Tressa left the Ruins of Ebon through the waste tunnel. This time she was more careful, avoiding suspicious puddles and careful not to touch anything unnecessarily. In the past she could return at any hour, knowing the bathing room would be open. This time she was leaving for good, unsure when her next warm meal would be, much less an opportunity to wash. Her only focus was reaching Hutton's Bridge and begging her old friends to help her ride out to the Barrier Mountains.
Desolation was the last place she'd seen Donovan. If he truly was alive, that's where she would find him. And hopefully Fi, too. The rest of the Black may have been willing to sacrifice her for the so-called greater good, but not Tressa. She wasn't willing to let anyone else die.
She emerged from the tunnel just as the sun was rising. Tressa waved to Alden and the rest of the ghost dragons before heading to the meadows just south of the Ruins of Ebon. The Black kept their horses there, allowing them to graze in the open air. The casual passerby would have assumed these horses were wild. There were no stables with tack and harnesses and saddles. For all purposes, it appeared the horses had the run of the Charred Barrens.
Tressa walked to the edge of the pasture. She held out a hand and nickered softly at a palomino. The mottled white and brown horse looked up at her, curious. Tressa felt bad for it. It had streaks of red in its mane from the rain night before, making it look as if it had just returned from battle.
Tressa had little experience with them—most of it bad. She hadn't ever gotten the knack of riding without pain, nor was she confident in controlling the beasts. Still, without her dragon or the cooperation of anyone underground, she had no other choice. She had to master a horse or give up.
Tressa took two steps closer, still clicking her tongue and hoping the horse would walk closer. Instead, it turned its back on her and swished its tail.
"Come on, girl," Tressa said in what she hoped was a soothing voice, "I won't hurt you. I just need you to take a little journey with me. Please?"
The horse's head turned to the side, and one deep brown eye took Tressa in. It blinked once. Then the horse faced her once again.
"Can we be friends?" Tressa asked, feeling every inch a fool. The horse couldn't understand her, and it was doubtful it would ever get close enough to let her mount. "I would like to promise you won't get hurt, but I'm going somewhere dangerous. I really need you. I have to save a friend and help my people."
The horse blinked again, its long eyelashes fluttering languidly. Tressa took another tentative step forward. And another and another, until she was standing within arm's length of the horse. She reached out, letting her fingers graze the horse's silky mane. It was such a beautiful creature. Tressa just wished it didn't hurt so much to ride one.
"What do you think?" Tressa shuffled closer until she was standing right next to the horse's barrel. "Will you come with me?"
Tressa placed both hands on its back, crouched down, then leapt with all of her strength. Instead of landing on the horse properly, she hung awkwardly on its back, her stomach getting the brunt of the horse's spine. She grunted, then pulled herself up so she was straddling the horse.
It stood still, then nickered at her. Obviously this wasn't the first time this horse had an inexperienced human on its back. Either that or it was naturally passive. Tressa could only hope. The last thing she wanted was a wild horse. Slow and steady was more her style. It had seemed gentle, but Tressa didn’t trust it.
"Okay, let's go." Tressa nudged the horse with her shins, but the horse didn't move. Instead, its head dropped to the ground where it found another patch of grass to nibble on.
Tressa sighed. She tried again to spur the horse to action, but the increased pressure did no good. The horse didn't seem to mind her on its back, but it certainly wasn't intending on taking her anywhere.
A frigid breeze passed over Tressa. She looked up to see Alden hovering above her, his ghost dragon wings flapping in the still air. His presence didn't go unnoticed by the horse, either. It looked up, its eyes wide. It whinnied and skittered backward a few careful steps.
Which way do you want to go, Tressa?
Alden asked.
"Northeast," she said, nervously with a slight idea of what was about to happen.
Hang on tight,
Alden said, a smile on his huge dragon jaws.
Tressa twined her fingers in the horse's mane. "I'm sorry, but I really need your help," she said to the horse.
Alden reared back, then blew a cold breeze, aimed directly at the horse's hindquarters. The palomino sprang into action, bolting to the northeast like Tressa had wanted. She hung on for dear life, her braid smacking her back each time the hooves landed. She wiped away wind-beaten tears with her sleeve, desperately trying to balance as the horse sped up, occasionally encouraged by another gust from Alden.
The ghost dragon was clearly enjoying himself. He would fly ahead of Tressa and the horse, circle above them, and fall back again only to spur the horse on. When the sun reached its zenith, Tressa patted the horse's neck and whispered thanks in its ear. It had traveled nearly as fast as the dragon flew, but now it was time to give it a rest. The horse slowed down, and Tressa dismounted.
