Silas rode on Siegyrd’s shoulders. Alexei, the lion’s new name, ran alongside them about three paces away. It had taken more time than expected, but the beast was trained enough to follow. Siegyrd still had to keep a quick eye and a magical sigil handy to check various behaviors, but the beast was learning, and honestly eating better than it had in a long while. Soon enough they would go for a hunt, but for now, even Siegyrd was struggling to keep up with Aerendir’s haste. Mareth had to channel some of his magic into his feet in order to maintain pace as well.

  The spaces between the trees widened as they climbed in elevation, and the types of trees changed. There were no more leaves, or very few, mostly nettles, though some few trees seemed to be a dynamic cross between the two, part nettles part leaves, the lower leaves, the upper nettles. The faster pace was exacerbated by the continuous rise. There were some valleys and the like, and Aerendir was still enough himself to contour his way from the ridge tops to avoid steep and exhausting valley climbs in and out, but he often cut straight across.

  For hours they ran, breathing hard and heavy, packs bouncing, the crunch of pines and rocks and roots beneath their feet. Silas had the best of it. They cleared another portion of ridge, and Aerendir came to an abrupt halt standing on the edge of a two or three hundred pace high cliff. Siegyrd stopped as quickly, and Mareth paused himself in a jostling misstep, almost tripped, then steadied himself toward the edge. Out ahead of them they could see a clear sapphire sky with wisps of diamond white. Beneath them was a ringed valley that appeared an almost perfect circle but was filled with a sprawling lake the color of ethereal blue ice. A slight breeze caressed their faces as they stood in wonder.

  The Wild Lands had given way to the Warring Mountains, and across the humongous valley were two mountain ranges separated by two sheer cliffs which looked vaguely like gargantuan tower shields. Between the cliffs a river of radiant blue ran riot over a series of falls and plunged into a pristine lake. The three stood staring and the child rested his chin on Siegyrd’s head as he gaped. The lion, Alexei sat soberly on the rock next to Siegyrd.

  They stood for a while in stunned silence, but suddenly, Siegyrd and Aerendir looked at each other. Aerendir commanded, “Down!”

  Siegyrd pulled Silas off his shoulder and took a couple steps quickly back as he dropped to his face and pulled his cloak over him. Aerendir did the same, and Mareth as well. The lion looked confused. Siegyrd whistled a note of command, and the beast fled back into the nearest tree cover.

  They lay quietly for ten seconds, twenty seconds. Thirty. Then Mareth spoke, “What’s”

  Aerendir’s sharp “shh” was drowned out by a sudden whooshing sound accompanied by an odd roaring cackle, as of a great fire. In the distance a figure rose from behind one of the mountains, looming mountainous itself and wreathed in brilliant white and red fire. A dragon at least four times the size of Zaralai rose up and overshadowed the mountain in its flight. Its wings darkened the whole valley. From their vantage they could see the creature’s form was deep black obsidian with streaks of lightning marble white and red. It burned incandescent even in the day, hurting their eyes and shadowing the sun.

  It flapped its wings and rocketed forward from the mountain top, roaring a sound that sent shivers of uncontrollable dread through Silas who whimpered and tucked himself closely underneath Siegyrd.

  “He is wounded.” Aerendir whispered.

  “Or wounding himself?” Siegyrd whispered back.

  Mareth then made out how unsteady the creature was in flight. It wrenched its head from side to side and moved its wings with uneven cadence, teetering in the sky like a drunkard. It tilted its head downward and swooped directly for the lake, as if diving. It roared, but its roar was agony, and they could feel the heat of its blaze from their distant cliff. Its dive became a pained tumble. It struck the lake with a crash that sounded everywhere like the resounding of close thunder, and a spray of water rocketed hundreds of feet in the air and a giant cloud of steam hissed like a mountain’s worth of snakes and filled the valley almost to bursting in a matter of seconds.

  Birds flew in droves from the valley bursting from the steam fog in their hundreds and piercing into the cool blue sky. The brothers, the wizard and the boy waited, feeling the heat and seeing the newformed mists but largely sat above them all. Mareth had to remind himself to breathe.

  It took long before the mists cleared, and sound and cool returned to the land. Aerendir crawled forward to the edge of the cliff and strained his eyes. The trees nearest the lake’s edge were devastated husks. They had burst open or been blown over entirely. The lake itself was more a puddle than a lake and played around the knees of a man who now stood there. The man’s hair was a raven black mass, and his skin was a deep copper. He stood naked in the lake, shoulders broad as two bulls, height as tall as a workhorse. He looked around him as if lost, then looked down at his hands, turning them over and over again.

