CHAPTER 20: A FOOL GIVES HIMSELF AWAY TO HIS ANGER...

Another two months passed before the weather finally permitted the companions to leave E'eldaduranus. Prince Arden wished them well on their journey, and personally supplied them with warm cloaks and furs, and food for their packs, and an assortment of necessities and other items. He regretted not traveling with them, but they understood that with the war coming to Elven Home, he would be needed in the Griffinwood. If the weather was good enough for the companions to leave, it was more than adequate for skraeg. He considered them all close friends, he told them, and that they were all welcome at any time in the palace. Hardis was present at their leave taking as well, and he promised them he would be sure other griffin riders kept a close watch for them, as he would himself if his duties found him traveling in their direction. No other riders knew what their mission was, only that they were important allies. In fact, only Hardis, and Arden and their friends including Annyaa and Broan and the others knew of the sword of Jandrous. They all agreed, the less who knew, the better for them. Drogan and Annyaa held each other long while the rest waited, until finally Tia led Drogan's horse over.

"We better get moving, Rabbit's Bane," she smiled. This brought a chuckle to teary eyed Annyaa, and a sarcastic look from Drogan.

"You'll never let me live that down, will you?" Drogan said.

"No, likely not." She handed him the reins. "We'll keep an eye on him, Annyaa. I promise."

"I know, Tia and thank you," Annyaa said. "Although it makes it no easier. It seems we keep finding each other only to be torn apart again."

"May the One God be your protection," Donnagan said to each them. "May he see you through your mission safely." He stopped in front of Kendrick and hugged him close. "Feel blessed, young Kendrick, that you have been chosen for this task of such great importance— I will pray for you all daily until we see each other again." The old high priest held him by the shoulders at arms length so he could look the younger priest in the eyes. "I feel doubly blessed knowing that you were brought up at my temple."

"Thank you, Donnagan." Kendrick embraced him again.

"And take care of that horse," Donnagan said, patting the grey on the neck.

"We've been through a lot together," Kendrick said. He patted the horse's neck as well. " I will."

"Be safe," Broan said to them all.

"And try not to catch fever again, Kieran," Durinald said. "We would see you healthy when you return."

"You stay safe as well," Kieran said as she hugged Broan and Durinald. "There are rivers to travel, when this is all over." She smiled through her tears. Broan and Durinald were like older brothers to her, and had been her friends for many years. Leaving them was hard, not knowing what might befall them or even herself. She missed them greatly already.

"Look after her, Kendrick," Broan said with a hand on Kendrick's shoulder.

"I'm certain I'll need her looking out for me, rather than me looking out for her," Kendrick laughed. "Already she is better than I am with that staff." He rubbed a bruise on his arm where she had struck him while sparring. "Be assured we will look out for each other," he smiled.

They all mounted up, and with waves of farewell they rode into the trees leaving their friends behind. Drogan turned back once to see that Annyaa was still watching them leave. From where he sat upon his horse he could still see those beautiful green eyes— those love filled eyes. He held the lock of hair in his fist and waved one last time. He smiled when he saw her hold something up in her hand as she waved. Reluctantly, he turned his horse around and joined the others.

"I notice you seem to be missing a good bit of hair on one side, Drogan." Jarren chuckled as Drogan rode beside him. Drogan looked sheepish, and the others joined in laughter.

"Perhaps you could have slain a rabbit for her instead?" Tia smiled.

"Funny," Drogan said. "Very funny. It was a last minute idea, and I didn't have anything to give her to remember me by. I didn't think it was so noticeable."

"Oh no," Kieran laughed. "Not noticeable in the least— at least it wouldn't be if you wore your helm." Everyone laughed as Drogan placed his helm over his head.

"Do not worry," Jarren said as he slapped a palm on Drogan's helm. "It will grow back— and you'll look less a fool when it does!" Everyone laughed again, and even Drogan joined in.

