Chapter 8
REUNION
“This way to the caverns,” Cheyanne called over the wind.
The winter storm blanketed everything in a sheet of white. A line of Morsythians led the fleeing crowd into the alabaster void, disappearing into the blizzard. As Venrick followed, he noticed a dark gray shadow forming in the whiteout.
A mountain side, a cliff? he considered. His grip tightened instinctively on Yarla’s waist as he helped her through the drifting snow.
The shadow moved against the wind, growing larger as it took shape. Venrick’s heart sank as the dark serpentine outline formed two wide-spread wings.
“Dragon!” Cheyanne’s warning carried over the shrieking wind. Morsythians scattered, their hulking blue forms seeking cover among the exposed slopes beyond Haven’s Edge.
Venrick’s mind instantly flashed to the colossal creature they’d awakened now returning to destroy any and all life around the Northern town. We can’t fight this beast, he thought.
Venrick prepared to run, but hesitated. The closer the shadow came, the less it looked like the massive dragon under the Northern town. The way it angled down toward him was hauntingly familiar. He knew that black outline. He’d seen it before, on the day Tel Roan was slain while fighting Marcel.
No, not Marcel. It was Barrik who attacked them. Lark was trying to help, he thought.
“Wait!” Venrick shouted over the storm.
Cheyanne and the lead Morsythian turned back to look at him.
“Hold your positions!” he shouted.
Recognition spread across Cheyanne’s face, while the Morsythian troop leader snarled at Venrick. “You do not command us, orc slayer,” he said in a thick Northern accent.
“Stand down, Gravlin,” Cheyanne ordered the Morsythian.
Reluctantly, the giant orc with skin like the color of the ocean relayed the order to hold their positions to the rest of the Morsythian troop.
An instant later, the dark dragon broke through the storm’s curtain, coming into clear view.
The dragon’s body flexed as he landed, his corded muscles taut under glossy onyx scales slick with melting snow.
Two cream-white eyes ringed in gold locked in on Venrick as he folded his wings.
He lowered his horned head just enough to reveal the figure in black brismil armor seated in the saddle.
Though the Morsythians appeared braced for a fight, Venrick knew the dragonrider wouldn’t attack.
Even before she removed the brismil plate armor with a simple move of her scale harness, he knew this was Lark.
Marcel’s signature armor vanished, revealing a familiar silhouette with umber hair and a stern, yet beautiful face.
His gaze met hers, locking onto her sharp green eyes.
For a moment, the blizzard seemed to still.
He hadn’t known if he’d ever see her again.
Behind the longing in her eyes, Venrick saw the pain of their absence, and his heart skipped a beat.
In a fluid movement, Lark hopped out of the saddle and slid down White Eye’s foreleg, landing in a puff of snow. Every instinct told Venrick to run to her, hold her tight and kiss her full lips.
Then Yarla slumped, the weight of her around his shoulders acting as a reminder of her presence.
In that moment, as Lark stood there with snow swirling around her, Venrick saw Lark’s gaze drop to Yarla’s waist where he was helping support her.
A dangerous spark flickered in her expression, her emerald eyes narrowing, the curve of her mouth flattening.
For an instant Venrick thought she might turn again, like she’d done at the firestorm in the Everburning Forest when Lark seemed like she was going to attack Venrick.
But any anger burned away in a blink of an eye.
She straightened, a sense of relief seeming to come over her as she marched through the deep snow to greet them.
“You’re alive,” Lark said.
“And so are you,” Venrick replied.
They shared a smile, and Venrick felt the intimacy growing between them again, until Lark’s eyes drifted to Yarla as she clung desperately to him.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Venrick said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ve been tracking you and White Eye ever since Red Lodge.”
“You were looking for me?” Lark asked.
“Of course I was,” Venrick said, her question feeling like a lance through his heart.
“But now you know who and what I am,” she said, chewing nervously at her bottom lip.
“Lark, that doesn’t change anything. That doesn’t affect how I feel about you,” Venrick said, his brows furrowing with remorse. He glanced awkwardly at Cheyanne, who stood with arms folded in judgement.
“We need to get to the caverns, this storm isn’t going to hide us forever,” Cheyanne said.
“Rimeshade?” Lark asked.
“A powerful one by the name of Lady Sanj. Seems Venrick chose to make an enemy out of her by waking their once-dormant dragon,” Cheyanne added.
Behind Lark, White Eye stiffened, his gaze peering out into the whiteout.
