Chapter Eleven: The Falling Frost Dragon

  Ash's eyes snapped open in the darkness. His heart pounded against his ribs as he listened intently, certain he had heard something threatening. For a terrible moment, his mind filled with images of a creature shrouded in black descending from the night sky, purple fire spewing from its maw. The memory of kobolds attacking their camp, of blood and screams, remained fresh in his thoughts.

  But as he strained his ears, the sound resolved itself into something else entirely. A soft, low whining filled the night air. Crying, he realized after a moment. Someone was sobbing nearby.

  "Shh, it's okay. Shh," came Rosalia's voice, so gentle and filled with compassion that it seemed to float on the cool night breeze.

  Ash turned his head within his bedroll, peering through lidded eyes across the darkened campsite. The embers of their evening fire cast just enough orange glow to reveal Will's huddled form. The other boy was curled into himself, shoulders shaking with quiet, whimpering sobs. Tears glistened on his cheeks in the dying firelight.

  "She's gone," Will repeated, his voice broken and hollow with loneliness. "She's gone..."

  Rosalia sat beside him, one hand rubbing circles on his back. Her silhouette was soft against the night, her pointed ears occasionally twitching as she listened for any sounds beyond their small camp.

  Ash turned his head away, a knot forming in his throat. The simple truth was that he understood exactly how Will felt. He knew the emptiness, the yawning void that loss created. His aunt and uncle, their farm, their sheep, their peaceful life, all of it gone in a single night of violence and fire. More than once during these past nights, he too had wanted to break down and cry, to let the grief wash over him until there was nothing left.

  But each time the feeling threatened to overwhelm him, he had swallowed it down, forcing it deep inside where it hardened like ice. Instead of surrendering to sorrow, he resolved to channel everything into training, into becoming stronger.

  What Amalia had said earlier hadn't registered with him at the time. Her words had seemed cold, uncaring, just another example of her detached attitude. But as he reflected on them now, lying in his bedroll with the sounds of Will's grief filling the air, he came to what felt like an inevitable conclusion.

  She was right.

  He couldn't change what had happened. The dead remained dead. Though he would seek answers, though vengeance burned in his heart like a frozen flame, his first priority had to be ensuring such tragedy never struck again. Not to him, not to those he cared about.

  He would do that by becoming powerful. So powerful that nothing could threaten him or those around him ever again. Magic or no magic.

  A cool breeze rustled the leaves overhead. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted softly. With this new resolve hardening in his chest, Ash allowed himself to drift off to sleep. The heaviness of exhaustion pulled at him, dragging him down into unconsciousness.

  Dreams came quickly. Fire consuming everything in its path. Dark figures moving through smoke. A beautiful woman with silver-white scales instead of skin, armor gleaming like starlight. Another woman on a horse, clutching something small to her chest as she galloped through the night. These images swirled through his mind, familiar yet foreign, as if they belonged to someone else's memories.

  When morning came, it brought with it Amalia's announcement.

  "We are two days away from Brilehaven, but we will not be going anywhere for the next week."

  The group had just finished a meager breakfast of dried meat and hard bread. Ash was still stretching his stiff limbs, working out the soreness from sleeping on the unforgiving ground. Amalia stood before them, staff planted firmly in the earth, her black robes perfectly unwrinkled despite their recent travels.

  "Um, what? Why?" Rosalia asked, her ears twitching in confusion. The half-elven girl sat cross-legged on a fallen log, her red hair freshly braided.

  Nick ran a thumb over his sheathed hammer before crossing his arms across his broad chest. The morning sunlight glinted off his dark skin as he frowned.

  "I'd also like to know. An inn would be far preferable than the light cursed ground. It hurts my back." The dwarf shifted uncomfortably, emphasizing his point.

  Will pointed at Nick and nodded vigorously, with Ash joining in the silent protest. He had no desire to sleep outside if he didn't have to. The ground was hard, the night air cold, and strange noises kept waking him just as he began to drift off. A proper bed sounded like paradise.

  Amalia's face remained impassive as she endured their complaints, her violet eyes betraying nothing of her thoughts. She stood still as a statue, waiting patiently until they had voiced all their grievances. When she felt they were done, she finally spoke.

  "It's because you all need more training, and that training includes living outdoors. Adventurers often travel, and their only option is to sleep outside. Sometimes they even stay inside dungeons." Her voice was matter-of-fact, without a hint of sympathy. "When we get to Brilehaven, we are going to take a monster contract, and you need to be prepared for it."

  Rosalia's face paled visibly, the freckles across her nose standing out starkly against her suddenly bloodless skin. Ash's jaw fell open, and he shared a shocked glance with the others. They had only just survived an attack on their homes. The wounds, both physical and mental, were still fresh.

  "A monster contract? Do you want us to die! I'm too pretty to die!" Will exclaimed, pointing dramatically at his face, his usual humor barely masking the fear in his eyes.

  Amalia did not laugh. Not even a twitch of her lips acknowledged Will's joke.

