Zyryxa surged to her feet. Her axe lay between her and Matyxal, closer to the ridge where the bard sat grinning. Without it, she felt naked. It would have been nice to catch this feeling moments ago, and feel the heat of Rivux pressed against her, but now she felt exposed. What if Matyxal had been charming them? What if Rivux cared nothing for her? Zyryxa’s hands hovered near her throwing axes, hoping her suspicion wasn’t warranted. Regardless, it was better to cut straight through things than dance around them.
“Where is Pelzyq?” she demanded.
Matyxal chortled. “Poor guy couldn’t keep up. Vomited a couple times before I left him behind.”
“That wasn’t the deal, Matyxal. You agreed to remain bound and in our custody.”
Matyxal’s grin faded; her eyes narrowed. Then, with characteristic audacity, she ignored Zyryxa entirely. “Rivux,” she said, her voice going high, “how did you manage to get yourself attacked?”
The tall dragon knight brushed snow from his furs. Zyryxa’s gaze was transfixed on the damp patch at his groin, though her fingers remained tense near her throwing axes.
“I tried.” Zyryxa could hear the tears he didn’t cry for his fallen dragon. “Infyriux communed with Praedax. Several times. Vaztyma refused to believe me.” His sorrow melted into fury. “Even after I turned away, even after I promised I wouldn’t burn anything, she came after us.”
Zyryxa placed a hand on his back. “I’m sorry, Rivux.” Guilt tightened around her, like a wyrm’s claws. She regretted attacking Infyriux, but pride kept her silent. The glory of her assault on the dragon’s wing felt tarnished now. Powerful, the deed had been. Compassionate, it was not. She sought to comfort him without confessing fault, her fingers intertwining with his.
Rivux squeezed her hand, his grip firm but not crushing. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, their bond felt like more than just physical attraction. “Thank you, Zyryxa.”
She nodded, unwilling to use words when actions sufficed. Words were the tools of bards, and sometimes even superhumans just needed someone to be human with them rather than shower them with glib-tongued nonsense.
Matyxal leapt from the ridge, landing gracefully in the ravine. “I was already here. Two more days, and I would’ve reached the Pridefort.” The bard struggled to rein in her frustration. “Why did you come?”
“You think I wanted to lose Infyriux? That I had a choice?” Rivux roared, his voice echoing off the gelubor.
“Faxiq.” Matyxal spat the name, her face contorted with hatred. The single word refocused Zyryxa, reminding her that their true enemy wasn’t in this ravine. They all wanted the same thing. Faxiq had to be stopped. But he might not be the only threat.
Above, a great blue shape roared as it surveyed the landscape.
Rivux’s glare turned skyward. “He commanded me to assault the Pridefort. I had to come.”
Matyxal sighed, turning toward the ridge. “You can come down, Natazia.”
Zyryxa’s ears perked as her eyes swept the gelubor. Natazia emerged, moving over the ice like a ghost. Zyryxa masked her surprise at having let not one but two warriors to sneak up on her.
“So, you’ve caught the red rider,” Natazia said, descending into the ravine. “Now we have not one but two unrestrained Fire Tribe.”
Matyxal stepped between Natazia and Rivux. “I didn’t know if I’d need to talk with my hands, should Vaztyma descend on Rivux again.”
Natazia tightened her grip on her spear, ready to strike. “You fight Vaztyma, you fight me. Champion! Mighty Praedax!”
Rivux clutched to Zyryxa. “I’ll keep you safe,” she promised, her voice low.
He nodded solemnly, his trust deepening her conviction that this man was a good match for her. She would make sure Vaztyma listened this time.
Zyryxa felt like a wall of ice collided with her skull. She gripped her head, fighting the pain as a mighty voice roared within. DO YOU HAVE THE FIRE KNIGHT?
“Zyryxa?” Rivux’s voice was soft, his hand firm around hers.
“Praedax,” she muttered, recognizing the invader in her mind. Qorzillux’s telepathic presence had been warm, motherly. Praedax felt cold, domineering, self-important. Still, she remembered the day in the Pridefort and knew better than to challenge Vaztyma and her dragon. At least, not yet.
I have Rivux and Matyxal, she relayed to the dragon. Both seek Faxiq’s demise and offer their allegiance. She added an image of their location, glancing at the dark blue dragon circling the skies above Volqor.
