparyum

SEVENTEEN

A Skirmish Won and Tempers Lost

EIGHTEEN

Debate and Decision

NINETEEN

Waiting for War

TWENTY

Into Enemy Territory

TWENTY-ONE

The Black Fortress

TWENTY-TWO

The Prince of the Tanaan

TWENTY-THREE

The Mystic and the Magehn

TWENTY-FOUR

A Test of Courage, a Test of Strength

TWENTY-FIVE

The Tyrant’s Champion

TWENTY-SIX

A Glimmer of Hope

TWENTY-SEVEN

Kehllor the Brave

TWENTY-EIGHT

The Storm Descends

TWENTY-NINE

A Curse Broken

THIRTY

Returning Home

THIRTY-ONE

The Prince of Oescienne

THIRTY-TWO

Starting Over

THIRTY-THREE

A Rather Eventful Evening

THIRTY-FOUR

The Aftermath of Anger

THIRTY-FIVE

A Conversation Long Over Due

THIRTY-SIX

Answers at Last

EPILOGUE

A Most Certain Future

Pronunciation Guide

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Other Books by this Author

Connect with me Online

The Legend of Oescienne

-The Reckoning-

-Prologue-

The Birth of a Leader

A cold breeze whispered across the vast tundra, ruffling the short, tough grass that grew there. With the frigid sea and even colder mountains to the north and west, the gusts that danced across the Great Red Tundra of Ghorium made even the summer months almost unbearable. And it was that relentless wind that now battered at the minds and nerves of the company of warriors who tried so desperately to capture what few precious moments of rest they could. At some point in the night, however, exhaustion had finally won out. Only a few hours stretched before dawn, and the war encampment was silent, not a single living thing stirring. All, that is, except for the young soldier.

He lay there, listening to the low wailing of the wind as the stench of burning bodies and the freshly spilled blood of the battlefield stung his nose. Not even the persistent cold had dampened the horrible smell, and it clung to him as assuredly as the red lichens clung to the broken rocks scattered across the plain. Something else, however, had woken him from his fitful sleep, but he could not tell what. A stray gust howling down the shallow river bed? The sudden snort from one of his comrades fighting against dark dreams? Or maybe a tundra predator, slinking through the night searching for an easy meal. That last thought had him shivering. The animals that dwelled in this part of the world were dangerous, no matter their size. Yet, with plenty of fallen allies and enemies nearby, it made no sense for a predator to be hunting for live food.

The young man shifted, knowing these weren’t the reasons for his restlessness. He had realized early on that his motive for traveling to Ghorium to fight the evil brewing there went beyond the typical duty any normal soldier was called to perform. True enough, he had ventured east with his friends and allies to do his part in wiping the Tyrant and his accursed soldiers from the face of Ethoes. But now that he had endured the horror of the battlefield, watched those same friends die beneath the enemy’s power and wrath, there was only one thing left he could do, if he wanted a chance for even the slightest glimmer of hope.

His was an important mission, one he had made in his heart mere hours ago. One he could share with only a scant few he had sworn to secrecy. A call to duty that required him to rise early and sneak away before his remaining friends realized he was gone. With swift efficiency, the warrior climbed to his feet and made ready for his task. The sun was still hours from rising, but he used his instincts to guide the way as he tread quietly over the soggy, semi-frozen landscape of the northern wastes of Ghorium, trying desperately to block out the soft moans of the dying men, dragons, and beasts scattered for miles around him. The haunting images lingering from the previous days rose up to torment him as he made his way ever northward. With a shudder that rattled his teeth, he shook off the worst of them, playing his plan over and over again in his mind. He had to succeed. He must. If not, then all would most definitely be lost. After all, his plan wasn’t a complex one. He just needed to buy them time. Just a little more time …

Somewhere across the distance, a man screamed. A final lament to Ethoes to spare him the pain of his passing? A plea to give him a little more courage, a little more strength, so that perhaps he might rise at dawn to fight again? Or perhaps just another tired soldier haunted by his own demons. Whatever it had been, the spine-tingling screech stopped the young man short, his heart thundering in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his blood. After several seconds, his feet fell into a quick pace once more, his body crouched low.

The dim light of several small fires, some kindled by the soldiers to keep warm, others the evidence of the Morli attack from the evening before, acted as beacons leading the way to the outer wall of Vruuthun, the black city where the enemy waited. Vengeance and the driving need to help the people of Ethoes pushed him, where fear and fatigue would have caused another to give in. With a single-minded focus, he climbed over one berm after another.

Finally, he reached his first destination: a larger pocket in the otherwise monotonous landscape. Here, several of the men, fellow allies fighting for his cause, slept. They all wore stained and tattered uniforms, some of them too old and gray to wage war, others younger than himself. But they were here, along with countless others like them. Fighting to defend their freedom, the freedom of Ethoes, even if they ought to be home in their cabins smoking a pipe by the fire with their grandchildren, or out pulling harmless, midnight pranks on their neighbors. These men rested fitfully, their bodies tired but their minds always waiting for the next attack.

