OathBlade (Wattys2015)

17. Unveiled Truths*

The lycar lowered their weapons, though looked no less displeased by the presence of the travelers in their midst.

All but Fayt.

"Such a fair seryn you've become." She stepped forward again. This time all sign of aggression fled her slender face. Her wet, black nose flared and moved as she sniffed around her. "No longer do you carry the scent of a whelp fit only to cling to her father's cuff. You smell of battle and death."

"There has been much of both of late. I only ask that you burden your camp with our presence a short time and lend us any riding gear you may have."

"You know we have no use for molner," she said.

"I also know the fools who attack your clan do not come on foot. Seryn are no match for the lycar in a competition of fleetness of foot."

"We may have spares." She raised her head and howled. The muscles of her throat fluttered beneath her tawny fur.

An answering howl sang deep within the woods, followed by another.

"Come." Fayt loped into the forest, flanked by the other lycar. Close knit branches scraped across their coarse fur until the trees thinned around them. The dark wood dripped with sap. It smudged across Elery's armor when she ventured too close, drawing insects with its honeyed scent.

Cylphi moved closer to Elery. "I never knew..."

"No one did. A short time ago I questioned father and he said it was a topic best left private. Lycar are not well loved. He'd feared negative attention." She put a hand on her shoulder. "They are not the beasts they are portrayed to be. I hope now you understand this."

"I'm...trying." Cylphi looked the group of lycar over and crossed her arms. "It is difficult to forget the many horrible stories spoken in the streets."

"Prattle told by those who've never held a sword in either hand, I assure you."

"Perhaps not all of it," Dakkan said. "Our people are warriors. We cannot idly sit among the trees. If this means we must loan ourselves out to the very seryn who wish to see us taken from our land, so be it. Combat grows strength and strength is one of our greatest virtues. But do not be swayed into thinking there are not lycar who take things too far. We are not all murderers, but certainly there are those among our species who are."

Isandel walked closer, his tail sweeping the ground to rustle leaves and dirt. Occasionally it thumped against a tree, shaking fresh leaves from long, twisted branches. "I'd suggest we do not linger here, Princess."

"Your suggestion is noted but unnecessary," Elery replied. "I've no intention to stay longer than it takes to gather supplies and ask these people to join our cause."

"And why should they do that? Lycar do not care for seryn wars." He laughed. "You delude yourself with whimsical fantasies of your own powers. You are Princess of Lyewryn, not of the lycar."

"Why should they not?" Cylphi asked. "We have no idea why this has started, nor who—"

"You do not know who." He smiled. "I know perfectly well."

Elery stopped, let Ishthemir go, and grabbed hold of Isandel's collar. "We proceed no further until you explain yourself."

Fayt stopped running. The other lycar followed suit moments later.

Isandel did not try to free himself from her grasp. "Dragons are not the only being which transcend your world. We are but one race that can travel from place to place, carving our existence upon the face of the world. All worlds have known us by the same name, for that is the name we gave ourselves. Just as one other being has done. The being which has spiraled in a cosmic dance with our kind since the beginning of time." He gripped her wrist—the wrist still marred by the darkened bondmark—and squeezed to bring her attention to it. As if to bring back the painful truth of its presence with a dose of physical discomfort. "Yet this being is different from her kin. Anger and pain has corrupted the purity of her core and she became a monster. She sees no beauty in life. She seeks a world of death. Celestine, the tainted phoenix."