Wrath of the Phoenix

Chapter 1

Patience

I

I don’t like this! Tristan bellowed, legs gripping the sides of his saddle, his head down to reduce drag as his hands gripped the horn; holding on for dear-life. The velocity in which they flew made the slightest movement more erratic, causing his stomach to lurch now and then as he fought motion-sickness. He had been doing this long enough that he should have been used to it by now, but it looked to be one of those things that he might just have to deal with regardless.

Gritting his teeth and fighting back nausea, he paused to glance at the battlefield below. He grimaced at what he saw. He had hoped that some progress had been made to rebuff the advancing army and was disappointed to see that both sides appeared to be deadlocked; nearly rooted in place. The battle had been raging for most of the day, neither side giving or taking ground, and a haze of smoke was growing thicker from a fire on the southwest side of their outer wall. If they didn’t get it under control soon, the enemy army would be able to flood into the fortress and Gamduhn would be razed, its citizens slaughtered by nightfall.

He nearly lost his lunch once more as Cieto lowered his head and dove; his ass lifting off the saddle with the violent change of direction. Dammit all to hell, you’re doing this on purpose! he cursed, not sure if he was heard, but not really giving a damn. It was a good thing his weapons were sheathed or he might have lost one. His head jerked and with the added weight of the helm whipping it back, he knew that he’d have whiplash later on that night.

His senses alerted him to something nearby and he jerked sideways just as talons swept towards him, nails reaching for his torso. He instinctively lunged further to the left; barely out of their reach and feeling the wind of their passing buffet his body. If he hadn’t been strapped in, he might have been blown off from the force of it. He had stupidly jumped off a dragon once, and he wasn’t up for trying that again. It almost ended with him as a human pancake, and you rarely got saved from ill-advised acts of insanity more than once.

A brown dragon barreled past, a scream of frustration erupting in its wake. He watched the long tail of the beast sweep by, narrowly missing the gold dragon’s left wing, and he instantly glad that at least one of them had seen it coming. As if to illustrate the point, Cieto’s golden head turned and the youth eyed him expectantly, his wings lowering and leveling them out.

Okay, Okay, I got it. Thank you, he snarked, breaking from the dragon’s forming smile to glance at their rear. Looks like they’re coming around for another pass!

The brown had flung his wings wide and was banking in their direction, the afternoon light momentarily obscuring him from view. The enemy dragon’s rider was pointing his way emphatically, the creature’s sword drawn. Neither dragon nor rider saw the griffin dive out a nearby cloud until it was too late. The griffin’s talons and beak tore into the rider and he knew from the bend of the brown dragon’s wing that it had snapped, signing his death warrant. There was no way either would survive a fall from this height, so that was one less adversary to contend with.

Never mind, he needlessly told the gold, as they banked right and flew over the battlefield. Sweat was making his helm uncomfortable and getting into his eyes, unable to wipe it away with his gauntleted fingers. Even though the sweat dried as soon as it escaped, the wind did little to keep it out of his vision while his head was turned away from it. He glanced north, letting the onrush of air cool him down, studying the horizon and looking for other airborne prey. For now, they were alone.

They had been flying together for three years now and the gold dragon rarely needed to be told what came next. Their anticipation of each other’s needs had been fine-tuned, after a host of battles neither one could accurately count or hardly remember. It had a habit of blending together these days. And when considering what most of it dealt with, he had no problem with that. You couldn’t fully enjoy life if your soul was constantly burdened by what you had to do on the battlefield; it would eventually find a way to break you. Some things were best left buried and forgotten.

The young dragon took them over the front, giving him a perfect view of what was happening below, his body leaning slightly to the left with the dragon’s turn. The enemy forces had attacked shortly before dawn, using the eles to hit them hard, and nearly breaking through their defenses in the first assault. The enormous warriors wore heavy armor, making them unstoppable boulders of marching metal, and more than a few soldiers were required to take just one of them down. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the cannons, he might not be overlooking what was slowly looking like a victory, but a slaughter instead. Had that happened, nothing would have stood between them and the rest of the free-lands, Lancaster lying directly to the east and within reach of the enemy at last.

Portions of the outer wall had collapsed, others were burning, but as his eyes lingered a bit longer, he saw the last remnants of the Phoenix’s army start an organized withdrawal to the west. It was the perfect example of what this war had become, a series of brief assaults on their lines to check for weaknesses, and quick withdrawals if resistance proved to be substantial. Both sides had suffered heavy losses in this war, which would get substantially worse as time drug on; it didn’t look like it was going to end any time soon.

The kangs were letting loose arrows to cover the infantry’s retreat, the enemy cavalry sweeping along behind to distract the pursuing warriors. Horns blasted from within the fort and almost immediately the friendly forces came to a halt. They formed up, regathering their wits from the surge of excitement that followed a perceived victory, and began a measured march back towards the castle’s outer walls.

It was a sign of how seasoned the army was that they hadn’t pursued the enemy regardless of their commanders’ orders, and he was heartened that they had showed restraint rather than reckless abandon. They used to pursue the enemy if routed, but they had been taught on multiple occasions how foolish that act could be. The enemy commanders enjoyed making the battle look like a defeat, their forces’ morale breaking or their men ordered to withdraw. There would be another contingent waiting to ambush them, as the supposedly victorious army ran blindly into it, getting decimated in the process. It was decided that it wasn’t worth the chance of losing all their men just to kill a few extra soldiers and slowly they’d trained their armies to hold rather than give chase.

