Twinsoul: Prelude

To kick off the new updates, I thought I'd start with posting chapters of my novel, Twinsoul. I'd much rather have people read it for free and contribute to the patreon if they like it. I'll post chapters of this monthly until what I have is out there, and we'll see after that if people want more!
I hope you enjoy!

********

Toras Voldur stood on the balcony of Castle Tugan, looking down at all his people had accomplished.  A great city full of trade, craft, and power sprawled before him.  Even hours after the sun had set; the city was alive with the lights of his people.  Some would stay open all night and rest during the day, simply because many of his people preferred night to day.  Also housed within the city was one of the largest, most well trained, and highly respected armies in all of Kayledon.  This was Cagar-Tugan, the High City of the Orcs.

Long ago, the ancient, evil god of the Orcs had been destroyed. Faarthus, the god of fire, led the abandoned Orcs west, to the Tharkas Mountains.  In a vision, he told the Voldur’s ancestor to begin a more peaceful life among the peaks.  Since then, under the leadership of seven kings and five queens of Voldur lineage, the orcan race became more civilized, enjoying a life beyond war and conquest. 

Up until then, the orcs had received very little recognition from the humans, even less from the dwarves and gnomes, and outright distrust from the elves.  So when the Demon Horde attacked nearly a century ago, Toras’ great grandfather thought it would be best if he gave the lrest of the world a reason to trust the orcs.

Crovas Voldur had sent orc battalions from his own front lines to the other sites of the attack—the Urdor Mountains, the Elderwoods, the Kingdom of Valora, the gnome city Mistwatch, and the two great schools of magic, Solreth and Luereth.  

His move was the greatest leap forward for orc kind since the death of their god.  The honor and bravery of the orcs earned them the trust and respect of the humans of Valora and Eldrina, and were offered an alliance with both kingdoms.  The gnomes of Mistwatch, who were most thankful for the military aid, were now on the best of terms with the orcs, and offered their future services in any endeavors.  The dwarves of Urdor were not quite as enthusiastic, but willingly accepted the orcs as comrades, and offered to help mine the Tharkas Mountains. 

The elves of Shae’Ildarae, however, still had very little to say to the orcs, though they had received just as much aid as any other area.  They had dropped open hostilities and much of their old hatred toward their ancient foe, and no orc living that Toras knew of held any ill will toward the Fey Folk, but there was no openness, no alliance and no trade between them.  The elves were known to be somewhat cold to others, especially to humans, but the relations between orcs and elves were downright chilly, and not on the orcs behalf either.  Toras had observed an orcan caravan guard offer an elven caravan protection between Shae’Ildarae and Eldrina for no cost, only to see the elven caravan politely decline.  When the goblins of Western Urdor swarmed into the Elderwoods, he personally ordered a company of his finest warriors, the Silver Guards, to aid in the fighting.  What he received in return was a share of the spoils and curt thanks.

Toras furrowed his brow and crossed his burly arms over his barrel-like chest.  He knew the elves could hold grudges on the level of the dwarves, but how long could they hate the orcs for no reason?  The orcs had saved their lives and shown them great honor, and still they were spurned. 

The king of the orcs stepped away from the balcony and retreated to his quarters.  He eased back into a tall, cushioned chair next to a towering shelf filled with literature, most of it history.  He gazed around the room, seeking a distraction from troubles he could not face now.

His eyes fell on the ceremonial flame of his private shrine to Faarthus, a gift from the High Priest of Faarthus and his personal advisor.  The flame’s dance brought him comfort; it reassured him that the Firelord was watching over him.  The God of Fire and Courage had never let down him or his ancestors.  He prayed as he stared, asking Faarthus for aid in these matters.  He knew the welfare of his people would someday depend on the grace of the elves.  He prayed that one day he could gain that grace.

A sudden knock on the door brought him out of his reverie.  He grumbled slightly as he stood up from his seat, wondering who would call on him at this late hour.  Upon opening the door, he was surprised to see his general and retainer, Ganash, breathless and wounded.  A circular breach the size of an orc’s fist in his chain mail leaked blood between the general’s fingers.  The wound was large, but he was in no danger of dying.

“My liege, I bring you incredible news!” Ganash said, not waiting for his king’s response.

“It must be, if you cannot be bothered to see a healer before seeing me,” Toras said, indicating the bloody bare patch on his retainer’s chest.  “I should make it standard procedure that messages are brought to me only after we can be certain that the messenger will survive!”

Ganash looked at his wound, and then shook his head.  “I am not hurt so bad.  Many of my men are worse off; it is they who need the attention of the healers.”

Toras was taken aback.  “I thought you were overseeing a standard patrol of the Northern Hills!  What creatures gave you and your company so much trouble?  I’ve seen you lead a unit against a score of trolls with no casualties.”

“T’was no creature that was responsible for this,” Ganash told him.  Toras’ confounded stare bade him to carry on.  “We were patrolling the Northern Hills, as you said, on the plateaus south of Reylyn’s lair.  One of my men cried out suddenly and pointed to the sky, where there were fiery rocks falling from the heavens!  The storm was upon us before we could seek shelter.  Some have been injured grievously.”

“A meteor shower?” Toras wondered, bringing a hand up to scratch his short, ash gray hair.  “Our seers never predicted one.  Could this have been an attack, the work of a sorcerer, perhaps?”

“No, my lord,” the general answered.  “We were too remote, and Reylyn would have informed us if there was a troublemaker on the loose.”

Toras furrowed his brow for the second time that night.  It could not have been Reylyn.  She was a quiet one for a dragon, and seemed to regard the orcs as her children.  It seemed that Faarthus had given him more mysteries instead of answers.

Just then, an orc clad in the red and gold robes of the Faarthus priesthood came down the hall to stand behind Ganash.  He had long, raven black hair and a red tattoo upon his forehead, contrasting the gray-green skin of his orcan heritage.  Toras knew the orc as Iksol, his most trusted advisor and high priest of Faarthus, with as much faith in his god as in his king.

“Sir Ganash!” Iksol scolded sharply, a fiery glare in his dark eyes.  “I warned you before not to disturb the king after sunset!  He specifically requested that he wasn’t bothered tonight, so be gone from his presence at once!”

Ganash bit back a wicked retort.  He loathed the priest, feeling he was nothing more than a sycophant begging for attention.  But he would not disgrace himself in front of his king, so he held his tongue. 

“It is all right, Iksol.  This is urgent business,” Toras said, gesturing for him to calm down.  The priest quieted, but eyed the general with contempt.  The king turned back to his retainer.  “Can you bring me to where this happened?”

“Certainly, milord,” Ganash responded, ignoring Iksol’s glare.

“Take me there now,” Toras demanded, already moving to his armor stand. 

“May I accompany you, my lord?” Iksol asked.

“This is none of your concern, priest.  This is military matter that has no bearing on you.”

“Not my concern?  No bearing on me?” Iksol said, looking appalled.  “Faarthus would be displeased indeed if the high priest of his most prominent temple was unconcerned about fire from the sky!  This may be a sign from the Firelord himself!”

“Iksol, you may join us,” the king said, sheathing his sword.  “Come, my friends, we have a mystery to unravel.”

              

****

Ganash rounded up as many of his orcs that were healed well enough to travel, after his own wound was tended, and ordered a return to the meteor site as part of the king’s escort.  On the way, Toras spoke with some of the soldiers, trying to find out as much as he could about the phenomenon.  The orc that had seen the shower first readily offered his account of the events.

“I was keepin’ me eyes peeled for the Red Lady, just t’see if she be out fer food,” he started.  Reylyn was often called the Red Lady by the common folk, as not many were aware of the ancient red dragon’s true name.  “Then I sees a star, red as blood, flickerin’ like a candle in th’ sky.”

“That’s not all too strange,” Toras answered.  “On some especially clear nights, you can see colored stars.”

