FIREFANGED

Chapter 5 (Firefanged)

I felt like a prisoner. I had lived an independent life, perhaps from too early an age. Now, I was always surrounded by an armed guard detail and never allowed to go out scouting or hunting on my own. While I understood the wisdom of safety in numbers, especially as a way to avoid conflict, old habits die hard. I wanted to lead the way, not follow along or be escorted.

We left Lockrun for the week-long trip down to the northern city of Stonnberg, Duke Ragir's seat. I had made my goodbyes and promised Cat that I would be back to check on her sometime soon, though I wasn't sure when.

Pastor Riley had given me a thorough once over and his Blessing of the Divine through all the many Saints. Sister Kay wouldn't say goodbye, letting me know that there would always be a place for me in Lockrun, no matter how far I roamed. I got the feeling that maybe I hadn't been so very independent after all. The pit in my stomach as I rode away seemed to agree.

While the King's Realm Guard and the other mounted knights traveled rapidly ahead, intent on their own pace and destination, we marched or rode with the Order's foot soldiers. I remained armed and was given a beautiful horse, a black gelding named Daur. Its former owner had been buried on the battlefield north of Lockrun. The mount was well-trained and easy to ride. I had never ridden a horse before and was told that I would have plenty of time to learn on the trip westward. While my backside and muscles had plenty to master, generally, my arms and legs found it easy to guide the animal any which way it wanted to go. As I said, it was well-trained.

Vigil Snow found the time to share his plans for me. We were headed to his stronghold a few days ride north of Stonnberg, the stronghold of the Vigil in this region. The castle and surrounding town were called Berykholt. There, I would be trained further in the arts and tactics of the Vigil. My arm was healing well in its leather and steel vambrace, and I expected to be in much better shape by the time we reached our destination, ten days hence.

The first night on the road, we halted at one of the prepared campgrounds sited along our route every thirty miles or so. Paddocks existed for the horses, and dry areas were set aside for tents and cooking. A large berm encircled the camp, but overall security for the armed force wasn't a significant concern. I was given a tent with a pair of sentinel guards, Tate and Stevens by name, stationed outside. Knowing that we had another long day on the road ahead of us, I slept, and I dreamed.

The smoke-stained tavern ignored the barren desert and the thick ribbon of sulfur that rode the wind around it. I stepped cautiously inside the dark, dismal abode. The bar's patrons had a sour disposition as if they resented being there or simply resented being. Caged incense hung overhead, and the rotten smell from outside was replaced with the pungent odor of burning flesh. It didn't bother me as much as it should have.

Dreams were just random echoes, after all, right? I could ignore them like the wind.

The bar reeked of predators, like the Kjaira I had slain but on a larger scale of violence, a full cohort instead of a single assassin. There was a strange sword planted in the bar counter, sprouting two feet tall. While it was seemingly ignored by all those around it, I was drawn to it. I heard it rage loudly in my mind. It cried out for release, for blood and conquest. Part of me wanted to grab it from the bar, claim it, and carry it to war. Another part searched frantically for the door.

Of the two patrons sitting at the bar counter, one was built large and dressed for battle, which, to me, was strange attire for a night of drinking. The sigils on his black armor and his scent were oddly familiar. He was an acquaintance I should remember, but one that I was sure I had never met. The other man was of medium build, dressed in burning gold and black finery. His essence was deeply foreign. It was as if he were made of a completely different substance or were perhaps a different species than the warrior. They had each other's confidence, and their exchange was muted.