Chapter 13
Tynan
Wake yourself, Xendus says, and I bolt upright, shocked that I fell asleep while flying atop his back with his knot holding me tightly in place. We’re still over the mountains of Verax, and based on the moon’s position, I was asleep for close to an hour, perhaps more.
Most humans will be sleeping by now, Xendus says. It’s safe to fly to your kingdom. You lead the way.
“How do I do that?”
Xendus laughs. I can read your mind, fool.
I roll my eyes. I hate being called a fool but feel like one for asking that question. Until recently, I actually believed that I used my thoughts to direct where Xendus flew.
You had some interesting dreams while you slept, he says.
I frown. I have no idea whether or not I dreamt, or if he can actually see or hear my dreams. I don’t really want to know. If I did dream, every one of them evaporated when he so roughly awoke me.
Now would be a good time to share the route. The night won’t last forever.
I nod and then concentrate on the remote mountain valley where I honed my skills with a bow and arrow and shot my first stag as a boy. Saxon is a stag. Or part stag? I’m not sure how that works.
I always believed that shape shifters were no more than myths. In Khotor, even reading about such creatures was considered blasphemous. Now, not only do I know a stag shifter, I’m riding atop a dragon who can shift into the form of a man.
My true form is that of a man, Xendus reminds me.
I concentrate on our route as we fly, marveling at how well I’m able to find the way with only moonlight and memories to guide me. My vision, while atop Xendus, is greatly superior to my own, but it can’t change night to day.
Most of this terrain, I haven’t even covered on horseback, never mind in the sky, but spotting the Great Western Star, I’m confident about the general direction, and I continue to focus on the Kapusmar Valley where I want to land, in relation to the few landmarks I see on the horizon.
I’m grateful that we studied maps of the Seven Kingdoms at dragon camp. I was a lazy student back in Khotor.
That does not shock me. Xendus chuckles.
Learning was not something valued by my father and grandfather. Especially not for a son so many steps away from taking the throne.
The farther we fly, the more confident I become, and I try to quiet my mind, trying to focus solely on the terrain and the best route, while keeping an eye out below. We’ve flown across Verax, and are now crossing Achotia, Rosomon’s kingdom.
Shapes of people and horses appear below, and my chest tightens. “Veer to the left.”
We were already planning to, Xendus says as he banks.
Surath is flying ahead of us now. She’d already swerved to avoid being spotted by what appears to be a regiment of Khotori soldiers marching across Achotian farmland.
A sick feeling invades my belly. Rosomon would not like seeing Khotori soldiers in her father’s domain. My grandfather offered her father protection in exchange for Rosomon’s hand. Did grandfather retaliate, seeking vengeance for Rosomon’s rejection?
My father’s expansionist visions are even grander than the current King’s, but father is not yet on the throne. The men of my family are notoriously long lived, and my grandfather, having but five and seventy years, will likely remain on the throne for two decades yet.
The men in our family live far longer than the women. Especially women who marry into our family. Shame invades my belly.
I love my family, in spite of their faults.
My loyalty to Khotor can never be broken, but I do hope that future generations of our family will learn to treat women with more respect than my grandfather and the men who came before him.
If Rosomon hadn’t fled her marriage, she’d likely have joined the ranks of my grandfather’s dead wives.
The Khotori soldiers we saw likely mean that Rosomon’s father and my grandfather struck a different alliance. Perhaps one of Rosomon’s younger brothers married one of my nieces.
Yes, I decide. It’s much better to believe that the Khotori soldiers we saw are there to protect Achotia, not invade it. If Achotia and Khotor are in conflict, it would cause great tension between Rosomon and me. And it never pays to linger over theoretical possibilities—especially negative ones.
Rosomon loves me. She hasn’t said so, but I feel sure of it. Whatever is going on here in the Light, neither of us would ever let politics destroy what we have.
Concentrate on the route, young prince.
“I am.” But Xendus was right to remind me. We’ve gone off course, making our flight longer, but I spot the distinctive sharp twin peaks of Silverveil. We’re now fully outside of Achotia, flying over the border between Khotor and Sidonia. I don’t know this area well, even on land.
Are we lost? Xendus growls, and his knot expands inside me.
“No.” I shake my head, scanning the landscape. “The farthest mountain range to our right is in Khotor.” The Khotori mountains are less jagged and rocky, mostly tree covered except for the Peaks of Kapusmar. “The Kapusmar Valley is in that mountain range.”
