THE BEACON THRONES

BOOK TWO

Of

DRAGON CALLING

N. R. Eccles-Smith

The Beacon Thrones

Naomi Eccles-Smith

Text copyright Naomi Eccles-Smith, 2014

Cover illustration copyright Naomi Eccles-Smith, 2014

Map and glyph design copyright Naomi Eccles-Smith, 2014

www.dragoncalling.wordpress.com

Published by Starsea Press

www.facebook.com/StarseaPress

eBook edition

ISBN: 978-0-9922742-2-1

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Click on the link to view the map from the Dragon Calling website:

Map of Valadae

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE—ECLIPSED

CHAPTER TWO—THE TRANSFER

CHAPTER THREE—BIDING

CHAPTER FOUR—REUNION

CHAPTER FIVE—THE HARBINGER

CHAPTER SIX—DECISIONS, DISTORTIONS AND DISOBEDIENCE

CHAPTER SEVEN—THE CALLING

CHAPTER EIGHT—WOLF BLADE AND DRAGON SCALES

CHAPTER NINE—ENEMY APPROACHES

CHAPTER TEN—HUNTED

CHAPTER ELEVEN—ASH AND BLOOD

CHAPTER TWELVE—A SONG FOR THE TREES

CHAPTER THIRTEEN—THE WALL-WATCHER

CHAPTER FOURTEEN—SEAL OF OPENING

CHAPTER FIFTEEN—SADUKRAVON

CHAPTER SIXTEEN—BEYOND THE ENTRANCE

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN—A SEALED PARADISE

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN—DISAGREEABLE INITIATION

CHAPTER NINETEEN—THE UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER

CHAPTER TWENTY—THE WHITE FOUNTAIN

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE—LADY MEGANDEL

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO—WATCH AFTER SUNDARK

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE—THE SECRET AT RELLORNEN

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR—THE BEACON THRONES

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE—A FORGOTTEN REGRET

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX—THE BAIT

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN—FOIBLE AND FAVOUR OF A FELLIS

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT—INTO MISTWOOD

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE—IN THE POETHUR FIRELIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY—THE SHADE SENDERS

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE—THE VOICE IN THE MIST

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO—AZ-THORZ

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE—AGAINST TIME AND ILLUSION

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR—GRAVITY

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE—THE AWAKENING OF SELISIDUS

PRONUNCIATIONS

TIMES AND SEASONS

GLOSSARY

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

– CHAPTER ONE –

ECLIPSED

Soul of Sunrise, Lord of Spans, Shepherd of the end of Ages,

Here and now this warning sounds, mark me, I will eclipse you.

You sweep the sky in pendulum strides, a burning, brilliant eye,

Though sworn the oath to never blink, take heed, I will eclipse you.

Constant in your endless charge, so confident, so sure,

Yet know our paths will indeed collide, and there I will eclipse you.

Yes, I lay claim to the impending time, when I will evermore eclipse you.

- From the chant, Last Eclipse, inspired by the Black Sun Prophecies

Biting wind sifted through the trees, sending the thicket into a chorus of rustling whispers.

Chills crept along the watcher’s arms, causing blue fur to stand on end. He rubbed his gloved

hands vigorously along muscles to drive away the aching cold and gulped in a breath of air to

clear his head. He could not afford to fall prey to exhaustion. The others’ lives depended on his

vigilance.

Moonlight tinted the hills beyond the thicket in a forlorn and ghostly hue. Above, the

grinning moon flashed in and out of sight between the shifting leaves. Hidden amongst the

roadside shrubbery, the watcher blended with the tones of sundark, touched only by shadows.

Detecting a shuffle of movement across the road, he lifted his gaze and scrutinised the

deeper shadow crouched against the base of the nearest tree. The tip of something long and sharp

flashed dimly in a faint shaft of moonlight.

Ku’in Kaikal’s weapon is unsheathed. The watcher moved a hand to the hilt strapped around

his waist. Should I do the same? His fingers curled into a fist and pulled away. No, I am to sound

the horn if trouble besets us. He glanced at the brass-tipped instrument slung against his side. I

am to give the signal first ... then I can consider wielding my blade. Ku’in Kaikal is the Knight,

not me. I must keep to his instructions.

He breathed deeply through his elongated nose and brushed his clawed fingers through his

long, grey-blue hair. Troubled memories crept from the recesses of his mind.

Since the sundark of their escape from the besieged city of Dae, they were untraceable ...

until now. Lady Aubrianna Mauveer, the royal family’s Keeper of Secrets, had continuously cast

cloaking magic over the past few spans, though the effort had brought her to the brink of

exhaustion. She could no longer shield them, and there was every possibility they continued to

be pursued.

He and Ku’in Kaikal were one of several scouting pairs sent to all the vantage points above

the valley where their wagons camped, to look out for signs of danger.

This should not have happened! The watcher thought bitterly. Those fools in the courts knew

of the Seksai’s gift of Seer Dreams—everyone did. And yet the very sunspan her warnings should

have been heeded was the sunspan those pompous mongrels ignored her! And now we are

running for our lives, our capital city burning behind us, the fate of the king and queen unknown;

their son the only one of royal blood to escape with us. We few who trusted to follow Lady

Mauveer’s risky endeavour ... we were the only ones who made it out of Dae alive ...

The painful memory sent his muscles into a tight spasm. He closed his eyes and clenched

his jaw, willing the growl at the back of his throat to stay there.

We cannot afford to fail ... our clans are doomed if we do not reach our destination.

A quiet growl emerged from the shadows across the road, and a pair of ethereal eyes shone

in his direction. ‘Nomar, resist the urge to sleep. You must remain on guard.’

Nomar stiffened, his brows pinching into a frown. ‘Ku’in Kaikal, be assured I would never

allow myself to fall asleep, especially given our current situation.’

Buckles chinked as Ku’in Kaikal shuffled. ‘Awake you might be, but your mind is clearly

elsewhere.’

Heat rushed to Nomar’s face. Those words sounded more a chide than a statement. Ku’in

Kaikal was right though; no matter the circumstance, a wandering mind could not be excused.

‘Forgive my inattention, Ku’in,’ he muttered. ‘I find it difficult not to dwell on Dae. Our city, our

kin ...’ Streets of blood and walls of fire seared his inner eye. He could not bring himself to finish

the sentence.

‘That is a torment we all share,’ Ku’in Kaikal growled softly, ‘but our focus must remain on

the task before us. Grief will have to wait.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Nomar held his left forearm up and looked over the crest embedded into the

black leather of his gauntlet: a full moon mounted behind a triangle and crowned by nine stars. It

was the national symbol of K’tailiur, his kingdom, his home. And that same symbol adorned the

chest which carried K’tailiur’s only hope of salvation.

Whatever hid within that small, seemingly insignificant box had caused Lady Mauveer to

awaken tremendous courage and wit, and flee the violence crashing upon the city. She had

gathered others along the way, desperate to save as many from the courts and noble clans as she

could. Sadly, very few held faith in her convictions enough to risk being branded a deserter and

so remained behind. Those who did defy the desecration to their honour fled with her, one

crucial goal before them: to reach Raegelian Forest in the far south—with the chest still in their

possession.

Nomar had listened as others questioned the Seksai over what it contained. Reluctantly, she

revealed a little of her knowledge in an urgent whisper. It was a dynast treasure and a relic of

incredible power. The magic it contained was believed to rival Klonnoth Aire itself. If placed in

the right hands, it could save all the kingdoms of the north from the fate which had befallen Dae.

But if obtained by the enemy, it would cause untold destruction. She called it the Troth of

Penitence and afterward commanded it not be spoken of again.

Ensuring the Troth of Penitence reach the curators in Raegelian Forest was the only mission

now—no matter the cost. Starvation, exhaustion, injury, captivity, torture, even death, Nomar

would endure it all to see this task through. They all would.

We are so close. Only three spans away if we can keep our current pace. We just need to

stay ahead of our pursuers a little longer ...

‘A change in the air,’ Ku’in Kaikal growled, abruptly standing. ‘Something is wrong.’

Nomar jumped to his feet, one hand gripping his sword hilt, ready to draw it at a moment’s

notice. ‘What is it?’ he asked, his voice shaky.

‘I am not sure.’ The veteran warrior inclined his head slowly, his eyes hard and focused.

‘We should leave now and warn the others. It would be unwise to linger.’

Quickly crossing the road, Nomar reached for his horn. ‘Should I sound the signal?’

Ku’in Kaikal shook his head. ‘Not yet. We must be certain of the threat and its direction.’

A strong gust of wind rushed through the trees, scratching the leaves together wildly. A

heavy shadow passed over the moon. The watchers snapped their heads skyward but saw

nothing. The silhouetted boughs groaned and creaked in eerie admonition.

A harsh metallic sound scraped through the air. Heart pounding, Nomar twisted to face its

origin.

‘Well, well, well ... what do we have here?’ mocked a low, snarling voice. ‘Two blue rats

crouching by the wayside. You know, lurking in such a way could incite all kinds of suspicion

from passersby.’

A figure stood in the centre of the road near the edge of the thicket, shrouded in the cover of

a long cloak, and armed with an enormous, serrated sword.

Ku’in Kaikal slid into the warrior’s Long Stance and held out his curved sword with both

hands. Jerkily, Nomar matched the movement, the blood in his ears throbbing loudly with

nervous adrenaline. The stranger did not flinch.

‘You!’ Ku’in Kaikal growled through clenched teeth. ‘I smell you, hobgoblin filth! Prepare

to have your foul form cut down and cleansed from the world.’

Undaunted, the stranger tossed back the hood of his cloak to reveal his fiendish

countenance. He curled his lips and chuckled.

Nomar flung his arm down, grabbing for his brass-tipped horn. Without hesitation, he

pressed it to his lips and blew. Its hollow cry echoed through the valleys, loud and foreboding.

