The breeze drifted through the street outside The Dusty Cove, whipping up small clouds of dust and dried leaves as Ella ran her hand down the length of the horse's long snout, resting the palm of her hand on its muzzle.
"It's not easy, is it?" Ella said, resting her hand on the horse's bridle. "Having to tow that carriage behind you all day. Thank you."
The horse let out a soft neigh, pushing his muzzle into Ella's cheek. She leaned against it, feeling the warmth of the animal's appreciation.
"You have a way with animals."
Ella looked up to see the carriage driver, Loran, standing at the entrance to The Dusty Cove, tossing an old rag between his hands. By the look of him, Loran had seen at least fifty summers. His left eye wandered, and he walked with a barely noticeable limp. Loran didn't wait for a response. He simply smiled and carried on into the inn.
Ella let a smile touch her lips as she scratched at the hair on the side of the horse's neck.
There had been a bit of buzz in the town when Ella and Farda had arrived earlier that day. The dusty streets had been packed with traders and pedlars alike, flogging fresh fruit, fine linens, pots, pans, and everything else Ella could think of. It had reminded her of the markets at Milltown. But now, as dusk drew its hazy cloak over the streets of Farenmill, and the setting sun washed the houses in an orange glow, a peace descended. Up above, the outline of the moon was barely visible in the cold winter sky, like a chalk etching on a canvas of icy blue. Ella always loved that point of day – that time when she could see the sun and the moon in the sky at once.
Across the street, a mother hurried her child along, her hand wrapped in his as she half-led, half-dragged him off towards their home. Ella couldn't help but laugh at the stubborn look on the child's face. She could remember Calen putting up the same protest whenever their mother had tried to bring him somewhere he didn't want to go. Ella sighed, feeling her heart sink in her chest. Thoughts of home were often bittersweet. They wrapped her in a blanket of comfort, warming her heart. But at the same time, knowing how long it might be before she saw her mother's face once more filled her with a great sadness.
A low puff of air escaped Faenir, who lay curled up a few feet away, his head resting on his paws. The wolfpine had not had any trouble keeping up with the carriage as they travelled from Antiquar to Berona – not that she had expected him to. Though, she still wasn't sure how he had found her in Gisa in the first place or why he was not with her father and Calen. Whatever the reason, she was happy he was there. She wasn't sure how she would have coped without him. "Not long now."
The wolfpine lifted his head at the sound of her voice, cocking it to the side as if questioning her, an intelligence in his gleaming yellow eyes.
"Don't look at me like that."
With a huff, Faenir dropped his head back down, resting his snout on top of his paws.
"Oh, fine then. I'm not sure what we'll do when we get there. We'll go to Tanner, talk with him. Then maybe we'll—"
"Does he ever talk back?"
Ella looked up to see Farda standing at the side of the carriage. She had been so lost in her own thoughts she hadn't heard him coming. She wasn't sure if she would ever get used to the sight of him in that steel breastplate, with the black cloak draped over his shoulders. In truth, he had been better company on the journey than she had anticipated. He even told jokes from time to time. Not particularly good ones, but she could tell he was trying. He stared at her now with those deep green eyes, always searching.
Ella's throat constricted under the weight of Farda's gaze, and she could feel her pulse throbbing in her veins. Every time she began to let her guard down, she was reminded he was the enemy. Don't show weakness. She narrowed her eyes at him, furrowing her brow. "All the time," she said with a shrug. "He holds a better conversation than most men I know."
She thought she heard the beginnings of a chuckle in the man's throat, but he held it back. Her eyes fell to the sword strapped at his hip; it stripped her mind of what little calm it had left. He is a soldier of the Lorian Empire.I cannot trust him.
"I do not doubt that is true," Farda said. "Despite that, would you care to walk with me? I have a package to pick up from an inn on the other side of the town, and the company would be appreciated."
