Page 76 of The Dragonrider and the Void
Yarla stepped forward, her own hand joining Hardin’s. After a moment, she nodded grimly. “Ezra’s added dwarven protections. He’s expecting trouble.”
For several minutes, Hardin worked at the invisible barrier, his face tightening with effort. Occasionally, a flicker of purple light escaped his fingertips, but was quickly suppressed. Finally, he stepped back, satisfaction evident in his expression.
“I’ve opened a path,” he said. “It will close behind us, so stay close.”
They moved forward in single file, Hardin leading the way. As Venrick crossed the threshold of the wards, a distinct sensation washed over him. It was like stepping through a waterfall without getting wet. On the other side, the forest appeared unchanged, yet somehow different. The sounds were clearer, the colors more vibrant.
They hadn’t walked more than a hundred paces when the first sentry appeared, an elf archer materializing from behind a massive oak. Recognizing Hardin immediately, she lowered her bow with visible relief.
“The Bard returns,” she said, her accent distinctly Gambrian. “Ezra’s been expecting you.”
Two more guards emerged from concealment: a human scout and a dwarf carrying a war axe nearly as tall as himself. Their cooperation reflected Cheyanne’s rebel alliance as being a diverse medley of humans, elves, dwarves, and orcs who’d all been negatively impacted by the Kingdoms warring over the Forest.
The path widened as they approached the camp proper, signs of habitation gradually becoming visible. Tents constructed of materials that blended with the forest colors nestled among the trees. Cook fires burned low so their smoke would dissipate before it could rise above the canopy. Many who’d remained in camp now appeared ready to disembark at a moment’s notice.
At the center of the encampment stood the command tent. It was larger than Venrick remembered and now was surrounded by a ring of standing stones inscribed with elven runes. Ezra stood before the stone ring in the filtered sunlight, his tattooed head shiny with sweat.
The dwarf’s weathered face broke into a smile of genuine relief when he spotted them. “You’ve made it back,” he said, clasping Hardin’s forearm before turning to Venrick. His expression sobered as he noted the fading corruption marks. “Cheyanne sent word of what happened at the Keep. You look like you’ve been through the veil to damnation and back, lad.”
“I feel like it,” Venrick admitted. “But I’ll heal.”
“Sooner than expected,” Yarla added. “His mixed blood seems to be pushing the corruption out faster than my body was able to.”
Ezra nodded thoughtfully. “Let’s get you inside. There’s much to discuss, and we don’t have much time.” His gaze shifted to Quinthara, who waited at the edge of the clearing. “Your dragon should rest while she can. I have a feeling she’ll be needing all her strength for your next task.”
Quinthara settled onto her haunches, her tail curling around her body like a sleeping cat.
Inside the command tent, maps covered every available surface. They included detailed renderings of the Everburning Forest, the surrounding kingdoms, and most prominently, Astral City and the Vermillion Keep. Markers indicating troop positions were scattered across the tables, along with scrolls and books open to pages filled with esoteric scripts.
“The situation has evolved since you left,” Ezra said, moving to a table where the book from the Northern Sanctuary lay open. “We’ve been studying what we know of the binding ritual, but without the pages you secured.”
Hardin reached into his tunic to withdraw the metal sheets Venrick and Lark had risked their lives to obtain. “Here,” he said, placing them reverently beside the book. “According to Venrick, the Void Drinker thinks Barrik may have some final piece to perform as part of the ritual.”
Yarla and Ezra bent over the table, searching through the pages. Every few minutes they conferred on symbols they couldn’t understand fully. Yarla furrowed her brow as she finished. “These are the complete instruction of how to perform the ritual, but I’m afraid Venrick is right. The ritual requires an alloy I’ve only ever heard of in legends.”
Ezra’s expression darkened. “Barrik is always at the center of trouble.” He examined the pages carefully, running his fingers over the etched symbols. “This alloy is of dwarven legends. I’ve heard rumors of its existence before, but I’ve never seen it. The alloy seems to play a leading role in the ritual itself.”
“The Void Drinker hinted as much,” Venrick confirmed, settling heavily onto a camp stool next to the tent door flap. The exertion of their journey was catching up with him. “It claimed Barrik was seeking ‘the final pieces’ in a sanctuary beneath Wintermire’s Keep.”
“Is that possible?” Yarla asked. “Another sanctuary like the one in the North?”
“More than possible,” Ezra replied grimly. “It’s downright likely. The original twelve dragons established sanctuaries throughout Sataran. Most were abandoned or built over as humans expanded their territories, but the Keeps of the major kingdoms? Those were deliberately constructed atop the most powerful sites.”
A rustle at the tent entrance drew their attention. A figure ducked its head inside, and Venrick felt his heart skip a beat as he recognized Ingamar. His golden scales caught the lamplight, and his amber eyes fixed immediately on Venrick.
For a moment, neither moved. Then Ingamar angled his head to inspect Venrick more closely. The dragon’s breath was warm against Venrick’s face as he inhaled, scenting the lingering corruption.
Ingamar hummed, the sound resonating directly in Venrick’s chest, startling him. The dragon had never tried to communicate with him this way before. They shared no bond, but he thought he could feel Ingamar’s focus working to attract the corruption still lingering in his body.
He slid his sleeve down to cover the markings that were on his exposed skin.
Ingamar’s head tilted, his focus remaining on Venrick.
“There’s more,” Ezra said, breaking the moment. “Come. There’s someone else you need to see.”
He led them from the command tent along a winding path deeper into the camp. They passed a training area where rebels practiced with various weapons, an infirmary tent where healers tended to the wounded, and finally arrived at a small clearing ringed with protective runes.
In the center lay the white-green hatchling Hardin had rescued from Carbella, curled into a tight ball of scales. As they approached, it lifted its head, regarding them with cream-white eyes rimmed in gold that were identical to White Eye’s.
