Phoenix Rising (the New Age Saga Book 3) Page 5

  “I have no plans to kill you dwarf,” she snarled, her eyes on the dagger held in her opponent’s hand. “But I won’t hesitate if that’s what it comes too.”

  “Th’ wolf flankin’ me woods beg otherwise,” the armored man returned, never moving his eyes from hers. He gave a quick sigh, then sheathed his dagger. “Dae whit ye main, jist lit thaur be nae mair lies atween us.”

  Her bow was held tightly in one hand, her knife in the other. She slowly sheathed her long knife and returned her right hand to the arrow notched in her bow, yet did not raise it or draw back its string. “These are dark days and you can never be sure who your friends are.”

  The mud cracked as the dwarf smiled. “True enaw. Main we sit? Ah was in th' wey o begin breakfest an' if ye choose tae kill me anyways, Ah wooldn’t min' dyin' oan a foo stomach raither than an boss a body.”

  She motioned for the smaller man to move towards his camp and as he passed by, Tuskar moved silently in his wake. She turned to follow, not resting her grip on the arrow or allowing her guard to fall. There could still be others hidden amongst the trees and her weariness of an ambush had yet to pass.

  “Ye ken, I’ve heard teel ay an albino elven ranger wi' white hair. Thooght they waur jist ghost stories,” the dwarf informed her as he took a seat by the fire and reached for a small container by his side. As he unfolded the cloth, her arrow raised, but it was for naught as it only contained several unbroken eggs ready for cooking. “Rumur has it, ye ance caught a boy-lowre in th' human settlements an' sent heem haem—relieved ay his urges. Fed it tae yer wolf, they say.”

  She smiled as she approached, but refused to sit down; her eyes on the forest beyond.

  “I’m aloyn. Figured Ah woods be fur quite some time, til Ah saw ye approach in th' distance. Ye ur quite guid. If Ah hadn’t bin eyein' th' soothern paths while enjoyin' a quick reek, Ah micht nae hae seen ye,” the dwarf commented. “Nae matter hoo guid ye ur, thocht, bonnie stoaner tae bide hidden oan th' open grasslands. Unless yoo’re a dwarf, ay coorse.”

  As the eggs were cracked and put on a skillet, he reached around and began cleaning his hands of the mud that he’d caked on them. “Afraid it’ll tak' a bit mair water tae gie lae aff. Still, better tae be muddy 'en deid.”

  Her eyes chanced a look south, but still her rear was void of her companion’s presence. Sometimes running off on her own was more a drawback then an advantage. Still, it shouldn’t have taken them that long to depart Token’s cottage; the idea of them hanging out in that stench for long periods turned her stomach.

  Sizzling noises rose from the fire as the armored dwarf threw sausage and bacon down next to the eggs. He had retrieved two iron plates and was using a fork to scoop out the first egg. A soft whimper from Tuskar escaped from her side and she sighed as she realized how long it’d been since they’d hunted and fed themselves.

  It hadn’t been lost on the dwarf and the stout man quickly reached into a pouch and withdrew a white papered bundle. “Ah was gonnae sae thes fur supper, but by th' looks ay th' tois ay ye, either Ah won’t be alife tae enjoy it ur yoo’ll be able tae fin' mair.”

  He unwrapped the bundle and revealed a fat slab of meat. Taking it within his grimy fingers, he waved it once then tossed it in Tuskar’s direction. The wolf snatched it in mid-air and she could hear the quick lapping of meat that followed.

  “My thanks,” she nodded to the dwarf, her head turning from him to the direction of the feline they’d seen.

  “Jist mah moont Ajax back thaur coolin' in th' shade, naethin' mair. Weel, got tae say, they micht hae exiled me, but they gart sure Ah was weel supplied when they threw me it oan mah crease,” the dwarf commented, as he finished cooking and handed a plate out to her.

  She would have to let loose her hold on the arrow in order to accept it. She gave him one final look over and after not hearing anything further from the woods, let out her breath and loosened her grip on her bow. Sheathing the arrow and setting the bow down by her side, she took a seat in the grass and accepted the offered food with a nod of thanks.

