“What? No longer in the mood to talk? Very well,” Keiron sneered, then added, “Keep silent all you want. I sent my men to your home, and they should be back any minute. I wonder if you’ll talk when I’m holding a knife to your wife’s swollen belly.”
Pendric laughed again, spitting blood from his mouth.
“I doubt that very much,” he growled in defiance.
Keiron stepped close, and the captain tensed. The soldiers holding him in place tightened their grip.
The regent’s son lowered his face so that it was almost level with Pendric’s.
“What was that, slave?”
The captain of the guard turned his eyes to meet Keiron’s. For a brief moment of sadness, he regretted whatever evil power had driven Keiron onto this destructive path. Not for the first time since learning of Keiron’s betrayal, Pendric wondered just how long the evil had been brewing in his heart. At least since the age of ten, he reminded himself.
“I asked you a question!” Keiron hissed, kicking Pendric in the ribs once again, sending a spike of pain up his side. If his bones hadn’t been fractured from the previous kick, they surely were now.
Pendric coughed, choking a little on some more blood, then spat at Keiron’s feet.
“I said,” he wheezed, “I doubt you’ll be able to get my wife to talk.”
Keiron’s eyes blazed like blue dragon fire. Before he could say anything more, five soldiers dressed in the crimson and black garb of the Tyrant’s army shuffled up the stone steps behind them. The regent’s son gave them a quick glance, then his face contorted with rage once more.
“Well?” he demanded. “Where is the woman and child?”
The soldiers’ faces grew ashen.
“We found no sign of them, my lord,” one of them answered grimly.
Keiron let out a stream of curses, then wheeled around to face Pendric.
“Where are they?” he demanded. “Where are you hiding them?!”
Pendric only shook his head and smiled, which earned him a few more punches from those who restrained him. By the time he was ready to address Keiron again, his vision was swimming and his skull felt as if it’d been cracked like an eggshell.
“You won’t find them,” he rasped. “They’re gone. They have left the city. They are beyond your reach.”
Keiron’s face paled, and then slowly turned red with fury. The spell hiding the mark of the Crimson King wavered, revealing the harsh black grooves of the bloodrose scar for a split second before it settled back in place again. He lunged forward and grabbed Pendric by the hair, wrenching his head back so that his neck arched.
“Where are they?”
Each word was released as a slow, formidable hiss.
Pendric ignored the ache in his neck, and refused to answer.
“Tell me, curse you, or you die now!”
He was dead anyway. He would not betray those he loved. He tried to swallow, but the angle of his neck made it difficult. Keiron dug his fingers deeper into his scalp and shook his head a little, growling at his former sword instructor. As the dizziness passed, Pendric took a breath and began speaking. He would not tell Keiron what he wanted to know, but he refused to leave this world calmly. He thought of the dragon Raejaaxorix, at that very moment doing what he could to cleanse the mountainside of the enemy horde. The captain of the guard reached deep into his memory and pulled from it an adage he had once memorized years before.
Pendric wet his lips and took one more ragged breath, then began reciting, “May the fire you breathe be meant for warming,”
“What?” Keiron snarled, yanking his captive’s head back even farther.
Pendric gasped, but continued on. “M-May the beat of your wings lift also your spirits. May the scales upon your hide not guard you from kindness,”
“Very well,” Keiron said with a cold finality, “if you refuse to give me the information I want, I no longer need you.”
He reached out and grabbed the closest weapon from one of the soldiers standing nearby. He lifted it above his head, ready to strike.
Pendric drew in one last breath and said, “And may the strength of your presence be that of justice.”
As the sword sliced down, the sky above exploded in a torrent of fire. And then Pendric knew no more.
Archedenaeh woke with a jolt, sucking in long, deep breaths of air as her heart thudded against her ribcage. As she waited for her senses to adjust and for her panic to evaporate, she tried to think of why she might have awoken in such a state. Had she stopped breathing in her sleep? Had she been trying to escape some horrid nightmare? Gradually, her memories returned: the weeks she and Milihn had traveled ever higher into the mountains, the Red Flange and their commander’s plans, the landslide she had created to delay them … Denaeh lifted a weak hand and pressed it to her forehead. Her skin was cold and clammy, and her head pounded. So, she had called upon her deep magic. That would explain her current ailment. It had happened before, she recalled, whenever she summoned her ancient power and needed to go into this semi-hibernation to replenish.
Groaning softly, she tried to swallow, only to find her throat swollen and her mouth dry. Well, there was only one thing to do then. She must fight through the aches and find some water and search for something to eat. As carefully as she could, the Mystic rolled onto her side, flattening her hand against the ground to steady herself. Her fingers dug into dry pine needles and soft earth. She opened her eyes and blinked several times. Darkness flooded her vision, but it wasn’t because she was about to pass out. A circle of light loomed several feet ahead and it was then Denaeh realized that before she lost consciousness, she’d been able to find shelter. The alcove wasn’t large, but it had protected her from the elements and hidden her from view.
Slowly, she dragged herself toward the mouth of the niche. Once there, she very carefully studied the outside world with her eyes, ears and nose. She couldn’t see anything dangerous, nor could she pick up any faint sounds of creaking leather armor or chinking chain mail. The air was fresh and clean, smelling of snow and not smoke or horses. It was safe to exit her hideaway.
It took Denaeh a few minutes to walk the short distance from the alcove to a comfortable looking log several feet away. Once she was sitting, she released a deep sigh and wrapped her blood-red cloak more tightly about herself. Judging by the light and the direction it was coming from, the hour was just past dawn.
Denaeh sat for several minutes, trying to encourage the chill to leave her bones and will away the lingering aches. She wondered how many days she’d been out, and if her efforts with the rockslide had helped Jaax and Jahrra in the long run. She dearly hoped so. Of all the visions she’d received over the years pertaining to the great war, Jaax and Jahrra had always made it as far as Ghorium. Beyond that, she hadn’t seen much. She was hoping that with this journey, not only would she be able to keep an eye on the dragon and his human girl, but perhaps she would be permitted to visit the Seers’ Temple on the peak above Nimbronia. It was a sacred place, fiercely guarded by the Creecemind dragons, and if she played her cards right, she might find the opportunity to get a much clearer idea of what the future held.
The Mystic took a shaking breath through her nose and tried to picture the Temple. Even being one of the few Mystics left in the world of Ethoes, she had never seen the place in person. The ancient texts and scrolls described it as a small cave with an ancient, gnarled pine tree, Ethoes’ Sacred Pine, growing above it. Inside the cave, a huge hunk of granite stood with a basin carved in its center. The depression was filled with water that never froze and never evaporated. It acted as a scrying pool, but the type of scrying pool which offered a glimpse of the unchangeable future, if seen with the right eyes. No common elf, Resai, Nesnan, dwarf or any other being in Ethoes could use the scrying pool properly. Only Mystics and Oracles could. It was meant to be a power enhancer, and Denaeh shivered at the thought of what the Temple’s scrying pool could do to her visions. And when a vision was seen in the pool, there was no questionable interpretation about it. Should she look into the water and see a scene unfold before her eyes, then it was guaranteed to happen.