Jaax adopted a more serious tone when he spoke up again.
“In a few hours we’ll begin a journey, Jahrra, but not just any journey, an escape. It will be difficult, but it cannot be helped. Get what sleep you can now because it may be some time before we get a chance to truly rest again. Don’t worry,” he assured her as she shot him another timorous glance, “I’ll stay up until morning and keep watch. I have to finish checking for missing or destroyed documents.”
Jahrra swallowed hard, and with a voice no higher than a whisper, asked, “What about those, those wolves?”
Jaax didn’t speak for several moments, his eyes, like Jahrra’s, fixed intently on the fire. When he finally answered her, it was with some restraint, “They are called death hounds, murhx glehssen, and they are the Tyrant’s newest creations.”
“Grouldahs?” Jahrra turned her eyes towards the dragon standing above her. “Denaeh told us about them once.”
Jaax smiled, but it was anything but friendly.
“Oh no,” he said quietly, “grouldahs are an entirely different matter altogether. They are made of something far more ancient than the death hounds, and their intent is not nearly as malicious.” He took a pained breath and continued, “The death hounds are a recent development of Cierryon’s, created using the darkest of magic and the remains of once living things. They can smell only fear and respond only to their master’s words. They are truly an abomination in the eyes of Ethoes.”
Jahrra shivered, thinking about how close to death she and her friends had come that fateful day on the outskirts of the Cohn Forest.
“Do not fear them, Jahrra,” Jaax said, mistaking her trembling. “I killed them all. And if the Tyrant’s vermin happen to have more stowed away somewhere nearby, they’ll think twice before offering them as dragon’s fodder a second time.” He grimaced and added, “Not that I would ever eat anything so foul.”
Jahrra relaxed at Jaax’s words and nodded silently, then closed her eyes and listened to the whispering coals of the fireplace. She was grateful that she was so exhausted. If she hadn’t been, she’d never be able to fall asleep. So much had happened that day, so much pain, so much hurt and anger. Her entire world had been shattered, and she didn’t even know how to start rebuilding it. Everything that she knew, everything that she believed she was part of, was all a lie.
Jahrra tried not to think about the fact that Hroombra was gone, she tried not to think about leaving Gieaun and Scede and all of her friends, and she tried not to think about never visiting the Black Swamp or Lake Ossar again. To distract herself, she focused on the gentle fire and the carved fireplace once again. It took her a long time to relax, but finally her mind calmed enough for rest. The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was the image of the group of joyous creatures on the rounded top arch of the fireplace. They were all smiling and all looked happy and content with the world.
As Jahrra drifted off into the land of dreams, she imagined the mystical world carved into the hearth coming to life. She found herself in the magical meadow where she had first seen the unicorns in the Wreing Florenn so many years ago. They were galloping about the clearing, sending up clouds of painted butterflies and fairies. Jahrra was smiling, and when she looked around she discovered that she was holding hands with the marvelous creatures she’d only seen in drawings, dancing and making merry.
The music and laughter filled the glen and there was no longer any sorrow. Jahrra had a sudden urge to glance toward the edge of the meadow, her heart nearly stopping when she saw that her cloaked stranger from so many dreams before was standing just on the edge of the tree line. He had visited her dream world only a few days ago, and she was surprised to see him again so soon, especially in this unfamiliar setting. For the first time in her dreams, Jahrra smiled up at him, welcoming him, encouraging him to join in with the merriment. Slowly, the figure stepped back and turned to the forest.
The darkness of the woods seemed to swallow him, and Jahrra felt disappointed and sad. Where is the glowing light he usually brings with him? she wondered. She grew even more disheartened as he completely disappeared behind the black veil of trees. Soon after he left her dream world, her growing sorrow and regret caused the bright glow of magic to fade from the meadow as well. The unicorns became agitated and they scattered into the woods. The fairies dove and took cover in the ferns and grasses. The creatures that had been so happy to dance with Jahrra pulled their hands away and kicked at her as she clung to them.
Jahrra was still too caught up in the actions of the hooded figure to notice her unhappy companions. She stared at the spot where he had just left and wished that he would come back. She barely noticed when the clearing suddenly became dark and cold. After a few dizzy moments she broke free of her trance. That was when she first began to feel and smell the fire.
The sounds of howling, a howling so similar to that of the death hounds, almost like a distant, deep siren, went off in the dark. The trees came crashing down around her, torn and singed by an angry blaze. And then she felt fear, a fear like she’d never felt before. A huge, dark figure, too big to be her familiar stranger, moved towards her. Her mouth went dry and her skin became clammy. She squinted through the dark to see who this man was, but the heat and smoke of the fire burned her eyes. All around there were the howls and moans of suffering; animals and beings, the ones who she’d been playing with only moments before, being tormented and murdered. Jahrra backed away from the looming black figure, feeling as helpless as a rabbit trapped in its burrow.
A smoldering tree came crashing down in front of her, and Jahrra jumped up, awaking from her nightmare. She felt exhausted, cold and petrified. Her heart raced and for a moment she forgot where she was. She quickly darted her eyes around the nearly dark room and saw that the fire in the hearth had once again burned down to embers. The figures carved into the hearthstone were no longer dancing, but staring down at her with malice, as if they had created the nightmare themselves. Jahrra gave them a cautious look and then turned as she heard a noise.
“Good, you’re up. I was just about to come and wake you.”
Jaax appeared to have some burned documents at his feet and a grim look on his face. Jahrra was grateful to be distracted by the dragon’s interruption and she quickly pushed the awful dream from her mind.
“What are those?” she inquired shakily, still half covered by her blanket.
“Maps,” was Jaax’s simple reply.
“Maps?” Jahrra repeated.
“Maps of Oescienne and other parts of Ethoes. But not just any maps. These maps mark a few important locations of those opposed to the Crimson King. It appears the scouts from last night have acquired some vital information, and we must leave as soon as you can get ready.”
Jahrra looked at the dragon in bewilderment. “What, right now? How will I say goodbye to Gieaun and Scede, and Denaeh? And what about Viornen and Yaraa? I was supposed to have an endurance test with them next week!”
Jaax turned his eyes away from Jahrra’s confused and desperate gaze.
“There’s no time now,” he said hoarsely, confirming his weariness and guilt, “and it is better for them if we leave without their knowing. That way if the enemy ever does question them, they can honestly say that they have no idea where you have gone and they won’t become the victims of torture.”
Jahrra’s eyes burned with rage, and her throat ached from this new sorrow. How much more was he going to ask her to sacrifice?
“Are you telling me that you expect me to leave my home, possibly to never return, without saying goodbye to my best friends!?”