Chapter 18 Rising from the Ashes #2
“The checkpoints are tightening,” Yarla reported. “They’re searching methodically.”
Venrick approached Quinthara cautiously. The young dragon regarded him with intelligent eyes, then lowered her head in greeting.
“Can she sense White Eye?” Venrick asked.
Hardin nodded, his expression grave. “He’s still in the mountains, watching the Keep. He confirms that Lark is alive but imprisoned in the central tower.”
Venrick reached out hesitantly, placing his hand on Quinthara’s scales. The dragon rumbled, a sound that vibrated through his palm and up his arm. Through this tenuous connection, he glimpsed what White Eye had shared; a sense of Lark’s determination, her refusal to surrender despite her captivity.
“We need to get to the Everburning Forest,” Hardin said, breaking into Venrick’s thoughts. “Ezra needs to see these pages, and you need proper healing.”
“I can still fight,” Venrick insisted, though his body betrayed him with a tremor at that moment.
“You will,” Yarla assured him, “but first, we need to understand what we’re fighting with and get these pages to the rest of the book.”
Hardin helped them mount Quinthara, positioning Venrick between himself and Yarla for support. As the young dragon spread her wings, Venrick cast one last look at the Vermillion Keep, its red towers now catching the first rays of sun.
I’ll come back for you, Lark, he promised silently. Whatever it takes.
Quinthara launched skyward with powerful wing beats, climbing rapidly above the city. From this height, Venrick could see Paragons on dragonback patrolling the skies, searching. Brismil armor glinted in the morning light, seeming to slice through the air.
“Stay low,” Hardin directed Quinthara, who immediately adjusted her flight path to skim just above the treetops, using the terrain for cover.
Astral City fell behind them, but Venrick carried the weight of his failure with him.
I’ve escaped with the ritual pages, yes. But at what cost? he thought. Lark remains in the clutches of the King and the Void Drinker. I can’t save them alone and the Flashover is approaching.
The black lines on his arms had faded to gray, the King’s corruption nearly purged from his system. But from his experiences with Tel Roan, Venrick knew that some wounds went deeper than flesh.
“The forest is still half a day’s flight,” Hardin said over the rush of wind. “Can you hold on that long?”
Venrick straightened, drawing strength from his resolve if not his body. “I have to.”
His hand moved to the inner pocket where he’d stored the metal pages Edgar had delivered.
Quinthara turned gently to avoid a cloud bank that might reveal their position to searching Paragons. As she leveled out, Venrick caught a glimpse of the Everburning Forest, a firestorm rising on the horizon.
The smoke rose like a pillar of ash and flame against the sky, its column spiraling upward before mushrooming into an anvil-shaped cloud. Even from this distance, Venrick could feel its power, a magnetic pull that tugged at something primal within him.
“That’s a large one,” Hardin observed, his voice carrying over the wind. “Looks like it’s near the northern edge of the forest.”
“That looks like it’s hitting the rebel’s hidden camp,” Venrick said.
Yarla shook her head. “It’s close but not going to touch it. What we should be worried about, though, are the Paragons and Knights who will be drawn to it. The Keeps always dispatch forces, even if they need to leave some behind to search the city for us.”
Quinthara banked suddenly, veering away from their direct course toward the forest. Hardin leaned forward, his hands pressing reassuringly against the dragon’s neck.
“She senses something,” he explained, his expression tense. “Other dragons approaching from the southwest.”
Venrick twisted in the saddle, scanning the horizon. At first, he saw nothing but clear blue sky. Then the glint of sunlight on brismil caught his eye. Four dragons in tight formation, their riders’ armor gleaming, red capes flapping.
“Vermillion Keep Paragons,” Yarla hissed. “They must have spotted us.”
“No,” Hardin replied, his focus on his bond with Quinthara. “They’re heading for the firestorm, just as you predicted. But if they alter course, it will be bad for us.”
Quinthara dipped lower, her wings nearly brushing the tops of the tallest trees as she sought cover in the rolling terrain. The pursuing Paragons remained fixed on their course, apparently unaware of the fugitives beneath them.
“They’re racing to claim whatever power emerges from the storm. Their greed is blinding them.” Venrick scoffed with a shake of his head. “It’s always about the politics of magical control. Even now, with the Void Drinker, whoever controls the most sources of magic controls Sataran.”
