Chapter 36 On the Inside
ON THE INSIDE
Hardin sat next to Sasja as they drove along roads that passed through Red Lodge. They were headed to the fortress near the edge of the forest. As they approached, a large dragon stretched its leathery black wings out over the thick stone walls.
“The mage is working with a dragonrider?” Hardin asked, his heart racing at this added layer of complexity. One wrong look from a dragon and he could be transformed into a pile of ashes.
“This I can speak on. Joc’s Order, which I think has its base in Wintermire, made an alliance with Greggor Emberhelm, the King of Skol.
They’ve brought several unbonded dragons to this fortress, but whatever they’ve been trying to do with them isn’t working.
I’m not sure what they’re planning, but it seems like King Greggor’s Emissary, General Barrik, is the only dragonrider here now. ”
“King Greggor sent General Barrik, as in, the Nordraven rider who is said to have trained Marcel Heartfell?” Hardin asked.
Sasja nodded.
“But Nordraven’s been claiming they don’t have the Hyalite. So, Joc and Barrik are acting without the King’s knowledge?”
She nodded again.
“And they’ve claimed they haven’t found Marcel since his run-in with Tel Roan. Could Marcel be here, too?” Hardin asked.
Sasja shrugged and said, “White Eye isn’t here.”
The black dragon within the courtyard at the fortress stretched its neck, exposing its horned head and revealing two white eyes.
A chill crept down Hardin’s back as he saw them. “Whose black dragon is that with the white eyes then?”
“All animal eyes look like that when they’re being warged,” Sasja said.
“Does that mean Marcel’s dragon has always been under someone else’s control?” Hardin asked.
“I don’t know. White Eye’s eyes are said to have a golden ring around them, not truly all white like animals who are being warged. But I wouldn’t be surprised if a Nordraven rider is forcing his dragon into action, an action the dragon might not agree with,” Sasja said with a shrug.
“Why would a dragonrider warg its own dragon like that? Don’t the dragons have the control to reject their rider’s will?” Hardin asked.
“Not always. Some riders are stronger in how they control animals when warging. Some can only see what the animal sees while others can manipulate what the animal is doing. I guess it’s kind of like this,” Sasja said motioning to the amulet around her neck.
“It all depends on how strong the magic wielder is.”
Hardin sat with his head bowed, hood up as they passed under the watchful eyes of the white-eyed dragon.
Two hulking Morsythians crossed their poleaxes, blocking the horse before Sasja could continue through the entrance. “What’s with the extra baggage this time?” the one on the right said, red eyes locked on Hardin.
“I don’t have to answer to you, orc,” Sasja replied.
“Joc didn’t say anything about a warlock coming.”
“He’s not accompanying the mage, he’s accompanying me. Do you really think that Joc would accomplish a breakthrough in magic without an understudy to observe or take the fall should something go awry?”
The Morsythian chewed on the idea. “That seems possible, but that doesn’t sound like him.”
“Let us past and I will ensure that you stay on your guard post for a day longer before you have to rotate back into serving,” she said.
“You have that kind of authority?”
“Just look at me, I can get him to do what I want with some pulsation. If I really want to, I’ll make it so,” she said.
“Make it so. I would like to make it through this night so I can return to my little ones at home.”
Sasja drove into the portcullis, turned down the corridor, and ventured out along the edge of the courtyard.
Hundreds of corpses littered the yard, all Morsythians.
Venrick’s wagon waited on the side of the stone yard, its two driving horses untied and missing.
The rear of the weapons wagon had been torn or blown off.
Hardin blinked, trying to comprehend, what had happened here. A massive melee. Perhaps Morsythians against Morsythians, he wondered. The fighting had been violent.
“What could’ve done this besides a dragon?” Sasja asked, repulsed.
As they rode by, Hardin looked into the open wagon. The hook where Lark had hung the brismil scale was empty. Lark didn’t have it with her. “Brismil plate armor,” Hardin whispered.
Sasja nodded.
“This whole fight was to contain Venrick,” Hardin realized.
“Not just to contain him,” Sasja said. “He had something Joc wants.”
“Tel’s brismil?” he said, hearing the insinuation in her voice. She was trying to tell him something without breaking her curse.
She nodded.
“That’s why they’ve been waiting to use the Hyalite. It has something to do with the brismil.”
She nodded again, tapping her nose.
“But that brismil is part of a set. It’s not to full power without the sword.”
She tapped her nose, nodding again.
“They’re using Venrick to set a trap for Lark, so they can get the other half of the brismil. Then what?”
Sasja tightened her lips.
Hardin was close to figuring it out. Yet he couldn’t quite connect the dots. “What does the magi need a brismil set for when he can bend people to his will with a curse? Why not just curse the person with the brismil and use them as a weapon?”
A door opened across the courtyard, echoing though the expansive square. The mage entered the far side of the courtyard, leaning in and speaking intently with a Morsythian. Hardin rolled off the edge, hiding behind the buggy.
“Hardin,” she said in a hushed tone, meeting him alongside the buggy.
Hardin stared into her dazzling eyes and kissed her for the length of a single breath, then pulled away.
“I forgot to tell you, that outfit looks great on you,” she said with a wink.
“Thanks to you,” he said, smiling back.
“Stay alive.”
“I’ll do my best,” he replied, then slunk away into a nearby hallway.
Hardin’s heart pounded as he walked with purpose through the corridor.
Knowing he could open any door without setting off wards gave him the confidence to hunt for Venrick and the Hyalite.
Door after door led to offices, chambers, a massive kitchen.
He had worked his way around the entire first floor and was heading up to the second when he heard the screaming.
That voice, it sounded like… Venrick.
Hardin took off at a run. No armor, no weapons, but his sheer will to help.
He burst through the room at the end of the hallway where he thought the scream had come from.
There, sitting on lone pedestal was a chest with embossed runes on it, just like the one that Tel Roan had.
Light swelled from under the lid, a pure blue light that pulsed like a beating heart.
Hardin stepped closer when a sound at the end of the hall tickled his ear. He spun upon hearing the approaching footsteps.
“Ash,” he swore, searching for an escape.
The room, however, was completely bare, offering no exit but the one door Hardin had come in through. The feet clacking against the stone grew closer. They were nearly at the room. Hardin pressed himself flat against the wall just behind where the door would swing open. The door opened.
Please don’t close the door, he thought, as it swung in, stopping a few inches from smashing him against the wall.
The person entered, leaving the door open. Hardin peeked around the edge. A rider in black brismil armor strolled up to the chest. A fire fae trailed behind him. The rider took hold of the chest. The fae turned back, staring directly at Hardin. His heart sank as he ducked back behind the door.
The armored boots walked toward him, the door handle clicked on his gauntlet, then swung shut, closing with a click.
The fire fae staring at him whispered as she passed by, “I’ll be back to deal with you.” Then she disappeared.
Hardin sagged, relief washing over him after narrowly escaping detection.
He didn’t understand what the fae meant with her hushed warning but she hadn’t alerted the rider gave him hope.
He turned the door handle. No, not turned.
It didn’t budge. He frowned, trying again, but again it didn’t turn.
He pulled on the door, frantically trying to force it open.
“No,” Hardin said in a panic. He tried again and again but the door wouldn’t budge.
Hardin was trapped and the Hyalite was gone.