Bedelth the Orange (Dragonwall Series #5)

Chapter 13 - Reunion

Squall's End

Mikkin followed Jamie into Squall's End, both Berbik and Unka on their heels. The tunnel beneath the portcullis plunged them into brief darkness before spilling out into a large courtyard. It was a rush of activity as city guards darted about. The smell of dirty, cramped bodies hit him seconds later.

"...she was there on the walls. I saw 'er. I did," came a child's voice, nearby. Mikkin glanced over. He caught sight of a band of dirtied children, huddled. His chest tightened, but he didn't glance away. "A real Sprite, I tell you. All of 'em. They was all in armor that shined like stars, with marks that glowed. Then the dragon fire came down, big plumes of orange. She lifted her arms, this queen"—the little boy mimicked the motion—"and an invisible bubble swallowed it right up. She saved us."

Another child snorted, a young girl. "Naw she didn't. The king saved us. His Shields flew with him. I saw 'em overhead." Mikken had slowed his pace, stopping to observe the exchange.

"No you didn't!" another scoffed. "You only heard rumors, and no you's repeating it like truths..."

Mikkin's mouth twitched into a smile. He turned, hurrying forward to catch up with Jamie and the others. Everywhere he looked, tents were crammed against more tents. A refugee camp, for all those who had fled their towns and villages in the north, in hopes of avoiding the chaos that swept Vestur's territory.

Jamie made the realization about the same time he did. The lad stopped, spinning in place, taking it all in. "How the hell am I supposed to find my parents here, in this mess?" he muttered, his expression falling.

Mikkin put a hand on Jamie's shoulder. "We'll figure it out, lad."

Around them, they'd begun to attract attention. Well, not him, nor Jamie, but Berbik and Unka, certainly. Eyes pinned on them, faces curious, some wary, others afraid. He caught sight of a middle aged woman, rushing by with a basket of supplies. "You there, miss!" She stopped, looking over her shoulder, a downward twist to her mouth. "We're looking for a group of people from the north, refugees."

"We're all refugees here," she said with a snort before taking a wary step away from them. Mikkin produced a coin and held it forward. She rolled her eyes and did not take it. "Your money can't do much in a city that ain't got food."

Jamie jumped into action, pulling a cloth bundle from his pack of rations. "Please," he said, holding it out. "It would be a small group from the far north. From Landow, south of Belnesse."

The woman eyed Jamie's offering, then snatched it from him, depositing it into her basket. "I ain't heard naught—most of us is from the north. Can't expect us to remember names at this point. But the city guards has a manifest, documenting all that come through. My name's in it. Reckon those you're searching for are, too. You'd need to check with the gate guards."

Jamies shoulders rose and fell, and a relieved sigh broke free. He nodded, shouldering his pack again. He thanked the woman and turned. "Right, then. I guess we can check with the guards at the gates."

Mikkin nodded. They turned back towards the way they'd come. Mikkin caught a flash of gold in his periphery. He spun. Now, that was a head of hair he'd recognize anywhere. It was burned into his memory since the day they'd first met. "Lord Reyr!" he called. The hulking Drengr was strolling towards a group of guards, but froze, then spun on his heel. His searching gaze landed on Mikkin, then the others, and he nodded in recognition.

There was something haunted dwelling deep in Reyr's eyes. He strode over. "Mikkin. Good to see you." He reached forward and grasped Mikkin's forearm, giving him a warm greeting, nodding at the others. "Didn't expect to see any of you here—"