Ella paused for a moment, debating with herself as to what answer would arouse the least suspicion. She could say no, but she was not going to be doing anything else other than sit in the common room of their inn and drink ale until she could no longer stand the taste, and she had done that too much already. "Sure."
A grumble of disagreement came from Faenir, but it dissipated as she scratched behind his ear. Sometimes it seemed all the wolfpine wanted in life was a scratch. "Come on, you can come too."
Here and there people scurried through the streets, wearing nothing but thin linen shirts and trousers despite the season. That was perhaps one of the strangest things Ella had noticed about the North, at least along the edge of the Burnt Lands: even in winter, it just wasn't cold. At this time of year in The Glade, Ella would usually spend her time wrapped in a thick winter coat and gloves. But here, anything more than a thin summer dress would cause her brow to slicken with sweat.
The empty streets were a strange contrast to back home, where the villages gained a new lease of life once the sun retired for the night. Ella never thought she would long to hear the drunken songs and chants emanating from The Gilded Dragon after dark, but she did. There was very little she wouldn't give to be sitting in that common room, a mead in hand, her family around her, and the scent of freshly baked bread filling the air.
She nearly stumbled over herself as a group of Lorian soldiers came marching out of a side street. Four of them, garbed in black and red leathers, each with a sword strapped to their hip. It was all she could do to fight her instinct to run. The men looked no different to the ones who had attacked them outside Gisa. The ones who had killed Rhett.
Ella's heart palpitated as the men turned their attention towards her. She clenched her jaw and balled her right hand into a fist.
"Evening, sir," one of the Lorian soldiers said, looking straight past Ella.
"Soldier," Farda replied with a brisk nod, his voice assuming an authoritative tone. Ella had never considered Farda to be a softly spoken man, but she heard the difference in his tone when he talked to the soldier compared to when he spoke to her. "All is well?"
"It is, sir. No signs of anything."
"Good. Carry on."
Each of the soldiers gave a slight nod as they turned away, noticeably picking up their pace.
"Why are there so many soldiers in the towns and villages?" Ella folded her arms across her chest as they walked.
"Not that I should be telling you this, but from the reports I've gotten at each stop, it seems there have been a high number of Urak attacks along the foothills of Mar Dorul and the edges of the Burnt Lands. Even Berona is on high alert. One of the local patrols apparently sighted more of the creatures to the south of the village. That's where we are heading now. I need to take a look over some of the reports and confirm what they saw."
Ella tried her best to not let her surprise show on her face. The Uraks Calen had found in Ölm Forest were one thing, but this was different. A shiver ran up her spine as images flashed through her mind of the last time Uraks had attacked The Glade, the night Haem died. As if he could sense the fear that was beginning to set into Ella's mind, Faenir nuzzled into the side of her hip, almost knocking her off balance. She smiled at him, ruffling the fur at the nape of his neck as they walked.
"Farda, what exactly are you?"
"What am I?" The man lifted an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly at the question.
"I mean, you are part of the Lorian army, but you've not told me what you do."
"I see," Farda said, hesitating for just a moment. "I am a Justicar."
Ella continued to stare at Farda, letting the silence fill the air between them.
"I serve the will of the emperor across the continent. It is my duty to hunt down traitors to the empire and to lead the line should we find ourselves in times of war. It is a role that has many duties, most of which are not clearly defined."
"I see," Ella said, narrowing in on the question she had truly intended to ask. "And what brought you to the South?"
A thin smile spread across Farda's mouth, turning at the corner into a reluctant half-frown. He turned and gave a nod ahead of them, ignoring the question. "We are here."
The building that stood in front of them was two storeys tall and easily three times the size of The Gilded Dragon. A large wooden sign reading 'The Saviour's Chest' hung from a pole that extended out from the second storey.
Ella dropped down to one knee and ran her hand through the fur on the side of Faenir's neck. "You're going to have to stay out here, all right?"
Faenir let out a low growl of disagreement, lowering his head as his nostrils flared.
"I don't have a choice. They won't let you in. Just wait for me by the porch. I'll bring you food when I'm done."