The enemy generals were extremely unpredictable and this retreat may only be temporary; no one would know for sure until weeks end. Even then, it would be a toss-up. They were known to attack in the middle of the night, or look to be on the run then swing back around to hit them again soon after while their flank was exposed. There were no rules of war, no codes of conduct, it was a war of an eternal need for preparedness and foresight. Constant vigilance, that is what the dwarves’ taught their men.

He had quickly adopted that and commanded his generals to do the same.

I know we’re supposed to be heading south, but we should check in first before we go, he called to Cieto, now that they had slowed their speed and were simply gliding upon a breeze. He paused briefly to look for the griffin that had aided them during the attack, but it was nowhere to be found. He silently sent thanks upon the wind and turned to meet the eyes of the gold dragon craning his head to look at him.

We are expected in Pelydon, Cieto advised, a large scale-lidded eye glaring back at him with exasperation; the dragon always pushing to push his limits and rarely pausing to let either of them catch a breath. The gold dragon also loved to be contradictory, even when he knew that Tristan was right. Cieto would never admit it, but he often agreed with his suggested course of action, and seemed to simply get a kick out of arguing about it; causing a stir, then slowly giving in as if it were his idea all along.

He was tired, it had been a long day, and while he did want to be on his way, he also needed to stretch his legs. Just for a bit. We check in, I go to the bathroom, maybe grab some food, then we’re gone. His legs spread wider as the dragon’s lungs slowly filled with air, then exhaled in a sigh. You don’t have to be dramatic about it! Give me an hour!

That’s what you always say, then we end up spending half the night. I know that you’re a king, and you have responsibilities, but they aren’t to these dwarves; they’re to your own people, the dragon criticized, tilting and heading to the wooden fort regardless of his arguments. They need you too.

This entire war needs me, he growled, looking at the corpses littering the field of battle and wondering if it was ever going to end. It had nearly been ten years since the Battle of Forlorn, and he was starting to think that even his grandchildren might one day be fighting in this Godforsaken conflict.

While the Phoenix hadn’t been able to wipe them out as quickly as promised, it had still drawn on longer than any of them had ever dreamed. The armies of the free world had resisted their initial assaults, but had rarely been able to push back as the enemy was relentless, always on the offensive, and never seeming to need a break in order to lick their wounds. They were slowly giving ground, being forced out through constant pressure and the exhaustible resource they were disproportionate in; soldiers. The Phoenix apparently had an endless supply, while they were starting to come up short.

Platforms had been built near the center of the fort and Cieto quickly latched onto an empty one, his wings folding in and Tristan’s body rocking with the sudden stop. I swear that you’re trying to kill me, he groaned, bile rising in his throat. The sudden drop in velocity caused his brain to continue moving forward, to evoke a drifting sensation within his mind, and he had to close his eyes in an attempt to stop the vertigo violently assaulting him.

Why would I want to do that? Cieto returned, his long pink tongue licking at his teeth in a friendly sneer.

So you won’t have to fly me around so much. Tired of being a donkey laden with saddlebags, run ragged and foaming at the mouth at his Slave Master’s bidding. I think that’s what you told me when we stopped off at Lancaster last week, he quoted, undoing the straps across his legs and nodding at a dwarf who had rushed up to greet them. Fucktard here needs something to drink and eat. Going to be leaving within the hour.

The young dwarf nodded with respect, och aye, mah Laird.

I’ll be back shortly, he told his partner, who turned and looked away as if not hearing what he’d said. Rolling his eyes, he went the nearby stairwell and began making his way towards the fort below. He had to keep his head down, for though the platforms had been made for dragons, they had been designed by dwarves. He had hit his head way too many times over the years because that important fact had a habit of slipping his mind; brought back with the impact and a curse shortly thereafter.

Soldiers rushed by pushing a wagon full of water, heading to a burning wall on the southwest side of the fort. Most of the rest were ferrying the wounded to the medical tents erected nearby, screams of pain mixing with the sounds of crackling fire, the smell of death upon the air. He covered his mouth to block against the haze of smoke sweeping throughout the fort, the water turning it to white as the fire-teams went to work. Turning to look at the small wooden keep and the dwarven soldiers guarding its entrance, he began moving in their direction and away from the chaos surging around him. One of the reasons he was usually laid up longer than he’d planned was his need to visit the soldiers dying for their cause, but he was seriously short on time and forced his legs to keep walking; unwilling to hang around longer than necessary.

He nodded to the soldiers as they eyed him closely before moving aside for him to enter. The fort had been hastily built and the wood smelled freshly cut, as if resisting giving up on the life it used to lead. The quarries had already begun shipping stone to the newer fort in an attempt to make it more permanent, but they would have to hold it together long enough for it to get here. If the enemy army was swinging around for another attack, or received reinforcements, the stone would not be needed; a sad fact that he’d lived through too many times to count since this conflict began. He prayed that wasn’t the case, that the stone would get here soon, and the upgrade to the fortifications able to be carried out to fruition. By the looks of things, they sorely needed it, and their placement was far too important to the survival of the races to be lost now.

Walking up the steps to the second floor, he could hear the general and his commanders’ arguing inside, though not clearly what it was pertaining to. Rounding a corner, he entered the large war room, his eyes on the six men hovering around a large table in its center, mugs of Grog in hand. A dwarf without Grog was a man without a leg, they couldn’t go anywhere without it. And if for some reason they were forced to, they’d be pissing and moaning the entire time.

We hae strict orders frae th' High-General nae tae engage ance a withdrawal has bin called. Ye ur weel awaur ay 'at, yit still ye persist tae question mah commands? barked General Neruck, his free-hand clenched in a fist. He was staring down a younger dwarf, whose stance and fidgety nature disclosed how recently he’d been promoted.