‘There!’ he snapped. ‘The toekae horn has sounded. The others know you are here. By the time

you reach the valley, they will be long gone. All further efforts are futile. This attempted ambush

of yours has failed!’

‘You may find such confidence to be sorely misplaced,’ the hobgoblin said, his eyes burning

bright and feral. ‘So let us see how futile my attempts shall be.’

Ku’in Kaikal lowered the blade of his sword until its point touched the dirt. ‘I need only a

few moments,’ he whispered to Nomar. ‘Engage him blade to blade, and I shall see to it he never

leaves this thicket alive.’

Nomar gave a sharp nod, ignoring the trembling in his hands and legs. Raising his sword

over his right shoulder, he expelled a fierce howl and ran at his enemy. The hobgoblin remained

unmoving, even when he closed within striking distance. Arrogant pig! Nomar thrust his

weapon, slicing diagonally. The target sidestepped, and the blade cut through the air, missing by

less than a hair length.

Sustaining his pace, Nomar spun with his sword held in a blocking position, expecting an

immediate retaliation. The hobgoblin’s cloak billowed as he threw his weight forward, sending

his enormous barbed sword into a powerful, vertical arc. Nomar twisted out of the way, and the

blade struck the ground, gouging the dirt. He stared at the weapon, realising the full extent of its

lethal capacity. Nervous sweat dampened his forehead. A single cut from those barbed edges

could tear through his muscle, straight to the bone. If the hobgoblin managed to execute a clean

strike, he would be cut completely in half.

I must keep on the defensive and bluff with quick, light attacks. Ku’in Kaikal needs only a

few moments. He leaped back several paces, luring his opponent further onto the road, away from

the thicket. He then lunged forward and thrust his sword in another diagonal motion, forcing the

hobgoblin to counter.

Sparks flew as metal struck metal, although only the hobgoblin’s attacks exhibited ferocity.

Nomar avoided bringing his full weight into his manoeuvres, preferring a series of evasive,

provoking tactics. He was surprised by how well the hobgoblin adjusted to his movements.

‘What’s the matter, whelp?’ the hobgoblin jeered. ‘Are you too afraid to attempt a proper

strike? Or are you simply keeping me preoccupied so your companion can pull off one of his

devilish tricks?’

‘I am not afraid of you!’ Nomar snarled, although the words tasted false. Deep down fear

festered. Not only was his opponent abnormally skilled, he was clever. Too clever—especially

for a hobgoblin.

A bellowing roar erupted from the thicket. Beneath the trees, a shape convulsed and

expanded, emitting a series of sickening crunches, like the sound of warping bones and

ligaments.

A scowl creased the hobgoblin’s face. ‘Just as I thought!’ Ignoring the threat beneath the

trees, he abandoned caution and charged at Nomar.

Nomar readied himself to deflect and then execute a flank strike. He flung his sword out, at

the same time sliding back to keep from staggering under the predicted force. The hobgoblin’s

sword came down; jagged iron scraped against silver with no more strength than a swipe from a

practice stick. Confusion broke Nomar’s focus for the span of a breath. What? He realised the

trap, too late. A false strike! The hobgoblin’s fist filled his vision. Pain exploded in the side of his

head. His vision burned white, and something burst inside his mouth with a stomach-turning

crunch. The momentum ricocheted throughout his entire body. His feet buckled from under him,

and he struck the ground hard, flipping over and over until he flopped onto his back, dazed and

blinded. Hot blood gushed from his nose and spilled down his throat, thick and choking. The

fingers on his right hand twitched, still curled around the leathery hilt. I still have my sword.

Coughing in spasms, he rolled onto his side, desperately willing his body to recover. Get up!

Get up! His legs found traction, but something solid and heavy slammed onto his back, knocking

both breath and balance out of him once again. That same force then kicked into his shoulder,

pushing him onto his back. The hobgoblin loomed over him, a blurred and menacing giant.

He reached down and pried the sword from Nomar’s hand. ‘Wait here,’ he growled

mockingly and thrust it down. An explosion of pain shot through Nomar’s right shoulder, and his

throat burned with a scream. Racked with waves of agony and dread, he turned his head toward

the injury. His sword stood erect beside his head, its marked blade driven straight through his

shoulder tendons, pinning him to the ground. The metallic stench of silver and blood made his

nostrils burn and stomach heave.

The shadowy form of his attacker moved away. Nomar stared after him, fighting to maintain

focus against the pounding waves of pain. The hobgoblin ran back into the thicket. Straight to his

death! Nomar thought in spiteful satisfaction. He has no chance against Ku’in Kaikal.

A fierce roar pierced the air with a tremendous burst of sound. A flash of brilliant light

ripped through the darkness, compressing into violent energy. Wind rushed inward from all

directions, and the sound of leaves shredding and branches snapping accompanied a snarling

scream of horror.

Then, silence.

Coughing away the blood pooling in his mouth, Nomar strained his neck to try and get a

better view of the battle’s aftermath. ‘Ku’in Kaikal,’ he groaned hoarsely, ‘I need help.’

Heavy, unhurried footfalls approached. ‘I am afraid your friend is indisposed and will not be

able to assist you.’

Nomar’s breath caught in his throat, and his body stiffened. No ... it cannot be! The

hobgoblin loomed into view, his yellow eyes simmering above a sneer, his chest plate spattered

with blood.

He reached down and closed the fingers of his left hand around Nomar’s throat, while his

right gripped the sword hilt. He pulled Nomar upright at the same time twisting the sword to

loosen it from the ground. Then, he proceeded to lift the sword, like a fisherman hefting his spear

after impaling his prey. Nomar gagged under the searing pain of his own weight tearing at his

wound. He grabbed the blade and gripped it with all his waning strength. It made no difference.

‘So, morwulf,’ the hobgoblin purred contemptuously, ‘how do you consider my attempts,

now?’

Nomar’s hopelessness burned to chaff under a flare of hatred. He sucked up a wad of blood

and spat it at the hobgoblin’s face. The hobgoblin’s scornful veneer blackened into rage. He

grabbed the front of Nomar’s shirt and pulled him further onto the sword, bringing him face-to-

face. Nomar gritted his teeth and groaned.

‘Even on the threshold of your deaths, you morwulves continue your nauseating air of

defiance!’ he hissed. ‘But your defiance will not save you. And your arrogance in your abilities

has proven your downfall.’

‘Who are you?’ Nomar growled weakly, struggling to hide his confusion and fear.

‘Ah yes, a question asked of one who sorely underestimated his opponent and is terrified by

such complete and utter defeat.’ The hobgoblin paused and scrutinised Nomar with a hard glare.

‘May these words burn into your very soul, morwulf, and your final moments be of wallowing in

terror and despair. I am Volten Vagel, Captain of the Ghoshmyl Legions, Warrior of the Hold,

and obedient servant to the Lord of Desolation. I know what you and your fellow escapees are

trying to keep from us. Unfortunately for you, such pitiful attempts to spirit it out of our reach

were doomed from the start. Nothing can escape the powers of Beruun Terrolaghn.’

An involuntary tremor of horror shook Nomar to his very core. Graethmere save us, the

Hold is still active! What evil has managed to reunite our fallen foes? And how do they know of

the dynast treasure?

Forcing a false bravado, Nomar took a ragged breath and snarled, ‘Boast and proclaim all

you want, but there shall be no surrender from us, and no victory for you. As we speak, our

Seksai has sent out wagons in flight. You have already failed!’

An expression of triumph twisted Vagel’s hideous face.

‘Now you see, little blue wolf—that is where you are wrong.’ His left hand reached into the

fold of his cloak and retrieved a small bronze sphere, studded with silver spikes. Nomar stared at

the object, gripped by a fear he did not understand. ‘The one craft you devious dogs rely on the

most to save you is now your undoing. No flight for your fellow fugitives is possible when your

own magic can be turned against you. Destruction drinks the blood of your company. You are the

one who has failed.’

With a cruel shove, he wrenched Nomar off the sword and tossed him to the ground. Pain

shot through his body like a thousand stabbing knives, sucking the breath out of his lungs.

Amidst the turmoil racking both mind and body, he realised the hobgoblin captain had turned

and walked away, leaving him to die in his despair. Writhing in the dirt, his hope drained out of

him like the pooling blood from his wound. A blotchy darkness crept into the corners of his

vision. Tears came as a bleary veil. ‘Maker, save us,’ he whispered over a sob.

The darkness claimed his sight, clawed into his mind, and smothered him.

– CHAPTER TWO –

THE TRANSFER

“Everything is of energy, and energy is of everything. The variations of these energies combining

are what makes up the realms of the existing and every law and form and living thing therein.

Regardless of the seemingly endless combinations known and understood, what is also

understood is that all energy is still entwined. Being so, the transfer of energies from one

combination to another is made possible. Thus, we have the power we call magic—the power

that really is only the ability to transfer energy from one combination into another.”

- Quoted by the soujor guardian of the Whintrii Royal Family, Epc’Dorrghan

Laeka’Draeon glanced at his dull reflection walking in sync with him along the surface of

the glass tiled throughout the narrow, high-ceilinged corridor. A stooped, brooding creature

glanced back. His eyes widened in surprise. Lifting his chin and arching his neck, he lightened

his steps and changed his expression to something less grim. A few paces ahead, Belzor led the

way back toward the entrance hall of Elenoelian.

The encounter with Imurainiir had shaken the young dragon and infected his thoughts with a

troubled restlessness. The visions played over in his mind like pieces of a barely-remembered

memory, haunting him with more than threads of frightening images. Hatred, betrayal, terror,

those feelings lingered, clinging like poisoned barbs. Whatever the prophecy pertained to, it was

nothing good.

In an effort to distract from such sobering contemplations, Laeka’Draeon focused on the

eventual meeting with the faerie queen, Lady Megandel. Where did she live? Would it be

difficult to secure an audience with her? And if he did meet with her, how could she use her

abilities to restore the prophecy? One question in particular prompted him to voice his curiosity.

