《Riders of the Heart Woods》 Zatch 771 RC, Falcon moon 1st Triphase; the storm-tossed seas of the Eastern Passage trade route. With the exuberant energy of youth, Zatch clambered up the mast towards the crow¡¯s-nest of his family ship, the Thorned Rose. She had been in service to their family for 40 years. Five-masted, and 1,100 tons, and agile as a monkey. Thorned Rose was as sharp a ship as her name implied. Built for speed and tall-sparred, she carried the utmost canvas possible aloft. 218 feet on the keel, a beam of 39 feet gave her an extreme breadth that was well appreciated by her crew of 48. With two babies on the way due any day now, the whole family was glad that their grandmother was still riding the waves with them as midwife and healer for the crew. True trade families, not merchants with more money than sense, manned their own ships with their large families. As soon as he was born Zatch had been carried on Kyra¡¯s back, as a mother she never shirked her duties even as she worked the lines beside her cousins and brothers. By the time he was walking she had been first mate. Now just after his sixth birthday, she had taken over for his grandfather as ship¡¯s captain. His father, Richter, had been the first outsider hired grudgingly by his grandfather in decades. Zatch¡¯s great aunt had retired to shore life. No one else in the family had a passion for charts or navigation, they had been forced to hire outside of the family in one of the larger towns far to the south. Perched on sun-bleached cliffs along the coast of the inner sea, his father¡¯s village had been large enough to build a small university. His father pointed out its rounded bronze roof and telescope every year as they sailed past. The village had attracted a decent amount of scholars to their shores as well as some of the larger families of traders who used its deep harbors and still, turquoise waters as a sanctuary during the long northern winters. Richter had joined the crew and fallen quickly in love with the ship and then Zatch¡¯s mother. They had married soon after, and he¡¯d never left the waves. Zatch took a deep breath of the clean crisp salted air. He paused one foot braced on the fifth sail, the Skysail, was his favorite bit of canvas on the ship where he could feel freedom pulling his clothes tight against him in even the slightest breeze. The sun heated the snowy white canvas of their sails, providing a warm glow behind him as he faced into the wind. Proudly he looked up at the last stretch of the mast before he reached the crows-nest. Few ships had enough mast to hoist a skysail, let alone the even smaller sixth sail. The Moonsail was a shining testament to the engineering prowess of his family¡¯s shipwrights. It was made from green canvas, as was every topsail on their ship, identifying them as soon as they came over the horizon to any traders on the waves. Letting others know they were about to be overtaken en route to whatever port they were sailing for. Releasing his deep breath Zatch clambered up the last few yards of the mast to hop over the small railing onto the tiny deck of crow¡¯s-nest Most traders still piloted galleons, and a few even clung to their Carrack¡¯s; horribly out of date though they may be. Their ship had been a revelation when she was unberthed for the first time, larger than their competitor¡¯s ships yet faster. A laden galleon could only hope to make three to four knots and average 80 miles a day, and that was with a good breeze, he thought disparagingly. The Thorned Rose easily made Twenty knots and cover 320 miles a day on average. Zatch knew every square inch of their floating home, he reveled in her strength and speed. The year he was born, 765 RC, the family had utilized a new process to chemically bond bronze to the hull from the water line down. He still didn¡¯t understand process himself, he just knew that the entire ship had floated in a bath of acid and chemicals until the metal had seemed to grow onto the ironwood of the hull, protecting it from rust. Most of the cost of building new ships was from importing the magical ironwood from the Rider¡¯s valley. All of the best ships were made from the planking of such trees after they were treated the ironwood transformed into stainless steel giving it a measure of resistance to the weathering of salt and sea. When live, the trees plunged their roots deep into the earth and drew the iron from its depths into their trunks and branches. Even after the trees were cut they still behaved just like normal wood except ten times as heavy. It was when the sap dried up and left the wood that it went through a startling transformation, losing its suppleness, the wood solidified into true iron with a beautiful grain pattern of wood and all of the strength of iron and steel. The trees gave more strength in less time than forging such intricate pieces out of raw iron or steel would have. Lithely he clambered up the ropes and spars trying to stow his restless energy. Something in the air prickled him, making it impossible to sit still. Exasperated, his mother had sent him aloft to put his energy to good use. He guessed being the captain of the ship and a parent had its advantages. With a final hop, he landed squarely on the large platform that encircled the mainmast. Breathing deeply he sought peace as he studied the horizon. Lightning crackled just at the edge of the world to the south of them, he rang the report sequence with the small hand bell attached to the mast to relay messages without having to clamber back to the deck. Each trading family had their own codes; five quick rings to indicate a weather report, a pause then one to four rings for which direction followed by three rings meant south, and then one to ten rings for severity of the storm he rang four times as the storm was still a ways off. He waited for the received single two quick rings a pause and two quick rings, or the repeat signal of three slow rings. Hearing the received tones echo off the still water he settled back in to watch the approaching storm. Kyra smiled at the sound of the approaching storm to their south. Zatch had signaled down to the watch officer just as she had trained him to do. She wondered if he realized his secret love of storms was well known by his parents. She placed a work-hardened hand on Richter¡¯s shoulder as he adjusted their course minutely with the large double wheel attached to the rudder chains. Above them Zatch studied the approaching storm thinking about what kind of ferocious spirit must inhabit such a boiling mass of clouds, he recalled his first lesson about the elemental spirits that roamed the land only a few short months ago. ******* ¡°Zatch! Put it down now!¡± his mother called at him. He was leaning against the railings teasing a bit of wind whipped water into a cyclone on the rail. At her shout he jumped and the infant water spout hopped over the side and back into the sea angrily pulling a sliver of ironwood out of the rail and sending it like a spear into his finger before disappearing, he yelped and clutched his injured finger and put it into his mouth to suck the offending bit of ironwood out.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. ¡°You mustn¡¯t toy with the spirits; they are as alive as you or I. They do not take kindly to man shaping them, nor trying to control them.¡± ¡°But grandmother summons them to help her with the winds when we need a bit of extra speed or some rain for the barrels,¡± Zatch argued spitting the fine sliver of Ironwood over the side. ¡°No boy she doesn¡¯t, she invites them. While tiss true that one gifted with magic can always compel a spirit of their element to come and do their bidding, she has never done that nor would she teach someone to. To summon is to exert the will of the master over the slave. To invite rather is to ask, politely mind you, for the assistance of an ally. Which would you prefer, if you were the one called for?¡± she asked kneeling as she spoke, to look him intently in the eyes. After a few moments, he flushed and looked away, nodding at his understanding she picked him up and tossed him high until his laughter brightened the early morning mists. ¡°Quickly now before it is out of sight, give him a name, you altered him he is your responsibility.¡± She said pointing to the tiny spinning bit of wind and water skittering across the early morning mist. Desperately Zatch glanced around for inspiration and saw the wind flag flapping in the wind, Vexillum he whispered the old word in the old tongue, and it seemed to carry strangely clear across the fog not muffled like other sounds. ¡°Do you have any of the magic?¡± he asked as she set him back on his feet. ¡°Not even a glimmer,¡± she answered smiling ruefully, ¡°but your father has a touch of the green in him, just a hint of earth magic, it helps him keep our little floating garden alive around all of this salt.¡± They both looked at the riot of plants that grew out of every spare pot or barrel on the aft castle, and the bridge. If it produced fruit or vegetables and could survive high winds Richter would harvest clipping or shoot and coax it to life as a wanderer. Everyone was always grateful for fresh greens after a few weeks at sea and the occasional orange or hardy crab apple baked into pastry was never turned down. His prized plant was a dwarf tea plant he had bargained hard for on one of their rare voyages far to the east before Zatch had been born. Tea was worth nearly its weight in silver and a luxury that few could afford to have with every meal. The green leaves where even now drying on a sheltered piece of canvas in the sun, Zatch¡¯s hands were still died a slight green colour from helping prepare the harvested leaves. Each leaf had to be bruised and rolled to release the waxy coating before they could be dried then ground up into powdered. It was tedious work but the bitter green tea was the only thing that kept many of the crew from falling asleep during night watches and it helped to chase the cobwebs of sleep away in the mornings. Whiteness blinded him, his world was light and movement, closing his eyes hid nothing from the insistent glare that washed even the faintest shade of relief away from his closed eyes. Panic blossomed and he struggled against the pressure that covered his body; flight, freedom, falling, he plummeted through the air as the light vanished plunging him down into roiling clouds of stark grays and bruised greens. Below him, waves roared and spray screeched as it was torn viscously away into the air, whipped into a frenzy by the tempest that was all around him. Wind buffeted him hard enough to stop his headlong plunge into the waves, grasping him it spun up, among the angry torrent of noise released by the storm, a foreign sound of metal on metal, it tolled out across the waves, piercing the cacophony painfully with its mournful and forlorn tone. Twice it rang before the crunching of breaking timber cut it off as cleanly as a knife. Dizzily he was buffeted up, down, and around, back and forth, his slight frame was tossed with wild abdomen, little regard from the maelstrom for his fragile mortal shell. A scream was torn from him as he was spun further up into the whirling black cone of the water spout, his loose shirt snatched away by greedy fingers; rain lashed him leaving raw red skin exposed to the elemental fury all about. Anger was his all-knowing master, shutting down all thought but rage. Furiously he struggled against the oblivion taunting him from all around; anger washed away the cold, violence shrugged off the encroaching peace of oblivion, wrath lashed out pitting his tiny form against the primordial forces arrayed against him. Clenching his jaw his teeth felt ready to crack at his infuriated denial of fate, curling into a tight ball, he fought on against the storm. Time passed as he was tossed about while he pitted his will directly against the storm, desperately wresting his fate away from its fickle winds; all his energy flared out from his skin against the unstoppable forces he pitted himself against until finally, the storm paused. Screaming like a fury, he flung his arms out, stretching his will all around him, he could feel his life-force being drained away to fuel his desperate fight, righteous indignation added strength to his struggles; until the storm quieted, muted just beyond the reach of his fingertips. Gently he was wafted up and studied by the vast power at work, he was swept into the eye of the storm, sunlight bathed him as though it was amused by the tiny grain of life that refused to succumb to its fate. His concentration wavered as he reached the end of his energy; at the first sign of a flicker, the storm dismissed him, sweeping him away as though amused by his antics. Darkness claimed him at long last; he was carried limply aloft, and then sped due west high above the white-capped waves cradled by crackling bands of lightning. Dazed He opened his gritty eyes, salt cracked and flaked off of and fell stinging his eyes, he sat up abruptly shedding more salt like a snake shedding its skin. ¡°What happened? Where was he?¡± He struggled desperately to recall anything from his past; anxiously he glanced around, echoes of thunder seemed to ring mockingly off the jagged cliffs all around him. He was barely out of the water on a thin, mostly pebble beach that was hardly above the high tide line. ¡°Zatch¡­¡± the name seemed to hang on the breeze fading away with the last vestiges of the storm as it raged out over the turbulent water. Hobbling up the beach Zatch clutched desperately at his name, fleeting feelings and have thoughts flitted through his pain-wracked brain. Sand and salt left a trail as he stumbled north towards the distant glow of a lighthouse just visible over the cliffs. Stumbling Zatch caught his foot on a loose board and pitched forward into the rough ground, darkness raced to ease him down into oblivion, he didn¡¯t stir as he fell prone into rocks. Above on the cliffs facing east, a shadow stirred and detached itself from the shadowed rock face. ¡°Interesting.¡± murmured the shadow as he moved smoothly down the sheer rock wall he perched on, leaving his breakfast of hardboiled eggs and bread for the gulls. He seemed to fade in and out of sight as his carefully crafted clothes allowed him to blend into the shadows just lightening with the passing of the storm and encroaching dawn. He studied the fallen boy, about six or seven he guessed, stooping he carefully probed the knot swelling out from the tousled raven black hair, the boy didn¡¯t stir in the slightest. Carefully he picked the oblivious boy up and stood rising smoothly without jarring the child. ¡°What am I to do with you little ship rat? Nearly drowned, dropped from the clouds sheathed in lightning, if I hadn¡¯t seen it with my own eyes I would never believe it, best get you to the abbess, she always knew how to tame a rat be it street or ship.¡± chuckling at his ruined morning of storm watching, he carried Zatch into the wide sewer tunnel that led below the city. Zatch Zatch 777 RC, Dragon moon 2ndTtriface. On a rope above the street of discipline, in the port city of Ashrung, Northern Arundel. Green eyes squinted in concentration, Zatch clung tightly to the rope that stretched off into the blackness below him. Sweat poured off his thin wiry frame as he struggled to lower the last bundle of habits down off the battlements. ¡°Only a little further,¡± he mumbled tiredly. Rain started to hit his back gently. Just perfect, he swore bitterly under his breath. The adult language pouring out steadily under his breath in a child¡¯s voice was shocking. It was a torrent that would have made the nuns of his orphanage blush in shame, he cursed the skies. The rain quickly soaked the rope making it slip through his hands. With a gasp of pain he let the heavy bundle of now wet clothes tumble free. It landed with a thud on the already heavily laden cart below. He winced at the noise and glanced around as he began to follow the bundle down into the cart, but no lights flared to life in the still sleeping orphanage; as much as he hated the place, it was his only home. The nuns were still sound asleep, the noise he had made was muffled by the rain that pounded down around him. But after tonight he doubted he would be welcome back with open arms. Zatch wiped sweat and water from his face, and slid down the rope with the ease of long practice. He landed on top of the bundles of clothes, robes and under robes, all of the habits from every nun in the entire city, three orphanages worth of clothes padded his quick descent. Zatch chuckled to himself, weak red light filtered down through the clouds from the full Dragon moon that hung over them. Of the four moons that shared the sky, the blood red Dragon moon was most revered by thieves, it¡¯s red light didn¡¯t ruin human¡¯s night vision like other colours of light. He climbed over the clothes and patted his friend Slug on the shoulder silently signaling him to start driving towards the Thief Lords manor. Slug grunted and whipped the old mule they had borrowed for their task into a slow trot. Zatch pulled a tarp over himself and the clothes so they wouldn¡¯t be too wet when they dropped them off to their new owners. The streets where completely empty of the city watch, no one without a nefarious purpose moved in the night. The night of the Thief Lords contest was the one night of the year that a shaky truce stood. No one was allowed to harm anyone, no robberies, no murders, and no assaults for one night. Every thief in the city was busy instead trying to pull off the best prank they could think of. As they passed the Market square, Zatch looked out to see their competition at work. Older members of the thieves guild, rushed about tying awnings together, drawing vulgar messages and pictures on the sides of the buildings around the square in chalk. A loud clang made him look up at the city¡¯s largest bell tower. A couple of boys were trying, unsuccessfully, to move the monstrous bell from the tower. Zatch shook his head at their antics, every year someone tried to move that bell. The closest anyone had come was to take the clapper and hang it off the tower doors like an oversized door knocker. Nothing so completely unoriginal was going to win the Thief Lord¡¯s prize. Zatch lurched forward smacking his head off the side of the cart. ¡°OW, Slug! Why¡¯d ya stop s¡¯ fast?¡± Zatch demanded. Slug chuckled as Zatch climbed up onto the driver¡¯s seat next to him. An expression of joy on his simple face, Zatch was his only friend. A job he took very seriously, the other thieves in the guild enjoyed tormenting the large simple man. Zatch couldn¡¯t stand it when someone stole Slug¡¯s few possessions or his meager portions of food. Slug had been trampled by a noble¡¯s horse when he was 13. Half his face was paralyzed, a large dent just above his right eyebrow made the eye protrude slightly. Drool seeped constantly out of the corner of his mouth. He had never recovered from the incident mentally, but could follow simple instructions, and Zatch knew he could feel when people pitied him. ¡°He¡¯re.¡± Slug said lisping heavily. Zatch glanced around, they had made it to the thieves playground, the street of the ¡°Ladies of the night¡± as they were called in polite company. An unnecessary practice Zatch thought, even at 12 he knew a whore when he saw one, call a rose a rose. He thought, no sense in prettying up something to save yourself embarrassment. A delusion only the rich could afford. A women dressed in little more than a heavy cloak emerged from the shadows a wicked glint in her eyes as bright as the stiletto she held in her hand casually tapping it against one shapely thigh.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°Zatch?¡± she asked. ¡°We made it wit out a hitch Mattie,¡± Zatch said grinning. Mattie had agreed to distribute the second half of Zatch¡¯s plan for his prank. Quickly he and Slug unloaded all of the nun¡¯s robes. Mattie and her friends whisked them away with remarkable speed. After the last bundle was in good hands Zatch went back to see how Mattie¡¯s alterations where going. She was busily sewing and snipping the bulky black robes and brown under robes into a form fitting sheath of fabric. After a few more minutes she held up her finished product, now a sleek black dress it bore little resemblance to its humble beginnings. ¡°Very nice, at¡¯ll make the Thief Lord sit up ¡®n take notice,¡± Zatch said approvingly. ¡°Lemme get my face on ¡®n we can go present our trick to his Lordship.