Thes war is ne'er gonnae end if we dornt tak' risks! Th' High-General has forgotten 'at! the commander returned, holding his ground.

Neruck’s face had paled and his brow had drawn together, He jist finished a ten-year campaign against th' Duergar, dornt pretend tae ken whit he's forgotten ur nae, ye wee whelp! Ah dornt caur if ye waur deemed ready tae commain, ye question uir High-General's orders again, I'll hae ye demoted an' cleanin' th' latrines fur lae ay thes war. Ah dornt caur who's nephew ye ur!

You know, it’s not about the risks, he interjected. Usually he wouldn’t involve himself in an argument between a superior and their lesser officers, but he really was pressed for time, and this didn’t look like it was going to stop any time soon. As expected, the general eyed him with frustration, but he ignored it, It’s about the enemy and their ability time and again to surprise us. I’ve been there when a supposed victory has been torn away and sent us high-tailing it east, that’s how we lost Branham. Our over-confidence when experiencing a victory is a weakness, and the enemy has had no problem exploiting that. They withdrew, but I saw their numbers from the air; they were still solid enough to make a fight of it. They pulled back systematically and at a slow march; not on the run, their morale shattered. They were trying to lure us out, catch us in the open field, and judging by what I’ve seen during my time in this war, that could have proved to be a fatal mistake. I’m sorry for interrupting what was supposedly an ill-conceived rebuttal by this junior officer here, but I’m pressed for time, he said to Neruck, bowing his head slightly with respect. As Lancaster will be in the path of the advancing army should Gamduhn fall, I’m personally invested in its survival.

Kin’ Tristan, Ah wisnae expectin’ ye, Neruck replied, waving his hand away at the apology and giving the younger dwarf a cross look in turn.

The junior officer’s eyes widened as he realized who he was. Ah apologize, mah Laird, Ah didne pure techt tae question—.

Yes, you did, he interrupted, his voice firm. It’s fine to take risks when it’s your own skin, but when you’re in command of others, when the fate of entire cities depends on the choice you make, risks have to be calculated carefully and not taken lightly. I agree, this war isn’t going to be won without making some bold moves. However, the enemy has rebuffed our attempts every time we do; anticipating our actions far better than we do theirs’. We need to be more creative, less predictable in our responses, and following that army out there with the whole of our own, for the purpose of running them down as easy pickings, could be exactly what they intended for us to do all along. You’re young, you haven’t had the time to learn their tactics as I have. I agree with General Neruck, it was best to let them go. This is a war of attrition. Neither side has gained the quick victory it hoped for and so it stretches on with slight pushes and pulls, both sides deadlocked until some new element is introduced. It requires patience and the will to persevere; to take the hit and still stay on your feet. If you can’t do that, if your knees tremble or your will is lacking, best to resign your commission and return home. Wouldn’t you agree, General?

Neruck grinned, och aye, mah Laird. Ye men ur dismissed, gang see tae yer woonded. Ah want a report ay casualties within th' hoor. As they began to file out, the young commander shot him a glance, and for the briefest of seconds, it looked like awe. Then they were gone, and the general’s attention was focused fully on him. Nae everyday a legend shows up tae offer their sage wisdom, hink ye micht hae shut heem up fur me. Ah thenk ye.

The general offered him a mug and he accepted it graciously, not Grog though, water will do fine. Even after all these years, I still haven’t gotten a taste for it.

Th' wells arenae givin' nearly as much as they shoods, it's bin a lean year fur rain. Best tae stick tae th' grog, it's less murky, Neruck replied, lifting the pitcher of dwarven ale and offering it over, thick eyebrows raised with amusement.

He sighed, not wanting to drink the dwarven ale, but it would be rude to refuse it now. Grog it is then. I was serious about what I said, their forces didn’t look to have a need to withdrawal. They’ll probably be back.

'En we will beat them aff again, nae matter hoo mony times they burst us. High-General Riska has a company ay men tois days march tae th' sooth, they'll be haur tae reinforce us suin, an' th' staine is supposed tae start arrivin' by th' end ay th' week. We shoods be able tae hauld til 'en, the general advised him, looking at the maps laid out on the table and the rock signifying an army heading their way.

That may be why they struck here, trying to get at us before that can happen. Either they are following our movements from afar, or they got spies in our midst, he observed, looking at the nearby enemy fort to the southwest marked on the map. Your commander was right, we do need to start taking some risks, just hard to pinpoint where that may be.

Neruck was about to say something when the mirror mounted to the left wall shimmered and a face appeared upon its surface, as if it were a port window looking into another room. Willow’s face appeared, her eyes unfocused as she began speaking in an urgent manner, General Neruck, have you seen—never mind? What the hell are you doing there? You are supposed to be in the air and on your way to Pelydon.

Speaking of spies, he muttered under his breath.

The dwarven general laughed and patted him on the shoulder, guid luck. I'll lae ye tois aloyn fur th' moment. Ah hae some things tae swatch intae, repairs tae be overseen, an' a juniur officer's crease tae kick.

As the stout man exited the room, Tristan slid off his helm, ran a hand through his short brown hair, then forced a grin as he walked towards the wall and faced his wife. I got waylaid by an attack on Gamduhn. I couldn’t just fly off and leave them to handle it on their own.

That’s exactly what you could have done, she retorted, her blue eyes flashing, long blond hair whipping around as she looked to make sure they were alone. Merlin told me where you were. He says you need to get your ass back in the air right now. We are all waiting on you.

