Chapter 45 – Hawkstone Hamlet

They followed green trails into the deeper forest. Tara’s calves ached with the constant exercise, but she wasn’t tired. The memory of their recent battle against the Fell King’s creatures was still too close. In fact, now that the danger was passed Tara couldn’t control a rising tremor in her limbs.

It was almost as if being out of danger was worse than being in it. After the initial adrenaline rush, the peacefulness of the woods left her feeling slightly unhinged. Birds were singing and the sun was shining, but she was still poised for escape, and her brain couldn’t seem to convince her body that the immediate threat was over and even if she had died in the last fight, dying wasn’t so bad, and it wasn’t like it was permanent.

Could it be?

The question surprised Tara. It was sudden and out of the blue, and made her more nervous than ever. She grit her teeth against a nervous chatter, hoping that Acalon wouldn’t notice.

Of course I can’t actually die, she thought to herself, concentrating on the dragon rider’s straight shoulders. Don’t be stupid, Tara. You know you always regenerate.

But she wasn’t convinced. Enough of her situation was unique to make her worries seem legitimate. And if she really died here, what would happen to her in the “real world”? Was her body even still in her apartment, unconscious in front of her PC? Had Erika called the hospital? And did that mean that she could leave this world anytime, just as suddenly as she had been brought into it?

“Tara.”

Acalon’s voice brought her back. Tara clenched her fists, trying to resist that persistent shake. “Uh-huh?”

The dragon rider scrutinized her, his eyes narrowed. “There is a small village ahead,” he said. “We’ll rest there.”

“Do you think it’s safe?”

“I think it is needed,” answered Acalon simply, still watching her. “And yes. Neither Fenryx or I have seen any sign of the Fell one’s servants.”

Tara was immediately curious. “Can you and Fenryx communicate even when you’re so far apart?”

“Yes.”

“Then he’s back at the Grim Syr? And everyone is safe?”

“Everyone is safe,” murmured Acalon. He turned back to their road, but his pace was measured, not distancing himself from her. “Fenryx is not at the Grim Syr. I told him that it would be best if he kept his distance for a time.”

Tara stopped walking. “What?”

Acalon faced her slowly. He still had not removed his face covering, but Tara could read the tension in his set brows.

“We will talk where it is not so open,” he said. “I do not wish anything said between us to be overheard. Does this seem right to you, Hero of Allerion?”

The slight dig at her being a “hero” was less an insult than tease. The dragon rider’s tone was still wry, but Tara recognized the difference, and was grateful. That slight humor at her expense made her a little stronger.

“Alright,” she said. “If you really think it’s necessary.”

Past the last trees, they could see a quiet little village ahead. Tara recognized the place immediately, even if she had never seen it before outside of the game. The thatched homes and blooming gardens, the sound of metal beaten over a forge and someone singing a favorite tavern song, provided an unusual mix of hominess and practicality that was intrinsic to Hawkstone Hamlet.

There were no merchants here, but Tara remembered the inn. Jeorg’s Best was a cheerful place that provided beds and meals for travelers. The proprietor, Jeorg, took special pride in his cheese.

Smoke rose above the chimney and the door to the inn was already open. News of the attack at the base of the cliffs had clearly not reached Hawkstone, and the villagers were minding their own business, only cursorily interested in the newcomers.

Inside the inn, Jeorg’s cheerful voice called out to them. “Welcome, welcome! Travelers to our small village? We are honored, friends, to greet you.”

Jeorg was a jolly, comfortably overweight elf. He was an unusual sight for most at this end of the world, so close to Skorcrest, but Tara had been prepared for his welcome. He was a Lightkin, one of the dark elves who found strength and comfort in the brightness of the sun. His thick dark hair couldn’t disguise the long, flexible ears of his kind, and his face was glowing as he hurried towards Acalon and Tara.

As soon as he reached them, the elf’s smile vanished. Tara was concerned at first, but Jeorg’s attention was all for her.

“Oh, Maker’s mercy,” he said, planting his firm, soft hands on her shoulders and making her sit on the nearest bench. “You’re pale as a ghost and shaking like a leaf. Poor little one. Come, come, you’re with friends here. There’s no need to be afraid.”

“There was a raid on the villagers under the cliff,” said Acalon quietly in answer to the elf’s piercing, questioning look. “We are scouting for any signs of danger nearby. But all is quiet.”