As he studied them, the soldier’s eyes fell upon a young man about his own age and height. Perhaps it was the fact he lay curled up near the center of the group that caught his attention, or maybe it was that even in the dim light of predawn, he could see that this young man resembled him. For several seconds, he studied the sleeping warrior, noting his dark blond hair and strong features. He was perhaps a few inches taller than himself and a bit broader in the shoulders. When they were both awake, standing side by side, people believed them to be brothers. A smile curled at the corner of the soldier’s mouth as memories of their youth played through his mind. The two of them had grown up in the same province, though they had come from very different families. That fact hadn’t kept them from getting into mischief together, however.

Sighing against the remorse that threatened to push aside his determination, the soldier pressed his hand to his own chest, splaying his fingers. The young man asleep on the cold ground below him was dressed in the simple rags of a stable hand, while he wore the fine clothing of a prince.

But war has made us equals, he thought. Though I have always believed it, and so have you, war has so bitterly made it fact. For no man, prince or peasant, can escape death, my friend.

A soft exhalation of breath snapped the restless soldier’s attention back to the present. One of his comrades had awoken, his dark eyes trained on the young man standing over him. He nodded once to the warrior, and the man silently roused five others. The rest of them, including the sleeping figure in the middle of the group, were left undisturbed. Seven fighters ghosted away from their makeshift camp and headed toward the base of the city a few miles away. As they marched, the men gathered more willing fighters, those who woke to find the small party pressing forward with purpose, their own spirits inspired by the sight of the young warrior clad in armor emblazoned with the royal crest of Oescienne. He could not turn them away, not when he sensed in them the same driving need to destroy the demon king who wished to enslave them. This was it, he knew in his heart. This was their final stand, and they would take it alone if they had to. If they were lucky, if Ethoes smiled down upon them, their attack would come as a surprise, and they would gain the advantage while the rest of the army slept.

The sun peeked above the horizon in the east, a brilliant eye of red, its light a burning condemnation; an omen for what they were about to face. At some point along their short journey, someone offered horses. The young soldier took the reins and mounted blindly, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only. He must destroy Cierryon, the monster who had killed his king.

The frozen fortress loomed in the distance, an impenetrable castle set high atop a mountain and guarded by a city full of enemy soldiers and Morli dragons. He knew the odds were against them, but he was so very tired. Tired of the pain. Tired of the ache in his chest. Tired of being surrounded by death and hopelessness. He could endure it no longer. So, he had decided to face this enemy on his own, with only those he trusted most by his side and those ready to scream their final battle cry. As the rest of his army slept on, their dreams as black as his own, he guided his horse swiftly and silently across the barren landscape, the frozen mountains rising like the demonic visage of the god Ciarrohn in the distance.

Without warning, the scene shifted, and the young soldier was falling. He braced for impact, wondering how he had been unseated from his horse, but the ground never came up to meet him. Instead, he plummeted through a black void, and in a fierce moment of fear, he wondered if he’d been struck by an arrow shot from one of the Tyrant’s men. Was this death, then? He had so desperately hoped death meant the end of agony and fear, but the terror was just as strong now as it had been earlier.

Flashes of memory bombarded him as he fell, memories of the several bloody battles he’d fought so far. Visions of his friends dying beside him, struck down by sword, spear, and axe, or incinerated by a blast of fire from one of the hideous Morli dragons overhead. The Korli dragons on his side fought fiercely, but they were no match for the numerous Morli. He screamed against the horror of it all, wondering what he had done in his mortal life to deserve such a tormented afterlife.

His body twisted in the void, and new memories flickered before him, only, these recollections hadn’t happened to him yet, had they? Familiar, so very familiar, but so distant they seemed to be the afterthoughts of dreams from long ago. His head filled with the sounds of metal clashing upon metal, the screams of men and horses and dragons. He spun around and around and around, lost in this place that did not exist, until finally he caught a petrifying glance of the wicked, shadowy face of his enemy just as a searing pain sliced down the side of his face and neck.

* * *

Far away in Lidien, in a manor house nestled in the hills above the city, the Tanaan dragon Kehllor woke gasping for breath, only to curse when his head came into contact with a stone wall. Growling, he lashed his tail in frustration, then gave a great sigh of relief. Good. Despite the slight headache his thrashing had caused, it had only been another dream. There was no great battlefield littered with corpses, no relentless, ice-laced wind barraging his senses, no terrifying monsters manifesting around him. While he waited for his blood to cool and his pulse to slow, Kehllor puzzled over the nightmare that had torn him so rudely from his rest. He had no idea where the dream had come from, but it wasn’t a new one. Well, that wasn’t entirely correct. The scenes in this one differed from the others, but the theme had been a recurring one over the past several nights. But why he would walk in that world as something other than a dragon was beyond him. Pushing a blast of hot air through his nostrils, he tilted his head as he considered it. The others in the dream, the ones that looked a lot like elves, seemed familiar somehow, but like the memories that haunted his sleep, he could not place them.

A new sound, this one real and not imagined, disrupted his thoughts. It was a soft rapping of knuckles against a wooden door.

Master Kehllor? a timid female voice inquired. Are you well?

