A Cursed Hunt (The Wings & Witches Series Book 1), page 9
Fire surrounded the dragonis but never truly scorched it. The flames danced away from its scales, but when they surged toward its wings the animal pushed itself back somehow managing to get Remis closer to the ground, though it was still a considerable distance for one to fall.
He sucked in a breath, the hot air scalding his lungs. In one jerking movement, Remis yanked himself forward. The talons on his shoulder pricked into his skin drawing fresh blood, and his shoulder screamed in protest as the back claw was freed from his flesh. What pressure the front claws had on him was not enough to hold him.
Remis plummeted to the ground. The grass and dirt raced toward him faster than he could angle to catch himself in a manner that might prevent injury. He hit the ground on the side that didn’t have a gaping wound, but the impact knocked the air from his lungs, and for a moment the world danced around him. Trees blurred together, the stars twisted in and out of their constellations, and the dragon was a hazy shadow surrounded by flames. His vision split and then came rushing back to one image.
When he sucked in a breath it was exhaled with a groan. In all his years of training, he’d never been injured. Not like this, not in such a way that his entire body trembled with the pain and his head swam. Still, his mind screamed at him.
Get up. Get up. Get up.
Run, Remis, run.
Willing his body to move didn’t even so much as make his muscles twitch. Even when the dragonis came startlingly close again before Merritt was swinging the flames between them. And he couldn’t move. His cowardly body froze and stiffened on the frost-covered ground. Blood oozed warmth while the sweat that coated his body was cold as the night air with only the fire-throwing weapon to heat the space around him.
Finally, his vision stopped dancing. His next inhale was considerably more manageable. He winced as he sat himself up. Then hands were tucking themselves under his arms and Percy was dragging him toward the city. His heels gouged the ground, collecting dirt and grass on the backside of his boots. Percy stopped only when they were both safely behind Merritt and the jostling movement poured fresh blood out of Remis’ shoulder.
The dragonis roared and moved left then right and up and down trying to get out of range of the flames. Even when it did, the moment it leapt forward Merritt was on it again. Perspiration was shining on his brow and his cloak was thrown back to reveal the strain of his muscles as he angled the weapon.
With a roar that rattled the cracked windows of the buildings at their backs, the dragonis fed the flames with the wild wind it batted into them from the expanse of its wings. Its tail flicked behind it in an agitated but lazy motion reminiscent of a cat before it returned to the unreachable sky and flew out of sight.
The fire cannon clicked off and the cold of winter returned. All three men stared up at the sky, panting.
“Is that it? Is it gone?” Percy asked, eyes panning the sky.
Remis’ mind wasn’t ready to turn off the full thrum of adrenaline despite the slow creeping understanding that the monster was truly gone. He touched a hand to the place where the talon had pierced him and pulled his hands away to inspect the blood. It ran a brilliant crimson color down his fingertips. He smiled slightly to himself, hoping that was enough. He’d always heard that life’s blood, the kind that made death a certainty, was so dark it nearly looked black. So perhaps, even after being nearly taken by the dragonis, he might live to tell the tale. And have a gnarly scar to prove it.
10
Remis
The bottom half of Merritt’s shirt was pressed against Remis’ wound. He flinched with every step; the terrible pain of the injury fresh every time his foot met the ground again was only slightly numbed by his state of shock. Merritt hovered at his side, occasionally stretching his arms out in case Remis wavered.
“They’ve no patrol. No one watching their city’s borders,” Percy hissed.
Dirt slowly turned to gravel as they walked further into town. If anyone lived in these buildings on the city's outskirts, not one of them had come out to see what the commotion was about. Remis had only spotted a few candles burning in windows so far, suggesting the populace here was minimal.
“They weren’t expecting anyone to be traveling during dragonis season,” Merritt amended.
That didn’t explain why no one stood guard for the city. Sure, they weren’t watching for wayward travelers, but without the guard, the citizens could easily be plucked from the streets like grapes from the vine.
