POCHA
“Well, how did it go?” she asked impatiently.
Lure shook their head—with a shudder of revulsion—then reached down and plucked out a black arrow that had impaled their cloak.
“This is how it went,” Lure said, snapping the arrow and tossing it aside.
“Empra is overrun with Lacunae, golenae, and gray mages. The moment they caught sight of me over the city, arrows started flying. I managed to land on the outskirts and spoke with a friendly farmer. She said the traitors have been garrisoned there for three weeks, handing out food and coin and trying to brainwash the residents to support the Gray Brothers. And the worst of it is, they’re led by Lady Amberleigh. ”
“Any sign of Parthar?” she asked.
Lure shook their head.
They hadn’t seen the little dragon since the attack on Charcain. She could only hope he was with Essa somewhere. The thought that he’d been killed in the battle was too much to bear. Anyway, she had other concerns just now.
“What do you think?” Pocha asked Lure. “Could we take the Empra path? Or are we better off staying here and dealing with our pursuers?”
“The truth?” Lure spat into the grass. “We die either way.”
“Then let’s stay here and die,” Dagar groaned. “My arse can’t endure another day on horseback.”
“Let’s not condemn hundreds of commoners—who trusted us—to death for the sake of your ass,” Pocha said archly.
She turned her attention to the map already spread out on the ground before them, and bit her thumbnail, thinking.
Ever since their defeat at Charcain, they’d been fleeing, pursued by a combined force of golenae, Lacunae, noble knights, and mercenaries.
They had fled south between the sea and Lake Shrade, thinking they might make a stand at the village of Murram, where reinforcements waited.
But the golenae had gotten there first. Pocha’s company had found the village already sacked and in flames, its residents scattered.
They’d left Clua and Rohree there when they’d marched for Charcain, still in an enchanted slumber from their encounter with the Gray Witch.
The mayor and his family had been caring for them, and thank the gods, they’d found them safe, hiding out in a farm outside the village.
Pocha had ordered litters to be made to transport their slumbering friends.
Then they’d rounded up the remaining refugees and continued their flight.
At Quorn, further south, the scene had repeated itself. They’d found the city destroyed, the residents scattered, the enemy in close pursuit.
They’d faced a choice. Head north to Eama, a tiny fishing village on the lakeshore that might be able to offer food and reinforcements, or cut east and take the mountain road to Empra.
There had been much debate. Both options had their advantages and their drawbacks.
The trek north to Eama was the easier road.
The terrain was more or less level, a forest trail that ran along the lakeshore.
But Pocha’s dragon sense had told her a trap waited that way.
Scouting reports said their pursuers had lessened in number after Murrum, and she suspected a portion of them might have broken off and gone north around the lake, hoping to get ahead of them.
If so, Eama was where they were likely to wait in ambush.
The village might already be destroyed. And even if it wasn’t, it was so small that it had only a few hundred residents and not much food to share with a hungry army. Little could be gained by going there.
The road to Empra was a more difficult one.
It led through the foothills and into the beginnings of the Yrdam Mountains.
The ascent wasn’t terribly steep—not at first—but it would still be very taxing to their exhausted soldiers, common men and women who’d been hiking almost non-stop for three days straight.
But the Empra route had its advantages, too.
In many places, the road was narrow, bounded by sheer cliff faces or steep drop-offs.
It would be difficult for their enemies to outflank them, and there were plenty of bottlenecks where they could turn and fight, if necessary.
The tight terrain would negate their enemy’s superior numbers.
And if they made it to Empra, they would find themselves in a good-sized, defensible city with plenty of food, water, and shelter for everyone.
After some debate, they’d turned toward Empra. That was yesterday.
If Lure’s report was accurate and Empra was lost, they were back to planning once more.
“Alright, so there are three choices, really,” Lure said, tapping their spot on the map, in the foothills halfway between Eama and Empra. “We stay put and make our stand here. Find a defensible spot, dig in, and let our enemies come to us…”
“That would be my arse’s choice,” Dagar said.
Pocha smiled. Dagar’s usual, tiresome humor had all but disappeared after the death of his dragon. Seeing a flash of it now warmed her heart—though from the look in his eyes, she could tell he still wasn’t himself.
“Or we could backtrack to Eama,” Lure went on.
“And walk right into the teeth of our pursuers,” Pocha said.
