Rex Draconis: Of Dragons Blood

By Richard A. Knaak

OF DRAGON'S BLOOD


As dark forces vie against one another to claim power during the Dragon Moon --- in the process seeking to manipulate the minotaur empire and the allied kingdoms into war with one another --- a few move to prevent catastrophe from overtaking the world of Tiberos. Sent on a desperate mission by her superior, the half-elf knight Aylin Brightstar and her comrades --- the Vledarian siblings Varvara and Nathaniel --- must confront their own heritages if they hope to convince bickering realms of the true threat lurking among them. With them travels the female minotaur Memna, sent to give their words credence despite risk to her life.

Yet, as ancient sorcery and monstrous undead seek to subvert their quest and other powers brings forth the most unlikely of allies, Aylin will discover that her heritage runs deeper and older than elves to perhaps the most astounding of all. Unfortunately, with that heritage may come far worse as she learns what it truly means to be

OF DRAGON'S BLOOD

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hydra Publications
• Release date: May 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201665890

Richard A. Knaak

Richard A. Knaak is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of The Legend of Huma, World of Warcraft: Wolfheart, and nearly fifty other novels and numerous short stories, including “Black City Saint” and works in such series as Warcraft, Diablo, Dragonlance, Age of Conan, and his own Dragonrealm. He has scripted a number of Warcraft manga with Tokyopop, such as the top-selling Sunwell trilogy, and has also written background material for games. His works have been published worldwide in many languages. His most recent releases include Shade—a brand-new Dragonrealm novel featuring the tragic sorcerer—Dawn of the Aspects—the latest in the bestselling World of Warcraft series, and the fourth collection in his Legends of the Dragonrealm series. He is presently at work on several other projects.

Book preview

1

Darkness in the Ruins

Leave me alone, he muttered so quietly that even he could barely hear himself.

I cannot, Lucian Drak, not in the way you mean. You know that. We have been over this oh so many times. Your course has long been determined. You chose to be a part of it on your own, to pay for your transgressions.

I didn’t know it would mean you would be steering me from one certain doom to another.

And yet, here you are, of your own choice...

Lucian shoved his hood back a bit to better see his surroundings. His angular features were not unhandsome, and bespoke of some distant elven blood mixed with his own human. He also had the narrow, almond-shaped eyes with gray pupils that hinted not of the elves, but the mysterious far lands beyond Solanas, places even the elves generally did not visit.

How either of those traces might have gotten into his ancestry, Lucian Drak neither knew, nor cared. What he did care about at the moment was that he was still skirting the edge between the southeastern border of Spanya, much too near the Druun lands. Thus far, he had not had any encounter with one, but he was well aware from past experience how abruptly the Druun could appear. The nearest barrows were not that far from here.

The problem was what he was supposed to look for could only be found near here, very near here, if what he had been told was correct.

You know it is. I told you.

Then, why don’t you get it yourself?

"Because it cannot be me, the voice remarked as it faded away, for the time being.

Of course not. He tugged lightly on the reins. Eyes never blinking, the marble gray stallion obediently turned. The animal had died three years ago. Lucian had come across its corpse just after it had been slaughtered by wolves. Reanimating it had not been the monumental part; making it pass for living had. At the time, the necromancer had been very proud of his spellwork, a triumph of his increasing skills.

Little had he known that animating his horse would soon lead him to the circumstances he now suffered.

Gazing up at the Shatter, he judged it to be near enough to midnight to use other means to locate his prize. Reaching into a belt pouch on his left side, he withdrew a black, shriveled object the size of plum.

Grimacing in anticipation, Lucian leaned forward and, with his free, gloved hand, shoved aside the horse’s mane in order to open a small slit hidden by the hair. Switching his grip on the black object, he tucked it into the slit.

The horse’s head jerked up. For the first time, the eyes blinked. The stallion looked around. The beast’s sides swelled as it went through the pretense of breathing.

Try as he might, Lucian could not convince the spirit trapped in what had once been a human heart that he no longer needed to take in air to either breathe, or speak.