They traveled out of the city and into the trees, each wondering at the seeming impossibility of their task. Their mission was to journey to the Valley of Dragons, somehow find Jandrous— whomever he may be and give him the sword. They knew not his appearance, how they would find him when they reached their destination, or even if he would be there when they arrived. How long would they have to wait? How would they know him if even The Teachings stated he would not know himself? What would come after? For soldiers like Faldrek, Drogan, and even Jarren and Tia, not having a clear mission laid out was bothersome, confusing, even reckless. This was a mission based solely on hope. All they had was Kendrick's tale of being visited by a drayan and given the mission. But they all knew the importance of the sword, of its reaching Jandrous, and they would do whatever must be done to ensure their mission was a success. At the least, they knew the path they were taking. They would travel northeast through the Griffinwood and into the Axeweavers, taking a narrow pass through the mountains to the Barren Wastes beyond. The pass would open up directly into one of the many dry canyons that spider-webbed the barren, dry lands, and from there they would travel east into the Mistwood and to the Lake of Dreams. From there they would travel the River Danir as it snaked its way north to Durgin's Pass in the Stormblade mountains and into the Shadow Lands. Then they would turn south for the Valley of Dragons where they hoped to find Jandrous. Jarren informed them it was the most direct path, but it wouldn't be without the possibility of danger. However, going around the Barren Wastes was a longer journey with the possibilities of danger as well. Skraeg were moving throughout the Griffinwood to the north, and more enemies could also be moving about. There was also the ever present threat of weather. At least while traveling the Barren Wastes, there were countless caves within the canyons that could offer shelter.

The first days of their journey were traveled in a light snow. And at times the winds blew through the woods with such force that trees bent to the point of snapping their trunks. But every night the winds would calm and the companions could warm themselves near a fire. The all took turns at watch, concerned that skraeg could be lurking nearby. There was also the concern of enemies discovering the glow of their fire. But in the cold, the fire couldn't be helped, so they the party would search for areas thick with growth or find small hills to conceal their camp under. Anything they could do to remain hidden became a high priority each night. They spoke of possible dangers and enemies they may encounter, including walven. Jarren told them that in death, the walven often were consumed by fire. In death they can be as deadly as when alive. If the walven they battled on the bridge had not fallen into the river, they may have seen them burst into flames. They spoke of the Skraeg, how best to defeat them if they were encountered. Black Wood elves were encountered in the Griffinwood by Drogan and Faldrek when they pursued Andorin. Halin from Misting Hill had died in the battle. Tia told them all they were masters of concealment within forested lands, much like all the elves. In battle they were quick and brutal, and without mercy. At the sight of humans or elves loyal to the One God, they would attack. If they were within the Griffinwood, they were likely scouts, and would not want their presence discovered. The Axeweaver Mountains in their part of Isandros were mainly dwarven territory, but they could possibly encounter skraeg, or any number of enemy or beast. Wolves would be a danger as well. Once in the Barren Wastes they could encounter Haira'hem loyal to Xandrous. Drogan, who had fought the Haira'hem many times, told how they could appear and disappear out of the sands like ghosts. The desert dwellers could be a danger, that when seen, defense might be too late. They hoped any Haira'hem they encountered were friend and not foe. At least with Runner along, and even the roa'an, they may have some warning before danger was upon them. With the threat of possible danger, Marek, Kendrick, and Kieran continued to drill with their weapons at every rest.

On the third day of riding through the Griifinwood they were discovered by a griffin rider who informed them of skraeg encamped as near as a mile north of their location. The skraeg were part of a large force resuming their march through the Griffinwood toward E'eldaduranus. Some villages further north had already been razed and skirmishes had broken out as the elves tried to slow their advancement. It would not be long before the grey skinned hulks would be nearing the capital city of the E'eldroan. The companions were forced to circle wide around the enemy and even had to hide during the night as a scouting party drew near. They all held their breath and soothed the horses, not wanting any sound to alert the skraeg as they moved past. They collectively exhaled when Jarren said it was safe to move on. Wanting to get as far away from the skraeg as possible, they did not rest that night, but rode through the dark trees until dawn. When they finally halted, the rest was a short one. After a quick meal they continued on until night fell once again. They all worried about the e'eld and their friends, especially Kieran who worried for Broan and Durinald and the rest of the men with them, and Drogan who worried for Annyaa. Kendrick of course was concerned for Donnagan. As much as they all disliked leaving their friends behind, they knew they were out of their hands. They could do nothing for them, nothing to help them, except pray to the One God for their safety.