“But tha’s just it,” the soldier said, smirking, “it weren’t there when I looked b’fore!  Then, well, I ain’t too sure, but it looked like summat ripped a hole in the sky, filled with liquid flame!  I hardly saw them rocks comin’ before they was on top o’ us.”

“Rubbish,” Iksol mumbled, off to his king’s side.  “You need to lay off the drink a while, soldier.”

Toras turned an ill look toward the priest.  “What makes his word less truthful than my own?  What reason do you have to doubt him?”  The advisor deferred his glance, looking quite abashed at the scolding.  The king turned back to the soldier.  “What is your name?”

“Kronta Baangs, majesty,” the soldier said proudly, bowing his head.

“Kronta, you are a boon to Cagar-Tugan’s forces.  Your warning may have saved the lives of many warriors.  I will see you commended before the month is out.”

“Thank ye, majesty,” Kronta smiled.  Iksol frowned and wondered if his king was truly impressed with such a coarse soldier.

Later, when Kronta was out of earshot, Toras gave his advisor a much angrier look than he had earlier.  “For someone who brought up the possibility of this being the work of the Firelord, you are being rather narrow-minded.”

“My lord,” Iksol began apologetically, “The common mind is quick to fabricate spectacular details when it can get attention.  I will be quite able to discern the nature of these meteorites when I have inspected them.  Until that time, I have only his word.”

Toras eyed his advisor, and then chuckled.  “Again, I see the attitude that earned you the title ‘Scholar of Flame’, the mind that burns away false knowledge until only pure truth remains.”

Iksol smiled humbly and bowed.  “I believe you selected me as your advisor because of that very title?”

“Just don’t burn too quickly, scholar,” Toras warned, “or not even the truth will remain!”

The night waned as the group marched, and dawn was fast approaching as they came upon the plateaus where the meteors had landed.  Toras understood immediately just how lucky Ganash and his soldiers had been.  The once wide, flat plateau was now a scarred and pocked waste.  The enormous, spire-like meteors stood like gravestones over the empty graves of the fortunate soldiers.“How many lie beneath these stones?” Toras wondered in awe, speaking to no one in particular.

“None, milord,” Ganash told him.  Toras stared at his general in disbelief.  “Thanks to the soldier you were speaking with, we escaped without casualties.”

“That soldier is up for a promotion,” Toras said as he surveyed the destruction before him.

“Aye, milord,” Ganash responded, in full agreement with his king.

Iksol, in the meantime, occupied himself with the meteorites.  He put his hand near the surface of one, to test its temperature.  It was warm, but not hot enough to burn.  When he placed his hand to it, he was surprised to feel a smooth, glassy surface, like a crystal.

“Majesty,” one of the soldiers called, “the Red Lady approaches!”  Toras looked up from the crater he was studying with Ganash to see the huge red dragoness descend just outside the boundaries of the meteor site.  Many of the soldiers backed away when she landed, but none of them took flight, for it was well known that Reylyn was an ally to the orcs.  From head to tail, Reylyn was about fifty feet long, and about three orcs tall at her shoulder.  Her brilliant orange eyes always seemed to glow with their own light.  Massive, powerful wings tucked themselves against her back as she surveyed the damage.  The sun continued to rise behind her, and it seemed to onlookers that she was wreathed in a flaming halo.

Toras walked over to her, followed by Ganash and Kronta.  They stopped just beyond the edge of the site, keeping a respectful distance as she looked around.  Toras held back a smile, waiting for what almost always preceded a meeting with the Red Lady.

When she was done, the dragoness turned a sly smile upon the three orcs before her.  “All right,” she boomed.  “What have you boys done to my favorite sunning rock?”

Kronta and Ganash paled at her words.  Ganash had never actually met Reylyn, and this first meeting seemed like it would be his last.  However, Toras, who had known her since he was young, said, “We thought you wouldn’t notice, at least until you lied down.”

Ganash nearly fainted out of disbelief, shocked that his king would be so disrespectful to such a powerful creature.  Kronta seemed to brace himself for whatever fiery end she would put them to. 

But the great dragon just chuckled, a light sound that seemed out of place for a dragon her size.  “Well met, King Voldur, I hardly believed a simple meteor shower could take you from your home.” She noticed the behavior of the orcs flanking the king, and said, “What's wrong, soldiers?  Lost your nerve?”

Toras smiled, and answered, “Nothing, my lady.  They just aren’t used to your disarming sense of humor.”

“Well, a dragon my age should have a good sense of humor,” she responded playfully.  “Otherwise, we’d just eat anyone we had no taste for!”

Kronta and Ganash chuckled nervously, and the king nodded his agreement.  Iksol approached then, cautious as he always was around Reylyn.  It seemed to Toras that Iksol had very little trust in the Red Lady, as she was still much of a mystery to many of the Cagar-Tugan orcs, and was still not sure how to approach that mystery.

“Greetings, Red Lady,” Iksol started.  “For what reason have you come to us?”

“To you?” Reylyn said curiously.  “My dear priest, I came here to sunbathe.  It is merely a coincidence that you are here as well.”

“Indeed?” The king interrupted.  “Then you have no knowledge of why this happened?”

“Not anymore than you or your soldiers.  I did sense something strange, however,” she said, looking away as if recalling a dream.  “I do not think it was connected with this meteor shower, though.”

“You may be wrong, my lady,” Iksol said.  “I have a feeling this was no ordinary meteor shower.  These meteorites are quite peculiar.”

As if to prove his point, sunlight washed over the field as the sun crested the mountains in the east.  The light revealed the meteors as translucent, blood red crystals. At the heart of each, a fiery glow sprang to life when touched by the sun’s light, as if fed by the fires of daylight.  The “hearts” throbbed in sync with each other, as though connected by some magic.

“By the shinin’ flames!” Kronta whispered.  He walked up to the closest spire and laid his hand on it.  A few moments later, he pulled away from it suddenly, as though it burned.  “It moved!”

“What?” Toras and Iksol said in unison.

“It . . . It twitched!  Like some creature’s heartbeat!”  Kronta stammered.

Reylyn approached a larger meteorite, and laid her large ear to it, closing her eyes.  When she opened her eyes and pulled away, she nodded.  “I couldn’t have said it better myself.  In two hundred years, I’ve never seen meteorites like these.”

“Majesty, I am beginning to believe Sir Baang’s story,” Iksol confided to his king.

“All right, men,” Ganash ordered.  “Sweep the area.  If you find anything at all, report to the king or myself.”

The group split up into pairs, save for Iksol, Toras, and Reylyn.  In order to put the soldiers at ease, the dragoness used her aura magic, the innate magic of all beings on Kayledon, and transformed into an auburn-haired, orange-eyed human woman dressed in crimson robes.  Such was her favored form when dealing on the terms of the smaller creatures of her realm. 

After about an hour of scouring the plateau, Ganash returned to Toras, excitement evident in his features.

“Come quickly my lord!  And you, scholar, I wouldn’t want you to miss this,” he said, and then started back the way he came.  Toras followed on his heels, Iksol and Reylyn close behind.  He led them to a ring of meteor spires, where Kronta stood waiting, over a crater in the middle of the ring, his back to them.

“What is it?” Reylyn asked.

Kronta turned to them, a bewildered expression on his face.  “It . . . It be a child, m’lady,” he said.  Sure enough, when he stepped out of the way, they could see a half-orc child, asleep and unbothered by the dawning sun.  Toras and Reylyn’s eyes widened, and Iksol whispered a prayer.  Reylyn said some words of magic, conjuring a wool blanket to her hands.  She moved next to Kronta and gently wrapped the child, not disturbing his sleep.

“What can this mean?” Toras breathed.

“I do not know for certain,” Reylyn said quietly, smiling.  “But it seems that you have been blessed with a half-orc son by Faarthus.”

“Me?” Toras exclaimed, trying to keep his voice low.  “What are you talking about?”        

“Aye, it be true, sire,” Kronta said as he looked upon the child.  “He’s got yer royal crest on ‘is forehead.”

