Chapter Eleven #2
The residents of the hamlet began screaming, running for the safety of houses they could no longer find as one of the attackers threw a flaming torch onto the thatch.
Within moments, chaos had ensued. Horses whinnied in fright, and hooves thundered as the men galloped into the hamlet under cover of the choking smoke.
Thear’s stance immediately turned protective, a knife in one hand and a ball of fire in the other as he braced himself to meet three charging men.
“For King Fiorean! For the Savior!” the man in front shouted, loosing an arrow that embedded itself in a chimera’s eye. The beathach went down with a strangled snarl, her Dùileach crushed underneath her.
“It is too cramped. Get out into the open,” Draevan said.
There wasn’t enough space for her to draw Fearsolais, never mind fight like this.
Aemyra’s sturdy mount, more used to scaling cliffsides than battle, shied violently and she fell from his back.
Landing on her scabbard, Aemyra felt her back contract in pain and suddenly she was trapped in a vision again.
Fiorean knelt in the tower, the beam of light highlighting his sins for all to see.
The pain radiating from his back was the only thing keeping him rooted in consciousness. He could feel the rivulets of blood tracking down his skin, dripping onto the floor between his knees.
He kept his gaze on the smooth black marble.
It would end. These punishments hadn’t killed him yet.
“The obstinance must be beaten out of you,” Alfred said. “Again.”
Bracing for the sting of the whip always made it worse, but his muscles contracted of their own volition. His body remembered the pain.
His unbound hands were clenched into fists before him, no chains looped around his ankles. He had knelt to accept this punishment so no one else would have to.
He knew how to bear it.
Aemyra stifled a cry when she felt the whip and pressed a hand to her back as the phantom pain ebbed.
Scrambling to her feet, chimeras and horses kicking up dust, she drew Fearsolais.
Terrea was roaring above them, her dragon probing her consciousness in a panic. Aemyra didn’t have time to care about the way her mind was playing tricks on her—the Savior’s demand for Fiorean’s flagellation within the walls of a tower was none of her concern.
But the safety of these villagers was.
Thear’s trodach had made short work of the insurgents, but Aemyra couldn’t help but stare at two women face down in the dirt, arrows peppering their backs.
The men who had attacked bearing the Savior’s pennant were no Covenanters, nor were they priests.
Terrea’s worry split through the Bond as the dragon raced through the sky, Gealach lagging a little behind.
“Aemyra, we have to get you out of here,” Thear called as a handful of men galloped away from the hamlet. Four chimeras gave chase.
Anger rose inside of her at the sight of the white pennants, but without her magic, Aemyra felt as though she might implode. Her face felt hot, and a throbbing pain gathered at her temples and made her vision swim.
Tauntingly, the mark on her palm was the only thing that burned.
“These people were innocent,” Aemyra yelled, her voice cracking as she rounded on Thear. “Who knew we were passing through here?”
His face was distraught. “No one. They must have been waiting for an opportune moment and spied the dragons from a distance.”
Trying to block out the grief-stricken cries of an old woman hugging the body of her firebird to her chest, Aemyra looked down on one of the insurgents. He was young, the barest whisper of stubble clinging to his chin. Impressionable, and desperate, the Chosen had convinced him of their cause.
“Neighbors are murdering neighbors,” Aemyra whispered.
The words rang true, and Aemyra’s lungs constricted at the injustice of it all. These people hadn’t bothered to wait and see if she would be a good queen; instead they had let the words of the priests feed their hatred and rot their hearts.
She turned to Thear once again, gaze pleading. “But why here? Laird Lonan is fair to all his vassals, you told me—”
“Because we finally chose a side,” Thear said, putting it together as he surveyed the carnage.
When panic gripped her heart, Terrea’s consciousness engulfed her and Aemyra realized her dragon had seen this before.
Covenanters setting fire to villages that would not convert, mercenaries doing the dirty work of the Chosen priests. And always, innocent people paying the price.
Aemyra came back to her own mind in a rush that had her vomiting bile onto the ground. Thear didn’t so much as falter in his hold on her.
“What happened?” he asked, cradling her against his body.
Draevan caught up just as Terrea’s roar shook the burning buildings to rubble.
Pushing Thear away, she lurched to her feet and surveyed the damage in the hamlet. Fewer than a dozen people had survived.
“While we were focused on battles along the river, Alfred has been moving the Chosen in the shadows. Converting the non-Dùileach in the central belt and turning them against Dùileach,” Aemyra said, realizing she had made a mistake in taking both dragons away from Balnain.
“If Aervor and Fiorean fly out with their support, then he will control the entire east of my territory.”
Draevan spat on the ground, utterly furious. “Alfred is doing to your territory what he did within Caisteal Lasair for years. Fiorean hasn’t moved from àird Lasair in three months because they were focused on turning every non-Dùileach against you. Even those of Clan Leòmhann.”
The realization chilled Aemyra’s blood. She had won the chimeras, but she might be about to lose everyone else.
“We must fly before all that is left of my army is your trodach,” Aemyra said to Thear.
“I will reach Balnain in one week,” he said, his face grim. “And you better be alive to receive me.”
Aemyra gave a tense smile. “Same goes for you, lairdling.”
Thunderous wings sounded overhead, oblivious of the fierce winds, and Dòiche growled at the descending dragon.
The chimeras and horses made it off the road just before Terrea landed hard on top of the charred buildings. The wood splintered under her massive claws, chimneys collapsing as they were clipped by her wings.
Not wasting time, knowing her father would follow, Aemyra vaulted onto Terrea’s back. It would still take them half a day to reach Balnain from here.
“Fly swiftly,” Draevan called up to her, already astride his horse and racing for the protection of the hill where Gealach could land.
Terrea rose into the air with an almighty roar.
Glad that she had been traveling with her weapons attached to her, Aemyra steadied herself with the solid weight of Fearsolais between her shoulder blades and the dagger at her hip.
She only hoped that by the time she reached Balnain, there wouldn’t already be a dragon in residence.