Chapter 15 No Mere Happenstance
NO MERE HAPPENSTANCE
Venrick traced the wagon tracks to the edge of Fletcher’s Passage.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the rutted path as he spotted the caravan ahead, its wagons arranged in a defensive circle.
The dragon tracks that had led him here troubled him more than he cared to admit.
They were too purposeful, too deliberate for a wild dragon.
Whatever had drawn Ingamar this close to civilization had to do with what had happened in Tel’s final moments.
The air seemed to still with a peculiar quiet as Venrick guided his carriage toward a weather-beaten stable across from the town Commons.
Parking outside, Venrick studied the silent wagons across the way, searching for any hint of what might’ve drawn Ingamar’s attention.
A whisp of magical energy pressed against his temple, hinting that a supernatural essence was nearby.
He turned to look back toward the huge oak tree on the edge of town.
Four massive, blue-skinned Morsythians huddled around a map.
Their rippling muscles belied a strength that could shatter stone, while their measured movements were those of trained warriors.
All at once, they set out on the road in a line.
Shortly after departing, one turned, fixing Venrick with its yellow eyes, before continuing west.
What brings the far Northern clans this far south? Venrick wondered.
Their departure lifted an invisible weight, but before Venrick could breathe easy, his reality fractured.
A figure wreathed in living flame materialized across the street, its dress flowing like liquid fire.
Hot blue flames erupted from her skin, turning yellow, orange, and red as they materialized around her body.
The tiny figure’s red hair flowed like the dress, embroiled in the same fire that was her form.
Her otherworldly beauty was a clear mark of the fae, perfect in proportion, as small as a meadow lark, and as whimsical as a child.
Venrick knew the creature at once, fire fae.
As fast as she came into focus, she disappeared behind a nearby dwelling.
Zorjan’s riddle whispered in his head, “Track the fire, winged and bright, or lose yourself to your curse’s plight.
” The words carried new weight now, as if the very magic in the air responded to their utterance.
The convergence of these signs: fresh dragon tracks, Morsythians in the lowlands, and now a fire fae bold enough to manifest in the dwindling daylight.
These were more than a mere coincidence.
Power was stirring nearby. Venrick was close. He could feel it.
A stable boy materialized from the shadows, his voice cutting through Venrick’s contemplation. “Will you be staying with us here at the inn this evening?”
“I only require the stables,” Venrick responded.
“There’s an extra fee if you plan on staying in your wagon,” the boy said.
“Fair enough.” Venrick produced a silver mark and dropped it into the boy’s palm. “Take care of Thunder and Giant for me. I’ll be back later this evening.”
“Yes sir, Lord Knight,” the boy replied, respect in his voice.
“Good lad. But I am no Knight,” Venrick corrected.
“A Paragon then,” the boy’s eyes went wide with anticipation.
“Don’t let the armor fool you. I’m as far from a Paragon as one can be,” Venrick said lightly, hopping off the wagon and setting out after the fire fae.
Crossing the street, he fell in behind the fae, watching it drift down the alley.
Its form was more defined than any fire fae Venrick had witnessed before.
. These beings were of the night court in the fae realm, they had access to powers that were forbidden in Lamar.
Their source of magic was what Archmagus Hierro had used to bind the cursed amulet to Venrick’s neck, tying his soul to the curse.
The fae’s presence sent ripples through the veil between realms. The creature’s very existence here, flying in plain sight, hinted at foul play or something else born of desperation.
Venrick drew his hood closer, to conceal his ears. The gift of his mixed blood allowed him to perceive what human eyes would dismiss as tricks of the light. Yet even with this advantage, the sight before him challenged everything he knew about the laws of the fae courts.
The fire fae’s hair cascaded as living flame, each strand a ribbon of crimson and gold that danced in perfect harmony with her dress of pure rippling fire.
She moved in perfect synchronization with a young woman whose presence demanded his attention, even without supernatural accompaniment.
Her raw umber hair and pale skin complemented her travel cloak that shifted between blues and greens like the depths of a river winding through an old forest. A colorful pattern of autumn leaves adorned her shoulders, individual leaves of yellow, orange, and red trailed down the length of it as though they were falling behind her as she walked.