¡± Mattie said sweeping away behind a curtain to get dressed and put on her makeup. Zatch looked around the room while Mattie chattered excitedly about what she would pick for her prize. The Thief Lord¡¯s contest had a prize, any single item picked from his manor, including anything from his vault. Zatch was hesitant about this honor, last year¡¯s winner had made the mistake of choosing the Thief Lord¡¯s most prized possession and he had simply vanished by the next morning long before he could enjoy his prize. A few years before that the winner had chosen some little knick knack and insulted their Lord, he also had disappeared from the city without a word to anyone in his gang or his family. Zatch had to keep cautioning Mattie to stick to their plan. She was going to ask to be appointed head of the Sisterhood of Scarlet Petticoats, the name of the lady¡¯s guild that ran her corner of the city. Slug was going to let Zatch do the talking for him, and ask for a position running one of the businesses that the Thief Lord used as a front to sell his illegal goods. Zatch thought the bakery on Drury Lane would probably be best. He hadn¡¯t decided what he was going to ask for himself yet. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll just wing it.¡± He thought, that usually works out alright. Zatch yawned again sunrise was only a few hours away. He thought about the looks that would be on the Nun¡¯s faces and hoped he made it back in time to enjoy it. Thinking of the other children blissfully sleeping through the night comfortable in their plain, ruthlessly clean beds, made Zatch wish he was a child as well. But he hadn¡¯t been a child since he woke up half drowned on the beach ten miles south of the harbor, with no memories of where he had come from or who his family was, just his own name echoing on the wind. They rolled to a stop on the now crowded street bordering the waterfront. Huge warehouses lined the street like hulking, silent, sentinels, they loomed out of the shadows over the gathered thieves that busily chatted about their pranks. Zatch climbed down and grinned impishly up at Mattie as she gave him a pointed look and he held out a hand to help her down from the wagon seat. She wore a traveling cloak that concealed her outfit until they unveiled it. Just as Slug recovered from his graceless fall out of the wagon, the doors to the manor house opened, spilling golden light out into the darkness. The Thief Lord himself stood before them, a giant man he towered over nearly everyone. He was at least seven feet tall. His all black clothes where nearly a uniform of sorts, he never wore any other colour. Tonight his black pants billowed out around him, cut in a fashion that resembled a fairy tale pirate. He even had a black handled cutlass stuffed rakishly through a wide leather belt. The loose fitting clothes hid his whipcord lean form. Zatch had spied on him during one of his rare fencing classes he taught to upper level thieves. Not an ounce of fat on the man, he was all wiry muscle and lightning quick reflexes, with his incredible reach Zatch doubted anyone could defeat him in a challenge for leadership of the guild. Just as these thoughts crossed his mind, one of the burlier breakers, as they called the strong arm robbers, stepped forward and tossed a metal studded gauntlet into the face of their Lord. ¡°Challenge.¡± The hulking breaker ground out, drawing a heavy metal sheathed cudgel from the recess of his stained cloak. ¡°Accepted.¡± The Thief lord said wiping a smudge of grease left by gauntlet off his cheek with a black handkerchief. As he stuffed the soiled black square into a pocket his other hand rose smoothly from behind his back holding small hand crossbow. Before the crowd could even clear a space for the duel, the string twanged, burying a small black bolt in the chest of the breaker just shy of his heart. Now everyone scrambled out of the way, but it was over before even really beginning. ¡°You¡­cheated.¡± The breaker gasped out as his lung filled with blood. The Thief Lord tsked dismissively calmly reloading the crossbow he pointed it at his now prone opponent. ¡°If you truly believe that, then you are too stupid to live.¡± He said calmly and put a second bolt into the breakers¡¯ knee. The breaker screamed weakly and went silent as he blacked out from the pain. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I can¡¯t kill you tonight.¡± The Thief Lord said nodding to the man¡¯s terrified companions to take him away. ¡°If he¡¯s still in the city at dawn his life is forfeit. Now! On with the contest!¡± He said waving everyone else inside, Zatch was watching for it and still missed it when he put his crossbow away. Nervously Zatch and his small gang followed the crowd inside, he didn¡¯t like at all how the doors boomed closed with deathly finality behind the last straggler. Kaydran Kaydran 777 RC, Dragon moon 2nd Ttriface; Refugee camp, outside the city of Mehrad, Southeastern Kavah. He sat up and looked at himself. Kaydran thought he was dead, a ghost or wraith. His skin was grayish white. Had the explosion claimed him as well? How then could his eyes burn so much, and his body ache as it did? He touched his finger to his aching mouth and tasted bitter ash, he grimaced at his own foolishness. Ghost didn¡¯t feel anything, especially not this terrible thirst. He brushed himself off, trying as best he could to get the volcanic ash out of his hair. He stood looking around, everything was flattened as far as he could see. Ash still filtered down from the sky like dirty snow. It lay on everything in sight, a coating inches thick, it must have been falling for days. As he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing, Kaydran walked around the rubble of what had been his bedroom he shared with his brothers Santo, and Lanz. A sick lurch made him drop to his knees when he saw the crooked arm reaching into the sky from beneath a pile of broken rafters. Kaydran woke with a jerk from the vivid nightmare, his piercing blue eyes bloodshot from yet another sleepless night. In his dreams the Volcano erupted again and again, earthquakes destroying everything left standing to forever take his family from him. So long ago now, but still it haunted his dreams. He groaned as he climbed off the worn pallet that was his for the night. Just one of many in the large tent set aside for children his age. On silent feet he padded out of the tent waving to muffled morning greetings from a few of the other early risers. At the entrance to the tent he studied the sprawling camp that contained what was left of his people. Thousands of tents dotted the slight depression of the valley they had been marched into. The countryside within a mile of the camp was stripped bare of all edible plant life. He sighed as he made his way towards the water pump. They had started rationing again, which of course meant the ruler of Kavah would undoubtedly politely march them out of his borders within a few weeks. Kaydran greeted everyone he saw by name as he made his way through the camp. He was good with names, never forgetting a face once he was introduced. He stopped off at one of the guard posts that were set up evenly around the camp, for their protection of course. ¡°Morning Arman, bring anything good today?¡± Kaydran asked sidling up to the towering guard. Arman grinned down at him and handed him a rough cloth sack. Kaydran peeked inside, careful to keep it out of sight of anyone walking past. A dozen black truffles released their unmistakable earthy scent into the air. ¡°Only the best.¡± Arman said gruffly. ¡°What about you?¡± Kaydran glanced around carefully and handed over a large flask. It contained the pungent liquor called Lona, his island had been famous for it, and a few of the old timers in camp still knew the exact recipe. Arman was partial to the now very rare drink. He also raised pigs and had trained several to sniff out truffles, the hard to find fungi could only be found among the roots of oak trees. Kaydran had wheedled the technique out of him over the last few weeks, only after he had a few drinks during his shift. He had also convinced him to trade a piglet from his best sow when she gave birth later that week for three pitchers of Lona. Arman had only agreed because he knew they were going to be moving camp and his chances of getting anymore after they left, where slim, plus the stuff would be worth its weight in gold if he managed not drink it all for a few months. Kaydran set off for his next stop, the small market that the cooks used to trade for whatever they could for spices and fruits to vary the bland food they had to prepare for thousands each day. He traded ten of the truffles for a sack of 20 blood oranges, and a dozen fresh jasmine flowers, the two hardest ingredients to get for the Lona. Careful not to be followed, he made his way to Eunice¡¯s tent which was set in a small hollow. She was the only one brewing Lona who was too old to get around and deliver it. The steam from her still was just starting to waft out of the tent as he lugged his prizes into her camp.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Finally! I¡¯ve been waiting three days to brew this last batch.¡± Eunice said without preamble, she snatched the crate out of Kaydran¡¯s hands and went to work with the ease of decades of practice. Kaydran smiled and left her to her work. She ignored him now that she had her work to occupy her. Kaydran made his way to the small market behind the army command tents, once there he traded his last two truffles for a roll of clean bandages, some ointment, and a handful of copper thorns, the smallest denomination of coin used on the mainland. Whistling happily at his success, Kaydran dropped the bandages and ointment off at the tents for the youngest children, toddlers and infants too small to care for themselves yet. He shrugged off the profuse thanks of Calibre, the head caretaker, embarrassed when his cheeks burned red. He fled dodging her offer for lunch. A wonderful mother hen, but a terrible cook, Kaydran was glad of any excuse to dodge Calibres¡¯ cooking. Hurriedly he took his remaining coins and divided them in half. Half he gave out to the oldest and most needy members of the camp. The last half he slipped into his secret hiding spot. ¡°Kaydran!¡± an excited shout brought him to his feet, one of the boys his age, Tylar, was running up the small hill he had been sitting on. ¡°Did you hear? They say there¡¯s been a Dragon rider spotted to the north of here!¡± Tylar gasped out panting. He thrust a small bundle into Kaydran¡¯s hands before dashing off again he yelled back at Kaydran, who stood bemused at his excited antics. ¡°That¡¯s from my mom, a thank you for showing the army supplier her sewing. She¡¯s got the contract now for all the uniforms of the brigade!¡± Kaydran waved as Tylar ran off shouting the news of a Dragon Rider. Wistfully Kaydran scanned the skies as he opened the bundle and ate the large lunch Tylar¡¯s mom, Katrina, had provided for him. That night as he sat behind the tent used by the elders for their weekly meeting, Kaydran listened intently to their talk about which families needed help most, who had been injured and was unable to work, when the camp might have to begin packing up. Kaydran committed all he heard to memory so he could subtly help where he could without anyone noticing the interference of a child. As they wrapped up their meeting Kaydran slid away unnoticed by anyone leaving the tent. He made his way through the camp stopping to talk with people he knew, until he found someone that knew of Carmen and he children, her husband had been injured working with the carts that carried trash from the camp and was out of work with a broken leg and cracked ribs. He got directions to where they had pitched a family tent. Casually Kaydran strolled by peeking inside from the corner of his eyes. Melody carried a small boy on her hip as she bathed the feverish brow of her injured husband, her daughter slept on a pallet set against the back of the tent. Kaydran hurried past as soon as he was out of the light made by the single oil lamp burning in their tent. He made his way to his secret hiding place at the edge of the camp. He timed his advance carefully so that the guards patrolling with their torches. He snuck quickly through the night until he reached the large bolder overlooking the camp. There was a petrified tree propping it up at an angle, Kaydran wiggled as far back into the small opening as he could. There he dug up his secret stash of coins. He emptied the small pouch out into his hands counting up the Thorns, and few Talons he had saved up there. Weighing the need against what might pop up, against what was needed tonight he put all of the coins back into the pouch and hung it off his neck, hidden from view under his shirt. He crept on careful not to be seen back to Melody¡¯s tent. He settled into wait for her to go to sleep. He stared up at the uncaring moon over head wondering what wonders could be seen from that high above the land. He didn¡¯t have long to wait after less than an hour melody blow out their one lamp and climbed carefully into bed beside her husband. He waited until after the baby stopped fussing then crept forward as quietly as he could wishing his ankles didn¡¯t snap like breaking twigs when he bent too far forward. He froze as he lifted the edge of the tent flap carefully like a thief in the night he ghosted forward thankful for the layer of dirt he had acquired that day. His soiled clothes helped him to blend in to the shadows. Gently he lay took off the full pouch of coins, it contained 3 silver Talons and over a hundred copper Thorns it clinked gently and Kaydran hurriedly slipped it into Melody¡¯s loosely curled hand. A small sound from the baby cradled in her hand startled him and he dashed out from the tent headless of the noise. He jumped behind a pile of discarded baskets checking back the way he had come, he saw Melody come out into the dark looking all around. She held the coins to her chest as she looked around bewildered before ducking back into the tent she woke her family excitedly. Smile Kaydran made his way back to his own pallet grateful that he had been able to help where it mattered most. He fell into an exhausted sleep without changing. Daxen Daxen 777 RC, Dragon moon 2ndTtriface; Family farm, in the valley of Geatan, Central Arundel. Daxen bound out of bed, excited to start the day¡¯s harvest. Today was the first day of the strawberry harvest, his favorite snack. A mischievous twinkle lit his eyes as he pounded down the stairs ahead of the first rays of the rising sun. His mother, Raina, was already up. She was fixing breakfast for his father, Heinz. Sleepy groans and angry grumbles echoed faintly down the hall after the echoes of his rapid passage died away in the still sleeping house. The closed doors to his brothers¡¯ rooms banged open one by one as his family woke with the sun. ¡°Well you¡¯re up bright and early today Daxen.¡± His mother said smiling at him. Daxen grinned back at her. ¡°Of course mom, today¡¯s the day!¡± Daxen exclaimed happily. He snagged a sausage link out of the still hot pan and dashed outside to avoid his brothers¡¯ wrath for waking them early. The smell of dew drenched grass greeted him as he watched the rooster strut proudly up too his perch on the fence rail. Daxen watched bemused as the rooster carefully ruffled his feathers to settle them after his short climb, then puffed his chest up to crow loudly greeting the sun. His youngest sibling Milia came pelting around the side of the house chasing after one of her escaped rabbits. Daxen pounced on the furry white bolt before it could dart past him and held gently out to her. ¡°Bad Fernando! You know you¡¯re not allowed out of your cage, the fox will eat you.¡± Milia said wagging a carrot under Fernando¡¯s whiskered nose. Daxen chuckled as the rabbits ears dropped. It was most likely because Milia pulled the carrot away before he could take a bite, then from any feelings of remorse for his most recent jailbreak. ¡°You should listen to her, young buck, foxes aren¡¯t the only thing that likes to eat rabbit around here!¡± Daxen snarled at the rabbit and tried to bite its ear. Milia squealed, running off towards the rabbit hutches clutching her charge protectively. Whistling, Daxen picked up the dropped carrot and brushed it off. He quickly ate it along with his pilfered sausage as he waited in the wagon for his dad and brothers to get up. After what felt like hours, His Dad walked out of the kitchen wiping his mouth on a red handkerchief he always carried. Heinz was an impressively large man, at well over six feet tall he towered over all but the tallest men. Most men as tall as him tended to be thin, but not Heinz, he was as broad and sturdy as an oak. He could still hold Daxen, even though he had just turned 12, up in one giant hand. He towered over all of his family except Godfrey, Daxen¡¯s oldest brother. As large as a mountain in Daxen¡¯s eyes, and just as sheltering, he was a soft spoken man. Kind to his neighbors and loyal to his family, Daxen hoped to grow up to be just like him. ¡°You beat me out here today Davey.¡± Heinz said ruffling Daxen¡¯s uncombed sandy blonde hair. Daxen simply shrugged trying to look casual. Heinz laughed at his show of nonchalance and boosted him up onto the driver¡¯s seat. Even sitting on the driver¡¯s seat, Daxen barely came up to his shoulder. His brothers Kurt and Axel plodded out of the house yawning they pulled on their summer work shirts. Daxen fingered the rough woven silk shirt he also wore. He was thankful that their sister Lulu had convinced their Mom and Dad to invest in silkworms. She had apprenticed to the local seamstress and was in the process of starting her own loom house from the back of their largest barn. He could still recall the rough burlap they had had when he was younger, and definitely preferred the smooth silk. Even if they were ¡°mistakes¡± at least to Lulu¡¯s critical eye, he was happy to take them off her hands. He scooted over as Axel clambered up next to him and took the reins to the mule that Kurt had just finished hitching to the cart. Daxen wished he had a way with the animals like his younger brother Kurt did. He was never bitten by an angry horse, or stepped on by a disgruntled milk cow. Daxen made a face as his Mom and Dad exchanged kisses at the door, but he smiled when his Dad swung his Mom around in a quick circle before setting her, laughing, back down on her feet. Whistling, his Dad swung a hamper of food for lunch into the back of the wagon. It fit snugly beside the empty baskets for the strawberries. He pulled Kurt in beside him as Axel clucked at the mule and they started off with a lurch. Daxen waved at Milia as they passed, she stuck her tongue out at him still clutching her rabbit protectively, making him smile.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Daxen watched their large house fall out of sight as they bumped along over the first hill. The whitewashed walls and gleaming windows winked goodbye at him. The unfinished addition stood like a skeleton awaiting their return to work on it. Once finished, it would make it so they all finally had their own rooms. Kurt flopped down on his back and was quickly snoring. His Dad held his feet up slightly so they didn¡¯t drag in the dirt. Daxen glanced up at the sky, a strange feeling had crept up on him steadily the further they got away from the house. It was hard to describe, he glanced again at the sky and watched a solitary white cloud make its¡¯ lonely way lazily across the empty sky. Daxen finally recognized the feeling, it felt like a storm was brewing somewhere over the horizon. His frown made Axel poke him roughly in the ribs, Daxen swatted his hand away. At his raised eyebrow, Daxen simply shrugged and went back to watching the fluffy white cloud overhead. Axel lifted one shoulder letting Daxen be, their dad watched the exchange but said nothing, a family as close as theirs could say a lot without words. Axel concentrated on driving as they neared the Strawberry fields that had ripened fully. Daxen hopped down smoothly from his perch next to Axel as the wagon slowed. He started off down the row that was his to pick for the day. A sharp whistle from his Dad made him stop short and look back, Heinz waved an empty basket at him. ¡°Forget something Davey?