The journey through the narrow pass of the Axeweavers was arduous. The winds screamed ferociously through the pass between tall cliff like mountains to either side. Wrapping themselves in furs and covering their faces with their cloaks, they labored slowly onward. Finding shelter each night proved a difficult task even for Jarren and Tia. And when they made camp they all huddled close around a fire either Kendrick or Marek produced. Their worst fear was to be caught in the pass in the event of a winter storm, and they found themselves more than once spending a day or more in a cavity of rock or an abandoned wolf's den as blizzards brought their journey to a complete and sudden halt. One such den proved inhabited by a mother wolf and her pups whom they did not discover until well inside the small cave. Neither Runner, or the horses, or the roa'an gave any warning that an animal may be inside. Curiously, the wolf appeared not to worry about their presence either, and Runner joyously received the attention the pups showed as they climbed and jumped on him, and gnawed on his ears and tail and pawed at his fur. With a big grin and a wagging tail he would growl, scaring the little pups, and then continue again and again as they always returned for more. The mother wolf simply watched and nursed her pups. When they first entered the den, the wolf would let out a low growl if the companions drew too near. But as the pups began venturing off to explore the humans and elf, or the horses and roa'an, her concern lessoned. They worried the wolf sire might return at any time, but after three days they decided the mother and her pups were alone. The day they left the den, Tia had been hunting and returned with half a dozen mountain fowl. When they left the den, she left three of the foul with the wolves, explaining that in allowing them to stay in her den, the wolf deserved half of what they had for herself and her pups.

When they finally began riding out of the mountains, they could see the Barren Wastes below them. For as far as they could see was a barren dry wasteland of canyons and dry hard ground. In the distance they could see large mounds which Jarren informed them were dunes. The sight was never the same from one day to the next as the winds shifted the sands, carrying the dunes from one location to the next. Even in the midst of the Long Winter, the Barren Wastes were dry. While behind they left a snow filled pass through snow covered mountains, the lands below them remained deprived of any precipitation. There were few trees to be seen, and most were stunted, short pathetic looking things covered in thorns and void of foliage. The winds blew strong in the desert, and cold, and clouds in the distance seemed to taunt the lands, never letting go of a single drop of rain or flake of snow. It did rain on occasion, Jarren told them, and when it did the waters would rush in a flood destroying much as it raced along the low grounds and through the canyons. Higher ground was the only defense in such an occurrence. But such rains were very few and very far between. Another danger were the storms of sand that blew across the wastes. Monstrous clouds of sand kicked up by heavy winds could roll angrily along the ground, sometimes so severe they buried everything in their path. Jarren instructed everyone on how to cover their mount's mouths, muzzles, and eyes if they were caught in a sandstorm. And just as if they were caught in a blizzard, in a sandstorm they would join their mounts by rope to prevent each other from being separated and lost. The heat in the Barren Wastes was a dry, terrible heat, Jarren told them, that slowly sucked the life out of everything. One needed an ample supply of water to travel such lands. But now the lands were cold as was all of Isandros. And although heat would not be a danger they faced, there were still many other dangers they may have to endure.

The mountain pass led directly into one of the many canyons that crossed the wasteland, and the companions found themselves leaving the snow of the mountains as it gradually turned to dry, brown and rocky terrain. The wind roared through the canyon forcing them to lower their heads against the cold wall that beat at them fiercely. Their cloaks whipped about behind them, and their eyes stung as blown dust and sand found their faces. Clouds were sparse, and the sun directly above teased them with the possibility of warmth, but there was no warmth to be enjoyed. The winds were as cold screaming through the canyon as they were in the mountains. Shivering, they leaned low against their mounts for what warmth the animals could give. It was a cold desolate landscape, leeching away not only their heat, but their spirits as well. Occasionally, Kieran would softly sing, and her voice was a delight to all, bringing a smile to their mouths and a bit of warmth to their hearts. When Tia would join in, the harmonizing beauty of the elven and human women's voices lifted their spirits immensely, and they all could forget the discomfort they felt for at least a while. At night when they rested, Kendrick, Marek, and Faldrek all took turns reading aloud from The Teachings. Even Drogan would open up the book he had received from Halin and read. One passage in particular caught his eye.

"And when Jandrous restores the balance, and evil is put once more to the underworld," he read as they all huddled around a small fire in shallow cave. "The warmth of the sun will return in its glory and the snows and ice of the Long Winter will melt, bringing forth green fields ripe with harvest. The peoples of Isandros will restore their homes and homelands, and peace will thrive for a time. The One True King will cut off the hand of the Xandrous the Betrayer, the hand of his strength, and his worldly armies will vanish like water under a hot sun. He will show favor on those with honor who sought him out, and he will heal the hand of the blacksmith." Drogan looked to Marek for an answer. "What does that mean?"

