Chapter 20 Hidden Paths
HIDDEN PATHS
Morning dew slid from the canvas tent flap as Venrick pulled it open.
He stepped out into the damp forest air and removed the clasp of the brismil scale from its harness.
The perfectly form-fitting armor evaporated like fog before the sun.
He’d left the armor on throughout the night, hoping that he would experience some of the effects that Lark experienced.
Let’s see if the draconic properties improved the healing process, he thought. He rolled up his sleeves, checking the faint traces of corruption that blackened the creases in his skin around his wrists, knuckles, and elbows.
It's receded even more, he noted. A faint tingling sensation gave him pause. The tingling chilled as he focused on it, turning to ice that burned though his veins. That’s different…
A splash of water doused a morning fire nearby, crackling loudly in his ear.
He swiveled toward the noise. Venrick’s elven heritage gave him advanced hearing, but this was more than that.
This heightened ability was like the hearing he experienced with brismil.
He blinked, willing the sound of the hissing coals from his mind.
The noise faded, his hearing returning to normal.
Venrick lifted his tunic to check the scale harness.
He knew direct contact was what caused the draconic-charged plate armor to form around his body.
The mechanized clasp that moved the scale in and out from his skin was firmly set in the out position, the scale a full finger width from his skin.
Lingering side effects of wearing it for more than ten hours? he speculated.
Camp was being dismantled all around him.
Tents collapsed, supplies packed, weapons checked and secured.
Per Ezra’s recommendation, they would disembark back toward Astral City.
The mobile army would trail behind Ezra’s initial squad and break out into troops that would approach from multiple angles to divide the Keep’s attention.
“You look more like yourself today,” Yarla said, approaching with a steaming cup of something herbal. “The rimeshade’s effects are nearly gone.”
Venrick accepted the cup with a smile, noticing that she still wasn’t as far along in the healing process as he was. Dark streaks marked her hands and forearms like tattoos. He took a sip from the cup, then said, “I feel stronger. It’s because of the brismil.”
“It suits you,” she said, giving him a look that he knew would set Lark on edge. She must’ve sensed his awkwardness, adding, “What I mean to say is, you move naturally in it right from the start. That’s normally not the case with first-time brismil armor users.”
“It’s not the first time I’ve worn the armor or used the sword,” Venrick admitted.
“Tel had you train with it?” she asked.
“He did,” Venrick sighed.
“Your Paragon was trusting. I was never afforded that privilege until I had become a Knight for Gambria.”
“You did graduate then,” Venrick said.
“Not with any help from you,” Yarla jested.
“No,” Venrick said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess not.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, stepping closer to him.
Venrick shook his head. “Don’t be, Yarla. We were kids. There wasn’t anything anyone could’ve done to keep me in Gambria. Once they knew I wasn’t full elf, no amount of training could’ve kept me there.”
“I tried to make them see that their rules were unfair,” she said.
“But you were one young elf against an entire Kingdom engrained in tradition. I just wish my mother could’ve stayed and lived the life she deserved.”
“How is your mother?” Yarla asked.
“She’s gone,” Venrick said.
After a long silence, Yarla said, “Do you know why I left Gambria?”
Venrick saw the pain behind her eyes as she held her emotions in.
“I left because no matter how many times I tried to make a change from the inside, I couldn’t. I made it to Knight, but I left to find Cheyanne before they could bind me there with the title of Paragon.”
“You gave up becoming a rider?”
“Potentially,” she said. “I can still bond with a dragon here in Lamar or Nordraven,” she said with a smile. Then, placing a hand on Venrick’s shoulder, continued, “I know we were just kids, and it was a long time ago, but it wasn’t right. You deserved to be there just as much as any of us.”
“After my mother passed, I was alone, desperate. I made my way to Astral City to apply for the Paragon Academy there. They took one look at me and turned me down,” he said with a chuckle. “But there was one among them who didn’t judge me because of my heritage.”
“I’d always heard Tel Roan was the only honorable Paragon of Lamar,” Yarla said.