  Aerendir could make out such details, but Mareth, who crawled up next to him, could not. “Where’s the beast?”

  Aerendir’s voice was colder than usual as he whispered, “the dragon is there.” And he pointed to the naked man standing in the knee-high water at the center.

  “Like the last then?” Mareth whispered back.

  Aerendir clenched his jaw tightly and gave Mareth a look the wizard had never seen on that regal face, the mask of fear. Aerendir looked away but whispered, “As like the last as a ripple is a tidal wave.”

  Siegyrd crawled forward and looked, and immediately held his breath, “Is that?” Aerendir silenced him with a firm look.

  The brothers watched, and Mareth wondered, as the figure in the water hunched down and began searching through the water, slowly at first, intentionally. Then the man’s movements grew erratic. He thrashed through the water, sending waves of it away from himself, and smashing down on it with large yells. His eyes darted around following his hands. Finally in a burst of rage he stood and yelled at the sky and a burst of scarlet red fire mixed with white blasted outward from him and vaporized almost all the remaining water. This smaller amount cleared in a few minutes, and when it did, Siegyrd and Aerendir could see the man standing in a small puddle of water holding what looked like a flute, though it flashed in strange colors in the sunlight and bent rays around it almost like rainbows.

  Siegyrd didn’t know why, but he tugged a thread of magic, and wrapped it around them. Aerendir looked at him and made to speak, but no sound came out. Mareth tried to shout, but only empty air stood between them a pervading silence. And at some great distance, the dragonman stood in the remnant of a great lake and put the flute to his lips and played a song as he walked away from them toward the Warring Mountains, a spring in his step.

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  Once the being had left their view, Siegyrd released his spell and sound spilled into their ears once more, a cascade of noises of the winds, the trees, the water from the river as it crashed into empty dirt and began again to fill the lake beneath them. It was a low song of nature that remained around them and the static noise of things returning to a semblance of normality. A strong pull that Aerendir had felt, that binding chain which guided them straight to this place, snapped, and he felt empty.

  Aerendir wheeled on Siegyrd and stepped forward, his voice angry, “Why?”

  Siegyrd held his brother’s gaze and responded calmly, “Instinct.”

  Aerendir clenched his jaw and stepped closer, “For a whim! We might have heard it!”

  “Aye, brother. That’s what my instinct feared.” Siegyrd’s voice stayed steady.

  Aerendir’s hands were clenched and his face set like flint, unyielding, but he spoke no more.

  After a long paused, Mareth asked, “What did your eyes see that I could not?”

  “A flute, of rainbow crystal construction.” Siegyrd said.

  “The flute!” Aerendir snapped, then steadied himself and continued in a calmer tone, “It’s what we were chasing. I am sure of it.” There was a knowing and a longing in his gaze.

  Mareth tried to speak, but Siegyrd spoke first, “What do you know of it that you haven’t told?”

  “Nothing.” Aerendir said through clenched teeth and turned away to look out over the expansive valley.

  Mareth half-raised an eyebrow then walked over to Silas who was still crouched low, his hands over his ears. Mareth touched the boy’s shoulder and he jumped, and Mareth spoke, “come on, little man, let’s go find Alexei.”

  Silas rose slowly, his legs knocking, and he gripped Mareth’s sleeve tightly.

  “Be strong young man. A fight through the wake of fear is as important to courage as weathering its first crest.” Mareth took the boy’s hand from his sleeve and held it instead,

  “But we needn’t ride the wake alone. We’ll help each other.” The two walked down the hill and into the nearby trees in search of the lion they had just learned to tame.

  #

  Siegyrd walked up next to his brother and spoke softly as he touched Aerendir’s shoulder. He said nothing for a long while, and Aerendir was content to stare into the distance, averting his gaze.

  Siegyrd did well to avoid his brother’s eyes. He did better to ignore the tears that gathered there, the subtle single streams down Aerendir’s cheeks. The two stood silently staring out in the direction of the mountain. Winds whipped their hair, and birds slowly returned to the valley trees below, first wheeling and watching, then alighting on lower branches.

  Aerendir took a deep breath, then wiped his face, and reached back to grab Siegyrd’s hand as he spoke, “I’ve always envied you your joy of song, little brother. It was his joy once as well, a deep joy that would fountain in exuberance and well up in tears.” Aerendir turned and put both hands on Siegyrd’s shoulders and looked meaningfully into Siegyrd’s eyes. “I watched it reach its pinnacle in him the day he first played the crystal flute.”

  Siegyrd’s eyes grew wider, “What really happened between you and father, Aerendir?”