"Perhaps," Marek answered. "Perhaps it means the people will rebuild what was lost to them or destroyed in this war."

"But it says above that, the people will restore their homes and homelands. "Why repeat what was already written? It would make more sense to write the hand of the carpenter or builder, I would think," Drogan said as he glanced at the passage once more.

"I do not know," Marek answered. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps it means that production of all things will begin anew."

"I suppose you're right," Drogan said. "It only makes sense that all production, be it farming, building, and even metal working would begin anew." The others nodded in agreement. "It's good to know I'll have work when this is all over." Drogan chuckled, and everyone joined in. "I still intend to take over my father's work as a blacksmith."

The following day, they rode through a narrow canyon under a cloud filled sky that had them all wondering if snow would fall on the usually dry lands below. But as they rode, the clouds slowly thinned, until the skies above were blue under a bright sun. At one point, Jarren brought them to a halt, scanning the rocky cliffs above them after some loose stones tumbled into the canyon. Runner's eyes followed those of Jarrens, but after a few moments, Jarren decided it likely was only loose rock and they began riding again. However, he told them to keep a sharp eye above to be certain. For another hour they rode without incident, Jarren and Tia in the lead, with Marek, Kendrick, and Kieran following, and Drogan and Faldrek bringing up the rear. Runner trotted alongside Jarren's horse, but occasionally he would run ahead for a bit, or behind for a bit, or run circles around each of the companion's mounts, always with a big wolfish grin and his tongue hanging out to one side. He had just ran ahead of the rest and startled a flock of desert fowl, jumping and spinning and trying to catch them in his teeth as they erupted into flight. Suddenly he stopped. Jarren brought them to a halt, scanning the cliffs above.

"What is it, Jarren?" Drogan moved his horse beside Jarren's and followed his gaze. "Does Runner see something?"

"Not certain," Jarren replied. "Something has caught his attention." He turned his attention on the big wolf. "What is it, Runner? Do you see something?"

"What's wrong?" Kieran asked, looking above. But Jarren held up a hand for silence. Loose stones and dirt tumbled down into the canyon once more.

"Is there something above, Silverprince?" Tia asked her roa'an.

"No scent," the roa'an sent his thoughts. "Winds carry away."

"There's a way up out of the canyon there," Jarren pointed. "I'll take Runner and have a look." He dismounted and took a step, just as a Haira'hem archer became visible above. The Haira'hem wore loose fitting clothing the tan color of sand and copper, of sandstone, hooded, with a scarf covering the features of his face. The winds blowing his silk like garments caused the colors to shift and blend. In an instant he drew his bow and loosed an arrow, narrowly avoiding The Hunter as the arrow struck the ground near his feet. Jarren was already in the saddle, shouting at his companions to ride as a dozen of the desert dwellers appeared above to either side of the narrow canyon.

"Ride! Tia shouted, though everyone was already riding as fast as they could, spurring their horses to a full gallop as the arrows rained down.

"Oh!" Kieran cried out in pain as an arrow grazed her cheek. She could feel the warmth of blood on her face. Her heart was beating fiercely in her chest from the sudden surprise of danger, and fear. But they soon left the ambush behind them, although Jarren kept them riding to put as much distance between them and the Haira'hem as possible. He was about to bring them to a halt when they discovered more of the desert dwellers ahead. They blocked the path armed with spears, another dozen of them.

"Ride through them!" Jarren shouted. And in one fluid motion, as they galloped, Jarren and Tia had both drawn their bows each letting fly two arrows a piece directly at the Haira'hem center. They felled four of the enemy, the last arrows meeting the chests of their ambushers just as the companions burst through their center riding low in their saddles. They rode on for a few moments more, leaving the Haira'hem behind. And then without warning, The Hunter ordered them to keep riding as he brought his horse to a skidding stop, turned hard, and rode back through the canyon toward the ambushers with Runner close behind. A moment later, Drogan cursed and followed.