Merlin disappears for an entire year then suddenly resurfaces and calls a meeting, and you’re waiting on me? I was in Wyrnax when I got the message. I’m not a magician, I can’t just create a portal and automatically port to anywhere I want to go. If he wants to complain, tell him it could be worse; I could be on horseback, he told her, his voice rising a bit as he tried to relay his frustration.

The mage’s disappearance had come without warning and not at the best of times, they’d just lost Peotr and Janshai to the enemy and were reeling to try and build defenses to counter the enemy’s new spring campaign. Merlin taking off like he did, left a great amount of uncertainty amongst his group. They’d come to rely on the man’s visions and when that was taken from them, they had a momentary lapse of confidence, as they’d fumbled around to figure out what the next course of action would be. All the pieces the mage had assembled were moving across the board and he’d left them to figure out where they were meant to go next.

In fact, the mage had been gone so long that they had begun to think someone had figured out how to kill him after all; why else would he abandon them during a war vital to the world’s survival? Then a few days prior, he had unexpectedly showed back up and began barking orders, as if he’d never left to begin with. He had a brief flash of Merlin as a dog back on the day they met and had to fight the chuckle wanting to force its way up.

Willow’s smile was weak, understanding clearly what he was trying to say, there was a change in plans. That’s the real reason I had to try and reach you. We’re at Lancaster now.

Well, that would’ve been good to know, he growled, trying his best not to grind his teeth and failing. Guess I can get Cieto to quit being so cocky about our stopping for a break, as a course correction is a damn good reason to pause on our flight south. Gamduhn’s just survived an assault, has Pelydon come under attack as well?

No. I just—Tristan, get in the air and get over here. Hurry, she managed, then the image faded before he could say anything more or ask why she looked so troubled. Her tone had been off, the way she immediately cut off the conversation suspicious, as if afraid he might learn something or she’d give it away through their shared bond. Something was up, he needed to leave—now. Running for the stairs, he was out of the small keep, up the platform, and back in the air winging east before anyone had even noticed he was gone.

Chapter 2

Illumination

I

When he had arrived on the rooftop of the keep, he had been greeted by an aide and told he was needed urgently, that John had been seriously hurt. The roof had been converted into a roost for visiting dragons a few years before, so he had left Cieto in their trained hands and departed swiftly for the door that would take him below.

I hope he’s all right! Cieto called after him, but he didn’t respond as he jerked the door open and plunged his way down the stairs.

His older brother should have been overseeing a siege to the southwest, far back from the enemy lines, so how the hell had he been injured? Had they been attacked on the way? What of the army that he had been leading to Gylbart’s defense? Had they been forced to turn back? Were the enemy’s forces marching through the plains south unhindered? Half the south would be ablaze before a defense could be mounted, and they’d be completely cut off from the dwarven armies stationed at Grendweir.

What happened? he panted, rushing into his brother’s chambers and nearly knocking a departing cleric over in the process. Having taken the stairs faster than he should have, he was winded and forced to use the doorframe to keep upright as he looked at those gathered around the bed.

Jenna sat in a chair on the other side of the room, her face shielded by her hands as she sobbed uncontrollably with grief. Her long blond hair was down upon her shoulders and she was adorned in a black and blue regal dress. On her left shoulder rested Aaron’s hand, as he tried to show her comfort, despite the sorrow barely masked upon his youthful face. The boy was fourteen now, had grown tall like his father, and had John’s square face and brown eyes. Facial hair had begun to sprout and the boy had let his hair grow out, the haunted look in his eyes telling a tale of a childhood that had been full of war, not joy. Standing next to the bed, her hand gripping her father’s heavily bandaged arm, was ten-year-old Constance, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, a light blue dress contrasting greatly with her mother’s darker one.

John, if it was indeed him, was laid out on the bed and had been bandaged from head to foot, with the exception of his eyes and mouth, which were both firmly closed at the moment. Bloodied and burnt remnants of clothing had been heaped in the corner and he winced at their state, knowing that the body they’d adorned was in far worse shape. There were no signs of his armor. How did they even know this was him? It could have just been any other soldier of the same height and build. Were they gathered around mourning for a complete stranger?

Is he alive? he asked, walking into the room and turning to Willow, who had taken up a position on the right side of the bed. Their daughters and son sitting on chairs in the corner of the room, their faces a mixture of joy at his arrival and sorrow at their Uncle’s condition.

Willow’s blond hair hung just below her jawline and covered the right side of her face, her blue eyes hidden by a mask of tears. Her angular chin lifted slightly, her soft pink lips drawing apart as she tried to answer, but couldn’t seem to find the words. She had one of her light blue blouses on and black pants, her cloak folded and on the chair she’d been sitting in. There was a dark patch of moisture on her left shoulder, indicating that she’d recently been holding one of their crying children in an attempt to soothe them; it pained him that she had been having to do it alone. She rose quickly and threw herself into his outstretched arms, hands digging into his back with their need, her breath hot upon his neck.

He tilted his head and placed his chin on her forehead, holding her as closely as possible, trying to convey the sympathy and love he felt for her in the tightness of their embrace. He hadn’t thought to change out of his graphene armor, but had at least remembered to remove his helm upon arrival. His brown eyes looked at his brother with disbelief, the jagged scar on his left cheek itching as Willow shifted beneath him. He had recently cut his hair short and shaved, making him feel naked in the soft light the torches around him provided. His muscles were aching from the long battle and the quick flight home. It took all his energy to appear strong, despite feeling quite the opposite.

