Chapter 11
Amongst dragons there is a distinct hierarchy. Different species enact certain roles within their society and, at the head of this, the Avalon dragons. Golden creatures with unparalleled affinity with magic, whose wisdom guides us, selects our rulers. I wonder, though, what we will do given that our esteemed Queen’s bonded pair has produced not a single egg?
Memoirs of Videnskaya, Lady Advisor to Queen Evanya
The smell of smoke came first; unseen tendrils that slithered through the thick forest; an acrid stench newly familiar to Wren coiled through it. Burning flesh. Lorca had slowed, then stopped and let her climb down. He lifted his nose to the wind, his nostrils flaring, tongue flicking out.
Death. The word whispered through her mind, icy shards piercing her heart.
She shivered. “Close?”
He nodded and stopped to let her climb off. Instinctively, she drew her sword and crept forward. Her feet sunk into the soft, rain-soaked earth, squelching faintly. She lifted her gaze and squinted through the trees; up ahead, they thinned, and the land sloped downwards. The first tendrils of smoke curled through the trees, betraying the signs of the carnage before she even saw it. With a deep breath she pushed on, Lorca close at her side, half-sheltering her with his enormous body.
By the time the smoke was thickening around them she saw the village – or what once would’ve been one, anyway. Lorca lingered by the trees, hunkering down low, as if trying to seem invisible. Wren glanced at him, then back at the village and pushed on, stepping out into the clearing. At the cusp of the village she spied the remnants of a dozen or so thatch homes, plus a couple charred barns. Fences were mangled, half-burnt and strewn across the muddy roads.
Cautiously, she moved on, entering into the village. The first house she passed was little more than a pile of charred wood and stone from the fire place. Amongst the wreckage she spied cracked plates, bowls, thin scraps of material, even a doll blackened by the smoke. She knelt down and plucked it up, toying with the doll. It had belonged to a child, a well-loved doll, carefully stitched together with poor materials and stuffed with wool. She didn’t see a child’s body amongst the ruins. Unease twisted in her gut like a knife. If the child had survived then what had happened to them? Slavers? Cannibals?
Her mother had told her all sorts of stories about the people in the low lands. Much of it seemed fanciful, enough to keep a child from straying too far. Yet, looking around, she wondered how much of it might actually be true? What did she know of this foreign place, the world beneath the very mountains she called home?
With a deep breath she brushed off her knees and set the doll down, back at the house. In her mind she imagined that child someday returning, somehow, and picking up that very doll. She wouldn’t be any older and her whole family would be there, waiting for her, ready to sit down for a hearty dinner.
She left that vision behind and moved on. Unfortunately, it didn’t take her long to see the bodies. The elderly few, the cripples, even a few women whose bodies were so badly beaten, made blue by the weather and time, nearly beginning to rot, littered the road. A dozen, then a few more amongst the smouldering wreckage, their bodies blackened by the fire. Some fires which still crackled away, devouring the last of the wood, sending plumes of smoke into the air.
As she rounded a corner into what might’ve once been the town square her foot caught. She stumbled forward, hitting the ground hard. Mud splattered across her cheeks. With a groan she rolled herself to the side, then sat up, her eyes slowly flickering down to what she’d tripped on.
An outstretched arm.
She scrambled away, jumping to her feet. Heart racing, she could only stare at the arm that stuck out from beneath a cart. Half the wheel was sunk deep into the mud, so the underside hid much of the body. She took several deep breaths, then wiped the mud from her face. When she looked down she saw her hands were shaking. No, she was shaking.
There hadn’t been any bodies she saw at her village. It had given her hope, something to cling to. Seeing the carnage before her she was horrified, sickened deep in her gut, grieving for people she didn’t even know. More than anything she was angry; it bubbled up inside of her, that quiet rage, a stirring storm ready to lash out. The very same fury she’d felt before, the one Lorca had been so afraid of, like she’d do something.
Like there was a monster inside of her, dying to come out.
Lorca was still there, waiting for her amongst the trees. He’d inched closer to her as she walked up to him, studying her once over, as if checking for wounds. She was fine, physically, anyway. Seeing she was unharmed he watched her, waiting for her to talk. She tried. Hell, she really tried. Her tongue was tangled in her mouth, thick, unmoveable. It took all her self-control not to scream, to contain that fury within her.
She ignored his pointed stare and went straight to his side, scrambling swiftly onto his back. It was enough of a hint, as he turned to the side and set off. They skirted around the village, then walked clear until dusk beckoned with shadowy fingers clawing the night across the land. Wren thought they’d stop but, instead, once they found a gap in the trees, Lorca unfurled his wings and with a thunderous flap, they were off, shooting straight up into the low-lying clouds.
He flew just below the clouds, gliding on the steady breeze that roared in her ears. She hunkered low and pressed her cheek into the cool scales of his neck, the shifting muscles massaging. He kept so steady that she almost fell asleep. As she started to slip her heart leapt and she sat up sharply, only to be buffeted by a roar of wind. Cursing, she hunkered back down low and started to recite stories in her head to stay awake. After several stories she felt Lorca shift his wings and they began a slow descent downwards.
