Toamla paced back and forth across the balcony with his arms crossed. He watched the town of Edge as if it would tell him something.

His friend Kegol lay with his head drooped over the edge of the balcony railing. His eyes looked around in a bored manner, following the flight of birds or watching the movements of people in the town far, far below, things that human eyes wouldn’t even see from this height. He gave out a sad huff. He shifted his wings and settled his massive body into a more comfortable position. His claws scratched against the stone.

“Tell me, how many days has it been? Hmm?” Toamla scowled.

Kegol let out a low whine.

“The twenty-third of Sab by the Gwyanian calendar. That’s when it was supposed to happen. We’ve waited two-hundred and thirty-five moons, as it was put down in prophecy.” Toamla threw up his hands. “The moon is waning now. Did I make a big show for nothing?”

Kegol glanced at him.

Toamla shrugged. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Rolu-Yoro wasn’t the best prophet we’ve seen. He was usually off by a half-moon or so at best. Now, Uonomora didn’t have any Deagon blood in him, but he almost always got it right.”

He shook his head sadly. “Unfortunately, he told that awful prophecy about the Sa-Kem. Tsk, even if it did come true, there are some things you just don’t say. It lets people wreck their vengeance beforehand.”

Kegol’s ears perked up.

Toamla walked to the railing and looked over, not at the city, but much farther down the valley. With his sharp eyes, he found what had caught the dragon’s attention.

***

Rylen kept his hood up and his head down as he walked along the valley road. It was the third day since he had left Edge, but he hadn’t traveled far.

The night he had left, he only made it outside of town. He’d found a place to sleep by the side of the road where a pile of dry leaves had gathered from the winds.

The next morning, he woke up so stiff and sore he had spent nearly half an hour stretching out his muscles before even getting up. Even then he found it was almost too painful to walk on his ankle, not to mention carry his pack with him. When he had tried to lift his pack to his back, a stab of pain lanced through his chest. He’d let the pack fall as he kept himself from keeling over entirely. So, he spent another hour cautiously doing warm-up exercises Hyrestl had taught him; nevertheless, he could only manage a slow limp as he made his way down the road.

The next morning had been mostly the same. It likely wasn’t helping that Rylen was spending his whole day walking, something he usually didn’t do. He found that he had to take breaks quite often to rest his feet. Yet he still found they were developing blisters.

For the most part, the road stayed close to the Sunrise stream. There were parts where Rylen had to cross the smaller rivulets that came from the mountains. The road was well kept and paved with cobblestone. Even with his slow pace, he didn’t have much trouble making his way.

He faintly remembered a few times he had traveled with Hyrestl, but he hadn’t since then. He vaguely remembered running off the road to explore a grove of trees or traipsing along in puddles left over after a rain. Those were good memories.

There was a consistent flow of people coming up the valley to Edge for the festival. There was also a steady number of people going back down the valley. Not five minutes would pass without Rylen at least seeing a group walking together, a cart passing by with goods or passengers, or someone on a horse. There was the occasional squad of patrolling soldiers he was careful to look out for. If there was anyone who would bully him, it would be them.

He couldn’t help but feel a little thrill. He’d always badgered Hyrestl to take him along when he went on his trips to the capital, but he had been denied each time. The towns further down the valleys had been known to be far crueler to Erans than the people in Edge.

That’s why Rylen had done his best to avoid the first two towns he’d come across. It hadn’t been easy. The main road passed directly through them, which meant he’d had to take the side paths that were mostly just trails. With his ankle still healing, this made walking more treacherous. More than once, a root or clod of dirt had nearly twisted his ankle again.

Now he was nearing another town, and he was dreading having to walk off the main road.

The nights had been chilly, but they hadn’t been much of a problem yet. He knew it was only a matter of time before winter came and he’d have to find better shelter and clothing somehow. He didn’t even want to think about how he was going to supply himself with food. He would have to buy more eventually, which meant he’d have to show his face to someone. Likely someone who didn’t like Erans.

He considered how long he could go without food. He’d heard there were priests who fasted for a whole month at a time. Of course, they weren’t traveling on foot every day. He had eaten almost the last of his bread, meat, and cheese. There was that, and his feet were already sore. He could stay on the main road and go into town to buy food, or he could wait and skip the town like he had the last two.

He shook his head. He’d have to go into town eventually; it would be better for him to figure out how he would go about doing that now rather than later.

He stopped by the side of the road about a half mile outside of the next town. He was on a small hill that overlooked the next stretch of the valley. He could see the lake the town was near and a few of the surrounding fields where the land was flatter.