Each stitch had been sewn with careful consideration and spoke to the craftsmanship with which the rest of her outfit had been tailored.
When the fae suddenly winked out of existence, Venrick felt a subtle shift in pressure on his temples.
Had she passed into the fae realm, or had she gone elsewhere?
He continued to follow the young woman alone, his footsteps barely disturbing the packed stones on the street.
Despite his stealth something gave him away, causing her to turn.
The force of her gaze stopped him in his tracks.
Deep green eyes, bright with intelligence, locked onto him across the distance.
The world seemed to hold its breath. Her face, now fully revealed, carried the kind of beauty that poets struggle to capture in verse.
Her features were almost elf-like, not physically perfect, but profound enough to hint to a goddess’ touch.
High cheekbones cast subtle shadows across light skin that glowed with inner beauty, framing a noble nose.
Her supple lips were pressed into a tight line in warning.
It was the same look the woman in his dream had given him.
Instead of confronting him, she turned sharply toward the tavern across the street. The fire fae chose that moment to reappear, her flame-bright body slipping through a shuttered window.
He entered a short time later. The Bear’s Tooth Tavern engulfed him in a wave of warmth, conversation, and aromatics mixing with spiced meat and aged ale.
The fire fae had positioned itself like a sentinel on the windowsill, her attention fixed on the mysterious woman who now conversed with a well-dressed young man.
A finely crafted lute at his side marked him as a bard.
The lute’s strings stretched tight on a wooden neck of fine handy work.
Friends with the bard, he thought, trying to remember if he’d ever met a bard he liked.
Venrick navigated the crowded room, settling at a table that allowed him to listen in while remaining unobtrusive. A dwarf with storm-gray eyes met his gaze across the room, recognition flickering in their depths.
Ezra, Venrick realized.
Ezra had been an instructor at the Astral City Paragon Academy, where supreme soldiers were chosen for a special path separate from commanding a unit in typical war strategy.
The academies were designed to create special forces that waged a different war against Nordraven, a constant struggle to be the first to collect sapphires and orbs containing fragmented energy from the gods.
Venrick recalled that Ezra had retired from his position at the Vermillion Academy.
He glanced away, hoping the dwarf wouldn’t approach.
The conversation between the striking woman and the bard flowed in a friendly way.
He discerned what he could. Their destination, Astral City, seemed simple enough, but discussion of the purpose of the journey, that’s when the undertones of their conversation grew tense.
Clearly the nature of her quest brought up strong emotions.
“What will you have, chicken or pork?” The waitress’s question cut through his observations, her practical tone a stark contrast to the mysteries unfolding behind him.
Venrick’s eyes tracked the dark-haired woman as she left the table.
Though feminine, she moved with the poise of a trained warrior, control evident in every line of her body.
She chose a seat near the window where the fire fae had perched, the magical creature’s light casting subtle shadows across her features.
“I’ll have whatever you recommend,” Venrick replied absently.
“Spicy pork with mead it is,” the waitress announced, spinning away and returning to the kitchen.
With deliberate casualness, Venrick relocated to the table the bard now occupied alone. This young man’s earlier confidence had been noticeably diminished by the strained ending to his conversation with the young woman.
“Excuse me,” Venrick said, standing across the table from the bard. “I couldn’t help but overhear you say you were headed for the Vermillion Keep?”
“What’s it to you?” the bard responded, not lifting his eyes from his mug to look at Venrick.
“Nothing to me really, I’m just eager to make conversation after being on the road for so long. Do you mind if I join you?”
The young man now looked up, his expression softening with interest upon seeing Venrick’s attire. “Sure,” he motioned. “Pull up a chair. I still have a few minutes before I need to go back on.”
“That Vermillion Keep business seemed a touchy issue for your friend.” Venrick pointed his chin toward the woman who was now eating in earnest.
“With Lark?”
Venrick’s brow lifted.
“Ash, she’s always acting so serious. I wish she’d lighten up a bit. I guess I might be a little touchy, too, if I couldn’t remember anything,”
“You said her name was Lark, that girl with the green eyes?”
“Her,” Hardin said, pointing directly at her.