Chapter 20 Hidden Paths #2
“Your bond with Quinthara gives you access to water magic, but you’re both still learning how to channel it,” he explained.
“Try feeling the natural movements of the water first. Before you attempt to shape it, understand its desire. Understanding what it desires will clue you in to which words to use in your spells. While you can use draconic magic non-verbally, any from the Hyalite will respond to the language you use to guide it. Some riders use the old dialects of the first dragonriders. Others use the languages of the regions they’re from.
With water, your body can become this language and the movements you use can guide it. ”
Hardin rejoined him, mimicking Venrick’s stance. He closed his eyes, his breathing slowing as he extended his senses into the flowing stream. After a moment, his hands began to move in a gentle, undulating pattern that matched the current.
“Good,” Venrick encouraged. “Now, don’t try to lift it all at once. Start with just a thin thread.”
Hardin’s fingers twitched slightly, and a slender ribbon of water rose from the stream, wavering in the air between his palms. Unlike before, the water held no unnatural purple light—just the pure blue-green of the forest stream, catching the morning sunlight.
“I feel it,” Hardin whispered, his voice filled with wonder. “It’s like Quin is helping guide my hands.”
The small tendril of water wove through the air, following Hardin’s subtle movements. It wasn’t the impressive sphere he’d been attempting earlier, but it held stable, responding to his will without breaking apart.
“Well done,” Ezra said, genuine approval in his gruff voice. “Now, release it gently.”
Hardin lowered his hands slowly, and the water ribbon descended back into the stream without a splash.
“That was,” Hardin searched for words. “Different. I wasn’t fighting with it.”
“That’s the key,” Venrick said. “Tel always said that magic isn’t something you conquer; it’s something you move with, something you adapt to. Especially magic that comes through a dragon bond.”
From the timberline, Quinthara rumbled her approval, a sound that vibrated through the clearing. Nearby, Ingamar watched with an unreadable expression, his golden eyes fixed on Venrick rather than on Hardin’s lesson.
“Venrick, you say you are just a Squire, but I think through Tel’s training, you’ve become much more,” Ezra said, looking at him with new appreciation.
“We should continue to help Hardin improve as we travel,” Yarla suggested, joining them at the stream’s edge. “The path to Astral City follows streams and rivers for much of the way. I have some tips my Paragon taught me that may help you. There will be ample opportunity to practice.”
“I’ll send more of his tutors with you,” Ezra said.
“You’re coming with us, right?” Venrick asked.
“Yes,” the dwarf said, picking up his war hammer. “My duty lies with leading the main rebel force in Cheyanne’s stead, coordinating their larger movement, while you, Yarla, and Hardin venture first with a dozen of our best fighters. I’ll be near enough if anything pressing comes to light.”
Venrick suddenly felt the weight of Hardin’s preparations before this fight coming to rest on his shoulders. Am I ready for this? I never made it into the Academy. I’m not qualified.
A soothing sensation came over him, and he felt as though Tel’s presence was there to bolster his confidence. Only, it wasn’t Tel Roan. Venrick made eye contact with Ingamar. The golden dragon locked his gaze with Venrick and a warmth spread through his chest.
“Remember,” Ezra cautioned as they prepared to leave, “stealth is essential until you reach Cheyanne’s forces in the city. The Vermillion Keep has patrols throughout the forest now, and they’re eagerly hunting for rebels.”
“And what about the hatchling?” Venrick asked, glancing toward the white-green dragon that had been watching them all morning from the edge of the clearing.
Ezra’s expression darkened. “It stays here, under a guard who will ensure its safety here in our encampment. Unlike White Eye, this hatchling has not yet been exposed to the rimeshade or the Void Drinker since Hardin severed the connection. Until we understand more about the connection it shares with the Void Drinker, we can’t risk it being near the confrontation. ”
The hatchling didn’t offer any sign of disagreement. Its cream-white eyes followed Venrick as the group gathered their packs and weapons. There was an intelligence in that gaze that unsettled him.
Their path led deeper into the Everburning Forest, away from the established trails that might be watched by the King’s forces. Quinthara and Ingamar followed from above, remaining close to the canopy to avoid detection by patrolling dragons.
“It will take us two days to reach Astral City,” Yarla said as they walked. “If we maintain this pace.”
“And if we don’t encounter trouble,” Venrick added, adjusting the blue brismil sword he’d strapped on his back.
