Chapter 58: Inquisition

It was dark. Even the moonlight had hid behind clouds. There was some light from burning grass and wood, but it helped only marginally. An acrid smell of dead meat and a strange sickly-sweet smell of burnt ozone weighed heavy on the night breeze. There was also the gagging smell of blood hidden somewhere within that horrid stench.

Yren noticed it only in passing. His head kept drooping of its own accord. He was struggling to keep it upright and struggling even harder to keep his eyes open. The shock of seeing this huge, strangely hued dragon literally melt into what appeared to be a young girl had not been enough to keep him upright. Curiosity was a luxury at the moment.

After managing a few steps drawing him nearer to the small girl, he’d quite literally collapsed where he’d stood. Sometime in that seemingly endless journey to the ground, he’d found the strength to sheath Hatred and Rage, but he couldn’t really recall doing it. His memory was as much a luxury as his curiosity, and he could afford neither.

As it was, only the fact he’d fallen against some wooden debris – thankfully not burning as was so much of the other wooden debris in the area - stopped him from landing face down in the dirt. In truth, he’d almost rather be laying in the dirt. He’d almost rather be laying anywhere. His whole body hurt, and he finally knew what the term bone weary truly meant. Even his hair hurt. His body was completely drained.

“Yren!” Bena yelled as she ran up to him. He couldn’t really recall from where she’d come. His memory of the past few seconds was gone, fuzzy and amorphous. He felt he should have some memory of the past few moments. Had he passed out?

“Are you okay?” Bena asked. She was kneeling beside him, her hands removing his helm. Her face swam in front of him, seemingly getting larger and then smaller – closer and then further away.

When had she knelt? Time seemed to be jerking into discrete moments for Yren. Bits and pieces of the world around him flashed before him but in discrete moments. It felt almost as if his eyes were closing and opening, but he couldn’t remember even blinking.

“Are you hurt?” Bena asked. Her voice was anxious and a bit shrill. Her face was closed and filled with concern. He could see her moving but it took him a moment to put it together. He had to look down to realize she was working on his hands, removing his gauntlets.

“Just tired,” Yren murmured. His words were an understatement. He seemed to be losing consciousness every few seconds. Or had he? Nothing truly made sense just now.

He managed to raise his head. The moon had slid from behind the clouds, but the moonlight wasn’t particularly bright. It was bright enough to see his immediate surroundings, though. Ataya was standing some few yards away, her face pale and concerned and her usually vibrant copper locks matted close to her head with dirt. She was stuck in a half-step, her right leg forward and her hands raised slightly. Her look spoke of uncertainty. She wasn’t sure if she should approach or keep her distance. Every so often, she glanced at the small form lying in front of Yren.

To her right, Mulet and Caprice huddled together, their wide eyes darting wildly around the darkness. Beyond them, he could barely make out Audette and Ilzu limping up, their forms flickering in the shadows of the still burning grass. Their arms were around each other’s shoulders, their clothing riddled with dirt and debris. They seemed unable to stand alone, leaning against each other and depending on one another so as not to fall over.

For a moment, he directed all of his attention at Bena. He looked her over carefully, looking for any sign of trauma or distress. He noticed some streaks of dirt down her face and a small scratch on her neck, just under her jaw. Her eyes were filled with worry and her face was drawn from weariness, but there were no open wounds. Beyond the angry welt at her neck, there was no blood.

He managed a sigh of relief. She was safe. Although he’d done everything he could to push it from his mind as he battled the dragons, he had been worried since he’d heard her calling to him.

He looked around for Teran but he could not see her. Strangely, he could feel her, off in the distance, moving towards him. He was somewhat startled to realize he could feel Bena as well, kneeling next to him. His mother was off to the side, just out of eyesight in the darkness, trying to comfort a family who had lost their child in the fray. Issa was distant – he could feel her but not what she was doing.

What startled him more was that what he felt wasn’t new. He had never truly thought of it before, possibly because they had always been in close proximity, but he had always known where his family was. It had been so natural, such a part of his everyday existence, he’d never thought to question it before. He realized it was even a part of why he’d been able to tamp down his concern about Bena so he could fight against the dragons.

