Chapter 13 Elk’s Lodge
ELK’S LODGE
The scent of roasted chestnuts and mulled wine hung heavy in the evening air as Lark and Venrick made their way through the crowded streets of Astral City.
Lanterns strung between buildings cast a warm glow over the festivities, illuminating the colorful banners bearing the crimson crest of the Vermillion Keep that adorned every street corner.
Musicians played at small gathering spaces, their melodies not quite drowning out Lark’s racing thoughts.
They’d taken their time making their way through the Everburning Forest, sticking to routes Cheyanne’s scouts maintained.
With the dragons unable to breach the ward barrier around Astral City, the group had to filter into the city, using the throngs of people arriving for the Coronation Festival as a distraction.
“Easy,” Venrick murmured, his hand brushing hers as they navigated through a particularly dense crowd. “You look like you’re marching to an execution.”
Lark forced her shoulders to relax. “Sorry. I just can’t believe we’re actually doing this.” Having to split up and enter the city in disguises and in groups of no more than four to avoid suspicion wasn’t ideal, especially if they were recognized.
The pendant around her neck pulsed with warmth.
Lark understood it was Nix’s way of showing Lark that the fire fae was there for support.
Nix had been unusually quiet since they’d entered the city, likely to preserve Lark’s disguise in case anyone spotted her glowing form.
Now, both Lark and Nix were known to the world as traitors.
She couldn’t hide behind the mask of her infamous brismil armor this time.
Lark’s image was known and there were too many trained eyes in Astral City that could pick them out.
Especially now, during the month-long anniversary celebration of the King’s coronation.
The celebration traveled to each of the Lamar’s three major cities for a week and a half, attracting patrons from all corners of Lamar to pay homage to their monarch.
King Agadorn rarely, if ever, made an appearance at any of the celebrations but for those held at his home in Lamar City.
“There it is,” Venrick said, nodding toward an archway leading to an estate where a stable and three-story building consumed most of the city block. The weathered sign hanging at the arch depicted a majestic elk, its antlers exaggerated to impressive proportions. “Elk’s Lodge.”
Unlike the other inns and taverns bursting with patrons, Elk’s Lodge maintained an air of selective clientele.
Two broad-shouldered guards flanked the entrance, one orc with mottled green skin and one human with a black beard and long hair.
Their posture suggested they were casually resting but their eyes remained alert as they assessed approaching patrons.
“Remember,” Lark whispered, “we’re merchants from the southern provinces. We’re here for the festival to sell exotic goods from beyond the Everburning Forest.”
“You’re the one who needs reminding,” Venrick replied with a hint of a smile. “I wasn’t the famous dragonrider striking fear into the hearts of Lamar for years.”
Lark tensed at the reminder. Her months as an amnesiac had distanced her from her time as the Nordraven dragonrider known by the name, Marcel Heartfell. But being so close to Vermillion Keep, where she had once been renowned as Lamar’s greatest threat, made her past feel dangerously present.
The guards straightened as they approached. The taller of the two, a gray-skinned orc with a scar running from his brow to jaw, stepped forward.
“Business?” he asked, his tone professionally neutral.
“We seek lodging,” Venrick replied, slipping into the refined accent of southern merchants in case others passing in the street were listening.
“The White Stag was full, and we were told Mistress Cheyanne might have rooms available,” he said, reciting the phrase they had memorized to clue these guardians in on their business.
The guard’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Password?”
“The white hawk soars at midnight,” Venrick replied smoothly.
The scarred orc exchanged a look with his partner, then nodded once. “Second floor, third door on the right. Knock twice, then once.”
Inside, the Elk’s Lodge was surprisingly quiet compared to the revelry outside.
A few patrons sat at scattered tables, nursing drinks and speaking in hushed tones.
A tall woman with auburn hair pulled into a severe bun stood behind the bar, her sharp eyes tracking their movement across the room.
Lark recognized one of Cheyanne’s lieutenants from the rebel camp, though the woman gave no sign of recognition.
They climbed the worn wooden stairs to the second floor, following the guard’s instructions. Venrick knocked on the door. Twice, then after a pause once more, and waited.
The door opened a crack, then swung wide as Hardin’s familiar face appeared.
“We’ve been waiting for you. Get in here,” he said, pulling them both into the room. Sasja became visible next to Hardin as Lark and Venrick passed through the doorframe. Sasja shut the door swiftly behind them.