  "You won't die," she said flatly. "You handled kobolds well enough. You will be able to handle this with careful preparation and diligent training."

  Amalia stood still as they continued protesting, various objections tumbling from their lips. Nick cursed colorfully, invoking the Light and Shadow in ways that would have made Ash's aunt wash his mouth with soap. Rosalia tried to reason with her, pointing out their inexperience and lack of proper equipment. Will simply kept repeating that they weren't ready.

  After allowing them to vent for a few moments longer, Amalia raised a hand. Instantly, all noise ceased, as if she had cast some spell of silence over them.

  "You act as if you have a choice," she said, her tone unchanging. "I am older than you, I know more than you do. If you wish to fulfill my condition and become bronze ranked adventurers, you will listen to me. Otherwise, I will stop helping you. Thus, you would be on your own. I feel you would not get very far then."

  Ash brought his brows together in a scowl, frustration building within him like ice forming on a winter lake. She was right, and she knew it, too. Ash hated that, even more so because she didn't even have the common courtesy to look smug about it. That would have at least given him something tangible to direct his anger toward. Instead, her face remained as blank and unreadable as ever, denying him even the satisfaction of knowing she felt superior.

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  The others came to the same conclusion as reluctant acceptance wrote itself on their faces. Will's shoulders slumped in defeat, Rosalia sighed softly, and Nick muttered another curse under his breath.

  Amalia tapped her staff on the ground, the soft thud punctuating their surrender.

  "Let's begin."

  The following days blurred together in a haze of aching muscles and sweat. Amalia drove them relentlessly from dawn until dusk, barely allowing them time to eat or rest. They ran until their lungs burned, practiced fighting stances until their legs trembled, and sparred until their arms felt like lead weights.

  By the third day, Ash noticed that while they all showed some aptitude with various weapons, Nick struggled considerably with the sword. His movements were stiff, his attacks clumsy and telegraphed. Even Will, who seemed more interested in making jokes than training seriously, showed more natural ability.

  Amalia had noticed too. On the fourth day of their training, she approached Nick with a thoughtful expression, the closest thing to emotion Ash had seen on her face.

  "Master Al'Smith, I can see that it is going to be impossible for you to learn the sword, and so I will permit you to use a hammer, as well as this." Amalia produced a shield from thin air, handing it to Nick who grunted, running a hand over the wooden surface.

  The shield was simple but sturdy, its surface unmarked save for a small insignia in the center that Ash couldn't quite make out from where he stood. Nick slipped his left arm through the strap and nodded to Amalia, his face lighting up with something approaching enthusiasm for the first time since they'd begun training.

  "I like the feel of this," he said, testing the weight and balance.

  "Mm. Yes, I figured you would," Amalia replied. "It serves a dual purpose, as Master Lorcan will have to figure out a way around it." She flicked her violet eyes to Ash's blue gaze. "I expect you to meet the challenge."

  Ash didn't acknowledge her, as he was already thinking of how to get around the shield. From what he'd observed during training, Nick tended to keep his right side open, especially when he moved forward to attack. If Ash could feint to the left, drawing the shield in that direction, he might be able to slip around and strike from the right.

  Nick set his metal hammer on the ground in favor of a wooden one Amalia gave him. The practice weapon looked less deadly than his own hammer, but still substantial enough to cause serious pain if it connected.

  "Begin!" Amalia called.

  Nick didn't bother with any kind of stance, he just advanced, shield raised and steady. He tried to whack Ash with his hammer, a straightforward attack that telegraphed his intentions clearly. Ash dodged around it with a couple of quick steps to the right, lashing out with his blade toward Nick's exposed side.

  To his surprise, Nick must have expected something like this because he turned, catching the blow with a hollow thud on his shield.

  "Not bad, farmboy," Nick grinned, though there was strain in his voice from the impact.

  They continued this dance for several minutes. Nick would advance, shield raised, attempting to bash Ash with the hammer or knock him off balance with the shield. Ash would dodge, weave, and attempt to find an opening, only for Nick to block or parry just in time.

  Frustration built up in Ash like layers of frost accumulating on a frozen pond. Each failed attack, each solid thud of his blade against Nick's shield, added to the growing irritation inside him. The others had stopped their own training to watch, which only made it worse.

  Finally, something inside him snapped. Anger and instinct drove him forward. Instead of trying to get around the shield as he had been, he attacked it directly, bringing his sword down in a furious blow. The impact sent a jarring sensation up his arms, but he could feel the shield give slightly.

  Without pausing, he followed through with a second strike, displacing the shield enough to slip his sword through the gap. His wooden blade landed solidly against Nick's ribs, the impact sending the dwarf sprawling to the ground with a grunt of pain and surprise.

  The dwarf cursed, sputtering angrily as he pushed himself up on one elbow, his face flushed with pain and embarrassment.

  "Light take you, Ash! That's going to bruise!"

  Before Nick could fully direct his pained ire at Ash, Amalia stepped between them, her face still unreadable.