Kylee stepped out of the bathroom, a towel in hand, her albino eyes finding his as a sad smile spread across her face. Her white hair was pulled back in its customary ponytail, her black leather armor freshly oiled and looking like new. She had her black and blue cloak on, the hilts of her numerous weapons still visible, so it was obvious that she had just arrived as well. Her quiver and bow were leaning against the far wall and appeared to be the only item she’d devested herself of since getting there.

Trailing behind her was a little girl, and he smiled down at his niece the best he could as she clung to her mother’s leg. Addy had white hair like her mother, but had inherited the blue eyes that ran in the family on her father’s side. Her mother’s influence was apparent in her wardrobe, as she was dressed in a dark brown jerkin and pants, a small knife sheathed on her hip for good measure. Kylee may have been born the daughter of a king, but royalty was something she flat out refused to be; she purposely laughed anyone away that suggested she put her daughter in a dress. The child’s fingers looked like they had recently been cleaned, but still had a bit of grime too caked on to get with one washing, despite her mother’s best efforts.

Kylee came to his side, her hand taking her daughter’s and gripping it lightly, just flew in from Pelydon. I had been sitting around waiting for everyone else to show and starting to wonder if I got the date wrong. Serix just left.

The way she said it made things sound more final, like his departure had more significance than usual. While it was true that the necromancer had repaired John’s spinal injury back in the day, he wasn’t aware that the man’s magical abilities decided solely who lived or died. What about Joshua? What did he have to say? he returned, wondering why the High Cleric wasn’t attending the King of Lancaster himself.

He’s made him comfortable, says that he can do no more. The Gods are refusing to answer any of his prayers and John’s past the point of being healed, his wounds too grievous to repair in the time he has left, Kylee answered, then shrugged. As I said, I just got here.

He couldn’t figure it straight in his head. It was one thing to lose the wounded on the battlefield due to inefficient means of saving them, quite another to watch it happen in the comfort of one’s bed. With the exception of the children present, they had all flirted with death multiple times and had been able to be brought back before the reaper’s claws sunk in to deep.

Hell, Willow had died, yet here she was, crying within his arms. Though, it hadn’t been the Gods that had brought her back, but his daughter, while still an infant within her womb.

What about Hope? he whispered to his wife, his mind frantic to find some angle they hadn’t considered. Yet, even as the words left his mouth, he couldn’t believe he had even gone there. He knew better. They had spent ten years keeping her hidden, and the sacrifices that they’d made would be for nothing if she exposed herself now.

We discussed this, Willow whispered back, not realizing she was echoing his inner turmoil. She pulled away and looked him in the eyes, her head shaking slightly as she talked. By invoking her magic, she is essentially lighting a beacon to all the other magic users, alerting them to her whereabouts and her powers. We both agreed, it was best for her to refrain from that, to try and keep her safe and hidden as long as we can. He’s my brother too, you know, it’s not like this isn’t hard for me as well. But this is our daughter we are talking about here and I’ll die before I put her life in danger like that.

He pursed his lips and stared at the bandaged form of his brother, trying to not only understand what had happened, but what could be done about it. He didn’t want to invite danger by having his daughter try to evoke her magic, but he didn’t want to lose John either. He was the High-King of the Southern Kingdoms, the rock that they all leaned on for support. He had been at every major engagement their armies had fought in, and his spirit gave the weakest of their soldiers the strength to do the impossible.

If they could see him now—

The door clicked open behind him and he caught sight of Shirl as she stepped into the room. She had assumed her larger form, her wings folded down and flickering lightly upon her back, her extremely light blond hair pushed behind her fairy tipped ears. She had a green shirt with a short forest-colored skirt, her pale skin sparkling in the torch-light. Fraldarth just died from his wounds.

Either she had picked up on it when it happened, or someone had just delivered the news to the dragons flying overhead, as instantaneously the skies above erupted into cries of sorrow. Their pain echoed her words; their King was dead. The grief was evident and thundered the sides of the keep with the force of their bellows.

Both of them got hurt? What happened? he pushed, frustrated that he was only getting parts and not the whole picture.

He went to break the siege at Gylbart and was ambushed by a flight of browns. The others were able to eventually fight them off, but not before dragonfire engulfed them, sending them crashing into the earth, Shirl told him quietly, her sympathetic eyes sweeping those before her. They were carried back here as fast as the dragons could manage, but the damage was too extensive. I’m sorry.

The keep’s walls shook lightly as the dragons above took flight and his heart went out to them. Fraldarth was a friend, a loyal supporter of their cause, and with him gone, who knew who might rise up to take his place? If it was Gaghur, they were going to have a problem. Despite his supposed commitment to the war, the ancient red dragon seemed to go out of his way to make things difficult and inordinately complicated; much to the frustration of the rest of his kin.

There was a hitching sound coming from the direction of the bed, and he jerked his head around just in time to see the last rise of his brother’s chest, the exhalation of his breath, and the stillness that followed; John, the High-King of the Southern Armies, King of Lancaster, was dead.

John? Jenna asked, getting to her feet and going to his side. John? Baby, you need to breathe. Aaron and Constance had broken into tears and the older boy moved behind his mother, his hand on her back as he tried to hold it together himself.

Uncle John? a small voice asked and he froze. Hope had gotten to her feet and she was moving to his side of the bed. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open slightly, and her cheeks were flushed. She reached up and pushed a lock of her bangs out of her eyes as she spoke to thin air, Uncle John? No. Yes, I understand. But—okay. Yes.