As they neared the ground she peered down over his shoulder. The rolling low hills smoothed out to a wide valley, sprawling onto vast tracks of flat land, dotted with thick forests. Roads divided the land, carved it into uneven shapes, a chaotic display. As her gaze advanced to the horizon she caught sight of a lit-up shape in the distance. After a moment she realised it was a city, alight in the darkness, defiant.
We’ll venture in tomorrow, he announced.
So, he was to return to human form, though she wondered for how long. It seemed like he preferred dragon form, not that she blamed him. He was stronger, could breathe fire and could fly. Shaking her head, she kept low until he beat his wings twice quickly before easing down to land. She held on tight until he dropped down to his belly, then leant to one side, helping her off.
Gather wood. Make a fire, if you can. I’ll return with food, he declared and, with a beat of his wings, was off again, shooting into the night.
“Make a fire, if I can?” She echoed scornfully. “Ha! I’ll show him.”
She gathered up a decent bundle of twigs and some thicker branches for the fire, then set it up in formation. Kneeling down, she fished out a pair of small flint stones and cracked them together. Sparks flashed, leaping onto the twigs and dried leaves. A twig caught fire. She crouched closer and, cupping her hands, blew softly. Wisps of smoke curled up as tiny tendrils of fire kindled to life, devouring the flinty timber until a small fire crackled away. She fed a couple solid branches, which she’d broken up a little, then had a small pile set aside to feed as the night wore on.
By the time she heard the distant drum of Lorca’s wings the fire was steady and warm. She drank what little water she had left, savouring the last muddy drops until nothing remained. Not long after Lorca landed, a small deer in his jaws, blood dribbling down the side. It made Wren’s stomach twist a little but she said nothing as Lorca tore off a leg, then nudged it to her. She carefully lifted up the limb and carried it back to the fire, where she wiped it down as best as she could before setting about preparing it.
As the meat roasted away Lorca ravenously ate the remaining deer before curling up by the fire. He didn’t seem to fall asleep immediately; instead, his dark eyes watched her from across the fire.
What did you see in the village? He asked finally, his voice resonating within her mind.
She glanced up slowly, peering at him closely from beneath her dark lashes. “Death.”
He lowered his gaze back to the fire, impossible to read. This will not be the worst we encounter.
“Is that meant to scare me?” She said waspishly.
She didn’t mean to sound so rude, so sharp with him but she was tired, worn thin by the day. At the back of her mind she wondered what the hell she was doing. It had all seemed so easy in the moment to say yes, I’ll save them. She hadn’t a plan beyond that and, even as she sat by the fire, raking her mind over what happened next, she really had only a thin scrap of an idea. She missed her mountains, the freedom she had on them, the joy of coming home and sitting with her family, even her father whom sometimes acted as if she were a stranger. Even that, she missed.
She’d never been the childish girl whom needed assurance but, hell, she was well out of her depth. What the hell did she know, anyway? She drew the sword from its scabbard and held it before the fire, watching the fire glint of its time-worn edge. It was still lethally sharp, even after all those years, promising death.
I can teach you to wield that, if you’d like. It’s been some time since I’ve used one myself but I can still help you with the basics. If we’re to venture into the city it’s best you can defend yourself, he commented quietly.
“So, you’re not going to boorishly insist I don’t need to learn, if only so you can save the day?”
She swore she heard him snort in her mind, scoffing at her words. It made the corner of her mouth twitch, a smile fighting to split her cheeks.
It’s your sword. You should know how to use it. Besides, I am no god and you should be able to protect yourself – or, at least, help me in a fight, he replied reasonably.
She studied the sword again, closer this time. It was nothing overly ornate but there was something about it, a quiet thrum of energy that she felt in her very soul. It was as though the sword were alive, silly as that might sound. She sheathed the sword and set it aside.
The meat was ready, so she used one of her small climbing daggers and carved off small chunks. It came away easily. She devoured much of the chewy meat, which was fairly bland; still, she was hungry. When she was full she handed the remaining over to Lorca, whom finished it off without a second thought.
Fed and warmed by a crackling fire she were about to curl up when Lorca lifted one of his wings. We are close to the city, so it might be best if you sleep here. If anyone finds us you are less exposed.
Wren stared at him, as though he’d spoken in some foreign tongue. In her mind she imagined him waking up in the middle of the night and shifting back – then what? Her cheeks flamed.
“I’m fine where I am.”
You’re exposed. Relax. My wing will be stretched out, so you will not be tucked at my side, if that’s what worries you, he said, though there was a teasing lilt in his voice that annoyed her.
She glanced around. On the mountain she was used to rock surrounding her with only one way at her, safe and secure. Where she was left her exposed. Reluctantly, she got up and curled up beneath his wing, not quite tucked at his side, but otherwise safe.
Only, as she tried to shut her eyes she found sleep eluding her, lingering just beyond her reach. She rolled over, restless, then back again, trying to find somewhere comfortable. Only, it was awkward and she realised it was because of how awkward it probably was for Lorca, stretching his wing out like that. Without saying a word she slid closer and pressed her back into his warm body, and she felt his wing close around her, wrapping her in warmth.
Relax, I’ll keep watch, he said. I’ll wake you when it’s time to move.
“Fine but wake me later, okay? I can keep watch whilst you get some sleep, too,” she mumbled.
His chest rumbled. Laughter, she realised, slipping slowly into the body of a dragon once more, dreaming of flying above a burning empire.
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