It had better be.
The day Zogar led us to Khotor, we crossed the distance quickly. But not only did we fly so fast I could barely breathe, our route was more direct that day, because we weren’t trying to hide.
I fight to concentrate on nothing beyond the landscape and our route, and when we enter the mountains, I guide Xendus and Surath through the Vantari Heights and through the Peaks of Kapusmar.
The rising sun hasn’t yet reached the valleys below, but it kisses the mountaintops, painting them with a pink not unlike the color of Rosomon’s hair.
I spot our destination. “There!”
About time.
Xendus and Surath circle and then land in a meadow of shadow grass that’s so long the verdant green blades swallow the dragons’ talons and the bottom quarter of Xendus’s legs—and even more of Surath’s. A great deal of rain must have fallen in the Khotori mountains this spring.
Surath raises her head and snorts a long stream of fire. A long swath of grass ignites, but the meadows are so fresh and green the fire quickly burns out.
Shaking her head, Surath stomps away from us.
“Where is she going?” I ask.
Get off me, Xendus growls, and he digs in his spike, readying his wing for me to dismount. Surath has sensitivities to certain plants and flowers. Whatever infernal ground cover you chose for our landing—it bothers her nose.
“Oh.” I quickly slide off of Xendus and into the field, and the shadow grass rises up well past my knees. I run my hands through the blades of the familiar plant, and its scent fills the air. I suppose it is powerful, if one isn’t used to the aroma.
Xendus follows Surath, and I watch in awe as their dragon forms melt away to leave their human bodies behind—their very naked human bodies. I didn’t think about clothes.
They can’t arrive at the castle this way, and now that I consider it, even my clothes might raise questions. Unless I traveled here atop a dragon, why would I be wearing my riding uniform? I’ll tell everyone at court that I rode my dragon to Khotor and sheltered him in a cave.
The shadow grass is shorter close to the forest, so I head in that direction, beckoning for Surath and Xendus to follow.
“What sort of garments are most appropriate in your kingdom?” Xendus asks when they join me. “Will this do?”
In a flash, the pair are clothed in leathers, not unlike my riding gear.
“Before we decide on attire.” I glance up, letting the morning sun bathe my face while I’m thinking. “We must settle on our story.”
“Story?” Surath says with disdain. “Do you mean lies?”
I look toward her, and her ripe red hair billows around her features. Surath is objectively beautiful, but more terrifying than any woman I’ve ever encountered.
I will not be intimidated. “Would you prefer if I tell everyone that you are dragon shifters?”
Glaring, Surath folds her arms over her chest.
I straighten my posture. “I’ll tell everyone you’re my servants.”
“Not a chance,” Xendus barks. “I’ve had more than enough years of servitude.”
I shift my stance. “Fair enough.” In hindsight, my suggestion was highly insensitive. “Perhaps you can be a fellow dragon rider.” I nod toward Xendus. “And Surath…” I shrug. When concocting stories, it’s always best to stick close to the truth. “Surath is your lover.”
“Yes, she is.” Xendus frowns.
I grin. He can be so literal. “No, what I’m saying is—we have no need for deception when it comes to Surath. No dragon riders have mates, but many are known to favor certain courtesans.” I tip my head to the side. “No one will question this explanation.”
“Riders can’t marry?” Surath asks.
“There’s no explicit rule against it,” I tell her. “Except for the dragon masters. Dragon masters vow to never marry.”
She smirks. No doubt thinking about why Saxon can’t marry Rosomon—even if she weren’t already married to Zogar.
“But that’s why riders don’t typically take wives,” I tell them. “It would ruin their chances of ever attaining the rank of dragon master.”
Surath shakes her head, clearly thinking this is foolish. And perhaps it is. So few riders ever attain that rank, although I’ve always assumed that someday I will.
“As for your names…” I tip my head to the side. “They too might be an issue.”
Surath frowns. “Why?”
“They aren’t common in Khotor.”
“They are dragon names,” Xendus says gruffly. “Strong names. Our names.”
“We could say you hail from Nathia or Sidonia.” I shake my head. “No. That’s too risky.” Someone might be at court from those kingdoms. I narrow my eyes as I look at the two shifters. “Xander and Sarah. Those names are not only common, they are close to your own.”
Surath frowns, her nose wrinkling with distaste. “Sarah? Are false names truly necessary?”
I shrug. “Just for introductions. If asked, I’ll tell everyone you’re both from Catha.” Catha, the seat of Othrix, is the most mysterious of the Seven Kingdoms and the farthest away from the veil.
