Dragon Frost (19 page)

“
What are
you here?” I demand.

“
Watching.” he says and I pull out my blade and point it to
his throat. His hands are held up as his back is forced more
against the bark. I can see his lips curl into a smile under his
hood where his clothes are designed in a way that it is for combat
and to cease to exist, at any moment. From what I see—he’s very
good at it. “Whoa. I’m on your side.” he says and I tilt my head to
the side—my face plate hides my eyes which bore into his form with
suspicion and speculation that he knows I feel.

“
Why are
you here?” I repeat and it’s his time to question.

“
Do you
always repeat yourself?” he asks and I glare. I don’t say anything
and he sighs obviously defeated, I fight back a smile that
threatens to spring across my face. Still, this man is strange
though, I know he’s no coward. There had to be a reason he
disappeared in that destroyed town. I was going to question it when
I hear movement to the right of me, my eyes dart back to the
campsite. The men and women are gone; I turn back to where Lifet
who has now vanished. Yep, definitely evasive! I have no idea where
the enemy has gone. I slip down from my branch when something
tackles me from behind to the ground. I land on the hard dirt
earth, the air expels from my lungs. My arms fight the grip—I begin
to crawl out of his hold when he tries to fight my arms by my
side.

“
Where do
you think you’re going?” his husky voice growls roughly in my ear
as I feel the prickle of his unshaven bearded against my face. I
become still—he freezes. He’s surprised by my sudden surrender.
“That’s a good girl.” he says as he forces my arms behind me and
bounds my hands once again. Why people seem to keep my arms from
causing them trouble is frustrating? Feeling the weight lighten
from upon me, I’m forced to my feet where I hear the sound of my
sword being drawn out. I clench my teeth and fight my muscles to
remain still. That’s my father’s sword their touching. No one
touches the only thing I have left to remember him by—no
one.

“
Nice
sword you got here.” comments a man who walks to stand before me
with a proud look on his face as he eyes the intricate design of
the pummel, the characters inscribed on the wide sharp double-edged
blade and the hand guards designed like claws—they weren’t any
claws—they were Dragon Claws. I don’t say anything as he grips the
hilt lightly swinging it around himself—attempting—to find a
balance with the new weapon which I know he cannot have. I would
rather cut of his hand than hand it over to him. He eyes the green
emerald in the centre of the blade and the crest under it, the
lines creates three claw marks with the shape of a circling
wingless dragon. “What does this mean?” he asks me.

“
It’s not
yours.” It’s my family insignia. I’s my identity.

“
Well it
is now, Knight. Kill her.” he orders and stalks away while a woman
stands with a strung arrow which is release, I shift my weight and
feel the man who held my upper arms fell lip at my feet the woman’s
eyes are eclectic and I race towards her. Effectively dodging every
arrow, I can see race towards me. She’s accurate but I’m quick and
refuse to die here. I slip behind a tree, where I skip my feet over
my rope woven wrists to my front. Moving my hand down to a dagger
on the side of my boot, I pull it out and slice through the rope
with ease. I pull out my second curved dagger on my opposite leg
where I roll over my shoulder out of my hiding spot and race
towards her. Arrows are sent my way and I slip my blades around in
my hands slicing the arrows—blocking their trajectory. Her eyes are
wide and I tackle her. Snapping the bow I sliver her
throat.

Two other
men move to fight me, their swords drawn, I step around one and
disarm him. Taking his blade, I slice his thigh muscle where his
leg buckles I slice his throat. The next runs towards me and we
clash blades, I’m quick with my footwork and slice his unarmoured
wrist, his grip on the blade ceases and I slice his shoulder where
I spin around him. Forcing my blade through his back he cries out
in pain and falls to the ground after I remove my blade. I drop the
light weapon on the ground. It was like a feather compared to my
father’s blade. I hear a whistle in the air and turn to the sound
where the sound of puncturing kernel fills my ears.