“That’s not all,” Iksol put in.  He gently took the child’s right hand so everyone could see a red symbol the shape of a fiery star, Faarthus’ holy symbol.

“This child has been blessed by the Firelord,” Iksol proclaimed, “A favored soul of fire and courage!”

Toras felt as though he was seeing everything for the first time, and his vision was sharper and clearer than perfect, razor sharp crystal.  The legends he had studied, the deeds of the past, and his own prayers to Faarthus, they all swirled together into a single, unified vision.  A vision, Toras believed would lead his people to immortal glory.

The Orc King took his adopted son from Reylyn’s arms, and turned to his retainer and his spiritual advisor, never once taking his eyes off the child in his arms.

“Gather the men, so we can return,” he said, smiling gently to the sleeping boy in his arms.  “We have much to prepare for.”

****

Deep in a forest far from the Tharkas Mountains, a lone creature watched a star of red light disappear from the western sky.  The same creature had witnessed a similar blue star extinguish right above his favorite spring.  His surprise was great when a bowl shaped formation of blue crystal suddenly rose up from the depths of the pool, bearing a humanoid infant boy. 

Any other creature may have been scared away or could not be bothered by such a trifle, but Poerna was an asperi, a wind horse of startling intelligence and virtuous spirit.  He walked on the air over to the crystal bowl, to find the child alive and asleep.  He nudged the floating crystal to the edge of the pool and gently lifted it on to the lush grass.

It was then he noticed the symbol.  A silvery blue marking of an eye in a crystal seemed to be etched onto the infant’s left hand.  Poerna knew the symbol, for it was the symbol of Taelri, the goddess of water and magic.

“No ordinary child, this one,” Poerna thought, though it was obvious by the spectacle through which the baby had appeared that he was special.  He considered what he must do, then took the edge of the bowl in his teeth.  With the magic of air inherent to his species, Poerna tread on a cushion of air, slowly climbing the air.  Soon, he walked above the trees, the wind tossing his long mane and tail.

At first, he considered taking the infant to the elven city Fisathvanna.  There were plenty of people there, and more opportunities for him to be found.  But Poerna had no love of cities of any kind, and found that a horse walking on nothing but air tended to frighten people, no matter his intentions.

His mind then turned to the elven and human village of Tyhal.  It was much nearer than the city; he could make the village by morning at his current pace.  He knew a family there as well, one that would have no problem finding a home for a mysterious half-elf child.

As dawn drew near, Poerna touched ground on the outskirts of Tyhal, by the edge of the western orchards.  The cold breeze wafted the alluring scent of fresh apples to his nose, and he suddenly remembered why he loved visiting this village.  Poerna was not the type to take without asking first, so he left the fruit for later, making his way to the village. 

True to its reputation as the Treehome Village, Tyhal could easily be passed over by anyone who did not know where to look.  Any human or dwarven visitor would have looked for dwellings around the trees, or even inside the trees themselves, but Tyhal’s architects must never have figured out an efficient way to implement that idea.  Because the trees in this part of the forest grew so close together, the only room for any domicile was up where the trees were not so close.  High above the forest floor, there were bridges, walkways, ladders, and several crude lifts that connected the tree houses of Tyhal.  Only one home, in the hollowed base of an enormous oak tree in the center of the village, was near to the ground here, and that was precisely where Poerna was going.

Not knowing whether the occupants were asleep, Poerna gave himself an inch or so of air to walk silently on, but his efforts were unnecessary.  Before he even got close, he could hear Siali singing, probably while she was working.  Sure enough, when he could see the entrance of the oak tree house, he could also see the young elven woman on her knees, tending to a garden.  Her soft-looking black hair was tied back in a braid, and she wore a course leather apron and thick gloves, holding a small gardening spade.

He approached without a sound, and then pawed the ground when he was close enough.  She looked up quickly, seemingly startled, but her eyes brightened when she saw the wind horse.  She stood as though to welcome him, then noticed his curious burden.  He set the crystal bowl with the child on the ground before her, and she gasped.

“I couldn’t think of anyone better,” Poerna said to her, communicating telepathically.

“Where did you find him?” Siali asked, her tone breathless.  Poerna explained the circumstances under which he found the child, and she almost laughed in disbelief.  “What does this mean?”

“I haven’t a clue,” he replied.  “I might know someone who would know, but this child needs a home first.”

Siali’s eyes grew sad for a moment, and then she said, “My father and I will be happy to look after him.”

Poerna regarded her sternly.  “That was not what I meant.”

“I know,” she answered softly, “but perhaps this is my gift from Taelri.”

Poerna sighed, which sounded like a normal horse’s snuffle.  About a decade ago, Siali had lost her human husband in the Goblin raid.  She believed that one day his loss would make sense, that Taelri would repay her sorrows.  

“He is marked by her,” Poerna said.  “Perhaps what you say is true.  But know this: he may one day have a destiny greater than this place, greater than all of the Elderwoods.  This is a selfish decision on your part, even though it is made with good intentions.  If it comes down to it, you must let him go, for he is blessed by Taelri, and she alone can decide his fate.”

Siali was silent for a moment, and then she nodded her head.

Poerna turned about.  “Take care, Cat Shadow,” he said, calling her by the Common translation of her name.  “I will return in a few days.”

Siali watched the wind horse ascend into the sky, galloping to the clouds.  She picked up the infant and crystal bowl, and turned to see her father, the elder of the village, come out of the oak house.

“What is that?” The old elf said, his eyes wide.

Siali smiled, looking to the face of the boy, his face lit by the dawning sun.  She looked at her father and said, “This is our future."

The Living Stone, Chapter 8

Rage. Twisting, frothing, rending, scarring, vulcanizing rage was the only thing keeping Vengaralix alive. It pounded in his chest, keeping blood flowing to his broken limbs and wings. It burned the fog away from his bleeding eyes, searing red permanently into his vision. It roared in his mind so fiercely that it drowned out the echoes of pain. 

Somehow, after crashing down off the mountains, he managed to drag himself into a crevice to keep safe. Days later, he had stopped bleeding but his ability to move was no more improved. Unable to change his fate, his mind had begun to distort. Death had spared his body, but left his mind ripe for madness.

Only one word remained coherent throughout his torment: kra. The nothing had done this, beyond all sanity and possibility. The mere thought festered like a virulent rot in his mind, disintegrating his grip on reality.

So when a man stood in front of him as he faded in and out of consciousness, he took it as a hallucination. The reality of the man was made clear by the heel of his boot coming to rest between the dragon's eyes. Vengaralix growled and tried to bite at the offender, barely managing to snap his jaws.

The man smirked, arrogance burning in his eyes. "Still alive, then. Not bad, for someone pitiful enough to be pushed of a cliff by nothing."

The gurgling in Vengaralix's throat was supposed to be a roar.

Now the impudent man laughed. "You're right to be angry, it wasn't very fair, was it? You are strong for your kind, in this age where your power wanes. The nothing should have never stood a chance. Why was he able to strike you down?"

"Goblin," Vengaralix hissed. 

"No." The man's yellow eyes glinted from beneath long dark hair. "That was a lucky shot and you know it. The goblin was insignificant. The kra has power, power that his people cursed him for, just because he was different. He's better than you, even better because your people cursed him."

"Wrong ..."

"What's that?" the man put a hand to his ear. "Could you speak up?"

"Living stone are usurpers of what little magic remains," the dragon hissed out, somehow finding the ability to speak returned to him. "The world dies more with each curse that falls on us. They must return to stone or the world can never recover."

"So true," the man nodded. "But power is power. It's what made him strong and you weak, why he won, and you ..." he leaned in dangerously close. "...lost."

"He will die." Vengaralix managed to raise his head shakily, declaring his intent with as much strength as he could muster.

The man's grin was cruelly comforting. "I'm glad you feel that way." He swept down in a low bow. "Many call me the Forerunner. I have a vested interest in seeing this particular nothing made even more nonexistent. You and I seem to have common ground in that regard."

The dragon narrowed his eyes.

