Ch. 46-47

Chapter 46

Mitchell stood in front of the doorway to Luvari's cottage that appeared to grow out of the cave wall. Their time was up. All of their things had been moved out of her house in anticipation of it disappearing. Luvari had told him that they would have three days and that time was nearly at an end. When they had awoken that morning the fire was nearly out and once it died the house would vanish. Behind him, Lethelin and Allora were making the final preparations for Marvin and Tammi, but he wanted to see it happen.

Without warning, the door to the cottage swung shut and then started to fade away like fog burned off in a rising sun. Before it had fully vanished, sunlight began to pierce the door like rays from a vengeful god. Mitchell hadn't seen the sun in days and the light was so bright as to be physically painful. Behind him, he heard Lethelin utter a small cry and then she was through the cave entrance before the doorway had fully evaporated. Then, he heard a loud giggle that you would never guess had come from the throat of a deadly assassin who could vanish almost at will and who cut throats as easily as he cut a piece of cake. But she giggled again, and Mitchell grinned at the sound.

Allora walked up beside him, eyes squinting into the harsh glare of the morning sunlight.

"What is she doing?"

"She had a tough time being in the cave for so many days and then the cabin," Mitchell explained. "I think she could pretend we were just in a regular old house when we were in Luvari's home, but she doesn't like being confined in the dark. We had a couple of tense moments while you were unconscious."

"I would expect someone in her line of work to be a little tougher," Allora said, echoing Mitchell's feelings somewhat. But whereas he had thought it out of a playful sense of irony, Allora sounded more judgmental.

"That's not fair," Mitchell said. "Everyone has something they're afraid of. And I think she has proven her bravery and resourcefulness enough by this point. And her loyalty. Don't you think you're being too hard on her?"

Allora was quiet for a moment before answering.

"She is a mercenary, Mitchell."

Allora said it in such a way as if that should explain it. When he didn't respond, she continued.

"She is charging a price that would make a tilsin slaver blush! No matter how she appears to you, she is doing this for the money. Please do not forget that."

Rather than answer her accusation, Mitchell said, "When the assassin was about to kill you, Lethelin looked as terrified as I felt. When you were sick, she worked just as hard to help you as I did. She pushed on through the blizzard until she collapsed. She paid the price for your cure willingly. I told her she didn't have to, but she did it anyway."

Allora looked up into Mitchell's eyes but then quickly looked away.

"Lethelin watched over you in the dark while I slept. She was terrified and alone, I had to hold her as she cried, but she didn't complain or wake me up to cast a new mage light. She stood guard over you and endured her own private hell for hours to make sure you were okay. She gave her own blood to save you, Allora."

The knight crossed her arms and shuffled her feet.

Mitchell didn't want to argue with her. Not now when things were finally starting to thaw a little between them. Instead, he took a more conciliatory tone.

"Don't you think that is worth something?"

Allora let out a breath and met Mitchell's gaze once more.

"You are right," she conceded. "I owe her thanks and gratitude."

"Thank you," he told her.

Then, on instinct, he put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. To his great joy, she didn't pull away but leaned into him once again. Her arm went around his waist and they stood that way for a moment.

"Not much of a reef carp after all," Mitchell said, a teasing note in his voice.

Allora's head ticked up sharply.

"Who said I was a reef carp?"

Her voice had an edge to it.

Mitchell tilted his head toward the opening.

"It's Leth's little nickname for you. Because you're stubborn."

"That dock rat called me a reef carp?!?"

Mitchell couldn't suppress the smile on his face which only appeared to irritate Allora even further.

"Are you telling me you're not as stubborn as one? Granted, I have to take her word for it as I've never seen one myself, but if you try to tell me you're not, I'll have to remind you what happened last time you lied to your future monarch."

"I--" Allora's mouth opened, then closed, not unlike a landed fish as she struggled to deny the accusation while also being unwilling to lie to him. "She--!"

Instead, she decided to switch tactics and direct her anger somewhere else.

Allora pulled away from him and stormed out of the cave mouth and into the blazing sun and piled snow drifts.