Ah, yes. The dragon blinked rapidly, the sharp edges of the nightmare growing dull as his surroundings took shape. A spacious, sparsely decorated study rose up around him. There was a desk, large enough to accommodate a dragon, a small fireplace in one corner and bookshelves lining the walls on one side. The space was comfortable and welcoming, despite the fact it did not belong to him. This was the home of the dragon Raejaaxorix, and he had recently become its new tenant. And clearly, he had fallen asleep in the study late the night before instead of making his way to the much more appropriate sleeping chamber. That explained why he’d smacked his head against the wall in his haste to escape the dream.

Master Kehllor? the woman asked once again.

I’m f-fine, he managed, his voice a bit raspy.

I heard sounds of distress, the housemaid announced, her muffled words growing louder.

Kehllor gritted his teeth. How embarrassing. Hopefully, the woman hadn’t been too disturbed by his night terrors. She had lived in this house with Jaax before him, after all, so surely she was used to dragonish ways.

Clearing his throat, Kehllor responded, I’m well, Neira. I have bad dreams from time to time. Nothing to concern yourself with.

There was a long silence, then what sounded like a huff of breath. Very well. If you insist. The shuffle of the Nesnan woman’s footsteps heading back down the hall brought Kehllor some relief. He wasn’t much one for holding long, or even short, conversations. And the last thing he wanted after waking up from such a disturbing dream was to take part in a heart-to-heart with the overly-concerned housekeeper.

Kehllor struggled to shake the last vestiges of the dream from his mind. The memory of it had faded, but the sense of unease clinging to his scales lingered. Only time would take care of that, Kehllor thought, so he sat up and stretched his muscles, sore from spending the previous day checking the borders of Lidien with a few other dragons active in the Coalition. It was now his duty to ensure the Crimson King’s soldiers stayed beyond the city’s magical boundaries. They had moved in close, frighteningly so, but as far as Kehllor could tell, the ancient magic keeping their enemies at bay held, and no one had breached the walls. He only hoped those boundaries remained strong. Yet as much as he wished for the Tyrant’s loyal servants to disperse and be on their way, he secretly thanked Ethoes every day they continued to prod at the enchantment surrounding the city. The longer they stayed distracted by Lidien’s power, the more time Jaax, Jahrra, and Ellyesce had to get as far away as they could.

Kehllor furrowed his brow as he counted back the days since his friends had fled the city. One, maybe closer to two, months ago. Surely they were in Nimbronia by now. Had the trip been an easy one? Or had some of the Tyrant’s soldiers slipped away to pursue them? Kehllor could not know for sure. If they could just reach the city of the Creecemind dragons before the Crimson King’s army caught up with them, then they would be safe once again. At least for the time being.

The sweet melody of a songbird drew the golden dragon’s attention away from his reverie, and he glanced toward one of the study’s windows. The diamond-paned panel was cracked open and through it he spotted the small creature, a heartsong sparrow, singing its hymn to the waking world. Despite his troubled thoughts, Kehllor couldn’t help a reptilian smile. He hoped the bird’s presence was a good omen.

The feathered creature finished one more chorus, then with a chirp, it leapt from the redwood branch it had been resting on and flitted off into the forest surrounding the hill. Kehllor peered beyond the treetops and caught a glimpse of the great bay, the distant peninsula growing less gray as the morning’s sunlight flooded the world.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out through his nose, Kehllor stood and exited the study as quietly as he could. If he remembered correctly, the Coalition would be meeting later in the morning, and his presence would be expected. The Coalition of Ethoes had been convening more often of late, and although he loathed being around so many arguing and angry people, he understood the necessity for their frequent gatherings. Jaax, their previous leader, had given up his position in order to flee the City of Light with Jahrra, the human girl foretold by the Oracles. And they had not gone without a nice dose of controversy. Before leaving Lidien, a rumor claiming Jaax to be a liar and his ward to be a fraud had spread like wildfire through the city. And Shiroxx, the very dragon who had fostered Kehllor for so long, had played the lead role in stirring the pot.

Kehllor’s upper lip curled in disgust. He knew the red Tanaan dragon was somehow responsible for spreading the lies, but he couldn’t prove it. Besides, before leaving for Nimbronia, Jaax had dismissed her from the Coalition. Unfortunately, he hadn’t dismissed her co-conspirator, Rohdann. Although not as ruthless as Shiroxx, the black Tanaan dragon was her puppet. He would do anything she asked, and he had a knack for turning suspicion away from himself.

The savory scent of cinnamon and butter distracted Kehllor enough to forget about Shiroxx and Rohdann and all his other worries for the time being. He stepped out into the hallway and headed for the common room. A fire burned brightly in the great hearth, and soft morning sunlight spilled in through the south-facing windows. The common room was quite large, providing plenty of space for a dragon and his company. Long tapestries, thick carpets, and stuffed furniture for the non-dragon guests decorated the space tastefully, complimenting the green-flecked flagstone floor and granite walls. Kehllor took a moment to appreciate his current position in life. For so many years, he had been under the thumb of Shiroxx, owing everything to her simply because he had not known any better. He couldn’t remember much of his past before the red dragon found him wandering the desert region of the south. Some traumatic experience had erased it from his mind, and if not for Shiroxx’s kindness, he’d have no life at all.