Thunder weather! bellowed an extremely deep voice. About damned time you let me out! Do you have any idea what it’s like sitting in the dark for days, weeks, or months at a time? If I still had a hand to hold a sword—

Even the bones of your hand turned to dust centuries ago, Cassius Detanar. You are fortunate I found where they stored your heart after they ritually mummified it.

You mean that after they ritually chopped my head off first, boy? Don’t listen to what the ogres say; I don’t feel like any great honored enemy. Just a very dead one.

The stallion moved its head in a clear effort to observe itself.

"The damned horse again! Can’t you ever dig up the body of some fine Dracomian knight, or even Gathian minotaur? Something a little more...noble? I was grand-nephew to Prince Obeia, fourteenth in line to the Darnathian imperial throne!"

Lucian Drak sighed. Do you recognize these surroundings? We should be close to the fortress you commanded on the southern front two years before...you headed north.

Doesn’t strike a chord. What about a Spanyan cavalry officer? We’re not that far from the capital, are we?

The necromancer was tempted to put the heart back in the pouch. Take another look.

The animated corpse eyed the vicinity. Well, maybe that crooked rock over there looks familiar. A little more weathered, but I’d say that if it’s the one, the fortress should be just over that hill yonder.

And Wereling’s tower?

Well, since we built on top of his bloody place, I’d say if the ground’s fairly even, you might be able to find where we covered the hole.

That’s all I need. He reached for the opening under the mane.

Here, now! It’s been too damned long since you last let me out! Besides, you might still need me to identify something, or read some Darnathian writing! We were real bad scribblers, we were!

Lucian hesitated, then, Very well. There is a grain of possible truth in what you say.

So on we go! Fully in control, Cassius’s spirit made the body trot quickly. The necromancer had no fear that the former Darnathian regiment commander might throw him and then flee. Without Lucian, Cassius would soon find his equine body deteriorating.

As they reached the top of the hill, weatherworn remnants of the fortress could be spotted here and there among the small twisted trees and hardy shrubs populating the otherwise desolate area. Lucian’s initial analysis was not a promising one; storms and time had hit the region so much, that the area where he thought he had to search looked as if nothing had ever been built there.

The horse sniffed, or tried to. I can see. I can hear. I can talk. Damn me, though, I’ve no sense of smell whatsoever! Can you detect anything...nasty?

‘Nasty’? What do you mean by that?

His human reactions converting to match his current body, Cassius warily kicked at the ground with one hoof. There are still barrows not far from here, aren’t there? They aren’t called ‘barrows’ for no reason, remember? You, of all people, should appreciate that.

Because the Druun live with their dead does not mean I have any affinity to them. Nevertheless, the necromancer also sniffed the air. There was a scent, but very faint. No Druun near.

Cassius grunted. I’ll take your word, boy, but keep your nose clear, just in case.

The necromancer said nothing, more concerned about trying to find his prize. This was not going to be easy. He would have to risk spells that might cost him dearly.

You chose this path, Lucian reminded himself. Even if it was for what you thought were good reasons.

The Darnathian spirit carried him down to what had been the fortress’s center. Lucian dismounted and stared at the ground. Somewhere here?

The former imperial officer stared at where the spellcaster indicated. I think so. There used to be steps here. Move over to the right more. The stone door was made by the dwarves and intended to last forever as a stopper. It’ll still have survived this long.

Many men perish here? he asked the spirit.

Too damn many. There was a hesitation. If you’re thinking of doing a summoning, maybe you better put me back in the pouch, after all.

No. I may need you to speak to them. Some of them may recognize your voice.

Damn it! That’s what I—

The hooded necromancer raised a hand for silence as he walked to where the spirit had suggested. Going down on one knee at the spot, Lucian drew a seven-sided pattern in the gritty soil. As his finger traced the pattern, a faint blue-gray aura flared from the latter.