"Keep riding!" Drogan shouted. "I have to stop him before he gets himself killed!" He drew his sword as he rode. "And he has the sword!" Drogan said to himself. "Reckless, Jarren. Very Reckless!" Jarren did not seem to Drogan, the kind of man to make foolish decisions, but he was truly making one then. He rode back down the canyon with Jarren already out of sight beyond a bend. "Too many of them, Jarren. Even for you, legend or not. I pray you know the Haira'hem as well as I do!"

"This is who I am," Jarren thought as he raced toward the enemy, sword in hand, the big Forever Lands wolf sprinting at his side. The Haira'hem faced him, eight of them. They spread out as he drew near, leveling their spears, and ready to meet his charge. "This is what I do."

When Drogan was around the bend, and Jarren was in sight once more, he slowed his horse. There was Jarren on his knees in the dirt, with his head down, beating a fist into the earth, and surrounded by the bodies of his slain enemy. Runner stood nearby sniffing the body of a Haira'hem. The wolf looked up at Drogan's approach with blood on his muzzle. The Hunter, still on his knees, raised up and threw his hands to the sky. He screamed, an anguished, terrible scream, filled with sorrow. Drogan dismounted, and stood by Jarren amongst the bodies. He wanted to scream at Jarren in rage, but was as saddened for him as he was angry. Deciding his lecture could wait, he put a hand slowly on Jarren's shoulder.

"Come, Jarren." He said. "We have to go. The archers are still out there and likely drawing near." He put a hand under Jarren's arm, helping him rise to his feet. "Let's get out of here." Jarren nodded, and moved to his horse.

"I'm— I'm sorry, Drogan." Jarren raised himself into his saddle. When they turned their horses around, there were the rest of the companions.

"Save it, Jarren." Drogan said. "For the moment, let's just get as far from here as we can."

No one spoke as they rode on, although Kieran did ride next to Jarren with a hand on his shoulder. It was Drogan who called them to a halt as the shadows grew in the canyon beneath the setting sun. They had come upon a deep concave in the rock, and he deemed it would be as good a shelter for the night as any. Kieran was roasting a desert fowl over a fire, occasionally looking up at Jarren who stood at the edge of the concave with his back to them. Tia was inspecting Kieran's cheek. The arrow head had not cut terribly deep, but it would scar. Drogan sat near the fire and watched The Hunter for a while, before finally standing and moving to his side.

"What were you thinking, Jarren?" Drogan asked. Jarren said nothing, only stared toward the canyon wall opposite them. "You could have been killed, Jarren!" He said louder than he intended, but his anger was rising. "The sword could have been taken." He grabbed Jarren's arm and turned him. "Look at me! What were you thinking?"

"I grew angry," Jarren explained.

"You of all people should know that letting your anger consume you as you did, could have ended your life and doomed our mission to failure!"

"It had to be done!" Jarren excused. "They could have followed!"

"The archers may yet!" Drogan said loudly. "But that doesn't matter. You carry the sword with you! What if they had taken it? We need you, Jarren!"

"I know!" Jarren yelled. "I know," he continued more softly. "I let my anger take control— Kieran was hurt." He inhaled a deep breath, and slowly breathed it out. "We're lucky the rest of us made it out unscathed, or alive. My actions were foolish." He placed his hand on Drogan's shoulder. "I appreciate your following after me. Forgive me."

"You're forgiven, Jarren." Drogan turned to look at those behind him. "They're going to need to hear it as well."

"You're right," The Hunter nodded. "And perhaps I should place the sword under another's protection?"

"I think not," Drogan shook his head. "No man can doubt you are a legend for a reason. In the event of danger, I believe you are the most likely to escape with it. That is, as long as you don't repeat your actions of today."

"My actions today, Drogan, are in part why I am a legend. I am not proud of it." Jarren walked away and sat beside Kieran. She did not raise her head, speak, or otherwise acknowledge that he was there. She turned the fowl on a stick over the fire, as Tia cleaned the wound on her cheek. Occasionally she would wince after the elven woman applied too much pressure, but otherwise kept a straight face devoid of emotion. "How do you feel, Kieran?" Jarren asked her. She ignored him, focusing on the fowl and the fire. "I— I apologize for my actions today. I can be a man quick to anger," he explained. "And sometimes, like today, I let that anger consume me."

