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“My backup book is in mine.” Percy tucked his novel against his chest and folded his arms over it. It would only be good for kindling now but he didn’t want to tell Percy that.
When he could see the men no more, Remis turned toward the carriage. The back left wheel had snapped right off, likely from the violent way the wicked men had rocked it back and forth. On well-oiled hinges, the door swung quietly as a gust barreled past them. He was thankful then that he’d kept his fur-lined cloak on. Another small gift, if it could be called that, that the men had left behind.
Yanking his hood over his head, Remis gently pushed the door aside to see the cushions on the benches ripped open. Small white feathers were scattered across the fabric and littered the floor as the down stuffing spilled out. There were no secret compartments in this rather plain carriage but there were gouges in the wood as evidence that the stranger had tried to pry several boards apart to check.
He growled and kicked at the front wheel. Even through his boot, the tips of his toes felt the impact and the rumble that rattled his chest deepened with the pain. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuccccck!”
“We’re dead.” Percy shuffled, nudging the dirt with his foot. “Dead men walking. This…this is now all borrowed time.”
“Oh, stop being so morbid. Why don’t we just head back into town?” Merritt balanced his hands on his hips watching as Remis rubbed the toe of his boot and cringed.
They could turn back. It was the glaringly obvious and better option. Yet, Remis’ mind ran at an exhausting rate. What would his father say? What would he do? The thoughts were almost as bad as watching his contract for school go up in flames right before him. It could be that fate was giving him the chance to live again, to turn around and refuse his dreams for the chance to survive. That was a good deal. Wasn’t it? Most people instinctually wanted to survive, to carry on, no matter the means. Remis’ instincts demanded more of him. To dream was to live and to succeed in those dreams was to thrive. He needed to thrive. The necessity of it ran in the demanding rush of blood that gave life to his body.
All of it was a dangerous desire. Probably the demise of them all. Would life be worth refusing himself of such a powerful calling? Destiny had him snared and it dragged him along, slave to its plan.
The distance they’d traveled thus far would be a nightmare to walk back. More than just a few hours. He looked up to the night sky and then at the twisting dirt path through the woods, trying to gauge where they were. He’d only briefly studied the map before they’d left. He felt like a fool for not looking more closely. Somewhere up ahead there was another city where he’d be able to get more supplies and maybe new horses. If he remembered correctly, they’d likely have as much of a walk toward the other city as they had if they turned around now and went back.
“I wouldn’t think less of either of you if you went back home.” Remis rubbed the back of his neck. “In fact, that would probably be the wiser choice. I think we’re nearly halfway to Olden. I can get supplies there and carry on.”
If he made it that far. He tried not to dwell on that particular thought.
He lifted his attention from where Percy’s boot had stopped toeing at the dirt and met the stares of his two best friends. Surely, they’d see reason enough now not to follow him on this fool’s mission. They’d learned rapidly what horrors were to be met in these monstrous woods. He hadn’t expected the first beasts they’d run into to be men but there was still no denying the dangers now.
“Percy, on a scale of one to ten, how much of an idiot is our friend Nikremis Lexmore?” Merritt’s eyes were wide, showing off the white around his iris. If he’d been a stranger, Remis would have thought him raving mad for the expression he wore.
“There is no scale for idiocy but if I were to create one and put him on it, right now, he’d be at least a seven. Potentially an eight or nine depending on how the rest of this conversation goes.”
Remis exhaled. These two were far too good for him. Or could it be that they were blind to Remis’ true nature? Did they not notice the way he’d trembled and dampened with perspiration only moments ago? He'd wanted to tuck tail and run. It wasn’t bravery that called him to carry on, it was the lesser of two evils.
“What have I done to deserve such loyalty?” he whispered.
Merritt snorted and clapped him on the shoulder. “Becoming friends with us was probably the smartest thing you’ve ever done in this lifetime.” He paused to look Remis over then glanced at Percy, who looked quite unaffected by their current situation. “You know, I think it would do me some good to stretch my legs anyway. I was far too comfortable before. We’ve got our swords, the clothes on our backs, and we’re certainly capable of walking. It’s more of a pastime for a peasant but I’ve been meaning to find a new hobby.”
