The Flame Bearer - Chapter - 39 (Patreon)

The olive-colored dragon descended from the evening sky with practiced grace. Its enormous wings beat only a handful of times before stretching wide to catch the wind, allowing the great beast to glide effortlessly toward a small clearing nestled among the ancient trees. The setting sun painted the western horizon in brilliant shades of crimson and gold, while long shadows stretched across the forest floor. High overhead, flocks of birds hurried back toward their nests before darkness claimed the land.

The dragon touched the ground with surprising gentleness. Its powerful claws dug into the soft earth as it folded its wings neatly against its body before lowering its massive head to drink from the nearby stream.

Another dragon was already waiting.

Its scales were a deep maroon that appeared almost black beneath the fading light of the evening. Unlike the newcomer, it had already settled comfortably near a small campfire, occasionally lifting its head to glance toward the olive dragon before closing its eyes again.

The rider of the newly arrived dragon slipped smoothly from the saddle and landed upon the forest floor. Gelnor adjusted the sword hanging from his waist before making his way toward the fire, where Kirvos had already established camp. A freshly hunted deer had been skinned and cleaned, half of it slowly roasting over the flames while the remaining meat rested upon a broad flat stone nearby, waiting for its turn over the fire. The rich scent of roasting venison drifted through the cool evening air.

Kirvos looked up as Gelnor approached.

"You're late."

Gelnor lowered himself onto a fallen log opposite the fire and shrugged casually. "I searched farther west than planned." Accepting a freshly roasted piece of venison from Kirvos, he took a bite before looking across the flames. "Have you found any clue?"

Kirvos answered with a long, frustrated sigh. He poked at the burning logs with a stick, sending a shower of orange sparks swirling into the evening air before finally shaking his head.

"No. Nothing." His voice carried obvious frustration. "Not a single witness."

He leaned back slightly and stared into the fire.

"I don't understand it. How does someone disappear with a dragon?"

Gelnor chewed thoughtfully before answering.

"That's exactly what I've been asking myself." He wiped his hands on a cloth before continuing. "We started exactly where His Majesty ordered. Narda. I questioned fishermen, merchants, nobles... anyone who might have seen something."

Kirvos looked at him expectantly.

"And?"

"The same story every single time." Gelnor shrugged. "A mysterious mage appeared. He took nearly half the city's population away. Then he disappeared."

"And after that?"

"No one knows anything."

Kirvos rubbed a tired hand across his forehead.

"We've been chasing ghosts."

Silence settled between them for a while, broken only by the crackling fire and the distant sounds of the forest. Behind them, the two dragons continued feeding peacefully, exchanging the occasional low rumble as they tore into the carcass left for them.

After several minutes, Kirvos spoke again.

"I searched the Spine. The southern forests. Even several villages." He gave another weary shake of his head. "There isn't a single reliable report of anyone seeing a dragon."

Gelnor frowned.

"That doesn't make sense."

"No."

"Mella only became a Rider recently. She shouldn't be skilled enough to hide a dragon from everyone."

Kirvos nodded slowly.

"Exactly. Young Riders make mistakes. They fly too low. They attract attention. They leave witnesses."

He looked thoughtfully into the flames.

"But not this one."

Gelnor quietly ate another piece of meat before asking, "What about the villagers?"

Kirvos let out a dry, humorless laugh.

"I questioned dozens of them. Some insisted they saw dragons." He rolled his eyes. "One swore it was green. Another claimed it was blue. One drunken fool insisted it had six wings."

Despite everything, Gelnor chuckled.

"Reliable witnesses."

"Indeed."

Kirvos sighed heavily.

"The only thing every single one of them agrees on is that no dragon has been seen anywhere near Narda."

Gelnor stared thoughtfully into the dancing flames for several moments before speaking again.

"I don't believe she's alone."

Kirvos looked up immediately.

"You think someone is helping her?"

"I do."

Gelnor rested his elbows on his knees.

"Mella isn't a fool. She escaped Galbatorix. She somehow survived Vroengard. Then she returned with a dragon."

He slowly shook his head.

"None of that happened by accident."

Kirvos nodded in agreement.

"I reached the same conclusion days ago. There has to be another mage involved."

"The same mysterious mage reported in Narda?"

"The very same."

"The one who stopped the soldiers from recruiting children?"

Kirvos nodded once.

"They described him as unusually powerful."

"And strange," Gelnor added.

Kirvos allowed himself a faint smile.

"But after everything that happened on Vroengard..." He looked toward the darkness beyond the campfire. "I'm no longer certain what should be considered impossible."

Neither spoke for a while.