Willow’s eyes were widening as she glanced in her daughter’s direction, breaking away from his embrace. Hope, honey? Who are you talking to?

Hope’s eyes were focused on someone else, and as they drifted up to her mother, Tristan felt a chill run up his spine. The man in black says I need to do something, that Uncle John needs me.

Panic immediately struck and it felt like someone kicked him in the balls. Okay, that’s not good, he uttered under his breath with fear.

What are you talking about honey? There’s no one there, Willow returned, eyes darting to the area right in front of their daughter, sure that some invisible foe had entered the room and was telepathically speaking to their daughter.

His little girl smiled slightly, her eyes flowing back to the other person, then her right hand reached up to hold John’s in a loving way. Yes, I understand. Okay. Mommy? Daddy? Uncle Jared says that you should step back.

Fuck me.

Willow, get her away from there, he ordered, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword, his eyes focused on trying to find the fiend his daughter was listening to. If it was truly Jared, then his intentions were not for the greater good of his family.

His wife had darted forward but a blinding white light surged into existence between them, cutting her off. A gasp of surprise cleared Jenna’s throat at the same time as Willow’s scream of frustration, his wife’s hands frantically trying to reach through the light and find their daughter.

The door banged open. We need to stop her! the newcomer yelled, giving him a start. He recognized Merlin’s voice immediately, but who had he meant? Willow from interceding or his little girl herself? Frozen with indecision, he was instantly blinded as the white light intensified and the room began to vibrate around them.

Tristan, I can’t get to her! Willow screamed from somewhere within the outskirts of the light. He tried to move in her direction, but he was having a hard time keeping his feet, his hands finding nothing but air as he blindly groped his way forward. He closed his eyes, yet still the light was there. There was no shutting it out. It was in everything, it was everything; nothing in the world existed but the light and there was no escaping its power.

Kylee had given her daughter a push towards the bathroom and was making for Jenna and the kids, her own eyes reflecting the white light as if glowing themselves. Jenna, we have to get you out of here!

You need to stop this! Merlin hollered louder, the noise in the room amplifying so that all was drowned out; even his heartbeat.

The bed began to shake, the frame thundering loudly on the stone flooring, the sheets flipping in the air with a sudden gush of wind. A window shattered, glass spraying across the room and tearing into the painted walls like daggers. The dresser to the rear exploded, sending shards of wood in every direction, narrowly missing Kylee as she got Jenna and her kids out of harm’s way, clear of the destruction raining down around them. The armor stand, bereft of John’s armor anchoring it down, fell with a resounding crash. The drapes over the window ripped free, allowing a torrent of wind and rain to fill the newly open gap with sheer violence.

Tristan! I can’t find her! Willow hollered in panic, her voice sounding distant, as if echoing across a large cavern. In truth, they couldn’t be more than two feet apart, yet it felt like two-hundred.

Merlin! Use your magic! he called, the force of wind driving him back a step as he continued to try and get to his family. His son and other daughter were on the other side of that light, and all of his soul, his reason for being, was completely out of reach. If he lost them—

Guardians were streaming through the door behind them, he could hear their shouts of surprise and dismay, but he ignored it as he moved an inch closer to where his family had to be.

If we do not stop this, the last ten years mean nothing. All that time hiding her, protecting her, it will end. Tristan, it may already be too late, Merlin yelled and his heart sank.

II

Ten years before, the Phoenix had personally showed up and tried to take their daughter. The fact that Hope’s magic was a rival to a witch that powerful had terrified her parents to the core. The sightings of the Phoenix had been few and far between, so that she chose to come herself, and not send one of her minions, spoke volumes of the threat she perceived their daughter to be. Even Erik hadn’t warranted a visit from the Phoenix, and he was wielding the only weapon capable of destroying the book she so coveted.

They had tried to make the best of it, to think that they were enough to protect her should the witch try again, but in their hearts, neither of them ever truly believed it. Their lives had become nothing more than a ticking clock. It was not a question of if she would be back, only when. Eventually, it made them so paranoid that they couldn’t even step out of the room without being paralyzed with fear.

Then, Merlin had come to them with a solution.

If they let it slip that Hope had died in her sleep, the result of an unknown illness that had taken her swiftly and without warning, then word of her death would spread. Eventually, the Phoenix’s spies would pass on the disinformation and their daughter would be safe. To perpetuate that lie, Hope would be taken to a cabin on the border of the elven lands, near the fringes of the fairies’ domain, and any accidental spell use would be masked by their constant use of magic. The downside being, they would have to tell the people of Griedlok that she was dead. They would have to mourn her, burn a body, and pretend to grieve, so that no one would suspect the truth.

Merlin had slipped away in the dead of the night, carrying Hope into the shadows of concealment, and out of the everyday life of Griedlok. The only other person that knew of her existence through that period of time was Shirl, who had gone with them in case she was needed to persuade any noisy members of her kin to bugger off. Tristan had first-hand experience just how enticing Hope’s magic was to the fairies, especially they’re Queen, and he hoped they never realized she was being kept so close to their borders.

As Tristan was a Knight of the Realm, he had an abundance of excuses to return to Forlorn, and if he went on the occasional outing into the forest with his wife, then no one would really question it. They were in love and needed their time alone. The war had kept them busy, but they still made time to see her as often as they could manage. In fact, he was pretty sure that Arthur had been conceived on one of those outings.