Merritt tugged at the jagged edge of his shirt where it no longer covered his torso. His lean abdominal muscles were exposed to the frigid atmosphere between the unbuttoned lapels of his coat. He curled his fingers into a fist and hissed, drawing Remis' attention. Red welts, white-filled blisters, and shining pink skin were all that made up his palms. Remis felt the blood drain from his face and Merritt straightened realizing he’d been caught.
“I’m alright, though I imagine that those weapons are meant to be handled with thick gloves. I’ll remember that next time.” Merritt kept his face pointed forward, his features held forcefully in a blank expression.
Hopefully there would not be a next time.
“Thank you,” Remis said. That was enough to gain a reaction from Merritt, whose cheeks flushed the same terrible pink as his palms. The words needed to be said. Remis couldn’t let another pain-filled moment go by where his friend didn’t know just how appreciative he was. “You two saved my life. Without you, I’d likely have died not long after the highwaymen.”
“Don’t mention it.” Merritt tried to wave the notion off, though he flashed one of his bright toothy grins. “Or mention it a lot. Worship me as a god if you must.” Percy and Remis couldn’t help but chuckle though it went dry and dusty on Remis’ lips as he caught sight of Merritt’s burns again.
His humility knew no bounds.
The further they went into Olden the closer the buildings began to cluster. More windows held flickering flames, and occasionally they could hear signs of life. Music drifted from one home, a dog barked behind another’s closed door, and eventually, they spotted the first carriage careening down the rocky road.
Two rather large and muscular horses pulled the carriage, much finer than the one Remis’ father had sent them in. The outside had been painted a blue so light it looked more off-white under the pale moonlight. Gold accents were painted along the curved edges and in a pretty spot of trim across the sides, not to mention the gold handles on the doors.
When the driver caught sight of them making their way down the road he pulled the reins tight and called out. His words were caught in the wind and then carried over their shoulders, but it sounded as if the man had shouted, “Who goes there?”
Remis wrinkled his nose. Did Olden always greet its guests with such suspicion? He growled to himself and glanced at the blood-soaked cloth before stepping with purpose before his friends. Using his good arm, he gave the carriage a wave as it skidded to a halt a few feet before them.
A man with waves of thick blond hair and startling bright blue eyes poked his head out the carriage window. “Was it you who warded off the dragonis? You who manned the fire cannon?” There were permanent lines between his brows giving the impression that he was often scowling. Though his mouth was tense, it still arched subtly up into the slightest of smiles.
“Yes.” Remis nodded. “Our apologies for imposing. Didn’t quite make it out unscathed.” Thanks to the guardless borders. He motioned to his shoulder and the red fabric.
“If you could point us in the direction of a physician that would be wonderful,” Percy said, though Remis thought he’d already implied that. It never hurt to be extra clear about what was needed, especially when one was bleeding out.
“Our family has a brilliant physician who could assist you,” the man exclaimed. “Move over,” he mumbled to someone inside the carriage before throwing the door open to reveal his rounded shape. “Come, let us get you out of the cold.”
Turning toward his friends, they exchanged a look that ultimately ended with a shrug of Merritt's shoulders. They needed help. Surely, this man could offer that. “I do have business that requires tending tonight,” the man sniffed at their hesitance. “Please either let me assist you, as you’ve done something of value for our city, or keep moving.”
Remis already felt weak and occasionally dizzy. Panic bubbled at the thought of being left to the streets until they stumbled further into someone or something that might help. He was the first to move toward the carriage. It was a lumbering task to pull himself inside it only using his good hand and avoiding letting his blood drip out onto the fine interior. His friends climbed in after him. Percy took a seat, curling into himself away from the two strangers, while Merritt settled with a charming, albeit tense, smile. The door to the carriage snicked shut.
Remis sat directly across from a younger, much thinner, version of the gentleman who’d offered his help. Likely his son? If not, the young man had to be of some sort of relation. He had the same thick blond hair, cut short, and brushed away from his face in the same fashion Remis preferred. He sat with his hands folded in his lap and his leg crossed over his knee. The leg of his pants was high enough from his position that it revealed the fine, polished leather and gold buckles of the stranger’s boots.