Another growl followed, but Faenir padded past her and folded himself into a heap by the door. Good boy. Ella would much rather have him inside the inn with her – she always felt safer when Faenir was there – but not one of the inns between there and Antiquar had allowed him in so far, and she didn't figure it would be any different with this one.
The warmth of the inn caressed Ella's face as she stepped through the doorway after Farda, followed quickly by a wave of sound: the drum of conversation, the clinking of tankards, and the overexcited shouts of drunken young men. The smell of beef stew, freshly baked bread, and smouldering charcoal only partially masked the bitter aroma of soaked-in ale that was so intense Ella had no doubt it had permeated the wood itself.
Except for the serving girls, the bard playing the flute in the corner of the room, and the slight woman who stood behind the bar with a dour look on her face, Ella didn't think there was a single person in the common room who wasn't either a town guard or a soldier.
"Weapons, please."
Ella had not noticed the gangly youth with long black hair who stood to the right of the doorway, a row of wooden weapon racks on the wall behind him. The youth wore a dark leather jacket over a linen shirt and his trousers were tucked into his boots.
"I am Farda Kyrana, Justi—"
"Don't care who you are, respectfully," the youth said, shrugging his shoulders and turning his mouth into a pout. Ella didn't think for a second there was an ounce of respect in his voice. "There's no weapons allowed in here. Drink and steel don't mix."
Out of the corner of her eye, Ella saw Farda reach to his trouser pocket, the pocket he kept his coin in. But just before he dipped his hand inside, his eye caught hers, and he pulled his hand back to his side. "No, I don't suppose they do," he said, letting out a sigh.
He unstrapped his sword belt and handed it to the young man. Before letting go of the scabbard, Farda pulled the youth in a little closer and looked him in the eye. "If I come back and that sword isn't here, I will kill you."
The young man gulped, giving a short nod in response.
The hairs on the back of Ella's neck stood on end. There was something about the way Farda spoke that made her believe he fully meant what he said. Farda's eyes caught hers once more as they moved away from the young man at the door. He didn't need to speak. The coldness in his stare said it all.
Nodding to someone on the opposite side of the room, Farda turned to Ella and produced a small coin pouch from his coat pocket. "Here, I will only be a few minutes. Why don't you get yourself a drink? I will be back shortly."
Ella raised her eyebrow, set her feet, and scowled. "I have my own coin, thank you very much," she said before storming away towards the bar. She stuffed her clenched fist into her coat pocket as she walked between the groups of drunken soldiers, glaring at any whose gaze lingered longer than it should have.
"Why don't you get yourself a drink…" she muttered as she lifted herself up onto a stool, resting her arms on the long, stained countertop that fronted the bar. Just as she relaxed into the stool, Ella let out an involuntary sigh, and her shoulders sagged. The problem with getting angry was that it let the other emotions in, and she couldn't deal with them, not yet. A slight tremble set into her hands, and her throat tightened as though the life was being squeezed from her. For a moment she was back on the Merchant's Road to Gisa, the wind whipping spirals of dust into the air, her heart torn in half as she looked down on the pile of stacked stones that marked Rhett's resting place. Ella's chest tightened, and she could feel tears beginning to burn at the corners of her eyes. She drew in a deep breath, clenching her jaw, holding the tears at bay. She couldn't afford to weep. She couldn't afford to give Farda reason to ask any more questions. Mourning was not a luxury she could afford. And so, she closed her eyes for a moment, buried her agony deep down in her heart, and exhaled. Opening her eyes and wiping the moisture from her right cheek as inconspicuously as possible, Ella called to the innkeeper. "Can I get an ale, please?"
The sour-looking innkeeper gave Ella a belligerent nod, narrowing her eyes. She looked as though she were going to ask a question, but proceeded to snatch a tankard from behind the bar and open the tap on one of the massive casks behind her. "Two coppers."