“A raid? The Borzerk?” Tara could sense Jeorg’s renewed interest in her.

“The Fell King,” answered Acalon quietly.

“But that’s impossible.” The elf’s whisper had turned harsh. He looked around them as if the Fell King might suddenly materialize on one of the inn’s benches. “We have heard nothing of the Fell One for some time.”

“It is unexpected,” allowed Acalon. “Thankfully, we were able to drive back his force this time. But we must be prepared for another attack. We all know that the Fell King has only been waiting for his moment. He would never be content to limit his realm to the Northlands.”

“But an attack on Skorcrest,” murmured Jeorg, shaking his head. “What does the Prime Dragon say of this?”

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“I don’t know,” said Acalon. “I will hear when I return to the mountain. She will not be pleased, I am certain.”

Jeorg turned aside immediately. “In that case, you both must be exhausted. Let me bring you some food. We have the finest cheese in all Allerion—”

“I’d like a sandwich,” said Tara suddenly, raising her head.

The elf stared at her in surprise. His face broke in a grin. “Someone has good taste,” he approved. “And you, friend dragon rider?”

“The same,” said Acalon quietly. “Thank you.”

When the elf left them, Acalon turned back to Tara. He saw how tight her posture was.

“Are you alright, Hero?” he asked.

Her laugh was forced. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s not like this is my first fight.”

“The first one, perhaps, that has no immediate end in sight,” said Acalon. She raised her eyes, curious, and he explained. “We both know the Fell King’s forces will return. Fenryx tells me that he sees smoke rising in the mountains of the north. The forges of his monsters are burning. I am afraid as you are, that war has come to my people and we are in no position to face it.”

Tara straightened. She hadn’t expected Acalon to be so frank with her, but his directness was reassuring.

“What do you mean?” she said. “Skorcrest is strong. You have faced the Fell King before.”

“Yes,” allowed the dragon rider. “In the age before ours, the resistance against him is still remembered in legend and song. But the Fell King was forced to his own land, never defeated. And then, we were not alone. We had the help of other realms.”

Acalon was silent as Jeorg placed tankards of water in front of them. Tara resisted the impulse to ask for something stronger. She doubted that Wenrik, if he were with them, would have been so shy.

“Can you not ask for help?” asked Tara.

“The friendship between the free peoples of Allerion has always been fragile,” Acalon told her. “We quarrel between each other more often than not, and resist asking aid of anyone for as long as we can. In this time of peace, we are less forgiving than we once were. Our dragons are feared, with reason. I do not know that many would mourn the loss of our mountain.”

“I would mourn it,” said Tara impulsively. She was still shaken, her hands clasped around her tankard, but she was indignant at the thought of Skorcrest falling and couldn’t hold back.

Acalon’s mouth twitched. “You are so loyal to us, Borzerk?”

Tara felt the heat rush up her neck.

“I know your fondness for the cliffs,” said Acalon before she could answer. “I do not understand it, but there is much about you that I fail to understand. When we arrived at Hawkstone, you never once asked me where we were going. You went to Jeorg’s Rest as if you had been born here.”

Tara hesitated. She looked for her sandwich, but the inn keeper was nowhere in sight.

“I’ve—seen it,” she offered awkwardly. “You know I have visions.”

“What else have you seen?” asked Acalon. “Do you know what is happening in the Northlands? Do you know if the peoples of the south will survive this time, as we have before? Do you know what will become of Skorcrest?”

His questions were fast, one after the other. Tara couldn’t guess how long Acalon had been puzzling over these issues, but she didn’t doubt that he had waited for an opportunity to ask her all this in privacy. He could have been curious on behalf of the Prime Dragon, but in his earnestness she did not believe it.

“Your sandwiches, milord, milady,” said Jeorg, setting down wooden plates. He looked between the two and shook his head. “I will have baths prepared for you as well. You still have the dust of battle on you both.”

“Thank you,” offered Tara.

She could sense Acalon’s impatience for her to answer him. But she delayed, taking a bite out of her sandwich. She hadn’t realized how hungry she truly was until she tasted that melted cheese under crisply browned bread.

“I thought I knew,” she said at last. “I thought I knew how everything was supposed to go. But so much has happened that I can’t explain. I don’t trust my visions, not like I did before.”

“What do they tell you?” asked Acalon. “Your visions?”