"Lethelin!" Her voice rang out in the cold morning air. "Where are you? I am going to tan your hide up this mountain and down the other side! Reef car--"

Here voice suddenly cut off with a small scream and then an ominous silence.

"How dare you!?"

"Have another!" came Lethelin's gleeful taunt though the cave mouth.

There was another scream. Then an answering cry from Lethelin. Mitchell rushed to the opening and saw a most unexpected sight.

The last Onyx Knight of Awenor and a divinely-touched assassin were having a snowball fight. They were laughing and screaming at each other and they looked like scruffy angels in the snow -- Allora, tall and powerful with her once-again glistening black hair streaming behind her in the stiff breeze and Lethelin, lithe and quick, her blood-red tresses almost bleached to orange in the harsh light of morning. Mitchell leaned against the opening and watched them. Rather than stop them, he thought about joining in. This could be the tension breaker that they all desperately needed. He thought that right until he noticed them both looking at him with snowballs in their hands and evil grins on their faces.

"Don't even think about it," he warned them.

They did more than think about it.

***

Compared to the difficulty of their first few days up the mountain, the next couple were relatively easy. The snow drifts were treacherous and probing ahead was often difficult but, with Allora almost back to full strength, things were, on the whole, faster. Much to Mitchell's delight, the girls were actually getting along better. Allora seemed to have taken their talk in the cave to heart and was making a legitimate effort to be friendlier.

Allora explained on the second day that they were well above where the wolves generally prowled but that they needed to keep an eye out for shadow cats once dusk arrived. To be safer, they would make camp earlier than normal and spend more time gathering fire wood.

"Do you think we'll see any this far north," Mitchell asked, remembering Allora's comment about the shadow cats preferring the southern ranges."

"It is hard to say. If hunting was plentiful down south, they may not have ventured this far north. It is best if we take precautions, though."

The third morning out from Luvari's, Mitchell was on last watch. As the sky began to darken and he figured it was safe to wander around, he decided to explore a little before the girls awoke.

After more than a week of steady climbing Allora had said they were near the peaks where the trails would begin to descend down the other side. The air was thin and bitterly cold and they were all feeling the exhaustion from the sparse oxygen. The campsite they had found was tucked into the ruin of an old watchtower. Allora said it probably dated from the time of the dragon lords before the mortal races had broken free of their servitude. Despite being ruled over by dragons, they had their own kingdoms while all swearing fealty to a kind of dragon empress named Yuliana Blood Scale. Mitchell remembered that name from Nothok, the dwarf. He had said that his clan were the ones that forged the blade that killed her.

But while they all swore fealty to Yuliana during her reign, they would often war among themselves and they used their mortal subjects to fight wars just as every ruler had since time immemorial. So, there were the ruins of forts, keeps, and strongholds littered all over Tewadunn. Some had been reclaimed and repurposed by the mortal races. Others had been left to crumble to dust like this one.

Mitchell could make out where the walls had been. He could see traces of where supports had been driven into the rocks to hold upper floors and the ground was littered with oddly-shaped blocks that still had some of the square shapes of worked stone. Their camp had been inside a passage that had been cut into the rock face with the barest hint of walls to block out some of the wind. It was this passage that Mitchell stepped out of in the pre-dawn light.

He wasn't too worried about razor beaks, despite being in their territory. He had seen a few of them flying around and they were fearsome creatures. They resembled large eagles or hawks but they walked on four legs when grounded. Allora said that their legs weren't very strong and they often struggled to support the weight of their large bodies so they preferred to dive bomb their prey rather than any sort of prolonged ground fight where they weren't as agile. They also mostly hunted in the late afternoon and at dusk, so the morning should be safe.

Keeping an eye on the sky just in case, Mitchell toured the ruins of the watch tower and wondered at the ancient civilization that built it. Were there humans among the builders? There must have been as his people had been taken here just as wherever Allora's people had come from, as well as the other races. Were they ancient Europeans? Asians? Africans? Mitchell had scene various different ethnicities of humans when he had been in Besari and traveling the Diran Road, so they had yanked people from all over Earth, it seemed. He thought of the stories of expeditions gone missing and other mysteries like the Lost Colony of Roanoke, Virginia.