Ella glared at the woman, holding her gaze for a moment before producing two coppers from her purse. Reluctantly, she handed them over to the innkeeper before grasping the handle of the tankard and taking a deep draught of the yellowish liquid that sloshed around within. She was getting better. She barely grimaced at the taste of it anymore. Rhett would be proud.
"It's getting worse."
Ella shifted in her seat, turning just enough so she could see the group of soldiers hunched over a small wooden table, drinks in hand, listening to one man speak.
"My brother is the Battalion Commander at Fort Harken. He sent me a letter last week. Says the Uraks attack at least once a week, and more of 'em each time. Says it won't be long before they get over the walls."
"Load a shit!" one of the other soldiers shouted, sitting back and taking a deep mouthful of his drink. "Nothing's coming over the walls at Fort Harken. Those walls are a hundred feet high with more archers than you could shake a dog at."
"You callin' my brother a liar?" the first man said, slamming his tankard down on the table and leaning forward, his eyes level with the other. Ella could see precisely why the weapons were kept at the door. "Us Urnells ain't no liars!"
"And what if I am?"
"Then I'll—"
Ella turned a bit, trying to listen in on the argument. But the man had stopped and was now craning his head up in the air.
"You'll what?" the other soldier shouted, jumping to his feet.
"What'll you do?"
"Shut up, you twit! Can't you hear that?"
"Don't change the subject!"
The argument descended into an indecipherable mess of roaring and slurred insults. But Ella could hear the shouts. They were difficult to make out over the noise of the common room, but she could definitely hear them. Something was happening outside. She looked over to Farda, who sat on the other side of the inn. He was deep in conversation with two men and a woman, all three of whom were dressed in the red and black leathers of the empire, and the woman had silver markings on her shoulder.
Downing the last quarter of her ale in one mouthful, Ella slid the tankard back towards the innkeeper. "Another, please." She made sure to give a wide grin and hold eye contact with the sour-faced woman as she slapped two more coppers down on the countertop. "I'll be back in a minute."
Whatever was happening outside – it was probably just drunken soldiers having an argument – she wanted to check on Faenir. She never liked leaving him on his own, and he was better company than anyone in that grotty inn.
She took one last glance towards Farda as she made her way across the inn. As she did, he looked up, his eye catching hers. He raised an eyebrow, but she ignored him and continued towards the door. He could follow her out when he was done.
The fresh night air greeted her as she pushed open the door and stepped outside, letting the noise of the inn fade away. She found Faenir just where she had left him, but he no longer lay folded in a heap. He stood at his full height, his ears pricked up, a deep rumble resonating from his chest as he stared out into the night.
"What is it?" Ella turned towards the street, trying to see whatever it was that had unsettled Faenir, but all she saw were shadows. The only light that touched the streets was the dim glow of the moon and the occasional candle that sat in a window here and there. In the distance, Ella could still hear the faint rumble of men shouting.
"It's just drunks arguing. It's all right…" A shiver ran down Ella's spine as the shouting in the distance stopped, abruptly cut from the world. She held her breath, hoping to hear anything but the eerie silence that drifted on the wind. But the night had suddenly grown unnaturally still. Moments passed where the only sounds Ella could hear were the thumping of her own heart and Faenir's growl resonating in his chest. A ripple of awareness swept through Ella's body as Faenir stepped up beside her, his hackles raised, nose creased, and his growl deepening.
The crunch of dirt beneath boots sounded to the right. Ella snapped her head around, her blood going cold in her veins and her stomach turning in anticipation. A wave of relief flooded through her as three guardsmen stepped out from the shadow of a side street and started walking in her direction. She let out a sigh, ruffling the hair at the back of Faenir's head. His hackles did not settle, and the low growl in his chest persisted. Resting her hand on the back of the wolfpine's neck, she could feel something… Something she couldn't quite put her finger on. It was as though Faenir's worry was wrapping itself around Ella's consciousness. "Faenir, it's all right. Look, it's only—"
Ella's heart dropped into her stomach as an enormous black spear sliced through the night. It caught one of the guards in the side, lifting him off his feet and sending him crashing to the ground, spraying gore through the dirt. The man didn't move.
