Fire. Someone Dillon didn't recognize, but felt connected to somehow. It was a woman. She looked at him as the fire came, and smiled. Such a wonderful smile. Then there was laughter that sounded as though it came from a mad man. Maizus. Of course. He had cast the hellfire. Maizus' face, younger yet somehow just as old. The mage smiled as the woman looked at him, and suddenly the hellfire engulfed her. She screamed: a blood-curdling, piercing scream.
Dillon's eyes flew open and he sat up, his chest heaving. Being near water meant the nights were not as cold as in the desert, but Arabella had created a small purple flame to give them light. Dillon looked around. He could see Gerard's outline far across the lagoon. Perisseus slept standing, keeping watch while Amadae stretched out in the grass. Arabella was peacefully asleep a short ways away. Dillon's breathing calmed as he watched her sleep. The firelight made her skin sparkle and her hair glisten, surrounding her head like a silver pillow. She looked so serene.
After a moment Dillon took a deep breath and stood. Perisseus' ear twitched towards the sound of movement, but soon lazily drifted back in place. A gentle breeze caressed Dillon's face as he made his way towards the water's edge. A sliver of a moon made a snake-like image in the slightly rippled water.
Dillon sighed as he sat down in the grass. His thought swirled with the moon's reflection in the lazy surface of the water, and his fingers plowed furrows in his hair as if to relieve the pressure.
"Is something wrong?"
Arabella's pale feet had made so little noise as she crossed the green strands that Dillon hadn't heard her approach. He looked up, somewhat startled, then let out a breath.
He opened his mouth to answer her, and then paused. The shadow of his thoughts' volley could be seen in his cool eyes, but at last his personality seemed to win over. "No. Nothing. I was just... just thinking."
His gaze returned to the lake as Arabella sat beside him, close enough to smell her gentle lavender scent but not close enough to feel her warmth.
Arabella was silent for a while, content to let him think. Finally, her voice seemed to reply to Dillon's thoughts. "Geilkern will help you. You can win this."
Dillon snorted and glanced sideways at her without moving his head. "What makes you so sure? Maizus is the most powerful being the world has ever known. Even the King trusts him, the fool."
He shivered slightly as Arabella's fingers brushed his arm, soft enough to make him wonder if it had happened at all. He looked up at her, and was shocked by the confidence he saw in her eyes.
"Go to Geilkern. Bring help here. You will get your kingdom back, Dillon."
Leaving Dillon without a characteristic retort, Arabella simply stood and walked away, her silvery hair outcompeting the moon.
The desert was the rainshadow of the Qyran Mountains. The air of the desert was hot and dry, sucking the very breath out of living souls. But as glad as Dillon was to put the baking desert behind him, the chill wetness of the mounatins were nearly as bad. The morning fog fought to be lifted from the ground and seemed to cling to trunks of trees and the undersides of boulders to avoid being beaten out by the sun.
Perisseus pawed a stiff leg, anxious to get moving. There seemed little difference between the stream they had camped by and the clothes on Dillon's back; both were wet and cold. Dillon hoisted the saddle onto his horse and patted the dark shoulder, his fingers almost numb as he tightened the cinch, adjusted his heavy cloak, and mounted.
The road had finally begun a descent, and horse nor rider could wish their destination closer. Perisseus moved as fast as Dillon would let him. The path followed the river, which grew the further they moved along. Then the river dropped into a ravine where it left the mountains, and the road hugged the cliffside until the two caught up. It wouldn't be long now--Dillon could see the winding path up ahead and envisioned open land beyond the next mountain.
He leaned forward and gave Perisseus' neck a solid pat. "Nearly there, old friend. Nearly there."
Perisseus' muscles bunched and his stride shortened, his ears swiveling as if following a particularly quick fly. Dillon frowned and tipped his head to the side a bit, then glanced around the ravine. The air was beginning to warm, richer in oxygen as they progressed downward. Looking over the edge of the cliff, Dillon could see the river some thirty feet below. He thought he saw a discomforting mound in the current, hollow and torn.