Every school kid heard about the early American settlement that had reportedly vanished without a trace in the 16th century. More than 100 settlers gone with the only clue a strange word that had been carved into a tree much higher than a human was tall. Mitchell had gone to Colonial Williamsburg with his parents when he'd been fifteen and they'd visited one of the recreations of a Revolutionary War camp. While visiting the facilities, they'd gone into one of the cabins and the tour guide had asked them who they thought this bunk house had been for. Looking at the small beds everyone concluded that it must have been for kids, but the guide had said no, these were soldiers' beds.

Now that Mitchell knew about interdimensional travel and other worlds, he thought he had a pretty good idea what might have happened although he doubted the Roanoke colony had ended up here. The dragon lords had taken humans much earlier than that. By the time Roanoke happened, the reign of the dragon lords had already ended -- at least in linear time. It did move differently between universes in a way he couldn't even begin to comprehend. By the time he got back, his parents could be dust in the ground. Or it would only have been a few weeks.

"Fuck if I know," Mitchell grumbled to himself as he leaned against a half-crumbled wall.

He breathed in the crisp cold air and, while the chill did burn his nose, taking in the larger breath helped dispel some of the exhaustion he felt with the lower oxygen this high up. The mild headache even receded a little bit.

Not wanting to waste precious quiet time, he decided to practice his firebolt spell and also begin working on a new spell called "blade burst". His book listed it as a conjuration spell and, according to the description, it was supposed to fill the space around him with spectral blades for a few seconds that would slice at anyone that got too close. It only lasted about five seconds but since he didn't have armor he thought the extra bit of room in a fight would be useful.

After drilling with the firebolt spell for a few minutes, making sure he could still cast it at will, he pulled open his spell book and started learning the rune form for blade burst. He studied it, taking note of each line as it formed its geometric shape within the circle of the rune and shut his eyes and tried to recreate it in his mind. It was getting easier to do the more he practiced but it still took work. Each rune was basically a circle framing shapes contained within, but remembering them took patience and focus. He could see what Revos meant about time being the biggest hindrance to would-be spellcasters and why so many chose to specialize, even to the point of ignoring some of the mana types they could use. Mitchell was determined not to do that, though. He would try to learn as many different spells as he could.

While he was going over and over the rune in his mind, drawing it and redrawing it, checking the page, and drawing it again, a chill suddenly came over him. He was cold pretty much all the time these days, but this was different. This coldness started in his chest. Without warning his whole body broke out in goose flesh and he began to shudder. Something was very wrong. As he returned his attention back to his surroundings, he noticed that the wind had stopped. The occasional snowflake drifted lazily to the ground, having been disturbed from some higher peak, but all was quiet. He was being watched. There was a pressure on his mind that made him want to curl into a fetal position. It was pushing against his skin as well. Against his eyes and even his hair. Suddenly he struggled to draw breath and he shuddered as he exhaled. Fighting against the pressure that told him both not to move and yet to run with all his might, he reached for his sword. The sound of the metal blade leaving the scabbard was loud enough in the unnatural stillness that it made him wince.

Sword out and at the ready, he began to turn, trying to see what it was that was about to kill him. Not just kill him, but obliterate him -- destroy him so completely that it would be like he had never existed at all. But there was nothing. He looked down the trail they had come from yesterday and it was quiet and still. He looked up the path where they would head today, and it was equally empty.

"Up!" the voice in his head screamed at him. "Look up!"

Mitchell looked up and wished he hadn't. If he hadn't already relieved himself behind a boulder he would have done so now. As it was, he thought he felt his balls retract up into his pelvis in pure, unadulterated terror.

Perched on the ledge above the path, not five meters from where Mitchell stood, was a dragon. An honest-to-god, Dungeons-and-Dragons, Dragon-Riders-of-Pern, Reign-of-Fire motherfucking dragon.

Mitchell couldn't speak. He couldn't run, he couldn't call out. He could only stare and await his death at the hands of this primeval terror. One golden eye the size of a dining room table blinked languidly and focused back on the trembling human before it.

