Shadow Of The Mountain (22 page)

Tenlon laid the dragon egg next to Desik’s sword on his bed.

It was the size of a watermelon, bronze and breathtakingly smooth. The light from their window played against the metallic shell, wrapping the egg in a glossy-gold shine. Removed from Braiden’s leather bag, the room grew noticeably warmer from its heat.

For long seconds, not a word was spoken by either of them. They merely looked on in wonder, in awe.

Tenlon knew there was nothing in all of Endura as beautiful as this, or as sad. Its sight nearly brought him to tears. Like so many Amorians, this egg didn’t have a home anymore either, or a family.

Like he and Desik, the egg was alone.

“Draxakis is dead,” Tenlon said with soft reverence. “But his line lives on.”

***

Desik had little to say as they locked their room and left the Lonely Fox, leaving the egg behind. The two headed out into the morning-bright streets of Ebnan in search of news and a good bathhouse. The streets weren’t as crowded as they had been during their arrival, and those they did see seemed to be hurriedly wheeling carts or chests of luggage away from the city center. While news of Amoria’s defeat at Goridai didn’t overly upset the Korando populace, it seemed that Corda being burnt to rubble was enough to send these people racing for more peaceful pastures. The coastal cities of Korando were, after all, just a few hundred miles from the Amorian capital.

The news had been a shock to Tenlon, and he still couldn’t believe it. Every so often those they passed would be speaking of the same topics: the Volrathi, Goridai, or Corda. Everything was going wrong in the world. Goridai had been a massacre, and the violent storm cloud he had watched form over the battle had supposedly grown into a terrible, vicious arena of blackness and horrific flares of lightning, a continual storm so fierce none could go near. Tenlon did not know what spells had been cast on either side to create such a phenomenon, but the world must have split open from the power of it. The energy being thrown around by the Magi had been truly awesome.

The news about Corda, as well, was equally devastating. He’d visited the capital many times in his life, and the city was truly a beautiful sight. The story being told was that shortly before the Amorian army was wiped out and the flatlands were turned into an ocean of severed heads on spears, traitorous Gallans had stormed Stonewall Garrison and the capital in force. It was said that every man, woman, and child were murdered, and the city set ablaze to smoke out any who survived the carnage. And the Volrathi now, too, had turned their sights on Corda. The black-eyed troops were on the march.

If the world hadn’t known it was at war a few days earlier, it knew now. Tenlon tried not to think of all the innocent lives lost in the struggle and fought to keep pace with the quickly moving warrior, but he constantly picked up splinters of conversation, none of which made him feel better. Much of what he heard involved a merciless pirate vessel with a bronze ram at her prow that stalked the nearby waters, pillaging vessels overburdened with fleeing passengers and their livelihoods. The
Rapture
, she was called, and something about Okin Burback, who was some type of gang lord operating within the three coastal cities.

He had to force himself not to listen as they walked. The stories being told of the pirate ship were horrendous, but soon they were past the small crowds and Tenlon was all the more grateful for it.

They returned to the alleyway behind the Crimson Stag. The warrior got a running start and kick-jumped himself up the side of the building, his fingers narrowly grabbing the edge of their window before pulling himself up. A quick glance showed his twig still jammed into the doorway in the same spot, and he dropped back down to the dusty street. All seemed to be well, and they continued their morning walk.

The northern end of the coastal city was sparsely populated. It seemed that many of the fighting men-for-hire had buckled their weapons and armor and moved out. Wars were a lucrative beast for some, a crippling plague for the rest. By ship, horse, and boot, the Korando populace dwindled by the hour—some weighed down by sharpened steel, others by carts and wagons laden with their livelihoods. Eastern Endura would be the best choice, so long as you could stay in front of the Volrathi advance.

Many shops were boarded up and vacant, and the street vendors that once choked the walkways had vanished overnight, leaving behind only bits of trash and the occasional empty table or overturned cart. It looked to Tenlon as though everyone had somewhere to go.

