Chapter 9 #2
“You’re right,” Hardin said, answering her emotional pull. “The camp will be far behind us before they realize we’ve gone.”
Hardin adjusted the straps securing him to the saddle before they took to the sky. He’d learned to pay attention to this safety feature on their second flight. Riding a dragon wasn’t as simple as merely holding onto a wagon seat.
Quinthara hesitated. She was questioning their experience when it came to flying as a pair. She knew her limits without him on her back. Now, though, they wondered how far she could fly before she needed rest.
“We could still turn back,” Hardin offered. “We could wait to help my hometown until I have better control over this magic business.”
Quinthara’s answer came with her crouching into a launch position. He felt her need to do this mission with him. What was important to him was now important to her and vice versa.
Hardin pressed his chest flat against the bracer at the base of her neck. Their consciousness became one. Up, they thought in unison.
Quinthara’s powerful legs released, and she launched them skyward. The ground fell away as she vaulted through the canopy, her wings threading between branches. Each powerful beat carried them higher, above the trees of the Everburning Forest.
The pre-dawn air bit at Hardin’s face, shocking away the last threads of uncertainty. Below them, the rebel camp was nothing more than a darker patch in the endless sea of trees. No alarm had been raised. No pursuit enacted. They had left without notice.
But as they banked west toward Doran, toward home, Hardin felt the power within him churn. It was almost as if the energy they’d consumed from the Hyalite knew he couldn’t contain it. Like it wanted to break free from his control.
He adjusted in the saddle. The journey to Doran was going to be a long flight. Hardin didn’t have the added comfort of being in a protected camp, guarded by soldiers and having more experienced spell casters to fall back on.
Hours later, when dawn crept over the horizon and Quinthara’s wings caught the early light, a firestorm flashed in the near distance. The smoke column building from the burning timber grew into a towering thunderhead they would soon need to fly around.
A twinge suddenly twisted through Hardin’s veins again, this time stronger than it had before. He clenched his jaw, trying to force the tingling power away. A flash of lightning blossomed in the storm and Hardin felt a jolt of energy pass through him.
Is it building in me again? He thought, seeing another flash of lighting and immediately feeling a surge of power threaten to break out unbidden.
Quinthara groaned with concern.
“We should keep our distance. I don’t know why the storm affects me like this,” he said.
Quinthara began to angle around the storm and that’s when Hardin felt it. It came the instant Quinthara’s senses took over his.
“The air feels, wrong,” he said.
She banked farther, adjusting their course to fly well around the storm.
“Why haven’t we felt this when storms passed by the camp?” Hardin wondered aloud.
The answer came from his dragon’s thoughts.
Outside the protective wards at camp, the very atmosphere felt exposed and vulnerable.
Any Paragon worth their reputation would be watching the skies, especially since the King of Skol was broadcasting to the world that Marcel Heartfell had returned.
And a dragon couldn’t stay hidden forever in broad daylight.
A spike of power lanced through their bond without warning, taking them both by surprise.
A violet shower of energy sprayed out through Hardin’s arms, crystalizing into ice that pelted and cut Hardin’s exposed skin.
Quinthara flared her wings for a moment, dropping several dozen feet to avoid any more injury from the violet shards of ice that had formed there.
She recovered, both rider and dragon breathing heavily.
“Sorry,” Hardin gasped, patting the scrapes on his face and seeing traces of his blood. “It’s getting harder to control.”
Another surge built within him, this one strong enough that the clouds nearby began to swirl, disturbed by their energy.
Quinthara snorted, pointing her neck down, indicating they should ground themselves before it got any worse.
Is it wise to land now? he thought. This close to the storm?
She purred, her answer a resounding, yes. He wanted to argue, to push around the firestorm and continue toward his homeland, but he knew she was right. At this height, a loss of control wouldn’t just expose them, it could kill them. Below, there was cover within the trees.
The descent proved more challenging than either of them anticipated. Quinthara’s wings cut through the pluming clouds, flexing and bracing against the strengthening winds. Lightning arced among the clouds, each strike possibly heralding the fragments of a god’s power.
There, Hardin spotted a clearing through the smokey haze below.
Energy churning inside him swelled against his will to hold the power at bay. It was almost like the magic from their bond was reacting to the storm. Ice crystals formed along his sleeves, crackling with violet tendrils of energy.
Quinthara banked toward the opening in the trees, but a massive lightning strike forced her to veer sharply out of the way.
Magical energy other than their own was palpable here.
This was no ordinary firestorm. The gods were using it to send their influence through the veil.
The abrupt movement in flight forced Hardin to lose focus, his control over his bond slipped.
Ice crystals formed down his arms, spreading rapidly from his hands across Quinthara’s scales.
She sent a warning through their bond, but not from the purple-hued frost spreading on her back. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck rose as he smelled what she had already sensed on the wind. It was the scent of sweat and blood mixing with soot and smoke.
We’re not alone, he realized. Looking through a new lens, he noticed the differences in magical signatures swirling within the storm. Paragons, he realized.
They hit the clearing harder than intended. Quinthara’s claws dug deep furrows in the smoldering earth as she fought for balance. Hardin maintained his seat in the saddle, his knuckles white, as they skidded to a stop.