A bitter laugh escaped from Yarla. “And yet none of them understand what’s truly at stake. The rifts between realms growing weaker, and the Void Drinker is preparing to tear them down completely.”
The miles passed beneath Quinthara’s wings, the firestorm gradually shrinking behind them as they flew deeper into Lamar’s countryside.
Venrick felt the corruption continuing to retreat from his system, strength returning to his limbs with each passing hour.
By midday, the black lines had faded to faint gray shadows beneath his skin, nearly invisible except in direct sunlight.
The landscape changed as they continued, the rural hills and forested farmland northeast of Astral City gave way to thicker woods, then dense old growth of the central region of the Everburning Forest. Here, the trees burned less frequently and stood taller than fortress walls, their canopy an unbroken sea of green stretching to the horizon.
Quinthara began to circle, searching for a break in the dense foliage.
“Is this it?” Venrick asked, still not sure he could find the hidden camp on his own.
“Quin knows the way,” Hardin replied with confidence. “She can sense Ingamar, too.”
At the mention of Tel Roan’s dragon, a sharp memory struck Venrick. Their last parting had been tense, and not because historically they hadn’t gotten along very well. The tension was because the dragon was reluctant to leave his former rider’s Squire behind as Venrick pursued Lark.
Quinthara found her opening in a narrow clearing cutting through the forest canopy, just wide enough for her wingspan.
She descended carefully, maneuvering between the towering trees with surprising agility for her size.
Dappled light filtered through the leaves, casting shifting patterns across her midnight scales.
They landed in a small clearing beside a stream, the only sound water rushing over stones and the call of forest birds. Hardin dismounted first, helping Yarla and then Venrick down from Quinthara’s back.
“This doesn’t seem like it,” Venrick said.
“The wards have changed. I can sense it. We should walk from here,” Hardin said, shouldering his pack.
The forest floor was soft beneath Venrick’s boots, a carpet of moss and fallen leaves that muffled their footsteps.
The scent of green growing things mingled with the distinctive aroma of the Everburning Forest’s faint undertones of char and ash from the firestorms that periodically swept through the region.
As they walked, Venrick felt a growing tension in the air, a subtle resistance that prickled against his skin. Cheyanne’s wards, he realized. Invisible but potent, designed to turn aside casual travelers and confuse those actively seeking the rebel camp.
Without warning, Hardin stopped and placed his hand against what appeared to be empty air. He closed his eyes in concentration. Venrick recognized the same expression Hardin had worn when manipulating the wards of the Vermillion Keep.
“Wait,” Hardin said, his attention focused on whatever he sensed through his palm. “Something has changed. The wards have been reinforced.”
Yarla stepped forward, her own hand joining Hardin’s. After a moment, she nodded grimly. “Ezra’s added dwarven protections. He’s expecting trouble.”
For several minutes, Hardin worked at the invisible barrier, his face tightening with effort. Occasionally, a flicker of purple light escaped his fingertips, but was quickly suppressed. Finally, he stepped back, satisfaction evident in his expression.
“I’ve opened a path,” he said. “It will close behind us, so stay close.”
They moved forward in single file, Hardin leading the way.
As Venrick crossed the threshold of the wards, a distinct sensation washed over him.
It was like stepping through a waterfall without getting wet.
On the other side, the forest appeared unchanged, yet somehow different.
The sounds were clearer, the colors more vibrant.
They hadn’t walked more than a hundred paces when the first sentry appeared, an elf archer materializing from behind a massive oak. Recognizing Hardin immediately, she lowered her bow with visible relief.
“The Bard returns,” she said, her accent distinctly Gambrian. “Ezra’s been expecting you.”
Two more guards emerged from concealment: a human scout and a dwarf carrying a war axe nearly as tall as himself.
Their cooperation reflected Cheyanne’s rebel alliance as being a diverse medley of humans, elves, dwarves, and orcs who’d all been negatively impacted by the Kingdoms warring over the Forest.
The path widened as they approached the camp proper, signs of habitation gradually becoming visible.
Tents constructed of materials that blended with the forest colors nestled among the trees.
Cook fires burned low so their smoke would dissipate before it could rise above the canopy.
Many who’d remained in camp now appeared ready to disembark at a moment’s notice.