Another spear followed immediately after, bursting through the side of the second guard's head, sending a plume of blood mist into the air. The guard's body went limp and crashed to the ground, whipping spirals of dust up into the wind. A third and fourth spear flew towards the last guardsman, but he tumbled out of the way and managed to shout, "Attack! We're under attack!" before a fifth spear sliced through his chest at such speed that it held him upright, its tip buried in the ground.
Before Ella could even think to move, massive hulking creatures with pale skin came barrelling from the shadows, howling and screaming. She recognised them from the night Haem died: Uraks. Each of them stood at least seven feet tall, their blood-red eyes shimmering in the darkness. Some wore various bits of battered steel and iron armour. Breastplates, greaves, helmets. But most were bare-chested, hefting blackened swords and spears.
Ella wanted to move. She wanted to run, but she couldn't. Her feet would not respond to any command she gave them. No matter how much she screamed within her mind, she was frozen.
Faenir leapt in front of her, snarling, his head lowered to the ground, his hackles sticking straight up into the air.
As the creatures got closer, soldiers and guards began charging out of side streets and doorways. But they were cut down just as fast as they appeared. Cries and shouts rang out into the night. "Uraks! Uraks! We're under attack!"
"What is going on out—" A soldier burst from the inn behind Ella just in time to take a massive spear through the rib cage, pinning him to the door frame.
Ella screamed at the sight of the man dangling there, blood streaming from his side, trickling down onto the wooden porch of the inn. His eyes were vacant, void of life. She stumbled backwards, tripping over a bucket as she did, which sent her tumbling onto the tight-packed dirt of the street. A sharp pain ran up her back as she hit the ground.
Grimacing, Ella looked up to see an Urak charging towards her, a long black sword in its hand and a guttural howl escaping its throat. The dirt and stones scraped against her skin, bedding under her nails as she frantically clawed her body backwards, unable to get enough purchase to lift herself to her feet. No, no, no.
A blur of grey flashed past Ella's face. With a ferocious growl, Faenir leapt at the creature, his powerful limbs lifting him into the air, his jaws clamping around the Urak's neck. The Urak swiped at Faenir, hammering the pommel of its blade into the wolfpine's back, but Faenir held on, clamping down harder. Ella watched as the Urak stumbled, blood streaming out around Faenir's jaws.
Faenir swung his head from side to side, his teeth sinking even deeper into the beast's neck, tearing at its flesh. Then, with a terrible ripping noise, Faenir came free and landed on all fours, snarling, blood dripping from his mouth.
The Urak followed Faenir to the ground, crashing to its knees, a fountain of blood rolling down over its chest from the gaping wound where its throat had been. As the Urak dropped, lifeless, to the dirt, Faenir tossed away the lump of flesh it had torn from the creature and turned to face what was coming, a deep growl rising in his chest.
Ella heaved at the sight of the dead Urak, its neck a knot of mangled flesh, blood soaking into the dirt around it. She dragged herself to her feet, pushing the nausea down. The streets were filled with Uraks now. All around her the beasts ripped the guards and soldiers apart, cleaving bone with single swipes of their blackened blades and rending flesh with claws and teeth. The soldiers didn't stand a chance.
Keep your head. You didn't come this far to die here. Reaching down, Ella snatched up a bloody sword that lay in the dirt near her feet. One of the soldiers must have dropped it. They wouldn't need it anymore. Breathe… breathe.
Ella wrapped both of her hands around the hilt of the sword, just as her father had shown her. The feel of the weapon in her hands was familiar. The smooth touch of the leather-wrapped handle, the weight of the steel. She swallowed, set her feet apart, and slowed her breathing.
