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  There were plenty of tall, narrow trees to use as poles. Brianna went to one and used her power over fire to quickly burn through the trunk. She could melt stone, so burning through the wood was relatively simple. The complicated part was not setting the tree ablaze. Controlling fire was as easy for Brianna as she thought. The flames—or even just radiant heat—obeyed her will the same way her body did. It was an extension of who she was, a true Fire Spirit.

  Two saplings came down under her powers; both were only slightly large in diameter than a spear shaft, although both were well over twenty feet high. Brianna used her dagger to hack off the thin branches that sprouted from the top. Once she had the saplings stripped down, she needed something to stretch between them. She emptied one of the large saddle bags, cutting it free from the long tether that was made to stretch across Ferno’s wide back.

  The saddle bags were stitched together with strong twine. Brianna was careful, cutting only one spot in the stitching, then pulling the strong cord back through the thick leather. The bag was wide enough for Jute to lay on, and once the saddle bag, which was made of one long piece of leather that ran from the front down and around to the back, including the flap, was laid out between the two poles, it was more than long enough to carry the dwarf.

  Brianna used the twine, cutting it into several sections, to tie the leather to the poles. Getting Jute onto the litter was a slow process. She laid the makeshift litter beside the dwarf, then practically dragged his body into place. She pulled his legs, then his uninjured arm, scooting him little by little until he was in place. There was enough room around the dwarf for Brianna to carefully pile the blankets and other supplies that had been in the saddle bag. Sorva used its long, supple tail to take hold of the far end of the litter’s poles. It was an effective way to move the dwarf, who groaned in pain as the litter scraped over rocks and banged against trees, but they didn’t need to go far.

  Brianna walked behind the litter, carrying the other saddle bag and making sure nothing was lost on the journey. Sorva selected a small clearing with a rocky outcropping that gave them shelter from the cold winds. Brianna got Jute situated on a pile of fern leaves on the downhill side of the rock cropping. She gathered more wood for a fire and helped Jute sip a little more water. The dwarf slept most of the day, with Brianna napping beside him. She helped him eat and drink whenever he was awake, and Sorva brought back a fawn, which Brianna prepared and roasted over their fire. When night fell, they were warm and comfortable. The only thing they didn’t have in the camp was water.

  The next morning Brianna found a spring and refilled her canteens. When she returned to the camp, she found that Jute was awake. His fever had broken in the night, and although he was still very weak, it was clear that he would survive.

  “I hope you have ale in those canteens,” the dwarf said.

  His voice was still weak, but his personality was as strong as ever. Brianna couldn’t help but smile at the dwarf’s humor. They were miles from the closest village, and he had very nearly died, but he was still able to make light of the situation.

  “It’s water,” Brianna said. “And you’re going to drink a lot of it.”

  “Next you’ll be trying to feed me greens and talking about religion,” he groused.

  “No, you’ll be doing the talking. I need to know what happened to you after the Witch’s War.”

  “That’s not a happy tale,” Jute said. “Perhaps we should wait until we have stronger spirits to see us through that story.”

  “I don’t want a story,” Brianna said. “I want to know what happened.”

  “We fell prey to the devil, that’s what happened.”

  Chapter 4

  Zollin woke to a knock at his door that startled him. He scrambled to his feet only to find Loman entering his room with a candle and a platter of warm food. The steward set the food and candle on the table, then added a small load of wood to the embers in the fireplace. It took him only a moment to get fresh flames leaping up and lending their light to the dark room.

  “The sun’ll be up soon, Master Zollin,” the steward said. “I’ve brought you a warm breakfast.”

  “You have my thanks,” Zollin said.

  “You have a message for me to deliver?”

  “Yes, here it is.”

  Zollin handed Loman a small roll of parchment, sealed with a bit of wax.

  “It goes to Estry the tailor. His shop isn’t far from the castle,” Zollin said.

  “Master Estry dined with you and the king last night?” Loman asked.