“He took me under his wing, chose me as his Squire after only a few sessions of watching me train. He saw something in me that he didn’t see in others.
When I didn’t get accepted into the Academies the second and third time, Tel said it was common for the pool of applicants to be extremely competitive.
Likely that the majority were Squires or Squad leaders with multiple years of experience.
Then, when the rejection letters continued to come, year after year, he understood what they were doing.
Lamar’s system didn’t want a half-breed either. ”
“Lamar boasts of being a place of opportunity to all,” Yarla said.
“Not when it comes to becoming a Knight or a Paragon. I was damaged goods in their eyes. So, Tel continued with my training, each year showing me more of what a true Paragon of Lamar should be. How to be honorable and just. In those last few years, we were working together almost as equals. By all rights except in name and title, I was his Knight.” Venrick shook his head.
“I wonder what he would think of all this. Tel wouldn’t have fought for the Vermillion Keep had he known what the King was up to, or had he known what Lark and Cheyanne were trying to do.
“Cheyanne’s mission had to be discreet in the beginning. For her to build her base,” Yarla said.
“He must not have known because Tel idolized the riders of old. He was brought up in a world where the dragonriders of the Vermillion Keep were a symbol of justice and world peace, not in the reality that we now face. He never fought threats like these,” Venrick sighed.
“Tel believed in meeting threats head-on,” he added.
“I always preferred to find the cracks in a defense, to slip through rather than break through.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion at the edge of the clearing.
Hardin stood knee-deep in the forest stream, his face contorted in concentration as he held his hands out before him.
The water between his palms shimmered with an unnatural purple-blue light, forming into a sphere that wobbled precariously.
“Focus!” Ezra called from the bank. “Feel the connection, don’t force it!”
The sphere of water suddenly exploded outward, drenching Hardin completely. He staggered back, frustration evident in his expression.
“I’m trying. It’s like trying to thread a needle while riding a galloping horse,” he growled, pushing his soaked hair from his face.
Quinthara watched from a few dozen yards away, her midnight scales glistening with droplets from her rider’s failed attempt. Though her expression was unreadable to most, Venrick could see the concern in her posture.
“He’s struggling with control,” Yarla murmured. “The bond formed too quickly, under duress.”
Venrick nodded, remembering what Hardin had told them about the moment he’d bonded with Quinthara.
The dragon had been exposed to the Hyalite’s power in Red Lodge, just as he rushed in to help.
Their bond had formed instantly to save them both, without the usual period of gradual connection that most riders experienced.
“Perhaps I can help,” Venrick said, setting down his cup and moving toward the stream.
Hardin looked up as Venrick approached, embarrassment flashing across his face before he mastered it. “I should be better at this by now,” he said. “We’ve been trying for weeks.”
“Mastering a dragon bond takes years, not weeks,” Venrick replied, stepping into the stream where Hardin stood.
“And channeling a dragon’s magic is particularly difficult once they’ve taken on the energy of a Hyalite.
Though you help by sharing the weight of the Hyalite’s gift, controlling it requires surrender as much as control. ”
“That’s what I’ve been telling him,” Ezra grumbled, crossing his tattooed arms. “But the bard insists on treating magic like one of his songs; trying to impose a structure that isn’t always there.”
“How do you know so much about using the bond?” Hardin asked.
“Tel trained me as though I would someday share the gift of becoming a dragonrider,” Venrick said. Then considered for a moment, remembering a technique that Tel had used with his training. “When you play your lute, Hardin, do you force each note to sound exactly as written?”
Hardin frowned. “No. I feel the rhythm, adjust to the audience, let the music breathe.”
“Your power is similar,” Venrick said. “Tel used to have me watch the Knights train with the Vermillion Keep’s riders. They didn’t command the power from the Yogos as much as they suggested a path and helped give the flow a natural shape.”
He extended his hand toward the stream. “May I?”
Hardin nodded, stepping back to give Venrick space.
Venrick reached deep into his memories of those training sessions, focusing on the techniques he’d observed. Though he couldn’t call on a dragon bond and channel magic to shape water himself, he understood the principle. He made a flowing gesture with his hands.