Bastian sat on a log, his head in his hands. He wanted his children to be safe. He wanted to be with them here, in the Dragonlands. He wanted to ignore these portents that had everyone else upset. At the same time, he wanted to fight, no matter what was out there threatening them.
To simply say a prophecy was coming true and they all had to flee seemed not just cowardly, but also foolhardy. Why run away from a faceless, shapeless enemy? Why leave their homes and their livelihoods when no one was really sure what, if anything, waited for them?
"Bastian?"
He sat still. He didn’t want to speak to Pia.
She laid a hand on his shoulder. "I think I understand your conflict."
"Sit." Bastian motioned to the log.
She sat without hesitation. "I didn't want to leave my home when I went with Connor to Hutton's Bridge. Sometimes we have to do what's best, even if it's not what we want." Pia sighed, her cherry-red lips in a pout. "You should come with us. Everyone is preparing to leave. If you stay, you may not see your children again."
"You think I don't know that?" Bastian asked. "There is no guarantee any of you will make it across the sea alive."
"There is no guarantee we will live if we stay." Pia straightened her blouse and squared her shoulders. "Farah is your daughter and yours to command. Adam is my son, though, and I will not let him remain in this place. Not with that." Pia pointed one fingernail to the sky. Though it was daytime, the blood moon still hung ominously over them. "If you want to remain with your son, you will come with us across the sea."
Bastian didn't answer. He'd known all along that Pia would take Adam whether he agreed or not. Before the baby was born, Pia showed no interest in the life growing inside her. She'd once said she was headed back to Ashoom as soon as a wet nurse could be found. When Adam was born, she changed her tune. The woman was inseparable from their child.
"Where is Adam now?" Bastian asked.
"He is asleep. I asked Lilly to watch over him while I went for a walk. I need to regain my strength for what lies ahead. I will not be a helpless mother. If I am to protect my son, I need to be in good physical condition. I've taken up walking, since my prior form of exercise is now out of the question." Pia raised an eyebrow as she appraised Bastian. "Unless you want to reconsider our relationship."
"No," Bastian said. "I don't." He wasn't even tempted by her anymore. Yes, Pia was a beautiful woman. Other men desired her, and he had certainly seen many of them look her way since arriving at the Outpost. Bastian had no interest in claiming her. Not for the rest of his life. Not even for one night.
Pia blew a lock of hair out of her face. "Well, if you ever change your mind..."
"I won't," Bastian said.
Pia stood in a huff. "You are the father of my son. You are a good man. I was simply trying to comfort and reassure you. I was not asking for your hand in marriage. What happened to the man I bedded back in Ashoom? You were aggressive. You knew exactly what you wanted and how to take it. I enjoyed every moment of it. I thought you did, too."
Bastian thought back to that night. He remembered his anger at realizing he'd lost Tressa. He’d taken his frustration out on the first whore who propositioned him. Apparently that night had meant far more to Pia than it had to him. Yet, here they were. Danger loomed again. Tressa hadn't made any effort to see him. She continued to avoid him, making his blood boil. That damn woman shouldn't have so much control over him.
Bastian stood. He grabbed Pia's arm, pulling her close. She gasped in surprise, then pushed her body against his, her hands roaming his back.
"Bastian," she said breathily, her lips hovering dangerously close to his. "Take me. I'm yours."
He crushed his lips into hers, feeling her eager response. Her tongue slipped between his lips as her mouth opened for him. Bastian kissed her back, hungrily, then quickly pulled away.
Pia's breasts heaved. Her brow was covered in a sheen of sweat. "Don't stop." She his arse, thrusting his hips towards hers.
"No." Bastian pulled away until they weren't touching at all. He couldn't stop thinking about Tressa. Even when he closed his eyes, it was her face, her lips that haunted him.
"I am leaving in the morning with the first group." Pia wiped her brow with the back of her hand. "You may want to try to see your son one last time. You know where to find us." She spun on one heel and walked away.
Bastian took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. He'd been more turned on than he wanted. He reminded himself over and over again that it wasn't Pia he wanted until his body finally agreed with his mind. He had to stop plowing every beautiful woman who offered herself to him. Since he'd awoken with the dragon inside, it had been easier. He wasn't sure if it was maturity, resurrection, or the dragon that had tempered him. Until he had a chance to see Tressa again, he promised himself he wouldn't touch another woman in that way.
Bastian knew he would stay in the Dragonlands. He would fight. He might lose his newborn son and his daughter to the sea. He would send them, along with the others, to find safety in another land. If he survived, then he would make his way to them.
Bastian stalked back to the church. The others were still inside the interior room, deep in conversation. He cleared his throat, and they looked up, surprised to see him. "I will stay and fight."
"I knew you would," Blythe said with a smile. "You are the warlord prophecy spoke of. If there is any chance for us to succeed in escaping, it will be in thanks to you."