He and Perisseus heard it at the same time. A low, tense howl--wolves speaking to one another. Perisseus snorted and stopped, still prancing anxiously. Dillon turned to look behind them as another sharp yowl answered the first. The canyon walls made it nearly impossible to tell from where the cries came. Dillon didn't like it, but Perisseus liked it less.
Dillon knew if they could just get around the next corner, the road would probalby slope down into forest, and then on to the valley and the kingdom of Geilkern. If they could just make it around that corner, they might have a chance of escape. Here, they were a young fox caught with a curious child at each end of its den. Dillon felt Perisseus' flanks twitch as he urged the horse forward, leaning forward to whisper encouragement into the shivering ebony ear.
Perisseus' steps were tense as he made his way forward, still searching wildly for a source. But he stopped once more when a shaggy wolf, three feet high at least and whose brown, mangled coat resembled a rotting leaf, appeared in their path. Even under patches of thick fur, it was obvious the beast was starving. Perisseus' breath came in short snorts as he backed away, but the appearance of two smaller black wolves behind them forced the horse to back into the cavern wall.
Dillon cursed under his breath, glancing betwen the three wolves and gritting his teeth. The wolves must have been following them for hours now, while their companion lay in wait on the path ahead. His hands tightened on the reins, the sound of the metal bit against Perisseus' teeth joining the low growls of the beasts surrounding them. They were closing in.
The tension was suffocating, forcing every being to hold his breath.
Then Dillon drove his heels into Perisseus' hide, shouting as he pushed his loyal mount onward. With a threatening squeal, Perisseus lauched from the rock face and towards the largest wolf. The unweildy branch of tension snapped, and the wolves lunged.
Dillon could hear the lusty breath of the wolves behind him, snapping at Perisseus' heels. He held tightly as Perisseus rocked and bucked, kicking at the attackers. One wolf yelped as its jaw caught the iron of Perisseus' shoe and fell off the cliff into the river. The second wolf paused for only a moment; the reassuring bark of the defeated wolf made the second attack renewed.
The brown wolf had reached them now. It lunged at Perisseus' throat, digging its fangs into the warm flesh as Perisseus reared. The horse struck at the beast with a shrill whinny, and Dillon had to work hard to keep from tumbling from the horse's back. The black wolf leaped and caught Dillon's elbow. Dillon cried out as the sharp teeth embeded in his arm, unsheathing his sword with the other hand. But the wolf was too near Perisseus' hindquarters to use the blade; wincing as his own blow drove the wolf's teeth deeper, Dillon used the hilt of his sword to strike the beast's head.
The wolf yelped and fell from Dillon's arm. Dillon turned his attention forward as Perisseus began to spin, trying to get the brown wolf off of his neck. Dillon could see the gleam of red against his horse's black coat in the sun; his lip curled in anger and he thrust the point of his sword forward, straight toward the wolf's chest.
The wolf's yelp was cut short. With one last toss of Perisseus' head, the beast fell away from the horse's throat and off of Dillon's sword. As if for good measure, Perisseus stepped hurriedly over the mottled, bleeding corpse and kicked it hard; there was a crunch as the body fell down the ravine, hitting the stone wall on its way.
The lone black wolf still behind them, Perisseus began to run; and Dillon let him. Stones shot from beneath each galloping step and clattered down towards the stream. Foam gathered at Perisseus' mouth, and a lather of sweat accumulated in contrast against his great black chest. They rounded the final bend and the road straightened, sloping downward to meet the river before they disappeared together among the trees.
Dillon glanced over his shoulder--the wolf stood at the edge of the stone shelf, watching them with a sort of respect. Resistance must have been knew to the creature, for fear shone in its amber eyes as it turned and leapt to the riverbed and headed up river towards its surviving companion. At last, Dillon tightened the reins and drew Perisseus in.
He dropped his bloody sword in the grass as he dismounted and took hold of his beloved horse's head even before they had stopped competely. Both trembled slightly as their chests heaved in near union; both bled but did not care, for they were safe.
Dillon closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Perisseus', his hand stroking the wide, smooth disc of the horse's cheek. Perisseus' warm breath shot in bursts against Dillon's chest. As both the man and his horse began to calm, Dillon showed an allusion of a smile. "You, my good Perisseus, are the greatest warrior I could ever hope to have at my side in battle."
