Urla marched on foot at the head of her company. The strange alkine beasts were no quicker than her own pace, and they’d felt strange beneath her legs. Unlike her husband and son, she’d always preferred her own boots to a mount. She had trained all her life to cross mountains and deserts on foot. She’d marched all the way from Attica to Taika in her youth.
Though that memory triggered conflicted thoughts. Of her last conversation with the shaman before he betrayed Attica. Betrayed her. Then again, Joren had fought against her at that time too.
Once an enemy, always an enemy.
The Valucians were proof enough of that old saying. The shaman’s wife had confirmed her husband’s betrayal, still, Urla could not quite settle her mind.
She had liked Joren, even trusted him. That’s what happened when you fought off Morphs with a man. The bond that she shared with all the Bloody Company.
Now, that man’s family had run off with her prized prisoner and left the Lady Knight in their wake. They had willfully hidden the Rykus girl under her nose, and supported a rebellion that might threaten the future of the empire itself.
And yet, they had spared Ruan’s life.
“Why?” Urla had asked Madri upon interrogating her. The Faltari had remained loyal to Attica for generations. “Why die for this?”
The woman had given an infuriatingly simple answer. “My husband believed it was right.”
“And Ruan?”
“He helped you son for the same reason.”
It was a maddening paradox.
Madri rode an alkine a short distance behind Urla in the march. The woman’s hands were chained, and she was watched at all times by Sergeant Roak, along with that annoying young prick, Aram Tulsein.
Tul had remained in Yerida, and his son represented his clan in his father’s stead. Elder Dannsein also remained behind, having suffered excruciating burns.
With the young shaman missing, and Joren dead, Olma Marudeil had elected to lead a large company of Faltari to Valgland until this mission was done.
Urla had thought it a prudent decision when Joren proposed it. And she still did. At this point, the fewer Faltari on this island, the better.
She didn’t trust any of them.
An operation like this could take several days. To extract a veritable treasure trove of dragon eggs from a gate at the top of a floating mountain range. And there were the rebels to deal with.
A roar erupted from the clouds, and all eyes shot skyward.
The sight of red dragon wings soaring over the Faltari peaks sent shivers down Urla’s spine. A sharp thrill that swiftly morphed into sorrow. The magnificent winged beast bore the same earthy, clay-red coloration as Voltari. For so many years, the sign of red wings on the horizon brought a sweeping sense of relief and excitement. Her husband was alive. The Dragonmounts had triumphed.
Now, it brought trepidation. Urla knew from the coloration that it belonged to the emperor’s military mount. His white one was mainly ceremonial, though few outside the Dragon Lords knew it.
Considering the dire circumstances, Urla had half-expected the emperor’s wrath upon his arrival, or at least outrage. The matter of the shaman was a failure of hers and hers alone.
But Athanasius was collected and focused. After briefing on the events of the previous night, he and the other mounts took off to scour the forests leading up to the Spires.
Now, his red dragon dipped its head, as it soared downward, and Urla spotted a second rider behind the emperor. Her heart raced.
She picked up her pace as the dragon soared down from overcast skies and swept out over the spearpoint tops of the snowpine trees. Great bony wings stretched wide as sails as the dragon slowed. It flapped hard at the last, pulling itself upward, and a loud rush echoed over the valley.
The thud of the landing sent tremors down the crude mountain road.
Urla resisted the urge to race forward, fearing such passion might be taken the wrong way by the emperor.
Athanasius dismounted first, and reached up to help Ruan slide down the dragon’s side. As Ruan’s feet hit the uneven ground of the Soul Road, he nearly lost his balance, but the emperor held fast to his arm, steadying him.
Considering how she’d left him, it was a remarkable sight to see him awake at all.
Urla marched forward. Ruan stood tall and proud at the emperor’s side, the dragon drawing up its neck and pluming its wings. The sight stirred something in Urla. Regret? Sorrow?
Ruan’s head was turned slightly away from her, but he perked up as she neared. Though she knew instantly something was wrong.
She pounded her fist against her chest in salute. Ruan returned it, but the action was delayed.
“Your son was quite brave, Consul Pelasius,” Athanasius said. “Even with his injury, he still managed to escape the rebels, and deliver one of their own in the process.”
Another dragon soared over the peak, two riders once more.
Urla turned back to Ruan. “Injury?”
“The work of that shaman traitor,” said the emperor.
“When I woke, all was darkness,” Ruan said, no fear or sorrow in his voice.