From his belt, Lucian removed a small, pale rod about half a foot in length. The rod was solid, carved from what, when pressed by others, he said was ivory, but had been, in reality, shaped from the bone of another necromancer dead for several centuries. Fortunately, unlike with Cassius’s heart, the ancient necromancer’s spirit had not remained; only the essence of his power had. That had helped Lucian fashion the rod to his needs.

Touching the sharp point to the pattern’s center, he muttered under his breath.

The aura of the pattern shifted, growing darker, redder. Listening carefully, the necromancer began to hear slight whispers. As he concentrated, those whispers grew louder. Lucian glanced to both sides, already well-aware that the sources were all around him.

Cassius grumbled something, but held his position.

Lucian took the bone rod and traced the pattern. Around him, vaporous forms appeared. He paused to gaze at them, seeing brief glimpses of armor, and bitter faces.

Show me the way I seek, he demanded of them. Show me where it lays hidden.

What is hidden must stay hidden, came one barely perceptible voice, the accent similar to Cassius’s. The necromancer had little doubt that he would be able to puzzle out anything the ghosts said. Thanks to the expanse of the Darnathian Empire, and its insistence on uniformity throughout its domain, their language, with some regional differences, had become what was now known as Common. Lucian was also versed some in older tongues, thanks to his research, but was grateful he did not have to try to use any of them with these specters.

Still, he saw that they seemed reluctant to obey. The necromancer raised the bone rod toward the nearest. Show me.

The spirit at whom he stared solidified a bit more. A ruddy soldier with long blond hair and a short, pointed beard glared at Lucian. The watery eyes, their pupils gone, seemed to look behind the necromancer for a moment before the ghost finally turned to his left and drifted a few feet farther than Cassius had indicated.

Extending an ethereal hand, the specter bent low. His fingers sank effortlessly into the hard ground.

As the spirit straightened, Lucian saw that he gripped a phantom pull ring about the size of his palm. A translucent, circular stone some four feet wide rose like a trap door.

With the way open, at least for him, the specter solemnly stepped inside and descended out of sight.

A moment later, the translucent image of the stone entrance faded away.

Standing, the necromancer made certain that the other spirits were still under control, then headed over to the location the blond ghost had indicated to him.

Once there, he peered back distrustfully at the horse. This is much farther away than the area you indicated.

Memories are tricky things, lad. I was fairly close. Truly.

Close enough for me to, perhaps, give up after I found nothing?

Cassius cocked his temporary head. You wouldn’t give up so easily. I was a lot like that, once.

Lucian pulled off a glove and dug at the ground. Some three inches down, he located the actual door ring. It was very rusted, but otherwise well intact, which meant that it had been buried early on.

Bracing himself, Lucian tugged. There was some slight give, then, nothing.

Facing the spirits, he quickly studied each. Three, the number he could handle, appeared to be a little more defined than the rest.

Clutching the rod tightly, the necromancer turned back to the ring, then concentrated.

Through his mind, he saw the three chosen spirits fly to him. One by one, they collided with, then quickly sank into, the necromancer. Lucian grunted as each one entered, but knew that this was his best hope for success.

He heard their voices in his head, frustrated, angry voices now that he had imprisoned them in him. There was tremendous risk that they would somehow be able to join enough to overcome his will. In that case, he might become possessed, cursed to wander as the spirits battled among themselves for dominance. Eventually, he would die as their ghostly presences, not meant to be a part of him, stressed his heart and mind.

But all Lucian needed was a few minutes at most. That was all.

He gripped the ring, then tugged. Now, with the combined strength of four men, the spellcaster gradually managed to pull the ancient stone door up. A much-too-loud groan accompanied the shifting stone.

When Lucian had opened the way enough, he stumbled back a step, then shook himself like a wet wolf. As he did, he cast out the three spirits, who returned to their original positions.

Putting his glove back on, the spellcaster pointed his rod in the general direction of the gathered spirits. Go.

They all faded away, leaving only Lucian and Cassius.

Somewhat relieved, the necromancer went around to peer into the ancient hole. Have a care, lad! I’m forgetting something else. I really am.

He kicked at the ground. Damn it! If I could just...