Pride and mistrust radiated from Praedax. Or was it Vaztyma? Good work, daughter, Vaztyma communed. You’ve proven yourself today.
The pressure in her skull eased as the dragon’s presence retracted. “Vaztyma will be here soon,” she announced.
Anticipation settled over the ravine as Praedax circled the forest, searching for a place to land. Lexyn, Pelzyq, Zyrxl, and Dryxl were not so silent. Obnoxiously loud, as Pelzyq tended to be, they crashed down the gelubor-covered hillside into the ravine. Zyryxa contemplated letting go of Rivux, not wanting the extra attention her closeness was sure to bring. Deciding against it, she shifted closer to him, refusing to give way to anything for the sake of Pelzyq and whatever drivel might run through his lips.
“Ah, Ice Princess!” Pelzyq jeered, chunks of vomit clinging to his furs and stubble. “It takes fire to melt that icy heart of yours! And what a puddle it leaves behind, eh?”
Zyryxa glared at him, refusing to let go. “And it only takes a little running to upset that tummy of yours. What a mess it leaves behind, eh?”
Pelzyq cocked his head, his stupid mouth looking like it wasn’t smart enough to breath in air on its own before sprouting into a grin that made him look even dumber somehow. Qoryxa’s flaming eyes! How could Lexyn look at this and think, ‘Sure, I’ll fall in love with this.’ Zyryxa shook her head, biting down before she said something harsh.
“Enough!” Natazia snapped. “The Champion comes.”
Again, Zyryxa chafed at Natazia’s command. Yet, again, she grudgingly accepted the truth. They needed to straighten up, and come the Champion did.
Praedax hovered over the trees, its wingbeat generating gusts of wind that rocked the gelubor and made each Volqori in the ravine stagger. Unable to find a landing in the dense forestry, the dark blue dragon created one. Dozens of gelubor shattered and fell beneath Praedax, chiming and ringing like bells.
Zyryxa’s grip on Rivux tightened. Could she face Vaztyma if it came to that? Letting go of him, she reclaimed her mother’s axe, preparing herself for whatever may come. Even Matyxal showed her nervousness, swallowing heavy and taking several deep breaths.
Vaztyma vaulted from Praedax’s back, absorbing a sixty-foot drop without her knees buckling an inch. Her twin longswords glimmered, one wreathed in ice, and the other in fire. “Bind them, my children.”
Natazia obeyed without hesitation. She threw Matyxal to the ground. The bard gritted her teeth as her face was pressed into the snow, her arms wrenched back, and her wrists bound with rope.
Zyryxa stood beside Rivux, willing her trembling to stay hidden. “They come in peace,” she said, forcing confidence into her voice. “They seek Faxiq’s demise.”
“They’re either cowards or traitors,” Vaztyma replied. “Neither is worthy of a place in my Volqor.”
Rivux released Zyryxa, stepping forward and drawing his sword. “I am no coward!”
“Yet, you fled—not only from Praedax, but from your dying dragon. If that is not cowardice, then I am no Champion.”
You shouldn’t be Champion, Zyryxa thought but dared not say. This woman was nowhere near as worthy as Zyrthalla had been. The memory of Vaztyma pulling her hair—and the futility of her own resistance—kept Zyryxa silent.
“Bind him, daughter,” Vaztyma commanded.
“It takes great bravery to rebel against an unjust Champion,” she said, feeling that truth like she felt the cold. “Faxiq is a tyrant. Rebellion against him is the will of Divine Seraxa. I believe Qoryxa would stand by their judgment.” As should you, she left unsaid.
Vaztyma’s expression hardened. She studied Zyryxa, her silence stretching unbearably long. Zyryxa held her mother’s axe, grounding herself in Zyrthalla’s teachings: stand for justice, show compassion, and never let fear keep you from doing what was right.
“Surrender your sword, Knight Rivux,” Vaztyma said at last.
Rivux opened his mouth to protest, but Matyxal cut him off. “We surrender, Ice Champion. In your judgment, blessed by Qoryxa, we trust.” The bard glanced at Rivux, her gaze steady.
Zyryxa reached out her hand, empathizing with how exposed he was, and how naked losing his sword would make him feel. “I’ll keep you safe,” she promised.