A Volrathi presence in Korando was sure to be made soon, but as it sat so far north and lacked any sizeable opposition, the coastal cities would be taken without a struggle. Most of the fighting was sweeping east, past Galla to Hurandor and Rothdan, would maybe even spill over into Varishna before winter, but Desik thought that was a stretch. Hurandor had a strong army and they’d be on full alert by now. Few nations would risk an all-out assault on the black forces of the Volrathi after what had happened on the flatlands.

An offensive strategy was out of the question. Now it would be about towering city walls and thick gates, siege towers and grappling hooks and ladders, spears and ballistae and death by attrition, or dragon’s flame that could rake the living from above like a screaming hailstorm.

Tenlon shivered, still seeing the dark stain of the Volrathi spreading over the Goridai flats. War was running wild and free in Endura, and those to stop it were far outnumbered by those pushing it forward.

The intersection widened and the sky opened up ahead, a flawless blue filled with enormous cliffs of white clouds that staggered into the horizon.

Tenlon looked to the warrior, who had stopped and pulled a peach from the pocket of his long jacket.

“Have a look, boy,” he said before taking a bite, nodding towards the open view.

The sound of crashing waves drifted nearby, resonating with power beneath his feet like the bellows of buried giants. Crossing the intersection’s deserted street, Tenlon approached a waist-high wall of mortared stone.

The sight before him was spectacular. The Venda Sea stretched out into oblivion, filling his vision with the deepest hue of blue he’d ever seen. The high-noon sun made the undulating waves glitter with life. Hundreds of feet beneath him, waves crashed against the stone cliffs and cascading walls of white foam rose upwards, dispersing into shimmering mist. The great sea was dotted with several ships that must have been large, but appeared to be fingernail-sized against the blue backdrop. Down to his left he saw a ship that was much closer disappear from view behind the curving cliff, probably pulling to one of the few ports around for miles.

He’d never seen anything like it before in his young life and stood there for what felt like hours, just staring out into the sea. The view was breathtaking, and it truly did go on forever. Reluctantly he pulled his eyes away from the water and turned back toward Desik, leaving the crashing waves and sparkling sea behind.

“Had your fill?” the warrior asked, tossing the peach pit to the street.

“I could stand there for days,” Tenlon told him truthfully.

“A fine view, to be sure. Did you see the ships?”

“Yes, I saw them.” It was an odd question. “Why do you ask?”

“I plan on sailing one of those sluts out of here,” he said, watching Tenlon.

The youth didn’t understand. That wasn’t what their plan was, if you could call whatever they had a plan. “I’m not sure I follow you.”

“You, me, and that hard-boiled egg of yours. We’ve got the coin for it, and traveling by land is going to keep getting harder until it puts us both in the ground. Taking to the sea would be the best option for us. I still have a few friends and favors to call upon.”

“What about Darien and Lesandra? We still need to go to the meeting point.”

“I know,” the warrior said reluctantly. “I’ll take you to your friends. We just do it my way, yeah?”

***

Desik found them a bathhouse five blocks west of the Lonely Fox. It was a single-level structure of white stone and a slanted, slat-covered roof. A middle-aged woman was asleep behind a counter of polished marble when they entered, her head nestled in the crook of an arm. The air was damp and the room smelled musty and dank, with a pungent tang of salt and sulfur that hung in the air.

“Are the boilers fired up?” Desik asked, rousing the woman from her slumber. Her head slowly leaned back, eying them sleepily. Her gaze shifted from the man to younger boy and a look of disgust crossed her face.

“Ugh. The door was open, wasn’t it?”

“Is anyone in there now?”

She scrunched her face in confusion. “Have you been outside lately? Do you know what’s going on out there? No one wants a bath, they just want out of the cities. Bad things are coming.”

Desik removed a hand from his jacket pocket and dropped a fistful of silver pieces on the counter. The woman sprung up from her seat to catch the coins as they rolled in different directions.

“That should be enough to keep the door closed and our clothes washed,” Desik told her. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“You can do whatever you want in there,” she said with excitement, gathering up the coins. “Just try not to bloody the water up too much. It takes days to clean out and refill.”