Another stall? Lucian had good night vision, all necromancers did but, even with the aid of the Shatter, he could not pierce the darkness in the hole. Finally kneeling, Lucian held the rod over ir.

Something below let out a bloodcurdling howl, to which, in response, came several equally horrific ones.

A large, savage form sickly white in color and resembling a mix of wolf and dog leaped out of the hole, barely missing, clamping its yellowed fangs on the necromancer’s wrist. As Lucian fell back, he caught a glimpse of a familiar, and yet grotesquely unfamiliar, monster with nightmarish green orbs and patches where its decaying flesh had given way to bone.

It also had a second lupine head.

That’s it! Cassius roared. We trapped a pack of damned lich hounds down there before we sealed it up permanent!

Lucian could not be certain as to whether the Darnathian had been lying about actually forgetting something like a pack of lich hounds, and especially a lead one with two heads. The point became moot, though, as he tried to prepare to face it.

The fiendish undead landed a yard from him and immediately turned to attack anew. At the same time, a second hound, this one with the usual single head, burst out of the hole and dropped on all fours on the opposite side of the necromancer.

All those who followed the magical arts as Lucian did knew of the lich hounds although, even to necromancers, the question as to their origins was lost to time. Every now and then, someone would think themselves powerful enough to bring the packs under their control.

The lich hounds generally left just enough remains as a warning to others.

Lucian swung the rod around toward the pack leader, only to have the beast spring away. Realizing his mistake, the spellcaster immediately brought the rod to the second beast.

Just in time. He ended up burying the point in the throat of the second. The hound howled and withdrew. Lucian found the reaction a hopeful sign; normal weapons were useless against these undead, but not this bone fragment from the ancient necromancer.

A third hound bounded out of the hole.

Lucian muttered a single trap word, a preset spell he could use only once and only in times of desperate need, such as now.

Dark green energy framed the third lich hound. The beast froze.

The frame quickly shrank, the still lich hound with it. In barely a breath, the frame dwindled to nothing, taking with it its prisoner.

As that happened, Lucian thrust the rod behind him. A frustrated growl verified his suspicion that the lead hound had been coming up from behind. Lucian knew that he had only seconds before it returned.

Even as he struggled to survive, he considered the fact that a pack of lich hounds had come to this place so long ago. It led credence to what he had uncovered and what the voice had suggested. The artifact had to be here.

But, in order to retrieve it, he first had to survive the lich hounds.

Another emerged from the hole. It alighted on the ground, and heavy hooves crushed in its skull.

Disgusting dogs! Evidently, I do have some sense of smell in this body, because those things have such a vile stench! Cassius continued to stomp on the lich hound, a good thing since it was already trying to repair the damage done to it. The creatures were difficult to destroy. However, Cassius’s efforts kept the one at bay, which gave the necromancer some hope that he could take the others.

Lucian kept waving the rod around him in the hopes of keeping the other hounds from reaching him. Finally able to regain his balance, he looked around and, to his surprise, saw only the one with a single head.

The lone lich hound snarled. Spellcaster, so delicious! It is long since the pack feasted. So very long. We were forced to devour one another, but your magic will let our numbers grow again.

You will find me very undigestible.

The monster lunged.

The necromancer whirled to his left. His cloak spread wide, then wider yet. The cloak and hood separated from Lucian and enveloped the lich hound. The beast snarled as it struggled to escape.

Lucian threw himself on the wriggling mass and touched the rod against where the hound’s body could be felt. Thinking quickly, he muttered the most appropriate spell he could think of, only in reverse.

The lich hound howled once, then quieted. The shape within the cloak started shrinking.

Jumping to his feet, the necromancer retrieved the garment. Underneath, all that remained was a rapidly shrinking mass of crumbling bone and a few bits of fur and dried flesh.

A little help here? This is getting rather monotonous!

Lucian tossed the garment over his shoulders as he hurried to Cassius. By the time he reached the spirit, the cloak had secured itself and settled down.

Touching the rod to the mangled monster, Lucian repeated his spell. To his surprise, though, it failed.