The forest slowly grew darker as the last traces of sunlight disappeared beyond the distant mountains.

Eventually Gelnor broke the silence.

"So... what's our next move?"

Kirvos reached beside his pack and unfolded a rough map drawn upon cured animal hide. He placed several small stones across different locations before sliding it toward the center of the firelight.

"We've already searched here." His finger rested upon Narda before moving farther north. "And here."

Gelnor nodded.

"I covered the western valleys."

"I searched the eastern forests."

Kirvos looked up.

"Nothing."

Gelnor studied the map for another moment before speaking.

"So we expand."

Kirvos nodded.

"We continue separately. We'll cover nearly twice the distance that way."

"And if one of us actually finds Mella?"

Kirvos's expression hardened immediately.

"Signal the other."

"No heroics."

"If she truly has another powerful mage beside her..." He looked directly into Gelnor's eyes. "...one Forsworn may not be enough."

Gelnor gave a grim nod.

"His Majesty ordered us to kill her."

"But he never ordered us to die trying."

For the first time that evening, both men shared a faint smile.

Behind them, the olive-colored dragon suddenly lifted its head toward the darkening sky and released a deep, rumbling growl.

The maroon dragon did the same.

Both dragons became unusually still.

Kirvos was on his feet instantly.

"What is it?"

The dragons sniffed the evening air carefully, their eyes scanning the surrounding forest. Several tense moments passed before they gradually relaxed once more and returned to their meal.

Gelnor slowly exhaled.

"Probably a wild animal."

"Perhaps."

Kirvos did not sound convinced.

"My dragon has been restless all day."

"So has mine."

Both men looked toward the dark forest surrounding the clearing.

"I wonder if they're sensing something," Gelnor murmured.

"The Spine is full of strange creatures," Kirvos replied after a moment. "Let's hope that's all it is."

Night finally settled over the forest.

The last remnants of daylight disappeared beyond the mountains, leaving only the warm glow of the campfire to illuminate the lonely clearing.

The third meeting place was nothing more than a broad rocky plateau overlooking a narrow valley. Unlike the previous two camps hidden beneath the cover of dense forests, this location offered plenty of open ground for dragons to land while providing an unobstructed view of the surrounding countryside.

Gelnor had arrived shortly before noon.

His dragon rested comfortably near the edge of the plateau, its wings folded neatly against its body as it occasionally lifted its head to observe the strangers gathered nearby. Every so often, the dragon released a low rumble, causing several of the newcomers to instinctively tighten their grip on their weapons.

Gelnor himself stood beside the campfire, but he was far from alone.

Nearly a dozen Urgals occupied the clearing.

Towering over ordinary humans, each carried heavy axes, crude spears, or enormous clubs worn smooth through years of battle. Their horns differed greatly in shape and size, marking the clans from which they came, while old scars crisscrossed their muscular bodies, silent reminders of countless battles survived. Despite their fearsome appearance, they regarded Gelnor's dragon with obvious respect, speaking quietly among themselves whenever the beast shifted its weight.

The silence was broken by a distant roar echoing across the sky.

Every head turned upward.

Another dragon emerged from the clouds, descending rapidly before spreading its wings to slow its fall. It landed upon the plateau with practiced precision, the powerful gust from its wings scattering dust, dry leaves, and loose pebbles in every direction.

Kirvos slid down from the saddle, brushing dirt from his robes before looking around.

The moment he noticed the gathering of Urgals, his eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Gelnor..." he said, glancing between the warriors. "What is this?"

For the first time in several days, Gelnor allowed himself a small smile.

"I think we've finally found a lead."

Kirvos's relaxed expression vanished immediately. Without another word, he walked toward the waiting Urgals, who quietly parted to allow one of their own to step forward.

The Urgal was enormous, even by the standards of his race. One of his horns had been broken near its base, and several fresh scars stretched across his bare chest, still pink from wounds that had only recently healed.

"You are servants of the Dragon King," the Urgal rumbled.

It was not a question.

Kirvos nodded once.

"We are."

The Urgal grunted approvingly.

"We have information."

Kirvos folded his arms across his chest.

"Speak."

The Urgal slowly raised one massive arm and pointed toward the distant north.

"We came from there."

Kirvos frowned before glancing toward Gelnor.

"They're survivors," Gelnor explained quietly.

"Survivors of what?"

The Urgal's yellow eyes darkened.

"A massacre."

The warrior drew a slow breath before continuing.

"We answered the Dragon King's call. Our clans gathered together. Nearly five hundred warriors crossed the sea despite storms. We survived the journey. We made camp."

His fists slowly tightened.

