A shadow fell over Durrin’s horse.

Durrin leapt from the saddle, landing in a crouch on the ground, scanning the skies.

Nothing. Just a small cloud, skirting its way across the rising Sun.

His horse looked at him and snorted, then continued plodding up the mountain trail. Durrin scanned the skies again, then caught up to his mount.

“Don’t be amused,” he said, grabbing the reins. “You won’t be laughing when I’m safe on the ground and you’re being carried off by an oversized flying lizard.”

He’d finally settled on a name for his horse: Raggedy Ruby. Raggedy because she wasn’t exactly the youngest horse on the block, and Ruby for a touch of red hair in her mane.

As Durrin heaved himself back into Raggedy Ruby’s saddle, his eyes involuntarily swept the skies again. The map called this route Wyvern Way: a weather-beaten trail, barely more than a path, that wound its way through the Rugeran Mountains fifty miles north of the Mera Valley.

When he had chosen this route, back in the security of the plains, he had hoped the pass lived up to its name. Wyverns were massive, two-legged flying reptiles, the apex predators of the skies. If this section of mountains truly held wyverns, their presence would deter griffin flights and small ground patrols, giving Durrin his best chance of slipping into Calamarvan territory unimpeded.

But now, with every movement in his peripheral vision making him jump, he was beginning to regret his choice. Wyverns were known to prey on deer, cows, reptilians, and even moose. A lone horse and rider, on an exposed path, would make a tempting target.

Eight days had passed since Durrin had left Saven. His skin had begun to tan—pyromancers didn’t get sunburns, thankfully—and the long hours of riding, coupled with daily attempts at the first Kymar routine, were toning his muscles. He had left his stolen armor and uniform behind, opting instead for less conspicuous traveling clothes.

As he had ridden into higher and higher foothills, settlements had grown sparser, giving way to isolated ranches. Now the mouth of a rocky canyon gaped before him, its depths shrouded in shadow as the Sun hid behind the towering mountains around it. Scraggly pines stuck out of the sides of the canyon like rows of prickly teeth.

Into that mouth he rode, plunging into the twilight.

image [https://i.imgur.com/HiT5sTv.png]

Durrin rides into Wyvern Way. Generated by the author via Midjourney.

As his horse trotted along, Durrin reached within himself and found the flame flickering deep inside his chest. Then, taking a deep breath, he reached out with his mind.

Every pyromancer had a sixth sense—called pyrosense—that allowed them to detect the energy within living beings around them. Immediately, Durrin felt the powerful thrum of Raggedy Ruby beneath him, pulsing with each beat of her heart. He reached farther. Gradually, his mind became aware of a low, throbbing pulse, the lifeforce of a thousand plants around him, all living, all growing at once. Against that tapestry were faint sparks of animal life: perhaps a squirrel, a bird, or a mouse. His mind sensed them all, dimly, although he could not easily pinpoint in which direction or how far away.

He rode for some time, winding his way up the track, listening to the world around him with his mind. Every locale had a different pattern of sparks. Some places, like plains and fields, were serene as a gentle breeze. But these mountains were wild, young, and unpredictable.

He also watched with his eyes, scouting the path ahead, the woods to either side, and the skies above. Besides the occasional sparrow, nothing flew overhead. No griffins. And no wyverns.

“We may just slip through unnoticed,” Durrin said, patting Ruby’s neck.

Then he felt it—a new spark out of the myriad. This one was stronger and brighter than the others. It wasn’t a wyvern—it was far too small for that, and too intelligent. Perhaps a snippen or a swifter, posted as a sentry to watch the road.

Durrin kept riding, displaying no reaction. In a situation like this, pyromancy was an advantage best kept secret for as long as possible. As he rode, he surreptitiously snapped his fingers, summoning a flame in his palm. He focused his mind on the creature he had detected, willing the flame to flicker in its direction.

The flame flickered to his left. A casual glance revealed a rocky crag jutting out from the canyon wall, its towering crest crowded with bushes. It was the perfect sentry point. A lookout there could command a view nearly half a mile down the canyon. It was too late to hide: any half-decent sentry would have already spotted him.

His suspicion was confirmed when, a few seconds later, he heard a high-pitched bird call echo off the canyon walls. Five seconds later, another bird call answered it, issuing from somewhere up ahead. Both were well-crafted fakes. He should know—his mimicry teacher at the Academy had drilled him for two weeks on those exact calls.