‘Lord Belzor, if you believe Lady Megandel capable of delving into my mind and restoring the

visions of the prophecy ... do you think she may be able to restore my memories as well?’

Belzor turned around with a look of mild surprise. ‘You know, I hadn’t considered it. I

suppose, depending on what caused your memory loss, there could be a good chance Lady

Megandel will be able to restore your memories.’

Laeka’Draeon’s spirits lifted. ‘When do you think I will be able to go and see her?’

Belzor smiled. ‘All in good time,’ he replied. ‘But for now, we return to the outside world. I

have recently been informed through Soul Talk that the royal council has arrived from the

capital.’ He shook his head. ‘It certainly doesn’t take long for them to find out about my affairs.

And I suppose that means more than a span has passed since the joining with Imurainiir.’

Laeka’Draeon tripped over his paws. ‘What?’

‘Oh ...’ Belzor stopped walking and grinned awkwardly. ‘I forgot to mention the time shift

which occurs when Imurainiir is activated. But don’t worry; I left your friends in very capable

hands! I have no doubt they would have been informed of this happening—Maewren is far more

mindful of such details than I. I’m only sorry it slipped my mind to tell you.’

Laeka’Draeon frowned. ‘Anything else I should know?’

Belzor tipped his head back and laughed. ‘Only that I have a subjective council to deal with

and you have a reunion with your friends.’

A gust of air startled Laeka’Draeon, and he looked up to see a sky veiled in the fading light

of sundown. With the sun below the horizon, stars were beginning their routine appearance.

Stepping out from Elenoelian’s massive doorway, he followed Belzor along the balcony to where

seven dignified-looking centaurs stood watching them with great interest.

Laeka’Draeon did not require an official introduction to know who they were.

A decorous, slimly built individual with moon-white fur was the first to step forward in

greeting. ‘It is well to see you again, Young Master,’ he said in a soft voice, inclining his head to

Belzor. His sharp blue eyes fixed onto Laeka’Draeon. ‘And a rare honour to make your

acquaintance, young dragon.’

Laeka’Draeon dipped his head, too unsure to say anything.

‘On behalf of His and Her Majesties of the Gelian Realm, I welcome you.’ The white

centaur tilted his head respectfully, his long silver hair swaying forward with his movement. ‘I

am Roetwin, chief advisor to the rulers of this kingdom, and at present, their representative for

this occasion.’

Once the first introduction was made, the rest followed. The other council members

included the chief court counsellor Lord Xalcore, the two civilian governors, Sur Beaubon and

Sur Fyde, the administrator of regional affairs, Lady Rebaenell, and warfare tactician, Sur Tain.

‘Rest assured, young Sky King, all will be well,’ Rebaenell said, smiling warmly. ‘We are

here to help you.’

Laeka’Draeon smiled back, encouraged.

The seventh—and most fearsomely impressive—member placed a large hand on his chest

and bowed. ‘I am Rardius Arradaught, general of His and Her Majesty’s Centaurion Army, and

for this sundark, your temporary escort. I am to accompany you to the Waiting Tree, where you

may rest until further notice, undisturbed by the festival crowds.’

‘Right,’ Laeka’Draeon replied, surprised his voice sounded so calm when his insides were

reeling. A general? They have assigned a military general to escort me! Why would they do

something like that?

‘There is nothing to worry about, Laeka’Draeon,’ assured Belzor, likely sensing his

discomfort. ‘The general offered his time freely and under no secret obligation from the council.

He will also see to it Lady Ubi and the others are informed of your return.’

Laeka’Draeon nodded and smiled, the thought of seeing his friends again abating his

uneasiness. General Rardius stepped forward, his muscular arm gesturing for Laeka’Draeon to

follow. He complied and began to descend the broad stairway, pausing briefly to glance back at

Belzor.

The council members moved off toward Elenoelian’s entrance. Belzor hesitated, his

expression distant and weary. For the briefest of moments, the handsome centaur looked cycles

older, his countenance shadowed by an oppressive weight. A passing breath and the mood

vanished under a calm and steady smile. The prophet turned and followed his fellow leaders.

Laeka’Draeon faced forward and resumed pace with his escort.

‘Can I ask you something, General?’ Even as the question left his mouth, he wondered if it

were his place to ask.

‘Speak your mind, young Sky Prince,’ Rardius replied.

Too late to avoid saying anything now.

‘Misht’thurelin is bound to a position of great importance,’ he said, ‘but do you not think

expecting so much from one individual would be too ... well, harmful? He always seems in high

spirits, but at some point that would have to be forced, wouldn’t it? I can only imagine how

troubled he must feel at this time, with everything that’s been happening ...’

Rardius’ expression remained neutral. ‘Your concern for the Young Master is admirable, but

unnecessary. He is far more stout-hearted and strong of spirit than many consider him. Certainly,

the affairs and issues placed upon his shoulders are significantly more than most would ever deal

with in their lives, but rest assured he is capable enough to handle himself. The Imurainiir sensed

this strength in him, which I believe was why it chose him over his older brother.’

I remember Belzor mentioning his brother, Laeka’Draeon recalled. Now he was curious

about their relationship. ‘Does his brother begrudge him such an inheritance?’

The general shook his head. ‘Calzor has never shown any disillusion or distain towards the

Young Master for being chosen. The legacy of Imurainiir is not one decided by age or rank. The

Young Master was chosen as the next Misht’thurelin at the age of twelve usels. Due to such an

early initiation, the brothers rarely spent time with each other, and as a result, have never been

close. Calzor became a wandering bard, while the Young Master remained in Caprine, under the

tuition of his grandfather and the Spiritual Elders.’

It must have been a lonely childhood, he thought, saddened for Belzor. Aloud he asked,

‘Does he ... regret being chosen as the Misht’thurelin?’

General Rardius looked directly at him, his dark eyes pensive. ‘I do not know,’ he said.

‘There is always an occasion for one to regret one’s duty, or inheritance, or choice. The Young

Master, however, firmly believes that holding onto what could have been only hinders one from

pressing forward and choosing well the decisions waiting to be made.’

Laeka’Draeon nodded. I suppose if you begin to regret decisions you make, eventually

you’ll be afraid to make decisions altogether for fear of disappointment. That is something I

refuse to do! Even if I end up making mistakes, I don’t want to live my life with hesitation. No

regrets—that’s how it needs to be.

‘Come now,’ Rardius continued, ‘such topics are better left for more serious times. Once I

have seen you to the Waiting Tree, I shall look into reuniting you with your companions.’

Thoughts of his friends lightened Laeka’Draeon’s mood, and he lifted his paws at a more

enthusiastic pace.

At the base of the stairs, two sentinels garbed in matching leather armour and holding

bronze-tipped ceremonial spears stood at the ready. When Laeka’Draeon and the general passed

between them, they bowed deeply before stepping around and following. Laeka’Draeon thought

the additional escort was entirely unnecessary ... until crowds from the festival noticed and began

to gather. Although the viewers remained at a polite distance, their attention made Laeka’Draeon

edgy. He fixed his gaze forward to avoid eye contact.

Ahead, a large evergreen tree with spreading branches and large, circular foliage loomed. As

they approached, Laeka’Draeon felt the workings of a mysterious force, and when he passed

underneath its shadow, energy pattered over him like invisible rain. Turning to see if the crowds

still followed, he found the view distorted by a shimmering, semi-transparent curtain of energy,

circling the tree’s outer fringe.

Rardius turned his attention to Laeka’Draeon. ‘As you may have guessed, this is the Waiting

Tree. Whilst under here, no one can see or hear you, and none are to enter without my sanction.

You will be free to observe the celebrations without concern of being on display, and these two

guards will remain here to be of service to you, should you require anything.’

Laeka’Draeon nodded and smiled. ‘Thank you, General.’ As he watched, the crowds—now

robbed of their spectacle—began to disperse. He sighed with a buoyant sense of relief.

‘I shall leave you for a time, Sky Prince,’ Rardius said with a bow. ‘Once I find your

company, I shall return with them.’ Stepping away, his large outline blended into the shadows

beyond the veil.

– CHAPTER THREE –

BIDING

Moonlight, still bright, through woodlands do I stow.

Lone time, insect chime, downriver wind does blow.

Cradlings, maiden sings, bridge crossing there she bide.

Gatherer, heart astir, where longing need not hide.

Ecstasy, ardour free, true love we now can share.

Passionate, union set, our biding brought us there.

- A song called The Eloper’s Love

‘Yeeooowwwwngh,’ Norf yawned as loudly and unceremoniously as possible before

stretching his arms out in a slow circle and folding them back under his head. With one hairy leg

crossed over the other, the satyr lay on the grass, gazing with boredom at the pink and orange

sunset sky. Idly he wondered how long Maikor was going to be, surely helping the two Sheddly

brothers gather firewood did not require more than an hour.

Fargo lingered nearby, half hidden in a patch of reed grass, its amethyst eyes twinkling with

indecipherable intensity. To Norf’s exasperation, not once had it left his side, despite all his

efforts to dismiss it. He ended up pretending to ignore it.

Not far from the Spirit Message’s nest, Ubi sat with her attention fixed on Maewren: a

disciple of the Misht’thurelin who had been assigned as their hostess during Laeka’Draeon’s

absence.

Admittedly, Norf could not have been more pleased by the choice. He had seen a lot of

centaurs in his lifetime, but few matched the poetic descriptions of physical exquisiteness as

Maewren Gennedew. If she had been a nymph, he would have been bewitched in an instant.

Like a white lotus on a still, black lake, she exhibited a serene and delicate beauty. Her

cascade of long, straight hair and lean, contoured equine body were as dark as a moonless

sundark, a potent contrast to the pale shade of her skin. The only colours amongst such bleak

tones were the pastel lilac of the garment laced around her torso and the pooling sapphire blue of

her eyes.