¡± He called out. Daxen blushed and hurried back to snatch the basket out of his hands. ¡°Try to get a few in the basket this year, okay short stuff?¡± Heinz said as he took his own basket and strode off to pick another row of berries. Daxen nodded and dashed off with his basket. Kurt laughed and chased after him taking the row next to his. Daxen gleefully stuffed his mouth full of sweet, sun ripened, strawberries. After the first dozen or so he even started putting them in the basket, he glanced around and saw that he had fallen behind everyone else as he gorged himself. Speeding up he made sure only to only eat every third berry. After his first basket was so full he could barely lift it, Daxen dragged it carefully back to the wagon and kicked off his shoes. Once his feet touched the fresh turned soil between the rows of plants the feeling of something building intensified nearly making him jump in the sudden rush of pent up energy that seemed to run up his legs. Rubbing one foot then the other against his shin he tried to shake the tingling feeling off. Kurt looked at him strangely from a few rows away. ¡°Do you feel anything weird?¡± Daxen asked him, Kurt shook his head. ¡°Like what?¡± Axel asked as he took off his shirt now that the morning dew had burned off and the sun beat down on them, making sweat break out on everyone. ¡°Don¡¯t know exactly.¡± Daxen said still trying to shake the tingles out of his feet. ¡°Kinda like there¡¯s a storm coming, or something.¡± He tried explaining. ¡°Hey Dad! You feel a storm coming?¡± Axel called out to Heinz who was still working. ¡°No! Why? you boys know something I don¡¯t?¡± He called back pausing to straighten up and look at the three of them. ¡°Daxen feels something coming.¡± Kurt said. Heinz looked sharply at Daxen. Daxen was their weatherman, always the first to notice a change coming. ¡°Well we better pick fast, Axe, you run home and tell your mother. Make sure your sisters help her get as many vegetables out of her garden as they can. Bring your brothers back with you to help us get this crop in. We need it to buy grain for the winter.¡± Heinz looked concerned. Axel nodded and took off without a backward glance. He was the fastest out of all of them, Daxen watched as his stride lengthened and steadied into a steady pounding that would carry him all the way back to the house without him being out of breath. Daxen blushed at his Dad¡¯s confidence in his feelings and prayed that he this wasn¡¯t his first time to be wrong. Falkin Falkin 777 RC, Dragon moon 2ndTtriface; Upper branches, at the Rider¡¯s University, in the Vale of the Heartwood. Falkin glanced over the edge of the wagon, sized branch he stood on. Most people, even those living in the mountainous tree of the University would have found standing on a branch this narrow unnerving. Falkin loved it though, being able to feel the wind shift the living wood under his feet. Far below him he could barely make out the Wolf Riders saddling their giant mounts as they prepared to go out on search for the newest candidates for this year¡¯s class of Rider apprentices. Falkin tried to imagine what it would be like to see the World Tree for the first time. He scuffed a foot across the smooth worn bark of the branch he stood on thoughtfully. The mighty tree the Riders called home was larger than many mountains. The Dragons had helped the first Riders grow it, as a symbol of the peace between their species. A Star Oak, the magical tree had grown in minutes to tower above everything within sight. Every part of it could be used for something, the acorns for bread and food, the leaves for clothes and bandages, bark for medicines. A mighty gift, it benefited all humans, not just the Riders. Five miles around, the trunk supported dozens of stairs and protruding housing for the Dragon Riders along the trunk. Towering three miles, the tree thrust branches into the clouds, providing unique homes for the Falcon Riders and nesting grounds for their partners. The air at the crown was thin enough to make it difficult to breath. Falkin loved the crisp smell of the air up this high, as if no humans had ever touched it. He watched the pack of Wolf Riders thunder off towards the south. With a sigh Falkin put the spyglass away, he had borrowed it from the observatory, no one would miss it. Even though it would be an expensive trinket anywhere else in the world. Far below the wolves faded away into the distance lost among the rolling hills. He checked the sun. At this rate he was going to be late for his next lesson. Falkin sprinted expertly over the slightly swaying branch. No sign of fear at the nearly 13,000 foot drop to the ground slowed his pace. The door set into the very bark of the tree was expertly made to merge and blend with the outermost layer of the tree. Most of the new apprentices would be shocked at how much work they had ahead of them, weeks of lessons on every conceivable subject, from botany to mathematics. All before they even learned how to use the magic inside of them, or their partners where hatched and born. But for Falkin it would be almost a vacation. Already his uncle had him in lessons with the best tutors he could buy, bully, or blackmail into service, teaching Falkin all of these things. Then there were his tutors in riding, and archery, sword fighting, jousting, scribing, foreign languages, and dozens more subjects that he had been taught over the years. Falkin was not ungrateful for the knowledge he was being imparted with. On the contrary, he loved learning anything new. But after years of trying his hardest and completing every challenge set before him, he was sick to death of the pointless drudgery of it, his uncle, demanded perfection accepting nothing less in others or himself. His uncle had never once shown anything remotely like approval at his actions. Nothing Falkin did was any more than what was expected of him, no matter if it was winning the archery contest at the Summer Solstice competition, or swimming across Drake Lake at 8 years old. The day of his birth was not even something to be acknowledged with a gift or a kind word, Falkin didn¡¯t know when his exact birth day was, since his uncle had never told him happy birthday or given him a gift.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. He swung wide around a corner barely missing an owl rider who had her nose buried in a book. Skidding to a stop he jumped in the express lift reserved for senior riders and members of the Riders council, he flipped the brass lever for the roots and hung on as the lift brake disengaged. His feet slowly lifted off the bottom of the lift. Free falling for 10,000 feet the lift brakes gradually re-engaged slowing his plummeting journey until he was once again standing on the floor . He loved the feeling it was almost like flying, or at least he imagined. His Uncle had never even taken him for a ride on his Giant Bald Eagle, Sirius. He claimed only an Eagle Rider was worthy of riding an Eagle, and that he was not a carriage service. The lift slowed gradually and the feeling of flying fled as smoothly as it had come. Falkin¡¯s feet settled firmly back to the floor, and as soon as the lift clanged to a stop he continued his hurried journey. He expertly dodged around tiger Riders, and a few older Wolf Riders as he made his way outside. They ignored him, his sprinting antics where well known throughout the Rider¡¯s University. The massive tigers, nearly six feet tall at the shoulders, watched him with bright predatory eyes as he dodged around them. Obviously tempted to bat him around like a tabby cat with a toy mouse. He smiled impishly at their intense regard, not slowing his pace. Once outside he headed Northeast towards Drake Lake where his archery instructor had said to meet him at noon, or else. Panting, Falkin stumbled to a halt in front of his teacher. Ackard was not a Rider. ¡°A simple woodsman,¡± his uncle called him. He was in fact the best huntsman within a hundred miles, also the best tracker. He had no permanent home Falkin had learned, preferring to live in the wilds around the vale. He probably knew the Heart Vale better than anyone else within its magical perimeter. Falkin couldn¡¯t imagine what his uncle had used to get him to agree to private lessons with him every day. ¡°You¡¯re late.¡± Ackard said gruffly. Falkin started to talk but Ackard waved his excuses off and tossed him his longbow. ¡°Get started.¡± He swept his hand at the lake. Falkin frowned and looked out over the rippling water. A dozen targets where bobbing up and down in the waves. He turned in shocked disbelief, to Ackard. ¡°That¡¯s impossible!¡± Falkin exclaimed. Ackard said nothing, simply took the bow back, fitted an arrow to the string and drew it back smoothly. He waited timing his shot and let fly, the arrow soared over the waves and thudded solidly into the furthest target. He handed Falkin back the bow and raised his eyebrows. ¡°Show off.¡± Falkin muttered and prepared himself for a long lesson in humility. Other boys his age got to laze about in the sun on fine summer days like this he mused wistfully. Concentrating, he shot his first arrow at the nearest target, missing it by a wide margin. Ackard broke into a quiet hoarse laugh. Falkin ignored him and continued practicing. Zatch Zatch Thief Lords Manor, port city of Ashrung Zatch studied everything carefully with the ease of long practice, assigning values to the priceless art that hung on the marble walls, converting gold gilding into ounces and its current value on the black market. He stopped counting after the first 1,000 Gold Fangs worth of lavish decorations. He snorted at the thought of a single gold Fang, the most he had ever held was 1 silver Talon, worth a hundredth of a Fang, and usually he was only given his cut of the weekly take in Copper Thorns at 1/10,000 of a Fang. He realized that the Thief Lord¡¯s entire house was his vault and was not guarded as such wealth demanded, was he so secure in his power? Or was he simply that confident in his abilities? Zatch wondered. Before any more disturbing thoughts could present themselves to him the Thief Lord took his seat. He sat down at the end of his entrance hall in an ornate throne covered in elaborate carvings and scroll work. Gems glittered in the eyes of lions carved all over the heavily padded chair. Mattie led them over to one side of the raised stage that the throne occupied. Zatch stood in front of his small gang, Slug and Mattie stood just behind his thin shoulders. Next to them a large group of identically dressed men and women in dirty green shirts and plain brown pants arranged themselves with quite shoves and grumbles behind their leader. The Leader of the Fishguts wore a green silk shirt and sturdy brown leather pants. He glanced over at Zatch and smiled condescendingly at him. Zatch grinned up at the man and casually scratched his scalp with a throwing knife then tumbled it over his fingers as nimbly as some would tumble a coin. The leader of the Fishguts snarled and started to step towards Zatch, but the Thief Lord rapped his sword sharply against the floor and waved the first contestant forward to present their prank. Typical pranks and mischief, Zatch saw disgustedly. It was the same thing as last year with few variations on the general themes of mean spirited mayhem and idiotic mischief. After a dozen of others went the Thief Lord looked bored, he lounged in his throne yawning. ¡°Almost time.¡± He whispered to Mattie and Slug. Finally the last of the other thieves presented themselves, Zatch waited a beat after they had finished then stepped up onto the platform. He took a deep breath as all eyes turned to him and spoke as steadily as he could manage. ¡°My lord! We have saved the best for last.¡± Zatch said in his most cultured accent, Mattie had been working with him for weeks to imitate the speech of nobles that visited her in the night. The Thief Lord sat up straight to hear such a refined voice coming from the child in front of him. He was dressed hardily better than a beggar, the uniform of the gutter snipe children of the city, patched trousers and a ratty shirt washed so many times it had lost all colour. He quickly studied the boy, to see if he was indeed a member of his guild or a noble slumming. The boy¡¯s hands confirmed his membership faster than any questions he could have answered. Scars marred his knuckles from fist fights, calluses shielded his finger tips from rough stone when climbing, and his darkly tanned skin proclaimed him a thief more clearly than anything he wore. Zatch Held out a hand and Mattie took it as she carefully climbed up next to him with her dangerously high heels. She stepped seductively towards their Lord and with a move that was too fluid to be practiced, she unclasped her cloak and let it slide to the floor. The thin material slithered off her body with the reluctance of a boa constrictor releasing its prey. She strode forward with the perfect amount of bounce and just enough swing of her hips to mesmerize her audience. When she reached the throne she gave a graceful spin showing off her outfit. She had slashed the black over robe to nearly nothing, it rode over her shoulders and just over her breast, the back was completely gone exposing the graceful curve of her spine. The only thing that kept the black material from sliding to the floor to join her cloak was a thin gold chain at her waist. The plain brown under robe had undergone an even more stunning transformation. The neck line plunged to her belly button, the back was held together with crisscrossing strips of black lace. Slits exposed her long legs to perfection, Zatch had to give it to her though, Mattie was an artist with cloth. ¡°M¡¯Lord¡± she said curtsying. The Thief Lord smiled at her and waved Zatch forward, he bowed over Mattie¡¯s hand and kissed the back of it causing her to blush prettily. ¡°And who, are you? Who speaks for this ravishing creature before me.¡± The Thief Lord asked sitting back down without releasing Mattie¡¯s hand. ¡°Zatch, called sponge,¡± Zatch said with a grimace of distaste, he had earned his nickname from silently absorbing everything he could, along with having washed up from the ocean. ¡°My lord, a humble member of your mighty guild, with my companions Slug,¡± He waved to the silent staring figure behind him. ¡°And Cheri¡¯ we have pulled off the most daring trick the city has ever seen.¡± Zatch stated confidently ¡°Do tell.¡± The Thief Lord said blandly, he gestured and a servant brought a chair for Mattie to sit in beside him. Zatch continued his confidence building. ¡°We have managed to¡­¡± he paused smiling slightly as he chose his words carefully, since outright theft was forbidden. ¡°Exchange the garments of all of the nuns in the city with outfits generously donated by the members of Cheri¡¯s guild. A far exchange, my lord, of course the ladies have altered the robes slightly as you can see, wouldn¡¯t want them to lose any business for you on our account.¡± Zatch paused gauging the reaction of those listening. The room exploded into laughter including the Thief Lord, his laugh was booming and deep, but sounded rusty as if he seldom used it. After he recovered himself, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye before he spoke again. ¡°Excellent! But how are you going to stop the nuns from simply wearing their bed clothes or sheets when the wake up in the next hour?¡± He asked, eyes twinkling. ¡°I¡¯m glad you asked my Lord. Getting the clothes wasn¡¯t hard, what was hard, was sewing the sheets and bed clothes to the nuns¡¯ mattresses without waking them up!¡± Zatch finished his tale with a gallant bow, sweeping an imaginary hat off his head. That had indeed been the hardest part. It had taken all of the favors he been able to call in just to get the other orphans to give him a hand. Some he had to bribe for their silence others he threatened, but in the end it had worked out perfectly. Slug might be simply, but he sure had the right effect when you wanted someone to do what you needed. All he had to do was lift up a calf or small wagon to get his point across, no elegant words needed. The Thief Lord laughed again and even clapped a few times. ¡°Come let¡¯s go and see young Zatch¡¯s prank unfold.¡± They all followed as he led the way outside. Zatch saw that the blood had been scrubbed off the cobbled street in front of the manor house. A chill went up his spine at the efficient way violence was dealt with. Thieves¡¯ still busy celebrating the contest bowed low to their Lord, and by association Mattie. He still held her captive by her hand, which she didn¡¯t seem to mind in the least. Soon they stood at the bottom of the bell tower down the street from Zatch¡¯s orphanage. The bell tower was the highest point in the city, towering over even the keep of the ruler of Ashrung. The Thief Lord dismissed most of his court, selecting only a few of the highest ranking thieves to accompany them to the top of the tower. The sun was already rising as they came out onto the round balcony that completely encircled the top of the tower. Zatch closed his eyes as the new day unfolded shining on the first day of his new life, no evidence of the clouds that had soaked him mere hours before. ¡°Look your first victims awake.¡± The Thief Lord said silently moving to tower over Zatch. Far below them, a nun darted into the street like spooked thief she hugged the shadows, desperately trying to flag down a passing cart loaded with clothes headed to the dawn market in the square below the bell tower. Zatch smiled but took little pleasure in his success; he had nothing against the devout women who thanklessly manned the orphanages. He had simply needed a prank that was both spectacular and harmless. Their pride had been the only thing injured, but then again he mused faith wasn¡¯t in the clothes you wore. The thought made him smile, those with any real faith would be fine and any with more pride than faith deserved their fate. ¡°So young one, what would you and your friends ask of me?¡± The Thief lord asked, Zatch turned to face him and saw that they stood alone on the top of the tower. He was painfully aware that the one day that allowed no killing had ended with the dawn. Zatch swallowed to wet his suddenly dry throat. ¡°Well my lord, I would ask that you make Slug comfortable, he needs a job that will feed him. He is completely trust worthy my lord, it would simply not occur to him to steal from you. If it is possible he would make an excellent face for your front on Drury lane, the bakery.¡± Zatch continued in a rush as the Thief Lord said nothing just stared hard at him, his dark eyes unreadable. ¡°Mattie, I mean Cheri¡¯ would like promotion to the head of her order, the ladies of the scarlet petticoats.¡± Zatch finished stumbling over Mattie¡¯s¡¯ thief name. The Thief Lord simply stood regarding him for the longest 30 seconds of his young life. ¡°Done. Let¡¯s continue this in the square.