After a time, they slowed, keeping a steady pace south, and as they approached the bounds of woodland, Stolas turned the conversation towards the new weapons.
"Is the sword alright? It seemed light, I thought it suitable."
"Excellent, although only battle will tell me for certain. I see you got yourself a present too," said Caine, eyeing the scythe Stolas had hastily concealed and strapped to the saddle.
"Ah, I forgot." he pulled out the weapon, eager to show his discovery. "See, it is a fallen Power's blade. I thought perhaps using it to fight them would be more effective." Anger sparked in Caine's eyes, and his tone turned sombre.
"I will never use a tainted weapon. It's revolting." Stolas winced, taken aback by the sudden outburst. He then remembered the second notebook, Disposal Methods. Method One: Mutilate the angel's corpse and bury each small piece to limit regeneration. Leaving the creature alive and unable to function until it bleeds too much of its dark substance and dies.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you," said Stolas quietly, realising his mistake. "Now that I think about it, it was most likely you who buried it along with the corpse in the first place." He dismounted and dug the scythe into the snow. Hairs raised on the back of his neck. Another similarity between Caine and his father seemed to be the fear of failure they exhumed within him. He flinched as Caine's boots hit the snow.
"Stolas,"
"It's okay, I'm getting rid of it. It cost me nothing anyway."
"Please raise your head. You are not at fault," said Caine. His expression softened. "I do not deny that it would be useful in battle. I will not touch it, but if you prove to me, you can use it, then you are free to keep it." Caine unsheathed his sword, the shrill ring of scraping steel penetrating the air. Stolas's hand instinctively enclosed around the grip.
"You wish to fight me?" he asked, his voice wavering. Never had he fought in a duel.
"I need to assess how well you can defend yourself, anyway." Caine's face twisted back to his wicked grin, and he raised the point of his sword to Stolas' chin, lifting the prince's gaze. "Unless you are too scared?" At that moment, the tense atmosphere dissolved into electric energy. They locked eyes and, in their stares, apprehension of a challenge. Stolas' brows knitted, and the muscle in his jaw twitched. As his father said: books couldn't teach him combat.
"Alright then," Stolas batted away the blade and lunged backwards onto his feet. One hand rested on Kalou's dagger, the other gripping the Power's scythe. "I will try my best." Before Stolas could finish his breath, Caine scattered snow into his eyes. In his instance of blindness, his mentor drove his fist into his stomach, banishing the oxygen from his lungs. Tears brimmed in his eyes. As Stolas fell to his knees, he twisted the scythe, blowing Caine's legs out from under him. Caine landed the fall and propelled himself forward, pushing off from the ground and swiping. Stolas raised his dagger and the two blades clanged together, sending sparks flying. "How are you so quick?" Stolas panted in disbelief before pushing back and retreating further until his back pressed against a tree.
"I have to be, to stand a chance against those monsters," shouted Caine, dashing at him once more, his sword straight out in front of him. Stolas opened his eyes to see the blade buried in the bark, a hair's breadth from his skin. He observed the focus in Caine's eyes, the accuracy in his movements. An idea came to mind.
"You know, I remember years ago, Iordan called me to the palace to train you and your brother in combat. I always wondered why you were not also there to join in my classes. I never saw you once in the six months I taught. Frankly, it was unacceptable. You are behind Stolas, and it's about time you caught up." The corners of Stolas' mouth quirked up.
"My elder brother is an exceptional swordsman, and I am sure he gained much from your tutelage. But in that time, I honed my own craft." Stolas' face fell flat. Caine's eyes widened as thousands of bloody tendrils engorged and burst around Stolas' irises.
"What-" The rumbling of running hooves cut him off. From the forest emerged a herd of crazed cattle, barrelling past them in every direction. Distracted, Caine looked away, and Stolas took the chance. He leapt up, booting him square in the chest and sending him flying backwards. Stolas dove towards him, brandishing his scythe.
"Do I win?" he asked, hooking the blade around his neck. The last of the cattle dispersed, and Caine regarded his student in utter shock.
"Your mind is something marvellous," he muttered after a moment. "But your eyes... why?"
"It's a side effect," said Stolas, bringing back the scythe. "I fainted when I performed two weeks ago and cried blood all over my face. It was gruesome. Kalou thought I had died and had quite a moment." Caine gave him a once over.
"Are you in pain?" he asked, visibly concerned.