  “Exiled from where?” she managed after taking a quick bite of the plump sausage. Her mouth moistened and she couldn’t help the saliva that quickly overran her lips. Wiping it away with her arm, she turned her eyes towards the dwarf’s grave face and grimaced at the pain in the man’s eyes. He had a long muddied black beard and very strong eyebrows, which drew together as he reflected on her question. Then his pale brown eyes found hers.

  “Mah haem is Branham, thocht its gates hae noo bin forever closed oan me. Mah coosin ordered me exiled an' I’ve spent th' lest coople ay days makin' mah way eest. Thaur is nae longer a place fur me in th' west,” the he replied sadly. He pushed a piece of egg with a fork, as if contemplating how badly his life had turned.

  Despite the circumstances in which they’d met, she couldn’t help but sympathize with the stout man’s predicament. She was no stranger to being an outcast herself. “Exiled for what, may I ask?”

  “Only if ye teel me if yoo’re gonnae kill me first. Nae point in tellin' ye 'at if it’s gonnae end wi' an arraw ben th' heart,” the dwarf countered and Kylee was forced to smile.

  “Little man, if I was going to kill you, you’d already be dead,” she chuckled. “Or—feeding parts of you to my companion here.”

  He gulped, got a bit wide eyed, but after hearing her laugh, seemed to ease up a bit and slowly smiled in return. “Ye jist min’ fa hud fa first.”

  “Oh, like your pigsticker would’ve done more than just tickle the skin,” she laughed. It felt good to feel genuine laughter after so many days of grief.

  “Guid day, don’t be knockin' Layla, she’s slit mony a goblin throat in th' pest,” the dwarf responded with stunned indignation.

  She shook her head. “I’m sure she has. So now I know the name of your mount and your pigsticker, but not yours.”

  The stout man reached out his still muddied hand and she leaned over and took it. “Riska.”

  “Kylee,” she smiled, then nodded at the wolf. “That’s—”

  “Tuskar,” Riska supplied, making her eyebrows rise. “Tauld ye, I’ve heard ay ye.” The smaller man went back to shoveling food in his mouth, parts of egg getting stuck in the muddied beard below. “Forgife mah manners,” he told her as he brushed the pieces away with quick flicks of his wrist.

  “A dwarf concerned with manners? How have I not heard of you?” she chuckled and got a larger grin in response.

  Riska shook his head as well, “An' an elf wi' a sense ay humur. We sure ur a raur pair.”

  She finished her plate and handed it over to the awaiting dwarf’s hands. “You seem nice enough, what could you have done to be shunned by your kin? Is it truly that despicable to have manners amongst the Dwarves that they kicked you out?”

  “Nah, lass, 'at hud naethin' fur tae div wi' it. An army ay goblins led by an abomination 'at called himself Pestilence wiped it Kamdeac. Ah went behin' mah coosin’s back an' marched th' army north tae wipe them it. We won, but Ah tint ower half uir kin tae plague in th' process. Efter several days ay quarantine, we waur satisfied enaw 'at we waur free ay th' disease oorselves an' marched haem in subdued victory. Ah thooght 'at mah actions woods be understuid an' welcomed by mah coosin, th' Kin', but he feared th' devotion th' generals hud displayed towards me in actin' against heem an' banished me frae th' kingdom fur mah “traitoroos” deeds,” Riska finished, eyeing the woods to his rear, as if searching for his home.

  She recognized him now. Merlin had shown them a series of images while camped within Camelot, and one had been of a dwarf battling a black armored goblin. This was the armored warrior she’d seen in that vision!

  “I have heard of you. You killed the Phoenix’s Horsemen single-handedly,” she muttered in quickened awe.

  Riska chuckled. “Nah, it was goblin shite 'at killed heem, Ah jist got heem stuck in th' pit 'at allowed it tae happen.”

  “So, you killed a Horseman, wiped out a goblin army, and saved your pe
ople from meeting the same fate as their fallen kin—and their response is to kick you out? That doesn’t seem right,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You should have been a hero.”

  “An' whit woods 'at hae dain tae mah coosin’s ability tae leid? He’s scared ay losin' his croon as he cowardly hides behin' his walls. Mah victory micht hae bin enaw tae unseat heem an' place me oan th' thrain insteid. He kent 'at, an' he worked oan namin' me a traitur afair th' first blaw was struck in Kamdeac. Ah shoods hae knoon better than tae hink bluid mattered tae 'at coward. Ah swear mah grandfaither is turnin' ower in his grae,” Riska swore, sticking the fire with a branch and making it spark.