¡± The Thief Lord said steering Zatch down the stairs just as the door closed the bell boomed out over the city waking everyone for their days labor. Zatch jumped slightly at the noise and wondered if the Thief Lord had timed his decent to coincide with the toll of the bell. He glanced back as he hurried down the stairs, and saw the small smile on his Lord¡¯s face, and knew he had indeed done just that. Once on the ground, The Thief Lord quietly waved over one of the scribes who followed him around at all times. Zatch managed to overhear just enough to know that he was indeed giving Mattie and slug what he had promised. He let a long sigh of relief ease out as he contemplated what he was going to do once the nuns found out who had embarrassed them so effectively. Zatch winced as he studied the group of women vainly trying to work up the courage to step out of his orphanage¡¯s gates. The clothes they had been forced to wear fluttered in the early morning wind like gaudy feathers, there shrill voices cackled in despair as a crowd started to gather in front of the gates. The Abbes strode through the crowd of her sisters and their laughing charges. Zatch¡¯s eyes snapped shut in mortification. Switching her white striped over robe for a mesh jacket and a bright pink corset had seemed like a great idea at 2am that morning but in the harsh reality of daylight, needless to say it was not her colour. He thought deeply embarrassed. The clack of her heels coming briskly closer made his head come up and his eyes snap open, his mouth dropped open a little, she didn¡¯t wobble in the least coming over the cobblestones in 4 inch spiked heels. Her garter belt strained valiantly to keep her strategically ripped stockings up on her skinny chicken legs and knobby knees. Zatch was deeply impressed with her composure, at almost 90 years old, it seemed nothing could phase her any longer. He purposeful march stopped with a click of her heels in nearly military precision she stood with her hands clasped behind her and her spine ramrod straight. ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± The Thief Lord said bowing elegantly to her. She sniffed and looked hard at Zatch¡¯s slowly heating face. He wished he could stop the blush from reaching his ears, but he did manage to not look away from her eyes. ¡°YOU,¡± she said to the Thief Lord jabbing a boney finger like an accusing dagger into his chest, ¡°where, never! This much trouble when you where my charge.¡± She scowled at the Thief Lords bland face, and turned to head towards the clothes seller who had set up shop under an awning. Zatch turned to say something to the Thief Lord and a flash of movement caught his eye. He whirled back just in time to see the Abbes fall one of her heels having caught in a cracked paving stone. Zatch lurched forward but a large calloused hand held him back firmly by the shoulder. The abbes turned he fall into a graceful roll and sprung to her feet smoothly and spun on one delicate heel with her arms upraised for applause that broke out around the square. She winked at Zatch before continuing her stately walk over to procure clothes for her sisters. Zatch felt his face drain of colour and his mouth fall open again.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°People are not born old Zatch, they simply get that way, with luck.¡± The Thief Lord said smiling slightly at Zatch stunned look.¡°She''s performed for kings in her day, she was an acrobat, spent her fortune on setting up these bastions,¡± he gestured at the high walls of the orphanage across the square, ¡°for other homeless children so they would not be without a home as well as parents, as she was when she first came to this city.¡± The Thief Lord finished, leading Zatch over to a stall selling fried dough for breakfast. As they walked in silence Zatch prepared to ask his bold favor of his Lord. ¡°My Lord.¡± He began finally. ¡°Ah I was wondering when you would get around to asking. Let''s sit down.¡± They both sat on the lip of the large fountain depicting a troop of dancers and acrobats leaping amongst the jets of water in the center of the square. Zatch silently wondered if the Abbess had also put it there for the poor of the city, he was willing to put money on it that she had at the contemplative look on the Thief Lords face as he studied one of the women depicted in marble performing a back handspring. He looked like he was recalling a fond memory. ¡°I would ask a boon of you my Lord. A simple favor that you would complete to the best of your ability no matter what I ask of you once in the future.¡± Zatch said at the Thief Lords encouraging nod he continued quickly. ¡°I simply want a chance to prove myself.¡± Zatch said in a rush as he ran out of breath. The Thief Lord was silent for a minute then broke out in another rusty chuckle. ¡°I should have known it would be a bold request, but I like it. Done. Now you¡¯ll need a place to say. Go see your friends, Cheri¡¯ may need a hand moving since she has been elevated in her sisterhood.¡± He started to say something else but a messenger ran up and whispered in The Thief Lords ear urgently. ¡°I have to go. We will talk again soon.¡± The Thief Lord said as he stood and shook Zatch¡¯s hand. Zatch noticed the thick gold ring that was the only jewelry he wore, its texture was strange against Zatch¡¯s skin. More like a gold coloured callous than a metallic ring. Before he could more than glance at it though The Thief Lord released him and faded like smoke into the crowd that had gradually been growing thicker in the market square all morning. Zatch glanced up at the sun, it was nearly noon and he had been up for over 30 hours time to go find someplace to crash for the day. He trudged wearily towards Mattie¡¯s rooms. He was so tired that he didn¡¯t even see the guards the Thief Lord sent to guard him discreetly in the blinding noonday sun, he squinted blearily as he dodged the traffic with the instincts of a true city boy. ******************************** Careful to keep well back from his new charge, Rock followed his master¡¯s directions carefully. He hoped he wouldn¡¯t have to step into protect the most promising member the guild had produced in decades. The boy seemed to be able to follow the ebb and flow of foot traffic with his eyes literally closed. One of the other men following Zatch from a block in front of him took off his jaunty red sailor¡¯s cap, the signal that trouble was approaching from the front. Rock sped up angling to intercept whoever was approaching. He saw from their clothes it was a couple of the mid level members of the Fishguts guild. Working in practiced harmony, rock and the other members of his crew closed in on the two unsuspecting men lurking in an alley mouth. Sally Sweet, the only female member of the crew, tripped into the two men as she walked past. The three off them struggled with her full skirts swearing vehemently under their breath. Rock calmly walked up behind them as his other two men dropped black cloth bags over their heads and he smacked the Fishguts soundly on the tops of their heads with his lead weighted blackjack. They silently went limp and his men drug them away for the Thief Lord to deal with later. He helped Sally Sweat straighten her clothes and they embraced as lovers in the shadows as Zatch stumbled past. As soon as he turned the corner Rock released her and she stripped off her skirt turning it inside out changing it from red to blue, she stuffed it tightly into her bag she carried and her long black hair followed suit as she took off one of her wigs. Rock nodded and they resumed shadowing Zatch without his ever having glanced in their direction. Something odd had caught the corner of Zatch¡¯s mind and he stumbled wearily to a stop trying to focus in his bleary sleep deprived state. He struggled to think clearly, usually the Thief Lord paraded the winner around the city. His eyes snapped open as he wondered at what could possibly have drug the thief lord away. Re-invigorated by the mystery presented to him Zatch spun on his heel and ran back the way he had come, dodging around people and obstacles without thought or effort. He never really thought about his about his ability to instantly recall everything he had seen, the things he had passed and logged away where mapped out perfectly in his memory. He charted his path, estimating where people would have moved too, and compensated expertly allowing him to travel in nearly a full sprint in the seemingly crowded streets. A slight commotion broke out behind him but he was too focused to give it much thought. He took a path through the back alleys that would hopefully let him intercept the Thief Lord if he had kept heading in the direction he had been going last time Zatch had seen him. Unnoticed to him Rock and his crew desperately tried to follow his weaving path, giving up Rock stopped gasping at the mouth of an alley Zatch had zipped down and waved his crew up to the rooftops so they could follow without the crowds slowing them. ¡°I¡¯m getting to old for this crap.¡± Rock thought wearily climbing the drain pipe of an old closed down Inn. Out of Breath Zatch spotted the Thief Lord talking with a few of his advisors and scribes who fluttered around him like vultures in their drab black clothes. Pecking at each other for his attention and to establish who was who in the pecking order. Silently Zatch followed them desperately trying to remain unnoticed with all of his skill. As they headed into nicer and nicer parts of the city Zatch had to slink further and further into the alleys because of his ragged clothes. Finally just before he would have to give up his pursuit at the gate that separated the wealthy from the poor, the Thief lord went into the courtyard of the largest and most expensive inn the city had to offer. The Dragons Nest it was called, it towered a gleaming white tower of wealth just within the borders of the merchant quarter of the city. A high wall ran around the entire building providing wonderful gardens for the Inn¡¯s customers to enjoy if the mood struck them. Zatch skirted the main entrance stealthily and went down one of the cramped alleys leading to the delivery gate. Nimbly he clambered up a stack of shipping crates to peer over the wall careful not to cut himself on the glass embedded in the top of the wall glittering like jewels in the bright sunlight. With a gasp Zatch nearly fell from his perch. A monstrously large tiger lounged in the shade of the wall he was peering over. Working his courage up he looked back into the garden. No bars contained the magnificent beast. Zatch had read about and heard stories about mighty tigers from the jungles but had no idea they would be so huge. The tiger yawned and stretched, Zatch could have walked under the huge cat without his head touching. He noticed the fangs next, they where as long as his arm and thicker if he was any judge of such things. The bright orange of its fur stood out starkly against the white paving stones it was sleeping on. An oxen pulled cart pulled around the corner of the building that hid the kitchens from view and stopped with a jerk when the usually dull witted oxen caught sight of the glorious predator they were headed towards. Their eyes rolled back in their heads and they refused to take another step no matter how their rider yelled or beat them with his whip. A man came around the building from where the oxen had come. He was wearing some kind of military uniform, black trimmed with a stripe of orange along the seams, his highly polished black boots clicked against the stones as he walked up to the head of the oxen and calmed them. The driver apologized profusely, but was waved into silence as the man gestured for him to turn the cart around then helped him un-hitch the two animals that still shivered in fear. The cart contained a whole side of beef, Zatch watched in shock as the uniformed man grabbed the huge piece of beef in one hand and drug it out of the cart with seeming ease. The tiger got up as the oxen disappeared back the way they had come it moved over with starling speed for such a large animal. It picked up the side of beef in its jaws just like an alley cat picked up a rat, and carried it back to its resting spot leaving small droplets of blood gleaming like rubies on the perfect white cobblestones, the man stared silently at the Tiger who glanced back at him and grew still as it looked at him silently then went back to eating contentedly as the man shook his head smiling slightly and walked off. Zatch lost himself in watching the great cat eat, and then delicately clean itself just as a normal cat would. The sun moved slowly over head unnoticed by Zatch, so entranced was he by watching the great cat napping in the warm afternoon sun. Suddenly the tiger¡¯s ear jerked irritably breaking the spell that had settled over Zatch. A small stone had flown over the wall further down the alley. He glared over at the small pack of boys, the oldest was a few years older than him, they were perched on another stack of boxes piled against the wall, the younger boys trying to get a good look over the edge of the wall that was just over their heads.. They met his eyes and made a rude gesture in his direction, he waved them off trying to get them to leave before they angered the Tiger. The simply laughed at him and tossed larger rocks over the wall trying to hit the now angrily twitching tiger. Zatch ground his teeth and silently leapt from the top of the crates, he tucked into a ball as he hit to shed some of his momentum before he sprang to his feet running towards the other boys. They scrambled down five of them against him alone, none of that mattered to Zatch he was so angry at their thoughtless actions. He didn¡¯t even bother to draw one of his knives he reverted to childish fist and kicks even bites as they piled onto him, his fury fueled his strength and the five boys together couldn¡¯t hold him. As three of them sat on Zatch, and he bit and wiggled the largest boy tired of the fight, he picked up a makeshift club from the pile of broken crates they had created in their brawl. With a yell he swung it two handed and hit Zatch high on his cheekbone. Zatch reeled back blood burning down his face, as his head hit the street he saw stars through the burning red cloud that had blocked his vision. He heard the other boys running away as he clasped his face in agony. Large hands helped him to his feet as he opened his eyes he recognized a man he had seen earlier after leaving the Thief Lord to head home, he had been kissing a women in an alley he had walked past. ¡°You alright young one?¡± The Man asked. Zatch nodded shakily. ¡°You were handling yourself well back there, you could have beat them if you¡¯d kept your head and they hadn¡¯t outnumbered you five to one.¡± He said smiling. Zatch appreciated the man¡¯s words, and other images started to filter through of the man. He had followed Zatch when he turned back, he had been in the square when he talked to the Thief Lord Silently Zatch faked a stumble and pulled away from the man preparing to run. But the man held up his hands. ¡°Easy there, our Lord ordered my crew to make sure you got to bed safe, we handled a pair of Fishguts back there. Let¡¯s go see what the Tiger Rider wanted with our Master. They call me rock, by the way. Nice to meet you.¡± He said shaking Zatch¡¯s hand. ¡°Likewise,¡± Zatch said still holding his bleeding cheek. Rock led them into the side gate of the Dragon¡¯s nest Zatch followed apprehensively and saw the uniformed man come back towards the tiger with the Thief Lord at his side. ¡°Zatch! Why am I not surprised?¡± The Thief Lord said coming over to them. ¡°Rock I thought I told you not to let anything happen to him,¡± the Thief Lord said handing Zatch a small black square of cloth to press to his bleeding face. ¡°I¡­ lost him for a minute in the city sir.¡± Rock said hesitating slightly. ¡°You lost him¡¯¡± The Thief Lord asked sounding incredulous. ¡°He¡¯s very¡­ nimble my Lord, a credit to the guild.¡± Rock said embarrassed. ¡°Well that¡¯s another achievement for you already. Where are my manners, Zatch this is Rider Durak Tibor and his Tiger partner Kahn. Durak, this is the boy I was telling you about.¡± Durak studied the silently bleeding boy for a moment before moving forward to offer his hand. Zatch reached up unsure of how to treat the man, unsure where a Rider ranked in the order of things. As soon as their hands touched, a shock traveled between them making Zatch¡¯s arm jerk. ¡°I see what you mean, he does have potential,¡± Durak said smiling, ¡°Come let us talk about your future, son. And let¡¯s get that eye looked while we¡¯re at it.¡± He said warmly to Zatch, leading him past the intently watching Kahn until they were engulfed by the lavishly appointed Inn. Kaydran Kaydran 777 RC, Dragon moon 2nd Ttriface; Refugee camp, Southeastern Kavah. Freshly scrubbed, Kaydran stood in line waiting for his turn to be presented to the Dragon Rider who had flown over the camp the day before. Before dawn they had been ousted from their beds, every boy and girl between the ages of 10 and 14 was forced to wash and get in line to see the Dragon Rider. Kaydran was thankful he knew most of the people on wash detail, so he hadn¡¯t been scrubbed nearly as harshly as everyone else. The line moved forward two or three shuffling steps at a time. They wound back from the small knoll in the center of camp, through the thousands of tents, several thousand children at the very least Kaydran estimated. Sweat had started to soak his shirt making him chuckle at the uselessness of having everyone wash first thing in the morning before making them stand in line for hours in the sun. He glanced up at the cloudless sky estimating the time of day at around noon. Kaydran dug in his pocket and was thankful that he made it a habit to always save some food in case they were forced to march on short notice. Stale bread and dried fish was better than nothing even if they didn¡¯t get anything to drink. He nudged the girl in front of him, someone he hadn¡¯t met yet in camp, she had huge dark eyes and glossy black hair that had been curly when they got in line but now was drying out into a frizzy mess. She studied him warily, her mistrust arrowed straight to Kaydran¡¯s heart, but at his encouraging smile coaxed her into accepting a portion of his hoarded food. As he ate and slowly moved forward he kept trying to peer around the rows of tents that the line zigzagged down, desperate for a glimpse of the huge dragon that was supposed to be resting on the top of the knoll. After an agonizing half hour Kaydran Finally got his glimpse of the knoll but no dragon lounged comfortably on the small hill. Next to the camp Commanders tent a awning had been erected over a single table. At the table a brightly dressed man sat, the camp Commander stood stiffly beside him not looking pleased. Kaydran deflated in disappointment, he had wanted to see something magically for once. Something, someone, anything, that could lift everyone¡¯s spirits spur them into making today better than the one before it, make them look forward to the next day. Eunice had once told him that yesterday was past, the future was unknown, but today was the present and was a gift that had to be enjoyed. But that had been years ago, before they had been forced out of town after town, country after country, a nation with no land, a people with no home. He trudged forward with the line his dark thoughts distracted as he planned the deliveries he would have to hurry to complete with half the day gone. Zatch stumbled as he finally made it to the base of the hill and bumped into the girl in front of him, she had stopped short suddenly. All around him he heard the hiss of indrawn breaths, like snakes reading to strike. Silence fell and his head snapped up. From the base of the hill a gargantuan head was rising up, and up, and up into the sky it soared, to tower above the entire camp at least 50 feet of neck held the great horned head above the stunned crowd. Kaydran¡¯s eyes drank in every detail like a man dying of thirst taking his first sip of life giving water. Scales protected the dragon, like those of a horned lizard sharp and menacing, they covered the back of its neck right up to the long crest of spikes that ran from its head the full length of its body and tail. Smoother scales like those of a snake ran underneath the beast¡¯s neck and belly. The smaller scales there glistened, the colour and texture of a well oiled sword. The proud head turned slowly to regard them, its nostrils flared, and then the head lowered swiftly in Kaydran¡¯s direction. All around him children gasped and flattened themselves to the ground. But Kaydran stood entranced as the mighty beast stood. Its legs lifting its massive body soundlessly until the tents barely brushed its belly. With the greatest care it spread its wings, shading all of the children from the sun, and flapped its wings once gently fanning them all. The temperature dropped after a few such flaps. Kaydran sighed gratefully, his legs seemed to move of their own accord as he got out of line and approached the wagon sized head that was hovering an arm¡¯s length out of reach. ¡°Thank you.