"If you want, I can lead you to incredible power, surpassing even the most powerful Kra."

"My people would never allow it," the crippled dragon said.

"What matters more, Vengaralix? The words of other dragons, or putting that wretch in his place?"

"He will die!"

The cruelty in the man's grin gave way to maddening glee. He gestured a black gloved hand for Vengaralix to rise. Compelled to try and stand, the dragon found suddenly that his body was whole once more, rising elegantly off the ground, and out of the crack where he was hiding.

"It's time you met some friends of mine, Vengaralix. They will show you all you need to make the kra regret resisting his curse."

*********

The trek through the wasteland to Black Needles was a long one for the large group. Kra used to move with his clan through Argassa, but a pack of ten dragons could fly to where they were going. Travel times were not so long, treks lasting as long as three days at the longest. Even traveling with just Bink took a little longer than he would have liked

Now, plodding across the wastes with a goblin, three humans, and a dwarf was a stretch of Kra's patience. His pace was practically a quarter of what he could do on his own. He regretted the burden of his curse; if his scales were not so heavy, he could have carried almost all of them on his back. As it was, he carried Bink out of courtesy to the longer legged members of the group, and it still felt like he was dragging his feet.

Yet the trip was enjoyable. Progress was sacrificed for the banter and interaction between these strange and disparate folks. Grif tended to grumble and curse every misstep and trip up that his stubby legs made, prompting Bink to laugh and Nellik to chastise him. When any bickering continued for too long, Wardan broke it up with nothing more than a calm warning. Kra was impressed by how much respect he had from his friends, but was reminded of just how strong the man was one night when he lifted Grif up over his head and tossed him during a sparing session. Throughout it all, Rilea kept up a motherly attitude, herding all of the others like they were cattle. She was always quick to add her thoughts, providing a stream of witty quips and sly commentary 

The one person Kra did communicate with regularly was Nellik. Nellik was a wellspring of information about the Drakvald wastes, and anytime Kra had a question about the flora and fauna of their surroundings he had an answer or anecdote to share with him. The dragon was glad to have another student of the world to talk with, and Nellik seemed to be genuinely happy to have someone else who enjoyed learning for learning's sake.

Bink was happy enough just keeping the group fed day to day. His hunting skills were tested between the demands of four adult humanoids and a dragon, and he seemed to outdo himself every day. The others offered to help him hunt, but he refused even when Kra offered his help. The goblin seemed to have a point to make, and wanted to impress the others to prove that goblins could stand alongside the bigger races. Regardless, he came back from his hunts with food enough for all to share, even Kra. The dragon was eating better than he had in years thanks to the prodigious hunting talents of Bink, and had no cause to complain.

The whole trip lasted five days, but they were five days well spent, as far as the dragon was concerned.

The name of Black Needles was entirely deserved. The valley was a forest of towering stone spires, some of which thrust themselves up past the skyline. The Rivenwall soaked wide swaths of the land in its overbearing shadow. The air was strangely cold and thick, as a heady fog swirled about on parts of the valley floor. Kra sniffed at the mist curiously, detecting an acrid tinge that was not appetizing.

"Careful, Kra," Nellik warned. "This fog has been known to have some odd effects on people who get too close."

"I heard a man and dwarf walked into some of this stuff and disappeared for three days," Grif said. "When they were found, the man had a dwarven beard and the dwarf had gone completely bald!"

"Aw, a dwarven nightmare if ever there was one," Rilea cooed mockingly.

"Hallucinations are common," Nellik continued. "The worst cases are burned by something caustic in the vapors, something we can't identify."

"Something in the soil, no doubt," Kra conceded. "A shame; the vapors are practically pure water without it."

"Really?" Wardan said. "This place is notorious for being inhospitable at the ground level, but it's essentially just water in that fog?"

The dragon nodded. "Feel the soil, it's softer here than anywhere else I've been." He turned to the raider captain. "How well-explored is Black Needles?"

Wardan shook his head. "Not well, at least not on the inside. It's too risky to send in mappers, and it was assumed there wasn't much to gain. We've got a good idea how large it is, after scouting its perimeters, but that's about it."

"So you don't know what's in there," Kra concluded.

"Chiraptor nests, a possible cliff lizard population, and anything else with nowhere to go," Wardan shrugged. "No orcs seen, no goblins, no other threats."

"No dragons then," Kra said.

"Not as far as we've seen."

"Good," he said grimly. "If we do end up staying here, I would hate for there to be complications."

"Wardan," Nellik said, "I believe it's time I should go."

Wardan nodded, to everyone's surprise. 

"Go where?" Rilea demanded. "I was promised three raiders."

"You also promised a week," Nellik told her. "It has been far longer. If you don't want an armed regiment hunting you down for kidnapping, there is little we can do but send a messenger back."

"Will you be returning?" Kra asked, sad to see Nellik leave.

"That will depend on Borlan's response. We have vital news he needs to hear at the very least, pertaining to the movements of the Destructors." He snapped a salute to his captain, who returned the gesture. He turned and did the same for Kra. 

"If not for you, I would be short a captain and a friend. You have my thanks."

Kra's pride warmed in his chest so much that he did not know how to respond. Unable to return the gesture, he placed his paw on his chest and bowed his head.

For the first time since the dragon met him, Nellik smiled. He turned around, wrapping his face in his mask, and started marching toward home.

"Don't worry about him," Wardan said to Kra's forlorn gaze. "He's done a lot of scouting and reconnaissance, and he's certainly no stranger to the wastes. He knows the way home."

"May the Mother keep him safe." Kra said reverently. 

"Come then," Wardan said, making for the heart of the valley. "We have a cult to stop, a home to make, and whatever Rilea's looking for to find."

"At this point, I'd take a canteen of water," she said. "This journey has already become a treasure in itself." Kra could feel her gaze on him through the protective cloth on her eyes. Without knowing quite why, Kra felt the most exposed he ever had under her powerful eyes.

"Does that mean we can go home?" Grif said, his beard shaking slightly as the dwarf shivered. "This place ain't good. Unwholesome, it is."

"Agree with dwarfy," Bink said. "Black Needles bad, new place for home, Kra!"

Kra and Wardan shared a wry look, then turned back to the valley, walking on wordlessly. Rilea chuckled at the whimpering moans of the goblin and dwarf.

If the pace had been slow up until then, it came to a crawl once they were deeper into the forest of stone. This time, it was to account for Kra's ponderous bulk. If his size had not hampered the others, they might have made more headway on their search for the Destructors. As it was, Rilea spent most of her time scouting ahead to find a suitable trail for the broad dragon to follow. 

More than once, Kra managed to wedge himself between the stone columns. He normally had no problem unsticking himself from the problematic pillars, but there was at least one time that he had to avail himself of Wardan's great might to push himself out from between a pair of particularly rigid spires.

Through it all, the fog seemed to thicken the further they traveled into the valley. Thankfully, the rumors about it's toxicity were vastly exaggerated. It became much more of a pure water vapor as they pushed further, as apparently whatever was in the soil at the edge of the stone forest was concentrated there, like a ward protecting some great treasure.

But if there was anything of worth in the Black Needles, Kra had yet to notice it. A fair amount of wildlife crawled, hopped, and darted between spires, but the stillness of the standing stones piercing through the fog haunted the valley, like an unspoken law of silence. The only connection the spires shared was the ground below, the separation seeming unnatural. The ever-reaching towers of rock reached up to the clouds above in silent prayer, asking for salvation from isolation. 

Kra found he liked it here. 

"You sure you want to live here, dragon?" Grif said, gazing around through the fog. "You can barely move around, and vision's bad at best."

"It's quiet," Kra said simply. "Once we've found a more open location, I'll have no trouble. Of course, this is all for naught if Bink finds it wanting." Both dragon and dwarf cast their gaze to the goblin, who upon noticing they watched him tried hard not to shiver.

"Wet," Bink muttered. "Wet and spooky. Bink no like it, Kra."

"What if we found you some shelter, a cave or something?" Wardan suggested. 