"No. It's more like exhaustion."
"Good," said Caine as he brushed himself off. "Although it was a quick fight, you did well for a beginner, and you are using your strengths to your advantage. Smart. Although, no, you didn't win. I could have slit your throat then easily." Stolas let out a defeated sigh. He would have to improve significantly if he wanted to stand a chance, cattle would not work on them. "Come on, let us go. I will test you again another time." Retying the ribbon in his hair, Stolas began trudging back over to Bleach when he spied movement out of the corner of his eye.
"Caine, look," he whispered, waving him over and crouching down. He pointed further into the forest. "I found one."
Stolas and Caine observed the insignificant creature sitting atop an old log. Had it not moved, Stolas never would have noticed its presence. Its scales coloured in a gradient across its slender body, a woody underbelly and a white speckled back. Its eyes, nestled within its bony skull, radiated a deep, icy viridian colour. Stolas noticed Caine's eyes darted to his saddlebags.
"This is a Northern Pine Dragon," he whispered, recalling it from the notebook. "Its wings are smaller; my guess is it is female." A light sparked in Caine's eyes.
"We should follow it then. They nest at this time of year. There could be eggs."
"The sooner we can get ahold of some, the better," Stolas affirmed. He kept his attention on the dragon as Caine tied up the horses. For the next ten minutes, they waited while the dragon did nothing except cough up a few flames and curl up sleeping. Caine looked restless, and Stolas grew tired of biting his nails. Something popped into his head. "I have an idea." he mouthed. Caine shrugged and gestured for him to continue, watching on with a curious smile. With a little concentration, Stolas cast a young goat into the dragon's field of view. Immediately, the dragon perked up. It analysed the frightened animal before it. Somehow Stolas discerned the creature felt surprised, even disappointed, for apparently nearing to miss such a rare opportunity to hunt. Slowly it descended into a crouch and lowered its head, all without ever breaking sight of the goat. Seconds passed. Its pupils dilated. In a moment, the creature shot at the animal, using its talons to hook into its neck. Blood spurted from the wounds. A ruptured artery. The dragon opened its mouth of needles and from the orange glow in its chest erupted an inferno, engulfing its prey. God got lazy, thought Stolas as he clutched his side. Why must everything impale itself into its prey? The dragon roared in its victory, sniffed, and bit the neck before trying to pull the charred corpse through the snow. Caine slapped his hand on Stolas' shoulder as the dragon went out of sight. "Yes, well done child, now we can follow the trail of gore to its lair," he said with an enthusiastic smile.
"There wasn't a guarantee it would move, let alone in the direction we wanted it to. If I summoned something, I figured it may hunt it and bring the spoils back to the nest. And I am twenty. Not a child. "
"Yeah, ok." dismissed Caine. Stolas rolled his eyes. He understood Ferin's words from the tavern. This guy's damn attitude.
Together they continued on foot, following the blood laden path. Careful and quiet, they kept low to the ground, tracking the dragon's movements. After a time, a stronghold came into view. An abandoned outpost. Not as decomposed as the church, the stone foundations held sturdy and four of most likely five archer towers still stood erect. Tattered banners with the royal sigil hung from each. Stolas pondered the original purpose of the structure, a guard against surprise attacks or even training grounds. The trail led through the open gates, falling from their hinges and into the courtyard. Tentatively, they walked across the fallen palisades and into the compound. In the centre lay the buried remnants of a bonfire, and four squat cabins lined the walls.
"There doesn't seem to be anyone here." Stated Stolas as he peered into a window. Inside, he saw only rotting boxes and empty grain sacks. He sensed a horrid stillness in this place, making his skin crawl. He no longer heard the swaying of branches, nor the howl of the wind. Not a sound or a soul in sight.
"It could be haunted," said Caine, disturbed. Stolas scoffed. "What? We are dealing with angels, God, whatever you are. Are ghosts far-fetched?"
"While I can see how you would think that, souls cannot survive even a minute unless they have a vessel. The very premise of what ghosts are cannot work."
"You are no fun," Caine growled. Stolas spotted the trail disappearing into the fourth and largest cabin at the back of the fort.
"Over here," he called. The single room looked empty, but a small nook cropped out of the far wall. The men faced a latrine. Chunks of stripped flesh littered the sides of the small hole as the dragon had forced the carcass through. Its severed horns, deformed in the heat, cast aside. Caine grimaced. "Putrid." He gagged, clutching his stomach. Stolas reeled at the thought of following it further.