Just being in proximity to Maewren was enough to stay Norf’s impatience and boredom ...

at first. As the hours turned to spans, however, the distraction of a beautiful form and eloquent

speech dissipated in the wake of growing frustration. It was nearing the end of the second

sunspan since Laeka’Draeon’s leave, and there had been no news on what was happening in

regards to the young dragon’s meeting with the Misht’thurelin.

The sunspan spent sightseeing was a reasonably diverting exercise, although at present the

group reclined at the top of a hill overlooking the spires of Elenoelian and its lush grounds.

While the others may have appreciated the time spent enjoying their own activities—or lack

thereof—the lull left Norf with nothing to do but mull over his internal annoyances and growing

restlessness at the increasing activity in the glade below.

Dozens of centaurs moved back and forth, distributing firewood, banners, crates, and other

assortments in preparation for the impending festival. A blinking trail of flaming torches lit a

route into the woods, where voices carried beneath the leafy shadows and ram horns signalled

announcements in sequenced intervals. The event was apparently a last-minute undertaking in

honour of the royal council arriving from the capital city of Wylagel.

News of Laeka’Draeon’s arrival must have travelled fast. Norf could only imagine what a

stir it caused in the royal courts; evidently quite a whirlwind, since the king considered it

necessary to send members of his own council to investigate the matter. Although he knew it was

really none of his business, Norf could not help but feel prickles of displeasure at the prospect of

the whole thing turning into a political affair.

That particular annoyance finally tipped him over the edge. ‘Oh, for pixie-cat’s sake!’ he

bleated, and launched himself upright. ‘How much longer is this prophecy thing gonna take?

Can’t we just go down there and wander around until Laeka’Draeon comes back? I’m so sick of

waiting!’

Ubi frowned. ‘Maewren has already explained the situation to us—more than once, if you

recall. If the Misht’thurelin summoned his powers to try and obtain prophetic insight for

Laeka’Draeon, a time distortion would have enveloped them. Spans could pass for us, while for

Laeka’Draeon it would only seem like an hour or so. How many times does it need to be

explained to you?’

‘I wasn’t asking you, Cream Puff,’ Norf retorted, irritated by her pretentious tone. He could

not argue what she said, though.

‘I am sorry you have to wait like this,’ said Maewren, ‘but for now we are to bide our time

and allow preparations for the festival to be made. We may join in once the festivities have

begun, and you can be assured a summons will find its way to us, once news of Laeka’Draeon is

known.’

Norf sighed loudly, making a point to sound exasperated, although that emotion had

dwindled. I suppose I can endure this for a little bit longer if it means feasting and revelry aren’t

too far off.

‘So,’ Ubi said after a short pause, ‘when Laeka’Draeon returns from speaking with the

Misht’thurelin, will the council wish to speak with him, also?’ She looked worried.

Maewren gave her a reassuring smile. ‘As eager as the council may be to set their

investigative sights on Laeka’Draeon, they would never forget propriety by forcing direct

involvement from him. I believe their intentions for coming here are to discuss matters with the

Misht’thurelin.’ She turned and looked over the activity in the glade below. Her expression grew

contemplative.

Standing up and shaking herself off, Ubi moved to her side. ‘I really do hope

Laeka’Draeon’s meeting goes well for him.’ She sighed. ‘We have begun this quest to find his

kind, but we really have nothing to go on.’

‘Try not to worry, Ubi,’ Maewren said. ‘I am certain something helpful will come from this.

Once the Misht’thurelin sets his heart on a matter, he does everything in his power to see it

through.’

Norf expelled a snort and folded his arms. ‘No offence, Sweet Fur, but the idea of you and

Laeka’Draeon traversing the countryside, hoping to find something none of the powers of any of

the eleven kingdoms have managed, is rather absurd.’

‘Well, at least I am endeavouring to help Laeka’Draeon,’ she rebutted. ‘This is his desire,

and I think it noble and brave. Sitting back in snide apathy will certainly not solve anything.’

‘Gestk, keep your horn on! I’m simply giving you an uninvolved outside opinion.’

‘I shall ask for your outside opinion, when I feel it relevant.’ She huffed and haughtily

turned away from him.

He wanted nothing more than to give her rump a good hard kick. It was usually not what she

said that irked him—it was how she said it. So deijech stuck-up!

Maewren cleared her throat. ‘I would agree with Norf, if I felt relaying our recent findings

to the other kingdoms would prove beneficial to the investigation of Klonnoth Aire. However, it

will likely only hinder Laeka’Draeon in his quest, as officials from across Valadae will vie for

his presence.

‘That brings us to the subject of the widespread exposure of Laeka’Draeon. We do not yet

know if an enemy is somehow involved in the dragons’ disappearance, and if so, what their

intention is. Revealing Laeka’Draeon in a public manner could unintentionally put him in

danger, which is the last thing we want. Such reasons are why the council is gathering, I believe.

They will determine how the centaurs can most effectively help you and Laeka’Draeon in your

quest.’

Ubi’s eyes shone with admiration. ‘I am already grateful beyond words for the help you

have given us, Lady Maewren. The Sheddly brothers have been wonderfully helpful too, and

certainly not least of all, Lord Bezylin. Speaking of which ... where is he? He never returned

after escorting Laeka’Draeon back to Elenoelian.’

Maewren’s fingers curled around the pendant adorning her neck. For the first time she

appeared unsure of what to say. ‘You are right ... I guess he—well, I suppose he was called away

to some other duty ... perhaps—’

From the woods behind them, the shrill crow of a mifflin broke over her stumbling words.

Maikor glided from the tree line, his arms wrapped around a bundle of kindling.

‘See what Maikor brings!’ he cawed cheerfully. ‘Worked hard Maikor did with Brother

Centaurs to bring wood for the celebrations.’

‘The thrills abound, Maikor,’ Norf droned, uninterested.

Swooping to land, the mifflin dropped his load, unwittingly disturbing Fargo’s nest in the

process. The Spirit Message shot away, hissing.

Not long after, the Sheddly brothers emerged from the wooded border, their leather packs

stacked high with branches and brushwood.

Ferule and Chase were identical twins, a rare occurrence in centaur bloodlines. They bore an

impressive symmetry, not merely in the matching chestnut fur and sandy-brown hair, but also in

physique, mannerisms, and voice. Only Chase’s dark-russet left eye kept the pair from being

impossible to tell apart.

‘Mae!’ Chase called with dramatic affection as he cantered closer, his arms outstretched.

‘Your gallant steeds have returned to you, with offerings of exceptional worth.’

‘Aye,’ Ferule added, closing in behind, ‘and through many hardships and fierce battles,

opposed by wilderness and rain, we fought to retrieve that which you desire.’

‘It was very considerate for the three of you to volunteer gathering wood for the festival,’

Maewren replied, amused. ‘But should you not be taking it down to add to the pyres?’

‘Ah, of course,’ Ferule replied, exaggerating his frown. ‘But do you really insist on sending

us from your sight so soon? So cold, so dismissive of our affection, how deep the wound is cut!’

‘It’s not like they’ll be missing our humble little contribution just yet,’ Chase grinned,

finally throwing off the facade.

Maewren laughed. ‘I suppose not.’

Ubi glanced from one Sheddly brother to the next, looking faintly saddened. ‘I suppose once

you both leave to help with the preparations, we may not have the chance to spend more time

together. You were called to Elenoelian as part of a soldier’s escort, correct?’

‘We may have come here as vanguard escorts,’ Chase said.

‘But we’ve found a more fulfilling purpose,’ added Ferule.

They exchanged matching grins and turned to Maewren, cueing the explanation.

‘Ferule and Chase have generously offered to lend their time and services to the three of

you,’ she said. ‘And will stand in service to Laeka’Draeon as well, when he returns.’

Ubi and Maikor exchanged looks of thrilled surprise. Norf folded his arms and sniffed,

wondering if there was a catch.

‘Delighted to serve a divinely lovely unicorn.’ Chase bowed deeply.

‘And her queer little band of followers,’ Ferule tossed in, his hazel eyes glinting.

Norf stiffened and glared at the older brother, but Ferule deliberately ignored him and went

on. ‘We’ll also stay to escort you to your sleeping quarters in Elenoelian’s guest chambers when

you’ve had enough of the celebrations.’

‘Well, you won’t need to worry about me.’ Norf puffed out his chest. ‘Satyrs were born to

be festive! And if your revelries are anything like the ones in Para-Cape, I’ll be the last one

standing at the crack of sunrise!’

Chase leaned in to his brother. ‘Or the first one falling beside a vat of wine,’ he said behind

his hand, making no effort to whisper. Ferule snorted.

Angry heat rushed to Norf’s face, but before he could retaliate, Maewren intervened in her

well-timed manner. ‘The festival will serve as an introduction only. The main focus will be the

assembly of the council. It is my hope that they come to a decision quickly, and not delay things

with political complications.’ Turning, she looked toward the western sky, where the sun had left

a smudge of orange beneath an awning of pale pink and purple-grey. ‘I feel we may be

underestimating the time left to prepare.’

Cynical, Norf arched his brows and said, ‘Before what, exactly? You centaurs are expecting

something big to happen, aren’t you? Why not warn the rest of Valadae before they’re all kicked

headfirst into some Maker-forsaken mess?’

Maewren hesitated. ‘Well ... that in itself is a complication.’

‘It’s all right, love.’ Ferule stepped forward. ‘Chase and I will handle this interrogation.’

‘I’m not interrogating her!’ Norf bleated angrily. ‘I only want to know what’s going on—

what it is you centaurs know and are not telling us!’

‘Well, you’ve struck the nut right on its shell the first time,’ said Chase through a lazy smile.

‘We centaurs don’t know enough to tell everyone else.’ He shrugged at the useless revelation and

folded his arms.