  Aerendir continued as if he had not heard the question, as if he needed to get the story out in precisely one way, “Then I watched the joy die in him over slow months and years, and then I left. I took the flute with me.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a wooden box, immaculately carved that was familiar to Siegyrd. Aerendir opened it to reveal a silken red lining and the empty space about the size of a flute.

  “You stole it?” Siegyrd’s confusion was there, but in some ways it seemed right.

  “Aye, I did. I had a hunch, an instinct. I longed to hear it again, but I didn’t trust that longing. There was something twisted in it.” He looked back over the valley and sighed heavily.

  “What is it? Where did father get it?” Siegyrd asked.

  “I don’t know, but I think taking it is what killed him, or something about it.” Aerendir’s voice was deep and musing.

  Siegyrd replied, “His madness grew severe, his sorrow deeper still after you left. Mother too. They spoke often of ‘the song,’ but I thought they just meant the majesty of magical music. It must have been the song itself. He took the path of silent stars not all that long after you left.” It was Siegyrd’s turn to fight back tears.

  “I heard much too late. I did not even make it back in time to bid mother goodbye. I took their joy, and they died for it.” Aerendir’s voice was cold again.

  “I was very young, Aerendir, so I could not have explained then, but I think he saw a coming madness deeper than what he then possessed.” Siegyrd said.

  Aerendir looked into the empty box, and clenched his teeth, “I killed them by my theft, and then it was stolen from me. Now we know where it is though.”

  Siegyrd reached out his hands in a gesture for Aerendir to give him the box, and Aerendir did. Siegyrd examined it closely. The silken lining was frayed and faded. Something about the stitching stood out to him though, and he pulled on a golden thread. Aerendir watched at first in horror, but calmed himself as Siegyrd pulled that thread all the way through and the whole liner pulled up to reveal underneath a deep dark ebonwood that sucked in almost all light around it.

  Both brothers held their breath as they examined what lay within. There were harsh, sharp etchings, well-balanced and beautiful in a severe kind of way. They were in an ancient tongue that only vaguely resembled what they knew. The glyphs glowed with darkness visible.

  Siegyrd leaned forward and strained his eyes to try to decipher the glyphs but they danced like daggers in the hands of an assassin before his eyes. After a few moments he had to look away in pain.

  Siegyrd said, “The words resist being read.”

  Aerendir took the box from Siegyrd’s hand and looked into the runes, and they shaped themselves as if calling to him, and in his head he heard the remembered refrain of a very old song that his father once played on the crystal flute. He blinked and the memory faded, the runes still glowed darkly, but understanding eluded him. He looked up at his brother and noticed suddenly how haggard Siegyrd looked, how base his features, how bland. He said nothing, but shook his head, “I can’t quite read them either.”

  “One thing is certain to me,” Siegyrd mused as he looked back out over the valley, “nothing good, truly good, could have come from that.”

  #

  Mareth and Silas returned with Alexei in tow, though the lion walked slowly with his head hunched down, almost sullen and had to be coaxed with bits of ration. The brothers stood a long while, staring into the distance, not speaking. Each held his own thoughts.

  “Did you come to a conclusion?” Mareth asked. Aerendir and Siegyrd looked back. Neither spoke.

  “Well. Spit it out. You know more than you tell, and I have had a right mind to beat it out of you.” Mareth sighed, “Among friends it is best to wait until the time is right, or the need is dire. That,” Mareth pointed to the slowly refilling giant lake, “is a dire need. We’ll need every advantage if that’s what we are hunting, else we might as well just take an elegant headfirst dive from this cliff into the rocks below.”

  The brothers both looked very sad at this, and Mareth regretted having said it.

  Mareth sighed, “Anything helps. You know all there really is to know about me, born among the timeless, servant of the Adelaidwyr, exiled.”

  At this Aerendir’s ears perked up, “Exiled?”

  Mareth looked at Siegyrd who shrugged. Then Mareth spoke, “Aye, he knew when he recruited me. I am forbidden from a return home. In time, they may seek to employ me in a new world, but I can never return to my own. My tasks here are a first stage of what will be a very long penance.”

  Aerendir looked at Siegyrd, clenched his teeth, then relaxed, “It seems we brothers both kept secrets. Let us have out with them, for the whole company. As curious as I am, wizard, yours will have to wait. Our news is more,” he paused, “volatile.”

  Siegyrd nodded his head.

  Aerendir began, “We should start with who that dragon was, though who he is now, I cannot fully know.”

  Siegyrd interrupted, “We should find and make camp first. It will be a long tale, I think.”

  Aerendir paused, but then nodded.