"We rested."

His voice became little more than a growl.

"Then... death came."

Kirvos's expression sharpened.

"What happened?"

"The black dragon."

Both Forsworn exchanged a brief glance.

The Urgal continued without hesitation.

"It came from the darkness. One breath..."

He pointed toward the sky as though reliving the memory.

"...then another."

"Our ships became fire."

Gelnor stepped forward slightly.

"The black dragon."

His voice remained calm.

"Describe it."

The answer came immediately.

"Large."

"Black scales."

"Long spiked tail."

"Powerful."

Kirvos looked toward Gelnor again.

"They described the same dragon."

The Urgal continued.

"While we watched our ships burn... three people entered the camp."

"A woman."

"An elf."

"And a human male."

Kirvos took a step closer.

"The human."

"What did he look like?"

The Urgal frowned in frustration.

"It was dark."

"I could not see him clearly."

"But..."

"He fought like a monster."

"He carried a magic sword."

"He cut warriors apart."

Another Urgal stepped forward before the first could continue.

"The elf killed many."

"The woman too."

"They attacked while warriors slept."

"No mercy."

Kirvos slowly turned toward Gelnor.

"Mella."

Gelnor nodded.

"The mysterious mage."

The Urgal leader gave another grunt of agreement.

"Only a handful escaped."

"We fled into the forest."

"When morning came..."

"...everyone else was dead."

Neither Forsworn spoke for several moments.

Finally, Kirvos released a slow breath.

"So Mella survived."

"And she continued north."

Gelnor crouched beside a flat stone and unrolled a rough map of Alagaësia. Holding one corner against the wind, he pointed toward the northern coastline.

"Did they continue this way?"

The Urgal leaned over the map before nodding confidently.

"North..." Kirvos repeated quietly.

The single word seemed unusually heavy. Neither man liked where the trail appeared to be leading.

One of the younger Urgals suddenly stepped forward, gripping his axe tightly.

"Our clan wants revenge."

"Take us."

"We hunt them together."

The remaining Urgals struck their weapons against the rocky ground in agreement.

"We fight."

"We kill Dragon Rider."

"We kill dragon."

Kirvos glanced toward Gelnor.

Without speaking, the two Forsworn walked several paces away from the waiting warriors.

For a while, neither said anything.

Finally, Kirvos broke the silence.

"They actually went north."

"It seems so."

Gelnor stared toward the distant horizon, where the mountains gradually disappeared into a haze.

"No Rider has gone that way in centuries."

Kirvos nodded slowly.

"Even during the height of the Riders, they avoided the far north."

Gelnor folded his arms.

"Lethrblaka."

Kirvos's face grew grim.

"They nest throughout the northern wilderness."

"They attack anything that moves."

"They've killed dragons before."

Gelnor sighed quietly.

"If Mella truly went there..."

Kirvos finished the thought.

"...she's probably dead."

The words lingered heavily between them. After several moments, Gelnor slowly shook his head.

"I won't report assumptions."

"Neither will I."

Kirvos looked back toward the waiting Urgals.

"If she's dead..."

"We need proof."

"If she's alive..."

"We finish the mission."

The two men returned to the group.

The Urgal leader stepped forward immediately.

"We come."

Kirvos shook his head.

"No."

The Urgal frowned.

"Why?"

"Our dragons won't carry passengers."

Gelnor calmly added, "And you couldn't keep pace with dragons on foot."

The Urgals grumbled among themselves, clearly disappointed.

After allowing them a moment, Kirvos pointed toward the south.

"If you truly wish to serve the Dragon King, return to Narda."

"You'll find Imperial armies gathering there."

"They'll gladly accept more warriors."

The Urgal leader hesitated before giving a slow nod.

"We go."

"But if you find Dragon Rider..."

His grip tightened around his axe.

"Kill her."

Kirvos's expression remained unreadable.

"That is our mission."

Not long afterward, the Urgals gathered their belongings and disappeared into the southern wilderness, leaving only the two Forsworn and their dragons upon the lonely plateau.

Once they were gone, Gelnor climbed back into his saddle. Kirvos mounted his own dragon a moment later, and with powerful beats of their wings, the two great beasts launched themselves into the evening sky.

As they gained altitude, Gelnor looked toward the endless northern horizon.

"If she's alive..."

"...we'll find her."

Kirvos guided his maroon dragon alongside him.

"And if the Lethrblaka haven't already devoured them..."

His eyes narrowed.

"...then they'll have to face us."

The dragons banked northward, disappearing into the crimson evening sky as they followed the first genuine trail they had uncovered since leaving Narda.