Bink sniffled, nodding. "That be good. Hunting here easy, lots of animals, good hiding spots. Water, too."

"But you still don't like it," Kra pointed out.

The goblin shrugged. "No biggie. If safe enough, Bink shut face."

"Maybe we'll find another home we can both agree on, though," Kra suggested. 

"Does that mean we can leave?" Grif asked, peering hopefully to Wardan.

"Well, we're actually not here for home hunting," Wardan said sternly. "If we find them a place before we part ways, that's just icing on the cake. We're still looking for Destructors."

"Ah, right ..." Grif said, shoulders sagging. "Where will we find those scumsuckers, anyway?"

"Rilea's got a good idea of where to look," Wardan said, gesturing to the distant form of the thief, made indistinct by the fog. "If they're here, she'll find them. I want them out of our lands."

"'Our lands'?" Kra wondered aloud, drawing the gaze of the dwarf and man. "You make it sound as though there is still a kingdom to defend in such a desolate wasteland."

Wardan grinned unexpectedly. "You have yet to see Norheim, friend. I can hardly blame you for thinking anything else."

"Do my ears deceive me, or was that an invitation?" Kra said, leveling a wry gaze at the warrior. 

Wardan furrowed his brow, then nodded. "I suppose it was."

The dragon chuckled, despite himself. "I doubt I'd be welcome."

"We'll ask Borlan," Grif said. Kra tilted his head in curiosity. "He's the leader of Norheim Raiders. We've seen what you can do, we'll tell him. If Borlan will vouch for you, there might be a home for you there. He has a good deal of influence with the council; if he likes you or thinks you could be useful, he'll likely keep you around."

Kra scoffed, but deep down his excitement pounded in his chest. It was certainly something he never expected. The possibility, however unlikely to come true, was perhaps a step toward that beautiful thought he had in the cave he still held onto in the back of his mind.

Night came, and the stillness in Black Needles made the dark disturbingly silent. They managed to find an open clearing among they spires, suitably large enough for a camp. Grif and Bink informed to rest that they would keep watch, for the sake of everyone's rest. Kra had a feeling that poor Bink might be too scared to sleep, and that Grif's disposition was not too far from the goblin's, but they hid such sentiments well if they were true. 

Perhaps Kra was reflecting his own opinions onto his friend, as he found sleep came slowly. The air was saturated with water and silence, there was no wind or other sounds he normally associated with night. When sleep finally came, it was fitful and restless. No visions in his dreams but voices, completely unlike the ones that followed him. They seemed to be all around, looking for things that could never exist. They called to him, asking for the answers they would never find. Their cries were so sorrowful he awoke, his heart heavy and his scales dripping with condensation. 

He arose, quietly as he could, to have a look around. He spied Bink and Grif at the edge of the camp, both dozing off back to back against each other. It seemed he would need to finish their watch, not that he minded. He would not be sleeping again this night.

He checked in on his other two companions. Wardan was stretched out on his back, one arm resting across his eyes as his chest heaved gently in the throes of slumber. However, Rilea seemed to share Kra's distaste for sleep, as she was not in the spot she laid down last he saw her. 

"Looking for me?" Rilea's voice surprised the dragon, coming practically from behind him. He turned to see her facing away from him, her shrouded gaze fixed on the opposite side of the camp from the two alleged guardsmen. "I couldn't sleep either."

"Do you see so well that you can read thoughts?" Kra asked.

"I heard you move," she tapped her ears. "You move quiet for something so big. Still, I could hear your slightest move thanks to those scales grinding together."

"Did you have dreams too? Is that why you are awake now?"

She shook her head. "I keep hearing my own blood move. I hate that sound. Normally I can tune it out, but it's so dead quiet here, I didn't even get a chance to dream before I scared myself awake. I saw our stalwart guards had wavered in diligence, so I thought it would be best for me to watch."

"I can take over, if you'd prefer to rest," Kra offered. "I never used to sleep much anyway."

"I'd rather have company," she said, looking back at him and grinning, gesturing for him to join her on watch.

The dragon shifted uncomfortably. "Perhaps I should stay on the other side, to spread out our watch."

She chuckled. "This ground might be soft, but it's springy. I'll feel anything coming long before we see it, no matter which direction it comes from." She gestured to her side once more, insistently.

Kra sighed, and obliged her as quietly as he could. Her face crinkled in consternation as his movements drew closer.

"Do you feel that when you move?" she asked.

"No. I've long become numb to my own scales' roughness," he responded evenly. She seemed about to ask another question, but hesitated. He nudged her gently with his nose prompting her to speak her mind. 

"It's just ... how can I put this ..." she trailed off, in search of the right words. "You speak like you're from another time."

Kra considered her words. "Dragons have a strong oral tradition, even before the Wasting. Human language is prone to transform even between shorter generations. I speak the way my parents did, the way my friends did, much as you learned to speak. Our cultures are still quite different, despite our tongues being practically identical."

She laughed coarsely. "You even have a term for something we forgot collectively ages ago," she said. "The Wasting?"

"Do not misunderstand," he told her. "We don't know what happened to cause this; our world simply started dying. We only have a name for it, though many dragons feel that we are responsible in some way."

"I happen to know some things about your kind," Rilea said. "None of those things make me think you would have done this to yourselves."

Kra nodded. "That belief is uncommon, but still no less credible than others I've heard."

"You must have heard much in your time," Rilea said. "I can only imagine how old you actually are."

Kra allowed himself a smile. "You'll find such thoughts might be deceiving."

Rilea fixed him with a wry look. "You're at least twice my age, I'm sure of it."

"Unless you are but a decade old, you are mistaken."

Rilea's look of awe was satisfying somehow. "Are you kidding? You're only twenty years old?"

"Twenty-two in a month, actually."

The rogue shook her head. "You must be lying. There's no way I'm ten years older than you."

"Why not?" Kra asked.

"I remember being that old, I remember what I was like, and I had to grow up fast," she said. "There's no way you have so few years behind you and such a terribly old soul." Her voice trailed away again, and she seemed to look past him ... no, through him. "Unless your so-called "curse" meant much worse for you than you've said." Kra turned his gaze away, but her hand came to rest on his neck. "You've said the Twisted are exiled for being Gifted, but there's more to it than that. You told me before that you had to survive, when this curse is designed to kill even the strongest dragon."

"I must," he declared solemnly. "It is my duty."

"Your duty? To whom?"

"My parents. The elder of my clan despised himself for what he was doing when he cursed me, as he sympathized with my goals. My father had been his offspring, after all, he wants to see their vengeance realized as much as I."

Rilea kept quiet for some time. Kra's heart beat hard in his chest. He had never spoken of this to anyone else but his clan elder. He started to feel as though he had said too much, but there was a weight missing from his mind that had long made him feel that much heavier.

"Is that the only thing keeping you fighting?" Rilea asked, her voice even, attempting to hide some emotion.

Kra considered her words. "Perhaps if you asked me weeks ago, I might have said yes, and it would have been enough."

"So things have changed for you?"

"I believe they have."

She stepped in front of him, forcing him to look at her. "What about your gift?"

Kra grunted, trying to turn away, but Rilea put a hand on his muzzle and turned him gently back to face her again. Kra glared at her covered gaze, wanting to snap away her blindfold and ask her how she felt about her so-called gift. "Do you know why you have a gift?" Kra asked, his voice sour. "Where it comes from?

"No, Kra, I don't. No one does. It's random, it can happen to anyone at any time." Rilea pointed to her eyes. "This is not a curse, no matter how much it may hurt. If there were still gods, this would be a blessing."

"Do you really believe it is so random? Before the Wasting, my kind could breathe fire. They could grow to enormous proportions, sometimes eclipsing cities. That power we believed to be a birthright was taken from us. What if it was taken for a reason?"

The thief scoffed. "Are all dragons that arrogant? You truly believe that dragons alone were the cause of the Wasting?"

