Fugitive's Flight (Dragon Castaway Book 2)

Chapter 19

I know it's been far longer than it should have but unfortunately between long work shifts and writer's block that's just the way it had been. Sorry for such a long delay. Just know that I haven't given up on the story.

"Damn this northern weather, and damn that two-faced little bastard Rindar!" Blas muttered angrily as he made his way through the snow encrusted dirt roads of Ice Fjord. The short sword and buckler clanking together at his waist as he walked. He'd only been in town for a short while and had come to the unshakeable conclusion that the weather was decidedly worse than Vuhirvo's Gate had ever been.

Some might have been charmed by the scenery mountains and fjords. Not to mention it bore warriors that were worthy of the utmost respect. But to someone like Blas who'd spent much of his life in Dragon's Spire, it felt more like a shitter hole that had frozen over than an actual country.

He had frequently admonished himself for the feelings but even all the time that he'd spent in Vuhirvo's Gate clearly hadn't gotten rid of all of his lingering feelings of superiority that came from being in Balistrea's capital city for too long.

Still, it wasn't as if he'd had much of a choice. He had admittedly been quite perplexed when he'd received Jake's letter warning of potential trouble and to get both Freya and himself out of town as soon as possible. He wouldn't have been able to explain it if he tried, but something in Blas' instinct told him to heed the warning. So, he'd unceremoniously shuttered the inn without explanation before gathering all the possessions he could fit onto a wagon, grabbing Freya and Priya, then high-tailing it towards the border as fast has he could.

Fortunately, it had only taken a few bribes and a handy knowledge of the Hullcross language gleaned from the last few years of living near the border to get safely across without incident.

"Thank whatever gods are listening for hunches" he muttered as he cast a quick glance around. The street was quite crowded but none of the people paid him a second glance. His paranoia was well founded. The information he'd been able to receive from his contacts still in Vuhirvo's gate had been sparse but it had been enough to piece together what had been happening.

"That lad is more extraordinary than I ever dreamed possible." He thought. Had it been anyone else, even a gods' damned scion of a powerful noble family. He wouldn't have believed the fantastical stories floating around about what had happened in the capital.

Two dragons? And on top of that destroying the palace of a Dragon Lord with them? Blas could only imagine one person crazy enough to go that far.

"At least now I know why he was reluctant to say much when we first met." He muttered as he turned onto another street and stopped in front of a multi-story wooden building.

Sighing heavily, he walked into the inn he'd rented until he could figure out what to do next. It wasn't the Forlorn Traveler, but it couldn't be helped.

According to the contacts that he'd left behind in Balistrea, Jake's warning had been spot on. His party had only gotten out a day or two before when he'd gotten wind that the Vestarii had come to town looking for him and from what he'd gathered, they'd been even more brutish towards people than usual in their investigation.

"Not that that comes as a surprise" he mused as he entered the inn and felt the heat of the hearth fire wash over him in stark contrast to the biting cold of the outside world.

With a steep angled roof, animal trophies adorning almost every inch of wall and enormously thick wooden logs comprising the walls and support beams. Hullcross' tastes in decorating were decidedly different than Balistrea's, even in the border regions where he had made his home over the last few years. But an inn was an inn no matter its location or style and the loss of the Forlorn Traveler had been a very bitter pill to swallow.