Rivux inhaled deeply. Stripped of his bond and now his sword—what would he lose next? Yet he surrendered his blade, trusting Zyryxa. She felt heat rise in her chest, an emotion she couldn’t yet call love but knew was far more than lust.
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“I put my life in your hands, Ice Champion,” Rivux said, though his eyes remained on Zyryxa. Qoryxa’s flaming eyes! Literally! The chill that ran down her spine! The fire that rose in her chest! This fire-born knight was branding himself into her heart like a warriormark.
Vaztyma sheathed her dragonbone swords with a smooth, practiced motion. “Tell me why I shouldn’t bind you and deliver you to the Fire Tribe. Why let you breath one more breath of Ice Tribe air.”
Zyryxa clenched her fists, her control tested. She dreamed of the day she’d challenge Vaztyma atop Duilahir or Qorzillux but maintained her icy composure.
“Because we are loyal to Volqor,” Matyxal said, “not the stain on her glory that calls itself ‘Fire Champion.’”
“Let her rise, Natazia,” Vaztyma ordered.
Natazia lifted Matyxal from the snow with no courtesy. Her zeal left Zyryxa uneasy. Could she trust Natazia to defy authority when it mattered? Zyryxa doubted it.
Despite the rough treatment, Matyxal remained composed. “Faxiq disgraces our traditions for his own vile desires. He sought to make an underage whelpling his consort. She escaped only because I intervened.”
Vaztyma’s grin was chilling, more sinister than amused. “Where is Syraxyz?”
“I delivered her to Meridian,” Matyxal replied. “I told her to conduct the rite in exile. For all I know, she may not even be in Leveria anymore.”
Lexyn perked up at the mention of her mother’s homeland, but her gaze dropped again. Zyryxa didn’t blame her. Vaztyma was no mere sabretooth.
“Could you bring her to me?” Vaztyma asked.
“If anyone can, it would be me,” Matyxal said. “Rivux and I would serve you better as informants.”
“Then inform me.”
Matyxal spoke with fiery passion that even Vaztyma’s cold couldn’t withstand. “Faxiq defies the old ways for his war. He forces whelplings too young for their rites and homesteaders past their thirteen years into conscription. He builds a fortress in the Steampool Highlands. He has even employed Isihlan shadows to assassinate you and your knights.”
Vaztyma’s eyes narrowed. Zyryxa suspected she had already faced one such assassin.
“His sailors search only for his underage obsession,” Matyxal continued. “He blames the war on Qorrix, fueling hatred and calls for Ice Tribe genocide. He is a scourge that must be burned away so Volqor can rise anew.”
Zyryxa’s blood flowed with resolve. She wished Faxiq were here in the ravine, where they could end him now. She studied her companions. Lexyn, and surprisingly, Pelzyq shared her disgust. Natazia, however, seemed indifferent, as if Faxiq’s crimes were trivial. Yet, only one reaction mattered.
“I am at war with Faxiq for a reason,” Vaztyma said, her voice icy. “Why should I ally myself with you?”
“Because the Ice is in the right,” Matyxal answered. “Rivux and I can help you defeat Faxiq and Bellax. I know their weaknesses. I can spy for you and, when the time comes, fight beside you. I plan to seek a bond with Parvalux. Best of all, I bring a powerful ally.”
“Saevah,” Vaztyma said, her icy stoicism shattering into a triumphant smile.
Zyryxa shivered. That name was like steel scraping glass. One monster at a time, she reminded herself. I’ll deal with her too.
Matyxal nodded. “She has more reasons to hate Faxiq than anyone. Saevah commanded me to seek you out, to let you know that the Flames of Renewal are on your side.”
“Very well,” Vaztyma said, clearly pleased. “I will take you both to the Pridefort. We shall see what you’re worth.”
Turning to Lexyn, Pelzyq, and Zyryxa, Vaztyma said, “You’ve only just begun to bear the warriormark. Daughter Lexyn, I applaud your ever-growing courage. Son Pelzyq, I take pride in your willingness to go together, rather than alone. And you, Daughter Zyryxa,” Zyryxa’s heart pounded fast, hungry for maternal praise, even from this judgmental bitch, “few can claim to have sheared the wings of dragons or captured knights. Your strength—both in arm and in heart—is undeniable.”