¡± He said to the Dragon as he took his one chance to get a closer look at the scales on its proud face. Eyes the size of dinner plates crinkled in the corners, which if it had been a human, would have been the beginnings of a smile. Kaydran was sized roughly by the shoulder and spun around to face the man from the table. Kaydran saw that he was dressed smartly in some kind of red military uniform edged in black. He studied Kaydran¡¯s eyes intently as a spark of what felt like static passed between them. ¡°There you are!¡± He said smiling widely, ¡°we have been looking all over for you.¡± ¡°You, you have?¡± Kaydran stuttered out, ¡°Why? I don¡¯t even know who you are.¡± ¡°I¡¯m Charel, that great lump hovering over your shoulder is Grald, we were sent out from the Heartwood to find children to bring back to be riders. Grald sensed you here and we flew over to investigate.¡± Charel said as if that simple statement explained everything. He turned back to the camp Commander still holding firmly onto Kaydran. Kaydran suddenly felt that without the steady hand on his shoulder he would simply float away, or fall to the ground one of the two. ¡°We found him, get the rest of these kids out of the sun and some food.¡± Charel ordered. Kaydran¡¯s mouth hung open in astonishment at someone ordering the most powerful military Commander-in their temporary nation-around like a lowly servant. The Commanders teeth ground together as he nodded curtly, then turned on his heel and stalked off shouting orders as he went. ¡°Well, now that¡¯s finished grab your things, we gotta hurry. Um what was your name?¡± Charel asked leading Kaydran over to the table he had been sitting at he grabbed a huge leather saddle that three people could easily sit on, he tossed it through the air to land ten feet above them between two of Grald¡¯s back spikes. ¡°Kaydran,¡± He said dazed, ¡°what do you mean grab my things?¡± ¡°Grab whatever you want to bring with you to the Rider¡¯s University where you¡¯re going to become a Rider. Grald¡¯s certain you¡¯ll be a Dragon Rider and I bet him you¡¯d get an Iron Dragon egg just like I did.¡± Charel said speaking rapidly as he tightened the buckles that secured the saddle to Grald¡¯s scaly back. ¡°But you won¡¯t need much since all your clothes and food will be given to you once we get there.¡± Charel said smiling at Kaydran¡¯s shocked look. He continued adjusting the saddle as Kaydran looked on in wonder. ¡°Grald came from an egg about the size of that basket over there if you can believe it.¡± Charel said pointing to a basket the size of an overripe watermelon. Kaydran¡¯s head spun as he tried to take in all of this. He looked around desperately and saw the girl who had been standing in front of him in line. She was watching him and could probably hear everything that Charel said, since he gave no thought to keeping his voice down. He met her eyes and saw the spark of hope in them slowly faded and die. He nearly lost his meager meal at the disappointment he saw all around him as those close enough to hear realized what they had lost the chance to be. ¡°Wait,¡± Kaydran said to Charel¡¯s back. ¡°Wait! I can¡¯t leave yet.¡± Kaydran shouted. Charel stopped talking, he had been absently going on about the hundreds of miles they had to cover in the next week to make it back in time. He spun around to look at Kaydran surprised. ¡°I can¡¯t just pack up and leave I have things I have to do before I can go. I need at least a day or two to get all of my responsibilities taken care of.¡± Kaydran said. ********************************************** Charel gaped at him, what could a twelve year old possible have to do that was more important than going to become a Dragon Rider? ¡°Alright.¡± Charel said slowly trying to wrap his head around this sudden turn of events. Grald swung his head down to study Kaydran more closely. Grald asked silently in Charel¡¯s mind through their mental bond. Charel thought back. Grald nodded his head once agreeing with him Kaydran looked between the silent Rider and his Dragon who had their heads close together as they both looked at him intensely. ¡°We can give you a day if Grald pushes himself we can still make it the 700 miles back to the Heartwood before it¡¯s too late.¡± Charel said. Kaydran smiled gratefully and jogged off without a backward glance. Mystified Charel followed closely as Kaydran wove expertly between the tents and wagons of the sprawling camp. Charel¡¯s unaccustomed nose ran at the foul smell of too many bodies packed to closely together and untreated human waste that was barely contained in hastily erected outhouses. Kaydran slid into long low tent that Charel had to stoop to fit inside. 50 child sized cots ran down the length of the sweltering tent. Kaydran went to the one had to be his and started stripping it down to the thin mattress and wooden frame. Charel felt Grald slide into his mind so he could share his eyes, and they could both see what Kaydran was doing. They watched in silence through Charel¡¯s eyes as Kaydran stripped off two well made blankets and a pillow. Then he knocked one of the legs off the cot revealing a hollowed out space that he carefully pulled a small money purse out of. This had only taken a few second, and Charel looked questioningly at Kaydran who blushed.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. ¡°I have to drop this stuff off with a few people, and pick up a few things.¡± Kaydran explained hastily. Charel nodded and held the tent flap open so Kaydran could lead the way. Kaydran fixed the leg back onto the cot and grabbed his small pile of spare clothes from under mattress. Kaydran dashed off again word was spreading like wildfire through the camp around them as Charel followed his new charge through the maze of tents. Kaydran lead them to a small market selling mostly rags and other patched clothing. He quickly sold his meager clothes not bothering to haggle with a man who obviously knew him well, before selling his well made bedding and even his small pack that he emptied into his shirt before handing over. Astounded Charel and Grald watch as Kaydran battered away all of his worldly possessions for coppers, and more oddly, medical plants. Finally his pockets weighted down with copper Thorns and his arms full of medical supplies Kaydran made his way more slowly to the youngsters tent. Saying nothing Charel followed, as the boy handed out medicine and money to nearly everyone he passed. He took a moment to hand over the last of his money to a girl barely older than he was. She couldn¡¯t be more than 15 Charel thought hanging back politely as they talked softly and she gave Kaydran a tight yet sisterly hug. Charel thought at his partner. A deep feeling was churning inside of him as he watched the boy with nothing but the clothes on his back, smile hugely as he gave away everything of value he had obviously spent months, if not years acquiring. He felt Grald¡¯s humble nod as his Dragon silently covered his eyes with his wing as if hiding his face from the eager eyes of the poor wretches trapped in the camp. The feeling of shame burst fully into Charel¡¯s mind as he realized that this one child who had less than nothing, not even a home to call his own, gave away more than he had ever given to anyone in his whole magically long life. As Kaydran talked with a guard who kept glancing nervously at Charel, his eyes stung in shame. Charel cleared his throat roughly a few times until he was sure that he could speak. ¡°Kaydran, I have to see to some things with Grald,¡± At Kaydran¡¯s panicked look he smiled reassuringly and shook his head. ¡°You take your time, just come to the hill when you¡¯re done doing what you need to do.¡± Kaydran nodded and dashed off again heading to a pillar of steam rising from a small depression a few hundred yards away. Mouth set in a grim line Charel stalked through the camp, he gathered every guard he saw on the way beckoning them over and ordering them to form up and follow him. By the time he had made it back to knoll the Commander''s tent sat on, the runners he had order to call in the rest of the guards had returned. The rest of the military men from the borders of the sprawling camp struggled to form up into the precise squares that their fellows where standing in. Grald had risen to sit sphinx like staring down at them a few of the men actually quaked in their boots. ¡°What is the meaning of this Dragon Rider?¡± The Commander demanded as Charel marched up to his tent for the second time that day. ¡°Come here.¡± He demanded pulling the older looking man over to the edge of the wooden platform his ornate command tent had been erected on. ¡°What do you see here?¡± Charel said gesturing to the untidy sprawl of the camp stretching out behind the neat orderly lines of the army¡¯s tents. ¡°Nothing except for the freeloaders we have been keeping fed and clothed for nearly three Triphases!¡± The Commander said jerking his arm out of Charel¡¯s grasp. ¡°Wrong! These people have managed to do something that I have not seen in over a hundred years of selfishly riding these skies! From this untidy sprawl you have let grow here, has sprung a seed of selflessness that is humbling to behold. Down there even as we speak a boy with less than nothing is busily giving away everything he has ever owned! down to the last copper Thorn!¡± Charel shouted his face inches from the Commanders, His disgust with himself snapping out at the first target it could latch onto. ¡°Where is the King who is responsible for these lands?¡± Charel said his words falling from his lips like hailstones, cold and punishing. So cold was his fury at the light had been cast on his wasted life that he took grim satisfaction as the colour drained from the Commanders face. ¡°you, you can not be serious!¡± the king is at his home in the capital. Surely this is not worth his attention, he gave these people hundreds of Fangs worth of food and shelter out of the goodness of his heart.¡± The commander stuttered out. ¡°Good that will simplify things. Grald will bring him here to see this first hand. ¡°Who do you think you are to summon a king at your whim?¡± demanded the Commander. ¡°A Dragon Rider, now Fetch me some parchment and a quill.¡± He said dismissively to the Commander. Charel pulled an needle thin silver whistle out of his pocket and blew into with all of his might, stray dogs within earshot howled in protest at the sound that the humans couldn¡¯t hear. After a few notes a small shadow darted out of the sky. It plummeted from the sun like a striking falcon and flapped to a halt on Charel¡¯s outstretched arm. Charel stroked the small Drake absently as he waited for writing materials. The small cousin of his Dragon was beautiful to behold. About the same size as a barn owl, the flying lizard had little else in common with birds. Unlike dragons, drakes only had four limbs, two bat like wings and a pair of powerful back legs to launch them into the sky from the ground, whereas dragons had six limbs. Charel snatched the parchment he was given, and scrawled a hasty letter to the Headmaster. Sir, I have been shamed by the generosity exhibited by one of the unfortunate parentless children Grald and I have found on search. I will explain when we get back. You can meet the child for yourself, but for now I need you to send the 10,000 Gold Fangs I left in your keeping to me here as fast as the fastest wings can carry it! -Charel Charel rolled the message up tightly and slid it into the small scroll tube affixed to his drake Mackerel, he had named him that because he was a blue drake-one of the larger breeds- but his scales had a molted green colour that had reminded him of the scales of a mackerel he used to catch when he was a boy. Next he addressed a letter to the King of Kavah, I formal summons he demanded the King''s presence, as what he had planned would require the Kings hand to ratify and make legal. He gave the neatly written summons to Grald. Charel thought to his partner, Grald who had know him for so long understood the urgency better than words could have conveyed. The a single flap of his sail like wings Grald took to the air following his smaller cousin out of sight as he gained altitude. ¡°The king should be here before Moonrise, I suggest you get your men to make this place more presentable before then. I need a map of the area, mine is out of date.¡± Charel went into the command tent without waiting to see what effect his words created behind him. Kaydran finished showing Tylar how to use the pig to hunt for truffles in the sparsely wooded hillside on the far side of camp, his back was killing him and his feet where raw. Blisters had formed from hurrying around making sure when he left, the people who relied on him to move goods around the camp would have others to pick up where he had left off. Tylar was the last one he had to see too, but now Tylar was headed back to his mother''s tent the proud owner of a fist sized black truffle and a spoiled rotten piglet. Kaydran¡¯s body felt heavy, but his heart was lighter than he could remember it being in years. Tired, but happy, he headed back towards the center of the camp to meet Charel and Grald thankful that he wouldn¡¯t have to ask them for another day to set his affairs in order. The camp had undergone a startling transformation in the few hours he had been gone. All of the trash had been removed, the latrines had been covered over and soldiers worked furiously digging new ones further away from the eating and cooking areas. Which was odd since they usually left that kind of labor to the member of the camp. But he was far too tired to care, he wanted nothing more than to curl up as near as he could manage to Grald and rest. He stepped out of the last row of tents into a frantic swarm of soldiers cleaning and polishing bits of their uniforms. Kaydran dodged unnoticed through the crowd as he made his way to The Table Charel was busily studying a map on. Torches had been lit and stuck in the ground as the sun faded and the red moon rose from the horizon. ¡°Charel?¡± Kaydran asked with uncertainty. ¡°Oh, Kaydran, everything taken care of?¡± Charel asked smiling at him, Kaydran nodded hesitantly back at his question. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± He asked, as below them soldiers started forming up in neat military squares in front of the Charel¡¯s table. ¡°Oh, the king is coming, Grald went to pick him up they should be landing any second now.¡± Charel said drawing a small circle on the map next to a river. He stood up and moved to look up at the night sky, Kaydran followed him and looked up at the star studded black velvet curtain that had fallen from horizon to horizon. Together they watched the blood red disk of the Dragon Moon rise high into the sky. It stained the land with its crimson light, some would find it eerie, how everything was rendered in shades of red and harsh black shadows. The stars overhead where blotted from sight as Grald finally appeared. Kaydran braced himself Grald beat at the air with his huge wings. The wind blew out all of the torches and made anyone not braced for it stumble. Charel waved his hand and muttered a word and the doused torches all sprang back to life. Kaydran flinched surprised. He had forgotten about the magical powers the Riders were supposed to have. Charel bent down on one knee as the soldiers scrambled to help their Lord and his advisors off the Dragon so he could speak softly enough so only Kaydran could hear.. ¡°Kaydran, I¡¯ll probably be up half the night with his Royalness over there.¡± Charel said rolling his eyes and making Kaydran laugh despite himself. Grald settled back onto the ground around the knoll disturbingly silent on his massive talons. ¡°You should get some sleep, you can use my bedroll, I set it out over by Grald¡¯s head, thank the First Rider he doesn¡¯t snore, I heard once about this Silver Dragon that snored like an avalanche and coated the area around him with his freezing breath every night!¡± Charel told him smiling at the memory, he began to tell another story but was interrupted by the approaching King. Kaydran beat a hasty retreat to avoid any notice of the disgruntled looking ruler. Charel joined the camp Commander and the King and the three of them went into the command tent. Excitement burned through him as he hurried over to where Grald was settling his head in for the night. Again Kaydran was astounded at how he felt no fear in the presence of something that if it yawned he could walk into its mouth barely having to duck his head. In the flickering torch light Grald looked like he was made of molten metal, the red moonlight streaming down from the cloudless night sky, only added to the image. Grald watched him approach with one slit pupil eye. Again Kaydran was given the distinct impression that the Dragon was smiling at him in a friendly way. He should have been running away screaming a small nagging portion of his mind insisted. Instead he plopped down on the thick cushion Charel had laid out for him and moved the pillow so it was propping him up. He desperately wanted to touch the smooth scales of Grald¡¯s chin and nose but he was pretty sure it would be considered very rude. So he sat on his hands, Grald startled him by blowing out a huff of air that created a small tornado of dust as he lifted his head slightly and moved it closer to get a better look at Kaydran. Silently they started at each other and lost all sense of time in their studies. Finally Kaydran broke eye contact and slowly stretched out his hand to touch the shining scales in front of him. Grald rolled his eyes and thrust his snout under Kaydran¡¯s hand directing him to s hard to itch spot at the base of his eye horns. Kaydran laughed as Grald rolled his eyes and stuck the tip of his forked tongue out in dramatic bliss. The smooth scales of his face and underbelly felt just like snake, surprisingly dry, not moist or slimy at all. Kaydran flicked on and it rang out just like any piece of iron he had ever touched. Happily he scratched whatever hard to reach spot Grald directed him to. Later that night Charel finally came back after securing his land grab with the king for all of his traveling money. Charel thought to Grald as he pulled his boots off and lay down under the stars with his eyes closed. Grald said affectionately, Kaydran had fallen asleep leaning against his neck. Grald said gesturing with one wing tip to encompass the whole camp. Charel said, tired but happy, with the land he had deeded to the refugees, and the money he had coming to secure them building materials. A little help from the army setting up the village, he figured the town would up and bustling within the next Triphase. He had made sure that the elders knew that it was Kaydran¡¯s kind spirit that had inspired them to act, but he would tell the boy that when he was older. The elders where already talking about naming the village after Kaydran, Kayvalle or some such. Charel smiled. He liked the sound of that, sighing he drifted into sleep quickly, ready to get a little rest before their 700 mile journey home began in the morning. Daxen Daxen 777 RC, Dragon moon 2ndTtriface;On his family farm, in the valley of Geatan, Central Arundel. Exhausted, Daxen walked beside the fully laden wagon that his brothers and father had finished loading. They all took grateful swallows of cool, clear water from a pump his father had installed near the fields to water the crops when the rain was late. Glad to have all the crops that were in danger if it truly did storm, picked to protect the delicate fruit and vegetables. His brothers chatted happily now that their work for the day was completed early, they had worked extra hard after his warning. He remained silent the cloudless sky was still brightly mocking him over their heads. Sighing Daxen trudged beside the cart, his father came up beside him and ruffled his hair affectionately and smiled down at him, ¡°I¡¯m Sure it¡¯ll cloud up and drench us any second now.