Dame Elara Brightshield's Arc

Chapter 5 of 11

The wagon came into view through the trees, and Elara's stomach dropped. She'd expected three or four cages, maybe half a dozen. Instead, the wagon bed was stacked high with iron boxes, each one barely large enough for the creature inside. Small wings pressed against bars. Tiny claws scraped at metal. She counted twenty cages, maybe more, and heard the muffled cries of things too young to understand what was happening to them. The men driving the wagon wore thick gloves and carried poles with hooks on the ends. They weren't here for one drake egg. They were clearing out the entire marsh. Elara stepped into the middle of the stream crossing, boots ankle-deep in cold water, and drew her sword. The wagon stopped. One of the men climbed down, a thick-shouldered hunter with scars crossing his knuckles. He looked at her, then at the empty marsh behind her, and smiled. "Looking for something, knight?" he asked. She needed time. Time for Skarsh to get the drake far enough away that these men would never find the tunnel. Time to figure out how to stop twenty cages from leaving this swamp. She reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a small carved stone, one Artur had pressed into her hand before he left. "This swamp is protected," she said, holding it high. "Turn back now, or face what guards it." The hunter laughed, but his partner behind him shifted uneasily. Elara squeezed the stone, hoping Artur's promise held true, and light burst from her palm. The air above the stream twisted, colors bleeding together in blue and gold. The shape that formed was massive, all teeth and flame and impossible angles, a monster pulled from nightmare. It wasn't real. She knew that. But the hunters didn't. The one with scarred knuckles stumbled back toward the wagon. His partner grabbed for the reins. "Illusion," the first hunter spat, but his voice shook. "Has to be." Elara stepped forward, sword still raised. "Does it matter?" she asked. "You willing to bet your life on it?" The wagon lurched into motion, wheels splashing through the stream as the hunters drove hard away from the flaming shape. Elara held the stone steady until they disappeared into the trees, then let it fall. The monster faded like smoke. Her hands were shaking. Twenty cages. She'd turned them away today, but they'd come back with more men, better weapons, and no illusion would stop them twice. She looked down at the stone in her palm, then slipped it back into her pouch. The world she wanted to build wasn't going to come from one bluff in a swamp. But today she'd learned something she couldn't unlearn: the hunters weren't small-time thieves. They were organized, equipped, and hunting everything rare the marsh held. If she and Skarsh were going to protect what lived here, they'd need more than luck and borrowed magic. They'd need a plan that lasted longer than fear.