“They tell me your mountain will not fall,” said Tara quietly. “That Skorcrest will stand against the Fell King with her old allies, and that you will triumph as you did before.”

She saw the flicker of emotion, even relief in the dragon rider’s quick glance.

“But in my visions, there was no attack against Skorcrest at this time,” Tara continued. “This is too soon and you are right, you’re not prepared. With the mountain as it is, under Veraxyn, I do not know that you will ever be.”

“What do you mean?” whispered Acalon.

“Why did you tell Fenryx to leave the Grim Syr?” Tara returned.

Acalon tensed. He looked around them, but the inn was empty except for themselves and Jeorg humming as he swept for the floor by his counter.

“Veraxyn will question him,” said Acalon at last. “I do not want him to face her alone.”

“Would she use him against you?” asked Tara. “All dragons answer to their queen, don’t they?”

“Yes,” said Acalon. “They hear as one when she calls. But the bond that Fenryx and I share is deeper than his allegiance to Veraxyn. He will not betray me, and I…” The dragon rider stopped, his lean fingers beating restlessly, briefly on the tabletop. “Veraxyn is unpredictable. When I speak with her next, I do not know what will come. But Fenryx will be safe.”

“Then your command is more powerful than Veraxyn’s?” asked Tara, intrigued. “To Fenryx, I mean?”

“I would not call it command,” said Acalon. “He respects my will as I honor his.”

Tara glanced down at her sandwich. “You believe Veraxyn would hurt him, one of her own kind—because of me?”

“Why do you ask me when you know this as well as I do?” It was strange to see Acalon agitated, but Tara could hear the strain in his lowered voice. “Your power cannot be ignored. It is incredible. No one in the history of song has destroyed three battle trolls as you did. No human should be capable of that kind of strength.” The dragon rider’s eyes never left Tara’s face. “Veraxyn will want that power if she cannot understand it, and I will not see Fenryx suffer for my sake. He saved my life once. I owe him mine.”

“Don’t you think you are being careless with a life you owe someone else?” asked Tara. She was surprised by the flatness in her asking. “Do you think it will be any easier for Fenryx to see you suffer? If the Prime Dragon kills you, don’t you think he will grieve the loss his entire life?”

Acalon refused to look aside. “No,” he said. “The loss of a rider is expected, even anticipated. My death will be avenged, not mourned.”

Tara was briefly speechless. “Avenged on whom?” she asked finally. “The Prime Dragon? Because if you go back to her, she will punish you for not bringing me to her immediately. She will punish you for warning Fenryx to stay away.”

“The Prime Dragon has visions as you do,” returned the dragon rider. “She knows what most do not, and can see into the past, future, and present. She knew before anyone, that you were not who you seem to be. She believes that you…” His words cut off briefly. “If I am not safe from her, you are less so. You are not even of the cliffs. But when you used your power against the Fell King’s monsters, you saved me and many others who were helpless to defend themselves. I saw you fall and vanish. Where did you go, Tara MacQueen? What happens when the blue light takes you?”

Tara glanced at Acalon’s untouched sandwich.

“I’ll tell you,” she said, “if you eat first.”

Acalon’s fierce eyes widened with astonishment. “What?”

“Eat,” repeated Tara. “And I’ll tell you everything you want to know. You must be as tired and hungry as I am.”

The dragon rider knew what she was really asking. He raised one hand to face his covering and jerked the cloth free.

His thin face was hard and pale, the scar on his left cheek a visible, jagged line to his chin. Acalon’s hooded eyes were void of emotion as he raised his tankard and drank.

“Now, tell me,” he said.

“You haven’t eaten.”

The dragon rider threw his head back in impatience. “What do you want of me?” he said. “Do you think I can eat at a time like this, when the world—”

“There will always be trouble in this world,” interrupted Tara, “but there will not always be you, or me, or the others who now stand as Allerion’s defenders. I don’t think you understand the value of your own life, or what that life means to others around you.” She picked up her own sandwich. “If Fenryx were here, he would second me,” she added. “I don’t think a dragon would hesitate to eat before he thought about satisfying his curiosity.”

“You can talk and eat, can’t you?” said Acalon, sounding almost childlike in his resistance.

“Who said anything about talking?” Tara enjoyed the taste of her melted cheese. “If I can, I’m going to show you exactly what happens when the blue light comes. And I don’t think there are any sandwiches in the Vale.”