28. Jerrid
JERRID
Dragon, in such a hurry to get back to the camp, mistimed his landing and sent them crashing into one of the tents.
Canvas and wood collapsed around them, a tent pole banging him on the side of the head as Haryk slid sideways on his back, desperately trying to hang on to the saddle. If he hadn’t been wearing Echo’s harness, he would have been hurled clean off.
Prince Haryk unhooked his harness and slid to the ground while Dragon shook himself and sought his human form.
Where was Ava?
Wearing his dragon-scale trousers, Jerrid crawled from the mangled tent and stared around the camp.
The bonfire flickered feebly, its orange flames weak and tired.
Tent flaps hung lifelessly in the still air.
The cooking pots looked empty and abandoned, and the entire camp had a feeling of breathlessness.
“The camp looks deserted,” Jerrid whispered to Prince Haryk, who now stood beside him, straightening his tunic.
Dread pooled in his stomach as he spun to search for any signs of life. But it appeared everyone had vanished, leaving only the telltale signs of the camp behind as proof they had even existed.
He was too late.
Jerrid stumbled around the bonfire toward the forest, wondering how deeply into the Shadewood the shadow had dragged the women and their elvish children. Were any of them still alive?
Haryk called out to him, his voice uneasy, faltering. “Wait. I don’t think that’s the right way.”
Jerrid froze and looked over his shoulder at the prince. “What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t feel right.” The prince turned in a slow circle, his nose lifted as if he were testing the air.
But no, that wasn’t what he was doing. He cocked his head and turned…as if straining to hear.
He was listening.
Jerrid padded back to his side, breathless and hopeful.
What had he heard that Jerrid hadn’t? He reached out with his ears, wishing he could ask Dragon to enhance his hearing and use his draconic senses, the ones Jerrid usually scorned and avoided.
He had finally come to the point where he acknowledged they had their usefulness.
He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, then held his breath while his ears strained, searching the silence.
The wind stirred in the trees, crackling through dry leaves and creaking the branches. Something rattled, as if branches clunked against one another or a wooden shutter banged against stone. No voices filled the night air, no laughter, no sign that lives even existed in these woods.
Then a faint thwump echoed in his ears, as a heavy object slammed into the ground a distance away. Soft but definite.
“There,” the prince whispered. “Did you hear that?”
“Yes.” Jerrid turned toward the ruined keep and let his gaze wander from the overgrown foundation all the way up to the highest decrepit turret. “I think it came from the ruins.”
“What ruins?”
Jerrid winced, having forgotten the prince couldn’t see. “Oh, um, the camp is sitting at the base of an old castle. There is a keep with a couple of towers. It’s all falling down and looks really old. Long abandoned.”
“I wonder if this could be the old outpost of Verja. My mother told me stories about the old days when I was little. I remember she mentioned an ancestor who used to live here in the northern country. My father lived even further north, along the border of frost giant territory.”
“I don’t know. I admit my knowledge of elf history is nonexistent.”
“That doesn’t matter. Do you think the healer and the others could be hiding in the old buildings?”
That’s exactly what he was thinking. “I think we should find out. Stay close behind me. There is a bit of a hill we have to climb to get out of the camp and into the castle. Do you need me to, um, show you where to go?”
The prince shook his head, face expressionless. “No, I’ll just follow the sound of your footsteps. And I have my cane. I’ll be fine.”
Jerrid shrugged off his discomfort, marveling at how easily the prince navigated without something as vital as his sight, and led the way up the hill. The prince followed behind him, his steps slow but steady.
It only took them five minutes to reach the base of the keep. Jerrid followed the curve until he found an old wooden door. It resisted his touch when he pushed against it.
“Door is locked,” he muttered to the prince. “Ava?”
He didn’t dare raise his voice more than a low growl. If they had bolted the door, it was for good reason.
Dragon, he thought, can you sense her? Is she inside?
A long silence answered him, but then Dragon stirred and reared his head. I think so, but I can’t touch her mind. Either she’s too far away, or something is blocking me.
Was Ava keeping him out on purpose? Or was the shadow keeping them apart? The monster had seen what Ava could do with Dragon working through her. It surely would fight to keep that from happening again.
“I think she’s inside,” he said. “We need to figure out a way to get through the door.”
“Stand back,” the prince ordered, his voice crisp.
