Dragon Heartstone > Chapter 14–Destinations

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Faline shivered in the morning cold, looking out at the stray bits of mist rising from the gurgling waters of the Silver River. She’d had strange dreams, though even having dreams was a novelty. Centuries of relying on dark magic for sustenance meant she did not need sleep. But now, she had no choice. Her memory dimly recalled what dreaming had been like when she was a child and even a young adult before figuring out how to tap the raw potential of a world beyond the Mordwahl. Even so, her experience last night was unique and troubling–she had dreamt of being attacked but was saved by something or someone. At first, she gave the episode no importance, attributing it to being overly tired. But she quickly revised that opinion.

The shield spell she had cast on the cave entrance had disappeared like it had not been there. But that couldn’t be. Spells simply didn’t vaporize . . . or could they? Admittedly, her spell-making capability was limited without access to Dark Magic. A circumstance she’d have to rectify at some point. But a return to the Mouth of the Mordwahl would not happen any time soon.

She shook her head. Stay focused.

No, she’d simply not cast a sufficiently strong spell, and as frustrating and annoying as that was, at least she was none the worse for it. Still, she needed to keep moving, for her objective lay between her current location and the Black Shadow Mountains. The sooner she could get where she needed to, the closer she’d be to recoup her lost power. But first, part two of her original plan demanded her attention, which meant at least another day of looking for the Shatain. Pulling her cloak around her, she slipped off the ridge and descended to the north road trail. The rising sun burnt off the river fog and warmed her sore muscles. Chanting spells for speed and endurance, she hustled toward the Black Shadow Mountains, even as the sun barely topped the trees along the northern edge of Bretagne. Another day or two at this rate would bring her close to Keihl.

Her shadows trailed behind, caught up by noon, and raced ahead toward the eastern horizon by late afternoon. When the long shadows prodded the trees ahead of her, she stopped. Ignoring the pain and fatigue of the day’s efforts, she bent her efforts to call out to the Shatain. For several minutes, she stretched herself, clawing for contact, and then it happened. The feeling of familiarity, response, and recognition. Yes, I’ve done it.

She called them to her.

They answered, “We are coming.”

Tears painted her cheeks, not of joy or satisfaction but of relief. They would take her back to where she could once again seize control of her destiny, gain what she deserved, and become the once and future Queen of Westfal.

* * *

The High Constable of Drachnor, Banoch, watched the last of his troops disgorged from the pass through the Black Shadow Mountains. They looked weary yet still in high spirits. But that did not disguise the fact that they were footsore and hungry and needed to establish a camp near a water source. The most apparent choice lay ten miles away, at the headwaters of the Tenoachian River, where it poured down the icy slopes of the Bear Fang Mountains. His eyes caught no sight of the Shatain, those black-clad nightmares who enforced Faline’s authority, even when the she-witch was absent. For that, he thanked the Creator. Traversing the Black Shadow’s high-rocky passes would have been worse under her constant surveillance.

He raised his spyglass to scout the way west and groaned. Several miles away, upon the road, three figures appeared, two of whom he instantly recognized as Shatain. The center looked small and out of place. But then the hood fell back, and features came into view. From under loosely flowing blonde hair, green eyes stared out toward him with such intensity that a shiver sailed down his spine even this far away.

So, she was back. Banoch sighed and lowered the spyglass. The inevitability of the situation weighed on his heart. They might not be here if she had not bewitched the King of Drachnor. Even worse, her arrival meant that the next step in her plan was about to become a reality. He twisted in the saddle, raised the spyglass again, and scanned the southwestern horizon.

Keihl stood several miles away in a valley bisected by the Tenoachian River, the gateway into northern Bretagne. Smoke rose from the inner city as wood fires pushed out the lingering autumnal cold. His practiced eyes surveyed the defenses. Outer walls encircled the town, through which passed secondary roads. These narrow-rutted paths snaked through tenant farmlands up to the tall, imposing inner walls enclosing the city proper. He had no doubt they could breach the outer walls quickly, but those inner walls would be a challenge. The trip through the mountain necessitated leaving siege equipment behind. How were they supposed to overcome such defenses? He snapped the spyglass shut. Such questions he would pose to the she-witch. She would have to devise a solution if she genuinely wanted the city. He just hoped it would not involve wasting more of his soldiers’ lives.