‘Sure, we’ve spied that Klonnoth Aire’s magic is fading,’ continued Ferule, ‘and that

dastardly creatures are springing up all over the place ever since the dragons fell into a helix of

thin air, but who with a working brain hasn’t?’

Chase nodded. ‘The problem is no one really knows why or how they are happening. To

gallop around the kingdoms yelling that some catastrophic doom is coming isn’t going to win us

any votes of confidence, you know.’

‘Our lack of facts is the primary reason for our hesitation,’ Maewren explained in a more

sensible manner. ‘We know little of the stirrings beyond the borders of Klonnoth Aire, other than

rumours and unreliable reports of unusual activity—which may or may not have some relation to

the old enemies of the War of Shores. We do not know if there is a link to Klonnoth Aire, or a

link between the dragons’ disappearance and the restlessness of wicked entities throughout

Valadae. It is all this information which we do not yet know that poses the greatest problem.

Nevertheless, you can be assured our leaders have made this information their top priority—

especially now that Laeka’Draeon has been discovered.’

‘With so much unknown, I hope Laeka’Draeon’s meeting with the Misht’thurelin will give

us something to start with.’ Ubi sighed, her gaze straying to the looming silhouette of Elenoelian.

‘I wonder how he is fairing.’

‘Perhaps you may feel at ease if you asked him yourself, young Goldling,’ said a deep,

strong voice from behind.

Startled, everyone spun around.

Out from the sundown shadows emerged a tall, robustly built centaur of a fearsome and

stern calibre. His equine half was a muddy bay colour, with a cropped tail and feathery fetlocks

as black as charred wood. His short, russet hair set off a well-defined frame around his hardened,

tanned face, where eyes as dark and deep as wells glanced over the group with authority.

Maewren approached the impressive stranger, her hands cupped modestly. ‘General

Rardius, it is indeed an honour.’ She bowed her head.

‘More-so mine, Lady Gennedew.’

Maewren turned to the others. ‘General, may I introduce Ubi, Goldling filly of the Omet

Woods, Norf of the Wood Musicians, Maikor of Muurnwood and Laeka’Draeon’s Spirit

Message, Fargo. Everyone, this is General Rardius Arradaught of the Centaurion Armies.’

The brothers synchronised their bow to their superior. ‘No need for us to make an

introduction, right, General?’ Ferule said unceremoniously.

‘Sheddlys,’ Rardius murmured in acknowledgement, his tone hinting at a mild displeasure.

He directed his attention to the rest of the group. ‘I am here to escort you to the glade of

Elenoelian. The members of the royal council arrived a short while ago, and the Young Master

has returned with the Sky King.’

He motioned with his arm toward a steep rise on the side of the hill behind them. Several

pale blue lanterns bobbed into view, hooked to long white rods and held above the heads of the

centaur attendants who carried them.

‘Now, if you would kindly follow me,’ he added. ‘The undertakings of the sundark will

commence.’

– CHAPTER FOUR –

REUNION

“By sunspan I am bound to searching, to striving and to seizing, fated to withhold my true

ambitions, while the whims of my masters Time, Age and Fear mistreat and misguide me. Yet

come the blessed sundark, I withdraw into my sleep, where in my dreams, I am reunited with my

hopes for better spans to come.”

- A proverb of regret from the memoirs of the famous philosopher, Ghan Kennisiel

Despite the distractions of scents and sounds pulsing from the festival, Laeka’Draeon

noticed at once the group emerging from the woodlands nearby. Lanterns bobbed above their

heads, toted on tall, hooked rods, casting them in a spectral blue light. Familiar impressions

coloured the extended reaches of his senses: gleaming and sun-kissed, grounded and root-garbed,

fluttery and wind-curled. Laeka’Draeon jumped to attention.

Ubi was the first to pass through the Waiting Tree’s veil, closely followed by Norf, Maikor

and Fargo. After the time spent in quiet waiting, their commotion was quite startling, and yet

Laeka’Draeon could not help but join it.

Beyond the shimmering veil, the lantern bearers dutifully moved away, leaving behind four

individuals. After a moment, they stepped into the Waiting Tree’s magic and stood in an orderly

row. In addition to General Rardius, there were two athletically built centaurs with identical

grinning faces and an elegant and hauntingly beautiful centauride.

‘So, Laeka’Draeon,’ Ubi said excitedly, ‘how did your meeting with the Misht’thurelin go?’

Before he could reply, Rardius cleared his throat to garner everyone’s attention and sent a

nod in the direction of the two sentinels. Bowing dutifully, they quietly dismissed themselves

from the gathering.

‘I will tell you later,’ Laeka’Draeon whispered to her, and she nodded.

‘Sky Prince,’ Rardius said, ‘may I introduce you to Ferule and Chase, the brothers of

Sheddly, and the Lady Maewren Gennedew.’

Laeka’Draeon grinned at the twins and politely bowed his head to Maewren.

Her face blossomed with a smile. ‘It is an honour to finally meet you, Laeka’Draeon. Your

companions have spoken very highly of you.’

His eyes instinctively went to Ubi, and she met his gaze with cheerful poise. ‘Lady

Maewren has been with us during your absence and has been such a courteous hostess.

Furthermore, she is one of the Misht’thurelin’s disciples, so it truly has been an honour!’

‘Really?’ Laeka’Draeon looked at Maewren more keenly. If she is Belzor’s disciple that

means she knows ...

‘Ah, it seems I made it in time to contribute to this merry reunion!’ said a cheerful voice.

Laeka’Draeon’s thoughts scattered, and he turned his head to find Belzor stepping into

view. Everyone started talking at once, although the Sheddlys’ louder volume made them heard

above the others.

‘Bez!’ they chorused. ‘Glad you could join us.’

‘I’m quite glad of it myself,’ Belzor replied, grinning.

The prophet turned to Maewren and his expression softened. She met his gaze with a strange

tentativeness, and in the moment before breaking eye contact, Laeka’Draeon sensed a silent

exchange pass between them.

A hiss near the base of the tree drew his attention. Fargo lurked between the surface roots,

its eyes staring upward at the boughs as if upset by all the excitement and clamour.

General Rardius made a stern noise and the commotion abated. ‘Young Master, should you

not be with the council at this time? What has prompted you to come here?’

Belzor smiled. ‘You should know better than to ask me that question, General. I relayed all I

was able to, warned them not to make premature assumptions, and out of consideration for their

expectations, forced myself to stay and listen to their reaction, before promptly making an excuse

to leave.’

Rardius grunted in amusement and folded his arms. ‘I suppose I can’t blame you. Political

discussions were never tolerable to me either.’

Suppressing a chuckle, Belzor turned to Ubi, Maikor and Norf. ‘I apologise for the long wait

on your part, and I thank you for your patience. The council is here to form constructive

decisions concerning Laeka’Draeon. For now, the weight of the matter rests with them.’

‘You do not need to apologise, Lord Bez,’ Ubi said. ‘We understand how important it all is.’

Her eyes lit up. ‘Oh, but I must tell you how wonderful Lady Maewren has been to us!’

Maewren blushed and dedicated her attention to the lace on her lilac garment.

‘She was exceptionally helpful,’ Ubi continued, ‘and gave us a tour of the temple gardens,

the hot springs, and the Sage Monolith! And while I was anxious to see Laeka’Draeon again, our

time waiting was well spent and most enjoyable.’

Norf issued a snort and rolled his eyes.

Belzor smiled broadly. ‘It sounds as though I left you in capable hands. But I expected

nothing less from the Lady Gennedew.’ His expression relaxed as he regarded her; there was

something hopeful yet regretful in his eyes. ‘And how are you, dear Lady?’

‘I am well, Teacher. Laeka’Draeon’s friends were a pleasure to care for. I am honoured I

was chosen to be of service to them.’

Ubi gasped. ‘Hold on, did you say “Teacher”?’

Chase squinted slyly in Belzor’s direction. ‘Ooohhh, that’s right—the pretty little unicorn

and her quirky cohorts wouldn’t know about you, Bez.’

‘Hey, watch it!’ Norf huffed.

Ubi exchanged puzzled looks with Maikor before looking back at Chase. ‘What do you

mean?’

Chase glanced at his brother. A peculiar gleam flashed in their eyes. ‘Well, Bez, as you call

him,’ he began.

‘Or as he wanted you to know him,’ added Ferule.

Together they chorused, ‘Has been keeping a little secret from you!’

All eyes fixed on Belzor.

In a gesture of awkwardness, Belzor rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. ‘Ah, yes ...

about that. It slipped my mind the three of you were never told.’

‘Told what?’ Norf demanded.

‘Well, when I said I was taking Laeka’Draeon to meet with the Misht’thurelin ... I actually

meant I was taking him to speak with me.’

Electrified silence charged the air. Ubi and Maikor stood rooted to the spot, wonderstruck.

Norf looked completely dumbfounded.

‘Are—are you s-serious?’ he stammered. ‘All this time ... you ... you are the

Misht’thurelin!’ His eyes glazed over and he swayed unsteadily.

‘Norf, it’s quite all right!’ Belzor cried, holding back a swell of laughter. The Sheddly twins

guffawed with gusto, which quickly provoked the satyr to glare censoriously in their direction.

Without warning, a noisy disturbance erupted from above. Twigs snapped and leaves

fluttered in spirals as two ghostly blurs darted through the branches, one relentlessly harrowing

the other.

Laeka’Draeon recognised the hunter’s shiny amethyst eyes as belonging to Fargo. The

hunted was another Spirit Message.

– CHAPTER FIVE –

THE HARBINGER

“How can they prepare for what is to come, unless they know of it beforehand? Yet how will they

know, unless they are told? And how will they be told, unless they are sent a harbinger? The

omen must fly swiftly ahead of its subject, like the changing of the wind before a storm, lest the

purpose of its warning fall void.”

- Quoted by Talveer Air-whisperer of the nomadic Wind Crux Clan

The second Spirit Message shot toward the gathering and took cover between Ubi’s legs.