As soon as he knew his family was truly safe, the aches and pains returned. The weariness was almost more than he could bear. He felt completely wrung out, as if every muscle in his body had been abused. His body was slowing and readying itself for rest. It was the same feeling he’d had so many weeks ago, after the Battle of Hasp. It differed only in degree. While he wanted desperately to rest – to sleep – he was able to fight it off, if only marginally, unlike what had happened back then.

Yren’s eyes dropped down. Truthfully, his entire head drooped. Keeping his head upright was so difficult and so tiring. The white-haired dragon girl was still there, still lying in the dirt. Someone had gone to the trouble of covering her from the chill of the night. He recognized Bena’s cloak and wondered when his beloved had taken the time. He racked his brain, but he couldn’t remember her covering the small girl.

Yren’s eyes turned up, locking with Bena’s. “See what you can do for her,” Yren managed to get out, his voice low and weak. He jerked his chin at the girl who had only moments before been a dragon.

Bena glanced over at the fallen, white-haired girl quickly before turning back to her betrothed. “I can’t.”

Yren could feel the slightest flame of anger. The anger wasn’t directed at Bena, but at the weakness he felt. Since he was a small child, he’d never felt weak and helpless – well, outside of the Battle of Hasp. Now, he struggled with how utterly exhausted he felt and how helpless he was to help the small girl.

He tried again. He needed Bena to understand. “You have to. She might be the only reason we’re still alive. She turned on her own kind to save us.”

“You’re not listening, beloved,” Bena replied earnestly. The word ‘beloved’ coming from her lips still managed to send a shiver through him, despite his fatigue and despite having heard the word from her countless times before. She reached up and stroked Yren’s cheek. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t. I said I can’t. Evidently, dragons are immune to holy magic.”

Yren closed his eyes a moment, allowing himself to enjoy Bena’s touch but trying desperately to push against the exhaustion. After the brief respite, he re-opened his eyes and looked at Bena. “They can’t be immune to magic. I ... I ... well, I did something to the gold one. I ... I pulled it into my swords or something.”

Bena tilted her head and her eyes lost focus for a moment. “What you did ... what you did ... well, Deia isn’t really sure what you did. She’s seen it before, long ago, but she doesn’t understand it any more now than she did back then.”

Bena paused, a look of uncertainty covering her face. “Or, perhaps more truthfully, she understands but isn’t ready to explain what you’ve done ... either to me or to you.”

The girl shook her head slightly, her white-blonde hair shimmering back and forth under the moonlight. Her face grew a bit frustrated.

“The magic embedded in your swords is...,” Bena continued her explanation. Her eyes squinted slightly and there was a pause in her words as she sought instruction from her internal visitor. “The magic you use is not ordered as holy magic. It is not touched by divinity. The dragons are only immune to divine magic such as the magic with which Deia graces me.”

“We have to do something,” Yren insisted.

Bena’s head tilted, her eyes unfocused as she listened to the internal voice. “No, we don’t.”

“Bena...” Yren started but Bena interrupted him.

“We don’t because there is nothing wrong with her except for some exhaustion,” Bena explained, repeating the internal dialogue from her divine visitor. She sat back on her heels, taking Yren’s hands in her own. Her eyes sought his out and looked into them meaningfully. “The blood you see is drying – no more is being added. Look at her face and neck. The cuts and scratches she should have aren’t there. She is whole – unhurt.”

“That’s ... that’s...,” Yren started but, given the nature of what he’d just gone through – what he’d just done – he couldn’t let the word ‘impossible’ spill from his lips.

“Impossible?” Bena asked with a soft smile. She shook her head a bit. “It is their nature. The nature of the power that allows them to shift from one form to another also heals all non-fatal wounds. It comes at a cost, however. It makes them very tired. Also, while they’re in the middle of changing, they are completely vulnerable to attack. They have no defenses – but there is no way to force them to change either.”

Yren sat back, unaware until that moment that he’d partially stood. He wasn’t sure how or when he’d changed position. He had no energy left in him, certainly not enough to actually move ... yet he had. With a groan, he settled back down, trying to find the strength to resist the darkness which kept coming for him.

“Nice little fight,” Ilzu remarked with a wincing smile as she and Audette shuffled into the small clearing. The two were limping and Ilzu’s left arm hung at an odd angle. A few of her fingers appeared to be broken as well.