No, he corrected himself bitterly, it wasn’t out of kindness that Shiroxx found me and took me under her wing. I’ve been nothing but an instrument to her. A tool to be used to get what she wants.

It had taken Jahrra’s patient persistence to teach him that not everyone was his enemy and that there were such things as real friends to be had. Despite all he had gained and learned in the past year, however, he couldn’t help but wonder where he had come from and what his life had been like before forgetting it all. The dream, still lingering in the recesses of his mind, pushed its way forward once more. He wanted to forget it, for it only made him anxious, yet he was also determined to puzzle it out. Where had he been in that strange nightmare? And why had he witnessed events from another’s eyes? And what had been that terrifying presence he and his companions had been so determined to defeat? Perhaps it was a vision of the past, or more likely, the future. Could he be some sort of seer and not even know it? And if that was the vision of the future, whose eyes had he been seeing this future through?

A cold dread filled his stomach as a new revelation occurred to him. The demon in the dream. Could it be the enemy that the Coalition, that Jaax and Jahrra, wished to defeat? A terrifying visage of the Crimson King, perhaps. Or more precisely, the demon-god who possessed the Tyrant’s body. Why on Ethoes would Kehllor be dreaming about a battle with Ciarrohn?

With a shudder, the golden dragon cast the disturbing thought aside. He would eat whatever wonderful breakfast Neira was preparing, then he’d venture into the city to listen to another long session of Nesnan and Resai diplomats bickering with one another. The very thought made his back teeth ache. He grew weary of staying put and doing nothing, but Jaax was counting on him to lead the Coalition.

But we are getting nowhere, he whispered aloud to no one.

Kehllor went over the past several Coalition meetings in his head, sifting through the information pouring from a variety of sources outside of Felldreim. Checking the borders for weaknesses took off some of the edge, but as the dreams grew more vivid and more frequent, and as more evidence of the Tyrant’s growing power leaked in, Kehllor was beginning to feel trapped. He was aware of the armies being forged throughout Ethoes, troops of soldiers and farmers and merchants alike, willing to fight against the evil growing in the east when the time came. Anyone and everyone ready to defend the last threads of freedom the world possessed. He also had an idea of their numbers, and those weren’t too impressive. And there was no guarantee Jaax and Jahrra would convince the Creecemind to join their cause. Without the ice dragons of the north, the Coalition and her allies stood no chance against the Crimson King’s army and his Morli dragons.

Kehllor ruminated over breakfast, then all the way to Essyel Hall in the heart of the city. By the time he reached his place at the head of the massive meeting room, an idea had begun prickling at the back of his mind. It was almost ludicrous, but the longer the Coalition’s new leader considered it, the more appealing it seemed. He had spent much of his life in the southern part of the continent and had come to know the people who lived there. People the rest of the world ignored. But maybe, just maybe, these people understood the threat Cierryon posed as well. And just like that, a plan blossomed to life.

This could be the answer to our troubles, he whispered under his breath as the great hall filled with boisterous Coalition members, especially if it works.

-Chapter One-

Down the Mountain

Somewhere, far above the trail Ellyesce and his companions traveled, a rock the size of an apple tumbled down through the snowdrifts, followed by several more smaller stones. The elf drew in a sharp breath and turned swiftly in Gliriant’s saddle, his eyes darting frantically up toward the source of the infinitesimal landslide. The rocky crags and steep slope of this side of the mountain were gray and stark, the white streaks of snowy buildup the only other color against the darkening sky. Despite the innocence of the scene, Ellyesce was taking no chances. Not with Jaax still off on one of his routine aerial checks. The Tanaan dragon had left Jahrra and their most recent travel companion, the limbit Dervit, in his care. And he took his responsibilities seriously.

Protect Jahrra above all else, the dragon had whispered to him in Kruelt. She is the reason for all of this.

As if he needed reminding of that fact. If the ancient prophecy proved true, then Jahrra was key to defeating the Tyrant king of the east. A difficult task if the elf and the dragon couldn’t even get her there safely. And that was another thing to think about. They were leading Jahrra into a land of perpetual cold and immeasurable danger. The Tyrant would be watching for them, watching for her, and Ellyesce was certain the vicious Morli dragons weren’t the only weapon the king had in his arsenal. Furthermore, there was the corruption and lack of support among their own allies to consider. Unrest amongst the members of the Coalition had been the driving force behind their departure from Lidien, and the Creeceminds’ stubborn refusal to see Jahrra for who she was had been a hard blow to take. Now, the four of them were headed to Dhonoara, the valley of the elves of the east, to see which of their allies would join them on the battlefield against Cierryon and the god who controlled him. These thoughts, and many others, weighed heavily on Ellyesce’s mind, so it was no wonder he was on edge.

Are we going to linger in the middle of the trail all night long? Jahrra called wearily from somewhere behind him.

Ellyesce turned to regard her, a tall figure atop a dapple gray semequin. Only the tell-tale silhouette of fox ears jutting out from behind her gave away Dervit’s presence. Ellyesce narrowed his eyes, drawing on his elf’s vision. Yes, that was a nervous look on the limbit’s face. It was twilight, with full-dark fast approaching. Perhaps Jahrra had a point.

