Think of the things you could verify, she mused, think of what you could know if you were given the chance to ask …
A sharp caw from above broke Denaeh’s concentration. She shot her head up and smiled when she found Milihn sitting on the drooping branch of a pine tree. Hanging from his beak was the carcass of a skinny rabbit. He fluffed his feathers and dropped from the branch, gliding down into the tiny meadow. The bird landed a few feet away and hopped the rest of the distance, dragging the rabbit behind him like a toy.
Denaeh reached out and smoothed the feathers on his head. The korehv grumbled contentedly, his black eyes closing as he reveled in the attention of his master.
“Shall I check to see if the soldiers have cleared out?” she asked him. “Would hate to start a fire and draw unwanted attention.”
The Mystic sat straight once again and tilted her head back a little. She took long, slow breaths through her nose, closing her eyes and letting her conscious drift free. Her magical senses reached out, searching the adjacent peaks for signs of the Red Flange. First, she checked the area where they had been camping, but all she found were empty fire pits and the bones left behind of animals they’d hunted and eaten. She let her other sight travel up the mountainside, close to where the landslide blocked the road. There she sensed death and ruin. Cringing a little, she pulled back and scanned the high mountain forest in a ten mile radius around her alcove. Discovering that a small fire to cook the rabbit and get warm would be safe, she returned all her senses to her body.
Denaeh opened her eyes and gave Milihn a mournful look.
“There was a great battle,” she told the korehv as she started gathering kindling. “I do not yet know the outcome.”
Soon, the fire was crackling, and the rabbit was skinned and spitted over the flames. Despite the prospect of food, and the presence of a small spring Milihn had led her to, Denaeh couldn’t help but feel troubled. She still hadn’t discerned the current location of Jaax and Jahrra, and her efforts to search the area for spies had depleted her magic once again. She would have to make her way to Cahrdyarein and see for herself what had become of the girl and the dragon.
Denaeh feared what she might find in the mountain city. She closed her eyes once again, drawing in a deep breath. The air was now spiced with the scents of smoke and roasting meat, but she wasn’t trying to test the air for intruders. Instead, she brought to the surface of her mind a vision she had seen recently. Jahrra stood on the great wall of Cahrdyarein with a young, handsome man beside her. No, not a man. An elf perhaps? The scene melted away, like sugar dissolving in a hot cup of tea. The next vision showed her Jahrra again with the elf, only this time his hands were bound and several dark figures surrounded them. Then the Mystic’s vision warped a third time, displaying that same young elf looking enraged as he stood on the great black wall as the city burned behind him.
Denaeh snapped her eyes open as dread filled her heart. Had Jahrra been betrayed? Was she now under the power of the Red Flange? Was that how she would eventually come to be in Ghorium, as a prisoner of the Crimson King? And where was Jaax? How could the Tanaan dragon let this happen to her?
Denaeh drew in a rattling breath as fear and darkness threatened to pull her under. Instinctively, she lifted a shaking hand to her neck, seeking out the cord tied there. With trembling fingers, she drew the thin rope out from beneath her clothing, grasping onto the spirit stone ring that hung at the end. The Mystic sat still for several heartbeats, allowing the ring’s presence to bring her some comfort.
“If only you were here with me,” she whispered, her throat aching. “I could use your counsel and your strength. What I wouldn’t give to see your face again. To hear your voice.”
But she only had herself, and Milihn, and no one else. Hers was a solitary life, one without friends or family, and although it had been her choice those many years ago, it still left her feeling empty.
Denaeh clenched her hand into a fist, the ring slowly warming beneath her fingers. After several seconds, she took one more long breath and released her grip. She could not afford to let memory and past regrets cloud her judgment. She still had a job to do if she wanted the future to remain on the path she had envisioned.
“Come along, Milihn,” she murmured, standing up and brushing mud and grit from her dirty cloak. “We’ll eat as we walk. I’m not up to my full strength, so if we want to see what has become of Cahrdyarein, we must get moving now.”
The korehv grumbled and flew onto her shoulder. Denaeh picked up the stake the rabbit had been spitted on, kicked wet earth over the fire, and headed away from her campsite. For several hours, she climbed along the western side of the mountain ridge, following game trails to reach the city and guaranteeing she wouldn’t run into any red soldiers. It took her and Milihn the entire day to reach Cahrdyarein, and just before sundown she found herself gazing upon the settlement that had once been a worthy stronghold of the Great Hruhnan Mountains. What she saw made her heart sink like a dark stone to the bottom of a deep well. Cahrdyarein was in ruins. The wall still stood, and so did the stone buildings that made up the many layers of the city, but smoke billowed from several roofs and even from her lofty view, she could see the fallen soldiers of Morivan’s guard, their silver-blue uniformed bodies littering the streets.
She hissed slightly. So many.
Along the wall walk, more of the Tyrant’s soldiers scurried about. They resembled black and red ants, agitated after having water directed down their ant hole. Several more of them crowded around the base of the wall outside the city, waiting for their comrades to open the gates and let them in.
“So, the city has been taken by the Crimson King,” she murmured to Milihn, who sat stoically upon her shoulder.
Denaeh wondered where the army’s high commander was, the cold man who she’d overheard speaking with his skurmage outside of Lidien. Perhaps he was in the regent’s house, celebrating his victory. Was the young elf from her vision with him? Did they have Jahrra? Had they captured Jaax?
A cold chill coursed through Denaeh’s blood. She had known the dragon Raejaaxorix for a very long time. He would never let them capture Jahrra without a fight. Denaeh squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples, too many scenarios racing around in her mind. A cold wind gusted by, tugging her brilliant red hair free from the hood of her cloak. Milihn grumbled his discomfort but stayed put on his master’s shoulder. The ledge they stood on was nothing more than a massive hunk of granite jutting out from the small peak adjacent to Cahrdyarein’s mountain. A collection of spindly, twisted conifers provided some cover among the pile of rocks the Mystic and korehv used as cover, so no one should be able to see them. Nevertheless, Denaeh was no fool. Her cloak and hair transformed her into a small flame of color, and she was always cautious to remain hidden behind whatever barrier she could find.