‘Fine, I’ll stay. Two weeks. A month at most.’ He lowered his head as if weighing what to say next. ‘My life is in Truso now, with Sana and the mages. My work… it matters. I have so much to learn and so much to teach.’
‘A month it is,’ I said. ‘After that, your people can choose their next leader – one they’re willing to follow.’
He nodded, and I closed my eye for a moment, enjoying the silence.
‘I thought I’d be happy returning here… but Wiosna will never be the same, and Sana will never leave Truso.’ Tova’s murmur was filled with sadness and resignation.
‘Our expectations rarely survive confronting reality.’ I smiled when he frowned. ‘Come, Master Orenson, it is time to help your people embrace the change. I’ll leave you to do the talking.’
Tova cursed under his breath when I called for the soldiers, ordering them to clear the cots and gather all remaining citizens of Wiosna in the old infirmary. Once they’d arrived, I was surprised by how many there were – dwarves from the mines, those Tova freed from the cells, and the people hiding from Mlot’s oppression in the forest filled the space. The numbers weren’t enough to support a city this large, but it was a start.
When I asked if these were the only survivors, an elder moved forward, bowing before me. ‘There are more, sire, hidden in the forest or living beyond the mad king’s reach. If you’ll forgive me, Your Majesty, most aren’t so trusting of an invading king. We came to judge the situation Wiosna will be facing now.’ The heaviness I hadn’t realised I was carrying lifted from my shoulders, but not just mine.
Tova’s posture straightened, and he looked at the gathered dwarves. ‘Report back to those in the forest. There’s a blizzard coming our way, and it’s a bad one. We’re offering shelter to any and all who wish to return home. The humans of Dagome are not here to take our home or rule us. Call your brethren; tell themWiosna, the city of honest work and rich rewards, is free again. All are welcome.’
My presence was no longer necessary. I withdrew from the room, leaving the buzz of questions, shuffling feet, and cautious hope behind. The back room, with its compact desk, chair, and cot, was perfect for a moment of quiet solitude. The sleepless nights and fighting a battle had left me exhausted, my muscles aching from my berserker rampage. It was too much, and I felt every wound and bruise I’d sustained.
I removed my breastplate and lay down on the bed, using my cloak as a blanket. The cloth was thick and warm, its furred collar tickling my ears as I settled in.
I was just dozing off when a knock broke the silence.
‘How can I help you?’ I asked when an older woman slid in carrying a package wrapped in cloth.
‘I’d like you to read this, my lord. Wiosna might look like a ruin, but it wasn’t always this way. I want you to understand… we’re not bad people, or stupid ones, just misled.’ She extended her hands, holding what looked like a journal. The book was thick and damaged, with loose papers sticking out in various directions, but she held it with such hope in her eyes that I took it without a word.
The woman bowed and rushed out, leaving me alone with the heavy book. The loose pages were coated with rock dust and crumbling in my hands. I opened the cover, unsure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t a square dwarven runic inscription. I knew enough about the dwarven language to decipher simple sentences and make sense of the rest of the script. The first entry was dated right after the war.
The mages brought about all this: the monsters, the woe, the death. Why do I still feel the fangs of the Moroi on my neck when it’s already dead?
The next few pages were smudged, but a note was added a month later.
The healers have no answers, or they refuse to give them to me, but I found the truth. Srebrec-infused bandages keep the infection from spreading…
A row of numbers on the next page confused me until I remembered the reports from the last war. It was the number of soldiers he’d lost. The sum was staggering.
Tivala came yesterday, bringing those preceptors with him. They have the cure. Finally, I can think again. The wound is no longer burning. I was a fool following Reynard into his war, or maybe he’s the fool for trusting the mages trying to control his kingdom, but not mine… never mine. The srebrec will stop them. They’ll never have my Wiosna.
I swallowed hard, reading through pages and pages of incoherent rambling, all filled with a fear and distrust that grew into paranoia with every visit of ‘his ally in the Brotherhood’ who supplied the medicine for his rotting flesh.
I sat there, horrified. Mlot, sick and struggling in the war’s aftermath, had lost his way, only for Tivala and his “preceptors” to take advantage, offering a cure that only made things worse. He’d been poisoned, slowly, deliberately, and with a cruelty that almost destroyed two nations. I paused, looking at the wall where a healer’s drawing of a dwarven body hung. I couldn’t read any further.
My hands trembled when I closed the journal. I didn’t regret enlisting Mlot’s help, but I should have kept in touch afterwards. Not just with him, but with all our allies. If Tivala used Jagon here, who knows what he did to the Dark and Light Fae? I thought of our issues with the Care’etavos Empire and the Lumivitae Kingdom, issues that felt so… out of character.
The hair on my neck rose with the terrible realisation.
‘Fuck! That old bastard,’ I whispered, tugging at my gambeson’s laces, desperately fighting to breathe, to remove the suffocating certainty that I’d been played.
A small letter, singed during the battle, fell onto the floor. It was Sana’s letter. Even stained with my blood and carrying the distinctive smell of burnt paper, it still held her scent, lilac and honey, instantly calming my senses. I tried to unfold it, but the paper crumbled, leaving the text too fragmented to decipher.
Cinared?I asked, reaching out to my dragon’s mind.Will you take me to the capital?
Do you think just because we bonded, I’ll let you ride me?His reptilian voice carried an amused undertone, but his words were confusing.
Didn’t you just choose me as your rider? That’s what riders do, isn’t it? Ride their dragons?Through the bond, I sensed him landing on one of the lower terraces.
I chose you as my companion, a soul bound to mine… But riding? Some of my kin let their humans do that, but I’m yet to be mounted by any man,he answered, pride saturating his thoughts.Meet me on the plateau at the bottom of the mountain. Let’s see if you’re worthy of being my rider.
I walked outside carrying Mlot’s journal. Tova and Ivar stood by the infirmary in discussion with the city’s elder while soldiers carried wood and supplies to the empty houses. I handed the journal to Tova. ‘This is your king’s testimony… his journey into madness. Maybe you’ll find something helpful between those pages.’ Tova hesitated but then took it with a frown. ‘Work with Ivar. He’ll task a unit of guards to escort you back when you’re ready. I’m returning to Truso,’ I said, gesturing for my commander to come closer.