The necromancer swore. He had heard that spells used successfully on a lich hound often did not work afterward on others. It was as if the creatures, as a whole, could develop an immunity on anything used directly on them. The frame spell would have worked again, but it was not available to Lucian.

Thinking, he put a gloved hand on the lich hound and muttered another spell. The beast’s movements slowed. Its body took on a grayish sheen, at which point the undead completely stilled.

Cassius kicked the lich hound. The monster cracked in half, as if made of stone.

Lucian wished he could have saved the petrification spell, but circumstances had not permitted it. He took yet another look around the ruins, but there was no hint of the two-headed alpha.

That left only the hole with which to deal. With some wariness, he returned to it.

Have a care! We trapped about a dozen of those curs down there! I remember that now.

You are remembering quite a lot more than I would have ever thought. I wonder, now, if my finding your heart was so much chance after all.

The spirit let out a humorless laugh. You only figuring that out now, boy? The first question you asked me back then made it clear to me that we were meant to meet.

Lucian paused to look at him. How much have you been holding back?

The undead horse shook its head. Only enough to keep you from deciding you were done with me. I swear! I don’t want to go back in there!

The pouch? I have to—

Not the pouch! Cassius reared. "The darkness of the heart! The endless emptiness of it! When those damned ogres did that to my heart, they weren’t really honoring me! You know how they are! Their shamans tied me to it so that they could use me against my own! Make their powerful enemies into weapons they can wield!"

Lucian was aware of some of the practices of the ogres, but had not known of this one. He wondered what other secrets the Darnatihian still kept to himself.

What did you mean about us being destined to meet?

You hear that damned voice, too, don’t you? I’ve sensed it now and then. It talked to you just a few minutes before we got here, didn’t it? It’s the only blasted thing that reaches me when I’m in the heart.

For a moment, Lucian forgot his search. Why are you telling me now? Why right now?

Because, if you pull the Spider Ash out of there, this whole damned world is going to change, and not for the better. I like you, boy, I honestly do, but this is madness. There! I’ve finally said it!

The necromancer considered taking the heart out there and then, but knew that he might still need the Darnathian’s assistance somehow. Shoving Cassius’s words aside, Lucian refocused on the hole, while at the same time maintaining a wariness where the missing lich hound was concerned. He could not believe that an alpha would abandon the fight.

Gritting his teeth, he studied the narrow steps leading down. Whoever had built the entranceway had not been overly concerned with safety. Still, Lucian climbed in and began his descent.

Just before his head would have gone beneath the surface, the necromancer reached up and touched the rod’s point to the old hinges.

Stop! Damn you! Cassius shouted.

Something heavy struck the stone door. The door creaked ominously, but did not shut on him.

Lucian muttered another spell. As he did, his pupils briefly changed to a fiery crimson.

A tremendous roar rocked the area. It was followed by snarls that had to come from the two heads of the lich hound.

Heart pounding, strength rapidly fading, Lucian struggled to climb out enough to see what was going on.

He managed to pull himself up enough in time to watch the lich hound land hard on its back several yards to his right. The undead beast tried to rise, but then flattened, as if something huge but unseen pressed it down. The hound struggled, but clearly could not escape whatever force held it in place.

Hurry, the necromancer rasped. His heart beat faster and faster, finally feeling as if it were about to explode. Finish it.

There was another titanic roar, and then what appeared to be a thin frost fell upon the lich hound.

The hideous undead let out twin howls of agony, then blackened and shriveled to ash as if burned in some great fire.

A-away, Lucian ordered. Away.

The horrible pressure on his heart instantly eased. The beat slowed to normal. He remained very exhausted, but not to the extent he had been a moment before.

Hoofbeats presaged Cassius coming around to where Lucian could see him. The face of the undead steed filled the necromancer’s view.

As soon as you got below, it came out of nowhere and landed atop the lid. It was trying to seal you in, the way we sealed its pack in.

I had that suspicion when it did not show itself. I made certain the lid would stay open enough to allow me in and out.

You’re a bright boy. I must be rubbing off on you.

