Dragonoak (49 page)

With the
bridge no longer crossing the ravine, the journey was almost a full
day longer than it otherwise would've been. Avoiding villages and
towns this time didn't lead to the zigzagging across Kastelir it
had before. There was a noticeable dearth of them. The wind howled
where buildings had once stood, and a chill crept up my spine as
Charley galloped over the closest things to graves those people had
been given.

I
watched as ravens flew overhead, and waited for Felheimish soldiers
to shoot them down.

One
landmark I couldn't avoid was Isin. It had been home to hundreds of
thousands of people and even in ruins, the city stretched from one
side of the horizon to the other. I saw what remained from the
hills; saw the trampled buildings and the shattered wall, the
charred ground around it; saw birds swoop in, squawking, building
their nests amidst the decay and couldn't imagine a castle once
standing in the centre; and even then, I was too close.

I'd
imagined dragons would still crawl through the wreckage they'd
created, would blaze trails of fire across the sky as they circled
the city they'd destroyed, possessive over much of nothing, but the
stillness, the finality of it all, was worse than all that. Isin
had fallen.

I did
what I could to not linger. The mountains began their steady ascent
from the horizon within a matter of days, and the taller they
became, the less lonely I felt in the wilderness that had once been
Kastelir. I started to see people. There were Felheimish soldiers
and former Kastelirians alike; the Felheimish army were nowhere
near the mountains but soldiers were scattered along the roads in
groups of three or four, nodding to me as I passed, offering
directions whenever I scowled at the map.

The
citizens attended to life around their villages and towns as though
they'd never been given a reason to cower in the past. I passed a
settlement by the name of Isos and found the town was thriving, in
spite of all else. Felheim's dragons never went near the mountains,
lest the dragons living there were given reason to lash out against
them. It was strange to think that only dragons were keeping them
safe from, well—dragons.

“Can I
help you, miss?” a soldier asked as I approached the foot of the
mountains. A small hut had been built at the opening of the road
leading to Kyrindval, and she sat outside it with another soldier,
some years her junior. She greeted me with a smile, spear rested
against the hut a few yards away.

“It's
fine, thank you,” I said, bemused by the disconnect between the
Felheimish soldiers that were spoken of in Orinhal and the ones I'd
met on the road thus far. “I'm heading to Kyrindval, and I know the
way.”

I
gestured to the crumpled map in my hand and the soldier furrowed
her brow. She took the map from me, glanced at it, and murmured,
“Looks solid enough.” Handing it back, she made an effort to frown.
More at the situation than at me. “What brings you to Kyrindval,
anyway? Not too many Kastelirians are all that eager to get closer
to the dragons.”

I'd had
my story worked out for days.

“My
brother's up there. He's been... studying the pane,” I said. It was
true, for all intents and purposes, but I patronised the pane more
than I would've liked to; anything to make it seem like my goal was
to meet up with my brother, location entirely incidental. “I'd been
living in Yastin, but I'd heard there might be trouble with the
rebels...”

Yastin
had been in fine shape when I passed it two days ago, but the
mention of rebels was enough to earn the soldier's
sympathy.

“Go
ahead,” she said. “I'm on duty until sundown. If you need anything,
come back this way.”

I thanked her and went on my way, trying not to hurry. I'd
done it. I'd got past the Felheimish checkpoint with a simple lie,
and all that remained was to wind my way up to Kyrindval. The
thought of scaling the mountain wasn't so daunting, now that I'd
strolled past the soldiers, and I couldn't wipe the grin off my
face at the thought of seeing my brother. The thought of seeing
Michael was actually making me
smile
. For the first twenty-three
years of my life I'd seen him almost every day without fail. I
never imagined a time would come where we'd be parted long enough
for me to miss him.

Charley
and I made our way up the mountain at a slow, steady pace. When the
path began to narrow, I hopped off his back and lead him by the
reins for as long as I was confident I could keep him safe. I left
him in a small clearing when his hooves started to slip against the
steep terrain, and scattered what remained of the food in the grass
around him.

“Won't
be for long, boy,” I promised. “I'll get the pane to come down and
help you up as soon as I reach Kyrindval.”

More
interested in chomping down on an apple than hearing me out,
Charley let me leave without complaint.

I plastered my hands against the mountain face as I continued
on my way, able to
feel
how high up I was. I didn't have to look down;
the wind felt different here, somehow older and wiser, and each
step I took pushed Bosma further from me. It was by no means an
enjoyable process, but my heart didn't leap into my throat in the
same way it had the first time I'd visited Kyrindval. Perhaps I had
more faith in my abilities. Perhaps climbing a mountain was nothing
compared to what I'd been through. Either way, within an hour I'd
made considerable progress.

It was
around then that voices drifted down to me. I couldn't have been
far from Kyrindval itself, but I knew a pane when I heard one, and
I wasn't about to walk into anyone with horns.

I caught
one man saying, “... hate this part. Always feel like I'm gonna
tumble off the edge.”

Another
man grunted.

“Waste
of time. The pane are always oblivious to everything going on. Why
we trusting anything that comes outta Orinhal, anyway?”

I
glanced around, working out what my options were. I had a handful
of seconds before our paths crossed and nowhere to go but forward;
if I rushed down the mountain I'd do just what the man – a soldier,
no doubt – feared, and the side was too steep to scale. It'd be
alright. It'd be no different that the run-in I'd had with the
soldier at the foot of the mountain. I braced myself, hand on the
mountainside, waiting for the soldiers to turn the
corner.