A bowman
falls to the ground and I stare at the throwing knife in his head.
I turn to where I suspected it came from and nothing. It’s not a
Knight’s throwing knife I know that much but don’t think too much
about it and race after the leader. I find him standing by a river
on a large rock where other stones fall around it, I sweep him from
his feet and he falls, snapping his neck on the rocks below where
he ceases to move. My blade is embedded in the sand bank and I drop
down onto the water that splashes around me after my impact. I pull
my sword from where it stands erect and swing it to the side where
the mud slides from my steel blade and sheath it before going on my
way.

By the
time all the Covenant Agents had fallen, I return back to the last
camp and search each tent for a map or something that will indicate
if there are more in this area or the plans Golgotha has for
Varden. I light the remaining tents on fire where they soon burn
themselves out and remain nothing but smoke and I return to where
I’m required to meet the others. As I wonder through the forest I
stop as I feel a familiar presence behind me. “There’s no need to
keep sneaking around.” I say.

“
But
that’s the fun part.” says Lifet and I turn to face him.

“
Why did
you help me?” I ask referring to the throwing blade embedded in the
bowman’s forehead. The image as traumatic and evident in my mind—I
remember all of those who have died before me, all of those who
have died in my squads. Their insignias I can draw place them to
their identification numbers and write out their owners.

“
What
gave you the idea it was me?” he questions with a straight face and
I turn from him and continue on my course. If he didn’t want to
tell me the truth than fine! I won’t press but I did deserve this
much at least. I needed to know if he was friend or foe. Still I
see he continues to play a game of cat and mouse, I stop and turn
over my shoulder to see he has vanished. No surprise I tell myself
which I know that’s far from the truth. This isn’t exactly
something that will throw me off.

I return
back to the others who are sitting at the mouth of a cave, the full
moon—provides, the only light they need. This I have to say is what
aided me in my search for the several campsites that and the fires
that created a beacon not just for me but for anyone that were
hunting the Covenant. I’m not going to say that it was easy—killing
is never easy. Varden I see sits on the ground his bow leans
against the stone wall beside him while Altair sits with his blade
between his legs as he uses to support his weight. My feet are
silent along the earth and by the time they notice me I’m standing
before them. “How did it go?” asks Varden and I turn over my
shoulder and take in the dark layout of the forest.

“
Fine,” I
say as I return my attention back to him.

“
We
should get a move on.” remarks Altair. We have to keep moving or
risking being killed in our sleeps like the unfortunate Covenant
members. The next day we manage to make our way back to the Inn and
I move to my room where I see at one end of my bed where a bedside
table is positioned. There a sculpture of a frost dragon made of
ice is seen—it’s cold I can smell it but it refuses to melt I had
no idea why that was though still I move towards it and pick it up.
Within the sculpture there is a moving golden diamond—I’m surprised
by it but the moment I trace my hand along the centre of the
dragon’s stomach it glows and enters my finger. I see the light
sliding up my hand to rest within my chest. I feel pressure
surround me before it is forced from me, my cloak and everything
else in the room moved. The dragon is gone. “Kal?” I hear Altair
comment as he knocks on the door.

I don’t
answer. He enters.

“
You
okay?” he asks as I know he heard the movement of the furniture. He
scans the wooden floorboards where my feet are rooted and gazes
back at me—he can smell it too. Power! “You hungry?” he asks and I
nod.

“
Ravished,” I say.

“
Good.
We’ll eat out. Get more of a sight of the town.” he says and
finding Varden we leave and head towards a small restaurant at the
end of the small town. As we stalk through it, more and more people
seem to notice where I walk, seem to notice me. It’s really
odd.

“
What’s
with everyone?” questions Varden in a whisper beside me.

“
I don’t
know.” I confess for once. I didn’t know.