Lucian eyed his companion, not for the first time wondering if the Darnarthian’s odd sense of humor was a sign of insanity suffered after so long being trapped in the heart. Cassius had, early on, pleaded with him to remove the shaman’s spell on the mummified organ, but, unfortunately for the spirit, even if Lucian had wanted to, the spell was too odd and complex for him to puzzle out.

Recovered enough from his drastic spell, the necromancer started down again without another word. As he descended, he heard Cassius anxiously moving about. In his current circumstances, Lucian’s loss would condemn the ghost.

Dust swirled around Lucian as he reached the bottom. Holding the rod before him, he muttered another spell. The rod glowed, illuminating things with a bone-white light.

And revealing first to him fragments of what he knew to be other lich hounds.

The survivors had not only physically devoured them but, also from what he could tell, they absorbed their eldritch energies at the same time. There was no residual trace left of the power that animated the beasts.

Lucian held the light so that he could see more of his surroundings. To his surprise, the rest of the chamber was not very large, and had only one way to go beyond. On the walls of the chamber he was in were the names of the major gods etched in stone, each to its own smaller wall. Legatian, Niso, Gnarfang, Ramrath, even the Death. All written in a script that was not quite Darnathian.

He had no time to study the differences in the writing and decide why they existed. What was important was that there was nothing in this chamber. It had to be in the next.

Barely had Lucian stepped from the one chamber than he found the corridor beyond opening into a second room. There was no other exit. The walls were smooth and, to his expert eye, devoid of any possible hidden door.

And as for the chamber, itself, it was utterly devoid of the legendary prize he had been told would be here. He could see how the lich hounds, also discovering this too late when they had first descended here, had ravaged the stone platform and slot where it had lain. His frustration at this moment surely matched their ancient fury. They would have understood the implications the emptiness meant.

Someone had already claimed the Spider Ash, centuries ago.

2

The Road

I am relying on you to bring this message to your people. I know the standing your family has in Solanas. This is not the time for diplomats. This is the time for someone who can bluntly tell the truth.

Aylin Brightstar shook her head, as she had become wont to do often since hearing those words and others like them from her superior, Lord Justinio. She and her companions currently rode through eastern Spanya but, soon, the four of them would be beyond the accepted border and just days from that of Dracoma, her first actual destination.

That, of course, meant riding through what was, by history, considered Druun land, but no Druun had been seen in that region or well south of it for many generations. Political disagreements were the only actual reason why neither human nation had finally claimed the gap for their own. There were three well-traveled roads from Spanya to Dracoma cutting through the area, all of them guarded by both sides. It was one of the most secure areas she knew, despite belonging to neither of its neighbors.

No, Aylin decided. The path to Dracoma was not her concern. Everything else afterward was.

She glanced at her companions. Like her, Varvara and Nathaniel were Dracomian knights, but not Dracomian by birth. With their very blond hair (his to the shoulder when not covered by a helmet and hers a few inches longer) and their pale complexions, the sister and brother were clearly of Vledarian blood. They, too, had a tremendous onus on them, the task of trying to make their people understand the outside forces working to bring the empire and the Kingdoms Alliance to war.

Of course, as obstinate as humans could be when it came to actually listening, elves could be far worse and that, in her opinion, made her own task far, far more complicated than theirs. Relating the information to Dracoma would be the simple part.

Aylin was also pale, but in the way that Kaldara the elf mystic, whom she had met back in Aryon was. That was due to her father’s side, the reason she was now on this mad, in her very silent opinion’s, mission. He was also responsible for her somewhat pointed ears and, in part, for her features, especially her smaller nose and narrower, if otherwise human, eyes. Her helmet kept her ears, the most obvious sign of her elven side, from being noticed, which meant that for the bulk of the journey no one who had met her had realized the truth. That was good. Even though elves were part of the alliance, many did not trust them.

Are we there yet? a voice deeper than most humans and yet still with a feminine quality asked from behind her.

Peering over her shoulder, Aylin answered, Another hour.