Connor's grim expression didn't give Bastian any clue as to what his friend was thinking. It was Hazel, whose hand was clamped on Connor's arm as if she was trying to pull him back from the brink that told him what decision his friend had made.
"Though I would like to think differently, I am no warrior," Hazel said. "I will go with the children across the sea."
Bastian nodded at his friend's wife. He turned his gaze back to Connor. He wanted his friend to declare his position without prompting. It had to be Connor's choice.
"I will stay," Connor said. "You need me. I can fight. I also know more of what lurks underground. I want to be of help."
Bastian clapped his friend's shoulder. "I don’t want to force you."
Connor's hazel eyes locked on Bastian's. "It’s the right thing to do." He glanced at his wife, whose grip on Connor's arm had only grown tighter. "And Hazel understands."
"There are no easy decisions to be made," she said. "The day the two of you walked into the fog, I didn't stop you. I will not stand in your way now. I will do just as I did then: believe I will see you again one day. I will await it eagerly."
"Good," Jakob said. "Then it is settled. The first group will leave with the dawn. We will send out groups until everyone who needs to flee does so. Those of us who remain will send emissaries to the Black for their assistance. We will need all the allies we can muster in this uncertain time."
"I volunteer to be one of those emissaries," Bastian said before he could really think on it. All he knew was that Tressa was in the Black. He needed to speak with her. There were things that had been left unsaid that needed to be expressed now.
"No," Blythe said. "I will not allow it. You will stay here in the Meadowlands with us. You are our warlord. We need you here. Connor can go."
Bastian wanted to argue, but he held his tongue. Blythe had a point. He had agreed to be their prophesied warlord. He would hold up his end of the bargain. Surely he'd see Tressa soon. She would never run from a fight, much less a battle for her homeland.
Tressa woke, the sunlight beating down on her face. She inched out of her bedroll and stood, stretching her arms into the warm summer morning air. She looked over at Alden, who had stood guard over her all night. Tressa waved to the ghost dragon, then made her way to the nearby stream.
As she performed her morning cleansing, Tressa pondered her next move. She could ride east to Ashoom or northwest to the Meadowlands. Her friends might be at either place. Maybe even northeast in the Charred Barrens. The only place she knew not to look was the Sands. There would be no reason for any of them to travel to the home of the Yellow. Their leader and only dragon, Destrian, was still in the custody of the Black.
Tressa sighed. She was out in the middle of nowhere, close to her home that now lay abandoned. She wanted to track down Donovan, but alone, she had no prayer of success. Even her ghost dragons wouldn't be enough. They couldn't engage in a physical fight with Donovan. Tressa was essentially helpless without her friends.
What will you do?
Alden asked.
Tressa didn't answer immediately. She glanced at the horse grazing quietly not far away. Riding a horse around the Dragonlands until she found allies wasn't appealing. Nor would the horse appreciate it. Riding the same one for days would only injure it. Tressa would need to get a replacement horse soon.
She hated admitting defeat. She'd ridden away from the Charred Barrens with a clear goal: reach her friends in Hutton's Bridge. Now she honestly didn't know what to do.
"Are you sure everyone was gone from Hutton's Bridge?" she asked Alden.
The ghost dragon stepped closer to her. His companions flew in the sky above them or lounged on the ground in the distance, content to let Alden act as their mouthpiece.
I am. It was completely deserted. The surrounding forest was dead. Only a few sheep and cows grazed in the village.
"How do you know they weren't in the village hall?" Tressa asked, desperate for a chance to see her friends again soon.
There was no one,
Alden said.
No fires burned in the hall. No smells of cooking meals. No sounds from the children who should have been playing. Nothing.
Tressa's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Then I will head back to the Charred Barrens. I will hide under the ground, just another coward among many."
Maybe we can stop at the tower to the north. You can ask if they saw where your friends went.
Alden's suggestion intrigued Tressa.
"Tower? What tower? It's just empty land between Hutton's Bridge and the north." She'd traversed it enough, both by air and land, since leaving the fog.
Alden shook his great scaled head.
No. There is a tower. I saw it on my scouting trip to Hutton’s Bridge. I don't recall having seen it before, yet there it stands. It appears old and something tells me I should remember it.
"I honestly don't know what you're referring to," Tressa said. "But if there are people nearby, then perhaps we should head there. If they saw Connor and Bastian leave, maybe we can head in the same direction." Tressa whistled and snapped her fingers.
The horse looked up at her with a mildly curious look in its eyes, then it dipped its neck toward the ground, ripped a bouquet of grass with its square teeth, and chewed slowly, all while staring at Tressa.
"Fine." Tressa stomped over to the horse. She hoisted herself onto its back. The horse continued to chew. Tressa depressed her heels into the horse's ribs. "Come on. Let's go."
The horse didn't move.
"Alden?" Tressa asked.
