And he had done it with so little thought to the act…

  He couldn’t help but return Bonner’s grin with genuine enthusiasm, feeling the stone in his hands flare hot at the excitement that sharpened in his heart.

  Unfortunately, it took them longer than the assumed two days to reach Elghen. They lost most of one morning to a ravine none of them had expected until Ryn warned them of it a mile out. From late dawn to noon they traced its ledges after a quick deliberation and decision not to have the dragon turn and carry them over the gorge, gear, warg, and all. In the end they found a wooden bridge that Bonner reinforced before crossing, having once more need to bribe Orsik and Eyera along with meat before the pair would do more than sniff and paw doubtfully the wooden slats that ordinarily might indeed not have held their weight. Beyond that, the wereyn chose those last legs of their journey to make themselves known in force, descending on their party no less than six times over the course of half as many days. Declan didn’t know if it was because they were nearing the Tears, or because the beastmen were merely denser the closer they got to the ranges, but he was growing tired of the frequent assaults. Bonner’s weaving saw to their wounds and some of their fatigue whenever possible, but resting became paramount, and even Ryn agreed to put their training on hold so they could all get an extra hour’s sleep each night without the fatigue of their evening bouts.

  The mage was less merciful, choosing instead to lean further into his instructions, stating again and again how important it could be for Declan to master the basics of even simple pyromancy if they were to challenge the northern ranges. If he’d expected to hear any complaint from his pupil, however, he found none. While the magical training was arguably more exhausting than sparring with Ryn and Ester had been, the fruits of Declan’s labor in that realm were also that much more tangible. With each passing day he felt his control of his abilities solidify ever so slightly, to the point where he’d even traded his hunting knife for holding onto the firestone in his offhand when they fought. He could see, now, how manipulation of even the basic weaves of heat and light might eventually prove more versatile than a second blade in combat. What’s more, Bonner had assured him that the stone was nothing more than a tool of the moment, a channel through which to focus his crafting, and one he would not need to cling to forever. This news had brought with it more flashes of memories that Declan knew were not his own, brief glimpses of another man’s hand casting flame and hellfire over the field of battle even as his sword carved a path through the enemies directly before him.

  When he’d told Ryn of these recollections, the dragon had only nodded and confirmed that they were more of Herst’s lingering presence before his white-gold eyes had glazed over, brought once more back into the past.

  Finally, not long after a midday break and meal on their thirteenth day of travel, Ryn’s ears perked up from behind the reptilian shape of his warped horse’s head. His neck straightened, and his gait faltered, earning glances from Declan, Ester, and Bonner alike as they followed alongside him, interrupting their lively discussion regarding the merits of magic in warfare.

  He did not, though, say a word to any of them.

  “Ryndean?” Bonner ventured after nearly ten seconds of quiet, but Ryn silenced him with a flick of an ear. Another few breaths paced by, and it was in that time that Declan heard a faint growling, and he turned to see Orsik and Eyera come slinking out of the woods on either side of the path they were cutting for themselves. The warg’s attention was not trained on any of them, however, and Declan followed their black eyes, finding himself looking in the same direction the dragon was.

  “Smoke.”

  Ester’s voice was tight, and when Declan and her father looked around at her she had reached around to draw an arrow from the quiver slung along her lower back. “Smoke,” she repeated, knocking it swiftly and drawing the give out of the string. “Blood as well. I can smell them both.”

  “Which means they can, as well,” Declan muttered, glancing at the warg again. “No wonder they’re so on edge.”

  There’s fire. Ryn finally spoke up, still not looking around at them. At the very edge of my senses. Buildings too, maybe?

  Declan’s insides went cold. “Elghen?”

  Undoubtedly.

  “What do we do?” Bonner asked the dragon, himself peering along the same direction. “If the town’s fallen, it means there’s a larger arm of the horde, here. I can’t imagine the wereyn making an assault on a full municipality with a few scattered groups of tens and twenties.”

  “Ryn, how much closer do we need to get before you can tell us more?” Declan asked in a low tone despite the danger obviously still being a ways away.

  Half-a-mile. Maybe a little less.

  “And we’ll still be at least another half-mile away from whatever’s going on?”

  Ryn nodded.

  Declan glanced at Bonner and Ester, and the three of them nodded together. “Then let’s get closer.”

  Only Orsik and Eyera appeared to hesitate when they began moving due west at a clipped pace, hurrying as best they could through the woods. Declan wondered if the scent of fire and death might scare the warg off completely, but thought he should have known better after glancing back and seeing the pair loping alongside them with ease over the frozen ground.

  He was starting to find it hard not to appreciate their company, in situations like this…

  It took them less than five minutes to close the distance, Ryn pressing a little ahead when he clearly sensed no threat in their immediate surroundings. They caught up to him on the ridge of an open outcropping, the break in the trees not offering any hint of the town, but providing a clear view of the heavens. The dragon’s head was upturned, looking to the clouds, and Declan’s lesser eyes took a moment to identify the faint, curling plumes rising from beyond the canopy.