The chamber was modest, providing a welcoming warmth with a small crackling fire in hearth.
Cheyanne’s city maps and diagrams of the Keep were spread across a table in the center.
Yarla sat beside it, her silver-white hair glowing in the firelight.
Though the dark corruption had faded from her skin, shadows still lingered beneath her eyes.
But what caught Lark’s attention most was Hardin himself.
Between the debriefing after Hardin returned to camp, then quickly updating him on the plan, and finally mobilizing, with everyone hurrying off in different paths so as not to attract attention, Lark hadn’t had much of an opportunity to reconnect with Hardin as two dragons were easier to spot than one.
They’d staggered their arrival times though the Everburning Forest, only meeting up for a few moments before the other rider pair departed.
The bruised and beaten young man who she had met at the Pour House had changed.
He stood taller, his shoulders set with newfound confidence.
His charming smile and free spirit remained firmly intact.
Most notably, there was a faint shimmering in the air around him.
Something Lark sensed more than saw. It was the unmistakable aura of a newly bonded dragonrider.
“Lark, Venrick, you made it,” Hardin said, setting his lute down on the table to be able to properly greet them as friends.
“We were starting to get worried,” Sasja said, at his side and sharing a friendly embrace.
“Hardin, I’ve been meaning to congratulate you, but we didn’t have much time between exchanges in the forest,” Lark said.
“Congratulate me?” he said.
“It worked. You and the dragon, you bonded,” she breathed.
Hardin’s face broke into a grin.
“It wasn’t quite what we had in mind when we stole the Hyalite, but now the Morsythians are working with Cheyanne, so we gained another rider for the effort,” Sasja said.
“I can’t believe you were a match to bond with her right there at the binding stone in Red Lodge,” Lark said.
“Yeah, pretty wild, right?” he said, pride evident in his voice. “Quin’s so much more than I could’ve imagined. The songs I’ve sung about riders are grand, but she’s... so much more wise and noble than the songs convey.”
“Is Quin with White Eye now?” Venrick asked, clasping Hardin’s arm in greeting.
“Yes, she’s with White Eye,” Hardin replied. “They’re hidden in the cliffs south of the Keep, just beyond the wards. They’re sharing stories, I think. White Eye’s testing her knowledge of the old ways and her connection to their ancestral memories.”
“And the hatchling?” Lark asked.
“We left it with Ezra and Ingamar under their protection. We figured it was safer to leave them with the protection of the wards,” he said.
Nix chose that moment to emerge, spiraling from Lark’s pendant in a twist of flame that quickly coalesced into her miniature, one-foot-tall, human-like form. Her fiery dress rippled as if caught in a breeze, and her flame-red hair danced around her shoulders.
“I’ve been sensing magic everywhere in this city,” Nix said without preamble. “Draconic magic. The Vermillion Keep is practically pulsing with it, but there’s something else mixed in. I sense a tone that wasn’t there before.”
“It’s not just that. There’s a new force present in the wards protecting the city,” Yarla said, speaking for the first time.
“When we arrived earlier today, I saw the Archmagus standing out on the dragon perch atop the Keep. The blue glow from whatever magic he was performing was intense. He must’ve been using a dozen or more Yogos,” Sasja said.
“Sasja,” Lark said, hugging her. “It’s good to see you. after having our groups on opposite schedules on the trip here.”
“And Hardin was stealing all my attention that night we were both in camp,” Sasja added.
“You look good without that amulet around your neck, driving your actions,” Lark commented.
“Right. A regrettable mistake, being caught stealing from a Magus. I’m completely myself again, as are you it seems. Maybe we can start with clean slate?” Sasja said.
“Yes, with my reputation, I think I’ll need to use that line more than a few times to get other riders to work with us if Cheyanne has any success with her objective.”
“Trying to turn the people against their monarch will be controversial,” Venrick said. “What we’re trying to do is downright treason.”
“Let’s hope we can pull this off then,” Sasja said. “I’ll be joining Cheyanne when she arrives, helping create the distraction for you all.”
“I’ll be posted at the Keep’s ward boundary,” Hardin said. “Yarla has been coaching me through some of the protections in the wards that Cheyanne’s described.”
“Yarla, where will you be for all this?” Lark asked.