“We won’t build a fire tonight,” Jaax stated, in a tone so final no one even thought of arguing with him.
They unpacked only what they wished to eat for the evening and their bedrolls. Within twenty minutes, everyone was quiet, doing their best to fall asleep. Ellyesce had done a check of their surroundings, and although the Red Flange was at a safe distance behind them, they hadn’t yet settled in for the evening. This had Jaax growling like a grouchy bear just risen from hibernation.
“They are slowing,” Ellyesce reassured him, “as if they are just waiting to find a suitable place to camp.”
Still, the dragon was on edge all night, scenting the air every few minutes and straining his ears and eyes for any sound or twitch of movement. He hadn’t told his comrades, but Jaax had the strangest feeling they were being followed by more than just the Red Flange, and that whoever was following them was closing in.
The Mystic Archedenaeh, in her youthful form, lifted her face to study the few bright stars pushing their way through the dwindling daylight. She had spent so many long years confined to her cave in the Black Swamp that all this camping in the open had her giddy with delight. But she had to be careful, even now, for the world wasn’t quite ready for her to emerge entirely from hiding.
The woman dropped her head, trying very hard not to think about the future that was so quickly approaching. She had foreseen her role in what was to come, and it wasn’t something to envy, nor was it something anyone should want to dwell on.
A low, grumbling caw from a fir tree up ahead drew her attention away from her internal contemplation. She lifted her topaz eyes and searched for the bird. A smudge of dark blue and cream, a mere shadow against the encroaching twilight, gave away his location. Denaeh smiled.
“What do you see, Milihn?” she asked.
The bird only continued to carry on, more quietly this time, so she took it upon herself to climb a stack of broken boulders to reach him. Once at the top of the small pile, Milihn dropped from the tree and glided down beside her, hop-stepping across the face of another giant slab of rock. Denaeh stayed low as she moved over the flat surface, seeking out a group of tall stones across from her. Once there, she peeked between them. Fifteen feet below this hidden vantage point, a wide meadow spread out beneath the pines. Just as she’d expected, the scarlet soldiers she’d been trailing for the past several days were setting up camp.
Many of them lingered about, tending to their quahna, building cook fires or drawing straws for the night watch. Denaeh estimated their number to be around forty or so. Three squadrons. Which meant there were still at least seven more units unaccounted for. Denaeh was almost certain those groups were farther back down the road, but she couldn’t tell for sure. How these ones had managed to nearly catch up with Jaax and Jahrra so quickly was beyond her. They had left Lidien behind almost a full week after the dragon and the girl had fled.
A soft rustling of brush and the low murmur of voices tore Denaeh from her recollection. Someone had climbed up onto a fallen tree only ten feet below her position. Gasping in shock, she dropped behind the rocks in a flash and pressed her back to the cool granite. That had been close.
The Mystic waited a few breathless moments, then considered slinking away. But the two murmuring voices just behind her made her reconsider. Now was her opportunity to spy on the enemy. Had it been the middle of the day, she would have fought her temptation, but on the cusp of evening it would be unlikely anyone would spot her.
As silently as she could, Denaeh crept in close again, as close as she dared to a small crevasse between the rocks. Orange light from a central fire gave her just enough luminescence to make out the features of the two men speaking away from their squadrons. One of them sported an ugly brand burned into his cheek. Surprise coursed through the Mystic’s blood. The Red Flange’s high commander and the one responsible for the death of the dragon Hroombramantu? The same one who had surreptitiously spied on Jahrra those many years in Oescienne. At the time, Denaeh had been so caught up in her own plots and responsibilities with regards to the young human girl, she hadn’t taken notice of the other until it was too late. Even now, she felt remorse for what her carelessness had eventually brought about.
Denaeh pursed her lips, putting such thoughts aside. She hadn’t the time to dwell on the past. The present, and the future for that matter, was much too important for her to lose focus. She turned her attention to the other person nearby, the one the commander spoke to. She could not see his face, but even standing within the deepening shadows she knew the color of his robes; felt the oily sickness of his presence. Instantly, her stomach turned over, and her skin began to crawl. If she had been a cat, she would have hissed and emitted a low growl.
Skurmage ...
The word scrawled across her mind like a hot branding iron. Denaeh had seen this skurmage before, a few days before leaving Lidien, but the mere sight of one always caused this reaction in her. Skurmages were the most vile and despicable of magic wielders in all of Ethoes. Not only did they use the blood of sacrifices to work their foul magic, but the longer a victim suffered, the more potent the dark mage’s spell. Skurmages were in the business of torture, and for those who knew what they were, a source of abject fear. Being mere feet away from one, set Denaeh’s teeth on edge. Despite the fact that her own magic could most likely defeat this particular foe, every instinct she possessed was screaming at her to get away from it. But her desire to hear what was being said was even stronger.
“Have you learned anything new?” the commander asked, his voice low and gravely.
“Nothing,” the mage beside him hissed. “I cannot see past the other’s wards. And he has somehow discovered a way to track our every move as well.”
The commander cursed, a string of words so vile they brought goose pimples out on Denaeh’s flesh. When her unease passed, she focused on the man’s words. Who else were these people hunting? Was there another enemy out there she was unaware of? An enemy that threatened the Tanaan dragon and his ward as well? If that was the case, could she afford keeping her distance from them any longer? Just as she was about to leave her hiding spot behind and head off to seek out Jaax and Jahrra, something else the commander said drew her up short.
“Is he still with the dragon and the girl?”
“Yes,” the skurmage replied. “I believe he is.”
The blood drained from Denaeh’s face, and she fell against a nearby boulder. Someone else was traveling with Jahrra and Jaax? How could that be? She would have noticed this person’s presence; seen them as they silently escaped the boundaries of Lidien. Unless his or her magic was overriding her own. But ...
“Impossible,” Denaeh breathed when a sudden, unbelievable thought scraped against her mind. She clutched at the spirit stone ring hanging from the cord around her neck as a wave of dizziness flooded over her.
Her fingers trembled as they wrapped around the piece of jewelry, her heart and her rationality at war with one another. Denaeh had known only one other being capable of that level of magery, other than the Crimson King himself. And that person was dead.
Suddenly, her need to catch up with Jaax and Jahrra blossomed into an overwhelming force. As unobtrusively as possible, Denaeh peeled away from her hiding place and sped across the rugged landscape, grateful for the dark cover of night.
The Mystic shivered and scanned the treetops as she fled. When she spotted a dark blotch perched on one of the spindly branches above, she hailed to it.