We’ll stop as soon as I find a place suitable for camping.

In other words, as soon as he could find a protected alcove or ring of stones shaded by thick conifers to cloak their presence should any of the Tyrant’s spies or soldiers happen by.

Jahrra rolled her eyes and Ellyesce grinned, more a forced smile to offer her reassurance than a reflection of his current mood, then turned back around. She had probably assumed he couldn’t see her in the dark, but he had only just started utilizing his magical abilities in the past few months and she wasn’t yet entirely used to them.

With a gentle nudge to Gliriant’s flanks, Ellyesce had his own semequin pacing down the narrow path once again. They had been on the road for a week, but had barely made headway down the eastern side of the mountain that the Creecemind dragons called home. A late storm had crept up on them a day after they’d bidden farewell to Dhuruhn and the royal family, the force of the storm’s wind and might pinning them to the side of the mountain like autumn leaves plastered against the trunk of a tree. Now, they were moving once again. Behind him, Jahrra and Dervit rode Phrym. Dervit had started out on Rumble, the packhorse, but whatever unseen danger or idea of danger that had put Ellyesce on high alert must be prickling the limbit’s instincts, too.

Grim thoughts, Ellyesce, the elf reminded himself as his mouth curved downward in a frown. An invitation for trouble. Best focus on something positive.

Fortunately for him, and the rest of the travelers for that matter, a suitable campsite fell into their path not fifteen minutes later. Both Jahrra and the limbit appeared haggard and worn to the bone when they slid from Phrym’s back. Ellyesce couldn’t blame them. It had been a particularly grueling day, for they had risen before dawn and had only stopped along the way for a few respites to eat and let the horses rest. Jaax, the ever-paranoid Tanaan leader of this rag-tag group, was anxious to get them to Dhonoara Valley. At least in the famed valley of the elves, they would be somewhat safe, despite its proximity to the realm of Ghorium.

Ellyesce sighed as he led his own semequin over to a sheltered section of the small clearing. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to return to his homeland, to the place of his birth. He had fled centuries before, wanting to escape the pain of a past he had hoped to someday forget.

But there are just some memories of your past you can’t ever seem to shake, he reminded himself bitterly, no matter how hard you try to outrun them.

Gliriant nudged his master’s shoulder, reminding him of the oats he’d promised earlier. Chortling softly, the elf replaced his frown with a loose smile as he rubbed the semequin’s nose.

Alright, old friend, you’ll have your treat.

The small, narrow hollow that had become their shelter for the night was nothing more than a dry gully now clogged with ice and snow. Had the weather in these high mountains matched that of the lower footmountains just below them, the snow and ice might already be melting. A blessing in disguise, actually, for if that were the case they’d be bedding down in a stream bed.

The deep, buffeting whoosh of a pair of great, membranous wings announced Jaax’s arrival. Ice crystals and small chunks of earth, presumably wrenched loose from dragon’s claws digging into the lip of the culvert, rained down and Ellyesce had to leap back a few steps to miss the greater portion of them. When the fall of debris settled, the elf glanced up to find a triangular head and one emerald eye regarding him through the growing gloom of twilight.

How did you find us?

Jaax huffed out a breath of air and settled down into a reclining position so that his forearms rested just at the edge of the culvert. It took me a while, he admitted. But whatever magic you are using to hide the footprints in the snow is working. I had to rely on my nose.

The dragon smirked and tapped one clawed finger against his snout.

Ellyesce grinned as he got back to work removing Gliriant’s saddle. Somewhere behind him, Jahrra was attending to her own semequin, Phrym, and Dervit was doing his best to help.

How far are we from the footmountains? Ellyesce asked.

Jaax rolled one large shoulder. Not far. We’ll reach them before midday tomorrow. They should prove easy terrain to cross after the time we’ve spent in Nimbronia.

The dragon’s tone of voice had been even enough, but his brow remained furrowed. Ellyesce knew what he must be thinking, and it was probably best to leave his friend to his thoughts. Unfortunately, he didn’t always follow his own advice.

We did all that we could to sway Dhuruhn, Jaax. And he may change his mind yet.

The Tanaan dragon snorted, and Ellyesce was glad to be out of his reach. The fir tree closest to him suddenly dropped a profusion of parched needles. It wouldn’t take much to get scorched in Jaax’s presence when his mind was too preoccupied to take into account the more delicate beings around him.

I should not have had to sway him, the dragon gritted, his tone bitter. As king of Felldreim, his first duty is to protect his people. Allowing the Tyrant to go unchecked in the east when fate places the answer to all our troubles before his very feet should have had him leaping from the mountain peaks and winging eastward with his fellow ice dragons.

Ellyesce watched his friend’s silver green eyes flick in Jahrra’s direction. She hadn’t yet come over to their side of the canyon, but he knew she was straining her ears to listen. He’d noticed that about her since first meeting her in Lidien. Clearly, she had learned in her years spent in Jaax’s company that he was not one to carelessly divulge information. She had discovered how to pay attention.

Not wanting to press Jaax into an even fouler mood, Ellyesce changed the subject. Are we still planning to take a more southerly route?