“Forgive my companion, she thinks she’s funny,” Audette rejoined, her eyes rolling toward the heavens. There was blood along Audette’s face and more dripping from her right arm.

“Has anyone seen Gillen?” Ataya spoke up, her voice suffused with deep worry. She moved a bit closer to Bena and Yren. Mulet and Caprice imitated her movements, keeping their spot just behind her.

“She was over there,” Audette replied, pointing off to the left. “On the other side of that red dragon carcass, I think. She was tending to Sir Givens.”

“Is he ... is he alright?” Yren asked. His voice was just more than a whisper, weak but concerned.

“I don’t know for certain,” Audette replied. “We all took a beating.”

Bena turned from Yren. “Oh, my,” she started. “Here, let me heal you.”

“Hold that thought,” Teran snarled as she stalked into view. Yren looked at her carefully. She appeared in an utter rage but otherwise didn’t appear to be hurt. “You might have one more to heal in a moment.”

She stalked up to Yren, her left hand clutching her bow tightly. She stood over him ominously, glaring down at his pale, drawn face. Her fierce blue eyes flashed in warning. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Yren responded weakly, his face questioning. He looked her over just as carefully as Bena. There were scratches and her cheek had a large bruise but there was no overt wounds or bleeding. “I’m just really tired.”

“Good,” Teran snarled. “Because I’m going to kill you.”

“What did you think you were doing, going against that dragon all by yourself?” Teran asked loudly.

“I was...” Yren started.

“Obviously, you weren’t thinking,” Teran interrupted. “You never stop to think. You just run off, never thinking about how much danger you’re putting yourself in. You don’t even bother to think about how your little mindless jaunts terrify me or-or Bena. You’re just so damned happy to go out and sacrifice your life, never even wondering how Bena or I feel about it.”

Bena covered her mouth, desperate to hide its rising corners.

“Teran... “ Yren started again.

“Shut up and listen,” Teran snarled. “Fine. You want to go out and get yourself killed? Fine. Just don’t expect me to wait while you do it. I have a baby coming and I don’t want to raise it alone. If you’re so dead set on getting killed, you just let me know and I’ll find someone else to help me raise this child.”

She turned and her eyes took in Scollaw, who had come up just behind her. “You! You want to raise a baby with me?”

Ranger Scollaw’s eyes widened. He glanced at the suddenly angry face of Yren, then back to the snarling face of Teran. “I – you – he,” Scollaw stuttered. He took a deep breath, throwing his hands up. “Don’t put me in the middle of this!”

Teran’s face grew even darker. “You’re just like all the rest of them!”

Teran turned back to Yren, her face clenched tightly. “Don’t you ever ... ever ... scare me like that again. You need to learn some responsibility, if not to Bena or me, then to the child which grows within me. You can’t just run off anymore. You are going to be a father!”

She turned and tried to stalk off, running into Bremer who had come up behind her. Like Bena, Bremer had been chuckling at the two, but she wiped the smile off her face as Teran turned around. Bremer knew that retreat was the better part of valor, so quickly moved out of the angry woman’s way.

Bremer waited a few minutes, making sure Teran was out of ear shot. She turned her face to her oldest friend, her voice low enough it wouldn’t carry to the angry, crying woman. “You scared her. She thought you were dead. We all thought you were dead.”

“I thought I was dead,” he replied drily. His voice was still weak, and his eyes continued to follow his sister’s stomping form. “Just now. I swear, Teran’s scarier than every dragon we faced today.”

“You better go comfort her,” Bena said from behind her hand. She was struggling as hard as she could not to laugh.

“Really?” Yren asked incredulously.

“Yes, Yren,” Bena said, her mirth fading. She shook her head sadly. Her brother could be so insightful on some things and so lost on others. “If you think you want to be on speaking terms within the next month or so, you should definitely go after her and throw yourself on her mercy.”

Yren almost cried as he struggled to get to his feet. He swallowed his sob and dared his eyes to go beyond watering. He kept the tears from falling, but it was a near thing.

