Chapter 16
The dregs of night still lingered in the shadows as Glyf stepped off the Paths, hunched over an old windblown log, and retched. She shuddered and leaned against the log as the clamor of pain and anguish fogged her senses, leaving her spirit feeling shattered. Death had come to Windy Cove.
To the east, the horizon went from silver to pink as she struggled to discern how far ahead the dragonkin port city still lay. She scanned Talf’s map and looked about, once again thankful for his detailed eye. A landmark matching one on the map caught her attention, and she groaned. Even on the Paths, it would take until mid-morning before she would spy the shores of the Firasian Sea.
Bracing herself against the echoes of anguish and pleas for help still beating against her mind, she tried to replenish her strength by eating a little from her stores as she rested. She was worn from running the Paths and did not spend energy in mind-speak with either Ymarii or Hefldeep. For she knew her mother felt the attack at once, just as Hefldeep knew about Ymarii’s losses.
Ymarii was the Atheryl gate guardian and her first duty was to guard Atheryl against incursion, no matter what the cost. But her mother’s inability to leave her domain and hunt those that penetrated her inner demesne, killed her children, and stole her egg, fueled a rage that roared down her mountain in all directions.
With the attack on Windy Cove, Glyf knew the stakes changed. She wondered if Marley gaining the answers Ymarii raged after would be enough. The dragon, shackled by the gate she guarded, could do little to help. Just as Glyf could do little but witness the carnage and care for any survivors she found. Once more she disappeared, hoping Ymarii’s hatch-mate, Hefldeep, counted among those and that Marley had yet to arrive.
She stood upon a rocky hillock, when next she stepped off the Paths. Smoke lingered, mingling with the mist hanging above the Firasian Sea. She scurried off the trail. Dread shivered through her as she darted from bush to shrub. Assailed by the miasma of wrongness and her waning energy, she searched for a place to lie low and rest.
She stuck her head up, testing the wind, letting her inherent senses range out. Stung by the acrid essence permeating the area, she pulled back. Someone, something, used a spirit stone. And the user was not human or espaire or even elemental.
The corruption of the stone was something she had felt before and would never forget. But the wielder, she shook her head; the wielder was something different. It seemed ancient and corrupt, but with no essence signature.
The dragonkin sat back, hidden from the trail by an outcrop of granite. A patch of green and silver lichen caught in her hair, but she ignored it. Glyf closed her eyes and readied herself for another assault to her spirit. With her dragonkin senses sharp and focused, she reached out in a spiral.
Death and corruption tugged at her like an unavoidable sludge through which she delved. And although searching for this strange creature of murder and strife, she also looked for the signs of survivors. There seemed to be pockets shining with the life essence of dragonkin. Still, she thought, sighing heavily, so many dead.
The sleeper’s quarters lay cradled deep within the cavern maze, occupied by those Kith in dragon sleep. She sensed none alive there and hoped it was because none owed a debt to the Paths. Glyf frowned and rubbed her small hand across her brow. All but one moved in the same direction. She scanned the area and soon felt sure she could again find the lone Kith before moving.
Although the Fates would take care of the outcome, she wanted to position herself if an opportunity presented itself. She shook herself. It would take more than her to save the others, but she needed to know how they fared. Once again, she disappeared onto the paths. She flitted along the outskirts of the merchant district, covering the ground quickly on this shimmering plain.
The shops showed no signs of struggle. It might have been a citywide holiday but for the lack of any living being on the streets or in the tenements above the businesses. Ahead of her, smoke spiraled into the overcast day. Although close to eighty years since she last visited Windy cove, she remembered the farlander’s community lay in that direction. Glyf sighed, sensing no living presence there.
She glanced up and down the street. The city had grown. The warehouse district that once lay almost on top of the fishing shacks on the dike now began but a street over from where she stood. And beyond that, signatures of essence-weavers shimmered in the distance.
Glyf pushed herself as fatigue mounted and she crossed into the warehouse district. Around the next corner, she found the port city docks. Small portable shanties speckled the beach area from high water dike to ocean.
Coming off the Paths, she sped into one of these and peered through the wooden slats. Only one ship lay at anchor. Its cargo being loaded with brutal expedience. The captives, all dragonkin, stumbled forward, prodded with a two-pronged steel stake-like weapon.