"Regardless, that magic died with the rest of the world. Now it is coming back somehow, in strange ways, and we are afraid: If our magic is coming back, how much further can we fall?"

Rilea's face contorted and a mixture of confusion and anger. "What of us, then? Humans, dwarves, goblins, we all have that power too. We would be lost now without the Gifted."

"You had magic before, the dragons did not own it solely," Kra explained. "We had so much, Rilea. We were impossible. We could have broken this world if we wanted. For all we know, we did."

"That's ridiculous," Rilea spat.

"That's history," Kra growled. "Those with power bring suffering to others, time and time again. Can you blame us for wanting to stop spreading pain and hate through the world?"

The woman shook her head. "You can't mean that you wanted this curse of stone. I don't believe it."

Kra considered himself. "No. I did not want this. But you must see that it is necessary..."

"No, I don't, and you shouldn't even have imagined such a terrible thing." Rilea's voice seemed to tremble, for the first time since the dragon met her. "Power is not wrong, and it is not evil. In this world, it could mean the lives of hundreds could depend on your actions. You can kill, yes, but you can also save. I've done both, I know."

Kra stayed silent. Arguing now seemed pointless, he had only made her angry. 

"I've known you a week, dragon. In that week, we've shared meals, we've talked, and we've walked a long way. You have a friend who would give everything to see you smile. You saved one of the most powerful raiders in Norheim from one of your own kind. You gave us your home when we needed to heal. You pray to a goddess who may or may not hear your words anymore, and you want me to believe that your death sentence is somehow necessary?" She folded her arms. "You may as well tell me to join the Destructors, because that's not happening either."

Kra glared at her, trying to refute her words as they circled in his mind. He only did as he must, he needed to survive. He was not a hero, he was a dragon. He was not benevolent, he was dangerous. He was not pious, he was penitent. She was wrong, he was right. He had to be right, or everything he believed to be true was a lie.

"You'll see soon, I know you will," Rilea told him as she turned away, walking to the other side of the clearing. "You could change the world Kra, all on your own."

Flustered, the dragon leaned against a spire and thumped back down to the ground. Surely she could understand, all his gift did was harm, and her gift caused her harm if left unchecked. Their power came with a price, and that price was suffering, personal or otherwise. He would rather his own suffering than others, and if his curse accomplished that, he would accept it. But he still needed time, so he would survive.

But a tiny doubt, a little questioning voice in his mind asked him something he could not answer. Other kra died within weeks of their curse. 

He had been cursed ten years ago.

"Why do I still live?" he whispered to the dark and fog. If Rilea heard him now, she made no sound. 

A strange smell tickled Kra's nose. He assumed at first that it was Rilea's emotion, but slowly began to recognize it as something else. He blinked, looking about for the source when he noticed a tuft of grass poking out of the soil nearby. He considered it a moment, and placed his paw over the tuft, flattening the grass to the ground. He lifted his paw and drew it away. The blades of grass slowly but surely began to rise back up, defiant of their plight. He was about to squelch it again when, from where the center of his paw had been, a tiny white flower seemed to have grown from nowhere. It blossomed before his eyes, opening up to the sky in search of light and moisture.

The dragon tucked his paw away once more, laying his head down next to the grass and staring in defeat at the impossible flower.

*********

Morning came, cold and misty. Bink and Grif had managed to rouse themselves during the night, acting as though they had been awake all night. Wardan seemed to crack every joint before finally standing up from the hard ground. Rilea scarcely moved from her own vigil, as though concentrating on something in the distance. 

Kra remained where he had lain last night, focused on his tiny white flower. It leaned toward him now, as though expecting command or instruction.

"Kra!" Bink shouted. "What you want for breakfast? I see if I find, yes?" The little goblin marched over to the dragon's resting spot. Upon standing next to his friend, he noticed the tiny flower. "Oh... You make?" he asked, gesturing to the specimen.

Kra did not answer.

Bink knelt down, observing the flora and sniffing it. "It very nice," the goblin offered. "Pretty, maybe show to Rilea?"

Kra cracked a big smile, in spite of himself. "Cliff lizard, if you can find it."

Bink nodded, standing back up and scrambling off to harass Wardan. Kra considered the goblin's retreating back. Why did the diminutive creature bring him such mirth?

"He lives by your hand."

"You saved him. He loves you."

"And maybe you love him, too."

Kra wanted to deny the voices any truth, but not in this matter. They were absolutely right. Bink, and many of his tribe, were alive now through their combined efforts. There was no denying they were friends now, learning from each other and holding one another up. Bink offered all he had to give on a daily basis, and his selflessness encouraged Kra to return the effort. If not for Bink, he never would have been here in Black Needles, companion to two humans and a dwarf. 

"You are wiser than I give you credit," Kra admitted as quietly as he could. "Is my gift such a boon, as Rilea says?"

His hopeful question yielded nothing but silence. The dragon furrowed his stony brow. His voices might have been wise, but their advice was not freely given, it seemed.

"Dragon!" came another shout from the clearing. Kra snapped his gaze toward the source of the shout. He glowered as Wardan waved at him, beckoning him to come forward.

"Do not refer to me as 'dragon', if you please," Kra grumbled, standing up and skulking over to Wardan's spot. He was about to ask what was issue, when Wardan causally drew his sword.

"Fight me," Wardan prompted, holding up his weapon.

"What?" Kra asked, bewildered. He backed up a step, unsure of how to proceed.

"Spar with me," Wardan clarified. "The last time I fought a dragon, I lost. Before I met you, I thought there was no foe I could not best, no fight I could get out of unscathed. You're the closest thing to a challenge I've had in years, and I need to get better."

"Find another," Kra said tersely. "I will not."

Wardan half grinned. "This isn't some machismo thing. I truly just want to become a better warrior."

"Don't." Kra told him plainly. To the soldier's confused face, he added, "War is not something to excel in, it is something to endure."

"And endure I shall," Wardan said. "I'll do it better knowing I can hold my own with a dragon."

"What will that prove?" Kra said. "I barely qualify for that title now. Even if I did, the next dragon you fight could easily be stronger. What would you do then?"

"Lose, and learn more, if I lived," Wardan said. "I can only be so prepared, but it's still my duty to be the best fighter I can for my people."

Kra frowned. He was not used to these human ideals. So many humans were too weak to fend for themselves, and needed the strength of others to hold them up. As curious a trait as that was that there were those of them that were so devoted to protecting the others, it was odd to the dragon that they could not all keep themselves safe.

"You are brave, and that should suffice," Kra said.

"I found out the hard way that it doesn't last week," Wardan said. "The raiders need leaders they can rely on to take out the worst of the Wastes. You're the strongest dragon I've met so far, I'd rather not pass up this opportunity."

Kra sighed. "So be it." He widened his stance, lowered his head, and fixed his gaze on his challenger.

Wardan grinned. "That's more like it, dragon."

Kra snarled, snapping his head forward in a brutal headbutt. Wardan reeled as the dragon smashed into his chest, but managed to retain his footing. Kra had to blink away stars from his vision, the raider was far more resilient than he anticipated. He backed up a step, anticipating Wardan's retaliation.

His instinct proved true, as his nose was clipped by the point of Wardan's blade as it swung past his face, Wardan stumbling forward into the awkward blow. A tiny chip of stony scale flew off, landing in the dirt some distance away. He hardly felt it, but it gave him a good idea of how truly strong Wardan was. 

He was far from intimidated, though. It only meant he did not need to hold back as much as he thought. 

Before Wardan could reverse his momentum for a backswing, Kra swept his paw out slapping the raider's arm wide. He leaned his shoulder in, punching with his wing and forcing the raider further off balance. Aiming to end the bout with a third and final strike, he raised a paw up and slammed it down on the raider.

He was startled as he met a surprising amount of resistance. Wardan had somehow regained his footing, and was holding back Kra's paw with both arms. Curious, Kra lifted his other front paw and placed it on the first, pushing down with his full weight. He heard Wardan groan from exertion, but he did not crumple as the dragon predicted. 

