“You’d be surprised.” The dragon’s reply arrived as the darkness threatened to overwhelm him.

  Before it did, the dragon folded its wings and dropped.

  “Are you hurt?” Valan asked.

  “Busy.”

  Not. Helpful, Valan thought, but if the dragon caught that thought, he didn’t reply.

  Instead, he flared his wings, abruptly ending his drop, his claws rattling on stone as his hindquarters settled and he furled his wings.

  “Hold on a little longer,” it ordered, setting one forepaw on the ground and moving awkwardly out of the late afternoon sun.

  It was hard, for while they were out of the icy upper sky, the chill there had settled bone deep, and still clung. Valan’s teeth chattered and he felt too tired to raise his head and look around. He tried, but his eyes kept drifting closed.

  He was aware of stone walls enclosing them, and the air growing slightly warmer…and darkness. It was almost comforting, less like being buried and more like…

  Like entering the tunnels and finding sanctuary, Valan thought, as the dragon shifted.

  The abrupt fall and sudden landing drove all thoughts of sanctuary from Valan’s mind, as did his sister’s cry.

  “Valan!”

  How she wasn’t frozen to the bone, he didn’t know, but his own movements were sluggish as he scrambled away from sudden appearance and approach.

  “Stupid boy,” she scolded, reaching down and grabbing him by the arm. “At least let me help you up.”

  Seeing as there was no stopping her, Valan complied, looking for the dragon as he did so.

  He didn’t have to look very far. The creature had shifted to human form and the Northman was watching them, head cocked to one side, and a small smile playing over his lips.

  Doreia glanced over her shoulder.

  “You two know each other?” she demanded, following his gaze.

  “He rescued me,” Valan answered, just as the dragon said, “Passingly well.”

  “Rescued you?” Doreia asked. “From what?”

  “A White Mountain-Oshalan patrol,” the dragon answered for him. It returned its attention to Doreia, “And my name is Brel.”

  “I’ll bet it’s not,” Doreia retorted, following that with a briefly spoken words that sent a shimmer of warm, yellow light rolling down her arms.

  The dragon flushed.

  “It is the shortened form of my name, and I give the full form to no-one.”

  Doreia snorted, and Valan felt the magic roll from her hands and sink into his skin. Warmth spread from where her palms rested against his shirt, driving out the cold. Her attention, however, remained on the dragon.

  “Also, it’s rude to try and shove your way into someone else’s head.”

  The dragon’s eyebrows rose. “I was not shoving.”

  “You weren’t asking, either,” she pointed out.

  “Usually, I don’t have to,” Brel answered, but Doreia hadn’t finished.

  She waved a hand at his human form.

  “And what is this?” she demanded. “You’re surely not going to try and pass yourself off as human?”

  Brel gave her a tight smile and indicated the passage opening out from the rear of the cave.

  “No, but my true form will not fit, and I thought I might need to carry your brother.”

  “Nice thought, since you’re the reason he’d need carrying,” she scolded.

  “So, it’s a good thing we rescued you,” the dragon replied.

  Doreia looked Valan over, then apparently satisfied with his recovery, she rounded on Brel.

  For once she seemed lost for words, so the dragon pressed his advantage.

  “For which you don’t seem particularly grateful,” he added.

  Valan watched the color sweep up the back of Doreia’s neck.

  “Thank you,” she said shortly, then indicated the opening. “I take it we have some distance to go?”

  Brel inclined his head, and pushed off the wall.

  “We do,” he agreed, leading the way into the passage.

  A few twists and turns later, and they came to a set of roughly carved stairs and a door.

  “Stay here,” Brel ordered at the top. “I will not abandon you.”

  Strange words, Valan thought, watching the dragon descend.

  Brel raised a hand and knocked a staccato pattern.

  The floor opened beneath Valan and Doreia’s feet, sending them plunging down a steeply inclined chute. Doreia cursed and Valan gave a startled shout. A moment later, a shadow darkened the opening above them.

  “Clear the bottom when you reach it,” the dragon instructed. “I have no desire to crush either of you.”

  “As if you would,” Doreia snarled back, the glanced nervously over her shoulder.

  “I’d watch where I was going, were I you,” Brel suggested.