“Acceptable.” Xendus grunts.
“And our clothing?” Surath runs her hand over the riding uniform she made using magic. Or maybe Xendus did. I have no way of knowing.
“Will anyone be able to tell that your clothes are an illusion?” I ask.
A breeze rustles the grasses and Surath sneezes.
“Othrix bless you,” I say.
“What?” She frowns.
“It’s just a saying.”
She shakes her head. “Only those with Darkness will be able to detect the illusion.” She runs her hand over the jacket of the rider uniform she’s wearing. Certainly no one would be fooled into thinking she’s a man. “Are these clothes acceptable?”
“Let’s wait on that decision.” I glance down the valley.
“We may come upon some real clothes we can pilfer, or purchase—or at least some examples of clothes to model your magic upon.” I shrug.
“Xendus and I will be presentable enough in our riding gear, but you, Surath—I mean Sarah—you should wear a simple gown.”
“Like this?” Her clothes transform into a long, deep red gown, close to the color of her hair. Tightly cinching her waist, the gown accentuates her breasts, and its neckline’s adorned with pearls.
“Far too fancy,” I tell her. “We’ve been traveling, remember? I suggest something simpler.”
She nods and her dress changes into a faded, blue frock made of linen, perhaps hemp.
“Much better.” I smile. “Shall we set off? It’s a more than two day’s journey.”
We walk together, sticking to the edge of the forest where the grass is easier to pass through, and Surath sneezes less often.
Soon, the sound of the Kantar River fills the air.
As the valley narrows and the forests thin, we’ll be even closer to the water.
We should be able to follow its banks for most of the day, keeping an eye out for an easy place to ford it.
Soon after, we’ll meet up with the north road which will lead us directly to the castle.
I’m excited to see Khotor again. It’s been well over a year since I left—even longer from my family’s perspective. Their past five moon cycles, passed in only five days for me. The last time I saw any members of my family was the eve of Rosomon’s marriage to my grandfather.
“Will anyone be able to tell what you are?” I ask Xendus. “You look like normal humans to me,” I add quickly when he frowns.
“Not unless they have Darkness,” Xendus says.
Doubt rises inside me. “Klericks can spot Darkness in children.”
“Not possible,” Xendus says. “Not in the Light.”
“When I was a young boy,” I tell them, “one of our groom’s sons—a boy I often fenced with in the courtyard near the stables—was suspected of harboring Darkness. The klericks took him away.”
“How do the klericks detect Darkness?” Surath asks.
I shake my head. “To be honest, I’m not even positive they can. But they claim to have this ability. It’s one of the main ways the klericks use the fear of Othrix to control people.”
“Fear of Othrix?” Xendus asks.
“It’s just another saying.” I hope neither of them question too many things while we’re at court. While some things are likely expressed differently in Catha, I expect that the religious sayings are the same. And Catha is the most religious of all the kingdoms. Perhaps I should change our story…
“Only those with Darkness can detect it in another,” Surath says. “And Darkness should not exist on this side of the veil.”
Xendus nods toward her, then turns to me. “Our identities as shifters won’t be exposed.”
“Unless there are other superi present,” Surath adds.
“What are superi?” They’ve used the word a few times.
“Creatures with access to the Darkness,” Surath tells me. “Superi is a general term that encompasses many powerful creatures, and also humans who simply have magic—like basic mages.”
“Oh.” I’ve never heard the word superi before, although it’s similar to supernatural—a word I have heard spoken in hushed tones. Supernatural is another word that no one dares utter, lest a klerick overhears.
“I take it that this Othrix is part of a religion,” Surath snaps. “The Seven Kingdoms were meant to be secular.”
Zogar said this too, but it’s hard to believe.
The Tenets of Othrix are so woven into life in the Light that I can’t imagine how society would function without them.
Zogar said the kingdoms were meant to be governed, based on some list of principles.
Don’t principle and tenet mean the same thing?
Perhaps the Founding Principles he mentioned are now called the Tenets of Othrix.
“I’m not very religious,” I tell them. “And I pretty much abandoned all my religious beliefs, after becoming a dragon rider. But most people in the Light closely follow the Tenets of Othrix.” I frown, remembering the Khotori ensigns on the klerick’s tunics and robes.
And the symbols of Othrix on Roule and Treacher’s jackets.
“While we walk, I’ll tell you all that I can.”