"Are you made of iron, or just numb?" Kra asked.

"I can't feel my shoulders," Wardan grunted.

Kra smirked. "Then rest!" He shifted his weight with a quick twist, pushing the raider to the side and dropping him to the ground with the sudden change of direction.

Wardan just laid on the ground for a moment before letting out a cough. "Only... one swing..."

"Try for two next time," Kra offered, moving next to him. The exhausted warrior barely moved, and the dragon had a strangely satisfying notion. He maneuvered himself over the raider, and before Wardan could protest he rested himself down on the raider's lower half.

"Are you sure it's not lead on your scales?" Wardan groaned. "I've had a mountaintop fall on me that was less heavy than you."

"I'll let you up when Bink returns with breakfast," Kra mumbled, yawning. "I could really use a nap."

Wardan tried to push him away futilely. "You're a harder teacher than any dwarf. Who taught you to fight, anyhow?"

"I only learned what the Wastes taught me," Kra mumbled, barely feeling Wardan's struggles as he drifted away into a self satisfied nap.

********

The morning came and went with a carefree breeze. Time found its way through Black Needles the way others did, it seemed; directionless and dreamily. Kra found himself enveloped by the haunted charm of the fog and brooding stoicism of the spires. The others were similarly effected, he could see it in their eyes as they stared into the fog for perhaps longer than they should. It was in their voices, a hush that betrayed their hesitance to break the silence. 

However, it was the one thing the dragon did not sense in the fog was the one thing that made him feel this could be a home. For as intimidating and isolating as the valley was, fear was empty from the environment. The silence was serene, not terrified. The solitude was peaceful, not subjugated. Part of him believed that he did not belong in such a place, fearing the destruction of this pocket of tranquility. But certainly if he would not be welcome amongst the humans and dwarves of Norheim, he would at home here, at least for a time.

He often looked to the north, at the looming shadow of the Rivenwall, and wondered how long it would be until he was driven even further away from home. 

Once the travelers had broken camp, they continued into the fog. Going this day was no quicker than before, but the way was clearer. The spires stood further apart, leaving space for the fog to thicken. 

Kra could smell the cold clearness of the water in the fog, and was reminded of his cave back in Argassa. If the water pooled, it would make for a delightful bath. Even the mist swirled pleasantly against his scales, dousing him with dew.

The landscape shifted the further into the valley they went. The ground began to rise and fall, forming broad hills and slopes that further obscured the surroundings and made the way treacherous. Rilea never faltered once in her search, she read the land as though a map was etched on the back of her eyelids.

Just as Kra thought the mist and maze of hills would never end, they came to a place that was clear of all but a faint trace of fog. A broad ridge of stone swept up from the ground in front of them, and from beyond it rose a plume of smoke. Kra's nose crinkled in disgust as he recognized the smell.

"Well, we've found them," Rilea said, her voice hoarse. Kra wondered for how long she had been able to smell the smoke. 

"You don't happen to know how many there are, do you?" Wardan asked.

"About as many as at the fortress. This seems to be a different group from before, though. I don't think that ... woman is with them."

"We'll find her eventually," Wardan assured her. "We just need to keep seeking these bastards out, one camp at a time."

"Where do they hail from?" Kra asked.

"Beyond the Rivenwall," Grif explained. "Still not sure how they did it, but they seem to have some sort of power at their disposal, not to mention a bunch of Gifted folks. We don't even want to give 'em a chance, and take them out where we find them."

"We have an attack strategy?" Wardan asked, turning back to Rilea.

"They're fortified from the North side, less so on the south. There's another rise across from our side, as well."

"Very defensible, probably why they picked it." Wardan said, motioning for them move to the south. "Is there a lot of space in there?" 

"Enough for a hundred or so warriors to live comfortably," Rilea said, hurrying forward. "Shall we get this over with? I'm quite eager to be rid of the smell."

Warden nodded. "Right. All to the south side of the rise, then we strike as we see fit."

Kra paused. "You three go on. Bink and I will go our own way." Bink looked up at the dragon in confusion.

Wardan scowled. "Strange, I didn't figure you more cowardly than the goblin."

The dragon turned a dour gaze to man. "You would do well to quell such foolishness. I am merely considering an alternate route."

"The north is too well defended," Rilea said. "You're better off with us."

"The north is not where my eyes are," Kra said, glancing to the top of the rise. "Go and begin your assault. I assure you we will not be far behind."

Wardan gave the dragon a curious look, then glanced at Bink. The goblin glanced furtively between the human and dragon, shrugging and sputtering his lack of understanding. Finally the soldier pointed to the dragon. "Do what he wants, Bink."

"Always do for Kra," Bink said, scrambling up on top of Kra's back. 

Kra nodded his thanks to the warrior. Wardan waved him away and drew his sword, turning back to the south. The dragon waited until his companions were out of earshot, and with a powerful beat of his wings rose into the air. He brought himself and his goblin passenger to the highest point of the rise, where he could easily see the Destructors camp. The northern end of the camp was indeed fortified, with heavy barricades and trenches blocking the way. At least two dozen of the cultists were stationed there, among them several archers. The south was also blocked, by a wall seemingly crafted just high enough to give them peace of mind. 

The rest of the camp was a series of tents and small huts, punctuated several small fires and one large bonfire. The smoke sickened the dragon, but filled him with rage as well. He clung tightly to the top of the rise, so that his body was mostly hidden behind it. He tapped with his wing where he wanted Bink to stay. The goblin climbed up from the dragons back to the ridge, seemingly unaffected by the smoke. Kra was thankful, at least someone would be spared its pungent waft. 

Bink surveyed the camp, and noted the wall with a small measure of panic. "We go tell them Kra," the goblin said in a manic whisper. "Wall at south, they no get through!"

"That wall is no worry," Kra insisted. "For now, we just wait."

"What we wait for?"

"Our little ashrabbits to come hopping along," Kra said, his eyes betraying his anticipation.

Bink looked down below just in time for an earsplitting crack to echo through the ravine. The wall came tumbling down as Wardan came charging through it. All the huts emptied of their occupants, most of them rushing in toward the commotion. 

Bink's face lit up with glee as he glanced back to the dragon, who returned his mirth with a smug grin. "Look Kra, all the little birdies out in the open."

*******

Wardan brushed off the bits of the boulder he just charged through, drawing his sword as he glanced up. His gaze was met by a couple dozen cultists staring in awe of his powerful display, scrambling to form some kind of defense. He looked back at the wrecked wall, to see Grif hauling himself over the rubble and Rilea already leaping down after him. 

He turned back around just in time to meet the blade of the closest cultist. The sword caught him in the neck, and he felt the steel bend as he trapped it between his neck and shoulder. The cultist's exclamation of befuddlement was cut short as Wardan's swing sent him flying away in a sprawl. 

There were still more than twenty cultist heading his way, and more behind them. He was about to lead the charge when he heard Rilea cry out. He turned back to her and was just able to catch her as she fell over. 

"Smell ... too strong ... I'm ... sorry ..." she gasped, choking on her own breath.

"Grif! Get over here!" Wardan yelled. The dwarf trundled over, noticed the thief's condition, and immediately jumped in front of her. The destructors were advancing on them now, there was no time to change the plan.

"Soon as you can, get her out of here, Wardan said. "I'll keep them busy."

Rilea held up her hand. "I'll be ... fine ... just need a moment."

"We'll give you time, lass," Grif said, punching his palm. 

The first wave of cultists fell upon them moments later. Seeing the vulnerable state they were in, they surrounded the trio. A group of spearmen stabbed at them past the sword wielders in front. Wardan fought defensively, batting away strikes when he could and taking strikes only if he had to. He was tough, but he knew that he could be hurt, and all it took was a blade to fall in just the wrong way. 

Griff, having wrested a blade away from an unlucky cultist, still managed to cause devastation despite the odds.  The mad dwarf lunged at knees and groins when the opportunities presented themselves, but for every hit he purchased he paid in backstepping to his position near Rilea. His risky fighting style cost him a few slices and stabs as well, he was not in his element and it showed.