With the constant need to be with their troops, the responsibilities at home, and the frequent trips to Forlorn, they were very rarely in the same place very long. The constant back and forth was only possible because Wyrddlin, the king of the dragons and an old friend, had commanded two of his kin to stay with them at all times and see that they got where they were going swiftly and safely. When the silver dragon had handed over his crown to Fraldarth the following spring, the golden monarch had refreshed those orders, before heading north to rejoin the war.

They hadn’t seen Hope as much as they would have liked, but she was alive, she was no longer in danger, and she had the greatest magician of their time there to protect her, to be her guardian; her Godfather. Who else was better to school her in magic and counsel her on its use within the safety of the fairy’s domain? It kept Merlin apart, but he preferred it that way. He used his magical mirrors to reach out and talk to them when needed, or called for a meeting and had them travel there to discuss important matters face to face. He knew, as they did, that if the Phoenix wanted her that badly, then it was a priority to keep her hands off their daughter no matter what was sacrificed in the process.

Then Merlin had showed up out of the blue the year before, telling them he had urgent business and that Hope should be safe enough to return to them. Not as their daughter, in the public’s eyes, but as an orphan they had decided to take on after one of their trips north. A daughter of a hero Pendoran, who’s birth was falsely circulated to have been given by the Queen of Forlorn from a secret affair, and born on a trip south she had taken some years before. That she had been meeting with the High Elves concerning their involvement in the war didn’t matter; everyone loved a dirty secret and the sharing of it.

They hadn’t care about any of that, let people think what they wanted. When the war was over, and the Phoenix forever destroyed, the truth could be known and they would be a family once again.

Before the mage had left, he had asked about Hope’s abilities, but Merlin had claimed that they were dormant. That they had not even twitched since the day she was born and it would be some time before they manifested themselves. He was so happy to have his daughter back, that he hadn’t questioned it further.

III

Now, as he struggled to get through the light, to get to the little girl he would die to protect, that he loved and cherished beyond measure, he couldn’t help but wonder if it had been the right choice after all. He should have gone in Merlin’s place, to that cottage in the woods, and protected her himself. He never should have let her come back here.

Their secret had been exposed. The amount of magical power being used would not go unnoticed. Somewhere, in the Deadlands, the Phoenix’s eyes would snap open and her rage would surge forth. From now until the end of time, that witch would be on the hunt, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Like a stopper in a drain, the light instantly went out, the wind died, and the rain ceased. The vibrations and noise winked out of existence, and in their place, was a loving mother cradling her daughter; a small sprite hovering overhead.

A gasp of breath tore out of John’s chest and he screamed.

Jenna burst through the door, running to her husband’s side as he could do nothing but stand there in shock. Willow was holding their daughter tightly, the other two children were crying in the corner, and Kylee had found her way to the edge of the bed, her knives drawn.

A hand grabbed his elbow and yanked him around, you need to get her out of here. Now. Take her, get up to Cieto, and wing yourself south as fast as you can. Merlin’s eyes were blazing as he talked and it snapped him into action.

Willow, he muttered, reaching down and gripping his wife by the shoulders. You need to let her go.

I can’t, his wife responded, sobbing so loudly his heart wrenched.

Yet, he had to do what Merlin advised, he knew better than to argue with the man; especially when his heart was screaming the exact same thing. Willow, let her go.

She looked at him and their eyes met, then she nodded.

Daddy? Are you mad at me? I helped Uncle John just like Uncle Jared said I should, Hope asked, her voice breaking his heart. Her tears were streaming freely, her eyes pleading for him to say no.

Of course not, baby. Remember the bad lady? The one we have talked about? Well, she knows you’re here, so we need to get you out of here, okay? he answered as calmly as he could, trying to console her and get moving at the same time.

There were screams coming from somewhere in the keep and his heart tripled in speed; she was here. Willow, get the kids out of here, he growled, reaching down and sweeping his daughter up into his arms.

Merlin stepped out of the way, I’ll protect them. You just need to get Hope in the air and out of this keep. Your daughter is the only reason for her being here and with her gone, she’ll depart quickly.

I’m going with you, Kylee stated, not leaving room for argument and he nodded as he made for the open door.

Protect them with your lives, he commanded the Guardians as Kylee ushered her daughter towards Willow, the sisters’ eyes relaying all that was needed to say.

I’m telling you, she will not come anywhere near this room if you’re already gone. Druids, mages, a necromancer, all are converging on her. If her prize is taken from her, she won’t dare stay to fight. Get in the air quickly and do not look back! Merlin told them through the open doorway, his words echoing down the hall as they ran as fast as their legs would take them, his daughter clinging to his chest and sobbing with grief.

It felt like ages had passed, but it had been less than an hour when he emerged back onto the roof, his legs already tired from sprinting in his armor not once, but twice in such a short period of time. Graphene was light, but it still wasn’t silk. Given enough time, it wore you down to the point of exhaustion, regardless of the material it was made out of. Cieto! We need to be airborne!

Shogha? Kylee called, looking to the roost on their right as he swiftly darted towards the left.

Cieto burst into sight, then pounced onto the rooftop; his landing more dramatic and impactful than it needed to be. What’s up? Not going to let your donkey get any sleep?

Screams echoed through open windows on the north side of the keep and a burst of flame flashed into view. I don’t have time for this, he growled, moving to the saddle that hadn’t been removed yet, the stewards obviously behind on getting to it, and placed his daughter on his neck. Cieto thankfully kept his neck still, but his eyes were focused on the northern side of the roof. Honey, I need to strap my legs in, then Uncle Cieto here is going to take us on a flight, okay?

Uncle? Cieto mocked. Really?