Despite herself, Zyryxa stood taller, beaming like she’d just won a tournament or a pageant. “Thank you, Ice Champion.”
“But be mindful,” Vaztyma continued, “that your boldness doesn’t cross the border into insolence.”
Zyryxa clenched her jaw, feeling more insolent than obedient.
“Make haste for Riverwatch,” Vaztyma ordered. “Hatrox will temper you into the weapons we need to end this war.”
Matyxal coughed, interrupting before Zyryxa’s insolence could surface. “These three rescued Natazia and defeated several broods of Fire Tribe raiders—former Tantix loyalists sent under Taxim’s command to wreak havoc. You have a worthy brood here, Champion Vaztyma, and wild dragons in need of bonded riders.”
Vaztyma hesitated, her expression more annoyed than appreciative. Before she could dismiss the idea, Natazia stepped forward. She bowed at Vaztyma’s feet, perhaps showing too little insolence for Zyryxa’s tastes. “My Champion,” she began. “Gaeliz deemed me worthy of initiating the Rite of the Dragon Knight. On our way to the Pridefort, the rest of my brood perished to raiders. I thought I was lost, but I found two sisters and a brother who can help me learn to fly. I’d help them to find their wings too. Please, my Champion, do not send them away from me. H-H-H…” Natazia’s voice faltered as tears misted her eyes. “Don’t give them to him.”
Vaztyma met Zyryxa’s gaze, her sharp eyes weighing her on some unknown scale. “I cannot grant that request, Natazia,” she said, decreeing fate with as little emotion as ice itself. “You have my blessing to begin your trial alone, but they are needed at Riverwatch.”
Matyxal stepped forward, her voice filled with reverence. “Hatred forges powerful weapons, Champion, but they crack and break in their wielder’s hands. Whether among the tribes or between, tempering hatred will only prolong this war and lead us to the next one, dragging Volqor deeper into ruin. Seraxa and Qoryxa taught us better ways.”
The bard knelt, her passion unwavering. “I have spent days in their custody, witnessing not only their prowess but their growing love. Together, they will grow into who they are meant to be. Their bond will forge weapons devoted to preserving life but capable of burning away the hatred that plagues our beloved Volqor.”
Tears streamed down Matyxal’s fiery cheeks, steaming away in the cold. “I implore you, do not to send them to Hatrox to be broken, corrupted, and reforged into their worst selves. Remember the twins, Qoryxa and Seraxa, who set aside their differences and banded together in love to defy the Divine of Death, leaving behind a world where their children could love and thrive. Remember yourself, Champion, and how your love with Dezoq and Valinax forged you into who you are. Let love forge these four into Qoryxa’s Kiss—the blade that will end this war and carry us into a future where our children can thrive.”
Sometimes, Zyryxa reluctantly admitted, only to herself of course, bards did serve a purpose. Matyxal’s words filled the ravine with solemnity, settling deep into the hearts of the six who heard her. Zyryxa wanted to be closer to Lexyn, to Pelzyq, and to Natazia. More than ever, she recalled the way Hatrox had looked at her, sizing her up like property during her last time in the Frostmelt. Of one thing she was certain above all else, she wanted nothing to do with him. Nothing at all.
When Vaztyma turned to her, she already knew her answer.
“Daughter Zyryxa,” Vaztyma began, “would you pursue your vengeance against Saevah, or would you help Natazia take to the sky?”
“I once thought all I wanted was to avenge Zyrthalla, but traveling with Lexyn, Pelzyq, and Natazia, I’ve realized that I something more—a family. I believe in them, Champion, and in what we can become together. I would help all of us take to the sky.”
Vaztyma frowned but gave a curt nod. “Very well. Rise, Natazia. You will undertake the Rite of the Dragon Knight, with Zyryxa, Pelzyq, and Lexyn as your broodmates. Do you know the five tasks?”
“Yes,” Natazia said, determined. “The Qione of Nix Tezyk, the Tarandrux of the Silvyzfryz, the Ice Golem of Antryx Mir, the Vordt of Pryxvalliz, and the Obruox of Lazael.”
“Indeed,” Vaztyma said, her tone less disappointed now. “Complete the five tasks, then return to the Pridefort for the final one.”
“Yes, Champion,” Natazia replied.