  “That’s right,” Zollin said.

  “Yes, I can find his shop. I’ll deliver it first thing this morning.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  Zollin started fishing in his meager pouch for a coin to give to the steward, but the man waved Zollin’s offer away.

  “It’s my pleasure,” he said. “Will I see your dragon today?”

  “Ferno isn’t mine,” Zollin said. “Dragons have minds of their own. He’s more like my partner. And yes, he’ll be joining me at dawn on the watchtower.”

  “That’ll be a sight. Who would have ever thought dragons would be seen in Yelsia?” he said. His eagerness was contagious.

  As he hurried from the room, Zollin found himself smiling, despite the guilt he felt over not following Brianna. He splashed cold water on his face and then dried himself with a towel. He had stripped out of the fine clothes that Estry had given him before going to bed and, knowing the cold journey ahead of him, decided to put his old clothes back on.

  His breakfast was a platter of fresh eggs, soft fried potatoes, and freshly baked bread. There was a small crock of butter and a jar of honey. Zollin ate everything quickly, then checked the room one last time to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything.

  When he stepped out of his room, he was met by a soldier, who escorted him back up to King Hausey’s quarters. A large pack of food was waiting, and the king handed Zollin a silver rod with a thick parchment rolled around it. The message was sealed with a large blob of wax that was embossed with the king’s royal seal.

  “Give this to King Ricard and no one else. Do you understand?” Hausey asked.

  “Of course, my lord. Consider it done.”

  “How long will the journey take?”

  “To Forxam? A week perhaps,” Zollin said. “Unless we run into trouble.”

  “I will pray that you don’t,” Hausey said. “And don’t stay overlong in Baskla. I need Ricard’s reply as quickly as possible.”

  “You shall have it, my liege,” Zollin said.

  The two men shook hands, and then Zollin was escorted back up to the top of the tall watchtower. Ferno was circling the castle as the sky turned gray with the rising sun. Zollin looked down on the city below him. It was dark, and he felt as if he were seeing into the future. Darkness seemed to want to swallow the world, but he shook off the feeling and waved to the dragon. He had a job to do and he was anxious to complete it. Plus, he hoped he might get lucky and find Brianna along the way.

  Ferno landed gracefully, but the green dragon was so big that it was frightening to stand on the tower while the beast touched down. With the massive wings spread wide, Ferno turned its head and looked at Zollin.

  “Go?” Ferno growled.

  “Yes, we’re leaving,” Zollin said. “Did you find something to eat?”

  Ferno belched, and Zollin couldn’t help but laugh. If they had been on the ground, Ferno would have lowered the massive green body to make it easier for Zollin to climb onto its back, but on the tower there simply wasn’t room. Ferno’s body took up most of the space, with the huge head and long tail sticking out over the parapet in both directions.

  Zollin closed his eyes and let his magical senses surround the space around himself and the dragon. He could feel the dragon’s own magic, different from what Zollin controlled but powerful in its own way. Dragons couldn’t control magic, but they were drawn to it. Their very existence was magical, a
nd Zollin loved to feel the beast’s magnificent strength.

  He imagined himself rising in the air and felt the warm swirl of magic blow through his body, then he felt himself being lifted up. In times gone by, Zollin could levitate himself for long distances, but with his reduced magical strength, even levitating up onto Ferno’s back was difficult. Not that he couldn’t do it, but he felt the strain almost from the start. It was as if he were holding his breath underwater. He knew it was possible, just not sustainable, and it left him feeling physically tired despite the shielding he kept around his reservoir of magical power that kept his spells from taxing his body too much. It also hid him and his actions from other magic users, and he couldn’t help but think of Branock in the castle below.

  The last time Zollin had met the wizard, they had battled in the courtyard of the castle. Zollin had always been able to sense Branock magically, even before he knew what he was sensing. Branock and two other wizards from the Torr had come to Tranaugh Shire to find Zollin, but he had felt them coming. It was not unlike the sense of dread he felt about the evil spreading through the kingdom.

