Chapter 17 In Plain Sight #3
“He’s probably returning to the Vermillion Keep for reassignment or something,” Hardin said, though he did find it odd that Venrick hadn’t joined them, yet he’d chosen to maintain a steady distance behind them rather than riding around the caravan or falling farther behind over the last day and a half.
“I don’t trust him,” Lark said.
Hardin sighed, facing forward. The valley unfurled before them. The mountains thrust skyward, their snow-capped peaks piercing white clouds.
“There it is, Astral City,” he said.
At their feet sprawled Astral City, its crimson spires and domes vibrant in the sun’s rays. They cast shadows across the valley floor. The city shone with its own luminescence, the legendary wells of power within its foundations still burning bright after a thousand years.
They left the rural serenity, the lush fields and rich farmland, and passed into the organized chaos of civilization.
Thatched roofs gave way to tiled ones, then to the angular geometry of urban architecture climbing the valley’s gentle slopes.
Above it all, the Vermillion Keep dominated.
Its blood-red towers rose defiantly against the backdrop of the Astral Mountains.
The fortress loomed over its domain, separated from the rest of the city by a dark, water-filled moat.
“We’re coming up on the Vermillion Keep?” she asked.
“I’ve never seen an equal,” Hardin said, in awe of the castle.
“Even Storm Keep?”
“Storm Keep is big, but not nearly as impressive as that.”
Lark’s features froze, blood draining from her face. It was the same haunted look he’d witnessed from her back in Fletcher’s Passage.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Lark’s shoulders relaxed at his question.
She took a deep breath, the color returning to her cheeks.
She ran a finger over the golden lark on her necklace, something she’d been doing more often over the last few days.
“Did you know the gates at the Vermillion Keep are guarded by runes infused with draconic magic.” Lark said it as though it were common knowledge.
“Once infused, the runes hold the energy powering them until tested. After centuries of dragonriders adding their own power to the wards, the Vermillion Keep is arguably the strongest magically protected fortress in Sataran.”
“I knew they had runes powering their wards, but I didn’t know it was draconic magic. I assumed it was elven or magi like the others. Hardin said.
“Have you been here before?” he asked.
“I think I have,” she said, the faint quiver in her voice hinting at her self-doubt.
“You must have if you know about the runes.”
“The runes were carved into the stone by the dwarves who mined the Vermillion stone from the Astral Mountains. The spells cast into them recognize only those who have been granted access or truly intend no harm. They automatically bar anyone else from entering. The moat surrounding the Keep, with the azgron crocks, is mostly for appearances,” Lark informed him.
“Really? How do you know all of this?”
“Just how I know that a guard is posted at each of the city gates and they change locations every three hours. How there’s magic warded throughout the entire castle to protect it against dragon attacks but only a few outdated systems that safeguard the city.
Only the dragons who’ve been granted passage by the Paragons can fly in and out from the dragon’s perch at the top of the Keep,” she continued without hesitation.
“Which part is the dragon’s perch?” he asked.
“That long, flat, anvil-shaped landing near the top is their landing area.”
“I can see the dragons now!” Hardin said enthusiastically, joy swelling his chest at the long-awaited moment.
His initial awe at the legendary Vermillion Keep suddenly soured.
The structure before them matched Lark’s eerily precise descriptions.
They were details no common fire wheat harvester should know.
The exact height of the towers, the number of arrow slits per merlon, the precise depth of the moat, her knowledge went beyond the norm.
“You know all this because you’ve been here before? ” he asked.
She shrugged.
“If not, you really did your research. Strange that you don’t remember why.”
“There’s something about this place,” she said. “I don’t know. It’s giving me an unsettled feeling.”
That’s odd, he thought.
“The other night when you left the Bear Tooth Tavern, what did you do again?”
“I went back to the wagons.” Lark said, her voice carrying an emptiness to it.
She’s lying.
“What’s in that pack?” he asked.
“I don’t like the way you’re asking these questions, Hardin.”
“Lark, why are you really going to Astral City? Is it to find answers or is it because of whatever is in there,” he asked, pointing out the pack.
“I’m going to the city because everything I knew was stripped away into a dark void of nothing.
I have nothing, no clues, no memories about why.
This,” she said, clutching the leather, “is the only thing connecting me to my past. By bringing it here, to the Keep, I’m doing the right thing.
What any honest citizen of Lamar should do.
The Paragons here are the only ones who can help me,” she said with finality.
Hardin studied her a moment, waiting to see if he could detect a lie. He understood the passion in her voice. “I think, you’re telling the truth.”
She nodded.
Hardin watched her, measuring her truth against his instincts.
Sasja’s betrayal had taught him the harsh price of trust given too freely to a beautiful face.
Yet something in Lark’s raw desperation rang true.
The Northern soldiers’ pursuit, Ezra’s calculated risk in transporting her.
It painted a picture of genuine flight, not calculated deception.
Still, he kept his guard raised, even as his heart whispered that her quest for aid mirrored his own.
“I’ll stop asking what’s in there. If it’s that important for you to keep it hidden from everyone, then I won’t be the one to demand to see it,” Hardin said.
Lark sat back, surprised by his level-headed response. Hardin hadn’t realized it until now, Lark’s hand was wrapped tentatively around one of her worn dagger handles. She let her hand fall away from the weapon. “Why do you trust me?” she asked.
“Because we’re friends.”
“Friends?” Lark asked, perplexed.
“Yeah, I think after the week we’ve been through, we can call one another friends,” Hardin said.
Suddenly, sunlight glinted off Venrick’s wagon trailing behind them, seeming to warn Hardin like a signal fire.
His jaw tightened as the pieces of Lark’s puzzle began to fall into place.
The Morsythian ambush, Venrick’s shadow on their trail, the Northern soldiers.
They were all threads of a web with Lark’s mysterious pack at its center.
Whatever power that leather bag contained drew danger like moths to flame.