Chapter 25 Seeing Red
SEEING RED
Lark slipped her boots into the stirrups. Standing on the balls of her feet, she tested their length. On instinct, she checked over the saddle, ensuring that the straps were properly locked, and the chest pad was the correct height.
“Looks like you’re a natural in the saddle,” Ezra said.
Lark placed her hand on Ingamar’s neck, trying to impart a sense of calm over him. “That fire is ten miles out through rolling forested hills without a clear path. Shouldn’t you and Hardin have left already?” she asked.
“With how convinced you are that there’s power with this storm, it will be safer for us to hang back.
There will be troops just outside the fire fighting for their Knight, or possibly a Paragon, to harvest magical energy.
We won’t be able to get close enough to do anything helpful in time.
We’ll head that way, but your strategy to quickly retrieve any Yogos produced will be crucial.
The longer you’re in the fire, the greater the chance that you’ll encounter a Knight or Paragon. ”
“It looks like the storm’s picking up speed and heading this way,” Hardin pointed to the anvil-shaped cloud. “We may not have as far to go as we think we do.”
“We’ll offer what support we can. If you need resupply for some reason or a weapon, we’ll be observing from a safe distance. But Venrick will be on the ground. With how fast he can move, he should be able to circumnavigate the fighting and sneak into the fire to aid you.”
“I should be off then; Venrick’s already gone ahead and I don’t want him reaching the fire before Ingamar and I can scout for other Paragons,” Lark said. “If we encounter one, I’m not sure we’re ready to handle him or her. We’d need to pull out and think up a different way to track down Sasja.”
“I wanted to discuss spellcasting before you go,” Ezra said.
“Spellcasting, no, I won’t rely on using magic I don’t know how to control right now. It nearly killed me the last time,” Lark replied.
“You might not do it on purpose. Your bond will allow you to use some magic instinctively, like deflecting an arrow, or tracking your sword to hit its intended target without uttering a word. I understand that some of your memories have returned, but whatever you do, don’t speak a spell unless you fully understand what you’re doing.
You could kill yourself or your bonded dragon without meaning to. ”
“I won’t cast a spell unless I truly understand the words,” she promised.
“If you come across a Knight, they may be an elf or a mage, in which case they’ll be practiced in their use of magic. The first thing they’ll do is test your mental defenses.”
“I don’t have mental defenses,” Lark said.
Ezra’s stoic expression cracked with a grin. “If you really are a rider, you’ll have them in place, even if you don’t remember how. For a dragonrider, mental defenses come be as naturally as breathing. If you are who we believe you are, your instincts will guide you.”
“Is there a way for you to tell if I have them in place?” she asked.
“I’m just a warlock. My skills are in crafting runes and imbuing them with a transfer of energy, not shaping that magical energy.
My skills with mental attacks are so limited, it would take me too long to talk you through it, like how this exchange is becoming.
For Venrick’s sake, I don’t want to keep you any longer.
In the coming fight, trust your instincts.
You’ll be fine,” Ezra said, backing away toward Giant and Thunder.
“Good luck, Lark,” Hardin called from the wagon.
Lark focused on Ingamar. She felt a sensation from him. It was similar to the warmth that she felt from her necklace every time Nix appeared, only this touched her mind more and her body less. Lark focused on her mental directive.
It’s just like talking to Nix with my thoughts, only he responds with actions, not thoughts of his own, she told herself.
And as she did, she sensed a hint that Ingamar was ready for instruction.
Lark pointed her internal compass to the direction of the firestorm, and with that thought, Ingmar shifted into action.
In the narrow strip of space between trees where the road passed through the forest, Ingamar coiled into a crouch.
With his wings tight to his sides, he reared back.
Lark held on as he launched himself upward, using his tail like a coil to spring them up over the canopy.
The leathery membrane brushed the tips of the treetops before he climbed higher.
A distinctive column of smoke rose to the east, dissolving into the growing thunderhead.