  He did his best to push those thoughts down and focus on the task ahead. He had plenty to do and he was eager to get underway. He patted Ferno’s neck and secured the leather reins to the horns sprouting from the green dragon’s shoulders. The reins weren't used for steering the dragon; Zollin didn’t try to control the massive beast. The reins were only there to help Zollin hang on to Ferno’s broad, muscular back.

  “Time to go,” he said, as soon as he was ready.

  Ferno roared, lifting the massive head and sending a plume of orange fire shooting high up into the air. Then Zollin was forced to grip the reins tightly as Ferno dove forward, spreading the broad, green wings to catch the air and looping back up before flying away from the city. Zollin knew that Ferno liked to make an impression on the humans below. Zollin had trouble seeing them in the gloomy streets, but Ferno’s eyesight was so keen, the dragon could see in the dark. Zollin felt the huge beast’s excitement as they streaked away.

  “East,” Zollin called. We’re going east. Follow the road below.”

  Zollin knew the trade road below them would lead them east to Felson, then eventually to Ebbson Keep, and he wanted to stop at both of those places before moving on to Baskla. The wind whipped through his hair and stung his eyes, forcing him to bend down close to Ferno’s warm back. Zollin was on his way to carry out King Hausey’s plan, and the young wizard could only hope they would have a chance to meet Brianna somewhere along the way.

  ***

  Branock watched the dragon flying over the city. He was in the rooms just down the hall from King Hausey’s own personal quarters. It was the same suite of rooms that Zollin himself had once shared with Brianna when King Felix ruled. He watched the dragon race away, then turned back to the man standing in the room.

  “He wanted this delivered to Estry the tailor.”

  “His father-in-law?” Branock said, moving closer to the fireplace.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Read it to me.”

  Loman broke the seal and unrolled the parchment.

  “Dear Estry, I want to warn you that associating with people in the castle may not be a good idea. I got the sense that Priam would like to match Danella with the king. Hausey is a good man, but as long as Branock the wizard remains in Orrock, the castle is not a safe place. I have no right to say what you should do, especially with your daughter, but I know from personal experience that Branock is an evil man of great power. You would be well served to protect your family from him. I look forward to seeing you again soon. Zollin.”

  “He doesn’t trust me,” Branock said. “I’m deeply wounded.”

  “What would you have me do, my lord?”

  “Give the parchment to me,” Branock said.

  He carried it to his own desk, where he readied a piece of paper. Then, without lifting a quill or opening a bottle of ink, words began to appear on the parchment in Zollin’s own handwriting.

  “Dear Estry, thank you for accompanying me to dinner with the king. I must admit I was out of line by accusing Branock of Yelsia. I let my own insecurity cloud my better judgement and I apologize. The king did mention your daughter Danella and how beautiful he found her. It was his hope that she might visit him again at your earliest convenience. I think they would make a good match and hope you feel the same. Sincerely, Zollin.”

  The spell ended with Zollin’s signature forming at the bottom of the parchment. Branock rolled the letter up and sealed it with fresh wax before throwing the old letter into the fire.

  “Deliver this to the good tailor and suggest that he come and see me if he would like to pursue matching his daughter with the king.”

  “You can manage such a thing?” Loman asked.

  Branock’s face hardened with fury, and he waved his hand at Loman. A welt appeared across the steward’s neck. He gasped and hurried back, away from Branock, but the damage was done. It was almost as if the steward had been touched with a red hot branding iron.

  “Never question me,” Branock growled. “Do as I say, or I will roast you alive and feed your ashes to the carrion birds.”

  “Y-y-yes, my lord,” Loman said, bowing low.

  He took the letter from Branock’s hand and hurried away. The elder wizard sat down in a thickly padded chair and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. The wheels of change were turning, and Branock knew just what he wanted to do.