"At least there is no smell," he said in an attempt at finding a silver lining, although he scrunched up his nose at the brief scent of burnt keratin. "This has not been used in a long time," Stolas peered down the long tunnel descending deep into the ground. "It should be fine." His voice echoed. His eyes flickered with inspiration. Thinking back to one of his father's many tales, whereupon he had come to the edge of a cliff, the sights below shrouded in a heavy mist. To tell how far the cliff dropped, he threw a large rock over and listened for it to land. His company had to climb down a mere two-metre ledge in the end. Stolas grabbed one horn and dropped it through the hole. He held his breath. Three seconds. A splash.
"I hope that's water," murmured Caine. "For your sake." Stolas turned to him; outrage plastered across his face. "I will not fit in there!" said Caine, pointing at the narrow entrance. "If you had trained with me back then you would not be so skinny."
"Fortunately, I am, or we would have no lead on the dragon." Stolas flared. With a hard sigh, he wiped away the gore from around the hole and lifted the seat. "Find a rope. There could be one in the storage cabin." Stolas stripped off his coat and shirt and tied his hair into a tight bun.
"Wait, you don't know if it's-" Without thinking he swung over his legs and dropped, "deep enough." Caine trailed off.
Stolas plunged into the icy waters. He sank deep. Precious air leaked from his lungs as he drowned in the shock of the cold. The glacial waters sapped away at his heat, freezing the blood in his veins. He clawed at the water, dragging himself back up to the surface, begging his muscles not to stiffen and fail him. At once, he breached and drank the stagnant air. His fingers turned numb. I must get out. The desperate need repeated over and over in his mind. Instinct drove him forward to a dull rocky shore, black and almost invisible to the naked eye. Stolas pulled himself onto the side, his limbs shaking and covered in goosebumps.
"I made a mistake," he croaked. He stood up, hugging himself. Willed himself to refocus. Stolas scanned his surroundings as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. A whispered gasp escaped him. Vapour poured from between his blued lips. A great cavern.
He stumbled forward in a forest of stalactites and stalagmites. Loose stones shifted underfoot. Dripping reverberated across the walls, creating a constant echo-chamber. This place, as the outpost did, emanated a resounding sense of solitude. The darkness, the quiet, hung heavy and blanketed his senses, lured him into false security. Stolas couldn't allow himself to believe it. He took a deep breath. Focus, he told himself. Where is the dragon? The feeling of something buckling under step interrupted his thoughts.
Dragon egg.
Stunned, words of confusion stuck in his throat and became a stuttering mess. They should not be alone in the dark. The notebooks detailed they needed next to constant heat. Yolk trickled down his boot, and he saw the hazy silhouette of a crushed foetus on the floor. Guilt built itself into a knot in his stomach. "I'm sorry," Stolas whispered, "I didn't mean to," With shaking fingers he tried and failed to reconstruct its little home. Its lifeless body lay in his grasp. "I'm sorry," He repeated once more as he buried it. His hands folded into prayer. Whether or not its death was his fault, Stolas resolved to postpone his guilt until he had time for it.
Crawling further forward, he noticed a dim, flickering light. Hopefully, he inched around the corner. Stolas' entire face lit up as he glimpsed the most magnificent anomaly: thousands upon thousands of multi-coloured eggs, each simmering over hundreds of tiny fires. Dragons of all breeds and varieties curled up, sleeping beside them, guarding their young. Stolas beamed. The luck! He had never heard of this many in one place before. With this, getting a variety of samples would be simple, and above all, he welcomed the heat. Yet, as he scanned the gargantuan nest before him, selecting his targets, he caught sight of something even more unexpected.
Beside the goat's corpse she slept, splayed out against the far wall. Naked, hairy, and with claws. Hard calluses covered her knees. Her toes were bent upright almost at right angles to her instep, and tough, horny skin covered her palms, coated in viscera. A hideous child. Feral. Stolas ducked back behind the corner and ran his hands down his face in dismay. Stealth would be imperative. Not only had he flying, fanged, fire-breathing monsters in their hundreds to dodge but also a wild girl who added the only thing making him more uncomfortable than any gross latrine: human unpredictability. Although he lamented how human she truly was. Regardless, determination fuelled him forward. With tightened fists, he whirled back around and tread into the nest. This opportunity is far too good to pass up, he thought.