Lightning cracked between the clouds, running horizontally as it fractured.
Behind the storm, a wall of dark gray streaked to the ground. No smoke lifted in its wake.
“The Giving-Rain,” she said, thinking of the fire wheat harvesters who would be heading out to the burn area the day after the storm.
The last time Lark was anywhere close to a storm, she had been busy trying to prove herself by harvesting the rapidly growing wheat.
Little did she know that proving herself would be more than just harvesting.
She had had to make it through the first harvest and return not only with grain, but with her life.
This time, Lark wasn’t going in for the wheat harvest. She was going after gifts from the gods.
Ingamar leveled off even with the thunderhead. Lark spotted a dark mass moving through the forest from the south. Sunlight reflected off spears, shields, and armor.
“A Keep’s troops are moving in from the south; those will be led by Knights or a Paragon. Unless there’s another dragonrider, or Knight in brismil armor, we stand a good chance of beating them to any Yogos produced,” Lark said to Ingamar.
She waited for a hint of response, but Ingamar’s attention seemed focused on an individual passing through the forest with great speed.
Speed imparted on him by brismil. Lark looked down to catch a glimpse of the dark blue streak that was faintly visible as Venrick rounded the troops to approach the edge of the burn.
As they passed over him, Ingamar’s attention focused on the storm and the power growing there.
“Can you see any dragons or riders in the sky?” she asked, not yet fully trusting her connection with Ingamar to provide clear communications.
She didn’t sense any fear or danger rising within him.
He was completely focused on the storm now.
Lark scanned the sky, searching for any sign of another dragonrider pair.
The tension in her seat lessened when nothing larger than a bird flew above the trees.
Lark felt a nudge on her to look to the north.
Was that Ingamar? she wondered.
Her gaze followed, spotting more movement in the forest below. Green creatures moved en masse through the trees. Upon closer inspection, she noted orcs and pale-skinned, bearded men wearing furs marching in from the northeast. She didn’t see any enemy riders flying over them.
“Nordraven has a force on the move, too,” she said to Ingamar, confirming that she had noticed them, too.
Ingamar slowed to a hover just beyond the smoke column.
The fire had spread to half-a-mile in width and was staying on the ground and out of the canopy.
Occasionally it crowned for a short run atop the towering trees.
The armies below maneuvered into their positions, having yet to engage with one another.
Lark hoped neither force had sent their leading warriors into the burn.
Shouts rose to Lark’s ears from either side of the fire, lightning crackled through the cloud ahead, fracturing hairline tendrils of light out from the main bolt.
The pulse hit the ground, sending more energy rippling through the sky.
It channeled back and forth through the veil, spreading out onto the earthly plain below.
The white light flashed a final time, cracking and booming with thunder as it cleared.
In that moment, the drive that fed Lark’s desire to go toward the storm surged within her.
The necklace burned hot as though it had been struck by the fire.
She touched on her connection with Ingamar, but he was riding the same impulse.
He dove from the sky, plunging into the smoky cloud at breakneck speed.
Lark struggled to hold herself flat against his back as the wind ripped around her.
Her cloak whipped out behind her, slapping the air as they streaked through the storm.
Water stung her face, peppering her with icy droplets that numbed her skin.
An instant later, the chilling touch of the clouds turned into a blast of heat.
Her face prickled, instantly thawing as they crossed into the smoke.
She coughed, choking on the airborne ash.
The scale, she remembered.
The heat was beginning to blister her cheeks and knuckles when she finally had the wherewithal to clasp it tight to her side.
Icy bolts of lightning shot out through her veins, filling her entire body with the charged sensation that came from donning brismil plate armor.
The smoke, the ash, even the heat vanished as Ingamar plunged into the flames.
Orange and yellow waves of fire washed over them as they broke through the canopy.
Ingamar flared, instantly slowing them down, the gust he created producing a blast of wind that fanned the flames, sending ash and debris scattering from the landing zone.