Heir of the Dragon

A Tale of More Woe (part 2)

I listened contentedly to Fennec's voice as I picked the last pieces of rabbit meat from the leg bone I was holding. His pleasant tenor was only occasionally interrupted by the crackle of our vivaciously burning fire. The river had been much harder to cross then I'd imagined, and my clothes refused to dry out. They clung to my skin and made the night air uncomfortably chill. The taste of meat and the warmth of the fire, though, made the cold bearable.  

Fennec sat against an old gnarled tree, his sword in it's sheath on the ground beside him. As he spoke, Aywa listened intently from where she sat on a log across the flames. 

"My father used to scold us for running amok in his smithy," he chuckled, "The other whelps and I had hours of fun in there, playing with the unfinished weapons and armor...pretending we were knights, out to protect Tyrelle." 

Aywa looked up from the flames at the Ingryd's darkened expression. 

"It isn't your fault, Fennec....that your people have to suffer," She said softly, " There is something going on here that we don't understand,"  

He dropped his gaze to stare at the ground. 

"They just kept coming... wave after wave of them. We weren't ready for an army of those sheer proportions. Ten thousand, at least, when we had a mere two or three thousand," 

"How many were unables?" I asked. Both raised their heads to give me a curious look. 

"..What did you call them?" Aywa said, a puzzled expression crossing her face. It only took me a moment to realize I had most likely just used a term that only a Ghere would understand.  

" I..uh...heard the term while was in captivity...they call the ones who can't turn unables," I said, stumbling over my explanation. She stared at me a moment longer, but soon her gaze drifted back to the fire and I let out the breath I'd been holding. I didnt know who she thought I was, but I knew a Gherian sympathizer was not an Identity I wanted in this particular company. There were things about myself I couldn't explain, and I desperately hoped the answer didn't lie with the Gherian empire. I wanted so badly to believe I had nothing to do with them...nothing in common with them...but there was always that fear in the back of my mind; fear of myself, fear of discovering what I really was. 

" Most of the army weren't beasts during battle, so I suppose many of them were ..unables," Fennec replied, glancing up at me, "There was only an elite team of maybe a hundred that fought with tooth and claw rather than sword. They were by far the ones that sustained the least damage in their numbers,"

"Why did they target Tyrelle, though? Why not the griphon people in Eador?..or the giants in Clauden? With an army that size they could have overcome either," Aywa muttered, as if to herself.

"I couldn't presume to know, Although I've heard rumors of a secret alliance between the royals in Eador and the Black Lion...I have yet to find out if there was truth in them. It may have only been witless Ghere trying to dishearten their prisoners, but I wouldn't be surprised if the griphon people had deserted us. Their king has never been one to brag of a noble heart,"

"So I've heard.." The elf replied, nodding slightly. As the conversation fell silent, a quiet rustling in the brush caught all of our attention. Fennec got quickly to his feet and grabbed his broadsword, all in one smooth motion.

"What was that?" I hissed to no one in particular. The rustling grew steadily louder. Whatever it was, it was making no attempt at stealth. Aywa had her bow ready but remained crouched by the fire.

"Stay behind me," Fennec muttered, taking a few steps away from the fire in the direction of the sound. Aywa rolled her eyes at his turned back. I couldn't help but break into a halfhearted grin. I could almost see the snarky reply rolling around in her head. At the same moment, the mid-sized black creature fumbled noisily into the light of the fire. I instinctively rose to my feet and grabbed for the dagger that I'd stuck in my boot.