The forest grew denser as they traveled, the trees older and more massive.
This central region of the Everburning Forest was less frequently touched by the firestorms, allowing growth to come in thicker than the forest closer to Astral City.
The mottled light created a shifting pattern on the forest floor, golden patches intermingled with deep shadows.
By midday, they reached a wide, slow-moving river. Its clear waters reflected the canopy above. Here, they paused to rest and eat. Hardin took the opportunity to continue his practice with the magic he and Quinthara shared.
“Try forming it into shapes this time,” Yarla suggested, sitting cross-legged on a flat stone as she observed. “Start simple. Try a sphere, a cube, a pyramid.”
Hardin nodded, standing at the river’s edge with his sleeves rolled up. He extended his hands, and this time the water responded more readily, rising in a smooth column before his palms. With careful concentration, he shaped it into a wobbling sphere.
“Think of it as a tune,” Venrick offered. “Find the harmony between your will and the water’s nature.”
The sphere stabilized, becoming perfectly round as Hardin adjusted his approach. Pride flashed across his face, quickly replaced with deeper concentration as he attempted to reshape it into a cube. The corners proved challenging. The water wanted to return to its natural rounded state.
“It resists hard angles,” Hardin observed.
“Water always seeks the path of least resistance,” Yarla explained.
“In combat, you can use that to your advantage. Rather than forcing it into unnatural forms, guide it along paths it naturally wants to follow. With time and training, your control will grow, and you can use water from anything around you. The air, the ground, even—”
“Our enemies?” Hardin asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Which is what makes this power so formidable. You could draw the water out of living creatures, but at a great cost to your mental fortitude. What that kind of thing does to someone, in here,” she said pointing to her head, then her heart, “isn’t something to treat lightly.
If you were ever to do such a thing, it could change you and your dragon forever. ”
As they continued their journey through the afternoon, Venrick felt a growing awareness of Ingamar’s presence. The dragon periodically landed near their path, seemingly to rest, but always with his golden eyes fixed on Venrick. There was a question in that gaze, or an expectation.
During one such stop, Venrick approached Ingamar cautiously. The dragon made no move to retreat, watching as Venrick drew closer.
“What is it you’re trying to tell me?” Venrick asked quietly, standing before the dragon that had been his mentor’s most loyal companion.
Ingamar lowered his head, bringing his snout close to Venrick’s chest where traces of the corruption were still present. A soft rumble emanated from the dragon’s throat, vibrating through Venrick’s body.
Something flickered at the edge of Venrick’s consciousness. It wasn’t a word exactly, but an impression. A sense of recognition, as if Ingamar saw something in him that Venrick himself couldn’t yet perceive.
“It’s the corruption, isn’t it?” Venrick ventured. “It changed something in me.”
The dragon’s eyes blinked slowly, neither confirming nor denying. But the intensity of his gaze only deepened.
“He’s been watching you since we arrived at camp,” Hardin said, approaching carefully. “Quinthara thinks he’s interested in you.”
“Interested how?” Venrick asked.
Hardin shrugged. “Dragons communicate differently with each other than they do with us. She doesn’t have words for it exactly, just that he sees something in you that matters.”
The moment was interrupted by a low whistle from one of their scouts. The warning signal caused them all to freeze. In a breath, the group’s focus snapped to attention as hands moved to weapons and keen eyes scanned the forest around them.
Through the trees ahead, armored figures moved in formation. Knights of the Vermillion Keep, their red capes visible even in the dappled forest light. A patrol, at least a dozen strong, directly in their path.
“Back,” Yarla whispered, gesturing for the group to retreat into the denser underbrush.
Ingamar melted into the forest with surprising stealth for his size, while Quinthara took to the air, using the canopy for cover. The rebel band withdrew silently, years of forest survival training evident in their movements.
Once safely hidden, Venrick assessed their options. “We can’t go back,” he said. “And a detour would cost us precious time.”
“We could wait for them to pass,” one of the rebels suggested.
Yarla shook her head. “They’re not passing through; they’re patrolling. Look at their pattern.”
“She’s right. The Knights are moving in a methodical grid. I’ve seen it hundreds of times,” Venrick said. “They’re using a grid formation to examine the forest floor for tracks and signs of passage.”
“What do we do?” Hardin asked. “Fight?”