  Chapter 5

  Lorik wasn’t a patient man in most circumstances, but he could sense the panic inside the castle. He didn’t need to see it or even hear it to savor the fear that was spreading. He should have been helpless with his wounds and the effects of the torture he had endured. Stone should have been dead, but somehow they had slipped through Yettlebor’s fingers, and the imposter king knew what was coming. Lorik let the man suffer. Soon it would be time to act, but he wanted to let Yettlebor and Issalyn slowly get more comfortable—perhaps even convince themselves that he was really gone and never coming back.

  The night passed, and Lorik felt the fear and outrage radiating from the city around the castle. The king’s guards searched through Ort City, and no one was spared from their frantic efforts. Property was damaged, people who resisted were beaten, and all the while Lorik felt himself growing stronger. He was constantly tormented by Spector, who had no one to take his fury out on but Lorik, but the wraith’s pain only fueled Lorik’s anger, which in turn made him stronger.

  The dark magic was completely different than anything he’d experienced before. It wasn’t evil any more than Lorik’s anger was evil. If anything, Lorik’s fury was righteous. He had been wronged, and the Kingdom of Ortis had been taken over by a man with no claim to the throne and no ties to the kingdom. Yettlebor, the imposter king, had sold the safety of Ortis’ citizens to ensure his reign. And when Lorik had resisted, he had been captured, tortured, and nearly killed. His closest friends had been murdered for no other reason than supporting Lorik. All that had happened to him had been evil, but the darkness was his comfort, his companion. It gave him strength, focusing his rage and empowering him to do what he was destined for. He was a protector of the innocent and a defender of the weak. His wrath would not be denied, but only those who deserved to be punished needed to fear him.

  Days passed, and Lorik waited in the darkness. He had no need for food or rest; he didn’t even sit down. His body pulsed with magical strength, much as it had when the forest elves had given him their power. Only the darkness wasn’t temporary, or even foreign, as the Drery Dru magic had been. The dark power that coursed through Lorik felt as if he had finally discovered his true self, and he couldn’t wait to test the limits of his new nature.

  It was late at night when Lorik finally moved. Spector was nearby, hidden in the darkness, but always aware of what was happening. Stone’s transformation wasn’t the same as Lorik’s. His friend was still there, the conscious mind still able t
o remember their adventures and direct his new ghostly body, but he was no longer human. He was an instrument of death, a grim reaper of sorts, with only one purpose, to kill. He was connected to Lorik through their shared dark power. He could act on his own, but he couldn’t leave Lorik for long. Lorik was the home of the dark magic, and Spector was dependent on that darkness for his very existence in the world. His body was dead, and his spirit no longer belonged in the world of men, but the dark power had enabled him to stay and carry out his wrathful purpose.

  When Lorik stirred, Spector floated close. They moved to the hidden doorway, and Lorik waited for just a moment, listening to what lay beyond. There was no sound, and with a simple thought, Lorik moved the door. The cavern behind him was nothing but an empty room now, a dark cave in the foundation of the castle. The solid stone doorway slid aside without making a sound, and Lorik stepped into the long corridor that ran through the castle dungeon. There was no light in the hallway, but Lorik could sense the men cowering in their prison cells. They couldn’t explain why they suddenly felt so afraid, but Lorik knew. Men always feared the supernatural, even when they couldn’t see it or say what exactly they were afraid of. But the darkness had taken shape, and now it walked among them. It fed off their fear and brought a smile to Lorik’s face.

  They went up the spiral staircase without a word. Lorik’s large boots should have thumped against the stone steps, but he was careful not to make a sound. Spector floated around him, staying close, but anxious to seek his own revenge. There was no need to talk. They didn’t need to lay out a plan of action or coordinate their efforts. Lorik couldn’t stop Spector from seeking out Yettlebor even if he had wanted to, but it was no surprise that the people they both sought would be taking refuge together.