¡± He said chuckling at the absurdity of hoping for bad weather. He startled a chuckle out of Daxen, he felt slightly better but was still worried that the storm he had felt was still building. After what seemed like the longest walk he could remember, they came within sight of the house again. In the distance a cloud of dust was visible Daxen stood up on the seat of the wagon for a better look. He squinted against the harsh afternoon sun. Dark shapes raced in front of the oncoming wall of darkness. Suddenly the air around them whipped past sucked towards the storm. Axel¡¯s hat was whipped off his head, it soared up towards the approaching anvil shaped clouds. They stared, horror struck at the magnitude of the storm barreling down towards them. The sky on the horizon was a sickly shade of green and lightning flashed eerily silent at this distance. With a yell Axel whipped their lumbering cart into a charge towards the sheltering barn. Heinz bellowed like bull over the rushing wind as it was drawn from their lungs to fuel the approaching storm. Daxen couldn¡¯t make out what he was saying he had pitched his voice so low, but his warnings carried over the distance to the house. Daxen saw one of his sisters straighten in the garden, she turned half raising her hand in greeting before she caught sight of their frantic approach. She whirled and must have screamed at the approaching sight of the storm. As they came off the hill wildly trying to remain on the cart Daxen was pitched back to land among the ripe strawberries. Full baskets fell out off the back and he watched them trampled under the headless feet of his father and brother. Dazed he saw the red fruit soak like blood into dusty ground. They barreled full speed into the barn skidding to a stop on the hard packed dirt floor. Daxen slid forward into the seat smashing his forehead on the rough wood. His brother fumbled with the panicked mule. Woozy, Daxen stumbled down to stare stunned at the approaching storm. The very earth seemed to scream out in pain as the first pelting rain reached them. He watched as his father roughly grabbed axel and pulled him out of the way he cut the frantic mule free. Daxen shook himself his mind clearing enough for the pain from the bump on his head to penetrate. He ran forward to help. ¡°Daxen go with Kurt, get the animals out of their pens.¡± Heinz ordered grimly as he hurried towards the house. Daxen obeyed without a thought. Kurt lead the way down the horse stalls opening each stall and urging each animal out of the wide open barn. As they chased the last horse out of the barn Daxen sagged to the ground retching, sick to his stomach. Axel and his father yelled at the dairy cattle getting them out of the pens and out into the open fields. Panting he looked at the storm that was nearly on them a dark and ominous funnel shaped cloud was swaying as it reached towards the ground. Kurt grabbed him and grimly they ran towards their mother who was shouting for them from the opening of the storm shelter doors. Axel stood beside the door starring past them in horror, Daxen struggled out of Kurt¡¯s grip to turn and see what was coming behind them. His mouth fell open. Wolves larger than their cattle had herded their loose cows and horses back around the house. The wind had risen to a howl. The Wolves circled around the house keeping the wild eyed livestock contained. Heinz came to stand next to Daxen just as stunned as his son, they watched in amazement as men and women slid from the backs of the Wolves taking up positions around the house and yards. They threw back their heads and the spine stiffening howl of the hunting wolf rose even above the shriek of the wind. Faster and faster the Wolves sped around and around their home. Their Riders raised their hands to the sky and green shimmering fire seemed to burst from each of them to waver in the wind. The Wolves streaked past each of their Riders green flames stretched to follow their path around the house. After a few seconds the wind died as if by magic. And Daxen could hear the hammering of huge paws blending until they sounded like a single massive beast thundering around. The trails of flame trailing behind the Wolves blended together then rose rapidly to tower as high as the clouds. With a tectonic screech, the approaching tornado collided with the towering green pillar of fire. The blow transferred through the magical barrier as a hollow boom that shook dust from the edge of the roof. The two titanic forces whirled against each other spinning in opposite directions. The Riders chanted frantically wavering and the green fire dimmed slightly. With a shout of rage the tallest figure thrust his left hand forward into the wall of flame they had summoned. His right hand was suddenly filled with a gleaming sword that he slashed across his forearm. Green fire welled like blood from the cut and the flames roared higher overwhelming the black column of spinning wind. With tremendous crash the tornado blew apart, dirt and hay fell like rain from the sky as everything the tornado had claimed in its brief life, fell back with a clatter too rest upon the earth once again. Daxen walked forward captivated, as the green fire shrank back into the men and women now panting on the ground. The huge wolves had simply collapsed their sides heaving as they regained their breath after defeating the tornado that had nearly destroyed all that he had ever know, or loved. He was nearly within arms reach of the closest Wolf when his father seized him thrusting him back behind his mother. His father walked forward to the crumpled form of the man who had thrust his arm into the fire to stop the storm. Near him a Wolf also lay crumpled on the ground. Daxen heard his father speak to the Riders who had slowly gathered around their fallen comrade. Heinz knelt beside the women holding the still man, after a moment he waved Axel forward. Shocked Daxen saw that the man¡¯s chest didn¡¯t rise and fall with the breath of life, the great wolf beside him was also deathly still. Milia grabbed his hand and Daxen gathered her close, shielding her from the harsh reality in front of them. His father and brother helped to lift the fallen man and lie him gently in one of the nearby wagons, his Wolf was lifted up next to him and both of them were covered over with blankets the other Riders took from their own Wolves. The Riders gathered around the cart respectfully, his father and brother left them to mourn. ¡°They are Riders from the Heartwood. They were searching for new Riders when they caught a scent on the wind. They scent led them to our farm barely in front of that storm. It would have destroyed us all if not for them.¡± Heinz said quietly to his family. ¡°They have lost one of their number. We shall do all we can for them, girls go prepare extra beds and food, they will need it to get their strength back. Boys come with me we shall see what else they require and we need to check on your older brothers at their houses as well.¡± Daxen nodded along with Axel and Kurt as they followed their father forward. ¡°Riders my family and I cannot possibly repay you for what you have done here. Let alone the harm you prevented to our neighbors and their families as well.¡± Heinz began, but one of the female Riders stopped him with a raised hand. ¡°It was our duty, we all swore to protect those without magic when and where we could. No thanks are needed sir.¡± She said, behind her the others nodded a few smiled tiredly. ¡°Well in any case, let us know how we can help.¡± Heinz said gratefully. ¡°We could do with a bath.¡± One of the younger men said from beside his own towering Wolf. Daxen studied the huge Wolf with avid interest. Its shoulder was as high as the back of a horse, and from the tip of its snout to the end of its tail it was longer than a horse by at least 3 feet. Its bright brown eyes followed the conversation between the humans with obvious intelligence as if it understood perfectly what was being said. Daxen rubbed the bump on his head it was extremely tender and he winced slightly. The Wolf noticed his pain and nudged past his Rider who had finally taken off the saddle that had been attached to his back. Its huge wet nose was as big as a both of Daxen¡¯s fists put together. It sniffed him and slowly inched closer until Daxen reached forward and touched the dusty fur on its muzzle. A shock like static passed between them and Daxen yelped the Wolf turned its head and studied him closely with one eye the size of largest duck egg. Then it turned back and looked meaningfully at its Rider. Who turned as if he had been spoken too, he looked from the Wolf to Daxen then came over quickly. ¡°Are you sure?¡± The Rider asked his Wolf as he scrutinized Daxen. The Wolf snorted out a blast of hot breath through its nose. Daxen could have sworn it looked reproachfully at its rider for asking such an idiotic question. Even more shocked he watched the Wolf roll its eyes at him, as if to say. ¡°You see what I have to deal with?¡± Daxen laughed and eagerly ran his hands over the Wolfs fur, causing its long tail to sweep back and forth lazily behind it.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡°Alright but if you¡¯re wrong I¡¯m not taking the blame. Oh my names Rickard, this big shaggy fellow is my partner Snowpaw.¡± He gestured to the Snowpaw¡¯s single white front paw, which he lifted, wagging it back and forth as if waving to Daxen. Daxen couldn¡¯t help himself he waved back grinning. He was nearly as tall as the young Wolf Rider, together they both looked over at the fallen rider and his mountain and sobered slightly. ¡°We¡¯ll have to tell Narissa about this he muttered out loud to Snowpaw, who nodded looking grim. ¡°Well, we can wait till she¡¯s seen to Aaron with your father.¡± Daxen nodded, looking around trying to decide what he could talk about to keep the Wolf Rider near him. ¡°We can give you a hand rounding up the loose livestock if you want.¡± Rickard said glancing around at the uneasily milling cattle and horses. Daxen nodded happily leading the way towards the barn for lassos. Narissa watched silently as Aaron¡¯s mate grieved weeping bitterly over his fallen form. She turned away, she scented the air but the distinctive smell they had followed for three days, it had been completely destroyed by the tornado. She took a head count as she watched some of the younger Riders helped the family round up their scattered livestock. Her heart ached for the loss of Aaron, she had sensed that their strength wouldn¡¯t be enough to stop the twister and had been on the verge of ordering them to scatter and flee. But Aaron had stepped forward sacrificing every drop of magic from his body, pouring his very lifeblood into the spell, just to save the people of this small valley. She watched as Rickard lifted one of the small girls up onto the back of his partner to trot around like a great furry pony, making the small girl giggle in high pitched delight. Narissa let a small smile creep onto her face as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the departing clouds. She thought to her partner Sable who stood sentry over the small herd of cattle. Tired to her very bones, Narissa limped into the house. She hadn¡¯t even gotten the families name that lived inside it. Rickard ran up to here before she had gone more than a few steps. ¡°Ma¡¯am, we found him. He said quietly, at her sharp look he stood up straighter. ¡°It¡¯s the boy over there with Snowpaw. He¡¯s the one we where tracking.¡± Narissa grasped his shoulder glad for a little good news. ¡°Show me.¡± She said following him over to his partner and the two children happily petting the Wolf. She studied the boy as she approached limping slightly. He was tall like the rest of the boys in his family, he couldn¡¯t be more than 11 or 12, but he was already as tall she was. She glanced over at his father who was still wrangling the last of the cattle back into their corral. He was a full six inches taller than her tallest pack member, which made him the better part of seven feet tall. His sons looked like they were all on pace to top him in height. She came to stand next to the shortest of his children. Rickard gestured him over and she studied him as he approached, comfortable in the presence of a Wolf that could probably eat him in less than two bites. Many people never fully became comfortable in the presence of the Riders and their gargantuan animal companions. ¡°What is your name boy?¡± She asked studying his bright blue eyes as he answered. ¡°Daxen Ma¡¯am,¡± he said no doubt noticing how Rickard addressed her. Now that she was closer she could smell the unmistakable scent that had led them for miles in this direction. ¡°Well Daxen I have interesting news for you and your family lets go find your parents shall we?¡± Narissa said taking his shoulder gently she led him into the house. The next morning Daxen stumbled from his bed before dawn, his head still whirling from all the Wolf Riders had told him and his family. It had been sheer luck that the pack had been following his scent on the wind while they searched out new boys and girls to become Riders. If not for him their farm and the farms all around the valley could have been destroyed. Daxen crept soundlessly outside careful for once not to wake anyone else in the house. As soon as he had made it past the still sleeping chicken coop, he sprinted off into the fields, over the hills he ran towards the single tree that overlooked their farm. All around the top of the hill a wrought iron fence guarded the carefully tended grass and flowers planted there overlooking the house. Daxen gasped for breath glad to have worked off some of his fear and excitement. Coming to tend his ancestors always helped to settle his mind. Once he had caught his breath he opened the gate and moved to stand just inside of the fence as the first rays of the sun touched the upper branches of the ancient oak tree in the center of the grave stones carefully arranged around its base. Ever since he had been old enough to start doing chores around the farm his duty had been to look after the family cemetery and tend their family tree. Taking the copper oil pot from its bracket behind the gate post he oiled the hinges carefully just as he did every time he went there. He studied his family tree intently as he stepped reverently past seven generations of his ancestors lain to rest in the soil they had stewarded so carefully. Almost 200 years his family had worked the land on this stretch of the valley. His great, great, great grandfather had planted the acorn that had grown into the sheltering tree he watered carefully each dry season. Daxen ran his hands over the carefully carved names that stretched all the way up to the first branch far above his head. Every generation had added their name to the tree, then added their wives names when they married, and their children¡¯s names as they were born. Dozens of names all together, Some of the generations nearly wrapped around the trunk. The last five generations had been smaller until his father and mother. Daxen ran his fingers over his own name carved with such care next to his brothers and sister nine of them all together, evenly spaced, ringing the trunk. Each name with just enough space around it to add their own wife or husband when the time came. The most recent of which was still glistening beside his oldest brothers, who had just gotten married and moved out that past spring. Daxen carefully brushed away wind blown leaves starting at the base of his family tree, and spiraled outward, respectfully clearing the ground, at the same time he cleared his cluttered thoughts. The mindless chores of cleaning helped to settle his thoughts. After the leaves and twigs, he scrubbed the headstones and markers with a slightly dampened rag, to remove any moss or lichens that had started to grow there. Glad for the quiet, he trimmed the grass finally setting his tools back in their small protected shed, he sat down with his back against the family tree. He studied the freshly turned soil of the newest graves. His family had buried their fallen protector with all the honor that could be given, to one who had sacrificed everything to save them. The Wolf Rider¡¯s had helped to solemnly bury their fallen pack members. His father had carved their names on the stones set above their peacefully resting bodies. His mother and sisters had planted flowers in the fresh soil, Below him the Wolf Riders were talking with his father. Interested he sat forward as their leader handed his father something. The Riders and his father led out a small batch of cattle from the corral into the open wind scarred fields. Daxen counted the cows, and realized what was about to happen when his father sent his sisters back inside. There was one cow for each Wolf. He stood horrified and entranced at the same time. Life and death where no new concepts on the farm, they slaughtered their own cattle each fall for winter food. But there was a fundamental difference between slaughtering an animal and feeding it to a hungry predator. He saw his father glance up at him on the hill, they stared at each other for a second before his father nodded once, then turned to watch what was happening with his tenderly raised livestock. Each of the Wolf Riders led a cow a little distance off, their Wolves gathered behind the barn, downwind from the cattle. At some silent signal, the wolves charged from behind the barn, working as one, they herded the now terrified cattle over a small hill out of sight of the front yard. Daxen jumped up and grabbed the lowest branch of his family tree and scrambled up like a squirrel, as high as he could go, to watch the Wolves. All business now, they quickly split the herd of cows, each wolf picked out its own meal and harried its heels isolating, it from the others. He watched with rapt attention, each Wolf was larger than the cow it chased by a good margin. Both longer and taller than their dinner, not wanting to miss a thing his eyes started to water, as he strained not to blink. This would be his life, if he chose to go with the Rider¡¯s when they left that evening, his father and mother had made it clear that it was his choice to make not theirs. He would be a part of this, a partner to one of the huge predators that would share his mind and thoughts. He had wondered if he could stand it to hunt, to kill, for fun as much as food. He had not gone hunting with his older brothers yet, but had been looking forward to it. the thought didn¡¯t scare or disgust him. But it was one thing to be alright with killing the occasional deer, another thing entirely to hunt every meal with a Wolf or Dragon, that shared its thoughts and desires with you. His inner musing was cut short as the wolves pounced upon their chosen dinner. With one swift bite, they seized the cow just behind the horns in their massive jaws. A quick shake of their heads side to side cleanly broke the cows neck. Each Wolf carried its cow to a different area to eat, some gutted them first to eat the heart and liver first, and others clearly saved those choice bits for last, instead starting with the more usual cuts of meat like brisket and tenderloin. After only a few minutes the only thing left of any of the cattle was a cooling pile of guts, four hooves, a head and tail neatly piled together. After they finished cleaning the blood from their fur, each Wolf buried the remains of its meal neatly in the ground. Daxen slowly climbed down from the tree, and headed home. He realized that he didn¡¯t feel any fear at what he had seen, neither had he been disgusted by it. He felt that he knew himself more now than he had when he had woken that morning. He could do those things he had witnessed, this revelation both excited and scared him, to know that he was capable of such things without flinching, His mind was made up, he would leave with them. Heinz watched his son sprint towards him- a wolfish smile on his young face, proud that his boy had not looked away. Not at the harsh reality presented to him, nor could he ever recall Daxen shrinking from any challenge. His heart swelled and ached; he would miss his youngest son, but trusted that he would come back to them. As all their family did, to this land that called to their very bones. Steady and solid as a boulder he let his son sprint into his arms, to be swung high, just as he had been when he could still fit in one hand. Sunlight flashed down spotlighting man and boy as they embraced, knowing that they were losing each other, no matter how temporarily. The returning Wolves howled in welcome, as though they could sense that a new member of the pack was coming home. Falkin Falkin 777 RC, Dragon moon 2nd Triface; Upper branches, at the Rider¡¯s University, in the Heartwood. Falkin trudged wearily up the last steps to his Uncle¡¯s aerie, his fingers where blistered from his archery lessons but he had finally managed to hit the targets floating so peacefully in the lake. He opened the gilded door ignoring the lavish trappings his Uncle demanded. He hung his bow on the hook by the door, and leaned the only two arrows he had been able to recover from the targets, against the wall beside the door. Plopping down onto one of the leather and gold gilded couches in the front sitting room, Falkin sighed happily. These next two weeks would be well worth all the hard work he had put in the last few months. He had to complete all his training to his Uncle¡¯s expectations. His heart had felt ready to burst when his Uncle ha said he was giving him two weeks before the ceremony that would select him as a new Eaglerider with no more instructors. ¡°Good you¡¯re here.