Jaax shifted his shoulders, sending more snow tumbling down the low slope. Let’s get to the base of the Hrunahn Footmountains first, he answered, then we’ll decide from there. It all depends on what the elves of Hrunah have to report.

Ellyesce nodded in agreement, though his stomach tightened at the thought of meeting the elves. They were not of his people, not like those native to Dhonoara. The elves of Hrunah were forest elves and built their homes high in the trees of the deep wood, trees that grew so tall and wide their tops could not be seen from the ground. It took nearly an entire village, linked hand to hand, to circle the base of their trunks. Once, in a part of his past he’d sooner forget, he had corresponded with these elves on behalf of another. He wondered if they would remember him, and if so, what they might reveal.

It was his turn to flick his eyes in Jahrra’s direction. There was still so much she did not know. Could not know, at least not yet. And he wondered if meeting the elves of Hrunah would unveil some of those secrets.

Nothing you can do about it now, Ellyesce reminded himself, removing the final bits of tack from Gliriant. And besides, it is all coming full circle. Your days of hiding are dwindling, and there is no point in keeping some secrets so close now.

The elf cast a glance up at Jaax, who had returned to his distant musings, his eyes focused on something beyond the top of the canyon. Perhaps the dragon was having the same thoughts. Perhaps not.

Full dark had finally settled upon them by the time Jahrra and Dervit managed to get a good fire going, and soon the conversation turned to more pleasant topics. At least, as pleasant as they could be considering how uncertain the future might prove to be. After a few rounds of Astral cards, all of which Dervit won, the small party was ready to settle down for bed.

As the stars turned above them, the late spring constellations spangling the sky with their presence, another set of eyes, ancient and shrewd, watched the same stars from a rocky outcropping much farther up the mountain. And like the elf and his friends, this being also hoped and dreamed and yearned for a future that did not hold sorrow, pain, and death.

* * *

Boriahs, the Tyrant King’s most trusted mercenary, jerked awake, gasping for breath. The moment he drew in the frigid mountain air, however, he regretted it. It was as if a river of ice water had poured into his lungs. Coughing against the discomfort, then wincing as that action drove spikes of white-hot agony through his skull, he groaned and sat up. He was lying upon the cold stone floor of a cavern, one large enough to shelter the two dozen or so soldiers who’d managed to survive the attack on Nimbronia’s bridge. The memory of the human girl slipping from his fingers set the embers of anger burning through his blood, driving away the initial cold. He’d had her. He’d had her in his grip, and she had escaped. No one would have expected her to leap from the bridge’s edge the way she had, but his master didn’t accept excuses.

Gritting his teeth, Boriahs rose, careful not to upset his knee. He had either sprained it or strained it as he and his men scrambled from the bridge to avoid the wrath of dragon flame. If he was being honest with himself, he’d admit he was lucky to be alive. Hard to feel grateful when his entire body, even days after the incident, still ached and protested his every movement. The cold, something he had been used to when he worked more closely with his master in the icy city of Vruuthun, was not kind to him now.

As he limped past snoring forms, he gave two of them a hard kick. His only remaining skurmages. The rest had either fallen to their deaths from the bridge, or had been finished off by the elves living in Nimbronia and dragon flame.

Get a fire going, he growled, heading deeper into the cave. I must report to our Master.

The red-robed skurmages scuttled to their feet, eager to do his bidding before he got it into his head to invite them along. They all knew Cierryon would be furious with Boriahs’ failure. With their failure. Best not to be nearby when he received the news.

Boriahs’ skin crawled as he left the mages to their work. The last time he had spoken to Cierryon, he had good news to report. They had taken Cahrdyarein and then the sniveling elf, Keiron, had convinced himself he held a higher rank than Boriahs. The Tyrant’s commander grinned, the only bit of satisfaction he could find on this cold morning, and cast a glance over his shoulder. The spoiled princeling, no, not even a prince but a regent’s son, curled quivering in a pathetic ball on the floor. The cavern might have kept the harsh winds from peeling the skin from their bones, but it was still bitterly cold. And since the supplies were limited, Keiron, being an outsider, did not get a blanket at night. That he was still alive was a miracle in and of itself. Boriahs had seen him leap from the bridge, screaming in terror as the Tanaan dragon bore down on him, streaming torrents of emerald flame. The boy had nearly broken his ankles from the steep fall, but managed not to tumble over the edge of the cliff and plummet to the river thousands of feet below.

Boriahs sneered and turned back around. The only reason he kept the elf with his company was so he’d have a sacrifice to hand over to his master. When Cierryon learned of Jahrra’s escape, his rage might be strong enough to span the distance currently separating them. Even if he waited until their arrival in Ghorium to unleash his wrath, Boriahs had every intention of thrusting the regent’s son before his king and pointing out, very carefully, that it was the elf who had failed his master, not his loyal commander.

The cavern grew abruptly narrow, the path curving around a blind corner. Boriahs bent down to retrieve the torch left beside the tunnel, sucking in a sharp breath as his knee protested, and used his flint and knife to light it once more. Before stepping into the darkness, he peeked over his shoulder again. The skurmages had a fire going, and his men were beginning to stir. He had fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Dreading the conversation with Cierryon, but knowing avoiding it would be worse, he stepped into the small alcove hidden from the main chamber of the cave and blinked at the reflection of firelight upon a black surface. They had been lucky to find a cave with pools of water available for scrying.