She walked over to a nearby stream, encouraging the horse to follow her. It shot a nasty look at Alden. Then it ambled over to Tressa and nuzzled her before dipping its snout into the babbling water.
Tressa cupped her hands, drinking from her palms, even though they smelled of sweaty horse. When her thirst was quenched, she sat nearby, opened her pack, and took out a hunk of bread she'd lifted from the kitchen before departing. The cooks had looked at her strangely, telling her they were going to serve breakfast as soon as Sophia rang the bell, but they'd let her take an armful of food without further question.
She was about to offer some of it to the horse when she saw it move away from the stream to nibble on the grass. Just as well. Tressa had some apples, too, but she'd save those for when food wasn't readily available. She hoped there would be plenty of food in Hutton's Bridge, but just in case, she'd packed enough for four days. She didn't want to be a burden on her friends, and she had no idea how much food they had been able to grow in the past few months. Most of the villagers of Hutton's Bridge were children, many too young to work in the fields. It would be a wonder if they were able to support themselves.
Tressa lay back, closing her eyes, and lifting her face to the sun. Warmth permeated her skin, warming her down to her bones. She sighed, opening her eyes again. Soon the sun would set. Would nighttime bring another bout of blood raining from the skies? She hoped she'd be in Hutton's Bridge by then. Both she and the horse would have shelter.
She stood, repacking her bag. Tressa made her way over to the horse. Despite their rocky start, they'd come to trust each other. The horse dipped slightly, allowing Tressa to get on its back. Before Alden could huff at the horse's back, it glared at Alden and started trotting on its own. It held its head high. Tressa couldn't help but laugh.
"I think it’s willing to take me without your help, now," she said to Alden.
Likely it recognizes your strength of leadership,
he said.
"Likely the horse doesn't want your cold breath on its arse anymore," she said. "Still, thank you for getting us started. Hopefully we can make it to Hutton's Bridge by nightfall."
I will fly ahead, if you like. Scout for any danger,
Alden offered.
"Thank you, friend," Tressa said. "I would appreciate it."
My brethren will keep watch over you while I am gone. We are pleased to be in your service, Tressa. Anything you require of us, we will do. I only wish I could set you upon my back and carry you myself.
Tressa wished that, too. She was already sore from riding the horse. One day she would learn how to ride without pain, if such a thing was possible. Someday, when she had leisure time, though she doubted such a time would ever come to pass.
With a nod, Alden flew ahead of her. Tressa and the horse galloped behind him, quickly losing him in the distance. At first, the horse had tried to keep up, but Tressa urged it to slow down. Pushing the horse too hard would only injure it. Despite wanting to get to Hutton's Bridge as quickly as possible, a hobbled horse was the last thing Tressa wanted.
As the day dragged toward sunset, Alden came flying back to Tressa. His slitted eyes were narrowed, his jaw set in a grimace.
"What is it?" Tressa asked him.
The trees are all dead in the forest surrounding Hutton's Bridge, and the fog is no more.
"The village? What about my friends?"
It is stained with blood and utterly deserted.
Alden's grim proclamation rattled Tressa's resolve. What was she headed toward? If her friends were gone, how could she stop Donovan on her own?
Donovan crept into the dark cover of night while his captives slept. Sleep was for the weak. He hadn't slumbered in hundreds of years. Instead, he'd spent his nights planning for his eventual rise to power. He knew it was coming. Long ago, Bianca, the beautiful woman who had tempted him on his parents’ farm, had prophesied the blood moon. She'd promised him everything he'd wanted, as long as he was patient.
Waiting was a game, and he was its grand master.
He began plotting the day Bianca died. It was the day he'd lost his dragon. It died with her. But Mestifito had kept the dragon Donovan had given him years earlier. They were brothers, and Donovan wanted to share. In fact, Mestifito’s dragon had only grown stronger. Unfortunately, the foolish boy wanted nothing to do with his dragon. Mestifito cursed it, said it kept him from living a normal life.
That life had been gone the moment Donovan had given in to Bianca. He wouldn't leave his brother to work on the farm when he could give Mestifito the world. Donovan loved his brother too much for that. He would share with him. Take him to a new world with Bianca. There, they would rule together.
Mestifito wouldn't stop whining. He missed home. He missed their parents. He missed his rabbits. Every day he begged Donovan to take him home. Every day Donovan ignored his brother a little more. Until one day Mestifito skulked away, and Donovan let him go. The brothers hadn’t seen each other since.
Donovan's eyes swept the sky. Stars twinkled, blinking in perpetual surprise at the blood moon still giving off its deathly light. The sky was no longer bleeding. Donovan was happy about that. While he enjoyed the show of evil power, he didn't like how slippery it made the ground. Nor did he like leaving footprints for just anyone to follow.