"We'll get through this," Ella said, looking at Faenir, her voice trembling. The wolfpine backed up in front of Ella, his head darting from side to side as the fighting descended into chaos. The screams of dying soldiers melded with the primal war cries of the Uraks, echoing against the sound of colliding steel. Ella could do nothing to keep her heart from racing. It beat against her ribs, eliciting audible thumps, like her father's hammer crashing down on the anvil in the forge. Thump, thump, thump.
A roar erupted to Ella's left. She swung the sword without hesitation. A horrendous vibration shot down her arms as the blade collided with an Urak's, the force of the collision sending her sword clattering against the dirt. She stumbled backwards as the beast stepped towards her, death in its eyes.
As the creature loomed over Ella, Faenir let out a ferocious howl and leapt at the Urak, clamping his jaws around the beast's sword hand. Crying out, the creature let its sword drop to the ground. But it only took a moment for it to recover from its shock. Twisting its heel into the ground, it threw a punch into Faenir's ribs, eliciting a yelp from the wolfpine, then swung its arm in an arc, tossing Faenir to the dirt.
With a snarl, the Urak snatched its sword up from the ground and turned towards the wolfpine, blood dripping from its wrist.
Ella's pulse quickened, and a gut-wrenching feeling set into her stomach. No. She would not let anything happen to Faenir. With every hair on her body standing on end, she pushed back the panic and fear that threatened to swallow her whole, grabbed hold of the sword she had dropped, and ran towards the towering monster.
Screaming so hard she thought her lungs might burst, Ella swung the sword through the air, a solid thump vibrating through the steel as the blade lodged itself into the beast's back like an axe in the trunk of a tree. The Urak howled as the steel sank in, turning its head, its face contorted in fury.
In a frenzied panic, Ella tugged on the hilt of the sword, trying desperately to spring it free from the Urak's thick leathery hide. But before she could pull it loose, the creature swiped out with a backhand. A burst of pain shot through Ella's face, and the force of the blow sent stars spiralling across her vision as she crashed to the ground, her head slamming off something solid.
Ella reached her hand back, groaning as she felt a tacky dampness at the back of her head. Ignoring the pain, she shook her head from side to side, trying to clear her blurry vision. "Faenir…" she tried to call out, but her words were barely a whisper
Through the muddled haze that covered her eyes, Ella saw Faenir standing over the body of the Urak, smoke drifting from the creature's back. The pungent smell of charred flesh filled Ella's nostrils, causing her to gag. The acidic taste of vomit hit the back of her throat, and she emptied the contents of her stomach into the dirt.
Trembling, she pushed herself to her feet, stumbling towards Faenir, using her sleeve to wipe away the vomit at the edges of her mouth. The wolfpine bounded towards her. He pushed his side up against her legs, but kept his head facing outwards, a deep growl reverberating through his body.
"It's all right. Good boy." Ella turned, spitting a mixture of blood and saliva into the dirt. Pushing the smell of charred flesh to the back of her mind, she reached down, wrapping her hands around the hilt of the sword that was still buried in the creature's back. Placing the flat of her foot on the beast's shoulder for leverage, she pulled as hard as she could. At first, the weapon only gave the slightest of budges, eventually shifting, then sliding free entirely. With the sword in her hands, she looked down over the Urak's body, her eyes resting on the mess of charred, molten flesh on its lower back. What did this?
"Ella."
Ella hadn't even noticed Farda approach. She could barely see anything outside her direct line of sight. Everything else was still a blur. "I'm all right."
"Are you hurt?" Farda reached out his hand to touch the side of her face, but Ella batted it away.
"I've been worse."
Ella thought she heard Farda stifle a laugh, but in truth she wasn't sure.
"Get behind me." Farda stepped between Ella and five onrushing Uraks, not so much as a knife in his hands. His sword must still have been on the rack in The Saviour's Chest. What is he doing? He's going to die.
Four of the Uraks attacked together, swinging their swords in sweeping arcs. But the fifth ran straight past, heading for Ella and Faenir.