  Doreia turned quickly around, and Valan breathed an internal sigh of relief.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  The last time he’d seen that look on his sister’s face, one of the older boys had gone out a first-floor window. The healers had been called and Doreia had been set to repairing the vegetable patch in which the boy had landed.

  As far as she’d been concerned, it had been worth it.

  Valan had waited until the boy was out of the healer’s care, before he’d made his feelings clear…and been given a thorough hiding for his trouble.

  He, too, had thought it worth it. The boy had left his sister and the other girls well alone, after that.

  The chute ended, and Doreia had both feet on the floor, propelling her out of the way before Valan landed behind her. He followed her lead, hearing the thud of the dragon’s arrival, seconds later.

  Brel brushed past them. “This way.”

  They followed him from the small chamber at the chute’s end, Valan noting the dark-iron bands reinforcing the heavy oak door he used to exit.

  Someone’s not taking any chances, he thought.

  He doubted many would discover the secret of the door upstairs, and was willing to bet that door was a fa?ade set flush against a stone-walled dead end.

  More corridors followed, but Valan was aware of movement around them. Light flickered in rooms beyond wall slits that gave their occupants a view into the corridor, and shadows sometimes blocked their warm glow. Doors opened cautiously behind them.

  Valan glanced back, but the corridor remained empty…at least for the first two hundred yards. When footsteps sounded quietly behind them, he looked back, again. He wasn’t happy to see four warriors stalking after them.

  “Don’t mind them,” Brel instructed. “They are only seeing to our safety.”

  “Your safety, perhaps,” Doreia countered, and Valan silently agreed.

  He glanced back, once more, relieved to see the warriors had come no closer, that as well-armed as they were, they showed no sign of intending to use their weapons.

  It’s not as if they could reach us before we harmed him, Valan thought turning his attention to Brel’s fast-moving back.

  An arm slid around his shoulders and the point of a dagger pressed into his side.

  “You were saying?” a soft voice snarled in his ear.

  Valan froze.

  The dagger tip nudged him.

  “I said nothing,” he managed, “And isn’t it rude to mind-walk someone without their knowledge?

  Laughter echoed inside his skull.

  “Not when we are guarding our liege,” the voice replied.

  “Lysander.” The single word was both acknowledgement and admonishment, and the dagger left Valan’s side. The arm remained long enough to give his shoulders a quick squeeze, and then his sudden companion dropped back to join the others.

  This time, Valan resisted the urge to look back, and they reached a large meeting room with no further incident. A broad stone table took up the room’s center. It was edged by benches, and Brel went to stand at one end.

  Valan and Doreia followed him, coming to stand to one side of the table. The four warriors filed in after them, splitting so that two stood opposite and two came to stand a little behind them. Valan turned his head.

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  Neither of them blinked. One dropped his hand to his sword hilt, and the other folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah…right,” Valan huffed and looked back at Brel. “You said you had a plan?”

  “I don’t care if he has a plan,” Doreia interrupted before Brel could reply. “What he’d better have is an explanation.”

  Movement drew Valan’s attention, and he moved to intercept the guard’s strike before it could land.

  “Enough!” Brel snapped. “While I know I do not need to explain myself, these are my guests…and the children of those we seek.”

  That drew the warriors’ attention.

  “My lord?”

  Brel indicated Valan.

  “King Trogaran’s son.”

  A second gesture drew their attention to Doreia.

  “King Alanadine’s daughter.”

  The guard who’d tried to strike Doreia sank to his knees.

  “Forgive me, my lady.”

  “You will kneel to no-one!” That order rapped out from the end of the hall.

  “King, Princess, Prince,” it continued as Valan looked toward its source, “No-one, you understand? We are hired by one man only, and to him alone do we hold fealty, to him and each other.”

  The new arrival had hawkish features and a narrow tan-gold face. His dark hair gleamed like polished onyx, and his eyes shone a deep midnight blue. He bowed to Brel.

  “My lord. Forgive my delay. I had to ensure your backtrail was clear.”

  “His backtrail?” Doreia challenged.

  The newcomer gave her a look of distaste. “Even the air holds traces of one’s passing.”

  That was news to Valan, but he kept his surprise to himself. Not well enough, it seemed as the newcomer took the thought from his face.

  “You will learn as much, Hunter…should you survive to maturity.”

  Valan glanced uncertainly from the newcomer to Brel, then kept his eyes on the dragon’s face.