Considering each step, Stolas inched forward. Three specimens would be enough, and three had caught his eye. The first rested underneath the scaled paws of a crimson drake. This egg, the largest around the fire, emanated the same deep red as its parent and wine-coloured veins wrapped around its base. Silently, he knelt. Drips fell from his hair and sizzled into the fire. Quickly, he plucked it from the flames. It fit snug inside his palm, hot on his skin. He nestled the egg into a small fur pouch on his belt and carried on. The second egg he only noticed on his third scan of the nest. Unlike the bumpy texture of the previous, this one looked a smooth, hazy black sucking in all the surrounding light. A small oval shadow belonging to the famous form of a dragon. The shadowed creatures resembled the one decorating the royal crest, and through thought of his family, Stolas pocketed the second egg. Finally, he laid eyes on his third target; a beautiful golden-brown egg, the sole of its kind, it seemed, and without a guardian. Except for the girl. Her fingers almost touched it.
As he crept further forward, doubt formed an ache in the back of his head. Caine would have a better chance of success, he thought. If she wakes up, the dragons wake up, and vice versa. They would dash the chances of him getting out alive to next to nought, and he would lose his precious cargo. If that happened, they would never find his missing people. The angels would win. Fantastical images of his death invaded his mind. Infernos erupting between those needle teeth. His panicked eyes darted to the incinerated carcass. Stolas didn't want to become the goat. Sparks spat into his face, and he jumped as the sharp heat pinched his cheeks. His foot crushed a log, inches from the egg. I need to stay out of my head, Stolas thought, wincing. He almost killed one for the second time. Crouching down, he took a deep, shaky breath to calm himself. It's all okay. Slowly, he reached for it, and as his fingers curled around the golden shell, clawed fingers curled around his wrist. Time stood still, and his blood ran cold.
"No,"
"Please, let me." his voice broke.
"Not yours. Thief."
"I need them."
"Thief."
"I'm not-"
"Thief!" Stolas snatched away his hand and bolted. Her shrill cry bounced off the walls, slamming into his ears over and over. "Thief, thief, thief!" His heartbeat fastened. He couldn't think. He couldn't see. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he threw himself forward with wild abandon, slamming into anything and everything, bruising and burning himself to get away faster. His fate rested on the instinct to run and never stop. A loud screech echoed from behind him, and more followed as the dragons roused. Stolas entered back into the spiked tunnels and the terrorising calls of the beasts drowned out everything. Except for the laughing. The sick, fear-driven, sobbed laughing he realised came from his own mouth. Flames at the edge of his vision caught him off guard, and abruptly his feet slipped. Stolas immediately hauled himself back up, ignoring the scrapes, and raced for the lake. But in the brief second that he looked behind him, he locked eyes with the girl. A single metre away.
"Caine!" Stolas screamed. As soon as his feet hit the water, he dived and scorching heat spread across his back, followed by the immediate relief of the water. Stolas kept under the surface and wrenched his body swimming towards the centre. There: a rope. He grappled onto the rotting cord and climbed.
"Pull it, Caine!" Nothing. "Caine!" Flapping wings to his left caught his attention. The Northern Pine Dragon. It's cursed viridian eyes smiled at him before the creature opened its mouth and the deep orange glow grew as he had imagined it. Paralysed, he stared into the jaws of death. "Caine." He whimpered. At that moment, the rope tugged, and he flew up into the tunnel. Below him, a stream of fire.
"I got you. Come on," said Caine through gritted teeth, pulling on the rope once more. Stolas continued to climb and clawed his way out. His grazed fingers gripped onto the edge of the latrine, and Caine took the others, hauling him back into the cabin. Stolas started shaking, delirious.
"Stolas, Stolas what happened?" Said Caine cupping Stolas' puffy-eyed face in between his hands.
"We need to leave, now." He sobbed. Stolas stood and grabbed his mentor's arm and tried to physically remove him from the room. Caine's eyes widened in horror at the state of Stolas' back, but before he could say a word, he crumpled to the floor. Stolas froze. Behind him stood the girl with a bloodied rock in her hands. Smiling wide.
The calm, red mist of bloodlust settled over his vision. All the pain and fear swallowed up by this carnal emotion he never felt before. Not the usual white nothingness he rested in, but a dark void. A new focus opposite to what he knew. One formed not in peace, but chaos. The light vanished from his eyes.
He smiled back.