She squealed in surprise and stiffened. Fargo swooped down and hovered close, its growl glassy

and biting.

‘Another Spirit Message, caroo chekka!’ squawked Maikor. ‘Who could it be from, Maikor

wonders?’

Fargo spat out an angry hiss; its target quivered agitatedly.

‘Gestk, what’s with Fargo acting like a lunatic?’ said Norf.

Laeka’Draeon jumped to Ubi’s rescue. ‘Fargo, back off!’ he growled. ‘Let the other Spirit

Message do its work.’

Fargo discharged an irate fizz, somersaulted up into the shadows of the Waiting Tree’s

branches. Laeka’Draeon shook his head.

Ubi sighed in relief as the new arrival drifted away from her and bobbed over to Rardius. No

longer distorted by panic, its shape was discernible as a falcon with gleaming green eyes.

‘General Rardius of the Centaurion Armies,’ it whistled. ‘I have urgent news from the

Western Watch Hills. I beseech you listen to this message as soon as possible.’

Rardius’ expression hardened. ‘Speak now and tell me the news you bring.’

Everyone gathered into a closed circle. The air grew tense with intrigue.

The falcon Spirit Message spread its wings and burst apart into separate slivers of raw

manna. The slivers curled in glittering arcs before fusing back together and reforming into a

ghostly visage of the face and shoulders of a centaur.

‘General, I pray this message reaches you swiftly. I am Major Setek Ghelfawn of your

fourth division, Sir, and am recording this message from the sentry lookout along the north-

western ridge between the borders of Caprine and Raegelian. Sir, I have no idea where they came

from! One moment the lowlands were peaceful, and the next—’ Distracted by something off to

the right, the messenger glanced away. A silvery flash brightened the Message as two centaurs

rushed passed. Shouts rang from the darkness. Ghelfawn muttered under his breath before

returning to the Message. ‘I do not know how it is possible. Here, see for yourself.’

The image swirled and warped, before sharpening back into focus, capturing a view of a

distant valley. Hills translated into sloped folds of metallic shadows, and the forest fringe on the

left was a spiny, charcoal smudge. Illumed by their manna, a swarm of living entities marched

toward the forest border as small pricks of silvery-white light slowly shifting across the glassy

shadows. Above the lights, several large blots followed in sweeping circles.

The image abruptly blurred back to Setek Ghelfawn. ‘Sir, it must be devilry! A small army

of hobgoblins is on the march. And they have a full unit of ghoshmyls!’

Startled reactions rippled throughout the group under the Waiting Tree even as the message

continued.

‘The Raegelian forest lies in the path of their advancement, but they are still dangerously

close to Caprine’s north-western borders. The villages of Hethel and Rhimvale rest on those

outskirts. Sir, if the horde spreads out, there could be a massacre.’ Ghelfawn placed a fist over

his chest in closing salute. ‘General Rardius, those of us at the western ridges shall assemble

immediately at the gates of Genuiltorn and await your orders. I will seal this message promptly

and pray it reaches you post-haste.’

The image shuddered and broke apart before reforming into the falcon. ‘Message

successfully given,’ it clicked, ruffling its quicksilver feathers. ‘General Rardius, have I fulfilled

my calling?’

A brooding intensity burned in the general’s eyes. The pause before his reply was like a

smothering fog. ‘Yes, your task is done,’ he muttered distractedly.

The falcon nodded in acknowledgement and spread its wings. Its form disintegrated into a

mesmerising shower of glittering manna and faded away.

A breathless pause followed.

Belzor turned to the general. ‘Rardius, you must—’

‘—say no more, Young Master. I know what needs to be done.’ Without another word,

Rardius galloped in the direction of Elenoelian. An ominous silence lingered in his wake.

A hiss sounded from the shadows where amethyst eyes gleamed. In one swift swoop, Fargo

flew over to Laeka’Draeon and hovered beside him, cocking its head for any signs of the

intruding Spirit Message.

‘This sounds serious,’ muttered Ferule.

Chase shook his head. ‘How could this happen?’

‘I don’t believe it.’ Norf grimaced. ‘It’s not possible.’

‘Ghoshmyls,’ Ubi whispered and instinctively shrunk behind Laeka’Draeon. ‘How could

they have crossed the barrier of Klonnoth Aire? Surely the towers have not fallen so quickly.’

Maikor ruffled his feathers. ‘Caroo, what if Towers have fallen? What is to be done?’

‘Best we not jump to that conclusion yet,’ said Belzor. With tightly folded arms and

furrowed brow, he exhibited an unnerving seriousness. ‘Evidence of Klonnoth Aire’s demise

would come to us in a more substantial way—not to mention news from the northern kingdoms

would have already reached us if invasions from beyond North-Earth were occurring. Major

Ghelfawn was caught off guard by the appearance of the horde. And they could not have passed

through the other kingdoms without detection unless ... unless they were invisible.’

Chase coughed as though he had gulped in too much air. ‘Hold on, invisible? How is that

possible? Hobgoblins aren’t Denin. They couldn’t cast a spell to dry their drool, let alone cloak a

small army!’

‘As if hobgoblins and ghoshmyls weren’t enough,’ bleated Norf. ‘Now you’re suggesting

they’re able to use spells to sneak around and pop up wherever they please?’

‘But why here?’ Maewren murmured. Her question drew everyone’s attention. ‘An armed

force moves by stealth into the deepest parts of the south where the largest Valadilian army

resides. It makes no sense. They cannot possibly hope to accomplish a successful disabling

campaign. Their numbers are too small.’

Belzor’s expression darkened. ‘There is a greater power at work here. Something aids the

hobgoblins in a way that far exceeds their own tactical prowess. I fear we may have terribly

underestimated whatever forces are stirring within Beruun Terrolaghn.’

Tension within the group spiked.

‘You shouldn’t call that place by its true name, Bez,’ Ferule said tightly. ‘That name is

damned. They say speaking it can invoke a curse.’

‘It is true that words hold great power,’ Belzor replied, ‘but so do thoughts. I do not fear that

place, even in my thoughts. And neither should you. Fear will only give it more power.’

‘But still, why come here?’ asked Laeka’Draeon. ‘Wouldn’t they try to attack the kingdoms

closest to their domain first? By coming this far south they have surrounded and trapped

themselves on all sides.’

‘You have a point there, little Sky King,’ Ferule said as he scratched his chin. ‘It would take

tens of thousands to lay siege to any of the prominent kingdoms of Valadae effectively, least of

all against the Centaurion army.’

‘I ... do not believe their intention is to lay siege,’ said Maewren, and her solemn, beautiful

voice sent the group into a puzzled silence. ‘Major Ghelfawn observed the hobgoblins were

indeed close to our borders. But they were not marching on Caprine. They were marching on

Raegelian.’

Norf set his hands on his hips and frowned. ‘Why in Abyss would they march into the

Raegelian forest? There’s nothin’ but creepy trees and cranky nymphs livin’ there.’

‘Not so, Norf,’ said Maewren. ‘The sacred Olmu Glade of the faeries lies at the heart of

Raegelian.’

The satyr handed her a blank look. ‘So? The hobgoblins wouldn’t be after a bunch of

twittery faeries.’

‘Not all of their kind,’ said Belzor, his frown deepening. ‘There is only one worthy of their

attention.’

He glanced at Laeka’Draeon, and the look in his eyes was one of grave comprehension.

Laeka’Draeon shook his head, not wanting to believe it. ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘It can’t be. You

don’t mean—’

‘—Yes, I’m afraid so. There could be only one reason the hobgoblins would risk such an

absurd tactic. They are targeting Lady Megandel.’

The already high tension crashed like a breaking wave.

‘What!’ exclaimed Chase and Ferule.

‘What ... What ... What ...’ Fargo echoed, darting around in agitation.

‘You mean they plan to murder the queen of the faeries?’ Ubi gasped.

‘That is my belief, yes,’ said Belzor. ‘It may appear an impossible mission, what with the

denizens of the Raegelian realm to contend with. But if the hobgoblins are aided by others

skilled enough to create enormous Continuous spells, there are likely more terrible powers at

their disposal.’

‘We have to warn her!’ Ubi cried.

‘We have to do something,’ said Laeka’Draeon.

Norf snorted. ‘What can we do? The Centaurions will be onto it soon enough. Those greasy,

pig-fanged brutes probably won’t make it to the Nymph Realm, let alone the Olmu Glade.’

‘While we appreciate your unflinching confidence in us,’ said Ferule, ‘I’d wager it would

still be courteous to inform our neighbours of their nasty visitors.’

‘Bez?’ Chase turned to Belzor, his expression questioning.

Belzor shook his head, still wandering his own thoughts. ‘Something does not fit,’ he

muttered. ‘Even with new powers, the hobgoblins will have a near impossible task to make it

past Raegelian’s defences. What am I missing ...?’ He looked up abruptly. ‘I need to check

something. Maewren, please watch over them until I return.’

The Sheddly brothers exchanged questioning expressions. ‘Er, and us?’

‘I would appreciate your continued support, dear friends,’ he said, ‘but if the vanguard

summons you, you must answer.’

They nodded and shrugged, obviously happy to oblige.

As Belzor turned to leave, Laeka’Draeon called out, ‘Lord Belzor, what about Lady

Megandel?’

Belzor glanced over his shoulder. ‘I’m starting to wonder if Lady Megandel is who we

really need to worry about.’

– CHAPTER SIX –

DECISIONS, DISTORTIONS AND DISOBEDIENCE

Decided is the path our feet tread this restless sundark.

Distorted are our ears to listen to the truth in hark.

Disobeyed are the warnings of the strong, sincere and wise,

For in our youth and ignorance, we fail to see demise.

- The seventeenth proverb of Ytani Wushemila, Priestess of the Sanrai Temple during the

third sentyde of the Age of Discord

The tension in the air made Laeka’Draeon edgy. Even the cheerful ambience of the festival

offered no distraction from it. He had never felt so restless before and being restricted to the

Waiting Tree only agitated the emotion. Unable to keep still, he paced until the grass beneath his

paws turned to pulp.