  She took a moment to think over how crazy the story sounded. He might have saved the entire Dwarven race from Pestilence’s plagues, and was now sitting on the edge of the forest, unable to return to his homeland forever. The wrongness of it stirred anger in her heart.

  “Ye don’t happen tae ken anyain in need ay mah skills dae ye? Ah ken ye hae traveled th' lands eest ay haur. Ah woods be grateful fur onie guidance ye can gezz oan whaur best mah axe can be used. Th' war isn’t ower an' I’m nae gonnae gie up oan savin' mah kin, e'en if they hae given up oan me,” the dwarf told her sincerely, and she looked over her shoulder once more as his words died off.

  Horses were on the horizon and she knew her companions would soon be upon them. “Actually, I think I know just the place where your abilities can be used to save not only your race, but all of them. Question is, how do you feel about traveling with an orc?” The stunned look on the dwarf’s face was enough for her to break out into another chuckle. “Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite. Tuskar might though,” she told him heartily as she jumped to her feet and waved that it was okay for the others to approach.

  Riska groaned. “Whit hae Ah jist gotten myself intae?”

  She laughed even harder.

  II

  “My Queen!” Jarel burst as he flung open the door and sped into the royal chambers. Revan stirred from his place by the bed, awakened by the aide’s sudden appearance. His blue hair was ragged, his brow creased from where it had been resting on the King’s sheets. He tried to straighten his brown robes and was absent-mindedly reaching out for his staff.

  Amysta turned towards the aide, her hand on her husband’s, the look of grief upon her face. Erik had taken a turn for the worse in recent days, falling once more into a coma. And despite their efforts, they were slowly watching the elf waste away before their eyes. Whatever had brought the two consciousness’s to the surface had faded and now the King rarely stirred unless reacting to a disturbing dream.

  “What is it?” the Queen snapped, her hand holding her husband’s tightly; trying to will him awake. Her short black hair was a mess, her make up faded and smeared. She hadn’t tended to herself in days and smelled of sweat.

  “A silver dragon has landed on the grasslands before the castle with two armored riders asking for permission to see the King,” Jarel breathed out in a rush.

  “What? A dragon?” Revan lurched to his feet, his hair bouncing with the sudden movement. Dragons were so rare, that other than Wyrddlin to the south, all were to be believed to serve the Phoenix in the mountains to the north. “A silver one?” Wasn’t Wyrddlin silver?

  He had never seen the dragon himself and he could not vouch for who it might be, but if it were truly the ancient silver dragon standing on their lawn, they were obligated to see what had driven him to fly all this way to see them. And who would he allow to ride him like some common pack horse?

  Amysta was already on her feet and was sliding her silver breastplate into place. “Tell the Royal Service to stand ready. If they wish to see my husband they’ll have to deal with me first.”

  “Yes, my Queen,” Jarel muttered and disappeared from whence he came.

  “Your Majesty, you should let me go out to meet them. Your place is by your husband’s side. If something evil is afoot, better that we lose me than you. The kingdom needs you,” he stated as he shrugged into his robes.

  “You forget yourself, magister. You do not tell me where my place is. You offer counsel, do not pretend to give me orders,” Amysta snapped back. It had been a long week for both of them and their tempers were on a razor thin edge.

  He bowed his head. “I apologize. If I may at least accompany you—”

  “Yes, yes, but let’s go. Best to find out what this is all about before wild rumors begin to spread,” she motioned with her hand impatiently.

  He bowed once more and moved to open the door for his testy Queen. He couldn’t blame her. Had their positions been switched, he knew that his anger would be just below the surface ready to lash out at any who approached. The two had been inseparable and strong in their love since the day they met, and what one suffered effected the other just as strongly. He’d had trouble even getting the Queen to eat, as she refused since her husband could not.

  The Royal Service were awaiting outside the palace doors, a pair of horses awaiting their arrival. Trees whipped in a gust of wind as they mounted their horses and nudged them forward.