Urla nodded, understanding the delay in his salute, the strangeness of her son’s gaze.
Gods above…
“I assure you when we return to Attica, I will make sure my healers do all they can. But there is some fortune in the tragedy, and I believe it was no less his path. Your son brings valuable information from his time with the enemy.”
***
Urla sent Roak with a group of her ten best archers on ahead of the company. They would scour the region on the ground, while dragons searched the air for the rebels.
As a captain, it was her instinct to go with them, to be in the midst of the action, leading the search. But her role as Consul demanded something different of her. She could not just go sprinting off into unknown woods. Nevertheless, she found herself aching for the hunt as she led the company to the passage between the mountains.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Urla rode one of the alkine now, wishing the wooly beasts moved faster. Ruan rode behind her, holding on to her shoulders like a child. He said little as they descended into the narrow valley, at the foot of the Sleeping Woman.
“Whatever happens, I’m grateful you’re alive,” she said. “Any injury is better than death.”
“Not very Attican of you,” Ruan murmured.
“But no less Fjuriin,” said Urla. “You have only so much sway over your path. But just because—”
“I don’t want to speak of it right now,” Ruan said.
“Of course.”
Urla glanced over at Ava Rykus, whose alkine was tethered to two other mounted soldiers. Her hands were bound behind her back, and her body jostled as the strange mountain beast ambled up the road.
Ava scowled, saying nothing, though Urla caught the occasional glare in her son’s direction. That gave her some satisfaction at least.
Captain Rykus and the Faltari rider are here. How did they get here so quickly? Where are the others?
There were yet no signs of the runeship or dark flying beasts, according to the Mounts.
Still, Urla was on edge. With Ruan convinced the rebels were heading toward a narrow pass to cut off their route to the sacred valley, it seemed the emperor’s plan was working.
All she could do was press forward, and trust in orders she’d been tasked to carry out.
March on as normal. Give no appearance of urgency.
Most of her company knew nothing of the dangers. But if they feared, they did not show it. The arrival of the emperor himself had only intensified the resolve of the Bloody Company. This was their chance to make their mark.
The mountains plunged into the skies on either side of the wide valley. The wind grew sharp and crisp. Thick copses of white-limbed socha trees lined the foothills of the mountain ahead, leaves blazing brighter shades of red the higher they went.
The peak at the other end was one gargantuan swath of rock. Its highest point, indeed looked much like a woman’s head with her head drawn back, patches of brush could almost be her hair, sweeping down the left side of the mountain. A sharp ridge formed her neck, sweeping up to another rise, forming a torso. A long flat stretch of peak extending far, before rising to one last peak, looking like knees raised. And the likeness ended.
It was so human in shape, Urla might have sworn it had been fashioned so. Perhaps the Faltari had been a band of ancient masons long ago.
She chuckled softly to herself.
The shaman’s wife brought her mount abreast of Urla’s, flanked by Caliphus and another member of the Bloody Company.
“Remarkable,” Urla muttered, gazing out at the mountain. “I’m surprised she’s not regarded as some sort of goddess.”
“There are only the All Mother and the All Father, and they yet live,” said Madri. “But according to some legends, the mountain was formed in honor of one of the greatest of their children.”
“Their children being…”
“Us.”
“Rather high view of yourselves, isn’t it?”
“All people are their children, but we Faltari have been entrusted with special gifts, and a solemn duty. Beginning with her.” Madri gestured to the mountain. “My grandmother told me a story of a mighty woman named Ilyetha. The wife of the leader of the Crossing. But I know you Atticans harbor a different tale.”
“Don’t we all? This sounds a bit like a wives’ tale we tell ourselves in Attica. Go on.”
“Ilyetha’s husband died only years after the Crossing, and there was much deliberation about how to proceed. They had no children, and so there was no obvious heir. Ilyetha had a viable claim, but I suppose you can imagine how that went.”
Urla nodded.
“Thousands of people had Crossed by that time, and the Great Curse that plagued the previous world still lingered I the hearts of men. There was a great and violent fractioning of our people. In those days, everyone possessed magic abilities, and it could be a terrifying power. In the wake of this conflict, many left the island to inhabit other lands, forming the other peoples of ?rithèa. While other clans formed and dispersed, Ilyetha remained behind with a small band of our ancient kin. They were not the greatest, they were not the most powerful, but like Ilyetha, they were wise. They understood the blessing magic was. Something to create, not destroy. It’s for this reason, I believe, that magic has endured here, on Faltara, as it has. All are the children of the All Mother and the All Father, but most have forgotten their identity. Even we Faltari forget at times. Even the shaman himself may forget for a time.”