“Or, the third option—we could forge ahead to Empra and take our chances with the witch,” Lure said.
Pocha and Dagar both shuddered.
“I have no desire to face that woman again,” Dagar said. Pocha knew that none of them did. Clua and Rohree were still petrified, and no one wanted to share their fate. Still…
“If we were to capture the witch, we might be able to force her to reverse her spell on Clua and Rohree,” Pocha pointed out.
Lure shook their head. “If. But they outnumber us. They’ve had time to make preparations in the city.
And they’ve been brainwashing the townsfolk, remember.
Follow that road, and we may face not only the witch and her minions, but the entire town.
I’d fight that cursed woman any day, but I can’t justify leading any more of our people to the slaughter—especially against their own brethren who’ve been misled by that snake. ”
Dagar grunted. “So, in summary, we have no options. Maybe we can just evaporate into thin air.”
Pocha reached down and touched the map. “There is a fourth choice,” she said. “We could go here, up into the Yrdam Mountains.”
Lure frowned. Dagar gaped at her.
“The mountains that are home to wild dragons?” Dagar exclaimed. “I don’t fancy being eaten, do you?”
“Only in the bedroom,” she said with a wink that made Dagar’s face turn red. Pleased, she turned her attention back to the map. “The nesting sites of the wild dragons are further north. Here.”
“Yes, but the entire mountain range is their hunting ground,” Lure pointed out. “You know that. And they’re territorial. They won’t take kindly to Skrathan bringing strange dragons into their lands.”
Pocha nodded grimly.
“I don’t disagree. We’re choosing among bad choices.
But the fact is, all our other options necessitate fighting.
And our people are too weary to fight. If we go into the mountains, there’s a chance our enemies may not follow us, at least not right way.
We could find some valley or chasm or cave to hide in, perhaps.
Let our people rest, then make a new plan. ”
“And what about food?” Dagar asked. “I’m starving already. At least in Empra, there’d be something to eat.”
Lure had one hand on the hilt of their sword, the other rubbing their chin.
“There may be food in Empra, but it would cost a lot of blood to get it. Even if we live, we’ll probably be eating in chains.
The Gray Brothers spend half their days fasting.
Do you think they feed their prisoners well?
In the mountains, there are ample mountain goats, deer, and hares we could hunt, although we’d have to be careful with cooking.
Would most likely have to roast our meals with dragon fire—and only during the day. ”
Dagar crossed his arms. “Well, the mountains get a no vote from me. My arse votes we stay here, and my belly votes for Empra. I’ll let you decide between them.”
Pocha met Lure’s gaze. Neither had to speak aloud, for the simnal said it for them.
Into the mountains.
Dagar, no longer dragon-bound, could not hear their decision, but he saw them each nod.
“What?” he said, his voice rising with sudden volatility. “You know I don’t have simnal anymore, damn you!”
Lure clapped a hand on Dagar’s shoulder. “Your ass and your belly have both been out-voted, my friend.”
Dagar groaned. “Fine. But you better find me a fat ol’ goat for dinner. And Pocha, you’re cooking it for me. And when the dragons come to eat us—”
“I’m sure we’ll still hear you griping from inside their bellies,” Lure teased.
Pocha turned her gaze to the north, where a series of grassy, rocky hills gave way to jagged purple mountains, a foreboding sight against the clear sky. It would be the path their enemies would least expect them to take, that was certain. Perhaps because it was a foolish path…
And yet, a Skrathan’s dragon intuition was always to be heeded. And that was where her gut told her to go.
Still, she checked in with Razune, her dragon, via simnal just to be safe.
We’re thinking of going into the Yrdams… Pocha told her.
Fine.
Aren’t you worried about wild dragons?
Why? Let them worry about me.
That was Razune, ever confident.
Pocha wished she shared her dragon’s sense of certainty. But Essa wasn’t here to lead, and so that honor fell to Pocha. Before the attack on Charcain, Essa had told her expressly: if something should happen to me, you are Irska in my stead. Get the survivors to safety, regroup, and wait for me.
…And that’s exactly what she intended to do. She had to project the certainty of an Irska, whether she felt it or not, until Essa was back.
She glanced once more at the mountains, which rose, ominous and jagged, in the distance. Then she rolled up the map.
“Let’s move,” she said.