Taking a deep breath, more carefully this time so as not to coat his lungs with ice crystals, Boriahs wedged the handle of his torch into a crack in the wall and knelt before the pool. His injured knee creaked as he lowered his body onto the other one, but he ignored the pain, a fragment of anxiety creeping into his heart. The moment it fluttered to life, he squashed it with more force than necessary. If he was to be a lord of his own realm once he delivered the human girl to his master, he mustn’t allow any weakness to show.

Focusing his mind, he went through the steps to transform the black, smooth surface of the pool into a scrying mirror. For several seconds, he waited, heart thundering in his ears. Then a pinprick of molten red winked to life in the water, quickly joined by another.

Master, Boriahs breathed, head bowed in reverence.

Fear clings to you like the stench of death, a deep, malevolent voice rumbled, shaking loose stones free of the cavern wall.

None broke the surface of the water, however, and Ciarrohn spoke on, his demonic visage growing clearer in the gloom.

You have news to deliver that will not please me. Come, tell me now.

Boriahs blinked up, fighting hard against a shudder. He was used to seeing the more human-like form of Cierryon, the man who had been poisoned by the evil god since his birth. But in the spirit world, the one accessed through dark magic and the scrying pools, Ciarrohn’s image most often appeared. A black, elongated skeletal face capped by two wicked horns melted into view. Empty slits for a nose, burning embers for eyes and a mouth locked in a hideous grin, the jaws lined with black pointed teeth filling out the rest of the horrid face. A demon monster to cast fear into the hearts of even the most wicked beings of Ethoes.

Dropping his gaze again, Boriahs admitted the truth, The girl has slipped from our grasp.

Even though he was expecting it, the searing, bitter cold slicing through his flesh and bones drew a rasping cry from his throat. Boriahs fell over, convulsing upon the floor as his master let his rage run its course.

You will tell me every detail, and if you leave anything out, you will suffer for it, Ciarrohn hissed after his initial anger passed.

Boriahs was no fool. He told the dark god everything that had happened between their pursuit of Jahrra and her companions after leaving Cahrdyarein. How Keiron, certain of his victory and eager to see Jahrra hauled off by the commander of the Red Flange, had insisted on joining them. How they had surprised the small party on the bridge spanning the canyon below Nimbronia. How, at one point, they had both the girl and the dragon in their custody. And how she had thrown herself from the bridge as a distraction to give the Tanaan beast a chance to break free.

So, it was the elf whelp who allowed the girl to escape, then?

Boriahs jerked his head, tamping down the spark of delight warming his heart. He had to play this just right, or Ciarrohn would accuse him of pointing a finger at another. That would only prove to the god he was weak. Boriahs wasn’t weak. Nor was he stupid.

I should never have allowed him to join our party, my lord, Boriahs said in what he hoped was a humble tone. After nearly ruining everything with his ill-fated attempt at kidnapping, I should have removed his head from his shoulders. But, he added when the god’s eyes flared within the black pool’s depths, I wished to save that honor for you.

Ciarrohn’s visage settled, those molten eyes cooling.

You chose wisely, slave, but do not think your punishment will be overlooked. When you arrive in Vruuthun, you will be dealt with, as will the elf. He travels with you still?

Clenching his back teeth, Boriahs nodded. He wished to return to Cahrdyarein, but we refused to send him. I have a pair of soldiers keeping an eye on him at all times to make sure he doesn’t try to sneak away.

Good.

The reply from Ciarrohn reverberated throughout the cavern on a long, droning note. Much of the activity of Boriahs’ men had been blocked by the curving walls of the back chamber, but the god’s response clearly alarmed the others. Nervous, frightened chatter kicked up as the crash of stalactites breaking free and plunging to the ground greeted his ears. His master’s displeasure reaching across realms.

Do you wish for us to pursue the girl? Boriahs asked when the uproar had settled once again.

No, Ciarrohn replied. I wish for you and what remains of the Red Flange to return to Ghorium immediately. My power grows every day, and soon I will be strong enough to strike a death blow to those pitiful elves to the south. Once we crush the heart of the Coalition, the girl will be easy enough to pluck from what remains.

Boriahs wondered why his master wanted the girl alive. If she was prophesied to destroy him, why he would allow her to continue drawing breath was beyond him. But Ciarrohn was the god of cruelty, hate, malice, and despair. Killing Jahrra outright would not prolong her suffering and to give someone a quick death, especially someone who had caused him so much trouble, went against his nature.

With a quick nod and a newly sworn vow to do as he was asked, Boriahs spoke the words to end the connection through the pool, then rose to his feet. He once again limped back to the main cavern to find the men shaken but ready to continue their march down the Great Hrunahn Mountains.

What has our master asked of us? one of the higher ranking soldiers inquired.