The moonlight was just bright enough to make out the ground, though not bright enough to reveal all of the little things Yren kept tripping over. He watched Teran and marveled that, despite the sobs he could hear, she moved through the camps quickly and easily, with a sure, easy step. At first, the still burning fires from the battle cast strange shadows, fooling Yren’s weary eyes. When he stumbled after leaving the battlefield behind, though, he didn’t have that excuse.

In the moonlit darkness, as Yren stumbled on, he noticed bright, scared eyes following him and Teran from within tents along their path. The eyes were filled with a tortured, petulant fear, peering out at him from the darkness. They were young and old, the older sets sometimes pulling the younger ones away from the flaps of the tents.

Yren could not keep Teran’s pace. He tried, but he had little energy left. All he wanted to do was lie down somewhere and sleep for a few months. Instead, here he was trying to catch up to Teran. It made no sense – but then, women so rarely did. He could not fathom why Teran was so upset with him.

He tried to lengthen his stride, hoping to cut into Teran’s lead, but he just couldn’t push himself any faster. He was exhausted to the point he could barely keep his feet and his breath was coming in long, dangerous gasps.

When he heard Teran scream, however, his body responded, his exhaustion falling away. His stumbling gait became surer, and he almost absently pulled Hatred and Rage from their sheath, readying them for combat. He could feel energy pump through him as he ran, his blood pounding in his veins. His face grew dark and bleak as he readied himself for yet another battle.

He caught up to Teran at their tent. She was stopped, her eyes wide, peering inside. Her hands were up, half covering her face and he noticed she trembled.

He felt relief as he could see she was unharmed and the energy within him began to ebb away. He shuddered at its loss, his body beginning the long slide back into exhaustion. Slowly, he re-sheathed his blades, his eyes trying to pick out what had Teran so frightened. He managed to reach her while his steps were still sure, but he stopped and peered inside the tent. There, laying on the ground, he found the partially burnt body of a man, wearing one of his gambeson’s.

He took a single step closer. He wanted to go to the man to see if he could help him, but Teran turned back to him and clutched at him tightly, her sobs ringing against the metal of his chestplate. All he could do was circle her with his arms, comforting her quietly. It had been left to Syl, running at the sound of Teran’s screams, to go to the man’s aid.

Syl was pale, her blue eyes uncharacteristically dull, and she wheezed even as she knelt. Her normally braided hair was loose, and it scattered in the wind, with strands flung in every direction. Her hands trembled as she touched at the man’s neck. She blew out a deep breath when she leaned back and closed her eyes. Yren knew she needn’t have checked. It was evident the man was quite dead.

Yren could see the body was a large man with a smoldering, melted hand and arm. Yren’s gambeson covered him, but it was scorched in places, particularly around the burnt arm and down the man’s side, revealing further burn marks which Syl carefully avoided. While Syl leaned forward and flipped the man over, Yren took in the rest of the tent. The open, spilled contents of his armor chest, coupled with the man’s clothes strewn on the floor and the smoldering gambeson he wore made it quite clear what the man had been doing. Yren could feel his anger rising as Syl turned over the body of Torus Oloid.

As Syl began her prayer, Gillen came running up to answer Teran’s scream. The knight’s face was pale and unusually drawn and there were large bags under her eyes and pallid shadows in her sunken cheeks. She seemed almost smaller somehow, as if something had sucked out her lifeforce, leaving behind only a shell. Still, the sword she held was at the ready and her shield was steady.

Honor Hawksley glanced at Yren and then at Teran, a question in her eyes. She peered into the tent, watching as a faint, orange glow slowly spread from Syl’s hands throughout Oloid’s corpse. Satisfied Syl was resurrecting the giant man, Gillen’s eyes turned back towards Yren.

“Did you do this?” she asked tiredly, her eyes piercing. Her drawn face grew grim, and her sword, while dipped towards the ground, was pointed directly at Yren.

“No,” Yren replied darkly. “He did this. You know what happens when someone tries to touch my armor.”

Gillen bit her lip and her eyes narrowed, gazing deep into Yren’s. “Are you claiming he tried to steal your armor?”

“I claim nothing,” Yren said darkly through gritted teeth. “Look at my chest of arms. Look at his clothes. It’s fairly obvious what occurred here.”

Gillen looked into the tent, carefully surveying its contents before turning yet again to Yren. “You didn’t do that in your haste to arm yourself?”