  He could make it out too, now that they were near. The ashy smell of steady fire.

  “Whatever happened, it’s long over,” he muttered to the group even before Ryn could fill them in, pointing upward with the hand he’d found himself holding the firestone in instinctively. “That smoke is waning. I’d expect to see a lot more if Elghen were actively burning.” He looked to the dragon. “Am I wrong?”

  Ryn shook his head slowly. No. Yesterday, or the day before, possibly.

  “Are… Are there any survivors?” Ester asked quietly, the grip on her bowstring slackening as her face fell.

  Ryn paused, every inch of him going still while he reached outward with what Declan imagined was every ounce of his will.

  Then he shook his head once more.

  Declan heard Bonner take a shaking breath beside him, steadying himself.

  “Nothing to be done, then.” His voice was low, almost like the words were meant only for his own ears, green eyes on the rising tendrils high, high above them. When he spoke again, it was with his usual confidence, marred only by a slight shake that betrayed his true feelings. “What of the wereyn?”

  Half-a-hundred in the town itself. Many of those injured. Probably left behind like the ones we came across off the High Road.

  “Any others in the woods beyond us?”

  A pause. A dozen more in scattered groups, with an equal number of warg. Foragers, I think. We’ll have to hunt them down, but I doubt they’ll pose much issue.

  “You want to go in, then?” Declan asked. He had no doubt of his own resolution. They were only four—six, he corrected himself, glancing sidelong at Orsik, who’d taken a seat on Ester’s right and was looking up at the sky with hackles raised—but they were anything but defenseless. Between their number Declan was sure they had enough tricks to handle the remnants of whatever greater force of beastmen had fallen upon the town, so long as they could use Ryn’s senses to their advantage.

  Yes.

  The firmness with which Ryn said the word had everyone looking around at him in concern. Declan almost stepped away out of instinct, his heart clenching in nothing less than fear as the dragon’s equine form shivered and swelled. The day seemed to grow darker around them, like Ryn was sucking away the light, and Declan recalled the only other time he had witnessed such a distortion, almost a month passed now.

  At The Woodsman’s Rest, when Dia had sent the dragon into a towering fury Declan hadn't understood at the time.

  He suddenly feared what it was the dragon could see within Elghen’s ruined borders that was so beyond their own mundane sight…

  Getting control of himself, he lifted a hand and rested it on his friend’s shoulder, atop a patch of scales that hadn't transition into true horse hair. The touch was all the dragon needed. The light returned, bending away from him like he was releasing his grip on the cold sun above, and his form solidified. He half-brought his head about to give Declan a grateful look, then turned his attention to Bonner.

  Can we leave the foragers to you? None of them can be left to escape.

  The mage considered the question, eyes falling to Orsik and Eyera.

  Then he nodded. “If I take the warg, it shouldn’t be any issue. Give me their general locations. The forest will tell me the rest.”

  Declan watched and listened to Ryn provide the mage with the requested information with a knot in his stomach. He hadn't been thinking Bonner wouldn’t be with them, when they took the town, and his confidence in their success dipped as he watched the old man nod and make for the two warg. To everyone’s surprise, Bonner took a handful of Eyera’s neck fur in hand and leapt nimbly atop her, discolored robes setting about her sides as he made himself comfortable on her back.

  “Oh hush,” he told the female impatiently when she rolled her large head around to snarl in confused displeasure. “You’ve had much less pleasant riders, I’m sure, and we’ll move much faster like this. It’s about time you two make yourselves more useful than a pair of oversized attack dogs anyhow.”

  Eyera’s protest ended like she’d understood every word of the mage’s retort—which she might very well have, Declan considered—and she looked forward again with a sort of resigned annoyance lingering about the hunched muscles of her shoulders.

  His mount somewhat settled, Bonner looked around at them, attention on Ryn in particular. “Stay calm,” he told the dragon specifically. “Recall that we will still need to salvage everything we can for our ascent. Don’t torch whatever’s left of the town just for revenge.”

  Torch whatever’s left? Declan repeated to himself in alarm, his trepidation mounting. What was it that had riled the dragon so? And with Bonner seeing to the scattered beastmen in the forests about the town, would they have the strength to—?

  A clatter of tumbling gear from behind him interrupted his thoughts, and he understood all at once why Bonner was so utterly unconcerned with leaving them on their own.

  Declan felt the presence before he even had a moment to look around. Ryn must have shifted into one of his smaller forms first, so as to discard the carrying harness before he shredded it. Now, however, he was growing, swelling at an alarming pace, stepping away from Declan and Ester even as he drew himself up to his full height so as not to inadvertently bowl them over with the change.

  Not a handful of seconds later, the full mass of Ryndean, primordial of the dragons of the Reaches, towered like a black monolith against the clear blue of the cloud scattered sky.