Sensing more than one set of eyes following him, he glanced at the others. Ubi’s worried

expression caught his eye.

‘Must you really pace like that, Laeka’Draeon?’ she asked. ‘You are making me nervous.’

‘Sorry,’ he muttered and forced his legs to stop. ‘I feel I should be doing something.’

‘We are doing something,’ Norf said as he tucked his arms behind his head. ‘We’re kicking

back and keeping our hooves clean of this whole mess. Although, a far better something would

be to join in the festivities, but seeing as we were told to stay here for now ...’ He pulled his face

into a scowl and left the rest unsaid.

‘How can you think of capering off to party when the Lady Megandel is in danger?’ Ubi

accused. ‘We should be directing our prayers toward the safety of her domain and the success of

the Centaurion ambush.’

Norf shot her a glower. ‘Then pray away Sweet Fur—no one’s stopping you!’

‘I am sorry you have to wait like this,’ Maewren said.

‘We’re not,’ Ferule snickered, his and Chase’s grins aimed at the satyr.

Maewren continued before Norf could retaliate. ‘Until I receive further instructions from the

Misht’thurelin, I need to keep you all together. Once I know what he wis—’ She stopped

abruptly and stared at the ground as though listening to something. After a few moments, she

looked back up. ‘Plans have been made, however we must leave to properly equip ourselves.’

She glanced tellingly at the Sheddlys before turning back to the others. ‘Please wait here. It is

important we know where you are. I promise we will return before long.’

After receiving nods of compliance, she turned and kicked into a graceful run, and the twins

followed after her, disappearing into the shadows beyond the festival.

‘Gestk, now what?’ Norf groaned and dragged his hands down his face. ‘Any more waiting

around and mushrooms will start growing on my fur!’

But waiting, Laeka’Draeon realised, was not his biggest issue. ‘What are the chances of this

occurring now?’ he asked. ‘And only hours after I discover I need to seek audience with Lady

Megandel.’ He shook his head. If it was a coincidence, it was an awfully unlucky one. I don’t

know if I believe in coincidences.

The others stared at him, eyes wide with shock.

‘What?’ Ubi gasped. ‘You need to see the faerie queen? Why?’

‘I’d wager it has something to do with the Misht’thurelin’s meeting,’ said Norf, his

expression one of lazy suspicion.

Laeka’Draeon gave a nod and explained how a prophecy was summoned through a

powerful time distorting artefact and was forced into his own mind instead of Belzor’s. And the

only possible way of recovering it, was to seek the help of the faerie queen.

‘So you see, Lord Belzor believes the Lady Megandel is the only one with the power to

retrieve the prophecy from my mind and interpret it. I must meet with her. This prophecy is the

key to finding my kin, I know it is!’

Norf heaved a sigh. ‘Gestk, the news just keeps getting better! The one place you need to go

is the one place about to be swarmed by a horde of menacing hobgoblins! Why do I feel like the

greater powers have it in for us?’

‘Your negative bleating is not helping the situation, Norf,’ Ubi muttered.

‘Well, ignoring that particular fact ain’t gonna help either, Sweet Fur!’

As the conversation continued, Laeka’Draeon noticed Fargo behaving oddly. It darted

around, stopped abruptly to stare toward the northwest, before hissing and starting the sequence

over again. Discreetly stepping away from the group, he drew up beside the Spirit Message.

‘Fargo, why are you so agitated?’

‘Some ... thing ... strange ...’

‘What’s strange? What do you sense?’ He stared out at the shadowed landscape but could

not see anything unusual. He frowned and looked back at the Spirit Message. ‘Fargo? What is

wrong?’

‘Must ... seek,’ was all Fargo said and began to drift away.

Intrigued, Laeka’Draeon followed, his senses heightened. He passed through the veil of the

Waiting Tree and down the hill toward the forest. No one called out for him to stop—so he did

not.

‘Machuu, machuu, Green Scaly One must make haste to the magical forest of Raegelian,’

Maikor chirped. ‘Must speak with the Faerie Queen and solve the puzzling prophecy! And

maybe then Green Scaly One can find missing scaly kin! Mighty centaur warriors will take care

of terrible hobgoblins. No need to worry over them.’

Norf snorted. ‘Sure Maikor, all Laeka’Draeon needs to do is stroll up to the faerie queen and

his problems will be solved. Oh, and he doesn’t need to worry about the hobgoblins, because

what are the chances he’ll run into them? They couldn’t possibly be planning on seeing the faerie

queen too.’

Maikor bowed his head sheepishly.

‘That is not funny, Norf,’ Ubi snorted.

‘No, it’s not,’ he scoffed. ‘Thanks for stating the obvious.’

Maikor squawked loud and shrill.

The noise left a painful ringing in Norf’s ears. ‘Gestk, Maikor, what’s your problem!’ he

snapped.

Maikor pointed at the space where Laeka’Draeon had been standing. ‘Green Scaly One is

gone!’

Ubi jumped. ‘Where did he go? How did we not notice?’

‘Idiot!’ bleated Norf. ‘Why would he skulk away without telling us? Maewren told us to

wait here! Here, meaning this spot where we’re standing!’

With a rush of wind and thrum of hooves, Ubi bolted past him and was out of earshot before

he could comprehend what was happening and call her back.

Maikor stared after her, too dumbfounded to move.

‘Deijech, fur-for-brains!’ Norf cursed, slapping his hand to his forehead. ‘They’re going to

get themselves killed!’

Tuning out the temptations of the festival, he approached the Waiting Tree veil, but froze

when the thunder of galloping hooves filled the forest at the glade’s edge. Movement warped the

tree-line shadows before pouring into view in the form of Centaurion warriors.

Norf’s jaw dropped open.

Fully armoured, the centaurs entered the glade by a road fringing the forest’s edge and

followed its length at a gallop. Obscured by a grassy ridge, their presence went unnoticed by the

festival-goers. There looked to be at least three hundred; a good number for ambushing a

hobgoblin horde.

As the road curved back into the woodland folds, so did they, vanishing like the passing

shadows of sundark.

From behind, approaching hoof-beats made Norf’s heart spasm. He knew it was Maewren

and the Sheddlys even before they stepped through the veil. All three wore leather plates and

fitting armaments: Maewren with a bow and quiver, Ferule an intricately embossed war hammer,

and Chase a pair of double-edged axes.

The confused look in Maewren’s eyes prompted Norf to blurt out his confession.

‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop them!’ he cried. ‘Laeka’Draeon just ran off, and Ubi bolted after

him!’

‘Machuu, Maikor did not know what to do!’ Maikor added apologetically.

Chase arched an eyebrow. ‘Well, this throws a bit of a spell in our plans.’

‘Which way did they go?’ asked Maewren, her entire demeanour tensing.

‘I—I have no idea where Laeka’Draeon went, but Ubi bolted that way!’ Norf pointed a

shaky finger northwest.

Maewren dithered, her expression alternating between bewilderment and frustration. Then

without warning, she scooped Norf off the ground and promptly tossed him onto her back. He

landed with a bump and sat there, stiff as a log.

The Sheddlys held back their laughter. Barely.

‘I suggest you hold on tight,’ she said without looking at him, her attention already turning

to his companion. ‘Maikor, follow by air,’ she ordered and launched into a gallop.

Norf flailed in a moment of panic until his hands found a secure hold on her girth harness

and clung to it for dear life. ‘What in all broiling abyss are you doing?’ he shrieked.

Ferule and Chase thundered alongside, hollering in amusement. Norf wanted to scream all

the profanities he knew at them, but the thought of Maewren bucking him off in disgust made

him bite his tongue.

Maewren glanced briefly over her shoulder. ‘Forgive my brashness, Norf, but we have been

given our instructions from the Misht’thurelin, and unfortunately they come with a short window

of time. We must find Laeka’Draeon and Ubi as soon as possible, not only for the sake of their

safety, but for the sake of their quest as well.’

‘Why are you dragging Maikor and me along in this?’

‘I was instructed to keep you all together. Besides, I will need your help to look for

Laeka’Draeon and Ubi, or any signs of danger.’

‘Danger! Wonderful. Exactly how I wanted to spend the sundark—getting mauled to pieces

by a pack of savage hobgoblins.’ His voice was throaty, making him sound deranged. Gestk, I

probably look deranged, too, clinging to the back of a centaur like a deijech pelt sack!

‘Oh, ye of such little faith and optimism,’ said Ferule.

‘That’s why we’re here!’ cheered Chase. ‘Don’t worry your prickly little beard about it—

we’ll make sure you don’t get mauled ... too badly.’

The satyr moaned and tightened his grip on the harness.

A fun and friendly sundark of festivities was obviously too much to ask ...

– CHAPTER SEVEN –

THE CALLING

Somehow you called to me, though your lips did not speak. My longing evoked; I fled through the

fields, to hear your reply, to see your face. This journey’s length hath seen us apart in seasons

past, the ravages of vengeance and tearing of souls into lonely wanderers. Yet by sunspan’s end,

when the west roars as fire and the east swims in shadows, I returned to thee to tell you that I

heard you call, though your lips did not speak.

- From the famous tale of two lovers torn by duty, war and revenge: The Talon Flight

Passing sounds and shapes were blurs to Laeka’Draeon. The muscles in his legs and chest

pulled and contracted in vigorous pulses, powering a run which felt strangely out of his control.

Even if he decided to discontinue following the erratic Fargo, he was unsure if he would

physically be able to stop. Something was driving him; something that superseded his mind’s

control.

This need for haste that surrounds me ... what is causing it? Fargo has sensed something,

but I’m not sure what or why. I have no idea where I’m going, other than I feel I need to be

somewhere ... and as quickly as possible.

