Page 13 of The Dragonrider and the Void
They know about your bloodline. If you find her, they’ll use it to track you both. If you change your mind, rendezvous at Haven’s Edge.
Venrick began methodically obscuring the blood evidence with fresh snow. His own magical signature could mask White Eye’s temporarily, but it was a dangerous gambit. Every use of his power diminished the access to magic from the Yogo Sapphires Cheyanne had given him and made him slightly more vulnerable to detection.
The sun climbed higher as he rode his borrowed mare north across the vast emptiness of rolling hills dusted in snow. Yellow grasses and olive sagebrush poked through the blanket of white. Venrick adjusted the lightweight leather armor beneath his winter clothes. He checked that his sword remained concealed but accessible. The wind howled as a winter storm built over the mountains to the northeast. These northern storms carried with them chilling winds and heavy snowfall. But unlike the rainstorms to the south, the snowstorms never delivered orbs of power. He didn’t need to worry about running into Nordraven Paragons leading their troops into the Forest in search of Hyalites of Yogo Sapphires.
Now all I need to worry about is running into a Nordraven Army resupply, or any squads out on patrol.The last he’d heard from Cheyanne’s scouts was that an active battle was moving into the Elderice region of the forest.And there are the assassins Cheyanne warned me about.
He pulled his hood lower and wrapped his scarf tighter, to combat the cold while also concealing his pointed ears and the silver-flecking in his green eyes that marked his heritage. Since Venrick had escaped a curse on him from the Archmagus, he was sure the Archmagus would be instructing all Magi to look forthose features. Being half-elven wasn’t something to turn your nose up at anymore. Now these features attracted attention and possible arrest.
“Hang in there, Lark,” he murmured, even though Lark was far beyond hearing. “I’m coming for you. Just, stay alive.”
Venrick clicked his tongue, urging his mount forward as the sun drifted behind the clouds.
The days seemed to blend together as he put distance between himself and the forest. Several days into his ride, Venrick approached the mountain range he’d been targeting. It looked like an ideal place for a dragon to land. Another winter storm was moving toward him from the northeast, setting him on edge.
“That snow will fill in any tracks White Eye may have left,” Venrick frowned.
Materializing from beyond the crest of the hill in front of him, a merchant caravan formed amid the swirling snow. Six wagons stood in a defensive circle; their canvas covers straining against the wind. Venrick dropped down off his horse and forced it to lay down behind the snow drifting on the leeward side of the hilltop. Placing himself next to his mare among the sagebrush, he studied the group. Their defensive formation didn’t inspire confidence. Merchants this far north were subject to extortion from the Northern Kings. If they failed to pay for their passage each time, things could get ugly quickly.
Venrick pressed his head low to the snow, careful to remain hidden. He didn’t see any troops assailing the travelers. Humans were sitting in the driver seats. The wind carried fragments of conversation, the creak of wooden wheels, the stamp of horses, and something else to him. A muffled cry that was quickly silenced.
What’s their payload, prisoners?
Venrick’s stomach dropped as he caught a glimpse through the back of a wagon. Burly men with beards and wearing furs sat beside someone who was obviously tied up. He saw the hostage’s silver hair, the point of her ears.
These people have captured an elf.Then she turned her head, and he recognized her.Yarla?
He strained his eyes, now clearly seeing her familiar sculpted elven features. The last he’d heard of her, she’d been training with the elves in Gambria, the neighboring kingdom across the sea to the east. Her presence here was a total surprise.
His tensed, preparing to move, but experience held him back. A storm was building from the east. Lark’s trail could be gone within hours. Every moment he delayed in his search reduced his chances of reaching her before the enemy’s tracking spell led them to her injured dragon.
An orc with mottled green skin walked toward the wagons through a grassy coulee less than a hundred yards below him. Venrick’s mount stirred and he calmed her down with the ease of his touch, covering her eyes to keep the mare from rising. As Venrick studied the orc, he noted that the boots were wrong. They were too well-made for a merchant guard. This orc walked with the distinctive stride that comes from military training. Eight more similarly equipped orcs appeared, surrounding the caravan.
The wind shifted, and Venrick’s nose filled with a sickly-sweet scent that made his blood run cold. Beneath the obvious guard patrol, something else moved in the shadows between the wagons. Something that left frost in its wake and made his senses scream in warning.
Is that what I think it is?Venrick asked himself. The only magical weapons he had at his disposal were Yogo Sapphires.That’s not going to be enough if there is a rimeshade leading those orcs… But what would a rimeshade want here?
Something colder and sharper than snow began spreading over the caravan’s wheels. The orcs stood a safe distance away, ready to jump whoever came running out at a moment’s notice. Dark veins leafing with rime frost spread like wicked vines. They grew until they covered the wagons one at a time.
A cry from the caravan rose through the howling wind. Men in furs hustled off, carrying Yarla, bound and chained. In the brief glimpse he caught of her before the men carried her behind another wagon, Venrick saw dark lines creeping up Yarla’s neck from beneath her collar.
“Ash,” Venrick cursed.
The winter storm rolling in from the east created a white wall. Soon it would erase any trace of Lark and White Eye. But Yarla, an old friend, was in trouble. Beyond the old ties of friendship, Venrick was half-elf. He had an obligation to help her if he could.
A fight broke out. The men from the caravan were desperate to escape the growing darkness. Venrick used the distraction for cover, letting his horse rise and hurrying her down into the gully. He descended out of view as the orcs felled humans and lines of black tendrils coated in frost splintered the wagons. The snow came then, blowing in sideways around Venrick as he crept closer to the orcs.
He peeked over the next rise, squinting through the snowfall. A dozen orcs were forcing Yarla up from the ground. One of them slung her over his massive shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The frost-covered tendrils of darkness that were breaking the wagons a moment ago were now gone. The group of orcs shifted as a unit. A slender figure wearing dark black robes that wisped around like smoke took the lead as they headed east. Charcoal black veins coated in budding white rime ice spread out across the snow as the group disappeared into the storm.
Venrick closed his eyes, trying to imagine what Lark would want him to do. Then, he made his choice and began to move.
Venrick led his mare through the deepening snow, following the trail of frost that sparkled with an unnatural sheen. The storm worked in his favor now, concealing him from the orcs while the rimeshade left a path he could track. Though the orc’s footsteps were filling in quickly, the crisp frost remained, sounding with a brittle crunch when he stepped in it.
After a half hour, the Yogo Sapphires secured to his belt suddenly chilled. Venrick had only used the gems a handful of times. He’d never felt them react like this. Their usual steady warmth had turned erratic, like a frightened heartbeat.
Why are they draining?he wondered, since he hadn’t yet used them.
Venrick paused at the crest of a small rise and dropped into a crouch. Not far below, the orcs trudged on through the worsening storm, their massive forms cutting dark shapes in the curtain of white. This was the closest he’d gotten to them since setting out. The rimeshade still stalked ahead, its smokey robes rippling in the wind. Frost spread beneath its feet with each step, forming delicate patterns that Venrick recognized.