¡± His uncle said without preamble as he came through the door. ¡°Are those the only arrows you have left?¡± He asked gesturing towards Falkin¡¯s two remaining arrows against the wall. Falkin nodded standing up. ¡°Well grab your bow and arrows, we don¡¯t have a lot of time. I have a meeting with the senior council later tonight. He walked over to the double doors that led out onto Sirius¡¯s perch. Falkin looked around eagerly this was one of the only places he had not been allowed to explore freely. There was no protective railing guarding anyone who wondered outside, just a 1,000 foot drop to the gathering square outside the dining room on the ground level. Sirius was preening his glossy feathers, his sword like talons dug into the tree trunk that had been mounted for him to perch on. His Uncle¡¯s saddle and other flight gear was neatly stored on shelves and racks built under an intricately decorated lean-to, every inch of wood was exquisitely carved. Falkin watched excitedly as his uncle quickly cinched the saddle onto his partner. Falkin tried to see exactly what he did, but was ordered curtly out of the way. Once the saddle was properly attached to the 12 foot tall eagle, his Uncle leapt onto his seat and Sirius¡¯s mighty wings snapped open. He flapped them once to settle all of the straps into place properly, his wingspan had to be nearly 30 feet Falkin marveled. Sirius bent low so Falkin could climb up more easily. He looked excitedly into the bright yellow sphere of his eye. Sirius seemed to glance away nervously at his interested regard. He tried to ask his uncle where they were going, what had made him change his mind about giving rides, why he was bringing his bow. But before he could voice any of those thoughts he was flung back hard into the saddle and his stomach rose swiftly into his throat as they dropped like a stone. His heart beat like a drum against his chest as he was slowly lifted up off the seat by the rushing wind. He muffled a shout as he was slammed back into the saddle when they leveled out and soared back up into the sky. Seconds later they cleared the upper branches of the tree nearly three miles above the valley floor the spiraled higher and higher. Falkin¡¯s ears popped as the air pressure changed. The clouds closed in around them as they flew still higher. Falkin was shocked at their texture. It wasn¡¯t what he had expected at all, the white fluffy clouds looked warm and inviting from the ground. But as they flew deeper into the surprising darkness of the cloud the temperature continued to fall. All around him whirling gray fog was whisking past. He didn¡¯t know what he had expected from the fluffy whiteness that had been so much a part of his life. But this cold whet grayness was certainly not it. With a crack of Sirius¡¯s wings they burst from the top of the cloud. Falkin looked back and watched the clouds quickly cover any sign of their passage. The sun burned down on them the coating of dew on his hair quickly burned off in the heat. Nothing was what he expected up this high, barely hovering the sun was like a fire burning bright over head. The tops of the clouds glared into his eyes unfiltered by distance. The brightness leached the colour out of Sirius¡¯s glossy brown feathers. Up here the world curved gently away from them in all directions and Falkin could truly believe that it was a huge sphere that they all lived on. Before his eyes could finish thirstily drinking in all that he could see they were soaring away from the tree that towered above all else around it the very tops of its highest branches peaked through the tops of the clouds. On and on they flew, magnificent sights passing below gaps in the clouds too quickly for Falkin to study them properly. In what seemed like seconds they had flown for an hour, and Sirius began to slowly spiral down towards the ground so that their ears could adjust to the increasing pressure. The tree tops appeared from the bottom of the clouds, it was so much darker under the clouds that Falkin had to blink blindly for a few minutes until his eyes adjusted to the gloom of the forest floor. He glanced around they were in a small clearing in a old growth forest. No young trees struggled up between their elders, no brush choked the paths between the huge trees. He stretched gratefully before carefully setting his bow and arrows down on the moss covered ground. A small stream chuckled over its bed nearby, Falkin decided it was a perfect spot to camp. He looked at his uncle¡¯s saddle for any of the gear they would need for an overnight trip. But he saw non, his uncle simply sat in his saddle looking down at Falkin as he studied the clearing. A trickle of unease crept into Falkin¡¯s thoughts. ¡°Well I had hoped that you would be slightly better prepared for a trip. But you forgot your pack, you didn¡¯t bring anymore arrows. You didn¡¯t even carry your knife with you to your lessons.¡± Falkin¡¯s cheeks burned at his Uncle¡¯s harsh words. He should have known better than to expect him to take his only living descendant out for a fun day of camping or fishing. ¡°That way is north.¡± He said pointing over Falkin¡¯s head, Sirius crouched to spring back into the air as Falkin stood stunned. ¡°Wait! You can¡¯t leave me here like this! what about the ceremony? What about becoming an Eagle Rider?¡± Falkin shouted before his Uncle could take flight. ¡°I told you about this, don¡¯t you recall?¡± His Uncle said coldly, Falkin tried to desperately recall any hint of being left stranded in the forest. ¡°What do you think all of your lessons where for? What good are skills if you never use them? Its about a 155 miles back to the University from here, if you make a little over 10 miles each day you should make it back in time.¡± His Uncle braced himself again as Sirius crouched, preparing to spring into the air. Falkin ran forward and grabbed ahold of the great scaly legs and clung there. ¡°You can¡¯t mean this Uncle!¡± he shouted horrified. Sirius shook him off, not looking at him as if he was embarrassed to be any part of the scene. ¡°If you are worthy of caring for an egg, than you can accomplish a short hike through the woods, it will give you a chance to practice what I have had you taught.¡± His Uncle said disdainfully. ¡°But you promised me two weeks off with no lessons!¡± Falkin yelled desperately. ¡°No, I said two weeks without instructors. As I said, it should take you about two weeks to make it back.¡± Thunderstruck Falkin slid to the ground to sit staring up at his uncle. ¡°Don¡¯t be such a child, here take this,¡± he tossed his long boot knife into the grass beside Falkin, ¡°Since you so foolishly didn¡¯t bring anything. Also there are reports of a pair of lizca that escaped roaming the area so take that into consideration when picking your campsites.¡± This time Falkin simply let him fly away without a word of protest. Silently he picked up the knife from the grass and his bow. Dumb with shock his training took over, he noted that his uncle flew towards the North East. He knew that they had traveled south so the University had to lie in that direction. He took stock of all he had with him. One Knife, Two arrows, one extra bow string in his pocket, his bow, a thin summer weight silk under shirt, his sturdy canvas pants he wore for outdoor lessons, and his leather hiking boots. He patted down his pockets still staring North East. He had nothing else for his journey. Checking the time, Falkin held his hand up to measure the distance until the sun reached the horizon, it was about four hand widths. So he only had roughly four hours or so until it was dark. Panic set in as he contemplated the approaching night miles away from anyone else. He had never been so alone before and the realization didn¡¯t help him to think clearly. Fear trampled along at the heels of his panic as how truly unprepared he had let himself be taken away from all the tools he was used to having at his disposal. Falkin shook himself and thought quickly, recalling his lessons. He remembered the rule of three, he could survive three minutes without air, three days without water, and three weeks without food. These facts calmed him and let him plan without panic. He weighed the pros and cons of leaving the meadow now, but decided to stay the night as he had not seen any sign of predators as they landed. Caution still guided his steps as he inspected the small stream for fish or some other kind of food he could take with him. He didn¡¯t see so much as a minnow in the water and panic started to claw its way deeper into his mind. His stomach rumbled, he had never had to go without food. His uncle had firmly believed that a proper diet was necessary for proper learning. He searched for something to make a container with, he would need a way to carry water if nothing else. He spotted a white birch growing along the stream a little way off. Smiling at his good fortune Falkin jogged over to the tree. It was a well established birch, several feet around. Carefully he peeled off the flakey white outer layer of bark for tinder saving it for any fires he would make on his journey. The bark was loaded with oil that burned easily and wouldn¡¯t get wet in his pockets. After stuffing all of his empty pockets with the precious tinder, he made three cuts in the tree trunk. The first he made was a long straight cut about a foot and a half long vertically splitting the trunk. Next he made cuts at the top and bottom of his first cut, cutting completely around the trunk. He carefully used a twig to work the large sheet of bark off the tree, careful not to damage the wood under the bark which would kill the tree. He cut strips off the large rectangular sheet to use for lashing his container together. Then he rolled the bark in to a long thin funnel shape, and folded the pointed end over several times lashing it closed with the strips he had cut earlier. Admiring his container, Falkin held it up to his arm, the whole thing was longer than his forearm and would hold at least a full days ration of water. He put the container aside in the shade so that the sun wouldn¡¯t dry it out, it would hold up better to travel as long as the bark didn¡¯t dry out. Glad to have some direction at last he checked the time again with his hand, only about 2 and a half hours till dark. He started looking around the field for any plants he could eat. The first plant he spotted was the common dandelion, smiling at the bright sunny yellow flowers. Every part of them was edible, he used one of his arrows to dig up about 40 of the edible plants, roots and all. As the sun faded he washed them in the swiftly running stream. He spotted a couple of small crayfish basking in the fading sun filtering down among the rocks in the stream. The tiny lobster like crustaceans where welcoming sight to Falkin and his spirits rose knowing he wouldn¡¯t go hungry that night. Falkin filled his birch bark water container and carefully grabbed the three crayfish he could find, putting them into the container to keep them alive until he cooked them later. Before he left the stream he washed off his dandelions and added them to the container of water. Falkin slung his bow across his chest and gathered up his few arrows before heading into the tree line to look for a place to make camp for the night. He studied the trees carefully thinking about what he had been taught, location is key Ackard had always said. Aside from the normal criteria such as avoiding low spots, steering clear of standing dead trees, and such, proximity to materials can save you a lot of time and energy. Take the time to find a spot that feels right. With that in mind Falkin selected the spreading branches of a large pine tree on a slight rise separated from the forest by about 50 feet. As he walked through the waist high grass he startled a ruffed grouse into flight. He watched its flight into the darkening forest hungrily cursing himself for having his hands full. The sun was staining the sky with orange and red as Falkin pushed his way under the sheltering boughs of the pine tree. The ground was clear of grass and thickly carpeted with old dry pine needles. He quickly sat his water container down and ran back to the stream and searching in the sand soil as the light faded for a piece of flint he could use with his knife to make a fire. Falkin, cleared a place for his fire. He made a slight depression in the dirt by scooping out the loose tops soil. Then he took some of his birch bark out and shredded it finely so it would catch a spark quickly. He snapped dry branches of the pine tree thankful again for the many convenient things it offered for his use. After he got the fire burning, he put some fist sized stones into the coals to gather heat. While he waited for the stones to heat he whittled a couple of twigs into tongs. After about an half hour the stones were hot enough, and he picked them up carefully. Dropping them one by one into his water container until the water inside was boiling. Then he fished the crayfish, now bright red, out and ate them still hot. He took the stones out as well and put them back into the fire to heat up again. He blew on his container of thin soup to help cool it as the stars came out over head. An ominous rumble in the distance made him peek out from under the sheltering branches. Thunder clouds were gathering on the horizon, Falkin stared at them too numb at his misfortune to care about his luck. His dark thoughts finally settled on his Uncle who had left him there. Falkin ground his teeth at the thought of his Uncle blissfully sleeping in his comfy bed with a full stomach. He dug a shallow trench with his hands after his finished his crayfish and dandelion soup, and lined it carefully with the hot rocks from his fire before he blew it out since the night was warm enough not to need the fire for heat. He would never forgive his Uncle for this he thought angrily, He had let him think that all of his years of hard work, learning everything he was told to. Never stepping so much as a toe out of line, would finally be rewarded with some kind of affection. But no, he had simply been manipulated yet again, to believe his actions mattered to the man who had been inconvenienced by having to raise him after his whole family had died. Falkin didn¡¯t notice the single tear of frustration that ran down his face as he lay his head down on a pile of pine needles, to catch as much sleep as he could manage before the rain reached his sheltering tree. He would make his Uncle pay for the years of abuse he had suffered at his un-caring hands that thought warmed him as he drifted off to sleep. The rain started slightly after what seemed like only a few minutes, Falkin sat up immediately shivering as he was slowly drenched He cursed himself for not thinking about the rain penetrating his shelter. He shivered violently as he tried to strike a spark onto the damp birch bark, after a few minutes he gave up and tucked his hands into his armpits huddling as close to the tree as he could, he tried to stay warm. As his teeth chattered he was thankful that the late spring temperatures would keep him from freezing to death. In the morning Falkin woke to the cheerful sound of bird song, groggily he stumbled out of his damp shelter. The sun was barely above the horizon, he cleaned his birch bark container and filled it full of fresh water. He got his bearings from the rising sun which was due east as it crested the horizon and aligned himself with a large hill to the North East. As he started off he picked another bunch of dandelions that he used as a plug to keep his precious water from sloshing out of its container. Grimly he warmed himself with thoughts of what he would do when he got back to the university. That night he made camp deep in the woods, the trees overhead blocked out nearly all of the stars, he built a shelter by pushing leaves and pine needles into a five foot tall pile then crawling under them and making a small cave to keep in as much body heat as he could. He drank the last of his water in the morning, no bird song broke the stillness of the forest around him as the light slowly filtered in, this deep in the woods it was never truly day time, more like perpetual twilight under the spreading branches. The next day he started out at a brisk ground eating trot, it looked awkward, knees slightly bent and hunched forward. A woodsmen¡¯s lop it was called, bent knees allowed him to shorten his stride quickly if roots suddenly sprang up to trip him or if a hole appeared. Hunched over he could easily duck under branches or tuck and roll safely if something did managed to trip him, it also let him use his hands and arms to scramble up hills quicker than running alone. He had spent some of his sleepless night weaving some fern stems into sturdy cord. He tied knots in each strip until he had 10 strips each with 100 knots in it. He counted these as he hiked, keeping track of his pace, after counting off each of the knots on the 10 strips he had traveled roughly a mile. He made steady progress all day, ignoring his body¡¯s demands for more food and water. When he stopped for the night he estimated he had covered a good 15 miles an impressive feat for a 12 year old in an overgrown forest. He catalogued the plants around him, looking for any that he knew where edible. Fresh greens were scarce in the gloom of the branches. The forest grew steadily older and the brush faded as the dappled light faded until the forest floor was mostly moss and lichen with the occasional clump of ferns. He started out again keeping his heading of North East as best he could with no landmarks to guide him. Fatigue finally stopped him as full night fell. He collapsed exhausted under a tree and was quickly asleep with barely a thought to preparing a camp or safety, simply exhausted beyond caring he slept deaf to the emerging night sounds of the woods. he awoke with a start his body screamed at him in pain, he hadn¡¯t moved at all that night and every muscle was sore from his forced march. Grimly he stumbled to his feet and hobbled around as he drank the last of his water. He looked over his arms and legs noting his bruises and cuts, as well as the deep slash on his forearm, it had scabbed over and didn¡¯t seem to be infected his first bit of luck in the last two days. As he studied his surroundings he stretched, loosening up and trying to ignore the first pangs of true hunger.