There
were five of them, and at least three started when they near-enough
marched into me. I pressed myself flat against the mountain,
gesturing for them to pass, but only one did. Their leader, the man
who'd been grumbling about the downward descent from the sound of
his voice, said, “On your way to Kyrindval, are you?”

“I am,”
I said.

Nothing
to worry about, nothing to worry about.

“Got a
name, lass?” he asked. One of the soldiers seemed grateful for any
manner of break, but the others fixed narrowed gazes upon me,
passing a strip of parchment between themselves.

“Varn
Southsea,” I replied a second too late.

The
soldier nodded, reclaiming the parchment and tucking it back into
his pocket. “It's her,” he said, hand going to the hilt of his
blade as the other soldiers' rang out in the air in unison. “Don't
make direct contact with it.”

“Wha—” I
began, only to have a sword jabbed towards me. It stopped inches
from my throat, wavering in the air at the mercy of an unsteady
hand. I pushed my back harder against the mountainside, trying to
become part of the stone itself.

“I think
there's been a mistake,” I tried again, voice hoarse.

“Rowan... Rowan—it didn't say what your last name was,” the
leader of the soldiers continued, and I
knew
what had happened. Of course I
wasn't safe, just because I'd left Orinhal. Of course information
was bound to spread further than the city limits. “We're to escort
you to His Highness Prince Rylan's camp. Might as well make this
easy for yourself.”

I
glanced around, searching for an escape. The soldiers' stances
weren't strong; they were uncertain of what I'd do, and they
weren't quite standing shoulder-to-shoulder. The blade was no
longer threatening to spear through my throat. I could push myself
off the mountainside and barge between them, but then what? I
probably wouldn't be able to skid to a stop before bolting off the
mountainside, let alone turn towards Kyrindval and outrun
them.

Trying
to buy time for myself, as though it'd make a difference, I asked,
“Why?”

“Why?” a
different soldier repeated. “The crime of necromancy.”

A tumult
of sickness washed through me, as though Katja herself were there.
I did the only thing I could think to. I held my hand out and the
soldiers flinched, as if I'd struck them. They were as ignorant as
Gavern had been, as everyone always was; they thought they were
safe so long as I didn't touch them, and they raised their swords
higher, thinking that would save them.

It'd be easy. It'd be
too
easy. All I had to do was push my thoughts out
towards them. It wouldn't have to last for more than a minute. I
could tie them up and run, I could get to Kyrindval before their
legs were steady again, and yet my fingers were
trembling.

Katja had been right. She was always right about me. I
couldn't just
kill
them. No matter what I told myself, I'd never go through with
it. These soldiers thought they were doing the right thing. They
thought they were taking in a murderous necromancer. I was the
villain here.

“How did
you find me?” I asked, yet again stalling for time. My hand was
still outstretched, like I was going to drown them in
death.

“Prince
Rylan has ears everywhere. Orinhal most of all. Couple days ago, we
got word that a necromancer was fleeing the city, along with a few
helpful suggestions as to where you might head,” the soldier said.
“Come quietly and it'll be easier for you. His Highness is a
lenient man. Might even find a use for you.”

My hands
were grasping at nothing, death not rushing forth at my command.
Katja remained right. Of course I wasn't going to kill
them.

But I
wasn't going to let them take me, either. I couldn't. I remembered
the chains around my wrists, binding me to the stove. I couldn't be
imprisoned again. Couldn't, couldn't, couldn't.

And so I
did the only other thing I could.

I
charged forward.

Swords
swung out towards me, slicing the air, the back of my shoulder. I
barrelled into one of the soldiers, hoping the impact would negate
the force I'd pushed off with, but it was all for nothing. I rushed
right off the edge of the mountain, and for a moment – for a
single, all-consuming moment – I didn't fall. I hung in the air,
free, fearless, and the ground roared beneath me, like a hungry
maw.

The
mountains blurred and the sky slipped away. I told myself that I
might die, but I wasn't going to stay dead; it was going to hurt,
but I'd been hurt before. I could gather my broken bones and
cracked skull back together. This was my choice, I was doing this.
I had control here.

But the
mountain sloped. I didn't just hit the ground; the rocks rushed out
towards me and I crashed into them. Everything darkened more than
once, and I healed in the time it took for me to slam into another
rock. After that, I tumbled through the swirling darkness, bile in
my throat as I prepared for impact, heart giving out and beating
itself back into a shallow rhythm over and over.

I hit
the ground, disappearing in a cloud of dust.

There
was pain, there was darkness, and there was little else.

For a
time, there was nothing.

The pain
and darkness crept back to me for seconds at a time as my body
tried to heal; it would fade away, and I'd return for a flash of a
moment, stronger, more determined. My fingers—I could flex my
fingers. My hands were still under my control. And my elbows, I
could use those.

Where
did it hurt?

I tried
to think, but thoughts split my skull from the inside.

Darkness. Darkness.

Pain.

Pain in
my chest, gathering there.

I
reached out but it wasn't my chest. Something hard, slick under my
palms.

Nothing.

Nothing.

My eyes
rolled open. The world was bright and grey, upside down.

I was
caught on something. Pinned to the ground to stop me falling into
the sky.

I put my
hands out again, bleary gaze following my touch.

Rock.

Rock
where my chest should be, rising up, up. Skin and sinew pulsing
around it, thrumming through the ground, trying to
repair.

Splattered organs smeared, torn from me.

Ribs
twisting, cracking back into shape.