All around them, smoke puffed off blackened trees. Stumps smoldered and charred brush stood out like black spines emerging from the soot-stained ground.
As he covered his face, his throat burning from the smokey haze, Hardin began to make out figures moving in on their position.
Armored soldiers with green shields marched toward them from the left.
Orcs bearing copper flags emerged through the murk to their right.
A third line of infantry wearing the Vermillion Keep’s red helmets marched straight on.
For a moment, they both held still, hearts racing in unison.
We landed between the forces of three advancing Keeps, Hardin realized.
He looked down at the charred earth at their feet. Brilliant blue glowing Yogo Sapphires littered the ground.
“Just our luck,” Hardin said, feeling an intense longing to drink in the energy from the Yogos, fueling the river of power they held with their bond. “We need to move before—”
A crack of thunder drowned out his words, followed by shouts. Through the smoke, armored figures charged toward them. They’d been spotted.
“Dragonrider!” The shout came from among the Vermillion Keep’s troop. “Secure those Sapphires!”
Quinthara’s instincts flashed with the willingness she gave to Hardin to gather the Yogos and take their power back to the rebel camp.
We can’t fight all of them, Hardin thought, projecting through their bond. I don’t have the training.
She spread her wings, preparing for takeoff, but a volley of arrows from the Nordraven troop forced her to pull them back.
The green-shielded soldiers of Storm Keep charged in. Lightning split the sky again, illuminating the hazy battlefield in glowing flashes. Each strike made the scattered Sapphires shout for Hardin to draw on their energy.
Hardin felt it building in him again, stronger than before. His attempts to contain it were failing. “Quin. I can’t—”
Quinthara’s idea struck him with startling clarity. She wanted him to let go; to use the power and let it flow through their bond unfettered.
Another arrow whizzed past them as the Vermillion Keep’s troops closed in from the front. The Nordraven troop flanked right, copper flags snapping in the storm winds. Time had run out.
Hardin released his grip on their bond, but instead of letting it explode outward, he directed it downward.
Violet energy erupted from his hands. Water welled from the ground, pooling at the surface and mixing with the ash the Yogos rested in.
The magic flowed, drawing more water from the ground as it spread, expanding like a lake around them.
Hardin blinked. It’s working, he thought. Somehow, with Quinthara’s help, they were able to guide their influence over the groundwater.
The water swirled around him, purple lines of energy crackling between them and the water. He guided the Yogos through the water, using the surface tension, causing the Sapphires to gather around Quinthara’s feet.
The closest soldiers staggered back as the moat of water created a barrier. Hardin built it up, raising the water like a spinning wall encircling them, blocking any of the soldiers from attacking. Arrows hitting the water were swept aside and spit back out toward adjacent forces.
“Stop him!” a commanding voice carried through from beyond the torrent. “Don’t let him take the Sapphires.”
But it was too late. Hardin and Quinthara pulled each Yogo into their possession.
The blue light flickered and winked out in those Hardin held in his hand.
The wall of water shrank slightly. An orc’s head emerged through the wall, his shoulders pressing through before the water carried him off his feet and spit him out among Lamar forces.
Quinthara’s urgency for them to flee keyed Hardin into their growing lack of control over the magic in their bond.
Hardin desperately wanted to cling to that feeling of control.
But even as the Yogos dwindled and as the water lowered, Hardin knew they had to flee.
As the wall of water dropped further, he could see that wards had formed around each of the three armies.
Where before, he needed to locate the runes and feel for the magic, now he could physically see them.
The energy rippled like curtains in his magically charged vision.
Without thinking, he reached out toward them with his mind and pulled.
The wards protecting the three armies twisted and snapped with an explosion of magical light. Chaos erupted as their defenses collapsed, leaving each army exposed to the others.
Quinthara launched skyward, the last of the water washing back down into the ground. Arrows followed them up, but her dragon scales deflected the few that found their mark.
They burst through the smokey layer into the heart of the storm.
Raindrops danced around them, gathering as the Giving Rain approached.
The water within the storm cloud was comforting somehow.
Now that the powers of the storm had manifested through the veil into Yogos, he and Quinthara didn’t feel the energy building in the bond.
“Head west,” Hardin gasped, fighting to comprehend what they’d just done.
He held an armful of Yogo Sapphires. Half were now clear, their power absent and only useful in their monetary value. But the rest were plump with magical essence. Energy that they had used to control their gift for the first time.
Hardin ran through the list of gods and how the Hyalites they sent through manifested in dragonriders. Quinthara’s query prompted him to say it aloud.
“Water,” he laughed. “The mist we created outside the camp. The ice we formed in the sky. The groundwater we pulled up through the earth. The Hyalite that Lark had with her all that time was given by Eva, the goddess of water. When we master our ability, we’ll be able to shape storms, summon rivers, wield ice.
Eva’s power is equal to the other two top-tier gods, only trumped by one god, Aether. ”
Pride swelled through them, only darkened by the question, why couldn’t they control it without tapping the magical essence from a Yogo?
They broke through the far side of the storm and behind them, horns blared through the thunder as the Keeps’ forces clashed.
They would be sending magi and dragonriders after him when the news spread of what he’d done, but for now, Hardin reveled in the experience.
He hunkered down in the saddle, now able to enjoy the flight toward his home in Doran.