Zyryxa had heard stories of the five trials and the prospect of triumphing over the harshest challenges in Southern Volqor filled her with excitement. She couldn’t help but wonder about the final task. Her mother had never revealed it despite her many questions. You will see, when it is your time, my little champion, she had always said. Her time felt closer than ever. Zyryxa’s ascent to Duilahir or Qorzillux began today, without months or years spent proving herself at Riverwatch.
Without any further ceremony, Vaztyma ordered the two Flames of Renewal to head for Praedax.
Rivux’s orange-red eyes met Zyryxa’s. “I await our reunion, Warrior Zyryxa, with a hungry heart.”
“Stay hungry, Knight Rivux,” she said, smirking. Stay alive, she thought. Give us a chance. She offered the Zyryxa nod, tilting her head ever so slightly. Rivux, a quick study, returned the gesture before turning away.
Zyryxa yearned to tackle him again, to stake her claim all over his handsome face with her lips. But Vaztyma wasted no time ushering Rivux away from her.
Matyxal lingered, exchanging meaningful glances with the brood she created.
“You’re not so bad. For a bard. Thank you,” Zyryxa said, “for everything.”
Matyxal winked. “Anytime, beautiful. Beware the warrior’s pride,” she said, her tone shifting from playful to somber.
Zyryxa nodded, promising to herself that she wouldn’t squander Matyxal’s gift.
“Thank you,” Lexyn said quietly, “for not killing me.”
Matyxal chuckled. “I told you I’d rather sing your songs than take your lives. You may not have as much Volqori blood as the rest of us, but you have everything you need inside of you. Believe in yourself, darling.” Matyxal’s grin turned mischievous. “And keep taking your shots, especially when you’re scared.”
Lexyn wiped at her eyes. “I will.”
“I know you will,” Matyxal replied, before turning to Pelzyq. “You’re not so bad yourself. Take care of her, Pelzyq.”
“On my life,” Pelzyq said with no hint of his usual bravado. “Take care of yourself.” He barely held tears back himself. Perhaps, Zyryxa relented, there was an ocean of feeling lurking beneath what at first seemed nothing more than a shallow pool.
Finally, Matyxal faced Natazia. “I hope you understand why I didn’t let you die.”
“I understand,” Natazia said stoically. “Thank you, bard.”
“Until next time,” Matyxal said, offering the Leverian equivalent of ‘I love you and this is not our last goodbye.’
All four of them answered. Somehow, Zyryxa was sadder to say goodbye to the bard that nearly killed them all than Rivux.
Vaztyma took Matyxal and Rivux’s weapons from Zyryxa and looked over her newest brood. “Qoryxa guide you all. May the Ice be yours.”
The Ice is mine, Zyryxa knew, saying nothing but trying her best to show deference to the woman she would one day challenge. Vaztyma wasn’t bad, but Zyryxa would be much, much better. She met Vaztyma’s gaze, sensing the Champion knew that today marked the next step forward in her own eventual downfall. Zyryxa almost pitied her. Then the bitch opened her mouth.
“Don’t let boldness become insolence,” Vaztyma said again, in a cold whisper.
“Yes, Ice Champion,” Zyryxa replied, her words edged with rebellion.
Vaztyma’s smirked knowingly. “And remember, pride will be either your greatest strength or your downfall.”
That earned Vaztyma nothing more than the Zyryxa nod.
“They’re yours now, Natazia. Don’t make me regret this.”
“Yes, Ice Champion!” Natazia said, no hint of rebellion in her.
With that, Champion Vaztyma turned away.
The dragon gripped Rivux and Matyxal in its foreclaws before tearing through more gelubor in its ascent. Neither the knight nor the bard cried out, earning even more of Zyryxa’s respect. Please let them arrive safely. She hoped that this wasn’t a final goodbye with either of them. Until next time, Matyxal, Rivux. Until next time.
Praedax disappearing through the dense gelubor canopy, Natazia took command. Ordained by the Ice Champion herself, Zyryxa tried to get used to being ordered around by someone with the same rank as her. Someone she had rescued. It wasn’t going to be easy to let another take charge but thinking of the scars writ upon Natazia’s flesh, Zyryxa knew this was far, far better than serving Hatrox. The words of “The Warrior’s Pride” echoed in her mind, and Zyryxa was determined not to find herself alone.