“We’ll catch you up on events soon,” Venrick said. “But Lark, you need to know, your dragon is wounded. I saw traces of Joc’s magic in White Eye’s blood. I think you’re being tracked.”
“I know,” Lark said.
“You do?” he replied.
“We found out when it was almost too late. Barrik and Killaborden found us, but luckily, we were able to fight our way free. The only reason we came into this storm instead of flying over was to ensure they wouldn’t spot us.”
“I had no idea. I was just following the signs and hoping I’d catch up with you. Lark, you must know I was never going to give up on you. I would never do that,” he said, breaking into a smile that matched Lark’s growing grin.
“And in doing so, your honor got you caught up with a rimeshade and a giant dormant dragon?” Lark asked.
“I stumbled into the whole mess not knowing Cheyanne was leading the troop of Morsythians to deal with the threat the whole time. If I’d known you were near, I would’ve traveled with them.”
“I can’t believe I found you in this storm,” Lark said.
“How did you find us?” Venrick asked.
“I felt a disturbance. It must’ve been the dragon returning because the amount of magical energy coming from the area drew us in like a magnet.
We didn’t know what to expect, when we broke through the clouds and saw the Morsythians.
Then you were here, with Cheyanne, and…” she nodded toward where Yarla clung to Venrick for support.
“You two can catch each other up as we move,” Cheyanne insisted. “What’s happened here at Haven’s Edge will be attracting Nordraven riders soon.”
Lark’s shoulders stiffened at Cheyanne’s words and Venrick remembered how hostile the elf had been toward Lark when they’d met in the Everburning Forest. “Cheyanne, I wasn’t myself when we last met. I never got a chance to explain how things really went down,” she started.
“Last time we met, Ella, if that’s who you are this time, you were betraying our deal with the Morsythians,” Cheyanne countered, her hand resting casually on her sword hilt.
“I never gave you up. You must believe me,” Lark insisted.
“I don’t have to believe anything you say, Marcella,” Cheyanne said dismissively.
“People change. I’m not Marcella, Marcel, or Ella anymore. Yes, I remember much of my past since Barrik forced my memories to surface, but now, I’m just Lark,” she insisted, placing her hand over her chest where the pendant lay.
“Times change. People don’t,” Cheyanne countered. “Once a Nordraven dragonrider, always a Nordraven dragonrider. You’ll never change.”
Lark’s eyes softened as she looked Yarla over in earnest. Yarla’s dulled skin, her washed out eyes, and lolling head decried her waning strength.
It was clear she had endured some sort of magical torture.
Whatever jealousy had flickered across Lark’s face moments ago transformed into genuine concern.
Lark staggered and White Eye braced her with his foreleg.
In that moment she shared a look of understanding with her dragon.
Venrick remembered seeing that look pass between Tel and Ingamar whenever they shared a thought or emotion through their bond.
“They were harvesting her ability to wield magic. That connection that is innate to any elf, dwarf, orc, or mage,” Lark said with understanding.
“Yes,” Venrick replied, setting out as they trailed behind Cheyanne and the Morsythians.
“Harvesting another creature’s magical essence isn’t something that Nordraven’s practiced before.” Lark’s response was confident.
“Aren’t magi in Nordraven encouraged to practice magic that sources its power from another living soul?” Venrick asked.
“They aren’t encouraged to,” Lark said, furrowing her brow.
“In Skol, that kind of magic has been outlawed. If you’re caught doing it, anyone can challenge the magician.
Once a magus uses magic the way Joc did, they are supposed to be stripped of any protection the Kingdoms might provide.
Their death is not considered a crime as they are immediately considered outlaws.
Skol and Wintermire, however, don’t seem to be following the laws my grandfather and his generation practiced. ”
Yarla sagged in Venrick’s grip, causing him to dip slightly.
Lark shared another knowing glance with her dragon, then said, “White Eye can carry her the rest of the way.”
Venrick nodded and Lark moved to help bring her to the saddle. Yarla recoiled. A small sound of terror escaped her throat. “Nordraven dragon,” she whispered, her fingers digging into Venrick’s arm.
Lark frowned and Venrick could feel how the comment cut into her. “Walking her might be easier,” Venrick suggested.
“I’ll help you,” Lark insisted, moving to Yarla’s other side. “White Eye will watch our rear, out of her line of sight.” She reached for Yarla’s free arm, but hesitated, as if waiting for permission.
Yarla gave a small nod, and together, they formed a chain through the snow while White Eye’s massive form shielded them from the worst of the wind.
***