Donovan made his way to a nearby cave. Fi and Jarrett hadn't discovered it on their little jaunt, which was for the best. The poor girl had been strong when he met her, but every day he could feel her grip on reality slipping. She wouldn’t last long under his control. The girl was weak, far weaker than she’d seemed when he first met her. Once he had what he wanted, Fi would be irrelevant.
Every time Donovan took a human for his slave, he exploited their greatest weakness. He gave them something they thought they needed, then snatched it away. It had been too easy with Jarrett. The man had wanted to learn magic. All Donovan had to do was give him a little rope, and Jarrett hung himself. Jarrett had even betrayed the woman he loved, nearly killing her.
Jarrett was one of his easiest conquests.
Still, Donovan had tricked Tressa into freeing the statues in Desolation easily enough.
When he decided to cut off Hutton's Bridge from the rest of the world, he had to make it vulnerable. He'd lured the adults out of the village, promising them protection from the Red, who was stirring to the north, banging the drums of war. The Red needed honey to keep Decarian sated and trapped. Donovan had convinced the adults of Hutton's Bridge to give their stores of honey to the Red as a peace offering. Then he promised them a quick trip back to Hutton's Bridge through the portal in the Red castle.
Fools. All of them. Donovan grew to hate other humans. Their stupidity offended him. Not one suspected his agenda. There were no probing questions. No moments of concerned questions. They were all so simple in their ways. It helped that they feared the dragonlords, and that Donovan whispered words of reassurance in their attentive ears.
To control the humans, all he had to do was tell them exactly what they wanted to hear while he led them in the wrong direction.
Once he'd led the people of Hutton’s Bridge into Desolation, he turned them into statues. Unfortunately, though their bodies died, their souls lived on. No matter how far he fled, their impassioned begging for their children followed him, their pleas tortured him. Eventually, he settled on the Isle of Repose, taking the legend of the Keepers for his own. There he grew lonely and old. His body decayed nearly to the point of decrepitude. He'd nearly forgotten why he was there until that idiot healer brought the baby dragons to the island.
A long-forgotten hunger had risen deep in his belly. A lust for power. He breathed life into a pile of plain rocks, creating Stump, his faithful gollum. Events spiraled until the healer was dead and Jarrett was his.
It was as if a greater force had reminded Donovan of his own destiny, forcing him to take what was rightfully his.
He chortled as he entered the mouth of the cave. The entrance was hidden by a great deal of brush. Donovan tore through it, ignoring the scrapes from the ragged broken branches. A few cuts would make his new skin more distinguished.
He pulled his tinder box from his cloak, lighting a nearby torch hanging on the wall. Donovan traversed the dank passage. The path led downhill until he came to a cavern. The noise of bones clanking on metal made him smile. Good. His minions were practicing for the upcoming battle.
Once they'd reached the cottage, Donovan spurred them to continue digging until they emerged in this cavern. Here some of them could train. Others could work their way back to the ruins of the Red castle, widening the tunnel until it was big enough to fit Decarian.
Soon, Donovan would emerge with an army behind him. One made of skeletons and a giant beast. But there would be others. Kilrothgi, the tall, hairy beasts, and their brethren, lost beasts of myth. The shades would be welcome. All from Desolation, the land where the dead roamed.
"Report!" Donovan yelled.
A skeleton dropped her sword and ran over to his side. She knelt, one bony kneecap protruding. "My lord."
"Rise, Hildie. Tell me how the digging goes." With two fingers, Donovan beckoned her to stand.
The skeleton, who had once been the woman Fi and Tressa met in Desolation, nodded. "The tunnel widens every day. Decarian should soon be free, along with the other beasts in your employ."
Donovan cocked his head, taking in the skeleton. Her jaws clanked together as she spoke. Her words were like mists caressing his ear. Without a tongue, she could not speak as he did. And yet, they were able to communicate. Even centuries later, Donovan marveled at the magic he could access.
"Very well. When the tunnel is wide enough, send me the signal. I will be awaiting it." Donovan waved her away.
The bones of her feet dug into the dirt of the cave as she sped back to the fray. Grabbing a sword, Hildie met another skeleton in battle. Yes, she truly was a great warrior, just as she'd been in Desolation. There, she had flesh as well as bone. A heart as well as a head. She lived a dream, convinced she and her people were alive. It wasn't until they passed from Desolation to the Dragonlands that her true form took over.
Donovan thought of the screeches of anger and terror that enveloped those who'd believed they were human when they crossed over to the Dragonlands. Their fear filled his soul with happiness. He bent them to his will, and they complied. What other choice did they have?
Without him, they were dead—just like the people of the Dragonlands would soon be.