“Here we go,” Durrin murmured, shifting in his saddle. He reached out with his pyrosense, looking for the sparks that would indicate a patrol’s presence. There they were, a hundred yards or so farther up the trail. As he rode closer, he could pick out their numbers. Eight. Nine. Ten. Maybe twelve warriors, moving toward him further up the trail.

“Demons’ wings,” Durrin quietly cursed. In his prime, he could have taken that many, sowing mayhem with fire and sword. But not today. In his current state, he couldn’t handle more than three or four.

Durrin briefly considered turning his horse off the path in an attempt to dodge the trap. But the incline on one side of the trail was steep and rocky, while the other side dropped off toward the creek at the bottom of the canyon. Raggedy Ruby wouldn’t get ten paces without spraining an ankle or falling. Turning back now would just invite pursuit. Durrin took a deep breath. “No way around but through, I guess.”

He turned the next corner. A dozen warriors blocked his path.

“Halt!” the lead soldier cried. “Dismount and identify yourself!”

Durrin complied, his eyes sweeping over the patrol. By the style of their armor, they were Elandrians, not Calamarvans. Five had arrows nocked; the others hefted shields and spears. He’d have to buy some time, wait until they had let down their guard before making a break for it. Time for some acting.

Durrin fumbled to pull back his cloak, showing his empty belt. “I am unarmed,” he said, pitching his voice higher and adding a slight warble. “My name is Roland Ridnur, just a merchant passing through.” The name had been one of his go-to aliases when doing espionage work before his imprisonment. He wished he could let a bit of a Solapharian accent slip into his speech, but he was out of practice with that particular dialect, so he stuck with an Elandrian inflection.

The squad leader, a tall and lanky avir, stepped forward. His eyes were deep brown with suspicion. “Where are you from?”

“Marlay, a small town in Solapharia,” Durrin responded. “I’m traveling there now.”

“Solapharia?” the soldier said. “But that’s north of here, not west.”

Durrin heaved a sigh. “Marlay is on the far western end of Solapharia. This Sun-forsaken track is the fastest route from Modine—or at least it is now, with Meradov up in a flurry.” That was hardly true—there were much better routes to the north. He was banking on the lad failing his impromptu geography test.

The avir flunked. “All right. What exactly are you transporting?” The avir looked askance at Durrin’s horse. “Rags?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Durrin said. “I come down every spring with mules loaded with tin, sell the whole lot at Modine for hard silver, then head home.” He pulled open one of his saddlebags, showing it was nearly empty. “Unfortunately, some thieves snuck into my camp three days ago and stole my whole year’s earnings. Don’t know how my wife and kids will be getting through the winter.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The squad leader kept frowning at him. Durrin looked down and scratched the back of his neck, doing his best to look like a merchant fallen on tough times.

“Well, Roland, I’m afraid I have bad news for you,” the sergeant said. “Due to the war with Calamar, this pass is closed. And we’re under orders to arrest anyone who attempts to cross.”

The warrior in Durrin urged him to lash out at this helmed beanpole in front of him and make a break for the trees. But he pushed the urge down. It wasn’t time yet. “Under arrest?” Durrin said, increasing the tremor in his voice. “For trying to get to my homeland? I wish you’d reconsider.” He fumbled for the sack of coins at his belt. “The thieves didn’t take all my earnings. Perhaps for a small fee . . .”

The sergeant’s eyes flashed red. “Bribery won’t work on me, scum pan. I’m here for my kingdom, not for silver. Crenick, Tvert, bind him.”

Two korriks stepped forward, grabbed Durrin’s arms with sharp claws, and lashed his wrists behind his back. Durrin gave some token resistance, crying out as they landed a couple kicks.

“Take him back to camp,” the sergeant said.

Durrin let the squad of soldiers escort him up the path. After a hundred yards or so, they came to the patrol’s camp, strategically situated in front of a natural chokepoint. Here, the canyon walls narrowed to within ten feet of each other, creating a ravine barely wide enough for the canyon’s burbling creek. It was the perfect location for an outpost. If a Calamarvan force tried to move down the canyon from farther upstream, they could be held off nearly indefinitely by a small band of soldiers at the ravine’s mouth.

Plus, the tall cliffs to one side and the pines on three others likely prevented wyvern attacks.