Jerrid stepped to the side obediently, but a question rose to his lips. Before he could utter his thoughts, however, the prince lifted a hand and hurled a massive blue fire bolt at the wooden door.
Momentarily blinded, Jerrid raised a hand to shield his eyes as a deafening roar shook the tower. Heat and sparks exploded around them while the door disappeared, blasted clean off its hinges.
Coughing, Jerrid swiped at the air in front of his face, trying to clear away the smoke. “That did the trick, Your Highness.”
They inched through the smoking doorway and stepped over the charred, glowing remains of the door.
A hallway led in two directions, one up and one down toward the cellars and underground levels.
Jerrid licked his lips and reached out with his thoughts as he tried to pinpoint where Ava was located in the tower.
If she were still alive, could Dragon sense her yet? Was she alive?
Please, please, still be alive!
Dragon growled deeply and surged to the forefront of his thoughts. Up! Go up!
Jerrid turned right without waiting for instructions from the prince.
They followed the corridor and took the stairs, winding around and around as they rose high into the tower.
They had nearly reached a landing when a roar split the eerie silence, and something drew the floor out from beneath them.
Jerrid’s feet left the ground momentarily. He smashed into the wall with a muffled curse and staggered to regain his balance. A loud rumble washed over them, the floor bucking and trembling beneath their feet.
“What was that?” the prince shouted.
Jerrid shook his head and raced onto the landing, turning down another hallway. Someone barreled into him and knocked him backwards. His elbow scraped down the stone wall as he fell into an awkward seated position.
Blue fire exploded around them, and a fist caught him hard in the shoulder. He swung out blindly, but his fist met empty air. He blinked furiously to see in the smoky blue air.
A disheveled form disappeared into the shadows moments before Prince Haryk let out a startled cry.
“Your Highness?” Jerrid called as he scrambled to his feet.
“I’m fine.” The prince staggered out of the smoke, using his cane to search the ground in front of him for obstacles. “Someone almost knocked me down the stairs.”
Jerrid didn’t tell him that the very someone in question had knocked him clean off his feet.
Instead, he called for the prince to follow him and moved down the hallway toward the sound of the dissipating growls and rumbles.
It sounded as if the roof were coming down around their ears.
The smoke and dust thinned as they hurried onward.
Ahead of them, shadows appeared in the smoke.
He flung out a warning hand to halt the prince, who stumbled into him from behind, his cane clanging against the wall.
“What—”
The prince broke off at Jerrid’s warning hiss.
Three humanoid figures peeled out of the smoke and shadow. Ava, Brynja, and Finnr faltered as they clasped eyes on Jerrid and Haryk.
“Oh, Jerrid,” Ava rasped, “you came back.”
Something tightened in his chest. Had she thought for even a moment that he wouldn’t?
“Of course I came back,” he growled as they met in the middle of the corridor.
He roamed his gaze over her body, searching for blood or signs that she’d been mortally wounded. She looked bruised and disheveled, but…
She’s alive, Dragon breathed, relief oozing from every syllable.
“And I brought the prince. We came as fast as we could.” He stepped to the side so that the others could see his companion.
Brynja and Finnr both recoiled, but Ava remained in place, clearly still confident in their plan.
“Your Highness, I’m so sorry to have dragged you back into this—”
“There will be time for pleasantries later,” the prince interrupted, swiping a hand at the air as if to dismiss her concerns. “Jerrid has told me everything. Where is the curse?”
She hesitated, glancing at first Brynja and then Finnr. “I, uh, don’t know. It was right behind us in the tunnel, but then Talos brought down the ceiling—”
“Talos?” Jerrid and the prince bellowed as one.
Ava took a faltering step backward, but then she set her jaw and advanced on him. “Yes, Talos. We didn’t have a choice. The shadow got into the keep, and the children are below in the cellars. We had to hold it back until you arrived. We didn’t have a choice.”
Something dawned in the back of Jerrid’s mind, and Dragon hissed angrily. “That was Talos in the stairwell. Someone knocked into us when the ceiling came down.”
“If I had known that was him…” Prince Haryk muttered under his breath.
“I know you have your personal reasons for wanting Talos,” Ava said, her voice surprisingly firm when talking to her liege, “but our first priority must be the women and children. Is it not? We need to defeat the shadow—your curse—so that everyone is safe. Then we can go after Talos.”
Jerrid snorted but ignored the confused, slightly hurt look she slanted in his direction.