Ella set her feet as the Urak drew closer, its blood-red eyes fixed on her, its mouth drawn into a horrific grin, exposing its jagged yellow teeth. The creature's leathery grey skin rippled as it ran, its muscular arms swinging its sword above its head.
Before the beast could reach Ella, Faenir lunged. The wolfpine crashed into the Urak's chest, tearing at its skin and knocking it off balance.
As the Urak raised its arm to strike at Faenir, Ella shifted her weight onto her back foot and swung her sword, slicing through the creature's wrist. She felt a resistance at first as her blade met bone, but then the weight of her strike carried her through.
The Urak howled in pain as it reeled backwards, its face twisting in agony and rage. With its good hand, it grabbed Faenir by the scruff of his neck and slammed him into the ground, eliciting a snarling whimper from the wolfpine. Faenir pulled himself to his feet, then leapt at the Urak once more, sinking his teeth into the creature's leg.
Pulling her arm back, Ella lunged. She had learned from her earlier attempt, and instead of swinging the blade against its thick hide, she threw her weight into the strike and drove her sword up through the Urak's chin. Blood sprayed from the wound, the Urak's eyes rolling to the back of its head. Plumes of dirt and dust shot into the air as the creature fell backwards into the hard-packed dirt, the life draining from its bones.
Ella pulled her eyes from the creature's lifeless body, afraid to look towards Farda. When she did, she found the man held a blackened blade in his hands, and one of his attackers already lay lifeless on the ground, its blood spilling out into the dirt.
Farda swept aside the remaining Uraks's strikes, before driving the blade through one of the beasts' chests. The Urak stumbled backwards, then collapsed to the ground. Ducking beneath the sweeping blades of the two remaining Uraks, Farda stuck his hand out, as though he were snatching at thin air. Ella gasped as the blackened blade in the dead Urak's chest shook for half a second, then launched itself into Farda's grasp.
In one smooth motion, Farda caught the blade, swivelled, and severed the nearest Urak's sword arm at the elbow. The creature howled in pain, but its cries were cut short as Farda switched his grip on the sword and drove it back up through the beast's ribcage. The Urak slumped to the ground as Farda ripped the blade free.
A coil of dread twisted in Ella's stomach as the last remaining Urak grabbed Farda by the shoulder and slammed him to the ground.
"Faenir!"
Without so much as another word passing Ella's lips, the wolfpine charged, deftly avoiding the swing of the Urak's blackened blade, before leaping and closing his jaws around the creature's neck. The weight of the wolfpine's charge sent the Urak crashing down onto its back, frantically swiping at Faenir's side. But the wolfpine ripped his head from side to side, ignoring the Urak's desperate strikes. By the time Ella had reached Faenir, the Urak was dead, and its blood dripped from Faenir's open mouth.
"Thank you," Farda said, dusting himself off as he got to his feet. "You handled yourself well. We need to go. Now."
Ella stared at the man, her heart still racing in her chest. "What… what are you? I saw what you did."
"Ella, please, we don't have time for this right now. I will explain, but we need to go." Farda took a step closer, but Faenir blocked his path, snarling as he lowered his head to the ground.
Ella looked around her. Even then, more Uraks filled the streets, charging and howling. The soldiers were being mowed down as though they were nothing but children.
"We need to go." Farda repeated, reaching out his hand, ignoring Faenir's snarls.
Ella looked around her once more. She watched as an Urak's axe sheared through a soldier's neck with a single swing. As it did, the gemstone set into its blade shimmered with red light. She pushed the questions down, looked back to Farda, and gave a short nod. "All right, but you're telling me everything."
"Agreed. First, I need to go back in and get my sword."
By the time Farda and Ella reached The Dusty Cove, the carriage driver, Loran, stood out front, the two horses tethered and ready.
"Master Farda, I heard the alarm and took the liberty of preparing the carriage. Your bags are already aboard."
