Well, for the most part, anyway.
“Thanks. I’m sure I’ll find a use for it.” I added the dagger to the front compartment, sandwiched between the food and my bedroll.
And then it was time to leave. I didn’t say goodbye. I never did. The last time I’d spoken that word, it had been far too final. A farewell I could never take back.
“See you soon, then,” I said.
I grabbed the yokes and hauled the heavy wagon down the windy, dust-caked road, wheels rattling with every step. I didn’t give in to the temptation to look over my shoulder. I could picture the image clearly enough. Rivelin and Daella would be standing at the base of the stairs that led into their blacksmith shop, wistful tears in their eyes. Rivelin’s jaw would be tight. Daella would hook her arm around his waist and drop her head to his chest, and they’d stand there watching me until I was nothing more than a speck of dust on the horizon, driven onward by my unending wanderlust.
* * *
The wagon jolted to a stop. Frowning, I looked down. A muddy, leaf-clogged section of the road had caught one of the wheels. I released my grip on the yokes and sagged against them, wiping the sweat from my brow. Already, the sky was fading into a dusky blue and a bitter wind snapped at my cheeks. I’d only been traveling for a few hours; it was always harder during autumn. A week’s travel could turn into two—sometimes three.
I grabbed Mabel’s parcel from the wagon—now cold—and took stock of my surroundings. The oak trees of the Ashborn Forest loomed around me, blocking what little light was left. Darkness pulsed from the dense brush on either side of the road, and the distant snap of twigs echoed like a drumbeat.
A shiver went through me. I didn’t much like this part of the journey. Once I was through the forest, it was all rolling plains and castle ruins for a few days, horizons that felt endless and full of hope. But this place felt suffocating. Shadows seemed to form faces in the woods. ‘Course, I’d always had an overactive imagination, especially as a child.
And it wasn’t as if I wascompletelyalone.
I brought my fingers to my lips and released a high-pitched whistle. The noise rent the silence, and a shriek answered from the deepening sky. I pulled out two of Mabel’s pasties and nibbled on one. The tops of the trees began to shake.
A dragon soared over the canopy, his membranous wings pumping on either side of his scaly form. He swooped low at a frightening speed, his beady eyes trained on my face. I lifted the second pasty and smiled. In answer, he opened his maw and revealed dozens of teeth as sharp as any blade. He loosed a roar that would have sent even the bravest man running.
Luckily, I was no man.
“Hello, Reykur,” I purred.
He thundered onto the road. Heat stormed toward me, thawing my nose. Shaking his head, he inched toward me, his talons churning the dirt. But he stopped several feet away—he’d burn me if he came any closer.
Only orcs, like Daella, could safely touch dragons.
I tossed him Mabel’s treat. He caught it mid-air and swallowed it whole, not bothering to chew the thing. Then I swore he batted his red eyes at me, as if asking for another.
I laughed. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you? Well, I guess I shouldn’t complain. Without you, I’d freeze when winter comes.”
Only a few people knew my little secret—Rivelin, Daella, and a friend of mine in Riverwold named Nilsa. Reykur liked to follow me around when I travelled, at least during the colder months. During summer, he spent more time soaring through the skies. Often, I wouldn’t see him for weeks. But during the shortest days and coldest nights, he rarely strayed far from my side.
I’d never asked for his help, of course. One day, several years back, he’d just shown up. Ever since, he’d been following me around. His internal fire meant I didn’t need to worry about frost or snow swallowing up a campfire. And I could sleep in my wagon instead of outside on the ground.
The bag crinkled as I extracted another pasty. Reykur watched me greedily, his forked tongue slashing at the ground.
But then his head swung up. He went preternaturally still, his eyes locking on the road behind me. The unmistakable rumble of wagon wheels soon followed. Frowning, I turned and peered into the gathering dark. Who else from Wyndale would be traveling on this road so late in the year, and this close to nightfall? Surely Rivelin and Daella hadn’t decided to join me. I couldn’t imagine my brother leaving his beloved forge for a few months.
“You best get scarce.” I turned back to Reykur and tossed him the second pastry, then tucked the nearly empty bag into my wagon. “If it’s not someone from Wyndale, well…I don’t want to think about what they might do.”
And even then, they didn’t much like him there, what with him burning down someone’s house a few years back. It hadn’t been his fault, but some of the residents there were still wary of him.
The emerald scales along Reykur’s snout burned red, his internal fire flaring to life.
I shook my head at him. “Don’t be so testy. They just don’t understand you mean them no harm, all right? But one day they will.”
He snorted, swung his head around to show me his ridged back, then leapt from the ground. Only a moment later, his winged form vanished into the leaden clouds above. The heat seeped from the air, replaced by a chill so deep it pierced my bones. Shivering, I tugged my cloak around my body and knelt beside my wagon wheel. It had sunk even further into the mud while I’d been distracted.
Sighing, I scooped some of it away from the wheel, then tried to tug the wagon forward. It didn’t budge.
The distant clattering grew louder. With a frustrated sigh, I tried to pull the wagon again, sweat gathering, muscles straining. Breath hissed through my clenched teeth. I used every ounce of strength I could find, and absolutely nothing happened. The wagon didn’t even twitch.
“There a problem?” an unfamiliar voice called out from the rear of the wagon. The rattling stopped, replaced by the heavy thud of footsteps.
