Page 24 of The Dragonrider and the Void
“And in doing so, your honor got you caught up with a rimeshade and a giant dormant dragon?” Lark asked.
“I stumbled into the whole mess not knowing Cheyanne was leading the troop of Morsythians to deal with the threat the whole time. If I’d known you were near, I would’ve traveled with them.”
“I can’t believe I found you in this storm,” Lark said.
“How did you find us?” Venrick asked.
“I felt a disturbance. It must’ve been the dragon returning because the amount of magical energy coming from the areadrew us in like a magnet. We didn’t know what to expect, when we broke through the clouds and saw the Morsythians. Then you were here, with Cheyanne, and…” she nodded toward where Yarla clung to Venrick for support.
“You two can catch each other up as we move,” Cheyanne insisted. “What’s happened here at Haven’s Edge will be attracting Nordraven riders soon.”
Lark’s shoulders stiffened at Cheyanne’s words and Venrick remembered how hostile the elf had been toward Lark when they’d met in the Everburning Forest. “Cheyanne, I wasn’t myself when we last met. I never got a chance to explain how things really went down,” she started.
“Last time we met, Ella, if that’s who you are this time, you were betraying our deal with the Morsythians,” Cheyanne countered, her hand resting casually on her sword hilt.
“I never gave you up. You must believe me,” Lark insisted.
“I don’t have to believe anything you say, Marcella,” Cheyanne said dismissively.
“People change. I’m not Marcella, Marcel, or Ella anymore. Yes, I remember much of my past since Barrik forced my memories to surface, but now, I’m just Lark,” she insisted, placing her hand over her chest where the pendant lay.
“Times change. People don’t,” Cheyanne countered. “Once a Nordraven dragonrider, always a Nordraven dragonrider. You’ll never change.”
Lark’s eyes softened as she looked Yarla over in earnest. Yarla’s dulled skin, her washed out eyes, and lolling head decried her waning strength. It was clear she had endured some sort of magical torture. Whatever jealousy had flickered across Lark’s face moments ago transformed into genuine concern.
Lark staggered and White Eye braced her with his foreleg. In that moment she shared a look of understanding with her dragon. Venrick remembered seeing that look pass betweenTel and Ingamar whenever they shared a thought or emotion through their bond. “They were harvesting her ability to wield magic. That connection that is innate to any elf, dwarf, orc, or mage,” Lark said with understanding.
“Yes,” Venrick replied, setting out as they trailed behind Cheyanne and the Morsythians.
“Harvesting another creature’s magical essence isn’t something that Nordraven’s practiced before.” Lark’s response was confident.
“Aren’t magi in Nordraven encouraged to practice magic that sources its power from another living soul?” Venrick asked.
“They aren’t encouraged to,” Lark said, furrowing her brow. “In Skol, that kind of magic has been outlawed. If you’re caught doing it, anyone can challenge the magician. Once a magus uses magic the way Joc did, they are supposed to be stripped of any protection the Kingdoms might provide. Their death is not considered a crime as they are immediately considered outlaws. Skol and Wintermire, however, don’t seem to be following the laws my grandfather and his generation practiced.”
Yarla sagged in Venrick’s grip, causing him to dip slightly.
Lark shared another knowing glance with her dragon, then said, “White Eye can carry her the rest of the way.”
Venrick nodded and Lark moved to help bring her to the saddle. Yarla recoiled. A small sound of terror escaped her throat. “Nordraven dragon,” she whispered, her fingers digging into Venrick’s arm.
Lark frowned and Venrick could feel how the comment cut into her. “Walking her might be easier,” Venrick suggested.
“I’ll help you,” Lark insisted, moving to Yarla’s other side. “White Eye will watch our rear, out of her line of sight.” She reached for Yarla’s free arm, but hesitated, as if waiting for permission.
Yarla gave a small nod, and together, they formed a chain through the snow while White Eye’s massive form shielded them from the worst of the wind.
***
Southwest of Haven’s Edge, very near where Venrick had passed through to reach the town, Cheyanne led the group down into a steep ravine. It blended into the rolling hills of white, appearing as a slight dip until more closely inspected. The cavern’s entrance opened into a surprisingly expansive chamber, water-carved limestone offering refuge from the howling wind.
White Eye crouched to enter. He curled his massive body to block the entrance, keeping out the storm’s chilling winds.. Inside, the limestone walls opened up to what felt like a hall in a castle. Where pillars of carved marble held up the ceiling on a Keep, the stalactites and stalagmites formed textured columns of stone at the edges of the deep cave. Lark settled in next to White Eye, unpacking her saddle bags to dry out her gear while paying close attention to something on his shoulder. Venrick helped Yarla settle in by Cheyanne deeper in the cave. Gravlin led his Morsythians deeper still, where they made a camp to wait out the storm. They seemed to be making a point to create distance from Venrick.
“Here,” Venrick said softly, helping Yarla lower down against a smooth section of wall. He shrugged off his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. Her silver-white hair had frozen during their trek and was now dripping as it thawed in the relative warmth of the cave. The sight of her, so diminished from the vibrant elf he’d known in his youth, made his chest ache.
Cheyanne crouched down at her side, resting her staff on the wall next to Yarla. “She’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it,” Cheyanne insisted. “You should sort out whatever you must with that one,” she said, nodding toward Lark.
White Eye had started a small fire for Lark, burning with magic. Venrick hesitated before joining them.