“
They may
appear friendly but keep your guard up.” Altair continues to stride
before us, his face impassive like the rest of us. I try to keep my
eyes on his silver hair as he leads us towards the restaurant where
we enter and everyone stops and stares at us. This scene is all too
familiar when you’re the new kid at a new school because you had to
move homes everyone seemed to stop what they were doing just so
they can glimpse at the new girl. It really annoyed me than and
still annoys me now. Each set of eyes are glued to us mainly—Me. I
wonder if they know something I don’t this is something that often
seems to be the case these days.

I wonder
than if Altair was responsible for the frost dragon but his
reaction from earlier says otherwise. We make our way towards the
far table where I sit with the two in a small cubical. “So are we
here to eat?” asks Varden.

“
I don’t
think so.” I say.

“
We’re
not here to eat.” Altair notes and I don’t say anything. If he
wants to take charge I’ll let him, it’s only in his nature but I’ll
be the one to answer to the higher ups. The men and women within
the bar continue to gaze our way but reluctantly is not as intense
as before—I thought it was a first time seeing a person thing but
now I fear it’s more than that. I keep my thoughts to myself when I
see a man in black a golden tattoo on his face at the corner of the
room. Our gaze meets and his lips turn up into a smile. I must have
been lost for some time because I notice that both Altair and
Varden are looking at me with concern. I turn my gaze from the man
and to Altair.

“
I’m
sorry.” I say, clearing my throat.

“
I said
there may be more Covenant troops.”

“
Commander Rodregas.” a voice says and I turn to it to see
Lucinda.

“
Lucinda?” I ask confused. She smiles and hands me a black
envelope.

“
This is
for you, it arrived at the Inn an hour after you left.” she says. I
grasp the letter and Lucinda leave and I turn over the letter in my
hand before slipping it open, the scripture written in yet an
unfamiliar hand.

Dear Commander
Rodregas,

Winter isn
’t forever frozen-hickory, dickory, dock.

- G.

I turn to
Altair, he questions, “What does it say?” I shake my head and shrug
my shoulders. He holds out his hand and I hand it to him. He skims
over the writing. “Hickory, dickory, dock.” he mutters with
confusion. “What does a clock have to do with winter?”

“
Seasons?” adds Varden, he shrugs when I glance at him.
Obviously unsure about what possible answer it could be other than
it being a riddle the question is though why would we need a riddle
and for what purpose. This day just seems to become stranger and
stranger, at each passing minute. I glaze at the opposite end of
the room to see that the man with the golden tattoo of a dragon on
his face is now gone. It’s like he was never there to begin with.
An odd sensation runs through me. He’s trying to keep an eye on
me.

“
And
who’s G?” wonders Altair as he turns to me. “Kal?” he asks as he
follows my gaze. I turn from the far table and shake my head. He
returns back to the paper. I lied than I knew who it was but how
could I go about saying who it is” Eyes are everywhere. They ensure
I do not speak the name: Golgotha.

“
It’s
Time.” I say.

Moving
across the same frozen meadow, I make my way towards the Dragon’s
den. I enter the mouth of the cave, its silent—eerie silent but I
don’t let it bother me. Instead I suck it up and slowly glide along
the black stone ground. There is nothing—no one. I knew I had the
right cave before I hear a voice tickle my
mind. 
’Why have you come?’

‘
I have a question.’

‘
I don’t answer to traitors.’
 It remarks.

‘
You don’t have to. Just hear me out.’
 I begin before
continuing. 
’Golgotha has declared that I give her the
Prince.’

‘
So why don’t you?’

‘
I don’t want to.’
 I say after a moments’ silence. I didn’t expect a
wise dragon to just tell me to hand over one of the most important
people in Zylaria over to the enemy. That will just taint my name
as a Knight—I’ll not let that happen
. ‘I don’t think I can.’

‘
You can’t or won’t.’

‘
I don’t know. That’s why I’ve come. I don’t know what to
do.’
 I admit
feeling both guilty and empty. It’s not a nice feeling but then
again when you walk around with this feeling in the pit of your
stomach for years it seems to become a part of you—I seem to have
become used to it. That is really sad though but still war isn’t
something people are happy about unless they want to
kill.