Desik looked to young Tenlon, who hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about.

“I’ll try and restrain myself,” he said flatly.

They were led behind the counter to a long room of marble and stone. The bath ran the length of the room and was set into a recess in the floor, with white pillars lining its sides. The place was hot and humid, with steam hanging low in the air. Above the water a stained-glass window covered the ceiling, stretching the length of the bath. There was no particular design or image to the glass, just a scrambled assortment of colored shards that filled the dim bathing room with warm light.

Stripping naked, they both gave the woman their filthy clothes and slipped into the hot water. Desik made sure a sword was still in reach before leaning his head back against the stone edge of the bath, closing his eyes. After enjoying the water for a few minutes, they each took a nearby bar of soap from the silver dishes spaced out on separate sides of the bath and washed the days of travel from their bodies.

Tenlon had never before felt such bliss. He was once again clean.

Desik, too, looked like a newborn man. The red and gold stubble on his face was beginning to grow into a beard and his hands tousled his wet hair, which stuck up comically in all directions.

“That feels much better,” he said through the steam, sliding down until the water was up to his chin.

Tenlon continued to glide about the bath, running the soap over his arms and shoulders. He didn’t want to stop washing himself. It all felt too good.

“So tell me,” Desik said, his voice echoing off the walls.

“Tell you what?”

“Everything.”

***

“Vyra was the silver one, Draxakis’s life-mate.” Tenlon’s hushed voice echoed off the stone walls of the bathhouse. “She revealed the egg two days before the army left for the flatlands. They weren’t sure how long ago she’d laid it, or why she’d waited until then to make it known. The dragons have many caves and hiding places in the mountains surrounding Odenna, and often it’s impossible to even tell where one would potentially make a nest.”

“And there is no way the egg belongs to one of the others in the fleet?”

“Not a chance. Such a bond between dragons is ironclad, both physically and spiritually. And some even believe it goes deeper than that, into their chemical makeup or their very life-force, like strands of companionship interwoven through their souls.”

“You mean they know who they’ll spend the rest of their lives with?”

Tenlon shook his head. He did not know the answers to such questions. “Much is speculated, but very little is understood. Dragons allow us to work with them, to help train them for combat, even to study them, but they are one of our world’s greatest mysteries. No one knows how long they can live or how large they can grow, how far they can fly, or why they occasionally grant us the gift of their friendship. For all we know they were here at the beginning of time, like guardians of the realm.”

“And how do we find ourselves with such a blessed treasure?” Desik wanted to know. “This all seems a bit too loose and limber.”

“Braiden and the old mages couldn’t decide who should stay with the egg back at the capital, since all of them were needed for the battle. Such a splendid surprise was too important to leave with just anyone, so they took the egg with them and marched to Goridai.”

“Stupid,” Desik pointed out.

“Yes, stupid. But I doubt they anticipated such a…disastrous outcome.”

“Clearly. But what other outcome could have existed? They haul the egg to the battle lines, against the largest enemy army ever assembled, and hope everything goes well?”

“I agree with you. It was not the best of plans.”

“Not the best of plans?” A dim flicker of anger sputtered up behind Desik‘s eyes. “I’ve seen sick horses shit out plans better than that! So eleven of us got this burden dropped in our laps and were told to ride through the Volrathi encirclement? All for the stupidity of those senile fools? Did Healianos know about this?”

“Twelve.”

“What?”

“You said there were eleven of you, but there weren’t. There were twelve…of us.”

Desik’s mood seemed to soften a bit, and he took a calming breath. “Right. Twelve of us.”

“And if King Healianos knew it was an egg I was to carry, he never mentioned it. The old mages may never have told him, or meant to tell him later but never had the chance. He had his hands full, I’m sure.”

“He knew,” Desik said, his voice certain.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because he sent Kreiden with you, and Darkfire. Accostas, Fenton, Paloran. And me. He sent me with you. Healianos wanted to give you a chance, so he sent us.”

“Because he trusted you?”

“That’s one lens you could look at it through.”