Wardan's heart sank when he saw another crowd of Destructors close in. The first group tightened their circle, sparing the trio no quarter. Rilea looked about ready to stand, but her aid would mean nothing if they were pinned down. It was looking like it was surrender or die.

A pair of cultists managed to knock Grif over, a spearman striking perfectly the same time a swordman swept his legs. The swordman was poised for his killing blow, Wardan unable to reach him in time. 

The blow never fell, and the swordman and spearman lay sprawled on the ground in the space of a breath. Crude javelins protruded from their back and throat respectively. That was when Wardan noticed a curious shadow over the second crowd. 

The crash of a stone dragon diving onto the cultists was deafening. 

Kra rose up from the ground. The cultists unfortunate enough to have been underneath him were never to rise again. The dragon spread his wings, reared back, and roared in the faces of the nearby cultists. In the sudden change of the battlefield, none of those cultists that remained expected stone wings to buffet so quickly, so fatally. 

In two deadly strikes, Kra had reduced the enemy forces by a third.

Wardan saluted the dragon briefly, then took his opportunity to strike. Left and right, cultists were sent flying by his sword and fist. Still shaken by the dragon's drop, the surprised cultists offered little resistance to the raider's sudden onslaught.

Grif was in brawler's paradise, his punches, sword swings, and kicks never without a target. He surrounded himself with enemies, crippling or devastating them on the spot. He cut a swath through the cultists to rival the dragon's in a matter of seconds. 

Wardan turned back momentarily to check on Rilea, only to find she was no longer on the ground. Swinging back around to the massive melee, he could see her darting through the crowd, her claw slicing down the men and women she deemed fit for death. All the while, a stone headed javelin would hurtle down from Bink up on the ridge, pinning a target to the ground like a bladehawk skewering an ashrabbit. 

The Destructors began fighting back, most pushing away from the dragon and out of the little canyon, perhaps in an attempt to widen the circle and entrap them again. Wardan stood in front of the hole he made in the wall, acting as a human wall against those who sought to pass by. He wanted to keep as many of them near Kra as he could. They could overpower him or Grif, they had no chance of doing that to a dragon.

Soon, Wardan began to notice a strange smell. It wasn't the strange wood that the cultist were using, it was something else. It was coming up from the soft soil, like a buried memory. 

"Wardan! It's Kra!" Rilea shouted across the battlefield. Wardan turned to the dragon and a wash of cold dread fell over him.

Kra's red eyes had begun to glow.

********

"They are dead."

"They never had a chance."

"They were the only ones who could have saved us."

"Shut up," Kra growled through clenched teeth, the smell of the bloodwood holding him paralyzed.  He had ignored it for his first attack, but now that he was so close to it, he could feel the blood within him boiling with rage. He feared a single move would destroy the very ground he stood on.

He wanted that to happen so very badly now.

"We only want to help, Tyradus."

"Don't release it, you could hurt the new friends!"

"Get away, far away!"

"They must pay," Kra hissed. 

"It was never us, only you!"

"The plants are yours to control, but you must be calm!"

"We only helped you bring them out, we can't stop it if you let it go now!"

"Then DIE!" 

Kra's scream echoed throughout the valley. There was a shaking as he raised his paw, and he could feel the life beneath the ground growing stronger. The voices of the spires filled his mind again, and their sadness drove his paw back down to the ground. 

The moment his paw hit, the earth exploded with vines, tendrils as thick as a man's arm. They reached up from the soil, and burst out from the stone walls. In a breath, they were upon the Destructors, and the screaming was horrific. Vines swung back and forth, slamming the cultists around like ragdolls. Slender growths wrapped around legs and arms, dragging them to the ground and then deeper, their horrified faces swallowed up by the soft earth. Limbs were torn from bodies, torsos ripped from legs, entrails spilling everywhere. Some were pierced through as though by spears, others had their heads squeezed off like a rodent under the grasp of a serpent.

Kra reveled in it. He had more power than anything else. Life was his to command, to give or to take. In this moment, he was a true dragon.

As suddenly as it began, it was all over. Any cultist that was not slaughtered by the vines had fled. The vines receded, and with them Kra's bloodlust. Cold silence met his ears, and he panicked. 

Where were his friends?

"Wardan?" he called weakly. "Grif? Rilea?" He turned back and forth, looking for a sign of them. Only corpses did he see. He glanced upward, to the ridge he left the goblin. "...Bink? Are you there?"

"Rock's Blood!" came the rambunctious cry from across the battlefield. Kra spun as fast as his thick body would allow, to see Grif lifting himself out of a pile of rubble. He had wounds all over, the most telling of them being the spearlike head of a vine sticking out of the dwarf's meaty arm. Despite his condition, the dwarf wore a contented grin on his face. "Gods, that was fun," he said, tearing the writhing vine out of his arm and tossing it away carelessly. 

Kra heard more commotion behind him, and turned again, hope in his heart. Wardan emerged from under his own little sanctuary, a wall he had salvaged from one of the exploded huts. Pushing it off of himself, he brushed off his jacket and shook his head, stumbling as though he could not keep his balance. Rilea rose up from behind the Destructor's barricades, seemingly unharmed but shaken. 

"Where's the goblin?" Grif shouted. "I owe him a drink. Maybe a couple more. Hell, we'll finish a cask together."

"Bink?" Wardan shouted. "It's safe now, where'd you go?"

There was no response save for the stillness of the spires and the swirl of the fog as it reclaimed the little canyon after the fire was blown out by the vines arrival.

Kra beat his wings powerfully, ascending to the top of the ridge once more. Each push of his powerful wings was punctuated by his panic and fear. He reached the ridge at the top of the rise and his blood ran cold as he realized Bink was no longer at the top. 

The dragon dove down behind the wall into the mist pooling at the base, and searched frantically around for a trace of the goblin. Maybe he had only been knocked clear of the action. Maybe he had the good sense to hide. Maybe, just maybe, the little goblin was safe.

Or maybe Kra had crushed his friend against the wall like a cherry bug under a boot. 

Kra slammed his head against the wall in useless rage. "Where are you, stupid goblin?" He roared, choking on his words. Tears began to trickle down his rocky face. What had he done?

"mmph."

Kra's eyes shot open, and his heart skipped a beat. Was that coming from under the stone? His eyes scanned the wall, finding a large crack that wasn't there earlier. The dragon tore at the stone with his claws, panicked and hopeful at the same time. He broke down the edges of the crack, beating his claws bloody in his frantic attempt to drive away the stone holding his friend. 

There was a surprised but muffled yelp from the crack, and Kra peered through the gap he had made. Sure enough, Bink was there, stuffed in like so much goblin putty. His mouth had been squeezed from both sides by the tight confines of his stony captors.

"Bink stuck," the goblin mumbled through his squished cheeks.

Kra reached in with his head, and snagged the goblin's coat with his teeth. He gently yanked Bink free of the wall's earthen grasp. 

"Are you alright?" Kra asked, voice cracking with emotion.

Bink took a deep breath and sighed. "Big wiggly vine came, snatch up Bink. Dragged me down, but no kill." He patted the dragon's nose gently. "You good, Kra, pulled Bink down to keep him safe." He leaned in close. "Next time, not so tight, yes?" he chuckled. The goblin sprawled back against the wall, taking big breaths and wiggling his toes and fingers.

Kra silently watched his friend, who trusted him so much. He laid himself down, burying his hands in his paws, weeping silently and uncontrollably. 

"Well this is quite the mess, wouldn't you say?" said a voice, one that Kra did not recognize. "At least they still breathe."

Kra opened his eyes, seeing a man clad in green with a wide brimmed hat leaning on a crooked staff, a smile on his lips. Behind him was a most amazing dragon of silver that seemed to glow in the mist.

"And that's all that matters," The dragon said, his voice deep and clear like a cold stream, as he locked eyes with Kra. "Isn't it, friend?"