With a smile, the great dragon blew a cold breeze on the horse's rump. The horse looked up at Tressa, her eyes accusing, then she began to trot.
Alden led the way toward the tower he'd claimed to have seen. Tressa didn't doubt its existence. It was possible she'd missed it, or even overlooked it. She was always in a hurry when traversing the Dragonlands. If there was even one person who could tell her where her friends had gone, then it was worth a try.
They rode until the midday sun hung above them. Sweat dripped from Tressa's brow. She slowed the horse, slid off, and guided the mare toward a stream. They both leaned down, taking a long drink from the fresh, cool water.
Do you see it now?
Alden asked.
Tressa stood, her hands still wet. She looked across the stream. There was nothing but grass swaying in the gentle breeze.
It's right in front of you. Just over the stream.
Tressa squinted. What did the dragon see that she couldn't? No one could see the ghost dragons but her. Perhaps he was seeing something she couldn't. Tressa closed her eyes, took three breaths, and opened them again.
The air shimmered. Then a great, round tower rose into the clouds. The dirt-encrusted stones had crumbled edges. Ivy spiraled up and around the round tower toward its peaks. Large birds circled the top, cawing loudly.
A man stood in the entry to the tower. He waved at Tressa, encouraging her to approach. She lifted a foot to step into the stream and was surprised when her boot landed on a solid wooden bridge she hadn't seen just a moment ago. She traversed the bridge, cautiously approaching the man, who had a grimace on his deathly pale face.
"What do you need?" he asked.
Tressa looked up at the tower. Standing so close, she couldn't even see the turret on top. "I was wondering if my friends passed this way. They would have had a lot of children with them. They would be hard to miss."
"They passed over our tower just a day ago, heading northwest. There were three dragons carrying many children on their backs, as well as two smaller dragons." The man crossed his arms over his chest. He wore a gray cloak, just like the one Donovan had worn.
"Thank you," Tressa said, backing up a couple of steps. He didn't seem friendly, and she had no interest in taking up any more of his time. Her friends had headed toward the Meadowlands. That was now her destination. She turned back to her horse and ghost dragon friends when the man coughed.
"I'm sorry. My hospitality is lacking. Won't you come inside for a warm meal?"
Tressa hesitated until a breeze carried the scent of potato soup toward her. "Well, I don't want to impose." Her stomach growled.
The man finally cracked a smile. "Really. Please. We would be honored to have you. It isn't often that a traveler happens upon our tower." He stood to the side of the doorway, holding an arm out.
Tressa stepped inside the dark entrance. A large room was lit by dozens of candles, and a fire burned in the center hearth. Four men sat at a table, eating their soup. They looked up in surprise.
"Who is this?" a man with a long mustache asked.
"I am Tressa, a simple traveler from Hutton's Bridge," she said, even though it was the farthest thing from the truth. She wasn't even sure how to introduce herself anymore. Who was she now?
Another man, with a rose tattooed under one eye, laughed. "There is nothing simple about you, Tressa Webb. We know who you are and why you have come. Do you think just anyone can find the Vulture's Tower?"
The name sounded familiar to Tressa, but she couldn't remember where she'd heard it. In one of Granna's books, perhaps. "I'm sorry, but I’m not sure what you mean."
"Those who are weary. Those who are lost. In their time of greatest need, the Vulture's Tower arises," the tattooed man said.
Tressa snapped her fingers. "I remember now! The Vulture's Tower is a place of myth. Granna read me stories when I was just a little girl. In them, someone would always fall into their darkest hour, and that's when they would..." Tressa trailed off, looking around her in disbelief.
"That's when they would find us." Another man, with hair as black as the dark of night and skin of the deepest brown, smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the candlelight. "What do you need, young lady?"
Tressa laughed uncomfortably. She was standing in a child's tale come to life. The noble knights of the Vulture's Tower, sworn to protect anyone who needed them. She now remembered how Donovan had claimed to be one of them, but Tressa knew everything he’d said were lies. "Can you help me save the Dragonlands from a very evil man and his beastly minions? He wears a cloak exactly like yours, too, though I doubt he is of your order."
The man with the dark hair stood, his face suddenly grim. "Our men are all accounted for. He is not one of us. No one poses as a knight from the Vulture's Tower without paying a price." The other three men stood, their faces just as grim. The man at the door resumed his surly face. "We will come with you, and we will kill this man."
"I appreciate your help," Tressa said. "I'm not sure five men will make a difference. If you'd like to join me, you must know that you will be facing grave danger. Some of you may not make it. This is not a fool's errand to destroy one man."
The tattooed man laughed. "There are more than five of us. We number in the thousands."
Tressa glanced up at the spiral stone staircase climbing into the heights of the tower. "Thousands?"
"Things are not always as they seem, my dear," the man at the door said. "We will aid you, and we will win."