The camp, set up outside the ravine’s mouth, consisted of just a few tents around a fire pit. It looked like the patrol had no horses. That would make his escape easier. The only real obstacle would be the single swifter among them.

Most of the soldiers went back to various tasks around the camp, leaving only a few soldiers still guarding him. He could wait longer for an ideal time to escape, but why? He was losing daylight.

Durrin turned so that none of the guards could see his hands tied behind his back. He then began moving the tips of his fingers in subtle circles, gathering invisible cords of momentum. With a sharp flick, he transformed the energy into a burst of searing heat, channeled into his bonds. One of the loops burned completely through, and the tension in the ropes around his wrists vanished. One shake, and they’d drop to the ground. But for the moment, they still resembled proper bonds.

“Search his bags, and confiscate anything suspicious,” the sergeant was directing. “We’ll send him down the canyon tomorrow morning.”

“That really won’t be necessary,” Durrin said, still adopting his mercantile tremor.

“I’m afraid it will,” the sergeant snapped.

Durrin dropped the accent. “I’m afraid you’re wrong.”

Durrin lashed out with his hands, snapping his bonds and striking both of his korrik escorts at the same time. Then he spun, flames shooting out from his whirling hands and spraying throughout the camp, catching dry leaves and tent fabric on fire. Soldiers ducked or shielded their eyes.

“Stop!”

“He’s loose!”

Durrin sprang across the camp to Raggedy Ruby, kicking the soldier guarding her and leaping into the saddle. He dug his heels into Ruby’s flanks. The mare must have understood the urgency, because she took off like a shooting star, faster than she’d ever bothered to run for Durrin before.

The soldiers scrambled to block his escape. But most made a major blunder; they ran to block the way back down the canyon. Durrin instead steered his horse straight toward the ravine leading farther up Wyvern Way.

Only the squad leader had the sense—and the long legs—to get in Durrin’s way. He dashed to the ravine’s mouth, raised a spear, and launched it at Durrin’s chest.

But there was a reason Durrin had won the Kymar championship three years running. Even if it was over a decade ago.

Durrin shifted his arm upward, releasing a wave of energy that knocked the spear inches off course. The spear tip grazed his ribcage, ripping through the fabric of his jerkin but missing his skin. As it flashed by, he brought his hand up, closing his fingers around the shaft.

Durrin swept his hand over his head, whipping the spear around in a half circle. The haft clanged into the avir’s helmet, knocking him off balance.

Durrin could easily have killed the sergeant. It would only have taken readjusting his grip on the spear and delivering a well-aimed thrust.

But this was just a soldier, doing his job. He didn’t need to die today.

Instead, Durrin tucked the spear to his chest and leaned forward, digging his heels into the mare’s sides. The wind whistled around him as Raggedy Ruby accelerated into a full gallop up the ravine, her hooves pummeling the creek bed. The shouts behind him grew fainter. Two arrows whizzed past him, clattering off rocks. After a few seconds, he rounded a bend and fell out of range.

“Well, that was easy enough,” Durrin said, letting his horse slow a touch.

Then a swifter’s howl echoed off the sides of the ravine.

Durrin drove his heels into Raggedy Ruby’s flanks again, cursing. He’d forgotten about the swifter. Normally, a horseman wouldn’t have much to worry about a pursuing swifter. While swifters could outrun any horse, they weren’t big enough to take down a mounted rider, especially while dodging spear thrusts. But he needed to put enough distance between him and the rest of the patrol so that they wouldn’t catch up while he dealt with the swifter.

Durrin glanced behind him and saw a streak of brown fur, barely forty yards behind him and gaining quickly. Shadows, but those creatures were fast. He snapped the fingers of his left hand, summoning a spike of flame that he winged behind him. The swifter dodged it effortlessly without even breaking stride.

Very well. Durrin spun his spear, summoning a swirling whirlwind of flames. Then he flung the fiery vortex at the swifter behind him.

The swifter drew up short, mouthing something too distant for Durrin to hear. The ball of flames came within three yards of its target, then shattered, fragments of flame fanning out to either side like they had hit an invisible wall.

Confound it. Verbomancy.

It was one of the five branches of magic, parallel to pyromancy and terramancy. Verbomancers could manipulate the air itself with their words, causing gusts of wind, influencing the weather, or—in this case—creating a wall of solidified air.