“It wouldn’t have been needed,” Bena said as she walked up to Yren and Teran’s side.

She turned to her brother and sister. “Audette and Ilzu are fine. They’ll need to rest tonight but I was able to heal them.”

Gillen’s eyes narrowed even further. “What do you mean, ‘it wouldn’t have been needed’?”

Bena looked a question at Yren, who’s face still reflected his anger. His eyes drifted to Gillen then back to Bena. He raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips and nodded once.

Bena turned to Gillen. “We’ve found my brother’s armor is part of him. Part of that is harming those he does not trust – such as Honor Oloid. Part of it is that it comes when he calls. He has no need to put his armor on – he just summons it and it covers him.”

“Magic!?!” Gillen exclaimed. “Magic is not allowed...”

“Yes,” Bena replied firmly but quietly, her voice dripping with exhaustion. She wasn’t truly tired, but she was tired of playing to Gillen’s sensitivity on this subject. She knew it might cost them in the end, but it was time to bring certain facts out into the open. With a sigh, she took a short step in front of her brother and sister. “Magic is against the law in Wenland. Magic is also what saved all of us from those dragons. Well, magic and a small girl who seems able to become a dragon.”

“What has me curious is why now?” Yren boomed, anger still evident in his voice. There was no sign of the young man’s fatigue.

He was angry at Torus Oloid but he also wanted to head off the argument he could see coming. Gillen followed the directions of her Queen and King – including their edicts. She might turn a blind eye if she could reasonably convince herself she didn’t know – but Bena was rubbing Gillen’s nose in his abilities. “It seems impossibly coincidental that Wenland outlaws magic and suddenly we have dragons attacking us.”

Gillen’s face showed her surprise. She began to wonder when she’d lost the lead of this questioning. “Magic was outlawed several years ago...”

“We’ve lived without dragon attacks for countless generations,” Teran interrupted, turning from her brother and wiping at her tears. “Enough that we began to believe them nothing more than old folk tales. Suddenly, Wenland outlaws magic and the dragons return? Yren and Bena are right. There’s something bigger going on here, Honor Hawksley.”

Gillen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Yren, Teran and Bena made a formidable front – but she desperately tried to turn the questioning back to something she could control. “And Honor Oloid?”

Yren’s face turned bleak. “He was burned in our tent. His wounds appear strikingly similar to others who have touched my armor. He is dressed in my gambeson so...”

“We don’t know that he was trying to take your armor,” Gillen sighed. She was so tired, and the night didn’t look as if it was going to end anytime soon. She truly didn’t care about the magic – before the Queen’s decree many of the platoons had their own mage – but she couldn’t let it go either. She needed Yren to be more careful if he had any hope of becoming a knight. “We don’t know exactly what happened here.”

Yren’s face grew pinched, but he closed his eyes and nodded. It was useless to fight this battle. Better to save his strength. “Maybe he was desperate to help with the dragons. Desperate enough to try my armor. We won’t know until we ask him.”

“Or maybe he took a dragon’s flame attack,” Gillen suggested.

“Wearing my gambeson?” Yren asked incredulously but stopped himself from continuing. He blew out a long breath instead.

Gillen looked into the tent, where Syl was settled back, her shoulders stooped and her breath coming in gasps. Torus was still lying on the ground, but his eyes were open, and he was blinking and shaking his head. He wasn’t trying to rise, just gather himself. The man groaned as he gasped for breath.

The two knights both needed rest – Syl from the exertion of bringing Honor Oloid back from Ober’s realm and Oloid to recover from the shock of returning to life. Syl was strong, but she’d already resurrected several of the Knottline Guard a bit earlier. She needed to be careful, lest she dip into Ober’s realm one time too many and get stuck there herself.

Gillen turned back to the three siblings. “He’ll need rest before he can explain himself. We all need rest before we pursue anything. Then there’s the matter of the girl who can become a dragon...”

Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “It’ll wait until tomorrow. I’ll take first watch. Sir Givens will take second and I’ll need you to take the third. We’ll have to depend on Dakin Oovert for fourth watch. Syl and Uud need their rest. The girl will stay in my tent for now. I want to be sure she doesn’t wander off.”

