“Perhaps this is my punishment for lying all these years about the Wreing Florenn, about Denaeh and about Ehnnit Canyon,” she said aloud. “What do you think Phrym?”
Phrym nickered under her, ears alert, his head pointed to the north.
“Yes, we should be heading back down now, but let’s stay up here a little bit longer,” she answered, then added bitterly, “This may be my last chance to take a good look at Oescienne for Ethoes knows how long. I would like to enjoy it.”
Phrym nickered again, but this time he sounded agitated. He started pawing the ground and he became unnerved, rearing up enough to get Jahrra’s attention. She reacted just in time, clutching at her semequin’s dark mane.
“What’s the matter? Calm down, I’ll take you with me if I go north!” She patted his neck, but this time she followed his gaze with her own. “What do you see Phrym?”
Jahrra squinted in the direction her semequin was looking. Rising off the small western edge of the Great Sloping Hill was a large plume of smoke, several shades paler than the threatening clouds above. Jahrra sat rigid in the saddle, focusing her eyes as hard as she could. She felt the blood drain from her face when she saw a tiny flash of deep, red fire, looking like a glinting speck of red gold dust from such a long way away. Her heart hammered against her ribs when she saw two more tiny scarlet flashes. Hroombra was breathing fire, and not just once, several times. Oh no, she thought, her skin tingling with dread, something’s wrong at home!
“Come on!”
Without pausing to consider it any further, Jahrra kicked Phrym into a full trot down the steep, sandy hill.
He ran under her with no trouble at all, seeming just as anxious to get back to the Ruin as she was. The two of them tore down the hillside, not caring how recklessly fast they were going. The wind and the sand cut at them as they careened headlong toward the miles of beach that lay before them. The cool air poured past them like ice water, and the wet sand felt like bits of frost hitting Jahrra’s skin, but she didn’t care. They raced down the beach, faster than Jahrra could ever remember, the pounding waves seeming to rally them on.
The semequin and his rider cut through the Oorn delta, sending up fans of brackish water and clouds of shore birds emitting stressful cries. As the miles streaked by, all Jahrra could think about was how horrible she had been to Hroombra that morning. I hope he’s just trying to demonstrate to Jaax who’s in charge! she thought, tears stinging her eyes along with the cold. But she knew that Hroombra would never act out violently; that just went too strongly against his nature. Horrible images flashed through her head, but the one that stood out the most was one of Eydeth and his father surrounding her guardian with several of the Resai men from the great race. Jahrra blinked hard and shook her head. No, no; Eydeth wouldn’t dare.
After many minutes of hard running, Jahrra and Phrym made a hard right turn and began traveling up the path that led across Lake Ossar. Several fishermen and women had to leap out of the way to let them pass, shouting in anger as they dragged their children out of harm’s way. Jahrra didn’t care; she couldn’t afford to stop. Once Phrym crossed the lake, they took the road heading east, flying across the valley like lightning.
Jahrra urged Phrym on as he climbed the road that trailed up the southern end of the Sloping Hill.
“C’mon Phrym, it’s not much farther!”
Phrym crested the top of the hill and tossed his head nervously. It was obvious he was exhausted: his mouth was foaming and his breath was coming fast, but Jahrra couldn’t bear to stop now.
“You’re doing great, Phrym! Only a few more miles. Imagine we are racing Eydeth again!” she shouted over the pounding of his hooves.
He picked up his pace in a sudden burst of energy and Jahrra only hoped that when they came over the last rise above the Ruin, that all she’d seen atop Demon’s Slide had merely been an illusion.
The old castle looked exactly as Jaax had pictured it, so similar to the image he’d kept in the secret corner of his mind since his childhood. Of course, it wasn’t the shining fortress it had been then, but that was before the Crimson King tried to destroy it.
Several years after his terrible curse, the Tyrant had found many of the Tanaan dragons living here peacefully in the land they once ruled as humans. Many had started over with their lives, had accepted their dragon form and some had even started new families. But the evil king would never allow any degree of happiness for the people who had tried to destroy him, even after he had cursed them. Nearly one hundred years after he had defeated the Tanaan king and his people, Cierryon cursed the castle as well, turning it into the ruined building it was today. The Tanaan dragons and their dragonlings had chosen to leave, unable to stand the sight of their beautiful home slowly eroding, reminding them too much of the state of their own spirits.
Jaax closed his eyes and let out a long, sorrowful sigh. He remembered the castle from his youth, before it was cursed, and up until this moment he thought that he would never be able to face it again. He had been among those to flee the last reminder of the Tyrant’s fury.
Apart from the few crumbled walls and the overgrown exterior, the castle looked as if it had been sleeping for the past few centuries. Somehow, some of the beautiful glass windows still remained intact, but they were now coated with a thick layer of ancient dust. It must have been from the magic the Korli dragons put over it, to try and protect this place. That is why some of its walls still stand, Jaax thought to himself.
The castle was immense, even from an adult dragon’s point of view, and the trees that surrounded it had changed. The young saplings he had once known were either taller than before or had grown and died, giving way to new seedlings once again. Some of the walls seemed lower, but that could be due to the fact that he himself was taller and not because the castle had further crumbled. Jaax shook his head forlornly. He was certain it was because of the latter that the walls weren’t as high as they used to be. The Korlis’ protection and the castle’s own magical defenses were failing. The palace had been fighting against this curse for four centuries; it couldn’t resist such strong dark magic for very much longer.
Jaax let his eyes trail over the picture before him, taking in the rest of the scene. The garden, once as finely manicured as the castle itself, had become a tangle of wicked looking brambles that crawled up the injured walls, threatening to pull them down into the earth. The sprawling patios and verandas, once beautiful mosaics set upon the ground, were now invisible, covered by years of leaf litter and earth.
A blast of chilly, moist wind shook the treetops above as if to remind Jaax of what had happened here. He shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, entering the castle for the first time in centuries. He walked through the ancient entrance hall and, as if driven by some internal force, turned toward the north side of the building. He walked past broken staircases and wove between massive columns, standing in a row like cold, white tree trunks. He hung his head the entire time, relying on memory to take him where he knew he must go. When he finally stopped and looked up, he found himself standing in the ancient remains of the great dining hall. Of course, he thought to himself remorsefully. Of course.