“Madri, I…”
“My husband knew exactly who he was at the end. The same devotion to the gods that drove him to save your son’s life also drove him to help that girl over there, and her cause.”
Silence lingered for a moment.
Anger rose in Urla’s chest like a flame ignited. But she tried not to let it show. Whatever was ahead, she needed the shaman’s wife to think well of her. To believe she could be swayed.
“What happened?” Urla asked. “To Ilyetha? After her husband died, and she became a leader of your people.”
Madri shrugged. “She stepped down from her seat as chieftain. She formed a council. Remarried, and despite old age, she bore a son. A son, who would go on to form the four clans of Faltara. But it was her example that inspired the formation of my people. She did not vie for power, though she was as powerful as any of the men who fought in that great and terrible war at the beginning of ?rithèa. She played a different game. That was her strength.”
Aram Tulsein rode over, shooting a glance at Madri, before meeting Urla’s gaze. “We’re near our destination, Lady Consul.”
The emperor’s red dragon circled the skies above her, scanning the pass for threats on the ground. Another blue dragon flew further out, searching the western passes.
Urla examined the mountain ahead, but saw nothing that looked like the entrance to a canyon. “Where?”
Aram pointed to a depression near the base of the Sleeping Woman.
A strand of rock rose from the foothills. It had looked like the woman’s arm from a distance, but as they neared, Urla noticed enclaves in the rock.
“The Passage lies there, the fingers of—”
A screech filled the skies.
The emperor’s dragon banked hard as something shot from the valley floor, straight into the sky.
Straight at the emperor.
***
Captain Adrius Rykus shot from his hiding place like a dead star from its home in the heavens, raining down upon the world in a streak of light.
With magic thrumming through his body, Rykus was filled with a peace he’d never known in all his life.
No more striving. No more sorrow. No more fear and worry over his wife or daughter. They were in the hands of the gods now.
His mission was set before him, and for once, Rykus understood—nothing more depended on him.
Only this last act.
This infernal distraction.
Perhaps, the emperor would die.
But Rykus knew it didn’t matter. The act of the attack alone would keep the Attican company distracted long enough that they would not dare passage until morning.
Would it be enough time for the rest of the plan? For Ava? For Deven? For the band of rebels he’d trained for years.
That was out of his hands.
And releasing that burden seemed to send him flying all the faster.
The air was bitter cold on his face, stinging his eyes, despite the intense warmth of magic coursing through him as he rose higher and higher. Faster than any bird. Faster, even, than a dragon.
Rykus had learned to use magic to fly from his father. An ancient Valucian secret. One he’d only been able to nourish in the mountains of his family’s isle. Beyond the sight of the empire and its many, many spies.
The Elyans called it Conjuri magic. The ability to push back against the elements of the world. But even the Elyans had not understood that there were elements in the air as well. It was a revelation that had won him an audience, and the support of a company of their Morphs.
We are the Watchers at the edge of the world. The Bringers of truth and justice.
His father had instilled this in him, as he had instilled it in Ava.
It was not just about dragons, or Valucia, or even the Attican Empire.
It was the truth of the Crossing, and the laws of magic.
The future of ?rithèa.
Ancient wisdom paired with the audacious sorcery of the east. The world would never be the same.
It saddened Rykus, knowing he would not live to see that future.
But it would live on in his daughter.
Thanks to this final act.
Rykus shot through the sky. Higher.
The emperor’s dragon twisted sharply. High above the valley. Another dragon roared from the other end of the valley.
Too far.
The emperor’s dragon lurched and roared. Fire shot across the sky in a sweeping rush.
Rykus’s face was hot, but the flames swept out below his feet. He raised his blade before him. The very runemarked Kirithian blade that had earned him his seat as a lord in Attica.
The emperor reared back on the dragon’s back, his eyes wide with fear. He reached for his sword.
Rykus struck the emperor like a lance. Rykus’s blade plunged between runemarked plates at the armpit.
Athanasius seized with pain, hands slipping from their grips on the dragon’s scales. Rykus and the emperor both launched from the dragon’s back together.
The emperor met his gaze for a moment. Wide with terror, the fear of an imminent death.
Dragon wings swept out above, blotting out the sky.
Rykus lost his grip on the emperor.
His magic was utterly spent, and he could not slow his fall.
His body whorled through the air.
Spiraling, plummeting.
Rykus was at peace.