Their hands tied and with eyeless hoods over their heads and the gleam of milky silver about each neck, they moved along the gangplank. Those that fell suffered a rain of blows until a weaver levitated their bloodied bodies to drop them onto the ship’s deck.
The last taken on board, Glyf recognized even from afar. It was Hefldeep. Although she wore the same hood as the others, her essence was unmistakable. Her head held high, the hood she wore, lifted by her topknot, brushed the tip of her nose.
Hefldeep crossed the gangplank as men before her and behind busied themselves with preparations for leaving port. Halfway across, she paused mid-step, but then proceeded with a slight limp. The guard behind her chuckled, taking relish in her faltering walk and prodding her with his weapon.
But unquelled, she walked on, her head lifted even higher, if that was possible. As she stepped onto the deck, her presence slipped into Glyf’s mind.
Peace, child, I will not give you away, but do not mind-speak. I do not know the extent of the talents they wield. Find Thysl, my nephew. He is still alive, somewhere in the warrens.
Glyf listened and watched as the ship pulled anchor. Then quickly she retraced her steps.
Tell Ymarii these people have her egg. Grief and pain flooded her mind, and for a moment Glyf froze, unable to tell where her own pain ended and Hefldeep’s grief began. Get help and come after us. They talk of the Tavir Academy but have a care. There was a Mijenjae among them. You are our only hope. The silver collars keep us from the Paths. Cannot… think anymore. They have drugged… sleep will not be... eluded. Bring help… or we perish.
The last words drove a thorn into Glyf’s heart as they faded from her mind. She slipped back onto the Paths, her fear of the weaver’s power outweighing her fatigue. Soon she stood at a battered, broken door. The life essence came from within the room behind it.
Once more, she reached out with her dragonkin sense, combing the surrounding area. There was nothing within her range to cause trepidation and she stepped off the Paths and through the shattered doorway.
Glyf picked her way from shadow to shadow through the ruined gathering room. Her skin hummed with the tingle of spent essence and she wondered why the wanton destruction. Soon she stood before the community hearth. She remembered it as a place of warmth and friendship fashioned by the rock trolls the year windy cove was founded. Now, it was nothing but a jumble of rocks... except for the foot jutting out from between two stones.
A little gasp escaped her lips and she rushed forward. Carefully, she pulled stone after stone from the unconscious Kith. Her hands shook as she revealed his bruised and bloody face. His breath was shallow, but it was breath.
Glyf tentatively reached out with her mind-speak. Thysl.
She stopped. Hefldeep’s warning hung like a specter in her mind. She pushed back the quick stab of fear, thinking of the Mijenjae. But she knew it, whatever form it was, left with the ship. Still, she would heed the warning. She didn’t know who and what might linger with greater powers of perception.
As she cleared the rubble away from Thysl’s face, she wondered if the Mijenjae could actually use mind-speak or read minds or if they just fed on the life essence around them. She knew little to nothing about them or what they were capable of, except the tales told by the bards about the time of desolation. She knew they were true shapeshifters. Not just possessing more than one form, but able to assume unlimited shapes at will… and that one of the ancient ones created them.
Glyf bent her concentration back to Thysl. She felt for a pulse in his neck, her fingers brushing the creamy silver metal of the strange collar he wore. The thought that it might track him or coerce him came to her mind. She sighed. Now was not the time to speculate. Perhaps she could find a way to release the clasp without a key.
After dribbling a little water into his mouth, she took her flagon and dampened the end of her cloak. The blood on his face had dried and a thick, sticky crust formed about his left eye. Gently, she dabbed it away. Still, he did not stir, nor did he wake.
“Please Thysl, fight your way back,” she whispered with a furtive glance at the entry. “We need to get somewhere more protected. The scent of blood and death is strong and will draw scavengers before the sun sets.”
Glyf trickled a little more water onto her cloak and continued to clean his face, hoping her aid would be enough to awaken him. She was sure his pulse felt stronger and the blood was now gone from his face, but he showed no more signs of waking now than when she first found him.
Glyf sighed and started looking around the room for ways to make it more defensible... or them less conspicuous.
A sudden breeze playfully pulled at her hair and as she stretched her neck up to feel its cooling finger Glyf realized she knew this breeze. “Zeph.”