Gold, as it would seem, was everywhere upon these men. Their carriage shone with the fine details of it. They glittered like the midday sun with the rings upon their hands. The older of the two wore several thick chains around his neck and a gaudy ruby pendant. The younger had forgone the necklaces but sported two slender gold hoops in his ears.
It was the young man who watched Remis with quiet curiosity. He couldn’t be much older than Remis, if at all. Twenty-five? Twenty-four even?
Clearing his throat, Remis tried his best to give a genuine smile. He was thankful to be well on his way to help. “My name is Nikremis Lexmore. This is Percy Scout and Merritt Densmore.” He pointed to his friends.
The older of the two nodded but said nothing. Finally, the younger man spoke. “I’m Valen Brendal.” He extended his hand but grimaced when Remis reached out with bloodied fingers. Valen forced the grimace into a smile but slowly lowered his hand back into his lap. “This is my father, Vigor Brendal.”
“Vigor Brendal?” Merritt sat forward. “As in Warlord Vigor Brendal?”
That would explain the copious amount of jewelry and gold.
Vigor sat taller in his seat. “You’ve done us a wonderful thing on this night,” he began as the carriage jostled forward, “You’ve not only saved yourselves but protected our fine city. When we saw the fire in the sky we came right away.”
Not soon enough to keep Remis from his aching shoulder or Merritt from his blistered hands. Their timing had been near perfect that the actual terrible fighting of it was over.
“Where is your patrol?” Percy asked, not disguising his annoyance.
The warlord blinked slowly. “No one wants to be on patrol.”
Remis did his best not to scowl at his answer. No one wanted to be on patrol? It was a very honored position throughout all of Augustine. Not to mention the warlords paid a healthy sum of money to those who worked it. Most of the lower class tripped over themselves trying to get into the rotation and earn enough extra to elevate their family amongst society. He couldn’t fathom a city where no one wanted to work the job.
“As my father was saying, we would like to extend our thanks and welcome you into our home. We have a wonderful physician on staff who can take care of your injuries and then we can have a carriage ready to take the three of you over to the inn for the night. Your stay will be on us, of course.'“ Valen remained pleasant despite the way his father’s face had fallen at the mention of the patrol.
One of Remis’ hands fell to brush against his pocket, the only small bit of coin they had left. If the warlord wanted to cover their care and put them up in the inn overnight, then there wouldn’t be a word of complaint on his end. They all desperately needed this.
“That is most gracious of you,” Remis mumbled.
Now that the excitement of it all was fading his entire body felt sore. His shoulder, his legs, and those damn blisters on his feet made him want to curl up in bed and sleep for days.
“Where are the three of you coming from? What brings you to Olden?” Valen asked while looking out the window in such a way that it didn’t appear he cared much for the answer. What is so important that you’d risk your lives during dragonis season, was the unasked question.
Merritt's hands rested palm up, exposing his blisters. He stared down at his hands before answering. “Left Breock at dusk. Ran into some highwayman and walked the rest of the way here.”
“Highwaymen?” Valen sucked in a breath. “They must be desperate.”
They weren’t the only ones.
Merritt didn’t expand upon their reason for their travels and Valen didn’t press. One more thing to be thankful for. He couldn’t imagine what these men would think of them if they knew their true reason; that Remis didn’t want word getting out to anyone else who might have the same ambitions as them.
The rest of the ride was done in silence. Both the warlord and his son were content to leave their conversation at that while Remis and his friends slouched into their seats, exhaustion sinking into their bones.
It wasn’t long before they came to a stop behind a five-story manor. Gravel ran in an arcing drive behind the building and stopped at the bottom of the back steps. Someone pulled the door open, and the warlord rose first.
“Servant’s entrance,” Valen explained, “We both have some business to attend to but I’ll walk you in and get you acquainted with the physician.” He stepped out and waited with his hands clasped behind his back until the three had managed to step out.