He’d never seen a lake before. Its sparkling waters dazzled him at first. He knew it wasn’t anything incredible, but here it was! The biggest body of water he’d seen was the pond surrounding the old temple.

It was about midafternoon. The valley was much broader at this point, which meant it would be closer to evening when the sun disappeared behind the mountains. If he waited until just the right time, the heavier shadows at dusk would help conceal his face and features.

Rylen walked a bit further to sit on a rock and wait while he ate what food he had left. He also wanted to enjoy the view a bit more. He’d have to walk past the lake eventually and leave it behind. He didn’t want to do that just yet.

***

Toamla waited until the small figure in the valley stopped and sat down before he told the guardsman that Kegol needed exercise and they would be off flying for a bit.

The guard protested, saying that his house arrest hadn’t ended, but he ignored the man and went about saddling up Kegol.

He finished quickly before the captain of the guard could be called, then hopped on the beast’s back. Kegol let himself fall from the balcony and stretched out his wings to catch himself on the thin mountain air. He steered away from Edge and glided down until it was hidden from view. He then flew in rough parallel with the valley, circumventing mountain tops or flying over ridges as needed.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Toamla kept his keen eyes on the ground ahead of them. The mountains still hid unbroken Musah monuments that could impede their flight.

In this way, Kegol reached an area near the place the figure had stopped along the valley road. There was a mountain ridge he could fly behind and not be seen by anyone in the valley. Yet, if he wanted to, he could gain a little height to peek over it before disappearing again.

As the sun slowly set in the sky, the ambassador and the dragon kept vigil.

***

As Rylen waited for the sun to go down, he wondered at how he had ended up in Gwyan.

He would have understood if he had been a soldier in the Ara-Eran army. The Gwyanian mountains had become a prison for them after the Erans had been routed. Only those who had caught a ride with the fleeing dragon riders escaped.

So, why was he here? More accurately, why had Hyrestl come to Gwyan? He wasn’t even Ara-Eran. His race was rarely talked about even in the stories of merchants.

He shook his head. It had always been a mystery to him. If only he had been born somewhere else, perhaps things would be different then. Even if it was the city of Acrabha, at least there he could see the flying ships of the Sae.

That was about it for Gwyan. Sure, it had its mystical stories about Kamwa and the giants of ancient days. There wasn’t anything alive in Gwyan. Everything was dead or long gone. It was said there were towns deep in the snowy mountains of Gwyan that mined the bones of giants as tall as mountains. However, these towns were usually cut off from the rest of Gwyan by treacherous mountain passes and severe snowstorms. The stories were mostly folktale.

Everywhere else, there were dangerous beasts, wars and mighty knights, encounters with spirits and the dead, and secret places that held answers to mysteries still unknown.

But in Ara-Era there were dragons! If he returned one day, perhaps he could become a Deagon and have a dragon of his own.

He dreamily thought of Toamla’s performance the other day and how the dragon’s fire had filled the sky. And what must it be like to fly in the sky on a dragon’s back?

He could see himself, flying high and being admired by everyone who looked up and watched him in awe. He continued daydreaming until the sun began to dip behind the mountains and cast their long shadows across the valley.

He slid off the rock and onto his aching feet. His muscles were stiff from sitting for so long. A part of him didn’t mind, though. It was like he was setting off on a grand adventure, and his weariness was proof of it. He limped slowly down the hill and into the town, careful to keep a low profile.

This wasn’t hard to do, since he was tired and if anyone looked his way, they would simply think he was a bedraggled traveler coming into town after a long day’s journey.

The first thing he wanted to acquire was bread. It was far less expensive than either meat or cheese. Even with the money he had, he needed to make it last as long as possible.

He asked a passerby where he could buy some, and she directed him farther up the road toward the center of town where there was a bakery.

The town wasn’t nearly the size of Edge. It was little more than a fishing village. However, it still boasted an inn that likely served the many who were journeying for the festival.

He wanted to avoid it if at all possible. It would be busy, and the last place he wanted to go was where there was a lot of people. He needed to get bread and be out of town before dark.

In the center of town there were a few stalls, but all the wares had been taken in for the night. Now that the sun wasn’t shining directly in the valley, a chill had come in with the shadows.

He found the bakery and stepped into a hot and small room. In the middle was a simple table with a rolling pin and a sprinkle of flour on it. A woman was cleaning out pots with a bucket of water and a rag on another table. To the right, there was a shelf with lumps covered in cloth.

She turned when he entered.

“I’ll be with you in a minute, hon.” She finished up the pot she was working on, then dried her hands on her apron. “What can I do for you?” She looked at him curiously.

Rylen had turned himself so his hood would block the light coming from the two lanterns in the room.