Any other time I wouldn’t care about the banter. I can give as much as I can take, and you and I have fun doing it. But those flames? That’s the fucking Phoenix and she’s here for my daughter, so can the bullshit and let’s get the fuck out of here, okay? he snapped, strapping his legs into the saddle and hooking his feet in the stirrups.

He turned to see Kylee doing the same, the black scales of the overly large dragon she was on looking oily even in the moonlight. I’m good. Do not wait on me, she hollered at him, hands frantically binding her legs.

We won’t, he answered. I’m in, let’s go.

The gold dragon was uncharacteristically quiet and had obviously taken what he said to heart, as Cieto dashed towards southern wall in leaps and bounds, his wings folded in and his head down. Flames flew past as his gold tail angled low, narrowly missing the ball of fire and singing the horns enough to make them smoke slightly in response. A scream of rage erupted from their rear as Cieto’s rear legs reached forward, latched onto the side of the roof, and then launched them into the air. They were angled downward, and he gripped Hope tightly, her face pressed against his body, her hair whipping across his face as the gold dragon plunged towards the city below.

The wind hit them so strongly that if the straps hadn’t been overly tight, they might have been ripped free; gratefully they were held firmly in place. Cieto’s wings spread, his head angled up, and they were thrust over the southern outer wall of the fortress, barely missing the standards, the banners ripped loose in the wake of their passing.

He had ridden Wyrddlin many times over the years and had grown accustomed to the way the ancient silver dragon flew, not realizing how much of a difference youth and wisdom could be. Wyrddlin was old, claimed his aches had aches, and rarely went fast if he could help it. He was careful in his landings, flew gracefully, and every movement was automatic after thousands upon thousands of years of experience.

Riding Cieto was a different experience altogether. Although he had a hundred years behind him, he still acted like a teenager. The erratic nature of his flying did have its pluses during battle, as it made them a harder target to hit. But any other time, the jerky, violent, and constant need to barrel roll made him nauseated and sick to his stomach. He tried to force it down when the vertigo hit, but couldn’t stop it this time as he turned his head and puked, the vomit flinging backwards into the night.

Eww! he heard his daughter exclaim. That’s gross, Daddy.

He was unable to respond as he fought down more, his stomach lurching with every violent banking maneuver the dragon had ever learned. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t correct the dragon’s attempts to flee south despite the sickness he was dealing with. The Phoenix had just learned that his daughter was alive, she was in Lancaster, and his whole family were had just been left at that witch’s mercy. The only chance he had of saving them was to get Hope free and out of sight as quickly as possible. If it cost him his lunch, his breakfast, and maybe last night’s dinner as well, so be it.

As long as she was safe, he didn’t give a shit.

You need to calm yourself, youngling, a voice drifted from his left, and he saw that Kylee and her black dragon had caught up to them. It was surprising, since the gold dragon was flying like this was some sort of obstacle course that needed its best time beaten; how the black had kept up much less found them was a complete mystery.

They burst from the trees and over a body of water, Crystal Lake reflecting their passing as they skirted across its surface. Waves formed behind them, the speed of their passing sending shockwaves in their wake. The moon was full and he saw its reflection staring at him from the dark lark, as if a head were laying on its side watching them with fascination.

Ease up, Shogha commanded, her larger wings having to beat at a faster tempo to stay with them. She’s behind us, she’s not in pursuit. We’ve lost her.

Cieto’s head swung around and the large eyes were wide with panic, but his wings tilted a bit and their speed began to slow. Shogha’s velocity decreased as well, Kylee watching them with compassion, her bow in hand. Her eyes kept darting to their rear, but he refused to look, lest panic set in once more.

We’re safe, he kept telling himself, and prayed to the Gods it was true. If Jared was truly responsible for this, by this war’s end, he’d make him pay for putting his daughter in danger. There would be a reckoning and he would finish what the Horseman War started so long ago.

Chapter 3

In hiding

I

The moon had set while they were in flight and the night became nothing but vague shapes and the occasional reflection off a stream or river. Even that much was hard to see in the darkness that swallowed them. Cieto had thankfully not flown excessively high, as the colder air at higher altitudes would have frozen his unshielded daughter. He had nearly lost his cloak wrapping it around her as it was. Having put a strap around the wool fabric and anchoring it to his body, he saw nothing of the little girl shivering against her father’s armor.

An emotional ride, that’s what he had been experiencing since leaving Gamduhn, and the flight gave him plenty of time to calm down, to center himself, and try to figure out what to do next. He could say that all he cared about was his daughter’s safety, but that was just what you told people to stress the importance it held for you; in your heart you knew that wasn’t true. There were other people in his life, beyond that of his wife and other two children, that he cared deeply about and had also been put in danger by his daughter’s mere existence and their proximity to her.

The ranger flying at his side was one of those.

When he had first met Kylee she was aloof, kept to herself, and was always absent as she scouted ahead of their route, her loyal wolf by her side. Over the course of their journey together, they had learned that not only was she Willow’s sister, but that her family and his had been murdered by the same fiend; a cousin no one even knew existed hiding amongst the shadows of Lancaster. They had a common foe and it hadn’t been just marriage to her sister that had bonded them together, but the slaying of the man that had created so much grief and sorrow in their life.

After that, she had been sent north to broker an alliance with the minotaurs and ended up befriending the dragons instead. Having discovered that the Phoenix had been stockpiling eggs from the dragons, raising them in secret, and magically altering their genetic makeup, she had found an ally amongst the dragons that almost turned the tide of the war.

The Phoenix had wiped out most of the remnants of her previous forces, having sent the majority into slavery in the troll mines, and in