  "The hand and a half sword has more reach, by attacking the shield, you can displace it," she explained, gesturing to Ash's weapon. "This creates more opportunities for the sword wielder to land critical blows, as just demonstrated by Master Lorcan."

  She turned her full attention to Ash then, studying him with those penetrating violet eyes, as if he were some curious specimen she had discovered in the wild.

  "The form you just used is known as the falling frost dragon. It is a form used primarily for offense coming from a high guard." She tilted her head slightly. "With hardly any prior training and no one having shown you that method of attack..." Amalia trailed off before turning away, leaving whatever conclusion she had drawn unspoken.

  As she walked toward Rosalia and Will to continue their training, Ash helped Nick to his feet. The dwarf winced as he stood, rubbing his side where the practice blade had struck him.

  "I supposed I can't be too mad, losing to a Light-cursed prodigy," Nick muttered, but there was a grudging respect in his voice that hadn't been there before.

  Ash wasn't sure how to respond to that. He hadn't thought of himself as a prodigy, he had simply reacted. Something about holding a sword in his hand felt natural, as if the weapon were just an extension of his own arm. But he had no training, no experience beyond the few days with Amalia, so how could he have known a formal fighting technique?

  The rest of the day passed in a blur of exercises, drills, and sparring matches. By the time evening fell, bringing with it a cool breeze and the chirping of nocturnal insects, Ash's body ached all over, but there was a strange satisfaction in the pain. Each twinge and soreness was a sign of growth, of becoming stronger.

  After a simple meal of stew cooked over the campfire, they gathered for their final lesson of the day. Usually, this was when they practiced drawing elar from their elan, but tonight Amalia held up a hand before they could begin.

  "Can anyone tell me how many kingdoms make up Dominion?" she asked, her gaze moving from one face to another.

  Ash looked at the others, finding them equally as confused as he was. They had discussed many things during their journey, from monsters to magic to the tragic events that had brought them together, but they had never delved into the politics or geography of their world. Growing up on a farm, Ash had never needed to know about distant lands or foreign rulers.

  "I suppose you only need an understanding of local geography to farm," Amalia said, correctly interpreting their silence. "Very well, here are the very basics. The question I asked is a trick question, as there is only one kingdom on Dominion, the one we are in now, Aleria. There are, however, three other nations, or world powers you might call them. There is the Elendari Nation, home of the elves, and there is Errundus, where the dwarves dwell. Finally, we have Alzura, home of the visenium."

  Ash tried to commit these names to memory, wondering why Amalia felt this information was important now. Perhaps they would be crossing borders soon, though he couldn't imagine why they would need to leave Aleria to hunt a monster.

  "Now, practice drawing elar, and get used to the feeling," she continued, her eyes moving from one student to the next. She paused when her gaze fell on Ash, something unreadable flickering in the purple depths. "Tomorrow you use your elar in weapons training."

  Ash gritted his teeth, frustration building inside him once more. How was he supposed to use something he couldn't even access? Every attempt he had made to draw elar from his elan had ended in failure.

  But he did not voice his anger. Instead, he closed his eyes and turned inward as he had so many times before since finding his elan.

  The orb of winter-blue light was there, as always, pulsing gently within the depths of his mind. Once again, he found it with ease, its chill presence as familiar to him now as his own heartbeat. And once again, he could not draw upon it.

  However, as he stared at it with his mind's eye, he felt like he was beginning to understand why. He couldn't be certain, but it felt like there was a chasm between him and that winter orb of power within him, a vast gulf that he could not cross. When he reached forth a mental hand, extending it toward the orb, he could not breach that gap no matter how he strained.

  He needed a bridge, a way to get over that mental chasm.

  With his thoughts, he constructed a mental image of one, a sturdy walkway of ice and stone spanning the darkness that separated him from his power. He tried to lay it over the gap, willing it into existence through sheer determination.

  But just as he thought it might work, the bridge crumbled, falling into that great chasm and breaking apart into a thousand mental shards. He blew out a breath through his nose, frustration building within him once more.

  He tried again, and again, and again, each attempt ending in the same failure. The bridge would form, seem solid for a moment, then collapse into nothingness, leaving the chasm as impassable as ever.

  Finally, exhaustion overcame determination, and he opened his eyes, admitting defeat for now. Across the fire, he could see Nick and Rosalia with expressions of wonder on their faces, clearly experiencing something he could not. Even Will, for all his joking and apparent lack of seriousness, had a look of concentration that suggested he was connecting with his elar.

  Only Ash remained cut off, separated from his power by a gulf he could not cross.

  Sometimes it didn't matter how many times you tried to fix something, he thought bitterly. Some things were just too broken to ever be fixed.

  As he prepared his bedroll for another night on the hard ground, he wondered if he was that broken thing. If perhaps there was something fundamentally wrong with him that prevented him from accessing his elar. The thought settled over him like a cold shroud as he drifted off into an uneasy sleep, dreams of fire and darkness waiting to claim him once more.