His thoughts scattered as water exploded against him; he did not even see the stream until he

was already leaping into it. Fortunately, it was relatively shallow, and he was able to bound to

the other side with minimal slowing. He ran on, fallen shells of bark and brittle branches

splintering like leaf fragments under every pounding paw.

While aware of his lack of caution, he did not have the time or dexterity to move with

stealth. He had made his choice and could only do his best to stay alert, and hope he did not

attract unwanted attention.

Suddenly a sharp sensation shot through him, awakening a deep internal pulse of energy. He

continued to run, but now he had a direction. Something pulled on the manna of his life force,

and he had no willpower to resist.

This strange stirring of power within me—I do not understand it, but at the same time, it

seems so familiar ... so necessary. I have no control, but I’m not afraid. In fact, this urging is

absolute ... I must obey.

Ahead, Fargo’s ghostly glow darted in and out of sight between the trees. The Spirit

Message veered toward the left, although the magnetic pull pressed sharply to the right, giving

Laeka’Draeon such a shock, he stumbled trying to obey it.

‘Fargo, wait. It’s this way!’ he called, shooting glances at the Message as it disappeared

from view. Why is it not following? Can it not feel this pull as well?

At present, there was nothing he could do about it. He pinched his eyes shut and shook his

head. When he opened them again, a pressure filled his skull, overwhelming his sense of hearing

with a shrill ringing. He shook his head again, and the pressure burst. Every audible sound

became crisply clear and unnaturally magnified. He detected the slightest of noises, hundreds of

feet ahead—the flutter of winged hunters and grunting of wary prey, the sound of the wind

whisking through the trees—long before it passed by.

What is happening to me?

Somewhere up ahead, through the dim maze of Caprine, a voice filled his ears; the voice of

a girl crying out in distress. Violent scuffing ensued, followed by a horrible, guttural roar.

‘Stay away, filthy pigs!’ the girl shouted. ‘You’ll never have it so long as I have breath left

in me!’

‘Yarr breth woont be with yarr mooch loongarr, wrarrcharrd bloo marrggoot!’ snarled her

antagonist. ‘Tharrn tharr’l be noo woon larrft too stoop oos froom tekin’ it!’

‘Tek tharrt, wrarrch!’ screeched a second voice.

A whooshing sound cut through the air, and then a sickening thwack. The girl yelped and

her attackers howled in delight.

‘Noo garrtin’ oowe froom oos noow. Tim too joon yarr filthe kin in tharr blooded darrt!’

A burning energy flared within Laeka’Draeon. Its heat filled his head, morphing into a

screaming roar. Run! Faster! Save her! Save her! Save her! His vision tunnelled, and the trees,

like smoke, blurred and curled away as though nothing more than phantom images. His breath

shot through his throat, hot enough to ignite the air. The pulling force constricted and vibrated,

threatening to rupture at any moment. Shrubbery loomed before him—a twisted, spiny barricade.

Without command, his paws launched from the ground.

The shrubbery vanished beneath him. The air raced over him, whistling shrilly in his ears. A

stench filled his nostrils, pungent and dirty. Two large figures stood directly in the line of his

descent. The nearest snapped its head up, its yellow eyes bulging. Laeka’Draeon tucked his head

and extended his claws.

His scales met a wall of fur and muscle. The wall buckled, screaming, and struck him across

the face as he somersaulted out of control towards the ground. He landed on his side with a

painful thud, his head spinning and throat constricting against a clump of inhaled dirt.

The mysterious pull released him and disappeared. He immediately felt lighter, although his

hearing dimmed after a soft pop, returning to normal. A familiar prickling began to agitate his

paws. Coughing, he shook off his daze and jumped up, his gaze fixing on the present danger.

Moaning, the large, hairy beasts lay sprawled over one another, struggling in their efforts to

recover.

Laeka’Draeon looked around. Where is she? Where is the girl?

His eyes swept over a heaped lump, then swivelled back, staring. She lay motionless in the

dust with her face turned away, half obscured by her long, tousled, mauve-coloured hair. Blood

soaked her grey undershirt and leggings at the left shoulder and thigh. A bushy blue tail curled

from under her, dirty and dishevelled.

He ran over to stand between her and her attackers. Her injuries appeared severe, her

breathing gargled and shallow. At least you’re still alive, he thought. Who in Valadae are you?

He had no time to investigate further. Coughing and snarling, the beasts heaved themselves

to their feet. Laeka’Draeon stared, his heart hammering against his ribs. I have jumped into this

mess without thinking! What do I do? I don’t think I can fight off both of them at once. What can

I—

Something inside snapped, and every fibre of his being ignited with a searing knowledge.

Hobgoblins! The name burned through his mind like rancid poison. These were the enemies of

the old wars, the enemies of Valadae, the enemies of the dragons. My enemies.

The fearful emotions crawling through him choked under the weight of a dark and sundering

energy stirring from deep within. The heat of blinding fury joined with a terrible, ravenous

hunger that ached for the annihilation of their corrupted life force. The prickling in his paws

dulled to a heart-like pulse. The heat swelled, strengthened, and closed in around him from every

direction. A scream of terror lodged at the back of his throat, and behind that, a roar of

exhilaration.

The swelling heat crashed against his hesitancy; it crumbled in an instant. A fierce calm

settled over him, and his burning thoughts gathered as one: I must destroy these monsters. I must

destroy them now and forever.

The hobgoblins spun around, grimacing like savages. Black rawhide armour bulked up their

already hulking forms, and dirty grey cloaks swung from their muscular shoulders.

Laeka’Draeon dropped into an aggressive crouch. ‘I will not let you harm anyone else!’ he

growled.

His aggressors raised their weapons—a chained mace and enormous barbed boomerang.

‘Hoow darr yarr, marrdarrlin’ filth!’ spat the taller of the two.

‘Tim too di!’ barked the other, swinging the chained mace into the air and sending it

hurtling at Laeka’Draeon.

Legs poised to spring, Laeka’Draeon leapt out of the way. The mace gouged the ground

with a violent thwump. Its owner heaved on the chain, dislodging the mace-head and yanking it

back to his side. His comrade stole the idle moment to unleash his own assault.

Laeka’Draeon jumped aside as the boomerang whooshed passed, adrenaline pounding

through him like tidal waves. He turned to see where the weapon had gone but lost sight of it. A

whoomph-whomph-whooph raced in from behind. Underestimating its speed, he sprang too late.

It stuck his right flank, knocking him down, before returning to the hand of its master.

The heat swelled in aggravation, willing Laeka’Draeon back into a stand. Grimacing, he

darted a glance at his shoulder. The muscles throbbed painfully, but no blood had been drawn;

just as it was during his frays with the Don-Chease and the Ash-Banes, his scales, once again,

proved impenetrable. Filled with a fierce bravado, Laeka’Draeon turned and pierced his enemies

with a searing glare. ‘You’ll pay for that.’

The hobgoblins baulked rigidly, their pupils dilating and ears falling flat.

‘F-Fuls ov Kuvvasharrn,’ stammered the mace-wielder, and pointed at Laeka’Draeon as

though he were a cacodemon.

Laeka’Draeon did not understand the words, or why the hobgoblins were suddenly afraid of

him, but the taste of their terror was exhilarating. The heat inside him whirled. Destroy! Destroy!

Destroy! He crouched low and growled threateningly. The hobgoblins nervously backed away.

The taller one flinched and nearly tripped.

Laeka’Draeon expelled a roar and charged.

His target shrieked and swung the boomerang to deflect his attack. To Laeka’Draeon, they

were but empty flails. He dodged every slash with ease, steadily closing in, waiting for the

inevitable mistake to be made. Howls of terror from the mace-wielder faded into the distance.

The tainted heat did not waver. There was no flare of concern. I will find you, no matter where

you run! His present mark whimpered, aware of the cowardly abandonment. Laeka’Draeon

lashed out, clipping the forearm and drawing blood. The hobgoblin snarled and swung his

weapon, becoming frenzied.

A soft and gentle trembling energy touched the corners of Laeka’Draeon’s awareness.

Within the maelstrom of tainted heat, it left a small, cold void. Through the void, a voice called.

‘Laeka’Draeon!’

The heat expanded violently, and the cold void disappeared. The voice forgotten,

Laeka’Draeon lunged at his foe.

The hobgoblin flung his boomerang wildly. Laeka’Draeon snapped his jaws and caught the

weapon between his teeth, crushing down as hard as he could. The object shattered like dead

wood, and the wielder tripped and fell. Laeka’Draeon leapt onto him, tongue throbbing in pain,

mouth filling with blood. The hobgoblin’s large hand flew up and grabbed at Laeka’Draeon’s

throat, keeping him from tearing at his hairy flesh. Something hard pushed into his stomach,

lifting him off-balance. He continued to snap at his quarry, even as he was thrown onto his back.

Laeka’Draeon flailed his legs until he was upright again, but his prey had already started

running. A cold void entered the encompassing heat, cutting out a large opening. The voice from

the gentle energy returned, screaming.

He hesitated, and the void widened. Reason seeped through. I am in Caprine. I was

following Fargo. The heat burned like a driving thirst, crackling across the breach in an attempt

to seal it. Why ... why am I doing this? My friends are waiting for me back at the Waiting Tree.

My friends ...

The heat weakened, and its masking effects dissolved. Overwrought, his body trembled

violently, and his breath came out so fast and heavy he risked throwing up. The stench of blood

clung to his face like mud. A shard of the boomerang still lodged in his tongue. He curled his lips

back and spat out a wad of blood as his stomach churned.

The gentle energy still trembled nearby. He recognised it now and turned. Ubi?

Ubi froze mid-step and stared, unmistakably horrified. Shivers skewered him, draining the

heat from his body as swift and biting as ice. The dark and sundering energy within him fled at

the rising tumult of despair.

‘I—Ubi, I’m so sorry!’ he cried and collapsed, his emotions reeling. What kind of monster

am I?