Boriahs flicked his dark eyes from face to face, noting the grim expressions, some a bit nervous, some resentful, before they locked with the blue gaze of Keiron. Hatred and loathing burned there, but beneath that defiance churned fear. The commander of the Red Flange grinned with malicious glee, the action pulling at the scars branded into his cheek. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and barked, Gather the quahna! We ride for Ghorium and war!

A cheer erupted, and the anxiety tightening itself around the group lessened. Boriahs’ beast was brought to him, and as he mounted, he called over two of his better riders.

I need you to travel to Cahrdyarein and tell the rest of the Flange our master wants us home. You can join them and catch up with us later. Before you leave, however, make sure more messengers are dispatched to round up the rest of our soldiers dispersed throughout the west. Cierryon and Ciarrohn have called us to battle, and we will eagerly comply.

As Boriahs and his ragged soldiers left the cave, finding a snow-clogged road leading out of the ranges and toward the Great Hrunahn Wilderness, two red riders turned south to return to Cahrdyarein with the news the Tyrant was finally ready to wage his war. And as the servants of the Crimson King dispersed like flame ants scattering from their nest, a set of golden eyes marked their every move from much farther up the peak.

Dread pooling in her heart, the Mystic Archedenaeh breathed, Ethoes above and below, I can no longer afford to wait. For she could not deny what she had overheard in that cavern nook. As the last lingering threads of her consciousness swept up through the ice-laced cracks of the earth, returning to her mind after eavesdropping on the Tyrant’s commander, the terrifying truth of those words spread forth like the long, lingering peal of a bell. A death knoll as the first cry for war echoed through the core of the world.

With a shaking breath, the Mystic threw the hood of her cloak up over her head.

Come along, Milihn, she called out to the korehv resting on a jut of rock just above her head, we have to catch up to Jahrra. We have run out of time.

-Chapter Two-

The Great Forest

Jaax had been right. The next morning the group of travelers came to the bottom of a great culvert and discovered a sea of lower mountain peaks stretching out before them.

The eastern group of the Hrunahn Footmountains. No more severe altitude sickness and, Ethoes willing, no more snow.

Jahrra glanced over at Ellyesce, whose expression remained as neutral as his tone. A pall of impending dread had been nipping at her heels ever since leaving the protective walls of Nimbronia, and the elf’s own prolonged stoicism had not helped. In fact, ever since leaving Cahrdyarein behind she’d been antsy, nervous, certain someone or something had been following them. Her mouth thinned as she reminded herself that her instincts had proved true in one aspect, at least. Keiron’s betrayal still clung to her with sharp, bitter claws, even if it wasn’t so fresh anymore. An old scar she could run her fingers over, recalling the memory of pain but not feeling it. Still, it had taught her not to extend her trust so easily in the future. A good lesson, probably, considering what awaited her in Ghorium, but it had hurt nonetheless.

A dragon’s shadow passed overhead, followed by a draft of wind kicked up by the beat of great wings as Jaax dropped from a peak above.

Well, Jahrra thought to herself as she watched his graceful form cut through the air, gliding toward the lower ranges, at least I can still place my faith in one soul.

She shifted in her saddle to check on Dervit, clinging to Rumble’s mane behind her. The limbit had been rather quiet of late, too, only becoming more animated at night while they chatted around the fire and played Astral cards. Once reassured Dervit hadn’t fallen off his horse farther back up the trail, she angled her head and gave Ellyesce another sidelong glance. He wasn’t looking at her, but watching Jaax, as she had done earlier. Or, perhaps, he was studying the seemingly endless range of craggy, snow-capped mountains reaching almost to the horizon below, calculating the time it would take them to reach Dhonoara. A shiver of nervousness boiled up in the pit of her stomach. Dhonoara was to be their last reprieve before plunging headlong into war. As much as she longed to see the legendary valley, she also dreaded the day they stepped foot between its sheer walls.

Stop it, Jahrra, she chided herself. Worrying about what is to come will only make you sick. Jahrra frowned, her stomach plunging uncomfortably as Gliriant took a sudden, jerking step forward at Ellyesce’s command.

Jahrra’s brow furrowed as she studied the tense set to the elf’s shoulders and the way he jumped at every little sound. Yes, he’d been overly alert of late, but this was almost verging on paranoia. Glad to have another puzzle to occupy her own harried mind, Jahrra tried to recall the details from Ellyesce’s conversation with her guardian the night before. Unfortunately, she’d only caught a few of the words exchanged between them.

Jaax had mentioned something about the elves of Hrunah, and Ellyesce had asked if they planned to travel south. She had no idea what one had to do with the other, but she figured she’d know soon enough.

Look, Jahrra, Ellyesce said quietly, drawing her away from her reverie.

Jahrra narrowed her eyes. They were still a good deal up the Hrunahn Mountains, but off to the south the slopes gave way to an immense forest, its thick canopy of leaves crashing against the stony cliffs like an endless jade ocean. The view was absolutely breathtaking, and for a few moments, Jahrra let that beauty engulf her and chase away all her worries and fears. She strained her eyes, trying to see farther than they would allow. At the very edge of her vision, two great expanses of blue water shimmered between the mountains and the endless woodland. Lake Hrunah and Lake Runess, if she was remembering her geography lessons properly. A silvery thread of color twined