  And his eyes, burning with an anger Declan couldn’t quite resonate with, were fixed on the wisping trails of smoke in the distance.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Despite the misconceptions of the rest of mankind, I am of the rare opinion that the wereyn are not an unintelligent race—though I admit to difficulty calling them “a race” at all. In granting them will through the process of their creation, the Endless Queen enabled the greater mass of her army in many ways. They could think independently, react to an enemy’s tactics—if primitively—and exist as a self-sustained branch of her forces without the constant need for her power or one of her cursed charms or liche to maintain any Purpose. However, in doing so, Sehranya also created a space in her armor, a gap in the wall that was her barrier of unfeeling, emotionless defenders brought forth from the grave. This is evidenced by the final collapse of the last of the wereyn under the joint assault of the dragons, Vigil, and elves, in the Queen’s final stand among the cliffs of the Reaches. The stitched beasts broke and scattered, and it is this fact that leads me to believe above all else that the wereyn are truly intelligent—if simple—creatures.

  Fear, after all, is a concept which exists only in the soul of the self-aware…

  -private journals of Elysia Enus al’Dyor, Queen of Viridian, c. 325p.f.

  To the beastkin of the mountains, the idea of language—vocal or otherwise—was an absent notion. Theirs was a primitive, feral race, lacking in the essential capacities that would have allowed such a concept to take seed and grow despite the centuries the creatures had spent in relative seclusion among the snowy, frigid crags they had come to call home. They lacked even such simple identifiers as unique names, discarding the need for individuality in favor of the cold intelligence that allowed them to move and react as a single unit. They were much like the wolves that were their rival hunters among the ranges in that regard, or the warg who had come under their bonds through cruel force and hungry necessity.

  All the same, though an animal can lack developed language, no such level of communication is required to convey the terror evoked by the strangled, shrieking screams of one’s own kind.

  It was this kind of stirring fear that eventually settled over the once-open space in the middle of the human’s now-conquered community, what the beastkin would have thought of as a gathering ground amidst the walled enclosures the fragile race used as dens. At first the cries were distant, hard to make out over the crackle and snap of the flames that were still dying out from the previous night’s raid. They might have been taken for anything, and many feeding among the vanquished prey they had gathered in that open place looked up with anticipation from their grisly meals, wondering if the hunt would resume again so soon. There were still those among the injured capable of hounding whatever response those few who had escaped the butchery would have managed to gather in so short a period. Perhaps the strongest among the beastkin would once again feast on fresh meat that day, aiming to regain enough strength to set off after the larger pack that had kept moving south along one of the wide, cleared paths man made for himself from settlement to settlement. Indeed, with this building anticipation, those among their kind still capable of doing so discarded their food and made to set off in the direction of the cries, slaver already dripping from red-stained mouths.

  Not a one among them didn’t take pause, therefore, when the sounds grew closer, and the understanding dawned that the howls and screeches were not those of the gathering hunt.

  They were the screams of the dying.

  In the few moments it took for this realization to settle in, for fear to take hold of the beastkin of the mountains, a shadow of unfathomable proportions erupted from over the tops of the walled dens that surrounded the space where they had built up their feast. The screams came from the very throats of those that had been standing nearest their gathered kills, now, erupting as their eyes tracked the great shape circling in a wide arc overhead, black against the blue of the mid-day sky and the grey of the smoke. They would have scattered, likely, had they been able to. The quickest among them did, those still with the strength in their limbs to escape, and the great creature let them go with the cool confidence of a predator who could run down its prey at its own leisure. Those with less ability to run could do nothing more than shriek and scramble out of the way as the colossal form descended, so massive that even in making for the largest clear space it still crushed two of the burned-out husks of the human’s ruined homes. As it landed, the broad, sky-swallowing wings that had kept it aloft stayed splayed, keeping it reared on its hind legs long enough for it to drop two smaller shapes onto the ground in front of it before it fell onto all fours with mirrored thuds that shook the earth.

  Then the creature opened its great, gaping maw, and roared with such terrifying, resonating anger that the world itself seemed to shiver in fear.

  As Declan found his feet, he worked hard to keep his focus, to keep his mind on anything—anything—apart from the horrible sight that lingered in his periphery. He thought about the terrifying thrill that had swallowed his stomach the moment Ryn had taken him up in one clawed hand, of Ester’s helpless shriek when the dragon had launched himself upward. Declan thought of the blinding speed at which they had moved, the forest sweeping by below them so quickly he’d been able to make out nothing but blurred streaks of green and fall colors. He thought of the tear he’d had to blink away, blooming in his eyes as they were met with the howling of the frigid air.

  Now, sword in hand and the half-elf only feet to his left, he thought instead of the twisted, cruel creatures scattered about what remained of the town square before them.

  The wereyn who’d been left behind by their quicker comrades made no move to attack immediately, which wasn’t unexpected. Most were frozen in terror at the sight of Ryn’s natural form looming before them, while others clearly largely immobilized by wounds suffered in the destruction of what had been Elghen.

  Will you be able to manage here? the dragon’s voice asked in a voice of forced calm, and Declan suspected that if he had looked around, Ryn’s attention would have just as fixedly been set on anything but the center of the square. The quickest are making a run for it, and there are a handful already fleeing along the southern road.