The minotaur snorted. Finally.

The irony of her concern over her duties on this mission while Memna also rode with them was not lost on Aylin. Yes, she had to try to talk sense into her people while the siblings had to do the same with theirs but, on top of all that, they were bringing with them one of the very beings considered a deadly enemy by both human and elf alike.

Memna was a few inches shorter than a male of her kind, which still put her in the vicinity of seven feet tall. Her black fur meant that she was from a northern part of the empire, not that most in any of the kingdoms would have cared about that particular fact. She was powerfully built, with horns nearly three feet in length, and bearing on her back an ax many knights would have been hard-pressed to wield. Her presence had already caused a few incidents, as old memories and current fears seized control of some. Fortunately, along with the three knights, Memna carried with her a recognized seal given to her by Lord Justinio, granting her protection by the orders. Few there were, even among those with little love for the knighthood, who would risk crossing such power.

At least, openly.

As they neared the border, they came upon the Spanya outpost. Anyone entering, or leaving, by this road would first have to face inspection.

Five Spanyan soldiers came out to confront them. They were lightly-armored compared to the knights, with only breastplates, arm and leg guards, and broad, open helmets with a single ridge running from front to back. The Spanyan flag, with its white, rearing stallion in a field of green representing the kingdom’s forests, fluttered above the outpost. The soldiers wore triangular badges with the same design on the upper right of their breastplates.

The foremost soldier also wore a forest green cloak with with a white border, which marked him as a captain. Like most Spanyan men, he wore a long mustache trimmed down nearly to the chin.

Dracomian. What destination is that going to? demanded the captain, looking directly at Memna.

We are taking her to Avondale. She has safe passage under our protection. Aylin produced her own copy.

The Spanyan looked the document over, then thrust the copy back. Get it out of here.

Memna snorted. Her eyes narrowed and reddened slightly.

The soldiers tensed.

Hand near her sword, Aylin stared down the captain. We will see her to her destination. As I said, she is under our protection.

Nathaniel and his sister, likewise, shifted their hands to their weapons.

Turning to his men, the captain growled, Inside! To Aylin, he added, Go, Dracomian!

The half-elf did not hesitate. She urged her horse on, the others following suit.

I’ll be glad to be in Dracoma, muttered Nathaniel, generally the quietest among them.

It might not be much better there, Aylin remarked. We need to hope that Ravenhurst does not attempt anything.

The minotaur rode up beside her. Who is this Ravenhurst?

He is the Royal Commander, the head of the Dracomian Royal Guard. He answers only to the king.

Artemus Ravenhurst was also once a Knight of the Grey Hand, like Lord Justinio, Varvara added. When Aylin gave her a glance, she shrugged. She would hear that at some point. We may not know the reason behind his no longer being a part of the knighthood, but it’ll help her understand his hatred for us.

If he dares anything, he shall feel the edge of my ax, Memna said bluntly.

If it comes to that, we are all lost, Aylin pointed out.

Even the minotaur brooded over that last comment, they all knew how important success was.

The road led into a shallow valley. Light forest flanked the route, a contrast to the lands a few days to the south. Aylin wondered if that was a part of the reason the creatures had never truly moved to take it back. The Druun appeared more comfortable in the desert areas. Still, their push from the south had been one of the reasons the Darnathian Empire had not been able to withstand the other pressures on it. It was in great part due to the knighthood that the Druun had finally been driven out of what was now not only Dracoma, but Spanya and Ergyn as well.

Over the generations, Spanya and Dracoma had mutually agreed to cut back the forests for several yards from the roads. While Druun might not have been a danger, for a time in the past, the occasional outlaw and beast had been. That was hardly the case anymore, but the practice of keeping the sides trimmed away continued.

Because of the overall excellent security, inns and way stations had arisen along the three routes. Unfortunately, it had already been agreed by the party that Memna’s presence would likely cause more tensions than any of them desired. Instead, once a few hours past the Spanyan border, the siblings rode ahead to purchase what was needed while Aylin and Memna sought out a secure location a short distance beyond in part