  “Now that we’re all here,” Brel began, “We have much to discuss and little time. I know where the kings are being kept, and we need to reach them before the White Mountains commence the ceremony without their get.”

  “That is not their way,” the newcomer said.

  “That depends on whether the gods are prepared to risk losing the birds they have in hand, as opposed to imposing their will through what they have,” Brel replied. “And the White Mountains gods are growing impatient.”

  “How impatient,” the man asked sharply.

  “Dawn,” Brel replied.

  “I’d ask how you knew that, but I know who is absent,” the newcomer replied.

  Valan thought he caught warning in the man’s tones, but didn’t know enough to understand who he meant, or why it made the hawk-faced newcomer so angry.

  “She is the best we have,” Brel replied, “And I would not risk her without cause.”

  “Agreed,” the newcomer answered. “Please, go on.”

  “In the mountains to the east, there is a temple-shrine to Skayl’n.”

  Doreia stifled a soft gasp, but Brel continued.

  “The White Mountains have been using it as an observatory over this area for a decade or more.”

  “Hence why they placed a home to Skayl’n there,” the newcomer concluded.

  Brel dipped his head in acknowledgement and continued, “There is a small valley tucked behind it, walled on all sides and linked to the caverns and cellars below the temple itself. She has seen our kings being held there.”

  The color in the newcomer’s face leached to a pale yellow.

  “She didn’t enter?”

  “No, Ravendar. No,” Brel hastened to reassure him. “She observed them from the peaks beyond. The White Mountains don’t know every inch of the terrain.”

  “Unusual for them,” Ravendar replied.

  “Agreed,” Brel replied, “But the mountain from which she observes is one they leave alone.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I have my suspicions,” Brel answered, “And she will be safe.”

  “If you are correct,” Ravendar warned.

  “Is it enough to say that I believe I am right, but don’t wish to say it aloud?” Brel asked.

  “You’re afraid?” Ravendar asked.

  Brel’s face reddened. “There are reasons I don’t wish to speak that name.”

  Ravendar’s mouth quirked with brief amusement, and he made a rolling motion with his hand.

  “Go on.”

  “As I said, the valley is open to the sky—”

  “No, my lord.” Ravendar cut him off. “It’s not safe. You—”

  “Skayl’n is the god of sight and the future.” Doreia broke in, and everyone looked at her. Catching Brel’s gaze, she continued, “The White Mountains are purists. My father is, I assume, a forest elf.”

  She gestured at Valan.

  “His father is a Northman, like your preferred form.”

  Valan gaped at her. “How… How did you—”

  Doreia rolled her eyes. “Give it a rest, Val. Temper like yours? One that only really showed when I practiced certain kinds of magic? Why do you think I took my studies to the highest room in the orphanage and practiced when you were asleep or out?”

  “You did?”

  “Pfft. Men. So oblivious.” She looked back to Brel. “A purification ceremony, right?”

  Brel dipped his chin, his eyes narrowing, but Doreia hadn’t finished.

  “So we’re talking a succession gone wrong, and a power struggle within the tribe,” she continued, “Which means we need to change the mind of a god, if we’re to ever live a life unhunted.”

  “The chances of that are slim,” Brel told her.

  “But they exist,” Doreia argued, giving Valan a look asking for help.

  Valan realized he was looking at her like she’d grown a second head…and his mouth was hanging open.

  “What?” she challenged. “I study politics along with my wizardry. Both are about manipulation, so they’re a good match.”

  Valan closed his mouth with a snap.

  “Why would that work?” he asked, and she glared at him.

  “Because the kings are being held where they can be sacrificed to the challenger’s god. If we can offer the god something more…”

  “Like the very things the challenger needs to consolidate their hold with?” he managed, and her frown deepened.

  “If it doesn’t work, we can always blow the temple up,” she told him, and returned her attention to the dragon. “Right?”

  “Blowing it up will bring them down on you like an avalanche,” Brel warned.

  “They’re doing that anyway,” Doreia retorted, “So we win either way.”

  There really is no reasoning with her when she’s like this, Valan thought.

  “Then we’d better hear both plans and see what they look like in combination,” Ravendar answered. “We’ll need it if we’re to run them in conjunction.”

  “Just as long as we don’t put anyone on the explosives who’s likely to blow it up regardless,” one of the other warriors said.