"You are a monster," Kieran finally spoke, barely above a whisper. Tia stopped tending the wound for a moment as her eyes grew wide, and looked briefly at Jarren. The Hunter was speechless, and felt as though his heart would shatter. "You slaughtered them all— every last one of them. How could anyone do that? We could have just rode away, leaving them far behind."

"I— " He struggled, trying to find the right words. "I am," he said. "Or at the least, I can be a monster." He put a hand to her chin and turned the wounded cheek to the light. "We could all have been killed. You were wounded. I lost my temper. What I did is unforgiveable, but I must ask for it regardless."

"You frightened me to near to death, Jarren." She said. "The attack was one thing, but then your riding off alone was far worse." She allowed a tear to run down a cheek. "I was afraid I might lose you," she whispered. "Leave me be, please, for now." Jarren nodded, and stood. Cursing himself for a fool, for his reckless actions, and for upsetting Kieran, he silently walked away to stand once more at the mouth of the concave. Runner trotted over to sit beside him. "I'm happy you were with me, Runner. One of them nearly had me if not for you." He scratched the large wolf behind one ear.

"I did not mean to call him a monster, Tia." Kieran said as she watched Jarren standing with his back to them.

"I know," Tia said. "You love him." It was not a question.

"Yes," Kieran took a deep breath and let it out slow. "Yes I do."

"Jarren can be a hard man," The elven woman said. "But you bring something out in him, a softer side that I have witnessed as a friend. But it is more so with you. I see it in his eyes, the way he looks at you. He loves you as well, Kieran." She smiled at Kieran, and placed an arm around her shoulders. "What he did today frightened me as well. But I assure you he's angrier and more disgusted at himself, than you, or I, or anyone else is. He knows what his actions may have led to, and he does not take it lightly."

"I was hard on him," Kieran said.

"Well," Tia said. "Perhaps. But no one can really fault you for that. I am quite surprised you didn't raise your voice with him. I wanted to myself. But knowing he upset you, I think, hurt him deeper than any scolding we could have given him."



Jarren rode hard through a canyon, walls of sandstone and rock a blur to either side. He was vaguely aware of Runner sprinting alongside. "Nearly killed us all!" he shouted in his mind. "Kieran was hurt." He urged his mount to run faster, slapping the reins against the animal's flanks with one hand as he held his sword in another. "What am I doing?" he thought. "This is madness! I have to turn back. No, I cannot. They could follow. Kieran was hurt. I need to make an example of them, frighten any others enough to think twice before following us or attacking again." He rounded the bend and the Haira'hem turned at his approach. For a moment he thought they might flee, but upon realizing he was alone, they readied their spears to meet him head on. Still, even alone, the sight of his big chestnut horse barreling down on them would have given many a man pause. Yet they did not run when he and all his companions charged through them before. There was one thing about Haira'hem he knew for certain. They were brave. "Eight of them," he thought. "Too many." It did not matter. He would slay them all or die in the trying. He had faced similar odds before, even greater odds. This was nothing to Jarren The Hunter. "This is who I am," he thought. "This is what I do." Deep down he hated himself for it. He tried to justify that he had killed so many for the greater good. Many that he had slain were evil. Many as well were simply soldiers in an army opposing the army he fought for at the time. He was a killer. "This is who I am," he thought bitterly. He leaned to one side in his saddle as he drew near his enemy. "This is what I do." Runner crashed into the Haira'hem at the instant Jarren did. And as the wolf went for the throat of one, Jarren's sword went for the throat of another, hacking through the haft of a spear in the same swing. He let the horse carry him through and then reined hard, the chestnut charger skidding to a stop and flinging dust into the air. He pulled the horse around to face his foe once more. A Haira'hem ran right at him. Jarren reared his mount and let the horse kick. Heavy hooves found the man's head, and he dropped to the ground unmoving. Another thrust a spear, but Jarren shifted in his saddle and caught the spear in his fist before taking off the spearman's arm with his sword. He finished the man off with his own spear before tossing it into the gut of another. As Runner attacked another just before his spear would have found The Hunter's ribs, so did Jarren, and as the wolf's sharp teeth felled the one, Jarren's sharp blade felled the other. In a matter of seconds, of the eight Haira'hem, only one remained. The last of them turned and ran. Jarren calmly slid out of the saddle, bent to pick up a spear. "This is what I do." He hurled the spear, striking the fleeing man in the back. "All dead," he thought. "We killed them all." He looked at the dead men around him. "I should have let that last one go, I should have let them all go." He stared at the sword in his hand, the blood smeared on the blade. He wiped it clean on one of the bodies and saw his reflection in the steel. What stared back at him was grotesque; a hideous monster. "I'm a monster," he said and fell to his knees. "Kieran said it herself. I'm a monster. He beat at the ground with his fist, screaming his anguish to the One God. "I'm a monster! I'm a monster!" He screamed it over and over again. "I'm a monster!""Wake up, Jarren." A calming voice whispered in his ear. "Wake up." He heard the voice, but continued beating the ground.