The moment his feet touched the rocky drive, a shiver passed over him and the huntress mark on his hand pulsed. He let his fingers curl into his palm until his nails dug into the fabric tied there.
From here, Remis could get a good look at the warlord’s home. He’d never met the warlord that held his own territory. Nor had he ever seen a warlord’s house since their own warlord lived in the next city over, opposite the direction they had to travel today. Remis knew they were wealthy; the families that had helped Emperor Grandith claim the country were each rewarded with riches and land. Now they lorded over their slivers of Augustine like kings.
Remis thought his own home was grand, if not extravagant, but this…this building wasn’t a home, it was an altar made to worship man. The outside was plain but not in a boring way. The paint on the shutters looked fresh and the knob was an expensive gold to match the carriage. A few steps led up to the already open door which revealed colorful tile. He had to remind himself to shut his mouth for fear an insect might just fly right in as he gaped.
They entered a mud room of sorts with coats hung near the exit. Several closed doors to their right and a long hallway to their left.
“Follow me,” Valen said, walking quickly down the darkened hall. Whatever business these men had to attend to, it would appear by the pace Valen had set, that they were running late. Remis wasn’t particularly tall for a man, so in Valen’s wake, he took two steps for Valen’s one. The man’s long lanky body easily ate up the distance.
Percy was all out scowling now and holding his book so tightly his fingers were beginning to dimple the cover. Merritt had taken up position in the back, likely for the very reason that Percy might need an extra nudge to keep going.
Their journey through the home only further proved how massive it was. They took another left and wandered what felt like the entire length of the house before Valen finally stopped and rapped a knuckle against a door. A slender woman answered after a minute of long silence. Her eyes were red-rimmed with sleep and she pulled a robe tighter around herself. There was no polite greeting as she peered at the men outside her door. She waited.
“Sorry for the call at this late hour.” Valen shifted under the scrutiny of her gaze. “We have a few guests who need tending, if you might.” She opened the door wider. Remis assumed this was meant as an invitation inside. Valen turned back to the three and exhaled with a smile. “Thank you once again for your assistance on our city's border. Once you’ve been treated, head back out the way you came and a carriage will be waiting to take you to the inn. Tell them that the warlord sent you. I’m confident that Ellie here will treat you well enough.”
The three nodded, committing the name to memory, and allowing their host room to walk around them. With hurried steps, he left them to the woman who had still yet to speak. Remis offered her his most charming smile, the one that had rarely failed him when it came to women. She didn’t smile back.
Her room, they found as they stepped inside, was full of shelves stocked with tonics, herbs, and other assortments of dark-colored glass bottles. Everything was arranged in neat rows without so much as a speck of dust. Remis gave pause when he scanned the room and saw larger glass jars clustered together, all of them hosting an arrangement of horrifying contents. Eyes of many different colors with nerves still attached floated in clear liquid next to what appeared to be intestines or another pinkish organ that was wound in circles to the very top of the container. Clusters of ribbon-tied hair and small piles of what might have been nail clippings were next. He stopped letting his gaze wander when he noticed what looked like pickled fingers.
“Are you a bloody witch?” Percy asked, the frustration on his face replaced with horror and disgust.
Witch. The word had risen in the back of his mind only for him to shrug it off, but Percy had said it out loud. Given it substance.
The oddities she hosted in this room certainly gave the impression that she was more than an ordinary physician. The Empire’s stance on witches hadn’t changed much since most of them were either killed or forced into hiding during the decade that Grandith Augustine, the father of our current emperor, had hunted them down. Witches were powerful, if not the most powerful beings, within our country's borders. They were rumored to have talents that went against all understanding. Witches who could control animals, riffle through someone’s mind, or even boil a man's blood within his veins. Such vengeful creatures that it was said one had put a curse on Grandith himself and that is where his hatred rose from. Either way, Augustine did not take kindly to witches anymore.