  “My Queen, I must insist on accompanying you,” a silver armored knight called, riding his horse through her guards and coming to their side.

  “Pendoran, you were ordered to get rest. You are not yet ready to be on your feet; much less on a horse,” the Queen snapped at the wavering knight.

  The elf bowed his head, his shrunken cheeks clearly showing what the knight’s armor hid from view. He was alive, but still not well enough to resume his duties. Yet the determination in the man’s eyes was enough to give the Queen pause.

  “Look, I appreciate the offer of protection that you men keep pushing on me, but I am not some helpless maiden in need of a knight in shining armor to protect her. I am Queen of Forlorn and I personally helped kill that harpy bitch Famine with my own sword. I can take care of myself!” she told them both, her glare penetrating the ill knight by her side.

  Pendoran bowed his head in recognition of that, yet did not move off as commanded. “I understand that, your Majesty. And that being the case, I’m sure you will have no trouble protecting me from my own stupidity as I refuse to leave your side. Riding with you or behind you, I will not return to my sick bed and leave my Queen to face a dragon on her own.”

  Smooth.

  Amysta sighed as her eyes softened, slowly resigning herself to the elf’s determination. “Runner!” she called, and a thin youth burst into view from the rear. “Tell General Jade to order the archers ready, but to hold fire unless I give signal.”

  “Yes, my Queen,” the runner answered and darted into the city beyond.

  “Shall we?” Amysta asked the two of them in a mocking attempt to gain their permission.

  He bowed his head. “Whatever your Majesty thinks is best.” He wasn’t as smooth as Pendoran, but he didn’t have the temperament for grace like the knight did.

  “Good, now let’s go greet our guest,” the Queen commanded as she kicked her horse forward and began the journey towards the outer gates.

  He looked at Pendoran and the other knight smiled and shrugged, then followed after. The druid remained still for a moment, scanning the horizon and lost in thought. He sent a silent prayer to the old Gods and rode after the departing Queen as they went to go meet a dragon.

  III

  Tristan’s rear was sore. They had ridden almost non-stop for two days and his body ached from the jostling his body had taken. He had removed his armor after their first stop, but had reluctantly put it back on as Forlorn neared. Now, he shifted his larger body off one foot and onto the other as he attempted to relieve the tension in his saddle-ridden legs.

  Wyrddlin had insisted on taking a less direct route towards Forlorn; avoiding any signs of civilization as to not draw attention. He had a fleeting thought of stopping off in Lancaster and seeing his brother, but the prospect of riding a dragon upon his people who had just survived a siege and were trigger happy was not an appealing option. In the end, he had see
n the wisdom in the dragon’s actions, and had left it to the ancient companion to navigate his way here without any outside guidance.

  Willow stood by his side, Trek sitting at attention before her left foot. The cat had remained quiet the entire trip and what was going through the fairy creature’s mind, no one could guess. Still, he had refused to be left behind and was keeping close to Willow as if expecting her to just up and disappear on him. Then again, that is almost what happened when they left Sherwood behind.

  The silver dragon stood to their right, his eyes on the castle, yet not really impressed by what he saw. Tristan on the other hand, had been unable to look away since the fortress had come into view on the northern horizon.

  He had thought Lancaster was large but as he stood before the outer walls of the enormous fortress before him, he came to realize how wrong he’d been. It humbled his perspective of the world around him.

  The walls stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction. Though he had seen the massive boundaries from the sky, he hadn’t been able to put it into context until he had been on the ground once more before it. In the distance was a large mountain, protecting the castle’s rear, and though he couldn’t see it now, he knew that the interior was shrouded by multiple trees surrounding the massive towers peppering the eastern fortress’s skyline.

  The elves had woven their fortress into the forest with such grace that it was hard not to be in awe of the beauty of it. “It’s something, isn’t it?” he asked his fiancé, who had been silently eyeing the fortress herself.

  “Reminds me of home,” she muttered and he knew how homesick it suddenly made her feel.

  “Hey, we’re almost done. Maybe we can—,” he began, his words losing steam as he thought what he was going to say through.

  She cracked a small smile. “You know we can’t do that. We don’t have the ability to turn away; not now.”

  “Do you regret coming with me?” he asked, thinking over the last couple of weeks and unable to reconcile just how much had changed.