"I'm a monster!" he screamed.

"Wake up, Jarren. It is only a dream. Wake up, shhhhhh."

"I'm a monster!" Jarren sat up straight, screaming. Someone put her arms around him, pulling him to herself. "I'm a monster!" he screamed again as the arms held him tight.

"A dream, Jarren." Kieran whispered to him, soothing him. "Only a dream. Only a dream." Jarren leaned back against her and wept.

"I'm sorry," he said. "So sorry. I am a monster."

"No, Jarren. You are not a monster." Kieran wanted to cry for him. "You are not a monster." She held him against her, as the others, awakened from their slumbers by Jarren's shouts looked on. Drogan and Faldrek, who had been standing watch, turned as well. Tia stood and joined the two at the mouth of the concave. She hugged her cloak around her to ward off the cold.

"That was a bad one, it sounds like," she said.

"Do you suppose anyone heard him?" Faldrek asked.

"Perhaps," she replied. "If anyone is down in the canyon as we are. The sound carries through here. Above, perhaps not."

"We'll have to keep a sharp ear open," Drogan nodded. "And our eyes peeled. You should get some rest, Tia."

"No," she said. "I wasn't sleeping well anyway. And I have better eyes and ears than you both. I suppose I'll join you for a while."

"Has he always been like this?" Faldrek asked, looking toward Jarren and Kieran.

"For as long as I've known him," she answered. "His dreams seem to be coming more frequent however."

"What kind of man is he, really?" Drogan asked.

"I suppose he is simply a man," she said. "I would like to say he is a good man, an honorable man. Perhaps more so than others. But he has done things in his past that even he is not proud of. What he did today is likely one of those things. He has a good heart, and he's genuinely caring of others, wants to do what is right and good, not only by himself but what is right by the One God as well. He strives for that. Yet his relationship with the One God is a struggle. He feels unworthy because of the things he's done." She was silent a moment, then continued. "It's the things he has done in his past that cause his nightmares."

"Ah, yes." Faldrek nodded. "Many soldiers struggle with dreams and situations that are stressful. I have been known to relive a few of my own."

"And I have as well," Drogan agreed. "Perhaps someday the dreams will trouble us no more." The three of them all nodded their heads in agreement.

"I pray so," Tia said. She looked back at Kieran and Jarren. She still held him against her, a look of sorrow upon her face as Jarren slept once more. Her tears fell upon Jarren's face, mixing with his own, creating a tiny river of sadness that flowed down his cheek and dropped off his chin. "I pray when I can once again hold Lian, my betrothed, that our tears are of joy and not such sorrow."