Mitchell's last thought was, "I'm sorry, Allora."

Chapter 47

Except that wasn't Mitchell's last thought. As he stood there, frozen and certain that he would soon serve as an hors d'oeuvre to this massive white dragon, the beast didn't attack him. It merely stared breathing slowly and squinting at Mitchell as if studying him for something.

Finally, it spoke.

"You have her stench all over you. Her magic still lingers on your skin."

The voice didn't come from the creature's mouth, but rather it exploded into Mitchell's head like a bomb blast. The force of it sent Mitchell to one knee and, for a moment, his vision went white. He blinked rapidly and the world faded back into sight.

The dragon blew out a sharp breath from its nostrils that blasted Mitchell's hair back and, in his befuddled state, almost knocked him over. Then its long scaled head lifted from where it had been resting on the rock face and scanned the passages in both directions. It took in several more breaths and seemed to be tasting the air.

Mitchell had just started to regain a bit of coherence when the dragon spoke again.

"How frustrating."

Mitchell grabbed the side of his head and groaned. He could feel his brain quiver like a bowl of Jello every time the monster spoke.

When his eyes cleared a second time the dragon was peering at him inquisitively. Then it spoke again and Mitchel braced himself as best he could. It turns out it wasn't necessary.

"Apologies, little human. I have not spoken with a mortal in some time. I forget how..." It paused as if searching for the word. "Sensitive your minds are. I trust this is more suitable."

Mitchell slowly unclenched as he realized the dragon's voice was no longer going to melt his brain.

"Y--" His voice cracked and he had to pause to clear his throat. "Yes. That's better, thank you, um... sir? Ma'am?"

Mitchell had no idea what to address the dragon as. All he could do was hope he didn't offend it.

"You may call me Udranth."

Udranth directed his attention to the passage behind the wall that Mitchell had emerged from. It inhaled again and Mitchell watched as its nostrils enlarged enough that he thought he could fit his head and shoulders inside with room to spare.

"The fey witch is bold, I will give her that," Udranth commented before turning his attention back to Mitchell. "How long? Three days?"

"Do you mean Luvari?"

A rumble like boulders rolling down a mountain emerged from the dragon's chest at the mention of her name and Mitchell's bones turned to ice.

"Yes," the dragon answered as if he was tasting something foul. "She is clever and masks her presence well, but I will find her one day. Our battle will be legendary!"

The dragon's claws began to flex its long black talons curled into the stone like it was no more substantial than cotton candy. Shards of granite exploded and Mitchell had to dodge a few of the larger pieces as the dragon almost quivered with anger.

"I take it you don't like her?"

Udranth chuffed and glared at Mitchell, almost causing him to step back. He held his ground, though. The dragon didn't seem to be interested in killing him, although that could easily change. Still, he could show a little courage. Even if all that amounted to was not moving his feet.

"She plies her favors in my territory and does not show me proper deference or respect. Slinking in and out, almost daring me to catch her. But I will. She will face me one day. I swear it."

A ripple ran down the dragon's body from its long neck to the bit of tail that he could see hanging over the edge. The scales puffed outward and the wings ruffled, and it made a strange but not unpleasant sound, not unlike dry leaves rustling in a fall breeze. It had a similar effect to a cat fluffing its fur. The dragon seemed to swell momentarily as the ripple moved over its body. Mitchell could only assume it was some sort of threat display, although when you were as large this thing was, he had no idea why a display of any kind would be necessary.

Then it cocked his head and looked at Mitchell anew.

"You smell of the human stock world. When did you arrive on Tewadunn?"

"Umm... about a month ago? Maybe six weeks? I don't know exactly."

"Yes. It still lingers on you. Different than I remember, somehow. More..." Udranth paused, considering. "Acidic. Has the atmosphere changed? Some event?"

Mitchell didn't know what to think about that. Calling Earth a stock world spoke volumes and confirmed what the others had told him about how the races had arrived here. And Udranth was, at least in part, responsible for the kidnapping of other humans from Earth. Should he be angry? Would it matter?