“I need to buy some bread.”

“Bread I got. It’s a hard per loaf.”

“A hard?”

The woman uncovered one of the lumps on the shelf and set it on the table between them.

“I make big loaves. I’ve got you and all the other travelers to sell to as well. Demand’s high. Take it or leave it. A hard per loaf.”

“I’ll take two.”

The woman nodded and took another bundle down from the shelf.

Rylen eased his pack to the floor so he could open it.

While he was bent over, the woman moved a lantern from its place above where she had been washing pots to a hook above the central table.

Rylen stood up from bending over his pack, and the light shone on his face.

“Kauming fire!” The baker whisked the loaves off the table out of his reach.

Rylen realized his mistake too late. “Please, I just need bread. I—”

“I don’t sell to you burnin’ murderers! I’ll have you run out of town!” She eyed his clothes. They were fairly new and in good shape. “But if you’re willing to pay a price…” she said in a lower voice.

He gulped. “How much?”

“Give me a shiny, and I won’t raise a ruckus, and you can have both the loaves too.”

A shiny was a whole silver piece.

Rylen remembered the unprovoked beating he’d received. News of Toamla’s latest trick had likely spread this far. In fact, he couldn’t see how it couldn’t have.

“How much for just keeping quiet?”

“A sharp.”

Rylen didn’t have any bronze pieces, so he fished out two iron hards and laid them on the table.

The woman snatched them up.

“Don’t come back unless you’re willing to pay.”

Rylen gingerly hitched his pack back on his shoulders and left. He limped out of town, and like the other nights, he found a place where the leaves had blown into a mound where he could lie down and sleep for the night.

***

Kegol flew over the tip of the ridge for just a few moments before dipping down again. Toamla had to find the figure again each time he peeked over the ridge. He watched as the young man left the building and settled down for the night. After he had made sure he wasn’t going to move elsewhere, he surveyed the surrounding valley for threats.

He made note of where he thought wolves might come stalking at night and decided he didn’t have anything to worry about. Of course, if the youth died, then that would be a victory for Ara-Era in one sense, but also an immense loss. It would deprive Gwyan of a priceless treasure, but it would do the same for Ara-Era as well.

There were times Toamla had thought about simply tossing a rock from Night’s Eye to hit him in the noggin, but a rock from out of the blue would raise suspicion. If at all possible, he needed to be kept alive. Eventually, Toamla would figure out a way to get him back to Ara-Era, but he had learned patience in his lifetime of a thousand years. Well, more than a thousand. Anyway, there would be an opportunity. Someday he’d learn his name too.

Kegol flew back toward Night’s Eye in a lazy, banking move. The air was nippy this high up. Toamla was used to worse, though, and the heat emanating from the beast was enough to keep away the chill. His attention was quickly brought back into sharp focus as something on a mountain caught his eye. They had strayed too far from the valley. Kegol felt Toamla’s panic and turned sharply, but it was too late.

Toamla felt a sharp jolt in his gut as they were pulled down at a rapid speed. A feeling like a boulder pressing down on every inch of his body threatened to crush him. The wind roared in his ears as he strained against the pressure. The mountainside was quickly coming up to meet them.

The dragon’s wings beat furiously in an attempt to turn back to the left where they had come from. Then suddenly, the pressure released, and his wings brushed the tops of trees as he caught air just in time.

Both of them breathed heavily. Toamla looked behind him at what had caused the sudden peril.

A monolith, heavily covered in moss, dirt, and stunted shrubbery, stood at a tall angle above the surrounding trees. It was a remnant of the Musah of ancient days. All who flew above such stones fell to the ground as if a great boulder had been dropped on them.

As Kegol gained height again, Toamla could see something faint showing itself in the landscape around the stone. There were ruins there. It looked like something giant had collapsed. Broken bits of chiseled and flat stone were covered by vegetation.

The Gwyanians didn’t know of it, but Ara-Era had attempted an invasion into Gwyan before the war by flying over the mountains. None of their Deagons had made it into the valleys. Fewer had returned, and they bore reports of the others being dashed to the ground by unseen forces. All those who had perished had flown over such stones as these. The valley of Edge was the only path that was known where these monoliths didn’t exist, standing or buried.

As night fell and Kegol made his slow climb back up to their room in Night’s Eye, Toamla took out a map from one of the saddle packs. He observed the landscape in the fading light and made a corresponding mark on the map. Then, he folded the map back up and replaced it.

At heart he was a scout, after all. He had been for hundreds of years, and he was the best there was. Being an ambassador was the perfect opportunity to do what he did best without anyone being the wiser.