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With Rylos to the north and the Barren Wastes to the south, the small company of skraeg with Andorin at their lead picked their way carefully through the Borderwood. There was always the possibility of detection by Rylosian hunters, or Haira'hem loyal to the One God, and if discovered, Andorin might never make it to Belkarus, whom he hoped would give him a command in his army. He had hoped his prisoners, the young woman from Misting Hill and the young priest would grant him favor in Belkarus's eyes. But that plan had failed. He had killed the priest when he tried to prevent him from taking Annyaa. She was eventually rescued by Drogan near Ravenhold. His followers had all been killed or imprisoned. If they were lucky they would live the rest of their days in a rat infested dungeon in Grey Home. But then, to Andorin, that would be worse than death. He had burned the temples and killed priests as a show of his loyalty to Xandrous and Belkarus, but he had not a single witness to his deeds. Belkarus would have to take him at his word. Still— Annyaa had been a hindrance. As much as he hated to have lost her, he was also pleased she was gone. Despite her hitting him in the face with an empty flagon, she was quite innocent in nature, although she sometimes had a sharp tongue. "You are a pitiful human being. I have been afraid all this time—but now I wonder if perhaps I should just feel sorry for you." she had said to him. She of course had been afraid still; she cried and sniffled and shook, and prayed to her god to be rescued. She wept for herself, and wept for her friend, the priest. He had not intended to kill him, but under the circumstances, what choice did he have? "Why am I even thinking about it?" he wondered. "Why am I even thinking about her, and why should I even care? She was nothing but cargo. A small present for Belkarus to do with as he pleased, whether to keep her, enslave her, or give her to his army. Drogan my old brother at arms, I should have killed you long ago. Perhaps someday I'll get that chance." He shook his head. Likely, he would never lay eyes on Drogan again. Even if they fought in opposing armies, those armies were large; they may be on the same field, but on opposite ends between a raging sea of struggling bodies. "What does it matter?" he thought. "—but now I wonder if perhaps I should just feel sorry for you." Annyaa had said. He shook his head angrily, trying to clear it of his thoughts. "She is just a stupid girl," he thought. "What do I care what she thinks? I care for one person, myself." And he cared about a command in Belkarus's army, a company, a cavalry, perhaps achieving the rank of captain or even general. He grinned, relishing the thought. With rank came power and with power came riches.

His thoughts of power were interrupted by a piercing cry above; a sound akin to a screech and a roar combined. He and the skraeg crouched low, looking to the sky, trying to peer through the canopy of trees above them. Two shapes, massive and winged, one black and one white, were interlocked and tumbling to the ground below them. Dragons. Downward they spun and rolled and struggled against each other, biting, clawing, and breathing fire until just before they both would have crashed through the trees, the black suddenly released himself from the white. The beating of its massive wings pounded at the canopy and the ground below causing snow, ice, and small branches to explode upward and out. Andorin shielded himself with his cloak, kneeling and turning his face away from the stinging debris. Yards away the white dragon crashed through the trees to the snow, sending another explosion into the faces of Andorin and the skraeg. The black dragon soared away with a roar of triumph. Startled, the skraeg turned to run, but Andorin's shout brought them up short.

"Do not run!" he commanded. They looked uneasily behind them. "Let's take a look," Andorin said. He walked through the trees, leading his horse behind, toward the massive shape before them. As they drew near, Andorin's horse became too frightened to move any closer to the dragon. It reared and kicked, pulling on the reins in a stubborn attempt to break free and run. He was forced to hand the reins to one of the skraeg who would stay behind. As they drew closer, the dragon was breathing laboriously. It opened one massive eye and stared. Weakened and grievously injured, it attempted to raise its head, but if fell back to the snow with a thud. The skraeg refused to move any closer, but Andorin walked within a yard of the huge head and stared back at the dragon. "You are dying," he said aloud. Deep bloody wounds were rent in the scales along its body and across its face, deep red rips and slices and puncture wounds marring the white, blue, and grey scales. The thick blood ran like thin streams into the snow, where it pooled under and around the great creature.

"Yes," the dragon answered.

"How does it feel?" Andorin asked with a smile. The dragon looked long at Andorin and then let its gaze sweep over the skraeg behind him.

"You have a wicked heart, human." It made a sound similar to a cough, red liquid sprayed forth between its teeth. "If you must know, human, it is painful. However, I go to be with the One God." It affixed it's eyes on Andorin and slowly turned its head to face him. "Where will you go when you leave this world?" It coughed again, spraying Andorin with blood. Startled, Andorin jumped back. He wiped his face on his cloak. "Where, human, will you go?" The dragon asked again. Then it closed its eyes and shuddered, and the breathing stopped. Andorin stared long at the dead dragon, before becoming angry and kicking it.

"Take off its head." He turned to the skraeg behind. "It will make a nice trophy for Belkarus's wall." The skraeg refused to draw any nearer. "It's dead!" Andorin shouted. "Forget it. I'll take its cursed head myself. He snatched an axe from one of the skraeg and began hacking at the dragon's thick, trunk-like neck. The dragon's last words echoed in his head. "Where, human, will you go? Where, human, will you go? Where, human, will you go?" The words repeated with every stroke of the axe. Andorin's anger grew with each strike. "Where, human, will you go?"

"Where, human, will you go?"





©Anthony David Rosenthal/To The Valley Of Dragons 2010