In Durrin’s experience, verbomancers always meant trouble.

Only a moment later, Raggedy Ruby stumbled, as if she had galloped into an invisible tripwire—which, thanks to the verbomancer, she probably had. Sky and earth tipped in Durrin’s vision as he pitched forward. Then his training kicked in, and he channeled his momentum into a ball of fire that he winged blindly behind him. A yelp told him the flaming projectile had hit its target.

Raggedy Ruby faltered, then got gingerly back to her feet. She got off to an uncertain trot, then, apparently assured that her limbs were still intact, eased back into a true gallop. Durrin glanced behind him. The swifter was only thirty yards away now, some fur singed but otherwise undeterred.

The trail climbed upwards as the ravine widened out into a proper canyon again. Durrin hunched over his horse’s neck, slitting his eyes against the wind. His horse would tire soon, long before the swifter would, leaving him at the mercy of an opponent who could surround him with invisible walls if given enough time. Options. Options . . .

The tree line broke. He rode out onto a flat stretch of rock, interrupted by only the occasional bush or patch of grass. Mighty flanks of mountains rose to either side, while rows of peaks and valleys cascaded before him: the eastern side of the Rugeran Mountains, with a distant flat line of plains far beyond. He had reached the summit of the pass, higher than even trees grew.

Raggedy Ruby fell into a comfortable rhythm as she streaked across the pass. Tears from the cold air welled in Durrin’s eyes, blurring his vision. Every few seconds, he impatiently wiped them away, but they would come back a moment later. Unable to see clearly how far away the swifter was, Durrin hunched over in the saddle and focused instead on his pyrosense.

The world came to life around him. The horse beneath him was a roaring flame of sinew and strength. Behind him, growing steadily closer, he sensed an unflickering fountain of energy indicating his swifter pursuer. These two sparks, the horse and the swifter, were the only animals in the vicinity, two blazing fireballs against a scattered backdrop of grass and shrubs.

Then he felt a third spark. It was faint, meaning it was far away. But it was unlike any spark he’d felt before. Primal. Fierce. Huge.

And growing nearer. Rapidly.

Sudden panic coursed through Durrin, freezing his muscles.

Then the image of a scroll in a sealed vault flashed across his mind. No, he wasn’t going to let his panic stop him. He hadn’t survived seven years in a dungeon and traveled two hundred miles to end up as a reptile’s lunch.image [https://imgur.com/vyU8aso]

image [https://i.imgur.com/vyU8aso.png]Wyvern Way. Two images generated in Midjourney and combined in Photoshop by the author.

Durrin jerked the reins with all his weight, yanking Raggedy Ruby’s head up and cutting off her gallop. He swept his spear in a twisting arc that caught the wave of misplaced momentum and channeled it into a blast of fire above him.

A primal scream split the sky. Something dark, winged, and scaly sliced through the air in front of him, talons as long as Durrin’s hand raking the air mere feet from his head. The creature plowed through the inferno he had summoned, scattering heat and flames like a battering ram.

Then the danger passed. The creature, its wingspan as long as a cottage, retreated into the sky, screaming as it went. Raggedy Ruby bucked then, and it was all Durrin could do to avoid flying off.

It took Durrin half a minute to calm his steed. Ruby’s eyes were rolling, sweat pouring down her glossy neck as she skittered back and forth, neighing loud enough to wake the deaf. In the commotion, Durrin barely noticed the swifter dash back to the tree line and disappear.

“Scared of a wee little wyvern, are we?” he called after it, feeling defiantly emboldened in the wake of the sudden attack and its unexpected outcome. “Be thankful they find swifters too scrawny to bother!”

Finally Raggedy Ruby came to a stop, her muscles spasming every couple seconds as she heaved huge breaths. Durrin breathed heavily too, his heart still hammering in his chest like a woodpecker. He scanned the sky, all senses trained for movement.

Nothing.

“Well, not too bad, not too bad,” Durrin said, patting his horse’s neck. “We scared off a wyvern and let it scare off our pursuer at the same time. Now as long as our racing hearts don’t kill us, we just have a long descent through the mountains, a few checkpoints, and nine hundred miles of roads, then we should arrive at Imperium in just about two weeks.”

Raggedy Ruby gave him a look that was decidedly unappreciative.