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. On the barest whisper of wind, a terrible odor was discernible coming from over the next hill. It smelled the unmistakable order of death, rotten meat, the sharp metallic tang of dried blood and the sickly sweet of putrefying meat; warily he followed the smell for a closer look. The scene that greeted him when he got to the top of the hill made a cold sweat erupt out all over his body. Below him was a small grassy field, two huge patches of blood marked the place where at least two moose sized animals had been killed. He couldn¡¯t tell what had been attacked without going down to check the scraps of fur that littered the ground. No carcasses where visible, just blood soaked grass and loose fur. The loose fur was what made his heart beat like a hummingbird trying to escape his ribs. Only the big cats typically removed the fur from their kills, with their rasp like tongues before eating it. The first twinges of pure terror prickled the back of his neck instinctively raising the hairs there; he had suddenly turned from abandoned boy, into nearly helpless prey. Barely tangible instincts long dormant in mankind sprang to life. Fight or flight warred inside of him as he desperately scanned every inch of forest he could see without moving anything but his eyes. Only great cats and one other creature fed with such delicacy, the strange hybrid animal the Rider¡¯s had named lizca, they were bred at the University and exported to only the wealthiest owners. There was little known about the species past, but it was their unique threat that worried Falkin now. He backed slowly away, his Uncle''s last taunting words echoing in his head as he struggled to move slowly as his mind screamed at him to run as fast as he could. ¡°There are reports of a pair of lizca that escaped roaming the area so take that into consideration when picking your campsites.¡± He had said. Falkin ground his teeth in disgust at his luck, as quietly as he could, he edged around the grassy field, his bow in his hands with one of his precious arrows ready on the string. He checked the ground for tracks and the largest trees for tell tale scuff marks of passing clawed feet. Halfway around the clearing he found the drag trail of the lizca, it led straight up the trunk of the largest pine in the area. He checked the blood that had frozen oozing down the grooves in the bark, like melted wax it formed raised channels; the deepest parts of which were still sticky making the trail about a day old. Silently Falkin faded back into the shadows of the trees, scanning the upper branches constantly. He spotted the twitching tail of a full grown lizca near the top of the tree. The giant fur covered lizard was striped like a tiger, its six legs stuck out over the edge of the limb it rested on. The odd gecko like pads of its feet held it perfectly secure on the limb as they would on any surface. Its needle like claws where sheathed; only brought out when attacking. They didn¡¯t need them for climbing as normal cats did; thanks to their gecko like feet. It regarded him with dead, slit pupil eyes. He watched it, frozen in place, and after sizing him up for endless seconds the lizca yawned exposing its huge crocodilian teeth. Sleepily it lowered its head back onto the branch and appeared to fall asleep. Falkin continued backing away keeping his eyes on the sleeping animal. After a few steps he started to lower his bow, and his ankle caught a root sending him tumbling down a slight hill. He landed with a crash in a tangle of dried sticks as an angry yowl echoed through the trees. Falkin scrambled to his feet, he had tucked his bow into his stomach as he rolled to protect it. Above him loomed a smaller lizca, its tawny coat gleamed in the early sunlight. Falkin noted odd little details as the lizca sprang through the air in slow motion. His heart throbbed pumping energy through his veins; he saw an echoing pulse in the thick neck of the lizca. He felt the strength of his bow against his fingers as his arms drew the string back to his cheek. The feel of the breeze as he leapt back; barely escaping the swiping claws of the attacking lizca, ¡°Was this death?¡± he wondered past regrets flooding his racing thoughts, he released his arrow. The bowstring sang as he freed it, seeming to echo in the odd calm that had overcome him. The Lizca¡¯s gaping maw swallowed his arrow, the razor sharp point bursting out of the back its head. The shaft shattered with the crackle of breaking glass, ending the odd silence in a waterfall of returning sound. Falkin¡¯s ears filled with buzzing as he gasped for breath. His feet crackled as he regained his balance, he leapt out of the slight dip he had stumbled into. The ground was littered with dried bones cracked for their marrow and collected by the pair of lizca. He checked to be sure his arrow was beyond recovery, he pulled the steel arrowhead out of the dead lizca, covering his nose with one hand to protect it from the stink of the silent predator. He noticed it was a female, which were about half the size of the males, thankfully she didn''t appear to be nursing any young he regretted having to kill her in defense, as he had no great love of hunting for anything other than food needed to survive. He fled north, his steps spurred on by the knowledge of what was lurking behind him. As night fell he faintly heard a terrible yowl, part wolf cry, part screeching hiss that he had never heard before. He had sought shelter amongst the thinnest branches he could find. Miles behind him he saw a murder of crows take flight, shining opulent black against the complete emptiness of the overcast night sky, as something shook them loose from their night time perch. Falkin¡¯s spirits plummeted as he realized what he had done. Lizca mated for life like swans. He had killed half of a mated pair, unlike swans that mourned their mate and pined away quietly heartbroken until they died, the lizca raged against their losses, the male had found its slain mate. Now it would stop at nothing to wreak its terrible vengeance upon whatever had stolen its partner away. Desperately Falkin weighed his odds of out pacing the enraged predator tracking him. No doubt following his scent trail through the forest as he expertly whittled a new arrow shaft from a tree branch. He did not like his odds, grimly he forced himself to slow his beating heart and calm his breathing so he could rest for a few hours. He would have to keep moving until he could find a place that gave him better odds. Falkin slipped into a soldier''s slumber; not quite asleep; not quite awake, just resting his tired mind and body while still keeping watch around him aware of every movement and sound. Panting for breath, Falkin dodged under bushes, sliding over the slick forest floor as rain pounded down around him. He had half drowned trying to stay in a large river; a full day he had spent floating down the river losing valuable time as he was carried Southwest, desperately trying to keep his bow and knife out of the water. He had lost all sense of time, hours and minutes blended into a haze of terror and pain. Nightfell, darkness only sharpened his senses, shadows felt more than seen, deeps and hollows snatched at him but his fear fueled reflexes pulled him back from the brink of disaster time and time again. ¡°I don¡¯t know how much longer I can keep this up¡± Falkin thought shuddering for breadth, steam rose up from his feverish skin, flushed with hunger he held his side and started forward in a shambling loose kneed run. He looked uncoordinated and clumsy, but the short steps allowed him to double step if one of his feet lost purchase in the dim forest. Hunched over nearly double at the waist let him duck under most branches and scramble up unseen rises on all fours, he¡¯d slide down hills in a smooth tumble, one leg stretched out in front of him to propel him in a spring over any unseen logs or rocks. Ackard would have approved of his efficiency; No one had ever taught him how to run like this, his mind was to fogged with hunger, fatigue, and fear to notice the effectiveness of his pace. Falkin gave no thought to such fleeting thoughts as his focus narrowed still further, tunnel vision allowed him to block out thoughts of pain and hunger, blackness hung at the edge of his vision amplifying the effect. He struggled to place thoughts in order as trees and rocks tumbled past, his hip crunched painfully into a boulder, he turned the jarring fall into a graceful spin and kicked a tree to straighten his body effortlessly without losing any speed. Dazzling star light ahead startled him, without slowing he took note of the ridge line approaching, trees gave way to bare rock and loose stone. With an effort he slowed his breathing, dropping his mouth open wide to clear his ears so he could hear any pursuit behind him. In the cold harsh moonlight he caught his first glimpse of the colossal Star Oak that housed the Rider¡¯s home in over a week; the colored lights looked Fey, like foxfire trickling down in sparks over the branches. Each flickering spark was a warm room filled with food to his hunger pinched thoughts sluggish to rise to the surface. He stopped, shifting from one foot to the other to keep his muscles from tightening up, tingling made it seem like his legs were still moving; anger finally surfaced, blazing away the confusion and fog starvation had settled over his mind. Thinking clearly for the first time in longer than he could clearly recall Falkin took stock of his position, as the moon rose from behind a taller hill to the East. He studied the trees spreading out below the small ridge he stood on. An angry howl behind him broke the night, greeting the moons arrival to illuminate his trail again. Without turning to look he tried to estimate how far off the Lizca was, half a day at most he estimated. For days now he had been harried by the pursuing lizca, he hadn¡¯t been able to escape its relentless pursuit. He was finally in forest he recognized from his longer hikes with Ackard. Anger at his uncle, at the injustice of his casual cruelness awoke his voice for the first time. ¡°Enough.¡± He whispered the first word spoken aloud since he had been stranded alone in the wilderness. A wordless screamed split the silent night like a thunderstorm, anguish and anger echoed back at his hunter, behind him the Lizca froze ears twitched at the sound. Panting Falkin leapt over the edge of the ridge, anger made him feel lighter as he savored the weightlessness of falling before his feet slammed into the loose scree of fallen rocks sloping down from the ridge. Defiantly upright, he slid over the pebbles and rocks as they eagerly snatched at his tattered clothes trying to vainly to trip him, too cut and rend his already battered skin. His defiant grin looked ghoulish in the red moonlight as he sped into the more familiar forest on the far side of the ridge. Sniffing silently at the bare stones, the Lizca whined deep in his throat at the faint smell of his lost mate still clung to his hated prey. Dim thoughts, nearly intelligent, hungered to rend and repay the anguish in his cold blooded heart. Puzzled he searched back and forth on the top of the ridge before catching sight of the freshly turned over stones leading down into the forest below. He roared hoarsely, lack of water and food robbing his cry of some of its strength but none of his rage. He wanted his prey to hear him, too tremble knowing what was just behind it. Falkin stopped in his manic assembling of the trap he had devised. In the small box canyon that he had explored years earlier he was preparing for his best chance at survival. The canyon was sheer sided and narrowed to a choke point that he had to turn sideways in to get through. The bottom was level sand blown in by the wind over the millennium. He had left his boots useless and bloody at the mouth of the canyon, a trial too tempting to ignore. He had prayed to every deity he could recall from his theology lessons, desperate for any intervention. He most wished he would stumble upon a rider out on patrol but his luck hadn¡¯t been that accommodating. ¡°And why should it?¡± He wondered disgusted, it wasn''t as if Luck had ever smiled on him before. First his parents and siblings had been stolen from him by lucks cruel twin Fate, not once had anything but his own skill intervened on his behalf. Angrily he discarded any belief in anything other than himself as he worked to set his trap for his hunter. Beyond exhausted, he sharpened the last of the wooden stakes, placing it point towards the mouth of the canyon, he rubbed some blood from one of his many cuts along the wall, leaving a trail deeper into the half-light of the canyon. Wooden stakes wedged into every crack would hinder the lizca from climbing on the walls to drop down on him; he had placed fire bundles along the top of the cliff soaked in pine pitch he had bled out of the forest just in front of the canyon. Secure for the first time in days, Falkin crouched in his trap, bait for the avenging nemesis he had earned; darkness deepened as clouds covered the crimson moon above him and time stretched into eternity as he waited. ¡°What a pathetic bit of bait I am,¡± Falkin thought as his pinched stomach stabbed him ruthlessly; he had been thin thanks to his latest growth spurt. He was beyond that now, emaciated from his long miles of running. Dehydration drew his skin even tighter over his sharp bones, hunger had finally honed his senses to an animalistic level few humans ever achieved; the woods suddenly grew quiet. Falkin flexed his muscles without rising to keep them loose. The muscles stood out like corded rope as he prepared himself; the carrion scent of death wafted to him on a scanty breeze. His hunter had finally arrived. Now it would become prey; Falkin closed his eyes stretching his ears he heard the whisper of his prey climbing ghost like towards the top of the cliff to avoid his trap. His hand whipped out fast as a striking snake, he sparked his knife against the flint he held. Flames raced up the careful trench he had made along the wall devouring the pitch greedily; the edge of the canyon exploded into a dazzling flash of light and heat as the flames reached the tinder-dry bundles of pine needles and twigs. The Lizca reared back just before it was consumed by the flames, it fell heavily down the sheer rock wall and landed with a bruising thud on the sand of the canyon floor. Falkin slowly stood using only the muscles of his legs, rising fluidly like a dancer moving to the music of death. He dropped his knife and it buried itself point first in the loose sand beneath him. He drew his last arrow and stood balanced easily on the sand, bow held in perfect form, his breathing came steady as he sought his target. The lizca yowled as it rolled around frantically trying to gather its feet under it again after falling from the top of the cliff. Its gleaming red eyes reflected the light from the blinding fire above them as the dust of its fall settled to the ground. Gaunt, its fur was matted and tangled, a far cry from the sleek predator that had lounged in the sun on that bright day so long ago. A red line ran the length of its snout and plowed a furrow through the fur beside its hate filled eye until it tore a sharp ragged hole out of one of its nimble ears. His last arrow had nearly been a perfect shot, but nearly wasn''t nearly good enough as Ackard was fond of saying. With a howl of rage that rattled pebbles loose from the canyon, the lizca charged. All thoughts of stalking burned from its mind in its bloodlust of anger at finally seeing the killer of its mate. Again time slowed as Falkin relaxed his grip on the string to his bow, the lizca churned up sand with its back paws; he had always found the way they moved unsettling. Its four back legs worked like a rabbit to propel its sharp clawed front paws and saber filled mouth at its prey. The last set of legs swung forward, outside of the mid pair; mid legs reached between the back paws just as they landed, the perfect position to launch their owner into astounding bounds using four legs instead of two and leaving the front paws free to rend. His arrow bent under the strength of his bow as he released his shot, leaping away, eager to meet the lizca in midair, the arrow connected with a thud. It punched effortlessly through hair, muscle, and sinew before continuing out the back of the lizca. Three bounds away, Falkin dropped his exhausted bow from numb fingers. Two leaps away, he crouched pulling himself low with all the energy his corded legs could muster, eyes focused completely on the closing inches between his grasping fingers and his dagger. One bound away, the lizca sprang just as he felt the cool weight of his dagger slide into his hands, screaming his own challenge Falkin sprang forward enraged beyond reason at the darkness that eagerly edged in to embrace them both. Like a coiled spring he flew up, his dagger leading way. All the weight of his body behind his last gleaming hope, he leapt to meet his attacker head on. Blood erupted from his back as the Lizca¡¯s embrace stopped him mid air, pushing them further into the canyon, Falkin was flung weightlessly back as the wooden spears he had placed along the walls halted the Lizca, keening it struggled to gain purchase, but its paws just barely brushed the ground. Blood bubbled from the flaring nostrils. Falkin rose, exhausted he gazed hollowly at the carnage he had wrought. The Lizca still thrashed weakly snapping its jaws, glaring at him as red foam bubbled out of its mouth. Numbly Falkin grabbed a wooden stake from the rocks; he turned painfully to the Lizca. Wooden quills stuck out from its belly and shoulders, thrust forward as blood streamed out onto the ground; still it struggled to reach him, raking screeching furrows in the stones walls. From just out of reach, Falkin leaned back then thrust forward smoothly as he had countless times on the pike targets of the practice fields, the sharpened wood sank cleanly into the grief enraged beast; with a thankful sigh the Lizca slowly grew still, sent finally to meet its mate. Kaydran jerked awake, he sat up with a start, and shivering in fear his mind raced struggling to recall his dream. Every night his dreams where plagued by shadowy forms hunting him through the night until he awoke exhausted and sweating. Zatch dashed the last bit of sleep from his eyes with water from the wash basin in his temporary room. Thankful again for the luxuries he was being treated to. As the last remnants of sleep faded along with the details of his nightmare, he groaned exhausted from another night of fitful sleep. Daxen let the water drip off his face and hair from the stream as he wiped the taste of bile from his throat, this last dream had been so intense his back still ached, reaching behind himself he touched his back, expecting there to be blood; the pain had been enough to make him throw up his hearty dinner. "The dream again?" Narissa asked handing Daxen a water skin to wash out his mouth. He swished water around his mouth before spitting it out onto the grass. ¡°It¡¯s different every night, yet still the same.¡± Daxen struggled to put words to his feelings. ¡°I''m not making any sense am I?¡± He asked ruefully. Narissa smiled at him encouragingly without speaking, she looked concerned but he knew she wouldn''t press him; he was immensely grateful for that fact, so different from his pushy sisters. ¡°It seemed to end this time, I don''t know if it is really over but it felt final, like something had been put to rest, as crazy as that sounds.¡± He snorted out a rough laugh at his inability to express how he knew that his dream was really over; not just waiting crouched in the shadows waiting for him to doze off again. ¡°I hope so, if it¡¯s still bothering you after tomorrow we can have a healer see if they can to figure out what is going on inside that thick skull of yours.¡± Narissa said rapping him lightly on the forehead with her knuckles before helping him to his feet. ¡°Since we''re already up we might as well push onward to the university we should be there before the sun if we break camp quick enough.¡± She said stretching to work the stiffness of sleep from her body. Daxen began packing up his bedroll without another word of encouragement; he had barely been able to sleep between his nightmares and the excitement of their journey. Within minutes they where ready to go, Daxen climbed eagerly up Sixtails as she crouched for him, he slid into the saddle on the great wolf¡¯s back, sandwiched behind Narissa and their camping gear, he had grown used to the stride of her partner¡¯s gate, so unlike the gate of a horse, the wolf shook herself settling the saddle and their gear firmly into place on her broad back, with a short excited yip they were off. racing into the lightening gloom, fleeter than a deer they slipped through the trees and shadows, trusting in Sixtails superior night vision to find a safe path to their journeys end.