“I can take a watch, Honor,” Syl spoke up from where she still sat next to Torus Oloid. Her head remained bowed and her words were said between gasps for breath.

“You can barely stand,” Gillen disagreed. “I know how many lives you’ve restored today. You are to go to your tent and rest until tomorrow.”

“I’ve not restored many more than you,” Syl protested.

“You have your orders, Sar Troel,” Gillen said firmly. Her voice was like iron and would brook no dissent.

Syl’s head jerked up to take in the First of the Third. It had been a long time since Gillen had used her title in that tone of voice. “Yes, ma’am.”

Gillen looked at her for a long moment before turning back to Yren. “The rumor is that you can communicate with our shape-shifter?”

“Some,” Yren admitted, his brows knotting in confusion in the topic change. “They speak ... I guess you’d call it a dialect of kern. I’m not very fluent in it, but I think I can make her understand me.”

“Good,” Gillen said with a nod. “We’ll need to question her tomorrow. We need to know how the dragons are organized, how many there are and what their plans are.”

“She tried to help us,” Yren started in protest.

“AND,” Gillen talked over him. “She’ll help us more tomorrow.”

---- ∞ ----

Yren stood, watching the rising sun with bleary eyes. The vibrant yellows, reds and oranges were lost on him. His eyes felt like they were filled with sand and his rubbing at them had left them bloodshot. He stifled a yawn as he trudged forward, finishing with a shake of his head and a deep breath filled with the dichotomous scent of blooming lilacs and burning grass.

It had been a long night.

Especially after the fright of finding a dead body in their tent, it had taken Yren hours to make up with Teran. Once Gillen had left, helping both Syl and Honor Oloid away from their tent, Teran had suddenly remembered how angry she was at Yren and once again stalked away from him and into the tent. Tears once again crawled down her face as she angrily began cleaning the tent, throwing Oloid’s clothes out into the night and hanging Yren’s other spare gambeson neatly on a line in the back of their tent since it was still slightly damp from the wash. She refused to listen to him, ignoring him while he was trying to explain himself and comfort her at the same time. His words had finally just devolved into a litany of different words with a single meaning – ‘I’m sorry.’

It wasn’t enough.

She pushed him away the first few times he tried to gather her into his arms again but eventually, hours later, she finally – reluctantly – allowed him to hold her. Still, she cried and Yren had no clue how to deal with the tears. They devastated him. He never wanted to be the cause of her crying – not her, not Elva, not Issa and not Bena. She only stopped when he let his hand drift down and rub on her barely protruding stomach. Only then did she place her hand on his and hold his hand in place.

He had not truly thought about it, but as she held his hand where their child was growing inside of her, he realized the significance of touching her there. They were going to be parents. The tirade and crying jaunt were all about how she didn’t want to raise the child – their child – alone. She had a life growing within her and she wanted him to be with her as the child grew.

The thought struck him like a club. Just as everything Teran did affected the unborn child within her, so, too, did everything he did. In a very real way, there was no Yren anymore. There was no Yren without there also being Teran and their child. He could no longer only think of himself, but he had to think of everything in context of how it affected all of them, Bena included.

As Teran drifted to sleep in his arms, he thought back. He wasn’t sure that he would have done anything differently. The dragons were going to kill them all. He had to head them off.

Or were they? If he had not jumped into the fray, would the dragons have tried so hard to destroy them? If he had not fought, might there not have been so much wanton destruction?

He grew confused and began to doubt himself. Should he give up being a knight, armsman, mage and blacksmith in light of his new profession of father?

He looked down at the dozing woman in his arms and he knew his answer. He’d be more careful – but he could not be less than what he was. He would add father to his list of titles. He would consider things before leaping into the fight – but he would still fight. He would still protect those he could – especially his family. To do less would make him less.

“I’ll be more careful,” he whispered, not expecting an answer from her slumbering form.

“Don’t make promises you cannot keep,” Teran croaked back. Her voice had left her sometime in the past few hours, but her bloodshot eyes opened, and she regarded him with a small, worried smile. “I’m sorry for haranguing you. Seeing you there, thinking you were dead – it scared me as I’ve never been scared before. I felt my heart ripped from my chest when I thought you were dead, and I wasn’t sure I could go on. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go on – without you.”