Ever the optimist, Remis thought, though he did crack a smile. He wasn’t certain that walking could be classified as a hobby but the rest of it was true enough. Pushing his hair back, Remis gave a slight dip of his chin before turning toward the road, the same direction those vile men had gone. What would the chances of running into the same bandits again be? Or different ones? Surely, there couldn’t be too many survivors out here. This band of men had been shocking enough. He’d never heard of anyone but crossers making it through these woods. Maybe if there was a next time, Remis would have the courage to hold them at the end of a blade.
“This has been our worst idea yet,” Remis said.
Percy hummed his approval but ultimately his friends both followed as they left behind the broken-down carriage and started off into the night.The trees and the midnight breeze would be their company as they went. Remis was thankful for his cloak and the way walking on the uneven road warmed his body and fought off the cold. Drenched in his shame, he thought of all the things he was not thankful for as well. Being without food, spare clothes, or anything from his small medicinal pack that he’d packed was pretty high up on that list. At least he had some coin in his pocket.
Percy had been right. They were living on borrowed time. Then it occurred to him that the three of them were the real thieves here. Every moment they persisted they were stealing from death. Perhaps being a thief wasn’t so bad after all.
8
Meira
It was colder at the back. At least, Meira thought so. She felt more wind here, every stroke of the dragons’ wings in front of her sent another current of winter air in her direction. The cloth that covered her face was stiff with ice. What moisture was in her breath had collected on it and immediately frozen.
Only her legs were warm where they clamped down against her Bold Wing’s side. Even her gloves were stiff and icy as she curled her fingers tighter around the harness strapped to Mrithun. It could be that tonight was a particularly chilly night or it was also possible that her highly coveted spot as Second Cord had spoiled her. If Bram meant to humble her, then he was certainly doing a marvelous job.
Those who flew first were often considered their betters. The best leaders, the best riders, and the most skilled at combat. Meira and Brooks were the best riders of the group. On any given day she was his better in combat. Now that she rode back here, she wondered if Isaac, Bodie, and Willa were actually their strongest. They survived the curse of riding at the back and she’d never heard them complain. In fact, the three who rode next to her all looked to be comfortable on the back of their dragons, as if this wasn’t even the worst of it.
Through the haze of clouds, Meira couldn’t make out the point of her legion where Bram rode. If finding and ending this curse that bound her wasn’t so damn urgent then she’d consider calling him out to fight. On a good day, she might be able to earn his title as legion leader. Even if she couldn‘t beat him in a one-on-one fight, it would feel good to take a few hits and deliver some of her own.
Bodie’s dragon, Icor, swooped downward underneath the heavy white mist. She caught the flick of his yellow scales before Mrithun followed them into a dive. Mrithun’s massive black wings stretched and then pulled in tight. For a time, she was weightless. Only her feet tucked in tightly to the bootstrap of the harness kept her on the Bold Wing’s back. Wind pressed her clothing against her body and the icy face wrap burned where it met her skin.
As quickly as the dive had begun it was over. Her weight met against Mrithun’s back once more and she tightened her knees against the dragon’s scales trying to soak in her heat again. They’d broken from the cloud cover to reveal the vast expanse of Warlord Vigor’s territory. Small glowing pockets of the city revealed the districts that didn’t bother to sleep. If it hadn’t been such a cloudy night, it would have looked as if the city below was mirroring the sky with its splattering of white lights.
In every direction surrounding the city were the Deadwoods. She knew she wasn’t the only one whose attention had drifted to those trees searching for any flicker of movement. While most of the towns and cities built in this half of the Empire had taken to areas with the least amount of dragonis activity, the animals still ventured close. And they wouldn’t take kindly to seeing a group of Bold Wings approaching anywhere in their hunting grounds across the Deadwoods. Territorial little brats that they were.