Loran was an older man, at least fifty summers, with a lazy eye and a slight limp. Though the irony had not been lost on Farda of considering a man of fifty summers to be 'older', when he himself had seen ten times that. Despite the man's flaws, he was one of the few dependable men Farda had come across in quite a long time. "You have my thanks, Loran. Please help the lady aboard."
Nothing could have prepared Farda for the thunderstorm that came his way.
"Help me aboard?" Ella roared, ramming her hands into Farda's chest. "I am not some trophy made of glass for you to control. What happened back there? What did you do?" A fury burned in her eyes as she glared at him. The wolf stood at her side, its lips pulled back in a snarl, teeth bared. "What are you?"
"I am a mage," Farda replied, his voice flat and level. "The intricacies of which I am happy to explain to you, but can we please get out of here first? There are too many Uraks here, even for me."
The fury in Ella's eyes shifted, changing to shock and then back again. "You intend to leave the people here to die?"
"Would you prefer we die with them? Because that was not part of my plan. I cannot save them. We have lost here today. You can stay if you wish."
Farda reached out to the Spark, pulling on threads of Air and Spirit, just in case. If she chose to be stubborn, he would have to take her by force and put the wolf down. Though that may have been easier said than done.
He saw her hesitancy. She looked at the wolf, then back to Farda, then over towards Loran. "My bags are on board?"
The carriage man nodded. "They are, miss."
Ella knelt and whispered something in the wolf's ear. Farda watched as the animal growled before bounding into the night.
Throwing a sneer in Farda's direction, Ella stormed past him, then pulled herself up into the carriage.
Farda released his hold on the Spark. He let out a sigh, pushing his hand into his trouser pocket. He ran his fingers around the hard edges of the familiar coin. Pulling it out, he flipped the coin over, examining the insignias on each side. The Lion and the Crown. With a clink, he flicked the coin up into the air. On which side it landed did not matter. What mattered was the question: continue on this path, or bring the girl straight to the Inquisition where she could be broken and used?
He felt a strange sense of relief when he saw the Lion staring back up at him from his open palm. It was fate's choice – he should've had no stake in it – but he did.
Snow crunched under the horses' hooves as the group made their way through the night. Alleron had wasted no time in assembling a party that would see them safely to Arisfall. Hunters, trackers, soldiers, and some who simply wished to make the journey. They numbered nearly fifty now, twelve horses between them all, with the rest travelling by foot.
Calen could feel Valerys overhead. He could feel the wind as it rippled over his scales, see the forest as it spread out for miles in all directions in brush strokes of mottled green and glistening white, smell the fresh blood that dripped from a wounded stag over a mile away. He shook his head, pulling his mind back from Valerys's. At times, the separation between them was so thin he felt he might lose himself if he pushed too far.
"How long to Arisfall?" Calen asked, pulling his coat tight around himself and turning to Alleron, who rode beside him.
"About two weeks, maybe more. Travelling takes a bit longer down here than it does where you're from. The snow and the cold see to that. But there are a few villages along the way, and we have walked these lands since we were children. It's not the journey itself that we need worry about."
Calen raised an eyebrow.
"The Urak attacks have become ever more frequent in the last couple of weeks," Alleron said with a grim shrug. "And if that wasn't bad enough, all their activity seems to have irritated the wyrms."
"What?" Calen nearly fell from his saddle. He wasn't sure why. In the past few months, he had learned of true magic, dragons, Uraks, kerathlin – no fairy tale should have surprised him. "I thought wyrms were just… stories?"
"They might be where you're from. But here, they are very real, and they can tear a hole straight through a horse in a single strike. They usually hunt alone, but like I said, the Urak activity seems to have irritated them. We've heard reports recently of them attacking in packs. Nasty bastards."
"What do we do if they attack?"
"Well, we have some ways of dealing with them, but we usually only have to deal with one at a time. In this case, maybe you can pray to Achyron?"
Calen let out a sigh. "Great…" he muttered.
Alleron laughed. "With any luck, we won't run into them at all."
"Luck is not something we seem to have much of," Calen replied, the corners of his mouth twisting into a frown.